[If searching through the raw Force is like traversing a river, Anakin is in the deep-end, stuck like he's nine years old again with no idea of how to keep afloat. This isn't luck, it's sheer willpower and a refusal to admit how close they both are to never coming back.
All he needs is that reach, a distant dim light growing as it moves closer, searching now as he does. He has no idea what he's doing. Meditation lessons have never traversed this far, and back home, this would be like diving into the Dark Side with no plan, no anchor, and only a futile hope to cling to in that pervasive, ever-clouded night.
He does the only thing he can do when that fleeting, too-small presence reaches up. He pulls.
A long moment passes where he isn't sure where he is, what he's done, and it isn't until he recognizes the sound of his own heavy breathing that he realizes this is consciousness. Reality, in the face of this, is still bleak and disappointing, but it's something stable. He tries to bite back the distaste of opening his eyes and finding them both still in this sequestered part of the outpost.
The sigh he gives is more relieved than he wants it to be in this sithpit.
He can feel Obi-Wan stir, attempt to move and fail, and his fingers lace into his hair, not quite petting. A gentle, unspoken urge to lay still.]
Oh, shut up.
[This is number twelve, but as far as Anakin is concerned, after all Obi-Wan has done these past few months, they may as well be on equal footing. Still, he can't help the flip his heart does at the affirmation, regardless. Praise is such a strange thing to swallow.
He turns back, barely regarding Tak-Fren over his shoulder, his expression back to a deep scowl. He doesn't want to offer this. He wants her to pay for this. All of it. But he's made a promise, and now more than ever, the idea of Obi-Wan's forgiveness comes into play.]
no subject
All he needs is that reach, a distant dim light growing as it moves closer, searching now as he does. He has no idea what he's doing. Meditation lessons have never traversed this far, and back home, this would be like diving into the Dark Side with no plan, no anchor, and only a futile hope to cling to in that pervasive, ever-clouded night.
He does the only thing he can do when that fleeting, too-small presence reaches up. He pulls.
A long moment passes where he isn't sure where he is, what he's done, and it isn't until he recognizes the sound of his own heavy breathing that he realizes this is consciousness. Reality, in the face of this, is still bleak and disappointing, but it's something stable. He tries to bite back the distaste of opening his eyes and finding them both still in this sequestered part of the outpost.
The sigh he gives is more relieved than he wants it to be in this sithpit.
He can feel Obi-Wan stir, attempt to move and fail, and his fingers lace into his hair, not quite petting. A gentle, unspoken urge to lay still.]
Oh, shut up.
[This is number twelve, but as far as Anakin is concerned, after all Obi-Wan has done these past few months, they may as well be on equal footing. Still, he can't help the flip his heart does at the affirmation, regardless. Praise is such a strange thing to swallow.
He turns back, barely regarding Tak-Fren over his shoulder, his expression back to a deep scowl. He doesn't want to offer this. He wants her to pay for this. All of it. But he's made a promise, and now more than ever, the idea of Obi-Wan's forgiveness comes into play.]
Get out.