sake, Leia suspected, than for any damage such an admission might do to his image. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Han threw a look to the side, where the medic and two Emdee droids were hovering around the business end of the birth bed. “Looks like we’re getting close, sweetheart.”
“Count on it,” Leia agreed, the last word strangled off as another contraction took her attention. “Oh…”
Han’s anxiety level jumped another notch. “You all right?”
Leia nodded, throat muscles momentarily too tight to speak through. “Hold me, Han,” she breathed when she could talk again. “Just hold me.”
“I’m right here,” he said quietly, sliding his free hand into a comfortable grip under her shoulder.
She hardly heard him. Deep within her, the small lives that she and Han had created were starting to move… and abruptly their fluttering fear had become full-blown terror.
Don’t be afraid
, she thought at them.
Don’t be afraid. It’ll be all right I’m here. Soon, you’ll be with me.
She wasn’t really expecting a reaction—the twins’ minds were far too undeveloped to understand anything as abstract as words or the concept of future events. But she continued anyway, wrapping them and their fear as best she could in her love and peace and comfort. There was another contraction—the inexorable movement toward the outside world continued—
And then, to Leia’s everlasting joy, one of the tiny minds reached back to her, touching her in a way that neither twin had ever responded to her nonverbal caresses before. The rising fear slowed in its advance, and Leia had the sudden mental image of a baby’s hand curled tightly around her finger.
Yes
, she told the infant.
I’m your mother, and I’m here.
The tiny mind seemed to consider that. Leia continued her assurances, and the mind shifted a little away from her, as if the infant’s attention had been drawn somewhere else. A good sign, she decided; if it was able to be distracted from what was happening to it—
And then, to her amazement, the second mind’s panic also began to fade. The second mind, which to the best of her knowledge had not yet even noticed her presence…
Later, in retrospect, the whole thing would seem obvious, if not completely inevitable. But at that moment, the revelation was startling enough to send a shiver through the core of Leia’s soul. The twins, growing together in the Force even as they’d grown together within her, had somehow become attuned to each other—attuned in a way and to a depth that Leia knew she herself would never entirely share.
It was, at the same time, one of the proudest and yet one of the most poignant moments of Leia’s life. To get such a glimpse into the future—to see her children growing and strengthening themselves in the Force… and to know that there would be a part of their lives together that she would never share.
The contraction eased, the grand and bittersweet vision of the future fading into a small nugget of ache in a corner of her mind. An ache that was made all the worse by the private shame that, in all of that flood of selfish emotion, it hadn’t even occurred to her that Han would be able to share even less of their lives than she would.
And suddenly, through the mental haze, a bright light seemed to explode in her eyes. Reflexively, she clutched harder at Han’s hand. “What—?”
“It’s coming,” Han yelped, gripping back. “First one’s halfway out.”
Leia blinked, the half-imagined light vanishing as her mind fumbled free of her contact with her children. Her children, whose eyes had never had to deal with anything brighter than a dim, diffuse glow. “Turn that light down,” she gasped. “It’s too bright. The children’s eyes—”
“It’s all right,” the medic assured her. “Their eyes will adjust. All right: one last push.”
And then, seemingly without warning, the first part was suddenly over. “Got one,” Han told
“Don’t worry about it.” Han threw a look to the side, where the medic and two Emdee droids were hovering around the business end of the birth bed. “Looks like we’re getting close, sweetheart.”
“Count on it,” Leia agreed, the last word strangled off as another contraction took her attention. “Oh…”
Han’s anxiety level jumped another notch. “You all right?”
Leia nodded, throat muscles momentarily too tight to speak through. “Hold me, Han,” she breathed when she could talk again. “Just hold me.”
“I’m right here,” he said quietly, sliding his free hand into a comfortable grip under her shoulder.
She hardly heard him. Deep within her, the small lives that she and Han had created were starting to move… and abruptly their fluttering fear had become full-blown terror.
Don’t be afraid
, she thought at them.
Don’t be afraid. It’ll be all right I’m here. Soon, you’ll be with me.
She wasn’t really expecting a reaction—the twins’ minds were far too undeveloped to understand anything as abstract as words or the concept of future events. But she continued anyway, wrapping them and their fear as best she could in her love and peace and comfort. There was another contraction—the inexorable movement toward the outside world continued—
And then, to Leia’s everlasting joy, one of the tiny minds reached back to her, touching her in a way that neither twin had ever responded to her nonverbal caresses before. The rising fear slowed in its advance, and Leia had the sudden mental image of a baby’s hand curled tightly around her finger.
Yes
, she told the infant.
I’m your mother, and I’m here.
The tiny mind seemed to consider that. Leia continued her assurances, and the mind shifted a little away from her, as if the infant’s attention had been drawn somewhere else. A good sign, she decided; if it was able to be distracted from what was happening to it—
And then, to her amazement, the second mind’s panic also began to fade. The second mind, which to the best of her knowledge had not yet even noticed her presence…
Later, in retrospect, the whole thing would seem obvious, if not completely inevitable. But at that moment, the revelation was startling enough to send a shiver through the core of Leia’s soul. The twins, growing together in the Force even as they’d grown together within her, had somehow become attuned to each other—attuned in a way and to a depth that Leia knew she herself would never entirely share.
It was, at the same time, one of the proudest and yet one of the most poignant moments of Leia’s life. To get such a glimpse into the future—to see her children growing and strengthening themselves in the Force… and to know that there would be a part of their lives together that she would never share.
The contraction eased, the grand and bittersweet vision of the future fading into a small nugget of ache in a corner of her mind. An ache that was made all the worse by the private shame that, in all of that flood of selfish emotion, it hadn’t even occurred to her that Han would be able to share even less of their lives than she would.
And suddenly, through the mental haze, a bright light seemed to explode in her eyes. Reflexively, she clutched harder at Han’s hand. “What—?”
“It’s coming,” Han yelped, gripping back. “First one’s halfway out.”
Leia blinked, the half-imagined light vanishing as her mind fumbled free of her contact with her children. Her children, whose eyes had never had to deal with anything brighter than a dim, diffuse glow. “Turn that light down,” she gasped. “It’s too bright. The children’s eyes—”
“It’s all right,” the medic assured her. “Their eyes will adjust. All right: one last push.”
And then, seemingly without warning, the first part was suddenly over. “Got one,” Han told
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