Chapter Text
The comm pinged again.
Anakin hurled it against the wall.
Now was not the time. He couldn’t handle this right now.
It couldn’t be Padmé. He’d only just spoken to her, if spoken was the word for it- argued was perhaps more accurate. He’d commed as soon as they touched temple ground, eager to speak to his wife after weeks away from Coruscant, already joyous at the thought of a long weekend alone with her. She was beautiful and warm, she was home, and after such a string of brutal battles all he wanted was to fuck her senseless and nap on her breast and then do that over and over again until he could bear to think again.
Busy, she’d said, with the gall to act offended by his request. Busy! On the evening before her days off! She knew he’d be back this week, why hadn’t she prepared for him?
And why was that damn comm still ringing?
Growling his irritation, Anakin crossed the room and dug through the pile of junk in search of the evil, noisy machine.
And that was not to even mention his master. Oh, it was at times like this that the title stung and burned with ancient resentment. Anakin wasn’t a padawan anymore, he was a jedi knight in his own right, a general. What right did Obi-wan have to make demands of him? What right did Obi-wan have to act so beleaguered and disappointed when Anakin dared to offend by having his own opinions?
Finally his hand found the stupid comm and he pulled it free. The slick silver coating of the device had been scuffed on one side from impact, but it was otherwise unaffected.
Anakin flicked the disconnect button and sighed with relief as the cursed beeping stopped.
Maybe he’d go and see the Chancellor. He tried not to barge in on the man at odd times, but surely he’d understand. Palpatine always understood Anakin, better than anyone had since he’d left his mother behind on Tatooine, and he was always so forgiving. He wouldn’t hold it against Anakin. He’d let Anakin tell him about his work, his life. He’d let Anakin vent some of his roiling burning frustration and then he’d explain it all back to him in a way that made so much more sense.
Anakin rose, brushed off his tabard, and resolved to do just that-
The comm started beeping again.
Fully intending to release some of his frustrations- loudly- on whatever unfortunate soul was bothering him, Anakin snapped the comm open and pulled it to his face. Before accepting the call though, he glanced at the code. It wasn’t one he recognized. It didn’t follow standards for the Jedi or the GAR, and it wasn’t one of the few outside contacts (or untraceable extra comms) he had given this number to.
Who the hell was calling him?
Confused and unhappy about it, Anakin accepted the incoming comm.
“Skywalker.” Anakin barked. “What is it?”
Crackling with interference, so low-fidelity there wasn’t even a visual projection to go with it, a voice said- “Anakin Skywalker?”
“That’s what I just said.” Anakin snapped. “What do you want?"
“Shmi’s son?”
Something cracked inside him. “What the hell do you want from me? Who do you think you are, saying that name to me?”
“I think I’m her son too.” The man retorted. Then, almost wryly, “I’m guessing you forgot about giving my wife your code.”
“…Owen Lars.” Anakin concluded.
“Yeah.” The man- Owen- said.
In truth, Anakin remembered almost nothing of his brief encounter with his mother’s new family. He certainly didn’t remember giving the farmers any way of contacting him.
“What do you want?” Anakin asked.
“I just thought you deserved to know,” Owen said. “Your step-father is dead.”
“My step-father?”
“Your mother’s husband. My father.” Owen said. There was no image, but Anakin could almost hear him gritting his teeth, and Anakin’s hackles rose reflexively. “Cliegg Lars. He died yesterday. I thought you deserved to know, seeing as how he was your family too.”
“He wasn’t my family.” Anakin said.
“Your mother’s family, then.” Owen said. “You didn’t know him, fine, but your mother did, and she loved him sure as anything, same as he loved her. It’s no matter to me if you care, it’s not like you’ve ever been a part of my life, save for being in mom’s stories. I just thought you deserved to be told.”
“Don’t call her that!” Anakin snapped.
“What?”
“Mom! She wasn’t your mother, she was mine.”
Owen scoffed. “She was the only mother I ever knew, and she called me her son and Beru her daughter. So forgive me for taking her word for it over the word of the boy who never once thought to so much as call in all those years.”
“Fuck you!” Anakin shouted, shaking the comm like it was Owen’s throat. “I loved her, I owed her everything, don’t you ever say I didn’t love her!”
“I said no such thing. What I did say is that you left to make your own life, and she stayed behind and made one too. She raised you for nine years, she raised me for seven. I never tried to deny you were her son, don’t you deny me.”
“Fuck you.” Anakin repeated.
“Fuck you too.” Owen snapped. “Fuck you and your fancy life that kept you too damn busy to ever check up on her. I wouldn’t have even made this call if it weren’t for owing her. She loved you, suns know why if this is what you were like as a kid. You know what her big dream was? It was for all of us to meet. For her to have her whole family under one roof, everyone she loved with her, just for a moment. So even if I don’t like you, which I don’t, I’m gonna make the offer I know she would’ve wanted me to: if you ever need anything, just comm.”
“What?” Anakin blurted out, aghast and too furious to string any more words together than that.
“You heard me.” Owen said. “If you ever need anything, comm us.”
Anakin laughed. “What the hell could I ever need from an outer-rim farmer like you?”
“Suns willing? Not a damn thing.” Owen grunted. “Now excuse me, I’ve gotta go organize a burial.”
The connection cut off with a crackle and fell abruptly silent.
Fuming, shaken, driven far enough from reason that he couldn’t think straight, Anakin threw the comm back to the ground and drew his saber with a white-knuckled fist. He stalked through the halls of the temple, crowded with evening commuters and hungry dinner-seekers, and everyone scattered in the wake of his scalding glower and dark-tinged flaring figure in the Force.
His usual salle was not empty, but by the time he reached the center of the floor, it was.
For hours Anakin ran through his forms, the most grueling and aggressive ones he knew, again and again and again in search of a perfection, a satisfaction, he never achieved.
So busy brooding on thoughts of his mother and this simple-minded little thief who dared claim her for himself, he never remembered his plans to go meet with the Chancellor.