iprotectyou | OOM/IM: The Ankle

Entry tags:

OOM/IM: The Ankle

Baze knows--he just knows--that Chirrut broke his ankle stepping into that rabbit hole during the sparring match with Ganymede. The larger man sucks in a breath as he holds his smaller friend in a bridal carry, carting him from the sparring grounds to the infirmary. Baze's concern screams in the Force, try as he might to remain nonchalant.

After they reach the infirmary, Baze gently sets Chirrut down on the exam table, crinkling the paper under him. The larger man locates the scanner, and starts booting it up. He growls as he carefully removes Chirrut's boot, revealing both swelling and bruising.

Then he passes the scanner over the bone, and frowns at the results.

"Well, you broke it," he snarls, worry scraping his temper raw. "We'll get some bacta, and after that, I'm taking you straight to bed."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You and your sweets." Chirrut laughs softly, idly picking up one of the chips and gnawing on it. The world is getting more and more soft, and he rolls with it. "Alright, alright, we'll try your fruits. We'll try everything. We have time."

"It's not like I asked to try desserts or chocolates," Baze grumbles affectionately, in between stuffing his face with breaded fish filets. "Surely fruit won't be too sweet for you. There are vitamins in fruits that you're not getting from sapir. And as far as I understand, they're mostly water, so they'll hydrate you, too."

"I said I'd try them, you bantha." Chirrut giggles, his nibbling becoming an increasingly lazy affair. "Always so worried about me, eh?"

"Of course I worry about you," Baze says, huffing as he wraps his arms around his friend. The larger man breathes in the spicy, earthy scent of the smaller one, catching notes of soap and tea--and bacta, ew. "It's an old habit, and I'm very good at it. And now you've broken your ankle and given me actual cause. Hmph. Hmph! You're ridiculous, of course I worry. I love you. I don't know why, but I do."

"I am very lovable." Chirrut agrees drowsily, relaxing into Baze's hold. Baze is so warm, and he can hear that steady heart so well with the armor gone.

"Love you too, Baze."

Chirrut doesn't even make it through dinner before the painkillers knock him out. Baze is only half-pleased; on the one hand, Chirrut sleeping means that he won't be moving his busted ankle. On the other, Chirrut is still too thin, and needs to eat as much as possible. Ah, well. Baze isn't about to wake him up.

Two days pass with Baze methodically drugging his friend into a stupor. The larger man has found that the smaller one is much easier to handle when he's blissed out on high dosages of pain meds--no matter how guilty it makes Baze feel. But despite the drugs, Chirrut has still tried to get up to stretch. They ran out of movies, and Baze left the room to get more. When he returned, his friend was in a handstand, protesting that that was elevating his foot.

Baze was displeased.

Now, they've run out of both movies and romance novels, and Baze is loathe to leave the room to acquire more entertainment. Chirrut still has two more days of this.

Force help them.

Baze stares at his friend. "If you have any suggestions as to how to keep you entertained without moving, I'm all ears."

"My foot feels much better, you are being ridiculous." Chirrut retorts, "I'm not going to go kick people in the face, I just need to move."

Possibly the Force answers Baze's desperate prayer, because there's a familiar presence at the door and a knock.

"Hello? Would you mind some company?" she asks from the other side of the door.

"No," Baze says, leveling a stare at his friend. He's about to tear into him, to tell him exactly why moving is a bad idea--and it's not like Chirrut hasn't heard it all before over the past two days--when there's a knock at the door.

"Oh, thank the Force," Baze says, and bolts over to the door. He flings it open, and, without another word, wraps his arms around Ibani and drags her inside. "Chirrut, Ibani is here!"

"It is my foot you claim is still broken, not my ears." Chirrut complains, shifting towards the edge of the bed so he can get up and greet Ibani properly. "Hello Ibani, please, take him out for a walk, he's going crazy."

"I'll come to you, or else Baze will give himself apoplexy," Ibani calls as Baze drags her inside.

Luckily, maneuvering Baze over to Chirrut so that she can wrap one arm around each of them is easy!

"Going stir-crazy?"

"We've watched all our movies and read all our romance novels," Baze explains mournfully, relishing Ibani's hold. "And we still have two or so days where he can't move."

"I can move, I just need to be careful." Chirrut huffs. "I have been up and about with worse." He knows Baze is worried (and he knows he's being drugged), but there's only so much of this he can stand.

Or sit, as the case may be.

"Would you like me to take a look at your foot, see if I can finish the healing process?" Ibani offers.

She can feel their frustration.

Baze should not have drugged his friend. The larger man knows this, knows it deep in his soul--and he did it anyway. Chirrut was so much easier to handle when he took the meds, but that doesn't make it right. Guilt twists Baze's heart. He rests a hand on his chest, drawing deep breaths through his nose.

The past two days have been hell. Chirrut has been stupidly stir-crazy, and Baze was tempted on more than one occasion to shake his friend.

And now Ibani has offered them an out. It would be so easy, wouldn't it, to just take it.

"Chirrut?" Baze says, and doesn't say anymore. This is Chirrut's decision.

His reluctance is immediate and strong... and irrational. The desire to bolt, almost as old as he is, has be driven down before he can breathe.

Ibani isn't going to hurt him. Ibani hasn't hurt him. And if she can fix it, Baze will stop fretting.

"You, stoppit, now. I wouldn't take the medication if I wasn't perfectly alright with what it does." He growls at Baze, fiercely. "It made this somewhat bearable."

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

"If you could, Ibani." It's not the most gracious of responses. He's trying.

"Thank you, Chirrut," she says, squeezing his shoulder gently. For facing his fear, for trusting her, for reassuring Baze.

Her gaze goes distant as she sinks into the Force and her hand moves from Chirrut's shoulder to his foot.

"The bone is mended, but you've got tendons damaged still," she says aloud, her voice distant as most of her concentration is elsewhere.

Gently, so gently, she eases a thread of the Force into Chirrut, encouraging tissues to heal, tendons to knit, swelling and pain to subside. She could do this much more quickly, WOULD do this much more quickly, if it were anyone but Chirrut.

But, thanks to his Force sensitivity and his past experiences, Chirrut requires a lighter touch. The Force is warmth and life and peace, seeping into Chirrut's body, making what has been damaged whole.

Chirrut's rebuke doesn't make Baze feel any better. It should. It really should. But Baze is still twisted with guilt. "I apologize, my friend," he says, which releases some of the tension in his shoulders. "I shouldn't have drugged you."

What will Ibani think of him, now that he's said it out loud? Baze doesn't want to know.

He's relieved--so relieved!--that Chirrut chose to let Ibani work on his foot. Baze was not looking forward to two more days of holding Chirrut down when all he wanted to do was climb the walls. Baze lays a hand on his friend's shoulder, offering reassurance that the larger man is still there for him, and always will be.

Chirrut hasn't wanted to fight, to flee, in his life or afterlife. When Ibani healed his headache, he'd been in enough pain for it to be distracting. He reaches back to wrap his hands around Baze's wrist, anchoring, trying to breathe.

It doesn't hurt. Actually, the feeling is pleasant, peaceful.

He wants to scream.

"I am one with the Force the Force is with me I am one with the Force the Force is with me I am one with the Force..."

Ibani doesn't feel Chirrut wanting to scream until she finishes the healing, the work demanding all of her attention.

She draws a sharp inward breath at the feeling and the Force is filled with contrition and sorrow. She hastily withdraws from Chirrut, pulls her power back tight around her body.

"A thousand pardons," she says quietly.

That feeling, the wanting to scream, is one she associates with interrogations past, with nightmares of torments she's inflicted on others. It stirs up things she would rather keep forever buried.

Baze chants the mantra right along with Chirrut, the larger man's powerful baritone folding over the smaller man's tenor and enveloping him. Baze slows down the litany, however, and adds the last part: "... And I fear nothing, for all is as the Force wills it."

He hopes Chirrut will follow and calm down, but he still seems gripped by terror. Then Baze sees the stricken look on Ibani's face, and his heart goes out to her.

He takes the pillows out from under Chirrut's foot, and tosses them to the floor. Then Baze starts dislodging Chirrut from the blankets. It's time to make a nest for cuddling.

Edited 2017-07-28 04:45 (UTC)

Chirrut rises, but isn't on his feet for long. The room isn't large, but it's large enough for this.

He goes down to his knees, the gesture graceful once again. From there he goes down entirely, prostrating himself flat on the ground, his face pressed against the rough tile of the floor.

"I have repaid kindness with pain, and have thus shamed myself and my brethern."

Ibani's face is confused and the Force echoes with it when Chirrut goes down to his knees, then prostrates himself. This is not a gesture she knows, its meaning is a mystery.

Then he speaks and she understands. "Oh, Chirrut, no. No, you have not shamed anyone." She kneels down to wrap an arm around him. "Given your past, it is perfectly understandable that you would feel like that when you were being affected by a Force user's power, however you feel about me as a person."

Baze has seen this gesture. He has seen it a lot, most notably after that horrible, nasty fight between him and Chirrut and Eiko, where the smaller man went berserk. The larger man tries not to think about that fight.

Baze joins in the snuggle pile, dragging Chirrut to his feet. The older Guardian notices that his younger friend's head is still bowed, that he's still subdued, and Baze wishes he could just clap his hands and fix this.

"Chirrut, Ibani, how about a sparring match? You probably need to move after being cooped up for two days."

"Far, far away from any rodent holes." Chirrut suggests, because if he ever has to do that again it will be too soon.

Ibani hugs Chirrut and Baze. "That sounds like an excellent idea," she replies.

The sorrow in the Force transmutes into mischief and joy. "Might even try a few new tricks I've been thinking up."

It won't take long for Baze and Chirrut to grab their staves so the three of them can head outside to spar....AGAIN.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OOM/IM: The Ankle

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject