Leia woke up late to the sound of wailing.
Ben’s wailing, coming from the living quarters.
Karabast, she muttered under her breath. What time was it?
She checked her chrono. 1230.
Blinking back the sleep that threatened to pull her under once more, she groaned as she sat up.
Ben’s cries came more fiercely now, mixed with a few choice babbled syllables he’d been trying on for size lately. The cold, empty spot beside her in bed told her Han was out there with him. That was a relief. Their son had an escape artist streak; at least this time he wasn’t crawling around the house all on his own, looking to see how much trouble he could get into. Still, her heart sank. They were all about equal parenting, but it seemed like Han had been shouldering the greater burden as of late.
She fixed her eyes on the light streaming through the window, trying to get them to adjust. It didn’t really help. Her head still hurt; the room was still blurry. She forced herself to get up anyway.
Han looked at her apologetically when she finally lurched into the living quarters. “I was tryin’ to let you sleep,” he said. “I guess this little ruffian had other ideas. ‘M sorry, sweetheart.” Inexplicably, Ben had already stopped crying; he was now contentedly perched on Han’s hip, tugging at his hair.
“I’m sorry, Han, I should have been up hours ago; I should never have made you take care of Ben this long—”
“Hey,” he interrupted, acting affronted. “Made me? I chose to spend time with this little guy.” He ruffled Ben’s hair. “Besides, you needed to get some rest.”
She didn’t argue; she was too tired, and it would be a losing battle, anyway. He knew she’d been staying up half the night lately, unable to sleep. For no good reason, she thought angrily. It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t get any sleep when she lay down; it was that somehow, dragging herself into bed seemed like a near impossible task. She’d distract herself with pointless research or dumb holonet shows, watching the hours tick by, too weary to go through her bedtime rituals, too anxious to let her mind rest. Too afraid to face the possibility of another nightmare.
“Rest is overrated,” she grumbled. “I need some caf.”
She headed for the kitchen, but Han stepped in her way. “I’ve got it, sweetheart. You go sit down.”
She tried to step around him, but he blocked her again. Her ire spiked. “Han, stop it.”
“Why? How incapable do you think I am? Last I checked, I don’t have the virus.”
He raised his free arm placatingly. “Okay. Sure.” He stepped aside, frowning. She had probably pissed him off, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She stepped into the kitchen and fumbled around in the cabinets for the ground caf. There wasn’t much left in the container, she noted with alarm. She should have ordered some more days ago. The way everything was in the galaxy right now, it would take forever to arrive. Somehow, the prospect of less caf over the coming days made her feel breathless, almost dizzy. She leaned against the counter, trying to get ahold of herself.
She was almost always on edge these days. Funny how the end of her time as a soldier didn’t signal the end of that. Truth be told, she didn’t know how to stop being that way.
It had gotten better, for a time—it had taken awhile for things to settle down before she had Ben, and in the meantime her Jedi training had helped her learn new techniques to calm herself (even if it simultaneously stirred up some deeper fears). Then there was that honeymoon phase of life with their new little family, that shaky and awkward but ultimately hopeful step she and Han had taken together into new territory. It had been a deeply happy experience overall, even if hard at times. Being together was a gift, thanks to a galaxy newly at peace, and she had treasured this weird, messy, beautiful, strangely domestic era in their life. She would miss it, when it was gone.
But all the same, she yearned to get back to work. She felt in her bones that she still had more to give to the galaxy, if only she had the opportunity. Han was itching to get back in the cockpit, too. It was past time to forge a new normal with her family, where they could all be who they fully were as they found new ways to grow and love together.
Apparently the galaxy had different plans.
During her parental leave, she’d taken time off because she chose to, and she’d been okay with that. She’d never expected this pandemic to come in later and take so many choices away. When people started getting sick on Corellia, no one had guessed how quickly it would spread, stopping the whole galaxy in its tracks. They’d been quarantining now for almost a month, and she didn’t know how much longer she could stand it. She even found herself missing the polite, insistent prattling of her protocol droid, T-2LC, who lately more often than not sat powered down in their home office with nothing to do.
Unfortunately, even if it weren’t for the pandemic, she had still been semi-exiled from the Republic government. Oh, it wasn’t as though it were official or anything—people still treated her with utmost respect, and she still counted several of those in leadership, Mon Mothma and Ackbar in particular, as dear friends. But the truth of the matter was that she had been gradually, quietly sidelined, ever since Kashyyyk. She did not regret in the slightest her actions at the time, but her angry outbursts and rogue behavior were not forgotten. The new government had truly taken off after the Battle of Jakku, right around the time Ben was born, and she had missed out on much of that formative time. After her parental leave was over, she had simply not been invited back.
Despite all that, she’d done her best to liason with the Alderaanian remnant, to take care of their needs and ensure they had adequate representation on Chandrila. In fact, she still had work to do on that, even if the virus had put much on hold.
But lately, she’d been doing nothing. She’d just been sitting around at home: restless, fatigued, and oddly enough, terrified.
