Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.
Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)
Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon, Cara (child OFC)
Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, OFC is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 816
Author's Note: I came up with this sad short fic while I was on my social media hiatus. If I have to suffer, then y'all are going to suffer with me. It's sad. It's really sad. I might make this into a full-length fic at some point, where Wolffe hires a nanny for his daughter and they fall in love, or something sappy like that. As always, please enjoy 💚
Part 1 || Next
Series Masterlist
Wolffe stood frozen in the med-center hallway, staring down an endless sterile corridor with a small hand wrapped tightly around his finger. A pulmonary embolism, they said. A blood clot in the lungs, they said. She was so young, they said. Could've happened to anyone, they said. But it didn't happen to anyone. It happened to his wife. Within moments, and by no choice of his own, Wolffe became a single father in a galaxy torn by war. The light of his life, snuffed out like a candle.
"Daddy?" his daughter said while tugging on his hand.
Wolffe snapped out of his daze and looked down at her. "Yeah, baby?"
"Where's mommy?" she asked.
"Mommy…" Wolffe paused, biting his lip as he looked anywhere but her face. "Mommy had to go."
"Go where?" she asked.
"Far away," he said.
"But why?" she asked. "I love mommy."
"I love mommy too, baby," he said, barely able to keep his emotions at bay.
"Then why'd she leave?" she whined.
"Listen to me, Cara," he knelt down onto the ground in front of her. "Sometimes… Sometimes people have to leave and there's nothing we can do about it."
"When's she coming back?" she asked.
"She's not," he choked.
"I want mommy!" she yelled.
Wolffe picked up his crying child and held her against his chest, letting his own tears fall silently out of her view. "I know, baby. I know. I want her too."
"I'm not leaving without mommy!" she wailed.
"Please, baby," he soothed as she cried, inconsolable.
"Hush little one," a soft voice came from behind Wolffe.
Wolffe turned around and sighed in relief. "General."
"I came as soon as I heard," Plo said. He placed a gentle hand on Wolffe's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Wolffe said while bouncing his daughter to try and calm her down.
"Come here little one," Plo said as he stretched out his arms to take Cara from Wolffe.
Wolffe peeled his distraught daughter off of his chest and handed her to Plo, then collapsed down onto the bench against the wall. He hung his head in his hands and sobbed quietly. His first real moment to fully process the loss of his wife.
Plo stepped away from Wolffe to give him some privacy and continued to bounce Cara to soothe her.
The little girl's crying echoed throughout the hallway, sending sharp pains through Wolffe's already broken heart. He wanted her to stop crying so he could stop crying. She was just a child, and she didn't understand what was happening, which made the situation all the more difficult. How could he console her when he could barely hold it together himself? The last time he felt this helpless was the Malevolence incident, and even then he held it together better than right now.
He didn't know how to be a mother. He was a soldier, a commander. How was he going to fight in the War and raise a child? It was practically impossible. He couldn't just quit the War either. No clone could. His wife was a saint. She took care of everything while he was away on campaigns. The only thing he needed to do when he came home was hug his little baby girl and dote on her until he had to leave again. He gave his family everything he had, and everything he didn't have.
He always knew he was going to be an absent father because of the War, but he didn't in his wildest imagination think that his wife would die before him. They had contingency plans for if he died, but they didn't make any plans for if she died. That entire scenario came out of left-field and blindsided him. They were eating dinner like they always did when he came home for shore leave. How in the universe did they go from eating dinner to her being dead? He'd never understand it.
"General," Wolffe said through his tears. "What do I do now?"
Plo studied the devastated commander and softened his eyes. "You take each moment as it comes."
"But what do I do?" Wolffe pleaded with a hitch in his throat. "The funeral, my kid, my troops, my–"
"Arrangements are being made as we speak," Plo interrupted. "You are not alone in this despair, Wolffe."
Wolffe looked up at his general and a menial, barely noticeable smile formed at the corner of his mouth, but it was betrayed by the streaks of tears that lined his flushed cheeks. He said nothing in response, afraid that if he uttered even one more syllable, he'd lose the last bit of composure he'd maintained. However, the words of his general rang true. He was not alone. He had never been alone. He had his general and an entire battalion of brothers to lean on. His family was here for him.
Welcome Company pt.3 "Nightmares & Knocks on the Wall"
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone! You're all so wonderful! <3
Much to her dismay, the rain didn’t let up into the morning. From out the window deep puddles had begun collecting on the street, and not even the drain grates were keeping up. Further in the distance she looked out at the barracks roofs, before checking the holopad on her side table. First, a message from Rex.
“Everyone made it back in one piece. Only I heard that you weren’t accepting multiples for the next two days. I hope it’s nothing to do with you, and all to do with one of my vod.”
It was all in good faith. Rex wasn’t subtle when it came to his proclivity of being protective. Once a simple stomach virus put her out of hosting troopers for a week, only to find Rex banging on the door, insisting to let him in. Unfortunate Kix had been drug along on his only day off to make certain that she wasn’t in more serious condition than she was letting on. Admittedly, a week was a bit too long. But it was all because she didn’t want any of them getting sick either. But at that point she wasn’t aware of their modified immune systems. They physically couldn’t get sick from her if they wanted to.
“You need a week’s rest after losing this much water… But we can’t get sick anyways. It’s just a nat-born thing doll.” Kix had said with a sheepish smile. He was always one of the sweetest boys, and she couldn’t help but love when he had the opportunity to come and see her. Plus, not many clones drank tea, preferring the more immediate effect of caf. But Kix always asked if she had some type of tea in stock. To his surprise, she always kept a variety for him to choose from.
She calmed Rex’s fears with a simple response. One that would surely make the Captain, and all those who were made privy quite clear on why the key was no longer under the porchlight.
“I’ve got a Wolf at home.” She smiled at the immediate response.
“Be careful. I’ve heard they bite.”
And with that, she left the holopad on her bed and made her way to the kitchen where the most silent breakfast on Coruscant was made every morning. Apparently Wolffe liked a sweet breakfast. Something she hadn’t expected out of such man as himself. But nevertheless, she thought about making his “flat bread and blue sauce” with a smile. She took a moment to type on the kitchen’s holoboard, unable to resist in using Wolffe’s own description of her meal. The blue fruit was easy to reduce into a thick syrup with the right amount of sugar and Dac honey that left the best aftertaste. As for Wolffe’s “flat bread” that was all homemade as well, with a recipe that her mother used when she was growing up. It wasn’t a normal breakfast for any of the other boys, who usually preferred more meat, and a little heavier bread. But when the Commander hadn’t been specific to what he’d wanted, the girl couldn’t help but jump at the opportunity to give a clone something sweet.
It was quite evil really, where the Kaminoans hardly let them eat anything other than ground vitamins compressed into a crumbly bar. However seeing as Wolffe practically devoured the entire plate, it was more than acceptable in her conscious to let him have whatever he wanted.
Blue sauce or not. She gave a little snicker at that.
When the first creak of the floorboards whined, she packed up the remaining things on the counter and slid the first helping into the hotbox. And she carried the second back into her wing, where a smaller kitchenette shared the same wall. There she could finish the second -and third helpings- without hardly a second wasted gathering everything. Only once she was back in the smaller kitchen did she hear the tap in the kitchen turn on. A glass filling, and then a long pause before the glass was filled again. She’d just finished the second plate of food when the hotbox light turned green on her side, signaling that the door had been opened and filled.
After hearing a few steps taken away from her, she gave a soft tap as to draw his attention back.
When the light turned red a wave of accomplishment flooded her entire body. Warmth radiating out to her fingertips and toes in a positively addictive way she still couldn’t get enough of. But the deep rumbling sound of the Commander’s voice had her almost stumbling backwards.
“What you’re doing here is… well appreciated.”
Her throat contracted in terror, wondering if he meant for her to reply back. He was the one who said no contact… but she had said it would be possible for her to hear him. So maybe not? In the pause of silence, she hoped he would make it a little clearer.
For a long while she sat on the kitchen counter, replaying the sound of the Commander’s voice in her head. Trying to figure out why he was so good at confusing her without even doing anything that she hadn’t already seen or heard. The troopers all had their differences that slowly came to the surface, whether it was their personality, or even the small idiosyncrasies that they did their best to hide from those who wouldn’t approve. Yet the Commander was able to prove himself far unique to his brothers without even a full-hearted attempt at it.
The red light turned green again, and she repeated her process with the third stack of pancakes. A new record for him. Another little secret she liked to keep from even the closest of the men. Getting them to eat -maybe a little more than usual- always made her happy. Men that hardly ate anything in comparison to their body mass was practically insane. So allowing them to eat until they felt truly full, that was well worth it.
Again she felt her heart in her throat when the lowest, quietest chuckle permeated the walls and made it to her ears. His laugh was thicker than the Bluefruit syrup, and she couldn’t help but think that it was so much sweeter. Sinfully so.
“I’m full.” She heard him shut the door to the hotbox. “But… I’ll make you a deal.” Her heart practically stopped when another low rumble of a chuckle reached her.
“I had my breakfast, and after making all that I’m sure you haven’t eaten. So I’ll sit and wait for you, then I’ll clean your dishes like you’ve washed mine. I also want to see an empty plate.” He paused, waiting for her to make the next move.
It was enough to have her hands shaking as she reached for the door to the hotbox. There was no way on Coruscant she would be able to finish one of those pancakes, let alone the entire trooper-sized portion she’d made. Taking a deep breath, she stilled herself to open the door where she found the plate still sitting. Only this time there was silverware sitting next to the plate, and a glass of the milk she’d offered Wolffe during his last stay. Kriffing hell…
She ate almost everything, much to her surprise. But after realizing that she hadn’t eaten since long before his arrival it wasn’t really that hard to believe that she was hungry. Only then did she return the dishes to the box, and give a slight tap. Even shuffling out of the way of the box, like it would be remotely possible for the Commander to see her through the closed side. A second later, dishes were shuffled out of the box and over into the sink where the tap was turned on without a single word from Wolffe. The glass clinked against the plate as the girl imagined just what it looked like to see the tall soldier bending over her sink with his sleeves pulled up high enough not to get wet.
What a sight it would be. Big and tough Commander Wolffe of the 104th Attack Battalion, doing dishes for her. Motivation aside, the girl found herself wishing that she could just peak around the corner and get a small glimpse. But with the way she was struggling to keep her breathing under control, Wolffe would hear her coming a mile away. Instead she just closed her eyes, letting her overactive imagination roam far further than she’d normally allow; Picturing that same little slip of skin showing sinewy muscles over his hips and lower back.
Maybe Rex’s warning wasn’t as big of a joke as she’d thought…
***
Wolffe didn’t know what it was that made him do it. What possessed him to break the limit he’d set during his stay. At the same time, he was wondering if he could change his mind. Hearing the door to the hotbox answered at least one question he had. She could open it from the back side, which probably meant that the house was mirrored. But his overly confident assumption that she’d not eaten had spilled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Basely, he knew it was the unconditional acts of kindness that made Wolffe so willing to do something in return. Even if it meant bargaining with this girl on the other side of the wall.
But all his excuses didn’t account for why she’d obliged his request. Either she didn’t mind, and -hopefully- took it as an act of camaraderie. Or she was too frightened to say no. Maybe he’d scared her with his tone and she didn’t feel comfortable saying otherwise. It made his chest burn with the desire to ask her, and maybe find out what she thought about him. But that kriffing holopad he’d filled out lingered. Maybe she was just trying to abide by the rules he’d set for his stay. Most importantly, he wanted to know if he could change those boundaries.
He’d have to wait for the right time.
Until then, he’d do his best to not make a complete ass of himself by staying out of the girl’s way so she could live in her house as freely as she would if he wasn’t here. In fact, he was already in the mindset to find that strange chair of hers, and take a closer look at it. Wherever she’d got it, it must’ve been important enough to fix it, or leave it like it was.
He kept a sharp eye open for the girl, or maybe a way for her to get around so quietly. But as he opened the door to the room with the strange rocking chair, he couldn’t see anything particularly different about the house that would aid in the girl’s sneaking ability. Inside the small room Wolffe spent a little time examining the room around him better. A small shelf with flimsy books sat on the opposite wall of the rocking chair, and despite their being carpet in the room there was a fur-like rug that covered most of the room in even more cushioning. It felt warm in here, despite the rain that still poured out of the sky and a two lights in the opposing corners of the room left a yellow glow so unlike anything Wolffe was used to.
Mechanics wasn’t something Wolffe thought himself an expert on. But for some reason on another he could himself squatting down to get a better look at the chair in question. He pushed on the armrest, letting the chair rock back and forth a couple times, before guiding a hand under the curved blades that the chair used to rock. The wood felt smooth, and planes flat to a degree of accuracy that finally made it obvious to Wolffe that the chair had been made that way purposefully. He smiled in appreciation of the strange chair before taking a careful seat in it. Fully prepared this time for the falling sensation that followed his weight transfer.
“I’ve never…” he murmured quietly, doing just as he had before; Rocking himself until the perfect rhythm had his body pulling him towards sleep. Even with the soft glow of the lights, Wolffe didn’t have any trouble falling asleep in the middle of the day. For the second time in his life.
His deep breaths could be hear in the room across the hallway where the girl had curled up on the couch under the window to keep an eye on the on-coming storm clouds. He wasn’t aware of her protective watch over him, looking much like he himself did when taking his turn on overnight patrols. But instead of a blaster in her hands, she held thickly yarned material to which she looped over and over again in hopes that she would have these last few blankets done before Wolffe and his brothers were called back out for another three months.
***
He slept late into the evening, sprawled across the rocking chair with his arms locked tight across his chest, holding onto as much body heat as he could. Even in this safe place, he desired that warmth. The books on the shelving caught the attention of his drowsy mind, pulling him out of the comfortable chair and towards a book with a red leather cover. A gold substance had been used to highlight the letters stamped in the spine. Carefully he pulled the book out and let the thin pages flutter apart, almost stunned at the ancient way people used to read. He’d never seen anything other than a holopad. After reading a small portion, he realized that it wasn’t meant for adults. It was for children.
Surprisingly the language was very simple, and many rhymes were used. Wolffe couldn’t remember ever being given anything that wasn’t meant for learning. A little story about some fictional creature hardly had any meaning behind it. But something about the knowledge of the book itself made Wolffe that much more aware of how different he was from the girl living here.
He wasn’t made to live in a house like this. Or speak to civilians in the way he had earlier. He was anything but domestic, as much as he thought it would be a nice way to live. This warmth, and a childhood hadn’t been afforded to him, simply because there were others who inarguably had priority over him. Offering to fight a war was much different than being created for one. And the girl letting him stay in her house, wasn’t born for this. She chose to involve herself in the ugly, bloodstained duty of being a clone trooper.
He put the book back, and turned to see a sign attached to the door in that same pretty handwriting;
I hope you slept well, Commander.
Dinner is ready, at your convenience.
Sleep, eat, repeat. A viciously addictive cycle if he’d ever seen one. Only now, he’d have something else to do after dinner.
Wash dishes.
Another smile tugged at his lips as he made his way back to the kitchen. Where a green hotbox light shined. He ate slowly this time, pacing himself through the meal in the hopes that the girl had made seconds out of habit. Not even the well-prepared food was enough to keep his mind off of his little plan. In fact, he was more excited to see an empty plate come back through the door than anything he’d experienced in the house so far.
He sat the plate in the box, and waited for the green light to appear again. A muffled sound of shuffling on her end indicated that habit preceded her memory of that morning, and his heartrate quickened. He found clean silverware and filled a glass with water, before stilling himself enough to speak.
“Did you eat dinner?” He waited with baited breath.
Two knocks on the hotbox door.
He couldn’t help but smile at her quick thinking. Even with his willful interaction she was more than capable of speaking without breaking their agreement.
“Is that a no?”
One knock.
“You remember the deal?”
Knock.
“I’ll be waiting then.”
Wolffe took a seat on the floor, and rested his head against the cabinets. There he closed his eyes and tried to imagine what the girl on the other side looked like. Rex had said she was small, but when a trooper called anyone small that could mean almost anything. He had no idea about anything else other than a powerful disposition towards troopers, and a great talent at cooking which had proven itself after one meal. But he wanted to know what she sounded like.
“Do you talk to my brothers?”
Knock.
“How many have they stayed here?”
A quick succession of raps on the door put her point across.
“I’m not surprised…” He trailed, rubbing the back of his neck much like a shiny after being sat on his ass during hand-to-hand training. “Do you live alone?” Not the best question.
Knock.
“Do you like us?... Clones?” He asked.
Knock. Very heavily intonated.
Yes. He translated. “It seems as if you’re the guardian angel of the entire clone command.”
Before there was another knock, he heard the hotbox door again and the green light appeared. Wolffe pushed up his sleeves and opened the door to see an empty plate, saved for half of a roll that she’d left untouched. Even though it wasn’t what he wanted to see, he left it unmentioned and went about getting hot water running. In the meantime he tried thinking of another yes or no question.
“Do you feel safe with my brothers here?”
One firm knock sounded.
He hesitated, holding the glass up in his hand to see a visible bottom lip imprinted on the rim. A pretty shape and full. With what appeared to be a lip balm that had helped the print stick better.
“What about me?”
The heaviest knock of them all, this time against the wall instead of the hotbox.
“I’m not a good man. No matter what anyone says about me.” He argued against her fervent response, wondering for a second if she’d damaged the wall hitting it that hard.
Knock. Knock.
He shook his head, and placed the freshly washed dishes to the side of the sink to dry. He stared hard at the wall, like if he looked hard enough the wall itself would disappear and reveal the girl behind it in all her stubborn pride of the troopers.
“If you let me stay, you’ll find out just how bad I am for anyone. Even you.”
The girl either let him have the last word, or understood what he meant clearly enough that she’d decided to let him be. It was the end of their conversation. An end that had ended particularly so, due to Wolffe’s own fault to which he wasn’t very contented with. But that didn’t keep him from going back upstairs to check the messages left on his vambrace. Even off-duty he was still being bombarded with battle-front updates and the occasional check-in by vod, or General Plo. To his surprise, nothing came of his check. Not a single status report or comm had reached him in almost twenty-four standard hours.
Whether by luck or piss-poor stamina Wolffe wasn’t awake for much longer. Fully engrossed in self-doubt combined with the ever-present rain he didn’t last long before the worst of his memories came to disrupt whatever sleep his body had demanded of him. Loud screams, a clenched jaw and tightly fisted hands were all that Wolffe had to fight off the seemingly endless amounts of battle droids maniacally laughing as they approach him, and his pack.
***
Thunder boomed, shaking the whole house with a ferocity that rivaled the deep shouts and screams coming from the commander’s room upstairs. Lightning crackled in deep gashes over the dark shy, flashing light into all corners of the dark house. If anything could make Wolffe’s night better, shutting out the horrendous storm would be a good start. But at this point, there was nothing the girl could do to help. Wolffe had been adamant that he wasn’t good. But the screams she had been hearing were anything but the sounds of an evil man. He was hurting. Fighting for his life and there was no doubt in her mind Wolffe was already close to losing despite only hearing him for the past few minutes.
She stood stiff at the door to his room, hand hovering over the knob debating on whether or not to go in. It was dangerous to walk in. All the troopers -Wolffe included- kept their blaster in the room with them. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d walked in to soothe a nightmare only to be at the business end of a blaster, primed and humming with a finger over the trigger. Even Rex had been less than an inch away from putting a fist-sized hole in her chest.
But Wolffe’s screams were getting louder. So much so that his voice was breaking from the exertion and her own heart was getting heavy enough to make her sick. The Commander wasn’t giving her much of a choice anymore. So without much more of a thought, she opened the door as quietly as possible. She spotted his blasters right off the bat, sitting far out of reach on top of the tall dresser across from the bed.
“Sinker!” Wolffe thrashed against the bed, his head jerking back and forth. “Fuck… s-stay.” He whimpered, settling long enough for his mind to being recreating the next horror for him to endure.
The girl avoided the loudest floorboards and made her way over to his side, just far enough out of any danger while trying to think of the best way to help. She wasn’t sure that speaking would help. In most cases they hardly heard her, or their mind translated it badly enough that it made things worse. She leaned back quickly, staying out of his swinging arms range.
Touch… you know it works. He just needs touch.
Wincing and preparing for a hard hit to the face she placed a hand on Wolffe’s head. It didn’t quite help the way she’d hoped but it did limit the range of motion on one arm well enough that he’d at least hit her arm first before making contact with her head. Doing her best to avoid his scars, she ran her fingers through his hair. Doing anything she could to contradict the physical sensations he was used to experiencing. His sweat slicked hair curled around her fingers as she repeated the process of sweeping it back away from his damp forehead. Wolffe had barley settled, and she resorted to the only thing she thought might work.
“Shhh, Wolffe… you’re safe.” She whispered, brushing the pad of her thumb over his eyebrow; Paying close attention to the deep lines slowly fading from between his brows. “Sinker is safe, Wolffe. Everything’s okay.” Her voice softened, with the his body’s less frequent lurches.
“That’s it Wolffe, you’re doing great. Let go.” She soothed, letting her fingers trace over the scar above his eye. Another crack of lightning had Wolffe practically shivering and the girl cursed under her breath. It was almost useless with all of the thunder. He was going to wake up far sooner than she was going to be able to stop the storm.
She continued her soft touches over his face, humming a low tune she’d heard from Cody many times. He told her it was Mando’a almost like a lullaby. Whether Wolffe knew it or not, she wasn’t sure. But it had worked a couple of times before and she was running out of options. It wasn’t an easy song to sing. Most of the notes were far too low for her to reach, but she did her best to mirror it that same way Cody did.
Miraculously, it was working. Although he was still shaking like a leaf, his face had slowly begun to relax and the constant stream of strained whimpers and yelps had almost completely stopped. A deep breath filled his lungs, and she smiled victoriously. Running her hand back into his hair, she lightly scratched her nails against his scalp. Still humming that ancient song low in the back of her throat. Her eyes trailed Wolffe’s deep scar, and how dangerously close it had come to ending his life. Although she knew better than to say it, she was happy he’d survived.
Wolffe began to stir just enough that she felt confident in refraining from touching him anymore. She’d been lucky not to wake him up. But it appeared that Wolffe wasn’t keen on the idea himself. His arm closest to her searched out, bumping into her leg and immediately grabbing at her. Heavy, and hot his hand tried to find purchase on her bare leg before finding the hem of her shorts and tugging at it.
Touch starved.
She knew about how many of the troopers sleeping together. How two men to a bunk wasn’t unusual, and oftentimes they forwent bunks altogether and slept in piles. She watched Wolffe’s expression turn frustrated with every effort he put in going unrewarded. But she really didn’t know what he wanted. So she reached for his hand, and tried to slip her fingers between his fisted hold on her bottoms attempting to draw his attention away from the fabric. Apparently, Wolffe wanted nothing to do with it. He’d gotten just enough of a hold to actually pull her closer to the bed, and she yelped when a few stitches in the hem popped.
She huffed in frustration, and finally gave in to the adamant requests of the Commander. Pulling his hand away took quite a bit of effort -no doubt stretching out her shorts- but when she was finally free she settled herself down next to him. She leaned her back against the headboard, and waited patiently for Wolffe to figure out where he wanted to be. By the time the Commander had gotten comfortable his head rested on her upper thighs with an arm slung over them; His huge hand curling around to the back of her thigh in a tight hold. His other arm had wedged itself behind her and his fingers had fisted themselves into the fabric at the waistband of her shorts.
Wolffe practically clung to her, every so often jumping at the thunder, resuting in an even tighter grip on her hip and leg. She did her best to calm him, returning her fingers to his hair and humming to keep the sounds of the storm at bay. But after a few hours of consistently tight holds on her legs, she could feel the soreness of bruises beginning to form on the back of her thigh. It was the closest any of the troopers had ever been, and despite the anxiety of how she was supposed to get up without disturbing him, a part of her wished that she didn’t have to. Wolffe was unreasonably warm, running a temperature far higher than she did. But it wasn’t too far of a jump to assume that all the men ran hotter than a nat-born. It was frustratingly relaxing to feel such consistent heat, and she was certain that was what Wolffe was wanting too.
The girl took the opportunity to admire his features; At least the ones not hidden in her legs. He had a strong jaw, and the sensitive skin on her thighs proved he’d not shaved in a few days. The mental image of Wolffe standing in front of a mirror to shave sounded wildly domestic, yet contradictorily part of his clean-cut persona. His scar was barely visible, but she tried not to dwell on it just for his own benefit. It was obvious how desperately he tried to hide it. Even when he walked down the street towards her house he wore his bucket. Hardly any off-duties wore them voluntarily. The helmet gave him a way of looking identical. Thick strands of hair shined a hue of blue in the moonlight, so dark that it almost disappeared into the shadows of the room. As for the curls, it was a wonder that he could keep it in the style he wore without a couple loose strands falling onto his forehead. It seemed Wolffe couldn’t get away from being professional even when it came to his hair. Even the thought of Wolffe having tattoos like his brothers sounded practically unbelievable. Yet with the blacks coming up high on his neck, and the sweats she supplied, there was no telling what kind of ink the Commander could have hidden away under his clothes.
But here, he couldn’t hide. Not with the way he’d soothed himself to sleep by burying his face into her shirt. Wolffe came into her house looking like the true embodiment of duty and honor. A soldier who took orders with full confidence, and not a single ounce of question. Not just a clone, but a warrior. Laying here though, he looked like man who needed something more than battle plans and a gun. A person who desired purpose, but wanted a choice in what that purpose was. The girl knew Wolffe wanted a life.
She spent the night putting braids into Wolffe’s hair, twisting little knots just to let them fall out. Of course she tried to stop multiple times after her fingers begun to get stiff, but the fussy Commander wouldn’t allow it. He’d fidget and complain silently until she found another way to pacify him through the night, either tracing her fingers down his back or running her nails over his scalp. It was an enjoyable affair, watching him respond so willingly to her simple comforts but she had to remind herself that it wouldn’t last past night. By morning she’d need to make breakfast, and be back to hiding away like he’d requested. He wouldn’t remember anything other than a lack of nightmares, and that was the way she had hoped it to be.
But sleep didn’t just come for Wolffe.
It came for the girl just as quickly as it had for him.
Summary: Love has a funny way of finding you when you’re not looking for it. Commander Fox discovered this the hard way when a box arrived on base and pique his interest.
Here it is. I can’t believe I'm finally doing this. A huge huge HUGE shoutout and thank you to @detroitbydark for all of the encouragement, feedback, and listening to my ramblings about this story. You’re the best.
This story will be the first in a collection of three interconnected stories taking place at the same time. I hope you all enjoy!
It all started with a box.
Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard stared at the parcel currently sitting on his desk amidst piles of carefully cataloged holopads. The contents of said package laid innocently next to the box. He’d had part of it scanned and tested, twice. Absolutely nothing alarming to be found. And yet Fox was still unsettled.
In the year since taking up his post, he’d never been rendered speechless. Well, today the boys could mark it down in the books. Truly, the commander didn’t know what to say. Or think. Or do. The mental conundrum Fox found himself in was beyond exasperating. Sighing, Fox shook his head, then glanced at the flimsi note he held. Once more, he read the delicately written script.
To: Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard
Dear Sir,
I’m sure this package and its contents might cause alarm and confusion. Please don’t allow it to do either. This is simply a token to express my thanks to the troopers involved with the skirmish in the market district on Level 3 nearly four rotations ago. Their actions saved my life and that of my daughter. When we expressed our gratitude, my daughter felt the shock trooper didn’t think we were sincere. Hence, this small gift. I ask that you please see to it that the troopers involved receive this token and understand how grateful we were for their timely arrival. For there are citizens on this planet who are aware of the services the Guard provides to ensure our continued safety and peace. Thank you for your help in this matter.
Sincerely,
Arissa Blunt
Fox knew without looking it up what skirmish Ms. Blunt referred to, as well as the troopers involved. Reach’s report had made mention of the two citizens he’d pulled away from the fire fight, a young woman and child. Interestingly enough, Fox had also heard through the guard barrack’s grapevine that Reach spent most of that night crowing about a civvie thanking him and how pretty she’d been. According to Reach, her body was a man’s wet dream.
At the time Fox had scoffed and pushed the matter out of his mind. He had far more important matters to contend with than one of his trooper’s infatuations. All of the men would have one at some point or other. It was a natural result with overexposure to civilians after a lifetime of social isolation. Fox was one of the few he knew to never fall to such an affliction. That didn’t mean he hadn’t dabbled and explored his options. The commander had simply never experienced the magic of someone capturing his attention for more than a moment of a little physical pleasure. Until now.
Commander Fox was intrigued, all because of a box of homemade ginger spice cookies, a short note, and an infatuated trooper’s embellished description. Again, Fox sighed. Maker, he needed a drink. And it wasn’t even 1200 yet.
He commed Captain Stone, the squad leader there on the day in question.
“This is Stone,” came the greeting.
“Captain, round up the troopers involved in the skirmish on Level 3, I’m sure you remember the one,” Fox instructed. “They’ve got a gift waiting for them in my office. Apparently Reach’s story wasn’t completely fabricated.”
There was a beat of stunned silence. It was brief, but Fox knew it for what it was. Shock. “Right away, sir,” Stone replied.
Fox disconnected, then turned to inspect the baked goods still sitting on his desk. Ginger spice cookies. Homemade, no less. Damn, they smelled good.
Fox smirked. What the men didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He plucked one cookie from the pile, taking a small bite to test the flavor. A groan of delight broke past his lips. This was one of the best frekkin’ things he’d ever had the pleasure of eating, and that's saying something. After all, the position of Commander of the Coruscant Guard afforded certain luxuries and privileges that few other clones were allowed.
The commander took another bite, savoring the taste. What he wouldn’t give to have something this good to eat every day. His eyes found the note again, sitting on his desk in stark contrast to everything else. Arissa Blunt. One has to wonder what kind of woman she was. Fox had every intention of finding out.
-----
After giving the boys their gift (the looks of shock and delight on their faces had caused a grin on his), Fox decided to investigate. It took little effort to find the information he needed. Another perk to his position.
Arissa Blunt, single human female aged 22 standard years. Currently a member of the Republic military’s research and development division located here on base. His brows had raised at that. He merely needed to leave his office and walk across the facility in order to find her. Her focus was prototype military-grade weapons. So, she worked on creating better ways for his brothers on the front to do their job. While he didn’t know her, Fox felt a swell of appreciation for this woman.
He was shocked and intrigued to find she held her position with no formal training. Instead, Ms. Blunt came into the program through the recommendation of a member of the board. It was highly irregular. Perhaps some nepotism was involved? But that made no sense either. According to her file, Ms. Blunt had no living relatives, only a young daughter named Gemma. Cute name, he’d thought.
Out of curiosity, Fox looked her up too. Gemma Blunt, single human female aged 5 standard years. Currently enrolled on scholarship at a school for gifted young children located noooo in a more well-to-do area of the upper levels. So, the kid was smart.
A part of Fox was impressed. And even more intrigued, especially as he gazed at Ms. Blunt’s photo. Reach hadn’t exaggerated, she was quite pretty. Not in the glamour model sort of way. But you could see the potential lying underneath her cute veneer should she ever try to be one. And those eyes….well, they’d surprised him too. Most humans didn’t have violet colored eyes, at least not naturally. But on her they were stunning. They drew you in and spoke volumes. As if the secrets they held were more than just her own. She could know yours without you evening realizing. A fanciful thought perhaps, but there all the same.
And that is why Commander Fox found himself making the long trek to the R&D division on base a few hours later. Amazingly, he had an hour free. Plenty of time to pay Ms. Blunt a visit. He could convey the men’s appreciation and slake his curiosity.
He’d found a technician by the name of A’tron Rogers when he arrived. The man had the audacity to scoff at him when he stated who he was looking for. Fox wisely kept his helmet on, knowing full well what kind of person he was dealing with. It was rather obvious what Mr. Rogers thought of clones and about doing anything for them. One had to wonder why he was in a position that required him to help create weapons that helped said clones.
“Yeah, she’s back here,” he’d snapped. “Follow me.”
Resisting the urge to call the man on his insubordination, Fox followed. They made their way further back into the lab and came to a stop at what looked to be some kind of long range canon. However, the weapon wasn’t what caught Fox’s attention.
Fox froze, his brain gone blank. Before his eyes, bent over at just the right angle, was perhaps the most perfectly shaped ass he’d ever seen. His mouth watered while his blood rushed south. Mentally, he cursed. This was not a good way to start an introduction.
“Blunt!” Rogers practically screeched, trying to get the technician's attention. It certainly did the trick, albeit in a painful way. Arissa’s head shot up, caught by surprise, only to have it collide with the paneling of the prototype she’d been working on. A string of low muttered curses followed the loud clang. Fox winced in sympathy.
After a moment or two, Arissa straightened, seemed to take a steadying breath, then turned to face them. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second when they landed on him. However, she recovered quickly, her face becoming unreadable as she turned to her coworker.
Fox wished he could say the same. That beautiful shebs he’d been staring at not long ago should have warned him at what else he’d see. Because, by the maker, Reach hadn’t exaggerated. Not one bit. Arissa Blunt truly was a man’s wet dream. Her hair was up and covered, but he didn’t need to see the dark brown wavy locks again to know how it finished the masterpiece that stood before him. Even wearing coveralls covered in grease splotches couldn’t detract from that hourglass figure or the small waist. And her breasts. By Fett, they were a handful and more. So much more. Again, Fox was grateful he’d chosen to keep his bucket on. He’d have looked like a gaping fool otherwise.
Arissa addressed Rogers, her voice even and devoid of emotion. “Did you need something, Rogers?”
The shorter man huffed, obviously put out by her lack of response to him. Fox made a mental note of that. Maybe it wasn’t just clones the man had a problem with. “You’ve got a visitor. Commander Fox here needs to speak with you.”
The technician’s gaze swung over to him, that violet gaze holding him captive. Again, he noticed a moment of trepidation, as if she feared his presence. Fox scowled, annoyance flaring. Her reaction was classic for a citizen. They either looked at him and his brothers with fear or disdain. He wasn’t sure which pissed him off more.
“I see,” she replied. “Well, I’m due a fifteen anyway. If you need me, we’ll be in the conference room.”
Rogers snorted, then left. Yup, that chakaaryc really didn’t like Arissa Blunt. Fox focused his attention on the woman before him. As he looked closer, her nerves became more obvious. What did she have to be nervous about?
“Ms. Blunt,” he greeted, his voice stiff and formal.
“Commander Fox,” she greeted in return. Grabbing a rag, she wiped her hands off, then motioned for him to follow her. “Whatever you need to tell me, it’d be best said in the conference room. Otherwise, everyone else in the department will know about it before the end of the day. You wouldn’t think it, but the lot here are as bad as a bunch of gossiping housewives.”
Nodding, he followed. As they left the lab and made their way down the hallway, Fox couldn’t help his eyes from looking. The sway of those hips were going to haunt him. Another curse ran through his mind.
Soon enough they reached their destination, Arissa gesturing him inside. He took up a position further in, standing at attention while he waited for her to shut the door.
“Would you rather sit, Commander?”
“No thank you, miss. But please don’t stand on my account. Have a seat.”
He patiently waited while Arissa got comfortable. Once she seemed settled, he dove right in. “I assume you know why I’m here?”
That flash of trepidation was back. It was gone immediately, but still, he saw it.
“I think so,” she quietly answered. Her tongue came out to wet her lips. Despite himself, Fox felt a knee jerk reaction to the tiny movement. Maker, this needed to stop. Now.
“Then explain yourself,” he ordered.
That got her attention. Arissa straightened, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Explain myself? I thought the note I left was pretty self-explanatory.”
“Perhaps,” he hedged. “However, your reaction to my appearance here would say otherwise. I thought you appreciated what the guard does for the citizens of Coruscant. Someone who is appreciative doesn’t respond with fear in their eyes.”
Arissa’s eyes widened, first in shock, then in anger. However, when she next spoke, her voice remained even. “From my point of view, your sudden appearance here is rather suspect. Troopers, let alone commanders, don’t make random visits to this part of the base. Any fear you saw was my worry that I’d done something wrong.”
That made Fox pause, considering. Her words in the note had sounded sincere. And someone who feared or hated clones wouldn't have sent something in the first place, not without it having some sort of repercussion. Perhaps she had a point. Finally, Fox relaxed his stance.
“I suppose your reaction would make sense then,” he conceded. “I apologize for alarming you, Ms. Blunt.”
She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, you couldn’t have known. I’m sorry I gave you the impression I was like all those ungrateful idiots out there.”
Fox stared at her. Well, that was certainly one way of putting it. Apparently Ms.Blunt lived up to her name. He cleared his throat. “Now that that’s settled, would you mind explaining to me why you felt the need to do such a thing?”
Arissa started fiddling with a loose thread of her coveralls. A nervous tick. “I already told you in the note I sent with the package. My daughter thought the trooper who helped us didn’t believe we meant what we said. I was helping to make him see otherwise.”
A scoff escaped him. “Forgive my own cynicism then. I’m used to people having ulterior motives. It’s my job to find them.” He shrugged. “So, it’s a little hard to believe there wasn’t something else behind your actions, appreciated as they are.”
While he knew he was being something of a di’kut, Fox needed to know. He wasn’t lying. Any civilian he’d ever met had some sort of ulterior motive, most often to the detriment of his men.
She didn’t speak for a while, sitting there in quiet contemplation. Then, those violet orbs caught the gaze of his visor and held it. She wanted to get this right, he realized. She wanted him to believe her. “Maybe because men who didn’t have a choice in choosing this life deserve something good once in a while.”
Speechless, that’s what he was. She said it so plainly and without artifice. Fox knew she meant it, every word.
“I see,” he replied, voice quiet and low. “Well, allow me to express my gratitude and that of my men. It may not seem like much, but those sweets were the first gift any of those men have ever received. It might be the only one.”
“You’re very welcome, Commander Fox.” Her voice was quiet too, her eyes soft and understanding. How Fox wished he could get lost in them for more than just a few minutes. It was time to go. Now.
“You’ll excuse me then, Ms. Blunt, for taking up your time. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I’ll see myself out.” Fox made to do just that, not leaving her a chance to say anything in return. He was almost to the door when-----
“Commander, could I ask a favor?”
Fox stopped, then looked over his shoulder. Here it comes. “What is it?”
Arissa gulped, her nerves showing once more. Fox smirked. Already in such a short amount of time, Fox knew he’d enjoy setting her on edge on a regular basis. It was a shame their paths likely wouldn’t cross again.
“I know this may seem silly, but would you be willing to write a short note to my daughter? I know it’d mean the world to her to hear how much the troopers that helped us enjoyed the cookies.”
“Can’t you just tell her?”
“I could,” she allowed. “But she might think I’m lying. Sometimes she has a hard time believing things if she doesn’t have evidence. Finding out you came to tell me yourself just how much the gift was appreciated will be suspect without some kind of proof.”
“Is your daughter really that cynical?”
Arissa laughed, shaking her head. Fox had to admit she had a lovely laugh. Fett, he was going soft. “No, not cynical, commander. Just a child who needs encouragement that something is real when she’s had so many other disappointments.”
While Fox was curious as to what she meant by that statement, he didn’t ask. Honestly, what was the harm in writing the kid something? There was none. Besides, he was more than happy to do it.
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint.”
The smile she gave him made an answering one pull at his lips. Thankfully, his helmet hid the sight. Yeah, this was definitely not good.
------
“Mommy! You’re home!” Gemma squealed in happiness as Arissa stepped through the door. Arissa was barely inside before her five-year-old daughter wrapped her tiny arms around her torso and squeezed.
Arissa paused, soaking the moment in. A smile pulled at her lips while the hint of tears teased her eyes. This right here made everything worth it. The ridiculously long days. The demeaning remarks and catty behavior from her coworkers. This was her why, the reason she kept putting up with everything.
She wrapped her arms around Gemma and squeezed back. “Hello to you too, Gemma. Did you miss me?”
“Yes!” Gemma pulled back, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing in her excitement. “Did you miss me?”
Arissa chuckled, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Yes, sweetie.”
“Welcome home, Arissa. Long day?”
Arissa glanced up, making eye contact with the teenager lounging on the lumpy pale green couch in the apartment space that served as a living room. She barely withheld a grimace, thinking back over her day. “Just the usual, Trix.”
Although it really hadn’t been. Not when a certain unsettling clone commander decided to pop in and pay an unexpected visit. Gods, she’d thought for a moment there she’d done something wrong, that somehow the gift Gemma had practically begged her to make was illegal. Panic had filled Arissa, assuming the worst. But then he’d thanked her. Thanked her. Like a box of ginger spice cookies was the best gift his men had ever received. That wasn’t really too far off the mark, though, was it? And that black visor. When he’d held her gaze, Arissa had felt as if she were naked. She couldn’t remember anyone ever making her fell that way. Definitely not something one wants to feel upon meeting a commanding officer of the GAR.
Shaking her head, Arissa focused back in on the present. “Did the two of you eat yet?”
Trix suddenly appeared uncomfortable, a look of guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah, we did. I, um, thought it’d be nice to treat Gemma to something. We went to Dex’s Diner and had the works. Saved some for you, too.”
While she knew why Trix might feel guilty, Arissa couldn’t fault the teenager for spending the money instead of eating the leftovers in the fridge. A year of being homeless and dodging traffickers and drug dealers had done a number on Trix. The kid’s useless father had abandoned her just days after her mother passed away. And the lower levels of Coruscant were not kind to the young and innocent. Arissa knew this fact quite well. Trix was finally getting back on her feet, working at a local bakery to make some money while attending school at night to finish her primary education. She lived in the third bedroom and watched Gemma when Arissa had to work late. And Trix positively adored her. So if Trix wanted to spoil Gemma with a night of burgers and shakes, Arissa wasn’t going to complain. She was far too grateful for the help to even think of chastising the teenager for splurging.
“That sounds like a lot of fun. Thanks for thinking of me,” She smiled at Trix, hoping the teenager understood she wasn’t mad. “I can’t remember the last time I had Dex’s. Is it as good as I remember?”
Gemma giggled. “Even better! Oh, and we got to meet Dex. Did you know he’s a besalisk? I’ve never seen one before. He answered all my questions, too. Didn’t act like I was a bother or anything.”
“Of course he wouldn’t. Because he realized right away what a bright and inquisitive mind you have, sweetie.” Arissa’s heart warmed at the kindness the diner owner had unknowingly extended her daughter. Gemma truly was inquisitive, wanting to know anything and everything. And amazingly she remembered it all. However, there were some people who found the girl’s nearly constant questions an annoyance and something to discourage. It was why she’d done so poorly in school until transferring into a private academy. Thank the maker for that scholarship. She bent over and lifted Gemma up, holding the young girl as she made her way to their small kitchen table. “Now spill. How was your day?”
Asking Gemma that question was all the kiddo needed to start regaling her mother with the events of the day. Arissa listened attentively as she went about putting her dinner together. She laughed when Gemma explained how a boy in her class had water come out of his nose during lunch and praised her when told how she’d received perfect marks on yesterday’s exam. Trix stayed with them for a while, interjecting comments here and there before retreating to her room to start on her school work. They wished the sixteen-year-old good night as mother and daughter both knew they likely wouldn’t see the teenager again until morning. Arissa was done with her dinner and working on a mostly thawed nerf milkshake by the time Gemma asked how her day went.
Arissa had thought long and hard how she wanted to present her surprise. She pulled the note from her back pocket and slid it across the table’s surface. “I had an unexpected visitor today. He asked me to give you this.”
Curious, Gemma carefully unfolded the note. Even at such a young age she handled everything with a great deal of care. Violet eyes scanned the note, then widened in shock. When Gemma finally looked back up she was smiling from ear to ear. “He wrote a note. He really wrote a thank you note!”
The smile breaking across Arissa’s face almost hurt. Seeing her daughter’s happiness at something so small was beyond precious. Mentally, she filed the image away to remember when the moody teenager years hit. “I was told not to read it. That it was top secret until your eyes saw what was inside. Think you could read it to me?”
Gemma nodded enthusiastically.
“It says: Dear Miss Gemma. Thank you for the lovely gift of ginger spiced cookies. I have shared your present with the troopers involved in the skirmish four rotations ago in the market. They were very surprised and grateful for your thoughtfulness. They rarely get a thank you for their work. Your mother tells me you are a bright student and love to learn new things. Did you know that members of the guard love uj cake? I highly recommend trying it. Please continue to do your part as a good and loyal citizen of the Republic.
Sincerely,
Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.”
The excitement radiating off of Gemma was contagious. She truly was happy from Commander Fox’s words. Arissa sent a silent thank you to the commander for taking the time to fulfil her request. Maybe she could find a way to let him know how much his note meant. But he must be very busy. Why would he care about any of this?
If he didn’t care, why would he bother in the first place? He could have said no.
“Do you think I could write a reply, mommy?” Gemma asked. “Maybe we could make them some uj cake since they like it so much and leave a note with it like before.”
That made Arissa pause. “Perhaps. But don’t you think the rest of the guard might get jealous when only a few of them get to have some?”
Gemma’s brow furrowed as she contemplated that possibility. “I guess you’re right. I know I wouldn’t like it if only a few of my classmates kept getting something and I didn’t.” Then her face brightened. “Maybe we could make some for everyone! That way no one felt left out. Oh but,” Gemma frowned as she realized something. “That wouldn’t work either. There’s so many of them, aren't there?”
Arissa hmmed, feeling her heart squeeze with regret as her daughter’s face fell. For someone so young, she truly had a compassionate and giving nature. She wanted everyone to be happy. “I’m not sure how many there are, but yes, there are a lot of men in the guard. Far too many for us to make enough for everyone. I’m sorry sweetie.”
The evening wore on, the hours passing as the world outside transitioned from day to night. Despite her disappointment, Gemma managed to recover. They played a few games, took care of Gemma’s bath, and cuddled on the couch to watch a silly holomovie before Arissa announced it was time for bed. Arissa read a story of her daughter’s choosing, sang her a song, and kissed her good night. Once Arissa left the room, she’d make a cup of tea and curl up on the couch with a book, losing herself in the passionate romance of her current novel before heading to bed as well. It was like so many other night’s, this ritual their evenings had become. But tonight would be different.
“Mommy?”
Arissa paused, turning back to face her daughter. Only the top of her head and her eyes were visible above the fuzzy purple comforter she’d cocooned into. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Will you please tell Commander Fox thank you for writing me that note? I really did like it. And I think he’d like to know that, too.”
The breath whooshed out of Arissa’s lungs. She hadn’t expected this. But how could she refuse? “Of course, Gemma. I’ll tell him tomorrow. Now, get some sleep. You have a big day at school in the morning.”
“Can you make rainbow berry pancakes for breakfast?”
Arissa couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped, Gemma’s tone was just too hopeful. “I think I can manage that. Now, sleep little one.”
Gemma giggled, happy at her mother’s answer. “Okay, okay. Good night, Mommy. I love you.”
“I love you too, Gemma.”
Arissa closed the door and made her way to the kitchen. She tinkered around the small space, getting things ready for the morning while her tea water boiled, then steeped. Once finished, she grabbed the old and worn romance novel off her caf table, the flimsi pages yellowed with age. She happily made herself comfortable on the couch as she dove into the world of high passion…..
Five minutes later, Arissa was back in the kitchen, a notepad open to a clean page while her holopad came to life. She scrubbed a hand over her face, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.” As soon as the piece of technology was up and running, she began bringing up Republic military records, trying to get an accurate head count of how many men filled the ranks of the Coruscant Guard.
------
Now, while Arissa was toiling away at the kitchen table trying to work out a plan to fulfill her daughter’s wish, said daughter was busy working on another matter instead of sleeping.
Gemma waited for her holopad to boot up, reading the note from Commander Fox almost obsessively. She’d never thought in a million years her mother would come home with any kind of news about the gift she’d begged her to make. Instead, she’d brought home a note. A note! Gemma very quietly giggled, pressing her face into her pillow to better muffle the noise. She was in the next star system from how happy that little piece of flimsi had made her. The five-year-old sent a desperate plea to the gods, asking them for the chance to meet this Commander Fox. Yes, she’d asked her mom to thank him, but she wanted the chance to tell him herself how much his note meant to her. And she wanted to show him just how much she could learn when she set her mind to it.
Finally the holopad came on and Gemma brought up a search engine. Adults were always so surprised when they saw how well she could navigate tech at her age. For whatever reason, it was astonishing. Gemma didn’t pretend to understand why. Carefully, she typed in uj cake, then hit search. She skimmed over a promising article. It did sound rather yummy. Perhaps she could convince her mom to help her make some after school tomorrow and she could share it with the class. The kids would probably like that. Maybe it’d help her make a few friends.
The article said the recipe came from Mandalore. Intrigued, Gemma decided to search the planet, not knowing what she was getting herself into. What she read fascinated her. Hours went by and Gemma refused to sleep, far too invested in learning more about this old creed of warriors. She had only nodded off when her mother came to wake her, far earlier than usual.
Gemma’s groggy eyes met her mother’s. “What is it, mommy? Is something wrong?”
Arissa shook her head, a hint of mischief lighting her eyes. “No, sweetie. I just needed your help with something. How would you like to help me make some uj cake this morning? I think a certain clone commander would appreciate it.”
It took a moment for Gemma’s sleepy brain to understand exactly what her mother was saying. When she did, she shot out of bed so fast she almost knocked her mother over. Excitement took care of the exhaustion she’d felt just moments ago.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, then dashed out the door to the kitchen, her mother’s laughter following after her.
What neither realized then was how their actions that morning would come to shape the rest of their lives.....and those throughout the galaxy.
Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.
Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)
Characters: Wolffe, Fox, Comet
Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral
Word Count: 2.1k
Author's Note: Y'all, we are only a few chapters away from meeting Lilith! I am so excited to introduce her! I don't want to say things are going to happen quickly from now on, but the pace is definitely going to pick up. The foundation has been set, and now it's time to get moving with the plot. And who better than Fox to help move us along? This is another chill chapter with lots of brother-time, so no one should be doing any crying... I hope. As always, please enjoy 💚
Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot
Part 1 || Prev | Next
Series Masterlist
The morning came quickly–too quickly–as Wolffe woke before the sunrise. With the time he spent in space, his body never followed the rising or setting of the suns, but rather a clock that ticked deep within his biology. It was both a blessing and a curse in his mind. On one hand, he never had to set an alarm, but on the other, sleeping in was never an option. Cara was still asleep though, resting against his chest under the protective covering of his arms. It would be a bit before she awoke, but that gave him time to think about his mission for the day.
He stared silently up at the ceiling and reviewed every step he needed to take to ensure she was cared for while he was gone. He only had one rotation to accomplish it all, seeing as he would be departing before sunset on the next rotation, so there was no room for errors or setbacks. He had to be calm, calculated, and resolute. Most of those traits came naturally to Wolffe, but when his daughter was involved, a lot of who he was as a commander fell to the wayside. It felt cruel to shove part of her out of his mind, but life was also just as cruel.
It was only an hour before Comet found his way to their room to relieve Wolffe. Ever the cautious man, he poked his head into the dark room to make sure it was safe to enter. Wolffe watched him with amusement, the light from the hall outlining Comet's form, and he would've said something, but he didn't want to wake Cara. The last thing he needed was for her to get clingy before he left for the diner. She knew he would come back later in the day, but it didn't matter to her; leaving was leaving. For Wolffe, a silent hand-off was a lot easier.
Besides, she liked being with Comet more than she liked being with him. At least, that's what he told himself when he had to make the tough decisions that made his daughter cry. Justification wasn't the right word for it, but it allowed him to be the bad guy when he needed to be and allowed Comet to remain the good guy that she needed in life. Even though Comet left when Wolffe left, in Cara's mind, Wolffe forced Comet to leave. She might not understand how the hierarchy worked, but she did understand that when Wolffe spoke, the others listened.
Carefully, Wolffe slid himself off the bed and placed Cara back down onto the indent his body made. Both men held their breath in anticipation, but she must have been very tired because she stayed asleep and barely stirred at the swap. In the dim light from the doorway, Wolffe and Comet exchanged silent words with the same hand motions and gestures they used on the battlefield when vocal communication was impossible. It was clunky, but effective, and got the job done. Once Comet was briefed, Wolffe changed his clothes and left for the diner.
His journey to the diner was uneventful, practically quiet. It was still early in the morning for Coruscant's surface layer to be fully awake, but the subsurface layer was still bustling from the nightlife and now busy setting up for their daytime clientele. The diner wasn't a fancy place, but it was clone-friendly and served good food at a reasonable price. Most clones visited the bars and enjoyed the revelry late nights, but any level-headed, seasoned commander would rather sleep all night and eat a hot breakfast than get a cheap lap dance and a wicked hangover.
It was also rare for multiple commanders to be on Coruscant at once, however at least one was always there–Fox. When Wolffe entered the diner, he knew exactly where to go; left and down to the last booth against the window. It was their usual booth, but usual meant they did this often, which was far from the truth. The last time they met up was during his last leave, months ago, and before that, it was nearly a full cycle. It's not that Wolffe chose to ignore his batch brother, but if he had to choose between seeing his family or seeing Fox, he would choose his family every time.
As Wolffe approached the booth, he chuckled. Fox looked as tired as always, but perhaps a touch more than usual. Fox held the rim of his mug against his lips, the steam wisping up in front of his half-lidded eyes, with his elbows resting on the table, and a blank expression on his face. It almost looked like the mug was holding Fox up, instead of the other way around. If Wolffe didn't know any better, he would've thought Fox was asleep with his eyes open, but he did know better–that was just Fox in his normal resting state.
Wolffe slid into the bench seat across from Fox and stretched his arms over his head before picking up the mug of caf his brother ordered for him. He inhaled the warm and bitter fragrance before taking a sip and then hummed in satisfaction with the familiar brew. There was nothing like a diner caf. No offense to his wife's caf-maker, of course, but something about a cheap diner caf made him feel like a real man. It was leagues better than what the GAR gave them, but not as good as the caf from the surface layer. It was a wonderful middle brew.
"So," Wolffe said as he placed his mug down. "How's the wife?"
"Fat and ugly," Fox answered nonchalantly, then took a sip of this caf. "At least that's what she says every time I ask, which apparently is too many times."
Wolffe laughed. "When's she due?"
"Couple more weeks," Fox said.
"Are you nervous?" Wolffe asked.
"Kinda," Fox said with a shrug. "The pregnancy's been rough on her."
"She didn't get better?" Wolffe asked, then took another sip from his mug.
"Nope," Fox sighed. "She got sick in the first trimester and it's been downhill ever since."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Wolffe said. "It's a good thing she has you to support her."
Fox huffed. "Yeah, support…" He took a long sip after that comment. "The only support she wants from me is to stop breathing so loudly. Some days I think she actually wants me dead."
Wolffe raised a quizzical eyebrow. Fox looked more like he was taking shots of his caf as if it was a cheap whiskey, rather than savoring it. "Are you okay?"
"Just tired," Fox said, then set his mug down and rubbed his face. "She doesn't sleep, I don't sleep, we don't sleep."
"The baby won't sleep either," Wolffe said. He chuckled knowingly to himself with a smile hidden behind the rim of his mug.
Fox shot him with an unamused look through his fingers.
"Sorry," Wolffe said. "But I've got some experience."
Fox waved his hand to dismiss the apology. "Anyway, we're here to talk about you, not me." He paused contemplatively. "I'm sorry about Maria."
Wolffe bit his lip and set his mug down. He stared into the dark liquid and fidgeted with the handle. "I… I don't want to talk about that."
"Okay…" Fox said softly. "Then what do you want to talk about?"
"Cara," Wolffe said without looking up.
"What about her?" Fox asked.
Wolffe tapped his finger against the table as he thought about how he wanted to ask what he needed to ask. "I'm redeploying tomorrow night."
"Already?" Fox asked. "She must be having a hard time with that. You know, since…"
Wolffe tapped his finger faster and harder against the table, the silence getting awkward.
"You did tell her, right?" Fox asked.
"It's better this way," Wolffe said, deciding not to answer the question directly. Keeping the actual words in his mouth made the idea of not telling Cara more palatable for him. Selfish maybe, but he didn't want to handle any more emotional drama. He wanted just a bit of normalcy before he left and then a clean break to harden his mind. It was better that way.
"For who?" Fox asked.
"Listen," Wolffe sighed. "I didn't come here for a lecture. I need your help."
"Wolffe, I know what you're gonna ask," Fox said. He shook his head. "And the answer is no."
"Fox, c'mon," Wolffe pleaded. "You're the closest thing I have to family."
"I get that," Fox said. "But my hands are tied. Between my duties to Guard and my sick, pregnant wife, who can barely take care of herself, we couldn't possibly look after her too."
Wolffe closed his eyes and threw his head back against the booth cushion. "Kriff."
"Besides," Fox said. "Cara doesn't even like me."
"That's only because the gray in your hair scares her," Wolffe said without opening his eyes. "Maybe you should dye it."
Fox huffed and crossed his arms. "My wife likes it and as long as it turns her on, the gray parts are staying gray." He grinned smugly. "She calls me her silver Fox."
Wolffe leaned forward and twisted his lip in disgust. "Oh, gross. Please keep that stuff to yourself."
"But seriously," Fox said, changing the subject back. "You know my situation. If anyone found out about my wife… my kid, it would all be over. I can't risk it. Not even for you."
"Thorn?" Wolffe asked.
"Nope."
"Hound?"
"Not a chance."
"Thire?"
"Never."
"Stone?"
Fox snorted. "I wouldn't trust him to keep a plant alive."
Wolffe groaned and hung his head in his hands.
"I know you have your beef with the Jedi, and I get why you don't want her in the Temple, but what about a nanny?" Fox asked.
Wolffe lifted his head and looked at Fox in confusion. "A nanny?"
"Yeah," Fox said. "We're hiring one for when the baby comes."
"What does it do?" Wolffe asked.
"Well, there are different types," Fox said. "Some work part-time and come to the home on certain days, and there are some that work full-time and live in the home. They do pretty much anything you want–the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, the laundry."
"Really?" Wolffe asked. He crossed his arms, intrigued by the idea of a live-in nanny. "How much does it cost?"
"I don't know," Fox said with a shrug. "Her parents are paying for it since they physically can't help us with the baby. I guess we got lucky with that."
Wolffe huffed. "Yeah. Real lucky."
"Easy, vod," Fox said. "I'm not trying to rub this in your face."
Wolffe sighed. "I know."
"Here," Fox said, then grabbed a napkin and started to write on it. "This is the name and the coordinates of the agency we're working with. They're not that far from here, so go take a look for yourself."
Wolffe studied the words on the napkin, then looked at Fox. "You sure they're legit?"
Fox looked offended. "I'm the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Don't you think I'd do background checks on every employee before I let them near my son?"
"So, it's a boy?" Wolffe asked, a smirk turning up on his lip.
"Yes, it's a boy," Fox said.
"Got any names picked out yet?" Wolffe asked, still smiling.
"Well," Fox said, "I wanted to call him Aran, but she wanted to call him Eli, so we compromised and his name is Eli."
Wolffe laughed heartily.
"It's not funny," Fox said, but he couldn't help cracking a smile himself.
"Why are we so bad at naming children?" Wolffe asked. "Maria insisted on naming Cara because she was afraid I'd pick out something stupid like, tooka."
"I mean, that's just normal clone naming conventions," Fox said.
Wolffe hummed, remembering back to when he and his wife discussed baby names. "But babies aren't clones."
"No, I guess they're not," Fox said.
Wolffe and Fox continued their conversation as they ate breakfast with both men reminiscing about simpler times and trading stories of newer times. It was more than Wolffe could've asked for. Although he would never admit it, he felt a touch lonely since his wife's passing. The men under his command were his brothers, but Fox was his equal, someone who could talk back to him, set him straight, and be honest. It was a rarity among the ranks with the commanders spread thin. He missed his batch brothers, and it was good to catch up with one.
Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.
Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)
Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC)
Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral
Word Count: 1.6k
Author's Note: I have good news! I can say for absolute certainty that in the next chapter we will be meeting Lilith! I'm so excited to reveal and introduce her. She's such a great character and an integral part of the story moving forward. This chapter is bittersweet. It's starts out heavy but ends on a lighter note. As always, please enjoy 💚
Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot
Part 1 || Prev | Next
Series Masterlist
As they approached the thrift store, Wolffe ran through several strategies in his head about how he was going to keep Cara preoccupied while he sold the rings. If she saw what he was doing at the counter, she'd start asking questions, and that wasn't a conversation he was ready to have with his daughter, especially in public. He needed the transaction to be quick and discreet, and the best idea he could come up with to keep her out of it was to just have her wander around the store and look at all the new and interesting things.
With a subtle deep breath, he opened the door of the thrift store, letting Cara walk in first. She had more pep in her step than when they left the Temple, which he was grateful for, and as soon as something caught her eye, she bolted. Wolffe quickly grabbed her hand, stopping her escape. "Hold up. Where do you think you're going?"
Cara pointed to one of the bottom shelves where a bin full of assorted toys sat. "Can I play?"
Wolffe felt relieved that she was putting his plan into motion before he even suggested it, but still, he hated it when she ran away from him without telling him where she was going. It made his stomach queasy, like when he watched his men run towards a firefight knowing not all of them would come back. "Yes, but those toys don't belong to you, do they?"
"No," she said, rocking back and forth on her feet as if she was being scolded.
"Then be careful with them," Wolffe reminded her. "If you break something, Daddy has to buy it, and Daddy isn't made of credits." It was true. He didn't know how much he would be able to sell the rings for, and he only had five hundred credits on him, so it was entirely possible for this transaction to render him completely broke, or subsequently in debt if she broke something.
Cara looked around. "Is your friend here?"
Wolffe sighed, hoping that she heard at least some of what he just said, but then again, trying to explain credits to a child who had no context for what credits were in the first place was less than ideal. "No, baby. I have some business here, and then we'll go see my friend. Be good and wait right here for me, okay?"
"Okay, Daddy," she said. He let go of her hand and she wandered off towards the toy bin.
He watched her as she settled onto the floor, legs splayed out and furiously looking through the bin. She pulled out a few things but didn't settle on any of them. He'd have to help her clean up the mess when he was done.
Once he was sure she was well occupied, he snuck up to the counter, which was further back from where the toy bin was, looking over his shoulder periodically to see if Cara was following him. Somehow his daughter made him feel more paranoid than the Separatists did, but perhaps that was because they were more predictable than a child.
The store's counter was more like a glass case, topped with a sheet of durasteel, and filled with the more expensive items like jewelry and antique thingamabobs that Wolffe couldn't make heads or tails of what they were. The gentleman behind the counter looked past his prime and was sitting on a stool and reading something on his data-pad, probably the morning news if he had to guess, but his demeanor didn't appear to be guarded or ornery, so Wolffe felt optimistic about his prospects.
He slipped his hand into his pocket to grab the rings, but let his fingers linger when he felt the cool touch of the metal bands against his skin. He clinked them together, slipped the smaller one through the larger one, and rotated the larger one around, just like he did when he wore it. The hesitancy was unfamiliar, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't will his hand out of his pocket. It was as if the rings were too heavy to lift. Wolffe sighed. It was asinine to get worked up over a hunk of gold that had no value other than the credits he could exchange it for.
"Can I help you?" the gentleman behind the counter asked.
Wolffe looked up from where he had been blankly staring and cleared his dry throat before he spoke. "I… How much can I get for gold?"
The gentleman got up from the stool and shrugged as he approached the counter. "Depends on the weight of the gold and the purity. Show me whatcha got."
Wolffe bit his lip, his gut twisting into more knots. He had to do it. What other choice did he have? It was very rare for him to get into a position where his gut overrode his mission objective, and at the moment he was in a full-blown crisis–paralyzed by the decision. The only thing he knew that could get him out of this situation was to order himself to do it because as they all knew, good soldiers followed orders. It was weird, he had to admit, but whatever worked was the name of the game, and with a single silent order, he placed the rings on the counter.
"They're solid gold," Wolffe said as if his meager knowledge of precious metals meant anything to the gentleman behind the counter.
The gentleman knit his eyebrows and picked up the two rings, placing them gently into the palm of his hand. He lowered the wired glasses that sat atop his head and stared at the rings intently. "What language is the inscription?"
"Mando'a," Wolffe answered. The gentleman hummed in response as he continued to inspect the rings. It wasn't a well-known language, even among the clones, so it made sense that he didn't know it just from looking at it.
Turning to the other side of the counter, the gentleman placed the rings individually on a scale and balanced them out based on the proportions. He scribbled a few notes in his data-pad, then bent down to pull out a small case from under the counter. He flipped the latches open and pulled out a bottle of acid and a small file. Wolffe watched attentively as the gentleman tested the rings for purity. They wouldn't be his for much longer, but he wasn't going to let anything bad happen to them until the transaction was over.
When the gentleman was done testing the rings, he brought them both back over to where Wolffe was standing in front of the counter and placed them down. "You were right. They are solid gold and of high quality. I can give you 1,200 for the smaller one and 3,000 for the larger one."
Wolffe closed his eyes and sighed. It wasn't enough. He was still short three hundred credits to pay the nanny. "Are you sure they're not worth more? Even just a little?" He was trying not to sound desperate, but desperation was the only emotion he had left in the tank.
The gentleman quirked an eyebrow. "If I may, why do you want to sell these in the first place? I can tell by the way you've been squirming that you're not particularly keen on letting them go."
Wolffe was taken aback by the perceptive comment. Was he squirming? If so, that was new too.
"I can see they're wedding rings," the gentleman continued. "Wife ran off with another man?"
"She's dead," Wolffe said without changing his expression. The words were getting easier to say without getting choked up. He turned his head to look at Cara, who was still preoccupied with the large amount of toys she had surrounded herself with, and then turned back to face the gentleman behind the counter. "She's all I have left now, and I have to take care of her. I just… I need 300 more. Please."
The gentleman behind the counter looked between Cara and Wolffe and his expression softened. "The rings are only worth 4,200, so that's all I can give you for them, but I just bought some new shelving units that need to be assembled. If you put them together for me, I'll pay you the 300."
Wolffe's jaw dropped at the offer. It was unbelievable. He glanced at his chronometer to make sure he had enough time to get the job done before their appointment to meet with the nanny. The nanny service wasn't far from the thrift store, only a couple minutes, and as long as there weren't a thousand shelving units, he was confident he could get them all put together in time. "I don't know what to say other than thank you, sir."
The gentleman smiled. "Breathe a sigh of relief, kid. It's not easy being a single father. I should know. I was in your shoes at one point in my life, and sometimes a little assistance is required." It was Wolffe's turn to smile. "Follow me to the back and I'll show you where the shelving units are."
Wolffe took a step then stopped. "My daughter…"
"Don't worry," the gentleman said with a wave of his hand. "We'll only be gone a second, and I'll keep an eye on her while you work. I had five daughters, you know, and they were all a pain in my rear."
Wolffe snorted, a smile lingering on his face. It was nice to talk to someone who knew what it was like. He had enough trouble dealing with one daughter. He couldn't imagine trying to raise five of them at once. The thought alone gave Wolffe a massive headache. He loved Cara to death, but he didn't need any clones of her, that was for sure. "Lead the way."
Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.
Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)
Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Sinker, Comet, Boost
Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff
Word Count: 1.9k
Author's Note: Sorry about no fic last week. I had surgery on Friday and didn't get a chance to post the fic I wanted to post, so to stay on schedule, I'm forgoing that fic for another update of this one! Yay! This part is going to be tough, but it was absolutely necessary for Cara and Wolffe to have this moment together just as much as the bath time moment. Let's just say, breakfast doesn't go as planned. (oops it got longer) As always, please enjoy 💚
Part 1 || Prev | Next
Series Masterlist
After bath time was done, and they'd both dried off and changed into new clothes, it was time for breakfast. Wolffe really hoped his Pack brothers came through and made a decent breakfast for all of them. He was starving, and he knew Cara must be hungry too. He was a little worried since he didn't give Boost any directions, but there was foodstuff in the conservator, he thought, or, well, he hoped. Knowing his wife, she would've stocked up when she found out he was coming home.
Wolffe walked into the kitchen with Cara following closely behind, but stopped in his tracks at what he saw. Cara didn't stop walking and bumped into the back of his leg with a small oomph. Feeling the light hit, Wolffe reached back around with his hand to rub her head, still staring dumbstruck at the state of the kitchen.
"What in the…" Wolffe said with wide eyes. It was a mess. A complete and utter mess. He wasn't even sure it was still a kitchen. "I said make breakfast, not fight breakfast!"
"We did!" Boost grinned. He had flour patches across his face and streaks down his clothes.
"Sweetie," Wolffe said as he looked down at Cara. "Do you know what that is?" He pointed at Boost.
Cara shook her head.
"I'm gonna teach you a new word," Wolffe smiled. "That is a di'kut."
"Dee… koot," she repeated.
"Hey!" Boost exclaimed, clearly offended by the remark.
Wolffe snorted. "You're the one who said it's never too late to start."
Boost opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it because Wolffe was right.
"Anyway," Comet chimed in and gestured towards the table. "Breakfast is served!"
Wolffe sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, and walked Cara over to the table to eat whatever breakfast his Pack brothers created. She climbed up onto her chair next to him and he made sure she was seated properly so she wouldn't fall off. Sinker then walked around the table and placed the plates down with their homemade pancakes stacked on them. Wolffe eyed the oddly shaped and multi-colored pancakes suspiciously and raised an eyebrow up at his brother.
"What?" Sinker asked.
"Is it edible?" Wolffe asked.
"I made them," Comet added. "So, yeah, they're edible."
Wolffe snorted. Of course Boost and Sinker couldn't be left alone to make breakfast. It was a good thing they picked up Comet when they did or they'd all have starved by now.
Cara tugged on Wolffe's pants and he lowered his head so he could hear her.
"Where's mommy?" she asked.
The room went silent and Wolffe sighed. Not this again. "She's not here, sweetie," he answered, then pulled her plate a little closer to the edge of the table. "Now, eat your breakfast for me."
"We can't eat without mommy," Cara said, then pushed the plate back.
Wolffe bit back his frustration and pulled the plate towards her again. "You have to eat."
"Not without mommy!" she yelled and pushed the plate with more force, knocking the fork onto the floor.
"Cara," Wolffe warned, his patience wearing thin. "This isn't a debate."
"I don't want it!" she screamed.
Cara climbed down from her chair, sat on the floor, and cried loudly. She was in a full-blown tantrum and Wolffe didn't know what to do. He looked over at Comet, Boost, and Sinker with pleading eyes, but the three of them only shrugged. Her screaming became louder and pierced Wolffe straight through the head, making it throb and ache like earlier. Somehow she'd reached a frequency that made him want to scream too. He tried to keep himself under control and calm her down.
"Sweetie," Wolffe said as he rubbed his temples. "I need you to stop screaming, please."
She continued to wail from her seat on the floor, tears streaming down her face as her cheeks turned red. Wolffe could feel the tension in his head rising as it threatened to boil over and explode. Why couldn't she just stop crying? Why couldn't she just understand? Why did he have to keep explaining it to her? He tried to think of his best options, but her incessant screaming was grating on his nerves and clouding his thoughts. If she didn't quiet down soon, the neighbors were going to think he was hurting her.
"Cara!" Wolffe barked, picking his hands up from the table to try and settle himself. "I said stop!"
Cara looked at Wolffe and stopped crying, and, for a moment, Wolffe thought it was finally over.
"I want mommy!" she started screaming again. "I want mommy! I want mommy! I want mommy!"
The tension snapped like a taut wire and Wolffe's chair scraped across the floor as he violently pushed it back. He took a few steps towards Cara, dropped to his knees, and grabbed her little shoulders so she was looking him in the eyes. "She's not coming back!" he yelled. "Do you understand me? She's never coming back! She's dead! She's gone! So, just stop asking for her already!"
Wolffe panted at the exertion and hung his head between his arms, the anger and frustration slowly dissipating. The words he spoke so ferociously, not only to his daughter but also to himself, echoed in his mind. He picked his head up and looked at his wide-eyed daughter, instantly feeling a shooting pain straight through his heart. She looked confused. She looked helpless. She looked scared. She looked scared… of him. Remorse washed over him like a tidal wave and the panic of what he just did flooded his brain.
"Oh, kriff," Wolffe breathed as he released his grip on her tiny shoulders. Cara backed away from him until she bumped into Comet's leg. Wolffe's breath hitched. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Baby–" Wolffe reached out his hand, but Cara turned away from him and grabbed onto Comet's leg.
Comet looked down at Wolffe with a pained expression, then at Cara, and sighed. "Come here, ad'ika," he soothed. "I've got you." He picked Cara up into his arms and she grabbed onto his shirt, hanging on with tight little fists while burying her face in his chest. He readjusted her on his hip, then locked eyes with Wolffe in a silent word. Wolffe hung his head and Comet left the room with Cara.
Once Cara was out of the kitchen, Wolffe pounded his fists onto the floor and yelled in frustration.
Sinker knelt beside him and placed his hand on Wolffe's shoulder.
"What have I done?" Wolffe choked. He wanted to vomit. "I grabbed her. I yelled at her. I've never– I wouldn't– How could I do that?"
Sinker looked up at Boost and gestured for him to go do something else for the moment. Boost nodded and left the kitchen.
"Maker forgive me," Wolffe's voice quivered. "She's just a child, and I… I treated her like a cadet. Like a kriffing shiny!"
"Wolffe–"
"No!" Wolffe yelled and smacked Sinker's hand away. "There's no excuse."
Sinker sighed and sat back on his haunches. "Give yourself a break, will ya? Your wife's dead."
Wolffe flinched at the bluntness of the comment, but maybe that was what he needed right now.
"Maker, Wolffe," Sinker continued. "It's only been what? Twelve standard hours? And in that time you've lost your wife, your home, your belongings, and you almost lost Cara too. You really thought you could get through this without losing your temper a little?"
"I'm a commander–"
"Kriff being a commander," Sinker rolled his eyes. He moved around the floor to face Wolffe. "You're still human, commander or not, and Cara doesn't need Commander Wolffe right now, she just needs her dad. You know, the one who loves her?"
"But I scared her…" Wolffe lamented, the words burning in the back of his throat. "She was scared of me."
"She'll be fine," Sinker said with a wave of his hand. "Just apologize and move on. She's a tough kid. Tougher than you might think." Sinker smirked. "You are her dad after all."
A small smile formed at the corner of Wolffe's mouth. Sinker was right about one thing. She was the daughter of a clone commander, not just some random natborn off the streets. His genetics, and his wife's, ran through her veins. She was sensitive like her mother, but she got his resilience and also his attitude. Plo's words from the night before still rang true. He needed to take each moment as it came and do what was needed then, even if that meant messing it up once and a while. She'd forgive him one day.
Wolffe took a deep breath to compose himself before Sinker offered a hand to help him up. He accepted it without complaint. Looking back at the table of untouched food, now getting cold, another sigh escaped his lips. Cara still hadn't eaten and he wasn't sure if they had any more time for delays since they had to leave soon. He decided to pack some of the pancakes in a container and hoped that Cara would eat them like that. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing.
After putting the food away, Wolffe took another deep breath, then released it slowly before walking out of the kitchen and towards the living room. He stepped to the threshold, and just as he thought, Comet was sitting on the couch with Cara sitting calmly on his lap. He never understood how Comet got so good with kids, but he was thankful. With slow and soft steps, Wolffe approached them. He sat down on the ground and fiddled with a piece of the carpet while he got up the nerve to speak.
"Cara," Wolffe said softly.
Cara lifted her head from resting against Comet's chest to look at Wolffe.
"I'm sorry I got upset and yelled at you," he said. "It was wrong."
"It's okay…" she mumbled into Comet's shirt.
"No, baby, it's not," he continued. "I know… I know this is scary. Daddy is scared too, but that doesn't make it okay for either of us to get upset at each other." He paused, gauging her expression and understanding of what he was saying. "So, how about less screaming and more listening, for both of us?"
"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry, daddy."
Wolffe smiled weakly and released another shaky breath. He opened his arms. "Can I have a hug?"
Cara nodded and squirmed out of Comet's arms and into Wolffe's. He held her tight against him, careful not to hurt her, and kissed the side of her head. He started rocking her and looked up at Comet, who had a warm smile on his face. Wolffe mouthed a simple thank you to him and Comet nodded. Wolffe didn't know what he would do without his Pack brothers, and it pained his heart that it took a tragedy such as this for him to realize just how much they meant to him.
"Daddy?" Cara mumbled into his chest.
Wolffe leaned her back so he could see her face. "Yes, baby?'
"Is mommy ever gonna come home?" she asked.
Wolffe bit his tongue. "No baby, she's not."
"I'm gonna miss mommy," she sniffled and her eyes turned watery.
Wolffe leaned his forehead against Cara's and let his own emotions show. "Me too, baby. Me too."
Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.
Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)
Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC)
Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral
Word Count: 1.8k
Author's Note: I would call this a bit of a breather chapter. It's not overly emotional or angsty. Just some much needed daddy-daughter time, which I think is cute. Gotta throw some cute things in the middle of the tragedy, you know? It's all about that balance. As always, please enjoy 💚
Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot
Part 1 || Prev | Next
Series Masterlist
Wolffe glanced at Cara to ensure she was still asleep, then grabbed a change of clothes and silently left the room. The male-species communal shower wasn't far so he could return quickly in an emergency. That automatic thought process made Wolffe groan as he entered the communal shower area. He could not handle one more emergency, crisis, or mishap. He needed everything around him to be calm for at least ten minutes so he could collect himself back into the battle-hardened commander he was before everything in his life exploded.
The sigh of relief Wolffe released when the hot water cascaded down his back was sinful. The sensation was rapturous. It had been a long time since Wolffe had a liquid shower and he almost forgot how nice they were. The shower in their apartment was his favorite. It was always clean, smelled like his wife's soap, and the water pressure was fantastic. The shower he was under now felt similar, but it was missing the comforts of home. Regardless, he stood under the hot spray for as long as he could before he washed his hair and scrubbed his body clean.
After several minutes of soothing bliss, Wolffe turned the water off and exited the steamy shower stall. He wrapped a towel around his waist, walked to the sink area, and swiped his arm across the mirror to remove the condensation. He smoothed a hand along his stubbly cheek and frowned. He needed a shave. It was a minor annoyance, so he rummaged around the room until he found a shaving kit. It only took minutes to do, and he looked a little less ragged but it was still a chore. With that finished, he toweled off, threw his new clothes on, and left.
On his way back to the room, Wolffe heard a very distressed noise coming from down the hall. He stopped walking and threw his head back, releasing an exhausted and distressed noise of his own in retaliation. He knew it was Cara, he just knew it, and in that moment a part of him couldn't wait to get back to the battlefield where he wouldn't have to hear it anymore, but the other part of him, the father part, broke in half. He'd never get used to the dichotomy of soldier and father. It was always awkward when those two halves warred with each other.
Lo and behold, when Wolffe opened the door to the room, he found exactly what he expected to find–an unhappy and teary-eyed child. Wolffe took a deep breath as he analyzed the familiar scene, then easily switched into father mode. He closed the distance between the door and the bed in a few steps and sat on the edge of the bed where Cara was sitting up and rubbing her eyes. He sat beside her for a moment and listened to her cry. He wasn't sure if anything he could say would make it better, or if he should let her cry it out until she was tired.
His parental instincts won out. "What's the matter, baby?" he asked.
"Why'd you leave?" Cara sobbed. "Where'd you go?"
Wolffe was stunned. Of all the things he was expecting her to be crying about, it for sure wasn't because he left the room for twenty minutes. He thought she would still be asleep when he returned, so he didn't think about what would happen if she woke up and he wasn't there. "I took a shower," he explained. "See?" Wolffe bowed his head down so she could touch his hair, which was still damp.
She reached out, grabbed a chunk, and pulled.
"Ow," he said deadpanned.
Cara giggled.
"Feel better now?" Wolffe asked as he ran his fingers through the section of hair she yanked.
Cara sniffled, swiped her sleeve across her nose, and nodded.
"I'm sorry I left, but you were asleep," he said. "I didn't want to wake you up."
"I don't like it when you leave," she said.
Wolffe sighed. "I don't like it when I leave either, but daddies have to shower."
"Why?" she asked.
"For the same reason you take a bath," he chuckled. "I get dirty too, you know."
"Oh," she said.
"Alright, it's time for bed now," Wolffe said. He got up from the bedside, tucked her back under the covers, and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, baby."
"Night, Daddy," she said, then she snuggled in against her pillow.
Wolffe smiled fondly and smoothed his hand down her hair. With a small shake of his head, he turned around, picked up his duffle bag beside the wardrobe, and plopped it onto the ground adjacent to the head of Cara's bed. He'd slept in worse places and with a lot less comfort, so he considered the floor as decent. A blanket was unnecessary and he didn't need the duffle bag for a pillow, but, without his armor, the neck positioning would be awkward. With his bedding all set Wolffe turned off the light, then laid down on the floor and closed his eyes.
"Daddy," Cara whispered. She had crawled to the edge of the bed and was overhanging the edge.
"Hm?" Wolffe responded, but it was more of an exasperated groan.
"Can I sleep down there with you?" she asked.
"No," he said. "You get the bed, Daddy gets the floor."
"But I don't want to be alone," she whined.
Wolffe sighed. "I'm right here." He raised his arm and laid his hand on the edge of the bed so he was touching her knee. "Can't get any closer than that."
Cara grabbed Wolffe's fingers and tugged. "Daddy, please."
"Your mother would kill me if I let you sleep on the floor," he argued.
"Then sleep up here," Cara offered like it was the obvious answer.
"Baby, that bed is not big enough for me," he said.
"Daddy," she whined, but it sounded more like a cry. "Please. I miss Mommy."
Wolffe sighed and sat up knowing he wasn't going to win this war. If either of them were going to get any sleep, he needed to concede victory and give her what she wanted. Out of the options presented, sleeping on the floor was out. Wolffe didn't believe in much of an afterlife, but he wasn't going to take the chance of his wife coming back from the grave to scream at him for letting their daughter sleep on the cold floor where she could catch a cold. On the other hand, that bed was not made for adults like him and while Cara might sleep well, he would not.
"Alright," Wolffe finally agreed and he flipped the light back on. "Get up."
Cara beamed with excitement and hopped off of her bed.
Wolffe was less than enthusiastic with his movements, but it was what his daughter wanted, and who was he to argue with those crystal blue eyes? They were the same eyes his wife would give him when she wanted something that he was hesitant about. It never took him long to cave to whatever whim or idea she had, and for the most part, they all turned out well. The only one that didn't end up going the way they expected was the night they made Cara. It was the first time he caved to his wife and it wasn't the last, but now he does it for Cara.
Wolffe tilted his head as he looked at the bed and thought about how he wanted to arrange himself. It was small, but not in the way that the barrack bunks were small. Those were narrow-small and this was short-small. No matter which way he looked at it, his feet were going to hang over the foot of the bed, and not just his toes either. In his mind, it looked like a very uncomfortable arrangement, but Cara looked very excited to be sleeping on a bed made out of her dad. He couldn't relate, but maybe that was normal for children who had biological parents.
Resigning to his fate, Wolffe pulled the blanket up, settled himself on the bed, and used the pillow to prop his head up a bit. As he suspected, his feet hung off the foot of the bed, but it didn't feel as bad as he thought it would. Then again, he didn't know what several hours in that position would feel like when he woke up. Once he was in a good position, he gestured for Cara to come over, and she climbed up the side of the bed and then on top of him. She wiggled and moved around to adjust herself which made Wolffe a bit nervous.
"Watch your feet," Wolffe warned, but she wasn't listening. "Baby, watch your–" Wolffe gasped when her foot made hard contact with his testicles, "–foot," he wheezed. If Cara wasn't on top of him, he would've doubled over and probably vomited into the nearest trash receptacle or maybe even on the floor, but he inhaled and exhaled sharply to internalize the pain instead of making a scene. His wife would be in a hysterical laughing fit if she saw what just happened.
"Daddy, are you okay?" Cara asked, the worry evident in her voice.
Wolffe moaned as he tried to settle his frustration, but he couldn't be mad at her because she didn't know any better. It wasn't like he sat her down and taught her about male anatomy. He preferred this sleeping arrangement when she was small and could fit on his chest, not when her legs were long enough to kick his testicles into the next galaxy. In an attempt to self-soothe the pain, he tossed around the idea that he didn't need them anyway. Without his wife, he wasn't planning on expanding his family anytime soon, so in reality, he could live without them.
"I'm fine," Wolffe said when he could finally verbalize his thoughts in a normal octave. "Just, don't wiggle around so much, okay?"
"Okay, Daddy," she said, then snuggled her head under his chin. "I love you."
While his nether region throbbed with a lingering ache, Wolffe could still feel the warmth well up in his heart at her words bathed in sentiment. At the end of the day, she was his baby girl and there wasn't a force in the Galaxy, not even a kick to the testicles, that could make him love her any less. He could never be a great father, but he could be the best father his short, meaningless life allowed him to be. And she might never understand that. She might grow up to hate him one day, but until then, he wanted to hear her say those words over and over again.
"I love you, too," Wolffe said and he kissed her head as she snuggled under his chin. "More than you'll ever know." He pulled up the covers over them both and wrapped his arms tightly around her to keep her from falling off. It felt natural to hold her like that, as a protective father would, but it wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't, so maybe she was right in forcing him to do it now.
Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.
Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)
Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC)
Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral
Word Count: 1.4k
Author's Note: Happy New Year everyone! I can't believe we're already on Part 20 😱 I also can't believe it took a whole year to get here 😅 I'd like to say we're half-way through and I'll finish it up this year, but every chapter I plan magically turns into three, so we'll see. This chapter is definitely wayyyyy better than the last one. I got my mojo back. As always, please enjoy 💚
Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot
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Series Masterlist
The next morning, Wolffe woke before dawn and quietly rummaged through his box of personal belongings. His array of creative attempts to procure more credits the previous day had all failed miserably, but aside from flagrant begging, he wasn't ready to give up. While he drifted off to sleep, an idea had flashed across his mind–a last-ditch effort to secure his daughter's safety and well-being while he was gone. Looking for it in the pitch black of the room proved difficult, but when his finger slid across the smooth surface, he breathed a sigh of relief.
With the object in hand, he scooted across the floor to lean his back against the wall, raising his knees to rest his arms against them. As much as he wanted to admire the ring's golden sheen, the room was much too dark, so he settled for closing his eyes and rolling it between his fingers. His mind could still see it, recreate its shape, color, and glint, and even read the inscription on the inside as his fingers smoothed over the engraving. It was like seeing it in daylight under a microscope, every detail and imperfection his mind found and relayed back to him.
That was something clones were good at–finding their way in the dark, finding things in the dark, finding each other in the dark–and yet, ironically, they weren't born from the dark like everyone else in the universe. While other creatures were birthed from wombs, eggs, or other dark places, clones were birthed from clear tubes under the harshest of sterile white lights, and it was only through rigorous training that they learned to understand the dark. Clones might've been abominations of nature from birth, but they still died in darkness just like everyone else.
Wolffe leaned his head back against the wall and took a deep breath through his nose. Death wasn't something he normally dwelt on, but ever since his wife died, it was the only thing his mind would settle on. The multitude of thoughts was like waves crashing on a beach, slowly eroding his mental barricades and pulling pieces of himself back into the abyss. He had to get a grip or someone was going to die on his watch. Wolffe softly snorted and shook his head. There it was again–death. It wouldn't leave him alone.
He slipped the ring onto his finger and absentmindedly began rotating it with his thumb. Regardless of what his wife told him, he still maintained that it was not a nervous habit, and argued that it felt weird and that rotating it helped it not feel weird. His wife always rolled her eyes at the explanation but never pushed him to stop the habit. After all, it wasn't his fault that he couldn't wear it long enough to get used to it being there, and if he was being honest, it would most likely always feel foreign, which is how he convinced himself it was okay to sell it.
On his walk back from the nanny service, he had passed by a thrift shop with a bright neon sign on the window stating they purchased precious metals and jewelry. It had only been a peripheral glance, and his mind had been so preoccupied with getting back to the Temple to relieve Comet that it didn't connect. Luckily, his mind remembered, and that became his big plan–to sell the rings for the credits he needed to pay the nanny. Convincing himself to sell his ring wasn't difficult, however, convincing himself to sell his wife's ring was proving more difficult.
He patted his front pants pocket to find her ring nestled safely inside and then smoothed the pad of his finger around the edge in a continuous circle. It was so much smaller than his. So much so that he couldn't fit it on his pinkie finger if he tried, but then again, so was she. The size difference became a running gag from early on in their relationship and he took every chance he could to poke fun at her for it, with love, of course. Wolffe felt a pain shoot across his chest and, like a freight train out of nowhere, more memories rushed in.
Sometimes he would hold things up high, just out of reach to where she had to jump to try and get them. He'd laugh and she'd be fuming. Other times, he'd sit on the throw blanket on the couch, and she'd tug and tug to try and get it free from his weight, but she never could. He'd pretend to not be paying attention, but still smile at her struggling. They were both painfully fond memories, but ones where he could easily see the gold band shimmer on her finger as she tried so hard to get the upper hand. Could he sell it?
Sentimentality never befitted a clone, especially not a clone commander. Yes, he was fond of certain people, places, and things, but never fond enough to hold on so tightly his knuckles went white. Loss was a part of war. He lost things every rotation–battles, civilians, planets, clones–and if he had an emotional breakdown every time, he'd be decommissioned. The Malevolence incident never broke him, and he wasn't about to break now. This decision couldn't be a matter of fondness. It had to be a matter of duty to his daughter, and that was it.
He didn't need a ring to remind him of his wife or what they had together for such a brief time. Even if he didn't have Cara, a walking, living, breathing piece of his wife, he'd still never forget her, because he placed her memories neatly inside a box and tucked them away next to another box on the proverbial shelf of his mind where everything was arranged in alphabetical order for quick location. Was he happy that Maria sat next to Manuals? Not entirely, because every time he reached for Manuals, he'd see her in his peripheral vision and be reminded of what he lost.
While Wolffe was well-buried in his thoughts, a thin strip of yellow-orange light appeared on the floor next to him from the window above where he was sitting, alerting him that the sun was rising and it was time to get a move on. He removed his wedding ring and slipped it into his pocket where it settled next to his wife's ring. At least the rings could be together. Wolffe huffed at the sentimental thought and quickly picked himself up off the floor. The rings belonged in the box now, not in his pocket, and that's all he needed to keep telling himself to get through this.
Cara struggled with being awoken before the sun was fully up, which was no surprise to Wolffe. It had become their new normal–she'd whine and he'd sigh. At least with her awake he had a distraction from his thoughts and could focus on what he needed to accomplish–sell the rings and pay the nanny. It didn't matter a whole lot to him whether Cara liked the nanny or not, or for that matter if he did because neither of them had a choice. She'd learn to like her, and he'd only have to deal with her when he was back from deployment.
However, getting Cara presentable enough to meet the nanny was something that he had to deal with now, and for reasons he could not explain, she was being fussy. She didn't want to get out of bed. She didn't want a bath. She didn't want to put clothes on. She didn't want her hair to be brushed. Every single part of the process was a fight, and every cry, scream, kick, and flail was another chip knocked off of Wolffe's patience. It was like the world was suddenly ending if, Maker forbid, she put her shoes on. Of all the days, why did it have to be this one?
Finally, after thirty minutes of wrestling and arguing, they could leave the Temple. Did she want to go? No. Wolffe was baffled by her logic. She was so eager to go out with him in the morning, but then all of a sudden going anywhere with him was the purest form of torture. He bet his wife never had to deal with this level of insubordination. Maybe it was just a father thing, or maybe she went to bed too late, or maybe it was a million other reasons. Regardless, they were leaving, even if he had to drag her, they were going.
