Archive of Our Own ^beta

As someone who prided himself on his foresight—sometimes to an annoying degree, according to Rex, though Rex was hardly one to talk, considering his penchant for harebrained schemes and a little too-daring rescues—Cody really, truly, ought to have known that getting a Jedi to actually wear armor couldn’t last forever. 

Well, perhaps he shouldn’t apply such a general statement to all Jedi, as—despite his mild alarm at the uncanny nature of their abilities sometimes—most of them were reasonable, or if they were not, they tended to at least pay their troops the courtesy of appearing to be so. That said, however, he had to admit that he probably should have guessed that it wouldn’t be as easy as he had thought it would be. Specifically, in regards to the particular Jedi he spent the vast majority of his time-among-Jedi with.

The first time they actually fought together, Kenobi wore no armor at all. In his naiveté, Cody had not even considered going without armor to be a possibility beforehand, and by the time they were landing in an actively hot war-zone, on some backwater that had by now long blended in with several more in Cody’s memory, it was too late. It was after that first battle that the war began. Meaning, the war to get the novel idea of ‘safety’ or ‘basic protections’ through Kenobi’s willfully obtuse skull.

He’d asked him after that first fight, to please wear armor next time; he’d believed it was a relatively harmless error made due to a time crunch, given that Kenobi had not sustained any injuries, and that such a possibility would not reoccur. But, to his disbelief, Kenobi had politely declined, and then wandered off before he could issue a rebuttal. Convincing himself that he had miscommunicated in some way, or perhaps that Kenobi didn’t even know what armor was—a foolhardy assumption in retrospect, but it wasn’t like most Jedi had much of an idea about what war was like—he’d gathered sources and laid out in plain terms why Kenobi needed to protect himself. 

Kenobi politely declined. 

Luckily, more grumbling than making any coherent argument, Cody had then told him (with a heavy dose of sarcasm) that he was setting a bad example for his impressionable, freshly-knighted padawan. 

(Freshly-knighted? Yes. Impressionable? Not exactly the first word he’s use to describe Skywalker.)

Naturally, that was what worked. At least, for a while, anyway.

Unfortunately, not two months later, it seemed that Kenobi A) remembered Skywalker was not actually his responsibility anymore, mostly, on paper anyway, and B) had some sort of… well, Cody wasn’t really sure how to describe it, other than the vague terminology of ‘personal crisis.’ He kept muttering about how none of the other Council masters were doing it, and grumbling about how it clashed with Jedi beliefs, and also something about how the armor on his hands made it more difficult to hold on to a lightsaber—Cody often found himself looking back with great fondness on the brief period where he actually bought that excuse—and soon enough, he was just wearing half of his upper body armor.

Alright, things could be worse, Cody had thought. And, it turned out, he had thought correctly. The chestplate-to-appease-the-Commander had not been present today, nor had anything else but his boots and his usual robes. Kenobi had happily blitzed through a swarm of droids to him, almost entirely armor-free, and had not offered any explanation as they returned to base camp to gather their supplies. 

And so, an inkling of an idea fomenting, Cody had not asked. Not while they were creating a plan of attack; not while the medic Dimer had removed a piece of shrapnel from Cody’s shoulder while Kenobi looked on, hands absently stroking the coat of some sort of beast that was no doubt local wildlife, and honestly, why did Cody even try any more; not while Skywalker had insisted that yes, Master Obi-Wan, I will be fine charging directly at the veritable fortress the Separatists have set up, and yes, Master Obi-Wan, I know I wasn’t supposed to but Rex and I actually already carried out an airstrike on their docked starships, and why, Master Obi-Wan, are you petting an albino Kath hound?

(The Kath hound, Cody and Skywalker had found out, was actually escaped from a local province’s farm; Charger and his men told him later, in somewhat awestruck voices, that Kenobi had rescued them in the nick of time, and explained that its attempts to bite their heads off were actually just how it naturally herded. Why the locals needed a herding dog the size of a small tank, Cody really didn’t want to know).

All that Cody had asked, in fact, outside of the usual tactics meeting questions, was if Kenobi wanted to play sabacc. He'd done his research, meticulously studied the rules, tips, and tricks of the game; he knew that the 'Negotiator'—that unfortunate nickname that the press had given Kenobi, much to the Jedi's chagrin (and his enemies' mocking delight)—was named for his willingness to negotiate in comparison to that of Skywalker, which really meant little in the full scheme of things. Because while he was usually fair in negotiations, it was not a secret among the 212th that Kenobi liked to mess with people for, more often than not, the hell of it.

Most importantly, Cody had practiced shuffling card decks. He’d also asked Rex to keep Skywalker out of any attempts to play; when he was met with a blank look after naming ‘sabacc’ to Rex, he felt relief.

It was a good idea, Cody was sure of it. That said, losing five sabacc games in a row, after managing just a tie in the first one, would grate on anyone’s ego. Just a little bit.

By the looks of things—Kenobi casually sitting sideways and thumbing at his cards with practiced ease, hoarding a pile of the rocks they’d picked up to use as chips (which was considerably larger in volume to Cody’s), not a hint of stress emanating off him—their latest match wasn’t any different. 

He fought not to grimace at his cards. He had a total of sixteen—not terrible, but not near enough to the desired total of twenty-three to be comfortable. Hearing a commotion, he turned to his left to find Skywalker trotting over, eyes fixated on his old teacher.

Great. Well, at least if he grimaced now, Kenobi might not think it was because of his cards. At least, he tried to convince himself, the distraction might be useful.

“Master! The Chancellor wants to speak with us.”

“In a minute, Anakin,” Kenobi replied, ineffectually flicking dust off the boulder they were using as a table—the one actual table the 212th’s and 501st’s joint forces had was already being used for its intended purpose of battle planning. Honestly, what was the admiral even doing with their budget? Was there a One-Table-Only provision no one had told Cody about? “Tell him Cody and I are finishing up something important.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I won’t tell him how badly you’re losing.”

“With the utmost respect, sir, shut up. I’m focusing.”

“Your record says otherwise.”

“I don’t get why you—” Cody snapped his mouth shut with a glare at Kenobi, reminded of Skywalker’s imminent approach. He exhaled through his nose, right as Skywalker waltzed to his side. “Fine, I fold,” Cody grumbled, slapping his cards down on the table.

“Well, I…” Skywalker cut in, and though he did not look up, Cody could easily picture the younger Jedi’s brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait,” he queried tentatively, “are you two playing sabacc?”

Kenobi rolled his eyes, before tossing his cards on the table with a flourish. When Cody groaned, having seen that Kenobi’s hand had only amounted to fourteen, Kenobi’s expression widened into a sly grin. Cody made a face at him, hiding it from Skywalker. “Anakin,” Kenobi drawled, plucking the rocks from the center of the table, “what exactly did you think the two of us do all day? Sit around talking politics with the Council?”

If the look on Skywalker’s face was any indication, he had definitely thought that was the case. But he shook his head with a grimace. “Of course not, master. I suppose I thought I’d find you planning for the rendezvous, is all.” 

Cody collected the cards with a scowl, reorganizing and shuffling the deck with a little more force than would probably seem necessary. When Kenobi braced his elbows on the table and leaned forwards, hunched over and looking up at him with barely-contained humor—contained, because anything short of stiff professionalism in the presence of Skywalker would dampen their joint ability to make sarcastic remarks to him and Rex without seeming like hypocrites—Cody exhaled, slapping a card down in front of each of them. It wouldn’t do to call Kenobi names in front of his old apprentice. “We’ve already taken care of that in advance, General Skywalker. I find I prefer it that way.”

If Skywalker caught what Cody was implying about his own…methods, he gave no sign of it. “Commander, you do know he can read your emotions if he wants, right? Being a Jedi and being a cheater at sabacc is all but synonymous.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s why I don’t play. The integrity of it is unfair.”

“The integrity,” Kenobi repeated back to him, unfazed. Cody got the sense they’d had this debate more than once. “How is it any different from podracing? No human can do it without the Force.”

“Well, then isn’t being a human a handicap?” Skywalker argued, dragging a chair up to sit next to them. Great, Cody thought, here we go. “The Force is an equalizing factor.”

“Yes, because your average podracer has a Jedi’s reflexes.”

“I did it before I was a Jedi, mind you. With a racer made of scraps!”

“Forgive me.” Kenobi tossed a pebble into the center ring, which Cody had etched out on the boulder with yet another, sharper rock. He supposed the locals’ word for this region didn’t roughly translate to ‘Rock-land’ for nothing. “Open. First hand I’ve got is four.”

Cody tossed one in return. “First hand is six. Is anyone going to explain to me what ‘podracing’ is?”

“Only the greatest sport ever invented,” Skywalker said. “Podracers must have the greatest technical skill and the greatest reflexes in all of the galaxy.” He smiled proudly. “I’m something of a podracing legend.”

Kenobi took another card from the deck. “Ever the humble one, aren’t you, Anakin?”

“Is it arrogance if it’s the truth?”

Cody took his own additional card. “Again, no idea what a podracer actually does.”

“Anakin, the emphasis on reflexes just proves my point. The Force is the greatest reflex there is.”

My reflexes in catching your lightsaber are pretty good, Cody thought, swiping yet another card after Kenobi. Wisely, not wanting to get in the middle of the bickering match, he voiced nothing.

Skywalker rolled his eyes. “How do you know the others weren’t Force-sensitive? Podraces draw all kinds of competitors.”

“I… hadn’t considered that,” Kenobi admitted, frowning, taking a fourth card. “Still, it seems unlikely for those with such a level of Force-sensitivity to be a podracer instead of… well, a Jedi.”

“This is Tatooine we’re talking about. The Jundland Wastes have more oddities than they do sentients.” A slow, even prouder smile spread over Skywalker’s face. “Like a nine-year old winning the Boonta Classic.”

Cody frowned, switching his third card for one of the three laying face down in the center. “Where have I heard of the Boonta Classic? Trade, and I call.”

Skywalker opened his mouth, but Kenobi beat him to it. “Do you recall when we were looking through birth records on Zaaka, for that bounty hunter’s information? I raise,” he added as an afterthought, tossing another pebble in.

“Hm… raise,” Cody replied, pushing three pebbles in from his own (dwindling) pile. “What of it?”

“Remember how we came across seventeen children that were all named Anakin Skywalker, born within three hours of each other? I raise.”

“I raise too. Yes, I recall it.” Cody frowned, noting that he only had a few pebbles left to put in to the center pot. “Ah. I see.”

It was Skywalker’s turn to be confused. “Zaaka?”

“It is a Mid-Rim world,” Kenobi answered, pushing three more pebbles in, “With a thriving street-podracing culture. In fact, its racing culture is thought to go all the way back to the time of Revan.” His brow twitched as he seemed to think that over. “Well, assuming those times aren’t complete myth.”

The younger Jedi quickly managed to connect the dots. His face split in a proud grin. “They named younglings after me,” he crowed. “People don’t name children after sabacc players, do they?”

“Yes, well, with the way your face is already plastered across every propaganda poster the Senate can churn out, I suspect a lot more children will be named after you in the coming months.” Kenobi’s mouth twisted into a wry smile as Cody squinted at his cards, as if by doing do he would make them better; despite his attempt at misdirection, however, he was unable to suppress the slight jolt of excitement at having a good hand, and he followed it with several mental curses at his endocrine system betraying him.

“I don’t think professional sabacc players want to be well-known enough to have children named after them,” Cody added, noting how large the pile of rocks had grown. “Looks like I have to go all in.”

“You sure?” Kenobi’s face was amused. “I sense some frustration from you.”

Skywalker sighed. “You’re not even hiding it anymore. This is just like dejarik at Dex’s.”

“This is nothing like dejarik at Dex’s,” Kenobi argued, going all-in, to Cody’s dismay. “I did not make those machines go awry.”

“Yes, master, because I was the one who tampered with them. Per your request.”

“Anakin, for your sake, I hope Ahsoka never wants something as bad as you wanted that model ship. Just be glad I made sure to ensure victory before gambling my lightsaber.” He inclined his head, raising a nonchalant eyebrow at Cody. “You ready?”

“If you think I’m just going to ignore the fact that you apparently gamble your livelihood, you’ll be sorely mistaken in the near future,” Cody replied. He turned over his cards, unable to keep from grinning. “Twenty-one. Beat that.”

“Cody, please, it was all but a lifetime ago. Besides, at least I didn’t gamble my padawan’s lightsaber,” Kenobi said cryptically. He flipped over his cards. “Oh, and I can beat your hand, I’m afraid. Twenty-two.”

Cody stared at him, futilely searching his face for any signs of remorse after his blatant conniving, and finding not a single one. In fact, he wasn’t really wearing any sort of expression at all; his features had morphed into a complete blank slate, his mouth a thin line and his eyes steady on Cody.

It was, of course, the face that he made when he found something completely hilarious, and wanted only those that knew him to know. That had taken weeks to figure out; he’d only understood after he and Kenobi had been interrupted in the middle of a briefing by Skywalker tearing his hair out over his new padawan’s latest rash decision.

Honestly, if it wasn’t so frustrating, he’d probably find Kenobi’s uncanny ability to cheat—and not only to cheat, but to cheat convincingly—downright inspiring. What was battle, if not outmaneuvering one’s opponents in ways they didn't understand?

Skywalker pursed his lips. “Tough break, Commander,” he said, unhelpfully. Cody sighed.

“General Skywalker, sir—I don’t mean to interject, but isn’t the Chancellor waiting for you?”

The younger Jedi blinked, bolting to his feet a second later. “Shit. Thanks Cody. Master, you coming?”

Kenobi heaved a sigh, dragging the pile of pebbles towards him. “Well, I suppose if Cody’s finished, then-”

“I’m not,” Cody blurted, injecting his best imitation of barely-contained annoyance into his voice. Given his now seven-game loss streak, it wasn’t that hard; luckily, he could put ego aside for matters of higher importance. It was time to see if his gamble had paid off. “I don’t have any pebbles left, but—what if we wager something else?”

“That depends on the proposal,” Kenobi said slowly, as he already started to push the cards in to the middle to start another game. Cody picked them up, carefully not meeting his opponent’s suspicious gaze; it wouldn’t do to give himself away now. “I confess I’m somewhat surprised you’d be willing.”

“I have a good feeling about this.”

Skywalker frowned, crossing his arms. He, too, wore an expression of suspicion, but it was directed at his old master. “If this is some sort of attempt by you to delay talking to the Chancellor, it’s flawed. You’ll have to anyway, and I sense he’ll only be more displeased when you do speak with him.”

“Anakin, I would never,” Kenobi lied. It took everything in Cody not to crack at least a smile. “What’s your wager, Commander?”

Cody grunted. “You win, I go to talk to the Chancellor in your place, and I file the mission report to his office when this campaign is said and done. I win, you put your armor back on, and it stays back on during battles.”

Kenobi raised an eyebrow, the suspicious note in his voice growing; blessedly, however, his Palpatine-avoidant tendencies that Cody had been betting on won out. “You were awfully quick with those terms,” he mused, reaching forward and dealing them each a card. “I’m a little curious what you have up your sleeve. First hand is five.”

“Wait,” Skywalker protested, “You guys can’t just-”

Cody spared a glance at his own card, turning to Skywalker. “Not too long, now, General Skywalker. First hand is three.”

“He is the Chancellor, you can’t keep him waiting because of a game.”

“Yes, because you’re certainly never late for anything,” Kenobi replied, with far too much cheer to be genuine. Unable to stop it this time, Cody hid a smile. Kenobi took another card, examining it with an indifferent air. “If the Chancellor is troubled by my insolence, I’m sure you can help me find ways to make it up to him. You always were a natural at such things.”

“Hey,” Skywalker grumbled without any heat, though he didn’t deny the accusation. “I’m only experienced at it because you’re so uptight. You flip out if your caf isn’t the right temperature.”

“I most certainly do not ‘flip out,’ Anakin, you purposefully set our stove on fire. How you managed to set a stove of all things on fire is beyond me.”

“It’s easy, master. I know you don’t work with droids much, but there’s this thing that we mechanics of the galaxy call a ‘dial.’ To make a stove heat up, you have to turn it. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Not what I meant, Anakin.” Kenobi sighed. “I never did understand your obsession with fire as a youngling.”

“It’s bright, hot, and shiny. What’s not to like?”

“The destruction of all my best robes, for the most part.”

Cody, who by now had taken a third card to Kenobi’s four, traded one in his possession with a middle card, dragging his hand back slow. He prayed to the stars and Force that Kenobi would read his anxiety as him having a poor hand—if by the way the Jedi in question’s eyes slid over and back to Skywalker, briefly, with a devious glint, Cody’s prayers were answered. 

“You hardly ever wear robes, anymore."

“Yes, anymore. You certainly took care of that.”

“I,” Cody interjected—because while Skywalker was currently a useful distraction of Kenobi’s attention, and while he certainly had his own thoughts on misplaced robes, he needed to stop them now before the argument progressed any further—“am ready.”

Kenobi leaned back in his seat, one leg crossing over the other. He laid his four cards facedown on the table, using one thumb to check them over one last time. “Are you sure you want to proceed? Knowing what’s at stake.”

“Oh, I’m quite aware,” Cody shot back, stiffly. “I was going to ask you the same.”

“In that case,” Kenobi sighed, flipping his cards over to show a positive twenty-three. “I have pure sabacc.”

Honestly. The almost bored look on his face was—well, if this was what Skywalker put up with whenever he and his master played games, Cody had to admit, he almost felt bad for him. 

To his left, Cody could all but feel Skywalker about to launch into a tirade—partially on Cody’s behalf, mostly on behalf of his own longstanding grievances, if Cody’s past experiences with Skywalker siding with him against his old master were a reliable source—and he moved to put an end to it before it could even start.

“In that case,” he said, in the most monotonous, end of a training-drill tone of voice he could muster, “enjoy your chat with the Chancellor.”

For a moment, no one said anything; both Jedi moved in sync, their gazes slowly traveling down to where Cody was holding up his own three cards—a two, a three, and a zero, or as it was often called, an Idiot—the telltale cards of a perfect Idiot’s Array. It was one of the harder challenges of his life up to that point, not to laugh at the way their heads moved up and down in unison—glancing from Cody, to the cards, to Cody again. 

“That can’t be right,” was the first thing out of Kenobi’s mouth. Disbelief was etched onto his features. Disbelief was etched onto Skywalker’s features, too, but they were just as quickly erased, in favor of an overjoyed grin, and despite himself, Cody felt one tugging at his own lips. “I know you cheated.”

If he had been holding it in before, he couldn’t any longer. Cody guffawed—at the pettiness in Kenobi’s voice, at Skywalker, who was now frantically waving his arms at a bewildered-looking Rex across the camp, and, most of all, at the sheer irony of the fact that Kenobi was completely correct in his accusation. 

Kenobi frowned, flipping over the three middle cards to find a four, a five, and an eleven. He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You traded one of your cards to the middle, right?”

Cody shrugged, grabbing lazily at the deck and picking the separate cards up. When Kenobi turned his—intense, stars above, was this what it was like to be in the other side of negotiations with him?—scrutiny on to Cody, he couldn’t help but smirk. 

“I did indeed,” he replied, not bothering to hide the glee in his voice. Kenobi’s eyes narrowed, and he sighed. “Fairly, of course. I didn’t know you were this much of a sore loser.”

“I am not-” Kenobi cut himself off, leaning back from where he’d bent over to analyze the remnants of the game. His gaze flicked back up towards Cody, his features smoothed into a not unpleasant, if not warm, expression. “There were no twos, threes, or zeroes in the middle at the start of the game.”

Cody snorted, feeling the weight of the useless cards he’d been dealt, and had subsequently swapped out for the winning hand, secured safely in a pouch strapped to the armor over his thigh—he’d slipped them away while Kenobi was engrossed in bickering with Skywalker. He briefly wondered if he should be concerned that the two of them could become almost dead to the world when they argued. 

“And how would you know that?” Cody asked him. Kenobi blinked.

“I…the Force told me,” he said innocently. Skywalker, who was still waving at Rex, cast him a skeptical look.

“Obi-Wan, you and I both know that’s not how the Force works.”

“Anakin, seeing that which remains unseen is one of the main things we do.”

“That’s—wow, a generous interpretation-”

“Might I ask what’s the issue, here?” Rex’s tired voice cut in. He paid a cursory glance to the table, and it was only when his brow furrowed that Cody realized how odd it all must look—Kenobi rubbing at his wrists, as if already trying to imagine what actually wearing a damned bracer felt like again (and not liking it, by his sour expression); Skywalker, who was wearing an incredulous grin that Cody had only ever seen on him after near-death experiences; and Cody, who was most definitely not slipping the cards he had lifted back in to the sabacc deck, which he was again shuffling with a little more vigor than necessary. Never mind the pile of rubble threatening to spill over the table’s edges.

“There is no issue,” Cody said, calmly. He held out the deck. “Give this back to Boil, would you? I’m afraid he thought I was confiscating them.”

Slowly, Rex took them, his eyes drifting to somewhere at Cody’s right. Cody sighed. “General, whatever irritation you have for me at the moment does not erase the fact that you agreed to terms.”

“That’s not what-” the Jedi unfurled from his seat, and then in the blink of an eye, he was standing across the table—boulder, Cody’s mind corrected him, that was a literal boulder, they were in the middle of nowhere—his arms crossed and a look of smooth indifference on his face. “-never mind, Commander. I shall endeavor to honor my commitments.”

“Endeavor to honor my commitments,” Skywalker mocked him, rolling his eyes. “Careful, Cody. That’s Obi-Wan for fuck you.”

I’m aware, Cody thought. Still, it was oddly charming, getting along with Skywalker in this way. Rex raised an eyebrow.

“I feel as if I’m missing something, here.”

“No, no, you’re not,” Cody said, waving his hands at Rex as if he were a stray tooka. It always served to irritate his little brother, which was why he kept doing it. “Shoo. And you, General Skywalker, for that matter.”

“What?” Skywalker jumped to his feet. “The Chancellor is waiting!”

Cody crossed his arms and exchanging a look with Kenobi. “And he can keep waiting, at least until we’re done here.”

“But-”

“Just go, Anakin,” Kenobi said, tiredly. “I’ll catch up with you.” He folded his hands behind his back, and smiled wryly. “Cody and I have important matters to discuss.”

For a while, it looked like Skywalker was going to argue further, but as Rex turned away with a rather obvious roll of his eyes—honestly, his lack of adherence to protocol was getting ridiculous, Cody was still his superior officer—the younger Jedi crossed his arms and sulked after him, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like not the boss of me.

A few moments passed before Kenobi spoke. “How do you do that?” He asked, almost as if to himself. A hand stroked at his beard in thought.

“Do what?”

“Get him to listen to you.”

Cody snorted. “I don’t. I just have a lot of experience wrangling little brothers.”

“I see,” Kenobi said dryly. He ducked his head, still wearing the same wry smile; now, without the others observing, he let himself let out a chuckle. “Your patience is truly astounding, you know. I envy you.”

“Hm? High praise, coming from you.”

“It’s true,” Kenobi said, lost in thought. He recrossed his arms, glancing skyward; a grey sheet of clouds had rolled in over their camp, and the heaviness in the air promised rain. He wrinkled his nose, and Cody didn’t blame him—while he loved rain, he had less fondness for mud. “I would not have been able to wait that long to strike.”

“Why, General," Cody asked, innocently, "whatever do you mean?” He was met with a playful scoff.

“With pardon to my language—don’t try to bullshit me, Cody. I know you did that on purpose.” He tilted his head, looking at something far-off. “I of all people should’ve seen it coming. I’ve done the same thing in negotiations, oh…countless times.”

“Wise as you seem, you can’t predict everything.”

“You flatter me," he said, with a wry smile. "Trying to set me up, again?"

“For what it’s worth,” Cody replied, “I wasn’t really acting when you beat me beforehand.”

“Ah, but requiring such vindication only when it is most needed? You would’ve been a great Jedi, I think.”

“I’ve certainly got held a lightsaber enough times, anyway.” Kenobi opened his mouth. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

“Exactly,” Cody said, and he took the small victory of watching him try to hide a smile, before he continued. “Oh, and General? May I speak freely, sir?”

“Of course.”

Cody clapped him on the shoulder, looked him square in the eye, and grinned. “Wear your fucking armor.”