AN: Everyone knows I don't own Star Wars. This fic takes place in the continuing AU I share with my friend RensKnight in which Snoke is driven out of Ben's mind early on and Ben grows up to be a Jedi doctor. And yes, the title is inspired by the song deleted from Aladdin.

"Proud of His Boy"

By EsmeAmelia

Han's stomach was turning somersaults as he sat next to Leia, staring across the crowded arena at the stage with the seats that was empty for now but would soon be filled with teachers, guest medical professionals, and one student speaker.

One student speaker.

Han couldn't keep himself from smiling whenever he thought of that student speaker. In fact, now his stomach was doing double somersaults, causing him to squirm in his seat. Was it just him or had the crowd's incomprehensible chatter gotten louder all of a sudden? Something was drumming in his ears, not to mention that the fancy blue shirt and tight pants he'd been forced to wear were itching something awful . . .

"Han?" Leia whispered. "Are you okay?"

Han turned to face his wife, taking a moment to admire how her slightly-graying brown locks brushed over the shoulders of her yellow dress. On Leia's other side sat Luke and on Luke's other side sat his teenage daughter Rey, all of whom were giving him concerned looks. From Han's other side, Chewie ruffled Han's hair the way he often did when he thought his cub needed extra support.

"Yeah," said Han, hoping his face wasn't red. "Just nervous, I guess."

Leia put her hand on Han's, smiling at him. "Han, I'm sure he'll do fine."

"I know he will," Han said just a little too quickly. "I just . . . I gotta go to the refresher."

"Now?" Leia exclaimed.

"Yeah," Han said as he got to his feet. He wasn't lying, either – he really did suddenly feel like he had to go to the refresher, though it might have been nerves. Nerves or not, it was probably a good idea to get some air before the ceremony started.

. . .

Han had thought that the males' refresher was empty, but as he was washing his hands, a sudden hacking sound coming from one of the stalls proved him wrong. Long heaves followed by dry coughs, making his stomach flip again, but this time it was for a different reason. Drying his hands on his pants, he rushed over to the stall and knocked on the door.

"Ben?" he called. "Ben, are you in there?"

"Dad?" Ben's voice was soft and raspy.

"Yeah," said Han. "You okay, son?"

"No," Ben gasped. "No, I'm not okay!"

Han gulped. "Well, tell you what, when you're done in there, you can talk to me about it, okay?"

Ben didn't answer, but in a few moments Han heard the toilet flush. He stepped away from the door just in time to see Ben emerge from the stall, his face pale, his black graduation robe wrinkled around his shoulders, his matching headboard tilted over his mussed hair. Without acknowledging his father's presence, he rushed to the sink and washed his hands with vigorous motions before splashing water on his face.

"Ben?" Han asked. "What's wrong?"

Still he didn't answer, instead splashing water into his mouth and spitting it out several times.

"Ben!" Han put his hands on his son's shoulders, feeling tension even through the rough graduation robe. "Talk to me!"

Finally Ben gripped the edge of the sink, his breath coming in and out in pants. "I can't do this! What was I thinking?"

"Can't do what?"

"Why did I ever submit a speech?" Ben seemed to be talking more to himself than Han. "I mean, I didn't think they'd actually pick me . . . and of course now some people think I was only chosen because of my famous family . . ."

"Well that's nonsense," said Han, giving Ben a warm grin in the mirror as he patted his back again. "You got picked cause you wrote a great speech."

"But now I've got to read it in front of all those people!" Ben's voice was trembling as he stared into the sink, his headboard tilting to the point where it would fall off if it weren't pinned to his hair. "A-and if I screw up, they'll all think . . ."

"It doesn't matter what they think," Han said automatically.

"Easy for you to say – you can't hear what other people think!"

Han froze, realizing that he had said exactly the wrong thing. "Son, I didn't mean . . ."

"Of course you didn't," Ben interrupted, still refusing to look up. "You're normal! You don't have to worry about other people's thoughts jumping into your head before you can block them!"

"You're right, I don't," said Han, wrapping an arm around his son. "There's a lotta things you can do that I can't and ever since you were little I've tried like hell to understand the Force." He took a deep breath to steady his voice, trying not to think about how the dark presence had almost gotten Ben when he was little. "I know there are things I'll never understand, but . . ."

Finally Ben looked up, absentmindedly grabbing a towel and drying his hands and face as he stared at the two of them in the mirror, the harsh refresher light bringing prominence to his freckles. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Slowly, carefully, Han rotated his son's body to face him and adjusted his headboard so it was sitting properly on his head. "You know what? I was gonna save this for after the ceremony, but I think you could use it now."

"What?"

Han reached into his pocket and pulled out his golden dice, dangling from their chain.

"Your lucky dice?" Ben asked.

"Yup," said Han. "Cept now . . ." He took Ben's hand and tenderly placed the dice in them. ". . . they're your lucky dice."

Ben stared down at his hand as if he expected the dice to vanish if he looked away. "Dad . . . are you sure?"

Han grinned at his son. "I wouldn't give 'em to you if I wasn't." He closed Ben's fingers over the dice. "They'll give you some extra luck during your speech."

Ben just kept staring at his hand in disbelief, his eyes glistening. "I . . . I don't know what to say."

"Well, 'thanks Dad' would be a good start," said Han, patting his son's shoulder. "Hey, you know what else you can do that I can't?"

"What?"

Han gave his son a cheeky look. "You can set a broken bone, sew up a wound, diagnose an illness, want me to go on?"

Ben looked up at his father, a tiny smile finally breaking onto his face. "Thanks, Dad."

Father and son threw their arms around each other, squeezing each other in a tight embrace, Han massaging his son's back with little circular motions. "I'm so, so proud of you, buddy. Always have been, always will be." He kissed Ben's cheek. "Now go out there and show 'em what you got."

. . .

". . . most of us played doctor when we were kids, and I was no different. My favorite patient was my dad. Heh, I must have taken his appendix out at least twenty times."

In the audience, Han couldn't have stopped smiling if he tried, not even when the crowd started laughing about his imaginary surgeries. He frequently had to wipe away tears as he watched Ben standing confidently behind the podium, the microphone making his voice echo around the room. No one could possibly guess that he had thrown up earlier.

Ben took a gulp of water before continuing, gazing in his family's direction. "But even when I was pretending to cut open my dad and didn't know the first thing about actual medical procedures, I felt a calling, like this was what I was supposed to do with my life. I don't know if it was the Force or just that I enjoyed playing doctor so much, but I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up . . ."

Again Han wiped tears away, laughing through a sob. Though he wasn't sure if Ben would hear, he pressed a thought into his mind just in case his son would pick it up – and if he didn't, Han would tell him after the ceremony anyway.

I love you, my doctor son.

THE END