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It’s hours after they’ve returned to the Negotiator before Boil finally feels like he can breathe again. He’s no stranger to tough campaigns, and he’s lost men under his command before, but… it never gets any easier. At least Stars will probably recover, but Stix and Roller are gone.
The day’s losses could easily be the reason that he’s still antsy this close to lights out, despite how exhausted he is—and it will likely haunt his nightmares just like all the other men he’s lost. But that’s not why he wants to get up and start pacing the Venator’s hallways.
He hasn’t seen Waxer since before the mission started. Which is what he expected—what they both expected. And Boil thought he was prepared for it. He knew weeks ahead of time that this is how it would be from now on.
Because Waxer got promoted. And Boil didn’t.
Boil knew it was likely—there weren’t many openings for promotion when Waxer got his notice, so it was a long shot for Boil—but they’ve been promoted together every other time, and Boil had hoped that it would be the same again.
Not that they would have been able to stay close much if Boil had actually gotten promoted, either. Lieutenants command entire platoons, and they would likely be separated on most campaigns, especially as ARFs. Boil tries to remind himself that it’ll never be like when he and Waxer were a regular ARF scout pair, trekking through the wilderness with just the two of them. Their duty has always come first, but now more than ever, there’s so much demanding their attention that it hardly leaves any time for the friendship that’s become so dear to Boil. And it’s not like that would get better if Boil was also a lieutenant.
But… if he had been promoted, they would at least be in the same bunk area on the Negotiator. Boil wouldn’t have to worry about a difference in rank standing between them, something that’s never separated them before. He wouldn’t have to hesitate about seeking Waxer out now that their latest mission is over.
With the number of brothers who were there with them at the start of the war becoming fewer and fewer, Boil is occasionally seized with the desire to hold on to Waxer tightly and not let go for anything—not the war effort, not the Republic, not the duty he was raised to die for. He knows that he shouldn’t feel this way, that no clone should feel this way, but the impulse builds up inside him like a pressure that he can’t release. The only thing that ever gave him some relief after a mission like this was to give in for a little while—to hold on to Waxer as if he would never let go.
The feeling surges almost desperately, and without letting any second thoughts take hold, Boil finds himself weaving through the bunk room toward the lieutenant’s quarters. He tries to plan out what he’ll say when he gets there—that he needs to talk to Lieutenant Waxer for some reason. A question about the debrief. Some kind of news from medbay. Anything that could give him a semi-reasonable excuse for being there.
Once he’s finally outside the lieutenant’s quarters, Boil hesitates. The door feels like a border he shouldn’t be allowed to cross. Rank is one of the few things that actually distinguishes clones from one another. The ability to choose their own names and haircuts and paint came later, but the division of rank is something Boil had drilled into him for years.
Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Boil is just being selfish. Waxer is a good leader, a good brother, and he deserved this promotion. He shouldn’t have any of that called into question because Boil can’t control himself. Slowly, as if pulling a magnet away from metal, Boil turns to walk back down the hall.
“Oof!”
He isn’t sure what happened to his situational awareness in that moment, but he runs right into a brother who had just rounded the corner. They both stumble a little, and Boil automatically grabs onto the brother’s arm so they can stabilize each other before they go down.
Immediately figuring it must be some officer coming back to the higher ranking quarters behind him, Boil stammers, “Sorry, sir, I—” and then he freezes.
The brother in front of him is Waxer. He’s in his blacks and his skin is slightly red as if he’s just had a sonic. He blinks, and then his face splits into a grin that warms Boil’s entire body down to his toes.
“Boil!” Waxer grips Boil’s wrist tightly, his other hand resting on Boil’s shoulder as if barely resisting pulling him in for a hug. Waxer looks so happy to see him that Boil simply stares at him for a few seconds rather than replying.
“H-hey…” Boil finally says, belatedly wondering if he should add a ‘sir’ on to that, and then deciding not to.
“It’s so good to see you,” Waxer tells him, and the sincerity in his voice almost hurts. After a moment, though, his expression falls a little. “I… heard about Stix and Roller. I’m sorry.”
Boil ducks his head, letting himself lean into the comfort of Waxer’s touch as he nods. Looking up again, he says, “I’m sorry about Esk Squad.” He saw the report—one of the squads in Waxer’s platoon got completely wiped out in a surprise attack, even their sergeant.
Waxer’s jaw flexes and he nods. His grip on Boil’s shoulder tightens, and Boil raises a hand to squeeze Waxer’s shoulder in return. He feels the slight shudder that runs through Waxer’s body, and they stand together quietly for a few moments.
Swallowing hard, Waxer gives Boil a watery smile, and then his face brightens into a more cheerful expression that Boil knows so well. “I’m glad you stopped by.” Suddenly, he frowns quizzically. “Or… did you come by for something else?”
“No,” Boil blurts out, forgetting all of his potential excuses. “I just… I wanted to… see how you were doing,” he finally finishes.
The lines around Waxer’s eyes crinkle as his smile widens. He shifts the hand on Boil’s shoulder so it’s cupped against Boil’s neck. “Thanks,” he says softly.
Boil nearly closes his eyes at the feel of Waxer’s hand, so gentle and affectionate, but he knows that if he gives in he won’t have the strength to resist. He savors the feeling for a moment longer before he makes himself step back. Even though he knows that respecting Waxer’s new rank is important, it hurts to pull away. Waxer doesn’t move, but he lets Boil slip out of his grasp.
“I… uh, it’s late… we should get some sleep.” Boil resists fidgeting with his hands, and has to stop himself from defaulting to parade rest. “I’ll… see you around.” He pauses before he adds, “Sir.”
Waxer has dropped his hands but is still standing in front of Boil, and if Boil doesn’t leave now he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to, so he steps around Waxer to head back to his section of the barracks.
“Wait…” The word is so soft that Boil almost doesn’t hear it, but he does feel Waxer catch his hand as he walks past. Boil stops.
Waxer hasn’t turned around and is still facing towards the officer’s barracks. They stand there for a long moment, facing opposite directions. Waxer’s grip on Boil’s hand is so light that he could easily slip out of it, but Boil doesn’t move.
“It’s… after lights out now,” Waxer murmurs. “They’re probably all asleep. And… even if they aren't, I don’t… I don’t think they’d say anything.” Waxer swallows audibly.
Boil stays still, feeling Waxer gently stroke his knuckles. Waxer is probably right. It’s unlikely that any of the other lieutenants would call them out on anything, as long as they’re not causing problems. And it’s not like Boil’s squad and most of Waxer’s sergeants don’t know how close they are.
There could be consequences to taking Waxer’s invitation—all it would take is some brother who’s got their bucket too deep in the regs and they could both be in trouble. But… Waxer lost a squad today. Why shouldn't Boil be there for Waxer after something like that, when he was there for every other loss? Why does Waxer’s promotion have to change the way that they’ve been there for each other, through everything?
Why does doing their duty mean that they have to give up every single, small thing that could bring even a moment of joy?
Shoving his fears away, Boil turns on his heel and wraps his arms around Waxer to pull him close.
Waxer gasps quietly in surprise, then lets out a soft, relieved exhale before throwing his arms around Boil and holding him just as tightly.
If Boil could stay like this forever, he thinks he would be happy to do so.
“We should go in,” he murmurs after a moment. “Out of the corridor.” While it’s less likely after lights out, there are maintenance teams or medics who are sometimes up and about at late hours.
Nodding, Waxer pulls back just enough to lean his forehead against Boil’s. It’s hard to see when they’re this close, but he can tell that Waxer is smiling. Still holding Boil’s hand, Waxer turns and leads him into the dim bunk room. Suddenly feeling the lightest he’s felt all evening, Boil follows.