Author's Note:

New readers, welcome! Many thanks too to all old readers who're still sticking it out. Happy reading~

.

= Skywalkers =

'-

Work


A day in the Skywalker's household under Watto's ownership. Exactly what it says on the tin.

'-

Tamlin and Anakin Skywalker woke up in their simple bed of two pallet beds shoved together. The dryness of Mos Espa was familiar to them, and Tamlin was the first of the five year old twins to groan.

Their mother was still asleep beside Anakin. Neither twins had much of an opinion even a year after their ownership had changed. On the one hand, Watto's lack of imagination was better than Gardulla's too-active, sadistic imagination as she schemed to make everything under her control a game, an entertainment. On the other hand, Watto was as stupid as he was poor, and food was thin under him.

Tom sighed as he rubbed his eyes. Mos Espa. Watto. The familiar dull pangs of hunger that never truly disappear. Watto was merely the lesser of two evils indeed.

Yep, this was Tattooine alright, in the Skywalker household.

"I hate Mondays." Tom said.

Anakin agreed with his brother's opinion, the same scrunched look on his face. He hadn't bothered to remind his twin how too-strong emotions were a way to the Dark Side, because Tom could feel through their bond that he agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly.

Wow, I did not miss the vague feeling of having semi-parched throat, Anakin had muttered through their bond. Tom was still trying to ease the headache he was feeling.

Neither did I.

Both never liked Mondays, especially since it meant that they'd wake up in a completely different world from the one they fell asleep in on Sunday night.

They lived in one life for a week before shifting to the second one on the next.

On and on it went, back and forth between their two different and separate lives. First came the whiplash, then the resignation, and finally just complete annoyance as they readapted themselves to a different life whenever Monday comes around along with their grouchiness. If anyone noticed that the twins were always tetchy at the beginning of the week, no one had said anything. Tom had said more than once to Anakin that if he ever got to see Harry, Master of Death again, he'd tell him that he could shove his ingenious method for living two lives at the same time up where the sun doesn't shine.

Several minutes of grousing and adjusting were enough for them, because they needed to get things ready before the day started. Breakfast was one, and their mother's change of clothes was another. They didn't wake her up because they agreed she needed the sleep, and they needed the time to talk and plot with each other.

"Watto had started his complaints since last week," Anakin said. "It wasn't much and he's still trying to be subtle—for him, anyway, but I don't know how long his patience would last."

Tom nodded with a grim understanding. Watto had made jabs about the amount of food Shmi needed to feed two growing boys, and how he certainly wasn't a rich man (Anakin had some choice words to say about that, but they certainly didn't bear repeating in front of their mother). He had started to notice how Shmi had tried to eat less than she usually did in order to spare more for the boys, but there was a limit that she could reduce without exhausting herself after each working day due to lack of energy. They had to put a stop to that several days ago by secretly putting things back on her portion—it helped after they insisted they can cook by themselves after all her demonstrations about it so far. Now, they had to do something before the situation reached a critical point, because even Tom could figure out what the easiest path for Watto was.

He could sell one of the twins.

That was an outcome neither of them wanted. The community here wasn't much, and everyone knew everybody else. Even if it happened and the sale was done because some people decided they needed an extra hand to help at their shop or their house, it might not be that big of an adjustment to make if it was a matter of changing dwellings. Yet he was also quite aware that neither he nor Anakin was bad-looking, or even average—it hadn't been pride at all there, just a realistic assessment. This conclusion was based on the number of women who'd seemed to only be too happy to approach their mother and talk about her kids or pinch their cheeks. If by some chance during the unlucky time one of them was sold, there happened to be an off-worlder passing through, interested in buying a young boy …

The consequences really didn't bear thinking about.

It was also ironic to note that this was one of those small bumps in life that didn't even occur to them before they were thrown down into their lives once again because they'd been so used to being men of power. Tom's realisation that he couldn't even reach many things in the upper shelves without his mother kindly picking them for him was humbling. The magic, err, Force control at this age was definitely inadequate. Anakin had given him a resigned look when he asked about it, saying that there really was nothing they could do but wait and do other things.

Conclusion: they were sitting ducks. Tom didn't like it.

"How did you end up working for him?" Tom asked. He didn't need to add 'before' to clarify.

"We are working for him," Anakin replied, referring to the stuff Shmi carried home and handed over to the twins (mostly Anakin) to fix, which she would carry back to the store on a different day. Tom gazed at the ceiling.

"At the store," he corrected.

"I was a year older than now. Mom carried me to the shop as she worked, Watto started ordering me around. Then, he started giving me more tasks to do, and larger and more complicated machinery to fix," Anakin said.

"But we don't have the time," Tom ran an impatient hand through his hair. Since it was more of a statement of fact than a complaint, Anakin didn't say anything. "Might as well just drop in at the store today and let it be done with."

The two of them were still tense, unsatisfied with how far their plans went. Yet their mother had woken up and there was no more time. Tom went ahead to set the table for breakfast as Anakin concerned himself with the porridge. The look on her eyes when she saw him on the table was one that still surprised him.

"Oh, Tamlin, you don't have to do that," her voice was slightly breathy, her eyes glistening as she hugged him.

That wasn't what had made Tom so uncomfortable, though he was certainly unused to so much personal contact. What made him felt even more awkward was the amount of love she was pouring. Even with his tenuous hold of the Force and nothing as deep as actual meditation, it was a warm wind embracing him gently and glittering with affection. It was wondrous, it was beautiful, and he never quite figured out what it was that he did that made her love him. What had he done to deserve it? The confusion had only earned him an eye-roll when he said so before to Anakin. His twin's explanation hadn't made much sense to Tom either.

Of course she loves you, you idiot. She's Mom, he had said through their bond.

It was as if he expected that one word could explain everything, and somehow gave him the measure with which to fathom the depths of the affection she held her children in. Sometimes he found himself watching his Skywalker mother as if she was a very interesting transfiguration or topological problem; as in, how many dimensions does she have? How many were folded and hidden behind her mundane 3D shell of a human body? It was inconceivable for a physique that small to contain that much unbounded affection.

Really, why? Tom had wondered then, the same way he still wondered now, because it was nice to feel like you're the centre of someone's universe—it was an adulation magnitudes stronger than anything his followers ever managed to bestow. He wanted to preserve her perspective of him as a wonderful son who could do no wrong.

But seriously, what sort of subliminal positive reinforcement he could use to train her to keep doing that? Not that he could say it in those exact words to Anakin, but still, the principle was the same. What is it?

He still had no satisfactory answer.

"Where's your brother?" Shmi asked, letting go. Tom had started to fidget a little too much and he was finally granted reprieve.

"He's in the kitchen," Tom answered rapidly, trying to avoid her gaze. He hoped that maybe he'd manage to distract her with Anakin, the golden child out of the two of them. Said blond had just entered with the food. He didn't carry much and would probably need to do a few trips to get all of it, but it was as much as his child's body could feasible carry. Shmi gave him a soft 'thank you' that made her son went red in the face, before she started to help him. She ignored Anakin's protestations and annoyed huff at her interference.

She pulled her children into a hug, all three of them. Tom had let out a small surprised yelp, while Anakin embraced her back as easily. The darker-haired twin was still oddly stiff, but he didn't back away.

"You don't really need to do this, boys. I'm your mother. I promise I'll take care of you."

"But we're family," Anakin insisted, "That means we take care of you too."

"Mom, do you think you could take us to work today?" Tom's voice had been quiet, his words as awkward as the confusion he felt about his mother, but it didn't change the intent in it.

"You don't have to worry about that," Shmi said firmly. "I'll take care of Watto and you can play with your brother."

"Mom," Tom said. He pulled himself away and met the gaze of her warm brown eyes. His small hands were raised up to cup her face now. Eye-to-eye contact, he had figured out in his Hogwarts years, made people consider you as honest and earnest.

"Please. Trust me. We'll be fine."

"Yes Mom," Anakin joined in. "There'd been stuff to fix that he got you to bring home all the time, right? And we did it, and it's not so bad. What's wrong with doing more of that? Please. I promise we can help. You're getting too thin as it is."

It was their quiet seriousness that undid her, probably because the most that most people could expect from children their age was tantrums and sulks. Right then, Tom could even see the moment where her resolve broke, the lines that age had carved on her face clearly visible now. She held the twins close to her and cried for a while, perhaps for the easy childhood that her children will not have, perhaps for their innocence that will not last for long in their enslaved life.

Anakin was distressed with their mother's tears. Tom, on the other hand, merely looked grim.

He had known that this world was a crapshoot. What else was new?

'-

Anakin was surprised at the gladness that he felt when they'd reached Watto's shop. Then again, he seemed to have erased from his memory how much sand was there in Tattooine and how they tended to get everywhere. From the way Tom had gritted his teeth and repeatedly brushed them out of his clothes, his brother was probably at the beginning of his hate-and-more-hate relationship with this little ball of sand at the edge of galactic civilisation. Shmi opened the doors and her children followed in behind her.

"What is this? You bring the brats with you now, to make a mess?"

He didn't like the incensed dark look that Watto cast them. From the way Tom's face had gone immediately blank and placid-seeming; his twin apparently had his own reflexive anger to shield. His mother had stiffened by a fraction. Her voice was still appropriately soft when she answered.

"They wanted to help, Master. They wanted to work more."

The look on Watto's face melted easily into one of intrigue and speculation. Should've remembered that he lived for nothing but profit, Anakin thought with contempt. A mental poke from Tom pulled his attention away from Watto and back to what he supposed they could do.

"Good, good. Better learn young. Makes them better workers." Watto declared, and he ambled away. "Follow me, boys. There's many things to do."

The first task that was given to them when they were in Watto's shop was shelving.

The twin went at it with systematic determination that Watto had honestly said to Shmi that he was happy that her two freeloaders with bottomless pit for stomach were actually earning their keep. Their mother gave him a strained smile. Anakin had to consciously keep his mouth shut before he snapped back at the Toydarian about how they were barely given enough food as it is. It wasn't as if mother didn't bring back parts home for him to work on wasn't it?

It was only Tom's hand over his arms that pulled him back from his thoughts.

Breathe, he could hear Tom's voice in his head through their bond; release your anger to the Force.

Anakin closed his eyes and did exactly that, though he couldn't help a small smile from forming. It was odd to hear Tom say that, especially when he was still having trouble in deepening his meditation. Tom felt the amusement through their bond and rolled his eyes, but didn't deign him with any other answer. The companiable silence returned to them again as they worked side-by-side. He could feel his mother hovering a few times in the distance, her anxiety almost palpable. He also knew that Tom could feel her too from the way he twitched once or twice or almost dropped what he was carrying. Tom sighed.

"We should go over there and smile. She's not going to stop until she's certain we're fine and all the hovering is making me unable to think." Tom said quickly. "Her Force presence is smothering right now."

Anakin reminded himself not to snap at his twin.

He counted to five and then nodded, releasing more of his annoyance in passing to the Force. Tom didn't mean anything when he said that, merely on edge, but he was still getting used to having a brother who was constantly swinging between attaching himself to their mother in utter fascination or pushing her as far away as possible. Sometimes he wished Tom would make up his mind—at least Anakin wouldn't be so confused about how to handle it then.

They went around other shelves in the storage area to avoid her sight, surprising their mother with their presence.

"Hi Mom," Tom ambushed her with a quick hug, his initiative a surprise to the other two Skywalkers. He had that stiff-as-board pose Anakin was beginning to be familiar with, his words no less stilted and said rapidly. "How're you? As you can see, I'm fine, Anakin's also fine. You can get back to work right now and stop worrying."

Then, he rushed off back to his sorting before she could even get a word in edgewise. Anakin smiled and hugged his mother in a far more comfortable way.

"Hi Mom. Yeah, what he said," Anakin said with good humour. "If you're worried, he gets worried too and you'll both drive each other crazy. We're fine, Mom."

It was less his words and more of his relaxed state that alleviated her concerns faster than any words can.

"Oh Ani. You and Tam are my boys. I can never stop worrying about you."

"Be happy," Anakin said. It wasn't the word he had wanted to say, but he realised that it was the truth, anyway. It was clear in the way that his throat felt tight as he said it. "The world never mattered to me when you're happy."

He ducked, not wanting her to see his blush and went back to his tasks, but he knew she did. He could feel the warm contentment no radiating from her, and he gave himself a pat on the back for successfully lifting her mood up.

The shelving was done sooner than Anakin had expected—at least as much as they could do it without reaching the higher shelves, especially without their ability to use the Force well enough yet. The stools only went so far to help. He found himself approaching Watto of his own volition and asking about things he was fixing. Whichever worn outer-rim engines and system found their way to Watto's shop was going to be his work once more. He might as well get used to it.

'-

"Come, boy. You must be proud that you have a talented Master—there really is no one who could've taught you better than myself!"

After several days of instructing him on additional machinery that Shmi had been unable to take home before, Watto was delighting in Anakin's mechanical genius. Apparently, he also felt that it was a testament to his ability as a teacher that the young human boy showed such level of skill. He crowed in delight and sang his own praises, and unconsciously trying to get Anakin to agree with it as he kept pulling him into ludicrous, compliment-fishing conversations. Anakin might not mind working for the man, but he drew the line at feeding his ego.

He wanted to snap and tell him how much of a pathetic waste of space he was.

Fortunately, Tom's stepped in just then between their owner and his brother before his thoughts ran the usual gamut of running people through with a red lightsaber or ordering imperial troops to deal with a problem. Anakin winced internally. I really need to stop doing that. His brother seemed to have caught that last image, but all he got from the other end of their bond was only an amused chuckle.

"How did you fix this one, Master? I was sure that it was still broken this morning," Tom asked, wide-eyed and innocent. The Toydarian puffed up with pride.

"That's because no one fixes like Watto! It's very simple. Here…"

He trailed off into further explanation while Anakin glared at the back of his head. That was just a krethin' lighting fixture, you waste of bantha poodoo! Don't act as if it's as important as a battery or an engine part. I can fix that, take it apart and reconstruct it again with my eyes closed!

Tom didn't act like he had heard him at all, though if the mental poke to his head was anything to go by, he heard it loudly enough. He did feign a very good impression of childlike wonder.

"Oooh, how about this one? I saw you fix it yesterday so Anakin can learn. I don't think he could do it as good as you can yet, Master…"

Anakin stared at his twin, eyebrows twitching. You're kidding me!

Tom was doing this on purpose, he decided, if the amusement leaking from him was any indication. Clearly unable to throttle his brother, he gave him a series of annoyed mental poke. Poke, poke, poke, pokepokepokepokepoke.

Stop poking, you're distracting me. Tom said, his voice annoyingly level. Breathe, Anakin.

The dark-haired twin asked Watto to go on about all the things he could do, listening in rapt attention and interjecting at appropriate moments about how impressive it was. It was only thanks to his extended ridiculous effort that Anakin had enough time to collect himself instead of taking the closest thing he could reach and smash that on the Toydarian's head. Just to keep it from getting any bigger. It'd be a pre-emptive strike, really. He took a deep breath. He always knew he had anger issues. He was a Sith Lord. He was practically required to always be angry, at varying degrees, if he wasn't stuck in a loop of misery. But he'd never thought that Watto would be able to trigger that temper very easily.

In a way, it was worrying.

On the other hand, he'd never had someone read his temper as quickly as Tom did, though Obi-Wan was very close. It wasn't just about speed, but also in the way his twin easily gave him space. A part of him suspected that it was partly due to the bond between them, forged of Force and Blood. Stars, was he ever so glad he wasn't actually going through all of this again alone. It was so easy to snuff the life out of the Toydarian, even without resorting to the Force—there were too many tempting parts he could use at the junk shop already. Anakin supposed he would never know how Tom could look so attentive and interested at Watto's exuberant showing of his mediocre skills, instead of wanting to puke his stomach contents out in disgust at the Toydarian's feet.

When Watto left the boys alone in good humour, the blond didn't even bother to hide his long sigh of relief, or the feeling of relaxation that had to be transferred between their bond.

Tom sent him an amused glance. "You're welcome, Anakin," he said dryly.

"Yes, yes. Thank you very much for your intervention." He waved a hand at his twin, too relieved to care. "Somehow I didn't remember him to be this annoying."

"After visiting the ocean, the fish pond becomes claustrophobic and the aquarium nigh unbearable." Tom replied, his tone all too aware of what Anakin was feeling. It was almost possible to see the weight of his years in his eyes as he lost himself in some faraway thought or memory. It was visible in the pensive and unreadable expression he had. He sent an odd look at his twin. Since when was Tom that perceptive?

"You know that this meant you owe me one, don't you?" Tom smirked. Any and all appearance of wisdom had gone down the drain. Anakin rolled his eyes; and the smug prick is back.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

'-

.

.

.