It doesn't fully compute. Claude looks back at Anakin, his empty eyes, gaze flat, and can't make himself look away, though part of him wants to. If only to get the facts -- right. To have it make sense, somehow. Anakin turned on his own people, for what? Because he'd thought Claude was going to die and it was preventable that way? Suddenly, for the first time in months and months, Claude remembers the large explosion on Paris that would've killed him, if not for the help of Rex, Anakin's second-in-command who'd been assigned to the mission without any real reason or precedence. Just because Anakin had wanted it like that, to keep Claude safe. And Claude thinks about this burning desire to keep him safe, that Anakin has had from the beginning, insisting on it, even. Illogically, senselessly. He knows what Anakin means to him and he's always, somewhere inside, known he means doubly to Anakin.
I destroyed the Jedi.
But Claude had gotten word back that Anakin was gone, and they'd all just assumed he'd been at the Temple during the siege, that he'd died fighting like the rest of them. When instead... he'd... He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again slowly. There's a frown crawling onto his face. Heavy across his brow.
As long as Claude has known Anakin, he was more himself than he was Jedi. He was at the core of it more alone than with them. Sure, Claude could wonder who would turn on their own family, but Anakin thought they hated him, pretty much.
He thought they were just looking for excuses to put him down.
Like masters do.
Anakin never stopped being a slave, did he? He never stopped. Claude swallows hard and licks his lips, then says the only thing that comes to mind which is something that might be actually useful between them in this very moment. ]
You made them pay a heavy price for whatever mistakes you thought they made. [ Pause, then -- ] But you've paid for your own, too, Anakin. Guess that's somewhere to start.
[ And he looks at him still, not looking away, not looking away, taking in his burned face, his brittle skin, the limbs he's lost. There really are no winners in war. Only losers, past, present and future. ]
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It doesn't fully compute. Claude looks back at Anakin, his empty eyes, gaze flat, and can't make himself look away, though part of him wants to. If only to get the facts -- right. To have it make sense, somehow. Anakin turned on his own people, for what? Because he'd thought Claude was going to die and it was preventable that way? Suddenly, for the first time in months and months, Claude remembers the large explosion on Paris that would've killed him, if not for the help of Rex, Anakin's second-in-command who'd been assigned to the mission without any real reason or precedence. Just because Anakin had wanted it like that, to keep Claude safe. And Claude thinks about this burning desire to keep him safe, that Anakin has had from the beginning, insisting on it, even. Illogically, senselessly. He knows what Anakin means to him and he's always, somewhere inside, known he means doubly to Anakin.
I destroyed the Jedi.
But Claude had gotten word back that Anakin was gone, and they'd all just assumed he'd been at the Temple during the siege, that he'd died fighting like the rest of them. When instead... he'd... He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again slowly. There's a frown crawling onto his face. Heavy across his brow.
As long as Claude has known Anakin, he was more himself than he was Jedi. He was at the core of it more alone than with them. Sure, Claude could wonder who would turn on their own family, but Anakin thought they hated him, pretty much.
He thought they were just looking for excuses to put him down.
Like masters do.
Anakin never stopped being a slave, did he? He never stopped. Claude swallows hard and licks his lips, then says the only thing that comes to mind which is something that might be actually useful between them in this very moment. ]
You made them pay a heavy price for whatever mistakes you thought they made. [ Pause, then -- ] But you've paid for your own, too, Anakin. Guess that's somewhere to start.
[ And he looks at him still, not looking away, not looking away, taking in his burned face, his brittle skin, the limbs he's lost. There really are no winners in war. Only losers, past, present and future. ]