[ In the time that's passed between their last communications and now, Anakin has gone from being secretly married to being equally-secretly divorced and the difference is pretty considerable. He thinks about contacting Padmé way too often - she's expressively told him that she needed distance if they wanted to salvage what's left of their friendship and Anakin does, desperately. Whatever she'll give him...
But then, there's the part of him that keeps screaming about the injustice of it, about how one small transgression... He stops his own mental train from derailing there. Talking to the Chancellor about this had been a mistake, he's fairly certain - for one, why would he burden the most powerful man in the galaxy with his petty, private issues? And why would the older man know what to say, anyway?
Meaning, he didn't know.
Anakin's trying to be understanding about that but on the other hand, he'd never expected the Chancellor who claims to hold Padmé in the highest possible regard, to push him towards getting angry with her, calling her actions perhaps slightly unreasonable and advising him not to trust her judgement. That had been... strange. Out of place. Hadn't it? Or maybe he should've never...
In any case, Anakin's currently been re-deployed again along with the 501st and in a rare, calm moment he's listening to Sarica's message in their shared quarters. Rex has made sure that he gets his privacy, though he's no doubt making the wrong assumption as to why.
He listens, then listen again - and again. Gaze distant, he finally replies: ]
I'm - you know, I guess it's funny. [ He isn't laughing, but there's a wryness to his tone. ] The two of us, all by ourselves. You sound like someone left you - did they?
[ Pause. A long, outdrawn breath as he steels himself: ]
My wife has left me. I know, logically, that she's in her right - it's about you, by the way, if you want to feel important for a hot second - and I don't think I'm supposed to be angry with her. I am, though. These days it seems like I'm always angry. It would be so easy to direct that anger towards her and the Ch - someone close to me suggests that I should, too, that it would be right. Instead, I destroy droids. Machines. People, sometimes, if I must.
I'd give my other arm to share your distance. Perhaps you'd feel different about it if you weren't there by yourself.
[ Pause. His breath hitches briefly, before he gets his voice back under control. ]
And perhaps I'd be far enough away from everything, too.
[ From somewhere, an alarm bleats. Anakin pauses to listen briefly, then ignores it. ]
It's so typical of you, by the way, turning my question around and pointing it back to me. What do I want to gain from you, actually taking my suggestions? I don't know. I never do. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you - my plans are barely even blueprints, let alone cohesive. I think, though...
[ He takes a second here, to swallow. His voice comes back a little rougher: ]
Sarica gets his message on the way to the front, where he has been sent to negotiate between captured Reecian freedom fighters and the temple they took over in the border regions, and as it buzzes, the comlink, he halts his horse and pulls it along to a grove nearby, letting it graze in a field of clovers while he plays it. Over and over. He feels, strangely enough, like he's listening to himself in a different pitch, at a different time of his life, but the same tension and dissatisfaction. Anger. He knows this man, he thinks to himself. He knows him intimately.
And he does. It has cost Anakin his marriage. Anakin who reminds him of himself at age eighteen. Alone in the world. But never alone enough.
He presses the button, but the first few seconds is just chirping of birds, the thud, thud, thud of a horse's hooves, a branch snapping. His breathing. Inhale, exhale. ]
I don't know how to genuinely convey to you that I'm sorry about your wife. I don't care for women. I wasn't put on this earth to entertain their kind. However, what I can genuinely say, Anakin, is that I would never wish upon you anything that could burden you or sadden you, hurt you or force forth your anger. However, it seems to me that your former wife is not the catalyst of any of these feelings anyway, they start somewhere else. And if she's not the catalyst, she doesn't deserve to be the recipient of them either. If we're talking about suggestions, here's mine: find out from whom these feelings stem and direct your anger there. That's where they belong.
It might settle some things. Or it might launch another war, who knows. War seems to be all the rage these days.
[ More bird chirping. A faint voice murmuring something to an animal that neighs in response. Half a minute of calm nature noises, then he returns, voice less steady now. He might not have moved, but he's in a different place altogether. ]
I'm on my way to Reece. The man who left me is Reecian, you must understand, he was brought to Efith when he was ten years old as a slave and served eight years with an old scholar. I bought him, then, from the old man. I bought him and I freed him, I made him my heir to inherit everything I owned when I died and I let him live in my house with me, as my - [ A hitch in his voice, whether it's a moment's doubt or a moment's anger, hurt, longing is difficult to tell. ] - partner. He met someone, apparently, not too long ago. A fire priest that has been a thorn in the temple's side for years, and they've run away together. Back to Reece. Timachus has taken up arms, judging by hearsay, and his new friend can blow people up by looking at them.
Reece gained an ally and we, two new enemies. Efith is losing, my friend, but only because I lost first. Like that, every battle feels like a double defeat.
[ The wind rustles the leaves on the trees above his head. If you listen closely enough, you might hear the blue sky - if you've got imagination for that kind of thing. ]
I have plenty of plans, Anakin. I have hundreds of plans, but they all rely on him, on his choices and actions. The more desperate we get, the Senate, the military and me, the more certain I feel that Timachus might simply not be pushed any further. That he's done moving for me, while I... I gallop and I run and next thing you know, I fall.
[ A long, shaky breath. ]
If nothing else, I do believe you know me very well now. You know me better than most people, you know me better than the man I'm bringing down the sky for. What does that say about you? What I would and wouldn't do to have you here?
[ It takes him a little while to process the message from Sarica and not just because he's been down on the streets of yet another planet in the Outer Rim with his troops for weeks, fighting against seemingly never-ending tides of battle droids whilst Count Dooku still hides and plots. Out of reach. They took the planet because of course they did - and then, Anakin was sent back on leave which is why he's currently in his rooms in the Jedi Temple, surrounded by half-finished or barely-begun projects, his old posters on the wall peeling off from wear. He can't visit Padmé. Mustn't. She's angry with him because apparently, for some reason the Chancellor decided to speak with her about... about... well. About what used to be them but isn't and Anakin's trying to respect that, he is. He wasn't doing the opposite by telling the Chancellor about his frustrations, was he? He's the closest things he has to...
Well.
He stares at the comlink on the table, Sarica's voice long since faded into static. The space around him feels overly large and cluttered, simultaneously. He thinks about the other man, far away, trying to fight for the one who left him, refusing to let him go. Starting a war over him, a former slave, a man who should've been doubly free from men like Sarica, trying to re-possess him.
He presses the button and clears his throat. ]
So, I knew you were a slaver. I knew but I... [ He pauses. His voice grows colder. ] I hate that. You have to know that I do. Hate isn't the Jedi way but then, neither is getting frisky in a river on faraway planet. [ A huff of laughter. ] Or, I guess, getting hitched.
I saw Padmé today, in the Senate. I thought that maybe I could catch her, even though I know she doesn't want to see me - she's angry with me now, more than she's been in a while. [ Pause. Rewind. ] Padmé's my - you know. Anyway. Padmé. I wanted to clear up a misunderstanding because I don't want - I don't want the distance between us to grow even wider. Instead, all I accomplished was getting told off by her bodyguard and then, like a coward, I fled. Before the Cha - before my friend could discover me there and pull me aside, as he usually does.
I wanted to - to kill her bodyguard and everybody else who stood between us, right then.
So, what I want to say is - I get it. I get what you're doing.
But maybe we should both take your advice.
[ A long break. He's breathing slowly, deeply, trying to center himself the best he can which isn't very good at all. There's a metallic sound of something clanking about somewhere close to the com. It sounds like something being taken apart, piece by piece. ]
I mean, you told me that my anger doesn't belong with her and you're right. It doesn't. As your desperation, I'm sure, doesn't belong with this Timachus or even his new lover. Direct it elsewhere, if you can, and I'll do my best to do the same. If we fail, at least we can be two hypocrites, knowing each other's secrets. I'm thinking about you a lot, now that I'm on leave. I wonder what you'd think about Coruscant - whether you wouldn't find it completely abhorrent, covered in city from top to bottom.
Or perhaps, like me, you'd simply be another newcomer from a planet where everything is smaller, trying and failing to take it all in. Because we carry our smallness within and everywhere we go, it goes, and rising above it is exhausting.
[ A couple of weeks later, he finally has time to put together a response. He received the message on the sixth day, on the seventh he was sent into battle, on the ninth he fell and he survived - and on the tenth he headed back to the Capital with a regiment of soldiers and ten priests and priestesses, two dead, one unresponsive, seven broken in other ways. No one has tended to his villa while he was gone. It's filthy. He pays the neighbour's daughters to clean up the kitchen and the bedroom. Then, he lives there - where he eats and where he sleeps. Except he doesn't eat and he doesn't sleep, either. Not much. Not enough. He thinks a lot, about Timachus. About Anakin. And about himself. The connections.
The fire in the fireplace is crackling behind him, when he decides it's time, late at night, and he remembers torches along the riverbank, then. Another moment. Another eternity, if you ask Anakin Skywalker. ]
I'm aware that you hate it. I hid them from you, because I knew. These days, I have nothing to hide from you, Anakin. Timachus and the fire priest took all my slaves with them when they ran and I haven't purchased new ones since. Why not? The war hasn't exhausted my funds. There's room, there's enough room... Maybe I don't believe myself capable of providing for anyone anymore, consider that. It takes more than a house and it takes more than gold to give people what they need to function. I used to have a household of ten, over whom I governed as head. Yet, what does the head do when the body discards it? Does it blame the legs that ran, the arms that pushed away? Or does it look at itself?
Unfortunately, it's extremely difficult for eyes to look inwards. I've heard you have your methods, though, among the Jedi. Like the priests and priestesses here have their own ways, but I'm done with temples for now.
What more am I supposed to be done with? Count your own losses and let me know.
[ A wooden cup scrapes against a wooden tabletop. Someone drinks, not wine, not tonight. It's been water, barely chilled, and bread for days now. He survives, but he doesn't live, he doesn't indulge. There's nothing to indulge in. It's as if all the elements that he has, wine and fruit and people to fuck, are devoid of value when the things, the people he put himself in, bodily or mentally, are missing.
Is he even thinking about Timachus in that regard anymore? Curious.
A hmm'ing sound. ]
Things you can only see from above, I'll tell you: no building is just a building.
I inherited this villa from my father when he died. I threw out everything he'd touched, minus a few pieces, and rebuilt it out of my own selections. This villa represents me and it's empty, Anakin. It's huge and opulent and empty, very, very empty.
Desperate, you call me.
Accurately, no doubt, but for what, if not for Timachus.
[ The reply comes about a month later. He's back on a Republic cruiser and they've finished their mission, yet another, the war hobbling along at this point, the Separatists clinging to what territories they have left. They're closing in on Count Dooku, too. It won't be long, now.
Anakin sits by himself again, once more in the shared sleeping quarters, once more watched over by Rex who at this point has managed to ask precisely one question regarding Padmé and nothing more. All the same, he keeps watch now, not knowing for what or why. It's Anakin and apparently, to him, that does it.
He turns it on. ]
Apologies for how long this has taken me - I've thought about you, though, more than once. If you haven't already, you should hire someone to tend to your house, actually hire them. See what difference it makes when good people are driven by something they want, rather than something they fear.
My friend, the one I've mentioned more than once - well, he's been a friend to me since I came to Coruscant, back when I was a kid. He used to take me with him to secret places, show me aspects of the world that I'd never seen or known about. Dark places. Some time ago, I asked the Jedi Council whether he'd done this with others, ever, knowing full well the answer beforehand. I don't know why I needed to ask. Their explanations certainly didn't do anything for me but that's nothing new. In any case, there's something about my friend, about myself in relation to him, that makes me... It confuses me.
I'm telling you this because you asked me what I could bring to your state of emptiness and honestly, Sarica, I can only say that I'd bring myself. What little I own isn't worth much to anyone else. I don't know why my friend wanted it, even back when I was so little that I couldn't speak his language fluently and right now, I can't tell whether you'd find any use in it, either. They say I'm overconfident in my own abilities because they don't understand the extent of them - I'm not, obviously. I just know what I can do.
It's not confidence, it's fact.
And it's fact, too, that I don't know whether you'd be more or less empty if I were to visit you. Are you going to ask, though?
For me to return?
The war is dragging its feet a little but if you ask me, we're definitely reaching the end. The enemy is tired. Exhausted.
[ A small pause and an audible exhalation. ]
You sound tired too.
There's no need for you to think of yourself as limbless, Sarica. You aren't. You have your body, your mind. And if you refuse to own slaves again, then you'll most definitely have a better chance at finding what you need from me.
[ Sarica is a man of action, even in an empty house, even being an empty house. He acts. He arranges and he plans and he executes. Three days after Anakin's message reached him, he sends out his own. This time there's noise in the background, women's voices chatting while things move, scrape over floorboards, clinking of metal and glass. He has emptied his villa. Discarded everything that was from another life, no longer relevant. New items, new furniture, new atmosphere, new residents, too. He's drinking a herbal brew his (new) cook has made for him. She's old and fat, but she likes to make the delicacies he likes and leave them out before leaving in the early night hours. He pays her a little extra for it.
The comlink lies in front of him on the table. His voice is steadier than the past couple of calls. It's got more edge and less hesitancies. He commands once more, he doesn't only chase and charge and lose. Others do all of those things down in Reece, of course, but what has it got to do with him? ]
You want me to tell you to return. Here, to me. But I'm not going to ask, Anakin. Call it what you want, but when your war is over and while mine still rages on, you will come back and live in my house with me, for a little while or a long while or whatever exists in between or beyond those two denominators. I have had the villa emptied for your sake. I've rebuilt it from its very foundation. I've hired people. Know, I'm not appeasing you, I'm being accommodating, it's an offer - and an order, there's room here, fill it, Anakin Skywalker.
[ Foreign as it may sound, there's a smile in his voice, it's warm, almost burning hot, and there's a cut corner and hard edges to it, too. If Timachus matters anymore, it's from a historical perspective. He was here, now he's gone. The bitterness to change. The many, many opportunities as well.
Then, after a long moment of just women laughing, such a foreign sound in his villa, Sarica continues, his tone darkening and deepening. ]
Your friend has no doubt seen the same in you that I see. Challenge. Competence. Conflict. Confusion. Things that can either be harvested naturally or taken advantage of, when the person in question can't properly exploit it themselves. You were a child, my friend, how should you know. Don't Jedi teach each other? If anything they should've taught you to recognise what was fair use, who was to properly utilize what you carry within you, if they were not willing to make more invasive decisions on your behalf. If you're asking them now where they were, in your special, singular case, it's because you already know they weren't where they should've been.
Someone should be there for you, Anakin. Not because your confidence in your own abilities is wrong, but because confidence is not a protector, only an enhancer.
People who fly very high deserve a softer landing, I'd think. It's only logic.
Speaking of people doing what they want. If your friend doesn't feel like your friend any longer, you always have a choice. You always have a choice.
[ It's audible that he's leaning closer, as if feigning proximity, intimacy. Except it isn't faked, it isn't faked when you feel it. ]
Except for returning to me. I'm not giving you a choice there.
[ The return-call arrives about three weeks later. Anakin's back at the Jedi Temple, seated outside in one of the gardens with the skyline stretching out above him, surrounded by green foliage. He can't remember spending time here for such extended periods since his Padawan days - and even then, the meditation gardens weren't exactly his preferred place to go. These days, however, all his leave takes place within the temple walls - if not, he's afraid he'll forget himself and visit Padmé for a chance at reconciliation and he thinks he'd rather dig his own grave in one of the flowerbeds up here than risk getting rejected by her again.
He's listened to Sarica's message more than once since he got it, weeks back. You always have a choice, he'd said. If your friend doesn't feel like your friend any longer.
Anakin's hand doesn't waver as he pushes the button. ]
Hello, Sarica.
[ There's a smile in his voice along with a touch of warmth. ]
You haven't asked me to return, I suppose, just as you haven't appeased me by changing your home. Your ways of life. I get it, I think. Takes me a while, maybe, but eventually I get there. It's about the words, isn't it, about what they mean and what they don't and how the slightest semantic difference can protect you. I have my lightsaber for that. Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good weapon when I see it.
Hey, by this logic, we've been sparring since the first time we met! I like that idea.
[ A pause as he shifts, his clothes rustling. A bird walks by, close enough to distract him for another second. Then, it flies off, the sound of its wings loud in the stillness. ]
Off it goes. Anyway, I've decided that you're right. About all you said. I've uh... [ Trailing off in embarrassment here, but whatever, soldier on, Anakin! ] I've memorized some of it so take that as it is. Earlier in the day, I finished a mission with my old Master, rescuing my friend from a tough situation and dealing with a dangerous foe in one swoop. I've fought him before and lost my hand to him - but that was years ago and this time, I won.
And as I stood there with my swords - his and mine - crossed against his throat, Sarica - I heard my friend whisper that I ought to kill him and I would have, I think, I would have, except for some reason, your voice carried over louder in my head and drowned him out. You have a choice, you said and I agree. I know that I do.
But sometimes, I forget.
The foe in question ended up dead anyway but not by my hand and for some reason, I feel like I dodged a blaster bolt when I think about it. Kill him, my friend said. But I'd already disarmed him so surely, I shouldn't have! Surely.
Surely, he shouldn't have goaded me. To... to kill someone. [ A huff, self-deprecating. ] Not like I need that anyway.
Why would he do that, do you think? I'm asking myself that question now, as I have all day. And other things have happened - things that make me feel pulled about and tugged at in many different directions, people asking me to do things that I can't --
[ Sarica is in a meeting when his comlink buzzes, it's an urgent meeting, too, about strategies and resources at the Reecian border, but he still excuses himself and goes listening to Anakin. Anakin who sounds equal parts a child and a soldier, a slave and a free man, caught up in thoughts about whom he owes himself to, pointing to everyone but the obvious choice.
Don't Jedi have mirrors, he wonders, smirking, but darkly, unamused.
Checking that the hallway is clear and that no one will hear him, he presses the button and holds the comlink close to his face, intimately, the distance between confidantes, not between strangers. Although they're by all accounts three days apart. ]
Take only the truth from this, Anakin, because I'm not a devout person, but I'll tell you have faith even so. What I mean is, have faith in yourself. I'm getting the feeling that where you are, there is no one else you can truly trust. Your own sword and my words will only protect you insofar that you put that confidence to good use and add all the hope your age should have entitled you to. If tomorrow will be a strange day, hope beyond tomorrow. Trust in your abilities. Believe in yourself. I would say this to no one else, because I care little about most people, but you have earned my words.
Like I have earned your sword.
[ A slight smile-slash-smirk at that. He isn't talking about his lightsaber. Or swords in general. He's talking about grabbing someone by the dick and leading them from there. ]
If your friend asked you to kill someone you had no mandate, and more importantly, no desire to kill in that situation, he is no longer your friend. If you're doubting yourself now, make sure that's the right place to direct those questions. Should you be asking yourself? Or should you be asking him? Doesn't he owe you the answers? Have faith in your own instincts, Anakin. If he wants things from you that you're not prepared to give, that you do not want him to have, he is only one more slaver.
Haven't you known enough of our kind, do you think? Be free. I will you to be.
[ Footsteps down a hallway. A pause in which he waits, holds his breath, then - ]
If it helps, keep memorizing what I'm telling you. If it doesn't, do it anyway. It pleases me.
[ He's mid-meditation - because he ought to, apparently, because he's got a mess to clean up, the extent of which he isn't even fully aware of yet - when his comlink buzzes. There's no around here to disturb at the moment; with the Galactic Republic still reeling from Palpatine's death and the armada scrambling to close up dead ends all over the galaxy, no one truly has the time. No one but him and a few younglings and they give him a wide berth still, seeing as gossip goes around, particularly in the temple.
That he'd almost...
Well, but he didn't, did he.
He listens to Sarica's message, a smile spreading slowly on his lips. He still gets winded easily and his chest and ribs, in particular, feel like someone parked an RT-AT on him but regardless...it feels right. Listening to his words and knowing what he chose to do. How it turned out.
In other news, the comment about swords go straight to his groin so that's nice and awkward, out here in the meditation gardens. He groans and shifts a little before hitting the button to reply. ]
Oh, definitely - it helps. Even now, though everything has changed, it helps more than I think you realize.
[ He straightens up a little to take the pressure of bending forward off his lungs, his clothes rustling. In the background, there's the faint noises of Coruscanti traffic chugging along as always, like the world didn't just end last week, like it didn't just... He breathes in slowly before he continues: ]
It won't really feel like much to you guys, what with your planet being at the absolute butt-end of the galaxy but regardless, here's your macro-political update of the day. The Chancellor of the Republic is dead. [ Pause. A heavy swallow here, still. He can't help it. ] I - well, my men killed him because they had to. To save me.
[ He looks away, up, towards the sky. A brief pause as he centers himself. ]
He was evil, Sarica. Evil to the bone and deeper yet. [ Thinly: ] And he'd been my close friend for so long. Or, I thought he had. I'm still pretty confused about this.
Anyway, it took me a little while to heal up but I'm up and about again, right as rain. [ Well, close to. Whatever. ] Though I should be focusing on my own mental balance, I bet you already know what I'm thinking about. Your comment about what you've earned. What we've earned and what it implies. I keep thinking about you getting paid help and changing up your entire home, about how it would suit us now if I came on my own volition, freely, with nothing to barter with except whatever you'd like to have of me.
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comlink
But then, there's the part of him that keeps screaming about the injustice of it, about how one small transgression... He stops his own mental train from derailing there. Talking to the Chancellor about this had been a mistake, he's fairly certain - for one, why would he burden the most powerful man in the galaxy with his petty, private issues? And why would the older man know what to say, anyway?
Meaning, he didn't know.
Anakin's trying to be understanding about that but on the other hand, he'd never expected the Chancellor who claims to hold Padmé in the highest possible regard, to push him towards getting angry with her, calling her actions perhaps slightly unreasonable and advising him not to trust her judgement. That had been... strange. Out of place. Hadn't it? Or maybe he should've never...
In any case, Anakin's currently been re-deployed again along with the 501st and in a rare, calm moment he's listening to Sarica's message in their shared quarters. Rex has made sure that he gets his privacy, though he's no doubt making the wrong assumption as to why.
He listens, then listen again - and again. Gaze distant, he finally replies: ]
I'm - you know, I guess it's funny. [ He isn't laughing, but there's a wryness to his tone. ] The two of us, all by ourselves. You sound like someone left you - did they?
[ Pause. A long, outdrawn breath as he steels himself: ]
My wife has left me. I know, logically, that she's in her right - it's about you, by the way, if you want to feel important for a hot second - and I don't think I'm supposed to be angry with her. I am, though. These days it seems like I'm always angry. It would be so easy to direct that anger towards her and the Ch - someone close to me suggests that I should, too, that it would be right. Instead, I destroy droids. Machines. People, sometimes, if I must.
I'd give my other arm to share your distance. Perhaps you'd feel different about it if you weren't there by yourself.
[ Pause. His breath hitches briefly, before he gets his voice back under control. ]
And perhaps I'd be far enough away from everything, too.
[ From somewhere, an alarm bleats. Anakin pauses to listen briefly, then ignores it. ]
It's so typical of you, by the way, turning my question around and pointing it back to me. What do I want to gain from you, actually taking my suggestions? I don't know. I never do. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you - my plans are barely even blueprints, let alone cohesive. I think, though...
[ He takes a second here, to swallow. His voice comes back a little rougher: ]
I'd like to know you better than I know myself.
[ And, with a tremble: ]
Please be safe.
[ Off. ]
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Sarica gets his message on the way to the front, where he has been sent to negotiate between captured Reecian freedom fighters and the temple they took over in the border regions, and as it buzzes, the comlink, he halts his horse and pulls it along to a grove nearby, letting it graze in a field of clovers while he plays it. Over and over. He feels, strangely enough, like he's listening to himself in a different pitch, at a different time of his life, but the same tension and dissatisfaction. Anger. He knows this man, he thinks to himself. He knows him intimately.
And he does. It has cost Anakin his marriage. Anakin who reminds him of himself at age eighteen. Alone in the world. But never alone enough.
He presses the button, but the first few seconds is just chirping of birds, the thud, thud, thud of a horse's hooves, a branch snapping. His breathing. Inhale, exhale. ]
I don't know how to genuinely convey to you that I'm sorry about your wife. I don't care for women. I wasn't put on this earth to entertain their kind. However, what I can genuinely say, Anakin, is that I would never wish upon you anything that could burden you or sadden you, hurt you or force forth your anger. However, it seems to me that your former wife is not the catalyst of any of these feelings anyway, they start somewhere else. And if she's not the catalyst, she doesn't deserve to be the recipient of them either. If we're talking about suggestions, here's mine: find out from whom these feelings stem and direct your anger there. That's where they belong.
It might settle some things. Or it might launch another war, who knows. War seems to be all the rage these days.
[ More bird chirping. A faint voice murmuring something to an animal that neighs in response. Half a minute of calm nature noises, then he returns, voice less steady now. He might not have moved, but he's in a different place altogether. ]
I'm on my way to Reece. The man who left me is Reecian, you must understand, he was brought to Efith when he was ten years old as a slave and served eight years with an old scholar. I bought him, then, from the old man. I bought him and I freed him, I made him my heir to inherit everything I owned when I died and I let him live in my house with me, as my - [ A hitch in his voice, whether it's a moment's doubt or a moment's anger, hurt, longing is difficult to tell. ] - partner. He met someone, apparently, not too long ago. A fire priest that has been a thorn in the temple's side for years, and they've run away together. Back to Reece. Timachus has taken up arms, judging by hearsay, and his new friend can blow people up by looking at them.
Reece gained an ally and we, two new enemies. Efith is losing, my friend, but only because I lost first. Like that, every battle feels like a double defeat.
[ The wind rustles the leaves on the trees above his head. If you listen closely enough, you might hear the blue sky - if you've got imagination for that kind of thing. ]
I have plenty of plans, Anakin. I have hundreds of plans, but they all rely on him, on his choices and actions. The more desperate we get, the Senate, the military and me, the more certain I feel that Timachus might simply not be pushed any further. That he's done moving for me, while I... I gallop and I run and next thing you know, I fall.
[ A long, shaky breath. ]
If nothing else, I do believe you know me very well now. You know me better than most people, you know me better than the man I'm bringing down the sky for. What does that say about you? What I would and wouldn't do to have you here?
I would bring down the earth, too.
[ Off. ]
comlink
Well.
He stares at the comlink on the table, Sarica's voice long since faded into static. The space around him feels overly large and cluttered, simultaneously. He thinks about the other man, far away, trying to fight for the one who left him, refusing to let him go. Starting a war over him, a former slave, a man who should've been doubly free from men like Sarica, trying to re-possess him.
He presses the button and clears his throat. ]
So, I knew you were a slaver. I knew but I... [ He pauses. His voice grows colder. ] I hate that. You have to know that I do. Hate isn't the Jedi way but then, neither is getting frisky in a river on faraway planet. [ A huff of laughter. ] Or, I guess, getting hitched.
I saw Padmé today, in the Senate. I thought that maybe I could catch her, even though I know she doesn't want to see me - she's angry with me now, more than she's been in a while. [ Pause. Rewind. ] Padmé's my - you know. Anyway. Padmé. I wanted to clear up a misunderstanding because I don't want - I don't want the distance between us to grow even wider. Instead, all I accomplished was getting told off by her bodyguard and then, like a coward, I fled. Before the Cha - before my friend could discover me there and pull me aside, as he usually does.
I wanted to - to kill her bodyguard and everybody else who stood between us, right then.
So, what I want to say is - I get it. I get what you're doing.
But maybe we should both take your advice.
[ A long break. He's breathing slowly, deeply, trying to center himself the best he can which isn't very good at all. There's a metallic sound of something clanking about somewhere close to the com. It sounds like something being taken apart, piece by piece. ]
I mean, you told me that my anger doesn't belong with her and you're right. It doesn't. As your desperation, I'm sure, doesn't belong with this Timachus or even his new lover. Direct it elsewhere, if you can, and I'll do my best to do the same. If we fail, at least we can be two hypocrites, knowing each other's secrets. I'm thinking about you a lot, now that I'm on leave. I wonder what you'd think about Coruscant - whether you wouldn't find it completely abhorrent, covered in city from top to bottom.
Or perhaps, like me, you'd simply be another newcomer from a planet where everything is smaller, trying and failing to take it all in. Because we carry our smallness within and everywhere we go, it goes, and rising above it is exhausting.
Let's try to do better, Sarica.
I'm counting on you.
[ Off. ]
comlink
The fire in the fireplace is crackling behind him, when he decides it's time, late at night, and he remembers torches along the riverbank, then. Another moment. Another eternity, if you ask Anakin Skywalker. ]
I'm aware that you hate it. I hid them from you, because I knew. These days, I have nothing to hide from you, Anakin. Timachus and the fire priest took all my slaves with them when they ran and I haven't purchased new ones since. Why not? The war hasn't exhausted my funds. There's room, there's enough room... Maybe I don't believe myself capable of providing for anyone anymore, consider that. It takes more than a house and it takes more than gold to give people what they need to function. I used to have a household of ten, over whom I governed as head. Yet, what does the head do when the body discards it? Does it blame the legs that ran, the arms that pushed away? Or does it look at itself?
Unfortunately, it's extremely difficult for eyes to look inwards. I've heard you have your methods, though, among the Jedi. Like the priests and priestesses here have their own ways, but I'm done with temples for now.
What more am I supposed to be done with? Count your own losses and let me know.
[ A wooden cup scrapes against a wooden tabletop. Someone drinks, not wine, not tonight. It's been water, barely chilled, and bread for days now. He survives, but he doesn't live, he doesn't indulge. There's nothing to indulge in. It's as if all the elements that he has, wine and fruit and people to fuck, are devoid of value when the things, the people he put himself in, bodily or mentally, are missing.
Is he even thinking about Timachus in that regard anymore? Curious.
A hmm'ing sound. ]
Things you can only see from above, I'll tell you: no building is just a building.
I inherited this villa from my father when he died. I threw out everything he'd touched, minus a few pieces, and rebuilt it out of my own selections. This villa represents me and it's empty, Anakin. It's huge and opulent and empty, very, very empty.
Desperate, you call me.
Accurately, no doubt, but for what, if not for Timachus.
For what you could bring? What would you bring?
[ Off. ]
comlink
Anakin sits by himself again, once more in the shared sleeping quarters, once more watched over by Rex who at this point has managed to ask precisely one question regarding Padmé and nothing more. All the same, he keeps watch now, not knowing for what or why. It's Anakin and apparently, to him, that does it.
He turns it on. ]
Apologies for how long this has taken me - I've thought about you, though, more than once. If you haven't already, you should hire someone to tend to your house, actually hire them. See what difference it makes when good people are driven by something they want, rather than something they fear.
My friend, the one I've mentioned more than once - well, he's been a friend to me since I came to Coruscant, back when I was a kid. He used to take me with him to secret places, show me aspects of the world that I'd never seen or known about. Dark places. Some time ago, I asked the Jedi Council whether he'd done this with others, ever, knowing full well the answer beforehand. I don't know why I needed to ask. Their explanations certainly didn't do anything for me but that's nothing new. In any case, there's something about my friend, about myself in relation to him, that makes me... It confuses me.
I'm telling you this because you asked me what I could bring to your state of emptiness and honestly, Sarica, I can only say that I'd bring myself. What little I own isn't worth much to anyone else. I don't know why my friend wanted it, even back when I was so little that I couldn't speak his language fluently and right now, I can't tell whether you'd find any use in it, either. They say I'm overconfident in my own abilities because they don't understand the extent of them - I'm not, obviously. I just know what I can do.
It's not confidence, it's fact.
And it's fact, too, that I don't know whether you'd be more or less empty if I were to visit you. Are you going to ask, though?
For me to return?
The war is dragging its feet a little but if you ask me, we're definitely reaching the end. The enemy is tired. Exhausted.
[ A small pause and an audible exhalation. ]
You sound tired too.
There's no need for you to think of yourself as limbless, Sarica. You aren't. You have your body, your mind. And if you refuse to own slaves again, then you'll most definitely have a better chance at finding what you need from me.
Consider that.
[ Off. ]
comlink
The comlink lies in front of him on the table. His voice is steadier than the past couple of calls. It's got more edge and less hesitancies. He commands once more, he doesn't only chase and charge and lose. Others do all of those things down in Reece, of course, but what has it got to do with him? ]
You want me to tell you to return. Here, to me. But I'm not going to ask, Anakin. Call it what you want, but when your war is over and while mine still rages on, you will come back and live in my house with me, for a little while or a long while or whatever exists in between or beyond those two denominators. I have had the villa emptied for your sake. I've rebuilt it from its very foundation. I've hired people. Know, I'm not appeasing you, I'm being accommodating, it's an offer - and an order, there's room here, fill it, Anakin Skywalker.
[ Foreign as it may sound, there's a smile in his voice, it's warm, almost burning hot, and there's a cut corner and hard edges to it, too. If Timachus matters anymore, it's from a historical perspective. He was here, now he's gone. The bitterness to change. The many, many opportunities as well.
Then, after a long moment of just women laughing, such a foreign sound in his villa, Sarica continues, his tone darkening and deepening. ]
Your friend has no doubt seen the same in you that I see. Challenge. Competence. Conflict. Confusion. Things that can either be harvested naturally or taken advantage of, when the person in question can't properly exploit it themselves. You were a child, my friend, how should you know. Don't Jedi teach each other? If anything they should've taught you to recognise what was fair use, who was to properly utilize what you carry within you, if they were not willing to make more invasive decisions on your behalf. If you're asking them now where they were, in your special, singular case, it's because you already know they weren't where they should've been.
Someone should be there for you, Anakin. Not because your confidence in your own abilities is wrong, but because confidence is not a protector, only an enhancer.
People who fly very high deserve a softer landing, I'd think. It's only logic.
Speaking of people doing what they want. If your friend doesn't feel like your friend any longer, you always have a choice. You always have a choice.
[ It's audible that he's leaning closer, as if feigning proximity, intimacy. Except it isn't faked, it isn't faked when you feel it. ]
Except for returning to me. I'm not giving you a choice there.
[ Off. ]
comlink
He's listened to Sarica's message more than once since he got it, weeks back. You always have a choice, he'd said. If your friend doesn't feel like your friend any longer.
Anakin's hand doesn't waver as he pushes the button. ]
Hello, Sarica.
[ There's a smile in his voice along with a touch of warmth. ]
You haven't asked me to return, I suppose, just as you haven't appeased me by changing your home. Your ways of life. I get it, I think. Takes me a while, maybe, but eventually I get there. It's about the words, isn't it, about what they mean and what they don't and how the slightest semantic difference can protect you. I have my lightsaber for that. Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a good weapon when I see it.
Hey, by this logic, we've been sparring since the first time we met! I like that idea.
[ A pause as he shifts, his clothes rustling. A bird walks by, close enough to distract him for another second. Then, it flies off, the sound of its wings loud in the stillness. ]
Off it goes. Anyway, I've decided that you're right. About all you said. I've uh... [ Trailing off in embarrassment here, but whatever, soldier on, Anakin! ] I've memorized some of it so take that as it is. Earlier in the day, I finished a mission with my old Master, rescuing my friend from a tough situation and dealing with a dangerous foe in one swoop. I've fought him before and lost my hand to him - but that was years ago and this time, I won.
And as I stood there with my swords - his and mine - crossed against his throat, Sarica - I heard my friend whisper that I ought to kill him and I would have, I think, I would have, except for some reason, your voice carried over louder in my head and drowned him out. You have a choice, you said and I agree. I know that I do.
But sometimes, I forget.
The foe in question ended up dead anyway but not by my hand and for some reason, I feel like I dodged a blaster bolt when I think about it. Kill him, my friend said. But I'd already disarmed him so surely, I shouldn't have! Surely.
Surely, he shouldn't have goaded me. To... to kill someone. [ A huff, self-deprecating. ] Not like I need that anyway.
Why would he do that, do you think? I'm asking myself that question now, as I have all day. And other things have happened - things that make me feel pulled about and tugged at in many different directions, people asking me to do things that I can't --
[ Pause. Breathe. Breeeeathe. ]
I keep your words in mind, my friend.
It'll be a strange day tomorrow.
[ Off. ]
comlink
Don't Jedi have mirrors, he wonders, smirking, but darkly, unamused.
Checking that the hallway is clear and that no one will hear him, he presses the button and holds the comlink close to his face, intimately, the distance between confidantes, not between strangers. Although they're by all accounts three days apart. ]
Take only the truth from this, Anakin, because I'm not a devout person, but I'll tell you have faith even so. What I mean is, have faith in yourself. I'm getting the feeling that where you are, there is no one else you can truly trust. Your own sword and my words will only protect you insofar that you put that confidence to good use and add all the hope your age should have entitled you to. If tomorrow will be a strange day, hope beyond tomorrow. Trust in your abilities. Believe in yourself. I would say this to no one else, because I care little about most people, but you have earned my words.
Like I have earned your sword.
[ A slight smile-slash-smirk at that. He isn't talking about his lightsaber. Or swords in general. He's talking about grabbing someone by the dick and leading them from there. ]
If your friend asked you to kill someone you had no mandate, and more importantly, no desire to kill in that situation, he is no longer your friend. If you're doubting yourself now, make sure that's the right place to direct those questions. Should you be asking yourself? Or should you be asking him? Doesn't he owe you the answers? Have faith in your own instincts, Anakin. If he wants things from you that you're not prepared to give, that you do not want him to have, he is only one more slaver.
Haven't you known enough of our kind, do you think? Be free. I will you to be.
[ Footsteps down a hallway. A pause in which he waits, holds his breath, then - ]
If it helps, keep memorizing what I'm telling you. If it doesn't, do it anyway. It pleases me.
And it helps, I'm sure.
[ Off. ]
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That he'd almost...
Well, but he didn't, did he.
He listens to Sarica's message, a smile spreading slowly on his lips. He still gets winded easily and his chest and ribs, in particular, feel like someone parked an RT-AT on him but regardless...it feels right. Listening to his words and knowing what he chose to do. How it turned out.
In other news, the comment about swords go straight to his groin so that's nice and awkward, out here in the meditation gardens. He groans and shifts a little before hitting the button to reply. ]
Oh, definitely - it helps. Even now, though everything has changed, it helps more than I think you realize.
[ He straightens up a little to take the pressure of bending forward off his lungs, his clothes rustling. In the background, there's the faint noises of Coruscanti traffic chugging along as always, like the world didn't just end last week, like it didn't just... He breathes in slowly before he continues: ]
It won't really feel like much to you guys, what with your planet being at the absolute butt-end of the galaxy but regardless, here's your macro-political update of the day. The Chancellor of the Republic is dead. [ Pause. A heavy swallow here, still. He can't help it. ] I - well, my men killed him because they had to. To save me.
[ He looks away, up, towards the sky. A brief pause as he centers himself. ]
He was evil, Sarica. Evil to the bone and deeper yet. [ Thinly: ] And he'd been my close friend for so long. Or, I thought he had. I'm still pretty confused about this.
Anyway, it took me a little while to heal up but I'm up and about again, right as rain. [ Well, close to. Whatever. ] Though I should be focusing on my own mental balance, I bet you already know what I'm thinking about. Your comment about what you've earned. What we've earned and what it implies. I keep thinking about you getting paid help and changing up your entire home, about how it would suit us now if I came on my own volition, freely, with nothing to barter with except whatever you'd like to have of me.
I'll give that to you, if you like. If you want.
[ Pause. Then, with complete certainty: ]
I want to give that to you.
It won't be long now, Sarica. It won't be long.
[ Off. ]