The Importance of Health Insurance

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut sits on the stoop he tends to favor these days, his bowl in front of him. His position here keeps him out of the path of the main patrols, but here he can hear trouble before it comes (or find it before it can hurt more of those he considers under his protection). It's been a long few days - the colder snap of winter came sooner than usual, catching all of Jedha unprepared.

"May the Force of others be with you." He calls, keeping the words alive at least, hopefully giving some comfort to those walking by. "May the Force of others..."

He stops.

Stills.

The Force asks, and he obeys, as he always will. The coins go in his purse, that is tucked into his robes, and he scoops up his staff to venture forth. It doesn't take him long to find what has roused him from his place.

The children are terrified, and small, their young pleading voices countered by the harsh tones of troopers. Something about market thieves. Something about making an example.

Chirrut takes a breath, centers, and smashes his staff into the face of the nearest trooper before they can get around to carrying out their plan.

Comments

[iprotectyou]

Baze harrumphs, taking a bite of his own rice ball. "And now you're going to be stuck in bed for the foreseeable future," he says, cocking an eyebrow. He sits on the floor near the bed in lotus position, crossing his legs over one another like the Guardians used to do when meditating. The larger man pokes Chirrut in the uninjured side with a meaty finger. "Do you need your bacta patch changed? We have one more."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut doesn't often wish he was a Jedi, not now. Beyond the fact he probably wouldn't be alive if he was, he has grown to prefer the Guardian philosophy, a life of service that isn't just a code word for glory.

(Chirrut may be a tiny bit bitter about the failures of the Jedi, not that he'll ever admit it.)

But it would be helpful now. He has heard they can put themselves in healing trances, use the power of the Force to initiate and speed healing.

"Probably. I'd do it myself but I'm pretty sure I'd just fall over." He doesn't add the entirely realistic 'and bleed on everything', because there's being fatalistic and there's being cruel, and there's a difference. "Though we might want to save it for the next time you're hurt."

Just in case Baze thinks Chirrut has forgotten the times he's found blood on his fingers during checks.

[iprotectyou]

"We can get more if I'm hurt," Baze says, stuffing the last of his food in his mouth. His stubbornness is almost as bad as Chirrut's. Almost.

Baze returns to the table to search for the remaining bacta patch. He comes back to Chirrut's bedside and waits until he finishes eating to ease him onto his side on the bed. Then Baze lifts his robes and efficiently--and quickly, so Chirrut really doesn't bleed on everything--replaces the old patch with the fresh one.

"There," the larger man says, satisfied with the job. "If there's one thing I miss about the temple, it's the infirmary."

[idontneedluck]

"Yes, but no one's come after me with a visor for years now." Chirrut points out, instead of adding to the things he misses (hours of prayer, the kitchens, Master Sheotar...). Turns out it didn't matter if anyone outside the temple discovered he had Force sensitivity - the Empire wanted the stones beneath their feet more than they wanted him.

He yawns, his jaw cracking with the force of it. He must be getting old - he doesn't remember injuries being this exhausting. Now that the bacta is at least making headway with his injuries and his stomach's full of warm food, his focus is shot.

"Baze?" His tone is querulous, demanding as he fights a losing battle to stay awake. "Don't go... baiting troopers. While I'm... asleep..." He mumbles something else, something probably fond or possibly just made to sound so by his lack of articulation. A few minutes more and he loses that ground as well, the tension going out of his frame as he surrenders to sleep.

[iprotectyou]

Baze covers him with the blanket off of the larger man's bed, as Chirrut is lying on his own. Baze carefully tucks the heavy cloth around his friend's shoulders, thoughts spiraling down into dark places.

Chirrut could have died today. Would have, had Baze not noticed the stormtroopers heading to investigate the altercation in the market. The thought closes his throat, and brings bile up into his mouth. He wants to throw up, but he doesn't dare waste food.

Watching his friend's pale, clammy face relax in sleep, Baze gnaws on his lower lip. Where would he be without Chirrut? Baze can't imagine a world without him. He'd rather die.

His nails bite into his palms as he clenches his fists. He vows right then and there not to let Chirrut out of Baze's sight again. He'll be a Guardian again. Protecting his friend gives Baze a purpose. He refuses to fail.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut sleeps through the rest of the day, and into the night. NiJedha is never silent these days, with the transports forever landing and rising from the ruins of what used to be the temple, the clanking of AT-ST walkers through the streets, the rattle of heavy tanks. Still, it is quiet as it ever gets, and one might suppose that makes it peaceful.

Chirrut frets, shivering and twitching and fretting at the heavy blankets. The muttering starts low, almost indistinguishable from the noise of the city.

"... hearts of... no... let them pass..."

[iprotectyou]

Baze had fallen asleep at Chirrut's bedside, back propped up against the side of the bed and head resting on the larger man's knees. He raises it groggily at the muttering, drawing a quick breath through his nose.

"Chirrut?" Baze says, peering at him in the dark. It's difficult to see--something he knows better than to complain about--so he sits up on his knees to get a better look at his friend's taut face. "Chirrut, are you okay?"

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut doesn't answer, not directly. His face is dry, and flushed. His struggle against the confinement and heat of the blanket becomes more fierce. The pain his movement causes pitches his sharp intake of air at a whine.

"Baze? Baze, tell me. Tell me" The demand is heartbroken, almost a demand for a lie to defeat an obvious truth.

[iprotectyou]

"Tell you what?" Baze says, his brow furrowed. "You're talking in your sleep, and not making any sense."

Baze takes Chirrut's sweaty hand, and notices with alarm how hot it really is. The older man rips the blanket off, balling it up and tossing it across the room. He presses the back of his hand across Chirrut's forehead, gasping when Baze feels the heat. "Chirrut, you're burning up. Don't move."

He runs to the 'fresher room, throwing a rag into the sink. Baze cranks the faucet handle on, jiggling his knee as the water soaks the cloth. He returns to his friend, rag in hand, and lays the cool cloth across Chirrut's head.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut sighs, relaxing as the cool cloth provides comfort.

He breathes, silent.

Slow.

Quiet.




"She wants to fight." It's muttered, soft, as agitation builds in his face again.

[iprotectyou]

"Who?" Baze asks, despite himself. He knows Chirrut is too far gone to make sense. Baze wants to shake him awake, but doesn't dare with his injuries. The large man sponges off Chirrut's cheeks and neck, refreshing the cloth in the sink once it warms up and gets grimy with sweat. Baze tamps down his worries about the fever, narrowing his focus down to the repetitive motions of wiping his friend's face off.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut is evidently unaware of Baze's ministrations - he mutters to himself, mostly nonsense, sometimes a phrase or two that makes no sense without context, most often bitten off chunks of prayer that don't seem to bring the calm they should.

"NO!" It's a howl, full of desperation and certainty, as he suddenly sits bolt-upright, hand outstretched. "I have to reach... I have to, the switch, the kriffing SWITCH, Force help me, I... I have to..."

[iprotectyou]

Baze tastes blood as he bites his tongue. He feels his heart in his throat, in his mouth.

"Chirrut!" Baze gasps, dropping the rag to clutch his friend's shoulders. The larger man tries to force the smaller one to lie down without aggravating his wounds.

Baze feels as wrung out as the cloth he abandoned. His nerves are in tatters, and as he struggles against his feverish friend, Baze finds himself wishing against hope that they'll make it through the night.

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut's fight doesn't last long, the energy he actually has far less than what his mind expects. He slumps, finally, tears rolling down his face.

"No, no, not for me, not for me, don't... no, no, please..." Chirrut sobs like a lost child, like he never found time to for the temple.

[iprotectyou]

Baze eases his sore body into the bed, holding Chirrut against his massive chest and stroking his back. "Ssh, Chirrut," Baze whispers, encircling his friend with the older man's powerful arms. "You're safe here. There's nothing to fear. I'm here. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

[idontneedluck]

Maybe he hears.

Maybe he doesn't.

What is true is that finally the mournful muttering slows, and stops.

What is true is that at some point Chirrut manages to snag a hand in Baze's flightsuit (after some deeply dissatisfied banging against his armor) and refuses to let go.

What is true is finally, between one breath and another, he is drenched in sweat as the fever breaks.

[iprotectyou]

Baze closes his eyes, sighing deeply. He lays Chirrut back down in the bed, seeking the rag and finding it. Loathe to leave his friend, Baze cleans the sweat off of Chirrut's face and neck with the cloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Chirrut," Baze tries, his voice soft and hollow, "are you awake now?"

[idontneedluck]

There's a long moment of silence.

Then Chirrut stirs, sightless eyes cracking open. He groans, deep in his chest, and flops an arm that he feels is distinctly noodle-y over his face.

"Did you get the registration of the speeder that hit me?" He rasps, wondering vaguely how falling asleep can lead to him feeling so much worse.

[iprotectyou]

"You were babbling," Baze says, laying the rag across his forehead. "You had a fever. It broke, I think. Thank the Force."

His knees pop as he stands from the bed, heading into the bathroom to get a cup of water from the sink. He returns to Chirrut's side, picking up his hand to press the cup into it. "Can you sit up to drink?"

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut wonders, dazedly, if he's still dreaming, but cherishes that praise to the Force like a found diamond. He doesn't mention it though. He knows it will lead to a fight, and... he's so tired.

How can he be so tired? He was just sleeping.

"I'm not sure moving is... going to happen." He sighs after a moment. "I'm weak as a lothcat kitten."

[iprotectyou]

"All right, I'm going to lift you so that you can drink," Baze says, snaking an arm around Chirrut's shoulders. "If it hurts too much, let me know, and I'll lay you back down."

He counts to three and raises his friend, encouraging him to sip the water.

[idontneedluck]

Much to his embarrassment it takes two hands to hold the cup steady. The water is... it's the best water he's ever tasted. Considering he knows the state of their apartment's tap water, that's... not a good sign, he's sure.

It doesn't take him long to drain the glass, once he has the rhythm down.

Letting the cup sink back to the bed, he plucks irritably at Baze's armor, focusing on that instead of how betrayed he feels by his body.

"This, still? It muffles everything." He huffs.

[iprotectyou]

While he's lifting Chirrut, Baze flips the pillow over to the cool side. Then he carefully lays his friend back down.

"My armor protects me," Baze says, taking the cup and shuffling to the bathroom to refill it. "Maybe you should consider wearing some. You may not have been so hurt if you were."

He returns to Chirrut's side and hands him the cup of water, lifting him again so that he can drink it dry. "Still thirsty?"

[idontneedluck]

"Some." He agrees - it isn't the raging thirst he woke with, but the the water soothes his parched throat. Three-fourths of the way through, he finally lets the glass fall again.

"More tired." He sighs, a disgusted sound. "I was just asleep." It is the epitome of unfair.

He doesn't comment on the idea of armor, or his feelings about it. He doesn't comment on how he worries that another nap could make him feel even worse than he does. Instead he latches his fingers into Baze's flightsuit again, a helpful tether.

[iprotectyou]

Baze takes the cup and sets it on the floor. "You were half-awake," he says, settling his friend in the bed again. Baze locates the blanket across the room and covers Chirrut's body with it, thinking he might be cold due to all of the sweat chilling in the winter air. "Go back to sleep. You'll probably truly sleep this time, with the fever broken."

He settles himself on the floor again, pressing his armored back against the side of the bed. Baze pulls his knees up to his chest and pillows his arms on them, resting his head on his massive forearms.