The Waiting
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Han, sit down," Luke tries in a slightly exasperated tone. "She'll be fine."
He's starting to wonder if Han can even hear him. Both men flinch at another scream the heavy doors barely seem to soften.
"It's perfectly natural, sir," a nurse says timidly, but shies away at the murderous glance the Corellian shoots her.
"Han, sit down."
Finally, he turns to look at the young Jedi and whispers: "I can't listen to this, kid."
There's something lost and frantic in his eyes, and while Luke is sure most husbands pacing these corridors aren't exactly calm, he doesn't think any of them looks this tortured.
Oh Force. Torture.
He should have thought of this.
"Han," he begins softly, "seriously, we'll wait outside."
Again, his friend seems deaf to his words. He's going paler and paler while he paces the corridor.
Enough, Luke decides and grips his arm, at which the smuggler flinches so violently Luke gives a little yelp himself.
"Luke," he whispers suddenly. "You don't think she… on Bespin, they didn't… she didn't hear, did she?"
Luke hesitates. "It was meant for me. I don't think she heard anything," he lies then.
She didn't just hear, Han. She watched.
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