Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to George Lucas.
A/N: All dialogue is from the movie, I wrote none of it. I only filled in the descriptions and thoughts.
Padme followed Anakin's sure footsteps as they approached what looked like an igloo made of sand. Barely visible from far off, she now could see that the humble dwelling was all underground. The igloo was only a doorway to a small atrium hollowed out of the sand. Descending down the steps, C-3PO introduced them to two people about their own ages.
"Master Owen, might I present two most important visitors." C-3PO stood out of the way so Anakin could step forward.
"I'm Anakin Skywalker."
The young man they were facing was fiddling with some circuit that he was cleaning with a dirty cloth. He nodded to them shyly. "Owen Lars. Uh, this is my girlfriend, Beru." He gestured to a girl behind him who greeted them with frank friendliness and a willingness to serve. "I guess I'm your stepbrother. I had a feeling you might show up someday."
Padme watched as Anakin's shields went up. Already he was stunned to meet someone who knew his mother, who might even have taken his place in her heart. All his questions had been evaded. And now this plain farmer's son was making a jab at him. She knew Anakin was wondering whether doubt over his return came from Shmi.
"Is my mother here?" Anakin asked curtly.
"No, she's not," another voice answered.
Anakin turned to be greeted by a gruff man, tired-looking, who was sitting in a hoverchair with a stump of a leg wrapped in bandages.
"Cliegg Lars." He introduced himself much in the same way his son had, although he put out a hand in greeting. "Shmi is my wife. We should go inside. We have a lot to talk about."
Padme could feel the fear building inside the Jedi beside her. She could sense it in the tightness of his movements, the tenseness in his voice, the way he would not rest without getting answers. She knew that he agreed to sit at the table because it was the only way Cliegg was going to talk.
"It was just before dawn. They came out of nowhere—a hunting party of Tusken Raiders. Your mother had gone out early like she always did to pick mushrooms that grow on the vaporators. From the tracks, she was about halfway home when they took her." Cliegg let out his breath angrily. "Those Tuskens walk like men but they're vicious, mindless monsters," he growled.
Padme carefully monitored Anakin's reactions. His jaw was tight and he looked as though every muscle in his body was about to snap. His hands were curled into fists in his lap. He shouldn't be listening to this—he wasn't being rational, he was being crowded by his emotions. Too much was happening too fast. He wouldn't listen to direction, he wouldn't wait. He had been dogged and haunted by dreams that now seemed to be not simply fictional. His impatience radiated in his actions, but his soul yearned to hear whatever the moisture farmer had to say about his mother.
"Thirty of us went out after her. Four of us came back," Cliegg continued. "I'd be out there with them, but after I lost my leg I just couldn't ride anymore until I heal. I don't want to give up on her but she's been gone a month." Anakin looked down abruptly and Padme felt her heart constrict. "There's little hope she's lasted this long," Cliegg finished.
Anakin took a breath and hastily stood.
"Where are you going?" Owen asked with surprise. This outsider didn't understand the ways of the desert and from the looks of it he wasn't ready to listen.
"To find my mother."
"Your mother's dead, son. Accept it," Cliegg said quietly.
Anakin shook his head, glaring at the sunshine in the atrium. Accept it? And reject her?
Padme went up the stairs of the atrium out onto the desert sand. She spotted Anakin standing near the side of the dwelling.
"You're going to have to stay here," he said without turning around. "These are good people, Padme. You'll be safe."
"Anakin—" she began, but stopped. There was nothing to say to combat the anger and grief that were enveloping him. She went to him and put her arms around his neck, wishing there was something she could do to make him stay.
Something was happening. She didn't want him to leave but it was more than just being afraid or lonely. Had she been a Jedi, she would have said it was the Force, warning her of something near that was dark and greedy, hungering for more. Every decision seemed clouded. Even their presence on Tatooine seemed to herald some greater event that Padme hadn't sensed the last time she was here.
She felt Anakin gently push her away. She stood back as he turned. "I won't be long," he promised, mounting the speeder and flying away as though he knew exactly where his mother was. Padme didn't doubt that he did—but something wasn't right. She wanted to call him back and tell him he shouldn't look for Shmi. But he would demand an explanation and she had none. At least, none that she could put into words. In a way, Jedi are encouraged to love. The words he had spoken on Naboo echoed in her mind. He loved his mother, perhaps all the more because he had been separated from her at such an early age. But this? Was this love? Something didn't fit. Something was missing. It wasn't only love driving him.
Fear.
Anger.
Hate.
Padme tried to dispel the gnawing ache that had settled in her chest. What was it? She took a calming breath and went back into the dwelling. Whatever happened, Anakin would come back with his mother. She needed to be ready for whatever form that might take.
Suffering.
Anakin steered the speeder around rocks and boulders, keeping the setting sun on his right. It tinged even the dusty air a blood-red hue, and the stone arch he flew under was a muddy rust. Usually flying relaxed his nerves; tonight it tightened them. He heard in his mind the sound his pod had made when he was young and for a moment he was racing again, not against other podracers, but against time and pain, whichever his mother succumbed to first. And he had always failed before. He couldn't fail this time when the stakes were so much higher.
The sun was just sinking below the desert horizon when Anakin stopped to speak to a group of Jawas. They gave him directions as best they could but the Jedi in the cloak with death in his eyes frightened them.
Darkness had fallen by the time he found the Raiders. He crouched low over the lip of rock. The three moons lit the small group of tents below with enough clarity that he could see there were few Raiders outside. Using the Force to cushion his fall, he jumped from the boulder and crept slowly toward the makeshift village. He knew which tent Shmi was in—luckily one on the outskirts. The sound of the fighting of dog-like creatures made it easy for him to make a hole in the tent with his lightsaber.
Kicking in the hide, he struggled to regulate his breathing. The light from a small fire lit the room but gave off little heat. His unconscious mother was tied to a cross of sticks by thick strips of leather. He hurried forward and pulled the loops from her wrists, letting her fall back against his chest.
"Mom? Mom?" he called softly, cradling her.
"Ani?" He took her lifted hand and felt the raw skin around her wrist. "Ani? Is it you?" Her voice was so different than he remembered, yet still the same.
"I'm here, Mom. You're safe," he calmed her, wondering how much she understood.
"Ani? Ani?" she repeated. A hesitant smile tipped his lips. She put a hand to his cheek and said, "Oh, you look so handsome." His brow furrowed in the effort to keep the tears back as he kissed the palm of her hand. "My son. Oh, my grown-up son. I'm so proud of you, Ani." He tried not to look at the long cuts along the side of her face and focused instead on the way her eyes glowed with her love for him. But their roles were reversed: he was holding her, not she him. He still needed her; he wasn't ready to grow up yet. It had happened much too soon, he wasn't ready.
"I missed you," he whispered, wishing he could rest his head on her shoulder and pour out his heart to her.
"Now I am complete."
He met her satisfied smile with one of his own, but it quickly melted away into a frown as his mother struggled to speak.
"I love—"
He drew his lips into a line, fighting back emotion. "Stay with me, Mom. Everything—" His words died on his lips as she tried again to speak. Nothing he could say would help. Words were useless here, actions could no longer help, he was too late because he could do nothing. He didn't know enough, he wasn't strong enough.
"I—I love—"
He focused on her words, knowing what she was trying to say but wanting her to finish. She halted, her hand falling away from his face. Her eyes became unfocused and she fell back, her mouth and eyes open. A tear leaked from his eye as he stared at his mother, trying to accept that she was dead. He gently reached forward, closing her eyes with one hand. His fingers lingered on her throat, waiting to catch even a hint of a pulse. He knew it wasn't there but he lingered just a second longer.
They did it.
The words of Cliegg Lars came back to haunt him: "Those Tuskens walk like men but they're vicious, mindless monsters… Your mother's dead, son. Accept it."
Accept it.
Accept it.
Your mother's dead.
Dead.
Dead.
A blinding arc of blue light and the dying groans of the guards outside the prisoner's tent alerted the Raiders to Anakin's presence. They rushed forward with their stolen weapons. Undaunted, he raised his lightsaber, welcoming the challenge. His lip curled as he slashed through them. He would enjoy it.
Yoda meditated in the center of his apartments, the shades drawn to let in little light. He could feel something disturbing the Force. There was great movement inside it. In the midst of his thoughts, Qui-Gon's voice shouted through the Force. "Anakin! Anakin!"
"No!" Anakin's voice shot through the meditating Jedi's mind.
He was shutting himself out. Young Skywalker was shutting himself out from the Force, refusing to listen to the warnings it was speaking to him.
Mace Windu entered silently and settled himself on a cushion near Yoda's. He too had felt the disturbance but waited until Yoda met his gaze before asking his question. "What is it?"
"Pain, suffering, death I feel," Yoda said slowly. "Something terrible has happened. Young Skywalker is in pain. Terrible pain."
Mace was silent, mulling the other Master's words over in his mind. From how it sounded, Yoda was worried not over the safety of the Republic, but of the boy. Even he had felt how great a disturbance had occurred. If Anakin was feeling the brunt of this disturbance, it had to do with him.
Padme hurried up the stairs when she heard Anakin's speeder. Owen Lars, too, was waiting and he jogged up the steps before her. Anakin's face was hard, like stone, as he lifted up a shrouded figure and carried it past the gathered family. He glared into their eyes, as though daring them to be curious or to grieve.
Do you see? he asked mentally. Have you come to stare at her? Did you love her at all, that you have come to stare?
Slowly he went down the stairs into the atrium. Padme knew that he needed time alone. But perhaps he had already had that. All night he had been alone with his thoughts, subject to anger and grief. The restless unease still persisted to dog her. She wondered at the fear, however small, she felt under Anakin's cold scrutiny. She had planned to leave him alone for only a few minutes, but it was hours later when she found him in the workroom, fiddling with controls.
"I brought you something," she offered quietly. "Are you hungry?"
"The shifter broke," he stated matter-of-factly, not looking up. "Life seems so much simpler when you're fixing things." She could hear the tears in his voice. But he didn't sound sad. He was angry. She set the tray down and turned to face him again. "I'm good at fixing things. Always was. But I couldn't—" He stilled his movements, fixing his eyes on her. "Why'd she have to die? Why couldn't I save her? I know I could have!"
"Sometimes there are things no one can fix. You're not all-powerful, Ani," she reasoned.
"Well, I should be!"
She halted, listening to him and the fury in his voice. She saw the trails of tears that had fallen down his cheeks and heard the way he was speaking, as though gasping for air after a long race. Maybe that's what he felt. He was racing pods again, not being good enough to win although he knew that with the right training he could have.
"Someday I will be. I will be the most powerful Jedi ever! I promise you." He whipped around. "I will even learn to stop people from dying."
"Anakin," Padme said softly.
He turned as though ashamed, catching his breath, then crying, "It's all Obi-Wan's fault! He's jealous! He's holding me back!" He flung the part he was working on to the ground and turned his back to Padme, struggling to calm his breathing. It wasn't just grief over his mother, then. It was months of bottled-up anger harbored against Obi-Wan, years of fear of being completely alone. He felt alone. He was making himself alone by his actions, acting upon his fear. Padme didn't know how to help him.
"What's wrong, Ani?" she asked more firmly.
"I—I killed them." He looked at his hands, then at the wall, though not really seeing it. "I killed them all. They're dead. Every single one of them." He moved to face her. She stood in silence, taking in all he said. Her own pulse began to race at the wrath in his voice. He had killed them—but he didn't regret it. "And not just the men," he shook his head as though challenging her doubt, "but the women and the children too. They're like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals! I hate them!" His voice took on a feral edge, growing deeper with emotion. His lips trembled with rage but the tears falling from his eyes revealed his vulnerability.
Anakin collapsed, shaking, to lean on the machine he had been working on. He let out his breath like he had been holding it for a long time, and gripped his knees with his hands. He turned his head away as though embarrassed at his weakness as Padme knelt next to him.
"To be angry is to be human," she soothed.
He looked up at her sharply. "I'm a Jedi. I know I'm better than this." He put his hands together, his knuckles going white in effort, but the flood of emotions came. Padme touched his hair gently as he sobbed, releasing his pent up frustration.
"I know wherever you are it's become a better place," Cliegg Lars spoke softly to the air outside the dwelling. They were gathered around Shmi's fresh grave, wishing her farewell before the sun sucked all the moisture out of the morning air. "You were the most loving partner a man could ever have. Goodbye, my darling wife. And thank you."
Anakin strode forward almost reverently, kneeling at his mother's grave as though a great weight had been put on his shoulders. Reaching down, he took some dirt in his hand and made a fist around it. "I wasn't strong enough to save you, Mom. I wasn't strong enough. But I promise I won't fail again." He stood slowly. "I miss you, so much," he said through clenched teeth.
Padme listened to his promise, the uneasy feeling she had felt after Anakin had left to search for Shmi returning. She knew that it would never go away. It might lie dormant for a time, and then flare up again, but something that Anakin did while he was gone had caused it.
He wasn't a small boy on Tatooine anymore. They had come full circle: they had left Tatooine together and they had returned together; he had left his mother and then found her. He wasn't the boy who was enslaved to race pods against odds too great. He was a young man who was enslaved to race against time and intentions against a Dark side that was too great to fight alone. And this time, on Tatooine, he had shut himself out. He was alone.
Epilogue…
The ship they were flying in clipped a sand dune and then lifted jerkily. Struggling to balance itself out, it tipped crazily to the right and Padme felt her fingers slip from their hold. Anakin turned, yelling her name as she fell. She hit the sand hard and rolled a little ways down the dune. They were picking up speed again and Obi-Wan had to pull Anakin back before he jumped out after the girl.
"Put the ship down!" the Padawan called.
"Anakin!" Obi-Wan argued. "Don't let your personal feelings get in the way! Follow that speeder," he directed the pilot.
Gunfire still followed them as they stayed on Dooku's trail.
"Lower the ship!" Anakin cried.
"I can't take Dooku alone! I need you!" Obi-Wan yelled over the blaster fire. "If we catch him, we can end this war right now! We have a job to do!"
"I don't care! Put the ship down!"
"You will be expelled from the Jedi order!"
"I can't leave her!"
"Come to your senses! What do you think Padme would do were she in your position?"
The thought halted Anakin's tirade for a moment. He looked away, breathing heavily. Finally, he ground out, "She would do her duty." But what if I'm alone?
Yoda sensed the cloudiness of Anakin's thoughts. He stared off, not focusing on the battle playing out before him. He listened to the Force and he felt the same ripple of disturbance that had occurred back in the Jedi Temple when Anakin was in so much pain. It was less great this time but the Master attuned himself carefully to Anakin's thoughts and listened. What if I'm alone? Alone…alone…
Love Senator Amidala, Young Skywalker does. But love only?
"Hmm," he sighed, thinking.
The commander addressed him, "The droid army is in full retreat."
"Well done, Commander. Bring me a ship." He tried to focus on the Jedi's victory in battle, but he knew that it wasn't the end. Dooku was not yet caught, and Young Skywalker had other things on his mind. Most confusing was the underlying fear.
Of what are you afraid, Young Skywalker? Yoda asked himself. He felt he already knew the answer. It had grown upon him steadily. Why was it that the Jedi order had refused to have the boy trained? What had he himself said? Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. I sense great fear in you, Young Skywalker. The boy was suffering greatly. He had already succumbed. The work had begun and the outcome was nearly certain. Yoda sighed wearily. If he had been able to convince Qui-Gon that it was wrong to train the boy, even should he be the Chosen One, things might have turned out differently. But the Force had had its way and Skywalker had taken the first step in making his choice. What Anakin feared most was becoming the driving force behind his actions. He was alone.