Candlelight

Chapter 8 - Accidents

Destroying the Separatist encampment using mostly the Force was draining, but effective. They took it out with hardly any casualties, arresting the Separatist leader present and salvaging all the weapons they could. The Republic showed up to pick them up not long later.

"That was incredible, General," Jesse says, an obvious note of awe in his voice as he stands near Anakin, watching as he works on his fighter. At least Anakin remembers him from before; he went with Ahsoka to Mandalore and Anakin never saw him again. He had made out his helmet among the many others in the graveyard, though. "I've never seen you use the Force like that before."

"I have... learned more of the Force," he replies. The rumors about time-travel will get everywhere quickly enough, but there's no reason to get into it right now.

"How much more can you do with it?" he wonders.

"Is there anything you can't do with it?" another voice cuts in, and Anakin looks up to see two very familiar clones approaching.

Fives and Echo.

Maybe it's been years, but he definitely still remembers them too.

"Fives?" he asks, surprised, without thinking.

"Yes, General?" the clone asks uncertainly.

"I – did not expect to see you here."

"Jesse was telling all of us about the mission, sir," Fives replies.

This is from a time when they don't know him well, isn't it. He can tell by the... formal way they're acting, especially Echo. But maybe that's a good thing. He doesn't remember them well either, so every time he sees them, it won't feel like he's looking for someone else – someone he'll never see again.

Absently, he tries to yank a piece of metal free on his ship, jolting back when pain suddenly spears sharply through his left hand.

... What?

He looks down to see blood trickling from a cut across his hand, and – Oh. Clearly, it momentarily slipped his mind that he doesn't have two mechanical hands anymore.

"Are you... alright, sir?" Jesse asks, almost awkwardly, looking about as confused as Fives and Echo are. Likely wondering what he even thought he was doing, trying to remove metal from a starfighter with his flesh hand.

And how many times has someone had to ask him that in the past week? "Yes."

He can feel their eyes on him, but none of them comment on his... very strange actions, for which he's grateful. They stay for a little longer, asking more curious questions about the Force, before leaving to attend to their duties.

Anakin turns his attention back to fixing his fighter, the ache in his left hand somehow... helping to ground him as much as the occasional pain from his right prosthetic. He's just not used to living without constant pain now, even if he's readjusting. It feels especially fitting after he just used the Dark Side again – and he needs to stop feeling like he needs to hate himself, too, because he knows he doesn't need to – not when he's still somehow capable of good.

He's been trying hard not to think about anything, because then he starts to spiral, and if he does – it's too risky that he'll start getting depressed and angry, and that's bad. At least working on the ship is a good distraction from thinking. So is feeling the metal under his hand, and feeling the temperature around him. The hangar floor is cold, and he's very sensitive to changes like that, but at least he can feel it.

"Master?"

He jumps at the sudden noise, instantly moving to sit up. But he's still getting used to not being so heavy all the time – he thought that was getting better – so he tries to sit up much too quickly, only to slam straight into the wing of the ship. He doesn't know why he was still half-expecting to have a helmet protecting his head from such things.