Archive of Our Own

It had been a day. He could pretend it had not happened, he knew, and he would continue to pretend it had not happened, but it had.

It had been a day since that Inquisitor had threatened to kill him and his family.

In the moment he had not been able to think of anything but of home. He'd looked into the woman's eyes, felt the uncomfortable blaze of heat from the lightsaber at his neck, and he'd thought:

If I die, Ben, you finally get exactly what you want.

But then it was over. Very quick like that, it was over, and Owen was free to go.

He didn't like to let this stuff weigh on his mind. He was a busy man, and there was too much to do in a day to let someone else's grief trouble him too much. But this time it had brushed a bit too close for comfort.

"Were you going to tell me about the Inquisitors?"

Owen's jaw worked around the tender meat that he'd spooned into his mouth, shredding it with his teeth as he glanced up at his wife. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded, mouth pulled downward, and her eyes— ah.

It was never a nice feeling, to be the object of Beru's concern. Doubly awful to be the object of her scolding.

"Inquisitors," he muttered into his stew. "Stupid name."

"Owen."

He licked his lips and dropped his spoon back into his bowl. It was the voice she used with Luke nearly every day for various reasons, from doing handstands on the edge of the sand that dipped into the underground courtyard to when he was a little bit too loud about his observations when they went into town. And it was shit, to be honest, to be on the receiving end of this voice.

"You hear it from one of your friends in the White Suns?" he asked. He was somewhat amused by the way her eyes flitted over her shoulder nervously, despite the fact that they would not be having this conversation if Luke wasn't asleep. "I don't see how Jedi hunters are any of their business."

"A lot of people in the slave quarter believe in the Force," she said quietly. Her fingers caught tight around her elbows like she meant to squeeze the anxiety out of her, but Owen knew better and so did she. There was no releasing this tension. Nothing could soothe the particular worry that they felt every waking hour. "I know you're not interested in it anymore, but a lot of my old contacts wanted to try and find that Jedi."

"Are they going to?" Owen asked, straightening up and finding himself at the edge of his seat.

"I talked them out of it." Beru turned her head in a way that expressed the displeasure she would not vocalize, but he knew her too well to miss it. "If he's smart he'll disappear into the wastes. Maybe hide out with the Tuskens, if any tribe will take him."

Owen grunted in agreement, not that he was particularly interested in what happened to the Jedi. He had his own Jedi to deal with.

"Which brings me back to the Inquisitors." Beru crossed the threshold and laid her palms flat before him, her face hovering over his. He sat very still, unable to hold her gaze. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It seemed handled."

Beru's brow furrowed. She sighed, and then sat down across from him, her lips thinning out as they listened to the desert sounds pooling in from the courtyard. The vaporators humming, the night breeze blowing, and distant lizards and rats squeaking. From this angle, if you tipped your head, you could see the stars. It was a favorite spot for Luke, though they never liked him eating this late, as he'd been prone to getting an upset stomach when he was younger. Still, there was something about the sky that enthralled the boy.

"I don't need the guilt trip," Owen muttered.

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, well," he said, pushing the vegetables around in his bowl of broth, "you didn't have to. You're angry because I didn't say anything. And it's just because it seemed stupid to worry you if nothing was coming, and I don't expect anything to come."

There was an uneasy silence between them that Owen filled by crushing the vegetables in his bowl up with his spoon, listening to them crunch as his wife looked down at their table, drawing her thumb between her teeth. The worry lines creased her pretty face, deepening by the second, and he knew he'd been wrong.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching over the table and grasping her hand. "I know, okay? You want us to make these decisions together. But you always—"

"Ah," Beru said with a thin smile, "there it is. Ben was there?"

Owen slumped back against the wall, eyeing her with narrowed eyes while she smiled in her warm, delighted self-satisfaction, because she'd gotten him figured out. A long time ago, really.

"Right," Beru said softly. "So Ben was there. I'm assume he's fine, since you seem pretty calm about this entire situation. And an Inquisitor getting Ben—"

"Yeah, I've thought about it." Owen had really, really thought about it. Weighed his options good and well. And Ben Kenobi, as dangerous as he was, would be far more dangerous if dragged into some Imperial prison and tortured for information. Though to be fair, Owen wasn't sure he knew how that whole situation worked. And he really didn't understand this Inquisitor shit.

"Maybe we should talk to him," Beru suggested lightly. Dismissively, really. She did not bat an eye when he scoffed.

"We give that man an inch, he'll take a mile." Owen scowled at the ceiling so he didn't have to look at Beru's disappointed face. "You know that. You know what he wants."

"I know." She sighed and shook her head. "I wish it wasn't that way. I think Luke would like to get to know him, if he knew—"

"If he knew who killed his father?" Owen cut in sharply.

"If he knew someone who knew him a bit better than us," Beru said, and Owen was once again shamed into silence. She let it sink in thoroughly before continuing. "At some point he's going to stop buying that story about the spice freighter. He's a smart boy."

"Oh, he's probably some sort of genius," Owen agreed with an eager, proud nod. "The way he handles technology? He can just about fix anything he gets his hands on if he's got the right parts."

"Which he never does," Beru said amusedly, "because you never let him keep the scraps Ben leaves for him."

"We're not a charity house," Owen said with a frown. "We don't need him to do us favors."

"Hmm." Beru eyed him. "I'm sure Luke would agree, if he knew about all the spare cables and circuits you've let slip. And don't get me started on that little ship."

"You agreed that it wasn't appropriate," he pointed out.

"Because he doesn't know Ben," Beru said with a nod. "But it could be a good introduction, if we were willing to try—"

"You know how dangerous that is," Owen said firmly.

"I know." Beru sat a moment, biting her lip. Then she continued. "But if the Inquistors show up on Tatooine anyway— if there really are other Jedi—"

"You don't want that," Owen said, feeling a little desperate as he searched her face. This time, it was her eyes that couldn't stay still. She avoided his gaze completely.

"No," she murmured. "I don't. But… oh, I don't know. Maybe they could help? Or at least Ben could. With the— the dreams, or the knowing things—"

"He knows things because he's smart," Owen said. "He's very intuitive. Empathetic, too."

"And you don't think that empathy might be the Force?" Beru tilted her head. "Just a little? From what the slaves and the free people say... I don't know. It feels like that's what it is. And I know you hate this, but we have to talk about it now, because if it gets worse—"

"It's not a problem," Owen cut in firmly.

"It's not normal," Beru retorted in her usual level tone. "Do you think the Darklighter boy can fly like Luke? Do you think he can take things apart and know exactly how to put them back together like Luke? You remember how Shmi was. You remember her stories, too—"

"Yeah," Owen said sharply, the pang of old grief delivering a vicious blow to his sternum. "Yeah, I remember. But even if it is the Force, a little, he's not like that."

"Not like his father, you mean?" Beru eyed him. And then she held up her hands. "I can't make you do anything. I know that. But I love Luke just as much as you, and I don't want him to be…" She sighed deeply. "Oh, I don't know. Disconnected or overwhelmed by— by this part of him that you or I can't understand—"

"I'm sorry to intrude," an unfamiliar voice called from the courtyard, "but this is the Lars residence, is it not?"

Owen's hand was on his pistol in an instant. He wished he had his rifle handy, but he'd locked it in a cupboard because Luke had gotten a bit too eager with shooting womp rats and had decided to go off looking for them outside the farm. Beru had jumped to her feet and backpedaled into the kitchen, returning in a moment with a large knife in hand. Both Owen and Beru stared at the stranger blankly.

"Yes," Beru said, her voice as soft and sweet as ever, "it is. Can you please tell us why you are in our dining room?"

The man stood a moment in the doorway. Then he pushed his hood back, revealing a human man, middle-aged, indistinct by the wear of his cloak— though if Owen's eyes weren't deceiving him, his underclothes, simple as they were, were finer than anything Owen had ever owned.

Sharing a glance with Beru, he was satisfied by the depth of her dull stare, and he knew she saw it too.

Some Core world yuppie.

"A moment," the man said, holding up his hand and glancing between them. "Please don't shoot."

He turned away, disappearing back into the courtyard, and they both stood there a moment, weapons in hand, mildly baffled.

"I'm gonna shoot him," Owen said, rising to his feet and unholstering his blaster.

"Owen," Beru scolded. She gestured to the doorway with her knife and said in a low voice, "Let's hear him out first. And maybe not kill him."

"Hmm…" Owen weighed that in his mind. It would be easier, he supposed, then dragging the body out into the desert to bury. "We'll see what he says."

What he had to say, it turned out, didn't really matter. Because he appeared in their doorway again with a slumbering Luke Skywalker cradled in his arms.

"Luke!" Beru threw the knife on the table and darted forward, reaching for the boy and pushing back his hair to peer at his face. "What happened?"

"I found him on a bench in your courtyard," the man said very tenderly. Owen frowned at him. "I believe he's merely sleeping."

"Oh." Beru exhaled shakily, her fingers dragging over Luke's hair almost instinctively. "Oh, I see what happened. Stargazing. We need to replace the sensors in his door again."

Owen scratched the back of his neck with a grimace. He didn't really like any of this, especially not this stranger holding his kid. He watched Beru gingerly take Luke from the man, noting with a start how cumbersome that seemed. When had Luke's legs gotten so long? His pajama bottoms were riding up his ankles, and his tummy was peeking through the hem of his shirt. He mumbled something into Beru's shoulder.

"What was that?" he asked her quietly.

"Mm…" Beru shrugged. "Something about an army."

"Figures." Owen turned his head to look at the stranger, who watched Beru as she carried Luke off to his room. "Alright, who the hell are you and why were you in our courtyard to start with?"

"Ah." The man held up his hands and offered them out to Owen. "Of course you'd be wary. I'd be wary too. My name is Bail Organa."

He paused then, as if that name had some sort of weight to it, but Owen merely stared at him, blaster in hand, leaning against his dining table and watching the man frown as it settled in his skull that perhaps Owen had no idea what the hell the significance of Bail Organa was.

"So…?" Owen shook his head in mock encouragement. "Am I supposed to clap, Mr. Organa?"

"Hardly," Organa said, blinking. "I just— did Obi-Wan not tell you about me?"

"Okay, get out," Owen said, waving toward the exit with his blaster. Organa looked down at him, startled. "Get out, now."

"What—? Wait a moment, Mr. Lars, I'd like to speak to you—"

"I'm not getting involved," Owen said heatedly, "whatever it is. Leave us out of it."

"Could you at the very least tell me what I've done to offend you?" Organa asked, wide-eyed.

"Besides trespassing?" Owen pushed his blaster against Organa's chest and looked him in the eye. "Don't know how they do things on your planet, Mr. Organa, but out here that's more than enough to get you shot. Get lost."

Organa searched his face, perhaps trying to call his bluff, but whatever he found there made him straighten out his cloak and grasp his hood to lift over his head once more as he turned.

"Oh, are you leaving?" Beru asked breathlessly as she all but ran back into the dining room. "Owen, gun down, please."

Owen hesitantly withdrew his blaster and set it on the table. Then he slid it to her, feeling a bit more relaxed once she took it.

"He says his name is Organa," he said. "Ben ever say anything to you about him?"

"Not that I can recall." Beru blinked and peered at Organa curiously. "Ben sent you to us? That's… unlike him."

"Ben. Ah, yes." Organa nodded eagerly. "Yes, Ben Kenobi. Well, he didn't quite send me to you. I knew your names and thought to look you up since I was on planet. I…" He glanced between them and offered a small smile. "Let me start over. My name is Bail Organa. I'm Leia's father."

Owen crossed his arms slowly, feeling thoroughly unimpressed as he shared a glance with Beru and arched a brow. She shook her head.

"That's real nice," Owen said, "but we don't know a Leia. I think Ben gave you the wrong house."

"You don't know…?" Bail stared at him blankly. Then it seemed to occur to him. "He never told you. I see." He turned away suddenly. "My mistake, my friends. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Excuse me!" Beru's voice, which was usually so sweet and mellow, cracked like a clap of thunder through the dining room and out into the courtyard. Organa froze. "Please come back in here and explain yourself."

The man hesitantly turned around once more. His eyes were heavily lidded, and he looked incredibly forlorn as he studied the two of them.

"If you don't already know," he said, "I don't wish to endanger you. To be honest, I think I had an idea in my mind of how this situation worked, but I am beginning to see I was wrong."

"What situation?" Beru asked. Owen's gaze flitted over her shoulder to be sure Luke wasn't eavesdropping in the kitchen. His gaze fell on her face when she drew a hand over her chest and asked in a small voice, "Luke?"

"You won't take him," Owen said lowly, his fingers drifting toward the kitchen knife.

"Surely not," Organa gasped, looking affronted. "I would never take him from you. He's your son."

Neither of them were up for the task of denying it, as they often had to, as Luke himself was adamant that people know that they were his aunt and uncle and not his real mother and father. It was a result of their choice to keep Shmi's name.

"Who is Leia?" Beru asked in a strange way that made Owen feel like he'd missed a jump. Though that did tend to happen with Beru. She'd always been the brains of any and every operation they'd done together, before his father had died, and it showed in moments like this. She'd already come to a conclusion and Owen didn't even know what calculation she'd made.

Organa took a deep breath. He kneaded the skin beneath his eyes for a moment before shaking his head.

"Leia is my daughter," he said.

Owen stood there, staring at the man blankly.

"You could provide us with some information that might make that matter to us," he said with a tilt of his head, "or you can leave."

"Owen, let the man speak." Beru still had the blaster in hand, but she'd turned the safety on. "Did something happen to your daughter? Is… is that why Ben sent you to us?"

"He didn't send me." Organa sighed. "The truth of the matter is that my daughter is your son's sister."

Sometimes the universe played its little tricks. Sometimes a madwoman threatened you and your entire family, only for you to be spared by luck and chance, and then as it happened, a day later, a new threat appeared.

Though this one was far more confusing.

Bloodlust Owen could understand. This? What the hell was all this?

"Oh?" Owen blinked at the man, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "Is that all, then? Don't suppose you'll tell us his mother is still around too?"

"Owen!"

He felt he deserved that scolding, noting the look on the man's face, but to be quite honest Owen was immune to the grief of old men from Core worlds at this point in his life. He had enough of his own grief, and even that had its own place and time to be beheld.

"Guess not." Owen nodded slowly. "Right. So he has a sister. Older? Younger?"

Why did he care? He didn't, he told himself. He had no stake in this girl.

He has a sister. We'd never be able to feed two of them. But—

His eyes dragged over the man's dark doublet. The silk, the silver clasps, the finery.

He didn't want the thought to ferment, but it stuck inside his brain and suddenly Owen's world had shifted.

Because what if Luke could have had a better life than this?

He squashed the thought down deep, but he knew it would come back to haunt him when, later, he tried to sleep.

"Younger," Bail said softly. "I… I was there. When they were born."

"Twins?" Beru squeaked, looking to Owen for an answer, but he felt just as bewildered. With a heaviness to his limbs, he sat back down in his seat. Wordlessly, he gestured for Organa to follow.

When he did, he hesitantly pulled off his cloak. Beru took it and went out to the courtyard to shake it out before hanging it on a hook in the kitchen. They were silent the whole time.

"Who was their mother?" Owen asked sharply. The question startled the man, and Beru glanced at him, alarmed, and she opened her mouth to object until he shot her a look. It took her a moment, but she seemed to understand.

It was a test, of course. And by the way Organa's eyes trailed over them, he understood that well.

"Her name was Padmé," he said softly. "She was an old friend of mine. We were colleagues."

"In the Senate?" Beru asked eagerly. Organa looked to her curiously, and Beru reined herself in quickly, though it made Owen sad to see it. He enjoyed when she let herself get carried away with excitement. "When she was here she told me about it. I'm still not sure what she did there, but she said she worked in the Senate and I thought it was exciting. I was… very young at the time."

"You seem about her age," Organa said, smiling at Beru gently. "I would like to tell you more, if that is alright?"

"Yes, please," Beru gasped before Owen could deny the man. She sat down at the table and smiled back at him. "Does Padmé have any family? Do they have any history of illness? Shmi's mother had a heart disease, and I've been meaning to take Luke to a doctor, but—"

Her eyes flitted to Owen, and he could not meet her eye. This was a hard one. One of the rare instances that he and Ben aligned.

"Does Luke not go to the doctor?" Organa asked in mild horror.

"He goes to the nearest infirmary yearly for check-ups," Owen said dully. He crossed his arms and glared at the man. "Unfortunately we can't go to a larger practice to check his heart because doctors like to take bloodwork."

"Oh. Yes, that is true." Organa dragged his hand over his mouth and blinked ahead of him. "Oh. I should get Leia's heart checked." He looked between them with wide eyes. "Thank you for telling me. I would never have thought of it."

Well that doesn't really help us, Owen thought bitterly.

"What is she like?" Beru asked eagerly. And if she was bitter at all, she simply did not show it. "Does she look like Luke? Since they're twins?"

"Oh, quite the opposite, from what I saw of the boy," Organa said with a laugh. He stuck a hand in his pocket and set a holo-projector upon the table. They both watched as a hologram of a pint-sized girl with dark hair and dark eyes twirled around and flashed a gap-toothed smile. The image stuttered and started again. "They might have similar temperaments, though. Leia likes to go to sleep under the stars too."

"He's always looking at the sky!" Beru's hand clapped her cheek as she smiled in disbelief. "I wonder if Anakin was the same. Could we ask Ben—?"

"No," said Owen, though he desperately wanted to know too.

"Padmé was a bit of an odd one herself," Organa said with a small smile. "Leia reminds me of her sometimes. She reminds me of me, too, in certain ways. And I wish I didn't see Anakin in her, but…"

"There's nothing wrong with that," Beru said gently. "I didn't know Anakin well, but I knew his mother. So did Owen." Owen merely sat and let the thought of Shmi both comfort and numb him. "She tells— told— us so many stories about Anakin when he was a little boy. And Luke always finds a way to step right into the boy from those stories like he's trying to possess him."

"What a way to put it," Organa said, soundly genuinely awed. "I never thought of it like that."

"He doesn't remember it now," Beru said softly, "but when he was little he used to dream. Of Shmi. Of Anakin. He used to wake up crying and never quite know why, and when he described the dreams I realized what he was seeing. Does that ever happen to Leia?"

Organa shifted in his seat. He looked down at his hands and nodded.

"She has this… very vivid dream of her mother. Padmé." Organa shook his head. "She never recognizes her outright in holos, but when she was quite little… perhaps three or four, when she was cross with my wife, she would say that her real mother never yelled at her or told her to clean up her toys or to stop pushing her friends, and that her real mother was going to take her away and sing river lullabies, and…" Organa grimaced. "It was honestly awful. I never resented Padmé before, not once, but I resented her then. Breha was absolutely devastated. It was around when we told her that she was adopted, and she claimed to already know because she would see her mother in her room at night, wearing a dress made out of a river with flowers stuck in her curls. And you can understand that we were distraught because, well…" Organa looked up at the ceiling. "That was what Padmé looked like. At her funeral. She could never have seen it, but she knew."

Owen was suddenly quite pleased with the boy he had gotten and his odd nightmare here and there.

"Oh," Beru uttered, her hands falling over her mouth. "That's…"

"She doesn't do anything like that anymore," Organa said quickly. "I'm sure she doesn't even remember saying those things, and she loves Breha as her real mother regardless. But the Force is strange. I don't understand it, and I never will. All we can do, you and I who are raising these children, is love them for who they are and keep them as safe as possible while doing so."

At that, his expression crumpled. And Owen knew something had happened to Luke's sister. He understood suddenly why this man was on Tatooine.

"She ran off, then?" Owen drummed his fingers against the table with a frown. Organa's eyes flashed to him in alarm. "Your girl, she ran off. You think Ben can get a hold of her."

"She was taken," Organa said quietly. And Beru stiffened, her eyes darted to the kitchen, perhaps peering into the hall where Luke's bedroom door sat. "I asked him to find her. And I believe he will. I have faith in him."

"So why did you come here?" Beru asked, expertly diverting the conversation so Owen did not have time to say anything negative. He sat quietly with the thought of a little girl, no bigger than Luke, lost in the galaxy.

The man before him was living Owen Lars's worst nightmare.

"I…" Organa exhaled through his teeth. He smiled down at his hands tightly, and he seemed very distant. Lost in thought. Maybe he felt the oddness of this whole situation. It was surreal in a way that Owen did not like, because it made him think about the circumstances that had let Luke to their doorstep, and how easily that could have been undone. "I think about him sometimes. The boy we didn't take. It keeps me up at night to wonder if I made a mistake. My house— it is big enough for two children. And Leia is so…" Organa's expression pinched a moment in clear regret. "Sometimes I think she might be better if she had a friend who understood her wholly. And it breaks my heart that she does, but she can never know."

"I've always thought that too," Beru murmured. And Owen had to sit with that. He'd never thought that before. But now that it was said out loud, it seemed so obvious that Luke did not fit in with his friends. That he was always looking for something in people, and those people never had enough in them to give. Luke was a boy who always wanted more, always dreamed of more, and it frustrated Owen because was this life not enough? Was it not enough to be grateful for the life you had?

But maybe it was because he was searching for something, someone, and Owen would never understand that. And he hated that. He wanted to understand. He wanted to be the guiding hand for the boy, the man who led him into adulthood, who gave him all the tools he'd need to be safe on his own.

But Luke would never be safe.

Leia, who'd lived her whole little life on a cushy Core world, proved that.

"Luke is better off with us," Owen said firmly. Organa's eyes drifted to Owen, and there was no ill will, probably, but Owen was rubbed the wrong way anyway. "Now I can't blame you for losing your girl. I know how Luke is, and he's given me enough scares to make me gray before my time. I can't speak to Ben, or how capable he is. I hope for your sake he's as good as you say, but I've never felt so sure, given what happened to their father."

"You can't blame him for that," Organa gasped.

"Oh, I can't?" Owen's brow shot up. "So he didn't kill him? What a thing to lie about."

"Did he tell you the whole story?" Organa asked with a frown. "It's not so simple as that."

"He told us everything." Owen's jaw clenched. It had been years ago now. In the beginning, Ben had stopped by once a week to check on Luke. They'd asked him if he wanted to stay more times than were countable, really, but he'd always declined. Disappeared into the night again and again. That first evening, when he'd dropped Luke in Beru's arms, he'd said that the Clone Wars were over and that the Jedi were all dead. That Anakin's child needed safety and security, and these were things that he could not provide. Owen had thought that he had been wracked with grief over everything he knew, and he had not liked the idea of prying.

But Beru had gotten it out of him, sooner or later.

And he'd sat at this very table, in the very seat Organa now sat, and he'd told them.

Anakin Skywalker was dead. He'd lost his mind, broken under the pressure of the war, and instead of helping him, Ben had put him down like a rabid animal.

At first, it had horrified him. He had spent a few long nights imagining it. It played over and over in his mind. Beru had told him that it was only understandable, given all that had happened, but then Owen looked to Luke. Three or so, by that point. Having odd dreams about people he'd never met, knowing how to get to Mos Eisley without a map, not even aware of how dangerous he could be.

And that had settled it.

Luke would never be dangerous. He would never be put in the position where he might crack and lose himself to this power within him. He would not take more than he needed. He would not desire power, because he would never have power over anything but himself and the decisions that he made.

But Ben did not see it that way.

Ben thought that his influence, that his presence, that the whisper of the Force or whatever, that it could help Luke. But all it had done for his father was destroy him, and all it had done for Ben was destroy him, and Luke was a child.

Why would anyone want to destroy a child?

"It was an impossible situation," Organa said softly.

"Shmi Skywalker left her child in the care of a Jedi," Owen said gruffly, meeting Organa's eyes and watching him steel up at the very word. "Look where that got him. An impossible situation? You're a father. How would you feel if you gave your girl away and she ended up like that?"

"I understand," Organa said with a sigh. "I do. And I'm sorry you feel that way about Ben. But I have known him a long, long time, and I will not lose faith in him. Not when there is so much at stake."

"And we understand too," Beru said. She stood suddenly, and Owen sighed, scratching at his forehead with his thumbnail and considering his words with a grimace. He'd done it again. "Why don't you stay the night? I'm sure you're exhausted."

"I couldn't!" Organa's eyes darted between them. "I've already intruded. Given you far too much to think about. I just… I only meant to satisfy a curiosity, I suppose. It is selfish, and it is against Master Yoda's advising, but I do want you to know that if you are ever in need, you may come to us."

"We don't need your charity," Owen said instinctively.

"No more than I need yours, my friend," Organa replied with a smile, "but still you and your wife offer it. And so I must too. Your duty is to Luke, as mine is to his sister, and Obi-Wan's duty is to them both. But I have no wish to see that boy suffer in the way that his father did. That so many did." He looked down at his hands and sighed. "If I stay the night, would you consider taking a comm?"

"I would," Beru said in an instant, and Owen licked his lips and rolled his eyes and felt a small jolt of amusement. He could tire of Beru's endless generosity when it felt dangerous, but he could not help but love it. Even when it made him the fool. "I'll make up a bed for you."

She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Organa and Owen to watch each other. Owen sighed, picked up his plate, and walked into the kitchen to clear it. After a minute or so Organa followed him.

"Will you tell him about her?" the man asked.

Owen paused his scrubbing of the bottom of his bowl, staring at the suds of soap that bloomed between his fingers, and he could see that little girl's gap-toothed smile in his mind's eye. Weird how it worked, genetics. Luke's teeth had looked the same, a few months ago. Almost exactly the same.

He ran his bowl through the running water and set it on the drying rack, biting his tongue.

"Mr. Lars?" Organa asked.

"My name is Owen." He turned to face Organa, wiping his hands on a cloth as he went. "You might as well use it. Anyhow, to answer your question, no. Why should I?"

Organa was quiet a moment. He shook his head quickly.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Perhaps I thought your methods were different than mine. But I suppose we are living the same reality."

"Maybe." Owen could imagine that some things were the same. Based on what he'd heard of the girl. "If I told him, he'd never rest. He'd kill himself trying to find her."

At that, Organa smiled grimly. It was, in truth, a sadness that seemed to pool between them. Because it was a cruelty, and Owen knew it. Organa must know it too.

"The same reality," Organa repeated. He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yes. Leia would do the same. She doesn't know either."

"Smart man." Owen watched Organa tiredly. And then he looked to the hall, watching Beru reappear with a blanket bundled in her arms and a pair of Owen's clothes atop it. Organa blinked at her, but smiled gratefully as she handed them off.

"I hope they fit," she said, stepping back. Her eyes drifted to Owen. There was a sadness there. An anger, too.

She did not agree with the reality that Owen and Organa had set in stone.

"Thank you," Organa said. He drifted toward the hall before turning to look at Owen. "The lies we tell them— they feel like they are the weight of a dying star pressing upon our backs. But one day they will understand."

"If I have it my way," Owen said, "they'll never have to."

Organa blinked. He managed a smile, and he nodded. And then he turned down the hall, and Beru watched him go until he'd entered their small living room, where a cot had presumably been set up.

"We are not telling him," Owen blurted as her mouth opened to scold him. "No. I'm putting my foot down."

"How can we keep this from him?" Beru's eyes were glistening. "I hate to lie to him, you know that. I hate that he'll never know who his father really was, and now this? It's not fair to him, Owen."

"What is fair," Owen said taking her shoulder and squeezing it gently, "and what is safe— those are two different things. We keep him safe. Like we always have. Nothing has changed."

"Not to you," she said, her brow furrowing. "But I have seen enough families separated in my life to feel sick. And Ben never told us!"

"Of course not." Owen let his hand slide from her shoulder as he scowled up at the ceiling. "And he was right not to."

She clicked her tongue against her teeth as she glared up at the ceiling. They were at an impasse, that was for sure, but it would pass. And she would agree with the safe option, after some time to think about it. She almost always did.

"Sometimes I think you and he would be the best of friends," she murmured, "if you weren't so stubborn."

"Well if I wasn't so stubborn," Owen said with a snort, "you wouldn't have married me."

"I wouldn't have noticed you, you mean," she replied with a small smirk. "It's funny how paranoid about being safe you are now, considering where you were when I met you."

"Of course," he scoffed. "What'd I have to lose then?"

"Your life?" Beru offered with a raised brow. "Your freedom? It was a tricky operation, Owen. I wasn't even sure I'd make it out of Mos Espa that time."

"My life, my freedom." He nodded. "Mine. My responsibility. I could put all that on the line because I didn't have you yet. I didn't have Luke yet. The farm— my father— I knew he'd be alright. He hadn't lost his leg yet. It seemed like a fair wager. And you did notice me, by the end of it."

"Stubborn," she said with a light fondness trailing in her sweet voice as she gazed up at him with a soft smile. "You're distracting me from how mad I am at you."

"Good." He leaned over her head and turned off the kitchen light. "If I say I'm sorry, would you believe me?"

"If you said it," she said, brushing past him, "yes. But will you?"

He watched her drift toward their room in silence. Slowly, he drifted after her, and he spent a long and uncomfortable night staring at the ceiling, the image of a small girl twirling around burned into his brain.

As tired as he was, as lethargic as he moved, he got up before the suns not having slept a wink. He brewed their caf on the stronger side, leaning against the kitchen counter and wondering about Ben. If he'd gone to get the girl. Luke's sister.

Luke's sister.

It was not his business. It was not their responsibility. But it was a weight, it was true. An added weight to the impossible situation, the last added horror of Anakin Skywalker's horror-filled life. Owen knew the man had not cared for him when they'd met. And he had to respect that, on some level, because he understood the sentiment. The bitterness.

Perhaps he was jealous of the man once called Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Though he would never let himself truly let that thought settle in.

He'd been drinking his caf in the courtyard when Bail Organa stepped out in his cloak.

"Ah," the man said. Owen glanced up at him. He lifted his mug in a mock salute. "I suppose farmers wake with the sun. Or suns, rather."

"I didn't sleep," he said honestly. Organa stared at him. "Thinking too much. Never good for your body, you know."

Organa chuckled. He crossed the courtyard and sat beside him hesitantly. Owen stared up at the sky, watching the stars melt away to the milky veil of the morning suns.

"I am leaving soon," Organa said, "but I would be a fool not to mention— well I overheard you speaking with your wife last night. About how you met?"

"Is that your business?" Owen asked him coolly with a slight tilt of his head.

"No." Organa grimaced. "I know it's not. But the operation she was speaking of— it was freeing slaves, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Owen said, shooting him a dull glance.

Organa stared at him. And then he smiled.

"My mistake," he said, inclining his head. "Of course. I am merely interested due to my work in the Senate."

My work in the Senate.

"Oh." Owen blew out some air between his teeth. Padmé. Right. "Did she…? No. Never mind."

"She did." Organa said with a small smile. "Or at least, she always tried to. I have worked on anti-slavery legislation in her memory, but the Empire…"

Owen turned his head and spat upon the sand.

"Yes," Organa chuckled, "exactly."

"I don't trust politicians," Owen said, eyeing the man. "If she was one, that's all well and good, but he'll never know her. You know, you people think you do good for us. That you speak for us. If that's true, then why is it that the real change, the real difference, it's made by people like Beru? Like Shmi Skywalker?"

Organa was silent, and Owen took a gulp of his caf.

"Right," he said bitterly. "Politics. Speak your words, then. Do your waving, your pageantry. I hope it helps you sleep at night."

"I'm sorry," Organa said softly. "I try my best."

"And I don't try at all." Owen raised his mug once more. "I quit helping people when I had something to lose. Funny, that."

Organa merely watched him in silence.

Owen shifted. He'd said too much again. He felt the knowingness of that stare. It was too much like the eyes of Beru, or worse, Luke, when Owen misspoke.

"What?" he asked with a huff.

"You have no love for Obi-Wan," Organa said, rising to his feet, "but you two are more alike than you think."

That statement was enough that Owen felt a brick drop into the pit of his stomach.

No. He didn't believe that.

He didn't.

But it was another thing that would keep him up at night.

"Uncle Owen?"

Organa lifted his hood over his head quickly. Setting aside his mug, Owen stood and crossed the courtyard to the entrance of the house, crouching before Luke and grabbing him by the face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pushing the boy's bangs up to brush his forehead with the back of his hand. It was very warm. "Does your stomach hurt?"

"No." Luke sounded very quiet. Sleepy, yes, but also small and strange. Distant. "There's this feeling like something is squeezing my chest. Like when I crashed the skyhopper, but it doesn't go away. I—" Luke's nose scrunched, and he squirmed against Owen until he released him. "I dunno. I don't feel sick. But I had this weird dream where I was stuck in this… this smelly, dingy room, and there's nothing there, right? There's nothing, just— just this chair. And I can't get out. And I'm yelling and yelling but nobody hears me!"

He was getting worked up, Owen saw, by the end of this explanation. There were tears in his eyes, and the way that he was looking at Owen without really seeing him was concerning.

"Okay," Owen said hoarsely. "Right. It was just a dream, Luke. You're here. You're home. It's okay."

"But it isn't," Luke uttered, tears leaking from his eyes. "It isn't okay! Why doesn't anyone come for me?"

And suddenly many, many moments shared between himself in Luke when Luke was between sleep and waking made too much sense. The demand for fruit that Luke had never seen before in his life, the mumbling over homework he didn't have, the sudden, inexplicable string of alien curses that he seemed possessed by, only to lose moments later and not recall ever knowing.

Hesitantly, Owen turned his head to look at Organa.

The man's eyes shined in the dark. Dawn creeped beyond his head, an uneasy morning settling above them.

"You need to wake up, Luke," Owen said quietly.

"I am awake." Luke rubbed his eyes furiously with the heel of his palm. "I just feel terrible. I feel— I don't even know what I feel! I'm all mixed up!"

"Luke?"

Owen stiffened. Organa had appeared at his shoulder, looming over both him and the boy. And Luke tipped his head back, fixing his eyes upon Organa's face, and he froze. Something behind his eyes lit up, and he stood there with parted lips, gazing at Organa like he was one of the suns creeping along the sky.

"Hello," Organa said softly. Owen stared him down as he spoke, a warning in his gaze. "It seems like you're very scared right now."

"I'm not scared," Luke said indignantly. Organa blinked. He smiled a sad, but fond, smile. "You… do I know you?"

Organa sighed. He shook his head.

"I'm afraid not." He looked down at Owen. "Your uncle is here to take care of you, you know."

"Yeah," Luke said, his brow pinching. "But… the room—"

"Someone will come," Organa said firmly. "Someone will always come. You know that."

Luke blinked up at his face and he nodded dazedly.

"Yeah," he mumbled. Then he yawned. "Yeah, like… like an army, or something…"

Owen's mouth twitched into a smile. Luke had moved forward, probably on instinct, and Owen opened one arm so Luke could rest his head against Owen's shoulder. He slung his arm over the other shoulder, and Owen allowed for the half embrace, feeling the boy's hot breath tickle his neck.

"I don't know if I could send an army," he murmured. "Maybe I could send Beru, though? That's close, right?"

"Scary enough," Luke mumbled.

"Right?" Owen chuckled. "There's no one scarier on the whole planet."

But Luke was asleep again. Owen sighed, shifting the child's weight so it was distributed evenly, and he hefted him up off the ground.

Only, for whatever reason, Luke was caught on something.

Owen glanced over his shoulder and saw that Luke's hand was extended, and his pinky finger had caught around Bail Organa's. Owen stood there a moment staring at the interlocking fingers, and his eyes trailed up to Organa's face when the man extricated himself from Luke's grasp.

Organa gripped the edge of his hood, and he pulled it tighter so Owen could no longer see his face.

"I just wanted her to know that I'm with her," he said quietly.

His reflexive emotion was a territorial sort of anxiety that caused him to turn Luke away from the man and put as much distance as possible in that instant. The next reflexive emotion was anger. Why should he touch Owen's child? A total stranger? Whether he was the father of Luke's sister or not, he didn't have that right.

The third reflexive emotion was a twinge of empathy.

Because if they were both right to assume what had just happened, then Luke's sister was scared and alone in a cell.

And that was a horrifying thought.

"I hope she felt it," Owen said, his hand falling upon the back of Luke's head. He was getting too big to carry around like this. "For her sake."

He didn't say goodbye. He just turned away from the man and walked back into the house, weaving through the kitchen and the hall and entering Luke's room. He set the boy down gingerly in his bed, dusting off his bare feet so they were free of sand before he brought the blanket back up to his chin. Then he felt his forehead again, and found, inexplicably, that his temperature seemed to have returned to normal.

Everything, it seemed, had once again returned to normal.

But nothing was normal. Not with Luke Skywalker. And Owen could never fault him for it, though he knew he could say things wrong, or be a short with him, or falter on providing him with an explanation that would sate his endless curiosity. It wasn't like it was easy to lie. Owen had never been very good at it.

Owen brushed Luke's temple with his knuckles. In his mind, he could see that little girl twirling.

"Don't worry," he murmured, knowing she would never hear him. "You're getting help. And he's persistent enough that he's not going to rest until he gets you home."

He left the room, though he did linger in the doorway for a bit too long, just to watch the rise and fall of Luke's chest. It was an anxious habit that he'd developed when Luke had been a newborn. For some reason, Owen had developed an acute fear that if he did not check on Luke in his bassinette regularly, he would suddenly not be breathing.

Satisfied that Luke was very much still alive, he let the door slide shut and he walked back down the hallway and into the kitchen. He paused when he saw a glinting silver comm device sitting on the counter.

He felt the urge to crush it beneath his heel.

Instead, with the thought of that little girl weighing on his mind, he took the comm device and turned it over in his hands. It was cool and heavy. Shiny, probably real new and real expensive.

He went quietly back into the hall, to his and Beru's bedroom. He made sure the comm was off before he slipped it beneath her pillow and then kissed her forehead gently.

She would decide if and when they used it. And he was comfortable with that.