Chapter Text
There is sand everywhere.
Anakin grits his teeth against the grains between them, pulls the collar of his robe tighter over his nose and mouth. He keeps his eyes shut, though it does little to keep the sand from his burning eyes, and uses the Force to navigate his way through the whipping storm. He keeps a firm grip on Ahsoka’s shoulder as he guides her to the sanctuary of the ship. Realistically, she should be able to guide herself, but Anakin doesn’t dare risk it, not after he almost lost her in that rubble.
His stomach churns as he pushes down the memory, the thought of what might’ve happened had he listened to Luminara and not continued the search.
Geonosis, Anakin thinks bitterly. A hellscape, even more so with the Separatists’ reoccupation of the world. The bugs are nasty enough, the acrid, dusty climate just as much, but it seems that anytime Anakin steps foot on this awful planet, something terrible happens. A lost arm, a lost Padawan, the corruption and evil of the Separatists.
Like Tatooine, Anakin would be pleased if he never set foot on Geonosis again.
They’ve made it to the ship, finally, blissfully, the Force presences of various clones, Master Mundi, Master Unduli, and Obi-Wan now within arms-reach. He enters the code onto the keypad and quickly shoves a complaining Ahsoka through the open door, then makes room for Rex, Cody, and a handful of other higher-ranking clones, the rest of which having been ordered to other secure shelters within their outpost. Anakin can only hope they made it safely.
He just about closes the door behind him when he senses it—the Force, snapping like a whip. It knocks the breath out of him, enough that he stumbles into the doorframe, gripping tight with hands of metal and flesh. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ahsoka holding her hands to the sides of her montrals with a contorted expression. Anakin flings his hand out to close the door with the Force, to bring a moment of quiet and safety to evaluate the situation, but then …
He whips his focus back outside.
His eyes, blurred and irritated from the sand, see nothing but orangey-brown storm of sand and dust, so thick that he cannot even see the Geonosian mountains in the distance. But his senses, aided by the Force, track the source of that disturbance, several yards out from the ship.
A life-form, one that hadn’t been there before, or at least not one Anakin had sensed. But one unlike any Anakin has ever encountered … a sun in the Force, practically glowing with enough energy that Anakin swears he can see its light in the distance.
He thinks he hears Ahsoka call out to him, but the wind is far too strong to make sense of it. Without thinking, he jumps back out into the storm and ignites his lightsaber, using the light it grants to track that Force presence.
Anakin follows, follows, follows until he’s right upon it—or, at least, he should be. For there is nothing before his eyes, no one on the other end of his lightsaber.
Until he looks down.
He stills.
A human youngling, or at least it seems to be one, nothing more than a chubby little baby with wisps of curly hair whipping about, is curled up in the sand. Dimpled hands bring the child’s arms over his or her face, and Anakin can feel the terror and despair crying out in that bright Force signature.
Anakin has little time to react, so he grabs the child close to his chest and sprints his way back to the ship.
When the door finally slams shut behind him, allowing him to finally hear his own thoughts again, he tries to rub the sand off his mouth and eyes with the inside of his shirt, but it just seems to worsen the situation.
When he opens his eyes, the youngling is still there, clinging to his chest. Now, he can hear the devastating sobs, deep and hiccuping. Anakin can’t say he blames the kid, being caught in a sandstorm in a warzone like that, but it does leave him in an awkward position he doesn’t know how to handle.
He looks up to the baffled expressions and postures of Ahsoka and his men, who all stare at the wailing youngling in Anakin’s arms.
“Master,” Ahsoka breathes, sounding just as perturbed as Anakin feels. “What … how …?”
Just then, Obi-Wan, Luminara, and Ki-Adi come ripping down the hallway, their expressions more alarmed than Anakin has perhaps ever seen them. Obi-Wan seems midway to asking precisely what the hell just happened when his eyes too land on the youngling.
“A baby?” Obi-Wan sputters.
“Most peculiar,” murmurs a wide-eyed Luminara.
The baby continues to to sob.
Ahsoka is the first to come to any conclusion. She walks to Anakin, arms held out. Anakin, remembering Ahsoka’s skills with Stinky the Hutt, gratefully dumps the child in her arms.
“A deep disturbance in the Force, and suddenly this Force-Sensitive child appears,” muses Ki-Adi as he examines the baby, slowly calming to Ahsoka’s soothing cooing and rocking.
“Where could it have possibly come from?” Anakin asks incredulously. “It’s not even Geonosian.”
“We should take the matter up with the Council as soon as possible,” muses Obi-Wan, stroking his beard. “Perhaps Masters Yoda or Windu have some idea about how or why this could’ve happened, or at least how to get ahold of the family.”
“If it has one,” Anakin points out. “The kid just showed up out of nowhere.”
Ki-Adi tilts his head to examine the child for a few moments, then lifts it to Ahsoka. “Padawan, please take the youngling to Medical for evaluation. The rest of us will prepare our next course of action.”
“Yes, Master,” says Ahsoka with a respectful bow before taking off.
Anakin shakes more sand out of his hair. His entire body is starting to itch. As weird as it is, he feels they have more pressing concerns than a magical youngling. So, with the distraction removed, he begins barking orders to the men, who snap out of their stupor and obey dutifully.
Anakin falls back into his usual routine enough that, for a moment, he forgets about the youngling. Even allows himself to take a brief respite in his quarters to sonic off all the sand, though the gritty, dirty feeling still clings to his skin.
He’s filling out a lazy report when he senses Obi-Wan’s presence just outside his door, to which he answers before the knock.
Obi-Wan’s blue-gray eyes are a little bugged, and a few strands of his ginger hair have fallen over his forehead, as much indication as he’ll ever give that he’s been rattled. Anakin blinks at him, a little too taken aback to ask what the big deal is right away.
“Come with me,” Obi-Wan simply says.
Anakin swallows back his complaint as he does.
Obi-Wan leads him down the hall, weaving through clones both on and off-duty. It doesn’t take long for Anakin to realize that they’re going to med-bay. He searches Obi-Wan’s feelings in the Force. Finds a buzz of … something. A lot of things he can’t make sense of. Anxiety, bewilderment, curiosity, maybe? The fact that any of it slips through Obi-Wan’s disciplined mind and demeanor is enough to set Anakin on edge.
“What is it?” Anakin inquires with a low voice.
Obi-Wan’s face creases with tightness. He looks older, wearier, than usual. “Patience. I’ll explain when we get there.”
At least, he supposes with a clenched jaw, he isn’t going to be left in the dark for long.
The med-bay door slides up with a chsssh of compressed air being released, and closes tightly behind Anakin and Obi-Wan as they enter.
There on the cot is the youngling, no longer covered in sand or wailing, and Anakin realizes he hadn’t really seen it properly before now. And … well, he’ll admit it, this one is a lot cuter than Stinky. Honey-gold curls wisp around the ears and large head, complementing long-lashed ocean-blue eyes above a button nose. The baby’s a chunky thing too, rounded belly and cheeks, arms and legs creased with pudginess.
The youngling is smiley and wide-eyed at Anakin and Obi-Wan’s presence, even makes excited little huffs that are something of a mix between a laugh and a gasp and wiggles those arms and legs. Ahsoka giggles from the bedside and tickles that belly. The youngling’s sun-bright Force presence sparkles at that.
Anakin crosses his arms and frowns. Between Obi-Wan’s anxieties and being requested in the presence of the youngling, there’s got to be something else going on here. Something that Anakin probably isn’t going to like, and probably an order from the Council.
Well, better to rip the bandage off quickly. “Alright,” he says to Obi-Wan, who is staring at the baby with an unreadable expression. “What is it?”
Obi-Wan sighs that sigh that usually means Anakin has done something wrong in his eyes. “Kix and a medical droid both looked over the child. He’s a remarkably healthy human boy, even a little large for his age, which they guess is around nine standard months.”
“You hear that, Chunky?” Ahsoka coos near the child’s ear. “All healthy!”
The baby makes another delighted sound.
Anakin raises a brow at Obi-Wan. “Alright, I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”
Obi-Wan rubs an anxious hand over his chin. “Master Mundi asked them to run a Midichlorian count on the child. The results were … surprising.”
Anakin raises a brow. “And what were they?”
“Over twenty-thousand. Exactly identical to your count, right down to the last digit.”
If Anakin had expected to hear anything, it certainly isn’t that. He looks back over to the toddler, who he finds is already watching him. The boy squirms with joy.
Ahsoka’s face is as bewildered as Anakin feels. “I thought no one else has ever had a Midichlorian count as high as Master Skywalker’s.”
“That’s correct,” says Obi-Wan. “Until now.”
“What …” Anakin clears his throat. “What does this mean?”
“I’m not sure,” says Obi-Wan honestly. “But there’s something strange going on here, that’s for certain. We all felt that disturbance in the Force, and then a non-Geonosian youngling randomly appears and just so happens to be tied for perhaps the most Force-sensitive sentient in history.”
“But he seems so normal,” says Ahsoka, staring at the boy. “And he’s just a baby.”
“As of now, we should assume nothing,” insists Obi-Wan. “This is a matter perhaps only Master Yoda can make sense of. Anakin and I have been summoned back to Coruscant to bring the child before the Council. They also want Master Che to do more blood tests.”
“What?” Anakin whirls around. “They’re taking us off the front lines to be babysitters? What about Geonosis?”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes and adjusts his stance. Preparing himself. “Masters Fisto and Secura and their troops are already on the way. The three of us are going to Coruscant with the child because it was us who found him and the possible connection between the two of you.”
Anakin could laugh, or maybe yell. He begins to pace, unable to keep up with the buzzing beneath his skin. “What connection? A few numbers in common? I’ve never even seen the kid before.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes are blazing, but before he can open his mouth to speak, Ahsoka says, “Pardon me, Masters, but what if Chunky’s parents are around here somewhere? Shouldn’t we try to find them first?”
Anakin could’ve hugged Ahsoka for that. He turns to Obi-Wan expectantly.
“We’ve already done a sweep of the area,” says Obi-Wan tiredly. “There are no lifeforms nearby, not even Geonosian. It’s all battle droids and us. And if it turns out the boy does have a family, all the better to take him back to Coruscant so we can run DNA tests or look him up in the registry. Even if there were people here claiming him, it would be far safer to do it through official means than trust a baby with people we don’t know in an active war zone. Especially a Force sensitive one, and especially after that business with the stolen holocron.”
Anakin scoffs. “I can’t believe this.” Because he can’t. In no galaxy could he have ever accounted for this, though he supposes he should’ve. Leave it to the Council to make stupid, superstitious decisions like this. A baby. A kriffing baby, taking three Jedi from the field and forcing the Republic to reevaluate battle plans.
Ahsoka, on the other hand, seems to be barely-hiding her excitement, even as she pokes the baby again. “Hear that, Chunky? Looks like you’re coming with us!”
The one upside to all this, Anakin thinks, is he gets to see Padmé far sooner than they thought. It’s been months since they were last together, and he feels her absence like his missing arm.
He’s still irritated about being taken off the warfront for Chunky (the name’s kind of stuck and, well … it suits him). He makes his displeasure known to both Obi-Wan and Ki-Adi as he tromps his way past them onto the Star Destroyer later that day, and making a point to avoid Chunky wherever he might be. The only rebellion he can honestly get away with. Though he’s still careful not to make his feelings known to the men, for many of their lives were now spared with their callback to Coruscant, and Anakin could never fault them for being relieved about that. The clones always did their duty diligently and without complaint, especially the 501st. If anyone deserves a reprieve, it’s them. Regardless, a flutter bubbles his chest as he finally retires back to his quarters and reaches for his commlink.
And there she is. Too distant for him to feel her in the Force, and the holo washes her in a pale-blue filter, but it’s still Padmé—alive, beautiful, safe. It must be evening back on Coruscant, as her dark hair falls in soft, free waves down her back, and she wears a loose silk top and pants.
“Ani!” Her voice sparkles. He takes a minute to soak in her presence, even if she’s not here in her entirety. Feels his muscles loosen, his breath release. “I thought you would still be fighting on Geonosis!”
A grin tickles Anakin’s cheeks. “Would you rather I hang up and go back?”
“Don’t you dare,” Padmé snaps. “I haven’t heard from you in days.” She pauses, examines him that way she does, somehow just as accurate as reading his emotions from he Force. “Though I am … curious. How are you able to comm right now? Are you back on a ship?”
Anakin feels the shame curdle in his gut, just slightly. “They’re ordering Obi-Wan and me back to Coruscant.” At the widening of her eyes, Anakin rushes to explain. “Not because of the battle! We were doing fine. I’m fine, so are Ahsoka and Obi-Wan."
Padmé tilts her head, brow creased. “Then why …?”
Anakin sighs and explains. About the disturbance in the Force, to the best of his ability, then about Chunky. His Midichlorian count. Padmé’s full lips are parted in awe as she takes it all in patiently.
“That poor baby,” she whispers when he’s finished, a hand to her heart. His Padmé, always so compassionate for others. “I’m so glad you were able to find him.”
Anakin clears his throat. “Yeah, so the Council’s ordering us back early. Ahsoka’s taken a liking to him, so I’m relieved of diaper duty.”
Padmé’s smile is a soft, almost sad thing. Anakin doesn’t need the Force to see the way her eyes dart across his face, to the ground, then back to his face again.
“What is it?” he presses.
Padmé’s face brightens again, her brows raised as she looks at him through her lashes. “Oh, nothing. Just … that baby. All alone. And you’re certain he had no family nearby?”
Anakin shakes his head. “He’s young enough, I bet the Temple will take him in if they don’t find his parents. He’s obviously Force Sensitive.”
“Oh. I see. That’s good, then.”
Anakin suspects there might be more to it than that, but he thinks it better left to another time. Not when they haven’t seen each other in so long.
“Anyway,” says Anakin, “this means I get to come home early.”
Padmé’s soft face brightens with her smile. Radiant, lovely. He’s seen it plenty of times, but something about it nags at him in a way it never has before. The Force seems to tug at him about it too. He just can’t figure out why.
They talk until Anakin’s eyes start to droop, and Padmé starts to tease him into hanging up the call and getting his sorry ass to bed. Admittedly, the exhaustion of the last few days of battle have started to catch up to him, the roar of adrenaline finally quieting enough to allow him sleep. Geonosis hadn’t been the worst of his battles in the war, what with leaving early and all, but something about suddenly being in a quiet, safe place, even traveling parsec after parsec through hyperspace, finally gentles him enough to get his first full-night’s sleep in days.
When Anakin wakes, finally refreshed, he makes an effort of going about his usual business on a flight home, rather than to dwell on why he’s coming home. Once his required responsibilities are in order, from reports to system checks to meetings with Council members and Admiral Yularen, he makes himself useful by making repairs on the damaged fighters they’d managed to salvage into the hangar. It’s nice, after all the time he spends destroying things, to put a little something back together again.
He’s having a fine time, in all honesty, until he sees Ahsoka’s feet peeking out through the gap between the star-fighter and the floor. Or rather, feels the Force presence she carries with her.
Anakin stifles a groan and remains underneath the ship. “What’s going on, Snips?”
“Hi Master! Are we going to do any Jar’Kai drills today? Y’know, since we have the time?”
Anakin barely keeps himself from slapping his own face. This is one of the reasons why he didn’t want a Padawan—he sometimes forgets that Padawans require attention, and the Temple-issued drills and tests are Bantha shit, so his Padawan needed him to oversee her lessons and exercises.
He sighs. “Yeah, sure, Snips.” He pulls out from under the star-fighter.
There’s Chunky, balanced on Ahsoka’s hip and hilariously as long as her whole torso. He wiggles happily when he sees Anakin, even reaches out an arm and — Oh. Oh no. Anakin is not holding the baby.
Anakin says as much, which causes Ahsoka to giggle. “Oh, come on, Master. You’re going to have to hold him if I’m going to practice with my sabers!”
Anakin crosses his arms, partially so that Ahsoka doesn’t try to toss the baby into them. “Why isn’t he in the med-bay?” Or with Obi-Wan? Or … anywhere else?
Ahsoka pouts. “Everyone’s so busy, and we have a lot of wounded. He’ll be all bored and alone in there.”
Chunky coos as if in agreement, adjusting his angle on Ahsoka to better-reach for Anakin.
“He’s a really good baby, Skyguy,” Ahsoka insists. “He just sits, stares, and giggles.”
Anakin wrinkles his nose. “I can think of something else he does that I will not be taking care of.”
Ahsoka’s blue eyes are beady. “Is the Hero with No Fear … afraid of a dirty diaper?”
“No,” he snaps, though he glances suspiciously at Chunky. “I just don’t want him puking on me. Or peeing on me. Or pooping on me.”
“Well …” Anakin grits his teeth at Ahsoka’s smug expression. “Lucky for you, he’s already eaten, been burped, and he just had his diaper changed. So he shouldn’t be ready to do any of that.”
As if to taunt him, Ahsoka grabs Chunky under each armpit and holds him out to Anakin. The chubby legs peaking out through the holes of the white onesie kick in excitement.
“Where did you even get diapers?” Anakin wonders. This is a warship, not a nursery.
Ahsoka rolls her eyes. “It’s just bandages cut and stuck together with med-tape. Besides, you’re avoiding the subject.”
Anakin huffs through his nose. “Fine. Let’s do this.” He grabs his cloak from the top of the ship and spreads it down on the floor. Grabs Chunky, who squeals, and, as quickly as possible, plops him down on top of it. The youngling looks up at him with wide blue eyes. “There. Now no one has to hold him.”
Ahsoka squints at his handiwork. “What if he crawls away when we’re not looking?”
“He’s too fat to get anywhere quicker than us, and probably wouldn’t fit anywhere anyway.”
“Skyguy!”
Anakin throws his arms out. “It’s true!”
Ahsoka rolls her eyes. “He’s a baby, not fat. He’s a healthy weight for his size and species.”
“Oh, like it knows!”
There’s a tug on Anakin’s bootleg. He looks down to his side, where Chunky is kneeling with his hands clutching the black leather, his chin resting upon them as he stares up at Anakin with large, wanting eyes.
“Aw. I think he likes you, Master.”
It’s Anakin’s turn to roll his eyes. It’s probably just hungry.
Anakin peels Chunky off his boot, then stalks away without looking behind him. He grabs Ahsoka on the shoulder. “Now, if you’re done giving me cheek, start your katas.”
He lets Ahsoka think he doesn’t see her sticking her tongue out at him, but he does make her do her katas twice.
Anakin takes the moment to do a few warm-up exercises himself, though he keeps a sharp eye on Ahsoka as he does. She might have a bad habit of giving him attitude, but she does listen to him when he gives corrections on her form, which is probably why he hasn’t launched her off in an evacuation pod yet.
They are just about to initiate a training spar, a few Shinies peeking at them out of the corner of their eyes, when Anakin feels a tug on his lightsaber.
Anakin looks down at his saber and powers it down, just in case there’s a malfunction with it. There shouldn’t be—his lightsaber is at peak performance, even better with his (non-Council-approved) alterations.
“What’s wrong?” Ahsoka asks, eyeing the saber.
“I dunno, it just felt weird.”
Anakin’s just about to power it back on when it flings backwards out of his hand with the power of a blaster bolt.
Right into Chunky’s arms.
The baby dissolves into a fit of bubbly giggles, hiccuping and gasping for breath as he clutches at the hilt, as tall as his entire torso, with his tiny fingers.
One slip of his left hand, and that blade is going straight through his head.
“Kid,” Anakin says with a bit of caution, “that is not a toy.”
Chunky only coos at him and begins to gnaw on emitter. Anakin winces at the shiny drool that drips down on top of it.
“Chunky …” Ahsoka starts. There’s a tinge of fear, even awe, in her voice.
Anakin’s stomach swoops as the lightsaber falls over with a clang between Chunky’s spread legs. Luckily, it doesn’t switch on, but if Chunky hits it just right, it most certainly will.
Chunky’s fingers begin tapping and tracing over the hilt.
Anakin takes a deep breath and reaches out with the Force, calling the lightsaber to his hand. It’s risky, but at least the saber falls with the emitter facing away from the baby, so the only real worry would’ve been Chunky directly touching or falling into the blade if it powered on.
Ahsoka lets out a relieved sigh as the saber hits Anakin’s palm. The betrayed look on Chunky’s face, however, should be caught on holo.
Anakin wrinkles his nose and begins to wipe the saliva with the bottom of his robe.
“Master? How did Chunky do that?” Ahsoka asks nervously.
Anakin gives her an incredulous look. “With the Force.”
She scoffs. “Well, yeah. But how did he know how to do that? That’s a skill that usually has to be trained, especially that strongly too. He even bypassed your senses.”
Anakin looks back at Chunky, who is still staring woefully at them. “He’s a baby, Ahsoka, I didn’t think to consider him doing anything like that. Now I know. He won’t do it again.”
Though it does leave Anakin wondering. He’s never heard of a kid this young using the Force untrained, and surely if a Jedi had been around to teach him, the creche would’ve notified Master Yoda of Chunky’s known existence. It is peculiar, but maybe it’s also just a freak incident. It’s not really Anakin’s job to know or care, and he has bigger things to worry about.
Anakin is sure to keep his more senses alert this time as they spar. It’s a good session, and Ahsoka is starting to finally have more confidence with her second blade. A handful of hours pass before he finally calls it quits. And in all honesty, a part of him understands what Ahsoka means when she says Chunky is a good baby. The entire time, he just sits there on Anakin’s cloak, watching them. Transfixed. Even grins and claps his hands when they power down their sabers and go back over to him.
Ahsoka doesn’t express any sign of being sick of the kid, so Anakin is more than happy to let her take the reins on that front. Chunky is probably safer with her than anyone else on the ship, considering Ahsoka’s experience from volunteering in the creche.
The coming days pass more or less the same, and though Anakin will never admit it to anyone, he starts to grow used to Chunky observing him and Ahsoka during training. His Force presence, the bright sun that it is, is peaceful to be around, all bright and innocent for its power. Anakin might not really like to be around children in general, but the more time he spends around this one, the more he’s convinced that, no matter where the kid came from or his circumstances, he’s not malignant. Something, Anakin considers, he’ll have to share with the Council.
Padmé also asks about the kid on the nights he’s able to comm her. It’s not really the number one topic Anakin wants to discuss with his wife, so he tends to skirt past it, but he thinks it might bring her some semblance of peace to know Chunky is safe. Even if she hasn’t met him. That’s just Padmé—kind to a fault.
Obi-Wan also occasionally comes to check-in on Chunky, which Anakin will probably chuckle about until the day he dies. The kid likes everyone but, weird as hell, seems to adore Obi-Wan in particular. And Obi-Wan, while always kind, isn’t exactly someone Anakin would call a natural with children. Even while holding Chunky—awkwardly, by the armpits—he seems less at ease than he does on the battlefield, all scruffy and wide-eyed. The kid, of course, doesn’t seem to care. Simply being in Obi-Wan’s presence makes him squeal.
At one point, while they are hovering over the holotable of various battle tactics, Chunky holds both of Obi-Wan’s cheeks between his hands and chants breathily, “Ah-beebeebeebeebee!”
It’s funny at first because the look on Obi-Wan’s face is so startled, his eyes appear like they’re about to pop out of his skull. “Ah,” he says as though the kid has just said something thoughtful, “how interesting.”
Anakin goes to share a grin with Ahsoka, but her eyes are trained curiously on Chunky. “Uh, Master?” she says, a little breathlessly, and that Anakin snaps to attention. “Listen to what he’s saying.”
“Ah-beebee, ah-beeeee …” Chunky continues to babble to Obi-Wan.
It just sounds like baby noises to Anakin.
“I’m hearing it quite well, Ahsoka,” says Obi-Wan with some difficulty, as Chunky’s hands are still pinned to his cheeks with surprising strength.
“No, Master,” Ahsoka giggles. “I think he’s trying to say your name.”
Anakin nearly chokes.
Obi-Wan’s eyes flick down to Chunky, then back up to Ahsoka, then back down again. Widen once more as he seems to comprehend.
“Ah-BEE. Ah-BEEbeebeebeebee.”
And then Obi-Wan melts.
Slack-jawed, Anakin watches as it happens. As his strict old Master’s brows curve up in the middle, all soft and pathetic. His lower lip juts out just enough. The lines by his eyes fade.
“Oh. Hello. Little One.” Obi-Wan says weakly.
Delighted, airy giggles erupt from Chunky.
From then on, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka split baby duty fifty-fifty. Obi-Wan insists it’s to make it “fair” for their Padawan, but he also doesn’t try to get Anakin to take a shift himself (blissfully). But since Chunky is now either with Obi-Wan or Ahsoka at all times, word is finally spreading to the clones of his existence. Where at first they seem to pretend the kid isn’t around, the more time they spend with him, the more fascinated they seem to be. Rex explains that most clones have never seen a baby before, since most of them below the age of a cadet both don’t stay in that stage very long due to their accelerated aging, and are typically handled by the Kaminoans personally. So it’s only natural that the majority of the men experience a progression from baffled to curious.
By the time they’re almost halfway to touching down on Coruscant, most of the clones are waving to Chunky when they see him, and some even go so far as to play with him. One time, in the mess hall, Fives takes off his helmet in front of Chunky and the kid gasps and dissolves into giggles. This then turns into a twenty-man line of clones whipping their helmets on and off, startling the kid into delighted laughter each time their faces come in and out of view.
He tells these stories to Padmé when she inquires about Chunky, and each one seems to brighten her day. Anakin begins to fear the day she might actually meet the kid, if only because she might fall in love with him so hard that she wants to keep him.
And if that isn’t a thought. Padmé with kids. Him with kids. That’s … well, Anakin isn’t sure what to make of it. Isn’t sure how he would even handle it.
When they finally touch down on Coruscant, the day is clear and bright, not that yellow-brown fog that the city tends to get sometimes. Anakin is eager to get off the ship, meet with the Council, and then get the hell out. By nightfall, he’ll be with Padmé, with not a baby nor a war to worry about. At least, that’s what he thinks.
Master Yoda greets them straight off the ship, long ears perked in anticipation. Ahsoka hands Chunky begrudgingly off to Obi-Wan, and Anakin can sense the conflict within her as she does. Although her abnormally quiet and subdued demeanor is indication enough. Anakin makes a note to talk to her about it when he gets the chance.
Obi-Wan bends over to show Chunky, who takes in Coruscant with wide, curious eyes, more clearly to Master Yoda.
“Curious,” Yoda says, dark eyes trained on the baby. “Strong in the Force, he is, yes. Healthy, is he?”
“The medical droid and Anakin’s clone medic both gave him a clean bill of health,” says Obi-Wan. “Furthermore, we’ve been keeping a close eye on him throughout our journey. His presence in the Force is luminously Light and innocent. Despite his power and mysterious arrival, he seems to be an entirely normal baby.”
Yoda hums and holds a three-clawed hand out over Chunky’s face, eyes closed and pensive. Why he thinks this is a good idea, Anakin can’t tell. Chunky then grabs on to Yoda’s outstretched hand and goes to try to eat it.
Obi-Wan yanks Chunky’s golden head away from Yoda’s hand, and Yoda chuckles delightedly at the baby. “To the Council, we will bring him. But first, to Master Che. Tests, I would like to be done, to help aid the Council’s decision.”
What decision, Anakin wants to ask, but figures that now isn’t the time. And Anakin really shouldn’t care. By tonight, this baby crisis will be over, and he will probably never see Chunky again.
He has to clear his throat after that thought comes to mind.
Anakin tells Ahsoka to get some rest before going back to his room to unpack what little he has. Obi-Wan had volunteered to bring Chunky to Master Che, and Anakin decides that it’s probably best to let them have a private goodbye, since Obi-Wan would have to resume his position as an impartial Council Member when the Council finally decides what to do with the kid. Though to Anakin, that answer should be obvious: find his family, and if he doesn’t have one, give him to the creche. Simple.
But Anakin knows better than to think that’s how things will go. He stares pensively for a few moments at the pod-racing poster above his bed. The fact of the matter is that Anakin knows first-hand that the Council is rigid and even fearful when something new and unexpected crosses their path. If it doesn’t fit the Jedi traditions, it’s met with heavy doubt. If for some reason Chunky is accepted into the Order, his wayward beginning will haunt him the rest of his life. Just like Anakin’s.
Maybe Obi-Wan is right, and he does have more in common with the kid than he thinks.
Anakin’s commlink pings, snapping him from his thoughts.
“Skywalker,” he greets gruffly.
“Anakin,” crackles Obi-Wan’s voice. “You should come to the Halls straight away. You need to see this.”
Anakin sighs. “Alright. I’m on my way.”
What could it possibly be now, and what does it have to do with him? What does any of this truly have to do with him? The kid is safe, healthy. Anakin’s part should be over.
Obi-Wan is pacing just outside the halls when Anakin arrives, his hair falling into his eyes. Immediately, Anakin is set on edge from the flood of anxieties emanating off of Obi-Wan.
“Woah,” Anakin says, baffled. “What’s going on now?”
Obi-Wan runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Anakin, the child doesn’t show up on any registry. They took his DNA … there’s not a match anywhere. He’s not in any Republic system.”
Anakin winces. “Alright, so he’s either a Separatist baby or a crime family baby. I doubt I was on any registry either.”
Obi-Wan shakes his head. “That’s what I thought at first, too. That was until Master Yoda specifically asked Master Che to run the baby’s DNA against yours.”
Okay, so that one is unexpected. “Mine? Why?”
“He looked into the boy’s Force presence and meditated on it, I’m not entirely sure. But I will say, I’ve thought since I first laid eyes on that baby that he looked remarkably like a baby version of you. I just never … I never thought …”
Anakin’s stomach turns leaden. “What?”
Obi-Wan halts and takes a deep breath. “Anakin, you and that boy share close-family DNA.”
Anakin isn’t sure he’s hearing properly. Because sure Obi-Wan couldn’t have just possibly said … “That doesn’t make any sense. My only family was my mother and she died before that youngling could have even been born.”
“Yes, but your paternal side. Your mother said that there was no father. This boy appeared out of nowhere. Could it be that you were both born of the Force?”
Anakin rubs at his face. He can’t even believe he’s considering this, let alone Obi-Wan. “Even if that’s true, why would this kid not be born to a woman when I was? My mother gave birth to me, of that I am certain.”
“There are secrets to the Force that we may never know, Anakin. This could very well be one of them.”
“Alright, so … What does Master Yoda think?”
“We can go speak to him now, he might have finished his meditation,” says Obi-Wan. “I just wanted to … prepare you … before you did.”
Anakin rolls his eyes. “Obi-Wan, I’m not some bomb seconds away from going off. I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.”
Anakin storms past him and jams his finger into the security pad.
Vokara Che stands closest to the door, nose buried into a data-pad. On a small cot surrounded by medical scanners is Chunky, sleeping peacefully on his back, hair like a fluffy blonde halo. On his left bedside sits Yoda, deep in meditative thought.
“Master,” Obi-Wan greets Yoda with quiet respect. “Anakin is here.”
“More than that, he is,” Yoda corrects, deep eyes opening to stare right into Anakin’s soul. “Luke Skywalker’s father is here.”