This is part of my "Guardians" series.
Obligatory disclaimer: I just love it, I don't own it.
They indulged him, he admitted. He couldn't be sure why it had turned out that way. Maybe because of the years when they knew they would never have children, maybe as defiance against anyone who doubted their ability to provide, maybe just as a way to affirm life's value in a universe that treated life so cheaply.
Beru, never one given to emotional outbursts, had cried the first time the boy lifted his tiny arms and called for her. He had wanted to deny the boy's adoption, have the boy say "Father" and "Mom", the way other Tatooine children did. Beru had insisted they be honest, calling herself from the very first night, "Aunt Beru."
"You're not his aunt," he had muttered and her eyes had sparked like the angry noon suns. He instantly repented, though inside he fought against the notion that he was in any way related to the Jedi.
"He has a mother, Owen," she had said, "I can't replace her. I won't replace her."
Though they never said her name, at times her presence on the tiny farm seemed overpowering. Beru would sing simple lullabies; sweet songs that Owen knew did not originate on Tatooine, songs of glistening water and singing birds, songs of beauty and sweetness. He wondered where his wife had learned such songs, but he did not ask.
And he did not stop her from speaking of Shmi, from telling the boy how proud his grandmother had been of her son who flew in the stars. Owen could not admit it freely but he still missed his own father and his stepmother.
Shmi's love and acceptance had been offered to him so freely, despite his inexplicable jealousy of her oft mentioned son, who had gone to "change the universe", despite his inadequacy compared to a son more dream than reality. And his father had been good, better than Owen could be. Shmi had been Cliegg's partner and his friend and her loss had quickened his own death, of that Owen felt sure.
So, he had often relented with Beru and the boy. Where he had wanted to be stern it had come across as merely gruff. Where he had wanted to stand his ground, he had caved time and again.
Yes, he had given in, except for one point. In the early years Beru had taken the boy to see Kenobi. She had invited the hermit for meals, a courtesy the old man had generally refused. After several disconcerting gatherings Owen had forbidden the word "Jedi" to be spoken.
As Luke grew older Owen had determined to keep his nephew as far from the old man as possible. He knew the day would come when, as quickly as Kenobi had blessed them, he would take the boy away again.
Owen could not face that fear. He could not see his wife mourn her way into a sandy grave before her time. He knew it was cowardly, and he despised his cowardice, but he could not change it.
As if to postpone the inevitable, they gave him all they could; things they could ill afford in their battle against harsh Tatooine life. They allowed him leisure time, speeders, half-junked pod racers, and every toy they could obtain. Despite their love and desire to give him the best chance, Owen could not allow Luke his true desire: he could not give him his freedom. He could not give him his father.
So Luke looked away, seeking what Owen Lars could not give. Owen hated the unfairness of the universe. He had been given a boy, now second only to Beru in his heart, a boy he had never expected to love. He had thought the raising of his stepbrother's son a burden too great to bear and now - how late he realized it! - now, he had become far too painful to lose.