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Poe thought that he knew what to expect, but he should have known better. Rey’s whole pregnancy had been different than what he assumed to be normal—he’d at least not heard from Finn about Rose levitating off the bed in her sleep or spending lots of time talking to Skywalkers who weren’t really there—so why should the actual birth be any different?
He found her crouched under the Force tree, hands on its gnarled bark, labor already started.
“Sweetheart, you have to come inside,” he urged, touching her shoulders.
She’s doing fine here, murmured Leia in his head.