Chapter Ten

You know me, I had plans.

But they just disappeared,

To the back of my mind.

~The Black Keys, "Little Black Submarine."

Three hours later...

Kriff, he was tired.

It had been a very, very long day. Although Wolffe wanted nothing more than to fall into his rack for the next eighteen hours – at least – his steps off of the larty and onto the Triumphant's hangar were light because Ava was waiting for him.

Back on Nar Shaddaa, after he'd left Ava to gather her things, he'd ordered North to bring her to one of the cabins outfitted for civilian use, and for the junior medic to see that she got something to eat if she was hungry. He hoped that she'd get some rest as well, but he had no way of predicting what she would do. They'd known one another such a short time, after all.

Of course there was a part of him that wanted to join her in the cabin, but he schooled himself to patience. Everything in her world had changed so suddenly, and he had no wish to push anything upon her that she didn't desire, though the enthusiastic way she'd returned his kiss earlier told him that she might not mind-

"Commander!"

Agitation in a medic's voice automatically made his stomach sink, but he pushed the feeling aside and turned to see North hurrying towards him from one of the larties, his bucket swinging at his hip. The younger clone paused about a meter from Wolffe and snapped off a crisp salute, his entire body rigid with a tension that was almost palpable.

"Report, trooper."

North swallowed nervously, and Wolffe felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. "Sir, the young woman – Ava – she's gone, sir."

The commander's stomach sank a little more and he knew his voice was sharp. "Explain."

The junior medic took a deep breath but even so, his words were still stuttered and halting. "I don't understand it, sir. One minute we were taking off, then...she-" His face colored and his eyes dropped.

But Wolffe was in no mood for this shiny's stammering, so he gave the younger man a severe look. "She what?"

"She...asked me to take her...somewhere else." North was still blushing furiously. "She said...she wanted to...see me alone, so she asked me to get Tracer to set us down in another part of the city. Once he did, she-"

His words cut off again and Wolffe thought the fellow was going to fall to pieces right then and there, so he dialed his scowl back a few notches and tried to look understanding. "It's okay, lad," he said as calmly as he could, given the fact that he really, really wanted to punch something. "You're not in any trouble; just tell me what happened."

North nodded, exhaled, and continued. "I don't know what happened, sir. The minute we touched down on the landing platform and the doors opened, she...thanked me, and she stepped off. Before I knew it, she had disappeared into the crowd. Tracer and I tried to find her, but...it was useless. We only just got back."

For a few moments, neither clone spoke as another transport landed behind them. Wolffe took one deep breath, then another, fighting back the insistent urge to pummel the bulkhead while his stupid, di'kut heart was getting stuck in his throat and he tried to wrap his mind around what he'd just heard.

Ava was gone.

Perhaps mistaking the commander's silence for anger at him, North continued. "I don't understand it, sir. She was...pretty, no doubt, but I never wanted her like that, I promise you. But the minute we got on that transport, it was like...someone switched something on in my body, and I could hardly think about anything other than-"

The junior medic broke off as his face had become progressively redder with each word, though by now Wolffe's thoughts were distant. Ava's pheromones. Of course. Although he'd not experienced them firsthand, it wasn't a big leap of analysis to figure out that was how she'd influenced the other clone, and he knew perfectly well how a man's hormones could affect his judgment. There was no way Wolffe could blame North for anything; if he'd not let himself get blinded by lust, none of this would have happened, and he certainly wouldn't have put the medic into this situation in the first place.

North appeared to be at a loss for words, so Wolffe shook his head. "It's alright, North. I think I understand." Taking a deep breath, he offered the other trooper a tentative pat on the shoulder, because the kid was still trembling with agitation. "You did the best you could. It's not your fault she...left."

"I'm sorry, sir," North replied. "Tracer and I looked everywhere, we really did. I didn't want to bother you before I knew for certain-"

"Thank you for looking," Wolffe broke in; he tried to sound calm but thought he wasn't managing, for the younger clone paled a little. Shinies. Wolffe bit back a sigh and thumbed towards the hangar exit. "Why don't you get some grub?"

A relieved expression crossed the medic's face as he saluted, then hurried off. The commander figured he should do the same, as he had mission reports to write and a few days' work to catch up on, but he didn't move. Another transport was landing, the familiar buzzing engines not quite as comforting of a sound as it normally was, but Wolffe remained standing in place, pretending to oversee the offloading of his troops.

His thoughts were still miles away, on Nar Shaddaa.

The press of her hand to his chest was warm, and his heart quickened from the simple touch. Her voice was completely serious. "...this isn't anything that will last. You know that, right?"

Of course he'd known that. Of course he knew the experience had been an illusion, a trick of his own emotions and passions. He'd let his body get the better of his mind, and it had been...well, it had been fantastic, for a while, but now that it was over he felt empty. Hollow.

The larty's engines echoed in the cavity of his chest and he wanted to move, to do something other than stand here, but he was frozen in place, remembering.

That last, dazzling smile she had given him...that was the key. It should have been the warning that she was lying about coming to the Triumphant, but he hadn't wanted to believe anything other than what she'd said. It was a charming, lovely smile, but it hadn't been real; in the end, it was just a reflection of their brief time together.

"Thank you, for everything."

Of course she'd thanked him. He'd just handed her exactly what she wanted, and while he didn't blame her for wanting freedom, he wished – maybe more than a little – that she'd asked him for help, rather than taken it on her own. I would have given it to her, he realized as he watched his men making their way through the hangar. If she'd only told me what she wanted.

Frustration welled within him because it shouldn't have been this way. He knew better than to allow himself to get attached to someone like her, someone whose life was not her own and who was used to being used. Ava lived and breathed in a world of manufactured sensuality, and he figured that she knew exactly what to say to make a man lose his mind, even for a night.

There was a small, bitter part of him that thought she would not have made the same decision had he been a normal man and not a cloned soldier. An implant and a scar did not make a man unique any more than a name did; they didn't give him the ability to offer her anything more appealing than a few, pleasant hours. They didn't give him the ability to keep her safe from those who would do her harm.

Fek, he was exhausted.

Wolffe sighed and rubbed at his eyes, then turned away from the larties and began to walk towards the turbolift, half-debating if he should eat or shower first, but knowing that he was just going to fall into his rack. When he reached the lift, he realized that his armor still seemed strange and heavy, and he was irritated with himself for the feeling because he needed to get back to normal. The mission was over; it was time to move on and forget.

Above everything else, he should have known better. It was just that kriffing simple.

The next day...

Ava took a deep breath and pushed back her annoyance with the Rodian female, instead offering the pawnbroker her most earnest expression. "It's real, I promise you."

"Hmm," the Rodian mused, examining Wolffe's ring beneath a lighted magnifying glass. "It looks real...but how do you know it works if you haven't activated it?"

The pawnshop she'd selected for this task was cluttered but not dirty, which Ava supposed was quite a feat, though she had no sense of any type of organization to the massive amounts of wares that were packed into the little, Nar Shaddaa shop: piles of old tech – she'd been informed that it all worked, just fine – were clustered on various tables along the walls; racks of clothing were scattered seemingly at random throughout the shop's interior.

Best of all, the counter consisted of a long, glass case that was brimming with jewelry of all kinds, but Ava could tell that there was nothing like this ring in the Rodian's shop, which was how she knew she should get a good price for it.

She'd already remained on Nar Shaddaa far too long, and while she'd managed to avoid both the Republic soldiers and Jurma's agents, it was only a matter of time before someone caught up with her. A part of Ava had hoped that Wolffe would return and come looking, but she pushed the feeling aside as being silly.

Once she'd gotten over the initial shock, she'd realized that she didn't care that he was one of millions of clones; she liked him, still. He was a clone, but he was also a man, and a good one at that. No, what truly mattered in this situation was that he was a soldier with a war to win, which meant he undoubtedly had more important things on his mind than a silly, Zeltron whore, like her.

So she pointed out the tiny gem-like objects on the ring. "At first I thought those were marcasite, but look at the cut...they're not stones at all."

The Rodian made a noise of acknowledgment. "So they're not." Her blue head lifted and regarded Ava with inscrutable, glittering eyes. "Where did you say you got this, young lady?"

"It was a gift," Ava replied as she held the pawnbroker's gaze. "But it turns out I need the money more than the sentiment."

At this, the Rodian chuckled and nodded, her antennae bobbing with the motion. "Males. They're the same no matter the species, aren't they?"

Ava did not reply; as the pawnbroker continued examining the ring, she turned her attention to a pair of tall, leather boots that had been placed on the counter seemingly at random. They looked sturdy and well-made, a far cry from her own, flimsy shoes, and a glance at the size showed her that they should fit her feet. Wolffe probably would have approved of them.

"I've a fellow who can test out tech like this for me, but it usually takes a few days to get a hold of him...and you said you're in a hurry." The Rodian's voice drew her attention back to the pawnbroker, who'd set the ring back on the counter and was leaning forward, arms crossed before her chest. "So without knowing if it works, I can only give you so much."

She named a figure that would barely fund a ticket across the hemisphere, let alone off-world, and Ava blanched. "That's a fraction of what it must be worth."

"Fine," the pawnbroker said, lifting the ring. "Save me the hassle and activate this emergency beacon of yours. Show me it works, then we can talk real money."

Ava accepted the ring and fingered the little gems on the side, remembering Wolffe's pragmatic expression when he'd given it to her. Necessary. He'd thought it was necessary to protect her in some way, even when he couldn't stand before her, attempting to absorb any blow that came her way. She wondered if he still felt that way. Probably not. He'd probably forgotten her; by now they'd been apart longer than they'd known each other, and it was stupid to think that he felt anything better than indifference for her, especially after the ungrateful way she'd repaid his kindness.

She glanced at the Rodian. "I know it works."

"That's nice, sweetheart," the blue-skinned pawnbroker said. "But if you want more cash, I need proof before purchase. Or, you can accept my offer and consider yourself fortunate that I'm so generous."

Kriffing hell. Ava briefly considered using her pheromones to influence the Rodian, but she still regretted doing so to North, and wanted as few regrets as possible, now. But it was difficult to accept such a low amount of money when she was so desperate, so she glanced around the shop, thinking to try and buy herself some time to work out...something.

Her eyes fell on the boots, so she glanced back at the Rodian and named a figure, a much, much higher one than had been offered, and – predictably – the pawnbroker laughed in her face. They haggled for several minutes until Ava sighed and raised her hands in a gesture of acquiescence. "Very well. I'll knock a hundred creds off of my last offer, but I want you to throw in those boots. Then I'll leave and not bother you any more."

The Rodian studied her, then nodded once. "Deal." They shook hands, and Ava watched as the ring disappeared into the Rodian's case as she accepted the stack of creds and her new boots. As she took a seat on a little stool at the counter to slip the boots on, the pawnbroker offered her a considering look. "You drive a hard bargain, for a Zelly. Need a job? I could use a little eye-candy around this place; brings the customers in like flies to Nubian honey."

"Thanks, but I'm not looking for anything here," Ava replied, wriggling her toes in the boots and silently thanking the Force that they fit perfectly. "I'm about to head off-world."

"Where to?"

Ava stuffed her old shoes in her bag and stowed her creds. "I'm still working that part out. All I've been able to decide is anywhere but here."

The pawnbroker fiddled with the lock on the jewelry case. "Ever thought about going to Tanaab? My son and his family are doing pretty well out there. He says it's peaceful and there's plenty of work."

Until a day ago, Ava had never considered that she'd set foot on another planet besides Nar Shaddaa; she'd been born here and she'd always figured she'd die here as well. Tanaab. It was as good an option as any. "Maybe I will. Thanks."

"Take care of yourself," the Rodian said, lifting a blue hand in a gesture of farewell.

Nodding, Ava gave a bright smile that she knew didn't reach her eyes, and slipped out the door.

Three weeks later...

Wolffe leaned back in his office chair and rubbed at his eyes, thinking it was time for another cup of caf because if he didn't get a jolt of energy, he'd start to crash. Sleep wasn't a bad thing, of course, except for the fact that his dreams were usually of her.

In his waking mind, he was able to set the memories aside and focus on his duty, but at night, in the dark hours when he would toss and turn in his bunk, he could feel the heat of her skin beneath his hands, taste the pliable sweetness of her lips as they kissed. Fek, there were times he could still hear her murmuring his name, again and again.

No matter if he was awake or asleep, he could still see her smile.

Yes, it was definitely time for more caf. Those reports of Kadavo wouldn't write themselves, anyway.

A chime sounded at his office door and he scowled to himself; in the last few weeks, most of his men had learned to leave their commander alone unless there was an emergency, but sometimes Boost and Sinker tried to cajole a little bit of sociability out of him. He appreciated their concern, but at the moment he wanted nothing to do with any of them.

Without looking up from his console, Wolffe lifted his voice. "Come in."

The familiar tread should have alerted him to the fact that it was not one of his troopers who entered the room, but he was...well, he was tired and distracted, so he didn't realize his general was standing before him until a moment too long had passed.

When Wolffe glanced up he mentally chastised himself for his lax in attention, then slid to his feet and offered a salute. "General. Sorry, sir...I didn't see you, there."

The tilt of Plo Koon's head indicated that the Jedi wasn't looking at the commander, but at his desk, which was littered with half-empty caf cups, datapads and stacks of flimsies. Wolffe grimaced inwardly. He'd meant to clean up, but it seemed like such an unimportant task when there was a War to win, and besides, cleaning didn't occupy his mind nearly enough.

The Jedi looked back at him and Wolffe steeled himself for...something. What exactly, he wasn't sure, but he doubted that General Plo had come to his office in the late hours of the evening to lecture him about maintaining a tidy work environment.

He was right.

"At ease, Wolffe," the Jedi said, indicating the chair behind the clone. However, Wolffe did not take his seat again, instead waiting as the Kel Dor studied him for a few seconds. "How are you?"

Perhaps if he'd been less tired, he would have answered differently, but at the moment Wolffe was in no mood for a chat, so he shrugged. "I don't know, sir. How do I seem?"

"Lately, I've noticed that you've been acting like a...how do the men put it?" Plo Koon's hand lifted to his breathing mask in thought. "Ah, yes. Di'kut is the word, isn't it?"

Wolffe fought back a wince and did not drop his eyes from his CO. "Depends, sir."

"On...?"

"On your point."

General Plo chuckled and his hand dropped to his side. "You've never been a particularly easy man to get along with, Wolffe, but something has changed, and it's affecting you in a negative way."

This sent a flare of unease through the commander, so he faced his general, head-on. "Sir, if I've been negligent in my duty, I request that you immediately inform me, so I can correct-"

"No, no," Plo Koon broke in, raising his hand in a silent request for Wolffe to stop speaking. "You mistake my meaning. In all the time we've known one another, I've yet to see you display even a trace of negligence. No, I'm not speaking of anything related to your duty, but something of a more...personal nature."

Oh, kriff. Wolffe nodded, but he still felt uneasy as he waited for the Jedi to continue. After Nar Shaddaa, they'd been sent on one mission after another, practically without a break, so there hadn't been time for Wolffe to say anything about Ava to the general aside from a terse, she's not here, sir. Truthfully, he'd hoped it would stay that way.

"Since your mission to Nar Shaddaa, I've observed that you've been...different, Wolffe. Harsher. Sullen and quick to anger. Well," the Jedi paused, and there was the barest trace of humor in his next words. "Quicker to anger."

A beat later, the Jedi's voice turned calm again. "Do you think this is an incorrect observation on my part?"

They both knew it wasn't, but Wolffe was stubborn and didn't want to answer right away, so he crossed his arms before his chest and said nothing for a long moment, during which his general only watched him, giving the impression that he could see straight through the clone's silence.

Finally, the commander admitted defeat. "No, sir. It's not."

More silence, and he knew what the general wanted but would likely not ask for. Plo Koon's style of leadership was not as direct as General Skywalker's, or as forthright as General Kenobi's; not that the Kel Dor used deception, but he had a tendency to guide one to where they needed to be without them realizing it until they were there.

Sometimes Wolffe was amazed at the Jedi's ability to bring perfect clarity to a tangled, messy situation with only a few words. So he knew he could resist, but he also knew that if he didn't, he might gain some perspective, assuming the Jedi didn't fault him for forming an attachment to a Nar Shaddaa whore. No, he thought immediately, brushing the word aside. That's not fair. That's not who she is.

"I should have known better," he said at last, looking down at his gloves and remembering how Ava had tugged them off of his hands. "It was just a mission, only a temporary assignment, but...it's stayed with me. She's stayed with me, but I should have known better."

"Than to...?"

Wolffe sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think...I think I developed feelings for her, a little. I must have," he added, to himself more than the Jedi. "It's the only explanation for why I feel so...out-of-sorts."

Plo Koon's voice was quieter, now. "You are unhappy."

"Yeah," Wolffe said as he crossed his arms again. "That sounds about right." He rolled his eyes. "You're right, sir. I am a di'kut. I'd have to be an idiot to have...fallen for a woman after knowing her less than a day."

There was a beat of silence, then the Jedi spoke again, thoughtfully, as if they were talking out an upcoming mission plan. "Sometimes I forget who you are, Wolffe."

Okay, that's probably sign of...something not good. "Sir?"

Plo Koon took a breath; because of the mask there was no sound, but Wolffe could see the movement of his shoulders. "On the battlefield, you think and act like a soldier three times your actual age, and I've yet to see you truly beaten, even in defeat." He canted his head to the commander and continued. "But I sometimes forget that beneath all of that, you are still a very, very young man."

"Maybe I am," Wolffe replied darkly. "But I know how the galaxy works. I shouldn't have let my guard down like I did."

"Perhaps," the Jedi said, and Wolffe's stomach twisted in a knot. "But tell me this: if given the chance to go back and erase the time that you spent with Ava, would you take it?"

This, at least, he knew. "Not on your life, General."

"So, can you acknowledge that something good did come out of the experience?"

Wolffe was still tired and out-of-sorts, but some of the heaviness lifted from his shoulders. "Yeah, I suppose it did." A beat later, though, he scowled and shook his head. "But it doesn't matter, does it? Even if we shared something nice, I can't think of any of that without thinking of...how she left."

The Jedi nodded. "The new medic, the younger one – North – told me a little of what happened."

"She just left," Wolffe exclaimed, adding a noise of disgust. "Without warning. I guess I should have known what she was planning, on some level, but if she'd only told me something was...wrong, or whatever, I could have done something about it. But instead she got poor North all hot and bothered, then took off to who-knows-where."

He scowled at the floor, as hard as he could. "And that makes me question everything. Everything she ever said to me, everything she ever did. Every look, every laugh, every smile...was any of it real, or was I just fooling myself?"

He broke off, suddenly feeling ashamed for his childish outburst. He was a commander, for Force's sake, and he should have known better. Di'kut, indeed.

Plo Koon waited a beat, as if seeing if Wolffe would say anything more; when he didn't, the Jedi lifted his hand to his mask in thought. "You wonder if there was no other reason for the way she treated you than because she intended to use you?"

How could anyone sum things up so kriffing neatly? It was mind-boggling. Wolffe nodded. "Yeah. That's about it."

"From what I understand, Ava was a slave of some kind. Is that correct?" The general's voice was still so calm, and Wolffe nodded again, curious, but not quite sure where this was going. A brief pause, then Plo continued. "Then I can theorize that her own experiences with men – or people in general – have not been overwhelmingly positive."

"Each moment with you has been a gift, Wolffe. I've never met anyone like you."

"I don't think so, either," Wolffe replied, and felt his shoulders drop.

The Jedi nodded. "Admittedly, my own experience in the arena of females is limited, but I like to think I've learned something about the nature of sentient beings, and in this case...I wonder if she had all of these same thoughts about you, that you were simply using her as a means to an end. I would imagine that she was unused to being treated as anything other than a slave."

Wolffe frowned and looked down at his gloved hands again, remembering.

"You're not expendable, Ava. Your life is valuable."

She smiled at him. "Saying it with such conviction doesn't make it true, you know."

It had been a true smile, but a sad one, then she'd told him that she'd been a slave since she was seven years old.

Wolffe understood that he was young by galactic standards, and that there were many who looked upon him and his brothers as little more than disposable people, but he knew that Plo Koon felt differently. Wolffe knew that he was valued, that his brothers were valued. He didn't think Ava had ever known that about herself. The idea made him grimace as his hands tightened into fists; now, he really wanted to punch something even though he knew it wouldn't do anything other than make his knuckles ache.

"There was no way Ava could have anticipated how events would have played out," the Jedi said, his steady voice pulling Wolffe out of his sullen thoughts. "Even if she knew you were from the Republic, I don't think she meant to use you, Wolffe. Or if she did, it was not something that was in her mind from the outset. From where I'm standing, it looks like she saw an opportunity, and took it. After what you've told me, can you fault her for such a thing?"

Suddenly he felt heavy again, full but unstable, like a rag soaked in water, and he thought again how tired he was. "No, sir," he said after a pause. "I can't fault her. But there's nothing I can do about it, now, so it hardly matters."

Perhaps if he'd not been as distracted, he might not have started when the his general reached out and patted his armored shoulder with a large, clawed hand before he made to leave. "Wolffe, if you've learned nothing else from our time together, know this," he began as he stepped towards the door. "There is always hope."

As quietly as he'd entered the office, Plo Koon slipped out. After staring at the door for a few moments, Wolffe admitted defeat and went to bed, hoping that he was too tired to dream.

Thanks for reading! One more chapter to go. :)