Shmi takes Anakin along with her when she goes to work, like she did when he was very young. Anakin will get up and walk to wherever Shmi is if he wants to be with her, so it's better for everyone if she just takes him with her. He's about two when he walks almost all the way from the moisture farm to Mos Espa one day when Shmi went to the space port for supplies, and he gets halfway before someone finds him, and brings him back to the slave quarters. He cries the whole way home.
"I'm sorry," says the woman who was supposed to be watching him. "He's just so fast. He was off the farm before I even noticed he was gone." Shmi couldn't help but feel a little annoyed. There were only three or four children she had to look after, and she couldn't manage one two year old. Anakin was making a habit out of walking away when he wasn't supposed, and Shmi thought that warranted a little keener eye. Still, no other child ever caused quite so many problems as Anakin.
"Anakin is…" Shmi pauses. Anakin's connection to the Force is whispered about, but no one knows for sure. Shmi still claims that he has no father, but it doesn't mean Anakin is a Jedi hidden in the desert of Tatooine. If Anakin was just a freak –miraculous –birth, a gift or a punishment of the Force it would be easier for all of them, especially Anakin, and if Shmi has anything to do with it, the other slaves will at least believe that's all he is. Strange, but only for the circumstances for his birth. Otherwise, completely ordinary. Let the others speculate all they want about Shmi, if it would keep Anakin safe. "A handful," Shmi decides.
But Shmi also decides the best way to keep Anakin out of trouble is to keep him with her as much as possible, and most of Shmi's work is repairing and maintaining the machinery on the moisture farm, and Anakin seems to enjoy it, so there's no harm done. He's quiet as long as he's with Shmi, and happy. He has no idea he is a slave, no idea that someone owns him, could take him from Shmi without a second thought. He watches Shmi work, talks to her and the other mechanics and farmers and droids who all stand in the suns all day long. He makes the others smile including the droids, except for some of the less sentient one –and one or two of the more sentient one who find him annoying.
By the time he's two-and-a-half, Shmi is pretty sure Anakin could take apart a vaporator and put it back together again in two hours. He looks over Shmi's shoulder while she works, and once he knows the names of all the parts inside the machinery, he tugs on Shmi's sleeves and points. "Mama, that one," he says.
Shmi wipes the sweat out of her eyes. "Which one, Ani?"
"This one," Anakin says, stepping up closer to the vaporator, putting both his hands on it. Just a cog that had come loose. Anakin takes it out and hands it to Shmi. "This one. It's wrong."
Shmi replaces it and laughs. Shmi had been looking for the problem for fifteen minutes before Anakin found it. She wipes the grease off of Anakin's hands and her own. "Thank you, Ani," she says.
Anakin starts working on the broken down droids not long after. At first, it's simple things. Reattaching body parts that more or less just snap in, but before long, Anakin –who can barely speak to anyone besides Shmi –could build a droid from scratch, can and does rewire droids whose breakdown is not caused by the wear and tear of the environment. He can understand the binary of the droids, and speaks back to them like they're people, and they start to come to Anakin before any of the other mechanics that live or work on the farm. It gives Anakin something to do while Shmi works, at least. Something to keep him occupied and distracted instead of just looking out into the desert for twelve –sixteen –hours a day, creating little sandstorms with the Force.
But the Hutts catch on. When one of Gardulla's overseers first comes to meet Anakin Shmi is terrified that's what he's there to sell him. Anakin is friendly. He's never met a Hutt. He doesn't even know that he's a slave. All he's ever known was this moisture farm, and Shmi. Everyone here is a slave; it's just the farm and the slave quarters out here. A few times during the harvest, they have overseers or other slaves come to collect the water. The only other time the Hutts send someone out here is if they think the slaves are getting too comfortable, or if they think they're stealing water. Or if they need to cut costs.
"What's your name?" the Hutt asks
"Ani," Anakin answers, looking at Shmi, who's standing behind the Hutt, watching carefully. He's two and a half speaking confidently. "I'm two." He holds up two fingers for the overseer.
The Hutt grunts and pulls a broken mouse droid out of his satchel. "I heard you can fix things," he says, hands Anakin the droid. "Can you fix this?"
Anakin takes it eagerly, and the overseer hands him some tools. "Yeah," Anakin hums. "I can fix it." And he does. In an hour, Anakin has taken apart and put the droid back together, and it sweeps across the room. Anakin beams at the overseer and at Shmi. "I fixed it!" he announces to the room. "It goes now."
"Remarkable," the Hutt humphs. He picks up the droid, stuffs it back into his satchel, and leaves without another word.
The next week the overseer comes back early in the morning, and takes Anakin out of bed –right out of Shmi's arms. The whole room wakes up, with Anakin's screaming. A few pairs of shoes tumble across the room on their own, and Anakin is squirming around in the overseer's arms, reaching towards Shmi, and Shmi is frozen in place, suddenly awake and alert and looking at Anakin being carried away from her. She can't move. She knows what she would do if she could, can see herself rising out of bed, taking Anakin in her arms and bashing the overseer's skull in –and then running, running, running. Far away, into the desert, to Mos Espa, to Mos Eisley, away from Tatooine.
But no –the chips. They would kill her before they even made it off the property, and if they didn't kill Anakin too, they would sell him for sure, maybe take him from Tatooine, or to Jabba, or somewhere else. Somewhere he would be hurt, where he would die. Shmi doesn't move. She can't move. She can't even breathe, and all the while Anakin screams and screams and screams.
It's one of the other slaves –Match, who had children of his own once –who speaks first. "What are you doing?" he demands. Anakin belongs to all of them here. The overseer ignores him, trying to get a better grip on Anakin. "What are you doing?"
Finally, the overseer manages to hold Anakin tight enough that he's not going to drop him. He's still screaming –Mama! Mama! Mama! –and Shmi is staring at him, trying to catch his eye, wordlessly trying to promise him everything is fine. The overseer turns to Match, who has found all the courage Shmi has lost, and kicks him.
Shmi stands, suddenly, towards Match. Helps him to his feet, and faces the Hutt. "My son," Shmi insists, reaching towards Anakin, grabbing his hand. Anakin quiets, his face red and wet with tears. "What are you doing with my son?" The overseer kicks Shmi in the shin too and she collapses on the ground. Her leg is still throbbing when she looks up to see Anakin squirming again, screaming louder.
"No!" he yells. "No! No! Mama!" The shoes that were tumbling around the room earlier fly up, hit the walls. The overseer and the others duck out their way. One hits the overseer square in the back –one of Match's boots, big and heavy. A few narrowly miss the others, but they all stay clear of Shmi. The overseer grips Anakin tighter and carries him out the door away from Shmi. When the door shuts behind them, the shoes fall to the ground and Shmi stares at where he son was only moments ago, her heart sinking.
She can think of nothing but her son screaming. She can still hear him outside, and she doesn't dare try to go after him. Match squats next to her, his hand heavy on her shoulder. "Shmi," he whispers. "I'm so sorry." She looks at him, his face crumpled, defeated, worn. He offers her a hand up and she takes it, wiping the few tears she wasn't able to stop from her face. Shmi tries not to think about where they're taken Anakin, how she may never see him again. How Anakin probably will not remember her. How foolish she was to think she could give Anakin anything other than this life, a life of slavery, of loneliness. She wants to follow him, but the sounds of his cries are drowned out by the sounds of heavy wind –of sand hitting the walls full force. A sandstorm. She hopes the overseer will find shelter until Anakin cries himself out, until the storm is over. She can feel the eyes of the others watching her, watching the door, watching their shoes to see if they are going to fly around some more on their own.
They wait in silence until the sandstorm dies down, and then they all make their way to their jobs for the day. No overseer comes out to make sure where they need to be, but they're all so shaken –and Shmi is secretly hopeful that at the very next second, she'll see the overseer coming back with Anakin in his arms –that they don't know what else to do. Match stays by Shmi's side as they make the rounds across the farm. He doesn't say a word until it's nearly dark and there's no sight of Anakin or anyone else for that matter.
"I lost my children, too," he says. It's so quiet Shmi doesn't think she's meant to hear it. "And my wife. She tried to run when they were sold, but she…" Match swallows hard. He's looking right at Shmi, remembering. "Dead." He finishes haltingly. "And the children, no better off. They took them all, split them up. I'll never see them again." Match shakes his head, squeezes Shmi's hand. "I'm so sorry about Anakin."
Shmi fights her tears, struggles to speak past the lump in her throat. "He's strong." Match quirks an eyebrow. "He will be fine."
Match laughs a little and starts walking back towards the slave quarters.
"What?" Shmi asks.
"Your little guy one time walked all the way to Mos Espa," he says. "I don't think the Hutts know what they're in for."
Shmi laughs too. The thought of Anakin stumbling across the desert from Force knows where back to find her doesn't make her feel any better. But it is still funny to think of the Hutts in over their heads with a two year with the Force. Strong enough to disrupt the footwear of a small room, strong enough to cause a sandstorm.
She tries not to hope too much that Anakin will walk right back to her, and he'll be in her arms by the morning.
It's two days –two more long, horrible days before Anakin is returned to her. She is sore and tired and afraid. Every part of her mind that isn't occupied by work is consumed by Anakin. She can't take it, not knowing if he is okay. She's torn, when she lays down to sleep, whether she's too tired to fight sleep or too worried to let it come.
She does sleep, and then, Anakin is returned to her. It's early in the morning, and he's deposited back in the slave quarters with much less ceremony than he was taken. Shmi wakes to Anakin nuzzling his way into her arms, burying his head into her shoulder. He's shaking, and Shmi's heart thumps loudly in her chest when she realizes what is happening. She gathers him closer, kisses his head. She's shaking too, but he seems to be okay. He's okay. Anakin's okay.
Shmi sits up, looks around the room. The overseer is back standing in the doorway. The first rays of sun are glinting through the door. "He stays for now," he says and slams the door shut behind him. Out of sight.
"Anakin," Shmi sighs. Three days of worry and grief come rushing out of her. Anakin lifts his head to look at her and she takes every inch of him in. Small, fragile-looking thing, with bright blue eyes brimming with tears. He has bruises on his arms and legs where he struggled against the overseer, and one right under his eye. Shmi brushes it gingerly, but Anakin doesn't react. He stares at Shmi, crying.
"Mama," he sobs.
Shmi hugs him close again, his heartbeat strong and steady against hers. "Are you all right, Ani?" she asks when Shmi calms down and Anakin stops shaking so much.
"Yes, Mama," Anakin answers. "They hurt me," he says, pressing the bruise on his face. "I was bad. They hurt me."
Shmi brushes her lips to the spot under his eye, and to the spots on his arms and legs where bruises are forming and fading. "All better," she breathes.
Anakin shakes his head. "No, Mama," he says. "Not all better. Again." Shmi kisses his bruises again. With each kiss she is more and more grateful for how warm, how alive Anakin is. How real and solid he is in her arms. How he clings to her. How he falls asleep in her lap.
"How about now, Ani?" she asks. "All better?"
Anakin nods. "Your turn," he says.
"I'm not hurt, Ani," she tells him. He's half-asleep, but he has a determined glint in his eye.
Anakin kisses Shmi on the cheek and wraps his arms around her neck, resting his head on her shoulder before whispering "All better," and falling asleep.
Shmi lays down, Anakin heavy on her chest. The other slaves get up around her. A few cry out, surprised, overjoyed, at Anakin's return. No one says anything, except Match, who comes over, runs a hand over Anakin's head, and mutters –this time really to himself –"May the Force be with you, little one."
Anakin and Shmi sleep on.
A/N: If everything goes as planned (it will not) I will have the next chapter up by June 28, and the whole piece finished by August 31. It will be about a week and a half between chapters!