A/N: Thanks for your patience while I took a breather to kickstart 2023 on a productive note. Two weeks felt like forever. I missed Padmé, I missed Anakin, and I missed y'all. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. :)

I recently started working my way through the fic to focus on fixing grammatical/spelling/etc. mistakes. Star Wars like to have its own liberal rules as far as what gets capitalized (cough 'Lake Country' cough), so I'm still trying to reconcile that with what was drilled into me in grade school. Anyhoot, in the process, some of the weaker writing is being punched up a bit too. For anyone downloading for forever's sake as they go, please keep in mind that edits are a continuous thing. I consider Suppression a living text until the day I post the epilogue and there deem it done.

P.S. I figured out a few tricks on the site, and now there's a poll up on my profile page! It's anonymous and open to both account holders and guests. Kindly check it out because I'm very curious- which chapter(s) is/are your favorite?

IV. TATOOINE

Chapter 25. Return to the Beginning

You are as far and near as memory.
As distant as the sun—
as close as its light on my skin.

- Lang Leav

The jarring contrast to my saturated home world couldn't have been more apparent. "Are there other cities to try if we can't find the parts we need here?"

"You won't find more than a handful on the planet. Those binary stars make it impossible to support a large population. There isn't enough surface water."

We walked further into the dry, beige tapestry, and I silently chastised myself for forgetting to bring a water flask in my hurry to join the purchasing party. But I refused to complain. Qui-Gon had made his displeasure at my inclusion quite clear.

"Moisture farms, for the most part." Our human, Gungan, and artificial eyes digested the banquet of offerings unfurled before our senses. I'd never experienced anything like it. All manner of smells— fried things from a nearby food market, sweat, speeder exhaust, droppings off all sizes and colors on the ground— wafted into my nostrils. The rays of the twin stars found us twice; they bounced into our eyes off the rusted metal of passing droids and speeders. Beings on two legs or more ambled into, out of, and around domed buildings which promised shade from the punishing suns. Domesticated banthas that made shaaks look tiny and shaved obliged along at the behest of their drivers. Dugs and Rodians— species I'd only ever seen in holovids— dined on outdoor tables at cantinas in real time. "Some indigenous tribes and scavengers." I followed Qui-Gon Jinn's narration with my attention just as my legs followed him across the street of sand, but my sharp eyes absorbed as much as they could— as subtly as they could. We didn't want to draw attention. "The few spaceports like this one are havens for those that don't wish to be found."

"Like us." As if challenging this very idea, an orange stranger with three tentacles met my stare from a few meters away. I fluidly averted my sight elsewhere and kept my face neutral. Any broadcasting of novelty might make us a target. I'd promised Qui-Gon on the hot walk here that I would be useful at best and invisible at worst.

It seemed the same could not be said for our tallest companion.

"Dissen very, very bad." I heard the squish as one of Jar Jar's large, floppy feet sunk into one of Mos Espa's organic offerings left in the wake of creature traffic. I tuned out his complaints even as my eyes scanned the scene around us more diligently.

With R2-D2 at our heels, we walked in silence for a few minutes. Qui-Gon directed us further away from vendors who wouldn't fit our needs and nearer to an industrial market where hope might be found. We came to a sort of plaza in a less populated, more broad area of the city. It was humble but purposeful. Parts too gargantuan to be displayed indoors leaned against the outside of domed structures.

"We'll try one of the smaller dealers."

I followed the Jedi close behind. Captain Panaka hadn't been lying when he'd said I— the concealed queen presently disguised as a handmaiden— wanted to learn more about the planet out of curiosity. But I was also incapable of sitting behind on the royal yacht while Qui-Gon Jinn walked into Mos Espa with all of our hopes and 20,000 Republican dataries at his disposal. I'd never been good at twiddling my thumbs and waiting around for news to come to me— I wasn't going to start today. Not when each breath drawn by the people of Naboo was becoming more and more precious by the minute.

Up ahead, huge exhaust tubing extended low on the outer walls of the store and disappeared into the sandy ground below. We passed under a scrappy beige awning, eyes blinking as we adjusted to the dimness. A surprisingly charming bell dinged at our arrival, likely set off by a motion detector, and at the sound, a winged creature I'd never seen before rose up from behind the counter. The blue of his reptilian skin matched the blue of my soft handmaiden garb, but that's pretty much where the similarities stopped.

As his wings carried his pudgy body over the illuminated desk, he greeted us behind his lengthy snout in Huttese. I took a small step forward, ready. During the trek here, I'd assured Qui-Gon that I spoke numerous languages (and that I was trained in self-defense and could handle myself). Though not a member of the Republic, Tatooine was near enough to Naboo that I'd taken care to learn as much Huttese as I could. I wasn't exactly fluent, but I felt confident I could navigate us through a conversation, especially if the dealer knew even fragmented Basic.

I needn't have worried. The Jedi Master regarded the hovering being calmly as if he'd understood every word. If he hadn't, the need for Basic was communicated smoothly. "I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian."

I took in the interesting sights of the shop now that my eyes had properly adjusted. Droids of all sizes and functions stood in haunted idleness throughout the space, waiting for the anointing touch that would give them life-like animation. The exhaust tubes from outside made sense now— clouds of steam rose from grounded vents I dared not inspect. The smell of oil hung heavy in the air.

"Ah yes! Nubian! We have lots of that." I hadn't been sure if the being was the shop's owner or an employee of it, but then he turned and shouted more of that guttural language over his shoulder in the direction of a wide archway. With the action, his standing in the store became crudely obvious.

Qui-Gon played the cool customer. "My droid has a readout of what I need." By the casualty of his voice, one would think he bought Nubian hyperdrive parts every week, and that he wasn't currently stranded on the desert planet with the fate of another planet's civilization on his shoulders. I suspected this lack of enthusiasm was mindfully and wisely crafted. Business negotiations rarely, if ever, favored the emotional. Thank the Gods Jar Jar Binks had not made the opening request.

I heard the quick pattern of feet just before a— much to my surprise— human child bustled down the steps. He couldn't have been older than ten standard years. He was dressed in oil-stained clothes presumably once the same color as the barren landscape outside. A bowled haircut of blond hair encircled his head, and I'm sure the brightness of the natural color would've shined through had it not been dusted by a curtain of dirt. His arms loosely flung at hip-level as he hurried his way towards us like they were ill-tuned wings. Despite his disheveled state, there was something immediately adorable about him.

Our blue greeter snarled impatient words at the new arrival. In response, the boy spun his head to look back at the speaker, unapologetic. I didn't catch all of the vocabulary, but the defiant way he discharged it was characteristic of all human children who'd decided they were on the undeserving end of a reprimand. I can't say who won the truncated argument, but the boy was climbing his way up the counter and the shopkeeper was moving on to his potential client in short order.

"So, letta-me take ya back, eh? You'll find what you need."

Jar Jar picked something up that he shouldn't have, or that's what I assumed as Qui-Gon quickly snatched it out of his rubbery grasp. "Don't touch anything." Then he followed behind the buzzing wings of the shopkeeper as they ascended the steps towards the salvage yard.

Like the command had been a challenge, Jar Jar stuck his river of a tongue out and made a face at the Jedi. On a hunch, I offered a quick prayer for the well-being of the stacked piles scattered throughout the shop. My gaze wandered as I took in my foreign surroundings and landed on the little boy again. He was studying me with an undisguised interest, and our eyes locked for the first time in a short stare. I looked away first. Embarrassed but unsure what to do in the moment, I continued to awkwardly peek at corners and droids I'd already seen from my stationary spot.

Jar Jar, far more daring than I, immediately started to explore the scene around him as if Qui-Gon had given permission instead of the opposite.

"Are you an angel?"

I turned to find I was being addressed by the child. He was still watching me intently. "What?"

"An angel. I heard the deep space pilots talk about them." I could see better now that the strands of his hair were indeed golden and sun-streaked, but his blue eyes exquisitely matched the color of a midday sky. I stepped closer get a better look at them as he spoke. "They're the most beauuutiful creatures in the universe. They live on the moons of Iego, I think." Spirited eyebrows flew up behind long bangs.

I smiled at his grandiose compliment. A skeptical part of my brain questioned if he was here as a plant to smooth talk some customers while the owner played hardball with others. They would be quite the unexpected team. Yet there was something so earnest and genuine about him. "You're a funny little boy. How do you know so much?"

He went to work wiping a filthy rag on a transmitter of some kind in his lap. "I listen to all the traders and star pilots who come through here. I'm a pilot, ya know. And someday, I'm gonna fly away from this place."

"You're a pilot?" I pictured him pretending behind the controls of a stalled speeder, perhaps one waylaid in his father's garage. Children had such delightful imaginations.

"Mm-hmm. All my life."

I wondered how long that life was. "How long have you been here?"

"Since I was very little— three, I think. My mom and I were sold to Gardulla the Hutt, but she lost us betting on the podraces."

'Sold.' The meaning of his words sadly sunk in. "You're a slave?"

He caught the pity in my eyes and mistook it for something darker. "I'm a person, and my name is Anakin." The vigor in his sudden glare emphasized how very much I'd overstepped.

"I'm sorry. I don't fully understand." I peered around at the unfamiliar environment, my meaning stretching far beyond the dusty walls. I pined for the well-versed rhythm of my Naboo. "This is a strange place to me."

His gaze relinquished its ire, but I wouldn't say those eyes relaxed as they continued to examine me.

We were interrupted by a foreboding "Hmm", followed by a loud clash as a droid sudden sprung to life— literally— in one of the elevated alcoves. Jar Jar shrieked and immediately scrambled to control his escaped curiosity. In the tumble, a golden protocol droid nearly fell off its rack. "Hey! Where- where yousa goin?!" But the worker droid Jar Jar had reanimated only laughed at him after he tripped in his efforts and landed on the stairs.

I couldn't help but turn and smile at the comedy show suddenly on display. Arms swung wide and erroneously as the Gungan made to grab the much smaller, much skinnier, much more agile mechanical creation. At last, he finally gripped it by the neck, but then he didn't seem to know what to do with his conquest. As if knowing this, the droid confidently landed a solid kick to his upper thigh.

"Hey!" The boy next to me appropriately called out before the duo could destroy the store. "Hit the nose!" He proclaimed it like there was an obvious sign on the tip of the droid advising HIT HERE TO CONTROL.

Jar Jar let out an "Oooh," as if he'd suddenly just seen this invisible sign. The wary droid stood for only a few seconds more until the Gungan poked his rounded knob. I laughed as it immediately folded in onto itself and became a neat pile of metal on the floor.

As my laughter faded away, the child on my left surprised me again. "I'm going to marry you." I swiveled to face him, wide-eyed and taken aback at his clear declaration. A half-second later, I burst into even bigger laughter than I had at Jar Jar's antics. He was undeterred by my reaction, even as there seemed to be a hint of surprise about the whole affair in himself, too. "I mean it."

"You are an odd one," I teased. To stumble upon a child-pilot who spoke of angels and marriage in a sandy Mos Espa junk shop— what an unexpected yet pleasing surprise. Did all the children of Tatooine behave like this five seconds after meeting someone? "Why do you say that?"

He frowned, not in annoyance at my obvious disbelief, but as if he was struggling internally with an explanation. "I guess it's because," he shrugged innocently, "it's what I believe."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't marry you..."

"Anakin."

I nodded, searing the name into my memory to make up for the dishonor of having so quickly forgotten it. "Anakin."

"Anakin Skywalker." He affirmed his full name slowly, like he was casting a spell on me.

"Padmé Naberrie." I smiled wider and returned to my original point. "You're just a little boy."

There was a tangible pause as he regarded me solemnly. In the quiet, my smile faded as I met his serious gaze with a growing sense of apprehension.

"I won't always be."

The statement hung in the air between us prophetically, and for an abbreviated moment, my own imaginative mind questioned if the spell he was innocently trying to cast was actually a curse.

But then I laughed again, putting the ridiculous notion out of my mind. I was much too practical for such things. I'd left fantastical ideas behind when I joined the Apprentice Legislature. "You know, I've never heard of angels."

He was relentless. "You must be one… maybe you just don't know it."

I shook my head in resignation. Who was I to take away the daydreams of a child? No doubt he relied on them to bring semblances of joy into his bleak, adult world. If she were still alive, great-grandmother Leia and this little boy would've had a lot to talk about.

My eyes shifted to the top of the steps. Was it too soon for Qui-Gon to have returned? I wasn't sure how long it took to barter over parts if they were readily available, which, hopefully, they were.

"Is the owner a fair vendor?"

Anakin followed my gaze before sending his eyes back to me. "Watto's about as fair as the Hutts, but that's not saying much." I grimaced. Seeing this, Anakin kindly offered, "But he's always hungry for a sale. That you can count on."

"Is he— Watto," I turned and gave the boy my full attention again. The exchange from a few minutes ago replayed behind my eyes. "Is he… kind to you?"

Now Anakin laughed. Briefly. It was a halfhearted sound. "Not really. But he's a lot better than some other slave masters." He sighed and looked away from me. "Again, that's not saying much. I wouldn't have lasted so long anyways if I wasn't so good at building things."

I could tell things had not gone as well as I'd hoped the moment I saw Qui-Gon's face emerge from around the archway. His imposing frame speedily stomped down the steps. "We're leaving." His voice was gruff as he directed it towards the Gungan. "Jar Jar!"

During our conversation, Jar Jar learned nothing from his prior mishap and busied himself with more exploration. I'd been so enraptured by the peculiar child that I'd honestly almost forgotten the Gungan was there. Which was amazing, considering he was currently failing at juggling a collection of gadgets. Why had he tried to pick them all up at once? They fell on him at the sound of Qui-Gon's rough summons, but then I think they were heading that direction anyways.

I gave one more look to the funny little boy. Even Qui-Gon's storm cloud couldn't diminish the last rays of light I felt emanating from the tiny sun in front of me. I backed away from him with a wide smile, grateful our paths had crossed, however briefly. "I'm glad to have met you, Anakin."

His voice trailed after me as if he was not yet ready to end the encounter. "I was glad to meet you too!" But I had already turned away and walked out of his life.

I felt the blistering heat the second I stepped beyond the shop's awning. I tried my best to keep up with the significantly longer steps of Qui-Gon's parade. He'd been conscious to measure his paces earlier for my sake, but he seemed to have temporarily forgotten that courtesy. I got the impression Qui-Gon just needed to march a bit. Whatever had happened during the bartering frustrated him; I trusted his Jedi smarts would right his mind soon enough. He abruptly stopped at a center point in the plaza, leaving us tepidly safe from the traffic flow. There was no clear destination to trek to yet.

"Mesa tummy is startin to grumble." Jar Jar put a hand over his stomach as he caught up to us. "What kinda food do yousa think they has in desa place?"

"I hadn't hoped we'd stay long enough to find out." After a pause, Qui-Gon rose a more congenial eyebrow my way, and there was the barest hint of a smile raising his feathered cheek. "Making friends?"

I looked over my shoulder and gazed back in the direction of the dark hovel. After my eyes squinted and acquiesced to my want, I could just see inside enough to determine the boy had already disappeared from the countertop. It was as if he'd never been there at all. Because he'd never once acknowledged Anakin in the store, if Qui-Gon hadn't just now referred to him, I might have thought the boy was an apparition— a fiction concocted by my imagination in co-production with the frazzling heat. Either way, the charming child of fantasy or reality, or both, was gone from my sight, likely forever. "Not quite," I replied, softly. I was surprised by how much I would've liked to have seen him one more time. But then I turned away from the shop and looked at the Jedi more directly. All of my attention returned to the duty at hand, and a hopeful expectation crept into my voice despite what I'd witnessed. "Making deals?"

"Not quite. We disagreed on payment. Come." There was a renewed charge in his step as he began to lead us towards another street. "I need to confer with my Padawan. Let's find some shade first. We must trust that the Force will provide the answer to our problem."

When we visited the Palace of Theed together to meet with Queen Jamillia, I'd been flooded by memories of the child my Jedi protector had once been. It undid so much of the progress Anakin fought for towards encouraging me to view him as an adult. This setback presented itself most sharply when I made a point of correcting Sio Bibble when he accidentally believed Anakin to be a Knight.

One could expect the same regression would've happened when we reached Tatooine, but the opposite occurred. Seeing the towering, mature figure stride through the sand and dust of Watto's shop in his Jedi boots only emphasized for me how much time had remolded him. There, of all places, I saw him so clearly as the man he had become. Under different circumstances, it could've been the scene of an overdue celebration— at that point, Anakin had long since cemented his goal of making the woman he desired perceive him as a grownup.

But, oh, how I wish I'd seen him then as the innocent little boy one last time.

For when the tide turned and we eventually left Tatooine, that unmarred child only ever came back to me in echoes.

The second flight of my life from Naboo to Tatooine couldn't have been more different from the first. Even though fate had ironically equipped my ship with the same reliable astromech from the original venture, there was no blockade to run. There were no handmaidens, no security guards— no one looking to their young queen to save the planet they'd narrowly escaped.

But there were eerie similarities. I was joined again by the Jedi. One Jedi. My heart was breaking again. The first time, the deep fissures in my arteries were for the people I was leaving behind. Now, they were for me.

Anakin and I were in the cockpit of the cruiser in our respective chairs. There was an afternoon, a lifetime ago, when he whined about not being able to put the awesome capability of the Nubian hyperdrive to full use. Five monumental days later, he was silent as he plugged in the coordinates. To utilize the full power of the engine's might would send us far beyond Tatooine's orbit in just a matter of seconds. As much of a rush as we were in, stretching the hyperdrive legs of the cruiser would have to wait.

We'd settled into an informal rapport during loading and takeoff, and busy hands and aerial communication proved useful while they lasted. Obviously, the well-being of Anakin's mother was deservedly top priority, but the focus on her nevertheless provided a distraction from what had imploded between us last night. There had been a frenetic air of activity ever since we rushed off the terrace to make ready for a hasty departure. But as we pulled away from Naboo and the galaxy filled the large bay windows, the vastness outside only emphasized the tight strain within, and we fell quiet.

It was impractical. That's what I kept coming back to. Jedi prophecy aside, it never would have worked.

Something about stepping on to the industrial steps of the aircraft, flying away from the romance of the Lake Country, and leaving the planet's atmosphere felt like we were passing through a screen we'd managed to hide behind— not just from an assassin, but from our very identities. As the placid lakes became dark puddles below us and even the inspiring mountains became small, harsh realism crept into the cruiser like the frigidness of space we were sailing into. In trading flowers for control buttons and beach breezes for recycled air, the logical sanity of my decision was easier to grasp, even if the pain of it hadn't lessened. I knew that if or when we returned to Varykino, reclaiming the bliss of our fantasy land would be impossible. I couldn't hide from Ani, but I would have to keep my distance from him as best I could if we returned to the villa… for both our sake's.

Then, I dared the uplifting thought that Shmi Skywalker might indeed be with us when we rebounded back to Naboo. Anakin had spoken of her being in pain— perhaps he was alluding to an illness? With the medical advancements of the Republic at our disposal, cures would be available to her which were undoubtedly absent on Tatooine. She might even be able to recover at Varykino. Such an imagining completely sculpted anew what a continuation of our stay might look like, as I pictured mother and son walking the grounds together, catching up on ten years of stories and celebrating their reunion.

What the Jedi would think of this happy little scenario was, for once, at the bottom of my list of priorities. If Anakin and I couldn't have our happy ending, at least he and his mother might. I couldn't begin to fathom what would happen once the Jedi Masters discovered Anakin had reconnected with his parent, but they wouldn't discover it by my admission. I would safeguard their time on Naboo as long as the universe would allow them to have it.

The joy stemming from the idea of Anakin having such an opportunity to reconnect with his mother pushed away any concern that her presence might conflict with his ability to protect me. Of course, I would give mother and son as much space as they wanted, but I hoped I could at least be there to see Shmi's face when Anakin took her to the waterfall fields. I wondered what she would think of him riding atop the shaaks so recklessly. A rush of eagerness shot through me at the possibility of showing them the magnificent river vistas east of the lodge. Images of me playing tour guide while taking the Skywalkers around the Lake Country painted moving canvases in my mind.

But as the awkward silence between my co-pilot and I dragged on in the here and now, I inevitably recognized the blatant breaking of freshly established rules and my lingering hypocrisy. The addition of Shmi would not suddenly excuse my spending hours or days at Anakin's side once more, however much I wanted to join them. I was battle-weary already from the balance I would have to find with myself in this scenario, one where I would be both welcoming hostess to the mother and detached alien to the son.

Unable to subdue it, as discreetly as I could, I let out a shaky sigh. Even now, after the surge of my barriers last night reverberated with so much brute force that the aftershocks had splintered my heart, the stubborn organ continued to look for loopholes.

"You'll need to do something with your hair before we land." Anakin's voice broke the silence and yanked me out of my musings. Surprised at his words, my fingers reflexively darted to my curled strands. We'd been in such a hurry; I hadn't taken the luxury of time to do anything with my tendrils. They were still in the loose, half-up hairdo as they'd been in when I stepped onto the terrace that morning.

"I was planning on it."

He nodded, his eyes darting up to look at me in split-second flicks as he made the poor pretense of checking readings on the dashboard I knew he'd already confirmed. "Good. We can't keep a low profile if I'm beating back Jabba's scouts."

This apparent warning only confused me. "Jabba's scouts?"

"He's always got abductors on the streets looking for women for his court. Showpieces kidnapped into slavery." His eyes pointedly darted right, to my bare abdomen, and he let out a loud, obvious sigh.

With my wardrobe sensibly limited by the restrictions of where we were going, I'd put on the first outfit that didn't involve rich embezzlement, silk, a corset, a heavy skirt, synthetic leather, or cleavage. This hadn't left me with a lot to choose from. I'd had the presence of mind to remember the heat of Tatooine, and I knew the material of my light blue, long-sleeved ensemble would breathe well in the scorching environment. But it wasn't perfect. It came in two, very separate pieces, and the gap showed itself plainly across my stomach. Still, it wasn't anything like the dress I'd worn to my family's house in Theed.

Anakin's lips turned down. Amazingly, his expression could have passed for one of my father's. "Do you have a cloak?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I do."

He nodded. "You'll need to keep it on at all times. We have to do our best to hide how…" His voice trailed.

I looked at his profile, slightly miffed. I'd forgotten how stubborn he could be when he slipped into protector-mode. "How what?"

Anakin cleared his throat and kept his eyes forward. A blush rose in his cheeks even as his overall expression became despondent. "How beautiful you are."

My eyes dropped to the fingers in my lap as my heart throbbed onward in pain. Every pound against my rib cage threatened to crack me— like a statue shattered by a mallet from the inside out.

After an abominable period of silence, I quietly excused myself and went to the rear of the ship to find a mirror. My intention was to set my hair into a more appropriate style, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't also seeking air which Anakin did not occupy. It was the only way my lungs knew how to operate at the moment.

I ended up pulling my strands back into a more distinguished but still relaxed look. I finished it with a chrome adornment pulled from a suitcase. Courtesy of a decade of skilled handmaidens, I'd watched my hair transform into works of art on an almost daily basis, but observing was not the same thing as learning. Luckily, I knew enough to make myself presentable, which I very much wanted to be. It didn't escape my awareness that I wasn't just getting ready to avert eyes on Tatooine— I was also, hopefully, getting ready to encounter Anakin's mother. A small voice in the back of my head, one which apparently did not take everything going on into account, pressed me to make a good, second-first impression to the woman who held a unique position in Anakin's heart.

When I returned to the cockpit, a printed cloak was slung over my right arm. I cleared my throat to get the pilot's attention.

Anakin turned in his swivel chair at the sound. His eyes slowly examined me from hem to head, though all I'd really been anticipating was the verdict on my hair. I was trying to indulge in his mandate and give him a stage to give approval. But something in me— a piercing, pining yearn— grew as Anakin's sad eyes rose to linger on mine. We stared at each other for an extended moment, words passing between us without the motion of lips.

The magnetic pull towards him was like a lasso around my knees, hips, and back, which I fought like mad to resist. It wasn't a sexual electricity akin to the moments felt at the lodge, on the beach, or on the island. All the same, I was familiar enough now with this pull to recognize it. This was pure, unadulterated desire of the soul.

Anakin pursed his lips and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. I could see him try to adopt a clinical air. "Keep your hood up when we're in the city." His formal state wavered, and his eyes reached for me. "We can only do so much to hide what you are."

"There it is."

I followed the point of Anakin's index finger. At first, no one blinking light in the black wall before us looked any different than another. But I trusted him, and as the seconds ticked by, one of the pinpoints grew more distinctive. Its orange emitting glow dulled into a beige-yellow, like a retired star.

Tatooine.

We watched in heavy silence as the orb grew larger. I had a sudden memory of being in a scene like this before, but in a reversed position. It transpired when Ani and I stood in the cockpit of the royal yacht, and he said a final goodbye to his mother and home world from space just before he helped Ric Olié launch the prize he'd won for us.

Of all the planets our hyperdrive could have failed near, of all the shops Qui-Gon could have stepped into… Looking back, I couldn't help but ponder how much was ever in our control. How much was sheer happenstance, how much was preordained by higher powers? We were circling back to the origination point, putting ourselves in the hands of fate once again. Which direction would it spit us out in this time?

A hollow laugh tumbled from Anakin's throat. I looked at him questioningly and was surprised to see a wry smile on his face.

"I've been a pilot all my life," he muttered, shaking his head. There was something bewildered about his attitude. "I'm a pilot who grew up on Tatooine. But this the very first time I've ever landed a ship on it. I've never even seen what the inside of the planet's docking ports look like." He eyed me with a genuine, boyish smile. "I can't tell you how many times I wanted to do exactly this when I lived down there."

He reached forward and flipped the switch to initiate communication with Tatooine's air traffic controllers.

I was about to witness a childhood dream come true. Even with the heaviness of the situation, Anakin naturally couldn't help but find a streak of light, endearing him to me just a little bit more.

Once on the ground, Anakin quickly acquired a rickshaw to save both time and our feet. The heat of the twin suns radiated up from the sand almost as fiercely as their rays on our heads did. An ES-PSA labor droid with a wheel for legs attached to the rickshaw offered not just transport but continual shade. Anakin extended a hand and helped me step into the cart, joining me swiftly in the seconds after. That momentarily contact was the first time we'd touched since he'd removed the shawl from my shoulders by the fireplace. I tried not to ruminate over how close we suddenly were to each other. There was less space between us now then there had even been on the couch in that library, and my body was well aware of it. Every atom on my skin suddenly stood at rapt attention.

I looked over my shoulder to double-check that Artoo was primed to follow us. Then I frowned in confusion as I listened to Anakin give directions to the thin droid. With the hood tucked low about my face, I had to turn my neck again to peer at him directly. "The slaves quarters?"

Anakin's face, less than two hand lengths from mine, looked back at me with a nervous energy. "I want to check there first."

"Not the store?"

Anakin didn't reply. He only returned his focus to the streets around us, pointedly leaving my question unanswered. But having so many more that I wanted to ask, I despaired at his silence. I'd wanted to know how he was feeling since our flight here began. What, if anything, did his eyes seek around us now? What emotions were coursing through him upon being back on the world he'd lived on as a child slave? Had he missed any of it? What was his reaction to seeing this city through an adult's eyes after ten years spent in a different life?

Resigned that such vulnerability was not mine to request, I finally looked away, absorbing the place I hadn't seen in ten years, either. It was amazing how much Mos Espa hadn't changed. It was like stepping back into a moment frozen in time; I could picture Qui-Gon Jinn's face more clearly than I'd been able to in years. As my eyes scanned the slowly passing streets, I felt like I was passing through a living hologram album. The same sights and sounds were all there. The fear in the back of my mind that all would not turn out alright was still there.

In time, the cart led us to a collection of hovels set against a small plaza. Orange doors acted as gateways into the modest homes behind. Anakin disembarked from the rickshaw first, turning to extend a gentlemanly hand towards me. I tried to read his face, but his eyes were already looking away to examine a particular door on the lower level. It had been a decade, but I didn't need Anakin's verbal confirmation to decisively know this was the same door we'd once stumbled into to escape a sandstorm.

The brooding man before me turned to the droid attached to our rickshaw. "Stay until we say otherwise, please." Then he walked closer until he stood directly in front of the entrance to the residence. Abrasive sand had worn away its color over the years, scarring it with its grains. Anakin was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed. When he spoke, his voice had a disappointed edge to it. "She's not here. She hasn't been for a long time."

I didn't insult his abilities by asking if he was sure. Instead, I looked around at the passers-by. One or two of them was watching us with narrowed focus. "Should we ask the neighbors?"

Ignoring my question, Anakin stepped closer towards the sealed door. I thought he was going to knock, but instead his fingers lifted to hover an inch from the panel alongside the frame.

"What are you doing?"

He hesitated for just a moment at my tone. "Every slave has their own personal code for their dwelling. It's another way of keeping track of us. If no one thought to erase it, mine might still work."

My heart squeezed at his use of the present tense. However, my question had been born more out of alarm than technicality. The feeling grew as his digits flew over the white and orange lit buttons. "Ani, this is someone's home."

"And before it was theirs, it was ours."

The door suddenly rushed open before us. Anakin paused in the doorway, almost as if the concept of ducking his head to enter the hovel was an inconceivable idea. I held my breath as he ultimately bent low and slowly stepped first one, then another foot inside. I turned to the R2-unit behind me. "Wait here, Artoo. Alert us if anyone comes."

After the droid trilled that he understood, I followed Ani into the apartment.

It was immediately apparent that Shmi Skywalker no longer resided there. Where the rest of Mos Espa looked the same, here ten years of time made itself known. I hadn't appreciated just how much of a home she'd made it feel for her and her son until my eyes took in the present mood of the dim space. Bare, whitewashed walls bordered cluttered tables and a dirty floor. Stains and empty beverage bottles were everywhere. There was no single thing I could point at to verify this, but I got the feeling a bachelor now occupied the home, one who didn't put much effort into keeping it clean.

I lifted my gaze to read Ani's reaction. The wide-eyed expression on his face gutted me.

He swallowed tensely, as if grasping to understand the change. "It's as if we never lived here."

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to cross the three steps it would require to wrap my arms around his forearm and lean in against him, taking his grief into my own body. Instead, I clasped my hands low on my front and planted my feet. It wouldn't do him any good to add to his confusion now.

Thanks to Nandi and Teckla, Anakin's Jedi robe had been freshly laundered back on Naboo. Now, it dragged against the grime on the floor as he moved in and out of areas which, to the best of my memory, had once been his or his mother's bedrooms. His head dipped low to clear the archways, each time almost a half-second too late. I watched a kaleidoscope of emotions filter across his face as I bore witness to his confrontation with reality. But, as I was about to learn, the death of expectations was even more grave than I suspected.

Moving like a man hypnotized, Anakin slowly walked towards a built-in desk in an enclosure near the front door. It was too shallow and cramped for him to enter without immediately crouching into the awaiting chair, and he gave no impression he was about to do so. But he did place a hand on the curved wall and lean in towards the space. Here, the collection of discarded bottles was most abundant, and a rancid smell emitted from the spot.

Anakin mumbled a few words lightly under his breath. It was heard to catch, but I felt sure he said, 'I don't want things to change.'

Labored blue eyes suddenly met mine. He looked at me as if he'd forgotten I was there. Shaking fingers tapped the side of the wall.

"I needed to come here first, Padmé. I've dreamed of my reunion with Mom more times than I can count. In most of them…" his eyes trailed back to the tight space, "she was sitting right here. At her work desk." He swallowed and began to blink rapidly. "I always imagined myself coming through the door in my Jedi uniform, finally able to tell her that I'd come back to free all the slaves." He looked up at me again, and I, at last, fully understood.

It truly dawned on me for the first time that Anakin must've envisioned this reunion with his mother every day for ten anxious years— in all likelihood, ever since that very afternoon we took flight for Coruscant. A decade was a long time. Perhaps, it was too long, giving too much life and breadth to the expectations, the hopes, the different scenarios he would've imagined… all while the guilt of having been away for so much time likely only grew by the month.

But I understood now why we'd ventured here first. The purest happiness of Anakin's reunion created by his imagination wouldn't have involved Watto's shop. He'd want it to be here, in their shared home— their refuge from the hard life just beyond the door.

"I thought," he bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head. "I dared to hope that if I found her here, it meant my dreams were the real premonitions, and the nightmares were just that… nightmares. That I was wrong about everything."

I resisted again the urge to go to him. "We might still find her safe and well." I tried to make my voice sound convincing, but something about standing in the depressingly changed home made my fantasies for hosting a beaming mother and son on the lake shore of Varykino seem very far away.

"It's so…" he blinked in dazed wonder, "tiny." He looked at me as he gestured around the space. "Do you remember it being this small?"

I offered him a smile. "I think places from our childhood tend to appear much smaller to us when we revisit them. You've grown more than most in ten years." At my words, his eyes left mine and floated around the apartment with a more concentrated intent. After a few seconds of silence, my anxiety picked up, and I made my voice more urgent. "Anakin, this isn't right. We shouldn't be here. We need to go."

It was as if he didn't hear me. Suddenly, he marched into the adjoining room on his left. Feeling a surge of unease at his manic movement, I quickly followed. Anakin was making a direct line towards a tall, heavy chest of drawers flush up against a wall. He gripped the edge of one side and started yanking on it. As he did so without any care for the adornments on top, which were quaking with every rough tug, I scolded, "Ani, this isn't your home anymore, you can't—"

My voice stopped when he suddenly stood straight and froze. He'd pulled the dresser out at an angle by a few feet and was now staring into the gap he'd made. Reproachful, yet curious to see what had driven him to nearly topple someone else's furniture, I came closer to peer around his shoulder.

They were etched in a vertical line going up the wall. With the dresser in place, no one would've ever guessed they were there. The lowest etch, barely a meter above the ground, had a faded but readable '3' next to it. The one higher said '4', another further up had a '5', and on it went to a clear '9'.

Higher in the same vertical row, there was another, much smaller dash etched into the wall with an accompanying '10?' visible. Above it, a distinctive '11', '12'— and so it continued until the numbers ended at '15'.

Shmi had guessed her son's height in correspondence with his age. She'd even accounted for the assumption of puberty at fourteen, as her short, horizontal markings jumped up a noticeable amount, breaking the previously established pattern of gradual ascent.

I was grateful Anakin wasn't looking at me as I felt pressure grow behind my eyes. My heart broke into pieces as I pictured the lonely mother standing in this exact spot, scraping her son's estimated height into the wall, carrying on the tradition they'd evidently shared even after he'd left.

"The last mark was done at fifteen," I reported quietly, stating the obvious but needing to break the silence that was stripping moisture from my throat and moving it up to my eyes. "What does that mean?"

I could see his fists clench underneath the cuffs of his sleeves. "It doesn't mean anything." His voice was low. "She could've just moved to another hovel. Or been pushed out. A woman living alone in a two-bedroom slave dwelling… I'm surprised she held onto it this long. There's no question other slaves would've wanted it— pressured her for it." There was a short pause. "No." Anakin's breath audibly hitched. His voice became nasal. "I'm not surprised at all that she held out. She knew this would be the first place I'd look for her." Pulling at my heartstrings as he did so, he ran the cuff of his robe under his right eye. "She wouldn't have left our home without a good reason."

The young man turned on his heel and finally faced me. Seeing the remnant of a tear on his left cheek, out of panic, I looked down at the corner of the dresser and avoided his gaze. I knew I couldn't meet his eye and let him see the pity blurring my vision there. I could feel the weight of his stare for a moment before he said, sternly, "It doesn't mean anything, Padmé." Then he headed towards the front door, his cape billowing behind him. I watched him leave with growing dread.

Even now, Anakin presumed Shmi had left voluntarily.

After I joined him outside, he thumbed a button on the panel. The door slammed shut like a book snapping closed. As if the residence had never meant anything to him, Anakin turned his back to it and marched towards the rickshaw. We loaded ourselves in, and he curtly gave the labor droid directions to Watto's shop.

Again, silence was the third traveler in our cart as we were taxied through the side streets of Mos Espa. Back to the spot where the young man I currently sat beside and I first met.

I thought about mentioning this remembrance to Anakin, but ultimately chose not to interrupt our third passenger. It felt like the wrong time to bring up such a triviality when such pressing events were at hand. What were the five minutes of our initial meeting compared to the years of history he'd experienced in that store? Compared to the reunion that, dare I still hope, might be about to happen?

"She's not here."

I looked at him, thrown by the sudden declaration.

The rickshaw was about to go around a street corner. I wasn't entirely positive I would remember the outside of the shop once it first came into view, but I knew we hadn't come to it yet.

Once again, I played guesser to Anakin's vague statements. "She's not at Watto's?"

His eyes were distant. He nodded briskly, once. "I'm not sure that she's not in Mos Espa at all, but I know she's not going to be at Watto's when we get there."

We'd come around the corner now; a drawn out straightway of vendors spread out before us. This seemed somewhat familiar to me. Distant awareness from my memory hinted Watto's store would be on our left— if it was still even Watto's store.

"Then we're going to search until we find her."

I was looking directly ahead at the route but felt Anakin's eyes land on me. I expected him to be pleased at my oath, but he seemed restless in his seat. It was easy to notice with our cramped proximity to each other— even now, I was still very aware that my entire left side was flushed up against his right.

"We don't know how much time that will require, or where the search will take us." The true issue became clear as he lowered his voice and urgently whispered, "I brought you to a crime-infested planet where your senatorial status is worthless if we're lucky. It will put a target on your back if anyone recognizes you. I'm going to protect you, but even I can only do so much on my own."

I felt slight indignation at the charge that I couldn't handle myself. Qui-Gon, too, had dubbed my presence in this city a bad idea. The Jedi Master's reaction to my company reverberated in my ears across the passage of time.

I wasn't a damsel then and I certainly wasn't one now. "You didn't bring me anywhere. I brought me."

"Padmé—"

I mimicked his tone. "Anakin."

He sighed, and we fell into another strained silence. With regret, I realized this was becoming the new normal for us. As my irritation lessened his words of concern sunk in. I appreciated that he, of all people, was voicing them— it wouldn't be surprising if Anakin had a blinders-on mentality about finding his mother, other's welfare be damned. In fact, I suspected that if anyone else had accompanied him, he might not even entertain the time to have this conversation at all. But I'd meant what I said.

"I'm with you, Anakin, whatever happens next."

He shifted in his seat again. His right elbow brushed up against my left forearm with the movement. "This could take us to the dungeons of Jabba's palace. Or on a planet-hopping spree to who knows where."

I was over arguing my point and the cart was slowing down. "We're here." Conversation closed.

He got up from the taxi first and, mindful of the length of my wardrobe, helped me descend yet again. The graveled sand crunched under my feet as I landed. Whereas our previous touches in and out of the rickshaw had been abrupt— as if the fire at the simple contact had been too much to endure— Anakin now steadfastly held onto my hand far longer than necessary. The thick hood of my cloak may as well have been invisible all for the good it did to keep his gaze from piercing through me. I turned at the last moment and made eye contact with him. His look was serious, but not combative. Only after I met his eye did he let my fingers slip out of his. His voice called out to the taxi driver, instructing him once more to wait.

Sitting on a work bench under an awning barely keeping him out of the blazing suns was a dejected Toydarian. He was surrounded by flies, both the real ones in the air and the mechanical ones at his feet. It seemed at least those he could shoo away, but all buzzed around him with activity as he sat forward in his chair, challenged in his battle with a device I didn't initially recognize. Out matched, he yelled in pain as his opponent snapped shut on his fingers. He sat back, nursing his hand, defeated.

I was horrified by the slave trade, yet I'd spent enough time around this particular being that I would've left Tatooine with no love lost for him even if he hadn't been a happy participant of the system. My service to others had always been a willful choice— Watto literally profited in taking that decision away from Anakin and his mother. It was a testament to Anakin's character that he chose one restrictive life of service for yet another, however noble the Jedi cause was. One could've hardly blamed him if at some point, he'd decided to take his freedom and run with it.

You mean like he wanted you to do with him back on Naboo?

Shunning that thought and coming back to Watto— seeing the vexed and run down Toydarian— I couldn't help but feel pity for any creature in such a state.

"Chut chut, Watto." The shop owner's eyes lifted up to us suspiciously. "Ding mi chasa hopa." I didn't need to know the language. I knew Anakin. It was fairly obvious in his more-than-a-little cocky tone and the confident way he picked up the device that he'd said, "Let me help you with that." Coming from his lips, even Huttese sounded pleasant. I made a mental note to brush up on my fluency with the language.

The rest of the exchange I didn't catch as clearly, but I could distinctly make out the word "Jedi" from Watto with a good flavoring of panic (followed by another self-inflicted injury with a spring wrench), and "Shmi Skywalker" from Anakin with a concentrated reserve.

The mood changed immediately. "Ani?" I saw the stunned look spread slowly into recognition… even, joy? He flicked his gaze to me and Artoo. He didn't know us, but he was realizing he knew humanoid male in front of him, the one with suns-kissed blond hair, who had greeted him by name, spoke the right language, and carried a Jedi's weapon on his belt. "Little Ani?"

{Ani? My goodness you've grown!}

My own reaction to reuniting with Anakin not that long ago rang in my ears. I, too, had somehow still expected to find a boy but had come face to face with the man. I could acutely relate to Watto's shock.

The quickly fixed head of a pit droid, now placed carefully in front of him, gave Watto an answer all could understand in a universal communication.

Sometimes, I got so caught up in the fire and wind of Anakin Skywalker, I forgot he proudly had oil grease in his blood too.

"Naaaiiii…" Watto exhaled, his eyes transfixed on the neat pile of metal. Suddenly, he shot up, energy I hadn't expected springing into, well, not his step, but his flight. "You are, Ani! It is you!" I finally observerd someone else experiencing bewilderment as they took in the visual change in Anakin over ten years. "You sure sprouted, eh? Well," he laughed. "A Jedi! Whadduya know!" He punched the air enthusiastically. "Hey. Maybe you could help me with some deadbeats who owe me a lot of money."

Some things never change. Watto's happiness at seeing Anakin had lasted all of fifteen seconds before he thought of a way to use his risen station to his advantage. Whatever pity I'd felt for him before evaporated.

The lack of tact wasn't lost on the young man beside me, either.

"My mother."

Everyone stilled, but most especially Watto. Anakin wasn't seeking out a happy reunion with him. No one would be told they'd grown more beautiful here.

The former master stumbled awkwardly, clearly on foreign ground. I suspected he wasn't used to the tables being turned with someone he'd ordered around as a slave for almost seven years. Luckily for his sake, he recovered quickly.

"Oh yeah. Shmi!" He said her name like he'd already forgotten Anakin brought her up. "Ahhh," he scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, and my heart sank. Bad news was coming. "She's not a-mine no more, I sold her."

"You sold her?!" I could feel the tension radiating off him.

"Years ago! Sorry, Ani. But you know. Business is business." He laughed. I wanted to vomit. He casually talked about the handling of Anakin's mother like she was cattle. To Watto, she probably always was. "Yeah, I sold her to a moisture farmer named, ah, Lars." He suddenly lost his confidence. "'Least, I think it was Lars. Believe or not, I heard he freed her! And married her!" He spat out these precious, shocking gifts of information like they were comedic town gossip. "Tell me about that, eh!?" More belly laughs as Watto inadvertently rubbed Anakin's face in the years he'd missed in his mother's life.

I watched the digestion of all this play out in record time on his face. Anakin didn't care if his mother was running Jabba's Palace as its new crime boss. He just wanted to find her.

"Do you know where they are now?"

"Ooooh, long way from here. Some place over on the other side of Mos Eisley. I think."

"I'd like to know."

How did such a simple sentence hold so much threat? I looked at him, studying the set of his chin, the hard and serious lines of his face. This was a side of Ani I'd never seen before.

I don't know if Watto ever sold any other slaves in his time, but I doubted many of them returned with a lightsaber and a death glare. Even his wings flickered in fear. "Eh, sure! Abso-lut-ely! Let's go look at my records, eh?"

Watto placed a grease-slicked claw on Anakin's shoulder and welcomed him inside. The young man looked back at me, as if worried that I wouldn't follow. I'd sooner slather on shuura juice and walk myself into a Sarlacc pit than stand out here and let him face this alone.

Feeling safe enough to do so, I lowered my hood as we crossed the threshold and took a step back in time.

The shop hadn't changed much. Well, not entirely true. There had obviously been a decline of business and order since the owner lost his best pair of technicians.

Slaves, I reminded myself sadly.

The air still smelled of oil. Steam vents in random spots near the walls continued to release a thick gas I dared not get close to. An ominous purple-black stain stretched across the floor near the steps to the salvage yard. Clutter and trash could be seen peeking out from behind and under objects. Dust and sand were everywhere. None of this was particularly different from the last time, just worse. But the new, overall forlorn feel to the place was pungent. Any warmth or light which fostered here in the days of the Skywalkers had left with them.

I tried to imagine what Shmi had gone through when she returned to this store the first time after we departed with her Ani. We didn't take him to another district in Mos Espa or to this Mos Eisley Watto spoke of. He'd gone off-planet, into outer space, completely beyond her reach to destinations she couldn't even picture. How far away from him she must have felt; how bereft. My heart ached for the woman who'd faced such a void, unable to escape the absence of him at home or in the shop.

Watto gestured aimlessly in the direction of the open space. "Make yourself, ah, comfortable." For the first time, Watto's amber eyes seemed to linger on my face. I'd wondered if he'd eventually recognize me. I was almost always at Qui-Gon's side back then, frowning at one of his tactics or another. I'd been both at the shop and the Boonta Eve podrace— a milestone event Watto surely didn't forget. But it seemed the removal of my hood and where I silently stood in his store finally pushed the recognition to click. "You…" He looked from me, to Anakin, then back again. A knowing smile came to his lips that I didn't particularly appreciate. "Sooo. Ani's not the only one who's grown up, eh?"

Anakin shuffled his weight and put his hands on his shoulders, his whole body emanating a warning in the Toydarian's direction. Whatever Watto was about to say next, he suddenly thought better of it.

"Right. So! All of it's on a data pad. Err, somewhere. Wait here, I'll be right back." Anakin watched him go up the stairs tensely. I wondered if he worried Watto would come back at all if he wasn't able to find the log… or would come back with a blaster. I chased the pessimistic if potentially realistic thought out of my mind and looked around at the hoarded piles of junk and parts. An interesting gadget to my right— a processor?— caught my eye, and I turned to inspect it closer.

"Are you an angel?"

I stilled. Uncontrolled, a smile that originated from deep within my chest spread across my face.

He did remember.

The words were the same, but the deep tone— so changed. The question had not been asked with the novel curiosity of a boy. With slow, dramatic flair, I turned towards the man. He wasn't sitting on the countertop like he had a decade before, but he stood in practically the same spot. He was leaning against it, his right elbow supporting his weight. Forget the dusty background around him— he looked right out of a holomagazine photoshoot, the very picture of suave.

He watched me intently with entertained eyes. Something… less than innocent lurked in them. Something insatiable.

In complete honesty, it was far more from charmed disbelief and the worry I'd hallucinated the moment out of longing more than anything when I echoed my younger self. "What?"

He actually broke out into a smile. Fleetingly, but it was there. It was the first real one I'd seen on him since our dinner yesterday, prior to that disastrous talk by the fire. My heart twisted in my chest.

I'd missed that smile.

I returned it with a big one of my own, naturally taking a step towards him like an actress in a well-rehearsed play. "Someone's been talking to the space pilots again."

He looked down and picked at his fingernails, the habit resurfacing. "Something like that."

I bit my lip, unsure of how to proceed with what I wanted to ask. We were still figuring out the awkward stage of our new dynamic. But I had to know. "How are you feeling?"

His eyes didn't come up. "You mean after I just found out my mother got married and I had no idea?"

I wished he would look at me. Anakin was so much easier to read when I had access to his eyes. "Mm-hmm. That." And a million other things I can't ask you about.

He sighed. His voice was fatigued, but honest. "Truthfully, it helps to know she was freed first. It changes a lot." He finally looked up, and his features were visibly much softer. "It's not unheard of, or even uncommon, for female slaves of all species to be sold into marriage here. It's one of the worst parts of slavery— as if all of it isn't terrible by default. But if she was freed first… that means she married him by choice." He actually looked optimistic. "My mother found love." We smiled at each other, mutually hopeful for her fate. Then he blinked a few times in rapid succession and shook his head. "Shmi Lars." Anakin said the name like it was in a language he didn't know how to speak. He made a sour face, which I returned comically in agreement, and we actually shared a light laugh.

"Shmi Skywalker has a great ring to it," I offered. "But Shmi Lars doesn't sound awful, either. It could've been worse."

He nodded, but I watched his face cloud over again. "None of this explains away my nightmares. Watto said he sold her years ago. She could have been sold, freed, married, and still be suffering somewhere now. Maybe this new husband wasn't so great after the vows were spoken. Maybe he's…" He shook his head again, visibly pained by where that line of thinking went.

My voice was resolute. "That's why we're going to find her."

Nervous energy coursed through him. It had, really, ever since we'd decided on our terrace to leave Naboo and come here. Here he finally was, back in Watto's shop, trying to come to terms with the very first updates— the few but monumental— of the life his mother had built without him.

He let out a wry, short laugh. "At least we know we won't have to go sneaking around Jabba's." He still looked strained, but with his eyes on me, my safety a bit more secured now, he seemed a tad more relaxed. "I've never heard of anything dodgy happening on a moisture farm."

The buzz of Watto's wings announced his arrival before the sight or smell of him did. When he came round the corner, he held a grimy data pad in his three-pronged grip. I prayed it held the information we were looking for.

Watto's face was encouraging. "Got it!" Anakin stood up straight, his nervous energy compounding. "I was right!" Watto cheered. "Whadduya know! Lars' receipt of purchase, complete with buyer's address."

Author's disclaimer: Almost all dialogue in the shop during the Phantom Menace flashback was sourced from the novelization and script. Due credit to the flannel god.