#and i refuse to believe that han wasn't a mess when ben was born

[omgahgase]

modern au: i want to think that during ben's birth, han was a whirlwind of emotions. he was happy, terrified, slightly nauseous, the whole nine yards of a first time father watching his tiny wife push out a little human.

when ben is finally brought into the world, he's kicking and screaming—exactly like his mother who's still feeling the effects of birth. he's covered in white yet his small face, screwed up into a pinched scowl, is purple from all his yelling. han is the first to hold him. it happens in a blur, ben is in his arms, all tiny fists and toes, black puffs of hair matted down across his big round head, and he's beautiful. so, so beautiful that—screw it, han cries. he sees them land on ben's chest before he feels them, then big, fat, rolling tears are falling from his eyes. he doesn't even hear the nurse announce "it's a boy!" to leia because ben's wails echo in the room, bouncing off the walls and rattling around in han's head as one of the nurses takes ben to get him cleaned and checked over.

han is right behind her, watching as they wipe his face and body as best as they can with ben flailing his limbs everywhere. han smiles to himself, proud. he's so proud.

"han!" leia calls from the bed, tired but still with enough fight in her too. "han, what does he look like?"

'beautiful,' han thinks as he peers down at his son. 'he looks like me but he sounds like you. loud and commanding and beautiful.'

han doesn't say that, though, because despite ben's dark hair and strong features that pull more from his father's side, as he screams bloody murder, he looks exactly like his mother. a perfect copy and paste.

"han!" leia calls again, "you scoundrel, what does he look like?"

han takes ben from the nurse, blanket wrapped loosely around him and still purple in the face, before yelling back just as loud.

"you on a bad day!"

the nurses go quiet. the doctor stifles a choked chuckle. ben still yells like it's the only thing he knows how to do. which, yeah. it is.

"wha—?" han places ben's screaming form in leia's arms and she takes her first good look at him, at their son, kicking and crying and waving his pudgy fist around. then, "oh fuck, he does look like me on a bad day."

the room erupts into laughter and han is crying again. the nurses, still giggling, go about their protocol as han slips in next to leia and gathers them in his arms. his little family. he presses a kiss to leia's forehead, mumbles praise into her sweat soaked hair of 'you're so strong' and 'he's gorgeous' and 'thank you for giving me a son.'

han doesn't know how many times he whispers his thanks into leia's ear when he ducks down and cries into her shoulder. he doesn't hear leia say her own praise, the 'thank you for being with me. for staying,' that she presses into the tear-stained flush of han's cheek. han isn't aware of anything around him except for the heartbeats of his wife and the son, the privilege he has to hear them, to feel them against his palms as he hugs them both so tight.

it's takes him awhile to compose himself, and even longer to realize that ben's finally calmed down, his head nuzzled snuggly beneath leia's chin, right on her chest.

"thank you," han says again, voice wet and so full of gratitude. "thank you for letting me have this."

leia smiles and leans up to kiss him. han meets her in the middle and as they share a moment as husband and wife with their new born son, han sends his thanks upwards. to whatever deity or higher power that saw him and thought he deserved something as special as this—as them. leia and ben.

han assumed he wasn't allowed this much happiness, to be loved and feel love, to give love. han thought he'd live his life as nothing but a no good scoundrel. though, like most times, as leia loves to point out, he's wrong. han is so wrong that it's laughable, and if being wrong blessed him with a family, then he never wants to be right again.