thread: the logical conclusion

[outduelling]

[ Under most circumstances, being back on Tatooine would hardly count as a blessing - for all intents and purposes, it's quite a dreary planet, the heat stifling and the Empire's presence near Bestine even more so. It's a dry, unforgiving world, he thinks, as he stands with his back to the main buildings, looking across the sand dunes stretching for countless miles around them. Arms crossed, he watches the dust drift in the air.

Unforgiving, yes. That's a word for it.

For the past two years, he's kept busy. Busy enough to keep his mind occupied at nearly all hours, busy enough to pass out from exhaustion (sometimes, rarely, even fortunate enough to get a few hours of dreamless sleep). Too busy to meditate properly, too busy to touch upon his own, inner mental landscape. It's been... sustainable. He could have gone many years like this, possibly wearing himself out along the way until, well. All things must pass into the Force and he'd be in good company, then, wouldn't he.

But of course, there is Claude. Claude, wearing that kyber crystal around his neck, Claude who used to love... who used to, yes, so he says, but finding someone else hasn't taken him too long, has it? How long does one grieve, anyway, before it becomes a chronic condition? Before it becomes something that doesn't remember or recall but devours, feelings that a man should be too good for, that he should release?

It's good to move on. It's good.

It's good and just.

He folds his arms across his chest and straightens his posture. The sands, in turn, are quiet. ]

Comments

[twodown]

[ There was someone who had taken Anakin in, then. Before. And they had simultaneously taken him away from his home and his family, the only family he knew, for reasons that had little to do with him, because that's how organizations and institutions work, they don't consider the individual except as part of the whole. And then, Anakin had become a Jedi and the Jedi had never returned to Tatooine, here, least of all with the aim to end slavery. Claude sees where this is going, yeah. Kriff, Claude has seen where this ended. He looks away from Kenobi slowly, letting his eyes follow the dunes, the sands blowing across them. The suns are harsh, though on the way to setting. Soon, it's gonna be too cold to stay out - as with everything else these days, they don't really have the time. No one does.

Still, time is something that's gonna be passed on now, from Anakin and him, to Kenobi, Anakin being the only common denominator between the two of them, this worn old man and Claude, also worn, what they share and have in common. He's left the galaxy in a state of chronicially behind the clock, has Anakin. Claude remembers the Force-grip on his hand, being touched across distances; Anakin, meanwhile, is trying to stay ahead, to make up for it, right? He's trying to do right by them. Claude thinks that Kenobi deserves to know that, he believes it might get his shoulders down and ease the rigidity in his back. Lighten the pressure on his chest that's evidently there.

Evidently. Understandably. Naturally and deservedly.

It did all those things for Claude once and keeps doing so as time passes, as Anakin carries on and doesn't die.

So, Claude says, ]

And after that, it was you who brought him up. [ A long pause. ] No wonder he thinks you should know the truth.

[outduelling]

[ He notices immediately, of course, what he first assumes must be a slip-up - no wonder he thinks - and he's fully prepared to simply write it off as such, except... For a moment, he just stands there, his frown deepening as he feels something poke at him, a sensation that he's felt often over the past two years. The Force, alerting him. Listen, it whispers and he shifts, the beginnings of restlessness crawling into his legs and feet. Spreading, from there. Listen to what, he thinks. To the delusions of someone else who's lost too much, too fast? He's had enough of his own mind in that regard, thank you.

But the feeling persists.

There's a long pause between them before Obi-Wan glances sideways at Claude again. The other man doesn't look the least bit concerned about what he's just said and he tries to remember whether it's happened before, this type of thing, clinging desperately to the notion of certainty that he's had ever since leaving Mustafar behind. Perhaps Claude tends to do this. Perhaps he misses him enough.

Perhaps this is the first time he's ever referred to Anakin in the present tense and perhaps, perhaps, that's because he's too good with words to mess them up.

Swallowing heavily, his throat bobbing, Obi-Wan says, his voice suddenly hoarse: ]

What?

[twodown]

He's still alive, Master Kenobi.

[ It's said extremely calmly. Like you'd tell an agitated animal not to attack you, not to move, not to do anything stupid that might prove you wrong in trusting it with your extended hand. Like coming for Anakin, for example. That would be extremely stupid, ill-advised. And not very in character. Please, Master Kenobi, he thinks, prove my judge of character right, okay?

Having said it, though, he turns towards Kenobi completely, keeping his face open, honest and ready. Ready for anything and everything that might come after this. It was Anakin's choice, this, and Claude would never take that away from him, the both of them are tied too much up on hands and feet otherwise, but if Kenobi does something rash, he's gonna be hit by the full force of Claude's oral skills - and not like Rainier liked it, no, wherever the resemblances may lie, and not like Anakin likes it either. Less pleasantly than that.

Even without a lightsaber, Claude can be his own branch of deadly. How the kriff do you think he's survived in this war so far? By being pretty?

Anakin would say.

Except he wouldn't.

A slow, small smile, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, and Claude gestures softly with a hand, between them, the small space between their bodies, Kenobi's and Claude's, like Anakin is already here. He could be, if he wanted, but he has more important work to do, so he prioritizes and he prioritizes right this time. ]

He wants you to know.

[outduelling]

I -

[ He blinks. Swallows whatever he'd been planning on saying next - denials, probably, or questions that mustn't be uttered or answered (how is that possible, I saw him, I saw...) - and takes half a step back, away. He stares at Claude, at the earnest smile on his face, that slight gesture between them. This, we share, it means. That's about the only thing he understands right now.

Anakin.

Anakin... is alive. And wants Obi-Wan to know about it.

Eyes wide, he shakes his head, feeling mute all the way to the core of his being, and folds his arms in front of himself more tightly. It's impossible. It can't be. But here is Claude and Claude - how would lying about this benefit him in any way whatsoever? Why? Such cruelty... Realising that he's on the verge of tearing up, shock making every single breath he takes feel like a battle, he finally tries to straighten up a little, to put himself together again. Focus, he thinks, trying to remember. There is no emotion, there is peace.

No ignorance. ]

How is that possible? He - [ He stumbles over his words. ] - he became...

[ Anakin was dead. And even before he burned, he'd eradicated himself, surely, that's what the teachings say. Consumed by the dark side, that's how it goes, that's why Obi-Wan should have been able to kill him, standing on that firm, unyielding foundation of truth. Gone, he is, said Yoda. But in the end, he hadn't truly been gone - at least, it had seemed so impossible, even with Anakin screaming in hatred at him, coming at him again and again, nothing but fire in his eyes.

Emptiness.

He wants you to know. ]

He was gone.

[twodown]

[ It isn't that long ago, Claude knows. He doesn't think about it all that often anymore, necessary as it is to stay firmly in the present to make things glide smoothly, but he knows it isn't that long ago he stood before Anakin in his suit, asking him to remove his helmet and he did. For Claude's sake. For Claude's sake and for his own, too.

Looking at Kenobi now, watching the sheer horror and disbelief he's exuding, Claude thinks - this man could have made Anakin remove his helmet as well, long before it was even in place, he had every opportunity, but he didn't use it and so, he didn't. Anakin lost. And Anakin lost himself.

He was gone, Kenobi says.

Claude frowns. He could reprimand him for his short-comings, but people who lose their loved ones, Claude knows, he lost his parents once, also not that long ago, are too busy with reprimanding themselves, chastising themselves, metaphorical whips to the back to ever need anyone else doing it for them.

No, there's been enough hurt. ]

You know that lost things can come back, if given the right incentive, right? Sometimes -- [ He stops, breathes, in, out, then reaches up to run one hand through his curls. ] -- it's not even us who find them, sometimes they find us.

[ Anakin has explained it to him, Jedi doctrine and while Claude accepts it as part of Anakin's very foundation, whether he truly believed in it or not, whether he'd later go out and eradicate it or not, as part of Kenobi's foundation, too, he still thinks it's wrong. It's brainwashing and it's harmful, to everyone.

Look at what it caused of damage in the galaxy, when handled by the wrong hands. He licks his lips, lets his hand drop enough to step forward slightly, in no way threateningly and place a heavy hand on Kenobi's shoulder, because doctrine only supports you so much. ]

He's back.

[outduelling]

[ When Claude puts his hand on his shoulder, Obi-Wan visibly shudders, though he doesn't pull away. Instead, he remains, forcing himself to be still in the face of the absolute maelstrom of thoughts and emotions raging within him. Lost things can come back says Claude. It's been two years of nightmares, night after night of watching Anakin burn to death on that Force-forsaken bank, of wondering how things would have gone if he'd only - and each time, he's reminded himself that Anakin's choices were his own, that it's selfish of him to mourn one man when he caused the deaths of countless others. Each time, he's tried to find solace in the notion of what he's always been taught and thought himself even more of a failure because he couldn't manage it.

Sometimes, they find us.

His next intake of breath is ragged, stuck in his throat. He can feel his knees buckling and forces himself to remain upright, to simply listen and understand. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. Knowledge, then. Accept it. Accept it.

He's still alive. ]

I see.

[ He looks out across the desert. Lips parted on a breath that he can't quite seem to release, he reaches out impulsively, thinking Anakin, grasping desperately at what used to be there, so easily within reach. He holds his breath for all the seconds it takes before he feels it, the light, far away, duller than before, ragged and worn but there, regardless. There.

Within reach.

Lips trembling, he hangs his head and reaches up blindly, closing his fingers around Claude's palm and allowing himself just a moment to hold on. ]