Chapter Text
Then...
Cliegg took her hands and knelt before her. “Shmi, if I can free you, will you marry me?”
Shmi looked down at his earnest, upturned face and knew she didn’t love him. Did it matter, considering what he was offering? She liked him well enough. He was a good father and a decent man. In the months since he had rented her services to fix a broken vaporator, Cliegg had treated her to dozens of dinners. It was obvious what he wanted. As a free man, he could have easily taken it, but all they had done was talk about their sons, the farm, their lives. He could be a good husband and, if he wasn’t, Shmi could leave without worrying she would blow up.
She sank to her knees and kissed him. “Yes.”
They made love as a sort of trail run. It was awkward in the way that the first time with someone always is, but she supposed Cliegg was an attentive enough lover. They cuddled together in the afterglow and somehow that was better. She hadn’t laid with another person like this since Anakin was small. Lying in Cliegg’s arms felt better than she ever would have imagined it could. She didn’t love him, but she could get used to this.
She stroked the arm he had looped around her waist. “How long do you think until you can buy me?”
“Well—” Cliegg shifted to scratch his beard— “I’ve got 20 peggats saved up.”
Twenty peggats? Shmi’s heart sank. What vital piece of equipment was he passing up for the pleasure of her company? A vaporator? A hydroponic pump? The worst of it was that it would’t even be enough.
“Cliegg, I’m valued at 25.”
“Oh. Maybe I could—” He trailed off as he accepted the truth. They both knew how much money a farm like his made. Even if he scrimped and save and starved himself, it would be years before he could afford her.
There might, however, be something Shmi could do. She squirmed free of Cliegg’s embrace and pulled a dented toolbox down from the shelf. Inside were all her little treasures. A japor hairpin. A wire ring. Ani’s first tooth. The last thing he ever handed to her. The bag clinked as she lifted it.
Since Anakin left, Shmi hadn’t spent a wupiupi of it any more than she had sold the junk he had left scattered around the house. Maybe it had been her way of hanging onto a piece of him. Maybe there had been nothing worth buying without him there to share in it. Or maybe she’d just been waiting for this moment. Shmi emptied the bag onto the bed in a rain of silver and gold.
“Where did you get this?” Cliegg asked even as he started counting.
“The sale of Ani’s pod racer.” Shmi watched as he made little piles of the different denominations. Three peggats, two truguts, and twelve wupiupi. Still not enough. Shmi closed her eyes and bid her short-lived dreams of freedom goodbye.
“Hey—“ Cliegg wrapped his arm around her and gave her a squeeze— “no giving up now. This gets us closer. I can sell—”
“No!” Shmi shook him off. “You can’t sell your son’s future any more than you already have. Not for me.” She’d long accepted her place in this world. Why couldn’t he?
“Shmi—”
He reached for her, but she turned away, blinking tears from her eyes. Her gaze fell on the sonic hairbrush Anakin had made for her. He had promised to free her too, but her beautiful boy wasn’t here. Just his things were. The house was littered with them, dozens of useful, clever gadgets that had to be worth something.
“Cliegg—” she seized his arm in her excitement— “we’ll sell Anakin’s projects!” Not C-3PO, obviously, or his half-finished slave-chip finder, but all the cleaning droids, repaired com links, and kitchen scrubbers should get them what they needed. Shmi could feel it in her bones.
“Are you sure?” Cliegg asked, taking her hand. “I know how much he means to you.”
Oh, dear man. She didn’t love him now, but Shmi could see the day when she might come to. “Anakin swore he would free me. It’s right that he should help do it you now.
“Alright.” Cliegg kissed their joined hands. “You tell me what to sell and you’ll be a free woman by tomorrow.”
It would likely take a few more days than that to find buyers for it all and they should really wait until race day when Watto’s inevitable losses made him desperate enough to sell, but Shmi appreciated the sentiment. She could scarcely imagine freedom, but she was starting to look forward to the prospect of being his wife.