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After the events of the last several days, with Cad Bane and the abduction of younglings, Obi-Wan is perversely glad he’s been granted an additional two days of leave for recuperation. It’s hardly fair to his men; unlike Obi-Wan, who will be taking his starfighter to rendezvous with them en route to their next battlefront, the Negotiator is set for departure tomorrow morning, and will frankly probably be on the ground before Obi-Wan manages to reach them, especially if the Council gives him another solo mission in the meanwhile. Obi-Wan trusts Cody to manage the men in his absence, but it’s not military strategy that unsettles him about the thought. He sometimes had trouble being easy even before the war, attuned via the Force and his diplomatic training to the sheer number of crises the galaxy seems to face every day, and it’s only gotten worse since, with the weight of the army and the Republic’s well-being on his and his Order’s shoulders. Obi-Wan has never felt totally comfortable being idle when he’s known there was something he could be doing to help, but it seems particularly cruel to his men, that Obi-Wan is allowed 48 hours of rest in the comfort of his home, while they are forced to march once again to the possibility of death without reprieve.
He's still debating feel guilty that he hadn’t offered more than a token protest, which Bant and Helix had both shot firmly down. “You need standdown more than we do, sir,” Helix had said. “I know you haven’t been sleeping, and even a Jedi can’t sustain himself on the Force indefinitely. You’re no good to us dead on your feet.”
Bant had concurred. “You’re out of balance, Obi,” she’d said gently, using his given name, the way only his former crechemates have liberty or inclination to do. “It’s understandable. You’ve been on the front lines these past few months, and then the Temple gets invaded. Many of us are trying to find footing again, knowing that our home was violated this way, physically as well as metaphorically, with the targeting of our history and our future, the archives and the younglings. It will do you good, a few days rest. I’ll even meditate with you later, if you’d like. Quin might be stopping by, if he’s back from his mission, and maybe we can rope him in together. It’ll be like old times.” Her smile had said just how far from old times they were, but Obi-Wan had conceded the point. He could use rest, and mediation.
He's in the training salles now, though, working steadily through his fourth series of katas at speed, stripped down to his inner tunics to avoid sweating profusely. The steps are even and familiar. Bant is not wrong: Obi-Wan has noticed how out of balance he feels, the longer this war drags on. They’re already a year in, with no ending in sight, and good Jedi are not supposed to give in to fear, but Obi-Wan has questioned recently if they can be generals and good Jedi concurrently. He fears the pressures of the war, on all of them, and he fears greatly what sort of man he’ll be on the other side of it. The katas help, centering his body, and through it his mind. He doesn’t prefer moving meditation most of the time – Anakin does, is restless, can rarely sit still – but it makes him feel less useless, less like he’s sitting idly by.
A throat clears, at about the same time Obi-Wan’s awareness nudges to the forefront the presence of a warm orange glow, the soft sunset that is his Commander at ease. Obi-Wan does not miss a movement, continuing the form, but he does open his expression, allowing himself to smile as he says, “Good afternoon, Cody. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Afternoon, sir,” Cody replies easily. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan can see the clone, still in armor with his helmet set on one of the salle’s benches, his arms tucked behind his back in the loose parade rest Obi-Wan himself favors. It had taken him about two months of Obi-Wan’s command to stop appearing unsettled by offered pleasantries, returning them awkwardly before segueing immediately into clipped reports. Now, Obi-Wan and Cody talk, and Cody can return a greeting like they’re friends, and not merely General and Commander. It feels like a righting of the universe, and Obi-Wan is grateful for it, even if he would dispense with the titles altogether, given the choice. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Cody says. “I can come back later.”
Obi-Wan lets his weight carry him through the final movements, exhaling softly as the katas come to their natural conclusion. He had meant to do a fifth, possibly a sixth – and then Bant really would chastise him for not resting – but perhaps this is the Force, intervening before Obi-Wan’s old clanmate can. He deactivates his ‘saber, hanging it back against his hip. “You’re not interrupting,” he says, turning to Cody, aware only after he’s done it that he’s mirrored Cody’s posture exactly. “I was just finishing.” Only fractionally a lie.
Cody’s eyebrow jumps, but he doesn’t call Obi-Wan on it. He relaxes a little, hands still folded behind his back, but his shoulders losing their formal set. “If you had some time, I wanted to make a request.”
“Of course.” Obi-Wan gestures for Cody to sit, taking his own seat on the bench beside his Commander’s helmet. It could use a new coat of paint soon; the orange sunbursts Cody has painted on it, and on the rest of his plastoid, are starting to show the year of wear and tear. “If it’s regarding supplies, Checkoff has assured me he has them well in hand.”
It earns him a snort from Cody. Their no-nonsense quartermaster is certainly something to behold. “It’s not exactly official GAR business,” Cody says, and though he meets Obi-Wan’s gaze steadily, there is a reticence in his eyes that isn’t quite reflected in his Force-presence. Obi-Wan has to actively resist the urge to press into it, seeking; Cody has shielding training, as has every Alpha and CC Obi-Wan has met, along with some of the older CTs, and it’s only recently that Cody has started to relax them more around Obi-Wan. While Obi-Wan has relaxed his own shields in turn, allowing the Light and strength Cody radiates ambiently to bolster him, it wouldn’t do to push or pry. Some sentients find it invasive enough, the Jedis’ latent empathy, and Cody is Force-null. He wouldn’t have shielding if he didn’t value his privacy. “I finished reviewing your mission report,” Cody says, “and I…suppose I had a question.”
“I’ll certainly answer if I can.” Cody reads many of Obi-Wan’s mission reports, especially ones like this one, where he was tangentially involved. This one wasn’t classified, and Obi-Wan trusts that Cody will not let sensitive details get back to anyone, even his own men. Cody understands the value of OpSec perhaps better than even the Jedi Council.
Still, Cody hesitates. For all that he’d called it ‘not GAR business,’ he looks like he’d rather still be at attention than sitting informally by Obi-Wan’s side. He rests his elbows on his knees, hands rubbing together in a rare show of open uncertainty. Finally, he asks, “It’s regarding Bane, sir. I know I wasn’t there for the interrogation, but the report said that in trying to get the location of the holocron and the kidnapped kids out of him, you, General Skywalker, and General Windu used Force Suggestion. Invasively, I think you said.”
Obi-Wan goes cold, the shame a glancing blow barely smoothed by sinking guilt. He swallows. “Yes. It was deemed necessary at the time.” The ends justifying the means. It is not the first time Obi-Wan has allowed himself to be ruled so impulsively, though if Anakin hadn’t suggested it, and a higher council member been there to approve, Obi-Wan’s stomach churns to wonder whether he would have promoted the method himself. Suggestion is something Obi-Wan has always undertaken more lightly than perhaps he ought. That was down to Qui-Gon’s teaching. Obi-Wan’s master had used it often, on opponents and allies alike, to expedite situations, and while Obi-Wan even at his youngest and brashest never felt totally comfortable targeting those aligned with them, a little tug here or nudge there against adversaries had seemed reasonable, even if he preferred to use it more sparingly.
Or perhaps he is just thinking that to make himself feel better. It has been harder to justify these days, now that there are thousands of sentients under his command, men who are required to follow his orders, to fight in a galactic civil war without much say of their own. He hopes it has made him at least a little more discerning about it, and about what other efforts he ought to go to before resorting to interfering even lightly in another’s mind. It’s not something he feels comfortable discussing with his Commander, either, as Cody – like many of the men – gets very prickly if Obi-Wan tries to broach the subject of their relative capacity for consent.
“Understood, sir,” Cody says, looking for all the world like he isn’t judging Obi-Wan, when Obi-Wan is judging himself quite harshly, for his own hypocrisy amongst other things. “Time was of the essence, and there were tubies at stake.” The clones value children quite highly, perhaps even more highly than their Mandalorian donors – perhaps because children and childhood are a thing the clones themselves have been denied – so maybe Cody does think this is reasonable. “I wasn’t questioning your methods. I wanted to know the difference.”
“The difference?” Obi-Wan repeats.
“Between invasive and non-invasive Force Suggestion. Your report said you used it invasively on Bane, but you also said you used it on a civilian earlier, and I know you wouldn’t…you don’t treat civilians carelessly, sir. So it wouldn’t be invasive. I wanted to know the difference.”
Obi-Wan’s midmeal gives a rousing debate about making a reappearance. The Rodian woman. Obi-Wan is not happy with how he handled that situation, especially since it did not gain them the child, nor Bane, before Bane could relocate them. His fingers tighten, as does his throat. He clears it, and manages a small smile he does not feel. “I suppose the difference is what we tell ourselves to justify it.”
“Sir?”
Obi-Wan sighs. He looks to the salle floor; it is easier than meeting Cody’s gaze. Carefully, quietly, he allows, “As a rule, most Jedi are capable of Force Suggestion. It’s part of our empathy, our connection to emotion and living beings, though individually we’re capable of it to relative degrees. I’m…particularly good at it.” Good at it, where so many other Force-abilities Obi-Wan has had to struggle and train relentlessly to master.
“Well, you are very convincing.”
There’s a quirk to Cody’s smile. He sounds like he’s making a joke, and Obi-Wan feels sick. He is aware he’s charming, sociable, and this has only partially been something he’s cultivated in himself, as opposed to something that has always come naturally to him. “The two things are very likely related,” he admits. He exhales, slow and measured, and then says, “For want of a better word, some minds are stronger and some are weaker. It’s a measure of many things: intrinsic strength of personality, relative training, natural evolutionary benefits of certain species. Intelligence is often part of it, but not exclusively. Strong minds cannot be penetrated by non-invasive Force Suggestion. It takes concerted, targeted effort. Weaker ones…Force Suggestion can be invasive- is invasive, regardless of its usage, but that can be minimized. I shouldn’t have used it on the Rodian youngling’s mother, but you were right, time was of the essence, and she was behaving hostilely. As I said in the report, I wanted her thinking more clearly, rather than imposing my own will. It meant a light touch, shifting some of the strong surface emotions. If I’d attempted to genuinely repress said emotions, or tried to direct her, that would have been invasive.” It is exactly the sort of thing Obi-Wan has been trying to do less of. The situation had just seemed so urgent, and Obi-Wan had been frightened for the child’s safety, so he’d fallen back on something familiar and expeditious. How easy to justify the action with the emotion. How dangerous.
“Could you do it to me?”
Obi-Wan stares. It takes several tries to find his tongue, and when he does the words are immediate and emphatic. “No. Absolutely not.”
Cody waves a hand, like he’s not dropped a stun grenade on the floor of this conversation. “I know you wouldn’t. You care about us having choices, all the brothers. You wouldn’t use your Force osik to take them away. But could you? If you wanted to?”
“Suggestion is not something I undertake lightly,” Obi-Wan reminds him, even though that assertion feels like a horrid lie, in light of the past few days. “If you read my report, you know I don’t like using it on neutral parties, much less allies, and you have very strong shielding abilities for a Force-null individual. I would have to press considerably, to the point where it would not be mere redirection but active and malicious usurping of your agency.” Invasive, without any justification for it, well-meaning or otherwise.
“Hmm.” Cody sounds noncommittal, turning that over. There’s a twist to his lips, contemplative, that makes Obi-Wan’s gut clench in horrifying ways. He feels…well, he feels about his Commander, which may be a violation in and of itself. “What if I let you?” Cody says.
“What?”
“We encounter enough darksiders, it might be worth it to know. What it feels like, I mean. Rex said Ventress was…cold, when she did it to him on Teth, but it was hard for him to describe. It might be intel worth having, knowing what it feels like.”
Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry as the Dune Sea of Tatooine. He’s standing before he’s aware of the movement. “Under no circumstances would I- I couldn’t- Cody.”
“Obi-Wan.” Cody stands too, and the name, not his title, lances neatly through Obi-Wan’s chest, like Cody has activated a ‘saber against his ribcage. His expression is sharp and set, a pure Commander look he uses on shinier troopers. Despite outranking Cody, it’s just as effective on Obi-Wan as it is on them. “I trust you,” Cody says evenly, like that is not a second blaster shot to the heart. “But I want to at least know that this feels like, even if I can’t fight it.” The way he says it, Obi-Wan realizes his hesitance earlier in the conversation. He had not wanted to ask Obi-Wan to explain the differences in how he uses his abilities, not really. He had wanted to ask Obi-Wan this.
Obi-Wan closes his eyes, his stomach a knot. It’s the cowardly move, but Obi-Wan has often been a coward. “You’re very strong, Cody,” he says, levelly as he can manage. “I have no doubt you’d be able to resist without any need for me to violate you so thoroughly.” Obi-Wan has done this to other people, to other allies, it’s true. Recently, even. But Cody is different to Obi-Wan. All his men are, really, but the longer the war drags on, the more Cody and Obi-Wan talk, the more they are Cody and Obi-Wan, in addition to General and Marshal Commander, the more apparent it is that Obi-Wan has to flex every measure of non-attachment he possesses to ensure that he is not betraying that which he and Cody both stand for, that which they both value so dearly. And unlike with Satine, all those years ago, Obi-Wan cannot simply walk away.
He thinks, sometimes, that Cody might feel the same way. It’s young and tentative, and perhaps just wishful thinking, but though they never address it head-on, Obi-Wan does think, sometimes, that he can feel a hint of return in the Force, the slightest reaching back of Cody’s feelings when his shields are low. But Obi-Wan cannot risk pressing, for so many reasons, and Cody never says anything, so Obi-Wan won’t either. At least, not until he’s sure there’s something to say.
“Understood, sir,” Cody says. He shifts from foot to foot, just slightly, but enough to be noticeable. “But Rex is one of the strongest people I know, and it happened to him, which means it could happen to any of us. If I say I’m alright with it-“
“Why?” Obi-Wan says flatly, trying to maintain at least an effort at civil conversation over his instinct, which is to be violently ill at the thought. It’s a near thing that he doesn’t put another few steps of space between himself and his Commander. “I don’t see a need to break what considerable trust we have spent the last year building-“
“You spar with me,” Cody says. He tilts his head, indicating the room around them. Obi-Wan has never had an opportunity to spar Cody in the Temple’s salles, but he has certainly been coaxed onto the mat in the Negotiator’s gyms on occasion, at Cody’s careful, playful goading, to demonstrate a thing or two to their men about how Force-users actually fight. “With a lightsaber, and with the Force,” Cody adds, as if he meant anything else. “And I know you’re not always holding back.”
“That is substantially different,” Obi-Wan begins.
“No, it’s not,” Cody folds his arms across his chest, plastoid plating clacking against each other. “Not to me. It’s a training skill we couldn’t practice on Kamino, but one we need if we keep fighting Ventress and Grievous and eventually Dooku.”
“Grievous is not Force-sensitive. And you will not be fighting Dooku.”
Cody speaks as if Obi-Wan hadn’t. “This is the same thing. It happened to Rex on one of his earliest missions with General Skywalker, and frankly, we face Ventress more often than he does. There is every chance of my capture by the Separatists, and every chance they’ll want to use me against you. They know you care about the clones. If we’re lucky, I’ll just be a bargaining chip, but I know too much. They might try to Force it out of me, because I promise you, sir, torture won’t work. And we can’t be sure they won’t try to use me like they used Rex, to lure you into a trap like they lured Skywalker.”
“They hardly need to compel you for that,” Obi-Wan says before he can think better of it. Cody’s shoulders straighten, surprised, and Obi-Wan forces back down the surge of his own emotion. He should be releasing it into the Force, but in a pinch, pushing them deep down will do. He clasps his hands behind his back and tries again. “If they know me as well as you say, then they know I would do a great deal to rescue the men under my command. The odds that they’ll feel the need to use Force Suggestion on you to do it is remarkably slim. And it would be dangerous to compel you to reveal information; you’re strong enough, they’re more likely to damage your mind than access it.”
It's a good argument, barring the fact that the Separatists likely do not care if they damage Cody’s mind, to say nothing of the Sith who might actively enjoy it. It’s also derailed completely by the way Cody’s eyes meet his, amber gaze determined but not steely. “Obi-Wan,” Cody says again, and it’s patient, but also colored with something that gives Obi-Wan pause, a touch of anxiety his Commander rarely lets slip to anyone, Obi-Wan included. Cody takes a deep breath, and lets his folded arms relax to his sides. “You know how much control matters to me,” he says, and Obi-Wan does. There is so little that any of his men have control over. Cody has been asked to control his brothers in turn, to demand their lives and their obedience, but this has not come with any additional freedoms of his own, save what Obi-Wan grants him, even to make the decisions that would better ensure their survival. All his men deserve those freedoms, but especially Cody, and Obi-Wan grants him as much tether as the GAR and the Senate will allow, even if it means Cody – or more accurately, Obi-Wan’s carefully compartmentalized feelings for Cody – will hang him with it. Cody has not needed to admit to Obi-Wan that he wishes he had more control, even though he knows being a good solider means ceding himself to the whims of his General. He has admitted it, though, and Obi-Wan had been horrified at the ease with which Cody had justified the idea that Obi-Wan might take advantage of his position over him. There is a reason Obi-Wan will not tell Cody how he feels, and it has only a little to do with being a Jedi, and everything to do with the hierarchy of the GAR and the fact that neither Kamino nor the Senate will treat the brothers as people, will not give them the right to a simple yes or no.
It is why he cannot fathom, not really, why Cody is asking this of him.
“You’d never try to control me,” Cody says evenly. He is glowing in the light of the training salle, and Obi-Wan forces himself to keep looking, to keep meeting that placid gaze, even though he feels so small. “But there are people in the galaxy who will control me, if given half a chance. Most of them, I can prepare for, because it’s the same thing I’ve been dealing with my whole life. This is different. It isn’t something I can prepare for on my own. I know what I’m asking of you, but I would consider this a favor, if you’d be willing to provide supplemental training.”
Obi-Wan takes his own deep breath. Lets it out. Softly, he says, “You are asking me to torture you.” Cody can call it training all he likes. Much of Cody’s training, by Obi-Wan’s standards, was little better than abuse.
“I’m asking you to show me what it feels like, so I know if it’s been done. I won’t fight you. You don’t have to make me do anything big. I know it’ll hurt if they do it,” he adds. “I’d fight them like hell if they tried. But I’d feel a lot better if I could tell if it was just normal Seppie interrogation techniques or something…more.”
Obi-Wan swallows. Cody’s expression is pleading, almost, and Obi-Wan will admit there is little he can deny Cody, particularly as there is little beyond reason Cody will ask. He’s not sure which side of the line this falls on. Tentatively, he says, “There are different kinds of Force Suggestion. I could show you what it feels like, a Force-user attempting to probe your mind. Would that be sufficient?” He does not want to go even that far, but it’s a compromise, and by the click of Cody’s jaw it’s not what he wants either.
But what he says is, “Thank you, General. Would tonight be alright? I need to finalize the men’s preparations for tomorrow.”
“Tonight would be better,” Obi-Wan agrees. It will give him some time to calm the thundering of his heart, the roiling of his stomach. Cody’s shields are still low, his emotions even, and there is nothing in them to suggest that he thinks less of Obi-Wan for agreeing. Though Cody cannot feel Obi-Wan’s feelings in turn, Obi-Wan tucks his shields higher anyway. No need for everyone in a twenty-meter radius in the Temple to be broadcast his own distress.
He will need to meditate to prepare, and will likely need to afterwards as well. It’s debatable if Suggestion of any sort is intrinsically Dark, but Obi-Wan has not pressed like this before – even Bane, they did not break, and he had two other Jedi with him then, sharing the weight. There is perhaps a difference between mild Suggestion and Forcing one’s will on the unwilling, but it is the sort of slippery slope he wonders if his grandmaster embarked on, in the nebulous time between leaving the Order and founding the Confederacy.
Dooku trained Qui-Gon, who trained Obi-Wan in turn. They were all three trained as diplomats, all three very good at getting things they wanted. There is a legacy in their lineage, then. It is any wonder Obi-Wan has so often let himself justify it away? When Anakin had volunteered Force Suggestion in place of torture, Obi-Wan had been relieved to consider an alternative route, especially one that hadn’t seemed like an option, and so would not test their morality. When Ahsoka had suggested a joint effort, Obi-Wan had uneasily realized this too may be his legacy. He wishes he could blame the war, but Obi-Wan has had many failings since well before the galaxy cracked in two.
“Until tonight, then,” Cody says. “Your quarters or mine?”
Obi-Wan schools his flinch at the suggestion in that wording. Cody could not possibly mean it as a line. “I can come to the barracks, if you don’t want to make the trip.”
“Ah, I’ll probably steal into the refectory for latemeal anyway,” Cody says, light enough to be a tease, his smile small in deference to the mood, but still twitching at his gorgeous lips. “The food’s better here.”
The brothers may be the only people who claim so, though Obi-Wan has never had issue with the Temple’s simple fare. At least it has flavor and color and texture; GAR rations tends to have only one of those things at a time. Obi-Wan manages a weak smile in return. “My quarters, then. 1900, or is that too late? I know you have an early morning.”
“1900 is fine,” Cody says. “I’ll see you then.”
He doesn’t salute, but he does give a crisp nod before scooping up his helmet, tucking it under one arm as he turns to stride from the room. Obi-Wan’s fingers twitch, a needy desire to snag Cody by the arm, to yank him back and hold him close and beg him not to ask Obi-Wan to do this. Obi-Wan wants to give Cody everything. Paradoxically, Cody is asking to be given no choice. Obi-Wan will have to send a brief message to Bant – he cannot meditate with her tonight, not like this. He does not want to have to explain to his friend how far he fears he is falling.
When the door to his quarters chimes at 1900 on the dot, Obi-Wan has been in shallow meditation for the better part of three hours, unable to settle deeper. He gives the call to enter, unfolding himself from the floor in his small living area; on the other side of the door, Cody steps through, still in his blacks and most of his lower armor, but absent helmet and upper plastoid. It’s intimate, for Cody, particularly for walking out and about the Temple, so far from his brothers and the barracks, and Obi-Wan appreciates that Cody understands, at least, how much this is asking of him, and is meeting the intimacy in appropriate kind.
A smaller part of him berates himself for being glad Cody is letting his walls down in this moment. Obi-Wan is going to do something invasive to him, and Cody will have to walk back to his men without the protection so familiar to him after Obi-Wan has committed the violation.
“Evening,” Cody says, by way of greeting. “I hope I’m not late. I got to talking with some of the generals in the mess. They missed you; said you hadn’t eaten tonight.”
“I was attempting to meditate,” Obi-Wan admits, sidestepping neatly over the fact that likely, the Jedi Cody was conversing with were not generals, but the Healers and Archivists and elders unfit for field duty. Clones have been trained to refer to the Jedi in specific ways, and Obi-Wan doesn’t want to make Cody more uncomfortable by correcting him. “I may go-“ He stops, as Cody produces a simple bowl of grain and some fruit on a tray. “…later.”
“Got the feeling you might not be up for much company, after this,” Cody says. He takes another two steps into Obi-Wan’s apartments, glances around, and then sets the tray on the small table where Obi-Wan prepares his tea and meals, when he has anything in. Which he doesn’t, and he suspects Cody realized as much. “Wanted you to have the option to eat, at least,” Cody adds, keeping his voice carefully conversational. He doesn’t spare more than a glance at Obi-Wan as he takes off his boots, responding without direction to the fact that Obi-Wan’s are lined up neatly by the door as well. “We’ll both catch hell if Helix finds out you’ve been surviving off tea while he’s not here to hassle you about it.”
He has a look on his face, attempting at teasing, but like he’s fairly certain Obi-Wan would not make his way to the refectory tonight short of Cody hauling him bodily there. It is a reasonable assessment. In the field and on the Negotiator, the fact that his men seem chronically underfed is only half the reason Obi-Wan often skips meals or gives his rations up to shinies, something Cody and Helix have both expressed frequent frustration over. The fact is, Obi-Wan’s hunger cues under stress have been difficult to manage since his padawanship. He cannot solely blame Melida/Daan for it; as Qui-Gon’s apprentice, he remembers being in and out of war zones often, and Qui-Gon certainly believed in subsisting off the Living Force as an appropriate substitute.
“You want to eat now, or later?” Cody asks when it’s clear Obi-Wan needs prompting, and Obi-Wan’s stomach gives another turn at the thought of attempting food.
“Later, I think,” he says carefully. He is aware of the precarious space they are in now, physically and literally. Cody has been in his quarters on the Negotiator before, but this is the first time he has come into Obi-Wan’s true home, the apartments he has lived in since he took Anakin on as an apprentice. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’s equipped to handle how right it feels, having his Commander in that space. He looks around, and gestures to the low sofa. “Would you care to sit?”
“Probably be most comfortable,” Cody agrees. Boots off, he sits, and then Obi-Wan has to contend with the realization that he will have to sit next to Cody, unless he makes the awkward move of dragging one of the two chairs away from the table. He seriously debates the merits of both for thirty seconds before deciding that for this, being across from will be better. Cody lifts an eyebrow as Obi-Wan pulls the smooth wooden chair over to sit opposite him, but doesn’t comment. Obi-Wan sits, and becomes aware too late of how close he has dragged it when his knee brushes Cody’s at the motion.
He clears his throat, although selfishly, he does not remove the contact as they face each other. “I have some training in this,” he admits awkwardly. “From both ends. To practice our shielding, they often had us attempt light mental contact with other initiates and padawans. I’ll do my best to minimize any discomfort throughout the process.”
“I trust you,” Cody says again, and Obi-Wan’s heart does a very teenaged thing, not befitting of a Master Jedi, and certainly not of Cody’s Jedi General. He swallows hard, and reaches two fingers out towards Cody, hovering in the air between them, using it to guide his awareness of Cody in the Force. He is always aware of Cody in the Force, but when enacting something like this, most Jedi find having a physical guide to be helpful, and Obi-Wan is good at Force Suggestion, but he is not overly powerful on the whole. The guide helps, especially if he intends to be deliberate.
“I’m not certain how you’ve been taught to use shielding,” he begins. He keeps his voice low, in deference to the privacy of the moment. He’s aware too late that he had been meditating in low light, and hadn’t thought to raise it. It casts them both in warm shadows, softening the strong lines of Cody’s jaw, the curve of the scar around his eye. Obi-Wan tries to recenter himself, to remember his years as teacher. It is…difficult, and he adds, “I know you’re capable of erecting them, and lowering them to a degree.” Poor word choice, but Cody doesn’t bat an eye. “When you feel me against them,” Obi-Wan soldiers on determinedly, “I’d like you to drop them entirely, to allow me to press deeper. I would request that you not resist me; it will be unpleasant for both of us.”
“Because I have a strong mind.”
“Because you have an exceptionally strong mind,” Obi-Wan agrees. “And I would be beside myself if I hurt you.”
It’s perhaps a little too intimate, too close to the truth they’ve been skirting the past few months, as Cody’s expression does a funny thing before he locks it down again. But though his shields are up, he doesn’t look uncomfortable, and his face is not an impassive mask, but a smooth expression of trust. “I won’t fight,” Cody promises, and Obi-Wan’s heart twists again.
“You want this to mirror true Force Suggestion, yes?” At Cody’s nod, Obi-Wan lets himself be an instructor, pushing away from his crude matter to the raw understanding, the ability to teach. “You’ve asked me to do a mind probe. It’s not, strictly speaking, the same as genuine suggestion. A direct mind probe is used to acquire information. It takes a little longer, as it requires one to attempt to stimulate the proper memory pathways, and sift through that information to find what they are looking for. When done as a guided meditation, it has applications in Mind Healing. When done forcibly, it can be…deeply damaging.”
“More or less than compulsion?” Cody asks. He sounds curious, not reproving.
“Different than compulsion,” Obi-Wan allows. “Proper compulsion, what most people think of when they think of Force Suggestion, forces obedience to a specific task. At its gentlest, it is a nudge in a direction one already intended to go; many Jedi, particularly our Shadows, use it to encourage people not to notice them. At its cruelest, it can override full agency, if the doer is strong enough, planting the seed of the idea so that the mind believes it is its own.”
“Do Jedi ever use it like that?”
Obi-Wan flinches. “We try other methods, first. Most of the time.”
“Bane?”
The chair is hard beneath Obi-Wan’s thighs. He tries not to hunch; it would be easy, at the angle, to bury his face in Cody’s strong stomach. He does not deserve that kind of comfort; they are friends, but they are hardly that familiar. “He would be an example, yes. Unlike a mind probe, compulsion is quicker, if you can get the person to simply tell you what you want to know.”
Cody hesitates, and then says softly, “If I knew you were doing it…if I didn’t fight. Would it still hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan admits. He feels the unhappy twist of his mouth, and runs a hand over his beard in an attempt to staunch it. Judging by the flick of Cody’s gaze, he notices the tic. “I’m not really comfortable attempting it, even under those circumstances,” Obi-Wan tries. “Certainly, you’ve asked what it will feel like if a darksider tries it, and it will not be gentle or kind, and I highly doubt consensual if they do.”
“True,” Cody allows, but he still bargains softly, “Maybe, if the mind probe goes alright, you could try something easy, for compulsion. Something that I’d feel, but I’d be letting you do it, so it’s not like I’d be fighting you.”
The fact that Obi-Wan is weak for Cody is really the only reasons this is still open for negotiation. “I would…consider it. But first, the mind probe.” The sooner Obi-Wan has obliged his Commander’s ask, the sooner he can determine just how much meditation he will require to purge himself of this uneasy feeling. “We can’t do it quite as a guided meditation; most likely, a darksider would not be interested in helping you through the process, and though they may know enough about what they are searching for to prompt specific memories, more likely they are trying to dredge up information they have no other access to. It would be best with an inconsequential target.” As Cody opens his mouth, likely to make a suggestion, Obi-Wan holds up his free hand. “Don’t tell me. Select something for yourself. This is an interrogation, Commander.”
At the reminder, Cody’s expression sets. “Got it.” His fingers clasp into fists against his thigh plates.
“When you envision your shields, how do you picture them?” At Cody’s questioning look, Obi-Wan clarifies, “For Force-sensitives, it’s often instinctual. We ground ourselves in something familiar, either something we personally find safety in, or something we consider hostile and effective as a defense. Anakin uses a sandstorm to make his shields uninviting. I use the cave systems beneath Mandalore, which are easier to breach, but difficult to navigate.”
The admission seems to surprise Cody. Obi-Wan has spoken briefly with him of his time on Mandalore, carefully edited around the still-tender wound that is Satine, so he knows that Obi-Wan speaks the language, that he has a great interest in and appreciation for the culture. It has helped him assimilate with the brothers better than some other Jedi. Cody doesn’t ask if Obi-Wan finds Mandalore’s cave systems safe or hostile. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he’d have a good answer if he did.
“I don’t think I’ve been picturing anything,” Cody admits. His expression turns thoughtful, and his fists loosen, tapping a finger against the plastoid at his knee. “Prime was literal about it,” he says. “A shield. It feels…metallic, I guess.”
“I’d like you to try something for me,” Obi-Wan requests, and gets an easy, immediate nod from Cody. It’s enough to have Obi-Wan flushing faintly, saved from that embarrassment on his pale cheeks by the low light of the room. He presses on. “Would you be able to envision your shields as, say, the ray-shielding on a Venator?”
The change is immediate and astonishing. With the lightest touch he’s been keeping on Cody in the Force, the surface of Cody’s mind, his shields, moves from cold and rigid to burning hot, humming with repelling energy. “Good,” Obi-Wan breathes, his chest suddenly tight with awe. “Now, attempt to picture your mind as the corridors of the ship. You don’t need it perfectly orderly, but anything personal, anything you’d rather I not come across accidentally, place it behind a door.”
“I thought this wasn’t going to be a guided meditation?”
“Consider it supplemental training,” Obi-Wan says, unable to help the small smirk in answer to Cody’s, even with the weight inside him. “I don’t want to simply go tearing through your mind, and this is a technique that may be beneficial going forward. I’m not sure it will be quite as applicable for a Force-null individual, but even if you can’t use your mindscape to redirect an invader, you can certainly use a clear, orderly picture of it to guard against secondary breaches. You can set up paths of thinking that form tracks, which makes it that much harder for an intruder to deviate into locations you don’t want them to go.”
It has the added benefit of preserving Cody’s privacy here as much as possible, but Obi-Wan doesn’t think he needs to remind the Commander of how much leeway he’s giving Obi-Wan, allowing him into his mind. Cody accepts that explanation, and there’s a longer pause this time, Cody’s brow furrowing as he closes his eyes for better focus. After a minute, eyes still closed, he says again, “Got it.”
“The target you’ve selected, I want you to place it behind a different door. Mark it in some way, so I’ll know what I’m looking for.”
“Done.”
“Alright.” Obi-Wan takes a steadying breath. “I won’t narrate for you, but I’m going to project my movements. Someone with malicious intent would likely be more surgical, or more brutal, but this will give you a sense of what a foreign presence feels like, without causing damage or discomfort.”
“Ready when you are, sir.”
Obi-Wan flinches at the title, but it’s a mild, familiar enough pain that he can release that feeling into the Force without difficulty. He tucks his own thoughts around himself, wrapping them up as if in his cloak to keep any transference bleed to a minimum. Cody is not another Jedi, and won’t be sharing in his mental mindscape. He won’t be able to read Obi-Wan in return. But that doesn’t mean Obi-Wan might not leave stray impressions behind, and he doesn’t want to leave footprints in Cody’s mind, little pieces of thought and feeling that might catch and stick and sway Cody, if he can’t recognize where they come from.
Once Obi-Wan’s bundled himself up as thoroughly as he can, he lets out an even breath, flexes his fingers, and puts deliberate contact on Cody’s shields.
At once, they drop for him, the hum dying with a sharp sparking out. Obi-Wan’s breath catches; he almost pulls back, except Cody’s Force-presence suddenly jolts out, snapping to him. It’s clumsy, the way any Force-null’s would be, but it’s a clear shift from shielded to neutral to projecting, and Obi-Wan startles as Cody’s hand shoots out to clasp Obi-Wan’s lifted wrist, but also something remarkably like a tractor beam attempts to latch onto Obi-Wan’s presence. It’s weak, easy for any Force-sensitive to resist, but its mere existence, considering Cody has never attempted anything like this before, even in training, is a marvel. And then there’s Cody’s hand, ungloved on Obi-Wan’s wrist, his calloused palm broad, his fingers thick and warm. Obi-Wan has to fight not to tremble, clutching his cloak of feelings to his metaphysical chest and exhaling slowly. He does not detach his wrist from Cody, and he lets the suggestion of a tractor beam become real, using it as a guide into the hanger bay that is Cody’s open mind.
Obi-Wan has touched many minds before, brushing up against them, and has even entered a few. Force-sensitives tend to have sharp mental images, can share in their own mindscapes with those they’ve invited it. For Force-null individuals, they range from vague, blurry concepts to flat-out grey space, where Obi-Wan can only let impressions buffet him. Cody is on the most developed end of that spectrum. Though the colors are muted, the shapes hazy and indistinct and fading into void around the edges, Obi-Wan’s sense of Cody’s mind is undisputedly a Venator, or at least a large, Venator-esque starship. He presses his consciousness outward ever so slightly, testing if the image will hold, and it rewarded by what sounds like clanging blast doors, their slams echoing down distant corridors as Cody reinforces the internal shields Obi-Wan asked of him, but doesn’t put the ray shielding back up. It is uncanny and a little dizzying, not in the least because Obi-Wan’s true eyes are still open. He is seeing the ship, is seeing and feeling impressions sifting lightly around him – voices of brothers, a thought, the first time Cody set foot on the Negotiator how overwhelmed he was by the size – but he is also watching Cody’s face. Cody has his own eyes closed still, his expression ticking minutely. He’s moved the hand not touching Obi-Wan from his thigh to the sofa beneath him, fingers bunching the fabric of the cushion, as if in grounding.
Obi-Wan takes a few steps, sensing paths of information and memory, feeling and flow. In a proper interrogation, there would be questions, but Obi-Wan’s voice is caught in his throat, and all he can manage is a pulse of where is it, rippling out from him. There’s a moment of tightening, like the doors want to close, and then Cody’s shoulders slide into relaxation, and Obi-Wan feels a tug, inviting him deeper. He starts walking.
Navigating is not overly difficult. Cody is orderly by nature, not trying to distract or resist, and Obi-Wan can mark several corridors left open, recognizes what sounds like the distant chatter of a mess hall and the meeting rooms where he and Cody do the bulk of their tactical planning. Even in the corridors, there are emotions – safety, at rest, standdown in some paths and danger, run, urgent in others. Obi-Wan doesn’t attempt to grasp at any of those, leaving them as a pure sense of Cody washing over him, the emotions familiar and comforting. It relaxes him more than he’d like, like this is truly just a guided meditation, and not a request Obi-Wan feels deeply conflicted about honoring.
He turns deeper, taking his time as he winds through the halls, projecting his presence like echoing footsteps, so Cody is aware of where he is, where he’s going. Obi-Wan encounters the first few closed doors as he moves towards what would normally be the training gyms, and he presses a palm against their indistinct surfaces, letting Cody experience the sensation. Beyond them, he thinks he feels battlefronts, an echo of blasterfire and shouting, but he doesn’t push harder to investigate, and Cody doesn’t offer any additional resistance, trusting that Obi-Wan will honor the barrier. The warmth and security that keeps washing over Obi-Wan has him more grounded and settled than he has felt in weeks, maybe months, the way it feels to step into a sunbeam and have it warm you all the way down to your toes. It’s a heady feeling, and Obi-Wan mentally clasps his cloak tighter around himself, in an effort not to respond. He has enjoyed meditating near Cody for this reason before. It is much more potent from the inside.
There is a glow from one end of a hallway, and Obi-Wan pauses. The precision of Cody’s mind means he recognizes it; on the Negotiator, this would be the path to Obi-Wan’s quarters, and he’s turning that way before he means to, letting his feet carry him to that glowing door. Where much of the color scale in Cody’s mind is grey – not from shallowness, Obi-Wan thinks, but because Cody has simply lived most of his life in monochrome conditions, and so it comes naturally to him to envision his mindscape that way – the light here is blinding, golden orange and yellow and as clear a marking as Obi-Wan could have asked for.
He reaches for the entry panel on instinct, only to recoil when Cody’s anxiety spikes, Obi-Wan’s back hitting the slats of the chair behind him as an angry red ray shield drops in front of the door, humming with a sharp and anxious ‘do not touch.’
“Sorry,” Cody breathes, and his voice sounds as shaken as Obi-Wan feels, eyes scrunched tight, knuckles white against the sofa, cheeks dark with heat. “Not that one,” he says, and his fingers around Obi-Wan’s wrist flex, nearly bruising. Obi-Wan wishes desperately that Cody would open his eyes. He has never so badly wanted to be seen.
“Noted,” he manages. He telegraphs his Force-presence backing away from the door, until he’s on the other side of the hall. He considers covering Cody’s hand, or his knee, with his free one, and doesn’t, instead adjusting his posture until it’s straight again, projecting reassurance in the Force and in the open set of his shoulders. “Perhaps a different sign?” he says carefully. “Am I at least heading the right way?” He doesn’t want to prolong this, especially having made Cody uncomfortable. His Commander’s emotions have settled again, but haven’t lost that slight bent of unease, even if they still project mostly welcome.
The lighting in the corridor shifts, the emergency runners flaring on in gold, instead of their traditional red. Obi-Wan blinks, and peers around the bend of the hall, watching as the path trails one way, the other lit low and standard. “Well,” he says aloud. “That’ll do.”
He follows the lighting, the corridors headed towards the officer barracks, moving at a brisker pace. These, too, Obi-Wan is familiar with, and when he comes upon Cody’s quarters, door closed but marked with an OpSec symbol they’re both familiar with from classified intel briefings, he smiles almost in spite of himself, before the purpose of this excursion sharply reasserts itself, and the smile drops from his face.
He could open the door with a thought, but it seems polite to use the entry panel. Carefully, Obi-Wan reaches for it, and keys it to open.
There is a degree of resistance, like the mechanism needs grease. Obi-Wan shies back. “Cody-“
“Not trying to fight you.” Cody’s voice is a little rough, his eyes still creased from how tight he’s closing them. “Just…feels…” He exhales hard, face smoothing a fraction, and Obi-Wan feels the resistance disappear. “Now go.”
When Obi-Wan enters the room, there are many overlaps of memory. He can feel whisps of them, the things Cody associates with whatever he has designated this space, but he doesn’t think those are the things Cody wants him to find, merely incidental connection. There’s a pulsing thread here, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes in his body and in the Force, grasping at that, inhaling sharply as he feels it wash over him.
Reading memory in the Force, particularly from the null, is a combination of loose visual cues and interlocking intuitive thought. The memory is not Cody’s shipside quarters, not literally. The room itself is hazy, centered on a blue training mat, and a cluster of what Obi-Wan would visibly recognize as fresh-faced clone cadets, but intuitively, emotionally, registers as men he knows, Wolffe and Bly cheering as Cody grapples Fox to the mat, Fox thrashing and fighting Cody’s grip even as Cody slams him down by the shoulders, straddling his waist. “Submit!” Cody demands, and Fox spits out a nasty Mando’a curse.
“1010!” a voice echoes in warning, the source unclear from within the memory but somehow louder, larger than life because of it. Prime, Cody’s internal sense pings into Obi-Wan’s understanding. Fox snaps his mouth shut but glowers up at Cody.
“I yield,” he bites out, and Cody gets off him, offering a hand out to help him up. Fox looks sullen for a moment, then finally accepts the assistance, allowing Cody to pull him to his feet.
A hand lands heavy on Cody’s shoulder, so heavy it echoes through Obi-Wan’s real body, nearly weakening his knees. Memory Cody looks up, into a face Obi-Wan knows only too well from the millions of men who share it, and Prime – Jango Fett – doesn’t smile, but he does give a nod.
“Jate,” he says. Good. Mando’a, Prime only spoke Mando’a when he approved of them, even if they weren’t his, like Boba- and then the hand is gone, Jango’s voice brusque as he calls, “Training’s over. Hit the sonics,” striding away without a look back.
Something about the memory hurts, but Obi-Wan can’t be sure if that’s an ache in his own chest, or a color shaded over from how Cody sees this interaction now. Within it, Cody is positively glowing at the praise as Wolffe laughs, shoving at Fox, and Bly slings an arm around Cody’s shoulders. “That was almost a smile!” Bly crows. “Our little Commander Kote over here!” Obi-Wan knows kote as a Mando’a word, but the memory slips added layers of meaning over it, too fast for him to grasp without interrupting the flow.
Fox snorts. “He’s not a Mando, ’52, and never will be. He’s not even an Alpha. He’s not special.”
“Aw, 10’s jealous,” Wolffe teases. He ruffles Fox’s hair, rubbing his knuckles in until Fox shoves him off. “Don’t worry, vod, you’ll get him next time.”
“As if,” Cody jeers, but he’s grinning broadly, pure affection coloring his words and the memory, and he knocks into Fox’s shoulder with his own. “Come on, race you to the sonics!”
There’s a general raucous, a flurry of takeoff, and Obi-Wan surfaces from the memory with a gasp, losing his footing in Cody’s mind and dropping unceremoniously back into his own skin, chest still warm with psychic transference. The hand on his wrist steadies him, and Obi-Wan looks up into Cody’s concerned face. “General?” His eyes are open now, wide and blinking, and Obi-Wan can’t be sure if Cody experienced the memory along with him, but Cody does know what Obi-Wan was looking at. What he’d shown him…
“I’m alright, Cody,” Obi-Wan assures him, although he’s anything but. That room…he understands now, what it meant. What Cody had tucked into his quarters. He swallows hard, and tries for playful. “It seems Fox has always been rather taciturn, doesn’t it?” His throat sticks a little on the words.
“Yeah, he’s always had that stick up his shebs.” There’s a light smile pulling at the corner of Cody’s lips. His shields dropped halfway back up the moment Obi-Wan left his mind, open enough that Obi-Wan can still feel the undercurrent of trepidation. Cody’s not upset, but he wants to know if Obi-Wan understands- “That was the first time anyone…”
“Called you by name,” Obi-Wan finishes. Cody nods.
“Took a while to stick, but yeah,” he says. He rubs the back of his neck, looking around, like the beige walls of Obi-Wan’s sparse rooms are in any way interesting. “Commander Kote…he was a character in some of the Mando training sims. Closest thing to holovids we had. The kind of warrior every vod wanted to be.”
It explains the layers. Cody put his heart in his quarters, the things that make up the core of him, and then invited Obi-Wan to look. It is almost unbearably intimate, and Obi-Wan has to release some of that tension into the Force, because it will not fit within his body otherwise.
Carefully, he teases, “I do hope this isn’t your way of telling me I’ve been mispronouncing it all these months.”
Cody laughs, and his hand drops from Obi-Wan’s, leaving behind the phantom of his warm grasp. “No, Fox was right. We’re not Mandos. Kote turned into Cody pretty quick. But you wanted something easy. It was the first thing I thought of.”
“I believe I said ‘inconsequential,’” Obi-Wan corrects mildly, throat tight. He lowers his own hands delicately into his lap, encircling his own wrist, trying to pretend as if he isn’t rubbing Cody’s fingerprints into the skin. A vicious, un-Jedi part of his desperately hopes they will bruise, though he doesn’t think Cody was holding that tight. “I’d hardly qualify this as an unimportant memory, my dear. But I’m…honored, that you allowed me to see it.”
Cody offers half a shrug. He doesn’t react to the endearment, but then, Obi-Wan has used it a few times with him. He makes a concerted effort not to with his men in general, but Obi-Wan has coached himself into being disarmingly familiar with most people of his acquaintance. There are tactical advantages to it. He’s simply…warmer, with how he says it, when addressing someone he loves. He’s not sure if anyone else understands the difference.
“You know, Obi-Wan isn’t my given name,” he murmurs, and Cody startles, sitting up straighter. Obi-Wan gives him a small smile. “Well, it is, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Sir?” Cody’s voice is careful. The concentration in his brow is the sort he uses with land mines.
“Names are important to the Vode, are they not?” Until recently, Obi-Wan had not even been privy to the fact that the brothers had a name for themselves as a whole. “You’ve shared yours. I certainly think I can share mine.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s not really a secret,” Obi-Wan says, and he certainly does have to. Cody is offering pieces of himself tonight, and Obi-Wan refuses to receive without giving. Not from Cody, who has so little to give (and everything to give, because Cody has himself, and Cody is everything). Obi-Wan sits back, tilting his head slightly towards the ceiling. The familiar curve of the wood under him bolsters him on. “You know I’m Stewjoni, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
He doesn’t ask if Cody knows what that means. Obi-Wan is not especially open about his species, and he knows most of his men, and the Jedi, know he is near-human, but very few know this. “I’m not overly familiar with my people, but I know we break our names down differently than some Human Standard groupings. Kenobi isn’t my surname, as most people would define it. It’s my clan name.”
“What’s the difference?” Cody leans forward a little, elbows resting loose on his knees. Obi-Wan’s kept his voice open, which mean Cody has been given permission to be curious.
“It doesn’t denote lineage. Stewjoni clans are more…think of them like specialties. You have brothers who are dedicated for certain jobs. Command, medical, recon, the like. Jedi do the same. We have our Knights, but we also have our Service Corps, and amongst both, there are different classifications, different roles we may pursue.” Obi-Wan wets his lips, and then admits quietly, “Kenobi, in Stewjoni, means ‘clanless.’ Not as in ‘without family,’ though it’s sometimes translated that way, but as in ‘lacking a place to belong.’”
There’s a surge of feeling from Cody at that, before he locks his shields down tight. Obi-Wan glances at him, a little surprised, and sees the hard set of Cody’s jaw. “That sounds like shit, sir.”
It startles a laugh out of Obi-Wan. “Not really.” At Cody’s confused look, he adds, “All kits- that is, all children, are Kenobi, until they apprentice and Initiate into a clan as they come of age, usually around fourteen or so. And a Stewjoni may change their clan several times over the course of their life, as they decide they may want to pursue other roles than the one they initially chose. It’s not taboo.” He hesitates, and then allows, “Most Stewjoni adults who carry the name do so because they haven’t returned to the planet to Initiate into a clan. There are a few reasons they might not, but in my case, I never really had the time.”
“So, any Jedi would be Kenobi?”
“There aren’t many of us, even across the past millennia.” Obi-Wan thinks he may be only the sixth recorded, at least in Republic history. He continues, “Some are Kenobi, but most actually apprentice under the Erkamoru. They’re a Force-worshiping sect native to the planet, like the Baren Do sages of Dorin. When Initiated, they would take the appellative Dai’Erkamoru, before returning to the Order.”
“But you never did,” Cody says. He has the thoughtful pinch to his forehead, the thin line to his mouth that means he’s coming to conclusions, but plans on keeping them to himself.
“I did not,” Obi-Wan agrees. His heart twists; he has always been of two minds about his heritage. It has always been easier to treat it intellectually, to understand the culture, without allowing himself a part in it. He has struggled enough as a Jedi without attaching himself to that. And Qui-Gon…Qui-Gon had not wanted to train Obi-Wan, had not wanted a brash, emotional young man as his apprentice. Sanding down his predator edges had seemed a reasonable exchange for the opportunity to be a Jedi Knight.
“So, if Kenobi is your clan name, but Obi-Wan isn’t your given name…” Cody begins.
Obi-Wan offers him a small smile. “Wan is my linage name. My surname, in Basic parlance. It denotes the parent who carried me.” He lets his mouth twist conspiratorially as he leans in, nearly drunk on how Cody leans in to meet him. “I’m afraid the only people who use my given name are my crechemates, from when I was a youngling. Though Quinlan quite enjoys butchering it by called me ‘Obes.’”
Cody coughs on a laugh. “Fox says General Vos is a character.”
“That’s certainly one word for it.” Obi-Wan leans back, his chest lighter. Breathing is easier with Cody here, in spite of everything. “I don’t mind it from them,” he admits, “though I don’t think I’d be comfortable hearing it from anyone else. Even Anakin doesn’t call me that. I’ve been Obi-Wan much longer, and I do prefer it. Obi feels…like something of a childhood nickname, more than anything else.”
He realizes a beat later that maybe Cody won’t understand the difference. Clones do not have childhoods, and once they acquire what most would consider a nickname, it tends to become a usename, as Obi-Wan understands it. Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s ever heard a clone use a shortening or diminutive on top of that; based on Mandalorian culture, which much of the Vode’s own internal affairs pull from, Obi-Wan isn’t sure if it just isn’t done, or if it’s merely a degree of intimacy that wouldn’t be used around a natborn or someone of Obi-Wan’s rank. But Cody just nods, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he says, “Kote means ‘glory.’”
“I know.”
Cody nods again, like that was expected. He hesitates. “If…does…” Obi-Wan blinks, watching Cody visibly wrestle with himself, before he finally asks, “If kenobi means ‘without clan,’ then…”
Ah. Obi-Wan nods, smiling kindly. “’Ken’ is a negative. So yes, my name does mean, essentially, home.” The connotation is longer, but it is a simple Basic translation. Obi-Wan’s given name means home, or family, or belonging. A safe space where one is meant to be. “It’s a blessing name. You give it hoping your child will come to possess it, like some Basic languages name their children Grace, or Joy.”
Cody’s staring at the floorboards, leaning hard on his elbows over his knees, and his shields are so high, Obi-Wan can’t feel anything but that he is there. His expression is unreadable, and when he looks up at Obi-Wan from under his eyelashes, it catches something so hard in Obi-Wan’s chest, Obi-Wan has to lean back to combat it. He quirks a smile, though, and says, “I guess that’s something we have in common, sir.”
Obi-Wan flinches. “Could you…Cody. Would you call me Obi-Wan? Not sir. Not tonight.” Cody does, sometimes. He uses Obi-Wan’s name, doling it out like a gift in rare private moments. Obi-Wan understands how hard it is for Cody, being informal, understands the value Cody places on his rank. But it lances like a knife, Cody using it here, Obi-Wan’s domicile, his private space. His home, where part of him desperately wants Cody to belong.
Something in Cody softens, and he nods. “Alright. I just meant…”
“We were both named for something others wished us to gain,” Obi-Wan finishes. “Something good but…heavy.”
“I hope you feel like you belong with us, s- Obi-Wan. I know we’re not the Order, and I know the Jedi have mixed feelings about us, but we feel like we belong with you.”
It’s so earnest, so beautifully Cody, the man and not the solider – and yet both, because Cody is a man and he is a soldier, and neither of those things detracts from the other – that Obi-Wan’s throat swells, until he can’t speak. He reaches deliberately, closing his hand over Cody’s and squeezing, and Cody looks down and then back up again, eyes wide, but he doesn’t pull away and his shields lower just a fraction and he is glowing, warm and golden and so very Light, that Obi-Wan manages to say, “I do.”
He wants to say something kinder, something about how Cody has more than honored his name tenfold, but there is a weight to glory that isn’t the same as the weight to home, and Obi-Wan is good with words, but he’s not sure there are enough words in the galaxy to say what he feels. And he can’t…he pulls away sharply, gripping his own thighs. He has been lulled by the intimacy, but Cody isn’t his. Or rather, he is, by the rules of the Kaminoans and the Senate and the GAR, and that means he cannot be Obi-Wan’s the way Obi-Wan desperately wants to be Cody’s. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be fair.
Blessedly, Cody doesn’t seem to take Obi-Wan’s abrupt withdrawal as a rejection, merely an end to the topic. He sits back, hands on his own thighs, and his voice is normal again, not hushed and intimate when he says, “Thank you. For…for indulging me, with the Force stuff.” And everything else, he doesn’t say, but Obi-Wan can feel the weight of it behind his teeth. His own teeth, the fangs he filed down at thirteen, ache, and he resists the urge to rub his jaw. Cody knows that tic, and Obi-Wan has to keep himself under control.
“You’re welcome,” he manages.
There’s a long beat. When Cody breaks it, his voice is careful again, searching. “I thought the mind probe went alright. It didn’t hurt. I could feel you, but you weren’t cold or anything. It was…kind of nice.”
“I’m…glad.” There’s nothing else Obi-Wan can say.
“So…would you consider…you said if it went well, maybe we could…”
Obi-Wan’s stomach goes cold. “You still want me to Force Suggest you.”
Cody nods. His expression is serious. “I get it,” he says softly, “if that’s too much for you. I know you have to make choices sometimes, and I know you doubt if they’re the right things to do, even if every other option is worse.”
Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches. Cody reads his reports. Cody knows him, knows his failures as well as anyone. Perhaps better than the Council. Maybe not better than Anakin; the Council seems to keep rewarding Obi-Wan, no matter how badly he fails, while Anakin sometimes seems to see to the heart of him, cutting in his fury. Cody is somewhere between. He has never made Obi-Wan feel like a failure, but surely he must know. He is too insightful not to see.
He closes his eyes, swallowing hard. Cody is asking. Cody, against everything, wants this. “It would make you feel safer,” he says, doing his best to ignore the absurdity of that statement, “if I did this?”
“Yes, s- Obi-Wan.” Cody pauses, and then admits, “I…worry, sometimes. I have nightmares, most of the clones do, about doing something on orders. Something horrible. And I would never…but Rex said he could barely fight it. It was all he could do to twist it, to make it something General Skywalker would know wasn’t right. And he said…he said it was like he wanted to do it. He knew he didn’t, but part of him…I need to know, Obi-Wan. If that feeling…if I do something, I don’t want to wonder why. I want to know.”
There’s no fervor in the words, but they’re not flat either. There’s a steadiness to them that Obi-Wan has always associated with his Commander, and though he can’t meet Obi-Wan’s gaze for the first half, by the end, his eye contact is so intense Obi-Wan’s breath catches.
Obi-Wan clears his throat. “You’re absolutely sure?”
“I’m sure.” And with Cody’s shields still mostly down, he is. Obi-Wan takes a breath.
“Alright,” he says. He sets his feet firmly on the floor, eyebrows raising insistently. “With this, I will telegraph everything I intend to do before I do it. Please keep your shields as low as possible; I’ll let up if I feel resistance, which a darksider certainly will not.” Cody straightens, brightening as his shields fall the rest of the way again, though he keeps his expression schooled and respectful. Obi-Wan appreciates it; if Cody had seemed excited, Obi-Wan fears he might have been sick.
“Some commands are easier than others,” he says. “Things one is more inclined to do anyway, or simple ideas, tend not to butt up against one’s sense of agency, which creates less struggle. The more immediate, as well, the easier to implant, since they don’t need to remain rooted. For example-“ Here, he holds out his left hand, and Cody frowns. Obi-Wan tilts his head, gesturing, and slowly, Cody’s hand slides into his, fingers clasping. Obi-Wan nods. “Now, if I asked you to let go of me-“
Cody’s fingers flex, like he’s planning on taking it as an order anyway, no suggestion needed, but he stills himself, keeping ahold of Obi-Wan’s hand. He raises his eyebrows in challenge.
He is beautiful. It hurts. Obi-Wan finds the place in himself that is conviction, and slips his touch just beneath Cody’s shields again, brushing the Venator hull. This is how it was with the Rodian woman, how it is with most people Obi-Wan has used Suggestion on: touching, but not pushing in. He sets himself away from his own tumulting emotions, allowing the Force to hold them. There is no room for emotion in suggestion. Not if he wants to do it right.
He reaches out with two fingers again, pulling on the Force, and his voice is steady and mild when he says, “Please let go of my hand.”
Cody blinks. He stares down at his own hand, which had dropped Obi-Wan’s like it burned. Though he doesn’t sound angry, there’s a degree of alarm in his voice as he says, “I didn’t feel anything.”
Obi-Wan’s mouth twists, and he looks away. “As I said, some commands are easier, less invasive, than others. Precision of language helps to, if you want a particular, less-interpretable result. Qui-Gon once put Senator Binks to sleep just by telling him to relax.”
Cody snorts, and Obi-Wan manages a faint smile. He even manages to feel it, a little. “It’d be more difficult if I asked you, for example, to streak naked through the Temple, or to report to Helix at 1300 tomorrow. Something you’re not inclined to do naturally, or something that has a time delay, would make your agency substantially more difficult to overrule. That’s what Ventress did to Rex; she asked him for something he’d normally fight not to do.”
“Would I feel it?” Cody asks. “If you tried something harder? Something like that?”
“I’m hardly going to ask you-“
“Not the first thing.” Cody waves him off, though his cheeks do flush and yes, perhaps that was a slip on Obi-Wan’s part. Cody seems practically naked as-is, wearing so little armor, his hands actually bare. “But the second,” Cody presses. “Would I feel that?”
“You might,” Obi-Wan allows. He shifts uneasily. “Cody, I’m really not comfortable-“
“Please?” Cody asks, and Obi-Wan has spent so much of his life denying himself things, but Cody’s mind is open and inviting and Obi-Wan wants-
This is the danger of attachment, and Obi-Wan is helpless to resist.
He takes a deep breath, and releases guilt and fear into the Force. He will meditate later. He will master these feelings. Everything will be fine. Cody is asking. Obi-Wan is not committing any crime against his Commander that Cody has not all but begged him for. “Which is more important to you?” Obi-Wan asks levelly. “Ensuring you feel the interference, or seeing if the delay registers?”
Cody frowns. “Can’t we do both?”
“The former requires something you would resist. We would have to be…particular, about the command, if we wanted to preserve your dignity.”
“And keep this quiet from the men,” Cody agrees. “I don’t want to do anything we can’t explain. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about this, or about you. They all trust you,” he adds, “but we’ve all been warned about Falling Jedi before. Better not to risk it, especially since we’ll be taking on new shinies after Felucia. They won’t know you like we do.”
The fact that Cody is still worried about Obi-Wan amidst all this is a testament to his character, and Obi-Wan’s relief is a testament to his guilt. Carefully, he offers, “If the triggering condition requires privacy, that may mitigate the issue.” He avoids Cody’s gaze. “Is there something you’d be reluctant to do, but that you’d be willing to be subjected to for the sake of this experiment? Nothing you’d be more than reluctant to be asked,” he adds. “It could damage your mind quite badly, forcing you to do something genuinely counter to your ethics. I’m not sure of all the ramifications, but it may affect your memory, or even your sense of self, if your mind can’t find a justification.” And even something that wasn’t heinous could damage their careful friendship, if Obi-Wan asked something truly counter to Cody’s wishes.
Cody is silent for several long minutes; Obi-Wan can see the furrow in his brow as his considers and discards options, a flash of embarrassment or unease sparking through every so often. Obi-Wan folds his hands in his robes, clutching them tight together. He will not influence Cody here with suggestions. He’s not even sure what he would suggest, if given the option. Having Cody obey his command without resistance, feeling the hand fall lax, had coiled something in his gut that he is not ready to examine yet.
At long last, Cody says, “Ask me to comm you tomorrow night after shift. We’ll be departing at 0600, but I’m sure I’ll be able to head to my bunk eventually. We’ll be in hyperspace a few days.” There’s trepidation in his voice that doesn’t make sense, for such a mild request, until Cody closes his eyes. He lets out a slow breath before meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze, amber to blue. Softly, he says, “Ask me to tell you what’s behind that door. The one I said you couldn’t see.”
The door to Obi-Wan’s quarters, that lives in the Negotiator in Cody’s head. That glowing door, warm and golden and oh so tempting…Obi-Wan’s chest aches with longing, but he is master of his countenance, if not his heart. “Cody-“
“I don’t want to,” Cody murmurs. He looks away again, picking at the sofa until he stops suddenly, forcing his hands still and flat. “I couldn’t,” he says quietly. “Not on my own. Not now. I thought…I thought I could wait, maybe, and then it would be easier. After. But…if you know…”
Obi-Wan doesn’t want to know. Not if it makes Cody look so frightened. Obi-Wan is empathic. Perhaps it is wishful thinking, but maybe he already knows. Maybe he has known for nearly a year, and has simply been too frightened to ask. Because asking would make it real, and as long as it is silent, they both can pretend.
He wants to take Cody’s hand again. He doesn’t. “Are you absolutely sure?” Obi-Wan presses gently. “If we do this, we can’t go back.” The war has lasted a year, and may last many more, at this pace. Can they really do this? Can they handle crossing that line? Obi-Wan would rather die himself than stop Cody doing his job, but there are other things to consider, other boundaries it would cross.
“I’m sure,” Cody says, though he looks like a man bound for the gallows, solemn and steady, for all that he is sitting on Obi-Wan’s couch. “I’m ready.”
Obi-Wan closes his eyes. This is not selfish. He is doing what is requested of him. He almost believes it. “The command,” he says, for perfect clarity, “is that tomorrow, after your shift, you will return to your quarters to comm me. And on that call, you will tell me what was behind the door you stopped me opening in your mind today.” It’s the most precise he can be on this notice, and he hopes it is enough. It’s certainly complicated, difficult. There is little chance that Cody won’t feel it taking hold.
A darksider would use something shorter, something more direct. Something that cuts to the heart of the matter, and shreds Cody’s beautiful mind in the process. But Obi-Wan will not say admit you are in love with me when Cody is under his Suggestion. He cannot say comm me, and say you are mine, as I belong to you. Obi-Wan has many failings. He is trying not to be cruel.
“Yes,” Cody says, like that is an oath unto itself. He rests his hands against his thighs, squaring his shoulders like a man readying to do battle. “Will you…?”
Obi-Wan reaches out with his hand. He cannot maintain eye contact; often, that makes this easier, but he cannot stomach it now. He is not sure if Suggestion overall is Dark, or merely neutral as he has convinced himself, the way much of the Force is neutral, and one can use it for Dark or for Light. It feels like a Dark thing he is attempting, but he banishes that, balancing himself as he so often does on the gleaming Light of Cody in the Force. His Commander is Force-null, but he is an unadulterated good in this world, and when Obi-Wan is feeling uncentered, uncertain, Cody is his guiding sun.
This time, breaching Cody’s shields is harder. Cody struggles to relax, and Obi-Wan almost loses his nerve, shying away until Cody takes his wrist again. He lets the touch bolster him, reaching out with his other hand and the Force.
“I will need to go deeper,” he murmurs. “Somewhere more subconscious. Central. I’ll try to go quickly, but there may be some discomfort, even without you resisting me.” He’s not sure. He’s never done this before, as a long-term solution instead of an expediency. Cody’s trying so hard not to fight him. Maybe that will spare him any pain.
Obi-Wan touches down in the hanger bay and does not hesitate, does not allow the blast doors to snap shut around him. He presses through the corridors at a sweeping pace, feeling Cody’s paths of awareness falter as he attempts to keep up, finally relaxing as he gives in, letting Obi-Wan push deeper, deeper, in-
The corridors shift from a Venator to different sterile hallways, white instead of grey, curved instead of angular. Kamino. Tipoca City. The defensive curve of Cody’s heart. Obi-Wan runs his hand along the walls, eyes closing, brow furrowing. It feels colder here, away from the warmth that is Cody, is sun breaking through a storm. He needs to find someplace to put this, somewhere safe and unobtrusive-
Insidious. Somewhere it will take root, and leech, and grow. Obi-Wan falters, doubles back. There’s…what is that?
“Obi-Wan?” Cody sounds confused as Obi-Wan switches paths, chasing…something, something odd and wrong and- Cody’s grip tightens on Obi-Wan’s wrist. “Stop.”
Obi-Wan does not stop. He is aware of Cody’s rising panic, his discomfort, but what Obi-Wan is chasing is Dark, is buried deep, and he has to-
Cody tries to wrench away, but Obi-Wan is not in his body, Obi-Wan is buried in the Force, in Cody’s mind, burning with Light – he is seeing labs, is seeing machines, tools – “It’s not torture,” Cody always said, but it looks that way, the pain of these memories feels like torture to Obi-Wan – and he seizes on something with metaphysical hands. Cody jerks, and Obi-Wan wants to say trust me but he can’t, if he says anything, buried in Cody’s mind it will be Suggestion and he can’t Force that, he can’t-
Obi-Wan needs to know. He grasps the thing that is in Cody but is not Cody and presses into the Darkness with every ounce of Light he can contain, every ounce of Light Cody is and deserves, and Obi-Wan does not demand of the Force anything, but this…this he seizes and demands what are you?
The answer makes him want to scream.
Obi-Wan surfaces with tear tracts down his cheeks, unable to breathe. He and Cody are both shaking. Somewhere in the moment, Obi-Wan had moved without awareness; his knee is now on the sofa, planted between Cody’s thighs, and he’s grasping Cody’s face with both hands, cradling it. The chair he was sitting in is several inches away, as if kicked or pushed by the Force. Cody still has a hand clutching Obi-Wan’s wrist, and Obi-Wan may well have a bruise there now with the strength of his grip.
It loosens, but only just. It takes two tries for Cody to manage, “Did you…did you ask? Is it there?”
Obi-Wan opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He stares at Cody – beautiful, perfect, brave and good Cody – in pure, abject horror.
“I thought you had to say it, to ask.” Cody is still shaking, though he’s trying hard to stop. “Did I miss it? It did…it hurt. I’m sorry,” he adds quickly, “I was trying not to fight, but it felt-“
“Cody,” Obi-Wan interrupts, cradling the word gingerly. He swallows, drops his hands, pulls back. Standing makes him tower over Cody, and he doesn’t want that, but he can’t sit, knees locked, whole body trembling. With effort, he manages, “I need you to be completely honest with me, as honest as you have ever been, in this moment right now.”
Cody looks taken aback, but he nods. It is that, of all things, that allows him to pull himself together. Cody is good at taking orders, or taking requests as orders, as need may be. Oh, stars. “Of course,” he says. “Always.”
“Did you know,” Obi-Wan says, and feels every ounce of his own failing in the question, “that you were made by the Sith?”
“What?” The shock and horror and disgust must be real. Cody’s shields are blown open in the aftermath, and these are too genuine to fake. Obi-Wan breathes, but not easily.
For Cody’s sake, he makes his voice as level as he can. His Commander deserves that. “Someone has already implanted Force-suggestion in your head, Commander,” Obi-Wan says, and hates the way the title sounds on his tongue. Normally he can make it almost an endearment, honoring the rank Cody has worked so hard to achieve, while still playfully acknowledging how little Obi-Wan cares for formalities. He drags the chair back, sits down hard. “It feels…biological,” he says, “and mechanical perhaps, but it is Dark, and it is old. Very, very old.”
“How old?”
“You’re eleven cycles, now?” It is a guess; he doesn’t know Cody’s birth- his decanting day, and he’s tried hard not to think about this man in terms of chronological age, because it is hard enough, knowing that Cody is maturity-wise still a decade Obi-Wan’s junior, even if he carries himself with the weight of wisdom beyond his years.
“Yes, sir.” Cody’s expression twists a second after he says it, like he’s remembering what Obi-Wan asked earlier tonight. Obi-Wan doesn’t care. This is upsetting enough, if Cody needs to fall back on formality, Obi-Wan can handle it. “Not including time in the tube,” he adds.
“I can’t be certain,” Obi-Wan admits. The flashes he got were not clear, murky and mired and laughing like daggers in the mud, like a rasping voice sneering through inky void. “But if you’re eleven, I’d say whatever this is…it may very well be twelve.” He closes his eyes. “Cody, we need to tell the Council. This happened on Kamino. They need to know some of you might be…”
Cody stands sharply. “It could be all of us.” He sounds horrified. “The whole command class, the whole army. Obi-Wan, what is it for? What does it want me to do?”
A cold fire, tearing through emotion, through will. A blank slate. A mission – good soldiers follow orders. Death. Destruction. The Force tearing itself in two.
“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says, very carefully. But he knows enough. He stands too. “I’m sorry. This is our fault, the Jedi. We knew there was something odd…Master Syfo-Dias was strange, but ordering a clone army…” And they never found out who Tyrannous was, the man who hired Jango Fett. So many questions, and the Council had wanted to ask, but then the Senate had charged them to lead a war, and it’s all Obi-Wan can do on a given day to save as many of his men as possible, much less ask where they came from. He’s always just been grateful to have them, to have found such a home amongst the brothers, even under the worst of times.
Selfish, really. And the Council has been all the same. He’s watched Mace’s frown get tighter, watched Plo’s shoulders grow heavy. None of them have been asking. They have all been, conveniently, busy.
“Will they decommission us?” Cody asks softly, and Obi-Wan’s eyes snap to him. He looks like a man at war, more than Obi-Wan has ever seen him, and isn’t that the irony? “If we were made, commissioned by the Sith, then shouldn’t we be-“
“No.” Obi-Wan wants to grasp Cody’s hand, his shoulders- his hands flex out and he stops them, can’t let himself- “Cody, no, dearest, no, this isn’t your fault. But we will stop it. We will find a way. I won’t let them hurt you, or any of your brothers.” He doesn’t really mean the Council. Many of them are just as attached to their men as Obi-Wan, even if in different ways – and some of them, Obi-Wan does wonder. But whatever the Sith are planning, they will not take Cody. The Force hums, and Obi-Wan feels a sliver of Light cut through the Darkness. He shivers; the Temple has always been his home. Obi-Wan has always thought of Coruscant as his native planet, has distanced himself from his heritage to honor it. He had not realized just how Dark the planet feels, until he catches that glimpse of Light.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For hurting you.” For the physical hurt now, and for every way he has let Cody down before.
Cody hesitates, and then his hand is wrapping around Obi-Wan’s bicep, warm and comforting, for all that his face is still drawn with worry. “I know you’d never do it on purpose,” he says. “Neither would I.” The doubt that crosses his face at that has Obi-Wan, so carefully, grasping Cody’s arm in return.
“I know,” he says. Cody could not hurt Obi-Wan. Not of his own volition. Not if he tried. Obi-Wan pulls back. “Will you let me call a meeting of the Council? Will you let us try to help?”
“Do it now,” Cody says, and his hand falls, face setting in the determination it does before every mission, fierce and proud and glorious. “The moment the Sith find out we know, then we’re at risk. You’re at risk. I’m not going to allow that, sir.”
Obi-Wan is already putting on his boots, fumbling for his comms. “We won’t let it come to that.” They owe it to the clones, if nothing else. The Jedi took charge of the army. They will damn well take care of them too.
He’s stopped, when he reaches the door, by Cody’s hand on his elbow. He pauses, and turns. “Commander?”
“Obi-Wan.” Cody hesitates, and though he’s booted up too, there is still the lack of plating, the lack of gloves, the way the low light dances over his black hair. “You didn’t…about the door…”
Obi-Wan covers Cody’s hand with his own, and his heart shatters. “Not tonight, my dear. Let me help you first. Then…then you can tell me.”
“Do you want to know?”
“Desperately,” Obi-Wan admits. “But not until you and your brothers are free.”
He doesn’t pull away first. He doesn’t want Cody to read it as a rejection. Slowly, Cody lets him go, and his chin sets, defiant and ready. There’s a gleam in his eyes that Obi-Wan cherishes. “Then let’s go,” Cody says firmly. He gestures to the door. “After you.”
Obi-Wan steps through.