You won't believe who I caught taking some well-deserved time off! Callie and Gregor have finally hit the pause button. After all the tireless dedication and hard work they pour into the Clone Underground Rebellion, it's safe to say they've absolutely earned this break. Even our most formidable heroes need a moment to recharge those batteries!
Here they are enjoying brilliant blue skies, the gentle hum of Beaky's Brethren soaring overhead, and the most breathtaking coastline you could imagine.
It’s pretty adorable, too. Even after all their adventures and years together, Gregor is still clearly trying to impress his one true love, Callie. Some things never change, and it's clear their bond is as strong as ever!
Oh, and if you're wondering who managed to snap such a perfect picture, it's our eagle-eyed Val! With her incredible precision and keen vision as a sniper, it's no surprise she's able to take such a great shot! 💜💕
Our story began when Clone Commando Gregor was presumed lost after his courageous sacrifice on Abafar. I had recently been assigned as a medic to the 104th battalion. And when a faint signal indicated his survival, I knew I had to intervene—no matter the cost.
Written by MAE || Illustrated by LEENA
Warnings: Descriptions of injuries
He sighed again. Since the moment Callie stepped into his sterile and meticulously organized office aboard the Venator, Commander Wolffe had let out seven audible sighs, each more irritated than the last. She had been keeping track. Better to silently count than speak up and risk all out war. This latest exhale, heavy and sharp, twisted his mouth into a sneer and his brow into a deeper scowl. It also brought the count to eight.
“Commander-”
“Silence,” he snapped, voice low and edged like durasteel.
He didn’t look up from the data tablet in his hand. The report he reviewed cast a dim glow in the sterile lighting, lines of tactical information scrolling under the rapid scan of his mismatched eyes. The cybernetic one moved in quick, unnatural flicks —faster than the human eye beside it. The effect was… unsettling. Disjointed. Like watching a clock ticking out of rhythm with itself.
It explained the constant tension in Wolffe’s brow, the deep-set crease that never seemed to leave his face. He needed a recalibration, that much was obvious. Callie suspected it was the source of the tension headaches he refused to acknowledge. She could do it in minutes. But the odds of Wolffe letting her — or anyone — near his prosthetic were slim to none. He was fiercely private about it. Possessive, even.
“But-”
“Don’t test my patience. It’s already worn thinner than ration-paper, Lieutenant,” Wolffe growled.
Then he reached without ceremony for the steaming cup of caf she’d placed on the corner of his desk. He didn’t thank her, of course. He never did. The fact that he reached for it at all said enough. Callie had learned quickly: never show up to his office empty-handed. He drank the caf in long, scalding gulps like a man at war with his own exhaustion. The burning fluid, his munitions. His scalded throat, the collateral damage.
Callie’s jaw snapped shut with a click. She hadn’t realized she’d been gaping until that moment, frozen in place as her eyes locked on the Commander’s weathered, tan hands gripping the pen like it had personally offended him. The silence in the room stretched taut, broken only by the scratch of the stylist against flimsi. Every controlled movement he made radiated barely restrained fury.
She’d been summoned the moment she exited the intensive care unit. No time to clean up, her uniform still dirty. Report immediately. Do not delay. The trooper who escorted her — Sinker — hadn’t said a word the entire walk to Wolffe’s office. His gaze avoided hers with deliberate effort. He kept glancing toward the hallway’s corners, the walls, anywhere but at her. That, more than anything, told her just how bad this was.
They hadn’t cuffed her, not yet at least, but it felt close. The silence, the unsaid weight in the air, the precision with which the escort was arranged, it wasn’t protocol. It was prelude. She knew what she’d done. It had been a calculated risk. One she’d made under pressure, with lives on the line and instinct screaming louder than protocol. But defying a direct order, defying his order, that wasn’t the kind of thing that got swept under the durasteel floor of a starship. Especially not when the entire fleet had witnessed it. Not when high-ranking officers were present.
Now, sitting rigid under his scrutiny, she was about to face whatever consequences a man like Wolffe, one of the most respected commanders in the entire Grand Army of the Republic, deemed appropriate. Her throat felt dry, but she didn’t dare swallow. Not yet. The silence between them was razor-thin, stretched to its breaking point. Finally, Wolffe exhaled, not another sigh of frustration, but something heavier.
“At least tell me he’s stable,” he muttered, low and gravelly.
His eyes finally lifted to meet hers, still hard as durasteel but the edge had dulled. Not quite soft, but no longer sharpened to cut. It wasn’t a truce. Nor was it mercy. A crack had formed in his wall.
Callie opened her mouth, hesitant. “Sir-”
“I asked you a question, Lieutenant Kestral,” he cut in, sharper again. Formal. Cold.
The sudden shift back to protocol hit harder than a slap. She straightened instinctively, spine stiffening as though bracing for impact. The use of her rank wasn’t just a reminder of the chain of command, it was a warning. A boundary being reasserted.
“He is stable,” she replied, voice clipped but steady.
The words lingered in the air between them, more fragile than she’d intended. Because despite her answer, they both knew ‘stable’ didn’t mean ‘safe.’ It didn’t mean ‘out of the woods.’ It just meant not dead. Not yet. From the look in Wolffe’s eyes as he looked away, she knew he understood it.
Wolffe was silent again. The kind of silence that made the skin between her shoulder blades itch and the hair on the back of her neck raised. He didn’t look down at the report this time. Instead, he slowly set the stylus aside with care, then placed the tablet on the desk in front of him face down. The gesture was small, but felt significant. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, locked onto her like targeting coordinates settling on a mark. Not hostile but intense enough to make her pulse quicken.
“Why?” he asked at last.
Just one word, which carried with it more weight than the drawn out reprimand she’d been expecting. No rank this time. No barking orders. Just a raw, quiet demand for truth. Callie felt the air leave her lungs in a slow, cautious breath. Her throat was still tight, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. The cybernetic one flickered slightly, adjusting focus. The dark human one narrowed, waiting.
“I made a judgment call. I had intel you didn’t. Real-time updates. If I’d waited for permission we would’ve lost him.” she said evenly, but her voice betrayed a trace of something she hadn’t had time to process. She noticed his jaw tighten. So she added, “I didn’t do it to undermine you, I did it because his sacrifice saved all our lives.”
A long, heavy silence settled between them. Wolffe didn’t speak, didn’t move. For a moment, she couldn’t tell if she’d made things better or worse. Then, he leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on her like he was trying to read past the surface and down into the core of her.
“You broke rank,” Wolffe said.
“I know,” Callie replied.
“In front of my men. In front of senior officers.” He said.
“I know,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper now.
He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t lash out. He didn’t need to. His silence was louder than shouting. And still, she stood her ground. Because no matter how much trouble she was in now, she’d make the same call again.
“We have rules. Structure. Protocol. Order. I can’t have medics deploying themselves on instinct and a prayer, hoping to save one man.” Wolffe said, his voice quiet but unwavering. His tone steady. Each word landed with the force of something carved in stone.
Then Wolffe picked up the tablet again, posture returning to rigid formality, but the moment of focus--of almost human connection--still lingered in the air between them. She tensed, expecting the worst. A formal dismissal from her post. No, a disciplinary removal. The Grand Army didn’t tend to tolerate insubordination, especially not when it happened in front of witnesses. Instead, he read from the screen, voice neutral and clinical.
“You will receive a formal mark of disciplinary action on your service record. You will be suspended from field deployment for thirty standard rotations. You will undergo an updated psychological evaluation before you are cleared for independent medical operations. And—” he paused, briefly glancing up at her “—you will attend continued leadership debriefings to determine if you will be permanently reassigned.”
Callie blinked. That was it? No demotion? No official permanent reassignment? Not even a formal tribunal? In GAR terms, it was barely more than a slap on the wrist. Maybe a firm talking-to. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it. This wasn’t what she'd expected. It wasn’t even close.
“But sir-“
“I advise you to think very carefully before you finish that sentence, Callie,” Wolffe said, cutting her off with a groan as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
He didn’t even look up. She froze at the use of her first name. Callie, not Lieutenant Kestral. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t protocol. It was personal.
“That seems like... a light punishment,” she said cautiously.
He looked up sharply, the edge of his cybernetic eye catching the overhead light. “Do you want me to increase it?” he snapped.
“No, sir. I just…” She hesitated, studying his face, trying to read the thoughts behind his expression. “I’m just… confused.”
Wolffe didn’t reply. His gaze held hers for a moment longer, and then dropped back to the tablet. Not a dismissal, not quite. The silence pressed in again, dense, uncertain. Then Wolffe spoke, his tone clipped, all business. “If anyone asks, you were granted retroactive permission under Tactical Protective Directive 0-9.”
Callie blinked. “What?”
“He survived,” Wolffe replied. His gaze remained fixed on the tablet and his voice grew more deliberate. “If Separatist intelligence had caught wind of that, he’d have been marked as a high-value target. A liability. You have been retroactively granted authority to intervene, on the grounds of protecting a compromised asset.”
He paused, then looked up, waiting until her eyes met his. That same sharp stare, softened only by the gravity behind it. “But don’t ever do it again,” his voice dropped a notch, call and cold. “You’ll be out of here faster than you can say kriff. Got it?”
Callie swallowed. “Yes, sir,” she said, her nod slow and deliberate.
“You’re dismissed. Report back to your patient. I expect a full medical workup on his progress before end-of-cycle.” He said.
She hesitated. “I thought we were transferring him to an Outer Rim med facility and redeploying with the fleet?”
“We are,” Wolffe replied, setting the tablet aside once more. “You are staying with the trooper.”
Her breath caught. “Sir?”
“Not my call,” he said, already looking back down at the screen. “Orders came in while you were en route to my office. You're to remain at the station and oversee his treatment personally.”
Callie’s thoughts raced, the implications slamming into her one after another. If she stayed behind, she’d be cut off from her team. From the front. From the war.
Wolffe continued, eyes still fixed on the screen in front of him, “You’ll rejoin us once he reaches Recovery Level Three. Until then, station duty.”
Callie stood frozen for a breath too long, the words settling in her mind like dust. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She wasn’t even sure what response would be appropriate. Eventually, she managed a small nod. “Thank you, Commander.” She said.
“Don’t thank me,” he responded.
“But, sir--”
Wolffe finally glanced up, his gaze steady. “Look. You went out of your way to help one of us. That matters, even if you went about it the wrong way.” A beat passed. His lips twitched, not quite a smile, more like a grim acknowledgment. “We’ll call it even. Alright?”
Callie blinked. For a man like Wolffe, that was the closest thing to forgiveness she was ever going to get.
“Okay,” she said softly.
“You’re dismissed.” He said.
Callie nodded again and then turned before he could change his mind. Her boots echoed lightly against the polished floor as she crossed the room and reached the door. She didn’t look back. If she did, she might start asking questions neither of them had answers to.
Once she was through the threshold, the tension she’d been carrying finally began to crack. This last rotation — everything from the mission, to the medbay, to now — settled on her. The weight of it slumped her shoulders, hunched her back. Why? Why did she do it? What was she thinking? And what would happen now?
It felt like the galaxy had shifted a few degrees out of alignment and she had to make sense of it. Station duty. Isolation from yet another legion she’d grown closer to. She’d be on her own again. Except, that wasn’t true…
The trooper.
He would have died on Abafar. If not for her that is. Her mind drifted. Her thoughts focused on the moments after the explosion.
The ship trembled from the aftershock of the explosion when it happened. Sirens faded. The chaos had quieted just enough for reality to set in, but Callie hadn’t even gotten that far. She was standing in a corridor outside the medbay, dazed, when the little WAC droid had bounded up to her, his small mechanical limbs clicking with urgency.
“Medic!” he chirped, almost cheerfully, as if he were announcing a victory and not a disaster. “A clone saved us! Quite the heroic display, really!”
Callie barely heard him over the rush in her ears. Her mind had snagged on two words: saved us. Her stomach twisted. She’d assumed, maybe even hoped, that someone had already responded. That recovery teams were already mobilizing. That comms were relaying coordinates. That someone was doing something. But no.
When she checked the mission logs, her numb fingers tapping through the data, there was nothing. No deployment orders. No medevac notice. No beacon signals sent planetside. No one had gone after him. That lack of action, more than the explosion or the droid’s rambling, was what broke her.
She didn’t remember making the decision. One minute she was staring at the screen in disbelief, the next she was in the hangar bay, climbing into one of the auxiliary transports. She had barely trained on the controls, and flew the damn thing running on pure instinct. Her hands shook as she keyed in a basic descent pattern, her breathing shallow and mechanical as she coaxed the vessel into launching. All she had was a vague approximation of where the squad had been last seen and a few topographic references from the WAC droid's rambling. It wasn’t much.
The surface of the planet was still scarred, still bleeding in its own way. Smoke curled from the remains of the skirmish, rising in slow tendrils that painted the horizon in shades of gray. Ash stuck to her boots as she moved through the outskirts of what barely qualified as a settlement, the air thick with the acrid sting of scorched metal and something worse, something human. And then she saw him. Collapsed amid the rubble and ruin, armor scorched and broken, but unmistakably alive.
The trooper wasn’t moving much, just the shallow rise and fall of his chest under the plastoid plates of his armor, a twitch of fingers that hadn’t yet given up. His helmet had been knocked off, and blood traced a dark line down the side of his face, mixing with soot. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, but open.
Callie dropped to her knees beside him without a second thought. Only the bare essentials in her med kit. No field support. Just her hands and her training and the raw, consuming instinct that she had to do something.
She did it because no one else had.
Because in a war where lives were tallied like numbers on a screen, someone had to remember that every number had a name.
And his, was Gregor.
✦ . ⁺ 卌 ⁺ . ✦
The world had tilted askew.
Or maybe he had.
It was hard to tell with the gray sky spinning like that.
The ground beneath him was uneven, cold through the ruined armor at his back. Ash stuck to his skin, to his throat, to his tongue, bitter and metallic. Every breath came thin and hot, like he was dragging air through smoke and glass. His ears rang. Constantly. Like something inside his head had burst and never stopped screaming. The last thing he remembered clearly was the explosion. Heat, a blinding and violent light, and then silence. Not the kind that comes from peace, but the kind that follows when everything else has been torn away.
And now there were fragments. Snatches of sensation. The pulse of pain in his ribs, sharp and hot. The weight in his chest could have been a collapsed lung, or could just be fear. He didn’t know. Couldn’t think straight. His vision swam whenever he opened his eyes, distorted by sweat and blood and concussion.
Light stabbed into his skull when he tried to move. His limbs felt disconnected, like he’d been unplugged and scattered. He couldn’t even remember if the mission had been a success. All he knew was that he was likely going to die here. He had planned to die. That last push, throwing himself between the droid squad and the blast radius, well, he knew he wouldn't survive it. He did it because there hadn’t been time to think. He had a mission. His last, as he saw it. Get those important out of the fray.
So when he heard the footsteps, quick and light across the shattered terrain, he thought maybe his brain was misfiring. A hallucination, the last dying spark conjuring images of a rescue he didn’t deserve. Then the steps kept coming. Closer. Real.
He tried to lift his head but only managed to twitch. The pain sharpened, and the world narrowed to a pulse behind his eyes. He gasped, at least he thought he did. It came out broken, more like a wheeze. He couldn’t call for help. Couldn’t warn them if the droids were still nearby.
A pair of hands landed on his chest, tentative but firm, pressing lightly against the cracked plates of his armor. Not searching for weapons. Not looting. Assessing. There was pressure along the line of his collarbone. Fingers slipped under his pauldron. They stopped at the side of his neck. Pulse check. The contact was clinical, but not cold. She was gentle, despite the urgency in her movements.
He blinked, vision clearing for the briefest moment. Just long enough to see a blurred silhouette against the rising smoke, crouched over him like a shadow given shape. Light framed her from behind, haloing the figure in gold, though it was broken by the dark outline of her frame. Shorter than him. No helmet. He couldn’t make out her face. A voice reached him. Soft, then firmer. He couldn’t process the words, only the rhythm. Steady. Focused. Human. She was speaking to him. Or maybe to herself. Her voice cracked once, but it didn’t break.
Then he felt the sting of medspray against his side, the quick jerk of fabric as she tore open a sealed pack. Field dressing. She worked fast, sealing wounds, stabilizing where she could. Her hands trembled slightly when they touched bare skin. Nerves, probably. Still, she never stopped moving. She could’ve left. Could’ve waited for a real med team, waited for backup. She didn’t. She had come alone. The droid… the one with the round head and endless commentary, hadn’t he been on the ship? Had he told her? He couldn’t hold the thought long enough. It slipped away like oil through fingers.
He tried to move again, to say something, anything, but his mouth didn’t cooperate. His jaw worked, but only a rasp escaped. She looked down. She had noticed. Her hand gripped the strap of his chestplate, bracing him as she shifted. The angle gave him one last glimpse of her face, just a glimpse, but he caught the glint of something silver pinned to her collar. A medic’s badge. GAR. Her eyes, too. They were sharp and tired and burning with something that looked a lot like anger. Anger that he’d been left behind. Anger that no one else had come.
She had.
She wasn’t part of his squad. He didn’t know her name. He couldn’t even see her clearly. In that moment, as the world spun sideways again and his consciousness slipped into the dark, that didn't matter. Someone came back for him.
In a galaxy where soldiers were built to be expendable, that meant everything.
Hiiiii! I am sorry for lack of shirtless clones posting! But here is Clone Captain / Clone Commando Gregor!
So, let’s address the elephant in the room. It is I, Helen Gena. As you can see, I changed my name. I can’t go into detail, but for anything fandom related, and for my own wellbeing, will be under Kristal-Star (or some variation). HelenGena still exists, but only for my irl photography (since my family follows that part of my life). For all tagging lists, I would prefer people to tag Kristal-Star. Maybe down the line I’ll fully explain why the change, but for now, I choose not to.
But onto the drawing, I have NO CLUE if this looks like Gregor. I just… I prefer longer hair Gregor so I’ll probably draw that version later. Other than his hair, I think I didn’t do so hot on this one so any insight for future Gregor would be appreciated. But for now, I think this one is done.
Warnings: Reader is implied to have larger breasts, desperate Gregor, Gregor’s love of breasts, grinding, titfucking, facial, cum eating, slight handjob
A/N: And here we have day two. Again, rather short since it's just kinky smut. Enjoy your juice, Gregor girlies.
MASTERLIST
He’s on you as soon as he walks through the door. His lips are on yours, almost as if he’s trying to devour you. His hands tug at your shirt as he backs you through your small apartment towards your bedroom. You stumble back through the door, Gregor’s hands keeping you steady and locked against him.
“Gregor,” You gasp as he pulls away long enough to tug your shirt over your head. “Missed you too.”
“Kriff, baby.” He groans against your lips, calloused hands dragging down your sides. “Missed you so much. Got hard in the taxi on the trip over.”
You giggle against his lips as he tugs your pants down, hands squeezing your bare ass. He groans against your lips, pulling your body tight against his. You can feel the hard bulge trapped in his pants pressing against your stomach. His hips begin to grind against you, desperately seeking any sort of friction. He keeps his hands on your ass, using your body for leverage as he grinds against your stomach.
You wrap your arms around his neck, gasping as your nipples drag against the rough fabric of his shirt. “Kriff, Gregor!”
He whines against your lips, pausing his movements before he can cum. His hands slide lower, grabbing your thighs before he tosses you onto the bed. His eyes lock onto the way your bare breasts bounce as you land on the mattress, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. He quickly tugs his shirt over his head, revealing his broad chest. He tugs his pants off, revealing his hard, leaking cock.
He crawls onto the bed, situating himself over you. He stares down at you for a moment before pressing his lips to yours. You hum against his lips, dragging your hands up his back. Your fingers find rough spots, scars that weren’t there the last time you were together. His lips drag down your jaw to your neck, tongue and teeth making work of the sensitive skin.
His lips trail further downward, skirting over your sternum before he reaches your breasts. He pushes himself up, straddling your stomach. His hands cup your breasts, gently squeezing them.
“Kriff, I love these tits.” He says, biting his lip as he squishes them together.
“I know, babe.” You say, gasping quietly as his thumbs brush your nipples.
“One of my favorite parts of you.” He says, eyes focused on your breasts.
Your lips part in a quiet gasp as he continues to squeeze and massage them, his eyes wide and lust blown. Your chest rises and falls with your heavy breaths, his thumbs flicking over your nipples again.
“Can I fuck them?” He asks, finally looking up at your face.
You bite your lip, staring up into his eager eyes. “Sure, baby. Go for it.”
He reaches over, grabbing the bottle of lube from your nightstand before squeezing some on his hands. He rubs the lube over your breasts, doing the same to his cock before he shifts himself higher on your stomach, his hard cock coming to rest in the space between your breasts. You move your hands, pushing your breasts together around his cock. He groans, his hands holding onto your headboard as he begins to move his hips, thrusting his cock between your breasts.
You stare up at him as he fucks your breasts, his eyes lowered, watching the way his cock slides back and forth against your skin. Quiet moans leave his lips as he rolls his hips, rocking the bed a bit.
“Kriff,” He hisses, hips jerking a bit. He’s close, already so worked up.
You push your breasts closer around his cock, squeezing it as he moans your name. You close your eyes as hot spurts of cum paint your face and neck, his cock twitching between your breasts. You hold him there as he cums, licking the salty seed that lands on your lips.
He's panting, holding himself up over your head. You hold his gaze, gathering the cum on your neck before licking it off your fingers. He lets out a pathetic groan, eyes blowing wide as he watches you clean yourself of his cum.
He's already growing hard again where he's resting on your chest. You wrap your hand around his cock, squeezing the base lightly.
"So needy." You smirk. "Missed me that much, huh?"
His lips part as he nods, another groan leaving him as you squeeze him once more.
"Let me take care of you, baby." You say, slowly pumping his cock.
Summary: Have you ever wondered what transpired at the Battle of Sarrish and what Gregor was thinking while he found out who he really was in the "Missing In Action" episode? Me too. Keep reading to find out!
Pairing: Gregor/OC!Cassia Nu
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Depression, Violence, Angst
WC: 3.1K
A/N: I know this is two months late and I appreciate your patience. I also appreciate you all loving Cassia like I love her. <3
Gregor isn’t sure how this mission has gone so wrong. Sarrish was supposed to be easy. A quick in and out. Something the Foxtrot group had done hundreds of times before.
“FALL BACK!” Gregor shouts to his men. “FALL BACK!”
Gregor shoots at the Sarrishians that are starting to gain in numbers, looking around for his brothers but only sees Dyer as he’s retreating. Gregor tries shouting to him, but Dyer doesn’t hear him as he gets shot and drops. Gregor wants to shut his eyes, to block out the awful loss he’s suffered today. It’s only him left. There’s no one else.
Except Cassia. He has to keep going. For her.
Cassia’s smile fills Gregor’s mind as he starts running for a ship. It seems empty. Maybe he can escape and fly back to base and alert General Kenobi of what’s happened. Would he be considered a deserter? Surely not.
Gregor gets to the Sarrishian ship as fast as he can, glancing around him to make sure he’s not being followed. As soon as he shuts the door, he makes his way to the cockpit and puts his gun down, starting up the ship as quickly and discreetly as he can. Once he takes off, he starts flying back toward where base is set up. He’d have to tell General Kenobi about how badly the mission went, but maybe he’d be granted leave and he could see Cassia, if even only for a few days at most. It would be better than dying here on the battlefield.
All of a sudden there’s a cold metal pressed up against Gregor’s throat and he quickly realizes it’s a knife. Someone must have been onboard and he missed them.
Kriff, Gregor thinks as he struggles against the Sarrishian.
The Sarrishian says something in his native tongue but Gregor doesn’t understand Sarrishian. He tries to lurch the ship forward and up as he heads toward space. The Sarrishian falls back to the back of the cockpit, struggling against the wall. Gregor clicks his seatbelt into place and grabs his gun and shoots the Sarrishian.
As luck would have it, the ship starts getting shot at. Gregor rolls his eyes, cursing to himself. He starts flying toward the next planet, which he thinks is Abafar, if he remembers quickly.
All of sudden, when he reaches Abafar’s atmosphere, a huge explosion takes out the hull of the ship, causing the ship’s alarm to go wild.
“How the hell do they have the technology for that?” Gregor starts pushing buttons, and prepares for impact. “Good thing I can handle a rough landing I guess.”
When Gregor hits the ground, he’s proven wrong as his head gets slammed against the dash and everything goes black.
When Gregor wakes up, he isn’t sure where he’s at and why he is where he is.
Cassia wakes up with a start, finding her cheeks wet as she cups her own cheeks. It’s been eight months and she still can’t sleep well. Nightmares of Gregor being taken from her haunt her every single night.
She tried therapy for a while, but felt that she was getting nowhere. She tried the tricks that the therapist offered but nothing worked.
Cassia looks at the alert tooka next to her, staring at her with wide, concerned eyes.
“I’m okay, Wedge.” She pets his head and he makes himself comfy in her lap as she wipes her eyes and cheeks, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself.
There’s a rattle on the doorknob to her room and momentarily, Cassia’s heart clenches, hoping for him, even though she knows it’s Mara on the other side. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop hoping for Gregor.
Mara walks in, sitting on the bed, next to her.
Since Mara lives there now, she doesn’t bother knocking. Mara moved in after a couple weeks of not knowing if Cassia was okay. She wouldn’t answer the phone, open the shop, or leave the apartment. The only thing she’d been able to do is take care of Wedge.
Things are relatively back to normal now. Except Mara doesn’t bring Dyer around, which Cassia feels terrible about. Mara shouldn’t have to hide any part of herself from Cassia. This is Mara’s first real relationship in so long.
“Do you want breakfast?” Mara asks.
Cassia shakes her head.
“Then, let’s go for a walk, hm?” Mara gives a sympathetic smile.
Cassia knows this trick. If she won’t eat, then she has to leave the apartment and get some sunlight.
“Okay.” Cassia sighs.
“I’ll put Wedge in his harness.” Mara squeezes her hand before picking up the Tooka and walking out of the room.
Cassia lies back down for a second before Mara’s voice fills the room from the doorway. “No laying back down.”
Cassia rolls her eyes, amused, and sits back up. She could do it today. Possibly. Getting out of bed, she throws on a sweater and pants. Looking in the mirror, she sees just how tired she looks. Puffy eyed, constantly. She’s aware she needs to get it together. But for now, puffy eyes and a sweater is all she can manage.
When Cassia finally emerges from her room, Mara greets her with a cup of caf, holding her hairbrush.
“You sit and drink, I brush.” Mara gives her a reassuring smile, guiding her to the couch.
The sun starts peeking through the living room curtains and Cassia watches the silhouette of the Coruscant skyline as Mara brushes her hair while she drinks her caf.
“You should invite Dyer to go with us.” Cassia murmurs, looking at Mara in the mirror in front of her.
Mara’s hands falter slightly and then continue brushing. “We broke up.”
“What?” Cassia pulls away to look back at Mara.
“It wasn’t working out.” Mara lies.
Cassia knows when Mara lies and Mara knows that Cassia knows. That’s when Cassia realizes it's because of her.
“Mara…”
“Cash, don’t worry. It was a friendly breakup. I can comm him anytime I want.” She squeezes Cassia’s shoulder. “Now, finish your caf so we can go.”
Cassia turns around and looks at Mara’s reflection in the mirror. She’d been so absorbed by her own grief, she didn’t even notice her best friend’s breakup.
“Mar… I’m so sorry.” She murmurs.
“Don’t be. Now, drink.” She kisses Cassia on the top of the head and starts braiding Cassia’s hair.
You have to be better, Cassia tells herself, you can’t shut down again.
The park that they go to isn’t the one that he took her to. It’s a different one. A closer one to the apartment. It’s surprisingly busy for an early morning and Cassia allows herself to take in the morning sun, realizing how good it feels on her skin. She didn’t realize how badly she needed this.
“Feels good, right?” Mara teases her.
“Yes.” Cassia rolls her eyes, smiling.
It was the first time in a long time that she actually smiled. She missed the feeling. Maybe things can start going back to a relative normal.
“Here. Eat this.” Mara pulls a sandwich out of her bag and hands it to Cassia.
The action may seem so small to someone else, but to her, it was everything. Mara was the only person she had left and she never stopped looking out for her, even when Cassia became difficult to be around.
“I love you.” Cassia rests her head on Mara’s shoulder.
“I love you too. No matter what.” Mara pats her leg.
Cassia sits up and starts eating the sandwich. It was delicious as always. Mara was the better cook of the two, for sure.
“Mm.” Cassia hums.
“I knew you were hungry.” Mara smirks.
“Glad you did, because I didn’t.” Cassia looks down at Wedge sitting patiently at their feet, watching all the people going by.
Mara was more than just her best friend or business partner. She was her sister. Her family.
Abafar, Outer Rim
“Gregor, take the garbage out, it’s getting smelly! Do you not smell that?” Gregor’s boss, Borkus shouts at him.
“Oh, sorry, Borkus. I was finishing up the last of the dishes.” Gregor apologizes, quickly going to grab the garbage pail underneath Borkus’ grill station.
“Be quick about it. Table three is almost done.” Borkus barks.
“Sure thing, boss.” Gregor nods, heading toward the back door of the diner.
He’d been working since early that morning for the breakfast rush and he was already exhausted. Borkus had been running him like a droid.
Hm. Not a bad idea, a service droid, he thinks to himself as he dumps the pail over the other garbage.
“UGH!” Gregor hears below him.
Gregor steps back, concerned, finding an angry looking Zilkan glaring up at him as he wipes the trash off of himself.
“Oh, uh, I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there.” Gregor apologizes, feeling terrible. “Look, I could get you some food, but uh, normally people come in the front door. But there's no problem.”
The Zilkan stares up at him, squinting tightly, trying to get a look at him. Gregor’s still confused.
“You do know that you’re eating garbage, right?” Gregor asks, gesturing toward the piled up trash behind the Zilkan.
The Zilkan tosses the stale bread aside and points up at him. “You’re a clone.”
“Excuse me?” Gregor asks. “Uh… I- I wouldn’t know about that. My- my name’s Gregor. Uh, wait. What’s a clone?”
The Zilkan climbs up on the dumpster to jump over onto Borkus’ trash pail to get a good look at Gregor. As soon as he meets him at eye level, he grabs Gregor’s face and pulls it toward him. It’s incredibly uncomfortable and very confusing. This man is acting like he knows Gregor. And what the hell is a clone?
The Zilkan exampines Gregor’s face, looking in each eye before pulling away.
“You are a clone.” The Zilkan laughs. “Are you working undercover?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gregor insists.
“Listen to me, soldier.” The little guy continues. “Whatever your assignment is, it can’t be more important than mine.”
“It is his first real mission.” The WAC-47 droid speaks up, obviously irritating his counterpart. “He is just a map reader.”
Gregor looks between the two of them. Where the hell did these guys come from?
“Don’t listen to that ignoramus!” The Zilkan shouts. “You are a clone and a soldier in the Republic Army, and I order you to take me to your ship. We need to get back to Coruscant immediately.”
Now, it’s just getting too weird. This man must be off his rocker. What Army? What ship? And he still doesn’t know what the hell a clone is.
“Uh, look friend, I was just trying to help. I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way.” Gregor lowers the pail gently to let the Zilkan down.
“I do not think that soldier believes you are a colonel, uh, colonel.” The droid salutes at the Zilkan.
All of a sudden, Borkus’ loud angry voice fills the back area, “Gregor! Get back to work!”
“Uh, excuse me, I gotta go.” Gregor stands back, giving the two little guys an apologetic look. “I don’t wanna lose my job.”
Gregor walks back into the diner, closing the door behind him, still confused.
At the end of the shift, Borkus and Gregor lock up the diner. It was a long day and Gregor was still thinking about what the Zilkan had said to him.
“So, uh, Boss… you know, I was just wondering…” Gregor scratches the back of his head.
“No, you can’t have a raise, Gregor.” Borkus shakes his head, locking the door to the diner, before waving him off.
Gregor follows him toward their apartments. “Oh… no, no, no… I- I don’t want a raise, sir. I- I just wanted to know, what’s a clone? Someone told me I was a clone today. They insisted.”
“Ha. A clone?” Borkus laughs. “Clones fight battles across the galaxy. They are brave soldiers. Does that sound like you?”
Borkus really wasn’t a nice guy, but he had given Gregor a job and helped pay his rent. He’s not in a position to challenge the man.
“You’re a dishwasher, Gregor. Forget about clones or anything like that.” Borkus grabs Gregor by the shoulder. “You have good life here, a simple life. More than you had when Borkus found you.”
Borkus folds his arms as if he’s disappointed in Gregor.
“I- I know, sir. And I appreciate everything that you’ve done, believe me. But I- I thought maybe you could tell me… how… How did I get here? Where did you find me?”
Gregor has tried and tried and tried again to remember just exactly how he got here, but he can’t. He figured something must have happened to make his memory this bad, right? Did he hit his head or something?
“Enough questions.” Borkus turns away. “Go home. Sleep. Come back tomorrow. Do your job.”
Gregor hangs his head in slight shame. He didn’t mean to upset his boss. Honestly, he just needed answers. Anything.
“I don’t want to hear that word “clone” again, Understand?” Borkus asks before walking off toward his home.
It’s just become more obvious that Borkus isn’t telling Gregor something. What it is, he doesn’t know yet. But, he knows he’s going to try to find out.
When Gregor gets home, he goes straight to the fridge to take a swig of wine that Milane, the woman next door, had gifted him a week ago for being a good neighbor and getting her tooka off the roof. He had told her it wasn’t a big deal but she insisted on repaying him somehow and while he appreciated the gesture, he was pretty sure if he didn’t take the wine, she was going to offer something else, something he wasn’t interested in.
He grabs his book out of his bag and looks at it, running his fingers down the cover before opening it like he always does, finding a heart next to the name Cassia and a wilted flowery weed braid that was clearly a bracelet at some point. Who Cassia was, he has no idea but he liked the heart and the way she signed her name. It was swirly and feminine and somehow with the flowery bracelet, it all felt so… personal?
All of a sudden, there’s a man in the room… “Captain Rex, reporting for duty.”
No, not a man… It’s Gregor? Without hair? He looks around, confused. “What-”
Gregor realizes it’s a hologram and steps toward it, cautiously, running his hand through it, still alert and confused. “I… I don’t understand… that’s me?”
“No, that’s Captain Rex.” Gregor hears the Zilkan’s voice behind him. “He’s a clone of the Republic Army. Just like you, Gregor.”
“I can’t believe it.” Gregor looks back at the clone captain, full of even more questions.
A little bit later, after Gascon, the Zilkan, and his droid friends try to explain to Gregor what he is and where he’s from. He’s reeling, trying to keep up.
“Okay… Slow down, slow down.” Gregor tries to keep up. “So, you’re telling me that there are more of these clones?”
“Millions. A whole army’s worth.” The spunky little WAC-47 droid chimes in.
“Uh-huh…” Gregor scratches his chin. “And they all look exactly like me?”
“No, those clones are warriors, professional soldiers created by the Republic, trained to fight, and die, if necessary, in our war against the Separatists. They’re not dishwashers living in some vermin-infested hovel.” Gascon tells him, firmly, clearly trying to get him to remember who he is.
“Look, I’m lucky to live in this place. Mr. Borkus says my salary doesn’t even begin to cover the rent, so he pays the difference for me.” Gregor turns around, looking at the book, flipping open the cover page to look at Cassia’s name again.
He can’t help but start to wonder… were you a part of his former life? Were you someone he knew? If so… did you miss him terribly or think that he was dead?
“Don’t you get it, Gregor?” Gascon asks him, “You’re his slave… We need to figure out who you really are, how you got here… Are you sure you really don’t remember anything?”
“All I remember is waking up on a transport.” Gregor replies. “Somehow, we crashed on Abafar. And, well… Mr. Borkus says I have amnesia.”
“Hmm…” Gascon nods. “Every clone has an identifying code on their wrist. Your military records will be in the database. Scan him, R2.”
The blue and white astromech rolls toward Gregor, and he sits down and holds out his wrist so R2 can scan him easier. This was all still so overwhelming to Gregor. He wasn’t just some dishwasher… He was a soldier.
R2 projects an ID and Gascon moves over for a better look.
“Impressive. Gregor, your designation is CC-5576-39. You were a captain and part of an elite squad. A clone commando.” Gascon tells him. R2 beeps and the projection goes away. “Your file says you were reported missing in action during the Battle of Sarrish.”
Gascon lowers his head, placing his hand over his heart and the droids all beep with sadness. The Battle of Sarrish…
“Sarrish… Sarrish…” that sounds so familiar… “Wait… What was the Battle of Sarrish?”
“It was one of the Republic’s most devastating losses…” Gascon tells him.
“Sarrish…” Gregor mumbles again, starting to feel a picture piece itself together in the back of his mind. It still seems so groggy… yet so familiar.
His men. His brothers… all dropping… the Sarrishians out numbering them… Gregor running toward a ship… Flying the ship… and then crashing… It all starts to make itself known… after all this time.
“Yes… now I remember…” Gregor sighs. “So many soldiers were dying…”
“Do you remember how you escaped Sarrish?” Gascon murmurs.
Gregor tells him about trying to get away from the Sarrishians so that he could warn the General. He was so close and then they chased him to Abafar. He mentions all the bodies… the bodies of his brothers… how they were everywhere. And then he looks at the book in his hands again.
Slowly… a picture of a young woman with beautiful brown eyes appears in his memory. Cassia. He remembers her. He remembers her smile. He remembers her eyes. He remembers her laugh. He remembers Wedge. He remembers laying in bed with her. Tears immediately spring to Gregor’s eyes as he starts to remember again.
He needs to get back to Cassia as soon as possible.
I got this wonderful request from @nonsenseandm3mes
*waves shyly*. Hi! Um....may I have a fic with prompt 23 where they find each other again? Whatever two characters of your choice?
And yes absolutely! I hope this is satisfactory! I thought it suited this fellow entirely too much! Also a tag for my friend @potion-approaching999 as I know she loves Gregor too! <3
Masterlist | Prince of Dathomir Masterlist (Maul x Nightsister OC) | Read on AO3 | Prompt Challenges | Ko-fi
Contains/Warnings: A bit of angst, fluff, grieving etc
Prompt: 23. “Don’t cry. We’ll find each other again.”
Alone with Clone Commando Captain Gregor
This was hell. You couldn’t believe this. They were shipping him out already?! He’d just gotten back, and you’d barely had three days with him before he’d returned from a briefing with his head hung low. You knew from the grim expression that he’d been called forth to another battle. You held him for a long time after that moment. Just clinging to his strong frame, feeling the comfort of his broad chest and your arms around his neck. You didn’t want to leave, Gregor always gave the best hugs.
“Where did they say you had to go?” you ask quietly, barely wanting to acknowledge the fact that soon you would have to spend your nights and days alone again for… well you had no idea how long. He let out a sigh, his large warm hands caressing up and down your back slowly, offering what little comfort he could provide, considering the situation. Your fingers traced little indiscernible patterns on the back of his neck where his hair was trimmed short. The man hummed and let his head drop to rest on your shoulder.
“It’s one of the little planets in the outer rim, not to worry, we will be back before you know it, hm?” he replied with a little half smile. You knew it was war, you knew he was a soldier, you knew it was necessary. You knew all this when you met him and that having any of these moments were a blessing. Still, you couldn’t help but feel your chest tighten with this pain and the fears settling in your belly about it. You didn’t know what it was, but the anguish was stronger than it had been before. You felt hot tears prick at your eyes, your chest tight as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and you sniffed, unable to hide the sadness you felt anymore. He pulled back suddenly and looked you over, his bourbon coloured eyes looking over your face as the first tear fell.
“Hey…” he began softly, a gentle hushed tone as he cupped your cheeks in his large warm hands. “Hey, it’s alright, butterfly, it’s gonna be alright. Don’t cry. We’ll find each other again,” he soothed, running one of his hands over your hair gently. “I’ll be back here to bother you before you can even miss me.” he chuckled.
“I think that’s impossible.” you mumbled in return.
“Well, cyare, I look forward to seeing that pretty smile you give me when we see each other again.” You nod and hold him a little longer, letting him shift you into his lap and hug you tight for a while longer.
“How long til you ship out?”
“I have to be back in the barracks in a few hours, we depart pretty early. Foxtrot and the 212th boys,” he grinned, “can’t go wrong with that team up!” You nod in response.
“Where did you say you were headed?” you ask, your head resting on his shoulder.
“Outer Rim, some planet called Sarrish.”
----
Sarrish. It was a word you cursed for months afterwards. A word that had burned itself to your heart and scarred it for life. You knew you would not be the same. The devastation, the loss. Just… not knowing. The representatives of the GAR hadn’t bothered to tell you, there was no letter… it wasn’t til weeks after you heard about the result of the battle that someone finally found you with answers. You’d been calling and calling the administrators for any information on your beloved Gregor but… they’d given you nothing. The clones were just property to them. It was when Marshall Commander Cody approached you one day, that you learned more. For a heartbeat you’d thought it was Gregor himself… but it wasn’t. Just his brother, one of millions. The scar on the left side of his face and the subtle differences in expression and posture was further proof that it wasn’t him.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, miss,” he began, explaining that he had only just realised you hadn’t been told. That he wasn’t supposed to be there, but Captain Gregor had mentioned a girl and he thought it only right to find you. Bless Commander Cody. He was a good man, and you knew it, despite the overwhelming misery that clawed its way through your body from the feet up. He’d held your hand when you broke down. Missing in action he said. Presumed dead. They had never found his body. They weren’t even going to have a funeral! You’d managed to hold it mostly together until the door closed, but you couldn’t keep in the scream of anguish that ripped itself from your lungs as you fell against the closed door. There was no way that Cody didn’t hear it.
The days after that were a blur. They blended into one another and you didn’t smile for at least two weeks after that visit. Days dragged into weeks, then into months and the deep despair and rotting black feeling in the pit of your stomach didn’t lessen, but you managed to work around it or push on in spite of the overwhelming ache you felt in your body. It wasn’t just your chest either. It hurt in your gut, your head, your heart, your arms and legs, this aching hollowed out feeling that didn’t seem to ease no matter how much you tried to warm yourself with clothes or food or idle conversation. It just… was missing that bright spark that gave your life colour. Everything just felt so cold and grey and miserable. You felt your heart clench every time you heard a Clone’s voice or saw one of his brothers in the holonet. You had to come to terms with it.. That things were different now… that he was… gone.
It was months later when you got another call. You hardly expected to hear from Commander Cody again. Why was he calling you?
“There’s been news.” he said bluntly as soon as you greeted him. A wave of emotion hit you in the chest. Things you had only just been getting over hit you again in full force. “Come down to the location I am sending you, I can’t say more, I’m afraid.” The call ended shortly after that, and the Commander had urged you to come down quickly. With no idea what they needed from you, you moved on almost autopilot, getting transport down to the coordinates you’d been sent. It was a medical facility, not one you’d been to before. There was a lot of confusion as to why you were there and the people in the front desk couldn’t give you any information, leaving you to wait for Commander Cody to return. It felt like ages until a Clone in familiar yellow and white plastoid approached.
“Good, you’re here, I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Miss,” he bowed his head in greeting, his words and steps rushed as he gestured for you to rise and follow him.
“Where are we going?” you ask urgently, having to nearly run to keep pace with his long strides. He said something you didn’t quite catch before he had a call on his commlink, speaking to a General, unable to answer your many questions. He led you down a busy hall and everyone working seemed to part instinctively for him as he led you to one of the rooms at the end of the hall. He paused at the door and his lips curved into a slight smile.
“I’ll give you a moment,” he nodded to the interior of the room and departed just as quickly as he’d arrived. Hesitantly, you stepped into the room and looked to the sole occupant of the bed before you. It was a clone, covered in bandages and medical wrapping. He sat up in the bed and seemed to be fiddling with a datapad. Your heart clenched as you looked him over, eyes wide. He looked up and you felt your lips part. You knew those eyes.
“Hey, butterfly,” he grinned weakly. Tears sprung to your own eyes as you had to cover your mouth to stifle the scream of sheer shock and relief that fought to burst from your lungs. He was alive. You nearly launched across the room into his arms only pulling back when you heard him gasp in pain.
“Sorry!” you hiss in a panic, “I’m so sorry… I… I thought you were-- they said you were--”
“No chance of that, cyare,” he giggled. A little whinny sound, high pitched and bubbly. You’d not heard that sound before but… it was kind of cute sounding. “I told you I would be back.” You held tight to him, making sure not to press against his injuries as he shuffled over for you to prop yourself on the edge of the medical cot. You rested your head on his shoulder, the tears flowing freely just as they had the night he’d left, sobbing hard against him. Though this time these tears were much happier. That warmth you had been missing, it was back, filling the hole in your heart and pushing away that hollow cold ache that had persisted since the day you’d heard the news. Eventually the wracking sobs slowed and settled, the emotion somewhat quelled.
“You lied to me…” you mumbled against his shoulder and he pulled back to look at you.
“What?”
“You lied,” you accused, face streaked with tears and a pout to your lips. “You said you’d be back before I could miss you…” you manage weakly, “but I did miss you.” He let out another of those little giggles.
“I missed you too.”
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