[ 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. ]
[ It's not majestic, like there's nothing kriffing majestic about any aspect of war, the way Anakin lands his ship, but it does remind Claude exactly how good a pilot he is, the man who can fly, crash and land anything, this shuttle too. Feeling his breathing grow slightly erratic as the ramp lowers and the other man starts the descend, carrying a crate over one shoulder and with the droid at his heels, looking like the rugged hero out of an adventure story. If heroes in those stories got burned so bad, that there'd be no fear great enough to make up for it. If heroes in those stories came back half of themselves, but war in the stories is never realistic enough, is it?
No one wants to read about the realities of it. Not when you're just living your life, blissfully unmarked. And especially not when you're living them already, right?
Claude eases back on his heels to prevent himself from actively fainting, staring up into Anakin's face as he draws nearer, everything else disappearing, Sabé doesn't matter, the droid doesn't, there are just the two of them on this old farm and they could have a life just like that.
Except, there's no such life for men like them. Claude knows. Well, they have this month, after that they'll see. They'll find a way.
Anakin lowers his breathing mask, revealing the rest of his face and Claude looks him over hungrily first, letting a couple of seconds tick by where Anakin just stands there with his arms extended. The visual of him, of the way he reaches out, the way they're bridging all that lost time, all those lost opportunities, makes his throat feel thick. He swallows. Swallows again.
Then, he just steps into him, steps into his open arms and slings both his own arms around his shoulders, because they're within better reach than his neck currently. Stupid, tall, towering tree. Claude mutters something without meaning, mostly Anakin's name, and clings to him, suddenly afraid that if he lets go... if he lets go...
The other man's chest is broad and strong and warm. He leans his cheek in against it, feeling the uneven distribution of metal and flesh across it. Claude closes his eyes, inhales.
He smells the same. Warm, dust, desert. Summer, wind, change. ]
[ It takes Claude a moment to take his cue but Anakin, for once, isn't worried. He's got the other man right there, right in front of him, and no matter what happens in the span of the next ten seconds, he'll be happier than he's been for years. All the same, when Claude finally steps into his arms, embracing him and putting himself as far into his personal space as he can possibly come without going past his physical body, Anakin breathes out slowly, a relief too complex to verbalize or understand spreading through him. Oh. Oh. He closes his eyes and folds his arms around Claude, pulling him in. Their height difference is impressive now and Claude's got his cheek pressed against his chest, right above the pacemaker, one of the implants he's had to preserve.
For some reason, it bothers him.
Without even thinking about it, he pulls Claude in and lifts him up, hugging him close to his body and leaving him to rest his bearded chin against his shoulder. Like that, he can tilt his head sideways and - yes. There. His. He presses his cheek to the side of Claude's face, the other man's beard tickling his skin. It takes no particular effort for him to hold him up - his arms are, by themselves, strong and his upperbody strength is still comfortably above average as a result of carrying around that ridiculous suit for two years.
He opens his eyes, wisps of Claude's hair falling into his face. Through them, he sees Sabé staring at them, her face expressionless. He glares right back at her, eyes narrowing to slits for a second, and his arms tighten a fraction around the other man briefly. Then, he goes back to ignoring her, breathing Claude in as much as he's able, turning his face to slide his lips across his cheek.
[ As Anakin proceeds to pick him up, holding him close to his body, metal limbs unstraining under his weight, Claude remembers another time, getting carried by the buttocks all the way to the bedroom before they fucked the whole evening away. It feels like another lifetime. It doesn't feel foreign, just far away now - or maybe, at the heart of it all, not that far, after all. The memory is strong right now, he can almost smell them both in his nostrils. Their combined essences.
He huffs out a breathless exhale, half a laugh and tightens his arms around Anakin's neck as the other man lifts him up at a height where he's better able. He curves his fingers over the back of Anakin's head, fingertips scraping over skin grafts and scar tissue, sensitive to the notion that he might injure easily, careful with him, careful. His legs, he swings around his waist, to keep himself up.
Inhaling deeply a couple of times, he lets himself be held, holds the other man in turn, feeling both small and immensely full and happy, for the first time in years.
Anakin. Anakin, Anakin, Anakin, not all of you was lost, not all is lost...
Feeling the other man slide his lips over his cheek, he carefully turns his own face towards him, their noses bumping, lips sliding over each other for a brief, thrilling moment, though Claude doesn't push in, doesn't steal his breath, doesn't force himself on him, instead pressing their foreheads together and staring into his eyes. Blue, now. Blue.
[ His voice sounds wet, his breathing a little ragged. He can feel the other man's happiness and for a moment, as Claude presses his forehead to his and looks into his eyes, he isn't certain whose feelings belong to whom - it doesn't matter, either. Anakin loves him. He can feel that again, now, as clear as the sky above them. When he thought he'd died, he'd felt nothing for weeks on end, nothing except a seething, burning anger at the universe, at everything and everyone. At himself, more so than anyone else.
Later, there'd been emptiness.
And this, then, is after. ]
I'm glad to be. You don't know how much.
[ He doesn't lean away, looking back at Claude, feeling him pressed up against his front, all hardness and heat. It makes him think about what they come from, about Paris, about standing amidst the packed crowd wearing next to nothing, watching Claude make a speech and thinking about revolutions, about a world that could be something better. The other man has taught him to imagine an existence like that, not just the fight that'll eventually lead there but the end result, too. The part that entails living.
Perhaps, he thinks, there really might be something on the other side for them, too. Even with all his limitations, even with the odds stacked much too high against them and the darkness closing in.
Right now, whilst holding and being held, it seems possible. ]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
No one wants to read about the realities of it. Not when you're just living your life, blissfully unmarked. And especially not when you're living them already, right?
Claude eases back on his heels to prevent himself from actively fainting, staring up into Anakin's face as he draws nearer, everything else disappearing, Sabé doesn't matter, the droid doesn't, there are just the two of them on this old farm and they could have a life just like that.
Except, there's no such life for men like them. Claude knows. Well, they have this month, after that they'll see. They'll find a way.
Anakin lowers his breathing mask, revealing the rest of his face and Claude looks him over hungrily first, letting a couple of seconds tick by where Anakin just stands there with his arms extended. The visual of him, of the way he reaches out, the way they're bridging all that lost time, all those lost opportunities, makes his throat feel thick. He swallows. Swallows again.
Then, he just steps into him, steps into his open arms and slings both his own arms around his shoulders, because they're within better reach than his neck currently. Stupid, tall, towering tree. Claude mutters something without meaning, mostly Anakin's name, and clings to him, suddenly afraid that if he lets go... if he lets go...
The other man's chest is broad and strong and warm. He leans his cheek in against it, feeling the uneven distribution of metal and flesh across it. Claude closes his eyes, inhales.
He smells the same. Warm, dust, desert. Summer, wind, change. ]
no subject
For some reason, it bothers him.
Without even thinking about it, he pulls Claude in and lifts him up, hugging him close to his body and leaving him to rest his bearded chin against his shoulder. Like that, he can tilt his head sideways and - yes. There. His. He presses his cheek to the side of Claude's face, the other man's beard tickling his skin. It takes no particular effort for him to hold him up - his arms are, by themselves, strong and his upperbody strength is still comfortably above average as a result of carrying around that ridiculous suit for two years.
He opens his eyes, wisps of Claude's hair falling into his face. Through them, he sees Sabé staring at them, her face expressionless. He glares right back at her, eyes narrowing to slits for a second, and his arms tighten a fraction around the other man briefly. Then, he goes back to ignoring her, breathing Claude in as much as he's able, turning his face to slide his lips across his cheek.
Hello, he thinks. ]
no subject
He huffs out a breathless exhale, half a laugh and tightens his arms around Anakin's neck as the other man lifts him up at a height where he's better able. He curves his fingers over the back of Anakin's head, fingertips scraping over skin grafts and scar tissue, sensitive to the notion that he might injure easily, careful with him, careful. His legs, he swings around his waist, to keep himself up.
Inhaling deeply a couple of times, he lets himself be held, holds the other man in turn, feeling both small and immensely full and happy, for the first time in years.
Anakin. Anakin, Anakin, Anakin, not all of you was lost, not all is lost...
Feeling the other man slide his lips over his cheek, he carefully turns his own face towards him, their noses bumping, lips sliding over each other for a brief, thrilling moment, though Claude doesn't push in, doesn't steal his breath, doesn't force himself on him, instead pressing their foreheads together and staring into his eyes. Blue, now. Blue.
He keeps his voice low. Gentle. Genuine. ]
Welcome back.
no subject
Later, there'd been emptiness.
And this, then, is after. ]
I'm glad to be. You don't know how much.
[ He doesn't lean away, looking back at Claude, feeling him pressed up against his front, all hardness and heat. It makes him think about what they come from, about Paris, about standing amidst the packed crowd wearing next to nothing, watching Claude make a speech and thinking about revolutions, about a world that could be something better. The other man has taught him to imagine an existence like that, not just the fight that'll eventually lead there but the end result, too. The part that entails living.
Perhaps, he thinks, there really might be something on the other side for them, too. Even with all his limitations, even with the odds stacked much too high against them and the darkness closing in.
Right now, whilst holding and being held, it seems possible. ]