Chapter Text
“You’ll like these new people, Luke,” his caseworker said as they drove through the city, deep into the suburbs, to a place he had never seen before let alone lived in. “Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan’s a professor — history, I think — and Anakin’s got some fancy corporate job, works right downtown.”
“Do they have kids?” Luke asked, selfishly hoping the answer was no. After the last two homes, too many kids and not enough plates, he was ready to be an only child for once.
“No. In fact, they’re looking to adopt.”
That was a new one, something he had never considered. Adoption. He handled the word in his mind like it was radioactive, trying not to think of Owen and Beru’s faces. Of Leia.
His caseworker, Reva, turned onto a quiet street, huge trees shading both sides, separating every house from the sidewalk. They parked in the driveway of a three-story blue and white home, fancier than any Luke had ever seen. He followed her to the door, his hands shaking.
The man who answered was nothing at all like Luke had pictured. Average height, trim build, with copper-blond hair and a full beard just a shade darker. He smiled elegantly, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. “You must be Luke. My name is Obi-Wan. Please, come in.”
He had an old-fashioned way of speaking, his accent distinctly Coruscanti. His voice was velvety, his words perfectly enunciated, the p’s crisp, the t’s resounding.
Luke clutched his lone duffel protectively, what was left of his life messily shoved into one tattered bag. “Here, let me take that,” Obi-Wan said, and though Luke didn’t want to, he let it go, not wanting to be rude.
Obi-Wan placed it down on a skinny table that sat against the wall, beneath a great big mirror. There was a stab of shame that cut right through the nerves, seeing his ratty possessions next to something so ornate. He imagined that glossy wood tabletop would need a fresh coat of polish after having his things set on it. He hoped Obi-Wan would at least be courteous enough to do it behind his back.
He glanced around the living room, taking in its light wood floors, the walls painted off-white. One entire wall was covered floor to ceiling in bookcases, every shelf full, and next to them, rows of cassette tapes and vinyl records. The couch was the biggest Luke had ever seen, a velvety cream color, but adorned with rust-orange throws and teal square pillows, blending it all together.
Luke was afraid to breathe. This couldn’t be right, this couldn’t be his new placement. Obi-Wan was going to change his mind before Reva even showed him his file.
“There are a few things we need to go over,” his caseworker said, sitting down on the couch, opening her briefcase. “Luke, would you excuse us?”
“There’s plenty of food in the refrigerator, if you’re hungry. Just help yourself. Or you could explore the backyard,” Obi-Wan said, smiling, and though Luke didn’t want to leave them alone, didn’t want Reva to disillusion him so soon, the offer of food was too powerful to pass up. His stomach growled viciously, so he reluctantly went in search of the kitchen.
It was beautiful. Big, open, more of that same lightwood flooring and off-white walls, but with huge white-paned windows spanning the length of one entire wall, overlooking a lush and magnificent garden. Plants hung from the ceiling, and potted ones as tall as Luke stood in two corners, a bouquet of yellow and dark purple flowers standing centerpiece on a small, four-seater breakfast table. It was bright, clean, homey. A kitchen to make pancakes in, to drink cocoa and play checkers. He was afraid of how badly he wanted this.
The fridge was full, it took him a handful of minutes to decide what he wanted. He didn’t want to be rude, but Obi-Wan had said to help himself, and apart from the cheeseburger Reva had bought him when she picked him up, he hadn’t had a full meal in well over three days. He wanted to be polite, but hunger won out. He made himself two turkey sandwiches on thick, weirdly-shaped bakery bread (not pre-sliced, he had to cut it himself), and grabbed a jar of opened sweet pickles and a fork when he was still hungry after, sat at the island counter and dug in.
If he twisted around, he could see them, heads together over the coffee table, reviewing his file. “He’s had an incredibly hard time of it,” Reva was saying. Scaring off his new foster dad already. “First, there was a fire…”
Luke didn’t want to listen to this, his entire life reduced to one sad summary like a neglected dog in an animal shelter. But nor could he resist sneaking glances at Obi-Wan’s stricken expression, desperately searching for any hint of overwhelm, for regret, a sign he might change his mind.
“Despicable,” Obi-Wan said, when Reva finished telling him about the last home, how Luke had run away. “Inflicting something like that on a child.”
He put the lid back on the jar of pickles, pushed it away. He wasn’t hungry anymore.
When Reva left, Obi-Wan shut the door after they watched her drive off, then turned to give Luke a vibrant, welcoming smile. “Well,” he said, and it occurred to Luke that maybe Obi-Wan was just as out of his depth as he was, maybe neither of them was steering this ship. “Here you are.”
Luke wanted to put him at ease, even though he felt just as unsteady. The anxiety hadn’t lessened since he first saw the house, he had no idea what to say.
“Would you like to see your room? Though there’s not much to see, really. Just the basics. We left it plain, so you can make it your own.”
He didn’t have anything to make it his own with, what hadn’t been burned or stolen could fit in a single empty drawer. Luke wasn’t sure what he was expecting, it was so clear, couldn’t he see it already? Luke was damaged goods. Obi-Wan might not want him.
“I like the kitchen,” he said instead, fumbling to pay him a compliment. Leia would know what to say, she always did. It was part of the reason she was picked so fast. “All the plants, it’s… peaceful.”
Obi-Wan smiled, genuine, less host-like. “I think we will get along very well, you and I. I’m only sorry my husband isn’t here to meet you.”
“Where is he?”
“On a trip. I’m afraid his job requires him to travel from time to time, he won’t be back until next week. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Milk? Or I could make you some juice, or a smoothie, if you’d prefer.”
“Milk, please,” Luke said, embarrassed, feeling younger than he was, but emboldened when Obi-Wan smiled indulgently and led him back to their beautiful kitchen.
Luke hadn’t spent as much time with anyone, since the fire, as he did with Obi-Wan Kenobi in the week that followed.
Obi-Wan took him everywhere: to the dry cleaners, the bank, grocery shopping, the library. As if he was scared to leave him alone for a moment, as if Luke was three and not thirteen.
For a week, they ate take-out out of paper cartons, pasta in foil bowls with cardboard lids, even pizza one night. “Anakin’s the cook,” Obi-Wan explained, apologetic, though Luke could not have been more thrilled. It felt like a dream, Obi-Wan gently asking him to finish the leftovers the next day, smiling each time he cleaned his plate. After three months at the Bunker, Luke didn’t need to be asked twice.
Sometimes they ate in the backyard, at the regal iron table with its matching chairs, set in the shade of a towering maple tree. Luke would tell Obi-Wan stories about Owen and Beru, which was hard, and Leia, which was a lot harder. Occasionally he talked about the other homes, avoiding the really ugly stuff, the things even his caseworker didn’t know, that never made it into his file. Luke only wanted to tell him good things, show that he wasn’t a complainer, that Obi-Wan didn’t need to worry.
There was a theater a few blocks over, just a short walk from the house. Obi-Wan would take him, even if they didn’t know which play was on, buy him a giant bucket of popcorn and let him pick where they sat. He seemed to favor the dramas, the romances, which Luke didn’t mind. They laughed together, and Luke was careful not to stare or comment when Obi-Wan teared up, even though he had never seen a grown man cry before.
The plays were always fun, even the ones that sounded boring. The fact that Obi-Wan wanted to take him, wanted to share this with him, meant more than whatever activity they ended up doing. His heart felt like a balloon that was expanding too big. In those few short days, panic made a home inside his chest like a wasp nest.
It was bound to turn wrong. Reva was going to call and say this was all a mistake, that they’d changed their minds, they wanted a three-year-old, someone less scarred. Or maybe that they’d decided to wait a few more years, they just weren’t ready, Luke could understand that, couldn’t he? He was a Nice Boy, he wouldn’t make a fuss.
It gripped him, kept him awake at night, as did thoughts of Anakin Skywalker. Luke worried about Obi-Wan’s husband, he didn’t want him to come home, take Obi-Wan away from him. He wanted it to stay just like this forever, the two of them eating appetizers for dinner in the living room, bent over a book Obi-Wan was using to tutor him, making sure Luke was caught up, that he could start high school with his peers come the fall. They could sit for hours like that, side by side, just talking about their lives.
Obi-Wan wanted to know everything about him, what he was like, who he was. It scared him. There wasn’t anything to tell. He had no preferences. He ate anything, wore anything, went where he was told, slept where he was told. He was infinitely adaptable, as malleable as clay.
He would ask things like, what was Luke’s favorite subject in school? When they went grocery shopping, did he prefer apple or orange juice? Did he like the shampoo Obi-Wan bought, or did he want a different kind, a different scent? Luke didn’t know. “There’s no wrong answer, Luke. Just pick what you like best.”
But he hated making decisions. Every choice was a minefield of disappointment, one wrong step away from disaster. All he could do was hope Obi-Wan wasn’t just trying to be polite, that he meant it when he said Luke wasn’t going to let him down. So gym became his favorite class, because there was no homework. He preferred to have milk at breakfast, actually, instead of juice. He picked the bottle of shampoo with the purple flower on it (“Jasmine,” Obi-Wan informed him, smiling softly), the one that reminded him of Leia, even though it was kind of girly. He suspected Obi-Wan wanted more, that he was looking for something that just wasn’t there, but Luke didn’t know how to give it to him.
“What was the best day of your life?” he asked one afternoon as they lay together in the backyard, on a red-and-white checkered picnic blanket, like something straight out of a children’s book.
“Today,” Luke said, completely serious.
Obi-Wan made a quiet sound and took his hand, startling him. They hadn’t touched before. The man seemed pretty reserved, in that regard. But Luke had missed it, the warmth of another body, being hugged, held, cradled. Aunt Beru was affectionate enough for her and Owen both, she had hugged Luke every day since the day he’d been born. Leia didn’t like to cuddle, she was more like Uncle Owen, but she did with Luke, all the time. They held hands just like this, when things didn’t seem to make sense anymore.
Luke squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand tightly, soaked up how brawny it was, how sturdy.
“And from before?”
Before. Before was a different life, a different person. Luke couldn’t be sure that was even really him. He was the Nice Boy now. The one who didn’t have any answers and never made any trouble.
“My sister and I accidentally let the sheep out, once,” he said lowly, the memory resurfacing like debris in a muddy bog. It took time to come into focus. “We were really scared. We knew our uncle was going to throw a fit when he found out. So Leia had this idea to steal our aunt’s fur coats. We pretended to be dogs to herd the sheep back down the mountain.”
Obi-Wan chuckled. “How old were you?”
“Seven, I think. Maybe six. My aunt had these great big coats, they made us look like chunky wolves. But I’m pretty sure they were fake. Or hand-me-downs, probably. We couldn’t really afford stuff like that.”
Owen and Beru hadn’t been anything like Luke’s last two placements. Money was tight, and the kids always came first.
“Leia kept tripping on hers, it was so long it touched the ground. But eventually we found the herd, and we started barking and shouting, and chased them down out of the woods and back to the farm. It worked. It was like we could control them with our minds, we felt like we could do anything. I remember thinking, this is how grown-ups must feel all the time, to work hard and watch it all come together.”
They’d gotten the grounding of their lives, after that, for letting the herd out and for taking Aunt Beru’s coats without permission. But they didn’t lose a single sheep, in the end. And that feeling of weightless invincibility stayed with Luke for years, filling him with a confidence that never waned, until the day it all went up in flames.
The day Anakin was expected to come home, Obi-Wan enlisted Luke’s help cleaning the whole house, top to bottom, even rooms they hadn’t used. Luke mostly did laundry, bedding and towels and more bedding, while Obi-Wan flitted up and down all three floors like a hummingbird, brimming with excitement. It was strange to see him that way, lovesick, like a teenage girl. Luke’s stomach did unsettled somersaults below his ribs.
When the cleaning was done, Obi-Wan flipped through take-out pamphlets at the kitchen island critically, one hand fidgeting with his beard. “Anakin will most likely be too tired to cook after such a long trip, so I think we should order in again. What do you think of that?”
Truthfully, it made Luke anxious. He liked things the way they were, they had settled into a routine, and now it was about to be thrown off by the one missing variable in this equation, the only part unaccounted for. Anakin could change everything. Luke resented him already, and he hadn’t even met the man.
Why did he have to come home now? He and Obi-Wan were having such a good time. Even if it was all pretend, Obi-Wan cared about him. Luke didn’t want to share that with some stranger, he didn’t want the curtain to close, for the play to end. But Anakin had somehow already made that happen.
Twenty minutes after they placed their order for dinner, a sleek black car pulled up in the driveway. Anakin got out, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his blond-brown hair catching the late sun. Luke stood uneasily on the porch, waiting for the moment of judgment, but he couldn’t discern anything from the man’s expression. It took everything he had not to hide behind Obi-Wan’s back. He wasn’t a child, he didn’t need to be afraid.
“Welcome home, dearest,” Obi-Wan greeted, his tone as smooth and warm as melted chocolate. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
He gently nudged Luke forward, but his feet were planted to the ground like tree roots. Anakin was a giant of a man, tall and muscular, his shoulders as broad as Luke’s torso was long. He had wavy hair down to his shoulders (which was surprising, wasn’t he some kind of businessman?) and a scar beside his right eye that oddly put Luke at ease. His own had faded a lot — the light had to hit them the right way for people to notice — but they were still there. There was comfort in knowing he wasn’t the only one who was scarred.
“Luke, this is my husband, Anakin. Anakin, this is Luke Lars, our foster son.”
Son. Even with ‘foster’ preceding it, the word tugged at one of Luke’s many unraveling threads. He had never been somebody’s son before. Owen and Beru didn’t even call them niece and nephew. Luke was their boy and Leia was their girl, but never our son, never our daughter.
Anakin’s jaw twitched as he looked him up and down, and Luke’s heart sank. “What have you been feeding this kid, Obi-Wan, weeds from the garden? He’s skin and bone.”
Luke ducked his head, ashamed. He’d had to show so many people his ribs to finally get taken away from the Bunker, but no one had gotten angry at him, not like Anakin was now. He fiddled with his shirt, pulled it away from his body, hoping it would hide the way his bones pressed into his skin like a baby bird trying to hatch through its eggshell.
Obi-Wan’s arm came around his shoulder, and Luke leaned into his side, greedy. “Luke’s been through a lot,” he said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Luckily for him, you’re home now, so his days of eating garden weeds are done.” He grinned his familiar, crooked grin, but Luke didn’t think Anakin found the joke funny. “I thought you might be too tired to cook, so dinner is on its way. Luke chose pizza.”
The tension bled out of Anakin’s expression, and he smiled back, a boyish smile that lit up his whole face. “Talked the old man into pizza, huh?” It took Luke a moment to realize Anakin was speaking to him. His tone was too familiar, a cadence one might take with a close friend, not one stranger to another. His big hand covered the entire top of Luke’s head, ruffling his hair, undoing all of Obi-Wan’s hard work to tidy him up. “Atta boy.”
They ate dinner outside on the patio under a string of spherical lights. Obi-Wan dished the pizza onto heavy glass plates, and Anakin told them about the assignment he’d been on on the other side of the country, sounding as bored with it as Obi-Wan looked and Luke felt.
“You need a new a job,” Obi-Wan said, with the kind of weariness that implied he’d said the exact same thing countless times before.
Anakin shrugged, took a heavy gulp of his beer. It was the exact same color as his hair, Luke noticed. Dark, but amber-gold when the light hit it. “It pays well. Besides, you know I’m up for a promotion soon. My boss could keel over any day.”
“You’ve been saying that for five years,” Obi-Wan huffed.
“And every day that goes by, it becomes more true.”
Luke watched them go back and forth, oddly fascinated by their dynamic. Obi-Wan had been so giddy at the prospect of Anakin returning home, Luke imagined they’d be all lovey-dovey, cuddled up on the sofa, murmuring sweet-nothings to each other, completely forgetting he existed. But they bickered like old friends, teased each other, bantered. Luke hadn’t seen them touch except for the chaste kiss Obi-Wan gave Anakin at the door, welcoming him home. He didn’t know what to think.
When Anakin caught him staring longingly at the pizza box, he dug two more slices out and slapped them on Luke’s plate, even though they were the last ones. He didn’t say a word about it, just nodded to Luke through a bite of his own slice, swallowed, said, “We’ve got some catching up to do.”
Obi-Wan filled him in on their first week together, how it’d gone, what they’d been doing. He told Anakin that Luke had to take an aptitude test at the end of summer to determine if he could start ninth grade in the fall like he was supposed to, he’d spent much of the week tutoring him for it. Anakin didn’t ask why Luke was behind in the first place, but Luke was used to that. Adults everywhere thought he was stupid, it wasn’t the first time.
Luke and Anakin listened with the same calm attention as Obi-Wan talked about the plays they’d seen, the markets they’d visited, the funny impressions Luke could do, which embarrassed him. “He really is very talented. His impression of me is uncanny. Don’t get any ideas, Anakin.”
Anakin took a long sip of his beer, but winked at Luke over the rim, smirking. Luke found himself smiling back, warmed by the pink-orange lights, by the sound of Obi-Wan’s gentle accent and Anakin’s smooth, answering baritone, by the still unfamiliar yet wonderful phenomenon of a full stomach.
That summer was a series of firsts for Luke.
Obi-Wan didn’t have to go back to work until the end of August, a week before Luke started school. Anakin worked year-round, but his hours seemed flexible, or at the very least poorly enforced.
Some days he worked from home, at an actual, real-life computer he had up in his office, like the ones on TV. Some days he was gone before Luke woke up but home just after lunch, which Luke loved, because he would come home ravenous and whip up something to tide him over until dinner, and he always insisted that Luke should have some, too. He ate four full meals, those days.
He didn’t mind the days that Anakin would leave in the late morning and be gone until after sundown, even if the house was a little too quiet. Obi-Wan would order them take-out, and they’d sit in the living room listening to old records, or at the kitchen table, Obi-Wan teaching him how to play crib.
During the day, while Anakin was at work, Obi-Wan showed him things Luke had never seen. An art museum, one day, where a woman was teaching a beginner’s painting class. She thought Luke was younger than he really was, asked him if he wanted to join in. “Children twelve and under join for free,” she explained to Obi-Wan, encouraging.
So Luke learned how to paint a sunset, presented his masterpiece to Obi-Wan at the end of the class, ashamed that the man had to walk around the museum for an hour waiting for him. The teacher was shocked when he opened his wallet and paid her, politely informing her that Luke was actually thirteen. Luke had been secretly hoping Obi-Wan wouldn’t waste his money, but evidently his code of ethics outweighed Luke’s financial burden. He respected that.
“Show Anakin your painting,” Obi-Wan urged him later that night when Anakin came home, to Luke’s immense horror. “You’ll love it, Anakin. He’s a natural.”
Luke tried to plead with his eyes, but all of Anakin’s attention was on him now, escaping it would be like trying to outrun a tidal wave. So he went and got the painting, handed it to Anakin, then retreated to the kitchen under the guise of getting a glass of milk. It was too embarrassing, he couldn’t watch.
“Look at this,” Anakin laughed. Luke flushed, imagining he was laughing at the fact that he had painted two suns. “The creativity, the details. It’s terrific, Luke!” he called from the living room. Luke said thanks from the kitchen, trying his best not to mumble it.
“He’s embarrassed,” Obi-Wan said, believing he was speaking quietly enough that Luke couldn’t hear him.
“He’s about to be a lot more embarrassed,” Anakin replied as he marched through the doorway, painting in hand. “I’m hanging this on the fridge.”
Luke felt the blood drain out of his face. “Please don’t.”
“Are you kidding me?” Anakin studied the face of the refrigerator for a moment, pulled a coupon for a barbershop visit from behind a magnet that was also a business card, then used the magnet to pin Luke’s painting in the dead center of the door, tossing the coupon away like trash. “We have to show this off.” His smile became wistful. “Your first artwork for us.”
First. Luke hated that that was enough to make his throat tight, the vague implication that Anakin wanted — would accept — more from him, that Luke might be staying long enough to do that. He studied the painting, trying to see what Anakin and Obi-Wan saw. The purple clouds, the orange sand. Dunes so barren not even cacti split up the monotony, painted in layers of gold and white and red-orange, every mound a different height.
“Why two suns?” Anakin asked, not looking away.
Luke shrugged one shoulder, hoping the man wouldn’t find it rude. His foster mother, before the Bunker, hated his shrugging. “Disrespectful little mongrel,” she’d snarl at him, smacking him across the back of the head. “You answer me when I ask you a question.”
“I tried painting just one, like the teacher showed us,” he said, wringing his hands together. His stomach hurt. “But it didn’t look right. All that empty sky, it looked lonely.” His voice became very quiet. He didn’t want to talk anymore, but he was too scared to say so. “It needed a twin.”
Anakin kept staring at the fridge, Luke’s soul laid bare in cheap acrylic. They didn’t say anything more until Obi-Wan joined them, announced he was going to make tea, did anyone want some. Anakin didn’t ask anymore questions, but whether that was because he was fed up with the conversation, or because he’d heard all he wanted to know, Luke couldn’t tell.
In June, Anakin took two weeks off work, rented a cabin way out in Endor. No electricity, no phone, he even left his pager at home. Luke had never seen a forest like that one, with trees as tall as skyscrapers and as wide as couches. Obi-Wan bought him a pair of green rubber boots that were supposed to be knee-high but went up to the thigh on Luke. Anakin showed him how to fish, the fly reel, how to cast into the silver water like you were looking for secrets to pluck out.
Obi-Wan had no interest in fishing. He pored over books about birds, wildflowers, the names and identity of every living thing around them. “Only a teacher would assign himself homework on vacation,” Anakin teased, but Obi-Wan was unbothered. Luke figured he must have been used to his husband’s jokes by now.
“It would do you some good to pick up a book once in a while, dearest.”
That was another first, besides the camping and the fishing and the forest like a big green sea. Obi-Wan had a name for him now, just like the one he had for Anakin. They were Luke, darling, and Anakin, dearest, all the time, regardless of his actual mood. Luke thought it was strange, but he didn’t hate it. It was better than the things his previous placements had called him. Though that was true of everything about Obi-Wan and Anakin.
He was ashamed to think it, but those two weeks in the forest of Endor were maybe the best two weeks of his life. Sometimes when it was too hot to fish, they’d go to the big meadow beside the river, each propped up against his own tree, while Obi-Wan played folksy songs on his harmonica. Luke felt like he could have fallen asleep, those afternoons, right out in the open. But he didn’t want to waste even one minute of this experience. If it didn’t last, if everything changed tomorrow, he wanted to make the most of it.
When it rained, Anakin and Obi-Wan walked the trails together, the ground cushioned by pine needles. Luke stayed behind, practiced identifying frogs and snails from Obi-Wan’s books so he could show him what he’d learned when they got back. He felt bad about how much time Anakin was spending teaching him how to fish. “I found a northern red-legged frog,” he said, holding out his hand to show them, the frog’s squat little body perched on his palm. “I think.”
Obi-Wan was proud of him, even gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder, before he made Luke wash his hands (not once, but twice) in boiled well water as soon as it cooled down enough. Anakin made jokes about what a good job he did, catching dinner for them like that. Obi-Wan didn’t think it was funny, but Luke couldn’t help smiling.
At night, the three of them played board games and cards by lantern light, like a real family. Anakin was impressed at how good Luke had gotten at crib, even though Luke didn’t win a single game. He was surprised by the competitive streak Obi-Wan apparently had — when it came to Anakin, he took a certain methodical approach to winning that Luke had never seen before. The two of them seemed to tie pretty often, which was fine by Luke. Winning things was never a good idea. It got you jumped, beaten into the ground, if you dared to think for one moment that you were special.
It seemed to Luke that Anakin was the one running the show, those two weeks. When he got up first, he woke Obi-Wan and Luke, he already had the whole day planned out. He’d decide all of their activities, whether it was a good day for fishing or hiking or a trip to the nearest town to stock up on supplies. On days that Obi-Wan and Luke woke first, Obi-Wan was content to wait for Anakin to get up and plan their day, he would just read while Luke walked along the river, restless.
He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. He hated not knowing what to do, not having direction. Anakin was easy in that way. He would always say exactly what he wanted. Luke had never had a father, but he imagined this was what it was like. Uncle Owen never said what he wanted, he just expected it, then grew sour with disappointment when Luke couldn’t guess the right thing.
When they’d first arrived, Luke had felt a stab of panic at how small the cabin was, how it didn’t have a kitchen, just an ice box and an old woodfire stove, he didn’t know what they would do for food. But Anakin and Obi-Wan knew what they were doing. Anakin taught him how to chop wood, how to build a campfire. On days they fished, they would grill whatever they caught over the open flame.
If they didn’t fish that day, Anakin would show him how to light the stove, then set a huge, cast-iron pot on top of it to make gallons of stew. They’d soak fresh loaves of bread into their bowls to sop up the broth and eat until they were warm all the way to their toes. Even in the middle of nowhere, in a room smaller than the Bunker, Luke never went hungry.
They had pancakes in the mornings, or eggs and bacon. Obi-Wan would pack sandwiches into all their packs before they left the cabin, the bread as thick as two of Luke’s fingers squished together, ham or salami, whole tomatoes, smoky cheese. Anakin joked that they would all need bigger clothes by the time they got back to Coruscant. Luke hoped it was true.
He caught his first fish halfway through the trip, after hours of wading in the water just downstream from Anakin. Obi-Wan strolled along the bank, collecting various flora he planned to press into his journal to take home, little mementos of everything beautiful that Coruscant didn’t have. When the reel started to run, and Luke felt the line zip out, down the river, he yelped like a dog that had its tail stepped on. “I got one!” he shouted, panicked and excited. “What do I do?”
Anakin was at his side in an instant, hand between Luke’s shoulder blades. “Let him run,” he said, watching carefully as the reel spun like a loose wheel, until it finally slowed. “Now bring him back. You have to feel him out. If he keeps fighting, he’s not tired enough to land. Just let him run, then reel him back in.”
He let the line spool away, feeling the fish out, just like Anakin said. When it was tired enough that the reel hardly spun, Luke pulled him in, cranking the reel until his arm got tired. “Want me to land him for you?” Anakin asked, but Luke could tell he wanted to see if he could do it himself, he was waiting to see if this was The One. So he shook his head, kept reeling through the pain. Anakin grabbed his net, and when it finally burst through the water, he caught the fish in one hand and Luke with the other, hefting him up around the waist, laughing.
“Anakin, be careful,” Obi-Wan warned, but he was smiling softly, clearly touched by his husband’s enthusiasm. Anakin could be downright boyish when he got excited. Maybe that was why Luke liked him so much.
“Look how big he is!” he exclaimed, setting Luke on the bank and holding up the net, so he could get a good look at his catch. It was as long as Luke’s arm, silvery, thrashing for its life. “His first fish. What a catch. Obi-Wan, get the camera.”
He set the net on the shore, far enough that the fish couldn’t make a desperate jump for the water. Luke watched it suffocate a slow death as Anakin left and came back, wielding a fat club. “You want to do the honors, kiddo?” Luke dreaded the thought of disappointing him, but he shook his head vehemently, his chest felt tight. Anakin’s expression didn’t change, though. He kept smiling, said, “I’ll take care of it. Go grab my rod, would you?”
Obi-Wan came back with the camera and a tripod, set them up just-so on the flattest part of the bank. Luke hated the sensation of the cold, heavy, dead fish in his hands, but he held it up in front of him, smiled as wide as he could for the photo, Obi-Wan and Anakin on either side of him, their arms around his shoulders. That fish fed them for two days.
Luke supposed life was like that, a give and take. The helpless gave, and the powerful took. It was the first time he had ever been on this side of things, but it didn’t feel as good as he thought it would. All he could think about was every night that he went to bed with a full stomach: when the bill came due, what he would have to give in return.
He hated that they had to go back to Coruscant, leave the forest behind. In Endor, he’d had Anakin and Obi-Wan all to himself. The only person he had to share them with was each other, and even that he didn’t mind, it made it easy to pretend he was a real kid, on vacation with his real parents, pretending to be disgusted whenever they wanted some privacy to act all lovey-dovey.
But in the city, Anakin had to go back to work, and Obi-Wan had appointments, errands, tea with friends. It was a shock to the system. Things seemed to be moving faster than Luke could comprehend. He wanted time to stop, the way it felt like it had back at the cabin. He was both lethargic and restless at the same time, he ended up standing still, a deer in the headlights, a petrified rabbit.
Obi-Wan still tutored him in the evenings, getting him ready for his aptitude test in August. “You’re very bright,” he praised, looking over some of Luke’s worksheets. Luke hoped he meant it for real, that it wasn’t just one of those little lies adults liked to tell sometimes. “I wish all my students were as attentive as you, Luke, darling. You’re a very quick learner.”
Luke shrugged one shoulder, he hadn’t been able to break the habit. At least Obi-Wan and Anakin hadn’t hit him for it yet. “You’re a good teacher,” he said quietly, staring down at the textbooks littered across the desk, pretending to read them. Obi-Wan shifted slightly in the chair beside his, turned to face him, his knee knocking into Luke’s leg.
“Is there something the matter, Luke? You seem rather melancholy this evening.”
In his head, his former foster mother’s voice throbbed like a bruise, that disgusted, hateful snarl. “No one likes a sullen little brat.” The harder you cried, the harder she would hit you. “Shape up, or you’ll be sleeping with the dogs tonight.”
The scars on his arms, the worst of them, the ones that had yet to fully heal, stung like a burn from a hot iron. He turned and looked up at Obi-Wan, only a little taller than he was when they were sitting down like this. Not like his husband. Anakin towered over him, no matter what size chair Luke sat in.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but it came out too quiet, he was mumbling, he knew better. He cleared his throat, tried again. “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I didn’t mean to.”
But the man frowned, raised his hand. Luke didn’t shout or leap out of his chair like he might’ve done, before the Bunker. He knew it made these things worse. Instead he held very still, and instead of hitting him, Obi-Wan laid his big hand over his nape, his fingers surprisingly calloused. He didn’t usually touch him, the contact felt nice. Grounding. Luke stayed frozen, perfectly unmoving everywhere, except the violent pounding of his heart.
“Luke, if there’s something bothering you, I hope you would feel safe enough to talk to me about it.” His tone was gentle, not demanding at all. Luke loved that about him the most. The only person who had ever spoken to him like that was Aunt Beru, he missed it like an amputated limb. “Whatever you’re feeling right now, I promise you, it’s all right. I’m not going to judge you or look down on you if you’re having a hard time. Neither would Anakin, for that matter. We’re here to help you.”
Adults always said that. Luke wanted to believe, so badly, that this time it was true. The thumb on the back of his neck stroked up and down, soft, steadying him. His heartbeat slowed to a heavy drum.
“If you’re not ready to talk, you don’t have to.” Obi-Wan didn’t scold him when he looked away. He had never scolded him for anything. Luke didn’t know where the line was anymore. “As long as you know that when the time comes, and you do wish to talk, Anakin and I will be there to listen.”
If only it was that easy. Luke couldn’t make sense of it in his own head, let alone someone else’s. He hadn’t felt so safe and comfortable since the day his home went up in flames. But there was no control, no security. The world was passing him by like a car on a freeway, just one big blur of motion. He didn’t know when this would stop, he felt like he was perched on the edge of a cliff all the time, just waiting to do the wrong thing and plunge.
But he loved Obi-Wan and Anakin. He wanted this to be real, even though most days it felt like a dream. He wanted to believe the kind things they said to him, to figure out how to be the son they wanted. But that task was bigger than Luke, the biggest he could ever imagine. He didn’t know if he had the energy. And that terrified him, because the moment he slipped up, the ground would crumble beneath his feet, and the air would rush up to meet him, and there would never be any going back.
“I’m really tired,” he said. He couldn’t put the strength into his voice, it had left his body. The words came out as small as a mouse. “I’m… since we got home, it’s a lot…”
Obi-Wan’s expression softened, and Luke felt so relieved, he thought he might cry. “Oh, darling,” the man said, petting his hair, smoothing it away from his face. How long had it been since someone did that? A few months before the fire, maybe, when Luke got that bad flu, Beru by his bedside. “Anakin and I just get swept away with things sometimes. I imagine that’s left you feeling rather unmoored.”
Luke nodded, unspeakably grateful that Obi-Wan understood, even if it was only a little. “I suppose we should have taken things more slowly. I’m sorry I didn’t notice how you were feeling sooner, Luke, darling. You’re such an agreeable child, it didn’t even occur to me.”
That was a first, to hear that being an agreeable child had been his downfall. It had certainly never saved him, but he hadn’t thought there was such a thing as too agreeable; that someday, being as invisible as he could make himself might hide him from the good things, too.
Obi-Wan pulled his hand away, and Luke immediately ached from the loss of contact, the desire within him gluttonous and fierce. He lifted his hands, unsure how to ask, and Obi-Wan thankfully took them with his own, held them firm, squeezed, his skin so warm. Luke was struck with the ridiculous urge to crawl into his lap and cling. He couldn’t imagine the look on the man’s face if he tried.
“I think we can make some changes, at least until the end of summer,” Obi-Wan said. “We’ll establish a better routine, so you know what to expect. A schedule. The hard part will be training Anakin to stick to it,” he smiled one of those crooked, wry smiles, humorous and a little teasing, “but for you, I think he’ll learn quite quickly.”
In July, at Obi-Wan’s behest, Anakin started alternating which days he went to work.
“I have a lot of sway at my company,” he explained with a grin, a joke that Luke wasn’t in on. “As long as the work gets done, no one cares what I do.”
So he would go to the office on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, while Obi-Wan stayed home with Luke. Obi-Wan never planned anything on those days. They’d study some more, or sometimes he would practice one of his lectures with Luke as his sole audience, or they’d tend the garden in the backyard, cutting flowers for the table, before it became too hot in the afternoons.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Anakin stayed home, and Obi-Wan would run his errands or have his meetings, his lunch dates with his friends, his afternoon teas. Luke expected to be bored out of his mind on those days, Anakin holed up in his office, but he never touched his computer, never took a single work call. Instead, he would cajole Luke outside like kids sneaking out after curfew, too restless to sit around the house all day.
“Obi-Wan thinks you need peace and quiet, because he’s a fussy old man,” he said, pulling his sleek black car out of the driveway. “He doesn’t remember what it was like to be a kid, it’s been too long. What kid wants to sit around all summer gardening? I’m taking you to the arcade.”
Luke had never been to an arcade before. They sounded almost fictional, like a place they made up just for movies and TV. When they parked in front of the mall, Anakin swiveled in his seat and pointed a finger at him, stern, a principal giving a scolding. “If we get separated in there, tell me: what do you do?”
The complete seriousness in his tone baffled Luke. He sounded like a commander, gearing up to lead his soldiers into an active warzone. Luke shrugged one shoulder, blinking owlishly. The first thing that came to his mind was a quiet and plaintive, “Um. Find a bus stop and meet you at home?”
“No, Luke,” Anakin said, retracting his authoritative hand to pinch the space between his eyes. “That is the exact opposite of what you should do.”
It was strange, making a game plan in the event that he got lost, just so Anakin could find him again. None of his other placements had ever taken him to a place like this before, but even if they had, and Luke had gotten lost, it would’ve been his own fault. He would’ve been expected to find his own way home. No one was going to wait around, looking for him. No one was going to go to the Help Desk and have the staff make an announcement. There was no muster point, no plan B or C. Luke was on his own.
It was a surreal feeling, finding out just how many things didn’t have to be as hard as they were.
The arcade was better in real life than it had ever been on TV. A room the size of a gymnasium, the whole of it lit by flashing neon lights, purples and blues and pinkish reds, like a galaxy. Rows and rows of games almost as tall as Anakin. Kids everywhere, yelling, laughing, running around. But Anakin stayed right beside him the whole time, taught him how to play every game, his joy just as obvious and genuine as any kid’s there.
Anakin was unfairly good at every game they played. Fighting games, racing games, throwing games, mini golf — he seemed unbeatable, and horribly smug. It made Luke want to win just to take him down, not even for the love of the game. The closest he got was the hole-in-one he scored on the 9th hole of mini golf. He didn’t win, but the way Anakin cheered and spun him around in the middle of the course felt better than victory.
They got home late in the afternoon to find Obi-Wan sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen, waiting for them. He eyed the giant milkshakes Anakin had bought for them, his expression stiff with disdain. “I see you two had fun.”
Luke ducked his head, but Anakin didn’t look the faintest bit sorry. “We did.” He offered his milkshake to Obi-Wan, who grimaced and waved it away. “Luke’s got a mean golf swing. Got a hole-in-one on the windmill. Even I haven’t managed that.”
The praise made Luke flush to the tips of his ears, but Obi-Wan didn’t look impressed. He drummed his fingertips on the tabletop, then gave Luke a smile, one of the pretend ones that scared him to death.
“Luke, darling, would you mind going upstairs so Anakin and I can talk?”
Anakin sighed, frustrated. “Obi-Wan…”
Luke knew what that meant. They wanted to talk about him, but didn’t want him to hear it. Heart in his throat, he obediently turned and left the room, trying not to let his reluctance show. Don’t drag your feet. Nice Boys were obedient. They didn’t sulk like spoiled brats.
He didn’t hear a word until he reached the top of the stairs. He was surprised he could hear anything at all in a house this big, but Anakin talked louder when he was upset. His voice carried through every room. “What’s the matter with you? I finally convinced him to have a little fun, and you send him to his room for it?”
“You’re the one I should be sending to his room. I thought we agreed to give Luke time to adjust, Anakin. He confided in us that he was feeling overwhelmed, that we were moving too fast. He needs time —”
“We can’t coddle him forever —”
Luke gently closed the door to the bedroom, feeling brittle, like he was made of glass. They were fighting, because of him. Not their usual bickering, heated but harmless, but an actual fight, one with anger behind it. He had done that. He opened his stupid mouth and cracked something that had once been as solid as polished stone. He’d divided them. It was only a matter of time before they figured out who they were really angry at; that the problem was him.
For the first time since their home burned down, Luke wondered if maybe it was a good thing that Leia had been adopted without him. If the past two years were any indication, he destroyed every good thing he touched.
Footsteps outside his bedroom woke him, seconds before there was a light, tentative knocking on his door. It was still so strange, an adult asking his permission to enter a room in their own house. Luke didn’t get up, but quietly called, “Come in,” watching as the handle turned, as Obi-Wan’s face appeared in the crack.
“Luke, darling.” His smile turned apologetic, eyebrows furrowing. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay.”
He slid backwards on the bed, making room. Obi-Wan sat beside him, one leg folded beneath his hips. He didn’t normally sit so undignified. He was always reminding Luke and Anakin about their posture, telling them to sit up straight. Luke watched his hands, folded primly on his lap. It was easier than trying to make eye contact.
“Where’s Anakin?”
“He went for a drive,” Obi-Wan said, his tone soft. Like Luke was still asleep, and he was trying not to wake him. “It helps clear his head. He’ll be back soon, I expect.”
Luke stole a glance at the man’s face, lightning quick, then stared forward out the window. It was nighttime, the sky was dark. “I’m sorry I made you fight.” He had to force the words out, it felt like his throat was being squeezed shut. “I’m really sorry, Obi-Wan.”
“Luke.” A hand landed on his shoulder, but didn’t move him, didn’t roll him over or wrench him up. Luke held very still. “Look at me, please.”
Their eyes met. The hand on his shoulder gently stroked his arm.
“You did not make us fight,” Obi-Wan said. A declaration of fact, as certain as a line from one of his textbooks. Luke wished he could be that sure of anything, even just once. “Anakin and I may disagree with each other from time to time, we may even need space from each other to cool off afterward, but we are partners. We’ll work it out in the end. We always do.”
If any part of Obi-Wan doubted that, he hid it well. His smile was soothing, his gaze calm as undisturbed water. Luke wanted to trust him, wanted to believe this wasn’t one of those little lies grown-ups tell themselves. If Obi-Wan thought things were okay, maybe they were. Maybe Luke hadn’t screwed it all up yet.
Obi-Wan gave his shoulder a gentle pat, then withdrew his hand. Embarrassment scorched Luke’s face. He wanted to chase that contact right into the man’s lap, wanted to cling to it, to hang on for dear life and never let go. He curled up tighter on his side, fingers playing across his ribs. They still poked through his shirt, but not nearly as far.
“I really liked the arcade,” he confessed quietly. He was reluctant to stoke the flames of their earlier argument, but he didn’t want Obi-Wan to be mad at Anakin, not for his sake. “I had never been to one before.”
Obi-Wan hummed, a thoughtful sound. “You didn’t find it too overwhelming?”
Luke shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe, a little. But Anakin was there.”
“Anakin can get caught up in his own excitement. He’s not so different from a child himself, in that way.” He reached behind Luke, grabbed the hem of the blanket, pulled it over his body. It had been years since anyone tucked him into bed. He snuggled deeper into the blanket, buried his face halfway beneath the hem. Obi-Wan smiled at him, so gentle, he never wanted it to stop. “I worry he won’t notice if it becomes too much for you, too fast.”
But Anakin hadn’t left his side for a moment, even though he told Luke what to do if he got lost; even though they’d made a plan A, B and C. What did it matter, if it all became too much? Luke hadn’t stopped feeling overwhelmed since the day they took Leia away. At least he had a plan now, if the worst thing that could happen to him happened.
In his sleep, pain licked up his arms and across his chest like flames, throbbing, festering. Luke writhed, pawing at himself; his hands came away wet, he knew they were soaked with his own blood. The sheets tangled and knotted around his legs as he struggled to wake up. In his ears the dogs growled and barked, the sound dulled beneath a flood of adrenaline and pain and his own voice, crying out to make it all stop.
Hands shook him, firm around his shoulders. The paramedics? But that wasn’t right — she hadn’t called anyone, she drove him herself. Luke lurched up off the mattress, gasping, twisting away from the grip, he was soaked, the blood would get everywhere. “Luke!”
“No, no no,” he protested, mumbling. His mouth wouldn’t work. He pushed the hands away, Obi-Wan and Anakin’s white sheets, their clean clothes, their pristine home, he would ruin it all. He bolted for the bathroom across the hall, tried not to touch anything with his hands as he elbowed the light switch, reached for the sink, glancing, panicked, at the mirror overhead —
There was no blood. His skin was pale, damp, his clothes soaked with sweat. He stared down at his palms, the skin glistening. He was wet everywhere, he must have been dreaming. He lifted his shirt, just to be sure; rolled up his sleeves. The scars were still closed. The worst ones, still pink and fat, unlike the thin, white ones on his neck and face, stared back at him silently, but they didn’t hurt. They weren’t bleeding.
“Luke?”
Anakin pressed the door open, Luke hadn’t even latched it. He let his shirt fall back down, met the older man’s gaze in the mirror. He didn’t know what to say. An apology was the safest bet. But if he opened his mouth he was going to scream, and he didn’t know if he would ever stop.
“Hey,” Anakin said, quieter, putting his arms around him. He never hesitated, not like Obi-Wan, who would sometimes reach for Luke but never actually make contact. Anakin wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Luke’s sweat was probably bleeding right through his t-shirt, but Anakin didn’t care. “Easy, kiddo. Come here, you’re okay.”
He led Luke back to his room, helped him out of his damp clothes, dried his forehead and chest with a hand towel, all without a word. Luke let him, pliant, contrite. His skin was humming like his veins had been replaced with live wires. He couldn’t stop shivering, even after Anakin dressed him into dry, fresh clothes, the chill ran all the way into his bones.
Anakin knelt in front of him, so tall, even with Luke perched on the side of the bed they were almost eye-level. He ran his hands down Luke’s arms, shoulder to wrist, repeated the motion when Luke couldn’t make himself hold still. Every time his palm passed over the scars curling around Luke’s bicep, bits and pieces of his dream came back to him, the memory of the pain almost as sharp as the real thing had been.
When his heart rate slowed, and the trembling wracking his body finally began to subside, Anakin sat beside him on the bed, pulled him into his arms. It was messed up, maybe, but Luke liked that Anakin never asked if it was okay to touch him. He wouldn’t know how to say yes, and he craved this kind of comforting, paternal contact like a drowning man craves air.
He turned his face into Anakin’s shoulder, grateful when the arms holding him squeezed.
“What were you dreaming about?” Anakin murmured.
Luke shrugged one shoulder. The dogs were his own fault, officially, according to his file. He didn’t have the energy to explain the reason it was and the reason it wasn’t. He’d had enough of adults refusing to believe him to last a lifetime. “Just… stuff that happened.”
Anakin rubbed his back. His hand was so big, it spanned the width of both shoulder blades. If only he could wear that protective touch like a suit of armor. Luke didn’t think anything could tear through Anakin, not even dogs.
“Did I ever tell you how I got my scar?”
Luke shook his head, too tired to sit up straight. He’d wanted to ask the first day they met, but he hadn’t wanted to seem rude.
“I was a couple years older than you are now,” Anakin said. “I got in a knife fight.”
Nothing about the man’s tone implied that he was joking, but Luke laughed, shocked by the deadpan delivery. “Really?” He couldn’t picture Anakin ever being as young as him, but for some reason, a knife fight wasn’t nearly as hard to imagine. “I bet Obi-Wan was mad.”
Anakin chuckled. “You’d be surprised. Who do think taught me how to fight?”
Luke pulled away from the embrace to gawk at him, jaw gaping with disbelief. “Obi-Wan?”
He brushed Luke’s hair away from his face, his smile fond. “He’s scrappy, for a boring old man.” Luke went easily when he pulled him back down, lounging against his side, letting him bear all his weight. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”
Luke shrugged again. He did, he was so tired. But…
“Will you stay?” he whispered.
Anakin kissed the top of his head, the touch lingering. The warmth of his body, so much larger than Luke’s own, spread from that point of contact, enveloping him. “Yeah, kiddo.” He closed his eyes. Dogs couldn’t get him, knives couldn’t get him. Not with Anakin there. “I’ll stay.”
By August, it was too hot to do much of anything. The afternoon sun beat against the pavement, an oppressive downpour of heat, so Anakin and Luke went on most of their adventures in the morning, before the sun rose above the city skyline.
Obi-Wan would come along for the big ones. Luke couldn’t tell who Obi-Wan felt more inclined to chaperone, but he liked to joke that it was Anakin. “Sometimes his eyes are bigger than his stomach,” he would say, putting his foot down when Anakin would suggest something too big or too spontaneous — like making a twelve-hour road trip across the border to visit a kangaroo farm, after Luke admitted he had never seen one. “We can indulge him from time to time, but let’s not make a habit of it, all right?”
“Yes sir,” Luke said, but secretly, he was a little disappointed. He liked that about Anakin; that commitment to freedom that seemingly nothing could disrupt. He did what he wanted, went where he wanted, ate what he wanted, said whatever he thought. Luke didn’t know anyone like him, not even other adults. Someday, if he got to grow up, he hoped he would be like him. Anakin felt untouchable in more ways than one. Larger than life.
They didn’t go to the kangaroo farm, but they did go to the aquarium, right in the heart of the city, a giant glass dome like an upside-down bowl. It was the most beautiful thing Luke had ever seen. Orange jellyfish with tentacles like lace filled tanks taller than Obi-Wan and Anakin’s house. There was a counter-high display of manta rays and turtles, the top open, you could put your hands right in the water and pet them. He was shocked the rays weren’t rough or slimy but smooth, and more docile than the turtles.
The aquarium wasn’t too crowded, that time of day, but everyone who was there gathered in front of the dolphin exhibit. Luke couldn’t see much of anything, there were too many adults in the way, until Anakin squatted down in front of him and said, “Here, get on.”
His first piggyback. He used to carry Leia like this, sometimes, but she was always a lot smaller than him, too small to return the favor, even though he was only a few minutes older. Uncle Owen didn’t like that sort of thing — horseplay, he called it — and Aunt Beru preferred to hold them sitting down, on her lap, so they could cuddle. She never carried him around.
Anakin lifted him up like he didn’t weigh anything at all. Luke had never been so tall. He clung tightly, his arms wound around Anakin’s neck, in awe of what the world looked like through his eyes. He could see everything. Obi-Wan reminded them to be careful, he was worried Luke might kick someone, so Luke held extra still. He didn’t want this to end until Anakin’s arms got tired. He hoped they never did.
The dolphins put on a show for them, playing with inflatable balls and hoops, like something out of a circus. Everyone was amazed by how smart and talented they were, how entertaining, but that wasn’t what caught Luke’s eye. He couldn’t stop watching the smallest one, the one with the missing fin, with scars all over her body. She didn’t perform, but he couldn’t look away.
“Says here the poor thing got caught in a boat propeller,” Obi-Wan read aloud from the little plaque on the wall. Luke refused to take his eyes off that dolphin. “The aquarium rescued her, and it says she’s doing very well. She’s bonded to another resident, apparently — ah! There, see them, Luke?”
He did. The scarred dolphin couldn’t swim very fast, but there was a bigger one, another rescue, who slowed her own speed to swim alongside her. The pair of them danced together, not showing off, like the rest. They just spun around each other at a gentle pace, like leaves floating in the wind. Luke could have watched them forever. But Anakin bought him a stuffed dolphin with a missing fin at the gift shop, scars stitched into the plush material of its body, and that was almost as good.
After, Anakin took them to a fancy restaurant for lunch. There was a waiter at the front door who knew him, greeted him by name. “Welcome back, Mr. Skywalker. Table for three?” The menus didn’t have prices on them, and Luke couldn’t pronounce a single dish. Anakin ordered them hot dogs, fully loaded, while Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head. They were the fanciest hog dogs Luke had ever seen, dressed with toppings he scarcely recognized. He and Anakin ate a whole plate of them.
They were good. Not as good as the ones Anakin made at the cabin, over the campfire, on handmade skewers he taught Luke how to peel. But food was food, and Luke didn’t think he would ever forget Anakin taking them to a fancy restaurant, dressed in jeans, and ordering hot dogs off-menu like there was nothing in the whole world that could be denied to him.
It was as they were leaving the restaurant that Luke saw her. He would recognize her anywhere: unusually tall, for a woman, gaunt and pale with sharp features. Her black hair, always worn in a bun, streaking silver-grey on one side more than the other. Her military-grade posture. She never took the dogs anywhere — especially not a busy street in downtown Coruscant — but panic gripped him by the throat anyway, he stared at the ground by her feet, as if they might jump out from beneath her skirt.
“Luke?” Anakin’s hand landed on his shoulder. Luke jumped. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t notice him, not until she saw him standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, petrified. Luke saw the moment recognition filled her eyes. She stopped, regarded the three of them, her near-black eyes narrowing as she stared him down. He straightened his back, a reflex.
“Luke.” He was surprised she remembered his name. She had only called him mongrel the entire time he lived there. “I didn’t recognize you, until I saw the scars.”
Anakin’s hand tightened on his shoulder, almost hard enough to hurt. She noticed, her gaze flicking from Luke’s face to Anakin’s, and then to Obi-Wan. “Who are your friends?”
“My name is Obi-Wan, and this is my husband, Anakin,” Obi-Wan answered tactfully, stepping closer to them. He lifted his hand to shake. If he saw the hostility in her eyes, he wasn’t cowed by it. “We’re Luke’s foster parents.”
She glanced at Obi-Wan’s outstretched hand. She didn’t believe him. Why would she, how would Luke ever get this lucky? She knew exactly what was in his file. Intentionally or not, she’d sent him to the Bunker. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” Anakin said, startling Luke. He didn’t sound a thing like himself; for a second, Luke thought he was a stranger. “We are. Who are you, exactly?”
Finally, she accepted Obi-Wan’s handshake, looking more amused than concerned with his husband’s scathing tone. “Morgan Elsbeth.” She didn’t smile; she never did. Despite the summer heat bearing down on them, Luke trembled head to toe. “His former foster mother.”
Anakin’s hand moved, sliding across his chest so he could tug Luke behind him. Miss Elsbeth watched him impassively, withdrawing her hand from Obi-Wan’s, pointedly wiping her palm on the side of her blouse. Anakin squared his shoulders, like he was getting ready to punch her. He didn’t know how much she’d enjoy that.
“I would keep a close eye on this one, if I were you.” She gestured to the watch around Obi-Wan’s wrist, the wedding band glimmering around his finger. “And you may want to consider storing those in a safe place when you’re not wearing them.” Her eyes met Luke’s. She still hated him, she’d throw him back to the dogs herself if she could get away with it. Tears poured down his face. “If you don’t want them to go missing, that is.”
“Excuse me?” Anakin hollered, so loud, people on the sidewalk stopped and stared at them. Obi-Wan turned to Anakin, his expression tense, his hands braced against his chest like he thought he might charge at her. Behind him, Miss Elsbeth smirked. “Who the hell do you think you are!”
“Someone who knows that boy far better than you,” she said, matter of fact, before stepping around them to carry on her way. Anakin turned, his expression dark with rage, his teeth bared like an animal. Obi-Wan grappled with him, hissing his name, but both of them froze when their eyes met Luke’s.
“Oh, Luke,” Obi-Wan said. He let go of Anakin, stepped forward, pulled a cloth handkerchief from one of his pockets. All Luke could see was his watch, the solid gold of his wedding ring. What they must think of him now. All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe. “Darling, please don’t cry.”
“When I find that woman—” Anakin snarled, in that scary voice that didn’t sound anything like him. He shouldered Obi-Wan out of the way, sank to his knees and hefted Luke up, like a child, startling his lungs into taking another breath. “We’re going home.” Luke wrapped his arms around Anakin’s neck, his legs around his waist, clung. He was ruining his shirt, crying cold, silent tears into his shoulder. “Just keep breathing, sweetheart. Deep breaths, just like that. I'm taking you home.”