Simon checked his chrono again, making sure that it wasn't going too fast or too slow, then mentally stopped himself. It's set up to update with the Weights and Measures Bureau, of course it's the most correct clock in the galaxy. Of all the things to possibly postulate right now, I choose this, yet he found himself checking the clock again, wondering if perhaps he was running late. He tucked the red Coruscanti flowers beneath his arm to take off the watch and examine the back, but he wasn’t particularly interested in whether it was broken or not; he wanted results, results that he couldn’t find in a perfect watch with no fault.

Maybe if I break it... the notion came to his head as firmly as it left, and then Simon really was angry with himself. He ignored his watch and let the lift take him to the floor, stepping off and brushing himself down to make sure he was presentable. He had donned his finest faint grey suite, complete with vest and white dress shirt, the pipe tucked haphazardly inside his pocket and ignored for the moment.

Pulling the flowers back out from underneath his arm, Simon walked down the hallway towards the secretary and asked for the appropriate room, only to be stopped by the doctor before he arrived. The look the doctor offered him wasn’t at all optimistic.

“It’s bad isn’t it?” Simon asked. The doctor took a moment to pull out a cigarette, offering it to Simon as he snuck it between his lips, roving around his jacket for the lighter.

“How long?” Again silence, it was near maddening with how silent the room had fallen since the doctor had offered that gloomy look to him. Simon refused to recognize it, yet even as he tried as hard as he could to refute it, his heart knew the truth. His wife was dying.

“I really am sorry to give you the bad news Mr. Bok.”

Simon waved him off dismissively, a brief smile fading from his lips as he contemplated just what to say to his wife. Every calibre of his moral being was shaking right now; he could barely stand. Then, all at once, the room seemed to fade. The last think that Simon Bok recalled, was rose petals strewn around him; and his own thought was of how late he was.