Baff

Tunes-Giving Event: Tech/Leena (NOV 26)

From the moment Leena laid eyes on him, she was utterly captivated, and when Tech met her, he was equally fascinated by her free-spirited nature. Together, they’ve always shared an undeniable magnetic energy. Leena brings spontaneity and excitement, while Tech offers a sense of stability and grounding. It’s true that opposites attract, and their quirky, endearing romance is a testament to that. With bouncy, playful tunes that capture Leena’s adventurous spirit, and thoughtful, lyrically rich songs that reflect Tech’s intellectual side, this collection perfectly blends their contrasting personalities. These songs will not only make you smile but remind you of a love as unique and delightful as theirs.

'Cause my love is very deep and I know what you need

What can I do to fulfill your dreams? I wanna be with you

There she goes again

Racing through my brain

'Cause we could stay at home or watch the sunset

But I can't help from askin', "Are you bored yet?"

And I'll be yours until two and two is three

Yours until the mountain crumbles to the sea

In other words, until eternity

From my heart and from my hand

Why don't people understand my intentions?

Nice to meet ya! 

EVENT MASTERLIST

(Special thank you my dear friend and creative partner @legacygirlingreen for making this event possible! She is responsive for all the writing, design layout, post editing & greatly assisted in song selections!)

💚Tag List💚

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @sukithebean @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @justanotherdikutsimp @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate

Did anyone else love going in the middle of those clothes racks as a kid??? Those were the Days ™️

"Tag" (A flashback) || Captain Rex x OFC Mae || Clone x OC Week 2025

Pairing: Captain Rex x OC Mae Killough (Bio HERE)

Word Count: 5.7k+

Rating: SFW

Warnings: honestly... can't think of anything. Tooth rotting fluff maybe?"

Author's Note: Day 2, let's go! This is a flash back to Rex's second trip to Pabu in which he spends some quality time with our favorite doctor. I hope this little fluffy moment before the Captain slips into denial over his feelings is a nice reprieve! Thanks again to @clonexocweek for organizing this event! Reminder this all exists within @leenathegreengirl 's Pabu AU! ~ M

Previous work | Chronological Next Work || Masterlist

Echo decided to take a last-minute detour. He couldn’t entirely blame him, though. Aiko had sounded distinctly unsettled over the transmitter, and while the issue might seem trivial to some, Echo wasn’t the type to let things slide. Rex didn’t mind the change of plans. After his first trip to the island, he’d found himself unexpectedly charmed by many things: the temperate climate, the stunning scenery, the peaceful atmosphere. And of course, the captivating doctor—

Ever since his first visit to Pabu, her kindness had quietly lingered in his thoughts. It even found its way into his daily life, hanging around his neck. That little piece of glass she’d given him? He’d never been able to take it off. Something about it just fit. Maybe it was the color, which reminded him of 501 blue. Or maybe it was simply the fact that it was the first gift he’d ever received that had nothing to do with his life as a soldier. Rex wasn’t entirely sure. But one thing was clear: he liked it. And he enjoyed her company even more.

When he’d given her his comm channel, he hadn’t expected her to actually use it. But she did—frequently. And soon enough, he discovered she was just as quick-witted as she was kind. She opened up about the little details of her life, and in turn, he shared his. She vented about long days at work—he couldn’t help but offer a similar complaint, albeit with the unfortunate addition of being shot at. There was something about the way she mixed playful banter with a deep sense of respect that felt refreshing. In her, he found a kindred spirit.

That said, he hadn’t quite found the time to visit again. Despite his best intentions, he’d been pulled into the whirlwind of responsibilities following Senator Organa’s agreement to join their cause. The senator’s connections and resources were proving invaluable in his mission to save as many of his brothers as possible. But all those new opportunities came at a cost: time. Time he didn’t have to spare for trips to distant islands or for the company of pretty doctors, no matter how much he wanted to.

Still, there was something comforting about the thought of her. Even in the midst of his increasingly hectic life, he couldn’t deny the small moments he spent conversing with her over com had become a much-needed reprieve. In her, he’d found more than just someone to talk to. She had become a friend—a rare connection he could hold on to in a world that often felt overwhelmingly solitary.

He couldn’t really fault Echo for insisting on stopping by to check on Aiko. In fact, it gave him a legitimate excuse to see his friend. He didn’t think anyone knew they were on the island, especially since he was able to navigate the streets without Omega’s excited cheers or the familiar presence of their brothers. Echo had made his way back to the house, but Rex knew Mae would likely still be at the clinic. For some reason, her work always seemed endless, as if she never truly left it behind.

The only light in the building came from the office, leaving the main area shrouded in darkness, still and empty. As Rex quietly slipped inside, a wave of uncertainty washed over him. He hoped his presence wouldn’t be unwelcome, but suddenly, he felt… nervous. There was no real reason to be, of course. But something about seeing her in person again felt like a daunting task. Despite having shared much information about him, including the trauma of Umbara—the darkest chapter of their deployments—there was still a certain comfort in communicating across distance. It was easier, less complicated. The idea of standing face-to-face with her again, however, felt weighty, almost overwhelming.

Before he could fully process his own hesitations, the door to the office swung open, and in an instant, panic set in. He instinctively took a step back, heart pounding, but then—chaos.

"Halt, intruder!" came the mechanical shout, followed by a flash of metal. It was AZI. Rex froze. He knew the Kaminonian droid had been assisting Mae, but he hadn’t anticipated being assaulted by a flying heap of circuits and gears, especially not while preparing to knock.

As AZI whizzed past him, Rex ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding the droid’s enthusiastic attack. His heart raced, but just as he thought things couldn’t get more chaotic, Mae's voice rang out from the office.

“AZI, did you get em’?” Her tone was concerned and slightly frightened. Rex watched as she peaked her head out into the hall. In her arms was a large stick. Soon her eyes settled onto him, shifting from fear to surprise. The droid promptly stopped in midair, hovering awkwardly, as if unsure whether to continue its assault or obey.

Mae’s gaze shifted back to Rex, her lips parting in surprise. “Rex?” Her voice was softer than usual, a little more vulnerable. “What—what are you doing here?”

For a moment, Rex was taken aback by the genuine warmth in her expression. He’d half-expected a more formal greeting, but instead, she looked relieved—as if seeing him was a pleasant, unexpected surprise. The tension that had been tight in his chest loosened just a little.

“I… uh, I- Well Echo was checking on Aiko so I thought I’d give them space, and thought why not come check on how you’ve been…” he explained, his words still a little rushed, but the nervousness in his voice fading with each second he spent in her presence.

Mae blinked, the surprise quickly transforming into a soft, bright smile that lit up her face. “You came all the way here just to check in on me?” She took a step forward, her surprise giving way to an evident happiness, the lines of her face relaxing as she scanned him. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she admitted, her voice light, almost teasing, but her eyes sparkled with genuine warmth.

Rex wasn’t sure why it made him feel lighter, but it did. The weight that had settled in his chest when he first arrived seemed to lift, replaced by something comforting, something warmer. She was happy to see him. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the way her voice softened when she spoke.

He scratched the back of his neck, a half-hearted attempt to seem casual. “I know, I didn’t plan on interrupting anything, certainly not scaring you. I just thought it might be better to see you in person instead of just… over a screen or transmission.”

Her smile only widened at that, and she took another step closer, almost closing the distance between them. “Well, I’m glad you did,” she said, her tone gentle and full of sincerity. “It’s a nice surprise.”

Rex didn’t realize how much he’d been hoping for that until the moment it happened. A genuine smile, an unspoken warmth between them. It felt easier, this time, to be here. Standing in the same room. Facing her.

“You’ve been working late?” he asked, gesturing to the office behind her, where the dim light was still on.

Mae nodded, running a hand through her hair, looking a little sheepish. “Yeah, it’s been a long day.” She paused for a second, her smile shifting to something more thoughtful. “I didn’t expect you to drop by like this.”

“I can always come back another time,” Rex started, hesitant, as he thought about the disruption his visit might have caused. “I’m sure Echo will stay for the night—”

“No, don’t be silly.” Mae quickly dismissed his concern with a soft smile. “I was planning to make some caf and settle in for a quiet evening anyway. But… these reports can wait until tomorrow.” She paused, tapping the edge of the stick she’d been holding against the wall, her gaze thoughtful. “It’s not a problem at all.”

Rex hesitated, his voice sincere. “Are you sure? I don’t want to keep you from something important.”

Mae met his eyes, her expression firm and reassuring. “It can wait,” she assured him, setting the stick down and flicking the light switch before stepping into the hall. “So, Echo came to check on Aiko?”

Rex nodded, his brow furrowed in concern. “Yes, he was worried about her. She seems—”

“Stressed?” Mae finished for him, her tone soft, understanding. “She’s been carrying a lot lately. It’s not really my place to get into their business, but I’m glad Echo came. I don’t think anything I could’ve said would’ve eased her mind. Having him here will help.” She paused for a moment, then offered him a smile that was warm, but a little wistful. “That said, maybe we should give them some space... How about a walk by the water?”

Rex considered her suggestion, the idea of spending time with Mae alone weighing on him in unexpected ways. It was already dark by the time they’d reach the shoreline, and the thought of walking down by the ocean with her, when most of the island was silent and asleep, stirred something deep in him. On one hand, it was exactly what he needed—a quiet moment away from everything.

But on the other hand, the solitude of the night brought a kind of vulnerability he wasn’t used to. Being with her felt like a balance between longing and caution, the kind of tension that made him feel both alive and uneasy. He could already imagine the silence between them, the gentle rush of the waves in the background, and how they might both slip into that unspoken intimacy without the distractions of the world around them. His pulse quickened, both excited by the prospect of being alone with her and apprehensive about how easily things could shift. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for whatever might come of it, but the pull to be with her was undeniable.

He glanced at Mae, trying to gauge if she felt the same way. Her expression was relaxed, almost expectant, as though this wasn’t a big deal for her. She seemed so at ease with the whole idea, which made Rex’s apprehension all the more pronounced. He wasn’t used to letting down his guard so easily, especially not with someone he was starting to care about in ways he couldn’t fully understand.

"I guess a walk could be nice," he said, his voice a little rougher than he'd intended. "Quiet, though. Just... the ocean and us." His words hung in the air, and for a moment, he wondered if he had sounded too eager or too uncertain.

Mae smiled at him, and for a second, it was as if the world outside of them didn’t matter. Her eyes held a spark of something—curiosity, maybe, or maybe it was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite read. "Sounds nice," she replied softly, her gaze meeting his brown eyes with a knowing warmth that made his chest tighten. 

He felt a little foolish for worrying at all. This was just a walk. But as he stood there, facing her, the anticipation of it—the closeness they would share—felt like something more. The tension between them was palpable now, even if it wasn’t acknowledged out loud. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little excited. Despite the uncertainty that simmered beneath the surface, something about being with her felt like it might be exactly what he needed.

"Alright then," Rex said, managing a half-smile, even as his heart picked up its pace. "Let’s go."

As they walked toward the path leading down to the water, the sound of the waves growing louder with each step, Rex’s thoughts settled into a strange, quiet place. This was uncharted territory for him. But for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t afraid to see where it might lead.

They fell into step beside each other, the soft crunch of sand beneath their feet the only sound accompanying their walk. The night air was cool, and a faint breeze ruffled the edges of Mae’s hair, the strands catching in the low light of the moon. Rex found himself stealing glances at her—at the way she moved, so effortlessly calm, as though she had all the time in the world. The silence between them was comfortable, but Rex could feel the weight of the moments stretching out in front of him.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The ocean waves lapped at the shore, rhythmic and soothing, and Rex’s thoughts wandered. He couldn’t deny the pull he felt, how he was drawn to her with every step they took closer to the water.

But still, there was something unsettling about it all—the quiet, the intimacy of the walk, the way his heart kept picking up speed every time Mae’s gaze flickered toward him. He wanted to say something, to break the tension, but his mind stumbled over the words. The idea of being with her felt like it could tip into something more, something he wasn’t sure he was ready for, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.

Mae must’ve sensed his internal struggle. Without looking at him, she spoke, her voice soft and even, as though she were testing the waters. "You know, I think sometimes we forget how much we need moments like this. Just… time to breathe."

Rex nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. It’s easy to forget, with everything going on. But... this feels different, in a good way."

Her eyes met his then, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "I’m glad."

The words were simple, but they settled over him like a warm blanket. Despite the apprehension swirling in his chest, something in her smile made him feel… seen. Not just for who he was in the moment, but for all the things he had buried under layers of stress and distance. He felt a shift then—like the weight of the world had lifted just a little. Maybe he didn’t need to figure everything out all at once. Maybe he didn’t have to have all the answers. Tonight wasn’t about solving anything. It was just about being. 

A soft laugh escaped him before he could stop it, surprising himself. "Funny. I’ve been running around trying to fix everything, and all I needed was this." He gestured around them, toward the night sky, the quiet beach, and most of all, her.

Mae’s smile widened at that, her eyes softening with something that almost looked like understanding. "Sometimes, all we need is to stop running. Let ourselves just… be."

They walked in silence again, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind this time. It was a silence that felt easy, the kind you shared with someone when you didn’t need words to fill the space between you. For the first time in what felt like forever, Rex let himself relax, the weight of his thoughts drifting away as they walked side by side.

The night stretched out before them, vast and full of possibilities, and in this moment, Rex found himself wondering if he was ready to stop running from whatever this—whatever they—could be.

Rex took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs in a way that was both calming and grounding. The sound of the ocean seemed to match the rhythm of his thoughts, steady and soothing. Mae was walking beside him, and for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to let go of the constant hum of responsibility that usually occupied his mind.

Still, there was a nervous energy inside him, an unease that didn’t quite dissipate. His heart would pick up speed every time their shoulders brushed, every time her gaze flickered toward him. He wanted to fill the space with words, something to lighten the tension, but he couldn’t find the right thing to say. The quiet between them felt more intimate than it should have, and yet, it was strangely comforting.

Mae seemed to sense his internal struggle again. She glanced at him, her expression a little softer this time. “You ever notice how the hardest part isn’t even the work or the responsibilities? It’s just... giving yourself a break, actually letting yourself take it.”

Rex let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that. We’re so used to running, we forget how to walk... slow down.”

She smiled, the kind of smile that made him feel like she really understood. He glanced over at her, hesitant, but then something in him shifted. Maybe it was the weight of the evening, the stillness, the way the stars seemed to blink down at them like silent witnesses. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t pressing him to open up, just walking beside him, letting him take his time.

He decided to give it a shot, let a little of the tension in his chest slip out.

“I remember something from my time in the war,” Rex began, his voice casual, as if he were talking about an old story. He couldn’t help the way the past sometimes resurfaced when he least expected it. “We’d been stuck in this remote outpost for days. No real breaks, no downtime. Just... constant motion. You’d think it’d be a bad thing, right? But one night, the whole unit got permission to just... sit by the fire. No orders, no targets, nothing but the fire and the night.”

Mae’s gaze softened, her full attention on him now. “That sounds rare.”

“It was,” Rex said with a nod. “We were used to working at full speed, and then, for once, we were told to take a breath. And I’ll tell you, it felt strange at first. Like I didn’t know how to just... exist. You’re so used to going all the time that the quiet, when it hits, feels like something you have to fight against.”

Mae’s brow furrowed a little, curiosity piqued. “What did you do?”

Rex smirked slightly. “Well, we sat there. No one said anything for a long time. Then one of the guys pulled out a radio. I don’t know where it came from—they weren’t allowed in the field. But he started playing the long range clone broadcast, and the rest of us just listened to whatever songs play, just laughing and talking, forgetting about the war for a bit.” He let out a small, almost surprised laugh at the memory. “We weren’t in combat, we weren’t worried about what was coming next. We were just there. And it felt... good. Really good.”

Mae’s expression softened, and her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Sounds like you needed that. A moment just to... breathe.”

“I did,” Rex said, the smile lingering as he looked at the ocean, as though he could still hear the echoes of that long-forgotten night. 

Mae nodded, her eyes thoughtful. “Me too,”

Her words settled in his chest like a quiet promise. Rex let the silence stretch between them once more, this time without the anxiety he usually carried. He didn’t need to fill it with anything.

After a few moments, Mae broke the silence with a playful smack to his bicep. Before he could even react, she broke into a run, her laughter floating back to him. “Tag, you’re it!” Rex blinked, surprised at the sudden burst of energy. Tag? He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or protest, but he found himself caught up in the playfulness of it all.

Mae was quick—surprisingly quick—but Rex knew he wasn’t going to have much trouble catching her. The sand made it harder to get any real speed, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

He started after her, and it wasn’t long before he was closing the gap. Mae’s laughter rang out as she zigzagged through the sand, trying to throw him off. But Rex had been trained for speed. His long legs carried him easily, his body slipping into an effortless rhythm. Mae glanced back over her shoulder, clearly underestimating how fast he could move. “You’re not even trying!” she called, already out of breath.

Rex’s chuckle rumbled through the air, light and teasing. “I’m just warming up.”

Before Mae could even react, he closed the distance in two long strides, his boots kicking up sand as his eyes fixed on her, tracking every movement. He could practically sense the moment she realized how much ground she had lost—the sudden shift in her pace, the hesitation in her step. But it was too late.

In an instant, Rex reached out, his hands sliding effortlessly around her waist from behind. He didn’t even hesitate as he lifted her off the ground. His grip was sure, his arms strong, and in one fluid motion, he had her swept up into his embrace, her feet dangling in midair. It was as if time slowed for just a heartbeat, her body pressed against his with an ease that made her gasp in surprise.

“Gotcha,” Rex murmured, his voice warm with amusement as he looked down at her, his playful grin never wavering. Mae let out a surprised yelp, her laughter blending with her mild shock. The thrill of the chase still thrummed in his chest, his heart beating fast from the rush, but the feel of her in his arms, this close, added a whole new layer to the excitement.

Mae squirmed in his arms, half-laughing, half-annoyed. “No fair! I was winning!” she protested, but her smile was wide, her breath coming in quick bursts as she tried to squirm away.

“You started it,” he teased, his voice low and playful, the thrill of the chase still lingering in the air between them. His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn’t from exertion. It was something else, something deeper that he couldn’t quite put into words.

Mae gave him a mock pout, the corners of her lips curling in that adorable way he always found irresistible. “You’re a cheater.”

Rex couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. Her words were playful, but there was something else there—something unspoken in her eyes. His grin softened too, just a bit, as he let his thumb trace the outline of her side through the fabric of her shirt.

“I’m just fast. There’s a difference,” he said with a wink, his voice teasing but affectionate. The playful tone lingered between them, but there was a quiet warmth in the air as their gazes met.

Mae’s squirming slowed as she relaxed into his hold, a breathless laugh slipping from her lips. Her hands came to rest lightly against his forearms, her fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his sleeve, as though grounding herself in the moment. “Fine, fine. You win this time,” she said, her voice light, surrendering to the game.

For a moment, Rex held her there, his heart still racing, but his mind slowing down as he took in the feel of her in his arms. She was warm, close, her scent—the soft fragrance of jasmine and something sweeter—clinging to the air between them. He didn’t want to let go just yet.

Slowly, he began to lower her down, his hands lingering on her waist as he gently set her feet back on the sand. But he didn’t release her immediately. He kept her there for a second longer, feeling the steady thrum of her pulse beneath his fingertips, the subtle rhythm that matched his own. It wasn’t just the chase he had won—it was the moment.

When he finally let her go, his fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long before dropping to his sides. He took a slow breath, noticing the faint trace of her perfume still lingering in the air, the scent mixing with the cool night breeze. It made the moment feel even more intimate, a quiet connection between them that neither of them had spoken aloud.

Rex met her gaze, his smile lingering as he stepped back just enough to give her space. “Next time, I’ll let you have a head start,” he teased, but the underlying sincerity in his tone was unmistakable. Something had shifted between them, and he wasn’t sure what it meant, but he didn’t mind.

Mae’s smile softened, her eyes gleaming with something unspoken, before she scoffed playfully. “I don’t need a head start…” she said, her voice light, but there was a knowing undertone to it. The admission was wrapped in childlike defiance, and it made Rex’s heart skip a beat. Something about that vulnerability, the way she danced around the truth but still let him in, made him smile without even thinking.

Rex raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling upward in that mischievous way she was beginning to find endearing. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night,” he teased, his voice warm and light.

Mae gave him an exaggerated roll of her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips as she turned toward the water, the sound of the waves adding a peaceful backdrop to their exchange. “Speaking of sleep…” she hummed, her voice trailing off as she gazed out over the shimmering ocean, her thoughts clearly drifting. “You think we should head back, or…?”

For a moment, Rex didn’t answer, simply taking in the sight of her—her posture relaxed, her hair tousled from the game, the way the soft moonlight bathed her face. He didn’t want to rush the moment, and yet, he wasn’t ready to leave just yet either.

He stepped a little closer, his voice soft but sincere. “I don’t know... I’m actually enjoying this,” he admitted, the words surprising even him as they slipped out. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about the quiet night, the solitude of being with her, that made everything feel... right. “Spending time with you,” he added, letting his gaze linger on her profile, as though trying to convey what he couldn’t put into words.

Mae’s gaze softened at his words, her smile turning more tender as she turned to face him. She didn’t say anything at first, simply meeting his eyes with that same unspoken understanding, the kind that seemed to fill the spaces between their words. Before she could respond, the soft beep of Rex’s comm broke the quiet tension between them, cutting through the moment with a sharpness that felt almost jarring. He frowned slightly, reluctantly pulling his wrist up to answer.

"Yeah?" Rex said, his voice a little less steady, as though he didn’t want to break the connection between them just yet.

“Rex, where are you?” Echo’s voice came through, faint but clearly laced with concern. “It’s getting dark, and you haven’t checked in. And, uh... you know Mae hasn’t come home either—” Echo’s voice faltered for a second, clearly not used to being the one on the other end of an unspoken silence. “You two alright?”

Rex sighed softly, glancing at Mae before giving her a small, apologetic smile. He was still hesitant, unwilling to pull away from this quiet moment with her. “Yeah, we’re fine,” Rex replied, his voice casual. "We're out here... just on the beach. Nothing to worry about." He didn’t want to say too much, not with the warmth of the moment still hanging between them.

Echo’s voice came back, quieter this time, but still laced with a subtle mix of concern and irritation. “Look, you don’t have to avoid the house or anything, but…  It’s getting late, and someone needs to find Ma—” Echo suddenly stopped himself. Rex could hear the realization clicking into place. The silence stretched for a second, and Rex could practically feel the shift in the air.

"Wait," Echo continued, his tone now tinged with something else. “...You're with Mae. Alone. On the beach.” There was a brief pause before he added, “You know what? Never mind. You two have fun.”

The sharp click of the call ending was almost immediate, and Rex stood there, staring at the now-silent comm, the weight of Echo’s implications settling in. He looked up at Mae, his heart still pounding a little faster than it probably should be.

“That went well,” Rex muttered, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as a faint blush crept up his neck.

Mae’s expression was a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something playful and knowing. She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “Well, I guess we’ve officially been caught.”

Rex chuckled, stepping a little closer, though he didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he allowed the moment to settle again, the hum of the waves and the soft moonlight wrapping around them both. He found himself unwilling to break the silence too quickly this time, as though letting the sound of the ocean could fill in the spaces where words didn’t need to go.

“I guess we should head back,” Mae said after a beat, the hint of a smile still playing at her lips. But there was something different in the way she said it this time, something a little less certain than before, as though she wasn’t so sure about leaving just yet either.

Rex’s gaze softened, the playful grin still present, though it was tempered by the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, I think we should... But I’m in no rush.”

Mae’s smile widened, and she took a small step closer to him. “Neither am I.”

The ocean breeze suddenly picked up, a strong gust that whipped through the night air, carrying with it a hint of chill that caught Mae off guard. She shivered slightly, her arms folding across herself instinctively. Rex noticed the subtle change in her posture—the way she had grown just a little more distant, her body reacting to the unexpected cold.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice soft, the concern there before he could even think twice.

“A little,” she admitted, her voice trailing off as she gave a half-smile, still feeling the bite of the wind. Before she could even consider moving away, Rex reached out. His arm encircled her waist, drawing her a little closer to him. The warmth of his touch was instant, and Mae felt her body relax slightly, the chill receding in the softness of his embrace.

When she didn’t pull away, Rex let his hold loosen just a fraction, wanting to make sure she felt comfortable. “Better?” he asked, his voice lower now, just above a whisper, as though any louder might break the sweetness of the moment.

Mae nodded, her smile softening. “Much better.”

The cool evening air no longer seemed as biting, but something else shifted in the space between them, something that felt like it went beyond the mere proximity of their bodies. The breeze seemed to carry a charge of its own, mingling with the unspoken understanding that lingered between them. There was a subtle tension, a sweet uncertainty in the air, like a question that hadn’t yet been asked but was sitting there, waiting to be acknowledged.

Rex could feel the steady rise and fall of her breath against him, the warmth of her presence making him want to hold on to the moment for just a little longer. The moonlight softened her features, casting a glow on her face that made her seem almost ethereal. His fingers tingled, wanting to reach out and maybe get a better hold on her, but instead, he leaned in slightly, drawn by the pull of the moment. 

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it either. It’s not like he’d ever really attempted to do it previously. At least in this context. The more sweet, and wholesome pretense of showing appreciation and care, and not conveying a need or a want. His lips brushed against her cheek, just next to her ear, a playful, quick kiss that lingered only for a second. But in that instant, something in Rex’s chest fluttered, and he pulled back just enough to look at her, the air between them suddenly feeling impossibly delicate. His lips curved into a teasing smile, but there was something deeper in his eyes now—a warmth, an earnestness that hadn’t been there before.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a sincerity he hadn’t intended. “It’s been... a pleasant evening.”

Mae blinked at him, the playful spark still present in her eyes, but now softened with something else—something that spoke volumes in the way she gazed at him. She reached up, her fingertips brushing the spot where his lips had just touched her cheek, as though to keep the moment with her.

Her voice dropped lower, the usual lighthearted tone replaced by something sweeter, more intimate. “I’m glad,” she said, her gaze unwavering, and for a split second, it felt as though time itself slowed down around them. “Thank you for getting me out from behind that desk,”

The silence between them lingered for just a moment longer, a comfortable, easy space where words weren’t necessary. Rex couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he glanced at Mae, the feeling of contentment settling over him like a warm blanket. He let out a soft, almost relieved chuckle as he finally spoke, his voice light but affectionate. “Alright, I guess we should really head back before Echo gets any ideas.”

Mae’s laugh, light and musical, filled the air between them. It was the kind of sound that seemed to harmonize perfectly with the rhythm of the waves, the breeze, the calm of the night. “Yeah, we don’t want to give him more ammunition,” she teased, her voice still carrying that easy, playful tone.

Rex smiled even wider, the warmth of the moment seeping into him as they began walking side by side. The air between them, charged just moments ago with something unspoken, now felt simple, familiar. Just two friends, walking together after a night that felt effortless—peaceful, genuine, with no expectations. He didn’t feel the need to analyze it, not now. There was something beautiful in the quiet company of someone you enjoyed being around, and for tonight, that was enough.

And in that simple truth, he couldn’t help but feel grateful.

Been having art block, have some Vulcan women.

💕💜Just a lil reminder from ya girl!💜💕

💜Tag List💜

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream @rex-targaryen @freesia-writes @heidnspeak @queenjiru @commanderfury @kyda-atshushi @deezlees @justanotherdikutsimp @aknightreaderr

I am truly happy for them 🥲💜💕

💕💜Tag List💜💕

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream @rex-targaryen @freesia-writes @heidnspeak @queenjiru @commanderfury @kyda-atshushi @deezlees @thebadbatchfan @justanotherdikutsimp @aknightreaderr @sylviedee

Tunes-Giving Event: Jesse/Lilly (NOV 29)

Jesse swept into Lilly’s life with a bold, shameless flirtation that left her uncertain about the intensity of his feelings. At first, she chalked it up to his carefree personality. But when he finally let his guard down, revealing a vulnerability that showed in his newfound clumsiness, the pair realized just how deeply they had fallen for each other. Against all odds, they have built a life together, creating the love they always dreamed of—strong, unwavering, and full of devotion. Their playlist reflects this journey, from the electric energy of their first meeting to the quiet moments where their love continues to grow and deepen every day.

Touch your lips just so I know

In your eyes, love, it glows so

I'm bare boned and crazy for you

Oh, kiss me, beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy

I'll be your hope, I'll be your love, be everything that you need

You love her like the stars above

So sad that you love her

If you're lost, you can look and you will find me

Time after time

Meet Lilly! 

EVENT MASTERLIST

(Special thank you my dear friend and creative partner @legacygirlingreen for making this event possible! She is responsive for all the writing, design layout, post editing & greatly assisted in song selections!)

💚Tag List💚

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @sukithebean @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @justanotherdikutsimp @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate

Some people theorize that the human mind replays some of its most treasured memories and dreams for seven minutes after death.

What else would Tech dream of than the people he loves? Probably some nerd shit…

Pt 1/2(?)

I: "The Rescue"|| Commander Wolffe x OC Perdita Halle

Author's Note: Finally got around to editing this part... I am excited to kick things off with a beefy flashback. Unfortunately the early stages of their story will be a bit disjointed. Eventually time will catch back up to their life after the prologue, but I wanted to lay some ground work for Wolffe and Perdita. Thanks again to @leenathegreengirl for the lovely cover art for this chapter, showing Wolffe with his two natural eyes and Perdita's! I hope you all enjoy, I'll link the prologue to this if you missed it, and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. ~ M

Pairing: Wolffe x OC Perdita Halle

Word Count: 13.5k+

Warnings: mentions of nearly dying, illusions to religious trauma (the jedi suck tbh), mentions of loss/grief

Summary: When all hope is lost, a mysterious figure comes to Wolffe's rescue...

Masterlist || Previous Section || Next Section (Coming Soon!)

Perdita had been doomed from the start when it came to the Jedi Order. It was a miracle they had ever accepted her at all. The Jedi were a people bound by their strict code, where attachments were seen as a dangerous weakness, and only the young children—those with little to no memories of their families—were chosen for training. They had long been wary of the emotional baggage that came with deep bonds to others, believing that such attachments would cloud judgment and lead to the dark side.

But Perdita’s species, the Kage, presented an unfair conflict—a unique struggle that she had carried with her her entire life. Unlike most beings, the Kage were born sentient, with complex and fully formed minds from the moment of their birth. Their memories were sharp, vivid, and long-lasting, capable of recalling even the smallest details from infancy.

Though Perdita had been brought to the Jedi Temple at only three years of age, she was not the blank slate the Jedi were accustomed to. She carried with her three full years of memories of her home world. She could still see the lush, rich purple landscape of her birthplace, the towering spires that punctuated the horizon, and the deep violet horizon that stretched endlessly above. She could feel the heavy weight of the planet’s atmosphere pressing down on the tunnels where her people lived—an ever-present force, almost comforting, like a warm embrace.

She remembered her mother, with her soft hands stroking her brow as she tucked her in at night, whispering gentle words that still echoed in the recesses of her mind. And her older brother, agile and wild, climbing the towering spires with an ease that Perdita had always admired. 

It was these memories, these emotions, that the Jedi Order had never fully understood. To them, Perdita’s past was a burden, something that could jeopardize her ability to serve the Order without the distractions of personal attachments. They had taken her in regardless, but the struggle between her nature and the Jedi code had always been an internal battle, one that never truly ceased. And though she had grown up learning to suppress those memories, to bury them beneath layers of training and discipline, they lingered—persistent and undeniable.

Perdita’s mind wasn’t just uniquely capable of recalling complex memories—her gift extended far beyond what most would expect. Not only could she vividly recall her own experiences with remarkable clarity, but she also had the ability to reach out through the Force and pull in memories that were not her own. By extending her consciousness, she could tap into the echoes of others' pasts, drawing out their hidden knowledge and experiences. It was a rare and extraordinary gift, one that allowed her to uncover information that most others couldn’t even fathom.

This skill proved invaluable in the field of tracking. Unlike traditional methods of pursuit, Perdita could search for clues not only in the physical world but in the very fabric of the Force itself. By reaching out and connecting to the impressions left behind, she could see traces of someone’s movements, their intentions, their very essence—memories lingering like faint whispers in the ether. It was a method that allowed her to find those who had lost their way, those who had vanished without a trace.

This very ability had been the reason she was called upon to assist in the hunt for General Grievous’s latest secret weapon. The stakes were higher than ever, and the Jedi had learned quickly that Perdita’s unique talents were a tool they could not afford to overlook. With her ability to track through the Force, there was hope that they might locate the weapon before it could be unleashed upon the galaxy. Yet, as she prepared to dive into the mission, a familiar unease stirred within her—a reminder that even the most useful abilities could come at a personal cost, especially when they forced her to confront the very attachments she had worked so hard to suppress.

Stationed alongside General Skywalker and his new Padawan, Perdita had been a silent observer, watching as Master Plo Koon’s transmission had gone dark with the fleet after briefly making contact about tracking the secret weapon. The transmission had been short, but enough for them to glean its location before the connection abruptly severed. It was a moment that had sent ripples of uncertainty through the ranks, and in the quiet that followed, Perdita had found herself reflecting on the situation, her thoughts drifting back to the Jedi she knew and admired.

Master Plo had been more than just a wise Jedi; he had been a dear friend to her own Master, a bond forged through years of shared experiences and mutual respect. It was a relationship that had endured even after her Master’s untimely death—a loss that had left an undeniable void in her heart, a piece of her spirit fractured by the absence of one she had trusted so deeply. The grief from that loss had never fully faded, though time had done its best to smooth the sharp edges of her sorrow. In his own quiet way, Master Plo had been a source of comfort during those dark times. He had never shied away from acknowledging the struggles that came with being a Jedi, particularly in a war that demanded so much.

Master Plo had always shown her kindness in ways that others in the Order could not—or would not. In the privacy of shared moments, he had confided in her, admitting that he too had struggled with the very things she faced. The tension between compassion and attachment was something he understood all too well, perhaps more than any of his peers. It was a duality he had learned to live with, the lines between them so fine and blurred that they often became indistinguishable. He had spoken of the weight of that knowledge, of the difficulty of reconciling the Jedi Code with the innate need to connect, to care for others.

"Compassion is not the same as attachment," he had told her once, his voice soft, yet firm. "But in the depths of our hearts, the difference can feel almost impossible to discern."

Those words had stuck with her through the years, particularly in moments when the conflict within her became unbearable. In Master Plo’s aura, she had seen a reflection of her own struggles—a recognition that she was not alone, even in her darkest guarded secrets. And yet, despite the comfort of his words, there was always a lingering question in Perdita's mind: could the Jedi truly ever understand the complexities of the heart, or were they forever destined to struggle with the boundaries between duty and the natural need for connection? It was a question that gnawed at her, especially as the war raged on, and as she watched the galaxy slowly unravel around her.

Now, with Master Plo's fate uncertain and the pressure mounting to locate the weapon before it could wreak havoc, Perdita was forced to confront the very thing that had always haunted her: could she truly let go of the people she had cared about, the bonds she had formed, in the name of duty? Or would the compassionate side of her, the one that had been nurtured by the memory of her Master and by Jedi like Plo Koon, ultimately lead her down a path that defied the very code she had sworn to uphold?

She supposed that, as with most things, time would be the deciding factor.

As Anakin tried to slip away quietly, Perdita followed closely behind, her instincts telling her he was on his way to defy the Council’s orders. She knew him too well. Despite his tendency to act on impulse, she couldn’t fully fault him. He was the Chosen One, the one who would fulfill the Jedi prophecy, and because of that, he was afforded privileges that the rest of them—herself included—could only dream of. No matter how many times he bent the rules, Anakin would always be given a pass, his actions excused by his destiny.

Perdita, on the other hand, had never been so fortunate. No matter how hard she tried, she was frequently reprimanded for the way she navigated the complex teachings of the Jedi Code. She had always struggled with the balance between duty and attachment, between compassion and detachment, and her methods were often seen as unorthodox. Yet, despite the Council’s judgment and her own doubts, one thing remained clear: she wasn’t about to let Anakin go off to search for Master Plo. Not without her.

“I’m coming with you,” she stated bluntly, her voice firm, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Anakin’s sudden movement—his body lifting skyward in surprise—was all the answer she needed. She’d caught him off guard, just as she’d intended. His expression shifted, one of frustration mixed with a trace of reluctance. She could see the conflict in his eyes; he knew he wasn’t supposed to be acting on his own. But the same fire that drove him to defy the Council also made him appreciate the rare few who were willing to stand by him when the path ahead seemed too treacherous to walk alone.

“Why?” he asked, his voice laced with surprise but also a hint of amusement.

“Because,” she said, her gaze steady, “you’ll need all the help you can get—and it’s been a while since I got a reprimand from the council. Figured it’s long overdue, don't you agree?”

Anakin paused, his eyes scanning her, reading the resolve in her stance, and for a moment, it was as if the tension between them dissolved. It wasn’t the first time they’d shared an understanding, though they rarely acknowledged it aloud. She wasn’t just another Jedi. She was someone who knew the burden of walking a path fraught with difficult choices, someone who understood the weight of the Order’s expectations. One of the few with memories of her childhood as he too struggled. 

"Welcome aboard," Anakin said with a smirk, his tone laced with mischief. "Ahsoka's already called dibs on co-pilot."

She raised an eyebrow, scoffing as she stepped onto the ship platform beside him. "The fact that the Council even gave you a Padawan is a miracle unto itself," she retorted, her voice dripping with incredulity.

Anakin chuckled, his smirk widening as he adjusted the controls, clearly unfazed by her jab. "You’re not the first to say that, and you won’t be the last," he replied, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. 

Perdita was quiet for a moment. Watching Anakin with Ahsoka—how effortlessly they seemed to work together, how there was an unspoken understanding between them—reminded her of the emotional distance she often felt, even with her closest allies. She had never been given the privilege of a Padawan, nor had she ever considered taking one. There was something inherently personal about the bond between master and student, and she wasn’t sure if she could form that connection without compromising her own sense of self.

"Where was Master Plo’s fleet stationed again?" Perdita asked, stepping aside to give the younger Togruta a clear path to the seat next to Anakin.

"Abragado system," Anakin replied quietly, just as the door slid open. Ahsoka appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of annoyance and impatience as she flopped into the seat with little ceremony.

"Alright, I’m ready to scout ahead," Ahsoka declared, her tone laced with both determination and a hint of frustration. It seemed Anakin had conveniently forgotten to inform his Padawan about the mischievous true nature of their mission. Perdita couldn't help but smile at the thought. The pair was certainly... unorthodox. The kind of team that thrived on spontaneity and defied the conventional rules of the Jedi Order. It was both endearing and dangerous.

"I'll be meditating. Let me know if anything comes up," she said, her voice calm but firm as she turned toward the wall panel. She stepped away from the group, heading toward the hull, giving them the space they needed to process the reality of their actions without her interference. Sitting on the floor, Perdita folded her legs, recalling the details of Master Plo in an effort to locate him within the force… 

•—⟪=====> 

Storms were a rare occurrence on Coruscant. The bustling city-planet, with its endless lights and thick smog, didn’t foster the kind of atmosphere that would produce precipitation—or the howling winds that now swept through the streets. Yet, as the ship touched down after their harrowing return from Geonosis, it felt as though the planet itself was mourning. The violent winds seemed to echo the grief that hung heavy in the air, as if Coruscant, too, was grieving the loss of so many Jedi.

Perdita had been swiftly escorted to the Council upon their arrival at the Temple, the weight of the battle still heavy on her shoulders. “Congratulations,” they had said, their voices steady but distant. They told her the battle had been her trial, that she had passed, and that she was no longer a Padawan. The words felt almost hollow in the aftermath of so much loss, but she stood there, unblinking, as Master Fisto stepped forward to sever the braid that had marked her as a learner. It was a rite of passage that should have been performed by her own Master, but he was gone—fallen in the arena, like so many others, reduced to ash and blood. The ceremony, once a symbol of growth and achievement, now felt like a bitter reminder of the life she had lost.

In that same arena, when hope seemed all but extinguished, they had arrived. The roar of gunships filled the air as they descended, and Perdita had watched as squads of men, armored from head to toe, emerged ready for battle. No one questioned their arrival, no one questioned their purpose. In the chaos of the moment, there was only survival—and she had been thrust into their ranks, quickly learning that these men were not just soldiers; they were clones. Created for war. Created to fight. They didn’t have the luxury of choice. They followed orders, without question, without hesitation.

But now, with the literal dust settling, and her promotion complete, the questions began to creep in. Questions about duty, about what came next, about where she fit in a galaxy that seemed to be falling apart. The weight of it all pressed heavily on her chest, and the ceremony—though a mark of her achievement—felt like a formality, a reminder of all that had been sacrificed. She needed space. She needed silence.

And so, when the opportunity presented itself, Perdita slipped away, her emotions swirling like the storm outside. The courtyard was empty, save for the relentless fury of the rain and wind. She didn’t mind the storm. The storm outside matched the storm in her mind—chaotic, violent, and full of unresolved anger, sorrow, and fear.

Her gaze lifted to the sky, the sheets of rain blurring her vision as she sought some kind of solace in the tumultuous weather. But all she felt was an overwhelming sense of loss—the loss of her Master, the loss of so many others, and the loss of her own sense of purpose in the wake of it all. Jedi were meant to be peacekeepers. What would happen if they now were forced to lead men into battle? The Jedi Code had taught her to suppress emotions, to detach. But in this moment, as the wind howled around her, Perdita couldn’t help but feel every single one of them.

"I knew I'd find you here," came the calm, familiar timber of a voice behind her. Perdita didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. She recognized the voice instantly, as well as the steady presence it carried. It was Master Plo, and the words he spoke were laden with the kind of understanding that could only come from shared grief.

His student, like her own master, had been struck down in the arena. The thought of it still twisted her insides. The four of them had often trained together, or traveled on specific assignments during her time as a Padawan—Moments of camaraderie and mutual respect, forming a bond forged in the fires of battle. She had known his student nearly as well as she had known her own master, their relationships built not just on duty, but on trust. Now both were gone.

It felt like a cruel twist of fate—two warriors, once so sure of their purpose, now left to navigate a galaxy that no longer made sense. She, without a master, and he, without his student. Both left behind to pick up the shattered pieces of what had once been, each holding together their own fractured pieces of humanity under the heavy scrutiny of the Jedi Council. To grieve was to show weakness, and that was something neither of them could afford, not now.

She felt his presence beside her, a quiet understanding that seemed to hang between them like an unspoken bond. They were two sides of the same coin, each carrying the weight of their loss in silence, never allowing it to fully surface in the light of day. The Jedi Code demanded it. Their mission demanded it. But in the solitude of the storm, far from the eyes of their peers, they didn’t need to speak. They both understood too well the painful burden of sacrifice.

Perdita closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to breathe before speaking, her voice soft but firm. “I didn’t expect anyone to follow me.”

“You should not isolate yourself in this. It is only natural to feel what you do,” came his reply, steady as ever, though there was a quiet sadness behind it. Yet, despite all the walls they had built around themselves, there was no escaping the fact that they were both mourning, in their own ways, the loss of those they had cared for and fought alongside.

“What will happen to them?” she asked quietly after a moment, her gaze fixed on the swaying branches of the tree in the courtyard, the rain blurring her view. The storm outside mirrored the storm within her, and in the midst of her grief, she found herself seeking distraction, a way to push away the overwhelming emotions.

“They will become part of the Force,” he replied, his voice steady, carrying the calm certainty of someone who had accepted the inevitable.

"No," she corrected, her voice sharp with the intensity of her question. "I mean the Clones."

“I believe the Senate is set to vote on authorizing the use of the clone army to combat the growing threat of the Separatists,” he explained, his voice tinged with a subtle hesitation. “However, the Jedi remain wary of how the clones came into existence.”

“I thought the Republic outlawed slavery,” she scoffed, disbelief evident in her tone.

“They did,” he replied, his voice flat, understanding the gravity of the comparison she was making. He knew exactly what she was getting at—the clones’ situation was eerily similar to that of slaves. They were created to serve, to be controlled, with no autonomy. Their existence would be confined to the demands of the Republic, bound to a life of rigid structure with no freedom of choice. And to her, that felt far too close to slavery for comfort.

“The hypocrisy of that governing body knows no bounds,” she snapped, the frustration in her voice unmistakable. She paused, her expression darkening as the weight of the situation settled deeper into her bones. With a weary sigh, she continued, “What does the Jedi Council say on this matter?”

“Many believe that, given the escalating threat, it is the appropriate use of force to employ the clone army,” he replied, his tone measured, though tinged with a quiet bitterness.

She arched an eyebrow, not entirely satisfied with the response. “And you?” Her voice held an edge, a challenge beneath the words.

He hesitated, his gaze lowering, as though the question itself carried a weight too heavy to bear. "I was dismissed," he said, his voice quiet, defeated. "But you know as well as I do that when the Republic calls, the Jedi answer. Even when the answer is one we don’t agree with."

The air between them grew thick with the unspoken truth. She could feel the pull of his inner conflict—the contradiction of his duty and his conscience.

“If we are to serve with these men,” he continued, his words now more resolute, though his expression remained troubled, “then it will fall on the shoulders of those like you and me to treat them with the dignity and respect they deserve. They may have been created to fight, to serve, but that does not mean they should be used like tools. They are living beings, not weapons.” He paused, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that spoke volumes. “And when the time comes to end this conflict, we must ensure they are freed from this bond of servitude, released into a life of their own choosing. They deserve that much, at the very least.”

The words hung in the air, a shared vow between them—a promise to protect the clones not just as soldiers, but as individuals with their own rights, with their own futures. In that moment, the burden of leadership weighed heavily on both of them. The galaxy may have been at war, but there was a far more personal war raging inside each of them, one that demanded they fight for what was right, even when it was the hardest thing to do.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ𓃥✧:･.:

Wolffe was thankful that Master Plo and the others had exited the pod to fight, leaving him behind to maintain the signal. Though he was frustrated by being sidelined from the fight, confined to the restrictive, itchy military officer uniform instead of his familiar pressurized armor, there was a small relief in the solitude. It spared him from having to mask his rising panic in front of the others.

No one would come for them. The thought gnawed at him, sinking deep into his bones. It was a bitter truth he couldn't escape. This was it. The end. They were adrift in the vast emptiness of space, with nothing to save them. The oxygen supply was dwindling, each breath becoming more strained, more desperate. He could already feel the air growing heavier, the tightness in his chest as he inhaled, as if the very atmosphere was suffocating him.

The pod was drifting farther from hope, isolated and fragile. It felt as though time had slowed, each second stretching painfully as the reality of their situation settled in. Wolffe's mind raced, trying to calculate, to find a way out, but there was nothing. The stars outside were cold, distant, and unforgiving. He could almost hear the quiet hum of the dying systems around him, each soft flicker of the lights another reminder of their inevitable fate.

He should have been with them. Out there, with the others, fighting for survival. But instead, he was trapped here, alone with his thoughts, and the crushing weight of failure.

As Wolffe continued to wait for what felt like his inevitable end, his mind drifted back over the course of his life. Most of it was a blur—an endless procession of drills, training exercises, and sterile routines. Kamino had been a cold, unfeeling place. The bland food they were served never seemed to satisfy, and the strict, regimented schedules ensured there was no time for personal indulgence or freedom. Regulation haircuts, the endless rain, the never-ending monotony—it had been all he knew, all he had ever known.

Then, like an unexpected interruption in the rhythm of his existence, the Jedi arrived. They were... strange, even by his standards. Warriors of Peace—a contradiction unto itself? Their purpose seemed at odds with their very nature, yet somehow it made sense. They were not like the clones in any way. Where the clones were bred for war, molded into soldiers from the start, with little to no variation. Same face, same body, same resolve. The Jedi were individuals. Their uniqueness was striking—different ages, genders, species. There was no uniformity among them, beyond the rigid structure of their religion. 

If Wolffe hadn’t seen so much of the impossible in their presence, he might have dismissed it as nonsense. But in the face of the things he had witnessed—things that defied logic—he couldn’t bring himself to deny the reality of it. The Force was real even if he didn’t truly understand how it worked beyond allowing the jedi to maintain impossible feats.

Initially, there had been a division between the Clones and the Jedi, but over time, Wolffe had come to see that they could coexist. When he was planet-side, there were conversations with fellow leaders about their Jedi Generals. Some of those generals were kind, empathetic, while others were more dismissive, more focused on the path to victory than the lives of the soldiers they commanded. Yet, the more Wolffe had worked alongside the Jedi, the more he had come to appreciate those who truly respected the men they led.

Plo, with his wisdom and compassion, had never seen the clones as mere tools. He had seen them as individuals. Wolffe admired him greatly for it. He had been one of the few who could see beyond the battlefield, who could understand that the clones were not just soldiers, but beings with thoughts, emotions, and desires of their own. He’d been one of the first Wolffe knew of to use their names, not numbers, even encouraging each of his men to think of what they wish to be called. 

Yet for all his remarkable qualities, Plo had always seemed a bit too optimistic. Wolffe couldn’t shake the feeling that Master Plo's hope that someone would come looking for them—a handful of clones and a single Jedi—was misplaced. They were out here in deep space, lost and stranded, and though Plo had always maintained his calm, unwavering faith, Wolffe wasn’t so sure. The reality of their situation was harsh and unforgiving, and it seemed unlikely that anyone would go to the lengths required to find them.

But even in the face of that, a small part of him wanted to believe in Plo’s optimism. Because, in the end, it was that hope—however faint—that kept them going. And maybe that was all they had left.

That optimism, fleeting as it was, allowed Wolffe to momentarily block out the blaster fire from the battle droids echoing just beyond the pod's thin walls. It didn’t, however, diminish the ever-present anxiety gnawing at him—the gut-churning realization that the craft’s relentless scraping against the pod’s metal was only a hair's breadth away from creating a catastrophic breach. The sounds of the metal warping, groaning under pressure, were a constant reminder: one more strike, one more hit, and the pod would depressurize, sucking the life from him in a deadly, silent instant.

Amidst the suffocating tension and the relentless chaos both inside the pod and outside in the cold vacuum of space, a voice suddenly pierced through the static—a crackling lifeline in the storm. “Is anyone out there? Come in.”

Wolffe’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing. Could it be? Was someone actually out there, hearing their distress? The radio crackled again, louder this time, the voice clearer. “Come in, this is General Halle—”

His pulse quickened, a flicker of hope stirring deep within him. He didn't recognize the name, but the urgency in the voice—tired yet determined—stirred something within him. Someone was reaching out. Someone had heard their distress call.

The thought of rescue, of survival, felt so distant, so impossible. Yet here it was, a chance, a thread of hope. Wolffe’s grip tightened on the console as he frantically moved to respond, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. Could it be real? Was it truly possible that they weren’t going to be left to die in the cold void of space?

“There’s a general! She must be close!” he shouted urgently into the short-range comms, his voice cutting through the tension like a burst of raw hope. He had to let the others know—there was a chance, however slim, that they might not be alone in this. With a surge of adrenaline, he quickly turned to attempt contact himself, fingers flying over the controls, desperate to reach out and confirm that help was truly on the way.

“Wolffe to General Halle—come in!” he finally barked, his voice rough with urgency, barely suppressing the rising tide of disbelief. The last remnants of fear mixed with a deep, primal hope—the kind of hope he’d long abandoned in the wake of so many battles. Would they make it out of this after all?

“Keep the signal alive, Commander!” Plo Koon’s voice rang out over the chaos of battle, sharp and commanding. Wolffe gritted his teeth as he scrambled to maintain the connection. But the failing power system mocked him at every turn, the energy rapidly draining from the pod’s reserves. His mind raced, cursing himself for not paying more attention during basic engineering training—skills that could’ve saved them all now.

The beeping from the console grew louder, more insistent, each tone like the countdown to their inevitable end. Wolffe’s hands flew over the controls, fighting to keep the fragile signal steady. His stomach twisted as the air around him grew more suffocating with every passing second.

Desperation clawed at him as he forced the words out, “We’re losing the signal! The pod can’t take much more damage!” His voice cracked under the strain, betraying his calm exterior as he looked at the status report. The ship was on the verge of total collapse. The thought of what would come next—suffocating in the cold vacuum of space—made his chest tighten with dread.

It was a terrifying place to exist, caught between the faint hope of survival and the crushing reality that even the prospect of rescue might be a fleeting illusion. Despite hearing the voice over the comms, the question gnawed at him: Who was General Halle? He’d never heard her name before. Was she a fellow Jedi? Perhaps Plo Koon knew her? But Wolffe couldn’t waste time questioning—he had to fight for the signal. Every second felt like a lifetime, and yet, no matter how hard he tried, the clock was ticking down.

A burst of fiery light illuminated the cold darkness outside the pod as the enemy craft was severed in two by a decisive strike from the Jedi. The force of the explosion sent debris scattering into the void, and for a brief moment, Wolffe could allow himself to exhale. The immediate threat had been eradicated, but the relief was fleeting. The question that remained—would anyone get there in time to save them?

The panic that had surged through him began to recede, but he knew they weren’t out of the woods yet. The communication frequency had gone silent on his end, the voice that had offered hope now lost amidst the static and chaos. Whoever had been trying to reach them was now just a whisper in the void, swallowed by the expanding silence of space. The only sounds left were the crackling of their short-range comms, the voices of his brothers outside the pod, echoing through the static.

“We are clones. We are meant to be expendable.” The words, spoken by one of his brothers, hung heavily in the air, carrying a cold, hard truth. Wolffe felt a gnawing agreement with the sentiment. He had always known their place in the galaxy—cogs in a war machine, bred for battle and designed to be discarded when no longer needed. He was a commanding officer, yes, but that title was little more than a designation in the grand scheme of the Grand Army of the Republic. In the end, he wasn’t any different from the others.

If someone came for them, it would be to save the Jedi, to recover the one they had been tasked to protect. His own survival—his brothers’ survival—was not the priority. Even if some Jedi had tried to make them more than that, in the eyes of the galaxy, they would remain faceless, nameless soldiers.

Wolffe clenched his fists, pushing aside the creeping feelings of insignificance. He couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. There was still the chance—slim though it was—that they might make it out alive. But the weight of those words lingered in his mind, a reminder that in the end, their worth had always been measured by their utility to others.

Wolffe slumped back into his seat, the weight of the air around him becoming unbearable with each shallow breath. It felt as though the very oxygen in the pod was slipping through his grasp, as if it too were being torn apart by the impending end. The faint, flickering red lights above him grew dimmer with every passing second, casting an eerie, muted glow that barely illuminated the confines of the pod. The life support system was failing—he could feel it now, the slow encroachment of cold creeping into his bones, chilling him in ways that the adrenaline of battle never could.

It was a cruel sort of fate, the silence that followed. No grand declaration of doom, no sirens blaring, no sudden warning to mark the end of everything. The systems were shutting down quietly, efficiently, as if they were just letting him slip into nothingness with as little disturbance as possible. It was almost too serene.

He understood why it was done this way, of course. The programming was designed to allow any survivors a peaceful departure, a gentle fade into sleep as their surroundings gradually succumbed to the cold embrace of space. It was meant to be humane, a way to spare the mind the anguish of facing the end head-on. But Wolffe had never been one for gentle endings. He didn’t want peace in his final moments—he wanted defiance, a clear acknowledgment that the end had come, that it was final, that he had fought to the bitter end, even if that end had no grand spectacle. If he had it his way, there would be an unmistakable signal, a sharp, resounding yes, this is it, a harsh punctuation to the story of his life.

Instead, he was left in a limbo of silent, inevitable decay, surrounded by the endless hum of failing systems and the distant knowledge that the seconds, the minutes, were slipping away without him ever knowing for sure if this was the end.

Wolffe's hands tightened on the seat as he sat there in the suffocating stillness. The sensation of time dragging on without any real sense of urgency made him ache with frustration. What was the point of it all? To just fade away quietly, like some nameless casualty in the war that had defined his existence? No dramatic last stand, no final shout of defiance, no reckoning to be had. Just silence, cold, and the slow, grinding end of everything he had ever known.

He let out a shaky breath, the air growing thinner, the pressure in his chest mounting. In the quiet of the pod, with only the faintest hum of equipment barely keeping him alive, Wolffe had nothing left but his thoughts—and they were becoming far too loud.

Wolffe's eyelids drooped, heavy with the oppressive weight of fatigue and cold. His body had long since surrendered to the numbness, the chill creeping deeper into his limbs, making every breath feel like an effort, each inhale a struggle against the inevitable. Death had caught up with him. There was no escaping it now, no last-minute miracle to spare him. The sharp, biting cold pressed against his skin, and the air around him—once a lifeline—had become a distant, fading memory. His lungs screamed for oxygen that never came, every breath shallower than the last.

His muscles, once honed by years of training and battle, now felt like lead, too heavy to move, too weary to resist. His eyes fluttered, unable to stay open for much longer. He could feel his consciousness slipping away, the last remnants of his awareness slipping into darkness, where no light reached. A part of him embraced the quiet finality of it, welcomed it, even. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be. Perhaps Master Plo had been right—death was just a transition, a merging with the Force. It wasn’t an end; it was a return. Warm, bright, peaceful—the Force. Perhaps in that moment, he would finally understand.

And yet, even as the darkness crept closer, something stirred. The beat of his heart—the final, sluggish rhythm of life—pounded in his ears, louder now than it had ever been before, each thud reverberating through his chest like a drumbeat echoing in the stillness.

Bump.

Bump... Bump.

Bump.

The sound seemed to slow with his fading consciousness, the once-urgent beat now a rhythmic lullaby guiding him to the edge.

But then, without warning, a brilliant flash of light cut through the suffocating darkness. It pierced the quiet, searing through the despair like a sudden burst of hope. Wolffe’s mind struggled to comprehend it, but the light was unmistakable. Maybe Master Plo had been right after all—the warmth, the brightness, the sense of something beyond... but then—

Bang!

The sudden, loud noise outside the pod shattered the fragile peace that had begun to claim him. His body jerked involuntarily in response, his eyes snapping open as the shock of the sound cut through the fading haze of his thoughts.

Someone was out there. 

A surge of adrenaline shot through him, his heart leaping back to life. The air, now a bit thicker, felt somehow less suffocating, the hope that had seemed so distant flickering again. Whoever it was outside had just given him a moment—maybe more—of something he hadn’t dared hope for.

The pain in his chest was still apparent to him, and his vision blurred, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he found himself focused, listening. The world outside the pod had just shifted, and he had to know if it was the salvation he had been waiting for.

Then, with a violent jolt, the pod slammed into something hard, the impact reverberating through his entire body, rattling him to his core. The world around him seemed to spin, and for a moment, Wolffe could do nothing but slump over, his strength utterly drained. His limbs felt as though they had turned to lead, each one a weight he could no longer lift.

He fought against it, clawing for any remaining reserves of energy. He pushed himself, muscles trembling with the effort, but his body refused to cooperate. Every motion felt sluggish and wrong, as if the very will to rise had been stolen from him.

But then, with a sound that echoed in the empty space, the viewport of the pod shattered away, sending a burst of cold, fresh air flooding into the cabin. The sudden rush of oxygen felt like a rebirth, a blessing from the stars themselves. His chest heaved with desperate gulps, as though his lungs had forgotten what it was like to breathe. The air filled him with a ferocity he hadn’t realized he was starving for, until it seemed to choke him, forcing him to cough uncontrollably.

His arms shook with the final effort, but he found just enough strength to push himself toward the exit, his legs barely supporting his weight as he hobbled forward. He could barely think, his mind clouded with the dizziness of survival, but there was no stopping him now. He had to get out.

As he reached the opening, the ground seemed to tilt beneath him. He faltered, teetering on the edge of collapse, and braced himself for the inevitable fall. But instead of the cold metal of the floor meeting him, strong arms caught him in mid-motion, preventing his fall with an unexpected gentleness.

Expecting one of his brothers, his thoughts disoriented and desperate, he was taken aback when he realized the arms holding him were smaller—slender and feminine. A voice, calm and soothing, spoke just above a whisper, asking with surprising kindness, “Are you alright, Trooper?”

•—⟪=====> 

Perdita's focus deepened as she reached out through the Force, trying to find Master Plo amidst the chaos, but it was the disjointed, desperate thoughts of one of the men that captured her attention. His presence was a storm, fierce and muddled, his emotions ringing out far louder than the calm yet intense connection of her Jedi mentor.

His thoughts were raw, unrefined—full of fear and confusion. He didn’t want to be a cog in the machine. A mindless instrument of war. He didn’t want to be another expendable clone, lost in the endless tide of conflict. A question lingered in his mind: What would death feel like? 

Amidst those thoughts was something else—a flicker of gratitude. He was grateful to Master Plo Koon. The Jedi had treated him and his brothers with respect, with civility, even amidst the brutality of their roles. This is more than a commanding officer, he thought. This is a leader. This is how they all should be.

But then, the wave of frustration surged within him. An unwillingness to give in, even as his body slowly surrendered to exhaustion. His thoughts grew erratic as he pushed against the physical limits of his being, fighting against the inevitable collapse of his own mind and body.

Perdita understood that feeling. How many times had she felt the same way? The overwhelming fatigue, the pull to fight against the tide, against the war that seemed unrelenting. This war was not the purpose of the Jedi—it was a corruption of their true calling. The Jedi were meant to protect life, not throw it away. Yet here they were, caught in the gears of an endless machine, forced to wage war against an enemy that kept multiplying, even as the cost of every life weighed heavy on them. 

It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly. None of this was fair.

The men, the clones, paid for the greed and ambitions of those who never felt the weight of their sacrifices. She could feel their pain, the endless struggle for meaning in a galaxy that seemed to demand only death in return for their service.

This man, in particular, seemed to be a reflection of everything she had come to understand about the clones. He was more than just a soldier—he was a person, a being with thoughts and feelings, dreams and fears. He wanted to be something more than just one of the millions, but at the same time, he was tethered to them all. He felt the deep connection with his brothers, the ones who bled and died beside him. They were more than just his comrades; they were his family. 

And yet, through all the pain and fear, there was a beautiful truth. He was alive. Against all odds, he was alive. The Force pulsed through him, as it did every living thing, binding him to everything in the galaxy.

Wolffe.

She could feel him.

When the pod finally crashed into the reconnaissance ship, Perdita didn’t hesitate. She acted quickly, tearing the viewport away with ease, knowing that every second mattered. What she saw made her heart ache—a broken figure, barely clinging to life, his eyes wide with terror, fighting against his own weakening body. 

His breath came in short gasps as he slumped, a mere fraction of the strong man he was, now reduced to a vulnerable body lying in the wreckage. But he was still alive. And for all the pain that radiated from him, she knew that was enough.

She moved swiftly, gathering him up as gently as she could, easing him out of the wreckage. His body seemed heavy, limp against her, but the sense of life—the fragile thread that connected him to the world—was undeniable. She settled him against her chest, her heart racing with the effort to hold onto that precious spark of life.

She gently propped him up against the side of the damaged pod, her hands steady but filled with urgency. Looking down at him, she saw the fear in his brown eyes, darting around in confusion and panic. His breaths were shallow, strained, and he seemed lost, disoriented in the chaos of his surroundings. She could sense his fight-or-flight instincts were still alive.

Her voice, soft yet steady, pierced through the fog of his panic like a lifeline. "Are you alright, trooper?" she asked, her tone as calm and reassuring as she could muster, despite the storm raging within her. She knelt beside him, leaning close in an effort to anchor him to the present, her steady presence a fragile shield against the weight of the chaos surrounding them. 

Her hands came up to cradle his face, the touch gentle but grounding. She smoothed her thumbs along his temples, her warmth urging his ragged breaths to slow, her quiet strength coaxing his lungs to draw in air again. Bit by bit, the tension in his shoulders eased, and with a slight nod, he leaned back, letting her hands fall away. A flicker of gratitude passed between them before she shifted her attention to Master Plo, who had just arrived.

“I see your tracking abilities remain as sharp as ever. Your master would be proud,” Master Plo said, his voice measured, though the words carried an unintentional weight. The compliment, meant to honor her, cut deep, stirring a memory she had yet to confront fully.

“Actually,” she began, her voice steady but laced with an edge of emotion, “I didn’t need to rely on them completely. One of your men guided me here. His admiration for you stood out, even amidst the chaos. It was louder than anything else.” 

Her words hung in the air, both a testament to the trooper’s loyalty and an unspoken reminder of the connections that kept them tethered, even in the darkest of times.

"I have done little more than what I promised at the war's outset," he said, his voice low and reflective as he inclined his head toward her. The unspoken understanding between them hung heavy in the air, unyielding but oddly comforting.  

"Skywalker," he continued, his tone shifting to something more urgent, "we need to get to the bridge and navigate out of this debris field before they track us. Dita, would you stay—"  

"I will help your men," she interjected with a firm nod, her voice calm yet resolute.  

The name lingered in the air, charged with a meaning no one else seemed to grasp. Dita. It slipped from his tongue so naturally that there was no time for the others to question it. She hadn't been called that in years—not since her old master had bestowed the moniker upon her. The sound of it was a bittersweet echo of a past life: part ache, part warmth, but entirely hers.  

Without hesitation, she knelt beside one of the injured soldiers clad in armor, her movements graceful but purposeful. She glanced at the medical droid, waiting for its assessment and instructions as it examined the man she'd found.  

Her eyes flicked briefly to the clone in the white uniform—definitely a commander. The oxygen mask pressed to his face obscured part of his features, but the sharp lines of his profile remained strikingly clear.  

Wolffe, she thought. The name suited him.  

There was something undeniably captivating about the clones. Their sun-kissed golden complexions and mischievous brown eyes seemed to embody an irrepressible vitality, even in the darkest moments. To her, they'd always been handsome—every single one of them. An army of millions, each bearing the same roguish charm, had often proved... distracting.  

But now was not the time for such thoughts. She pushed them aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. The commander needed care, and she would see to it that he was alright.

“This one is stable but may require additional care,” the mechanical droid informed her, its tone clinical and detached as it moved away from the commander.

Perdita nodded absently, her attention already shifting to Wolffe. She knelt beside him, her movements careful but deliberate, and gently took the oxygen canister from his hands. He leaned back slightly against the wall, his exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders slumped.

“General Halle, I presume,” he muttered, his voice raw and uneven. His dark eyes met hers, their sharpness dulled but still assessing.

“Yes,” she replied simply, her tone steady. Her gaze flicked to the shallow cut along his brow, the blood dried and dark against his golden skin. It wasn’t deep, just a small split where the skin had given way. But even minor injuries could become complications if left untreated.

Reaching for an anesthetic wipe, Perdita paused just long enough to lower her mask. She tore the foil packet open with her teeth, the action quick and efficient, and withdrew the medicated pad. Quickly replaced was the veil before anyone could see her almost constantly guarded features.

“This might sting a little,” she warned softly.

He didn’t flinch as she dabbed the pad against the cut, clearing away the blood with practiced care. His breathing was steady, though his gaze remained fixed on her, studying her scar and the small sliver of her face which showed beneath her mask and hood as if trying to piece together a puzzle.

The wipe’s cool, stinging touch worked its way through the wound, sterilizing as it soothed. She pressed a little firmer, ensuring the medicated solution did its job. After a moment of examination, she was satisfied.

“No stitches needed,” she murmured, discarding the used wipe. “You’ll be fine.”

Wolffe exhaled slowly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t say you are what I expected after hearing your voice.”

Perdita arched a brow, her lips curving into a subtle smile. “And what exactly were you expecting?”

“Someone... taller,” he quipped, his voice still raspy but laced with dry humor.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Well, I’m afraid this is all you are going to get.”

Wolffe’s smirk widened, but it faded quickly as he winced, shifting slightly. Perdita placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Easy,” she cautioned. “You’ve been through a lot. Rest while you can.”

His eyes softened, the earlier tension in his expression easing as he leaned back again. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly, the words tinged with both respect and a hint of weariness.

Something about this clone felt... different. All clones had their own subtle distinctions—small quirks that set them apart despite their identical origins. But with him, there was an undeniable uniqueness, an aura she couldn’t quite name. Was it his quiet strength? The way his presence seemed to command attention even in silence? She wasn’t sure, and now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

They weren’t out of danger yet.

As if to underline the thought, the lights around them flickered once before plunging the room into total darkness before the red backup lights kicked in. The low hum of machinery ceased, replaced by an eerie silence that seemed to swallow the air itself.

Around her, the clones seemed to snap into action, the hum of urgency electrifying the air. Despite their injuries, they moved with a kind of practiced efficiency, readying themselves for whatever threat loomed. The shift was palpable—soldiers who had been teetering on the edge of exhaustion now stood poised and alert, their instincts sharpened by years of training and battle.

“We should get up to the bridge,” Wolffe muttered, his voice strained but resolute. He took a tentative step forward, but his balance wavered, his body betraying the toll his injuries had taken.

Perdita was at his side in an instant, her fingers tightening around his bicep to steady him. “Not yet,” she said softly, shaking her head. Her grip was firm but careful, her support unyielding as his shaky legs found a semblance of stability.

Wolffe let out a frustrated breath, but he didn’t resist her help. She could see the determination etched into his features—the same determination that likely kept him alive through battles far worse than this. But right now, he needed rest more than heroics.

“I’ll head up and check on things,” she said firmly, meeting his gaze.

She held his arm for another moment, ensuring he could stand without her support. His dark eyes flicked to hers in the dim glow of the backup lighting, and for a brief second, an unspoken understanding passed between them.

As she stepped onto the bridge, the palpable tension hit her like a wave. The air was thick with unspoken fears and barely contained nerves. Through the viewport, the colossal battle station loomed, its ominous silhouette swallowing the distant starlight. It seemed to defy time itself, drifting past with an almost taunting slowness. No one dared to breathe, the quiet hum of the ship's systems the only sound cutting through the suffocating silence.

“Assuming that’s why it went dark…” she muttered after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question, and no one offered an answer. The rhetorical comment hung in the air, unanswered, as the ship adjusted its course ever so slightly. Her gaze shifted to the corner of the bridge, where Skywalker’s R2 unit sat dormant, its lifeless dome a stark contrast to the urgency mounting around them.

The ship gave a faint shudder as its engines shifted power, turning them to face the looming battle station fully. The realization hit her like a thunderbolt—everything was at a standstill. Systems across the scout ship were dark, leaving them vulnerable to the predatory machine outside.

“Are all the systems shut down?” Master Plo’s calm voice broke through the silence, though his measured tone belied the danger they faced.

“Medical droid in the hull is still active” she mentioned with a terse tone, panic creeping into her voice as her words sent everyone into a frenzy of motion. 

“We’ve got to get the power back on, now!” Anakin’s voice cut through the chaos like a commander’s call to arms. Around her, frantic hands worked to restore life to the ship. Lights flickered, consoles hummed back to life, and the faint vibration of repowering systems thrummed underfoot.

She turned her attention back to the viewport, her chest tightening as the battle station continued to reposition itself. Its massive ion blaster came into full view, the weapon more menacing than she had ever imagined. The sheer size of it seemed to mock their tiny scout ship.

Her mind raced, recalling the grim story Master Plo had told—the devastating power of that ion cannon, the annihilation of his entire fleet, leaving only four survivors. Her breath caught in her throat. If that monstrous weapon could obliterate a fleet, what chance did they stand now? The odds felt crushingly impossible.

Being tossed around the cockpit by Skywalker’s daring maneuvers, Perdita clung to the nearest console, trying to steady herself against the turbulence. Anakin’s unique flying style was chaotic, but it was their only hope of threading through the dense debris field. The ship groaned in protest as it twisted and weaved, and Perdita struggled to keep her footing. To her left, a flickering display showed a massive energy surge closing in from behind—an ominous purple glow that painted the cockpit in ghostly light.

“Master…” Ahsoka’s voice cut through the alarms, tight with anxiety. The warning klaxons screamed louder, a relentless reminder of the doom racing toward them.

Perdita swallowed her fear, forcing herself to trust in Anakin’s uncanny ability to pull them out of impossible situations. He is the Chosen One, she reminded herself, clinging to the belief that his destiny would see them through. But the thought brought little comfort as her mind strayed down the corridor to where the rescued clones huddled, still recovering from their last ordeal.

What a cruel twist of fate, she thought bitterly. To have been saved from one deathtrap only to face annihilation again so soon—it was almost too much to bear. Her heart ached at the memory of the Commander, who still felt the call to assist despite his injuries. 

As the ion blast crept closer, its menacing glow filling the bridge, Perdita fought to keep her emotions in check. But her thoughts betrayed her, shifting to memories she had long tried to suppress. The laughter of her fallen Master echoed faintly in her mind, only to be replaced by the gravelly, smoke-tinged voice of the injured Commander. His calm presence in the face of despair had steadied her before, but now, with nothing but the vast void of space around them, she felt untethered.

“We’re clear!” Ahsoka’s triumphant yell snapped Perdita back to the present as the ship’s engines roared to life. With a sharp pull of the controls, Anakin wrenched them out of the debris field and into hyperspace. The oppressive glow of the ion blast disappeared as stars streaked past the viewport in brilliant lines of light.

For a moment, there was silence—a stillness broken only by the hum of the ship’s systems returning to normal. Perdita exhaled shakily, her hands trembling as she released the console. Relief mingled with exhaustion, but another feeling lingered beneath the surface.

Master Plo turned to her, his calm presence grounding her as always. Though he said nothing, his body language spoke volumes. His steady gaze met hers, and she knew he understood where her mind had wandered during the chaos. There was no judgment in his expression, only a quiet empathy that made her feel exposed yet comforted.

In the wake of their escape, the tension in the room eased, but Perdita couldn’t shake the weight of what had just transpired. The Commander’s thoughts echoed in her mind once more, a reminder of both the fragility of life and the strength found in moments of resolve. As the movement of hyperspace stretched endlessly before them, she decided to carry that strength forward—if only to honor those who couldn’t.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ𓃥✧:･.:

General Plo had returned to the hull where Wolffe and the surviving troopers rested after their harrowing escape into hyperspace. The debris field had been merciless, and though their escape was barely successful, it had yielded critical intelligence about the "mystery weapon." That knowledge alone offered a glimmer of hope for its eventual destruction. Despite the heavy casualties they had suffered and the searing pain that lingered in his lungs, Wolffe felt a small measure of relief. They had survived, and their struggle might now have purpose.

Seated against the hull wall, Wolffe adjusted the oxygen mask strapped to his face, his voice muffled as he spoke. “Sir, the General who found us—” he began, trailing off as his thoughts turned inward. Perdita had remained on the bridge after delivering them to safety, leaving him with questions that refused to settle. How had she found them? Or more specifically, how had she found him?

“What about her?” Plo Koon asked, his calm, gravelly voice breaking through Wolffe’s haze of uncertainty. The Kel Dor Jedi leaned slightly closer, his presence steady and grounding in the way only a Jedi Master’s could be.

Wolffe hesitated, his brow furrowing beneath the mask. “How did she… find us? Or… my thoughts, I suppose. Through the Force?” The question hung in the air, tinged with curiosity and unease. He’d heard tales of Jedi abilities before, but this felt different—more personal.

Plo’s masked face tilted thoughtfully, his gloved fingers brushing the edges of his respirator in a contemplative gesture. After a moment, he answered, his tone as measured as ever. “Perdita possesses a rare gift among Jedi. She has the ability to track memories and strong emotions through the Force. By touching an object, she can glimpse its past, and through the emotions of others, she can sense their presence—even across great distances. I suspect that, in the chaos, she latched onto your fear and resolve as a beacon through the noise.”

Wolffe blinked, the explanation both clarifying and unsettling. His fear and resolve… the emotions that had churned within him during those desperate moments had been like a flare, drawing her to their position. The thought made him pause, his mind turning over the implications of such a power.

“So… She felt… me,” he murmured, more to himself than to Plo. The idea was humbling and unsettling in equal measure. His fear, his regrets, his desire to save his brothers—it had all been laid bare in the Force for her to see. The mere thought of it all was exposing.

Plo nodded, his gaze steady. “She likely did. But do not mistake her insight for intrusion. Perdita does not seek to exploit what she feels. She uses her gift to help, to guide, and to protect.”

Wolffe mulled over the words, his gaze dropping to his hands as he contemplated the weight of them. It wasn’t easy for him to trust, even when it came to the Jedi. But Perdita’s actions spoke volumes—she had saved them, had reached through the chaos to find them when all hope seemed lost.

“I see,” Wolffe finally said, his voice quieter now. He leaned back against the hull, his mind still grappling with what Plo had shared. Perhaps it didn’t matter how she’d found him. What mattered was that she had. "I’ve never heard of her before. No troopers that I know of are under her command," the Commander replied, his brow furrowing slightly as he spoke. "But you referred to her as Dita—so, I take it you’re well-acquainted with her?"

For a brief moment, a flicker of concern crossed his mind. He wondered if the Jedi might interpret his question as an interrogation, but the man simply nodded, his expression softening. It seemed to Plo Koon that Wolffe was eager to understand more about his savior.

"I knew her master well," the Jedi began, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. "He perished on the same day my padawan did. It's... a bond, of sorts. We’ve always seemed to think alike when it comes to this war. But as for why she doesn’t command any troopers—well, that’s a decision the Council made. They don’t believe it's in her best interest to lead in the traditional sense, as other Jedi do. Instead, she’s been assigned to work directly with those caught in the heart of the conflict. Her strengths along with her compassion, are an asset that is often in short supply these days." 

Wolffe’s eyes narrowed, his mind working overtime to make sense of the conversation. He had never known that Master Plo Koon had a padawan. Let alone that the jedi he served seemed to hold such a personal connection with the woman who’d saved them. The Jedi’s words lingered in the air, but they only served to deepen the mystery that seemingly was General Halle. 

He let out a quiet breath and nodded, deciding it was best to leave the questions for another time. The woman would be leaving soon. She would return to her own quiet battles, whatever they might be, and he would return to his more familiar role—leading the troopers, issuing orders, and focusing on the fight ahead. There was no room for distractions or unanswered questions in the midst of war.

Yet, as much as he tried to dismiss the matter, one thought refused to leave him: she had saved them. All of them. Without hesitation. Without asking for anything in return. The entire squad owed their lives to her, and that reality sat heavy on his conscience. The woman was elusive, almost untouchable in her detached, silent grace, but that didn’t lessen the gratitude Wolffe felt.

The question gnawed at him: How could he thank her?

A simple "thank you" seemed insufficient, a token gesture at best. Words had never felt so inadequate, especially when it came to something so profound. What did you say to someone who had saved you? How could you honor such an act of selflessness without making her uncomfortable or drawing unwanted attention to the deed?

To his right, Boost and Sinker were seated on the floor, the pair leaning against the hull, talking about nothing of importance. They were laughing, animatedly discussing how they couldn’t wait to get a warm shower and a decent meal. It was the kind of conversation soldiers often fell into when they’d survived another harrowing battle—small comforts, simple pleasures that felt like luxuries after the hell of war. He could understand their excitement; a hot shower and a good meal sounded like heaven right now.

But as Wolffe listened to them, a small knot of discomfort tightened in his chest. Their talk was too... narrow, too self-contained. It felt out of place, almost wrong. They were survivors, yes—but the war didn’t end just because they’d made it through another day. There was a bigger picture, one that stretched beyond their immediate needs. Perhaps it was that difference in perspective that had shaped him into the Commander he was.

He had always been trained to see the situation as a whole, to think beyond the individual and focus on the larger mission, the bigger strategy. The war doesn’t stop for you, his training had drilled into him, day after day. And yet here they were, consumed by the thought of a hot meal, as if the battle had already been won, as if there weren’t still lives at stake and a galaxy in peril. It bothered him. It didn’t sit right.

Wolffe shook his head slightly, trying to push the unease aside. His gaze dropped to his uniform, the stiff white fabric of his officer's tunic, out of place and ill-fitting in the moment. He was more acclimated to the constraints of armor, that this tweed material made him exposed. 

He brushed a hand over the fabric, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles that had accumulated. It felt like an odd, futile gesture, trying to bring order to something that was, in essence, chaotic. He wasn’t used to thinking about his appearance—rarely had need to think about it. 

Wolffe shared the same features as his brothers—identical in every way. The same bronze complexion, the same dark, intense eyes, the same deep brown hair. To him, there was little need to stand out in appearance; his identity was defined by his role and his actions, not the way he looked.

He had always felt that the clones who sought uniqueness through changes to their appearance were chasing something fleeting, something unnecessary. The idea of colored or long hair seemed absurd—maintenance during deployments or combat was difficult enough without adding more to the list. And face tattoos? They struck him as... unprofessional, especially for someone in a leadership position. It wasn’t just about practicality; it was about maintaining a certain standard of discipline, a sense of order. Officers, in his view, needed to embody that standard—not stand apart from it.

In Wolffe’s mind, any alterations to appearance should be a personal matter, something private—done for oneself, not for the approval or attention of others. So, he kept his tattoos hidden, a personal choice that he saw no need to display. His hair was kept short and practical, his facial hair carefully shaved away. It was simple, efficient, and in his eyes, a mark of professionalism. 

Instinctively, he reached up to fix his hair, his gloved hand running through the short strands. His fingers caught on the thick gel he had used to keep his hair in place during the chaos of combat. Wolffe tugged at it, trying to rearrange his dark locks. The effort was in vain, of course. The gel was too set, too unyielding, and his hair refused to cooperate.

Why did this matter?

He froze, his hand still tangled in his hair, the question hanging in the air. Why did he feel this compulsive need to make himself presentable, when everything around him was in tatters? They had all been spared death today, yes. But that was the only victory. His appearance hardly mattered—not in the grand scheme of things. It wasn’t as if anyone would notice.

Yet, despite the absurdity of it, the need lingered. The need to appear competent, presentable, even when he felt anything but. Perhaps it was a way to cling to some semblance of normalcy, some small piece of order in the disarray of his thoughts.

But as the thought lingered, Wolffe caught himself, questioning it—Why?

More troubling still, for whom?

The very notion made him want to bolt, to open the airlock and let the weight of his embarrassment carry him into the cold emptiness of space. What was he doing? Why would a seasoned Commander in the clone army, respected and battle-hardened, seek the approval of a woman he barely knew? A Jedi, no less—a figure bound by the very rules that forbade attachment, a woman who kept herself shrouded in secrecy, both physically and emotionally.

He couldn’t even begin to guess who she truly was beneath the robes and the mask. The only parts of her he could make out were the eerie glow of her bright eyes—eyes that seemed to pierce through the veil of mystery surrounding her—and the scar that marred the otherwise smooth, pale skin of her face. A single mark, like a memory of a battle she’d survived. But beyond that, there was nothing. He had no knowledge of her species, no clue about the woman behind the mask.

He felt like an outsider looking in, caught between a gnawing curiosity and the stark realization that his place was far removed from hers. He was just a clone—a soldier—and she was a Jedi, bound by codes he could never understand, carrying burdens that had nothing to do with him.

The curiosity made him feel... juvenile. He didn’t wonder about women—not like this. His interests had always been more straightforward, more functional. The warmth he sought back on Coruscant was the kind most officers indulged in—brief, impersonal, and fleeting. Late nights in the backrooms of the 79s, tossing credits won in a game of sabacc onto the table, before making a quick retreat back to base to hit the refresher. The entertainers, with their bright smiles and painted faces, always made him anxious to get clean, to scrub away the evidence of the…distraction.

But this? To actually want to see the features of a woman who was his superior? The very thought was absurd. Wolffe scoffed under his breath, shaking his head at the idea. It had to be some kind of side effect of the gratitude he felt. She had saved his life—no small feat—and now that debt had manifested in this bizarre curiosity.

That’s all it was, he reasoned with himself. After months of nothing but combat and the sterile company of his brothers, she was one of the only women he’d been around. A brief glimpse of something unfamiliar, something human, had stirred feelings he’d never given much thought to before. She’d touched him gently, and in a way he’d never recalled being touched before. Her thumbs softly brushed along his skin, as if she was concerned it may shatter under her fingertips. It wasn’t attraction—it was simply curiosity, nothing more. Right?

The subtle shift in the ship’s movement as it exited hyperspace brought Wolffe back to the present, the hum of the engines signaling their return to realspace. They would be arriving soon—back with Skywalker’s fleet—and from there, his path would be uncertain, shrouded in the fog of the war. His thoughts faltered, caught between the urgency of duty and the questions that lingered unanswered.

The muffled voices in the corridor grew louder, pulling him from his reflections. The door slid open, revealing Master Plo Koon and Ahsoka.  Wolffe hadn’t even noticed his brief departure, only his return. The Jedi Master was speaking calmly, his hand outstretched in a gesture of reassurance, while Ahsoka wore a faint smile, her eyes alight with the quiet relief of their arrival.

Below them, the ship’s landing gear made contact with the cruiser, the low thud reverberating through the hull. Wolffe watched as Boost and Sinker stood, moving with practiced efficiency as they donned their armor once more, preparing for the next phase of their mission. The Gateway hissed open, and one by one, his brothers filed out of the small craft, their movements swift and familiar.

First his brothers, then Plo Koon and the padawan—each moving with purpose. Wolffe lingered at the back, holding his position. He had made up his mind: before leaving, he would find a way to thank her. The Jedi had saved their lives. He owed her that much, at least.

Moments later, she emerged, deep in conversation with Skywalker, her gaze flicking across the room with casual precision. But then, her eyes locked on him. “Anakin—” he heard her murmur, before her tone shifted, the words trailing off. Slowly, deliberately, she began to walk toward him.

“Commander, might I accompany you to the med bay?” Her voice was unexpectedly warm, the request coming with a hint of sincerity that caught him off guard.

Wolffe blinked, momentarily taken aback. “That’s not necessary, Ma’am—” he started, ready to brush off the offer.

She cut him off gently, her tone light but firm. “It would be my pleasure, sir,” she said, and Wolffe could almost hear the smile in her voice. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer some time alone after the events of today?”

He hesitated, glancing away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “No, it’s not that. I just didn’t think escorting a clone to the med bay would be a good use of your time,” he replied, his eyes darting uncomfortably to the side.

“Nonsense,” she replied with a quiet laugh, her confidence unwavering. “Besides—” she paused for a moment, as if considering something. “If that means the Council will take out their frustration on Anakin and Ahsoka instead, then you’d be doing me a favor by keeping me out of the crossfire.”

Wolffe couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “In that case, General, I’d be more than happy to spare you,” he said, a hint of dry humor creeping into his voice.

The woman gestured toward the gangplank, and Wolffe gave a curt nod, beginning his walk. She moved effortlessly beside him, her every step a picture of grace. The dark robes she wore—much deeper in hue than any Jedi’s attire he had seen before—swayed with her movements, flowing like shadows that shifted with the rhythm of her stride. In contrast, he stood in his pale officer's uniform, the stark white fabric a striking contrast against his dark features. She, with her pale skin catching the light beneath the dark material of her robes, was a study in contrast—an enigma of light and shadow walking beside him.

After a moment of silence, he broke the quiet, his voice steady but carrying the weight of gratitude. “Thank you for getting us out in one piece, General Halle,” he said.

Her steps faltered on the ramp at his words. She paused, turning to face him, her expression unreadable as she studied him in silence for a moment. “It was your determination that guided me to you all,” she said softly, her voice carrying an unexpected depth. “In a way, you saved yourself, Commander Wolffe.”

He shifted uncomfortably, hoping to brush off her comment. “Master Plo said someone would come for us. I’m glad he was right,” he replied, his tone steady, though the flicker of uncertainty behind it betrayed his intent to deflect.

Her gaze remained fixed on him, her eyes sharp, searching for something deeper. “You did not share his sentiment?” she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Wolffe hesitated before answering, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “Strategically, General, it doesn’t make sense to waste resources on rescuing a handful of clone troopers,” he said, his tone firm, though there was a slight edge of discomfort in admitting it aloud. He wasn’t sure why the words felt heavier than usual, as if the notion of worth had shifted in his mind, leaving him with more questions than answers.

She didn’t respond immediately, a thoughtful hum escaping her lips as she processed his words. Then, with quiet conviction, she spoke. “Respectfully, sir, I do not agree with your assessment.”

His eyes widened in surprise at her candidness, and he turned to face her, momentarily speechless. “I—” he began, unsure of how to respond.

She held his gaze, her expression steady. “Strategically, our primary objective was to uncover the mystery behind that weapon,” she continued, her tone deliberate and measured. “Given the scale of the fleets that were lost, a small mercy mission to rescue the survivors could provide critical insight toward achieving that goal. However…” Her eyes softened slightly as she regarded him, “The value of life—no matter its origins—is something I hold dear. I do not consider it a waste of resources.”

Wolffe paused, his mind turning over the conversation. He sighed deeply, shaking his head as he turned away, his gaze inadvertently falling on a passing member of the 501st. The soldier’s face was all too familiar—his name unknown—but the resemblance was undeniable. The same features, the same purpose, the same quiet determination. It served as a stark reminder of his argument to the Jedi: that clones were soldiers, not individuals worthy of exceptional regard. His thoughts wandered for a moment, reinforcing the point he'd made earlier. Yet, despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake the weight of the resolve with which she had spoken.

Just as Master Plo had, General Halle seemed to view things differently—she, too, seemed to believe there was more to the clones than their utility on the battlefield. A subtle shift in his thinking began to form, challenging the hardened convictions he’d carried for so long.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low but steady. “Master Plo speaks very highly of your compassion, General Halle.”

Her response was swift, a quiet smile in her tone. “As he does with the strength of your leadership, Commander Wolffe,” she replied, her eyes momentarily flicking to the distance, where the familiar signet of the medical ward could be seen, a quiet beacon marking the end of their short journey.

The words hung in the air between them, and for the first time, Wolffe wasn’t sure how to respond. He had spent so long compartmentalizing his thoughts, locking away any notion of self beneath the armor of duty. But there, in her gaze, he saw something that both unsettled and intrigued him—an invitation to consider that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than the role he had always played.

Before he could gather his thoughts, they arrived at the medical bay’s entrance, the doors sliding open with a soft hiss. The sterile scent of antiseptic and bacta flooded his senses. A place for healing. A place where bodies were mended, but souls remained fractured.

Wolffe paused in the doorway, his eyes briefly sweeping across the medical ward—sterile, quiet, a space built for healing and recovery. Yet, amidst the sterile whiteness of the room, he could feel an overwhelming sense of finality. He shifted his gaze back to her, meeting General Halle’s eyes once more, his expression betraying the quiet weight of his thoughts.

“Thank you, General,” he said, his voice low but steady. "For... saving us. And for not seeing us as just soldiers."

Her expression softened, her eyes shifting from their usual intensity to something gentler, something more personal. She gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words with the respect she’d shown throughout their brief time together. “Any time, Commander,” she replied with warmth, her tone unguarded.

Without hesitation, she extended her arm toward him, and he met it halfway, gripping her forearm in the familiar gesture—one of comradeship, of respect, a bond forged not in words but in action. The clasp was firm, an unspoken promise of understanding between them.

"Until we meet again, Wolffe," she said, her voice carrying a quiet finality that spoke volumes. There was something in her gaze—perhaps it was the fleeting softness, or the unspoken understanding—that made the farewell feel heavier than it should have.

Wolffe found himself looking down at their joined forearms for a moment. His fingers, long and almost imposing, curled around the slender shape of her arm, while her delicate fingers rested lightly against his. The contrast between them was striking—two figures so vastly different in form and demeanor, yet united in this fleeting moment of connection.

He then lifted his gaze slowly. He sought one last glimpse into her bright green eyes, eyes that seemed to hold so much, that flickered with wisdom and purpose. Something there stirred within him, a feeling that he couldn’t quite name but knew he would carry with him for a long time.

“Until we meet again, General Halle,” he replied, his voice steady, though a trace of something deeper lingered beneath the surface.

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