Blah. Blah. Blah.
Yada. Yada.
Lectures.
Slumped in the seat, arms crossed and knee bouncing from sheer boredom, he waits. The voices below are annoying, grating on every last nerve and setting his jaw into a locked position. They go on and on about mindless things they don't understand—they couldn't understand even if they tried.
Instead, he's held hostage by the chair at a meeting he doesn't want to be a part of.
Is this the way of the galaxy?
His eyes roll as Threepio adds to the ridiculous conversation. Leave it to the droid to ramble about what has been. About precautions. About all the statistics. It's absurd. There's no reason to have a meeting about problems that have already been solved.
It needs to be about the future.
And given the chance, he'd tell them all how he felt about their ideals.
Glancing at the sleeping boy next to him, his knee slows to a stop. The boy's been out cold for about an hour now. The proceedings were something he could only take so much of before being lulled into a peaceful sleep.
Running a hand over Ben's dark mess of hair, he can't help the smile that twitches on his lips.
Innocence, Luke thinks.
Which is true enough about his nephew. The boy is, for all intents and purposes, innocent. Given his home life, he's bound to have issues here or there. Heck, when has Han or Leia showed him how to act? If they were both honest, it's not that big of a stretch that Ben tried to sell Chewie.
And the Wookiee realizes that.
Instead, they keep looking for excuses because they're both afraid of the darkness in their boy.
But who doesn't have a thread of it?
The slew of memories rush over him like water, and Luke can't help it. Can't help how he felt on the bridge with Palpatine and his father. Can't help that he was enticed to give in.
Sure, he overcame it, but there were moments. Lines nearly crossed. Life altering decisions made. And he was reckless. In fact, he lost his hand because he was so brash.
Not that I'd change anything.
Elbows on his knees, Luke leans forward and looks down at the diplomats. Most are in fancy fabrics, and the majority have never seen battle, only witnessed it from afar. They can only talk of what Vader did. How he controlled the universe. The darkness in him.
And Leia merely nods in agreement.
He shakes his head, and his gaze drops to the floor. He doesn't agree with the fact she denies her past. He finds it unnecessary that she lies about who her parents really are. He wonders if she'd turn him out as well if she knew his struggles.
He grimaces.
Looking at the diplomats, he ignores that last thought. Pushes it far from his mind. Instead, he chooses to focus on how Anakin made plenty of mistakes. He was anything but perfect from what Luke can find. And he's quite surprised there's so little about who his father was—and more to the point, who his mother is or was.
Which creates a bigger question he can't quite formulate.
Heaving a heavy sigh, he looks at the ceiling. Why aren't things black and white?
A tiny hand rests on his arm. Looking over, he sees a blurry-eyed Ben squinting at him.
"Uncle Luke?" he whispers. "What's going on?"
Smiling, he returns the whisper. "They're still blabbering on down there."
The little boy gives a silent laugh before leaning his head on his uncle's arm. His big, brown eyes look at the assembly below. "How long are they going to do this?"
"A while."
His nephew sighs, blowing his dark hair out of his eyes.
Luke ruffles Ben's hair back into his eyes with a grin. "Come on, Benny. We'll go make rocks move."
｡.•°•.｡｡.•°•.｡
He watches Uncle Luke's every move. Each gesture is deliberate. Each one placed in a specific spot. As his uncle readjusts Artoo, everything has to be precise for the droid to continue to function. Ben knows enough that if one thing is out of place it could really make the machine a box of scraps.
"I'm sure Artoo would love for you to scrub the dirt off the outside," his uncle says. The blue and white droid gives a series of beeping pleads in response.
Smiling, Ben nods. Grabbing a nearby scrub brush, he works on the dusty droid. "Why do you fix him? I thought he works fine."
"Maintenance," Uncle Luke answers.
"Main tents?" he questions. His face scrunches in confusion. "What's that?"
"Maintenance helps Artoo from becoming rusty, and I also can help him get a new part before something fries."
"Oh," Ben replies with a serious nod. He would hate for the droid not to work because of something broken. His eyes widen as he scrubs Artoo's head. "Do all droids need it?"
"You ever hear Threepio complain about oil baths?" His uncle rolls his eyes, and his tone is thick with what Ben recognizes as sarcasm.
He laughs, because Threepio does complain often. Glancing up, he notices his uncle pause to look him in the eyes and smile wide. The feeling in Ben's chest seems more than he can bear. It's overwhelming and gives him a feeling that's lighter than air. He wants to explode in a fit of giggles.
Someone sees him. Someone knows he's there. Someone is giving him that you're a good boy smile. With Mom's nose always in a politic paper, and Dad rarely home, he always feels so alone. And he must have done something to deserve it. He must have been bad, because those smiles are very few and far between. No one wants to be around him. So, the fact his uncle gives that smile…
He looks away.
"You okay, Ben?"
He goes back to scrubbing dirt from the droid. How can he tell his uncle all the feelings he doesn't understand? The things he can't keep up with. Things he knows that if he says, he'll still be alone anyway. At the end of the day, Uncle Luke will be called away to whatever Jedi thing he has to do.
Which at least he has an excuse. Dad just leaves. Mom just dives into politics.
And he's out of place.
Ben's thankful when his uncle goes back to cleaning parts without asking more question. There's comfort in the silence. He doesn't have to explain that he hates when the Falcon closes its doors or when there's a politic problem.
But he wants his uncle to at least know the overwhelming feeling in his chest. Which still stirs and twists deep inside.
"Uncle Luke," he says, pausing and looking at him.
He doesn't know what to do when his uncle pauses and gives him his full attention.
How can Uncle Luke be so busy, and have time for me?
"What?" his uncle questions softly.
"I…" Just tell him you love him, Ben thinks. The brush in his hand trembles. What if he doesn't say it back? he argues. He swallows roughly. "I…I like you."
His uncle grins brighter than the stars at night. The look in his eyes seems as if he just won a prize from a box of cereal. "I like you, too, Benny."
And suddenly Ben doesn't feel so alone anymore.
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