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catboydogma · 4 months ago

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'til our hell is a good life

codywan week 2024 sol master list (solsterlist)

codywan week 2024 day 1 prompts, sol edition: no/different order 66, lightsaber/lightsaber training

notes: title from our hell by emily haines & the soft skeleton. i've been having a comically disastrous week/month (it's only the 4th? jesus christ) but god willing i will post for all 7 prompts (+ bonus anniversary prompt?). im not gonna lie i had to pop out the soju to finish this beast and i think that did set the tone for the rest of the week's writing. BETTER LATE THAN NEVER AMIRITE FELLAS

wc: 3,099

cross-posted to ao3

Obi-Wan supposed it might have all started because someone gave Cody a lightsaber. No, it had not been Obi-Wan, and even if it might have been, he knew to always cover his own ass. Qui-Gon had been an excellent teacher, for the most part, and there was one thing he had drilled into Obi-Wan above (almost) all else: never drop plausible deniability.

No, he’d no idea where the lightsaber had come from. No, Cody could keep it now. He wasn’t going to take the damn thing away from Cody when the good Commander had, evidently, come across it fair and square. Obi-Wan knew his Commander; it wasn’t like there was some fresh-faced thirteen year old Padawan wandering around somewhere sans ‘saber. If he had to take a stab at the quandary, he supposed it probably would have happened the time Cody’d dogpiled Grievous with the rest of his Command Corps. No, not that time. The time after that one, perhaps.

Regardless, there came a time when Cody’s tac belt had two lightsaber clips, not just one for when Obi-Wan strategically left his lightsaber in a secure place for safekeeping. The two of them never discussed the fact that Cody was likely Force sensitive. It didn’t seem something Cody was at all interested in; given the givens, Obi-Wan was predisposed to let him take the lead on the topic. Or not, as it happened.

But Obi-Wan couldn’t let that stop him in the face of something so egregious as this, even if Cody seemed determined to duck out of the conversation at every turn.

“I am not a Jedi, sir,” Cody told him for the fifth time that day. “I fail to see what tactical advantage there would be in meditating with a weapon.”

“It isn’t entirely a tactical advantage, per se,” Obi-Wan demurred. “But it can be. It’s difficult to articulate.” Especially when most resources for teaching lightsaber forms and meditations were meant for Initiates first starting out, or struggling Padawans; not outsiders to the Order, and certainly not ones that hadn’t grown up in the Temple. If they’d had the time—if not for this bloody war—Obi-Wan might have taken Cody to Jedha for insight. “Would you learn to fight with a particular blaster even when you haven’t familiarized yourself with its base components, or haven’t learnt how to disassemble and repair it?”

Cody frowned. It was a minute thing, barely a twitch of the corner of his mouth and a slight tilt of his head.

Aha. Obi-Wan pressed his advantage, absently touching Cody’s elbow to direct him around a group of techs as they walked through the halls of the Negotiator. “It’s the same for a lightsaber. The kyber—or heart of the lightsaber—is not just a power source; a strong connection between oneself and one’s kyber is paramount to maintaining a good working relationship with the lightsaber itself. And a good working relationship leads to better results in a fight; not just anyone can pick up any old lightsaber and start swinging it around and expect good results, you know. That’s why the black market money is mainly to be made in the raw kyber itself, not in the weapons.” Obi-Wan made eyebrows at Cody over this, who simply glared at him. Ah, well. A man had to find his fun somehow.

“You have me there, sir,” Cody sighed. He was graceful in his concession, at least. Unlike some others Obi-Wan could name upon learning that, yes, meditation with a new lightsaber was practically required…

“We can clear up an evening for it,” Obi-Wan said, magnanimous even in victory. As ever. “And perhaps I can show you what I mean, rather than trying to talk in circles around it.”

“But you do so love talking in circles around things, sir,” Cody said, dry as anything. Obi-Wan mimed shocked outrage at him, and they passed the next few hours in good humor.

“This can be done anywhere, really, but for your first time I thought to make it somewhat more formal,” Obi-Wan told Cody. He’d somewhere unearthed a spare meditation mat to set in between the cramped space between his ‘fresher and desk. Incense in a lump-shaped holder wafted smoke into the air; one of his last good joss sticks. But this was a special occasion. “Many Jedi like to do it in the salles, and many Consulars perfect it in the field.” There had been the especially memorable time during Obi-Wan’s own Padawanship in that nest of gilloms…

Cody inspected his new outfitting and seemed satisfied, though it was hard to tell. He sat on the mat with no complaints and suffered through Obi-Wan running a hand across his shoulders, then nudging Cody’s legs with his own into something more closely approximating a meditative pose.

“The floating is optional, then,” Cody remarked.

“Well, yes. It’s up to personal preference,” Obi-Wan told him, resolutely not letting his flush creep above the collar of his tunics. It was Obi-Wan’s personal preference, really, and usually something more commonly found in the creche than not. “You can hold your lightsaber, or set it in front of you, or in your lap. Many Jedi like to hold themselves in the Force with the lightsaber, hence why this is often accompanied by one’s lightsaber floating in front of oneself. For today, do whatever feels right to you.”

Cody nodded, then opted to hold his lightsaber loosely in his lap. After a moment of consideration, he mirrored Obi-Wan’s own pose: one hand folded atop the other in his lap, thumbs pressed to each other, lightsaber cradled in his palms and just under the arch of his thumbs.

Obi-Wan guided Cody through the preliminary steps of a light meditation, discarding many of the more Force-oriented aspects and focusing on the connecting to one’s lightsaber, on opening oneself up and letting the kyber reach out in turn. When he felt Cody slip deeper, into a state simultaneously more introspective and more concentrated on his lightsaber, Obi-Wan turned his own attention to his kyber.

The heart of a lightsaber could be a curious thing. This wasn’t all completely altruistic; Obi-Wan had left out the bit about also needing to meditate with his ‘saber, because then Cody might have given him one of those looks. But it was good to refamiliarize himself with his kyber, in a ritual both utterly familiar and yet somehow foreign. He just hadn’t done it in so long, or at least not as thoroughly as he might have liked. They had changed, the both of them. The war, Anakin’s Knighting, Obi-Wan’s own views of the galaxy at large and perspective of self… such was the nature of having a malleable brain and being subject to the rigors of time.

Some interminable time later, the soft beeping of a timer brought Obi-Wan up out of the depths of his meditation. He cracked his eyes open and took a moment to settle himself back down onto his mat, still feeling like a great river was still carving its way through his skull in vast, sweeping currents.

“Don’t give me that face,” was the first thing Cody said when he finally deigned to open his eyes.

Obi-Wan, caught mid-insufferable-smirk, quickly arranged his face into something with less smug. “I shall endeavor to do nothing of the sort. So?”

“I see what you mean,” Cody grudgingly allowed. He looked like he was still chewing something over, so Obi-Wan let him stew in silence while he packed up the remains of the incense and their mats. They shared a quiet dinner over formwork together, as well as a quick update sent to Mace when they dropped out of hyperspace to shift to another lane.

They continued to meditate together. Over time, not always with their lightsabers; Obi-Wan didn’t say anything about it, because a Commander Cody was—at times, very rarely—a creature easily spooked, and Obi-Wan had to be careful in his approach to certain things. But it was—good. To have someone else to share time and space together like this. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it until it became a regularity in their schedules; oh, he meditated plenty with Ahsoka, when the 501st and 212th was berthed together or they were sharing missions, and sporadically with Anakin in these same instances, but it… was somewhat another thing, to come to look forward to meditation with another.

Now it wasn’t just Obi-Wan—by himself, in his silent quarters—but it was Cody-and-Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan was also realizing how much he had missed teaching. It wasn’t the same flavor of interaction as between a Master and Padawan, but Obi-Wan enjoyed that Cody was an excellent listener and genuinely enjoyed hearing Obi-Wan ramble on about whatever topic of the day it was. Or topic of the hour, as it sometimes happened. Not only that, but he was the most delightfully clever conversationalist—something that Obi-Wan had always known, at heart, yes, but was coming to explore more and more, as of late.

And then there was the other side of Cody’s learning how to wield a lightsaber.

“You’ve been holding out on me, darling.” Obi-Wan reset and swiped his hair out of his eyes with his shoulder, sweaty fringe just flopping right back over his brow. Of course. He needed a trim was what he needed, but first… he had this to sort.

“I bet you say that to all the men who try that shoulder lock on you.” Cody snorted and readjusted his grip with a quick twirl of his lightsaber. Obi-Wan felt something molten and shivery slide through him, because he had taught Cody that. He manfully ignored the quiet whisper in the back of his head that Cody’s fighting style, after this, would have the hallmark of Obi-Wan’s hands all over him.

The good Commander took Obi-Wan’s split second of distraction as his cue. Bastard. He’d probably been doing it on purpose. Obi-Wan very carefully ignored the frisson of feeling that thought gave him, focused on defense, and then, when Cody had settled into a rhythm, pressing the attack.

“Only you, my Commander,” Obi-Wan said warmly. He ducked under Cody’s guard when his step faltered at that little exchange and the quick twist of the wrist Obi-Wan gave his ‘saber, but didn’t quite press his advantage. This match wasn’t about beating Cody into the ground, though Obi-Wan had no doubt that his Commander would give him a run for his money even if that were the case; no, this was about teaching Cody, and drilling the muscle memory into him.

Cody had taken to lightsaber fighting like a quacta to slime. They’d rotated through each form, but Cody had returned to the first they had drilled for a strong foundation, and Obi-Wan had to say that it quite suited him. This variant of Shii-Cho focused more on lethality than disarming, something which might have given pause to the Jedi Obi-Wan of five years ago had been—but Obi-Wan of now couldn’t argue with results, if those results were what kept Ghost Company alive and well and the Sith from overtaking them. His Commander fought with a combination of focus and brutality, utterly utilitarian but almost elegant in its most efficient economy of motion. Obi-Wan found himself almost comparing Cody’s style to that of a Nabooan ballet dancer’s, famed for their relentless discipline and endurance.

The bout ended when Cody broke through Obi-Wan’s guard with a clever bit of bladework and bashed the crown of his head into Obi-Wan’s face, narrowly missing breaking his teeth in.

Obi-Wan laughed through the blinding pain—literally, his vision was still sprinkled with bright lights and strange afterimages—and said, lying on the floor, “I was right.”

Cody narrowed his eyes at Obi-Wan, lightsaber—now off—imperiously leveled at Obi-Wan’s chest.

“You have gotten better, now that you’ve been meditating with it.”

So, yes. It might have started when Cody found that lightsaber—and held onto it—and learnt to wield it properly. Obi-Wan had a suspicion—well, he had a number of suspicions. This primary suspicion, however, was how it ended.

It was supposed to be a routine inspection; rote, trivial, something necessary but not a thing anyone truly looked forward to. But a gaggle—or perhaps drove—of senators had decided to invite themselves along, some kind of publicity stunt, Obi-Wan didn’t know. Usually Adi handled these sorts of things, or else one of the other PR- or legal-inclined Masters. Thus, of course, Chancellor Palpatine had to say some words at the landing pad—some inane drivel about whatever the hell sentiment Palpatine was using to drive through his bill of the week. Obi-Wan tried not to grimace too obviously at the thinly-veiled warmongering the Chancellor was using to drum up support and inclined his head toward his Commander, about to comment on the daring sartorial choices of one bold politician, when Cody tilted his head towards Obi-Wan and nearly knocked him on the temple.

“I didn’t know the Chancellor used to be a Jedi,” Cody said.

Obi-Wan’s comment died halfway up his throat. He blinked at Palpatine, then at Cody. “Pardon?”

Cody shifted infinitesimally backwards on his heels, allowing Obi-Wan a better view of where Palpatine stood on the other side of Cody, with Anakin flanking the Chancellor’s left.

“He’s got a lightsaber in one of those concealed carry holsters at his back,” Cody told him, eyes still forward, settled in a textbook-perfect parade rest. “I was.” His eyes shifted to Obi-Wan and then back forward in a rare—and unsettling—display of trepidation. “Doing a bit of meditation. As it were. Haven’t had the chance to get the ‘saber out in too long with all these… press tours. So I felt it. First.”

Obi-Wan gaped, forgetting all about the attendant senators and cam droids and the battalion of clone troopers at his back. There were… well, very few reasons he could think of to explain why Senator Palpatine, of all people, had a lightsaber. In a concealed carry holster meant to hide it away even from the eyes of Jedi, of all things. Because—“He most certainly is not, and never has been, a member of the Order,” Obi-Wan said. In fact, he had never been a part of any Force sensitive sect. In fact, Obi-Wan had it on good authority and as a matter of public record that the Chancellor was as Force sensitive as a brick.

Allegedly.

Well. This would either be very, very funny, or disastrous for all of them. Obi-Wan held out a hand and yanked, not letting himself think of any other outcome. A cylinder of cool metal slapped into his hand, stinging his palm and sending an unpleasant shock down his arm. If not for his long history of battling Sith, Obi-Wan might have dropped it on the spot for how it reeked of the Dark, now out from Palpatine’s immediate sphere of control.

Mas Amedda’s blathering stuttered to a halt. Obi-Wan stared at the hilt in his hand, then at Cody’s expression slack with surprise. He thought he knew what the color of the blade would be even before his thumb hit the switch; it was almost like a dream, or a barely-remembered dreg of an old nightmare.

A venomous scarlet light sprang forth.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said after a moment. “I suppose now you can say that Sith lords are our specialty.”

Palpatine shrieked something hysterical and reached out, fingers curling into hooked claws and expression contorting from that of a kindly grandfather into a spitting tyrant. Obi-Wan braced himself for something—he didn’t even know what—and—

Brilliant green light split the morning. Cody caught Palpatine’s chain of Dark lightning on his blade and bared his teeth in a fierce challenge. The stark shock on Palpatine’s face was almost enough to make Obi-Wan laugh. Instead—he leapt forward with his own lightsaber raised in a cross with Palpatine’s—cutting off whatever poison Palpatine had been about to spit at his Commander.

In the end, it came down to the timely and swift intervention of the Coruscant Guard. Anakin had been too busy torn between shouting at Obi-Wan that there must be some mistake, and being goaded by Palpatine into drawing on Cody. Palpatine kept trying to say something to Cody, or else to the nearest officer—Gregor, taking potshots at the Chancellor or else keeping the other senators away from harm—but every time, Obi-Wan or Cody drove him back to the edge of the landing pad and parried another round of lightning or dodged Force shoves.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Fox said to Cody, after, as the scene was taped off and various senators’ statements were taken. He’d shot Palpatine just under the heart, giving Cody the chance to take Palpatine’s head off. Obi-Wan would have been shiningly proud, except he was currently trying to keep his ribs from puncturing his lungs and steering Anakin away from going into histrionics.

“Er, Cody,” Obi-Wan said, tugging on the sleeve of Cody’s blood- and char-spattered greys. There was something very pressing he had to do, right before Mace got here, and his ribs were as supported as they were going to get until a medic got to see to him.

Cody turned, resplendent in his sweaty flush and still breathing hard. Fighting with him in a duel like that had been exhilarating; just as on the battlefield, they worked together like a well-oiled machine, and if not for the circumstances of it all, Obi-Wan would have been enjoying himself immensely.

“I’m tendering my resignation as an officer, effective immediately,” Obi-Wan told him, watching the way the Coruscant sun limned Cody’s tight curls from behind and gilded the edge of his cheek. With that out of the way, he fisted a hand in the front of Cody’s stiff uniform and pulled him down to kiss him soundly on the mouth. Quite a few troopers whooped at the sight; that was likely Gregor who was wolf whistling in a truly obnoxious manner.

“You had to do this in the most dramatic way possible,” Cody said, but he sounded fond, despite it all. He pulled back, cast a critical look at the way Obi-Wan was holding his ribs, then ducked back down for another—more chaste—kiss. “As long as you’ll take me with you when you go, my General.”

From just beside Obi-Wan, Anakin let out a sound previously only heard from gravely ill massiffs and tipped right over his breaking point.

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