iprotectyou | OOM: A Gift of Tea

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OOM: A Gift of Tea

Baze has been waiting for this day--the seventh of the second month--for weeks.

He's been keeping a secret from Chirrut: when they visited the temple for the last time after it fell, Baze retrieved his stash of sapir tea from its hiding place--behind a brick in the wall of a closet in the training hall, untouched in the raid.

Now, Baze has woken up early, before Chirrut, to prepare the tea. The larger Jedhan waits the requisite thirty seconds for their tap water to turn from red to black to something approximating clear, and then fills the kettle. Carefully separating the proper amount of tea leaves from what remains of the block, he fills the pot's strainer with sapir. The process is meditative, and silent--save the whistling of the kettle, which Baze removes from the heat as soon as possible. He pours the water into the pot, encouraged by the scent of green and growing things--a scent he hasn't smelled in far, far too long.

He allows the tea to steep for a few minutes, and then crosses to his sleeping friend, only to gently shake him awake. It's been years since Chirrut has had his tea, and Baze wants it to be the first thing he has upon waking.

"Happy birthday, Chirrut," Baze says with a soft, pleased smile, pressing the cup of precious sapir into his friend's hand.

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Chirrut is... not graceful when he's asleep. He gets tangled in and under and around blankets, pillows get strewn, and sprawling just... happens. He never intends to, never goes to sleep starfished and tangled with the pillow trapped under his back, but... it happens more frequently than not.

Today is no exception. Chirrut's eyes open, his expression bleary and disjointed.

Chirrut Imwe and mornings aren't on good speaking terms.

"No, no, birthday later, kriff o... me. Is that tea? Is that..." His mumbling takes on more enunciation as it loses its whining drag, his attention focusing on the cup Baze is helping to steady. "Am I dreaming? This is a good dream."

Baze laughs, though he keeps it quiet so the sound doesn't ring right through Chirrut's head.

"Yes, sleepy head, it's exactly what you think it is," Baze says, and places his free hand on his friend's shoulder to help him up, if Chirrut wants that.

"I saved it from the temple for you."

Chirrut lets Baze help him up, under a mostly-true guise of half-asleep in-coordination. He can't bounce up like he used to, what seems like so long ago.

Not that he'll ever admit as much to Baze. He doesn't want to burden Baze with yet another trouble. That's something for another time - now, he smiles bright enough to light the room by himself.

"Sapir." His tone is reverent as he takes the cup, inhaling the fragrant scent - it smells like home, even though he's never lived somewhere so lush. "Thank you."

Baze knows Chirrut is thinner now--too thin, Baze thinks--malnourished, and tired all the time because of it. Given the choice, Chirrut would sleep his life away, only because he lacks the calories to have any energy. His shoulder is bony under Baze's hand; if he grips with slightly more pressure, Chirrut's skin will bruise. Where once sculpted muscle reigned, he's a shadow of his former self.

They both are. Baze pays that no mind; his only concern is for his friend.

Baze wants to take that pleased smile of Chirrut's and fall into it forever. He wraps Chirrut's happiness around himself like a cocoon, living in the moment and wanting it to last.

Baze settles on the bed next to his friend, waiting for him to take the first sip.

"You're welcome. We have enough for about forty cups."

Chirrut didn't think that he could smile any wider, but today is a day for miracles.

"Forty?" It's hard to imagine such riches. He was stunned by just the one cup. He'd hug Baze now (Baze certainly deserves a hug right now) but it would be a criminal waste to let the tea cool. He takes a careful sip, anxious not to spill, and...

Force it's practically a religious experience.

Baze beams as Chirrut finally indulges in his gift. It's his birthday and they're still alive--barely surviving, but alive--and Baze wants to celebrate that. An affirmation of life, marked by good tea.

"You should drink at least five of those today."

"Five?" Chirrut demands, boggling, his food-hoarding ways now deeply and probably irrevocably ingrained. "Oh, but I could make one last for hours. You should have some, though."

Baze frowns, shaking his head.

"You're kidding me, right? This is for you," he says, folding his arms. "I wouldn't dare drink your tea. I couldn't, and go to sleep with a clean conscience."

Even though Baze is, by all accounts, a tea snob. And all they've had is Tarine for years.

Baze is the biggest tea snob in NiJedha, and everyone knows it. Honestly, ask anyone - the neighbors, those in the market, the pilgrims who still come, even the Imperials. Everyone knows Baze Malbus has opinions about tea.

"Baze, please? I... I can't do anything this grand. But I can enjoy a cup of tea with you." Not many have been terribly interested in fortunes lately, made up or not. The best he hoped for today was that he'd be able to do his damnedest to stay out of trouble, and maybe earn enough for something good for dinner.

Oh, damn it. Chirrut asks so plaintively that it breaks Baze's heart. He relents immediately, sighing, and stands from the bed.

"Only one," he says, and crosses to the hot plate to pour a cup for himself from the kettle. The scent fills his nose, and he hums appreciatively. They don't have any food, their cupboards are bare, but they do have sapir.

Baze returns to Chirrut's side, and settles his armored bulk on the bed again. The larger Jedhan places his mouth on the cup and moistens his lips. It's not a real sip, per se, but it is enough for him to taste it once he licks his lips off. In this way, he hopes the tea will last forever. It's a vain hope, but he still wishes for it.

"Would you like to go back to sleep after this?"

"No, what will the market be without me?" Chirrut asks, and shrugs carefully to not disturb the tea. "They'll miss me dreadfully, you know they will. Tears. Tears for days."

Baze throws his head back and laughs. Chirrut is easily the funniest person Baze has ever known, and he loves spending time with him, just like this.

"Oh, yes, you and your 'May the Force of others be with you,'" Baze teases, lifting his cup to his nose and inhaling the steam. "I'm sure the marketplace wouldn't know what to do without you."

"The remaining economy of NiJedha will pancake overnight. Mass chaos in the streets." Chirrut agrees, carefully shifting so he can lean against Baze and sip his tea contentedly.

"Oh, yes, it would be hysterical out there," Baze says dryly, grinning. He wraps an arm around his friend, sighing.

"I do wish we could just stay in for our birthday," Baze says, slightly mournfully. "But we are out of food, and you are too thin to skip a meal."

"Shh, I'm fine." Chirrut chides, slowly savoring his tea. "Today I'll find someone who is a little more free with their credits. We'll have a good dinner."

Perhaps if he states it with enough confidence, the Force will make it be true.

Baze does not scowl at his tea. He doesn't. That spike of anxiety Chirrut might feel in the Force is just his imagination.

This is their birthday. They should be having fun on their birthday.

Baze breathes through his nose.

"I have a new job," he announces. "It starts in two days."

This should be a cause for joy. Chirrut should ask if his new co-workers seem friendly, and how he found it, and if the competition was fierce. He should promise to stop by on Baze's first day, and threaten to embarrass him horribly.

Chirrut frees a hand from around his cup so he can idly run his hands through Baze's hair, and not worry. He's not worried a little bit. He never does. He's said this frequently.

Chirrut Imwe lies.

Baze knows that Chirrut disapproves of his taking jobs where the larger Jedhan puts himself at risk--and assassinates people. But it's one of the only ways Baze can make money with NiJedha occupied as it is.

"I might..." Baze starts, trailing off. He leans into Chirrut's touch, closing the larger man's eyes. He doesn't want to tell Chirrut the truth, what comes next.

But he has to.

"The job might take me away. From Jedha."

His words drop into the space like a stone thrown into a well. Silence, and then a small splash.

"But only for a little while."

Chirrut ponders this, as he sips his tea, and idly finger-straightens the tangle of Baze's hair. He will promise to be careful. He will probably end up being more reckless, more bold, to take up the space of two. He knows they money would be better, off of Jedha - Jedha doesn't have a flourishing economy anymore, not with the temple gone. If he'd made more money, trading fortunes for coin, perhaps this wouldn't have come to pass. He would protest, fight it, but they're not doing enough to keep themselves alive at present.

"Well, that means I can't go to the market today." He's not going to waste the dwindling hours. "Finish your tea." He drinks the dregs of his, that last bit of warm curling down his throat, before reaching out to find where he'd left his robes the night before.

"I don't have to take the job," Baze says hurriedly, plucking Chirrut's empty cup from his hand and crossing to the pot to refill it. He returns to his friend, pressing the fresh mug into his hand.

"I mean, there will be other jobs. Sure, it's money"--good money, better money than they've earned in months--"but if it's going to take me away, the money might not be worth leaving."

He expected Chirrut to protest, to tell him that he couldn't do it, to put the nail in the coffin of his doubts. He didn't expect this bland acceptance. Baze reluctantly wonders if Chirrut's faith in the Force has anything to do with it.

Edited 2017-09-09 05:32 (UTC)

Baze will go. Chirrut knows this. If he fought, maybe not this one. Or the next one, but eventually the need (the need for money, the need to burn off some of the anger the Empire engenders, the need to do) will be too great.

And between now and then... fights, if Chirrut wants them.

He doesn't. All is as the Force wills it... he can only pray that the Force wills that Baze come home again. That he wants to come home again. That he can.

"Do you want to take the job?" Chirrut asks, since it seems to need asking, even as he curls his hands around the warm miracle of tea.

Baze considers the question, taking his first "real" drink of tea, not just moistening his lips. Ah, bliss. He closes his eyes briefly, and then opens them again to gaze at his friend.

"No," Baze says, and searches for some excuse that isn't a lie. He could say that the intel is bad, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He could say that they don't need the money, but that's ridiculous. No, all he can say is--"I don't want to leave you behind."

He hates how plantive his voice sounds, almost a whine. Chirrut is the only thing keeping him on Jedha--or so he thinks. If he's truly being honest with himself, NiJedha is in his bones, in his blood. He won't ever be able to leave the city--despite renouncing the order and the Force that binds it.

"Chirrut," Baze says, licking his tea-soaked lips. "I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a happy day."

"I cannot leave." Chirrut reminds him, as if that particular argument ever needs re-hashing. Chirrut has refused to even consider leaving NiJedha, to consider failing to protect his people... even if it is only in a small way.

"And there is nothing to say it cannot still be a happy day. After all, there is already tea, and you are not complaining about it." And he has a few favors he can pull. He has been hanging on to them, saving them for need - what is this, possibly less than forty-eight hours before separation, if not need?

And there it is. Chirrut cannot--will not, Baze thinks--leave, so Baze can't either. He'll tell his contact that he's backing out--which might damage that professional relationship, and prevent him from being offered jobs by them in the future.

Here is where Chirrut would say "all is as the Force wills." Baze takes a resentful drink of his tea. Chirrut has been better about shoving his faith in Baze's face lately. Maybe he's finally getting through to him that Baze doesn't want to hear it.

"How could I complain about this tea? It's not Tarine."

Chirrut tilts his head, as if listening to a far-away melody, and then tugs on a few of the locks he just spent time untangling.

"Do not use me as an excuse." He felt that dissatisfaction, and refuses to be the reason for it. "What do you want?"

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