Regrouping

[idontneedluck]

Some would imagine a desert world cannot have seasons.

Some would be wrong.

They had come with the first night of plunging winter cold. They came with monsters with metal feet throwing fire, with orders muffled by static, with enough of an army that the Guardians hadn't so much been bested as over-run.

The new Governor was not interested in prisoners, especially not in a blind monk who developed a raspy cough after a fight to exhaustion and a few nights in a freezing cell.

Chirrut huddles in an alcove of the market, out of the thin wind that rises out of the desert. No one comes near him, out of fear of their new oppressors, but no one takes advantage of him either... he doesn't know if it is out of respect for what he was, or fear of a more immediate retribution.

He doesn't care much. The Force isn't speaking to him, he has no idea where the others are, and he feels a Hutt sat on him.

Comments

[idontneedluck]

Relief tries to unhinge his knees, making his first step more of a stagger. He doesn't care, at that moment, that he most likely presents a ridiculous figure.

It doesn't matter. Baze is here, alive. He worried, deeply afraid that Baze had fallen in that chaotic melee of a fight, or that the Empire decided it didn't want to leave such a dangerous fighter loose to his own devises.

His fingers find familiar robes and he tugs, urgently. He knows his hands are cold and probably filthy, but he cannot stop from running his hands over Baze's form urgently. He can barely believe his own hands.

Baze is here.

Baze is alive.

"Thank the Force." It's something like a prayer, the closest he's managed in days.

[iprotectyou]

Baze wraps his hands around Chirrut's waist and lifts him off his feet, swinging him around. The other market-goers give them a wide berth. "Thank the Force, indeed, my friend," Baze says, relieved tears welling in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. He doesn't care that Chirrut can feel him cry; there's no shame in happy tears.

"There were so many Imperials... I feared I'd lost you. Are you injured?"

[idontneedluck]

"I am fine." Chirrut insists. It is not even a lie, because at the moment he can feel only joy. "How did you escape? Have you found the others? Have you seen my stick?" He demands without pause while he reassures himself over and over again that it is Baze under his hands, whole and alive and...

"Are you bleeding?" He demands sharply when his fingers encounter distressing stickiness.

[iprotectyou]

"I haven't seen your stick, or the others," Baze says, momentarily brushing aside Chirrut's concern. The bigger man sets the smaller one down on his feet.

When he next speaks, his voice is threaded with guilt. "It's only a flesh wound, Chirrut. I got clipped by a blaster a couple of hours ago, when I was killing some Imperial scum."

[idontneedluck]

"You will need a poultice for that." Chirrut tsks, as if the temple's infirmary was still a viable option. The whirl of the last few days seem almost unreal, like a fever dream.

"You should..." His advice goes un-given as he coughs, wincing.

[iprotectyou]

"Chirrut!" Baze says, supporting his friend by the shoulders. "You are sick. This is awful."

Baze stops to consider their options for a long moment. "I have a friend who owes me a favor. She'll be able to put us up for a day or so. You need a warm place to recover."

[idontneedluck]

From anyone else, he would have refused. He fought long and hard to be seen as independent, to prove that he did not require the coddling some of the elders thought was best. The habit is engrained now - no, I can make it, I can stand on my own.

But this is Baze. Even though it is distressing that Baze would call in a favor for him, but hot for himself... he won't say no.

"You need a place to heal." Chirrut counters, more out of habit than anything else.

[iprotectyou]

"Yes, I need a place to heal," Baze says begrudgingly, squeezing Chirrut's arm. The bigger Guardian takes the smaller one's elbow, standing close to him, and guides them away from the market. Baze leads them down a few alleyways across the city, as far from the occupied Temple of Kyber as they can get. He finally stops at an inn, and informs Chirrut that they're at the Blue Rose.

"My friend, Sarai, will help us," Baze says, leading Chirrut through the doorway. "I hope."

"Baze!" the proprietor says, coming over from the bar to kiss his cheek. "It has been so long. And who is this?"

"Chirrut Imwe," Baze says, embracing Sarai with one arm, and holding onto Chirrut with the other. "Chirrut, this is Sarai. She is short and comely."

"What a charmer you are, Baze."

[idontneedluck]

"I have not known him to lie." Chirrut's smile is a tired thing, but real enough despite it. The warmth of the tavern is as heady as any alcohol.

The smell of food makes his stomach rumble impatiently, ruining his attempt to match Baze's cheer.

[iprotectyou]

Sarai leads them to a nearby table. "So what can I do for you, Baze?"

Baze lowers his voice, glad there's no Stormtroopers in the Blue Rose. "We need to lay low for a little while, Sarai," he says. "The Imperials--"

"Those dogs," Sarai spits, her face cold and her voice colder. "I can help you for two days. After that, you're on your own."

"Thank you, Sarai," Baze says warmly, clasping her hand.

"You're welcome, Baze. Anything for a friend," Sarai says. "Now, I bet you're hungry. I think I heard your friend's stomach growling."

[idontneedluck]

"The Empire's ability as a host leaves something to be desired." Chirrut reports, dryly, his smile thinning to a wry smirk. "They could take lessons from you."

He knows how he is expected to converse, how those with sight get nervous or uneasy when he fails to at least face in their direction when speaking. After the last few days, however, his attention is dragged away by each newcomer, each raised voice, wary of the next wave of trouble.

[iprotectyou]

Sarai laughs, but it's forced and hollow. "That's the only thing they won't take," she says, and stands from the table. "I'll get the keys to your room and have the girls bring up some food."

Baze stands with her, a grunt his only outward sign that anything is amiss. "Thank you, Sarai. Do you think you could spare some bacta patches as well?"

"Baze, did you get yourself into trouble?"

"Just a scratch," he assures her. He cups Chirrut's elbow as she tells them their room number. Then Baze guides Chirrut to the stairs.

"There are stairs here," the bigger Guardian says. "Watch your step. We'll get you another stick soon."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut sighs - he liked his stick. He's had it so long it's practically an extension of himself.

The next one, he promises himself, will have extra knobbly bits, perfect for bashing Imperial troops. It is perhaps more warlike a thought than is strictly encouraged by the elders, but considering the circumstances he doesn't think they would mind.

"I would tell her that you lied to her, but then she might not bring us food." He informs Baze as he manages the stairs. "Just a scratch, does anyone actually believe that?"

He'd rant more, but there's a tight feeling in his chest he doesn't particularly want to exacerbate.

[iprotectyou]

Baze guides Chirrut to their room in sullen silence, trying not to concentrate on the burning pain radiating from his side. He unlocks the door and enters the room with Chirrut, shutting the door behind them.

Baze sits down heavily on one of the beds, holding his injured hip. Once he sits down, the strength flows from his muscles and joints like water. "Sarai knows me better than that. She'll bring us food," he says. "And bacta, so you can quit worrying."

[idontneedluck]

He can hear the pain in Baze's voice, the guardedness to his movements. There's the smell of iron, of burned flesh and fabric.

"I'm not sure I can." Chirrut retorts. Ever since he woke up in unfamiliar and unfriendly surroundings, he has been worrying.

"Do you think Eiko is alright?" If Baze won't let Chirrut focus on him, he'll extend the reach of his worrying. "I heard her, when the fight started, but I lost track of her."

Chirrut was so proud of the girl, who after so many years could almost use a staff as well as he can. No one mocks his little flower now.

[iprotectyou]

"I'm sure she's fine," Baze says gruffly, grief thickening his voice. He swallows. "I'm sure she is. She can't be anything else."

He looks away from Chirrut, tearing up once again, though this time from sorrow. His breathing hitches twice as he moves, and he tries to compose himself. "Oh, Chirrut," he says brokenly.

Then he clears his throat, wiping his tears away with his thick fingers. "At least I have you again. We have to stick together this time. I won't let you out of my sight."

[idontneedluck]

Alarmed at such grief from Baze, a man more given to joy, Chirrut turns from his slow exploration of the room to stumble, hasty and incautious, to Baze's side.

"It's alright, it's alright." Baze is a mountain of a man, but Chirrut manages, settling on the bed and dragging Baze close enough to hear his heart. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

[iprotectyou]

Baze wraps his arms around Chirrut, burying his nose in his hair. The movement pulls on his wounds, but he pays them no mind aside from grunting. He sniffles miserably, clinging to his friend and breathing in his earthy scent. The Guardian trembles in Chirrut's hold, gritting his teeth.

"Where do we go from here?" Baze whispers, his tears staining Chirrut's scalp. "I know we're safe, for the moment, but I can't stop shaking."

[idontneedluck]

Chirrut's own tears are silent, soaking into the front of Baze's robes. He hasn't grieved for his losses until now - surviving had been so much higher on his list of priorities.

"The Force is with me, and I am with the Force." His voice is gravelly, but he makes no effort to hide it. "And I fear nothing, for all this is as the Force wills it."

[iprotectyou]

"It seems even the Force has abandoned us," Baze mutters bitterly. "Why did the Force will this?"

He releases Chirrut, if only to drag Baze's thumbs across Chirrut's eyes, wiping away his tears. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't question the Force. The Force is with me, and I am with the Force."

[idontneedluck]

"You are still bleeding. I think some surliness is allowed." Chirrut points out, then starts at the sound of knocking on the door. Adrenaline and anger brings him to his feet, imagining troopers in the hall, come to finish what they started.

They are not going to hurt Baze again, not while he has anything to say about it. They can have Baze over his cold, dead body.

[iprotectyou]

Baze leaps to his feet as well, hissing through clenched teeth as the movement jerks his wounds. He places a steadying hand on Chirrut's shoulder. "It's the waitress."

Baze releases Chirrut and crosses the room, opening the door to retrieve the food and bacta patches. He thanks the hapless girl delivering them, and shuts the door in her face.

He carries the food to a table in the middle of the room. "Looks like we have some kind of curry and rice. Smells good. Do you want to eat it while it's hot or use the 'fresher first? You could use it."

[idontneedluck]

"I will eat - you should clean up first, before you're all over blood." Chirrut chides, visibly trying to get himself back under control. He stifles a rasping cough as he finds his way to the table, feeling carefully with hands and feet. "Do you need help with the patches?"

[iprotectyou]

"Probably not," Baze says, pulling a chair out for Chirrut and guiding him to it. The bigger Guardian plucks up the bacta patches from the tray. "I'll get cleaned up, then. Feel free to eat, but don't eat mine, or I'll kill you."

Baze heads to the 'fresher room, happy to scrub off the dried blood and grit taken from several days' worth of combat. He disrobes and stands under the sonic system, sound waves breaking up the grime. He waits until he's completely clean, and then applies the bacta patches to the wounds arching fire across his ribs down to his hip. Baze dresses again, ignoring the filth on his robes. He exits the refresher room feeling eighty percent better.

"All right, Chirrut," Baze says. "Your turn."

[idontneedluck]

After neatly dividing the rice and curry in half (or 40/60, at least, Baze is larger and will need more)

(30/70, he's not quite as hungry as he thought and Baze has been injured, it's logical)

...

(look, he took some, okay?)

He has dutifully finished his portion, whichever fraction it is that he ended up with... mostly. He feels heavy and claggy, and he blames it entirely on crying. It always stuffs up his sinuses and makes the world feel muted.

He stands though, when Baze returns, glad to trade the smell of the blaster injury to the more medicinal one of bacta.

"I was going to see if you had fallen asleep in there." He teases, gravel still ground into the pitch of his voice.