A Certain Kind of Gifts

Summary: People only learn by living. OneShot – Ben. Of parents.

Warning: -

Set: during Legacy of the Force

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

"What's that smell?"

"What smell?"

His mother, Ben thinks, is anything but. And yet she manages to sound absolutely oblivious, naïve even. It might have something to do with the person she is talking to. Ben isn't stupid – the fact that his parents love each other has always been common knowledge to him. He, who has grown up in a family of strict but loving parents, has always known the feeling of love and protection that comes with being who he is – Ben Skywalker. And he might have run from that. He might have suffered and wallowed and raged. But when it all comes down to it he loves his parents more than anything.

From the kitchen, he can hear his father slide open the door of the baking unit. No one of them ever uses it. It should be rusted and dusty with neglect and disuse, but the cleaning droids take care to keep it spotlessly clean. Which, incidentally, is the only reason Ben didn't barge in screaming when he figured what his mother was up to.

"Mara," his father finally says after a long pause in which Ben holds his breath so he won't miss anything – and stills his presence in the Force as Jacen has taught him. It's not really necessary because his parents both know he is there – they just don't think he is so close. "What is this?"

"Don't be stupid," Ben's mother retorts, a note between defensiveness and attack in her voice. She lives by those rules – always aware, always defensive. Always poised for an attack. "You can see what it is perfectly well."

Another long, long silence. Ben imagines his parents staring at each other across the kitchenette, his mother glaring intensely, his father with his usual air of amusement and calm strength.

"Mara," Luke Skywalker finally said. "Please don't tell me this is supposed to be a…"

"A birthday cake," Mara snaps, and then sighs. As it often is with her when Ben's father is around, her fire suddenly turns to warm embers. "You know it's a birthday cake, Skywalker."

Her deliberate use of his father's – and hers, too – last name is so familiar to Ben he never wondered about it.

"I really thought it would work out this time, you know."

And there it is – Luke chuckles. A thud follows. "Don't laugh, Farm Boy. I have other qualities."

"I know that," Ben's father tells her, the grin still evident in his voice. But her voice is full of love, as well.

"What do you think – I repeat your experiment, hopefully with qualitatively better results, and you contact Leia and Han?"

"I think I can do that."

Ben registers that his mother's presence has drawn closer. She is about to leave the kitchen when he hurriedly sneaks back into the shadowy corridor that leads to his room. From behind, the sound of a cabinet door opening and closing can be heard. Ben reaches the door to his room and stops because he cannot hear her steps in the hall yet.

"Luke?"

"Hmm?"

"Isn't he too old to have a birthday cake?"

"You think he is?"

"No. It's just…"

"Hey."

The silence is one of the kind that weights down on Ben, awkward as it is, because he knows even without seeing it that his father must have loped an arm around his wife to pull her close. It's not like they do it often, these obvious signs of affection. These are the situations when Ben feels like turning away, like he is intruding into something that does not concern him in any way. It is strange, because it is not like his parents kiss each other in public often. Not like Uncle Han and Aunt Leia. Not like… Ben can't think of anyone else right now. His parents always stand close to each other, he knows that much, and it seems as if some part of them is always touching – even if it only is their presence in the Force. A few years ago, Ben would have made faces and given some impressive noises of disgust. A few weeks ago, he would have sighed deeply. This is embarrassing! Today – what of today? Ben cannot bring himself to continue the thought.

"I promised him a party," Mara says, and the silence is over. Ben takes a deep breath, only now realizing he has been holding it. "You don't think he's too old for it?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay."

However he does it, his father has a knack of calming his mother instantly. Sometimes Ben wishes he'd knew how to do it, as well.

"What about other gifts?"

"I've taken care of that."

Another deep sigh. "Okay."

His mother worries far too much, Ben thinks. And, at the same time, can't suppress the shudder of anticipation at the thought. Gifts.

This time, his mother steps into the corridor. This time, Ben slips into his room unheard. Leaning his back to the door, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Some people only learn by living. Some people only learn by making mistakes, unable to do anything right the first time around. Sometimes, Ben wishes he would not have made all those mistakes. He would have had more time. But Mum's dead.

How is it people only notice how much they have when they lose it?

She promised him a birthday party, years ago. Ten years and many lives later, Ben still remembers the warmth of her hand on his hair and the certainty in her voice as she promised him a party she would never attend. How much he still misses her, years later, worlds and wars and loves later.

This is not the same stuffy, small apartment they shared on Coruscant, lives ago.

But that does not matter. It is the day that counts. Ten years ago he was on a mission, too young and yet too old, not ready and more than ready. Ben was a child then. Thinking of Mara, he still feels like one.

The door is cold in his back.

"Ben?"

Luke is there suddenly, in the thin corridor of the Jade's Sabre that leads to the small galley. Not so different. Actually, not different at all.

"I made kaf. Would you like a cup?"

Luke's hair is grey. His face is worn and his eyes are sad. But the strength his father always projected is still there. Some things don't seem to change and yet Ben waits for the day when he wakes up and realizes he is the last one of his family.

"Did you make a cake?"

Contrarily to his deceased wife, Luke Skywalker has a hand for cuisine. A smile lights the blue of his father's eyes when Ben asks the question. His hand lifts as if to brush over Ben's head, then falls down again. He remembers, too.

"As a matter of fact, I did, although I don't have any other gifts."

"Let's have a party, then."

Ben could have imagined it. But he thinks he feels his mother smile, and with the first real smile he has seen from his father in days, he thinks he can find enough strength to go on. Whatever might happen.

Some gifts, a voice whispers, are of the unexpected kind.

Ben agrees.