Bucknasty.

The dog is running laps around the main floor when Wolffe reaches the bottom of the stairs, stopping briefly to bark once at him before zooming back into the living room.

“C’mon!” Cherise laughs, and it’s only when Whisky growls that Wolffe realizes she isn’t talking to him.

He leans against the wall and takes in the scene in front of him. Cherise is facing away from him, a bright blue and orange toy in her hands, waving it in front of Whisky’s face too quickly for the dog to snatch it away.

“Get it, get it!” Cherise’s voice is the lightest it’s been since Wolffe got here. It probably would have taken a while to see her like this if Whisky wasn’t around. 

Maybe the dog’s not so bad.

Whisky’s jaws snap at the air, missing the toy every time, and Wolffe can see that he’s starting to get agitated. Cherise notices too, because she finally relents and tosses him the toy. The dog happily shakes its prey before gnawing on it.

Cherise stands up straight and puts her hands on her hips. She’s slightly out of breath, but smiling as she turns toward Wolffe—

—and jumps out of her skin.

“Oh my—! Fuck, you scared me!”

Wolffe can only grin as Cherise tries again to catch her breath, forcing herself to relax her arms from their protective position over her chest.

“I thought you were still asleep,” she says. “Gods, you’re quiet.”

He shrugs himself off of the wall and closes the space between them, kissing Cherise on the forehead. 

“Sorry,” Wolffe offers, but they both know he isn’t. Cherise laughs again, airy and carefree, before she leads him over to the couch. 

“‘t’s fine, it’s fine,” she says as she leans back. Wolffe lays an arm along the top of the couch and smiles when Cherise leans into his side.

“How was the rush?”

“Not as bad as this morning,” Cherise shrugs. Whisky, realizing that he’s not the centre of attention anymore, trots over to her with the toy in his mouth and big, pathetic eyes. She grabs the handle built into the toy, bracing herself for Whisky trying to yank it out of her hands.

Wolffe watches, amused, as the dog nearly pulls her off the couch while Cherise’s expression doesn’t change a bit. They do this often, then. 

“How old is he?” Wolffe asks. He spreads his leg a little wider, just enough to brush up against hers.

“Six months.”

“Six months?”

Cherise laughs. “I told you he was still a puppy!”

“Holy shit,” Wolffe mumbles. “He’s going to be massive.”

Whisky, as if he understands, wrenches the toy from Cherise’s grip. Wolffe imagines that in a few months’ time, that same action might dislocate her shoulder.

“We’re assuming he’s half… well, half some kind of wild dog.”

Cherise grabs the toy again when Whisky offers it up. She looks at Wolffe apologetically, even though she’s the one getting yanked around the couch.

“Sorry,” she says. “I woke up too late to take him out before work, so he’s… well. You see.”

“That I do,” Wolffe chuckles. Whisky snatches the toy away again, but Wolffe has his eyes on Cherise. “Though I can’t imagine he’d wear himself out on a walk.”

The toy hits the ground with a soft thud as Whisky freezes.

Cherise sighs, but she’s smiling. “Now you’ve done it.”

“What?”

Whisky whines.

“You said the magic word,” Cherise tells Wolffe. “Now he thinks we’re taking him outside.”

The dog stares up at Cherise. Wolffe hasn’t seen it blink.

“Well, are we?”

Cherise turns to look at him. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to.”

Wolffe hums and rests his hand on the nape of her neck. It was a fair enough assumption. But Whisky isn’t the only one feeling antsy, and Wolffe knows that he and Cherise are bound to have some difficult conversations soon enough.

“We could walk and talk,” he suggests. “Might be easier than…”

He gestures to the way they’re sitting, and he knows Cherise understands. Wolffe doesn’t particularly like that it’s easier for him to talk about difficult things when he’s not looking directly at Cherise, but he can’t help it. It’s why most of their serious talks happened in Cherise’s bed on Coruscant, holding each other close but unable to see the other’s face. 

Cherise nods, but still looks wary. “We’re probably going to run into people.”

“What if we go outside the town?” It’s not like they don’t have the space.

She chews on her lip.

“Is that… bad?” Wolffe asks.

“No, no,” Cherise says quickly. “I just never have. I don’t really know if people do.”

“Where do you usually walk him?”

Whisky whines again at the sound of the word, and Cherise laughs.

“I usually just play fetch with him,” she says. “Pretty easy to just stand at the treeline and keep throwing things. But it’s not exactly hidden away.”

Wolffe strokes the back of her neck. “We don’t have to.”

Cherise is suddenly filled with conviction. “No, let’s do it. We can head to the rocks — I don’t trust him near the road yet.”

When they stand up, Whisky starts jumping around like— well, like a puppy. He trails after Cherise as she fills up a water skin and tosses some protein bars into her bag. 

“You’ll want a jacket,” she calls to Wolffe. “The temperature can drop quickly out here.”

“Got it. Do you have a glow rod?” He pauses. “And maybe your blaster. Just in case.” He’s thinking about those wild dogs Cherise mentioned. If Whisky is only half wild dog, and he’s still just a puppy, Wolffe doesn’t want to come across a fully grown creature with nothing to protect them. 

“Blaster, yes,” she says. “Glow rod… We can stop at a neighbour’s.”

Wolffe raises an eyebrow, but Cherise waves him off. “They live right on the edge of the neighbourhood, we’ll have to pass by them anyway. And no,” she says, pausing in front of him and pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “you don’t have to meet them yet.”

“Yet.”

Cherise makes a noncommittal noise.

Within a few minutes, Whisky is practically dragging Cherise by the leash as they make towards the far side of the neighbourhood. Wolffe dug through the duffel bag for his holster, and it’s almost silly how much better he feels with a blaster against his thigh again. He itches to take her hand as they walk, but even if she wasn’t holding onto Whisky’s leash with both hands, he’s not sure if he should touch her in public. He has no idea if anyone knows that he’s here yet, or who he even is.

Cherise hands Wolffe the leash when they reach the last house. “I’ll just be a minute,” she promises, and then he’s standing alone. 

Feels wrong.

He focuses on Cherise instead of letting his mind wander. She knocks at the front door, and after a few seconds, a young boy opens it. 

“Auntie Riza!”

Cherise quickly ushers both her and the child inside, but not before Wolffe can hear the child say: “Who’s that? He’s holding Whisky!”

The door closes. A few seconds pass, and then a curtain shifts and the boy’s face appears in the window. Wolffe can’t see much more than a mass of black hair, but he also can’t look away. Inside, the curtain opens fully, revealing a woman holding a baby. He can’t make out her expression, but she doesn’t hide the fact that she’s staring at Wolffe. 

A few seconds later, the door opens again, and Cherise is walking swiftly toward him.

“Got it,” she says, a little breathlessly. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

They weave through the trees at the edge of the neighbourhood, and then Amaronthe’s full landscape is in front of them. The world is wide and rocky, but plants still poke up through the ground. Not quite a desert, Wolffe thinks, but still plenty of sand and dust. A few klicks ahead, the flat ground starts to jut sharply upwards. They’re not mountains, not really, but they’d be quite a hike. The rocks, as Cherise called them, seem to extend all the way past the horizon, where the pale and dusty orange rocks meet the piercing blue sky. The sun is to their backs as they walk, and there’s not a cloud in sight.

Once they’re a fair ways away from the town, Cherise lets Whisky off his leash. 

“He’s not gonna run away?”

The dog in question has already bolted away from them, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth and ears flopping with every bound.

She shrugs. “Despite his energy, his recall is pretty good. He’s— well, I think he’s pretty attached to me.”

Wolffe chuckles. “I’ve noticed.”

The silence that follows isn’t exactly comfortable. They both know that they owe each other some explanations, and Wolffe has so, so many questions for Cherise. But for some reason, he can’t quite crack them open yet.

He can feel the same hesitancy coming from her, so he pulls up something that he knows will make her happy — a topic that had her snuggling closer into his chest just before she fell asleep last night.

“So,” he says, bumping her shoulder with his and taking her hand.

She beams up at him. Gods, Wolffe could stare into those eyes forever. “So.”

Wolffe smiles. “We forgot something.”

“Oh?”

He watches her expression. “We didn’t buy a bed today.”

Cherise’s eyes don’t light up like they’re supposed to. In fact, they drop to focus on the ground right in front of Cherise’s feet. Her hand feels a little slack in his grip, and Wolffe’s heart twists. Last night, when he said they’d just need to buy a bigger bed — when he said out loud that he’d be staying — Cherise had been so happy. It was frankly adorable how she nuzzled even closer to him on that tiny bed. But… had he misread something?

“Right,” Cherise says, voice quiet.

He tries one more time. “S’alright. We can do it tomorrow.”

She doesn’t even respond to that.

Wolffe gently squeezes her hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She says it too fast.

He brings them both to a stop. Slowly, just in case she wants to pull away, Wolffe nudges Cherise’s chin with his knuckle, guiding her to look at him.

“Hey,” he murmurs. She’s not crying — a low bar, but he’ll take what he can get — but she’s struggling to look at him. 

Wolffe strokes the bottom of her chin with his knuckles, back and forth, hoping for Cherise to say something.

He stays quiet while she takes three deep, shaky breaths.

“I just…” 

She ducks her head again.

“...don’t know if I have the credits for that right now.”

Wolffe frowns. The bar had been packed when he visited earlier. 

“The bar… it’s not doing well?”

Cherise sighs, and pulls Wolffe forward to keep walking. They fall into step again, watching Whisky run zig-zag ahead of them.

“It’s doing well.”

“And you have a house.”

She snorts. “Didn’t exactly pay for it.”

None of this is adding up. 

“All of the money I had went into the bar,” she tells him, “...and the trail for you.”

He does some quick mental math. The bar makes sense, of course it does. It seems like it garners enough business that she should be making far more than what Wolffe assumes the monthly payments would be. But the trail? A job advertisement, a dropbox, a hotel room, a storage locker… they were expenses, of course they were, but they shouldn’t have been that much.

“Where did you pick it up?” Cherise asks, breaking his train of thought. “The trail.”

Wolffe frowns. “Corsin.”

There’s nothing happy in the smile she gives him. He hates this — he hates seeing her upset. He hates being out of the loop. He hates that he feels guilty, but doesn’t know what for.

“When I was setting everything up, I didn’t know where you’d go, or what you’d do. If you’d be discharged from the Empire or if you needed to get some other way. You saw the database — it didn’t give me much to work with. Everything was up in the air, so I planned for a few different outcomes. 

“I had a few other things up and running in case you escaped and were on the run. Researched prisons that I thought they would most likely send clones to, and paid for some signs and ads nearby. Made a tourism poster for Zeltros with a woman who had red skin and silver hair and had it up in a bunch of spaceports. Stuff I thought would be easy enough to grab your attention as long as you were keeping an eye out, in places where I thought you’d go if you were on the run. I stopped paying for all of that stuff when I found out you were discharged. Honestly, the discharge made it easy. Well, easier. 

“Still, all I knew is that they dropped you off on Corsin, but I didn’t know if you’d stay there — actually, I was pretty sure you wouldn’t. So I paid for the job ad on Corsin, but also other places I thought you might go — Coruscant, Pamarthe, all the major planets between them and Corsin… a few others.”

Wolffe looks at the horizon. She thought he’d leave Corsin. Before the Empire, he would’ve thought so too — why would he stay where they kicked him off? Why wouldn’t he jump into action trying to figure things out? Why would he just… just let himself fade away?

“And then on Coruscant,” Cherise continues, “I got billboard ads near 79s and by my old apartment. I thought that’s how you’d catch on, to be honest.”

She starts to count on her fingers. “So the stuff in case you were on the run. A bunch of job ads. The billboards. There’s the comm frequency from the job ad, which I’ve been paying to keep active since I set it up on Zeltros. Then there’s the drop box on Gorse, the storage locker on Zeltros, plus extra for the owner’s ‘discretion.’ I think that’s all the recurring payments.

“There was the hotel room, which wasn’t too much in the grand scheme of things. But all of the tech equipment I needed to keep track of you, plus some extra I thought I might be able to use to actively seek you out, which obviously didn’t work. Then the rest went to the down payment and overhead for the bar.”

Cherise’s eyes zone out, running through the list in her head again to see if she’s missed anything. It doesn’t matter. Wolffe is already running hot with shame, staring at her with his mouth agape.

“Oh!” Cherise snaps her fingers. “The stuff in the storage locker. That’s what I forgot. Again, relatively it wasn’t that much, but…”

She glances back at Wolffe when he stops in his tracks. When she was rattling off all of her expenses, her tone had been casual. As though it wasn’t a big deal. Now, seeing the shock on Wolffe’s face, she angles her head away from him and her voice turns sheepish.

“The point is… there was more than just the stuff you found. Just in case. That’s why I needed to go into work today — so I could cancel everything.”

He’s lost count of the running total he was trying to keep in his head. It’s far more than he ever could have expected. And she did all of it for him.

“I have money coming in now,” Cherise says, wrapping her arms around herself. She’s elected to look anywhere except at Wolffe. “We could probably get at least a mattress in a few days — maybe a week if I’m not there to help Soda.” She laughs nervously. “Actually, I don’t know how much a mattress costs, so don’t quote me on that.”

Wolffe wets his lips and tries to say something, but no words come out. He’s still just staring.

Cherise bites her lip. “I mean, it’s not like I started from nothing. I had my savings and everything in the 79’s bank account. And I worked out all the expenses while I was still on Zeltros, so I knew I’d be able to get by.”

And that is what finally gives Wolffe the ability to speak again.

“Barely,” he says. “I saw how much food you have in the house.”

He’s immediately cursing himself for not being able to think of anything better to say, because Cherise’s eyes start to shine with tears and she drops her chin to her chest.

Wolffe closes the distance between them in two strides.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

He sighs out his frustration. What the hells is wrong with him? He places his hands softly on Cherise’s upper arms and leans in to press his forehead against hers.

“I’m just worried about you.”

He feels Cherise shake her head. “I’m fine.”

I’d beg to differ, Wolffe keeps to himself. She’s not eating enough. She’s working herself too hard. She’s not taking care of herself — and she’s doing it all for him. The fact that she’s been sacrificing her wellbeing just for him makes Wolffe sick to his fucking stomach. And he had the audacity to feel bitter that she went into work today.

“I don’t want you to be fine,” is what he tells her. “You deserve so much more.”

Cherise sniffs, and finally lets go of the hold on herself to fully lean into Wolffe.

“I’m really alright,” she tries. “And like I said, I’ll have money coming in now.”

Wolffe doesn’t know what to say, so he just bundles her up in his arms. All this time, she wasn’t just waiting for him. She didn’t just lay some breadcrumbs and hope he’d catch on. She was working to help him get here this whole time — even trying to track him down, though she had to know she wouldn’t find anything. 

He’d been hurting her every single day since he got discharged. 

How could he ever make this up to her?

He doesn’t know. But he knows he’ll be doing it every damn day for the rest of his life. 

“And you can’t just judge me off of my kitchen,” Cherise says, muffled by Wolffe’s chest. “Renae feeds me.”

“Renae?”

“The one who gave us the glowrod.”

Ah. Right. “The one with the baby.”

Cherise pulls back and looks up at him with a frown.

Wolffe purses his lips. “She was staring at me from the window.”

Cherise snickers, making Wolffe smile. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

They’re both almost knocked off their feet as Whisky runs toward them at top speed, carrying something in his mouth that smacks Wolffe in the thigh. 

He curses under his breath and Cherise breaks their embrace to stare at her dog.  

“Where did you even— doesn’t matter.” She plucks a dry, scraggly branch from Whisky’s mouth and motions with her hand. “Okay, go on then— go on!”

Whisky runs only a few steps before turning back to her, expectant. 

She hands the stick to Wolffe. “Do you want to do the honours?”

Chuckling, Wolffe takes the stick and tosses it far over Whisky’s head. The dog bolts after it, pausing only to gnaw on the stick before racing back to drop the prize at Wolffe’s feet.

“Good luck getting out of this,” Cherise grins. Wolffe huffs, but dutifully throws the stick again. With his non-throwing hand, he intertwines his fingers with Cherise, and they set off again.

Whisky learns that Wolffe won’t stop to pick the stick up off the ground, and starts depositing it directly into his hand. It’s a nice little rhythm as they make their way toward the rocks, bit by bit. The sun still hangs in the sky, although there’s a sudden chill in the air as it crawls towards the horizon.

As lovely as it is, Wolffe is still processing what Cherise just told him while also trying to figure out everything he needs to tell her. He knows she can feel the growing tension between them from the way she chews on her lip — though whether she’s more concerned about what she needs to say or what she’s about to hear, he doesn’t know.

“I don’t know how to start,” Cherise says eventually. She’s still looking straight forward, her eyes almost glassy.

Wolffe squeezes her hand. “Me neither.”

She sighs, and Wolffe throws the stick twice more before she says anything.

“I guess it’s only fair if I go first. I feel like you know so much less about my story than I do about yours.”

Wolffe was thinking that, but wasn’t going to say anything. Secretly, he’s relieved she offered. Maybe he’ll get the answers to the questions that kept him awake all night.

“Thank you,” he says.

Cherise smiles at him and takes a big breath. “Okay. So…”

“Wait.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You can’t possibly be interrupting already.”

Wolffe brings them to a stop. His hand slips out of hers and moves to the side of her neck, palm against her warm skin. The wit drops from Cherise’s expression at the sign of tenderness, and the way she looks up at Wolffe with such concern in her eyes only makes his next words harder.

“I’m sorry about… about that last night,” he says quietly. “At your apartment. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have gotten so mad.”

He can see how the memory still stings her — the pain in her eyes makes Wolffe’s heart sink deep into his stomach. There’s a lot of things in his life that he regrets, but leaving her that night is at the top of the list. He couldn’t put his hurt aside, and for that, he’s spent the last year convinced that the last he’d ever see of Cherise’s face were the tears that he put there.

“It’s okay,” Cherise says. She blinks a few times. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I was doing.”

Whisky is nudging the stick at Wolffe’s hand, but he ignores it for now.

“It wasn’t even that. I was…”

It’s too much to meet her eyes right now, so Wolffe sets his gaze on the horizon.

“I never thought I would make it through,” he tells her. “I never let myself think about a life with you, because… because I knew once I did, I’d be so angry that I couldn’t have it.”

Cherise wraps her hand around Wolffe’s wrist, still cradling her neck, and smooths her thumb over his pulse point.

He takes a shallow breath. “And I didn’t want to get your hopes up, because I knew it would just break your heart, whether I survived or not. And 79’s… it meant so much to me,” he says, voice dropping to a whisper. “Not just as our place, but as a place for the clones. Losing it felt like I’d lose you too.”

Tears sting the corners of his eyes and he drops his head forward. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Cherise says again. Even though she sounds more sure this time, Wolffe still opens his mouth to protest.

“It is,” she cuts him off. There’s certainty in her eyes, but it only lasts for a moment. “And, I mean… you were right. You were right about everything.”

He wants to protest, but he can’t. Because he was right. He was right about how the Republic wouldn’t just let the clones go after the war. He was right that Cherise needed to know how to shoot a blaster. He was right that nowhere, not even Coruscant, was safe anymore. And Cherise had been so, so wrong: she’d thought that she’d never be in any danger. She told Wolffe that she was safe, that she’d be fine. And then he came back to her trashed office at an abandoned 79’s with no clue what happened to her.

He was right, and for the first time in his life, he hates it.

“I wish I wasn’t,” he murmurs.

He leans down to press his forehead against Cherise’s before he can think about what he’s doing. He knows she’ll be able to feel the shudder in every breath.

“I didn’t sleep that night,” he admits.

Cherise whispers back to him. “Me neither.”

“I regret it every day.”

“We couldn’t have known.”

Wolffe sighs. “I suspected it could be the end of the war. But it doesn’t matter. I knew every time I left might be the last time I saw you. I told myself I’d never leave like that. And the one time I did…”

“I knew you loved me.”

He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes. “You got the message? I thought it didn’t go through.”

Cherise tilts her head. “What message?”

Wolffe exhales, shaking his head as he thinks back to that day, to the last message he got from Cherise.

I meant what I said. I’ll never just wait around, but I’ll always wait for you. I love you.

“I got yours just before we jumped,” he says. “I tried to send one back, but…”

Cherise cups his face in her hands, and Wolffe can see a glimpse of the fire he fell in love with.

“I knew you loved me anyway.”

Wolffe waits all of a heartbeat before kissing her. 

It’s the goodbye kiss he never gave her. If he hadn’t been so angry, so cowardly, he would’ve left Coruscant with the lingering taste of her lips. He would’ve left her with a last memory of him that would warm her heart instead of break it.

Regret has been eating away at them for over a year now. Back then, they shouted past each other, both of them trying to force the other to realize how much they loved them. It’s no wonder it didn’t work. In this moment, Cherise’s soft lips against his own, with her hands on his face and his fingers gripping the fabric around her waist, Wolffe makes a silent promise that he will never, never, walk away like he did that night.

Her nose is cool against his skin as he deepens the kiss, another hint that the day will soon be ending. Wolffe doesn’t feel it. He’ll stay out here all night with her — as long as she wants to talk or listen or just kiss. But if Cherise is getting a chill, well, that’s a different story.

They ease out of the kiss only for Wolffe to press his lips to the tip of her nose. 

“Cold?”

Her nose brushes back and forth against his with a shake of her head. “Not at all.”

She’s the one who starts them off again, but not before she tosses the stick for a whining Whisky. 

“Now can I start?” she says with a grin.

Wolffe chuckles. “Yes.”

She squares her shoulders and looks into the distance, and Wolffe braces himself for the story he’s about to hear.

“It was only a couple days after you left…”

Fives muttering about mind control. The officers coming to the bar — threatening her, accusing her. She gets a little shy telling it, but Wolffe is nothing but proud to hear how she shut them down.

“Right after they left, I got a call from F— the Coruscant Guard.”

Wolffe doesn’t miss the way her breath catches in her throat. He also doesn’t miss the way a lump forms in his own.

“Fox?”

Cherise gives him a sideways glance. “Y-yeah. At least, I assume it was him. He said you asked him to keep an eye on me.”

Wolffe swallows hard. “I did.”

“He said… well, he implied that they were either going to throw me in jail or kill me. So he told me to run. Right then, right there. I didn’t even go home. And, because it was Fox… I did.”

His hand nearly crushes hers at the words “or kill me.” 

Fox. 

Fox, who had been losing his memory, who thought he was going crazy. Fox, who had tried to push Wolffe away the last few times they saw each other. Fox, stuck under the boot of the Chancellor and the fist of the Republic. With everything going on, he remembered the favour Wolffe had asked him so long ago.

Fox was forgetting who he was, but he remembered the one thing Wolffe asked him to do.

He saved her life.

Cherise reaches her free hand to wrap around Wolffe’s wrist. Warm. Skin on skin — here, alive, because of Fox. 

“I thought you were…” Wolffe pauses to clear his throat. “They trashed the place looking for you. 79’s. I went back as soon as I could. I didn’t know…”

Her hands tighten. I’m here, the grip on his arm tells him. I’m safe.

“Did you find the note?”

Of course I did. I wasn’t leaving without a trace of you. I kept it so that I could have a piece of you. I still have it. I still have it. I’ll never throw it away.

“I did.”

Cherise smiles apologetically. “I know it wasn’t much help. I didn’t know what to say. I just wanted you to know I was alive. Even if I wasn’t scared that someone else would find the note first, I couldn’t leave anything helpful because I had no clue where I was going — just got on the first ship off of Coruscant.”

“Where did you end up?”

He gets the story about Taanab, of waiting for some kind of sign from Fox or Wolffe or anyone she could trust. She tells him about the day the clone troopers showed up, and he touches her scars when she recalls how she got them. His heart swells with pride — his blaster and self-defense lessons finally came in handy — but it’s soon to fade.

She tells him about Zeltros, about her conclusion that Fives must have been right — at least partially. She tells him about her weeks of poring over technical texts, schematics, models, theories. She tells him every step of her plan — and apologizes for making it so complicated. Wolffe, who swore he was going to needle her about that, finds that his frustrations haven’t lasted.

Except for one.

“So you never went to the farm,” he says, once Cherise gets to the part about setting up the bar. 

Cherise frowns at him. “What? No.” She blinks. “Wait— did you go to the farms?”

“You left me the hiring promotion!” Wolffe huffs. His cheeks are starting to burn.

“Yeah, so you’d pass through here! You would’ve had hours to kill, probably even overnight. I figured you’d stop in while you waited.” 

“Yeah, well, you figured wrong,” he says, but he’s smiling even before Cherise elbows him in the ribs. 

“So, what, did you just wait at the repair shop?”

“Not exactly. I got on another transport.”

Cherise just stares at him. “The drivers don’t let people do that.”

“I didn’t want to wait,” he mutters. “I thought you were at the farm. So I paid some guy for his spot on a transport that was leaving.”

“And then?”

Wolffe pointedly reaches for the stick in Whisky’s mouth and tosses it as far as he can.

“...and then I broke into their system to see where you were. Got caught. Got kicked out. Only choice was to get back on the transport.”

“And that’s when you got to the bar?” Cherise snorts. “No wonder you were so grumpy.”

“Your fault,” he grumbles. “Stars, Cherise, we should’ve had you in covert ops meetings. You didn’t make it easy on me.”

Cherise hums out a laugh and steps in front of Wolffe, preening up at him.

“When have I ever?”

Wolffe can’t help but laugh along. She said the same thing on the recording she left for him on Gorse — but here, on Amaronthe, sun glowing on her face, she sounds so, so much better.

For the first time since Wolffe arrived, their kisses are playful. When he leans down enough, Cherise leaves quick kisses, one after the other, on his lips. She’s giggling in her chest as she does it, and soon she’s just kissing his smile. 

Whisky barks for attention, and Cherise begrudgingly relents.

“So you’ve been here ever since?”

“Yep,” Cherise says. “But it took a while for people to— oh. Oh gods.”

Wolffe’s heart stops at the panicked look on Cherise’s face. He scans in the direction that she’s looking, trying to find whatever is scaring her. “What? What is it?”

“No, no— Wolffe,” she says, and she’s got the same look as she did earlier today just before she showed him the communications room. “Ahsoka. Ahsoka’s alive. I’m sorry, I completely forgot, I only talked to her the once—”

Oh.

Ahsoka. 

Relief and anger battle for control of his emotions. Wolffe hasn’t spoken to Ahsoka since she left the Jedi— since she teamed up with Ventress and forced him to hunt her down. The betrayal burned hot for a long time, and while it was now only a simmer, the mention of her name threatens to stoke those fires again. 

But he’s so fucking happy that she’s okay. His little sister. As angry as he might have been, and as hurt as he still might be, he would’ve jumped in front of a blaster for her. Clearly, though, she’d figured it out on her own — and that thought brings Wolffe back to the present.

“Wait. You talked to her?”

Cherise purses her lips. “She called me.”

Wolffe just raises his eyebrows and waits. 

There’s that nervous look again. He’s not particularly fond of it.

“Well… I bought the comms equipment to check on your profile,” she says slowly, “and to try and search for you. But I might have been doing a little bit more than that…”

“Cherise.”

“Long story short—”

“Don’t,” Wolffe interrupts. “I want the long story.”

Cherise practically winces. For a few seconds, he can practically see the internal dialogue happening behind her eyes, trying to decide whether to push back or to let him in.

Her defeated look tells him which side wins.

“I started by searching for you,” she admits. “I thought that I could maybe get something helpful from comms above the planet, so I started tapping in. But I knew that I’d probably only get something helpful from Imperial chatter, so… I tapped into theirs too.”

Wolffe clenches his jaw. She did what?

Cherise takes advantage of his silence and starts spilling much faster. “I was hearing things, awful things, and I couldn’t just let them happen, so I— well, I started to step in and help out. And apparently some of the people I, um, helped were part of some kind of network, and it just so happens that Ahsoka is also a part of that network, and she tried to recruit me. To, uh, work against the Empire.”

Wolffe’s head spins. It takes Cherise whispering his name and trying to pry his fingers off of her hand for him to realize how tightly he’s been gripping her. She stretches out her hand as he clenches his hands into fists instead. He’s— he doesn’t know what he is. Angry. Scared. Shocked. Confused. Annoyed. Terrified.

He gets his next words out with great effort. “What did you say?”

“I said— well, I told Ahsoka no. I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And she had broken your trust, and if you couldn’t trust her, then I couldn’t either.”

Wolffe doesn’t have time to absorb the statement before she’s continuing on.

“But then she sent Rex down — that’s how I know he’s alive, by the way, he came to Astilbe to try to convince me to join anyway. He gave me the blaster, too.”

He looks at her. Hard. That nervousness is still there. There’s still something to tell him.

“You said yes,” Wolffe says. It’s not a question.

Cherise’s throat bobs as she swallows. “Conditionally.”

“The condition?”

Cherise wrings her hands in front of her. She takes the chance when Whisky returns to kneel beside him and sink her fingers into his fur. She doesn’t look at Wolffe.

“I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”

“Tell me,” he urges quietly, as though part of him doesn’t want to hear what’s got her so anxious.

“It’s… Okay, you know Renae? The one with the baby? Her husband… well, I found out that he was imprisoned somewhere, and I told Rex I’d help them if they broke him out.”

She’s still not meeting his eyes. There’s something else. Her eyes shut tight, and Wolffe waits for the other shoe to drop.

“He— Cane, the husband, he— he’s a clone.”

Wolffe feels his whole face curl into a frown. It doesn’t make sense. He supposes a clone could have gotten married after the war, but the Empire didn’t start phasing out clones that quickly. Unless they somehow escaped during Order 66, or—

“He deserted.” The coldness in his tone surprises even himself, and Cherise winces again, but nods.

“You wouldn’t know him,” Cherise says, answering his next question. “It was right at the start of the war. Geonosis— his squad— he was alone. He came to Amaronthe, met Renae, and, well… their son is five years old.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It is,” she says with a humourless laugh. “Just barely, but it is.”

Wolffe tries to piece it all together in his mind. A deserter. Took his first chance to abandon the Republic and snatched it up. But—

“You said he was in prison.”

Cherise nods again. “The chip activated.”

Cold adrenaline surges through Wolffe’s blood at the mention of it, but he pushes it aside for now. “What happened?”

Cherise sighs, fully sitting down and still scritching Whisky behind the ears.

“He just… left. The chip activated, and he left. Found his way back to a division somewhere. When I found him in the system, he was… they sent him to Kashyyyk.”

Wolffe can’t help but grimace. Everyone knew that the Empire was trying to ruin Kashyyyk. Only the Imperial military knew the extent of the atrocities that were committed — that are still being committed.

“I know,” Cherise says, meeting his eyes with an expression that’s almost guilty. “His chip wore off eventually, and when he tried to escape, they threw him in prison. So… I told Rex that if he could bring Cane home, I would help Ahsoka’s network. I-I’m sorry. But you’d been discharged for months, and I was trying to find you, and I had no idea where you were, and Rex didn’t know anything, and—”

“Hey.” Wolffe snaps himself out of his paralysis to kneel down beside Cherise. He never saw this nervousness with Cherise back on Coruscant, and he wishes he could take it away from her. There’s practically nothing she could say that would turn him against her — how could there be, when he’s done worse?

He nudges her chin until she’s looking at him — those brown eyes, not quite shining with tears, but getting close to it.

“It’s okay.”

Cherise bites her lip but doesn’t look away. 

“I wanted to find you more than anything,” she whispers. “I promise.”

Guilt sinks into his bones, but he ignores it for the moment. “I know.”

“And— Renae was pregnant.” She sees Wolffe’s raised eyebrow and continues. “I know, I know. The way she tells it, it happened the night before the Order came through.”

“They’ve got some timing.”

Cherise’s lips quirk into a small smile. “They do. But when I found Cane in the prison system, Renae was almost full-term, and she wanted to leave Amaronthe and find him herself, and… Cane needed to come home. So I made the deal, and Rex got him back. Renae gave birth just a few days later.”

Wolffe had thought the complicated part of Cherise’s story was over once they went through all of the steps she took to make the trail. This, though — deserters and Rex and spy networks — this is more than Wolffe was ready for.

“Congratulations,” Cherise says softly, “you’re an uncle. Twice over.”

Wolffe tries to smile back at her, but he really hasn’t processed this yet. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just joins Cherise in petting Whisky, who is thrilled to have two pairs of hands giving him attention.

“You don’t have to like him,” she says. “But I think you will, eventually.”

Wolffe prods at Whisky until the dog is splayed across the ground, raising his paws and trying his darndest to earn himself some belly rubs. Both Wolffe and Cherise oblige. 

“They’re good people, Wolffe. Renae was there for me long before anyone else in town was. Mata — their son — calls me Auntie.”

“I heard,” Wolffe says, finally breaking his silence. When Cherise shoots him a confused look, he shrugs. “When you stopped for the glow rod. Kid’s not exactly quiet.”

Cherise laughs, and the sound makes Wolffe's heart ache for a time when he heard it more. “He is not. But he’s a good kid. Loves being a big brother. They named their daughter after me, actually. Tahi Cherise Nahokin. Oh, right— my name is Riza Beckett.”

Wolffe makes a displeased noise. “Nice to meet you.”

“Fugitive, remember?” Cherise says. “And you used t— you call me ‘Reeze’ as a nickname sometimes. That’s kind of why I picked ‘Riza.’ It’s close enough to be at least a little familiar. Made it easier for me, too.”

“...okay.” Wolffe concedes to her logic, but something else grabs hold of him. She was thinking of him when she picked her fake name. She picked something not just hoping that Wolffe would find her, but also thinking about how he’d react. She’s been thinking of him this whole damn time.

It’s not like he hasn’t been thinking of her too, of course he has. But he can’t deny that he cowered away from the thought of her at times. Too wrapped up in himself to really face the fact that she was waiting for him.

Cherise rubs at her eyes. “I think… I think that’s pretty much everything. I don’t know.” Her eyes flicker over to him and there’s that nervous expression again. “I’m sure I’ve missed a lot. I’m not trying to keep anything from you, or—”

Wolffe kisses her. He didn’t do this often, cutting her off with a kiss. It usually just earned him a huff. But he needs to stop her from going down that road again, the one that ended with her convinced Wolffe would be mad at her. The only thing, the only thing, that he could possibly be mad about is the fact that she’s playing with fire by working against the Empire. It’s not even anger, really. It’s fear. What she’s doing is dangerous, and he needs her safe — but that’s a conversation to have later. Now, she’s curling into him, and Wolffe is wrapping his arms around her in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. Their kisses are slow, growing softer and softer until they’re just barely kisses at all.

He reaches for her cheek and curls his fingers into the hair at the back of her head. 

“Why do you keep thinking I’m going to be mad?”

Cherise tries to duck her head, but Wolffe presses his forehead to hers and keeps her where she is. 

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I just don’t want you to be.”

“I’m not,” he says, firm but full of love. “I’m not mad. And I’m not going to be mad. If anyone has the right to be mad, it’s you. I… I should have looked for you sooner.”

Cherise’s voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it.

“...why didn’t you?”

Wolffe’s throat tightens. He kisses her forehead before pulling away and running a hand through his hair.

“Guess it’s my turn, huh.” It’s an attempt at humour, but neither of them smile. 

He leans back on his heels, knees aching from kneeling for so long. 

“Can we keep walking?”

To his relief, Cherise nods. He’s not sure he could just sit here and tell her everything. Besides, they’re nearly at the base of the rocks.

He pushes himself to his feet. Not bothering to brush the dirt off his knees, he extends a hand to Cherise and is silently relieved when she takes it. 

“I guess I should start with the Order.” Every cell in Wolffe’s body is begging him not to live through that again, but he knows Cherise deserves answers.

She doesn’t interrupt him once. Wolffe just goes — he tells her about Cato Neimoidia and everything that’s happened since then, hardly stopping for breath. He tries to describe how the chip felt — that strange voice in the back of his head, those strange compulsions that he knows he could have resisted if he just tried hard enough. He tells her about finally waking up, and about the shame, the guilt, the disgust with himself… and he tells her how he got himself stuck in a cycle that only broke because he almost died. He expects Cherise to interrupt and berate him for it, but while he can see the frustration and pain in her eyes, she lets him keep going. Then he gets to the good parts: Daisy, Darren, and the kindness they showed him. 

“I thought I woke up when I got the chip out,” he says. “But Daisy and Darren… they’re the ones that really woke me up. I started to feel like myself again.

“That’s when I decided to look for you. Knew I’d need credits, so I looked at the job boards again. As soon as I saw yours, I knew it was you. Commed the frequency you left, and… well. Now I’m here.”

They’ve reached the edge of the rocks now, and Cherise silently starts to climb over boulders and up the incline. Whisky, who seems to have run himself down, trots after her. Wolffe follows, just as silent, until Cherise sits down on a little outcropping. Whisky is quick to lie down next to her and rest his hand in her lap. The way she immediately pets his head without even looking tells Wolffe that they must sit like this often. It means Wolffe has to climb up a little higher to come around to Cherise’s other side, but when he does, her free hand is waiting for his. 

Wolffe sits down beside her, lacing his fingers with hers, and looks out at the scene in front of him. They’ve covered a lot more ground than he thought. The little bundle of trees, houses, and buildings that makes up Astilbe is nestled close to the horizon. The sun is just starting to set, the blue just barely turning to pink. There are no transports in sight, no animals other than the one in Cherise’s lap — nothing but peace in the world.

Cherise tilts her head until it falls against Wolffe’s shoulder. Taking a chance, he pulls his hand away and wraps his arm around her instead. She waits, palm-up, for his free hand to take hers. 

They both speak at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you—”

A beat passes. 

“For what?” Wolffe asks. He doesn’t deserve thanks, of all things.

“Thank you for finding me,” Cherise says.

“I should’ve gotten here so much sooner,” he says. “I should’ve left the Empire earlier. I shouldn’t’ve picked up the first job I saw. I should—”

“You got here right on time.”

Cherise looks up at him, quiet until he looks back. There’s no anger in her face — no disappointment, no frustration, no impatience. 

Wolffe tries to make his mouth form words, but he can’t.

“That little girl needed you,” Cherise says. “You were there at the exact time she needed you. If you left Corsin right away, you wouldn’t have been there for her. You got here right on time.”

And that’s all it takes for Wolffe to start crying. 

Cherise wraps her arms around him the second she realizes he’s about to cry.

It’s not an expression she’s seen often — if ever. Wolffe liked to save most of his emotions for the few people that he trusted, but even then, Cherise only ever saw him cry when they were alone together. He wanted the tears to be obscured in the darkness of her bedroom right before they fell asleep.

But even though she may never have seen this expression, even though she could only imagine his face for over a year, she knows. The hasty pursing of his lips, the twitch in his cheek, the blink that’s just a millisecond too long, and she knows.

Wolffe resists neither her touch nor his tears. The sobs come out of nowhere, harsh and sharp enough to make his shoulders shake. All she can do is run her fingers through his hair and let it happen. 

But the sound of Wolffe’s choked breaths are enough to break her heart all over again, and she feels tears welling in her own eyes. Cherise finds herself wishing she could take some of his pain, to share the burden between them, but she can’t.

Not only that, but her heart is still raw from Wolffe’s story. 

She knew it was going to be bad. He’d given her a glimpse last night, but it still didn’t prepare her for everything she just heard. She aches for him: he’s bearing guilt for that which he bears no blame. Yes, he said that the chip hadn’t fully taken control of him, but she’s heard enough from Cane and Rex to know not to underestimate how it ripped away their autonomy. Cherise knows that if Wolffe had been fully himself, he wouldn’t have left Cato Neimoidia alone. He wouldn’t have stayed with the Empire as long as he did. He wouldn’t have done the things that made him pull away from her last night.

It stung that he didn’t look for her earlier — that all of her pain and heartache and doubt over the last six months could have been avoided had he just taken one extra step — but it doesn’t linger. With Wolffe crying in her arms, there’s nothing in her heart that wants to hold onto that hurt.

He had been alone, dealing with trauma, addiction, and grief beyond measure. He didn’t have a Lucy to escort him away, or an Aubrey to let him rest, or a Wynne to support his next steps. He didn’t have a Vesa or Renae or Nel. He didn’t have an Astilbe. Cherise couldn’t have gotten here without the kindness of strangers and support from her new community — how could she possibly be bitter when Wolffe hadn’t had anyone?

And she meant what she said: Daisy needed Wolffe. She may have stopped the debris from crushing them, but Wolffe gave her a new life. 

But there’s more to it than that. There’s no doubt in her mind that Daisy and Darren saved him. He was the one who intervened, but they saved him. Their kindness was all he needed to come back to himself. 

So yes, it still hurts. The blend of disappointment, heartbreak, and fear that accompanied her darkest moments for the last six months is fading, but not quite gone. But in the end, his reasons for taking so long to find her are irrelevant. Their paths and stories are complicated, but it comes down to the simplest thing, one that Nel told her months ago:

“When someone loves you, they will come back.”

He loves her. He came back to her. And that’s all that matters.

Cherise runs her fingers through his hair, but otherwise she just lets him cry. There’s nothing she could say right now that would take this pain away… and even if she could, it’s clear that he needs to feel this. It’s different than earlier today when she found him in the communications room. Then, his whole demeanour both screamed and sparked panic: curled up on the floor, shaking, yanking at his hair, barely breathing. Her heart fell right through the concrete floor when she saw him like that, and all she could think was he can’t die now. I just got him back.

Now, as the sobs begin to slow and Wolffe’s breathing evens out a little, Cherise knows that Wolffe is okay — overcome with loss and guilt, yes, but he’s okay. Hope swells in her that he feels safe in her arms even after all this time.

“Sorry,” he mutters, wiping his face and sitting up a bit. “I don’t— I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She presses a kiss to his temple. “Nothing to apologize for.”

After a few breaths, Wolffe pulls away enough to meet her eyes. He takes Cherise’s hand, still stroking his hair, and brings it to his lips.

“Don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he says with a half-smile, and then he’s kissing her.

The beard is still a new sensation, but kissing him feels exactly how it used to: all-consuming, dizzying, and so damn full of love. 

The first time she kissed him, it had been a surrender. She gave up on guarding her heart and pretending that she wasn’t already in love with him. She surrendered into Wolffe’s kiss that day, knowing that her soul was laid bare for him. When he kissed her back, it felt like a promise to treasure that vulnerability as the gift that it was — a promise that his soul was just as bare to her. 

There’s always a hint of that surrender, that promise, in every kiss they share. Now, sitting on the cliffs with no secrets between them, Cherise surrenders herself once again.

Wolffe has one hand on her cheek and the other resting on the back of her head, not coaxing her to deepen the kiss — she does that all on her own. He tastes like salt and the Amaronthe breeze and him, of her two worlds colliding, and she can’t get enough. Their kisses are slow but desperate, and Cherise could sit here for hours just like this—

—if it weren’t for the setting sun and the weight of Whisky numbing her legs.

The dog whines just as the wind sends a shiver through Cherise’s body. Wolffe, attentive as always, eases them out of the kiss with a gentleness that makes Cherise’s heart sing.

But before he lets go of this moment, he rests his forehead against hers. His words are just loud enough for her to hear.

“I thought about you every single day. I dreamt of you. Of us.” He exhales hard. “You never gave up on me.”

“I almost did.”

The whisper is out before she can think about her words. She feels Wolffe stiffen slightly, and finally pulls her head away and wills her brain to work.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just…”

Cherise lets out a shaky breath and closes her eyes. 

“It hurt to see Renae and Cane together,” she says. “It was too much at first. And I was so tired.”

Wolffe hears the weariness in her tone, and the flash of guilt starts to ebb away. When Cherise opens her eyes again, there’s nothing but care in Wolffe’s expression.

“I wouldn’t have made it on my own,” she says. “The people here are good people. They take care of me. They want to help.”

Wolffe’s face curls into a scowl, and Cherise only catches the words “take care” when he grumbles to himself.

It’s such a familiar sight that Cherise can’t help but laugh. “What was that?”

He wraps his arm around her and tucks her into his side. From the way he nuzzles his cheek against the top of her head, Cherise knows that his lips have pulled into a pout.

“They could be doing better. You’re not eating enough,” he grumbles.

Cherise grins. “I said they want to help. Never said I was great at asking for it.”

“Really?”

His sarcasm earns him a pinch to the arm, and Wolffe makes an indignant noise.

“Oh, shush,” Cherise says, trying to delicately extricate herself both from the man enveloping her torso and the sleeping dog draped on her thighs. 

Wolffe takes the hint; Whisky does not.

By the time Cherise has nudged Whisky enough for him to wake up and stretch, Wolffe is already standing with a hand extended to her. He pulls her up easily, and doesn’t let go of her hand once she’s on her feet.

“It’ll be easier now, right?” he asks. The grumbling has mostly been replaced with softness, softness that seems to be kept only for Cherise. “The bar will bring in credits. You’ll have more than enough to eat.”

Cherise squeezes his hand. “I think we both will.” Her free hand slides up his side and splays over his ribs, missing the soft layers of fat and muscle that used to cover his torso. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Wolffe shrugs. “‘S better than it was. Daisy and Darren—” 

He cuts himself off. “I should let them know I found you. They gave me a comm.”

“Encryptor?”

“Yeah. Looks old, though.”

“You can use one of mine.”

Wolffe raises an eyebrow at the implication that Cherise has multiple encryptors.

“Besides,” she continues, “we need to head back anyway. Sun’s starting to set, and the temperature will drop as soon as it’s gone. And if Whisky gets too comfortable again, you’re going to have to carry him.”

She spurs the dog forward and starts down the rocks.

“I’m going to have to carry him?” Wolffe asks.

Cherise tosses a grin over her shoulder. “You’d say no to two pairs of puppy dog eyes?”

Wolffe huffs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

Once they reach the ground again, Wolffe catches Cherise’s arm. His eyes search her face, brown and blue-white flitting over her features for something unknowable.

“We’re okay?” he asks quietly.

Cherise reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “Of course we are.”

He strokes her cheek with one knuckle. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

All teasing is gone from his voice now, and Cherise squares herself to face him directly. She puts her hands on his shoulders.

“We both had our doubts. We both had struggles. And we both had people who helped us through.”

Wolffe bites his lip, and Cherise knows he wants to believe it.

She moves a half-step closer to him. When she speaks, her voice is softer than before, but is still weighty enough to hold the truth.

“I’ve already forgiven you for everything you could’ve done, Wolffe. What’s done is done. We’re here now. Leave that guilt behind.” Her hands hold him a little bit tighter. “Let me love you.”

And the way he kisses her tells her that he wants her to love her just as much.

Whisky uses the last of his energy to jump up on the couch.

About halfway between the escarpment and Astilbe, the dog had started to slow down. He was no longer interested in running through the open expanse of land, and when he slumped to a halt, Wolffe wondered if he really would have to carry him the rest of the way. Luckily, a few gulps of water was all Whisky needed to continue on, and Wolffe was off the hook.

Cherise laughs when Whisky collapses in a soft whump on the cushion. She flicks the lights on, kicks her boots off, then goes to stroke the dog’s head and neck.

“He is conked,” she calls back at Wolffe. “I’ve never seen him like this. We might have to do that more often.”

Wolffe smiles at her. “Anytime.”

And he means it.

He had expected it to take a while before he and Cherise fully relaxed around each other — so much time apart, so many changes in that time. Throughout their entire conversation tonight, Wolffe felt like he was holding his breath. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But as soon as they started walking back, something shifted. With everything out in the open now, Cherise had no lingering fear that Wolffe would be upset with her. Likewise, Wolffe’s guilt for taking so long had subsided, her words repeating over and over in his mind: let me love you.

They had walked hand in hand across the unfamiliar space, but it all just felt natural. If he had closed his eyes, he could’ve convinced himself that nothing had changed between them. She laughed the same laugh and rolled her eyes like she always had. He couldn’t stop the smirks that have been so scarce on his lips lately, nor the way he teased her. 

Seeing her again… it was everything he imagined it would be like.

He would let her love him. And he would love her right back.

In the fresher, Wolffe rinses the dust and sweat from his face. Belatedly, he realizes his shirt is probably filthy, and pulls it over his head.

“I was— oh.”

Wolffe turns, shirt in his hands, to find Cherise frozen in the doorway. Her eyes are wide, but the blush darkening her cheeks tells Wolffe that she’s more than just surprised. 

It’s her first good look at him. Last night was all dim lights and rushed touches, and even when he was cleaning her up, she was far too tired to keep her eyes open for long. Now, the way she stares at his chest fills him with a familiar pride.

He hums out a laugh and starts to fold his shirt. He sets it on the counter, and when he turns around again, Cherise shakes off her stunned expression and closes the gap between them. Her hands find his chest — skin on skin, warmth on warmth. The bitter chill of the night air is forgotten as her touch warms him from the inside out.

She looks up at him with searching eyes. When he softens his gaze, he barely catches a glimpse of a smile before her lips meet his.

Their kisses last night were desperate; their kisses earlier today were coloured by worry. With no secrets left between them and no reason to rush, Wolffe lets himself fully melt into Cherise’s lips. 

Her hands smooth up and down his chest — not cataloguing the changes in his body, just feeling him. Touching him because she wants to, and because she can. 

She runs her hands over his shoulders, his back, his neck, all while pressing soft lips against his own. With one hand, she runs her fingers through his beard, and he wants to ask her if she likes how it feels… but he stops himself.

They’ve done enough talking.

Wolffe coaxes Cherise down from her tiptoes and presses his chest flush against hers. She left her jacket downstairs, and Wolffe takes full advantage of the skin she’s bearing to him. He places his hands over hers, which have settled on his hips, and slowly makes his way up her bare arms. When he reaches her shoulders, she shivers against him, and he slides his hands under the straps of her bra and tank top. When his thumbs trace along the lines of her collarbone, she sighs the sweetest noise into his mouth, and Wolffe wants more.

Cherise brings Wolffe with her as she walks backward into the bedroom. He fumbles to close the door behind them, and Cherise takes the opportunity to free Wolffe’s hair from its tie and sink her fingers into the loose curls. He doesn’t need to wonder if she likes his hair like this — her hands don’t leave it as he finally breaks away from her lips and trails kisses down to her neck. 

Her hips roll into his as she tilts her head, and Wolffe can’t help but suck gently at her pulse point. When he feels her nails dragging across his scalp, he grazes his teeth against her skin and sucks just a little harder.

She stumbles backwards, but the way she pulls him along is still unhurried. She sits on the edge of the bed, and when her hands leave Wolffe’s hair, he finally pulls his lips away from her skin. He wants to be the one to undress her. 

Tonight, they don’t yank each other’s clothes out of the way. Wolffe’s hands replace Cherise’s at the hem of her tank top and peels the fabric up her torso and over her head. He slips two fingers under each bra strap in a silent question. Cherise nods, and Wolffe takes the time to nudge each strap off of her shoulders before reaching around to the clasp. The bra drops to the floor, and Wolffe’s touches are no longer inhibited by clothing.

With one hand on her shoulder and the other cradling the back of her head, he lays her down on the bed and steps between her open thighs. Breath catches in Cherise’s throat, but there’s no impatience in her gaze. Last night was sudden, impulsive; it was a surge of adrenaline and desire shared between them. Tonight, neither of them are in a hurry.

And Wolffe is ready to take his time with her.

He plants his palms on either side of Cherise’s head and kisses her. It’s as soft and sweet as the ones before, but they’re both deepening the kiss now. Cherise’s lips are parted further than before and Wolffe dips his tongue into her eager mouth. She tries to suck on his bottom lip, but he’s already moving down, down, down.

Down her neck, and her hands find his hair again. Down her shoulder, and his chest brushes against her bare nipples with enough friction to make her shudder. Down her arm, covered in scars, trying to cover every remnant of her pain with new memories of his lips and tongue. Cherise’s chest rises and falls with her deepening breaths, and Wolffe wants to indulge her in the pleasure she deserves, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations. 

He can be patient. They have all the time in the world now, so he takes his time working all the way back up her arm only to start down her chest.

He’s trailing kisses down the valley between her breasts, along her stomach, and directly to the old scars crossing her waist. During the war, he did this so many times that Cherise started to get huffy about it, but now she sighs at the familiar gesture. A broken beer bottle was all it took — and Cherise’s decision to step into a fight — and Wolffe would never forget the way she flinched away from his hand when he unknowingly grabbed the angry wound. 

He wants to replace all of her pain with pleasure. When she thinks about these scars, he wants her first thought to be about how his tongue sends shivers across her whole body, how his kisses and gentle drag of teeth do nothing except stoke the fire in her belly.

Or how her breathless noises makes Wolffe harden and grind into the bed.

Wolffe adjusts so that he’s propped up on one elbow, his other hand settling on Cherise’s hip. She arches her back at the touch, and he can’t resist her tits any longer. 

Cherise lets out a ragged sigh when he closes his lips around her nipple, and he chases the reaction by circling the nub with his tongue. Her hands sink deeper into his hair until she’s holding him there, unwilling to let this feeling go just yet. He can practically hear her voice whimpering please, please, please with her actions alone.

Wolffe couldn’t be happier to continue.

They didn’t get this last night. They were too focused below the belt for him to give her breasts the proper attention they deserve. She’s so responsive — every movement of his tongue against her, every slight change in pressure as he sucks and releases the sensitive skin has her squirming and tugging on his hair. 

Wolffe shifts his head just enough to move away from her nipple. Cherise’s hands tighten in his hair in protest, but when he sucks at her skin she’s more than happy to let him. Hickeys slowly bloom across Cherise’s tits at Wolffe’s whim until her gasps and sighs are too tempting to resist.

The next kisses are more intense, but no less sensual than before, and pure desire starts to pump through Wolffe’s veins. He breaks away only to unfasten and pull off her pants, smirking when Cherise pushes her panties down with them. 

Needy. Impatient. Desperate.

When her legs are free, Wolffe tries to slide her further up the bed so he can taste her again, but Cherise is already working to rid him of his remaining clothes. 

His mouth waters at the thought of her arousal on his tongue, but he recognizes the glint in her eye, and he can’t resist it. 

Fuck me.

He doesn’t know how he’ll deny her anything ever again.

Cherise fully lies down on the bed — and how the fuck did he ever get so lucky? 

Her cheeks and chest are flushed such a deep red that her white freckles stick out like stars in the night sky. Inky purple-black marks — ones that he put there — are scattered across her breasts. She spreads her legs just enough for Wolffe to see how she glistens for him, and he’s had enough of just looking.

Without a word, Wolffe climbs onto the bed and cages Cherise under him. He’s met with her hands pulling him against her mouth in a deliciously sloppy kiss. She takes Wolffe’s bottom lip between teeth and sucks, harder this time. Wolffe moans into her mouth, and then her tongue slides against his and their chests and pressed together and Wolffe will never get enough of this. 

No, they don’t need words — but that doesn’t stop them from filling the room with broken moans and sharp gasps as the heat builds between them. 

Wolffe’s cock is hanging hard and heavy between his legs, but he doesn’t notice the ache until he brushes against Cherise’s inner thigh. She meets his groan with her own whine, and they both immediately adjust their bodies until Wolffe’s cock is close enough to Cherise’s cunt that he’s sure he can feel the waves of heat radiating from her.

He drags the head of his cock through her slick folds and fights the urge to jerk his hips into her. It would be so easy to fill her up in a single thrust right now — her pussy is practically dripping with arousal, so much so that he wants to abandon his plans and lick the nectar right from the source.

But Cherise wants his cock, and he’s in no position to fight back.

He focuses on the whimpers Cherise is making, how he wants to draw this out and hear all the beautiful noises meant only for him. 

Cherise holds her breath when he notches himself at her entrance, and Wolffe lets out a ragged sigh as he finally starts to press himself inside her.

It’s agonizingly slow, but that’s what he wants. He wants her to feel every single inch of him as he fills her up. He wants to feel her cunt swallow his cock bit by bit, feel her sopping wet arousal coat him as he presses against her walls. 

Her eyes are half-lidded and her lips are parted as she watches Wolffe push himself deeper into her. Her head falls back against the pillow, and Wolffe has to pause his movement to place a hand on her chest.

Breathe, he urges silently. Her chest falls with a sharp exhale as her breathing starts again, and Wolffe plants his hand back on the bed.

He has to pause once when he’s almost there — just to slide out a little and make the glide easier on her. Finally, blessedly, his hips meet Cherise’s skin, and fuck she feels like heaven. 

If this was the first time inside her after so long, he’s sure he would have spilled himself inside her by now. He stays there, letting them both adjust, flinching when Cherise clenches around him. 

Last night, he held her up while he fucked her. He couldn’t wait a second longer — he needed to be inside her right then and there, and the way she begged him had him acting on pure instinct. He took all of her weight while thrusting up into her, and while it was fucking incredible, he couldn’t manage to get his cock deep enough. 

Now, though, he gets to fill her.

Cherise bites her lip, her eyes fluttered closed, as she takes his length. Wolffe indulges himself by leaning down to kiss that beautiful little pout that asks for more, please, more. He rolls his hips forward to prevent himself from slipping out even a little bit. She keens at the movement deep inside her and Wolffe swallows the noise. Her nails are digging into his shoulders and Wolffe knows neither of them can wait any longer. 

He keeps his eyes on Cherise as he rocks his hips back, then fills her with one long thrust.

Her eyes snap open and they both sigh in unison — relief, sweet relief as Wolffe starts a slow but even pace. It’s a near-torturous drag of his cock in and out of her heat. Gradual, patient, indulgent, even though they both know they’ll need more to reach their peaks. But this way, he can make sure he’s giving her his full length every single time he rolls his hips. This way, he can watch the bliss that overtakes her every single time he bottoms out against her. 

Wolffe moves a little faster, and they’re both lost to each other.

There’s still no need to speak. They still know exactly what each other’s sounds mean. Wolffe knows which of Cherise’s wordless breaths mean “please” and “yes” and “don’t stop,” and he knows Cherise can distinguish the “so good” and “fuck” and “I love you” within his soft groans.

There are lower, quieter noises too: sounds that ask “like this?” or “more?” or “harder?” without the need for language. Cherise’s higher noises, shaky as they may be, are clear as day: “yes, yes, yes, yes.”

All of these sounds are panted and whispered into each other’s mouths, lips parted against each other, tasting their breath and feeling the vibrations on their tongues.

It’s a wordless symphony, but it’s anything but silent.

Wolffe settles into a delicious pace — slow enough that he can keep his face just above hers, but fast enough to build the heat that’s rising in both of their bodies. He could live just off of the way her cunt swallows him over and over again, but that’s far from the only place he feels her.

A tongue sweeping over a lip; a barely-there kiss planted on the corner of a mouth; harmonies of “mmmf,” “ah, ah, ah…” “mhmm” and a hundred other nonsense sounds that make complete sense to both of them. The closest they can get to speaking is the bare beginnings of words: “Wo—” and “cya—” and “pl—” and “Che—”, all of them cut off by a gasp or a sigh or a kiss.

She’s clinging to him, and as his arms start to shake, he lets her pull him down. He can’t quite thrust into her like this, but it doesn’t matter — she just wraps her legs around his waist and rocks herself into him. 

She fucks herself on him with shallow grinds, and fuck if that doesn’t make Wolffe’s cock impossibly harder. Her movements are fueled by the debauched chase for pleasure, and Wolffe’s heart soars knowing that he’s fucked any coherent thoughts out of her brain and left her with heady, carnal need. 

He leans in, barely propped up on his elbows, and latches onto her neck with a filthy kiss. Cherise preens when he sucks at her skin, trying to move faster against him, and Wolffe takes it as free reign to make this mark as deep and dark as possible. He lavishes her neck with greedy kisses and love bites that he’s sure will match the ones on her chest, and he only stops when she cries out in pleasure-pain and grabs at the pillow under her head. 

Seamlessly, he takes it from her hands and slides it under her hips just as she lifts them off the bed. 

Wolffe pushes himself back up and starts fucking her again, and the change in angle has Cherise making the most gorgeous noises high in the back of her throat with every thrust. Her lifted hips means Wolffe can fuck down into her — his cock somehow even deeper inside her and Wolffe swears he’s nudging her cervix every time he bottoms out. She’s always loved it like this, and it’s clear that hasn’t changed a bit.

He’s been watching her reactions this whole time, but when Cherise’s breaths start coming in fits and starts — alternating between sharp gasps and breath caught in her throat — he knows it’s time to pay even closer attention. It’s not often she gets there just from Wolffe’s cock, without fingers or a toy against her clit, and the thought has Wolffe biting down on his lip to stop himself from getting carried away.

Her body starts to tense beneath him and Wolffe surges down to catch her lips in a half-kiss as she comes. Her stomach and legs and ass tighten and spasm with her orgasm, and Wolffe can feel her trying to kiss him, but she can’t stop the sweetest fucking sounds from falling from her parted lips. Her thighs squeeze his waist and her nails leave long scratches down his back, but Wolffe puts all his energy into keeping his exact pace and fucking her all the way through her orgasm. 

Her cunt is still clenching around his cock when her lips fully find his. Wolffe pulls back to catch his breath — or try to. He can feel a bead of sweat dripping down his neck and when Cherise catches it on her tongue, when she licks a stripe up the side of his throat, Wolffe finally abandons his restraint.

He coaxes her down again, pushing himself up enough to grip her hip with one hand as his body chases its pleasure deep within her pussy. She’s hot and wet and tight and perfect around his cock, her hands are in his hair and she’s staring up at him with those eyes—

Wolffe’s hurtling towards the edge of the precipice within seconds. He can’t even hold his head up anymore as he comes hard inside Cherise. A hand guides his forehead to rest against hers as he slams his cock into her one final time. She’s moaning alongside him as he grinds into her, trying even now to get deeper, deeper, to pulse inside of her as far in as possible, to fill her up with his cum and keep it there.

When his orgasm finally recedes, Wolffe has nowhere to collapse except right on top of Cherise. She hums in satisfaction at the weight of him on top of her — thank gods, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to move for a while. 

His cock slips out, but the feeling is mitigated by the gentle fingers on his back and the kisses to his shoulder. Cherise keeps their sweaty bodies pressed together while they both try to recover from the sheer intensity of the moment. 

Convinced that she can’t breathe beneath him, Wolffe tries to fit on the thin strip of bed between Cherise and the wall, but she wraps him in a bear hug and refuses to let go. He doesn’t mind a single bit. He’ll happily wait for a new bed if it means he gets to have this.

But Cherise has been awake for a lot longer than Wolffe, and it’s not long before he can no longer feel her fingers drawing patterns on his back. He shifts just enough so that he can brush his lips against her cheek, then settles so he’s only half lying on top of her.

Just before her breathing evens out, Wolffe hears three whispered words.

He doesn’t think twice before saying them back.

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He gave up on sleep after the first hour. If he was going to just lie here, he wasn’t going to waste time with his eyes closed — not when he could look at Cherise.

She’s here. She’s real. More than once, Wolffe wondered if he actually had fallen asleep, and that Cherise’s sleeping form was just another dream. But a dream could never feel this solid beneath his palms, nor could it be so soft and warm against his bare chest. He had really found her. She was really here.

The room eventually lightens with the slow rise of the Amaronthe sun, and Wolffe gets his chance to look at her in earnest, uninterrupted. She’s curled up on her side, legs tangled with Wolffe’s but face far enough away for him to be able to focus on it.

He wants to examine the scars on her cheek — but the left side of her face is smushed into the pillow, so he settles for the scar on her chin. Whatever caused it just barely missed smashing into her jaw, instead just slicing the fleshy bit at the very edge of Cherise’s chin. It’s not a straight line, but it’s not entirely jagged either. The diagonal lines extending from a single point tell Wolffe that the object — weapon? — must have been either curved or angled. Any further examination would risk waking her, so he ghosts his thumb along the scar and leaves it at that for now.

The scars on her arm are both harder and easier to pin down. Harder because they’re fainter than the ones on her face, and Wolffe can’t exactly get a full view of them in this position, especially with the soft light. Easier because the blotchy, uneven pattern reminds him of so many scrapes he’s had before. But even with his accelerated healing, he can’t recall having one as bad as this one looks. When he runs his fingertips along her arm, he’s pleased to find that the skin is smooth, that the scars aren’t so bad that they indent into her skin.

He leaves her hair untouched. He’d have to reach over her to do it, and he still doesn’t want to wake her. And anyway, she tied it in a loose bun before bed, and while a fair amount has slipped free during the night, he still won’t be able to run his fingers through her curls.

Instead, Wolffe contents himself with resting his hand on her waist — but it only reminds him of how thin she’s gotten since he last saw her.

Where he could once feel the soft fat of her curves and belly, he can now feel every single bone. Her hip slightly juts out into the outer edge of his hand, and his fingers brush over the faint but distinct ridges of her ribs. Even her face looks gaunt compared to how Wolffe remembers her, full cheeks painted purple as her face flushed at his teasing. 

Wolffe swallows hard. It’s not healthy. 

He looks at the circles under her eyes, darker than he’s ever seen them. She must be stressed. Not for the first time, Wolffe wonders what the hells has happened since they last saw each other.

Since the night they fought. Since Wolffe walked out.

He swallows again, willing himself to breathe. They’ll have to talk about it — about everything — tomorrow. Later today, really. 

Wolffe tucks her closer to his chest, mind drifting to how he’ll explain the past year. He gave her a short confession of the worst of the worst last night, but there’s so much more she needs to know.

He circles it in his head for a long while, trying to come up with a plan of action but only succeeding in making himself anxious.

Cherise makes a soft noise and nuzzles her face into Wolffe’s chest. He notices how his grip on her waist has tightened, and relaxes back into its gentle hold. Maybe he should think about something else.

There’s no shortage of questions that come to mind. How does she know about the chips? What happened that made her flee Coruscant? That made someone trash 79’s? How did she end up here?

And, annoyingly persistent: who the hell is Cane?

“Cane? Why aren’t you at home? Is the baby okay?”

He hears her exact words over and over again. There’s so much to unpack, and all of it makes Wolffe sick to his stomach. She said home — was she referring to this house? She couldn’t be. Considering they walked into the empty house and got… distracted, and she certainly didn’t keep things quiet, it has to be somewhere else. If it was just that question, Wolffe wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But…

“Is the baby okay?”

The baby.

What baby?

Is it hers?

…is it theirs?

After some quick math, Wolffe decides that theoretically, the timeline would check out — she would have given birth five or six months ago. Wolffe’s heart quickens at the possibility, but he dismisses the thought as quickly as it came. For one thing, Cherise wouldn’t have waited to mention that. He’s sure of it. For another, if Cherise had a baby, they would be sleeping in this house, which they clearly weren’t. Even if her implant had somehow malfunctioned, Wolffe knows the baby in question isn’t his.

But… does that mean it could still be hers?

She would have had the time for a full pregnancy and birth since the end of the war. Suddenly, an image flashes in his mind and refuses to leave: Cherise, hurt and alone and on the run, finding comfort — safety? — with someone else… getting pregnant… parenting with Wolffe’s replacement. 

Cherise shifts in her sleep again, and Wolffe is distinctly aware of how all of his muscles have tensed up. 

As he forces himself yet again to relax, he decides it isn’t true. It still doesn’t explain why the baby isn’t in the house. If that nightmare scenario somehow did happen, Cherise and the father — Cane, presumably — weren’t together anymore. 

It doesn’t make him feel much better. 

Deep down, he knows that the baby Cherise mentioned earlier isn’t hers. He knows that she wouldn’t have moved on so quickly, even after their fight. A thought pops up that maybe she got pregnant, but not by choice… Wolffe shudders and pushes that terrible, terrible possibility out of his mind. He thinks back to last night, to how easily she welcomed his love, his touch, his devotions…

Wolffe looks away from the empty wall and back at the woman in his arms. All the doubt, all the fear melts away. He’s working himself up with the worst case scenarios for no good reason. He’s overtired, and seeing Cherise again has activated every single emotion that’s possible for him to have.

He takes a few deep breaths, the same as he taught Daisy to do when she started meditating, and touches a feather-light kiss to Cherise’s forehead. With her face half-buried in the pillow and nestled against his chest, he thinks she might be smiling.

Sun peeks through the window, and Wolffe closes his eyes. It’s okay that he hasn’t slept. Everything’s okay now that he found her. And his accidental all-nighter just means he’ll get to watch Cherise wake up in his arms. His chest warms at the mere thought that maybe, when she wakes up, he’ll get to watch her realize that he’s still here. He imagines her face lighting up with the reminder that none of this was a dream — that he’s really here.

Then thunder rumbles and shakes the entire house.

Wolffe frowns, but as the thunder continues, he realizes that it’s something else entirely. Someone is knocking — pounding — at the front door. Cherise looks like she might just sleep through it, which would be more than fine by him, until a new sound breaks through. 

Is that… barking?

Cherise’s eyes snap open.

“Shit.”

She’s crawling over Wolffe and off the bed before he can react. He turns to see her scrambling to find something to pull over her naked body, settling for a pair of shorts and baggy shirt. He pushes down the pang of annoyance of not getting the peaceful morning haze he was hoping for, and Cherise bolts out of the bedroom while still pulling the shirt over her head.

The knocking only stops when the door opens, but the barking continues until someone speaks sternly. Wolffe can’t make out the words — just the vague sound of Cherise talking to a stranger — a stranger who does not seem happy. But it’s not long before the door closes, and Wolffe rolls over so he can watch Cherise walk back into the bedroom.

Instead, a canine bursts into the room and jumps right on Wolffe’s stomach.

“What— oof!”

The barking continues at full volume and the dog continues to dig its paws into Wolffe’s guts. He tries to push it away, but the mutt seems nearly as big as a full-grown massiff, and his efforts only get him a growl in response. 

Then Cherise calls something to the dog, and it’s gone as quickly as it came. 

A few seconds later, she walks into the room, dog trotting beside her. Wolffe can’t tell if it’s black with gold blotches or gold with black blotches, but it certainly looks harmless with its tongue hanging out of its mouth and its eyes beaming up at Cherise. She gets the dog to sit, then lie down, its tail wagging wildly.

Cherise finally meets Wolffe’s eyes and tries for a small smile.

“Good morning?”

He blinks. 

He lets out a soft chuckle.

“Mornin’.”

Cherise crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. She places a hand on Wolffe’s cheek and leans down to kiss him, soft and slow and everything he wanted when she first woke up.

Then the dog is back on the bed. This time, its attack consists of nosing and licking at Wolffe’s face. 

Not the kisses I’m looking for right now.

Cherise pulls the dog back and scratches it behind the ears. It licks her face a couple times, but seems to know her limit.

“Wolffe, meet Whisky,” she grins. “Whisky, meet Wolffe.”

“Oh, we met,” Wolffe grumbles.

Cherise looks at him, semi-apologetic. “It’s not his fault. You’re a stranger — and you’re in his spot.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You let a dog sleep in your bed?”

Cherise gives him a wicked grin, one that takes his heart back to a long time ago.

“I let you sleep in my bed, didn’t I?”

Wolffe grunts, but can’t help how his mouth quirks up in a one-sided smile.

The dog — Whisky, apparently — jumps off the bed and out of the room. He returns a few seconds later with some kind of colourful toy, which he drops at Cherise’s feet. Whisky sits, staring up at her, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“He’ll settle down,” she says to Wolffe, idly stroking his arm. “He’s used to my schedule. We don’t usually get out for our first wa— um, our first w-a-l-k until midday.”

“Where was he?”

Cherise looks away. “...At a neighbour’s.”

Wolffe raises an eyebrow, like he always used to, and Cherise sighs her relent, like she always — well, usually — used to.

“He’s still a puppy, even though he doesn’t look it. More and more, he’ll spend the day with me at the bar, but most days I drop him off at my neighbour’s — zher dog is Whisky’s mother, actually. That’s how I got him. Anyway, I usually pick him up after work, but…”

Wolffe raises both eyebrows now, amused. “You forgot about your dog?”

The pinch to his arm doesn’t surprise him — it just makes him smile.

“I was a little distracted,” Cherise huffs. She rolls her eyes in a way so reminiscent of the first day they met, and Wolffe can’t help but reach for her.

“C’mere,” he mutters. He brings her in for a kiss, then pulls her over him and back into her rightful spot in his arms. There’s a sudden dip at the end of the bed when Whisky jumps up, but to Wolffe’s relief, the dog circles the space once and flops down on its belly.

There’s just enough space between them for Wolffe to focus on Cherise’s face. He forces himself to keep his eyes open when she rests her hand against his cheek, and the way she brushes her thumb over his cheekbone almost tempts him to melt into her completely. But closing his eyes would mean he wouldn’t be able to see her face, and he’s not giving that up so easily.

Despite the abrupt wake-up, there’s light in her eyes and warmth in her smile. Wolffe kisses her. Then again. And twice more for good measure.

“You sleep okay?” she asks once he rests his head back against the pillow.

He pauses too long to tell her anything but the truth.

“...Not really.”

Wolffe can see every wrinkle that forms in her brow, and he just wants to kiss them all away. To convince her that she doesn’t need to be worried about him.

“Not a big deal,” he says. “Just… y’know. Adjusting to the planet. Some adrenaline. And… lots to think about.”

Cherise’s brow relaxes, but only a little. “Do you want to talk about it? We still have a few hours.”

It’s his turn to frown. “Before what?”

“I have to go to work.”

She says it so casually, and somehow, that makes it hurt even more.

“Oh.”

She frowns again. Wolffe really, really wants to stop making her do that.

“Wolffe?”

“It’s nothing.” He kisses her forehead and tries to tuck her into his chest, but she knows exactly what he’s doing. Her hands press against his chest as she pushes herself back, refusing to let Wolffe hide from her. Her eyes flit over his face, taking in his discomfort, and the concern is back in her brow. 

He doesn’t want this — doesn’t want to worry her. Doesn’t want to feel hurt at something so small. 

“Wolffe,” Cherise says again. Soft as her voice is, he can feel it crack the walls that he’s thrown up so hastily.

He shrugs as though he can convince himself that it doesn’t matter. “Just didn’t think you’d be going in today.” 

Wolffe sees the moment where the worry in her eyes turns into guilt. “I’m sorry. I’m— I just—” She sighs. “I have to. I wish I didn’t. I can explain later, it’s—”

“—a long story,” Wolffe finishes.

He closes his eyes and curses himself silently for how bitter he sounds. He didn’t mean for it to come out like that. He doesn’t want to feel bitter. He doesn’t want the morning to be going this way. But everything just feels out of his control.

He won’t cry. He won’t. 

Cherise tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear, then rests her hand on the back of his neck.

“Wolffe.”

The love in her voice brings the tears even closer to the surface.

She doesn’t say anything until he looks at her again, biting back the hurt that has somehow settled in his chest.

Her breath is warm on his skin. “There’s nothing I want more than to stay in bed all day with you.”

She means it.

Wolffe exhales heavily and drops his eyes to the space between their chests. Again, he forces his hands to slowly unclench the sheets. Instead, he fiddles with the string on Cherise’s shorts — not to undo it, just to give his hands something to do.

“Could I… I could come in with you,” he murmurs. “If that’s okay, I mean.”

“Of course.” She says it like a sigh of relief, washing over him like an ocean wave.

Wolffe’s eyes fall closed again as the knots in his stomach start to unravel.

“Of course it’s okay,” Cherise says again. Then he can hear a smirk in her voice: “Can’t promise I won’t have to introduce you to anyone, though.”

 Wolffe grumbles under his breath, and he waits for Cherise to laugh at him. When the sound doesn’t come, and he feels her shifting in the bed, he opens his eyes again.

She’s propping herself up with one elbow and looking down at him. She knows something’s up. The problem is, Wolffe doesn’t really have words to explain it.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she murmurs, and it’s so gentle that Wolffe thinks his heart is going to explode.

What is wrong?

“It’s nothing.” He wishes it was true.

Cherise just looks at him, and he knows he’s a goner. He’s been on the receiving end of this look many times. It’s worry and love, a plea and a request all at the same time. He doesn’t want to worry her. He doesn’t want to complain. 

But he’s too tired to even try to resist it.

She lets him turn her onto her other side and press his chest against her back. The little spoon to his big spoon. It’s easier this way — not needing to look at her and see the concern or disappointment in her eyes. This way, even in his most vulnerable moments, he can just tuck her into his broad body and feel that she’s safe. And when she’s safe, Wolffe feels safe too.

“I… I just want you,” he says against the top of her head. “I didn’t— I didn’t sleep at all. My mind just… kept spiralling.”

He takes a deep breath as the tears he pushed down earlier finally prick at the corners of his eyes.

“I wanted to watch you wake up,” he whispers. “I wanted to see you look at me.”

Cherise raises her hand and tries to reach back to Wolffe. Without even thinking about it, Wolffe slips his hand into hers and lets her pull it close to her chest. Her free hand traces invisible patterns on Wolffe’s skin, and she just waits.

“I don’t want you to go,” Wolffe says. He’s not even sure if Cherise can hear it. “I don’t want you to want to go.”

“I don’t want to go in today,” she says. “I don’t. But I really have to. I’m so—”

“Don’t be sorry.” His voice is thick in his throat. He feels ridiculous. Is he so pathetic that he can’t bear to be without her for a few hours?

Yes.

Cherise turns her head so Wolffe can see her profile. “I can get us a few days to ourselves. I’ll make it work.”

Suddenly, Wolffe is exhausted. His eyes are heavy as he exhales all the breath in his chest. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She squeezes his hand, still held to her chest, and he squeezes back. There’s still something unsettling him, but he just focuses on the moment. Cherise is warm against his chest. He can hear his own heartbeat. The dog sighs heavily at the foot of the bed. Cherise adjusts a little, then fully relaxes into the mattress.

“I love you,” she says.

Wolffe thinks he gets the words out before sleep finally, finally overtakes him.

When he wakes, Cherise’ warmth is gone. So is the dog. He’s alone in the bed, alone in the room — and he has a feeling he’s alone in the house too.

The sun no longer shines through the window, and Wolffe guesses it must be only a few hours since their rude awakening. He looks around for a chrono, and finds none. He’s not surprised. His initial assessment last night was that Cherise didn’t have much furniture. Now, in the full light of the day, he can see that he still underestimated just how empty the room is.

There’s no dresser, no shelving, nothing on the walls. The only piece of furniture besides the bed is a small bedside table that’s definitely seen better days. This is where Wolffe finds the note, scrawled in Cherise’s hand and set on top of a pile of folded clothes.

Tried to wake you up. You were NOT having it. Here’s a change of clothes. Meet me at the bar whenever you’re ready — or I’ll try waking you up when I get back. Love, Cherise

Scribbled beside her name is the double heart — the very same one written on the note from 79’s, still tucked away in Wolffe’s pack.

It’s almost enough to offset the pang of disappointment in his heart from waking up alone.

Almost.

Before Wolffe gets up, he lets himself sink into the mattress again. He’s not looking to fall asleep again, he just wants to surround himself with things that smell like Cherise for a few more minutes. For months, he’s been relying on the fading scent from her pillowcase and the small jar of her hands cream. They kept him going, but neither of them were nearly as good as tangling himself in her sheets. A few deep breaths is all he needs to feel more relaxed.

The clothes she left are virtually the same as the ones she left for him on Zeltros — the shirt is brown instead of black, but that’s it. He doesn’t bother looking around her room. There’s nothing to see.

As he heads downstairs, he passes his duffel bag, and his clothes from yesterday folded neatly on top of it. Cherise clearly just tossed her old clothes into a pile at the bathroom door.

In full light, Cherise’s house shows itself to be just as plain as her room. The walls are… he doesn’t really know how to describe the colour other than old. The living room houses a run-down couch, and nothing else. Even though the kitchen has the advantage of counters, cupboards, and drawers, he finds that most of them are empty. The conservator is as barren as the rest of the house: a handful of protein bars, a hunk of butter, a half-full bottle of some sauce, and a jar of vitamins.

Wolffe almost feels sick with how wrong it feels for his Cherise to be living in such a lifeless house, but he forces down a protein bar anyway. He sits down — knees knocking against the kitchen table as the singular chair creaks under his weight — and looks for any sign of life. Honestly, he would fully believe that the place was abandoned, if not for the few colourful dog toys scattered on the living room floor.

He’d hoped he could piece together Cherise’s life on Amaronthe from what she has in her home. Instead, all of his knowledge comes from the lack of belongings, which leaves him confused, wary, and ready to leave.

Miraculously, he doesn’t encounter anyone on the short walk to the bar. There are a few people hanging around the repair shop, but he doubts they even notice his presence.

Whereas the house was lifeless, the bar is the polar opposite. Even when he walked in last night, before Cherise popped up from behind the counter, he felt his heart clench with familiarity. He once told Cherise he could see her fingerprints all over 79’s, and while this bar looks completely different, everything seems to have an essence of her. 

It annoyed him last night — like salt in the wound. Today, it’s a comfort. The metal decorations, the music, the sign, the atmosphere are brand new to Wolffe, but it’s the sense of place that tugs at his chest and whispers that he’s home.

Unfortunately, it’s also packed to the brim with people. Wolffe settles into the only open booth, still littered with empty beer glasses, and takes in the scene. Despite only being in the late morning — well, he assumes it’s late morning — most of the customers are seated with a drink. There’s a lineup at the bar, behind which he can catch the occasional glimpse of scarlet skin and silver hair. If he listens closely, he can sometimes hear her voice peek through the rest of the noise.

Most of the people are dressed in clothes that look to be designed for working in Amaronthe’s farms: sturdy boots, thick pants, and basic shirts. Some of them have scarves hanging loose off their necks or stuffed into a pocket. Wolffe spies only a few patrons who are clearly not dressed for manual labour, but even they have the sense to keep their collared shirts and slacks muted and inconspicuous.

A weird-looking droid rolls through whatever empty space it can find. Its head is stacked with empty glasses as it retreats behind the bar, then reemerges a few minutes later with full drinks to deliver. It beeps at Wolffe once, but leaves him alone when he holds up a hand in refusal. 

He must wait about twenty minutes for the line at the bar to end and for him to finally catch Cherise’s eye. After handing off the last beer, she sets her hands on her hips and takes a slow look across the room. When she notices Wolffe, her face lights up just like he imagined it would when she woke up this morning. That moment, stolen by Whisky’s arrival, comes in full force with a glowing smile.

But her face falls as two of the more sharply-dressed patrons pull her attention away. One of them hands his nearly-full drink back to her and folds his arms across his chest. Wolffe recognizes the expression on Cherise’s face — it looks civil enough, but Cherise knows it as her I’m-only-doing-this-because-you’re-paying-me face. Her eyes flick over to Wolffe for half a second, and he thinks he sees her decide that it’s not worth it to argue. She pours the man another drink and slides it across the counter with her customer-service smile, rolling her eyes at Wolffe when the men have turned their backs. 

Wolffe’s smile doesn’t last long. Every time Cherise is about to walk over to him, someone else needs her attention. It’s another ten minutes by the time she finally slides into the seat across from him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” she says as she sits down, “but you were dead to the world and I knew you needed it. Honestly, I had to check to make sure you still had a pulse.”

Happiness overtakes him — all annoyance and disappointment completely forgotten when Cherise’s voice hits his ears. 

“It’s alright,” he chuckles, and he means it. 

Cherise lets her hair down to redo her bun. “We’ll get another rush pretty soon, based on the transport schedule. They’ll be here in less than an hour, I think, but then we can— oh, gods, you’re probably starving.”

She’s up before he can protest, but thankfully no one stops her before she returns to set a brown bag on the table in front of him. Inside are two rolls, savoury-smelling and the size of his hand. Cherise was right — he is starving, but he’s still surprised when he ends up gobbling down the buns faster than he can ever remember eating.

Cherise is smiling at him, though, so he can’t even be embarrassed.

The droid, holding four empty glasses on its top, rolls up to Cherise and lets out a series of beeps and whirrs. Wolffe’s binary is decent enough, but he can’t quite make out the words — but from the way Cherise’s face falls, they can’t be good.

“What’s wrong?” Wolffe asks as the droid rolls away.

Cherise blinks at him, then looks down at her lap.

“Cherise.” He aches to reach out his hand, but something tells him to hold off.

She blows out a breath and doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “There’s… there’s something I need to show you.”

Wolffe’s stomach twists. “Okay.”

“It doesn’t have to be now, if you don’t want to. I know you just got here, a-and this is probably a lot to take in.”

She says it too fast. She’s avoiding something.

“I’m fine,” Wolffe assures her. This time he does reach out a hand, palm-up on the table between them.

She rests her hand on his, but says nothing. Wolffe lowers his voice a little and leans in so she can hear him.

“Cyar’ika, what’s the matter?”

Cherise squeezes her eyes as though she’s bracing herself for a hard blow to her chest. “I just… I don’t want you to be mad.”

Wolffe frowns. His early-morning thought spirals — the mysterious baby, the mysterious Cane — prod at his mind.

He treads carefully. “Why would I be mad?”

He’s too slow to grab her hand when she pulls it away, watching as she sighs and gets to her feet.

“Because I should have told you last night.”

Stomach twisted in knots, Wolffe follows her through a locked door into a storage room. Once they’re out of sight from the rest of the bar, Wolffe reaches forward to take her hand. To his relief, she easily takes it. As she leads him through the storage room and down a set of stairs, he’s not sure if he took her hand to comfort her or himself.

The basement is dimly lit and unfinished. There’s a maintenance room, some kegs, and a few shelves on the wall. 

No place for a baby, he thinks weakly.

But Cherise keeps walking, taking Wolffe across the room and around a corner Wolffe didn’t notice at first. She stops awkwardly in a cramped space that vaguely resembles her office at 79’s. A desk, a couple datapads, some sheets of flimsi in a messy pile.

She pulls her hand away from his to idly fidget with her fingers. Wolffe doesn’t even think she’s doing it consciously. 

“I’ll explain the whole story when we get a chance,” she says in an uncertain voice. “But… Well… I…”

She turns away to glance at the shelves on the far wall, and Wolffe can’t take it anymore. His chest tight, he steps forward, takes her by the shoulders, and kisses the top of her head. Cherise doesn’t relax, necessarily, but he can feel a little of the tightness leave her muscles. He takes a deep breath, and whether she realizes it or not, she breathes with him.

His voice is quiet. “Last night, I was scared you wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Whatever you have to show me… it’ll be okay.”

Cherise doesn’t — can’t — look at him, but she nods. Then, she steps away, grabs the edge of the shelf with two hands, and yanks it back. The wall swings open, and Cherise steps into the darkness.

Wolffe follows much less gracefully. He knows he’s lost weight, but he still has to turn sideways and duck through the doorway. By the time his eyes adjust to the lack of light, Cherise is sitting at some sort of computer. She still doesn’t look at him, so he doesn’t ask questions — just watches as she touches a series of keys on the terminal in front of her and navigates through screens too quickly for Wolffe to follow.

After a long minute, Cherise pulls her hands away and pushes the chair away from the computer. She glances at Wolffe, then back to the screen in front of her. Wolffe has to lean in to read the text on the screen.

CC-3636 Occupation: none (formerly) military commander, 41st Elite Corps Notes: unit discharged to CORSIN after failed operation on SERENNO. Location: CORSIN

Wolffe grits his teeth. A sour taste fills his mouth at the sight of the words “41st Elite Corps.” He rests a hand against the top of the monitor to keep his balance. The memory of what happened on Serenno flushes him with utter rage and despicable shame — so much so that it takes him far too long to understand what he’s looking at.

“Cherise,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s a question, a warning, or just shock.

She still doesn’t look at him.

“This is how I knew when you were discharged. It… it has basic account access to every registered Imperial citizen.” She swallows. “Clones included.”

Wolffe’s legs threaten to give out, so he kneels down beside her. Finally tearing his gaze away from the screen, he rests a hand on Cherise’s knee and looks up at her. Things are starting to click together — the database, the trail to find her, the place in the middle of nowhere — but he’s not processing it fast enough.

“What—?”

He breaks off when he sees the tears shining in her eyes. She’s finally looking down at him, her arms clutching herself as though she might fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should’ve told you right away.”

Every Imperial citizen.

Clones included.

He could find every single one of his brothers with this.

What the hell did she have to do to get this?

Did she do all of this for him?

And why is she so upset?

At a loss for words, Wolffe offers his hands to Cherise. When she takes them, Wolffe gently pulls her into him. She’s shaking as she slides off the chair and joins him on the floor, but Wolffe is as steady as a rock now. She needs him to be. He has no clue how to comfort her, so he just holds her, rubbing slow circles into her back.

“It only takes CT numbers for clones,” Cherise says suddenly. “I only know yours.”

Wolffe nods.

“I wanted to look for them, Wolffe, I swear.”

Her voice breaks, and even through his shock and confusion, Wolffe knows what she needs to hear.

“I’m not mad,” he says.

Cherise pulls back.

“It’s okay if you are,” she whispers.

He shakes his head. “I’m not. Not at all. I’m just…”

Shocked. Processing. Fucking terrified. 

Wolffe buries his face into Cherise’s neck and breathes her in. It’s her turn to wrap her arms around him, to hold him steady through his quivering breaths. She combs her fingers through his hair, slow and careful, as he tries to come back to himself.

The implications…

When Cherise pulls away, she studies Wolffe’s face carefully. He has no idea what she sees.

“Do you want to be alone?”

Wolffe doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t shake his head either.

A year. A year since the war ended. Since he last saw the rest of his Wolfpack. Even longer since he saw Fox — or Cody, or Rex, or any of his batch. He wasn’t even able to track them when he was an Imperial commander. He’d long given up hope on ever finding them again, knowing that they were lost to the galaxy.

But he thought Cherise had been lost to the galaxy, too. And here she is.

Cherise must see something in his expression, because she pushes herself up off the ground.

“I can go grab us some food,” she says slowly, waiting for Wolffe to react. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he nods.

“Here, I’ll show you the—” Cherise gestures to the screen. They both know Wolffe doesn’t need her help to figure it out, but Wolffe nods anyway.

He pulls himself into the chair while Cherise reaches for the controls. She pauses, then looks at him over her shoulder and asks: “What’s Rex’s number?”

Wolffe’s voice sticks in his throat. He knows it — of course he does. But what if… what if…?

“He’s alive,” she says softly.

Wolffe clears his throat. “How do you know?”

“He… he’s been here.”

“He found you before I did?”

Cherise huffs out a laugh. “I guess. But not like that. It’s…”

…a long story.

Wolffe swallows. “CT-7567.”

Cherise taps it into the terminal, and sure enough, Rex’s profile pops up.

CT-7567 Deceased Occupation: none (formerly) military commander, 332nd Division (formerly) military captain, 501st Legion Notes: MIA; assumed dead after destruction of Star Destroyer Tribunal, Imperial year -1. Location: N/A

Wolffe chokes on nothing.

Deceased.

“That’s not true,” Cherise blurts out, but Wolffe almost doesn’t hear her through the sudden ringing in his ears. His eyes have already seen the word. His heart already feels it.

She spins around to face him and grabs his hands. Her body is blocking the screen, and all Wolffe can see are her eyes.

“He’s alive,” she says firmly, and Wolffe squeezes her hands so hard it probably hurts, but she doesn’t even flinch. “Wolffe, I promise you. I promise. I talked to him less than two weeks ago. He survived, and he’s in hiding.”

Wolffe nods wordlessly. The conviction in her voice is making its way through his nervous system, but he can still feel his heart beating in his chest.

Deceased.

“I’m sorry,” Cherise says, shaking her head. “I should have remembered that he— that his profile would say that. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says. 

He releases one of her hands when she wipes her eyes. The silence draws out for what feels like hours. Wolffe still can’t see the screen, but the glow of those green letters are etched into his memory:

Deceased.

He’s not sure how long they would have stayed like that if there hadn’t been a rumbling overhead. Cherise looks up at the ceiling and curses under her breath.

“The next rush,” she mutters.

“You have to go,” Wolffe hears himself say.

She squeezes his hand. “I don’t have to.”

The thudding of feet gets louder, and Wolffe can even hear some loud voices as the group enters the bar.

Cherise rests a hand on his cheek. “I’ll stay if you want me to stay.”

In truth, Wolffe doesn’t know what he wants. But he knows he doesn’t like seeing Cherise like this: uncertain, scared, guilty. And right now, his heart can’t decide what to feel, torn between wanting to comfort the woman he loves and fearful curiosity at what he might see on this screen.

“Go,” he chokes out. The hoarseness of his voice makes him sound harsh, so he tries again. “You go on. I need… a moment.”

Cherise nods. She fixes her bun — which doesn’t need fixing — with shaky hands. “Take all the time you need. I’m sorry. I’ll come back with some food, and— and we can—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence — or maybe Wolffe just doesn’t hear her. He’s staring at the screen again.

Deceased. 

When he finally looks away, Cherise is gone. 

It’s just Wolffe.

Wolffe and his millions of brothers.

Deceased.

If Cherise says Rex is alive, he believes her. The timeline makes sense — the Tribunal was a 501st ship. He knew that some of the 501st were redirected to Mandalore, which explains the 332nd division. The profile also says it crashed in Imperial year negative one. The chips activated before Palpatine declared the Empire, so it’s more than likely that Rex’s supposed death happened during, or just after, the chips activated. And if Cherise says she saw Rex only weeks ago, then the account on the screen in front of him can’t be true. Rex’s Deceased status — it’s a lie.

That’s not the problem.

The problem is that it’s going to be true for so many of his brothers.

Wolffe empties his lungs. It’s fine. This is how it was always going to be. Some would live, and most would die. He knew that before he knew his own goddamn name — because he was always a number before anything else. Numbers. That’s all they were, and that’s how it was meant to be. The Senate demanded greater numbers of clone troopers, because then there were more who could die. And those deaths were acceptable — necessary, even — if it meant they won the war.

The Senate did win the war.

The clones lost. Like they were always going to.

So this was inevitable. Intended, even. Every single clone knew this before they stepped off Kamino. 

Then why can’t Wolffe type in a number?

He knows who he’ll look for first. There’s no question about that. But his hands are shaking when he lifts them from his knees.

“C’mon,” he grunts, alone in the room. “You owe them.”

And he does. He owes them for being the one to survive and the one to escape, because there’s no good fucking reason for it. He’d have given his life in an instant for any of his brothers. He’d have died to keep any of them safe. But he didn’t.

They got to die, and he has to live with it.

The least — the absolute fucking least — he can do is find out what happened to them. He abandoned the Wolfpack. He never found out what happened to his other batchmates — except for two.

He reaches for the terminal.

C… C…

Gree, he knows, is dead. Wolffe had taken his place with the 41st. And what did he do? Nothing. And none of his soldiers ever brought up the name of their old commander. None of them asked what had happened to him. Not that Wolffe knew — but it was easy to imagine. He knows what it’s like to be struck by a lightsaber. He knows what it’s like to see that flash of light, that rush of heat that you can’t stop. He knows how Gree’s skin would have sizzled and cooked, because he remembers what it sounded like when Ventress carved his eye out of his head. When Wolffe fell to the floor, all that time ago, he thought he was dead. Dying, at least.

Did Gree know he was dying? Did he think he could make it? Did he try to get back up?

Or was he dead before his body hit the ground?

1…

Ponds is dead too. Has been for a while. Shot in the head by a bounty hunter just to get Windu to act. A pawn, nothing more. All because of Boba fucking Fett. Wolffe swore that he’d kill that little prick if he ever laid eyes on him. So much for blood. So much for brotherhood. 

But what kind of brother was Wolffe now anyway? 

0…

Wolffe bites down on his own lip until the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth.

Blood.

If his brothers died by lightsaber, they wouldn’t have bled. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was better to get a quick death than to bleed out, knowing that they would never get up again. They wouldn’t have to think about the fact that they were dying by their Jedi’s hand.

But there are so many other ways they could have died. In the last year, Jedi stopped being a threat to the clones. Most of the Imperial army turned its focus to different dangers. It could have been bombs. Shrapnel. Something far more cruel than the quick slice of a lightsaber or a blaster bolt to the head.

1…

Wolffe squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe. He needs to know. He owes it to them. He owes it to him. He owes it to Fo—

0…

His hand falters over the final key — the key that will bring up his brother’s profile. His best friend. The fox to his wolf. 

What if he’s dead?

Wolffe squeezes his eyes shut. His hands clench into fists imagining that those green letters — Deceased — might underscore Fox’s name.

The next thought, unbidden, turns his body to ice.

What if he’s alive? What if he’s okay?

What fucking then?

Wolffe scoffs at himself. Of course he wasn’t fucking okay. Fox hadn’t been okay for months leading up to the order. Hell, hadn’t been okay when the war even started. But those last few times Wolffe saw him…

Fox called himself crazy. Wolffe didn’t want to believe it at the time.

But Fox had been losing his memory — long stretches of time where he couldn’t recall a single fucking thing. There were people he didn’t remember killing. Missions he didn’t remember leading. Days gone by in mere seconds. 

Maybe it had been the chip. All of it, or some of it. Wolffe’s chip had been damaged by Ventress, but Fox’s had been fully intact. Maybe he never had a chance of fighting it off. And regardless of if his chip was active then, it definitely was after Order 66. 

Maybe he doesn’t even remember who Wolffe is.

There is no good option: Fox is alive, braindead under the control of the chip; Fox is alive, aware but unable to escape; Fox is alive, escaped the Empire, and Wolffe will never find him; or Fox is dead. 

And what can Wolffe do about any of it?

Something smacks against his knees. The room tries to swallow him whole, and gods, he wishes it would. The air, cold and thick, refuses to enter his lungs. There’s no light from the other room. There’s no door, no escape. There is only him, curled up like a wounded animal, unable to die.

The walls start to close in and the pressure pushes Wolffe fully onto the floor. His ears pop and all he can hear is a high-pitched scream. He’s cold, so cold — every single cell in his body is either cold or numb.

Is this what it would be like to be sucked into space?

That’s what should have happened. He should have died at Abregado, like nearly all of his men. He should have been with them — shaking in their escape pods until the machine sucked them into the empty vacuum of certain death. Why the fuck did he survive — the armourless, helpless coward?

Something yanks on Wolffe’s hair and he makes no move to stop it. The pain is good — it’s what he deserves — it distracts him from the static in his head and the ringing in his ears. It’s his own hands, he realizes, taking fistfuls of curls and trying to pull them out of his skull. Salt touches his tongue, and it doesn’t matter that he can’t open his eyes. He doesn’t need to see the tears landing on the cold, concrete floor.

Cold. Cold. So cold.

His lungs gulp for air without his permission, but there’s nothing left. The room wraps around him like it’s swaddling an infant. Everything is pressing in from him on all sides.

He doesn’t fight it.

Blood fills his mouth. The floor slams into his head, and if he had any control over his body, he would do it again. But he’s not in control — and it’s just like before, just like the order, and they never took the chip out of his head, and he’s so fucking lost. 

“Wolffe?”

His name has him choking on his own raw, ragged throat. 

“Wolffe!”

The floor stops scraping against his head and he sobs at the loss of the pain. 

“Soda, call Farren, now! Wolffe, I need—”

He hears the words, but he forgets them as soon as they’re said. His body is made of ice, and he wishes he would shatter.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

And then his hands are melting.

Cold, cold, everything is cold — except for his hands. His hands are warm. He loosens the grip on his hair to see if his hands are still real, and the pain in his skull eases a little. His hands. His hands. 

His hands are on his face — no, not his. Other hands. His skin starts to thaw on his face. It travels down his chin, down his neck.

“Wolffe, can you hear me? Please, please—”

Cherise.

Wolffe chokes again, but then he can breathe. He can breathe, and warm air fills his lungs, melts him from the inside out.

“—please, Wolffe, don’t— I just got you back.”

Cherise.

This time he feels his mouth say the word.

“Oh my god, Wolffe, can you hear me?”

He nods — oh, how his muscles ache, his head throbs, his limbs shake — but he nods.

“What’s wrong? What— what—?”

He shakes his head, finally finding the strength to open his eyes. Cherise — he knows it’s Cherise, even though all he can see is red and a faint flash of silver — is right there, right in front of him, and fuck, he can feel her panic in the air as it seeps back into his chest.

“Not hurt,” he rasps. 

“What do you— oh, Farren, thank gods. I don’t know— I came down and he was just—”

There are other hands on him, hands he doesn’t know, hands he doesn’t want. He reaches in the direction where he saw Cherise, trying to say her name, desperate for her touch.

Then a hand is in his. 

Come here, he tries, and somehow, it works.

He tries to pull her closer, but he can’t — he’s trying, and he’s trying, and he’s so fucking tired of trying.

“Breathe, love. Please.”

He’ll do anything that voice says. 

“There, that’s it. That’s it. Oh, god. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Things accelerate after that — unfolding like a flower blooms. His muscles stop seizing up, and he’s not sure if he can move. But it doesn’t matter, because Cherise is holding him. She’s stroking his face, tucking his hair away, and he can feel the rise and fall of her breath. Soon, they’re breathing in unison, and the world starts to come back into focus.

“Cherise,” he says, voice slurred. “‘M sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she soothes. “It’s okay. Are you— are you hurt?”

“No. No.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Then, so quiet he can barely hear: “Thank god.”

“I want to take his vitals,” another voice says. It’s unfamiliar, and Wolffe winces. He’s coming back to himself, and has just enough lucidity to feel embarrassed.

Cherise’s voice is back. “Wolffe, can you try to sit up?”

He allows Cherise to help him up until he’s leaning back against her. Somehow she was able to pull him towards the open door, just a little, and when she leans back against the wall, they’re halfway out of the console room already. Cherise holds his hands and whispers into his ear while someone else touches his forehead, his neck, his wrist, the back of his hand.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I love you. We’re okay. I love you.”

There’s a man kneeling beside him, strapping something to his arm. He seems to notice Wolffe’s attention, because he says: “Just taking your blood pressure. It’ll only take a minute.”

“And everything else?” Cherise asks.

“All fine,” says the man. Wolffe feels the cuff tighten, then relax. “Blood pressure’s fine.”

The man stands up to go, then hesitates. He meets Wolffe’s eyes, then flicks up to look at Cherise. His mouth opens, then closes, and opens again.

“I’ll be right back,” Cherise murmurs to Wolffe. “That okay?”

He nods and tries to shift forward to let Cherise get up, then leans back against the wall. Cherise and the man step just out of sight around the corner, but Wolffe can still hear a few words here and there.

“Don’t tell...”

“...back door.”

“... Nel...”

“...anything happens… call.”

Then Cherise is walking back towards him, and Wolffe would rather melt into the floor rather than see the pained expression on her face. He can’t deal with pity. He absolutely does not need to be babied.

But Cherise just joins him on the floor and wipes the few remaining tears from Wolffe’s cheeks. She offers him a canteen of water, which he gladly takes, and she doesn’t stare at him while he drinks. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry — just waits for Wolffe to make the next move.

He should’ve known that Cherise would know what he does and doesn’t need.

He grunts softly and presses his palms against the floor. “Need to get up.”

Need to get out of this room.

Wolffe closes the shelf door after he stands up, as though he could forget what happened if he can’t see the inside of the room anymore.

Cherise pushes some things around her desk then lifts herself to sit on it. She gestures for Wolffe to take the chair, and he does — but he pulls it forward so he’s close enough that he decides to rest his forehead against her knee.

“I couldn’t do it.”

Cherise weaves her fingers through Wolffe’s hair. With her palm on his head and her thumb smoothing back and forth, his aching scalp throbs a little less.

“I owe it to them,” Wolffe says, the frustration pointed only at himself. “I should be able to.”

His hands find her thighs, and he squeezes lightly, grounding himself.

“What if they’re dead?”

She takes his hand, but stays silent.

“What if… what if they— but— I can’t—”

“What if they’re alive,” Cherise says, finishing the thought that he can’t speak aloud. “What if they’re still with the Empire. By choice or not.”

Wolffe shudders, hands gripping her thighs a little tighter.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “That.”

“I think about it all the time,” she says quietly. The ache in her voice feels like it was taken right out of Wolffe’s own chest.

Of course she’d understand. She would’ve spent months wondering if Wolffe was still under the chip’s control — and even longer thinking about all the reasons he hadn’t found her yet. But she knew clones, too. Thousands, tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of clones passed through 79’s. Cherise knew many of them by name, and formed friendships with quite a few. The difference is that she couldn’t check on them — not without their CT number — and that Wolffe just isn’t. 

A quiet thump makes Wolffe look up. Cherise’s head is tilted back against the wall, and her eyes are closed.

“I’m sorry,” she says without opening her eyes.

“For what?”

She’s quiet for a couple breaths. “I should’ve stayed.”

“I told you to go.”

“I know.” 

She takes a shaky breath as tears start to gather against her closed eyelashes. 

“I should’ve stayed anyway.”

Wolffe hears the echoes of her voice when she found him lying on the floor — the sheer terror in her words. The fear is probably still racing through her body.

“It’s happened once before,” Wolffe mumbles. “The… episode. I had one on Corsin.”

Also because of Fox, he thinks to himself. It had come on so suddenly — Daisy innocently mentioning the name at dinner and shocking Wolffe’s system into panic. This one had crept up on him more, but was all the more devastating.

Cherise makes a noise of acknowledgement, but doesn’t push at all. They both know he’ll tell her about it eventually. Neither of them could handle that conversation right now anyway.

Exhaustion catches up with Wolffe once again — the few hours of sleep he had this morning wasn’t nearly enough to help him process the emotional overload of the past day. The panic attack was about as clear of a sign as he could get that his nerves were still running ragged and hot, and that he needed to recover. Everything over the last twenty-four hours had been excitement and anxiety, all adrenaline without a break — now, his heart feels heavy enough to pull him into a deep, deep sleep.

Even so, when something crashes upstairs, Wolffe’s entire body resists the notion of letting Cherise go. Her hand tightens around his, but other than that, she doesn’t move a muscle.

Wolffe steels himself. “You’ve got customers.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be okay.”

She finally looks down at him, and two tears fall from her beautiful brown eyes.

“I know.”

She still doesn’t move.

He could stay here. If he stayed like this, head practically resting in Cherise’s lap, he knows she wouldn’t move. But even if he didn’t have to worry about a crick in his neck when he woke up, Wolffe knows he can’t keep them both like this. He needs to sleep, and as much as he wants to be selfish and bring her with him, he won’t do that to her.

He clears his throat. “I think… I might go back to the house. Try to get some more sleep. If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Cherise says. “Wait— food. I was supposed to get you food.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wolffe says as he peels himself off of Cherise’s legs and into a sitting position.

The look she gives him makes it clear that she is going to worry about it, and that Wolffe has no choice in the matter.

“I’ll grab you something from the store before you go.” She slides off the desk and presents her hands to Wolffe. He takes them, letting them steady him as he pushes himself to his feet.

He’s not sure who initiates it, but their arms are suddenly wrapped around each other, and Cherise is gripping him so hard he might have bruises later. When she starts to shake, Wolffe knows what he needs to say. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Fucking terrified, you asshole.”

Wolffe breathes out a chuckle and kisses the top of her head.

“I thought…” Cherise’s voice breaks against his chest. “I thought…”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

Cherise holds on for another long moment, then steps away from the embrace. She wipes the tears from her eyes before Wolffe can even raise his hands, but when she scowls at him, he knows he’s forgiven.

“Never again,” she grumbles. “I’ve had enough of being scared for your life.”

Wolffe nods. “More than your fair share, I’d say.”

“And I’d agree.” The softness in her face doesn’t match her voice, and when Wolffe cups her cheek with his hand, she practically nuzzles right into it.

“Give me a few minutes to grab you something before you head back.”

Wolffe nods. Looking as tired as he feels, Cherise pulls away, but Wolffe catches her by the wrist.

“I love you,” he murmurs, leaning down to reach her lips.

She kisses him first, so slow and soft and sweet that Wolffe is tempted to ask her to just come back with him.

“I love you too,” she says once she pulls away. “I’ll come home as soon as I can.”

The sting of watching her walk away is soothed by those words — by the promise of home, of a place that is no longer just hers, but that is theirs. And so he lets her go, knowing that he’ll sleep alone, but that he won’t stay alone for long.

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“That cake was AMAZING!”

“Wrecker, we’re all honestly surprised you tasted it at all with how fast you ate it,” Hunter teased.

“Yeah, I think you’ve scarred some of those service droids for life,” Senna joked.

“Did you see the one? Wrecker almost took his arm off!” Echo was laughing so hard tears were pricking at his eyes now, and Senna joined him, doubling over in the middle of the hall as they walked back to their rooms. Maybe it was the wine or just the relief of being safe with full bellies, but either way, the mood had lifted significantly among the group. Even Tech was smiling and engaging in conversation rather than ignoring everyone in favor of his datapad. 

Wrecker shrugged. “I was hungry, and they were in the way.”

“Perhaps you should keep in mind that they are also responsible for preparing your food, Wrecker. Threatening them may not be the best idea,” Tech pointed out, and even Rex snorted in amusement at that. 

“Was that a joke, Tech?” Senna teased. 

The goggled clone blinked at her, and Senna swore he was trying to stifle a grin. 

“Take it as you wish.” 

Their laughter echoed down the halls as they returned to the wing of the palace they were staying in, dying off as they all bid each other good night and returned to their rooms. 

“Try to get some sleep,” Echo murmured to Senna, and she shoved him, her face heating. He chuckled, moving off down the hall to his door. 

Rex leaned against the wall as she punched the unlock code into the keypad for their room. “What was that about?”

Senna shrugged, blowing her hair out of her face as the door slid open. “Just Echo saying good night.” 

She didn’t look at him, but she could hear his huff of a laugh, could practically feel his smirk as he slipped his hand into the small of her back, gently ushering her into the room. 

Senna strode to the center of the bedroom, suddenly nervous for reasons she couldn’t understand. She turned to watch Rex lock the door behind them before he met her eyes. The only sound was their breathing as they stared at one another, seemingly unsure of where to start, paralyzed by choice with nothing inhibiting either of them this time. 

Where do I even begin? There’s so much I want. 

And nothing will stop me from taking it. 

It was strange to think that Senna had been afraid of having this, having the person she’d wanted so desperately with all of her feelings reciprocated. The rest of the galaxy fell away outside of the door, and Senna’s entire universe shrank to the size of the bedroom with Rex at the center of it all. 

Fuck, I love him so much. 

Mercifully, Rex moved first, closing the gap between them with a measured patience that sent need coursing through Senna. He cradled her face, and she felt herself melt into his touch as he smiled down at her with darkening eyes. 

“I believe I made you a promise,” he rumbled. “And now I have all night to fulfill it.” 

Senna felt herself tremble with excitement as he leaned down to kiss her, working his lips gently against hers as his hands slid to her waist. It wasn’t until he slipped his hands under her shirt, his calloused palms grazing her skin that she finally felt some of her wits return to her, enough for her to not let him take the lead entirely. Her tongue grazed his bottom lip, and he groaned, permitting her entrance as his grip on her tightened. Senna allowed him to back her against a wall, letting out a small grunt when her shoulderblades bumped into the hard surface. Rex made no apology, instead slotting his knee in between her legs as he pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it somewhere to be forgotten. Senna ground against him desperately as her fingers dug into the back of his neck. She whined as his lips left hers, moving along her jawline to her neck. He left one mark, and then another, sucking bruises into her skin where her clothing would cover as his hands worked at her breastband, removing it as well and flinging it aside. 

His hands were immediately on her breasts, cradling them before tugging gently on her nipples just enough to make Senna gasp. She felt his mouth curl into a smile against her skin at her response, and for whatever reason, some of her competitive edge resurfaced. She pushed him back from her, relishing in his confusion before she spun him against the wall, effectively swapping places. 

“You are far too clothed,” she rasped, pulling at his shirt eagerly. Rex’s grin returned as he helped her slip the garment over his head. 

“Can’t have that now, can we?” he teased. 

“I think I made you some sort of promise too,” Senna whispered as she nipped at his collarbone, her fingers tracing the bandage on his chest. “If it’s not too much.” 

She felt Rex shudder slightly under her touch. “I don’t recall you promising anything.”

“Then let me refresh your memory,” she whispered directly into his ear, nipping at the lobe before she trailed kisses down his neck and chest, sinking to her knees in front of him. Rex inhaled sharply, and when she met his eyes, they were blown wide. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

“I… would you believe me if I told you I dreamed about this?” 

Her fingers found his belt, undoing the clasp as she kept her eyes on his. 

“Sounds like I’ve got a lot to live up to.” 

He cupped her chin, his thumb pushing against her lower lip as he frantically helped her undo his trousers with his other hand. 

“You’ve already exceeded it in every way, Sen.” 

She kissed the pad of his thumb, blushing under his gaze. Rex caught his lip between his teeth as she freed his cock, stroking it a few times. She adjusted such that the head grazed against her bare breasts, dragging her thumb over the head and spreading the precum leaking from the tip over the flushed skin. 

“I’ve dreamt of this too,” she whispered, pressing closer so that she could kiss Rex’s bare hip teasingly. His muscles flexed as he jerked towards her with a sharp inhale. “Wondered what you tasted like, how you’d feel against my tongue, what sounds you’d make.” She blew against the tip, and Rex whined. 

“Senna, please.”

She grinned wickedly. “I thought we had all night.”

Before Rex could retort, she wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock and sucked gently, savoring the taste and warmth of him as she flicked her tongue against any sensitive spot she could find. Rex’s head thunked against the wall as he unleashed a curse, his hand still gently cradling her face. Senna smiled, running her tongue along the bottom of his length, tracing the vein she could feel there. 

“Fuck,” Rex groaned. 

Slowly, Senna worked Rex further into her mouth, fighting against her gag reflex and the ache of her jaw as she took him deeper with each bob of her head, her fingers wrapped around the length she couldn’t yet reach. She’d never taken anyone as large as Rex in her mouth before, but the way he was sweating and moaning was addicting, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever tire of the sight of Rex, muscles flexing, jaw clenched, eyes locked on her as she allowed him deeper each pass. When her nose finally met the curls at the base of his cock, she swallowed, and Rex’s hands flew to her head as he gasped. 

“Maker alive, do that again. Oh gods, please do that again.” 

Every thought she’d have of taking her time flew from her mind as she heard his plea. She wanted to shatter Rex. 

Tears streamed from Senna’s eyes, but a thrill shot through her at seeing her lover doubled over, gasping and whining and begging for her. She obliged, fighting harder against her gag reflex, practically choking herself on him. Rex’s fingers tightened in her hair, but he didn’t hold her down or press her further. His control only made her want more. Senna pushed her face against Rex hard enough to pin him against the wall, and she drove his cock so far into her throat that she knew she’d be hoarse in the morning, but it was worth hearing Rex whimper and feel his control finally start to slip. 

“Sen, I don’t want-”

Senna released him with a gasp, panting as she pumped him quickly. Strings of saliva connected her lips to him still. 

“Rex, I want to taste it,” she rasped. “Please let me taste you. Give it to me.” 

He swore again as she took him to the back of her throat once more before she began to bob up and down, swallowing when she was able to. Her cunt was screaming for attention, and she slid a hand between her legs as her lips went numb around Rex’s length. She glanced up at him through watery eyes and almost came from the sight of him alone.

The captain was wrecked. Sweat slicked his skin as he did his best to focus on her through hooded lids. Broken curses and stuttered praises poured from between his lips as he watched her, and she relished in every second of it. His abdomen flexed in front of her eyes, and she felt his cock twitch against her tongue. She knew she was close to claiming her prize. 

“S-Sen, I-I…”

She wrapped her hand around him, twisting firmly as her knuckles followed her lips, her fingers growing slick with her own saliva. 

“Oh, f-fuck, Senna.”

Rex came hard, coating Senna’s tongue in warm stickiness. She swallowed everything he gave her, flicking her tongue over the tip of him to clean him off until he shuddered.

“S’too much,” he mumbled. “T-too much.” 

Rex leaned down and kissed her, sinking to the floor along with her, but never releasing his hold on her face as he practically pulled her into his lap, panting against her lips. She kissed him back fervently, grinding her soaked cunt against his thigh again, desperate for any friction. 

“That was… so fucking good,” Rex gasped. He pulled her against him, resting his forehead against hers as he fought to regain his breath. His fingers stroked her bare spine. “Was it ok?”

She giggled against his mouth. “It was perfect. I told you I wanted to taste you like that. From the source.” 

Rex’s eyes had darkened again. 

“Well, it’s only fair that I return the favor then.” 

With a strength and swiftness that drew a surprised whoop from Senna, Rex scooped her into his arms, nearly tackling her backwards onto the bed in three strides. His hand cradled her head as she fell against the mattress, panting as his mouth worked down her body, anticipation sending shivers down her spine. His fingers hooked into her trousers pulling them and her undergarments off in one swift tug. He kicked the rest of the way out of his pants, kneeling at the edge of the bed as his lips reached the inside of her thigh. In between panting breaths, he scooped under Senna’s ass, hauling her to the edge of the bed and pulling one leg over his shoulder. Senna shuddered as his breath hit her warm, wet cunt in a huff that almost felt like a sigh. 

“Beautiful,” he breathed. 

Senna’s skin broke out in goosebumps as he nuzzled the inside of her thigh, biting softly against the tender flesh until she whined. 

“Don’t tease,” she gasped. 

There wasn’t a single glimmer of mercy in Rex’s gaze as he looked up at Senna from between her spread legs. “I thought you said we had all night, love.” 

Senna couldn’t tear her eyes away from Rex as he stuck two fingers into his mouth, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he gently withdrew them, running them along the soaked lips of her cunt. She whimpered again, her fingers gripping the duvet hard enough to drain the blood from them. Rex smirked. 

“I’ve looked forward to this.” 

“Well I wouldn’t want you to deprive yourself any longer,” Senna gritted out, her brow furrowing as she tried to bite back another whimper. 

Rex grinned triumphantly before leaning down and licking into her. Senna’s back arched off the bed as his fingers slid into her, immediately finding the spongy place inside her and pressing against it. Rex’s other hand gripped her thigh, holding her firmly in place as his mouth explored her. Sometimes he removed his fingers, using them to instead apply pressure to her clit as his tongue prodded into her. Then, as her orgasm built, he’d swap back, leaving her huffing in frustration until he plunged his fingers back inside of her, sucking at her sensitive bundle of nerves. 

His mouth was heaven, and before long, Senna found herself grinding back up to meet his tongue. Rex relaxed his grip on her hip, groaning into her as she clenched around him. 

“You going to cum for me, pretty girl?” he mumbled into her folds. 

“P-please. Please let me, Rex.”

“I want to taste it.” 

He redoubled his effort until it felt like every nerve ending in Senna’s body was stretched taut, ready to snap. When she glanced down between her knees, electricity licked up her spine. Rex was stroking himself as he devoured her, his cock hardening again in his hand as he worshiped her on his knees. 

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” she begged. “Don’t stop. Right there.”

The wet smacking sound of Rex devouring her echoed between her pants and moans, and finally, Rex gave her what she wanted, snapping the tension as Senna came with a scream that poured out between her clenched teeth. She rode out the aftershocks, drifting through her haze until Rex’s damp lips pressed against hers once more. 

His knees were pressing hers further apart, and she wrapped her legs around him. 

“Tell me what you want, Senna,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “I’ll give you anything.” 

This time, Senna had a response. “I want it all, Rex. Everything. I want you. I need you inside me.” She kissed him back, tasting her own release on his tongue. “I love you. Fuck I love you.” 

He rested his forehead against hers as his cock caught at her entrance. Calloused hands cradled her face as he pushed into her, slowly stretching her to accommodate him. 

“I love you, Senna. F-fuck. You feel so good. So good for me.”

Senna’s fingers wrapped around the back of Rex’s neck as she buried her face in his shoulder, sighing into his skin as he bottomed out inside of her. 

“All for you, Rex. All yours.” 

“And I’m yours.” 

Rex pulled her apart slowly, adjusting his hips and noting how Senna whined and writhed beneath him. She should have guessed he’d be meticulous, but his patience drove her wild. Desperation clouded her senses, and she couldn’t understand how he fucked her so methodically, so patiently, carefully crafting her orgasm while she clawed at his back. She came again, trying to muffle her screams in his shoulder, but Rex was having none of it. 

“I want to hear it all, Senna.” 

“B-but what about the others?”

“Door’s got a soundproof setting when locked,” he rasped. “I’m selfish. I want all of your sounds just for me.” 

That was all the encouragement Senna needed as Rex put his hands behind her knees, folding her in half and driving his cock back into her, bringing her another orgasm in a matter of minutes. She had no doubt he meant to make good on his promise as he moved her again, molding her malleable body to his liking. All of the possibilities that had overwhelmed her had also apparently been bouncing around in Rex’s mind, and he seemed intent on checking every box in one evening. He took her on her side with one leg hooked over his hip, he lifted her into his lap as though she weighed nothing, spearing her on his cock, and when she felt as though she couldn’t possibly orgasm again in this lifetime without spontaneously combusting, he rolled her onto her hands and knees, taking her from behind. 

Her cunt was swollen and she knew she’d feel sore in the morning, and her throat felt raw from crying out Rex’s name. Sweat slicked both of their skin, and the sheets stuck to them, damp from their bodies. Even still, she couldn’t get enough of him, and she wasn’t about to tell him to stop. 

“One more for me, Sen. I know you’ve got one more in you,” Rex grunted from behind her. 

“Rex… I…” Senna wasn’t even sure what plane of existence she lived on at this point, floating between bliss and some other world where ‘pleasure’ was an inadequate word to describe anything she felt. And yet, somehow, she felt the coil tightening in her gut again as Rex’s fingers dug into her hips, pulling her back into him. She felt her ass rippling with every thrust, a wet slapping sound coming from between her legs as Rex fucked her.

“You can,” he growled. “Touch yourself for me, pretty girl. You’ll give me one more.” 

Senna slowly adjusted, her body feeling gelatinous, but somehow she managed to prop herself up on one elbow, her fingers finding their way to her swollen clit, rubbing with a practiced pressure that immediately pushed her towards the edge. Her forehead stuck to the sheets, and suddenly, she felt Rex brush the hair off of her shoulder before his fingers gripped her, pulling her up against his chest with one of his arms draped across her collar bone, holding her up. 

“Look at how gorgeous you are,” he whispered into her ear, and Senna’s eyes fell on the mirror in one corner of the room. 

Her hair hung in loose waves, sticking to her sweaty body and Rex’s chest. One hand gently cradled her throat while the other tightly gripped her hip, guiding her along his length. Her breasts bounced with every snap of Rex’s hips, and she could see his cock disappearing inside of her with every thrust, his balls swinging forward to slap against her clit. But the thing that set her entire body ablaze was the way Rex was watching her in the mirror, his dark eyes focused on her face and expressions. He looked hungry, enamored, in charge and at her mercy all at the same time, as if he was taking everything he wanted but would submit at her word. 

His hand slipped from her hip, finding her clit and pressing with just the perfect amount of pressure, as if he’d been touching her like this all of his life. 

“Cum for me, Senna.” 

She nearly passed out, screaming as she soaked the sheets beneath them with her release. Rex’s arms held her up as the room around them disappeared around them in a haze, and she sagged against him, wrung out and undone in every way. 

“I’ve got you,” Rex gasped in her ear as he held her close. Gently, he lowered her down onto the pillows, leaning over her and brushing away the hair that was stuck to her face. Sweat trickled from his brow, but his expression was softer, more tender as he stared down at her. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

“No,” she replied. Rex’s brow furrowed with concern. 

Senna planted her palms against his chest, pushing him onto his back and clambering on top of him clumsily. 

“Your turn,” she gasped, pushing her hair back out of her face. 

Rex rested his hands on her thighs, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles. “Sen, you don’t have-”

“Shhh,” she insisted. “I want to.” She felt his cock twitch against her ass with interest. 

“Are you sure you’ve got the stamina for it?” he asked teasingly. 

She glared at him before angling her hips and sheathing him inside of her in one smooth motion, sitting up on his hips and grinding down until she felt him bottom out inside of her. Rex groaned, his grip on her tightening, and Senna huffed with victory. 

“Pretty sure,” she laughed, rocking her hips against Rex and enjoying the way his chest heaved beneath her fingertips. 

She teased him for a while, allowing herself to catch her breath as she slowly raised herself, letting the cool night air hit Rex’s slick cock before dropping herself back down to meet his hips, relishing in his grunts and groans of pleasure. Finally, when her head was a little clearer, she picked up the pace, bracing her hands against his shoulders as she rode him, finding pleasure when the head of his cock brushed the place inside her that had her seeing stars. 

“Senna.”

She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes, but snapped them back open to look down at Rex. His lips were parted slightly as he reached for her, cradling her face and running his thumb along her lower lip. She kissed it. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he whispered, resting his other hand on her hip to slow her. Senna took her cue from him, whining when he began to meet her slow grinding with his hips. 

“C’mere.” He pulled her down so that their foreheads rested against one another. Senna braced herself on either side of his head, dropping to her elbows so that she could graze her nose against his. Her hair hung down, curtaining the two of them in together so that all she seemed able to focus on was his eyes, locked on hers. He groaned quietly into her mouth as he met her hips again. 

“Just like this,” he rasped. “I want to finish just like this. Looking at you like this.” 

“Ok,” was the only response she could muster. Her body felt heated again, burning under his touch but needing more of it. Her breasts rested against his chest as she pressed her lips against his, whimpering into his mouth. 

The room was quiet except for their soft gasps and whines and the rustling of the sheets, and something about the quiet intimacy of it all almost made Senna cry. 

“I love you,” Rex whispered, his voice slightly more strained. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, Rex.”

“I-I never… fuck… I never thought I-I’d feel like this… with anyone. B-but here you are. I never stood a chance.” 

She laughed quietly before he punctured it with another gasp when he began guiding her hips to grind himself deeper into her. It felt as though his cock was reaching something so deep inside of her, somewhere no one had ever touched, and Senna cried out.

“I want it all with you, Senna,” Rex continued. She’d never heard him talk like this, but fuck if it wasn’t unravelling everything in her. “I d-don’t ever want to be without you again. I wanted this for so long. So long. And I don’t think I can lose you. Ever.”

“Rex.” 

“Senna.” 

“Rex, I-I… I’m gonna-”

“I know. I know. Me too.” 

“Don’t stop.” 

“I won’t. I won’t ever stop.” 

Rex gasped, swearing as he came, and his grip on the back of her neck tightened. The warmth between her legs drew a stuttering, breathy cry from Senna as her orgasm met his. The two of them rode out their highs, sighing and panting into each other’s mouths until Rex eased Senna down on the pillow next to him. Her leg remained draped over his hip as he kissed her tenderly, cradling her face. 

Finally, Rex relented, laying back on the pillows and pulling the covers over the two of them. They lay facing each other, the sweat still glistening on their foreheads as their panting finally calmed to a normal rate of breathing. Senna traced her fingers along Rex’s neck and collarbone as she looked into his eyes. 

“Well, that was a pleasant upgrade from a cave floor,” she grinned.

Rex let out a deep breathy laugh, letting his fingers intertwine with hers. “I couldn’t agree more. And this bed is better than the one at the inn.”

“Yeah.”

They lay in silence for several more moments as Rex traced patterns on the skin of her hip and she shivered under his touch. Pulling the sheet up to cover her abdomen and chest, she scooted closer to him, resting her forehead against his as his hand drifted across her waist and pressed into the small of her back, pulling her closer.

“Did you mean what you said?” she whispered after a few moments. “About never being without me again?” 

She was glad he didn’t answer instantly, that he took a moment to think about it before smiling at her, stroking her cheek. 

“Yes. I do mean that.” 

Senna hesitated for a moment. 

“How do you think our story ends?” 

It was a question that had been sitting in the back of her mind ever since she’d first considered the possibility of being with Rex. What would their future look like? How would it all end? With the two of them married? With children? It seemed like they should be on the same page in terms of the end goal, but if she was honest, she had no idea what she hoped for. 

Happiness, I suppose.

“How do you want it to end?” Rex asked, rubbing his thumb along her lower lip to deter the nervous chewing she’d started.

Senna sighed. “I don’t know. I want to be happy.”

“Are you happy?”

“Of course. But there are many ways to be happy with someone that you love.” 

Rex laughed softly, letting the thought hang between them for a few moments. “Would…would you want to get married?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Senna met his eyes, her azure irises boring into him. It was something she’d considered of course, but hearing Rex say the words out loud only solidified her desire for it in her mind. She wanted to be bound to Rex in any way she could. Of course, it would take time to be sure. She wasn’t that impulsive. 

In fact, marriage wasn’t something she’d really thought of as a possibility for herself, even after the war. It seemed silly to consider that path when she was so focused on survival and keeping herself hidden. But then Rex had come along, and something about him had always made her certain it was a thing he’d desire if he was with the right person. When she’d first met him, she’d just never thought that she would be that person for him. 

Senna leaned into his touch and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I would. If that’s something you’d want as well when the time comes.”

Rex smiled widely, seemingly giddy in a way that Senna had never seen. “That is very much something I’d want after this is over.” He hesitated, suddenly appearing a bit nervous. “Although…I’m sorry I have no surname to give you.”

Senna giggled. “What makes you think I’d take your name anyway?”

Rex huffed before throwing an arm around her and squeezing her playfully, digging his nose into the spot near her collarbone that he’d clearly noted was ticklish. Senna wriggled in his arms until he finally released her, bumping his nose against hers. 

“Good point, I suppose.” He let his thumb run over her cheekbone, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I…I’d have no issue taking yours. I kind of like the name ‘Aven’.”

Senna’s smile faltered slightly. “I don’t think I’d want to keep that name. I’m no longer that person anymore. In my mind, Senna Aven didn’t survive Order 66. I mean, I did, but-” 

“I understand,” Rex tried to reassure her. 

“It’s just…” The words escaped Senna, and that frustrated her. Her teeth dug into her lip once more, and again, he soothed her nerves again with his thumb, trying to keep her from bloodying her own lip with her nerves. 

“If you don’t stop doing that, I’m not going to have anything left to kiss.”

She smiled. “Sorry. It’s a habit when I’m thinking.”

“When are you not thinking?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, but couldn’t muster any argument. Instead, she let her hand drift to his hip as she met his eyes. 

“What if…what if we chose our own surname? Something that was meaningful to us and kind of symbolic of us starting over? A new beginning.”

Senna could see him thinking the suggestion over. 

“I chose my own name when I was a cadet,” he said slowly. “So in a sense, it’s a family tradition, I suppose. But this seems so much more important than picking ‘Rex’. It’s something I’d share with you.” He met her gaze. “The person I love.”

She watched him quietly as he thought for a few moments, and then his eyes widened slightly. Rex intertwined his fingers with hers as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. 

“There’s a word in Mando’a, atiniir. It means ‘to endure’ or ‘to tough it out.’ It’s a word I heard the trainers use when I was a cadet, and I think that kind of describes the both of us.”

Senna turned the word over on her tongue, considering it. 

Atiniir. 

Endurance was definitely a word that felt right for her and Rex. They’d endured the war, the aftermath, hell even each other before they’d fallen in love. After a few moments, she grinned at him. 

“We don’t have to decide now. It was just a thought,” Rex said, suddenly nervous. 

Senna smiled at him, and the worried pinch between his brows vanished. “Well, then I wouldn’t have to worry about changing my initials,” she joked. Leaning more into him, she captured his lips in a kiss, and he tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her to him. Parting her lips from his, she rested her forehead against his. 

“If we last long enough to get married, I’d be honored to share that name with you, Rex. I love it.”

Rex smiled, stroking her cheek as he held her close to him. 

“And I love you,” he murmured softly.

—

The following morning, Rex awoke to an empty bed, but this time, everything felt decidedly different from Lothal. Senna had gotten up an hour ago, trying to not wake him. He’d felt her watching him sleep for a few moments before she leaned down and kissed him, and after all of her effort to let him sleep, he figured it would only be rude to let her know he was awake. After the main door had hissed shut behind her, he’d managed to drop back off for a little while, dreaming of the night before, of her smile, her laugh, and the way she looked wrapped around him. But now, the dreams were no longer enough, and he was ready to track her back down and feel her in his arms for real. 

Rolling over and opening his eyes, he immediately noticed a metallic glint on the pillow next to him. Rex picked it up, turning it over in his hands and examining it. It was a piece of metallic tubing a few centimeters in length that had been bent at a right angle. It had a small nozzle on either end and in the middle of the bent line, two spacers seated along the tubing that spun as he turned the piece over in his hands. He could see that they’d fused together, which he assumed wasn’t good, but beyond that, he wasn’t sure what the hardware was for. 

What’s she playing at? he thought, his mouth curving into a grin despite his confusion. 

Rex dressed quickly with some clothes he found in the room’s wardrobe that seemed to be the right fit, slipping the piece of metal into his pocket before stepping out into the hallway. He stood still for a minute, straining his ears to catch any clue of where Senna might have gone. After a few moments, he was rewarded with the sound of quick footsteps and a familiar grunt from further down the hall, and he strode off towards the source of the noise.

After wandering through a few corridors, he came upon a wide open room with massive archways that opened to the outside. A cool morning breeze was blowing, whistling slightly through the archways and tugging at the corners of Rex’s shirt. The room appeared to be some sort of training center, with targets at one end of the room, weight training equipment at the other, and in the wide open space in the middle was Senna, her lightsaber humming as she parried an invisible opponent. The cerulean sleeveless tunic she wore rippled like water as she spun, and Rex could see the back of it was soaked with sweat. Her hair was tied back in a long braid that whipped back and forth as she turned on her heel and struck another blow at her imaginary assailant. She grunted and yelled as she attacked, and he realized that was the sound that he’d been hearing from down the hall as she moved through the same sequence again. Rex leaned against the edge of the archway, watching her until a quiet voice next to him made him jump.

“Seems like she’s getting her stuff back,” Echo whispered. “Or at least she’s certainly trying to.”

Rex glanced sideways. Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech stood behind Echo, Wrecker munching on some kind of bun he’d likely gotten from the kitchens. The clones were out of their armor and wearing lightweight clothing clearly meant for them to work out in.

“I think that encounter with the Inquisitor shook her up a bit. It’s been a while since she was challenged on that level, and trust me, she hates to lose,” Rex said under his breath.

“She didn’t lose though. She survived,” Echo replied.

Rex smirked. “She won’t see it that way.” He glanced back at Senna. “I’m not sure her using that lightsaber out in the open is a good idea though.”

“Organa’s aide assured us no one would come down to this part of the castle,” Hunter replied. “We were feeling antsy and were assured this would be a safe place to blow off some steam.” 

“Are you all going to stand there like mynocks on a power cable, or are you going to come over here and make yourselves useful?” Senna called from the middle of the room, her back to them.

Rex snorted and Echo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as they all stepped further into the room. Senna finally turned to face them, the tiny wisps of hair that had come loose from her braid sticking to her face and neck. She smiled at Rex, her eyes roving over him. He realized it was the most well-rested she’d looked in a long time despite the hours they’d spent wrapped around one another the night before. The sudden image of her on her knees in front of him invaded his mind, and his cock threatened to noticeably stiffen in his pants. He tried to subtly adjust himself, but Senna’s sharp blue eyes flicked down to where his hands were trying to hide an erection, and her lips curled into a mischievous grin. 

“Something on your mind, Captain?” she asked under her breath, bumping her shoulder against his.

“Oh, just the fact that you seem to be walking just fine,” he murmured into her ear. 

She winked at him. “I suppose I am, even if I am a bit sore. Voice is definitely hoarse if that’s any consolation.” 

He smirked at her. “Guess I’ve got more work to do.”

“If you’re up for it,” she teased. Turning to the rest of them, she raised an eyebrow. “Anyone wanna spar with me? I could use the practice instead of shadow boxing.”

“Only if you put the lightsaber away. Otherwise it won’t be much of a fair fight,” Hunter joked, walking over to grab two of the wooden staffs that were leaning against some of the weight equipment. Stepping forward, he tossed her one and she caught it above her head, giving it a few experimental spins to test its balance.

“Deal,” she said, a sly grin spreading across her face as she deactivated her blade, clipping her hilt to her belt. Rex and Echo took a seat against the nearest wall while Tech stood at the edge of the padded flooring and Wrecker sat on a weight bench. Senna squared her feet, taking a ready stance as Hunter let the staff dangle at his side, stalking around her confidently.

Rex leaned over to whisper to Echo. “Care to make this interesting?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’m betting he doesn’t land a hit on her.”

Echo shot him a skeptical look. “Not a one? I think that’s a little overconfident. It is Hunter, and you know how competitive he can get.”

Rex nodded. “Twenty credits?”

“You’re on.”

Just then, Hunter lunged at Senna. She easily sidestepped him, and his swing flew by her. The sergeant tried to redirect his momentum, swinging the staff backhanded towards his target, and again, Senna lightly stepped back and out of the way.

Rex raised an eyebrow at Echo. “Still feeling good about that bet?”

Echo grinned. “He’s got time. He’s testing the water still to see what she’ll do. I’ve got faith in him.”

Hunter was walking slowly around Senna again, and a smirk was tugging at her lips. She squared her feet once more as Hunter stalked behind her. Her eyes drifted over her shoulder, and she swung her hips to the left just as he stabbed at her midriff, releasing her staff with her right hand to wrap her fingers around his wrist and pull him towards her. Hunter stumbled, off balance as she spun him and stepped forward, knocking him on the floor. His weapon clattered away from him as Senna knelt on top of him, pressing her staff to his throat. 

“Got ya,” she teased, tongue poking between her teeth.

Hunter’s face was blank for a moment before the confident glint returned to his eyes. Shifting his weight, he bucked his hips upward, knocking Senna forward. She flipped over the top of him and onto her back as Hunter whirled away from her to grab his staff. Kicking herself back up into a crouched position, Senna brandished her weapon outwards. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” she mocked with a raised eyebrow.

“Not even close, sweetheart,” Hunter rumbled, and he charged forward. His footwork was no longer sloppy and he had adapted to her parries as he pressed her. She retreated backwards, blocking his blows as he continued his advance.

“See, now he’s got her figured out,” Echo whispered. “He’s matching her footwork and fighting style.”

“We’ll see,” Rex said.

They watched as Senna and Hunter sparred, dancing around one another and testing the other’s reactions. Echo was right; Hunter had adjusted, but Senna still had one or two tricks up her sleeves. She was more focused than Rex had ever seen her, more determined. 

“She knows this is just practice, right?” Echo asked after a few minutes. 

Rex glanced at him. “I told you she doesn’t like losing.”

“Is that all this is?” 

“What do you mean?”

Echo leaned closer, lowering his voice. “It seems like there’s something else here. Not just a friendly competition. I don’t know that Senna’s just fighting Hunter right now.” 

Rex sighed. “The Inquisitor caught her off guard.” His mind drifted back to how frustrated she’d been the night Fisk had tried to assault her, anger crackling in his chest despite the months that separated him from that moment. “And she doesn’t like it when… when someone gets the drop on her.” 

“Who else then?” Echo pressed, sensing Rex was holding something back. 

“An Imperial named Fisk. He was on Lothal. She underestimated what he was capable of. And she almost paid dearly for it.” 

He could tell Echo knew him well enough to pull the pieces together, and he saw a similar anger flare in the eyes they shared. His brother’s jaw clenched as he sat back, watching Senna with a very different expression. 

“I’m surprised you let him live.”

“Oh, if I had it my way, he’d be at the bottom of the darkest hole I could find,” Rex gritted out, his fist clenching reflexively. “But she insisted the mission came first.”

“Damn her sensibility,” Echo joked mirthlessly. 

“Yeah,” Rex agreed. “She’s very protective of me. Perhaps too much so. She was willing… to do far too much to keep me safe.” He picked at a cuticle on his index finger. “She almost wouldn’t be with me because she was afraid it would put me in danger.”

“Danger has a way of finding you, Rex,” Echo chuckled.

“That’s what I told her.” 

They fell silent for a few more moments, letting the clacking of Senna and Hunter’s staff echo around the room.  

“I’m glad she wasn’t harmed,” Echo said quietly. “And I’m also glad someone is looking out for you.” 

Before Rex could respond, a frustrated growl from Senna drew his attention back to the sparring session in front of him. Hunter was still pressing Senna towards the edge of the mat when she suddenly dropped to her knees, rotating back behind him. From her kneeling position, Senna went to hit Hunter in the back, but he leapt into the air in a backflip, striking at her as he passed overhead. She reached up and grappled his wrist again, shoving him back farther than he’d anticipated for his landing, forcing him to tuck and roll upon impact. Spinning on her knees to a standing position, Senna advanced. Hunter was still kneeling as she struck at him, the wood cracking together loudly in the quiet of the room. The sergeant was desperately trying to get back to his feet, but Senna’s relentless flurry of blows kept him off balance until finally, he stabbed at her out of desperation and she dodged it, bringing her arm down to lock his sword arm in place while she brought her staff to his throat again and pressed forward, trapping his kneeling leg underneath him. There was no escape this time, and Hunter grinned as he dropped his staff and raised his other hand in surrender. 

“You got me.”

Echo sighed as he fished around in one of his belt pouches before slipping the credits into Rex’s outstretched hand.

“I saw that,” Senna called over her shoulder as she helped Hunter up. “It wasn’t really a fair fight though. I’m going to bet that style of combat isn’t in the training manuals on Kamino.”

“You would be correct,” Tech said from where he’d been standing. “However, some of us did take it upon ourselves to learn the skill.” Setting his datapad on the ground near the wall, he walked over and picked up a staff, twirling it lightly with his wrist.

“You, Tech? Really?” Hunter asked.

“Yes. Why is that shocking?”

“I guess…you know what, nevermind. It’s not. Have at her.” He walked over to slump against the wall and slid down into a seated position next to Rex, wiping his face on the edge of his shirt. “She’s something else.”

Rex bit back a proud grin, some of the tension leaving him as he caught Senna’s eye. “Indeed, she is.”

Tech mirrored Senna with his stance, tucking one hand behind his back as he brandished the staff in front of him. The two slowly circled each other until Senna feinted left, testing Tech’s response. He seemed unphased as he sidestepped her, maintaining his balance and parrying her test strike. Stepping back, he resumed his defensive position, waiting for her next move. She imitated Hunter, stalking around him with her staff hanging at her hip. Tech maintained his defensive position, waiting for her attack. This time, Senna raced towards him, leaping into the air and swiping at Tech’s off shoulder as she flew over him. Tech dropped to his knees, rolling away from her slash and spinning to face her as she landed. Their battle went on for several minutes as they tested each other, Senna poking and prodding at Tech’s defenses and Tech managing to block every blow. Finally, Senna went for a feint and then charged Tech, swinging as he parried her attack. She continued to press forward until Tech suddenly dropped low, kicking her legs out from under her. Senna let out a surprised curse as Tech changed his momentum, stepping forward to grasp her sword arm as she toppled to the ground. He locked his staff with hers, twisting it so she was disarmed and the wooden rod flew across the mat. Holding her arm to his chest, he knelt on her ribs, panting. 

“I do believe I win,” he said evenly. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were glinting triumphantly behind his lenses.

Rex chuckled to himself. 

Oh, she’s going to hate that.

Sure enough, Senna’s hand that Tech had captured by the wrist twitched, and his goggles wiggled on his nose as she tugged at them with the Force. 

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, standing up and releasing her.

“Oh, come on, just a bit of fun,” she teased as he helped her up. To Rex’s surprise, she gave him a light, playful shove. “Well fought, Legs.”

Echo glanced at Rex. “Does she take instruction?”

“At your own risk,” Rex replied. 

“Yeah, well I want her to be prepared too. For Inquisitors or the next sleamo she encounters,” Echo muttered, pushing himself to his feet. “Would you like to know what you did wrong?” he called out.

Senna turned, cocking an eyebrow at him. He shrugged. “I am a strategist. It’s what I do.”

Her face split into a wide smile, and she bowed dramatically. “Enlighten me then, Corporal.”

Echo stepped out onto the mat, his spine straightening and his scomp arm drifting behind his back while he gesticulated with his biological limb. Rex had to fight back a laugh at how serious his little brother became.

If only Fives could see him now. He’d have teased him relentlessly.  

“You shifted your weight too early and got too close to him,” Echo told Senna, who to her credit, was listening attentively. “He’d clearly been waiting on you to do that the entire time, but you just hadn’t gotten overly eager until that last point. Also, you have a tell for when you’re going to step within proximity. It’s slight, but you shift your weight to push off your left foot more so than your right, and you lean your hip outwards.”

“Giving away all my secrets, Echo?” Tech joked dryly, wiping sweat from his brow on his sleeve. “He is correct though. That was exactly my strategy.”

Senna nodded. “Let’s go again then.”

Rex smiled to himself. 

Atta girl.

—

Senna and Tech went for another half an hour before she bested him, and in another hour, she was beating him consistently. At that point, the clones switched things up, having her fight Tech and Hunter at the same time, and when she won those battles, they had Wrecker start chucking small sandbags at her during combat to just add one more thing to dodge. Echo and Rex gave feedback from the sidelines, providing minor corrections to make her less of a predictable fighter, and Senna took each bit of feedback in stride.

I won’t get surprised again. And it’s been a long time since I felt this… right.

Her blood roared in her ears and her muscles burned, but she loved it. She hadn’t sparred, really sparred since her time at the temple. She’d kept herself locked away for so long, and there was clearly rust there, but her progress was evident. Now, when she reached out, she could feel everything around her without having to strain. She wasn’t completely attuned yet, but what had been a struggle a few weeks ago now felt natural again. 

With time. It’ll come back with time. Just gotta be patient.

By the time the sun was starting to sink lower in the sky, Senna felt her stomach rumble, and called a halt to the combat. They were all drenched in sweat, and she could feel blisters starting to form on the bottoms of her feet, but she felt satisfied. Tossing Hunter the staff she’d been working with to be replaced on its rack, she strode up to Rex, wiping her face on her shirt.

He beamed at her. “Well done.”

The compliment made her face feel warm, and she was glad she was already flushed so he couldn’t see its effect. “Thanks. Still not sure I’m where I need to be.”

“But you’re in a better place than you were this morning,” he insisted. 

“I suppose,” she conceded. 

Reaching into his pocket, Rex pulled out the trinket she’d left on his pillow. “By the way, what is this? I found it on your side of the bed this morning.”

It had been a silly, spur-of-of-the-moment idea, and now it felt even more childish with Rex’s confused expression. Senna ducked her head bashfully, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, last time I left while you were sleeping, I don’t think I uuuuh made my feelings very clear. I know it was silly, but I wanted to leave something so you’d know I was thinking of you. In case you got worried.” 

Rex chuckled. “I wasn’t worried. But what is it?” 

Senna took the metal from him, turning it over in her palm. “When I mess up something during a build or repair, sometimes I keep the scrap. Don’t know why, but I kind of like having the mementos. This was a piece of fluid line from the speeder bike on Lothal.” She poked at the ruined metal. “I accidentally fused the two spacers together and messed up the tubing bend a bit, so I just kept it. It was in my pocket the night we had to leave.”

Rex took it back from her, turning it over in his hands with a look of newfound appreciation. He met her eyes. “You’re a bit odd, you know that?”

Senna tipped her head back and laughed at that. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“I did,” he confirmed with a grin. 

Slipping her arm around Rex’s waist, Senna turned to recommend they all go get food, but before she could utter a word, Bail Organa walked briskly into the room with his head aide and two guardsmen. Senna stiffened at his appearance. The senator was nervous and winded, as if he’d half-run here. Rex noticed too. She felt his hand rest protectively on her shoulder. Organa glanced around, clearly glad they were all in one place before he spoke. 

“I’m afraid we have a problem.”