[ 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. ]
[ Of course, with his senses opened wide, he senses Claude's approach before he even exits the farm. He feels him coming closer, a warm beacon against the backdrop of his dark, inner world and with a sigh, he opens his eyes. A part of him, one still shifting restlessly between the past and the present, is expecting some sort of admonishment for scaring the trooper in the first place, for doing anything to him at all, even if he'd managed not to kill him (admittedly, even Anakin can see that's a low bar). No matter how much control he'd exhibit back during his life amongst the Jedi, it never seemed to be enough.
But that was then and this is now.
As Claude calls for him, Anakin closes his eyes again and seeks him out some little distance away. He thinks about his hands, about the strength there, the warmth, feels them amongst a million other sensations - and curls his presence around them, pulling him into the clearing. He looks up, meeting his gaze through the shadows, his eyes glittering yellow in the light from Claude's flashlight. It's mostly residual, though, it'll go away soon enough. His feelings aren't dark, though the source is there, readily available. Always too close to the surface, he thinks, like shadows moving amidst the ripples in a river. Hard to see what's what, even when you're staring down at them. ]
Hello, Claude.
[ He pulls his dark cloak a little tighter around his body. Without the aid of meditation, the night air is too cool for him - just as it gets too hot too quickly during the day. He misses next to nothing about his suit, except perhaps the way it solved his problem of temperature regulation. He'd need entirely new skin to get back even a semblance of that.
[ It's a chilly night and Claude thinks about Anakin sitting out here alone, unprotected against the cold, because his temperature regulation is shot - as so many other things on his body, out of order. He makes it work, sure, partly a technical skill and partly by strength of the mind.
Looking around the small clearing, he suddenly feels the sensation of hands closing around his wrists, but when he looks down there's nothing these. Just the cool night air, heating up around his hands, dragging him closer slowly, carefully so he doesn't fall. Almost rolling his eyes at the way Anakin is clearly showing off now, he smiles slightly and lets himself be led, catching sight of the other man before he speaks. His flashlight reflects in his eyes, yellow tonight, though the chill out here isn't coming from him. He doesn't carry that type of energy. In the middle of the clearing, he lets his hands drop out of Anakin's Force-hold. Keeps the flashlight down where it won't disturb the other man's vision too much. ]
What happened? [ He says it without accusations, mostly with a hint a curiosity. Open-ended interest. ] Rigg told me Trigger's account.
[ The clone had gotten a good Force push backwards, it sounded like, colliding with a tree, though that might have been more chance that intention. Claude watches Anakin for a long moment quietly, thinking that with the other man's history, the heartbreaking severity and vastness of it, this is nothing. This is a show of self-control, holding back for someone else's sake. He could've snapped Trigger's neck. He could've seized the chance.
[ It's interesting, how the same question can imply such different things, depending on one's tone of voice and the context surrounding it. When Claude asks him what happened, Anakin's mind flashes back again, though the tone he remembers from a long, long time ago was a lot more accusative and no doubt, he had somebody's blood on his hands once again, some broken nose or another and it was well-deserved, that implied expectation of failure. It always was. He was never strong enough.
But here and now, there's Claude, Claude who's asking him simply because he's curious, because he's only heard one side of the story and he's interested in Anakin's version. His body takes a second to relax. About to reply, he's brought to a complete and utter stop at the words that follow.
I'm really proud of you.
He blinks. Blinks again. Then, because he can't bear it, he looks down at his own hands, curled in his lap. Though he doesn't blush very much any longer - his circulation is as shot as the rest of him - there's a very, very subtle hint of red crawling up along the bridge of his nose, the skin there reasonably healthy still, compared with the rest. Claude's words skitter about inside his mind for a few seconds before the feeling of - of happiness? - registers. He isn't really supposed to be happy anymore, he's very aware - he wrote that off when he murdered the Jedi and joined Sidious. The dark side provides you with personal gratification only insofar as it gives you power, power beyond anything else in the galaxy.
But it doesn't make you happy.
It isn't supposed to.
He picks at the metal of his left fingers, pulling at the joints a bit uselessly. ]
Oh.
[ He remembers Claude's question, then, and manages a small shrug. ]
Even before all this, Anakin, I would've felt sorry for anyone who surprised you in an unguarded moment.
[ Claude remembers Anakin from before, impulsive Anakin Skywalker who just did things, not always considering the consequences and rarely willing to pay for his actions, same as most people, right, and yet completely different. Than most people. Extraordinary. That was how he knew him, just as well as he knew the sweet, caring, pleaser of a man who'd do anything for him. Anything.
Anything.
He looks like himself again, and for a brief, precious second, it's like seeing Anakin from before he lost everything. The slight blush crawling across the bridge of his nose where the skin is still more unscarred than elsewhere, his blood circulation probably less damaged. He's picking at his fingers, like a nervous school boy who doesn't know how to just say, thank you and mean it, because there are too many insecurities standing in the way of that. Claude allows himself a moment to raise his flashlight, quickly blinking the light over Anakin's face, trying not to get him in the eyes, then down his front, hands, crossed legs, huge cloak and hood to protect him. You could have told him they were a couple of years back along the line and he'd have bought it. He'd have believed it.
At the pit of his stomach, there's heat and heaviness and he recognises that feeling, though he hasn't felt it so actively in a long time. The physical sensation of want and desire. Arousal. Oh. Claude swallows something hard at the back of his throat and manages a small smile before shutting the flashlight off completely, turning halfway back towards the farm house, looking between that general direction and Anakin, like an invitation. If you're ready, it means. Let's go back. ]
You managed this situation well.
[ Thank you, is implied. Heavily, as heavily as the want in Claude's body, tethering him to this planet, to this earth. To this route, to this way. ]
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
But that was then and this is now.
As Claude calls for him, Anakin closes his eyes again and seeks him out some little distance away. He thinks about his hands, about the strength there, the warmth, feels them amongst a million other sensations - and curls his presence around them, pulling him into the clearing. He looks up, meeting his gaze through the shadows, his eyes glittering yellow in the light from Claude's flashlight. It's mostly residual, though, it'll go away soon enough. His feelings aren't dark, though the source is there, readily available. Always too close to the surface, he thinks, like shadows moving amidst the ripples in a river. Hard to see what's what, even when you're staring down at them. ]
Hello, Claude.
[ He pulls his dark cloak a little tighter around his body. Without the aid of meditation, the night air is too cool for him - just as it gets too hot too quickly during the day. He misses next to nothing about his suit, except perhaps the way it solved his problem of temperature regulation. He'd need entirely new skin to get back even a semblance of that.
Oh well. ]
no subject
Looking around the small clearing, he suddenly feels the sensation of hands closing around his wrists, but when he looks down there's nothing these. Just the cool night air, heating up around his hands, dragging him closer slowly, carefully so he doesn't fall. Almost rolling his eyes at the way Anakin is clearly showing off now, he smiles slightly and lets himself be led, catching sight of the other man before he speaks. His flashlight reflects in his eyes, yellow tonight, though the chill out here isn't coming from him. He doesn't carry that type of energy. In the middle of the clearing, he lets his hands drop out of Anakin's Force-hold. Keeps the flashlight down where it won't disturb the other man's vision too much. ]
What happened? [ He says it without accusations, mostly with a hint a curiosity. Open-ended interest. ] Rigg told me Trigger's account.
[ The clone had gotten a good Force push backwards, it sounded like, colliding with a tree, though that might have been more chance that intention. Claude watches Anakin for a long moment quietly, thinking that with the other man's history, the heartbreaking severity and vastness of it, this is nothing. This is a show of self-control, holding back for someone else's sake. He could've snapped Trigger's neck. He could've seized the chance.
But Anakin didn't. ]
You tempered yourself. I'm really proud of you.
no subject
But here and now, there's Claude, Claude who's asking him simply because he's curious, because he's only heard one side of the story and he's interested in Anakin's version. His body takes a second to relax. About to reply, he's brought to a complete and utter stop at the words that follow.
I'm really proud of you.
He blinks. Blinks again. Then, because he can't bear it, he looks down at his own hands, curled in his lap. Though he doesn't blush very much any longer - his circulation is as shot as the rest of him - there's a very, very subtle hint of red crawling up along the bridge of his nose, the skin there reasonably healthy still, compared with the rest. Claude's words skitter about inside his mind for a few seconds before the feeling of - of happiness? - registers. He isn't really supposed to be happy anymore, he's very aware - he wrote that off when he murdered the Jedi and joined Sidious. The dark side provides you with personal gratification only insofar as it gives you power, power beyond anything else in the galaxy.
But it doesn't make you happy.
It isn't supposed to.
He picks at the metal of his left fingers, pulling at the joints a bit uselessly. ]
Oh.
[ He remembers Claude's question, then, and manages a small shrug. ]
I - well. I think he just surprised me.
no subject
[ Claude remembers Anakin from before, impulsive Anakin Skywalker who just did things, not always considering the consequences and rarely willing to pay for his actions, same as most people, right, and yet completely different. Than most people. Extraordinary. That was how he knew him, just as well as he knew the sweet, caring, pleaser of a man who'd do anything for him. Anything.
Anything.
He looks like himself again, and for a brief, precious second, it's like seeing Anakin from before he lost everything. The slight blush crawling across the bridge of his nose where the skin is still more unscarred than elsewhere, his blood circulation probably less damaged. He's picking at his fingers, like a nervous school boy who doesn't know how to just say, thank you and mean it, because there are too many insecurities standing in the way of that. Claude allows himself a moment to raise his flashlight, quickly blinking the light over Anakin's face, trying not to get him in the eyes, then down his front, hands, crossed legs, huge cloak and hood to protect him. You could have told him they were a couple of years back along the line and he'd have bought it. He'd have believed it.
At the pit of his stomach, there's heat and heaviness and he recognises that feeling, though he hasn't felt it so actively in a long time. The physical sensation of want and desire. Arousal. Oh. Claude swallows something hard at the back of his throat and manages a small smile before shutting the flashlight off completely, turning halfway back towards the farm house, looking between that general direction and Anakin, like an invitation. If you're ready, it means. Let's go back. ]
You managed this situation well.
[ Thank you, is implied. Heavily, as heavily as the want in Claude's body, tethering him to this planet, to this earth. To this route, to this way. ]