Waking / Rising in the Tubes
Coming to in unfamiliar surroundings would never be routine, but it was becoming - less shocking, at least. The confusion, dread, and simmering sense of frustration that had once followed hard on the heels of the initial jolt of awareness and scan for immediate danger (at the moment: none) had come to be replaced by something more akin to his usual bleary morning ruminations. Oh, right, that happened last night. So, what's on the agenda ...
What had happened last night, of course, had been that he'd ordered room service with Bail Organa and told Leia that he loved her (he loved her), and what was on the agenda was apparently something he needed a hard hat for. Not exactly like rolling out of bed for waffles.
And yet all he felt now, when he looked up into the dim path he supposed he was about to take, was: impatience. The prospect of going home again had a new glimmer of a thrill around it, a warm, happy urgency; and his exasperation at his own inability to bring people together had converted into a kind of defiant resolve. Fine, I guess, let's just do this, then. By the time the floor finally began to move beneath him, his jaw had set, his eyes were flashing up toward the ceiling, and he was practically tapping his foot. Take stock - find the Senator - gather everyone who'd wanted to pack together - and last it out. He had a plan, and he was ready to get on with it. He couldn't cast off the oppressive weight of the last two weeks' hysterical speculation fast enough.