Home Alone
What was on the other side of the door when Threepio and Artoo hid from the Storm Troopers in Mos Eisley? One-shot, ANH
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"Don't let anyone in while I'm out," says Mam, as she gathers up her bags to go shopping.
"Yes Mam," I say. And I roll my eyes just a little as she's putting her poncho on and adjusting the hood. She says that every time she goes out leaving me at home alone. And I know she believes teenagers get up to anything and everything the moment her back's turned, but for Force's sake!
What am I going to do?! Invite three jawas and a dozen Storm Troopers in for a rave?! That's hardly me, the kid whose school nickname is D.P., short for datapad, because I'm quiet and always reading.
Beside, even if it was, there's not much I can do about letting anyone in at present, lying here on the couch with both legs strapped in bacta-wrap and splinted straight out. (N.B. Before accepting an offer to try a friend's new speeder, find out how it's Meant to stop. Three weeks on the couch in bacta-wrap is no fun.)
So, I can't do much to let people in. This also means I can't do much after Mam's gone, when there's a whirring noise at the door and a tall bronze protocol droid and a blue and white astromech let themselves in without so much as a bleep of warning.
They don't say anything. I don't say anything. I'm not sure they even notice me, lying on the couch with my datapad. When the cluster of Storm Troopers has passed on up the alleyway, they let themselves out again.
When Mam comes home and asks if anything happened while she was out … I think … I think I'll say I might have nodded off for a minute.
I might have done, you know.