[ The castle on Mustafar is coming along all too slowly. Possibly, he could wait out learning a different way to raise it - to take advantage of the dormant powers festering here - but Darth Vader has no need for patience and living next to his Master on Imperial Center is honestly becoming unsustainable for the both of them.
For Sidious, especially.
He's watching the construction process from his throne room, hands clasped behind his back. The building site is a treacherous place and they've lost many workers already, underestimating the lava and its gasses, the instability of the terrain, the darkness within it. He'd exchange them for droids if he cared - but in this Empire of Sidious' construction, all beings remain disposable and a weak, organic work force is just another way to maintain the balance of power.
His comm pings. The first prisoner of the complex, it seems, is ready to be interrogated. It's a political enemy, his Master has told him by the name of Cyne Billet, one important enough to become Vader's assignment despite the fact that nearly no one ever is; one that may lead them to Padmé Amidala who's gone into hiding, pulling invisible but efficient strings to counteract him, in the Senate and beyond. She's a bug, says Sidious, but even the tiniest, most insignificant bugs can cause contamination in any delicate systems.
It's not his place to doubt his Master's words.
So he leaves it there.
He could bring up an image of the prisoner, data files, logs, if he wanted to. His eye lenses can play back the information easily. But this assignment matters about as much to him as anything else these days and thus, he simply heads for the cell and pulls the door aside, stepping in and freezing in the doorway, his artificial breath cycling through several rounds while he stares, utterly confounded.
[ Claude has said goodbye to everything a handful of times already while waiting for what's coming. He's gone through the small gallery of people who've helped him so far, before his ship was boarded by the Empire and he was taken to this place, for reasons he doesn't know and doesn't care about either, he's said goodbye Bail, goodbye Padmé, goodbye Akiva's mausims, goodbye Paris' old rebellious spirit... Well, it's a pretty short list. Most importantly, he said goodbye to Anakin what feels like a lifetime ago. So long ago that it feels like he was someone else before it happened, like he became another person afterwards. Which, for all intents and purposes, he did, right? He's Cyne Billet now. No one knows Cyne Billet. No one cares about Cyne Billet. No one loves Cyne Billet.
He touches the kyber pendant beneath his shirt, just a soft touch of fingertips, almost a caress, if he thought touching the heart of Anakin's lightsaber in any way compared to touching him. But sometimes what you get isn't what you wanted and you got the choice between either loving it as is or being half a person without.
Claude isn't ready to be half a person. If he's gonna die tonight, he wants to die whole.
Hearing heavy footfalls come down the hallway outside, he remains seated on the narrow bunk, dropping his hands into his lap so as not to give away the kyber too easily. Yeah, if he's gonna die tonight, he's dying with the crystal on his body. It's the only way he can imagine going, not stripped, not bare, not alone.
The door slides aside and he has to look up, and up, and up, the person entering tall and looming over him like a tower, a whisper of cape and the shine of metal - everywhere. Metal. Unwittingly, Claude remembers Anakin's mechno arm. He remembers the touch of him. He remembers.
Swallowing hard, he runs his gaze over the outline of the figure in front of him, waiting for him to do something, act, react. Except, nothing happens. Claude raises his chin, lips a thin line, his jaw set. Padmé and Bail have known there were whispers of some background lackey, but no one knew who they were, what they did.
[ He hasn't gotten any answers, only more questions. The man, whoever he is, whatever he is, simply moved him onto a shuttle without saying a single word, left him in the passenger area and took the ship into hyperspace, Claude felt the shift, in a matter of five minutes. Tops. Only Anakin could've done it faster, Claude thinks, sitting in one of the passenger seats for a while, just staring straight ahead. Except, Anakin would've been nicer about it. Anakin wouldn't have been able to help himself.
Touching the kyber pendant underneath his shirt again, he looks towards the cockpit with a frown. He can't imagine why the Empire would bother moving him somewhere else to execute him, when they might as well have done it in the cell where they'd placed him to begin with. Lots of resources going to waste. Lots of effort, needless. And because he is who he is, still, regardless, and because Anakin taught him to act accordingly, maybe borderline recklessly, Claude gets up after a quarter of an hour has passed, heading for the cockpit stiffly, every step sending shivers down his spine. What is he doing? Does he want to die?
Yeah, does he, is the question. That one, he's got no right and only wrong answers for.
Without saying a word, because two can play that game, Claude slips into the seat behind the man in the helmet, staring into the back of his seat, the way he towers over that, too. Shoulders broader than ought to be legal, really. Cape only adding to the overall impression of insurmountability. Half a minute passes in complete silence, then Claude leans forward, speaking at neck-level with the man up front, keeping his voice even and unshaking mostly because he's stubborn as all kriff.
Because someone, somewhere, once taught him to fight for his own sake, too. Not the time to let down the ghost of the one person who would've cared whether Claude kept objecting, however futile his hope. However futile all hope. He reaches up for the pendant without thinking, stopping himself halfway and letting his hand drop to his lap again. A hard swallow. ]
You're setting a lot of things in motion for a literal nobody, you know. [ Pause. ] Unauthorized.
[ He senses the other man moving from his spot in the passenger area - because where else is he supposed to put him, he isn't even supposed to put him anywhere except in the ground - and his hands tighten around the controls uselessly. The fact that he doesn't know what he's doing is a foregone conclusion at this point; what's left is not what but perhaps, why. It's been two years and Anakin Skywalker supposedly died a fiery death on Mustafar - and before that, too, in other ways. His supposedly dead lover shouldn't merit any kind of attention now, perhaps aside from a none-too-swift execution; he's no one. Anakin is dead. This person is a stranger.
He couldn't convince himself of that even if he had Sidious sitting right opposite him, twisting his mind accordingly.
Claude is here. Claude is here. As ridiculous as the thought may be, he's in hyperspace right now because he couldn't think of anywhere safer to bring him. As the other man enters the cockpit, he can sense the remains of his body reacting as much as they ever can these days; his skin prickling along ruined or half-dead nerves, his chest muscles working to expand around his lung implants; he'd be hyperventilating, he thinks, if he'd been capable. Instead, he just sits. If he doesn't kill people, that's all he does these days, isn't it, so that suits.
When Claude leans into his personal space, he has to fight not to lean back against him. ]
You aren't nobody. [ He wishes for the first time that his voice wasn't so harsh. ] Claude. You have changed your name but not your face.
[ His hyperbaric treatment mechanics on the shuttle aren't particularly advanced but they are highly functional, both with regards to spacing and handling. Along with a portion of the passenger compartment and the fresher, the small cargo hold has been re-purposed for his use, leaving a narrow work bench with tools near the wall and the small space itself capable of functioning like a pressure chamber. Using it will drain the shuttle of energy a lot faster but then again, he doesn't actually know where they're going anymore.
Clearly, he never did.
He seats himself crosslegged on the seat in the middle of the room, gesturing for Claude to make himself comfortable as he chooses. Punching in a few commands on the panel to his right, he steels himself as the room de-pressurizes. His ears don't pop from the change as they should - but Claude, his ears purely organic tissue, will. It takes seconds at best, however, before the room stabilizes and the oxygen level rockets to its final level. He flicks his hand quickly and a mask loosens from the ceiling, tumbling down to Claude's right with a dull thud. ]
Put that on. The air is too concentrated.
[ He reaches for his helmet and pauses, hands seemingly freezing for a moment as a burst of sudden, unfiltered panic surges through him. It's hard to quantify it, really; he's been without his armor around people, even nameless strangers, many times before. Or maybe that's the problem. Maybe it pops up now when he'd keep it down otherwise, because Claude is here, leaving a space for such feelings and he remembers what that used to be like.
He does.
So he takes the helmet off and the mask with it and then, he sits there and blinks stupidly at Claude from across the distance. He can make out his shape in the darkness, if nothing else. But his presence is bright and clear and he clings to it for a moment, to the notion of it. ]
[ Half the shuttle isn't really a shuttle anymore as much as it's been turned into a refurbished -- medical center, he's got no better word for it. Having followed the man who is Anakin, Anakin who is that man, inside, Claude takes a moment to look around, placing himself as much out of the way as possible while Anakin sits down crosslegged on the seat in the middle, seemingly intended for him, for this. Claude has seen him sit exactly like that so many times before, it feels like a strange, out of context kinda deja vu. Like two years haven't passed, no matter how undeniable that time is in every other way. The suit is testimony to it, right? Claude's face, too, the lines on it now. His fingers clench, unclench as he waits to get to see Anakin's face in turn. If it's changed just as much.
There are only so many things the darkness in here can obscure.
When the mask drops down next to him, he raises an eyebrow at Anakin, without really intending to, it just happens - that old amusement he used to watch him with when he used the Force, back then, before they both died, apparently. Floating lubes and fruits and similar objects around to make whatever they were doing otherwise easier. It's a shallow feeling now, but it's there, like a ghost of something he recognizes, at least. Echoes. Trails. He puts it on wordlessly, feeling the chamber decompress, his ears popping - then, popping back as the levels inside stabilize.
Anakin, on his end, seems to hesitate to remove his helmet, Claude just watching his calmly, though his insides are ice, his heart is thumping, but the hesitation passes, like it always did with Anakin, if you were patient about it. Because the man was if not braver than most, bravery that always comes at a cost, for everyone involved, then definitely more willing to act. Someone's made full use of that, haven't they?
His fingers clench, unclench, clench.
Off the mask comes.
Claude stares.
He isn't unrecognisable, unrecognisable isn't the word. He is badly burned, his injuries only half-healed, really, and that makes Claude feel sick to his stomach, but his features are mostly the same, the nose, the line of his jaw, lips. His eyes are blue and couldn't be anyone else's, Claude's stared into them too often, too intensely, not to place them... anywhere. They are Anakin's eyes. This is Anakin.
The ice melts inside him. Feeling nothing but a strong sense of relief, like finding something you'd thought you'd been careless enough to lose in the first place, he moves forward, breathing in shakily, noisily, stopping up close in front of Anakin, Anakin in the suit, Anakin who works for the Empire, Anakin who is still his and does stupid things for Claude's sake, like fucking himself on vegetables. Like being too harsh on himself, in so many other ways. Like now. He reaches up with one hand, then stops. ]
Can I touch you?
[ His fingers clench, unclench, but he waits. They know how to wait, they taught each other that, first. ]
[ It's been about an hour since their talk in the chamber. The shuttle will need to exit hyperspace soon. In response to the unexpected energy depletion, the onboard computer has re-calculated the course along the Hydian Way, setting their destination coordinates for the Chommell sector. Due to Padmé Amidala's apparent betrayal, the entire sector is a key Imperial focus point which is an advantage for him, not so much for Claude. Though they haven't spoken about Claude's life the past two years, it isn't hard to make a few, educated guesses as to some of the details. He's managed to maintain the cover that his apparent death provided him with, living under another identity - none of which would have been necessary if he'd chosen to side with the Emperor.
Something Claude would obviously never do.
Then, there's the fact that their sources have traced Amidala to him. Putting two and two together, Anakin is fairly certain that leaving Claude behind in known, Imperial territory will require extensive planning.
Taking him back to Mustafar, to his Master, has crossed his mind exactly once since their last conversation. Then, he'd cut the signal from the commlink ingrained in his suit. That's somewhere to start, Claude had told him, and if that's true, if there's truly a starting point left for the both of them even now, then he will do what's necessary to reach it. He glances sideways at Claude, seated next to him. ]
To be of any use to you... [ Emphasis, Claude. Because he means Claude, not whomever Claude's working with. ] I should go back to the Emperor. If played correctly, that would by far be the strongest hand you could have.
[ There has been a lot of quiet since they exited the pressure chamber, long stretches of time when neither of them spoke which is good, honestly, Claude doesn't like his voice modulator, he doesn't like the way it makes Anakin sound. Exactly what he is, someone who has taken too many lives to count, but then again - Anakin was always a soldier. Claude was always against that on principle.
They're gonna be out of hyperspace soon, Claude having taken note of their coordinates. The Chommell sector, which means Naboo, which means Padmé, which means too close to home when you have the Emperor's guard dog with you. He frowns as Anakin speaks, his voice dark, gritty and distorted beyond all recognition. Then, he shakes his head. ]
Actually I'd prefer if you stayed away from the Emperor from now on.
[ Of course he could've said, you don't have a good track record with shaking off your masters, but he doesn't, because this is Anakin's choice to make and not Claude's call, he doesn't get to push him either way. He can advise and give his own opinion, but they are Anakin's hands, not his, in the end. Anakin's own hands need to be stronger yet. ]
You remember, right? We talked about this before, some fights aren't won by adopting the enemy's weapons and strategies.
[ Finally, he turns slightly in his seat to look at the other man next to him. His broad, tall figure, dark, cloaked. Made to invoke fear in those against him. Made. Anakin has done horrendous things, but so much of him was made that way. Claude's expression softens and he reaches out, flattening his palm against the other man's upper arm. Where there should be flesh and bone, underneath. Still. ]
Be of use to yourself, all right? That's the only way you can be of use to me.
[ The transmission comes from the outskirts of the Arkanis sector two weeks later. He's seated crosslegged in what appears to be a cargo hold, the space behind him stacked with crates. He's managed to shed most if not all of his suit - he's still wearing a black half-mask across his mouth and nose, and beneath his clothes, his torso is best described as a work in progress. The armor, however, is gone. His eyes are relatively calm after a lengthy round of meditation as he waits for Claude to answer.
He's prepared to wait for a long as it'll take.
There's not a doubt in his mind that the other man will get back to him, however, at least not by his own choice. The fear that he might not have made it all the way to his destination since Anakin dropped him off has haunted him regularly for the past many days but Claude had told him, be of use to yourself and so, he's let his anxiety drive him, his body still thrumming from nervous energy. ]
[ Claude accepts the call when he sees the unknown designation of the sender, pretty sure he knows who he's gonna face. However, before taking it, he excuses himself to the guard that Padmé has insisted stays with him now that she herself has had to leave Akiva for another mission. He won't be nearly as effective as you, Claude had teased her as she was packing up her things. After all, you don't underesteminate Padmé Amidala with a blaster or if you do, the joke's on you.
So, in the end, he retreats to his own room, the only truly private place in the old farm they're using for hide-out and turns on the comm once he's seated on his bed, remembering another time, another bed, another call. His stomach feels in knots. Since they parted ways, Claude pulling the other man in for a hug, awkward and too-hard, he's spent most of his time lying low and growing a beard, his ministrations showing as a short, even growth of stubs all over his chin. Even the Empire can't fight his kriffing hair growth.
The image of Anakin startles him slightly, not enough to show, but he's sure the other man can probably tell anyway. He's out of his suit. A half-mask all that's left of the black metal. You can actually make out Anakin's own features behind it now.
His immediate response kind of escapes him in a blurted-out, ]
[ The Falleen are very proud of their iron mining facilities, Claude has been given the full tour of the factories this morning, the lean, green-skinned Falleen CEO talking at length about the measures they've been taking to ensure the secure passage of iron ore to and from the Empire. Claude has listened politely, hearing underneath the confident praise a hidden critique of the removal of natural resources from the planet, how this species all but slaves in the mines and are only given the most efficient price for their hard labour. The iron mines two planets over get double, one of the others had cut in during a brief pause in their discussion, but apparently our ore isn't of the right... quality.
They'd all looked meaningfully at each other. Because the Falleen aren't a humanoid race. They don't get their due.
This is one of the main reasons that Claude had been invited, because there had been talk of uproar and rebellion among the Falleen at the Empire's approach to non-human species throughout the galaxy. Maybe now was the time to present them with another option. Another way to fight back.
And so, they'd been in the middle of the unofficial part of their meetings today, when the alarm had suddenly started blaring, loud and shrill, shouting and crying Falleen people crawling out of the mine shafts, running for their lives while somewhere fire started blazing, things exploding, chaos.
Claude almost sighed, not sure whether in relief or in exhaustion. Exasperation. Today of all day? Really?
But the CEO of the mining company grabs him by the elbow and leads him towards the emergency exit, the five Falleen managers lead the way, their long legs making it difficult to keep up for Claude, though he doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop moving forward, away, away, away. It's when they're crossing over the huge courtyard in front of the main factory building, the doors banging open behind Claude for unknown reasons, he doesn't turn to look, that he feels it. Anakin's kyber crystal, trembling and shaking beneath his shirt, against his skin, like a fluttering heartbeat. He slows down enough to reach up and grab it, hold it, feel it. ]
[ For the past month or so, Sidious' agents have been closing in on him slowly but surely; the fact that it's taken them several months is probably a testament to Anakin's efficiency but he doesn't have the time to praise himself. He's working faster, trying to get at as many points of interest as possible before his luck runs out; after that, supposedly, he will transfer what information he has to Claude and let his people move as they see fit. For now, however, he still has some options and one of them is this severely under-priced Falleen operation, the ore of particular quality to Project Stardust. They'd want to give off the opposite impression, of course, and this operation is known as one of the least prestigious in the sector. Not too many hands, grabbling for it.
After today, there'll be even less.
When Anakin blows up the main processing facility, he'd counted on the chain reaction. He'd counted on the chaos and on multiple exit ways, closing to him. But he might have slightly misjudged the pattern of explosions, meaning that he's now running for the same exit as anyone on the most-upper levels of the complex, the hallways full of surveillance that he dismantles with the Force because there's a fireball working its way towards him from below and he doesn't have the time to get fancy.
He makes it out of the door and onto the courtyard before he realises.
His kyber crystal sings out to him from around Claude's neck, Claude who's right there with his back to him, in the midst of evacuation. Anakin's ship is in the directly opposite direction and he really should be going - but instead, he stands absolutely still amidst the chaos, dust and ashes floating in the air and blocking out the sky. Behind him, black smoke rises from the complex, the smell of melting durasteel drifting upwards. ]
[ The holo-call comes about a week later. He's landed on an asteroid which speaks rather clearly as to how little wriggle room he's got left at this point. The ship is new, stolen exactly twenty-two standard rotations ago and his droid is working on fitting the small, portable bacta tank, the only thing along with supplies he's brought along from the previous ship. It's a familiar routine by now, moving ships - he's done it more than a hundred times over the past three months.
And even so, Sidious is catching up to him.
The call is heavily encrypted, the signal a little weak. He's seated as usual, cross-legged on the floor, his face bare except for the breathing mask. The sores across his scalp and down his neck have grown worse, of course, because bacta is expensive and he only rarely indulges when he finds it necessary to continue onwards. It hardly matters. He's got few runs left in him now.
If it isn't yet time for their paths to converge, he thinks, as he waits for Claude to answer, then this might well be their last conversation.
[ The unidentifiable caller on his comlink makes Claude get up from the dinner table where he has been enjoying a late-night snack with Sabé who doesn't eat like a normal person, constantly vigilant, constantly on guard. He's been watching her, bemused, over his soup. She's here because Padmé insisted, after the incident on Fallee, that he took her handmaiden rather than relying on outsiders any longer. Because he wants to see Anakin again, more so than for any other reason, Claude accepted. Sabé doesn't like him particularly much, he's pretty sure, but still when he gets to his feet, so does she. He gestures for her to wait here, guard the entrance to his bedroom and to be discreet while doing so. All of that in one hand gesture. She nods. Follows, but only to the threshold of his private room. He doesn't close the door, that's to respect her job while she's here. He can't make it more difficult for her than necessary.
As soon as he has his back on her, he turns the comm on and finds Anakin sitting, cross-legged, the signal weaker than last time. Where is he? Is he safe? They haven't talked since... It's been a long time now. What has changed? He looks like himself, but awful, run down, spent.
That's where they're at, then. Claude leans in. ]
Okay, you're gonna tell me what I can do for you, right?
[ Slowly, he bends down and places the comm on the floor, letting Anakin have his whole figure, easing down on his knees in front of it, in front of him, to have them on eye-level again. ]
[ Their farm in the Nuraleen lowlands is part of a long strip of wealthy landowner territory, where the fields are so vast that you've got a walk of a couple of days between properties. It's far enough from everything that no one notices the intricacies of the resistance routines they undergo here, but close enough that they don't stand out too much. They look like a new bunch of serfs, nothing worth of note. Just like everyone else around here.
The farm itself is old, built of traditional materials and would, if functional, run in a traditional way, not much in way of technology outside of the main house that is hooked up to everything that you need to be hooked up to if you wanna tear down a system from the base. It took them some time to set all this up right and now, two and a half year later, the Empire is breathing them down their necks so much, Padmé decided some months ago that it was time they abandoned the location. They're setting something else up acorss the sector. Bail has it all under control.
Claude has been arranging papers in his own room when Sabé signals for him that they have company. He's prepared her for what she's gonna meet, though he knows she doesn't need it. She is always prepared, better than anyone else, better than him, definitely. Without thinking about it, he fixes the creasing in his loose trousers before exiting his bedroom, walking out into the courtyard where the shuttle, non-descript, relatively new, functional, lands.
His shirt gets a slight padding, too, while he waits. Kriff, it's been so long. It's been forever. ]
[ He takes the ship down in the courtyard next to the farm, trying to make the landing as nondescript as possible, even as he's fairly certain there's no one around to see it for miles in every direction. It's a good choice of planet for Claude's operation, Nuralee - not too anonymous, lots of distance between locations and potential prying eyes. He glances sideways, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of Claude, waiting for him. For the first time in months, they'll - there'll be time. Some kind of time, whatever that means to them now and though Anakin will always want more, will always want to hold onto everything so tightly despite the risk of fracturing it between his hands, he's told himself repeatedly throughout his flight here that it'll all be enough. It'll have to be.
When he sees Claude, it doesn't feel like quite so much of a lie.
Shutting everything down quickly, he gets to his feet and leaves the cockpit behind. He walks down the ramp, carrying a crate over his shoulder, Elze floating to his right with a few bags clutched in her grip. As he reaches the ground, he stops. Looks.
Claude looks much the same as he did when they last met but there's something to be said for an environment without excessive explosions or bleating klaxons. Anakin's shoulders lower a fraction, visibly so, tension dissipating. His black robes billow gently around him as he finally crosses the distance between them, reaching for his mask with his free hand and lowering it away from his face. He breathes shallowly, still, for the most part but at least he can actually breathe for short amounts of time. He doesn't want any unnecessary barriers between them now, not when so much has already passed between them while they were apart. It's not necessary. It can't be.
He recognises Sabé standing a few feet behind Claude and ignores her.
Instead, he pauses in front of Claude, puts down the crate and opens his arms in invitation. ]
[ Three days later, days they've spent exchanging info and updates, Claude transmitting the necessary intel to Padmé across the galaxy, he's lying on his narrow bed in his bedroom. He can hear Sabé patrolling outside, the way she's taken to do during the waking hours when Anakin and him are alone together. Kriff, like they need a chaperone, but she insists on Padmé's orders and he won't argue with those, they all have their purpose in this fight, in this conflict and Anakin can't go free of blame, no matter how relieved Claude is to have him back once more. To be able to touch him. See him. Talk to him.
Accountability comes first and neither of them will go free from that, in each their way. They'll feel it, but they'll feel each other first.
He's still drowsy, having slept soundly, falling asleep with Anakin's arms around him, though he wakes up alone. Been the routine since they began sleeping together, Anakin needs his bacta, like he said, it's the only thing he requires, and Claude doesn't complain or object. Some things are as they must be. Nothing to be done. For now he rolls over onto his other side, getting an eyeful of Anakin sitting naked on the blanket in front of his bacta tank, limbs back on, legs crossed beneath him while he air-dries, his skin too frail for a vast array of rubbing towels.
It isn't that Claude has gotten used to looking at him yet, so much of him changed and so much of him destroyed, but he's settled with simply not caring, Claude who cares about everything and everyone can't make himself care what has happened to Anakin. He knows it must have been horrific, he knows he must have suffered all this time, but it's something for the past - and whatever way they find to process the past, as they go into the future.
For the time being... Well, there's the now. Here. Right here. He hears himself, his voice a bit hoarse from sleep, saying: ]
[ He got out of his tank about half an hour ago and he's been meditating since, seated on the floor between the tank and Claude's bed. The house is quiet but within Anakin's world, everything is noisy. With his eyes closed, he reaches around himself, spreading his awareness - as a Sith, he'd gaze inwards, primarily, reaching for his own pains, his own regrets, his anger and let them fuel him. He's kept this technique, at least in part, for his bacta sessions because it serves a double-purpose - the strength keeps his body going and it's somewhere to channel his emotions, now that he doesn't have any active missions. Consequently, now he's letting himself seek out, trying to balance things out the best he can. Going between those techniques is a relatively new approach for him, something he's worked out during the past months whilst on the move.
He isn't certain he ought to be doing it, obviously, but that certainty will never come. He's done away with all his teachers. Burned every bridge he could possibly burn.
So he seeks out first the room around him - Claude, sleeping, the sound of his breath, the steadiness of his exhalations - and beyond that, the house, from the silent hallways to the tiny insects living in the walls. Beyond that, Sabé, her mind carefully shielded. And from there -
He is pulled back to himself, first by Claude's shift from sleep to awareness, then by his question. Opening his eyes slowly, he turns his head slightly to look at him. ]
Quite.
[ A half-smile. He holds out his hand for his mask, grabbing it out of the air and attaching it to his face and throat with fast, habitual movements. His next breath is good. Even. Then, he stretches his back and rolls his shoulders before getting to his feet. He straightens, uncaring about his nudity - because really, there's both very much and very little to see, here, depending on your perspective - and walks over to sit on the bed, nudging Claude's legs a little to make room. ]
[ It's been a week, a week of almost blissful inaction. Claude has been in touch with a whole number of people on holo, keeping the line open for Padmé especially, his main contact, and various others who need to be briefed on the info Anakin has added to their understanding of the Empire's workings, though the key parts of the intel stays between just the three of them, Padmé, Bail and him - and even Bail doesn't know the specifics.
Like, where they've gotten the intel from. How.
Today, Padmé has contacted him out of the blue, emergency call, and asked him to house a group of four clones on the run from Vader's Fist. It's temporary, she had promised, just a stopover - their contact just needs time to map out an escape route for them. Who's their contact, Claude had inquired.
Rex.
Rex is coming here.
Claude had felt the need to bang his head against something, pretty sure how Anakin would react to that. However, Rex isn't staying, just dropping off the other clones before continuing on his own journey. He's a busy man these days. Claude hasn't seen him since they parted ways after Paris.
He hasn't seen Anakin even longer than that.
And Claude will have to lie to him, and because Claude is Claude and because Rex is Rex, Rex will know. Claude hates every aspect of this plan, but this isn't about him, these clones are in immediate danger and they need the help. Claude is here to help.
So now, while brewing Anakin's caf, careful to make it mild enough for his digestive system, if not for his tastes, originally, he watches the other man out the corner of his eye while he cooks, something he's taken to since arriving. It reminds Claude of other times, if not better times. They were better for everyone, it's okay looking back on it with some degree of nostalgia, right?
This, however, is nice, too. He frowns and stirs the caf a couple of times before walking over to the table and putting the cup down at Anakin's usual spot, seating himself opposite. Sabé eats with them sometimes, but more often than not she chooses dinner time to do patrols. Enjoy yourself, she'll greet them with when slipping out the door and it always sounds a tiny bit sarcastic.
Claude places his elbows on the table in a way his mother would have disapproved of. But his mother is also of the past; elbows don't change a thing. ]
[ The stew-for-two is bubbling away on the stove, the dark, herby broth swimming with vegetables, most of them softened from the cooking process. The meat is Alkaali, a medium-sized, grassing mammal native to the planes further south on Nuralee. It gives the broth a weightiness that makes it feel more filling. Consequently, they have portions enough for tomorrow, too. Anakin picks up a small spoonful for a taste-test, mostly to ascertain that it's somewhere in the region of what he thinks he's going for. His taste buds, as everything else, are not too functional and honestly, they weren't anywhere near his list of priorities while he orbited Kamino.
It's fine, though. He thinks Claude will like it.
He glances sideways as Claude fixes up his caf - something he's become extremely proficient at - and puts out two bowls on the wooden counter top, expecting Sabé to pick up her own portion when she'd done with her perimeter walks. He's offered to do them for her. It didn't go down very well.
Good thing he's useful for other things, then. ]
Alkaali broth. I had to mix and match - we're nearly out of supplies.
[ He stirs the pot a couple of times before pouring a bowl for Claude, picking it up along with a wooden spoon. He turns the heat down on the broth, leaving it to simmer quietly behind him. Putting the bowl down in front of Claude, he finds his own seat and folds his hands around the cup. He slips off his mask and takes a sip, eyes drifting shut for a moment at the taste. It's just a nudge, really, and nothing like he used to drink it but it's caf. It's sharing what constitutes as a meal for him now, with Claude. Not alone.
[ The youngest of the four clones is called Trigger (because I'm a bit too trigger happy, he says, showing Claude a round of blaster-shaped gestures), although he usually goes by Shiny #1 with the other three, and he has in the very short amount of time they've been here, only two days now, developed a minor crush on Claude that he can't help shoving in Claude's face all the kriffing time, although Claude is zero percent interested, pretty much.
Although Sabé has put the clones to work on a rec room of their own in the abandoned barn across the courtyard, Trigger has a taxing tendency to find Claude wherever he is and offer his help with whatever he's doing. Yesterday it was the dishwashing machine that needed fixing (I'm pretty technically adept) and today, the hoover they picked up a couple of weeks ago to deal with the Sourcorn harvesting, that glides soundlessly through the crops, chopping them off at the base and leaving the working droid that Anakin got along with the supplies this round to bundle it all up. Claude has just had to remind him that his brothers are waiting for him to return to his paint job before they can carry on, the back of the man disappearing across the courtyard towards the barn house.
Claude watches the door slam shut before his shoulders slowly lower and he turns back, facing forward on the hoover harvester, igniting it with a push of a button. It starts slowly gliding forward through another row of the corn.
It's not that he minds that the clone has a crush on him, feelings can't be helped, but he's getting increasingly more annoyed at having to mark his boundaries in even the most innocent of contexts. Not to mention, Anakin is very obviously getting frustrated with it and while Claude trusts in him as much as he hopes Anakin trusts him back, he can feel the seething, underlying rage in the air all around him. Sighing, he leans back in his seat, just sitting there and watching the tall growths getting cut down, waiting for the sound of Anakin propelling through the air and landing next to him. They've had to hide him away too often already. Like he's something to be ashamed of.
[ It's been a trying two days, as it turns out. Anakin watches for the umpteenth time as the youngest trooper, Trigger, tries to insert himself in Claude's business. Claude, in turn, tells him where to stick it in a kinder way than Anakin would even consider if he had a say in the matter and off the man goes, again, hopefully to do something of actual value. Anakin, crouched over on the top of the barn, his cloak billowing behind him like a pair of battered old wings, stares at his back the entire way, feeling a very acute urge to reach out and grab him.
See how he'll like that kind of action.
As it is, he manages to temper himself, breathing in slowly, deeply, his shoulders easing down half an inch at most. As soon as the coast is clear, he takes off from the roof, gathering the Force around himself in a big jump that sends him soaring across the courtyard. He lands with a hard thump next to Claude in the field, dust whirling around him. The droid makes a surprised little squawk and promptly drops four bundles of Sourcorn. Anakin growls in irritation and flicks his hand, the bundles coming together perhaps a tad bit more aggressively than any corn ever should. They fly at the droid who very nearly topples over, trying to catch them all. ]
Your patience is admirable.
[ Spoken to Claude who's seated on the harvester, his tank top clinging slightly to him in the heat, emphasising the lines of his upper body. Slim but firm, broad in the right places. He doesn't blame the other man at all for catching the attentions of others; and he's clearly trying his best to get rid of them, too, which makes it frustratingly tempting to do the job for him.
[ There's a small stretch of forest north of the farm and at night, when the stars are out and the air is clear, there's a particular clearing not too far from the main path that gives you a spectacular view skywards. Anakin has chosen this spot for his nightly meditation sessions - it's his preferred spot, the way he gets them, which proved a bit of a nuisance in the Jedi Temple where no one was supposed to covet anything, let alone seemingly random locations throughout the premises. Obi-Wan had been suitably exasperated with what he'd termed Anakin's territorial disputes because the man might've been confused but his sarcasm never kriffing wavered. Anakin allows himself to remember only when he meditates because the memories make his feelings spike - something that could have been a sweet memory, a little silly perhaps, juxtaposed with everything that came after (bodies of children littering the floors including the small spots he'd wanted to own and the heavy fog of ozone in the air, mingling with the smell of death), eliciting instead waves of anger, regret, grief. He takes it all and transforms it into power, the way he was taught by Sidious before he left and while it doesn't work the same anymore, it does fuel his broken body somewhat. So long as he can't repair it any better than this, it's necessary.
That, and the feeling of letting the darkness grow for just a few hours... well. Like everything else Anakin has ever held between his hands, this too is hard to let go of.
So when the clone trooper, Trigger, comes across him in the clearing by accident, what happens from Anakin's perspective are waves of boring, neutral-looking energy crashing against the black shores of his mindscape, grey swirls seeping into the atmosphere like ash. It's annoying and highly intrusive, not unlike a black desert fly, buzzing right next to your ear and Anakin, naturally, acts without thinking and pushes it out, away, be gone.
There's a startled yell and a split-second later, something clatters against his shields, just a spattering of light in the darkness. He infers that the man must've tried to shoot him and though he doesn't care that much, a part of him is also relieved. Somehow, despite the darkness of his focus, he's managed not to accidentally squash him like a bug. That's something, isn't it? Control!
Naturally, that burst of delight breaks his mood. He bumps onto the ground, backside first. Grumbling, he re-seats himself properly, cross-legged, and searches back inwards while the man disappears into the darkness, no doubt running back to his friends with his tail between his legs.
[ Claude hears him through the walls, barging down the hallway and slamming the door to the clones' shared room open, panting there's someone out there, someone, something, we gotta get ready to fight and even before they start debating among themselves, Claude knows how this is gonna end. He gets up, puts a shirt on and waits until Rigg, the oldest and most senior of them, comes knocking, the other three in tow. What follows is a brief confirmation, yes, someone else on the run is living here and he frequents the forest at night. Is it a Jedi, sir, Rigg wants to know, not that we have any beefs with him either way, it could just explain a lot. Claude, because he knows he's a bad liar and because he's not here to lose their trust in him, doesn't reply. Rigg looks at him for a long time, then glances at his three brothers over one shoulder, shrugging.
We understand, sir. We're moving into the rec room tomorrow, gives him space to move freely.
Claude had smiled. Trigger, behind Rigg, had looked down, finally defeated. Even as a soldier, Claude's pretty sure he doesn't understand how close he'd come to what could easily have been his death.
It just wasn't.
Claude puts trousers on, too, shoes, then grabs a flashlight and makes his way into the forest behind the farm, knowing where Anakin usually is to be found. As he approaches, aware that Anakin will be able to feel him, but wanting to show his private sphere some respect regardless, stops a good distance away, raising his voice enough that it'll carry over and says his name, simply that. ]
Anakin?
[ And like that, he simply resigns himself to waiting, thinking again and again about Trigger who disturbed Anakin at a time when he's vulnerable - or the world is vulnerable around him, difficult to say which it is, and lived to tell the tale.
Only they won't tell the tale to anyone after leaving these premises. Claude made them promise, for the security of the galaxy, he'd said. They're all good enough soldiers that they know how to risk assess. Even when in the guise of a request, they also know how to follow orders.
Rigg had clasped Trigger's shoulder as they'd returned to their room. ]
[ Alderaan's winter sky is an incredibly bright blue, its light reflected in the lakes across the mountain range and causing the water to glitter like glass. The capital, Aldera, is a few clicks south of their current safe house, a small but luxurious, royal residence, tucked away deep within the forest range right by the shore of a large, inland lake. The place is undisturbed during the winter whilst in the summertime, it's open to public viewings and excursions, shelter spots installed on the west-side of the building between the aging pines. Consequently, it's a fairly well-known location. The Empire has long since determined that Bail Organa must be a traitor and no one would expect him to keep a pair of secret agents here, of all places.
Anakin folds his arms against the smooth marble bannister, looking out across the lake. He's on the first floor terrace and the sunlight feels warm from up here, though the weather is anything but. He's got ice crystals forming on his unprotected metal fingertips. Pulling his cloak tight around him, he listens for Claude's presence in the house, stretching out his awareness just to check on him, to make certain. He finds him in a room on the same floor and gives him a small nudge, just to give himself away. Anything else would be rude.
Soon enough, he'll be leaving for his next mission and Claude will be alone up here, unprotected. That's the downside with this arrangement - every tiny bit of organising surrounding it is risky and they're going for as little as possible. Claude will be off soon, anyway, on a mission of his own. And even though Sidious doesn't hold any illusions regarding Bail Organa or his planet, he also saves his pieces for when they'll do the most good for him on the board. The planet is not, at the moment, in any particular danger and neither are they.
[ He's spent the past couple of hours tightening up the residence, collecting things, putting things in order, the few items of his that he brought from Nuralee, documents especially, transferred to new, safer devices, upgrading things, new comm, all the usual things after a transfer. He's been here before.
Here, too. On Alderaan. What feels like decades ago, when in reality it's been maybe a handful of years, tops. He used to visit with his parents, when they were alive and after that, as part of his schooling. Alderaan reminds him, in many ways, of Paris. Paris which lies a few planets over, deserted and destroyed. He's heard they're fighting for who gets to own it now.
The one planet, you'd think, though no planet should be, that was never meant to be owned at all.
At some point during his cleaning, he feels Anakin nudge him in that particular way he does when he's looking for him through the Force. Claude can't explain it, feels like a finger poking him, but there's no finger, there's no hand. It happens once, then twice, then now, the third time. Sighing, not really exasperated, more like an endeared sound, Claude straightens up from his uncomfortable stance over the table, heading outside gradually, finding things along the way that still needs fixing.
In the end, he just gives up. He has time once Anakin has left for his mission.
The other man is standing at the banister with the beautiful view over the lake, Claude glancing up at the icy blue sky that reflects it, upside down. It's chilly out here, but at this point, he's used himself to non-Parisian weather conditions, knows how to dress for it. They get snow this high up.
He hasn't seen snow since he was a kid, one freaky winter in the northern regions. His parents were still alive, then. The galaxy was another place altogether. He comes to a halt next to Anakin, looking at his folded arms, fingers sticking out of his sleeves, covered in ice crystals. Himself, Claude has a cloak pulled around his shoulders. His fingers gloved.
He reaches out and covers Anakin's nearest hand in his own. ]
[ No doubt, he could easily just have stayed in the middle house and taken his call there, in the room that's been prepared for him, but his room is right across the hall from Kenobi's and some things you'd have to whisper in a really kriffing low voice not to have overheard by uninvited ears.
Anakin's name is one of those things, so Claude has retreated after lunch, five rough days later, a couple of hours of private time scheduled there, and found his way into the underground living quarters of another of the village houses, lighting up a few lamps to make sure the lighting is sufficient, then he sets the comm down on the ground and calls Anakin up. Sitting down cross-legged in front of it, in the way Anakin favours and that he's now found Kenobi in a couple of times, too.
They're in very different parts of the galaxy, he's sure, there're no guarantees that they manage to reach out at times that are opportune to them both, but they made an agreement before Anakin left that Claude should call him regardless, then Anakin would get back to him whenever possible.
And if they missed each other, well. They missed a lot. They missed a lot. ]
[ He's between locations in a newly-stolen shuttle, his other one - the one he has tentatively decided to call his own - hidden away on a small planet in the Rishi system. This one isn't equipped with any medical amenities and consequently, Elze has to step up her game for the duration of their flight to the Patriim System. She's currently working on his left arm, sans prosthetic, while he finishes programming the ship computer when his comm activates.
It takes only one frequency.
Smiling even before he's turned on the comm, Anakin flops down onto the floor, Elze diving right back to work at his socket. He flicks the button and Claude comes into view, dark eyes, the beard that emphasises the depth in them, in his features as a whole... all of it, achingly familiar at this point. ]
There you are. Impressive timing - I was just about to make the jump.
[ The signal is surprisingly strong. Most probably, it means that Claude must be relatively close to Anakin's current location and the thought makes him feel light all over, even as he has to mentally stop himself from going any further in trying to discover his whereabouts.
[ He's been back on Alderaan little more than a week, Ryloth left open as a new resistance base, only secondarily as a Jedi safe house which Kenobi had eventually settled with in the same calm manner he seemed to settle with everything. Except the fate of Anakin, evidently. Claude didn't think about it, but it was a conscious effort, kriff.
On his last day there, the other man had approached him directly, finally speaking up about what Claude had felt had been on his mind since the beginning. May I inquire, he'd begun the conversation that would eventually lead him to think that Anakin and Claude had been lovers in those days before the Empire, and that this was all that was left of them, with Anakin gone, about the kyber you're wearing. I'm sorry, I can sense it. What claim do you have to it?
It had been a brief conversation, seeing as Claude was more or less on the way to board his ship, but it had ended in a deep, resonating silence between Kenobi and him, just looking at each other, each bearing a secret about Anakin that the other couldn't fully know. Understand. Kenobi could no doubt sense that there was more to it than Claude was telling. Just as Claude knew for sure that there was more to it than Kenobi revealed.
Secrets were all they owned, either of them, now. So, they had parted on friendlier terms than Kenobi had parted with Anakin and Claude thought, maybe that was as good as it'd get. Maybe they'd never cross paths again and this was it.
Alderaan is still cold as kriff and although a part of him misses his loincloths and gentle, though rainy winters of Paris, he can't exactly make the change. His dick would freeze off. Instead he bundles up and spends most of his time cataloguing incoming correspondances from Ryloth where the Free Ryloth leader was no other than the senator who had once scoffed at Claude's direct attack on the slave trade.
Alliances change.
In his bacta tank in their room, Anakin is healing after extensive travel. Claude worries, but doesn't make it Anakin's problem, he's got enough, really. Instead he's found a warm spot by the heater in the library, downloading texts at random, not really finding anything that can hold his interest for very long.
He keeps thinking about Anakin. Anakin who's been under for half a day at this point. He thinks that next time... next time he'll go with him or make someone else do so, he's not gonna keep upholding this momentum on his own. ]
[ He's done drying off from his bacta soak and in the midst of putting on clothes - he's managed to improve his bodystocking a few months after going on the run and it's equal parts easier to don and more efficient at conserving body heat. He finishes quickly, wrapping up in his tabards and additional layers, throwing on his cloak for good measure because Alderaan remains frigid - and closes his eyes, reaching out. Claude's in the library and his mood is complicated; Anakin senses worry, first and foremost along with an urge to act, quite a common combination for the both of them.
He frowns. Goes to riffle through his things, including his ratty backpack, until he finds what he's searching for - a package, heavier than it looks, wrapped in several layers of brown paper. He turns it over between his hands a couple of time, considering. He... doesn't actually know what the small figurine is supposed to be - it's a naked guy, basically, with wings and a melancholic expression on his face - but from what he remembers, Claude used to collect this stuff. And it - well, it spoke to him somehow when he saw it in the market place, getting fuel for the trip back to base.
If Claude doesn't like it, they can throw it at someone in the name of self-defense. Anakin has an active list of beings who might make excellent targets, though it's dwindled quite a bit since his last trip. Sidious is bound to be furious with him; he's down three Inquisitors and Anakin is up six kyber crystals.
The man should have done more to shackle him.
Straightening to his feet, he makes his way down the hallway, a beautiful, white stretch of marble walls and flower-decorated mosaic floors. The library is on the first floor as well as their bedroom and he finds Claude curled up in a chair by the heater, dropping the parcel in his lap gently before moving to stand by the window. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms in front of his chest, striving for a nonchalance that he honestly doesn't feel.
[ It's a few hours past sunset and the stars are out. Anakin leans back against the sides of the large hot tub, craning his neck back and looking upwards. Out here in the forest, far away from Aldera's lightscape, the visual is breathtaking. He finds Coruscant with ease of habit before his gaze wanders, taking in stars at random. He's seen a few of them by now. I'm gonna be the first to see them all, he'd said, once, decades ago when he'd known very little about the magnitude of the galaxy. But even now, after everything, the wanderlust remains like a weak but undeniable undercurrent within him. Onwards, it says. Hurry.
The past few hours he's spent setting up the tub in the backyard along with a string of old-fashioned light bulbs that he found in a crate in the very back of the work shed. For such a luxurious place, they're a bit crappy-looking, but their golden light emanating between the naked branches above him is warm and goes with the pace they're struck, him and Claude. Not hurried. Easy, rather, steady. One step at a time.
He's holding himself up by his arms, his legs leaned against the side of the tub because he thinks bathing with them unprotected might be pushing the mechanics a bit too far, even with all the modifications he's managed to do over the past months. The rest of him, he's decided to risk. His implants are fine with bacta, which incidentally is quite wet. If they can't handle bathwater with a touch of herbal infusions, then supposedly, he'd have to short-circuit. He'd deserve it, too, for allowing himself to be that useless.
Anakin glances towards the back terrace. His skin prickles slightly where the nerves still can.
[ Afterwards, as they'd settled down from the handjob in the library, lots of kissing, lots of nuzzling later, Anakin and he had split up again the way they do during the day, because they each have their own missions and interests to pursue. Claude had returned to his bedroom to give the figurine a pride of place on his bedside table and then, maybe slightly nostalgic, had dug out one of the few loincloths he's brought along from Paris, all this way. Honestly, Alderaan is a bit too cold at this time for you to undress to any noticeable degree and a loincloth is definitely to push it, but he'd missed home. His mother's voice. The Parisian coastline. Seafood. All things he associates with the planet that is now all but gone, really. That reality doesn't exist anymore.
So, he'd donned the loincloth and returned to the library and the faint smell of himself there to pick up on his reading. The holo book opened on the same page he'd gotten to in the morning before Anakin decided to get him, first, emotional and then, orgasmic.
Peripherally, he's been aware of Anakin working in the shed, fixing up the hot tub outside, the temperatures unforgiving but watch the other man not giving a single kriff about that, soldiering on the way so many people must have taught him at this point. Difficult to point at the exact person responsible, right, the one who made Anakin Skywalker a soldier. Maybe he always was. Maybe that's part of what's everyone's been exploiting all this time.
Even as he starts reading again, his thoughts keep returning to that sentiment. You can't use something that isn't there.
Anakin was there. Anakin is here, now.
Claude won't use him, too.
Later in the evening, Anakin lets him know he's gonna try the hot tub, now that he's made all that kriffing effort, Claude raising an eye at him as he saunters outside. It takes him exactly ten minutes to sign off on the orders he's had lying around, before he also gets up and follows him, finding Anakin's legs leaned against the side of the tub and the man himself... Anakin holding himself up by the arms, submerged in water on the perch there, the water smelling nicely of herbs and flowers. He's hung up a string of light bulbs between the trees. If they weren't at war, it would have been romantic.
Still is, he thinks, stopping off to the side to crawl out of his loincloth (and it really is too kriffing cold for it, his dick finds) before climbing into the hot tub instead, easing down next to Anakin who never takes up that much space when out of his prosthetics. He bumps his shoulders, where he's still flesh. Hello, it means.
The water is a comfortably heated temperature. Not the reason Claude feels warm, though. He looks up at the starry sky above them, then he looks at Anakin. ]
[ He's been stored away at a moisture farm a safe distance from Bestine, where he has official business during the day. By his handlers, Claude has been advised not to move outside unaccompanied, as kidnappings by Tusken Raiders are common and extremely dangerous, so he's spend the first couple of days simply walking around underground, relishing the cover from the suns, the subterranean dwellings reaching far on all sides of the center space where the various invited parties meet and negotiate.
Obi-Wan Kenobi and he have once more crossed paths. That's the issue, actually. The whole reason Claude is calling Anakin up at least four days too soon, he's gonna think he's in trouble. Claude doesn't want to worry him, but Kenobi is proving a problem yet again, though this time less as a tough negotiatior, despite his hold on a negotiation certainly hasn't slackened, as a... Well, it seems a personal matter, honestly. Something between Anakin and him, Claude's just standing in the way.
He understands that. He just needs to know how he's expected to proceed.
With a brush of his right palm over the side of his neck where Anakin has left a bite mark the size of "very noticeable", Claude holds the comm on the palm of his other hand, tapping in Anakin's caller ID. He misses him, he wants to see him, but this is just a short call, they don't have this kinda time, either of them.
[ They're en route to Cato Neimoidia when Anakin's comm goes off. It's entirely unexpected - Claude is not supposed to call him for several days yet. Luckily, they've only just finished the latest part of their mission. Well, finished as in, they attempted to raid an Imperial mining facility on Umbara and came away mostly empty-handed. Mostly. Anakin glances sideways at Rex who's in the co-pilot's seat, currently focused on keeping their old freighter on course as the computer has a bad affinity for random glitches. The other man has been quiet since they left Umbara. Many bad memories associated with that place, obviously. Anakin on his part remembers leaving Rex behind in the clutches of Pong Krell and the emotions associated with that thought, whilst old and irrelevant, still burn. One bad choice out of too many to count.
Rex looks askance at him, nodding curtly before resuming his work. With that, Anakin leaves the cockpit to him, seeking out his small room in the back of the ship, stacked with old crates of what he's pretty sure is Maldovean Burtalle. The ship itself has probably been stolen more than once in its life.
He seats himself on the floor, his hands shaking slightly as he focuses on the comm. Claude. No one else would know how to contact him on this channel. Why, then, this early? Is something wrong? Has something -- He squares his shoulders and forces himself to breathe. Once. Twice.
Then, he turns it on and his shoulders actually, visibly lower at the sight of Claude on the other end, alone, seemingly unharmed. Seemingly. He swallows. ]
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For Sidious, especially.
He's watching the construction process from his throne room, hands clasped behind his back. The building site is a treacherous place and they've lost many workers already, underestimating the lava and its gasses, the instability of the terrain, the darkness within it. He'd exchange them for droids if he cared - but in this Empire of Sidious' construction, all beings remain disposable and a weak, organic work force is just another way to maintain the balance of power.
His comm pings. The first prisoner of the complex, it seems, is ready to be interrogated. It's a political enemy, his Master has told him by the name of Cyne Billet, one important enough to become Vader's assignment despite the fact that nearly no one ever is; one that may lead them to Padmé Amidala who's gone into hiding, pulling invisible but efficient strings to counteract him, in the Senate and beyond. She's a bug, says Sidious, but even the tiniest, most insignificant bugs can cause contamination in any delicate systems.
It's not his place to doubt his Master's words.
So he leaves it there.
He could bring up an image of the prisoner, data files, logs, if he wanted to. His eye lenses can play back the information easily. But this assignment matters about as much to him as anything else these days and thus, he simply heads for the cell and pulls the door aside, stepping in and freezing in the doorway, his artificial breath cycling through several rounds while he stares, utterly confounded.
There's a dead man in the cell. ]
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He touches the kyber pendant beneath his shirt, just a soft touch of fingertips, almost a caress, if he thought touching the heart of Anakin's lightsaber in any way compared to touching him. But sometimes what you get isn't what you wanted and you got the choice between either loving it as is or being half a person without.
Claude isn't ready to be half a person. If he's gonna die tonight, he wants to die whole.
Hearing heavy footfalls come down the hallway outside, he remains seated on the narrow bunk, dropping his hands into his lap so as not to give away the kyber too easily. Yeah, if he's gonna die tonight, he's dying with the crystal on his body. It's the only way he can imagine going, not stripped, not bare, not alone.
The door slides aside and he has to look up, and up, and up, the person entering tall and looming over him like a tower, a whisper of cape and the shine of metal - everywhere. Metal. Unwittingly, Claude remembers Anakin's mechno arm. He remembers the touch of him. He remembers.
Swallowing hard, he runs his gaze over the outline of the figure in front of him, waiting for him to do something, act, react. Except, nothing happens. Claude raises his chin, lips a thin line, his jaw set. Padmé and Bail have known there were whispers of some background lackey, but no one knew who they were, what they did.
If this is them? The answer is: not much. ]
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Touching the kyber pendant underneath his shirt again, he looks towards the cockpit with a frown. He can't imagine why the Empire would bother moving him somewhere else to execute him, when they might as well have done it in the cell where they'd placed him to begin with. Lots of resources going to waste. Lots of effort, needless. And because he is who he is, still, regardless, and because Anakin taught him to act accordingly, maybe borderline recklessly, Claude gets up after a quarter of an hour has passed, heading for the cockpit stiffly, every step sending shivers down his spine. What is he doing? Does he want to die?
Yeah, does he, is the question. That one, he's got no right and only wrong answers for.
Without saying a word, because two can play that game, Claude slips into the seat behind the man in the helmet, staring into the back of his seat, the way he towers over that, too. Shoulders broader than ought to be legal, really. Cape only adding to the overall impression of insurmountability. Half a minute passes in complete silence, then Claude leans forward, speaking at neck-level with the man up front, keeping his voice even and unshaking mostly because he's stubborn as all kriff.
Because someone, somewhere, once taught him to fight for his own sake, too. Not the time to let down the ghost of the one person who would've cared whether Claude kept objecting, however futile his hope. However futile all hope. He reaches up for the pendant without thinking, stopping himself halfway and letting his hand drop to his lap again. A hard swallow. ]
You're setting a lot of things in motion for a literal nobody, you know. [ Pause. ] Unauthorized.
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He couldn't convince himself of that even if he had Sidious sitting right opposite him, twisting his mind accordingly.
Claude is here. Claude is here. As ridiculous as the thought may be, he's in hyperspace right now because he couldn't think of anywhere safer to bring him. As the other man enters the cockpit, he can sense the remains of his body reacting as much as they ever can these days; his skin prickling along ruined or half-dead nerves, his chest muscles working to expand around his lung implants; he'd be hyperventilating, he thinks, if he'd been capable. Instead, he just sits. If he doesn't kill people, that's all he does these days, isn't it, so that suits.
When Claude leans into his personal space, he has to fight not to lean back against him. ]
You aren't nobody. [ He wishes for the first time that his voice wasn't so harsh. ] Claude. You have changed your name but not your face.
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Clearly, he never did.
He seats himself crosslegged on the seat in the middle of the room, gesturing for Claude to make himself comfortable as he chooses. Punching in a few commands on the panel to his right, he steels himself as the room de-pressurizes. His ears don't pop from the change as they should - but Claude, his ears purely organic tissue, will. It takes seconds at best, however, before the room stabilizes and the oxygen level rockets to its final level. He flicks his hand quickly and a mask loosens from the ceiling, tumbling down to Claude's right with a dull thud. ]
Put that on. The air is too concentrated.
[ He reaches for his helmet and pauses, hands seemingly freezing for a moment as a burst of sudden, unfiltered panic surges through him. It's hard to quantify it, really; he's been without his armor around people, even nameless strangers, many times before. Or maybe that's the problem. Maybe it pops up now when he'd keep it down otherwise, because Claude is here, leaving a space for such feelings and he remembers what that used to be like.
He does.
So he takes the helmet off and the mask with it and then, he sits there and blinks stupidly at Claude from across the distance. He can make out his shape in the darkness, if nothing else. But his presence is bright and clear and he clings to it for a moment, to the notion of it. ]
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There are only so many things the darkness in here can obscure.
When the mask drops down next to him, he raises an eyebrow at Anakin, without really intending to, it just happens - that old amusement he used to watch him with when he used the Force, back then, before they both died, apparently. Floating lubes and fruits and similar objects around to make whatever they were doing otherwise easier. It's a shallow feeling now, but it's there, like a ghost of something he recognizes, at least. Echoes. Trails. He puts it on wordlessly, feeling the chamber decompress, his ears popping - then, popping back as the levels inside stabilize.
Anakin, on his end, seems to hesitate to remove his helmet, Claude just watching his calmly, though his insides are ice, his heart is thumping, but the hesitation passes, like it always did with Anakin, if you were patient about it. Because the man was if not braver than most, bravery that always comes at a cost, for everyone involved, then definitely more willing to act. Someone's made full use of that, haven't they?
His fingers clench, unclench, clench.
Off the mask comes.
Claude stares.
He isn't unrecognisable, unrecognisable isn't the word. He is badly burned, his injuries only half-healed, really, and that makes Claude feel sick to his stomach, but his features are mostly the same, the nose, the line of his jaw, lips. His eyes are blue and couldn't be anyone else's, Claude's stared into them too often, too intensely, not to place them... anywhere. They are Anakin's eyes. This is Anakin.
The ice melts inside him. Feeling nothing but a strong sense of relief, like finding something you'd thought you'd been careless enough to lose in the first place, he moves forward, breathing in shakily, noisily, stopping up close in front of Anakin, Anakin in the suit, Anakin who works for the Empire, Anakin who is still his and does stupid things for Claude's sake, like fucking himself on vegetables. Like being too harsh on himself, in so many other ways. Like now. He reaches up with one hand, then stops. ]
Can I touch you?
[ His fingers clench, unclench, but he waits. They know how to wait, they taught each other that, first. ]
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Something Claude would obviously never do.
Then, there's the fact that their sources have traced Amidala to him. Putting two and two together, Anakin is fairly certain that leaving Claude behind in known, Imperial territory will require extensive planning.
Taking him back to Mustafar, to his Master, has crossed his mind exactly once since their last conversation. Then, he'd cut the signal from the commlink ingrained in his suit. That's somewhere to start, Claude had told him, and if that's true, if there's truly a starting point left for the both of them even now, then he will do what's necessary to reach it. He glances sideways at Claude, seated next to him. ]
To be of any use to you... [ Emphasis, Claude. Because he means Claude, not whomever Claude's working with. ] I should go back to the Emperor. If played correctly, that would by far be the strongest hand you could have.
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They're gonna be out of hyperspace soon, Claude having taken note of their coordinates. The Chommell sector, which means Naboo, which means Padmé, which means too close to home when you have the Emperor's guard dog with you. He frowns as Anakin speaks, his voice dark, gritty and distorted beyond all recognition. Then, he shakes his head. ]
Actually I'd prefer if you stayed away from the Emperor from now on.
[ Of course he could've said, you don't have a good track record with shaking off your masters, but he doesn't, because this is Anakin's choice to make and not Claude's call, he doesn't get to push him either way. He can advise and give his own opinion, but they are Anakin's hands, not his, in the end. Anakin's own hands need to be stronger yet. ]
You remember, right? We talked about this before, some fights aren't won by adopting the enemy's weapons and strategies.
[ Finally, he turns slightly in his seat to look at the other man next to him. His broad, tall figure, dark, cloaked. Made to invoke fear in those against him. Made. Anakin has done horrendous things, but so much of him was made that way. Claude's expression softens and he reaches out, flattening his palm against the other man's upper arm. Where there should be flesh and bone, underneath. Still. ]
Be of use to yourself, all right? That's the only way you can be of use to me.
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He's prepared to wait for a long as it'll take.
There's not a doubt in his mind that the other man will get back to him, however, at least not by his own choice. The fear that he might not have made it all the way to his destination since Anakin dropped him off has haunted him regularly for the past many days but Claude had told him, be of use to yourself and so, he's let his anxiety drive him, his body still thrumming from nervous energy. ]
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So, in the end, he retreats to his own room, the only truly private place in the old farm they're using for hide-out and turns on the comm once he's seated on his bed, remembering another time, another bed, another call. His stomach feels in knots. Since they parted ways, Claude pulling the other man in for a hug, awkward and too-hard, he's spent most of his time lying low and growing a beard, his ministrations showing as a short, even growth of stubs all over his chin. Even the Empire can't fight his kriffing hair growth.
The image of Anakin startles him slightly, not enough to show, but he's sure the other man can probably tell anyway. He's out of his suit. A half-mask all that's left of the black metal. You can actually make out Anakin's own features behind it now.
His immediate response kind of escapes him in a blurted-out, ]
You look better.
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They'd all looked meaningfully at each other. Because the Falleen aren't a humanoid race. They don't get their due.
This is one of the main reasons that Claude had been invited, because there had been talk of uproar and rebellion among the Falleen at the Empire's approach to non-human species throughout the galaxy. Maybe now was the time to present them with another option. Another way to fight back.
And so, they'd been in the middle of the unofficial part of their meetings today, when the alarm had suddenly started blaring, loud and shrill, shouting and crying Falleen people crawling out of the mine shafts, running for their lives while somewhere fire started blazing, things exploding, chaos.
Claude almost sighed, not sure whether in relief or in exhaustion. Exasperation. Today of all day? Really?
But the CEO of the mining company grabs him by the elbow and leads him towards the emergency exit, the five Falleen managers lead the way, their long legs making it difficult to keep up for Claude, though he doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop moving forward, away, away, away. It's when they're crossing over the huge courtyard in front of the main factory building, the doors banging open behind Claude for unknown reasons, he doesn't turn to look, that he feels it. Anakin's kyber crystal, trembling and shaking beneath his shirt, against his skin, like a fluttering heartbeat. He slows down enough to reach up and grab it, hold it, feel it. ]
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After today, there'll be even less.
When Anakin blows up the main processing facility, he'd counted on the chain reaction. He'd counted on the chaos and on multiple exit ways, closing to him. But he might have slightly misjudged the pattern of explosions, meaning that he's now running for the same exit as anyone on the most-upper levels of the complex, the hallways full of surveillance that he dismantles with the Force because there's a fireball working its way towards him from below and he doesn't have the time to get fancy.
He makes it out of the door and onto the courtyard before he realises.
His kyber crystal sings out to him from around Claude's neck, Claude who's right there with his back to him, in the midst of evacuation. Anakin's ship is in the directly opposite direction and he really should be going - but instead, he stands absolutely still amidst the chaos, dust and ashes floating in the air and blocking out the sky. Behind him, black smoke rises from the complex, the smell of melting durasteel drifting upwards. ]
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And even so, Sidious is catching up to him.
The call is heavily encrypted, the signal a little weak. He's seated as usual, cross-legged on the floor, his face bare except for the breathing mask. The sores across his scalp and down his neck have grown worse, of course, because bacta is expensive and he only rarely indulges when he finds it necessary to continue onwards. It hardly matters. He's got few runs left in him now.
If it isn't yet time for their paths to converge, he thinks, as he waits for Claude to answer, then this might well be their last conversation.
He pushes that thought away for later, if ever. ]
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As soon as he has his back on her, he turns the comm on and finds Anakin sitting, cross-legged, the signal weaker than last time. Where is he? Is he safe? They haven't talked since... It's been a long time now. What has changed? He looks like himself, but awful, run down, spent.
That's where they're at, then. Claude leans in. ]
Okay, you're gonna tell me what I can do for you, right?
[ Slowly, he bends down and places the comm on the floor, letting Anakin have his whole figure, easing down on his knees in front of it, in front of him, to have them on eye-level again. ]
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The farm itself is old, built of traditional materials and would, if functional, run in a traditional way, not much in way of technology outside of the main house that is hooked up to everything that you need to be hooked up to if you wanna tear down a system from the base. It took them some time to set all this up right and now, two and a half year later, the Empire is breathing them down their necks so much, Padmé decided some months ago that it was time they abandoned the location. They're setting something else up acorss the sector. Bail has it all under control.
Claude has been arranging papers in his own room when Sabé signals for him that they have company. He's prepared her for what she's gonna meet, though he knows she doesn't need it. She is always prepared, better than anyone else, better than him, definitely. Without thinking about it, he fixes the creasing in his loose trousers before exiting his bedroom, walking out into the courtyard where the shuttle, non-descript, relatively new, functional, lands.
His shirt gets a slight padding, too, while he waits. Kriff, it's been so long. It's been forever. ]
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When he sees Claude, it doesn't feel like quite so much of a lie.
Shutting everything down quickly, he gets to his feet and leaves the cockpit behind. He walks down the ramp, carrying a crate over his shoulder, Elze floating to his right with a few bags clutched in her grip. As he reaches the ground, he stops. Looks.
Claude looks much the same as he did when they last met but there's something to be said for an environment without excessive explosions or bleating klaxons. Anakin's shoulders lower a fraction, visibly so, tension dissipating. His black robes billow gently around him as he finally crosses the distance between them, reaching for his mask with his free hand and lowering it away from his face. He breathes shallowly, still, for the most part but at least he can actually breathe for short amounts of time. He doesn't want any unnecessary barriers between them now, not when so much has already passed between them while they were apart. It's not necessary. It can't be.
He recognises Sabé standing a few feet behind Claude and ignores her.
Instead, he pauses in front of Claude, puts down the crate and opens his arms in invitation. ]
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Accountability comes first and neither of them will go free from that, in each their way. They'll feel it, but they'll feel each other first.
He's still drowsy, having slept soundly, falling asleep with Anakin's arms around him, though he wakes up alone. Been the routine since they began sleeping together, Anakin needs his bacta, like he said, it's the only thing he requires, and Claude doesn't complain or object. Some things are as they must be. Nothing to be done. For now he rolls over onto his other side, getting an eyeful of Anakin sitting naked on the blanket in front of his bacta tank, limbs back on, legs crossed beneath him while he air-dries, his skin too frail for a vast array of rubbing towels.
It isn't that Claude has gotten used to looking at him yet, so much of him changed and so much of him destroyed, but he's settled with simply not caring, Claude who cares about everything and everyone can't make himself care what has happened to Anakin. He knows it must have been horrific, he knows he must have suffered all this time, but it's something for the past - and whatever way they find to process the past, as they go into the future.
For the time being... Well, there's the now. Here. Right here. He hears himself, his voice a bit hoarse from sleep, saying: ]
Are you comfortable enough, like that?
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He isn't certain he ought to be doing it, obviously, but that certainty will never come. He's done away with all his teachers. Burned every bridge he could possibly burn.
So he seeks out first the room around him - Claude, sleeping, the sound of his breath, the steadiness of his exhalations - and beyond that, the house, from the silent hallways to the tiny insects living in the walls. Beyond that, Sabé, her mind carefully shielded. And from there -
He is pulled back to himself, first by Claude's shift from sleep to awareness, then by his question. Opening his eyes slowly, he turns his head slightly to look at him. ]
Quite.
[ A half-smile. He holds out his hand for his mask, grabbing it out of the air and attaching it to his face and throat with fast, habitual movements. His next breath is good. Even. Then, he stretches his back and rolls his shoulders before getting to his feet. He straightens, uncaring about his nudity - because really, there's both very much and very little to see, here, depending on your perspective - and walks over to sit on the bed, nudging Claude's legs a little to make room. ]
Can't sleep anymore?
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Like, where they've gotten the intel from. How.
Today, Padmé has contacted him out of the blue, emergency call, and asked him to house a group of four clones on the run from Vader's Fist. It's temporary, she had promised, just a stopover - their contact just needs time to map out an escape route for them. Who's their contact, Claude had inquired.
Rex.
Rex is coming here.
Claude had felt the need to bang his head against something, pretty sure how Anakin would react to that. However, Rex isn't staying, just dropping off the other clones before continuing on his own journey. He's a busy man these days. Claude hasn't seen him since they parted ways after Paris.
He hasn't seen Anakin even longer than that.
And Claude will have to lie to him, and because Claude is Claude and because Rex is Rex, Rex will know. Claude hates every aspect of this plan, but this isn't about him, these clones are in immediate danger and they need the help. Claude is here to help.
So now, while brewing Anakin's caf, careful to make it mild enough for his digestive system, if not for his tastes, originally, he watches the other man out the corner of his eye while he cooks, something he's taken to since arriving. It reminds Claude of other times, if not better times. They were better for everyone, it's okay looking back on it with some degree of nostalgia, right?
This, however, is nice, too. He frowns and stirs the caf a couple of times before walking over to the table and putting the cup down at Anakin's usual spot, seating himself opposite. Sabé eats with them sometimes, but more often than not she chooses dinner time to do patrols. Enjoy yourself, she'll greet them with when slipping out the door and it always sounds a tiny bit sarcastic.
Claude places his elbows on the table in a way his mother would have disapproved of. But his mother is also of the past; elbows don't change a thing. ]
Smells good. What're we having tonight?
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It's fine, though. He thinks Claude will like it.
He glances sideways as Claude fixes up his caf - something he's become extremely proficient at - and puts out two bowls on the wooden counter top, expecting Sabé to pick up her own portion when she'd done with her perimeter walks. He's offered to do them for her. It didn't go down very well.
Good thing he's useful for other things, then. ]
Alkaali broth. I had to mix and match - we're nearly out of supplies.
[ He stirs the pot a couple of times before pouring a bowl for Claude, picking it up along with a wooden spoon. He turns the heat down on the broth, leaving it to simmer quietly behind him. Putting the bowl down in front of Claude, he finds his own seat and folds his hands around the cup. He slips off his mask and takes a sip, eyes drifting shut for a moment at the taste. It's just a nudge, really, and nothing like he used to drink it but it's caf. It's sharing what constitutes as a meal for him now, with Claude. Not alone.
So in other words, delicious. ]
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Although Sabé has put the clones to work on a rec room of their own in the abandoned barn across the courtyard, Trigger has a taxing tendency to find Claude wherever he is and offer his help with whatever he's doing. Yesterday it was the dishwashing machine that needed fixing (I'm pretty technically adept) and today, the hoover they picked up a couple of weeks ago to deal with the Sourcorn harvesting, that glides soundlessly through the crops, chopping them off at the base and leaving the working droid that Anakin got along with the supplies this round to bundle it all up. Claude has just had to remind him that his brothers are waiting for him to return to his paint job before they can carry on, the back of the man disappearing across the courtyard towards the barn house.
Claude watches the door slam shut before his shoulders slowly lower and he turns back, facing forward on the hoover harvester, igniting it with a push of a button. It starts slowly gliding forward through another row of the corn.
It's not that he minds that the clone has a crush on him, feelings can't be helped, but he's getting increasingly more annoyed at having to mark his boundaries in even the most innocent of contexts. Not to mention, Anakin is very obviously getting frustrated with it and while Claude trusts in him as much as he hopes Anakin trusts him back, he can feel the seething, underlying rage in the air all around him. Sighing, he leans back in his seat, just sitting there and watching the tall growths getting cut down, waiting for the sound of Anakin propelling through the air and landing next to him. They've had to hide him away too often already. Like he's something to be ashamed of.
It's getting untenable. ]
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See how he'll like that kind of action.
As it is, he manages to temper himself, breathing in slowly, deeply, his shoulders easing down half an inch at most. As soon as the coast is clear, he takes off from the roof, gathering the Force around himself in a big jump that sends him soaring across the courtyard. He lands with a hard thump next to Claude in the field, dust whirling around him. The droid makes a surprised little squawk and promptly drops four bundles of Sourcorn. Anakin growls in irritation and flicks his hand, the bundles coming together perhaps a tad bit more aggressively than any corn ever should. They fly at the droid who very nearly topples over, trying to catch them all. ]
Your patience is admirable.
[ Spoken to Claude who's seated on the harvester, his tank top clinging slightly to him in the heat, emphasising the lines of his upper body. Slim but firm, broad in the right places. He doesn't blame the other man at all for catching the attentions of others; and he's clearly trying his best to get rid of them, too, which makes it frustratingly tempting to do the job for him.
Permanent solutions only. ]
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That, and the feeling of letting the darkness grow for just a few hours... well. Like everything else Anakin has ever held between his hands, this too is hard to let go of.
So when the clone trooper, Trigger, comes across him in the clearing by accident, what happens from Anakin's perspective are waves of boring, neutral-looking energy crashing against the black shores of his mindscape, grey swirls seeping into the atmosphere like ash. It's annoying and highly intrusive, not unlike a black desert fly, buzzing right next to your ear and Anakin, naturally, acts without thinking and pushes it out, away, be gone.
There's a startled yell and a split-second later, something clatters against his shields, just a spattering of light in the darkness. He infers that the man must've tried to shoot him and though he doesn't care that much, a part of him is also relieved. Somehow, despite the darkness of his focus, he's managed not to accidentally squash him like a bug. That's something, isn't it? Control!
Naturally, that burst of delight breaks his mood. He bumps onto the ground, backside first. Grumbling, he re-seats himself properly, cross-legged, and searches back inwards while the man disappears into the darkness, no doubt running back to his friends with his tail between his legs.
Hah. ]
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We understand, sir. We're moving into the rec room tomorrow, gives him space to move freely.
Claude had smiled. Trigger, behind Rigg, had looked down, finally defeated. Even as a soldier, Claude's pretty sure he doesn't understand how close he'd come to what could easily have been his death.
It just wasn't.
Claude puts trousers on, too, shoes, then grabs a flashlight and makes his way into the forest behind the farm, knowing where Anakin usually is to be found. As he approaches, aware that Anakin will be able to feel him, but wanting to show his private sphere some respect regardless, stops a good distance away, raising his voice enough that it'll carry over and says his name, simply that. ]
Anakin?
[ And like that, he simply resigns himself to waiting, thinking again and again about Trigger who disturbed Anakin at a time when he's vulnerable - or the world is vulnerable around him, difficult to say which it is, and lived to tell the tale.
Only they won't tell the tale to anyone after leaving these premises. Claude made them promise, for the security of the galaxy, he'd said. They're all good enough soldiers that they know how to risk assess. Even when in the guise of a request, they also know how to follow orders.
Rigg had clasped Trigger's shoulder as they'd returned to their room. ]
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Anakin folds his arms against the smooth marble bannister, looking out across the lake. He's on the first floor terrace and the sunlight feels warm from up here, though the weather is anything but. He's got ice crystals forming on his unprotected metal fingertips. Pulling his cloak tight around him, he listens for Claude's presence in the house, stretching out his awareness just to check on him, to make certain. He finds him in a room on the same floor and gives him a small nudge, just to give himself away. Anything else would be rude.
Soon enough, he'll be leaving for his next mission and Claude will be alone up here, unprotected. That's the downside with this arrangement - every tiny bit of organising surrounding it is risky and they're going for as little as possible. Claude will be off soon, anyway, on a mission of his own. And even though Sidious doesn't hold any illusions regarding Bail Organa or his planet, he also saves his pieces for when they'll do the most good for him on the board. The planet is not, at the moment, in any particular danger and neither are they.
Once they leave, however.
Well. They will be back to that. ]
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Here, too. On Alderaan. What feels like decades ago, when in reality it's been maybe a handful of years, tops. He used to visit with his parents, when they were alive and after that, as part of his schooling. Alderaan reminds him, in many ways, of Paris. Paris which lies a few planets over, deserted and destroyed. He's heard they're fighting for who gets to own it now.
The one planet, you'd think, though no planet should be, that was never meant to be owned at all.
At some point during his cleaning, he feels Anakin nudge him in that particular way he does when he's looking for him through the Force. Claude can't explain it, feels like a finger poking him, but there's no finger, there's no hand. It happens once, then twice, then now, the third time. Sighing, not really exasperated, more like an endeared sound, Claude straightens up from his uncomfortable stance over the table, heading outside gradually, finding things along the way that still needs fixing.
In the end, he just gives up. He has time once Anakin has left for his mission.
The other man is standing at the banister with the beautiful view over the lake, Claude glancing up at the icy blue sky that reflects it, upside down. It's chilly out here, but at this point, he's used himself to non-Parisian weather conditions, knows how to dress for it. They get snow this high up.
He hasn't seen snow since he was a kid, one freaky winter in the northern regions. His parents were still alive, then. The galaxy was another place altogether. He comes to a halt next to Anakin, looking at his folded arms, fingers sticking out of his sleeves, covered in ice crystals. Himself, Claude has a cloak pulled around his shoulders. His fingers gloved.
He reaches out and covers Anakin's nearest hand in his own. ]
I felt you. All three times, thanks.
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Anakin's name is one of those things, so Claude has retreated after lunch, five rough days later, a couple of hours of private time scheduled there, and found his way into the underground living quarters of another of the village houses, lighting up a few lamps to make sure the lighting is sufficient, then he sets the comm down on the ground and calls Anakin up. Sitting down cross-legged in front of it, in the way Anakin favours and that he's now found Kenobi in a couple of times, too.
They're in very different parts of the galaxy, he's sure, there're no guarantees that they manage to reach out at times that are opportune to them both, but they made an agreement before Anakin left that Claude should call him regardless, then Anakin would get back to him whenever possible.
And if they missed each other, well. They missed a lot. They missed a lot. ]
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It takes only one frequency.
Smiling even before he's turned on the comm, Anakin flops down onto the floor, Elze diving right back to work at his socket. He flicks the button and Claude comes into view, dark eyes, the beard that emphasises the depth in them, in his features as a whole... all of it, achingly familiar at this point. ]
There you are. Impressive timing - I was just about to make the jump.
[ The signal is surprisingly strong. Most probably, it means that Claude must be relatively close to Anakin's current location and the thought makes him feel light all over, even as he has to mentally stop himself from going any further in trying to discover his whereabouts.
Not now. ]
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On his last day there, the other man had approached him directly, finally speaking up about what Claude had felt had been on his mind since the beginning. May I inquire, he'd begun the conversation that would eventually lead him to think that Anakin and Claude had been lovers in those days before the Empire, and that this was all that was left of them, with Anakin gone, about the kyber you're wearing. I'm sorry, I can sense it. What claim do you have to it?
It had been a brief conversation, seeing as Claude was more or less on the way to board his ship, but it had ended in a deep, resonating silence between Kenobi and him, just looking at each other, each bearing a secret about Anakin that the other couldn't fully know. Understand. Kenobi could no doubt sense that there was more to it than Claude was telling. Just as Claude knew for sure that there was more to it than Kenobi revealed.
Secrets were all they owned, either of them, now. So, they had parted on friendlier terms than Kenobi had parted with Anakin and Claude thought, maybe that was as good as it'd get. Maybe they'd never cross paths again and this was it.
Alderaan is still cold as kriff and although a part of him misses his loincloths and gentle, though rainy winters of Paris, he can't exactly make the change. His dick would freeze off. Instead he bundles up and spends most of his time cataloguing incoming correspondances from Ryloth where the Free Ryloth leader was no other than the senator who had once scoffed at Claude's direct attack on the slave trade.
Alliances change.
In his bacta tank in their room, Anakin is healing after extensive travel. Claude worries, but doesn't make it Anakin's problem, he's got enough, really. Instead he's found a warm spot by the heater in the library, downloading texts at random, not really finding anything that can hold his interest for very long.
He keeps thinking about Anakin. Anakin who's been under for half a day at this point. He thinks that next time... next time he'll go with him or make someone else do so, he's not gonna keep upholding this momentum on his own. ]
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He frowns. Goes to riffle through his things, including his ratty backpack, until he finds what he's searching for - a package, heavier than it looks, wrapped in several layers of brown paper. He turns it over between his hands a couple of time, considering. He... doesn't actually know what the small figurine is supposed to be - it's a naked guy, basically, with wings and a melancholic expression on his face - but from what he remembers, Claude used to collect this stuff. And it - well, it spoke to him somehow when he saw it in the market place, getting fuel for the trip back to base.
If Claude doesn't like it, they can throw it at someone in the name of self-defense. Anakin has an active list of beings who might make excellent targets, though it's dwindled quite a bit since his last trip. Sidious is bound to be furious with him; he's down three Inquisitors and Anakin is up six kyber crystals.
The man should have done more to shackle him.
Straightening to his feet, he makes his way down the hallway, a beautiful, white stretch of marble walls and flower-decorated mosaic floors. The library is on the first floor as well as their bedroom and he finds Claude curled up in a chair by the heater, dropping the parcel in his lap gently before moving to stand by the window. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms in front of his chest, striving for a nonchalance that he honestly doesn't feel.
It seems like such a little thing. ]
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The past few hours he's spent setting up the tub in the backyard along with a string of old-fashioned light bulbs that he found in a crate in the very back of the work shed. For such a luxurious place, they're a bit crappy-looking, but their golden light emanating between the naked branches above him is warm and goes with the pace they're struck, him and Claude. Not hurried. Easy, rather, steady. One step at a time.
He's holding himself up by his arms, his legs leaned against the side of the tub because he thinks bathing with them unprotected might be pushing the mechanics a bit too far, even with all the modifications he's managed to do over the past months. The rest of him, he's decided to risk. His implants are fine with bacta, which incidentally is quite wet. If they can't handle bathwater with a touch of herbal infusions, then supposedly, he'd have to short-circuit. He'd deserve it, too, for allowing himself to be that useless.
Anakin glances towards the back terrace. His skin prickles slightly where the nerves still can.
Claude should be joining him soon. ]
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So, he'd donned the loincloth and returned to the library and the faint smell of himself there to pick up on his reading. The holo book opened on the same page he'd gotten to in the morning before Anakin decided to get him, first, emotional and then, orgasmic.
Peripherally, he's been aware of Anakin working in the shed, fixing up the hot tub outside, the temperatures unforgiving but watch the other man not giving a single kriff about that, soldiering on the way so many people must have taught him at this point. Difficult to point at the exact person responsible, right, the one who made Anakin Skywalker a soldier. Maybe he always was. Maybe that's part of what's everyone's been exploiting all this time.
Even as he starts reading again, his thoughts keep returning to that sentiment. You can't use something that isn't there.
Anakin was there. Anakin is here, now.
Claude won't use him, too.
Later in the evening, Anakin lets him know he's gonna try the hot tub, now that he's made all that kriffing effort, Claude raising an eye at him as he saunters outside. It takes him exactly ten minutes to sign off on the orders he's had lying around, before he also gets up and follows him, finding Anakin's legs leaned against the side of the tub and the man himself... Anakin holding himself up by the arms, submerged in water on the perch there, the water smelling nicely of herbs and flowers. He's hung up a string of light bulbs between the trees. If they weren't at war, it would have been romantic.
Still is, he thinks, stopping off to the side to crawl out of his loincloth (and it really is too kriffing cold for it, his dick finds) before climbing into the hot tub instead, easing down next to Anakin who never takes up that much space when out of his prosthetics. He bumps his shoulders, where he's still flesh. Hello, it means.
The water is a comfortably heated temperature. Not the reason Claude feels warm, though. He looks up at the starry sky above them, then he looks at Anakin. ]
Nice view.
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Obi-Wan Kenobi and he have once more crossed paths. That's the issue, actually. The whole reason Claude is calling Anakin up at least four days too soon, he's gonna think he's in trouble. Claude doesn't want to worry him, but Kenobi is proving a problem yet again, though this time less as a tough negotiatior, despite his hold on a negotiation certainly hasn't slackened, as a... Well, it seems a personal matter, honestly. Something between Anakin and him, Claude's just standing in the way.
He understands that. He just needs to know how he's expected to proceed.
With a brush of his right palm over the side of his neck where Anakin has left a bite mark the size of "very noticeable", Claude holds the comm on the palm of his other hand, tapping in Anakin's caller ID. He misses him, he wants to see him, but this is just a short call, they don't have this kinda time, either of them.
It's just -- he needs to know. He needs. ]
Anakin?
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Rex looks askance at him, nodding curtly before resuming his work. With that, Anakin leaves the cockpit to him, seeking out his small room in the back of the ship, stacked with old crates of what he's pretty sure is Maldovean Burtalle. The ship itself has probably been stolen more than once in its life.
He seats himself on the floor, his hands shaking slightly as he focuses on the comm. Claude. No one else would know how to contact him on this channel. Why, then, this early? Is something wrong? Has something -- He squares his shoulders and forces himself to breathe. Once. Twice.
Then, he turns it on and his shoulders actually, visibly lower at the sight of Claude on the other end, alone, seemingly unharmed. Seemingly. He swallows. ]
Claude. Is everything alright?
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