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He is dying.
Dying in your arms.
He is not the first clone that dies like that. Several have done so after pleading you to leave them because they were just clones and you shouldn’t risk your life that way.
But you have always said the same: that you didn’t care if they were clones or not, that you would drag them back home if you had to, that they weren’t going to be left behind just because they had an inferiority complex.
This time is different though because the clone dying on your arms is not any clone, it’s your clone.
And he is dying, and you can’t do anything except curse at whoever kriffing made them shoot at their own brothers.
Your anger is blinding you, you know, but you don’t care.
He is dying.
He is dying in your arms and its somebody’s fault and you will find them.
Even if revenge is not the Jedi way.
“Tell them I’m sorry”, he says.
“It’s not your fault, Waxer. Its not your fault, please don’t apologize”.
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t…”, he coughs.
He is dying.
Tears slide down your face, blurring your vision.
“It’s okay”, you say but it’s a big kriffing lie, nothing is okay, he is dying in your arms, and there is nothing you can do.
No medic was going to arrive on time.
He is going to die in your arms.
He clears his throat after coughing and opens his mouth to breathe. You know it's difficult for him to breathe, you know he is fighting it.
“Waxer”, you call, in an attempt to see if your cowardice reduces and you tell him what you feel. But then his big brown eyes look at you and nothing comes out of your mouth.
Suddenly, speaking is impossible.
“Please, don’t say it”, he says, gulping with certain difficultly. “I know…I know what you want to tell me. I always knew”.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”, he chuckles, or at least, makes a sound that resembles a chuckle.
“Because it was impossible, Commander”, and you gulp this time, swallowing a painful truth, “You’re going to be a Jedi…and I’m a clone”.
You sniff, moving your hand to take his.
“Don’t say it like that. I wished…there was a chance”.
“Me too”, he whispers, before he coughs again. “Don’t cry…Commander. You look…ugly when you cry”.
And another tear escapes you.
He leaves your hand to brush the tear away, living a trail of his own blood.
“When you see Boil tell him that…”, he coughs again, and you can hear a chronos behind you ticking. Time was running out, “tell him that he owes me a game of sabacc and that…he is a big softy”, he makes another chuckling sound, and you try not to spill more tears, but you can’t. “Promise me you’ll…protect him and the others. You’ll not let him…blame himself for this…please”.
“I promise, Waxer, I do”.
He sighs, brushing his bloody fingers with your face again.
“Don’t cry…Commander. Even if…we couldn’t have what we wanted…I still...like you...a lot", you sniff again, a smile breaking into your sad face.
“I like you a lot too, Waxer".
He smiles then, but then he coughs and the next time he talks, you barely hear him.
“I’ll see you…again. I...pro...mise”.
And his thumb brushes with your cheek again before his eyes blink and his hand falls. His chest stops moving and then everything goes still for you.
You look at him hoping that its not what you think it is, but he doesn’t open his eyes again and you don’t feel the Force running through him neither.
And then, it hits you, and the tears start spilling at once and your throat produces at terrible sound.
You put your forehead against his and cry, not caring that his brothers are around.
He is dead.
He died in your arms.
He took your heart with him.
Rex from the 501st arrives a while later and asks you questions while you still hold Waxer’s body in your arms.
Kix, their medic, confirms what you already know.
“I’m sorry”, he says, but you simply nod.
When your Master is facing Grievous, and there is now war paint where Waxer brushed his fingers in your face, Boil turns to you pointing at you with his blaster.
“Good soldiers follow orders”, and instead of dodging him, you let the bolt hit you.
You see Waxer again.