Star Wars belongs to Lucas. My love for it belongs to me.

"Do I have a mother and father?"

Beru started and dropped her cup. It clattered to the ground and rolled back and forth on its side. Blue liquid oozed into the cracks in the stone floor.

Luke laughed and crouched down at once, his hair falling into his eyes.

"It's all right, Aunt Beru," he said. "I can do it."

Beru handed the rag to her nephew and let him busy himself, while she took a seat and put her fingertips up to her mouth in thought.

She and Owen had talked about this. They'd known he would ask eventually. But they had never reached a decision about their answer.

"I'm done." Luke sprang to his feet. He stood on tiptoe to squeeze the mess into the sink and carefully replaced the rag where it belonged.

He was such a conscientious child, thought Beru, following his white-blond head with her eyes. So quick to compassion, so genuinely interested in people, so outgoing toward everyone he met. It seemed to come naturally. It certainly didn't come from them.

"So do I?" Luke asked, flopping into his seat. He folded his small hands on his place, rested his little chin on them, and looked up at Beru with wide blue eyes.

"How… did this idea come up, Luke?"

"Biggs has a mother and father. So does everyone else at school."

"Ah." Beru shifted in her chair and glanced over her shoulder, though she knew that Owen wasn't back yet. She hoped he would be, and very soon. She wasn't much of a talker and couldn't imagine how to answer Luke's question in a way that was both truthful and safe.

"Well…" she began, and stopped. She smoothed back her hair for a moment. "All humans have a mother and father, Luke. It's how we… come to be." She blushed a little. These things had never been spoken of, in her home.

"Oh." Luke frowned, and tapped his pinky fingers. "Then where are mine?" He tilted his head slightly and eyed her. "Are you and Uncle Owen mine?"

Beru swallowed hard. Best to be quick and honest. "No, Luke."

She almost expected tears, but Luke didn't seem disappointed. On the contrary, he looked almost… relieved.

"I didn't think so," he said sagely. "I told Biggs my mother and father aren't from here."

Beru jerked again in surprise, glad that this time she wasn't holding anything. "What made you tell him that?"

Luke shrugged and sat back in his chair. He gazed up at the ceiling. "I don't know," he said, and turned his face toward Beru again. "Where are they?"

"Oh… Luke." Beru thrust her hands into her lap and rubbed her thumbs nervously, where Luke wouldn't see.

"What's wrong?" he asked at once, and leaned forward. "Are you hurt, Aunt Beru?"

He always knew things. It was unnerving. He'd been such a sweet baby for the first few years, but since he had learned to speak, Beru had never felt quite at ease with him. The things that came out of his mouth sometimes. She didn't know where he got them.

"I'm just fine," Beru lied, sitting back and placing her hands firmly on the arms of her chair. "But we shouldn't discuss this without your Uncle Owen."

There. It was Owen's responsibility now.

"Why not?" Luke replied, knitting his pale eyebrows. "Is it bad?"

"That's – well – it –" Beru stammered. Was it bad? Bad didn't quite describe it. She couldn't think of any word that did.

"Did they die?" he demanded.

He didn't seem afraid of the answer, so Beru seized upon the truth in the question. "Yes," she said. "Your mother died when you were born. She lived just long enough to name you and your –"

"And my what?"

Beru shook herself. She had to tread more carefully. "And your… your Uncle and I took over from there," she finished.

Luke studied the edge of the table intently for a while, and then he nodded.

"Did you know my mother?"

"We… met her."

Luke's eyes lit up. "What did she look like?"

"She… she had dark hair," Beru began hesitantly. "And dark eyes. She was…" Not for the first time, Beru felt a stab of girlish jealousy and chastised herself for it. The boy deserved to know. A secondhand memory was all he would ever have. "She was very beautiful, Luke. Very kind and gentle. And… humble. I liked her."

It was more or less the truth. She had liked Senator Amidala as much as she possibly could have liked anyone wearing clothes like that, with a life like that, who had her own personal Jedi and was part of a government that probably couldn't even find Tatooine on a map.

Luke sighed softly. His thin shoulders slumped, and he gazed sadly at the table for a long time.

"Can I still love her?" he asked suddenly.

Beru's envy vanished, and pity took its place. Whatever the woman had once had, she had lost it all. Including the boy who sat here, at her table. "If you want to," she said quietly. "I don't see why not. Yes."

Luke sighed again, but this time the sound was somewhat more content. "Then I love her," he said. "And I always will. The same with my father."

Beru shivered. She had never liked his father. He had been utterly cold. Even before.

"Did my father die too?"

Beru chewed her lip a moment before replying. What had Ben told them to say?

"Yes," she finally ventured. "He did."

She prayed it was the right answer. She had no idea. Her own father had been a moisture farmer like Owen, and her mother had been equally simple; Luke's origins were almost beyond her imagination. If she hadn't seen certain things with her own eyes, she might not have believed Ben's story at all.

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, Luke," she said again, at a loss, and clasped her hands together tightly. "I think that's enough questions for one day, don't you?"

"No," he said instantly. "Why can't I know?" He looked keenly at her. "It is bad."

"What's bad?" The voice from the door was tired, but wary. "Something wrong?"

Beru drew a deep breath of relief. Owen was back. From here, he would have to handle it. She turned in her chair and looked up at him, trying to communicate the importance of the situation with her eyes.

"Are you sick?" he asked, frowning. His face was caked with dust and sweat.

"Luke's been asking about his mother and father," Beru replied, her voice shaking slightly. "He knows that they… that they died."

"But Aunt Beru won't tell me how."

"Is that so?" Owen looked away from Beru. He rubbed the dust out of his eyes and headed for the sink as though nothing at all was the matter. "Give me a minute, would you, Luke?"

Beru bit her lips shut and watched him wash his hands and face. When he turned from the sink, he ruffled Luke's hair with his wet hands and made him squeal.

"I suppose it's time you knew," said Owen, and his chair scraped the floor when he pulled it out. He thudded into it, looking almost old. He had aged so much, in just a few years. "Getting to be a big boy, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Luke, looking a little proud.

"Did you finish your chores today?"

Luke nodded.

Owen pushed his damp hands back through his own hair. "Are those old droids ready for the season?"

Now Luke looked truly proud. "Yes, Uncle Owen."

"Good, good. You're a real help to me." Owen sighed and clapped a hand onto the table. "Now. Can you be a man about what I'm going to tell you?"

Luke's grin faded. He sat up straight. "I think so."

"I do too." Owen nodded gravely. "All right, Luke. The truth is, your mother died of sickness when you were born, and your father died a few months after that."

"How?"

"There was a malfunction on board his ship."

"He was a starpilot?" Luke cut in at once, looking desperately hopeful.

"He was a navigator," Owen replied calmly. "On a spice freighter."

"Oh."

Beru had to look away from the boy's crestfallen face. She couldn't help thinking they might have let him believe his father was a pilot, if it made him so happy. One lie was no worse than the other, and pilot was actually much closer to the truth. Anakin Skywalker, a navigator on a spice freighter… of all the things to pretend.

But the way Owen said it, it almost sounded true.

"How come you got me, when he died?" Luke asked, in a small voice.

"Your father was my stepmother's son. We're your only family now."

Luke went silent. After a time, he sniffled. Beru raised her eyes and studied Owen, who seemed to be struggling with his own feelings; he grimaced slightly and shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off Luke.

"I'm… sorry you have to hear all this," he said quietly. "I really am."

Luke dropped his eyes and drew small circles on the table with his index finger.

"I know it's hard. But you've got me and your Aunt Beru, and we care for you, don't we?" Owen sounded somewhat pained. "I know we're not your father and mother, but we want you with us. You know I'm glad to have your help. And we've all got to go on living with what we've got, don't we?"

Luke's small chest rose and fell quickly beneath his tunic. When he lifted his eyes again, they shone with tears. "Can I go outside before dinner?" he managed.

"Sure you can. But stay close to the house, do you hear?" There was a sudden bark in Owen's voice. "No wandering. It's too close to dark."

"I know, Uncle Owen."

Luke pushed back his chair and slipped out of the kitchen. They heard his light footfalls cross the courtyard and head up to the surface.

"That… that wasn't too bad," said Owen, when Luke was out of earshot. He let out a breath and shook his head. "I expected it to go a lot worse. He didn't ask as many questions as I thought he might."

Beru wasn't sure what to say.

"I figure we should keep it simple." Owen shielded his eyes briefly with his hand and rubbed his temples. "It's better that way. If he's old enough to want to know the truth, then he's probably ready to hear it."

"But we aren't telling him the truth." Beru didn't mean to sound accusatory, but she knew she did.

"We can't tell him everything," Owen said, sounding tired. "It'd bring the Empire down on our heads if he went around telling people whose son he really is."

"I know, but – "

"It'd just confuse him, hearing those stories and having to keep them secret."

"But –" Beru struggled for the words. "He'll never know if we don't tell him. Do you think that's really right? I know the risks, but I can't help feeling… I can't help it."

Owen lowered his hand and peered at her from across the table. "You honestly think he should know?"

"I don't – oh, I don't know, Owen. He's so young for all this."

"His age won't change anything. I was his age when my mother died, and I was ten years older when we lost my stepmother. It didn't make it any easier."

Beru looked down to avoid the emotion in his face. Shmi Skywalker's death had left a terrible void in this house. For all of them.

"I wish she were here," Owen said. He was barely audible. "She'd know how to handle him. Or my father would. I'm just not cut out –"

"Oh… Owen."

"Never mind." He coughed suddenly, and pounded on his chest for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "It's kinder this way," he said. "For Luke. Losing both your parents is bad enough without all the rest of that garbage to deal with."

"Anakin's not dead," Beru ventured, very quietly. "He hasn't lost them both."

"You want to explain that to him? You want to tell him that his father's alive, but that if he knew about Luke, he wouldn't give a damn? He'd probably come back here and kill him."

Beru hugged herself and rubbed the goose bumps on her arms.

"He can have a normal life here, with us. He can grow up like any other boy. He's got friends, and school – he's got a place here on the farm, I already depend on him. He's not a slave, he never has to know he came from slaves – you know he's got more than his father ever had, no matter what sort of… life Anakin lived, after he left." Owen looked sickened. "The Jedi," he said scornfully. "Those old wizards never did anything for my stepmother's family except tear it apart. And as far as I'm concerned, Luke is nothing like…" Owen shut his mouth tightly and sat in silence for a moment. "Luke doesn't have anything to do with the things that happened," he finally said, his voice grim. "He didn't ask to carry all that, and if he never knows, then he'll never have the burden. Don't you want to – to –"

"To spare him."

"Yes." Owen looked gratefully at her. "Don't you think we should, if we can?"

Beru still wasn't sure it was the right choice, but the truth suddenly seemed needlessly cruel. A navigator on a spice freighter might not satisfy Luke, but at least it wouldn't devastate him.

She met Owen's eyes and nodded.

Owen reached across the table and took Beru's hands in his own.

"Old Ben said a time will come when hiding the truth will be impossible," Owen said. "I think he cracked out there, in all the fighting, to be honest. But if it turns out to be true, then… then we'll deal with the rest when we have to. For now, it seems like we've told Luke about as much as he can take. Let's just leave it."

"All right."

Owen squeezed her hands tightly, and then he abruptly let go and stood up. He turned away from her. "I'm exhausted," he muttered, as he headed into the inner rooms of their dwelling. "The vaporators are giving me trouble. I'll have to go out to the station for parts tomorrow. Luke can uh – come with me, if he wants. Might make him feel better."

Beru watched his back as he walked away. "I'll tell him," she said quietly, and left the kitchen.

She wasn't surprised to find Luke sitting still atop the nearest dune, looking into the twin sunset. The wind blew his hair back, and the golden light touched his face. Beru stopped and gazed at him for a moment. He was a lovely child. He would probably grow up much like his father, in appearances, at least.

She approached him from behind and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Time to come in," she said. "Your uncle has a treat for you tomorrow. He's going to take you over to Tosche Station. He wants your help picking out some new parts."

Luke didn't move or answer.

"Luke? Did you hear me?"

"What did my father look like?"

The question was as sudden as all his others, but Beru was beyond being startled. She sighed softly and let her hand slip from his shoulder. She should have known that he would save the rest of his curiosity for her, when Owen was nowhere near to solve things.

"A lot like you," she said truthfully.

"Am I…" Luke knitted his eyebrows and looked straight up at her. "Am I like him?"

Beru hesitated, and then knelt in the sand beside him. She looked out into the suns for a moment, as though she would find the answer there.

"You're like them both," she said slowly. "In some ways. The best ways, I think." She shrugged. "Maybe all that matters is who you decide to be."

Luke kept his eyes on the sunset.

"Maybe," he said.

"Are you hungry?"

He nodded.

Beru got up and shook the sand out of her skirt. "Then come on in. Your uncle's waiting." She held out her hand.

For another moment, Luke looked fiercely into the setting suns, and then he dropped his gaze and stood. He put his hand in hers.

Together, they made their way back into the house.