iprotectyou | OOM: The Job

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OOM: The Job

The job pays well, at least. That's the only good thing about it.

The intel Baze was given was shaky at best, and while his target goes down without a fight, the Selkath bodyguard she employed is a surprise. An aquatic species resembling a catfish with aqua-colored skin, the Selkath fights viciously, tackling Baze from above and mauling his arm with venom-tipped claws.

Baze bellows, swinging his repeater cannon up and around to fire upon the creature. He pumps blaster bolts into him, stumbling away when the Selkath disengages. Baze didn't expect the claws. To a Selkath, use of their retractable claws is dishonorable, a sign of madness. Baze's arm burns, and he grits his teeth against the pain. He knows he has to find an antidote, and fast.

He staggers back home, back to Chirrut.

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He doesn't have to. With his protest on record, Chirrut can't fight his need for comfort anymore. He can rationalize it any way he likes, but he's still leaning back against Baze, holding on with a fierce grip.

It might be a while before he's able to let go.

That's just fine with Baze. There's a rush of air as Chirrut grips him, a quick exhale of surprise. He clings to his friend, smiling, tears slowing. Baze's ribs ache and his arm burns, but he pays his pain no mind--until it gets to be unbearable. Still, he stubbornly holds on to his small friend, offering all the comfort he can.

His hitch in breathing and the stiffness of his hold are the only outward signs of his injury, but they should be obvious to Chirrut, who can read him better than he can himself. Still, he holds on.

Sooner than he'd really like, Chirrut finds he can only focus on Baze's pain. He sighs, a soft tired sound, and pulls away.

"Back to bed with you - you're not going to heal wandering about." He chides.

Baze almost protests. He wasn't near done holding his friend. But Chirrut is right, and Baze knows it. Still doesn't make breaking away any easier. He staggers back to the bed, sitting down heavily on the creaky frame once he reaches it.

"Time to tape my ribs, I guess," Baze mumbles, exhaustion catching up with him again. With a full belly and a blanket, he could probably sleep, despite the fire arching up his arm.

Chirrut can practically taste Baze's need for comfort (and he'd be lying if he didn't need it as well). He pats Baze's shoulder when he's in reach, dumping his supplies beside Baze in an untidy heap.

Very carefully he maps out exactly which ribs are cracked (more than he likes, less than he feared), then sets about with the tape, ruthlessly binding his chest. When he's done Baze looks distinctly mummy-esque in parts, but the tape is neat and precise.

"Now. Lie down, and scoot over." He knows already he's not going to sleep if Baze is half a room away, so... he's not going to do that.

This nets a laugh from Baze--both relieved and incredulous. "But Chirrut, the bed is tiny," he says, but it's only a token protest. He scoots over as far as the bed will allow, settling his bulk on his side, and opens his arms. "I'm ready for you."

Chirrut moves slowly, carefully, as he eases into the space left for him. The end result is a little awkward, and a little uncomfortable - the bed really is a little too small for two men.

Chirrut doesn't intend on budging. Not when he can hear Baze's heart beating loud and clear from here. He sighs, releasing some of the tension from his frame.

Better. This is better.

Baze wraps his arms around his friend as best as he can, what with stiffness and bandages getting in the way. He tucks Chirrut against his taped-up chest, taking comfort in the smaller man's soft breathing. Baze closes his eyes, feeling his tight muscles loosen one by one, starting in his back and radiating outward.

He's almost asleep--so very, very close--when it hits him.

"Chirrut," Baze says, nudging his possibly sleeping friend awake. "You didn't eat anything."

"I'll get it in the morning." Chirrut mumbles. He knows, now, that there will be a fight at some point. It's guaranteed. He meant to give himself the cover of 'eating' while Baze was asleep, but...

As the Force wills. He couldn't choose a different path, given the options.

"Go to sleep, bantha."

Baze has two options. He can go back to sleep, like his friend instructs, or he can make a stink about it.

He chooses the latter.

"No," he says, all but shoving Chirrut out of bed. "You'll get it now. The market's still open. Don't make me get it myself. You know I will."

Chirrut yelps as he's half-dumped from the bed. He flails his limbs like a drunken starfish in a vain effort to keep from being unseated. Eventually he gives up, and settles on the floor instead.

"Baze, I... what if you..." He splutters in protest, unwilling to actually give his worries full voice.

Baze sighs, and pushes himself into a sitting position with his good arm. He scrubs a hand through his long, dark hair. "I won't," he says firmly, nudging Chirrut in the shoulder with a toe. "I'm fine. You saw to that yourself. Trust me, Chirrut. Now go eat, or I'll go get food for you."

The thing is, Chirrut knows Baze isn't lying. Even if he became Force-blind right now, he knows Baze isn't lying.

He scrubs at his face, trying to soothe anxious nerves. It doesn't really work.

"You'll be alright?" He asks, knowing full well that question had just been answered, wanting to hear it again.

Baze scoots to the end of the bed, his legs dangling over the edge and his feet resting on the floor. He wraps his arms around Chirrut, tugging him close and smoothing a hand over his short-cropped hair. Cupping the back of his head, Baze rests his cheek on his friend's.

"I'll be fine," he says, his heart thudding against his taped-up ribs. He's sure Chirrut can feel it, as close as they are. "I won't sleep, knowing you're in the market"--throwing his own words back at him--"but you should go eat something."

Chirrut sighs, overly gusty in Baze's ear to register his displeasure at the whole scheme, and pulls away.

"I'll be back as fast as I can. Don't... do anything. Just don't. I'll be back soon." There should be a joke there, something about how if Baze died when he was gone he'd never let him live it down, or...

He can't joke. Not yet. His tone is earnest, and he hasn't actually made it any closer to the door.

"You will," Baze says, gently disengaging and pushing him away. The larger man manages a smile for the smaller one, and hopes he hears it in his voice. "I trust you. You're a speedy monkey on the best of days; I suspect you'll be back sooner than I expect."

Baze nudges Chirrut's thin shoulder, intending to push him towards the door. "Off with you. The sooner you're back, the sooner we can get to sleep."

Chirrut's steps drag as he heads for the door, collecting his staff on the way.

But he does go. If he doesn't, Baze will try, and that is an impossibility.

If he happens to run there, and back... that's his own business.

He also bought food to go (both because he can be back sooner, and because then he can prove he ate something, hah) along with some more grain and dried fruit for porridge later.

If he... just kinda bursts into the room full of anxiety, just... ignore that.

Baze is, as he promised, completely fine when Chirrut gets back.

Before was another story. Chirrut wasn't gone for very long, but the time was long enough for Baze's fears to ramp up his breathing and make his hands twitchy. What if something happens to Chirrut? What if the Imperial patrols are too much, and Chirrut is captured? What if the poison comes back? Baze stews in bed until it becomes unbearable, and ends up hopping from foot to foot by the door.

Which is to say he meets Chirrut by the door with a winning smile on his face. "I knew you'd come back soon."

And he's telling the truth. Baze Malbus can't tell a lie to save his life and he knows it, so he doesn't try. He wraps his arms around Chirrut, one of them flooded with stabbing pains, and leans on his friend.

Chirrut calms, almost immediately, when Baze gets a hold of him. Baze is alright. He's here, he's...

"Why are you up?" Chirrut asks, exasperation heavy in his tone. "You're going to fall over, and then I'll have to drag you back to bed, and you won't enjoy it. I'll make sure of that."

He doesn't really let go of Baze, however - he can walk with him back to the bed, that's fine.

"And I have steamed buns too."

"I'm up because I wanted to greet you, you baby bantha," Baze says, cheerful despite the agony lancing through his arm and chest. He tries drawing a deep breath, but it's no good. He's relegated to smaller ones.

Baze allows himself to be guided back to bed, releasing Chirrut so that the larger man can sit down on it. "Steamed buns are good. You should eat them. I'm full."

This is a dirty, filthy lie. Baze is never full, not anymore, Times are lean, but he thinks that if Chirrut has a chance at being full, he should take it.

"I got two for me, and one for you." Chirrut replies firmly, unwrapping the bundle the buns came in once he's seated. "And if you think I'm going to eat your food, you are clearly suffering a brain injury."

He takes out one of the buns, nearly as large as his hand, and holds it carefully to avoid getting scorched, offering it to Baze. He's clearly prepared to go on sitting there all night waiting.

Baze looks at his expectant friend, and sighs. "You mean you brought half a bun for me," the larger man says, tearing Chirrut's offering into two pieces, and making sure Chirrut's half is bigger. He stuffs his fraction into his mouth and chews, and then swallows. "Thank you ever so much."

There's a long moment while Chirrut decides how much of a fight he wants. He really wants Baze to eat the rest of the bun already.

He's tired, and stressed, and doesn't want a fight on top of everything else.

He sets the half bun off to one side and starts in on one of his two, wordlessly. It probably doesn't help his cause that he demolishes his bun rapidly, but... some things just can't be helped.

Good, because Baze wasn't going to eat that half of the bun, damn it. He's full!

He uses his good hand to knead the shoulder of Chirrut that Baze can easily reach. He considers apologizing for being obstinate, but Chirrut never would, so neither should Baze. "When you're done," he says slowly, testing the waters, "we should go to sleep."

Chirrut really doesn't feel much like eating the second bun, but he eats it anyway - he knows he needs the calories, and it won't taste nearly as good cold. So he does, stubbornly, and then pitches the wrappers at the wastebasket. He accidentally had hit the wastebasket in all of the drama, so the little bundle fails to go in.

He doesn't feel like fixing that problem right now.

"That... is a good plan."

OOM: The Job

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