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clonesimpextra · 1 year

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A Shattered Peace: Chapter 11

Like Old Times

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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x FemJedi!OC Word Count: 6.3K Chapter Rating: T Chapter Summary: Wolffe confronts some strange feelings as he adjusts to life without his co-commander. A/N: Y'all. It's been so long and I am so sorry! This chapter isn't very long, but it does have some pretty important stepping stones. We're finally getting to more familiar territory for Wolffe in TCW! Also available on AO3

Regardless of what anyone else might say, Wolffe was not a stubborn man. Not always, anyway.

Most of the time he was reasonable and fair and if that sometimes got confused with “strict and annoyed” because of the expression on his face … well, he wasn’t sure how that could be considered his problem. Wolffe was a man who made a decision and stuck to it, and there was nothing wrong with that.

Which was what he kept telling himself as he sat in the corner of his regular booth at 79’s and pointedly refused to look in the direction of the 414th battalion.

Amara’s battalion.

There weren’t many moments in Wolffe’s, admittedly short, life where he could remember being jealous. He’d never had reason to be, never been with a person long enough or intimately enough to even humor those types of feelings. He sought out comfort, release, a moment of respite. Found it. Left.

That was how it had always been for him.

Amara had been different, sure. Not just a moment, but moments, plural. Nothing physical aside from the pull in his stomach and his mind, the Keldabe in the med-bay. He had no claim over her, was beginning to realize that maybe he never had.

So why the fuck did the sight of dark blue paint jobs, her new color to replace the 104th maroon, feel like a kick to the gut?

It didn’t help that their very presence in this bar reminded him of when he’d seen her just the other day. Laughing with them. Joking with them. Sparring with them the way she used to with the 104th. With him.

He’d seen the glint in her eyes as she squared off with the pilot, her muscles relaxing the way they always did before a fight. For a moment, as he had stood in the doorway of the training room, he could almost imagine that she was with the 104th. That the pilot was one of their men instead of just hers. He almost walked in, cheered her on.

But then she’d smirked, said, “Ready for this, Starbird?” and he’d blinked. Stepped back. Walked away clinching his fists. A nickname? Had she ever used a nickname with the 104th? He honestly couldn’t remember and that made him feel worse. Amara was gone, physically, and now the memories of her were slipping away almost as quickly as the nightmares that had plagued him since she’d left.

So maybe he was jealous. Maybe he was stubborn. That didn’t change the fact that Commander River and his men were di’kuts and Wolffe didn’t trust them with Amara’s life. He didn’t trust them with her at all.

Did he even know them, personally? No, but that was beside the point. They weren’t the 104th, and that was what mattered.

“Heard your co-commander got promoted, re-assigned.” Fox’s words broke through Wolffe’s thoughts and he raised a brow. “That why you’re so sulky tonight?”

Wolffe shrugged, forced down the bitter ale. “That was a week ago.”

“You didn’t answer my question, brother.”

“I try not to make it a habit to bother answering irrelevant questions,” he set his glass down with a pointed glare, “brother.”

Fox chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at the 414th, Wolffe scowled at the wall. “I could tell you about them if you want. Not sure if that’d make your jealous shebs feel better or worse, though.”

“Wouldn’t make a difference either way, seeing as I don’t care about them. I have enough on my mind with my own men anyway.”

Besides, he already had all the information he needed if he ever wanted to know anything about the so-called “Four-Fourteen, Elite Clone Battalion.” He may or may not have walked away from the training room the other day and immediately commed Cody to ask for their files, and he may or may not have claimed it was because he wanted to be prepared to work with them if Generals Plo and Kora teamed up in the future. That hadn’t exactly been a lie, it was a distinct possibility. Wolffe pushed away the though with a grimace.

The point was, he’d never opened the files. Hadn’t gotten further than his finger hovering over the first document before guilt pushed its way past the jealousy and settled in the pit of his stomach.

Amara didn’t deserve his snooping and his prying. However angry he was at her, however betrayed and confused he felt, there had been a respect between them — a respect she still deserved. No matter which battalion she was with now, she’d once belonged to the 104th. Once belonged to the only thing in this galaxy that was his, and he trusted what was his. Always.

Turned out he was just as stubb— determined in his guilt as he was in everything else.

“You know,” Fox turned back to him, shit-eating grin gone, “you never talked about her. Not once. That’s how I know you like her.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, you di’kut. Bly talks about General Sec—”

“First of all,” Fox practically yelled over him and the music, “you and Bly are nothing alike.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Wolffe grumbled into his glass.

Fox ignored him and continued on. “Second of all, I didn’t say how you like her, so don’t get all pissy on me.” He tapped the table until Wolffe finally looked back up at him, face serious. “I know how you are, Wolffe. You bring someone up, it’s to complain about how much they annoy you. What I’m saying is that you never brought her up. And, I don’t know, seems to me like maybe that’s worth focusing on more than whatever the hell it is you’re focusing on instead.”

Wolffe glared at his brother. Fox rarely talked like this. Rarely cared to get involved in anyone’s personal lives more than strictly necessary. Because of that, Wolffe sometimes forgot just how damn perceptive he could be. That apparently wasn’t a gene they all shared.

For the first time since he’d initially clocked them, Wolffe looked over at the Four-Fourteen. She wasn’t with them, and that simple fact lightened something in his chest just as much as it weighed it down. When she was with the 104th, Amara had never gone to 79’s, even though the boys had begged her time and time again. She’d told Wolffe once that she didn’t want to impose, wanted them to have at least one space that was just for them. The men wouldn’t have cared, but Wolffe knew what she meant. Respected her more for that decision.

Part of him had wondered if a new battalion would change that, was prepared for what it would mean if it had. But now, watching her new men enjoy a night out, knowing she was probably back at her office worrying about whatever mission they had coming up, he wished she was there. He didn’t entirely trust his reasons for why.

He flicked his eyes from clone to clone, wondering who she might be closest to already. Apart from their armor, so many of the Four-Fourteen looked exactly like him — the commander especially. He wondered if Amara saw him when she looked at her new commander, or if his face had already melded with theirs in her mind.

He didn’t think he was as replaceable to her as he was to the GAR, she’d told him as much many times before. Would the distance between them ever change that?

The distance you helped create, his mind spat at him.

Wolffe sighed and sank back into the booth, tearing his gaze away from his replacement and ignoring Fox’s shaking head.

This was why he hated 79’s. Too many reflections of his own damn stupidity staring him straight in the face.

*****

Wolffe grit his teeth as he swung at the bag in front of him, laying his frustrations out with his fists.

It wasn’t that long ago when training the 104th had been easy, enjoyable even, with Amara by his side. General Plo, good as he was, wasn’t always available to help with the more technical aspects of training, but Amara had always made time. They’d split the tasks, one taking over the more difficult when the other was showing signs of annoyance. Wolffe hadn’t realized how much he’d grown to rely on that until he didn’t have it anymore.

Now, with the full task of training half an entirely new battalion weighing solely on him … he needed an outlet at the end of the day. And if, when his fist connected with the navy blue protective cover of the punching bag, he sometimes imagined the Four-Fourteen? Just an added bonus.

He squared up, ready to aim another blow, when he felt something in the back of his mind. Something all too similar to the warmth he’d associated with Amara over the past several months. Something pulling his gaze over his shoulder just before a pair of small montrals poked around the corner of the training room door.

“Wolffe!” The unmistakable trill of Ahsoka’s voice softened Wolffe’s annoyance before his eyes caught on to the woman next to her. “Amara, you didn’t tell me Wolffe would be here!”

“I didn’t know.”

Even if he hadn’t been staring at her so intently that he caught the subtle twitch of her brow, Wolffe would have heard the lie in her voice. Before he could think on that more, though, Ahsoka ran up to him, stopping short of the hug that used to be her regular welcome.

The first time Wolffe met Ahsoka, he’d been visiting 104th men in the med-bay after Nivek. He hadn’t even noticed her until she was standing right next to him, peering up at him with the far too wise eyes that all the Jedi seemed to have. She was the first child Wolffe had ever met who wasn’t a clone, and he wasn’t quite sure how to act. He did, however, know the med-bay policies.

“Younglings aren’t allowed in here.”

Her wise eyes turned into a hard glare. “I’m not a youngling.” She hesitated, glare slightly less effective. “At least, I won’t be for long. And besides, I’m with Master Plo. To learn about the war.”

Wolffe grunted, a sound everyone around him was used to hearing but which made the young girl noticeably jump. His lips twitched and he turned away. “Maybe come back when you have a little more bite to your bark, eh?”

Before he could walk to the next bed, he felt a firm tap in the space between his pauldron and his back armor. He turned around sharply, ready to march the little brat out of the med-bay on his own, only to find himself staring at a pair of pearly white fangs set in the midst of a menacing grimace.

Wolffe jerked back and the little Togruta took a step forward. “I think I have plenty bite. Eh?”

The men around them stared on, the only sound in the room the beeping of the machines and the whirring of the med droids. Wolffe didn’t like the idea of a youngling getting the better of him, but she had guts. He’d give her that.

Wolffe cleared his throat and nodded at her. “What’s your name, anyway?”

She smiled at him, fangs hidden away once more. “I’m Ahsoka Tano. Togruta, by the way, in case you didn’t get that.”

He rolled his eyes, itching to get away but staying still because he had the distinct feeling General Plo was staring him down behind his mask. “I know what Togruta look like, thanks.”

Ahsoka shrugged, walking around him to stand next to one of the bed-ridden soldiers who, Wolffe noticed with a smirk, inched closer to the other edge of the bed. “If you know what Togruta look like then you shouldn’t have been surprised by my fangs.”

Wolffe stared at her, wondering what he’d ever done in his life to deserve so much sass from something so small. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m just saying, commander,” she looked back up at him and put her hands on her hips, sounding much older than she was, “you should really make sure you know more about Togruta if I’m gonna fight with you one day.”

Her words, said so determinedly, brought Wolffe up short. And when he looked back at General Plo, he saw the sudden tension he felt in the set of the other man’s shoulders. In the few minutes he’d known her, Ahsoka Tano had annoyed him, frustrated him, impressed him. She’d also reminded him that he and his brothers weren’t the only ones fighting this war. If they didn’t end it soon, this small, ferocious youngling (even if she didn’t want to be called one, that’s what she was) would be fighting it, too.

As he watched her talk with all the soldiers in the med-bay, slowly making them forget about, or at least ignore, the pointy fangs in her arsenal, Wolffe decided that he’d do whatever he could to keep that annoying brat safe. If she belonged to the 104th’s general, then she belonged to the 104th. Simple as that.

Except, as with most things in this war, it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

The months passed and, though Ahsoka visited them frequently whenever they were on Coruscant, she never became General Plo’s padawan; she never joined the 104th. Of course that didn’t really matter to Wolffe or the rest of the boys. She was an honorary member of their team, and if she wasn’t with them all the time, that just meant she was safe from the war. It was less to worry about and Wolffe preferred it that way. Even if he did find himself missing her sarcastic remarks sometimes.

Now, he was just thankful she could be a barrier between him and Amara.

He glanced down at Ahsoka, raising an eyebrow. “The general know you’re here?”

She rolled her eyes, a habit he liked to think she picked up from him. “He’s the one who sent me. Besides, it’s not like I’m here alone. Amara’s with me.”

Wolffe kept his eyes on her as she beckoned Amara closer. “Master Plo’s busy so he asked her to show me around the training facilities. Since I’ve only ever really been to the med-bay and offices, I guess.”

“Why now?”

Ahsoka shrugged and glanced up at Amara who, Wolffe noticed when he finally dragged his eyes back up to her, was already staring at him.

This was the closest they’d been to each other since the briefing room on the Resolute (his brief glance at her in this very building a few days earlier didn’t count, Wolffe decided). He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected her to look different. For some physical part of her to reflect the new distance between them. But the woman standing in front of him was relatively unchanged from a week ago. Maybe she stood a little taller. Maybe the bruises from Tibrin had faded. Maybe her deep brown eyes looked a little sadder. But she was still just Amara. His Amara.

She was never yours, a voice in his head whispered and he blinked, taking a half step back while pretending to ignore the way Amara pursed her lips at his movement.

“You know Master Plo,” she said, finally moving her eyes away from him and down to Ahsoka. “He just wants to make sure you’re as prepared as possible for whatever may come.”

Ahsoka grimaced. “That’s assuming I ever even become a padawan.”

Wolffe watched Amara’s lips twitch around a smile, an ache in his chest when he realized he couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled at him. She opened her mouth, but Ahsoka flapped a hand at her before she could start talking.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Patience, Ahsoka. Everything will be as the Force wills it.’” She crossed her arms and mumbled, “I just wish the Force would hurry up a bit.”

Amara did smile then, tilting her head toward Wolffe she whispered, “I blame this on you.”

He huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself. “She was like this long before I ever met her. You should know.”

Their eyes met and something in Wolffe shifted. This was how it was supposed to be — joking and lightheartedness in the rare moments of peace when they weren’t on the battlefield. This was how it had been. And, looking at her now, he couldn’t really remember why any of the rest of it mattered.

“Riv! There you are.” Ahsoka’s voice interrupted the moment, pulling Wolffe’s attention to the clone walking toward them. Ahsoka looked between the commanders. “Do you two know each other?”

Wolffe tried not to let his eyes narrow too much as the other commander smiled down at Ahsoka before turning to him. “Can’t say we do, but you’d be hard pressed to find a clone in the GAR who hasn’t heard of Commander Wolffe.” He reached an arm out, nodding.

Wolffe did not want to take the other man’s arm. He didn’t want to make nice with someone who was, essentially, his replacement in Amara’s life. He wanted to cross his arms, stare the commander of the 414th down until he turned away and left and everything could go back to the way it was.

He wanted and wanted and wanted.

But if there was one thing Wolffe could thank his upbringing for, it was that he was used to barely even getting what he needed. There was no room for ‘want’ in war. There was only ever what was and what wasn’t.

So he grabbed Riv’s arm, wrapped his gauntleted hand around a vambrace painted navy blue, and squeezed a little tighter than strictly necessary before letting go and taking a careful step back.

There was a beat of silence between all four of them, Amara glancing between him and Riv. She was going to say something; he could feel it and he didn’t want it. Whatever words were about to come out of her mouth to try and make this situation less awkward, less hurtful, Wolffe did not want to hear them. He was perfectly fine knowing he was being ridiculous without someone else giving voice to it.

“The Four-Fourteen’s actually—”

A trill of beeps interrupted Amara, and Wolffe thanked whichever Kaminoan created him as he watched her frown down at her comm.

“This could be the Council,” she spoke directly at Wolffe, eyes narrowing just enough to let him know she wasn’t done with him yet. “I’ll be right back. Ahsoka, stay here with the commanders.”

Amara walked out to the hall and Wolffe was about the follow, turn the opposite way, leave all this behind him. It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to be doing right now, anyway. He cleared his throat, ready to make an excuse, when Ahsoka nudged his arm with her shoulder.

“So Wolffe,” she said, a little too innocent for his liking, “are you jealous of the Four-Fourteen? Now that they have Amara?”

He stared down at her tilted head and wondered what his life would be like if General Plo had never brought Ahsoka into it. A little more peaceful, probably. “I have no reason to be jealous,” he shrugged. It was true enough. He didn’t have a reason to be jealous, not really. Didn’t mean he wasn’t also lying through his teeth right now. “General Kora was needed elsewhere. That’s just how the war works.”

Ahsoka scrunched her forehead, white markings creasing closer together. “Ok, but I know you miss her. She misses you, too.” She smiled over her shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Riv?”

For the first time since Amara left the room, Wolffe looked at the other commander. Riv was shaking his head, a light smile on his face as if he answered questions about people missing each other every day.

“The general doesn’t talk about that stuff. At least not to me.” He nodded at Wolffe. “But for what it’s worth, she always speaks very highly of you and the 104th. Just the other day she told us how you lot taught her how to fight a clone.”

Riv continued talking, Ahsoka listening wide-eyed, and Wolffe tried to push down an immense rush of shame. What was he thinking, acting like this? Toward a brother? About a woman he respected?

He’d thought the flashes of jealousy he’d felt outside the training room and at 79’s were bad. But those had only existed in his mind, never reaching into actual conversations or interactions. This was different, and he didn’t like it one bit.

The night before, Wolffe had wondered what Amara could possibly see in him that she wouldn’t see in any other clone, maybe even in Riv. Now, standing in front of the man himself, hearing him talk about his battalion and how Amara was fitting in, Wolffe knew he’d been wrong.

If anything, Amara was more likely to see something in Riv she’d never seen in Wolffe. Gentleness, kindness, patience. Edges as smooth as the rippled streams painted on his armor. Wolffe was willing to bet that this man hadn’t snapped at her the first time they’d met. Hadn’t said things he didn’t mean or insulted practically everything about her.

Riv was a good leader, that much was clear.

Wolffe was beginning to wonder if he ever had been.

“I hate to cut this visit short, but that was Master Yoda.” Amara walked briskly across the room toward them, eyes meeting Wolffe’s for just a moment before she focused on Ahsoka. “The Council wants to speak with you.”

Wolffe watched as Ahoska looked between them, right hand reaching up to grip at her left arm. “Ju- just me?”

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.” Amara smiled gently down at her and winked. “I asked.”

“Thank the Force,” Ahsoka mumbled before glancing quickly at the group again and raising her voice. “There’s nothing I could get in trouble for anyway. Obviously.”

Wolffe snorted, thankful for this disruption from his former thoughts. Just the other day he’d heard one of the Jedi rumbling on about “some Togruta youngling” sneaking off to a highly restricted area in the Temple and getting everyone in trouble. But, seeing as Wolffe himself wasn’t all that fond of standing before the Jedi Council, he decided not to push the subject.

Even if he was suddenly desperate to do anything to make Amara stay just a little longer. Maybe he could offer to escort them back to the Temple. Hide it under the guise of needing to speak with General Plo. That could work and was actually pretty smart if he did say so himself.

A movement to his left reminded him that he wasn’t the only commander in this situation, though. What would it look like if a Jedi general showed up in front of the Council flanked by both her former and current commanders? What would Wolffe look like, hanging onto the dredges of something he’d already lost? Besides, even if he did escort her, it’s not like they’d be able to do anything more than stare at each other. Not with so many eyes and ears around them.

“Well, I guess we should go. Don’t want to keep the Council waiting.” Amara’s voice broke through Wolffe’s thoughts and he focused back on her. She was already looking at him, eyebrows creased, head tilted. As if she knew exactly what he was thinking. She probably didn’t even need the Force to figure that one out.

Wolffe found himself nodding, opening his mouth to say some version of goodbye, when Riv cleared his throat. “I can escort Ahsoka back, general.” He raised a brow at Amara. “I believe you mentioned earlier some reports you were keen to finish before we set off tomorrow?”

If it weren’t for the fact that he very much wanted Amara to stay behind, Wolffe would have rolled his eyes. None of his brothers were good liars.

Neither was Amara.

“When did I– Oh.” Amara smiled widely. Too widely. This time Wolffe did roll his eyes. “Right. That would be very helpful. Thank you, commander.”

Before Ashoka turned to leave, Wolffe nudged her with the back of his hand. “Try not to pull Commander Riv into any trouble on your way back, yeah?”

The marks on her head tails darkened as she glared at him and grumbled through her teeth, “That was an accident last time.”

He smirked as she walked past them toward the door, Riv following closely behind. As they turned the corner, Wolffe could just make out the words “don’t listen” and “I’m always on time.”

Soon enough, though, even the echoes of their footsteps down the hall faded, leaving behind an all too familiar silence. Wolffe tried not to focus too hard on it, but all he could think of was that night in the briefing room on the Resolute. Things hadn’t gone so well then, and Wolffe didn’t intend for this to be a repeat. So he steered them toward the one thing they could always agree on: Ahsoka.

“Any idea what the Council want with her?” It wasn’t really his business, but he was genuinely curious. He knew Amara well enough to know she hadn’t been lying when she said Ahsoka wasn’t in trouble. But the alternative to that — the only one Wolffe could think of, anyway — wasn’t all that more comforting to him.

Amara nodded and walked closer to the bag Wolffe had been attacking earlier. She tapped a finger against it, his eyes following the movement. “I think they’ve decided to promote her to Padawan.”

“And they require a big meeting for that?” Seemed a bit dramatic, but they were Jedi and they did have their traditions. He was trying to picture what it might look like when he noticed Amara shaking her head.

“It’s an important occasion, yes, but,” she hesitated, finger still tapping at the bag. “Something felt different about Master Yoda’s summons.”

“Different?”

Her finger stilled and she sighed, finally looking directly at him. “Like the type of summons we get when we’re about to be sent on a mission.”

Wolffe tensed. So this was it. “You think they’re sending her out there.” Amara nodded. “Where?”

She shrugged. “They’ll send her wherever her new master is. Many Jedi are on the front lines right now. It could be anywhere.”

Wolffe was surprised to find himself angrier than he should have been. He’d known this was coming, had done everything he could to prepare Ahsoka and himself, his men, for exactly this. But he’d never imagined a scenario where Ahsoka ended up with any battalion other than the 104th. He couldn’t protect her if she wasn’t with them.

He shook his head. “She’s just a kid. She shouldn’t be out there–”

“She’s a Jedi, Wolffe.” Amara stepped closer to him, nudging the bag out of the way until there were only a few inches of air between them. “It’s different for us.”

“So you’re not worried about her?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then you could at least act like you don’t want a fourteen-year-old kid to risk her life for something she probably doesn’t even understand.”

Amara pursed her lips at that, and Wolffe knew he’d gone too far. She stepped around him, toward a pile of mats, and sat down. He only hesitated a moment before joining her.

“I know things are different for you. I just,” he squinted up at the ceiling, trying to find the words for what he was feeling when he wasn’t even all that sure himself. “It just feels wrong.”

“It’s all wrong.” Amara’s voice was smaller than he’d ever heard it before. When he turned back to her she was staring down at her lap. “You really think I don’t have questions?”

Of course he didn’t. He’d seen as much just after Tibrin. When she was beating herself up for the necessary choices she’d had to make. The choices that had saved their men’s lives. His life. Why was it so hard for him to remember that?

“There’s nothing I can do for Ahsoka, or for any of the padawans coming into this war. I’m not even sure the Council knows what to do for them because we don’t fight wars. Not like this.” She rubbed at her face and looked back up at him. “We’re all just trying to do our best with what we do know.”

Memories of that night on the Resolute flooded Wolffe’s mind once again, but this time he didn’t push against them. And instead of just his pain, he saw Amara’s, too.

The pain and confusion in her eyes when she stepped away from him. When she told him she was leaving. When he all but told her he didn’t care.

I have a responsibility, not just to this battalion, but to you.

This isn’t about what I want.

Now that he forced himself to think about it — really and truly think about it instead of hiding from it — Wolffe could admit that those words were Jedi through and through. They were what Amara knew.

In the midst of so much chaos and uncertainty and pain, she’d been trying to do the best with what she knew. Just like the rest of them.

“I’m sorry for not saying goodbye.” The words were out of his mouth before he even knew he was saying them. And they were the truest things he’d said to her since he’d told her how he felt.

Amara’s eyes widened a fraction, and he allowed himself a moment of pride at surprising a Jedi. She blinked a few times before asking,“If I’d knocked on the door, would you have answered?”

If he was already being honest, Wolffe figured he might as well be completely honest. “I don’t know.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

There was another moment of silence between them, this one slightly less weighted than before. But Wolffe could tell Amara had more to say. And that she wouldn’t say it if he didn’t push her.

He sighed and nudged her knee with his. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m some fragile shiny. I know I don’t have the best track record with you, but I promise I won’t break.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I can’t imagine anyone calling the Commander Wolffe ‘fragile’.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “they wouldn’t be around long enough for anyone to ever find out. But don’t change the subject, general. Doesn’t take a Jedi to know there’s more you want to say.”

“OK, OK.” She took a deep breath and continued. “I just want it to be absolutely clear that the only reason I didn’t tell you about the transfer back in the Resolute’s med-bay was because I didn’t know how. I told myself that I could ignore it and that I could just enjoy whatever it was we have, had, for as long as possible. I didn’t–” she sighed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I did.”

She looked at him with the same eyes she’d had in that briefing room. Sad, confused, maybe a little bit lonely. “I’m sorry, Wolffe.”

Every instinct in Wolffe’s body was begging him to comfort her. To grab her shoulder and pull her against him, guide her head to his shoulder, place her hand on his chest. He didn’t know where those instincts were coming from — he’d never even hugged her before — but they were there all the same, just out of reach.

Amara hadn’t said it now, but she was right, back then: they couldn’t. Whatever they had, even if it still existed between them, was too unstable, too uncertain to be pursued in the midst of war. Especially for a Jedi and a clone, destined to sacrifice their desires for the greater good.

So instead, Wolffe allowed himself only a soft smile that had become too foreign to his lips in the past weeks. “The Four-Fourteen’s lucky to have you.” He stood, offering a hand to pull her up with him. “But don’t forget where you came from. General.”

Amara smiled at him, then. The first honest smile he’d seen from her since the coral reefs on Tibrin. “Don’t worry,” she squeezed his hand, and he forced himself to ignore the current that always seemed to course between them, “the 104th will always be home. Commander.”

She let go of his hand. “Riv wasn’t completely lying, you know. I do have a stack of reports that need sorted before tomorrow morning.” She hesitated, glancing all around the room as if trying to decide whether she actually wanted to say what came next. Her eyes finally settled on his. “I could use some company, though. If you want to catch up?”

Like old times.

The unsaid words hung between them.

Wolffe pushed them aside and followed her out of the room.

****

“You know, I actually have you to thank for teaching me how to handle someone like Mav.”

“And now you’re comparing me to a pilot? I thought you’d accepted my apology, general.”

Amara laughed, the sound something that still forced a smile out of Wolffe. “Hey now, I’m a pilot.”

He winked. “Exactly.”

“Geez, commander,” Amara leaned back in her chair. “I thought you’d accepted my apology, too.”

Wolffe smirked. Now that he’d heard Amara’s run-down of the past week’s events with the Four-Fourteen, he felt even more ridiculous for his earlier jealousy. It still wasn’t easy, imagining her with another group, but half of the soldiers sounded like men he’d get along with fine; men he’d be proud to lead into battle. He should never have expected anything less, but it was nice to know for certain, from Amara’s own words.

It was also nice to talk with her again. Just talk. No expectations or unspoken feelings. Nothing simmering beneath the surface and threatening to explode. Just him and Amara. Commander and general. Friends, maybe.

Even if it wasn’t what he’d once hoped for, Wolffe liked the sound of that.

Across the desk from him Amara covered a yawn. Wolffe looked up at the chrono and pushed his chair back. “You ship out early tomorrow, yeah?”

She nodded, removing the last data card from her ‘pad and filing it away before meeting him at the door. “Doubt I’ll sleep tonight, but I guess I should try.”

“You’ll be fine. You’re a good leader. I should know.” He smiled down at her. “You learned everything from me.”

Amara rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. They came to a stop at the junction that led to the barracks in one direction and out to the Jedi transports in the other. Amara shifted on her feet and Wolffe tried to think of something to say that wasn’t as final as goodbye.

“Thanks for tonight.” Amara smiled. “Tell the boys I said hi?”

Wolffe nodded, willing himself to say literally anything, but he couldn’t force the words out past the lump in his throat.

Maybe she could sense it, could feel or see something in the Force that tipped her off to the sudden anxiety in his body that was telling him he might never see her again. Whatever it was, she took over when he couldn’t. Just like always.

She grabbed his hand and, like before in the training room, gave it a light squeeze. “Goodnight, Wolffe.” She let go and turned around.

Faced with the reality of Amara walking away from him once again, Wolffe realized what he wanted to say.

“Amara,” he called softly, remembering just how good it felt to say her actual name instead of her rank.

She turned back around, eyebrows raised and nervous hand reaching up for a braid. Like nothing had ever changed. Wolffe smiled.

“I’ll see you around.”

It took her a moment to respond, staring at him with wide eyes instead. But when she did, it was around a smile brighter than any of the ones she’d given him in the past.

“See you around, Wolffe.”

This time when he watched her leave, Wolffe marveled at how much easier it was than before. All he’d had to do was give Amara a promise to take with her along the way.

****

One Month Later – The Abregado System

Wolffe had never had a good feeling about any part of this mission, and his lack of armor was only adding to that unease. He would have felt much better, more confident if he’d had his helmet, his chest plate, anything other than this pressed, too stiff officer’s uniform.

There was nothing he could do about that right now, though.

Not when the floor of the Triumphant was quaking beneath his feet as he ran toward the escape pod, Sinker and Boost following close behind.

Not when the emergency sirens were blasting a fiery red warning to the thousands of other soldiers he himself was supposed to be in charge of.

Not when Grievous and his clankers were waiting to finish what their ion cannon started.

No, there was nothing he could do about his lack of armor. Nothing he could do about this doomed mission, either.

All he could do was jump into the escape pod and key in the commands, wait for General Plo to close the door and give the all clear. All he could do, really, was follow orders.

But when the pod lurched into the black vacuum of space, bumping into the scrap left in the Malevolence’s wake, Wolffe found that he could do one more thing.

He could turn around and watch what was left of the 104th go up in flames.

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

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