Summary: Wolffe gets hurt and doesn't tell his dad, cause if he did tell his dad, there would be no chapter. Plo doesn't find out until Wolffe basically collapses.

Wolffe hissed lightly in pain. This mission hadn't meant to be a full-out battle, but it was, and Wolffe had gotten shot in the side. He tried not to limp back to their gunships, keeping himself completely stiff. He kept his bucket on so no one would see his twisted expression.

Wolffe wasn't going to go to the medics for this; they had bigger problems, and his problems didn't really matter anyway. He'd just treat it in his quarters. Simple.

He grit his teeth and did his best to walk normally when he reached the ships. Naturally, since he was the commander, he went on General Plo's ship. How fun. This increased his chances of being caught by a lot.

Wolffe knew that his voice would give away how much pain he was in, (it hurt like hell,) so he just nodded to his general when they saw each other. At least on the ships, he could lean on his right side. That was a plus.

Unfortunately, as they were flying back to their cruiser, they went under some heavy fire, so naturally the gunship went all over the place. Which would have been fine with Wolffe if he hadn't been shot in the side. So he concentrated on not letting a whimper escape. He didn't even utter one sarcastic comment.

"Commander, are you alright?" General Plo asked him gently.

Wolffe furrowed his eyebrows. Why did the general care about him so much? "I'm fine sir." It's what he'd always been taught: your life doesn't matter, only your general's does. If your general is okay, then your injuries or worries are meaningless.

The general didn't look convinced, but dropped the subject. Wolffe was relieved; if General Plo kept asking, Wolffe would probably give something away by accident.

They finally landed, and Wolffe let out an inaudible sigh of relief. Finally. Now all he had to do was make sure all his troopers were alright and make a report, then try and patch up his wound.

He briskly walked – well, tried to walk anyway. He still had to keep his left leg stiff to avoid limping. Anyway, he went up to the gunships with the most injured men. He put an arm around Ace's (an OC of mine) shoulders, lifting him up so they could make their way to medbay. Ace had been shot in the stomach and leg, and was barely awake. Wolffe was surprised Ace even made it at all. "H-hey, C'mand'r," he slurred.

Wolffe sighed. Ace was always doing stuff like this; doing something dumb, getting injured, and laughing about it. "Shut up Ace," he told his brother, irritated, though it might have been mid wound rubbing off on him.

"You 'kay, W'lffe?" Ace asked. "Y'u're us'ally no' dis gr'mpy. G't shaht?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Wolffe grumbled, "but you're not, so I'm getting you to medbay, and no more questions."

Ace mumbled something incoherent, before falling silent again. A shiny meddie ran up with a stretcher, and Wolffe laid his friend down on it. Ace had been one of the first deployed into the 104th after Malevolence, so they'd known each other for a while. He was the 'comic relief,' never failing to make a joke when they were all about to die, and one of their best snipers and pilots. That was why they called him Ace. He was also very stubborn and reckless, but like Wolffe, didn't trust others easily. In short, he was one of Sinker's best friends, other than Boost and Wolffe.

Wolffe groaned, when they left, the pain catching up to him. He stubbornly refused to give in, and continued helping all the men who came back, and went to the control room to, well, ya know, to commanding stuff with General Plo.

It had taken a while to get all the injured men to medbay, but they managed. Wolffe walked with his general to – well, nowhere really, they just wandered the halls and talked about the mission. The huge windows revealed that they'd already jumped into hyperspace, and Wolffe really hoped this would go by quickly.

"Is anything bothering you, Commander?" General Plo asked gently.

"Everything's fine sir, why do you ask?" Wolffe replies awkwardly.

"Well, I am a Jedi," the general pointed out. Wolffe cursed internally. He forgot that Jedi could basically read emotions.

Wolffe quickly changed the subject. "So, um, what's the–" his voice got quieter and he lowered his head– "what's the casualty report?" He hated talking about his dead vod.

The Jedi looked saddened as well. "6%." It seemed like this made the Kel Dor forget about Wolffe's problem, and Wolffe felt a little calmer. He didn't want General Plo to know that he got shot. It's not like the Jedi would care, but he didn't want to bother the general with his problems. Besides, Wolffe could handle it.

They walked in silence for a while, before Wolffe went to his quarters to make a report and fix his wound.

He groaned when he collapsed in his seat. Finally, he could sit down. He stared at the holopad (I think that's what it's called???) for a while before starting.

System. General. Battalion. Mission. The words swam around Wolffe's head as he typed, barely paying attention to what he was doing. Eventually, he got to the casualty part. He always hated this part of reports.

Number. Rank. Place of death. Cause of death. Enter.

Number. Rank. Place of death. Cause of death. Enter.

Number. Rank. Place of death. Cause of death. Enter.

Wolffe just blankly stared at the screen, not even comprehending what he was writing, moves almost rebotic, without feeling.

Number. Rank. Place of death. Cause of death. Enter.

It took ages, but he finally finished. He buried his head in his arms. Oh yeah, was his last thought before he fell asleep, I got shot.

Wolffe woke with a start. He'd been having nightmares about the Malevolence again. Again. It happened almost every night, and Wolffe hated every bit of it. He whimpered in pain when he moved, remembering the wound in his side. He cursed. He'd forgotten to lost his up that wound. Well it was too late now; someone was knocking on his door.

"One moment!" He called. He shoved the holopad away and opened the door. "General," he saluted.

The general nodded at him. "Greetings, Commander."

"What brings you here, sir?" Wolffe asked.

The Jedi shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I didn't get a chance to properly ask earlier."

Wolffe frowned. Was he supposed to be seeing black spots? "I'm fine." He swayed slightly, the injury finally catching up to him.

"Wolffe?" General Plo asked, sounding concerned. Why does he sound so worried?

"I'm okay," was the last thing Wolffe said before he collapsed. He vaguely registered clawed hands catching him before he hit the ground and a voice calling his name right before he blacked out.
----------------------------------------------------

Wolffe groaned. His head felt like shit. Scratch that, his entire body felt like shit.

He slowly opened his eyes, squinting. He looked around and saw that he was in the medbay, and General Plo sleeping next to his bed. Why is he here? Wolffe thought. Is he here to yell at me for collapsing on him? Wolffe ran through a few other possibilities, and decided that yes, the general was here to scold him.

Wolffe shifted slightly, the movement awakening the general. He cursed internally.

The general might have smiled at him. It was hard to tell, with the mask and all. "Commander, how are you feeling?"

"I'm alright, sir," Wolffe responded awkwardly.

General Plo didn't look like he bought it. "Yes, even though you neglected to tell me that you were shot for a few hours."

Wolffe squirmed uncomfortably. "My problems don't matter, sir. I was going to fix it after I finished the report anyway. I apologize for inconveniencing you."

General Plo put a hand on his shoulder. "Wolffe, what makes you think that?"

"Uh, t-think what sir?" Wolffe cursed himself for stuttering.

"That your problems don't matter," the general said gently.

Wolffe shrugged, but winced. Ow. "We're just clones, sir. We're expendable," he mumbled, looking at the floor.

"Never to me," the Kel Dor told him with so much conviction, Wolffe almost believed it. "Your problems do matter, and you are every bit a living person as the rest of us."

Wolffe may or may not have teared up a bit at that. "Thank you, general." He yawned, just then realizing how exhausted he was.

"Rest, Commander," General Plo smiled. Maybe. The mask threw Wolffe off a little. That was the last thing he heard before he curled up and was out of it.