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Pounding. That’s all he could hear, the pounding of his blood in his ears as he stormed out of medical. Anger and anxiety battled for attention in his mind as he practically ran to the safety of his quarters. He stumbled into his small safe space aboard the Ferocity, his body still at war with itself as it tried to decide whether he wanted to punch something or fall apart. Maybe both. Of all people, she had to team up with that skahnah. He continued to pace the small space, replaying the confrontation over and over again. He was sure his boots were wearing a hole into the floor while the bland durasteel walls of his tiny quarters felt like they were slowly creeping inwards, ready to consume him. When he saw Ventress pull out her sabers, he was ashamed to admit to himself that he froze. He just stood and watched as Fox’s Shock Troopers, the ones he promised Fox he’d look out for, closed in on Commander Tano and Ventress. Those Maker-forsaken blades were burned into his memory, literally. Once he finally came back to himself, he pushed his way forward and tried to take her down, but he was bested by the Sith yet again. Sure, he’d continued his job and eventually captured Commander Tano, but it’d taken everything in him to hold himself together to finish the mission.
His fist slammed into the wall at the memory of his repeated weakness. How was he expected to command and lead his brothers if he couldn’t even protect himself?
Right on cue, as if he could sense the commander’s turmoil, General Plo knocked on his door. The Jedi’s deep voice was muffled by the door when he called out Wolffe’s name. Grinding his teeth, Wolffe looked down at his cracked knuckles where the blood began to seep through the broken skin. He screwed his eyes shut, taking a few moments to decide whether or not he should let the General in to see him like this. Wolffe knew of his reputation in the GAR, and he was aware how he was regarded as the no nonsense, snarling commander of the 104th. He was unflappable, he was consistent and he was strong. That’s what they said about him anyway. If only they karking knew, if only they could see the pathetic reality behind all the war stories.
The knocking at his door grew more insistent, concern edging it’s way into the muffled calls of his name from the Jedi outside his door. With his last bit of sense, Wolffe relented. He didn’t want Plo to see him like this, but his guilt for causing him worry won out. The commander stumbled to the door and hit the button to open it before immediately turning on his heel again, not bothering to welcome the Jedi into his space as he strode back over to the far side of the room.
It was getting worse, the breathing, the pain in his lungs as he continued to battle for breath with each inhale. Wolffe clawed at his chest as he finally sank down to the ground. His breathing was erratic as he continued to palm at his heart and ribs as if it would provide some relief. A clawed hand appeared on his shoulder and squeezed at him through his blacks, trying to bring his focus back. “Wolffe, it’s alright. I’m here. You’re safe.” Plo’s voice, as always, was a soothing presence among the storm in Wolffe’s mind. He tried his damndest to fixate on it as his body continued to spiral beyond his control.
“Ahsoka, she- Ventress.” He sputtered out as his breathing fell out of control again. The vice in his chest grew tighter again and again until he was sure there was no air left for his lungs to hold onto. “Why?” His face was pleading as he stared at his general. He wanted to scream, he’d do anything if it meant the weight on his chest would disappear and he could feel like himself again.
Images flashed behind his eyes of a red beam, memories of his own screams rang in his ears and the smell of his own cauterised flesh invaded his nostrils. His hands made their way into his hair where he clutched on, praying that the action would ground his thoughts and push away the nightmares.
He felt himself being moved, pulled into the warm embrace of his general. Wolffe cursed himself for his weakness, but he didn’t even have it in him to fight Plo’s comfort. “She’s young, my son. Young, scared and alone. She’ll never forget what Ventress did to you, but currently she feels cornered and will take any avenue to continue her fight.” While his general’s words made sense, Wolffe was far from rational in his current state and was unable to take solace in the Kel Dor’s wisdom this time. Instead, his body continued the process of becoming detached from his mind.