Yoooo I'm sorry you were probably expecting copy paste men but I used to draw wolves 24/7 when I was younger so I couldn't pass on this opportunity to be honest! Next drawing will be humans again, I promise. But thank you for the lovely request, these boys deserve some cuddle time <3 (And Wolffe is keeping on eye out for his pack members, like always)
Also not me realising how much resemblance there is between wolf-Wolffe and my old wolf OC
Taglist (read to join): @aknightreaderr @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @kotemf @thecoffeelorian
Plo Koon is the first Jetti to learn about the clone cuddle piles.
It's not too long after Malevolence, and the men who had survived with him were still a bit wary of being attacked at any moment. Wolffe in particular is avoiding most smaller craft, constantly placing himself as close to the door when he's on the bridge as humanly possible.
It breaks Plo's heart to see this, and one night he goes to check in on Wolffe on his off time. The officers quarters are empty, and Plo is confused but figures Wolffe might be down in the barracks.
The beds that should be spaced apart have had their mattresses stripped, all stacked in an organized pile in the furthest corner of the room, making it impossible to be snuck up on. Plo can see Wolffe near the middle of the pile of sleeping clones, Sinker being used to prop the sleeping officer up, while Boost is snoring away against Wolffe's side, his legs wrapped around the other as if anchoring him. Countless other 104th soldiers are sleeping or quietly chatting around the trio, and Plo is eventually noticed by a shiny who freezes, his gasp startling the others to attention.
"Rest easy little one, I'm just curious." Plo keeps his voice low, and the shiny slowly resumes his task of braiding another clones hair, dozens of hazel eyes watching the Jetti come closer to investigate. "Do you always rest this way?"
"When we can sir." One speaks up, a pilot Plo recognizes, looking a little embarrassed. "We can fix everything back the way it's supposed to be."
"Whatever for?" The master kneels down a few feet from the pile, able to feel a constant thrumming of peace and content from the men. "You are at peace like this."
"It helps, with everything." A splicer speaks up, the man half buried under a sleeping brother. "You can join us, if you'd like?"
Plo is surprised by the offer, and watches as various clones glance at each other in a language he does not understand.
"Perhaps another time, little one." Plo adjusts his position to take up his meditation pose. "I'll meditate for now."
The Force is singing with content when Plo opens himself up to it, and for the first time, he thinks of the men as his children, not just his soldiers.
Hey, anybody recall how in Legends Plo Koon had an unnamed Padawan in 21 BBY? Do you have recommendations for how to swing that cat over the fence, because it's giving me ideas and I don't yet know 1 how to make it work, and 2 if I should use that as angst potential for Wolffe before he gets the recovery period he deserved in Rebels but in my AU.
Whenever I think of Wolffe saying “They fight just like the boys!” in Rebels while referring to the Loth wolves, all I can picture is Boost and Sinker ripping off their helmets and biting people. Just grabbing people by the ankles and swinging them around. Like those ms paint memes you know?
Part (6) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!
There are two people in particular to blame for this chapter. You know who are are, and I love you for it.
Warnings: Big emotions in this - rage, guilt, blame, and the like. There do be a bit of fighting, but it's not gory. Brief description of water torture. Profanity
WC: 2,032
No one moved, breath nearly trapped in their chests as they watched the pair steadily make their way out of the hanger. Crosshair noted the stiffness in her movements, the slight hitch in her step, and his teeth ground at the certainty that her shoulder was only a small part of what she’d suffered.
“What the kriff did you do?!” He snarled at the group of regs still staring toward the now empty hallway. He’d half-expected Hunter or Echo to growl some half-hearted warning for him to back down, but they seemed just as eager for answers as he was, and the unspoken permission that granted him, the justification in loosing his rage on the remaining members of the 104th left him near shaking, face twisted with the full display of his fury.
“We followed our orders; just like she did… Things just… got complicated.” The one with the double oval on his forehead replied, and the dejection in his voice only worsened Crosshair’s anger.
“The hell does that mean?” His voice ground between gritted teeth, body innately taking a half-step forward.
“It means there were unforeseen circumstances that caused problems, and that you lot aren’t cleared to know anything more.” The clone bearing a wolf-head emblem said, not shying from the very real threat in the sniper’s posture as he tread forward to place himself pointedly between his men and the enraged squad before him.
“I don’t give a Sith’s tit about your mission. The kriff happened to her, and why didn’t any of you stop it?!” He spat, shoulders pulling back as he towered over the Sergent.
“No time.” Another reg replied gruffly from behind the telltale helm of a pilot. “When everythin’ went down, we were all too far away to do anything, an’ they had her whisked off to the other side of planet before we could reach her.”
“She was alone?!” Echo nearly shouted from behind him. Crosshair didn’t question Hunter’s silence thus far, assured that his brother was listening, calculating; that he could smell the cocktail of adrenaline filling each of them and was comparing their heart rates, their body language, the tension in their every taut muscle to figure out just how far they could be pushed before snapping, how much information they might glean from tongues loosened by shame and guilt.
“There wasn’t supposed to be any combat where she was.” The last one sighed, his head dropping toward his chest.
“Can’t help but notice not one of you has a damn scratch, so how’d she end up like that in a non-combat zone with you lot still looking like damn shinies?!” Cross shot back, disdain dripping from every word.
“That’s enough!” The pilot barked, moving stiffly forward to stand beside his brother. “Think you’re something special? That you’re all high and mighty just ‘cause you’ve got some damn crush? Well, how ‘bout we compare how many times she’s been hurt working with you than with us?!”
He nearly ignored the subtle shift of Hunter’s hand signaling him to back off, but caught himself mere heartbeats before throwing himself forward, fists clenched hard enough to shake.
“If you’re referring to combat ops, given the general nature of your missions, which tend toward community outreach and long-distance support, in addition to the fact that her most grievous injuries were caused directly by your commander’s intentional actions, statistically speaking, that comparison wouldn’t do much to support your argument.” The subtle note of annoyance in Tech’s retort was just enough to draw a huff of something too dark to be likened to laughter from Crosshair.
“Still haven’t given a reason why she was alone.” Wrecker’s voice was quiet, and that alone left Crosshair leaning slightly to the side lest he find himself between them should the massive clone decide he was done listening. “She’s a medic – can’t really do that if she’s not with you.”
“She wasn’t there as a medic.” The first reg explained wearily.
“Then why was she there? Why pull her from our unit at all?” Hunter asked, carefully masking his own anger with a feigned gentleness.
“Comet.” The Sergent called, helm shifting to stare pointedly at his brother. The silence that followed that warning only sought to fuel Crosshair’s ire while worsening the 104th’s collective remorse.
“We needed someone who could blend in with the Separatists.”
“Boost!”
The man who’d spoken drew a sharp breath at the reprimand in his brother’s tone, head snapping up to stare him down as he wrenched his helmet free.
“No! Dammit, Sinker, they should know what happened! You think needing to keep it a secret is going to do her any good?! Hell, that one’s clearly read plenty of our old mission briefs already!” Boost roared, hand snapping toward Tech. “Why the hell wouldn’t he read this one? The only difference between us telling them now and him reading about it later is how much time they’ll have to get their shebs ready to help her when she’s back.”
Despite his lingering urge to lash out, Crosshair found himself both quieted and unnerved anew at the man’s words, torn between wanting to berate them for their carelessness and appreciating Boost’s argument.
“I know…” Sinker replied, voice nearly breaking beneath the weight of remorse threatening to overwhelm him, “but that’s not our call to make.” Comet and the other one, the pilot, had both turned their attention from Crosshair and their brothers, as though waiting to see who’d cede first that they might be granted permission to speak freely.
“Then you go right ahead and report me, Sergent.” Boost spat.
“Our contact chose the location.” Sinker’s shoulders fell at Comet’s quiet whisper, but he offered no further dispute. “It was a gathering for high-ranking Separatists. The plan was her to get in, get a datachip, and monitor security while we broke into the gala’s database to get more info… get a little something extra for the effort. Apparently, our contact had ulterior motives, too. He planted a bomb. She got caught in the blast, and then she was blamed for it.”
Air hissed through Crosshair’s teeth; dread twisted through his chest at the knowledge of what a Separatist interrogation entailed.
“We got to her as quick as we could.” The pilot continued, arms crossing over his chest at the guilt clearly sown through his own words. “Beat up some guards, tracked all the outbound ships… finally had to hunt down the damn contact himself to figure out where they took her.” He didn’t need to look back to know his brothers stood as stiff as he did, waiting for that final blow of what exactly had happened.
“They had her for about eight hours.” Resigned, Sinker finally turned back to face him, movements weary as he also reached up to remove his helmet, and Cross couldn’t help but be slightly surprised to find that the man shared his silver hair color, a fact that instantly annoyed him further, but he held his tongue as he waited for the reg to continue. “We know she was unconscious most of that time, but when she woke up…”
“Enough with all the kriffin’ stalling. Just tell us wha’ happened.” Wrecker growled impatiently.
“She was drowned.” Comet stated bluntly, and Crosshair’s blood went cold. “They drowned her, brought her back, and waterboarded her trying to find out who was behind the explosion.”
He could feel his heart racing, felt his breath quicken, every thought screaming at him to fight, to forgo all fear of reprimand or consequence for the relief of even a moment’s outburst, because that was something he knew. He knew how to deal with the pain of raw knuckles and split lips. He knew the taste of disappointment his brothers would harbor in the aftermath of his rashness. He knew the sting of defeat and the empty pride of victory, and, in that moment, held no preference for either. He merely needed the distraction; that familiarity, because the ache in his chest, the way it threatened to cripple him and rend him into a frenzy too overcome with grief and guilt to think straight was something he didn’t know how to deal with, and that terrified him.
“I assume she’s been given appropriate treatment to prevent lung infections?” The emptiness in Tech’s voice robbed Crosshair of that lingering rage to which he’d been clinging, leaving him cold and void of the will to drag himself back to the forefront of a confrontation that no longer promised anything of the respite he’d longed for.
“Yeah.” Boost answered quietly. “She also has a burn on her calf… wrists and ankles got torn up from fighting the restraints… pretty sure that’s how she dislocated her shoulder, too. We got it all cleaned and bandaged, but… just keep an eye on it.” There. That last comment was all it took to rekindle his anger, and he grasped it like the fleeting lifeline it was.
“Think it’s pretty clear we don’t need your advice on how to keep her safe.” He drawled, head tilting just enough to portray the depth of his contempt.
“That’s it.” The pilot growled, throwing himself forward without further thought or warning. In that split second before they collided, Crosshair felt the very edge of his lips twitch up into a broken smile born of relief and ruined by a guilt he’d deal with later.
In an instant, everyone was shouting, and he thrived in that moment of chaos as the man’s fist crashed into his jaw. Already, several hands were grabbing for him, straining to wrench him back, but not before he landed his own strike, knee plowing into his stomach with enough force to wrench the air from his lungs despite the plates of heavy armor. Crosshair just managed a final punch to his assailant’s head before Wrecker forced himself between them, iron grip locked around the reg’s shoulder in a threat even the haughty pilot couldn’t feign ignorance to.
In the brief fray, he’d failed to notice the split second of distraction tear Hunter’s attention away from them, but he instantly froze as his brother hauled him near enough to whisper harshly into his ear.
“Cody commed me. It’s Doc.” Already, Hunter was pulling away from him, torn between ending the fight and answering the summons. “Don’t make things worse.” He added with a snarl forced into barely audible growl. Expression faltering into horrified dread, Cross merely nodded. Hunter didn’t hesitate before turning and dashing from the hanger, and then all Crosshair could hear was the heaviness of his own breathing, the way his heart pounded in chest beneath that rush of emotions resurging mercilessly in the wake of his vain attempt to escape them.
He glanced back to find his brothers studying him carefully, confusion clear in their eyes as they waited for some explanation, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak, not when the other squad stood watching him with that same attentiveness. Without a word, he merely nodded toward the hallway leading to their temporary bunkroom, sparing not so much as a glare back to the men he still sought to blame for all of this; for calling her away, for letting her get hurt, for reminding him just how easily he might lose her because of this Force-forsaken war.
He didn’t listen to the hushed voices of the 104th as he began walking away; barely let himself note the sets of footsteps voicing his own squad belatedly falling in line behind him. He couldn’t think beyond the fruitless need to know why Cody had called Hunter, what had happened in the debrief; mind demanding he find some means to force his way into that kriffing office in his brother’s stead, and his rage grew at the knowledge that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do but wait. All his training as a sniper, years of drilling the importance of patience into him, of forming that patience into a weapon honed to perfection; it was all useless against this, and he couldn’t keep himself from slamming his fist into the wall in a final fit of frustration as they neared the still foreign barracks.
Next Chapter
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