Healing
Chapter V
''
The two in the kitchen had been sitting at the table for almost half an hour. The house was empty except for them and silent. The quiet had now stretched on for so long that it almost seemed to dare either of them to break it.
Owen opted not to. Instead, he continued to study the figures on the data pad in front of him even though he had memorized the values by now. His mind was trying to figure out what the catch was in all this.
"The balance is authentic," the outlander woman - Padmé - said at last, apparently taking the dare. "You have my assurance on that."
Owen rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "I don't doubt that, in the least, Miss."
"Padmé." She said, automatically.
Owen didn't acknowledge her correction. He finally raised his head from his careful perusal of the data pad, and looked straight at her. "This is an awful lot of money for a droid."
"Well," she replied, "I could only make rough estimates of the costs of his individual parts and functions. If I over-estimated prices of certain parts, I am sure I also grossly under-estimated others."
"Not at all. A newer model won't cost up to a quarter of this and Threepio's been pretty beaten up."
An indignant voice from the corner of the room spoke up before Padmé could reply. "I beg your pardon, Master Owen, but the state of my superficial system is not an accurate indication of -"
"Threepio," Owen said warningly.
"Yes, Master Owen?"
"Shut up."
The droid fell silent. Owen turned back Padmé. "So, Miss, I think -" He broke off mid-sentence when he realized that he was talking to the back of her head. She had turned to stare at Threepio.
"Miss?"
She turned back to him with a look of incredulity on her face. "However did you get him to do that?"
"Do what?" Owen asked, although he suspected what she meant.
"Be quiet. At once. He doesn't shut up for anything."
There was a protesting rustle of metal and wheels from where Threepio stood; but the mechanical vocoder remained silent.
Owen shrugged. He could never understand why everyone was always so astounded by his ability to silence Threepio at will. Admittedly, the droid had a uniquely irritating personality motivator that made it tiresome on a good day, but after all, it was still only a machine. One gave it instructions and it obeyed because it was programmed to. It was as simple as that.
But whenever Owen had tried to explain that, his family only looked at him more disbelievingly and after a while, he had stopped trying to convince people that he did not have some sort of special power over the droid.
He gave Padmé his standard issue response:
"Oh, he'll forget in about half an hour and start talking again."
"Ten minutes is enough victory for me," she murmured. She still looked amazed.
Owen smiled despite himself.
Then Padmé cleared her throat. "It is obvious that as well as his contributions to the farm, he has a lot of sentimental value for your family," she continued gently. "And that's why I am willing to -"
Owen rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Threepio's … was Mother Shmi's. And now he is Anakin's. You can't buy him from us."
"Well, I want Threepio," she retorted. "Anakin couldn't keep him even if he wanted to. He's a Jedi."
"So?" Owen really didn't understand.
She stared. "Jedi don't have possessions or attachments."
"Then what are you?" asked Owen and almost bit his tongue. She went bright red. "Sorry," he muttered, tapping his fingers nervously on the table, "that's none of my business."
"No, no, it's okay," she stammered. There followed an uncomfortable pause during which Owen could mentally see Beru's eyes rolling at his utter lack of subtlety. When Padmé spoke again, her voice was low and rushed, a bit uncertain, almost as if she was confiding in him, and utterly unlike the gently confident way she normally spoke. "I…" she hesitated, and then she continued rather fiercely, "I care about Anakin. I am indebted to him in many, many ways. The least I can do is to get Threepio and have him share some of his … memories of Shmi … with Anakin. Anakin's more likely to get to see Threepio with me on Coruscant."
"You're sure of that?" Owen asked, rather challengingly.
"Sure of what?" She asked, obviously not understanding him.
"That Anakin is going back with you to Coruscant. That he's not staying here."
She started; the data-pad jogged on the table. "Is that what he's decided?" she asked, very, very quietly.
Owen shrugged. That's what we'd like, he thought. "Father said he would make the offer." He looked at her steadily. "This is Anakin's home, you know. As much as it is … was Mother Shmi's."
"Anakin is a Jedi," she said. Her voice was very quiet, even and controlled, extremely controlled. "He needs to return to Coruscant and continue his training. That's what his mother wanted."
Much good that's done for him! Much good that's done for Mother Shmi! Owen thought with some irritation, his fingers beating faster on the table. Outwardly, he retorted, "That's his decision, I guess."
"Of course," she replied, in a rather grim voice. Her face was pale, Owen noticed suddenly; as a matter of fact, it was ash-white. For some reason, his eyes went to her hands and he felt them widen at the sight of ten bone-white knuckles on the fingers gripping the edge of the table. Hard. The sight was unnerving enough for his own hands to still.
"Please, you need to make a decision on Threepio now." She insisted. "If you need to talk to your Father about it… Anakin and I might have to leave any moment from now."
The inflexion of her voice on the 'and' for some reason recalled to Owen an image of durasteel embedded in concrete.
He tore his eyes from her hands in surprise. "I have made the decision," he exclaimed. "If Anakin wants you to have Threepio, that's fine with us. Like I already said, he's Anakin's."
"He can't be Anakin's. Anakin can't own anything."
"Then I suppose it passes to you," Owen retorted. He didn't know exactly what this outlander woman was playing at and he was pretty fed up by now.
"I want to buy Threepio from you!" Then she sucked in her breath sharply.
Owen Lars opened his mouth to retort; then he snapped it closed at once. Hot blood was rising up in his face in a furious wave.
He had finally figured out the 'catch'.
''
A few minutes ago, as Padmé idly studied Owen while he studied her data-pad, she had decided that in a few years, Owen Lars would look exactly like his father. Now, she was rapidly reconsidering that conclusion. The expression on his face went from one of mildly irritable to a complete fury she could not imagine on gentle Cliegg Lars. Padmé could practically see as the pieces slowly and surely came together in his mind and apparently, the picture they formed was not at all to his liking. His eyes glared down at the data pad in front of him and his jaw worked furiously.
Her heart, which had started beating furiously when Owen had so casually and cruelly mentioned Anakin remaining on Tatooine, slowed into a defeated crawl.
"I am sorry," she said placatingly. "I tried to be-"
"Threepio!" Owen shouted suddenly, startling her into silence.
The droid came alive in a whir of gears. "Master Owen," it began in a voice that was distinctly a whine, "bearing in mind the particulars of your last instructions to me, I should be exempted -"
Owen cut him off at once. "Who else have you told?" He asked furiously.
"No one else, Master Owen!" Threepio whined earnestly. "I swear by all my original circuits!"
Owen glared at the droid as if he would like to take those original circuits apart and check.
Padmé licked her lips nervously. "Owen," she ventured.
Owen turned his furious gaze from Threepio to her. "Look, Miss, I take care of my own problems. I don't need help from an outlander who doesn't know how things are done here."
"I'm only trying to help," Padmé said gently.
"Well, I don't need your help," he said angrily. He got up, leaving the data pad on the table. "And I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself." He said in a voice that said it was not entirely a request.
"If you don't need my help, whose will you take?" Padmé asked loudly. "Are you planning on asking any one for help at all?" She could feel her grip on her own temper loosening.
"This is my problem, Miss!" Owen retorted. "And I'm going to fix it."
Her chest tightened at his words, and then burned and she could feel the heat go up to her throat, choking her. Her face must have shown something of her inner emotions because Owen's anger seemed to recede a bit into concern. She forced in a deep (burning) breath and tried to calm herself.
"Miss -" he began, a little quieter.
Marginally calmer now and at least coherent, Padmé cut him off. "Yes, of course. You're going to fix it. And after you've sold yourself as a slave to your loan shark, and paid off the farm's debt, have you stopped to think about your Father? About Beru? About what this on top of everything else is going to do to them?"
His face darkened immediately. "I am thinking about them. If I don't do this, we lose everything. I made the mistake. I have to pay the consequences."
"And create even worse ones in the process?" She retorted. "Because Anakin's not going to stay here and take care of the farm and your father when you go off tomorrow," she hissed. "He's leaving Tatooine and I don't think he's ever coming back."
"You can't know that for sure." He insisted.
Blood rushed to her head at his words and she looked away quickly to hide the anger and fright that she knew must be stark on her face.
"I have nothing to discuss with you, Miss." Owen said firmly and he emphasized the point by getting to his feet. "I'll be in the garden outside. Let me know when you're leaving so I can activate the force fields." He strode quickly across the kitchen.
No, no, no!
This was not how Padmé had envisioned this going at all. She had thought this out carefully after Threepio had confided in her; she had taken into consideration everything that could go wrong and decided that this plan could not fail; she was supposed to have made the offer for Threepio in a professional manner, emphasizing on Anakin in an emotional appeal and Owen was supposed to have been moved by compassion for his step-brother, overwhelmed with the unexpected boon and accepted graciously.
Everything could not have gone more completely wrong.
She heard his retreating footsteps walk out of the kitchen. She wanted to speak but she was so emotionally agitated that she was not sure if she could trust her own words. She grappled hopelessly with her emotions of guilt, desperation and loss.
"There are some things no one can fix."
Her own words echoed in her head and mocked her.
His footsteps were coming from the entrance steps now. In a fit of utter desperation, without pausing to rationalize or plan further, Padmé got to her feet.
''
"Owen!"
He was no longer angry; his temper was well-tamed and bouts of rage were rare; and when his anger did flare, it burnt itself out almost immediately. Now, he was just determined, and very weary.
He heaved a sigh. "Miss," he said firmly, one foot on the top-most step and his back to her.
"I have something to say to you. Look at me."
He turned at once, not because she asked him but because of the way she asked him. From the start, it had been impossible not to notice how strange her outlander accent sounded and how different it was even from Anakin's. It was educated, carefully modulated and completely expressionless.
Now, her accent was completely distorted: It was anguished and incoherent.
And she looked anguished. Her head was tilted upwards at him and although she was not crying, the expression on her face made him wish she were. Owen looked away at once, characteristically feeling distinctly uncomfortable around feminine vulnerability.
He was also badly startled. This outlander woman did not seem like the kind that got anguished easily. She had not even cried when Shmi was brought home.
He fought against his instincts and descended the steps cautiously. "Miss, maybe I should get…" the sentence trailed off, his words sounding lame to his own ears.
"Please let me help you," she said quietly.
Owen shook his head, feeling like an utter heel as he looked away from her. "Look, Miss…"
"You have to let me do this," Padmé cried, her voice becoming utterly frantic. He flinched. "Owen, this is not just about you. Or Beru. Or even your father." She choked and fell silent. He sneaked a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She was looking down at her feet, her shoulders shaking slightly. He looked away at once. "Let me do this for Shmi," she said at last to the ground. "Please, don't deny me the one chance I have to do something for her.
"Please."
The one chance I have to do something… for Shmi.
That one impassioned argument touched Owen more than her earlier logic could ever have done. He understood all about opportunities missed and eternally regretted.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to be reasonable. She was right about what she had said about his father and the farm. He was being a selfish fool to think that he could just up and leave the farm without hurting Father and Beru. He was a fool to even think that Beru would be willing to wait on indefinitely, staying with his father during the years it would take Owen to work off his debt.
Owen made up his mind. He went back into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Picking up the data pad again, he re-familiarized himself with its digital figures and at the same time, ostentatiously gave her enough time to compose herself. Half an hour ago, when Padmé had asked him down to the kitchen and made her bid to him, his mind had automatically made the calculations and realized that this very amount would be just enough to solve all his problems. Just enough and not one credit in excess. She was no fool. She knew he would not take any credit more than she could give.
But still -
Padmé had followed him into the kitchen. Owen snuck a glance at her and at once, felt a more at ease. She still looked pale, but quite composed and her completely dry eyes showed no signs of redness. Perhaps, she simply couldn't cry, he thought rather off-pointedly. According to Beru, her mother, Lora Whitesun, was like that. (Owen suspected though, that that was probably due to the fact that the woman had no heart.)
Padmé sat across from him and he gathered his thoughts immediately. "This is a loan," he said firmly. "Just remember that. I'm letting you take Threepio because he belongs to Anakin now and Mother Shmi would like that. You're not buying him from us and the minute I've got enough money, I'm sending this loan back to your account. With interest." He looked at her seriously.
She nodded gravely. Then she gave a tentative smile, "As long as you don't charge Hutt rates." She frowned a little. "I know Republic credits aren't acceptable on Tatooine but you can convert them to whatever major currency the loaner would prefer."
"Oh, that won't be a problem. He'll take whatever I give him," said Owen grimly. The thought was a happy one and he smiled. He looked across at the outlander woman's still-pale face and he felt his heart suddenly clench with gratitude. "Miss," he said gruffly, "thank you." – She made a frantic negating gesture but he just ploughed ahead – "I know I've not given you reason to think so but I'm much obliged to you, Miss."
"Padmé."
Owen shrugged. He pocketed the data pad and got to his feet. She stood up with him.
"We'd better start going," she said. "They must be ready by now."
Mother Shmi's funeral.
The momentary feeling of light-heartedness dissipated at once.
Owen followed Padmé up the steps. Threepio came to life in a whirr of gears and shuffled circumspectly behind them. Its vocoder made a sound that was the mechanical equivalent of a throat clearing. Owen spared the droid a glance (that was a mixture of healthy irritation, and yes - even if Owen would never admit it - anticipated nostalgia) and whatever inclination Threepio might have had to speak died at once.
They paused outside while Owen activated the force fields. Padmé turned to him.
"Thank you, Owen."
He opened his mouth to disclaim her gratitude - as he did so, he looked up from the controls and straight into her grave (and rather sad now that he actually noticed it) face - and he closed it.
Instead, he just lifted his forelock respectfully at her. She smiled a little and nodded at him again. Then they made their way across the sands, Threepio in tow.
''
Finally, Owen, Padmé and Threepio were coming along. Beru watched the three figures approaching as she, Father Cliegg and Anakin waited.
The two groups joined up and Padmé and Threepio walked on ahead with Father Cliegg and Anakin (Padmé went directly to Anakin's side but did not take his hand) and all four started discussing something in low tones. Owen seemed to be deliberately lagging and soon the others were walking on well ahead of the young couple. Beru started turning to him to ask him to hurry up when she suddenly found herself being lifted from behind into a gigantic bear hug.
She managed not to squeal, but only barely.
"Owen put me down!" She whispered breathlessly into his shoulder.
He did eventually, but only after he had buried his nose in her soft fair hair and breathed in deeply, committing her scent once again to memory. He placed her on her feet and stared deep into her bright blue eyes, taking in all the planes and shadows of her delicate pixyish features.
Her emotions - and the expression on her face - went from delight to worry.
"Owen," she asked. "What is it?"
He smiled at her and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.
"Owen," she repeated, more worriedly this time.
"Nothing," he lied.
Beru could see through him as clearly as if he were plasti-glass. She frowned at once.
"What?" he said, defensively. "Do I need an good reason to just look at you?" He smiled tenderly as he reached out his hand to smoothen out the frown.
It re-knotted underneath his fingers and he heaved a sigh. Beru glared up at him, determined not to let him off so easily. She had far from forgotten their earlier interrupted conversation.
"Something was wrong, Beru," he admitted finally. "But now it's not. And… I… I… you're important, Beru," he stammered awkwardly. "You're so important… to me… and I couldn't remember if I had told you so lately." He concluded, and his face burned with heat that wasn't from the twin suns.
Owen's embarrassment was worth it. The suspicion lifted - temporarily - from Beru's blue eyes and they were now shining at him with tenderness and affection. He did plan to tell her the whole story someday, only much later, certainly not now. At any rate, his words were more than a mere ruse to distract her; he meant every one of them. It was something that had always been understood between them, ever since he was fourteen and had given her the sandball he had won from Shollie Jinn. But now, something had suddenly given him the urge to say the words out loud.
Owen also hoped that she moreover understood that, once said, the words won't be repeated (by him at any rate) anytime soon.
Beru took his large hands and held them firmly in her strong, small ones.
"You tell me with a lot more than words. In ways I won't forget." she said gently. Her eyes sparkled with sudden mischief and her voice changed into a sing-song drawl. "And you're important to me too, Owen Lars." His face reddened even further and she giggled.
She stood on tip-toe and kissed him. He recovered from his embarrassment quickly enough to return her kiss. A warm current of interwoven emotions - affection, passion, empathy - passed between them and it was some moments before she finally, literally came down to earth. They gazed gently into each other's eyes for a while longer. Then she turned into his embrace, throwing an arm around his waist as he threw his own around her shoulder. Supporting each other like that, they made their way together towards the tomb markers.
''
A sudden message from the droid.
"Does that name mean anything to you, sir?"
Anakin's slumped shoulders. "Yes, it does."
Padmé silently offering her hand to Father, then very gravely to Owen while Anakin followed suit. A hug from Beru and a kiss on the cheek from Anakin.
"Are you coming back?" Only Owen felt the need to still ask.
Shared looks between Anakin and Padmé. His was undecided; hers was veiled and anxious.
It was Anakin that answered: "I don't know."
The two humans and the two droids making their way across the sand. An oddly mismatched quartet. Tall and short. Angular and cylindrical. Black and white. Rust and chrome. Sand and water?
A few moments later, from where the Lars stood they could see the ship, sleek and glinting like some rare and exotic bird, rise up in the shimmering air as it entered the atmosphere.
And then it was gone.
Perhaps it was best they had left the way they did, Owen decided. A no-nonsense parting. No awkward, prolonged goodbyes. No tears.
The Lars did not leave Shmi's grave until late evening. The second-hand repulsors underneath Father's chair bounced off the rock unsteadily as it zoomed towards the house. Owen and Beru followed him at an easier pace, talking softly.
"Isn't it strange?" Owen said once.
"What?"
"They came and left so quickly, they were hardly here. And yet I miss them already."
"They're family," Beru said gently.
"She was right then."
"Padmé? About what?"
"Anakin. That he won't stay here... that he would never come back here."
"It doesn't change anything. They are a part of us now. And they will be forever."
tbc