Chapter Text
The insistent beeping of the proximity alarms was the first indication that something was amiss.
Obi-Wan had a rare day off for a change, had bargained for a lie in after a rather successful exchange of goods with the Jawas following their acquisition of some Inner Rim tech that would do nicely the next time he made the trek into Anchorhead. He had even felt the urge to make himself a cup of tea the proper way, and watched with a lingering sense of familiarity as his hands – worn and weathered, and covered in more freckles than ever before – had measured out the leaves with exacting precision.
The smell of the vapor lingered in his nostrils and permeated the air around his face, a cloud of fragrant minty sapir leaves. As always, the scent reminded him of his old Master, of long-gonedays when Obi-Wan’s hands – much younger, much less lined with the wear and tear of fighting and death – had repeated these same actions to console Qui-Gon after the death of Master Tahl. He had always been a firm believer in the therapeutic properties of a good cuppa, and his eyes prickled with the faint memory of his youthful determination that such a trivial thing as a beverage – no matter how perfectly brewed - could console a man in his time of grief.
Obi-Wan’s tea was the perfect temperature. As he held it, staring into the cup’s murky green depths, he had the abrupt thought that he should have known something would go wrong, the moment he dared to enjoy himself.
The second set of alarms went off, closer now.
Obi-Wan set the cup down and retrieved his blaster – a weapon he had reluctantly become more familiar with in the preceding five years since the Order fell and he had exiled himself on Tatooine. He moved cautiously towards the entrance of his hut, thumbing at the safety but not quite turning it off. He had (unfortunately) had occasion to use the blaster once or twice, mostly to scare off vermin and other creatures from his storerooms, but also a few brave young Tuskens, who would have been more suspicious had he, a lonely middle-aged man living alone in the desert, not brandished a weapon at them.
He let his ears strain for the sound of his eopie. Akkani wasn’t making any noises of distress, so it didn’t seem as though it were a hunting creature who had encroached upon his land. But Obi-Wan knew that predators came in all shapes and sizes, and he would not relax until he was sure.
The mouth of the hut loomed bright and wide as Obi-Wan approached, and as he grew near he heard the sound of an idling speeder, and a man’s voice.
“-let him leave, Beru. Keep him there until I get back.”
Beru.
Owen.
Owen Lars, pacing restlessly in front of Obi-Wan’s home, a comm unit held under his ear. His clothes were stained with mud and sand, evidence of tending to the moisture vaporators, and his hair hung long and sweaty in his face. The air around him permeated with barely checked anxiety.
He came to an abrupt stop when he noticed Obi-Wan.
“I’ve found him,” he said into the comm. “We’ll be there soon.” He shut it off.
“What has happened?” Obi-Wan asked immediately, all semblance of politeness forgotten. “Luke?”
Owen stared at him for a moment, before nodding.
“Aye, the boy is fine.” He put the comm back into his pocket and stepped closer to Obi-Wan. “Beru and I are too. Thanks for asking.”
Obi-Wan didn’t deign a response. Owen and Beru preferred to pretend as though he did not exist. And while it stung, it was the ache of an old bruise, and Obi-Wan had plenty of old wounds that he didn’t think about, most days.
Owen sighed. “A man came to the farm today.”
Obi-Wan tensed. He ran through all the possibilities in his mind. Had someone found him? Had someone found Luke?
“Who is it?” Obi-Wan asked. His grip on the blaster tightened. He could feel his muscles tensing, fear and terror crawling up his spine. “What does he want?”
“It’s hard to describe,” Owen said, which did absolutely nothing to soothe Obi-Wan’s nerves. “I don’t know what kind of sorcery this is, if it’s the Empire playing tricks or some sort of practical joke, but.” He grimaced. “Well. You’ll see.”
He moved to the idling speeder and threw his leg over.
“Come on.”
Obi-Wan dithered, thinking about how ill prepared he was for a fight – a real fight – but knowing that he had no choice but to follow. Eventually his urgency won out and he slung himself into the speeder behind Owen, gripping tightly onto the man’s torso. Owen took off at speed into the dunes, the hot desert air slamming into their faces. Neither of them wore protective goggles or suitable clothing, and Obi-Wan strained to keep his eyes open against the buffeting winds and sand, his hair flying in disarray.
The Lars homestead was near by design, and the moment they pulled up Obi-Wan threw himself off the bike. There was another speeder parked in front of the house – a worn-down, nondescript thing – and everything was quiet aside from the faint hum of moisture traps, the tall spires spinning gently high above their heads.
“Ben, wait,” Owen called to him, but Obi-Wan wouldn’t listen. He withdrew his blaster from his belt and held it at his side as he approached the door.
It wasn’t locked, and it swung open easily at his touch.
“Beru?” he called.
A beat.
“In the kitchen.”
Obi-Wan rounded the corner into the Lars’ small home, ignoring all the little signs of life and family; folded clothes slung over the back of a low couch in the sitting room, an idling data pad left on the table by the entryway, assorted pieces of scrap and wires piled haphazardly in the corner next to a hollowed-out droid.
The kitchen was off the back of the house, close to one of thenearest vaporators to provide an inlet for water in the sink. Beru was leaning against the counter, arms folded across her chest and posture tense. Seated at the table before her was a man, his back towards the entrance.
Obi-Wan knew those shoulders. That spine. The dark burnished copper hair that hung shoulder-length in waves.
He stopped abruptly, breath leaving him in a rush as the man turned to face him, blue eyes – those beautiful, soulful, familiar eyes – creased in confusion as they swept up and down Obi-Wan’s body.
Anakin frowned at him.
“Hello,” he said. He stood and approached Obi-Wan, tall and looking for all the world as though he had stepped right out of the sands, a hallucination come to life out of the darkest depth’s of Obi-Wan’s nightmares, and held out his hand.
“I’m Anakin Skywalker,” he said. “Who are you?”