#tbbb writes

Wolffe stood frozen in the med-center hallway, staring down an endless sterile corridor with a small hand wrapped tightly around his finger. A pulmonary embolism, they said. A blood clot in the lungs, they said. She was so young, they said. Could've happened to anyone, they said. But it didn't happen to anyone. It happened to his wife. Within moments, and by no choice of his own, Wolffe became a single father in a galaxy torn by war. The light of his life, snuffed out like a candle.

"Daddy?" his daughter said while tugging on his hand.

Wolffe snapped out of his daze and looked down at her. "Yeah, baby?"

"Where's mommy?" she asked.

"Mommy…" Wolffe paused, biting his lip as he looked anywhere but her face. "Mommy had to go."

"Go where?" she asked.

"Far away," he said.

"But why?" she asked. "I love mommy."

"I love mommy too, baby," he said, barely able to keep his emotions at bay.

"Then why'd she leave?" she whined.

"Listen to me, Cara," he knelt down onto the ground in front of her. "Sometimes… Sometimes people have to leave and there's nothing we can do about it."

"When's she coming back?" she asked.

"She's not," he choked.

"I want mommy!" she yelled.

Wolffe picked up his crying child and held her against his chest, letting his own tears fall silently out of her view. "I know, baby. I know. I want her too."

"I'm not leaving without mommy!" she wailed.

"Please, baby," he soothed as she cried, inconsolable.

"Hush little one," a soft voice came from behind Wolffe.

Wolffe turned around and sighed in relief. "General."

"I came as soon as I heard," Plo said. He placed a gentle hand on Wolffe's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Wolffe said while bouncing his daughter to try and calm her down.

"Come here little one," Plo said as he stretched out his arms to take Cara from Wolffe.

Wolffe peeled his distraught daughter off of his chest and handed her to Plo, then collapsed down onto the bench against the wall. He hung his head in his hands and sobbed quietly. His first real moment to fully process the loss of his wife.

Plo stepped away from Wolffe to give him some privacy and continued to bounce Cara to soothe her.

The little girl's crying echoed throughout the hallway, sending sharp pains through Wolffe's already broken heart. He wanted her to stop crying so he could stop crying. She was just a child, and she didn't understand what was happening, which made the situation all the more difficult. How could he console her when he could barely hold it together himself? The last time he felt this helpless was the Malevolence incident, and even then he held it together better than right now.

He didn't know how to be a mother. He was a soldier, a commander. How was he going to fight in the War and raise a child? It was practically impossible. He couldn't just quit the War either. No clone could. His wife was a saint. She took care of everything while he was away on campaigns. The only thing he needed to do when he came home was hug his little baby girl and dote on her until he had to leave again. He gave his family everything he had, and everything he didn't have.

He always knew he was going to be an absent father because of the War, but he didn't in his wildest imagination think that his wife would die before him. They had contingency plans for if he died, but they didn't make any plans for if she died. That entire scenario came out of left-field and blindsided him. They were eating dinner like they always did when he came home for shore leave. How in the universe did they go from eating dinner to her being dead? He'd never understand it.

"General," Wolffe said through his tears. "What do I do now?"

Plo studied the devastated commander and softened his eyes. "You take each moment as it comes."

"But what do I do?" Wolffe pleaded with a hitch in his throat. "The funeral, my kid, my troops, my–"

"Arrangements are being made as we speak," Plo interrupted. "You are not alone in this despair, Wolffe."

Wolffe looked up at his general and a menial, barely noticeable smile formed at the corner of his mouth, but it was betrayed by the streaks of tears that lined his flushed cheeks. He said nothing in response, afraid that if he uttered even one more syllable, he'd lose the last bit of composure he'd maintained. However, the words of his general rang true. He was not alone. He had never been alone. He had his general and an entire battalion of brothers to lean on. His family was here for him.

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1. Yes, Wolffe will remember Cara during Order 66. My universe follows the Clone Wars canon as much as possible, so the only change in Wolffe during Order 66 is that he now believes the Jedi are traitors and he serves the Empire. There's no memory wipe.

The morning came quickly–too quickly–as Wolffe woke before the sunrise. With the time he spent in space, his body never followed the rising or setting of the suns, but rather a clock that ticked deep within his biology. It was both a blessing and a curse in his mind. On one hand, he never had to set an alarm, but on the other, sleeping in was never an option. Cara was still asleep though, resting against his chest under the protective covering of his arms. It would be a bit before she awoke, but that gave him time to think about his mission for the day.

He stared silently up at the ceiling and reviewed every step he needed to take to ensure she was cared for while he was gone. He only had one rotation to accomplish it all, seeing as he would be departing before sunset on the next rotation, so there was no room for errors or setbacks. He had to be calm, calculated, and resolute. Most of those traits came naturally to Wolffe, but when his daughter was involved, a lot of who he was as a commander fell to the wayside. It felt cruel to shove part of her out of his mind, but life was also just as cruel.

It was only an hour before Comet found his way to their room to relieve Wolffe. Ever the cautious man, he poked his head into the dark room to make sure it was safe to enter. Wolffe watched him with amusement, the light from the hall outlining Comet's form, and he would've said something, but he didn't want to wake Cara. The last thing he needed was for her to get clingy before he left for the diner. She knew he would come back later in the day, but it didn't matter to her; leaving was leaving. For Wolffe, a silent hand-off was a lot easier.

Besides, she liked being with Comet more than she liked being with him. At least, that's what he told himself when he had to make the tough decisions that made his daughter cry. Justification wasn't the right word for it, but it allowed him to be the bad guy when he needed to be and allowed Comet to remain the good guy that she needed in life. Even though Comet left when Wolffe left, in Cara's mind, Wolffe forced Comet to leave. She might not understand how the hierarchy worked, but she did understand that when Wolffe spoke, the others listened.

Carefully, Wolffe slid himself off the bed and placed Cara back down onto the indent his body made. Both men held their breath in anticipation, but she must have been very tired because she stayed asleep and barely stirred at the swap. In the dim light from the doorway, Wolffe and Comet exchanged silent words with the same hand motions and gestures they used on the battlefield when vocal communication was impossible. It was clunky, but effective, and got the job done. Once Comet was briefed, Wolffe changed his clothes and left for the diner.

His journey to the diner was uneventful, practically quiet. It was still early in the morning for Coruscant's surface layer to be fully awake, but the subsurface layer was still bustling from the nightlife and now busy setting up for their daytime clientele. The diner wasn't a fancy place, but it was clone-friendly and served good food at a reasonable price. Most clones visited the bars and enjoyed the revelry late nights, but any level-headed, seasoned commander would rather sleep all night and eat a hot breakfast than get a cheap lap dance and a wicked hangover.

It was also rare for multiple commanders to be on Coruscant at once, however at least one was always there–Fox. When Wolffe entered the diner, he knew exactly where to go; left and down to the last booth against the window. It was their usual booth, but usual meant they did this often, which was far from the truth. The last time they met up was during his last leave, months ago, and before that, it was nearly a full cycle. It's not that Wolffe chose to ignore his batch brother, but if he had to choose between seeing his family or seeing Fox, he would choose his family every time.

As Wolffe approached the booth, he chuckled. Fox looked as tired as always, but perhaps a touch more than usual. Fox held the rim of his mug against his lips, the steam wisping up in front of his half-lidded eyes, with his elbows resting on the table, and a blank expression on his face. It almost looked like the mug was holding Fox up, instead of the other way around. If Wolffe didn't know any better, he would've thought Fox was asleep with his eyes open, but he did know better–that was just Fox in his normal resting state.

Wolffe slid into the bench seat across from Fox and stretched his arms over his head before picking up the mug of caf his brother ordered for him. He inhaled the warm and bitter fragrance before taking a sip and then hummed in satisfaction with the familiar brew. There was nothing like a diner caf. No offense to his wife's caf-maker, of course, but something about a cheap diner caf made him feel like a real man. It was leagues better than what the GAR gave them, but not as good as the caf from the surface layer. It was a wonderful middle brew.

"So," Wolffe said as he placed his mug down. "How's the wife?"

"Fat and ugly," Fox answered nonchalantly, then took a sip of this caf. "At least that's what she says every time I ask, which apparently is too many times."

Wolffe laughed. "When's she due?"

"Couple more weeks," Fox said.

"Are you nervous?" Wolffe asked.

"Kinda," Fox said with a shrug. "The pregnancy's been rough on her."

"She didn't get better?" Wolffe asked, then took another sip from his mug.

"Nope," Fox sighed. "She got sick in the first trimester and it's been downhill ever since."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Wolffe said. "It's a good thing she has you to support her."

Fox huffed. "Yeah, support…" He took a long sip after that comment. "The only support she wants from me is to stop breathing so loudly. Some days I think she actually wants me dead."

Wolffe raised a quizzical eyebrow. Fox looked more like he was taking shots of his caf as if it was a cheap whiskey, rather than savoring it. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," Fox said, then set his mug down and rubbed his face. "She doesn't sleep, I don't sleep, we don't sleep."

"The baby won't sleep either," Wolffe said. He chuckled knowingly to himself with a smile hidden behind the rim of his mug.

Fox shot him with an unamused look through his fingers.

"Sorry," Wolffe said. "But I've got some experience."

Fox waved his hand to dismiss the apology. "Anyway, we're here to talk about you, not me." He paused contemplatively. "I'm sorry about Maria."

Wolffe bit his lip and set his mug down. He stared into the dark liquid and fidgeted with the handle. "I… I don't want to talk about that."

"Okay…" Fox said softly. "Then what do you want to talk about?"

"Cara," Wolffe said without looking up.

"What about her?" Fox asked.

Wolffe tapped his finger against the table as he thought about how he wanted to ask what he needed to ask. "I'm redeploying tomorrow night."

"Already?" Fox asked. "She must be having a hard time with that. You know, since…"

Wolffe tapped his finger faster and harder against the table, the silence getting awkward.

"You did tell her, right?" Fox asked.

"It's better this way," Wolffe said, deciding not to answer the question directly. Keeping the actual words in his mouth made the idea of not telling Cara more palatable for him. Selfish maybe, but he didn't want to handle any more emotional drama. He wanted just a bit of normalcy before he left and then a clean break to harden his mind. It was better that way.

"For who?" Fox asked.

"Listen," Wolffe sighed. "I didn't come here for a lecture. I need your help."

"Wolffe, I know what you're gonna ask," Fox said. He shook his head. "And the answer is no."

"Fox, c'mon," Wolffe pleaded. "You're the closest thing I have to family."

"I get that," Fox said. "But my hands are tied. Between my duties to Guard and my sick, pregnant wife, who can barely take care of herself, we couldn't possibly look after her too."

Wolffe closed his eyes and threw his head back against the booth cushion. "Kriff."

"Besides," Fox said. "Cara doesn't even like me."

"That's only because the gray in your hair scares her," Wolffe said without opening his eyes. "Maybe you should dye it."

Fox huffed and crossed his arms. "My wife likes it and as long as it turns her on, the gray parts are staying gray." He grinned smugly. "She calls me her silver Fox."

Wolffe leaned forward and twisted his lip in disgust. "Oh, gross. Please keep that stuff to yourself."

"But seriously," Fox said, changing the subject back. "You know my situation. If anyone found out about my wife… my kid, it would all be over. I can't risk it. Not even for you."

"Thorn?" Wolffe asked.

"Nope."

"Hound?"

"Not a chance."

"Thire?"

"Never."

"Stone?"

Fox snorted. "I wouldn't trust him to keep a plant alive."

Wolffe groaned and hung his head in his hands.

"I know you have your beef with the Jedi, and I get why you don't want her in the Temple, but what about a nanny?" Fox asked.

Wolffe lifted his head and looked at Fox in confusion. "A nanny?"

"Yeah," Fox said. "We're hiring one for when the baby comes."

"What does it do?" Wolffe asked.

"Well, there are different types," Fox said. "Some work part-time and come to the home on certain days, and there are some that work full-time and live in the home. They do pretty much anything you want–the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping, the laundry."

"Really?" Wolffe asked. He crossed his arms, intrigued by the idea of a live-in nanny. "How much does it cost?"

"I don't know," Fox said with a shrug. "Her parents are paying for it since they physically can't help us with the baby. I guess we got lucky with that."

Wolffe huffed. "Yeah. Real lucky."

"Easy, vod," Fox said. "I'm not trying to rub this in your face."

Wolffe sighed. "I know."

"Here," Fox said, then grabbed a napkin and started to write on it. "This is the name and the coordinates of the agency we're working with. They're not that far from here, so go take a look for yourself."

Wolffe studied the words on the napkin, then looked at Fox. "You sure they're legit?"

Fox looked offended. "I'm the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. Don't you think I'd do background checks on every employee before I let them near my son?"

"So, it's a boy?" Wolffe asked, a smirk turning up on his lip.

"Yes, it's a boy," Fox said.

"Got any names picked out yet?" Wolffe asked, still smiling.

"Well," Fox said, "I wanted to call him Aran, but she wanted to call him Eli, so we compromised and his name is Eli."

Wolffe laughed heartily.

"It's not funny," Fox said, but he couldn't help cracking a smile himself.

"Why are we so bad at naming children?" Wolffe asked. "Maria insisted on naming Cara because she was afraid I'd pick out something stupid like, tooka."

"I mean, that's just normal clone naming conventions," Fox said.

Wolffe hummed, remembering back to when he and his wife discussed baby names. "But babies aren't clones."

"No, I guess they're not," Fox said.

Wolffe and Fox continued their conversation as they ate breakfast with both men reminiscing about simpler times and trading stories of newer times. It was more than Wolffe could've asked for. Although he would never admit it, he felt a touch lonely since his wife's passing. The men under his command were his brothers, but Fox was his equal, someone who could talk back to him, set him straight, and be honest. It was a rarity among the ranks with the commanders spread thin. He missed his batch brothers, and it was good to catch up with one.

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So, Wolffe was really good at hiding it. He told Lilith his plans because she needed to know. That was the whole reason he hired her in the first place. The Pack knew too, obviously, but Wolffe swore them to secrecy.

When the time did come, Wolffe put on his armor and said goodbye to Cara, with his helmet on. He wouldn't take it off and look her in the eyes before he left. In all honesty, he was afraid, so he reverted to his comfort zone, but still, it was a complete jerk move.

Cara cried, of course, because armor equaled her dad leaving, but no one could do anything about it. Wolffe didn't let anyone from the Pack say goodbye either, which built even more tension with Comet.

And then Wolffe just turned and coldly walked off while Cara screamed for him to come back and Lilith just held onto her all stunned and didn't know what to do 🙃

As they approached the thrift store, Wolffe ran through several strategies in his head about how he was going to keep Cara preoccupied while he sold the rings. If she saw what he was doing at the counter, she'd start asking questions, and that wasn't a conversation he was ready to have with his daughter, especially in public. He needed the transaction to be quick and discreet, and the best idea he could come up with to keep her out of it was to just have her wander around the store and look at all the new and interesting things.

With a subtle deep breath, he opened the door of the thrift store, letting Cara walk in first. She had more pep in her step than when they left the Temple, which he was grateful for, and as soon as something caught her eye, she bolted. Wolffe quickly grabbed her hand, stopping her escape. "Hold up. Where do you think you're going?"

Cara pointed to one of the bottom shelves where a bin full of assorted toys sat. "Can I play?"

Wolffe felt relieved that she was putting his plan into motion before he even suggested it, but still, he hated it when she ran away from him without telling him where she was going. It made his stomach queasy, like when he watched his men run towards a firefight knowing not all of them would come back. "Yes, but those toys don't belong to you, do they?"

"No," she said, rocking back and forth on her feet as if she was being scolded.

"Then be careful with them," Wolffe reminded her. "If you break something, Daddy has to buy it, and Daddy isn't made of credits." It was true. He didn't know how much he would be able to sell the rings for, and he only had five hundred credits on him, so it was entirely possible for this transaction to render him completely broke, or subsequently in debt if she broke something.

Cara looked around. "Is your friend here?"

Wolffe sighed, hoping that she heard at least some of what he just said, but then again, trying to explain credits to a child who had no context for what credits were in the first place was less than ideal. "No, baby. I have some business here, and then we'll go see my friend. Be good and wait right here for me, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," she said. He let go of her hand and she wandered off towards the toy bin.

He watched her as she settled onto the floor, legs splayed out and furiously looking through the bin. She pulled out a few things but didn't settle on any of them. He'd have to help her clean up the mess when he was done.

Once he was sure she was well occupied, he snuck up to the counter, which was further back from where the toy bin was, looking over his shoulder periodically to see if Cara was following him. Somehow his daughter made him feel more paranoid than the Separatists did, but perhaps that was because they were more predictable than a child.

The store's counter was more like a glass case, topped with a sheet of durasteel, and filled with the more expensive items like jewelry and antique thingamabobs that Wolffe couldn't make heads or tails of what they were. The gentleman behind the counter looked past his prime and was sitting on a stool and reading something on his data-pad, probably the morning news if he had to guess, but his demeanor didn't appear to be guarded or ornery, so Wolffe felt optimistic about his prospects.

He slipped his hand into his pocket to grab the rings, but let his fingers linger when he felt the cool touch of the metal bands against his skin. He clinked them together, slipped the smaller one through the larger one, and rotated the larger one around, just like he did when he wore it. The hesitancy was unfamiliar, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't will his hand out of his pocket. It was as if the rings were too heavy to lift. Wolffe sighed. It was asinine to get worked up over a hunk of gold that had no value other than the credits he could exchange it for.

"Can I help you?" the gentleman behind the counter asked.

Wolffe looked up from where he had been blankly staring and cleared his dry throat before he spoke. "I… How much can I get for gold?"

The gentleman got up from the stool and shrugged as he approached the counter. "Depends on the weight of the gold and the purity. Show me whatcha got."

Wolffe bit his lip, his gut twisting into more knots. He had to do it. What other choice did he have? It was very rare for him to get into a position where his gut overrode his mission objective, and at the moment he was in a full-blown crisis–paralyzed by the decision. The only thing he knew that could get him out of this situation was to order himself to do it because as they all knew, good soldiers followed orders. It was weird, he had to admit, but whatever worked was the name of the game, and with a single silent order, he placed the rings on the counter.

"They're solid gold," Wolffe said as if his meager knowledge of precious metals meant anything to the gentleman behind the counter.

The gentleman knit his eyebrows and picked up the two rings, placing them gently into the palm of his hand. He lowered the wired glasses that sat atop his head and stared at the rings intently. "What language is the inscription?"

"Mando'a," Wolffe answered. The gentleman hummed in response as he continued to inspect the rings. It wasn't a well-known language, even among the clones, so it made sense that he didn't know it just from looking at it.

Turning to the other side of the counter, the gentleman placed the rings individually on a scale and balanced them out based on the proportions. He scribbled a few notes in his data-pad, then bent down to pull out a small case from under the counter. He flipped the latches open and pulled out a bottle of acid and a small file. Wolffe watched attentively as the gentleman tested the rings for purity. They wouldn't be his for much longer, but he wasn't going to let anything bad happen to them until the transaction was over.

When the gentleman was done testing the rings, he brought them both back over to where Wolffe was standing in front of the counter and placed them down. "You were right. They are solid gold and of high quality. I can give you 1,200 for the smaller one and 3,000 for the larger one."

Wolffe closed his eyes and sighed. It wasn't enough. He was still short three hundred credits to pay the nanny. "Are you sure they're not worth more? Even just a little?" He was trying not to sound desperate, but desperation was the only emotion he had left in the tank.

The gentleman quirked an eyebrow. "If I may, why do you want to sell these in the first place? I can tell by the way you've been squirming that you're not particularly keen on letting them go."

Wolffe was taken aback by the perceptive comment. Was he squirming? If so, that was new too.

"I can see they're wedding rings," the gentleman continued. "Wife ran off with another man?"

"She's dead," Wolffe said without changing his expression. The words were getting easier to say without getting choked up. He turned his head to look at Cara, who was still preoccupied with the large amount of toys she had surrounded herself with, and then turned back to face the gentleman behind the counter. "She's all I have left now, and I have to take care of her. I just… I need 300 more. Please."

The gentleman behind the counter looked between Cara and Wolffe and his expression softened. "The rings are only worth 4,200, so that's all I can give you for them, but I just bought some new shelving units that need to be assembled. If you put them together for me, I'll pay you the 300."

Wolffe's jaw dropped at the offer. It was unbelievable. He glanced at his chronometer to make sure he had enough time to get the job done before their appointment to meet with the nanny. The nanny service wasn't far from the thrift store, only a couple minutes, and as long as there weren't a thousand shelving units, he was confident he could get them all put together in time. "I don't know what to say other than thank you, sir."

The gentleman smiled. "Breathe a sigh of relief, kid. It's not easy being a single father. I should know. I was in your shoes at one point in my life, and sometimes a little assistance is required." It was Wolffe's turn to smile. "Follow me to the back and I'll show you where the shelving units are."

Wolffe took a step then stopped. "My daughter…"

"Don't worry," the gentleman said with a wave of his hand. "We'll only be gone a second, and I'll keep an eye on her while you work. I had five daughters, you know, and they were all a pain in my rear."

Wolffe snorted, a smile lingering on his face. It was nice to talk to someone who knew what it was like. He had enough trouble dealing with one daughter. He couldn't imagine trying to raise five of them at once. The thought alone gave Wolffe a massive headache. He loved Cara to death, but he didn't need any clones of her, that was for sure. "Lead the way."

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After bath time was done, and they'd both dried off and changed into new clothes, it was time for breakfast. Wolffe really hoped his Pack brothers came through and made a decent breakfast for all of them. He was starving, and he knew Cara must be hungry too. He was a little worried since he didn't give Boost any directions, but there was foodstuff in the conservator, he thought, or, well, he hoped. Knowing his wife, she would've stocked up when she found out he was coming home.

Wolffe walked into the kitchen with Cara following closely behind, but stopped in his tracks at what he saw. Cara didn't stop walking and bumped into the back of his leg with a small oomph. Feeling the light hit, Wolffe reached back around with his hand to rub her head, still staring dumbstruck at the state of the kitchen.

"What in the…" Wolffe said with wide eyes. It was a mess. A complete and utter mess. He wasn't even sure it was still a kitchen. "I said make breakfast, not fight breakfast!"

"We did!" Boost grinned. He had flour patches across his face and streaks down his clothes.

"Sweetie," Wolffe said as he looked down at Cara. "Do you know what that is?" He pointed at Boost.

Cara shook her head.

"I'm gonna teach you a new word," Wolffe smiled. "That is a di'kut."

"Dee… koot," she repeated.

"Hey!" Boost exclaimed, clearly offended by the remark.

Wolffe snorted. "You're the one who said it's never too late to start."

Boost opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it because Wolffe was right.

"Anyway," Comet chimed in and gestured towards the table. "Breakfast is served!"

Wolffe sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, and walked Cara over to the table to eat whatever breakfast his Pack brothers created. She climbed up onto her chair next to him and he made sure she was seated properly so she wouldn't fall off. Sinker then walked around the table and placed the plates down with their homemade pancakes stacked on them. Wolffe eyed the oddly shaped and multi-colored pancakes suspiciously and raised an eyebrow up at his brother.

"What?" Sinker asked.

"Is it edible?" Wolffe asked.

"I made them," Comet added. "So, yeah, they're edible."

Wolffe snorted. Of course Boost and Sinker couldn't be left alone to make breakfast. It was a good thing they picked up Comet when they did or they'd all have starved by now.

Cara tugged on Wolffe's pants and he lowered his head so he could hear her.

"Where's mommy?" she asked.

The room went silent and Wolffe sighed. Not this again. "She's not here, sweetie," he answered, then pulled her plate a little closer to the edge of the table. "Now, eat your breakfast for me."

"We can't eat without mommy," Cara said, then pushed the plate back.

Wolffe bit back his frustration and pulled the plate towards her again. "You have to eat."

"Not without mommy!" she yelled and pushed the plate with more force, knocking the fork onto the floor.

"Cara," Wolffe warned, his patience wearing thin. "This isn't a debate."

"I don't want it!" she screamed.

Cara climbed down from her chair, sat on the floor, and cried loudly. She was in a full-blown tantrum and Wolffe didn't know what to do. He looked over at Comet, Boost, and Sinker with pleading eyes, but the three of them only shrugged. Her screaming became louder and pierced Wolffe straight through the head, making it throb and ache like earlier. Somehow she'd reached a frequency that made him want to scream too. He tried to keep himself under control and calm her down.

"Sweetie," Wolffe said as he rubbed his temples. "I need you to stop screaming, please."

She continued to wail from her seat on the floor, tears streaming down her face as her cheeks turned red. Wolffe could feel the tension in his head rising as it threatened to boil over and explode. Why couldn't she just stop crying? Why couldn't she just understand? Why did he have to keep explaining it to her? He tried to think of his best options, but her incessant screaming was grating on his nerves and clouding his thoughts. If she didn't quiet down soon, the neighbors were going to think he was hurting her.

"Cara!" Wolffe barked, picking his hands up from the table to try and settle himself. "I said stop!"

Cara looked at Wolffe and stopped crying, and, for a moment, Wolffe thought it was finally over.

"I want mommy!" she started screaming again. "I want mommy! I want mommy! I want mommy!"

The tension snapped like a taut wire and Wolffe's chair scraped across the floor as he violently pushed it back. He took a few steps towards Cara, dropped to his knees, and grabbed her little shoulders so she was looking him in the eyes. "She's not coming back!" he yelled. "Do you understand me? She's never coming back! She's dead! She's gone! So, just stop asking for her already!"

Wolffe panted at the exertion and hung his head between his arms, the anger and frustration slowly dissipating. The words he spoke so ferociously, not only to his daughter but also to himself, echoed in his mind. He picked his head up and looked at his wide-eyed daughter, instantly feeling a shooting pain straight through his heart. She looked confused. She looked helpless. She looked scared. She looked scared… of him. Remorse washed over him like a tidal wave and the panic of what he just did flooded his brain.

"Oh, kriff," Wolffe breathed as he released his grip on her tiny shoulders. Cara backed away from him until she bumped into Comet's leg. Wolffe's breath hitched. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Baby–" Wolffe reached out his hand, but Cara turned away from him and grabbed onto Comet's leg.

Comet looked down at Wolffe with a pained expression, then at Cara, and sighed. "Come here, ad'ika," he soothed. "I've got you." He picked Cara up into his arms and she grabbed onto his shirt, hanging on with tight little fists while burying her face in his chest. He readjusted her on his hip, then locked eyes with Wolffe in a silent word. Wolffe hung his head and Comet left the room with Cara.

Once Cara was out of the kitchen, Wolffe pounded his fists onto the floor and yelled in frustration.

Sinker knelt beside him and placed his hand on Wolffe's shoulder.

"What have I done?" Wolffe choked. He wanted to vomit. "I grabbed her. I yelled at her. I've never– I wouldn't– How could I do that?"

Sinker looked up at Boost and gestured for him to go do something else for the moment. Boost nodded and left the kitchen.

"Maker forgive me," Wolffe's voice quivered. "She's just a child, and I… I treated her like a cadet. Like a kriffing shiny!"

"Wolffe–"

"No!" Wolffe yelled and smacked Sinker's hand away. "There's no excuse."

Sinker sighed and sat back on his haunches. "Give yourself a break, will ya? Your wife's dead."

Wolffe flinched at the bluntness of the comment, but maybe that was what he needed right now.

"Maker, Wolffe," Sinker continued. "It's only been what? Twelve standard hours? And in that time you've lost your wife, your home, your belongings, and you almost lost Cara too. You really thought you could get through this without losing your temper a little?"

"I'm a commander–"

"Kriff being a commander," Sinker rolled his eyes. He moved around the floor to face Wolffe. "You're still human, commander or not, and Cara doesn't need Commander Wolffe right now, she just needs her dad. You know, the one who loves her?"

"But I scared her…" Wolffe lamented, the words burning in the back of his throat. "She was scared of me."

"She'll be fine," Sinker said with a wave of his hand. "Just apologize and move on. She's a tough kid. Tougher than you might think." Sinker smirked. "You are her dad after all."

A small smile formed at the corner of Wolffe's mouth. Sinker was right about one thing. She was the daughter of a clone commander, not just some random natborn off the streets. His genetics, and his wife's, ran through her veins. She was sensitive like her mother, but she got his resilience and also his attitude. Plo's words from the night before still rang true. He needed to take each moment as it came and do what was needed then, even if that meant messing it up once and a while. She'd forgive him one day.

Wolffe took a deep breath to compose himself before Sinker offered a hand to help him up. He accepted it without complaint. Looking back at the table of untouched food, now getting cold, another sigh escaped his lips. Cara still hadn't eaten and he wasn't sure if they had any more time for delays since they had to leave soon. He decided to pack some of the pancakes in a container and hoped that Cara would eat them like that. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing.

After putting the food away, Wolffe took another deep breath, then released it slowly before walking out of the kitchen and towards the living room. He stepped to the threshold, and just as he thought, Comet was sitting on the couch with Cara sitting calmly on his lap. He never understood how Comet got so good with kids, but he was thankful. With slow and soft steps, Wolffe approached them. He sat down on the ground and fiddled with a piece of the carpet while he got up the nerve to speak.

"Cara," Wolffe said softly.

Cara lifted her head from resting against Comet's chest to look at Wolffe.

"I'm sorry I got upset and yelled at you," he said. "It was wrong."

"It's okay…" she mumbled into Comet's shirt.

"No, baby, it's not," he continued. "I know… I know this is scary. Daddy is scared too, but that doesn't make it okay for either of us to get upset at each other." He paused, gauging her expression and understanding of what he was saying. "So, how about less screaming and more listening, for both of us?"

"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry, daddy."

Wolffe smiled weakly and released another shaky breath. He opened his arms. "Can I have a hug?"

Cara nodded and squirmed out of Comet's arms and into Wolffe's. He held her tight against him, careful not to hurt her, and kissed the side of her head. He started rocking her and looked up at Comet, who had a warm smile on his face. Wolffe mouthed a simple thank you to him and Comet nodded. Wolffe didn't know what he would do without his Pack brothers, and it pained his heart that it took a tragedy such as this for him to realize just how much they meant to him.

"Daddy?" Cara mumbled into his chest.

Wolffe leaned her back so he could see her face. "Yes, baby?'

"Is mommy ever gonna come home?" she asked.

Wolffe bit his tongue. "No baby, she's not."

"I'm gonna miss mommy," she sniffled and her eyes turned watery.

Wolffe leaned his forehead against Cara's and let his own emotions show. "Me too, baby. Me too."

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Wolffe glanced at Cara to ensure she was still asleep, then grabbed a change of clothes and silently left the room. The male-species communal shower wasn't far so he could return quickly in an emergency. That automatic thought process made Wolffe groan as he entered the communal shower area. He could not handle one more emergency, crisis, or mishap. He needed everything around him to be calm for at least ten minutes so he could collect himself back into the battle-hardened commander he was before everything in his life exploded.

The sigh of relief Wolffe released when the hot water cascaded down his back was sinful. The sensation was rapturous. It had been a long time since Wolffe had a liquid shower and he almost forgot how nice they were. The shower in their apartment was his favorite. It was always clean, smelled like his wife's soap, and the water pressure was fantastic. The shower he was under now felt similar, but it was missing the comforts of home. Regardless, he stood under the hot spray for as long as he could before he washed his hair and scrubbed his body clean. 

After several minutes of soothing bliss, Wolffe turned the water off and exited the steamy shower stall. He wrapped a towel around his waist, walked to the sink area, and swiped his arm across the mirror to remove the condensation. He smoothed a hand along his stubbly cheek and frowned. He needed a shave. It was a minor annoyance, so he rummaged around the room until he found a shaving kit. It only took minutes to do, and he looked a little less ragged but it was still a chore. With that finished, he toweled off, threw his new clothes on, and left.

On his way back to the room, Wolffe heard a very distressed noise coming from down the hall. He stopped walking and threw his head back, releasing an exhausted and distressed noise of his own in retaliation. He knew it was Cara, he just knew it, and in that moment a part of him couldn't wait to get back to the battlefield where he wouldn't have to hear it anymore, but the other part of him, the father part, broke in half. He'd never get used to the dichotomy of soldier and father. It was always awkward when those two halves warred with each other.

Lo and behold, when Wolffe opened the door to the room, he found exactly what he expected to find–an unhappy and teary-eyed child. Wolffe took a deep breath as he analyzed the familiar scene, then easily switched into father mode. He closed the distance between the door and the bed in a few steps and sat on the edge of the bed where Cara was sitting up and rubbing her eyes. He sat beside her for a moment and listened to her cry. He wasn't sure if anything he could say would make it better, or if he should let her cry it out until she was tired.

His parental instincts won out. "What's the matter, baby?" he asked.

"Why'd you leave?" Cara sobbed. "Where'd you go?"

Wolffe was stunned. Of all the things he was expecting her to be crying about, it for sure wasn't because he left the room for twenty minutes. He thought she would still be asleep when he returned, so he didn't think about what would happen if she woke up and he wasn't there. "I took a shower," he explained. "See?" Wolffe bowed his head down so she could touch his hair, which was still damp.

She reached out, grabbed a chunk, and pulled.

"Ow," he said deadpanned.

Cara giggled.

"Feel better now?" Wolffe asked as he ran his fingers through the section of hair she yanked.

Cara sniffled, swiped her sleeve across her nose, and nodded.

"I'm sorry I left, but you were asleep," he said. "I didn't want to wake you up."

"I don't like it when you leave," she said.

Wolffe sighed. "I don't like it when I leave either, but daddies have to shower."

"Why?" she asked.

"For the same reason you take a bath," he chuckled. "I get dirty too, you know."

"Oh," she said.

"Alright, it's time for bed now," Wolffe said. He got up from the bedside, tucked her back under the covers, and kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, baby."

"Night, Daddy," she said, then she snuggled in against her pillow.

Wolffe smiled fondly and smoothed his hand down her hair. With a small shake of his head, he turned around, picked up his duffle bag beside the wardrobe, and plopped it onto the ground adjacent to the head of Cara's bed. He'd slept in worse places and with a lot less comfort, so he considered the floor as decent. A blanket was unnecessary and he didn't need the duffle bag for a pillow, but, without his armor, the neck positioning would be awkward. With his bedding all set Wolffe turned off the light, then laid down on the floor and closed his eyes.

"Daddy," Cara whispered. She had crawled to the edge of the bed and was overhanging the edge.

"Hm?" Wolffe responded, but it was more of an exasperated groan. 

"Can I sleep down there with you?" she asked.

"No," he said. "You get the bed, Daddy gets the floor."

"But I don't want to be alone," she whined.

Wolffe sighed. "I'm right here." He raised his arm and laid his hand on the edge of the bed so he was touching her knee. "Can't get any closer than that."

Cara grabbed Wolffe's fingers and tugged. "Daddy, please."

"Your mother would kill me if I let you sleep on the floor," he argued.

"Then sleep up here," Cara offered like it was the obvious answer.

"Baby, that bed is not big enough for me," he said.

"Daddy," she whined, but it sounded more like a cry. "Please. I miss Mommy."

Wolffe sighed and sat up knowing he wasn't going to win this war. If either of them were going to get any sleep, he needed to concede victory and give her what she wanted. Out of the options presented, sleeping on the floor was out. Wolffe didn't believe in much of an afterlife, but he wasn't going to take the chance of his wife coming back from the grave to scream at him for letting their daughter sleep on the cold floor where she could catch a cold. On the other hand, that bed was not made for adults like him and while Cara might sleep well, he would not.

"Alright," Wolffe finally agreed and he flipped the light back on. "Get up."

Cara beamed with excitement and hopped off of her bed. 

Wolffe was less than enthusiastic with his movements, but it was what his daughter wanted, and who was he to argue with those crystal blue eyes? They were the same eyes his wife would give him when she wanted something that he was hesitant about. It never took him long to cave to whatever whim or idea she had, and for the most part, they all turned out well. The only one that didn't end up going the way they expected was the night they made Cara. It was the first time he caved to his wife and it wasn't the last, but now he does it for Cara.

Wolffe tilted his head as he looked at the bed and thought about how he wanted to arrange himself. It was small, but not in the way that the barrack bunks were small. Those were narrow-small and this was short-small. No matter which way he looked at it, his feet were going to hang over the foot of the bed, and not just his toes either. In his mind, it looked like a very uncomfortable arrangement, but Cara looked very excited to be sleeping on a bed made out of her dad. He couldn't relate, but maybe that was normal for children who had biological parents.

Resigning to his fate, Wolffe pulled the blanket up, settled himself on the bed, and used the pillow to prop his head up a bit. As he suspected, his feet hung off the foot of the bed, but it didn't feel as bad as he thought it would. Then again, he didn't know what several hours in that position would feel like when he woke up. Once he was in a good position, he gestured for Cara to come over, and she climbed up the side of the bed and then on top of him. She wiggled and moved around to adjust herself which made Wolffe a bit nervous.

"Watch your feet," Wolffe warned, but she wasn't listening. "Baby, watch your–" Wolffe gasped when her foot made hard contact with his testicles, "–foot," he wheezed. If Cara wasn't on top of him, he would've doubled over and probably vomited into the nearest trash receptacle or maybe even on the floor, but he inhaled and exhaled sharply to internalize the pain instead of making a scene. His wife would be in a hysterical laughing fit if she saw what just happened.

"Daddy, are you okay?" Cara asked, the worry evident in her voice.

Wolffe moaned as he tried to settle his frustration, but he couldn't be mad at her because she didn't know any better. It wasn't like he sat her down and taught her about male anatomy. He preferred this sleeping arrangement when she was small and could fit on his chest, not when her legs were long enough to kick his testicles into the next galaxy. In an attempt to self-soothe the pain, he tossed around the idea that he didn't need them anyway. Without his wife, he wasn't planning on expanding his family anytime soon, so in reality, he could live without them.

"I'm fine," Wolffe said when he could finally verbalize his thoughts in a normal octave. "Just, don't wiggle around so much, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," she said, then snuggled her head under his chin. "I love you."

While his nether region throbbed with a lingering ache, Wolffe could still feel the warmth well up in his heart at her words bathed in sentiment. At the end of the day, she was his baby girl and there wasn't a force in the Galaxy, not even a kick to the testicles, that could make him love her any less. He could never be a great father, but he could be the best father his short, meaningless life allowed him to be. And she might never understand that. She might grow up to hate him one day, but until then, he wanted to hear her say those words over and over again. 

"I love you, too," Wolffe said and he kissed her head as she snuggled under his chin. "More than you'll ever know." He pulled up the covers over them both and wrapped his arms tightly around her to keep her from falling off. It felt natural to hold her like that, as a protective father would, but it wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't, so maybe she was right in forcing him to do it now.

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