Sometimes when my humum can’t find me, I’m hiding in plain sight. All she needs to do is look up!

6 — Debt

Hiding In Plain Sight

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Pairing: Commander Wolffe x reader

Word Count:4.6k

Warning:Description of traumatic injury, battlefield first aid, mild extortion, trauma responses, unhealthy reactions to trauma, angst

Summary:You are invited to join the men in painting your armor, and the team suffers another brutal loss

Thank you to my lovely beta reader and literal medical consultant for battle wounds and medical care Dr Vee! @thefact0rygirl​

The next several days on shore leave are spent much the same as the first. Wandering around the streets of Coruscant. Laughing, talking, trying new foods, making out in alleyways just because you can, dancing at 79’s and fucking all hours of the night back at the hotel. It’s liberating to be able to spend time in a clone safe space where you can be open about your relationship. Truly a dream come true. Unfortunately no dream lasts forever.

You hug Rigga goodbye and promise you’ll call her when you can. She kisses your cheek and begs you to be safe out there.

“You too handsome” she winks at Wolffe.

You feel a bit embarrassed heading back onto the GAR base in your uniform, some of the beautiful hickeys Wolffe gifted you are prominent and unmistakable. You try your best to hide them, even from him, no need to put both of you in an awkward position.

This still has to remain a secret. You decide your lie for where these hickeys came from is that you ran into an old friend and hooked up with them. Sounds believable enough. You mostly just hope no one will ask. Of course the moment you’re back on base and walking through the men’s barracks, Slush is all over you.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” he crows. You attempt to pull your collar up a little higher and walk faster. “Get a little lucky on shore leave Doc?”

You glare at him and give a once over “I see you didn’t.”

“Ouch! That hurts, Doc. Truly I am wounded” he says dramatically. You give him an unimpressed look.

“Don’t you have a ship to repaint or a jet engine to tinker with?” You ask pointedly

“Actually yes. Do you want to see the design I picked for the nose of our gun ship?” he asks, grabbing his data pad.

“Sure” you’re glad for the change in topic, but also you are genuinely curious. He pulls up a digital image he appears to have drawn himself of General Plo Koon and two indistinct clone trooper helmets, and the words “Plo’s Bros” above it.

“Well? What do you think?” He asks, pushing the data pad into your hands.

“I think you’re a way better artist than I thought,” you chuckle “And I think it’ll be great for the nose of the ship.”

“Thanks Doc” He grins, taking his data pad back.

“Are you looking forward to repainting your armor?” you ask him, “Got any good designs in mind?”

“A few” he nods, swiping to some different images on his data pad to show you “I made some stencils for the more complicated pieces, and so everyone can have a Loth wolf if they want one”

“I want one!” Cinder grins walking into the barracks with Jag and Cricket in tow behind him. Jag and Cricket look a little worse for wear, first timers at 79’s always land up with two day long hangovers.

Cricket plops down on his bunk face down “Question. Does paint smell anything remotely like spotchka?” he groans

“Don’t say that word” Jag gaggs a bit

“I’ll get you guys some electrolyte drinks and soda crackers” you laugh “But really Slush these are great. The team will look unified and cool as hell with these Loth wolves”

“I’m ready for our team to look like a team,” he admits, shutting off his data pad.

“We do look sort of out of place with everyone having mismatched colors or no color at all” Cinder agrees.

While you step away to get homemade hangover cures for the shinies, the rest of the men discuss their plans to decorate their armor and choose stencils that Slush made to help the less artistically inclined have good looking armor.

A few days later, Cricket and Jag’s hangovers are gone. The team goes about their daily duties and functions on base, and regale each other with overexaggerated stories of their few days spent on shore leave. They’ve anxiously been waiting for the paint to come in so they can get started on their armor. Comet and Slush sanded their previous armor paint almost immediately. Sinker, Boost and Wolffe waited a bit longer. But they were all ready and primed to go when the delivery arrived. Like school children they ran for the empty mess hall, shoving each other out of the way and hurriedly setting up the paint tarp so they could all spread out and finally personalize their armor.

You have never officially been a member of a unit or a squad in your time serving with the GAR. You’ve been on temporary assignment with various groups, but not a member. You’re a little unsure if the sharing of paint is an open practice or if participation in decorating your GAR issued body armor is extended to you. You had thought about asking Wolffe about it privately, but you didn’t want that to be taken as inviting yourself to participate either. So while they are all engrossed in their painting, you slip away, not wanting to assume or impose on them.

Instead, you go back to your office to get some work done. Not that you actually accomplish much, you’ve been distracted the last few days. You haven’t had a chance to have any sort of private, non work related, conversation with Wolffe since getting back from shore leave. And damn do you miss him already. The hickies he left you with have begun to fade, you find your thoughts lingering on the feeling of his warm lips against your wet skin under the shower water. His hands gripping your hips hard enough you can still feel it if you concentrate.

You’re drawn out of your work and your thoughts by a knock at the door. “Come in” you call. You look up and see Wolffe standing in the doorway.

He closes the door behind him and leans back on the frame with his arms crossed. “So you’re not painting your armor? Should I be worried you’re getting transferred?”

“What? No, of course I’m not being transferred,” you shake your head “I just… didn’t want to assume armor painting was an open practice for civilian soldiers too.”

“The colors are closed to all except those who are in a given unit. You are part of this unit, as much as the rest of them.” he explains

You smile a bit “Then it will be my honor to wear the gray paint, Commander.”

He pushes off the door frame and comes over to you. You stand to meet him, seeing the urgency of his movements. He gets a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you to him, kissing you hotly.

You thought about telling him that Slush almost blew your cover seeing the hickies. But you think better of it, maybe it wouldn’t be the best idea to tell him. You don’t want him to feel guilty or stop kissing you right now. It’s meant to be a secret, after all. So you keep it to yourself and keep kissing him.

“Hmm… we… we should stop,” you pull away as much as you can with his hand pressed firmly against your neck. “Before people start to wonder what’s taking so long.”

You’re right of course. But he wishes more than anything that he could just say fuck all that and spend the rest of the day making out with you. He lets out a deep sigh, giving you one last kiss before pulling away, “Later then.”

You nod and push him away from you, prompting him to lead you back to the team who are already well on their way with their new paint jobs. Some have opted for more traditional color block patterns, most have artwork or symbols on their pauldrons or shin pieces. You sit down between Slush and Cricket, ever the artists painting intricate designs. You have no idea what to paint on your armor. You hadn’t given it any thought whatsoever given that you were under the impression you wouldn’t be painting your armor at all.

Still you can’t help the warm feeling that blossoms in your chest. It’s nice to finally have a color. To be part of this team. This family. You of course are required to keep your red medical designation visible on your pauldron. But that doesn’t stop you from painting a gray stripe down your vambraces and one of Slush’s Loth wolf stencils on your back plate. A secret way to drive Wolffe a little crazy, but also show team spirit.

When all of the armor is painted and dried, you and most of the others put on your full kit and look at yourselves in the training room mirror. A calm quiet settles over the team. Thinking of the people they’ve served with before, of the places they’ve been, the people they’ve lost. Thinking of Mav.

You look good together. A full ensemble. A family. A team.

———

A few weeks pass. The team gets sent out on a painless and all together boring escort mission. Accompany General Plo on various matters of Jedi business. But aren’t seeing a lot of action. Not that anyone is complaining.

Slush has finally given up trying to get you to share the juicy details about your secret rendezvous during shore leave and is entirely oblivious to the fact that you and Commander Wolffe spend nearly every night together in the same sleeping quarters. It’s been much easier lately with less officers on base.

But this morning you are called to the command center bright and early. Armor on, caf in hand, and receiving orders to assemble the pack to protect a planet and its natural resources.

Wolffe coms the team and you’re airborne in under 20 minutes. Apparently this planet is called Khorm, and people that live there have discovered naturally occurring mineral deposits that give off energy. It takes an inexplicable amount of time, care and labor to extract these minerals as large stones. But once extracted they function like batteries that could power a Coruscanti skyscraper for the next thousand years.

The Pack disembarks on the planet and sets up a defensive perimeter around the mining plant. But it’s too little too late, the Separatists are already upon you. The opposition is led by Ventress, wielding her dual red lightsabers and showing no restraint when it comes to enemies or civilians.

Wolffe calls for the team to retreat father into the plant, and calls for an air strike. He himself rushes to guard the storage room where all of the stones are being kept.

He keeps his blasters trained on the open door, waiting for Ventress to make an attempt on the stones. He’s already tired, and trying to catch his breath. He waits. She must be waiting too. Waiting for him to let his guard down. He won’t let it happen. His heart pounds beneath his armor. This is taking too long. Something isn’t right.

He’s not sure what alerted him to it. Maybe a small sound. A shift in the air. The feeling of being watched. He turns fast just in time to see Ventress dropping down from an air vent with her glowing red blade drawn. He raised his blaster, only for her to slice it in half on a downward swing.

He sees a flash of red and feels a violent push that knocks his back against the far wall. He can hear someone screaming. Howling in pain. He knows that voice. Is it Slush? Sinker or Boost? Not another brother… A moment later he realizes it’s him. It is his own voice. And all he can see is the inside of his deactivated helmet viewing shield.

————

You hear it. Through the silence a spray of blaster fire, followed by the ignition of a lightsaber, a clattering impact… that’s when you turned on a dime and started sprinting blindly down the hallway. Slush and Jag at your heels. The screaming. Agonized, blood curdling, screaming. You’re almost there. Almost there. The screaming stops.

He’s laying in a heap near the door. No longer screaming. Barely moving. Slush and Jag leap right over him and go after Ventress, you drop to your knees and throw off your med pack.

“Commander?” You call out, trying to see if he’ll respond “Commander Wolffe can you hear me?”

No intelligent response.

You com the group “Commander Wolffe is down. Sinker, you are in command. Finish the mission. Cricket, call for a medevac. Right now”

A chorus of Yes sir’s come through the com as you lean over him. His helmet is nearly cloven in half on the right side. Carefully you disengage the chin lock that seems to be the only thing keeping the two halves together at this point and separate them. You make sure not to let his head or neck move.

What you find under his helmet is gruesome to say the least. You can tell immediately there is nothing you can do to save the right eye. This is bad. One of the worst battlefield injuries you’ve ever seen. He’s in shock, but still breathing. You do what you can with what you have, apply steristrips to hold the wound closed,try to stop the bleeding and monitor his vitals to make sure he’s still breathing well enough on his own. You don’t know how much longer he can hold though, and you’re worried that the adrenaline will crash him and he’ll bleed out before help can arrive

“Cricket, where’s that medevac?” You bark into the com

“2 minutes out. Do you need assistance, Captain?” He responds

“Negative” you tell him “Get that evac team here, now”

2 minutes is a dangerously long time when a patient is unstable and in critical condition. He seems to be coming to a bit, becoming more aware of his surroundings. You don’t know what else you can do for him right now. You feel so helpless watching the monitor with his vitals like it will somehow make things better.

You try to stay in his limited field of view, if he can even see anything right now. Your own adrenaline from this whole ordeal is just beginning to taper.

“Wolffe?” You try to get his attention again, your voice a bit shaky.

To your surprise his lips move. He’s trying to say something. Your name maybe?

“Hey. Focus up” You tap your cheek, just under your eye to give him somewhere to focus his attention. His eye seems to focus on your face. At least he can hear your voice, and might be processing your words “Don’t you quit on me. You hear me? Don’t give up”

There’s a commotion down the hall. The medevac team has arrived. You direct them to get him on a spine board, and get him started on an IV. You didn’t give him a full body check on the scene, given that his direct trauma was more pressing. You perform one now and find that he appears to have no other injuries aside from his face.

Cricket and Cinder join you and the medevac team. “Captain, Ventress is gone, escaped on a shuttle. The confederate troops are receding” he Cinder tells you

“And the stones?” You ask, moving quickly with the medevac team

“Secured” Cricket confirms

“Good. Round up the lads and let’s get the hell out of here” you tell him

“Where are they taking the Commander?” Cricket asks, as you approach the medevac shuttle

“The closest medical frigate” you tell him “Meet us there”

“Yes sir” he and Cinder nod

With Wolffe loaded up on the transport and now having at least a few more medical supplies on hand, you and the medevac team start addressing his injuries more critically. You do your best to fill in the other medics with the knowledge you have on the situation, and direct them to start him on some antibiotics. They follow your orders diligently and confirm your previous suspicion that his eye is damaged beyond repair. But his facial structure can be saved if the surgical droids are prepped and ready when you arrive on the medical frigate.

You com ahead, letting them know what to expect to give him the best possible chance to pull through this. It occurs to you that this could be it. He could die. And you would have to mourn a teammate, again. But also a lover. And no one would ever be allowed to know about it. You can’t face that reality right now. All you can do is focus on him, right now. What is the next right step to save him?

If he lives… well he can’t continue on without two functioning eyes. You won’t let him be decommissioned or put on custodial duties for the rest of his days for something so trivial. Prosthetics are somewhat uncommon among GAR troopers. But you have an idea.

You step away from him and place a com call to your home planet. It connects and before the person on the other end can get in a greeting you start talking.

“Devlan. It’s me. I’m calling in that favor” you say curtly

There is a beat of silence on the other end of the line “You’re not fucking serious?”

“I am sending you coordinates and paperwork right now. Meet me on this medical frigate with whatever equipment you need. Save my patient and your debt to me is settled” you say “Unless you want me to—”

“No!” They cut you off “If I do this, we’re square? No more holding that shit over me?”

“A deal is a deal, Devlan. Save my patient, and you’ll never hear a word from me again. I promise” you’re nearly ready to beg, but you know you have to keep the authority and severity in your voice for this to work

“Alright, alright. I’ll be there. Send the coordinates” They relent.

By the time you hang up the com call, the shuttle is arriving. Wolffe is unloaded and swept away by a team of medical droids. If your plan works… and Wolffe holds out, this first procedure will save his face and his life. And if Devlan holds up his end of the deal, Wolffe will be fitted for a state of the art cybernetic eyepiece that Devlan has been developing and perfecting for the last seven years.

Now that Wolffe’s care is out of your hands, you finally slump into a chair and let your exhausted body rest. You pass out almost immediately in the waiting area. Hours later you blink awake and wince at how sore your muscles feel, and how bright the lights are. You look around and see the entire squad is also sitting in the waiting area, in various states of wakefulness. Some of them with bandages on their faces and arms.

Slush is passed out next to you, with his head leaned against yours in sleep. You look around at all of them. None seem too badly injured, but all look exhausted and worried. The only person who seems to be fully awake is Sinker. He notices you’ve woken up and shoots you a look.

“We won” he says dryly.

“That’s… good,” You say with a bit of a crackle in your voice

“Won’t be worth shit if Wolffe dies” he says, looking away

You want to say something like… “He’ll make it” or “He’ll be okay” but you can’t. You can’t even lie to yourself at this point. Because there is a chance he won’t pull through, and he will be gone.

You don’t want to think about what happens to battalions who lose their commander. You don’t want to think about what life will be like on this team without him. This team has finally come together and bonded as a group. This team feels more like a family than a military unit. You’ve already lost one member of this family. You can not bear to lose another.

Hours pass. Eventually the team starts waking up, and filling each other in on the rest of the mission. All of them are looking to you for answers about Wolffe. You tell them the truth, not wanting to keep anything from them.

“He was in pretty bad shape when we got there,” you start out, careful with your words.

“We have the broken halves of his helmet,” Comet says “I’m surprised he’s even alive.”

You nod “Right now, the surgical droids are working to clear away the tissue that can not be saved. And reconstruct part of his cheek bone,” you tell them. Most of them wince. “He’s going to lose the right eye.”

The room goes silent, but before any of them can panic you keep going.

“I did something… a bit unorthodox,” you admit “I called in a long overdue favor to get Wolffe into a program that’s in its final stages of beta testing before being released to the general population. He’s going to get a cybernetic eye.”

Their reactions range from relieved to confused. You’re about to elaborate further when a protocol droid comes into the room, calling your name and asking you to accompany it. You get up and follow it down a series of hallways to a recovery room.

You open the door and see your old pal Devlan standing by Wolffe’s bedside. You have to put on a brave face.

“Devlan,” you acknowledge them. They gives you an extremely displeased look.

“I was supposed to be giving a lecture on slow release bacta injections right now,” They say bitterly

“But instead you’re nobly saving this man’s life,” you shrug.

“No. Instead I’m settling my debt,” they say pointedly

“We’ll see about that,” you look down to Wolffe “How’s my patient?”

“Surprisingly resilient,” Devlan admits. “He’s stable, and the prosthetic seems to have integrated seamlessly. After a few weeks of physical therapy he won’t even know it’s there.”

“Good. Leave post op care instructions with me and a physical therapy referral, and I’ll consider us square,” you say cooly, though your heart is pounding in your chest

“Done.” They pull a prescription pad out of their jacket pocket, scribble down a referral notice and hand it to you. “Care instructions are already on the side table”

You take the prescription receipt and tuck it into your pocket quickly, “Thank you Devlan. I genuinely appreciate it.”

“Yeah yeah,” They roll their eyes. “Com me if there are any problems with the eyepiece. Other than that… no offense but please don’t com me.”

“No worries. I can take it from here,” you tell them. And with that Devlan walks right by you, going back to their life.

And with that the waiting game begins. You don’t know when he will wake up, but you want to be there for him when he does. There is no point in having the whole team wait around for that, so you give the orders for them to return to the base and await further orders from your or General Plo. The only person who remains with you is Slush, and it’s mostly so he can make repairs and modifications to the ship.

A full day passes, and it isn’t until late in the afternoon, the second day out of surgery, that he begins to show signs of waking up. You’ve basically set up camp in his recovery room, working on your data pad in the extra chair with a small mountain of disposable caf cups beginning to pile up in the waste bin beside you.

He looks okay for the most part now, except for the heavy bandage obstructing the right side of his face. You flip through the little packet of care instructions for the hundredth time, there’s nothing too groundbreaking about it but you are beginning to feel antsy and anxious. Little distractions like this do almost nothing to make you feel better, but it’s something.

He stirs, snapping you out of your haze. He pinches his eyes shut tight and groans. You sit up quickly and lean forward, holding his wrist.

“Commander?” You call out to him. “Commander Wolffe, can you hear me?”

He groans in pain, visibly wincing and holding back a whimper.

“Hey” You say softer, getting into his field of view.

“Doc?” He asks, clearly confused trying to open his eyes.

“It’s me,” you nod

“W-why can’t I see?” He asks, a note of panic in his voice.

“You’re injured,” You say calmly. “Can you remember anything?”

He winces again, speaking makes the right side of his head burn in a straight line down his face. He shakes his head.

“Why can’t I see?” He mutters with tight lips, trying not to move his face.

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. It is so much harder to have these conversations with someone who means something to you.

“We were on Khorm,” You say gently. “Protecting those relic stones that function like batteries. Do you remember?”

He nods his head, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“Asajj Ventress was leading a platoon of confederation soldiers and droids…” Your voice cracks as you see a single tear form at the corner of his left eye and steak down the side of his face towards his ear. You can’t find your voice. He remembers. He knows.

“How bad is it?”

“The surgical droids repaired your cheek and brow bone,” you tell him “We couldn’t save your eye, but I—“

“You should have let me die,” His empty, cold voice cuts you off.

Your grip on his wrist stiffens. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

“I would have rather died a commander than be decommissioned and sent back to Kamino,” He doesn’t even sound angry, it’s just hollow.

You place a hand on his right shoulder and lean over him so you know he will be able to see you. “Look at me,” you say warmly. His brown eye opens, and peers at you. “You are not being decommissioned. I didn’t give up on you. We didn’t give up on you. Don’t you dare give up on yourself.”

He studies your face. Your beautiful face. Right now it’s impassively neutral but holding back a flood of other emotions. Relief he has survived. Disbelief at his apparent apathy for his own life. And something else, something he can’t place.

“Deformed and damaged clones don’t lead, Doc,” he shakes his head as best he can. “A one-eyed clone can’t command a battalion.”

“Well then it’s a damn good thing you aren’t a one eyed clone.”

“What are you talking about? You just said—“

“I said we couldn’t save your eye. You happen to be an extremely lucky man to have a fully bio integrated cybernetic eye piece donated to save your life,” you say.

“It doesn’t matter, Doc. I should have been a dead man a long time ago. Droid parts or not, I have no business leading or living anymore” He doesn’t even flinch.

The heavy mix of emotions swirl in your mind. You’re worried it’s about to bubble up and show on your face as frustration and anger. Or worse crying. You couldn’t stand it if you cried in front of him. You know better. You are better than this. He can not be blamed for his reaction to this severely traumatizing experience. But his preference for death over a chance at life, his willingness to throw away his squad, his brothers, you…. You can’t help the hurt forming as a pit in your stomach.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Commander, I trust that you will stay in this bed and rest until you’re discharged into my care. I need to go update your squad and superiors,” you say, excusing yourself to cool off.