Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ruwee Naberrie tightened his hold on the pouches concealed beneath his shabby cloak. His eyes darted about the seedy cantina’s darkened interior, hardly believing he was here, much less that he had allowed his long-time associate to convince him to come to such a place as this. Tatooine really must be the waking world’s iteration of hell. He’d never set foot upon a more miserable planet. The people who called it home were to a T either insane or without any choice.

Ruwee sipped his drink and tried very hard not to dwell on the things he’d witnessed on his short journey to the cantina from Mos Espa’s space port. It turned his already nervous stomach and caused his blood to roil within his veins. How could any conscionable person willingly pay to ‘own’ another sentient. To his sensibilities it was unfathomable. Dex had done his best to prepare him -- in his own way -- for the things he might see after he’d recommended this place.

Which brought Ruwee’s ruminations back to the present and the reason he was sitting in this cloistered booth in this disreputable establishment on this barbaric planet. Ruwee needed a pilot. One who was unafraid of a few risks, or Hutts, and who would work for pay without asking questions. Why did he need such a pilot? Because people were dying on Ithala -- a planet near the edges of the Outer Rim’s border with Wild Space – under a blockade imposed by an old Hutt named Zorba.

Ruwee, and his like-minded humanitarian compatriots, refused to sit idly by, but the Republic refused to send any aid. Oh, they had all the normal reasons for refusal too. Ithala, lay in the Rion Sector, outside the Republic’s jurisdiction. Which of course really meant, why on earth should we spend good credits on a back-water skug hole and potentially tick off the Hutt Cartels?

Much like their reasoning would be for intervening on Tatooine, no doubt. Ruwee bit his tongue as he watched the Cantina’s burly Devaronian owner back-hand a wisp of a young girl. She cowered and grovelled on the grimy sand-swept floors, begging ‘her master’ for forgiveness. Ruwee’s grip slipped beneath his cloak to grasp his concealed blaster, instinct warring with his reason. Fortunately, for him, Dex’s contact chose this opportune moment to swagger up and slide into the booth across from him.

“Suns are getting real high.” The female Iridonian, Zabrak relayed their previously agreed upon code phrase.

Ruwee loosened his hold on his blaster but did not release it, “Mercifully, dusk will not be too far off.” He quoted the phrase Dex had given him before he’d taken his borrowed freighter to Tatooine.

“So you’re the one looking for a pilot?” She relaxed after his answer and slouched into the sticky krayt-leather booth.

“Yes, as I am sure our mutual friend has already informed you.” Ruwee replied.

“Yeah, yeah, he may have mentioned that. What he didn’t tell me up front was my destination.” Captain Nera Halks said, idly checking her chipped green nail polish on the hand not currently gripping her own blaster beneath the table.

“Ithala.” Ruwee answered.

“Ah, I hear things are a little hot in the Rion Sector right now.” She drawled.

“Not any hotter than here, I’m sure, for someone with your renowned reputation.” Ruwee said.

She barked a laugh. “I like you, friend! Tell you what, I’ll still take the job but, uh, I’m afraid my goodwill won’t pay the bills or my crew.” She leaned both elbows on the table, apparently she’d decided he was no threat or simply not worth the plasma.

Ruwee had anticipated negotiations, and as a courtesy placed both of his hands on the table top in Captain Nera’s line-of-sight. “I certainly wouldn’t want you or your crew to go hungry.” He returned flatly.

She grinned. “Good man! Here’s what I’ll do; I’ll give you a twenty percent discount and do the job for, oh, twenty thousand.” She held up her palms in an appealing manner.

Ruwee very nearly rolled his eyes. Twenty percent discount, huh? Interestingly, her quoted sum was about twenty percent higher than she had previously offered to Dex before Ruwee’s arrival on Tatooine. Still, he had expected as much and brought over twice her original figure. However….

“I’m afraid all I have on hand is sixteen thousand, which I can give you up-front.” Ruwee echoed her helpless gesture, blinking innocently. “And, I’ll raise the rest of your payment after the job is completed.”

Captain Nera hemmed and hawed, drumming her long nails against the dura-plast table top with a click, clack, click. Ruwee waited patiently. She slapped her palms flat on the table and nodded. He stared, still waiting for verbal acceptance.

“Deal.” She agreed and held out her hand.

“Excellent. I thank you for your generous assistance, Captain.” Ruwee shook hands and, in the same motion, passed the pre-weighed and counted pouch of sixteen thousand into her grasp.

“Pleasure doing business with ya, friend!” She beamed, rising to her feet. “If you ever have any more little odd jobs….”

“I will certainly keep you at the forefront of my mind.” He inclined his head.

“Wonderful.” She gave him a jaunty salute and fairly bounced out of the cantina in her greed-induced glee.

Ruwee shook his head, merely relieved she had accepted the job. He rose, throwing a few wuipui on the table to cover his tab and exited the relative cool of the establishment into the blistering heat of Tatooine’s two suns. Unaccustomed to such climes and, perhaps unwisely, attired in dyed, Shaak wool garments, Ruwee soon found himself stumbling on shaky legs. His tongue was drier than a child’s sandbox.

With his vision blurring from sweat and the glare produced by the planet’s twin suns, he could quite honestly say, he could not see where he was going. A pity the annoyed alien, with his meaty appendages fisted in Ruwee’s cloak, did not seem at all placated by his honest excuses. It continued to snarl at him, though Ruwee couldn’t understand a single syllable and chose not to respond. His silence, unfortunately, did not appease the being, in fact, it seemed only to enrage it further.

“Ya picking on the elderly now, Sebulba,” a young voice -- A child? Ruwee was astounded -- taunted, “too afraid of a real fight?” The boy continued.

The alien quickly released Ruwee and growled something -- it sounded repulsive enough, Ruwee did not wish to hear the translation. There was a brief scuffled followed by a muffled thud and jeering laughter, and then the street fell silent. Ruwee swiped the sweat and sand from his eyes, and using one hand to shield his gaze glanced about for his rescuer. He spotted a scrawny boy, likely no older than five, slowly pulling himself out of the dirt.

The boy gingerly touched his right shoulder, which Ruwee noticed was not sitting quite right. Had Ruwee’s attacker’s dislocated this poor child’s shoulder? Cowards! He hurried over and knelt in front of the child. The boy’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Thank you, my young friend. I appreciate your stepping in, though I apologize my mistakes have led you to harm.” Ruwee said.

“Huh?” The boy scrunched up his freckled nose.

“Your arm.” Ruwee supplied, nodding his head at the limb.

“Oh, that. Nah, Sebulba didn’t do that. Not this time.” The boy shook his head.

“This time?” Ruwee echoed.

“I hurt it in that stupid crash.” The boy carried on.

“A crash? When was this?” Ruwee asked, genuinely curious.

The boy stared at him. “You ain’t from around here are ya?” He said.

Ruwee supposed there was a logic, he hadn’t followed, which led to this sudden pronouncement. “No, I’m not. How did you know?” He smiled.

“Figured.” The boy shrugged, instantly regretting the motion, and winced. “No one from Mos Espa is dumb enough to pick a fight with Sebulba.” He said, gently rubbing his right arm.

Ruwee tried very hard not to point out the hypocrisy in the boy’s statement in light of his own actions mere moments prior. Nor did he allow himself to take offense at the boy’s slight against his mental capacity. He coughed, merely to clear the sand from his throat he reassured against the boy’s narrowed eyed gaze.

“ ‘Sides,” the boy went on, “everyone knows about that stupid crash!” He fumed.

“Really, why is that?” Ruwee asked.

“Duh, it only happened at the opening of the Boonta Eve! I’ll bet I’m the only laser-brain to ever trash a pod before the race even started!” The boy growled, clearly struggling not to shout or cry.

Ruwee must confess his mind had been sidetracked by an entirely different aspect of the child’s story. “Pod? Race? You were racing a pod?” Ruwee’s voice did not crack.

But if it had? Forgive him, the day’s events had already been quite trying on his nerves, and what sort of a person let a human, much less a child, compete in a pod race? Pod racing was a sport created by alien’s with insane superhuman reflexes for aliens with superhuman reflexes!

“I’ve been racing since I was four.” The boy remarked, casually, as if this was the most normal activity in the world for a four year old human to be doing. “And, I’m pretty good too!” His tone dared Ruwee to refute his assertions. Ruwee did not dare to do so, in spite of the child’s own confession of crashing a pod before a race.

“It wasn’t my fault! Sebulba is a poodoo cheater and he always sabotages my pods!” The boy protested. “Not like I want to crash and get Watto angry and make Mom upset.”

Watto and Mom? Not Dad and Mom? Ruwee wondered.

“I don’t have a dad.” The boy again answered a question Ruwee had not voiced.

This began to strike him as peculiar, and vaguely familiar. “Who is Watto, if you don’t mind my asking?” Ruwee said.

“Ya just did anyway.” The boy rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I suppose I did.” Ruwee chuckled.

“Eh, it’s fine. Watto’s who I work for. He won me and mom off Gardulla a few years back when he bet against her on the races.” The boy said.

“Won? You’re a slave!” Ruwee was incensed.

“I’m a person! and my name is Anakin Skywalker.” The boy snapped, trying and failing to cross his arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry,...I just….well, as you said I’m not from around here. This is all very new and unfamiliar to me.” Ruwee said, lowering his tone.

The boy, no Anakin, almost seemed to stare through him, then he gave Ruwee a half-shrug.

“Whatever.” He said, trying not to show how much his shoulder was clearly bothering him.

“Anakin, has anyone treated your arm?” Ruwee asked.

“Nah, Watto’s mad I trashed the pod, so it’s just gonna have to heal without any fancy stuff.” Anakin said.

“Like a sling or being properly reset?” Ruwee challenged.

“It’s fine.” Anakin said.

It most certainly is not! Ruwee thought.

“Anakin, would you allow me to treat your arm, as a token of my thanks?” He bartered.

“I’d better not. Watto’s still pretty steamed.” Anakin said.

Watto could get nerfed as far as Ruwee was concerned. In fact… “Where is this Watto? I think I’d like to meet him.” Ruwee said, rising to his feet and brushing sand from his clothes.

Anakin again stared through him in that peculiar way of his. “I don’t think that’s a good idea either.” He said.

“On the contrary, it’s a marvelous idea.” Ruwee said. “Now, would you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?”

“You’re serious, huh?” Anakin shook his head. “Alright, what the hey, but I’ll take you.” He insisted, snagging Ruwee’s hand with his left.

“Have you no faith?” Ruwee laughed.

“Mister, I watched you walk into a drunk Dug.” Anakin retorted, tone drier than the arid desert air.

Fair enough. Ruwee supposed.

“Lead on, my little friend.” He grinned.

Anakin’s eyes narrowed at the moniker, but he turned on his heel and led Ruwee through the city, stopping at last in front of a dilapidated junk shop. “Here it is. Watto’s shop.” Anakin announced, dropping Ruwee’s hand.

“Thank you. Would you mind waiting outside, I have something to discuss with Watto.” Ruwee said.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m not really supposed to be here right now anyway.” Anakin tossed his head and went to stand in the meager shade provided by a small alcove alongside the shop’s entrance.

“Thank you. I’ll only be a moment.” Ruwee nodded and stepped inside the shop.

“Whatever.” Anakin’s drawled response followed him into the store.

A young, well, by comparison to Ruwee himself, woman with dark hair and skin prematurely aged by the harsh suns approached. From the shape of her nose and the set of her deep brown eyes, Ruwee surmised this was young Anakin’s mother. She hailed him in Huttese. When he didn’t immediately respond, she switched to an accented Basic.

“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?” She greeted, bowing her head.

Ruwee did not allow his discomfort with this servile gesture show and returned her greeting. “Good afternoon, Madame, I am hoping to speak with the proprietor of this, ahem, fine establishment.”

Much like her son, the woman seemed almost to be weighing Ruwee’s inner self with her gaze. She nodded slowly and disappeared into the back of the shop, returning a few moments later behind a fluttering Toydarian. King Ketunko would be appalled. Ruwee thought. His old friend despised slavery of any form.

“You want see Watto, eh?” The Toydarian hummed. “Talk business, yes?”

“Yes,” Ruwee nodded, “I should like to discuss purchasing your slaves.”

“Why you want them, huh?” Watto bristled.

“I’ve heard of your recent losses from the youngling’s less than successful venture in the recent race.” Ruwee attempted to placate the alien.

“Minor.” Watto dismissed with a wave of his hand.

“Ah, but the cost of a good pod alone is worth three slaves, is it not? And to have one so stupidly destroyed,” he internally apologized to young Anakin, “ with no return on your investment? Bad business.” Ruwee shook his head mournfully.

“Bad business? Why you want buy them, eh?” Watto gaze was less hostile and more wary.

“It so happens I am looking for a new house-slave for my family and the boy is just the right age to be a ‘toy’ for my children.” Ruwee said, fighting the bile trying to rise in his own throat, and avoiding making eye-contact with Anakin’s mother.

Watto chuckled but quickly sobered. “Eh, but you want take both? No, I can’t….” He hemmed.

“I’m more than willing to pay full price, plus cost to replace them and your pod.” Ruwee offered, hating that he was lining the pockets of slavers.

Watto stalled and flitted about, stroking his chin. “The woman, not so young as she used to be, her value is low. The boy, no, a good mechanic he is. Too valuable.” Watto was trying for a higher bid.

Ruwee was quite accustomed to making trade deals and sighed. “Well, I suppose if you aren’t willing to part with them I’ll just have to keep looking…” He slowly began to turn.

Watto’s chubby hand thrust into Ruwee’s path. “Not so hasty. Maybe we can have a deal.”

Ruwee reached inside his cloak and produced a small amount of fire crystals from his secondary fund’s pouch. Watto’s eyes glimmered. “Would this be adequate?” Ruwee offered.

“Eh, so little? Finding good help these days?” Watto’s fingers twitched towards the precious gems.

Ruwee was loosing patience and produced the entire pouch. It’s contents were more than adequate to replace a slave or a dozen. “Do you we have a deal?” He asked.

“Deal. You a shrewd one, eh? You take ‘em for a song.” Watto chuckled, flittering into the back of the store and returning a few moments later with the controls for Anakin and his mother’s implanted bombs.

Ruwee nearly blacked out as the Toydarian transferred the bio-lock to Ruwee’s signature. He stiffly held himself together until the deed was done and he’d handed over his pouch. Watto’s toes wiggled in excitement as he peeked at the Fire Crystals and Calamari Pearls contained within the pouch. He grinned at Ruwee.

“Good business, you need any parts?”

“No, thank you. I must be on my way. Come.” He beckoned to the woman who had stood mute the entire conversation, head bowed.

He guided her outside of the establishment towards Anakin. She lifted her head and spoke. “Anakin, greet our new master.” She said.

Ruwee tried very hard not to react as Anakin’s eyes lanced into him. He would swear the air already hot and painfully dry grew increasingly harder to breathe as the boy glared at him.

“We are leaving with our master to his home.” Anakin’s mother’s tone was bland, devoid of any emotions.

She was likely numb to such things at this point. Ruwee tried not to think about how long she had been forced to endure this life. He tried even harder not to dwell on how much easier it was to draw breath after her statement. Anakin’s ire drifted away on the hot winds.

“We’re leaving Tatooine?” His eyes danced at the prospect, even under their perceived conditions.

“Yes.” Ruwee answered. “Now, I hate to rush you, but we really must pack your things and get started.”

Anakin’s mother raised a brow. Apparently, packing your belongings when going from one master to another was uncommon. Likely, having belongings was uncommon. Ruwee thought.

“Alright!” Anakin whooped and hurried to guide them to their old home.

Ruwee chose to hold his tongue until the Skywalkers and their few meager belongings were aboard his ship, an outdated Corellian Yacht. After leaving Tatooine’s gravitational well, and launching them on a straight hyperspace route to Naboo, Ruwee returned to the hold and called to the little family.

“I should like to apologize, first of all,” he began, and By Shiraya that caught their attention, “ I am appalled by the actions I had to take, but securing your freedom was my foremost priority.” That definitely had their attention.

“Our what?”Anakin gaped.

Ruwee, knelt in front of the boy’s mother, carefully producing the implant’s control wand and pressing it into her slack hand as he transferred the bio-lock. “Here.” He gently cupped her trembling fingers around the device.

“I don’t understand.”She said. “Why?”

“I am not able to combat all the evils in this galaxy, but I also refuse to turn a blind eye. And while I may not be able to free every slave I encounter, I could free the both of you. And besides, I believe in repaying my debts.” He smiled at Anakin.

“Debts?” She asked.

“Your son saved me, it was only right that I return the favor.” Ruwee explained, slowly rising to his feet.

“We’re free, Mom. We’re free, really free!” Anakin whooped and dove at his mom, hugging her frozen form.

“Ah, Anakin, if you and your mother will allow it I should still like to treat your shoulder.” Ruwee said, noting how the boy’s smile pinched at the corners as he belatedly rescinded his erratic arm movement.

Anakin turned to his Mom. She stared at Ruwee, clearly struggling to process all that had just happened and control her emotions. “Shmi.” She murmured at last.

“Hm?” He blinked.

“I am Shmi Skywalker.” She stated.

“Ah, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Ruwee smiled.

“I would be grateful if you would treat Anakin’s shoulder.” Shmi said slowly, tucking the control wand into the folds of her worn skirts.

She would need time and space to come to terms with all that had transpired, but as they were on a cramped star ship that would have to wait. Ruwee doubted she would be comfortable with having Anakin out of her line of sight just at the moment, so he brought the med-kit into the common room and crouched in front of Anakin. He reset the boy’s shoulder as gently as possible and immobilized it in a make-shift sling he fabricated from his cloak.

“This is of course only a crude treatment, we shall have a proper physician take a look once we reach Naboo.” Ruwee said, patting Anakin’s uninjured shoulder as he stood.

Hm, now that he thought about it, they would likely both need a doctor to examine them. One for the mind and one for the body. Jobal would know whom to contact. She always handles scheduling the girls’ doctor’s appointments. Ruwee considered.

“Naboo. Is that where you’re from?” Anakin asked, swinging his feet on the bench.

“It is indeed.” Ruwee smiled.

“What’s it like?” Anakin tilted his head, shaggy bangs tumbling into his eyes before he huffed them out of the way.

Ruwee contemplated his answer as he fixed a pot of tea in the ship’s modest galley. “I was born and raised there so my opinions might be a tad biased, but Naboo is the most beautiful planet in all the known galaxy.” He sighed, doling out steaming cups of tea with recollections of peaceful days spent dipping his toes into the tranquil lakes of his home-world.

“Really?” Anakin leaned forward on the table, his eyes glimmering with interest, and then frowned suddenly, “Does it have sand?”

Ruwee laughed. “ I am afraid you shall find sand almost anywhere you go in the galaxy.” He smiled, sipping at his tea.

“I hate sand.” Anakin groused. “It’s rough, and itchy, and it gets everywhere.”

“True. Thankfully, Naboo doesn’t have nearly so much sand as Tatooine.” Ruwee tried to placate the boy.

“Honest?” Anakin said.

“Honest.” Ruwee crossed his heart. “We have far more water instead.”

“More water than sand?” Anakin arched his brows in disbelief, nose crinkling in confusion at such a concept.

“Indeed, and if you wish, I’ll take you both to see Naboo’s lake county once you’re settled.” He offered.

They blinked at him. Ruwee thought over his words and winced. “Ah, my apologies. If you wish to settle on Naboo, I would be delighted of course. But even if you both choose to go to another planet, I hope you will still allow me the honour of introducing you to my home-planet.” He dipped his head in polite invitation.

Shmi and Anakin exchanged a look. They likely needed a bit of privacy to absorb all that he had said and offered. Ruwee smiled, deposited his empty cup in the sink, and excused himself to the cockpit. He needed to compose a message for Jobal, at any rate. She would be most displeased if he did not give her advanced notice of their house-guests.

Chapter Text

Ruwee settled the Corellian ship into his assigned slip in Theed’s space-port, grinning at the flash of cerulean he spied through the cockpit. Jobal. Stars, how he had missed her! He finished the landing cycle and moved to assist his passengers in collecting their meager belongings to disembark.

He led the Skywalker’s off the ship, his head already swiveling to track Jobal’s whereabouts. She lowered the scarf from her face as the dust from the ship’s landing settled. Her fair face and bright eyes glowed in the early morning sunlight. If he were twenty years younger, Ruwee would have dashed across the distance between them and swept her into his arms. However, she would positively murder him if he tried such a stunt after his last doctor’s visit. Ruwee and his aging back therefore had to be content with a brisk stride to carry him to his wife. She met him halfway and folded into his embrace as perfectly as she ever had, he kissed her temple and drew apart, grinning at her.

“Hello, my love.” She greeted, eyes dancing as they drifted over his shoulder towards their company. “I am glad you’ve arrived safely.”

“I’m glad to be home, my dear.” He replied and reluctantly – but a more proper reunion would have to wait – released her and turned to his companions. “Jobal, this is Lady Shmi Skywalker and her son Anakin.” He introduced.

“I am very happy to meet you both,” Jobal grinned, stepping away from Ruwee with a final squeeze of his hand, “I am Jobal Naberrie, my husband Ruwee you, of course, already know.” Her tone was teasing.

Ruwee refused to blush as it occurred to him he had neglected to give a proper account of himself to the Skywalkers. Anakin’s lips twitched, blue eyes glancing at their savior. Shmi remained politely impassive and gave a small nod to Jobal.

“It is an honour to meet you as well.” She greeted.

“Well, now that all those stuffy formalities are out of the way,” Jobal waved her hands about as if warding off further protocol and social decorum, “welcome to Naboo.” She produced two cloaks from beneath her own and presented them to Shmi and Anakin.

They stared at the garments, frozen. “I’m told Naboo is a tad milder than Tatooine.” Jobal smiled, gently yet insistently pressing the cloaks into their new owners’ hands.

“Gee, thanks, Lady.” Anakin murmured, hesitantly bundling himself into the garment.

“Thank you.” Shmi’s voice hitched.

Ruwee fell in love with his wife all over again. His Jobal always thought of everything he missed. She ushered the mother and son out of the docking bay to their waiting transport where she swiftly grabbed a thermos of herbal tea and poured cups for them both. Ruwee trailed behind with their luggage and stowed it safely before joining the others inside the vehicle. Jobal winked at him as their driver pulled away from the spaceport.

“I hope you will take no offense, but I have taken the liberty of arranging an appointment with our family’s doctor for this afternoon. After all, there’s no better time than the present and I think it unwise to leave ‘things’ too long.” She glanced at the Skywalkers.

Shmi discretely patted the pocket of her dress where she had placed the control wand, nodding her grateful understanding towards Jobal. Jobal smiled and took Ruwee’s hand, settling in for their commute with a self-contented sigh. Anakin, the poor thing, had passed out cold in his mother’s lap. He did not stir until they arrived at the medical facility.

As Ruwee and Jobal had half-anticipated, the medical staff were equally adamant the implanted devices in the Skywalkers be removed as soon as possible. Shmi and Anakin were not opposed to the suggestion. Ruwee was a touch horrified that both mother and son requested to stay awake through their procedures and to be allowed to keep their disarmed bombs. Jobal patted his arm reassuringly.

She understood the Skywalkers’ psychological need for tangible evidence of their freedom. Jobal also suspected it would be a poignant reminder for them to always remember where they had come from, what they had endured, and what the others left behind, and across the galaxy were still enduring. When the time came, as Jobal knew it one day would, she swore to do everything in her power to assist the Skywalkers in freeing others.

For too long she, and so many like herself, had chosen to remain ignorant. Had chosen to foolishly believe that slavery had truly ended with the Republic’s edict three hundred years ago. No more would Jobal turn away from the darkness in the galaxy. She intended to start a fire.

___________

For the next two days the Skywalkers were kept in isolation and under observation while they recovered from surgery and received long overdue inoculations. Anakin was insistent on keeping the scar from his surgery. No Bacta for him, please and thank you. The child was equally insistent on being allowed to keep the sling which Ruwee had made. The medical staff could hardly refuse his adorable, frowning face. Jobal and Ruwee, in the interim, talked over what they could do for the family.

When the Skywalkers were discharged, Ruwee and Jobal took them to one of Theed’s numerous parks. Anakin, in spite of recent events, darted about, determined to feel every leaf, rock, and twig; to smell every flower, roll in every patch of dewy grass, and cautiously dip his fingers into every fountain. Shmi simply stood in the gentle sunlight as a cool breeze stirred the folds of her new dress. The hospital had insisted on giving both Skywalkers new clothes -- they’d attempted to gift the family entirely new wardrobes -- but Shmi would only accept replacements for their old attire the medical staff had disposed of as hazardous waste. Tatooine was a breeding ground for all kinds of pathogens, so the Skywalkers’ clothes, beyond being deemed a crime against fashion, had been deemed carriers of who knew what, and sent immediately to the incinerator after the Skywalkers had changed into their hospital gowns.

Shmi could vaguely recall days spent chasing flitter-flies and hoppers across a dewy meadow under a yellow sun that did not burn, and no threat of a master’s whip nipping at her heels. This, this was the life she had always dreamed she could give to her son. This planet called to her like home. Like warm arms and musk of foreign spice had once done so long ago. Briefly, she allowed herself to try and remember his face and those longs months she had spent on the spice freighter, before she’d been sold to Gardulla, before Anakin. No. She closed the blast-doors on those memories. He was gone. No one lasted for long on a Spice freighter any more than they did in the Mines. No good came from dwelling in the past. Her life was in the present, here, with Anakin on this planet.

Yes. Shmi nodded. This was where they were meant to be, at this moment. They would build a new life here and grow strong. In time they would venture out and help others as Ruwee Naberrie had helped them. How could she ever repay them? Shmi observed the older couple as they strolled hand-in-hand about the park, keeping an eye on her son, answering all of Anakin’s many questions with a gentle voice. Like the planet itself, the Naberrie’s exuded warmth and welcome. A call like family to Shmi. An idea struck her and she steeled her resolve for their anticipated refusal.

“I should like to work for you as a housekeeper.” She announced later that afternoon as they sprawled on a yellow checked blanket beneath a flowering tree, sipping cool water and eating sandwiches. A morsel Anakin had to be convinced bore zero correlation to the loathsome particle before he would sample one.

Ruwee paled and furiously shook his head. “No, we could not accept. You are free to go wherever you will. Please, there is no debt between us.” He said.

Shmi set down her water cup, careful not to spill a drop – no matter how readily available the liquid might be here, she had dwelt too long in the desert to forget how precious it was. “There is no debt. As you say, I am free to choose. And I have chosen to work for you, if you will hire me.” She insisted.

Jobal watched Ruwee and Shmi’s wills collide, over the fringe of her fan. Anakin glanced up, drowsy after his morning’s exertion and pleasantly heavy from a full stomach. Jobal couldn’t quite resist and reached out to card her fingers through his shaggy blonde hair. He hummed and scooted closer, resting his head in her lap. She bloomed in quiet pleasure, he was such a bright and kind boy. The Toydarian was lucky he had crossed paths with Ruwee and not herself. Should she ever encounter him….

“I would be more than happy to give you the credits to get settled here.” Ruwee spared Jobal and Anakin a soft smile before returning to his debate with Shmi.

“I will not accept what I have not earned.” Shmi returned, patiently stubborn, folding her tanned hands in her lap.

Ruwee began to recognize a familiar obstinance in the woman’s bearing. He sighed. ‘She’s just like Padmé. He realized, glancing at Jobal, and smiling. Her twinkling eyes beamed at him over the top of her fan. Ah, so she had already seen it then. Well, Ruwee knew when he was bested.

“Very well,” he slumped, shaking his head as he noted the younger woman’s pleased smile, “we would be delighted to have you both.”

Jobal nodded as Shmi briefly sent her a look to gauge her opinion on this development. She was looking forward to having the little family come to live with them. It could get lonesome with the girls at school. Jobal thought it would be marvelous to have someone to talk to when Ruwee was away for work and even better to have young Anakin around.

He was a bottomless well of energy, curiosity, and ingenuity. Jobal could all but see his mind working faster than anyone she knew. So like her little Padme. Though Anakin’s particular strand of genius seemed to lend itself towards languages – she’d heard him deliver some rather colorful tirades on wasting water in at least four languages already – mathematics, and machines. She also soon learned the child was what might best be dubbed; an adrenaline junkie.

__________

“Anakin!” Ruwee yelled as the child ‘fell’ off the roof into the dubious cushion of an overgrown starfruit tree, for the sixth time in the past month. He sighed as Anakin’s shaggy head poked out through the branches, a scowl on his face as he picked twigs and leaves out of his hair.

“I need to recalibrate the hydraulic lifts again.” Anakin muttered to himself, swinging his way down through the limbs and depositing himself and his sparking, home-made, glider wings on the solid ground.

Ruwee bit back his first instinct to ban the boy from the workshop for at least the next thirty years. Shmi swept past him out of the house with nary a word but a soft touch on his shoulder in understanding. Jobal snickered into her cup of tea, where she was seated beside Ruwee on the veranda, scrolling through the morning’s headlines.

“I think you achieved far more altitude this time, Anakin.” She called chipperly, hiding her smile behind the rim of her cup as Ruwee’s head snapped towards her in shock.

“I hardly think we should be encouraging this behaviour, Dear.” He fumbled, pale and shaken, unable to contemplate stomaching the rest of his breakfast.

“Oh, really, Ruwee, Anakin was being perfectly safe. He has a back-up chute.” Jobal said.

“Which he never deploys because he’s determined to give his project every opportunity to succeed!” Ruwee grumbled, tugging at his hair as Shmi extracted Anakin’s glider from his grip with a simple quirk of her brows.

“But, Mom, I know how to fix it now!” Anakin complained in light of her unspoken chastisement.

“Hm.” She hummed and turned back towards the house. “That’s excellent. You will have ample time to work out all it’s kinks in the next couple months, before you test it again.” She said.

Anakin pouted and sulked. “Yes, Mom.” He swiftly perked up. “In the meantime, can I fix the lake-skiff!”

Ruwee choked. Jobal smirked into her toast. Shmi rolled her eyes and ignored her son’s murmuring on all the kinds of “nifty” modifications he could make. Which outside of Anakin speech, and in the wider Republic’s vernacular, translated to borderline illegal upgrades on a civilian transport. Ruwee buried his face in his hands and groaned. Jobal laughed. Oh, but Anakin made life so much more interesting. She grinned.

“Let’s just be grateful, my love; he hasn’t learned how to operate the star-ship.” Jobal said in what was meant to be a conciliatory manner.

“Yet.” Anakin and Ruwee murmured, the former in determined confidence and the latter in resignation of the gray hairs still to come.

Ruwee could no longer count on both hands the gray hairs which had appeared since Anakin and Shmi’s coming to live with them a month ago. Though, he’d ceased trying to keep track after the third exploded cleaning droid. Never mind the incident in the orchard with the hot-wired hover-car. Oh, and the near house-fire after Anakin decided to surprise them all and make breakfast. Of course, waking up to the town’s fire rescue and their home’s smoke alarms blaring had certainly been quite the surprise.

“Our lives are never going to be normal again, are they?” Ruwee lifted his tiredly bemused gaze to Jobal.

“Oh, darling,” she grasped his hand, “normal has always been overrated.”

Anakin snickered, grabbing a blumberry pastry as he trailed his mom and his confiscated glider inside the house. Jobal winked after him. Shmi paused at the door and sent Ruwee a quiet, amusedly frustrated grin. She understood his anxiety perfectly well. Ruwee sighed. Oh, well. At least their days of waiting until the girls came home from school on vacation would never again be monotonous or boring.

Still, he decided to try and rechannel Anakin’s creative energies to less flammable, and life-threatening pursuits. Woodcarving and building model ships, mostly ships the boy had dreamed up and designed himself. Though, Anakin wouldn’t quite be Anakin without his mechanical prowess, and the boy was determined to complete the protocol droid he’d scavenged parts for back on Tatooine. C-3PO was a work in progress, but Anakin was beyond careful when it came to his ‘baby’. All in all, the days passed quickly and Ruwee was looking forward to being able to introduce the new members of their household to the girls when they arrived for their summer vacations. Padmé and Sola were equally ecstatic about the opportunity to meet the Skywalkers, a sentiment they expressed in every message home.

__________

Anakin was still and silent and not sleeping. It’s a miracle. Ruwee thought, watching the boy who was intently watching his two daughters as they disembarked from their transport. Sola and Padmé grinned and hurried forward in a flurry of giggles and skirts, having spied their father, but not yet marking the child behind him.

“Dad!” They waved, barreling into his waiting arms with their normal enthusiasm and no traces of the more recent formality and decorum they’d used in their holo-calls from school. He smiled and held his little girls close, grateful for the opportunity.

Having happily received their exuberant greeting, Ruwee turned their attention to the Naberrie house’s newest occupant. “Sola, Padmé, this is Anakin Skywalker.” He introduced, grinning as they were both clearly trying not to coo and smother the adorably, prickly boy in hugs.

“Hello, Anakin.” Sola waved, brown eyes bright and dancing as she noted the child never once diverted his intense gaze away from her little sister. Oh, that’s precious. The romantic in her could detect a budding infatuation when she saw one.

Padmé stepped forward prepared to offer her own genuine greeting, when Anakin spoke in a rushed, reverential whisper. “Are you an angel?” He asked, blue eyes guileless and sincere.

Padmé sputtered, unsure how to respond to such a remark. Sola sniggered into Ruwee’s broad shoulder. Oh, by the light, had she called it! Ruwee coughed, clearly trying to remain impassive and not guffaw at the boy’s obvious admiration and Padmé's embarrassment.

“What?” Padmé finally settled upon with a flustered, self-conscious laugh.

“Ya know, an angel,” Anakin was unabashed and ignorant of the rest of the group’s sentiments even the object of his attention, “they’re the most beautiful creatures in the whole galaxy.” His arms went wide to encompass the vastness of the firmament above as he explained.

Sola’s body shook with the effort to contain her laughter and the overwhelming desire to snag the positively, precious boy into a hug. She had never seen her little sister this uncomposed since she was six years old. It was glorious, and made an elder sister’s heart soar at the sheer potential for future embarrassment. Glorious! Positively glorious! She grinned.

“You’re a funny boy.” Padmé's face flamed worse than the time she’d been parboiled on a family vacation to the lake country when she was eight, as she laughed, trying to diffuse the seriousness of the boy’s tone.

Anakin puffed up, his eyes less starstruck as they narrowed at her. “I’m serious.” He stated.

Padmé bit her lip. Vacillating between amusement and quiet pleasure. “You really think I’m that pretty?” She asked.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” Anakin stated, solemnly nodding his head.

“Even more than me, Ani?” A gently accented voice asked, preceding Jobal and another woman as they stepped onto the porch of the Naberrie’s house.

“Course not.” Anakin immediately said. “But you’re not a girl, Mom.”

Padmé and the others did their best not to laugh. “Oh, thank you, Anakin.” Shmi smiled, ruffling her son’s hair before turning to face the girls. “Hello, I’m Shmi Skywalker, Anakin’s mother.”

With introductions out of the way, they turned their focus to the even more enjoyable prospect of spending the the first part of the girl’s summer vacation in the lake country.

__________

“Come on in, Ani.” Sola and Padmé encouraged – they’d received his permission to use his mom’s nickname for him --, floating leisurely near the shore line, waiting for the boy to join them.

He eyed the water, dubiously. Anakin dipped one toe into the lake and shivered. “It’s cold.” He pouted.

Padmé giggled. “You’ll get used to it, I promise.” She cheered, wading closer and holding out her hand.

“You’re not scared are you?” Sola teased, grinning at him.

“I’m not scared.” Anakin stated, puffed out his chest, stepped into the water, and took Padmé's hand. Only to be polite and not because he was at all scared of drowning or freezing to death.

Padmé grinned over her shoulder at Sola as she led Anakin through the basics of floating and the akk-paddle. Shmi stood on shore, basking in the sunlight, not quite ready to join the younglings in the water. She knew how to swim, she recalled from the hazy memories of her youth, though it had naturally been many years since she had last had the opportunity.

Ruwee and Jobal sat together under the shade of an awning, sipping cool juice and keeping an eye on their daughter and Anakin. The half-finished and newly mobile C-3PO hovered nearby on the veranda fretting over sunstroke, and Master Anakin drowning, and what he ought to have the chef prepare for lunch. Padmé giggled. She adored the droid’s anxious quirks. He was as infinitely troublesome, in his own way, as his maker, and every bit as kind-hearted.

_________

“You built all of these yourself?” Padmé marveled as her father and Anakin, mostly Anakin, led her around their shared workshop to show-off all their -- again mainly Anakin’s -- projects.

“Yup.” Anakin thumped his chest then amended with a slight blush. “Well, Mister Ruwee helped me with some of ‘em and so did Mom.” He admitted.

“Don’t you believe a word of it,” Ruwee interjected, settling one hand on Anakin’s healed shoulder, “the boy’s a genius. He’s done most of the work himself, we just supervise to prevent any more ‘accidents’.” He chuckled.

“Accidents?” Padmé did not allow her gaze to fixate on the obviously scorched ceiling.

“Well, it ain’t like I blow stuff up on purpose.” Anakin challenged, bristling and crossing his arms over his small chest.

Padmé glanced over his head with wide eyes to her father. Ruwee returned her gaze with that strangely fond and resigned smile she was becoming increasingly familiar with. A smile reserved exclusively for Anakin. She shook her head.

Anakin, as always, quickly bounced back from his previous defensiveness, and snagged Padmé’s hand and tugged her over to the wall displaying his many, many model star-ships. He enthusiastically explained their specifications, all born inside his young mind, to her with great and knowledgeable detail. A talented boy, indeed. Padmé wondered yet again at the juxtaposition of such intelligence being possessed by such a young boy.

A boy who was adamant he was going to marry her. He’d declared so over breakfast the last morning of her and Sola’s summer vacation, to the entire family. Sola snorted on her orange juice, enjoying this development as only a big sister could. Her mother paused mid-bite, while her father was pale and amused. Shmi alone seemed undisturbed or surprised by her son’s proclamation, instead she appeared thoughtful.

Shmi recognized the prophetic touch to her son’s words. Still, she remained noncommittal and sipped at her morning cup of caff. They were both so young. Time had a way of altering feelings. And no one knew what the desert winds would bring.

Chapter Text

No-one knew what the future held; except, of course, Anakin. He knew. Padmé blinked down at the data-pad Captain Panaka pressed into her hands. A data-pad holding what ought to have been entirely unknown results for Naboo’s election. Only, Padmé had known. Anakin had told her two years ago, when she’d been back home for her second summer vacation since the Skywalkers had come to live with her family, and she had first considered running for office.

Her eyes bulged. No-one would suspect it was not from the shock of having won her bid for election to Naboo’s throne. All her Hand-maidens congratulated her, most having been fairly confident she would win. Padmé couldn’t bring herself to join the party, still in numb awe. How had Anakin known? It had to be a coincidence. It was not as if Anakin was some kind of prophet or Jedi. She quickly shook her head and refocused her thoughts to the task of drafting her coronation speech.

___________

Anakin was restless. Restless in a way Shmi had not seen since the time he’d insisted they hide hours before the riot in the Mos Espa’s slave quarters claimed the lives of many of its unprepared citizens in the dead of night. She watched him carefully, copying his new habit of scrutinizing Naboo’s skies. Because of this she was witness to the first Trade Federation’s ships’ appearance in orbit. Along with Anakin. His narrowed gaze, left the heavens to look towards distant Theed where Padmé now resided as Queen Amidala. In hindsight, Shmi shouldn’t have been at all surprised to wake one morning, two weeks after sighting the strange ships in the skies, to find Anakin and his newly built land-speeder missing. She turned her eyes towards Theed and prayed.

“Ar-amu, keep them safe.” Shmi petitioned and turned away to attend to the morning’s chores.

__________

Anakin left his land-speeder parked on the outskirts of Naboo’s capital city and slipped from shadow to shadow, in the dim light of dawn, towards the Royal Palace. Padmé was in danger. He knew it. Anakin couldn’t explain how, he just knew. Just as he’d always known when a sandstorm was brewing out in the desert wastes.

He paused outside the barred front gates. Of course they were locked. He nearly smacked his own forehead. Besides, he thought in agitation, it was unlikely he would be allowed inside to see Padme even if the gates had been open. So how did he get in? This was a Palace kinda like Jabba’s, right? He reasoned. If that’s the case….Anakin grinned and dashed away from the main entrance. There was always another way in, because there was always another way out.

He carefully resealed the ventilation system’s access hatch and went in search of Padmé. There was a vague sense of the direction he needed to be going, so he followed it. He peered out through the grilled slats at the quiet suite. It didn’t seem as if anyone was there, but then it was still pretty early for most folk.

“Psst, Padmé, you here.” He called softly, not wanting to arouse the Palace Guards and risk getting kicked out, or worse, before he’d seen Padmé.

“Did you hear something?” A female voice suddenly spoke.

It was not Padmé’s, though. Anakin paused, hesitating to enter the room. Who else, besides Padmé would be in the Queen’s suite? Oh, right! Her hand-maidens! Anakin recalled her messages, reassuring the family she was going to be well-looked after so they needn’t worry.

“No, why?” Another girl’s voice responded to the first’s.

Well, Padmé clearly trusted them. That was good enough for Anakin. He unscrewed the vent cover the rest of the way and slipped inside the room. Replacing the cover, he walked towards the voices seated on high-backed couches. If Padmé wasn’t here or was just sleeping they would probably know.

“Where’s Padmé?” He asked in lieu of introduction.

They screeched and bolted off the over-stuffed vermilion settee, one brandishing a data-pad like a club and the other a hair-pin. Anakin shook his head. They froze as their gazes dropped towards the intruder.

“It’s a boy.”

“A kid?” Their baffled exclamations lapped over one another as waves on the shore.

Anakin really didn’t like being dismissed due to his slight stature, or his age. He bristled. After all, little kids didn’t get to fly land-speeders, or protect Queens. Like he did...or would, once he found Padmé

“I’m not a kid. I’m gonna be ten this year.” He stated, thumping his chest proudly.

“He’s so little.”One fumbled, muttering to herself as she lowered the arm clutching the deadly hair-ornament.

“Where did you even come from?” The taller one, still holding the data-pad suspended mid-swing, asked.

“Iroté.” Anakin named the remote mountain village where the Naberrie family resided, when not in residence in Theed during the cold winter months.

The hand-maidens blinked. The tall one lowered her data-pad and shook her head. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” She laughed.

Anakin tilted his head, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting on her to elaborate. “And?”

“I meant...how did you get in here?” She finally asked, setting aside her data-pad.

“Through the vents.” Anakin shrugged.

“The vents….” she paused, shook her herself yet again and carried on with her questioning, “and, how did you get into the palace?”

Anakin didn’t really see why it mattered. He was here, he could help. “Through the culverts. Is Padmé here?” He reiterated his original question.

“Pad...you know Padmé?” They gaped.

“Duh,” Anakin rolled his eyes, “I just asked for her.”

“No, Padmé isn’t here.” They exchanged a bewildered look with one another as they answered hesitantly.

Well, that answered that. Anakin pivoted on his heel. Back to the vents, he had a search to continue. Padmé needed him.

“Wait!” The shorter hand-maiden, holding the hair-pin close to her chest as if to ground herself, jerked half a step towards him. “She isn’t here right at the moment but she will be back shortly.”

The taller one nodded at her companion. “You’re welcome to wait for her in here with us.” She offered.

Anakin debated this offer for a moment. The urgency, he’d felt tug him from his warm bed in the middle of the night to fly to Theed, had subsided for the moment. “Well, I guess that’ll work.” He shrugged.

He made himself to home in front of the banked fire on the plush azure carpet, and pulled out his whittling tools and templates. If it was going to be awhile before Padme returned he might as well do something productive. Constructive, Mister Ruwee would have said.

The two older girls whispered furiously with one another in low tones, as if he wasn’t sitting less than a meter away from them. Core-worlders. Anakin rolled his eyes. They were so weird.

“Where in blazes did he come from?” the shorter girl hissed to her companion.

The older one slowly shook her head with an equally uncertain shrug of her slim shoulders. “I have no idea.”

“Should we call Captain Panaka or Sabé?” The first asked.

“We can’t. They’re in conference with her majesty and the ruling council.” The other said.

Anakin paused lining up his tools, glaring at the both of them. “Ya could have just told me Padmé was in a meeting.” He said.

They jolted and whirled to stare at him, eyes wide. The shorter one’s painted lips parted in shock. The taller one just continued to blink. How does he know Padmé is the Queen? They glanced towards one another. Or does he?

“How do you know Padmé?” They echoed. “Who are you?”

Was it a requirement for hand-maidens to have the creepily in sync behaviour? Anakin wondered. Whatever. He rolled his eyes.

“I’m Anakin, Padmé’s fiancee.” He said.

His introduction was met with a painful chest rattling coughing spell as the girls spluttered. “Her what!”

“That’s what it’s called, right. The person you’re gonna marry. A fiancee?” Anakin returned simply.

He was pretty sure he hadn’t misspoken. Sola had taught him the word, when she’d explained she and Darred were not still dating but had gotten engaged. Sola was smart. Not as smart as Padmé, obviously. But few people were. Still, Sola was real smart and had that fancy education, she was not likely to have been mistaken in translating the Basic word for him. Basic was her first language, after all.

“Yes, but….” The younger trailed off, regaining control of her pink lips.

The older one settled a hand on her friend’s shoulder and shook her head. “Congratulations.” She told Anakin. “I’m Rabé. This is Yané.”

“Nice to meet cha.” Anakin said, turning back to his project.

“What are you making?” Yané, recovering, asked as she resettled on the previously vacated settee.

“An amulet.” Anakin said, without any further elaboration, his tongue jutting out of the corner of his mouth as he shaped the wood with practiced ease.

“Oh?” Yané attempted to pry more details from the bizarre child while Rabé called up the Palace’s security grid on her data-pad.

There was no way the boy had managed to sneak into the Palace without tripping one of the sensors. He’s just a kid. No way could he have gone wholly undetected. Right? Rabé frowned down at the screen

“Why are you making an amulet?” Yané prodded, her eyes were fascinated by Anakin’s deft and nimble fingers.

“It’s for good luck and protection.” Anakin murmured, frowning down at his work, scrutinizing it for imperfections.

Yané opened her mouth to ask, when Anakin sighed and paused, setting down his work. “I’m making it for Padmé. Is that all you wanted to know?” He said.

Yané nodded mutely.

“Can I go back to work now?” He asked, staring her down with restrained irritation.

“Uhm, sure. Sorry to bother you.” Yané sat back, rubbing her dimpled arms awkwardly. She’d not even had the opportunity to ask for whom the amulet was intended. What was up with this kid?

Rabé felt her skin tingle, barely comprehending the exchange between Yané and Anakin, her whole focus on the data-pad in her lap. There was something indescribably strange about Anakin. She’d had the impression even before the evidence was presented to her in impossibly, quantifiable terms. Somehow, this boy had managed to avoid every sensor array, thermal imaging detector, and maneuver his way through the maze of vents to Padmé’s suite like a Alderaanian homing pigeon. It wasn’t possible, yet the evidence was right there before her eyes.

Anakin finished his amulet and carefully placed it to one side, with a reverence uncommon amongst most ten year olds. But then, he wasn’t like most ten year olds, was he? Yané and Rabé thought. From the bottomless pockets of his tunics, Anakin produced even more wood. He turned his gaze from the wood and swept his appraising blue eyes over both girls.

“How many of you are there?” He asked, bluntly.

“How many? Us?” Yané blinked, caught off guard by this funny little boy.

“Hand-maidens?” Rabé hazarded a guess, placing the data-pad and it’s unsettling revelations on the end table.

“Body guards.” Anakin’s clarification overlapped.

Yané’s dark eyes swept over the neat little line of wooden templates he’d produced. “Are you going to make amulets for us as well?” She asked.

“If Padmé’s in danger, so are all the rest of you.” He said with a little shrug as if this was the most simple thing in the galaxy.

Perhaps, for him it is. Yané thought, feeling a swell of affection for this shaggy haired little imp.

Rabé was not unmoved by his blunt sincerity. She was however, more concerned by his pronouncement. “What do you mean danger?” She asked. “Why do you think Padmé is in danger?”

“Naboo’s being invaded by the poodoo....I mean the Neimoidians.” He clarified with a disgusted scrunch of his freckled pug nose.

“Invaded?” Yané mouthed to Rabé.

“We’re not being invaded, Anakin.” Rabé said.

They weren’t. It was just a trade blockade. Had he actually come all the way from Iroté to Theed because he thought Naboo was under invasion and Padmé was in danger? It was sweet. Incredibly stupid! Especially if they really were being invaded. But sweet.

“Not yet.” Anakin muttered and dove back into his whittling. “So how many?”

“Um, five.” Yané replied, once more shaken to her core by this odd little boy’s tone. It was almost prophetic. But, of course, that was just silly. Her nerves were merely rattled by this whole blockade crisis.

Anakin nodded, talking mainly to himself as he took stock of his materials. “Should be enough.” He pronounced.

__________

Sabé, Padmé, Saché, and Eirtaé returned to the Royal suite under Captain Panaka’s careful supervision, stepped inside, and promptly froze. Was this some kind of stress induced, mass hallucination? They blinked, nearly tripping other one another and their hems, as their eyes landed on the third and wholly unexpected presence in the common room. Rabé and Yané gave them a weak shrug as the group’s gaze traveled away from the child sprawled on the carpeted floor in a dead sleep to them.

She’d know that shaggy head of unruly sun-bleached hair anywhere. “Ani?” Padmé breathed, in bewildered shock.

What in Shiraya’s name was Anakin doing here in Theed? In the Palace? In my room? Padmé blinked, yet the image remained consistent. This was no dream.

The boy, who’d fallen asleep after completing his self-appointed task, snapped awake at her call. “Padmé!” He sprang to his feet and scampered forward to hug her.

He was not in any way hesitant or indecisive. The boy bee-lined for the real Padmé. Rabé realized. He’d been in no way confused by any of her decoys, namely Sabé who had swapped places with Padmé after the meeting with the ruling council. So much for all their hard work crafting the Amidala facade. She sulked inwardly.

“Ani? What...how...why are you here in Theed?” Padmé questioned, trying to pry him away to look into his eyes.

“In the Palace?” Sabé tacked on, still blinking in shock.

“In your room?” Eirtaé finished echoing Padmé’s internalized confusion.

Maybe they’d spent too much time together these past few months. Padmé thought. It was more than a bit disturbing to have the contents of her mind shared without her consent. She hated when Anakin did that to her.

“I’m here to help, obviously.” Anakin relaxed his absurdly strong grip for a child and allowed himself to be pushed to arms length, meeting Padmé’s gaze evenly.

“Anakin, it’s dangerous here.” Padmé gaped.

“I know, that’s why I’m here.” He stated. “I felt you were in danger.”

“Felt?” The hand-maidens’, who’d yet to have prolonged exposure to the boy’s quirks, mouthed at one another. Who was this kid?

“I’m Anakin.” He said.

“Padmé's fiancee.” Rabé, oh, so helpfully, supplied.

Padmé’s face rivaled the crimson of the Amidala ensemble Sabé wore as she spluttered. “Anakin Skywalker! Did you tell them you were my fiancee!” She did not shriek. Queens did not shriek.

“Well, yeah. I’m gonna be your husband one day.” He said, guilelessly.

“Are you still going on about that dream?” Padmé sighed, massaging her throbbing temple with her fingers.

It had been three years. She’d thought for certain he would have gotten over it by now. There was no way his dream would ever come true. Padmé was five years older! And besides which, wasn’t this the phase of most boys lives where they found girls ‘icky?

“Only because it’s true.” Anakin said, shoving a curled fist into her peripheral vision. “Here. I made this for you.”

Padmé, in spite of her mortification, held out her hand to receive his most recent token. For once it was not a carved model ship, or animal, or a pressed flower, or one of his nifty mechanical doodads.

“What is it?” She asked, running her fingers over the strange characters etched into the simplistic and dainty piece of wood.

“It’s an amulet. It’ll keep you safe.” Anakin said. “When I’m not around, that is.” He grinned.

“Oh, Ani.” Padmé sighed, a soft smile tugging up the corners of her care-worn face. It was the first real smile any of the hand-maidens had witnessed since this whole blockade situation began. “Thank you, Anakin.” She said, bending to give him a proper hug.

His pleased grin only widened as he stepped out of her arms and turned his focus on the hand-maidens. “I made one for each of ya.” Anakin said.

They accepted their carved tokens in bemused silence, each tracing the unfamiliar markings of their amulets. Saché was the first to notice while all of the hand-maidens’ bore most of the same markings as Padmé's there was one in the center of her’s that was absent on theirs. She arched a brow. Intrigued, both by the gift-giver’s oddness as well as this discrepancy.

“What do these markings mean?” She requested, determined to solve the mystery, subtly. There might be some sort of cultural significance which they were unaware of so she did not intend to charge headlong into this interrogation.

The other girl’s, apart from Padmé, picked up on their youngest members tone and quickly crowded round Anakin holding out their amulets for him to point out the symbols and explain. He grinned, he’d never been one to shy away from attention. Padmé shook her head fondly, settling out of the way on the only armchair in the room, leaving the couches free. Her unspoken invitation for the others to make themselves comfortable went ignored as the girls followed Anakin’s example and plopped down cross-legged on the carpeted floor. She rolled her eyes and tucked her bare-feet under herself, getting comfy.

“This one is for protection, it’s the sign of Leia, the great Krayt who guards the desert’s children.” Anakin’s voice took on the cadence of a far older and experienced lecturer. “This is the symbol of freedom, it is meant to ward off chains. This is the sign of Lukka, who will never sit idly by for injustice.” He said solemnly.

The girl’s were mesmerized by his words and cradled their gifts close to their chests, realizing these were no simple trinkets. They carried a great weight, made all the greater by the earnest sincerity of Anakin’s words. Eirtaé’s sniffles broke the gravitas falling over them and they giggled. Anakin watched in quiet contentment as the hand-maidens passed around lengths of scarlet cord to secure their amulets around their necks. He fingered the metal chain in his pocket, he hadn’t quite got around to fashioning it to Padme’s amulet before he’d fallen asleep.

Well, no time like the present, as Mrs. Jobal was fond of saying. Anakin rose and moved towards her, holding the chain in one hand and extending the other for her amulet. Padme pressed it into his hands. He swiftly fixed the chain to the amulet and moved behind her chair, standing on his tip-toes so he could help her put on her necklace.

She didn’t protest even knowing Rabé and Yané were no doubt having a shared mental breakdown, as her wardrobe mistresses. The necklace would never blend with any of the Amidala ensembles. Still, she trailed her fingers over the cool wood, and smiled to herself. No-one would see it if she carried it in her pocket.

Anakin nodded, pleased with himself and moved back to lounge before the fire amidst the gaggle of silent hand-maidens. They kept tossing glances between themselves and from Padmé to him. He ignored them. Girls were weird. Except Padmé.

What was that? Rabé’s brown eyes bulged. Yané blinked back. Oh, my stars! Saché covered her mouth with her slim hands, her grin almost peaking out anyway. Too adorable! Sabé coughed. By Shiraya the boy was smoother than half-the boys she’d ever met. Eirtaé giggled hysterically, her blue eyes dancing in the light of the dying fire. Sometimes childish dreams do come true.

Padmé's gaze sharpened, losing the sentimental warmth of a moment prior, as it settled on her friends. She did not trust the future teasing their abnormal silence portended. Anakin, oblivious as ever to the confusion he sowed, laid back on his elbows crossing his ankles as he surveyed the opulent apartment with a carefully neutral look. She recognized his attempt to refrain from commenting on the wasteful and pointless frills. Padmé sighed Oh, well. She supposed could put-up with a little good-natured ribbing.

Beside, she knew just how distract them from this nonsense. “Anakin, what does this symbol on my amulet mean?” Padmé asked and firmly decided to ignore the gleam in Saché’s eyes at her question.

He sat up. “Huh?”

She pointed to the marking in the center. Anakin blushed to his blonde roots and squirmed, tucking him self into a defensive little ball. Oh, dear. What sort of land-mine had she just tripped. Padmé blinked.

Anakin fumbled. He’d added it without putting too much thought into it. It wasn’t like he’d planned to be asked to explain the Amatakka symbols. He hadn’t minded with the others, they were simple and generic and Padmé was family and they were her friends, so he felt comfortable sharing that much, but this….He cleared his throat repeatedly for lack of a better tactic to stall. What was he supposed to say? It was just a symbol, sure. It’s meaning really depended on the feelings of the one who had carved it. Which in his case, made it deeply private and personal. Like his Mom had explained it was when shared between spouses. Which he and Padmé weren’t. Yet. He winced.

“Uh, it’s for family.” He finally bumbled his way through a half-truth.

His stomach roiled. Anakin hated lying. He hated doing it even more with Padmé. But this wasn’t something he could truly share with her, not now, and not in front of so many people. One day, he fully intended and believed he’d have the opportunity to do so, but not now. He was still only ten, and while that made him practically half-grown, it only made him half-grown.

“Family, huh?” Sabé’s lips twitched.

Padme stuck out her tongue at her oldest hand-maiden and tucked away her amulet beneath her orange robes. The others cackled and fell back on the carpet. Anakin turned away from them, his ears still red. Well, at least he had a taste of his own medicine. Padmé crinkled her nose at the boy’s back. His eyes immediately snapped over his shoulder to glare at her. The hand-maidens laughter rose in pitch as they witnessed the silent exchange.

_____________

Two days passed from the time of Anakin’s unexpected arrival without much further incident. On the third day, the calm before the storm passed and the first wave of theFederations’ droid ships touched down on the planet. Naboo was officially being invaded. Rabé and Yané exchanged a brief look as the alarms blared through the Palace and they bustled to prepare for the enemies arrival. Anakin had been right.

They’d managed to swap Padmé and Sabé, in case of capture, and hurried to evacuate before the Neimoidian Vice-Roy Nute Gunray could reach the palace. It was a futile effort. But blessedly, Padmé was safe from the Federation, their decoy was flawless. Rabé defied even Padmé's mother would be able to distinguish between her daughter and Sabé when they were arrayed as Amidala. Still, it was a safety in the loosest sense of the term based upon a mere, and fragile, technicality. One wrong move would spell disaster.

They could at least be grateful for one other thing. Anakin had vanished into the vents amongst all the confusion just as they had made him promise to do should the worst happen. Now, they could only pray the impetuous boy would stay put. They had not counted on Jedi popping out of the stone work. Nor had they anticipated – though they probably should have – Anakin’s abrupt reappearance in the hangar, a deactivator wand in his hand as he dropped himself amidst the droids from the overhead ventilation shaft.

Padmé very nearly strangled him when he scurried out of the downed droids and across the hangar to join their group, narrowly avoiding blaster-bolts aimed at his back. “Anakin Skywalker, you!” She seethed in fear as he finally came within throttling range.

“Shouldn’t we get on board, Padmé?” He asked, innocently. As if he was not responsible for shaving ten years off her life!

“Yes, we should.” The Jedi student encouraged, where he stood protecting their exposed forms from the enemies’ fire with his flashing blade.

“Wizard.” Anakin whistled appreciatively, entranced by the sweeping arcs and furious movements of the Jedi’s blade.

“Oh, no. No. No. No. No!” Padmé snagged Anakin by the collar and sprinted up the ramp into the ship.

An Anakin without a fascination for energy weapons was enough trouble. No way was Padmé going to allow the development of any new hobbies. Like building home-made lightsabers.

“I’d be careful.” Anakin protested, trying to tug out of her durasteel grip.

“Where have I heard that one before?” Padmé snorted.

Chapter Text

“Not that skug hole!” Anakin’s groan was audible even from the service corridor he’d followed Padmé into with the little heroic astromech in tow.

“Language, Anakin.” Padmé chided over the droid’s excited warbling.

Obi-Wan’s ears pricked as he heard the boy’s response before the hatch sealed behind them. “But why’s it gotta be Tatooine! I hate sand.” Anakin whined.

It would be a lie to say he wasn’t intrigued by this exchange. As intrigued as he was by the odd boy who’d dropped out of the ceiling. Obi-Wan checked on Master Jinn. He was thoroughly distracted with arguing security versus their dire need for a new hyper-drive with Captain Panaka. Obi-Wan seized the opportunity and slipped out of the room.

He discovered the hand-maiden, Padmé -- he’d bet ten credits she was the real Amidala-- and Anakin with the Gungan Jar-Jar and the droid R2-D2 in the repair room. Anakin was still listing all the many reasons why any sane sentient ought to hate sand, even as he helped Padmé scrub the carbon-scoring off the little astromech unit. She rolled her eyes fondly, as if she were accustomed to this particular diatribe. Obi-Wan smirked, lounging in the door way out of their way but in such a position he could not be accused of eaves-dropping.

“And it’s hot, and it stings like…” he paused at the look she leveled on him and then plowed ahead, “it really stings when it gets in an open wound or in your eyes. Like really stings!” Anakin ranted.

Padmé's hands paused in scrubbing the droid’s dome. “Did that happen often?” She asked, tone carefully neutral.

“Ugh, all the time. Sandstorms were the worst.” He moaned, falling onto the deck throwing his hands above his head.

“The sand in your wounds?” Her voice grew softer, barely above a whisper.

Anakin grimaced. “Not as often as it got in my eyes.” He shrugged.

“Ani--”

“Why Tatooine?” He pushed himself off the floor, quickly returning to his prior task, not at all subtle in his attempts to change the topic. “I’m going home and Mom isn’t even with me.”

Obi-Wan blinked. Home? Home was Tatooine? Not Naboo? How very curious. He stroked his chin, unconsciously channeling his master’s behaviour when confronted with a conundrum. Adding to this mystery was the boy’s presence in the Force. Not to mention his unique relationship with the young Naboo Queen in disguise.

___________

Obi-Wan was so enthralled in unraveling this puzzle he was more than willing to argue with Master Jinn over who was to go into town to purchase the part they required. Anakin marched into the hold and crossed his arms, staring down both Jedi. They broke off their friendly disagreement to meet his gaze. Padmé skidded in behind him, clearly having been chasing Anakin.

“Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi.” She swiftly composed herself in her ‘beggar’s clothes’ -- Master and apprentice shot one another a look, oh, dear -- and greeted them with a shallow bow.

“I’m coming.” Anakin stated. “You’re gonna need me.”

“Oh, really?” Master Jinn’s mustache twitched as he fought to maintain his Jedi mask of serenity.

“I know all the junk shops in Mos Espa.” Anakin lifted his chin stubbornly.

“Do you now?” Master Jinn asked.

“I lived here.” Anakin nodded sharply. “I’m coming.”

“Anakin, are you really sure you want to do this?” Padmé fussed, ignoring the Jedi to squat in front of him.

“I’m sure. ‘Sides, you were planning to go, no way I was getting left behind.” He shrugged in the light woven poncho he’d acquired from somewhere and marched towards the exit.

Qui-Gon turned his attention to the young woman. Padmé jerked to her feet and steeled her spine. “By the Queen’s command.” She said and whirled, charging after Anakin.

“The Queen’s command, huh?” Anakin snorted, chuckling as she fell in step with him. “Boy, are you lucky I’m here.” He said.

Padmé fumbled, gaping after the boy as he swaggered off the ship. “That little...Oh, just wait till we get back home.” She hissed, storming after him off the ship and out into the blistering heat.

Obi-Wan met his master’s gaze as Jar-Jar and R2-D2 added themselves to the growing entourage. “On second thought, you are absolutely correct, Master; one of us really ought to remain with the ship.” He smiled, stepping clear of the ramp.

“Good luck.” Obi-Wan called with a cheeky wave as Qui-Gon followed the others across the sands.

“Brat.” Qui-Gon mentally swatted his student.

___________

“Come on, come on.” Anakin urged, tugging Padmé along by the hand. “This way.

The boy deftly guided them through the streets of Mos Espa, Tatooine’s chief settlement. He paused outside a dilapidated building. His lips curled in distaste but then he sighed.

“Well, it’s as good a place to start as any.” Anakin stated. He set his shoulders and marched inside, bellowing out in Huttese. “Achuta, Watto! Ya got customers!”

Padmé jolted at the name. “Watto?” She hissed.

Qui-Gon just barely managed to snag the previously concealed blaster out of the girl’s hands before the Toydarian flitted into the store. “Eh, da wanga stuka...? Little Ani!” The bug’s eyes all but sparkled. “You come back to visit old Watto, huh?”

“Dream on, Sleemo.” Anakin returned dryly with a toss of his head. “I’m here to do business.”

“Hah, you want do business so you come to dear old Watto, uh?” The Toydarian chuckled.

Anakin glanced over his shoulder to the others. Padmé was nearly shaking from rage, her eyes lancing into the loathsome creature’s head. This was the being that had had the gall to “own” Anakin and Shmi? Anakin focused his gaze on her and shook his head. Bit by bit she felt her ire subside. If Anakin could handle this, she would not interfere. But if that bug laid one crooked finger on him….Anakin snorted and turned away to dicker with the Toydarian.

“Ya still got any parts for a Nubian ship lying about this dump?” Anakin asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nubian, huh? Eh, I got a part or two.” Watto hummed contemplatively.

Qui-Gon felt now was as good a time as any to insert himself into the haggling, as he was the one holding the purse. Anakin slapped his palm to his fore-head the instant the word credits left the Jedi’s mouth. Padmé could assume from his reactions they would not be purchasing the part they needed from Watto’s establishment. Oh, well. She grinned, celebrating internally that they would not have to do business with the creature.

Unfortunately, no other ‘reputable’ dealer -- by Anakin’s experienced standards -- had the part they needed. Anakin grumbled and groused, kicking at the innocent sand as they trudged back through the streets of Mos Espa towards Watto’s shop. “Dank Ferrick!” He muttered.

“Language.” Padmé and Qui-Gon corrected him in tandem.

Anakin slowly turned to glare at them, mainly Qui-Gon. “Jedi poodoo.” He scowled and resumed his angry march up the street.

Qui-Gon found he was more amused than affronted by the boy’s comment. Also, more than a bit embarrassed. His ignorance of acceptable currency had -- no pun intended -- cost them both time and more than likely their only hope of purchasing the part they needed to repair the Queen’s ship so they could leave this ‘skug hole’; as Anakin had so affectionately dubbed the planet. Speaking of, Anakin’s little cloud of dust had settled as the boy stood frozen, his gaze riveted on a poster plastered to a sandstone wall on the far side of the street. He whooped, his agitation replaced with joy.

“That’s it! And you won’t even have to sell any of yer fancy get-ups, Padmé.” Anakin said, whirling towards her once more.

“They’re the queen’s clothes, Anakin, not mine.” Padmé reminded firmly in a low voice.

Oh, but Qui-Gon was sorely tempted to call her little bluff right then and there, but he refrained himself. He exercised his forty plus years of Jedi training and folded his arms into his robe’s sleeves, biting his lip. Silently, he watched the younglings exchange.

“Yeah, yeah, right, the Queen’s.” Anakin rolled his eyes, waving away her corrections. “That’s not important, I’ve found the answer to our money problem.” He directed this latter half of the announcement towards a certain Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon suddenly felt like a nervous young Padawan withering under the reproachful gaze of his old Master. He swiftly passed those feelings off to the Force with a shrug. “Oh, what is your solution?” He inquired.

“The Boonta Eve.” Anakin said, a wide grin splitting his face.

“The what?” Padmé frowned, crossing the street to get a closer look at the poster which had inspired Anakin so.

“The Boonta Eve! It’s only the biggest pod-race in the sector!” Anakin said, affronted, horrified even, one could possibly be ignorant of the significance of the Boonta Eve Classic. “Sheesh, Padmé.” He huffed and marched up the street and into Watto’s shop.

Padmé shifted her attention from the poster to Jar-Jar and Qui-Gon. “What is pod-racing?” She asked.

Only one of the most dangerous sports in the galaxy -- and that was saying something since Qui-Gon had once participated in a Mandalorian Murder Ball tournament -- he decidedly did not tell her. He smiled and gently steered her and the Gungan along the street to the shop.

“Watto, ya slimy piece of rank-weed, get out here! I got a deal for ya.” Anakin hollered.

Clearly, he was enjoying the freedom and the opportunity to verbally harass his former master to the fullest. Padmé was not about to curb his enthusiasm. Folding her arms over her chest, she stood behind her young friend. Qui-Gon and Jar-Jar stepped around her to enter the store.

“Ani, back so soon?” Watto cackled.

“Shove it up yer exhaust pipe, Watto, this is business.” Anakin clambered onto the shop’s grimy counter to stand eye-to-eye with the Toydarian.

“Business, again? You stumbled into some real cash these past few hours, eh?” Watto glanced meaningfully at Qui-Gon. “Or are you willing to trade in other assets.” His focus shifted to Padmé.

Even before her revulsion or anger could boil over or she could wrestle her blaster back from Master Jinn, a heavy pressure settled over the room. The occupants, save R2 and Anakin, found it was markedly harder to draw breath all of a sudden.

“I don’t deal in slaves.” Anakin said.

Watto’s wings beat a touch faster as he inched back from the child. “Your new, mast—” he never had the opportunity to finish the sentence.

“He’s no one’s property! Nor will he ever be again, you got that!” Padmé snapped, storming up alongside Anakin, hand’s planted on her hips, as she glared down the alien.

Qui-Gon was glad he’d taken the blaster from her earlier, though it did mean they would now have to do things the hard way.

“Ah, yeah.” Watto’s feet rubbed together, revealing his nervousness.

Jar-Jar, without warning, tripped into a line of deactivated pit droids, his hysterical flailing to avoid joining the droids on the floor broke the tension. “Watch it, eh!” Watto grimaced.

Meesa sorry.” Jar-Jar murmured.

“Jar-Jar, perhaps you and R2 might wait outside for just a moment. I’m sure we won’t be long.” Padmé suggested.

The Gungan laughed nervously and followed R2 outside the store. Anakin and the others watched their exit then turned back to Watto. The Toydarian coughed and worked his fingers together.

“So business, yeah?” Watto hedged.

“Boonta Eve.” Anakin said.

Watto’s previous nervousness fled, his eyes glimmering. “You still race, eh?”

“You still have my pod?” Anakin countered.

Padmé in spite of not knowing precisely what a pod-race was didn’t like where this conversation was headed. “Ani?” She whispered. He waved her off, focused on Watto.

“Maybe, I do?” Watto hummed.

“Oh, come off it, Watto! We both know the only one who can fly my pod is me.” Anakin said.

“True,” Watto chuckled, “but this is business, Ani.”

“That’s right, it is. So how’s this sound, you let me fly the pod in the Boonta Eve. If I lose I’ll rebuild the pod so any one can pilot it and you can resell it, plus I’ll fix all those droids and in exchange you give us the part we need at a discount. If I win, you can still keep the pod for scraps and we’ll pay full-price for the hyper-drive.” Anakin offered. “So, what so you say, Watto? Is it a deal?” He held out his hand.

Watto stared at the appendage for a moment then grinned, laughing as he grasped hands. “Deal. Good, good. You’ll just have time to fix it before the race.”

Anakin’s confidence wavered. “You left it busted up?” He accused.

“Like you say, Ani, only you can fly her, eh.” Watto laughed. “Your old place is empty. You and you’re friends can stay there.” Watto waved them towards the door.

“Where’s my pod?” Anakin did not budge.

“She’s out in the yard.” Watto indicated the open lot behind where all his vast assortment of goods was stored.

“Great. I’ll just fetch it and we’ll be on our way.” Anakin hopped off the counter and sauntered out into the junkyard.

Qui-Gon didn’t think it wise to linger or leave Padmé unsupervised around so many sharp objects and the Toydarian junk dealer, so he steered her outside of the store to wait with the others, then returned to assist Anakin. With their pod in their possession they were making for Shmi and Anakin’s old home when Jar-Jar, quite by accident, tripped over the splayed legs of a Dug. It’s grog went all inside the alien’s open vest and the creature leapt onto its hands and rushed the hapless Gungan. Padmé jolted, but before either she or Qui-Gon could intervene, Anakin stepped forward.

“Still afraid of a fair fight, huh, Sebulba?” He taunted.

The Dug released Jar-Jar and faced Anakin. He blinked a few times till his spice-addled mind cleared enough for recognition to occur. “Wermo.” The Dug said.

It was quite clearly derogatory. No matter if it’s translation actually meant well-met or happy Taungsday. Padmé’s ire rose and she stepped forward and found herself restrained by Qui-Gon’s hand. She glared at him. He shook his head.

This was Anakin’s world, he could handle himself. His gaze bore into her. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t try to fight him, anymore. Without another word, the Dug stalked off, spitting at Anakin in passing. Oh, he was lucky she’d not brought both her concealed blasters, Padmé glared after him as she wrenched her arms out of the Jedi’s grasp and rushed forward to Anakin.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Yeah, Sebulba’s a sleemo, but I can handle him.” Anakin shrugged. “Come on, we need to get indoors before the storm hits.”

Padmé and the others glanced up towards the sky. “Storm? What storm?” They wondered.

“Sandstorm, what other kind do think we’d get.” Anakin rolled his eyes, snagging the guide line for the gravsled which held his pod and the pieces Watto had begrudgingly given him to fix it and started them on their way once more.

Qui-Gon was astonished. Within five minutes of Anakin’s announcement, the storm was upon them. They just barely made it indoors, the pod stowed in the courtyard of the slave quarters, before the worst of the storm struck the city. After the storm and the electrical disturbance was passed, Qui-Gon commed Obi-Wan to apprise him of the complications they’d encountered in procuring a new hyper-drive.

“Your teachers brain is poodoo.” Anakin quipped in passing on his way with an old tool box to work on his pod by the light of Tatooine’s three moons.

“Anakin, manners.” Padmé chided, not at all correcting the boy.

Qui-Gon was only mildly disgruntled, pausing his conversation. He could sense Obi-Wan’s amusement through their bond. His boy was becoming quite an impudent little brat. Their Master and Padawan bond glowed under Obi-Wan’s smug humor.

“It’s true.” Anakin hollered, squirming his way underneath the pod. “Gah!”

“Ani, what’s wrong? Are you hurt!” Padmé hurried down the steps at his cry.

“I hate sand.” Anakin grumbled, reappearing his hair and face -- save for his eyes which were protected by his goggles – dripping the loathsome particles into the gaps where his tunics met his skin.

Padmé bit back her grin. First order of business once they returned to the ship would be a shower. For all of them. She subtly shook out her clothes.

Anakin muttered and swore beneath his breath, crawling back beneath the pod to resume his work. Qui-Gon ended his call as he buried his smile behind his hand. Composing himself, he stepped forward to assist, namely by getting the boy to pause and rest. Obi-Wan could be stubborn, but this child! Qui-Gon groaned, tucking Anakin into bed after the child had fallen asleep on his feet, having refused to go to bed earlier when there was still work to be done on his pod.

Padmé paused to check Anakin was properly situated and then moved to a nearby place and laid down herself. R2-D2 settled into the room with the two younglings. Qui-Gon retreated from the little bedroom back into the communal area where Jar-Jar was snoring away sprawled on the table. The Jedi Master had rarely felt this exhausted as he settled into a meditative trance.

__________

Two miserably, hot days passed beneath the dual suns as Anakin worked on his pod in preparation for the upcoming race. He only had a single rotation left to sort it out, which meant he had no time for a practice run. Thankfully, he would definitely be able to complete the repairs and upgrades with assistance from R2 and a little boy, his childhood friend, named Kitster. Kit, as he preferred to be addressed, had heard of Anakin’s return and hurried over to renew their friendship and help. Padmé was enchanted with the child and wished they had the proper currency to free Kit and his family. Anakin had told her not even selling the entirety of her wardrobe and jewels would cover the cost of a family of slaves.

Boonta Eve arrived. Kit followed them to the track as businesses were closed for the day because of the race. Qui-Gon took Anakin’s advice and placed what few non-Republic credits they had down on Anakin. They really oughtn’t to have been surprised when Anakin won after he’d stated he would. Qui-Gon was surprised. The payout on top of their first prize winnings was astronomical. Padmé and Anakin took what they didn’t need to purchase the parts and returned to the Slave Quarters and doled out the credits.

Kit couldn’t stop crying, even if it was a waste of water, as he clung to his best friend and Padmé. He and the old woman Anakin called Jira, murmured over the two in a language Padmé had only heard spoken by Shmi and Anakin on very rare moments. Anakin held his head high as he bid his friends farewell and swore, in that solemnly prophetic way of his, he would return. They nodded, Jira tucked her credits close to her heart and bid the Skywalker return to the skies. Rain would come to Tatooine but not quite yet.

__________

After all they had been through to acquire the hyper-drive, returning to the ship ought to have been the easy part. The universe owed them that. Padmé glared at the innocently clear skies of Tatooine as she sprinted, hand-in-hand with Anakin towards the ship. Jar-Jar was surprisingly nimble as he loped ahead of them on his long legs. R2-D2 soared past on his rocket booster and up onto the ship driving the gravsled with the hyper-drive. Qui-Gon brought up the rear, fending off the horned demon.

He leaped on the ship as the pilots brought it low over the fierce duel. They were safe. For now. He panted, sprawled on the cool floor the Nubian yacht. Oh, but he was getting old.

“What was that?” Anakin and Padmé asked.

“I’m not quite sure, though it possessed great familiarity with the Jedi arts.” Qui-Gon heaved himself slowly off the floor to a sitting position.

“It didn’t look like a Jedi to me.” Anakin stated authoritatively, though he’d only ever encountered two Jedi in his short life.

“No, it was no Jedi. If I didn’t know better I would think it was...a Sith.” Qui-Gon contemplated the dual in his mind. He did not like the implications careful reflection were giving him.

Sith? Anakin wondered, but shrugged off the curious title and moved to help Obi-Wan install the new hyper-drive.

Chapter Text

Coruscant: Jewel of the Republic and the inner core. A glimmering megalopolis that never slept. Home to the Republic’s Senate. Also home to the Jedi Order.

Anakin’s views on the political machine which ran the Republic were well known to Padmé. He professed very little hope on getting aide from the Senate. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, though doubting much would come of it, requested for Anakin to accompany them so they might present the boy to the Council. Padmé, as close as family and the only available guardian for the young boy, and knowing he’d be bored to tears in the Senate, made the elective decision to send Anakin with the two Jedi. Anakin was not happy to leave Padmé, but agreed to go with the Jedi.

The Council were intrigued by the strange child who accompanied their fellow Jedi. Anakin for his part was unenthused and displeased by their seemingly inactive response to the plight of his adopted Home-world and his best friend. Upon their rejoining the Naboo delegation, Anakin was equally agitated by the Senate’s response, though he was less surprised by it than that of the Jedi Council. He flopped onto the carpet with a scowl on his young face.

“A few more of the those laser-swords would be useful.” Anakin said, not exactly glaring at the two Jedi who’d been ordered to guard the Queen, and only to guard the Queen.

“Anakin,” Padmé sighed, “this is not their battle.”

“It could be.” Anakin snarked.

Her gaze sharpened and she crossed her arms, staring at him. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. It’s not their fault. Though, I still say having a few more of those laser swords would be useful.” He grumbled, then his blue eyes lit with inspiration. “Hey!”

“Oh, dear.” Padmé groaned, she could see where this was heading.

“How do those things work?” Anakin rounded on Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon.

“Master?” Obi-Wan glanced to his teacher.

“I see no harm in it, and I think we could all do with a distraction this evening.” Master Jinn said.

Obi-Wan, though secretly pleased, grumbled. “If you say so, Master.” He grinned to himself, removing his lightsaber from his belt.

Anakin scooted closer to be opposite the Padawan, as Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on the carpet. His lightsaber floated in the space between the two boys. Rabé and Eirtaé leaned in close to observe. R2-D2, as had quickly become his custom, hovered by Anakin his holo-recorder activated.

Padmé noted Captain Panaka signaling to her and Sabé and carefully retreated out of the room. The reports were not good. Still in her ceremonial robes, Padmé remained in the outer room after Palpatine had left, watching the Coruscanti night. Jar-Jar, a compassionate if clumsy creature, joined her in the hopes of comforting the young Naboo queen. The others were quite thoroughly distracted by witnessing the inner workings of a Jedi lightsaber. Her desperation gave way to renewed hope with Jar-Jar’s revelation. Padmé had a plan, or at least half of a plan to save her planet.

Anakin tilted his head in fascination with the lightsaber’s construction. “So it works because of these focusing crystals?” Anakin asked, watching the gem slowly spin in the unseen grip of the Force.

The Force. Anakin was curious about that too. He could feel it. And, ever since he’d met the Jedi and put a name to the strange feelings he’d always had, Anakin had been feeling it more. More clearly and much more frequently. And these crystals. Kyber Obi-Wan called them. Anakin could feel them too, both Obi-Wan’s and Mister Jinn’s. Their songs were nice, pretty even, but they didn’t particularly tickle Anakin’s fancy. He supposed that’s what Obi-Wan meant by the gems choosing the Jedi.

“The crystal is the heart of the blade, the blade is the heart of the Jedi, the Jedi is the heart of the Force.” Obi-Wan quoted as he used the Force to reconstruct his lightsaber.

“So where do these Kyber crystals come from?” Anakin frowned. A gem that sang must be a very rare thing, yet there had been so many Jedi throughout galaxies long years of life.

“Trade secret.” Obi-Wan smirked, clipping his blade on his belt.

Anakin snorted, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure someone’s made ‘em in a lab before.” He stated, meaning only to annoy the Jedi in return.

Obi-Wan shuddered in instinctive horror. Fake Kyber crystals! Qui-Gon placed a calming hand on his Padawan’s shoulder. Anakin didn’t know. They jolted, a shared idea striking them.

“Anakin, no!” Obi-Wan said.

“What, I never said I’d make one.” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan stared at him, one eye-brow quirking upwards in disbelief.

“How can I? I don’t know how.” Anakin lamented.

Obi-Wan sighed, rolling his eyes. Qui-Gon smirked. Rabé snorted. The others did their level best not to let their amusement seep through. A task made all the more difficult when R2-D2 offered to hack into the Jedi Temple’s Archives for his organic best friend and find the secret to making an inorganic focusing crystal. Obi-Wan gaped at the technological terror. Anakin grinned, enjoyed the older boy’s horror.

Still, he might just take R2-D2 up on his offer. Someday. Anakin doubted he had the time to build a lightsaber right now, but it’d be nice to have one. For a rainy day, as Ruwee would say.

Padmé met with Senator Palpatine but briefly the following morning. She congratulated him on his nomination for Chancellor and informed him of her intent to return to Naboo. If the Senate was incapable or unwilling to help them, then as the Queen, Amidala would do all she could to save the people of her planet. Gungan and Naboo alike.

Anakin was going home. They had little choice in the matter as his family was not on Coruscant. He’d also threatened to stow-away or steal a ship and follow if they tried to leave him – in safety-- on Coruscant with the Jedi.

Chapter Text

Their meeting with the Gungan’s chieftain went better than expected. Called it. Obi-Wan coughed holding out his hands, Padmé was in fact the queen. Qui-Gon swatted the boy’s hand. Yes, yes, they had been right. What was more important was, they now had an army. With the majority of the Federation’s forces being diverted to deal with the Gungans, it was decided it was safer for Anakin to go to Theed with the Hand-maidens, freedom-fighters, and Jedi. He was meant to find a safe place and stay put.

Well, he’d stayed put. Padmé thought watching the little Naboo fighter breaking for open space. She would kill him later for not staying safe. Although, the space battle might just be a far safer place than remaining in the hangar with the horned demon. The very same that had accosted them on Tatooine.

________

Qui-Gon, proud as he was -- a trait he’d learned from his master --, was forced to admit the truth; he was getting old. The longer the duel wore on, the harder he found it to keep pace with the frenetic energies of the younger Sith combatant. Darn it all! Qui-Gon hated feeling old. Was this how Rael had felt when Qui-Gon showed up with his own Padawan? Was it how Master Dooku had felt? Ugh! This realization, as Anakin would no doubt have said, sucked!

Obi-Wan was charging after them, shouting something. But it was all Qui-Gon could do to split his focus from the duel long enough to insure his student had been unharmed from his fall. He couldn’t quite siphon enough energy to decipher the words; though likely yelled in Basic.

This is a fine mess. Qui-Gon thought, as he knelt in meditation, hoping it would calm the tremors of exhaustion and stress in his body. The young Sith prowled on the opposite side of the ray shield. This had likely been the Zabrak’s scheme all along, to draw the two Jedi in and divide to conquer. Smart. He begrudgingly allowed. However, Qui-Gon had not lived to his advanced time of life by being entirely bereft of intelligence – any past instances to the contrary were momentarily ignored.

There was one way to turn this plan back on the Zabrak and it would involve split second timing. Qui-Gon focused his mind on the hums and grinding of the mechanisms which operated the ray shields. There! He leapt up from his kneeling posture and with more than a light touch of Force-enhanced muscle propelled himself backwards along the corridor. This move had clearly never occurred to his “strike first and maim” opponent. The Sith blinked comically, his sickly yellow eyes wide as he stood frozen for half a beat absorbing Qui-Gon’s movements, but it was a half a beat too long. By the blessing of the Force, or sheer luck, Qui-Gon’s gambit worked. He panted, trying to catch his breath as the Sith snarled at having been cut off from his quarry by the ray shields.

Obi-Wan sighed, releasing his prior fear and consternation, throwing a mild glare at his Master who once again stood by his side. “Is your hearing going, Master, or do you not understand the word ‘Wait.’” He groused, readying his stance as they waited for the shields to drop.

“I was a bit preoccupied, Padawan Mine.” Qui-Gon sniffed, still too proud to admit he had been running on fumes just fending off the Sith’s strikes, and could spare no extra effort for conversation.

Obi-Wan hummed. “Together, then?” He asked.

Likely for the last time. Qui-Gon smiled, feeling over come by a melancholic happiness. No matter how this fight ended, it would be one of the last times he drew blades with his Padawan. “Together.” He agreed, his voice quavering a bit.

And together they leapt into the fray more in harmony than ever before in their career. The Sith fell, robbed of his legs, clearly stunned he’d been bested by Jedi. At least, it appeared to be shock which colored the Zabrak’s face as he fell in pieces, after Obi-Wan’s fatal blow had been dealt, down the disposal shaft. Qui-Gon, singed and winded, slumped unceremoniously to the cool marble floor, panting. Obi-Wan, showing off his youth and vigor, gasped and dashed across the room, skidding on his knees to kneel at his Master’s side.

“Master, are you injured?” His wide eyes scanned his mentor’s tall form, his hands frozen yet hovering to act should he spy an injury.

“I’m perfectly fine, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon huffed. “Just too old for all of this.” He finally admitted with a beleaguered groan, sprawling on his back in the hopes of alleviating the soreness.

Obi-Wan blinked. His lips twitched as he lowered his hands to his sides. Relief warring with amusement.

“Brat.” Qui-Gon swatted wearily at the boy who nimbly evaded.

Obi-Wan laughed. He near instantly sobered. “The Queen.” He sprang to his feet, pausing to glance at Qui-Gon splayed on the floor. “Do you think you can scrape together enough energy to assist the others, Master?” Both a taunt and a query of genuine concern.

There went his pride, Qui-Gon groaned, pushing every aching inch of his body to his protesting feet. “Enough, Padawan.” He enunciated the title.

He needed something to hold over the cheeky boy’s head, seeing as his Masterly dignity was shattered. Obi-Wan would excuse the petulance, in time. He would not be a Padawan much longer. In all honesty, Qui-Gon considered as they sprinted back through the corridors towards the battle, Obi-Wan had been ready for the Trials long before this moment. The horrendous beginnings of their relationship had gradually thawed to the easy camaraderie, formed through long years spent at one another’s sides, and Qui-Gon had come to love the boy. Love him as the son he would never have. Love him as the boy had deserved to be loved from the start. It had been Qui-Gon’s fear and own self-loathing which had blinded him to Obi-Wan’s potential all those years ago, and it was his affection and his selfish desire to keep the boy at his side which prevented him from admitting the truth until now. Obi-Wan had been a Jedi Knight, in all but name, for quite some time. He was a Padawan no more. Qui-Gon wiped at his suddenly foggy vision. What was this? Tears? Good grief. He was getting old and sentimental.

They tore through the Palace halls and skidded to an abrupt halt having cleared a ninety degree turn to stumble upon four Droidekas. This was the end. Qui-Gon had nothing left to give. He was old, he was prepared to rejoin the Force. But Obi-Wan would join him, only over his cold and decaying corpse, Qui-Gon readied himself, half-prepared to throw the boy out the nearby window, when he frowned. The droids were not reactive to the Jedi’s presence. In fact he’d say they were inactive. He and Obi-Wan exchanged a look, deactivating their lightsabers.

Obi-Wan stepped forward and kicked the foremost droid, watching it tilt and topple to the floor with a satisfying clatter. The pilot’s had done it. Qui-Gon smiled. In spite of his many less than happy self-realizations, today had been a good day.

The Queen, Padmé, appeared around the far bend in the corridor, the palace guards and her brave hand-maidens following in her wake. Clearly they had been bound for the hangar to await the return of their victorious pilots. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stepped to one side with a sweep of the their arms to bid the group past and then fell in behind Padmé.

“I am relieved to see you are both alive and unharmed.” She said as they walked.

Obi-Wan, remembering his Master’s disgruntled confession, snorted. Qui-Gon, sensing the flow of his thoughts, lengthened his stride to walk at Padmé's side. “We are both quite well, and appreciate your concerns for are safety.” He said, inclining his head in thanks.

She spared him the briefest smile before they entered the hangar. As the first fighter landed, Padmé marched forward, her face alight with relief and gratitude. She took the squadron leader’s gloved hand into her own and began to profusely express her thanks. He politely extracted his hand with an embarrassed cough.

“It’s not to me our my pilots to whom you owe your gratitude, My lady.” He explained at her bewildered stare and turned to gesture at the last fighter.

Even before it’s landing struts engaged the hangar floor and the canopy popped opened, she knew. Padmé hiked her skirts and sprinted towards the craft, forgoing decorum. “Anakin Skywalker!” She shrieked.

The now familiar shaggy blonde head peeked over the edge of the star-fighters’ cockpit. “Oh. Uh, hiya, Padmé.” He gave her a sheepish grin. His previous excitement about the battle and his inadvertent destruction of the enemy’s command ship were eclipsed by nervousness when confronted with Padmé's ire.

“You climb out of that fighter this instant.” She commanded, whipping out her very best imitation of Shmi and Jobal.

Anakin winced, flinching away, but nevertheless complying. He knew better than to try and make a break for it, and swung his legs over the sides of the ship to the waiting ladder. His feet had barely renewed their acquaintance with the floor before Padmé latched onto him, yanking him into a ferocious hug. She was trembling. He couldn’t be sure if it was fear or anger and opted to remain silent as he returned her embrace.

“You...reckless, foolish, boy.” She shook him by the shoulders, tears spilling from her eyes. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.” Padmé fumed, shaking one finger at him before tugging him back into her arms for another hug.

“Thank you, Anakin. Thank you for saving my people.” She cried.

Anakin gently tapped her shoulder until she released him, at least enough to observe his face. “They’re my people too, Padmé.” He reminded. “Of course I was gonna help. Even if it was kinda by accident.” Anakin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he blushed.

Obi-Wan gaped at the child. He’d survived a space battle, blown up the Trade Federation’s Control Ship, saved the day, all by accident! On second thought, Master Jinn’s theory might not be quite as far-fetched as Obi-Wan had believed. Anakin must truly be the one chosen by the Force to have lived this long. Qui-Gon laughed, steadying himself on Obi-Wan as his body shook. The startled tension shattered, replaced by the humor of the entire bizarre situation. All in the hangar were swept up in relieved hysterics.

All save Anakin. He did not appreciate being laughed at. “It wasn’t my fault the ship was on auto-pilot or that we crashed in the clankers’ hangar or that I fired the proton torpedo instead of the turbo-lasers!” Anakin ranted defensively and crossed his arms, his face flaming crimson.

Auto-pilot? Padmé thought and glanced at the Astromech in the droid socket of the star-fighter. R2’s photo-receptor’s met her gaze and he whistled innocently. Oh, those two! Padmé sighed.

Chapter Text

Anakin, too embarrassed for anyone to celebrate his heroics which had been purely accidental, opted to go home, before the all the important folks arrived for the official Victory Celebration and Peace Accords with the Gungans. Well, that was one good reason; the other was his Mom. His mom was an infinitely patient woman but it had been two weeks since he’d disappeared in the middle of the night. Oh, she was going to be so steamed! He’d be lucky if he got off with grounding for the rest of his natural life.

Padmé, grinning even as she spoke, offered to put in a good word for him. Anakin eyed her warily. Yeah, no thanks. He thought. Padmé might hide it quite well but she was even more petty than he was, and Anakin didn’t have any illusions she’d miss the opportunity to throw him under the hover-car for all the stunts he’d pulled these past couple of weeks.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, minus the vengeful glee, also made the offer to try and placate his mother. Anakin turned them down too. It was time to the face the music as the Naboo would say. He bid a morose farewell to Jar-Jar and the Jedi. He turned to repeat the gesture with R2-D2, but the droid wielded his arc-welder in a threat. R2 had made up his mind -- and had received reluctant permission from Padmé -- he was going with his pilot. Anakin perked up, not even the prospect of his Mom’s wrath could dim his excitement.

He grinned at Padmé, deciding he’d spruce up Threepio and send him to Padmé; his mom had admitted to him that while she appreciated his thoughtfulness she had little real use for a protocol droid. And ‘sides which Padmé had always like the droid. He climbed in the passenger side of his land-speeder in much higher spirits, the guard Padmé had appointed to escort him home -- over Anakin’s protests she had no faith -- engaged the thrusters and away from the palace they sped.

“Insuring there are no more accidents?” Obi-Wan joked, standing beside the young queen, his master, and Jar-Jar watching the funny little boy disappear from sight.

“Only he could do anything of the sort by accident.” She groaned.

“Based upon the short the time I’ve known him, “ Obi-Wan hummed, “I’d have to agree with your assessment wholeheartedly.” He grinned.

“Mandalore.” Qui-Gon coughed loudly. “Pardon me, I’ve no idea where that could have come from.” He smiled innocently at his apprentice’s hooded glare.

“That was not by accident.” Obi-Wan sulked. “Mostly.” He amended with a grimace.

Padmé, not knowing the story, could still glean enough subtext to appreciate the humor. “The more I learn about you, Padawan Kenobi, the more like Anakin you seem.” She stated.

“Force-forbid.” Obi-Wan shuddered. “One Anakin seems more than enough for the galaxy.”

“Indeed.” Padmé laughed. “He’s one a kind.” She trailed off, her eyes trained on the last point on the horizon where they had seen Anakin’s transport.

Obi-Wan wondered, regarding the young woman. He shook his head. No. It did not matter what a ten year old claimed. He decided. Anakin was many things, a prophet was not one of them.

Qui-Gon wondered too, but there was no need to wonder on the uncertainties of the future. He gathered the two youths and Jar-Jar, herding them back to the palace and the bustling preparations for the upcoming celebration. The Newly elected Chancellor Palpatine and the delegates of the Jedi Council would be arriving shortly, there was much to be done. He and Obi-Wan offered their assistance where they could.

__________

Qui-Gon requested to speak with the Council upon their arrival. He had much to discuss with the Council beyond his report. There was also the matter of admitting his own folly and acceding to the collective wisdom of the Council and presenting Obi-Wan for the formality of facing the Jedi Trials of Knighthood. Qui-Gon highly doubted they would present much difficulty for the Sith-Slayer. Obi-Wan glanced back at him, no doubt sensing Qui-Gon’s proud fondness. Sue him! Qui-Gon shrugged off the boy’s look.

His thoughts drifted on the streams of the Living Force as the two waited in the hangar for the Consular Ship to land. Mostly his mind dwelt on the events of the past few weeks. Again and again, amidst his brimming excitement for Obi-Wan’s knighting, he found himself considering Anakin Skywalker. The child shone in the Force like the twin suns of his birth planet. No-one with that amount of raw potential ought to be left untrained. This conviction wasn’t even fueled by Qui-Gon’s belief in the old prophecies. No, it was simply unwise not to train the boy. At the very least he needed to be taught control in order to avoid becoming a danger to himself or others. Qui-Gon meditated on this burgeoning path, but could sense no wrongness in his choice through the Force. A Jedi Anakin might never be, but Qui-Gon could at least insure he did not fall victim to the Sith.

Obi-Wan, as observant as ever, seemed to sense the shift in his Master. Though he could not quite discern what this shift portended. He would learn and soon. Qui-Gon rested a hand on his shoulder as the ramp lowered and the Chancellor and the Jedi representatives disembarked. He pulled the boy aside before their meeting with the Council and laid out his plans.

“But, Master, surely I’m not ready for such an honor?” Obi-Wan as self-depreciating as ever, protested.

“You have been ready a long time, Obi-Wan. Forgive a blind old fool for not acknowledging this truth until recently.” Qui-Gon said sincerely, placing both hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“There is still so much you have to teach me, Master.” Obi-Wan persisted.

“Nothing which you will not learn as you grow as a Jedi.” Qui-Gon smiled at the boy’s stubbornness. “You are a far wiser man than I, and you will become a great Jedi.”

Obi-Wan blushed, uncomfortable with such blatant praise. “Thank you, Master.” The young man bowed.

Qui-Gon smothered the urge to enfold Obi-Wan in a hug. They were Jedi and there had been far too much open affection already. He suspected if he’d tried, Obi-Wan might just faint in embarrassed shock. They composed themselves with a nod and strode into the room -- loaned for the Jedi’s use by Queen Amidala-- and delivered their report side by side. One last time.

Mace Windu and Plo Koon traded covert looks. Something had fundamentally changed between the two men and something fairly important was about to transpire. They smirked inwardly. Obi-Wan’s readiness for the trials was something the Council had known of for some time, but they were pleased to hear Qui-Gon admit this fact. Master Jinn’s resignation, to be finalized after Obi-Wan’s knighting now that came as a shock.

“A reason, you have?” Yoda asked.

The old Master had remained silent until now. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon glanced towards one another. “There are a few, Master Yoda, but I will state those reasons at a later time. For now, I believe the Queen is waiting to receive you in the throne room.” Qui-Gon bowed, sweeping his arm towards the doors.

Obi-Wan smiled. His old master was learning how to choose his battles. Better late than never. He shook his head.

_________

Only a month passed before Qui-Gon Jinn found himself setting about the arduous task of packing up his belongings in preparation for his departure from the Temple. His home. The only home he had ever known. He sighed, casting his eyes over the familiar apartment.

Obi-Wan hauled in another crate for the bric-a-brac his old master had managed to accumulate through the years. Hm. Obi-Wan had always appreciated the austerity of the Temple, however…. He frowned. This felt spartan. Nearly naked and disconcerting. He glanced about their shared quarters at all the barren spaces, where once Qui-Gon’s plants, river rocks, shells, and other trinkets had lain throughout the many years of his apprenticeship. Perhaps there was something to collecting mementos. The river stone Qui-Gon had gifted him so long ago seemed so lonely on its shelf.

Qui-Gon intentionally left several blossoming plants scattered throughout the apartment having also marked the emptiness. His fellow knight – and oh, that would take some getting used to-- gave him a knowing glare, but said nothing. Obi-Wan merely readjusted the placement of his inherited ferns and blooming violets, brightening up the shelf with it’s lonely river stone. Qui-Gon smiled and returned to his packing.

“So you’re really going back to Naboo?” Mace Windu said, letting himself into the Jinn-Kenobi apartment.

“I believe I stated as much in my address to the Council last Centaxday.” Qui-Gon said, pausing in the process of boxing up his favorite tea set, one gifted to him upon his knighting by Master Dooku.

“The boy is dangerous.” Mace frowned.

Obi-Wan fought the urge to join his former master in rolling his eyes. Not even he could any longer agree with the majority assessment of the Council about Anakin Skywalker. The boy was crazy, sure, but dangerous? Only to himself. Obi-Wan snorted.

“More so if he remains untrained.” Qui-Gon reiterated his own opinions on the subject.

“He will not be a Jedi.” Mace reminded.

“I do not intend to make him a Jedi, old friend. I merely believe it will be better for everyone if Anakin learns how to control the powers he’s been given.” Qui-Gon sighed. These recurring arguments were tiresome.

Mace scowled but didn’t press his opinions on the matter any longer. He sighed and unfolded his arms. “Do you need any assistance with packing?” He offered.

Qui-Gon smiled. “It would be most appreciated. Obi-Wan’s friends have been chaffing at the bit at their inability to drag him out for a proper celebration for his recent promotion.”

Obi-Wan glared at his master. Was he throwing him to the Rancors? Did he not understand Obi-Wan’s desire to spend every last minute before Qui-Gon’s departure together?

“I am not leaving for another week.” Qui-Gon smirked.

Drat. Busted. Obi-Wan winced. Alright so he really just wanted to avoid being dragged around Coruscant by Quinlan Vos and the rest of his friends and awake with a hangover the size of a Krayt Dragon.

Again, Qui-Gon just laughed. Mace Windu’s lips twitched upwards. On second thought. Obi-Wan abandoned his packing duties and retreated. Quinlan and his idea for a good time were a lot less terrifying than staying in an apartment with an “amused” Mace Windu.

Qui-Gon chuckled, shaking his head as he directed his old friend in the proper packing of his little treasures. Oh, by the Force he was going to enjoy this to the fullest! Mace had always frowned upon Qui-Gon’s eccentricity. Jedi were meant to be austere, he’d always lectured.

Mace rolled his eyes. What had possessed him to help the pack-rat Jedi Master box up his many many belongings. Plo Koon appeared and laughed at Mace’s muttered swears as he wrestled a thorny plant onto a gravsled already teeming with plant life. Mace’s scowl fixed on the simple box clutched in the Kel Dor’s hands. Oh, for the love of… more junk to pack!

Qui-Gon bemused and touched, slapped his friend’s shoulder in passing as he swept forward to accept his going away present. Shaak Ti, was the next in line, followed by a few others of Qui-Gon’s training years and a couple of his old creche-mates who were in residence at the Temple. Even Feemor made a brief appearance.

Qui-Gon did not cry when the boy he’d treated so horridly deposited a cache of Qui-Gon’s favorite tea blend into his one time mentor’s hands. He remembered. He sniffled. Qui-Gon had spoken with Master Yoda, Madame Jocasta, and Feemor himself, and his prior recorded repudiation of Feemor had been overturned. In his characteristically quiet way, Feemor promised to keep an eye on his lineage brother in Qui-Gon’s absence. At that, Qui-Gon did get a little misty-eyed. He’d blame it on his advancing age.

His final week was spent with Obi-Wan in revisiting their favorite haunts on Coruscant, like Dex’s diner and all of Qui-Gon’s favored meditations spots in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Then it was time to leave. He loaded the ship – a gift from Queen Amidala in return for the Jedi’s service and because their own ship had been vaporized – lifted off, and, once free of Coruscant’s gravitational well, set course for Naboo.

________

Obi-Wan seriously considered taking on a Padawan-Learner right away to stem the tide of loneliness he felt upon returning to his nearly empty quarters. Bant and his other friends convinced him into a brief waiting period, say at least a year to settle into his new role of Jedi Knight. Quinlan had suggested he put in for a meditative leave, say to Naboo for a month? Obi-Wan grinned, feeling better.

__________

Qui-Gon was not entirely sure how to contact or even how to approach Anakin’s family about training the boy. He did, however, know whom to speak with who would have such knowledge. Padmé, again attired as one of her hand-maidens, met his ship in the palace hangar. He informed her of his plans and listened to her advice on how to approach Shmi Skywalker for her blessing to train Anakin. He bid her farewell and set a new course for Iroté and Naberrie-Skywalker household.

___________

Somehow, Shmi Skywalker was even more intimidating than Mace Windu and Master Dooku combined, while simultaneously being as warm and gentle as Master Ti or Master Koon. Qui-Gon gulped his tea as the young mother’s gaze continued to pick him apart. Jobal Naberrie flanked her younger friend and fellow mother, quietly measuring up the former Jedi Master with her intense dark eyes. Qui-Gon knew where Padmé got it from now.

Ruwee Naberrie’s chatter flowed in from the kitchen, where he and Anakin had assumed the responsibility of preparing lunch. No-one showed any concern, save Qui-Gon, at the minor explosion which followed Anakin’s enthusiastic declaration he’d make them more tea. Their blasé reactions, or lack thereof, indicated this was a far too normal occurrence. Qui-Gon fought the urge to laugh hysterically. With Anakin, he had the feeling explosions were a regular event. What had he volunteered himself for! Jinn shook his head.

Shmi grinned at him suddenly. “I would be honored if you could teach my son.” She said.

Qui-Gon took no offense at the doubt. He was not sure there was an individual capable of teaching Anakin. Except perhaps Obi-Wan. He mused. Yes, the idea felt right, but Obi-Wan was hardly ready for a student, much less one like Anakin. Well then, until Obi-Wan was ready, Qui-Gon would just have to muddle through.

Chapter Text

One Year after the Battle of Naboo:

“Anakin?” Sola’s voice cracked in an increasingly familiar cadence.

Oh, dear. Qui-Gon knew that tone.

He sprinted into the house from the gardens, where he’d been meditating amongst the thriving rose bushes. With the Force as his witness, Qui-Gon had never anticipated he would so swiftly come to regret teaching Anakin Force-Levitation. Only a month ago, Sola and Darred had introduced the newest member of their family, Pooja, to her grandparents Ruwee and Jobal, her Great-Aunt Shmi, and her honourary Uncles Anakin and Qui-Gon. Only a month ago Qui-Gon had learned Anakin actually adored kids, and he loved his niece Pooja. And Pooja? she loved Anakin. Add in R2-D2 and a touch of the Force and you had a recipe for a migraine.

Or at the very least, Anakin levitating baby Pooja to make her laugh, or to see if she could grab the hidden cookies, Shmi saved for company, off the top shelf, not factoring into the equation Pooja was an infant with zero motor skills, like the ability to grasp things. Not that such considerations would have discouraged the boy. Certainly not with R2-D2 encouraging the chaos, jetting about the house on his rocket boosters to entertain the duo, or shocking Qui-Gon just to make him jump and the baby laugh. The technological little terror. Qui-Gon would swear that droid had some sort of vendetta against him, but that would sound paranoid.

“Anakin.” Qui-Gon intercepted the floating baby’s circuit, carefully taking her into his arms.

As thanks, she shrieked at him. Sola, shaken from watching her baby fly through the air, couldn’t move forward to comfort her daughter. Darred hurried into the living room from the study and collected Pooja. Anakin, in place of levitating the child, levitated her favorite toy above her head to soothe her. It worked as it always did. He’s developing an unnatural coping mechanism in that baby. Qui-Gon thought.

Anakin glared at his Force teacher, as if this whole situation was his fault. Oh, Force give him patience. Qui-Gon decided he owed Obi-Wan an apology. His former apprentice’s youthful temperment had nothing on Anakin’s.

Shmi swept into the room with a quiet rustling of her blue skirts, having just returned from the markets with Jobal. She took in the situation with a single glance. Her gaze settled on her son. “Anakin, we’ve talked about this.” She said.

“But, Mom?” Anakin fussed. “She loves it.”

“Ani.” Shmi did not raise her voice or in any way alter her stance yet Anakin’s resistance crumpled like wet flimsi.

“Sorry, Sola.” He offered.

Qui-Gon seized the momentum, with only the barest hint of vindictive glee. “I believe some meditation is in order.” He smirked, just refraining from rubbing his fingers together manically. Oh, but revenge could be sweet!

“No!” Anakin groaned as Qui-Gon seized him by the back of his tunics and tugged him outside into the gardens.

“Oh, yes! River meditation is an excellent way to reflect upon one’s actions.” Qui-Gon chuckled.

Anakin glared, crossing his arms, and digging his heels into the garden path as he was towed along by his teacher. He pouted as he was chucked into the shallow, babbling brook. Oh, he would be getting Qui-Gon back for this. Anakin narrowed his eyes on the older man as he settled on a large boulder, in the middle of the brook, with a self-satisfied hum.

_______

Three Years After the Battle of Naboo:

“Anakin, slow down!” Qui-Gon shouted, his knuckles cracked ominously as he tightened his grip on his seat.

Anakin whooped, ignoring his teacher as he looped the Naberrie’s family star-ship around yet another statue along the Promenade in Theed, on their way to visit Padmé at the palace. The rest of the family tightened their belts and wisely kept their mouths shut, so they did not bite their own darn tongues. Qui-Gon wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand before he answered the insistent hails of Theed’s air-traffic controller.

“Skywalker.” The tired voice called. “You have been cleared to land. We suggest you do so immediately.” Qui-Gon quite agreed with their sentiments.

“Killjoy.” Anakin grumbled but did at last begin the landing cycle, much to the relief of everyone apart from himself.

Padmé, the hand-maidens, and C-3PO were waiting for them in the hangar. “Anakin.” Padmé sighed as he marched off the ship.

“Hiya, Padmé.” He grinned. She rolled her eyes fondly. “Did ya miss us?”

“Me, he means.” Qui-Gon muttered as he followed the rest of the family off the ship.

“What do you think?” Padmé arched one perfectly sculpted brow.

Anakin crinkled his nose at her and tossed over his shoulder, “She missed us.”

“Thank you, Ani.” Jobal smirked, gliding past him. He never failed to make her laugh.

Ruwee ruffled his hair. “ What would we do with out you, Anakin?” He chuckled.

“You’d have to hire another pilot, for one thing.” Anakin quipped with a grin.

“It’d probably be far safer.” Sabé stage whispered to Dormé, one of Padmé's newer hand-maidens.

Anakin narrowed his eyes on her. “I’m a fantastic pilot.” He said.

“Fantastically reckless.” Rabé chortled. Oh, but she enjoyed teasing the boy as much as she enjoyed going flying with him.

“Jealous.” Anakin stuck out his tongue at her.

Rabé cackled, clutching Cordé to keep herself upright. Padmé sighed. A common reaction to dealing with Anakin. Qui-Gon nodded.

Shmi tweaked Anakin’s cheek as she glided past. “Manners, Ani.” She chided.

“Yes, Mom. Sorry.” He apologized to the hangar crew and, even more reluctantly, to Rabé.

Flight control waved him off. Nothing had been damaged, save for their nerves. The kid really was a remarkable pilot for his age. Rabé beamed back at him. She’d taken no offense. He amused her. Padmé led them all out of the hangar into the palace proper, showing them to their suite. The Naberrie’s actually had a house in Theed, but Jobal and Ruwee had gifted it to Darred and Sola for their use after Darred’s appointment to the university in Theed. Also, when else would the family have the opportunity to thoroughly explore and experience the magnificence of the resplendent Royal Palace, but while Padmé was Queen.

__________

Shmi insisted upon fixing dinner for all of them, the hand-maidens included. The palace chef, was a wise and discerning individual who took one look at Shmi and stepped aside, offered her assistance as needed. She was curious and a little terrified. How could any one person, especially a human, safely consume that amount of chi-chi peppers? The cook choked, coughing viciously and turning down any further offers to taste test. No thank you, but once was enough abuse to her Nubian palate.

Padmé knew her own spice-tolerance quite well, and gratefully accepted the broth Shmi offered. Shmi always made two pots of glass noodles and vegetables, one for Padmé and Sola’s unadventurous palates -- and in this case her and her hand-maidens -- and one for the rest of the family who had grown accustomed to the desert cuisine. Qui-Gon was always pleasantly reminded of his year spent on Mandalore, and by extension his many missions he’d had with Obi-Wan, when he had Shmi’s cooking. He happily slurped his noodles.

Mom watered down the broth again. Anakin clicked his tongue at the first taste. Shmi passed him her jar of pepper paste under the table. He grinned and dumped three-quarters of the jar’s contents into his bowl, happily mixing it into his broth. Shmi shook her head and snagged her jar back to conceal in her apron. Jobal watched the exchange out of the corner of her eye and bit her lips. It was so like her young friend to try not to offend her Naboo family’s more delicate palate or feelings by always pretending she placed the normal amount of spices into the soup she gave them as she would use if it were just her and Anakin. Ruwee smiled to himself, he was well aware of Shmi’s little quirk, and was just fine with the pleasant, barely there tingle as he ate. He could not fathom how Anakin could desire more.

Sabé was never one to shy away from a challenge. Having noticed the Skywalker’s illicit exchange, she was determined to snag a taste from Anakin’s bowl. Precisely how wimpy did he believe the Nubian palate to be? Over Padmé's silent warnings, Sabé dipped her fork into the boy’s bowl when he became distracted by R2-D2 and C-3P0’s arguing. Her lips had only just closed about the fork when her mouth exploded. Sabé gagged. There wasn’t enough water on the planet to quench the fire in her mouth! She knew her face must be glowing like an Iridonian Fire Lily as she swiped sweat from her brow and fanned herself.

“Seriously?” Anakin turned back in his chair and quirked a brow at her. “It’s not even as spicy as Mom used to make when we lived on Tatooine.” He shook his head.

Sabé’s eyes goggled as she gulped down the pitcher of Nerf Milk C-3P0 fetched from the kitchens. Rabé winced in sympathy. She’d learned her lesson last summer when they all visited the lake country together. Do not, under any circumstances, touch Anakin’s food. He liked things in extremes. Be it salt, spices, temperature, or sugar there were no half-measures. And that wasn’t even accounting for his culturally acquired taste for bugs. She shuddered. The moral of the story was, if you valued your health and taste-buds steer clear!

The conversation gradually turned towards Padmé’s work as Sabé’s hacking subsided. “So, how have you been doing, dear?” Jobal asked, leaning away from the table, swirling her after-dinner caff in her cup.

“I am doing fine, Mother.” Padmé assured her.

“Yeah, not a single assassin has made it past us yet.” Rabé unhelpfully supplied.

“Assassins? I can protect you, Padmé! I’ll join the palace guard! I got the Force so I’ll be able to sense danger coming!” Anakin volunteered excitedly, balancing precariously in his chair.

“I am afraid that is simply not possible, Ani.” Padmé said.

She’d prepared for just such a situation, knowing Rabé’s big mouth as she did, and Anakin’s unwavering devotion. Eventually, it’d waver. He was on the cusp of his teenage years. No doubt, he’d meet some pleasant girl in Iroté and his childish crush come to an end. However, that was a future event. Padmé reordered her focus to the present.

“Ani, sit.” Shmi instructed.

“The Royal Guard only accepts candidates who have finished all of their primary schooling.” Padmé said, concealing her little smirk as Anakin obediently sat in his chair.

“Then, I’ll finish it.” Anakin stated, not deterred in the slightest by his mother’s criticism or Padmé’s explanation.

He would, eventually. She nodded. Though it would likely not happen before Padmé’s second term as Queen was completed. Still, it was good for him to have a goal. Shmi had mentioned Anakin not had not been very attentive to his lessons of late. Padmé nodded at his determination and sipped her tea.

_________

4 Years After The Battle Of Naboo:

Padmé's second, and final, term as Queen drew to an end. Anakin was still struggling through his advanced lessons. He was close, but had not completed all his primary schooling. Padmé congratulated herself on having dodged that particular blaster bolt. As he’d failed to achieve his objective, Anakin re-channeled his energy into a holo-correspondence course from the Royal University of Aldera in mechanical engineering, he had only one semester left before he obtained his degree. He was also advancing quite well in his Force lessons.

The new Queen approached Padmé about taking on the role of Senator to represent Naboo in the Republic Senate. She had rarely felt so conflicted in making her decisions. Padmé had sworn to herself years before, that when the time came, she would return to Tatooine with the Skywalkers and help free as many slaves as possible. Still, though much slower, there was much work that could be done in the Senate to help aid the efforts of the chain-breakers in the field. She spoke with her parents and Shmi. Sabé volunteered to go, in Padmé's stead, to Tatooine to aid the Skywalkers.

Shmi nodded. As their little conference came to a conclusion. Yes. It was time. She decided, eyeing Anakin as he levitated R2-D2 through the air while Qui-Gon pelted him with bits of weeds and small pebbles to test his concentration. They were ready. It was time for the rain to come to Tatooine.

Chapter Text

5 Years After the Battle of Naboo: Planet Tatooine

Shmi led her small group through the old, long abandoned tunnels, dug in the dark and in secret many generations of slaves back as a way of connecting the hovels of the slave quarters to the freedom trail. The path had been concealed by the desert for many years until young Kitser Banai found and re-opened one entrance beneath his modest hostel. He employed many slaves, though the employees were bewilderingly always changing so a guest was never sure if one had been there on their last visit or not. Such a smart boy. Shmi grinned to herself. Kit had invested his money Anakin had given him and had managed to not only work himself to freedom but had bought-out his old master’s establishment a year after he’d been freed. And, oh, how that story had drawn a laugh out of Anakin.

The first laugh Shmi had heard from Anakin since their return to Tatooine. He had been withdrawn and silent for many reasons. Being on this planet was only one of them. Shmi had her suspicions he was even more torn by the fact he could not accompany Padmé to Coruscant, and that he would not see her when he made the runs from Tatooine to Naboo with his freed passengers. Ruwee and Jobal had begun expanding Iroté, with the eager assistance of it’s denizens and the backing of Naboo’s government, to build a sanctuary for the freed slaves where they could heal and choose for themselves how they would live.

Padmé, knowing Anakin as well as she did, had drawn him aside her last day on Naboo and asked him to look after Sabé for her. In exchange, he sent R2-D2 with her and her staff to Coruscant. All of the little astromech’s modifications, and his own loyalty to both the Naberrie house and Anakin, would help keep Padmé safe. She thanked him and bid them all farewell.

Qui-Gon Jinn had elected to accompany the Skywalkers as well. Namely, to keep an eye on Anakin. The boy needed to face his past, but it would not be easy and his connection to the Force would amplify all of his emotions. But besides this reason, Qui-Gon wanted to go for himself. He wanted to be the Jedi Anakin had once mentioned he’d dreamed about as a small child. A Jedi who freed slaves and fought the injustices of the galaxy, not because it was in his mandate, but because it was the right thing to do.

Shmi sighed as her gentle rapping on the exit was returned. All clear. She surfaced to see Sabé and the young Nubian Royal Guard Tonra, who’d accompanied Sabé to Tatooine, were huddled together, leaning over Anakin’s shoulder as he walked them through the complicatedly, simple process of building a slave-implant scanner. Shmi and her son had already built a few hundred in the past year and distributed them with the Whitesun organization’s contacts across the planet. Anakin had taken her own design when he was but a boy and perfected it within a few weeks of arriving on Naboo, experimenting on his re-armed chip. That had been a cause for much alarm by the Naberrie’s. So he had found other ways to test it without having to have the implant’s explosive armed.

“That’s it?” Sabé shook her head in amazement.

It was all so simple and yet so far out of reach for most slaves. Especially those who did not possess any sort of mechanical expertise. Shmi hummed.

“Freedom always appears to be such an easy thing to grasp.” Hana, a female of human and Weequay descent, roughly thirty-four standard years old, said. “But it’s rarely easy to attain.” She sighed.

Hana had been a slave in a cantina since she was thirteen. Her many contacts among the slave-quarters in Mos Eisley were beneficial to their efforts, as was her innate gentleness and hard-won experience in patching up cuts and other injuries. She was already working diligently, alongside Cliegg Lars, to set up their ‘surgery’ to begin the implant removals as Shmi and her most recent group of freed ex-slaves, whose implants had been temporarily deactivated, emerged into the room. Anakin had fabricated a signal scrambler which prevented the implants from being triggered once a slave went past their designated zones. He’d tested this on his old implant too, in addition to a few others he’d built for testing purposes.

“But we’re gonna make it easy.” Anakin said, grinning as Qui-Gon with a young Twilek boy clinging to his back appeared out of the hatch with a groaning huff. “All good, Teacher?” He asked. They had agreed to avoid the M-word while on Tatooine.

“Yes, yes. Just fine.” Qui-Gon did not grimace as his knees protested the action of kneeling to deposit his small barnacle on the floor of the Lar’s sub-basement.

Stars, but he was getting old! Qui-Gon gratefully accepted the steaming cup of desert tea young Beru Whitesun handed him in passing on her way to dole out the beverage to the rest of their little group. Anakin snickered and turned back to fine-tuning his latest scanner before passing it off to Sabé. She swept a quick look over it and then concealed it in the hidden pocket beneath her tan skirts.

“Well, we’re off.”Sabé brushed the sand from her tunics before draping her shawl over her tightly braided hair and about her shoulders.

“Be careful, my dears.” Hana said, waving Sabé and Tonra on their way.

“Protect your voices,” Shmi gently chided, pressing a bundle of clean clothes and dried foodstuffs into Tonra’s hands, “it is your greatest gift.”

“Who’d have thought it, huh?” Sabé chuckled, linking arms with Tonra. “Us royal music academy drop-outs becoming star-singers on world like Tatooine, eh, Captain?”

“I would hardly call us star-singers, especially not you.” Tonra rolled his eyes. “And unlike yourself, the tone-deaf wonder of the academy, I chose to enlist in the Royal Security Forces. I did not drop-out.” He sniffed.

Sabé gasped theatrically for their enthralled audience, of four recently freed toddlers, “You wound me with your words, sir!” She slumped against her fellow Nubian heavily, pressing the back of her right hand to her fore-head. “Wound me to the quick!”

“Good.” Tonra drawled and steered her towards one of the basement’s secret passages which would allow them to exit near Anchorhead.

“You sir, are a cad.” Sabé continued as Tonra shoved her into the passage much to the bemused hysterics of the toddlers, giggling into their little hands as the adults shook their heads and returned to their work.

“Yes, yes, but I’m a cad on a schedule.” Tonra responded as the door sealed off the rest of their usual antics.

“Are you quite sure it’s a wise idea to let them spend so much time together?” Qui-Gon murmured to Shmi.

“Of course.” Shmi replied, with a small shrug of her shoulders from where she was elbow deep in the basement’s hydroponics, harvesting vegetables for a hearty soup. “I expect to be invited to their wedding within the next couple of years.” She grinned.

Hana chuckled as the Jedi Master’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wedding? They can hardly stand one another.” He scratched the sand from his beard.

“Hardly stand to be apart from one another, you mean, Teacher.” Anakin snorted.

Qui-Gon chalked it up to one of the eternal mysteries of the universe and moved about to assist Beru with changing the younglings into fresh clothes. Shmi stared at the back of her son’s head. Yes, Anakin would understand the feelings exchanged by Tonra and Sabé, seeing as he was himself still in love with Padmé. She smiled to herself. Perhaps, Anakin’s vision may yet come true. Shmi would hardly be against it, though at the moment Padmé most certainly would be, no doubt claiming Anakin was far too young for her. Shmi just shook her head.

___________

Anakin’s fifteenth birthday passes on Tatooine with little to mark the day’s occasion in the way past years had on Naboo. But, Anakin grinned as he peered into Jabba’s Rancor pit, having a front row seat to watch the Daimyo of Tatooine be devoured by his own pet was not a half bad birthday present. Especially, as it was his very own Force-shove which sent the loathsome Hutt into the ravenous beast’s den. There were times he loved the gifts he’d been born with.

Then there were times….

Anakin panted, trying to settle his breathing and gently set the crowd of Mos Eisley denizens back on the ground. Qui-Gon watched Anakin wrestle with his own power, which had surged when a Hutt Cartel paid goon launched a handful of thermal detonators into the crowd which had gathered to revel in the recent demise of Jabba and Gardulla the Hutt. Anakin had meant to clear the street, or at least move the crowd outside of the bombs most lethal range. He had done so and more, lifting the entire group -- Qui-Gon included -- into the skies, well beyond the thermal detonators’ blast radius.

This is a first. The former Jedi noted as he and the rest of denizens set foot on the sands once more. The crowd glanced at Anakin and took off in awe-struck panic away from the teenager, standing unharmed amidst the charred remains of one of Mos Eisley’s nicer streets. Qui-Gon discreetly brushed sand, wrinkles, and his own frayed nerves from his shoulders and then strode forward to Anakin. His young pupil was staring at his own tanned hands in horrified wonder.

“Teacher, I didn’t mean….” Anakin licked his suddenly dried lips, “I’m sorry I lost control.”

“You did an admirable job in saving innocent lives, Anakin, that is nothing to feel shame over.” Qui-Gon said, placing a grounding hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “As Jedi grow in their understanding of the Force it isn’t unheard of for their connection to the Force to grow as well. And you are naturally a tad more connected to the Force than most.”

“What if I can’t control it?” Anakin asked.

Qui-Gon gave the question the weight of careful consideration it was due, stroking one hand on his beard as he reflected on the lessons he’d used in the past with Anakin to control his impressive, natural abilities. Apparently, it was time to try something new. And something the Council would abhor if ever they got wind of it. So much the better. Qui-Gon thought to himself in amusement, pleased with his new path.

“Anakin, I believe it’s time for you to learn about katas.” Qui-Gon stated.

“The things you do with your lightsaber?” Anakin blinked at him.

“Yes, it’s an excellent form of mental and physical control.” Qui-Gon said.

“And that’s going to help with my Force control?” Anakin queried.

“Yes. It was always an excellent means of learning to control our connection with the Force for my master, Obi-Wan, and myself.” Qui-Gon supplied quite honestly.

Though, their reasons for the Katas had been to expand and deepen their connection to the Force, but the principles were the same. In theory. He could practically feel Obi-Wan’s disapproval in the Force, though his former apprentice was nowhere nearby.

“Well, okay.” Anakin agreed, tucking his shaking hands beneath his armpits to conceal them from view. “If you think it’s gonna help.”

“I’m certain it shall.” Qui-Gon waved off the spectral sense of Obi-Wan raising his eyebrows at him. “Though we will need to find you an adequate substitute for a lightsaber.” He murmured, leading the way through the streets towards their speeder.

“Not a real one?” Anakin half-pouted.

“My dear Anakin, the Council would never approve of that. Besides which, I do not have the means of taking you to one of the worlds where Jedi harvest their Kyber crystals.” Qui-Gon explained.

“No Kyber crystals, huh?” Anakin murmured beneath his breath.

Qui-Gon would come to regret his well-intentioned refusal, very soon.

___________

“Cool your thrusters, it’s not a synthetic crystal!” Anakin proudly dismissed his Force-teacher’s rising horror as he swung his freshly constructed blood-orange bladed lightsaber through a basic series of Katas he’d seen Qui-Gon perform.

When the awaited praise and obvious questions were not immediately forthcoming, Anakin rolled his eyes and shut off his blade. Settling on a bench at the corner of the Lar’s courtyard, Anakin disassembled his lightsaber and held aloft the decidedly not-synthetic crystal which had been concealed by the bone and durasteel hilt.

“It’s a krayt pearl. Neat, huh? I didn’t even know they were energy-conductors.” Anakin stated, turning the pearl over in his gloved fingers to catch the dual light of Tatoo I and II as they set beyond the far dunes.

Qui-Gon gaped. The lightsaber was unique beyond a shadow of a doubt. Uniquely Anakin in all it’s unnerving splendor. A krayt dragon pearl? So that had been the result of his pupils sudden sojourn alone out in the Jundland wastes? Killing a Krayt dragon?

“I didn’t kill it.” Anakin’s expression soured at Qui-Gon’s unvoiced accusations. “It sought me out while I was meditating. It was in pain, a bunch of slime had injured it just for fun, and it was only a baby! He was already dying and wanted the pain to end. After a few days the sand-scavengers had picked the flesh clear off his bones.”

Qui-Gon was only mildly disturbed by Anakin’s casual ease in discussing this. The boy was of the desert, no matter how many years he’d spent on Naboo. This was a subject hardly anyone on Tatooine would even blink at, never-mind bothering to be unsettled by it. One of the many things life at the Temple had not prepared him for. Qui-Gon composed himself to hear the rest of Anakin’s account.

“That’s when I heard it.” Anakin said.

“Heard?” Qui-Gon asked, coming back to the conversation.

“The song.” Anakin extended his pearl. “Like your crystal’s only this one felt like me.”

As is proper for a Jedi. Qui-Gon thought. He was proud of Anakin’s growth. Was he slightly weirded out as a Temple reared ex-Jedi? Sure. Was he beyond puzzled as to how a krayt dragon pearl could function in a lightsaber as a kyber crystal? Yes. Would the Council have a collective conniption if they ever saw it? Definitely. And by the Force, if that didn’t make the him proud! He wiped the mist from the corners of his eyes and swept a startled Anakin into a quick hug.

“Well done, my boy!” Qui-Gon praised.

“Um, thanks.” Anakin patted Qui-Gon’s back as his teacher’s damp eyes made contact with his tunic.

Chapter Text

Six years after the liberation of the planet Naboo:

Obi-Wan fussed with his robes, ensuring they looked presentable. What in the Force could they possibly want? He puzzled over his urgent summons from the Jedi Council, folding his arms into his sleeves as he waited for the lift to arrive at the top of the Council spire. He’d only just returned from the Trade Summit on Raxus Prime and he’d hardly even had time to throw on a fresh set of robes before dashing off to answer the Council’s summons.

What could be the matter? He thought. For once, Obi-Wan could quite honestly say not a single blessed thing had gone wrong with his assignment. How could it have? He was just there to be a neutral arbitrator should they need one; and they had not? He’d spent two glorious weeks strolling about Raxus and indulging in rich foods at the banquets he was required to attend every night. It was the most boring, ahem, relaxing assignment he’d ever been given by the Council.

Maybe they have another mission for me? Obi-Wan considered as the lift chimed and the doors hissed apart to admit him to the Council floor. He only half-hoped that was the case. Without Qui-Gon at his side, Obi-Wan found Temple life to be a mundane existence. He’d taken to spending an unhealthy amount of time in the Temple’s archives studying the thrice-cursed prophecies his old mentor had always been so potty over. As a young knight Obi-Wan did not have nearly the same quota of yearly missions as he’d had when he’d still been apprenticed under Master Qui-Gon Jinn. Though, if there could be one thing to be said about his extended tenure in the Temple, Obi-Wan had been brushing up on all the saber forms, sitting in on as many lessons as he could. Well, those lessons he had not yet been banned from after besting the instructor.

He smoothed back his long auburn bangs and waited patiently for the Council to call him into the Chamber. It was not a very long wait. Within mere seconds of being sighted by the Council’s young secretary, a Pantoran Knight this year, the large doors of the austere Chamber slid wide and he was nearly propelled into the room by the energetic secretary. The Pantoran bowed to the Masters seated in the semi-circle and withdrew, the doors sealing behind her.

“Masters.” Obi-Wan bowed, in a far less rushed manner, and straightened to cast his gaze about the room at the Masters assembled.

His eyebrows very nearly escaped his control and climbed into his hairline. The Council members were not even bothering to hide their beleaguered anxiety behind their normally stoic masks of serenity. What in blazes happened while I was away? Obi-Wan frowned at his Great-Grandmaster. Yoda alone did not seem to share the rest of the council’s apprehension, if anything the old Troll looked smug. That did not bode well for Obi-Wan’s future prospects. He doubted there would be much lounging about the Archives or harassing the junior initiates lightsaber instructor -- it was Galen’s rotation according to the Temple’s roster.

“A mission, this council has for you, young Obi-Wan.” Yoda hummed, his ears wiggling in barely suppressed mirth.

A sure portent of migraines to come his way. Obi-Wan wrestled the impulse to groan, or pout like a youngling, under control. “Oh?” He asked.

“Ascertain the truth of certain rumors, we would ask you?” Yoda’s brown eyes gleamed gold in the waning light of Coruscant’s day cycle.

“What rumours, Master Yoda?” Obi-Wan would admit he was caught off-guard and didn’t bother to hide his confusion as he addressed the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.

“There have been reports coming from the Outer-Rim of Jedi wrecking havoc against certain established institutions.” Mace Windu carefully selected how to explain this to the young Knight.

Obi-Wan did raise his eyebrows now. The Outer-Rim? Established institutions? Slavery. He parsed out, eventually. “Are there any Jedi currently on assignment in the region where these reports have originated?” He asked.

“No.” Mace Windu actually sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not precisely.”

Was that a firm no, or a maybe? Obi-Wan stroked the short beard he’d recently started growing in, not at all as a way to appear older than his baby-face usually allowed. “So you wish for me to determine if there is a rogue member of the Order or if there is even a Force-user behind these reported Jedi-sightings?” He surmised.

“Yes.” Yoda interjected himself back into the mission briefing. “To Tatooine, you will go. Uncover the truth, your mission is.” He clanged his gimmer stick against the polished marble floors of the chamber with finality.

“When must I leave?” Obi-Wan hoped the answer wasn’t…

“Immediately.” Yoda pronounced.

Well, so much for a quick nap and annoying Galen. Obi-Wan stuffed his mild irritation at having his weekend plans thrown into disarray far beneath the surface and sketched a bow. “It will be as the Council Commands.” He did not sound the tiniest bit bitter. He turned and marched from the room.

Tatooine. Oh, but Obi-Wan had hoped to never again lay eyes on that miserable dust bowl.

__________

“Skywalker,” Owen Lars called as he strode across the courtyard from the farmhouse towards where Anakin was running through his Katas, “there’s an off-worlder in Mos Eisley asking around about you wizards.” He pronounced with a third generation moisture farmer’s typical lack of reverence for mystical powers.

Anakin smirked. Oh, but he appreciated Owen’s blunt approach to everything. Owen could be as prickly as a cactus fruit, which prevented most outsiders from even considering speaking with him. Anakin was much the same around strangers. Also like Anakin, Owen was a deeply sentimental piece of sticky sweet Shura fruit, at least Beru and Anakin’s mom claimed so. He chuckled and switched off his lightsaber.

“What about wizards?” Anakin grinned, clipping the hilt to his belt and crossing his arms in one smooth motion.

“He wants to know if there have been any Jedi about, moving rocks, hypnotizing folk, or waving one of those glorified plasma torches.” Owen snorted, rolling his eyes at this aforementioned off-worlder’s evident lack of knowledge about how the Outer-Rim worked.

This clear naivety, tickled a not so distant memory. Huh? “Was this off-worlder wearing robes?” Anakin asked, frowning at the sandstone wall in consideration.

“Yeah, why?” Owen frowned in turn.

Anakin chuckled. Oh, he had an idea about where this off-worlder came from and why he was on Tatooine. Qui-Gon had mentioned their interference was a possibility ever since the first time either of them used their abilities, and reiterated this point,with frequency, after Anakin had begun using his lightsaber. Well, no use in delaying the inevitable. Anakin shrugged away from the wall of the courtyard.

“Where’s Qui-Gon?” He asked.

“I think he’s in the hydroponics with my dad.” Owen said.

“Of course he is.” Anakin rolled his eyes.

His teacher was a total plant freak. Which was not a surprising discovery. Anakin had known this for several years. But on Tatooine the man’s persistence in acquainting himself with all the local flora usually resulted in a dip into their medical supplies. The native flora of the planet was not exactly human-friendly. To preserve their medical supplies and their sanity, the group had placed Qui-Gon in charge of monitoring the strategically cultivated plants in the Lar’s hydroponics garden. Anakin sighed and went to collect his teacher.

__________

“And precisely why did you need my assistance?” Qui-Gon was not sulking at having been physically – or metaphysically as Anakin had used the Force – removed from amongst his beloved plants by his pupil.

Anakin’s eye-rolling was evident in the toss of the boy’s shaggy mane as he ignored Qui-Gon’s petulance and piloted his modified speeder across the Dune Sea. “You want me to greet the Jedi all by myself? Gee, Teacher, I can’t see that blowing up in all our faces.” Anakin drawled.

“Yes, well…” Qui-Gon grimaced, tucking his hands into his sleeves, “I suppose you have a point.” He relented.

“Hey, maybe it’ll be one of your old Jedi friends?” Anakin tried to enthuse them both with a semblance of optimism as he brought the speeder to a smooth stop on the outskirts of Mos Eisley.

“Yes, one can only hope.” Qui-Gon said.

He dearly prayed it was not Master Rancissi or Pong Krell, he’d never gotten along very well with either of those Jedi Masters. And, oh, Force preserve them all if it was Mace Windu himself who tripped over Qui-Gon and a lightsaber wielding Anakin. As amusing as the fallout might be, Qui-Gon was brave enough to admit he would be watching that meltdown from a safe-distance, like say from Naboo on a holo-cam.

They strode into the center of town and glanced at one another. “You ready, Teacher?” Anakin asked.

Not a bit. “Yes.” Qui-Gon sighed.

They settled beneath the central power-generator for the city in a meditative posture and cast their presences into the Force. It was a very brief time later that Qui-Gon startled from meditation. He knew this signature. Oh, but he knew this signature! Though it was far more settled and mature than when last they’d met. Qui-Gon pulled himself to his feet to greet the Jedi advancing on their position.

“Knight Kenobi.” Qui-Gon called, and watched in pleased amusement as a brown-hooded individual raised his head, the familiar blue-green eyes widening comically in shock.

“Master?” Obi-Wan very nearly squeaked as he took in the tall figure of the one and only Maverick, ex-Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn. “What in blazes are you doing here?” He demanded, storming across the sandy streets as his mind began unhappily piecing together Mace’s aggravation, Yoda’s amusement, and his old Master’s presence on the planet.

“It’s good to see you as well, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon laughed.

“That remains to be seen.” Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed at the lightsaber hilt on Qui-Gon’s hip. “What precisely have you been up to, Master?” He crossed his arms over his chest, to prevent himself from throttling his troublesome old mentor.

“Up to? I?” Qui-Gon gasped, splaying one hand over his heart in feigned hurt. “Surely, you would not suspect your poor old Master of any mischief?” He batted his eyelashes at Obi-Wan, reveling in the sensation of feeling both his old and current student rolling their eyes through the Force.

“You were my master.” Obi-Wan stated. “Currently, you are a known Force-sensitive who is causing trouble for the Jedi Order.”

“Oh, but I cannot take all the credit for that.” Qui-Gon swept out his right arm to indicate the lanky young man at his side.

Obi-Wan did a double-take as he was forced to glance upwards into the face of….“Anakin?” He gaped.

What had they been feeding the boy on Naboo? It was obvious he still had another growth spurt on the way. Oh, that did not make Obi-Wan feel any better. Nor did the lightsaber he now noticed clipped to the young, non-Jedi, male’s belt.

“Master, you have a lot of explaining to do.” Obi-Wan redirected his censure to the source of the majority of his life’s headaches.

“Well, that’s a bit of a story.” Qui-Gon scratched at his beard, sheepishly. Not that he believed himself to have committed any grave sin.

“Which he can tell you later. Come on, Mom’s waiting supper for us at the Lar’s.” Anakin waved them to follow and led the way back to his parked speeder, using the Force to remove the unwanted Jawas from it’s hull and retrieve any misappropriated parts.

Obi-Wan’s headache only grew at the flagrant abuse of Force powers. He glared at the back of his old Master’s head the entire drive to the small moisture farm. What had he been teaching this child? He fumed.

Qui-Gon resolutely refused to cower beneath his old student’s quelling gaze. He had been correct in Anakin’s need for training. And Anakin was hardly a Jedi, so he was not beholden to the structure of Jedi teachings. Although? an old thought struck him as Anakin engaged Obi-Wan in a debate of lightsaber forms. Structure could be a very good thing for rash youths.

Chapter Text

7 Years after the Liberation of Naboo:

Obi-Wan bowed to the astonished members of the Jedi Council. Not a one of them, Yoda included, had anticipated his report of a massive freedom movement burgeoning across the Outer-Rim led by an ex-handmaiden, a Royal Guard of Queen Amidala, and a freed slave mother. The involvement of the former Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn had been less shocking. Still, none of the Council members had been expecting Obi-Wan to return, a year after he’d been assigned to investigate the strange happenings on Tatooine, with Anakin Skywalker in tow.

Mostly by accident, a Master-Padawan bond had been forged between Anakin and himself. And, by the end of a year, Obi-Wan had come to a full agreement with Qui-Gon that Anakin needed far more controlled and specific instruction in the Force. It had actually been his, and not Qui-Gon’s, idea to bring Anakin back to the Temple. Hey, he was the last Padawan of the Maverick Jedi Master, he had to live up to his lineage’s reputation at some point.

Mace Windu groaned into his hands as his fellow Jedi flew into an uproar. “This is not protocol, Knight Kenobi.” His protests went unremarked as chaos reigned over the once tranquil serenity of the Council Chamber.

“Too old to be trained, he is.” Master Yaddle said.

“He’ll be far too attached to his old way of living!” Master Eeth Koth insisted.

“He’s dangerous!” Master Oppo Rancissi exclaimed. “He blatantly wears a lightsaber without having earned it! One can only wonder how he even managed to construct such a weapon without this Council’s blessing to retrieve a Kyber crystal.”

Anakin, who’d remained entirely silent this whole time, rolled his eyes and pushed off the wall of the chamber where he’d been lounging since he and Obi-Wan entered the room. “He’s right here and can speak for himself, thank you very much.” He stated, not antagonistically to the Masters of the Order who had been addressing only Obi-Wan. “And, if you’re that curious about my lightsaber’s construction just ask. I’m all too happy to show you how I made it.”

With this pronouncement he lit his blade, the eerie reddish-orange hue filled the chamber as Anakin twirled the blade in a smooth Niman riposte, followed by an interesting curve of the laser’s beam into a hook. Before even the blade’s color on absurd properties could fully be absorbed, Anakin shut off the lightsaber and used the Force, with ease, to deconstruct his weapon so all gathered could see it’s inner workings. A sign of trust and vulnerability between Jedi. A sign the Council had not earned, but had forced by their accusations. They shuffled in their seats, feeling properly chagrined under Obi-Wan’s pointed gaze.

“See, there’s no reason to freak out, it’s not a synthetic crystal.” Anakin’s pronouncement barely settled the Council as he plucked the round milk-white orb from amongst the blade’s levitated electrical components. “It’s just a Krayt dragon’s pearl. And unlike a kyber crystal it’s got some cool possibilities with the laser’s alignment and curvature. Pretty wizard, right?” His grin was a touch feral when he directed it towards Master Rancissi.

Obi-Wan’s mustache twitched as he suppressed his humor and tugged Anakin by the sleeve, along with all his still suspended lightsaber parts, towards the door. “Well, Masters, that completes my report. I shall leave you to your deliberations while I get Anakin settled into our quarters.” He bowed and left the room.

His statement implied that, regardless of their decision, Anakin was now a resident of the Temple. Qui-Gon’s padawan indeed. They stared after the disappearing duo. Hasty might they have been in allowing Qui-Gon’s resignation? Yoda’s ears twitched. Still, good to see the boy doing well, it was. Happy he was to have, perhaps, sensed Anakin’s future wrong. Much anger, the boy still carried, but it was anger at the suffering of others, at injustice. Hmm? Learn Vaapad, perhaps young Skywalker should? He swiveled his head to contemplate Mace’s slouching form. Later, they would speak.

_________

Anakin’s adjustment to Temple life went about as smoothly as expected. A few explosions, minor property damage, a couple fist-fights with some hard-lined traditionalist Jedi peers, and the formation of a droid’s right union. All relatively harmless in the grand-scheme. Obi-Wan dismissed Master Cin Drallig’s raised eyebrows as Anakin challenged his opponent’s entire class to a duel in response to some slight or other.

Most quickly learned to ignore, and in some instances overlook, the oddities of the not-quite Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker. What was nearly possible to ignore, and even more disrupting to the Temple’s residents, was Anakin’s loud presence in the Force. Do all things well, but shield, young Skywalker could. He gave it his very best shot, slowly masking his supernova signature to a more tolerable glow.

Mace Windu, after a long talk with Yoda, observed Anakin for six months and then offered to teach him Vaapad. He was pleasantly surprised by the young man’s sheer amount of focus when it came to his practice. Mace was also proud to witness that as Anakin improved in Vaapad his control and restraint also improved. Well, at least in part.

He sighed, staring at the soot-coated youth he’d caught sneaking back into the Temple after having participated in one of the illegal pod-races hosted in the lower levels of Coruscant. Again. Anakin did not cower beneath the Master of the Order’s gaze. He straightened to his full height and stated that pod-races were a great place to make connections and interact with members of the galaxy-wide freedom trail. Even at the heart of the Republic there was slavery, if not in name, and this was something Anakin would not ignore. Mace waved the boy on his way, he was far too tired to lecture the kid on the evils or dangers of racing. Especially, as he kept winning and donating the majority of his winnings to organizations with established, credible, records of helping those most in need, including the Jedi Order.

Of course, Anakin did pocket a few of the credits each time into his own stash. But then, technically, he was not an officially recognized member of the Order so he could not be censured for it or his other habits. However, the line had to be drawn somewhere, and turning the temple’s workshop into his pod-building space was it. Other, starry-eyed youths were starting to get ideas.

Take initiate Tano. She was practically attached to Skywalker’s hips these days, following him on a few occasions into the lower-levels – he brought her back safe and sound every time-- and trailing along to his saber lessons with Mace, or sitting in on his regular lessons with Obi-Wan. She had also begun expressing an interest in ships and, Force save them all, pod-racing after Skywalker’s arrival in the Temple. One racing Jedi was already one too many for Mace’s blood pressure!

Chapter Text

10 Years after the Liberation of Naboo:

Mace Windu sighed. He rubbed at his temple with his left hand, accepting the freshly brewed, and piping hot, cup of caff from Anakin Skywalker with his right. He shook off Obi-Wan’s polite offer of a freshly baked danish. Bad enough they had brought the council caff.

“What did you two do this time?” Mace grumbled, sipping at the drink, unsurprised by its strength or the subtle notes of familiar Tatooine spices, intermingling with one of his favorite Corellian blends.

He paused mid-sip and eyed the tray of danish on the hover-cart in the center of the Council Chamber. On second thought. He snagged a chocolate filled pastry with the Force, and ignored the knowing smirks of the Skywalker-Kenobi duo. His fellow councilors took their cue from his actions, and swiftly doped themselves into a more tranquil state of mind with caff and pastries before hearing about the latest intergalactic incident the pair had instigated. Yoda chuckled swirling his boggy tea in his wooden mug – a mug made just for him by Anakin and his brood of young would be woodcarvers. Mace didn’t even bother to fuss at Yoda for his disregard of the antics of his most notorious lineage. How could he? Were not he and the council complicit, guilty even, by accepting bribes in the form of caff and sweets.

“It must be a doozy this time.” Depa shuffled back into a more comfortable slouch, cradling her mug of caff close to her chest, and brushing the traces of her sugar-frosted pastry from the corners of her upturned mouth.

Oh, Yoda’s amusement was catching. His fellow council members must truly be losing their touch if they couldn’t even bring themselves to give a proper rebuke to a couple of trouble-making miscreants. Master Plo’s goggles swiveled to lock onto Mace’s own caff clutched tight in his hands. Yes, well, that was fair. Mace coughed, clearing his throat, hoping to redirect the focus to the matter at hand.

“So, how soon do we need to hide the body?” Master Shaak Ti hummed, as serene as ever even with the Togruta-shaped shortbread poised mere inches from her mouth.

Mace envied her ability to blithely joke about an entirely possible outcome. Especially after the incident with Senator Lott Dod. Anakin Skywalker had been banned from the Neimoidia system for eternity, and from the Senate for at least six months. Just remembering the incident and all the data-work caused Mace to groan.

“Please make sure there is no traceable DNA linking you to the crime.” He pleaded, already fully convinced there were a slew of dead slavers or scuzzy politicians waiting in a storage locker somewhere until the Council agreed to help Skywalker and Kenobi dispose of the evidence.

Anakin snorted out his blumberry danish. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “Really, Master Windu.” Obi-Wan drawled, nonplussed, yet affronted, by the Head of the Order’s apparent lack of faith in their professionalism.

“Yeah, come on, Master,” Anakin grinned, wiping his mouth with his sleeve over his teacher’s reproving and pointed glare to the pocket where Obi-Wan made sure Anakin carried a clean handkerchief, “I’m from Tatooine. I know how to dispose of a body.” He winked.

The collective silence settled like a tangible weight on their shoulders, half the council caught with their mouths agape and the other half burying their faces into their hands. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at both his student and the obtuse members of the council. Yoda’s twitching ears were the only indicator he was not about to launch into a full-blown lecture. Anakin’s eyes drank in the decided lack of response.

“Oh, come on! I didn’t actually kill anyone.” Anakin threw up his hands. A guy makes one little mistake on Nar Shadda and he never hears the end of it. “Not this time.” He muttered.

Obi-Wan smacked the back of his student’s head. “There is such a thing as over-sharing, Anakin.” He said.

“What? I didn’t!” Anakin protested, rubbing his head.

“I believe we have gotten massively off-topic, esteemed Councilors.” Obi-Wan placed himself front and center.

“Off-topic?” Mace blinked. “Skywalker just confessed to killing someone.” He was amazed by how calm his voice was as he made this assertion.

“Hey!” Anakin scowled, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “That was a clear case of self-defense.”

Knowing just how stupidly powerful this young man was, Mace merely raised a brow. Apart from another trained Force-Sensitive, like one of the Masters standing in this room, Mace found it hard to imagine Anakin struggling against anyone. Unless…. it was intentional. He narrowed his eyes.

“It was a slaver, wasn’t it?” Mace said

Anakin’s gaze was suddenly transfixed by the truly fascinating ferecrete vaulted ceiling of the chamber. His silence was answer enough. Mace sighed. No doubt Anakin had provoked the man to wrath, or the being was truly that short-tempered. In either event, did he really want to deal with the data-work involved?

“Strike the last three minutes from the record.” Mace instructed the Council’s secretary.

“Yes, Master Windu.” Knight Sino’s fingers did not move.

The turned-off data-pad in her lap told Mace she was by far one of the best secretaries they had ever had. He could not remember, now that he thought about it,having ever seen her transcribe minutes for their meetings with Kenobi and Skywalker. At least not after the first one and their admitted destruction of the Demask Holdings building on Chandrila. Sheer accident, the pair had insisted. The fallout of a bomb-threat, they stressed. They had saved the employees who had been inside the building. No real harm was done. the pair had said. Yes, Mace might just recommend they keep the young Pantoran knight on as the Council secretary for the next rotation too.

A discerning young woman. Mace hummed.

“So, what did prompt your request for an audience with the council?” Master Adi-Gallia asked, moving them back to the task at hand as she slurped her tea and tucked her legs beneath herself.

Mace watched as Knight Sino sipped her caff, fingers kept clear of the inactive data-pad. Yes. An extremely discerning young woman. She might just be an excellent candidate for Shadow training. He would address this to Shaak Ti after their meeting with Skywalker and Kenobi was concluded.

“It has come to our attention,” Obi-Wan cast a brief look to his student, “that a certain Senator has had multiple attempts made against their person. We should like this council’s blessing to provide protection to this Senator until those responsible for these unprompted attacks have been apprehended.” He explained.

Mace quirked a brow. “A certain Senator perhaps from the Arkanis Sector?” He asked.

“Perhaps.” Obi-Wan’s tone matched the Head of the Order’s as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Our blessing, you wish, not approval?” Yoda mildly rebuked even as he grinned at his grand-padawan and technical great-grand-padawan.

“Obi-Wan thought we ought to do this the ‘proper way’.” Anakin quoted, effecting his best Coruscanti accent as he rolled his eyes.

“You disagree?” Master Ki-Adi Mundi addressed the younger of the two men.

“I’m not a member of the Order.” Anakin tossed with a shrug of his broadening shoulders.

This was true, and a matter of some contention between Councilors in spite of the caff bribes and the infinite diversion Skywalker brought to their otherwise mundane existences. Mace sighed for the….He scowled down at his brown boots. For pity’s sake, he couldn’t even keep track of how many times this made in the past ten minutes.

Holding out his cup in the general direction of the half-full decanter for a refill, he re-centered himself and addressed the duo. “You’re going whether we give you our blessing or not.” It was not a question.

Anakin beamed back, entirely unrepentant. “You’re learning, Master.” He happily returned Mace’s mug, blessedly full and steaming, and added another pastry to boot.

“Yes, well, on that note, I believe our business has been concluded. Good day to you, Masters.”Obi-Wan cleared his throat, not doubt to avoid cackling at the gob-smacked councilors, and sketched a bow. “Come, Anakin, we mustn’t be late.”

“No arguments here.” Anakin saluted the council. “Enjoy your caff-clutch!” He waved as he bounced out the door ahead of his teacher.

Mace could simply not conjure up the energy to even sigh, never-mind to roll his eyes. Knight Sino offered to prepare more caff and tea. Yes, they would definitely be retaining her next rotation as council secretary, He firmly decided and blessed her and those who bore her and the generosity of the Force in bringing her to the Temple for such a time as this. Mace slumped into his seat and closed his eyes. They really should have argued more against Qui-Gon’s leaving the order. And argued even harder against Obi-Wan installing Anakin as a full-time resident in the Temple. May the Force be with them all.

____________

Anakin fidgeted and fussed. Primping, Obi-Wan would have teased if they were not out in public. Still, Anakin was allowed his nervous habits. He was going to be seeing Padmé again for the first time in over four years!

“Relax, Anakin.” Obi-Wan leaned close as they waited on the landing platform for the Nubian cruiser and its escort fighters to set down. “You are more tense than the time I rescued you from the Gundark pit.”

Predictably, this caught his otherwise distracted Padawan’s attention. “You rescued?” Anakin guffawed and turned to glare down his nose at his mentor. “Who was the reason I ended up in that pit in the first place?” He reiterated a three year old argument for...well neither of them could even remember how many times they had debated this.

“Yes, well, I was certainly the one to pull you out of the pit.” Obi-Wan sniffed primly.

“I wouldn’t have been in the pit if you hadn’t inhaled that snoot full of spice and tripped over your own darn feet!” Anakin snapped back, gearing up for their normal type of friendly-disagreement.

“I would not have inhaled the spice, if you had not chased after that pirate and knocked me into his stash.” Obi-Wan easily lobbed the blame back into his student’s court.

“I wouldn’t have had to chase him if you’d waited to make your grand Jedi entrance!” Anakin shifted the court to his favor.

Obi-Wan, not at all conceding he had ever jumped the gun on one of their black-market cons, fell silent and tilted his head at the gleaming ship hovering over the platform on its final descent. Anakin squinted at his teacher, not satisfied to have been given this round. Obi-Wan smirked and turned to face the procession beginning to emerge out onto the fog-enshrouded platform from the cruiser. Anakin tracked each hand-maiden and tensed. At his side Obi-Wan caught the warning and reacted as Anakin sprang forward, hands out-stretched.

“Get down!” Obi-Wan shouted at the approaching fighter pilots.

Recognizing the Jedi robes for what they were, the pilots immediately cast themselves to the wet dura-crete. Anakin closed his eyes in concentration latching onto the signatures from the cruiser and then yanking his hands backwards. Like marionettes, the surprised Nubian delegation shrieked, yelped, and plead for the protection of their deity as they flew away from the star-ship and towards the edge of the platform with the added velocity of the cruiser’s sudden explosion. Obi-Wan quickly intervened to course correct Anakin’s over-use of the Force, redirecting the cruiser’s passengers from a fatal drop to the true surface of the city-planet to a less-lethal, if not gentle landing, against a large stack of empty cargo containers.

Shaken and bruised, the Naboo delegation carefully peeled themselves from the deck of the platform to observe the smoldering hulk of their cruiser. Anakin tightly clenched his fists to hide their shaking. He’d done it again. He’d lost control of his own power! Obi-Wan, undoubtedly, sensing Anakin’s turmoil, spared a moment to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance.

“That is why I am at your side.” Obi-Wan murmured comfortingly as the delegation and its security team began sorting themselves out.

“To keep me from screwing up.” Anakin quipped, trying for joviality and failing miserably. He could have killed someone.

“To catch you when you stumble and help you pick yourself, and others, back up so you can grow and move forward.” Obi-Wan corrected kindly, firmly maintaining eye-contact with Anakin as he spoke.

Message received. Anakin nodded. Do not let this be what held him back. He could control his abilities. Manipulation of the Force required as much mental dexterity and strength as physical prowess. If Anakin allowed this incidence to break his confidence he would keep losing control.

“If I keep growing, Master, how will you ever be able to catch me?” Anakin smirked down at the shorter man, shaking off the near catastrophe as blithely as he could. He would need a long session in the Salles and some moving meditation to truly lay it to rest, but for now? Friendly banter with his brother would suffice.

“You are an impudent brat.” Obi-Wan crinkled his nose at him and moved away to inspect the Naboo delegation for any severe injury.

“I learned from the best.” Anakin tossed, flinging his arms wide with a grin.

Obi-Wan ignored him. Anakin chuckled and jogged over to check on the group as well, bee-lining straight for one of the fighter pilots. The only one still sitting on the damp deck of the platform, her brown eyes not truly focused on anything. He could sense her own guilt and practically hear the litany of increasingly horrific what-ifs running through her mind. Anakin sighed, he was feeling a good bit like she was herself. He plopped onto to the deck beside her with an audible squelch which jerked her from her nearly catatonic state.

“Padmé. It was not your fault.” Anakin said. “You did not know. You took every precaution. Everyone who came, I have no doubts, volunteered for what could easily be a fatal mission. You all knew the risks and no one got hurt.” He spoke softly and clearly, enunciating each syllable around his own stress and crushing guilt of what-if.

“Because you were here.” Padmé’s voice, always strong and clear, quavered as her un-shed tears glimmered on her long lashes.

Anakin looked away. “Because Obi-Wan was here.” He said.

She tilted her head, glancing between him and the rest of her people, and blinked away her rising hysterics as clarity dawned. “No one got hurt. Because you were both here.” Padmé laid one hand on his fore-arm.

She squeezed his arm, silently asking him to look at her. He never really could refuse her, and he turned back to glance down at her seated beside him. The unfamiliar angle of having to cant her neck back to peer into his eyes, clearly drove away the remainder of her unease. She blinked a few times, eyes raking over his features and probably comparing them to the memories she had.

“My goodness, Ani, but you’ve grown.” She huffed, smiling for the first time since they had reunited.

“Maybe a little.” He grinned wryly, shrugging as he took her hands into his own.

Anakin tilted his head side-to-side, examining her as well. She chuckled at his antics. It was hardly like she had changed in the past four years. At least, not as dramatically as her young friend had.

“No, no.” He fore-stalled her unspoken thoughts before they could fall from her mouth with an upraised hand. “You’ve grown.” Anakin stated.

“Really?” Padmé asked, rolling her eyes to play along.

“Yes. You’ve grown even more beautiful.” Anakin said, his voice dropping the teasing lilt as his blue eyes bore into her with their sudden intensity.

“Ahem, I do hope we are not interrupting anything?” Obi-Wan coughed, standing behind the pair and narrowing his eyes at his student’s blonde head.

“I certainly hope we are!” A familiar snicker piped in as one of the hooded attendants sidled over to grin down at Anakin’s dour pout and Padmé's flushing face.

“Hello, Rabé.” Anakin greeted, releasing Padmé’s hands at her gentle tug, only to snag it once more and pull her to her feet.

“Well, well.” Yet another familiar attendant whistled as Anakin rose to his full height. “Coruscant has been good to you, Little Ani.” Eirtaé's face emerged from beneath the orange hood as she shook out her blonde hair.

“Not so little anymore.” Dormé snickered as Padmé not so subtly tried to hide her blush behind her efforts to put some semblance of order back in her frizzy hair.

“Oh, you’ve noticed?” Anakin smirked, he’d always liked Padmé's friends, even those he’d only heard about through their weekly comm messages. He nodded to Cordé and Moteé. They waved back, clearly pleased to have been included in this familiar exchange.

“Please, don’t encourage him.” Obi-Wan groaned.

“My lady,” Captain Gregar Typho’s barely restrained panic slipped out in the growls of his hail, “I really think we should leave, this place is far too unprotected.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a somewhat amused crinkle of their eyebrows. Two Jedi, well one Jedi, and Anakin were not enough protection? Padmé, let slip her soft laugh at their obvious silent exchange. She patted each man on his arm in passing to reassure them, yes she thought they were more than adequate protection.

“Take no offense, Captain Typho would find nothing short of a fortified bunker to be safe enough.” Padmé stated pleasantly, gliding across the platform with her chief of security towards the two Jedi’s awaiting transport. “However, we do have a debriefing with the Chancellor, so we really ought to get moving.” She said.

Anakin nodded and dashed ahead of everyone to settle himself into the pilot’s seat over Captain Typho’s aborted protests. The Hand-maidens, those familiar with Anakin, and Obi-Wan and Padmé shook their heads. Trying to pry Anakin out of the pilot’s seat would be a futile effort under any circumstance, much less out of the driver’s seat of craft Padmé could recognize as having been ‘improved’ by Anakin. Captain Typho grumbled but was placated a bit by Obi-Wan’s acquiescence of the co-pilot’s seat.

“Are you heading for the apartment first or straight to the Senate?” Anakin chipperly asked, fixing the rear-view mirror to see Padmé.

“At this time of the morning, we’ll be lucky to get to the Senate two hours after our scheduled meeting.” Moteé unwisely grumbled, checking the daily congestion of Coruscant's sky-lanes in the midst of their morning rush.

Padmé looked to those who knew better and quickly grabbed hold of the nearest bolted down surface as Anakin’s grin turned feral. “Challenge accepted.” Anakin said.

Anakin engaged the thrusters, launching them into a straight vertical climb. He wove the craft erratically, and illegally, through the various sky-lanes. Finally, he settled down to a pleasant course, by his standards, and skimmed over the tops of the vehicles in the least congested sky-lane.

A hair-raising, teeth-rattling, jaunt later Anakin pulled them to a gentle stop and waved his wrist-chrono for Motee’s white face and large eyes to see. “Twenty minutes flat. You have nearly forty-minutes before your meeting with Ol’ Prune-face.” Anakin happily pronounced.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, helping Dormé peel herself off the floor of the sky-car.

He had given up trying to teach Anakin to be diplomatically respectful of the office held by Sheev Palpatine. Anakin’s opinions of the former Nubian Senator had been long ago established during the Trade Federation’s blockade. They were hardly flattering. And in spite of the Chancellor’s seemingly genuine interest in getting to know the young boy hero of the Battle of Naboo, Obi-Wan had deemed that meeting a cluster-storm in the making, based on Anakin’s personality alone, and went to great pains to insure that did not happen. Senator Lott Dodd’s presence in the Senate halls that morning had been a gift from the Force. Now, Obi-Wan had six whole months to scheme, before Anakin could set foot inside the Senate complex.

“What, that’s gotta be a record?” Anakin held up his hands at his passenger’s combined stares. “Sheesh, how ungrateful.” He huffed.

Captain Typho managed to will his trembling legs into motion and propelled himself out of the car, refraining from kissing the blessedly solid, non-moving ground. He turned and assisted Padmé and those who were to escort her into the meeting with the Chancellor from the car. Obi-Wan climbed out, not currently, the one who was blacklisted from the premises. He turned and stared down his student.

“Anakin, you will kindly escort the rest of Senator Amidala’s attendants to her apartment. And, Anakin, you will do so in accordance with the traffic laws of this planet, not Tatooine.” Obi-Wan instructed.

“Spoilsport.” Anakin stuck out his tongue at Obi-Wan, waved to Padmé, winked at the greenish tinged Captain Typho, and merged back into the constant stream of Coruscanti traffic.

“Do you really think he’s going to abide by that edict?” Padmé glanced to Obi-Wan, the bemused gleam in her brown eyes revealed her personal conviction on the subject.

“Oh, definitely not.” Obi-Wan snorted elegantly, shaking his head. “But, it’s my duty as his mentor to at least make the effort.”

She chuckled and turned with him, striding inside the Senate Rotunda.

Chapter Text

“Next time you decide to jump out of a penthouse window, give a guy a little warning.” Anakin hissed as he met up with Obi-Wan.

“Are you saying you felt you were unable to keep up with this old man?” Obi-Wan gasped.

“I’m saying if you don’t want to be the newest stain on Coruscant’s streets, give me a head’s up.” Anakin said, eyes darting about the sky-lanes for any sign of their momentarily misplaced assassin. “Like this. Head’s up!” He said and flung himself out of the speeder, plummeting through the lanes after their quarry.

“Very instructive, Anakin!” Obi-Wan shouted after him, his carefully collected poise slipping to reveal his own panicked aggravation.

See, Obi-Wan hated when Anakin did it to him. The boy thought triumphant in annoying his teacher and corrected his fall to land on the extended hood of the assassin’s craft. She jolted, her skin rippling with her brief shock. A changeling? Anakin blinked back at her in wide-eyed fascination.

_________

It was a pity he didn’t have a cybernetic arm, one capable of magnetically grasping onto slick metal surfaces. Anakin thought dourly, glaring at his offending appendage. This mortal shell was a real pain at times. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his trousers as Obi-Wan ‘landed’ their speeder on the streets and rushed to join him.

“Where is he? Tell me, after that little stunt of yours you did not lose him?” Obi-Wan said.

“Oh, hi, Master. Glad you could join me? Me? Oh, I’m not injured at all after falling off an air-speeder, thanks for asking.” Anakin said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m so relieved you are well, Padawan mine. Now, I will feel far less conflicted for throttling you.” Obi-Wan hissed.

“Really, for a guy who flings himself out of windows without a care in the universe, you’re certainly uptight.” Anakin sniffed.

“Anakin, you lost him, didn’t you.” Obi-Wan accused. “After all I went through--”

“We, you mean.” Anakin rolled his eyes.

“-- I will inform Padmé of your little performance.” Obi-Wan threatened.

Anakin grimaced. Oh, that would be infinitely worse than sitting through even another lecture from the council. “Fine, geez. She went in there.” Anakin indicated a bar directly across the street.

“She?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yeah, well I think so.” Anakin shrugged, striding towards the establishment.

“You think? Anakin, you were plastered on their front viewport how could you possibly be unsure?” Obi-Wan wondered, studying the back of the young man’s head.

How many times had Anakin taken a blow to his cranium in the past few rotations? Hm, wasn’t impaired vision an indicator of head trauma? A concussion? Obi-Wan reasoned.

“Cut me some slack, old man, it’s hard to tell when you’re dealing with Changelings.” Anakin defended, poking his head inside the bar’s dimly lit interior.

“A Changeling? Well, that may present a bit of difficulty.” Obi-Wan conceded.

“Just a bit?” Anakin snorted.

“Oh, get in there and make yourself a target already.” Obi-Wan kicked the boy through the cantina’s front door.

“Really, Master, you shouldn’t be so concerned for my well-being.” Anakin drawled flatly, straightening himself and stalking into the crowds.

“Duly noted.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and bee-lined for the bar, waving off the over-eager death-stick dealer.

__________

“Ah, well now this is a bit of a problem.” Obi-Wan sat stunned, holding the cooling corpse of their recently apprehended Changeling assassin.

Anakin’s gaze slowly tore away from the distant building’s roof. “It was a Mandalorian.” He pronounced.

“You’re quite sure?” Obi-Wan asked, feeling a migraine blooming behind his eyes.

“I grew up on Tatooine, I think I know Mando armour when I see it.” Anakin retorted, hefting the deceased assassin’s body over one shoulder.

“True.” Obi-Wan relented. “Was it anyone you recognize?”

“Master, I might have younger eyes than you,” he carried on over Obi-Wan’s indignant squawking, “but they’re not that sharp.”

“Back to square one then?” Obi-Wan sighed.

“Not quite.” Anakin held up one finger, depositing the body in the back of their appropriated speeder. “We know it was a Mando bounty hunter.”

“Yes, and those are such a rarity in the galaxy.” Obi-Wan said, situating himself in the driver’s seat -- this was in no way a petty vengeance against his student for the quips about his advancing age.

“Only those unregistered with the Bounty Hunter Guilds.” Anakin smirked, propping his feet up on the dashboard as he slumped into the passenger’s seat.

Obi-Wan blinked. Well, well. He stared at the young man. “My dear Anakin, you never cease to surprise me.” He sincerely praised, patting his student’s shoulder as he used the Force to knock his feet off the dash. “Manners, Padawan, this is only a borrowed speeder after all.”

Anakin laughed. “I’ll make some calls once we get back to Padme’s, and see if anyone knows this guy.” He crossed his arms behind his head, settling in for the short ride.

“Excellent, I shall drop you at the Senator’s, leave our friend with Judicial, and then make some inquiries of my own.” Obi-Wan said, one hand leaving the controls to finger the pocket where he’d stowed the strange dart used on the Changeling.

“Sounds like a plan.” Anakin hummed.

__________

Anakin frowned at his data-pad. The reply sent by the Guild on Tatooine to his inquiry had dredged up an answer to one question, and left him asking about twenty more. The Mandalorian had been identified from the still Anakin had captured off of Coruscant’s holo-security recordings. He was Jango Fett, a very well-known and highly skilled Bounty Hunter. A well-known, highly skilled Bounty Hunter who had been mostly inactive for the past decade. Bounty Hunters did not just drop of the radar and pop up ten years later. Was he on a different long-term gig? Anakin scrunched his nose in thought as Obi-Wan draped himself over his shoulder to read.

“I’m not a part of the couch, old man, put on your glasses and get off me.” Anakin complained, wriggling his shoulders to dislodge the pest.

Obi-Wan swatted the back of the brat’s head. “To think of all I’ve sacrificed for you,” he exclaimed dramatically, elegantly rolling over the back of Padme’s sofa to sprawl, one hand pressed to his fore-head, “and this is how you repay me?”

Anakin rolled his eyes and used the Force to shove his master’s feet off his lap. “I sent you the data already, read it on your own data-pad. I gave you one for your last birthday, use it.” Anakin said.

Padmé and her hand-maidens’ heads whipped back and forth as they observed the duo and sipped their tea. Obi-Wan sniffed, righting himself on the sofa and pulling out the aforementioned data-pad. R2-D2 twittered and rolled over to Anakin, rocking himself up on his chassis to peer over the arm of the sofa. Anakin obligingly tilted his data-pad for the astromech to peruse the intel. Obi-Wan scowled. Padmé laughed and shook her head at their antics.

“Have the two of you uncovered anything about my attacker?” She asked.

“Yes.” Anakin nodded, never once glancing away from his data-pad.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan shot the boy a brief glare. “The investigation is on-going, Senator.”

“Padmé.” She once again corrected. “And, I would appreciate being apprised of the investigation’s progress. After all, it is my life being actively threatened.” Padmé sipped her tea, batting her long lashes over the rim of the cup.

Does she really think that old trick is going to work? Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes on her.

“Well, we know someone with really deep pockets is involved.” Anakin answered, setting aside his data-pad to inhale a pastry or three.

Apparently so. Honestly, what else did he expect? Obi-Wan shook his head, choosing to ignore Padmé's triumphant smirk.

“How so?” Captain Typho asked.

“Figures, if they could lure a Bounty Hunter of Fett’s caliber out of retirement, or whatever he’s been doing these past ten years. Hunters with reputations like his don’t come cheap.” Anakin stated, slurping the tea Threepio offered.

Obi-Wan grimaced. He had certainly taught the boy better manners than that. Really. He sipped at his own tea.

“Fett? Jango Fett?” Rabé asked, tapping away on her own data-pad. Everyone stared at her. “What? A girl can’t have a hobby, sheesh?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Your hobby is holo-stalking bounty hunters?” Anakin shook his head.

“Only the cute ones.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Cute? How can you tell, he’s wearing a helmet?” Dormé questioned, as she and the rest of the hand-maidens crowded around Rabé’s opened data-pad.

“Yeah, he is.” Rabé sighed.

“Carry on, Skywalker.” Captain Typho rubbed at his fore-head.

Anakin finally peeled his gaze away from Rabé and picked up with his summary. “Right, anyway. Jango Fett is definitely involved so we’re talking some serious credits. Not the kind of retainer fee your average group of disgruntled miners can afford to pay.” Anakin concluded.

“But a Count could?” Padmé's eyes flitted to Obi-Wan, who’d been present during her meeting with the Chancellor and the Jedi Councilors.

“Or a fellow Senator?” Obi-Wan returned her gaze.

“Yeah, either one, as long as they’re from a rich planet.” Anakin shrugged. “So, Master, let’s have it.” He gestured to his friend.

“Have what?” Obi-Wan shuffled under the anticipatory stares of the Naboo delegation.

“Come on, Obi-Wan, give. I know you’ve found something. You were holed up in the Archives all yesterday and you spent the morning at Dex’s.” Anakin said.

Drat. Obi-Wan grimaced. Anakin knew him too well.

“Well, it’s not a definite lead but….” Obi-Wan caved with a sigh, “Kamino.”

“Kamino?” The others echoed.

“It’s a planet. A planet which produces this particular type of dart,” he placed the object in question on the caff table, “and a planet whose presence and history was markedly absent in the Jedi Temple’s Archives.”

“Sounds pretty convenient to me.” Anakin huffed.

“Indeed. It also sounds promising.” Padmé's shrewd brown eyes sparkled.

“No.” Anakin pointed one finger at her.

She drew herself up. “Whatever are you going on about, Ani?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed in tandem with Anakin’s. “You are not going to Kamino.” They said.

“Wanna bet?” Rabé snorted as Padmé met their gazes head on.

“You aren’t going to listen to reason, are you?” Anakin addressed Padmé.

“You ought to know me by now, Anakin.” She returned.

He nodded. “You’d just follow us or stow away in the fuselage.” Anakin sighed.

Obi-Wan gaped. “Tell me the two of you are not thinking what I think you’re thinking?” He demanded.

“Come on, Master, it’ll be fine. We’ll be with her the whole time.” Anakin said.

Gregar Typho whimpered into his hands. Cordé patted his back encouragingly. “What about the vote, my lady?” He tried to find some way to distract her from chasing this new tangent.

She paused. Yes, that was a problem. Padmé drummed her fingernails against her tea cup.

“Why not just let Jar-Jar vote?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Think about what you said, dear one.”

“What?” Anakin looked back and forth between the others. “Okay, so maybe he’s a little….himself, but--” His blue eyes glimmered with inspiration.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan hesitantly asked.

“Himself.” Anakin murmured a manic grin splitting his face. “That’s it.”

“I do so hate to even ask,” Obi-Wan sighed, “but what are you talking about, Anakin?”

“You want to go to Kamino, you’ll go,” Anakin nodded to Padmé, “and you need to be here to cast the vote in the Senate, so you’ll be here.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly.

“Anyone else lost?” Moteé whispered.

“Ani, sometimes you are utterly brilliant.” Padmé beamed, reaching into her pockets and fishing out her comm.

“I know.” Anakin shrugged.

“Would you care to share your brilliance with those of us who’ve yet to be enlightened?” Obi-Wan rolled his hand for one or the other who seemed to be in the know, to elaborate.

“Ah, the old Amidala swap.” Rabé snapped her fingers as understanding struck. “Nice! We haven’t done that in an age.”

“For good reason.” Dormé reminded. “Sabé was the only one who could imitate her long term.”

“Indeed.” Padmé nodded dialing up the familiar frequency.

____________

Sabé listened as Padmé completed her summary of the past few months events. “Understood, I’ll be there.” She assured Padmé's earnest holographic image a moment before it was brushed out of the frame and replaced by the equally familiar scowling visage of Anakin Skywalker.

“Be careful. Watch your back and don’t trust that shabla Chancellor.” Anakin instructed before the signal dissipated.

Ah, how Sabé had missed him and his peculiar strain of prickly protectiveness. These past three years on Tatooine after Anakin and Obi-Wan had departed for the Jedi Temple had been blissfully boring. She sighed. The Lars farm which had seemed claustrophobic between Anakin’s larger than life personality and his multitude of miscellaneous projects was somehow far too empty after his departure. Well, for the most part. The weeks Beru came to visit her fiancee Owen certainly liven things up, as did Hana’s persistent courting of the grizzled, bashful widower Cliegg Lars.

Sabé grinned at the recollection as she rolled out of her bunk, apologizing to Beru for disturbing her rest, and starting to gather her things for the trip to Coruscant. Hana and Cliegg’s wedding two years ago had been the highlight of the Moisture Harvest. Shmi had returned from Naboo where she had gone to instruct the burgeoning Mechanic Guild in Iroté – just as she had done on Tatooine in Mos Espa, Anchorhead, and at the star-fighter factory, established by Anakin Skywalker’s young mechanical protege Besh, in the planetary capital of Bestine, to stand as Hana’s witness. Sabé and Beru had proudly been the blushing bride’s attendants. Owen had been his father’s witness, while Anakin and Tonra had served as the older man’s attendants. Qui-Gon Jinn, with the assistance of the officially recognized Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, had presided over the couple’s exchange of vows and water.

Hm, speaking of the older Jedi -- Sabé peeked into his room in passing -- was he aware of what his old students were up to? Qui-Gon snored, rolling over to curl about his new potted cactus fruit. No, she shook her head. He was evidently not. She walked on towards the courtyard and her personal speeder bike. It was better to let the poor old dear rest in peace than raise his blood pressure. Though, if Anakin Skywalker had not given him an aneurysm there was likely nothing in the galaxy which could disturb the former Jedi.

“Tonra?” Sabé blinked at her fellow Nubian, already seated on her bike with his emergency travel satchel slung across his back. “What are you doing?”

“I’d imagine the same as you.” Tonra stated, inclining his chin at her own luggage.

“Padmé called you before me!” Sabé was miffed and would be having words with her dear friend just as soon as they could get together on the same planet.

“No,” Tonra shook his head, “Anakin commed me.”

Oh, that made much more sense. Sabé blinked. Trying not to let her sudden influx of hormones show on her face as she mounted the speeder bike behind Tonra and fingered the old Japor charm in the pocket of her vest. “That kid.” She grumbled.

“Yeah.” Tonra snorted and ignited the engines. “I already let Owen know we were taking off, he’ll tell the others in the morning.”

“You think of everything.” Sabé cheerfully remarked as they sped across the desert toward Mos Espa and their star-ship – a gift from the Skywalkers and other formerly enslaved mechanics of Tatooine.

“That’s why I was a Captain in the Royal Guard.” Tonra grinned over his shoulder.

She rolled her eyes and tightened her hold about his waist.

Chapter Text

“No!” The shrill note pierced the mild morning chill and silence of Theed’s streets. “No! Don’t leave. We never get to see you, anymore!” Eight year old Pooja and six year old Ryoo protested, clinging to the gangly legs of their most favorite person in the galaxy, after Artoo of course.

“Sorry, girls,” Anakin would have squatted to give them a hug, but… he jiggled his legs to prevent numbness as their python grasp tightened about his thigh and calf respectively, “I really gotta go. You wouldn’t want your Aunt Padmé to travel alone and unprotected, would you?” He wheedled.

They pouted and turned a speculative gaze on their Aunt. Obi-Wan sniffed. He was not an adequate protector? Anakin smirked at him. Padmé numbly turned to her big sister.

“I feel rather like an old shoe cast aside on the beach.” She lamented, having barely received half the affection her precocious nieces were showering down on their Uncle Ani. Though she understood they actually knew him far better than they did her. Anakin, had been there for their earliest years, trusty holo-cam at the ready to record every memorable moment to send to Padmé back when she’d been Queen. After his return to Tatooine, Sola and Jobal had stepped in with holo-cams of their own, for their family members displaced across the galaxy.

“You get used to it.” Sola reassured her resignedly, shaking her head as Darred moved forward to pry his eldest off of Anakin’s right leg. Ruwee, chuckling, likewise swooped off the porch of the Naberrie family’s Theed residence to gather a now bawling Ryoo into his arms.

“The voice of experience?” Padmé inquired, a slow smile etching itself onto her face as Anakin consoled the youngest girl, with a promise of coming for a visit just as soon as he could and maybe even going flying.

Sola sighed tremulously. “One simply cannot compete with his magnetic personality.” She drawled, accepting her mostly placated younger daughter from Ruwee’s hold. “Tell your Auntie Padmé bye-bye.” Sola said.

Ryoo peaked up at her Aunt through long wet eyelashes and held out a pudgy fist in farewell. “Bye,” she muttered miserably.

Padmé felt her heart constrict and moved forward to kiss the little girl’s curly head. “I love you, Ryoo, I’ll see you soon.”

“Will you come with Uncle Ani?” Pooja interrogated, wriggling her way free of her father’s arms and dashing forward to hug her Aunt’s skirts.

“I’m not sure if we’ll be able to come at the same time, my dear.” Padmé knelt to give her eldest niece a proper hug.

“Mama and Papa always take visits together, why can’t you and Uncle Ani?” Pooja innocently protested.

Anakin smothered his pleased amusement into Obi-Wan’s resigned shoulder. Shmi turned away, before Padmé could properly discern her smile, and bid farewell to the Naberrie elders. Padmé narrowed her eyes on her big sister. More than Anakin, she had the sneaking suspicion Sola was the one responsible for such ideas being in her niece’s head.

“Your Mama and Papa are married, Pooja. Uncle Ani and I are not.” Padmé carefully explained.

“So?” Pooja frowned thoughtfully. “You and Uncle Ani just have to get married.”

Anakin lost all restraint and howled as Padmé sighed. “Not you too, Pooja?” She moaned. It would be nice to have one member of the family who had not been swayed over by Anakin’s conviction.

“Marry Uncle Ani.” Ryoo echoed her big sister with an enthusiastic nod.

“Well, it’s time for us to be going.” Padmé decided, rising and sending Anakin a quelling look. Not that it did much good. He beamed and moved to grab another round of hugs and kisses from his honorary nieces.

“Take care of her, Anakin.” Jobal snagged his arm before he could slip past.

“I always will, Mother.” Anakin winked as Padmé, muttering beneath her breath, threw up her hands in frustration.

“We know, my boy.” Ruwee clapped the lad’s broadened shoulder with a grateful smile. “Thank you. And take care of yourself.” He reminded, wagging a finger in Anakin’s flushed face.

“Yes, sir.” Anakin said.

“Good, man.” Ruwee choked. He grimaced against the moisture in his eyes. Sixty was a very emotional time in a man’s life. Jobal smiled and leaned into his side. Yes, dear.

“I shall endeavor to keep them out of trouble.” Obi-Wan swore, bowing to the Naberrie family and taking his leave, following after Anakin’s long strides.

“I shall keep an eye on all three of them, you have my word.” Shmi smiled, pecking Ruwee’s cheek before hugging her dear friend, Jobal. “We’ll be back.”

“May the Force be with you.” Ruwee raised a hand in farewell as Shmi swept off the porch and down the cobble-stone street, her blaster rifle slung across her back.

“They’ll be alright, my love.” Jobal squeezed his hand and turned, ushering the remaining members of their family into the house for a second, more proper breakfast now that they had seen off their brief guests.

Anakin had insisted on detouring to Naboo to let Ruwee and Jobal know the latest attempts on Padmé’s life had been unsuccessful. He’d also decided to tell the family about the trio’s schemes. Once informed, Shmi had elected to tag-a-long, and could not be dissuaded by either Obi-Wan or her son. The matriarch of the Skywalker clan was an expert with a blaster, and it eased some of Ruwee’s anxiety to know the level-headed woman would be with their trouble-prone children. Still, he would not be entirely at ease until all four of them were once again safe and sound at home on Naboo.

___________

“Must we really go so far out of our way?” Obi-Wan sulked into one of the passenger seats aboard Shmi’s dilapidated Sienar freighter.

They had already taken enough of a detour to go by Naboo. Though, he’d admit it was a good idea to inform Padmé’s family she was fine. And they had added Shmi and her sharp-shooting skills to their little team. But now, Shmi was insisting on yet another layover. Tatooine.

“He will be an invaluable asset.” Shmi retorted.

Obi-Wan frowned. He was perfectly capable of handling this situation. Shmi shot him a look from the co-pilot’s seat. “Oh, very well, let’s collect the old Maverick and be on our way.” Obi-Wan grumbled his reluctant acquiescence.

“I’m sure he’s missed you too,” Anakin chuckled, guiding the freighter in for a landing outside a familiar homestead.

“Humph, he will never miss anyone half so much as his precious plants.” Obi-Wan said, folding his arms in the sleeves of his robes as the hatch unsealed and the oppressive heat of Tatooine’s Binary suns eagerly rushed inside the freighter.

“Jealousy does not become you, Padawan mine.” Qui-Gon Jinn drawled at the foot of the ramp, one eyebrow arched, his carefully combed mustache twitching.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed at the fresh robes, soil free finger-nails, properly parted and neatly plaited Nerf’s-tail in his old mentor’s long graying brown hair. What was this? Anakin may just be correct. His master had never been this put together through the many years of Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship. Perhaps, he had missed them, a little.

“Not your Padawan anymore, Master Jinn.” Obi-Wan sniffed imperiously.

“Of for Force’s sake.” Anakin’s booted heel swept out and propelled Obi-Wan down the ramp. “Just say you're happy to see each other. Bunch of emotionally repressed idiots.” He rolled his eyes, stalking past the duo towards the farm house.

“I see you’re influence has been rubbing off on him." Qui-Gon quipped.

“Better mine than yours.” Obi-Wan shot back, grinning.

Shmi’s clearing throat interrupted their familiar banter. “Might we move this tearful reunion indoors, gentlemen.”

The arch of her brown brows was disconcertingly familiar to the two men. Like mother like son. They thought. She swept around their prone forms, gliding across the sands towards the jubilant welcome of the farm’s residents.

“Uncanny.” Qui-Gon murmured.

“Indeed.” Obi-Wan nodded, observing Owen’s disgruntlement at having to jump to yank Anakin into a headlock.

“Are the two of you going to remain out here to broil or shall we join the others inside?” Padmé asked, stuck behind their towering bulks on the ramp of the ship, an impatient R2-D2 blatting at them, his electro-prod beginning to make its appearance.

“Inside, yes, lets.” Qui-Gon shuddered, the phantom spasms of his past acquaintance with the technological little terror bot.

“Retreat is the better part of valor, Master.” Obi-Wan chuckled, less frequently the victim of Artoo’s little tantrums. “Yow!” He yelped, glaring after the chittering astromech as it trundled happily across the sands.

“One should never assume safety where Artoo and his electro-prod are concerned.” Padmé intoned philosophically, as if she had ever been the victim of Artoo’s vindictive streak.

“Little menace takes after his organic counterpart.”Obi-Wan grumbled speculatively, rubbing his backside discreetly as he trailed the diminutive woman into the Lar’s homestead.

__________

“May the blessing of Ar-Amu go with you.” Hana intoned, standing in the yard to bid farewell to their friends.

“Clear skies.” Owen waved, disappearing into the house to round up his tools and begin his rounds on the vaporators.

“Be careful, friends.” Cliegg lifted a hand, the other resting about his wife’s waist, in farewell.

“Good hunting.” Beru sang, snagging a quick hug from each of them before darting away to catch up with Owen in the garage.

“We will.” Shmi promised.

Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Padmé nodded, ascending the ramp into the freighter. Detours and layovers, reunions and farewells were now behind them. Lifting clear of Tatooine’s atmosphere, their focus turned to what lay ahead. Kamino.

Chapter Text

“I don’t suppose I can convince the rest of you to remain here?” Obi-Wan, standing at the top of the hatch beside Anakin, addressed the rest of the freighter’s passengers.

“No.” Shmi spoke for them, her tone was mild belying the stubborn streak Obi-Wan knew his student had inherited from the woman.

“Very well, but perhaps, we should not all enter through the front doors.” Obi-Wan said.

“An excellent suggestion.” Qui-Gon nodded, taking Anakin’s place at Obi-Wan’s side. “I shall accompany you to speak with our welcoming committee.”

Anakin shrugged at his teacher’s look. He was fine with this. He never enjoyed playing the docile Padawan – he ignored Obi-Wan’s pointed look. Okay, so maybe he would just rather accompany Padmé. Hey -- he held up his hands -- in his defense diplomacy was boring and Padmé was far more interesting.

“Fine.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“I shall accompany you both.” Padmé declared. “As a representative for the Republic.”

Anakin clicked his tongue, so much for his plans. Obi-Wan smirked at his disgruntled student. Qui-Gon’s beard twitched in amusement. Padmé glanced between the three men. Shmi shook her head at the lot of them, concealing her blaster beneath her skirts.

“Then Anakin shall come with me.” Shmi decided, snagging her growing son’s tunics and hauling him down the ramp into the icy rain.

“Mom!” Anakin protested.”

“Well, you can hardly expect me to be able to splice my way in….” she opted to ignore his raised brows, “half as fast as you or R2.” Shmi carried on undeterred, and dropped over the side of the landing platform, trusting Anakin to guide her fall to the catwalk beneath they had spied on their descent.

“You’re the one who taught me how to splice.” Anakin reminded, dropping into a crouch on the catwalk half a beat after she had been safely deposited on the solid durasteel walkway.

“Mm, I must have been an excellent teacher for you to have become so proficient.” She smiled and gently shoved him towards the doors as R2-D2 joined them on the catwalk.

Anakin grumbled, rolling his eyes as he spliced into the door’s controls and overrode their locking mechanism. Shmi ruffled his hair fondly, before he could rise from his crouched position, and slipped inside the doors to the sterile white hallway. They crept through the bizarrely quiet corridors and came to a unanimous consensus this had to be some sort of maintenance passage. The corridor’s pristine state a combination of excellent up-keep and minimal foot traffic. Nevertheless, Anakin slunk along the walls, one hand hovering over his lightsaber hilt as he peeked about corners and into supply closets until they came to a computer terminal.

“Artoo, plug in and see if you can’t find any traces of our friend.” Anakin instructed, keeping a look-out at the far junction as the astromech dutifully trundled over and inserted his scomp-link.

Shmi kept her senses sharp, allowing Anakin to leave his post and hover over R2-D2’s dome, his eyes scanning the rapidly flashing streams of binary data. “There!” He exclaimed, one finger jabbing at the terminal’s screen. “Gotcha!” Anakin grinned.

Shmi waited for him to elaborate. He glanced over, flashing her a grin and a thumb’s up. “Did you find what you were looking for, Ani?” She prompted. Anakin’s duration in the Jedi Temple had led him to become accustomed to other’s just being able to sense or receive information through the Force.

Anakin blinked. “Oh, sorry, Mom.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we found him. Fett’s definitely here.” Anakin proclaimed.

Shmi’s brows furrowed, distant memories trying hard to push through the fog of long years. “Fett?” She murmured. The syllables as they tripped off her tongue were as familiar to her as her son’s name, but why?

“Yeah, Jango Fett, the Bounty Hunter,” Anakin glanced away from the computer, eyes tracing the shift in her expression. “Mom, are you okay?”

“Jango.” Shmi echoed, warmth and hope and disbelief all warring within her, as she rejected the idea. That name, like that man were phantoms of another age, and could not possibly still exist. Or could they? “He is a Bounty Hunter?”

“Yeah, a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter.” Anakin’s head canted to appraise her rigid posture. “Do you, do you know him?” He asked.

“A Mandalorian?” Shmi considered. The defiance she remembered burning in his eyes and this new information certainly gave her past beliefs pause. It was just possible. If he were a Mandalorian, like the ones who had worked for Gardulla, or those few who had volunteered to assist the Whitesun organization when they had been liberating Tatooine, then it was just possible. “He’s here?” She asked, shaking off what-ifs and maybes to focus on what was happening now.

“Fett? Yeah, he’s here. Artoo, pull up the map and show us exactly what apartment he’s in.” Anakin instructed.

Shmi stepped forward and waited for Anakin to translate, her Binary had never been as proficient as her son’s. He nodded as the astromech whistled, tapping at his data-pad once the information finished transferring from the planet’s main database. “Do you have it?” Shmi asked.

“Yes.” He studied her intently. “Mom….” Anakin huffed, trailing off unable to voice the crazy idea which he sensed beginning to form in her mind.

“Anakin, I want you to let me approach him first, alone.” Shmi said, carefully taking her boy’s hands in her own. “Please?”

He pulled one hand free to run through his hair in frustration. “That’s, I….don’t think that’s a good idea.” Anakin hated being right sometimes.

“Please, Anakin.” Shmi tilted his chin down to meet her gaze. “This is something I need you to do for me, as it is something I must do for myself.”

He exhaled loudly, puffing his lengthening bangs out of his eyes.“Alright. I’m giving you a five minute head-start. And if I don’t hear from you in an hour, I’m coming in, got it? Oh, and you’re taking Artoo.” Anakin instructed, tilting his head down to the droid. R2-D2 twittered and rolled forward, eager to guide her through the city. “I’ll take this map and go through the vents.” He concluded with a wave of the data-pad before yanking a nearby access grate out of the ceiling with the Force and disappearing in a flutter of brown robes.

Shmi smiled at the empty space where he had stood gratefully, then turned to follow R2-D2. “Mom.” Anakin’s head poked out of another vent. “Be careful.”

“I will.” She promised.

He nodded and vanished back into the vents without a sound. She shook her head and nodded to R2-D2. The astromech bleeped and trundled ahead, guiding her towards a ghost. Shmi composed her thoughts and focused on her breathing and counting the cracks in between the polished tiles on the floor. It would not do to go into this with her head in the clouds or trapped still in the hold of a spice freighter some twenty years behind her. Perhaps, it was merely coincidence and not the man she remembered. Even if it is him, after twenty years he’s hardly likely to be the man you remember. Shmi chided herself. She, herself, was not the same woman she had been, and it would be well for her to keep that foremost in her mind.

This man, whoever he turned out to be, was an infamous Bounty Hunter. One who had accepted a job to bring harm, to bring death, upon a young woman Shmi had often thought of as her own daughter. That was something she could not forget or easily forgive. It was certainly something with which her son would take issue.

______________

Obi-Wan exchanged a look with the others. “Skywalkers.” They murmured with a shake of their heads as Anakin’s robes and R2-D2’s metallic body disappeared after Shmi over the edge of the landing platform.

Obi-Wan straightened his robes, presenting as dignified a front as possible before he strode out of the freighter and towards the facility’s entrance. Qui-Gon’s long legs overtook him as he dashed past and through the transparisteel doors, one large hand held over his head to protect his long locks from undesired saturation by the planet’s torrential rains. Padmé rounded out their little trio, striding gracefully and leisurely through the rains, an umbrella, which Obi-Wan had never once seen in her possession until this moment, shielding her from the worst of the weather until she slipped inside the facility.

“You didn’t bring one to share, I take it?” Obi-Wan flicked the rain droplets from his cloak at his young friend and her umbrella.

“I cannot help it if you do not know how to pack for the unexpected.” Padmé declared regally, leaning her umbrella against the wall and smoothing down her slightly frizzled hair.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and pivoted as a new signature approached. Qui-Gon snickered at their exchange, wringing moisture from the hem of his robes. It was better to ignore them both. Obi-Wan decided as a tall alien glided around the far bend of the facility’s white corridor.

“Greetings, Master Jedi, we have been expecting you.” The alien bobbed their long neck in salutation.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a look from the corners of their eyes. “You have?” They murmured.

“Of course, we anticipated your Order’s eagerness to inspect the units you purchased.” She carried on in her melodic tones.

“Yes, we are most eager to see what the Order has purchased.” Qui-Gon drawled diplomatically, bowing respectfully to their welcoming committee.

“If you will follow me...oh,” The lithe female alien blinked her large eyes past the two Jedi towards the last member of their little party.

“Ah, our apologies….” Obi-Wan trailed off, staring at their hostess.

“I am Taun We.” She supplied easily.

“Our apologies, Taun We, I am Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and this is Jedi Knight,” Obi-Wan ignored his master’s petulant glare, “Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Taun We stared at the last and unnamed member of their group. Obi-Wan grimaced. Without knowing if their quarry was here or aware of their movements, and even if he was, it seemed highly unwise to give the Senator’s true name. He frowned internally and prepared to lie through his teeth. Obi-Wan had become more than slightly adept in the art of diplomatic obfuscation. All thanks to his Maverick Master’s peculiarities and Anakin’s preferred methods of negotiation.

“I am Padmé Naberrie.” Padmé flawlessly interjected, ignoring both Jedi’s raised brows. “And I am here as a representative for the Republic the esteemed Jedi Order serves.” She bowed her head.

“Ah, of course,” Taun We dipped her long neck in greeting and waved her hand, beckoning them to follow, “we are honored to have you here. If you will please follow me, the Prime Minister is most desirous to make your acquaintance.” She said.

“The Prime Minister?” Qui-Gon’s beard twitched in numb wonder.

“We would be most gratified by such an introduction.” Obi-Wan said and prodded his master with the Force. “By all means, do lead on, Taun We.” He bowed.

They trailed behind the alien to a chamber no doubt reserved for such formal meetings. Obi-Wan and the others bowed and offered their own greetings to the dignified Kaminoan Prime Minister, Lama Su. Taking the seats offered, the three humans waited with baited breath for Lama Su to conclude the social niceties dictated by etiquette and pierce through the clouds enshrouding this whole business. The tall, lithe alien dignitary finally leaned back and blinked at them.

“We trust you will be most pleased with our progress,” Lama Su began, “have already completed 100,000 units with a million more well on their way to maturity?” He hummed, clearly self-satisfied.

“So many?” Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon asked.

“Your people are a most industrious species to have made so much progress in so short a time.” Padmé probed, knowing none in their party were aware of either how long ago this supposed transaction was meant to have occurred or even what the product was that the Jedi were purported to have purchased.

“Not at all, Madame Naberrie,” Lama Su smiled, most pleased by such a comment, “while it was certainly the largest order we have ever accepted, the work itself is a mere trifle for our cloning experts.”

“Yes, your people’s reputation in cloning is well-known across the galaxy.” Obi-Wan hurried to jump in, their dear Prime Minister seemed most vocal after a compliment.

“It has been earned through many long years, Master Jedi.” Lama Su sniffed. “I assure you, your Order could not have entrusted this project into more capable hands.”

“You have the Order’s eternal gratitude for all your labor and discretion on this project.” Qui-Gon inclined his head.

“We were well aware of how necessary discretion would be, Master Jedi.” Lama Su said. “If you will permit me to say, however, I do so hope your army will not truly need to be put into action. Though, to allow such perfect units to go to waste would be a travesty.”

“Army?” Obi-Wan echoed, sitting back in his seat, eyes darting to Padmé. Bless her, she had allowed none of her horrified shock to show on her pale face.

“I must confess, it was came as quite a shock to us to hear one of our own had made such a purchase,” Qui-Gon picked up the interrogation.

“You did not know?” Lama Su blinked.

“Not at first. Though such a thing could hardly be made common knowledge to the whole Order if the project’s secrecy was to be maintained. We ourselves were only apprised of the situation when the Council informed us of our mandate.” Qui-Gon smoothly lied with a wry smile.

“Yes, that is true. Master Sifo-Dyas did say this was to remain a highly confidential en-devour until such a time as the army would be needed.” Lama Su said.

“If they are to serve on such short notice, we ought to inspect them to be better able to develop a flash-training regimen.” Padmé said.

“Ah, we have made sure they are fully trained and prepared. We would never neglect such a detail and have been most careful to structure the units training to produce the finest fighting force the galaxy has ever seen.”

“I’m sure you have done an admirable job, Prime Minister, and I mean no disrespect to the fine work your people have accomplished. However, Kamino is renowned more for its medical and cloning advancements than its militaristic ones, I believe.” Padmé pressed amicably.

“This is true, and no offense is taken,” Lama Su waved dismissively, “your concerns are ones we ourselves took into consideration when we chose the army’s template.”

“Ah, the being chosen for such an integral role must be exceptional to have met with your approval, knowing, as we do, your people’s high standards.” Obi-Wan stated.

“Indeed, his selection was made based upon his merit, and he has not disappointed.” Lama Su said.

“That is most reassuring.” Qui-Gon said. “Would it be an imposition to speak with this template?”

“No imposition at all, Master Jedi, Madame Naberrie,” Lama Su declared, “in fact, your timing was most providential for such an introduction.”

“Oh?” Padmé hummed curiously. “Is it normally difficult to arrange such an introduction?”

“You must understand, honorable representative, our template is a Bounty Hunter by profession, and at times he has other obligations to attend to than those which pertain to this job. Though I can reassure you his infrequent absences have never proved detrimental to the units’ over all development.”

“A Bounty Hunter?” Obi-Wan again shot a most intrigued look to his companions. “I must confess I find that an odd choice for an army.”

“If he were only a Bounty Hunter we would have immediately brought in additional consultants in order to develop the training regimen for the units, but he has a most suitable background and relevant experience which made him the perfect candidate for this position.” Lama Su said.

“I’m sure you have chosen wisely. Can you divulge his name or is that a trade- secret?” Padmé smiled impishly, casually leaning towards the Kaminoan Prime Minister her eyes twinkling as if they were intimate friends sharing a joke.

Lama Su’s thin lips curved into a sanguine smile. “No secret at all, fair lady,” he said.

Obi-Wan stared over his raised hand he, like his master, had poised to stroke their beards – all the better to conceal their amusement. By the Force, but Padmé was good. Oh, Obi-Wan would pay good credits to have her deal with some of the dignitaries in his negotiations. Heck, he’d hire her to attend any diplomatic event in his stead, or at the very least with him in place of his Padawan. While Anakin’s brooding and overall intimidating presence could hurry the process along on occasion, it was just as likely to cause tension or yet another interstellar incidence which Obi-Wan would have to file the data-work for!

“Oh, do tell?” Padmé beamed at Lama Su.

“His name is Jango Fett. He is a Mandalorian and, as I am sure one as learned as yourself is already aware, Mandalorians are well-renowned for their war-craft and militaristic achievements.” Lama Su supplied quite readily.

“Jango Fett?” Padmé’s twitching left eyebrow was the only physical give-away of her roiling excitement and fury the Jedi could sense.

“And he is available for us to meet with him?” Obi-Wan asked, reaching along his mental link to his Padawan to inform him of their findings. He sat up straight as Anakin’s response brushed the edges of his mind. “Perhaps, now, if that isn’t inconvenient?” He urged.

Qui-Gon knew the tone and winced internally. Oh, dear. What had Anakin done now? He sighed. For the briefest of moments, he had allowed himself the delusional hope that having Anakin’s mother along would keep the boy out of trouble. But really, he ought to know better. Qui-Gon settled his hands on his knees, prepared to stand or dash out of the room to bail their young companion out of whatever mischief he’d managed to fall into or create in the two hours they had been separated. Two whole hours. Hmm, perhaps he was giving Shmi too little credit. That had to be some kind of record for Anakin Skywalker. Qui-Gon considered with a fond shake of his head.

Padmé had already begun rising from her chair even as the Prime Minister answered. “It can be arranged. Taun We, please show our guests to Jango Fett’s apartment.” Lama Su addressed the Kaminoan who had remained silent and at the ready in an alcove of the oblong room.

“Thank you, for your gracious greetings and your assistance, Prime Minister.” Padmé curtsied, a true sign of deference coming from a former Queen.

“It has been my pleasure, My Lady, Master Jedi.” The Prime Minster stood, bowed, and waved them off to follow Taun We.

“Prime Minister.” Obi-Wan managed not to sound rushed or frantic as he sketched a bow and power-walked from the room.

“Prime Minister.” Qui-Gon’s own farewell was more dignified if no less hurried. “Good day.” He strode after his former student and Padmé.

“What did he do this time?” Padmé murmured to Obi-Wan, lengthening her stride to walk at his side.

“For once, it was not wholly his doing.” Obi-Wan grumbled. “Which makes this whole situation far more precarious. His brand of stupidity I’ve learned how to manage with a great amount of practice, I can assure you.” He said.

“Of that I have no doubt.” Padmé intoned. She had grown up with Anakin. “But if not him then….” She glanced at his taut expression. “By Shiraya’s light! Shmi?”

“Shmi.” He confirmed.

“Then we had best hurry.” She said and once more lengthened her stride, prompting their dignified guide to also pick up the pace of her loping gait.

_____________

Shmi ran through and discarded many greetings and questions to pose to the Mandalorian. She had resolved upon a mere five or ten by the time R2-D2 trilled, announcing their arrival. Shmi smiled and thanked the little astromech. He beeped back sweetly. If she didn’t know him better she might just believe he was an innocent little automaton and not the technological terror who was her son’s partner in crime.

“Artoo, please wait out here.” Shmi instructed.

He blatted. Unhappy. Shmi quirked a brow at him. He tried to wheedle, shimmying side to side as he beeped, his photoreceptor wholly blue. Did he really think that would work? She shook her head. R2-D2 once again chirped something,which she was quite sure was not at all polite when translated from Binary, but caved and wheeled a little ways down the hall, just out of sight of the door.

Shmi chuckled and exhaled once, regaining her composure for the upcoming meeting. Her selected greetings danced on her tongue as she rang the bell. All of them flew from her mind as she blinked into the face of the young child who answered the door. The nose and lips, and nearly everything, marked this boy as belonging to his father. More over, it laid to rest any lingering doubts she may have harbored. Jango Fett was indeed who she had half-feared and half-prayed he would be.

“Hello,” Shmi smiled, sketching a small curtsey, a gesture she had learned from her Nubian family, in greeting. “I am looking for Jango Fett, is he here?” She asked.

The child’s brows furrowed but he shrugged and swept an arm out granting her admittance into the apartment. “Hey, Dad, you got company.” He bellowed, leading Shmi further into the domicile.

She allowed her eyes to trail about the quiet, austere, and decidedly un-homey residence. Her gaze briefly alighted on a familiar suit of armor. Anakin had shown her the still captured by one of Coruscant’s holo-cams. Well, that also laid to rest any doubt about his involvement in Padmé’s recent string of misfortune. Anakin is not going to be pleased. Shmi sighed.

“You can wait here, I’ll go get dad.” The boy waved to a couch with a pile of holo-books scattered over its contoured cushions.

“Thank you, I appreciate your hospitality, young sir.” Shmi said, sitting stiffly and folding her hands in her lap.

“Boba.” He offered.

“Boba?” She tilted her head.

“My name’s Boba Fett, not young sir.” He gave her a sardonic little smirk.

Shmi laughed. “Ah, I see. Then I thank you, Boba Fett.” She smirked right back, her eyes crinkling with the action. “My name is Shmi.”

He flushed a bit beneath the apartment’s vibrant lighting and shuffled. “Right, uh, Shmi. Uhm, I...I’ll be back, with dad, who you came to see.” Boba sputtered and did not flee into another room.

Shmi smiled. Her heart might have ached upon first seeing little Boba and all his existence implied, but then she had a child all her own. And as her mind had so helpfully reminded her several times this cycle, it had been over twenty years since she had seen Jango Fett. Neither of them were still those two young people thrown together by circumstances beyond their control. There was a life-time laying between those short months spent on a spice-freighter and this moment in a little apartment on Kamino.

A deeper, older voice rumbled through the sealed door, of what Shmi could only assume was a bed room, preceding his appearance. Boba stepped out of the room first and offered her a shy smile. Then an even more familiar, though aged, figure stepped into the communal area. His lined face creased into a frown as he took in, no doubt to him, the strange woman seated on his couch.

“Who are you?” Jango Fett demanded, one hand landing on Boba’s narrow shoulder before he could venture further into the room towards the stranger.

Names held great value among those who had endured what they had. Though, at that time Shmi had not yet chosen her surname. Still. She rose to her feet, it was rude to remain seated when others were not, and offered yet another small curtsey in greeting. “My name is Shmi. Shmi Skywalker.” She said.

The dullness of his brown eyes spoke volumes. But she was neither surprised nor deterred by his lack of recognition. Those short months had been treasured in the recesses of her heart to endure the absence of kindness and security her life on Tatooine had brought. What the time represented to him, she could not guess. Thought depending on the length of his duration they may very well represent the darkest and most loathsome period in his life, in which case she could not blame him for forgetting. Shmi had a great many moments in her own life she had locked away in the depths of her mind to be scoured away by the ravages of time and never revisited.

“What do you want? Why did you wish to speak with me?” He pressed, a hand resting against his loose tunic and pants, and no doubt a concealed weapon. The man was a Mandalorian and a Bounty Hunter.

Shmi steeled her resolve, squared her shoulders, and prepared to address his recent exploits when she fumbled. Her and Jango’s gazes darted briefly towards the source. Boba’s cheeks flushed crimson, his hands folding over his stomach as if that would quiet it’s sudden, and insistent demands for sustenance. She felt her lips twitch and resolved on an entirely different approach.

__________

Jango was not entirely sure how it had come to this, but somehow between his interrogation and the strange woman’s introduction, they’d wound up in his kitchen. He observed her quiet and gentle interactions with Boba, who for his part, was entirely unbothered by this woman’s presence. Something about her set off an alarm in Jango’s head. Like the repetitive percussion of a hammer striking an anvil, the persistent clanging thundered in his mind. She would occasionally glance at him and he had the oddest feeling she knew him, which implied in turn he ought to know her, but she was one large question mark in his memories.

“Could you pass me that pot, please, Boba dear?” She requested of his son.

Boba, instead of bristling under the endearment as he would ordinarily with strangers, shrugged hopping off his stool to fetch the pot in question. Jango folded his arms over his chest, leaning his back against the far fall and arched his brows in silent wonder. Who was this woman? Boba, did not return to his stool or to his holo-books out in the communal area, he remained half-attached to the strange woman’s hip and eagerly -- though he made a show of being put out-- assisted her in cooking dinner.

“This smells great! Even better than dad’s Tinngilar.” Boba commented as the tantalizing aromas began to permeate every square inch of their apartment.

Jango allowed himself only the mildest perturbation at Boba’s remark. His son had not had a lot of opportunity to eat foods apart from ration bars or Jango’s admittedly mediocre cooking. Speaking of cooking -- Jango stiffened, watching in mild wonder -- how much pepper did she intend to add to the stew? At this rate it will be true Mando-fare. But she is not a Mandalorian. Jango narrowed his eyes.

“Gah, that’d take the hide off a rancor!” Boba proclaimed, taste-testing the stew and fanning his mouth.

“Then it’s ready.” Shmi smirked. “Perhaps, you would both be so kind as to set the table.” She addressed the later comment to both father and son.

Jango thought he really ought to be miffed at getting bossed around inside his own kitchen by a woman he’d never met. Boba guzzled down a second glass of milk and nodded his compliance. For some reason, Jango just couldn’t bring himself to get properly riled. He pushed off the wall and began gathering bowls and spoons. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and placed another stack of bowls into Boba’s arms before directing him towards the small table in the kitchen. Jango arched a brow at her in silent query.

“One never knows when one might have company drop in unexpectedly.” Shmi shrugged.

“Mom!” A fresh-faced blonde man exploded out of Jango’s ventilation shaft.

Almost like he was summoned. Jango’s boggled mind took a moment to process the more violent intrusion into his home.

“Are you okay?” The man -- more of a boy really, Jango thought-- addressed Shmi while keeping his eyes on Jango and one hand resting on his….

“Jedi.” Jango growled, his blood boiling as he took in the lightsaber.

Shmi stepped forward and laid a hand on Jango’s forearm. Bit by bit, he felt his blind fury dissipating and quickly returning as he realized it. Was she also one of those thrice-cursed hut’uun sorcerers? Wait, his mind recalled the boy’s endearment and he felt his anger draining away as curiosity quickly overwhelmed all his conscious thoughts. Jedi did not have children. He recollected. Shmi gave his arm a soft pat before she pulled away and towards her son.

“Anakin.” Shmi greeted. “That was quite the entrance.”

“It’s been an hour, Mom,” the boy called Anakin returned, still watching Jango warily, “are you okay?”

“I am perfectly well, Ani.” Shmi smiled warmly.

“Lucky for him.” Anakin grunted.

The chime rang through Jango’s apartment once again this rotation. Jango frowned. Boba tilted his head at him in question. Did he want him to answer the door, or not? Shmi clapped her hands.

“Perfect timing, dinner is all prepared.” She declared.

Anakin’s nose twitched and his blue eyes widened. “Hey, is that eel and noodles?” He asked.

“Your nose does not deceive you.” Shmi nodded.

“Rugged!” Anakin grinned and immediately lost his guarded posture as he sauntered towards the table.

“Uh,” Shmi’s up-raised palm halted him in his tracks, “Anakin, you know the rules.”

“But, Mom!” He whined.

“No, buts. Go wash up and let the others in before the food gets cold. There is much for us to discuss.” Shmi instructed, turning her spawn away from the dinner table.

Jango was momentarily diverted by the boy and his theatrics, whining as he was unceremoniously booted from the kitchen. Well, he was diverted until Shmi’s words sank through his thick skull. Others? He frowned at the mother left standing in the kitchen’s entrance.

“Apologies for the intrusion, Mr. Fett.” Shmi smiled, her eyes laughing at his disgruntled expression.

Jango did not almost return her smile. Boba’s curly head whipped back and forth. What was this? What was going on between this odd, but nice, lady and his father? He narrowed his eyes. It’s a mystery. A mystery, Boba was determined he would solve.

Anakin returned to the kitchen leading a parade of three more interlopers into Jango’s already cramped kitchen. He marched up to his mother, thrusting his damp hands out for her inspection. “Clean enough?” Anakin asked.

“Yes, now you may join us at the table,” Shmi smiled, “if, you’ve all left your weapons at the door?”

The two, very decidedly Jedi men -- Jango was fighting his baser instincts to vaporize them on sight – and Anakin looked at the petite woman in their midst. Jango’s eyes narrowed on the unfamiliar female. Unfamiliar. And yet there was something about her face.

“Fine.” The young woman huffed.

She removed two concealed vibro-blades, a blaster, and her ornate hair-pin which was filed to a wicked point. Shmi crossed her arms and raised a brow. The younger woman grumbled and fussed but dutifully produced a deactivator from her boots and placed it, along with everything else, into Anakin’s waiting arms. Anakin chuckled and left the kitchen to store her weapons alongside the rest.

Jango and Boba glanced at one another. They almost felt guilty retaining their own concealed weaponry. Shmi caught their exchange and smiled. “You are our hosts.” She said.

Somehow, she knew they were not as unarmed as their appearances made it seem. Jango thought. He snorted at her. Host, she said. As if he’d invited any of these people. Anakin returned and moved to pull out the chair for the younger woman as his two Jedi companions held out Shmi’s chair. A Matriarchal Jedi Order? Jango wondered. He shrugged. Something told him he would learn all about this bizarre little group soon enough. Something also told him he wouldn’t want to sit through the story on an empty stomach. Jango nodded and Boba eagerly scampered over to a chair, having been waiting for his father’s permission. He’s a smart kid. Jango smiled proudly and moved to take his own seat, more than a bit eager to consume the mouth-watering delicacy prepared by the odd woman named Shmi Skywalker.

Chapter Text

“No, not that. That’s unimportant right now, Artoo.” Anakin debated with his droid as he sprawled on Jango Fett’s carpeted floor after dinner, working to decipher and decrypt the data they’d snagged from the long-necks’ files.

“Can you isolate the payment history?” Obi-Wan and Padmé pressed, sharing one of Jango’s couches as they sipped their tea. If they could figure out where the credit trail originated they could crack the mystery of who had truly placed an order for a clone army and orchestrated the trials which had led to Jango Fett’s selection as the template for said army. Padme’s credits were still on Count Dooku.

Anakin grunted, waving them both off, focused on hyper-scanning through the data. Jango arched a brow at the lot of them. Here he sat calmly taking after-dinner tea and caff with Jedi and his target. Yep, Padmé kriffing Amidala, was in his apartment unconcernedly pouring herself yet another steaming mug of tea, blinking at him as if he were the least threatening individual she’d ever encountered. As if he were not the man who had been hired, and made several prior attempts, to take her life. Well, Jango would give the young senator this; she had guts.

Shmi reentered the room, a fresh pot of caff in her hands which she placed on the table between Anakin and Jango, the only ones of the group who consumed the beverage. Jango nodded, holding up his mug in silent thanks. She smiled and stepped towards the empty couch, ruffling Boba’s hair in passing. Jango stared when his son yet again failed to react as he normally would to such a ‘childish’ display of affection. Then again, these were abnormal circumstances. Jango supposed, watching Boba who in turn was absorbed in watching Shmi’s son Anakin as he scanned through the Kaminoan files at an impossible rate, all while keeping up a steady dialogue in both Basic and Binary with the little astromech unit. Shmi paused to repeat her ministrations with Anakin.

For the first time in ten minutes the boy paused in his work, head pressing into Shmi’s palm with a quite hum. “I love you too, Mom.” Anakin said.

Yeah, definitely not a Jedi. Jango decided. At least, Anakin was not a Jedi. As for the other two? The auburn haired one, Shmi had introduced as Obi-Wan and the old, long-haired man as Qui-Gon. Now, those two all but screamed they were proper, Temple trained Jedi.

“Technically, I resigned from the Order ten years ago,” Qui-Gon murmured, sipping his tea as he meditated in the corner of the living room, waiting for his call to the Temple to be returned. They had requested any and all data on the late Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas, who according to the long-necks was the man responsible for the clone army, and not Tyrannus. The man who had hired Jango.

So here he sat, the only survivor of Galidraan, having a caff-clutch with a Republic Senator, two Jedi, and whatever Anakin and Shmi were. Jango was still not sure what to make of them. A Jedi who was not a Jedi and his mother. A mother that was bringing out some very strange sensations in Jango’s mind from the moment he’d locked eyes with her and heard her name. But why?

___________

Shmi glanced over the rim of her mug at Jango. He diverted his dark eyes to glare into the depths of his caff. She took a deep breath and set her tea aside. It was time. Anakin paused and stared at her, his head cocking to one side. His blue eyes darted towards Jango Fett, back to her, and  he gave her a small nod. Shmi smiled. Grateful for her son’s support and his agreement for her to speak for both of them, Shmi exhaled.

“Mr. Fett, I should like to tell you a story.” Shmi prefaced and was pleased by the subtle tightening in his jaw. Good, he understood. She nodded. There were things one did not forget no matter how long ago the chains may have been broken.

Jango set his cup down with a controlled slam. “You are free to say what you want here.” He stated.

“Indeed, I am free, as is my son,” Shmi said –Anakin increased his scrutiny of the data-pad in his grasp-- , “as are you.”

Jango’s eyes narrowed in quiet challenge. Shmi might have been intimidated, once. But that was many years ago. She straightened her spine and returned his gaze. Shmi told her and Anakin’s story. He shifted in his chair a strange wince crossing his dark features when she spoke of their years of slavery. With a deep breath, refusing to divert her gaze from Jango’s face, Shmi concluded; “I know the scars left by a slaver’s whip, no matter how well concealed by time they may be.” She said.

Boba looked to his father with wide eyes. Jango closed his eyes. He’d done everything to eradicate every remembrance, and anything that might tarnish his son’s illusion of his father’s invincibility. Though, Jango exhaled his remorse. Such delusions only built you up for a harsh dose of reality. He snapped his head up before Jaster’s corpse could inevitably flash through his mind’s eyes.

“What is your point?” Jango did not deny her accusations. How could he?

“As one who has lived in freedom and chains, how do you not see the shackles all about you and your children?” Shmi leaned forward, earnest in her assertions. She had spoken with Qui-Gon briefly while they’d prepared tea and caff.

“Children?” Boba echoed, face scrunching in utter confusion. “I’m Buir’s only ade.” He insisted.

“Not so, my dear,” Shmi smiled sadly. “you have a great many brothers.”

Before either Boba or Jango could correct this odd woman, Anakin came off the floor with a jerk. Boba glanced up past the older boy to the suddenly flickering lights of his and Buir’s apartment. What was going? A power surge? Was there another typhoon? He wondered, glancing towards the blacked out windows in the living room.

Anakin’s knuckles cracked as he balled his hands into trembling fists. “Chips!” He snarled.

“What?” His group asked with a horrified whisper. He couldn’t mean? They thought exchanging glances.

“What are you talking about?” Jango blinked at the kid through squinted eyes, almost like he was fending off a sudden bout of light-sensitivity.

“They all have slave chips!” Anakin flung his data-pad into his startled mentor’s grasp, whirling towards the door of the apartment.

Padmé met him there, re-arming herself as Anakin held out one hand and summoned his lightsaber. Qui-Gon glanced back and forth from Shmi to Obi-Wan to Anakin. Someone needed to go with the two youngsters, to prevent excessive damage. He remained planted in a lotus position on the cold floor. Shmi arched a brow, Well, obviously he didn’t mean himself. Qui-Gon was far too old for all that running around. And besides, Anakin had a new teacher. A younger teacher.

“Anakin.” --Ah, there he was. Qui-Gon nodded to himself-- Obi-Wan scrambled to secure the data-pad with all their evidence into his tunic’s inner pockets before calling out to try and reason with the boy.

Anakin paused glancing over his shoulder at his mentor. “This ends today, Obi-Wan.” He vowed and marched from the room.

Jango laid one hand over his throbbing his head as the boy, the senator, the young Jedi, and their maniacal little astromech disappeared with weapons primed for aggressive negotiations. His body felt cold in spite of the hiss which told him his apartment’s heater was in fact running. Chips? Who had chips? Who else; the clones? The clones had slave chips? Jango shook his head.

“No. Doesn’t matter. Only clones. No different from droids. It’s not my concern. They’re only a job.” He murmured over and over to himself, clutching at his head.

When had he ever experienced a migraine this intense? Jango fought not to moan. He could not show such weakness in front of strangers. Shmi’s dark brown eyes peered into his as she knelt in front of him, one warm hand laying on his shoulder.

“You do not believe that, do you?” She stared meaningfully to where Boba sat frozen in confused shock.

“He’s different. He’s not the same.” Jango echoed the familiar words, a comfort once to hear them reiterated by the Kaminoan scientists.

A comfort? He groaned, falling forward. How many times had he told himself those same lies? How many times had he echoed them to prevent himself from caring? To not feel anything for the Vode? The vode, Jango had taught the oldest batches that term. He’d taught the very best of them. Jango had cared. And, what had it cost most of those boys? Gone in a single night. Decommissioned, Nala Se had said when he’d returned from his hunt, a hallow grief reflecting in her eyes through the professional line. Decommissioned. Such a sterile way to describe those thirty boys’ deaths. Even the word death was an inadequate way to describe the manner of their ending. They had been culled as little more than cattle. Scrapped like droids. Jango groaned and fell forward, his elbows propped on his knees as he held his head, the memories bursting from behind his purposefully erected mental barriers.

What had been the point in killing them? Jango wondered, feeling hot tears leaking through the corners of his eyes. He had wondered back then too, but none of the answers had made a lick of sense. They still didn’t. How could any answer make sense. Their murder had been entirely pointless….No, Jango felt ice lancing through the foggy hazy of his mind. No, there had been a point. A point made for Jango. Don’t care. His affection for those boys had been what led to their deaths. The scientists might be cold-blooded but it was a professional distance and they had been as pleased with the first batch of Alpha’s as Jango himself had been. So the order had not been given by anyone in Tipoca City. So then who?

“Have you had many dealings with this Tyrannus?” Qui-Gon asked, watching Jango warily. “Face-to-face, that is?”

What the bloody heck did that have to do with anything? Jango’s aching mind couldn’t guess.

“Face-to-face. Three or four times these past ten years.” He answered through clenched teeth.

The effort it took to even recall those meetings was excruciating. It shouldn’t be. Jango knew that. He was a Bounty Hunter, one of the best. He should have zero trouble recalling those memories. Yet, not only was the exact number of their meetings hard to grasp and wrangle to the forefront of his mind, Jango found it was even more difficult to recall when or where those meetings had occurred, and more elusive than all the rest, the image of Tyrannus’ face.

“Why is that important?” Boba demanded in his father’s stead, wringing his hands together, his eyes darting from his father to the Jedi.

“He is no Jedi.” Shmi concluded, nodding to herself.

Tyrannus? A Jedi. No, he was no Jedi. Jango’s mind could piece that much together, but the word association pricked a far older memory. A memory Jango had never forgotten. The grief, guilt, and rage from that day he would never allow himself to forget. Yet, there was something off in his memory. Why couldn’t he remember that Jedi’s face? Jango wracked his mind as if physically trying to pry apart a blast-shield of durasteel construction. White-hot flames seared throughout his body. His vision spun and he collapsed out of his chair, hands twisting into his curls. If he could only make the pain stop, he’d have his answers.

“He is Sith.” Shmi’s voice spoke as if through many fathoms of water, garbled and indistinct.

“That makes far too much sense.” Qui-Gon responded, stroking his beard. “We’ll need to inform the others of this development.”

Shmi raised her gaze from where she was already typing away at her com-link. Qui-Gon hummed and tapped a finger to his chin. “After Obi-Wan dispatched the last apprentice, it stands to reason the Master would have had to find a replacement. Still, I wonder how the clones fit in to all of this?” He murmured.

“A question for later, perhaps, Qui-Gon?” Shmi knelt, rubbing Jango’s back as he curled in on himself, his body twitching and arching in pain.

Boba twisted the hem of his tunics, refusing to cry like a little baby. But what was he supposed to do? How did he help? He didn’t even know why his Buir was in pain. No-one had touched him!

“Boba,” Shmi moved and placed both hands on the boy’s slim shoulders, tugging his attention away from his father to her, “Boba, I think some medication might help to ease your father’s discomfort. Do you have a med-kit?” She asked.

“Ye...yeah.” Boba licked his lips, nodding slowly.

“Excellent. You go and fetch it. I will make some tea.” She stood, turned him away from Buir, and gave him a little shove to propel his frozen feet into action.

Action. Buir had not taught him to panic. He had trained him how to remain calm and focused in any situation. Inaction had its purpose, but not in this moment. Boba’s second nod was decisive, unrestrained by his crippling worry. “I’m on it.” He declared and scurried from the room to retrieve the med-kit.

“Good.” Shmi smiled after him and then turned to Qui-Gon with a meaningful arch to her brown brows. “I shall leave this to you.”

Qui-Gon sighed. This was really not his field of expertise. Not that Shmi is concerned by such petty details. He thought as the hem of her blue skirts vanished around the corner into the kitchen, to brew some more tea. No doubt medicinal. Shmi rarely traveled anywhere without her sachet of herbs. Qui-Gon pushed himself off the wall. A healer he may not be, but he did have some small skills in the art, and perhaps he could guide Jango Fett into a healing trance. That would buy them some time to unravel more of this mystery. Qui-Gon had only a speculation, and one with no real evidence to base it upon, but he felt fairly confident this Tyrannus had placed some sort of compulsion inside the Bounty Hunter’s mind.

Qui-Gon told the writhing Mando as much; “Fett, I am not trained as a Healer and this is only conjecture, but it’s possible Tyrannus placed a compulsion into your mind.”He’d barely finished speaking when Jango Fett had him pinned to the floor, a forearm pressing against Qui-Gon’s windpipe, his dark eyes fierce and manic.

“I don’t care what it takes, Jetti, get this osik out of my mind!” Jango snarled.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat several times. The Mandalorian tumbled off of him into a dead faint, sweat beading over his face, neck, hands, and staining his loose shirt. Rubbing his throat, Qui-Gon considered the request. It was easier said than done to remove a compulsion. Like most Jedi, Qui-Gon had studied the history of the last great Jedi and Sith conflict, and had heard about the concept of Sith compulsions and other such “fun” arts practiced by that dark order. Still, knowing the basics hardly qualified him to set about rifling through the mind of another sentient. No, Qui-Gon was not too proud to say he was ill suited to this task. He thumped his right fist against his left palm. Aha! Qui-Gon did, however, happen to have a friend who was ideally suited. With her assistance he might just be able to accomplish the task.

“Here’s the med-kit.” Boba froze, eyes riveting on his crumpled father. “What did you do to my Buir!” He dropped the med-kit, training his previously concealed blaster on the old Jedi.

“Peace, Boba.” Shmi appeared, plucked the weapon from his hands, and faced her companion. “Qui-Gon, explanation, please.”

“I’m afraid we may or may not be dealing with a Sith’s mind-meddling and Mr. Fett expressed his desire for me to unscramble his mind before he was overcome by exhaustion.” Qui-Gon stated, thumbing through the contacts on his comm. “Aha!” He cried and dialed. Boba and Shmi exchanged glances.

“You had better be bleeding out in a gutter, Jinn.” Vokara Che’s familiar lekku and filed teeth swept into view as she yanked her sleeping mask off her face, revealing her sharp green eyes.

Oh. Qui-Gon winced. No wonder their prior request for information was taking so long. They had all neglected to factor in the time difference between Kamino and Coruscant. He’d no doubt just awoken his old creche-mate, and the Temple’s Chief Healer, from her well-earned sleep cycle . “Apologies, ‘Kara.” He offered.

Her gaze swept over him and towards the crumpled form of Jango Fett just inside the range of his holo-comm’s view frame. “I’ll let it slide this time. What’s going on?” She asked.

“Who’s she?” Boba tugged on Shmi’s skirt.

Shmi shrugged. “A Jedi. Come let us check on the tea, I believe we could all use a cup.” She said.

Boba paused, looking at his father. “What about--”

“Qui-Gon will inform us of any change in your father’s condition. We can do nothing for him ourselves at this moment, let us work on tea and then we can decide on breakfast.” Shmi said.

“Breakfast? We just had dinner?” Boba said, trailing after Shmi into the kitchen.

“The morning is fast approaching, Boba, and we shall all need nourishment after tonight.” Shmi returned, their conversation fading into quiet plans for cooking.

Qui-Gon smiled after his young friend. She was an excellent mother. Vokara cleared her throat, slender lavender arms crossed over her chest as she regarded him steadily through the comm. “Ah, apologies again, old friend.” He said.

“Just get to the point, Qui.” Vokara waved him off.

“Right, well, have you ever dealt with dark-side mind manipulation?” He asked.

Vokara’s sleep and aggravation fell away. “I cannot say I have ever personally dealt with it. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in this time, Qui-Gon?” She shook her head.

Chapter Text

Anakin flew through Tipoca City. Obi-Wan’s robes streamed out behind him as he stretched his shorter limbs – and, though he would never admit do doing so, drawing on the Force – to keep pace with his student. Padmé strode gracefully, blaster held always at the ready, as she trailed behind them guarding their rear with R2-D2. At least someone is maintaining a level head, during this situation. Obi-Wan thought.

It certainly wasn’t going to be his student. Not that Obi-Wan faulted Anakin for his instability during this crisis. He would probably be far more concerned if the boy had (bottled everything up and) acted like a….a proper Jedi. Obi-Wan winced. Once again confronted by the thought that Anakin would not have thrived had he been trained as a more traditional Jedi. He shook his head. Setting all that aside, what were they even doing right now? Obi-Wan slowed to a brisk walk.

“Obi-Wan?” Padmé called, eyes sweeping about the corridor, empty but for themselves and R2-D2. “What is it?”

“What are we doing?” He said, drawing to a full stop.

Anakin nearly tripped mid-step as he whirled on his heel to glare at his mentor. “What?” He roared.

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, ignoring the child’s ire for the moment. Allowing Anakin’s perfectly reasonable anger to cloud his own thoughts would do them no good. He stroked his beard as he considered the sterile white walls of Tipoca City. Padmé slowly came to stand beside him, tilting her head between him and Anakin as Artoo trilled curiously, electro-prod at the ready.

“What precisely is our plan here?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin opened his mouth, but Obi-Wan held up a hand to forestall his outrage. “I mean apart from confronting the Kaminoans about the chips? What are we going to do? They can always deny the chips’ existence, after all our evidence wasn’t exactly legally obtained.” He pointed out.

“That’s true.” Padmé nodded, tapping a finger against the polished hilt of her Nubian blaster. “We can hardly use our intelligence to rectify the situation through the proper channels or put any kind of legal pressure on them to cease and desist. I also got the impression from Prime Minister Su that our Kaminoan friends are not normally fond of having the oversight of a third party involved in their cloning operations.” She surmised.

Anakin stared at the two of them, the manic gleam in his blues eyes, which had flared moments before in light of his crusade, ebbing. He arched a brow at the both of them, his lightsaber still clutched in his right hand. “Why does any of that matter?” Anakin said.

They turned their gazes away from the walls to blink at him. “What?” They asked.

“What does it matter if we can’t legally make them stand down and cease the enslavement of the clones? You’re both talking about Republic law. This is Wild Space. The laws don’t apply.” Anakin declared and swirled with a flutter of black robes to resume his march through the corridors.

Obi-Wan held up a finger in aborted protest as the claim cycled through his mind. “Wait a moment, Anakin--” He fumbled.

“No, no, he has a point.” Padmé remarked, canting her head in a shrug. “This isn’t Republic Space nor is this truly a Republic matter.” She smirked at the older male’s flabbergasted befuddlement.

“Padmé, tell me you are not being sucked in by his insanity?” Obi-Wan was only half-joking.

He had first hand experience with being swept along by Anakin’s innate proclivity towards madness. A madness some mistakenly viewed as a sure sign of brilliance. Though, to be fair, there was a very fine line of balance between genius and insanity. A pity Anakin had never performed very well on the balance beam.

“My dear Obi-Wan, there is no insanity in it, the matter is perfectly clear. The Kaminoans were contracted, in theory, by the Jedi. Kamino is not a planetary member of the Republic, correct?” She smiled.

“Yes, that is true.” He admitted slowly.

“Tell me, has the Jedi Order changed its status or is it still officially registered with the Republic Senate as a neutral institution?” Padmé prompted as she slipped past after Anakin, tossing a wry grin over her shoulder.

Obi-Wan felt his own lip’s twitching. It was a decidedly gray area of legality. But that was nothing new to him after a decade apprenticed to the Maverick Master Jinn and half-a-decade spent with Anakin Skywalker. Heck, Anakin’s status in the Jedi Order was something of a gray area. Obi-Wan shook his head with a fond chuckle and jogged to catch up with his companions.

“Well, now that’s we’ve established our legal basis, or lack thereof….” Padmé snickered, Obi-Wan returned her grin and carried on, “what are we intending to do to rectify the situation?”

“Yes, I don’t suppose we can feasibly hope to overhaul their operations in one day. We’ll need to establish someone to monitor the situation here even after we’ve spoken with the Prime Minister.” Padmé’s joviality dimmed as she considered their options.

“You’re both still thinking like Core-worlders.” Anakin shook his head. “Padmé I can understand, but you old man have no excuse.” He tossed.

“Oh, and just what would you propose we do?” Obi-Wan challenged, even though there was a tiny voice in his mind telling him he really didn’t want to know.

“Master, did you learn nothing from your year on Tatooine?” Anakin bemoaned, summoning R2-D2 to the fore-front of their little troupe as he drew alongside a computer terminal.

“Or from the past five years as his teacher?” Padmé beamed at him.

The lady has a good point. Obi-Wan sighed. As did Quinlan. Obi-Wan must be a masochist to have put himself through all of this. He narrowed his eyes as Anakin chirped and whistled at Artoo. Oh, that never portended good for Obi-Wan’s blood pressure when the two conspired in Binary.

“Got it, pal?” Anakin slapped his best friend’s chronium plated dome. R2 blatted, poking Anakin with his manipulator arm. Anakin grinned and leapt out of its reach. “Alright, alright! I have complete faith in your abilities, Artoo. Good luck!” Within mere seconds of this pronouncement the previously quiet city came alive with an automated message instructing all Kaminoan personnel to report to the commissary for an important briefing.

Obi-Wan gaped at the boy. “You are insane.” He declared as Anakin sprinted away from the computer terminal and R2-D2.

“Hey, you got a better way to get them all in one place?” Anakin returned, following the schematics on his vambrace.

“Anakin, where are you going? The commissary is down this hall.” Obi-Wan had long ago learned to map his surroundings in order to make his inevitable fast exit with his trouble-prone Master or Padawan even faster.

“Yeah, I know.” Anakin did not explain, continuing to veer down the right fork in the hall.

“Anakin?” Padmé called softly, neither raising her voice or chastising him in any way.

Obi-Wan glanced at her. He recognized that trick. Shmi had patented it for dealing with her spawn. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan had never managed to crack the code and replicate it himself. He wondered what result Padmé’s attempt would produce.

“Hm, what is it, Padmé?” Not only did the boy slow his pace, he actually turned to face the woman.

Oh, now that was just blatant favoritism. Obi-Wan stopped outright and sniffed indignantly. He gave and gave and this was the thanks he received? How rude.

“Why are we going this way if you’ve arranged for all the Kaminoans to be in the commissary?” She batted her long lashes.

Humph. Obi-Wan could use such tricks too. Though he doubted they’d meet with the same level of success. Anakin briefly shot his master an amused look.

“Because all the Kaminoans will be in there; we’re going to speak to the clones. They deserve to hear everything first.” Anakin stated.

“Ah.” She grinned. “That’s what you were up to. I assume Artoo is going to make sure our Kaminoan guests remain in the commissary?”

“You had him hack into the city’s mainframe.” Obi-Wan nodded.

“Nah, he did that earlier.” Anakin shrugged and began to lead them once more down the hall.

“Of course he did.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure why he assumed R2-D2 hadn’t already hacked his way into the city’s systems.

“He just assumed control of the city’s operations this time. He’ll monitor the security feeds and insure we aren’t disturbed and our guests don’t leave early.” Anakin said.

“Hm, that’s a rather well thought out plan, Ani.” Padmé complimented.

“Where’s your faith, woman?” Anakin laughed, not in the least bit insulted. “It’s not as if I haven’t infiltrated and taken over places before.”

“I wouldn’t have thought Jabba and Gardulla’s palaces were quite on the same scale.” Padmé said.

“Eh, it’s all semantics.” Anakin waved the comparison aside along with the door to the first of the clone’s bunk rooms.

___________

Pillows, home-made shivs, and training blasters were aimed on them as the clones inside the room stared back at the intruders. Obi-Wan and Padmé both telegraphed their movements, raising their hands into the air away from their own weapons. Anakin planted both hands on his hips and nodded at the clones, the fingers of his right hand brushing his lightsaber hilt. Half of the room’s occupants lowered their weapons marginally, gazing from the lightsaber to Anakin’s face.

“You’re a Jedi?” One clone asked, he was a lot stockier in the shoulders and chest than Jango Fett himself, but everything else was a perfect match.

“Well…” Anakin hummed. Obi-Wan’s left foot snapped out and caught him in the seat of his pants. “Yow, hey! Watch it, old man.” He scowled over his shoulder.

“Ahem, Anakin.” Padmé coughed delicately.

“Ah, right.” Anakin grimaced and turned to address the clones assembled in the room. “Yeah, whatever, if it makes you comfortable then I’m a Jedi. The name’s Anakin Skywalker and I’m here to set you boys free!” He announced with a feral grin.

“Uhm, free?” Another clone, with a crooked nose asked.

“Yep!” Anakin did not elaborate. He’d leave all the pesky details to Obi-Wan.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s groan promised retribution in the near future.

“We’ll circle back to that, there are a few things we gotta deal with first.” Anakin ignored his mentor.

“What things?” The burly clone asked, crossing his arms and staring down Anakin as if evaluating his intelligence.

Anakin liked him instantly. “The long-necks and anyone else responsible for the clone army will be removed from their positions and remanded into custody pending the results of our investigation. Are there any problems with this plan? Or do you have any one that you would vouch for among the Kaminoans or your trainers?” Anakin asked.

The clones blinked, communicating with their eyes and shuffling feet in the ensuing silence. Padmé sighed. It would seem not even the silver tongued Jedi Negotiator could train Anakin in the arts of tact and diplomacy. She smiled at the back of her younger friend’s blonde head. He caught her gaze and winked. The burly clone narrowed his eyes at the exchange. Whether in disapproval or confusion was anyone’s guess.

“You’re all Jedi?” He asked.

Skepticism, then. Padmé decided.

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, at your service.” Obi-Wan obligingly introduced. “You have already met my student,” he canted his head towards Anakin, “and our fair companion here is Padmé Amidala, a Senator and Representative of the Galactic Republic.”

“A little ostentatious, Obi-Wan,” Padmé drawled, “but thank you for such a flattering introduction. I shall strive to live up to the expectations you have just set, Master Kenobi.””

Obi-Wan crinkled his nose at his friend. Anakin narrowed his eyes on his teacher. “Watch it, old man.” He warned, wagging a finger in his bemused mentor’s face. “She’s my fiancee.”

“It’s a brother-in-law’s prerogative to annoy his brother and embarrass his sister-in-law.” Obi-Wan quipped

“By the light,” Padmé heaved a bone-cracking sigh, “are you still going on about that after all this time?”

“Better believe it, Angel.” Anakin grinned and whirled back to the clones missing the scarlet flush stealing over the young woman’s face.

Obi-Wan and the gathered clone commandos did not and blinked. One in amusement. The rest were reevaluating all their flash training modules about Jedi and their code of non-attachment. Clearly, some one had screwed up and not bothered to update their archive’s information.

“Regarding your question, sir.” A clone raised his hand.

“Yes….” Anakin stared.

“Alpha-58, sir.” He said.

Lights flickered. Anakin’s smile strained as he stuffed his fists beneath his armpits and breathed through his nose. “Do you have a different designation you’d prefer?” He asked.

“Ah,” Alpha-58’s golden brown eyes widened fractionally, “um, Trantos, sir.” He eventually volunteered.

“Trantos, carry on.” Anakin nodded, Padmé stepped alongside him and laid a hand on his fore-arm. Obi-Wan wrapped calm about his own signature and projected it down their Master/ Padawan bond. Anakin’s rigid stance softened.

“What is going to happen to Prime?” He asked.

“Prime? Who is that, Trantos?” Obi-Wan asked, though he had a vague idea based upon the Kaminoans and the clones’ method of denotation.

“Jango Fett.” The burly clone said, eyes narrowing in a challenge.

Anakin blinked, what was the guy expecting them to do. Throw down with their fists? He snorted at the idea. Oh, he’d probably hold his own fairly well, but Anakin had the sneaking suspicion he’d get his shebs trounced in the end. Padmé titled her head up at him, he waved her off with a smile.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan nodded, “thank you for the clarification. We’re tabling that matter for the moment due to extenuating circumstances.” He said.

“He kick your shebs?” The burly one – Anakin seriously needed to learn his name-- smirked.

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-Wan drew himself upright prepared to defend his martial honor.

Anakin snickered. “Nah, my mom handled him just fine without the need for violence.” He stated proudly.

“Your what?” The clones blinked.

Ah, right. Clones. They only had the one genetic donor. Anakin grinned. Well, he’d always wanted siblings and from the way his mom had interacted with Boba he had a feeling he already had one. What was a few hundred thousand more?

“Gentlemen, I believe we are getting distracted from the matter at hand.” Padmé cleared her throat.

“Gentlemen?” That’s a first?” The first time to be called a man, you mean?” The clones murmured amongst themselves, before the burly one and another clone barked at them to pipe down.

“Sir,” the second clone nodded for the Jedi and Senator to guide the discussion.

“Right, is there anyone who shouldn’t be incarcerated like the Depur they are?” Anakin asked bluntly.

Ignoring that they didn’t recognize the term – though the clones seemed to catch on to it’s implied meaning -- they carried on. A few clones mentioned their Mandalorian Medic Mij Gilamar. Another group of Alphas’ begrudgingly grumbled about Nulls and Kal Skirata. Padmé made a note of those names on her data-pad and nodded for the clones to continue. One brought up Walon Vau over the muttered litany of swears associated with this trainer. Her stylus paused and she glanced at the burly clone, named Alpha-17-- he’d not given them another designation--, he nodded and she added Vau to their growing list. Several clones then chimed in with the name Rav Bralor. There were a few more names debated back and forth. Their list assembled, Padmé shot a missive to R2-D2 and tucked her data-pad away for later. Anakin nodded and palmed his lightsaber off his belt, spinning on his heel as the clones scrambled, each to their appointed tasks. Now, it was time to deal with the Kaminoans.

____________

“Thank you all for coming, I shall keep this as brief as possible.” Obi-Wan smiled out over the assembly of Kaminoans, his lightsaber on prominent display.

“You’re all under arrest.” Anakin snapped, glaring over the top of his mentor’s head.

Obi-Wan sighed. So much for pleasantries. “Yes, to be precise we are placing you all under house-arrest pending the results of our personal investigation into the ethical concerns which have been raised about your practices.” He said. “That is all.”

The Kaminoans protests fell off as Anakin snapped, “ Do not resist and I promise you will not be harmed.” His voice carried with no assistance to every corner of the room, a commanding pressure overlaying the words.

The Alphas, the Nulls, and the swiftly assembled Clone Commander batches swept through the commissary directing their prisoners into orderly lines and marching them to the cleaned out barracks, which other vode had organized into a temporary brig, while the Jedi and Senator met with the long-necks. The members of the Cuy’val Dar who had not been vouched for by the clones, were awaking amongst all the commotion to find their quarters unwilling to let them leave. R2-D2 had all too chipperly evaded and overturned several of their attempts to hack into their door controls, using the city’s central computer. Just in case they resorted to pure brute force, several of the clone commandos and the Mando trainers who had been cleared were already en-route to subdue and incarcerate. In the end, the overthrowing of Tipoca City took a little over five hours.

“Not our best record.” Obi-Wan murmured, checking his chrono.

Alpha-17, Fordo and a clone Commander named Cody all arched a brow at the back of the Jedi’s heads. “You do this sort of thing often, sir?”

“Oh, not quite as frequently as my erstwhile Padawan.” Obi-Wan admitted, canting his head at Anakin’s rigid back, where the younger Jedi stood overseeing the processing of the Kaminoans. “But this was hardly the first time I’ve infiltrated an organization.” He grinned.

“Ah.” They nodded slowly, glancing between the two strange Jedi. These Jedi were unlike anything for which the clone’s training modules had prepared them. Were all Jedi like this?

_____________

“Careful, Qui, this is not the same as weeding the Temple gardens!” Vokara snapped at her old creche-mate, as she talked him through the process of removing the Sith influence from Jango’s mind.

“I’m well aware of that, ‘Kara dear.” Qui-Gon muttered, eyes closed in concentration.

“Just checking, mister follow the will of the Force.” Vokara dryly returned.

Qui-Gon winced, properly chastised. He grumbled in consternation and prodded the slippery black presence wound about Jango’s mind. Metaphysically plucking at the inky threads, Qui-Gon tested the results. He did not have long to wait. Jango Fett roared, coming wide awake, and lunging for Qui-Gon’s throat.

“Buir, no!” Boba shouted.

Shmi did not bat an eyelash and shot the Mandalorian. “Shmi?” Qui-Gon blinked the spots out of his vision, coughing.

“Be at peace, it was only a stun blast.” Shmi stated, passing Boba’s blaster back into the boy’s hands. “There, that ought to do it.” She murmured, rolling the man’s crumpled form to once again lay flat on his back.

“Ah, perhaps you might?” Qui-Gon trailed off sheepishly. Shmi glanced from her old friend’s blueish purple throat to the deceptively subdued bounty hunter and promptly sat on his legs.

“Boba, we may yet have need of your assistance.” Shmi said, tilting her head at the weapon, still set to stun, in his trembling hands.

He mulled over these instructions, with a considering frown. “Right.” He nodded slowly and trained his blaster on his father’s currently unconscious form.

“Thank you.” Qui-Gon said hoarsely, rubbing at his throat.

No wonder the Sith love to ally with Mandalorians. They are quite formidable. Qui-Gon thought. Vokara’s voice snapped at him, prompting him to focus on his work. This was no time to be spacing out, Qui-Gon berated himself. He closed his eyes in concentration, carefully uprooting each inky tendril entwined around Fett’s mind. The passage of time meant nothing in this mental landscape, so Qui-Gon could not say how many hours had gone by before he retreated at last, disentangling himself from the other man’s mind. He sat back on his hands wearily.

Shmi pressed a hand to his forehead, cupped his face and examined him with a brief pass of her shrewd brown eyes. She nodded and placed a damp cloth and a warm cup of tea into his hold and turned away to assess Jango’s condition. Qui-Gon mopped at his brow with the cloth and sipped the tea. The warmth did wonders to ease the dull ache in his throat and chest as Shmi relayed Jango’s vitals to Vokara. His old creche-mate nodded, pleased by the man’s condition and ended their call.

Shmi and Boba lifted Jango from the cold floor to one of the couches and laid a blanket over his shivering form. She gave the concerned young boy a brief hug, reminding him a Jedi Healer had declared his father to be in stable condition.

“Your father merely needs rest now.” Shmi assured Boba and turned away, heading towards the front door.

“Going to collect your spawn?” Qui-Gon joked, groaning as he leaned back against a nearby chair.

“You are in no condition to do so.” She reasoned with a wry grin. “I shall return shortly. Boba?”

The child turned away from watching the rise and fall of his father’s chest. “Yes?” He asked.

“I am leaving you in charge of monitoring your father and Qui-Gon, can you handle this?” Shmi asked, ignoring Qui-Gon’s quiet mutterings he was not so decrepit as to require a minder.

Boba looked at the gray in the old Jedi’s hair, to his father now snoring softly, and met Shmi’s gaze. “Yes, I’ll watch them.” He promised.

“I leave them in your capable hands.” Shmi smiled and slipped from the room to track down her son and the rest of their companions.

Perhaps, she was biased but she hardly thought it ought to take this long for Anakin and the others to wrest control of one city. It certainly had not when they had gone after Jabba. Still, this facility was more vast than the Hutt’s palace. Shmi conceded. Trusting her instincts, she ambled through the now bustling corridors to find her son.

Chapter Text

“Ani,” Padmé whispered, rubbing his tense back with her left hand as he scowled after the last of the Kaminoan scientists being shepherded from the commissary under the clone’s careful watch, “it’s over.” She reminded, gently tugging on the end of his sleeve with her right.

His hands were still balled into white-knuckled fists. If he didn’t relax soon he’d snap like an overly taut string. He had been far too calm and rational, by her estimation, during this whole fiasco. It wasn’t like Anakin. Much less like an Anakin having to deal with a traumatic reminder of his early childhood. The boy she knew could not have accomplished the overthrowing of Tipoca City without a little detonation of private property. Anakin’s explosive temper had always been a might literal.

“I know.” Anakin’s jaw clenched, breaths coming out slow and forced as if he were struggling either to take in enough oxygen or perhaps trying to avoid hyperventilation.

Padmé glanced over her shoulder to where Obi-Wan stood surrounded by the remaining clones, all Alpha and Commander classifications. He was speaking with each one as they were debriefed, and debriefed the Jedi in turn, about everything which had transpired in Tipoca City these past ten years. Raking her gaze over Anakin’s rigid posture, Padmé worried her bottom lip. Anakin was not in any state of mind to handle this discussion.

“Ani, let’s take a walk.” Padmé snagged his wrist and tugged, spying Trantos turning in Anakin’s direction.

No, her friend was in no shape to be dealing with the prolonged discussion which would inevitably follow their takeover of Tipoca City. She was not going to jeopardize Anakin’s mental health. He needed an outlet of release before being cramped into a space, overflowing with breathing manifestations of his own past. The clones were people but they had been a people treated and labeled as property, much as Shmi and her son had once been under Watto. Padmé shifted, lowering her center of gravity to increase the pressure she could exert, propelling Anakin’s stiff body into motion.

“Where are we going? Padmé, there’s still things we need to do.” Anakin protested, numbly. He did not in any way fight her as she pumped her legs and guided them away from the commissary, where the clones and the cleared Cuy’val Dar began congregating to speak with the odd trio who’d prompted the overthrowing of the cloning facility.

“We’re going for a walk. And, you’re right, there are things we ought to be doing but we will do them later.” Padmé replied, scanning the corridors for the correct turn. “Obi-Wan is perfectly capable of getting things started. We will join him shortly, just not immediately.”

Anakin plodded along, not debating further as she directed them through the identically white corridors of Tipoca City. Aha. She brightened, quickening her pace and bursting through the transparisteel doors into the deliciously cold rain. Yes, this would do nicely. Padmé nodded to herself.

Anakin shivered, staring at the back of Padmé's head. Her hair’s gonna be a royal pain to tame after this. He idly considered, transfixed by the swishing of her braids as she pirouetted and spun beneath the rain as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As if they had not just infiltrated and overthrown this facility. As if there were not a slave army supposedly created by the Jedi Order just inside this facility. He found his chest clenching as a wave of white-hot anger flared through his body.

“Don’t you care?” He barked.

He’s ready to talk. Padmé ceased her dance, a release of her own pent up reserves of adrenaline.

“What do you think, Anakin?” She prompted.

“What do I think?” Anakin drawled with an irritated snarl to his bland echo. “What do you think I think about all of this?”

“I don’t know.” Padmé shrugged, clasping her hands together behind her back and peering into his face. “I can’t know if you won’t tell me. I am not a Jedi, I cannot sense your emotions, Anakin.”

“You’ve always seemed to regardless.” Anakin grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest glaring away from her as the rain dripped into his vision.

“That’s because I know you, Ani, and I care about you.” Padmé said. “And I do care about this,” she waved a hand at the rounded dome of the buildings behind them, “but that will still be there for us to deal with once you’ve had a moment.”

“I don’t need a moment!” Anakin yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “I don’t need to meditate on it or my feelings, what I need is to…..” He frowned, trailing off as he glanced around at the empty landing platform they were on.

“What you need is to cool off and sort yourself out in your own way.” Padmé concluded, approaching slowly. “If you want to scream, go ahead, no one will overhear in this storm. If you want to cry, then cry, Anakin. If you want me to leave you alone, I will. If you need me to bring the ship so you can fly into the stars, I will. Just tell me what you need, please? I want to help. I couldn’t be there for you last time, but I’m here now. So, tell me. What do you want, Anakin.” She said.

His momentary anger and annoyance at her fled in the wake of the far more overwhelming, sensation. The absolute conviction he’d carried for ten years all the more cemented as he gazed through the rain obscuring his vision to meet her imploring brown eyes. “I want you,” he felt his face flame and hurried on before she freaked out or hit him, “to stay. Please, stay. I don’t want to be alone, completely.” He admitted in a quiet voice, shuffling his feet in a familiar dance just as he had always done when confounded by Padmé’s too big heart and his own affection for her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she grasped his hands, smiling, “a wild Reek couldn’t drag me away.”

“You’ve clearly never been chased by an angry Reek.” Anakin chuckled, sniffling and fighting the urge to wipe his running nose on his sleeves. It was a waste of water. He choked on his own thoughts as the rains increased. There was plenty of water here, but still. It was childish. Crying was childish.

“To be vulnerable isn’t a weakness, Anakin. It takes a great strength of character.” Padmé insisted, dabbing at his eyes ineffectively with a thoroughly soaked handkerchief. Anakin noticed the bright vermilion embroidery.

“That’s,” he choked on his emotions, surfacing at last as his anger and own self-control cracked away from the many witnessing eyes of Tipoca City. Padmé didn’t need him to be in control or be strong. She possessed more than enough strength in her heart and compact body. “Isn’t that one of the ones I gave you?” He rubbed at his eyes, only to clear them of rain drops he lied.

“Mm-hmm, you gave me this one for my seventeenth birthday.” Padmé nodded, admiring the roughly stitched initials and flowers.

“You kept it?” He laughed, light and a little bit unstable, sinking slowly towards the deck of the landing platform, feeling wrung out as his adrenaline faded.

“Of course,” Padmé said almost as if she were indignant on his twelve year old self’s behalf, “you made it for me.”

“It’s karking awful, Padmé.” He chuckled, shaking his head. His needlework had vastly improved after Pooja and Ryoo were born. He’d made a whole kriff ton of embroidered plushies and headscarves for his honorary nieces.

“It’s the thought that counts.” Padmé struggled to maintain her defense as Anakin pointed out the backwards Aurebesh lettering in her first name.

“So you do hate it?” He playfully accused, leaning back and letting the rain wash over his face.

“I do not!” She said hotly, clutching the soiled handkerchief close. “It was a thoughtful gift from a very dear little friend.”

“Little?” Anakin guffawed.

“Well, he’s not quite so little anymore.” Padmé relented, sinking to sit beside him on the deck, noting once again, with an odd thumping in her pulse, that he was still a head-span or two taller than her even whilst sitting.

“Ten years can change a lot of things.” Anakin murmured, leaning back on his elbows.

“Even five years can bring a great deal of change.” Padmé said, arms encircling her drawn up knees, her head tilting to observe Anakin’s face.

“There are some things that never change though.” Anakin tilted his head to regard her, a slow warm smile breaking over his face as daybreak over the mountains surrounding Iroté.

“Oh?” Padmé’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “What things?”

“My caring for you won’t ever change.” Anakin said, not a hint of joviality or jest as had become his norm when broaching this topic around her.

She could not bring herself to dismiss his words as merely platonic. Anakin was not still the tow-headed boy who’d gazed up at her as if she hung the stars. They had both grown up. Padmé was not sure how to handle this revelation.

“I care for you as well, Ani.” Padmé felt confident enough to say, though she was not quite as confident about the kind of regard she felt.

Not anymore. A slow change, she had barely marked, had begun after her reunion with her dear friend. A dear friend he remained, and always would, but…..was that truly all she saw him as? Or wanted him to be?

“I know. I know.” Anakin sighed, shaking his head and slowly pushing to his feet.

No, you don’t. Padmé thought, her stomach roiled watching him rise and stretch. She opened her mouth. Unsure herself of what would pour from her lips.

“Ah, there you are.” Shmi hailed appearing in the doorway, shielding her eyes from the rain with one browned hand. “I assume everything is under control?” She asked.

“Yeah, ours.” Anakin offered her a wry grin.

“I had no doubts it would be otherwise.” Shmi smiled, her eyes trailed to Padmé, her head cocked in silent appraisal. “Padmé, dear, are you alright?”

Shmi always was the more observant member of the Skywalker clan. Padmé exhaled, composing herself. Whatever she was ruminating on could be dealt with another time. Whatever her feelings, they were secondary to the matter at hand.

“Yes, I am alright, Shmi.” She said, accepting Anakin’s hand.

“Hmm, I see.” Shmi hummed, brown eyes drank in the zero distance between the two youths. “I’m glad you are both unharmed, but come inside. Whatever possessed you to go out in this weather? You’ll become sick from the cold, come.” She chided as only a mother could, waving for them to hasten.

“Yes, Mom.” Anakin huffed a laugh, right hand firmly clasped with Padmé’s left as he began striding back towards the facility.

Cold? Padmé mulled over Shmi’s mild rebuke. How could I possibly be cold? She wondered. Anakin’s hands were as warm as ever. Warmer somehow than Padmé remembered them being when they had been younger.

Chapter Text

“Please, please, hold your applause.” Dormé stepped back, make-up brush still in hand and poised above her head.

“It’s uncanny.” Moteé shook her head, brown eyes wide with wonder.

“We know. We’re just that good.” Eirtaé nodded to Dormé, flipping her long blonde hair over one shoulder, pirouetting to allow Tonra entrance to the dressing room.

“What about their height disparity?” Cordé inquired, appraising Sabé currently arrayed as Senator Amidala as she rose from the dressing table.

“Easy enough to disguise.” Rabé answered, eyes trained on her data-pad as she selected a pair of shoes at random from Padmé wide assortment. “Here. Put these on, Sabé.” She chucked the pair of heeled boots over-handed at her fellow hand-maiden, breezing back out of the dressing room, swiping on her screen.

“Does she ever go anywhere without that thing?” Tonra asked.

“No.” The girls assured him.

“Shake the sand off your feet, girls, we’ve got a meeting in an hour!” Rabé yelled from elsewhere in the apartment.

“We made it in ten minutes before.” Moteé said.

“Was Anakin at the controls?” Tonra and Sabé asked, trading grins and glances.

“Yes, Padawan Skywalker was driving,” Moteé admitted, “but surely we could also---”

“Oh, dearie,” Sabé wrapped an arm around the younger hand-maiden’s shoulder, “no can fly like a Skywalker.”

“Let us all say a prayer of thanks to Shiraya for that small mercy.” Eirtaé droned, folding her hands solemnly.

“You’re gonna wish he were the one flying today if you all don’t get cracking.” Rabé, the self-appointed task-master, bellowed.

“Yes, mother.” Dormé sang sarcastically, putting away the last of the cosmetics.

“Are you ready, My Lady?” Tonra addressed Sabé with a smirk.

“Lead on, Captain Tonra.” Sabé waved imperiously, the carefully deepened intonations of the Amidala persona dripping perfectly from her painted lips. Ah, she grinned to herself, I’ve still got the touch.

___________

Ensconced in the red -- oppressively so, Sabé’s Nubian sensibilities recoiled – office of the Supreme Chancellor after a far longer than ten minute commute from 500 Republica, Sabé primly folded herself into the proffered chair. She bestowed the Chancellor an aloof nod in greeting. The barest minimum of courtesy a former Queen was expected to show. Anakin’s warning had played over in her mind since she and Tonra had set down on the planet-city. The old man smiled wanly over his desk at her, ignoring her retinue entirely.

Hardly polite, though socially acceptable. Sabé thought.

“I am pleased to see you have recovered from your most recent plight, my dear.” Chancellor Palpatine said.

“The galaxy’s motions do not slow or still for any one being,” Sabé returned, “ though we are most gratified by your concern, Chancellor.”

“Of course,” he said, eyes slipping past her to briefly assess the trio who had filed off from the Senator’s delegation to join her in her meeting with the Chancellor and not carry on to Senator Amidala’s office, “tell me, have your Jedi protectors been recalled already? I was under the impression they were to remain until the threats against your noble person had been resolved.” He remarked.

“Our brave Jedi Knights offered to lend their assistance in tracing those responsible for the unprovoked attacks against our person.” Sabé offered. “In their place, our Queen was kind enough to send Captain Tonra of the Royal Guard to insure our protection.” She smiled.

The Chancellor’s fishing. Sabé thought. Whether the seasoned politician was playing a hunch or actually knew, it was clear from his questioning that he had doubts about Sabé’s true identity. Still, it was not illegal to impersonate a Senator if said Senator had requested the impersonation. It was also not a crime to vote in that Senator’s stead. Many Senators opted to vote by proxy, and Padmé had given her Senatorial Seal to Sabé. Which made things all nice and official while also concealing Padmé’s current whereabouts.

“Ah, I see.” Chancellor Palpatine nodded. “I am pleased to hear you have not been left unguarded.”

Like the Hand-Maiden’s of Amidala are not a perfectly capable cohort of guards? Sabé frowned internally. She and the girls had been trained alongside the Royal Naboo Guard and were a more than adequate defense against most attacks. These latest had been a fluke not the norm. Her heart constricted. Let them be okay. Sabé petitioned the deity of Naboo as thoughts of her friends surfaced. Wherever they are, let them be safe. She closed the blast-doors on her worries and smiled politely as the Chancellor offered a few more meaningless platitudes before bringing their meeting to an end.

“I hope you will forgive my selfish abuse of power in taking up your precious time, my dear,” Chancellor Palpatine said, pushing to his feet, signaling the close of their little tête-á-tête, “I was simply too relieved to hear your brief respite after that vicious attack was over and you were returning to the Senate.”

“Of course,” Sabé dipped her head in acknowledgment, “though as Chancellor our time is always at your disposal.” She allowed the slightest up-turn of her painted lips to accompany this small jest.

“Oh, of course.” Chancellor Palpatine laughed lightly, escorting her to the door of his inner office. “Thank you for setting an old man’s heart at ease. Now, take care.” He patted her arm before she swept from the room, followed by her little retinue.

Sabé felt cold and filthy. Not dissimilar to the time she had posed as a dancing girl in Gardulla’s Palace before the Skywalkers and Whitesun overthrew the Hutt. She could practically feel the cunning gaze of the Chancellor haunting her every step as she left his office. So that was what Anakin meant by a creepy sack of slime. How did Padmé handle dealing with someone like the Chancellor? Sabé shuddered, increasing her pace.

“I do not trust that man.” Tonra murmured, stepping alongside her as they traversed the hallways of the Senate.

“Join the club.” Rabé inserted herself and her opinion on Sabé’s other side.

“Let us just be grateful his term is almost over and another election around the bend,” Eirtaé, ever the optimist, ventured.

The election was almost upon them. Sabé consented. As long as nothing happened to post-pone or put off the democratic process, Palpatine would soon be a distant memory in the political scene. She hesitated at the turbo-lift, heading turning to regard the distant entrance to the Chancellor’s office. As long as nothing goes wrong?

“My Lady,” Tonra hissed, tugging her into the lift, “ is something troubling you?”

“That remains to be seen, Tonra.” Sabé pronounced.

“Ominous words indeed.” Rabé eyed her friend. “You’ve been spending too much time around cryptic wizards.”

“Perhaps,” Sabé allowed, though she didn’t truly believe the lie herself.

Something was rotten on Coruscant. Well, more rotten than the normal rot of the megalopolis. She had a very bad feeling. Like sitting on a pin-cushion – a feeling she was well acquainted with from her time as a Hand-maiden and sharing a room with Eirtaé, Amidala’s wardrobe mistress-- Sabé was restless, waiting for something to happen, and hoping nothing would.

Chapter Text

Jango sat on the balcony, overlooking the training hall, sipping his caff as the vode tried to peg their rapidly moving targets with their training blasters. Kal hummed at his side, reluctantly impressed by the Jetti’s acrobatic display. Rav Bralor drummed her fingers against the helmet tucked beneath her left arm, leaning forward, her eyes darting after the flitting phantoms visible only by the blue and burnt-orange flames whirling in their hands. Qui-Gon chuckled,continuing his conversation on ancient Mandalore with Llats Ward.

“They are a sight to behold, aren’t they?” Padmé smirked at the grizzled Mandalorian warriors, more than a little bemused by their reactions to her Jedi friends’ skills.

“He’s reckless.” Kal grumbled.

No need to specify which he. Qui-Gon sighed. He’d spent nearly five years trying to curb-- he winced at Obi-Wan’s mental jab-- alright so he’d put a restraining bolt on the boy’s worst impulses and left the rest up to fate. The point was Qui-Gon was well acquainted with both Jedi in the battle simulation room below and he knew precisely which boy would have garnered the old Mandalorian’s censure.

Jango shook his head. Anakin leapt unnecessarily high over Ordo’s head, completing three aerial somersaults before landing in the clone’s blind spot. Ordo’s curse could be heard even over the simulated combat. Anakin tagged the seam beneath the clone’s armpit, with a victorious cry.

“Ha ha, score!” Anakin crowed, waving his saber. “Whoa!” He evaded his master’s swipe and sprinted for cover back behind his own team’s battle lines.

“Your overconfidence is your weakness, Anakin.” Obi-Wan cheerfully reprimanded.

“Me, overconfident?” Anakin gasped, ducking his head down to avoid Cody and Spar’s blaster-fire. “Never. Though I do make a pretty darn good diversion.” He smirked and tapped his head.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, spinning around hands outstretched as Rex and Alpha-17 revealed themselves in their vode’s midst. With a nod they lobbed their grenades. Firing their grappling cables they got clear of the resulting blast.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan wiped pink paint from his eyes as the battle drew to an end and glared at his cackling student.

“Hey, all’s fair in love and war, right?” Anakin laughed.

“Hm, you have a point there.” Obi-Wan stroked his paint spattered beard, and smirked. “Men, attack.”

“What, whoa!” Anakin’s squad yelped as their temporarily vanquished foe dropped their blasters and charged.

Obi-Wan sniffed in victory, opting to ignore Anakin’s squawking as Cody tackled the young Jetti and grappled him into a head-lock. Rex and Alpha-17 wisely remained up above the ensuing chaos, watching with matching grins as brothers and Jedi descended into harmless frolicking and wrestling. This sort of game never would have entered their wildest dreams while the long-necks had been in charge. However, with the strange Jedi, Senator Amidala, and Shmi running things this had become a common way for the Vode to keep their skills sharp, and pass the time.

R2-D2’s sudden whistling broke up their game. Anakin tapped furiously on Cody’s arm until he released him. He hurried toward the astromech. “Whoa, slow down. What’s going on?” He squatted beside his droid as the Vode, and Obi-Wan strode nearer.

Sensing the urgency in the astromech’s shrill response, Jango and his fellow Mandalorian’s dropped over the edge of the balcony, igniting their jet-packs to land safely. They stalked forward. Rex, one of the youngest clones who’d started participating in these matches, saluted. Alpha-17 crossed his arms and turned, hovering over Anakin’s shoulder waiting.

“Well, Skywalker?” Alpha-17 prompted, toeing the young man with his right boot.

“Oh, not good.” Anakin said, leaning back on the balls of his feet as Artoo continued to chatter at him in Binary.

“What is it, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Dank Ferrick! ” Anakinswore.

“Skywalker!” The group snapped. “For those of us who don’t speak Binary?”

“Right.” Anakin flushed both annoyed and still taken by shock. “He said there’s an incoming transmission from Tyrannus.” He looked directly at Jango.

“Shavit.” Jango swore.

“Oh, that’s not good.” Obi-Wan echoed.

“You don’t say?” Kal and the Nulls drawled.

“And, you’re quite sure they weren’t actually cloned from him?” Anakin asked, eyeing Skirata and his odd group of clone-sons.

“Fairly sure, sir.” Rex replied, standing alongside Mereel.

“More important issues, Jetti’ika.”Alpha-17 whacked the back of Anakin’s head.

“Yeah, I’m aware.” Anakin fussed, trying to smooth down the resultant cowlick.

“Just checking.” Alpha-17 smirked. He’d taken to his self-appointed role as Anakin’s Ori-vod with gusto.

“Children, please.” Jango sighed.

“I’m not one of your kids. I don’t have a father.” Anakin quipped.

“Tyrannus. Sith. Incoming transmission.” Obi-Wan stressed, pinching the bridge of his nose in place of his student’s neck.

“Recorded message actually.” Anakin said. “Artoo, faked a comm center malfunction. Now, we got a little time to plan.”

“Plan?” Obi-Wan choked. “Who are you and where’s my Padawan.” He demanded, pointing at Anakin.

“Boys, lets try to stay focused here.” Qui-Gon’s admonishment was far too amused to Jango’s ears.

“We’re focused.” They defended in tandem.

___________

“It seems to me we have two options.” Shmi murmured, consideringly as she rocked the young clone cadet in her lap. He dozed peacefully, his nightmares gone with the removal of his control chip.

“Only two?” Boba pried his attention away from his data-pad, where he was sprawled on the carpet of Jango’s living room with another squad of cadets, and glanced at her quizzically.

“Simplicity is sometimes best.” She winked.

“That’s true.” He grinned and shrugged, turning back to his holo-book as Shmi addressed the group convened to debate the Tyrannus issue in Buir’s apartment.

“We can either ignore this Sith’s hails, which may prompt him to investigate, or we use the summons to get close and learn more.” Shmi stated.

“Neither sounds like a great option.” Cody murmured, munching on dried squid as Anakin and Qui-Gon passed the refreshments around their hastily assembled congress.

“There are rarely ideal solutions to any issue.” Padmé handed the plate of dried sea-creatures to Alpha-17 sitting at her right, accepting the tea from Anakin when he seated himself in front of her legs. She rolled her eyes as he utilized this arrangement to turn her into his own back-brace.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Kal shook his head.

“So plan A or Plan B, all in favor?” Anakin prompted, less inclined towards drawn out scheming and more towards action.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“I’ll go.” Jango decided, staring out his apartment’s window.

“Now, hang on a moment, Prime,” Trantos said, “this isn’t something you can unilaterally decide.”

“Actually, it is.” Jango returned, his dark, haunted gaze pinning them all in place. “Tyrannus can’t know about what’s happened here these past couple months. The only one who can keep him from figuring that out, is me. I’m the one he hired and I’m the one he’s expecting on Geonosis inside of three rotations. So yeah, this is something I can, and will, decide on unilaterally.”

The Vode came out of their chairs with the present representatives of the Cuy’val Dar. “What?”

Anakin slurped his caff, blandly watching the tense showdown between Mandalorians. Padmé kicked him. He shrugged, unconcerned. Shmi canted her head from her sensitive son to the aggressive spiral their meeting was experiencing. Hm, if Ani was not bothered, then perhaps Jango was correct? Shmi considered.

“There isn’t time to discuss this in a committee.” Jango snapped, slashing his arm, ending the debate as he spun on his heel. “I’m going.”

“I will accompany you.” Qui-Gon stated.

“What?” Obi-Wan, previously unruffled by the near physical altercation moments prior, sprang from his chair, eyes wild. “Master, that is a terrible idea!”

“Is it?” Anakin smacked his lips, polishing off his caff.

Obi-Wan robotically turned to glare at his student. “Yes, it is, Anakin.” He ground his teeth together. “Master, you’ve made your share of disastrous decisions but this….”

“Obi-Wan, the presence in Jango’s mind was familiar.” Qui-Gon said.

“All the more reason for you to stay out of this, Old Man.” Obi-Wan hissed, vivid recollections of his former Master’s last close encounter with a Sith and it’s near fatal conclusion.

“I cannot,” Qui-Gon smiled sadly, “this is something I need to confirm with my own eyes.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan stared.

“I think it’s my old Master.” Qui-Gon said.

“Gramps?” Anakin wrinkled his nose, thinking over their convoluted lineage.

“You think it’s Master Dooku?” Obi-Wan stepped back, trying to avoid making eye-contact with Padmé Amidala.

“It is one possibility,” Qui-Gon sighed, “though I may also be mistaken. In either event, I must go, it is the Will of the Force.”

“The Will of the Force be hanged!” Obi-Wan threw his hands into the air. “You are not going. Not alone.”

“I must.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “I’m not a Jedi or a soldier created for the Republic.”

“What?” Obi-Wan blinked.

“Geonosis lies in the burgeoning territory of the CIS, an emissary of the Republic’s presence would hardly be tolerated.” Qui-Gon explained, hoping to placate his, usually more rational, student.

“The Jedi are neutral--” Obi-Wan argued.

“Tell that to the Haat’ade.” Jango snorted derisively.

“Hush.” Shmi chided, holding up one hand before either Mandalorian or Jedi could speak further.

“Fett, makes a good point,” Padmé said, “the Jedi while officially registered as a neutral organization are by the majority of the galaxy’s populace viewed as an extension of the Republic and in particular the Republic Senate.” She sighed.

Obi-Wan was undeterred, until Anakin rose to his feet and stared at him. “Obi-Wan, we can’t get involved.” Mr. Act First and Deal with the Consequences Later said.

Meeting his student’s gaze, his shoulders sagged. “You’re right.” Obi-Wan exhaled out the last of his protests.

“I know.” Anakin grinned, breaking the tension. “It happens more often than you like to admit, Old Man.”

“I’ll show you who’s old, you brat.” Obi-Wan pounced.

Anakin smirked, side-stepping the attack and dancing behind Padmé. “You wouldn’t harm an innocent by-stander, would you?” He sang.

“Leave me out of this, Anakin.” Padmé sighed, sipping her tea.

Alpha-17 obligingly rose and kicked Anakin side ways and out from behind his human shield. He squawked. Obi-Wan seized the opportunity and dove on top of the boy. Rex shuffled in his cross-legged posture, putting greater distance between himself and the Jedi’s flailing limbs.

Jango stared, gaze slowly leaving the wrestling pair to observe their respective parental controls. Qui-Gon resolutely avoided his judgmental appraisal, gathering his belongings for their impending departure. Shmi smiled, nonplussed and not at all bothering to intervene. Cody, followed by three of Kal’s boys finally chose to impose themselves into the duo’s overly exuberant bickering, prying them apart with muffled swears.

“Do they remind you of anyone?” Rav addressed Jango.

“No.” Jango said.

“Jango’s Grunts.” Mij smirked. Jango’s tanned face darkened.

“Mm-hmm.” Rav nodded, chuckling.

“We were never that--” Jango’s returning memories unhelpfully highlighted a few examples of his rambunctious youth, “we had more restraint.” He futilely defended.

“Really?” Mij, the former True Mandalorian doctor drawled, he had more than a few stories of treating the aftermath of Jango and his squad’s friendly disagreements.

“Are you ready, Jetti?” Jango turned towards Qui-Gon.

“Not a Jedi anymore.” Qui-Gon reminded. “ But yes, let us be on our way.”

“Good.” Jango nodded crisply, turning to Boba. “Keep an eye on things, and behave.” His eyes slipped towards Shmi.

Boba glanced at the older woman and rose, clasping fore-arms with his father. “Lek, Buir.” He promised.

Anakin, no longer distracted avoiding his master’s fists, eyed the Mandalorian bounty hunter. Hmm? He narrowed his eyes as Jango caught his intense stare. The other man shifted and abruptly spun on his heels, waving over his shoulder as he marched out of the room. Hmm? Anakin frowned. Something weird was going on. He thought. Something weird surrounding the Mandalorian and his mom.

“Be careful you Shabuir.” Alpha-17 cheerfully bellowed after Prime’s retreating back.

“Your hide is a valuable commodity.” Doom, another Commander class clone, added, waving enthusiastically when Jango paused to look over his shoulder.

“That’s enough, children.” Shmi laughed, passing the little cadet into one of the older clone’s arms, brushing wrinkles from her skirts. “I will see them off, behave.” She directed this last part solely to her off-spring.

“Don’t I always, Mom?” He batted his eyelashes innocently.

Obi-Wan choked on his tea. “He’s delusional.” He muttered, patting his damp tunics off with the handkerchief Padmé offered.

“This surprises you?” She whispered.

“I heard that, Angel.” Anakin drawled.

“Heard what, Ani?” Padmé and Obi-Wan asked.

“You two are spending too much time together.” Anakin declared.

___________

Padmé bid the little group, still sprawling and in general lazing about in Jango Fett’s apartment, goodnight. Shmi took a page from the young woman’s book and herded her little squad of cadets and Boba out of the room to begin their new nightly routine; story-time in the cadet’s barracks. She smiled at Anakin. Craning himself out the door, he waved energetically until she and her troupe were out of sight and Padmé's door sealed.

“Perfect.” Anakin said. “Nap time’s over, teach.” He shook Obi-Wan’s nearly comatose form.

Obi-Wan yawned, rolling from the couch to his feet. “Finally, I had almost begun to think your earlier performance was in fact a genuine reflection of your intentions.” He cracked his stiff neck, loosening his shoulders as the Vode and Mandos lost interest in their holo-chess, dejarik, and holo-books.

“Come on, Obi-Wan,” Anakin tossed his head, “you ought to know me better than that.”

“Hm, in my defense, your acting has dramatically improved. I was nearly taken in completely.” Obi-Wan said.

“Well, that’s kinda the point.” Anakin drawled. “Besides it’s not like I was gonna bring it up with Mom and Padmé sitting right there.”

Obi-Wan gasped, clutching his chest in feigned shock. “You mean to tell me, you thought that far ahead!” He declared.

“Oh, leave off.” Anakin rolled his eyes and tossed his mentor’s discarded cloak into his smug face. “I wasn’t going to drag Mom or the woman with an active Bounty on her head into that situation. Especially, since the Count is the one who hired Fett to kill Padmé. Geez, have a little faith, would ya! I’m not totally irresponsible.” He pronounced and strode out of the apartment.

“He always like that?” Kal asked.

“Oh, only every day.” Obi-Wan smirked, following his student.

“We’re not actually letting them go, are we?” Rex turned towards his older brothers.

“We’ll have to catch them first.” Alpha-17 remarked, marching at a clipped pace after the duo, cracking his knuckles as he approached Obi-Wan.

“Ah, glad to have you along, Alpha.” Obi-Wan greeted.

Anakin glanced over his shoulder at the burly clone. His blue eyes darted from Alpha to all six Null clones advancing on the pair. “You’ll never take me alive!” He shouted and added a dash of Force-enhancement to his sprint.

Obi-Wan blinked at the now distant speck of black and brown, vanishing about a far bend in the hall. He turned back to the clones. “You’ll have to excuse him, he’s been clipped in the head a few too many times.” Obi-Wan smiled.

“We’ll catch up with him in due time.” Ordo waved a dismissive hand. They’d commandeered control of the outer doors from Skywalker’s droid. The Jedi youngling wasn’t going anywhere unless Kal-Buir gave them permission to release the gremlin on the unsuspecting galaxy.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan’s pleasant demeanor slowly chipped away as he began to take in the encircling formation of the clones.

He sagged. Cody sighed, catching the man as Skywalker’s little droid retracted his manipulator arm with the sedative dispenser Mij had given him. Kenobi couldn’t sense a droid’s intent no matter how well attuned to the Force. Kal and the Mandos had relayed their own schemes for trailing Jango and the elder Jedi earlier through their helmet comms. Prime, for all his many flaws, had made a good point. The Jedi and the Senator could not get involved. But a group of Mandos, who were unaffiliated with either governmental sect, Republic or CIS, they could easily get involved. And lucky them, they had plenty of beskar’gam to go around, having stripped the dar’manda Cuy’val Dar of their kits.

“Now, lets find Skywalker and be on our way.” Kal barked, as a contingent of Clone Commanders hauled Kenobi back to Fett’s apartment.

“You’re in luck,” Anakin’s blonde head appeared from the vent shaft directly behind Kal, “I’m right here, and before you get any dumb ideas, I’m going.” He glared challengingly.

R2-D2 produced all his many and potentially lethal manipulator arms, brandishing them against the Mandos. “The same goes for Artoo.” Anakin translated.

“Jetti can’t get mixed up in this.” Kal sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, what’s your point?” Skywalker somehow managed to stay in the vent in spite of releasing the sides of the shaft to cross his arms.

Resistance is futile when dealing with this kid. Kal thought, groaning and rolling his eyes heavenward.

“Little one,” Rav took pity on her old friend and stepped in to explain the obvious “why” of the situation to the boy, “you are a Jedi.”

“Au contaire, Miss Mando,” Anakin wagged a finger smirking, “I’m no Jedi.”

“What?” Rex choked.

“I just have Jedi powers and a couple mentors who happen to have been, and one who currently is a, Jedi.” Anakin shrugged, flipping out of the vents.

“You’re not a….?” Rex trailed off, “that actually makes so much more sense.” He muttered.

“Great, now that that’s all settled, can we go?” Anakin jerked his head in the direction of the exit.

Kal sighed. “Yeah, let’s….let’s just go.”

“Rugged, I’ll fly.” Anakin said, sprinting ahead with R2-D2 jetting along at his heels.

“We’re taking my ship, Skywalker!” Kal yelled.

“Sweet! So do I get armour too?” He grinned, over his shoulder only increasing his speed as he shifted direction towards the indoor hangar bay and Kal’s heavily modified cruiser.

“Well, you can’t tag-a-long dressed like a Jedi.” Alpha-17 stated, smirking as the Mandos in their midst grimaced.

“Wizard! A new ship and new toys!” Anakin whooped.

“Kara have mercy.” Kal moaned.

Chapter Text

Padmé shifted restlessly, ceasing the exercise in futility and pushing herself into a sitting position in the bed which Jango Fett had insisted the two women use during their stay on Kamino. A glance to her side confirmed what she’d already suspected, Shmi Skywalker had never returned from the cadet’s barracks. Padmé shook her head, that was hardly a revelation which ought to cost her a good night’s rest. If not the absence of her second mother, then what had so disturbed her slumber? She wondered, slipping her legs over the side of the bed, listening to the stillness of the apartment.

Ah. She hurried to dress and rushed for the door. That was it. What a fool I am. Padmé berated herself, snagging her blasters as she palmed open the door to the bedroom. I should have never believed him! She swore angrily, storming through the doorway and pausing.

Obi-Wan bound to a chair and gagged, strained against his bonds, muttering incoherently with urgency at her person. She slowly turned her attention from her friend to the squad of Alpha class clones sitting in a relaxed guard throughout the otherwise silent apartment. Cody, lifted his head from a data-pad in greeting. Padmé arched a brow. The clone commander gave her an innocent shrug and returned his attention to the device cradled in his hands.

Hmm. She hummed. Glancing over her shoulder, she spied Fox, Thorn, and Thire; three other commander class clones she had become acquainted with during her stay in Tipoca City. Fox dipped his head, leaned against the now closed door of her and Shmi’s loaned bedroom. Her own guard? How sweet. She smirked, lowering her blasters onto the table. They would not be seeing action any time soon.

“Anakin got away from you? I’m surprised.” Padmé wondered giving the men a polite smile. She was not even slightly phased by her young friend’s ability to evade a city full of highly trained Mandalorian soldiers. He was Anakin. The Alpha’s glared. She composed herself before the laugh could burst forth. The poor dears were already disgruntled.

“He’s slipperier than a greased Kaminoan eel.” One Alpha, Nate, Padmé believed he’d elected to name himself, grumbled turning his glower out the window and towards the ever raging Kaminoan ocean.

“How long since they departed?” She addressed Trantos, the Alpha apart from Alpha-17 she was the most well acquainted with who was also currently present, and the one chipperly polishing a blaster rifle as he kept guard over their struggling Jedi prisoner.

“Half-a-rotation.” Trantos’ lips ticked upwards. Oh, she understood the situation quite well. He realized. Then again, the Senator of all of their strange guests, apart from Lady Skywalker, seemed to know Anakin Skywalker best.

“Hm, I overslept.” She sighed. Mentally tallying a roll-call of the clones present she winced. “Please, tell me Anakin did not run off with only Alpha and Rex for back-up?” While both thoroughly competent soldiers, they were also the clones who had been the most influenced by Anakin’s peculiarities.

“Skirata and the Nulls tagged along.” Fordo piped in, tilting the holo-book he’d laid over his eyes to meet her gaze.

“As did Sergeants Bralor and Vau.” Trantos hurried to assure her, catching her horror-stricken gaze.

All soldiers no medics? Padme wondered. “Did Sergeant Gilamar not accompany them?” She asked.

“Nah, Doc stayed here to supervise the surgeries.” Fordo stated, rolling from the couch to his feet, stretching his arms above his head with a jaw-popping yawn.

“Ah, yes that is understandable.” Padmé murmured to herself, consideringly. The Mandalorian Medic would hardly wish to leave Kamino while the clone army was still undergoing procedures to have their chips removed.

“Lady Skywalker wished for us to tell you she was going to remain with Boba in the cadet’s wings for the time being.” Trantos cut his brother a reprimanding glare. Like Alpha, Fordo was both professional and lax with his regard for hierarchy outside of a military structure.

“I had assumed as much,” Padmé laughed fondly.

If Shmi Skywalker could be faulted for a weakness it was her inability to turn away from a child. Any child. Personally, Padmé had never viewed that as a weakness. She smiled. Back to the matter at hand, she ran through her mental inventory of Mandalorian trainers who still held free run of Tipoca City and Kamino and cross-checked it against those whose whereabouts and business had yet to be discussed. “Did Sergeant Ward go to Geonosis?” She asked.

“Huh, no,” Cody answered, once again gracing her with his attention, “he and a few vod who have some training in splicing are holed up in the long-necks’ archives sifting through the data Skywalker and that droid of his decrypted.”

“Oh?” She rubbed her hands together eagerly. Now here at last was a task for which her talents and training had ideally prepared her. Perusing through hundreds of bills and proposals submitted daily by the various Senators and Senatorial Committees, taught one the value of skimming. “Do you think they would be opposed to a pair of helping hands?”

“Not if they’re yours.” Fordo winked.

Cody and his brothers, Alpha and commander alike, turned to stare their vod down. “Do you have a death wish, di’kut?” They shook their heads.

“What?” Fordo shrugged.

“Reminder, vod, there’s a Jetti’ika with a Jetti’kad and a prior claim.” Nate stressed.

“Claim?” Padmé mouthed at Obi-Wan.

He shook his head furiously, garbling through his gag, stressing that most certainly was not how his student viewed her. Well of course, it wasn’t. She rolled her eyes. Padmé knew Anakin. Words and concepts like claiming a person would be the furthest thing from his mind. Yes, he might call her his fiancee but he did not mean it possessively. It was simply a statement of his belief. He was still convinced of the veracity of his child-hood vision.

“Idiots!” Trantos barked, slapping both his brothers upside the back of their heads. “Watch your mouths!”

“Hey!” The two protested, rounding on Trantos.

Padmé blinked her brown eyes from clone to clone to Obi-Wan. The normally composed Jedi Knight’s own blue-green glare had been drawn to bore through Fordo’s skull. Whatever had riled them now? Men. She shook her head.

“If one of you gentlemen might point me in the right direction?” She interrupted the four way glaring match.

Fox, Thorn, and Thire stepped forward. “Of course, Senator, this way.” Fox nodded sharply, sweeping an arm out, prompting her to precede them from the apartment.

“Thank you.” Padmé smiled.

The eruption of accented Mando’a pidgin used by the clones, following her departure, was punctuated by a familiar clipped Coruscanti stream of garbled rebukes. Oh, dear. Obi-Wan had adopted the tone Padmé had come to associate with the fallout of one of Anakin’s more particularly hair-brained schemes. Poor Fordo. She laughed to herself, trailing Fox through the halls of Tipoca City.

____________

“Anything good, Sarge?” Thorn hailed Llats Ward as he strode into the archives ahead of Fox, Padmé Amidala, and Thire.

“Not a blasted things about this situation is good.” A clone, lifted his head from his pile of data-pads at a nearby table.

“No arguments here, Splice.” Thorn relented, holding up his hands.

“Only a point of protest,” Thire cut in, “a few goods things have happened because of this situation. No more nightmares.” He tapped the healing scar on his scalp.

“True,” the Clone splicer, called Splice-- their naming sense was so very original Padmé thought-- relented. “Not having that blasted thing in my head is pretty good.”

“Could you boys use an extra set of eyes?” Padmé offered, poking her head around Fox, who’d remained planted between her and the Mandalorian training sergeant. Llats Ward had yet to divert a modicum of his intense scrutiny from the glowing screen of the device in his hands. “Sergeant Ward, have you found something?” She prompted, glancing from her self-appointed bodyguard to the older Mando. Did Fox have a bad history with this man? Fox caught her glare and shook his head. Ah, he was just that type, Padmé surmised, one of the overly dedicated and mission oriented types of individuals.

“I’ve found too much, little Senator.” Llats Ward sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he set his data-pad aside.

“I see.” Padmé said. Anakin had looked rather grim himself when he’d been perusing the data with Artoo a week prior, and he’d only glimpsed at a fraction of what they’d pulled from the city computer’s memory banks. “I am here to offer my assistance, if you will have it?”

“The more the merrier,” Splice waved.

“It’ll be a refreshing reprieve from staring at holo-screens and these ugly mugs.” Another clone ventured, grinning.

“We share the same face!” The other clones hollered, pelting their brother with empty cups, ration bar wrappers, and the occasional bucket.

“Some of us wear it better.” Thorn taunted.

“Not with that hair, vod.” Thire patted his shoulder.

“What?” Thorn gasped.

“It’s like I’m living with ghosts.” Llats muttered. “Surrounded by a bunch of baby Jangos.” He shook his head, returning to his work and ignoring the spike of silence and indignation.

“Where should I start?” Padmé asked, stepping forward before the clones got any funny ideas in their heads, like starting a brawl around the fragile data-pads.

“Here ya go, My lady,” Splice raised a powered-off data-pad over his head.

“Ah, thank you, Splice.” She smiled and moved to join him at his table, her trio of guards flowing after her like ducklings on a pond. Padmé quickly buried her face behind the data-pad before the mental picture cracked the calm which had reestablished itself inside the archives. Besides, if anyone had a train of ducklings it was not Padmé Amidala, she thought recalling Trantos’ relayed message from Shmi.

__________

Well, well , this was interesting. Padmé squinted at the string of numbers. Scrolling through the endless intel, which the clones had compiled into sections and down-loaded to their own corresponding data-pad, Padmé had stumbled over an anomaly. Well, another anomaly. Here amidst a record of financial transactions from the past one hundred years, she’d found a transfer from a Republic account. Not exactly shocking even if the Jedi had been the one’s to submit the order for a clone army. But the account ID was most surprising. The sequence denoted the account as being established to fund one of the Galactic Senate’s innumerable sub-committees. An account no Jedi would have access to unless it had been illegally obtained, and an account for such a minor committee should not have had the type of funding a cloning operation, on the scale such as this one, would have required. Additionally, the preceding alphanumeric prefix was one Padmé had never seen on the registry submitted to the Senatorial oversight Committee of which she and Bail Organa were currently members.

“How very interesting.” She murmured, tapping the table-top with her index finger.

“What is it, Senator Amidala? Did you find something?” Fox materialized at her side, propping himself against the table as he scanned over her shoulder.

“Just Padmé please, Commander Fox,” she reiterated her prior request, “ and yes. I do believe I did, right here.” She explained her discovery.

“So you have proof the Jedi were not the ones to order a slave army?” Llats Ward commented.

“I needed no proof of to be assured of their innocence.” She stated. “However, I do now have direct proof of tampering with Republic funds and a plot to blackmail a religious order for the crime.”

“But you don’t have a direct lead on the mastermind behind all of this?” He stressed.

“No, not yet. I do know they would have had to be a Senator or a Senatorial aid of some high standing in order to have the clearance and access necessary to orchestrate this scheme.” She said.

“And there are only how many Senators and Senatorial aides with that kind of access in your Republic’s bloated bureaucracy?” Ward asked. “Never mind how many more there were ten years ago prior to formation of the CIS.”

“It still narrows our list of suspects down?” Padmé sniffed.

There were several minor worlds which held seats in the Galactic Senate who did not have the funds to house a Senator and several aides on Coruscant. There were also several worlds who did not believe in having aides, and Senator’s who were just too paranoid to allow anyone beyond a droid to accompany them. A droid would not enact this kind of illegal scheme without it’s programming being tampered with, an action which usually resulted in erratic behaviour. Behaviour which had a tendency to make a droid memorable. Padmé felt it was also safe to assume any Senator who had been replaced or elected to step-down from their position could be excluded from the list as she couldn’t fathom the perpetrator going through all the trouble of arranging this and not sticking around to maintain on eye on their handiwork. Not to mention someone had to submit a request for funding for this sub-committee each period while tampering with the identification prefix code. When an individual left the Senate their’ access codes were altered or deleted. So yes, she did believe this information was key to helping track down their Sith Master or at least his Senatorial affiliates.

“I’m sure Anakin and Artoo will be able to backtrace it once they’ve returned.” Padmé assured the skeptical, perpetually pessimistic training sergeant.

“For all the good it’ll do.” Llats Wards grumbled, tuning out further conversation, scrolling through his data-pad.

Padmé wrestled the impulse to stick her tongue out at him under control and resumed her own perusals. “You’ll see.” She swore beneath her breath.

“I’m sure he will, Senator.” Fox chuckled lowly at her side as he resumed his self-appointed post.

Dotards. They would soon learn not to underestimate the power of her womanly, and Senatorial intuition. She could barely wait for Anakin’s return to turn him loose. He would ferret out the truth behind this strange mystery. Anakin wouldn’t doubt her. He never doubted her.

Her pale fingers froze over the data-pad. Anakin always did believe in me. Why was it suddenly so warm in the archives? Padmé fanned her face.

Llats Ward arched a gray brow over the rim of his device at the flushed young woman. Ah, to be young again. He shook his head. What was he thinking? Adolescence had been a nightmare. He was quite well-contented to have become a gravelly old curmudgeon. He left the woman to have her internal meltdown in private. There were more pressing concerns to be dealt with anyway. When Fett returned from Geonosis, Llats wanted to have some answers to the many questions the younger Mandalorian, like Llats himself, would undoubtedly have about this strange operation in which they had become entangled.

Chapter Text

“You have been rather difficult to reach these last few weeks, Bounty Hunter.” Lord Tyrannus said, meeting Jango in the hangar of the Geonosian settlement.

“Been busy.” Jango grunted. “Brought a peace offering.”

Qui-Gon dutifully played along with their agreed upon ruse -- he’d get his pay back eventually, he glared at the Mandalorian. Jango Fett had gotten a little too into character when pulverizing the older Jedi to sell their captive ploy-- and stumbled down the ramp of the Slave 1. Jango lowered his boot. Qui-Gon could all but grasp the man’s smug amusement with the way this whole ordeal was panning out. Oh, Qui-Gon may yet conspire with Anakin to exact vengeance.

“What have we here?” Tyrannus’ hooded head jerked back in an all too familiar prideful start.

Qui-Gon’s heart ached. Oh, what has become of you, Master? He sighed. The clipped tones, the arrogant tilt of the head in appraisal. They were well-known motions. Qui-Gon had heard and seen them a thousand and one times throughout the long years of his apprenticeship.

“Hello, Master.” He groaned, blearily blinking up at his old mentor from his current posture, kneeling on the dust-strewn floor.

“Take him to the holding cells.” Tyrannus hailed a squad of nearby insectoid aliens.

The native populace. Qui-Gon noted, submitting to their hooked appendages with a weak struggle. He couldn’t be too complacent a captive. As he was lead from the hangar he heard Jango and the Count speaking.

“Where did you come by, that?” Tyrannus inquired.

Rude. Qui-Gon sniffed. He’d never been the Padawan on the receiving end of such a moniker. Rael had always held the dubious honor.

“Ran into a little hiccup on my last business trip.” Jango shrugged noncommittally.

“I see.” Tyrannus said. “Well, no matter. You’re here.”

“Hm.” Jango nodded.

“Show the Bounty Hunter to his quarters.” Tyrannus told another one of the alien creatures. “No doubt, you are tired after your flight.”

“Hn.”Jango acknowledged and marched after his escort.

___________

“I must say I never anticipated our paths would cross in this manner, old friend.” Dooku greeted, slipping into Qui-Gon’s cell.

“Nor did I, Count.” Qui-Gon looked pointedly from his Master’s badge of office to his own hands still suspended mid-air by his restraints. “Are these absolutely necessary?”

“I’m afraid our host has little love for Jedi, Qui-Gon.” Dooku drawled.

“So what are you calling yourself these days then, Master Dooku?” Qui-Gon retorted, directing attention to the familiar curved lightsaber hilt.

“Have you heard nothing, my old student,” Yan Dooku crossed his arms, “I am a Count. The Count of Serreno.”

“Oh, is that so, I’d always thought Sith were referred to as Lords.” Qui-Gon hummed.

Dooku narrowed his eyes, but did not refute the claim. “You hardly have room to criticize. I heard you also left the Order disgusted by the hypocrisy and blindness of the stagnated Council.” He said.

“My leaving was less ideologically or politically driven. Sorry to disappoint.” Qui-Gon said.

“It would hardly be the first time, Qui-Gon.” Dooku informed him.

The rebuke might have cut Qui-Gon to the quick at one point. But it had been many years since he was a Padawan seeking his Master’s approval. “I’ve no doubt.” He shrugged as best he could with his hands suspended above his head.

“Regardless,” Dooku waved all else aside, “you are no longer beholden to the Jedi Order’s flawed code.”

“No, that is true.” Qui-Gon freely admitted. The life he had been living these past ten years, while not in direct contradiction to the code he had been raised under, was hardly the life of an average Jedi.

“Perhaps, without their fallacies clouding your judgment, you will be able to see more clearly.” Dooku murmured, appraising Qui-Gon with his shrewd eyes.

“That all depends on what it is you wish for me to see.” Qui-Gon said.

“The Republic is dying,” Dooku prophesied, “it has been rotting away from the inside for many centuries with nothing but half-hearted stop-gap measures taken to stem the decay.”

“I’ve read your new cause’s list of grievances.” Qui-Gon quipped.

“Curb your impertinence,Qui-Gon Jinn, I am not so advanced in years as to be incapable of putting you in your place.” Dooku snapped.

Far harsher than Qui-Gon recalled his old mentor ever being. The clear blue of his eyes was not reassuring, as Qui-Gon could sense for the briefest of instances the darkness coiled deep within his master’s signature. He sighed. Yet, further confirmation of his worst fears.

“I’ve no doubts about that, Master.” Qui-Gon admitted. Of their lineage only Yoda could truly rival the Master of Makashi.

“Good.” Dooku nodded.

“Please, do carry on,” Qui-Gon invited, “you were mentioning the Republic’s ineffective measures to prevent its own dissolution.

“Dissolve it must. Nothing is permanent. The Republic has outgrown it’s usefulness and must be broken and re-made.” Dooku said.

“Broken?” Qui-Gon said. “That sound’s rather ominous. Especially coming from the leader of a movement who claims to only want to be allowed a peaceful secession from the corrupt Republic.”

“If peace could solve all the problems in the galaxy there would be no war, Qui-Gon. Peace breeds complacency and complacency breeds corruption.”

“Not a philosophy I imagine you formulated whilst in the Jedi Order.” Qui-Gon canted his head. “Certainly, not as Master Yoda’s apprentice.” His use of the Sith’s designation for a student versus the Jedi’s was no accident, a distinction his Master’s flinty gaze and stiff face made clear he understood.

“Distance from the Order has gifted you understanding if not subtlety, Qui-Gon.” Dooku arched a white brow.

“Hardly, surprising.” Qui-Gon could not afford subtlety when dealing with Anakin.

“Hm, I would hate to have to terminate you, my old Padawan.” Dooku said. “Will you not join me? Together we can remake the galaxy. Purge it of all injustice and corruption.”

“What would your new Master think of that, offer? After all, I was under the impression there were only meant to be two Sith?” Qui-Gon asked.

“He is a double-dealing, corrupt individual, but his continued existence and cooperation is essential for the fruition of my plans.” Dooku admitted carefully.

“Only your plans? Your master’s goals, I take it, do not align with your own?” Qui-Gon wondered.

“As you assumed, we are Sith; they are known for their treachery.” Dooku smirked.

“Yes, that is such an alluring reason to join.” Qui-Gon drawled.

“Think it over, my old student, I would hate to see you fall from hubris.” Dooku said.

One time is enough in any lineage. Qui-Gon thought, sniffing derisively.

“As a token of my sincerity in this matter, I shall leave you with this. Should you reject my offer, know My Master is already well established in his position. Darth Sidious’ plans are in readiness to sweep away the vestiges of the dying Republic.”

“Would this include the Jedi Order?” Qui-Gon asked.

“The Sith’s revenge has been a thousand years in the making.” Dooku commented and glided from the room, his shimmer-silk cape streaming behind in his wake.

“A cheery thought.” Qui-Gon murmured to himself as the cell’s door hissed shut.

Chapter Text

“Skywalker!” Kal’s voice cracked, hoarse from yelling at the boy over the course of their two day trip through hyper-space.

“Oh, relax, would ya.” Anakin took one hand off the yolk as the freighter continued it’s corkscrew dive through the outer astroid rings of Geonosis and waved placatingly back at Kal, ashen faced, and white-knuckled in one of the passenger seats on his own ship’s bridge.

“Hands on the yolk! Hands on the yolk!” Kal and Rex barked.

“Sheesh, for a bunch of hardened warriors you people have the constitution of my father-in-law.” Anakin shook his head. He’d not had this much input into his flying since the first time he flew with Ruwee Naberrie.

“Future father-in-law, you mean.” Alpha-17 chortled, folding his arms behind his head, enjoying the vaunted Null clones green faces when Anakin once again threw the ship into an overly complicated spiral around a large astroid.

“What are you trying to say?” Anakin eyed his new found older brother darkly.

“He means, if you want to live to marry the Senator, get your karking hands, eyes, and mind on task, Skywalker!” Mereel barked, swallowing his rising nerves and bile.

“Hey, flying is like breathing for me. I can do it with my eyes closed, watch!” Anakin removed his hands from the yolk and closed his eyes, crossing his armoured knees into the pilot’s chair.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Ordo vowed.

“Only if he doesn’t get us all killed first.” Kal did not almost whimper, bracing himself for a fiery demise, reduced to atoms drifting on the cosmic tides for all eternity.

“Ya know, it’s easier to fly like this without distractions.” Anakin murmured, the ship casually swooping in a figure-eight and clearing the outermost rings of the astroid field.

“I thought you said it was like breathing?” Alpha-17 smirked, he’d learned how to hide his internal meltdowns years ago. Weakness was a defect. Under the long-necks and for his vode’s sake, he could not afford to be classified as defective.

“It is.” Anakin shot back. “ If I were doing so underwater.” He grinned.

“Now, I’m gonna kill him!” Ordo unstrapped.

“Whoa, now, we haven’t landed yet.” Anakin held up his hands, blue eyes dancing as he canted his head out the viewport at the near, yet still quite out of reach, planet.

“When we get dirt-side, Jedi, you’re toast!” Ordo growled.

“No appreciation for good flying.” Anakin sniffed, turning back to the controls and laying his gauntlet-ed fists on the yolk.

“Breathe, Vod, just breathe.” A’Den encouraged, tugging Ordo back into his seat.

______________

Jango sighed, triple-checking the security around the Geonosian hive. It was good, made all the better by suggestions he himself had made. Kriffing moron. He chided himself, casting the data-pad back onto the couch beside him in his appointed rooms. Now, how was he supposed to secure the di’kut Jinn and get out of here? It wasn’t going to be easy.

He frowned. First things first, find and secure the Jedi’s weapon, then figure out the rest. If they were both armed they’d have a far easier time getting out of this place alive. They’d also have an easier time if they could divert Tyrannus’ attention. The dar’jetti had been fixated on Jinn since his and Jango’s arrival. Jinn had banked on this, detracting attention from any noticeable changes in Jango’s mental state. Of course, now that plan was back-firing. Jango pinched his brow.

There was a solution to every problem. Jango reasoned. Jaster had taught him that lesson. Of course, Jaster had taught him a lot of things which Jango had since forgotten or ceased to believe after his mentor’s death and the loss of his family. He breathed through his nose, calming his rising anger and the tidal wave of self-loathing threatening to overwhelm his coherent thoughts. No, Jango shook his head. He was not going to let the past dictate him any longer, but he was also not going to forget the lessons it offered. Amongst Jaster’s lessons and the experiences Jango had lived in the decades since, there was sure to be something which would aid him in this time of crisis.

It’s be easier with the vode at his back. Jango laughed at himself derisively. He’d forsaken that path and the right to lead his fellow commandos years ago, when he had failed to look for survivors. Not all of the True Mandalorians had accompanied him to Galidraan, but after escaping the Spice freighter Jango had not dared to return. His shame had crippled him and he had consequently abandoned the people Jaster had entrusted him to protect. Skirata and Vau had been all too happy to point this out to him when he dared to show his face and recruit them as trainers for the Clone Army.

Enough! Jango slammed his fist on the table before him. Enough! He could almost hear Shmi Skywalker’s voice chiding him. The past is behind us, we can only choose in this moment how we will live. She was right, of course. There was no going back. He could not alter the decisions he had made all those years ago but he could choose a new path here and now.

Jango took inventory of his arsenal. Hmm, a small trip to the Slave 1’s cargo hull would be necessary, but he might just be able to provide the distraction needed to slip away with the Jedi. It was risky, reckless, and utterly foolhardy. Shmi’s son would probably be proud. Jango smirked, donning his helmet. The CIS council would convene in six hours, which did not give him a lot of time to prepare his little diversion. He punched out of his room and stalked through the halls, unopposed by the native populace’s sentinels. Tyrannus had instructed the insectoid aliens to listen to the Mandalorian’s expertise and to give him leave to go where he felt necessary to spot-check their security. Oh, how very helpful of him. Jango grinned beneath his helmet.

______________

“There’s an awful lot of movement,” Jaing commented over his buy’ce’s comm, “looks like they’re getting ready for something.”

“Oh, I do love a good party.” Anakin said, clearly grinning.

“Skywalker.” Kal growled warningly.

“On it,” Alpha-17 informed the man, a resulting yelp followed the muffled thud of beskar’gam colliding with a buy’ce.

“Hey!” Skywalker protested, fending off Alpha’s fist from his helmet.

“Have neither of you ever heard the word covert?” Rex sighed.

“My middle name is covert.” Anakin sniffed.

“Really, I would have sworn it was di’kut.” Alpha-17 taunted.

“Boys.” Rav Bralor hissed.

“Sorry.” They sang and fell blessedly, and worryingly silent.

Kal double-checked that the GPS position of the trio, Alpha-17, Anakin, and Rex-- they had wisely left Skywalker’s droid in charge of guarding Kal’s ship--, had not suddenly changed. No. He breathed a little easier. They had not yet thrown caution, and their plans, to the wind and dove headlong into the Geonosian complex.

“I see them, Kal-Buir.” Jaing announced, catching sight of his three brothers who’d gone ahead to scout out the complex. “They’re coming up the rise now.”

“Good.” Kal nodded. Now they could get some solid intel and plan accordingly.

“I keep telling ya, I can just scan the place through the Force to pinpoint our little lost ducklings.” Anakin sighed, put-out that nobody seemed willing to put their faith in his abilities.

“Yeah, let’s keep that in reserve, for now.” Kal stated.

Anakin huffed but fell silent a moment more as Kal’s boys returned to give their report. Jaing’s assessment was fairly accurate. The natives were restless. Apparently, some important guests had arrived and a high-level meeting of some kind was to take place that very afternoon. Kal Skirata would bet his last credit Jango had been summoned to organize security for this particular shin-dig.

“So, are we gonna just keep sitting here working on our tans?” Anakin, the ever restless, Skywalker prompted, following the conclusion of Prudii’s report.

“Keep your helmet on, Kid.” Vau said.

“But its stuffy.” Anakin whined. “How do you people stand these things without better temperature control?”

“Why don’t you work on that while we come up with a plan.” Ordo tossed.

Kal stared at his son. Had he learned nothing from his brief acquaintance with the young not-Jedi male. Ordo shrugged. He had, but Skywalker’s tampering with a disgraced Mandalorian’s kit seemed like the lesser of two evils, as opposed to the kid just running off to get things done. Kal conceded with a slow nod. Ordo made a good point.

“We’ll keep an eye on him.” Rex promised.

That was not half so reassuring as the young clone probably intended. Kal knew Alpha-17 and he’d swiftly come to understand Anakin Skywalker’s personality. Add in Rex who’d been willing too, and had, bitten several Kaminoans and nearly Jango, when the cloners had talked of decommissioning him due to his blonde hair. The three of them combined had less impulse control than a creche full of toddlers doped on sugar-filled pastries. Kal sighed. He’d need to plan quickly before everything went sideways.

“Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do.” He clapped, gaining everyone’s attention over comms.

__________

“Nice.” Anakin approved when Kal concluded. “I like this plan.”

Kal had thought he might. “Good. Skywalker, the first phase is up to you. Can you transmit that tracking signal you have on your old mentor to the rest of us?”

“Oh, sure. Easy-peasy.” Anakin sang and their comms pinged, flashing green with a strong, clear signal coming from a homing beacon.

“Why’d you put a tracker on the old man in the first place?” Prudii wondered, privately thinking it ought to have been the other way round.

“You don’t know Qui-Gon Jinn. Mr. Follows the Will of the Living Force right into a drunk Devaronian.” Anakin sighed.

“Ah.” The others nodded. Like Mentor like student.

“I can sense your thoughts, ya know.” Anakin drawled.

“Really, can you sense my thoughts.” Ordo growled.

“Don’t have to, you’re very transparent.” Anakin said.

“Try not to provoke him, sir.” Rex sighed.

“Ah, but it’s so much fun, Rexster.” Anakin said.

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Alpha-17 smirked.

“Try to restrain yourselves, please.” Rex pleaded, tiredly.

“Poor guy.” Jaing murmured, he felt for his technical vod’ika caught in the snares of two absolute chaos mongers like Alpha-17 and Anakin Skywalker.

“Alright, that’s enough. Break it up, boys.” Rav cut in, trying to instill some professionalism back into this testosterone fueled hover-train of a mission.

“Yes ma’am, Miss Mando.” Anakin signed off, his GPS pinging rapidly as his location changed, followed by Rex’s and Alpha-17’s at a slightly more normal pace.

“Jetti.” Kal lamented in numb wonder.

“Let’s just be grateful he’s working with us, Skirata.” Vau infused a semblance of optimism to his tone, though he himself was no less dumb-struck by the impossible speeds Anakin Skywalker was somehow coaxing from his borrowed Mandalorian armour’s jet-pack.

“It’s yet to be determined if that’s a bonus or not.” Kal reminded.

The flash-bang of a missile finding a fuel-line drew their attention. “Well, I’d say he has their attention otherwise engaged.” Rav said.

“Let’s move, boys.” Kal informed his sons and took to the skies, making for the entrance Ordo, Prudii, and Mereel had located earlier. An entrance several clicks away from Skywalker’s pyrotechnical display.

A second rumbling explosion, far nearer had them bracing themselves against the catacomb’s walls. Kal and the others exchanged helmeted looks. That was a little too close. Surely, Skywalker wasn’t that irresponsible.

“Again, I can sense your thoughts.” Anakin’s comm rasped, the static interference heavy. “What are you guys doing? I thought we were in charge of creating the diversion?”

“You are.” Ordo snapped, shifting uneasily, hands grasping his blaster. “That wasn’t your doing?”

“You people have no faith!” Anakin yelled above a third blast. “That time it was me!”

“If the other wasn’t Skywalker, then who?” Mereel wondered, edging his way cautiously down the winding maze of the catacomb.

“Oh.” Walon Vau stiffened and groaned. “We’re getting old and forgetful, Skirata.” He slapped Kal’s pauldron.

‘What are you….oh.” Kal trailed off with a sigh. “Yeah, we should have considered that.”

“Hey, geezers, for those of us with fewer miles on our cognitive functions.” Skywalker hailed.

“At least they’ve put miles on their cognitive functions, Skywalker.” Ordo shot back.

“Are you implying something?” Anakin challenged, not in least offended. If anything, the commandos would swear the boy was having the time of his life.

“Jango.” Rav supplied. Must she carry the brain cell all the time. “It’s definitely Jango’s handiwork.”

“Ah, so all Mandos think a like?” Anakin asked.

“Just do your job.” Kal rolled his eyes.

“Eh, what does he think I’ve been doing?” Anakin yelled as he started another fuel fire.

“Focus, Ani’ika.” Alpha-17 said.

“Pfft, killjoys.” Anakin signed off and the explosions multiplied, their reverberations getting fainter as they moved farther from the other commandos and the catacomb entrance.

“And you’re quite sure it was a good idea to put him in charge of explosives?” Vau inquired.

“Diversionary tactics 101: the bigger the explosion the easier it is to gain your enemies’ attention.” Kal retorted dryly.

“Hmm, that’s true.” Vau consented.

“I hope he doesn’t get himself killed.” Rav worried quietly.

“He’s not allowed to die.” Ordo said. “I’m gonna be the one to bury him in the ground.”

“Why, Ordo, I do believe you care.” Kom’rk chuckled.

“What, no I don’t!” Ordo sputtered defensively.

“Ah, just surrender to the inevitable, vod,” Jaing sighed, “you either adopt him as family or you kill him on sight. There is no middle ground.” He said.

“I said I was gonna kill him.” Ordo latched onto the latter reaction.

“You’ve had ample opportunity and he’s survived to sow havoc another day.” A’Den remarked.

“He’s family.” Kom’rk and Prudii sighed.

“One must admit he has quite of bit of Mando’karla.” Rav commented.

Kal sighed. “I already have six sons, Rav.” He said. “I don’t need another, especially that one.”

“But you don’t have any nephews yet.” Rav helpfully countered.

He would not be his direct responsibility. His chaos can be encouraged and returned to it’s parent at the end of the day. Kal brightened. “I have just the Buir for him in mind.” He grinned.

“If it’s a certain former commander of Haat’ade, I fully support you.” Walon Vau said.

______________

Jango sneezed. Yuck. He grimaced inside his helmet. Just terrific. As if things weren’t already spiraling out of his carefully controlled plan. What are those idiots even doing here? He fought the onslaught of a migraine. Jango recognized the patterns in the movements of the trio, currently attacking the northern perimeter of the Geonosians’ factory. He’d had ample opportunity to grow familiar with them as often as those three had teamed up in the Vode’s sparring matches. Skywalker, Alpha, and Rex. He mentally tagged each figure projected onto the holo-monitor of the bug’s security control room.

Their diversion was an unnecessary one as Jango’s own had already detonated. Granted, he’d had to adjust the timing of his own explosives’ detonation after Skywalker and crew started their unanticipated assault. When they got back to Kamino….. Jango swore to himself. No, he perked up beneath the helmet as he barked orders at the Geonosian security task-force, no, he’d not even concern himself with their punishment. Oh, no, he’d leave that to Shmi.

Still, they would all have to get back to Kamino for that to happen. Jango could make a fairly good guess what the boys were up to in their Mandalorian disguises. It was a big help knowing he’d not have to bother with breaking Jinn out of his cell. Kal and his boys likely had that well in hand. What wasn’t nearly as helpful….he sighed internally as Skywalker flipped mid-air and kicked a sentry droid. That wasn’t helpful. Tyrannus stood at his side, watching the three assailants moving further from the heart of the droid foundry and towards the exhaust vents. In particular the dar’jetti’s focus seemed to be zeroed in on Anakin. Yeah, that was not good at all. Jango could attest from personal experience, having a dar’jetti’s interest was not beneficial to one’s overall health and mental well-being.

“Bounty Hunter, do you recognize these Mandalorians?” Tyrannus questioned.

“Their armour is familiar.” Jango confessed, entirely truthful.

“Can you handle this little nuisance alone or do you require assistance?” The old man’s fingers caressed the curved hilt affixed on his belt.

“I’ll handle it.” Jango said.

“Hmm.” Tyrannus’ eyes bore into Jango’s helmet. “Very well, be quick about it. There have been enough interruptions already.” With that the Count swiveled on his heel and stalked elegantly from the security control room back into the conference chamber.

Jango hoped the bugs he’d placed under the delegate’s chairs wouldn’t be discovered anytime soon. The Slave 1 ought to be receiving the transmissions loud and clear and recording them for Jango to rifle through later. He had a feeling what was discussed in there would be important to his new found – his thoughts faltered could he really call a Jedi his friend? -- acquaintances. They would, no doubt, be of particular importance to Amidala. He briefly checked the frequency. All good. For now.

He stalked out of the room and took off through one of the Geonosian catacombs roof exits. It was easy enough to track down the miscreants. All he had to do was follow the trail of carnage left in their wake. Jango shook his head, dimming the audio-receptors inside his buy’ce as the explosions grew in frequency.

______________

“Whoa, Buir-Alert! Buir-Alert!” Rex bellowed to be heard above Anakin’s most recent gift deposit.

“Who’s Buir, the clankers?” Alpha-17 snarked.

“I don’t got a Buir.” Anakin stated. “I got a Mom.”

“Fine. Prime-Alert!” Rex groaned.

“Oh, now that’s a warning I understand.” Anakin laughed, enjoying Rex’s helmeted glare digging into his shoulder blades as he blasted a sentry B-1 class battle droid. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of the clankers.

“A Prime we’ve got.” Alpha-17 added, slapping his vod’ika’s shoulder, using the position to leverage himself into a spinning kick, taking the head off of another battle droid.

“I’m switching to Kenobi’s squad when we get home.” Rex swore, ducking behind Alpha-17’s massive bulk and blasting around his armoured torso.

“Oh, Rexster,” Anakin wheedled, standing back-to-back with his friends, “you could never betray us.”

“Wanna bet?” Rex said.

“You think we’d ever let you go to the dark side, vod’ika?” Alpha-17 whispered menacingly over Rex’s shoulder. Rex shivered.

“I might send you all to the dark side of the great beyond, if I don’t get a good explanation for what the --” Jango Fett landed in the their midst, blaster held at the ready.

“Eh, eh, watch your language, there are kids present.” Anakin interjected.

“What kids?” Jango snarled as Rex canted his helmet at Anakin.

“Your kids.” Anakin slapped Alpha-17 and Rex’s pauldrons.

“I’m not his--” Alpha’s faceplate was muffled by two pairs of hands.

“You are if it gets us out of a lecture and seven hours in the gym when we get back to Kamino.” Rex hissed.

“We’re here to get my teacher.” Anakin took the proverbial Reek by the horn.

“You thought I’d leave him?” Jango asked, shooting at the boy, missing by inches and incinerating a B-1’s head.

“Well, your track record with Jedi isn’t exactly reassuring.” Anakin shrugged.

“I’m more likely to blast you than Jinn at this moment.” Jango punched him.

“Hey, I realize you need to make this convincing,” Anakin ducked, “but come on!” He leapt over Jango’s flame-thrower.

“You can dodge,” Jango swept Rex’s legs out from under him as he ducked under Alpha’s fists, “at least some of you can.”

“Hey, only we get to mock Rexster’s lack of balance.” Anakin declared and body-slammed into the older Mandalorian.

“How about no one mocks my balance?” Rex regained his footing and dove on Anakin. Strictly by accident.

“But, vod’ika, that’s what brothers are for.” Alpha sang, launching his rockets just over the grappling groups’ heads.

“That was too close.” Anakin accused.

“Someone’s clearly spent too much time in the gym and not nearly enough time on the firing range.” Jango stated, rolling clear of the boys and springing to his feet, blasters aimed at the duo on the ground.

“Jealous?” Alpha flexed his armoured limbs.

“Have Skirata and the Nulls reached Jinn yet?” Jango ignored his older child and addressed Rex, the one who was most likely to actually be listening to the comms.

“Nearly.” Rex said, slowly raising his hands into the galactic sign of surrender.

__________

“If Skywalker’s tracker is right, then the old Jetti should be just down this next corridor.” Mereel murmured, holdingthe mirror-disk around the bend in the tunnel.

“Here’s hoping.” Ordo grunted behind him.

“Clear.” Mereel pronounced and moved into the passage.

Kal crossed his fingers. Let him be in here. Let him be in here. He petitioned the Kara silently as they formed up about the door highlighted by Skywalker’s tracker. Rav nodded, hefting her blaster, ready to take point. Kal sighed, breathing one last prayer and punched the release. With a hiss, far louder than his nerves had been anticipating, the door slid wide.

Rav dove through, sweeping her blaster right to left. “Clear.” She pronounced. “It doesn’t seem to be a trap.”

“In my experience I have found it unwise to utter such words.” Jinn drawled, wiggling his suspended fingers in greeting.

“Do you see one of your Jetti-spawn present ?” Ordo said. Like they were gonna fall for a trap.

“No. Most unusual. You must tell me what trick you used to keep them out of trouble. Especially Anakin.” Jinn said, testing his extremities now freed from his restraints by Prudii. “Thank you, dear boy.”

Prudii shrugged and turned, blaster at the ready, prepared for a hasty exit. Ordo coughed. “Yeah, well, about that.” He addressed the Jedi’s earlier inquiry.

Qui-Gon Jinn smirked, tucking his arms into his sleeves, his lightsaber was in the enemies hands. “Let me guess the one that got away is roughly six one, blonde hair, blue eyes, and slipperier than a Kaminoan eel?”

“One out of two is still better than none.” Ordo defended.

“Yes, yes, most impressive.” Jinn nodded sagely, lips twitching furiously as he turned and followed Kal and Rav from his cell.

“Don’t patronize me.” Ordo seethed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my boy.” Jinn placated, winking over his shoulder.

“Jetti.” Ordo growled beneath his breath, stalking after his family as they made their way towards the exit.

“Hail, Skywalker’s droid and have him prep the ship for take-off.” Kal instructed Mereel.

“On it.” Mereel blinked at his vambrace. “Oh.”

“Oh? ‘Oh’, good? Or ‘oh’, bad?” Kom’rk prompted.

“Oh, he’s en-route already.” Mereel said.

They paused and glanced at one another. Was it possible for an astromech to gain a precognitive sense? Kal turned a glare on Jinn. The old Jedi returned the concealed glower with a wan smile.

“Artoo’s always had initiative.” Jinn supplied.

“Your student’s influence, no doubt.” Kal grumbled, not displeased their departure could be hastened along, so much as annoyed to have a droid – never-mind it being Skywalker’s droid-- at the controls of his beloved ship.

“Oh, rest assured, Artoo is an excellent pilot much like his organic counterpart.” Jinn offered.

“Shavit.” Kal nearly sprinted, quickening his pace.

“Whatever is the matter?” Jinn lightly jogged along in the midst of the Mandalorians.

“We’ve flown with your student.” Kom’rk grunted.

“Oh.” Jinn composed himself swiftly under the Nulls’ withering looks. “Yes, well, Artoo is a less impulsive pilot.”

“That’s actually a little reassuring.” Jaing said.

“Not nearly enough!” Kal declared and barreled out of the exit, eyes scanning the horizon for his ship. At least until a shadow fell over him. He whirled and found his ship hovering fifteen feet above them, the hatch opening.

“Well, how obliging.” Jinn murmured, nonplussed by his lack of a jet-pack as he flung himself into the air and on-board Kal’s ship.

“They are banned from my ship from this day forward.” Kal decided, jetting up alongside his sons and hurrying aboard.

“You do realize your’ comm is still broadcasting, right?” Skywalker remarked.

“Saves me the effort of having to repeat myself.” Kal said and cut his comm, bee-lining for the cockpit, intent on wresting control away from the droid.

R2-D2 had other plans. Kal grabbed hold of the co-pilot’s chair as his ship banked into a ninety degree ascent. The boy’s hopefully had strapped themselves in or grabbed the nearest bolted down surface. Whistling the droid smoothed their sharp angle, breaking free of Geonosis’ atmosphere and beginning a chipper dialogue with the ship’s navigation computer. Kal sank into the co-pilot’s chair, legs failing him.

“What about your master?” He asked the droid.

A piercing blat resounded. Mereel tentatively poked his head into the cockpit. “ He said “his friend” is capable of looking after himself, Buir.” Mereel translated, his vambrace activated to translate the droid’s binary speech.

“Uh-huh?” Kal eyed the droid speculatively. “Sure. Jinn, can you get a read on your kid?”

“Anakin is not my kid, he never was,” Jinn primly corrected, “he was my student for a brief time.” He said.

Kal yanked off his helmet to more properly bore his eyes into the other man’s head. Jinn took a step back, clearing his throat. “Yes, well, he seems just fine.” Jinn coughed.

That was not any more reassuring. Kal turned to Ordo as he poked his head into the chaos. “What’s wrong, Buir?” Ordo asked.

“See if Jango’s got those three clear yet or not.” Kal instructed.

“Lek, Buir.” Ordo nodded ducking back out of the cockpit.

_____________

“You have a Fire-Spray!” Anakin gawked, vibrating in place as the Slave 1’s unique hull swung over the rise of the canyon and barreled down on their position in response to Jango’s summons. “Fully-rigged with slave-circuitry!” The boy was salivating in approving envy.

Jango rolled his eyes and kicked the boy towards the vessel. “Get moving, we still have eyes on us.” He reminded.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.” Anakin murmured dreamily, shuffling his shackled legs at a near sprint for the ship’s open hatch.

“Are these really necessary, Prime?” Rex asked, holding out his manacled arms in passing at Jango, his ‘captor’.

“Yes.” Jango said.

“I told you he’s a sadist.” Alpha-17 leaned towards his little brother.

“Manda, give me strength.” Jango swore, sighing heavily as he herded “his prisoners” aboard the ship, waving off the Geonosian security forces escort. “I got it handled, return to your assigned patrols.” He snapped.

With the sky clear of bugs and no more droids shooting at them – not that Skywalker and the boys had left many droids operational--, Jango marched onto his ship. It was time to get out of here. Dooku would know something was up, but there wasn’t really another alternative. Besides, the Sith had his hands full at the moment. Jango depressed the activator, grinning beneath his helmet as the droid foundry went orbital.

“Nice touch.” Alpha-17 smirked.

“I would’ve used more rydonium.” Anakin remarked, assessing the billowing black clouds.

“Can we get these off, now?” Rex whined shaking his restraints.

“No.” Jango said, stalked into the cockpit and locked it from the inside.

“Oh, come on.” Alpha-17 groaned.

“Prime, why?” Rex pleaded.

“That’s ice cold, old man!” Anakin hollered through the sealed door.

Jango smirked, firing the engines and sending the ship into a swift climb.“Strap in, boys,” he called, “we’re going home!”