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Boil gets released from medbay a couple of hours before the night cycle starts, and even though Waxer has known all day that it was just a concussion, he’s relieved to finally see Boil back in their two-bunk ARF nook. While he still seems a little disoriented and has orders to stay off duty for the next 24 hours, the medics’ treatment has clearly helped—he’s much more balanced and lucid than when Waxer dragged him to medbay that morning.
They made it through their entire week-long scouting mission unscathed, only to get sent flying by a Sep mine during the recent campaign’s last skirmish. Waxer got away with only a few scratches, but Boil was closer to the blast. He got knocked unconscious, and when Waxer managed to rouse him, it was clear he had a concussion.
“How’s your head?” Waxer asks him.
“Not bad. Definitely not bad enough to warrant all day in medbay.” Sitting down on the lower bunk to shuck his boots, Boil seems just as relieved to be back as Waxer is. Boil hates being in medbay—he somehow managed to grumble about it the whole way there this morning, despite being concussed.
Waxer just hums noncommittally. He’s sure the medics knew what they were doing, but he knows better than to argue with Boil about it. Instead, he sits down next to Boil as he straightens, leaning their shoulders together. They sit there quietly for several moments.
“‘M okay, Wax,” Boil says softly.
He opens his hand and Waxer takes the invitation, slipping his hand into Boil’s while he tries for the hundredth time not to think about the sight of Boil lying motionless on the ground next to him that morning.
“I know,” he says, turning to look at Boil with a smile. Boil quirks his lips up in return. After a moment, something seems to catch his eye, and he shifts to look behind Waxer.
“What’s that?” Boil frowns at the additional bulk in the storage pocket they use for their datapads near the head of the bunk.
“Oh, Trapper stopped by—he said you had called the next Planetfarer holobook, and he’s finished, so he left it for you.”
Boil immediately perks up, leaning around Waxer and reaching into the pocket to pull out the holobook.
Although he refuses to take credit for it, everyone on the Negotiator knows that General Kenobi is responsible for the growing collection of flimsi and holobooks in the Venator’s recreation room. Waxer and his brothers have never had access to holobooks that weren’t about battle tactics or ship schematics, and the collection has proven quite popular—it’s got everything from galactic history to unique animal and plant life to spooky tales about extra-galactic planets. It’s not unusual to see brothers lounging around the rec room or in their bunks with borrowed books when they’re off duty.
The holobook Boil pulls out has a small crack on the edge of the screen, which is normal for their little shipboard library—a lot of the holobooks are partially damaged or have features that don’t quite work, but they generally function well enough to be read. When he boots it up, the screen populates with the familiar stylized ‘Planetfarer’ logo. It’s a long series of adventure stories that Boil, and several other brothers, have become obsessed with. Waxer is fairly certain General Kenobi has noticed since new volumes keep appearing every month or so.
Waxer’s read a bit of them, and it’s interesting enough—a team of explorers visiting new planets, getting into trouble, and getting out of it again, with lots of puzzle-solving and shoot-outs. Which is all fine, but whoever wrote them spends a lot of time going into painstaking detail over the ships, research equipment, and weapons, so much so that Waxer sometimes feels like he’s reading a manual again. Boil loves them, though, and is always racing through another story whenever they have some downtime. Before they set out on this last mission, Waxer was making fun of him for sulking because Trapper got to the next holobook before Boil could get a hold of it, so he had to wait.
Not wanting to dampen Boil’s excitement, Waxer rests a hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy on the reading, ok? You’re still concussed. Or use the audio reader instead.”
Boil nods absently, fiddling with the holobook as Waxer heads to the ‘fresher for a quick sonic before they bed down for the night. Boil already got cleaned up in medbay, so he stays behind with his book.
When he gets back, Waxer isn’t too surprised to see Boil lying down in his bunk with an arm thrown over his face—concussion headaches aren’t great—but he is surprised to not hear the even voice of a holobook audio reader. Instead, he catches the end of a frustrated groan from Boil.
“What’s wrong?” Waxer tosses his hygiene kit to the side and immediately kneels next to the bunk. “Is it worse? Should I comm a medic?”
“Ugh, no,” Boil grumbles. “I just… uh…” Boil removes his arm from his face, glancing at Waxer before staring at a random point on the bunk’s ceiling. He doesn’t seem worse, from what Waxer can tell, but he does look a bit embarrassed. Biting his lip, Boil flits his eyes to Waxer again, who must appear concerned enough that Boil sighs.
“I made my head hurt trying to read,” he mutters.
Waxer blinks at him. “Why didn’t…” Waxer starts, thinking of the audio reader.
Boil tries to shake his head, but winces and stops immediately.
Waxer suddenly realizes the problem. “Speaker’s busted, huh?”
“Mmph,” Boil grunts in assent.
Waxer squeezes Boil’s shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry… Maybe you can try again tomorrow? I bet you’ll feel a lot better by then.” Boil still looks unhappy, though. Waxer gives him a wry smile. “You don’t want to wait until tomorrow, huh?”
Boil’s cheeks color in embarrassment. He fiddles with the edge of the blanket next to him, staring at the bunk ceiling as he finally admits, “The last one ended in the middle of the action and I wanted to know what happens…”
Waxer hums in understanding. “Okay. Well, scooch over then—I’ll read it to you.”
Boil jerks in surprise, though he obediently scoots to the side as Waxer climbs into the bunk next to him. “But you don’t—you don’t like these stories,” he protests.
Waxer shrugs. “I mean, I don’t dislike them, either. And besides, I’m not tired yet.” Plucking the datapad out of Boil’s hands, he swipes it out of sleep mode to where it’s still at the very beginning of the story. He turns to Boil for a moment. “Comfy?”
Looking for a moment like he still wants to protest, Boil seems to change his mind and instead wriggles downward a little so he can rest his head on Waxer’s shoulder, away from the light of the screen. Once he’s settled, he squeezes Waxer’s arm. Waxer takes that as a go-signal and begins to read.
Boil just manages to stay awake during the resolution of the action that Waxer assumes has continued from the previous volume, but he nods off shortly afterward, head still pillowed against Waxer’s shoulder. Moving carefully so he doesn’t wake him, Waxer stows the holobook and snuggles in close to sleep.
++++
It’s late by the time Boil makes it to the medtent in their base camp, but he’s not particularly tired—it’s actually been a fairly easy couple of days. He’s excited to be back, though, because he really missed Waxer.
They came to Herdessa after reports of potential Separatist spy activity and located a group of scout droids just outside the capital city. The firefight was over pretty quickly, but Waxer got hit in the thigh by a blaster bolt. He’s going to be fine, according to their medic friend Bright, but he was pulled from duty to heal while the other ARFs explored the wilderness outside the city to sweep for any additional droids. Rev’s partner was still in medbay recovering from an infection after the last campaign, so he and Boil got paired together temporarily for additional scouting duties. Boil didn’t have any complaints—he went through ARF training with Rev and they’re good friends—but he definitely found himself missing Waxer on what ended up being a tranquil stroll through Herdessa’s fields and forests.
When Boil enters the medtent, he finds Bright sitting on an upturned crate, datapad in hand. He just waves Boil past into the patients’ part of the tent. Pulling back the curtain separating the two areas of the tent, Boil can see that Waxer is right where he left him yesterday morning. He’s lying in a cot at the end of the row, clad in the top of his blacks and his shorts, with a thick bacta patch affixed to the outside of his thigh. Despite the late hour, he’s awake and looking bored while he flips through a worn-looking flimsi book with a couple of dried flowers on its wrinkled cover. Boil’s willing to bet that he’s about to go stir crazy after two days of no physical activity.
As Boil steps past the curtain, Waxer glances in his direction, and his entire face lights up. Nodding at Waxer in greeting, Boil treads past the other cots as quietly as he can—there are a couple of brothers sleeping across the tent. Waxer quickly pushes himself up on his elbows and into a sitting position as if it’ll make Boil reach him faster. All Boil can do is smirk wryly at his excitement.
“How was it?” Waxer whispers as Boil carefully sets himself down on the edge of the cot next to Waxer’s uninjured leg. “Bright said there weren’t any more Seps in the area. Did you get to explore much? Did you see any animals?”
Shaking his head with a smile, Boil raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you want me to answer any of these, or are you just gonna keep firing off questions?”
“Well c’mon, then, tell me!”
Keeping his voice low, Boil tells him about the mission, if it could even be called that. Their patrol covered a section of the city’s perimeter, just outside the limits of the capital’s farmlands. He describes the flower-laden fields they traversed, dotted with copses of pink and orange trees and ridges of stark white rock, and tries to remember every detail he can about the colorful birds flitting amongst the branches and the fuzzy rodents scampering up and down the trees.
“Aw, that sounds so flash,” Waxer murmurs wistfully. “Wish I coulda gone out with you.”
“Well… yeah, it was kinda nice,” Boil says, trying to downplay it so Waxer doesn’t feel too bad. “Kinda boring, though—not much happening. You didn’t miss a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess…” Waxer breathes, still sounding just as disappointed. “Looked so pretty from above when we arrived, though.”
Boil pauses awkwardly. He’d also hoped Waxer would get to see at least some of the planet, but they’re departing Herdessa tomorrow, so the only view Waxer will probably get is the view from above while they leave.
“Well, I did… uh…” Not sure how to preface it, Boil twists in place so he can reach for the pouch on his utility belt and carefully removes the delicate contents. When he turns back, Waxer has perked up again and is looking at Boil’s hands curiously.
“I, uh… here,” Boil finally says, opening his hands to present his tiny offerings.
The leaf is teardrop-shaped with a mottled pink and purple pattern, spotted with white around the edges and shining with a gold iridescence. He wishes that Waxer could have seen the delicate branches, shimmering in the light and circling upwards from the ground like dozens of miniature spiral staircases.
The only other thing Boil could bring back with him was a cluster of tiny star-shaped white flowers hanging from a pink stem. The fields they had to trek through were carpeted with them, and Boil’s certain he brought back quite a few of them underneath his boots besides. He knows Waxer would have loved to see them, but would’ve complained about crushing them while he walked.
Waxer blinks owlishly at the contents of Boil’s hands, mouth forming a little ‘osk’ of surprise. He reaches out and gingerly picks up the leaf and then the flowers, inspecting them under the dim glowlight before laying them out in his palm. In the semi-darkness, the leaf and the flowers fluoresce softly, casting a golden hue onto Waxer’s skin. He stares at them with a smile for several moments before raising his gaze to Boil again.
Feeling his cheeks color at Waxer’s look of wonder, Boil averts his eyes and shrugs. “I thought, you know… for your book.”
Back when they were on Ryloth, after the planet was finally liberated, the 212th were tasked with distributing rations and other supplies. While they were doing so, they helped one Twi’lek family clear rubble from their home’s doorway. As they worked through the rocky debris, they found the front area of the house was littered with piles of half-ruined flimsi. When they were nearly finished, Waxer came upon a little flimsi book in one of the piles. Its torn cover was affixed with a clasp to hold the book closed, and the inside blank aside from a few flowers and leaves pressed on the first page.
Waxer kept looking at it until one of the adult Twi’leks gestured at him to take it. The look on their face suggested to Boil that they thought it probably wasn’t worth salvaging, but Waxer clearly loved it. He tried a time or two to give it back to them, but they shook their head and pressed it into Waxer’s hands.
Waxer loves collecting little items like flowers, leaves, and rocks from the planets they visit. They have to be careful about bringing planetside matter aboard since it’s supposed to be prohibited, but if it’s small and not dangerous or toxic, it’s unlikely to be noticed. Waxer also has a habit of doodling—the first time Boil noticed him drawing some birds they saw on Christophsis, it was on his datapad, but files like those are considered extraneous and get wiped with new updates. Ever since Ryloth, Waxer keeps those kinds of things in his little collection book.
The book is filled with doodles and pressed flowers and leaves from nearly a dozen planets now. When they have downtime, Boil often catches Waxer looking through the pages at little memories of the places they’ve been. Boil knows that Waxer absolutely would have been looking for a fallen leaf or flower to add to the other pressed plants in his book if he’d gone out on duty today, but instead Waxer was stuck inside the medtent the whole time. The least Boil could do was bring him back something.
Boil looks up again when he feels Waxer’s hand on his wrist, and he meets Waxer’s gaze, still so painfully sincere.
“Thank you,” Waxer says softly.
Swallowing, Boil shrugs a little. “Yeah, I… of course. Yeah.”
Waxer’s smile somehow brightens even more. He tucks the plants into a new page of his book, shutting the clasp tightly.
“Well… I’d better head out before Bright throws me out,” Boil finally says, even though he doesn’t really want to leave.
“Mm, Bright wouldn’t throw you out,” Waxer says, running a thumb along the spine of the book. He pauses in thought. “Keel probably would, though, and he’s on shift next, I think.”
Boil snorts softly. “Then I should make my getaway.”
Waxer reaches to clasp Boil’s wrist, and Boil clasps his in return.
“See you tomorrow?” Waxer asks.
Boil almost scoffs—there’s no danger left on Herdessa, and neither of them is going anywhere else before tomorrow—but he changes his mind, nodding at Waxer with a smile instead. “Yeah… see you tomorrow.”