starwarsficfest | What I'm Afraid Of [Owen Lars, Luke Skywalker, G]

Title: What I'm Afraid Of
Author:

beatrice_otter
Summary: An hour in the life of Owen Lars
Rating: G
Fandom: Star Wars
Characters: Uncle Owen, Luke
Word Count: 1,183
Betaed by:

redbyrd_sgfic

“…the unreasonable demands of the koba-farmers of the Ratani system have been summarily dismissed, and normal production has resumed.” The Coruscant-shaped voice of the Holonet News announcer was the opposite of everything in the Lars homestead: cool, refined, austere. It was a good bet he’d never worked any kind of a farm, and wouldn’t know what a reasonable demand was if it gave him a lap-dance. “Prices should return to a fair rate shortly. Ratani remains on the list of undesirable …” the signal dissolved in static; Owen sighed and adjusted the transceiver manually. It was almost as old as he was, but they couldn’t afford to replace it. “… without official and pressing business would do well to steer clear of it. In other news …”

Owen had never been glad that Tatooine was under the thumb of the Hutts before, but he was now. The Empire didn’t seem to bother the Hutts, and at least the Hutts never bothered with poor farmers just trying to eke out a living. Owen didn’t have much use for any government butting their noses into peoples’ business, but at least when it had been the Republic doing it they’d never paid much attention to anything beyond their own borders. The Empire didn’t seem to care for such niceties. He took a sip of his water, rolling it around in his mouth for parched tissues to soak up, enjoying the cool of home as he waited out the worst of the noon heat before venturing out for the evening chores.

He heard the distant whine of an approaching speeder; that would be Beru, returning with Luke. He’d spent the night at the Darklighters with the other children in the neighborhood, and the gathering was supposed to have lasted another night, but Beru had gotten a call saying there’d been a fight and Luke was upset and needed to come home. The boy was too old to be throwing tantrums, but Owen wasn’t going to say anything about it; the homestead was too quiet without him.

“…Lord Vader has won another glorious victory over the rebels of Null.” Owen’s attention snapped back to the news. “All loyal citizens of the Empire will be glad to hear that rumors of a surviving member of the Jedi cult of filth were nothing more than rumors to bolster the Nullians pitiful efforts. As there were no Nullian survivors, this will be the last time the Empire will be forced to deal with such trash. Lord Vader is currently moving on the insurgents in the Kovari region. We expect another quick resolution to that conflict.”

Poor bastards. They had to know they couldn’t win, and that nothing good could ever come of drawing the monster’s attention. Owen clicked the news off as the announcer switched to the latest sports scores, satisfied that Vader was safely occupied half a galaxy away. He wondered if the Nullians were really all dead this time; Holonet News had claimed the same last time Null had rebelled and been put down. Kenobi probably knew; he used to offer news when he came around to see Luke, before Owen had put a stop to it. They already had a target painted across their backs just taking the boy in; adding a homing beacon by allowing visits from a Jedi with contacts in the wider galaxy was just asking for trouble. Besides, Owen loved the boy, and he wasn’t about to let the man who’d ruined Shmi’s son get his hands on her grandson.

Owen dragged himself to his feet, ignoring the aches of almost forty years of hard life. He’d dragged a vaporator into the shop for some major repair—Sand People had vandalized it two nights ago—and it wasn’t going to fix itself. He’d give Beru a kiss, ask the boy how the party went, and get that taken care of. The way Luke was growing, they couldn’t afford to have that vaporator down any longer, not if they wanted to be able to afford shoes and clothes that actually fit him.

Owen walked through the dark underground halls to the workshop and speeder bay, trailing a hand over stone walls worn smooth by time and wear. He heard the whine of the speeder cut off as Beru parked it. He could hear Luke crying as he turned the corner and sighed. Poor kid. It wasn’t easy, being the youngest of the local children, and some of the other boys’ fathers needed to pay closer attention to their son’s behavior. Still, learning to toughen up and deal with it was something every kid had to deal with. Beru was too soft; she made a good mother, but didn’t really understand that sometimes boys were boys.

He pushed open the door to the garage.

“ …and I hate them all!” Luke was saying. “I wish they were dead!”

Owen jerked at his words. “Luke!” he snapped. “What have I told you about saying things like that?”

Luke jumped guiltily, sniffing back tears and giving him the soft, sad eyes Owen always had to steel himself against when he was disciplining the boy. Thank the Maker Luke was generally a good child; Owen didn’t think he could keep his gruffness if he saw that look more often. He searched his face for traces of Anakin, and let out a half breath when he saw none.

“I’m not s’posed to say things I don’t really mean,” Luke repeated dutifully. “I don’t really hate them and I’d be sad if anything happened to them.” He sniffed again. “But Uncle Owen! You don’t know what they did! They called me—”

“It doesn’t matter what they called you,” Owen replied as gently as he could. Wasn’t much; the desert left your vocal chords as dry and scratchy as your clothes. “They were wrong. But you saying bad things doesn’t make things right. I don’t want to hear you say things like that.” His voice hardened. “Ever. Do you understand?”

Luke heaved a sigh as if this was the most unreasonable demand ever. “Yes, sir,” he replied dutifully.

Owen nodded. “Good. Put your stuff in your room, and then you can come out and help me in the workshop.”

“Actually, I’d like his help in hydroponics,” Beru put in, giving him a warning look.

“That’s fine,” Owen said. He shooed Luke off with his things.

“Don’t you think you were being a little hard on him, Owen?” Beru asked as soon as the door was closed. “You don’t know what they were saying to him. He has a right to be angry.”

“He shouldn’t have said those things,” Owen said stubbornly.

“He didn’t mean anything by it.” Beru shook her head. “It’s just one of those things people say all the time.”

Owen didn’t reply, just stared at her. She knew as well as he did that Luke wasn’t ‘people.’ Not with his father.

“You’re being too hard on him, Owen. He’s just a boy.” He’s not his father hung in the air, unspoken, between them.

“Boys grow up,” Owen said.