Baze has just finished getting his ribs taped up and a bacta patch applied to his nose when Chirrut calls. The larger Guardian gently shoves the infirmary technician with the roll of tape out of the way to hustle to Chirrut's side as fast as Baze's injuries will allow.

"Chirrut," Baze says, taking one of his hands, the one that isn't completely strapped to the bed and with splinted fingers. "I'm here, but I have to go find Ibani. I have to tell her we're okay. Wait for me, all right?"

And then he dashes off to find their little girl and apologize profusely.