love

Anakin didn’t even look up. “You said your servos were locking, Threepio. I can’t fix that by being gentle.”

C-3PO’s photoreceptors flickered anxiously as the Jedi knelt beside him, tools scattered across the polished floor of Padmé’s apartment. One of the decorative windows cast long bands of the late sunlight across Anakin’s bare shoulders and glinting faintly off the dark metal of his prosthetic arm.

“I simply meant—oh dear—perhaps a certified maintenance technician would—”

“And miss out on all the fun?” Anakin smirked, prying open the access panel along the droid’s thigh joint with practiced ease. He was always fond of working on his droids. “Padmé knows better than that.”

“I am not certain ‘fun’ is the word I would use, sir—oh!” C-3PO stiffened as Anakin’s metal fingers slipped inside the exposed compartment. “That is a rather sensitive mesh—”

“Relax,” Anakin said. “You’re wound way too tight. Again.”

“I am a protocol droid, Master Anakin. Being ‘wound tight’ is rather central to my design.”

“Yeah, I’ve sure noticed.”

There was a pause filled only by the soft hum of Coruscant traffic filtering in from outside. Anakin’s brow furrowed slightly as he examined the internal mechanisms, his expression shifting from casual amusement to focused precision. Then his metal fingers moved again, brushing past a bundle of fine wiring.

C-3PO jerked. “Oh! Oh my—!”

Anakin froze. “What?”

“N-nothing!” the droid said far too quickly. “Just a minor—ah—feedback fluctuation—perfectly normal—!”

Anakin’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. “That didn’t sound normal.”

“I assure you it was—oh!” His voice hit a higher register as Anakin resumed.

The Jedi tilted his head, curiosity creeping in. “Huh.”

“I assure you, there is no cause for concern,” C-3PO rushed on as his words tumbled over themselves. “If you would simply continue the repair without—without unnecessary adjustments—”

“Unnecessary?” Anakin repeated, a faint edge of mischief threading into his tone.

His prosthetic hand shifted again, more intentionally now, brushing against the same cluster. The metal digits conducted faint currents as they moved, precise in a way organic fingers weren’t.

C-3PO’s entire frame gave a small, involuntary shudder.

“Oh dear.”

Anakin’s lips twitched. “That spot, huh?”

“I would greatly appreciate it if you did not draw attention to—oh!—that particular—response—”

“Interesting,” Anakin murmured.

Then, without touching him, he reached out—just slightly—with the Force. The effect was immediate. A few stray wires lifted and parted on their own, guided by an invisible hand. The movement was subtle, but to C-3PO, it was anything but.

His voice processor glitched audibly. “I—oh!—Master Anakin, I must insist—!”

Anakin blinked, genuinely surprised this time. “Whoa. That strong?”

“I do not know what you are doing, sir, but I must request that you cease immediately!”

Anakin leaned back a fraction, studying him now with open intrigue. “I’m barely doing anything, Threepio.”

“Barely is quite sufficient!” C-3PO said, mortified. “If you would kindly restrict yourself to conventional manual adjustments—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Anakin interrupted lightly.

“Master Anakin!”

He didn’t stop—though the Force withdrew, if only a little. Instead, his real hand steadied the panel while his prosthetic fingers resumed their work in almost experimental slow movements.

“You know,” Anakin said casually, “most droids don’t react like this.”

“Well, I am not most droids,” C-3PO replied stiffly.

“Yeah,” Anakin said, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “I’m starting to get that.”

Another careful adjustment. Another involuntary shiver. C-3PO let out a distressed whir. “This is deeply inappropriate.”

“If you say so,” Anakin said, voice softer now, more thoughtful than teasing, “your servos are definitely misaligned. I still need to fix this.”

“Then I must ask that you please do so with the utmost efficiency and minimal commentary!”

Anakin chuckled under his breath. “Alright, alright.”

For a few moments, he focused fully on the task. The teasing edge faded, replaced by the quiet competence that made him such a gifted mechanic. Still, every now and then, his fingers would brush just a little too close to that same cluster—and each time, C-3PO’s posture would betray him, ever so slightly. By the time Anakin sealed the panel shut, his expression had settled into something unreadable—but faintly amused.

“There,” he said, standing. “Try moving.”

C-3PO hesitated, then carefully flexed his leg. The motion was smooth—perfect, even. Just like new.

“Oh!” he said, relief flooding his tone. “That is significantly improved. Thank you, Master Anakin.”

“Anytime.”

There was a brief pause.

“But just a heads up,” Anakin added, just a hint of mischief returning, “you might want to get that sensitivity checked out.”

C-3PO stiffened again, dignity snapping back into place. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“I do not!”