They had discussed it—giving Luke a sibling. Beru and Owen loved Luke with the strength of the two Tatooine suns. From the very moment Kenobi lay the boy in Beru's arms… She looked into the boy's eyes and saw not a remnant of his father, but a reflection of the hazy, darkening sky above. Luke Skywalker was an angel baby; Beru and Owen were truly blessed.
Even at the age of three, Luke was eager to help. He helped Owen by reading measurements off the moisture collectors in the mornings. Beru looked out at her boys working and realized after a few heartbeats, that Luke Skywalker (son of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker) was learning how to read off of farming equipment.
Luke loved helping Beru in the kitchen. It wasn't as hot and dry as the outside, and Luke was still little so he tired easily. Luke waddled around the kitchen holding jars and other containers Beru would use to hold their food preserves. Sometimes, he passed her ingredients while she cooked. She gave Luke a little extra blue milk at dinner, and herself a little less, whenever Luke did a good job. (He did a good job every day.)
Beru and Owen had been trying for their own child since Luke had been around two.
"He deserves this," Owen muttered into her hair.
"He does," Beru agreed. Luke deserved the galaxy, the least Beru could do was add more to the galaxy for Luke. She moved her head to meet up with Owen's. "Brother or sister?"
"Both," Owen chuckled quietly.
Beru smiled widely and buried her face in Owen's neck.
But Tatooine wasn't built for family, no matter how good you were.
"Owen!" she exclaimed.
He responded quickly, "What?" Owen had been working in their garage, tinkering with a faulty collector. He looked up when Beru said nothing. "What?" he repeated.
"We did it," Beru said vaguely.
"Hon, you really aren't making any sense."
She nodded, "I know. I'm just—delirious? I think that's the word."
Owen's eyes widened in panic. "Maybe I should get you some water, or some milk—" he said as he stood up hastily,
"No! This—this is good news. Luke realized it before I did, I think."
"Realized what?"
Beru smiled, "You know how Luke is. He senses things; he's a sensitive boy. He felt the life. He sort of, came up to me, hugged me, and patted my belly—"
"Wait," Owen started in realization.
"But Luke's young," Beru continued, "so he doesn't really know or understand. He's only four. Anyway, I went to check for myself and—yes!" She was broken off by Owen lurching her upward in his arms, and spinning her before he kissed her. She giggled after they paused.
"Wow," Owen breathed.
Again, Tatooine wasn't made for family.
Beru was content (as was Owen) with the plan to lead a simple life and family on Tatooine. While the rest of the galaxy dissolved in tyranny, Beru and her family would stay safe in their little corner of the world. They lived a harsh life, but they were happy. She would later berate herself for thinking this planet was good for anything.
She was glad it happened at night. Luke was sound asleep, probably with the loth-cat stuffed animal he had received for his first birthday. He would have his chubby face resting on the loth-cat body while he held onto it for dear life. His fifth birthday had been a month ago. Luke received a toy starship with no small pieces that the baby could get to. Since he got it, Luke played with his starship every night before bed. The image of Luke being obliviously happy soothed Beru that night.
Beru woke in the middle of darkness. A sharp pain pulsed through her abdomen, into her back, and throughout her legs. She didn't feel the dampness of blood beneath her, only the excruciating pain that coursed through her body.
"Owen," she sobbed softly, a short gasp escaped her when she shuffled in bed.
Owen wasn't a heavy sleeper, and he jumped up, turned the light on the bedside table, and turned to his wife. Beru didn't see his face turn white; her eyes were scrunched closed.
"I—I think it's the baby, oh—" she threw her head back, her mouth open in a silent scream. Sweat dripped down her forehead.
"Shit," Owen cursed under his breath. There was blood all over Beru's side of the bed. Her bedclothes were ruined, too. A squeal from his wife forced him to look back at her ghostly pale face. He was shaking.
"Lock the door!" Beru commanded. In a dazed state, Owen obliged. Should Luke wake up and come to them, he wouldn't see.
Shocked, Owen remained at the door, praying this was a nightmare.
"Don't just stand there! I think I'm in labour," Beru gasped out. A low groan was emitted from the back of her throat, and she clutched the bed sheets.
"Beru, it's only been six months—"
"I'm having contractions. Real ones," she ground out. "Oh gods."
Owen physically shook himself out of his stupor. He made his way to his wife and future child, realizing that if Beru did not give birth now, she would die. Owen cursed the isolated planet they lived on. Maybe on a more populated planet they could get medical help and stop the labour. But Owen and his wife were going to have to see this thing through.
Beru positioned herself, knees drawn up. Before Owen realized what was happening, it happened. It simultaneously felt like time flowed too quickly and too slowly. It was only 2 hours, but it felt like an entire day, and yet so shocking Owen couldn't register it as occurring at all. Owen held the small, a little blue-looking baby in his arms before passing it ('him' was a better word, actually) to Beru.
Owen had commed the Darklighters for help during the labour. Mrs. Darklighter had walked him through the steps, (he wouldn't have succeeded in delivering a baby without her) and she had promised to see them when her husband fixed their speeder in the morning.
Beru held the boy, murmuring quietly into its ear. Owen was impressed: she hadn't screamed at all. He knew Beru was trying to make sure Luke wasn't disturbed by the night's events but… The baby screamed, though.
37 minutes. Beru held their son for 37 minutes before its screams faded into ragged breaths, which then turned to silence. Beru cried silently. Owen looked away.
The suns were starting to peek over the horizons when the Darklighters came. Luke, who had slept uncomfortably and had awoken early, let the guests in.
Mr. and Mrs. Darklighter silently brushed their way to Beru and Owen's room, which was a little confusing for Luke, but he was distracted by the toy ship that the boy across the room held. The Darklighters had brought their son.
"I'm Biggs," said the other boy with dark hair.
It took a second for Luke to respond. "I'm Luke," he replied awkwardly, still transfixed on the ship that had removable parts. He couldn't look at Biggs in the eye—the boy was older than Luke and also taller. Luke was intimidated.
Biggs noticed Luke's interest in his model ship. He smiled.
"Do you wanna check my ship out? It's cool. If you press the button at the side, the ship blasters shoot! It's nothing dangerous, though. They're just cool lights. But you can aim the guns! Oh, and you can take the hatch off and put a pilot in, or something!"
Luke grinned toothily. "That sounds so cool," Luke agreed.
They were playing with their ships in the tiny courtyard Luke's house had. Biggs hummed.
"Do you know why my parents came to see your parents?"
Luke shrugged, but he felt something sink in his stomach. He didn't want to think right now—just play.
"I don't know."
"My dad has only mentioned your mom and dad when he's talking about work. I didn't even know you existed."
"Well, I didn't know you existed either," Luke responded easily. "Also, Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen aren't my mom and dad."
"You said they were your parents."
Luke swooshed a Y-Wing through the air.
"They are."
A week later, Beru got up from bed for the first time since… Well, since.
Beru, Owen and Luke stood outside next to a few stones that lay close to the house. Luke didn't really understand what they were, except that once, there was a bad sand storm that covered a stone up and Luke had tripped and fallen.
(But sometimes Luke liked sitting next to one of the stones and just… stay there. He liked relaxing at the big stone when he got tired after working or playing. He closed his eyes, and for a few seconds he could feel the warm winds embrace him and stroke his hair.)
Luke felt bad right now. He could tell Aunt Beru was sick. He wondered, briefly, if Aunt Beru as putting her sickness away in a concrete box that was then buried by Uncle Owen.
(Aunt Beru still felt sick to Luke, even after the box was covered in sand and impossible to see.)
Luke reached for his aunt's hand. Beru accepted, and curled her fingers around his tiny palm.
She's was glad Luke wasn't home when it happened.