Work Text:
"Do you ever just… feel trapped here, Aunt Beru?" the girl asked, trying to scrub the grit out of a piece Uncle Owen needed for one of the collectors. "Like the entire universe is just out there wanting us to see it, but we're sitting on this speck of sand doing nothing?"
"You are always fancying more than you can reach for, Leia. Try to settle that kind of talk down before your uncle returns. It worries him." Beru reached for a recently scrubbed piece to begin applying the necessary lubricant. It was precision work, putting the lubricant just where needed, and not leaving any traces to invite more grit to cake on. Leia watched her aunt, even as she scrubbed the vanes of the collector panel, and realized Beru and Owen were like the lubricant…precisely placed but easily clogged by the sand of their lives.
She wanted more.