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I do not own Star Wars Clone Wars or any of the characters.
Plo and the Wolffe
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Plo waited.
He rather enjoyed the wait.
The build up of anticipation.
He had called his Wolffe to him.
He knew he would come to his side soon.
He knew.
His Wolffe.
The words rolled around his mind happily, sparking so many emotions.
They awakened Plo right to his very core.
My Wolffe.
Somewhere behind the rebreather Plo smiled, smiled with joy he had thought long dead.
His very heart ached and burned with a new found desire he had thought had fled from him so very long ago, but apparently all fires can be rekindled, it just needs the right spark.
Plo had found his spark.
He hadn’t even been looking.
And then one day, there it was, in front of him. Saluting in all it’s brilliant innocence.
Plo had been both intrigued and smitten all at once.
Son?
Lover?
He struggled to find the right words, but perhaps … soul mate, yes, that seemed to fit.
Soul mate.
It rolled around his consciousness, finding its place in his head, in his heart.
The last piece in the puzzle that was Plo.
The last piece that completed him.
There was no hindrance that such completion came from a clone of a man Plo had never known.
Jango was just a name on a file, a name shrouded in so much myth and gossipy legend on Coruscant, but Plo had searched the files, tried to find out as much as possible about the origin of those that were now so very dear to him.
So much conflicting information colliding in the vaults of the database.
Legends some of it was referred to, other information referred to as canon, Plo had a hard time separating the two, but he did know for sure that the result, regardless of its origin had brought this wonderful if not tortured soul to him.
“My Wolffe” he breathed to the empty air as he waited.
Plo had been lost, stumbling through the motions of life, ticking over in his duties, he had thought that the council’s instructions to lead a clone army into battle would be the final blow, the death of him. His final walk in life.
He had not approved of the councils decision, but in his lost state he had not found the words or the strength to oppose.
He had gone in expecting nothing, well maybe perhaps nothing more that a conclusion.
Instead he had found his salvation.
The door com beeped.
“Come” he managed, his voice reverberating all his emotions at once.
Commander Wolffe stepped into the room.
The cold light of the corridor framed him for just a moment until the doors closed and warm candle light enveloped him instead.
Fully armoured except for his helmet tucked under his arm.
“General” came the gruff response complete with a slight nod of the head.
“Commander” said Plo smiling a smile that he knew Wolffe could not see for the re-breather, but knew damn well he could sense.
The corners of Wolffe’s mouth turned up also.
A rare smile in return.
Plo loved these moments.
Wolffe placed his helmet down on the narrow table to one side of Plo’s quarters, took a deep breath and then looked bemused at his General.
“My Wolffe” said Plo reaching out a clawed hand.
He made no attempt to hide his joy or his love.
Why should he.
His Wolffe came to him, and Plo was complete, whole once more.