Chapter Text
The second night on Manda’yaim, Shmi wakes up to noises in the other room.
She’s a light sleeper, ever since she was separated from her mother. It’s something she might get to work on, in this implied safety, but everything is so new and unfamiliar that so far she’s even more sensitive than usual. The little sounds from the nursery are more than enough to wake her.
Shmi slides out of bed, padding softly to the door. She can’t open it entirely silently, but it’s on hinges, not pneumatic. She can at least control the sound. She slips out on quiet, sock-covered feet, and moves to the half-open entrance of the other room.
A hand lands on her shoulder, and she startles. She’s not proud of her reaction, squeaking and whirling and lashing out, but her hand impacts harmlessly against the meat of a strong palm. Anakin gives her a moment, and then speaks.
“Sorry about that,” he whispers. Shmi’s mostly just glad that he caught her swinging hand with his organic one, and not the metal. “Did the crying wake you up? It’s okay. You can go back to bed, I’ve got this.”
Shmi shakes her head. “I want to help.”
She won’t really be able to sleep anyway.
He purses his lips, searching her face for something she isn’t sure she can even guess at, but sighs and nods. He puts a hand between her shoulder blades as he guides her to the room, and it feels warm and heavy. She thinks she likes it. Maybe.
“Heya, Ben,” Anakin says lowly, separating from Shmi to go to the crib. She watches him lift the baby up and press him to his own chest. Ben burrows his face into the crook of Anakin’s neck and shoulder, whimpering. He bounces Ben gently, humming something she almost recognizes. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.”
“Is he hungry?” Shmi asks, coming closer and pausing to fidget as she realizes she can’t actually help like she’d wanted. “I can make a bottle.”
“Maybe in a bit,” Anakin assures her. He rubs his mech hand over Ben’s back as the baby hiccups and squirms. “He’s just upset from a nightmare right now.”
“Oh,” Shmi says. She’s not sure what babies have nightmares about. Feeling unsafe or hunted in the dark, maybe. “Do you think he wants the, um, sucking thing?”
She knows what it’s called, but only in Huttese.
“The pacifier? Yeah, that might help,” Anakin says. He stops bouncing Ben. By the time Shmi turns away from the table with a freshly-cleaned binky, Anakin is in the rocking chair, once again humming to his son. The baby is still whining, with wet, red-splotched cheeks and grasping, upset little fists. “Thanks, Shmi.”
She stands by his shoulder as he adjusts to cradling Ben instead of holding him upright. With the pacifier in place, the upset noises lessen, though not by very much. Once the two are settled, she tentatively reaches out to slip a finger into the little curl of Ben’s hand. The baby squeezes lightly, eyes tracking to her, and then he shakes her hand a little. She can’t help but smile, and Ben sucks on the pacifier in response. He might be smiling, too. She can’t tell. There are still tears in his eyes, and she wants to help fix that.
“He likes you,” Anakin says, and when she looks over, he’s smiling too. “That’s good.”
“I think most babies like most people,” Shmi says, because being liked by a baby isn’t much of an accomplishment, for all that it makes her happy. Ben squeezes her finger again. “At least, they like most people that they know for more than a few hours.”
“Trust me, it’s a bigger deal with Ben,” Anakin says, and there’s something wistful and tired in his voice. It’s reflected in his face, when she looks at him, but he doesn’t elaborate. He just smiles and shakes his head, so Shmi goes back to playing with Ben’s hand while he settles.
When a high, distressed trill comes from the other crib, Shmi acts. She can help with this part. She shares a look with Anakin, extricates her finger from Ben’s grip, and goes to Sokanth’s crib.
The little togruta is teary and already standing, reaching to be picked up. Her lip wobbles. She sniffles, even.
“You’re sure she’s not too heavy for you?” Anakin asks.
“I can do it,” Shmi says, just a tad distracted. She tucks her hands under Soka’s armpits and lifts. The girl is a little heavy, but Shmi’s been working with her hands since she could walk. Lifting a toddler isn’t very hard. She attempts to set the girl on her hip, and then gives up when the Soka squirms to get to the ground instead. “Alright, then.”
Soka stumbles over to the other crib and reaches through the bars, trying to grab at something inside.
“Honey, just tell us what you need,” Anakin says. He sounds very tired. “Snips—”
“Ba’fa!” the girl whines, and then shakes her head and tries again. “Ban—mmmm—ban-fa.”
“The bantha toy?” Shmi guesses. She reaches in and grabs the stuffed animal that is, rather worryingly, floating just a few inches above the crib’s mattress. She tries to ignore that in favor of passing the little plush to Soka instead.“I thought your favorites were eopies.”
“Banfa is Ben fave-o-wit,” Soka insists, and then immediately turns to run as well as she can to her brother. “Ben!”
“Okay,” Anakin sighs, though his smile is fond and indulgent as only a parent can be. He shifts Ben a little to free up one leg. “You’re gonna jump on three, okay? One, two, three!”
Shmi guesses there’s a bit of Force involved, with how the little girl hops up and lands plopped right on his free thigh. Anakin lets out an exaggerated groan of pain, and Sokanth giggles into the fur of the bantha. Shmi comes closer as Anakin puts a protective hand at Soka’s back so she doesn’t fall. The little girl pushes the toy into her brother’s chest. “Ben! Take toy!”
Ben sucks on his pacifier with a look of pure confusion for a moment, little fingers grasping at the fur of the bantha toy, open and closed, again and again. It takes a moment for him to grab it properly instead of just clutching at the fur while Soka holds it in place. His mouth falls open in what might be surprise, and he pulls the bantha closer and squeals. The pacifier drops out of his mouth and stops halfway to the floor, but Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy stuffing the bantha’s felted horn into his mouth with a delighted coo.
“Yay!” Soka cheers, hands in the air. One of those hands narrowly misses Anakin’s nose. She doesn’t notice. Anakin doesn’t comment on it, just sighs and directs the pacifier to the drawer chest's top with a jerk of his chin.
It’s going to take a while, Shmi thinks, for these casual uses of the Force to be normal.
“You can pull over another chair,” Anakin says, catching her attention where it’d strayed. “Or go back to bed, if you’re tired.”
She is, but… she doesn’t want to leave. The air in this room is calming, and she’s not sure if that’s some subconscious thing that just happens around family, or if it’s three Jedi doing something with the Force, but she likes it in here. It’s nice.
Shmi pulls over the armchair and makes sure it’s set as close to Anakin’s as she can make it. She ignores his confused look as she climbs up into it and contorts herself until she can press herself to his arm. She reaches out and places a hand on Soka’s head, rubbing between the tiny nubs of her montrals.
Soka yawns, and it’s adorable.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hm,” Shmi manages. She stiffens when Anakin plants a soft kiss in her hair, and he pulls away.
“Sorry,” he says. “Too familiar?”
Maybe a little. “Not yet,” she says.
“Alright,” he allows.
Shmi gives it a few seconds, where he’s just sitting with the drowsy babies and letting her have her time in silence.
“Can you hug me?” she asks. He jolts, clearly surprised, and she wonders if she should regret this.
“Let me just—” he cuts himself off, adjusting Sokanth in his lap so she’s resting against his chest instead of his arm. He snakes the arm out from between them, and moves it to curl around Shmi’s shoulders. It’s the metal one, and it’s rigid against her back. As she leans in closer and tucks herself into his side, at least as well as is possible with the armrests in the way, he lets out a shaky breath and squeezes at her shoulder. “This is okay?”
“It’s okay,” she says, closing her eyes.
“I’ll look into getting a couch in here or something,” he mutters. He sounds almost scared, or at least worried. She doesn’t want to think about that too hard. “Might take a bit.”
“I don’t mind,” she whispers.
“You’re going to hurt your neck if you fall asleep like that, though.”
She can deal with that in the morning. “That’s fine.”
He huffs a sigh, metal fingers rubbing up and down her shoulder. “Alright, then. I’m still going to look into getting a couch, though. It’ll be needed eventually, I’m sure.”
“Okay, ori’vod.”
His breath hitches. Shmi knows she got the pronunciation right; Jango Fett had insisted on helping after she’d mentioned that it seemed important. The hand on her shoulder tightens, and Anakin just breathes all shaky again. “Okay. Okay, yeah.”
He’s a very strange older brother, she thinks, but she’s keeping him.