#clone wars fancfiction

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 4

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Sinker, Comet, Boost

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, clone cuddle pile

Word Count: 1.4k

Author's Notes: This part is 100% pure Wolffe angst. That's it. That's the whole thing. Just Wolffe being a sad man. You have been warned. Next part will have more Cara and Comet and clones attempting to make breakfast! As always, please enjoy 💚

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"The little one is asleep," Comet says as he reenters the living room.

"Good," Wolffe says. He leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. "She needs it."

"So do you," Sinker adds with a pointed look.

Wolffe sighs. "I need to pack."

"We can help with that," Boost offers.

"No," Wolffe says. He leans forward and rubs his eyes. "I can do it."

"Do you want us to leave?" Comet asks.

Wolffe pushes himself off the couch and stares blankly towards his bedroom. "No…" he murmurs with a shake of his head. "Stay. Just for a little while longer."

"Whatever you need, commander," Sinker says.

Wolffe walks towards his bedroom with heavy footsteps. The weight of what he needs to do, picking and choosing pieces of his wife, what to keep and what to let go of, surrounds him like a thick cloud. Its presence threatens to suffocate him. The room is dark, empty, and lifeless, feeling claustrophobic and cold without the warmth of his wife. Everything is how it should be. The bed is immaculate, the floor is clean, the clothes are put away, but in his heart he only feels chaos.

He sits down onto his side of the bed and looks over at the holo-photo album perched on the bedside table. It slowly rotates through images of their life together. A nervous first date, a botched marriage proposal, a beautiful unofficial wedding, an unexpected baby bump, the birth he missed, a first birthday, an anniversary alone, and so many more memories. He missed a lot of them because of the war, but nonetheless, each memory is priceless and precious to him.

He picks up the album and runs his fingers across the image of his wife smiling next to his daughter on her third birthday. One they celebrated without him. He smiles at the memory. Cara had cake all over her face. Then the image switches and Wolffe's breath hitches. For a moment, he thought he lost her again, but it's just an image of him holding Cara, one that his wife took, and he realizes that's how all their pictures will look going forward. She'll never be in one again.

Wolffe places the album down, flops back onto the bed, and rests his arm over his eyes. He wants to feel something other than sadness, anything, but he can't find any other emotion. His usual stoic, no-nonsense, demeanor has left him, too. He grips the blanket with his other hand, but he can't feel it. He's numb. He needs to pack, but he can't move. He's paralyzed. How easy would it be to just slip away and never feel anything ever again? Hasn't he lost enough already?

Is there an allotment in life of pain and suffering, and he accidentally received a double portion? Was it not enough to lose his battalion, his marshal rank, and his eye? Did he have to lose his wife too? What else can this life possibly take from him? His daughter? He'd rather die. He'd rather be blown up, crushed, sliced in half, suffocated, burned, or stabbed to death than lose one more thing he holds precious. The universe can take him, but it can't take his daughter.

Wolffe groans and rolls onto his side. He stares at the empty side of the bed and slowly smooths his hand over the empty surface. He can almost feel her lying there if he closes his eyes, and he wonders if he'll forget someday. Will he forget what she feels like? Her smell? Her voice? Her infectious laugh? His name on her lips? Will he forget… her? Maker, he prays he never forgets. He can't. He won't. She is his beloved, and he is hers. Death can't keep him from loving her.

Wolffe shimmies over to his wife's side of the bed and buries his face in her pillow, inhaling her scent deeply and committing it to memory. He makes a quick mental list of everything he wants to pack and take with him. Her pillow, her favorite top, her favorite perfume, her favorite soap, her favorite holo-book. He wishes he could pack it all up in a small box and carry it with him everywhere, but he can't. He'll just have to take those little pieces of his wife so he'll never forget.

Although, a part of him still thinks she'll come home. That she's out having fun with her friends and will be back late. That she'll come to bed and curl up next to him like she always does when he's home. Then there's the part of him that replays her dying gasps of breath. Reminding him that her body went limp in his arms and she's never coming back. A ruthless and cruel tug of war in his mind. A part clinging to hope and a part crushing him under the weight of despair.

The despair wins the war and Wolffe chokes out a sob. He lets his emotions roar to the surface, breaking the dam of his engineered resilience, and he cries. It's too much. He wasn't made to love and he wasn't made to lose love. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to die first. It's unfair. It's inhumane. It's cruel. He doesn't care what force power or force deity his general believes in. No moral platitude can justify the death of innocence, let alone his own wife.

"Commander?" Sinker whispers from where he stands in the bedroom doorway.

Wolffe doesn't move or stifle his mournful cries. He doesn't care if his brothers see him like this. He thought he could do it. He thought he could sneak away, suffer in silence, and ride out the grief alone, but the weight is too heavy. He's buckling beneath the pressure and knows he won't make it if he only relies on himself. To be strong in front of his daughter is one thing, but his pack brothers? They're strong and steady. He knows he can break in front of them and be safe.

With no confirmation or denial otherwise, Sinker walks into the room and sits down next to where Wolffe is laying on the bed. He hesitates, but places a firm hand on Wolffe's shoulder.

"Wolffe," he says softly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Wolffe says nothing, but slowly picks himself up and leans heavily against Sinker as he wipes his eyes.

"The boys and I were thinking," Sinker begins cautiously. "Maybe we could stay the night? To keep you company?"

Wolffe looks up at Sinker through blurry vision. He wishes the tears would stop flowing, but they don't. Every time he remembers his wife isn't coming home, new tears form where the previous fell. It's a continuous cycle that he's never experienced before and he hates experiencing it now. He's slept alone countless times on missions, but he's never slept alone in this bed, without her. She's always been there. It feels wrong to sleep in it without her. He doesn't want to sleep in it alone.

"I…" Wolffe begins with a hoarse voice. "I'd like that."

Sinker pulls Wolffe's forehead against his own and closes his eyes. "We've got you, vod."

Wolffe melts into the small gesture, breath still shaky from his sobs. "Thank you."

Sinker gives Wolffe's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then gets up from the bed to go grab the others from the living room. Wolffe sits still at the edge of the bed, but slowly lets himself drift back down to rest his head against the pillow. His pack brothers quietly enter the bedroom and find a spot on the bed to lay down, being careful not to disturb him. It's not a very large bed so a little overlap is needed, and there's some tangling of limbs, but everyone eventually settles in.

It's been a while since the pack has piled in such a way to sleep. The last time Wolffe piled was probably before the Malevolence. Same for Sinker and Boost, and most likely never for Comet since he was part of the newly formed battalion. Wolffe refused piles after the Malevolence because he was afraid of getting attached to his men again, but in the end, it didn't matter. He didn't lose any of his men. He lost his wife. Maybe Jedi are right and attachments are a waste.

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