iprotectyou | OOM: The Healer

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OOM: The Healer

The raiders came with a small army. Baze wasn't quite sure what had happened until it was over. A visiting Jedi, Taza Madowki, fought for the Guardians, lightsaber flashing. Baze fought for the kyber, staff swinging. Chirrut fought for...

Oh, Force. Chirrut. Chirrut was injured.

Now, Baze is curled up next to his prone friend on the stones of the courtyard, trembling. Baze shouts at him, pleading, and Chirrut struggles to keep his eyes open, to keep his grip tight on the larger man's hand. The smaller man coughs up more blood.

The Jedi touches Baze on a cold shoulder, and he barely even feels it. He glances up at her, only to see her pink lips moving, but hears no words. She moves to Chirrut next.

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Chirrut reaches up to grab one of Baze's hands, and leans back, trusting Baze won't let him topple over backwards.

"I am also glad to not be dead." He points out, wry, "You know I would never go far, right? I will always be there, in the Force. Someone would have to look out for you, after all."

He doesn't have a death wish, not by a long shot - life is a glorious thing. But Chirrut isn't afraid of death.

Baze doesn't let him fall, merely guides him to rest his back on the larger Guardian's chest. He loops an arm around the smaller man, resting Baze's scarred cheek on Chirrut's temple.

"I know," Baze murmurs. "I know, you'd always be there with me. But I can thank the Force that... Well, that I don't have to deal with the pain of losing you to this life just yet."

Chirrut hums agreement, peaceably listening to Baze's heartbeat for a few minutes.

"Lead a poor blind man back to his room? I should probably make myself scarce before the technicians run out of things to do and remember I got hurt." His excuse is a little thin, but he suspects Baze will let it slide for now. He just wants to let this day become the past, and hopes the world will become more navigable when he wakes up again.

"Poor blind man" garners another snort from Baze. He complies, though, cupping Chirrut's elbow and leading him to their rooms, undrunk tea forgotten.

The inquest takes a week to start. Master Sheotar and the others needed time to set the temple to rights after the raid. A funeral marked the passing of one of the Guardians who shielded the initiates. Madowki, the Jedi, was irritated at being kept planetside for so long.

Baze stands outside the door to the masters' enclave, where the Jedi is currently being interviewed. He loops an arm around Chirrut, trying to soothe him.

"Easy, my friend," Baze says, cupping his cheek. "You'll go in there, say your piece, and then it will be done."

Chirrut doesn't want to go in there. He's been studiously avoiding the Jedi all week - he held his ground during the funeral, and then absconded with Baze to one of the furthest markets on the mesa. He almost wishes he was taking part in a physical challenge, an out-and-out duel with the Jedi would be less harrowing.

He can sense the weight of the Jedi's Force presence. He'd just as willingly go into a room with an angry rancor.

"Baze, I..."

"There you are!" A harried voice interrupts Chirrut's nervy attempt to back out of the whole thing altogether. Farki strides up to the pair, pack in hand. She eyes Chirrut, frowning.

"Give me your arm, Imwe." She demands shortly, and he's been under care often enough to obey this demand without protesting. She pushes up his sleeve and slaps a medicated patch onto it before dropping the sleeve again.
"Low-grade sedative, you look like you're going to crawl straight out of your skin. Come to the infirmary tomorrow for a check." She orders, then wheels on Baze to poke him in the shoulder.
"I'm only allowing this under protest. It's your job to get him treatment if he has a problem before that. Forcedamned Jedi." She mutters viciously as she heads off again.

Chirrut blinks.

"Hello, I am a functional adult..." He calls, faintly woebegone, at Farki's back.

Chirrut's tension has been ratcheting up all day, driving Baze to distraction. He's been doing damage control, trying to keep calm when his friend is so agitated. One of them has to remain calm; it might as well be Baze.

Then Farki arrives, slaps the sedative on Chirrut, and flounces.

Baze stares at Farki's retreating back. The tension breaks, and he cackles. He laughs so hard, tears flood his eyes. He has to smother his giggles when he and Chirrut are summoned into the room.

Chirrut looks tiny under the weight of the master's stares, Baze thinks. Trembling, the smaller Guardian gives his testimony, describing how his sense of the world was obliterated by the Jedi's power. The larger one, relegated to a corner, listens stonily. He glares at the back of the Jedi's head. He notices how his friend can't bear to look at her, as if seared by her very presence.

The masters question Chirrut for what feels like hours. He sags under the pressure and the effect of the sedative, his eyes half-lidded. Baze swears he can hear his friend's rapid pulse, despite the medication. By the time the masters release them, Chirrut is staggering, and Baze has to catch his elbow and lead him bodily out of the room.

"Tea?" Baze says, watching Chirrut's head loll slightly. "Or our rooms?"

"Tea in our rooms?" Chirrut asks quietly, determinedly walking away, though he's not necessarily walking in the right direction. He just wants to leave. That thought is keeping him moving.

"Tea in our rooms, then," Baze says, carefully supporting his friend on his watery legs. The larger Guardian steers the smaller one to their rooms and shoulders open the door. Baze settles Chirrut on his bed, and crosses back to the door again.

"I'm going to get some tea. I'll be right back; don't pass out without me," Baze says, resting his hand on the doorframe. Then he walks--no, runs--to the kitchens.

The door closes. Chirrut's head drops down, and he rubs fitfully at the back of his neck. The crawling horror of the last few... was it hours? It felt like hours. He feels filthy just by being in that room, but he doesn't feel up to the sonics just yet.

If he stays on this bed he will be asleep before too long, and he doesn't want that, as unsettled as he is. It will be a hell of a night, if he doesn't get some balance. Unsteadily he makes his way to the floor, and folds himself into the proper pose.

It takes a couple tries, but he makes it.

After a visit to the training hall to pick up some sapir from his secret stash, Baze runs to the kitchens. He rushes through the tea brewing process, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for the kettle to whistle. He figures the leaves can steep on the way back to his and Chirrut's rooms, and hurries to fill the pot. Baze almost runs while balancing the tray containing the pot, two cups, and some klee-klee nuts. His movements are closer to a jog than a out and out run, but they're close.

When he bursts through the door, he has to skid to a stop before he runs into Chirrut, cups rattling on the tray. Baze feels a stab of guilt; of course Chirrut would be meditating, and the larger Guardian must have interrupted the smaller one, being so noisy.

Baze moves around Chirrut, and sets the tray on the nightstand. He pours the now-steeped tea into the cups, and picks them up, holding them awkwardly until Chirrut rouses.

Chirrut leans back against the bed as Baze finishes settling himself, and smiles wanly.

"How many are laid strewn in your wake?" He asks with drowsy amusement, "Have you given the infirmary a full workload?"

Baze sighs, and retrieves the cloth bag of fragrant klee-klee nuts from the tray. He crosses to his friend, and flops down onto the grooved, stone floor next to his friend, settling in the lotus position.

"No one got in my way," Baze reports, pressing the cup of sapir into Chirrut's hand. "They were all granted wisdom by the Force today."

The larger Guardian sets his own cup of sapir down on the ground, and rifles through the bag. He plucks out three nuts and presses those into Chirrut's free hand before picking up a few nuts for himself.

Baze hems and haws for a few moments, chewing on the nuts--and his words. Eventually, he orders his thoughts, and finds he must ask the question on the tip of his tongue. "Are you okay?" he asks, and then frowns at himself. "Well, I mean... Will you be okay?"

Chirrut chews contemplatively, and then spends more time inhaling the green and growing scent of his favorite tea.

"As the Force wills, of course." Chirrut replies, as he leans against his friend. "But I think so. I will be better when she leaves."

Then, at least, maybe the flow of the Force might go back to normal again.

That sedative really did a number on Chirrut, Baze thinks. He might have to encourage Farki to treat his friend more often. The larger Guardian loops an arm around the smaller one, picking up the neglected cup of tea.

"Good," Baze murmurs, taking a gulp of the sapir. "Good. The Force is with me, and I am with the Force. And I fear nothing, because all is as the Force wills it."

He leans back, taking as much comfort as he gives. "She will leave soon. She's already annoyed with being stuck planetside as long as she has been."

"Good." There's a vicious note in his tone, an anger the sedative does nothing about. If he wasn't as eager to have her gone as she is to leave, he'd happily lobby that the Jedi stay on NiJedha forever. "I hope she's having a miserable time."

The Jedi was right, all those years ago. He would have made a terrible Jedi.

Baze chuckles, offering his friend a squeeze.

"Never change, Chirrut," the larger Guardian says, indulging in his tea again. He makes a mental note not to refill his own cup, to leave the rest of the pot for Chirrut. Sapir is his favorite tea, and Baze is loathe to drink it all. "I'm now convinced that you'll be okay. Good. Eat some more klee-klee nuts and drink your tea, and then I'll give you a rub and you can sleep."

Chirrut huffs at him, in between sips of tea.

"You don't need to take your orders so literally, I'm drugged, not... well. Perhaps a bit." He allows, because he knows he won't be able to fool Baze at close range. "I just want everything to return to normal. I haven't been able to meditate properly with her here."

He doesn't know if her presence is ruining things. He hopes that's all it is.

He fears it isn't.

Baze laces the fingers of his free hand in Chirrut's own.

"I understand," the larger Guardian says gently, offering his smaller friend a squeeze.

"I'm sorry she's such a distraction. Is there anything I can do to help? What do you need?"

Chirrut is quiet for a long spell again, contemplatively draining his teacup, sip by sip.

"I don't know." He finally admits. There's fear there. Fear he wants to release to the Force, but every time he turns to it he finds her influence, subtle and twining and repulsive. "But I will ask, when I do."

Chirrut needs a good cleansing cry, in Baze's opinion. But the smaller man is not one given to tears, and the larger one knows it. He stands, and crosses to the nightstand to retrieve the pot of sapir. After returning to Chirrut's side, Baze refills his friend's cup.

"Do let me know," Baze says softly, sighing through his nose. He sets the pot of tea on the floor. "I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere. We'll see this through, and things will improve. You'll see."

Chirrut's chirpy 'oh, I will? That's new.' earns him a grumble, his newly poured cup of tea the only thing saving him from a trouncing. He's glad he managed it, if only to reassure Baze he's not going to let this Jedi ass ruin him.

Even the biggest pot of tea won't last forever, and eventually there are no more refills. By then he's decidedly exhausted, his brain swooping between thoughts, his body sagging more heavily against Baze's with each passing minute. With extreme care, he places his mug on the ground before it can slip through his fingers.

It's a near thing.

Baze kicks himself for using sighted language again. He knows better. Still, it's reassuring to know that Chirrut's up to joking, despite feeling awful.

The larger Guardian knows the smaller one will object if he tries to carry him to bed. So Baze merely stands his friend up, supporting him around the shoulders, and helps him stagger over to the mattress ensconced in a wood frame.

Baze thinks Chirrut is out by the time his cheek hits the pillow, but no, he's still holding on. So the larger Jedhan starts working on his neck, dragging his thumbs down the corded muscles and traveling down to his back.

Chirrut doesn't hang on for long - Baze has strong hands, and the massage is so soothing. He is contemplating telling Baze so when his thoughts spiral away into dreams. His breathing evens out, and he lays sprawled and trusting on the bed.

Not long after that, there's a knock on the door.

"Guardian Malbus? Imwe? Are you decent in there? Well, even if you're not, I'm coming in." Farki calls through the door before cracking it open and leaning inside. "Anyone dead in here?"

"Ssh," Baze whispers, holding a finger to his lips. He stands from his lean over Chirrut's prone body, Baze's free hand hovering over his friend's back.

"He's finally asleep. He fought that sedative for a long time, but it finally worked. Thanks for that, by the way--we should totally do that again."

Farki frowns at Baze for a long moment, as if having difficulty parsing the sentence.

Then Baze is treated to a muttered treatise in the wide variety of Jedhan swear words as she barrels into the room, neatly side-steps Baze, and removes the sedative patch with an almost vicious tug. Then she checks Chirrut over quickly before rounding on Baze again.

"Outside. Now." She growls, teeth bared, pointing sternly towards the door.

OOM: The Healer

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