Home is the only place where he can stop being Commander Fox for a little while.

Thorn always notices immediately. "You look less homicidal." Fox just rolls his eyes and ignores him. "That's because you're going home tonight," Thorn continues with a grin. "Your reset button lives in that apartment."

 Fox tells him to get back to work. 

After a particularly difficult week, Fox becomes embarrassingly clingy without meaning to.

 He'll follow you from room to room under increasingly weak excuses.

 You're folding laundry? He leans against the doorway, watching.

 You're making caf? Suddenly he needs caf too.

You're watering plants? Apparently that's fascinating. 

 Eventually you catch him doing it.

 "Fox."

 "What?"

"You're following me."

 "No, I'm not."

 He absolutely is.

He loves physical affection far more than people would ever expect.

 Not in public and not around his men.

 But at home?

 He wants an arm around your waist while you're cooking. He wants your hand in his. He wants to rest his forehead against yours while you're both half asleep.

 Sometimes he doesn't even want conversation. Just contact.

Cuddling is his favorite thing in the entire galaxy.

 He would deny this under torture. But it's true.

 After long days, he'll practically melt into the mattress the moment you pull him into bed.

 One arm wrapped tightly around your waist,  face buried against your shoulder, breathing slowing almost immediately.

Fox secretly loves cooking with you.

 He's surprisingly good at it too.

 Reads recipes exactly, measures ingredients correctly.

 Meanwhile, you're tossing things into the pan based entirely on instinct.

 It horrifies him. "That isn't a measurement."

 "It is."

 "No, it isn't."

 "I've made this a hundred times."

 He still watches nervously until dinner is finished.

If you own a tooka, a dog, or any kind of pet, Fox pretends he isn't attached.

 He is. Completely.

 The pet adores him.

 Which annoys him because he has spent years cultivating a terrifying reputation. 

Nothing destroys that reputation faster than a small animal curling up in his lap.

Some mornings, he'll volunteer to walk your pet before you even wake up.

Mostly because it gives him a quiet hour where nobody is demanding reports, requesting authorization, or creating emergencies.

 Just him, the sunrise, and a very happy animal trotting beside him.

When he's particularly stressed, he'll sit beside you on the couch and simply lean against you. Just quietly seeking comfort.

 If you start playing with his hair or scratching lightly at the back of his neck, he's gone. Completely relaxed within minutes.

Thorn catches onto this, too.

 "You know, lots of people meditate to relax."

 Fox doesn't look up from his datapad.

 "I might."

 "No. You just go home and get cuddled.

 "Thorn."

 "That's your meditation."

The Coruscant Guard is used to seeing their commander tired. They're used to seeing him stressed. They're used to seeing him grumpy.

The rare occasions they see him after he's had a weekend with you are genuinely alarming.

 He's calmer, more patient.  Less likely to threaten paperwork-related violence.

 One trooper once remarked that you should receive an official Guard commendation for maintaining operational readiness.

More than anything, Fox loves the normal moments.

 Cooking dinner together, walking through Coruscant markets, falling asleep on the couch halfway through a holo, listening to you talk about your day while he quietly unwinds.

 His entire life is built around responsibility, pressure, and impossible expectations.

So the thing he treasures most isn't grand gestures.

It's coming home, seeing you there, and knowing for a few precious hours he doesn't have to carry the weight of the galaxy alone.

The house wasn't finished yet. There were still crates stacked against walls, tools sitting where they had been abandoned the previous evening, and enough decorating left to keep them busy for weeks.

Behind her, strong arms wrapped around her waist. Ella smiled automatically as Wolffe rested his chin against the top of her head.

"Good morning to you, too."

"Hm."

She rolled her eyes affectionately. For someone who could command entire battalions, Wolffe remained remarkably committed to communicating in grunts whenever possible. Ella leaned back against him, enjoying the simple warmth of being held. No loud alarms, no more missions, no war. Just sunlight, quiet, and the man she loved.

Wolffe pressed a brief kiss against her temple before releasing her. "Come on."

"Where are we starting today, Commander?"

"The garden."

That immediately brightened her expression. The garden had become her latest obsession. The property already possessed beautiful landscaping, but Ella wanted to make it her own. Or rather, theirs.

Several boxes of flower seedlings sat waiting outside. Her mother had helped her choose them. Catalina had chosen several more despite having absolutely no gardening experience.

The morning passed pleasantly. Naboo's weather was warm without being oppressive, sunlight filtering through trees surrounding the property. Ella knelt in the soft soil near the front walkway, carefully planting flowers while Wolffe worked nearby assembling wooden planter boxes.

Every so often, she glanced over at him. His sleeves were rolled up, Tools rested beside him, and concentration furrowed his brow as he worked. She found herself smiling.

A little while later, Wolffe finished assembling the planter and carried it across the yard, as if it weighed absolutely nothing. Ella watched him. "Show off."

"Its not even heavy."

"If you say so."

"It isn't heavy."

She laughed. For him, perhaps.

Once the planter was positioned, he crouched beside her. His gaze drifted over the freshly planted flowers. "You happy?"

The question sounded simple, but she knew what he really meant. Are you happy here? With this life? With me?

Ella reached over and squeezed his hand. "Very."

Something softened in his expression. The answer clearly mattered more than he would ever admit aloud.

Together they spent hours working outdoors. By midday, flower beds lined the pathways leading toward the house. Colourful blooms framed the porch and edged the garden fence. The entire house felt warmer already. More lived in, more loved.

Ella stood back to admire their progress, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze. "I think it looks beautiful."

"It does."

She glanced sideways. "You hate gardening."

"I don't hate gardening."

"You do."

"I hate digging."

"Which is gardening."

"It's digging."

Ella laughed. Wolffe's mouth twitched upward slightly. That tiny, almost-smile still had the ability to make her heart skip.

Inside, decorating proved equally productive. At least initially. Pictures found homes on walls, books filled shelves, and blank spaces slowly transformed into familiar rooms.

The living room became especially cozy. A large couch sat near the windows overlooking the lake. Soft blankets occupied every available surface thanks to Ella's influence. Family photographs already decorated nearby shelves.

Their lives were beginning to leave fingerprints everywhere. Evidence that this house belonged to people.

At one point, they wandered upstairs carrying decorations for the spare bedrooms. The rooms remained mostly empty, with freshly painted walls and plenty of space, full of potential.

Ella stood in one doorway, thoughtfully examining the sunlight streaming through one of the spare rooms. "It's such a nice space."

"Hm."

She turned. "You know, this could be a guest room."

"It could."

"Or an office."

"It could."

"Or-" Before she could finish, she was cut off by Wolffe’s voice.

"A nursery."

Ella immediately looked at him. Wolffe remained entirely calm. The man knew exactly what he was doing.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're annoying."

"I'm practical."

"You're teasing me."

"I'm planning ahead."

She folded her arms, a curious eyebrow raised at him. "Planning ahead."

"House has four bedrooms."

"It does."

"Waste not."

Wolffe stepped into the room, glancing around thoughtfully. The sight should not have affected her as much as it did. A former clone commander standing in an empty bedroom, quietly imagining a future family. There was something unexpectedly emotional about it.

The war had taken so much from so many people, dreams included, and yet here he was, allowing himself to imagine one. His gaze drifted toward her. "What?"

"Nothing."

Her smile softened. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

"So you've said."

Wolffe crossed the room until he stood directly in front of her. His hands settled naturally at her waist. "You keep looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to cry."

"I'm not."

"Good."

His thumb brushed gently across her hip. "Because if you start crying, your father will blame me."

The afternoon melted gradually into evening. Decorating slowed, boxes slowly disappeared, rooms settled into place. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with both of them. A good exhaustion, though.

By sunset, the house looked transformed. The flowers outside glowed softly in golden evening light, and the lake reflected streaks of orange and pink. Inside, warm lamps illuminated comfortable rooms.

They ordered food rather than attempting to cook. Neither possessed enough energy for that. Instead, they ate dinner sitting cross-legged on the living room floor because they still hadn't decided where to place one of the chairs.

After dinner, they wandered through the house one last time before bed. Turning off lights, admiring completed work. And eventually, they ended up back outside.

The porch overlooked the lake, and stars shimmered overhead. A gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh flowers from the gardens Ella had planted that morning.

She leaned against the railing. "This still doesn't feel real."

Wolffe stood beside her. "It'll feel real."

"When?"

He considered. "Probably when your family stops showing up every day."

Ella laughed. "Fair point."

When they eventually sauntered back into their home, they immediately headed for their bedroom, the busy day finally catching up to them. Even the house seemed quieter now. Almost sleepy.

Their bedroom occupied the rear corner of the upper floor. Large windows overlooked the water, with moonlight spilling softly across the room.

Ella changed into comfortable clothes and climbed beneath the blankets. Wolffe joined her a few minutes later. The mattress dipped beneath his weight.

Warmth surrounded her immediately, and she curled naturally against his side, his arm wrapping around her without thought.

Neither of them had ever been particularly clingy people. Yet after years spent apart during deployments and campaigns, simple closeness had become precious.

Ella rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. And for a while neither spoke. The room felt so peaceful and safe.

Eventually, Ella felt Wolffe shift slightly. At first, she assumed he was getting comfortable. Then she noticed something strange. Tension, though not anxiety exactly. But something close.

She lifted her head. "Wolffe?"

"Hm."

"You okay, baby?"

He sighed quietly. Not out of frustration, more like someone gathering courage. That immediately got her attention because Commander Wolffe did not get nervous. At least not often.

Ella pushed herself up slightly on one elbow. "What is it?"

For a moment, he simply looked at her. Moonlight caught the silver threading through his hair. The scar across his face, the cybernetic eye, all the years he'd lived, all the things they'd survived together.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady. "Never thought I'd have this."

Ella frowned slightly. "What?"

"This."

His gaze drifted around the room, the house, the life beyond it.

Then back to her. "A home."

Something tightened unexpectedly in her chest.

"Wolffe—"

"I spent my whole life expecting a battlefield at the end."

The honesty in his voice hit hard because it was true. Clone troopers had been created for war, raised for it, conditioned for it.

Most had never been given the luxury of imagining old age, marriage, children, or peace. Yet somehow he was here, lying beside his dream girl in a quiet home on Naboo.

His hand slipped beneath the pillow. For a second, she thought nothing of it. Then he pulled something small from his pocket.

Ella froze.

Wolffe looked almost annoyed with himself, as though he disliked being the center of an emotional moment. Which honestly felt very on brand.

A small ring caught the moonlight. Ella stared and then quickly looked back at him. For once in his life, Commander Wolffe appeared genuinely uncertain. And somehow that meant more than any grand gesture ever could.

His thumb rubbed slowly against the ring. "I had a speech."

Ella's heart nearly burst. "A speech?"

"Hm."

"What happened to it?"

"Forgot half of it."

That actually made her laugh through the tears already gathering in her eyes.

Wolffe exhaled quietly before deciding to speak from the heart instead. "I love you."

The words settled softly between them. No dramatic theatrics, just pure truth.

"You make everything better."

Ella felt tears slipping free now.

Wolffe continued. "I don't really know how to do any of this," a faint gesture toward the house.

"But I know I want it with you."

Her chest hurt. The good kind of hurt.

His gaze never left hers. "We survived a war together."

His voice lowered. "We built a life together."

"And if you'll do me the honour…,"

He held out the ring. "Marry me."

Ella laughed through her tears, A small, watery sound, but then immediately nodded. "Yes."

The answer came without hesitation, without any doubt.

"Yes."

Relief flashed across Wolffe's face so quickly she almost missed it. Then quickly followed by something warmer, something brighter.

Real happiness. He slipped the ring onto her finger carefully, like it was precious, like she was.

The fit was perfect. Ella stared at it briefly before looking back at him. "You're stuck with me now."

"Good."

She launched herself forward before he could say anything else. Wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly.

Wolffe caught her effortlessly, one hand settling against her back. When they finally pulled apart, neither could stop smiling.

Outside, Naboo remained peaceful beneath the stars, but inside their home felt warmer than ever. Ella settled back against his chest eventually, admiring the ring whenever moonlight caught it.

Fiancé. The word felt wonderfully unreal.

Wolffe rested his chin lightly against her hair and for a long time neither spoke. They didn't need to. Everything important had already been said. The future stretched ahead of them now, a house filled with possibility, spare bedrooms waiting for someday.

And a lifetime together still waiting to be lived. For two people who had once expected nothing beyond the next battle, it felt like the greatest gift imaginable.

And as sleep finally began to claim them, safe beneath blankets in the first home that truly belonged to them, neither could imagine being anywhere else.

Wolffe never thought babies were his thing. Too loud, too fragile, too unpredictable. He’d spent most of his life around soldiers and warzones, not soft blankets and tiny socks. But then he sees you sitting in the corner of the barracks lounge with someone’s infant tucked against your chest, his entire brain short-circuits.

Wolffe’s gone after that.

Because now he’s imagining what your child would look like. If they’d have your smile. If they’d curl tiny fingers around his scarred hands without fear.

It unsettles him how badly he wants it.

Later that night, he corners you in the corridor, arms crossed, trying to act normal while absolutely failing.

“You’re good with kids,” he mutters.

You grin. “That surprise you?”

“A little.”

His eye lingers on your mouth before dropping lower. “Made me think.”

“Oh?” you tease.

Wolffe steps closer, voice rough. “Thought about you carrying one around that looked like us.”

The silence after that is dangerous. You blink at him, cheeks warming, and he notices immediately. His smirk is slow and wolfish.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That got your attention.”

When you shove at his chest, embarrassed, he catches your wrist easily and pulls you closer.

“Don’t start blushing now, cyare. You were the one making domestic life look tempting.”

Then, “Besides, I think youd look good carrying my kid.”

And the bastard sounds entirely too pleased with himself when your knees nearly give out.

Cody

Cody has always been good at adapting. New battle plans, impossible odds, sudden chaos, he handles it all with a calm smile. But nothing prepares him for seeing you with a baby asleep against your shoulder during a base gathering.

You’re swaying gently to keep the little one asleep, absentmindedly rubbing tiny circles over their back while talking to someone nearby. The baby’s fist is curled in your shirt, completely content.

Cody feels something in his chest go painfully soft. He’s done for.

He leans against the doorway watching you for way too long, helmet tucked under his arm while his mind wanders somewhere dangerous. Somewhere warm, somewhere domestic.

You catch him staring eventually and raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says too quickly.

You narrow your eyes. “You’ve had that look on your face for five straight minutes.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re pretending not to think very loudly.”

That gets a laugh out of him. But he walks closer anyway, gaze drifting back to the baby.

“He trusts you,” he says quietly.

“Well, babies can tell who’s safe.”

The words hit him harder than they should. Because Cody suddenly imagines coming back from deployment and finding you in shared quarters with a sleepy infant curled against your chest. Imagines hearing tiny footsteps running toward him. Imagines home.

He’s absolutely cooked.

The baby wakes and starts fussing. Before you can soothe them, Cody crouches beside you and offers his finger. Tiny hands grab him instantly.

Your expression melts. And stars, that look from you almost kills him.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“You’d make a really good dad.”

Cody freezes for half a second.Then his eyes darken just slightly as he looks between you and the baby. “That so?”

“Mhm.”

He stands slowly, close enough now that your breath catches. “Careful saying things like that to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I already spend enough time thinking about you.”

Your face warms instantly.

Cody grins, completely unrepentant. “Now I’m imagining you pregnant and looking at me like that too.”

You choke on air while he laughs softly, leaning down to murmur, “And honestly? That mental image is becoming a problem.”

Rex

Rex doesn’t notice it happening at first.

One second he’s walking into the medbay looking for Kix, and the next he’s stopped dead in the doorway because there you are with a baby balanced on your hip like you were born for it.

The little girl is babbling at you while clutching your name tag, and you’re answering her with complete seriousness.

“Oh really? That’s fascinating. Tell me more.”

The baby squeals happily and Rex feels his heart fold in on itself. You look so natural like this.

And suddenly he’s wondering what it would feel like to have a life outside the war. A tiny apartment somewhere quiet. You laughing in a kitchen while a child toddles after him calling him dad.

It hits him hard enough to steal the breath from his lungs.

The baby grabs your cheeks with both hands, making you laugh louder, and Rex is completely helpless after that.

“You break easy around kids, Captain?” you tease when you notice him staring.

“Only this one,” he says automatically.

Your eyebrows lift. You start laughing and he groans because now he’s embarrassed and you look adorable laughing at him.

But then the baby reaches toward him.

Rex hesitates before taking her carefully, surprisingly gentle for someone built for war. The baby immediately grabs his blond hair and giggles.

Your expression softens instantly.

And maker, that look from you nearly ruins him.

“You’re good at that,” you murmur.

Rex glances up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Something shifts in his face then. Something quieter. More vulnerable.

“I think…” He pauses. “I think I’d want one someday.”

Your breath catches slightly and Rex notices. His gaze drops to your lips before meeting your eyes again, warm and steady. “With the right person,” he adds softly.

The silence between you suddenly feels charged.

Then he smiles, slow and devastating.

“And if you keep looking at me while holding babies, you’re not making it easy to stay responsible about that.”

Fives

Fives notices things other people don’t. Tiny details, expressions, habits.

So the second he sees a baby crawl straight past three shinies and make a beeline for you, he’s paying attention.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hangar, laughing softly while the little boy climbs into your lap like he belongs there. The kid immediately grabs your face with sticky hands, and instead of recoiling, you kiss his palm dramatically.

“Well, hello to you too, tiny menace.”

The baby shrieks with delighted laughter.

Fives feels something dangerous spark low in his chest. Because you don’t even realize what you look like right now, smiling all soft and sleepy, holding that kid like it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. Like you were made for it.

And suddenly his brain betrays him completely. He imagines a baby with your eyes and his curls. Imagines hearing you laugh like that in the middle of the night while holding his kid. Imagines waking up beside you with tiny feet kicking between you both.

He’s staring so hard Echo has to elbow him. “You look insane right now.”

“Shut up.”

You glance over at the sound of their bickering and grin. “You wanna hold him?”

Fives tries to play it cool. “Depends. Is he gonna throw up on me?”

“Probably.”

“Alright, hand him over.”

The second the baby settles against his chest, tiny fingers gripping his blacks, Fives is absolutely finished. Completely gone.

And then he looks up and catches the expression on your face. “You’re good at this,” you say quietly.

Fives smirks automatically. “Good with my hands, mesh’la.”

You snort. “That line work on everyone?”

“No.” His eyes flick down your body slowly. “Just the people I think about having a future with.”

The teasing leaves his voice at the end, replaced with something warmer, realer.

Your breath catches. Fives notices immediately, grin turning wicked. “Kriff,” he murmurs. “You really liked that one.”

Then he bounces the baby lightly and adds, “Careful or I’m gonna start thinking about putting one in your arms for real.”

Fox

Fox is exhausted almost constantly.

Coruscant never sleeps, which means neither does he. His life is paperwork, politics, and trying to stop the galaxy from collapsing every five minutes.

Domestic thoughts don’t happen for him anymore.

Until you. Until he walks into the Senate daycare during a security sweep and finds you sitting in the middle of a pile of toddlers like some kind of battlefield medic for tiny disasters.

One kid is asleep against your side. Another is braiding your sleeve strings together. A third is demanding you read the same holobook for the fifth time.

And you’re handling all of it with this calm, patient smile that hits Fox directly in the chest.

He leans in the doorway longer than he should.

Then one of the toddlers waddles over and wraps themselves around your leg while whining sleepily, and you scoop them up without hesitation, kissing their forehead automatically.

Fox is done for.

Because now he’s imagining coming home to this.

To you waiting up late with a baby half-asleep on your shoulder. To tiny socks left around quarters. To hearing laughter instead of blaster fire ringing in his ears.

It’s terrifying how much he wants it.

“You look scary when you stare,” you tell him eventually.

Fox crosses his arms. “Occupational hazard.”

“Mhm.” You smile knowingly. “Or you just like watching me babysit.”

His silence gives him away instantly. Your eyebrows rise. “Oh my gods,” you laugh softly. “Fox.”

He exhales through his nose, already doomed. “You’re good with them.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m thinking things I shouldn’t.”

Your smile turns dangerous. “Such as?”

Fox steps closer slowly until he’s standing right in front of you, gaze dropping briefly to the baby in your arms.

Then back to you. “Such as how good you’d look holding mine.”

The words come out low and rough and your face heats immediately. Fox notices, eyes darkening just slightly before he leans down near your ear. “And now I can’t stop imagining it.”

Bacara

Bacara is not soft. At least, that’s what everyone assumes.

The commander of the Galactic Marines is cold efficiency wrapped in armour and discipline. People straighten when he enters rooms. Troopers go silent.

Then he sees you holding a baby and suddenly the terrifying commander looks like he’s forgotten how to function.

It happens on leave. Some little girl from the settlement toddles toward you with grabby hands, and you crouch instantly to pick her up.

The child presses her face into your neck like she trusts you completely.

Bacara feels something sharp crack open in his chest, because you look beautiful.

You sway gently while talking to the girl, smiling every time she babbles nonsense at you. The kid eventually falls asleep against your shoulder, tiny fist curled into your shirt.

And Bacara cannot stop staring.

He starts thinking things he’s never let himself think before. About family. About seeing you heavy with his child and knowing, for once in his life, that something good belonged to him.

It scares him with the intensity of it.

“You’ve been glaring at me for ten minutes,” you say eventually.

“I’m not glaring.”

“You absolutely are.”

Bacara walks over slowly, eyes fixed on the sleeping child in your arms. His expression softens almost imperceptibly.

“She likes you.”

“She likes everybody.”

“No,” he says quietly. “Not like this.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip.

You shift the baby slightly. “You ever think about kids?”

Bacara’s gaze drags up your body slowly before meeting your eyes again. “Never used to.”

Your breath catches. “And now?” you ask softly.

His voice drops lower. “Now I can’t stop picturing you full of mine.”

The honesty of it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

Bacara notices instantly, thumb brushing briefly against your wrist.

“You’d look good like that,” he murmurs. “Safe, happy. Full of my child.”

And somehow the bluntness makes it infinitely worse.

Hunter

Hunter hears the baby laughing before he sees you.

Bright, uncontrollable giggles echo through the Marauder, and he follows the sound automatically, only to stop dead in the doorway.

You’re lying on the floor with a baby balanced on your stomach while Omega sits nearby absolutely delighted by the whole thing.

The kid is cackling every time you make exaggerated shocked faces.

“No way,” you gasp dramatically. “You stole my nose? Give it back!”

The baby smacks your face happily. Hunter’s chest aches instantly. Because this, this easy warmth around you, fits too well.

He’s spent so long protecting people that sometimes he forgets there’s supposed to be more to life than survival. But watching you with that child makes something painfully domestic settle into his mind.

A home somewhere quiet. Hunter’s completely lost in the thought before you notice him.

“You just gonna stand there looking mysterious?” you tease.

Omega snickers. “He’s doing the staring thing again.”

Hunter sighs. “Traitor.”

You laugh, and the baby reaches for him immediately.

The second Hunter takes the child, tiny fingers latch onto his bandana and tug hard enough to make the kid squeal triumphantly.

Your smile softens.

And stars, that expression from you nearly drops him.

“You look natural,” you murmur.

Hunter glances up. “With kids?”

“Mhm.”

Something vulnerable flickers across his face then disappears beneath a crooked smile. “That dangerous for me?”

“Very.”

He steps closer, baby balanced carefully against his chest while his eyes stay locked on yours.

“You know,” he says quietly, “seeing you like this is giving me ideas.”

Your cheeks warm instantly. “Hunter—”

“I’m serious.” His grin turns softer. “Can’t stop wondering what our kid would look like.”

The air between you suddenly feels too warm.

“Think they’d have your smile or my attitude?”

Howzer

Howzer falls a little bit in love with you every day already.

Seeing you with a baby just seals his fate completely.

You’re visiting one of the families on Ryloth when their infant starts crying mid-conversation. Before the parents can apologize, you hold your arms out automatically.

“Can I?”

The mother hands the baby over gratefully. And somehow within seconds, the crying stops.

You bounce the little girl gently against your chest, murmuring nonsense in a soft voice while her tiny fingers curl around yours.

Howzer stares like a man witnessing a divine revelation. Because you look radiant. Warm sunlight catches your face while the baby blinks up at you sleepily, completely calm now. You kiss her forehead without thinking, and Howzer feels his entire heart cave in.

He’s gone. The dangerous part is how quickly his mind jumps ahead.

He imagines children with your laugh running through open market streets. Imagines you teasing him while a baby naps against his chest. Imagines slow mornings and peace and a future he never thought he’d get.

“You’re staring again,” you say with amusement.

“Can you blame me?”

You grin. “I’m holding a baby, not performing magic.”

Howzer smiles softly. “Feels pretty close.”

The baby yawns, nestling deeper into you, and he physically has to stop himself from saying something reckless immediately.

Unfortunately, he fails.

“You’d make an incredible mother.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Howzer notices and steps closer, voice gentler now. “I mean it.”

There’s something devastatingly sincere in the way he says it. No teasing, no deflection. Just completely honest.

Then his gaze drops briefly to the baby before returning to you, warmer now. More intimate.

“And selfishly?” he murmurs. “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’d look carrying my child.”

Your breath catches hard enough that he smiles instantly.

“Ah,” he says softly, delighted. “There you are.”

Then he brushes his fingers against yours where they rest against the baby’s back.

“Good. Means I’m not the only one thinking about it now.”

You leaned against the doorway with your daughter balanced on your hip, the early afternoon sun warm against your shoulders. The heat had settled comfortably over everything, the kind of summer day where the pool glittered blue and inviting in the backyard, and the air smelled like sunscreen and cut grass.

Your baby blinked sleepily beneath the little sunhat Wolffe insisted she wear whenever she was outside.

Then the brothers spotted her. The entirety of them went quiet. It was honestly a little terrifying. Four clone wars veterans staring with identical faces and varying levels of emotional devastation.

“Oh,” Rex said softly.

Fox folded his arms immediately, smug because he’d already met her. “Told you she was cute.”

“She’s tiny,” Bly breathed.

“That is generally how babies work,” Cody muttered, though his eyes never left her face.

Your daughter stared back at them with deep concentration, little eyebrows furrowing beneath the brim of her hat as if she was trying very hard to understand why her papa had somehow multiplied into four.

Behind you, Wolffe stepped outside carrying towels over one shoulder and immediately clocked the looks on his brothers’ faces.

The hard, intimidating commander lasted all of two seconds before he completely melted. “That’s right,” he said, voice rough with pride as he came to stand beside you. “This is my girl.”

“You say that like you made her yourself.”

“I helped.”

Fox barked a laugh, raising his eyebrows, “Barely.”

You laughed as Wolffe shot Fox a glare that had absolutely no heat behind it. Your daughter made a tiny noise and reached toward the movement, fingers flexing curiously in Wolffe’s direction. The second he took her from you, she relaxed completely against his chest.

And the others noticed immediately.

“Oh, that’s offensive,” Bly said.

“We all look the same,” Rex added.

“She knows,” Wolffe replied simply. The smugness in his voice was unbearable.

Cody stepped closer first, cautious in a way you’d never seen him on a battlefield. “Can I?”

Wolffe hesitated. You reached over and nudged his arm. “They’re not going to steal her.”

“She likes me best.”

Fox barked out a laugh. “You’ve become insufferable since becoming a father.”

Still grumbling under his breath, Wolffe carefully transferred her into Cody’s arms.

Your daughter blinked up at him, then at Rex, then at Bly, and lastly, at Fox. Her tiny face scrunched in visible confusion. Your daughter then continued staring up at Cody with intense suspicion until Rex leaned into her line of sight and gave her a small wave.

Her eyes widened. Another face that looked exactly like her dad's. You watched the exact moment her tiny brain decided this situation was unacceptable. Her mouth wobbled.

“Oh no,” Bly said immediately. “She’s gonna cry.”

Wolffe was already moving before the first sound even came out. The second she was back against his chest, she settled instantly, curling into him with a tiny sigh.

Bly looked delighted, letting out a sharp laugh. “She said that’s my dad, and the rest of you are fraudulent copies.”

Wolffe’s chest puffed up visibly. “Smart girl.”

“You are impossible,” Cody informed him, smiling when he reached over to gently squeeze the baby’s tiny hand.

The pool became chaotic almost immediately. Bly cannonballed in first despite your threats. Cody followed because apparently, maturity did not exist among clone commanders. Fox refused to get his hair wet for approximately thirty seconds before Rex dragged him in by the ankle.

And through all of it, Wolffe never once loosened his grip on your baby. You sat back on the lounger with a cold drink in hand, sunglasses slipping down your nose as you watched your husband carefully lower your daughter into the little baby float ring.

She stared at the water in absolute wonder, Tiny feet kicking experimentally. A splash hit Wolffe directly in the face. The commanders burst into laughter.

“She got you good,” Rex called.

Wolffe wiped water from his eye, looking deeply betrayed. “I protect and provide for you.”

The baby squealed happily and splashed him again. “Ungrateful,” he muttered, though he was smiling so softly it made your chest ache.

He kept one large hand wrapped securely around the float at all times, steering her carefully through the water while the others circled nearby. Every so often, one of them would drift closer to make faces at her. Bly quickly discovered that she loved it when he splashed lightly at the water near her. Rex got her laughing by pretending to dramatically lose fights against her tiny kicks. Even Fox softened enough to hold her little hands while she bounced in the ring. Cody remained the only one she watched suspiciously.

“I don’t understand,” he complained. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“She senses regulation,” Fox said.

“She’s four months old.”

“Exactly. Smart enough to dislike paperwork already.”

Wolffe looked over at you then, water slicked over his skin, baby balanced securely against his chest again after she’d gotten tired of floating. That look still hit you every time. Soft around the edges only for you, for her.

His brothers noticed too.

Rex smirked immediately. “Look at him.”

“What?” Wolffe asked.

“You’re doing the face.”

“What face?”

 “You look at them like you were personally blessed by the universe,” Bly spoke.

Wolffe shrugged once, entirely unapologetic. “I was.”

The teasing stopped for a second after that. Not because they didn’t have responses, but because they understood. You saw it in all of them sometimes. The quiet relief, the disbelief. The lingering gratitude of simply being here at all. Alive long enough to have days like this.

Sunshine, family, a baby laughing in the water, no war waiting tomorrow.

Your daughter squealed again as Wolffe lifted her carefully into the air before bringing her back down to kiss her chubby cheek.

The brothers collectively groaned. “Oh, he’s gone gone,” Fox muttered.

“He was gone the second she wrapped her hand around his finger in the medbay,” you replied.

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

Wolffe narrowed his eyes at you. “Traitor.”

You smiled lazily from the lounger. “You cried.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely cried,” Fox said instantly.

“I had dust in my eye.”

“In the birthing suite?”

“Dangerous place.”

Eventually, your daughter began fussing. Small at first. Tiny unhappy noises against Wolffe’s shoulder while he gently bounced her in the shallow end.

You recognized the signs immediately. “She’s hungry,” you called.

Wolffe frowned like this was personally offensive information. “Already? She just ate.”

“That’s how babies work.”

He looked down at her with visible conflict while she rooted sleepily against his chest.

“You know,” Fox said casually, “there is technically a solution if you’re committed enough.”

Wolffe looked horrified for half a second before realizing where this was going. “Shut up.”

“You’ve spent enough time staring at them,” Bly added helpfully, nodding toward your chest.

Wolffe rolled his eyes, “I hate all of you.”

Your daughter made another unhappy sound, and Wolffe immediately softened again, pressing a kiss to the top of her damp little head. “Alright, mesh’la,” he murmured. “Mama’s got you.”

Still, he was reluctant to hand her over. His arms lingered around her for an extra moment. Then another.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wolffe.”

“She likes cuddling.”

“She also likes eating.”

Wolffe huffed, “Fair.”

Fox made a dramatic show of checking the sky. “Historic moment. Wolffe loses an argument.”

“Record it for the archives,” Rex agreed.

You settled back onto the lounger with the baby tucked against you beneath a light blanket while the others dried off nearby. Conversation drifted easily around you. Stories from deployments, arguments over who had the best squads, Fox insisting he was still everyone’s favorite despite overwhelming evidence otherwise.

Your daughter quieted almost instantly while feeding, tiny fingers curled sleepily against your skin. And right beside you, Wolffe sat cross-legged on the lounger with one arm resting over your thigh, listening to the conversation while absentmindedly tracing patterns against your leg.

Every few minutes, his attention drifted back to the baby, like he physically couldn’t help checking she was okay.

Rex noticed first. “You know she’s not going anywhere, right?”

Wolffe didn’t even look embarrassed. “I know.”

Five seconds later, he checked again anyway.

Bly snorted. “You’re obsessed.”

“She’s my daughter.”

You smiled down at your daughter as she slowly drifted toward sleep, warm and milk-drunk against your chest, while the men around you bickered endlessly.

Peace looked good on all of them. Especially Wolffe.

He leaned over eventually, resting his chin briefly against your shoulder so he could look at the baby properly. “She’s getting bigger.”

“You say that every day.”

“Because she is.”

His voice had gone soft again. That dangerous kind of softness that always made your heart squeeze.

“She’s perfect,” he murmured.

You kissed his temple gently. “Yeah. She is.”

Later, after the baby had been put down to nap and everyone had migrated back toward the pool, you disappeared inside to change after being spit up on. But also partially because you knew exactly what would happen if you put on the red bikini hidden in the back drawer.

Wolffe’s favourite.

You stepped back outside, carrying sunscreen, and immediately caught him looking. 

His conversation with Rex died mid-sentence. Slowly, very slowly, his eyes dragged from your legs upward. Then lower again.

Fox noticed immediately. “Oh, he is struggling.”

Wolffe blinked once like he’d forgotten the others existed.

You bit back a smile as you settled onto the lounger again. “Something wrong, baby?”

His voice came out rougher than before. “No.”

“Interesting,” Rex said. “Because you looked like you stopped breathing for a second.”

“He did,” Bly agreed.

Wolffe shot them both a glare. Completely ineffective, considering he immediately looked back at you again.

The bikini top tied behind your neck, the red fabric warm from the sunlight against your skin. Small enough to be distracting. Especially with the faint marks he’d left against your neck and chest the night before still barely visible beneath the ties.

His eyes caught on them instantly. You watched the exact moment regret entered his soul at the realisation his brothers could probably see them too.

Fox groaned, his head in his hands. “Really, Wolffe?”

“Shut up. ” Wolffe replied, a faint colour of red spreading across his cheeks.

Bly grinned, “There's no need for that, brother. We all know she's yours.”

Wolffe’s jaw tightened. You hid your smile behind your drink.

Cody leaned back against the pool edge. “Now I understand why he stopped answering comms most nights.”

Wolffe pointed at him threateningly. “Don’t.”

“The mystery is solved,” Rex said solemnly. “He was busy.”

“Very busy,” Bly added.

Heat crawled up Wolffe’s neck while the others absolutely feasted on his suffering. You stretched out deliberately on the lounger just to make things worse. His eyes snapped right back to you.

“Oh, that’s pathetic,” Fox laughed.

Wolffe didn’t deny it, didn’t even try. Instead, he climbed out of the pool entirely and walked over until he was standing beside your chair, dripping water everywhere.

The shadow of him fell over you. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

You tilted your sunglasses down slightly. “Doing what?”

His gaze dipped again, slowly. “You know exactly what.”

“Commander,” you said innocently, “are you distracted?”

Behind him, the brothers started making dramatic gagging noises. Wolffe ignored them completely. One massive hand slid along your calf before settling behind your knee possessively. “You’re lucky they’re here.”

“Oh?” you asked softly.

“Very lucky.”

Fox made a loud retching sound from the pool. “Please stop flirting like newlyweds in front of us.”

“You could leave,” Wolffe suggested immediately.

“We just got here!”

Your daughter chose that exact moment to wake up in her shaded little bassinet nearby with a sleepy coo. Everything about Wolffe changed instantly. The tension disappeared from his shoulders, the heated look in his eyes softened immediately as he crouched beside her.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured.

The transition gave all of his brothers emotional whiplash.

“One second away from devouring his wife,” Rex said, “next second fully domestic.”

“That’s fatherhood,” Cody replied wisely.

Wolffe carefully lifted his baby into his arms, and she immediately grabbed onto one of his fingers with both tiny hands. He looked down at her like she personally hung every star in the galaxy. Your chest hurt with affection.

Fox noticed you staring this time and sighed dramatically. “You two are revoltingly in love.”

“Yeah,” you replied easily. “We are.”

Wolffe glanced over at you then. Baby secure against his chest, sunlight catching silver in his hair. That familiar softness only the two of you ever really got to see. Then he walked over and leaned down just enough to press a slow kiss against your mouth while his brothers groaned loudly in the background. Your daughter made a tiny happy noise between you both.

And somehow, impossibly, everything felt complete.

He just reaches for you immediately, broad hand settling at the back of your neck like he needs proof you’re real.

He’s quietly possessive about proximity. If you’re making caf, he’s leaning against the counter beside you, thigh pressed to yours. If you sit on the couch, he’s there within seconds, arm hooked around your waist.

Gets grumpy when you leave the room without warning. You’ll go to fold laundry, and suddenly, he’s in the doorway watching you with narrowed eyes like you personally offended him by moving six feet away.

Loves holding your hand absentmindedly. Thumb brushing your knuckles while he listens to you talk, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

After missions, he sleeps heavily, but only if he’s touching you somehow. One hand hooked under your shirt, your leg tangled with his.

The softer he feels, the clingier he gets. Pressing his forehead to your shoulder while you cook. Kissing your wrist absentmindedly. Letting out these rough little sighs when you scratch lightly at the back of his scalp.

There’s something unfairly attractive about how large and intimidating he is compared to how needy he becomes in private. Especially when he pins you gently against the kitchen counter just to kiss you slow and unhurried because “it’s been too long.”

Secretly likes it when you fuss over him after missions. Pretends he doesn’t. Completely melts anyway.

Cody

Cody acts composed after missions right until the apartment door closes. Then he’s suddenly all over you in the calmest, most deliberate way possible.

Wraps both arms around your waist from behind while you’re doing literally anything. You’ll be brushing your teeth, and he’s resting his chin on your shoulder like he’s magnetized to you.

He gets clingy through routine. Wants dinner together, shower together, naps together. Domesticity absolutely destroys him after weeks in the field.

If you leave to answer the door or grab something from another room, he follows without thinking. You’ll turn around and nearly run into him standing there with sleepy eyes and crossed arms.

Loves kissing your temple and forehead constantly. Small touches every few minutes just to reassure himself you’re there.

He’s deceptively tactile. Fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt while you sit together, absentmindedly tracing your skin.

Cody becomes extra soft when exhausted. Lets himself lean on you physically, heavy and warm, face tucked against your neck while you play with his hair.

Absolutely the type to steal your hand and rest it on his chest while you’re lying together because your touch settles him faster than anything else.

The longer the mission was, the more affectionate he gets afterwards. Slow kisses in the hallway. Arms tightening around you when you laugh. Quiet moments where he just stares at you with this exhausted fondness.

Rex

Rex comes home carrying exhaustion like extra armour. The second he sees you, though, his entire posture softens.

He’s clingy in a very unconscious way. Always reaching for your hand, your waist, your thigh. Like his body defaults to finding you after too much time surviving without comfort.

If you’re sitting down, he’s touching you somehow. Head in your lap, arm slung over your shoulders, fingers linked with yours.

Gets adorably irritated when you leave the couch. Watches you walk away with this betrayed expression before eventually trailing after you.

He follows you around the apartment without shame. Quietly leaning in the kitchen doorway while you make food, arms folded, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing calming his mind down.

Rex loves physical reassurance after difficult missions. Long hugs where he buries his face into your neck and just breathes.

He’s surprisingly affectionate in public already, but in private, it’s constant. Kissing your knuckles. Pulling you into his lap. Pressing lazy kisses along your shoulder while you talk.

Definitely the type to pull you back into bed if you try getting up too early. One strong arm around your waist while he mutters sleepy complaints into your skin.

There’s always this underlying edge of restraint with him until he’s missed you for too long. Then suddenly he’s backing you gently into walls just to kiss you properly because he’s been thinking about it for weeks.

Fives

Fives returns from missions emotionally starving for affection and makes it everybody’s problem, especially yours.

He’s dramatically clingy about it, too. The second you sit down, he’s sprawled across you entirely, face buried in your chest while his full weight pins you into the couch.

Loves hearing your heartbeat after deployments. Says it helps him sleep better, though he’ll deny sounding sentimental about it.

If you get up while he’s comfortable, he groans like you’ve ruined his life. Then follows right behind you anyway, arms wrapping around your waist before you can even reach the next room.

He touches constantly. Fingers hooked through your belt loops. Hand sliding under your shirt. Knees pressed against yours under blankets.

Fives gets needy in a playful way. Biting lightly at your shoulder while you cook. Tugging you back into his lap every time you escape.

Absolutely loves engulfing you completely during naps. Limbs everywhere, heavy body draped over yours like a protective weighted blanket that occasionally steals kisses.

He gets softer late at night. Sleepy confessions against your collarbone. Quiet admissions about how much he thought about you while away.

When he’s overtired, he becomes incredibly affectionate. Pressing kisses to your stomach if you’re lying down. Holding your hand against his face. Looking at you like you hung the stars.

Also? The man cannot resist pulling you onto his lap just to feel you settle there. And the smug look he gets when you melt against him is unbearable.

Fox

Fox is touch-starved in a way he barely understands until he’s back with you.

Coruscant keeps him constantly alert, so when he finally gets home, he practically collapses onto you. Fully. No hesitation. Just this exhausted commander draped over your body like he’s trying to fuse himself to you permanently.

He loves lying on top of you with his face tucked into your neck while you play with his hair. Barely talks sometimes, just breathes you in quietly.

The clinginess comes with a possessive streak. Not controlling, just intensely attached after long stretches apart. His hand always finds your waist automatically.

If you leave the room, he notices instantly. Gives you this tired stare before silently following after you like an overworked tooka.

Fox especially craves domestic softness. Sitting between your knees while you rub his shoulders. Falling asleep with your fingers carding through his hair.

He gets handsy without thinking. Palm sliding over your thigh while you sit together. Pulling you flush against him every chance he gets.

Long periods of time away from you make him quietly needy for intimacy. Slow kisses against your throat. Hands lingering under your shirt. Forehead pressed to yours while he exhales shakily.

He absolutely traps you in bed after deployments. One arm banded tightly around your waist, sleep-heavy voice complaining whenever you try to move.

And despite the intimidating reputation, Fox becomes devastatingly soft in private. The kind of soft that melts completely when you kiss the scar near his temple or call him pretty while he’s half asleep.

Bacara

Bacara comes home carrying silence with him. Long missions leave him severe and withdrawn until you touch him for the first time.

Then suddenly he’s attached to your side all evening without saying a word about it.

He’s less openly clingy than the others, but somehow more intense. Standing close enough that his chest brushes your back. Resting a hand low on your spine whenever you walk past.

Bacara follows you around the apartment in this quiet, looming way. You’ll look up from washing dishes and find him leaning against the doorway, just watching you with softened eyes.

He doesn’t ask for affection directly. He simply takes your hand and keeps it.

Loves having you sit between his legs while he relaxes, arms wrapped around your middle with his chin resting on your shoulder.

Low murmurs near your ear about how distracting you are when you’re wearing too little around him after weeks apart.

Bacara gets especially touch-hungry at night. Hands roaming lazily over your waist and hips while he kisses you slow enough to make you dizzy.

Despite his reputation, he’s incredibly gentle post-mission. Careful kisses against your knuckles. Pulling blankets around you both before settling you against his chest.

If you try leaving the bed too soon in the morning, he just hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you back silently.

There’s something deeply intimate about the way he relaxes around you. The heavy exhale when your fingers trace along his jaw. The way his eyes close when you hold his face.

He acts like he’s above being needy right up until he’s practically carrying you around the apartment just to keep you close.

The venator hummed steadily through hyperspace while he sat awake in the dim cabin light of his quarters, broad shoulders slumped back against the wall. Beside him, Ella slept curled beneath a blanket, one hand tucked under her cheek, and exhaustion softened every sharp edge of her face.

He watched her breathe. It still startled him sometimes, how peaceful she could look after everything they had survived. The years of war had carved themselves into both of them in different ways. Wolffe carried his damage openly, scars across his face, permanent stiffness in old injuries, instincts honed too sharp to ever fully dull again. Ella carried hers more quietly. In restless sleep, in the way loud noises still pulled tension through her spine, in the sadness that sometimes drifted into her eyes when she thought no one noticed.

But she was alive, they both were. That alone felt miraculous.

Ella stirred slightly as the ship shifted. Her eyes blinked open slowly before finding him immediately. “You haven’t slept,” Her voice rough with sleep.

Wolffe grunted softly. “Could say the same for you.”

“I was sleeping.”

“Barely.”

A faint smile tugged at her mouth. She pushed herself upright, blanket slipping from her shoulders. “You’re thinking too loud.”

“Hm.”

That earned him a sleepy huff of amusement. For a moment, neither spoke, hyperspace stretching blue beyond the viewport.

Then Wolffe said quietly, “We should go to Naboo.”

Ella blinked. “Naboo?”

“You miss it.”

Something softened instantly in her expression.

He had noticed for months now, maybe longer. Every time Naboo came up in conversation, her entire demeanor changed. The war had dragged her all across the galaxy, but some part of her had always remained there among green hills, vast lakes, and soft sunlight.

“My family’s there,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“It’s been years.”

“Then it’s time.”

Ella stared at him for a long moment, almost searching his face for hesitation. “You’d really want that?” she asked.

Wolffe gave her a dry look. “I’m suggesting it, aren’t I?”

“But settling down somewhere peaceful? On Naboo of all places?” Her lips twitched slightly. “That’s a long way from military bases and miserable planets.”

“Exactly.”

The word came flat and certain. Something warm unfolded in her chest then, visible in the way her eyes brightened.

Wolffe leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “War’s over now, cyare. Time we learned how to live without one.”

By the time Naboo came into view days later, Ella could barely sit still.

Wolffe had seen her calm under artillery fire. Had watched her keep her composure with obstinate senators, troopers, and generals alike. But as the ship descended through Naboo’s atmosphere, she fidgeted constantly beside him.

“You’re nervous,” he observed.

“I am not.”

“You’ve adjusted your jacket twelve times.”

“Maybe I just want to look nice.”

“You already do.”

That made her glance away quickly, though he caught the pleased colour warming her cheeks.

Outside the viewport, Naboo unfolded in brilliant greens and blues beneath drifting clouds. Sunlight shimmered over lakes like polished glass. Elegant cities sat nestled among rolling hills instead of towering over them. Peaceful.

Wolffe found himself staring.

Ella noticed immediately. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Hm.”

That was all he said, but she knew him well enough to hear the meaning underneath.

The landing platform sat just outside Theed, attached to a sprawling villa wrapped in flowering vines and pale stone arches. Elegant without being excessive. Warm rather than grand.

Before the boarding ramp had even fully lowered, Ella was already moving.

“Mama!”

She nearly flew down the ramp. A woman with dark curls and kind eyes caught Ella in a fierce embrace, laughing breathlessly as Ella clung to her.

“My sweet girl,” her mother whispered. “Oh, look at you.”

Wolffe stayed near the top of the ramp, suddenly feeling awkward in a way battlefields never managed to make him feel. Then another figure rushed forward.

“Els!”

A younger woman launched herself at Ella next, nearly knocking both of them sideways. Ella burst into startled laughter.

“Catalina, stars, you’re taller.”

“You’ve been gone forever.”

“I know.”

Wolffe watched Ella’s entire face glow in a way he had never seen before. Lighter, younger somehow. Home looked good on her.

Then a small child peeked shyly from behind Catalina’s legs.

Ella gasped softly. “Elara?”

The little girl stared for half a second before recognition dawned. “Auntie Ella!”

Ella scooped her up immediately, holding her tightly while the child giggled uncontrollably. And just like that, Wolffe understood why she had wanted to come back so badly. Not the planet, the people.

A throat cleared nearby. Wolffe turned. A tall man stood waiting with crossed arms and an expression that could strip paint from durasteel.

Devin Sorrentina, Ella’s father. The resemblance between them was obvious around the eyes, though where Ella’s warmth softened her features, Devin’s sternness sharpened his.

His gaze landed squarely on Wolffe. Measured him, judged him. Wolffe had been stared down by Sith Lords and Separatist Generals with less intensity.

Devin approached slowly. “Commander Wolffe.”

“Sir.”

A firm handshake followed, though Devin’s grip felt more like a challenge than a greeting. “So,” Devin said evenly, “you’re the clone my daughter crossed the galaxy for.”

Ella closed her eyes briefly. “Dad—”

Wolffe answered before she could intervene. “Looks that way.”

Devin hummed low in his throat, clearly unimpressed by everything about him on principle. Martha stepped in immediately, shooting her husband a warning look. “Ignore him. He’s been impossible all week waiting for you.”

“I have not.”

Catalina snorted, and Ella laughed helplessly while Elara clung happily around her neck.

The house was warm inside, filled with sunlight and soft neutral colors. Open windows let in floral breezes from the gardens outside. Nothing felt sterile or militarized. No harsh steel walls, no bunker atmosphere. Wolffe did not realize how much tension he carried until he entered a place where nobody expected violence.

Martha insisted he sit immediately. Catalina kept asking questions before he could answer the previous ones. Elara climbed into his lap within twenty minutes because she decided his cybernetic eye was “cool.”

Devin remained skeptical, very skeptical.

Dinner that evening felt alarmingly domestic. Ella sat beside Wolffe at the long table, radiant with happiness as conversation flowed around her. Martha fussed over everyone’s plates while Catalina filled every silence before one could exist, and Devin interrogated Wolffe with military precision.

“So,” Devin said while cutting into his food, “what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?”

Ella nearly choked on her drink. “Dad.”

Wolffe stayed calm. “Current intention is surviving this conversation.”

Catalina burst out laughing.

Devin remained unmoved. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Ella pressed her fingers against her forehead. “Can we not do this?”

“No,” Devin answered immediately.

“Yes,” Ella shot back. “Actually, we can.”

Her father ignored her completely. “You have spent a good portion of your life fighting a war.”

“So has she.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Wolffe held the older man’s stare evenly. “You’re asking if I can give her stability.”

“And?”

“I’m trying.”

Devin leaned back slightly. “Trying.”

“Dad,” Ella warned.

“No, let him answer.”

Wolffe folded his arms loosely. “I can’t promise perfection. I don’t know how to be whatever peaceful people are supposed to be.” His voice remained calm and matter-of-fact. “But your daughter’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. So I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she knows it.”

Silence settled briefly across the table. Ella stared at him. Wolffe never spoke dramatically. That was what made it hit so hard. Just a simple truth. 

Devin studied him for another long moment. Then his gaze shifted toward Ella, and there it was. The impossible softness beneath all the sternness. He loved her dearly, which explained everything.

Mornings on Naboo arrived softly through open windows and birdsong instead of alarms. Every morning, Ella walked barefoot through her parents’ gardens with Elara attached to her hip half the time. Catalina dragged her into town to catch up on years of missed life. Martha cried twice just from seeing Ella relaxed again.

Wolffe adjusted more slowly. Not badly, just carefully. Peace required different instincts. At first, he woke before dawn every morning out of habit, checking exits automatically and scanning for threats that did not exist. He still sat where he could watch doors, still tracked unfamiliar sounds.

But gradually the edge eased.

He helped Devin repair fencing one afternoon and discovered the older man communicated primarily through criticism and practical tasks. They worked side by side for hours without much conversation beyond occasional dry remarks.

It was strangely tolerable. Then, tolerable became comfortable, though Devon still enjoyed interrogating him whenever possible.

One evening, Ella found them outside near the lakeside workshop.

Her father was currently saying, “And what exactly qualifies you to take care of my daughter?”

Ella stopped dead, her brows furrowing in annoyance.

Wolffe glanced over first, spotting the immediate storm gathering on her face. “Oh no,” he murmured.

Ella crossed her arms. “Dad.”

Devin looked entirely unapologetic. “What?”

“Why are you like this?”

“I’m asking reasonable questions.”

“You questioned him for twenty minutes yesterday about whether he could cook.”

“And I'm still not convinced he can.”

“Dad, stop!”

Devin continued working. “That’s not an answer.”

Ella groaned loudly. “I cannot believe you.”

Devin set aside his hydrospanner calmly. “You’re my daughter.”

“And he’s my partner.”

“Which means I’m evaluating him.”

“You’ve been evaluating him for the past week.”

“And I’m thorough.”

Ella marched closer, crossing her arms. “Wolffe has done nothing but treat me well since the day we met.”

Her father lifted a brow. “That doesn’t mean I stop worrying.”

Something in her expression softened slightly then. Because she understood, even while annoyed.

“I know,” she said more quietly. “But you don’t have to scare him off.”

Wolffe snorted.

Devin eyed him. “You scared?”

“Not remotely.”

“That confidence might be stupidity.”

Ella pinched the bridge of her nose. Then Wolffe’s hand settled lightly against the small of her back. He rubbed his thumb there once before speaking to Devin evenly. “You’re protective. I get it.”

“You should.”

“But she’s not a kid.”

That shut the older man up for a moment. He looked at Wolffe for a long moment before his eyes cast back to Ella. Finally, he sighed through his nose. “I know,” He gave Ella a soft smile, “but she’ll always be my baby girl.”

Ella scrunched her nose up in embarrassment. “Dad.” 

Wolffe smirked. “I get it. But I love your daughter and have no intentions to do anything but be good to her.”

Devin patted his shoulder, “That's all I ask of you.”

House hunting became unexpectedly fun. Mostly because Ella got far too excited over everything.

“This one has a lake view.”

“The roof leaks,” Wolffe replied.

“But imagine the sunsets.”

“We’ll drown during rainstorms.”

She pouted at him the entire speeder ride home. Another house had beautiful gardens, but only one bedroom.

“No.”

“We could renovate.”

“We are not fitting our children into storage closets.”

Ella blinked slowly, a smirk beginning to grace her lips. “Our children?”

Wolffe realised too late what he had said. He grunted, refusing to look embarrassed. “Need space if we’re building a family.”

Later, while walking through another property with wide balconies and several empty bedrooms, the realtor wandered ahead to give them privacy.

Ella lingered near one doorway thoughtfully. “This one’s nice.”

“Hm.”

“It has four bedrooms.”

Wolffe stepped beside her. “Practical.”

“For what exactly?”

His gaze slid toward her slowly. The look alone sent heat rushing into her cheeks.

“You know exactly what.”

Ella tried and failed to suppress a smile. “Commander.”

“Could fill those rooms easily enough.”

“That is a terrible line.”

“Still worked.”

Unfortunately, it had. Wolffe leaned down slightly, voice rougher now. “Thought you wanted a proper life together.”

“I do.”

“Then we plan for one.”

The softness behind those words hit harder than the teasing itself. Ella reached for his hand automatically, threading her fingers through his. Outside, Naboo’s late afternoon sunlight spilled gold across rolling fields. For the first time in Wolffe’s life, the future felt real.

That night, they returned to the villa exhausted from touring properties all day. Catalina immediately demanded details while Elara climbed across the couch like a hyperactive tooka. Martha listened with interest as Ella described balconies, gardens, and lakeside paths. Devin pretended not to care while obviously listening to every word.

Then Ella casually mentioned, “Wolffe wants multiple bedrooms for future children.”

Silence, absolute silence, filled the room. Wolffe slowly looked at her. Traitor.

Catalina made a strangled choking sound before dissolving into laughter, Martha’s face went pink instantly, and Devin stared at Wolffe like he had personally declared war on the Republic.

“El—” Wolffe started.

Ella looked deeply pleased with herself. “You said it,” she informed him sweetly.

“I said it privately.”

“Well, now it’s public.”

Devin leaned forward dangerously. “Children.”

Wolffe, to his credit, did not back down. “Eventually.”

“You planning this already?”

Ella interrupted before things escalated. “Dad, please stop acting like reproduction is a criminal offense.”

Catalina fell sideways against the couch, laughing even harder.

Martha hid her face behind one hand. “I cannot survive this conversation.”

Devin pointed at Wolffe. “You.”

“Me?”

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s been established.”

Ella was grinning too hard to help anyone anymore. And somehow, despite the chaos, despite the embarrassment and relentless teasing, warmth filled every corner of the room.

Wolffe sat there among them and slowly realized something unsettling. He fit, not perfectly, not naturally, but genuinely.

Weeks passed.

The house they finally chose sat near the edge of Theed overlooking a quiet lake bordered by trees. Spacious enough for a future they were still learning how to imagine. Sunlit rooms, wide windows, and a kitchen that Ella immediately adored. Wolffe mostly liked that it felt safe and private.

Moving in took several days thanks to Catalina “helping,” which mostly involved distracting Ella while Martha organised everything properly. Elara declared one spare room hers despite everyone informing her she already had a home. Devin inspected the structure like military security personnel.

Then came the final evening at the villa before Ella and Wolffe officially moved into their own place. Ella stood alone outside near the gardens after dinner, watching dusk settle across Naboo’s hills.

Footsteps approached behind her. Her father. Devin sighed quietly. “You’re happy.”

Ella looked over. “Yes. The happiest I've ever been,” she answered softly.

His gaze drifted toward the villa where Wolffe currently endured Catalina teaching him a ridiculous card game. “I worried,” Devin admitted.

“I know.”

“You disappeared into a war.” Emotion tightened unexpectedly in his voice.

“And every day I wondered if I’d ever see you again.”

Ella’s chest ached. She stepped closer, slipping her arms around him carefully.

Her father held her tightly. “You came home different,” he murmured.

“So did everyone.”

“Yes.” His hand rested against the back of her head briefly. “But you came home loved.”

When Ella finally returned indoors, she found Wolffe sitting on the floor beside Elara, helping the little girl stack game pieces while Catalina accused both of them of cheating.

He looked up immediately when Ella entered. Always aware of her, always searching for her first. The affection that crossed his face then was quiet but undeniable.

And Ella thought suddenly that this, this was the life they had survived for. Not glory, not victory. This. Warm light, family noise, a future unfolding slowly without fear hanging over it.

Wolffe reached for her when she sat beside him, large hand settling instinctively against her thigh. Ella leaned into him comfortably while Elara continued explaining rules nobody understood.

Across the room, Devin watched them for a long moment. Then finally, reluctantly, he nodded once to himself. Acceptance, at least mostly. Wolffe caught it. A subtle thing, but meaningful. Their eyes met briefly across the room. Neither acknowledged it aloud, they did not need to.

Outside, Naboo’s evening settled soft and peaceful beneath the stars while, for the first time in their lives, tomorrow promised something more than survival.