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Chapter Text

He’d felt his presence in the market before he ever saw him. 

That searching, duty driven intensity glowed bright in the Force.

Brighter than Obi-Wan would have expected from an Imperial officer.

With great caution he reached through the Force and very very gently touched the other’s presence.

Interesting.

Not a Force user. He would have known that immediately. But this man was definitely more sensitive to the power around him than many others. It was very likely that he didn’t know it either. 

Regardless, he was here for Luke. He and his troopers were asking various locals for the Lars and the boy who lived with them.  Happily, most people here in Anchorhead hated the Empire. To be fair—they hated anyone who was an outsider. You had to prove your right to belong in this crime driven area. 

Obi-Wan kept his head down and used the Force as needed to keep beings from being too interested in him. 

The Lars had been here for generations—therefore most beings were not inclined to be helpful to the Imperials.

But it was entirely possible that money would talk. This man was not offering Imperial credits. So he understood a few things about the Rim then. He was offering something actually valuable and untraceable in the form of Kardusian rubies. 

Obi-Wan leaned over his small cup of ghank, allowing its gentle spice to fill his nose as he watched the Captain hold some of the rubies in his hand—their rich hue making it appear that he’d been cut.

Someone else was watching. Several someones.

Well .

That didn’t bode well for the Captain.

Kenobi looked cautiously to the side where a group of Klatoonians lounged in the shadows, They were sizing up the small knot of Imperials.

While the reach of the Empire was long indeed, Palpatine had shown no desire to clash with the powerful Hutt cartel. 

Imperial officers and troopers had been robbed and murdered out here before, their bodies given to the vast sands of Tatooine. 

It would happen again. 

There was only a small garrison on the planet and they were not willing to anger the population of spicers, smugglers, and pirates. 

If Obi-Wan was reading the feel of the atmosphere correctly, this little group of Imperials wouldn’t last long here.

And he couldn’t let himself be too concerned about that. Were they not looking for the Lars Homestead he might have tried to subtly guide the Imperials away from the area. But Luke must take the highest priority, and Obi-Wan had to leave them to their fate.

He rose and departed to find his faithful eopie. It would take several hours to reach the Lars and he should start now to inform them not to come to town for a few days.

Fourteen year old Luke was looking so like his Father. He wondered if Owen saw it. 

Likely he did. 

He’d told Owen and Beru that Anakin had lived when he discovered it himself several years back. 

Owen had raged at him and Beru had been silent in the background, sweet face pale. But in the end, it was she who had risen to place a hand on her husband’s arm and inform him that they needed to think of ways to be prepared if Anakin discovered Luke.

Hardy desert stock indeed, and Obi-Wan had been so amazed at the raw courage there. 

They took the news of the Imperial officer quietly. By this point they’d prepared secret tunnels and an old speeder hidden in the cliffs two miles away. They would be ready, and Obi-Wan promised to keep watch closer than he usually did.

Luke came in from tending the moisture vaporators at this point, white blonde hair sweaty over his forehead.

He’d greeted Kenobi with easy affection and Obi-Wan basked in the love of Luke’s embrace. The boy wanted him to stay for dinner, but he begged off, saying that Akkani was tired and he needed to get her fed and watered.

He set off with a warm round cake from Beru’s oven, wrapped in a cloth, and returned to his home on the edge of the Dune Sea. Akkani groaned as she settled to her knees and promptly began to munch on her grain and hay while he put together a pack for himself. 

He intended to keep watch on the cliffs to the west. It afforded the best view, and was a little closer should he need to get to the Lars in short order. 

Accordingly, after a brief night, Obi-Wan set off with the dawn on his self appointed watch.

He settled himself comfortably against a rock that provided shade and raised his macrobinocs. The Lars homestead was stirring—-getting ready to go about their day. 

Somewhere around 0700 hours he glimpsed movement roughly two miles from his position and to the east. He zeroed in on this and could see numerous large shapes. They appeared to be dragging something, which they left on the sand, and then returned to their speeders, buzzing off into the already shimmering heat. 

Obi-Wan adjusted his macrobinoculars to their maximum setting.

The heap moved .

Kark.

More movement and he could see a figure making its labored way to its knees. He couldn’t make out what sort of being it was, and so reached with the Force.

Human.

Not very big. 

The human struggled, tipping over several times. It was oddly shaped and it took Obi-Wan long moments to realize that the unfortunate human was bound around a pole. He knew the method well. 

It was one the Tuskens liked to use, but the figures that had dragged the human here were far bigger than a Raider. 

The Tuskens pulled their prisoner’s arms over a sturdy rod and then bound them there before also binding their wrists together behind their backs. 

This made escape virtually impossible and the position was deeply uncomfortable. 

Nonetheless, this human was futilely struggling to free himself.

Not a pleasant way to die, Obi-Wan thought. Left here to rot in the sun. Either that or a krayt would get them. This area had seen some of the lesser ones travelling through. 

He realized that the twin suns were operating at full capacity now, and had the simultaneous revelation that he was looking at the Imperial officer.

Force damn it. 

No doubt those had been the Klatoonians. 

The man was alone which did not bode well for the troopers who had accompanied him. 

But now Obi-Wan was facing a moral dilemma.

That man was here for Luke. Had been sent here to search for the Lars homestead. Had been asking about a boy.

The easiest thing would be to leave him out here. 

The suns would kill him within hours, clad as he was in that gaberwool. 

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rock behind him. 

He could sense the man’s struggle for life. 

He kept trying to free his hands and bring his rope bound boots within range of his fingers. This was futile as Obi-Wan could have told him. 

What would he possibly do with an Imperial prisoner? He couldn’t just…keep the man hidden out in the desert. 

But was he at peace with watching him die a slow and awful death?

He could make it quick. One blaster shot. The desert would cover his body by tomorrow. 

He delayed, and the suns got higher in the sky. 

Luke or this man?

Is the choice really that simple?

The Imperial had stopped moving. His life force ebbing swiftly.

Karking, karking hells. 

Qui Gon would be useful right about now. He needed counsel. 

As he thought this, he looked around, hoping to see the ghostly blue form of his mentor.

Nothing.

Obi-Wan sighed and rose.

He knew what he needed to do, and he hoped the Force was happy with whatever the consequences were.

He made his way as swiftly as he could back to his hut where he saddled the eopie, and snagged several canteens of water. 

Then he urged Akkani to the fastest pace she’d yet achieved. 

Even so, when he slid from her back to kneel beside the unconscious Imperial Captain, he feared he had delayed too long. 

The man had clearly vomited at some point—not a good sign.

He was no longer sweating and his pulse thundered under Obi-Wan’s fingers, his burned skin dangerously hot to the touch.

He’d delayed too long.

But he was here now and had a moral duty to try and save this man’s life. 

Swiftly he cut the ropes around the Imperial’s crusted, bloodied wrists. That was nasty—he’d fought so very hard to free himself and Obi-Wan felt a pang of guilt as he sliced the rope around his ankles.

Luke, he reminded himself firmly. If the Captain lived, he had a whole new problem on his hands for Luke’s safety. 

But he must deal with that later. He tossed away the wooden pole and retrieved one of his canteens, doing his best to get it between the man’s teeth. 

He was completely unresponsive and most of the water trickled out the sides of his mouth. 

Obi-Wan blew out a breath. There were small springs deep in the cliffs on top of which he dwelt. It was where he got his water and it was cool. 

It was also more difficult to get to. Akkani could not enter the narrower caves. He would need to risk using the Force to get the officer there.

He urged the eopie to kneel and heaved the man over her back. He soaked a light piece of cloth in water and bound it around the officer’s head. Then he mounted and urged Akkani to a swift trot.

Once they reached the cliffs, he dismounted and led her as far as she could feasibly go. Then he tied her lead to a rocky outcrop and raised a hand to levitate the Imperial from her back to hover in the air before him.

It took more strain than he cared to think about—-his use of the Force was rusty. He usually tried not to touch it overly much to avoid any detection. 

But if the Lars were being hunted---if someone was sending this Captain here to look for them-- he likely needed to work on rebuilding his strength in every way.

It was cool and delicious despite the slightly musty scent back here. A small beam of light filtered from far above them to illuminate the pools. 

There were three—two worn into the rock slightly above the floor of this cramped cavern, and one below them that could just about fit a man the size of the Captain. 

He lowered him carefully to the slim sandy strip by the spring and knelt beside him to swiftly tug off his boots. He discovered a knife hidden in the left one.

So that’s what he’d been trying to reach.

Socks and trousers followed and then he removed the man’s jacket and henley, leaving him in his skivvies. 

The sunburn on his face and hands was accentuated by the pale skin revealed now and Obi-Wan winced. He would need to acquire some more of Beru’s burn salve without making her suspicious. 

He lowered the officer into the shallow pool, and then removed his own boots to wade in and begin pouring water over the man’s head from a canteen. 

He made sure to soak his hair before he tried once more to get the Imperial to drink. And at last he was rewarded with small movements of the man’s cracked lips. Obi-Wan dribbled as much water as he could into the Captain’s mouth. 

When it was clear he was not taking anymore, he turned his attention to the deep furrows the officer had worn into his own flesh. 

He didn’t have all the medicines needed to dress the wrists, so he cleaned them as well as he could and bound them up in strips of fabric before feeling the man’s pulse once again. 

Still not normal, but better than it had been. And his temperature seemed to have lowered from the alarming levels it had been.

Obi-Wan removed his outer robe and wrapped the officer in it before he laid him on the wet sand and gathered up the discarded Imperial uniform to pack in his knapsack. The knife he held onto, tucking it into his belt before using the Force to once again maneuver the man through the rocky opening and back to Akkani. 

She was waiting calmly for him, bless her, no doubt pleased to be in the cool shade.

He mounted her once more, this time settling the smaller man before him to lean back against Obi-Wan’s chest as he allowed the eopie to make her way back out and then up the winding path which led to his hut.

It was not a journey for the faint of heart, but he’d made it many times now with his sure footed friend and appreciated the security offered by the location. 

Once the Imperial was settled in his humble cot, he went back out to look after Akkani.

“Now what?” he sighed to her as he wiped her down in the shade. The suns were setting once more and it was stunningly beautiful. But every night, all Obi-Wan could think of, as they shot red and gold rays across the desert, was magma and flame. 

She nuzzled at his shoulder and nibbled his hair.

“Thank you,” he smiled, pushing her snout away gently. “But now I have an Imperial officer to look out for as well as a 14 year old Jedi child who doesn’t know he’s a Jedi child. Is it time to tell him?”

She lowed at him and turned to grab a mouthful of hay. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair. “Dinner first. Then I have to hope this man regains consciousness because I have some rather important questions.”

He entered his hut and set about making a temporary bed for himself across the room from the Captain before he lit his little stove and hunted up his various food supplies to make a simple stew. The cake from Beru was welcome to dip into the stew and he set aside the leftovers. 

The officer was tossing fretfully now and he knelt to give him more water. 

The Captain appeared to be in his mid thirties, and while his frame was slight, he was wiry muscle, no fat. As he became more restless, Obi-Wan was surprised at his strength. 

“Nothing is ever easy,” he sighed, resigning himself to a rough night.

He lifted the officer’s head to drink whenever he was vaguely conscious and continuously kept cold clothes on his forehead and legs and arms—-wherever main arterial points were located.

At some point in the early morning hours, when things were blessedly cool, the Captain began to mutter deliriously, a thick brogue tripping from his tongue.

Axxilan then. Interesting. 

He was clearly very driven by his duty and his loyalty. He discussed finding ‘the boy’ many times. The name ‘Max’ was uttered frequently along with ‘help me’ and ‘sorry’. 

But at last the sense of anguish and despair was becoming too much for Obi-Wan as the Force reacted.

“Plase…” the man panted, eyes flying wide for the first time. “ Plase help me. Ah canna…it’s too much….ah canna…so tired…plase… ”

Obi-Wan had not in a million years expected to feel sorry for anyone hunting Luke.

But here he was. 

He placed a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I’m here to help you, Captain,” he said calmly. 

“Canna be anyone else on tha line,” the officer told him. “Plase. He’s so…frustrated. We… Ah’ve failed. Canna find tha boy.”

Obi-Wan’s gut stirred uneasily.

“Who wants you to find the boy, Captain?” he asked, striving for steady tones as he replaced the cold cloth on the man’s forehead.

But he was back to begging for help,  and Obi-Wan could bear it no more. 

The Imperial had clearly been under tremendous strain—he could feel it all around him, and without any conscious barriers, the grief and hopelessness was swirling darkly in the Force. 

Obi-Wan placed his palm over the man’s face.

It had been years since he’d done this and he closed his eyes in concentration.

Sleep. You are safe. You have not failed. Sleep.

He was gratified when the Captain gradually relaxed, his breathing getting slower and deeper. And at last, the hands which had been restlessly clutching and clenching dropped to the cot.

Obi-Wan rose stiffly and stumbled to his own pile of blankets. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and his bed was nothing to write home about, but he slept deeply all the same. 

Chapter Text

It was Akkani who woke him, lowing gently outside for him to come and give her breakfast.

He groaned and rolled to his side. 

What happened to the days when he could sleep on the ground for weeks at a time on campaigns? 

Aging was ridiculous.

He rubbed at his eyes to clear them and focused on the figure still asleep across the room. 

The walls of his hut were very thick in order to moderate the extreme temperatures the desert liked to put out. It was still pleasantly cool, almost cold, even though the twin suns had been up for at least two hours. 

He rose slowly to his feet, stretching his back and ignoring his knees as he moved to check on his Imperial…prisoner? Guest? Jury was still out. 

He didn’t look great, but then, who would after being nearly roasted alive in the Tatooine desert? Beru’s salve had calmed the sunburn a little. Obi-Wan unscrewed the jar and applied all he had left to the man’s face, neck and hands. 

He was going to need more. 

He checked the bandaged wrists. They were still inflamed and seeping so he cleaned and redressed the wounds. He had a tiny store of bacta and he applied what he could of this to each wrist. 

The officer didn’t stir, and Obi-Wan had to hope that was a good sign. He thought it was. The Captain’s breathing was steady as was his heart rate. More water would be good, but he would try to rouse the man after he fed Akkani and made breakfast.

The eopie nuzzled him affectionately as he refreshed her water and laid some strips of dried meat in with her grain. 

She sniffed this deeply and then turned swiftly to lick him up the side of his head.

“Ahh….thank you, Akkani,” he said, grimacing, but appreciating the simple affection.

He clambered up the slight incline to raise his macrobinoculars and view the Lars home.

All was normal. He could see Luke doing chores for Beru. Usually the boy then took the old speeder out to join Owen in harvesting water from the vaporators. 

He chewed his bottom lip a little. The presence of the Captain and his men was disturbing. This was the closest anything Imperial had ever come to bothering the Lars family. Let alone looking for Luke specifically. 

Yes, he had many questions for this Captain. 

Obi-Wan made his way back to the hut and mixed a simple whole grain batter for flatcakes. It wasn’t much for the tastebuds, but it was nutritionally dense and he always added a bit of Beru’s blue butter. She’d come up with a very clever way to make it using vegetable fat and skimming whatever she could from blue milk to give it better flavor. 

He ate several of these with relish and then decided he’d been patient enough with the Imperial officer.

Yes, patience was always a strength of yours.

His conscience had the nasty habit of sounding like Qui-Gon and given the fact that his mentor could in fact manifest, he sometimes wondered if it actually was Qui-Gon being a kriffer to mess with him.

Obi-Wan knelt beside the smaller man and raised his head on his arm, nudging a canteen between his lips. 

“Come now,” he said. “You must wake for a while at least. Drink.”

He was rewarded with a frown and the Imperial turned his head a little, away from the canteen.

“None of that,” Obi-Wan told him, as though speaking to Luke at age five. “Time to wake up, Captain.”

Perhaps it was his title that got through, but hazel eyes squinted at him with confusion. 

“Water,” Obi-Wan said. “Then we can talk.”

The officer drank deeply and Obi-Wan rested his head back on the pillow before he turned and snagged one of the flatcakes.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, and the man shook his head.

“Thirsty mostly,” he rasped.

Obi-Wan shrugged and replaced the flatcake, moving instead to his kettle.

“All right. I thought that might be the case. Often is with heat stroke. I’ll get some tea going then.”

“Where…am I?” the man asked, glancing around the crude home. 

“Still on Tatooine,” Obi-Wan replied with deliberate humor and the Captain gave him an unimpressed look.

“You are in my home,” he added. “Roughly two hours from Anchorhead by speeder.”

The officer took this in, no doubt striving to recollect his circumstances.

“What’s your name?” he asked eventually, content to lie on the cot. His life force was much stronger than the night before, but one didn’t just bounce back from what he’d endured. Miraculous he’d survived really, given his slight stature. 

“You can call me ‘Ben’,” Obi-Wan said, getting the tea brewing. It was one he preferred, even if it was somewhat more expensive than the standard working brew in the area. It made one feel more full, and the flavor did not leave a strange film on one’s tongue.

He watched the other man ingest this from the corner of his eye and could see the Imperial didn’t believe this name was accurate.

“Very well, Ben ,” he replied, “I am Captain Firmus Piett. And I wonder if you have any news regarding my men?”

He did very well with the cool and collected Imperial facade.

But of course, Obi-Wan could sense his feelings. And this officer was genuinely concerned for the fate of his troops.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan answered with regret, bringing over a mug of tea. “But I have to confess I don’t have much hope that they survived. Can you tell me what happened?”

He helped Piett ease into a sitting position and made certain he was strong enough to hold the clay mug.

The Captain eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you think they were dead?” he asked, and Obi-Wan kicked himself mentally. This officer had a different feel about him. He was not the arrogant, over confident type. Those eyes were keen, even in that tired face. 

“I saw you dragged out here by those Klatoonians,” he answered honestly. “And if they had separated you from your men, well….out here that usually means one thing.”

Piett held his gaze for long moments and then took a careful sip of the tea, inclining his head a little in appreciation.

“That…is good,” he said and Obi-Wan smiled. 

“No caf here I’m afraid, but I confess that a decent tea is something I find necessary even in a desert hut.”

“I am a tea man myself,” Piett agreed. “I favor a spicier blend, but that is a result of upbringing, not discernment necessarily.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Well. Axxila is known for the spices.”

Piett blinked and frowned at him. Good. Keep him slightly off guard, but not fully alert and defensive. 

“You ah…you were delirious for a while there,” Obi-Wan said. “Slid into the brogue.”

He stated this matter of factly as though it was not a big deal and watched the other man’s countenance.

He sipped more tea to cover thoughts that were no doubt madly swirling around. Obi-Wan gave him points for this. To wake up from heat stroke in the hut of a stranger like this and jump right into verbal sparring, no matter how gentle Obi-Wan was striving to be, took some spine. 

************

Piett was grateful for the tea. It gave him something to do with his hands and allowed him time to gather his dragging thoughts. 

“Did I ah…say anything too terrible?” he asked, curling his mouth slightly as though in humor.

“Not at all,” Ben replied genially. “You did seem, forgive me, rather distressed. Understandable given what you have been through.”

Piett nodded again and sipped slowly. The hut was not large, but blessedly cool. His cot was beside a small window, but it was too high at the moment for him to see anything. There was a small camp stove on the other side of the room and a box that looked like cold storage. A generator of some unknown make stood beside this, glowing a pale violet light. There was clearly another room around the corner (possibly storage) and a battered metal chest beside which was a pile of blankets. 

Nothing adorned the clay walls. It was a pale clay, different from the deeper orange shades that were prevalent on this planet. He usually saw that clay on the exteriors, come to think of it.

Something that smelled like mud covered his face—some sort of balm.

His wrists had been carefully bandaged, but they were throbbing painfully in time with his heartbeat. 

The cot he lay on was clearly Ben’s. It wasn’t terrifically comfortable, but it wasn’t the ground and he was covered with old blankets that were the least shabby. 

All of this, coupled with several things this strange hermit had said, was not adding up for Piett. 

He’d been cared for in a way that didn’t usually lead to being shot in the end. It must have taken great effort to haul him here and tend to his heatstroke. He wondered if there was a spring somewhere. It was the only thing he could think of that might have saved him.

On the other hand, Ben had said he’d seen the Klatoonians dump him on the burning sand.

Which meant…

“I take it you were watching me then?” he asked without emotion.

The skin around Ben’s eyes tightened a little. 

“I saw your struggle, yes. I came down to help, as you see.”

Piett did some swift mental calculating from what he recalled of the cliffs in relation to his last position.

“Took a while then,” he commented neutrally, but with a slight challenge in his eyes. A headache was forming, Force damn it, and he needed to find out just what his rescuer was up to.

The other man sighed heavily and drank his own tea. His clothes were the rough and bleached sort common out here. But there was just… something in his bearing that spoke of dignity. Command. Danger even.

“Captain. I admit that Imperials are not particularly welcome here. Ultimately of course, I had to retrieve you.”

Hmm ..

“And I am grateful, please don’t mistake me,” Piett replied, looking at the mug, then back up to Ben. “Thank you for that. But I have to ask, why did you do it?”

The older man rose, running a hand over his sandy beard. 

“Perhaps I fear Imperial repercussions if they were to discover you had been left to die out here in such a way.”

He quirked a humorous eyebrow at Piett, and he had a hard time imagining this curious hermit afraid of most things.

“Or it could be that I intend to sell you. There’s a decent market for Imperial officers, you know. You don’t make yourselves terribly popular.”

Piett was all too aware. He’d heard awful reports. Officers tortured to death. Hunted for sport. 

“I wouldn’t bring much revenue,” he said, trying to be casual. “As you see, I am not all that imposing.”

Ben huffed a small laugh. “Someone I know might say that size matters not. Something about you, Piett. I don’t think you have to look imposing to be that way.”

Piett somehow didn’t think Ben would do that to him. But…these were uncertain times. No doubt he was not entirely successful at keeping a neutral face as the hermit raised an eyebrow at him.

“Or,” he said, coming to pluck Piett’s empty mug from his fingers. “Perhaps it was the right thing to do, and I could not in good conscience leave you there. Take your pick.”

Piett was exhausted, but he did his best to keep his mind tracking.

“I believe the last one, Ben,” he murmured. “Though I am curious what you do intend for me. For example, what would you say if I asked to be returned to the nearest Imperial garrison?”

Ben tapped his shoulder, indicating that he would help Piett lie down, which they achieved without the Captain flinching too much. 

“I need to redress your wrists,” he said, and proceeded to do so with a gentle touch. Even so, it was supremely painful and the hermit grimaced in sympathy.

“My apologies. Not a lot of painkillers out here. I’m hoping to get a few more supplies from a friend.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Piett pointed out sleepily when the job was done and he’d had more water.

“I didn't, did I?” Ben asked, a twinkle in those clear blue eyes. Piett found this vaguely irritating, but sleep took him before he could pursue it.

**********

He woke by gradual degrees, to the sound of Ben’s easy movements in his home.

When Piett finally opened his eyes he saw the man standing near the entrance.

“Need more water,” he stated, gesturing outside. Piett didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t say where he was going to get it. “I’ll be back. Don’t try anything stupid, Captain. You’re in no fit state.”

Piett cocked his head and raised an insulted eyebrow.

Ben grinned annoyingly and ducked out. 

All right , Piett thought, listening intently. He hadn’t saddled the eopie he’d heard earlier. So water was within walking distance of the hut. 

He stretched a little under the rough blanket and all of his muscles protested. His wrists burned fiercely and he hoped it was just the fact that he had no painkillers, and not that they were infected.

Ben was a skilled opponent in the verbal minefield. He had given away a few things about himself, but all Piett had gathered really was that Ben had been a bit hesitant about whether to save the Captain or not.

He wasn’t the only being on this dustball to think that about an Imperial.

The question was…

Would he let Piett go on his way? 

And further, could Piett continue his search for this mysterious boy? 

No one had even wanted to discuss the Lars with him. But his Lordship had been more confident than Piett had seen in a long time.

“There is a family…quite far into the desert, Piett. Lars… that is the name you must inquire for.”

He stood as he often did—his back to Piett and facing the expanse of space visible from the Lady’s viewport.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Tatooine.

Not at all the place Piett would have been looking for a Force sensitive child. 

But something had changed in Lord Vader’s demeanor. Where clear frustration had been an aura around him for months, he now seemed confident. 

“I had you looking where his mother might have gone, Captain. It did not strike me til recently that we should focus our search where…his father came from.”

And that was interesting, but far above Piett’s pay grade to inquire about. 

“Take the usual small force, Piett. I sense that our time is growing short. It is a matter of urgency that the boy is found. As…DISCREETLY, as possible.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Piett had said, and bowed.

He had not yet fulfilled his mission. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to do so which meant that ‘Ben’ needed to let him go.

“Ben?”

Piett started violently at the young voice and struggled up to his elbows, adrenaline allowing him to push past the pain this caused throughout his body.

“Ben?” repeated a young voice once again, and then a short blonde child entered the hut. 

He stopped short on seeing Piett, and the two of them just stared at each other for long seconds.

“Who are you?” the boy asked, slightly suspicious, but aware that he held the advantage if it came to that. 

He was dressed in the typical bleached garb for the water farmers on this planet. His nerf boots were well worn, and in some places held together with leather strings.

But he had a tan face and an easy smile, as well as exceedingly striking blue eyes. Different from Ben’s—these were the color of the Tatoooine sky, warm and bright.

“I’m…Firmus,” Piett said cautiously, struggling into a sitting position and clenching his jaw around the pain in his wrists.

“Where’s Ben?” the child asked, folding his arms. 

“Getting water,” Piett replied calmly. “Who are you?”

“Luke,” the boy replied, seating himself on the old chest and leaning against the wall, wiping a little sweat from his forehead. “Did you get caught in the desert?”

“Something like that,” Piett agreed. “Do you live out here?”

The child squinted at him. Hmm. Seemed he had some degree of caution about talking to strangers then.

“Something like that,” he echoed. His gaze roamed around the hut and Piett saw the moment he discovered the Imperial boots half hidden under the cot.

His eyes widened in that young face.

“You’re…” he started, just as the strange hermit returned.

He took in the fact that Luke was there and further, that Piett had seen him. His jaw tightened.

“Luke. Why are you out here?”

“Hi Ben!” the boy said brightly, most of his concerns clearing now that the man was here. Ben set the water buckets down slowly. “I wanted to check on you after we got your warning to ah…stay low for a while.”

And Piett knew . He knew this was the child he was seeking. 

What’s more, Ben saw that Piett knew.

“Perfectly fine as you see. But I found this man and—”

“He’s an Imperial !” Luke stated, frowning and gesturing sharply. “You helped an Imperial !”

“So I should die of thirst?” Piett asked him flatly.

Luke paused, his mouth dropping into a comical oh at this thought, as Ben sighed.

“Luke…”

“Sorry,” the child mumbled sheepishly. “Just…your lot are historically…not great.”

Piett couldn’t help the curl of his mouth at this statement of fact.

“I can’t deny that,” he agreed, and was amused at the boy’s visible confusion about what to think of someone he’d been raised to believe was automatically bad. 

“You need to go back before your Aunt is worried,” Ben told the kid. “And given how she feels about Imperials, we need to let this man be our secret, all right?”

The mop of blonde hair shook as Luke nodded in agreement. 

“Ok, fine . But you have to let me come back and—-”

“By the time you get back here, Luke, he will be gone. Out.”

Ben pointed commandingly, and the child sighed the long suffering sigh of teenagers the galaxy over when adults were nerfs.

He was mostly out of sight when Ben added with a warm smile—”thank you for checking on me.”

“Someone needs to,” the boy replied cheekily, and then he was gone.

Ben stood in the middle of the room and Piett could practically see the new weight upon his shoulders as he lifted his gaze at last to meet the Captain’s.

“That was the boy,” Piett stated with certainty, somewhat desperate for water again. He wondered if he was just going to be shot now. 

“That was…the boy,” Ben repeated slowly. “And now, Captain Piett, we have a very different problem in regard to your fate.”

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan had A LOT of questions for the Force. A LOT.

Why in the nine hells, had Luke showed up just then ?

Was he being punished for saving this man’s life? Didn’t really seem like the Jedi way to just let him die like that. But here he was with his circumstances karked to hell. 

He could feel Piett watching him warily—-the Imperial Captain was fully expecting Obi-Wan to kill him now that he’d seen Luke. 

And he couldn’t.

He couldn’t kill Anakin at his most awful, and he couldn’t murder this man in cold blood. 

Even for Luke.

Obi-Wan had had far too much time to think about attachment out here in the desert. About the difference between ‘attachment’ and love . About what he should have said to Anakin about those things at the time. About how he should have just said he knew about Padme’ and of course he wasn’t going to reveal their secret, and how could he help?

Yes indeed. Plenty of time for all the regrets and ‘might have beens’. 

He loved Luke. But he wasn’t going to murder someone in cold blood for him. 

So he busied himself making tea and then turned to lean against the wall. Piett was still watching him and he gestured tiredly with a bandaged wrist.

“Might as well get it over with,” he said wearily. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Obi-Wan said. 

There was a beat.

“That was the boy,” he continued. “His name is Luke and he is fourteen. And yet the Empire wants this child. And you are apparently willing to take an innocent boy from his family and hand him to people who will misuse him or kill him.”

A surge of feeling rose from the Captain at this. Anger and disgust. Offense at those suggestions. Interesting.

“That is not what I was ordered to do,” he stated in clipped tones. 

“Oh really?” Obi-Wan asked doubtfully. “You wish me to believe you are that naive, Piett? That you are taking a child to a benevolent Empire? For what? Surely your Axxilan background—”

“You know nothing of my background,” Piett interrupted coldly. “And no, I am not naive. I do not believe the Empire is a good thing. Perhaps once….” he trailed off and Obi-Wan saw that he was sweating lightly. It wasn’t that warm in here. Which meant his wrists were likely infected. He was going to have to raid Beru’s stores for antibiotics and quickly.

“Look,” the Captain said, striving valiantly to sound calm and reasonable. “I was in the Axxilan anti-Pirate fleet. I hate slavery of all kinds. I fought that sort of scum. I would never take part in it.”

“And yet you would take Luke,” Obi-Wan pointed out, turning to pour the hot water over tea in the mugs. 

“Not to that !” Piett insisted. 

Obi-Wan could feel his exhaustion and moved to hand him the mug. 

“What were your orders then, Captain?” he asked, seating himself on a crate and watching Piett keenly. The man was very sincere. He radiated truth. This was all very odd.

“I…can’t…” Piett sighed in frustration and sipped at the tea. 

“You just told me quite vehemently you would not take part in slavery. Kidnapping children is somehow all right? Ripping him from his family sits well with you?”

“Kark you,” Piett snarled. “It isn’t like that!”

“Then, Captain ,” Obi-Wan said, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward. “Convince me. Tell me what you were ordered to do which makes you so certain.”

“Why are you so keen to protect him?” the Captain pushed back. “Are you related?”

You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, heart aching. “But I am…a friend. And I am not the one here to kidnap him, so I don’t really see how this is relevant.”

Piett flinched very slightly. He was clearly having an internal battle with himself. Obi-Wan was only somewhat sympathetic. The man was here to take Luke. He didn’t have any moral high ground to stand on.

At last, the Imperial pressed his lips together and gave Obi-Wan a searching look. 

“I was told to acquire the boy and to keep him safe.”

“And his Aunt and Uncle?” Obi-Wan pressed. “You had to know they would resist that. Are they just…disposable?”

Piett glared again. “My orders were to keep our weapons on stun only.”

Something about the tone in which he said that was notable.

“Your orders?” Obi-Wan asked him. “Or your commanding officer’s?”

Hazel eyes met his.

“Mine.”

“Who is your commanding officer?” Obi-Wan asked him, leaning back to stretch the crick in his neck.

“I am not authorized to tell you that,” Piett answered, drinking more tea. 

“But you’re certain he wants Luke for very upright and trustworthy reasons,” Obi-Wan told him, skepticism dripping from his tones.

“In this instance, I am actually,” Piett said with conviction. 

“ Why ?” Obi-Wan asked, folding his arms.

Piett sagged a little more against the thin pillow and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. 

“Look,” he sighed. “I am grateful to you for my life. But if I don’t return with the boy, it won’t matter much anyway. I can’t tell you what you wish to know and I also can’t return empty handed or my life is forfeit.”

Obi-Wan blinked. 

It was not that such a thing was entirely shocking. The Empire could be extraordinarily ruthless even with its own officers. But if they were hunting Luke specifically…

It implied that someone knew . Someone knew at the very least that the boy was Force sensitive. And taking him alive was not a good sign. 

“Captain,” he said gently, taking Piett’s mug. “You need to rest. And I need to acquire some meds for your wounds—-I think they’re infected. But consider this—could you not return and say you didn’t find him? All you have to do is give most of the truth. You were jumped by Klatoonians and left to die. Some hermit found you and took you to Anchorhead.”

“I can’t ,” Piett answered a little more desperately. “You don’t know how obsessive… ” he stopped himself. “He will know that I am lying,” he finished, allowing Obi-Wan to help him ease back down to a horizontal position. 

“I can’t let you take Luke,” he said, pulling up the blanket a little more and snagging a canteen to leave within Piett’s reach. “But neither am I keen for you to die, Captain. Sleep. I will return and we will talk some more.”

He exerted some of his power and suggested to Piett’s weary mind that sleep was the best decision.

The man frowned a little, eyes drooping. He’d noticed then. He really was more sensitive to the Force, and this was intriguing, but not enough so to deter Obi-Wan.

When he was certain that Piett slept, he exited his hut to move swiftly to the secret tunnels he and Owen had painstakingly carved through the cliffs and built under the desert to the Lars home. 

He had only just reached the last portion, the bit that lay under the sand, when a bright presence approached.

The boy was almost as irritating as his father.

“Luke,” he said in exasperation. “What did I just say not hours ago….?”

“I know, I know,” the nuisance replied, smiling. “But…um. Look, I know you don’t have a lot and he looked like he was in pretty rough shape. Thought you could use some more supplies so I grabbed Beru’s medkit and some blue milk.”

And there was his mother’s heart, shining in this child. 

Obi-Wan wondered, not for the first time, if he and Luke had some sort of bond. The boy had no idea of his Force sensitivity of course, but he’d often ‘checked’ on Obi-Wan at opportune times. Had brought him things like this ‘just because’. 

“That was really kind, Luke,” he said in gentler tones. “Here—” he swiftly opened the kit and emptied it of anything he thought would be useful to help Piett. A little more bacta bandage. Thank the Force, some antibacterial meds. Burn cream. A homemade fever remedy she made with a scrub plant that grew in the rocky areas. It worked—he could attest. “Take the kit back with you,” he said, handing it to Luke. “She’ll notice sooner if I have it. I’ll replace these things soon, I promise.”

“Ok,” the child answered. “Ben…what’s he like?”

The eternal curiosity of children. Of Skywalkers.

“He’s an Imperial Captain, Luke,” Obi-Wan answered, shooting him a look. “That’s really all you need to know.”

“Wait like—he’s a captain Captain? Has his own ship?”

Obi-Wan realized he didn’t know.

“I…would doubt that, Luke. He wouldn’t be sent on an errand like this if he was.”

Luke perked up again. Force damn it.

“What’s his errand?”

“No.”

“But you do know why he’s here,” Luke pressed, looking much too keen.

Obi-Wan raised a forbidding eyebrow at him. “I do and you don’t need to concern yourself about it. I’ll see you soon, Luke. Thank you for this.”

And he turned to stride back through the tunnels before the boy could pursue things further.

***************

Piett woke up feeling too warm and rather anxious. 

Well, anxiety wasn’t all that unusual, he thought grimly, getting his bearings once more. But, he felt…off. 

He raised his arms to look at the bandaged wrists and was annoyed when the action tired him. 

Infection.

He didn’t have much time to make some decisions before he would be too sick to do anything about it. 

He drank deeply from the canteen Ben had left him and considered.

On the one hand, the hermit had said he was going to get supplies which might help Piett.

On the other, he was missing a window of opportunity to escape the hut before the man returned. 

How far would you actually get in this condition?

The voice in his head sounded remarkably like Max. He could picture Veers’ raised eyebrow at Piett’s stupidity for even considering trying to escape into a desert in his situation.

No, he must wait it out. Try to heal and learn more about where he was and how to successfully get away.

Even as he thought this, he heard the sounds of Ben returning, and seconds later the man’s weathered face appeared.

“Hello there,” he said in friendly enough tones. “I hope you haven’t been awake too long.”

“Not very, no,” Piett replied truthfully. 

“I come bearing medicine,” Ben said, holding up a worn satchel. “I’m sorry I don’t have pain killers, but I have other important things. As you’ve no doubt realized, you’re fighting an infection and I’d like to try and stop it now.”

Piett eased himself into a sitting position, feeling about eighty. On the other hand, his body wasn’t as sore over all. 

Ben got some water boiling and neatly laid out his rather sad stash of medical supplies. Then he turned to the Captain.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he stated, looking sympathetic. “I need to clean those wounds really well. Hot water. Get out as much pus and dead skin as possible in order for the antibiotics and bacta to have their best shot. The thing is…”

“...it will hurt like hell,” Piett finished for him resignedly. 

Ben sighed. 

“Yes.”

“Do what you must,” Piett told him, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. “I appreciate that you’re trying to help. Letting me die of sepsis would be easier for you I imagine.”

Ben scowled as he brought over the steaming pot and several clean rags. 

“I have considered that several times, Piett,” he said as though irritated with himself. He retrieved a small glass and a strange looking red bottle. “And I have concluded that my conscience would not make your death by my hand easier. Here.”

He poured a small measure of green liquid and handed Piett the glass. “It’s moonshine but it will help more than hurt.”

Piett sniffed cautiously and blinked, eyes watering. 

“You make this yourself?” he asked.

Ben snorted, dipping a rag and wringing it out. 

“No. Some of the locals. Go on.”

Piett decided that Ben had a point and downed it in one go. It burned with impressive force, but he didn’t disgrace himself with coughing. 

“I see,” he managed hoarsely and Ben began to unwind the bandage on Piett’s right wrist. The pain was sharp as it caught in the wounds and Piett breathed deeply, doing his best to hold still.

“Sorry,” Ben muttered. “But I have to be thorough.”

“I know,” Piett told him, setting his teeth. “Do what you have to.”

“Here’s the plan,” Ben said after a while as he cleaned out the raw wound and Piett strove not to scream, “When you’re a little better, I’ll get you to the Lars homestead. It’s more comfortable and stocked. You’ll be able to supply yourself and heal completely. Then you can make your way to Anchorhead. I’ll ah…I’ll leave Akkani with you. Be nice to her all right?”

Piett’s mind was still a little slow so it took him a few moments to understand what Ben meant.

“You’re all leaving,” he stated and tensed once more as Ben applied the exceedingly hot rag to his wrist.

“Yes,” the man replied matter of factly. “And obviously we’ll take the speeder. But as I said—you’ll be able to recover there in relative safety and then you can find civilization, such as it is.”

Force damn it. 

Ben smeared bacta on his wrist which was bleeding slowly again before he wrapped it in clean bandage.

There was a long silence as he moved to the left hand and then he spoke again. 

“You are so certain this commander of yours will have you executed for not bringing Luke?” he asked.

With the way Lord Vader had been lately? Piett was rather certain he wouldn’t survive. Even the Lady couldn’t stop him. 

“He does not condone…failure,” he said.

“I have to ask, Piett,” Ben said, not looking up from his work. Piett bit down on the inside of his cheek as his left wrist ignited in pain. Ben set to work cleaning out the infection. “Why do you work for an Empire so vindictive? You don’t strike me as the ah…Imperial type I suppose.”

“Rather hard to look like that when I’m merely in my skivvies and half dead from the desert,” Piett returned sardonically, and Ben actually chuckled.

“Not the look so much, Captain. I saw you in the market in Anchorhead. Trust me, you can look the part very well. I’m talking about you —who you are. A man who served in the Axxilan fleet, with the reputation it has garnered, now working for the most oppressive and cruel regime the galaxy has seen in some time.”

He couldn’t deny this. He recalled being recruited by the Imperial Navy. How honored he’d felt and excited to be able to bring better order to places that desperately needed it. The last of his ideals had been crushed within two years. But he’d also had a family to support. Crew to think of. 

“Look,” Piett said at last, then stopped to hiss sharply as Ben scrubbed at a spot in the raw meat that was his left wrist.

“I’m sorry,” the other man said quickly. “I truly am. I’m not trying to hurt you—-”

“I know,” Piett gritted out. “I am fully aware of the flaws in the Empire. In the Imperial Forces. But my duty is to my ship and crew. They matter, Ben. And so even if I’m just one man, I’m one man at the helm of the premier starship. I can perhaps help to avert the really bad things from happening because of that. Both to my people and to other beings in the galaxy.”

Ben was silent for a long minute as he worked to gently smear bacta over the bloody furrow in Piett’s left wrist.

Then he reached for the clean bandage.

“So you are a ‘captain’ Captain, as Luke said,” he stated at last. “I was not expecting that. And I know of only one premier starship, Piett. Are you telling me you’re Executor’s Captain?”

Well, kriff. He really wasn’t doing well if he’d let that slip. At the same time—

“You know of her?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps, Ben, you aren’t so much of a hermit as you’d have me believe?”

The other man rose and came back with a hypo.

“Antibiotics,” he said briefly and Piett nodded, allowing him to inject them. 

“I’m definitely a hermit,” Ben said seriously as Piett brought his legs back onto the cot and relaxed with a low groan once more. “Doesn’t mean I’m not informed. And now, Captain, I’m afraid I really need to know—who is your commander?”

Piett considered this. Anyone who had access to the holonet could look up Imperial ships and their commanders. It was no secret that Executor was Lord Vader’s ship. A  hermit on Tatooine was hardly going to bring down the galaxy if Piett told him this. 

“The Admiral is Ozzel,” he said, unable to keep the distaste out of his tone. “However, the Commander of the Imperial Navy is Lord Vader and she is properly his flagship more than anyone else’s.”

And everything in the atmosphere of the small hut changed.

*************

Obi-Wan felt something click into place. Some unnamed tension that had been growing in him from the moment he decided to save Piett. 

Had he needed to pay more attention to the Force? Should he have been meditating rather than focusing on the purely physical problems in front of him?

Regardless, he knew what he must do now.

He placed some flatbread and cheese on a clay plate and handed this to Piett before he knelt to open his chest and began pulling things out.

“What…are you doing?” the Captain asked in a confused voice.

“Preparing to leave,” Obi-Wan told him. 

“Now?” Piett was obviously struggling to keep up. But then, the man couldn’t possibly know the kind of danger Luke was in from Vader.

“Eat,” Obi-Wan instructed him. “You need to build strength. I’m going to pack things for Akkani and you can ride her while I walk. We’ll use the original plan of leaving you at the Lars homestead, just sooner than I….”

He paused.

Something had happened.

The Force was absolutely singing with danger and urgency around him. He didn’t dare reach into it to get specifics because the moment he did so, he would reveal his presence.

He spun back to the Captain instead.

“I need you to tell me if anyone else is looking for Luke! It is imperative I know, Piett.”

Piett was clearly taken aback by his sudden urgency.

“What…has something happened?” he asked, and his hand went to where his blaster would normally have sat.

“I…can’t explain,” Obi-Wan told him, moving to find Piett’s uniform. It was dirty and sweat stained, but the man needed to be dressed. “Put this on. You and I need to go.”

“If you want me to trust you, Ben, then you have to trust me as well,” Piett told him, accepting his uniform and setting the food aside on the cot. “What has happened that has made you look like that?” He gestured to Obi-Wan.

Kark . 

He made a decision.

“Others are here. I presume for Luke.”

Piett paled under the sunburn.

“Are you aware of anyone else looking for the boy, Captain?” Obi-Wan pressed, packing various items swiftly into his pack.

He felt the moment Piett decided to trust him.

“Lord Vader’s instructions were to find the boy and protect him with my life. And…I must find him before ah, before the agents of the Emperor do.”

Karking, karking, KARKING hells.

“This would have been really helpful information so much sooner, Piett,” Obi-Wan snapped. “Because they’re here.”

Piett rose to his feet unsteadily and began to tug on his trousers. “Who? And how do you know this, Ben?”

No, he wasn’t getting into all the details of that just yet. He found the old rifle and pulled it out, checking that it was still decently oiled.

“I just do, Captain. And I’m going to need your help to protect the Lars and Luke. I need you to follow my instructions to the letter because it’s just you and me, and those odds are not fantastic.”

Piett tugged on his jacket over the t-shirt and did it up. 

“Eat the cheese at least,” Obi-Wan ordered, finding the box containing something he’d not held for years. “You need protein.”

The officer obeyed, eating hastily and finishing the water in the canteen before he bent to feel for his boots under the cot. 

“What’s the plan?” he asked as he laboriously tugged on his boot. He must hurt in a thousand ways, but this man was a warrior, born and bred, and right now his adrenaline was carrying him.

“How are you with a blaster rifle?” Obi-Wan asked, holding it up.

Piett eyed it. “Do you have a scope?”

Obi-Wan dug it out. “It’s pretty old, but should serve. I need to know what kind of a shot you are, Piett. Be brutally honest.”

The Captain reached for the rifle and the scope, examining both before attaching the scope and sighting down it. 

“At night, from a distance…about eighty percent accurate,” he replied.

Well that was better than Obi-Wan had hoped from a naval officer.

“But what about you?” Piett asked as Obi-Wan opened the battered old box to draw out the silver cylinder within. “How will you protect yourself?”

He blew out a breath, and stared the man in the eye from across the room as the lightsaber hummed smoothly into life. 

“With this.”

Chapter Text

Piett knew that the human brain had limits. That there were times it was overwhelmed with input or pain or shock. And then it shut down. 

Apparently, his capacity for staggering information had increased exponentially while serving with Lord Vader, damn his Sith soul, because he didn’t topple over or receive blessed oblivion. 

Of course. 

Of karking course his strange desert savior was a Jedi. Not a hermit. A Jedi . 

And he didn’t even get to find out more information about this because that boy—that earnest child with the eyes of sky and easy smile—was in imminent danger. 

Thus, he found himself in this bizarre alliance with Ben the Jedi in order to protect Luke.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Ben asked him, lightsaber disengaging with a quiet hiss. “That you will protect Luke with your life?”

“Yes,” he replied without having to think. He’d sworn it.

“Do you know who he is?” Ben asked him, swinging his pack over his shoulders and coming to slide under Piett’s arm. He appreciated the help and wondered how in the hells he could be any good in this state.

He had to be.

The boy’s life depended on the two of them.

“Only that he is important to Lord Vader personally,” Piett panted as they made their way outside to the marginally cooler Tatooine night. The eopie lowed at them softly as they approached.

Ben allowed him to lean on a large boulder while he swiftly set about saddling the gentle creature. 

“Then I think you need to know exactly how high the stakes are here, Captain,” Ben said over his shoulder, tightening a girth. “Luke is the son of Anakin Skywalker, once a loved and strong Jedi Knight. You know him now as Darth Vader.”

Piett stared at him in horror.

Any hope he’d had of getting out of this alive was gone now. Even if their wildest dreams for defending Luke paid off, this was not knowledge Lord Vader would allow Piett to have and live .

“I really did not wish to know that, Ben,” he said, when he managed to get his voice working again. “You—you’re certain of this…?”

"Why do you think I’m here on this Force forsaken planet protecting him?” the Jedi snapped. “I have devoted my life to keeping him safe from Anakin. And now, in a strange twist, I find that once again, he and I are united in common purpose. Not something I ever dreamed could happen once more.”

He’d…He and Darth Vader knew each other…

“Piett.”

He dragged his eyes back to Ben and did what he always did. Carried on.

“Yes. Right. Exactly who are we facing, Ben?”

The man’s jaw tightened. 

“Inquisitors.”

And that one word froze Piett’s blood, even on a desert planet.

He’d never seen the feared servants of the Empire in person, but they were the monsters for real life horror stories. Most Imperial officers were more terrified by ISB, but Piett had served with Vader now. He’d seen what the Dark Lord could do with the Force. 

So when stories were told in the mess or whispered over drinks—-about the ‘death squads’, about the Emperor’s ‘wet work teams’----Piett didn’t shiver with pleased horror or dismiss them as exaggerations. He knew .

“Ben,” he said seriously. “I…am not much use to you if that is who we face.”

The Jedi gave him an odd little smile and knelt to give him a boost onto the eopie.

“Captain,” he said, as Piett gripped the horn of the saddle, trying to ignore the burning pain in his wrists. “The fact that you’re willing to try means something. And even if you merely distract them, it is enough.”

He turned and gestured to the north. 

“That ridge there. It has a reasonably flat edge which will allow you to lie down to take your shots. And…well. It won’t be too hard to see them. The blades will illuminate us. Mine will be the only blue one, so I’d appreciate you trying not to hit me.”

Piett blew out a breath, adjusting the blaster rifle on his back. 

“I’ll endeavor,” he answered, urging the animal forward.

“And Piett?” Ben called.

He turned to glance back at the Jedi.

“The Force be with you.”

And then he was gone, running swiftly into the darkness. 

Piett nudged the eopie with his boot (it had been years since he’d ridden an animal like this) and she loped along toward the ridge. He was well aware that these could be his last few moments, and there was a giant wave of regret for all the things he would not be able to do attempting to break his concentration for the task at hand. 

The breeze was warm on his face and he was aware it was only adrenaline that was giving him the ability to carry on at the moment. 

And he must carry on.

The Jedi and the boy were depending on him, and he could not fail them. 

He made it to the ledge Ben had indicated and swung himself down very ungracefully, but there was no one to see him save the eopie who watched placidly as he stumbled to the edge of the cliff. Piett eased his aching body down, swinging the rifle around as he did so. He sighted through the scope to the desert far below, resting his cheek on the worn butt of the weapon. 

He couldn’t see any movement in the darkness. He swung his rifle along slowly, finding several rounded domes that he assumed comprised the Lars farm. 

There. 

A flash down by the farm. Someone had fired a blaster. 

And then he watched in dread as five red blades sprang into existence. 

In answer, a lone blue blade ignited.

Piett adjusted his scope, zooming in as far as he could. He could make out Ben now, and the shadowy enemy that he faced. The Captain blew out slowly, relaxing his stance to keep his hands as steady as possible.

The blades clashed and sparked, lighting the combatants, as they spun and flipped with mind numbing speed. 

Now .

And he pulled the trigger.

***************

Obi Wan heard Owen's rifle fire though he didn’t turn to look. 

He kept his full attention on the five individuals before him. He could sense their dark torment, but he could not stay his hand in sympathy at what had caused their turn. 

Luke’s life was on the line. Owen and Beru as well. They would be mercilessly slaughtered, and Luke would either be killed with them or he would be taken to a worse fate, just as his father had been. 

“Kenobi,” laughed the leader. “We shall be doubly rewarded then when we present your head to His Majesty.”

Obi-Wan watched all the red blades ignite and he held the gaze of the leader. 

“Sidious does not give rewards,” he said. “He gives only pain and death.”

“Which we get to deliver,” stated one of the women. The Third Sister, Obi-Wan saw. “You got away last time, Kenobi. And all to guard the spawn of Anakin Skywalker.”

“He is dead,” Obi-Wan said, flicking his own blue blade on. “But yes, I will protect the boy.”

“Please,” scoffed the leader. The Grand Inquisitor himself if Obi-Wan wasn’t mistaken. “You know this is not true. You couldn’t kill Skywalker yourself, weak as you are. You know who he is now.”

All right. That answered a few things, but he decided to press for more information as long as he could

“Perhaps I do,” he replied, spinning his lightsaber into position. “What does the Emperor want with the boy?”

“Not your concern, Jedi ,” spat the Inquisitor. “But Vader shall not have him.”

So what Piett had hinted at was true. The Emperor knew that Anakin was hunting for his son. That Luke was more important than Palpatine. 

“All right then,” he said, and attacked. 

They were surprised that he took the offensive against such odds as they presented, but it didn’t throw them for long. 

And Force he was rusty. He was straining every nerve ending to stay ahead of their attack. No time now for regret over his lack of training. He had let his grief and depression consume him too much. 

Please don’t let Luke pay for that.

He ducked under a blade and smelled the burning of his own hair. His breathing was labored and he shook sweat from his eyes. 

Perhaps he’d been mistaken in Piett. Or, more likely, the man had passed out, or was struggling with his weakened condition. 

In that case—-

A blaster shot seared through the night and one of the inquisitors dropped—-shot through the head. 

Holy kark. 

“Eighth Brother!” snapped the Third Sister, cartwheeling away from Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. “Take care of that!”

Another shot pierced the night and the Grand Inquisitor himself had to deflect it on his blade. 

Eighty percent accuracy , Piett had said. This was award winning marksmanship. From a man not in the best physical condition either. Apparently, Anakin’s choice of officer had not been misplaced. 

“Working with Vader’s little stooge then?” Palpatine's assassin mocked, blade locking with Obi-Wan’s and casting his face in hellish lighting.

“I’d work with every devil I knew to take down Sidious,” Obi-Wan shot back, pushing at him, and then flicking his wrist to slash at the man’s thigh.

His opponent blocked this and thrust out a hand, sending Obi-Wan flying into the sand hard enough to burn his cheek with the friction.

He came to his feet, feeling his age and lack of practice keenly. 

Another shot from the cliff caused the Grand Inquisitor’s armor to smoke a little. 

Obi-Wan smiled. Piett was still in the fight. He had to hope the man could hold his own long enough. The Eighth Brother could kill him before Obi Wan reached him.

But even with his odds reduced to three to one, things were proving…difficult. 

He centered himself as best he could as he resumed the fight.

Strike.

Defend.

Roll.

Leap.

The Third Sister grabbed him with the Force as he came over her head and he hit the desert ground hard, winding him. She smiled, her sharp teeth glinting red with her lightsaber and he knew his death was upon him.

“Hey.”

The woman jerked her head up to look at someone he couldn’t see and then she was flung backward, a large hole having been blown in her middle by an old projectile weapon.

Obi-Wan heard it cock and reload as he rolled away to his feet, wheezing, and found that Beru Lars was near him, old plasma rifle at her shoulder.

“You all right?” she called, and fired again. This time the other two Inquisitors were ready, and dodged smoothly out of the way.

“Yes,” he panted, and leapt back into the fray. 

She’d just saved his life.

“Luke?” he called to her.

“Safe!” she yelled, and fired again, cocking smoothly and stepping forward with deadly confidence. 

This simple farmer’s wife. 

Or so many might think.

Beru Whitesun Lars had taken a child not of her blood and raised him as her own. She’d known the danger and the possibility of the very thing they were facing in this moment. And she faced it as calmly as she would a dust storm or a broken moisture vaporator.

There was indeed something to those born of the desert.

But even this could not protect her from the use of the Dark Side, and the Grand Inquisitor raised a hand toward her even as Obi-Wan leapt at him once more. 

She was flung back as well, her rifle torn from her hands as she hit the ground. 

But she lived. Obi-Wan sensed this even as he re-engaged the enemy, his lightsaber humming like an angry swarm.

He whirled as the two Inquisitors pressed their attack and he took the head off of the other brother, leaving him with the Grand Inquisitor. 

The man was no longer laughing as he lunged and struck with fearful ferocity. Both of them knew this could only end one way and neither of them was going to have mercy.

Obi-Wan had noticed there were no more shots coming from the cliff, but he could not worry for the Imperial Captain. Piett would have to fend for himself and he knew the stakes here. 

Naturally, then, Luke Skywalker chose this moment to emerge from the darkness.

***************

Piett knew he’d made a hit. Maybe two. Everything was moving so damn fast down there. He squinted through the scope and fired again. Were there two or  three left? He knew he had one confirmed kill. But that didn’t account for…

It was Akkani lowing in alarm behind him that allowed him to roll aside just in time to avoid the downward swing of the lightsaber.

The inquisitor snarled at him and swung again. Piett brought the rifle up to combat it and the weapon was sliced in two.

He dropped it and scrambled away madly, desperate for any other means to defend himself. 

Vader really needed to include training against Force users for these sorts of missions , he thought wildly, hand closing on a rock. He flung this at his attacker and managed to make it to his feet, drawing his boot knife as he did so.

The man laughed at him, using the Force to wave the rock aside with ease. 

“Traitor,” he said, advancing. “My Master will see to it that everything you care about is destroyed .”

And suddenly, one of Piett’s worst nightmares became reality. 

His windpipe closed and a terrible pressure gripped his throat. 

“You aren’t worthy enough to meet your end on my blade,” hissed the inquisitor. “I'm told Vader enjoys this method. I wonder if my Master will use it on him.”

Piett struggled, his lungs burning with terrible agony as he fought the invisible vise.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he thought to everyone he cared about. The eopie was making alarmed hooting noises and shuffling nearby.

And then—-

Salvation loomed in the form of a weathered farmer with a blaster rifle.

“Bastard,” he grunted, and the inquisitor had time for his eyes to widen just before his head disappeared in a gruesome display.

Abruptly, air rushed into Piett’s lungs and he collapsed onto his back, wheezing and feeling as though he would like nothing better than to pass out. 

The man knelt beside him.

“Imp then. Interesting. I was told you were lookin’ for my family.”

The Captain wanted to laugh hysterically at the terrible sense of humor Fate had. Was he just going to die at this man’s hand instead? 

“Need…to help…Ben,” he managed, making it to hands and knees with supreme effort. 

“Well. Your weapon’s no good anymore. And it doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere fast. But Akkani can help us out.”

The last thing Piett remembered was strong arms around him and then darkness took him.

***************

Obi-Wan felt the greatest surge of fear since he’d faced Anakin on Mustafar. 

“NO!” he shouted to Luke as the Grand Inquisitor smiled like a krayt dragon.

Luke didn’t know about the Force. He didn’t know his heritage and what this conflict was about. He knew only that he must be kept hidden from his birth father. 

“Skywalker’s brat,” the Inquisitor purred. “Hmm, I can sense why my Master wishes to have him.”

“ Never! ” Obi-Wan snarled, fear for Luke giving him new strength as he leapt forward to attack. 

Fear leads to anger…

The blades sparked like live things—-biting and snapping.

He wasn’t angry. He loved Luke. He cared for Owen and Beru. Hells, he even hoped that Piett was all right. 

He was in control of his fear. It was there certainly. But he fought for what he loved. Not against what he hated. 

He surged forward, his lightsaber an extension of his arm—-familiar moves long unused becoming natural once more. 

Palpatine would not have the son as he had taken the father. 

Another blade snapped into existence, making both combatants whip their attention to it. 

Luke held the lightsaber of the fallen Third Sister. He clearly didn’t know how to handle it except to keep it in front of himself. 

But the Grand Inquisitor was not mocking this. Because even as they watched the boy doing his best to look brave, the red light of the blade was—--

—- changing.

Holy Force.

The kyber crystal was responding to Luke Skywalker. Untrained and ignorant as he was of the Force, the Force knew him. Perhaps aided by the desert and its ancient roots. For Luke was a child of Tatooine as his father and grandmother had been before him. 

And slowly the red faded to a warm, desert sun yellow .

At another time, Obi-Wan could be fascinated by this, but the Grand Inquisitor thrust out a hand toward Luke who stumbled, the blade wavering and dropping to make a steaming row of glass in the sand at his feet.

Obi-Wan used the Force to haul back on the Grand Inquisitor and the Dark Sider tore his attention from Luke back to the Jedi.

Up and down the shifting sand they raged, the blades twirling and searing the night. 

Then Luke was there once more, swiping with an uncertain stroke at the Inquisitor’s legs.

The man leapt over this attack and brought his own lightsaber down to crackle against the yellow one, bearing Luke to his knees with the impact.

But that was enough.

Obi-Wan thrust him through the heart and the Grand Inquisitor dropped with a heavy thump to the ground, leaving the Jedi and the boy panting and staring at each other over his body.

Chapter Text

Piett’s hearing came back first as sometimes happened when one revived. It was less abrupt than just opening one’s eyes—-more time to absorb what was happening and ease into the conscious world once more. 

People were talking in the next room. At least that was what it sounded like. Slightly muffled, but still audible. 

He was lying on something much softer than Ben’s cot—it smelled cleaner as well. Like the sun and the wind, which had no doubt gone into the laundering of the bed clothes.

He took a deep breath and smelled something pleasant and warm. His stomach rumbled at this. 

Piett opened his eyes and squinted in the dim light of the room he found himself in. It was reasonably quiet, with a small round window set far above his head, very close to the ceiling.

Close to dawn, but not there yet, he decided.

Throbbing in his wrists reminded him of the wounds, but on inspection, he discovered they were freshly bandaged, and he no longer felt the oppressive weariness of fever and infection. 

His uniform was gone again, and he was clothed in shabby but lightweight pale blue trousers and red shirt. 

This must be the Lars homestead.

He focused on the voices in the next room, watching the light creeping in from under the door.

“....the bodies, Beru. No one could possibly find them. Even a Force user.”

That sounded like Ben.

“If we’re lucky, the krayts will feed well,” said a deeper and gruffer voice. 

The farmer? Lars?

“But we still have to leave. And soon.”

“Obi-Wan, if we’ve hidden the bodies, and no one knows about Luke, then why—?”

That was a woman.

“Precisely because they disappeared here, Beru. Attention will be focused here. We have a little time, but not much.”

“What about the Imp?” asked the gruff voice. “He may have helped us, but it’s for his own purposes. You said he was acting on Skywalker’s orders. We really ought to give him to the krayts as well.”

Lovely.

Piett decided he should probably join a conversation about his fate.

He eased stiffly into a sitting position, then rose and limped to the door which hissed open shakily. 

That was something positive, he hoped. They weren’t exactly keeping him prisoner.

He blinked in the stronger light and all four people at the humble table looked to him simultaneously.

The farmer’s face immediately took on a darker hue as he scowled. Ben, looking battered, but mostly unharmed, gave him a small smile, as did the boy. The woman—Beru?---gave him an assessing look and then her face softened and she rose.

“Captain,” she said, snagging a throw from the back of a tattered chair and tossing it around his shoulders. She couldn’t be all that much older than he was, but the mother instinct was clearly very strong. “You shouldn’t be up yet. Here, come sit.”

She shepherded him to her chair, and fetched a bowl of something from her stove to set in front of him. 

Some sort of simple vegetable stew, but it was hot and flavorful and he ate it swiftly. 

“Thank you,” he told her as she seated herself beside her husband, who narrowed his eyes.

“Still say we should let the desert have you,” he grunted, and she shoved at him reproachfully.

“Owen. The man helped save Luke and us. Why did you bother helping him then?”

“More important to kill the damned wizard.”

Piett met Ben’s eye and the Jedi raised an amused eyebrow at this statement. 

“Owen. Piett is with us on this. He has a very vested interest in keeping Luke alive.”

Piett flushed a bit at this as the teenager looked at him.

“Look,” he said awkwardly, meeting those blue eyes. The boy watched him calmly. “I…I didn’t help you just because Lord Vader ordered me to protect you.” He addressed himself to Luke, needing the child to understand. “I would have helped you all regardless. Couldn’t watch you all be murdered.”

The boy flinched a little at Vader’s name.

“Have ah…does he know?” Piett asked, turning to look at Ben.

The Jedi’s face grew sad and somber. “Yes,” he said quietly. “We told him while you were sleeping.”

Piett drew the throw more closely around himself, wishing he could just go back and sleep.

“You…work with him?” Luke asked. “With…” he paused and gulped around the word, “..with my father?”

“I do,” Piett replied cautiously, aware that all three of Luke’s guardians were watching him closely. “And trust me when I say, I’d rather not know your relationship to Lord Vader. That’s likely the most dangerous piece of information in the galaxy at the moment.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably.

The boy held Piett’s gaze and he felt tired all over again. If only he could just go back to the simple room and sleep for another week or so.

“Still haven’t answered my question, Kenobi,” Lars said, continuing to keep his eyes on Piett. “What do we do with him?”

Kenobi ?

Piett frowned a little. Where had he heard that name before?

He decided to answer for himself.

“I assume you have designs on leaving me here,” he replied, deliberately turning his face toward Ben. “And you think you’ll be safe if you just…find another location?”

“We could just put a blaster between your eyes,” Lars stated coldly. 

“You could,” Piett agreed, answering him with his bridge voice. “But I am your best chance at being truly safe.”

All of them stared at him in silent surprise for a beat. He took advantage of this.

“Who is ‘Kenobi’?” he asked, staring ‘Ben’ in the eye. “Is that your real name?”

The Jedi sighed.

“You sure you want to know that, Piett?”

He grimaced.

“As I said, I already possess the most dangerous knowledge. Are you Luke’s other uncle or something? Darth Vader’s brother?”

Ben actually flinched, and Luke reached over to grip his forearm. 

“I…might have called myself that at one time,” Ben replied softly. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin…was my dearest friend once.”

General Obi-Wan Kenobi. Jedi. Clone Wars veteran. Whereabouts uncertain. Wanted dead or alive.

Piett rested his head in his hands. 

“Well. Admittedly, I did not expect a backwater like Tatooine to alter my life like this. But here we are,” Piett told them. 

“Why did you say you’re our best chance of true safety?” Lars asked him gruffly.

“Those were Inquisitors ,” Piett reminded them, leaning back wearily in his chair. “There are more. Think of the resources the Emperor has. You will need to stay on the run and hope that some bounty hunter or spy doesn’t spot you.”

“It’s a big galaxy,” Kenobi said mildly. “I’m reasonably trained.”

He’d been amazing. Piett had only seen one other wield a lightsaber like that. But even so…

“Yes,” he agreed. “Do you think you could take on more Inquisitors next time? By yourself?”

“He wouldn’t be alone!” Luke exclaimed hotly. “I will be with him! Right Ben? You’ll train me?”

The adults all looked grim. At last Kenobi spoke.

“Yes, Luke. I’ll train you. But…the Captain is correct. We just made it this time. If there was even one more Inquisitor…”

He met Piett’s eyes once more. 

“What do you propose, Captain?”

“He’ll propose handing us over to the Imps is what!” Lars exclaimed. “He shouldn’t have any say.”

Piett needed to tread carefully.

“You’re not all wrong,” Piett said mildly, offering Lars a small smile. This threw the man off guard, and he frowned suspiciously. “I am not proposing to just pass you off to the Imperials however, Mr. Lars. I was given this mission by Lord Vader alone. I report to him and him only. And he is clearly willing to do anything to keep Luke safe, including treason. Which I am now guilty of in multiple ways myself.”

It was Beru who said it aloud.

“You think we should work with Anakin,” she said quietly. 

Piett nodded.

“I do. Whatever you think of him—and I understand your sentiments—he is powerful. Has resources all over the galaxy that we don’t. Rather than fruitlessly running from everyone, why not operate from a position of strength?”

“Piett,” Obi-Wan said seriously. “You are suggesting that he openly challenge Palpatine?”

“Not at all,” Piett said, fighting his exhaustion. Kark, he wanted his bed on the Lady. “I do not think that is his plan either. They are playing very high stakes sabaac here. Each of them pretending they are not seeking Luke. Or even that they know he exists.”

Kenobi stroked his beard, pondering this. 

“I will have no part in merely shaping Luke to be a player in Anakin’s game,” he said at last. 

“I won’t be a Sith!” the boy agreed, glaring. “I refuse to let him turn me into someone like him!”

Piett didn’t know why he was so certain that was not Lord Vader’s intention, but he was. 

“Then tell him that,” Piett said, looking around. “All of you.”

************

In the end, they agreed to travel to meet with Anakin. 

Owen, predictably, hated the plan passionately. But Beru and Obi-Wan both agreed that the known devil was better than the unknown. 

And Obi-Wan was fully aware that this meeting could end with his blade crossing Anakin’s once more. 

He paced outside as the sun broke the horizon, light flooding across the desert like a golden tide coming in. 

Owen was taking Akkani to the closest neighbor with the grav trailer. He would release her near their corral so the sweet eopie had a chance at survival. 

Inside, Beru was reducing a lifetime on this farm into three small duffels, Luke helping her. 

This sparked a thought in Obi-Wan and he walked slowly toward three markers a short distance from the house. 

He’d been to these many times, meditating for hours and begging Shmi’s forgiveness for the destruction of her child. He’d pictured Anakin returning with her body. Burying her. Even now, his hopeless rage left faint traces. His choking regret for not returning sooner hovered like mist in the Force. 

Beru had been the one to tell him what had happened all those years ago. Shortly after he’d brought Luke, she’d found him here the first time. And in her simple, kind way, she’d told him about Shmi’s suffering and death.

He’d learned of the slaughter of the Tuskens from one of the older tribesmen who’d survived it. 

Oh Anakin. 

Never an easy path it seemed, for Anakin Skywalker. But he’d also undeniably made his choices through it all. 

If only, if only, if only…

Obi-Wan extended a hand toward the simple stone markers. The middle one began to tremble and then very slowly, it rose from the sand.

He became aware of another presence coming to stand beside him as the marker floated toward them.

“What is it?” Piett asked him. He was clad once more in uniform, Beru having done what she could with it while he rested.

The man was far from healed, but he was a strong spirit, and one who would do what he must. Obi-Wan could relate to this even as he wished the officer could receive some sort of break.

Attacked by Klatoonians, left to die in the desert, found by a hermit, and fighting off Inquisitors with an ancient blaster rifle in the space of 48 hours would be taxing for anyone. Anakin should karking well appreciate the man.

“This is the gravestone of Anakin’s mother,” Obi-Wan answered him as he wrapped it in rough cloth. “I thought that perhaps he might wish to have it.”

He felt the lurch of Piett’s emotions in the Force. It would be strange to ponder the idea that Vader had a mother. Had loved a woman and had a son. The Captain was quite empathetic and Obi-Wan wondered again why Anakin had chosen him as the one to helm the Executor. 

“That is…very thoughtful,” Piett said as they strode slowly back toward the house.

Obi-Wan merely inclined his head. He did want Anakin to have it. But he also wanted to remind his former friend who he’d been. Where he’d come from. The kind of strength that Shmi Skywalker had was desert bred. 

Owen returned with the speeder and both Obi-Wan and Piett gave the Lars a moment to say good-bye to their homestead.

Then they sped off into the rising sun toward Anchorhead. From there they found public transport to Mos Eisely and Piett took the lead, his uniform and credit chip most helpful in procuring them a basic shuttle. 

“How come they didn’t steal the credit chip when they attacked you?” Luke whispered to the man while their purchase was reviewed and given a final clean.

Piett smiled at the boy. 

“These boots, Luke, are not the most comfortable. But they are useful for stowing things like knives or credit chips.”

Luke raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed.

“Do all Imperial officers do that?” he asked.

Piett tilted his head a little. “Mm. I don’t know that it’s…common. I imagine I’m not the only one to think of it. Habit I picked up in the Axxilan fleet first.”

“Ye’re….from Axxila?” Owen asked, surprise evident. Understandable, given Piett’s polished tones. 

“I am,” Piett replied briefly, and then they were being escorted to the shuttle. But Obi-Wan could see that this knowledge had shifted Owen’s perceptions a little. A fellow Rimmer was not something just dismissed.

Piett tapped at the controls as they all strapped in, Luke doing his best not to gawp at everything. He was doing remarkably well considering this was his first time in a star ship of any kind. 

His blue eyes were alight with passion and he’d never looked more like his father to Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

Kenobi took charge of the controls once they went to lightspeed to allow Piett a few hours to close his eyes. It wasn’t much and he could only lean back in the pilot’s seat, but the officer was looking quite ragged and he needed it.

The Mudabran Sector was tiny. But it was composed of three planets and an old sun that could still sustain life. 

It was here that Anakin had secretly built himself a fortress. It was not huge or heavily armed. He had merely co opted what seemed to have been an ancient trading house composed of heavy, wine colored granite. 

The protection here was the obscurity. 

Piett neatly maneuvered the shuttle to the stone landing pad—no modern updates here–and the steam billowed around them as the engines shut down. 

But it was not enough to hide the two figures waiting for them.

Obi-wan checked that his lightsaber was on his belt [it had been so many years since he’d worn it like this] and then he strode down the ramp on Piett’s heels. 

Piett spoke first, and Obi-Wan could feel him drawing on every reserve he had to maintain that steady posture despite the rather sorry uniform and weary appearance.

“My Lord,” he said as though they were on the bridge of the Executor, “as promised, I am accompanied by young Skywalker. And his guardians,” he added.

Anakin’s mask had been pointedly staring at Obi-Wan. But he swiveled his head and a black gloved finger came up to point at the Captain.

“You know ,” he intoned. “You know who Luke is.”

The officer’s throat moved. 

“Yes, my Lord. I was…informed.”

“By Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan knew Anakin was glaring at him. He could feel it.

“As you say, my Lord. He felt it best I knew exactly how important my mission was.”

“ Obi-Wan does not give you orders, Captain. I do.”

Piett’s hands folded behind his back and he stood straight.

“Yes, sir.”

There was a long silence.

Then Anakin gestured at Obi-Wan.

“You came prepared to kill me. To do you what failed to achieve fourteen years ago.”

Luke jerked his eyes to Obi-wan, mouth parting in shock. Owen folded his arms and scowled harder. The tall officer beside Anakin raised an eyebrow, but remained commendably calm. 

“I hope it’s not necessary, Anakin,” he said quietly. “We are all here for the sake of your son.”

“The son everyone lied about!” Anakin snarled, stepping forward a little. The atmosphere was alive with tension. “One of SO MANY things kept from me…!”

“Oh KARK you, Anakin Skywalker!” roared Owen Lars. 

Piett blinked and exchanged glances with the tall officer. 

They knew each other.

Owen strode right up to Anakin and in any other circumstance, Obi-wan might be amused.

“Do you deny you’ve murdered millions?” he continued, lungs going strong from years of bellowing at droids and animals in the desert winds. 

“I do not,” Anakin replied, clearly trying to decide how to respond to this.

Owen glanced back to Obi-Wan. “Did you…did you murder… young ones ?” he bit out in tones that sounded like jagged glass. 

There was a long pause. Luke was staring at his Father intently.

“Yes,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan could feel his self loathing. "I see Obi-Wan has been telling you his side. But you do not know… !”

“Know what , Anakin?” Beru asked more quietly, but no less intently as she stepped up beside her husband. “What excuse can you possibly give for slaying children? How can you call yourself a man after such an act?”

“I do not ,” Anakin snapped. The air was actually trembling as he sought to contain his rage. Obi-Wan supposed they should all be grateful he wasn’t just giving it free reign. “I do not ask your absolution for what I did. I was trying to save my wife, but none of you could know what that is like…”

“Really?” Owen asked in disbelief. “I couldn’t know loss , you son of a Hutt?”

“To save the four children that I miscarried, do you believe I would have murdered others?” Beru spat, and she pushed Anakin with one finger to his chest, beside the control panel. Obi-Wan had never seen her so furious. This was the woman who’d shot the Inquisitor without a twinge. Who’d taken in a Force sensitive baby without hesitation.

“You are of the desert , Anakin Skywalker,” she hissed, and incredibly, Obi-Wan felt a faint sense of… fear from his former padawan. “Do you think you can escape HER consequences for the blood you have spilled across this galaxy?”

A beat. 

Piett met Obi-Wan’s eyes, his own huge at this confrontation that neither of them had anticipated. 

“I do not expect that no,” Anakin said at last. “You…are also not what I expected Beru Lars.”

Abruptly, he walked two steps toward Luke and dropped to one knee. His height was still on par with his son even at this level, but he bowed his head.

“I cannot ask your forgiveness, young one,” he said into the stunned atmosphere around them. “Because I have done far too much harm. But I would ask that you allow me to keep you safe. Eventually to help me and my people overthrow the evil at the heart of this galaxy. I swear to you that I will die for you.”

Luke regarded the shining black helmet sadly. Then he reached and placed both hands on either side of it, raising Anakin’s head so that they were eye to eye.

“I don’t want that,” the boy said bluntly. “I want you to live for me. Enough people have died.”

Only Obi-Wan and Luke could know that beneath his mask, Anakin Skywalker wept.

************

“Not the same as your sofa on the Lady, but I hope it helps,” Veers said to Piett, handing him a glass with a vibrant and slightly steaming purple liquid.

He lay stretched out on the black sofa in one of the rooms of this peculiar fortress. There had been a gloriously long shower and miraculously, Veers had produced Piett’s own pair of Imperial Navy sweats for him to change into. He’d discovered a fresh uniform in the closet as well.

“How long are we here?” he asked, sipping at the drink and finding it  to be an interesting but good bourbon. “Also why does Lord Vader stock alcohol? I was given to understand he can’t eat and drink…”

“I can’t plumb the depths of Lord Vader’s plans, Firmus,” Max sighed, making himself comfortable in the fat chair beside the sofa. “I received an intensive course on treason 101 on the way here. How are the wrists?”

Piett raised a very pointed eyebrow at him. Veers had sent for a med droid once they’d reached these quarters, and made the Captain have a thorough scan. The results had been predictably unflattering.

“Don’t give me that,” Veers told him without being threatened by the eyebrow. “I spoke with Kenobi while you were taking that four year shower.”

Piett couldn’t help his snort and relaxed further into the cushions as he took another sip. 

“And he said you were responsible for killing at least one Inquisitor. Inquisitors , Piett! And this with you half dead from heat stroke.”

“Wasn’t half dead at that point,” Piett mumbled into his glass. 

“I will mother hen your ass as much as I think is needed, Captain ,” Max stated. “Especially now. You and I both know things are only getting started.”

This was undoubtedly true. But they were alive, Max was in on this with him, and thus all things were possible. Even with Sith Lords and Jedi and unexpected children.

He held out his glass, and Max tapped it with his.