#he’s cursing the Kaminoans the entire time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

staycalmandhugaclone · 8 months

Text

You'll Have to Go Through Me

We're at a point where I strongly recommend not reading this until after working your way through the entirety of Doc's Misadventures beginning, of course with Touch Starved!

There are still some slots left for the 400 follower celebration. I'll be bouncing between Doc fics and reader oc fics bit by bit (though, I can't really stop mid arc for brain reasons, so you'll get part 2 of this fic before I pop back into Asks)

Last head's up: Given my last fics weren't Doc fics, I didn't start this yet, but after today, I'll be reducing my tag list. If folks haven't interacted in some way for a few fics, I'm going to stop tagging you. Because Tumblr just can't do things easily for me, I frequently hand type my entire list, so if yuh want me to take the time to tag you, ya'll have to give me something back so I know I'm not tagging people who've lost interest or aren't even on here anymore. To all my lovelies who silently reblog: I adore you and you can do no wrong in this world! To those of you who frequently comment/chat with me about this crazy little world I accidentally made: I would happily burn the world to see you smile

Warnings: Lots of heavy emotions in this one - angst, guilt, angry, blame, got some profanity in there, and reference to child soldiers kinda

WC: 3,171

There was a rumor that the Kaminoan’s eyes could see colors humans simply couldn’t; that everything from the unblemished armor of shinies to the very reports endlessly updating on their communicators was overlaid with additional data invisible to those deemed a “lesser race.” That rumor left the identical, monotone halls of their cities feeling even more unwelcoming; as though secrets laid all around me, taunting my every step in some undeniable proof that their prejudiced beliefs held a merit I would never be able to fight, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about that anymore.

I roamed those immaculate halls aimlessly, purely for the want of letting myself get lost in them. The need to hide, to flee despite there being nowhere I could run drove me to wander endlessly through the most distant corridors, blindly staring at barracks that had long since been left abandoned as the production of clones lessened with every day that passed. Once, each of the countless rooms around me had been home to cadets too young to understand the horrors awaiting them, and I bleakly wondered how many of those children were now lost to the never-ending demand for sacrifice towards a goal that seemed just as distance now as it had during that very first battle.

I’d nearly walked past him, utterly oblivious to his presence until his helm shifted just enough to catch my attention, and, with a sharp gasp, I was ripped from the illusioned reprieve of my thoughts.

“Kriff!” The curse hissed through clenched teeth, wide eyes locking on the lithe figure leaning silently against the tiny inlet of a doorframe. That silence lingered until my panic withered into that too familiar dread, air catching in my lungs as I stood frozen before him.

“We’re leaving in an hour. Hunter sent you a com.” He stated, and I nearly broke from the chill in his raspy voice.

“I… I haven’t read it, yet…” I finally admitted, jaw stiff. I’d remembered how my heart had dropped at the alert for the incoming message, certain I’d find orders detailing my reassignment lingering within, and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to look. Crosshair said nothing for a long moment, and I had to fight the nervous dance of my fingers. Without another word, he turned and began to walk away, and a new panic overwhelmed me.

“Wait!” I gasped, body stealing a half-step toward him before locking up once more. He paused, but didn’t turn back, and I could feel something on the verge of shattering within me.

“I thought you said you didn’t regret it.” It was quiet, as though whispering those words might hide the hurt in them, and the air fled me in a shuttered exhale.

“I…” My throat locked around that choked word, and I cursed myself for faltering when I so desperately wanted to offer him some hint of reassurance, but I could only stare as his shoulders sank before starting through those sickeningly pristine halls once more.

“Wait…” I begged, voice barely audible, but he didn’t stop, and finally, my body remembered itself. “Wait! Wait, dammit! I don’t regret being with you!” I shouted, racing forward to cut him off. He said nothing as he stared down at me, that emotionless visor offering nothing of the warmth with which he’d looked at me just days prior, and I could feel myself wilt beneath it. Letting out a carefully controlled exhale, I reached up to remove my own helmet, robbing myself of what protection that barrier feigned to lay myself bare before him.

“They… they can’t even look at me, Crosshair…” I whispered, and I could see the dark circles beneath my eyes in the sliver of my reflection, “and I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with that.” I couldn’t breathe as I waited anxiously for some manner of response. When he finally began to move, that need surged anew within me, and I could only watch as his hand slowly reached up to trail lightly along my jaw until his palm rested against my cheek.

“I told you they’d figure it out.” A short scoff escaped me, and I couldn’t keep myself from shifting further into his touch. My lips parted, breath catching with the beginnings of speech, but I felt the words abandon me, too weary to force out a response. Instead, I let myself grasp his hand reverently between both of mine and turned just enough to press my lips firmly against his gloved palm, fingers tightening with a desperation I couldn’t risk giving voice as I listened to the air leave him in a slow sigh. Without a word, he pulled his hand away and wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t hesitate, eagerly pressing myself against him for that familiar comfort of his embrace.

“Every time that damn com went off…” I whispered hiding against the rigid planes of his chest plate as sobs vied to rob even those strained words from me, “I was so sure it was an alert that I’d been reassigned…” and, I couldn’t fight back the tiny hitch of a sob as his arms tightened.

“That’s not going to happen.” A hopeless huff of laughter escaped me, but when he called my name, I found my gaze automatically turning up to his, and I couldn’t bring myself to doubt him. “Just give them some time… Please.” How could I not yield beneath the raw need in his voice? I barely noticed the way my head subtly nodded against him, but that didn’t diminish the truth of the gesture. Of course, I would give them time. I would grant them as long as they needed regardless the way my heart twisted at the mere thought of subjecting myself to the terrible quiet they fell into at the very threat of my presence… I knew I could never leave them… any of them… not unless they told me to… I’d promised.

I’d hidden away in those abandoned halls for three days before he’d come to find me. Following him back to the hanger had the same taste as an akk dog being dragged home from the pound, and I couldn’t keep my gaze from studying the metal ramp below as we eventually reached the Marauder. I’d finally glanced at my datapad as we walked and found myself wishing I hadn’t. There were only two lines of text in that initial com: the time of the mission brief, which I’d missed, and the time we were meant to leave, which we only barely made it back by. A subsequent message appeared to summarize that brief, but I didn’t have time to more than open it.

As soon as the ramp locked into place, Crosshair pulled off his helmet and stored it in his gun locker. I started to do the same, but paused at the sudden quiet that stole through him once I’d removed my bucket, fingers absently shifting over the ridge where padding covered the unyielding plastoid. He said nothing as he stepped toward me, but I melted at the first feel of his hand slipping up the back of my neck to just tangle into the base of my hair as his lips pressed against my forehead. He held me like that until the ship began to rise, and then he left, silently disappearing into the cockpit where, I assumed, the rest of his brothers waited.

I knew those little moments of softness were, in part, merely an effort to distract me from the guilt ceaselessly twisting through my chest, but that realization didn’t lessen the warmth they granted me. I’d always believed there was more to him than the snarky, eternally unimpressed persona he so loved to flaunt about, but to find myself the subject of such gentle affection was something I would never weary of.

Finding myself alienated from his brothers, however, was a sorrow that contrasted so starkly with the thrill that lingered after Crosshair’s touch that I was left in a place of violently conflicting wants and regrets each too overwhelming to allow even a moment’s understanding of any one emotion. Part of me wanted to follow him, to plead some ignorance that the easy dynamic we’d fallen into hadn’t been shattered so effortlessly, but I couldn’t.

Images of the detached distance in Hunter’s eyes when he’d last looked at me sent me, instead, to the small kitchenette if only to busy myself with restocking menial items in some useless plight to distract myself. When those heavy footsteps sounded from down the hall, however, I found myself regretting that decision, despite how I loathed the thought of hiding away in the medbay again, but my heart raced at the thought of Wrecker coming to a sharp halt at the doorway, at the awkward silence that would fall as he tried to make some excuse to flee, and the coming devastation that would bring me.

I didn’t turn to him when he stopped just outside, attention carefully turned away from him to grant an easier escape, but he didn’t move. After a few tense seconds, I glanced hesitantly toward him, and found myself frozen at the quiet in those mismatched eyes as he looked at me.

“I was worried you weren’t coming back.” He murmured, and I had to turn away for a moment, lungs straining to draw in a steady breath before I could answer him.

“I was worried you might not want me to.” His broad shoulders dropped, automatically taking several steps nearer to me before catching himself.

“Of course, we do!” He said quickly, voice vainly forced into something of a hushed whisper. “It’s just… it’s hard, I guess… different… but that don’t mean we don’t want you around! Just… gotta figure out how everything fits, now, I guess…” Relief and turmoil warred through me as he stammered to explain, and I had to catch my lip between my teeth at the question that followed. “Is that why you stayed away?”

“I think… I think I was trying to figure out how things fit, too…” I answered, stumbling over the same inadequacy of spoken word to touch on the chaos and doubt that led me to wander those abandoned halls.

“… Crosshair… he makes you happy?” He asked suddenly, and my gaze instantly darted back up to find his focus staring blindly toward the too-small table meant to house half the number we’d so often crammed around it.

“… yeah… he does” I hated the hesitation in my voice, and found myself wanting to say more; to offer some promise that… that what? That it wasn’t that Wrecker didn’t make me happy? That the whirlwind of emotions storming relentlessly through me was so devastatingly confusing that I couldn’t begin to sort through them? That I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging him not to hate me? Trapped in that indecision, I allowed myself to say nothing at all, and his response nearly brought me to tears.

“That’s good.” There was still a subtle edge of sorrow in his voice, but I couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his words, which made them all the more painful to hear. “Things have been… hard lately - guess they always are, but… you and Cross… Yuh both needed something to be happy about. So, I’m happy for yuh… Just… sorry it took me a while to figure that out.”

My breath fled me in a broken sigh, and I instantly threw myself toward him, arms locking around his shoulders as my face hid against his neck. I felt him automatically move to return the embrace before freezing, body tense.

“Uh… is…” He stammered hesitantly. “Is it, yuh know… okay for me to-to hug yuh?” The laughter that escaped me sounded too akin to a sob, and I held him even tighter for it.

“Of course, it’s okay for you to hug me.” I said, voice dropping back into a whisper lest the words break, and some of that crippling weight finally slipped from my shoulders as he readily locked me against him.

“You look at the briefing, yet?” He asked after I finally released him, and I couldn’t help but notice the trace of tension hidden beneath that boisterous excitement.

“Not yet,” I replied, watching him carefully though I tried to keep the hesitation from my voice, “I was planning to read over it tonight. What’s the mission?”

“Just stealin’ files off’a some fancy database, but after I get to blow the whole thing up so they can’t figure out what we took!” There was an overzealousness to his too-quick response, a nervousness that I doubted many others would note, but I knew him, and, when I reached for my datapad to finally look through the message, I wasn’t surprised to hear the way his breath caught slightly in his throat. It took only a brief glance to understand why, and whatever traces of guilt within me went silent beneath my sudden rage.

“Hunter!” I shouted, already storming around Wrecker, blind to the way his face pulled into a barely restrained cringe. Two data ports needed to be spliced simultaneously at opposite sides of a large compound on an isolated world recently lost to Separatist forces. Crosshair was being dropped off on a nearby cliffside to provide cover and report troop movement, while Wrecker would begin placing munitions strategically throughout the facility. Hunter and Tech would infiltrate the northern port, and Echo the southern one nearest Crosshair’s position. Meanwhile, I was meant to remain on the Marauder as “backup”.

“What the kriff is this?!” I snapped. He was just cresting the cockpit ladder as I approached with my datapad clutched in my hand.

“If you’d been at the briefing, you wouldn’t be asking that.” He retorted, arms crossing over his chest as he stared down at me.

“Oh kriff you, Hunter!” I snarled, numb to the hurt I knew I should have felt at the feigned impatience in those eyes. His brow twitched briefly together, but he offered no further response. “You’re leaving Echo practically defenseless!”

“Echo is an arc trooper. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.” He replied blankly.

“Not when he’s plugged in!” My words reverberated slightly against the metal walls, and some part of me wanted to feel guilty for how his sensitive hearing surely ached because of it, but I couldn’t stop myself. “The instant he’s connected, his reaction time-”

“Is still better than yours.” He interrupted harshly. My jaw snapped shut, heart pounding against my chest as he began walking toward me, movements slowed beneath a purposeful intent, exhibiting every ounce of the intimidating, elite soldier he’d been painstakingly created to encompass, but my anger, my dread that something would happen, that his benching me might cost his life or the life of one of his brothers forbade me from yielding, from feeling even a whisper of fear as I stared him down.

“Until we figure this out, you’re a liability. I can’t have them distracted out there in the middle of a mission just because you don’t want to feel left out.” He continued, voice sharp, and I wanted to spit at the word ‘they,’ balking at the vain implication that he’d managed to convince any one of us that he was somehow unaffected. “Unless you want to go running off somewhere again, we can try to figure this out after, but we’re set to land in four hours, and I’m not spending that time playing mediator when we need to be focused on not getting killed.”

Later, the silence that fell between us would break me. Later, I would remember the way my hands clenched into fists as I glared at the man before me with an animosity that, just days prior, I would have thought impossible. Later, I would remember that I was to blame for the crippling discordance that so effortlessly brought our unbreakable family to ruin. In that moment, however, I wanted to hurt him for all the ways I was hurting, and I hated myself for it.

“This is a mistake, Hunter.” The words left in a strained growl, teeth clacking as my jaw snapped around his name. “You know that… and it’s going get one of them killed.” His lips tensed with the beginnings of a scowl just as his attention shifted ever so slightly behind him.

I couldn’t hear what was said, but I held no doubt that that was the intent, that one of his brothers had murmured some warning or plea before he could offer whatever justifiably harsh retort lay seething atop his tongue, and I was glad I couldn’t hear them. If it was Crosshair, would I have lashed out against his attempt to protect me? If I’d heard Tech recant some psychological study dismissing my concerns in favor of Hunter’s logic, would I have yelled at him with that same vehemence? Or if Echo… I couldn’t… I couldn’t do this… I couldn’t breathe beneath the sudden certainty that I was alone in that moment… that I had no one to turn to as my thoughts cascaded into a darkness I feared would consume me.

Gaze falling to metal flooring forever stained with oil and grime and far too much blood as my chest tightened into a vise around my heart, I found myself frozen for a mere second longer before turning away from him. He made no effort to stop me. I didn’t think I could have stopped even if he had. I needed to think… no… I needed to run; to hide… I needed to escape the unspoken accusation in his eyes. I needed to escape the nightmare of my own thoughts berating me for each word that fell so thoughtlessly from my lips, the terror that Hunter was right, that I’d turned myself into the deadly distraction I’d so feared becoming all those months back. I needed to escape this faltering reality as the consequences of my own actions threatened to rip my very sense of self from hands I still couldn’t manage to unclench.

It wasn’t until hearing the quiet beep of the medbay’s door denying entry that I even realized I’d locked it behind me, and I instantly knew who stood just beyond that wall of chilled metal. Wrecker would have called out, and I doubted the others were quite ready to speak to me directly yet. I knew it was Crosshair; knew that he stood there waiting to see if I’d yield, but the seconds turned into minutes, and I made no effort to haul myself from where I sat tucked against the corner, fingers tangled into my hair as I merely let myself hurt beneath the weight of everything I’d lost, everything it felt like I was still losing. I heard his fist fall lightly against the door just once before, after a final moment of denial, treading slowly back down the hall.

Look at this adorable FANART!!! - Thank you so much @mythical-illustrator!!

Next Chapter

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @ct-0113 @padawancat97 @eclec-tech @kixs-husband @atomickidsoul @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @burningfieldof-clover @manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base @daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @skellymom @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan @pentaghasm @ew-wtaf @solstraalaa @drummergirl1701 @shersten-the-gold @shewhoneveryields @6oceansofmoons @get-wr3ckered @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy @goddessofcongeniality @anotherschuylersister @inneedoffanfics @llamakiller101 @totally-not-your-babe @the-cantina @delialeigh @blondie-bluue @wanderer-six @ray-rook @saraokee @literallyjustanerd @andimancan @clio3kantarella @oldmanwithashield @iabrokengirl @sleepycat81 @sunshinsdaydream @arcsimper5 @aconstructofamind @rndmpeep @amorfista @wanderneverlost @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil @roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats

113 notes · View notes

space-blue · 2 months

Text

I watched the 3 season 3 TBB episodes and it's all again tying to Palpatine clones! And I am. Upset!! That EVERYTHING must now tie in to the Palpy clones because Disney just could not take the L on the "somehow Palpatine returned" meme.

So it's all about project necromancer, just like Mando all ended up being about cloning and Grogu's M count, and Kenobi had to rip JFO's entire ending to show us from Jedi in amber... I hate that it feels like a curse over anything coming out in this time period. Most importantly : it is SO boring.

Why must Disney ruin the punch and twist of its shows, when they could tell original stories? You want to engage us into dark sithly biddings?

GIVE US A GAME!!

If everything has to be about Palpatine doing necro shit keeping dead jedi in vats and using their blood to splice a force sensitive clone, then let me play that!

Give us a game in which

I do force sensitive children hunting!

Blood resource management!

Building evil bases across systems!

Sending minions (like Cad Bane or custom made inquisitors) on child kidnapping quests!

Let me build genetic facilities and unlock genetic and dark force skill trees! Let me do Sith factorio!!

Passing bills and racketeering entire systems to help fund my dark deeds!

Let me build up and repair Vader's amour, customize it, so he can go on more dangerous missions and harvest more force sensitives and rogue Jedi!

Chose the right dialogue to brainwash my inquisitors!

Have rebellion crushing minigames, and risk of losing precious DNA sources and rarefied Kaminoan cloning specialtists!

Let me give birth to deformed blobs that scream in pain and die, until I manage to craft the first Snoke!!

Let me play a Dark Sith Cloning Sim!! Let me be dark and fucked up!!!

Now that would be engaging and fun, and that would leave space for stories to be told during the empire and post empire eras that don't revolve around Palpatine's deals.

Of course it's 2D pixel art BTW.

#tbb #the bad batch #palpatine #sw #star wars #video game concept #resource management #blood; children; kaminoan scientists; dirty money...#you know how it goes #game concept #cloning

21 notes · View notes

fakegingerrights · 11 months

Text

Walk By Faith (2)

[TW: Medical Checks, Seizures.]

Prev Chapt Next Chapt Masterlist

He woke up to light.

Crosshair blinked his eyes open to a blurry mess of light and shadows, all the shapes indistinguishable from each other.

Sight was both a huge relief and a curse, a headache instantly building as he squinted and batted at the desk lamp until it turns off.

It wasn’t just his head. His whole body ached with a low thrum of pain. He stumbled out of his room, looking for the water that he had left out and downing it greedily.

“Morning sleepyhead. Or, Afternoon.” You said, glancing up from the kitchenette where you had a stool pulled up to the counter, he squinted in your direction in hopes to see better what you were doing. You sounded exhausted. Crosshair gave a grunt and placed a toothpick between his teeth.

“I have some commcalls to make. There’s a painstim on the counter if you need it. "

He huffed, chewing on the toothpick as you ducked into your room and shut the door behind you. The painstim sounded tempting, but if it was gonna knock him out again...

Bah, he wasn't allowed to do anything else as is, may as well.

Ignoring the slight dizziness that passed over him as he stood up, Crosshair stumbled to the counter and found the capped stim. Pulling the needle cover off, he gritted his teeth and jabbed himself, hitting the plunger. He swabbed the pinprick when he was done, rolling his neck against the stiffness that too many stims in the muscle tended to bring. Stalking back to the sofa, he flopped down. Failing to get comfortable, he slid down the seat to sit on the ground, leaning back.

His legs complained at the new position, his entire body stiff from laying down for so long. Slowly, Crosshair unfolded his legs and leaned into the stretch, hissing slightly. The physical strain, while not as good as a proper workout, felt nice after days of immobility. He breathed into the pull and sank until his nose was brushing his knee before switching sides.

The pain was nice as he tuned out your muffled voice through the flimsi-thin walls. It gave him a clarity and focus he often felt deprived of in the last few weeks. Once his legs had loosened, he swung his feet behind himself and planted his hands firmly on the rug, pushing back until his chest was parallel with the ceiling and his back clicked several times, making him huff in satisfaction. Sitting up properly, he went through his joints from his knuckles clear up to his shoulders and neck.

Finished with that, he tucked his feet under his hips and lay back down, sighing at the pull in his hamstrings. When that wasn't enough, he pushed his feet forward up past his hips. Tech always got on him for this, saying it was bad for his knees, but it was an effective stretch. Just as he relaxes into it, your conversation catches his attention.

"-would disobey direct orders?" A familiar voice came from the closed door of your room.

Rampart.

Crosshair moved closer to listen, cursing his unfocused vision as his foot caught on the edge of the carpet. He sighed and sat down just outside the door, on the ground.

"You are not at liberty to give me orders, Admiral." Your voice floated back, slightly muffled.

"I'm not? You are in possession of something of mine for the time being. Take much longer and I will begin to get impatient." Rampart's voice was as impassive as ever, but Crosshair knew better. He was pissed.

"Possession? No. I am in the service of the Kaminoans as a contract Optician. Crosshair is my patient. You are not at liberty to order me around, unless you've suddenly been granted a Kaminoan science degree while the Empire wasn't looking. And until I choose to release Crosshair, which will not happen until he has a clean bill of health, you may not issue orders to him either." Your voice is flat, the usual cheeriness or at least calm reassurance gone.

"Watch your tone, Doctor. Some might think you're threatening to withhold Empirical property." Rampart commented offhandedly. "I'd hate for your career to come to an untimely end, especially with your newest research grant in lens replacement, especially with how well your test run is working."

"Commander Crosshair is more than an experiment. If this is my 'test run' then it's a piss poor one. He already had near inhuman vision, this might slightly improve his sight, but this would be far better spent on people who actually need it?" You hiss slightly on the words, then take a deep breath to calm yourself.

Crosshair could almost imagine the muscle in your cheek twitching as you fought from ripping into the admiral. He had to shut that train of thought down before he chuckled and gave away his eavesdropping.

"You dare insult the Empire's generosity?" Rampart asked, a shade of amusement coloring his tone.

"Generosity is not the word I'd use for it. But because Mama raised me right, I know when to shut up and take what I'm given. And I will take. You've just admitted Crosshair is my trial run on my research. Empirical law on medical research, in Article 257, Paragraph 12, says that I am entitled to use my trial for the entirety of my experiment, if need be. Now, because I am generous, I'll give you back your Commander, once he has a clean bill of health and I am satisfied that I have gotten all the results I need."

A pang of betrayal tore through Crosshair. He really was just another experiment to you, wasn't he. That's all he ever was.

"Doctor-"

"If you'll excuse me, Admiral, my Test Run is waiting. Good day."

"... Good day, Doctor."

There was a sound of the holoprojector powering down, and Crosshair scrambled back to the couch, leaning back and throwing an ankle over his knee.

You sighed, scrubbing at your face tiredly as you stepped out of your room. You paused in the doorway, glancing at something on the floor he couldn't make out.

"You left the corner of the carpet flipped up." You grunted, kicking it flat as you exited your room. "That... went better than I was hoping."

Crosshair grunted in response, chewing on his toothpick as the headache slowly started to fade as the stim kicked in.

"Only because Rampart screwed up though. I guess taking medilaw was a useful elective. You took a painkiller?"

Another grunt. You sighed, throwing the used stim in the trash. "I'd hoped for better... How are your eyes?"

“Kriff off.” He ground out. “Unless you’re gonna force some eyedrops or something into them.” You sighed and glanced at your mess of paperwork.

“No. I’m trying to get the proper permissions so we can take a look at your head. That episode last night was terrifying.”

Crosshair glared. “I’m not letting the long necks poke around my head. They screw with my eyes enough. You screwed with my eyes enough.”

“Crosshair, if these keep getting worse then you pose a danger to yourself and others.” You chastise. “Hungry?”

“No.” He bit out, closing his eyes and snarling slightly. “Where’s the eyedrops?”

“On the table in front of you. You need a hand or-“

“I’ve got it.” He snarled, grabbing the small white bottle and fumbling with the cap, then putting two drops in his eyes and hissing in irritation at the itch.

"Grab another glass of water once those have settled. You're dehydrated." You call over your shoulder. Crosshair just flips you a rude gesture.

He did, to his credit, refill the glass at the sink and go back to sulking on the sofa, sipping it slowly. He stuck a fresh toothpick in his mouth to gnaw at as the headache slowly faded into a dull buzz in his skull, spitting out the old one chewed to woody fibers.

"I'm taking you down to do a level five scan of your head, no Kaminoans present. Then hopefully we can get some answers."

"I don't care who is poking around my head, I'm not kriffing going." Cross sets the glass down harsher than he means, knocking it over and sending it spilling to the carpet below. "Kriffing-"

"Leave it, commander." Your voice is tired, even if he can't quite make out your face. "It's a non-invasive procedure. Just a scan. You don't even have to be asleep for it."

"I'm done with the kriffing tests! You and the rest of the doctors can go kiss a hutt for all I care, but I'm not going back in that lab. Ever."

"Unfortunately, Crosshair, you're not the one who gets to make that decision, as long as you're under my care." He watches your blurry form approach with a glare. "I am not your enemy here. You're in pain. Something is karked up enough in that head of yours that you are receiving enough of a constant low level exposure to electricity the very atoms in your bloodstream are falling apart."

"You're just another doctor. You're the reason they changed the lenses in my eyes. You're the reason right now that I can't kriffing see." He spits right back. "You will never know how terrifying it is, to be told that the only reason your creators bother keeping you alive is because of your eyes, because you can see everything, only for them to turn around and decide they're not good enough? That I have to stay blind and in pain for weeks and should be thankful that they're fixing the issue instead of outright decomming me? And then you more or less tell Rampart to shove it for what? So you can poke at me some more?"

A heavy silence follows his words, him glaring at you for all he's worth and you just watching him silently.

"You're right." Your words are soft, half a whisper. "I never will know. Right now, I'm doing my best to keep you out of Kaminoan... and Empirical, hands. You are my patient, my responsibility. I will stop at nothing to get you healthy and happy." You crouched and picked up the glass, handing it to him. "If it means this much to you, then I'll hold of on the scan for now. But if these episodes continue or get worse, I'm taking you down there and we're getting to the bottom of this."

Crosshair hugged, taking a step back. His knees hit the sofa and he sat down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Whatever. I couldn't care less right now."

“Crosshair…” You trail off with a sigh, considering how to approach this. "You're not just an experiment to me, Crosshair." Your voice was softer now. "I hope you know that."

"That was some nasty piece of politicking." He eventually says, in lieu of an answer. "Last person to try and talk circles around Rampart got shot."

You snort. "Glad it was a holocall then." You pick up your bag and Crosshair stiffened, his posture going from carefully neutral to coiled tight to forcibly relaxed in the span of a second. "I know, I know. I really need to do this, though, and make sure nothing's wrong. You have some vision back, so I have to do this now that your eyes will react to light."

"Who's it going to?" His voice grated slightly.

"Pardon?"

"You're going to write everything down, who's it going to?" He folded his hands behind his head, normally a gesture to show surrender, but for him it hid the sudden tremors in his fingertips.

You gave Crosshair a small smile, coming into a better range of focus with a bag of instruments at your side.

"Usually, it goes to the head researcher. So, me. The empire will have no access to it, if that's what you're worried about. Neither will the Kaminoans, unless they go through a painfully long legal process and get your written consent." You sat across from him, spraying sterilizing mist on your hands.

"I'm a product. They can do what they want with me." His bitterness hit close to home. You managed a small smile.

"Not for this. Not when you're under me. You're listed as a patient, not a piece of equipment." You sprayed the sterile spray into a rag you just broke the seal on and sat closer to Crosshair, knees almost touching.

"... Alright." The word was softer than you expected.

"Ok, this should go pretty quick, ok? But if you need a break, tell me." You carefully began to brush the antibacterial spray across his face. Crosshair goes stone-still, chomping down on his toothpick so hard he was surprised it didn't snap as his mind dissolved into static, a mess of everything too much and memories of being tied down, too bright lights, the maker-awful pressure wash on his eyes as they-

"Crosshair. Breath." Your firm voice came as a jolt. "You know how I'm gonna do this, why don't you walk me through it. What comes after sterilization of the surrounding area?"

"Uh." He mumbled intelligently, focusing on the procedure. "The light."

"Good." You pulled the flashlight out of your bag, gently pinning his eyelid open on the left side and letting the sensor lock onto his pupil, flashing the tiny screen green when it was good to go. "Ok, flash in 1... 2... 3-" The flashlight went off, measuring how fast his pupil reacted to the light before returning to normal. You let out a low whistle as the numbers flashed, jotting them down on a scrap of flimsi. "You really are incredible. Even just out of surgery, you beat out most human reaction speeds."

Crosshair let out a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as you moved to the other eye. He didn't flinch, he wouldn't flinch. The flash went off again and he sucked in a breath.

"Ok, ok. That part's done. What comes next?" Your voice was placating, gentle.

"The air." He managed, his voice strained as his heart rate ticked up another notch.

"Excellent." You murmured, switching instruments and pretending not to notice the hitch in Crosshair's breathing or the thick swallow. This was a bad one, then. "Can you tell me what it measures?" You set it right against the bottom part of his eye, against his cheekbone.

"How fast I can blink." Crosshair switched to counting out his breathing, following the same pattern as the one you had used the night before.

"Do you want a countdown?"

"No." He rasped. "Just... Just get this over with." The puff of air hit his eye just as he finished his sentence and he flinched violently, snapping his head to the side. Thankfully, you still got the reading.

"One more. Gotta get the other one now." You set the instrument against his cheek at he went completely taunt, every muscle ready to flee. The flinch came again with the puff of air, along with a strangled gasp. Once the reading flashed, it was quickly pulled away from his face.

"There you go, it's done." You sat back, giving him a break. Crosshair closed his eyes and leaned back, swallowing around the ball in his throat that he wasn't totally sure wasn't his heart as it showed no signs of slowing down, hammering against his chest. The sofa shifted as you stood, grabbing his forgotten glass and refilling it, along with retrieving something from a cabinet.

"Here." You murmured, pressing the water into a lightly trembling hand. "Let's take a small break. We still got the worst part to tackle. Then it's just the stupid easy stuff. I'll be done messing with your eyes."

Crosshair sipped at the water as you set the second object, a ration bar, in his lap.

Yellow, Hunter's favorite.

He nibbled at it as you dug through your bag. He froze at what you pulled out.

"No." He ground out. "Not that."

You paused, setting the instrument next to you as you checked the battery on it. "It's alright, Commander. I know you hate this part, it's not pleasant. Tell you what, I'll let you make the choice. Now, and get it over with, or we can do the more non-invasive tests before we take a look at the surgery flap and test eye pressure."

Crosshair knew he should get it over with, but he could hardly catch his breath as it was. "Anything else first." He spat. You nodded, as if he had said the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ok then." You moved to sit in front of him, holding up a finger. "Without turning your head, I want you to follow my finger." Crosshair tracked your finger as you swept it across his vision, clear out past his periphery. "Good. Other side?" You repeated the motion across the other side of his head.

"Any discomfort?" You ask, jotting something down on that blasted flimsi scrap. Crosshair shook his head. "Good. I'm going to move a bit farther out now. Keep your eyes facing ahead and tell me when you can no longer see my finger." You swept your finger out to the left until he stopped you, then the right, then up, then down.

"Excellent. Ok, let's cover one eye?" You left the sofa and grabbed your holoprojector, setting it on the counter and pulling up an image of an aurabesh letter chart. "What's the lowest line you can read clearly from there?" Even at a mere ten paces away, he could only get to the third line.

"Auruk, Peth, Forn, ..." He squinted. "Orenth, Trill,"

"Very good. Other eye?" The image changed to a different set of letters. He tried the third, but it was a mess of lines and blur. Second it was, then. "Besh, Herf, Krill, Enth."

“Got it. Ok.” You powered down the hologram and stepped forward again, holding up your thumbs about two feet apart in front of you. “You can see my hands?”

“Not really.” He mumbled, and you stepped a little closer.

“It’s alright. Now?” You waited for his faint nod. “Got it. I want you to look back and forth between my hands as fast as you can while I count to ten.” As you counted off, you kept track of how fast Crosshair could move his eyes.

“Good. Any discomfort?”

“…” He pressed his lips together. “A little.” He admitted at last. “When I look up.”

“Sharp pain or just pressure?” You sat back down next to him. Crosshair pursed his lips, a mix between a frown and a grimace.

“Pressure.”

You nodded. “That’s normal. Ok, you ready for the hard bit? I’m going to do both eyes at once, ok?”

Crosshair goes deathly pale. "Get it over with."

The instrument was simple, meant to measure the pressure of the eye. The problem was, it had to touch the surface of the eye. You went fast, barely waiting to get a reading before moving the instrument away from his eyes. As soon as you were done he ripped himself away and shut his eyes tight, unshed tears being squeezed out and tracking down his cheeks as he fought to get his breathing under control.

"Crosshair." You keep your voice low and soft, gently nudging his hands down before he can rub at his eyes. He snarls slightly.

"Didn't you learn last time not to kriffing touch me?" He glares at your bandaged hand for emphasis.

"I'm not afraid of you." You reply.

"You should be. I am not a good person." The distraction is working, slowly. Crosshair's form was still tense, angry lines and hard angles.

"I've faced worse." Came your stout reply as he squinted in your direction in an attempt to get his blurry sight into focus. "You weren't scary last night."

Last night he had been... vulnerable. Too many emotions, too many memories that came from his sightlessness. He was stronger, he was a clone. "Last night was different. I didn't have a choice to trust you."

"I'm sorry." You sit next to hin, pulling your knees to your chest. "For what I said earlier. About your voice not mattering. I lost my temper."

Crosshair snorted derisively. "That was losing your temper? You need to get out more." his tone is tired, but it's lost some of the heaviness.

"What, you planning to take me?" It comes out more bitter than joking. "I have work. I always do. Right now, it's keeping you out of empire hands until you've healed." Crosshair crunches down on the toothpick in his mouth, making a face as it splits down the middle. He takes it out and flicks it off to the side.

"The Empire isn't some monster you need to save me from. I made my choice." There's a steel note in his voice and you back off a bit.

"The Empire treats you like property. They want you fixed up and ready to go back on the frontlines with hardly enough time to heal. And since it rose, you've lost weight. You've developed a slight anemia. You look like you hardly sleep. That... it isn't healthy." You don't look at him, unfolding your legs to sit crosslegged and staring straight ahead.

"I am property." He grunts, nibbling at his ration bar.

"......." You don't say anything for a long moment. "Droids are property. Animals, are property. You are not. None of your brothers are either."

If Crosshair was caught off guard by your sentiments, he didn't let it show on his face. He studied your side profile with a slight squint, as if trying to see inside your head and unspool your thoughts out for him to read.

“Why are you kind to me?” He asked after a long pause. “I’m not made for gentle things.”

You hesitated, then shifted closer so that your knees touched his. He stiffened but held his position in the end, accepting your silent olive branch “You’re my patient, Cross. It's my job to care for you.” He stiffened slightly. “A job I enjoy. You’re grumpy, yes, but you are much more than your armor. So much more than a pair of eyes.”

“Cross?” His voice is tired. So tired.

“Is that alright? To shorten your name?” You asked. Crosshair was silent for a long moment.

“It’s what my vod-… my squad, before they went AWOL. They called me that. I haven’t heard it in a long time.” He winced and put a hand to the side of his head, blinking a few times to try and get his fuzzy vision into focus.

“Is it alright to call you that?” You asked again. After a long moment, Crosshair nodded. He shut his eyes tight against the growing migraine as static began to crackle in his ears.

“Cross?”

“How long has it been since your commcall?” He grunted.

“Almost two hours. Are you alright?”

“Headache.” He grunted. “Already took a stim.”

“Water? And you still need to finish your ration.” You went to refill his half empty cup. You only look back when a loud thump of something hitting the ground caught your attention.

Crosshair was sprawled on the floor by the couch. You set the glass down sharply and slid on your knees the last foot or so as you turned him on his side. His breathing was shallow and fast, eyelids fluttering to reveal only the whites.

“Hey, Commander!” You patted his cheek in what felt like a pathetic attempt to rouse him. Nothing.

Then the silence snapped into motion as Crosshair’s spine arched and his limbs went rigid, full body spasms shaking his thin frame. Cursing, you slid under his head and held his head and shoulders steady with an arm across his chest as you yank your commlink off your belt and punch in the frequency of the infirmary with hands only steady after years of training.

“Hey! This is the optician assigned to the long term care of CC 9904. I need a gurney down here stat and an emergency exam room prepped,” You hoped the authoritative anger hid the fear in your voice. “Now.”

[A/N: Wow. I was genuinely not expecting this to completely blow up like it did. Holy Smokestacks. Uh... I guess updated taglist:

@the-hexfiles @moon-wrecked @stunkbiggu @urfriendlyneighbornightfury @anotherschuylersister @endo-bunny @renon4224 @tecker @rinwritesfics ]

#soft crosshair #the bad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair imagine #tbb crosshair imagine #hurt/comfort #crosshair #Walk By Faith #GingerWrites

96 notes · View notes

jetiisyandereclones · 1 year

Note

I don't know if request are open or not so I'll leave this as an ask so can/may you make another one of clone 99 with his s/o adopting a kid together if that's okay with you.

99 wandered through the halls of kamino. His step lacking his usual energy as he returned to his home.

It was confirmed. His mutations had left one last surprise blow.

He had always suspected. They had tried and tried and tried, with nothing to show for it. His love had suggested maybe it was her, that her family had a history of issues falling pregnant, but he knew it was him.

He wasnt mad. How could he be?

He'd lived with his mutations, his curse every day of his life. Accepted that despite the kaminoans best efforts he would never be the handsome, tall and strong Alpha clone he was designed to be. Like his older batch mates Alpha 17 and Fordo. He'd been bitter in his early days, resentful as his fellow Alpha clones went through training and became legendary soldiers while he was left behind, forgotten.

But he came to find his place, and enjoyed watching the spark, the fire and life in the eyes of his younger brothers as they proudly flaunted their well earned victories.

He wasnt mad, maybe it was for the best. Who knows what kind of issues he could pass on should he manage to get his Riduur pregnant.

99 shuddered, remembering the experimental treatments the kaminoans had inflicted on him in an attempt to salvage their property, force his body into fighting condition. 99 remembers his body twisting and rejecting the probes and medications and genetic alterations that had led to near constant pain his entire life.

And he couldnt do that. Not to his love and not to any baby they may have been able to have together.

He had felt better ever since his darling had come to him, all those years ago. So young and strong and beautiful, he had to wander why she was on a cleaning crew on kamino, and later on, why she would be interested in him.

But she was. She was more than interested. His Riduur had stuck by his side ever since he was shot during the invasion by Ventress and Grievous.

A soft smile made it's way he remembers how he woke up in the medbay, afraid he'd been hooked up to an examination probe again, but then he felt something in his hand.

Looking to his left, he saw his love there, waiting for him to wake up. Her beautiful eyes wide when he squeezed her hand.

It didnt escape his notice when the medic clones left, closing the door to his recovery room, giving them some privacy.

"Wh-what happened?" He had asked, groggy and confused.

"You were shot. Three times, 99." She said simply, her voice shaking.

The harsh, clinical lights of the hospital lit her hair up a bright vivid red. She was almost weeping as she took his hand in hers, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

99 felt sad at that. He never wanted to be the source of her pain.

"Please dont, uh. Please don't cry..." he stammered, his voice sore and weak.

His love just tilted her head, her eyes shiny as she pressed her cheek into his hand.

"Thank you." She had said.

"For what?" 99 asked. Still slightly dazed from the new sensations that came with her affection.

"For waking up. I dont know what your brothers would have done if you had died. What I would have done" she mumbled the last part out but he heard it clear as day.

Suddenly, she was everywhere. Her arms around his neck, his face in her hair and he felt a leg slung over his own.

99 had melted onto the hug, the crisp medical sheets crunching as he gingerly moved to pull her close.

99 felt something warm and soft against his neck and he almost died from shock when he realised it was his beloved, lovingly covering his neck in kisses before moving up past his jaw and to his lips.

His heart monitor actually started beeping faster, much to his embarrassment. But she just laughed. An almost hysterical sound, one that only came after having a huge worry lifted from your shoulders.

The lightness she felt brought her to 99, too caught up in her own happiness to consider maybe he didnt want her.

She stopped a hairs breadth away from him, so close yet not nearly close enough as her eyes flicked down to his lips, then back up again.

"Can I...?" She pleaded softly, her hand finding his and tangling their fingers together.

99 didnt answer. He had never been kissed before, or kissed anyone else but he didnt care.

He'd waited long enough for her.

99 crashed their lips together clumsily, his enthusiasm and sweetness more than making up for inexperience as he and his love sweetly sighed, breaking apart only to catch their breath before starting up again.

They made love for the first time that night, gently and slowly. 99 had never felt more right, more full and alive than when she was gently rocking beside him, holding him close.

His brothers had found them the next morning, coming into his room to see him and his beloved naked and entangled, not an inch of space between them, before swiftly turning and leaving.

They married a month later, making the pledge in the home they shared. He couldnt imagine not having her in his life, he needed her more than he needed air.

It didnt take long for them to decide they wanted a baby. Taking care of the nursery, of all the kids that had been rescued and taken in had left them with baby fever that both of them were all too happy to accept.

But as time went on and nothing came of it 99 had started to wander, was it him?

The older clone came to a stop, while in his thoughts he had walked clear across Kamino, all the way home.

He sighed, feeling disappointed and melancholy at the thought of his wife's disappointment, but he would not allow her to think the issue was her.

Walking into his home he saw her immediatly.

She was kicked back, feet hanging off the end of the couch as she watched a holo, snacks in reaching distance of her posotion, her hair a chaotic halo around her beautiful face as she turned to him.

Reaching out, she motioned to 99 to come join her on the couch, pulling him back against her and massaging his back when he sat down.

His love was all too aware of the pain he faces daily.

"Has it been bad today? You're all tense" she asked, kissing his cheek as he leaned back against her sighing.

"No worse than normal, my love. You make it better, as usual."

His beloved nuzzled into his shoulder, her arms snaking down his body, squeezing and kneading his soft, delicate skin.

99 sighed, leaning back and relaxing into his love.

"Were you missing me? Your so needy, Ahh..." he groaned as she huddled in next to him. Her warmth seeping into his aching bones as she pressed her body against his, her weight slightly on him comforting, like a living saftey blanket.

"I always miss you when you take off. Where have you been all day? I was worried when I couldn't find you."

"You looked for me?" 99 asked, still so starstruck despite the years that have gone by.

His love huffed.

"Of course I did."

99's beloved stared longingly at his lopsided face, taking in his features.

The premature age lines around his endlessly compassionate eyes, his crooked, droopy grin that she had always thought sweet.

If asked, she couldnt even describe his face, all she could say is he looked like her love.

He was absolutely perfect to her. She never saw his crooked back or limp. None of it.

She tilted her head up. Attacking the underside of his jaw with kisses and nips, humming when she felt him run his hands through her hair, holding her head firmly, but gently to him.

The familiarity and warmth of the gesture brought her to a foggy, mindless state that she could only describe as bliss.

99 wasnt much better, his head thrown back and groaning as his wife left a necklace of love bites around his neck. Her wandering hands caressing his tired, pained body. Rubbing and soothing the aches away.

99 wrapped his arms around her waist, turning them to their sides and slinging one of her legs up over his waist.

"Feeling a little excited are you?" His Riduur lightly teased. The new position implying and tempting.

"No, I'm sorry. I dont.... just... wanna be close to you is all...is, uh, is this okay?"

His love gave him that beautiful, reassuring smile.

She knew that he didnt have the most... drive. Out of all the clones.

Despite their usual slow and gentle pace, love making often left him exhausted and in pain. Despite her best efforts to alleviate it. It was simply a fact of life for him.

Their attempts at falling pregnant had taken its toll on him as well. So she was more than happy to have a cool down period.

And she did adore snuggling up to him, no expectations or need to satisfy. Just her and him, together and content.

"You know you never have to apologise to me. Especially for not wanting anything today. You've been so tired and sore lately... I was actually a little worried."

99 didnt move from her, choosing to keep his nose buried in her hair and his eyes closed. If this was gonna be his last moments with his wife, he wanted to remember how her hair smelt, how soft her body was against him and the soft ring of her voice.

Eventually, with her head still buried in 99's chest, his love asked again where he had been all day. 99 sighed, his self doubt coming back to him.

"I'm, uh. I'm not sure that's something to talk about like this." He didnt want to have to ruin the moment, bring it to an end. He wasnt ready.

His darling simply wrapped her legs around his waist tighter, running her fingers down his cheek adoringly.

"Tell me"

99's shoulders slumped, his head turning on shame as he looked anywhere but at her. As he ungracefully blurted everything out.

"I went to a medic. I, uh, I had a feeling why you havn't been able to... why I haven't been able to get you pregnant. Im sorry my love, it's me. I cant give you any children. I'm so sorry..."

99 looked to be on the verge of tears. This was something he and his wife had wanted desperately. He was afraid. He didn't want to see the disappointment, the SHAME on her face. Or worse, have to hear her tell him she's leaving for another man, one of his brothers even...

His worry was for nothing.

"Oh, 99. Please dont apologise. Theres nothing to be sorry for. Tell me, is it a danger to you? Anything to be worried about?"

99 still didnt look at her, burying his face in her chest.

"No, I'm fine. Or well, as fine as I usually am. I'm just, I cant, I'm, uh-"

"Infertile." His love provided helpfully, but not unkindly.

"Yeah. That."

99's love pulled him up from where he was hiding, in her hair, pressing her forehead against his.

"I know your sad, but please don't hide from me. I promise I'm not mad."

99 gazed at her, his teary eyes locked onto her own gentle ones.

"Your not, uh. You dont think I'm, I'm a disappointment, a failure?"

She got serious at this.

"Never. Not for one second. I want a baby. Its true. But I can't, WONT, do it without you. No matter how unworthy you think you are, your wrong."

99 looked at his wife in wonder and adoration, a tear falling down his cheek only to be kissed away by his loves soft lips.

"I love you, so much 99. We will be okay." She said confidently, snuggling down into her husbands soft chest.

99 nodded.

'Yeah. Yeah, they would be'

His love shifted a bit. She wasnt sure if this was the right time, but she had considered alternatives to having kids herself.

99 noticed her hesitancy.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, almost panicked.

"Nothings wrong, 99, I just... maybe it's too soon, but, uh, I may have considered... another route, of having kids."

99 looked at her intently.

"Yeah? What did you have in mind?"

His love tilted her head, her ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"Well, we cant have our own. But theres a nursery FULL of younglings who need an actual home and family..."

99 smiled at that.

"I couldn't agree more. Was, uh, was there anyone in particular you had in mind?"

His love lifted her head. Kissing him quickly but lovingly on the lips, pulling away, he saw her radiant smile was back.

"I may have a few younglings in mind"

---------------------------------------------------

@professional-yearner

#yandere clones #yander clone family au #yandere 99 #yandere 99 x oc

34 notes · View notes

silverwings22 · 1 year

Text

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 43: Dead Man Walking- Jelly Roll

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter Warnings: racism against clones, depression, murder, Crosshair being a little shit

Previous chapter:

Next Chapter:

32 rotations. 32 days and nights mostly in the rain, on a platform on Kamino. At least he'd had water.

Crosshair had been livid the entire time, cursing every name on his former squad for leaving him there… except the Jedi. Every time he started to try to talk himself into hating her, he heard her voice.

You can always come home, Crosshair.

But he didn't want to come home. He'd chosen the Empire, chosen to be her enemy even when Hunter told him directly that none of them were his. So why, in the weeks following his rescue from the platform where he'd been confined to his bunk to recover, did he keep thinking of her?

The loud, annoying alarm woke him, like every morning, and he groaned faintly when he sat up. He was recovered, cleared for duty as of yesterday, but he still felt like garbage. She was right. When you're used to having someone in bed with you, sleeping alone is garbage. When had she told him that? When she was stabbed by Ventress, the day he'd snuck into the Temple to see her… the first time he'd told her he-

That's over now. Stop it.

He got up and headed for the mess hall for breakfast, telling himself it didn't matter. He didn't love her anymore. He couldn't, not when she was a traitor. Even if he did occasionally hear snippets of her voice when he was tired.

He sat down with his tray at the table with two regs, giving them a cursory glance. Whatever they'd been talking about died in the air, and they both just got up and moved a table over. He was used to it, the rejection from regs. He'd lived with it all his life, but… he'd always had his brothers back then. Tech would huff and point out the average IQ of the table was increased by their absence. Echo would roll his eyes and mutter under his breath that 99 would have been ashamed, while Wrecker asked too loudly why they'd want to hang out with regs anyway. Hunter would just smile a little, shaking his head like it didn't bother him. Maybe it didn't, Hunter had always looked more like a reg before the hair and tattoo. Miria would have just slid a little closer to Crosshair, because she always knew when he was upset, and put her little hand on his knee. He could practically hear her voice. "It's alright, my darling. They just can't see that shining star in you, and it's their loss."

"CT-9904 please report to Vice-Admiral Rampart's office immediately."

Crosshair glanced up at the PA speaker. Ugh… what did that rat faced bastard want now? He got up and left his tray behind. The regs had killed his appetite anyway.

Rampart's office looked like a monument to his ego, polished and pristine. "CT-9904. I see you've been medically cleared. How long were you on that Kaminoan platform?"

"32 rotations." Crosshair drawled. Something about the use of his CT number bugged him today. It shouldn't have, everyone here used it. But… he had the strangest desperate desire to hear his name. The name she always said, the name she'd asked him for three years ago without even wanting to hear the number.

He was thinking too much about her again.

"Left for dead and you still returned. Why?"

"I'm a soldier of the Empire."

The answer seemed to please Rampart. "Your loyalty is to be commended. I have a mission for you."

"What squad will I be leading?"

Rampart snorted, and it felt knee a slap in the face. "You're not ready to play Commander again. Your new Commander will handle it. Report to the War Memorial at 0900."

Crosshair froze, fists clenching. Back to taking orders instead of giving them… what the hell?! What did Rampart know… had he somehow found out that Crosshair lied about the Batch being dead? If he had, why was he sending him on a mission instead of executing him?

"You're dismissed."

Crosshair stiffly nodded and headed back to his bunkroom to get his armor. What had he done wrong?

"He knows, you know. He's trying to decide if you lied in purpose, or if you didn't know."

Crosshair jumped, reaching for his weapons as the door shut behind him and a voice rang out.

Standing behind the door was a girl… a teenager by the look of it. She was leaning against the wall with a foot up, arms crossed casually.

Crosshair eyed her. She was dressed in armor, similar to a clones but of a different metal he wasn't familiar with. It was painted gold and purple, with a fin on the left paldron. "Aren't you a little young to be a soldier?"

"Nah. I'm good for it." She chuckled. She had a strange accent, curling at the vowels like Coruscanti upper-class and staccato on the consonants like a Mandalorian soldier. "And I'm older than you are right now."

He huffed. "Who the hell are you, and how'd you get in here?"

"I'm Mayrin. You'll know me." She gave him a crooked smile. "And trust me. I can always find you. My ba'vodu made me a damn good tracker, and you don't really cover your tracks. I guess a ram'ser doesn't really need to, but still."

"You speak Mando’a." Crosshair started putting on his armor quickly, weirded out by her presence but sure she wasn't a threat."

"I'm Mandalorian. Funny how that works." She tucked a curl of her messy silver hair behind her ear. She wore it short, around her chin and framing a heart-shaped face and large lavender eyes. A natural tan just seemed to make them more striking. "On both sides, if you wanna get real technical. My dad's related to Manda'lor Jaster Mereel. Mom's a part of Clan Vizla."

"Huh. Bloodline." Crosshair frowned. "What are you hunting me down for?"

"Personal interest. I'm mostly just wondering how long it's gonna take you to get your head out of your shebs." She smirked. "Empire isn't doing you too many favors here, are they? Left you on that platform over a standard month, then demoted you?"

"The Empire wasn't the one that left me out there." Crosshair hissed.

"And I suppose you think it's Clone Force 99's fault?" She adjusted her stance, cocking a hip. She oozed attitude, more than any Mandalorian he'd ever met. It was at odds with the cute face.

"They're dead." He said sharply

"Yeah right. Tell Command what you want, but you can't lie to me."

His scowl darkened. "What the fuck do you want from me?" He hissed. If this kid knew he'd lied, who else knew? He'd be up for the firing squad if it leaked.

"Easy, tough guy. Your secret's safe with me." Mayrin laughed. "If you go down, so do I. It's not exactly in my best interests."

"So what do you want, then? I don't have anything worth blackmailing me over."

"I wouldn't call it blackmail." Mayrin shrugged. "But what I want is your company. I'll turn up whenever, and you're going to talk to me."

"And if I refuse?" Crosshair growled.

"You won't. You're lonely." Mayrin smirked.

Crosshair huffed, securing his rifle and glancing at the chrono. He had fifteen minutes to get to the memorial. "Don't expect much conversation."

"I wouldn't dare. But tell me something?"

"Hm?" He shoved a toothpick in his mouth.

"Why'd you lie?"

Crosshair froze. Why wouldn't be lie? The Empire would never stop hunting them if he didn't. They'd never be free or safe or- no. He wasn't supposed to care about that. "So I could stop chasing them and get on with my damn life." He finally muttered savagely and walked out the door.

She followed him out, a half step behind. When they got to the memorial, he waited with his helmet tucked under his arm while she inspected the wall of names. "None of these are clone names." She finally said. "They all have first and last."

"What's it matter?" He shrugged.

"Doesn't seem fair, does it? You clones did most of the fighting. Shouldn't you be remembered too?

Crosshair paused, glancing back at the rows and rows of names. All fallen soldiers, people who'd faced the same kind of hell he had and died for it. "Memorials are for the living, not the dead. Who'd bother to remember us?" He finally said bitterly.

"Your brothers." Mayrin whispered, touching the wall.

"Crosshair." The sniper stiffened and turned as a reg Commander walked up. The man was in gray and white armor, a mourning color. Crosshair didn't recognize him until the helmet came up, revealing a scar across his left temple.

"Commander Cody. I didn't recognize you."

"A lot has changed." Cody agreed. "It's good to see you. I heard the rest of your team went rogue after Order 66 went out."

"Are you surprised?"

"Not really. Your squad was different by design." Cody said mildly. Crosshair couldn't help but think about the two regs in the mess hall, and his jaw tightened.

"Regs have gone AWOL too."

Cody nodded. "I've heard rumors that more and more clones are… questioning the order."

"We're loyal to each other, not some Empire."

"You never even tried to come back. We'd have taken ya…"

"Incorrect. Locating you has always been the primary objective."

"There's nowhere else to go, Crosshair."

His brother's voices called through time and space, memories tinged sour by the aftermath of their escape. Mayrin was right, he was lonely. He missed the four clones, and the brave little woman whose last words haunted him constantly.

"You can always come home."

He shoved the feeling down viciously, before it turned him into a treasonous bastard like her. "Then they're traitors. Like the Jedi."

Cody gave him a sideways glance, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Crosshair glanced over his shoulder to see what Mayrin made of the conversation, to display his resolve in case the kid thought his indiscretion about the Batch's survival was more than he'd claimed. But she was gone, vanished like she'd never been there at all.

He frowned but didn't comment on it, turning to follow Cody to the transport. He was already regretting not grabbing the rest of his breakfast off his tray… he had a headache coming on.

Scrapping clankers felt good. It felt familiar, even if he wasn't with his old unit. Cody was competent and let Crosshair do his thing without micromanagement, which the sniper appreciated. He'd already taken out a tank with a shot directly up the barrel, a shot he was proud of.

Top that, Wrecker. The thought gave him pause as he and Cody fought their way up a spiral staircase crawling with super commando droids. Wrecker wouldn't see that shot. None of the Batch would. They'd have been impressed, joked about it later, and Miria would have given him that doe-eyed look she reserved just for him when she whispered "Absolutely impeccable, my darling."

Maybe her memory was trying to kill him for revenge after what he'd said to her on Kamino, because the momentary distraction had him caught by the throat. His helmet was wrenched off, the sniper coughing for air as he gritted out the only name available to possibly save him today. Not his squad, to his dazed regret. He wouldn't have had to call out, if they'd been here. They always watched each other's backs… "Cody!"

The Commander turned and threw his knife through the droids head, sending it and Crosshair collapsing into the stone steps. "You okay?"

Crosshair coughed, checking his bruising throat. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Hang tight. I'll take out the tactical droid."

Crosshair handed him a mirrored puck from his hip. "I can make the shot from here. Just get me a line of sight."

Cody nodded, glancing back at another super commando approaching. "Where do you need the puck?"

"Just throw it!"

"How far?"

"As far as you can!" Crosshair hissed. Goddamn it, he wasn't used to this much talking on a mission. He and the Batch moved in sync, years of training making most communication just nods of a helmet. Cody was quick, probably the only reg he actually respected, but he wasn't his team.

But he followed suggestions well, the hurled the puck as hard as he could. Crosshair lined up, took a breath, and fired.

Direct shot to the tactical droid's head. "Nice throw." He muttered as Cody helped him up.

"Nice shot."

They walked into the belltower, guns up and ready. Over the comms, another clone was telling Cody the droids were scrapped. "Good. Fan out, find Grotton."

"There's no need." A female voice huffed from the darkness, a tall and short-haired woman stepping out with the Imperial governor in a choke hold. She had a blaster to his temple.

"Do something!" Grotton snarled. He had a high voice, suitable to a sniveling coward.

"Easy, ma'am. Let's talk about this." Cody said calmly. "Let the governor go."

"I'm Tawni Ames. The rightful governor of Dexis. As soon as the Empire acknowledges this, Grotton and his men will be released."

"We have Imperial orders. We're not here to debate politics." Cody didn't like holding a gun on this woman. He knew she was trying to do what she thought was best. So was he.

"If you were, you'd see how unjust your actions are." Tawni shook her head.

"The Empire is trying to establish peace and order." Cody coaxed.

Tawni's eyes darkened. "I used to believe in peace… I even helped charter a bill with Republic and Separatist alike, that would have ended the war. But your Chancellor rejected it! That's when I knew that peace was never an option."

Cody had a snap decision to make, and years under General Obi-wan "The Great Negotiator" Kenobi's leadership. He took his helmet off and set it and his gun on the ground. "It's an option now. Let him go, and we'll negotiate for a peaceful resolution. We've both lived through one war, let's not start another." He waved for Crosshair to lower his weapon. "Do this for your people."

Crosshair slowly lowered his rifle, watching Cody from his peripheral. The Commander had his hands up, voice calm and composed. A natural negotiator.

"Where'd you learn to talk people down like that, baby girl?" Miria was curled up in his arms in their bunk, bandaging a cut on his forearm. She'd managed to talk them out of getting killed by a group of dugs on Malastare, after an ill-fated double cross by a fuel baron. He'd still caught a knife intended for her, but it was a small price to pay.

"Fifty crechelings demanding a later bedtime will teach you a lot." She laughed, bringing his palm up to kiss it. "Obi-wan asked me to teach him, when he took Anakin as a padawan. My, that boy loves to argue."

"You're pretty good at it."

"The trick is to know what someone cares about. With little ones, it's easy. If they want to stay up late, you remind them that they'll be tired the next day and not have fun in the lesson they're looking forward to. Adults are harder, because what they care for is more complex. Those dugs were double crossing us for credits, but it's not money they love. It's their families they're providing for. Once I reminded them that their actions put those same families in danger of reprisal, they wanted to put an end to the standoff."

"How would you negotiate with me?" He smirked, pulling her closer.

"You're proud and independent, love. But you care about your brothers. And me. If you were doing something that endangered us, I'd only have to remind you." She said sincerely.

"I was hoping you'd take your shirt off. That's more entertaining."

Miria giggled. "I suppose that might work too."

Crosshair twitched when Tawni let Grotton go. The man scrambled to Cody, eyes wide. "Well done. Now execute her!"

Cody looked stunned. "Sir, I promised a peaceful resolution-"

"You did. I didn't. Now execute her!"

Tawni sighed, resignation printed on her tired and war-weary face. "So much for peace."

Grotton was getting heated, voice raised as he threatened Cody over disobedience. Crosshair had no one left to protect but the former Marshall Commander, and the idea of Cody catching a brutal punishment turned his stomach. So he took the shot instead, and Tawni Ames slumped to the floor with a death rattle.

Cody didn't look him in the eye as Grotton kept talking. "Put her body in the square. Let it be a warning to the rest of them."

Crosshair watched Cody’s shoulders slump, fingers twitching. He could reach out, pat his arm and tell him he'd tried at least… but he couldn't make himself do it. Instead he just turned to follow Grotton out of the belltower. They'd done what they had to do. They had their orders.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Crosshair didn't know why he'd come back to the memorial. Maybe he was hoping to see Mayrin again, to have someone to tell his story to. It wasn't like there was a name on this wall he'd care about… the only names he'd have cared about would never be memorialized by the Empire. Not after what they'd done.

Cody stepped up beside him, looking at the wall in silence for a while. He looked… troubled, to say the least. "This new Empire." He finally murmured. "Do you think we're making the galaxy better?"

"We're soldiers. We do what needs to be done." Crosshair drawled.

Cody looked at the helmet in his hands. "Do you know what makes us different from battle droids? We make our own choices… and we have to live with them." He picked up his kit and turned, leaving Crosshair standing alone once again as he walked away. There was something… permanent feeling about the way he marched. Crosshair couldn't understand it, Cody was a hard-lined soldier from head to toe. The last person he'd expected to doubt anything.

He shook his head. Cody wouldn't turn traitor. He wasn't like that… everything would be better in the morning. Maybe he'd even get to work with Cody again. Have a friend, a brother he could count on after his abandoned him. Cody was no Force 99, but it was better than nothing.

He picked up his kit and headed to his bunk, laying his armor down and checking everywhere for any hiding sassy teenagers. Satisfied he was alone, he lay down and slipped into a restless doze.

Why did he have to bring up what she wanted? She could never have it again, no matter how beautiful the dream was. It was stolen, ruined by filthy hands clamped tighter than a chokehold. She could focus on what she had to do, follow a path of expectation set by necessity. But want?

"What I want won't ever be mine. I wanted to build us a home on Naboo. I wanted to keep our team together after the war. I wanted to live!”

Her reflection in the shaving mirror was staring at her. Lavender eyes, tears in the corners, but not sorrowful. No, those eyes were angry, hotter than Mustafar. It bubbled like lava under her skin, nowhere to send it but out. And she hated that face staring back at her in the moment. That was the face that had failed. It hadn't saved those helpless younglings. It hadn't spared Anakin from the dark side. It hadn't saved the man she loved.

Failure. Broken, useless, weak Jedi. Worse than nothing at all.

Her fist was moving before she could stop it, hitting the image in front of her until it shattered under her hand. It should have hurt, but she couldn't even do that right. The shards warped the reflection, the red tinge in her vision going gray and listless.

Blood welled up and rolled down her skin, the hot feeling kicking in at the wrist. Droplets trickled onto the sheets, muddy looking on the gray fabric. Another thing she ruined. Another thing she'd broken.

The many eyes in the broken reflection widened, softened as the tears began in earnest.

"Miri…"

"I'm sorry… I don't know what came over me."

Something was wrong with her. She was collapsing, sinking into the dark…

How would she ever save him now? If she couldn't save herself, Crosshair was-

Crosshair’s eyes snapped open, minutes before his alarm. He lay in the dark, breathing hard as a disembodied fury he'd never felt so strongly burned across his skin. The rage wasn't his own, but he was swept up in it.

Miria. It was Miria… something was wrong.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his face as he shook the cobwebs from his mind. What the hell…

His knuckles ached like he'd hit something, a phantom pain the vision hadn't experienced. He examined them as the lights came up. There was a bruise between his first and second knuckle, deep and blackening.

He elected to ignore it, putting on his gloves and armor before heading to the mess. At least he could try to eat and forget this weird Jedi shit. He was just sitting down when the PA went off. "CT-9904 please report to Vice-Admiral Rampart's office immediately."

Dammit. This time he was taking his food with him.

He'd shoved it in his mouth before he got to the office, letting himself in. Rampart was kicked back at his desk again, and the deja vu was not lost on the clone.

"Your actions on Dexis were most impressive. I'm sending you on another mission. Report to CC-1223 for your debrief."

Crosshair blinked. "Why not Commander Cody?"

"Cody?" Rampart snorted. Crosshair was, for a moment, confused. Didn't everyone know the man who'd been the Marshall Commander of the Third Systems Army? But… individual names had been deregulated. Of course.

"CC-2224."

"You'll never be more than a number to them." Hunter's voice in his head was almost accusatory now.

Rampart huffed. "Oh. It seems he's gone AWOL."

That took Crosshair by surprise. Cody? AWOL? "...I see."

"It seems clone loyalty is not as advertised anymore." Rampart mused, not missing the opportunity to compare them to commodities. "It's funny, all these clones around you seem to go missing."

Crosshair felt his fists clenching again, the bruise on his knuckles alerting him. Why? Why did everyone that might have kept the crippling loneliness at bay leave? First the Batch, then Howser on Ryloth for as annoying as he'd been, now Cody?

"Is there a problem?" Rampart narrowed his eyes.

"No… sir." Why did the honorific taste like ashes in his mouth?

"Then you're dismissed."

Crosshair walked out slowly, stiff as durasteel. What the hell was wrong with him?

During the infrequent times Miria had been on Republic flagships during the war, she'd always found herself stopping at a wall somewhere. Every ship had one, started usually in the dead of night by some brother who couldn't sleep because the bunk next to his was empty. So he'd find a unadorned expanse of wall, take his vibroblade, and carve his broken heart into the durasteel in the form of a name and CT number. At some point, it had simply become tradition to have a memorial on board. Clones left little trinkets to the fallen, paused on rotations to remember, and occasionally whispered a prayer to whatever faith the galaxy had offered them comfort in.

Miria had always counted herself lucky there was no such wall on the Havoc Marauder. It was almost a mark of pride, in the way the guys preened about their perfect success rate. They'd never failed a mission. She'd never lost a soldier, never stood at the foot of a covered casket and bid a good man goodbye to a chorus of Mando’a.

Maybe that pride was why the wall in front of the medbay hit her so hard. She'd gotten up early, heading for the galley to make tea and caf for the boys, when she saw it.

It was a small shelf, mounted at about head height for her. Clearly the team had been in on it, judging by the trinkets left there. A box of toothpicks from Hunter, a detached and heavily modified rifle scope from Tech, a miniature whiskey bottle from Echo, and a single unlit cigarra from Wrecker sat tucked in Lula's lap where Omega had offered her up after Wrecker gave her the toy. The doll was listed to the side, button eyes scuffed and well-loved as it waited for someone to pull it into their arms for comfort. Etched into the wall just above the little shrine was the name. The only name, the only soldier Miria had ever lost.

Crosshair. CT-9904.

Her knees buckled before she realized it, the Jedi sinking to the floor with a ragged little noise. Her palms pressed into the durasteel, fighting the shakes and losing.

"Miri?" Omega whispered behind her.

"He isn't dead…" Miria sobbed. "He isn't dead, Omega."

"I know. But… Echo thought it would help." The girl walked over, putting her hand on Miria's shoulder. "Don't cry, Miri."

Miria didn't want to cry. She wanted to scream. Crosshair wasn't dead! He didn't belong in a memorial to the fallen! She wasn't giving up on him! "This feels like surrender." She finally whispered, swallowing her tears before they could steal her tenuous breath and have her hacking up her lungs here on the floor.

"Nobody's giving up." Omega said with an adult firmness that startled Miria. "Wrecker said, if we all left something, that maybe it would bring him back. Like a call."

Miria looked up at the shrine again through wet lashes. "A call?"

"We've tried everything else. He's got to make the choice on his own, but maybe it'll reach him. You said the Force works in mysterious ways."

Miria wiped her cheeks. "You're… you're right, little love." She finally croaked. "I'll leave something too."

"Good. I'll turn the caf maker on, you go wash your face." Omega helped her to her feet.

Miria shuffled to the fresher slowly, splashing cool water over her stinging cheeks before creeping back to the bunkroom. The rest of her friends were sleeping, in various states of sprawled out, so she carefully opened Crosshair’s old footlocker and pulled out the envelope of his letters. There was a small stack of blank pages at the bottom, future letters for her that he hadn't gotten to write.

She picked them and a stylus up, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the locker as a desk for a moment before pressing the ink to the page. Her handwriting might not be as good as it once was, but why should that stop her now?

My darling,

I've read every letter you wrote me-

#eventual smut #explict #crosshair smut #crosshair #clone force 99 #the bad batch #original character #chronic illness #caught in the crosshairs

6 notes · View notes

teletraan-meets-jarvis · 2 years

Text

Pieces - Chapter 1

Hi everyone!

Happy 45th Anniversary to Star Wars and Kenobi eve!!!! As a contribution to the celebrations, I've decided to kick off posting of my Commander Wolffe/OFC fic 'Pieces'!

For the posting schedule, I'll aim to release fortnightly on Sundays.

Synopsis:

Having trained her whole life to keep the peace, Jedi Padawan Issa Straun is thrust into the start of the Clone Wars, expected to take command of the 104th alongside the gruff Commander Wolffe. They wade through battle after battle, trying to find their feet sharing the responsibility of leadership under Plo Koon, but what neither of their training could prepare them for was how the war would leave scars to last a lifetime.

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Pairing: Commander Wolffe/OC Issa Straun

Warnings: M - Canon typical violence, cursing

Word Count - 6.5k

A/N: I would just like to take the chance to thank the INCREDIBLE @wild-karrde who has listened to my ramblings about this fic month after month, who has dutifully beta read all my work and dealt with my abysmal grammar and punctuation. This story probably wouldn't exist without her backing and support and I am just eternally grateful, so thank you my friend!! 💚

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Blaster fire rained down, smashing into the crates surrounding them and making the commander wince as he ducked down further to protect his head. We need a new plan to get around these sniper droids. Across the battlefield, he watched as the rest of his troops got pushed back by the enemy’s ambush, retreating for whatever cover they could find. One of the shinies was knocked to the ground as he turned his back towards the enemy for cover, his shout of pain hardly registering over the battering of blaster bolts around them.

A trickle of sweat slid down the commander’s temple beneath his helmet as he flexed his jaw at the sight of his downed trooper. Osik. “Sir, we’re pinned. Besh team can’t advance until we take out those snipers,” his sergeant’s voice crackled over their helmet comms, sounding more frustrated by the second. You and me both, the commander thought as he ground his teeth together even further while more debris showered over them from the enemy’s onslaught. The entire mission had gone aft up the second their boots hit the ground and they were faced with a much larger enemy force than intelligence had suggested.

The commander’s head cycled through images of previous battle simulations, trying to find any similar situations which could spark inspiration from the catalogue in his mind. After a few seconds, the memories behind his eyes halted on simulation 309216, one from his ARC training. We’ve got you now clankers. He felt it as his body thrummed with the pace of battle, his heart battering against his rib cage as he sucked in a few breaths before clicking on his comm.

”Alright troopers! Listen up. Aurek and Cresh teams, send out four troopers to distract the snipers, Besh will provide cover fire while the remaining groups make a break for the towers and load them with droid poppers. Any questions?”

“No sir!”

“Good. On my mark… three… two… one, NOW!”

Just as Aurek and Cresh teams made their advance, a monotonous voice cut through the blaster fight and stopped the clones in their tracks.

“SIMULATION TERMINATED.”

Immediately, the battlefield around them fritzed out of existence, leaving the troopers in a daze as the bright lights of Kamino’s training facility came back into focus once more. The soldiers present moaned at the loss of the battle, their adrenaline running high and blood boiling for the continued fight.

Their helmets snapped upwards as the speakers in the room crackled to life once more. “CC-3636, please report to Taun We’s office,” a Kaminoan’s voice boomed through the tannoy, echoing off the simulation room walls.

Wolffe looked around. He could practically feel his troopers’ excitement in the air as the realisation of what was about to happen hit everyone in the room. It’s time. Since his helmet was on, he allowed himself a smirk before addressing his men. “Looks like we’re shipping out boys.” The room erupted in cheers and whoops, brothers in arms clapping each other enthusiastically on the back as they got ready to fulfil their true purpose. With an added spring in his step, Wolffe exited the training room to find out exactly who their battalion would be assigned to.

About damn time.

—---

Issa stared intently down at the sleeve of her auburn robe. The stitching had started to come apart, leaving some loose threads dangling from the seam. She pulled at one of them but it refused to budge, causing her face to scrunch at the offending string, as if it was personally mocking her. Beside her, a modulated chuckle sounded from her Master as he placed a clawed hand over her blue one, making her pause. “Relax, little one.”

“Sorry, Master,” the Pantoran sighed, not quite understanding why she was so nervous. Well that was a bit of a lie, it was very clear why she was nervous. Preparing to meet a battalion of cloned soldiers so that she could fight in a full-scale galactic war wasn’t really an everyday occurrence for the Jedi. She looked up at the Kel Dor next to her who was peering out the side of the transport they were on. Master Plo radiated tranquillity from his every pore and Issa had never been more jealous. There was so much unknown in their future that she was unable to let her feelings flow out into the Force. What was war like? How long will we be fighting? What will the clones be like? Can I actually fight and be the leader the army needs? The list goes on. Her mind refused to be silent as each question bounced back and forth.

Trying to refocus, the young woman paid attention to her teacher once more. “Master, how are you so calm?” Issa questioned, hoping to find comfort in Master Plo’s inevitably wise words.

He turned to face her, a friendly softness around his eyes that always seemed to pull some of the weight off of her shoulders. “Because I trust in the Force, Issa. As do you. This new chapter may seem daunting and uncharted, but it is for the greater good of the galaxy, for the good of the Republic. I believe you are ready for this challenge. It will be difficult and there will be loss, but in the end, the light shall always prevail. Ensure you don’t forget that, even in the darkest of moments.” As expected, she hung off his every word. His conviction bathed her mind in a wave of calm and helped quell her spiralling nerves until they became nothing more than whispers.

“I’ll try my best to remember that,” Issa replied with a smile which finally reached her dark eyes. Plo Koon nodded, a fond look overcoming his face as she put on a determined front. Compared to other humanoid species, Kel Dors lacked the usual facial tics hinting towards what emotions they were feeling. It’d taken years of spending time with her Master, but Issa now prided herself on being able to read the minute changes in his expression behind his mask.

With a slight jolt, the transport finally came to a halt. They could already hear the hustle and bustle of the ship yard: identical voices barking orders, people dashing about, drills and hydraulics hard at work. It was time. Issa pushed the goggles on her face higher up her nose out of habit and a need to do something with her hands. Her nerves settled into the pit of her stomach once more.

“Ready, Commander?” Plo asked, his equivalent of a slight smirk evident behind his mask.

The Pantoran smiled back at him, a twinkle in her eyes. “About as ready as I’ll ever be, General”.

As they exited the shuttle, they were immediately hit with the notorious Coruscant smog. The humid and stifling air was made worse by the fumes being pumped out from the lower levels, so thick you could practically chew it. Coruscant had been Issa’s home for practically her whole life and she adored it, but the tangible atmosphere was one thing she always wished could be changed.

“Master Plo, Padawan Straun it’s good to see you both,” a voice sounded from behind them. They turned, coming face to face with Master Shaak Ti, looking as poised and elegant as ever as she made her way towards them. Her hands were clasped under the long sleeves of her cloak as she strode forwards. “Are you ready to meet your men? I must say, from my brief interactions with them so far, I believe the 104th are some of the finest soldiers the GAR have to offer. You’ve been dealt a good hand.”

“We’re pleased to hear that,” Plo replied as the pair fell in step with the Togruta. The two Masters chatted while Issa took in her surroundings with unreserved awe. The shipyard was an explosion of noise; there was always something being hammered or drilled. Amongst the racket, the smell of oil and fuel hung thick in the air, making her smile. The scent reminded her of fond times with her Master in the Temple’s shuttle bay as he taught her the ins and outs of spacecraft maintenance on his ship ‘The Blade of Dorin’. The name always did make her chuckle.

Her warm thoughts were interrupted when Master Ti asked her a question, shocking her back to the present. “Issa, how are you keeping? Are you looking forward to your new assignment?”

“I’m well Master, thank you. As for the war, I’m… ” Issa pondered what phrase would effectively communicate her current emotions, “athirst… for what may come. Wars like what we are gearing up for are things I've only read about in legend. But I am content in our decision to protect and fight for the Republic.”

“I understand your apprehension. The weight of war is a heavy one.” Issa nodded at the wise woman’s words and the trio fell into a comfortable silence for a moment. That was until Issa felt the mood shift around them in the Force, a wave of mischief passing over her from the Togruta to her left. “To prepare you for what’s to come, if you would ever like to hear a first person account from the wars of the Old Republic, I'm sure your Master would be happy to oblige.” Issa couldn’t stop herself before a bark of laughter escaped her at Shaak Ti’s deadpan jab at her Master’s age, the woman’s face remained serious until her eyes met Plo’s mask and a small smirk graced her lips.

“I see your sense of humour is as sharp as ever, Master Ti.” Plo replied with a chuckle, before grumbling under his breath. “You’ve been spending far too much time with Kit.” As their humour subsided, the Togruta continued to lead them to their meeting point.

—----------

A small transport ship lowered to reach the three of them, a gust of wind from the descent making their Jedi robes dance behind them. The bland shuttle landed with a muted clang before the doors whooshed open to reveal a Kaminoan and clone trooper.

The Kaminoan moved in almost slow motion, a strange sort of grace in the way her long limbs glided, carrying her off the transport with the clone in tow. “Welcome Jedi Master Plo Koon and Padawan Issa Straun. I am Taun We, aide to our prime minister Lama Su, and overseer of the Jedi’s cloning contract. We will be leaving the 104th battalion in your capable hands.” Taun We then moved to guide the clone forward to greet the Jedi personally. “This is CC-3636. As a Clone Commander, along with having some enhanced features in his DNA, he has undertaken extra training beyond a standard Clone Trooper, including our specialist ARC programme. His record is exemplary, and he will be a fine asset in leading your battalion.”

The soldier who stood before them wasn’t in the standard white plastoid Issa had witnessed on Geonosis. Instead he had maroon paint adorning his armour and the pattern of a wolf covered the sharp edges of his helmet. Someone's an animal fan. The patterns and colour continued down the rest of his armour, and it was all finished off with a black kama, the edges piped in a matching red-brown shade.

The commander removed his helmet before speaking, allowing the Jedi the chance to see him for the first time. Issa took the opportunity to study the man before her. Visually, he seemed to look like almost all the clone troopers she’d come across before, with his identical features and what seemed to be a regulation haircut. His presence however held something unique. His face was very no nonsense. Despite barely being a decade old, it seemed he’d furrowed his brows to the point where even if he relaxed them, two lines would forever be present between his eyes. The man’s frame was also slightly broader than the average clone, making his military stance all the more imposing.

“General Plo, Commander Straun.” The clone nodded at them each in turn as a greeting. Issa was impressed by his greeting. He’d noted how Kel Dors were to be addressed by their first name. He brushed up on his homework.

It would seem given his rank, Issa and the clone commander would be working quite closely together. The thought made Issa’s stomach do another nervous flip. CC-3636 radiated this serious and gruff attitude which contradicted everything about Issa’s own positive and excitable nature; she prayed to the Maker that they didn’t clash too badly.

“General Ti, it’s good to see you again,” the clone offered politely, pulling Issa out of her thoughts.

“Likewise Commander. I like the new look. I take it the ARC’s rubbed off on you and your brothers after all.” The Togruta smiled warmly at him, and CC-3636 changed slightly before Issa’s eyes. The coarseness surrounding him softened ever so slightly at his familiarity with Shaak Ti. With a tiny smirk of knowing, he nodded an affirmative at the woman before she continued. “I was just filling Master Plo and Issa in on how fortunate they are in being assigned your battalion.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir.”

The pleasantries were interrupted by Taun We. “Master Ti, as much as I regret bringing this introduction to an end, we must continue on if we are to introduce the next battalion to the arriving Jedi.” She announced before turning to stride back towards the transport she’d only just exited from.

“Yes of course.” The Togruta turned to face the remaining people on the platform to bid them a farewell. “Master Plo, Issa, Commander, I wish you all the best. May the Force be with you.”

—

The Venator Class Star Destroyers were incredible, their size dwarfed the countless gunships housed in it’s bays, as well as casting a large portion of the humongous landing deck they were on into shadow.

The group strode up the large ramp, the commander in front as he led them onto their vessel. The sight which awaited them was something Issa probably couldn’t have prepared for. A sea of white armour which seemed to go on for miles stretched out before them as they approached. The troopers’ shiny plastoid was a stark contrast to the metallic walls that surrounded them.

The commander moved from their side and towards the ocean of soldiers. “ATTENTION!” At his order, every single one of the troopers stomped their feet together and raised a hand to their helmet in salute. The noise was thunderous, practically shaking the durasteel they stood on. CC-3636 turned back to face them, his chest puffed out with pride. “General, Commander, the 104th welcomes you to the Triumphant.” Issa tried to keep her cool, but she couldn’t help it as she gawked at the sheer number of soldiers before her. There were easily hundreds of them, all neatly stood in rows upon rows, making perfect rectangles. These were the men that would blindly follow her into battle, who would follow her orders and trust her without question. She couldn’t help it as a shiver ran up her spine at the thought of such responsibility.

With a raised hand, Master Plo stepped forward to address their men. “At ease.” His baritone resonated across the platform, the acoustics of the space replacing the need for a microphone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I am General Plo Koon and this is my Padawan and Commander, Issa Straun.” He paused for a moment, allowing Issa to provide a small nod in way of greeting to the troops. In unison, the clones shouted a chorus of “SIRS!” and moved their hands back to their sides.

And so the fun begins, Issa thought.

—

With all the soldiers and gear loaded, Issa and Plo were led on a tour of the ship by CC-3636. He walked with perfect posture in front of them both, pointing out key areas of their new home as they passed them.

The trio finally reached the bridge. As soon as they set foot into the room, all the personnel milling about immediately shot out of their seats and into salute. “General and commanders on deck!”

“At ease,” the Clone Commander announced. Around them, the clones quietly continued on with their previous tasks as if nothing happened. This is going to take some getting used to.

One of the men on deck walked up to the trio, clad in his grey Republic naval uniform. “General Plo, Commander Straun,” the new clone greeted them politely, a slight starstruck look in his eyes. He spent a second too long looking at the two Jedi before CC-3636 cleared his throat with an unimpressed look, shocking the poor trooper back into a military stance. “Uh, sorry Commander Wolffe, I’m just here to report that all the cargo has been loaded and stored as requested.” At the mention of his apparent name, the commander’s eyes widened a tiny bit. Issa dared say he looked uncomfortable, which caused her brow to furrow. Why wouldn’t he want us to hear his name?

“Very good, trooper. Report back to your station.”

After the shiny clone disappeared, Master Plo spoke up, a slight tint of concern around his eyes at what was a clear oversight on both the Jedi’s parts. “Our sincerest apologies Commander, we weren’t aware some of you had chosen names for yourselves. How would you prefer that we address you? We’d be happy to use names over your designations should you request so.” Plo offered with a kind look.

CC-36- no Wolffe, on the other hand, looked unsure as his gaze flitted between the two Jedi. “Ah, that’s really up to you, General.”

Issa stepped forward and smiled at the gruff soldier. “Well Commander, we’d like to know what you’d prefer, honestly.”

The man studied the two for a moment longer before sighing. “My name would be good, sir. It’s more efficient to use in battle than our designations I suppose.”

“Then it’s settled,” Plo declared with a slight clap of his hands. “If possible, could you please find someone to gather a list of each clone’s name and designation so that we are better able to address the men?”

Wolffe looked slightly taken aback at his request. He quickly tried to school his features back into neutrality but Issa noticed the tiny upturn on one side of his mouth. “Of course, sir.” The clone turned on his heel to pass on the request to the relevant person, leaving the Kel Dor and Pantoran standing at the heart of their new bridge. Master Plo gave her a proud look and she smiled back at him, chuffed that they’d started off on the right foot with their commander.

----

It had been a rather long and surreal morning getting settled on the Triumphant. After Wolffe concluded the tour of the ship, the three of them had begun on their more senior responsibilities, which involved being holed up in a meeting room with Plo and Wolffe for hours on end, and while she loved her Master, this entire military thing had gone from zero to a hundred very quickly, and the young Jedi could really do with catching her breath for a few moments. Thankfully, her stomach rumbled at an opportune time, causing Plo to dismiss them both to get themselves fed before they continued their planning session.

Wolffe offered to show her to the mess hall but she politely excused herself so that she could pass by the refresher first, needing a moment to herself.

Once the durasteel door hissed shut behind her, she leaned over the sink and met her own gaze in the mirror. Issa’s navy and burgundy robes were askew on her shoulders, making her frown. The traditional clothing for Jedi had its place for many reasons, but oh how she missed her own clothes. The robes were heavy and loose, sitting draped over her thin frame, nearly drowning her figure. Guess we’re not known for being style icons, but still. She always felt like a youngling in her robes, almost as if she’d never grow into them despite being fully grown for a Pantoran, and above average height at that. Her delicate hands pulled at the neckline and readjusted her belt until she was happy that everything was back in place where it should be. The long, double-ended hilt of her lightsaber caught the light as she fidgeted, making her pause. She smoothed a hand over the engraved metal, attempting to draw some emotional strength from her weapon as the kyber crystal buzzed slightly beneath her fingertips.

Now somewhat pleased with her outfit, Issa began to give the rest of herself a quick once over. Her silver hair was scruffy from where she’d been running her hand through it. That, on top of the baggy robes, was not quite the look of professional Commander she was going for. Sighing, she lifted her goggles off her head and placed them on the side so that she could undo the bun atop her head. A groan of relief escaped her as the icy strands fell from their tight style. After messing about with it, she threw half her hair back up and left half down, her Padawan braid extending beyond her shoulder length cut. Finally content with her hair, she moved to rub at the indigo indents around her eyes. Despite not being able to see her own reflection without her eyewear, she knew from years of wearing goggles that the marks were present. As she relaxed her face, her mind began to wander back to the new weight that sat on her shoulders. Commander of a battalion. Issa was curious to know if she’d ever get used to the thought of such responsibility.

Before she could get herself worked up again, she turned on the tap and splashed some cold water on her face, jarring her back into the present moment. She dried her features and pulled her goggles back on, feeling like her whole self once again as the world around her came back into focus. Issa met her own gaze in the mirror once more. “Stop stressing, Straun. You’ve got this,” she instructed her reflection with a new determination. She could do this. She just needed to go out there and be the Commander that she wanted to be. The rest would fall into place she was sure. With a quick nod to herself, Issa mustered up all the confidence she could and exited the refresher, ready to continue on her personal mission.

——

Loud chatter bounced back and forth within the mess hall walls, all the identical voices combining into an almost white noise as Issa selected her lunch from the datapad in front of her.

The Jedi grabbed her tray and studied the room around her. She was greeted with a sea of white armour and grey naval uniforms. Her heart rate picked up as nerves began to roll through her mind. She was very much the odd one out here.

Closing her dark eyes, she took a deep and steadying breath. I came in here to get to know the battalion better, so that’s exactly what I’ll do. Issa rolled her shoulders back and began to hunt for a free seat with determination.

After a bit of wandering and feeling a few stares on her back, she finally clocked an empty space.

She plonked herself down with a shy smile and a hello to the troopers around her. All the men at the table had stopped eating and instead taken to staring at her like she’d grown two heads. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Despite her confidence in herself as a Jedi, Issa couldn’t help but feel incredibly awkward under the gaze of all these soldiers. She went to push her goggles up the bridge of her nose before scratching the back of her neck. “Sorry, I can go,” she muttered as she went to grab her tray and stand up again, embarrassment tinting her cheeks a pale lilac.

A quick chorus of “no no no,” rang out, and she paused half raised off her seat. A trooper with silver hair cleared his throat. “Sorry, Commander. Please sit down.” He looked at his brothers who’d taken to playing with the food on their trays. “We just weren’t expecting you to sit with us is all. But we definitely don’t mind.” His tone was sincere and he flashed a toothy smile which eased Issa’s worries. As her embarrassment faded, she sat herself back down next to the men. “So what brings you to the mess hall, sir? Other than the obvious.”

“I wanted to meet the people I’d be fighting alongside,” she said simply, tucking into her serving of pale soup. The steam from her meal caught on her goggles and fogged them up ever so slightly.

One of the others spoke up, a trooper that looked the most unique out of them all. His hair was shaved except for two stripes which ran down the centre of his head. The left side of his face from his jaw upwards was decorated in silvery scar lines, creating a delicate and intricate pattern across his skin. “But you’re a Jedi, sir. You know you don’t have to sit with a bunch of clones right?”

“Does Commander Wolffe sit with you?” At her question, the men turned to look at the clone sat at the end who she now recognised. “Ah, sorry Wolffe. Didn’t see you there.” He waved her off as he continued shovelling food into his mouth and reading his datapad. “Anyway, my point is while we may look different, we’re one battalion. I’m nothing special. I eat, sleep and breathe the same as you. I thought this might be as good a place as any to get started in getting to know one another.”

“That’s uh, nice of you sir,” the silver haired clone replied.

“You can all call me Issa while we’re having downtime if you like. I'm not quite used to the formalities just yet.” They all turned again to look at Wolffe, almost asking his permission. He shrugged as if to say they can do what they want and a few troopers at the table smiled. “Well since we’ll be using names, would you gentlemen mind telling me yours?” Issa asked.

“I’m Sinker,” the man with the silver hair stated. “That one with the dodgy hair is Boost, self proclaimed comedic genius and all round di’kut.”

“You love me really,” Boost tutted back.

“Huh, maybe you are funny actually.” Boost pouted at Sinker’s sarcasm, making Issa chuckle. Sinker next pointed to the clone whose head was buried in a datapad. The distracted man seemed to be of a slighter frame compared to the men around him. He also sported copper hair shaved short on the sides, the curls from his fringe falling into his eyes as he looked up at her. “The nerd there is Book. Kid is obsessed with learning new stuff, but he’s killer at strategising.”

The next clone had longer and messier hair which fell into soft waves framing his face and he gave her a friendly smile as Sinker continued. “This is Cloud. Not got much awareness of what’s going on around him most of the time, but he’s one of the best snipers and slicers in the GAR.” Finally he turned his gaze towards the last clone at the table. His hair was shaved off and an intricate tattoo of a Vexis sat atop his head, giving the clone a rather imposing aura. “Oh and the short one down the end opposite Wolffe is Two-Pint. In love with heavy class weapons and despite the name, can drink the entire battalion under the table.”

“It’s nice to meet you all. You clones really do have some wonderfully unique names,” Issa acknowledged.

Boost piped up with a smirk. “Well when you’ve got a million other people to compete with, you end up scrambling for options.” They continued to tuck into their food as they chatted, any awkward tension that remained from when Issa first sat down quickly dispersing, which warmed her insides far more than the soup ever could.

“Sir- I mean Issa-” Book paused, and the Jedi nodded approvingly, urging him to continue. “You’re Pantoran, correct?”

“I am.”

“I understand that Pantorans tattoo their faces with gold markings to communicate things such as family relations, wealth, social status etcetera. Might I ask what yours mean?”

“Isn’t that a little personal to ask someone, Book?” Two-Pint scolded around a mouthful of bread, sendings small crumbs flying towards Wolffe who somehow managed to frown harder at the heavy gunner.

“No it’s fine, I can understand his curiosity.” Issa smiled at the excitable clone who beamed back at her. “You’re right, Pantorans do mark their faces for those reasons, but given that I don’t really know my biological family and I don’t have many personal belongings, my markings are ones which show me being part of the Jedi Order. I’m not the first Pantoran, so my predecessors came up with a variety of meanings and designs for Pantoran Jedi to choose from. We go through a few milestones in our lives as Pantorans which grant us the honour of getting markings. Culturally, Pantoran Jedi are supposed to undertake their trials before the age of 25, within the next two years I should have most of my markings. As for the ones I have now,” she traced the two straight golden lines running vertically from her hairline to the start of her silver eyebrows, “these two represent life and the Force.” Her fingers then moved to the single line running from her bottom lip straight down her chin. “And this one symbolises the two coming together. For even in death, there is always the Force.”

Book looked enthralled as he typed away at his datapad, abandoning his lunch in favour of documenting Issa’s every word. “That’s fascinating, thank you.”

“No problem.” Issa nodded at him and a warmth spread through her chest as she watched Book’s fingers fly across his device. She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected when going to meet the clones, but something about Book’s excitement for life and information surprised her. “While we’re on the topic of physical features, can I ask you a question, Boost?” Issa looked over at the man, who nodded as he shovelled more food into his mouth. “Your hair is pretty different compared to everyone else’s. I was wondering if there was a particular reason behind it.” She saw his cheeky demeanour immediately change at her question, shifting to one of longing and remembrance.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat and Issa cursed herself for asking him to relive a clearly painful memory. “The style’s called ‘the double stripe’. It’s to honour my batchmates, the squad I went through cadet training with. They all died on Geonosis.” His face was sombre as he remembered each of his closest brothers. Beside him, Sinker placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, which the other man leaned into gratefully.

“I’m so sorry, Boost.”

“Ah, don’t be. They went out like heroes, which is all any of us can really ask.” He gave her a sad smile before clapping his hands together and rebuilding his mischievous persona. “Anyways, enough doom and gloom. Let’s find out more about you, Commander. What’s with the goggles?”

Issa chuckled as Boost formed two circles with his fingers and put them around his eyes to mimic her eyewear. “Nothing fancy, I just can’t see very well.” She shrugged and the men all looked at each other.

“So you’re telling us that the almighty powerful Jedi we’ve been hearing about for ten years, can have crap eyesight?”

“I’m only Pantoran, I’m not a god.”

“You’re really ruining this for us sir. I hope you know that,” Sinker explained with a sigh.

“Well I can still fight blind don’t worry. Though if Master Plo loses that mask, he can’t breathe. I’ve always carried a spare around with me just in case.” Issa rolled her eyes with fondness, while the clones just stared blankly at her as she joked.

Wolffe looked dumbfounded as he spoke up for the first time. “So between the two of you, we haven’t got one fully functioning Jedi?” Issa quickly felt the weight of the table’s gaze which made her squirm with awkwardness. Just had to stick my foot in it, didn’t I?

“I suppose not. But I’ve never seen Plo lose his mask, and I always carry spare goggles on missions, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“No offence, sir, but that doesn’t fill me with much confidence.” Without another word, Commander Wolffe grabbed his tray with an unimpressed look and left the group, his sass having cut Issa, leaving her mouth hanging slightly agape as he exited the mess.

———

Wolffe entered his new quarters as the day drew to a close. His boots clanged against the durasteel flooring as he dropped down onto his firm bunk. His room was small, more akin to a closet, but it was neat and it was private, and privacy was something he never expected to have in his life. It was a blessing and a curse to have some space to himself. On the one hand he much preferred his own time and quiet, never one for much socialising, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wouldn’t miss the small sounds of his brothers just living around him: the snores, the laughter and the chatter. It was all he’d known for his entire life. It’ll take some getting used to.

The soldier took a moment to reflect on what would be the first day of the rest of his life. He’d finally been assigned his Jedi, and should he do his job right, they’d be the people he’d spend the war fighting alongside. General Plo Koon was one of the few Jedi he remembered from Geonosis, he didn’t fight alongside him directly, but a six foot Kel Dor on a battlefield stood out amongst the more common species within the Jedi Order. The general was mostly what he expected of a Jedi; reserved, wise and welcoming. He couldn’t put his finger on it but there was just something about the Kel Dor that put him at ease, as if a sense of knowing told him that his general would be someone he’d proudly fight alongside. Then there was the padawan, Straun. He found it interesting that while the young woman had been under the mentorship of the general for what must be years now, they were remarkably different people. She was clearly inexperienced, and cared far too much about what the men thought of her as a leader. She was quick to talk, which was a trait he didn’t favour in others usually, but she seemed to be trying at least. Wolffe supposed that her efforts were better than a removed leader who didn’t value the lives of his brothers. As commanders though, the two of them were very different, and it unnerved him that he wouldn’t really know her abilities as a leader until they were thrown into battle.

As he let out a long exhale, Wolffe’s gloved fingers unclipped his helmet from his belt and held it in his lap, the black visor staring back at him as he took in every sharp edge and line of paint across his bucket. The commander took a moment to think back on the battle of Geonosis. Those few months ago, he’d worn white plastoid armour, with only pips and yellow paint to signify his rank. Following the start of the war, the Alphas back on Kamino had taken Wolffe’s batch in and commended them on their efforts on the desert planet, for leading their brothers to their purpose to fight alongside the Jedi and defending the Republic. They’d taken them on for the new ARC training programme as an experiment and pushed them to their limits with a gruelling training regiment. There were points where Wolffe wondered if they’d make it, but in the end, all five of them survived and became the first ARC Commanders. A small smile made its way onto Wolffe’s face at the memory.

The five commanders stood in parade rest, Alpha-17 strolling in front of them, appraising his graduating students. Wolffe supposed they did look different from where they started. While the new training routine had brought out different strengths in all of them, they’d all gained more muscle mass and no longer looked as lean as the standard troopers.

“I’m pleased to announce you’ve all passed ARC training. You five are our first of many ARC Commanders. Congratulations.” 17’s face remained neutral, but underneath all the bravado, they all noticed the pride, burning like a roaring flame within him.

Wolffe held his own passive military expression, but chanced a glance at Fox next to him just as his ori’vod did the same to him. Their eyes met and the corners of their lips twitched ever so slightly. “We’ve actually done it.” the words were barely above a whisper as they fell from his lips.

The commander was brought out of his memories when his datapad began chiming next to him, the screen lighting up and pulling his attention to it.

-Command Chat Active-

Cody: so… everyone met their Jedi then?

Bly: yep

Wolffe: mhmm

Ponds: yeah!

Fox: funnily enough no I haven’t.

Cody: sarcasm just because you’re jealous Fox? It’s not a good look on you

Fox: mir’sheb

Cody: Love you too, foxy. Anyway, thoughts?

Ponds: Master Windu is awesome.

Cody: Bly, Wolffe?

Bly: … The General seems nice enough

Fox: But?

Bly: But what?

Ponds: you’re being suspenseful again Bly, just spit it out vod

Bly: Okay. But this goes nowhere as I’m trying to be a good Commander and all

Bly: but… WHY DOES MY GENERAL REFUSE TO WEAR ARMOUR. I’M GONNA GET RECONDITIONED WHEN SHE INEVITABLY GETS SHOT :’(

Fox: Well, seems this Jedi business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

Wolffe: You want to talk about armour?! How about both my Jedi having major physical impairments?! One can’t breathe in most atmospheres and the other can’t kriffing see! They’re walking target practice for the clankers.

Cody: at least you haven’t got to deal with the Padawan from hell

Bly: don’t act like you’ll actually deal with him. We all know you’re gonna put that on Rex.

Cody: it’s called delegating, it’s what good commanders do ori’vod

Cody: at least General Kenobi seems sane enough.

Wolffe: I dunno, didn’t he teach the special one? His recklessness has to stem from someone

Ponds: *the chosen one

Wolffe: dork

Cody: … you make an excellent point

Fox: about the general or Ponds?

Cody: both

Ponds: :(

Cody: General Kenobi is going to turn out crazy isn’t he?

Ponds: they’re not called the disaster lineage for nothing

Cody: THEY’RE CALLED THE WHAT?!

Ponds: hmm maybe I shouldn’t have shared that

Bly: *gasp* Is General Windu a gossip?!

Ponds: I can neither confirm nor deny

Fox: Ponds got the best General. The rest of you are probably going to die. It was nice knowing you.

Cody: I’d tell him to Kriff off but he’s probably right

Wolffe: eh I’ll do it anyway. Kriff off shabuir

Fox: bite me ad’ika <3

—-Fox renamed the chat to CC’s Anonymous—-

Ponds: Seems appropriate

Back to TJ's Masterlist

40 notes · View notes

clonesimpextra · 2 years

Text

A Shattered Peace: Chapter 4

Best Efforts

[previous] [next]

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 5.7K Series Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+ Only) Chapter Summary: Wolffe tries to make amends with Amara. Plo has some unwelcome news for the both of them. A/N: Am I playing fast and loose with not only the timeline but also with legends/canon? Yes. Yes I am. Don't worry, it will make sense eventually. AO3 Link

When Wolffe was still just a cadet, before he’d ever left the confines of Tipoca City on Kamino, he didn’t really believe there were places in the galaxy that weren’t covered in water.

Sure, logically he knew those places existed, had seen holos of them in his training and heard stories from his trainers. But there was a difference between hearing about them and actually believing in them.

It was hard for his mind to wrap around the possibility of places like the Alderaanian mountain ranges or the grass fields of Naboo when every time he looked up, all he saw was a never-ending ocean fading into an unforgiving sky.

But then when Wolffe had finally left Kamino, he’d ended up in the hellhole of Geonosis.

The dirt and the dry air and the lifeless bodies of his brothers who died only ever knowing the sharp taste of the Kaminoan ocean and the rough scrape of Geonosian sand, made Wolffe long for the water and thick air of home.

In the past few months since the beginning of the war, he’d at least been to other planets that made up for Geonosis.

Dantooine, Axion, Saleucami. They were never there long enough for any of them to make a real impression on Wolffe, but they were at least full of grasses, trees, insects that weren’t trying to kill him - all things he’d never seen on Kamino, and certainly not on Geonosis.

The grass and the trees were what had interested him most. He’d peered closely at the vibrant green of the tiny blades of grass that scratched at his fingers when he’d taken his gloves off during a break.

Water helped make that color.

Kamino was full of water.

But there was nothing green on Kamino.

At least not the green that hung to these peculiar blades and painted his skin when he rubbed them between his fingers.

No. These places were nothing like Kamino.

And Wolffe wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that.

He just knew that, as generally attractive and enticing as they might be, not all of these planets were good.

Nivek had been proof of that.

*****

Shrouded in a perpetual darkness, this cursed planet reminded him too much of his nightmares. The emanate danger of the natives put him on edge from the moment he stepped out of the gun ship. And alongside those worries, as always, Commander Kora lingered in the back of his mind . . .

After their discussion in the training room and the following conversation in his office, Wolffe felt much better about her abilities on the field. They’d gone over every plan, every strategy, every possibility either of them could think of. It had even been . . . Fun.

But then they’d arrived on Nivek and Wolffe couldn’t get her out of his head.

No matter how many times he reminded himself that Commander Kora knew what she was doing, that he himself had prepared her for this mission, he still felt a twinge of panic when they separated.

What if he never saw her again? What if she died? Fuck, what if they all died? This was a simple mission, yes, but even those could turn sour without so much as a warning.

Still, he continued on with his part of the plan, pushing down the steadily increasing panic as best he could. His group of men opened fire on the battle droids guarding the base and drew them a safe distance away.

A quiet comm from General Plo confirmed that his own group had done the same and that Commander Kora had retrieved the prisoners and was making her way out.

Everything was going exactly as they had planned it.

So naturally, that was when all hell broke loose.

One minute he was yanking the head off a clanker that had gotten too close, the next all the battle droids were retreating.

And Commander Kora hadn’t made it out of the base yet.

The never-ending night on Nivek grew darker as Wolffe’s pulse raced. He yelled at his men to hurry up and follow him, prepared to run the entire way back to where Commander Kora was supposed to be, when he was stopped by the general’s voice echoing through his comm.

“Commander Wolffe,” General Plo’s voice was calm, but held a sharp edge of concern that only heightened Wolffe’s panic. “Amara’s going to need my help. Take your men to the pick-up point and we’ll meet you there.”

For the first time in his, admittedly short, life, Wolffe considered disobeying an order. It only lasted a moment, less than a moment, really. But it was there. And the fresh wave of panic that idea sent through his already tense body was enough to bring him back to his senses.

“Yes, sir.”

Wolffe followed his orders.

He took his men to the pick-up point.

He looked out into the distance, straining his eyes to be able to see anything further than a few meters.

He paced.

He looked again.

Finally, he saw a small group - much smaller than had originally set off - making their way toward them, followed closely by General Plo’s own group, just as he heard the sounds of their approaching gunships. His eyes scanned the group, noting that there was one less prisoner than there should have been and three less clones. And Commander Kora . . .

Wolffe swore when he saw her leaning heavily against Boost and ran toward the group, stopping just in front of them.

She was alive, at least.

Walking, barely.

But even in the dim light, he could see the paleness of her skin and the bloodshot rims of her eyes. Boost had a firm grip around her waist and it was clear that was the only thing keeping her from sinking to the ground.

Wolffe felt a deep urge to reach out to her, to take Boost’s place, to feel with his own hands the beat of her heart that meant she really was still alive.

But he couldn’t do that. He could never do that.

So he held on to the only other emotion he was feeling as strongly as his need to see her safe: anger.

When he yelled at her, demanding to know what she’d done to put herself in so much danger when they had gone over every contingency, she barely even reacted.

And, just as quickly as his anger had taken hold, it melted away with the droop of her eyes and the fall of her head onto Boost’s shoulder.

Wolffe wasn’t able to keep himself from reaching out to her then.

When they loaded onto the gunships, it was Wolffe holding Commander Kora up, not Boost.

By the time they landed back on the Triumphant, she’d gone completely unconscious and Wolffe didn’t hesitate before lifting her into his arms. He didn’t allow himself to feel her weight against his chest. Didn’t allow himself to stare too closely at any part of her.

“She needs to be taken to the med bay.”

Wolffe blinked and turned his head to see General Plo standing next to him, his hands, normally folded at his front, hanging limply at his side. Even though he hadn’t been around the Kel Dor long enough to interpret his every movement, Wolffe had the distinct impression that the stoic Jedi was currently anything but.

Still, Wolffe was, above all, a soldier. He would do his duty. And his duty was to ensure the safety of his co-commander.

He’d failed once today.

He wouldn’t do it again.

Turning back to the Jedi currently in his arms, Wolffe nodded and followed General Plo through the hangar, down several halls and around too many corners until they were finally in front of a medic who was staring at Wolffe expectantly.

“You need to set her down,” Caster repeated firmly.

Shaking his head, what was wrong with him?, Wolffe did as he was told. The second Commander Kora’s weight vanished, though, Wolffe felt the thick layer of panic return.

He was about to reach a hand out again, just to feel her pulse, when another hand landed on his shoulder. He turned once again to find General Plo at his side, the other man’s own eyes trained on the cot in front of them.

“Thank you, commander. I’ll stay with her.”

Wolffe swallowed and took a step back from the cot, toward the door. He wasn’t needed here. He didn’t belong here. Hell, five seconds before she’d all but collapsed, he’d been the one yelling at her.

Before anyone could say anything else to him - before he could find another reason to stay - Wolffe left the med bay behind him.

With General Plo and Commander Kora both indisposed, he had control of the 104th and the Triumphant. He had post-mission tasks to complete, orders to give, courses to set to drop off the prisoners. Maybe if he put enough distance between himself and the Jedi, he’d be able to also leave behind the combination of feelings pooling in his mind and his gut that he had no idea what to do with.

Wolffe was, above all, a soldier. And he needed his mind to be clear in order to do his job to the best of his ability.

And if a clear mind was what he needed, then a clear mind was what he would have.

Wolffe unclipped his helmet from his belt and clicked it back into place over his head.

He straightened, clinched and unclenched his fists, turned his back on the med bay door and faced down the hallway that would lead him up a turbo lift and toward the bridge.

He set off.

He didn’t look back.

*****

That had been two months ago, and now, with the benefit of hindsight, Wolffe was willing to admit that he might have over-reacted.

Commander Kora hadn’t made a single mistake since Nivek. In fact, she had more than proven herself in the following missions, and her casualty stats were what had to be some of the lowest in the entire GAR.

He was impressed. But still . . .

Created and trained for command, Wolffe was a smart man when it came to strategy and war. He was adaptable and confident and brave in the face of terror. But for all his strengths in war, he was woefully unskilled when it came to interpersonal relations.

In short: he didn’t know how to balance these strange and new-found feelings with his ability to do his job the way he needed to.

Despite his best efforts since Nivek, though, he couldn’t stop his heartbeat from speeding up whenever he was close to her.

He still found himself worrying about her on the field - both when they were fighting together and when they were apart.

After every battle he had to resist the urge to seek her out and congratulate her and ask her questions and apologize for yelling at her when she’d been on the brink of collapse.

When he stood across from her on the bridge or on the field, he had to stop himself from staring at her lips and wondering if they were as soft as they looked.

But he still couldn’t even think of her without his mind wandering back to Nivek. And Nivek made his chest tighten and his heart race and he didn’t have time to deal with any of that when they all had a war to fight.

So, he avoided her.

And he knew he shouldn’t have. He knew it.

But it wasn’t like his avoidance had negatively affected their missions. If anything, with Commander Kora’s current record, it had helped.

At least, that’s what Wolffe kept telling himself every time he saw a flash of hurt and annoyance in his co-commander’s eyes. He could ignore those small things, so long as he could say it was for the good of the Republic.

The incident in the hangar last week, though, wasn’t something he could ignore.

“Commander.”

“Sir.”

“Commander.”

Wolffe ignored the voices of his brothers as he hurried down one of the many hallways of the GAR compound. The briefing wasn’t due to start for another fifteen minutes, but Wolffe knew Commander Kora liked to arrive early and, after a week of her actively avoiding him, Wolffe was hoping he might finally get a chance to . . . he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say to her, but he knew he’d crossed a line in the hangar. In what Cody would call typical Wolffe style, he’d done too much and said not nearly enough.

He hadn’t meant to hurt Commander Kora’s feelings - really he hadn’t. When he’d said he didn’t hate her, he was telling her the truth.

Her words had struck something inside him. The idea of him hating her, when all of his actions over the past two months had been wrought purely from the fact he very much did not hate her, was laughable to him.

Clearly he’d become a bit better at lying than he’d thought.

Even so, Wolffe hadn’t been able to stand the look on her face - the hurt evident even as she tried to hide it - and he’d acted without thinking.

He’d grabbed her wrist, like a di’kut, and, just like that day in the training room months earlier, felt the heat of her skin through his glove. That heat, combined with all the feelings he’d been pushing away and the look of hurt in her eyes, had finally broken his resolve.

He told her he didn’t hate her, even if sometimes he hated what she made him feel.

It was the truth, and Wolffe should have been relieved to share it. But in that moment, he hadn’t felt relief. He’d felt fear.

His mind was both unnervingly quiet and annoyingly loud when Commander Kora spoke up again. The lilt of her voice bringing him back into the moment with a wince as he tried to get a handle back on his emotions.

He’d only realized what she’d said when it was too late. When she was practically running out of the hangar and he was left alone with a dozen of his brothers staring at him - no doubt wondering what he’d done to piss off their favorite commander this time.

Because, even though she didn’t seem to realize it, Wolffe’s brothers had grown to care about Commander Kora just as much as they cared about each other - and that was saying something. Though the clones might have been expected to give every Jedi, every commanding officer, their loyalty, they didn’t necessarily give their trust so easily.

Over the past two months, Commander Kora had clearly earned that trust. And while Wolffe knew why he trusted her, he wasn’t entirely sure what had influenced such decisions from his brothers. Which was probably something he would know if he hadn’t been spending all his time trying to avoid anything having to do with her.

Maker, sometimes Wolffe missed the strict structure of life on Kamino. At least there he was surrounded only by his brothers, Kaminoans and trainers - all of whom had never mad him feel as absolutely insane as he did now.

As he came up to the door of the briefing room, Wolffe paused. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to Commander Kora. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if she would listen to him long enough for him to say his peace. For all he knew, she’d yell and glare and do all the things that would leave him both miserable and turned on, with nothing but his hand around his cock and her name on his lips to bring himself a relief and pleasure that he’d feel like he didn’t really earn.

Needless to say, his hand had been busy over the past two months.

Wolffe sighed at the thought. He’d been trained better than this. He was better than this. And, regardless of his very confusing feelings toward her, Commander Kora deserved better than this from him.

Wolffe stood in front of the door and, as it swished open, his eyes roamed across the room, finally landing on the one person he was always simultaneously hoping and dreading to see.

“Commander Kora,” He nodded at her, hesitating a moment before removing his helmet and clipping it to his belt. As much as he’d like to have a barrier between her gaze and his face, he wasn’t going to hide behind his bucket. That’s what shinies, fresh off Kamino and scared of their own shadow, did, not commanders.

Commander Kora, for her part, didn’t avoid his gaze. Instead she looked right at him and just . . . nodded back before turning to the holo table where she was studying a map of the planet they were headed to next.

She didn’t glare, didn’t sigh, didn’t so much as blink at his arrival. For some reason, that made Wolffe angry.

Had he been worried about nothing all this time? Had his words really not affected her as much as she’d made it seem in the hangar? Was she playing games with him? Trying to make him feel guilty for days while she was walking around care-free? Wolffe clinched his fists at his side as he walked up to the table and stood across from her.

She spared him a glance before looking back down at the map. “You’re early, commander.”

There wasn’t even a bite to her voice. If she was upset with him, she was very good at hiding it.

Wolffe shrugged, trading his clinched fists for a clinched grip on the edge of the table. “Thought I’d make sure you were actually ready for this meeting.”

Why did he say that? He hadn’t meant to say that, really he hadn’t. But Commander Kora’s indifference had rankled him more than he thought it would and his response was apparently to say anything to get a rise out of her.

Cody would be shaking his head.

The commander responded exactly as Wolffe had known she would as soon as he spoke the words out loud. Her mouth tightened into a thin line and she crossed her arms, fists clinched.

Wolffe tried not to think about how the flexing of her biceps, visible thanks to the short sleeves of her new tunic, made his cock twitch and press uncomfortably against his codpiece.

Now is not the time, Wolffe thought to himself. Even though he’d known he was attracted to her from the moment he first laid eyes on her in the arena on Geonosis, and even though he had become used to having to deal with a snug codpiece every time he was around her, he was angry at her right now. Why the fuck would he be turned on, too?

Oh, right, because he was a depraved asshole.

“I was going to apologize, you know,” Commander Kora’s voice broke through Wolffe’s thoughts, the lilt that curved her words always making Wolffe want to know what other languages she spoke and decidedly not helping with his current predicament, “for the way I acted in the hangar. It was unprofessional and I realized later that I probably should have given you time to explain.”

She looked at Wolffe through the holomap, eyes narrow and piercing and as usual doing the absolute most to make Wolffe harder. “But I’m starting to wonder if an explanation would have even helped.”

Helped what?

Wolffe swallowed past his desire and looked down at the table, rewinding Commander Kora’s words in his head.

Oh. Fuck.

He glanced back up at her and quickly shook his head, opening his mouth to respond just as the door swished open and General Plo walked in.

“Ah, good, you’re both here,” General Plo looked between Wolffe and Commander Kora and Wolffe immediately turned away from the table to nod at him.

“Sir,” he said in what he hoped was a voice untainted by the very real desire coursing through his blood at the moment.

As General Plo stepped up to the table and connected to a holo call with Generals Kenobi, Skywalker and Unduli, Wolffe turned his attention to the briefing.

He focused all his thoughts on what he’d read up about Tibrin, a Mid Rim planet that had recently fallen under Separatist control, offering his opinions on strategy when asked, and being careful this time not to speak over or interrupt Commander Kora, who seemed as determined as he was not to let on that there was any animosity between the two of them.

As their discussion dragged on Wolffe was relieved to find that his other problem had gone down, blood running smoothly back up to his actual head and away from the one that did nothing but cause distractions. The presence of Cody, Rex and Gree - even via holo - also helped his mind stay on track.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about what Commander Kora had said before the briefing. Wolffe had been determined to at least try to make things better and instead he was pretty sure he’d made them worse. He didn’t want to handle another week of tension, especially not when his cock was apparently determined to remind him of how attractive he found his co-commander when she was staring at him with death in her eyes.

“Any questions?” General Plo asked the both of them when they’d wrapped up the briefing and ended the call.

Wolffe shook his head, chancing a glance across the table at Commander Kora. His eyes caught hers and he had to bite back a curse at the way her glare made his blood rush back south.

So much for his problems going down.

“Well then,” General Plo began, but he was interrupted by a beep from his commlink. He turned to take the call and Wolffe forced himself to look back at Commander Kora. She was staring at the map, biting her bottom lip and Wolffe very nearly groaned at the sight.

Shaking himself with a stern internal “get it the fuck together”, Wolffe moved closer to her. He placed his hand on the table within her sight and she looked up at him, eyes still narrow but not nearly as heated as they had been earlier. He cleared his throat and stood up a bit straighter.

“I don’t think you’re bad at your job.”

Her eyebrows raised. “You have a funny way of showing it, Commander.”

Wolffe winced. But he didn’t back down.

“Nivek was-”

“I know I fucked up on Nivek.”

They both stopped, eyeing each other for a moment.

Then, to Wolffe’s surprise, and slight disappoint if he was being honest with himself, the heat completely left the commander’s eyes. Instead, she sighed and leaned against the table, averting her gaze to General Plo’s back on the other side of the room.

“I fucked up on Nivek. What I did got three of your brothers killed and I’m pretty sure that’s why you’ve been avoiding me, but” she looked back at him and Wolffe had to fight a very different urge from earlier. This one to reach a hand up and push back the strand of hair that fallen from one of her braids onto her forehead. “I learned from that. And you might have the right to be mad at me for Nivek, but you don’t have the right to treat me the way you have been lately.”

Whatever Wolffe had been expecting from this conversation, it wasn’t this.

She carried Nivek around with her, too, just for very different reasons. Instead of worrying about what had almost happened to her, Commander Kora apparently carried around the weight of the clones she’d lost that day. And she thought he blamed her for their deaths.

In all honesty, Wolffe wasn’t sure if he should blame her. Maybe he should.

Maybe if it was any other non-clone commander he would have, but . . .

“It’s not my brothers I’ve been worried about.”

That was perhaps the most honest thing Wolffe had ever said to her, and the widening of her eyes, the slight part of her lips that he was too attuned to, told him that she was thinking the same thing.

Before she could say anything, and before he could lose his nerve, Wolffe inched his hand closer to where she was still leaning against the table and took a breath.

“You’re a good leader, commander, I’ve been impressed.”

The tips of his gloved fingers were less than an inch away from her hip, and with his eyes still trained on hers, Wolffe saw her gaze flick between his hand and his face. He swore he could feel the intake of her breath before she spoke, so quietly he had to lean in a bit to catch every word.

“I had a good teacher.”

Wolffe didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Couldn’t do anything other than stare down at the woman who was the cause of all his confusion as she stared back. The dark brown of her eyes brought him back, as they usually did, to Geonosis. But Geonosis wasn’t such a bad memory when it was focused around the tilt of her head, the swing of her braids, the sound of her lightsaber.

How many more of those moments, memories he could have stored in the back of his mind to overcome the nightmares that still plagued him, had he missed out on over the past two months because of his fear? His fear of his feelings about her. His fear for her safety.

Because the truth of the matter was, Commander Kora didn’t need his fear - she needed his trust. She already had it, of course, but clearly he had done a piss poor job of proving that.

He could do better.

He would do better.

But he still needed a clear head, and the urge to touch her was too great.

Wolffe moved back a few inches, the increased distance between them almost tangible after being closer than they had been since Nivek. Before she could misinterpret his intentions again, though, he tilted his head to keep her eyes on his.

“Maybe you could teach me a few things, too.”

For the first time in two months (not that he’d been keeping track of it or anything), Commander Kora smiled up at him.

For the first time since he’d known her, Wolffe smiled back.

* * *

“What do you mean you’re not coming with us on the next mission? Master Kenobi said Tibrin is of the utmost importance.”

Commander Kora’s words hung in the air between all three of them as General Plo laid a calming hand on her shoulder. Wolffe kept his eyes on the general, determined not to let his face give away the anxiety that came with his words.

“The Council is sending me on a diplomatic mission to Tattooine. There are few Jedi available who are not already otherwise occupied,” keeping his hand on Commander Kora’s shoulder, General Plo turned to Wolffe. “The two of you will lead the battalion to Tibrin and meet up with the 212th, 501st and 41st, exactly as we planned it. Just with one less Jedi.”

Wolffe finally looked at his co-commander, who had at that exact moment decided to look up at him as well. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was drawn back in a tight line - no trace of the smile she’d previously graced him with.

Wolffe wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that he knew her much better now than he had when he first met her, but he could see the look of a shiny about to go into their first battle in her eyes. Despite his assurances that he didn’t think she was bad at her job, Commander Kora clearly still had a few doubts of her own.

Eyes still trained on hers, trying to convey a sense of confidence and solidarity, Wolffe nodded tightly. “You can count on us, Sir.”

“I have no doubt,” came the general’s quick reply. “Amara?”

Commander Kora closed her eyes briefly before turning back to General Plo.

“Like Commander Wolffe said, you can count on us, Master,” her eyes flicked back to Wolffe. “If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll go make sure we’re prepared for tomorrow.”

Wolffe watched her leave (resolutely keeping his eyes above her waist) and shook his head. He couldn’t help but wonder how much of her self-confidence had been tampered down by his own attitude toward her. If he hadn’t been such an ass since Nivek, would she feel more prepared to lead the battalion on her own?

There was no way to know for sure, he couldn’t change the past. But he did know that between now and their landing on Tibrin, he’d have a lot of work to do on her.

That idea brought a whole other barrage of inappropriate thoughts about what else he could do on her and he shook his head again. He had a lot of work to do on himself, too, apparently.

“You and Amara are a lot alike, I think.”

Wolffe turned to the general and cocked his head. “Sir?”

The Kel Dor motioned for Wolffe to follow him across the room. This was another habit of his Jedi that Wolffe hadn’t been expecting.

On Kamino he’d been trained to prepare for missions with his superiors and then . . . leave. But General Plo, and he assumed Commander Kora as well if he’d ever stuck around long enough for her to ask, liked to speak with him after briefings as well. Sometimes he didn’t even talk about the war or the upcoming missions, one time asking Wolffe what he thought of the mess food on the Triumphant. It was almost as if he were trying to get to know Wolffe as a person rather than just as a soldier.

For his part, Wolffe wasn’t always sure what to think about that. But the general never pushed him. Gave him space to answer, or to stay silent - never making him feel guilty for either option.

Now, though, Wolffe almost wished for a general who wouldn’t take such interest - if only because then he wouldn’t have to discuss the very obvious issues that had arisen between himself and Commander Kora.

General Plo led them down the hallway toward the commanding offices as he spoke.

“Amara was supposed to take command of her own battalion. Did you know that?”

Wolffe couldn’t help the surprised raise of his eyebrows at that as he shook his head. “No, Sir.”

“Hmmm. I figured she wouldn’t have told you.”

Wolffe chuckled. “Honestly, Sir? She hasn’t told me much of anything.”

The general stopped in the hallway and turned to Wolffe, head tilted. “Have you told her much of anything about yourself, Wolffe?”

That stopped Wolffe in his tracks. So he had noticed Wolffe’s attitude toward Commander Kora. Great.

General Plo nodded and patted Wolffe on the pauldron. “We are all adapting to environments that we were perhaps not fully trained for.”

They turned a corner and came up to General Plo’s office. Clones and other nat-born officers walked by, nodding to one another as they passed. The general entered his access code and nodded Wolffe inside.

“You were trained for war. I do not think I am in wrong in saying that you feel comfortable and confident on the battlefield?”

Wolffe nodded. He had an idea where the general was going with this, but he wasn’t sure what more he could tell Wolffe that he didn’t already know.

“Amara was not trained for war. She knows how to fight, yes. She’s an exceptional pilot. She’s a quick learner,” Wolffe knew he wasn’t imaging the hint of pride that laced General Plo’s words as he spoke about his former apprentice. “All skills that can be adapted for war. It’s her other skills, the ones she holds most dear, that she’s had a hard time transferring.”

“What skills are those, sir?”

General Plo let out a sharp laugh, one Wolffe didn’t think he’d heard from him yet and that sounded strange coming through the mask’s modulator. “If you haven’t seen the skills I speak of from Amara, maybe you’ve not been looking quite hard enough,” he paused, and with what Wolffe swore was a humorous twinge in his voice added, “or perhaps you’ve not been looking hard enough at the right things.”

For not the first time that day, Wolffe felt his cheeks warm. Surely the general hadn’t noticed . . . whatever the fuck was going on in Wolffe’s head and under his codpiece during that briefing? He wasn’t sure how the Force worked, exactly, but surely the general was just referring to Wolffe’s inability to notice Commander Kora’s particular skills. That was it. He hoped. Fuck.

General Plo saved him from his floundering. “This upcoming mission won’t be easy, Wolffe, especially without an extra Jedi. It will be an adjustment for everyone and you and Amara will need to be able to rely on each other.”

He sat down behind the desk and folded his hands in front of him. “She’ll trust you, if you show her the faith I know you have in her.”

Wolffe swallowed thickly. He thought of himself as a man of action, was proud of his abilities that proved his worthiness in ways that words never could. But the general was right - he’d not been doing such a great job of that when it came to Commander Kora.

If this next mission was going to work, he’d have to find a way to better communicate with her, to stop letting his feelings overrun his instinct and his common sense. Even though Wolffe had practically spelled out his issues to Commander Kora, had admitted to the fact that he might need her help in overcoming his own faults, that was before they’d found out that they wouldn’t have General Plo as back-up and middleman.

And regardless, Wolffe had a feeling that talking about help and accepting help would be two very different things for him.

Clearing his throat, Wolffe nodded to the general, saluted, and turned on his heel to leave. Before the door could slide closed behind him, though, General Plo called out, and this time, Wolffe knew he heard humor in his modulated voice.

“Commander? Do remember to keep your mental shields up around her. She’s a very . . . empathetic Jedi.”

Wolffe slammed his bucket over his head and tried to pretend like he couldn’t hear the general laughing through the closed door.

Thank the Maker they weren’t leaving Coruscant until tomorrow.

He really needed a fucking drink.

#commander wolffe #commander wolffe x oc #wolffe #wolffe x oc #jedi oc #clone fic #the clone wars #w: a shattered peace #plo kloon

21 notes · View notes

neon-junkie · 2 years

Note

Oh hii!! ❤️ I saw your post about sock garters and I was wondering if you could write a quick fic of tech and a f!reader?? I didn't realize how badly I needed one til now 😅

Love your writing btw! I always recommend you to my tech simp friends ❤️❤️

yesssssss, oh my good lord. Tech wearing sock garters?! that's a sight that we can only dream of!!!!

Here you go! 1k words, reader is gender-neutral since no pronouns are mentioned, but they are wearing a dress!!

(art by eleth-art on Twitter)

Another series of missions completed. Another hoard of cheers and praise. And another awards ceremony to attend.

"Kriff," Wrecker curses, struggling to collect himself, and look somewhat presentable. "They don't make these things easy to put on, do they?!" he grumbles to himself, although his words are always loud enough to catch the attention of others.

Whilst the Batch don't pay him much attention, you aid his needs, letting out a deep sigh on your way over. "Come here, big guy," you motion, and begin working on fastening Wrecker's bow-tie, biting back a smile at the way that Wrecker awkwardly bends down to reach your height.

"We've got five minutes. Let's wrap it up," Hunter commands as he finishes pinning his hair up, freeing himself from his bandana, and keeping his hair off his pristine blazer.

You must admit, the Batch look rather pleasant all dolled up, sporting classic tuxedos. Of course, they're matte black, with a red bow-tie to match their colour scheme. You've picked out a fitting dress, blending in with their scheme, seeing as you're "somewhat of a Batcher, but not quite in the Republic's eyes," as Echo would put it.

However, the Empire is still giving you a medal for your efforts.

With Wrecker's bow-tie now fastened, the Batch are practically ready to set off. Hunter checks himself out in the mirror one last time before opening the Barrack's door; he makes his way out into the hallway, a silent attempt at hurrying his squad on. As much as the Batch don't enjoy playing by the rules, following the Kaminoan's orders is one that they tend to adhere by.

As you're about to follow, you notice that Tech is still having trouble. He's sitting on his work bench, a single shoe in hand, attempting to pick at the mysterious knot in his lace. Tech's brows continue to furrow the more that he picks at it, only for them to turn upwards as you outstretch a hand, and order, "hand it here."

Begrudgingly, Tech hands over his shoe, and you take a seat beside him as you begin unpicking at the knot in his lace. Through his round glasses, he watches you, and grumbles to himself when you manage to unpick the knot with ease.

"It seems my frustration had caught the best of me," Tech comments, and takes his shoe from your grasp with a sheepish, "thank you."

You watch as Tech slips his shoe on, finalizing his lavish outfit. A peek of fuzzy, tanned skin catches your eye, and although you've seen Tech's bare legs many times before, the item wrapped around them causes you to bite back a giggle.

"Tech?" you call out.

"Yes?" Tech replies without looking up from his in-depth knot tying, double-knotting his laces, of course.

"What are you wearing around your shins?"

Tech huffs as he finalizes the knot. He slips the hemline of his pants up, revealing a devilish pair of sock garters.

Oh, of course Tech would wear such an item! You chew on your bottom lip, attempting to hold back a giggle at his fashion choice; Tech, however, notices, and can't help but comment on it.

"How is this humorous to you?" Tech questions in a huff, furrowing his brows once again.

Tech's outrage is the final push that you need, and you burst out into laughter, chuckling at his fashion choices. "It's not that! It's… It's just-"

"-Sock garters are an excellent way of preventing socks from slipping down your leg. Do you really think I want to spend the entire ceremony pulling my socks up, hm?!"

Still with giggles in your system, you place a hand on Tech's shoulder, shaking your head as you reply, "no," over and over.

"I understand! I'm not laughing at you," you continue, attempting to cool Tech off. "I just… wasn't expecting you to wear such a thing."

Tech's brows only continue to furrow as you dig a deeper grave, with Tech standing at the top of it, sock garters on show, ready to push you in and bury you alive!

"Why not? What ever do you mean?!" Tech huffs, deeply offended at your nitpicking.

After taking in a series of deep breaths, your giggles come to an end, and the next words slip from your mouth before you can think them through. "Well, they're rather… slutty for you, Tech."

Tech's face instantly drops, and he begins stuttering in disbelief. "S-slutty?!" he whispers beneath his breath. "I fail to see why my practical clothing implies that I am a satyriasis!"

"I mean…" you groan. "They're garters, Tech. They're sexualised on women, so they might as well be sexualised on men," you explain with a mindless shrug.

"You two, come on!" A voice calls from outside. Ah, kriff! The ceremony! Hunter's patience is running dry, and you don't fancy explaining that you're late due to Tech's fashion choices.

With a groan, you rise from your seat, and turn to silently question if Tech's going to follow. His brows are still slightly furrowed, and only now do you notice how deeply red his cheeks are, barely covered by the thin rims of his round glasses.

Knowing that Tech is still in a huff, you gamble another impulse decision. You pull up the hemline of your dress, revealing your own garters, holding up a pair of stockings. "I guess this means we're both sluts, Tech," you say with a purr.

Tech looks like he's about to burst, but you're uncertain what from. Anger? Embarrassment? Arousal? Maker, you may never know!

Before he can even muster up a reply, you drop the hemline of your dress down, and head for the door, leaving Tech in a puddle of mixed emotions.

If anybody's going to be late, it'll be Tech. Although, his reasons are… understandable.

#tbbwriting #the bad batch #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader #gn!reader #lemons #sock garters #tbb tech #tech #bad batch tech #bad batch #tbb #gender neutral reader

79 notes · View notes

crispyjenkins · 3 years

Note

Can we get a fic where Jaster somehow gets sent to the future or something and him reacting to the clones? (Being pissed off that his ad would do something like this to these poor kids/ just reacting to them?)

(this one was so. fecking. hard. to write, i’ve been struggling with it for weeks, but i’m glad i did, because this is by far the best version i made of it. it’s interesting in how much my opinion of jango’s decision to be the template has changed since i first got this ask, and i was definitely coming at it with this post in mind for their characterisations here.

i love hondo. so you get hondo knowing jaster from pre-civil war days, and i don’t care if canon disagrees: hondo ohnaka has been terroising house mereel for three generations.

also i’ve already had a few people donate to my ko-fi and i’m completely floored by your kindness and generosity, and i sat down with this fill knowing i wanted to get it out as soon as possible. i sincerely love you all, i hope you’re all healthy and being as safe as possible.)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

“Oh, Jango? We keep him here.” —Lama Su, AotC

By some will of the Ka’ra, it’s Boba that finds him.

The possibility of dying in his ad’s arms hadn’t exactly crossed Jaster’s mind until it happened, like a nightmare he had never even had. For the first time since the Fett farm burned, Jaster cursed the Ka’ra, and he curses them again when he wakes up not marching* to the stars, but standing knee-deep in the snows of Galidraan

And the Ka’ra make sure he knows it’s Galidraan though he had never been there, just as he somehow knows Jango is long-since dead. That he is a dislocated bone in the universe, snapped out of time and place and thrown into a future where Jango’s face stares at him from a body that is not his.

“Oh,” the teen with Jango’s nose says, the snow coming all the way up to their thighs, and they don't look dressed nearly warm enough for this biome. “Did Hondo send you?”

Jaster blinks at them. “Did...? No, ad’ika, I have not spoken to Hondo in many years.” Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised Hondo is even still alive, Maker knows Jaster’s tried to kill him enough times himself, but if the number of years since his death on Korda Six is as many as he thinks it is, surely someone would have shot him by now.

The teen doesn’t wear beskar’gam —it’s unlikely they’re even old enough to— but the style of the armor they do wear cannot be inspired by anything else, just reminiscent enough of evaar’gam that Jaster can’t help comparing every little detail about them with the faded image of Jango in his mind.

“Then who the kriff are you?” They eye Jaster warily, left hand twitching towards the vibroblade at their hip.

Promising to strangle every one of the Ka’ra when he can finally march away, and throwing the last of his caution down to the snow between them, Jaster simply says, “Jaster Mereel.”

Impossibly, though maybe not entirely, not-Jango doesn’t laugh at him, or call him crazy, or even try to shoot him with the rifle slung over their shoulder. No, they straighten to their full height, and—

And swear so colorfully in Huttese that Jaster knows this hell-child has absolutely been raised by Hondo Ohnaka.

Boba takes him to the ruins of Kamino first, where the kriffing Sith Empire has destroyed another one of his people’s homes.

The growth labs were all blown into the ocean by imperial ilk soon after the formation of the empire, but the barracks and some of the training rooms still stand above the waves. In the ship he says belonged to Jango, Boba steers them to a dilapidated landing pad, controlling the Slave I (Maker, had Jaster really left Jango to that fate?) far too easily through the rubble for this to be his first time to return, and Jaster tries not to think about what that means.

Walking the dark, grimy white halls, seeing the narrow bunks and bare req rooms, he then tries not to think about a child being raised in such a place, about hundreds of thousands of children being raised in such a place. How had Jango... chosen this for them?

“I only have his stories,” Boba tells him quietly, when he shows Jaster the tiny apartment the Kaminoans had given them to “keep Jango close”. It’s bigger than most captain’s cabins, to be sure, but it is just as plain and white as the rest of the facility. “But he couldn’t even get one hundred Mandalorians to come and train the... clones.” He shuffles his feet uncomfortably as Jaster looks into the cupboard-sized kitchen and tries not to break down at the package of Mandalorian chiles rotted away on the counter. “Everyone else was New Mandalorian or Death Watch.”

“And the rest... they fell at the Battle of Galidraan?”

“Buir always called it a massacre,” he looks away. “Only a handful of the Cuy’val Dar even considered themselves True Mandalorians, buir was there when the Jedi killed the rest.”

Jaster inhales deeply, takes a few moments to steady himself, and is sickeningly, horrifyingly relieved. By the Maker, but knowing Jango had had no one left before his Kamino contract, that not even Skirata followed the codex anymore, that Jango had only taken the job after forcing Tyranus to give him an unaltered clone, makes Jaster guilty for having doubted his foundling. It doesn’t excuse anything, of course, but knowing Jango had done it all for aliit, well, it does make it easier to swallow.

Boba leads him back out of the apartment, he had already stripped it of anything important years ago, and they don’t stick around after reboarding the Slave I. Only after they’re out of atmosphere with hyperspace coordinates for Tatooine in the astronav system does Boba join Jaster in the tiny galley with a bottle of tihaar that Jaster should probably reprimand him for, but won’t.

“He tried to pretend he didn’t care, about the others,” Boba says and doesn’t even bother to find them glasses, “I think some days he even believed it.”

“He always was stubborn as a rancor.”

Boba takes a long pull from the bottle before passing it across the table. “Tyranus scared the shit out of me back then, he was too... put together, too fancy. Buir didn’t like him, I don’t know why he even did the tryout for him, the pay wasn’t even that great?”

Rubbing his left eye until he sees stars, Jaster stares down into the bottle until he can come up with a way to explain core Mandalorian beliefs to a child that had barely a decade of living as one before that, too, had been taken from him. “If Jang’ika took that job intending to come out on the other side, I’ll kiss whatever Vizsla is left.”

Boba’s mouth twists and he kicks his heels against the floor, not waiting for Jaster to hand it to him to grab the tihaar back. “Buir was an idiot,” he says, like the solve to a simple math problem, and Jaster can’t but agree.

He sighs. “Unfortunately, he probably got that from somewhere.”

“I mean, at least Montross didn’t live long enough to end up as the template? Kriffing fuck, can you imagine if the Jedi had had to work with that shabuir’s clones?”

“Maybe the war would have ended sooner,” he muses and accepts the bottle, “surely this Emperor would have tired of his face much sooner than Jango’s.”

“Or the Coruscant Guard would have shivved Palpatine in his sleep and tried to take over the Republic; what’s one betrayal of your leader to another?”

“Then I’d like to think Jango would put him, them, in their place for a third time.”

Snorting, Boba pushes to his feet to, presumably, check on the autopilot. “If buir would have even let it get that far, then I’ll kiss Vizsla.”

“Old friend!” Hondo shouts as soon as he sees them, and Jaster winces, nursing his first hangover since his twenties.

“Ohnaka,” he returns, and pretends he doesn’t notice the subtle way Boba brightens as Hondo comes to clap them both on the shoulders.

The old pirate just chuckles and starts to steer them both back across the hangar bay to his latest junk ship. “I heard you died, Mand’alor,” he says casually, like the title isn’t cursed to the ka’ra and back, like it hadn’t been three decades since anyone had dared call someone from his house such a thing so sincerely.

“I did.”

“I found him on Galidraan,” Boba offers. “Is that why you told me to go?”

Hondo scoffs, and Jaster would say he was flustered if he didn’t know him better. “No, I told you to go because Aurra had a job for you, that you seem to have forgotten about in your haste to bring my long lost best friend back to me.”

Boba scowls. “Aurra wasn’t at the meeting place, laandur, it was a kriffing mynock chase and you know it.”

Jaster side eyes his old “friend”, and wonders again about his preternatural... luck in all things pirate-related, despite being a boisterous mess of a man most of the time. If this Aurra had even been on the planet when Boba got there, Jaster will kiss Vizsla twice.

Mando’a: Ka'ra — an ancient Mandalorian story, ruling council of fallen kings, “stars” ad — “child”, gender neutral 'ika — diminutive suffix, similar to the suffix “ita/o” in Spanish. generally used only by close family and friends beskar'gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy evaar'gam — lit. “youth armour”, fan name for the interim armour/garb Mandalorians would have worn before building their kit of beskar’gam buir — “parent”, gender neutral Cuy'val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones aliit — “clan”, “family” tihaar — Mandalorian strong clear spirit made from fruit shabuir — an extreme insult, mostly accepted in fandom to be an insult of an individual’s ability to parent (from buir), which is an intrinsic part of Mandalorian psyche and identity laandur — used here as “weak”, “pathetic”, but is usually used as “delicate”, “fragile”

*in reference to the Mando’a word for the dead/deceased “taab'echaaj'la”, or “marched far away”, best explained in the Mando’a tribute to dead comrades, “not gone, merely marching far away”.

424 notes · View notes

moon6shadow-my-writing-bookmark · 3 years

Text

Anakin spending the first few months of the war fighting with his left hand while his right arm recovers enough to first bare the weight of a prosthetic and then enough fine motor control for a fully fledged war zone.

(Because I’m a Fullmetal Alchemist Fan and Star Wars might have bacta and Force Healing but I’m still looking at the timeline and begging it to make medical sense.)

Cody isn’t not sure whether he should be happy or cursing that Anakin’s brain’s previous experience with prosthetics means he adjusts far quicker to Sidious’s ‘upgrades’. (Not that that is saying much considering how much Sidious mucked with literally everything _including_ Anakin’s height.)

All he knows is that there is no way in hell he’s letting his General Supreme Commander whatever go on the battlefield like this and ‘someone get me a karking lightsaber already’.

In which Senator Amidala and her Handmaiden’s have worked with Cody and the others enough times for them to know what’s up and the clones have helped their Jetii practice often enough for them to pull off a switch in a pinch.

Meanwhile Anakin l Vader found Kix’s location when he went to kill the Separatist Council and tells Fox.

Fox would like to know how exactly he ended up with a almost dead yet powerful as hell Force Sensitive clinging to him (to the point Fox is sometimes worried Skywalker is going to bleed his brains out) but Skywalker just got left to burn alive by his vod and kark that. Skywalker may not be a jetii ade struggling with nightmares or flashbacks but Fox can grit his teeth and bare with it.

In which Fox is at ground zero and amongst the first to find Anakin and Sidious is too busy being distracted by his Chosen One being irreversibly damaged and frantically reshuffling his plans and then doing Sith stuff to keep Vader alive, to notice Anakin latching onto the first person that gives him the slightest hint of affection (Fox: try basic compassion towards an injured fellow soldier) towards him.

Fox is also doing his damn best to convince Skywalker to convince a heap of his vod not to commit mutiny when Sidious locks Skywalker into his Sith Tower and torturers operates on him without pain meds or a healing trance for days.

Because Fox doesn’t know what the karking new Emperor is thinking but Skywalker’s vod can feel that and they are not happy.

Fox really doesn’t want to be ordered to execute an entire battalion of his vod for treason. No make that two battalions because here’s Cody and they found Kix and neither of them are happy.

In which Anakin has been doing a hell of a lot of group battle meditation and repeat exposure to that plus Anakin being the literal Child of the Force tends to leave impressions on people aka Anakin has a hell of a lot of Force Bonds going on and he’s sub/consciously screaming for help in the Force because he has no idea what’s going on only that he’s in agony, so yes the 501st can feel everything.

As Ventress says the 501st are loyal to Skywalker above all else and unlike the rest of the Jedi their General hasn’t been branded a Traitor via Order 66 and so they are going to react exactly the same way they would normally have done.

Aka perfectly happy to commit treason against the Emperor to get to their General even right after the Clone Troopers across the galaxy shot their Jedi Leaders in the back for being Traitors and the Emperor was almost killed by Jedi. Fox has a very legit concern for _any_ of his vod making the slightest hint towards going rogue or waving a weapon in the Emperor’s general direction right now. It wouldn’t take much for them to all get written off as having lost it after clearing out the Jedi Temple.

Fox manages to get Anakin into a healing trance or rather Fox’s mind is a mess as he mentally pleads not to have to kill any more vod. Anakin hears him and goes ‘fuck that’ to every single agony that is keeping him awake and practically _forces himself_ into a healing coma. Fox and the 501st are _relieved_ Sidious is a mass of fury at his apprentice escaping his punishment/torture/feeding session of The Dark Side.

Of course getting Anakin back _out_ of the healing coma makes for fun times further down the track but shhh he’s resting. He also gets way more recovery time than Sidious would have otherwise given him because of it so bonus.

Fox almost smothers Skywalker in bacta the moment he realises nobody bothered to give him a bacta bath because maybe ‘there isn’t time for a bacta bath’ but that doesn’t rule out field treatment and he’s no stranger to filling up someone’s blacks with bacta when bacta tanks are out of the question. The rest of the clone medics are more than happy to help him do it.

Fox and the part of the Coruscant Guard that are Kaminoan Clones are promptly transferred to Skywalker Darth Vader’s command for ‘bodyguard duty’ along with all the other Kaminoan Fett clones.

Fox and Cody looks around at the politians and especially military people that may praise the clones for killing the Jedi Traitors but no longer trust them after they shot their leaders in the back as well as the fact the new Emperor almost died under the Coresant Guards watch from the Jedi, and get their vod the hell out of dodge.

In which people are people and are probably going to get skittish around troops that opened fire on their leaders without warning, no matter how ‘justified’ it may have been. Sidious also likely isn’t too keen on keeping the Kaminoan Fett Clones around him for any longer than he has to either now they have fulfilled their purpose.

He also has other Fett clones that weren’t raised on Kamino or to worship the Jedi as well as the natborn army he helped put together during the war. So he no longer needs Jedi Loving and booby trapped clones, far better to arrange them around his new apprentice instead, just in case.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #commander fox #commander Cody #clone trooper kix #Anakin & fox #fma/Star Wars elements #fantasy medical realism #automail #injuries #medical trauma #operated on while awake #tw torture mention #fix it of sorts

33 notes · View notes

glimmerglanger · 3 years

Text

getting up (while you’re down)

So, ah, I was inspired to write some goofy getting-together Codywan. Set during the war. Full of misadventures surrounding Obi-Wan’s clothing (or the removal of it, anyway). Dedicated to @mocha-bear, as an apology aha :D. Ended up NOT actually having any spiciness, just a fade to black because that felt fitting with the tone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The galaxy was punishing Cody.

He didn’t know what he’d done, but, then again, in his experience the galaxy didn’t need a reason to exact punishment on someone. Things just happened, and then people had to deal with them.

Currently, he was having to deal with the fact that Obi-Wan had decided to wear his kriffing meditation leggings onto the bridge. He’d said something about Grievous ruining his last pair of slacks but, honestly, Cody hadn’t been listening.

His boots didn’t look quite right over the leggings, but, to be fair, Cody wasn’t really paying much attention to the boots, either. He’d caught looks at Obi-Wan’s legs before, obviously, glimpses when his trousers tore. And he’d gotten used to seeing those legs wrapped up in leggings, when Obi-Wan meditated and sometimes when he sparred.

But Cody had learned how to brace for those times.

He wasn’t prepared to have to focus on the Senate’s new orders while Obi-Wan was standing right there in leggings.

It was making it hard to concentrate. He knew Obi-Wan had been forced to repeat a question twice, because focusing on answering him meant focusing on the state of his dress and that meant focusing on strong thighs and--

“Commander?” Obi-Wan asked, frowning over at him, head cocking to the side. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes,” Cody lied, because he felt entirely too itchy under his skin and, also, he wasn’t just wearing leggings. The Kaminoans hadn’t been exactly generous with space, when designing their armor. Things were starting to get uncomfortably snug. They’d pinch, if his condition continued to...progress.

“Are you sure?” Obi-Wan asked, and that was when Tektek came into the room carrying caff for everyone, did a double-take in Obi-Wan’s direction, and the universe decided to punish Cody a little bit more.

“I’m really sorry, General,” Tektek said, after he tripped on nothing and spilled caff all down Obi-Wan’s back. “Just--I don’t know what happened.” Cody had a pretty good idea what had happened. He’d been in prime position to see Tektek’s head dip down as he took a good look.

“It’s quite alright,” Obi-Wan said, for the second time, as though he hadn’t just had scalding hot liquid poured down his back. “These things happen,” he added, which was fine and true, except these things happening had him peeling off his outer tunic and grumbling, “Oh, it went all the way through. Would you hold this?”

Cody took his tunic automatically, consumed with the awareness that his General was, in fact, taking his clothes off on the bridge. Which was not… entirely without precedent. The Jedi, for the most part, didn’t seem to have many qualms about nudity or their bodies.

Which was perfectly alright, of course, except that it meant Cody had missed another question, because he’d been busy watching Obi-Wan pull at his thinner undertunic, twisting to look at his back. “What?” Cody asked, feeling like he’d perhaps taken a stunner to the back of the head.

“I said,” Obi-Wan said, looking back at him and arching an eyebrow, “do you think you can finish this up while I go and change?”

“Of course.” Cody wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing to handle. His gut said he ought to be handling Obi-Wan, standing there with his thin tunic half-plastered to him, and his leggings and--

“Thank you, Commander,” Obi-Wan said, turning to go, and oh, the caff really had gone all the way through, painting the undertunic to his back, the dip of his spine and the generous, lovely swell of--

Crys walked into a console on the other side of the bridge, swore, and made a pained sound. “Everything alright?” Obi-Wan asked, hesitating, just standing there, and Cody really, truly needed to get his eye-line anywhere other than where it was, but, well.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t know about Obi-Wan’s….physical attributes. It was just that most of the time they were covered up with layers upon layers. There was a physical barrier there to remind him that the things he thought about in his quarters weren’t really...well. Appropriate.

His General had a dimple, apparently, right on the side of his--

“Fine, sir,” Crys wheezed out, waving a hand a little. “Don’t know what came over me.”

“I could help you down to the medbay,” Obi-Wan said, changing directions, concern written all over his expression. “We could have Bones take a look at you.”

“Not necessary,” Crys said, sounding agonized. Cody could imagine why. He wouldn’t want Bones assessing his current condition, either.

“If you’re sure,” Obi-Wan said, with another little frown, and Cody got a clear look at him from the front, and Prime’s wrinkled ass, but that was really no better, no better at all, but at least he was leaving to put some clothes on.

And that was when the galaxy decided to kick Cody when he was down.

Proximity alarms started going off and Crys yelled, voice getting sharper, “It’s seppies, sir! I don’t know where they came from, but--” The first explosions started, right around then.

By the end of the fight, some hours later, Obi-Wan had lost the undertunic. Cody didn’t know where it had gone. All he really knew, lowering his blaster as the last droid fell in a crumbled heap, was that the thin shirt Obi-Wan wore beneath the tunics was barely staying on.

One shoulder had torn when a droid tried to grapple him. It was sort of hanging off of his side, dipping open a little more each time he moved and--

Cody holstered his blaster, firmly, and did his best to holster the thoughts in his head. It didn’t help that the fight had left his blood singing, thrumming along in his veins. It didn’t help that Obi-Wan’s chest was sheened with sweat, or that he was barely breathing hard, or that Cody could see, when he leaned forward, the shift of muscle all down his back.

“--alright?” Obi-Wan asked, nudging him in the shoulder, strands of hair sticking to his face, his cheeks just a little flushed.

Cody managed not to make an incriminating sound by biting his tongue. He nodded, instead of talking, because this was, truly, uncomfortably close to some of the made-up scenarios he indulged in on particularly flustered nights.

He’d been trained to consider all possibilities. To let scenarios play out, to run through them, but he was fairly sure the Kaminoans hadn’t intended him to consider how he might go about pushing his General against a bulkhead after a fight.

He had anyway.

“Did you get hit?” Obi-Wan asked, the wolfish grin he’d worn at the end of the fight falling away. He stepped a little closer, tugging at Cody’s armor which...did not help matters at all.

“No,” Cody said, and cleared his throat, because there were freckles, apparently, out on the curve of Obi-Wan’s shoulder and he didn’t need to know that any more than he needed to know about the dimple on his-- “I’m fine, sir.”

Obi-Wan frowned at him. “You don’t seem fine. In fact, you haven’t seemed fine all day. What’s--kriffing hell,” he snapped the last, looking upwards as the universe drew back its foot to nail Cody again, likely directly in the kriffing balls, and the emergency fire suppressant system kicked on above them.

“Well, this has been an adventure,” Obi-Wan said, after someone, somewhere finally got the sprinklers to turn off. He was soaked to the skin, undershirt clinging to his skin, gone sheer from the water.

Cody grunted a reply. It seemed all he could manage, trying desperately not to watch a droplet of water drip off the end of a strand of Obi-Wan’s hair, hit his shoulder, and roll down over his collarbone. Cody felt, abruptly, parched, mouth gone dry and it would be very easy to lean forward and lick that droplet up, but--

It would also be very easy for Obi-Wan to kick him off the Negotiator, afterwards. Still, he considered, gaze slipping helpless downwards, it might be worth it.

“This is ridiculous,” Obi-Wan said, sighing, walking down the hall a step ahead of him. “This entire day has been one misfire after another.” He turned into a room, reaching a hand back and grabbing the collar of what was left of his shirt as he did, pulling it over his head.

And, really, the water had spread the fabric over him like a second skin. It wasn’t like, a moment ago, Cody had been unable to see the line of his spine, the shift and movement of his shoulderblades. But watching him take his clothes off, the reveal of creamy skin, muscle, and darker scars set like little accents, here and there--

Well.

Cody made to follow - he wasn’t sure where they were going, he was just following along - and misjudged the location of the door frame because he wasn’t looking at it, because something had torn the waistband of Obi-Wan’s leggings, and, apparently, the only thing keeping them up was the water or possibly how lovingly tight there were. He walked fully into the frame, cursing at the sudden and unexpected pain across his forehead and cheek.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan asked, turning back and swearing while Cody brought a hand up. “Are you alright?” Obi-Wan demanded, stepping closer before Cody could reassure him that, yes, he was fine.

The words strangled off when Obi-Wan shifted into his space, frowning, reaching up to bat Cody’s hand out of the way. “What happened?” he asked, adding, “Well, you’re bleeding. Here.” And he pressed the tattered remains of his shirt against Cody’s forehead. “Hold this.”

“I’m fine,” Cody managed to say, belatedly, hoping that no one ever heard that he walked into a door hard enough to split the skin because he’d been too distracted by the way his General’s ass looked - firm, dimpled, and oh, it was so easy to imagine gripping - in some leggings.

Obi-Wan met his gaze, an eyebrow arched, and said, “Obviously not. Come in, I think I’ve still got some bacta in here.”

Which was how Cody found himself standing in Obi-Wan’s quarters, holding Obi-Wan’s shirt against his forehead. Obi-Wan moved over to the little kitchenette, stretching up on his toes to open a cabinet and, well, on the plus side, Cody didn’t really feel the pain in his head.

On the negative side, he didn’t feel it because he was busy trailing his gaze from the line of Obi-Wan’s arm, down his back, to that dimple that he desperately wanted to sweep his thumb over, or, hell, his tongue, and--

“--listening to me? Oh,” Obi-Wan was, apparently, saying. Cody jerked his gaze up, in time to realize that the universe had delivered a parting blow to his ribs. Obi-Wan had looked over his shoulder and was, at that moment, staring back at him, expression unreadable. After a beat, his eyes narrowed and he said, “Wait, all day, have you been--”

“It’s the pants,” Cody cut in, the words springing onto his tongue quite without his permission.

Obi-Wan cocked his head to the side, turning, still watching him with that sharp, weighing expression in his eyes, though his mouth had started twitching up in the corners. “There’s something wrong with my pants?” he asked.

“No,” Cody said, because, really, there was nothing at all wrong with them, he loved those pants. “Yes,” he corrected himself, because, Force, maybe he’d hit his head harder than he thought. Or maybe the problem was that none of the blood in his body had been making it all the way to his brain for most of the day. “I mean--” He shut his mouth, it seemed the safest way forward.

Obi-Wan mouth curved, just a little. He leaned back against the counter and said, airily, “Oh, well, if they’re a problem, I suppose I could take them off.”

Cody’s gut jerked as he stared across at Obi-Wan, his breath caught and held in the back of his throat, because--

Obi-Wan said, easy, “You could help.”

And Cody decided, abruptly, that mayde the universe wasn’t punishing him at all.

#codywan #my writing #cody is very distracted by obi-wan's....assets #light and funny?#how did that happen?#made myself laugh with the title

403 notes · View notes

captainrexisboo · 3 years

Text

Ice

-DJ Khaled voice- Another one.

What the fuck?? Four fics in just one weekend?? After two whole months of inactivity?? Aha, I am in no way as productive as you think I am. I’ve been sitting on all of these projects for almost three months now lmao- but they’re here now for your viewing pleasure, babes! This is a one shot Rex x Jedi!Reader, but they are not together. They do not get together. This is just Rex, pining for some oblivious Jedi General (you) and dealing with it by being grumpy and thinking he has the upper hand in teasing the reader. I left the gender of the reader pretty ambiguous I think? I hope?

No warnings apply, except I guess foul language if you don’t like that. And vague imaginings of semi steamy scenarios. Some angst if you squint. But really, it’s just fluffy pining, with a needy (and in denial) Rex. Comments, questions, reblogs and replies absolutely welcome and encouraged!

“T-take off the a-a-armor.”

The jaig eyes turned to you, the blue and white blending into the Pantoran ice and snow effortlessly. This would be the only environment suitable for their stark white armor as camouflage, and here you were demanding him stripped. Knowing you couldn’t read his bewildered expression, Rex tilted his head to you in a curious motion, “Why?”

“It’s fekkin’ f-freezin’ Cap,” you spoke through chattering teeth, pulling your robes tighter around you. He chuckled at your cursing, no other Jedi talked so blunt like you did, so casual. It was even worse when you were outside the temple, falling out of regulations and decorum the moment it was just you and your troopers. Hell, they didn’t even have to be your troopers. Force knows how often you’ve snuck around the barracks on Coruscant, going from battalion to battalion, whoever had furlough, making sure every clone gets at least a moment's worth of normalcy in their too-short life. Rex would be lying if he said it wasn’t endearing, and he may have felt a slight smidgen of pride that, aside from your own men, you seemed to find yourself in the 501st bunks the most.

“So? I’m perfectly toasty in this specialized insulated armor. You’re the one that decided not to wear your cold-assault gear until we got to the surface, General L/N,” Rex teased, drawing out your name and title nice and slow, biting back a bit of laughter at the way you scrunch your nose whenever you got annoyed, “Why would you want me to de-kit? To be cold with you?”

“Don’t c-call me that, Rex,” you bit out, groaning at the formality, and the chill going down your spine, “Y-you know I’m just Y/N.”

“I’ll stop calling you proper, when you stop being a Jedi,” he chided, prodding some more at the fire in the dim cavern, the only light being the glowing embers in front of you and whatever was being illuminated off the snow right at the mouth of the cave. Your ship had crashed into the freezing moon in the midst of a brutal blizzard, luckily right next to the base of a mountain with accessible caves. Unluckily, you were also 15 klicks west of your rendezvous point, with the wind and snow causing major damage to your transmitters and interfering with the signal in your commlinks. You weren’t going anywhere, or talking to anyone, until the storm let up.

You huffed at his strict persona, you know Rex only acted so dogmatic to rile you up. You saw how nonchalantly he acted around Anakin and Ahsoka, even Obi-Wan at times. No, with you it was entertainment, a game to see how much you could take before breaking, and he loved it. Even without the Force, you could see it in the shake of his shoulders at his quiet laughter, hear the coy smirk in the dip of his drawl, watching the extra swing in his stride as he walked away triumphant every time, so sure he had succeeded in driving you crazy. This time, he had nowhere to run.

Ignoring his baiting taunt, you crawled around the fire to sit right next to him, “P-please, Captain? I’m r-r-really kriffin’ c-cold, and while the fire is so delightful, I think i-it’d be in both o-our best interests to h-have a second source of heat.”

Rex nearly dropped his stick he was using to poke at the kindles, tensing slightly before clearing his throat, “Oh? And what ‘source of heat’ did you have in mind?”

“D-don’t play dumb,” you shivered again, pouting at how you stuttered while he sat a little too well composed for your liking, “I know the K-Kaminoans t-taught you all about s-s-survival tactics. I d-do it with my boys a-all the time. Strip to your b-blacks, m-me to my t-t-tunic, then I’ll wrap my robes around the two of us. B-body heat, Rex.”

Your boys. Your affectionate term for your ever-faithful battalion, that apparently frequently slept and cuddled with you in the most innocent and familiar of ways. Still, something about it made Rex’s stomach stir, his mouth twisting from a smirk into a silent snarl under his helmet. He wasn’t against ‘cuddle puddles’ with the vode, every single brother took part in them, and it wasn’t unusual to find a stray jedi or padawan compacted in the very middle of the pile. He knew for a fact that the 212th had regular arguments as to who’s turn it was to use General Kenobi as a pillow (and that Cody never partook in those bouts- no, he was always the General’s pillow). In theory, he knows it's more than a possibility for you to be a part of them, especially with your extremely relaxed extroverted personality, but actually hearing you say it out loud had something ugly rear its head to sour the Captain’s mood. He attempted to shoo the little creature away, trying to scare it off with a forced cough to make it scurry back into hiding and leave his inner peace alone. His mind clear again, he peered into your pleading doe eyes through his visor, seeing the flames flickering reflections off your irises in a whimsical dance. His gaze went lower, following the slope of your nose, before tracing the shape of your full pout, lips trembling and reddened from the cold, nearly beginning to chap. The slight clicking of your teeth as he watched you shiver under your robes made him resign to your request, sighing as he removed the cowled helmet, “Fine. Why you didn’t just wear your own cold-assault gear is beyond me, but I’ll help you stay warm this time.”

“Oh, thank the force,” you whimpered, immediately dropping the outermost robe from your shoulders, staying on your knees as he stood up to remove his layers. Rex nearly dropped his cuirass, watching you unwrap your tan-colored linen underneath to reveal a gripping white tunic, clinging to your every curve and muscle, no part of you left to the imagination except the actual flesh itself. You even discarded your boots and breeches, leaving you in opaque black tights. Without the safety of his helmet, Rex tore his eyes from you, desperate to hold onto some semblance of rectitude, taking a deep inhale through his nose before continuing his own removal. Rex could feel the tip of his nose numbing just slightly, shaking his head at what the hell was he doing-

“You know, if we get found like this-”

“We’ll s-say I got hypothermia and you were ‘d-doing your duty t-to protect the Jedi’,” you giggled, a little forced, hands coming up to rub at your shoulders, attempting to create some friction, but wincing at the iciness of your fingers, “Rex, hurry!”

Your whine of his name had him hesitant to remove the bottom half of his armor, already starting to feel something forbidden gathering in the depths of his stomach. He tried to fend off the feeling by turning his head to the stone wall and talking- though whether that was an effective decision remained to be seen. “I’m just saying, can’t you use the Force or whatever to warm yourself up? Isn’t that something you can do? I know you can use the Force for healing purposes, this’d be like that, right?”

“If I had f-followed the path of m-m-medical practice, sure,” your breath came out in little clouds as you puffed through another tremor, wrapping your dark robe around your shoulders as you waited for Rex to finish, “But, I didn’t, I chose the kn-n-nights, and so I’m here, and n-now I’m your problem.”

“My problem,” Rex grumbled under his breath as he sat back down, tugging at the final parts of his boots, not caring that you could actually hear him, “Skywalker is my problem. Tano is my problem. Kenobi can even be considered my problem at times, but you, General? No, no, no. You’re not my problem, you’re-”

Turning back around to face you, he nearly choked on his own spit. He hadn’t realized how close you were, and without his helmet, his nose brushed against yours in an innocent bunny kiss, the brief friction making him jump back nearly a foot away. A teasing chuckle left you at his skittish reaction, cocking your head to the side as you opened your robe back up and beckoned him closer, “Wrong way, Captain. C’mere.”

His throat felt tight, closing off almost everything, even air, and despite his discarded layers he was certain the back of his neck was beginning to sweat. The way you so carefully had folded your legs, thighs pillowing together in such an enticing way, leaning on your elbow to pronounce the slope of your hips and curve of your waist...he could so easily wrap his arms around you perfectly, before settling his head to rest on your chest and memorize the beat of your heart- the pinch of his nails digging into the meat of his palm drew him out of his mind before he could fall any further down that rabbit hole. He cleared his throat, throwing his gaze to the floor as his entire being tensed, “This…i-is not regulation, General.”

“Oh my maker you’ve been hanging out with Echo too much,” you groaned, throwing your head back dramatically, “Rex, please?”

He swallowed down a hard gulp of air, inching his way over to you, without looking up from the floor. You met him halfway, dragging your thickest robe behind you, and sighed in relief at the natural waves of heat coming off of him. Every single clone ran hot, and you trapped that heat by throwing the robes over the two of you, wrapping your hands around the back of Rex’s head and pulling him into your neck as you leaned against a standing rock.

One minute his eyes were counting cracks and jagged holes scattered over the cave floor, and the next they were gifted with a gracious view of your form, so close he could smell your clean body wash, a soft mint that tickled his nose, and he had to count to ten to control his breath so he didn’t just inhale you instead of oxygen. It was a concentrated effort made extremely difficult due to the delightfully sharp pressure of your nails against his scalp. You already felt like heaven, he had to tense himself from wanting to grab for more of you- which he didn’t have to do anyways. You had pulled him into you, his nose brushing over your neck, the tip still chilled, making a breathless giggle leave you, “Oh, your nose is s-so icy!”

“Who's fault is that,” Rex grumbled into you, mumbling to try to keep his lips from mouthing over your exposed collarbone. What he couldn’t stop was the delighted shiver that ran through him as your hands started massaging the tired planes of muscle in his back, making him lose a bit of discipline and dropping flush against you. He made a horrified sound, the breath strangled in his throat as he felt a nervous sweat thickly dripping over the back of his neck, before that sweet amused sound left you once again.

“Rex, you're so tense! Here, lemme just-”

Your hands worked in smooth motions, rubbing deep into his tired tissue. He could feel his eyes roll back into his head, biting the swell of his lip to keep any lewd sounds from leaving him, focusing on syncing his breath with the flow of your touches. His form was finally slack, keeping you trapped underneath him as his arms tentatively found their way around your waist, holding you to him, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You hummed at the coverage of him over you, leaning to nuzzle against the side of his head, the prick of his blond tickling the tip of your numbed nose. You whispered to him, eyelids growing heavy as you curled into him, “Thank you, Captain.”

Your breathing evened out, deep and slow, your hands coming to a rest, stopping on the small of his back and between his shoulder blades. Rex couldn’t believe it; you had fallen asleep in his arms. His eyes slowly peeked open, and he wiggled a bit, getting to a place where he faced you instead of the rock you were both leaning on. His eyes were nearly level with your jawline, he could trace the profile of your parted lips, still threatening to chap in the cold air, but your breath didn’t stutter anymore from the chill. He really was helping keep you warm.

He had dreamt about those lips, memorized the way they shaped his name, watched the direction you preferred to run your tongue over them while you were deep in thought. He licked his own lips in just that way, thinking about how maybe it’d feel if he were to do that to yours.

Maker, he was awful. Thinking about his wretched togue playing at your perfect lips, while you laid so peaceful and trusting underneath him.

Rex prided himself as a man of honor, he wasn’t so foolish as to attempt anything, but even just thinking about you in this vulnerable way as you let him hold you… he felt slimy, unworthy to be in your good graces. He let out a shuddering breath, not in the cold but in longing, exhaling your name as his arms brought you impossibly closer to him. For however long the two of you had, however long the storm lasted, he would treasure this. He would treasure you.

He was a fool for fighting you on this. Being lulled by your breath to join you into rest as the blizzard raged on, the only thing he would change would be how late he was in agreeing to your conditions. When you both awoke, with the snow settled and communications running, when you were both with your respective teams, and yourself in proper gear, Rex would still have tonight in his memory. He would still be holding you in his arms, breathing you in, and playing the memory of your heartbeat, the soft thumping tempo so soothing, on repeat in his mind.

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex imagine #captain rex x y/n #captain rex x you #pining #cuddling for warmth #oblivious reader #grumpy captain #hes done with your shit but fucking hells youre so damn cute #swtcw fanfic #commander rex #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars #my writing #liz speaks #jedi!reader #oblivious!reader

169 notes · View notes

djarrex · 3 years

Text

Countermeasures || 1