ways_infirmary | (no subject)

Chirrut feels the judder of protesting muscles under his hands and spreads them wider, bracing (no, stay, stop, bide) but does a better job at keeping the worry off his face, he feels.

(Chirrut lies, usually to himself).

"I'm sure I can fit it in around my other hobbies." He has no intention of not worrying, he's had decades of practice, it'd be a shame to let it all go to waste.

Chirrut lies, usually to himself; Baze can easily see that worry skating across his friend's face. The tightness around his eyes, the tenseness in his jaw, the twitch in his temple--Baze sees all, and feels Chirrut's hands tense up, too.

"Chir," Baze says, his voice so very, very small and weak, "c'n I have a hug?"

The use of that tone is cheating, Chirrut feels, but he'd sooner walk across hot coals than refuse to respond to it. He tries not to think about other times he's heard it... not entirely successfully.

"You ridiculous bantha." The words are barely more than a sigh as he gathers Baze, warm and as whole as might be hoped, in his arms. "As if I would say no."

Baze twists as much as he can stand to loop an arm around Chirrut's waist. The larger Jedhan tries to bury his face into the smaller one's chest, but the position is too awkward, and he doesn't want to risk Chirrut feeling the pain Baze feels. Who knows if he can sense that with the Force? Ibani could, and Baze doesn't want Chirrut to feel what he feels, being as sore as he is.

"Thanks," Baze says warmly, the word strengthened by his happiness. He squeezes Chrirut's hip.

"You're okay, right? I mean, you're okay because I'm okay?"

"As a favor to me, could you focus on your own well-being for the moment?" Chirrut asks, edging into peevishness. How he ever earned the reputation for being the more impractical one, he will never know. "And lie down and rest?"

Baze laughs. Quietly, as laughing loudly in an infirmary seems rude. Also, he doesn't want to aggravate Chirrut--as much as Baze can avoid that, he will, but clearly sometimes it's unavoidable.

Baze draws his hand back and tucks it underneath him, settling back on his belly. He bites back groans as he moves; apparently shifting to embrace Chirrut meant Baze put himself in an awkward position that takes a lot of movement from his back to fix. He only prays that Chirrut can't tell. Hope against hope, that is.

"I'm resting, I'm resting. Which gets boring, as you well know, but I'm still doing it."

"You can dwell on the fight that got you here, that should be plenty exciting." Chirrut huffs, making himself comfortable. "Master Sheotar told me something similar, the first time I earned solitary meditation."

"I'd really rather not," Baze says, wrinkling his nose. Nausea kicks him in the throat as he thinks on the Wendigo again, but he tamps that down with a smile. He's tempted to scoot over so Chirrut has room to sit on the bed, but that would probably irritate him again.

"But I can tell you about it, if you want to hear. Logan has three metal claws on each hand, just like X, and the stranger that clawed me has five made of bone, I think. They're smaller than Logan's, but just as sharp."

"You should have shot them." Chirrut huffs - he can't say he wouldn't have taken them on at need, but he also has been in nearly constant practice for decades. "Ibani got you all of those blasters."

"I didn't have time to go get my repeater cannon," Baze says, his own tone slightly huffy.

"Or my armor. I mean, if I had shot them, it might not have done any good--they each healed from damage almost faster than they could dish it out to each other."

"I've always said you need a better gun." Chirrut notes serenely. "Something more portable. I could have gotten you one."

Baze fully expected to be chastized for wading into a fight he couldn't handle. He expected to be told that he should have stayed on the sidelines and called for superpowered backup.

He did not expect Chirrut to be an utter brat.

Baze should have. He really should have.

"Whaaat? You've never said that. You hated my guns."

"Yes. But that last one wasn't a gun, it was a canon, and I disliked it even more." Chirrut retorts, scooting a little further onto the bed.

He figures Baze already knows the fight was too big for him. And he's learned the hard way he should have waited for backup.

He's pretty sure Baze hasn't thought about his choice of firepower, though.

Baze very carefully--and very slowly--scoots over to give his friend more room. The larger Jedhan snakes a hand out to pinch the smaller one's hip.

"I'm... confused. You actually want me to shoot people? And not use the staff?"

It is a universal tragedy that Chirrut does not know that humanoid beings roll their eyes. Truly.

"I want you to not end up here. You haven't used a staff for decades - but you are a deadeye shot." He huffs, exasperated.

"But I'm giving up blasters--trading them in for my lightbow," Baze says, poking his friend in the ribs.

"Not everyone can survive a bolt. And even fewer people can survive a lightbow shot. You won't have to worry about me for the next six months anyhow--I'm asking X for a leave of absence from Security."

Chirrut pokes back, avoiding Baze's injuries.

"I will worry anyway, you can't stop me." He retorts, smirking. "As if you could rule such a thing. Are you sure you want to step down from Security?"

Baze harrumphs, settling more firmly on the bed, trying not to squirm at the poking. Squirming would absolutely tweak his back, and that would absolutely change the mood of this conversation, something he doesn't want to do.

"Hmph. Hmph! I can try. You can't fault me for trying," Baze says, resting his cheek on the--warm by now--pillow. He concentrates on drawing breaths through his nose for a few moments, to gather his wits.

"I'm not stepping down permanently. The training hall will still be open, so don't worry your pretty little head about that. See? I can stop you from worrying. Just not about me!"

Chirrut frowns at the insinuation that he would be more worried about the training hall than he would be about Baze, but lets it go. The man is probably addled on pain killers.

"Don't be ridiculous. Now, what do you want to eat?"

Baze didn't mean to insinuate that, but he clearly did. He doesn't pick up on it.

He's too busy dealing with the question punching him in the gut. Baze isn't hungry after getting used to fasting, and he'd rather not have to break his fast--and start the lightbow project over.

He still has to come to terms with that. He did break the prohibitions of violence and blood, and therefore must begin anew. It was only two months' work, but somehow the assurance falls flat.

Above all, Baze knows Chirrut will have his head for not eating when he's injured. Baze sighs.

"What will you let me eat? Or want me to eat, rather? My stomach's not used to much anymore, and... I'm not that hungry to begin with."

"Just count yourself lucky that I don't have to make it. The usual soup is more complicated than porridge." Chirrut huffs. "But you will eat it, don't think you're getting out of it." He hops nimbly back to the ground, and retrieves his staff.

Baze very clearly recalls a time when he'd had a brush with death, and Chirrut made porridge for him. He remembers that there wasn't enough left for Chirrut to eat, and scowls.

"I never said I wouldn't," Baze says, sighing.

"Bring some back for yourself as well."

"I had lunch. A big lunch. Hush." Chirrut retorts, and taps his way back out of the infirmary, a man on a mission.

Before long, a troop of waitrrats come in - with a large bowl of heavily herbed broth, and set up for tea. Chirrut follows, still wary of the layout of the infirmary.

"It better have been huge!" Baze calls out to Chirrut's retreating back.

Baze sulks for a while, waiting, trying not to shift in his bed, which seems awfully confining at this point. He meditates, and tries to give his roiling emotions over to the Force, but ends up getting frustrated with his inability to do so--which doesn't help.

Then Chirrut arrives, and Baze smiles again. He remembered tea. Baze had forgotten tea, after two months of nothing but water.

"That smells delicious."

"Here, let me help you up so you can eat." Chirrut carefully edges around where the rats are setting up to Baze's side. "I told Bar the traditional recipe. Hopefully it is something close."