[ 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. ]
[ He smiles faintly to himself at the sound of footsteps behind him, Claude joining him by the banister half a moment later. He glances down as the other man folds his hand over Anakin's, thinking that even with his gloves, he must feel the cold. It seeps through everything out here.
He likes it better than the fire, but not by much. ]
Mm.
[ He doesn't apologise. Claude doesn't sound particularly antagonized and he's leaving soon, Anakin, and then Claude will be leaving too. They'll be running around in different corners of the galaxy, each fixing their own little thing, hoping for chain reactions that they might never be around to see. It doesn't make him tired to think about, really, these days he reserves that feeling for when they can actually rest; but it does remind him that this galaxy is the one he's paid to see, the one he's made so many others pay for as well. There's a reason why Claude has to do this, why he has to run the risk of death or worse and Anakin can't be allowed to be there, to protect him.
If they'd ended the Clone Wars on the same side, he thinks, everything would have been different.
Pushing the thought away forcibly, he instead shuffles closer to Claude until they're shoulders rub, flesh against flesh beneath layers of fabric. ]
[ The cold seeps in like a blanket around him, sinking into his skin and his bones, but Claude doesn't care overly much, although his initial reaction is to shake himself a bit to stay warm. However, because Anakin is close, close enough that Claude can make out the curves and lines of his body as he steps up to him, pressing them together shoulder by shoulder, he doesn't move. He doesn't go back inside and he doesn't pull away, retreat into the cover of his clothes, he doesn't do anything that could put distance of any kind between them. He just stands there and lets himself be touched, by the chill in the air and by Anakin.
Where he, too, is skin and bone and chilled flesh.
At his question, Claude turns his head and looks up at him, frowning slightly. He hasn't, no. No further updates. He just knows he'll be meeting with his contact on Ryloth to negotiate. Who his contact is, what they're negotiating about, specifically, or with whom? They haven't told him. We find you're the most suitable for the job, Padmé had assured him, we trust in you, Claude.
But if they really trusted in him, Claude thinks, they'd give him time to prepare his own thoughts on the matter. ]
They don't trust you. And because I do, they don't really know whether to trust my judgement either.
[ It's not a complaint, he doesn't sound grudging or irritable about it, it's just a conclusion he has to draw at this point. They want him involved, but because Anakin's with him... Not too much, at the end of the day. He doesn't take it personally and he doesn't even hold it against them, would he have done anything differently in their shoes? Padmé and Bail have other factors to consider than just their love - or lack of same - for Anakin Skywalker.
He can take it and he knows how to adapt in these situations, but it still makes everything more... difficult.
Giving Anakin's hand a soft squeeze, he withdraws his own and folds his arms across the banister in the same way the other man is, mirroring him. ]
[ He nods, lips pressed together tightly. Though a part of him burns with silent outrage at the thought of Padmé, in particular, not trusting Claude because of his association with Anakin, another part of him has grown older since they parted. He and Padmé may have had a war in common, a war fought closely in tandem, but the sheer chasm Anakin has managed to dig between them afterwards is large and wide enough to swallow mostly everything that came before. He's the traitor. No matter how angry the thought makes him, no matter how much he wants to find her and prove that she's wrong.
Which, incidentally, would only prove her right. He gets it now.
Next to him, Claude's breath crystalises in the air in front of them in white swirls, traveling quickly upwards. It mixes with Anakin's, his exhalations not as dense or concentrated, even with the mask covering his nose and mouth. It does the job, however. He can fight people and feel woozy simultaneously, thanks. Claude is flesh and bone and blood, solid and warm next to him, and he suddenly feels an almost painful urge to be closer. They've touched more, the past couple of weeks.
If - when - if they find each other again after this, hopefully they can do more than that.
He wants to give Claude everything. ]
Do you know how long you'll be gone, at least?
[ As he speaks, he reaches out one arm and curls it around Claude's shoulders, pulling him up against him. He folds his fingers around his upper arm lightly, just feeling him. True, he can't warm him up to any noticeable degree because he's icy-cold himself but friction is friction and he'll do what he can, at least. As they both do. ]
Two weeks, to start with. An extension or two may turn out to be necessary, depending on how the situation develops.
[ As Anakin pulls him in by the shoulders, sliding his whole, hard arm around him, Claude more or less melts into him, letting himself be pulled closer until his head can rest against Anakin's shoulder, because Anakin was always taller, but now he's a tower and at a comfortable height for Claude to lean his cheek against the curve of his upmost upper arm. He's not warm, but he's comfortable. He's not warm, but he's willing. Anakin was always more willing than anyone else Claude knew, knows.
Sighing slowly, he slides his own arm around Anakin's waist, his palm knowing where the indent of metal is, both at the front and at the back, his rod-like spine, his various implants. Claude hugs him close, just breathing in the cold air for a couple of seconds. His breath crystallizes in the air, condensing in his beard. There's a damp, hot feeling to it. Everything feels serene and meaningful. Everything is weighty from the importance of this exact moment.
They won't get another one like it in a while. Claude won't even begin thinking about wanting more, because sometimes more is simply not a possibility, sometimes this - what they're holding between their hands - is what they've got.
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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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
He likes it better than the fire, but not by much. ]
Mm.
[ He doesn't apologise. Claude doesn't sound particularly antagonized and he's leaving soon, Anakin, and then Claude will be leaving too. They'll be running around in different corners of the galaxy, each fixing their own little thing, hoping for chain reactions that they might never be around to see. It doesn't make him tired to think about, really, these days he reserves that feeling for when they can actually rest; but it does remind him that this galaxy is the one he's paid to see, the one he's made so many others pay for as well. There's a reason why Claude has to do this, why he has to run the risk of death or worse and Anakin can't be allowed to be there, to protect him.
If they'd ended the Clone Wars on the same side, he thinks, everything would have been different.
Pushing the thought away forcibly, he instead shuffles closer to Claude until they're shoulders rub, flesh against flesh beneath layers of fabric. ]
Still no mission data for you?
no subject
Where he, too, is skin and bone and chilled flesh.
At his question, Claude turns his head and looks up at him, frowning slightly. He hasn't, no. No further updates. He just knows he'll be meeting with his contact on Ryloth to negotiate. Who his contact is, what they're negotiating about, specifically, or with whom? They haven't told him. We find you're the most suitable for the job, Padmé had assured him, we trust in you, Claude.
But if they really trusted in him, Claude thinks, they'd give him time to prepare his own thoughts on the matter. ]
They don't trust you. And because I do, they don't really know whether to trust my judgement either.
[ It's not a complaint, he doesn't sound grudging or irritable about it, it's just a conclusion he has to draw at this point. They want him involved, but because Anakin's with him... Not too much, at the end of the day. He doesn't take it personally and he doesn't even hold it against them, would he have done anything differently in their shoes? Padmé and Bail have other factors to consider than just their love - or lack of same - for Anakin Skywalker.
He can take it and he knows how to adapt in these situations, but it still makes everything more... difficult.
Giving Anakin's hand a soft squeeze, he withdraws his own and folds his arms across the banister in the same way the other man is, mirroring him. ]
no subject
Which, incidentally, would only prove her right. He gets it now.
Next to him, Claude's breath crystalises in the air in front of them in white swirls, traveling quickly upwards. It mixes with Anakin's, his exhalations not as dense or concentrated, even with the mask covering his nose and mouth. It does the job, however. He can fight people and feel woozy simultaneously, thanks. Claude is flesh and bone and blood, solid and warm next to him, and he suddenly feels an almost painful urge to be closer. They've touched more, the past couple of weeks.
If - when - if they find each other again after this, hopefully they can do more than that.
He wants to give Claude everything. ]
Do you know how long you'll be gone, at least?
[ As he speaks, he reaches out one arm and curls it around Claude's shoulders, pulling him up against him. He folds his fingers around his upper arm lightly, just feeling him. True, he can't warm him up to any noticeable degree because he's icy-cold himself but friction is friction and he'll do what he can, at least. As they both do. ]
no subject
[ As Anakin pulls him in by the shoulders, sliding his whole, hard arm around him, Claude more or less melts into him, letting himself be pulled closer until his head can rest against Anakin's shoulder, because Anakin was always taller, but now he's a tower and at a comfortable height for Claude to lean his cheek against the curve of his upmost upper arm. He's not warm, but he's comfortable. He's not warm, but he's willing. Anakin was always more willing than anyone else Claude knew, knows.
Sighing slowly, he slides his own arm around Anakin's waist, his palm knowing where the indent of metal is, both at the front and at the back, his rod-like spine, his various implants. Claude hugs him close, just breathing in the cold air for a couple of seconds. His breath crystallizes in the air, condensing in his beard. There's a damp, hot feeling to it. Everything feels serene and meaningful. Everything is weighty from the importance of this exact moment.
They won't get another one like it in a while. Claude won't even begin thinking about wanting more, because sometimes more is simply not a possibility, sometimes this - what they're holding between their hands - is what they've got.
And it's good. Like this. It's good.
It's enough. ]