[ The horse is sturdy and strong and it carries the both of them easily enough at this pace. They're making their way slowly back to the Capital, Anakin in the front, Sarica right behind him, his arms slung around his middle. If he were to lean back even a little, he'd feel the other man's chest against his shoulders. So far, though, Anakin has kept his back straight and his reins as slack as possible, simply allowing the forest to pass by around them, bit for bit, with as little active participation on his part as possible.
He can feel Sarica's breath against the back of his neck. It makes him think about the other night, about the noises he made. I love you, he said.
He swallows hard, realising that they've been riding along in silence for at least thirty minutes and if nothing else, it's starting to get to him, being alone with his thoughts like this, with his feelings. He can still feel the other man, Timachus, in his mind, all pliant and defenseless and easily robbed. It doesn't bother him, exactly. Not exactly. It's not about Timachus, really.
His voice is too loud when he blurts out, his gaze planted dead-center between the horse's pointy ears: ]
You ever thought about making these things go faster? Because I do. Frequently.
[ The horse snorts. Next to them, Anakin's horse - still tired from earlier - continues on at a comfortable pace and he gives it a petty little tug, just to do something with his hands. ]
[ He doesn't know what happened. What came over him. First, with Timachus and then, with Anakin, like the two people who have left and could, he was determined to push them away. Very rarely doesn't Sarica know these things, very rarely doesn't he use them and exploit them and aim them away. Today has been a rare day. Because he doesn't know what happened, except he does, he got scared and that is the actual rare thing here, isn't it? Sarica who is unintimidatable, who doesn't fear even death. He fears this, loss and more loss and a final loss, some day. Some day it will come and he will rather be dead by then.
All these things he thinks about while they ride, the silence between Anakin and him oppressive and full of unsaids. He focuses on feeling the other man's body, the way he felt his body the night before and actually, thinking about that, the ride back to the Capital is much more uncomfortable than the ride out, because there's no rush to dull the soreness in his arse. Ow. He shifts a bit, feeling his whole front rub over Anakin's whole back and he takes pleasure in that. Comfort. Colour him surprised, but it's not the same thing.
You ever thought about making these things go faster, Anakin asks, still sitting straight up and down, not giving in the slightest and Sarica saw. The expression on his face. Are you angry, it asked. And at the back of his mind, Sarica makes a mental note that if he should ever face the Force from anyone, he would take it from the Jedi Council who has not nurtured this boy and supported him, so that it would be a silly question to think, let alone ask.
His Anakin has done nothing wrong. He only took Sarica by surprise, because Sarica was caught up in what's his own. Anakin truly has no say in that.
[ Sarica answers him but not, as it were, by going with his non sequitur. Instead, he takes them back to the matter at hand - because yes, he'd expected... maybe not anger but disappointment, surely, the kind that stings and burns and makes you want to hide your entire being away for as long as possible. Back when they spoke through the comlink, they'd talked about pointing blame in proper directions, about knowing the difference between the present and whatever time and place your emotions might've inadvertently taken you.
This, he thinks, doesn't truly belong here.
But regardless, when Sarica says he isn't angry, a part of him desperately wants to tell him disappointed, then, just to get ahead in the game and complete the pattern.
Instead, he exhales noisily through his nose and glances down at his hands. One metal, one flesh. Anakin's always been half and half, maybe that's why he never truly sees the full picture. ]
I guess I wouldn't blame you if you were.
[ He finally chances a glance to the side, turning his head. Behind him, Sarica's yellow travel cloak is a bright splash of colour, right in the very edge of his vision. ]
I just - [ Pause. Softer: ] - you shouldn't have gone by yourself.
[ A glimpse over his shoulder, making Sarica wonder what Anakin really sees from his position up front, what he ever sees of people, always standing in front of them, protecting them, saving them. Sarica isn't the only one afraid of loss, Anakin even told him back then, when he was first called to Reece - and Sarica listened. He should have listened today as well. He should have remembered and respected and rectified.
Instead, now, Anakin tells him he couldn't blame him if he were, angry, except he could. He should, really. Sarica was wrong and Anakin only saved him from his own wrongdoing. Ever the soldier. Ever the unlikely hero. Has no one ever thanked him? Someone should. Sarica will gladly be the first.
So he slings his arms closer around Anakin's middle, not for holding on, but just for holding, pushing himself a bit closer to his backside (ow) and simply places himself there, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath them seeping into his system slowly. In front of him, Anakin is all back and neck and hair. Sarica presses his forehead in between his shoulder blades. Just to let him feel him.
Quietly: ]
Blame me. [ Again, but harder this time. ] Blame me, I have no right being angry with you or unhappy in any way. You protect, my friend. It's what you do and I know. I should have known.
[ The pause is heavy, full of all the apologies he doesn't voice, but that are implied and impossible to ignore. After a long moment, Sarica raises his head again and looks to the side, at the other horse, following along reliably.
[ Sarica... responds by leaning in closer, pushing himself up against his back and burying his face between his shoulder blades. Anakin stiffens for a split-second before he relaxes, the tension along his back melting away. He blinks, confused, steering the horse onwards and trying to imagine why the other man would...
It's not that he meant to disturb him, obviously, he meant to help and he thinks he was right in doing that, at least, in his intention, but -
Blame me says Sarica and Anakin actually stumbles over his next breath, swallowing harshly to compensate. He clears his throat as Sarica goes on, telling him that - it's what you do and I know - but - but - oh. Really? Gradually, a smile spreads on his face as he allows himself to lean back against the other man, to take his embrace for what it is. You did well he said and he did, didn't he, except he humiliated Sarica in the process and that wasn't good, he'll be more careful next time. He'll be more careful.
He frees his flesh hand from the reins and curls it on top of one of Sarica's, giving it a grateful squeeze. The tension between them has dissipated markedly and the road ahead looks clearer now, if not in anyway shorter. One step at a time, presumably. ]
You're welcome.
[ Usually, when he says this, he does it with a healthy load of sarcasm - for instance, he remembers directing those words at Obi-Wan quite frequently throughout the Clone Wars along with a very different, underlying sentiment - but right now, there's nothing but genuine warmth and perhaps a tinge of relief in his voice.
He adds, maybe bolder than he feels - but hopeful, most of all: ]
Try not to lose your head in the future, all right? It's a little bit sexy but mostly frightening.
Since I need my head for other things, such as sucking you off, losing it would be less than ideal, of course.
[ It's not a flippant answer, although on the surface it could sound like it, and he trusts Anakin will hear the difference. That Sarica isn't saying no or telling him off, isn't telling him not to give him orders of any kind, but the very opposite. Lead me, keep me tethered, be my anchor; really, he wants to stay himself, please, because he's recently discovered his own full potential, hasn't he, also thanks to Anakin Skywalker, sitting in front of him on the horse and steering one-handedly while he squeezes Sarica's hand, where he's gripping him, with him free hand, a little bit nervously, a little bit afraid.
Don't go missing again, it means, he can tell. Don't let me lose you.
Or, in Sarica's words, don't leave, the sentiment is the same. He softens fully against Anakin's back, taking the final distancing out of his little prod. Leaning his head back, all that's in view is hair, curls and wild strands, untameable and Sarica frees his other hand, reaching up, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Anakin's neck, finally curving his palm over the back of it. A strong, unrelenting hold. Calm. Calming. ]
Do you often find frightening things sexy?
[ He doesn't question that you could. He finds Anakin incredibly sexy and the man just moved him with air and an extension of himself, not even touching him with his own body. Forced truth out of Timachus that even Sarica couldn't beat out of him. Dangerous doesn't begin to describe it. And yet... He isn't judging, he's asking.
They all have their kicks, don't they? Sarica understands. Better than you might imagine.
In front of them, the outline of the Capital begins towering over the tree crowns ahead. They'll be riding through streets soon. Cityscape. This is their last moments of privacy. Sarica better treasure them. ]
[ Sarica, of course, catches his initiative and goes wild with it because words remain his arena. When he mentions sucking him off, Anakin's suddenly very, very conscious of the way they're pressed against each other, though the motion of the horse makes the resultant heat in his lower body distinctively uncomfortable. There's a flush spreading across his cheeks, too, he can feel it. Great. Releasing the other man's hands, he actually trembles slightly when Sarica touches him back, running his fingers through the hair by his neck and taking hold there, firmly, unyielding. His hand feels enormous.
Like, if he wanted to, he could cover all of Anakin beneath all that steadiness.
Eyes fluttering shut for a moment, he leaves it up to the horse to stay on track, leaning into that feeling, the heat of his palm. He almost forgets to listen to the follow-up question, taking a long time to 1) parse the words properly and 2) figure out what to do with them. Because really, does he? Does he find them sexy, precisely? The dark side, they say, is seductive - terrifyingly so, even. He knows. He's felt it in a way that lingers in his bones, still, like a permanent ache.
Shifting, letting Sarica's head steady him, shoulders straightening a little, he finally wets his lips and tries for the best answer he can because here is a small sphere of honesty, this thing they've managed to create in this moment, and he doesn't want to waste whatever potential it might have. ]
I've always wanted to be powerful. Powerful enough to...
[ Pause. He sighs, deeply. ]
So, I don't like the fact that things frighten me, precisely, but I like being able to - to draw something powerful from the feeling itself. Darkness is like that. It can feed into something - something incredible, if you know how to control it. [ His voice grows smaller. ] The opposite is also true.
[ Naturally, Anakin responds. Sarica feels how he tenses, no doubt feeling those words sink right into his lower body, same way Sarica does. Not comfortably, but present and sometimes, presence is all you get and you'll cherish it as such. He keeps his hand curved over the other man's neck, feeling how he leans back into it, letting the horse do all the work and it's a good thing Sarica's stallion is so reliable, isn't it? It knows the way. Save any mares on the road, it won't stray.
Then, Anakin tells him something that both does and doesn't have everything to do with what's sexy and what isn't. He tells him, he wants power - which comes as no surprise, Sarica had figured, it's the arrogance, the willfulness, the strength, of course he wants power to support all that. However, what he also says, implicit, is that he feels powerless. No one craves power who has power, that's logic. Simple.
Sarica stays very still against him for a long time, frowning and following the structures of the trees they pass by, the lines the crowns draw against the blue sky. Power... Such a deceptive concept. He should know, he stays very, very close to it, a part of it. Turning his face to Anakin's back now, Sarica strokes his neck for a moment, caresses him, tugs at little strands of his hair. His truly incredible Anakin Skywalker, look. ]
Sometimes the incredible and the terrible are one and the same. I wouldn't say it's a matter of control as much as context. What we do of incredible things in one context will look terrible in another, but if they make the same sense to us in both? It is what we make of it. [ Finally removing his hand, only after having pressed his thumb in softly right above Anakin's pulse point, feeling it beating like a scared little bird, he returns to holding him, both arms around his waist. Don't leave, it means. ] I was sixteen when my father passed. Except, Anakin, my father didn't pass, I made him leave. I killed him. An incredible act, for me, no doubt terrible to everyone else, but it is what it is. It is what I've made of it.
[ There's a long moment of silence during which Anakin would've been worried about Sarica's response if the other man hadn't kept his hand against his neck, his fingers pulling at the strands a little, gentle tugs, all of them grounding. Be still, it says, and wait. He's never been good at either, granted, but this is a new place and right now, they're stepping into a new reality, him and Sarica. There's room for the unexpected.
Which is fortunate for them both, it seems, because Sarica proceeds to tell him about incredible and terrible things, how sometimes, they are sides of the same coin and Force, he's well aware. He breathes out shakily as the other man presses his thumb over the beating pulse in his neck, just briefly, before he curls his arms around Anakin's middle, holds him tight and tells him that he made his father leave.
That he...
It takes Anakin a long moment to reply. He's staring straight ahead, eyes wide open now and lips slightly agape as he breathes, just breathes, feeling Sarica's body against his own, Sarica, who is a murderer just like him, who did what he had to do and made himself into something terrible in the process. Hand trembling, he reaches up and presses his palm over his eyes. He doesn't cry but he feels as if he could, easily. ]
When I was nineteen, my mother was killed. [ His voice trembles. ] They took her apart so I took them apart, in turn, all of them. Their mothers. Their children.
[ He looks down at his hands. Then, he leans back against Sarica's embrace, resting his head against his shoulder and looking up at the sky. The horse keeps going, unperturbed.
Sometimes, he thinks, it must be nice to be deaf to the world. ]
But I think - you understand, then, don't you? How sometimes, these things are just, even when they are also too awful to comprehend. [ Quietly: ] To live with.
[ He becomes small again, as he listens, Anakin. Sarica feels it, feels how he's all wide-eyed innocence, seeing something like this for the first time, but only belatedly does he realise that what makes Anakin wonder isn't any variety or version of how could you, but rather a sense of, you as well? You as well. Because the other man tells him, hand pressed over his eyes like he can't even look at it, and they can't have that, the hand has to go, so Sarica reaches up and pulls it away, brings both his hands to his midriff, to Sarica's hands, holding him.
He has killed many, of course. Anakin Skywalker was a peacekeeper and you keep the peace by force and by violence and by war, there are no other methods. However, these people who killed his mother didn't do so within a framework that allowed the killing and you meet the unjust with justice, you strike and you strike hard. Sarica is a legislator, isn't he - oh, he understands. He understands theoretically, but he certainly understands on a purely emotional level as well.
Sometimes, needs must. You must.
Must.
He lets the other man rest against him, his head on Sarica's shoulder and Sarica carries him, letting the horse carry the rest. It still follows the right course, they can afford not to care at all. ]
We don't live with these things, you must understand. [ Sarica's voice is soft and gentle, an unfamiliar quality in him, but Anakin awakes that, it seems. He would find it amusing, if he wasn't so busy being angry that no one else has ever told this man these things, how life works, how humans do. ] They are what gives us life. Could you have lived with yourself, had you not avenged your mother? Could I have lived with myself, had I allowed my father to carry on?
[ No, is the logical answer. Sarica allows it to hang unspoken between them, but unmistakable, too. As people would say some things cannot be excused, like massacres and patricide? Sarica says, it can't be excused not to do yourself justice. You owe it to no one else. No one. ]
We are the results of the terrible, but more than that, we are the results of the incredible we become due to it.
[ Turning his head a little, he nuzzles in against Anakin's neck, kisses the warm skin there, his hair tickling his nose, his forehead, his cheek... Sarica lifts his head a little and kisses him on his temple as well. ]
Look at you, my friend. Look at the amazing thing you've become, because you did what you did. Look at the amazing thing you've turned into.
[ Softly, then, and gently, too, so unlike him and yet, Sarica feels himself become a new version of himself, this is the incredible. He did the terrible, now he gets its opposite. You get rewarded for just behaviour, after all. It's deserved, he wants to think. He wants to think he may keep it, even. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action.
He can feel Sarica's breath against the back of his neck. It makes him think about the other night, about the noises he made. I love you, he said.
He swallows hard, realising that they've been riding along in silence for at least thirty minutes and if nothing else, it's starting to get to him, being alone with his thoughts like this, with his feelings. He can still feel the other man, Timachus, in his mind, all pliant and defenseless and easily robbed. It doesn't bother him, exactly. Not exactly. It's not about Timachus, really.
His voice is too loud when he blurts out, his gaze planted dead-center between the horse's pointy ears: ]
You ever thought about making these things go faster? Because I do. Frequently.
[ The horse snorts. Next to them, Anakin's horse - still tired from earlier - continues on at a comfortable pace and he gives it a petty little tug, just to do something with his hands. ]
no subject
All these things he thinks about while they ride, the silence between Anakin and him oppressive and full of unsaids. He focuses on feeling the other man's body, the way he felt his body the night before and actually, thinking about that, the ride back to the Capital is much more uncomfortable than the ride out, because there's no rush to dull the soreness in his arse. Ow. He shifts a bit, feeling his whole front rub over Anakin's whole back and he takes pleasure in that. Comfort. Colour him surprised, but it's not the same thing.
You ever thought about making these things go faster, Anakin asks, still sitting straight up and down, not giving in the slightest and Sarica saw. The expression on his face. Are you angry, it asked. And at the back of his mind, Sarica makes a mental note that if he should ever face the Force from anyone, he would take it from the Jedi Council who has not nurtured this boy and supported him, so that it would be a silly question to think, let alone ask.
His Anakin has done nothing wrong. He only took Sarica by surprise, because Sarica was caught up in what's his own. Anakin truly has no say in that.
So, Sarica replies, slowly, steadily: ]
I'm not angry with you, Anakin.
no subject
This, he thinks, doesn't truly belong here.
But regardless, when Sarica says he isn't angry, a part of him desperately wants to tell him disappointed, then, just to get ahead in the game and complete the pattern.
Instead, he exhales noisily through his nose and glances down at his hands. One metal, one flesh. Anakin's always been half and half, maybe that's why he never truly sees the full picture. ]
I guess I wouldn't blame you if you were.
[ He finally chances a glance to the side, turning his head. Behind him, Sarica's yellow travel cloak is a bright splash of colour, right in the very edge of his vision. ]
I just - [ Pause. Softer: ] - you shouldn't have gone by yourself.
no subject
Instead, now, Anakin tells him he couldn't blame him if he were, angry, except he could. He should, really. Sarica was wrong and Anakin only saved him from his own wrongdoing. Ever the soldier. Ever the unlikely hero. Has no one ever thanked him? Someone should. Sarica will gladly be the first.
So he slings his arms closer around Anakin's middle, not for holding on, but just for holding, pushing himself a bit closer to his backside (ow) and simply places himself there, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath them seeping into his system slowly. In front of him, Anakin is all back and neck and hair. Sarica presses his forehead in between his shoulder blades. Just to let him feel him.
Quietly: ]
Blame me. [ Again, but harder this time. ] Blame me, I have no right being angry with you or unhappy in any way. You protect, my friend. It's what you do and I know. I should have known.
[ The pause is heavy, full of all the apologies he doesn't voice, but that are implied and impossible to ignore. After a long moment, Sarica raises his head again and looks to the side, at the other horse, following along reliably.
Anakin is that horse. ]
You did well. Thank you.
no subject
It's not that he meant to disturb him, obviously, he meant to help and he thinks he was right in doing that, at least, in his intention, but -
Blame me says Sarica and Anakin actually stumbles over his next breath, swallowing harshly to compensate. He clears his throat as Sarica goes on, telling him that - it's what you do and I know - but - but - oh. Really? Gradually, a smile spreads on his face as he allows himself to lean back against the other man, to take his embrace for what it is. You did well he said and he did, didn't he, except he humiliated Sarica in the process and that wasn't good, he'll be more careful next time. He'll be more careful.
He frees his flesh hand from the reins and curls it on top of one of Sarica's, giving it a grateful squeeze. The tension between them has dissipated markedly and the road ahead looks clearer now, if not in anyway shorter. One step at a time, presumably. ]
You're welcome.
[ Usually, when he says this, he does it with a healthy load of sarcasm - for instance, he remembers directing those words at Obi-Wan quite frequently throughout the Clone Wars along with a very different, underlying sentiment - but right now, there's nothing but genuine warmth and perhaps a tinge of relief in his voice.
He adds, maybe bolder than he feels - but hopeful, most of all: ]
Try not to lose your head in the future, all right? It's a little bit sexy but mostly frightening.
no subject
[ It's not a flippant answer, although on the surface it could sound like it, and he trusts Anakin will hear the difference. That Sarica isn't saying no or telling him off, isn't telling him not to give him orders of any kind, but the very opposite. Lead me, keep me tethered, be my anchor; really, he wants to stay himself, please, because he's recently discovered his own full potential, hasn't he, also thanks to Anakin Skywalker, sitting in front of him on the horse and steering one-handedly while he squeezes Sarica's hand, where he's gripping him, with him free hand, a little bit nervously, a little bit afraid.
Don't go missing again, it means, he can tell. Don't let me lose you.
Or, in Sarica's words, don't leave, the sentiment is the same. He softens fully against Anakin's back, taking the final distancing out of his little prod. Leaning his head back, all that's in view is hair, curls and wild strands, untameable and Sarica frees his other hand, reaching up, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Anakin's neck, finally curving his palm over the back of it. A strong, unrelenting hold. Calm. Calming. ]
Do you often find frightening things sexy?
[ He doesn't question that you could. He finds Anakin incredibly sexy and the man just moved him with air and an extension of himself, not even touching him with his own body. Forced truth out of Timachus that even Sarica couldn't beat out of him. Dangerous doesn't begin to describe it. And yet... He isn't judging, he's asking.
They all have their kicks, don't they? Sarica understands. Better than you might imagine.
In front of them, the outline of the Capital begins towering over the tree crowns ahead. They'll be riding through streets soon. Cityscape. This is their last moments of privacy. Sarica better treasure them. ]
no subject
Like, if he wanted to, he could cover all of Anakin beneath all that steadiness.
Eyes fluttering shut for a moment, he leaves it up to the horse to stay on track, leaning into that feeling, the heat of his palm. He almost forgets to listen to the follow-up question, taking a long time to 1) parse the words properly and 2) figure out what to do with them. Because really, does he? Does he find them sexy, precisely? The dark side, they say, is seductive - terrifyingly so, even. He knows. He's felt it in a way that lingers in his bones, still, like a permanent ache.
Shifting, letting Sarica's head steady him, shoulders straightening a little, he finally wets his lips and tries for the best answer he can because here is a small sphere of honesty, this thing they've managed to create in this moment, and he doesn't want to waste whatever potential it might have. ]
I've always wanted to be powerful. Powerful enough to...
[ Pause. He sighs, deeply. ]
So, I don't like the fact that things frighten me, precisely, but I like being able to - to draw something powerful from the feeling itself. Darkness is like that. It can feed into something - something incredible, if you know how to control it. [ His voice grows smaller. ] The opposite is also true.
no subject
Then, Anakin tells him something that both does and doesn't have everything to do with what's sexy and what isn't. He tells him, he wants power - which comes as no surprise, Sarica had figured, it's the arrogance, the willfulness, the strength, of course he wants power to support all that. However, what he also says, implicit, is that he feels powerless. No one craves power who has power, that's logic. Simple.
Sarica stays very still against him for a long time, frowning and following the structures of the trees they pass by, the lines the crowns draw against the blue sky. Power... Such a deceptive concept. He should know, he stays very, very close to it, a part of it. Turning his face to Anakin's back now, Sarica strokes his neck for a moment, caresses him, tugs at little strands of his hair. His truly incredible Anakin Skywalker, look. ]
Sometimes the incredible and the terrible are one and the same. I wouldn't say it's a matter of control as much as context. What we do of incredible things in one context will look terrible in another, but if they make the same sense to us in both? It is what we make of it. [ Finally removing his hand, only after having pressed his thumb in softly right above Anakin's pulse point, feeling it beating like a scared little bird, he returns to holding him, both arms around his waist. Don't leave, it means. ] I was sixteen when my father passed. Except, Anakin, my father didn't pass, I made him leave. I killed him. An incredible act, for me, no doubt terrible to everyone else, but it is what it is. It is what I've made of it.
no subject
Which is fortunate for them both, it seems, because Sarica proceeds to tell him about incredible and terrible things, how sometimes, they are sides of the same coin and Force, he's well aware. He breathes out shakily as the other man presses his thumb over the beating pulse in his neck, just briefly, before he curls his arms around Anakin's middle, holds him tight and tells him that he made his father leave.
That he...
It takes Anakin a long moment to reply. He's staring straight ahead, eyes wide open now and lips slightly agape as he breathes, just breathes, feeling Sarica's body against his own, Sarica, who is a murderer just like him, who did what he had to do and made himself into something terrible in the process. Hand trembling, he reaches up and presses his palm over his eyes. He doesn't cry but he feels as if he could, easily. ]
When I was nineteen, my mother was killed. [ His voice trembles. ] They took her apart so I took them apart, in turn, all of them. Their mothers. Their children.
[ He looks down at his hands. Then, he leans back against Sarica's embrace, resting his head against his shoulder and looking up at the sky. The horse keeps going, unperturbed.
Sometimes, he thinks, it must be nice to be deaf to the world. ]
But I think - you understand, then, don't you? How sometimes, these things are just, even when they are also too awful to comprehend. [ Quietly: ] To live with.
[ A smile, fragile and thin. ]
I've met no one like you. Not ever.
no subject
He has killed many, of course. Anakin Skywalker was a peacekeeper and you keep the peace by force and by violence and by war, there are no other methods. However, these people who killed his mother didn't do so within a framework that allowed the killing and you meet the unjust with justice, you strike and you strike hard. Sarica is a legislator, isn't he - oh, he understands. He understands theoretically, but he certainly understands on a purely emotional level as well.
Sometimes, needs must. You must.
Must.
He lets the other man rest against him, his head on Sarica's shoulder and Sarica carries him, letting the horse carry the rest. It still follows the right course, they can afford not to care at all. ]
We don't live with these things, you must understand. [ Sarica's voice is soft and gentle, an unfamiliar quality in him, but Anakin awakes that, it seems. He would find it amusing, if he wasn't so busy being angry that no one else has ever told this man these things, how life works, how humans do. ] They are what gives us life. Could you have lived with yourself, had you not avenged your mother? Could I have lived with myself, had I allowed my father to carry on?
[ No, is the logical answer. Sarica allows it to hang unspoken between them, but unmistakable, too. As people would say some things cannot be excused, like massacres and patricide? Sarica says, it can't be excused not to do yourself justice. You owe it to no one else. No one. ]
We are the results of the terrible, but more than that, we are the results of the incredible we become due to it.
[ Turning his head a little, he nuzzles in against Anakin's neck, kisses the warm skin there, his hair tickling his nose, his forehead, his cheek... Sarica lifts his head a little and kisses him on his temple as well. ]
Look at you, my friend. Look at the amazing thing you've become, because you did what you did. Look at the amazing thing you've turned into.
[ Softly, then, and gently, too, so unlike him and yet, Sarica feels himself become a new version of himself, this is the incredible. He did the terrible, now he gets its opposite. You get rewarded for just behaviour, after all. It's deserved, he wants to think. He wants to think he may keep it, even. ]
I've never met anyone like you either.