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There is no such thing as comfort food on Kamino.
There is no such thing as good food either, not for the clones. All the food for the clones is distributed with practicality in mind. Every ration is designed to provide exactly the amount of nutrients you need and nothing more.
The rations are high in calories to keep the clones and their high metabolic rate running. Comfort isn’t the point of them, continued survival and optimal performance is.
Good soldiers have no need for comfort.
It was something every vod grew up knowing, no part of their training could be described as either comforting or comfortable, there was nothing the Kaminoans said or did that was meant to leave any of the vod feeling at ease or safe.
What the vod felt did not matter, and that was reflected in their upbringing, for as much as it could be called an upbringing when they were being trained to die.
They were not made to crave comfort or indulge in it, they were made for war.
There’s a stark difference between that training—and all of Wolffe’s expectations—and the actuality of General Koon.
The General isn’t what Wolffe was expecting,
General Koon, with his kind words and encouragement and the constant check-ins to make sure they are okay and at ease, as if what they felt and wanted mattered.
It leaves Wolffe confused and off-center and he hates it as much as he loves his General for it.
He hates being thrown off-center, hates not knowing, because if he doesn’t know he can’t protect.
He knows how to react to harshness, he’s been trained to be used to being uncomfortable, learned how to ignore the pain and keep going until either the mission is finished or he’s dead.
This kindness that General Koon gives out, freely and without any expectations, to the 104th is something he doesn’t quite know what to do with. Not when the Jedi so casually tells them that they matter, as if that didn’t go against everything they’d ever learned on Kamino.
It isn’t something he’s ever had to adjust to before, isn’t something he knows, but it’s nice. It’s nice and it makes something in him feel warm and safer than he’s ever felt before.
There is something like adoration there too, Wolffe knows, there is no way there isn’t, not after the General talks to them like they are equals, as if they weren’t just cannon fodder meant to die. Not after he helps keep the youngest of them safe so that they can live long enough to have a name instead of a number.
It comes easy, after that first tense week. When Wolffe is sure that the universe isn’t kind enough to give him this, not without a catch. That first week has Wolffe tense and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the moment the kindness fades away and his men are sent off for reconditioning or decommissioning because they made an out of line joke, because they roughhoused when the General walked in, because of a million little things that would’ve had the Kaminoans scrapping entire batches if they were caught and didn’t immediately prove they would be more useful alive then a new batch would have.
(Those first few weeks, when the General is kind and Wolffe is waiting, waiting, waiting, for the patience to run out and the kindness to disappear and for the shoe to finally drop, are part of the very few times over the course of working with the General that Wolffe is ever actually scared of his General, instead of for his General.)
After, when everyone is as settled as they can be during a war, the General starts doing things, little ones, that ping in the back of Wolffe’s head as just a little wrong but not in a way that’s necessarily bad. Just a little off.
Little things, like the General insisting that Wolffe sit down with him during briefings, like the General learning and then remembering their names and keeping them all straight. The little things, like the General asking if they’re okay, if they need him to do anything. Little things, like the General not only saying that he cares, that they matter, but then showing them that they do.
Even if Wolffe would rather the General stop throwing himself into danger to prove it.
It grows, slowly, as the General gets to know the men, claims them as his undeniably and indisputably. The 104th is named the Wolfpack, and every vod who comes to the pack and stays learns just what their General will sacrifice to keep them safe, to help them in any way he can.
The first time it happens, Wolffe doesn’t expect it, but maybe he should’ve, with all of the General’s prodding about what the men like and might want.
Still, the first time they set down on a planet and the General is silently, almost smugly, pleased during the load up process. Wolffe doesn't think much about it.
It doesn't take all that long to figure it out either, not when there are five extra boxes, filled with contraband, piled neatly with all of the usual supplies.
Inside of one of the boxes, there are blankets, balls of yarn and knitting and crochet needles, playing cards, and data pads with books and holovids loaded on them. There are other things, Wolffe is sure, but he is more preoccupied with the quiet presence of his General.
Wolffe doesn't confiscate a single thing, the buzzing excitement is palpable and spreading, and he smiles.
He joins the General in the corner, "Nice of you to do that for them, sir."
The General hums, and doesn't look at Wolffe, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about Commander."
Wolffe isn’t fooled, not when seeing the men excited and happy seems to make the General’s day, lifts some invisible weight off of the General’s shoulders.
(It’s easy to see, at least in the beginning, that the Jedi were not made for war. They are peacekeepers turned Generals and there are times when Wolffe will find General Koon looking at the men with such sorrow, with his whole body radiating defeat.)
Wolffe snorts, doubt clear in his voice, "Of course not, sir."
The General tilts his head towards Wolffe, "And I'm sure there is a reason why you haven't confiscated any of the contraband?"
Wolffe freezes for less than a second, thinks for that millisecond that maybe he judged wrong and that maybe, maybe, maybe—
But no, General Koon radiates only teasing and that same quiet pleasure, no threat in his posture.
So Wolffe settles and snorts again as the panic drains away. When he’s sure of himself again he speaks, voice perfectly even, with a grin that infuriates every one of his brothers, "What contraband, sir?"
General Koon chuckles, and watches as a shiny laughs with joy, "What contraband indeed Commander Wolffe."
Indeed, Wolffe thinks, after all, his brothers deserve these little comforts after everything.
The General settles a hand on his shoulder and Wolffe sways into the touch for a second before straightening.
The General squeezes, gentle, and speaks quietly, “Go, Commander, I’m sure there are some of those fluffy socks you were eyeing on our last deployment.”
Wolffe does not flush, only because he will not be ashamed of loving those soft fluffy monstrosities, they were warm for karks sake and if he’d been allowed he would have taken them.
As it is he gives the General a blank look, and his General chuckles again, the sound makes something warm unfurl in his chest.
Wolffe sighs, “Thank you, General.”
General Koon, manages to radiate smug pleasure for the next hour. It would be infuriating if it weren’t well deserved.
(This is not the last time this happens, merely the first, and maybe, the most important.
Plo Koon will always believe that the clones deserve better, that they deserve the things they were denied because of their training.
Wolffe will always want to protect his men.
This first move of Plo’s though, is the one that lets Wolffe begin to slip from the harsh professionalism into something closer to friend.)
Wolffe does indeed grab four pairs of the softest, fluffiest socks from the box without shame. They’re karking comfortable dammit, the fact that they’re all bright colours is not going to stop him from grabbing them.
One of his men gives him a side-eye and Wolffe grins, smile dangerous and teeth bared. “Problem Private?”
The wide-eyed look as the Private stumbles out a “No, Sir” makes Wolffe bite down on a laugh, the warmth of it all settling over him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Wolffe can see the General watching the exchange and the laughter that fills the hold soothes something in him.
He’s safe here, with his men and his General, and this maybe won’t always be the case, but here and now, with the comfort of his people and the ridiculous contraband items his General has smuggled on board, he’s safe.
Wolffe grins.
(Plo Koon, beneath his rebreather, smiles, and basks in the swirl of warm emotions in the Force.)