I know on my profile it says this one will have an update at least every two weeks, but it sort of got away from me. Sorry! Anyways, here's year three. Enjoy! :)
The box is still relatively new, the only sign of its age being the thick coating of dust that continues to get thicker every month. It sits in a hole that's been chipped out of the wall. Out of sight, out of mind, it no longer exists.
Until Obi-wan stumbles upon it one day and stares at it, recognition flashing across his face before it clouds over in a scowl. He pushes it back into the hole with his foot, hard enough to make sure it's stuck in there for good now. He really should just throw it out, but something's keeping him from doing so.
It decided to rain today. It isn't a drizzle either. As he stares out the window, he figures this is probably the first real rainstorm here since Tatooine was born into existence. The drops are as big as any raindrops he's ever seen, and they're slamming against his hovel so hard he can't hear himself think.
Or at least he wishes they were that loud. They are loud, just not loud enough.
He can still think quite clearly, and today is not a good day for that. It's the anniversary of Anakin's death.
And it's Vader's birthday.
But both 'anniversary' and 'birthday' imply some version of a celebration, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can't quite seem to find a reason to clap or cheer for anything. He can't even crack a smile, not even a bitter one.
For a moment, he considers rummaging through his fridge for the bottle of jawa juice he has hidden in the back. That would certainly muddle up his thoughts.
Unfortunately, he knows that if he were to open that up, he would be done with it in under an hour. A bottle of that size would not be good for his body, no matter how much he tried to settle it with the Force. Even a Jedi had his limits, and he has no intention of becoming an alcoholic.
So instead, he sits in a chair, brooding over memories he wishes he never had. He knows that these sorts of thoughts aren't healthy, but he's past the stage of denial.
He's accepted it now. Depression isn't so bad once you've accepted it, or at least that's what he keeps telling himself.
His eyes keep straying towards that hole in the wall. The box is almost completely out of site, but he can still see a small portion of it, smooth and gray with a coat of grime.
He almost leaves it there, settled nicely into the charred, ashy dust. But right as he's about to pass it, he changes his mind and reaches down. His calloused hands, streaked with black smudges, wrap around the silver hilt. It's still warm and he lifts it and stares at it. The hand that had wielded it lies to his left, separated from the smoldering mess behind him that used to resemble a human being.
He clips it to his belt and walks away, refusing to look back.
He blinks. Why hadn't he looked back? Maybe that would have changed things. Even as Anakin had screamed his hatred to the galaxy, his only remaining limb had been reaching out towards him, almost begging to be grabbed.
Why hadn't he helped the boy? There had been plenty of chances. The fire had taken its own lazy time before reaching Anakin's body, and even then a small wave of his hand could have snuffed out the flames with a calm brush of the Force.
But no. He had watched the boy burn. He had watched the skin of his back meld with the tunic that covered it. He had watched his face turn black and peel off. He had watched the hair on his head visibly dissolve under the intense heat.
He had watched his little boy die. And he had done nothing.
He hates this day. A dangerous emotion, hate is…
"It doesn't matter anymore," he mutters. The chair creaks as he stands up. It takes him only a few strides to reach the wall and he kneels down to take hold of the box with one hand. He takes a moment to enjoy the irony of the fact that he jammed it in so hard.
Because now he intends to remove it.
It takes a few good jerks, but eventually it pops out in an explosion of dust. He coughs a few times and waves his hand to clear the air. Only a twitch of his mind is necessary to clear the box of the remaining dust and grime. Now it looks brand new again, just like the day he bought it.
He flips the latch and pauses, wondering if this is really such a good idea.
Knowing he'll regret it later, he takes a deep breath and opens it up.
The black smudges still stand out. The metal has grown cold and dull. He hesitates before slowly taking it out of the box. His thumb hovers over the ignition button and then pushes it. Despite having used a similar weapon for the majority of his life, he still flinches at the loud hum. It comes from the blue bar of plasma that shoots out to glow steadily in front of his face.
This used to belong to a Jedi, but the wielder no longer lives.
This is the anniversary of Anakin's death, not a celebration of his life.
His eyes close at the same moment his grip loosens, and the blade falls to the floor, slicing cleanly through the arm of his chair before blinking off. He doesn't deserve to touch that weapon.
The other one is still in the box, as dull and smudged as the first and he takes it out, thumbing it on as well. He doesn't flinch this time. It fits well in his grip, broken in by hundreds of battles. It's deflected thousands of blaster bolts, cut through as many droids, and saved his life countless times.
None of that makes up for the three limbs he cut off the last time he used it. Nothing will ever reconcile what he did.
He sighs, suddenly feeling very tired, and sets the weapon back in the box. The other he leaves on the floor, still refusing to touch it. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes again, trying to focus on the pounding rain rather than the duel replaying in his head over and over again.
He doesn't know how much time has passed when a knock on his door startles him from his failed attempt at sleeping. At least it's a break from his depressing state of mind.
Maybe he hasn't quite accepted it yet, and maybe that's a good thing.
He's almost at the door before he begins to wonder who on earth would be traveling in this weather. It's not as if the natives of this planet actually enjoy the rain when it comes. In fact, he's noticed that they detest the stuff, always content to stay inside for as long as it takes to wait out even the lightest of storms. And this is by no means a light storm. It's as close as Tatooine will ever get to a monsoon.
So who is at his door?
He should have installed a peephole. Or poked one in the door, rather. One does not install a peephole.
Whatever. He's beyond the point of caring about such mundane things. "Who is it?" he calls, before silently slapping himself on the head for his rudeness. Threat or no threat, he decides to open the door so that the person on the other side doesn't drown before he's able to talk to them.
Whoever he was expecting, she certainly isn't it. And neither is the little boy standing next to her, wrapped in so much clothing his arms stuck out from his sides against his will. "Beru," he blurts in surprise before he can stop himself.
She looks startled for a second before composing herself once more. A sheepish smile spreads across her face as she glances down at the boy squirming next to her. "Would you mind if we, I mean, if it's okay… we wouldn't want to intrude…"
He's staring at the boy and only hears her stuttering by accident, because he's suddenly overwhelmed. Not by surprise or any emotion for that matter. But by the overwhelming presence this boy has in the Force. He jerks his gaze up and blinks. A step to the side opens up the doorway and he gestures with one arm. "Of course. I apologize for keeping you out here."
The two of them walk past him and he shuts the door and follows.
Luke is in his hovel. Luke.
And not just any day. This day. As he watches Beru peel the layers off the boy, he can't help but wonder if this is merely a coincidence, or some sort of message from the Force that he's not getting. He ambles past his two guests into his small kitchen and puts some water on the burner. "I'll get some tea going. I'm sure you two are a might bit cold…"
He trails off when he hears them enter the kitchen. Pivoting smoothly on one foot, he turns to look at them. Beru is looking at him with confusion in her eyes. "Thank you for letting us in. I'm sorry for such an unexpected visit, but Luke wouldn't stop… how do you know my name?"
So that explains the confusion. The fact that she's so talkative is most likely due to nervous energy, he supposes. Contrary to the somber mood he had been in, he smiles a little. "Don't apologize. Your company is more than welcome, actually; although, I'm a little surprised that you were able to find me." He offers her a seat at the table when he notices they are still standing.
"Oh everyone's heard about 'Old Ben' the hermit by now," she says once she's seated. Luke still hasn't said a word, but as he sits on the woman's lap, the toddler stares up at him with a steady gaze.
He has to admit, he's slightly unnerved. That's a credit to the youngster too, because with all he's been through, it takes quite a bit to make him uneasy. He breaks his stare from Luke and turns back around to start rummaging for the tea. "I'm not that old," he teases, trying to break the awkward tension between them. After all, they aren't really complete strangers.
It works. Beru chuckles a little. "Well no, but exiling yourself to the middle of nowhere unless you need supplies doesn't exactly give you the reputation of a younger man. It's old people that keep to themselves."
If only she knew how old he felt. The things he's seen, the things he's done… he's hard-pressed to remember the last time he felt his age. "Yes, well," he starts. "I suppose I can't control what other people think can I?"
He said that with more emotion than he intended and he winces at the heavy silence that follows. "I'm sorry. Today hasn't exactly been a good day…"
He can feel Beru's eyes on him as he makes the tea. "Maybe we should leave then," she offers in a tight voice. "We can visit some other time."
He turns so quickly that he almost spills one of the mugs on the floor. "No, no, that's not necessary. I'm just… well…" Another sigh is all he manages. He's been doing that a lot lately. His gaze once more falls to the boy sitting on her lap and he blinks. This day is significant in more ways than one. "Happy birthday, Luke," he says softly, but with a gentle smile on his face.
The smile the boy flashes at him is unexpectedly quick, and the warm feeling that envelopes him soon after makes his smile widen in return. "Tanks! I'm fee today!" Luke says in broken Basic, holding up four stubby fingers.
Beru just shakes her head with a knowing smile and puts one of the fingers down. "This is three, Luke. See: one, two, three." She touches each finger as she says this and Luke looks at her with a big grin.
That grin breaks his heart, but he refuses to let his anguish show for the sake of not only Luke, but Beru as well. They didn't come all this way to watch him break down in front of them. "Congratulations, Luke," he says. His voice shakes a little and Beru looks at him, concern flashing over her face, but Luke doesn't seem to notice.
The boy's smile freezes and his brow scrunches a little. "Congatsutashins…" He looks at Beru for an explanation, but Obi-wan answers instead.
"It means I'm happy for you," he says.
Luke seems to consider this for a moment before he smiles again. "Okay."
He offers the boy a cup of tea. "Would you like to try some of this?"
Luke looks at Beru again, and when she nods, he turns back and reaches out for it. "Yes peeze."
Obi-wan lets him take the cup and watches as he grips it with two hands. When it gets close to his face, Luke sniffs a few times and then takes a large sip.
The spray that shoots from the toddler's mouth is almost expected. In fact, Obi-wan had the rag in his hand a split second before it happened. He kneels down with a gentle chuckle and quickly cleans up the mess. When he catches Luke's eye again, the boy is scowling. "That's icky juice."
"Luke," Beru scolds and the boy ducks his head a little. "He did ask you before he gave it to you. You didn't have to have any."
Luke doesn't say anything else. Instead, he scowls some more and hops down from Beru's lap. The two of them stare at his little form as he walks out of earshot into the den and crawls up onto one of the wooden chairs. "We haven't quite gotten the manners down yet," Beru says.
Obi-wan stands up and sits across from her. "At least he said please," he offers, causing the woman to smile. Then he leans back. "Just out of curiosity, what made you come? Especially today when it's raining like this?"
The smile disappears from her face as she considers her answer. "I can't really explain it. Luke seemed to think you were in some sort of trouble, which is weird, because he's never even heard of you. But all of a sudden he's following me around with this frown on his face saying we have to go see Ben, because something's wrong. I told him you were fine, but then he started to get really persistent." She stops and glances at the little boy in the next room. "I finally agreed to take him, but… I'm not really sure that it was me agreeing at all. It was almost as if I didn't have a choice."
He finds that he's slightly angry at that last bit. He never should have left Luke, a force-sensitive baby, in the hands of two people who didn't understand how to deal with him. Not that they're incompetent. He couldn't be more grateful for Owen and Beru. Just the fact that there is too much they will have a hard time dealing with.
But that pales in comparison to the fact that Luke was able to sense his despair from such a great distance away. And at the young age of three. Three! His mouth is drawn into a thin line when he answers. "It's called a Force-suggestion. Sometimes, children exceptionally strong in the Force do things without realizing it and instances like yours can happen. It's completely normal. Unfortunately, I'm afraid you are going to be seeing more of it as he grows up."
Beru is staring at him like he's grown a few more heads and he can't help but smile apologetically. "If you need any help with him, feel free to drop by."
"I'm not sure Owen would let us," she says.
Ah, yes. He'd almost forgot about Owen. That man who had yelled at him the last time he'd attempted to visit. "Oh. Right." He gives her a questioning look and she smiles.
"He's gone for a few days right now."
"You're by yourself, in the middle of the desert, with no one to protect you?" Obi-wan asks, incredulous.
"It's only for a few days, and I can handle a blaster just fine, thank you very much," she says. She's giving him a stern glare, as if daring him to tell her different.
The thing is, he only finds it amusing rather than threatening. Not to mention it's a cause for concern. So yes, he dares to tell her different. "So if a group of Tusken raiders decided to attack you during one of these few days, you're telling me that you are perfectly capable of scaring them off while keeping track of Luke too?"
She hesitates. "I think I could manage. Besides, we haven't seen any raiding parties for the past year or so anyways."
He stands up and takes his mug to the sink. More so just to keep himself from exploding. "When does Owen get back?"
"He should be back tomorrow afternoon," Beru says. "We'll be fine until then. I promise."
"You shouldn't make promises like that in places like this," he says, more to himself than to Beru.
You will be a Jedi, I promise…
Luke walks in at that moment and without turning around, Obi-wan knows he's carrying something. The way his signature is so focused in the Force gives it away. "What's dis, mom?"
Obi-wan turns around, registers the frightened look on Beru's face, and glances at the boy. His jaw clenches and he reaches Luke in two quick strides. "That is not a toy, Luke. Can I please have it?"
Luke looks scared at Obi-wan's sudden transformation and gives the silver hilt to him without any hesitation. " 'm sahwy. Didn't know…" He turns and buries his face into Beru's arms, shaking with silent sobs.
Obi-wan stares, shocked. He never meant to scare the boy, just to get the lightsaber out of his hands before it was accidently switched on. But no, that's not why Luke is crying. He had felt the stab of anger in the Force when Obi-wan had seen him holding his father's weapon. He mistook it for anger directed at him.
Obi-wan couldn't be more angry at himself than right now. How could he have been so careless? Not only to leave the lightsaber lying on the floor where Luke could easily get to it, but to then recklessly allow his emotions to run rampant when the boy could clearly pick them up? Stupid! He kneels down and reaches out a hand. Luke flinches when it touches his back, but he doesn't pull away. "Luke, I'm not angry at you. I was just scared that you might hurt yourself. I'm sorry." He sends a calm wave of energy to the boy and feels him relax.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he reassures him. Beru silently watches the exchange, still keeping a wary eye on the weapon in Obi-wan's hand.
Luke turns his head so that he can look at him. His face is streaked with tears, but his eyes are no longer scared. The boy is curious. "What is it?"
He doesn't know how to answer. There are no words, really. Just too many memories that he doesn't want to bring up. "Not now, Luke. When you're older, I'll tell you."
"Much older," Beru confirms with a hard glare. "I think it's time that we got back home, Luke."
Luke is still staring at him, and he can't bring himself to look away. There's something in those eyes that's just so… innocent. Pure. Light.
He feels something he hasn't felt in a long time. It's a small measure of peace, as if this boy is telling him everything will be okay.
The boy's eyes drop to the lightsaber again. " 's warm."
And it is warm. No longer cold, like when he had held it earlier. It's a lasting warmth too, not just the warmth from being held in a hand for a long period of time. This warmth makes his arm tingle. He notices something else. The smudges are no longer there. "Luke, how long did you have this?"
Luke drops his head and looks away, rubbing his hands together. "Was dirty," he mumbles, emphasizing each syllable.
He doesn't ask how the boy cleaned it. The only thing that mattered was that he did. It certainly hadn't been on Obi-wan's to-do list. He gives the boy a small smile. "Thank you for cleaning it."
Luke looks at him again, his blue eyes twinkling, but Beru stands up and begins to lead him towards the wet pile of clothes still sitting by the door. "Come on, Luke. We have to get you bundled up again."
He follows them and leans against the wall. "I don't believe it's raining anymore."
Beru stops and listens. Sure enough, the thunderous pounding his hovel had been taking has stopped. "Oh," she says and tucks the clothes under her arm. "Well, thank you for your hospitality. Maybe we'll see you again."
"It was my pleasure," he says as he opens the door for them. A few rays of sun have started to poke through the thinning clouds and he blinks, adjusting to the brightness. "Have a safe trip home."
Beru nods and takes Luke's hand, leading him to the speeder they came on. "Bye-bye!" Luke yells back, waving his hand back and forth in that animated way that only a toddler can.
He smiles and waves a hand in return.
When he goes back inside, the first thing that catches his eye are the black streaks on the rug covering his floor. He glances between the rug and the lightsaber still clenched in his hand and smiles. It will only take a decent scrubbing to get them out.
Ten minutes later, the rug is clean.
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