Pulling off his gloves, his fingertips are numb from the cold, Din smiles at the sight of Grogu lying on his stomach in front of the fire place, quite busy with something important based on the thoughtful wrinkling of his adorable nose, and then Corin in more or less the exact same position next to him, with equal amount of concentration in his beautiful eyes. The sight of his family warms Din better than any fire place. “Hey, you two. Tauntauns are fed and locked up for the night. What are you up to?”

The kid warbles a string of unintelligible excuses for words and sounds quite happy. He is, however, far too busy to even look up at Din.

“Drawing.” Corin replies, also not taking his eyes off his own project. There is a pen in his hand and it is sliding cautiously across the paper. “The little bean had a mighty urge to create some art and who was I to stand in the way of the making of a masterpiece?”

Grinning amused, Din steps closer. He tilts his head to make sense out of the kid's drawing, sees what he suspects is Grogu and Junior out on adventure. “We're going to need to add more rooms to this place so we can fit all of his art work.”

Corin huffs a laugh and nods absently. “At this rate, yeah.” He frowns a little as he's not entirely pleased with the result of the pen's last movement. “How are the babies?”

“Fat and happy.” Din replies, knowing few tauntauns live in such luxury as the spoiled cretins out in the barn. “Stinky spat at me again.”

Corin clicks his tongue. “Probably because you keep calling him that.”

“I'll stop calling him that when he stops stinking.” Din gives up trying to steal a peek over Corin's shoulder as the man is basically curled protectively over whatever he's working on. “What are you working on?”

Just like that, the pen freezes and Corin's shoulders tenses up. There is a moment of hesitation before he cautiously glances up at Din, with a touch of guilt in his eyes that Din sorely wishes wouldn't be slightly predictable. Corin always gets this cautious and guilty look whenever he's doing something harmless but self-indulgent. Din suffocates a sad sigh and hopes that wherever Macero is in the afterlife that he's suffering.

“Just a silly drawing.” Corin finally replies, carefully neutral. “He wanted me to join him.”

Din nods. “He insists on that with me too sometimes.” He tries for a light and encouraging tone. “Can I see?”

Corin's eyes flick down to the drawing and then up at Din again. He looks like he has committed a crime and worries what Din will think.

It's really a shame that Macero died on the Death Star because Din would have loved to have had five minutes with the man. Five minutes, that's all he'd need. “You don't have to show me.” Din reassures Corin. “It's okay if you don't want to show me.”

Corin's divine face shows he's torn between unease and obligation. “It's, uh...” He says, voice a mere whisper, and he fails to notice the kid looking over at him with big ears drooping from what he can feel radiating from Corin. “It's not very good.”

Before Din can once again reassure him that he doesn't have to show him, that he was just curious, Corin slides the paper over on the floor for Din to see.

“I can't get the angles right.” Corin mumbles, barely audible as if he fears Din will be disappointed by him not delivering a flawless product. “It's not good. I know.”

Studying the drawing, Din uses all of his will-power to force away the violent thoughts towards Macero and makes himself focus on the present. “For the record that is pretty good.” It's not a lie. Yes, he can see it is not perfect. Like Corin says, some of the angles are a bit wonky, and there are a lot of correcting lines and the shadowing needs work, but it is definitely not bad. Especially as Din wouldn't be able to draw a decent stick-figure to save his life. Yeah, Din knows his own drawings can easily be mistaken for Grogu's, but that doesn't bother him because he remembers what Davarax had told him a long, long time ago. “Just remember that it doesn't have to be good. You don't have to be an expert at something to have fun with it. Did you enjoy making it?”

Corin considers the question, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him, then he nods.

“Then that is all the reason you need to keep drawing.” Din says and means it. “Don't worry about the result. Just have fun. You're allowed, okay?”

The corner of Corin's far too tempting mouth tugs at a bitter smile. “My father said anything done that isn't productive is a waste of time.”

“Well, we both know your father was a liar and a sadist.” Din can't quite banish the anger from his voice. He clears his throat. “I'm going to get started on dinner. The kid gets cranky if he doesn't get his dinner on time.” Stalking towards the kitchen, Din can't help but to throw a glance back at Corin and the kid. Did he just mess that up?

Grogu is back to drawing again. Corin, staring at his own drawing, hesitates for a moment, then exhales with a faint smile and puts his pen back to paper as well.

The unease in Din's heart lifts and the smile also returns to his face.

The next time Din is at the marked, he spots a beautiful set of pencils and a huge leather-bound book with thick, blank papers. It's perfect. The thick coal pens are handy for the kid's tiny hands, but these are just right for an adult hand. He barely haggles because they are worth whatever the merchant wants for them.

Back at the cabin, Din places the book and pencils on top of the clothing Corin uses for his gruelling work-outs. He pretends to be busy cleaning his rifle when Corin appears in the room to change for his sweating session. Unable to help himself, soon too curious, Din glances over without turning his head, and sees Corin just standing there, staring at the pencils and the book like they are something magical. It takes several long seconds before he reaches out and cautiously touches them. It takes even longer before he picks them up and examines them. The hesitating way Corin does this makes Din worry that he will refuse the gifts, but then he sees the slow-growing smile on that beautiful face and it fills Din's own chest with such joy that he can't help but to smile as well. Finally Corin looks over at him, it's not that difficult to figure out who had placed the pencils and the book there, so Din returns his focus to his rifle and hums a light-hearted song as he starts reassembling the weapon.

“Thank you.” Corin says, his voice tight with emotion.

Din nods.

Seen from the outside, it's no big deal. It's just some decent pencils and an old book with blank pages, but later that evening as Din sits curled up in the sofa, Grogu slouching back against his chest while trying to make three of his toys hover in the air without colliding, and sitting at the other end of the sofa; Corin is completely lost in whatever he's drawing in his book. Din is smiling like an idiot. He can't stop.

Yeah, it might not appear as a big deal from the outside, but these steps forward from Corin's painful past, no matter how tiny of a step it is, they make Din so happy he can barely stand it. He knows not too long ago Corin wouldn't have been able to sit and draw for no other reasons than he feels like it and because it is something he enjoys doing. The programming Macero carved into Corin over decades is not easily dispelled, it is coded into the marrow of Corin's bones, and some days it hurts to see it, which means every tiny victory like this is beyond glorious. Progress. There is glorious progress.

“Are we there yet?”

“Wind, if you ask that one more time I swear-” Twilight groaned. The horse ride to lake hylia isn’t even that long of a ride, but the energetic youth was very impatient nonetheless.

“We’re almost there, sweetie. See? You can see the lake already,” Ilia responded. Sure enough, as they turned, following the road, Lake Hylia came into view.

“Yay! Look Aryll, it's Lake Hylia!”

The baby on Ilia’s lap giggled  and clapped her hands. Twilight smiled. As much as a handful they may be at times, kids are cute and he sure loves ‘em.

They pulled up to a tree near the lakeshore and stopped. Twilight fed Epona an apple, petting her and praising her as he unhitched the horse cart. Wind started to run straight towards the water.

“Oh no you don’t, get back here Wind. Help your mom unload.”

Wind groaned and walked back to the cart, before an idea struck him and he perked up. “I can play with Aryll for you, mom! That way you don’t have to hold her while you unload!” He grinned, already reaching for his baby sister. Aryll giggled, reaching out for her brother.

Twilight rolled his eyes and sighed. “Very helpful, Wind.”

“You’re Welcome!” Wind replied cheekily. 

Ilia laughed. “Stay on the grass, you two. I don’t want you in the water yet, okay?”

“Yes mom!” Wind took Aryll from his mother and walked a little ways closer to the lake, while staying on the grass as instructed. Finding a spot he deemed suitable, he set her down and sat down himself. 

Aryll giggled, reaching her hands out to Wind. “Buh-buh!” 

Wind grinned. “Hey Aryll, wanna try to walk to me?” he reached out his hands, allowing Aryll to grab the first couple fingers on each hand. Wind pulled her up and she took a few shaky steps towards him with his help, before falling forward. Wind caught her quickly, lifting her up in the air and grinning big. “Hey, you did it! That was great, Aryll!”

The baby giggled big, smiling at her brother.

Twilight and Ilia had finished unloading, having set out the blanket and picnic basket next to where the kids were playing, and placed a couple of Aryll’s toys on the blanket. Aryll noticed and crawled over, picking up a small stuffed wolf plush. She immediately stuffed the wolf’s head into her mouth. Wind, meanwhile, had busied himself by fishing around in the basket. A moment later, he pulled out a chocolate chip cookie, grinning in triumph as he stuffed the sweet into his mouth. 

Wind then stood, grabbing Twilight’s hand and attempting to pull the man towards the lake. He was entirely unsuccessful at moving the man, but the effort was there. “Come on dad, let's go!”

Twilight glanced at his wife, who smiled and nodded. “Go ahead honey. Aryll and I will be fine.” Twilight nodded and walked up to Ilia, giving her a quick kiss.

“Eww, gross!” Wind exclaimed, sporting a very dramatic grossed out face. Aryll giggled at her big brother’s dramatics, and Twi and Ilia shared a look and smiled. 

Twilight turned back to his oldest and grinned mischievously, causing Wind to reconsider his choices. Wind bolted to the lake, Twilight close on his tail. Just as Wind reached the water, Twilight caught up and picked him up, ignoring Wind’s protests amidst the laughter. Twilight walked deeper into the lake, and then with a final heave he tossed his son into the water. 

Wind came back up, immediately splashing Twilight with a sweep of his hand. Twilight sent a small wave of water back towards Wind, but the boy simply ducked under the surface of the water to avoid it. However, when Wind resurfaced again, he was immediately met with another splash of water. 

Ilia watched her daughter attempt to eat the wolf plush as she listened to the joyful sounds of Twilight and Wind playing in the water. Aryll decided the plush was no longer appetizing and threw it onto the blanket with a giggle. She looked up and spotted Twi and Wind, then turned back and crawled to Ilia. 

“Mama!” she pointed back towards the water. “Dada! Buh-buh!”

“Hi sweetie! Do you want to go see what daddy and big brother are doing?” Aryll babbled cheerfully and clapped her hands. 

~

“Hey, mom and Aryll are joining us! Yay!” 

Twilight glanced back, and sure enough his beautiful wife was walking towards the shore, baby on one hip. He turned back to Wind, grinning. “Hey Wind, have I ever taught you how to do this?” He put his hands in the water, then sent a concentrated squirt straight at Wind’s face. 

Wind didn’t even react to getting splashed, too distracted by this exciting new trick. “Whoa!! How did you do that??”

“Here, you position your hands like this-”

~

Ilia placed Aryll down in the shallows, the water only coming up to the baby’s belly button, and sat down beside her. The baby giggled and smacked the water with her hands, absolutely delighted. Suddenly, she felt a stream of water hit the side of her head. Ilia looked up to find Wind grinning, Twilight standing behind him trying (and failing) to look innocent. 

She grinned. “I see dad taught you the water trick. Well, do you know who taught your dad that?” she sent a stream of water right back at him, catching him by surprise. Aryll decided she wanted to splash Wind, too, and smacked the water in his direction with a giggle.

Wind grinned. “Oh, it’s on!”

~~~

After a short fun and baby-friendly water fight, Wind’s stomach growled loudly, and it was deemed lunch time. They dried off and enjoyed the food they prepared, although Wind was resistant to eating the carrot slices until the threat of no more cookies was brought out, after which he ate them enthusiastically. Aryll occasionally tried to throw her food at Wind, Ilia, or Twilight instead of putting it in her mouth, but ate without too much fuss. After lunch, Wind went out to play in the water some more, and Twilight stayed on the blanket with Aryll while Ilia went out with Wind this time. 

Before they knew it, it was time to leave. 

“Aww, do we have to?” Wind whined.

“Yes sweetie, we need to leave soon if we’re to get home before sunset. Besides, Aryll is getting pretty tired.” The baby in question was currently resting in her daddy’s arms, sleeping peacefully. “And you are too, by the looks of it,” She added as Wind let out a big yawn.

“I’m not-” he yawned again, interrupting himself. “I’m not tired!”

“Uh huh, sure you’re not. Okay then, mister not tired, why don’t you actually help your mom load up the cart then?” Twilight asked, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Wind stubbornly nodded, and dutifully helped pack up and load all of their things, yawning through it all. Twilight handed baby Aryll off to Ilia again, and Wind tugged on his dad’s sleeve. “What is it, bud?”

“Can I sit next to you? I wanna help you direct ‘pona!” he rubbed his eyes, failing to stifle another yawn.

Twilight and Ilia laughed, the latter nodding. “Of course Wind, you can sit with your dad.”

Wind let out a tired yay, and they all piled into the cart. As soon as Twilight sat down next to Wind, the boy leaned over, resting his head against his dad’s side. Twilight smiled and wrapped an arm around him, his other hand holding the reins. Ilia sat down in the cart on the other side of Twilight, baby Aryll fast asleep in her arms. 

“Hyup!” Epona started the walk home, and moments later Wind was asleep as well, nestled into Twilight’s side and snoring softly. Twilight smiled softly. 

“He really wore himself out today.” 

“He sure did,” Ilia replied with a soft smile of her own. They both had a lot of fun today.”

“A successful trip indeed,” Twilight replied. Ilia yawned as the sun began to set, illuminating the sky with gentle pinks, oranges, and purples. Twilight turned and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. She leaned up against Twilight’s other side, resting her head on his shoulder. 

Twilight wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and sighed contentedly. He gently kissed the top of Wind’s head, then turned and did the same for Ilia. She smiled warmly and brought little Aryll in kissing range, allowing Twilight to kiss the top of the baby’s head as well. 

He did so and chuckled softly. “I love you.”

Opening his eyes, he saw Azriel peering back through strands of ruffled hair, hazel eyes watching him carefully. He smiled, bringing a hand up to brush the other Illyrian’s dishevelled hair to one side.

“Mornin’,” he whispered, brushing the pad of his thumb along the edge of Azriel’s lips. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning across the bed to breach the gap between them and planted a reassuring kiss onto warm lips. Always so, so warm.

No one had bothered them during the night. Cassian was sure that someone had to have heard them - that nuisance of a headboard had clattered too loudly - but the door never opened and no one banged on the walls. He still wasn’t sure what had sprung this upon them; Azriel lay almost catatonic and Cassian knew the Illyrian was waiting to be kicked out and hushed. Bringing a hand up to cup his chin, Cassian planted another tender kiss, hoping his actions spoke louder than any words he could come up with. Azriel closed his eyes in response, kissing softly back, and they nestled closer together, eyes closing again.

Good morning, was the dark purr in the back of his head. Cassian’s eyes flew open. There isn’t much better than sex but turkey rashers and toast is close.

In his arms, he felt Azriel stiffen and then murmur that, “Rhysand say’s-”

Oh my, have I got a boner to pick with you two. What a poorly kept secret.

Cassian glowered, tightening his hold around Azriel’s waist. “I heard what he has to say.” Thumping from the bedroom door quietened his colourful reply to the High Lord and instead, he replied, “Wrong room.”

Rhysand’s dark chuckle echoed from outside the door. “I could make a sex joke, you know,” was the jeer and Cassian was relieved when Azriel rolled his eyes. “But I’d hate to sound cocky.”

Cassian grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and flung it at the door. The laugh from outside tempered him and he made to throw another, but Azriel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and shook his head. “He’ll tire of his jeering and go away. In the meantime… I’d really like to just lay here with you a bit longer.”

Cassian melted into Azriel’s arms, tightening his own hold on the Illyrian and inhaling the scent of Solstice and happiness and Rhysand’s fading voice in the back of his mind that he was happy for them.

"Happy Solstice, Az," he whispered.

"Happy Solstice, Cass."

When Luke had come bounding up to the Falcon and informed Han Solo that some of the pilots were having a party, and that he ought to come join, Solo had not hesitated to agree. The last time these rebels had thrown anything they’d referred to as a party (as opposed to a reception which had been as stuffy and buttoned-up as it sounded) had been the night after their victory over the Death Star. It had been a raucous and jovial gathering, and Solo had enjoyed himself immensely. If the same pilots responsible for that night (he’d been informed that Gold Squadron always won the after party) were in charge of whatever was going on today, then he was more than happy to join in the reveling.

Luke led him out the west exit of the old Massassi temple and through a brief tangle of trees to a clearing that had until recently been home to a lookout tower. As the base was being deconstructed in advance of the impending evacuation, the clearing, halfway between the temple and the nearest friendly patch fresh water, looked to have been adopted as a social gathering place.

Most of the pilots of Han’s acquaintance were casually hanging about. They were lounging on a few canvas camp chairs and a number of munitions and supply crates that had been repurposed as seating. There was a game of hoversnap in progress, the field taking up the center of the semi-circle they’d arranged themselves in. Dressed in civilian clothes to the man—half of them shirtless and a few barefoot to boot—they might have been a bunch of university buddies on holiday rather than a bunch of battle-hardened fighter pilots eking out a bit of down time. It didn’t look so much like a party as just a few guys making the most of an afternoon off, but it still beat sitting around the hangar waiting for his next cargo.

Especially since his buddies from the flight line were hardly the most interesting thing to Solo’s eyes. It was the unexpected presence of Princess Leia that had his attention. She’d run off almost immediately after the ceremony where she’d hung the Medal of Heroes around his neck and he hadn’t heard yet of her return to base.

She wasn’t dressed like herself, either. The cut-off trousers she wore were only barely decent, hanging onto her hips only thanks to a length of rope she had tied through the belt loops, and rolled up at the cuff to show more leg than Han ever imagined he’d see of her. She had a short-sleeve uniform blouse unbuttoned and tied up at her waist, her ivory camisole was visible, as was a strip of bare skin between its tail and her shorts. She had her hair braided around the top of her head, and a look like she hadn’t a care in the galaxy as she stood behind what looked to be a makeshift work station.

“I didn’t know you were back!” Han said to the princess as he and Luke joined the group.

“Just this morning,” Leia answered. “these guys accosted me almost the moment I landed. But I had heard that you were sticking around. Glad to hear it.”

“Yeah,” Han said back, “your Commander Willard took me aside—told me you all’d be evacuating this base. Said he could use good pilots with fast ships to get through the blockade. Told me I could name my price. So here I am.”

“How noble.”

“We can’t all be heroes, Princess.”

“Didn’t you just get a medal for heroism?” Wedge teased from his seat just to Leia’s left.

“Yeah, well,” Han said with a shrug, “we can’t all be heroes all the time.”

“I suppose,” Leia groaned, “Here,” she said, pointing to a plate of golden-brown something at the far end of the table where she stood, “have a handful, we have plenty. Luke, you too.”

“What is all this?” Luke asked, not hesitating to pick up one of the long, thin pieces and have a taste.

“These are Alderaanian salt tubers,” Wedge replied, “Tycho grew them.”

“Her highness brought me the starts four… five trips home ago,” Celchu piped up from his seat nearby. One of the few pilots with a shirt on, he also wore a hat and sunglasses. Solo wondered if he was concerned about possible sunburn.

“Help yourself,” Leia encouraged, “there’s plenty.”

“And If we need to do another batch, we can,” Wedge added, “Get Leia to cut them, she does it better than the rest of us.”

“But whatever you do,” Tycho added, “don’t let her highness touch the fryer.”

“It was an accident!” Leia challenged.

“How’s your hand, by the way?” Janson asked. He was standing at the edge of the hoversnap field, scoping out his next throw, and looking a little ridiculous in a pair of too-tight shorts and a faded old shirt in a very loud print, which he wore open over an otherwise bare chest.

“It’s getting a pretty nice blister,” she replied, holding up the back of her left hand for inspection.

“Yeah, it is,” Han affirmed. He’d seen burns like that plenty of times on his own hands when he’d gotten a little too careless working on his old speeder before allowing the manifold proper time to cool. It was an oil burn, and it was liable to hurt—a lot. He was kind of surprised she seemed so nonplussed by it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his commlink, waiting to hear Chewie’s characteristic warble on the other end before speaking again. “Hey pal, listen,” he said, “I’m out in the clearing off the west end of the building with a bunch of the guys. Do me a favor, will ya? We got a coupla cold cases under the deck plates—pull one out and bring it back here. And grab a medpac while you’re at it. “

“I don’t need a medpac,” Leia insisted, “it’s not that bad.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Han agreed, putting his commlink back into his pocket. “Put a little burn cream and some firm wrap on it to keep it from gettin’ infected and it’ll stay that way.” Leia rolled her eyes and went back to slicing tubers.

“These are really good,” Luke said, his mouth full of fried tuber as he reached for another handful.

“They’re my favorite,” Tycho said back, lining up at the edge of the hoversnap field to aim his next throw.

“I still can’t believe they took to the soil,” Hobbie said.

“I’m not surprised,” Tycho replied. He tossed the sphere into the field and balled his hands into fists as it hit Janson’s last sphere, knocking it into a lower scoring range. “They’re pretty hearty,” he added, turning around and flashing a grin at Wes, who was shaking his head as he stepped back to the throwing line.

“But they won’t grow in space,” Wedge added, crossing to stand beside Leia and beginning to scoop the newly-sliced tubers into the fryer basket.

“Just about the only thing that kills them is artificial light,” Tycho explained, making his way over to the platter and snagging another few fried tubers for himself. “So we’ve got to eat ‘em before we evacuate. Wedge built the fryer,” he said to Skywalker, who was still hovering over the platter, helping himself to the bounty three at a time, “and Janson spent days rendering the lard and nicking pots of cooking oil from the galley to get the thing working.”

“Looks like I came back just in time,” Leia said, reaching around Wedge’s back to grab a bite for herself.

“Yeah you did,” Wedge replied, dropping the basket into the fryer. “We didn’t want to do this without you, but we were about to have to. This is our last day of stand-down before we’re airborne again. We won’t have another chance before we’re evacuated to hang out in our civvies eating tubers and playing hoversnap.”

“And drinking lager,” Han added.

“What?” Janson asked, turning his head to look at Solo so quickly it effected his throw. His sphere wound up outside the scoring field altogether, but he didn’t seem to care much. Solo was pointing into the jungle, toward the temple. Chewbacca was walking toward them, carrying a large rectangular case.

“Had some bottles in the Falcon’s stores,” Han replied. “Seemed like a good time to share.”

Chewie quickly closed the distance and set the cooler down between the fryer and the crates the pilots were using as seats. Solo snagged the medpac from the top of the case and raised his eyebrows at the princess. She rolled her eyes, but acquiesced, following him to sit on an unoccupied trunk so he could bandage her hand.

Yowling his objection to being out in the heat, Chewie bid the group adieu and headed back toward the air-conditioned ship.

“I don’t blame him,” Janson said, pulling open the cold case and examining its contents, “it’s hotter than blazes out here. But this is going to help,” he added, “thanks Solo.” Janson then took on the job of passing out libations, pulling out the tin bottles and passing them around to his friends.

“You’re welcome,” Han replied. “And there’s more where that came from, so drink up. I’m gonna need to cargo space t help you rebels evacuate.”

“None for me,” Hobbie said, “I have deck duty later.”

“If you’re only saying that for my benefit,” Leia said to him, turning her head so as not to watch Han tend to the burn on her hand. It looked gnarly enough without the addition of the viscous burn gel he was using. “Don’t worry about it. I can’t imagine one bottle of lager would be enough to cause problems. But if you want to make absolutely sure,” she added, “pass me one and I’ll let you know if I get buzzed. If it doesn’t affect me, you’ll know you’re safe.”

There were a few hoots and chortles at Leia’s assertion, and Janson hurried to put the next opened bottle into the princess’s un-burned hand. Han finished his ministrations on the other, coating the blister and the red skin around it with anesthetic and antibiotic and then sealing it up with self-firming bandages to keep it from infection. Leia took a pronounced swig of the lager, much to the delight of the others, as Wedge pulled the fryer basket back out of the oil and dumped the freshly-fried treats onto the platter beside him.

Luke was quick to snag another several.

“Han, you really should try these,” he said to his friend.

“If you want,” Wedge added, “I’ve got a jar of Mieriks mustard for dipping. It’s over on the far side of Hobbie—help yourself.”

Han stood up and moved toward the plate of fried tubers, snagging a lager out of his cold case on the way.

“Careful with the mustard,” Tycho said, “that stuff will take the paint off your X-wing. I don’t want to think about what it’ll do to your insides.”

“Solo’s a fellow Corellian,” Wedge reminded his friend, “our palates aren’t so delicate as our dear Alderaanian colleagues.”

“Watch who you’re calling ‘delicate’,” Leia challenged between gulps of lager, “I happen to like spicy food.”

“Yeah,” Hobbie chimed in, tossing his final sphere into the hoversnap field, “well, you’re tougher than the rest of us put together. So your opinion on spicy mustard doesn’t count.” The hoversnap field unit chimed then. All of the spheres fell from their places in space onto the dirt and the scores were projected in the place of the hover-field. “You want next game, Solo?” Hobbie asked then, “I’ve beaten all the rest of these chumps.”

“Nah,” Han said, taking his first bite of fried tuber and immediately reaching for another. “I’ve never been any good at hoversnap. But if any of you have got a deck of cards….”

“Do all pilots enjoy gambling?” Leia asked, as she got up from her seat and ducked around Solo to snag a fresh fried tuber slice off the top of the platter, “or just the ones I manage to attract?”

“I think it’s all of us,” Hobbie answered her, “except maybe Skywalker.”

“He’ll learn to like it once I teach him how to win,” Solo countered. Luke, his mouth still full of tubers, couldn’t help but laugh.

“Maybe,” he allowed, shrugging his shoulders and reaching for another bite.

“Don’t have a deck of cards,” Wedge replied to Han’s earlier question, “but you know what we could do—now that Hobbie’s affirmed his position as the undisputed hoversnap champion—?”

“What’s that?” Solo asked.

“Well, it’s hotter’n Centerpoint on meltdown,” he answered, “so I figure let’s all go jump in the river while we’ve got the chance.”

“Yessssssss!” Janson shouted, taking off at a flat run toward the narrow strip of trees that separated the clearing from the nearby river. There was a chorus of whoops and laughter as the rest of the pilots took off behind him, Luke bringing up the rear with a generous portion of freshly-claimed fried tubers clutched in his hand. Tycho was already out of his clothes and in the water, and Wes was tossing his loud-patterned shirt over a nearby tree branch.

Han headed off after them. Unlike the others, he was dressed in his everyday clothes, and it was far too hot to run—even toward the blissfully cool river. Leia seemed to be taking her time as well, following the others, but without any semblance of enthusiasm.

“I see you’re hangin’ back,” he said, “what’s the matter? Can’t swim?”

“Of course I can swim,” she snapped back, frowning up at him.

“Oh,” Han said then, “so what is it then? Don’t want the guys seein’ you in your skivvies?”

“No,” she replied. “It’s not that… I’m not modest.” Han felt a pit form in his stomach. Somehow he knew what the issue was. He lowered his voice as they moved closer to where the others were piling into the river.

“You’ve still got bruises,” he said. Leia’s eyes got wide as she looked back at him, and Han knew he’d hit the nail on the head. They’d never talked about what had happened to her on the Death Star. But he knew what the Empire was prone to do to prisoners they thought might have valuable information. He’d always approached her with the presumption she’d been tortured, or at least subjected to treatment he would classify as torture, and she’d never said a word to the contrary.

After the moment of surprise at Han’s assertion, Leia nodded subtly.

“Only a few,” she confided. “If they were fresh, I could pass them off, but it’s clear they’re not. I thought they’d be gone by now.”

“Yeah,” Han said, patting her on the shoulder as they slowed their approach even further, “Deep tissue bruises are a pill. I once had one on my leg from a speeder crash took more than six months to go away completely. It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

“No,” she said promptly. “It’s just ugly and I don’t want to talk about it with the guys.”

Han patted her shoulder again before crossing his arms over his chest.

“I hate to be a party pooper, princess,” he said then, loudly enough that the guys in the water were likely able to hear, and surely audible to the few who were still undressing on the river bank. “But that firm wrap I used on your hand is kinda old. I don’t know if the seal is trustworthy—I’m not sure it’s suck a good idea for you to get in the water.”

Leia turned her head in surprise.

“Leave it to you to patch me up with substandard medical supplies,” she snarked back at similar volume, but Han could see the gratitude in her eyes for the out he’d just given her. “I’ll just take my boots off and wade in up to my knees,” she said then, “so I don’t get it wet.”

Han smiled over at her as he plopped down onto a downed tree branch and began tugging off his boots. “You okay with that?” he asked under his breath. Leia nodded.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she bent down and began unlacing her boots.

“Hey, no problem,” he said back, “we haven’t known each other all that long, but we’ve been through some stuff and I’ve got your back. You and the kid both,” he added, “as long as Chewie and me are around, we’re on your side.”

“Thank you,” she said again, “I appreciate that.” Leia slipped her feet out of her boots and yanked her socks off before standing up again and stepping to the edge of the river. Han was out of his boots as well; he rolled his trousers up at the cuff and waded into the water beside her. “You’re not getting in?” she asked. Han shook his head.

“I didn’t get dressed for swimmin’ this morning,” he said, “if you know what I mean.”

A flush rose to Leia’s cheeks.

“I’m glad we’re getting to know each other,” she said, wading farther out into the cool water, “but I didn’t need to know that.”

“I’m glad we’re gettin’ to know each other, too,” he said back. “And I fully intend to see you eat a spoonful of Mieriks mustard before I bug out of here for good, because I’m havin’ a real hard time imagining an Alderaanian princess likin’ that stuff.”

Ready to shut it quickly and set it on the nightstand, Jean bends down to pick it up. However, something catches her attention.

Her face.

Instead of the nightmarish pictures of battle fields and internment camps she expects, she sees her own face reflected back at her. So her good intentions fall to the side, and she picks up the notebook carefully and looks more closely.

Both pages have drawings of her. The one on the right is a drawing of her face up close. In the picture, she is looking slightly to the side and down, with a smile on her face.

The drawing on the left is a full-length depiction of her. She seems to be in some kind of motion and she has a duster of all things in her hand. Suddenly, she realises that she isn't just moving in the picture, she is dancing. A half-forgotten memory niggles at the back of her mind, as she looks at the picture but she is jarred out of her train of thought by a sound at the door.

Jean looks up sharply, seeing Lucien at the doorway. He looks at the notebook in her hands and actually blushes. She wonders if she has ever seen Lucien blush.

Jean snaps the notebook shut, "Lucien, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry, it just fell-".

He cuts her off with a gentle assurance. "I know you wouldn't."

How far they have come, she thinks.

Jean pauses for a moment, both wanting to give him back the privacy she accidentally breached but also immensely curious about the drawings. It is her in them, after all.

Lucien remains silent at the doorway, looking more and more charmingly embarrassed. It is a far cry from the angry defensiveness that he exuded the first time she looked at his notebook. If anything, it seems as if he is waiting to see what her reaction is.

Jean raises the notebook slightly in her hand, the pages still open. "You know, no one has ever drawn me before," she teases.

Lucien continues to blush but a mischievous look lurks behind his eyes. "Now that is a shame."

Possibilities race through Jean's mind at his tone. Possibilities of more daring drawings. Now it is her turn to fight a blush.

She closes the notebook, gently cradling it between her hands. "I really did not mean to look, Lucien." She wants to reassure him once again, her tone serious. 

Lucien takes the three steps separating her and cups her cheek. "I know, Jean. I am not upset." Jean settles her right hand on his shoulder, her forearm pressed against his bicep. "But you know that you can look if you want to. What is mine is yours, remember?"

"I think that part comes after the vows." Despite her argument, she is delighted by his statement.

"I think that part came long ago, darling."

Even though everything tells her that kissing Lucien in his bedroom in broad daylight with no one else in the house is definitely a Bad Idea, Jean can't help herself and leans in to kiss him. Ever since the evening in the kitchen, Lucien has been careful not to push her too far. She is immensely grateful for his thoughtfulness, his consideration for her boundaries proving how right her decision to marry this man has been; however, sometimes she wants to throw propriety out the window and push him past a point of no return.

Before her desire can overrule her common sense, Lucien pulls back, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

However, he does not withdraw from her so they stay there, leaning into each other, surrounded by sunlight, for several minutes.

"I have two notebooks." Lucien's careful words startle her out of her daydream-like state. "Well, I have many but most of them are full already." Jean grips his hand more firmly. "Putting my nightmares on paper helps. It helps me sort out my mind. But even when I don't have bad dreams, I can't sleep sometimes. So I started to draw other things too. Things that bring me joy." He pauses. "People who bring me joy."

He takes the notebook from her hand and flips through the pages. She sees drawings of places, most of them she recognises from Ballarat. She sees detailed drawings of their kitchen and their sunroom. She sees pages of sketches of Li, both as a young child and as an adult, and her heart once again aches for Lucien. She also sees drawings of Matthew, Alice, Mattie, Charlie and Danny. However, she seems to feature most frequently, making up at least a third of the sketches. Drawings of her abound, in various state of completion. Some depict just her features, others are of her in fully realised backgrounds. The pictures are carefully drawn and detailed. They are soft and light, unlike the distressing pictures she saw so long ago.

"Oh Lucien," she whispers, tearing her eyes away from the notebook in his hands and looking up. The idea of Lucien drawing her from memory (and it has to be memory because she can’t remember ever seeing him with this notebook in hand) fills her with emotion.

"You," Lucien's eyes fix steadily on hers. "You bring me joy, Jean."

Somehow, the weight of Lucien’s confession makes her feel lighter than she has ever felt. She knows that even if they live their entire lives in absolute bliss (as if that were possible), those darker parts of Lucien will always be there. It doesn’t frighten her. If it frightened her, she and Lucien would not be where they are. But her heart settles with the knowledge that Lucien is learning balance.

The hand that is resting on Lucien's shoulder moves to cradle his cheek. "You bring me joy too." Jean feels her eyes fill with tears but refuses to let them spill over.  

Lucien turns his face and kisses her wrist. "I intend to do that for the rest of our lives."