Something was wrong. He felt it the moment he woke up, like drugs dulling his senses. He couldn't be sick. He couldn't even remember the last time he was sick. The closest was when Dooku cut off his arm, but he hadn't been sick. Just recovering from a lost limb.
Maybe he caught a bug on Tatooine. Or he hadn't drunk enough water. His mind blurry, his tongue dry, his skin stiff and radiating heat-he felt awful. He didn't remember much of what happened on Tatooine, other than that it was once again the site of slaughter. His slaughter.
He gagged.
But Jabba was a slaver, a voice invaded his mind. The Son's? His Master's? His own? He made people suffer. He deserved to die, as did those who helped him.
Not like that, he berated himself, heart pounding. That wasn't justice. Was it?
In the other room C-3PO primly scolded one of the service droids in the apartment, one with more basic functions that could only beep in response. Normally that would make him smile, but today he didn't care. No, he did care-he wanted silence.
Still feeling off-kilter, he struggled from the sheets. One twisted around his ankle, and with a growl he ripped it off, the sound of tearing fabric shocking him as it mixed with his harsh breathing.
He paused.
What was he doing? It was just a sheet. He held the sheet up, then set it in his lap to look around the room. He breathed in, out. He usually had more control over his mechanical arm. He couldn't remember the last time he lost control like that. Maybe on Tatooine, he thought bitterly, the blur of blood and vengeance a likely indicator. Nothing good happened on Tatooine.
He felt along the small rip, the threads strangely soft in their frayed state. The galaxy would be a better place with Jabba gone, he knew that. Jabba had treated him and countless others like animals to be bought and sold. He repaid that debt. He slaughtered Jabba like an animal. That was justice. His heart hardened with resolve.
You have become the very thing you sought to destroy, a different voice intruded, on the edge of recognition, robbing him of his moment of certainty. You are blinded by your feelings, giving in to hate and destroying yourself in the process. Turn back.
His anger spiked at that. He knew it was ironic, hating this alternate voice and its reasoning, but what did it know? It was already too late to turn back. He had to accept that. Clovis knew it, and he hadn't done half the things Anakin had. Padme knew it, too, for all her defense of Clovis. He had seen them arguing, seen her doubt. Would Ahsoka stand up for him if she knew who he was?
He thrust the ruined sheet away from him, body still burning up, and made his way to the fresher. The hope of justice was the only hope he allowed himself.
The door whooshed open. He rested his forehead against the cool metal of the fresher wall. The light turned on, and he groaned. He was ready for today to be over, to return here away from his Master's schemes.
He moved back from the cool wall, moving to start his routine, only to be stopped by the mirror. Mind still foggy, it took a moment for him to register what was different, and why it would normally bother him. He'd never woken up like this before.
Two yellow orbs, worse than Tatooine's suns, glared back at him.
C-3PO waited on the platform. Master Anakin had sent him out with another holorecording for the gangly Gungan, but Jar Jar wasn't on Coruscant. When he had pointed this out to his creator, Master Anakin had waved C-3PO off with a typical, "Don't worry about it, 3PO. It's all been arranged. Trust me."
He shifted and clanked to look at one end of the station, then the other, body stiff as protocol droids were. "Whatever arrangement he made doesn't seem to be arranged at all!" he huffed to himself.
Various alien species walked past him, boarding the trains that traveled hundreds of feet above the ground of Coruscant. C-3PO hoped his contact would come soon, and then he could return and help his Master.
He hadn't looked at C-3PO, not when delivering the instructions, not when eating, not even when C-3PO showed him the fixed sheet. C-3PO was miffed. Once he got back from delivering this message, he would talk with his Master. Master Anakin hadn't been happy ever since Master Palpatine took over, though C-3PO paid little attention to politics. But Master Anakin was distant, moodier, and C-3PO blamed Master Palpatine. Master Anakin always defended Master Palpatine, but if he would listen to C-3PO...
C-3PO sighed, body stiffly slouching. "He never listens to me."
"What's that then?" a gruff voice asked.
C-3PO bolted upright, servos whirring in place of a palpitating heart. "Pardon?"
Three Weequay, clad in frayed clothing, looked him over, weathered faces frowning. "You the one, goldie?"
C-3PO tilted his head. "I'm not sure I follow. Am I the one what?"
The one to the left nudged the leader. "He's the one, boss, ain't got no restraining bolt."
"I should certainly hope not!" C-3PO reproved them. "My Master trusts me. I would never need something so barbaric as a restraining bolt." He sniffed at them. He wasn't the kind of droid who needed a leash, thank you very much.
"Yeah, that's him alright. He wasn't joking about that personality." The Weequay grunt-chuckled at each other, and C-3PO shuffled uneasily.
"It has been an honor making your acquaintance," he offered, scuffling away slowly and rigidly, "but I really must be going. My Master is expecting me."
"Oh no he isn't." The three surrounded him, cutting off his escape. "We're your ticket off this planet, but you need to be quiet."
"What are you doing?" C-3PO asked as they advanced. He searched the crowds. No one was paying attention to them. He was only a droid after all. But he needed to get back to his Master! He raised his hands. "Help! Help! Someone, they're-"
"Oh, for the love-make him quiet!"
An ion pulse hit him, causing his servos to overload.
"Catch him!"
"Keep that holo on him, fool! Do you want to be killed?"
C-3PO shut down.
His servos kicked in, and C-3PO sputtered back to consciousness. "Where am I?"
His head jerked from side to side, but he saw nothing. He struggled to raise his hand back to a servicing port on his neck, but it couldn't reach. "My photo-receptor seems to be malfunctioning. Is anyone there? Hello?"
When there was no response, C-3PO sighed. Of course there wasn't.
He sat there, pondering the woes of the universe. A moody Master, being kidnapped (not that he blamed his Master of course, but C-3PO had warned him), and now not being able to see. Why make it impossible to turn on his own eyes? His inner chronometer said it had been weeks since he had left his Master. It was worse than the time that he'd gotten lost coming back from the market. He sighed again. "I seem to be made to suffer. It's my lot in life."
Sounds interrupted his despondent musings, footsteps, a door. A beep and whistle, to which a dreadfully familiar voice answered, "Oh no! Mesa be forgettin the eyes!"
"Noooo," C-3PO groaned before large leathery hands gripped his head. "Unhand me!"
His eyes clicked on, darkness gone, and he twitched away from Jar Jar into two stacked crates. "You overgrown amphibian! You could have broken me!"
Beep beep whistle.
C-3PO's stiff face couldn't gape, but he stared pointedly at the blue and white R2 unit in front of him, surrounded by more crates. "I don't know where you learned your manners from, but that is very rude!"
Beep?
"And you could show some consideration to a droid that has been kidnapped and shipped like common junk for weeks!" he continued. "I don't even know where I am!"
C-3PO gasped, lifting his hand that had been holding the holo-recording. His stiff fingers were empty.
"I've lost my Master's instructions!" C-3PO wailed. "You!" He clank-whirled on Jar Jar. "The holorecording was for you! Have you seen it? Did those Weequay take it? Or is it still on the train platform they abducted me from?"
"Mesa have it right here!" Jar Jar patted a pocket, frowning at its flatness. C-3PO shook his head at the Gungan. "Eh..."
Beep beep. The R2 unit moved back and forth, his beeps echoing around the cargo bay. Beep!
"Yousa right!" Jar Jar brightened. "Mesa gave it to Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. It had a lot of a information about some of the Emperor's plans."
C-3PO lifted his head eagerly. "I have completed my mission. If you'll excuse me, I'll be going back now."
"You didn't a see?" Jar Jar flipped an ear back over his shoulder. "Master..." He cast a look at R2. "Go now, shoo! Shoo!"
R2 grumbled beeped, but wheeled out. Good riddance, in C-3PO's opinion.
Jar Jar returned his attention to C-3PO. "Yousa no go. Yousa stayin with me!"
"What?" Organics sometimes shivered for no reason, and C-3PO imagined he'd be doing that now, if he was an organic. "Impossible. Master...he would never abandon me. He needs me!"
"Mesa no say hesa didn't need yousa," Jar Jar soothed, raising his hands. "Hesa say hesa worried for yousa! Hesa think it no longer safe on Coruscant, so hesa hada the Weequay bring yousa to mesa."
C-3PO bristled, posh voice brittle. "If it's not safe for me, it's not safe for him!"
He stomped to the door, locked legs making the journey ridiculous and long, like they always did. He cursed his body, but repented the same moment. Master Anakin had made him, and Master Anakin didn't make mistakes. Except for sending C-3PO away. That was a mistake.
And he'd used ruffians, hired thugs to kidnap C-3PO! C-3PO's servos whined with rage. He tottered down the hall, Jar Jar following and placating. C-3PO realized he still didn't know where he was, other than on a spaceship. He headed opposite of the cargo bay where he'd been, towards where he hoped the cockpit would be, steps clacking. Jar Jar's steps were silent, though he himself wasn't. C-3PO ignored him.
It wasn't a big ship, only seeming big because of the length of his stride, grey metal everywhere studded by doors and rivets. At the end was one final door. It opened at his approach, and he entered the cockpit. "Excuse me? Hello? Excuse me?"
The R2 unit was already there, performing some task or other, along with two humans seated in the piloting seats. They turned to take him in, and he recognized one.
"Senator Amidala, what a pleasure it is to see you again!" he gushed to the woman, dressed in white and with hair in a simpler bun than at the Senate. The man was obviously a Jedi, clothes rough robes and wraps. C-3PO turned to him. "And you must be Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, a pleasure as well. My name is C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. If you would be so kind and fly me to Coruscant? I need to return to my Master."
The two glanced at each other, and C-3PO looked between them. "I'm afraid that isn't possible," the man stated slowly. "We can't return to Coruscant, and we lack the resources to return you by other means." He lifted a hand apologetically. "And we don't know who or where your master is."
"That's quite alright," C-3PO responded. "Once on Coruscant, I can find him on my own."
Whistle beep boop. R2 didn't even leave off from his task or turn his dome around, just insulting C-3PO as he was.
"I'll have you know, I am entirely capable of such," C-3PO retorted. "I have served my Master quite successfully, in multiple capacities. He depends on me." He nodded to himself. Master Anakin did depend on him.
The humans shared a look again. "I'm not sure you understand, C-3PO," Senator Amidala fully turned her chair to him. "If we're found by agents of the Empire, we'll be imprisoned, if not worse. By having any connection to us, and the information you brought, you are in danger."
C-3PO cocked his head. "My Master can protect me."
"Not anymore." She shook her head and pressed play on a holoplayer. "Not according to this."
Master Anakin's cloaked figure shimmered into existence, arms folded, hood lower than usual, even his voice strange. "Jar Jar, I have one last mission for you. On this holorecorder is information about the Emperor's plans for Force sensitives and certain strategic worlds. You'll need 3PO's subroutines to decode it-"
C-3PO turned and glared at Jar Jar who shrugged. "Wesa no wanted to wait til you woke up, so wesa hooked you up."
C-3PO turned stiffly back to the recording. "-but unfortunately the situation has changed. I can't give you any more information after this, and since I've sent 3PO to you, I have no secure way of doing so. It's not safe here, or else I wouldn't have sent him. I'll be fine but...I ask you to take care of C-3PO." The figure shuddered from something more than the holo-ripples, hands tightening into fists. "Thank you, both of you, for all your help and hard work. I...wish you well. C-3PO, I'm sorry. I didn't know how else to get you away safely. I...You've served me well. You're free now. I know you don't trust Jar Jar, but he'll keep you safe." The figure fidgeted again. "Goodbye." The holoplayer powered down.
"Oh." C-PO's body froze while he processed. The others, he discerned, had watched him throughout the message, having already viewed it, but he paid them no mind. Questions raced through his mind, his circuits as useless to answer them as any organic's. What changed? Why hadn't Master Anakin told him? What would happen to C-3PO? What would happen to Master Anakin? His head cranked back up to the expectant faces, but all he managed was an, "Oh my."