Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’d been a long, hot day, even by Tatooine standards, and eight year old Luke Skywalker was tired of being cooped up inside, when he heard a strange sound. Like a lullaby being sung by all the souls of the desert wastes. In spite of his Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen’s warnings, and a daily reminder of the consequences in the form of Grandma Shmi’s grave, Luke wanders out into the desert alone. The song growing louder as he traverses the endless Dune Sea, the words never quite resolve into anything he can understand yet he knows the meaning all the same. The melody is an echo of his own soul. Aunt Beru had always told him the desert never forgot it’s own, and Luke was a child of the desert, like his father and his grandmother before him. He cannot ignore it’s call and so he dutifully follows where it leads.

He couldn’t have been gone for more than two hours when Luke feels it, the first stirrings of a sandstorm. One didn’t survive on Tatooine long without getting a sixth-sense for that sort of thing, and Luke’s senses had always been a hair keener than his family’s. He glances about at the barren desert and curses himself. What an idiot! How could he have been so dumb as to wander so far from home. Now, he’s not only without any shelter from the approaching storm, but, Luke realizes belatedly, he has no idea where he is!

The winds continued to pick up, sending the small abrasive grains of sand into the air. He was dead! Luke whirled in circles. This storm would flay him alive and remake the desert so his rotting body would never be found. How convenient. Luke whimpered. Killed and buried in one stroke. Well, it would save on the expense of a funeral, he supposed. Funny, that reminded him of something Uncle Owen might say. Something his Aunt Beru would roll her eyes at and pinch her husband for, grumbling about his morbid humor.

Uncle Owen. Luke thought. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. If they did, by some miracle, manage to retrieve his body, Luke felt his uncle was entitled to compose his eulogy entirely from the words “I told you so.”

Too much like his father. So many voices seemed to whisper on the churning winds, driving the deadly storm. The voices of his Aunt and Uncle. Voices of neighbors and people he’d known his whole life, and voices, Luke had never heard yet felt he should know. Through a break in the whirling grains, Luke spotted a small out-cropping of rock. It’d likely been buried under the sands earlier that day, and likely would be again before the day was over, but still it was a shelter. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, they said. Luke stumbled half-blind towards the out-cropping, and wedged himself as tightly as he could into the rocks, making sure to turn his face towards the rocks and cover his mouth and nose as best he could.

As the storm swooped towards him like a Krayt dragon on the hunt, the innumerable voices roared. A woman’s warm voice calling his name. A man crying out in pain and grief. Another man urging Luke to be careful and so many more. So many more whispers of conversations he’d never been a part of, yet he knew each voice’s owner held some connection to him.

Luke squeezed his eyes shut even tighter as the sands lashed out like the prongs on a slaver’s whip, attempting to cleave his flesh from his bones. Tears leaked out, in spite of his best efforts to preserve his bodily fluids. Each pin-prick of pain made him think of his Grandma and his father. All Luke wanted was to be back home. Surrounded by the familiar white-washed sandstone walls of the moisture farm, cradled in Aunt Beru’s warm arms, and listening to her gently crooned stories and not the wailing winds of a sand storm. Luke wanted that more than anything, even if it meant having to first endure Uncle Owen’s lecture.

And, in the deepest parts of his young heart, where he kept his most precious wishes, Luke wished for his father. He knew his father was dead, and had been for as long as Luke had been alive. Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen had told him all that years ago. Yet, there were still times when a quiet whisper -- the same one which would occasionally warn him of a sandstorm or company before they arrived -- would tell him his father wasn’t dead at all. He was just lost, adrift in a galaxy even more vast than the deserts of Tatooine. Lost and waiting to be found. And Luke wanted desperately to be found in turn.

If there was one thing he knew about his father, it was that he could and would always find his family. After all, Luke’s father had been the one to bring Grandma Shmi home. If it was Anakin Skywalker, then Luke was sure he’d be able to find him, his son, even in the midst of a raging sandstorm. As he wished for the impossible, the winds shifted and Luke felt as if there was a soft blanket wrapping around him, shielding him from the storm as it surged, and then with a searing white flash, which dazzled his eyes even behind his tightly closed lids, all fell silent.

Luke slowly chanced a peek, coughing up dust and sand. He wiped his eyes, ignoring the stinging of sand grains from his hands and looked again. His location had not changed, but the desert certainly had, no surprise really after such a fierce sandstorm. What took the young child by surprise was the stillness and coolness of the desert. No sandstorm whipping out of sight and no suns hanging over his head. It had barely been past mid-meal when Luke had foolishly ventured out into the Wastes, yet above him the first of Tatooine’s three moons was just breaking over the eastern horizon, tricking the unknowing into a deceptively tranquil mindset. But Luke did know, Tatooine’s deserts were even more hostile at night. He wouldn’t be able to make it home, even if he was sure of the way, which he wasn’t. Like it or not, he would be spending the night in his little rocky fortress. He could only hope it provided as much shelter from Tatooine’s night life as it had from the sandstorm.

Chapter Text

Shmi’s gaze turned away from the stars, her mind -- against her conscious thought -- turned likewise from thoughts of her Ani. A strange prickling filled her stomach, like it had once done whenever Anakin had gotten into trouble. It was an instinct she had thought long gone with her son. Apparently not. But what did it mean. Why did she suddenly feel so restless? Why did she have the urge to walk out into the desert? Only Owen’s sudden appearance out of the house and Shmi’s own self-control kept her feet from running out into the Jundland Wastes.

“Mom, are you out here?” Owen called. He frowned appraising her rigid posture. “Is something wrong?”

Shmi shook herself. She would ignore the insistent nudging at the back of her mind to act. “Owen. No, everything is alright. I must have gotten caught up in my stargazing.”

Owen tilted his head, clearly not buying it. But Shmi would not allow herself to focus on her own insecurities. They both needed a distraction. Luckily Owen’s stomach provided the perfect one. She laughed as his face flushed pink behind his beard.

“So, what would you like for supper tonight?” Shmi sang, turning her back on the desert and it’s siren song.

She would never tire of the simple luxury of asking the question. It was not something she’d had with her Anakin. But she rested easy in the comfort of knowing he was in the Jedi’s Temple on the wealthiest planet in the entire galaxy. He probably ate things like Nerf-steaks for dinner every night. They were both in better places. And in spite of the absence of her son, a hole in her heart which would never fully mend, Shmi loved the family she had gained and wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“Dad was talking about frying up Bantha chops.” Owen stated.

Shmi gasped. “Is your father trying to cook, again? Owen, why didn’t you stop him, we cant’ afford to replace another stove.” She exclaimed loudly.

“Just admit yer jealous of my culinary abilities, woman.” Cliegg’s gruff voice carried up from the underground complex of the farm house.

Shmi winked at Owen. “Yes, the ability to curdle blue milk at a single touch is something to be valued.”

Owen smiled, shaking his head as Shmi accepted his arm and walked inside the house. Beru met them at the bottom of the stairs, making faces at Owen. “What took you so long, you know there are only so many places to hide the cooking utensils.”

“Aha, so you’re the culprit!” Cliegg said, poking his head out of the kitchen to point a threatening finger at his future daughter-in-law.

“Cliegg, what in the galaxy are you trying to do?” Shmi exclaimed fondly, shooing him away from the suspicious sludge bubbling on the stove-top when she entered the kitchen. “Deprive me of my honest labor?”

He sputtered and flushed. Never quite able to say he liked being able to spoil his wife. He never needed to, all his quiet gestures said it so much more eloquently than her moisture farming husband ever could. Shmi pecked his stubbled cheek. Hmm, he needed a shave, and a good haircut. Both he and Owen, now that she had a good look at her son under the fluorescent lights.

Owen caught her assessing look and crept back towards the exit. Beru snagged his arm. “Come on, Owen let’s go retrieve the cooking utensils for Mom.” She said.

It was no doubt a pretense to get him alone for a second. Of the two, Beru Whitesun was the one who needed an eye kept on her. Owen was too painfully polite. Shmi smirked, pouring out whatever gastronomical horror her husband had hoped to pass off as dinner. Cliegg pouted and sulked out to do the final check on their perimeter sensors. She shook her head and pulled out fresh ingredients to make their real supper.

“Hey, Owen, when was the last time you had a haircut?” Beru’s voice carried through the halls.

“Uhm.” Owen fumbled.

“I’ll get the trimmers.” Beru decided. “Here, take these to Mom.”

Owen shuffled into the kitchen a moment later and silently passed the bundle of cooking implements to Shmi. For such a bad cook, Cliegg was stubborn in persisting he be allowed to help with the house work. She smiled. And Threepio, the poor dear, was constantly offended believing this to be a slight in some way against his capabilities. Speaking of, where had the droid gotten off to?

“Owen, where’s 3P0?” She asked.

“Huh, oh, I sent him to the hydroponic garden earlier to check the vegetables.” Owen said.

Shmi hid her smirk. The hydroponic garden was about the only place apart from the kitchen where Threepio was actually of much use. Well, to be perfectly fair, it was the one place he was useful and did not complain endlessly about sand. An out of the way place where Owen, typically patient and unflappable Owen, was not tempted to scrap Shmi’s droid because of his endless complaints. Yes, Threepio was a dear member of the family, but he could try the patience of a saint.

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Standing side-by-side with Beru, washing off the last of their supper dishes, the strange feeling from before returned more intense than ever. Shmi couldn’t repress it, though she tried with all her might. All her struggling resulted in was frame-wracking shudders. The clay plate tumbled to the floor with a thunderous crack. Beru yelped and hurried to pull Shmi away from the shards as Owen and Cliegg sprang up from the table where they had been discussing the season’s profits.

“Mom!”“Dear!” Owen and Cliegg fussed. “Are you okay?”

She couldn’t even find the strength needed to try and reassure them, as she fought against the tugging on her body. It proved futile as she slowly stepped away from her family and towards the stairs. Cliegg inserted himself between her and the exit, spooked and clearly worried for her, taking her trembling hands in his own.

“Shmi?” He questioned, his concern was etched into every sun-weathered feature of her husband’s prematurely aged face.

Her breath hitched, heart beating in her throat. She couldn’t begin to explain the inexplicable pull towards the desert. Cliegg, fighting his own fears, tried to be a voice of calm and reason. The longer he talked, the faster her heart pounded, and the more her body shook. She had to go, now!

“Mom!” Owen exclaimed, panic evident in his voice.

At the back of her mind, Shmi thought that tone was all wrong. Her dear Owen was as solid as the bedrock beneath the desert sands. As stoic as her Ani had been mercurial. Owen did not panic.

“I’ll bring the speeder.” Beru said.

“Beru,” Cliegg began to protest.

“Dad,” Owen managed to calm down enough to realize his fiancee was right. “Dad, we’ll take torches and the blasters, and we’ll all go.” He glanced pointedly at his mom.

Cliegg caved with a shuddering sigh. The kids were right. In this state, if they didn’t indulge her, Shmi was liable to wander out into the desert by herself. No matter how tough his wife was, the desert at night was no place for a human.

“Alright, Shmi. We’ll all go.” He said.

At his words, Shmi’s breathing came just a touch easier. “Thank you, Cliegg.” She managed.

He offered her a half-smile, keeping a lid on his many concerns and reasons why this was all bound to be a fool’s errand. “Well, let’s see what’s out there.”

Loaded into the speeder they drove in silence, Shmi’s strange pensiveness unnerving the others. After several minutes of being unable to decipher his mom’s directions, Owen surrendered control of the speeder to Shmi. Nearly half-an-hour later, she suddenly yanked back on the controls, bringing the speeder to a screeching halt and flinging poor Owen into the control panel.

“Ow.” He groaned.

Shmi spared him an apologetic wince as she tumbled out of the speeder onto shaky feet. Her crazy senses tugged her towards a small pile of rocks. Peering between the boulders, she finally stilled. Cliegg and others were at her side in an instant.

There, half-burrowed into the rocks, was a small child. They all blinked and chanced a look at Shmi in silent wonder. Owen came to his senses first and clambered down among the boulders to dig out the child. Shmi’s breath hitched as she got her first glimpse of his face.

“Ani?” She choked and swiftly rebuked herself for the errant comparison, even as Cliegg glanced up at her. “I’m sorry. It’s just he looks so much like Anakin did at that age.” Shmi amended.

“Really?” Beru perked up, sidling over to Owen to peer at the boy in his arms. “He looks so delicate.” She whispered in awe, thinking this boy’s features were in no way similar to the defiant, brave boy from Shmi’s stories.

Shmi blinked and studied this boy’s features more closely. Yes, Beru was correct. While similar, this child’s features were far softer than her Anakin’s had ever been. The nose was all wrong for one thing. Though, the mouth, the cleft in his chin, and the sun-bleached hair were all near perfect matches.

Getting over their collective shock at having discovered a boy in the middle of the Jundland Wastes, they piled back into their speeder and returned to the farm. In the morning, Owen and Beru would check in with the Lar’s neighbors to see if any of them knew who the boy was or where he’d come from.

Owen and Beru returned before breakfast and before the boy had awakened. No one had reported a missing child or had heard of any runaways from the other settlements. It was looking more and more, to Shmi at least, that the child might be an escaped slave. If so, then the Skywalker-Lars were hardly going to return him, he was unofficially a member of the family now. Beru and Shmi were more than fine with this, as they both had a soft spot for the small child. Despite his himself, Cliegg also found he liked the idea of the little boy staying. Owen tried desperately to remain pragmatic, on Tatooine it payed to be cautious, but secretly, as he had watched Beru tucking the boy in the night before, he said a silent prayer that the kid would be able to stay.

Chapter Text

Luke blinked awake, taking in the familiar ceiling. He could have sworn he’d passed out in the middle of the Jundland Wastes. Had Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen managed to find him after all? Luke sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the...work bench? He frowned turning his head to take in what had once upon a time been his room. Why did his room look like a work-shop? He wound his fists into the scratchy blanket that was nothing like the Bantha wool blanket Aunt Beru had made just for him. This wasn’t even his bed. Heck, it wasn’t even the cot Aunt Beru pulled out for ‘guests’.

Gathering his courage he poked around the unfamiliarly familiar space. All of his things were missing. His toys, his model star-fighters, his tools, his clothes...everything! Luke scratched his head. What was going on here? He needed to talk to Aunt Beru, she always knew everything. And she always knew how to make him feel better. Luke nodded and marched down the hall. At this time of day, his family was most likely to be found in the kitchen.

Sure enough, approaching the kitchen Luke heard vaguely familiar voices. It was definitely Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru but they sounded kinda weird. He also heard two other voices, these he did not recognize though they were heavily accented like most of the folks who lived out this direction. Had some of their neighbors come over early to visit? Luke wondered and peered around the door way into the kitchen.

Something inside of him clanged in recognition as his gaze locked with that of an older woman. Luke knew he knew her. Or that he should know her, even if he’d never laid eyes on her before in his life. His nose scrunched up in confusion. That didn’t make any sense. How could he know her if he didn’t know her?

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Shmi laughed at Owen’s grumpy face when Beru teased him. She sipped at her caff and glanced over Cliegg’s shoulder and smiled.

“Well, good morning.” She greeted their little guest.

Owen sat his caff cup down, as Beru ceased attacking his wind-swept hair from their morning ride out to the neighboring farms, and his father paused in his scrolling of the Tatooine Farmer’s Report -- why his dad insisted on reading it Owen never understood, it was always the same, another dry season another hike in Jabba’s water tax. They turned and found their mysterious little visitor poking his head into the room cautiously. He seemed to scrutinize each and everyone of them. His bright desert blue eyes nearly popped out of his head when they froze on Owen and Beru. His mouth dropped open, a pudgy finger whipping up as he stepped fully into the kitchen to point accusingly at Owen, who frowned back at the strange kid.

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That wasn’t...it couldn’t be...it was! Luke didn’t even need the little voice in the back of his mind to confirm what he was seeing. He would know Uncle Owen’s scowl anywhere. Uncle Owen! He yelled, or tried to. Luke froze once more, a hand reaching up to massage his throat. Something was very very wrong! He couldn’t speak!

He whined in frustration, that sound at least coming out loud and clear as he scowled down at his traitorous body and stomped his feet. Luke didn’t like this one bit, and as the tears tried to fall he instinctively launched himself at the one person who always made things better! Aunt Beru stiffened as he flung his arms around her and wriggled into her lap, to bury his face in her chest. Inexplicably it took a few moments for Aunt Beru to wrap her arms about him, but then she just sat there and didn’t say anything. That was odd. Aunt Beru always whispered such comforting stories to him when he was upset and she ALWAYS pet his hair.

Luke sniffled and pulled away to study this bizarrely young Aunt Beru. While her brown eyes were sympathetic Luke couldn’t see her normal, gentle look of love. It was almost like Aunt Beru didn’t recognize him. Luke pouted. He wanted his Aunt not this strange look alike.

It was the strange older lady who reached over and began rubbing Luke’s back to ease his hiccuping sobs, murmuring softly that everything was alright. Luke glared at the not-quite Aunt Beru. This was what he wanted her to do, not this familiar stranger!

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Beru’s eyes widened at the betrayed scowl on the child’s face. He seemed disappointed in her for some reason. Cliegg quickly stifled his snort of laughter into his caff as the boy turned that adorable glare on him. Owen was absolutely no help either, clearly amused by his own fiancee’s predicament. Oh, she would get even.

Shmi threw back her head and laugh. “Beru, dear, I do believe he wanted you to be the one to comfort him.” She composed herself as his familiar blue eyes narrowed on her grumpily. She smiled back and, hoping to soothe the eerily reminiscent scowl from the child’s face, began to introduce herself and her family. “ Hello, there. My name is Shmi Skywalker and the man over there is my husband Cliegg… and--” she cut herself off.

Her word’s had the near opposite effect on the child than she’d intended. He yanked himself as far away from her and her hand as he could while still sitting in Beru’s lap. He eyed her and Cliegg as if they were desert spirits. Once again his mouth opened, and he frowned and huffed when his efforts only produced a few guttural grunts.

Shmi felt her heart constrict at his predicament. He obviously had much to say yet whatever he’d endured had rendered him incapable. So alike and yet so different from her An...No. Shmi firmly shook her head. Now was not the time to be drawing comparisons. They were not the same and it was unfair to project her son’s image over this boy, though they shared an unusual amount in common physically.

Owen rose from the table and left, returning a few minutes later with flimsi and a stylus. The boy instantly brightened and grinned up at Owen. Owen ruffled the kid’s hair as he placed the writing implements before him and sat back down, shrugging noncommittally at his family’s raised eyebrows. Reinvigorated, the boy snatched up the stylus and began scribbling furiously, peeking between his long blonde bangs every so often to stare at Shmi and Cliegg before scrawling even faster. Shmi would be surprised if any of his writing was legible.

Owen peered over the rim of his caff mug when the boy slid the flimsi toward him, tapping at the very first sentence. He spit into his cup and coughed furiously, eyes darting between Shmi and the boy. The kid tapped insistently, pointing at Owen with the stylus and pantomiming talking. Oh, right. Owen managed to take in a lungful of pure -- un-caffed -- oxygen and nodded.

“My name is Luke Skywalker.” He read carefully.

Shmi gaped. Beru and Cliegg took turns to scrutinize the child and then Shmi. She stared at the boy.

When they had evidently failed to give an appropriate response, the boy, Luke, snagged the flimsi back, erased most of his previously indecipherable scribble, and wrote yet another mind-boggling revelation. Owen cleared his throat, eyes not once leaving his mom.

“My grandma’s name was Shmi and my Grandpa was Cliegg. But you can’t be them.” Owen paused. Luke nodded encouraging Owen silently to finish reading. “Because Grandma Shmi and Grandpa Cliegg were dead.”

Shmi gasped trying not to let any tears escape her. Cliegg stood and rounded the table to wrap his arms around her shoulders. Beru, placed one hand on Shmi’s, the other gripping on to the impossible child in her lap. Owen didn’t think he could read anything more, but Luke once more shoved his flimsi back and looked at him imploringly.

“I live with Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen.” Beru squawked. Owen felt as if his soul were trying to slip from his body. Shmi’s gaze hardened, nearly burning holes through the boy’s face. Cliegg coughed.

This was impossible. There was no way way...but thinking back over the oddities of the past twenty-four hours, perhaps? No! Cliegg shook his head. It simply wasn’t possible. The poor boy was likely suffering from the effects of sun-sickness.

“Why do we look so young?” Beru read over Luke’s shoulder, somewhat affronted that her not-nephew perceived her to be old.

Luke nodded at her. Beru breathed out her tension and looked at the child. “Luke, honey, how old are you?” He held up both hands, lowering his ring and pinky finger on his left hand. “You’re eight?”

He nodded. Funny, Beru would have guessed six based on his size. He was little. Luke’s scowl returned, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. No. Beru chided her self she was being ridiculous.

Shmi, following Beru’s example, forced her mouth to cooperate and asked Luke a question of her own. “Luke, what were you doing out in the middle of the Jundland Wastes. Don’t you know how dangerous it is to venture into the desert alone?”

Luke’s eyebrows vanished into his hairline as he blinked back at her. He snagged his stylus and flimsi away from Owen who had been rereading the past sentences trying to make sense of the impossible words. Once more the kitchen descended into anticipatory silence only the scritching of Luke’s stylus against the flimsi as he wrote broke the quiet tension. Owen silently prayed the boy might choose a new mouth-piece this time, but alas. Luke shoved the flimsi into his chest.

Owen’s eyes swept over the words and his face paled as he glanced back over at the noticeably roughed up child. “I got caught in the sandstorm and woke up here.”

This sentence beyond anything was a proof positive in the boy’s favor, as no one could fake sand-rash. And Owen, like the others, knew they had not had a sandstorm in nearly three weeks. Luke’s injuries and Shmi’s own startled exclamation the night before about his appearance also lent credence to Luke’s bizarre tale. But how could it be true? It was beyond him. It sounded like those stories Old Jiro used to tell about Jedi… Owen stiffened. Jedi? His step-brother was a wizard who was to say, that if Luke’s story was true, the kid hadn’t taken after his father in more than just looks.

He coughed, passing the note along to Beru. She numbly handed it off to Shmi and Cliegg. Cliegg felt his whole world tilt on its axis. This child was...his grandson!

Shmi gasped, tears again springing to her eyes. Already today she had wasted more water than ever before. She swiped at her eyes furiously to look at Luke. The passing similarity was much much clearer and far less passing. How could she have dismissed it, as impossible as it was, Luke looked nearly exactly as Anakin had at that age.

Beru tried to remain realistic as she sensed everyone else buying into the impossible tale. “Luke, what year is it?”

He held out his hands for his stylus and flimsi, which Cliegg swiftly returned to him. He nodded and wrote down his answer. Beru frowned. What sort of calendar was that? “Imperial standard?”

Core politics were not high on any moisture farmers list of concerns, but all in the Skywalker-Lar’s kitchen felt fairly confident in saying it was still a Republic. Owen frowned.

“Luke, what does this mean? Why do you use an Imperial Standard calendar and not Republic.”

It was Luke’s turn to frown. He chewed on his lip in thought and then wrote down a very concise explanation. He used Imperial Standard because that’s what he’d been taught. The Empire was formed at the end of the Clone Wars, not long before Luke was born. At least that was what his teachers had said.

“Luke,” Shmi moistened her suddenly dry lips, “ what happened to your parents?”

Luke slumped a bit in Beru’s lap but still wrote out an answer. Owen winced. He glanced at his mom. Did she really want to hear this. Shmi nodded. He sighed and dutifully read the boy’s reply.

“His aunt and uncle told him his father died before he was born and apparently his mom died in childbirth.” Owen said.

Shmi refused to cry again today, at least not now. She choked on her sobs as Cliegg hugged her tightly. “Owen, Beru, perhaps you could see to Luke’s injuries.” He inclined his head towards the exit.

Owen and Beru nodded and coaxed Luke up with a promise of flat cakes once he got his wounds cleaned and disinfected. He frowned at the words sonic but trudged along with them, leaving Cliegg and Shmi alone in the kitchen.

Shmi crumbled. She knew, everything Luke had told them was true, she just knew. Her husband her Ani dead! Long dead as far as Luke was concerned, much like herself apparently and his mother, Ani’s wife. Yes, Shmi had no doubts about the nature of the relationship which produced Luke, she knew her son. Anakin never did anything by halves. Anakin’s wife she likely would never get to meet. His wife who would die bringing Shmi’s grandson into the world.

When? Why? How did they all die? How was it possible for Luke to be here? It was...Shmi paused. It was as bizarre and inexplicable as how she had found herself with Anakin. Which likely meant that strange magic the Jedi Qui-Gon had talked about, the Force. But why?

No. Actually, Shmi decided, the why was entirely irrelevant. No matter the reason why she had been gifted this opportunity, Shmi was going to take full advantage of the situation. She was going to show the precious child just how much his Grandma loved him. Cliegg was of the same mind she could see that much in his eyes.

That just left one thing to do, Shmi had to get in contact with her son. Both Luke and Anakin deserved the chance to get to know one another.

Chapter Text

Luke wasn’t sure how, but he was in the past. He’d figured that much out watching his guardians and eavesdropping on the adults when they thought he was asleep. Both his grandparents were alive. So were his parents; wherever they were. While Luke might not be able to do anything for his parents, he could certainly do something for his grandparents.

He only knew a little bit about what happened to Grandma Shmi but it had apparently involved the Tuskens. And due to injuries he sustained going after her, and the fact this was Tatooine, Grandpa Cliegg had passed not long after Grandma Shmi. So, Luke thought to himself, rolling out dough for their bread as Aunt Beru and Grandma Shmi flicked flour at Grandpa Cliegg chasing him away from the food, all Luke really needed to do was keep Grandma Shmi safe.

Uncle Owen used to warn Luke about going into the desert alone and he would use Grandma Shmi as the prime example of why it was a bad idea. Aha! Luke thumped the dough with his fist. Luke just needed to keep an eye on Grandma at all times. If she wasn’t alone then nothing bad could happen, right? It’s simple. Luke could do this. He eyed Grandma Shmi. She wasn’t going anywhere without him.

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Shmi grinned down at her little shadow. She was so happy to have the opportunity to spoil him rotten, and teach him all the things she used to teach to Anakin. Luke was more than happy to be taught. He trailed behind her from vaporator to vaporator and hydroponic unit to hydroponic unit, eager to assist and learn how to grow their vegetables. At least he tried very hard to project that front. Shmi had a strange suspicion the boy was trying to guard her, but shrugged it off.

Inside the farm, as long as Beru was around on her bi-weekly visit, Luke instinctively gravitated towards her. Shmi tried not to feel hurt or slighted as it was only normal he would seek out the woman who had been his mother-figure. Beru, after her initial awkwardness faded, all but glowed when Luke would come tiredly up to her and silently demand she be the one to put him to bed.

The impish young woman most certainly did not encourage the boy’s shenanigans, Owen. Beru laughed. Cliegg grinned. Owen nearly hit the ceiling when he walked in on Luke attempting to hot-wire the land-speeder, and again when he caught Luke re-wiring the harvesters, or dismantling any electronic he could get a hold of to study their inner workings. He fussed right back at Owen, scribbling angrily and shoving the flimsi at Beru to read, a silent slight to his normal interpreter. Luke was careful, he knew what he was doing, and he’d never know how to fix things if he didn’t know how they worked.

The only thing Shmi firmly rebuked the boy for was his single attempt to dismantle C-3P0. He was properly chastised when he learned his father had built the droid for Shmi and promised, crossing his heart, to never again put a hydro-spanner to the droid unless it was to help Shmi fix him up. She nodded and soothed the spooked automaton that he was not being decommissioned for spare parts. C-3P0 thanked her profusely and toddled back to his chores.

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Luke had been in the past for nearly a month and he’d not had to go to school. He silently congratulated himself. Beru narrowed her eyes.

“Hm, ya know? We ought to consider schooling for Luke, even if he can’t actually attend school in Anchor Head.”

Luke gaped at her. Betrayed by his own Aunt! He turned his pleading gaze on Grandpa Cliegg, he knew better than to think Uncle Owen would argue with Aunt Beru. ‘Sides, Grandpa was the one who snuck him sweet bars and pallies before bed. He always sided with Luke, except for when….

“I think you have a point, Beru.” Shmi nodded. Her grandson was a bright boy and they shouldn’t let these strange circumstances hinder his education.

Luke huffed, crossing his arms and kicking at the table legs petulantly. Grandpa Cliegg always sided with him except for when Grandma Shmi didn’t. He clicked his tongue and scowled at the ceiling. Grandpa Cliegg tapped his leg. Luke glanced down and was only moderately appeased by the pallie being offered to him.

“Cliegg, really, you’re going to spoil his appetite.” Shmi shook her head when she caught their illicit exchange.

“Nonsense, dear,” Cliegg said, “he’s a growing boy. He’s got a stomach bigger than a krayt dragon.” He said pouncing and tickling the boy.

Luke leapt up and dashed off, turning in the door to wait for his grandpa to nearly catch up before running out into the courtyard. Shmi sighed, shaking her head after the pair. Beru grinned.

“Honestly, he’s going to be spoiled rotten.” Shmi murmured.

“Yeah, but I guess that will be future Beru’s problem.” Beru grinned and took off into the yard, skirts flying as she snagged her nephew up into her arms, holding him hostage for Cliegg.

Shmi laughed. Her soon to be daughter-in-law made an excellent point. She began pulling out ingredients for a seed-cake. Owen glanced up from doing their farm-accounts and raised an eyebrow. Shmi just blew him as kiss and tossed him a pallie. They had plenty thanks to her husband. Owen shook his head, taking a bite of the treat and going back to work. Simply amazing how different her boys were, Shmi smiled fondly, humming to herself as she set to baking.

_________

“Russ Nightrider, was telling me about that.” Owen commented to Cliegg three days later after they had returned from the monthly get together of the Anchor-Head Moisture farmers.

Shmi had stayed at home with Luke who wasn’t feeling well. Likely all those sweets he’d eaten. She spared her husband a mild glare. He blushed. Cliegg had already promised to refrain from buying sweets for at least one week. Beru passed the talz over to Luke, who was sprawled over Shmi’s lap while he struggled through his assigned lessons. Owen and Beru had borrowed a few of the other farmer’s kid’s old data-chips for Luke’s home-schooling.

“They’re venturing awful close to the homesteads aren’t they?” Beru piped into the men’s discussion.

“Yeah, the closest I’ve ever heard tell.” Cliegg rumbled, sinking into his chair with a sigh.

Hm, Shmi eyed him. His arthritis must be acting up again. She’d need to pick some herbs for her home-remedy, though he’d complain about the bitter taste. Oh! She’d seen a good crop of mushrooms on the south range’s moisture vaporators a few days ago, if she picked some and baked them with the herbs that ought to cut the bitter taste. She nodded to herself. She’d go tomorrow or the day after, if she couldn’t get away in the morning.

“I wonder what set them on the war path?” Beru inquired.

“No telling with Tuskens, but I’ll bet some fool ventured onto their sacred land and set ‘em off.” Cliegg sighed.

It never failed to happen at least a couple times a year, though never before had a raiding party come this close to Anchor-Head. The farmers and one of the chieftains had come to a tentative peace a few years back, though that didn’t stop a few young fools from stirring the pot every so often.

Owen grumbled his agreement. “Ol’ Ned’s youngun has been rumored to have been selling Bantha meat.”

Likely a Bantha he pilfered from a domesticated Tusken herd. Cliegg sighed. That would have set ‘em off alright. He thought, shaking his head and returning his attention to his caff.

Luke perked up, trying not to show too much interest in the adult’s conversation. Tuskens, like the ones who kidnapped grandma? He would need to be extra vigilant, keeping an eye on Shmi. With his plan made, he returned to sloughing through his assigned mathematics module.

_________

“Too close?” Owen grumbled, rising from examining the Bantha tracks he had found around the vaporators. “They’re getting too close.” He said to Cliegg.

Cliegg frowned off into the empty horizon. “Must have come early this morning, before sun-rise.” He assessed. “Otherwise last night’s sandstorm would have erased their tracks.”

Owen nodded in agreement. They finished collecting the water from the unit and headed back for home. For the first time in the month since Luke’s miraculous appearance, Owen was worried. He was not looking forward to the necessary breakfast conversation.

“They’ve really come so near the northern perimeter?” Shmi asked, pouring Luke a glass of blue milk.

“Well, they weren’t Wampa tracks, my dear.” Cliegg sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll make some calls this evening and Owen and I will go meet up with the other farmers first thing in the morning. Maybe we can figure out some way to settle this tribe down, before things escalate.”

“I hope so.” Shmi murmured, smoothing down her skirts as she sat to partake of her own breakfast.

“In the meantime, I would really recommend you and Luke stay close to home.” Cliegg shot her a pleading look.

“Well, I didn’t get a chance to check the southern range’s vaporators this morning,” Shmi hummed.

“I think the southern range can wait a day or two.” Cliegg said.

Shmi sighed. She really wanted to harvest those mushrooms while they were at their peak. Maybe a quick trip, after dawn, the Tuskens were usually moving back towards their own territory at that time, it ought to be safe. And besides, Cliegg had found the tracks on the northern perimeter. She smiled innocently at her husbands suspicious look.

“Shmi.” He said.

She happily accepted Luke’s sudden interruption, tugging on her skirt and holding up his empty glass. Shmi moved to get him another glass of milk. Cliegg was hardly pacified but the business of the farm kept his attention otherwise occupied from pestering her for the remainder of the day. He was too tired and sore to do much beyond peck her cheek once they turned in for the night. His pain only solidified her resolve, she would get those mushrooms and be back before anyone even knew she’d been gone. It would be fine.

Chapter Text

Luke woke up, cold but not from the lingering chill of the desert night. Something was very wrong. He bolted up and sped through the house to the kitchen where Grandma Shmi was normally first thing in the morning. She wasn’t there. His heart rate spiked thinking back and recalling her and Grandpa Cliegg’s short discussion. Oh, no!

Luke barreled past his groggy Aunt Beru who’d quickly threw off her sleep and took off after him, calling his name. He sped past Uncle Owen and Grandpa Cliegg who were outside, preparing to leave for their meeting with the other farmers. His frenzied state set off alarms, as they recalled Shmi’s own behaviour and the fact this child was Anakin’s son.

“Owen, get the blasters.” Cliegg barked, revving up the speeder prepared to take out after Luke and Beru.

Owen came sprinting out of the house, tossing Cliegg his old rifle as he piled into the passenger seat. They sped across the desert picking up Beru and Luke and hurrying where he pointed. Cliegg had a bad feeling, as Luke’s directions sent them towards the south range. Oh, Shmi. He tightened his grip on the steering yoke.

Luke nearly flew out of the speeder as Cliegg brought it to a barreling stop. Cliegg was priming his gun as Beru snatching her favored rifle off the seat by Owen and took aim. Shmi was struggling against an entire Tusken raiding party. Their unusual aggressiveness was something Owen would think about later, now was hardly the time. Beru tumbled out of the speeder trying to snag Luke back as he sprinted full-tilt towards the Tuskens.

“Luke, stop!” She yelled.

He ignored her and for the first time since he’d shown up, Luke opened his mouth and spoke. Well, screeched actually. Beru dropped her rifle, plugging her ears against the ear-shattering sounds which were somehow being emitted from Luke’s mouth. Even more unnerving was the unseen hand which picked up and threw the Tuskens like so-much dust into the air and far away from Shmi. Shmi sprawled into the sand, covering her ears and gazing at her grandson in astonishment.

Luke continued yelling. No more Tuskens went tumbling like tumble-weeds, but those still conscious grasped at their throats as if they were all collectively struggling to breath the dry, arid air of the desert. Those in possession of more common sense, or a finely tuned sense of self-preservation, leapt on their Bantha mounts and fled. Their wild cries of terror echoed back.

“Luke!” Shmi managed to find the oxygen to cry, realizing he was the source of it all.

She struggled to her, feet, wounded but not severely, and stumbled forward until she could wrap her arms about him. At her touch, Luke slumped into a dead-faint whispering as he fell:

“Think Dad will be happy. He won’t have to find...you.” Luke said.

Shmi stiffened. Luke had known. He’d known she was going to be attacked, maybe kidnapped, if not killed outright. Of course he knew, he was from the future. A future that was no longer going to happen. A future in which, she realized, her Anakin was not going to retrieve her corpse. Not anymore. That future-past was undone. Shmi cradled Luke to her chest as Cliegg tumbled to his knees, wrapping his arms about them both.

“Mom, I’m glad you’re safe, but we need to move.” Owen urged, offering a helping hand, his eyes, however, remained trained on the collapsed Tuskens.

Beru stood by the speeder her rifle never wavered. If any of the Tuskens so much as twitched after what they had almost done to her mom, Beru would not hesitate to blast ‘em. Owen and Cliegg helped Shmi stand and supported her to the speeder. They returned to the farm and spent the whole day more or less coddling Shmi, and taking turns tending to the still unconscious Luke.

While Shmi recovered swiftly enough, Luke remained in a comatose state. When one full rotation after Shmi’s near abduction passed, and Luke’s condition did not change, they all agreed they needed to take him to a doctor. Since they were going to have to be in Anchor-Head anyway, Shmi asked Cliegg to try once again to contact the Jedi Temple and speak to Anakin. Her own previous calls had been redirected or not accepted.

The poor Rodian Padawan who had been assigned to the Temple’s Communication center, was not prepared to deal with a desert-hardened Moisture Farmer. Cliegg would not take any of their fancy double-talk. No! He would not be satisfied with leaving a message, so this Rodian had better get it through her skull and put him in contact with a Mister Qui-Gon Jinn or Anakin Skywalker.

__________

“If you would only hold for a--” Padawan Jaira’s voice cracked.

She was trying desperately not to show how discombobulated she was with this punishment posting. It had only been an accident. She’d not meant to burn a fellow Padawan in the salles, yet her Master had still felt it was necessary to put her in one of the least favorite postings a Padawan could have, after Creche duty. Though, opposed to dealing with a gruff, scowling Outer Rim Farmer, soiled diapers and toddler tantrums sounded like a virtual heaven.

“I will not, young lady, so you had better just connect me to Mister Qui-Gon Jinn, Anakin Skywalker, or find someone who can.” The human cut her off.

She felt her sweat glands working overtime. What was she supposed to do? She knew Master Jinn was dead, everyone knew that, except of course this Mr. Lars, and she knew it was against the Order’s policy to allow an unknown caller unrestricted communication with Padawan learners. Besides which, Jaira was fairly sure, Padawan Skywalker wasn’t even on planet. What did she do? Jaira did not have the sudden urge to bite on her thumb. She was not an insecure little crecheling.

There had to be someone else who could deal with this man. Surely, this situation was beyond a Padawan’s level. Jaira cast her gaze about and spotted a familiar silhouette passing by the Comm Center doors.

“Master Plo!” She bellowed, springing up from her chair, pausing to apologize briefly to Mr. Lars. “One moment, please, Sir, I’ve found someone who can help.” Jaira bowed her head and sprinted towards the door, skidding between them and into the hall, scanning for Master Plo Koon. He was just past the Comm Center, having apparently not heard her summons.

“Master Plo!” She yelled, cringing at the sharp looks her volume garnered from other passerbys, but she could hardly be bothered with decorum at this moment. Besides, she sighed internally, her disregard for typical Jedi protocol had been rewarded with success. Master Plo Koon turned and began striding back towards her.

“Hello there, Little Jaira.” His warm voice rumbled through his mask. “What can I do for you?”

Oh, thank the Force, for Master Plo! She wilted, snagged his arm, and tugged him into the Comm Center towards her assigned console. “I need you to speak with a caller, Master.”

“Oh?” Master Plo’s eye’s crinkled behind their goggles. There were approved ways to flag down a Councilor to answer a call. He thought bemusedly. Though Padawan Jaira Ascro had proven there were always new methods that could be just as successful.

She man-handled the large Kel Dor onto the stool and made swift introductions before retreating towards the Comm Center’s caff station. Poor child. Master Plo thought. I will bring her a shura cake from the commissary. He decided.

“So can you help me?” Mr. Lars voice inquired.

Plo swiveled back to face the man’s hologram. “I shall certainly do what I can. Perhaps you can explain what it is you need?” He said.

“As I’ve stated before, I am calling on behalf of my wife, Shmi Skywalker. I would like to be put in contact with her son, Anakin Skywalker.” Mr. Lars said.

Master Plo Koon blinked. Young Anakin’s mother? He would admit his interest was piqued. It might technically be breaking four separate protocols, but Plo Koon dialed up Obi-Wan Kenobi’s comm number. “I cannot put you in touch, with Padawan Skywalker at this moment--” He held up a hand at Mr. Lars glare, -- “as he is currently on a mission off-planet. However, I can give you his mentor’s comm number.”

Mr. Lars hummed and then nodded sharply. “That will be fine. Thank you for your time and assistance.” He said, hands clearly moving to disconnect the call.

“Cliegg, did you manage to get through?” An older woman stepped into the frame, her hand laying over Mr. Lars arm.

She turned her eyes to the holo-cam and Plo would know that gaze anywhere. This could only be Shmi Skywalker. “Lady Skywalker, I presume.” Master Plo greeted.

“Shmi.” She immediately said. “Are you a Jedi?”

“I am.” Plo nodded.

“Is it common for children with gifts like Anakin’s to fall into comas?” She asked.

Plo blinked. That was one possible outcome from Force-exhaustion. Was there yet another Force-sensitive with connection to Lady Skywalker? How very interesting. Plo could already imagine the headache Young Mace would get once he learned of this. In the meantime;

“I cannot say with any certainty, but I would be more than happy to redirect your call to our chief healer Vokara Che.”

Shmi and Mr. Lars exchanged a look. He sighed and she turned back and nodded. “That would be most helpful, thank you.”

“It is my pleasure.”He bid them farewell and correctly transferred their call to Vokara’s office. Hm, and with that done, Plo felt he might need to take a stroll through the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He needed to think about these new developments.

_________

Paused in the hangar beside Master Mace Windu, Obi-Wan was waiting for his star-ship’s pre-flight check to be completed, and intending to revoice his disagreement with the council’s decision to send his Padawan off unchaperoned...ahem, alone, with Senator Amidala. The sudden chiming of his comm, distracted him from verbally berating...debating, with the esteemed head of the order. Perhaps, he should be grateful. Obi-Wan grimaced at his own frustrations threatening to overwhelm his rational thought and thumbed on his comm.

Was it Anakin? Had something gone wrong already? Had that boy gotten into trouble?

“Kenobi.” He answered as the mini-projection resolved but not into the visage of his lanky Padawan.

The older woman with deep set, familiar eyes caught him off-guard. “Um, hello there.” Obi-Wan greeted cautiously.

“Hello, I am Shmi Skywalker.” She returned.

Mace and Obi-Wan both tensed briefly exchanging a look before devoting their attention to this woman. Why in the galaxy was Anakin’s mother suddenly contacting them? Obi-Wan felt his blood turn to ice. Were Anakin’s nightmares more than that? Had something actually happened to her? He felt his heart seize in fear, eyes sweeping over the woman’s holographic image for any visible injury.

Had his disregard allowed harm to befall this woman? A woman who had, despite being enslaved, given food and shelter to a group of complete strangers, Obi-Wan’s old Master being among them. A woman who had allowed her son to risk his life to help them? Had Obi-wan been too focused on attempting to break Anakin of a childhood of attachment, that he had neglected other things. Things like compassion for he mother who had been left behind?

A new horrifying realization swept through his mind. Qui-Gon could hardly have afforded to purchase the hyper-drive and two slaves. His cringed, thinking over so many years. Not only was Anakin concerned for the mother he’d left behind on Tatooine. He’d been concerned for the mother he’d had to leave behind as a slave on the Hutt-controlled planet. Guilt threatened to cripple Obi-Wan. It certainly impaired him, as it took far too long for him to process what Anakin’ s mother was saying.

An urgent matter. Important. Big. Life-altering matter which she needed to discuss with her son. Obi-Wan blinked. What had happened? He wondered.

“I’m afraid Anakin is currently off-world but I will make sure to deliver any message post-haste, Lady Skywalker.” He said.

“Shmi.” She automatically corrected, eyeing him as if appraising his trustworthiness. “Tell me, where is the Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn, I had been led to believe he was going to train Anakin.”

Obi-Wan felt his tongue melding to the roof of his mouth. He could not stop seeing his master falling at the feet of the Sith Apprentice. Mace, apparently noting his distress, inserted himself into the holo-cam’s view. He inclined his head.

“I am Jedi Ma -- “ Obi-Wan rallied to shake his head and Mace amended smoothly, “ -- Mace Windu. I am sorry to say Qui-Gon Jinn was killed in the line of duty some ten years ago. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon’s former student. He has been the one to oversee Anakin’s Jedi training.” Mace explained.

Shmi, in spite of the brevity of her acquaintance, seemed deeply grieved by the news of Qui-Gon’s death. She affixed her intense dark eyes on Obi-Wan, with the new knowledge of his relation. “I am truly sorry for your loss.” She began. “I cannot thank you enough for raising and training Anakin. I know that would have been no easy task.” Shmi smiled.

Obi-Wan choked. Easy? No. But no doubt it had far easier for him, here on Coruscant with the resources of the Jedi Order at his disposal, than it had been for her as a single slave-mother on Tatooine. She was far too kind. He blinked. Anakin came by his big heart honestly. Obi-Wan felt overcome with emotion and opened his mouth to thank her, when her attention was arrested by something happening out of the holo-cam’s view.

“He’s awake?” She spoke in an excited whisper to someone just outside of the frame.

Who? Who’s awake? Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder.

Shmi swiftly turned back to them, apparently intent on wrapping up her transmission. Her movements and words were aborted by a shaggy-haired child bustling into view ahead of a frantic call.

“Luke, get back here.”

“ ‘M fine, Uncle Owen.” Child called back, turning to Shmi and the holo-comm.

Mace Windu and Obi-Wan were once more arrested by shock. Windu felt a rising trepidation, observing the striking similarities between this boy and Padawan Skywalker when he had first arrived at the Temple. Obi-Wan, having only recently been overthinking his about his Padawan and the pretty, young Senator being left unchaperoned, noted the child’s resemblance to Anakin. And, even more so, in the shape of the face and the delicate slope of his nose, his resemblance to one Padme Amidala. No! His mind rejected what he was seeing. After all, it reasoned, this child was too old. Besides Anakin and Padme had not seen each other in ten years, and they had parted as friends. Still the eerie resemblance was a little too coincidental. Promptly, both Jedi felt all sense of reason and reality shatter beneath them as the child blinked up at Shmi.

“Grandma, who are you talking to?” He asked.

A perfectly innocent inquiry. Completely normal and inconsequential. Except for the fact this boy looked like the by-product of a Senator and a nineteen year old Jedi Padawan. Obi-Wan’s nineteen year old Jedi Padawan. His Padawan who was far too young to be a father!

“Not now, Lukka.” Shmi gently shushed the child, running her fingers through his shaggy hair. “Thank you both for your time. Please, be sure to tell my son I need to speak with him as soon as possible.” She cut the call.

Large, familiar blue eyes stared into the holo-comm and across the light-years as the transmission ended. That settled it! Obi-Wan whirled, without putting too much thought into his actions, heading for his star-fighter and then Naboo! The mission be hanged! Obi-Wan needed to have a talk with his Padawan. The sooner the better. The less time spent alone with Padme the better! He thought, shooing the technicians away from his fighter.

“Obi-Wan, what are you doing?” Mace called. “You need to wait. We need to discuss this with the Council, and you still have a mission.”

“Send Master Plo.” Obi-Wan would later barely recall this retort as he blasted off the Temple’s landing pad.

_________

Having sensed a shift in the Force while strolling through the Temple’s garden, Master Plo Koon arrived in the Temple hangar in time to witness Obi-Wan’s rapid departure. He turned to Mace for an answer. “What has riled our young Kenobi?” He asked.

“Anakin.” Mace groaned.

Plo listened with rapt attention as Mace succinctly recounted his and Obi-Wan’s startling discovery. Well, now Plo fully understood Young Obi-Wan’s haste, as well as Lady Skywalker’s insistence on speaking with her son. Hmm? He paused to consider. About a month ago the Council had felt a strange disturbance in the Force. Somehow, Plo just knew that this youngling was the source.

“Can you follow up on the lead Obi-Wan uncovered?” Mace asked, massaging his forehead as he spoke.

“Of course, I will make my preparations and depart within the hour.” Plo Koon said, bowing briefly as Mace nodded, absently murmuring to himself.

“I’ll have to inform the Council.”

“May the Force be with you, Young Mace.” Plo Koon said and left, hurrying to gather his things and prep his own star-fighter. He had a planet to find.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan had worked himself into a fine, frenzied state by the time he reverted from hyper-space above Naboo. His Jedi codes gave him priority and within in moments he was cleared for landing in the Royal Palace’s hangar. He could already sense Anakin was no where in the immediate vicinity. However, Obi-Wan was willing to bet that either Queen Jamilla or Governor Sio Bibble would know where Padme and his protege had elected to conceal themselves.

Noting his less than composed manner, Queen Jamilla tried to persuade him to allow someone else to pilot him across the planet to Varykino, the royal retreat given to Queen Amidala. Obi-Wan barely heeded her words. He had a destination and rushed out of the throne room and back to his ship. Within the hour he was launching himself out of the cockpit of his ship and tearing through the lake house. Not finding a soul apart from the spooked caretaker, he was starting to feel a meltdown coming on, but then a familiar Force-signature brushed across the periphery of his awareness.

Anakin! He dashed out of the house onto the balcony facing the vast meadow. His eyes scoured the horizon. He espied Padme and Anakin returning to the retreat, riding together on a Shaak. It was a scene straight from his worst nightmare!

“Anakin Skywalker!” He bellowed.

Startled, Anakin and Padme tumbled gracelessly off their spooked mount. Obi-Wan wasted no time in crossing the distance to snatch his bewildered Padawan out of the grass by the lapels of his Jedi tunics. “What were you thinking?” He yelled, on the verge of hyperventilating, shaking the boy.

“Master Kenobi?” Padme’s concerned face inched into his line of sight.

Seeing the two side-by-side only worsened his condition. He couldn’t disprove or disregard the common features shared with the young boy. In spite of the child’s age and their own, he couldn’t argue against the truth. Feeling -- he couldn’t pick only one word to describe the emotions welling up in side of him -- Obi-Wan began to berate the pair.

“You!” He released Anakin’s robes, freeing up his finger to point accusingly at him. “You I’ve come to expect such stupidity from, but you!” Obi-Wan rounded on the startled Senator. “Padme, I’ve always regarded you as rational and intelligent, so why?”

Seeing the child’s, Lukka Shmi had called him, face flash through his mind, Obi-Wan crumpled in defeated resignation. “I am too young to be a grandfather, Anakin.” He pouted.

Anakin gaped at him as if Obi-Wan had suddenly transformed into a two-headed Reek. “Master, what?” He sputtered.

Padme observed Obi-Wan as one would a spooked beast. “Master Kenobi,” she began but shook her head, leaning in close and losing a bit of her guarded bearing, “Obi-Wan, whatever is the matter?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Anakin chimed in, “you’re kinda freaking me out, Old Man.”

“Old! I’m a crisp 35.” Obi-Wan ranted. “I’m in the prime of my life! I am not ready to be a grandfather!”

Padme and Anakin glanced at one another and then back to the crumpled heap of the once venerable Jedi Master.

“Uh-huh.” Anakin nodded slowly. “Got it. So, what’s the problem?”

The problem? What was the problem? Obi-Wan glared at his student petulantly. The boy had the nerve to ask what the problem was?

“The problem, Anakin Skywalker,” Obi-Wan ground his teeth together as Anakin hedged away from him, “the problem is you had to go and ignore every thing I’ve ever taught you! Jedi are not supposed to have children! Master Mundi is a cultural exception!” He shouted, tugging at his hair in frustration.

“Uhm, children?” Padme and Anakin echoed in synchronization, identical looks of confusion furrowing their brows as they met his accusing glare.

“Don’t try to deny it, young man. I have all the proof I need.”

“Proof? Master, what the Kriff are you talking about?” Anakin demanded.

With dramatic aplomb -- his student would no doubt have been proud of under different circumstances -- Obi-Wan slammed down his holo-comm and dialed up the newest number.

“Hello, Lars Farm?” A young woman answered the comm chipperly.

Spying Obi-Wan, she jolted. “Oh, Shmi, it the Jedi.” She yelled over her shoulder.

Anakin’s breath hitched at his mother’s name and he leaned closer towards the holographic projection as the young woman’s face was replaced by one far more familiar. “Mom.” His voice cracked.

Shmi gasped as Anakin snagged the comm and came into view. Padme felt tears gathering in her own eyes, witnessing the reunion of mother and son. Anakin wept, reaching out to the hologram as if he could traverse the light-years. His eyes traced every feature of his mother’s face. Shmi’s eyes had a distinctive reflective sheen as she drank in the image of her grown son. She briefly glanced to his side and paused.

“Oh, my.” She breathed, head turning between Anakin and Padme. Those discerning eyes scrutinized Padme for a moment before the recognition clicked. “You’re Padme.” Shmi stated.

A soft smile overtook the older woman’s face. “I’m glad it was you.” She said.

Huh? Padme blinked.

Anakin, not catching the weirdness of the statement, swiped a sleeve across his face to dry his tears. “Mom, I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve had such awful dreams. I’m so so sorry I left. I should have come back, I’m sorry. I -- ” His words died on his trembling lips as Shmi fixed him with a quelling look.

“Ani, it’s alright. You are where you are meant to be. As am I. You have no need to feel guilty. I’m doing just fine. More than fine.” She smiled. “Ani, I’m free.”

“How?” Anakin gasped.

Padme leaned forward, just as eager to hear her tale. She had tried so hard to locate Shmi a few years after the Trade Blockade, but her agents had reported Shmi was no longer at Watto’s, and the locals refused to speak with off-worlders. Sabe had tried a couple years after that, but couldn’t find Shmi either, though she had begun integrating with the local chain-breakers.

Shmi waved to someone out of sight and a heavyset older man stepped into view, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Anakin, this is Cliegg Lars. He’s the one who helped free me, and...we’re married.” She said.

Padme grinned in wonder and looked to Anakin to gauge his reaction. It was an interesting face he made. Part wonder and hope and part horror.

“Did you choose him?” Anakin suddenly spoke in a musical, yet guttural tongue Padme had never heard.

“I did.” Shmi answered in the same strange language.

“Do you love him? Does he love you?” Anakin continued.

“I do.” Shmi nodded.

“I love her with all my soul.” Cliegg answered in halting Amatakka.

Anakin blinked, slightly surprised. Pleasantly so, but still. He smoothly transitioned back into Basic. “ Then, I’m happy for you, Mom. And, Cliegg, thank you.” Anakin bowed his head.

Cliegg smiled. He and Shmi leaned into one another, relaxing after Anakin’s pronouncement. Padme smiled, pleased to see them all happy. She would have reached out to Anakin but….Obi-Wan was glaring at them still.

“Grandma Shmi.” A young boy’s voice broke the pleasant atmosphere.

Obi-Wan grunted in apparent satisfaction his point had been made. He gestured from the young people sitting across from him towards the holo-display as if saying: see?

Anakin jerked upright, the Force flaring in recognition and joy as the boy hopped into view and peered into the holo-cam. Their gazes locked and boy’s mouth dropped open much like Anakin felt his own do. Neither of them could look away. Anakin suddenly understood his Master’s earlier ranting, for it was plain as daybreak on Tatooine that this child was his. Only Padme seemed confused, her rational mind failing to accept what she was seeing.

“How?” Anakin choked.

Cliegg gently tugged the boy away from the holo as Shmi addressed them over the boy’s protests. “It’s him. That’s him. He’s, isn’t he?”

“Anakin, you need to come home. Padme, I think you should come as well. This does concern both of you.” Shmi stated.

Padme wasn’t sure what Shmi meant. What concerned her? However, her protest forming on her tongue was silenced before it left as Anakin responded.

“We’ll be there in two days time, Mom. Transmit your coordinates to this number. We’ll see you soon.” He said.

Shmi nodded and, with one final smile at her son, cut the call. Obi-Wan hummed in the resulting silence, a vindictively, victorious air settling over him. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself, oh, Padawan mine?”

Anakin seemed in that moment far older than his nineteen years. In as calm a voice as Padme had yet to hear from him, Anakin addressed his mentor. “I’ve nothing to say, Master.” He said.

“Nothing?” Obi-Wan frowned.

“Nothing I can say will alter actions which have already transpired.” Anakin stated. “And, even if they could….” his gaze lingered on the deactivated holo-comm.

Obi-Wan sighed. He’d half expected this answer from his student. “You’re right. You, yourself, have yet to do anything.” Obi-Wan paused briefly to observe their reactions. Innocent, good. Continuing on, then. “I have a feeling regardless of anything I say, you would still follow your heart over your head.”

His’ Master’s exasperated smile was as familiar to Anakin as his lightsaber. He grinned back, shattering the momentary illusion of maturity. “You know me, Master.” Anakin shrugged, leaning back into the grass on his elbows.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Obi-Wan huffed, trying to scrounge up the necessary ire to look appropriately disapproving, and failing at the glowing warmth radiating out from his Padawan’s eyes.

How could he possibly lecture the boy now? He had never, in the ten years he’d spent with Anakin, seen him this peaceful. This happy. This...balanced? He furrowed his brows, picking apart the nearly hypocritical thought as soon as it registered in his mind. Balanced. This news, this obvious weakness, and predilection towards attachments was expressly forbidden for Jedi because it left one unbalanced. Or did it? Was it a universal truth or more of a case-by-case, attachment-by-attachment, concept. Hmm, perhaps Master Dooku had a point about the stagnated, archaic teaching of the Jedi Order? He would think about it later. Obi-Wan shook his head and rose to his feet, brushing grass from his robes.

“Well, then, shall we go?” Obi-Wan directed this question to Padme.

Padme glanced between the two men. Clearly something was going on. And it had been serious enough to bring Obi-Wan running to Naboo. Serious enough to get Master Kenobi to place his first duty, which had been to investigate her most recent attempted assassination, on the back-burner. And Anakin….she gazed at him. He’d swept across the known emotional spectrum within seconds just while conversing with his mother, and then.... The recollection of Anakin’s awe-struck reaction to the unfamiliar child settled her mind on the matter.

“Yes, Master Kenobi, let’s.” She nodded, rising to her feet.

Hm. She was going to have to pack for the third time inside of three rotations. Oh, well. Padme shrugged, mentally discarding her more formal attire from her bags. They were bound for Tatooine not Alderaan. Tatooine. Maybe Padme ought to back both her blasters and all her vibro-blades? She tapped her index finger to her chin as she strode into the house to make their departure known to the caretaker.

Anakin beamed. “I won’t have to kidnap her now.” He murmured. Obi-Wan’s blue-gray eyes pierced the back of his head as Anakin moved towards the transport. Really, why was Obi-Wan so uptight? Anakin just said he wasn’t going to kidnap Padme.

“It’s a miracle you’re not one of the Galaxy’s most wanted.” Obi-Wan grumbled, trailing behind to assist.

Anakin smirked. “How do you know I’m not?” He winked and swaggered off to warm-up the skiff.

Obi-Wan froze. How did he know? Oh, Force! Please tell him his Padawan was not a wanted criminal! Anakin howled. “You’re going to be the death of me.” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

“Hey, now.” Anakin cackled, barely affronted this time around. “I would never commit patricide.”

Obi-Wan sniffed. Anakin clearly didn’t need his assistance. He marched into the house to help Padme instead. She was nicer and was not the main cause behind every gray hair on Obi-Wan’s head.

“I think they make you look mature.” Anakin called behind him, mockingly. “Like a refined Grandpa. Whoa!”

Obi-Wan nodded his head sharply at the loud splash, tucking his right hand back into his robe as he entered the lake house. Brat. He’s lucky I insisted he learn how to swim. Obi-Wan thought. He tuned out Anakin’s colorful tirade as he resurfaced and floundered about trying to get back in the skiff.

Padme and R2-D2 met him in the hallway with her single bag? My, my, but this was a rotation full of surprises. Obi-Wan stroked his beard in pleased shock. She shook her head at him and strode past, her mechanical menace trundling along in her wake.

“Like Master, like Padawan.” Padme said, just loud enough to insure Obi-Wan heard.

Obi-Wan gasped, clutching at his chest. He and Anakin were nothing alike. R2 swiveled his dome around to train his photoreceptor on Obi-Wan and whistled. While, Obi-Wan was not fluent in Binary like his student -- see not like Anakin, Padme -- he got the very clear impression he was in the minority with his opinion.

Arriving at Theed’s spaceport where Padme’s personal spacecraft was berthed, Anakin left Obi-Wan to assist Padme and hurried ahead to complete the preflight check. The engines were already thrumming by the time the others came aboard and stowed Padme’s bag. Anakin fed Tatooine’s coordinates into the navicomputer and lifted the ship into the atmosphere.

Anakin paced the ample cabin space, frivolously using the Force to levitate or fiddle with the random bric-a-brac, which someone in the past had deemed necessary to carry on-board a Senatorial star-ship. Obi-Wan chose to refrain from lecturing him He was willing to overlook this as Anakin’s way of expelling his excess nervous energy. After all, it was not every Taungsday one experienced the sudden appearance of future child. Such an occurrence would throw even the most balanced of Jedi off-kilter. Obi-Wan doubted even Grandmaster Yoda, himself, would have handled this situation better than Anakin.

Obi-Wan, now that his initial panic, anger, and frustration had been voiced and processed, found himself looking forward to meeting Anakin’s son. Speaking of. Anakin continued prowling the ship like some stereotype of expectant fatherhood in any Holo-drama ever created. No doubt all the implications for how he’d had a son, and with who, and well just having a son appear out of thin air, were finally settling into his mind. Obi-Wan smirked and sipped his tea. He supposed that could be considered punishment enough. For now.

Chapter Text

Unaware of the space odyssey unfolding across the stars, Jedi Master Plo Koon reverted from hyperspace at the galactic coordinates for the mysterious planet Kamino. In spite of the planet’s notable absence in the Temple’s Archives, it was precisely where Obi-Wan’s informant said it would be. Plo Koon hummed thru his rebreather. How curious, that the owner of a small diner in Coco Town would have more accurate information than the Jedi Archives. Very curious. He thought, transmitting his Jedi Codes at the prompting of the Kaminoan space-traffic controller.

Waiting on clearance, Plo Koon slid into a light meditation, folding his hands into the sleeves of his Jedi robes. He sensed a shift in the Force. Memories of his childhood, some two hundred years past, flitted to the forefront of his mind. He basked in the unexpected and long missed light which seemed to have rallied and burst through the murky clouds that had overshadowed it for so long. Could this shift have anything to do with the abrupt appearance of the young Skywalker? An idea to ponder later. Plo Koon, roused from his meditative state as he was directed by the Kaminoan authorities to land.

He sloughed through the dense downpour and lightly shook himself, adding the barest touch of the Force to remove moisture from his tunics. Plo Koon smiled thinking of his old master. Being a Wookie, Master Tyvokka, had been the one to teach Plo Koon this trick. A trick often frowned upon, by his more conservative peers, as an abuse of the Force. He chuckled to himself and bowed to the lithe hostess who arrived to greet him.

“I am Taun We, we are honored by your presence, Master Jedi.” The tall alien bobbed her long neck elegantly in greeting. “Though we had expected your visit much earlier than this.”

Plo Koon was grateful for his protective lenses, which concealed his shock. “I apologize for my tardiness but there have been unanticipated delays.” He said.

“Of course. Please, if you will follow me, the Prime Minister is waiting.” Taun We bobbed her head once again and turned, leading Plo Koon through a sterile, white maze of corridors.

Plo Koon mapped their turns inside his head. He’d learned a long time ago to always know how to get out of a building, in case of complications. This was a lesson he’d impressed upon all of his Padawans, with varying degrees of success. Poor little Lina. The Pantoran had been more than a little directionally challenged. He shook off his erroneous thoughts as Taun We ushered him thru a white door.

Sterile, simplistic and elegant. These were the best descriptions for the Kaminoan style of architecture. It made even the Jedi Temple’s austerity seem opulent. Plo Koon observed the alien already waiting inside the room. A male, he was a few shades darker in complexion and stood a half-a-head taller than Taun We. This then was the Prime Minister. Such a distinguished welcoming committee on such short notice. Plo Koon filed this away for further contemplation, accepting the seat lowered from a concealed panel in the ceiling, which the Prime Minister invited him to take.

“Master Dyas?” Plo Koon blinked.

He’d known the young seer well, before his death. Hm, the events surrounding the Jedi Master’s demise had always been murky at best and now for his name to be tied to the order of a clone army. Perhaps, the case ought to be re-investigated with fresh eyes? Yes. Plo Koon would stress the importance of this during his debriefing with the council, upon his return to Coruscant.

“So many?” Plo Koon rumbled.

How was it possible in just ten short years to create so many fully grown clones. What sort of toll did this accelerated growth take on the poor things bodies? He would find some way to sick Vokara Che on that. Plo decided, observing the young humanoid men as they ran through their drills.

“I would very much like to speak with your template.” Plo Koon hurried to press the subject as soon as the man’s name was mentioned.

Jango Fett. He was nearly as notorious in the underworld as Cad Bane, and he’d been a bounty hunter for barely ten years. Not to mention, there was his connection to Galidraan. Plo Koon had a long memory and such a blunder and senseless waste of life was not something anyone ought to forget. That it had happened under Yan’s watch….he sighed. Maybe it really wasn’t too surprising that the Jedi Master had resigned and turned to political activism. Still. The fact that Jango Fett, the last Mandalorian survivor of that slaughter, would willingly choose to work for a Jedi was remarkable.

If there was any people group in the galaxy who knew and remembered the wrongs committed against them longer than the Sith, it would be the Mandalorians. From what little Plo Koon had heard of Fett’s reputation and personality, he was about as Mandalorian as they came. None of the information added up. What he had learned did not paint a clear picture, but it certainly painted a very disturbing picture.

Conversing with the man, helped to clear up nothing. Fett was as cool and slippery as a Rishi eel. He could have made a living on the Sabacc circuit. Plo Koon thought. Lying to a Jedi’s face and having zero concerns they would call his bluff. Remarkable. As remarkable as Fett’s request for an unaltered clone to raise.

Plo Koon had no desire for a violent confrontation between the bounty hunter and himself for a variety of reasons. Young Boba for instance. Fett, in spite of his dispassionate, disinterest in the rest of his clones, cared deeply for this child. He called him a son and had given him a true name. And Boba, clearly admired and loved his father. Plo had no interest in causing harm to the pair, but he did still have a job to do.

Then again, Plo had been tasked with uncovering those behind the repeated assassination attempts on Senator Amidala. Fett was a bounty hunter, he didn’t just go around trying to off Republic Senators for kicks, he did it for credits. Credits which would be shelled out by a client. Therefore, Plo reasoned, in order to fulfill his mandate from the council, he would need to identify Fett’s client. He could hardly do that if the man did not cooperate, and Mandalorians were notoriously uncooperative prisoners.

He was composing a brief report to the council with his droid R-7, when he felt a warning thru the Force. Ah, as he’d anticipated, Jango Fett was departing Tipoca City. Plo had a good feeling that if he followed the bounty hunter he’d be better able to unravel this mystery.

Plo Koon glided through the facility, having downloaded it’s blueprints from a hall console after his meeting with Fett. He emerged on a walkway, which ran beneath the landing pad on which Fett’s Firespray was docked. As the ship lifted off, Plo Koon leapt up to the platform and used the Force to affix a tracking beacon to the ship’s hull, before slipping back inside the facility. He returned to his ship and made his departure.

Chapter Text

Anakin piloted Padme’s ship over the vast Dune Sea, following the coordinates his mother had transmitted to a remote moisture farm. He felt his mother’s familiar signature and fought off his tears. It had been ten years since he’d last felt her in the Force. She was not alone, of course. He could feel the the signatures of his step-family, as well as the blazing presence of a small boy. He exchanged a subtle glance with Obi-Wan, who was unstrapping from the chair behind the co-pilot’s. There could be but one person on the farm to whom that raw, untrained power belonged: his child.

Padme and R2-D2 were the first to disembark, uninhibited by the knowledge of what awaited them outside the ship. Anakin was not quite as fortunate. He fussed with his robes, smoothing out the wrinkles, and wiping his suddenly clammy palms off on his pants. Obi-Wan regarded him with fond bemusement, waiting until Anakin was ready to disembark.

“Nervous, Papa?” Obi-Wan jested, running one hand through his auburn hair to insure it looked flawless. First impressions were key. A lesson he’d tried to impart, with minimal success, to his student.

Anakin ceased fiddling with the lay of his cloak over his shoulders to glare at him, his lips thinning. Yet, the acerbic retort, which was anticipated, never left Anakin’s mouth.

What was this? Don’t tell me Anakin’s maturing? Obi-Wan wondered.

“What about you, Gramps?” Anakin drawled, smirking.

Never-mind. Obi-Wan gasped in feigned hurt. “Such disrespect for your elders, you show!” He whipped out his best impersonation of Yoda.

Like a charm, Anakin chuckled. Obi-Wan joined in, pleased to see some things remained unchanged. Anakin had always enjoyed Obi-Wan’s Yoda impersonation as a young Padawan. He sobered. There was no sense in dawdling. Neither one really wanted to either.

“Ready?” He asked, laying one hand on Anakin’s left shoulder.

Taking a calming breath, Anakin nodded sharply: “Yeah.”

He squared his broad shoulders and disembarked the ship, but found himself devoid of breath at the sight which greeted him. Standing before the white-washed, sandstone domicile, hand-in-hand with the newly familiar face of Cliegg Lars, was his mom. Anakin subconsciously noted the presence of another couple waiting a little behind their elders. Likely Cliegg’s kid or kids, he and his mom had not had a lot of time to fill one another in on all the particulars of their lives.

Padme was already embracing, or being locked in an embrace with, Shmi.It was hard to tell. It’s also an unimportant detail. Anakin thought. His feet were already carrying him across the sands.

Padme spotted him coming and gently disentangled herself, gracefully sidestepping Anakin’s flailing limbs as he dove into Shmi’s waiting arms. She paused to smile at the duo. Shmi, under her grown son’s weight, had to lower them to the sands, still clinging tightly to one another. Padme turned away from their tearful reunion and moved to introduce herself to the rest.

Finally, after what seemed a lifetime and not nearly enough time, Anakin and Shmi drew apart allowing their eyes to catalogue all the differences in one another’s features since the last time they had been together. A not entirely subtle cough, broke the spell. Anakin grinned, he’d know that phony hacking anywhere, and glanced over his shoulder at his master. Shmi followed his line of sight and smiled herself.

“Hello there, Jedi Kenobi.” She greeted.

“Please, just Obi-Wan is fine, Lady Skywalker.” Obi-Wan smiled disarmingly.

Anakin rolled his eyes. Really, Master? He shot through their bond.

Manners, Padawan. Obi-Wan answered with a crinkle of his freckled nose.

“Shmi,” his mother’s gentle correction disrupted their conversation and also left Obi-Wan with the impression there would be no tolerating any other form of address.

“Shmi.” Obi-Wan conceded, dipping his head in acknowledgment.

Shmi nodded, rising to her feet, tugging Anakin along, and turning him to the others patiently waiting to be introduced. She guided him first to the elder man, “Ani, this is Cliegg.” She said, smiling as she reintroduced her husband to her son.

Anakin could do this. He held out his right hand. Cliegg arched a brow at the extended appendage then grinned, latching onto Anakin’s forearm and tugging him into a hug. “It’s good to finally meet you, son.” He said, pounding Anakin’s back enthusiastically.

“Um, thanks.” Anakin coughed.

“Easy, Cliegg.” Shmi laughed, extracting her son to guide him to the as of yet to be named duo. “Anakin, this is Cliegg’s son, Owen, your brother.” She smiled at this other young man warmly.

Anakin and Owen sized one another up in silence, daring one other to look away first. He’s older. Anakin observed, mildly upset that he was not the elder brother. Owen frowned back at him until the moment a petite elbow connected with his ribs.

“What the-- Beru!” He fussed at his companion, she rolled her blues eyes back at him.

“Quit trying to be cool and hug your little brother already.” She said.

Little? Anakin gaped.

Owen grumbled. Before Anakin could blink, Owen stepped forward, clasped Anakin in a firm hug, released him, and stepped back, his face and neck scarlet from embarrassment. The woman giggled at Owen’s outward discomfort. Shmi shook her head and directed Anakin’s full attention to the last stranger.

“Anakin, this is Beru Whitesun, Owen’s fiancee.” Shmi said.

Anakin found he couldn’t help but return the young woman’s wide grin. “Hi.” He said.

“It’s a real pleasure to finally have the opportunity to put a face to Shmi’s stories.” Beru cheered, sweeping forward to hug Anakin.

“Stories? Mom talks about me?” Anakin stammered a bit shyly.

“Of course.” Beru nodded emphatically.

“Why wouldn’t she, bantha-brain, you’re her son.” Owen grunted, rolling his eyes.

Anakin’s hackles rose. Oh, that crack meant war. He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward to tower, slightly -- darn, Owen was taller than Obi-Wan -- over Owen, preparing to go toe-to-toe. Shmi laughed. Beru took the opportunity to reach out an smack her beloved upside his head.

“Owen, behave.” She and Shmi chided in sync, one authoritatively the other still grinning and wiping happy tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru.” A high voice called.

Anakin had never noticed just how devoid of sound the desert could be until this moment. All mouths had snapped shut at the same time their heads had turned towards the doorway, out of which emerged a little angel. At least Anakin thought so. The little downy haired boy was still scrubbing the sleep from his eyes with a small fist as he stumbled into the yard. It’d been a few years since the last time Anakin had suffered the after-effects of a Force-punch to the gut, but suddenly he found himself doubled over on his knees with the air knocked clear out of him.

Padme gaped, her head turning from Anakin to the child and back to Anakin. It was impossible. Yet the proof was standing right there, staring up at the strangers with familiar blue eyes. He looked exactly like Anakin had at that age, well…. almost. Idly, Padme noted the nose was not quite the same and the face was softer, and his chin was more rounded than Anakin’s, despite having the same cleft. Staring at the child was like watching a dream, long suppressed and ignored, coming to life. She’d always longed to be a mother.

Wait...Padme’s head snapped towards Shmi. The older woman had been very insistent Padme come, had said that it all had something to do with her and Anakin. Oh. Her hand clamped over her mouth. By Shiraya, Padme was a mother! It was real, not a dream, and it was far too detailed to be a mere hallucination. Ahead of her, Anakin sank down to his knees as if’s he’d been plowed over by a speeder. His eyes never wavered from the child.

__________

Luke had heard a lot of noise and the air had felt all weird, electric, foggy, and yet somehow bright. Everything felt so bright, like he was sleeping under the mid-day suns and not in his own bedroom. It was comforting in a way. Familiar too. Luke trudged to the surface of his consciousness, slipping his feet over the side of his new bed and ambling towards where he knew his family was gathered. Though why they were all outside in the mid-day heat was beyond him. Still, now that his mind and body were unencumbered by sleep, Luke was hungry.

He called for his Aunt and Uncle and slumped upstairs into the yard and squinted against the glare of the twin suns reflecting off the sand. Ugh, he hated being out at mid-day. Finally, his sensitive blue eyes adjusted and Luke glanced about, searching for someone to make him a snack. He’d make it himself, but Aunt Beru and Grandma Shmi were better cooks. Oh! He blinked. His mind counted three more people besides his family.

Oh! Luke gasped, jerking his head back towards the tallest stranger.

Even without being told Luke knew, this man was his father. His father. Luke thought, giddily. His very much alive father. His living father who was staring at Luke as one might a desert sprite, wary and awe-struck. Luke’s vision blurred, and he swiped at his misty eyes. Tears were a waste of water, everyone knew that, his father certainly would and Luke would do nothing to disappoint his father. That strange overwhelming brightness returned, stronger like it was suddenly concentrated by a lens, and Luke felt as if there was something prodding at him. He subconsciously brushed the edges of that brightness. At his touch a blazing inferno enveloped him. Despite its dazzling intensity, Luke found the sensation wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable. Like slotting the power cell into a vaporator and hearing it thrum to life or completing a particularly risky maneuver on his swoop bike, it felt right. He was amazed that he had never noticed the hole this light poured into and filled up just right.

Anakin couldn’t move. He didn’t dare to, lest he somehow shatter the fragile illusion. Still, he couldn’t not reach out, so he allowed his mind to do so through the Force, immediately he felt his’ own son’s warmth respond. Like a youngling asking to be picked up and held. Anakin wasted no time in enfolding the precious star within his own Force-Signature.

Obi-Wan choked. But, honestly he shouldn’t be surprised by anything Anakin did anymore. Still, it was a justifiable sort of surprise. One did not witness the the birth of a Force-bond of this magnitude every day. As if a star had suddenly exploded into existence. It was a bond so new and strong that it ought not be possible for it to exist.

Luke couldn’t be expected to wait another second. So he didn’t. He sprinted across the short distance separating them and dove into his father’s hold. A pair of strong arms wrapped about him, as shaking fingers intertwined in his hair, and crushed him to a broad chest. Luke couldn’t help it, the tears he’d so long suppressed burst out of him. He clung to his dad’s tunics and sobbed. Every childhood dream, every night spent gazing up at he stars, every snatched story or anecdote of his long-dead father paled in comparison to the impossible reality of being hugged by his dad.

“Dad!” Luke cried. “I’ve wished so hard. I knew you were out there! I knew I’d meet you!” He continued to sob, burying his face in the crook of his dad’s neck. “I just knew you couldn’t be dead!”

Anakin’s galaxy had shifted so many times in the past few rotations, he would have assumed it was impossible for it to happen again, but apparently all it took was one little sentence. Really, it hadn’t so much shifted and stopped stone cold in it’s motion. Dead? Chill’s raked up and down Anakin’s spine in spite of the heat generated by two suns beating down on his back. His son had thought he was dead? Or in the impossible future where this precious child hailed, was he dead?

Anakin shook his head. He was here right now and while he had any say in the matter he would always be here, Anakin tightened his hold on the boy. And, if somehow he still was taken away, Anakin vowed to take every moment he had been granted now to insure that his son knew how much he loved him. Anakin would raze the galaxy for this boy. He swore.

A gentle hand settled on his tense shoulder. Anakin glanced up at an equally starstruck Padme. No words needed to be uttered, he merely shifted and seamlessly slotted her into their orbit. Padme wrapped one arm about Anakin’s shoulders, the other hesitantly carding through the shaggy, sun-bleached locks.

Luke lifted his tear-streaked face up and found the most beautiful woman smiling down at him. He’d always thought Aunt Beru to be the prettiest woman in the galaxy. Yet, somewhat guiltily, Luke found this woman had to be some kind of Angel. Like the one’s the old-timers in Mos Espa would talk about on occasion.

Anakin snorted, sensing the flow of his son’s unshielded thoughts. It would seem he held more in common with his son than just looks. What was the old adage? Oh, right. Like father like son. He laughed hugging his family.

Luke sniffed and wiped his running nose on his sleeve. He could vaguely hear Aunt Beru scolding him about his manners, but that wasn’t really what had Luke’s attention right now. He sniffed back his remaining tears, no sense in spilling anymore water today, and blinked up at the pretty lady.

“Hi.” He offered shyly, half-attempting to bury himself inside his father’s robes.

Padme felt her breath escape in a wobbly exhale as she responded. “Hi, yourself.”

Now, really. Shmi smiled fondly, eyeing the young family kneeling in the sand. And, oh, how Anakin was going to regret that. It was high time for some proper introductions. She decided and stepped forward behind her son.

“Lukka,” Shmi called her grandson’s attention. He gazed up and over his dad’s head with minimal craning of his neck. What had they been feeding her boy in the Jedi Temple. She shook her head, and laid her hands on one of Anakin and Padme’s shoulder. They shifted but did not take their eyes off the child. “Lukka, this is my son, your father, Anakin Skywalker.”

Luke nodded, his blue eyes raking over his dad’s face once more. Shmi smiled and proceeded. “And this,” she broke off her introduction with a pointed squeezing on her son’s shoulder. This was an introduction he should be making.

“This is your mother, Padme Naberrie Amidala.” Anakin took over the introduction.

Padme had zero complaint with the title and zero doubt. She smiled at the boy who was gaping up at her in wonder. That was her expression, she smiled wider. Or at least it aptly mirrored what was going on inside her own heart.

Luke was gobsmacked. The pretty lady was his mom? No way! How did dad manage that?

Anakin was only moderately offended. He had to secretly confess he was a bit amazed by future Anakin’s luck. How had he managed to convince Padme to marry him? Yes, marry. He was not about to suggest anything else. Padme was the only woman for him. If she turned down his proposal he would have remained a grumpy old bachelor space monk for life. It was now Obi-Wan’s turn to frown in reproach at his offspring.

“Ani, Padme, this is Luke Skywalker.” Shmi completed the introductions, stepping back to happily observe the parents with their child.

Luke. It meant light on Naboo. Padme observed, rolling the syllables over her tongue and finding the name to be perfect. As perfect as her son. Her utterly impossible son.

Anakin had noted the inflections of his mom’s pronunciation. Luke, or Lukka: the fury of Ekkreth. A name as portentous as his own. Yet somehow, Anakin could sense his son would grow into everything his name portended and so much more. He smiled, cupping Luke’s cheek.

Luke felt it was his turn to say something and slowly, reluctant to leave his parent’s embrace, rose to his feet. Puffing out his chest he declared, “I am Luke Skywalker. One who walks unfettered. First free-born of the name.” He said.

His aunt and uncle, and grandparents, and, most importantly, his father would understand the significance of his introduction. His mom appeared to be an off-worlder, so it was understandable if she didn’t know. It was okay because he and his dad could teach her together. Luke clapped in sudden inspiration. He could make Grandma Shmi’s talz for everyone.

Anakin felt the tears falling down his cheeks as he stared at his son. Luke. Free-born. Unfettered. As it should be. A dark voice whispered. He would burn worlds if any dared to enslave his son.

“Dad?” Luke felt sticky, like being tripped in a pit of tar. He glanced about and somehow thought it had to do with his dad’s suddenly hard eyes. Luke stepped forward and laid his small hands on his father’s face, patting his cheeks softly.

Like throwing the switch on the generators in the morning, light flooded out as Anakin gazed at his son. He felt his heart constrict at the smile Luke gave him.

“Mom.” Luke fumbled the title a bit, as he turned to repeat the gesture with her. At her brilliant smile he squared his shoulders and said it again. “Mom. Dad.”

Subconsciously, Anakin and Padme’s hands sought the other’s, holding on tightly. Luke’s grin only widened as he noted this and he gave a jubilant whoop. He could hardly contain his joy, so he sprang into a run and dashed in a circle about his family until he was rudely impeded by an unmoving obstacle. Gracelessly, Luke tumbled backwards onto his posterior and glared at the offending object. His scowl gave way to a confused tilt of the head when he realized the object was a person.

“Who are you?” He asked. Somehow this red-haired man struck him as being familiar.

Anakin had just lucked into Pure Sabacc. He grinned like the Nexu that’d caught the Strill and sidled alongside Obi-Wan, who was locked in a staring contest with a child. “Luke, this is a very special person.” He began, seriously.

“Really?” Luke blinked, breaking his staring at the stranger to look at his dad.

“Yep, this here is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin thumped his Master’s back, “your other grandpa.”

Shmi, Padme, and Cliegg all choked at the abject, betrayed horror stealing over the Jedi Master’s face.

“Wha...Anakin!” Obi-Wan growled, swatting at the ungrateful and gangly brat, who danced out of range, cackling madly.

“Grandpa Obi?” Luke’s innocent call drew a thirty-five year old Obi-Wan up short.

Glancing at the child, Obi-Wan was struck by the radiant joy breaking over his, unfairly, adorable face. Had Anakin ever looked that small and innocent? No, Obi-Wan decided. His brat had always been a loud mouthed little pain in the neck. He thought as Anakin continued wheezing.

“Nice to meet ya.” Luke unknowingly echoed his father’s greeting from a decade ago. “I can call you Grandpa Obi, right?”

Confronted by those large blue Shaak eyes, how was Obi-Wan meant to resist. “Yes, you may call me Grandpa Obi.” He sighed, choosing to ignore the dying whale noises issuing from his Padawan’s mouth. Obi-Wan knelt before the boy, offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young one.”

Luke beamed and scrambled up, ignoring Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand and throwing his arms around the his neck. Obi-Wan stiffened, then allowed himself to relax into the hug, a small smile spreading over his face.

Clapping her hands, Shmi garnered all of their attention. “Why don’t we move inside where it’s cooler? It is moving on towards supper.” She stated.

Luke abandoned Obi-Wan, scampering over to his grandmother, and tugged on her skirts. She obediently bent down for him to whisper in her ear. She smiled and nodded, straightening once again to her full height. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Lukka.” Shmi said.

Luke grinned and raced back to snag his dad’s hand and tug him out of the dirt where he’d collapsed laughing. He paused and grabbed his mom’s hand too and then attempted to drag both adults along towards the house. “Come on, come on!” He encouraged, straining to pull them along when they didn’t move as fast as he apparently wanted.

“Resistance is futile.” Owen stated, smiling back at their bemused expressions when all sixty pounds of Luke tried to tow his parents combined bulk along behind him.

“Better to just go along with him.” Beru nodded, winking down at her nephew.

Luke grinned proudly and gave another purposeful tug on his parent’s wrists to get them moving. They exchanged a look, shrugged, and allowed themselves to be dragged into the farmhouse. Luke guided them confidently through the courtyard straight to the kitchen. All the excitement had momentarily distracted his stomach, but Grandma Shmi’s reminder had brought his appetite back full-force. Still, he had something he needed to do and it would take a minute for Aunt Beru and Grandma Shmi to fix supper, anyhow. He pointed to the bench and more or less commanded his parents to sit as the others slowly flowed in to join them.

Shmi and Beru bustled about preparing supper, pausing occasionally to pass Luke an ingredient he needed where he stood, with the aid of step stool, stirring something on the stove. Anakin sniffed the air, his eyes widened as so many distant childhood memories wafted back with the scent. Padme leaned back, closing her eyes, allowing the heady, spiced fragrance to fill her senses. It was pleasant and relaxing. A few moment later, Shmi and Beru passed out cups and placed a bowl of fruits and a platter of fried tuber patties and Bantha chops on the table. Luke followed along, struggling under the weight of an old kettle, a determined expression furrowing his brow as he placed the steaming kettle on the table top. With a nod to his grandma, he crawled over Beru and Obi-Wan’s laps to position himself smack dab between his parents.

Shmi poured out the contents of the kettle into the cups and handed them to Luke. There was a solemn air of ceremony on his young face as he dutifully passed the cups out to everyone seated round the table. Anakin choked back fresh tears as he lifted the cup to his lips and took the first sip of his mom’s talz in over ten years. Luke, pleased with himself, squirmed to get comfortable sandwiched between two people he’d never imagined he’d have the chance to share this important moment with. Anakin wrapped his free arm around Luke’s shoulders, knowing precisely what this simple moment meant. He tugged Luke against his side and bent down to press a kiss to the crown of his son’s head. Luke’s smile widened into his cup.

Padme didn’t know precisely what was happening, but she had enough awareness to realize it was an important cultural moment for Anakin, his family, and their son. She picked up her cup and cherished every sip to the last drop. Padme turned and hugged her son.

“Thank you, Luke.” She murmured into his hair.

He hummed. Happy and full after dinner and the warm talz, he rested his head on his mom’s lap and propped his feet in his dad’s lap. This was the best moment of his life and he was unwilling to move and risk waking up to find it all a dream. He was very unwilling to budge when Grandma Shmi suggested it might be time for bed. No. He thought, slouching more firmly into his parent’s warmth.

“Luke.” Shmi chided.

“Nah-uh.” He grumbled, wrapping his arms about his mom’s waist and pressing his feet into his dad’s thighs. Luke wasn’t budging from this spot.

Anakin smothered his laugh behind a fried tuber patty. Glancing up he noted, Owen smirking into his cup, as if this were an everyday sort of struggle. He took in the fond exasperation on both Shmi and Beru’s faces and came to the realization it probably was. Cliegg alone held no compunction about letting his amusement show.

“Good luck with that one, honey. The boy’s more stubborn than a Bantha. Takes after his grandma.” He staged whispered to Obi-Wan, who was seated at his left hand, and winked down to his grandson who was trying to smother his giggles in Padme’s dress.

Shmi affixed a sharp look on her husband. He grinned unabashed, and unfazed by the encroaching danger promised in her dark eyes. “How would you like to sleep with the Banthas, dear?” The implied threat was perfectly clear.

Cliegg cleared his throat. “Yes, well, perhaps it is time for all baby Banthas to be getting ready for bed.” He said.

Luke stuck out his tongue at his Grandpa Cliegg’s betrayal.

“Luke.” Padme chided lightly, struggling to conceal her amusement.

Anakin of course just grinned like he’d won the Boonta Eve Classic. Again.

“But, Mom,” Luke whined, pouting up at her, “I’m not sleepy....” He trailed off as a yawn split his face.

Anakin snorted. “Nice try, buddy.” He laughed, tossed Luke over one shoulder, and pushed to his feet. “Your Grandpa Cliegg and your Grandma are absolutely right. It’s time for all good little Banthas to go to sleep.

“Dad.” Luke began to protest before Anakin reached up and tickled his feet. “No, Dad, stop.” He giggled.

Padme rose to her feet and thought to ask for directions to Luke’s room before following the pair out of the kitchen. Shmi pointed her in the right direction, happy tears attempting to spill from her eyes as she watched Anakin with Luke. Cliegg reached out and took her hand. She squeezed back and smiled, pouring herself and the rest of her family another round of talz.

Luke had never slept better in his life than he did that night, trapped between his parents.

Chapter Text

Plo Koon reverted to real space above the dingy red world called Geonosis. Curious. He thought. As far as he could recall from his studies, Geonosis was the home planet of an insectoid species which harbored no small amount of distaste and distrust for other species; in particular humans. Precisely, what business, or connections, did a human bounty hunter have on the planet. He checked the tracking beacon’s signal and adjusted his star-fighter’s course accordingly.

So intent had Plo been on following the signal, he was very nearly caught off-guard by the Fire-spray’s sudden attack. Apparently, Fett had caught on to Plo Koon’s little ploy. Well, so much for the stealth approach. He shrugged, barrel-rolling his fighter away from the bounty hunter’s deadly fire.

Plo Koon was an accomplished pilot, even among the Jedi. In fact, only Skywalker Sr. was considered by their peers to be an equal. Yet, this Force-null human was giving the Kel Dor Jedi a run for his credits. If they were not adversaries, Plo would have loved to exchange tricks of the trade. Not to mention, getting to take a look at the specifications and mods on the bounty hunter’s ship. He’d heard all of the Fire-spray models had been rendered down to ash during a raid on one of the Republic’s max-security prison facilities in the Outer-Rim. It’d be a lie to say he didn’t want to take a closer look.

However, being reduced to scrap pinging against the ship’s cockpit viewport is not precisely how he wanted to go about it. He swerved and rolled and flipped the ship, weaving through the asteroid field. Plo lead Jango Fett on a merry chase, yet the bounty hunter matched him trick for trick. Impressive. Most impressive.

An uncomfortably close near miss brought their little game to an end. Plo Koon exhaled, slowly reengaging the power to the Delta-7, some minutes after his jettisoned spare parts had collided with Fett’s missiles. If he had been a scant millisecond off in his timing Plo Koon would have joined the cloud of dust roiling amongst the asteroids. He waited a few moments more before leaving the asteroids rings of Geonosis and breaching the planet’s atmosphere, following the tracking beacon still affixed to Fett’s ship’s outer hull.

Plo Koon landed several klicks to the west of the beacon’s signal, deciding it would be more advisable to approach on foot. After the near-death theatrics in outer space, his sporadic encounters with the planet’s local fauna were merely a pleasant break in the otherwise monotonous trek across the dull and arid landscape. The was decidedly not a clime he would recommend for a meditative retreat. A few hours brought him to a the edge of red-clay cliff, below he espied a canyon and vents.

A settlement? Or a factory? Plo Koon wondered. In either case, Fett’s position lay at these coordinates so it was there Plo Koon would venture. He could only vaguely sense the Bounty Hunter’s presence, intermingled amongst so many aliens’ and muffled as it already was by the Beskar alloyed armor he wore. What he could feel distinctly was another presence far larger and yet more oily, elusive. A shielded mind.

Plo Koon slipped into the factory through the catacombs. He listened intently to the strange chittering of the planet’s insectoid natives as he slipped from shadow to shadow. A voice Plo had not heard in many years brought him up short. He swiftly tightened his shields and adjusted his position to chance a brief look. His old ears were vindicated, Plo had indeed heard correctly. There, addressing a gathering in a conference room, stood Yan Dooku, formerly Master Dooku of the Jedi Order. Just how did young Yan factor into all of these events? Plo Koon decided he needed to alert Yoda at once to the investigation’s developments.

Returning to his star fighter Plo Koon realized, belatedly, trying to raise Coruscant through Geonosis’ metallic laced atmosphere would be futile. He would never be able to get a strong enough signal. However, he brightened adjusting the setting to his ship’s comm unit, he would be able to reach Young Obi-Wan and Anakin on Naboo. Once he had made that connection they could relay the message to the Council on Coruscant.

Plo Koon found he wasn’t even surprised when his signal narrowed in on their Comm frequency’s location. Of course they would be on Tatooine. He smiled a little to himself as he waited for the connection to be made. Neither Jedi were the ones to answer his summons, rather it was a quirky, blue and white astromech he vaguely recalled belonging to Senator Amidala. Plo Koon composed himself and began his report. Pausing mid-sentence, his blue-bladed lightsaber sprang into the palm of his hand to fend off the ambush of a pair of Droidekas.

Chapter Text

R2 trilled and trundled off the ship. Anakin and Luke paused their game of Shock-ball -- a highly modified and much more child-friendly variant. Padme, sitting with Beru and Shmi in the shade of the house assisting with the mending and keeping one eye on Luke and Anakin’s game, glanced up at the frantic warbling. Threepio paused in passing Owen -- who was working on their speeder-- the hydro-spanner, his emotionless faceplate somehow conveying his shock. Cliegg and Obi-Wan, hearing all the commotion emerged from the kitchens where they’d been having a spirited conversation about taxes and politics -- the two men had bonded scarily well over their mutual distaste and distrust for the majority of politicians and their shared experience of raising boys.

“What’s going on?” Obi-Wan asked of Anakin, one of only two beings on the farm who could make sense of R2’s frantically, incessant stream of Binary.

“He says we have a message from Master Plo, he’s in trouble!” Anakin sprang forward even as he finished relaying the pertinent details R2 had shared, and raced onto Padme’s ship, preparing a relay to the Temple.

Obi-Wan and Padme dashed on board after him. More sedately, and unremarked, the Lars and Luke trailed after them and settled into the cockpit, morbidly intrigued. As static reverberated through the holo-transmittor, Obi-Wan’s frown deepened. No doubt the blinding light and the sudden end of Master’s Plo’s message were the results of the Jedi Master getting serious. Which wasn’t good. If Master Plo Koon had been forced to unleash his electric judgment then the situation must be dire indeed. Adding to Obi-Wan’s concern was the distinct lack of a second transmission. As superb a warrior as Master Plo was, even he with his electric judgment, was not invincible. This was serious. Obi-Wan’s resolved hardened, as R2 replayed Plo Koon’s transmission a third time so Anakin could beam it to the Council. Padme tightened her grip on the copilot’s chair. Mace Windu winced at the abrupt end.

“I can be there within a few hours, Master.” Obi-Wan began to volunteer, though he would have to abscond with Padme’s ship.

“No.” Mace held up one hand. “You are to stay where you are, and complete your initial mandate. Both of you will remain with the Senator and insure her safety. We will handle this situation.” He instructed and cut the call already turning to bark at someone off screen to get Master Yoda.

Obi-Wan shifted as the call ended. Padme glanced at him. Was he really going to comply with the Council’s mandate and ignore his fellow Jedi. She shook her head, checking Geonosis’ galactic position in relation to Tatooine, as she turned towards Anakin for his support. Her hands paused. Anakin had turned in the pilot’s chair and was staring beyond her at the two unexpected presences, Luke and Shmi. Already she could see him being torn between his duty, his heart, and his family.

Having heard the full-tale from Shmi the day before, while Owen kept Luke distracted with his speeder’s repairs, Anakin was hesitant to let either Luke or Shmi out of his sight. He was petrified his mother would end up in some perilously, fatal situation, just as his dreams had portended. And Luke, well Padme shared his conflicted emotions about taking her eyes off their miraculously, impossible child. Afraid that if they glanced away, Luke would vanish as abruptly as he had appeared.

In the end, it was Cliegg who put to rest their unspoken doubts. “Well, when do we leave?” He asked.

Obi-Wan, Padme, and Anakin gaped at him. “Huh?”

“Son, you’re family, “ Cliegg addressed Anakin first, “as are the both of you, if not quite legally.” He turned towards Padme and Obi-Wan.

“Well, um, thank you, but…” Obi-Wan trailed off as Cliegg held out one hand.

“You’re family. We’re not letting you lot run off alone into danger.” He continued. “Clearly, we can’t ignore your friend’s plight and it’ll take far too long for anyone to get there from Coruscant.” Cliegg reasoned, Shmi nodding resolutely behind him.

Anakin couldn’t voice his gratitude. Still, while it wasn’t that he doubted their abilities in a fight, this was Tatooine, there was just one small problem. His eyes trailed once again to Luke who’s head was looking between all the adults trying to follow what was going on around him. Beru caught his gaze, stepping forward and settling her hands on her -- soon to be -- nephew’s shoulders.

“Luke can stay with the droids on the ship.” She said.

Obi-Wan had a thousand reasons why this was a horrid idea and a thousand and one ways this could blow up in their face. And all of these danced on the tip of his tongue, until he locked gazes with the Skywalker-Whitesun-Lars. Obi-Wan swallowed all his doubts, realizing he would not be able to dissuade the family. He sighed. So stubborn. Was it a trait inherent in all of Tatooine’s denizens? He glanced once towards his Padawan.

“Very well, make your preparations we’ll leave within the hour.” He caved with a final sigh.

Shmi and Beru nodded and whirled in a swirl of aprons and skirts, discussing between themselves what they needed. Cliegg clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder and marched off behind them with Owen to collect what weapons they had and insure all the perimeter alarms were active. Secure as anything, other than Jabba’s Palace, ever got on Tatooine. Beru gathered all the medicinal herbs, salves, and bandages they had, while Shmi grabbed the perishables out of the conservator and transferred them to Padme’s ship’s galley, and then gathered their blankets. While it was not a long flight it would take two full rotations in hyperspace, and all of the Lars and Luke were born and raised on the desert planet. Space was cold. Inside of thirty minutes they were prepared to depart, but paused a moment to take what might be their last look at the farm. Also, one last effort, on Owen’s part, to convince Beru to stay behind.

“It’s not your fight, Beru.” He didn’t even need her sharp glare to know that had been the wrong thing to say.

“You’d just better bite your tongue, Owen Lars. Like it or not, I’m a member of this family, whether we’ve exchanged vows yet or not, and where you go, I go. Until death do us part.” She snatched her rifle from his hands and stalked past, purposely, up the yacht’s ramp.

“Whew, that’s quite a gal.” Anakin whistled appreciatively after her, patting Owen on his shoulder as he herded Luke onto the ship.

“Yeah, I know.” Owen sighed in fond resignation, following Shmi and Threepio onto the ship and sealing the hatch. “We’re all aboard.” He yelled up to Anakin in the cockpit.

“Alright, time to strap in, Star-Sweeper.” Padme told Luke.

He pouted and sluggishly climbed out of Anakin’s lap, stomping into the hold where the others were congregated, and strapped himself into the bench seat. At her unamused look, he pointedly snapped the belt. Happy now, killjoy. His scowl conveyed what he did not say.

“Don’t worry, Buddy, you can sit with me once we clear the atmosphere.” Anakin consoled.

Padme rolled her eyes. Obviously, discipline would not be Anakin’s department. She sighed and shook her head at the wide grin Luke gave at his father’s promise. Shmi met her gaze and commiserated in silence, briefly glancing towards Cliegg who was making exaggerated faces of horror as they lifted off, earning a giggle from his grandson. She understood completely.

Clearing the atmosphere, Anakin beckoned over his shoulder as promised. Luke, with a very brief look to Padme for permission, sprang out of his seat and scurried into the cockpit, returning to his previous place in Anakin’s lap. Anakin grinned and showed Luke how to input the hyperspace coordinates, and let him pull the lever to send them into hyperspace.

“Wizard.” Luke breathed with the reverential awe of a future pilot.

“It sure is.” Anakin smiled, ruffling Luke’s hair.

Luke would have been happy to spend the entire trip sitting in his father’s lap and watching the stars stream past outside the forward viewport. Unfortunately, being eight years old, he soon began to fall asleep, his head lulling back against Anakin’s chest. Now was the time for the adults to plan, Anakin decided, and slowly rose to his feet, cradling Luke in his arms. Padme swept past him into the star-ship’s onboard suite and turned down the sheets. Settling Luke into the bed, they both pressed a brief kiss to his temple, and withdrew into the central lounge, leaving Threepio to watch him.

Chapter Text

The plan was far from perfect but they were operating in less than ideal circumstances and with minimal intel. Obi-Wan grimaced and relented, accepting the others proposed scheme. The Skywalker-Lars clan they would drop off close to Master Plo’s transmission coordinates, the farmers had decided to travel on foot towards the settlement. Shmi and Beru were both excellent snipers, while Owen and Cliegg were on watch. He, Anakin, and Padme -- who no doubt intended to insure her potential future husband didn’t get himself killed --would infiltrate and scout out the situation. Afterwards, all of them would work together to free Master Plo Koon.

While Obi-Wan would have preferred Luke stay with his grandparents and aunt and uncle, the stubborn child had pitched a subconsciously, Force-fueled tantrum which threatened to wreck the ship before they ever left hyperspace. So they unanimously agreed Luke could go with his parents, but once they reached the settlement, he would remain onboard the ship with R2, the droid could double as security as well as their getaway pilot. Luke nodded, willing to accept this compromise. R2 grumbled at being demoted to a babysitter, but agreed.

Honestly, he should have learned to anticipate this sort of outcome. Obi-Wan thought as he stared down the barrels of the Mandalorian’s blasters. Anakin grimaced and shied away from his Master’s glare. It really wasn’t his fault he’d lost yet another lightsaber. Padme refused to cower, steeling her shoulders and staring down her captors as they approached their group warily -- Anakin had managed to decimate more than a few Geonosians before his lightsaber was reduced to scrap waste by the factory’s machines -- with binders in hand. Why? Oh, why, can nothing ever go according to plan with this lineage? Obi-Wan lamented as Padme and Anakin were escorted one direction and he to another. He could only hope that the Skywalker-Lars were faring better and avoided detection.

_________

Shmi stiffened, panting as her breathing hitched. There was that feeling again. She was getting much better at determining the origin. Her son or grandson, or more likely both, were in trouble.

“Cliegg.” She turned to face her family.

He sighed and packed up their temporarily erected shelter. “I know. Let’s move.” He told Owen and Beru.

Beru sighed, and snagged her rifle and canteen. Owen grumbled under his breath. “What kind of trouble did those two cause, now.” He said, shoving his sleeping roll back into his shoulder bag and holstering his blaster.

Shmi gave them a smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s what family does for one another, dear, there’s no reason to thank us.” Cliegg pressed a brief kiss to her cheek as he marched past, taking point.

Owen still grumbled. He didn’t like missing his sleep. Beru grinned and winked at Shmi, throwing one arm around Owen’s waist and tugging him in step with her. Shmi shook her head. They were not dismissing the severity of the situation, but they were all from Tatooine and used to life or death. This was just barely different from the time they’d had to rescue Owen after he had accidentally insulted one of Gardulla’s best gladiators. Shmi grabbed her rifle and fell in behind her family.

“Hang on boys, we’re coming.” She whispered to the desert.

_________

R2-D2 had followed his queen’s instructions to the letter. It was not his fault. He was following his mandate. He blatted at the fussy protocol droid. Threepio was of course not placated and bemoaned their inevitable fate as metallic refuse or worse being assigned to the degrading task of spice-mine automatons. R2 decided to ignore his counterparts' incessant predictions of doom, using his scanners to search for the reason they were no longer on board the ship.

For once in his life, R2 had not disobeyed and done what ever he decided. He had fully intended to comply and remain with the ship. That is, until he’d noted the conspicuous silence, which was usually atypical among organics of the baby Senator-Jedi’s age model. He whistled sharply and searched the ship, discovering his charge was no longer on board. Threepio had been unhelpful in determining the boy’s location, so R2 had set out to find him and drag him back to the ship.

He’d become momentarily distracted in his task, when he’d rocketed out into the factory and spotted his queen about to be dismantled by a vat of molten metal. She was his primary, his central processors all agreed he needed to save her first. Threepio lost his head, quite literally, after he gracelessly tumbled onto the B-1 battle-droid assembly line. One more thing R2 would have to fix. He bleeped. R2 only possessed a finite amount of manipulators arms. Must he be expected to do everything himself. He trundled off after Threepio’s head and body as the B-1’s were ordered off the factory floor.

__________

Perhaps our lineage really is cursed. Anakin always believed so as a younger Padawan. Obi-Wan thought, eyeing Count Dooku as he strode imperiously into the holding cell. Really, if the man wanted a lineage reunion there were far more civilized ways to go about it. Obi-Wan sniffed. A man of Count Dooku’s standing ought to be aware of such basic concepts of social etiquette.

“Ah, young Obi-Wan.” Count Dooku greeted, a derisive smirk on his face. “You are a credit to your master.”

“Yes, no thanks to your influences, Grandmaster.” He drawled back.

Dooku’s pleasant mask cracked but for a moment. He was far too self-controlled to respond to such childish antics. Obi-Wan frowned. Well, bother. He’d learned long ago the easiest enemy to defeat was the unbalanced enemy.

“We need not be enemies at all, my Grand-Padawan.” Dooku said.

Well, it would seem the Count had not grown rusty after his resignation from the Order. “Oh?” Obi-Wan asked, mildly curious as to what all these theatrics were building towards.

“Join me.” Dooku said, forgoing subtlety altogether. “Together we can open the Order’s eyes to their own stagnant corruption and reform the Republic.”

“Reform it? Oh, forgive I was under the impression your Confederacy of Independent Systems wished to secede from the Republic? Did not your member planets state the Republic’s incurable bureaucratic rot and corruption as one of their many grievances and reasons for secession?” Obi-Wan commented.

Just what is Dooku up to? He wondered.

“If things remain as they are, there is no hope for redemption for the Republic.” Dooku agreed.

“And, if you’ll indulge my curiosity, just what things are you referring to which would spell the Republic’s inevitable ruin?” He quirked one brow as he hovered, suspended by his restraints.

“Why the Sith, of course.” Dooku smirked.

“Ah, of course.” Obi-Wan did not allow himself to think of the demon from Naboo. “However, seeing as there is but one Sith, I fail to see how he can be such a grave threat.”

“So easily blinded.” Dooku sighed. “Numbers do not always win a war, young one. One person may easily go undetected. Sometimes persistence is all that is required. Slowly, chipping away at the defenses and foundations of the your enemy, is what will ultimately win the war.”

“True. However, the ability to destabilize the Republic is hardly something just one person can accomplish.”

“It depends upon the power and influence that one man wields.” Count Dooku said.

“I see.” Obi-Wan frowned. “And you claim to know the Sith, their goals, and their position within the Republic?”

“Claim, no. I know.” Dooku said.

“And, what would be your price for such intelligence.”

“I could not turn such intelligence over to an enemy.” Dooku said.

Aha, so that was what this was about. Obi-Wan shook his head. They had been all through this a decade before when Dooku resigned from the order after Qui-Gon’s death. He’d asked Obi-Wan to join him on Serreno. Naturally, his condition had been that Obi-Wan abandon the Outer-Rim baggage Qui-Gon had left him with. A condition Obi-Wan had not been willing to comply with, anymore than he’d been willing to leave the Jedi Order.

“Ah, a pity. I suppose we shall have to muddle through as blind as ever.” He drawled.

“That is your final answer?”Count Dooku asked.

“Yes. I’m like my master in that regard. Incurably stubborn.” Obi-Wan said.

Count Dooku frowned. “Qui-Gon would not have been have so foolish as to disregard my offer.”

Obi-Wan felt his blood boil. What did Dooku know? He’d been drawing away from the Order and Qui-Gon, years before he’d resigned. Obi-Wan knew his Master better than anyone. Qui-Gon Jinn for all his eccentricities, and questioning the Council, was wholeheartedly devoted to the Jedi Order. Before, Obi-Wan could verbally assault his ex-grandmaster, Dooku spun on his booted heels and strode out of the cell, leaving Obi-Wan to fume internally.

_________

Dooku would never admit to feeling disappointed by Obi-Wan’s refusal to join him. He narrowed his eyes and marched away from the cell, he had other matters to attend to. Perhaps the charismatic and idealistic Nubian Senator would see reason where Kenobi had not. In spite of Nute Gunray’s insistence Padme Amidala be killed, Dooku hoped to persuade the young woman to the CIS cause. The secession of Naboo would be a blow to the Senate and a personal victory for Dooku to have his Sith Master’s home planet abandon the Republic.

Clearly, she held many similar grievances against the Republic’s bureaucracy. She listened politely until Dooku had finished speaking and regally inclined her head, appraising him with her shrewd eyes. Padme Amidala was a remarkable young woman, Dooku thought. He’d of course known this merely from speaking with Darth Sidious and hearing his own personal distaste for the woman who had thrown half of his plans into disarray by returning to Naboo to fight the Trade Federation all those years ago. Unfortunately, she was naive and every bit as stubborn as Obi-Wan.

“I agree there are problems.” Padme said. “However, fracturing our galaxy into divisive factions is hardly going to fix those problems. I cannot believe breaking the Republic will help it heal. I will not join you, Count.” She said.

“Your answer grieves me, My Lady.” He sighed and rose from his chair. “I am afraid that as a Republic Representative, your violation of CIS sovereignty in coming here can only be viewed as an act of war.”

That boy, Anakin, glowered where he stood restrained behind Amidala. So brash. Dooku could not see what Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, or Darth Sidious saw in the boy. He was nothing. Inconsequential in the grand scheme.

“You have no idea how it pains me to have to sign the order for your termination.” Dooku addressed Padme Amidala.

"I'm surprised you have the guts, Dooku." Anakin Skywalker snarled as the guards and Fett stepped forward to usher the two out of the room and back to their cells.

He barely spared Anakin a thought as the boy was swept out of the room. The Outer-Rim bumpkin had no place in Dooku’s lineage.

Chapter Text

Having seen the ornery – mostly the Jetti student -- prisoners back to their cells, Jango sighed. His flight from Kamino and subsequent space battle with the Jedi pilot, and again trading blows with the Jedi and his impressive student, had left Jango physically and mentally drained. So caught up in his thoughts he wasn’t really paying much attention as he exited the the prison ward and stumbled over something. Glaring down he was prepared to lambast or maybe just blast whichever Geonosian had been unfortunate enough to cross his path. The vitriol fizzled out as he stared down into the wide, shimmering blue eyes.

What the….Why is there a child here? Jango wondered. He didn’t really count Boba. Boba at least knew how to defend himself and wasn’t half so tiny. As far as Jango knew there were no other humans present in the Geonosian settlement, apart from himself Boba, and the Count. He seriously doubted the this child held any relation to the supercilious Count. That man did not have a parental bone in his body.

One moment Jango was contemplating the absurdity, the next the child’s blue eyes were watering and his lip trembling as he gazed at Jango. He would later blame everything which followed on his sleep deprivation and the ingrained, Buir mentality of Mandalorians when confronted by unattended ade. Jango knelt and placed one hand on the child’s trembling shoulders.

“Hey, hey, ad’ika, what’s wrong?” He removed his helmet, clipping it to his belt, so he didn’t appear half so intimidating to the already frightened child.

“I...I can’t find my mom and dad. They were...I felt.. I just wanted to help...but I can’t find them.” The boy hiccuped, scrubbing at his damp cheeks furiously, as if trying not to cry.

He’d definitely blame it all on sleep deprivation. Jango swept the boy up into his arms, shushing him quietly, reciting Jaster’s Codex in Mando’a, a trick that had never failed to calm down Boba when he’d been smaller. Not really having any better options and desiring a safer place to rest, Jango held the boy close and marched through the complex towards the sleeping quarters he and Boba had been given for the duration of their stay on Geonosis.

“It’s alright, ad’ika.” He said, allowing the boy to cling to his chest plate. “I’ll help you find your buire.”

Jango meant that, with all his heart. However, he was of no use to anyone without at least six hours of sleep. He was just too tired as this moment. There was also still the execution tomorrow morning, which the Count was paying him to act as a guard during.

“Really?” The child sniffled.

“Uh-huh, but I really need to sleep first,” he began, then felt how the child tensed in panic and hurried to add, “ and I have to check up on my son to, and I’m sure you could use some sleep yourself. This is a big place to search but tomorrow everyone is going to be at the Arena. I’ll bet you anything your parents will be there too.” He said, rubbing the boy’s back.

“You think so?” He asked.

“Mm, hmm.” He nodded, maneuvering the kid onto his hip to free up one hand to punch in the code on his door. “Boba, I’m back.” He announced as the door slid open.

“Hey, Buir,” Boba called from somewhere deeper in the suite, “do you think they’ll use an Acklay tomorrow? I want to see if they’re really as strong they say!”

Jango chuckled at son’s palpable excitement. Boba and his books. He shook his head. “Who knows. They might.” He answered. “Boba, come out here a moment, we have company.”

Boba’s head immediately popped out of the bedroom, his honey-brown eyes zeroed in on the boy in his dad’s arms. “Who’s he?” He demanded, stepping fully into the living room.

It just occurred to Jango he’d never asked the boy for his name. He must be more exhausted than he’d thought. The boy shyly shrunk into Jango’s armor under Boba’s intense scrutiny.

“I’m Luke.” He murmured.

Luke? A good name. Jango nodded to himself. He squatted before Boba, and set Luke down, though he noted, with a small swell of affection, the boy didn’t move an inch away from him. Boba continued to glower.

“What’s he doing here, Buir.” Boba turned to his dad, choosing to ignore Luke completely.

Jango, through years of practice, managed to keep his expression neutral in the face of his son’s blatant jealousy.

“I’m lost.” Luke admitted, scuffing his boots against the polished floors, head hanging low and blue eyes peeking out from beneath his long bangs at Boba.

“Lost?” Boba ceased ignoring Luke and looked at him.

“Mm-hmm, I can’t find my parents…”

“Parents?” Boba’s demeanor instantly thawed, now realizing this child was no competition for his father’s affections. After all, Luke was no orphan.

“Yeah.” Luke nodded.

“So, Buir’s gonna help you find your parents.” Boba nodded. Yes, after all this was the way to help ade. His dad was not trying to replace him, his was simply following the way. And, on an entirely unrelated note, finding himself faced with the full effect of those wide blue eyes, Boba could completely agree with his Buir, they had to help this child.

“Uh-huh, he said everyone will be at the arena tomorrow.” Luke said, glancing over his shoulder at Jango for confirmation, the older man smiled.

“Totally! Nobody’s gonna miss that.” Boba agreed.

“Miss what?” Luke asked.

Not noticing Jango’s violent shake of the head, or else, choosing to ignore it, Boba answered in typical brutal honesty. “The execution. It’s gonna be so wizard!” Boba gushed, failing to see the other boy’s horror.

“Why would you be happy to see someone die?” Luke asked.

Boba didn’t understand. “The death matches are awesome.” He stated.

“That’s horrible.” Luke protested.

Again, Boba was confused. Luke didn’t talk or dress like some sheltered coreworlder. He had a very distinctively Outer-Rim accent. Boba didn’t understand.

“Nobody should have the right to take another’s life. Not like that.” Luke stated, crossing his arms and glaring at Boba.

Jango felt an odd surge at the boy’s innocence. How long had it been since he’d been capable of thinking so naively? Snow and blood and flashes of many-hued flames slipped through his mental shields before he firmly slammed the blast-door on those memories. He glowered at the wall, he’d not thought of that day for many years.

“What’s the big deal, they’re only criminals?” Boba argued.

Jango bit back on any comments on the legality of that claim. It wasn’t his business, anyway. He was a Bounty Hunter and a guard. He was not a lawyer.

“It’s still not right.” Luke scowled.

Something in the way his little features contorted struck Jango as familiar. He brushed it aside. Given all the dignitaries arriving on Geonosis for the CIS conference and the execution, he was probably seeing things. Or he had run into Luke’s parents at some point. He shrugged. It was something to deal with and think about tomorrow.

“Only Hutts and slaving scum deserve that sort of death.” Luke half-snarled, catching the father and son off-guard.

Jango blinked, maybe Luke wasn’t quite as naive as he’d assumed. Boba nodded, after he was over his shock.

“Yeah, they do. Hey, you want to my armor’s specs.” He offered.

Boba had been working on his armor’s specifications and the colors he’d paint it with ever since he’d first learned he’d have his own kit once he completed a verd’goten. The fact he still had four years before he could even participate in a verd’goten was a mere detail. Jango shook his head as Luke’s eyes glimmered in interest.

“Sure!” He grinned.

Just like that the tension dissolved and the two boys disappeared into Boba’s room. Jango shook his head yet again, the flexibility of youth. He stretched and cast himself down on the couch, still in his armor, too tired to do even bother with removing it or going to his own room.

__________

Jango woke and rolled his shoulders, sparing a moment to check the chronometer on his wrist. Ah, he’d very nearly overslept. He rose and went to wake the boys, finding them sprawled on the floor of Boba’s rooms, his data-pad laying opened between them. Jango smiled. He roused them, amused by their identically grumpy demeanor.

“Those sores are what come from bunking on the floor, ad’ike.” He smirked as they stretched out their stiff legs and necks.

Luke huffed. Boba glared at his father. Jango took it all in with an amused grin and directed them towards the suite’s refresher. While they were occupied with the difficult task of waking up enough to wash their faces, Jango double-checked his weapons and wiped down his kit. Boba and Luke emerged from the refresher with damp cheeks and a better mood. Well, Boba was in a better mood, recalling the upcoming spectacle. Luke seemed resigned, or apprehensive, or perhaps a bit of both.

Jango donned his helmet and herded the two out of the suite and towards the shuttle which would take them to the arena. With a few moments of peace and quiet, Jango took the opportunity to question Luke about his parent’s appearances. He’d keep an eye out for them in the crowd. After all, in a gathering mostly compromised of Geonosians how hard would it be to spot two humans. Luke’s vaguely helpful descriptions followed. His mom was evidently an angel and his dad some sort of paragon of ancient epics.

Closer questioning yielded that his mom had brown eyes and pretty brown hair and his dad had short blonde hair like Luke’s and blue eyes. Jango’s mind stalled, briefly recalling the young Senator and the Jedi student. He instantly dismissed the idea as ludicrous. A: Jedi didn’t have kids. B: Luke was way too old to be the by-product of the pair. There had to be another couple of humans or near human’s among the CIS delegation that also matched Luke’s description.

He would realize his mistake too late.

Chapter Text

Nute Gunray’s -- the slime -- cheering was beginning to get on Jango’s last nerve. He wished he could switch off his’ helmet’s audio receptors, but with two kids to keep an eye on, that would hardly be a good idea. Gunray’s indistinguishable jeering, finally resolved into Basic. Luke, too short to see over the balustrade whipped his head in the Neimoidian, Vice-Roy’s direction.

“Kill her. Kill her!” Gunray, heedless of the human child, continued his frantic encouragement. “Gut Amidala. No!” He whined when the woman once again avoided a swipe from the beasts claws.

It was impressive. Jango wasn’t aware Senators, much less one from a planet like Naboo, could be so competent in a fight. His head jerked back when Gunray’s cheering abruptly ceased. The Neimoidian was inexplicably choking on thin air.

Jango swept his gaze over the delegation gathered on the balcony. Dooku’s attention was arrested not by the death matches, nor even by the asphyxiating Vice-Roy, but instead was fixed on little Luke. Luke who was glaring vehemently at the Neimoidian his little fists clenching in time with the slugs aborted breathing. Oh. Jango’s head snapped back towards Dooku, who’s hand was straying towards his lightsaber hilt as his eyes appraised Luke. Jango’s mind parsed out each incident and eschewing all logic or reasoning came to the sudden conclusion: Senator Amidala was Luke’s mom and thus his father had to be the half-grown Jetti. Also, Luke was apparently a Jetti-ade and was currently choking Gunray with his mind. Also, Dooku looked as if he were considering cutting down a child.

Later, he’d blame it on less than four hours of sleep. Jango whipped out his blaster and shot. By some absurd stroke of luck his blast pierced the Count’s right hand, currently gripping his lightsaber. Realizing he was screwed otherwise, Jango kept firing until Dooku hit the dirt collapsing beside the purple Vice-Roy. Jango wasn’t aware Neimoidians could turn that particular color.

“Luke?” Boba gaped, his eyes tracking Luke’s outstretched hands and the choking Gunray.

“Luke. Ad’ika.” Jango tried to call, but it was as if the boy had zoned out, his blue eyes cold.

For the kid’s own sake, Jango used his blaster and put a bolt between the alien’s bulging eyes and then turned his flamethrower on the Geonosian King, who would have no doubt rallied at some point and try to order his forces to retaliate. The rest of the assembly fled. Or rather they started to, but the ignition of a purple lightsaber cut off their retreat. Stalling his first instinct to kill the Jetti, Jango turned away to check on Luke. He jolted, seeing Boba grappling with Luke, who was currently trying to fling himself off the balcony into the pitched ground battle below. There were several Jetti who were trying to bring order to the chaos. However, it seemed one of the Separatist leaders had managed to issue the command to the droids to attack before they’d been killed. Luke’s parents were in the center of the maelstrom, fighting valiantly, but Jango knew unless a miracle occurred they’d be dead soon.

“Fett. Have a change of heart?” Mace Windu, the head of the Jedi Order, asked finding himself pushed away from the exit by two advancing Droidekas.

Jango guarded the two children, not deigning to answer the Jedi’s question.

“Luke!” A woman’s voice yelled, as one of the Droidekas collapsed on a Geonosian spear, which had disrupted its energy shield and become embedded in the droid’s circuitry.

“Aunt Beru?” Luke blinked.

Aunt, huh? Jango found himself mildly impressed by the woman’s sheer guts in spite of her clearly limited combat experience.

Luke yelled, in fear or anger, when the other droid turned its turbo laser on his Aunt. The droid inexplicably crunched in on itself like a wad of flimsi. Again, Jango looked at the kid and noticed Luke heaving, his eyes a steely blue as they glared on the useless heap of scrap metal.

“Whoa, can all wizards do that, Buir?” Boba asked.

“Yes.”

“They shouldn’t.” Jango and Mace’s responses overlapped. The two men briefly exchanged a look before the Jedi flung himself off the balcony into the battle.

“Lukka. Honey, are you okay?” Aunt Beru rushed forward, hands ghosting over the boy, not once even glancing at Jango.

Rude and careless. He crinkled his nose, his face safely concealed by his helmet.

“I feel wobbly.” Luke slurred and crumpled to the ground.

“Beru, Luke!” Another voice yelled as a young man skidded around the corner firing over his shoulder and downing the droids on his tail.

“Owen.” Beru barely spared him a look as she gathered Luke into her lap over Jango and Boba’s shared panic, they had crouched at Luke’s side in an instant.

“Luke?”

“Ad’ika.” They fussed.

“Not again.” Owen muttered, standing guard, casting brief looks of muted concern at the still child.

“Again?” Jango and Boba echoed worriedly.

“He’s not injured.” Beru assured the pair. “He’s just exhausted. It’s a Jedi thing, apparently. Fairly common among younger children who don’t know how to control their power’s output. They over do it and…” She trailed off, her eyes glancing down at Luke.

“So, he’s just sleeping?” Boba exhaled.

“More or less. Or so we’ve been told.” Beru shrugged, sparing Boba a warm smile.

Boba’s ears went red.

“Thank you by the way. For protecting him.” She shifted her focus to Jango.

He nodded stiffly. “He’s a child.” He offered.

Beru and Owen glanced at one another and chuckled. “That simple, huh?”

Of course. Jango thought.

The metallic marching of droids echoed in the tunnel, drawing their attention away from Luke. A shadowy outline of advancing droids began to flicker on the walls. Owen hefted his blaster and picked up Beru’s rifle she had dropped to care for Luke.

“I think it’s time to move.” He said.

Easier said than done. Jango sighed. He could always jet himself and Boba to safety. But Beru, the unconscious Luke, and Owen? He shook his head, and rose to his feet, taking point. His beskar’gam would give him far more protection than Owen’s home-spun tunics.

Beru it seemed had a different plan. Or perhaps Luke, who was suddenly conscious, had other plans. He snagged his Aunt and Boba’s wrist and somehow managed to take them both along when he flung himself up and over the ramparts. Owen swore and jumped, not bothering with details like how he planned to catch them or land himself. Jango’s heart dropped into his stomach as he ignited his jet-pack and leapt after them.

“Dad!” Luke shouted at the top of his lungs.

Instantly, the young Jedi’s head jerked up and unerringly his gaze landed on his son. With a guttural yell he threw out his hand as if he could catch his son. Apparently, he could. He could also fling everything within a ten meter radius careening into the sides of the arena. His fellow Jedi just barely managed to save themselves by collapsing with undignified yelps into the dirt. As if they’d been trapped in a bubble, Luke and the other’s rapid descent markedly slowed until they were gently deposited on the ground. The young Jedi student and the Senator were already sprinting, slashing, and blasting the remaining obstacles from their path, twin cries of “Luke!” tumbling from their lips. Unmarked, Jango landed softly behind the group.

“That was so wizard!” Boba cheered, springing to his feet and pumping his fists in excitement. “Is that what’s it like to use a jet-pack, Buir?’ He whipped around to face his dad.

Jango was still trying to calm his thundering pulse. Images of tiny splattered, mangled corpses too fresh in his mind to respond. Beru tried to subtly wipe the sweat from her brow with a shaking hand. Owen coughed, sitting up slowly.

“Definitely takes after his father.” Owen murmured.

Agreed. Jango thought as said man lifted a fist, crumpling five battle droids into shock-ball sized hunks of debris, glaring at whatever was unfortunate enough to stand between him and his son.

“Oh, Luke.” Beru chided the boneless boy as he slumped against her, his eyelids fluttering, his head listing to the side, clearly down for the count this time.

“Mm, fine.” Luke slurred, attempting to stay alert as his parents crashed through the final resistance and launched themselves past Boba to snag their son.

“What were you thinking?” Amidala half-shrieked.

Fair. Jango thought.

“You could have been killed.” She continued, crushing him to her chest.

“Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again, young one.” The Jedi student growled, even as he stole the boy from his mother’s arms to capture in his own fierce embrace. Buried in his father’s arms, Luke’s garbled reply was smothered.

“Pot calling the kettle.” Two voices remarked.

Glancing up, Jango found the Kel Dor and the other Jedi who had nearly been Acklay chow approaching, deflecting blaster bolts with their lightsabers with barely a thought. Now that he was paying attention to more than the fact Boba and Luke were alive, Jango noticed all the Jedi were steadily making their way to the cleared perimeter Luke’s father had unintentionally formed.

“Wanna help.” Luke’s weak voice drew Jango’s attention back to the child who was again ensconced in his mother’s arms, and was protesting his father’s demand he lay still.

“You’ve done more than enough, Lukka.” Beru encouraged. “You pulled me and your friend to safety.”

Okay, Jango was tempted to debate the validity of that statement. After all, the term safety was very sketchy. Sure they’d survived their fall, but they were still in the middle of an active battle.

A ship buzzed over the top of the arena scattering the B-1s in it’s wake. Following on it’s heel was a more familiar craft. Ah, so the Jedi found their army. Jango thought. A little green goblin hopped down and helped dispatch the last of the active forces inside the arena. The Nubian yacht returned and landed in the arena; an older couple came sprinting out of it, towards the little family.

“Anakin, Owen, Beru, Luke!” They cried, fussing over all of them equally.

“Hi, Mom.” Anakin grinned, accepting her fretting hands grazing over the scrapes and bruises on his face.

“We’re fine.” Owen groused, shooing his dad’s hands away.

Beru laughed and hugged Cliegg and Shmi. “Perfect timing as always.” She said.

“Perhaps, this reunion could wait until we were out of here?” Obi-Wan suggested.

“Hm, oh, yes.” Shmi nodded.

Jango blinked. How had he ended up here? He wondered as the older woman shoved him gently down into on of the seats alongside Boba. Boba just shrugged at his dad’s tilted helmet and kicked his feet as Luke was settled in beside him. Beru and Padme strapped in on Luke’s other side while the two human Jedi hurried into the cockpit. Shmi fussed over a golden protocol droid who was dragged onto the ship in pieces by an astromech.

“Oh, dear. Threepio what a state?” She clicked her tongue. “Owen, give me a hand with him, please.” Shmi turned, directing the astromech to take the droid into the on-board repair room.

“Yes, Mom.” Owen sighed, muttering to himself as he followed. “Blasted thing takes after it’s maker. Always getting into trouble.”

Cliegg laughed, and then groaned as he sank onto one of the benches. Beru’s sharp gaze fixed on his right leg. “You alright, Cliegg?” She asked.

“Nothing a nice poultice won’t cure once we’re home.” He waved her off.

“We might not have any poultices but we are sure to have some anti-inflammatory and pain-medication on board.” Padme said rising, over Cliegg’s protests he was fine, to go fetch the ship’s med-kit.

“Aunt Beru?” Luke stirred, blinking up at her.

“What is it, Luke?”

“ ‘m, hungry.” He said.

She shook her head. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up, okay.” Beru pressed a kiss to his forehead and moved from her seat in the direction of the galley.

The Kel Dor Jedi, who’d trailed after the family quietly, rose from the seat he’d taken. “Allow me to assist.”

Beru grinned. “Well, thank you. I’m sure we could all do with a meal.”

He bowed and followed her out of the room as Padme returned with the med-kit. “Alright, Cliegg, exactly where are you hurt?” She demanded, sitting in front of him on the ship’s floor.

“Eh, it’s nothing.” He tried to say.

She stared him down, clearly not buying his lie. He winced. “It’s just an old injury. It’s really nothing. The pain will go away in a bit.”

“Or it can go away much faster if you let me treat it.” Padme pressed.

Cliegg grimaced and nodded. She beamed. “There, that’s not so hard now is it. We’re family after all, we ought to help each other.” She echoed his earlier argument.

He crinkled his nose. “You’re as stubborn as a Bantha.”

“It’s a family trait, I hear.” She grinned.

Chapter Text

“Resolve the matter faster than anticipated, we have.” Yoda reported from the Clone’s command center to the star destroyer waiting in orbit with the rescued Jedi and everyone else. “Intel from the central computer, retrieved we have.” He continued as a Clone soldier roundhouse kicked a remaining CIS droid behind Yoda’s small frame.

Yoda coughed, the Clone saluted and dashed off, and the Jedi Grandmaster carried on with his debriefing. “A blue print we found. Most disturbing, it is. A space station of unparalleled size. Turbo laser, obliterate a planet it could.” Yoda said

“What are your orders, Master Yoda?” Mace asked.

“Master Windu and Master Billaba, lead the interrogation of the captured Separatists, you will. Dooku’s solar sailor we have obtained also, wish for Skywalker to look over it’s computer’s history, I do.” He nodded and signed off after arranging for the troops’ extraction from Geonosis’ surface.

___________

“Several of the leaders have mentioned a Darth Tyrannus and a Darth Sidious.” Mace concluded his report.

“Now, we will hear Skywalker’s report.” Master Plo stated.

Jango and Anakin exchanged a look. Anakin tilted his head towards the holo-projector. Jango crossed his arms and stepped clear of the frame. This was the Jedi and the Republic’s mission, he’d just tagged along and offered his modest skills to help Anakin and R2 trace the transmissions from Dooku’s ship’s comm. Anakin glowered at him. Luke giggled from across the room where he sat playing with R2-D2 and Boba.

“Fine.” Anakin sighed and stepped forward. “I’ll talk to the big scary Jedi Council.” He smirked at Jango’s helmeted glare.

“We’ve managed to crack the encryption on Dooku’s ship, Masters.” He announced. “The back trace on his last few transmissions led us to an abandoned factory complex in the Works district on Coruscant.”

“Excellent news, this is.” Yoda nodded.

“We can probably use this, um, to catch the guy who’s been giving him orders.” Anakin rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing about. Where was Obi-Wan when there were speeches to be made and plans to be pitched to the Council? He hated doing Council meetings. Besides, he was still a Padawan, he shouldn’t be forced into this position. Not yet at any rate.

“A plan you have?” Yoda asked.

“Well, we really need to find out who he is, and so we thought if we used Dooku’s codes we could arrange a meeting at the location. Saying we’re following through with handing over the plans you found on the Seppies’ computer. Which we won’t actually do…. hand them over I mean.” Anakin rushed to say.

“Nice save.” Jango grunted.

Anakin spared enough time to glare at Fett out of the corner of his eye. Luke giggled into his hands. R2 beeped in obvious agreement. Boba smirked, entirely his father’s son. Anakin would have stuck out his tongue but that seemed a bit premature.

“You were...ahem, saying, Young Skywalker?” Plo coughed in encouragement.

“Ah, right.” Anakin cleared his throat. “We think it should work since Geonosis was so recent and things are still chaotic so there’s a good chance news hasn’t leaked about Dooku’s death.” He said.

“Well, let’s hope so, or this plan won’t work.” Master Windu said.

Anakin blinked. Wait. “You’re approving my plan, Masters?”

“Sort of, if it is the Sith you’ll be trapping, which seems most likely, we have one stipulation.” Mace said.

“What’s that?” Anakin asked, a bit numb still to be anything apart from monosyllabic. They were going to approve one of his plans!

“You will not be going alone.” Master Windu said.

Naturally. Anakin nodded mutely at the hologram. Obi-Wan always went with him. Anakin was still a Padawan. Mace and Plo Koon stared at one another and shook their heads.

“Master Koon, Master Yoda, and myself will meet you at the abandoned complex at the appointed time.” Master Windu announced and cut the transmission before Anakin could say another word. And before his brain could register the other little detail. They would be accompanying him? Not Obi-Wan?

____________

Anakin, having heard what little Luke knew about his future galaxy’s current events, is unsurprised when Palpatine shows up. That was not to say he was calm or okay with this betrayal of his trust. In fact, he was decidedly not calm.

“You lying piece of Sith!”He raged as soon as Palpatine’s shriveled form made an appearance from the murky shadows lingering inside the abandoned complex.

The Chancellor jerked, taking note that it was not Count Dooku, but Anakin, exiting the Solar Sailor. He swore and whirled around in his dark robes attempting to sprint out of the chamber. Which was when Master Mace Windu leapt out of his concealed position by one of the exits. Master Plo launched his Electric Judgment at the Sith’s exposed back, forcing him to whirl around and counter the Jedi’s attack.

Anakin upon spying the red blades, swore an impressive, anatomically impossible litany of what he planned to do with his former mentor’s corpse. The Jedi Councilors exchanged a look and slowly backed towards the edges of the room, guarding Skywalker’s back with Yoda, who finally revealed himself, insuring the the Sith Lord couldn’t escape, and doing their level best to the prevent excessive collateral damage from Skywalker’s rampage.

“Depur!” Skywalker accused, running the startled Sith through with one of his own blades, which Anakin had obtained when he relieved the Sith Lord of his left hand.

__________

Cliegg and Shmi are ensconced at the Jedi Temple with Luke and Boba behind a Battalion’s worth of clones. Jango had confessed all he knew about who had ordered the clones and his own reasons for being the army’s template. So, Obi-Wan, Jango, Beru, and naturally Owen, and Quinlan Vos infiltrated the planet’s main communication hub, while orchestrating simultaneous attacks on power hubs across Coruscant to create a communications black-out between the Senate and the rest of the galaxy. Namely, between the Chancellor’s office and the Clone Army. Once they are informed of the Sith’s demise by Master Yoda, they stick around to help reestablish communications and clean up the mess, mostly made by Jango’s missles.

___________

After the revelation of the clone’s creation, and Sidious’ identity and schemes for the Republic, and it’s resulting fallout, the Senate -- strong-armed by Padme and Bail -- votes citizenship to the clones.

“I will go to Kamino to assist the younglings.” Master Plo announced to the rest of the Council as he watched the live-stream from the Senate Rotunda. “Master Shaak Ti has agreed to accompany me.”

Implying he had already been planning to go to Kamino regardless of the Council or the Senate’s decisions. Mace rolled his eyes. Honestly, what else did he expect from the Master who had more or less adopted every youngling who had passed through the Temple in the past five hundred years. And naturally, Master Koon had been affectionately dubbed Papa Plo by the Clone Troopers he’d already encountered. Mace sighed, prepared to wave the Kel Dor on his way.

“Stay a moment more, Master Plo, if you will. News, I have.” Master Yoda, who’d been running late to the Council Spire from pressing matters in the Temple Comm Center, said, holding up a forestalling clawed hand.

“Yes, Master.” Plo and Shaak Ti sat back in their seat, folding their hands in their laps serenely, nothing belying the frenetic energy buzzing beneath their placid appearances, which the venerated old Jedi Master could sense.

“Go to Kamino, you shall. Take Master Healer Vokara Che with you, you will. Other representatives of our Jedi Healers and Medicorp, meet you in Tipoca City, they will. Additionally, Master Kina Ha, informed her, I have, of recent events. Returning from Wild Space, she is. To Kamino, she is heading. Undo the clones accelerated aging, she believes she can.” Yoda’s brown eyes sparkled in excitement. “A valuable asset, she is.”

Master Kina Ha had been on a personal, and extended, meditative leave from the main Order for the last two centuries. A uniquely engineered Kaminese she was. Remarkable and kind and very close to immortal. She had lived even longer than Master Yoda and had once served as an interim head of the Jedi Order after the Ruusan Reformations. But she followed the will of the Living Force and was rarely in one place. Coruscant was far too busy for her ancient and ascetic sensibilities so she rarely returned to the Temple. A fact which had consequently meant the vast majority of the Order’s members had either no knowledge of her existence or had forgotten about her until recent events had brought Kamino and its people to mind.

“Master Kina Ha’s knowledge and assistance will be invaluable, thank you, Master Yoda.” Plo Koon’s modulated voice was distinctly watery.

“Dismissed, you are.” Yoda grinned and waved the two Jedi Masters on their way.

___________

Jango decides it is time to stop running from the demons of his past and goes to Mandalore to find any survivors of the True Mandalorians. Obi-Wan is later sent by the council to help negotiate a truce between Duchess Satine’s New Mandalorians and the returned Mand’ alor Jango Fett’s True Mandalorians. A semi-peaceful arrangement is reached. Jango often visits Coruscant and Tatooine, with Boba and his adopted clones, as he is far too invested in the Skywalker clan’s drama.

____________

Anakin decides it’s for the best and resigns from the Order. Well, he makes a valiant effort too, but the Council has been making some alterations to the Order’s code and refuses to accept his repeated attempts to resign. A year after the Battle of Geonosis, Anakin and Padme are married on Naboo. Luke lives with his family for three years, until Padme discovers she’s pregnant. Luke begins having episode’s of periodic unconsciousness. When she goes into labor he begins to vanish. Anakin nearly leveled the hospital before he was reminded by a disappearing Luke:

“I’m not really leaving, Dad.” He grins. “I’ll be back real soon and then we’ll all be together.”

Anakin is an inconsolable wreck, but then so is most everyone else in the waiting room, including his new Padawan Ahsoka Tano. Jango will shoot the first person -- looking at you, Kenobi -- who says he cried behind his helmet. Boba opened his data-pad in the interim to distract himself, and he and his vod’ika worked out the perfect way to kidnap their soon to be youngest brother. Fifteen hours later a small, bald-headed baby boy is placed into Anakin’s arms by Shmi.

“He is Luke Skywalker, one who walks unfettered.” She smiled, stroking her son’s damp cheek.

“And this is Leia!” Beru flounced into the waiting room a half-an-hour later with yet another small, squirming bundle.

“Twins!” Anakin’s voice cracked and he knew no more.

Master Plo, carefully levitated baby Luke into his conscious Grandpa Cliegg’s arms.

Owen and Obi-Wan were both down for the count. Shmi laughed with Jobal and Ruwee and fussed and cooed over their brand new grandchildren. Jango was pleased. Boba and his brothers were too, they weren’t even gonna need one of their plans now!

“Dibs on Luke!” Ahsoka laid claim on her future Padawan. She’d elected to take the child who was not screaming it’s lungs out at the galaxy. Besides which, Obi-Wan was out cold so he couldn’t fight her over it. He and Leia would get along just fine anyway, she grinned, making faces down at a sleeping Luke.

Naturally, Jango and Boba didn’t think they ought to be blamed if an infant Luke just happened to be in the satchel on Jango’s hip as he tried to leave Padme’s apartments. After all, it was very easy, and common, for new parents to misplace their children. Happened all the time.

“Senator, put down the blaster.” Jango said.

“I’d be more concerned by the lightsabers, Buir.” Boba said, eyeing the Jedi who were not exactly thrilled.

“You have much to learn, son.” Jango said, warily watching the angered mother.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Anakin, who was far too amused by the whole situation, grinned, passing Leia into her Grandma Shmi’s arms so he could go retrieve Luke before things got ugly.

“You are walking on thin ice, Fett.” Padme glared, holstering her weapon and checking on her baby.

“We’re not going to be prevented from visiting, are we?” Boba clarified as everyone put away their weapons.

“You’re family, of course not.” Anakin smiled. Prevent them from coming to visit when Uncle Jango’s presence annoyed Grandpa Obi so much? Not on his watch.

“Though, I don’t think you’ll be asked to babysit anytime soon.” Owen mumbled.

“That’s fair.” The Fett’s relented.

And they lived chaotically ever after.