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Delicate snowflakes steadily gather on a ship's ramp. Wolffe disinterestedly traces their fall with his eyes. They are dancing down slowly. They are tiny. There are so many. The grey metal disappears under the white carpet.
Some of them inevitably cling to his armour. Unlike with the metal, it feels appropriate - white to white. If he still had the maroon marking, it would be different - the commander notes. His breath hitches.
Wolffe holds out a hand and sees one tiny flake land on his glove. It's unbelievable how snowflakes really do look like that . He pulls off the glove and watches another one melt against the warmth of the skin. It looks like a teardrop now.
The sky is grey. The sky is full of frozen teardrops.
There is a warm hand on his shoulder. The claws click against the plastoid and settle there, waiting for him to speak first.
"News, sir?"
The general nods. "They expect us to be underway tomorrow."
"We will prepare the ship then."
"There is no need," Plo dismisses. He knows that there is no work left to do. Over the past weeks, his men did nothing but anxiously double-check every system and detail, ripping the ship apart and pulling it back together until all three collapsed into a restless sleep.
"You have this evening off. Get some rest," the jedi orders, clawed hand gently pushing his commander away from the ship.
…
Ducking away from enemy fire, Wolffe wonders how on earth their evening turned into this.
…
The three of them decided to go for a walk. General Koon joined them outside but chose a larger rock to settle into what looked like a meditation.
Walking around with nothing interesting to see soon proved to be harsher torture than staying on the ship. There was nothing to focus on.
In the Force, their wandering thoughts grew like spiky ice crystals - harsh and painful to touch.
Plo blinked his eyes open and suggested building a snowman.
"What?" - He shows them a holo, - "It… looks nothing like a man, sir," Boost isn't enthusiastic in the slightest.
"I suppose," the jedi agrees easily. "However, it's the easiest form to achieve."
Their snowman turns out as weird as the one from the holo. Perhaps even weirder for its too small base has given in and slid outwards, creating a tail, sort of. "It kinda reminds me of a hutt," Boost says.
Sinker smirks at that and adds more snow, shaping the figure until it reminds of a giant slug.
Wolffe watches at it with disdain.
"Why don't you like it?" asks Sinker.
"Ehh, it's fine. For a slug."
Their jedi steps closer. "Hmm. Perhaps a dragon would satisfy you, Commander?"
Kel Dor moulds some snow to create the creature's legs and then lengthen its tail. Boost and Sinker caught on, adding a row of blobs to represent spikes along its spine.
"Okay, so what do you think now?" the two clones ask, almost in unison.
Wolffe smirks. "The blobs certainly make a lovely addition."
Boost toys with one that didn't make it to the sculpture. "Weeeell, commander, but they do make lovely projectiles."
And that's when Wolffe knew he was doomed.
…
Cold projectiles rain down on the commander as the superior force of two troopers tries to flank him. Wolffe contemplates leaving his fortified position behind a rock when unexpected help arrives.
"I'm not leaving you alone, commander," Plo offers simply.
Wolffe accepts the help readily, not giving too much thought to the jedi just volunteering for their silly game.
Seeing the general on the opposite side, Boost and Sinker admit their defeat fairly quickly. It doesn't mean that they aren't dramatic about it:
Boost flops down on the snow and pretends to be dead for a while - long enough to get Wolffe to stand over him with an annoyed face.
"Come on, trooper. I know you are alive. Get up," Wolffe commands.
"I'm mortally wounded, sir. You didn't like the dragon."
"The slug, you mean?"
"It hurts, sir," Boost grips his chest with one hand. "You've hurt the artist."
"Oh, come on. I know you. You are tougher than that," Wolffe smirks. "But, to help your misery, I will even lend my hand to help you stand up. Here."
For all his trouble, Wolffe gets snow down the collar from Sinker.
As the two menaces clasp hands in celebration of this minor victory, the commander hisses and shivers like a wet cat, succeeding only in moving the melting droplets down his back.
A minute later, the two giggling troopers narrowly escape their own snow shower. But they are equally covered in snow from the previous engagement anyway.
Plo is happy to see their bright smiles. Bright as the snow that they try to shake off - glistening warm yellow in the fading sunlight.
"Come along," the jedi motions for them to return to the ship. "We need to get you warmed up."
…
Once taken off their armour and changed into dry clothes, they settle on the floor, not wanting to part. Not today.
Sinker, silver hair still glistening with the melting snow, lays his head on Wolffe's shoulder. Water droplets tickle. A lot.
"Couldn't find a better pillow?" Wolffe grumbles, though his words hold no heat.
"You are the perfect pillow. Live with it," Boost pats his back and then cuddles closer. His hair is wet too.
…
Plo returns with blankets to see them fast asleep. The Kel Dor smiles. He hopes that his boys are tired enough to sleep dreamlessly today.
The jedi tucks the plush fabric around them, accidentally brushing a finger over someone's cold foot. Simple as it is, this detail echoes around his chest painfully. Clones have specialised armour for cold weather assault, but this is different. They need warm socks and scarves… and sweaters. "And more evenings like this".
Plo rises to his feet silently and goes to the ship's bridge. He is to meet the new 104th in a few days. 56 hours until there will be not three but three hundred men in his care.
He can barely care for three.
He breathes.
He can refuse. But it won't save these three hundred from marching into the war. They can not refuse, so he can not refuse too.
He breathes slow and hopes that it will somehow play out better than the last time.