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clonesimpextra · 28 days

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I loved everything about this and will put a longer comment on AO3 but needed to say here that I’m obsessed with Cody being determined to make Neyti like him. Like the actual sunshine he is.

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter III

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General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers.

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 5.7K

Beta. @starstofillmydream

23 Nelona

One-hundred kilometers from Hollow’s Town, the Security Institute of Eluca was located in the heart of the capital. Kazi landed the job through Fehr’s connections. She was more than qualified for the job; however, a government application required listed experience. Experience she couldn’t admit to.

Having attended the University of Cybersecurity and Analytics on Ceaia, Kazi graduated in the top three percent of her class. Professor recommendations and near-perfect test scores earned her a position at Ceaia’s top-clearance security bureau. There, she worked as a military analyst: data collection, research, analysis, dissemination. She worked with some of the Outer Rim’s best analysts and agents.

Four years at the Bureau prepared her for the most classified military projects.

Until the Purge.

Revealing any connection to Ceaia’s government—admitting to her work experience—was a direct path to an ISB interrogation. And subsequent imprisonment. Possibly execution.

So Kazi relied on Fehr’s connections. She completed ten interviews, passed the analysis and mental tests, headed a small project, and soon found herself working for the Security Institute as a data analyst for Imperial exports. Specifically, she was tasked with tracking exports within Veridian Sector’s military bases to ascertain stolen goods.

It wasn’t until two weeks before the clones’ arrival that Kazi learned why Fehr had paid special attention to her.

The rebel network wanted people inside as many Outer Rim governments as possible. Kazi was Fehr’s—and by extension, the network’s—best chance at an Elucan spy with access to Veridian Sector confidential data.

Fehr convinced her the job was fairly safe. Expectations were simple: report any suspicious government activities, important security decisions, persons of interest, and, when able, retrieve necessary intel and/or scrub incriminating data.

The latter part of the job was the most difficult. The first time Kazi scrubbed intel she spent ten minutes retching in the ‘fresher. Endangering herself meant endangering Daria and Neyti.

Now, she regretted it. Regretted the decision to seek aid from the network in order to evade Imperial capture, and regretted the decision to scrub data from Imperial records.

Shifting in an uncomfortable wooden chair, Kazi assessed the bare office. Plain white walls. Windows to her left overlooking Canopis. Dark gray buildings built from stone. Kilometers of jungle expanding to the horizon.

The lack of intrigue inside the superior’s office shifted her attention back to her worries. She replayed the three instances in the past month she had scrubbed or stolen intel.

Bypassed security clearances, offline cams, reconfigured data to appear untampered. She was careful, methodical, in her approach.

Someone must have discovered her, though. It was the only explanation for this surprise meeting.

The door behind her swished open and Kazi stiffened. Rising to her feet, she mustered an easy smile and then froze. A human man—someone who was not her superior—strode inside.

“Ms. Kazi Lucien?” the man asked.

Over the months, she had grown accustomed to the fake last name—the name she gave the network to protect her identity. She extended a hand. “Yes, sir.”

The man smiled—a disarming smile bracketed by bright white teeth that belied the deadness in his eyes—as he accepted her hand. “Magistrate Aro.”

Dumbstruck, Kazi could only shake his hand. His palm and fingers were cold, his skin dry and smooth. Symbolic of a life behind a desk rather than the typical farm or mining work expected of most Elucans. Then again, this was Magistrate Aro, a native to Eluca Moon One.

The magistrate settled himself behind the polished wooden desk, waving for Kazi to sit. Adorned in a purple robe with black-and-white hair mussed stylishly, the magistrate was charismatic and good-looking. And yet he was commonly disliked by Eluca’s locals.

Three years ago, Eluca fell victim to a global plague. More than half of the small population died, leaving the planet vulnerable and weak. Eluca Moon One took advantage of the planet’s momentary weakness to initiate one of their own as interim magistrate. Due to government subsidies and a general inability to resist, the remaining Elucans begrudgingly accepted the term.

They hadn’t known “interim” would lead to permanency.

Skin gold and eyes pale gray, Magistrate Aro carried himself with a confident aura that bordered self-absorbed. Like a macaw—chest puffed in a show of domination and pride.

Kazi gleaned from the locals in Hollow’s Town that the magistrate’s greatest fault was his immigration status. He lacked Elucan culture and tradition. He lacked their devout loyalty. He was too brash in his political endeavors, and too impulsive in his decision-making. His refusal to sanction local holidays as paid time off convinced most of their dislike.

With a probing look, Magistrate Aro gestured to the bar behind his desk. “Would you care for a drink?”

Kazi fixed a polite smile on her face. “I’m fine, thank you.”

The magistrate poured himself a glass—recently imported wine from Alderaan, if the tag were to be believed—and then sat back in the ornate seat, crossing an ankle over his knee. He swirled his wine while regarding her.

Did the magistrate suspect her of stealing intel? If he did, why would he meet her without security?

“I reviewed your file,” the magistrate said. He arched a brow in friendly curiosity, and yet Kazi noted the subtle shrewdness in his gaze. The slight tilt of his head as he assessed her. It set her on edge. “You immigrated here back in Kelona?”

Political coyness was not her forte, but years training to be a socialite had taught her the art of masking. So Kazi forced herself to relax in her chair. “I did. Eluca is a lovely planet. I’m glad to be here.”

The magistrate nodded, taking a sip from his wine. “And how would you describe your time here? Has it met your expectations?”

It was obvious the magistrate wanted her to elaborate on the locals and her interactions with them, perhaps as a result of his paranoia. Her mind betrayed her focus, though. Her thoughts shifted to the past month and her cohabitation with the clone commanders.

Kazi thought that first day would be the last time Commander Wolffe interrupted her morning routine. She was wrong.

Sometime after her morning swim, when she was showering, Commander Wolffe appeared in the kitchen. He sat in the same stool in nearly the same outfit—white work shirt exchanged for gray or black—and was always drinking a cup of caf. A dark roast.

They never exchanged a greeting. Kazi pretended he didn’t exist while she prepared breakfast for herself and Neyti, and Commander Wolffe ignored her, opting to read his datapad as he sipped his caf. And while he was distracted, she quickly yet politely ate her porridge.

However, as she washed dishes or prepared Neyti’s lunch beside the sink, curiosity encouraged her to peek at the commander’s datapad. Each morning contained something new. Files on military strategy and battle tactics. News updates across the galaxy. Manuals on ship parts. Schematics detailing a prison. They were files she expected a soldier to read.

One morning, about four weeks ago, she snuck a glance at his ‘pad and did a double take. He was reading an article on adolescent mental development. The subject was so surprising she didn’t look away in time. Commander Wolffe lifted his face, found her blatantly staring at his ‘pad, and scowled.

That morning, he finished his caf at the wooden table in the backyard.

True to her routine, Kazi relied on the HoloNet news reports to fill the silence between her and Commander Wolffe. More often, pieces of news caught her or the commander’s attention. Whenever he found her staring intently at the flatscreen, he commented on the subject. His comments weren’t something she could ignore: blunt, cynical. He seemed to comment simply to make her respond.

And she did. Because she had to explain why his opinions were objectively inaccurate.

Their arguments vacillated between the niche and the extremes:

Would a new emperor prove a more benevolent ruler?

What qualifies as a just war?

Is the Empire’s current existence sustainable?

Does military might guarantee ultimate success?

How does morality play into lawmaking?

They spent one morning debating the merits of Empire-controlled pharmaceuticals and healthcare. The commander argued it would prove ineffective, and increase dependency on the government. He further argued the government couldn’t be trusted to provide effective healthcare to every species. Ultimately, the Inner Rim would retain priority.

It was one of the few times Kazi agreed. So she remained silent, her pride unbent.

Another morning they argued the legality of tracking. Kazi argued it an invasion of privacy. Commander Wolffe argued the placement of tracking beacons in a public space negated the law of privacy, and he further argued security a more pressing concern than protection of privacy.

Rolling her eyes, Kazi said it was an ethical dilemma, and to her surprise, the commander agreed. But it was a pointless argument. The Empire neither respected civilian privacy nor abided by ethical deliberation.

From their debates, Kazi mentally constructed a character profile of Commander Wolffe.

He…confused her.

The commander clearly didn’t like her and yet he joined her every morning.

He didn’t trust the network and yet he ran operations out of her house.

He thought rebellion was pointless and yet he rescued deserting clones from the Imperial military.

He scorned absolute authority and yet he defended the Republic’s position on the Clone War.

She wasn’t the only one forming a profile. It was clear from pointed questions and probing comments that Commander Wolffe was studying her. Testing her.

She only hoped she was as unsolvable as he was.

The other clones were less enigma and more intrigue.

Commanders Cody and Fox were civil whenever Kazi interacted with them. The former was the friendliest—in a subdued manner—and he didn’t shy from engaging Kazi or her sister in small conversation.

The latter was reserved, though his quiet was more contemplative rather than mistrustful. Kazi came across him twice in the sunroom, whittling a piece of wood into an intricate carving. He merely nodded at her but she could tell her presence unsettled him.

Most weeks the clones were gone for days at a time. They returned from their missions with only a handful of deserted soldiers. Those soldiers recuperated for a day or two and then left.

Interactions were rare. When the commanders were recovering from their missions, they kept to themselves. Most nights they played card games and drank at the outside table.

Kazi knew little of their daily habits considering her work schedule, but Daria had mentioned the clones spent little time at the house, returning from day-long hikes sweaty or from the Marketplace with groceries.

Their daily activities were odd. Normal. She thought, since they were soldiers, they would spend their recovery hours doing soldiery things.

Their habits bamboozled her, and a piece of her wondered if her perception of the clones was inaccurate. Possibly skewed. The thought troubled her, and so she paid more attention to the commanders. Analyzed them like she would her intel.

Her assessment revealed one common denominator: the clones were weary. They hid it well. Reddened eyes, lined foreheads, burdened shoulders. Small ticks most people would overlook.

But Kazi saw the strain—she recognized the hollow look in Commander Wolffe’s eyes each morning. She knew it well. It was the same look she saw every time she stood in front of a mirror.

Cohabitation was easier for her sister. Ever the kind and gentle host, Daria developed an easy rapport with the new soldiers. Neyti, on the other hand, remained shy and suspicious.

One morning, Commander Wolffe retrieved a cup from an upper cabinet, offering it to Neyti. She glared at him. And then, with a determined scowl, she climbed onto the counter and grabbed a new cup. A cup with a different color and pattern.

Child-like wariness aside, Neyti was curious. She might have glowered when the clones attempted to engage her, but she spent most interactions studying them. Gray eyes narrowed shrewdly. Nose scrunched in deep thought. Kazi wanted to pick her mind on her observations but Neyti’s refusal to speak made it impossible.

“My time here has been easy,” Kazi answered the magistrate.

The magistrate took another sip from his wine. “When you think of Eluca’s future, what do you imagine?”

Kazi frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Come now, Kazi.” She didn’t like the sound of her name on his lips, and she didn’t like his knowing smile. “Humor me.”

“I imagine a future…of peace and justice, security for the people,” she said slowly. “A future based on advancement—”

Magistrate Aro snapped his fingers. “A future based on advancement. Spectacular.” His smile widened, like a cave grinning open, eager to swallow sailors astray. “We want the same thing, you and me. We want Eluca to rival the other planets in our galaxy—we want Eluca to stand above all else. We are the future of the galaxy’s success and prominence.”

Voice rising in feverous passion, Magistrate Aro leaned across the desk. “Can you see it? The future where Eluca is no longer considered a measly backwater planet? The future where Eluca is the most advanced and well-bred planet in the Outer Rim? The future where Moff Harpy and her sycophants bow their heads to me, in reverence and respect?”

Kazi bit the inside of her cheek to hide her shock. She had heard the rumors of the magistrate’s paranoia—heard the rumors of his delusions and greed—but she hadn’t realized the severity of it. His current political position proved his cunning nature, and with too much power, he could pose a threat to the rebel network, to Eluca, at large, and even to her and her family.

The magistrate paused his speech. “Well?”

Kazi blinked. “I’m not sure—”

“Can you see it?” The question was sharp, underscored by a hint of distrust bordering suspicion.

“Yes,” she answered. The lie was smooth, buttered with a cold smile. “I can picture it easily.”

The magistrate held her gaze, body tautened from leaning so far forward, and then he exhaled, settling back into his chair. Good-natured suave replaced fervent greed.

“The future we imagine is being threatened.” Magistrate Aro set aside his wine and steepled his fingers together. “Poor leadership, rebel scum, ineffective political backstabbing. I have a vision for Eluca but this vision can shatter too easily if it’s not properly protected.”

Feigning sympathy, Kazi nodded in agreement.

Magistrate Aro eyed her. “The Elucans lack proprietary for their future. They are too localized and culturally aligned; their traditional sentiments prevent them from being assets to the Empire. Do you know what worries me?”

Before she could answer, the magistrate continued, “Local disgruntlement. Their grumblings foster rebellious behavior, and rebel existence on Eluca would hinder our desires for security and peace.”

Kazi internally scoffed. Rebel existence would ridicule the magistrate’s rule. Make him look incompetent and weak. His self-effacing behavior was a politician’s façade to disguise megalomania.

“I fear rebel sentiments have infiltrated our ranks.”

A spike of fear punctured her lungs and it took effort to remain still. To force her features into confusion and surprise.

Did he suspect her? Was this the purpose of the meeting?

“Are you certain?” Kazi asked.

“Unfortunately.” Magistrate Aro shook his head, false disappointment belied by the vexed glint in his eyes. “The Elucans are an untrustworthy bunch.”

It took a moment for Kazi to realize his unspoken intent. He didn’t suspect her. Rather, her immigration status made her desirable. Someone he believed he could trust.

Political backstabbing was rampant among Imperial ranks. Most Imperial officials maintained high-levels of secrecy to achieve greatness, and to protect their backs from their supposed allies. They were, after all, motivated by the same things: money, power, recognition.

“Have you seen anything of suspect?” the magistrate asked.

Kazi pretended to think, her eyebrows stitched together and lips pursed. She started to shake her head. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Rebel activity is increasing across the Outer Rim. Outright terrorism in some places. I am committed to eradicating rebellious sentiments. I can rely on you to keep your eyes open?”

One of the reasons the Empire succeeded in authoritative control and subsequent oppression of the people was its fearmongering.

Fearmongering allowed the Imps to uncover legitimate rebels more easily. And could easily turn a population against certain ideologies. It also convinced the people to turn on one another.

Rumors were ubiquitous and truth difficult to determine. People were scared, and to protect themselves and their loved ones, they turned on neighbor. Or coworker.

It was easier to betray a stranger than endanger your partner, or sibling, or parent, or child.

“I’ll do my duty,” Kazi answered. She brushed her clammy palms down her trousers, prepared for the meeting’s conclusion.

“One last thing”—the magistrate leaned back in his chair, his smile sly—“I am increasing your duties of responsibility. You will remain on your current team, tracking exports, but I want you to split your time on a separate project. A confidential project.”

Nonplussed, Kazi cocked her head to the side. “What type of new project?”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult for someone of your caliber.” The magistrate slid a datastick across the desk. “I want you to analyze the desertion of clone troopers.”

Kazi tensed.

The magistrate gestured to the datastick. “You have the necessary records there. I want you to track the locations of desertion, the timeframes. See if there are any patterns.”

“Is this sanctioned by Moff Harpy?” Kazi asked casually, pocketing the datastick.

“It’s our secret.” The magistrate winked. “Can you handle it?”

Aware of the subtle threat in the magistrate’s question, Kazi grinned. “Patterns are my specialty, Magistrate.”

Hollow’s Town boasted a population of five thousand. It was one of a dozen towns that survived the epidemic, and both population and workforce were booming.

Primarily an agricultural-based town, the community was convivial. Helpful and close-knit. Outsiders, though, were ignored. Kazi didn’t mind. The Marketplace vendors were always nice to her, and she didn’t care enough to make friends.

Her only concern was Neyti.

Hollow’s Schooling One—a primary school for younglings aged five to ten—was one of two primary schools in Hollow’s Town. Located on the west side, and therefore the closest to the house, Hollow’s Schooling One enrolled roughly 150 students. In Neyti’s class: 30 students.

School started at the beginning of the year, in Elona. Neyti arrived a month late, and, as a current six-year-old, was placed into a class full of students who spent the year prior together.

Kazi worried about Neyti: lack of friends, bullies, loneliness, schoolwork. The last point wasn’t too much of a concern. Neyti was studious, and her grades reflected her hard work.

However, there were times Neyti struggled with her homework. Instances when she threw her stylus at the table and stomped to her room. Instances where she didn’t understand a problem and her lower lip started to tremble. She never asked for help.

Kazi had two theories. One, Neyti preferred to solve problems on her own. Or, two, Neyti didn’t know how to ask for help, and/or was too afraid to do so. It left Kazi feeling incompetent.

So she made sure each evening, after dinner, to work at the kitchen table while Neyti completed her schoolwork. To help, in case the need arose.

But Kazi couldn’t help Neyti at school. She didn’t know if Neyti had friends, and any related questions were met with silence and an embarrassed shrug.

One of the most surprising, and frustrating, difficulties about being a caregiver was her inability to intervene and fix each problem through logic. Logic relied on rationalization and problem solving, and it allowed an individual to retain control over a situation. There was a reason Kazi studied analytics in school and was good at it. Logic was her strong suit.

But younglings were driven by emotions. And Kazi couldn’t force other younglings to like Neyti. She would, if she could.

Having left work early and after warning Daria she was picking up Neyti, Kazi arrived at the small school. Low-squatting and built from a mixture of dark wood and gray stone, the school sat alone on its street.

An elaborate playground bordered the school. Twirly slides, rows of swings, monkey bars (it wasn’t uncommon to find native monkeys swinging from the bars), balance beams, climbing walls, and ziplines interrupted the swath of cleared jungle. Younglings overflowed the playground. Like ants to an anthill.

Kazi scanned the area for Neyti. A few youngling girls close to her age sat in a circle beneath a shade cover, braiding one another’s hair and giggling. Neyti wasn’t with them.

Frowning, she perused the climbing walls, then the slides, then the balance beams. Finally, her gaze landed on the swings.

Seated on a swing, alone, was Neyti.

Kazi winced and quickly made her way toward the swings. She had suspected Neyti would have difficulty making friends—the little girl’s refusal to speak probably isolated her from other students—but a part of her had hoped for a better outcome.

Originally, Kazi theorized Neyti didn’t speak because she didn’t understand Basic. She theorized Neyti learned the Ceaian tongue. A language only a couple hundred people spoke, and the first language she learned.

But the first time Kazi tried to speak to Neyti in the Ceaian tongue the little girl had merely blinked in bewilderment.

It wasn’t until Neyti’s biweekly therapy sessions with a grief and trauma counselor—therapy sessions Kazi attended to make sure Neyti didn’t accidentally mention Ceaia or other incriminating information—that she learned Neyti’s silence stemmed from the trauma of losing her mother.

According to the counselor, Neyti would speak when she felt safe enough to do so. And so far, she hadn’t. It was something that bothered Kazi late at night.

“Neyti.” Kazi stopped a meter away and waved.

Neyti lifted her face, gray eyes wide in shock. Dark brown eyebrows knitted together and she glanced behind Kazi, looking for something.

“Daria isn’t here,” Kazi said. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Neyti didn’t want her here. “I decided to pick you up. I… I hope that’s okay.”

Neyti scrunched her nose in deep thought and then shrugged.

Kazi’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Are you ready—”

“Ms. Lucien?”

Tensing at the familiar voice, Kazi schooled her features into professional politeness and turned around. “Teacher Jaci. Did you need something?”

Ivory skin offset by black hair styled in soft waves, Teacher Jaci wore the same ingenuine smile she had worn the first day Kazi met her. Her smile shifted, though, into a frown of insincere confusion. “I wanted to remind you about the kids’ field trip next month.”

Bewildered, Kazi slid her eyes to Neyti. The little girl was staring at her shoes, shoulders curled inwards, cheeks darkened.

“You haven’t signed up for it,” Teacher Jaci continued. “Can we mark you as an expected absentee?”

Expected absentee.

The words echoed in her head. A taunt growing louder and stronger.

Kazi fisted her hands behind her back. “What date is the field trip?”

“The fourth of Helona.” Teacher Jaci retrieved a flimsi sheet from her satchel and handed it to her. Lowering her voice so that Neyti couldn’t hear, she said, “If you are unable to make it, perhaps Neyti’s father can.”

Kazi gripped her wrist harder. “He’s not in the picture.”

“Aw.” The teacher smiled sadly at Neyti. “That does not surprise me.”

With that, Teacher Jaci strolled away.

For a quiet minute, Kazi stared at the flimsi sheet, the words blurred and incomprehensible. When she lifted her gaze to Neyti’s face, she found the youngling scrutinizing her. The moment their eyes met, Neyti looked at the ground, toeing a patch of grass, her tiny hands clinging to a sketch Kazi hadn’t noticed before.

“So,” Kazi said softly. “A field trip, huh?”

Unmoving and unspeaking, Neyti blinked her apprehension.

Kazi looked toward the sky—afternoon blue, wooly clouds adrift—and breathed in slowly. Neyti didn’t owe her. If she didn’t want her on the field trip, then she would respect Neyti’s wishes.

Releasing her breath, Kazi took a tentative step toward the neighboring swing. The seat squeaked beneath her. Wrapping her hands around the chains, she stared at the swarming playground.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the field trip?”

Silence met her question and Kazi lowered her gaze to her neighbor. Neyti gulped, eyes rounded in guilt.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to go—” Neyti shook her head. Adamantly. Kazi frowned. “You want me to go with you?”

Mouth opening, Neyti hesitated. She searched Kazi’s face, desperate but guarded, and with the barest dip of her chin, she nodded.

Kazi bumped her knee against Neyti’s. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Abashed, Neyti cast her eyes downward and toed the ground again.

“Did you think I would say no?”

Another small, nearly imperceptible dip of Neyti’s chin.

Guilt thrummed beneath her skin and Kazi tapped her foot against the ground. “I want to go. If you’ll have me.”

Neyti nodded eagerly.

Smiling to herself, Kazi dropped her gaze to the sketch in Neyti’s hands, perusing the colors and shapes.

A dark blue ocean washed across the page. Tiny sailboats raced among white waves, their sails painted an assortment of bright colors. A single sun glistened in the sky. A face smiled on it. Gray clouds were reminiscent of—

“Is that…” Kazi leaned toward the sketch. “Did you draw Ceaia?”

Neyti ducked her cheek into her shoulder.

“I didn’t know you like to draw,” she remarked.

Shrugging, Neyti traced the arcs of the white waves.

Kazi leaned back in the swing, staring blankly at the small youngling beside her.

She should have known. A real parent would have known; a better caregiver would have known. Neyti had been in her care for three months—98 fucking days—and she didn’t know the little girl liked to draw.

It was a failure on her part. And she despised failure.

From a young age, Kazi worked hard to excel at everything. Difficult school courses demanded hours dedicated to studying the subject until she perfected it. Two points missed on a test earned her teasing remarks from her parents. She was expected to make top grades, and her parents were proud of her. She couldn’t disappoint them.

When she did fail, as was inevitable, it bothered her late at night. Like a terminal disease, unwilling to die and incapable of prevention.

Kazi clenched the swing’s chains until her palms grew numb and her fingers hurt.

“We can hang it on the fridge.” Her voice was lower, hoarser, and she mustered a smile when Neyti stared at her dubiously. “What do you think? Can we hang it up?”

Scratching the top of her head, Neyti considered her for a long moment. Her eyes darted to the sketch. She lifted it, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, most likely imagining the sketch placed on the fridge. Neyti smiled.

A small, toothless smile. But a smile, nonetheless.

Disgruntled voices greeted Kazi and Neyti as they stepped into the house. Shoes shucked off and backpack haphazardly tossed onto the stairs, Neyti led the way into the kitchen.

The voices quieted. Kazi eyed the card game at the kitchen table. The three clone commanders were joined by two clones Kazi hadn’t met. They gave her skeptical looks, eyes narrowing at the sight of Neyti. Kazi let her gaze wander between the commanders—Cody to Fox to Wolffe. The latter was lounged back in his chair, gaze on her face.

A pan of cooling vegetables revealed Daria’s recent departure. She was most likely in her garden.

“How was school?” Commander Cody asked. The openness on his face, and the kindness in his tone, made Kazi grimace.

For some reason, the commander tried hard to engage Neyti and gain her trust. Unfortunately for him, Neyti was too proud. She refused to bend.

Case in point, Neyti halted before the fridge, a scowl marring her features. Her nose wrinkled. The look she shot Commander Cody was both indignant and unapologetic.

Deciding the commander was undeserving of Neyti’s disdain, Kazi intervened. “Neyti has a field trip in a few weeks.”

The little girl threw her a betrayed frown. Kazi gave her a pointed look and Neyti huffed her irritation.

Easing the sketch from Neyti’s hands, Kazi grabbed a handful of magnets from a broken drawer, and slid the picture onto the larger of the fridge’s door.

“Where’s the field trip?” Commander Cody asked conversationally.

“The Museum of Nature and Science.” Kazi looked to Neyti, and with the youngling’s nod of approval, she snapped the magnets in place. “I heard they have a new exhibit about Eluca’s role during the Clone War.”

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she glanced over her shoulder. Commander Wolffe had wandered into the kitchen. He stopped at the sink to fill a glass of water.

“I wasn’t aware Eluca played a role,” Commander Cody said.

“They didn’t.” Kazi stepped back from the picture. It was crooked and she made to correct it, but Neyti’s satisfied nod convinced her to leave it. She returned her attention to the commander. “Eluca wasn’t militaristically or politically strategic. Which is why the Empire won’t establish a significant Imperial presence here.”

“You don’t think the Empire will move in soon?”

The voice behind her startled enough she recoiled. Commander Wolffe gave her an unimpressed look, leaning against the opposite counter. The space between the two counters—the sink and the bar versus the fridge and oven—seemed more cramped with his imposing frame in it.

“I don’t.” She widened her stance, crossing her arms over her chest, prepared for whatever argument the commander was sure to initiate. “Eluca provides nothing of value. The Empire can rest happy knowing Eluca is technically conquered—”

A tap on her arm drew her attention and she found Neyti holding a bag of crisps. A question wrinkled her forehead and Kazi nodded. Neyti disappeared upstairs, the crinkle of her crisps masking her silent footfalls.

“Speaking of the Empire”—Kazi lowered her voice; the game commenced and quieter arguments broke out—“I had a meeting with the magistrate. He has intel on clones deserting from military bases in the Outer Rim.”

Commander Wolffe stilled, former apathy shifting into concern and then wariness. “The magistrate told you this?”

She nodded.

“Why would he tell you that?” The commander pushed off the counter, mirroring her stance. “I thought you were a low-level analyst—”

“Who said I was low level?”

Commander Wolffe rolled his eyes. “Why would a planetary magistrate meet with you?”

Barely concealed derision laced his words together and Kazi stiffened. It didn’t matter she had asked the same question hours ago—before she learned Magistrate Aro’s intent—but the suspicion in the commander’s gaze, his clear disdain for her, incited a sharp flare of anger.

“It’s no concern to you,” she said calmly. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I only mentioned it to give you a warning.”

“You’re helping us now, is that it?”

“If you’re caught, you could rat us out.” He scoffed and she gritted her teeth. “I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect Neyti and my sister.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Kazi dug her fingernails into her arms. “I know you only care about yourself, Commander, but your carelessness can endanger my—”

He scoffed. “I’m not careless. Our missions are strategized to the most minute details and—”

“I don’t care about your missions. I care about my sister and Neyti.” Her voice tightened. “I’m giving you a warning and you’re dismissing it like it’s nothing—”

“Tell me why the magistrate informed you of this,” the commander demanded. “Does he suspect you?”

“No. He wants me—” Kazi cut herself off, considering the blatant mistrust in his face. If she revealed Magistrate Aro’s project, Commander Wolffe would assume the worst of her. And she wasn’t in the mood to be questioned or ridiculed.

“I don’t care if the Empire discovers me,” she said. “But I won’t endanger Neyti and Daria.”

Something—perhaps understanding—rippled across his features.

“Be more aware of your surroundings,” she concluded. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Tugging on one of her braids to dispel her jitters, Kazi made to leave.

“Why doesn’t your kid talk?”

The question was so unexpected she froze. Commander Wolffe was staring at the sketch on the fridge, arms still crossed over his chest, his brows drawn together.

Kazi didn’t immediately respond. The answer to his question was weighted in trauma and history she preferred the clones didn’t know, and it would provide too much insight. Not only to Neyti, but also insight to her.

Commander Wolffe’s annoyed curiosity by her presence—his too-personal questions in the morning—led her to believe he was searching for a weakness. A weakness she never wanted him to discover.

His gaze flitted in her direction. He arched a brow. The simple gesture made her spine straighten.

“The therapist she sees blames it on grief,” she said. A frown marred his features. “Losing a parent is hard. Much less watching them die.”

A blink was his only sign of surprise. “You’re not her mother.”

“Her mother asked me to watch over her.” She held his gaze, her stomach coiling with unbridled tension. “She didn’t make it. Because she was shot. By one of the Empire’s clone troopers.”

His reaction was immediate. Stiffening posture. Clenching jaw. Inscrutable emotions crossing his face before settling into a hard, stony mask.

Kazi looked at the sketch. Tiny figures manned the sailboats.

In Traditionalist Ceaian culture, learning to sail was a rite of passage. Navigating a storm and returning a boat safely to harbor proved a juvenile was prepared for the trials and challenges of adulthood. Everyone in the harbor celebrated the success.

Kazi wondered if Neyti had ever sailed.

Far from land. Wind in her hair. Salty breeze in her face.

She knew the little girl would love it.

But the opportunity would never arise. Neyti would never learn to sail. And she would never see her mother again.

Kazi turned away, murmuring to the expressionless male beside her, “Good evening, Commander.”

A/N: Next chapter release – January 25th

Star Wars Time Measurements:

1 day = 24 hours 1 week = 5 days 1 month = 35 days 1 year = 10 months

Masterlist | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

#commander wolffe x oc: kazi ennari #Commander wolffe #fic recs

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clonesimpextra · 29 days

Text

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.

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

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clonesimpextra · 30 days