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Wolffe’s skin was warm against the delicate ministrations of your steady hands. He was quiet, you noted—more so than usual. Your fingers dragged over the scarred plane of his back. With each new wound you felt, your heart sunk lower and lower in your chest. You smoothed your palm over a freshly applied bandage attached to his shoulder blade—he hummed in response. Your eyes lifted to his face, watching closely for any signs of discomfort.
His gaze had affixed itself to a scuff on the wall—he appeared intent on committing its every curve and shade to memory. He hoped, rather fruitlessly, that if he continued to stare off in silence you would neglect to mention his actions on the battlefield that day. Wolffe would have no such luck.
“I thought I lost you, today,” you murmured, your voice slicing gently through the thick silence.
Wolffe huffed mirthlessly.
“I’m still here—don’t get your hopes up,”
Your hand dropped from Wolffe’s shoulder. His eyes shot up to meet yours at the lack of contact.
“I’m serious,” you replied. “What you did today—leaving us all to take the battalion’s fire on your own—it was reckless. You could have died. The man I know wouldn’t have done something so stupid without a damn good reason,”
Wolffe froze at your words.
“I… had to,”
Your brows furrowed. Wolffe was the one person you could always count on to be open with you. Why did he seem so detached?
“Wolffe, I waited at the hangar for you for hours. I had no idea if you’d come back at all. You are ridiculously lucky you were able to reach one of the rendezvous points, especially considering the extent of your injuries. All I want to know is why you felt it necessary to risk your life for no observable reason,”
“No reas—” Wolffe began to scoff, before holding his tongue at the genuine concern in your countenance. He sighed.
“Your unit was taking the brunt of the firepower. We didn’t have reinforcements, and the men were stretched thin enough as it was. I figured I’d do the next best thing and take at least one squad of clankers out of the equation,”
You tilted your head in confusion.
“I know for a fact you’ve been in tighter scenarios before—and not once have I seen you pull something as careless as what you did today,”
Wolffe gulped.
He saw you, during the battle—dragging a wounded brother by the leg as you attempted to return fire at the surrounding droids with your free hand. His heart dropped into his stomach as he watched a blaster bolt sail just inches from your head. You paid it no mind.
“Get out of there,” he hissed to himself.
Unsurprisingly, you didn’t heed Wolffe’s inaudible warning. Once you managed to drag the injured man into the medical tent, you yet again charged into the fray to retrieve the wounded. The droids closed in on your position as you hooked your arm under the shoulder of a prone trooper. A blaster bolt grazed your shoulder. Your mouth dropped open in pain. Wolffe saw red.
“Hey, rust-buckets!”
“Well?”
Wolffe didn’t utter a word, though a lightning-quick glance at your bandaged shoulder spoke for him. Your mouth rounded into a soft ‘o’. You placed a gentle hand on his forearm.
“Wolffe, I can handle myself. Despite what you may think, I have been cleared for combat,”
He looked away. He knew you were capable, he knew his actions defied all common sense, but he also knew that he’d choose your safety over his—again and again, regardless of the stakes. This must be why the Jedi discourage attachments, he thought.
“Wolffe?”
Your voice was wary, your thumb tracing soothing patterns against the commander’s bare forearm. Wolffe stood.
“I have to go—there’s a debriefing at 1900,”
He hated to lie to you, but he couldn’t endure your gentle questioning any longer. He needed a moment to breathe—to clear his head. He collected his armor, tugging his blacks back on with haste.
As he turned to leave the medbay, Wolffe missed the way your features fell at the abruptness of his exit.