His mother had talked to Watto and told him Anakin was sick. He hadn't been happy, but he also preferred his slaves to live. He'd allowed Anakin to stay home on the condition that he worked twice as hard and twice as long the next day. Anakin had spent the rest of that day following his mother around, afraid that if he took his eyes off of her that this would all disappear. He also spent quite a bit of time berating himself for being so clingy and for his lack of restraint that morning.

So he sat quietly by while his mother went about her household chores and then her bookkeeping chores and then her errands. She kept shooting him concerned glances and it took him far too long to figure out why. As a child he'd always had two rather strong attributes: an abundance of energy and a rather fierce independence. He supposed those were pretty common for most children. He'd also lacked the discipline necessary to reign in his energy when he'd originally been this age, discipline that he had in spades now (something he was rather grateful for as that energy had indeed returned with his younger body). Now he realized that he would have to act like his younger self had to alleviate her fears.

And therein lay the problem. He'd purposefully forgotten his childhood for decades and even now he had problems remembering how he used to behave. If that weren't bad enough, he really didn't know how he should behave otherwise. Few Sith returned to the light and those that did were stricken from the records of the Sith or cited as examples of weakness. It hadn't happened since Darth Bane and as a consequence he didn't really have much of a precedence to emulate. At this point, he wouldn't know how to act were he an adult, let alone a child. 'Awkward' didn't begin to describe the situation and he had no idea how to alleviate said awkwardness.

What was worse, he had a sneaking suspicion that this state of mind would persist for a while to come yet.

The time he spent quietly following his mother around also gave him quite a lot of time for contemplation. He was convinced that he had actually come from the future, or his memories had in any case. That conclusion continued to feel right no matter what other ideas he came up with. Despite this, part of him still did not want to accept that and remained on edge and wary.

When he went to bed that night, his mother insisted that he sleep in her room and even pulled his sleeping pallet into the room, next to her bed. He had absolutely no problem with the arrangement. He didn't sleep much that night, too afraid that doing so would somehow bring everything back to the present where he was either dead or a Sith Apprentice who hated himself and his life and everything he had become.

Around that time, he began to really think on his situation and couldn't help but draw parallels. Anakin hadn't ever really forgotten what it was like to be a slave. How could he? He'd never truly been free. He'd realized this not long after he'd fallen, but in the days following his awakening in his younger body, the truth drove itself home rather forcefully. He realized that he had always been a slave in one form or another. The dark side hadn't set him free as its teachings claimed and the light had never openly given him delusions of freedom, although he had originally thought he'd been freed. So it didn't surprise him when he realized that being "property" again didn't seem to be too much of a change from his most recent lifestyle. It was more than a little discouraging though.

The next morning he tried to act more like his mother would expect. He smiled a lot and rushed around as he got ready for the day, hoping that it would help. From the worried looks she continued to shoot him, he doubted it worked. Unfortunately, it was the best he could do.

Watto yelled at him for being late (which he wasn't, actually he'd gotten there early) when he walked into the shop. The Toydarian had immediately set him to cleaning the shop, a task made infinitely easier by his ability to use the Force. Apparently his skill in that area had returned with him as well. Definitely a positive development as his physical conditioning had, unsurprisingly, not.

Now, as he calmly worked his way around Watto's shop and the piles of junk the Toydarian called goods, he couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. No, that wasn't the word. Resignation. Yes, that fit his state of mind. Even to him it seemed rather sad that this child's body, usually so full of hope and dreams, would simply stroll calmly around like...well, like a man at least thirty years older. A man who had seen much in his life, and had had his dreams thoroughly shattered before his very eyes. He wondered if anyone besides his mother had noticed. Watto definitely hadn't.

The door of the shop opening followed by the angry stomping of feet didn't even distract him. He'd already felt the being's presence coming in their direction anyway. Instead, he simply went about his work, marveling at the idea of having all four limbs back again. He'd done that more than once the day before as well. He could feel the texture of the surface he was carrying, the dirt and grit on the counter that he'd constantly tried to clean, the slick, slimy feel of the grease he used to fix the machines, the heat of the afternoon sun. All of these had been marginally unpleasant, and yet he couldn't help but savor each and every sensation. Perhaps he'd begun to accept his conclusion a little more thoroughly than he'd originally assessed if he could focus on these small things so thoroughly.

"...Slave boy got the order wrong! I'll be back tomorrow, and if you don't have what I need, I'll take it to the Hutts!" This time Anakin couldn't help but look up and watch as the humanoid (probably a bounty hunter judging by the modge-podge of equipment and coverings he wore) yelled into the back as he stormed out of the shop.

A feeling of unease crept over him. He remembered this day now...

The most common way to discipline a slave was to inflict pain. Watto, being a lazy but focused toydaryian, didn't beat them often. That didn't mean they weren't punished.

"No rations for a week," he hissed at Anakin, lumbering inside the doorway on his too-skinny legs, eyes continuing to glare after the person walking out. He knew very well that it probably wasn't Anakin's fault, that the bounty hunter had lied through his teeth, but apparently there was enough proof against Watto that he couldn't take that chance. Now he'd lost money, and their "punishment" would help to make up for some of the loss. Sadly, slaves weren't paid. Not conventionally in any case. They relied on their masters for food and other sustenance. Anakin could handle going without food. Having to be intravenously fed for decades did that to a person. His mother on the other hand...

The anger he thought he'd forsaken rushed forward all too quickly. How dare this tiny being try to make them pay for something out of their control?! How dare he hurt Shmi?! It would be so easy to choke the life out of this creature and then see what they could—

He cut his thought process off immediately, bringing a hand up to his head to try and ward off a headache. That train of thought wouldn't get him anywhere. If he killed Watto, even if no one else realized what happened, they'd either be claimed by someone related to the toydarian, or the local slave guild would claim them and sell them off again, probably separately. He didn't even want to think what that would do to his mother.

Besides, they had some storage at home. They'd made it through situations like this before. It wouldn't be too difficult.

But he would not agree to it. He'd had enough of following orders.

So instead he glared up at the toydarian, who had glanced at Anakin warily. Before anything else could be said, though, the blue creature turned and lifted into the air, floating back outside.

Anakin watched with clenched fists for a while before he was able to force himself to relax. He figured he probably should try and make himself scarce the next day when the humanoid came back. He didn't know if he could hold his anger in if he saw that scum again.

He'd told Luke that there was good in him. He'd turned back to the light, and, awkward or not, he was determined not to fall again.

Somehow, he found himself even more thrown into his work that day.

xXx

He'd forgotten how much he liked just working on machines. It brought a sense of calm that he couldn't seem to achieve any other way. It also brought frustration he couldn't find any other way, but that was, and always had been, worth it. He found it interesting that he'd been back in the past (for lack of a better definition of his situation) for barely a standard week, and already he seemed to be rediscovering so many little things about himself that he hadn't meant to forget in his time as a Sith. Sometimes he found himself wondering if it all had been a vision or a dream. Every time he even thought that, though, the sense of 'not right' skyrocketed. There were just too many things that he knew that one couldn't simply get from a vision—details and ideas and nuances that just didn't happen in even the most thorough of dreams. And he still knew far more than a rim-world slave should about Jedi and Sith teachings for him to believe that it hadn't been real.

Letting out a sigh (and feeling grateful that he could do so, as the life-support mask wouldn't have allowed it), he picked up a hydrospanner and went back to work on his current salvage project. At times like this, he found himself wishing for just a few moments that he could be someone else; someone who could work as a mechanic or a racer or even a bounty hunter for the rest of his life. He wouldn't have to worry about any stupid prophecy, the Jedi or Palpatine. For a few moments, he indulged that train of thought. What would it be like to have such a non-assuming life? He'd just need to find a way to free himself and his mother, then he could move to some rim-world planet and start up a business. They could live there and just avoid...

No, he shook his head regretfully. He could never just sit aside and do nothing. Doing so would go against every instinct he'd ever had, for better or for worse. It would drive him insane. Not that interfering before had helped him keep his sanity. Could he call his choice to follow the dark side one of insanity? Could one still be considered insane if they knew they'd lost possession of their mental facilities? Was it possible to truly regain himself again or were these moments of clarity just a respite before he succumbed to madness again?

It wasn't a pleasant thought.

He was forcibly avoiding that particular line of thinking when a twinge in the Force caused him to drop his tools and shoot to his feet. Two bright presences had suddenly come near to the planet, and he recognized them. Well one of them. There was no way he could ever forget it, after all.

"Obi-wan," he muttered, more out of shock than anything. That would mean the other Force presence was Qui-gon Jinn, the man who had originally found him.

For the first time since he'd learned he had a son, he almost panicked.

Of course, neither Jedi nor Sith panic. He'd gone through decades of training and living as either one or the other, so he kept that particular feeling in check. Barely. Ironic that his Obi-wan would have approved.

He forcibly took a calming breath and went through a mental checklist. Well, he now knew exactly when he'd come back to. Somehow he'd thought it had been earlier.

What to do first? Check your mental shields. Make sure they can't sense you. He did so, relieved to find them firmly in place. He nodded in nervous satisfaction. Second thing to do...

He didn't know. Oh Force, he didn't know!

Funny how quickly panic can be turned into anger.

Calm down, Skywalker, he told himself firmly. Think it through logically.

Unfortunately, logic had never really been his strongest suit. Using several breathing exercises, he forced himself to (yet again) calm down and began running through the different possible scenarios all while berating himself for not being more prepared. He'd known they would be coming sometime, why hadn't it crossed his mind?

He forced his thoughts onto the task at hand. He'd have time to berate himself later.

Option number one: Avoid them at all costs and hope he could outwit the Jedi Master. Pros if he succeeded: He wouldn't have to worry about the Jedi Order again, at least for a little while. Cons: He and his mother would both remain slaves for many more years at least, or until someone ticked Anakin off enough to make him use the dark side...

Result: Difficult to accomplish, many potentially undesirable side effects, an extreme amount of unknown variables.

Option number two: Let things play out as they had before, get off planet and then refuse to be a Jedi. Pros: He'd be free and while being brought to the attention of the Jedi, he wouldn't have to worry about becoming one. He could also begin working to free his mother. Cons: If his presence was brought to Jedi attention, it would probably be brought to the attention of a certain Sith Lord...and he couldn't have that. In his current body there was no way he'd ever be able to stand up to Sidious—or any of his apprentices (as much as he was loathe to admit it). Without Jedi protection, he'd have to outrun the darksiders and lightsiders that came after him—an untrained, extremely powerful Force sensitive, well at least as far as they would know. He could probably do so for a little while at least as he had a good knowledge of many outer-rim star systems after searching them for rebel bases, but how would his mother react to that? Not well, he suspected.

Result: Plausible but only slightly less difficult with even more unknown variables and a much higher risk factor.

Option number three: Let things play out as they had before and join the Jedi order...again. Pros: It would provide the most control as he would know many events before they would happen, and he would be in a position to do something about said events. Cons: Could he convince the Jedi and everyone else that he was just an innocent ex-slave? The Jedi he remembered had been oblivious to the world around them, but strangely focused when it came to the details. Could he keep Sith training secret? If he wanted to gain their trust, he would have to keep it from them.

On top of that, he would be forced confront face-to-face people he'd slaughtered in a past life. As far as he was concerned, his little hands still had the blood of all those innocents dripping off of them. He would also be subjecting himself to the rules and regulations of the Jedi Order again, and he didn't know if he had the patience for that.

Scratch that, he was positive he didn't have the patience for that.

He'd also have to take on the mantra of "the Chosen One" again, and he knew he did not want to deal with that.

His biggest argument about option though, was the fact that he'd be following the path that he'd failed at last time. Would he just be setting himself up to lose everything again? He hadn't even realized at the time he'd fallen that he'd personally destroyed anything he'd ever worked for, all to gain power. Indeed hate and anger were powerful, but was that control worth it? Perhaps only if power and control were the ultimate goals. When had his goal turned from protecting those he loved to gaining and holding more power?

Focus, Skywalker, he told himself, forcing his thoughts back to the problem at hand and rather annoyed that his mind seemed determined to wander.

Result for this option: Emotionally difficult, but with the least amount of unknown variables.

Didn't look like he had much of a choice. All three options would be difficult to pull off and live with when it came to the aftermath.

Out of habit, he began pacing, looking at the floor without really seeing it, hands behind his back as he ran over each argument in his mind.

He couldn't decide. What should he choose? Maybe he really should just ignore their ever approaching presences. His eyes wandered over to the opening leading into the front of the shop warily. It would help if he could remember exactly how the situation had proceeded the first time. He could only vaguely recall. Was he losing his memories? Or was this normal? Then again, what about his situation could be considered normal?

"What are youa doing? Geta back to work!" Watto grouched at him as he passed through the part of the shop Anakin had been working in.

He shot the toydarian a glare, and was a little surprised when the annoyance on the other's face turned into an expression of uncertain fear. Anakin looked away first, wondering just how he'd been able to scare Watto. Had he projected something through the Force? If so, then his control had slipped too far. Either that or he'd just gotten too used to intimidating people.

Watto seemed to recover and shook his head as if to clear it. Then, without another word, he flew into the front of the shop, leaving Anakin to pick up his tools and start working again. Maybe as he worked, he'd come up with another plan.

Somehow, he doubted it.

xXx

It took them almost two standard hours to land on the planet and come into town. He could feel them walking now, coming slowly closer and closer. Right about then, he thought about who he would see in the small group, and immediately froze. She'd be with Qui-gon.

Padmé. How could he have forgotten?

No, not forgotten; forcibly pushed from his mind...for so long, as was his habit.

What was he going to do now? How should he confront her? How could he face her after what he'd done to her? How could he do anything?

For the first time in his life, he considered the merits of simply bolting. By the time Watto realized anything and set off the transmitter, Qui-gon and his little misfit group would be long gone. It took every ounce of control he had to not just drop his tools and run right then and there. After all, anything would be better than to face her again.

Problem was, as much as he didn't want to see her again, he yearned to. How long had it been since he'd been able to actually look at her beautiful face, flowing hair, and soft, brown eyes that always managed to steal his breath away? Oh, how he longed to just catch a glimpse of her...but he did not deserve it. Still, without physically hiding, how could he avoid it? And he hated the idea of hiding from anything.

He tracked the more unfamiliar signature as it approached, only slightly relieved that Obi-wan didn't come with them. By the time Qui-gon had entered town, Anakin had worked himself up into a rather nasty state.

His distraction made fixing the parts Watto had dumped in front of him that day particularly difficult. He'd had to reverse the polarity on the power couplings of this particular project five times due to mistakes and miscalculations. Every time he did so, his frustration went up a notch, and he'd begun to lose his patience rather quickly. Every single breathing exercise he could remember didn't seem to help much, even the second time around. He'd just started on the third round when he felt them enter the shop.

Stay calm, Skywalker, he told himself firmly. One way or another, you have to stay calm.

Then he heard Watto call him.

His somewhat calmed stomach suddenly decided to do flip-flops, and it took every single ounce of willpower that he had to not leave right then and there. Instead, he walked calmly into the front of the shop, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"What took you so long?" Watto asked in Huttese. Anakin didn't bother responding as he walked over to the counter and pushed himself up onto it. There wasn't a walk-space to the area behind the counter as the toydarian didn't need it, but Anakin still couldn't help but feel short and awkward despite the familiar actions. That was the last thing he wanted to be in front of her. Groaning inwardly, he clamped down on his nervousness even more. "Just mind the shop," Watto growled, then turned a smile back to Qui-gon.

"So, leta me take you outa back, huh. We'll find whata you need, eh?"

Anakin swallowed, forcing himself to watch them go. Just before they left, Qui-gon reached out and took something from Jar-Jar.

"Don't touch anything," he warned, just a touch of annoyance in his voice. Anakin almost smiled. Almost. The man he remembered had been everything he'd aspired to be and knowing that the clumsy gungan could get on his nerves made him seem slightly more human. He noted when Jar-Jar stuck his rather impressive tongue out at the retreating Jedi Master's back and had no doubt that Qui-gon knew about the rude gesture, but he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he simply followed the toydarian up the stairs and into the back. Typical Jedi. He could already see where Obi-wan got a lot of his mannerisms. His eyes turned to Artoo as the astromech followed Qui-gon awkwardly up the stairs.

He'd missed the droid too.

As he and the other two beings were left alone in quiet, Anakin felt his heartbeat grow and his stomach drop to his ankles. He needed something to do to keep his mind off of her, so he kept his eyes on Jar-Jar, allowing him to get far too close to some of the goods than he probably should. He'd been too distracted the first time to try and keep the awkward being away from the shelves in the shop. Now he almost hoped for a distraction, a mess to clean up, anything. Of course it would be his luck that Jar Jar seemed to have momentarily taken the older Jedi's words to heart and didn't touch anything. It wouldn't last, Anakin knew, but still.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore, and stole a glance out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't looking at him—thank the Force, because he almost stopped breathing. She looked every bit as beautiful as he remembered.

"My Angel..." he whispered, feeling that deep, stabbing pain in his heart that came back whenever he thought of her.

"Excuse me?" she asked turning to him.

For the second time that day, he almost panicked. Her brown eyes focused on his and he suddenly found it very difficult to talk. The dreary atmosphere of the front shop did nothing to distract from her beauty, quite the opposite actually.

"Angels," he finally admitted awkwardly, knowing he had to say something. "You appear to be one. That is all." That had been along the lines of the first thing he'd said to her anyway, hadn't it?

"A what?"

He just wanted to get lost in those eyes and stay there forever. "An Angel," he heard himself say, then struggled for an explanation. All he could remember was that they were beautiful because he'd always equated them with his wife. Where had he heard about them originally? Probably from some bar somewhere. "The most beautiful creatures in the universe."

He could tell she was flattered, and it gave him just a little more courage.

"I've never heard of them," she said, walking forward, amusement on her face. It contrasted greatly with the last memory he had of her.

Stop, stop now. Come back! I love you!

Guiltily, he looked down. "Oh."

She giggled at his reaction. "Thank you," she said after a moment. "You're a cute little boy." Ugh. He most certainly did not want to hear those words from her. "How do you know about these angles then?"

Thankfully, his hands had found something on the desk to fiddle with because they would be shaking otherwise. "I listen," he said softly.

"Listen?"

He shrugged. "Traders and deep space pilots come through here on a regular basis. They discuss many things." It took him a moment to realize what he'd just said, and he almost slapped himself. No nine-year-old would say that!

"I see," she nodded. Even that little movement captivated him. "So what do you do around here?" she asked, looking around. He swallowed hard. Why had she looked away? Had he made her uncomfortable?

"Mainly I fix stuff up." Oh how he loathed reverting to such a childish way of speaking. He hoped it didn't sound too awkward. "Sometimes I mind the shop. Sometimes I race."

"Race?" she asked, turning to look back at him. "Race what?"

"Pods."

"You can pilot?"

He nodded. Those had been his three main duties as a 'gifted' child slave. "For as long as I can remember," he said softly.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, her voice even more kind. She'd apparently sensed a touch of pain from his words. He blamed his lack of control on his young, underdeveloped body. It bothered him that he'd need to work on that again. Still, she'd always been able to read him rather well and honestly, he hadn't kept much from her until there at the end. Despite the disastrous side effects, he almost wanted to blurt everything out to her right now.

Then he berated himself again. Should he even be chancing talking to her? What had he said the first time? He couldn't remember much apart from the 'angel' comment, and that she'd found out he was a slave.

"Since I was three," he replied, mentally debating whether he should tell her of his slave status. He couldn't even recall her reaction, except that she'd accepted him as a human being instead of property. That had been one of many reasons why he'd been drawn to her to begin with.

"You've worked here since you were three?"

He shrugged. "My mother and I were initially sold to Gradulla the Hutt, but she lost us betting." Well, he remembered that much. Not that he wanted to. Even into his Jedi Knight years, he'd had scars across his back from his time under that...thing's ownership.

And there was the anger again. He quickly squashed it down, unwilling to even tolerate the idea of letting such emotions loose in front of Padmé again.

"You're a slave?" she asked, carefully schooling her expression. He knew her too well, though. She couldn't truly disguise the disgust in her voice. A stab of pain wrenched through his heart again. Had that been her reaction the first time? Had he just not known her well enough to see?

"Yes," he said, looking up to meet her eyes. The disgust changed to sympathy. He didn't know which one was worse.

"I do not need your pity," he heard himself say rather forcefully. "One day, we will be free."

She smiled, looking impressed, and a touch of his heart that had almost died at her reaction suddenly came alive again. "I'm sure you will," she said softly. "I'm sorry, I don't fully understand. This is a strange place to me."

In other words she didn't want to tread on dangerous ground anymore and backtracked. She understood well enough. Still, he appreciated the gesture. He wouldn't have been able to see it for what it was the first time around. Actually, he probably wouldn't have even after he'd married her in his previous life.

A clanging drew both of their attention to Jar-Jar, who had tripped over who knew what as he chased a droid he'd accidentally activated. He saw Padmé smile out of the corner of his eye, and decided to let the spectacle continue for just a moment until Jar-Jar had it by the neck, suspended above the ground.

"The nose," he said finally. Jar-Jar turned to look at him in confusion. "Tap the nose." He'd forgotten how utterly trying the gungan could be.

"Oh," Jar-Jar said, following instructions, and studying the droid as it deactivated. The shop fell into silence for a moment, but Anakin knew it wouldn't last long.

"So you live with your mother?" Padmé asked, still watching Jar-Jar with amusement.

"Yes," Anakin replied.

"What's she like?"

Had she asked this many questions the first time around? Politicians. Still, he saw no harm in answering. "She's amazing. I cannot stress enough how strong she is and she always looks after me. I never could understand how she always puts my needs ahead of hers. I love her more than almost anything."

"Almost?" Padmé asked with a smile.

Anakin had to force his own smile to match. It had been a very long time since he'd had much need for something so frivolous as laughter, and it had been a long time since he'd had to worry about expressions at all. That had to factor into his lack of self control as well.

"So why are you here?" he decided to turn the tables and start asking the questions. He already knew the answer, of course, but it would be a much more comfortable (and probably safer) subject.

She accepted the change of topic with her normal grace. "Our ship was damaged and we had to come here to replace some parts."

Something occurred to him at that. "Did you come to this shop first?"

She shrugged slightly, looking over at Jar-Jar who had begun to inadvertently juggle several smaller objects that had somehow fallen on him. It would be a mess Anakin had to clean up, but Padmé still seemed to find it funny, so he was willing to let the gungan be for now.

"Yes. Master Qui-gon is in charge of finding what we need," she said, nodding towards the door where the Jedi and shop owner had disappeared. "He just came here first and I followed. Why do you ask?"

"Because I doubt any other shop around here has parts for a Nubian cruiser. It's just funny that he would have come here first." Either that or Jedi intuition.

Her face became slightly confused again as she regarded him. "How did you know we had a Nubian cruiser?" she asked.

He froze. Wonderful. Just how was he supposed to answer that? He looked around the dingy room for a moment, and was just about to open his mouth and explain that he'd simply overheard them talking earlier, when Qui-gon walked through the door. The man didn't hide his irritation very well. Nowhere nearly as well as Obi-wan had in Anakin's opinion.

The thought surprised him, but he didn't have much time to contemplate as the Jedi announced that they were leaving, then looked behind him at the gungan, specifically calling his name to get his attention. In response, Jar-Jar promptly lost what little concentration he had, and fell over, parts and casings scattering everywhere.

Padmé backed away, flashing the brilliant smile that made him go weak in the knees. "I'm glad to have met you...what's your name?"

Oh, he'd forgotten to tell her.

"Anakin," he said, and for the first time in years, he smiled. Not just a forced, mask-like smile, but a deep, real one.

"Anakin," she repeated, and walked out, Jar-Jar on her heels. He felt so relieved that he hadn't botched his first meeting with her (too badly in any case) that he'd forgotten to reciprocate her farewell.

xXx

Watto let him go early that day. It had been one of the reasons Anakin had been glad the toydarian had won them instead of another slave master. After a particularly trying day, Watto usually just wanted to forget everything by grabbing a few drinks after he closed up the shop. On those days, he let Anakin go early with only one last task or two, just as he did that afternoon.

His mind still ran in swirling steps as he scrubbed the racks, moving objects, wiping and polishing the too-old metal and duraplast before replacing them and moving on. It was a mind-numbing task, but one that he felt particularly grateful for that night.

Before he realized it, he'd finished and let Watto know he was leaving. It had all passed by in a sort of daze, and he was struck again by how surreal the world seemed. That sensation had come to him more than once since he'd woken up in the past.

That was why when he came across a certain Dug he only vaguely remembered disliking in the process of pulverizing Jar-Jar, he actually paused. Should he intervene? That had been how Qui-gon had come to his house before after all, now that he recalled.

The rest of the little group faced the proceedings a few meters away. Padmé's expression tugged at him, hard. She looked worried, and nervous...and how else would they be able to get their ship fixed? He knew how much her planet meant to her, and that was what tipped the scale of his decision.

"You're going pick a fight with an outlander?" he asked calmly, amazed at how much Huttese he remembered. In the week he'd been back, he hadn't done much more than listen to Watto and the store's customers shout swear words and harsh phrases at him.

The Dug looked up at Anakin, his face suddenly gaining an expression that said 'fresh-meat', and dropped (threw, really) the gungan.

"Ready for the race, slave boy?" he sneered. "Or should I simply kill you now so you won't have to worry about it?"

Ah yes, the race.

"If you fear my threat that much, you can try," he challenged smugly. "But you'll be using all of your winnings to make amends." Slaves weren't cheap.

The dug's face suddenly dropped into a scowl. "Then I'll wait until the race, but your head will be mine," he growled, and walked away.

The former Sith watched the other being walk away and his false smile disappeared. The Dug represented the scum of the universe to him. He cared only for money and fame and didn't care who he stepped on to accomplish it. Just the thought brought back the old, familiar disgust and It took Anakin several seconds to calm down enough that he trusted himself to speak without losing control again. He still wanted to eliminate the dug's pathetic existence but he managed to refrain.

The words of Master Yoda rang unbidden through his mind. Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny. The old adage was certainly proving true now.

When he finally glanced up, he found himself looking into the face of a rather concerned Qui-gon, who didn't seem to know quite what to say. Neither did Anakin. 'Oh hi there, I'm just calming myself down so I don't crush everything within a hundred meters to dust with the dark side,' probably wouldn't go over very well.

Interesting. He seemed to have rekindled some sarcastic sense of humor.

"Are you alright, young one?" the Jedi asked sincerely.

Anakin plastered a smile on his face. "Yes," he replied. "It isn't intelligent to approach a Dug," he shot an annoyed look at Jar-Jar. "They tend to be rather dangerous and easily provoked."

"But mesa hatin' crunchin'," the gungan protested. "That's the last thing mesa wantin'."

Qui-gon's eyes lingered on Anakin warily for several seconds before turning his attention to Jar-Jar. "Never the less, the boy is right. You are heading into trouble."

Padmé had come to stand beside them, and it took all of his control to keep his eyes on the Jedi Master.

"But—but..." the gungan started.

"Thanks, my young friend," Qui-gon said with a smile and a nod before turning to head back down the street.

"But mesa doin' not'in'!"

They began to walk away, and Anakin hesitated. This was it. Either he backed out now and let the universe take a completely new course, or he continued on. Once again, it was Padmé's smile that made up his mind.

"So, where are you headed?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too graceless. It wasn't often that he found himself playing host.

"We're looking to get some food," Qui-gon answered easily. "Would you know where to find some?"

Anakin nodded. "This way," he said, turning and striding down an adjoining street. The seemingly misfit group followed.

xXx

Qui-gon didn't know what to think of the boy (Anakin, if he remembered correctly) who led them confidently through town. All he could tell was this small child seemed to have an extremely high intellect along with an inner conflict he'd never seen in a person under the age of 30. Even many Jedi Masters didn't have those kinds of inner battles. Between the hesitations and almost fearful looks he'd shoot at everyone in the vicinity before speaking in a careful, paranoid manner, he reminded Qui-gon more of a war veteran than of a young child. Even a slave. What must his past have been like? He couldn't be older than ten standard years.

On top of that, Qui-gon could get no reading on the boy. He didn't just run into mental shields, it seemed more like he wasn't even there. That kind of shielding required a Force presence. A strong Force presence. And training. He had never heard of those kinds of shields used by an untrained being. He could only draw the conclusion that Anakin either had prior training, or he was some sort of genius. A genius with an extremely traumatic and possibly painful background. He wasn't sure if he should be wary or sympathetic.

Eventually they stopped at a run-down fruit stand set up in the shade of a dusty building. An old woman who seemed to have more wrinkles than skin on her tanned face grinned down at the boy.

"Ani! Welcome," she said in a well-used, jolly voice. "Haven't seen you around much lately."

"I apologize for not coming by," he replied.

"So serious, Ani?" she joked. "Want to make a good face in front of your new friends?"

The boy glanced uneasily up at Qui-gon. "Yes," he replied.

"And so formal? What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," he insisted, his words just slightly harsh, almost as if he were giving a warning. She seemed a bit taken aback by his comment. "Sorry, Jira," he said in a softer tone. "It's been a long day."

"That's alright, Ani," she said, the grin easily back in place. "Now what'll you have?"

He looked over the produce for a few seconds before he pointed to a few of one particularly wrinkled fruit. "Four...pallies," he said, pausing before speaking the word, as if he'd forgotten it. Qui-gon continued to watch their interaction, now thoroughly fascinated.

So the boy was acting differently? Qui-gon would even go so far as to guess he had gone through a sort of character change recently. Why? Perhaps trauma? What kind of trauma? He didn't rule out beatings, but he did doubt it. If Anakin had gone through a change, then that was unlikely as abuse didn't often simply start up suddenly enough to cause such an obvious alteration.

The Jedi observed the child's precise movements. He almost seemed uncomfortable in his own body. He also moved quickly, probably expectant of punishment if he didn't move fast enough.

If Qui-gon had to venture a guess, he'd say the boy was a slave. It would be the only reason for keeping a child like him around a shop like Watto's, no matter how good at mechanics.

Had he been sold recently? That could certainly be a change that might cause trauma. Or was it something else? He didn't know enough about the boy to make an educated guess, and would have to look deeper into it to gauge the child's situation correctly.

A slight tug through the Force brought his thoughts to Obi-wan. Something had come up. He didn't often feel this kind of irritation from his padawan through their bond. He turned, looking around at the settlement, trying to get a better sense of what had happened.

"Master Qui-gon?" Padmé's voice brought him out of reverie and he looked down at the young woman standing next to Anakin.

"Yes?" he asked, noticing the fruit being held out to him and taking it casually. "Thank you."

"Is something the matter?" she asked.

He smiled. Did she really think that she could fool him with a paltry disguise? Not with the way the current 'Queen' had deferred to her earlier. "Nothing you need to concern yourself over," he said, making sure to keep his tone light as he put the fruit into the bag he carried at his waist. He didn't miss the boy's eyes land and linger on his lightsaber. Did he know what it was? He wouldn't be the first, but few people on the outer rim knew an unlit lightsaber on first glance.

"Oh, my bones are aching," the woman said suddenly, looking around. "Storm's coming, Ani. You'd better get home, quick."

Was it just Qui-gon, or did Anakin's smile seem forced? The boy nodded and bowed slightly, which seemed to surprise the old woman even more, and he turned to walk away.

"Follow me," he said shortly. A very terse little boy too, apparently.

"Where?" Qui-gon asked.

Ani turned around, fixing him with a neutral face. "Do you have shelter?"

"We'll head back to our ship," the Jedi replied, unsure of whether Anakin really wanted to help or was just being polite.

There it was again, the pause before he spoke, as if he had to carefully calculate something before he said anything. "Where is your ship?" he asked.

"On the outskirts," Padmé replied.

"I doubt you'll make it in time," Ani said. "And the storm could be dangerous." He spoke that last line as if it should be obvious. "Come. You w—can stay with me."

The Jedi Master couldn't help but stare at the child. He'd known senators that didn't have that kind of a commanding presence. He'd said "can", but Qui-gon felt sure he would have originally said "will". Used to giving commands, then.

This boy was becoming more and more of a puzzle. One that the Force seemed to be pushing him to solve.

"Very well," he replied easily. "Please, lead on."

xXx

Qui-gon suspected something. Anakin was sure of it, and he didn't know what to do about it. A lot of that would come from the fact that he didn't know what the Jedi had found so suspicious? He'd been so careful. Of course, Padmé's presence had caused him to slip up a few times, but would that be enough?

Of course, then there was the old woman, saying he was acting differently. A comment like that would make any Jedi take a closer look. Anakin didn't know what Qui-gon would find on closer inspection.

Perhaps this had not been the wisest course of action after all.

Too late. And he was not accustomed to dwelling on the past. Perhaps that had been his problem. He was now living in it after all.

The sandstorm had already blown in full-force by the time they reached his home. He keyed in the code to unlock the door quickly and led them inside, out of the tan-colored, smothering fog created from sand particles settling in eddies of wind near the buildings.

As he entered, he reached out for the calm, soothing presence of his mother, and felt himself relax for the first time all day.

"Mom?" he asked, brushing what he could get of the sand (oh how he hated the substance) off of his shirt. "Mom, I'm home."

She walked out of the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. Did she ever stop working? Why did she have to live like that when she deserved so much more? She looked upon the visitors with surprise, then looked curiously at Anakin.

"Ani?" she asked.

He put on his best childlike face, and added a touch of whine to his voice. "They needed a place to stay. Can they stay? Please?" Funny, he always found it easier to act like a child around her.

"Hello," she said to the strangers, her smile welcoming and large, despite the sudden surprise.

"I'm Qui-gon Jinn," the older Jedi introduced himself. "Your son was kind enough to offer us shelter."

She looked over them for a moment before breaking down and nodding. "Of course you can stay. I'll just need a little help with supper."

"Allow me," Qui-gon offered, holding out a bag. "We brought some food."

His mother's smile gained more than a touch of relief. She'd been worrying about their supplies then.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the bag graciously before turning and walking into the kitchen. The Jedi followed her out of the room and Anakin watched them go, unsure of what to do now. He wasn't exactly good at making polite conversation, and the atmosphere felt thick enough to him to cut with a lightsaber.

"Don't touch that," he said to Jar-Jar, who was looking at a stack of boxes and parts piled next to the wall on one side of the entry way. The gungan jumped back, snapping his hands behind him innocently. Really, who did he think he was fooling?

"Anakin, why don't you show them the droid you've been working on?" Shmi called from the kitchen.

Anakin could have kissed her. "Good idea. This way," he said, leading them into the back.