#wolvan

When the Fleet eventually limps into the Core, everyone is looking forward to the Leave they’ve been promised in the wake of their generals all needing medical attention (and Skywalker’s relationship with the Chancellor).

Wolffe is chewing on a ration bar as he reads some holonovel Sinker has loaded onto his personal datapad, it’s aimed at teenagers, all romance and angst and saving the galaxy but it’s at least better than the trashy romance novels Boost prefers. He’s sitting on Revan’s bunk, and the Jedi is sitting on a mat on the floor making things float as he meditates.

He doesn’t notice things settling back to their proper places, and almost jumps when Revan says “do you have plans for your leave?”

His head snaps up from his holopad, and he finds the Jedi kneeling on the floor, head propped on his folded arms that are resting on the mattress. His eyes are big and bright and warm, a soft smile on his face.

Little gods, this man is beautiful.

“No,” Wolffe says. “Why?”

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” Revan asks. “I know a place, the owner and I are friends and he likes taking my credits, no matter what.”

“Meaning he’ll let me in even though I’m a clone,” Wolffe says, and Revan’s eyes grow sad.

“Yeah,” he says softly.

Wolffe bites his lip. “Why can’t we just have dinner in the mess?” He asks. “Or in my quarters since you don’t take your helmet off...”

“Dating,” Revan says, tilting his head. “Is generally done by going on outings called dates, where we do an activity and learn more about each other.”

“An activity,” Wolffe says.

“A recreational pursuit or pass time,” Revan says. “Typically a date is a shared meal in a public environment followed by an activity; dancing, seeing a holofilm, a walk through a park or garden.”

“And you want to take me on a date?” Wolffe says.

“I do,” Revan grins, and Wolffe feels himself melt a little because it’s a cheeky boyish expression that suits him far better than the serious and stern scowls that often grace his features. “Very much so.”

Wolffe doesn’t know what Revan did to be the one who trains him; the former Sith is not a favourite of the Jedi Council, and initially they had all been under the assumption it would be Plo who trained him.

Revan is shirtless, corded muscles and lightning scars on full display; contrary to popular belief, his chest is not covered in those pale jagged lines, just his right arm. He tosses down a meditation mat with an intricate patterned woven into it, followed by a second in plain grey and white.

“Sit,” Revan says, and sits with folded legs on the woven mat. “You’ve been doing your mental exercises with Master Plo and Master Ti?”

Wolffe nods, it’s a lot of breathing and thinking and opening his mind, whatever that means. He thought learning to use the force would be more...lightsabers and throwing things around with his mind.

“Good,” Revan smiles, and Wolffe sits on the second mat, surprised that it feels so...soft. “While accelerated, you went through what younglings go through before they become initiates at the temple.”

“Like flash training,” Wolffe says.

Revan nods, and unclips his lightsaber from his belt and splays his fingers flat as it floats above his palm and begins to disassemble, the casing sliding open and the shard of purple kyber exposed; glowing brilliant and bright in the calm hall.

“Today marks your first official day of training in the force,” he says. “By opening yourself up to it the last few weeks, your ability to access its power has increased, hopefully enough to be able to control it.”

He splays his fingers, sending the pieces of the saber forward to float around Wolffe’s head and reassemble before his eyes.

He catches it when Revan drops it, fingers curling around the familiar beskar hilt.

“You want me to lift this?” Wolffe asks.

“Beskar is...notoriously difficult to manipulate with the Force,” Revan admits. “I’ll admit even the most experienced Jedi Masters might have trouble with it, given its...spotted past.”

He takes the saber back, setting it aside instead of clipping it to his belt, and produces a small bag and empties its contents on the floor between them. Small round balls of varying materials roll out, stone, metal, wood, glass and clay, Revan picks up the wooden one, holds it in the flat of his palm, and it levitates briefly before floating over to tap Wolffe on the nose.

Wolffe frowns at his lover, and plucks the ball from the air.

“I want you to lift that,” he says. “That wood is from Dantooine, a force charged planet home to ancient Jedi and the Academy, an ancient sanctuary for the Order. The wood itself is tuned to the force, and should give you some assistance in learning this basic exercise.”

It looks like a basic wooden ball, but Revan isn’t one to lie. Bend the truth? Yes. But lie? Rarely.

Unless it’s to the Council on why he and Wolffe disappeared for an impromptu vacation.

Wolffe holds the ball in the flat of his hand, like Revan did, closes his eyes and breathes, like Plo told him to.

“Open your mind,” Revan says, gentle. “Reach out, feel the Force around you. Focus it, focus on the ball. Do you feel it?”

Wolffe...feels. The Force is a strange thing, bright and dark, clear and cloudy. It burns, bright as a star, around Revan. He sees the tether that binds them, the tethers that float torn and ripped out from Revan’s golden core bleeding pain and-

“Focus, Wolffe,” Revan says, firm. “It’s not me your attention should be on.”

“Sorry,” he replies.

He feels it, the ball in his hand, feels its warm life that clings to the cut and carved wood. He grips it, mentally, grasping tight to not lose it and then-

“Open your eyes,” Revan says. “Don’t lose your focus, that’s it, good.”

Wolffe’s eyes open a fraction, and they widen at the sight of the ball floating just a centimetre or two above his palm. It drops almost the moment pride swells in his chest, but he saw it. It was floating.

Wolvan: A serious question: What still keeps us on that site

blackjackkent: mostly the fact that my friends haven't left yet

Wolvan: why haven't we abandoned the boat by now

blackjackkent: cos none of us want to float on the ocean alone

Wolvan: aren't we the one fixing the giant boat with ducktape?

blackjackkent: yep. and it's leakin', leakin'...

Wolvan: motherfucking ducktape fixes literally anything

Wolvan: name me 1 thing

Wolvan: that ducktape can't fix