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“Training” wasn’t quite an accurate term, but it was easier to say than “looks close enough to training that we can use that as an excuse if we get caught,” and far more professional-sounding than “dicking around.” So Obi-Wan was “training” with some of his men, and if the amount of laughter and occasional bets exchanged made it less than regulation, then it was nobody’s business but their own.
They were sparring, but it wasn’t exactly conventional sparring, either. Obi-Wan was blindfolded, and fighting with his saber on the lowest setting in his non-dominant hand. His dominant one was tied behind his back and, while he could have gotten it freed, that was against the rules (and the spirit) of the game. The game was like tag on too many stims: Obi-Wan versus anyone interested in playing, trying to survive. Anyone Obi-Wan got with his saber or in hand-to-hand was disqualified. Anyone who got Obi-Wan with a training blaster (non-fatal, not even injurious, just annoying and embarrassing) or in hand-to-hand was the immediate winner of eternal bragging rights and the gratitude of anyone who’d bet on him. No one had managed it yet, but some had come much closer than others and all of them were improving.
Obi-Wan deflected a blaster bolt and ducked under a smooth roundhouse kick that should have caught him right in his exhilarated grin. He swung out in the direction it had come from and heard cursing as his attacker jumped back. Overhead, the timer buzzed, signifying one minute left in the match. Obi-Wan paused momentarily, inhaled, and whirled around, left elbow catching someone sneaking up on him who’d made it far enough inside his guard that his saber would not have been useful. Gearshift swore as he left the ring, at least three brothers cussing him out and regretting bets they’d made in his favor. Obi-Wan dove forward, doing a neat forward roll between two troopers who’d thought to come at him in synch on either side and turned neatly up back onto his feet. He turned to blindly face the two who’d nearly slammed into each other when confronted by a sudden lack of Jedi—based on previous rounds, it was likely to have been Boil and Waxer—and took several small steps backward, tilting his head in thought.
He’d started this bout ten against one. It sounded more unfair than it was, really; six of the ten were shinies who very quickly learned a lesson about the balance, efficiency, and distractive power of lightsabers. Fighting someone wielding a lightsaber was not at all comparable to fighting someone wielding a sword. First, they were practically weightless. Therefore, using your opponent’s balance to your own advantage wouldn’t work. Second, they were “collapsible,” for lack of a better word to use. If a wielder found the blade of their saber to be getting in their own way, they would simply unignite it until they had the space to use it properly. And third, having a buzzing glowstick swoosh around them, its afterimage leaving streaks of color in their peripheral vision, was overwhelming even to those who’d been dealing with it for years. It left newer troopers dizzy and confused until they learned to ignore it unless it was being aimed at them.
Actually, their spar could count as a training exercise! A simulation of combat against a lightsaber-wielding opponent meant to desensitize troopers to the increased visual stimulus the weapon created. That definitely sounded professional.
It also sounded nicer than “pulverizing the shinies,” though that was a fairly accurate description as well. Those that started the bout confident were very quickly humbled as they were neatly and methodically picked off. At the end of the first minute, only the four troopers who’d done this before remained. Wooley made it past the three-minute mark before catching a saber to the leg, stumbling off and complaining that he’d just repainted his armor. (A meaningless complaint, as a saber set to training intensity wouldn’t leave a scorch mark.) Gearshift lasted almost thirty seconds longer, a new record for him. So, assuming he’d kept track of his opponents accurately, he’d been correct in his assessment: the two working together to make sure he was consistently attacked from two directions at once were Boil and Waxer. And, assuming he’d judged his time accurately as well, he only had to stay unscathed for twenty more seconds.
He stood there, lightsaber held in front of him defensively. He flexed the fingers tied behind his back as he reached out with the Force, searching his surroundings. He knew they were there, but when would they attack? From which direction, from what height? All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. In, out. In, out. In, there , oh , that was brilliant, but not so great for him, was it?
They were rushing him again, coming from opposite directions to pin him between them, but this time, they were coming from in front of him and behind. The one behind him was aiming low, preparing to dive for his feet, and the one in front of him was aiming for his chest. He was well-balanced, and also keeping his center of gravity low. If Obi-Wan tried to dodge left or right, the trooper rapidly approaching would be able to change angles, compensating for his movement and still catching him.
For just a moment, he froze. Nothing for it, then.
He didn’t have a free hand to spare, so he dropped his lightsaber as he jumped. He kicked one leg forward, pushing off of the man in front of him, and flung his untied arm over his head, now-empty hand impacting against the backplate of the man who’d dove for his feet half a moment previously.
A back handspring and several rapid steps backward later and he was steady on his feet, unarmed, but that was okay, since both of his remaining opponents had been eliminated. Just in time, too, as the buzzer overhead sounded loudly enough to be heard in all corners of the room. Another point for Obi-Wan. If he knew his men, only one or two of the shinier or more optimistic troopers would have bet against that outcome, but it would take several minutes to settle up bets regarding who would last for how long and how he would eliminate them.
Obi-Wan pulled the blindfold off of his face, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face as he untied the arm held against the small of his back. He grinned, glancing at the crowd of troopers surrounding him then focusing on the two in front of him. They still seemed rather shocked. It had been Waxer in front of him, and Boil behind, apparently.
“You made me drop my lightsaber!” He called delightedly. “I can’t believe you managed to disarm me!”
He crossed the ring, giving Boil a hand up.
“I can’t believe it either,” Boil mumbled.
“That was a great trick, General!” said Waxer. “We almost had you!”
“That, you did! Well done!”
Obi-Wan looked at the two of them fondly. He was impressed. Truly, they got better and better every day, and he was honored to help them learn.
Waxer grinned at him.
“We’ll get you next time. Here you—”
He froze. He’d been in the process of retrieving Obi-Wan’s lightsaber to return to him, bending over to scoop it off the floor, when he stopped, suddenly, one hand extended and hovering a breath away from the saber’s hilt.
He looked at the saber, then at Obi-Wan, then back at the saber again.
Obi-Wan shook his head sheepishly.
“I would say, ‘go on, you can pick it up, it won’t bite,’ but as we learned last week, there’s a chance it will.”
Waxer pulled his hand back towards his body ever so slightly.
“I’d say it can’t hurt to try, but, well. Same answer.”
Obi-Wan didn’t even have time to feel guilty before Trapper leaned forward from his bench at the side of the ring.
“It didn’t hurt, it startled me.”
“The difference being?”
“That I’m not a wuss.”
Waxer straightened up, crossing his arms.
“I’m not a wuss either, just because I don’t want to pick up a weapon sentient enough to decide whether or not it likes me and powerful enough to do something about it if the answer’s no!”
Romeo hopped up from his bench, raising a hand high in the air and climbing unnecessarily over one of his squadmates to ensure it could be seen.
“I’ll pick up a sentient weapon that might not like me!”
Obi-Wan laughed.
“Eager to see if we’re soulmates, then?”
Perhaps it wasn’t fair to use the same tone he used to charm (and disarm) his opponents on one of his own men, but in his defense, it was quite funny. Besides, Romeo didn’t seem to mind. He blushed, but didn’t actually deny the accusation.
“This is a rare opportunity! How often in their lives do most people get the chance to have their soul judged by a sword? Especially a Jedi sword?”
“Fair enough,” Obi-Wan acquiesced. “I don’t think I want to know exactly which lines of cheesy holonovel dialogue are running through your head right now, but by all means, be my guest.”
Romeo let out a mildly undignified whoop and climbed into the ring, ignoring the snickering of his brothers around him. He walked toward the saber on the ground carefully, treading very lightly.
“It’s not exactly a sleeping predator, you know. Walking toward it uncautiously won’t goad it into attacking you if it hadn’t intended to already.”
Romeo, apparently not reassured, made a face at him. Slowly, carefully, he crouched down and reached out toward the lightsaber, tilting his head and wiggling his fingers slightly. It was reminiscent of the way one would approach a stray cat they wanted to pet but weren’t quite convinced wasn’t a moment away from biting a hole through one of their fingers. Obi-Wan tried very hard not to laugh.
His fingers made contact, then withdrew quickly with a startled “oh!” He reached forward again, much more confidently, and actually picked up the hilt.
“It doesn’t hate me!”
He straightened up and held the hilt upright in front of him. He grinned proudly at his brothers, looking particularly smug as Trapper rolled his eyes.
“What does it feel like, if you don’t mind me asking?” Inquired Obi-Wan.
Romeo tilted his head, staring at the saber in fascination. He brought it closer to his face, inspecting it as he replied.
“Like calm, if that makes sense? Cool water in a cave somewhere no one’s disturbed in a while. A puddle when you put your hand in it too slowly to make a splash, bust just quickly enough to cause ripples. The water’s definitely been interacted with, but not quite messed with. It’s aware that I’m touching it, and it’s making sure I’m aware that it’s aware, but it’s not actually complaining.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. That was far more poetic than he’d anticipated.
Apparently one of Romeo’s squadmates had the same thought.
“Real fancy way of describing a weapon, vod . Have you been writing some of those holonovels in your spare time, as well as reading them?”
Romeo sputtered.
“And if I was?”
“Then I‘d just love to read them.”
“As if. I know how to delete my holonet history, thank you very much. If I were writing anything, hypothetically, you’d never find it!”
“You’re sharing them on the net? With people who aren’t us? I’m heartbroken, I really am,” said another batchmate, pressing his hand to his chest in mock hurt.
Romeo looked very flustered, shifting his weight slightly backward and putting his left hand on his hip.
“Look, if I want to engage with an online community that shares my interests, it’s not your business—”
He froze. He’d raised his right hand to point accusingly at the brother making fun of him and, in doing so, seen the lightsaber still held loosely but securely in it. It appeared he’d forgotten he was holding it; he looked as thrown off as anyone to realize he’d been brandishing his General’s weapon throughout the entire dispute. He looked from it back to Obi-Wan, slowly straightening his posture. Not quite coming to attention, but definitely moving from casual to professional. He adjusted the angle of his arm so he wasn’t pointing the saber at anyone, instead offering it to Obi-Wan.
“I’m very sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect to you or your weapon, I should have set it down almost immediately, I didn’t mean to overstep—”
“No, no, please don’t apologize!” Obi-Wan smiled reassuringly, raising his hands in a placating gesture but making no move to reclaim his weapon. “You’ve done nothing wrong. All you’ve done is hold my saber, with my permission, and quite well, might I add. You all saw me drop it deliberately a moment ago, and I may have lost it a time or two in combat as well. I daresay you’ve treated it better than I have.”
Romeo didn’t look too reassured. He carefully crouched back down, replacing the saber on the training mat as gently as possible before taking several large steps away from it.
“Thank you for indulging my curiosity, sir.”
Obi-Wan sighed.
“Please, Romeo, you know Obi-Wan is fine, or Kenobi, or General if you must, but you don’t have to address me as ‘sir’ when off duty.”
“If you say so, sir,” said Romeo.
“If Boil and Waxer can coordinate to dive for my feet and shoulder tackle me at the same time without any issue, I think you can find it in you somewhere to call me by my name.”
“Maybe someday, sir,” Romeo said, but he cracked a smile, so Obi-Wan considered it a win.
Things were still slightly tense, though. Obi-Wan didn’t know exactly how much clones were taught about lightsabers, but he did know they were trained in proper ways of interacting with Jedi. It had taken months for him to convince them to see him as a person, fallible and real, not an idol to protect and obey at all costs, and sometimes it was glaringly obvious that it was still a work in progress. He’d seen his men sit on the floor rather than move his robe from where he’d casually flung it, even though it was taking up several seats, because it had been drilled into them that the Jedi’s belongings were to be treated as if they were as precious as the Jedi themself. He was sure their lessons regarding lightsabers were similarly reverential, if not more so. Romeo obviously became uncomfortable when he realized how casually he’d been treating the weapon, and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how to go about convincing him it was fine.
He was very grateful when Trapper cut in, shattering the awkward silence.
“Well, tough luck, vod’ika , but it looks like you aren’t his soulmate, either.”
Romeo glared.
“At least I didn’t get electrocuted.”
“No, just dunked in cool, undisturbed cave water , apparently,” said Trapper.
Romeo crossed his arms.
“You’re just jealous that I’m his saber’s favorite.”
Waxer handed his water bottle off to Boil and hopped back into the ring, hands on his hips challengingly.
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
Romeo shifted his stance, adjusting his angle so he could glare at both of them at once.
“Why not? It zapped him, it didn’t zap me! Case closed!”
“Well,” Waxer said, face composed but eyes sparkling like he was about to unleash a fair amount of mischief, “I wouldn’t say you’re its favorite just because you got best out of two. I think further testing is required.”
Obi-Wan grinned as half of the clones in the room turned to face him. Their expressions ranged from eager to curious to amused.
“Well, as we said earlier, it definitely can hurt to try, but you all are welcome to, if you’d like.”
Waxer stepped forward much more smoothly than Romeo had, scooping the saber up and holding it far from his face, squinting at it slightly. Everyone in the room was watching closely. He twitched slightly, then raised an eyebrow.
“Well?” Asked Obi-Wan.
“Well, I’m no Romeo—” Waxer shot him a grin— “but it’s like, you know when you have a comm silenced and you get a priority alert? The way it vibrates, but instead of a pattern, it just keeps going? This is like that. It’s not trying to get my attention, it knows it has that, it’s just holding it.”
He paused, then looked at Obi-Wan.
“So does that put me above Romeo in the soulmate ranking? Because I’m thinking it does.”
The anticipatory tension in the room completely shattered. Romeo’s squawk of outrage was drowned out by the raucous laughter of half of the room. Obi-Wan’s hand flew to his mouth, trying to stifle some very un-Jedi-master-like giggles, but he wasn’t fast enough. Waxer saw and smirked at him.
“Definitely does. Sorry, not sorry.”
He winked at Romeo, who buried his head in his hands, mumbling something about what had he done to deserve this. He tossed the saber from hand to hand, scanning the audience.
“Boil! Your turn!”
Boil grinned and climbed into the ring as well, stepping forward with his hands up to catch the saber as Waxer tossed it to him. He did not succeed. When the saber thudded against his palm, he did not move to wrap his fingers around it. Instead, he froze.
Immediately after freezing, he caught himself, fumbling with his other hand to catch the saber before it hit the floor, but never actually grabbing it. It was like the most awkward game of hot potato the world had ever seen, if hot potato were frequently played with deadly weapons many people in the galaxy would pay a small fortune to add to their collections. It ended when Waxer stepped forward, catching the saber again. The room was quiet.
“What the kriff was that, vod ?”
Boil looked from the saber to Waxer, back to the saber, then to Obi-Wan. His voice was slightly shaky when he answered.
“General, I regret to inform you that I have been demoted to the bottom of the soulmate ranking.”
Trapper leaned forward in his seat.
“You mean, after me?
Boil shivered slightly.
“I’d say so. You said you got a little zap? I feel like I just ran a midnight lap around Kamino without my armor on.”
Several troopers winced.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,” Obi-Wan said.
Trapper glanced between the two of them.
“Ever had a bucket of ice water dumped on your head?”
Obi-Wan shuddered sympathetically.
“Unfortunately, yes. It felt like that?”
“Well, it takes about seven minutes to do a full lap—unless you’re Rex, kid was always weirdly fast—and you saw what the water pressure was like out there when you visited. And the minute whatever shred of sun we got went down, it got colder and colder. So imagine the bucket is bigger than you are, then imagine there are hundreds of them, one after the other, then imagine nothing you’re wearing has any waterproofing at all.”
Boil nodded slowly.
“Sorry for dropping your saber. I wasn’t expecting it, is all.”
Obi-Wan shook his head.
“No harm done, don’t worry about it. I’m the one who should be apologizing. My saber was unspeakably rude to you.”
Boil smiled slightly.
“Nah, it’s like you said, no harm done. I’m just cold, not hurt.”
He straightened up, visibly shaking the uncomfortable moment off as he squared his shoulders.
“So it goes Waxer, Romeo—”
Obi-Wan cut him off.
“For the sake of argument, I think gentle undisturbed waters ranks above priority alert comm . At least, I know which one I’d rather have at the end of a long day.”
“You wound me, General, you really do,” said Waxer.
Boil continued.
“Alright, fair enough. I see your point. So it’s Romeo, Waxer, Trapper, then me?”
He looked around for confirmation, then zeroed in on a trooper trying and failing to discretely accept something that definitely wasn’t contraband being slid to him by the brother next to him.
“Hey, I saw that! What’s your name, shiny?”
The trooper froze like a deer in headlights, hand still hovering over the pouch he was trying to zip back up. Obi-Wan politely averted his eyes. He saw no evidence of regulation-breaking. Nope.
“Um, Hunch, sir?”
Boil snorted.
“Hunch? They let you get away with having bad posture now? The longnecks must be getting soft.”
Hunch shifted awkwardly, ignoring the snickering of the older troopers.
“No, sir. Hunch as in, I had a hunch .”
“And you had a hunch about what the General’s saber would think of me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you were right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Boil glanced at Waxer, who tilted his head slightly. Boil nodded.
“Alright, Hunch. What other hunches have you got? The vod next to you, three down, that’s Gearshift. He and the General soulmates?”
Obi-Wan examined Hunch. They hadn’t met yet, but he would admit to being curious about a trooper who had hunches so frequently and accurately that he was named after them.
“Below Romeo and above Waxer, sir. Like holding a fuse, but not hot. Just tingly.”
“And the one behind you?”
“Just above Trapper. Prickly but not overly antagonistic.”
His confidence seemed to be increasing with each prediction he made as no one expressed any doubt in his words or mocked him for saying them. Waxer pointed to a vod to his left.
“Him?”
Hunch looked at him for a moment consideringly.
“Best so far, I think. Maybe tied with Romeo. Like petting a tooka. Warm, soft, but don’t make it mad?”
The trooper in question grinned and did a fist pump. The one next to him elbowed him but was laughing as well.
“And his buddy elbowing him?”
“Less like a tooka, more like a lizard. Rough and cool, but somehow still nice.”
He accepted his own companionable elbowings and back slaps with a grin.
“And you?”
All of that confidence, gone immediately. Hunch froze.
“Me, sir?”
“Yeah, you. How’s the saber feel about you? It like you?”
“I… don’t know. Sir.”
“Well, then.” Boil grinned slightly evilly. “Thank you for volunteering to go next.”
Hunch’s eyes widened.
“But I—”
“No buts, trooper! If you can make bets about us, it’s only fair we get a chance to profit off you, too.”
Hunch glanced at Obi-Wan, who did his best to look reassuring and welcoming.
“I. Guess?”
He slowly climbed into the ring. Waxer held out the saber, but Obi-Wan raised a hand to halt them.
“Perhaps you should put it back on the floor and let him pick it up himself? Just to avoid any harm that could come from reactions like Boil’s.”
“Fair enough.”
Waxer set down the saber and Hunch slowly knelt to pick it up, glancing at Obi-Wan again as if making sure he hadn’t changed his mind. He poked the saber once, then again, before picking it up and standing up.
“Well?” Obi-Wan smiled at him. “Don’t leave me hanging. I’m quite eager to hear the results.”
Hunch stared in silence for another minute, then frowned.
“Well, I wouldn’t say it likes me, but I wouldn’t say it doesn’t like me, either. I think it’s judging me.”
“More than it judged Trapper?”
(“Shut up, vod .”)
“It immediately rejected Trapper. It’s not like it’s telling me I shouldn’t be the one holding it, it’s more like it shouldn’t be the one I’m holding, if that makes sense?”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.
“I know the feeling. That’s a peculiar reaction.”
Hunch slid his thumb along the side of the saber, adjusting his grip.
“I feel like I’m having a staring contest with a tooka.”
Scattered laughter.
“I’m serious! It feels like the look a tooka gives you when it tilts its head and stares at you and goes way too long without blinking. You’re stupid and the tooka is judging you and wants you to rethink your life choices.”
He started his explanation offended, but by the end of it he just looked deeply confused.
“The shiny sword rock is having a staring contest with me, and I really think I might be losing.”
(“How do you lose a staring contest with a rock?”
“Well, easily, I’d figure. It’s not like they have eyelids to blink with.”
“Or eyes in general.”)
Hunch took a moment, then nodded decisively.
“Yep. It’s laughing at me now. This is me blinking first.”
He knelt and gently placed the saber on the floor again, then dusted his hands off on his pants.
“Well, that was an enlightening experience.”
“Most definitely,” said Obi-Wan.
They both stared at it consideringly for a moment before the silence was shattered. Wooley tripped back into the ring, grinning.
“Dibs next, then. Wonder if I can do better than a peculiar reaction .”
He scooped up the saber.
A beat.
“No. No, I can not do better than a peculiar reaction.”
Wooley gave the saber a very judgmental look.
“It’s like, remember that popping candy we got to try that one time? The stuff that exploded in your mouth, but really small, fruity explosions?”
Obi-Wan snorted and very pointedly did not look at Romeo.
“You’re saying my lightsaber tastes fruity?”
Wooley made a face.
“Do you say these things on purpose?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And I’m sure several important Separatists know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Are you accusing me of flirting with the enemy?”
“Are you confirming you were flirting?”
“So, back to my lightsaber.”
Wooley snorted at the obvious change of topics and at the wide-eyed looks he was getting from several directions.
“Yeah, okay, back to your saber. It’s not giving me a big zap like it did Trapper, it’s giving me a bunch of zaps too small to hurt but there’s so many of them it feels weird as kriff.”
Waxer looked at him consideringly.
“So, one above Trapper, then?”
“Probably.”
“That makes it, Romeo, me, Hunch, you, Trapper, Boil?”
“Romeo, Hunch, you,” Obi-Wan cut in, pointing to Waxer, “then you,” he pointed to Wooley, “then Trapper, then Boil. I know the sensation Hunch described, other sabers have given it to me before, and it’s more favorable than priority alert . Romeo and Hunch might be swapped, actually, depending on how you look at it, but I think that’s right. Not that I know why you’re actually ranking this.”
“Well, you said it doesn’t make us your soulmate but it doesn’t make us not your soulmate, so we’re judging who’s the most and least not your soulmate.”
Obi-Wan blinked.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He blinked again, the tilted his head.
What in the Force…?
“Why would you—”
“But that’s not important right now!”
Wooley grinned as he cut him off.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really!”
“Then, dare I ask what is?”
“Obviously, what’s important right now,” said Wooley, holding Obi-Wan’s lightsaber in the air more like a club than the hilt of a sword, “is learning how to do that spinny thing you do.”
Obi-Wan laughed delightedly.
“The what ?”
“The spinny thing! Where you go like—”
He attempted to demonstrate, twirling his wrist and sending the saber flying across the room. Those who hadn’t volunteered yet to touch it dove out of the way. Getting hit in the face with a bar of cool undisturbed water would be one thing, but no one wanted to risk getting hit in the face with a bar of electric shock.
Wooley froze.
“...oops.”
Obi-Wan was clutching at his sides, tilting on his feet as he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.
“So… close…” he wheezed, “but that’s… not… quite … it…”
Wooley crossed his arms.
“Yeah, I kind of got that, thanks.”
He craned his neck, looking for the saber.
“Any of you want to toss that back?”
Silence.
“Cowards.”
He climbed down out of the ring, stepping cautiously over members of the audience they’d accumulated between the sparring and the saber-touching.
“Well? Can you teach me that?” He called back over his shoulder.
“Oh, stars, please don’t,” muttered Trapper, eyeing Wooley with distrust.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” said Obi-Wan musingly.
Trapper stared at him in betrayal. Waxer and Boil exchanged looks of barely suppressed horror.
Hunch broke in.
“Um, General, I really don’t think that’s the best idea. Sir.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“ So many things could happen, sir.”
Wooley climbed back into the ring, having successfully retrieved the saber. He looked at Obi-Wan hopefully. Just then, Obi-Wan’s comm buzzed. He checked it and frowned.
“Saved by the bell, gentleman. I’m afraid I have to leave now. Nothing is wrong!”
The troopers relaxed. Many of them had straightened, shifting back towards a more professional bearing the minute they heard the comm. Most followed when their General said he had to leave. But they trusted their General. If he said nothing was wrong, then nothing was wrong. (Well, unless he was speaking to a medic.)
“The council merely requires my input on a matter. It’s not urgent, but it would be rude to keep them waiting.”
He slid out of the ring, putting on the robe and shoes he’d removed for their earlier spar.
“I’m not sure how long this will take, but by all means, feel free to continue experimenting with my saber. Like I said, it’s good to figure out how it will react to you in a non-emergency setting just in case it becomes relevant in the field, and I know where to find you all should I need it back quickly.”
Obi-Wan trusted his men. He could leave his saber with them in the gym and know it was in good hands. Quite a few good hands, with more on the way, as he hadn’t missed the discreet messaging going on in the audience and the number of troopers in the room steadily increasing. If every trooper on the ship wanted to take a turn holding his saber, he didn’t mind. Maybe other Jedi would. Maybe he probably should. After all, a Jedi’s lightsaber was their life, and he’d explained to them very recently just how literal that saying was. But he put his life in his mens’ hands every single day out on the battlefield. Why should this be any different?
His men would pass the saber between them. There might be an accident or two, but the hilt was sturdy. (And none of them would ever dare attempt to ignite it without his explicit permission and presence.) Being dropped wouldn’t hurt it, and besides, they were likely to be more careful without him watching than with him. Damage incurred under his supervision was one thing, partially his fault, but damage incurred to his weapon that they were using without him? None of them would risk it. He was confident that when they’d all had a turn or two, his saber would be gently set back in the center of the ring for his retrieval later. He hoped they knew that personally, he would trust any of them to bring it to him in the context of a battle, but they were well trained enough to know that a weapon unsupervised in a secure specific location was more useful than a weapon supervised but constantly shifting. If he needed it, it was best for him to know exactly where it was.
He’d give them until after dinner. Not only were there a lot of men who hadn’t yet had the opportunity to try holding his saber, he was fairly sure several who’d had the opportunity when he was in the room would be much more comfortable actually trying now that he was gone. In the meantime, he was safe on his ship surrounded by loyal men who would stop at nothing to protect him. He would be fine without his weapon for a few hours.
<>II<>
Cody was on his way back to the barracks, but he wasn’t in a hurry. It had been a pretty good day, actually. They were in between assignments, just traveling with no immediate battles to plan for and no recent catastrophes to recover from. They didn’t get downtime often, so everyone had taken advantage of it, and it had been nice . Cody himself had taken the rare chance to sleep in and started to read the book Obi-Wan had loaned him. Other brothers had spent the time repainting armor, sparring, or “sparring.” It had been a welcome reprieve.
So Cody was more meandering than he was walking. He would make it to the barracks and go to bed, but he was content to wander wherever his feet took him on the way, and apparently, his feet were choosing to take him into the training room. He found himself pausing by the door instead of passing by it. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he needed to go in.
Cody trusted his instincts. He was no Hunch, but usually, they were onto something, and he’d spent far too much time around Jedi to not believe sometimes instincts could be a little more than that. He was fairly certain he was about as Force-sensitive as a rock, a normal one, not a crystal, but, as he was often reminded, the Force worked in mysterious ways . So he went into the room, slowly walking the perimeter and looking around for whatever had caught his attention. He saw something glinting in the raised sparring ring, craned his neck slightly to see it better, and stopped.
Sighed.
Rolled his eyes as he jogged over to the ring, climbing up into it.
Exactly as he’d thought. It was his General’s lightsaber. He looked down at it.
“Hello again. How’d he manage to leave you behind this time?”
He felt the warmth the saber somehow always managed to give off, enough that he’d wondered how the Jedi could carry them all the time until he realized it wasn’t a common occurrence.
“It can’t have been an accident. Nothing’s required weaponry all day.”
The presence the saber radiated shifted slightly. It reminded him of Hound’s massiff when it completed a training exercise, like it had run up to him with the target retrieved in his mouth, spinning in circles as if to say look what I got! See? See? and waiting for him to scratch it under the chin. The saber was excited to have his attention.
He squatted next to the saber and looked fondly down at it.
“Well, that was rude of him, wasn’t it?”
The saber buzzed in agreement. Cody grinned.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll get you back to the General.”
He scooped up the saber. Like most of the troopers, he’d celebrated their lazy day by not putting on his armor. He’d enjoyed the rare freedom that was walking around the ship in just his blacks, but unfortunately, it meant he didn’t have his usual saber hook on his hip. He rubbed his thumb absentmindedly along the side of the saber as he stood up. He got the strangest impression the saber was purring. He’d say it was impossible, but the more time he spent holding his General’s saber, the more convinced he was that his General had severely understated its level of sentience.
He adjusted his grip on the saber then stepped off the edge of the ring, dropping back down to the floor. The saber gave a sharp feeling of displeasure. He looked down at it and raised an eyebrow.
“Give me a minute, would you? I just had to get down from there.”
He resumed his soft stroking of the saber. It resumed its purring. He laughed slightly.
“Spoiled little thing, aren’t you?”
The warmth from the weapon in his hand seemed to spread through his body, diffusing up his neck and down his spine. It was a gentle, affectionate sort of feeling that he never wanted to lose. It felt like being wrapped up in the softest blanket he’d ever felt in his life, surrounded on all sides by his brothers, safe, whole, and happy. He wished he could hold the saber forever. (He’d heard Obi-Wan’s explanation of compatible colors and the saber being the window to the soul. He wished he could know if holding Obi-Wan would feel the same way, if their souls would look as good next to each other as the saber seemed to think they would.)
“Come on, then.” He started heading for the door. “Let’s go find our General.”
On the other side of the door, the General in question was shutting himself in a supply closet. He could feel how hot his face was and knew he must be flushing vividly red. How could he not be? He heard footsteps as Cody reached the door, turned, and started walking down the hall, then he heard the footsteps slow to a stop directly outside the door he had his back pressed against. He screwed his eyes shut and held his breath. Were his Commander Force-sensitive, the man would likely be being bombarded with waves of please don’t notice me please don’t notice me please don’t.
A moment passed, then another.
Slowly, hesitantly, the footsteps started back up again. Obi-Wan waited for as long as he could before releasing his breath, relaxing. Relief coursed through him. He was not ready to face his Commander, and beginning that conversation by being located hiding in a supply closet would just make everything worse. He liked to at least pretend he had dignity, even though Cody likely knew better at this point in their relationship.
Their working relationship, that is.
Obi-Wan had never really seen Cody with his lightsaber before. Oh, he’d known his commander had held it a time or two or twelve. Whenever it got away from him in the midst of battle, which was not that often , thank you very much, Cody was the one to bring it back to him. He’d assumed whoever found it that time simply handed it off to Cody because the two of them debriefed after every battle, so it would be guaranteed to make its way back to him quickly, but after today, he wasn’t so sure. None of the men had admitted to ever touching it before. Most seemed scared, or excited, or a mix, but none of them seemed at ease enough to have the benefit of prior experience.
So was it really Cody who’d retrieved it, every single time? It had to have been, for him to display that level of familiarity. Why hadn’t he said something at—but he hadn’t been at lunch when Trapper picked up his saber, had he? Obi-Wan felt like kicking himself, opening his eyes again for the sole purpose of rolling them. He’d heard someone making fun of Trapper, something about telling Cody he was coming for Cody’s job. How had he not made the connection then?
He sighed slightly. He should probably not be as comfortable with the concept as he was, every lecture he’d received as a youngling taught the opposite, but it was obvious that if anyone was a safe person to trust his saber with, it was Cody. He’d picked it up confidently and properly: gently, but not so much so that he was at risk of dropping it because he refused to hold it too tightly. But more than that, he was respectful of it, and kind. No, that wasn’t entirely it. Obi-Wan tried to be honest with himself. Cody had been affectionate with his saber in a way Obi-Wan didn’t know how to handle, and obviously his feelings were mutual. If he’d made the saber uncomfortable in any way, there was no way he’d have been able to remain that relaxed. If the saber had been uncomfortable, it would not have hesitated to make Cody equally so. When Cody got uncomfortable, he defaulted back to his training, turning into a model soldier any of his trainers would be hard-pressed to find fault with. His posture got perfect, his bearing got rigid, his sentences got bracketed with “General, sirs.” Nowhere in there was the word sweetheart .
He paused, then glanced sideways slightly in the direction Cody had gone. He was so, so tempted to reach out, use that bond he had with the crystal that complimented his soul perfectly. Would that be invasive? Disrespectful to Cody? Maybe, but maybe not. It wasn’t like he wanted to go inside Cody’s head, he wouldn’t be trying to form a bond with him or even read him, really. He just wanted to see what his saber was getting out of allowing Cody to hold it so often. What was he missing?
Surely that would be fine. It was his crystal, after all. It had selected him, bonded with him. It was practically his responsibility to monitor who it was connecting with, make sure everything was as it should be.
He’d muffled his connection with his saber while on his holocall with the council. It wouldn’t do for him to be listening to a fellow Jedi’s report then lose focus because he was distracted by stimuli from several rooms away. That would be rude. Since he had no way of knowing what reaction his saber would have to various troopers, or even which troopers would be willing to touch his saber in the first place, mostly blocking it out seemed like the best solution.
Obi-Wan let his eyes drift shut again, dropping his shoulders as he slowly, deliberately breathed. It had been years since it had taken a full meditation to touch his connection with his saber, but it still worked best if he was at ease. He slowly reached for the bond, finding the bright cord that tied himself to his crystal and following it until he reached what his saber was feeling at the exact moment Cody was carrying it in search of him.
His eyes flew back open. There . He melted back against the door as his knees went slightly weak. That warmth inside his soul was beautiful and brilliant. He’d never felt that level of connection with another being before, and stars, he wanted to keep it forever, wrap himself up inside it until he never had to go another moment without it again. It was like the best meditation, pure relaxation while being cradled by the Force. Like sinking into a warm bath perfumed with flower petals, a mug of his favorite tea, natural light streaming through windows, fingers running softly through his hair, old stone under his feet. It was every sensation he’d ever mistaken for the concept of home, all running through his mind at once and twining themselves around him. There were tears in his eyes.
Slowly, he let himself slide to the floor. He sat there, letting himself be swept away. It was all he could do to keep himself pulled back so Cody wouldn’t feel his investigation. He wanted him to, wanted to forge a connection like that between the two of them without his saber being used as a buffer, but that was something he would never do without the other party’s well-informed consent. He would need to explain it to Cody, what a bond would feel like, what it could do for them, what it could do to them, before he asked. Force, he wanted to ask. But he was scared.
If it was this strong now, what would it feel like unfiltered? Would he be able to let it go? He thought about everything he was feeling being suddenly taken from him, and blamed his dizziness at the prospect on the breath he’d been holding earlier. He was a Jedi Master, he was supposed to be strong enough to deny himself that sort of thing. That sort of attachment . He knew better than that, especially in the middle of a warzone. But knowing better didn’t stop him from wanting .
Surely it couldn’t be that wrong. He wasn’t attached, just affectionate, right? If his Commander told him no, that connection wasn’t something he was interested in, then he would let the topic drop forever. He could do that and would never hold it against Cody. That’s what kept it a strong affection , not attachment. Besides, kyber crystals were far more in tune with the Force than any Jedi could ever hope to be. If his crystal felt so strongly about the subject that it was constantly hurling itself at the Commander—was that why he kept dropping it?! He’d remarked that it felt like the saber was getting away from him , not like he was losing it—then it must be the will of the Force.
He sighed, letting his head fall backwards to hit the door with a solid thunk . Was that an avenue he wanted to explore? Did he want to risk damaging the strong personal and professional relationships he’d built with Cody and all of his brothers? Especially with them in the middle of a war, could he really risk endangering Cody if anything happened to him? It would be a tactical nightmare, giving himself such a powerful weak point he knew he wouldn’t always be able to protect. Far too many of Cody’s brothers had proven that he couldn’t save everyone, no matter how hard he tried.
He shook the thoughts off. It was too late at night, or, at least, too late in their simulated night cycle for that train of thought. They had three more days in hyperspace before he would have responsibilities in the early mornings, and he fully intended to take advantage of them. He was far behind on sleep, as his medic informed him every time they spoke and occasionally through a very pointed, completely out-of-the-blue comm just for good measure. It was past time for him to turn in for the night.
He straightened up, dusting off his pants and exiting the closet, glad there was no one around to see him and ask any questions he didn’t have a respectable answer for. As he wandered back to his room, he wondered idly if there was any way he could get Cody to hold his lightsaber more often. He wouldn’t recklessly endanger himself by losing it more in battle, and his Commander would get concerned if he suddenly picked up a habit of leaving it around the ship. His lightsaber was his life , after all. There had to be something, but that was a problem for another day.
In the meantime, Obi-Wan was going to go to bed. He was far beyond running on empty at that point, and everyone knew it. He smiled slightly to himself. The medics had made it well known that if the General actually was getting some rest, no one was to wake him on pain of death. So, if he set his comm response to only be available for emergencies, everyone would know what that meant. And that meant that Cody wouldn’t risk waking him just to return his saber. It was far too valuable to be left on his desk among the stacks of datapads and ration bar wrappers, so he’d just have to hold onto it until morning.
If Cody had his saber—if Obi-Wan had several undisturbed hours covered in that blanket of warmth and affection, a night of feeling cherished and safe—then maybe he would actually manage to get some restful sleep. Maybe, just maybe, they both would.