Chosen: From the Ashes

The scent of the Naboo sun

"So...
What now?
There's Obi-Wan. Force, is he young..."

[ or rather ] : Anakin screws up (then he isn't?) and is grumpy enough to have a battle of wits with Qui-Gon, irk him thoroughly, bicker with Padmé, push Obi-Wan down (that's an accident really) and Shmi is watching the drama and cooking. Typical evening at Skywalkers.

____________________________________

Anakin overslept.

It must be stress. Or his hyper-meditation yesterday, if that is a word, cause he can't feel a kriffing spot that is not aching and burning from overuse and strain, it trembles too, uncontrollably, when he's walking. His headaches are even worse, but he pushes himself out of the small cot and walks to drink and eat what his mother prepared for him. He guesses, she left him to rest, probably taking on his tasks and making an excuse to the Toydarian (what was his name again?). Kriff, he has to go and help her quickly.

While he's wolfing down all the scraps of food he found, he is looking around trying to remember the place, his home for 9 years, yet it's futile. There are just some sparks of things he vaguely has recollection of, but everything else is a blur of color and rags. He sighs. He needs to get them out of here and fast. His eyes catches the window and he recognizes the late afternoon light and there's the angry wind whirling the sand higher still and chocking Mos Espa in dust, the preamble of an ugly sandstorm, for sure. Wait... wasn't there a sandstorm when Qui-Gon and Padmé came to Watto (that's the name!)? The reason he made them stay at his home and then Qui-Gon coming up with the whole Chosen One idea.

Anakin's breathing accelerates and becomes too heavy, he storms out from the table and breaks into a run to the Watto's shop.

It could be another day, or a season or two later, maybe even a year, he isn't even sure when they came nor what date is now exactly. He could not screw up his only chance at meeting the jedi because he overslept. It must be a different day. He prays for it with rushing heartbeat and rising worry. He better not have karked it or else...

"Stoopa! Kriffing banthabrain! To krike it all to Poodoo from the start! Hutt spawn farkin-"

Anakin is so engrossed in his self-cuss, and his still jarringly smaller body isn't helpful either, that when he turns the road bordering the main street, he can't stop himself from running straight into the person coming his way, and sends them both falling. He grabs the robe from around the other's arms, trying to stop his fall, unsuccessfully of course, while the man's arms reach instinctively around him to hold protectively, before they both are down with a painful thud. Well, luckily, not painful for him, for Anakin had a soft cushion to land on top of instead. Regardless, his body trembled anyway, muscles exerted too suddenly and a high-pitched whimper left his mouth. At the same time a surprised "Oh" came from above.

His face is now buried in a firm chest, with his right ear so close to the other's heart, he picks the resilient string of heartbeats and he's hypnotized. The fragrance enfolding the warm body under him is so distinct, that he can't quite find the right word for it, perhaps if the shine of the Naboo's sun had a scent, it would smell like this. Like something reassuring, something precious. Perfect. Anakin is star-struck frozen by the startling sense of crashing familiarity of it, and that giddy warmth sinking in his own body, melting him, loosening him. Anakin sighs in the feeling of it.

Arms wrapped around him, start to loose and are drawn back off him, and Anakin may have dropped a muffled whine in disapproval, his face nuzzling a bit to show that. It just feels so good, he wants more of it. Something is poking at the back of his mind, impatient for him to unfold.