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The first time she calls him by name, she didn’t mean to.
She yells it, during the heat of battle, and he can see her struggle to cover her emotions. Despite himself, he finds a smile spreading across his face.
The whine of a dangerously close blaster shot brings him back to reality, and he throws himself back into the fray. When all is said and done, the pirates are defeated and the adrenaline is fading, she’s back to calling him by her favorite nickname. Thanks for the help, Farmboy.
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The second time she calls him by name, she really didn’t mean to.
It’s fuzzy around the edges, slurred by the alcohol and hazy air of the seedy cantina. He almost chokes on his own drink as she says it--it’s so warm and soft and feels like home--but she doesn’t notice. She doesn’t even pause. She must be really drunk, to say his name like that. He must be really drunk too; he’s grinning like a maniac and doesn’t mind the beer he’s just slopped down his front.
The rest of the evening becomes blurred and forgotten; when he wakes the next morning with a splitting headache, the smile still graces his lips when he can remember that moment clearly.
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The third time she said his name, he almost doesn’t catch it.
Everything is hazy and slurred and blurry again, but this time her words are sharp and ice-cold. She’s worried. That’s fair. He does have a sizable wound in his side, after all. He can’t quite make out what she’s saying, she’s slipping farther away with each second, and he wants to brush away the dark fog obscuring her face. He tries to lift his hand. She forces his arm back down and snarls, don’t move, idiot.
So he doesn’t move. He lies still and lets the darkness overtake him. As he sinks into the void, he just barely catches her saying his name, and he barely registers his face twitching into a smile at the sound of it.
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The fourth time she calls him by name, there is absolutely nothing to smile about.
Her ship is on fire. Her home. Her livelihood. Everything she has is going up in flames and there is nothing he can do about it.
That’s not true, though. He could do something about it. He could fix all of her problems with a wave of his hand...but she would never forgive him for that. She’s the one who set the blaze, after all. She sacrificed her ship to stop the launch, and if he did anything to stop it, it’d be an insult to her.
He settles for holding her as her life burns, and making a promise to himself; she will never have to go through this again. She will never have to sacrifice everything.
As the last embers die down, she speaks up, voice harsh with unshed tears. She tells him, we should get going. We still have a job to do.
She calls him by name. Tells him, thank you. Thank you.
For once, he does not smile.
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The fifth time she calls him by name, it’s whispered in the dark, and tickles against his neck. The sixth time she calls him by name, he responds in kind, mumbled into her hair. After the seventh time (proceeded and punctuated by kisses) he loses count. He can’t stop smiling. He won’t stop smiling. Why would he?
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In the following years, she calls him by name many times, for many reasons. Sometimes, she yells it during an argument. Sometimes, she mutters it as a preface for an apology. Sometimes it’s breathless and happy, sometimes it’s dark with worry. Most of the time, she says it with a tinge of exasperation. And most of the time, it brings a smile to his face.
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The last time she calls him by name, he is half a galaxy away, and does not hear her. He is too far from her to hear her last breath. He is too far away to keep his promise. He is too far away to watch her sacrifice herself for their son, and he is too far away to prevent it.
And it feels like he may never smile again.