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clonesimpextra · 6 months

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A Shattered Peace: Chapter 13

Scattered Stardust

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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 5.6K Chapter Rating: T Chapter Summary: After Abregado, Wolffe faces more issues back home on Kamino. Also available on AO3

A long time ago, in a place Wolffe once called ‘home,’ he wasn’t called ‘Wolffe’ at all.

Everywhere he went, regardless of who he was around, he was ‘CC-3636’. Nothing more. Nothing less. One of many, created to succeed at a singular goal.

Or die trying.

The day Wolffe earned his name was, he thought now as he stood in one of the Tipoca City landing bays, the day things started to shift in his mind. Maybe he was more than a number. Maybe he could be more, just a bit more, than the Kaminoans told him to be.

He could follow orders, he’d decided, but in his own way.

He could care for his brothers, he’d told himself, more than the war they were created for.

He could.

He would.

He did.

Now, as he watched brothers walking around him, none of them wearing 104th maroon, Wolffe almost wished he could give his name back.

He didn’t deserve it. Had stopped earning it. Wanted to go back to being a number because numbers didn’t have to feel … this … this emptiness in his stomach hollowed out by a pain so deep he almost couldn’t register it anymore.

How had this happened? How had he let this happen?

So many men gone. Just gone. Either blown up by the Malevolence or picked off, one-by-one, in the aftermath.

Like he should have been. Like he almost was.

He could still feel a deep ache in his lungs and his head from those moments with too little oxygen. Every rise of his chest was a reminder of what happened … how long ago was it now? He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been in that escape pod, waiting for a death General Plo wouldn’t allow him to accept.

Abregado … Kamino.

Once upon a time he would have been able to list off the distance between the two, the exact time it would take for a mid-size ship to travel from the desolation of one to the relative sanctuary of the other. But, that ache. It was more than just physical.

“Wolffe?”

Someone spoke behind him and it took Wolffe a second longer than normal to realize it was Sinker. He turned around to face his sergeant and was relieved to see the familiar maroon still on his armor. A reminder that even though he failed, at least he didn’t have to live with it on his own. He pulled at the cuff of his officer’s uniform and nodded for Sinker to continue.

“Jedi General Shaak Ti wants to see us, sir.”

Wolffe nodded again, tugging at his other cuff. This damn uniform didn’t fit right. It felt odd on his skin. Too loose, too thin, too soft. Too much like the clothes he used to wear on Kamino before he’d been given his armor.

His armor … just another thing he’d lost.

“Sir?”

Wolffe nodded a third time without looking up. It was Boost who’d spoken just then.

Sinker and Boost. All that remained of the 104th.

And Comet. Comet was still alive. The first thing Wolffe had done when they’d reached the Resolute was ask about the 414th. Rex had assured him, before he’d left with Skywalker, Ahsoka, and General Plo, that Amara and her men were on their way back to Coruscant. Were probably already there by now.

So Comet was with Amara, there wasn’t anywhere in the galaxy he’d be safer. And yet, a small part of Wolffe wished he was here. Wished he could have his eyes on all three of his remaining men just to make sure they didn’t disappear into stardust, too.

And Amara …

Wolffe straightened up, finally looking from Sinker to Boost, from dark visor to dark visor. They could hide behind those, lucky bastards. Wolffe didn’t have that luxury, and he needed to remember that. If he wasn’t careful, every emotion he was determined not to feel would find its way across his face.

He cleared his throat, narrowed his eyes, set his mouth in a thin line, and nodded a fourth time.

He could do this.

He would do this.

The ache in him lessened, just a bit.

“Let’s go see the general.”

*****

Wolffe knew Shaak Ti primarily by reputation. She was stationed on Kamino after he’d already left, and though she sometimes made appearances in General Plo’s holo calls with the Council, she and Wolffe never had much reason to interact with one another.

But the shinies liked to share stories about the wise Togruta Jedi who observed their training. The beautiful woman who gave them advice and who wasn’t afraid to question the Kaminoans and trainers on their behalf. Wolffe had always rolled his eyes at this kind of talk, chalking the infatuation and admiration up to Shaak Ti being the first non-Kaminoan woman not on a data pad many of the boys had ever laid eyes on.

Most of those same boys were dead now.

Wolffe blinked the thought away and pressed the panel next to the general’s office door.

“Commander Wolffe, Sergeant Sinker, and Trooper Boost,” a soft voice floated towards them from inside, “Please, come in.”

The office had the same too-white walls that decorated all of Tipoca City, making the entire area feel more like a med-bay than a place to live. But this room was different than the others Wolffe had seen across Kamino. There was no desk in here, not even a single chair. Instead, plush cushions lined one of the walls. Wolffe recognized them as similar to the ones that used to sit in Amara’s office on the Triumphant. Meditation cushions, then, in place of proper seats. Wolffe almost snorted at how very Jedi is all was. Typical.

But he couldn’t deny that the open space and the slight color added by the cushions made the room feel more welcoming than the rest of this place. Warmer, maybe. And somehow calming.

Or was that just the Jedi influence? His eyes flashed to the woman standing in the middle of the room. Shaak Ti was already looking at him, a gentle smile on her face. She looked far too peaceful, Wolffe thought, given everything they were here to talk about.

Then again, none of it had happened to her.

Her smile remained, but the general tilted her head to the side, just a bit. As if she knew what he was thinking.

Jedi, Wolffe thought to himself again before building back up the mental wall that should have already been there to begin with. He needed to get a grip. Just because he’d failed everyone back in the Abregado system didn’t give him an excuse to lose his shit now. He was better than that. He had to be better than that.

So he kept his gaze trained on the Jedi before him and nodded for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “General. You wanted to speak with us?”

“Yes,” Shaak Ti said slowly, eyes flicking between him and his brothers. “You three have been through a great ordeal, I believe. I am sorry for the loss it has caused you.”

Her words were genuine, heavy with the gravity of the situation. Wolffe wasn’t surprised. Most of the Jedi he’d encountered over the last several months were the same. But her sorrow still felt small to him. How could “sorry” cover the breadth of thousands of lives lost?

How could anything?

Wolffe wanted to ask her this, wanted to know if maybe the Jedi knew something he didn’t. If she could make sense of this for him so he could nod his head yet again, say “Ah, I understand,” and actually fucking mean it.

Instead, he swallowed past his questions and said what was expected of him. “They were good men. Committed to the safety of the Republic.” But … he was still Wolffe, not just CC-3636. No matter how much he wished he could go back; he never would. “I hope their deaths won’t be for nothing.”

The general’s smile fell, just a bit. “As do I, Commander.” She took a step closer to them, hands folding behind her back. “That has something to do with why I called you here. To discuss the future of the your battalion.”

“The … future, General?” Sinker asked before Wolffe could get a word out. The sergeant’s voice was masked by his helmet’s vocoder, but the inflection was clear all the same. What the hell was the general talking about?

Shaak Ti sighed and motioned between Sinker and Boost. “Please, take your helmets off. I like to see the faces of the people I’m talking to.”

Any other time, Wolffe knew Boost would have made a clone joke. Just look at Wolffe, then General, he’d have said. We all have the same face, even if his isn’t quite as handsome as mine.

Instead, the only sound in the room was the whoosh of air as the two helmets released their hold, the soft thump of the domes pushed up under plastoid-covered arms. Wolffe looked at his brothers, meeting their gazes long enough to see his confusion echoed in their eyes. He turned back to the general and waited.

“Counting the three of you here, and Clone Trooper Comet, who I have been told is still helping the 414th, only four members of the 104th remain,” Shaak Ti said gently but matter-of-factly. “This is a concern. For many reasons.”

Wolffe grit his teeth, forcing the neutral face Mar-Va had trained all his command clones to adopt to remain in place. The only concern Wolffe cared about was that thousands of men hadn’t needed to die. Shouldn’t have died. They’d flown right into a trap that the Republic in all its glory and infinite wisdom hadn’t seen coming.

But just because that was the only concern he cared about right now didn’t mean it was the only concern, period. What kind of commander would he be if he couldn’t see the forest for the trees?

The GAR relied on its battalions. As good as the remaining four of the 104th might be, they couldn’t tackle even a portion of what their larger group had been capable of. And this wasn’t like Tibrin. They didn’t just need a hundred more men to make up for losses. They needed thousands.

The past several hours, Wolffe had been living moment-to-moment. Had been so focused on survival and the safety of General Plo and his remaining brothers that he hadn’t really stopped to think about what their need would mean.

“You want to disband the 104th.” It wasn’t a question because Wolffe wasn’t asking. It was the logical move, from a military standpoint. The commander in him, the good soldier who followed whatever orders were thrown his way, accepted this.

The Wolffe in him wasn’t so docile.

So, before Shaak Ti could answer, Wolffe shook his head, the ache that had settled inside him suddenly far away. “That would be a mistake, General.”

He could feel Sinker’s and Boost’s eyes on him. Interrupting a general wasn’t something he was known for. But this couldn’t wait. There was an urgency that replaced the ache in Wolffe’s chest that he was becoming all too familiar with.

He didn’t have much in this life that he could call his own. Just his name, his brothers, and his battalion. He lost brothers every day, but he’d be damned if he lost his battalion, too.

Maybe the general could sense this in him. Maybe the walls around his mind had slipped just enough for her to get a peek into his desperation. Or maybe it was just clear in his eyes and his voice. Whatever it was brought Shaak Ti to a pause. She considered him for a moment before crossing her arms over her chest, a more relaxed position than before. An equal, maybe, instead of a revered figure.

She inclined her head, forehead creased in what Wolffe hoped was curiosity and not annoyance. “Explain.”

Wolffe didn’t need to be told twice.

“What would you do with us, if the 104th was disband?” It was a rhetorical question, really. He already knew the answer, but he wanted Shaak Ti to hear it out loud. “Put us with another battalion?”

The general nodded. “Likely one you’ve worked closely with before. The 212th, 501st. Maybe Master Unduli’s 41st.”

“And waste General Plo’s leadership?” Wolffe shook his head and began to pace the room, Shaak Ti’s eyes following him. “That’s not what you need.”

“His leadership would not be wasted. Simply re-allocated from time to time.”

“Temporary leadership of already-formed battalions? Constantly jumping from one to another?” Wolffe barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “That’s essentially wasting his talents. Just like lumping us in with another battalion would be wasting ours.”

He paused to glance at Sinker and Boost, who were all but fidgeting in their armor. Wolffe didn’t speak like this to Jedi. Well, at least not to Jedi who weren’t Amara Kora. But if Amara were here right now, she’d be doing the same thing. He knew she would. Wolffe cleared his throat and continued.

“We’re several months into this war now. Which is several months more than any of us thought it would last. Am I wrong, General?”

Shaak Ti pursed her lips, but Wolffe swore he saw the corner of them twitch up in the moment before. “I would say your assessment is essentially accurate, Commander.”

Jedi, Wolffe thought for the third time as he found himself fighting back a smile of his own. He hadn’t won this yet.

“You don’t need one less battalion when you’re already sending every single one you have on mission after mission after mission. With no end in sight as of now. It’s all hands on deck, sir. Even if that means rebuilding one of them from the ground up.” He stopped next to his brothers and placed his hands behind his back. The perfect military rest for the perfect commander that the GAR couldn’t afford to lose. At least, that was the idea. “The 104th is one of the Republic’s best. Sinker, Boost, Comet, and I will make it that way again. I give you my word, General.”

The Jedi peered at the three of them for another moment, and Wolffe resisted the urge to pull once again at his cuffs. This would have been so much easier if he’d had his armor.

Finally, Shaak Ti uncrossed her arms and gave them a small smile. “You make a compelling argument, Commander. Master Plo would have been proud to hear it.” She cocked her head, smile widening just a bit. “Though I imagine if he were here just now, he would have been the one making it, not you.”

Wolffe gave a quick, sharp nod, not wanting to get his hopes up. “He’s a good teacher, sir.”

“Hmm, he is at that.” Shaak Ti turned her hands over, palms up as if conceding to him. “You have convinced me, Commander Wolffe. The 104th will stay. And I will see what I can do about having Comet sent here. To help with the rebuilding.”

Sinker and Boost shifted next to him and something in Wolffe loosened ever so slightly. He could have this. He might have lost at Abregado. But he hadn’t lost here. At least not yet.

The general motioned them to the door and they stepped out into the hallway. Sinker and Boost turned to leave, but Shaak Ti reached for Wolffe’s arm, holding him back.

“I should warn you,” she said in a voice so low Wolffe had to strain to hear it. “I am not the only one who makes these decisions. I will support you as much as I can, but Lama Su and the … trainers. They will be watching you closely.” She let go of his arm and looked directly into his eyes, a sternness in her gaze that reminded him for a moment of Amara. “Do not let go of your fire just yet, Commander.”

Wolffe watched her turn in the opposite direction of his brothers, an uncertainty settling in the pit of his stomach. He was standing in the halls of the only home he’d ever known, but he felt like he’d just stepped onto a battlefield.

And something was telling him that the odds were already stacked against him.

*****

Growing up on Tipoca City, Wolffe never had a room as private as the one he was standing in right now. The wide, circular space with four beds built into the walls was at odds with Wolffe’s memory of the dozens of pods that populated the bunk rooms he’d slept in up until last year. Had these rooms always been available? Empty and waiting for visitors who didn’t require the strict and invasive regime of the clones?

Wolffe sat on the bed closest to the door and tried not to be bitter about it. He sank half an inch into the mattress and scowled at the softness. The Kaminoans had these types of beds hidden away on this side of the facility this whole time?

So much for not being bitter.

“I can’t believe they were going to disband us, just like that,” Boost said as he walked out of the fresher, running a towel across his head. “After everything’s we’ve done. Hells, after what we just went through.”

“They’re having to replace more and more clones these days,” Sinker yawned as he sat down on his own bed. Wolffe could hear the bitterness in his voice, too. “Probably didn’t sound too appealing having to allocate so many just to one battalion.”

“Well that’s literally what they made us for,” Boost scoffed, tossing his towel aside. “They should have been prepared for the possibility.”

Wolffe sighed and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. He didn’t have it in him to discuss this again. Not after what Shaak Ti had said to him before they’d parted. The coming days on Tipoca City were not shaping up to be the restful ones he’d been promised when he, Sinker, and Boost were dropped off. The ache in his chest and head was starting to return and he desperately, desperately needed to sleep.

But they needed that approval from Lama Su and the trainers. Wolffe wasn’t too worried about the former. He hadn’t spent much time around Kamino’s prime minister, but he did know that Lama Su wasn’t usually one to get his hands dirty. He’d approve the continuation of the 104th if only because it meant he didn’t have to bother with the nuisances of explaining to the Republic why his people couldn’t help rebuild one of the GAR’s best battalions.

The trainers, though … they were another story.

When Wolffe was a cadet, the clones were trained by Mandalorian warriors hand-picked by Jango Fett himself. But as time wore on, those Mandalorians slowly began to leave Kamino, either by choice or by force. Mar-Va fell into the latter group, something Wolffe didn’t like to think about much.

These days, though, the Kaminoans employed bounty hunters to help train the clones. Wolffe had never met them, but he’d heard enough stories from the shinies to know they couldn’t necessarily be trusted. Not like the Mandalorians and not at all like Mar-Va. There was no telling whose best interest these bounty hunters, former or not, had in mind. But if they didn’t approve of Wolffe’s rebuilding efforts, if they gave Lama Su even the smallest reason to think disbanding the 104th would be easier than letting it continue …

There were worse things that could happen to the four remaining members of the 104th than being placed with a new battalion.

Wolffe pushed the thought away and shifted on the bed, scowling again at the unfamiliar comfort. He’d worry about rebuilding tomorrow.

“Hey, uh, Wolffe?” Sinker’s voice cut through the too empty space between them.

“Yeah?” Wolffe looked across the room at his brother, who was staring down at the chest plate held between his hands. Sinker’s brows were creased, a pained expression on his face that Wolffe recognized all too well. He saw it every time he glanced in the mirror these days.

“If we’re starting over,” Sinker paused, tried again. “If we’re rebuilding the 104th, should we use a different color this time?”

Wolffe blinked, unsure what to say.

“Why would we do that?” Boost interrupted. When Wolffe looked at him, he was scowling at the floor. “Maroon’s ours. Everyone knows that.”

A loud crash from Sinker’s direction pulled Wolffe’s attention back to that part of the room. The chest plate his brother had been holding was tossed on the floor, far away from the bed.

“It was more than just ours, Boost.” Sinker rose, removing his armor piece by piece and letting it fall wherever it wanted instead of placing it in the careful pile all clones were committed to. “It was theirs, too.”

He didn’t need to say who ‘they’ were.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, weighed down by the absence of … everyone. The 104th had experienced loss before, but never, never on this scale. Wolffe had to remind himself that just because he was their leader, just because he was responsible for all of them, didn’t mean Sinker and Boost weren’t feeling the loss every bit as much as he was.

He wished there was something he could say to them that would make it better, easier. But there was never anything anyone could say to him. So he did the only thing he could. He pushed it back.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Wolffe rubbed at his forehead, more tired than he had been since they’d returned from Tibrin. “We have a lot to do before we even start talking about paint anyway. Get some rest.” He waited until they looked at him. “Both of you.”

Boost lay back on his bed and turned toward the wall. Sinker gave a short nod before walking to the fresher, slamming his hand on the door panel a little too harshly.

Wolffe forced himself onto his back, tugging at the collar of the fresh bodysuit he’d picked up earlier when he’d received a new set of armor. Maybe it wasn’t the clothes that made him so antsy, so uncomfortable. Maybe this was just how he was now. After everything.

He wondered what Amara would think of him, the next time they saw each other.

With that thought, his mind suddenly filled with her.

Was she really safe back on Coruscant? Had she listened to his recording? Did she know yet, what happened to them? Was she worried?

Wolffe closed his eyes and tried to remember what she looked like the last time he’d seen her. They’d been on the GAR compound, just down the hall from her office. Her hair had been in her usual braids, a little messy. Probably because she’d kept nervously tugging at them, even when he knew she didn’t realize she was doing it.

There had been a few more freckles across her nose and cheeks than he was used to, likely caused by all the time under the Tibrin sun. He’d wished he could touch them, trace them with his thumb so he could commit them to memory. Look for new ones next time.

She’d worn a maroon tunic instead of the tan one she’d always worn as their commander. A small part of him had wondered if she’d chosen the color for them. To remember them, honor them, keep a part of them close even when they were far apart. Wolffe had thought that his colors looked so good on her, better than they ever did on him, and it was part of the reason he’d sent that recording with Comet.

But they weren’t his colors anymore, were they?

Sinker was right.

Something wet trickled down Wolffe’s cheek and he turned his back to the room, eyes still closed.

Maroon didn’t belong to them anymore.

It belonged to the stardust scattered forever across the Abregado system.

*****

“Commander Wolffe!”

He shot up from the bed, on his feet and heading for the door before the echo of his name even quieted. He didn’t know what trouble there could possibly be on Tipoca City at such a late hour, but his training took over regardless. A hand to the door panel and he stepped out of the circular room, glancing frantically up and down the too bright hallway for the origin of the shout.

He heard footsteps, the sound of dozens of soldiers marching, to his left and hurried that way. What his brothers were doing marching down these halls, he had no idea, but he went anyway, intent on helping wherever he could.

As he neared the end of the hall, the marching grew louder, mixing now with more shouts in his brothers’ voices.

“Watch your left!”

“Push through, NOW!”

Were they training? At this time? Had there been a glit—

This isn’t real.

Wolffe stopped. Closed his eyes.

You’ve had this dream before.

“Commander! On your right!”

He lifted his right hand and shot without turning his head, without even opening his eyes, felling a battle droid instantly.

He wasn’t on Tipoca City anymore, but he still knew this place. Not the name of it, no. Nothing as simple as that.

When he blinked his eyes open, he knew the hazy edges of smoke. When he sucked in a breath, he knew the bitter smell of charged plasma. When he took a step, he knew the thick rivers of blood under his boots that squelched like mud.

He knew the whisper in the air coming from a direction he couldn’t lock down.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Wolffe closed his eyes again, willing the senses away.

She was here, remember? She pulled you out.

And suddenly, he did remember.

Amara, standing in snow. No, not snow. Ash. Holding his hand, saying his name, looking at him so gently.

Telling him to wake up.

He should wake up. Should end this nightmare before it dug any deeper into his mind. But …

If she’d been there then, couldn’t she be here now? And if she could be here now, then Wolffe needed to wait. He would wait here, in this nightmare, for a moment with her. Even if it wasn’t real.

And it wasn’t real, right?

“Wolffe?”

He opened his eyes and saw the ash falling like snow, could feel it on his covered palm, turned up and lifted out and …

And you shouldn’t be able to feel the way ash crumbles on your skin, paper-light and fragile and course, in a dream, should you? He looked up at the grey sky, squinting at the barely-there stars and forgetting what had made him open his eyes in the first place until he heard it again.

“Wolffe.”

A statement. Not a question.

His name. In her voice.

Wolffe turned, and she was there. Just like he’d wanted. Just like he’d known, somehow, she would be. And that, surely, made this a dream. He didn’t have the power to conjure Amara out of nowhere. Wasn’t sure anyone did, really.

That’s not how the Force works, she’d say to him if this person standing before him was really her.

He looked down into her brown eyes, so dark with grief they were almost black. And she was looking back at him like she had when he was in the Resolute’s medbay. Mouth pursed, eyebrows creased, like she could lecture his pain out of him.

He knew that look as well as he knew his own reflection. Had committed it to memory, and clones had near-perfect memories. He would have no issue recreating this visage of her in his dreams.

But maybe …

Maybe there was something slightly off about the way she was standing. Something off about the way her two braids were tied back behind her head, not hanging down her chest like they almost always were.

Every time Amara graced his thoughts, her hair was the same. And maybe it was silly and superficial and ridiculous, but Wolffe didn’t know her any other way.

“Your braids,” he said out loud, hoping that would explain something.

The crease in her brows deepened and she reached up to pat the braided buns at the top of her neck. “They were getting in the way …”

“It’s nice,” he added quickly, because what else is there to say in this place that shouldn’t be real but … is? Somehow.

Amara lowered her hand, still peering at him under those creased brows, and reached for his. “Wolffe,” she said again, pleading this time but he didn’t know for what, “what happened?”

She knew. Wolffe could tell from her eyes that she knew about the Malevolence and the deaths and the pain. She just wanted to hear it from him. A rundown, a debriefing like they always used to do after their missions.

And Wolffe wanted to tell her. Wanted to open his mouth and explain to her everything he couldn’t explain to himself. She deserved to know and he was tired of carrying it all on his own.

But he could feel the callouses on her palms, rubbed into the skin from years working with her lightsabers. He could smell the flowers that followed her wherever she went, overpowering the battle scents from earlier.

He could feel her, here in this dream that maybe wasn’t a dream.

And suddenly it wasn’t enough. Suddenly, an overwhelming want coursed through his body and he brought her hand up to his chest, pressed against the bodysuit he’d carried over into this place.

Her eyes widened, but she stepped closer all the same, placed her other hand on his chest, too.

“Wolffe,” she whispered.

And he responded as if was speaking into that holo recording. The one he’d made when he was so sure of what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. An honesty that wasn’t always easy for him.

Wolffe leaned his forehead against Amara’s and said, with everything in him, “I wish you were here.”

*****

When Wolffe opened his eyes again, he was staring up at the gray ceiling above his bed. He blinked a few times, accepting that he was awake now, away from his dream, away from Amara. Accepting that it would all slip away into the recesses of his mind, maybe pulled back again the next time he had this nightmare.

Because there would be a next time. There always was.

But as his body became more awake, more alert, Wolffe could still remember the dream. Could still feel Amara’s hand in his, pressed against his chest. He could see the ash that looked like snow falling around them. He could see her hair in the braided buns and hear his name pulled from her lips.

He waited a moment, still certain everything would soon fade.

By the time he got out of the fresher, the water dripping down his neck from his hair reassuring him that he was, in fact, awake, every detail remained crystal clear in his mind.

Maybe it wasn’t a dream.

Wolffe shook the thought away, moving to kit up in his new armor. He hadn’t left his bed, this room, Tipoca City. That was impossible.

He clasped his right vambrace on and paused. It was impossible, wasn’t it?

The question reverberated through his head all the way to the cafeteria. Sinker and Boost had said they’d meet him there when he took his turn in the fresher. Maybe he could ask them what they remembered about Amara’s or Plo’s various ramblings on the Force. Though, he was pretty sure neither of them had any firmer grasp on the particulars than he did. Especially not Boost.

It was, quite literally, magic to them. No matter what the Jedi said.

He was just down the hall from the cafeteria when a voice called out ahead of him.

“Commander Wolffe, a moment?”

He paused, nodding at the Togruta Jedi as she drew closer. “Yes, General?”

Surely she wasn’t here to tell him she’d changed her mind about the 104th. Jedi weren’t that callous. At least, not in his experience.

“I will not keep you long.” She glanced at the cafeteria doors as a group of clones walked out, smiling at them when they passed. “I have just come from a meeting with the Jedi Council and thought you might like to know. Clone Trooper Comet will leave Coruscant shortly. He should be on Kamino within the next day or two.”

What remained of the 104th, the old 104th, would be together again soon, then. Wolffe wondered how much Comet knew, not relishing the idea of having to tell him anything about the Malevolence himself.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said, pushing the thought away for now. “I appreciate your support.”

“You’ll soon have more than just my support, Commander.” Shaak Ti leaned in to whisper her next words, as if revealing a secret. “Your previous co-commander, General Kora, will accompany Comet here. I understand she plans to stay for a while. To assess the rebuilding efforts in General Plo’s absence.”

Wolffe could only stare as she pulled away and patted him on the arm. “I will let you know they’ve arrive. Enjoy your breakfast.”

She continued down the hall, leaving Wolffe standing perfectly still and earning annoyed nudges and grumbles from brothers entering and leaving the cafeteria. None of it registered, though. All he could hear was an echo of his own voice from the dream that was seeming less and less like a dream.

“I wish you were here,” he’d said to Amara.

Soon she would be, as if she’d heard him from across the galaxy.

Maybe, Wolffe thought, as he finally shook himself free of his stupor long enough to get through the cafeteria doors.

Maybe she actually had.

#w: a shattered peace #commander wolffe #jedi oc #commander wolffe x oc #oc: amara kora

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abandoned-by-destiny · 1 year

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Chapter 3

fic masterlist // series masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

Relationships: Commander Wolffe/fem!Jedi!OC (it’s about the slow burn y'all)

Rating: Mature (this fic as a whole is still Explicit/18+ so if you are a minor pls GTFO)

Tags/Warnings: death, corpses, blood, injuries, canon-typical violence (listen it's the Malevolence Arc, you know what's about to happen)

Word Count: 6k (ahahahahha i know i know alright)

divider by: @djarrex

Location: Escape Pod in Abregado Airspace // Year: 22 BBY // Five Hours Post-Malevolence Attack

It’s the silence, Lyra’s decided. Space has always been quiet, but the quiet doesn’t bother her. The silence, though.

Lyra stares up at the ceiling of the escape pod that she’s stuck in, laying on the floor. She’s enjoying the artificial gravity, for as long as she can. She’s going to have to turn it off in approximately fifty-five minutes, to reserve power for the life support system. Air to breathe is more important than gravity.

Lyra refuses to look out the viewport of the escape pod. If she could cover it, she would. She already knows what’s floating past the glass, bumping into her escape pod every few seconds. She doesn’t need to keep seeing it. She resists the urge to look at the chrono on her wrist. She’s pretty sure it’s still been five hours, seven minutes, and approximately thirty-six seconds since… since Malevolence.

Location: The Triumphant in Hyperspace // Approximately Five Hours Earlier

“That’s why your name is Stitches?” Lyra all but yells across the medbay at the clone medic in question. Stitches shrugs his shoulders while spinning a stylus between his fingers as he avoids doing the inventory Lyra asked him for earlier.

“It made sense and I thought it was funny.” Stitches smiles as Lyra rolls her eyes. The large ship shudders slightly and they both look around. “Feels like we just dropped out of hyperspace. Shouldn’t you be on the bridge?” Lyra huffs and stands up, walking over to the supply tower in the center of the large medbay.

“Plo doesn’t need me up there. Besides, Commander Wolffe doesn’t want me anywhere near that bridge. He made that very clear.” Lyra looks at her own datapad and starts doing the inventory herself, as she does her best to keep her feelings to herself. She reaches up and taps her earcomm twice, tuning into the bridge’s surveillance system so she can hear Plo and Wolffe.

“-large energy reading from the target, sir.” Lyra’s fingers still in the bin full of gauze as she hears Wolffe speaking.

“They found it.” She whispers and Stitches looks up from across the room.

“The weapon?” He asks, standing up finally and walking towards her. She nods and transfers the audio to her wrist comm so Stitches can listen with her.

“Open fire.” Plo’s voice sounds calm, but Lyra can detect the slightest undercurrent of fear.

“We’re not in range yet, sir.” Wolffe replies and Lyra feels a tremor in the Force. The hair in her arms stands up and she suddenly senses a strong urge to run. She grabs Stitches wrist, who balks in surprise.

“Brace for impact!” Plo is now clearly shouting, but his warning is too late. All the power in the medbay flickers and then shuts off. Stitches runs to the doors and holds them open, because the power loss causes a quarantine shutdown in the medbay. Lyra bolts to the bacta tanks and tries to turn on the emergency generator, with no luck. The doors slide back open, and Stitches turns to face Lyra and panic wipes across her face.

“The shields.” She almost whispers it, but Stitches hears her.

“-as left us defenseless!” Wolffe’s voice shouts from Lyra’s wrist, her comm barely holding on to the signal. “They’re tearing us apart, one by one.” He finishes as a loud crashing sound echoes from somewhere.

“The other ships in the fleet…” Stitches trails off as Lyra starts thinking about the two teams of medics under her command on the other two ships. She starts to reach for them in the Force when a wave of death almost knocks her off her feet. She stumbles backwards and Stitches catches her.

“Quickly! Into the pods!” They both hear Plo shout before Lyra’s comm finally fizzles out. Lyra grabs Stitches by the arm and they both start sprinting. Lyra can see red hot fissures start to appear in the hallway as they run.

“We’re running out of time!” Lyra yells as they sprint around the corner. There’s only one pod left and that’s when Lyra remembers that the pods have to be launched from an exterior control panel. The moment the thought enters her mind, she’s lifted off the ground. She lands on her hands and knees on the inside of the pod, and turns to see Stitches already closing the hatch. “No!” Lyra shrieks and tries to stop him, but it’s too late. She slams into the hatch, tears streaming down her face. Stitches looks down at the control panel and then back up at her.

“Keep my brothers safe for me, vod’ika. Okay?” He says something in a different language and hits the panel. Lyra watches through her tears as her escape pod is jettisoned from the ship. Barely a second later, the Triumphant explodes in front of her eyes.

She can see bodies being flung into open space by the force of the explosion. She turns away from the small viewport at the back of the pod and looks through the large viewport at the front.

It takes her a moment to realize that the noise she’s hearing is a scream from her own throat. Her entire focus is locked on the view out her front viewport.

Clones. Soldiers. Men she was responsible for keeping alive. Floating. Suffocated. Dead by the thousands.

Lyra collapses, sobs ripping from her throat. She pounds her hands against the durasteel grate of the floor in frustration and anger and grief. She tears at her robes, gashing holes in them.

Location: Escape Pod in Abregado Airspace // Two Hours Post-Malevolence Attack

It takes her two hours to stop crying. To pull herself off the floor and start taking inventory of her supplies.

Location: Escape Pod in Abregado Airspace // Three Hours Post-Malevolence Attack

It takes her another hour to mask her power supply and set up an emergency beacon. The power supply was already damaged from the energy pulse that shut down the Triumphant, but mechanics were never her strong suit. She realizes that she’s running out of power and so she starts planning how much longer she thinks she can survive in this tiny pod. She sits next to the transmitter for longer than she will ever admit, praying to hear a voice.

She doesn’t.

Location: Escape Pod in Abregado Airspace // Four Hours Post-Malevolence Attack

It is four hours, nine minutes, and about twelve seconds after the Triumphant explosion when the pod hunters find her. She channels her grief into the Force and rips the droids apart with frightening ease. She can feel a crackling of electricity in her veins, and a terrifying low voice whispering in the back of her mind about how good it feels to unleash her anger.

Lyra lays down on the floor afterwards and closes her eyes. She reaches a mental hand out to the Living Force, away from the voice in the back of her mind.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” Lyra whispers into the air.

The Living Force envelops her and she swears she can feel cool fingers run across her brow and down her cheek. A few tears slide out of her eyes and pool in her ears as she feels the warm light radiate through her mind, casting out the low voice. She lets the light radiate down through her whole being, physical and spiritual, as she falls into meditation.

Location: Escape Pod in Abregado Airspace // Six Hours Post-Malevolence Attack

Lyra stays in meditation until her chrono beeps; telling her it’s officially time to turn off the artificial gravity. She sits up and sighs as she tears a long strip of fabric from the bottom of her tunic. She ties one end around her ankle and the other around the back of the pilot’s chair. She wastes time double checking that her emergency beacon is still active and waits for a few seconds to see if she hears a voice.

She doesn’t.

She pushes a few more buttons to redirect the leftover power from the artificial gravity to her oxygen recycler and takes one more deep breath. She relishes the feeling of her feet on the ground, of her weight being anchored to something, and flips the switch. Her body floats up in the air, and Lyra tries to center herself when she remembers that she can’t do that without gravity. The tether on her ankle pulls taut and Lyra is left floating mostly horizontal in the center of the escape pod. Her loose robes drift around her body, blocking her vision.

Lyra closes her eyes and feels the tears float off her cheeks as she starts crying again. How did she get here? How had this become her life? Could Yoda have been right all those years ago? She hears the echo of his voice in the back of her mind, at the center of all her insecurities.

“Ready to be a Jedi, she is not.”

“Not fit for service, you are.”

“Being attached to them, caring for your family means, youngling. Forsake these dangerous attachments, you must.”

She brings a hand up to wipe away her tears, and accidentally catches a glimpse of what is outside the front viewport again. Lyra’s silent tears turn into hiccupping sobs as she sees Stitches’ body thud into the glass once, and then twice before drifting out of sight. Stitches had no choice in being on the ship today. None of the clones did.

Lyra tries to calm her breathing down by praying for all the men she lost today. That’s the last thing she remembers doing before drifting off to sleep.

Location: Scout Ship in Abregado Airspace // Eight Hours Post-Malevolence Attack

Lyra blinks awake and winces away from the bright light shining through the pod’s viewport. She realizes that she’s facedown on the floor, and as she tries to sit up, she hears the screech of metal being pulled apart from her left.

“General?” Lyra hears a voice she doesn’t recognize as she feels a cool hand brush across her forehead and down the side of her face. Lyra’s nose erupts in pain as she speaks, and she registers for the first time the amount of blood pooled on her face. Her vision is blurry, nothing but shadows moving around as she tries to reach out for whoever found her.

“Stitches?” Lyra manages to get the name out as she feels two arms lift her up and start carrying her out of the escape pod.

“You might need stitches, Naberrie, but you definitely need some water and oxygen.” A new voice says, and it takes a moment before it sinks in.

“Skywalker?” Lyra feels her body get laid down on a table. “Why are you dead?” She hears him snort as her vision slowly returns, and she looks down to see an IV in her arm and a medical droid hovering over her. “Holy shit.” Lyra’s head hits the pillow as she stares at the ceiling in shock.

“Language, Lyra, small ears are in the room.” Lyra turns her head to see Anakin Skywalker leaning against a counter across a very small room. He’s smiling, but Lyra can feel the worry radiating from him and from someone else. Lyra shifts her head to see a small Togruta girl standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

“Small ears, Master?” The girl speaks and Lyra can hear a hint of Anakin’s own signature sarcasm in her voice.

“Zip it, Snips.” Anakin’s response is drenched in the aforementioned sarcasm. Lyra brings her hands up to her face to wipe away her tears, but winces when her fingers brush against her nose. It’s then that she realizes the liquid pooling under her eyes isn’t tears, it’s blood. “I’d hold off on touching your face, at least until the droid sets your nose.” Lyra bats away the hands of the meddroid and sits up on the bed.

“I can set my own nose, Skywalker.” Lyra tries to sound strong, but even she can hear the quiver in her voice. The girl in the door takes a few steps forward, arms slightly outstretched as if to catch Lyra if she falls. Anakin huffs and takes two big steps across the room.

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.” He looks like he wants to say more, but a glance over his shoulder at the girl stops him. “Ahsoka, go back to the cockpit and see if we’re picking up any more emergency signals.” Lyra turns to watch her as the girl, Ahsoka, perks up at being given a job.

“Yes, Master!” She chirps and darts out the door. Lyra raises an eyebrow.

“And Padme would have my head if I let you set your own broken nose.” Anakin finishes his thought once his Padawan is out of earshot.

“Or something else.” Lyra concedes and cracks a smile at Anakin’s offended gasp. “I still can’t believe they gave you a Padawan.” She says under her breath and is met with a sharp burst of pain. “Ow!” She flinches away from Anakin’s fingers and grabs her newly set nose. “That was uncalled for.” She mutters as she runs her fingers at the edges of the jagged cut across the bridge of her nose. Anakin shrugs indifferently at her pain and holds his hands out again.

“Let me heal you up.” Lyra backs away and raises her eyebrows again.

“You don’t know how to Force heal.” Anakin sputters at her sentence.

“It can’t be that hard.” He brushes away her concern.

“It can literally kill you if you do it wrong– Hey!” Lyra starts to pull back again as Ahsoka comes back to the door.

“Master? There’s a comm for you.” Anakin straightens up and makes one last face at Lyra before leaving the room. “Do you need anything?” Ahsoka’s voice is kind and Lyra can’t help but smile.

“Can you find a mirror and bring it to me?” Lyra asks and Ahsoka takes a moment to search the room and brings Lyra a small mirror and two packages of something.

“We don’t have a lot on board, because this is just a scout vessel, but these should help!” Ahsoka starts to unwrap a package of towels to clean off the blood and Lyra sees the small container of dermobacta next to her.

“This is perfect, thank you.” Lyra gratefully takes the wipes and clears the pooled blood from under her eyes.

“I can assist you.” The meddroid speaks up from next to Lyra’s bed, but she waves it off.

“A shock blanket would be nice.” She smiles at the droid who spins away towards a cabinet. Lyra takes the mirror and holds it up so she can get a good look at the gash on her nose. She rests her fingers against the gash and closes her eyes.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” Lyra starts chanting and she feels the familiar warmth bloom through her body. She focuses on the cut, stitching the edges down and encouraging the growth of the scar tissue. She hears Ahsoka’s voice join her on the last refrain of her prayer.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” Lyra opens her eyes to see the last few sparks of golden energy fade away from the now pink scar cutting across her nose.

“Not bad.” Lyra wipes the last few traces of blood away and turns to see Ahsoka watching her with wide eyes.

“I’ve only ever seen Healer Allie do that.” She whispers and Lyra cracks a smile.

“I’ll teach you a bit, if I get the chance.” Lyra nudges Ahsoka with her shoulder as she hops off the exam table. Lyra pulls the shock blanket from the meddroid’s hands and wraps it around herself. “Let’s go find your master.” Ahsoka smiles at the offer and leads Lyra to the cockpit.

“I decided we couldn’t just give up on Master Plo, Healer Naberrie, or their men.” Anakin says as Lyra and Ahsoka enter the cockpit.

“A noble gesture, Anakin. But the council feels your nobility may put others in danger. Please listen to me, Anakin. Return at once.” The hologram of the Chancellor implores Anakin as Ahsoka sits back down in the copilot chair. Lyra leans against the doorway and does her best to hide her surprise at Anakin being on a first name basis with the Supreme Chancellor.

“Yes, Excellency.” Anakin nods and the holo flickers off. Ahsoka looks shocked at Anakin’s response. “Time to go, Ahsoka.” Lyra doesn’t move from the doorway.

“We have to stay!” Ahsoka gestures out towards the viewport. “We found Healer Naberrie, Master Plo has to be out there.”

“Ahsoka,” Lyra pipes up from behind them, “I want to believe Master Plo’s alive more than anyone, but I just--” Ahsoka spins away from her and grabs onto the controls.

“I know he’s alive! I can sense it.” Ahsoka says firmly as she flips a switch and starts piloting the ship herself. Lyra slams into the opposite side of the doorway as Ahsoka swerves the ship through the debris field.

“Ahsoka!” Anakin shouts as he is tossed from his chair to the floor, away from his own controls. Lyra can barely hear him over the ringing in her own ears and the screech of R2 as the small astromech slides across the cockpit floor. Ahsoka rights the ship a few moments later and Lyra feels the equivalent of a flash of blinding light in the Force.

“There!” Lyra shouts, pointing her finger in the direction of the flash. Ahsoka swings the ship around again, and through the viewport they see Master Plo and two clone troopers outside an escape pod, with another figure inside. Anakin makes it back to his seat and takes control of the ship back from Ahsoka.

“Ready tow cable.” He says, the exhaustion clear in his voice. Ahsoka jumps up from her seat and runs to the back wall.

“Cable loaded, Master.” Ahsoka beams as Anakin gets them in position. She fires the tow cable and turns to Lyra, her excitement flowing off of her in waves. “C’mon!” She takes off at a run down the short hallway to the cargo bay. Anakin stops at the doorway and puts his hand on Lyra’s shoulder.

“She reminds me of you.” Lyra quips out, her breath still heavy and her ears still ringing.

“Don’t have to tell me that.” Anakin huffs out under his breath as Ahsoka opens the door.

“Are you okay, Master Plo? There's someone in the pod!” Lyra brushes Anakin’s hand off her shoulder at Ahsoka’s words and leans against the wall to make it to the doorway. Ahsoka is kneeling on the floor next to Plo, who is coughing on the ground.

Lyra reaches a hand out towards the escape pod and tears off the viewport as two troopers slide off the top. Commander Wolffe falls forward and starts coughing. Anakin rushes forward and catches him before he hits the ground. Lyra leans against the door, stars finally starting to fade from her vision and the ringing in her ears starting to slow. Anakin turns to the meddroid as it gently pushes past Lyra to enter the airlock.

“Will they be alright?” Anakin directs his question to the droid, but before the ancient machine can answer, Lyra pipes up.

“Their suits are pressurized, which should have offered some protection, but they’ll need Force healing or a medical frigate for recovery.” At the sound of her voice, Plo pulls away from Ahsoka’s hug and looks up at her.

“Lyra.” His voice is gravelly and Lyra takes a few steps forwards and drops to her knees next to Ahsoka.

“Master.” She whispers, and then reaches forward to pull him into a hug. Plo wraps his arms around her and squeezes tightly, and Lyra can feel the tears finally starting to pool in the corners of her eyes.

“I‘ve been so worried.” Plo says, not breaking the hug. “Were there any other survivors?” Lyra pulls away and wipes at the corners of her eyes, feeling much more like a scared Padawan than a General in an army.

“We couldn’t find anybody else. I was alone in my pod.” Lyra feels Ahsoka’s hand rest on her shoulder as Plo takes a good look at Lyra. He raises a hand and hovers a few fingers over the fresh scar on her nose, sighing.

“The hunters must have destroyed the rest.” A weak voice says, and Lyra turns her head to see Commander Wolffe leaning against the pod with the other two troopers.

“I’m sorry, Master Plo.” Ahsoka says, and Lyra winces slightly. She rises from her knees and walks over to the three clones as Anakin and Ahsoka usher Plo away to the cockpit. Lyra takes the blanket from her shoulders and wraps it around Wolffe. He barely moves.

“We need the rest of the shock blankets. And any extra oxygen you have on board.” Lyra turns to the meddroid and rattles off the things she needs. It turns and walks back into the hallway, leaving Lyra alone with the three troopers, the last remaining troopers of the 104th. Wolffe won’t make eye contact with her, but the other two are looking at her expectantly. Lyra remembers briefly, the meeting she had when her and Plo joined the 104th, and got introduced to all the commanding officers. “It’s Boost and Sinker, right?” She asks and then two men take off their helmets.

“Yes, sir.” Boost replies. Lyra winces slightly at the honorific.

“Please, just call me Lyra.” She asks and reaches out her hands for both men. “May I?” They look confused, but reach out a hand and grab onto her. Lyra feels the Force humming through their bodies and closes her eyes. “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” She chants the phrase as she pushes the Living Force through their forms, boosting the production of hemoglobin to increase oxygen intake and sealing up any wounds or bruises they had. They both take deep breaths and settle back against the pod as Lyra finishes her chant and opens her eyes.

Boost and Sinker both have their eyes closed, but Wolffe is looking at Lyra. She turns as the warm glow fades from her hands and arms, and sees Wolffe looking at her with his mouth slightly open. She kneels in front of him, and reaches for his shoulders when the lights in the airlock flicker off.

“Hey, what’s with the lights?” Boost calls out to the meddroid as it reenters the room.

“The power’s gone out.” Wolffe says, sitting up straighter. “Maybe that ship has returned. We should get up to the bridge.” He tries to push off the ground, but falls back against the escape pod.

“Absolutely not. You’re too weak.” Lyra stands again, determinedly ignoring her own shaky rise. She walks over to the meddroid and shuts it off, and lifts the supplies out of its arms. “I’ll go see what’s going on.” She places the blankets and oxygen tanks on the floor between the three men and starts walking back towards the hallway. She opens the door as she hears Ahsoka’s voice carry through from the cockpit.

“They’re coming back!” She sounds nervous and Lyra sees Anakin tighten his grip on the flight controls.

“We’ve got to get the power back on, now!” Ahsoka jumps up at Anakin’s words and starts turning the ship back on. Anakin turns over his shoulder to see Lyra in the doorway, and shouts. “Brace yourselves back there!”

“On what?” Lyra shouts back, gripping the door frame as Anakin swings the ship around.

“Anything!” He yells over his shoulder, “R2, program the navicomputer. Get ready to get us out of here!” He turns his head to shout at the astromech and Lyra watches his face fall.

“You for-got.” Lyra hears Ahsoka sing the words at Anakin and then drop into a deadpan. “We turned him off.” Lyra ignores the look Anakin gives Ahsoka and turns back to the clones.

“How are you feeling?” She directs her question at the two clones she had already healed. They had both stood up at Anakin’s shout.

“Better.” Sinker says, and Boost nods in agreement.

“Good. Can you help him to the side closet?” She gestures towards the Commander still on the ground. “I can heal him once we get up there.” They both nod silently and hoist Wolffe up onto their shoulders. Lyra slides to the side so they could get through the door before her and takes one last look at the two escape pods in the airlock before closing the door behind them. They deposit Wolffe on the same small cot and step aside for Lyra. Wolffe tries to stand up, but falls back onto the cot. The two troopers rush to grab his shoulders but Lyra beats them to it.

“Will he be alright?” Sinker asks. Lyra looks at him.

“Yes. I promise.” He doesn’t look very sure as his eyes flick back to his unconscious Commander. Lyra takes a step towards him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I promise, Sinker.” She repeats, and Sinker inhales deeply.

“Of course, sir.” He says and Lyra flinches slightly at the honorific.

“Just Lyra, please. We’re all the same here.” She squeezes his shoulder. “Sinker, can you take Boost and head up to the cockpit? I’ve got everything handled here.” Sinker lets out a deep breath at her words and nods. “Thank you.” She says as both men leave the room. She turns back to Commander Wolffe on the bed, trying again to sit up.

“They need me.” Wolffe breathes out, barely making it through the sentence. Lyra pushes him gently back onto the cot.

“You’ll be no help to them now. Let me heal you.” Wolffe flinches away from Lyra’s hands and she sighs. “Commander, I’m just trying to help.”

“I’m fine.” Wolffe says gruffly, weakly batting away Lyra’s hands. Lyra huffs again.

“Commander, you are not fine. You just spent eight hours in an escape pod with a failing life support system and barely any gravity.” Wolffe stops fighting and his hands fall to his chest.

“What would you know about it?” Lyra closes her eyes at Wolffe’s question and takes a deep breath.

“Because my escape pod had no gravity and I was alone.” She whispers, and Wolffe’s eyes go wide.

“General…” She places her hands on his shoulders as he looks up at her with regret and another emotion she can’t place.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.” Lyra chants the words and feels a pulse from the Living Force in the room around her. She’s done a lot of healing today, and she has to focus hard to keep her own life force out of the stream of energy she’s using to heal Wolffe. The noise from the ship is distracting her.

“Master?” She hears Ahsoka sound nervous and almost afraid and her grip on the Living Force slips for a second. R2 is beeping furiously as Lyra feels the ship jolt into hyperspace. “We’re clear!” Ahsoka calls out again and Lyra’s grip slips again.

“Damnit.” She mutters and loses her grip entirely. Lyra scrambles to pull away, to pull her life force away from Wolffe’s injuries. She claws at her life force, and feels her mind going fuzzy.

“..for that. She always said you guys would pull through.” Lyra hears Anakin’s voice faintly, like he’s far away from her.

“General?” She opens her eyes to see Wolffe, looking significantly better than before, practically holding her up.

“General Plo said someone would come for us. We’re glad he was right.” Lyra hears one of the other troopers, Boost she thinks, as they all crowd around the door to the room. Lyra finally pulls all her energy back into herself and lifts her hands from Wolffe’s shoulders.

“Lyra!” Wolffe lunges for Lyra but he’s too late as she falls to the floor. The last thing Lyra sees is the three troopers hovering over her as her vision goes black.

Location: Republic Medical Frigate in the Ryndellian System // Three Days Post-Malevolence Attack

Lyra wakes up in a bed that she doesn’t recognize, and she feels terrible. She goes to say something, but her mouth feels dry as a bone.

“Water?” She manages to croak out and someone lifts a straw to her lips. She drinks greedily and then opens her eyes. “Padme?” Her older sister smiles and sets the water cup down on a tray next to Lyra’s bed.

“It’s nice to see you awake.” Padme reaches up and brushes a curl of hair off of Lyra’s forehead.

“What are you doing here?” Lyra still can’t quite wrap her head around the idea that her sister is next to her bed. “Where is here?” Padme laughed and scooted her chair closer to Lyra.

“A medical frigate in the Ryndellian system. You passed out after the hyperspace jump back to the fleet.” Padme explained and then hesitated.

“Padme,” Lyra said quietly, raising an eyebrow. “How many days ago was that?” Padme sighed.

“Three.” She looked over at Lyra with a grimace on her face. “These frigates got attacked, I think. I wasn’t actually here for that part.” Lyra let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes. “I was headed back to Coruscant from Naboo when my ship got intercepted by Grievous.” Lyra’s eyes shoot open and she tries to sit up. Padme puts a hand on her shoulder and eases her back down to the bed. “I’m okay. 3PO and I snuck off our ship before they boarded, and then Anakin and Obi-Wan came to rescue me.” Padme explains, rubbing Lyra’s shoulder with her thumb.

“Speaking of Skywalker, where is he?” Lyra asks, taking Padme’s hand off her shoulder and holding it.

“Somebody ask for me?” Lyra groans at the sound of Anakin’s voice as she turns her head to see him sauntering into the room. “Naberrie! You’re awake!” Anakin smiles as he pulls up a chair next to Padme, trying and failing to keep a respectable distance between the two of them. Lyra rolls her eyes again and looks around the room; it’s empty except for the three of them and one powered off meddroid.

“Just kiss already, Force. There’s nobody else in the room.” Lyra drops Padme’s hand and finds the remote for her bed. She finally gets herself into a sitting position as Padme and Anakin pull apart. Padme is blushing like a schoolgirl and Anakin has a smirk on his face as he throws his arm around Padme’s shoulders.

“How’re you feeling?” Anakin asks, his voice growing slightly more somber. “You gave us a good scare.” Lyra waves him off.

“I feel fine. I’m ready to get out of this bed.” She looks at him pointedly and he looks down at the floor.

“You’ve only been awake for a few minutes.” Padme says sternly, and Lyra rolls her eyes.

“I feel fine!” She starts to say more when her and Anakin both perk up. Anakin stands up and drops his arm from around Padme. Lyra uses the Force and quickly moves his chair to the other side of her bed. Anakin barely makes it around the foot of her bed when the doors to Lyra’s room slide open.

“Lyra.” Plo walks into the room with three clones behind him. “It is good to see you awake, young one.” Lyra smiles at his familiar energy, and ignores the air of panic radiating from Anakin.

“It’s good to be awake.” Lyra responds and leans her head over to look at the three troopers behind him. They take off their helmets, and Lyra is happy to see Boost, Sinker, and Wolffe in front of her, healthy and whole. “How are you all feeling?” She asks and Plo steps to the side behind Padme.

“Like new, but better.” Boost winks at Lyra and she smiles. “We can’t thank you enough, General.”

“We’d be in these beds next to you or worse if you hadn’t been there.” Sinker tacks on to the end of Boost’s sentence, setting his helmet down on the end of her bed. Wolffe sets his helmet down next to Sinker’s but stays silent.

“You’re to remain on bedrest for a few more days.” Plo says, and Lyra’s eyes widen. “Until Healer Allie gives the word.” Plo’s voice is stern, but Lyra still makes a noise in protest.

“That’s ridiculous! I’m just as much a Healer as Allie is, and I say I’m fine!” Lyra says, doing her best not to yell.

“Regardless, bedrest.” Plo says, his tone leaving no room for argument. Lyra grumbles but says nothing. “I think our resident Healer needs some time to herself, if we could give her the room?” Plo says, and Lyra can see the assigned meditation for what it is. She squints her eyes at her old Master, but says nothing. Plo gestures for Anakin to follow him out the door, and Anakin waves goodbye to Lyra with his eyes on Padme.

“I’m headed back to Coruscant tonight, come see me when you get back.” Padme stands and squeezes Lyra’s hand, before leaning forward and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

“It was good to see you.” Lyra says back, squeezing Padme’s hand in return before letting it go. Boost and Sinker both give her a salute, and Lyra watches as Sinker whispers something in Wolffe’s ear before the sergeant and the corporal leave the room. Lyra is left with only Wolffe, standing at the foot of her bed. Lyra folds her legs up and rests her hands on her knees. “Do you need something, Commander?” Wolffe opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again. Lyra releases a breath and closes her eyes, and waits. She keeps her awareness in her own body, assessing it for lingering injuries as she waits for Wolffe to find his words.

“Why did you do it?” Wolffe’s voice is quiet when he asks her, and Lyra’s eyes open to find Wolffe’s eyes locked on hers.

“Do what?” Lyra asks, genuinely confused.

“Save me. You almost died. For me. Why?” Wolffe almost sounds angry, but Lyra can feel his emotions radiating in the Force. For the first time, she feels Wolffe’s Force signature, but it’s blurry.

“You’re a person.” Lyra answers honestly; she feels like it’s all she can do. This space that her and Wolffe have created feels like it’s begging her to tell the truth. “And people are always worth saving.” She can tell that Wolffe is taken aback by her answer, but she keeps eye contact with him as she waits for his reply.

“There’s millions of me.” Wolffe replies, looking down at Lyra’s bed. Lyra frowns and leans forward. She reaches out and touches the back of his hand on the railing of her bed. His Force signature is thrown into clarity, and Lyra has to hold back a gasp at the beauty of it.

“Physically, yes. But you are your own person, with your own mind. And you are worth saving.” Wolffe looks up at her during her sentence and their eyes lock. For a brief moment, Lyra lets herself get lost in the brown of his eyes. Wolffe flips his hand over and their fingers weave together. Lyra has this sudden feeling that she can’t quite place, but she sees the same feeling in Wolffe’s eyes. Wolffe blinks and they both quickly let go and pull away from each other.

“Thank you.” Wolffe’s voice is low, but Lyra hears him all the same.

“Hey, wanna do me a favor?” She asks, and Wolffe raises a single eyebrow at her.

Location: The Briefing Room on the Resolute in the Ryndellian System // Three Days Post-Malevolence Attack

“Naberrie. How did you get off the medical frigate?”

“Shut it, Skywalker. The briefing is about to start.”

divider by: @maysdigitalarts

Taglist: @lady--kenobi @ulchabhangorm @ariadnes-red-thread @cocolinagoodnight @justanothersadperson93 @corrieguards @rexxdjarin @baba-fett @sleepingsun501

Join the Taglist!

#abd #abd: fbw #oc lyra amidala naberrie #original female character #jedi healer oc #commander wolffe x female!Jedi!OC #wolyra

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duncans-idahoe · 7 months

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Worth It

Wolffe X Cas (fem Jedi! OC) thank you to @ghoulishhone for giving the idea for this I was forced awake at 5 am because my brain needed me to get it out

Cas and Wolffe take some time to reflect after a particularly difficult battle

Warnings: mentions of death, war

words: <1k

Casadera bonelessly dropped her aching body onto the blue grasses of the cliff and faced out into the blinking night. One would think they would get used to the wonders of space after years of traveling from planet to planet, but every time she thought she’d seen it all that endless wonder would show her something new.

The planet Cas and the 104th had found themselves stationed on had its own galactic show. At night, all of the system’s planets were visible, and in between stars and planets, colors danced. Flashes and flowing streams of greens, blues, and oranges. Cas was sure the phenomena had a name, maybe a sort of solar flare, but she preferred locals’ term for it the “dancing lights”.

Cas was caught in thought, going back through the day's hard-won battle in her head when she felt the approach of a familiar presence through the force.

Commander Wolffe, helmet off tucked in the crook of his elbow, walked to the spot next to Cas. He dropped his gaze down to her briefly, silently asking for permission, and Cas gave him a small smile and patted the soft grass next to her. Wolffe put his helmet down and sat, careful not to disturb the Jedi’s robes that flowed around her.

The two commanders had grown close the past few years they’d spent together, too close the Jedi council had warned her. She was too close with the clone troopers she commanded, too attached. It was dangerous they had warned her, the dark side lurked waiting to lure those over who could not let go. But Cas knew sacrifice and letting go; she sacrificed her own peace, her own men, had left her own master…

No, she wouldn’t go there.

She brought her thoughts back to the present: this cliff and its blue grass, the dancing lights, and the stoic clone commander next to her. When she turned back to him He was already looking at her, his eyes flashing with the lights, his cybernetic almost a perfect mirror. He was scanning her over, looking for any wounds that needed tending. The battle had been over for hours, but the time since had been spent dispensing of any rogue battle droids and caring for the wounded soldiers, both clones and the local planetary forces. Wolffe knew the Jedi would leave her own needs to be dealt with last, and had likely not taken more than a cursory glance over herself to be sure her limbs were all still intact. Wolffe was pleased to find that she was all in one piece, he had been by her side most of the fight to be sure of it, but there was a tear on one of her dirt-stained sleeves, singed on the edges, blaster fire. Cas noticed it at the same time he did.

“Just a graze, I’ll live.” She offered a small smile, and covered her arm with her other hand, but the smile didn’t last. Cas turned her gaze back to the stars.

“Do you-” She began but stopped, worrying her bottom lip as she considered her words. He waited for her to find them.

“Do you think it’s worth it? I mean, fighting this war is it worth it? Every day we send in troops to fight battles all across the galaxy and win or lose the next day there’s another battle elsewhere. It just seems… endless.”

Wolffe hadn’t considered it. He was bred for this singular purpose, to fight this war, and he would probably die for it. But he looked at the Jedi, his Jedi, Cas. He watched the lights dancing in her jewel green eyes and the silver tears lining her eyes and then he thought about all the brothers he had lost. Not just that day, but every day since he’d been deployed off Kamino.

“I have to hope it’s all been for something. I don’t know if it’s worth it if it’ll mean anything in the end, but it meant something to the people we’ve helped.” Cas thought about her Master, then Captain Keeli, and then the people of Ryloth and how they rejoiced when they won their home back. How the people of this planet had cheered and hugged and laughed despite the destruction around them. The tears fell down her cheek, but neither said anything else as the Jedi took her commander’s hand and squeezed tight.

#I don't think you understand #i'm obsessed #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x oc #commander wolffe x cas #star wars oc #jedi oc #star wars fanfiction

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wild-karrde · 2 years

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Happy Fandom Friday 🤩!

I want to give a shoutout to Writteninthesw's A Shattered Peace series! I've been making my way through it and I really love it 🥰

And thank you Karrde for organising these!

And THANK YOU for your submissions, Ul!!!! I had one of @writteninthesw's one shots with Wolffe get rec'ed last week, and LOVED it, so I am HYPED to get into this fic.

Love the way Danielle writes Wolffe, and her OC Amara sounds like a total badass! Thanks so much for the rec!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

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foreverdaydreaming1 · 1 year

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Captor & Prisoner

So this is the start of the Wolffe X Jedi!OC fic I've had in my head for a while now. It's been forever since I've posted any of my fanfiction, so it's just me getting comfortable with posting again.

Summary: Saalia Anez has been through hell, but meeting Commander Wolffe seems to be the best thing that's happened to her since before the war started. Even if he acts like he can't stand her.

It’s implied that she was held prisoner and injured but there’s nothing specific.

“Are you lost?”

Four clones turned to look at her, helmets at their sides, with sheepish looks.

“Just a bit, sir.”

Her laugh was light, “No worries. The temple is big and can be confusing if you aren’t used to it. Where are you looking for?”

“General Koon asked us to meet him in the council room.” He must be the leader, if the kama attached to his hips and the easy way he answered for all of them said anything.

“You’re some of Master Plo’s boys? Well then, I really need to make sure you get where you’re going.”

“Would you lead us somewhere else if we weren’t under General Koon’s command?” This was a different one and his voice was cautious. She wondered what his name was, what any of their names were.

Her smile was devious, “Of course not trooper. We might have taken a longer way, but I still would’ve gotten you where you needed to be.”

She didn’t miss the cautious looks they exchanged as she turned to lead them to the council room, and it gave her a light spring in her step. She wasn’t entirely out of practice when it came to pranks and unnerving people. “Follow me.”

“Here you are. Right where you need to be with no detours.” She said the last part with a wink to the group looking at her.

“Thank you, sir.”

She smiled and was about to respond when she noticed the healer staring directly at her with irritation.

“Not a problem, I’m here for all your sightseeing needs if you have spare time when you’re on planet. If you’ll excuse me though, I think I sense another group of lost clones.”

The group chuckled as she turned and walked down the hall, away from the healer who was speeding up in an attempt to catch her. She was about to turn down a section of the temple that she knew was rarely used and could easily lose the healer in when another healer popped out of her planned exit with arms crossed and a scowl.

With a grimace, she spun quickly on her heel and decided she would take her chances with slipping between the group of clones and the healer. Surely the clones would be too confused to do anything other than watch as she attempted to duck the healers that wanted to drag her back to the med bay. The Force was not on her side today though, because as she was walking past the supposed leader, he snagged her arm in a tight grip. Her head snapped to look at him and the look on his face.

“I’ve caught enough men trying to avoid the med bay to know what you’re up to.”

What was that look? Smug? Amused? Irritated? She couldn’t place it, and that bothered her just as much as the lecture she was about to receive for slipping out.

“I have been saved from one captor only to be caught by another in what is supposed to be a safe place for me!” Saalia yelled out trying not to smile.

The clone looked down at her with a raised brow but was spared from having to answer by the council room doors opening.

“Ah Commander Wolffe, I see you have caught our resident runaway.” Plo Koon’s voice was smooth and Saalia’s head jerked to look at him in betrayal.

“Master Plo! You’re supposed to help me!”

Mace Windu let out a laugh, “Stop making Stass’s life harder, Saalia.”

Saalia whined, “But Master! She just wants me to lay there, alone, all day! Even I can’t mediate that much!”

“Not telling you to meditate, she is. Telling you to rest.” Master Yoda’s spoke up from beside Master Windu.

“I can’t rest that much. I spent months bound to a table. I want to move. I want to do something. Anything!”

“And you will. After you completely recover.” Master Windu stated, not unkindly.

Saalia groaned but put up no further argument.

Master Plo took her groan of defeat in stride. “I think it best if the commander assists in Ali’s return to the healer’s quarters. It seems as though a third person is required to ensure our runaway stays where she’s supposed to be.”

“Ha! Hear that? Your captor duties aren’t over yet. Now you have to escort me to my prison.” The grin that followed her words could only be described as toothy.

The look she was given was entirely unimpressed, mostly definitely irritated, and it only served to make her smile more.

“Well then, lead the way captor! Wait,” she couldn’t grin any more without splitting her face in half. “You can’t because you don’t know where you’re going! You just have to trust that I’m leading us in the correct direction!”

Finally, she got an audible reaction from the commander. The sigh that passed between his lips was long suffering as was the look he gave his general.

“Don’t worry Wolffe. You still have the other two; they can lead. Your job is to just not let go of your prisoner until you arrive at the healer’s quarters.” Master Plo’s reassurance didn’t erase the look from the commander’s face or stop Saalia from laughing.

“Commander Wolffe, is it? Don’t worry, I’m great company. Arguably one of the best prisoner’s you’ll ever have, and most certainly the funniest.” She was enjoying this too much probably, but it had been so long since she had been able to hound someone like this and she was having fun.

“Funniest looking maybe,” it was a quiet grumble, if Saalia hadn’t been so close she might not have heard it at all. But she was close enough to hear it and watch his lips as they moved.

The laugh that ripped out of her was light, genuine, and absolutely elated at his rebuttal and the startled look on his face at having been heard.

“I like this one!” She called back to her masters as she was led away.

They were at the med bay, but Saalia didn’t want to part ways from the quiet commander. He had walked easily beside her, his hand on her arm firm but not harsh. He had also listened to all of her commentary about his abilities as a captor without blinking an eye or smiling, which was what bothered Saalia the most.

“Commander, before you go, I have a genuine question for you.” His sigh was heavy, but he stayed and tipped his head to tell her to continue. “Did they mess up your coding? You haven’t smiled once this entire time, and it’s alarming.”

She watched him blink several times in surprise at the abrupt question. “Has it occurred to you that you just aren’t funny?”

Saalia gave an undignified snort of a laugh, “Absolutely not. I can make even the strictest members of the Jedi Council laugh.”

“It must be out of pity then.”

Saalia looked at him for a moment, tried to read his face and eyes, but while they were nice to look at, they provided no insight to his thoughts. She chose to hum instead in contemplation.

“I’ll think on your suggestion, Commander. It’s most certainly an interesting one.” With that she smiled, gave a soft nod, and walked into her so called prison.

She missed the puff of laughter he let out as the door closed behind her, and the smile on his face as he put his helmet on and began the walk back to the barracks.

#wolffe x Jedi! oc #new story #commander wolffe #yes this eventually becomes a love story #I'm horrible with tags

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fandom-friday · 6 months

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Hey Karrde, Happy Fandom Friday 🥰!

I want to submit the series by @frostycatblr-fandom-files Poets and Painters a Mature Wolffe x GN!Reader series!

I've been really enjoying each chapter and I really like the quiet moments with Wolffe and I really love the clone OCs antics 😂

If there's one thing Wolffe deserves, it's some peace and quiet after EVERYTHING he's been through, and I love that this fic gives him that. Also, you know me. I'll never stop shouting about other people's clone OCs. I'm collecting them like Pokemon cards at this point. I love seeing this series get recommended. Thanks so much for sending it in!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

#FANDOM FRIDAY #creator appreciation #fic rec #fanfiction #fan fic #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #commander wolffe #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #clone oc #clone trooper boost #clone trooper sinker #OC Tack #OC Orchid #OC Soapsuds #jedi OC

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 7 months

Text

Poets and Painters (Golden Dawn Part 2) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Scheming brothers. Brief miscommunications. Mutual pining? 👀 Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word-count: 6,743

It did not take little Mir long to find several samples of art and poetry to share with the cluster of curious on-lookers that have grown around her sister while she prepares bundles of incense and dried flowers. Petals and dried leaves are taken in clusters of twenty-seven before being tied tightly with twine, and carefully passed over the fire to the individual by name. Among the first bundles she gives, one is offered to Plo Koon, who has joined you since Mir had to ask for Solladara’s help in finding a particular piece of poetry and it interrupted their discussion.

“This is for you, Plo Koon.”

“That is kind of you. Thank you, young Gi.” the Jedi professes his thanks once he’s able to extract one of his occupied hands, more of the Chossi children than before sitting around him or in his lap, now. He has nowhere to put it, for the time being, so while you’re busy reading some of the poetry Mir found, Commander Wolffe takes his general’s bundle of incense and finds a place for it in one of the many compartments in his utility belt.

The Basic that’s carved into thin sheets of bark may be slightly broken and disjointed, but the verbal painting performed here is no less incredible. So… is it really the doing of the Dinocaeruleus anthos that everyone’s been so… inspired? The mere pollen in the air, where that pleasant and faintly familiar smell has followed you all day long, is responsible for all this?

All the sketches, the thoughtful conversations you’ve had today, even the thoughts you’ve been having about the commander, that could all be the influence of the pollen? You’re not sure how you feel about that. Stars above, you live in such a strange galaxy…

“It will only be effective for those who reach maturity.” Mir’s older sister explains to her curious onlookers and those fielding questions, like Tack, preparing a new incense bundle that will be given to you to take back to the Jedi cruiser. “To those who have not reached maturity, like Mir, the pollen and petal incense will only smell sweet.”

Beside you, you hear Tack now quietly mourning that it will only ever smell nice for poor Orchid under his breath. Orchid snarls back at him to shut up, saying that that was a cheap shot. He can be plenty mature! He is so fuckin' mature, thank you!

“If you're talking about your language and your choice of reading material, sure… Now pipe down, both of you. Don't be rude to Gi!” Suds mutters, wagging his head disapprovingly of both brothers’ behaviors. “Sorry about them…”

Gi offers only an impish smile, finding humor in the brothers’ bickering. “It won't work for Mir. But, it would work for you, Arcadia, and Wolffe.” she adds with a nod, offering him his own bundle of anthos incense. “I will make some for your brothers, too. If they are interested.”

“That’s very kind of you, Gi.” Wolffe answers as he pockets his own bundle beside General Plo’s, nodding to show his gratitude for the generosity of your hosts here. The members of their community that were once cold and standoffish before to the battalion have since thawed out some more, making further offers to show elements of their culture, their homeland here with you as off-worlders.

We’re all just the universe trying to make sense of itself. Shouldn’t that be enough to unify us? Wouldn’t it be nice if that was all it took?

No. Unfortunately the galaxy was just far too vast for that optimism, that sweet naivete. It would never be enough to settle the differences in Republic or Separatist opinion.

It would never be enough to bring back Wolffe’s lost brothers, either.

Brothers he forever carries in his heart no matter if he knew them in maroon or gray. Five hundred seventy-four brothers were lost in the Battle of Abregado. As was the original Triumphant: the new flagship is unofficially filed as the Triumphant II, for the time being. If only you had the appropriate leverage to do it (or maybe you talked to enough of his brothers to rally them around the idea) you would propose Resiliency for the Star Destroyer’s new name to honor Commander Wolffe’s inspiring refusal to be deterred from his service, his duty, his creed of brotherhood and loyalty.

It’s a lovely thought anyway.

One for another time. There’s still so much to do tonight. Gi’s still making bundles of incense for members of the Wolfpack, but there’s been offerings from the Chossi to show more of their homeland, and what they accomplish under the light of the moon as a nocturnal culture. Children Mir’s age are willing to share star stories, naming various constellations you can see when you look in the gaps of the leafy canopy of their community homes. (They’re calling it star-sowing, which sounds adorable.) Children Gi’s age have simple chores to do, and several of Wolffe’s men offer their hands in aid.

Already, a few have assembled themselves in groups, rather like the squads they’re familiar with, and are ready to “report” to the youth of the Chossi. One rookie admits he doesn’t know what ground-squash looks like, but he’s willing to help with harvesting the ripe ones. They’ve spent all day relaxing. And though they spend more days than not getting their hands dirty, it’s from things like droid oil, and soot, oftentimes blood. Getting a bit of dirt on their hands while digging through a communal vegetable patch? Yes, that’s technically work on a day their General took them here to relax, but it’s relaxing compared to what they normally do.

“Might be the only time we get to dig holes we don’t have to fill back up.” another soldier says with a shrug, deciding he’ll join in after taking anthos incense from Gi. “Wait up, guys!”

“What did he mean by that?” you ask, half turning to Wolffe after noticing his eyes becoming half-lidded in thought.

“Graves, most likely.” A stiff shrug is offered, showing he’s not sure himself. “Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

Tack, having eaten his hash-sah fruit while you’d been distracted, butts into the conversation between you and the commander before it grows any more grim. “You really got to try the fruit, Commander; it’s delicious. Arcadia’s should be big enough to share.” He can show you how to eat it, too, since it’s best to hold it by the soft rind, otherwise you’ll end up a bit of a mess like Orchid.

“Ah shit, got my gloves and damn vambraces all fuckin’ sticky.”

Soapsuds hisses for him to be better. “Cool it, fresher-mouth!” he’s displeased that his brother’s not minding his tongue with so many little ones around. The little girl from earlier he’s given his chocolate to still hasn’t let go, for the most part; he’d rather not have one of his brothers prove a bad influence in her galactic vocabulary.

You agree to get the large hash-sah fruit from amongst the things in your bag, gingerly extracting it when the flint-gray commander takes note of the time and suggests you need something to eat. If you’d returned to the Jedi cruiser with the rest of the crew, you’d probably have gotten dinner long before now. “Can’t have you going hungry, Arcadia.” Wolffe says, another instance of it being more than a suggestion.

It’s a veiled request.

Afterwards, perhaps together, you can find something more to do. This time it is a suggestion.

You figure anything will work, so long as it means he’s not about to start patrolling the perimeter of this community like he had in the clearing. You’ll count it as relaxing if you could get him to at least sit while he frets about his brothers. Especially if the brother within his sight is a shiny, thinking back to how he had asked if you could tell who among them were freshest out of the tube while working on his own sketch.

Teeth and claws.

You really have to apply a firm grip on the soft rind of the hash-sah fruit in order to keep it from slipping out of your fingers once Tack’s gotten it divided equally between you and the commander, nails biting into the outer shell and leaving deep ruts as the juice runs between your fingers.

“Stars above, scarcely started and I’m already wet…” you say as it drips into the lap of your uniform, catching the lewd innuendo far too late. “Orchid, don’t even.”

He gives you a smile, but nothing more.

“I mean it.” you warn him.

Laughing, Orchid now holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Can I at least ask if you think the fruit’s good?”

The commander's opinion of the local produce comes quietly before you answer his brother. ”It’s not rations.” Neither negative or positive, merely neutral. If he finds it bitter, or sweet, or savory, he doesn’t share. It’s simply not rations.

“‘Anything’s better than rations’, I know. But is it good, Commander?”

Wolffe gives it a moment of thought. “It’s… like eating sweetened rainwater.”

It doesn’t make much sense, but no one can figure out a way to argue against his description either. The matter gets chalked up to sitting near the fire for too long where Gi had been hard at work wrapping clusters of twenty-seven petals and leaves of a plant responsible for encouraging a person’s creativity and inspiration.

It’s the pollen talking, you all reason amongst yourselves.

You and Commander Wolffe part ways for a short time, Plo Koon begging for your forgiveness as he explained (a little vaguely) that Wolffe was needed for something Dara had remembered, something they had forgotten to do around the ceremonial welcoming fire. After you had finished your portion of the hash-sah and cleaned your hands best you’d been able of the juices, someone had been by with more trinkets for the battalion to take with them if they wished. Leather bracelets of sorts with three beads of hammered copper, meant to be worn on the dominant arm.

That’s when Dara remembered there was something special that was meant to be offered. It’s nothing Wolffe or the Jedi have to take, but as a culture that values their generosity, she and the rest of the elders feel it’s important to at least show it. Best guess anyone has is it’s likely some kind of clothing unique to the planet. Maybe art.

“It would be impolite to refuse without seeing it first, General.” Wolffe agrees with the Kel Dor after briefly conferring with Kwill for the best course of action. He promises to come find you later. If it’s permitted by the elders, he’ll have Kwill take images of the offering in the event it’s something they feel they can’t (or won’t) take, so you can see it.

“Don’t worry about me.” you promise, feeling safe between his DeeCee in your belt, and the familiarity in the company of his brothers. Though you are a lamb among so many wolves as a civilian, you couldn’t be safer. “I’ll find something to pass the time, General.”

“Thank you for your understanding, Arcadia.” Plo Koon replies kindly, dipping his head into a respectful bow of thanks.

You’re not sure if it’s a Jedi thing, or a him thing, but you find yourself mirroring the motion this time. Respect earned, respect returned.

He and Commander Wolffe shouldn’t be gone terribly long with the elders, so you decide to stay relatively close to where he’d departed from you just for now. Your head feels a little clearer than before, distanced from the incense where those stirring feelings had distracted you before.

Twilight troubles, named for the harm they can do, could be simultaneously helpful. Funny how there’s so many things like that in this galaxy: good things, even good people, with intimidating names.

You’ve met a few troopers with hard, edgy names, their hearts softer than tooka fur. There’d been no bristle or frigid shoulders from men named Bane or Dukes or even a Bonesaw like your co-workers had warned you to steer clear of, what feels very long ago now, when you were very new to the job. They’d been the ones to help you navigate the durasteel halls while you learned where to go, what your duties were, your first few days. There’d been a Scuffle, too, who helped you, even at great inconvenience to himself. (Curiously, his armor bore some paint in sap green. Had he been transferred from a different unit?) Each had called you a rookie, but it was more of a casual, almost affectionate sort of thing, when they offered you their help.

Here, sir, helped your lost rookie find their way. Got a little turned around in the halls. (Hey. Don’t worry, Arcadia, you’ll learn your way around in no time.)

Clones look so similar at first glance, a sea of sameness and uniformity. But you know better. These brave men are not wholly made of justs and sameness - a Clone who’s been invited to try his hand at throwing at a foot-pedal pottery wheel may have the same fingerprints as a million other brothers, just another Clone made in the after-image of a dead warrior, but his mark in this galaxy is unique because he is the one who put it there as the iron-rich clay squishes between his fingers in his first attempt. He laughs it off as the Chossi woman showing him how to throw encourages him to try again.

“Well that’s certainly one way to get a feel for the clay!”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” she chuckles while she helps him start again.

Trying again, he makes a concentrated effort not to immediately squish and squelch the red earth-matter, experimentally scooping into the mound she’s made to try pulling it outwards, like she showed him. Clones are remarkably fast learners, no matter if the result is a bit messy. Specks of clay plip against his stark white armor after he adds a bit too much water, distracted by Sergeant Boost joining the crowd of on-lookers.

“Waiting here for the Commander, Arcadia?”

Answering somewhat to the affirmative, you tell him you’re mostly just looking around. “Just watching Lasher at the wheel for now, really.” Lasher’s having a good time, and watching the veteran ceramics at work is kinda mesmerizing.

While you’re distracted, Sinker sweeps up Orchid, Tack and Soapsuds behind you, urging them to be silent. You’re none the wiser.

“Thinking you might add pottery to your list of talents?” Boost asks, teasing lightly.

You roll your eyes, a sarcastic lilt in your voice. “Yeah sure, if I can find somewhere to squeeze it in between all the poetry and painting and woodworking and a thousand other things I’ve ever wanted to try my hands at with my precious free time since I’m just swimming in credits.”

“Hah,” Boost laughs, bobbing his head both knowingly and sympathetically, “Probably a good thing Clones don’t exactly come by much in the way of credits. There’d be too many half-used hobby kits lying around the cruiser.”

While you’re asking him where Clones do get the credits for things like the popular Clone bar on Coruscant, Sinker is trying to persuade one of his brothers to do something for him to little success. “Please? It can’t be me or Boost.” It needs to be one of the younger brothers of the battalion who does this. He’ll sweeten the pot if need be, if it convinces them. “A dirty holomag. Round of drinks at 79’s. We won’t make you clean the gunships. Something.”

“You had me at dirty holomag.” Orchid answers, grinning as he gleefully rubs his hands together. “What do you need me to do?”

Sithspit he didn’t actually have one on hand back at the cruiser, but he knows how to get one. That's a problem for later. “Listen carefully, when the Commander gets back-” Sinker begins, casting a careful look over his shoulder to make sure Boost still had you properly distracted. The two of you are making idle chatter, still. Sounds like Boost has you talking about potentially going back to the gathering fire with him later, where the inviting blaze would keep you warm in spite of the night’s chill. Just in case Commander Wolffe ends up being a while.

You’re hemming and hawing about it, admitting you’re not sure just yet, but it’s kind of him to offer in the spirit of the oft-shared sentiment from the inhabitants of Little Archossi the Jedi, Clones and you are the humble guests of tonight.

More friends the merrier. All are welcome under our shared skies.

“Sure, no problem Arcadia,” Sergeant Boost says agreeably, “Night looks promising to have a lot of excitement still, so I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to - oh, I dunno - step back for a bit and find somewhere quiet. It is pretty late.”

Or, early, rather. It had been well past 1:00 when last you looked at a chronometer, putting you an hour into a new day. It’s probably 2 or even 3:00 am by now. It could be another three hours before dawn, give or take. You’re definitely not getting any sleep tonight, but you may at least need to rest. (You may need a lot of caf to get through the day when you get back to the cruiser.)

There’s a tree not far from here that seems a little more isolated at the edge of the settlement, Boost pointing it out to you when you say you think it might be a good idea, so it may be a good place to rest and work on another of your sketches if you want.

“Thanks Boost. I think I might.”

From here, the activity and chatter of the settlement has fallen away into a comfortable lull of background noise, punctuated with hearty laughter and dramatic sound effects used by the troopers to spice up their storytelling. In the cold glow of the moon, you could once more study the artwork Wolffe had made of you while you twirled one of the coloring pencils in your hand absentmindedly.

Color it however you like.

Trouble is, you keep changing your mind, or run into complications. First you thought about choosing your favorite color, but the end of the pencil was too dull and you couldn’t find a sharpener among your things to remedy that. (How did you not have a sharpener?) Then you thought about coloring yourself in maroon too, the end still plenty sharp, but putting yourself in such a significant color to the history of the battalion felt… strange. Like maybe you felt you weren’t worthy of it. You’ve gone through a few more colors in your bag, putting away one and pulling out another, but you can never seem to bring yourself to put the pencil to paper.

A rhythmic sound coming from the community, like the beating of a heart, pauses your skylane of thought for a moment. Growing louder, closer, you realize its two sets of boots tromping down the path, one heavy and deliberate to combat the other’s backpedaling.

“Orchid, what is the meaning of this?!” Commander Wolffe demands at last, realizing his brother isn’t going to stop for anything, not even the threat of refresher and gunship duty. His brother only marches him further and further through the dark pathway where the crowns of the trees keep all the light for themselves. A datapad clipped to his hip rapidly knocks against the plastoid at the pace they’re going. “Let me go, or tell me what’s going on!”

“Respectfully, Commander,” Orchid begins in a voice that leaves no room for interruption, “it’s time for you to stop circling the gunships and get to the hangar already!” He gives Commander Wolffe a firm shove from behind, sending the man a half-step forward into your small circle of light with a mischievous cackle. “Don’t worry about the rest of the battalion for the night, we’ve got it covered with the General!”

It’s now coming together for Wolffe, piece by piece. “... Boost and Sinker put you up to this, didn’t they?”

“Not quite, Commander. But they know I’ve got just enough younger brother privileges to still get away with this.” Orchid replies with a shit-eating grin, pleased with himself.

“I’m putting all three of you-”

“Yeah, we’ve got it covered Commander! Have fun!” Orchid calls back over his shoulder as he retreats into the boundaries of the Chossi community. “Elder Row says don’t go any farther than the fifth cairn stack!”

Have fun? Fifth cairn stack?

Gulping back some nervousness, you apologize to the commander. “I’m so sorry that they’re… Well, I don’t even know what. I’m just as much in the dark as you, actually.” You’re not sure what Sinker or Boost had planned, or how exactly Orchid got involved in it, but you’re positive it’s giving Wolffe a headache. “I… might have a theory though.”

“... what?” Wolffe dares to ask, hesitant.

“Sergeant Sinker told me earlier that I… s-seem to be having better luck than them when it comes to encouraging you to relax, so it’s… part of the reason I keep offering to keep you company.”

He stares at you in silence, contemplating perhaps, but it’s more likely that he’s working up something to say.

Instead he sighs. “Hmm.”

Putting your things to the side, you climb to your feet and dust off the seat of your pants, unsure if you should approach him when he’s currently clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. It doesn’t seem to be a completely conscious action as he finally drops his gaze and sighs once more.

“Damn him.” comes the bitter grumble, a regretful expression cracking the commander’s stoic shell. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have started to lose my temper with-” Swallowing back the rest of the sentence with some difficulty, Wolffe looks at his feet instead, registering just how far he is from the settlement now, too. Sometimes, he finds himself forgetting just how strong the youngest troopers are.

He’s been in this war for so long now, it feels, that trying to remember his own days fresh off Kamino proves a struggle. He used to be one of the four marshal commanders of the Grand Army, but the man you’ve gotten to know today is just a commander now.

Wolffe notices something below his left boot just as you find your voice.

“Wolffe? Are you okay?”

Your concern is touching. “I’m fine now, Arcadia.” he promises, pulling back his foot as he stoops to see what it is. Ah. Must have stepped on one of the Dinocaeruleus anthos after Orchid pushed him. (Anger and annoyance has been replaced with pride for that little pain in the ass.) He plucks the terrible blue flower with smashed petals from its home in the soil, looking regretful. Sorry little thing. He hadn't meant to trod over it.

“What did Gi say these were called again?” he asks you, thinking to tuck the ruined blossom in his utility belt until he can find Tack. (Maybe even a ruined specimen can serve the researcher, in some way, he hopes.)

“Twilight troubles.” you answer, your voice softer than the gentle breeze.

His head dips with a thoughtful nod as he plucks the neighboring, uncrushed flower too, “... come here.” Commander Wolffe requests in that golden tone that sends shivers down your spine. Close enough for his liking, Wolffe finds some buttonhole in your uniform to thread the stem through, adorning you with further tokens. “A little more color to catch the moonlight.”

The stitched, gray wolf head with thread in your favorite color for the eyes was the only addition that graced your uniform just this morning. Now, there was the long leather cord of three copper beads wrapped around your wrist, and the Dinocaeruleus anthos - a delicate and beautiful galaxy when kissed by the rays of the moon - in the buttonhole to your breast pocket.

“There,” Wolffe says decidedly, “think suits you rather well, Arcadia.” There’s a glimmer of moonlight reflected in the surface of his cybernetic eye, the cold and delicate beauty of it serves for a lure. You’re staring, and he can tell.

He turns his face from you, eyes growing half-lidded. “Looks strange in the moonlight, doesn’t it?” The murmur is bashful, or perhaps more accurately, more self-conscious. Funny, you’ve never believed Commander Wolffe to be in any way conscious of his appearance like this in all the time you’ve been aboard the Triumphant. Never for a moment would you have pegged him to harbor insecurities, until today and all the many opportunities he has left himself vulnerable under your sight.

Been permitted to know him better.

He’s allowed himself to be pulled apart, scrutinized and examined all so you can continually paint him with your praises, making your promises that you see him for the whole of the man he is. Beyond the flint. Beyond the designation number. Beyond his status as a commander, or simply just yet another rain-soaked son of Kamino. To you he is not Kaminoan or even Republic property, a mere product ten years in the making, a culmination of what a good, dutiful soldier was imagined to be and nothing further. No. You’ve witnessed too much today to pretend otherwise.

He’s so much more.

“No. Strange isn’t the word I’d use.” you reply with a somber edge in your voice, “It’s… brighter in the moonlight. Like… like it becomes a beacon of light. Or a moon of its own.”

Instance after instance, you continue to impress Wolffe. Stump him repeatedly. Just when he thinks you can’t possibly offer yet more worshiping words, you conjure more. You’ve never seen him painted in the aching pains of rage that come in the heat of battle, but your tongue lifts only in reverence when you speak of his once-maroon paint and the phase one helmet. You’ve witnessed the hands that comforted and guided his brothers today, the very same hands that show a readiness in drawing his weapon today or any other day; never once did you shy away from such displays. You looked on in awe, instead. Or fear, not for yourself, but for him.

He hums low in his throat. “Sounds like pollen-talk.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s not. But would you believe me no less if it was, Wolffe?”

“‘Sounds like’ is not the same thing as ‘that is’, Arcadia.” the commander informs you, clarifying his meaning with a soft voice like hissing cinders. “But I never meant to imply I did not believe you…” Of course he believes you. You’ve proven your respect for him today, instance after repeated instance.

It’s time he showed you more of the same respect in kind. You’ve been… so selfless, and kind, in giving him your time today. You could have told him to fuck off when he got in the way of the tree you’d been drawing, and you didn’t. You didn’t have to keep him company when Plo Koon had gone scouting, but you had. And you chose to remain behind when the rest of the crew left. How better can he repay all of that than to be honest with you?

Hoping he comes across in earnest, he meets your eye. “I would still believe you, even if it was from the flowers, because it’s you talking.” Wolffe promises.

Now alone, fully isolated from his brothers rather than surrounded on all sides like so much of today, both you and the commander grow bolder, speaking freer than when you find yourself in the midst of the wolves. “Earlier: what was it that Waves said?” you ask, setting your things down now that you’re out of visual range of the battalion.

Steeling himself with a long draught of his canteen first, Wolffe does not immediately meet your eye. He had taken you a little further away from the edge of the settlement, fearing his brothers would repeatedly come to gawk at the pair of you. What he says next, paired with the location, should be cautious. He’s aware of what it looks like.

“Orchid seemed - seems…? - to think you'll have my privates standing at attention before morning, as a way to get me to relax, the next time we were alone.”

It's exactly as you suspected, a sexual innuendo.

Both you and the commander break eye contact with the other at the same time. Yeah. You know exactly what the 104th will think when they learn that you two snuck off alone, staying within the boundaries of the third and fourth cairns - rock formations a whole head taller than Wolffe - in order to get a little alone time.

“Permission to turn him into flower food, sir?” you request half-sarcastically with a deep groan, face in your hands. Did Orchid get that idea from his choice of reading material? Was the clever if crude play on words involving military rank and one's genitalia something he found on the Holonet? You and the commander… you barely know each other, let alone-! “Fucking hell… I think I’m gonna kill him.”

“He’ll wish you had after a week of fresher duty,” Wolffe says with a mild laugh, now offering you the canteen. “But I’m afraid the general and I need that little pain in the ass in one piece.”

You chuckle. “Spoil-sport…” With not much in the canteen, you take a small drink with the intention of conserving some for later. The rest of the water was for you, he had said. You thank him after setting the canteen beside your bag, where you once more pull out your sketchbook as well as the second datapad you had offered to carry. When Orchid had shoved the flint-gray commander, the force combined with the weight of the datapad had compromised the clip holding it to Wolffe’s belt. At least that was going to be an easy part to replace.

“So before I forget… what did Solladara want to show you and General Plo?”

Finding the pictures, Wolffe shows you the items, “Artwork of the clearing, where they found us. And… this.” It looks like it’s supposed to be some kind of shirt, but the material is surprisingly transparent. “You can understand why we accepted only the artwork, I’m sure.” Wolffe adds, shaking his head with a soft laugh as your eyes roam the image, trying to picture him in it while he mentions he’s going to try to get a small fire going to stave off the chill of the night. There’s a shallow pit, kindling and firewood that you can use here already, to your good fortune.

“I’m almost tempted to draw you again, wearing that Chossi attire that was offered to you this time.” you admit with a splitting smile, twirling the 2-besh pencil in your hand teasingly as you continue to study the image.

You’re not really going to draw him in it, knowing that it’d leave very little to the imagination with a body type like the commander’s. He’s not slender in the same way the peoples of Little Archossi are, certainly much broader, and with well-defined muscle… Well.

There was no way such a thing would be appropriate to wear anywhere other than the privacy of his own quarters. You’ll end up making the man look like a pin-up model in a state of semi-undress.

Wolffe clears his throat meaningfully. “You really should rest your wrist. I think you’ve drawn enough for the night, Arcadia.” Stretching out his hand, he silently beckons for the sketchbook to be turned over to him once he’s gotten the fire going.

“Seriously?” You’re less than impressed with him for the moment, and it shows. You want to be touched that he’s concerned about your comfort, but him acting like a parent or other figure of guardianship in your life taking something away because you’ll misbehave with it in your possession is not the way to go about it. “I think I’m capable of showing some restraint on my own, thanks.”

Wolffe gives an unpleasant twitch when he realizes how this looks. How he believes he’s offended you. “I didn’t mean to imply that- Yes of course you are, Arcadia, you’ve proven that. I only wanted to ask to see it for a moment. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

Oh Maker. Talk about a total overreaction when you don’t have all the facts.

You hand him the spiral bound, eyes turned away. “I’m sorry. For assuming, and overreacting like that. I shouldn’t have.” The apology comes out in a strained voice, far more choked than you’d like. There are a million half-formed thoughts racing over your tongue right now that will never make it past your lips. You do not trust any single one will be coherent when it’s clarity you feel he deserves. “I think… I think after being around all this creativity-boosting pollen today it kind of just left me… wondering where all the thoughts begin and end.”

“Do you think you need a minute?”

“Yes…” you admit slowly. Wolffe starts to climb to his feet and panic begins to bubble up in your chest. “B-but I’d like you to stay! I’m not asking you to leave.” You don’t want him to leave, because you don’t know when he’ll come back, or if you feel this is worth potentially troubling a medic over.

He listens, and he stays. The distance between you however, has changed. Wolffe’s put himself much closer to you now. Previously at arm’s length, he’s now close enough to lean against. He has the sketchbook in his hands, flipped open to that page of you in uncolored armor, but it’s you that he studies. In his quiet observance, Wolffe’s expression changes several times in the fluttering firelight, each change gradual and small. Softening brow. Pursing lips. Eyes full and fixed.

“You’re a hard man to read sometimes, Commander Wolffe.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to say it, or how he’ll take it after what just happened, but maybe he’ll appreciate knowing what’s on your mind. “I think it makes me nervous. Sometimes.”

You know he doesn’t mean to. But you can’t help the way you feel either.

“I don’t doubt that, Arcadia.”

He’s sorry that he makes you nervous, as well, Wolffe adds. Of course it isn’t his intention. Of course he understands that feeling this way can’t be helped sometimes either. He’s familiar with that feeling and its cousins. Nervousness and dread. You’ve seen enough proof of it today. The pacing. Safety drills. Lecturing Suds. Arguing with his sergeants. Throwing himself over you to keep you safe.

Without hesitation. Like you were one of his own brothers…

“Hey, um-” you start, glancing over at your sketchbook, “H-how’d you draw me so quickly? Can’t just have been ‘inspiration’.” It’s not the question you want to ask first when you disturb the curtain of silence, but it’ll serve as a good starting block.

Commander Wolffe gives you a small, guarded smile. “The idea is to be quick when you’re drawing outdoors, is it not? That’s what you said to me this morning.”

Oh the utter cheek in that reply - whether it was intended or coincidental - could drive someone wild were there not so many questions on your mind. And there’s just so much.

“Force, I… I almost forgot I’d said that, in all honesty.” you admit a bit numbly, staring ahead into the dark sea of foliage. “You- Well no, you remembering that would make sense. I guess I should be more surprised by how much detail you captured in so short a time.”

Muttering something to himself in thought, he repeats the word detail several times before coming to an important decision.

Commander Wolffe's hand darts into the low fire pit, snatching out a charred hunk of wood. As you're wondering what the hell's gotten into him, if he's burned his hand through the gloves, he takes the art book in his opposite hand and flips it to his sketch of you. Sort of tickling the page with one end of the charred wood, Wolffe is carefully smearing the appropriate areas of the armor with ashes, blowing away the excess once he's done.

“That takes care of gray missing from all of the coloring pencils.” He nods once, stiffly, satisfied with his ingenuity. “Now you truly look the part.”

Look the part? But you're just drawn in Clone armor and colored in gray, just like the 104th battalion. What's so special about-?

Oh, Force. Oh galaxy and all her stars…

Commander Wolffe means you look like the rest of the one-oh-fourth, that you fit in.

“Are you saying that…?”

Osk-nern-esk

The eyebrow above his cybernetic eye lifts just so, nearly missed in the flickering firelight. “Use your words, Arcadia.” he teases.

Osk-forn

“A-are you saying that I’m… b-but I'm just part of the crew!” you insist, certain that he's not serious about this. He can't truly mean what he's been writing, word by word beneath the first mantra.

Trill-hesh-esk

“But you are, Arcadia. You're one of us.” Wolffe promises, voice low and reverent. “The 104th would not be the same without you. Not after what I've seen… felt today.”

Wesk-osk-leth-vev-esk-senth

ONE OF THE WOLVES.

Whether they were still the magnificent maroons of the past, or the grizzled grays of today, you have been added among the names - the number perhaps thousands or more - of his brothers that he will forever carry in his beating heart, forevermore his wolves. This is a silent oath that when he fights for the glory of the Republic and the downfall of the Separatists, he’s doing so for his general, for his brothers, and for you.

For good measure, Wolffe scribbles down his rank and name, bringing the end to the work on his magnum opus with a signature. It's only fitting. Here, at this private fireside, he lays his heart and intentions bare to you. “I’m probably about as poetic as a gargled mouthful of Aurebesh soup, but Arcadia… while I know you well enough to consider you one of the Wolfpack, I'd… I'd like to ask if you'd be opposed to getting to know you better. As new friends do, first, perhaps, or…”

You blink once, maybe five times before finding your voice. Friends. In his own way, he confirmed you were friends. “I wouldn't be opposed at all… I-I’d be happy to, even.”

You're nearly breathless, heart racing a thousand kilometers an hour, just short of warp speed.

Does the slight stress to “or” mean he's grappling with other feelings about you on his mind, like you do for him? The love versus limerence?

“As friends is a… good place to start.” you offer additionally, matching that tender, relieved smile he shows you.

“Have to start somewhere, Arcadia,” the Commander replies plainly, trying to appeal to his and your own sense of logic perhaps. “Just to make certain of any… feelings.”

Taking you under his arm, against his side, Wolffe is content with waiting out the remainder of the night under the curtain of stars for the sky to lighten and give way to another glorious, golden dawn. The 104th will depart for the Triumphant at daybreak, and the war efforts will resume as normal. You just hope Plo Koon cooks up a satisfactory excuse in the event someone asks him what happened today. (Or, technically yesterday. (What time is it?)) For all you know, nobody will ever ask or care to know, or it'll be decided what happened on Little Archossi is by-and-large an unspoken secret.

Which would kind of be a shame.

It'd be terrible to keep the day you became friends with the flint-gray Commander under wraps, never get to explain the truth behind him coated in maroon while you're in gray in the pages of your sketchbook. Never be able to explain the full context of meeting the Chossi, or what they've taught everyone.

Or how, murmured under his breath into the shell of your ear after the stars begin melting into the backdrop at long last, Commander Wolffe admits that perhaps for once, he's never been more relaxed since the start of the war.

That's a wrap! Thank you so much to everyone who read this series; I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing this.🩷If you would like to be join my taglist for future fics, the form can be found here.

Tag list: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night]

[Golden Dawn part 1] [Finished!]

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freesia-writes · 3 months

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Originating from this post, I'd like to offer a list of longfics featuring TCW/TBB characters for those of you looking for some good reads! Feel free to drop any others into my asks! Fics are general audience or PG-13 unless noted "Mature" at the end.

The links are mostly to the post with the authors' descriptions so you can get a better idea of what each one is about!

Crosshair

Sharp Edges - @spicy-clones and @lightwise - Crosshair x F!Reader - Mature

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy - @badbatchposts - Crosshair x OC plus Batch/others - Mature

When the Order Fell - @victimofdavefiloni - Crosshair x OC - Mature

Caught in the Crosshairs - @silverwings22 - Crosshair x OC - Mature

Half-Moon Glow - @moonstrider9904 - Crosshair x OC; TCW AU - Mature

Roasted, Brewed, and Served with Attitude - MelMorganne99 - Crosshair x OC in Modern Police AU

It Never Rains - @letsquestjess - Crosshair x OC

Sunflowers and Blasters - @523rdrebel - Crosshair x OC

Only What Burns You Back - @the-little-moment - Crosshair x OC - Mature

Tech

Tech and Vel - @freesia-writes - Tech x OC

Song of the Sea - @silverwings22 - Tech x Alien OC - Mature

Tech as a Father - @missfrieden - Tech and Batch

Gravitation - @moonstrider9904 - Tech x OC AU - Mature

Meltdown - @autistic-artistech - Tech x OC - Mature

Brother, Hold Me Up - @lifblogs - Tech, Batch, Others - Mature

The World Goes Cold - @lifblogs - Tech, Batch - Mature

Hunter

Beyond the Shadow of a Doubt - @freesia-writeswrites - Hunter x OC

Hunter and the Librarian - @clonethirstingisreal - Hunter x OC - modern day AU

Sun and Rain - @photogirl894 - Hunter x OC

As Iron Sharpens Iron - @arctrooper69 - Hunter x Reader

Echo

Not Just the Carcass, But the Spark - @the-little-moment - Echo x OC - Mature

Test Subject/System Upgrade - @just-here-with-my-thoughts - Echo and the Batch

Rex

Captain's Log - @rexxdjarin - Rex x OC - Mature

Wolffe

I Yearn, and So I Fear - enigmaticexplorer - Wolffe x OC - Mature

The Wolfpack Queen - @reader6898 - Wolffe x OC - Mature

No Strings Attached and Walk Me Home (sequel) - @cyarbika - Wolffe x F!Reader - Mature

Multiple Featured Characters

Rise of the Clones - @AmberOwl24 - SO MANY CHARACTERS!

Stars Beyond Number - @dystopicjumpsuit - Clone Rebellion Echo x Riyo, Gregor x OC - Mature

The Moonwalker Series - @moonstrider9904 - Batch x OC (love triangle then single pairing) - Mature

Line of Destiny: A Series - @ilikemymendarkandfictional - Multiple Stories: Rex x OC, Crosshair x OC, Clone OCs and Howzer

Same Heart - @dumfanting - F!Reader x TCW Echo, then Fives, then Echo/Cross Poly - Mature

Blood Daughter - @letsquestjess - OC + Bad Batch Adventure

A Lupe of Faith - @lonewolflupe - Jedi!OC x Fives, later x Hunter - Mature eventually

Stronger Together - @cloneflo99 - Rex/Crosshair x OC - Mature

Other Clones

Quantum Entanglement - @freesia-writes - Howzer x OC

Martyrs and Kings - @dystopicjumpsuit - Post-Stasis Kix x OC - Mature

The Only Exception - @starqueensthings - Howzer x OC - Mature

Disillusioned - @amberskyyking - OC + OC Clone Squad Adventure - Mature-ish

The Helmeted Hunter - @jedimasterlenawrites - Boba Fett x F!Reader - PG-13

Children of Providence - @ladysongmaster - Din Djarin, TCW Characters Adventure

The Last Word - @ariadnes-red-thread - Fives x OC

One Step at a Time - @wild-karrde - Clone OC - Mature

Welcome to the Outpost - @just-here-with-my-thoughts - Mayday!!

#the bad batch #tbb #the clone wars #tcw #clone wars fanfiction #clone wars fic #clone wars fanfic #tcw fic #tcw fanfic #tcw fanfiction #tbb fic #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic

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vizslasaber · 4 months

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VIZSLASABER’S MASTERLIST ──── tumblr writing.

Last updated | May 16, 2024

☾ = angst | ☀︎ = fluff | ♡ = suggestive themes | ✦ = smut/18+ | ☁︎ = graphic descriptions

Taglist | Navigation | AO3

All graphics & fics are by me. Please do not steal or claim as your own.

──── CLONE / READER FICS.

──── CAPTAIN REX / READER.

☾ ☀︎ ☁︎ SERIES | friendly fire | WIP, 2/?

SUMMARY | Newly knighted and unaccustomed to combat, you’re suddenly given your first assignment on the shadowy world of Umbara. Waiting on the planet’s surface is the start of a mission filled with death and deception—and the companionship of someone whose smile you never thought you’d fall for.

☀︎✦ COMING SOON | like real people do

SUMMARY | Rex comes home, safe and sound. It’s all you ever asked for.

──── COMMANDER WOLFFE / READER.

☀︎ ☁︎ COMING SOON | an eye for an eye

SUMMARY | You wonder, on the bad days, if the war will cause too much hurt for you to heal. A new patient in the Halls of Healing proves you wrong.

──── ARC TROOPER ECHO / READER.

☾ ☀︎ ONESHOT | understanding

SUMMARY | In the middle of the night, Echo finds you, hurt and exhausted and in need of an apology.

──── ARC TROOPER FIVES / READER.

COMING SOON!

──── SERGEANT HUNTER / READER.

COMING SOON!

──── CAPTAIN HOWZER / READER.

COMING SOON!

──── JEDI / READER FICS.

──── OBI-WAN KENOBI / READER.

☀︎ COMING SOON | to pass the time

SUMMARY | You’re a pilot for Queen Amidala’s ship that’s bound for Coruscant, but your skills aren’t any good without a hyperdrive. Luckily, there’s someone to keep you company while you wait for Master Jinn to return.

──── CANON X OC FICS.

☾ ☀︎ ♡ COMING SOON | lighthouse

SUMMARY | Coruscant, with its seemingly infinite levels and endless types of diverse characters, is the galaxy’s best hiding place. Rex, a man with a face identical to that of millions, stands out in his own right—especially now that the war is over. So does Vega Knoxyn, the sarcastic and striking manager of 79s, but even in a time of peace, she only seems to want to hide. Unfortunately for Vega, who came to Coruscant to disappear, Rex’s unceasing curiosity about her only starts to grow once they meet.

#vzs masterlist #clone trooper x reader #captain rex x reader #commander wolffe x reader #tbb echo x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #arc trooper fives x reader #tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #captain howzer x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #cal kestis x reader

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clonesimpextra · 9 months

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A Shattered Peace: Chapter 12

A Bit Like Home

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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 5.5K Chapter Rating: T Chapter Summary: Abregado, from Amara's POV. A/N: *Cries in six months since I last posted a chapter* Also available on AO3

Amara stared out the viewport of the Sagacious, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The Four-Fourteen were returning to Coruscant, finally, after a month of back-to-back missions. She should have felt relief, eagerness even. But that feeling, gnawing away at her insides, told Amara that something, somewhere, was very very wrong.

“You’ve run the systems check?”

Beside her, Commander Riv nodded. “Twice now, Sir. Everything’s working as it should.”

“And the scanners?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” In the corner of her eye she saw him turn toward her, but Amara stayed staring at the blue-white rush of hyperspace. “The Four-Fourteen’s fine, General.”

She pursed her lips. “I know.”

And she did. Nothing was wrong with her battalion. They were safe and well and on their way to a much deserved break. But that feeling … she’d never been wrong about that feeling before.

Which could mean only one other thing.

Amara raised her wrist and keyed in a code on her comm. “Comet, this is General Kora. I need you on the bridge.”

*****

Three Weeks Earlier – Somewhere Outside the Ryloth System

“I appreciate your concern, Master Plo, but the Four-Fourteen and I have it handled.”

“Even so, I’ve sen—” the holo in front of Amara flickered in and out, breaking up Plo’s response. “He’ll arrive so—”

“Master Plo?” Amara fiddled with the frequency, trying to get his projection back on the table.

“It’s no use, Sir,” Flame spoke from the control port. “We’ve lost external comms.”

“Excellent.” She glanced around the room. “Anyone have a clue what he was trying to say?”

There was silence for a beat and then, “Not so much what he said, general, but a ship just exited the nearest hyperspace lane. ”

Amara turned to the screen Captain Hall was pointing at, narrowing in on the flashing beacon. “Is that an x-wing, Captain?”

“Yes, Sir, I believe it is.”

She shook her head. Overprotective and meddling men. That’s what the entire 104th was made up of now, she supposed.

“Captain Hall, try to figure out the communications issue and make sure it doesn’t cross over to anything else. I won’t have us completely cut off whenever the Seppies finally decide to make a move.”

“Yes, general.” Hall paused, raised an eyebrow. “Is that the ship I think it is?”

“Yes it is, Captain.” Amara sighed. “I hope we have a spare bunk.”

*****

One of the very first things Master Plo had ever taught Amara after she’d become his Padawan was to never be afraid to accept help. He’d taught her through his own actions, letting her assist him on missions or with tasks that he could have easily done on his own, liaising with other Jedi to solve problems Amara knew for a fact he’d already solved in his head.

She’d questioned him about it once. When he’d let her lead them on a roundabout route across a seemingly barren planet and gotten them into a scuffle with the locals. Plo, gracious as always, set things straight and led them to safety within a standard hour.

“You could have taken over from the start.” She’d pouted, arms crossed and kicking at a patch of grass as they walked. “All my ‘help’ did was cause more trouble.”

“I don’t view it that way. Neither should you.”

Amara stopped in her tracks and stared at him until he turned to face her. “I almost got us killed.”

Plo chuckled. “Far from it, young one. The locals were merely curious. As were we.” He gestured to the area around them. “And now we know more about this planet and these people than we did before. Far more,” he tilted his head, “than we would have if I’d led us directly to our destination.”

Amara let her eyes wonder across the plains around them, pushing down the uneasiness at the way the grass against her calves echoed grass on another planet from long ago. She took in the purple blue sky, suns settling in the distance. It was a beautiful place. Still … “I didn’t plan this.”

Wrinkles appeared around Plo’s mask and she knew he was smiling. “When we accept help, we accept everything that comes with it. Expected and unexpected alike.” He turned to watch the setting suns with her. “How much more pleasant it is to view that with excitement at discovering something new than with trepidation about the unknown.”

As she stood in the hangar bay now, watching a maroon-striped x-wing settle into the space across from her, Amara tried to keep Plo’s words in mind. Help should be welcomed. Even if she didn’t need it.

Even if she strongly suspected Plo was relying on her remembering what he taught her so she wouldn’t be upset that he was being overprotective.

She grit her teeth and waited for the ship door to open.

When it did, and an all too familiar clone stepped out, Amara felt all the anger in her deflate. There were only so many people Plo could have sent that would have guaranteed a less angry response from her, and Comet was top of that list.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t still going to demand some answers, though.

She raised her voice to be heard over the hangar clatter. “He sent you before he even made the call, didn’t he?”

Comet took his helmet off, a grimace already visible. “The general or the commander?”

Amara blinked. She had meant Master Plo, but now that Comet mentioned it …

“This was Wolffe’s idea?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You pretty much did, Comet.”

Comet scratched at the back of his neck, squinting over Amara’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, General?”

Amara opened her mouth to get them back on topic, to remind Comet that as happy as she was to see him, she didn’t need a babysitter. But something in the clone’s voice stopped her.

In all her time with the 104th, Comet had always been the calm, lighthearted, happy one of the group. The first to try and put a smile on everyone’s faces. His words just now fit that category, on the surface. But Amara could feel all was not exactly right. Not at all.

She tilted her head, took in the dark circles under Comet’s eyes. The too-thin lines of his mouth trying to smile, but not quite succeeding. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked a few times, not-quite-a-smile wavering for a moment before he pulled himself up straighter. “I’m just here to help, Sir.”

Amara didn’t buy it, not for a second. Especially not when she opened up to the Force and felt something hovering in Comet’s soft yellow aura that she’d never associated with him before: shame and hatred. There was much more at stake than he was letting on.

She stopped in the hallway, and, after glancing at the passing clones, pulled them into a quiet corner. Comet avoided her eyes as she put a hand on his shoulder. “I might not be your commander anymore, Comet. But I still know when something’s wrong.” She waited until he finally looked back at her before continuing. “And I don’t need to be your commander to still care, either. Wolffe sent you for a reason. I’d like to know what that reason is.”

Comet leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. “Permission to tell you once we finish this mission?”

Amara peered at him for a moment longer, tempted to remind him that secrets didn’t make for successful missions. She would listen, she would understand. But she remembered something Wolffe had said to her as she’d watched his brothers leave a small pile of helmets on a coral reef on Tibrin, before everything had gone to shit but after they’d already lost too many. She’d wanted to go to them, to share in their grief and comfort them. Wolffe held her back with a hand on her arm and just a few words:

They don’t need you to comfort them. They need you to listen.

So she swallowed back her words, let her hand fall from Comet’s shoulder, and nodded. “Permission granted. Let’s get you up to speed, yeah?”

Comet released another breath and the Force around him lightened, just a bit. “Yes, Sir.”

*****

Despite everyone’s worries, the mission — several tricky supply runs to refugees on the neighboring planets of Ryloth — went off without a hitch. And despite Amara’s concerns, Comet had been immensely helpful. He’d let the reconnaissance skills he was so well known for in the 104th take over during the mission, and if Amara hadn’t known better, she’d have said he was perfectly fine. It didn’t help that working alongside someone she’d trained with for months instead of just a couple of weeks was easy to fall back into.

So easy, that part of her almost wanted to leave it alone. To let Comet do what he wanted so long as it meant a part of the 104th could stay with her. And maybe that’s what Commander Kora, someone who never really had to make final decisions and could rely on others to pick up where she slacked off, would have done.

But that wasn’t what General Kora, responsible for every soldier under her name, could let herself do.

When they entered hyperspace and left Ryloth’s nearest moon far behind, Amara found Comet alone in the training room, staring down a punching bag.

“You know,” she said, walking up to the other side of the bag, “I found Wolffe in exactly this position just before we last left Coruscant. Turns out he had a few things he wanted to say, too.”

“Guess it runs in the genes.” He nodded at the bag and Amara held it steady, bracing for his punches.

“I’ll take your word for it because I’ve given up trying to figure that one out.”

Comet landed his first one-two punch, eyes focused, mouth set in a firm line. Then he landed another. And another. And more until there were no breaks between the sets and Amara was relying on the Force to keep the bag from swinging into her face. She stayed in her position, regardless. Comet had something he needed to work through, and he was allowing her to exist in his space while he figured it out. She’d learned from Wolffe that such a thing wasn’t something she should take for granted.

Finally, when his punches came more slowly and his breathing evened out, Comet spoke.

“The last mission the Wolfpack was on …” he grabbed the bag and looked off to the side, the Force around him tense. “I fucked it up.”

Amara had assumed whatever was bothering him would have come from something like that. She’d looked up the mission report, chest briefly aching at the familiarity of Wolffe’s detailed writing. There had been trouble at the Nexus, a floating trading post on Quarmendy, and Plo had sent the Wolfpack to secure the planet away from Separatist control.

She moved to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “I read about the mission. Aside from the Nexus being destroyed, it seems like everything was a success. About as good as it gets these days, anyway.”

“Do you know how many people died in that explosion?”

“They weren’t able to gather exact numbers,” she let her hand slide away, “but Wolffe estimated about two dozen in his report.”

Comet nodded and stepped away from the bag, eyes still focused on the far wall. “It was my fault, the explosion. Said the wrong thing to Tambor at the wrong time.” He shook his head. “Those people … their deaths are on my hands. Most of them didn’t even have anything to do with the war.”

“The report didn’t say anything—”

“Yeah,” Comet laughed ruefully, finally looking at her, “Wolffe’s real good at not pointing any fingers. Said it was a ‘collective oversight’ so I wouldn’t risk getting a mark against me.”

Amara hesitated, crossing her arms over her chest and wondering what in the hells she could say to him. The clones were made for war, for battle, for casualties and hard choices. Despite how open Wolffe had been with her — and if she was honest with herself, he hadn’t really been all that open —, most of his brothers were good at hiding what their true feelings about everything might be.

She wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of a guilty war-time confession.

She did, however, have some idea of what Comet was feeling. She imagined it wasn’t altogether very different from how she’d felt in the immediate aftermath of Tibrin. No one had been able to explain or excuse her guilt away, and she had a feeling the same would be true for Comet.

So, despite the fact that she knew Wat Tambor would have destroyed the Nexus regardless of what Comet did or didn’t say, Amara focused on something the clone could answer.

“Then why are you here, Comet? Wolffe wouldn’t send you away for something he doesn’t blame you for.”

“Believe me, he didn’t want to.” Comet hesitated, words coming more slowly. “I asked for a break.”

“But a break is—” Amara blinked as the reality of what he’d said settled around her. Anger took over her confusion and she ignored her previous determination to be gentle with him. “What the fuck were you thinking asking for that?”

Comet looked a bit ashamed but at least had the decency to not turn away from her. “Wolffe wasn’t too happy with me either.”

Amara took a moment to calm the rising anger and horror in her chest. Of course Wolffe wouldn’t have been happy. For a clone, ‘taking a break’ wasn’t a respite or a holiday or anything that resulted in some kind of calm. ‘Taking a break’ was being sent to Kamino for secondary duty, risking analyses and tests that could result in battalion transfer or sanitation duty or something much, much worse that the clones never even wanted to talk about. ‘Taking a break’ was effectively asking to be set out to pasture and forgotten about. How the hell had Comet come to this in the two months since she’d last seen him?

The same way you almost stepped away after Tibrin.

Amara closed her eyes and took a breath. She could see very clearly now why Wolffe had sent Comet to her rather than anyone else.

So instead of a lecture full of words that wouldn’t really mean anything, Amara sat down on the padded floor and gestured for Comet to join her.

“You know … I questioned everything after Tibrin. When I blew up that last reef? I wasn’t even thinking of the people on it. The only thing on my mind was protecting my men, buying us a little more time to figure something out.” She took breath. “I haven’t told anyone this. Haven’t even let myself think it, but … I could feel when they died. I was in the water, halfway back to our reef and everything around me just lost its color for a moment. The water wasn’t that bright turquoise, the corals weren’t that dusty pink. It was all grey.”

Amara replayed that moment in her mind. Could feel the waves rushing against her chest, the agony of such an abrupt loss threatening to pull her under. When she’d pulled herself up onto the reef, she’d acted like it was no big deal, just another action in the time of war that she’d swallow down. But it had taken everything in her just to turn her back on the destruction she’d wrought.

“When one of you dies,” she finally looked at Comet then, saw him focused intently on her, “or one of the Jedi, I feel it. The loss, the pain. The freedom, sometimes. But nothing … nothing ever quite like that before. We got on the Resolute and I didn’t want to risk ever putting myself in that position again.”

Comet nodded, a rush of empathy coloring the Force around him. “What changed your mind?”

“Master Plo.” Amara smiled, thinking of the talk they’d had in one of the Temple gardens. “He told me the Republic need generals who learned from their mistakes and who genuinely cared. To take one more position away from those who might not.”

“Do you ever wish you’d made a different choice?”

Every day, a voice inside of her whispered. But Amara wasn’t sure that was entirely true. Yes, she spent a few moments every day thinking on her choices. Thinking on the paths that led her to where she was. But that didn’t mean she regretted the life she’d committed to.

“I wonder if what I’m doing actually makes a difference. If what I’m adding that’s ‘good’ balances the bad.”

Comet sighed. “I know what you mean. I’m afraid of what other guilt I’ll have to carry around. Of what else this war will make me do that tips that balance in the wrong direction.”

“Then don’t let it,” Amara shook her head, trying to shake away the truth in Comet’s words. “That guilt you feel, Comet, it doesn’t have to consume you. Learn from it. Let it make you better. Let it make you even more of the kind of soldier that maybe we don’t deserve but that we desperately, desperately need.”

They let the words hang between them. Amara wondered what Wolffe would think of everything she’d just said to Comet. It wasn’t more or less than anything they’d said to each other. But there was something different about sharing this, something she’d used to forge a connection with Wolffe, with someone else. The thought brought with it an overwhelming sense of longing in the pit of her stomach.

She swallowed tightly around the pain as Comet shifted next to her. She could think about Wolffe later. Maybe she’d send him a message, ask to debrief back on Coruscant. She could make time in her schedule for him. She would make time.

“You know,” Comet chuckled to himself, pulling Amara away from her thoughts, “I get it now.”

A smile pulled at her lips as Comet kept laughing. “Get what?”

“Why Wolffe likes talking to you so much.” He wiped at his eyes, missing the blush that rose to Amara’s cheeks.

She didn’t speak to the men about what Wolffe might or might not think about her. The conversation with Sinker that last night with the 104th was the closest she’d gotten and she was thankful for that. It was hard enough dealing with her feelings without knowing what he said about her to other people.

Still … it wouldn’t hurt to know just a little. After all, it had been nearly two months since she’d last seen him.

“How would you know that?”

Comet raised an eyebrow at her. “He sent me here for a reason, right?”

Right. That was it. Of course Wolffe didn’t talk about her with Comet in any other way. Why would he? They were just—

“And he told me to give you this after the mission.” Comet reached into the pouch of his belt lying next to him and pulled out a holo puck, guilt hedging into his smile. “I would have given it to you sooner, but I knew you’d want to talk and I just … wasn’t ready.”

He placed the puck in her palm and Amara had to remind herself to breathe. The promise of hearing Wolffe’s voice again, after so long without it, was enough to make her want to sprint back to her quarters, abandoning Comet on the training room floor. She shook her head and put the puck away safely in her own belt and eyed Comet.

“You’re lucky you didn’t lose that.”

“And risk never being allowed to return to the 104th?” He placed a hand over his heart. “No chance.”

Amara hummed, pleased to hear a bit of the old Comet back in his voice. “So … no ‘taking a break’?”

Comet huffed out a breath. “No. No, I think I’ve put that behind me.”

Unexpected tears stung the back of Amara’s eyes and she blinked them away before he could see. Maybe agreeing to be a general, agreeing to keep fighting in this war she still wasn’t sure about, had been worth it, even if just for this.

“Well, if you ever need ‘a break’ again,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “you’re always welcome here. Let that phrase mean something else from now on, understood?”

Comet nodded, face serious but the Force much lighter around him than she’d seen it since he first arrived on her ship. “Yes, General.”

“Good.”

Amara stood up, checking briefly to make sure Wolffe’s holo puck was safely tucked away, before pulling Comet up with her. He smiled, gathering up his things to leave. But Amara hesitated.

Now that she was free to run off and listen to Wolffe’s message in peace, she found that she was terrified to hear what he had to say. Her expectations, she feared, were too high. She cleared her throat and, when Comet glanced back at her, she gestured to the square in the centre of the training room where the clones usually sparred.

“The Four-Fourteen are good sparring buddies, but it’s hard to beat the 104th. Think I might be getting a bit rusty.”

Comet stared at her for a moment, clearly reading between the lines. If he’d been Boost he would have called her out on it. Sinker would have shook his head and walked away. But Comet was, despite everything, still Comet. He smiled and dropped his stack of armor.

“I did notice you struggling to hold that punching bag still, General. Sure you’re up for a round?”

Amara followed him to the square, relief relaxing her shoulders and centering her mind away from Wolffe. At least a bit.

“I said I was rusty. Not that I couldn’t still kick your shebs into the next sector.”

Comet laughed and it sounded just a bit like home.

*****

An hour later, Amara walked into her quarters, sweaty from sparring and finally ready to listen to Wolffe’s message.

Well, she looked down at her shaking hands, maybe ‘ready’ was a bit of an overstatement.

Comms with the 104th had never recovered after their initial breakdown when Comet arrived, and any contact she’d had with her old battalion preceding that had been only with Plo. Amara tried not to read into that.

She took out the holo puck from her belt and tossed it between her hands, feeling the cool metal against her skin and thinking of the last words she’d said to Wolffe, back on Coruscant.

See you around, Wolffe.

It had been a promise, small and subtle enough to ignore if they wanted. But she didn’t want to. And she didn’t think he did, either. They’d see each other again, so long as they survived. They’d exist in each other’s lives, even if that existence looked a little different than before. Whatever was on this holo had all the leverage in determining just how different that existence would be.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted, but maybe that was for the best. If she couldn’t decide between her feelings and her duty, then whatever Wolffe said, whichever way his message might lean, stood no chance of disappointing her.

Master Plo would have seen right through that excuse, but he wasn’t here. Amara was alone. And she could make that excuse her reality as much as she damn well pleased.

Settled, Amara set the puck on the shelf next to her bunk, turned it on before she lost the nerve, and curled up with her back against the wall, ready.

When the blue-white recording of Commander Wolffe of the 104th Battalion smiled across at her, a softness in the wavering depths of his eyes that she hadn’t known she’d missed, Amara let herself relax and she let herself smile back.

****

I’ll see you around, Amara. I don’t know when or in what way, but I’ll see you. That’s a promise I know I can keep.

The end of Wolffe’s recording echoed in Amara’s mind as she tried to explain to Comet why she’d called him to the bridge when she couldn’t exactly explain it herself. Wolffe would never break a promise, if he said he would see her again, he would.

Unless he’s dead. Amara blinked the voice away.

“If you’ve had any contact at all with the 104th, Comet, I need to know.”

He could be dead.

Comet shook his head, the rest of his body perfectly still. “No, General. Not since I left the Triumphant three weeks ago. Are you sure it’s not just an issue with our own comms?”

He’s probably dead. Amara stared out into the whirl of hyperspace, letting Riv answer for her.

“Comms are working fine now. We’ve sent messages back to Coruscant, requesting an update and received nothing back so far.” Riv glanced at her but Amara stayed staring forward. “But the general has a … feeling.”

The weight of Comet’s stare added to Riv’s. They were waiting for her to say something, anything. Amara couldn’t get her mouth to move.

“General,” Comet moved to stand next to her, eyes still on her instead of the viewport. “What kind of feeling?”

Amara finally looked up at him and saw all the fear she felt reflected in his dark eyes. She owed him, of all people on this ship, an answer. She didn’t have one, but she had to give him something. She was the general here, it was her job to keep the men moving, alleviate their worries, give them some hope. She cleared her throat, ready to tell Comet it was just a worry, maybe an overreaction.

And then her head exploded into a thousand pieces.

“General?” Hands grabbed at her, trying to … pull her up? Was she no longer standing? “General Kora what’s wrong?”

Amara shook the hands off, her skin sensitive with a deep-seated ache as she pushed her own hands against her forehead, trying to escape the pain. She could see everything around her in staggering clarity, but it was grey, so grey. Grey like it was on Tibrin when so many people died all at once.

It was happening again. The loss. The pain. The ache in the Force. But this time was so so much worse. She’d been naive, back then, to think she’d experienced the worse of death. This felt like pieces of her brain, of her heart, ceasing to exist. She couldn’t speak.

Dead

She could sense people moving around her, could feel the ship humming beneath her, could see the lines of worry in every face. Was that Comet? Ordering a medic to help her? And Riv, messing with the communications hub?

She couldn’t speak.

They’re all dead.

She couldn’t—

“This is a message for General Amara Kora of the 414th battalion.” Master Windu’s voice, always a solace to her, pulled her back from the brink. Amara blinked and stared at his outline on the holo table, everything else fading into the background even as the pounding in her head and chest continued. “The 104th have encountered a dangerous new weapon and we have lost contact. The 414th is to continue back to Coruscant immediately. We do not yet know how to defeat this weapon and we cannot afford to lose another battalion.” He stared at her. She wasn’t sure he could actually see her, didn’t know if this was live or recorded, but he stared right at her. The seriousness of his next words highlighted by the stern set of his mouth. “There is nothing you can do right now. Return to the Temple and we will debrief you there.”

The holo winked out of view and Master Windu’s voice was replaced by Comet’s.

“He didn’t tell us where they were when they lost contact. Why didn’t he tell us where they were?”

Amara leaned against the table, brushing off their medic, Helix, with a gentle nudge. “Because he knew if he told me, I’d ignore his orders and take us there anyway.”

Comet scoffed. “Because that’s the reasonable thing to do, General. We’re a full battalion, we can help.”

Amara stared at the empty holo table, wincing at the similar emptiness she felt in her head, in her heart, in the very core of her being. Every bone in her body was screaming at her to exert all of the 414th’s resources on finding out where the 104th was. She needed to find them. Needed to know exactly how many of them were dead.

Because they were dead. She could feel the absence of so many she’d come to know over the past months, even if she couldn’t pinpoint exactly who the absences belonged to. They were dead. They were dead. They were dead.

There was absolutely nothing she could do about that now, but she could get these men, these very alive men, back to Coruscant. To whatever passed for safety these days.

I don’t know how long I’ll last in this war. Amara closed her eyes for just a moment against Wolffe’s words before she straightened up and let go of the holo table.

She looked Comet directly in the eye, because she owed him that much. “We increase our speed as safely as possible. But we continue our path to Coruscant all the same.”

Comet shook his head, anger darkening his Force color. “You don’t mean that.”

She turned her attention to the 414th clones on the bridge and spoke with as much strength as she could muster. “Understood?”

“Yes, Sir”s echoed around her and Amara made her way the bridge door.

“General, you should come with me.” Helix blocked her exit, concern etched across his brow. “If I hadn’t watched you in there just now, I’d say you have a concussion.”

Amara shook her head, holding back a wince at the staggering pain. “I’m fine, Helix. I just need to meditate.” She waved a hand and pushed past him. “Jedi stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

She had the vague impression of Helix protesting behind her, but she continued on down the hall and toward her quarters. Her head screamed with every step, something pulled at her heart with every breath. She needed to lie down. She needed to meditate. She needed to figure out what the fuck had happened.

She needed, desperately, to let herself cry.

“Wolffe would go after you.”

Amara stopped, hand reaching out to palm her door open, and tried to focus past the pain. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Comet.”

“The hell I do, General. He would go after you. And you know it."

I miss you, Amara … It’s enough for me to know that you know.

Amara pulled her hand back and turned to face Comet, the light behind him making her squint. “No he wouldn’t. He would get his men to safety. He would—” She paused to rub at her eyes. The light was too fucking bright. “He would put everyone and their needs ahead of himself and his wants because that’s what we do. I have a responsibility to these men. Wolffe would understand that.”

“You used to have a responsibility to the 104th, too. General.”

His words hung between them, weighing the air down and threatening to bring forth the tears Amara was trying so hard to keep at bay. This wasn't the Comet she knew. Even at his worst, he'd never talked to her this way. But she could feel his pain in the Force alongside his anger and it matched her own. She was the general, he was the soldier, and she was responsible for him. Regardless of whether he believed it or not.

“I don’t think Wolffe would have sent you to me if he didn’t think I still took that responsibility seriously.” She turned away from him and opened her door. “Get some rest, Comet.”

The door swished close behind her, but not before she heard the loud thump of a fist connecting with a durasteel wall.

Pulling Wolffe’s holo puck out of her belt, Amara sank to the floor. With shaking hands, she turned on the recording.

General Kora … Amara. I asked Comet to give you this recording …

As words she’d already memorized consumed her, Amara tentatively reached into the Force, searching for his distinct signature. They were so connected, so in tune with one another that surely she’d feel him. Surely she’d be able to know for certain if he was …

A wall of pain blocked her from searching further. Her connection with the Force was too fraught, too sensitive, too overwhelmed with loss. If she tried any harder, she’d risk hurting herself permanently.

I hope that when you’re listening to this, you’re rolling your eyes and muttering something about how I didn’t need to explain it so much because you already knew.

Amara looked back at the holo, eyes tracing the quirk of Wolffe’s lips, the gentle set of his arms crossed over his chest.

I also hope you know that I’m explaining it all because I miss you.

As a sob yanked itself free from her too-tight throat, Amara covered her face and finally let herself cry.

#w: a shattered peace #oc: amara kora #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x oc #jedi oc

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