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Wolffe rubbed the thick material of his gloves together in an attempt to drive just a little bit more feeling back into his fingers. He held them close to the pathetic fire he’d made, barely a torch and certainly not big enough to make any real difference against the biting cold. Wolffe would have made the fire bigger, of course, he could have - but he wanted to make the little firewood in the cave last .
At least his hands weren’t as cold as his feet. Small victories.
The ability to pull a trigger was far more important than being able to walk for a clone, anyway. This way, even if frostbite ate away at his feet, Wolffe might still have been able to make himself useful as a gunner or a pilot. That was a bridge he’d cross when he was rescued, Wolffe decided. There was no point making plans for something that might never come.
Instead, Wolffe turned his thoughts to the situation at hand and admonished himself for getting into it in the first place. He turned to stare listlessly around the shallow, barren cave he was stuck in as the snowstorm raged on outside the entrance. Every few seconds, stray gusts of wind would carry freezing snow directly onto Wolffe’s armour, whipping into the fire which crackled but thankfully did not go out.
How he’d managed to get himself into this mess, Wolffe couldn’t be sure - and that was the most worrying thing. He’d been separated from his team somewhere along the way. How were they doing? Wolffe could only hope they were better off in this storm than him. But then again, they had a Jedi with them. With any luck, they were held-up somewhere safe and planning a rescue party to come and evacuate him.
But then again…
Wolffe allowed that thought to trail off, forcing himself not to listen to that voice in the back of his head.
General Koon had gone to great lengths to convince Wolffe that the lives of he and his men were worth something. It seemed illogical for him to back out of that belief because of this.
No.
General Koon - Plo, as he insisted Wolffe call him, was coming. His wolf pack were coming.
Wolffe knew that in their position, he’d certainly already be planning a rescue mission.
…Wouldn’t he?
He was a prickly bastard at the best of times, Wolffe could admit, but surely he was worth more alive to the Republic than dead. Yes, he was also crass and often crossed the line regarding the chain of command, but Wolffe thought that General Koon thrived on that sort of a challenge just as much as he did. He might not have been a model clone in many respects but surely they were coming for him.
-
Wolffe couldn’t be sure of how much time passed, his communicator knocked out due to the storm somehow. He thought it might have been an hour or so but in all honesty, Wolffe had no idea.
The fire at his feet was all but embers now, no matter how much Wolffe had tried to prolong the inevitable. His limbs felt stiff and brittle like the branches of a dying tree as he dragged his knees up to his chest, resting the front of his bucket against them.
Momentarily, he considered taking the damned thing off. But then again, even the cold plastoid was a useful layer to protect against the elements.The wind, at least, was off his face even if the chill had long since crept under the seal.
How long were they going to be?
Wolffe knew that frostbite would be starting to set in soon. If that happened to any serious degree, he’d certainly be decommissioned regardless of if he retained use of his fingers. He wasn't sure General Koon - Plo - could protect him from that. He couldn't fathom why Plo would want to.
Death had never sounded that bad to Wolffe, though decommissioning or death via hypothermia certainly weren’t high on his list of ways to go out. He’d been decanted, like his vod, with the utter certainty that one day they’d die serving the republic, and had accepted that irrefutable fact for what it was. But damn, Wolffe had hoped dying would be more exciting, or at least faster.
Sluggishly, Wolffe realised he was beginning to feel a little warm.
Perhaps the storm was calming down.
When he cast his gaze back over to the cave’s entrance, it certainly didn’t look any different to when he’d first stumbled inside - but the increase in temperature, the absence of cold biting at his skin, must have been a good thing.
The more Wolffe thought about it, the hotter he seemed to become.
Maybe it was something to do with the cave. Wolffe had heard of underground hot springs heating specific areas of a planet’s surface. That possability certainly seemed far more plausible than the snowstorm outside suddenly becoming warm.
In truth, Wolffe had no idea.
He began to unclip the various plates of his armour instead to make himself a little more comfortable. Having been stuck in a full kit for hours, being able to move all his limbs freely again was a blessed relief. He doubted any separatists would be stupid enough to brave the storm just to shoot one clone, anyway. Wolffe figured he was safe. Unclasping his bucket and allowing the breeze to whip past his face was nice, too.
Wolffe allowed himself to get as comfortable as he could next to the dying embers of the fire. He’d be here for the long-haul anyway, he thought. If his squad were coming at all, the endeavour would likely take several hours yet.
If, being the key word.
The voice in the back of Wolffe’s mind became louder.
They’d forgotten about him. Or at most, called a meeting and decided jointly that their Commander wasn’t worth the trouble. It was only realistic - Wolffe would be a dead weight on the way back to safety, too.
He didn’t have the energy to feel betrayed. If this was how he was to die, Wolffe would take it. He just hoped death would hurry the fuck up.
-
Wolffe wasn’t expecting to wake.
But when he did, his head hurt and opening his eyes was akin to staring directly into a sun. Colours and shapes swirled around his vision nauseatingly, like looking at a scene from deep underwater. This one reminded Wolffe of the medical wing aboard the venator, he thought - one of those shapes looking distinctly General Koon shaped, too.
But that couldn’t be right.
They’d left Wolffe for dead.
This must have been a dream then, Wolffe decided. Hypothermia had dug its claws in deep and this was some kind of hallucination before the end.
Wolffe shifted beneath the… the heated blanket that was drawn up to his neck. It was a heavy thing but distinguishable from a different sort of pressure on his shoulder, Wolffe noticed. When he turned, he realised he was being squeezed by a clawed, leathery hand.
Plo.
When Wolffe turned his head back to the ceiling, the Jedi practically filled his vision. Of course a death-hallucination would feature Wolffe’s General. Of course.
Distantly, Wolffe heard some muffled noises and, based on the way Plo’s respirator was moving, he realised the other man must have been speaking to him. Wolffe blinked hard. He didn’t have a hope in hell of making out what Plo was saying, but he did manage to pick up on the soothing, reassuring rhythm of his voice. Wolffe did his best to concentrate further but his mind felt as if it had been put through a blender.
Regardless, if this was a hallucination, it wasn’t a terrible one, Wolffe decided. Regardless of the pounding in his head and how cold he felt once again.
Plo’s voice finally came into focus, but it was as if the Jedi were speaking through a door.
“I’m so sorry, my friend.” The hand on Wolffe’s shoulder squeezed gently. “We came to get you as quick as we could. You shouldn't have had to suffer like that, but the medics are confident you’ll make a full recovery.”
That couldn’t have been right. That wasn’t how things had played out. Whatsmore, why did Plo sound so upset? Wolffe frowned deeply and his throat felt like sandpaper when he finally managed to get his mouth to move.
“No one is coming for me…” He croaked. “‘M just a clone…”
Plo didn’t quite jerk backwards, but it was a near thing. He exchanged a look with a blurred figure, likely a medic, and moved to take Wolffe’s hand over the blanket instead. Though Wolffe could see it, he certainly couldn’t feel the touch. Distantly, Wolffe realised he was shaking and shivering hard. How had he not noticed that before?
“Not to me.” Plo said firmly - the mantra he’d repeated to Wolffe for months now. “ Not to me. Do you hear me, Commander? You’re not ‘just a clone’ and I will always come back for you… I thought you’d realised that…”
Wolffe was still fairly certain this whole scene was playing out in his head but even so, he couldn’t just let his friend sound so sad.
“‘S ok…”
“No, it isn’t .” The General insisted. His voice was hard, sharper than Wolffe had heard it ever before. “You may think so lowly of yourself but I will never. One day I’ll prove that to you or die trying.”
Wolffe couldn’t formulate a response to that, overwhelmed and brain still muddled and mushed. Distantly, he thought that he’d much rather give his life for his General than the other way around and drifted off to sleep, meaning to tell him that next time he woke.