Chapter Text
“Too old, he is.”
Anakin couldn’t help it, the words made him angry. Immediately, he tried releasing it into the Force. That was what a good Jedi was supposed to do after all. But no. A good Jedi was supposed to never get angry in the first place. Anakin wasn’t a good jedi though—he never had been—so he had to settle on releasing the anger into the Force.
He succeeded, slightly, yet the pain lingered. That he’d always found harder to release. Perhaps, he thought. It’s not an emotion at all. Getting your hand cut off certainly can’t just be released into the Force. Pain doesn’t go away like that, it just doesn’t.
Especially not when it was continuously reinforced.
“The same age as you were, and that was too old,” Mace Windu reminded as if, somehow, any of them had forgotten. Anakin didn’t know how they could have forgotten, however. They’d already mentioned it half a dozen times since this council session had begun.
“I know, Masters,” Anakin accepted that, gritting his teeth. “But I adjusted just fine.”
Through the Force, Anakin could feel the Council’s credulousness. He couldn’t really blame them, but it only furthered the sting. Especially when Master Windu didn’t even attempt to hide his snort of disbelief.
“And Luke is a clean slate. He doesn’t even remember his life up to now. He has no attachments, no past, no anything,” Anakin insisted, passion building within him. This wasn’t fair! Not that he expected the council to be fair—they never were—but somehow it was different. This wasn’t them being unfair to Anakin, this was them being unfair to a defenseless nine-year-old amnesiac. A defenseless nine-year-old amnesiac that Anakin couldn’t get out of his head.
“All the more reason to be wary, that is,” Yoda insisted, calm and collected. That was probably one of the things that angered Anakin the most about the Grandmaster. It was also one of the reasons Anakin respected him the most. Life was complicated like that.
Master Windu shook his head, “Master Che is still uncertain if his memories will return. He’s extremely unstable, even you must be able to see that. Say we did bring him into the Order, assign him a Master, send him into the field. What happens if he’s fighting an army of droids and suddenly remembers who he was? That level of distraction could be disastrous, for him and this war. Now is not the time to be taking risks like this.”
“With all due respect, Masters.” That was one of Anakin’s favorite phrases, because it applied especially to those he wasn’t sure deserved respect. “With all due respect, now is exactly the time to be taking risks like this! We’re not going to win this war by playing it safe! We need every Jedi we can get!”
Obi-Wan must have seen his (recently) former-padawan beginning to lose it, because he finally stepped forward to interject. Good, Anakin thought. This is as much his mess as it is mine.
“What Anakin is trying to say, Masters, is that this does seem like the Force’s work. Luke was, quite literally, dropped into mine and Anakin’s laps. Unless we are to believe that Tatooine is full of highly Force-Sensitive children waiting to appear at moment of crises, this cannot simply be dismissed. The Force brought him to us for a reason. Why else if not for training?”
“And if it wasn’t the Force which brought him to you?” Master Windu challenged. “We know there are dark powers at work. What is to say this isn’t a trap laid by the Sith? For all we know, he could be a Separatist spy.”
Anakin didn’t understand why the Council was always so dense. Luke wasn’t a spy. He wasn’t a threat. Anakin knew that with every inch of his being. The Force screamed it. Luke was there to help them; Anakin knew it in his very soul. The Council should have been able to see it too. “He’s nine years old!”
“Nine years old with a midi-chlorian counter over 20,000. It is a masterful bait,” Master Billaba finally interjected into the conversation, her words made ever the more poignant by her—and the rest of the council’s—previous silence.
Anakin could have screamed. Luckily, Master Yoda interjected before he could. “In the boy, darkness, I see not.”
There was something about the way the Grandmaster immediately glanced at Anakin which made the knight wonder if the same could be said about him. Suddenly the screams of sandpeople rung through his mind. He pushed them down, out, away. He was not dark. He wasn’t. They’d deserved it. And even if they hadn’t…
“Darkness surrounds the boy,” Master Windu countered, though even he frowned. “But I must admit, it does not seem to come from within. The fact remains, whoever he was, wherever he came from, it was a place of darkness. If we bring that darkness within this order, it could corrupt us from within.”
Obi-Wan took one step forward, a small action, but it guaranteed every eye was on him before. “And if we send him back out, we could find ourselves facing further darkness from without. A method of entrapment or no, Luke’s midi-chlorian count is unprecedented…” Except for Anakin. “Or nearly unprecedented. Releasing him back into the galaxy in such a state could mean offering Count Dooku yet another dark acolyte. The last thing we need is more enemies.”
It was true, and every one of them knew it. Still, Anakin could feel the uncertainty of the Council. He could feel their fear. And despite everything they taught, everything they claimed, the High Council was too often ruled by their fear.
“The fact remains, he is dangerous,” Master Windu began, proving Anakin right. “And whether or not he remembers his life before now, he is not trained in our ways. He will not have the time to learn all he must before aging out of the Initiate program. There is a war going on, a war we must win if the Republic itself is to survive. We don’t have the resources to devote our attention to one child, however powerful he may be.”
The Jedi were always about the big-picture, the good of the many over the good of the one. So it would have been a fair argument, if only Anakin hadn’t known they’d made the same claims about him. There hasn’t even been a war then, no sign of one despite Maul’s appearance. And they still hadn’t ‘had the resources.’
“Master Kenobi taught me just fine without any Initiate training,” Anakin continued to press even though he knew he was losing. “Maybe I…”
“Suggest, do you that your padawan he should be?” Master Yoda interrupted, giving Anakin a dark look. “Forget, have you, Padawan Tano?”
Anakin had the sense to blush. The truth was, he had forgotten about Ahsoka. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the togruta—it frightened Anakin how deeply he cared about her—but it was all so new. Less than a year ago he’d been Obi-Wan’s padawan in a (relatively) peaceful galaxy. Now there was a full-blown war and he had a padawan of his own. And a wife, he thought to himself, but crushed the thought as quickly as it came. The Council couldn’t read minds, exactly, but it frightened Anakin how perceptive they could be at times. Master Yoda especially…
“If I may, Masters,” Obi-Wan’s voice tore through Anakin’s heart, and the knight knew what was about to happen before it did. It wasn’t a vision, not in the traditional sense. No, it was just a decade of experience. And to think Obi-Wan calls me reckless.
“As you say, we are at war, and this war shall decide the fate of the Republic. We need all the hope we can get. We need every last Jedi we can get. That is why this council has urged each member of the order to take on a padawan leaner. I am a member of this order, and, as you may remember, had requested a new learner even before Anakin began to train Padawan Tano. Thus far, the Force has not seen fit to provide me with one. But it has provided me with Luke, and Luke must be trained. With your permission, I would take him on myself.”
The reaction from the Council was immediate and mixed, but Anakin knew most of them were against it. They’d been against it before Obi-Wan had even offered. It was not like Obi-Wan’s suggestion had been hard to predict. As different as they were, Obi-Wan had picked up more than one thing from his master. Collecting pathetic life forms foremost among them.
As unsurprised as Anakin was, he also found himself thrilled. There was no explanation, but knowing that Luke would be trained, well it meant everything to Anakin. He just knew it was the right decision. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he could only wonder—and no doubt Obi-Wan did as well—if this was how Qui-Gon had felt about a different blond-haired boy from Tatooine.
And yet, as happy as the prospect made Anakin, it sent a trickle of jealousy up his spine. Obi-Wan had never wanted to train Anakin; they both knew it. He’d only done so because of a desperate promise to Qui-Gon, to a dying man. But Luke, Luke Obi-Wan wanted to train.
It’s because he’s better than you in every way. Even you know it, a dark voice hissed in Anakin’s mind. And as much as it stung, it was true. Luke was better than him, in every way. Perhaps the boy’s midi-chlorian count was slightly lower, but his power was astounding. Looking at him through the Force was like looking at a supernova.
And more importantly, he was good, good in a way Anakin had never been. The whole time they were on Tatooine, the whole time they’d been travelling to Coruscant, Luke’s goodness had just shown out. He was scared and confused—the amnesia didn’t help—but he’d made Anakin feel light in a way only Padmé normally could. Not to mention he’d saved Anakin and Obi-Wan by taking on a whole clan of Hutts with nothing but sheer instinct and a borrowed lightsaber. Taking on a whole clan of Hutts, beaten them, and let them live.
Anakin could have done the rest of those things no problem, but the last bit? Not in all nine Corellian hells. If he hadn’t been unconscious at the time, if it had been up to Anakin, they would have been dead for sure. But Luke, nine-year-old Luke, had saved them all, regardless of if they deserved it.
That was a kind of goodness Anakin had never seen even within the Jedi Order. It was hard to believe Obi-Wan would have anything to teach the boy, except, perhaps, how to do all that without passing out at the end. It had been three rotations since they’d left Tatooine, and Luke had only woken up right before Anakin was called into this Force-damned meeting. He hadn’t even seen the boy yet.
“It’s impossible,” Master Ti, usually the most generous of the bunch, insisted. That certainly didn’t bode well. “You are one of our greatest knights, our greatest generals, Master Kenobi. Even if we were to ignore this boy’s irregularities, we cannot afford to place you with such a young padawan. It will be a great number of years before he is ready to face a war such as this, and we need you on the front line.”
A valid argument, except they were Jedi. Padawans did dangerous things all the time. Padawans died all the time. It was frightening, and horrible, but it was their way. If they wanted to talk about breaking their own code…
Obi-Wan seemed to sense that as well, and frowned. “The Jedi way has always been that padawans learn best by watching and following their masters, wherever they go, whatever they do. It may not have been a time of war, no, but I took Anakin on plenty dangerous missions at that age. If a mission is deemed too dangerous for Luke to accompany me, he can simply remain here in the temple, catching up on his academic studies. But the boy foiled a hutt coup d’état without any training while Anakin and I sat in a cell. I am not worried about his ability to cope with dangerous situations. If the Force wills his safety, he will be safe. If the Force does not will it, then he could die crawling out of bed.”
Anakin blinked in surprise. He knew Obi-Wan had always favored the Unifying Force. Still, in all his years Anakin had never seen Obi-Wan this devoted to the ‘will of the Force.’ In fact, he’d remembered quite a few lectures about not trusting too much in the Force. “The Force is like the ground; it shall always be there to catch you when you fall. Nevertheless, it is not wise to jump from the top of Republica500 and depend on either to protect you.”
So what was this? Was Obi-Wan truly this convinced that they needed Luke? Perhaps, though Anakin didn’t like how that made him feel. Or perhaps Obi-Wan was just looking at things from a certain-point-of-view to get his way. That certainly seemed the most likely circumstance.
And the council likely knew the trick as well. Most of them appeared still unconvinced. Ultimately, though, they were all waiting to see what Yoda and Mace thought of the matter. Sometimes Anakin cynically wondered why they bothered having a full council at all; it was rare the pair did not get their way.
It was also rare for Mace Windu to agree to anything Anakin wanted, though, so he wasn’t holding his breath.
“Meditate on this, we should,” the Grandmaster suggested with a long sigh. “Discuss it with the boy himself, we must.”
“I’m not certain there is anything to discuss,” Master Windu said, but then Yoda glared at him, and even the stalwart master bent some. “But we shall see what the Force—and the boy—reveal.”
Anakin thought that was a likely no, but he also supposed it was the best he was going to get.
---
Quite frankly, it concerned Anakin that his wife unabashedly ran towards the man breaking into her apartment during the middle of the night. Mostly, though, he just didn’t care. He wrapped her into a tight hug, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling her skin melt between his fingers. For a moment, everything in the universe felt right. For a moment, he was at peace.
But only for a moment.
He pulled away too quickly, and Padmé stiffened. “Ani? What happened? You landed this morning, what took you so long?”
Anakin could sense the fear radiating off his wife, the constant anxiety for his health and well-being. Guilt crept through him like a burrowing beetle. He hated causing his angel pain. Padmé deserved every sun, every moon in the galaxy, and instead she had Anakin. A husband who left her for months at a time….Who couldn’t guarantee he’d return… It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Just like so many other things in the galaxy.
“Ani?” Padmé tentatively asked, touching his shoulder gently.
She’s scared of you, a sick voice swore within his mind. She’s seen you explode, seen your darkness, and she’s terrified of you.
Except she wasn’t, and Anakin knew it. Despite all his anxieties, he knew in his heart that Padmé wasn’t terrified of him, even if she should be. No, she was terrified for him and it made Anakin feel loved in the worst possible way.
He bent down, pressing a kiss against her forehead, wiping a hair from his mouth in the process. Force her hair was always getting everywhere, but she had it down for sleeping, the curls gently sweeping her shoulder, and it made him breathless. “Force, you’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful and I love you. You know that, right? I love you so much.”
“Of course I know that,” she answered, a furrow creasing across her brow. “I love you too. I just… I worry. Last I’d heard you’d run into a problem on Tatooine and I couldn’t help but think…”
She couldn’t help but think it would be like every other time you were there, death, destruction, pain. “I’m fine. It was… fine. Except…”
Anakin was not usually one to be at a lost of words, especially not around Padmé. Oh, he very rarely could think of intelligent things when in her presence. Usually he babbled on about a million stupid things. But she was the ignition to his very soul, and her sheer presence lit him on fire in a way nothing and no one else ever had. Except…
Anakin led Padmé to the couch, pulling her into his arms and holding her tight. He could tell that questions and curiosity burned against her, but the war had been going on for months now, and they were beginning to form a routine. Sometimes when Anakin came home he just needed to hold her. This was definitely one of those times.
After a long while, Padmé looked up at him, caution in her tired gaze. “Do you just want to go to bed?”
He considered it. Bed—their bed—sounded incredible. And there was a certain part of him which found the prospect rather… exciting. It had been too long since he’d seen her, after all. Too long since he’d actually remembered he had a wife. And yet, even the prospect of lavishing kisses all over her body didn’t excite him the way it normally would. It didn’t burn out the gnawing in his chest left by the memory of a sandy-haired boy from Tatooine lying asleep in the healer’s wing.
“No,” he finally told her, as much as it hurt him. “No, there is something I need to tell you first.”
She hardly moved, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. “They didn’t… they didn’t find out, did they? Ahsoka didn’t see you leave or…”
“Hush,” he told her, wiping the hair from her eyes. “It’s nothing bad. At least… I don’t think it’s bad. It doesn’t feel bad, not to me. The Council though…”
Anakin wasn’t sure the Council knew good or bad when it was staring them in the face. Dooku had been a Jedi, after all. Had they failed to see darkness in him and now expected to find it in Luke instead?
“It was supposed to be an easy mission. This new alliance with Jabba means we have to keep him alive. If Zero or any other member of the clan managed a coup, we’d lose those hyperspace lanes. We’d lose the Outer Rim.” Anakin knew all the justifications for protecting the slaving bantha poodoo. Somehow they just frustrated him more though.
“It’s not fair of the Council to make you be the one to do it, though,” Padmé sympathetically offered, sitting up and rubbing his shoulders. “They know of your history with him.”
She was right of course. Padmé was always right. But still, for once that wasn’t the problem. “No, that part of it was fine. It’s just that the moment we got there it was like we’d been plunged into the deepest Corellian Hell! There were hundreds of droids and Grievous himself! Obi-Wan and I got separated from Jabba, forced to flee into the desert. After a night in the Jundland Wastes I knew we’d die if we stayed out there any longer so I…”
His voice caught in his throat, but Anakin fought off the weakness. What was done was done. He couldn’t bring his mother back however hard he tried.
“We were near the Lars’s farm. Turned up dying of dehydration in the middle of Cliegg Lars’s funeral!”
Padmé gasped. “Oh Ani, I’m so sorry! What happened?”
Anakin realized she thought he was upset over his step-father’s death, and felt a twinge of guilt. He should be upset over it, but he wasn’t. There was a part of Anakin—a part he hated, but a part of him nevertheless—which was glad the man was dead. It was his fault his mother had died. What kind of person bought themselves a wife? Had his mother’s last years been miserable? Cliegg Lars had bought her, married her, then gotten her killed. Anakin couldn’t help but hate him, hate all of them. And yet… At least it seemed the man had gotten what he deserved. And ultimately, Owen and Beru hadn’t been anything but kind.
“It was his leg… the one the sandpeople mutilated. But Padmé, that’s just the start. Owen and Beru—they just got married you know— and they…they took Obi-Wan and I in, no questions asked. They were grieving and they still helped us.”
“I spoke to Beru some while you were…” Padmé couldn’t seem to bring herself to admit exactly what Anakin had done during that time. “While you were gone. She seemed like an incredible women, and you’re family Anakin. You shouldn’t be so surprised they helped you.”
But they weren’t family. Not really. His mother was his family. Padmé was his family. And maybe, if he was being generous, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were family too. Except neither of them wanted to be his family. Neither of them were allowed to be. So it was just him and Padmé; the two of them against the whole universe.
Except there was someone else, a boy who’d crashed from the sky.
“And then we were talking, just talking and… You won’t believe me Padmé, but it’s entirely the truth. We were just talking the four of us when suddenly out of nowhere this boy just falls into my lap.”
Whatever she’d been expecting, that wasn’t it. But then, who could ever expect something like that? Her hands stilled and she just stared at him, “What?”
“Exactly!” he told her, jumping to his feet and pacing across the smooth carpet. “There wasn’t anywhere from him to fall from, not unless he’d been jumping on the couch. But he couldn’t have been jumping on the couch because Obi-Wan and I were sitting on it! But there he was, out of nowhere. A child, one Owen and Beru had never seen in their lives, unconscious on my lap. And they couldn’t even see the way he shone in the Force. It was blinding! Padmé, his midi-chlorian count is as high as mine!”
From the frown upon her face, she didn’t truly understand the significance. Or maybe she was just baffled by how all this had happened. One way or another, now that Anakin had begun his tale he couldn’t stop.
“His name is Luke, Padmé, and he has no memories at all. Except that’s not true. He knew his first name. He knew he was nine and what a landspeeder was. He knew how to take apart and put back together a broken moisture vaporator! But besides that… nothing. He doesn’t know how he got there, he doesn’t know who he is. But sometimes I’d catch him staring at Owen and Beru, or even at Obi-Wan, and it was like he knew them. And I… I feel like I know him too which is just crazy. I’d remember if we’d met because looking at him is looking at a binary sunrise! But I know him Padmé, the Force screams it every time I look at him. But there’s no explanation for it at all.”
“And that’s why you were delayed getting back? Because of this boy?”
“Yes…or well, sort of. Obi-Wan and I may have also gotten captured by these rival Hutts. They were trying to barter with Grievous though and gave Luke the time to free us. But it was mostly Luke. The Council has to decide what to do with him. He’s the same age I was.”
With these last words, Anakin deflated, dropping onto the couch besides Padmé. She wrapped her arms around him tight, kissing the crook of his neck. Somehow, though, it didn’t bring him the comfort it normally would. For the first time in Anakin’s life, he was tempted to leave Padmé’s arms. Leave her and go sit beside that tiny child from Tatooine.
“It scares me how much I care for him,” Anakin admitted, the words lifting a bantha off his soul. This was why he loved Padmé, why she meant so much more to him than anyone else. Obi-Wan would tell him Jedi weren’t supposed to be afraid. Padmé would just love him and take away the fear.
“Of course you care about him, Ani. You care about everyone! And besides, he sounds like he reminds you of yourself. A little boy from Tatooine, strong with the Force, good with machine, a heart bigger than anyone you’ve ever met. It’s the same old story as how I met you, isn’t it?”
Reluctant Council and all…
“Obi-Wan offered to train him, but the Council is worried about the war. We just don’t know what to do with padawans these days. Without new Jedi, we’ll never recoup the losses we’re suffering, but bringing children onto the battlefield. At least Ahsoka knows how to handle a lightsaber. Luke doesn’t know his own name.”
Padmé nodded her head, biting her lip in the way she always did when thinking. It made Anakin grin and he stopped her with a bright kiss. “Be nice to those lips, they’re mine you know.”
She chuckled softly, kissing him again, but this was Padmé after all, and she couldn’t stop thinking for long. Finally she admitted, “I’m sure it will work out, Anakin, but if it doesn’t I’ll sponsor the boy myself on Naboo, make sure he gets placed with a good family. Or maybe Bail would take him…he and Breha have been talking about adopting for ages.”
Luke Organa, Prince of Alderaan—it would be a good life, but it felt all wrong to Anakin. That wasn’t what Luke was meant for; he just knew it. Luke was meant to be a Jedi, meant to be the greatest Jedi ever to live. They’d spoken for so long about Anakin being the Chosen One, but he knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be, not with the darkness that lived within him. But Luke… Luke was everything Anakin couldn’t be. He was the real Chosen One, Anakin knew it, and he wanted to see the boy fulfill his destiny.
And yet… and yet there was a strange, paternal part of him that would much rather see the boy shuffled away to Alderaan or Naboo, safe and sound. It was so odd. Anakin had never considered being a father before, not by a long shot. Ahsoka was like his little sister, not like his daughter, but Luke. Luke was just so young. Anakin didn’t want to see him thrown into a war either, even if he knew they needed Luke.
“Have you ever considered it?”
Anakin shook his head, blinking at Padmé. “Considered what?”
She bit her lip once more, rolling it between her teeth. Anakin didn’t know the last time he’d seen her so nervous. But Padmé Amidala Naberrie Skywalker was nothing if not brave, and she trusted Anakin not to laugh. (Even if she didn’t trust Anakin to keep his cool.)
“Considered children…Not now, obviously. We’re both so young and there is a war and I don’t think… I don’t know how we’d possibly raise children when our marriage is such a secret. I’d have to resign, you’d be expelled form the Order but…Sola visited with he kids while you were away. They’re actually rather cute, now that they can talk and such. Pooja told me she wants to be a senator so she can wear her hair all fancy too. And it’s not that I want it exactly, but it just made me wonder... Well wonder if I ever did want it, would you?”
Anakin would be lying if he said he’d never considered it. In fact, he’d pondered the possibility rather extensively. Most of the time this came in the form of crippling anxiety, fear that something would go wrong, Padmé would end up pregnant, and the world around them would fall to pieces. He hadn’t known much about female reproduction before marrying her, after all, and he still didn’t exactly understand how it worked—or didn’t, for that matter. Padmé made the decisions there. And yet… and yet if he got a choice, if he could choose to have children or not, what would he pick? Most days he’d say no, it was too dangerous, selfish, even.
But somedays, somedays he’d be sitting in a cockpit, looking out at the vast stars, and feel so unbelievably lonely. And on those days, on those days he wanted children more than anything. He’d lost his mother. He wasn’t allowed to have Padmé. But children, his children, Anakin knew he’d do anything for them. He’d love them like he’d always wanted to be loved, love them a million times more than even that. He’d never had a father, but it wouldn’t matter. He’d make sure his child never felt as lonely, as unloved and set adrift, as he always had.
But wasn’t that selfish too? Having a child just so he always had someone to love, someone nothing could take away from him? It certainly seemed selfish. It was definitely an attachment.
“I… I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I think, I think I would like being a father. I know I would love any child we had. But I’m not sure I want to have children. Maybe it’s just because it seems like such a bad idea, for both of us.”
He didn’t miss the way Padmé deflated and it irked him. Hadn’t she just said she didn’t really want children either? Force, he loved her dearly, but there were some days when Anakin didn’t think he could possibly say the right thing.
Before he could press the point though, she sighed and leaned against him. “I know it is, I know. But maybe someday and for now… we have each other. And you have Ahsoka too, who I really wish you’d let visit me more. There aren’t any rules against being friends with Jedi and as much as I love you and Obi-Wan, don’t you think she could use some…feminine influences in her life?”
Anakin was grateful for the turn in the conversation; he was just a tad miffed about his wife’s insinuations. “There are plenty of women in the Jedi Order! Just because Ahsoka knows how to hold her own in a fight that doesn’t mean she needs to learn how to be more feminine!”
Padmé glared at him, and Anakin knew he’d kriffed up. Big time. “Not that you can’t be feminine and hold your own in a fight. Obviously you can be… in fact that was exactly what I was saying?”
“Mhmm,” Padmé rolled her eyes, standing and heading towards their bedroom. “Bring her and Obi-Wan for dinner tomorrow if you haven’t been shipped off planet by then. And this boy too if the Council will let you. What did you say his name was?”
“Luke.”
Padmé paused a moment in the door way then smiled softly, “I always loved the name Luke… Are you coming to bed or what?”
Anakin jumped to his feet a bit too quickly, and his wife chuckled at him. “I did mean bed, you know. No… riskiness.”
He barked a laugh, following his wife into their room. Force, he loved her. He loved her more than life itself. Somehow, with her around, everything would always be okay. Especially now he had Luke too.