milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Chirrut spends hours tending the tea plants today, replanting groupings of three or four into individual plants, arranging and re-arranging the pots to best find the warmth (and supposedly light) of the sun, making sure the watering system would cover the new arrangement of plants... there was a lot to do. It is peaceable work and the time flies by.

Baze isn't in his brewery when Chirrut is done, so he meanders upstairs to get cleaned up. While he cannot see muddy fingerprints, he has it on good authority that they're highly annoying.

The pain catches him once he's inside. Sudden loss, sharp and aching as a stab through the chest turns any scream into a shocked breath of air, almost silent in its agony.

Baze.

That sense of knowing where Baze is, that he's alright... it's gone. He's gone.

Chirrut isn't sure how long he spends on his knees, frozen in that moment, too stunned to figure out what comes next. He can only barely remember a time Baze wasn't by his side, not too far away. He's still not, Chirrut knows in his head, but his heart doesn't want to listen. His heart is too busy screaming.

Finally he picks himself up, dusting himself off by habit. Downstairs, he should head downstairs, ask Bar, she'd... well, she'd have the best chance of knowing. Then maybe X, if he doesn't find his answer. Then... Too much, that's enough of a plan. He turns back to the door, but... no.

Muddy fingerprints are annoying. He's been told this.

Washing his hands doesn't take long. There's... there's no rush now.

When Chirrut gets to the Bar, he is greeted with a note, written on paper that would have been painfully precious in NiJedha. To anyone watching, his expression does not change as he reads it over and over again, tracing the raised ink with gentle fingers.

This? Baze died for this? So senseless. Baze deserved more.

Chirrut has a quiet word with the Bar, and is rewarded with a stack of books and a copy of his reader, which he takes to one of the chairs by the fire, a rat following behind with a cup of tea. Not Sapir - a surprise tea. For Baze. The books are on brewing beer and moonshine, a project he's wholly unsuited for, but he intends to master.

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Baze is slightly distressed. Chirrut hasn't smiled since the larger Guardian's return. Maybe the stress was just too much. Whatever the reason, Baze decides to cuddle his friend until a smile appears.

The larger Jedhan finishes his soup, sets the bowl aside, and then drapes his unarmored body across the smaller one's shoulders. Baze rests his cheek on his friend's short-cropped hair, snuggling with him.

"What he means to say is thank you for the praise, Ibani," Baze says, grinning at her. "Though I hope you don't mean children. There's no honor in that."

"Of course I'm biased," Ibani replies. "But that doesn't mean I'm not RIGHT."

"Depends on what you mean by 'children'," Ibani replies, shrugging. She sneezes green glitter into her elbow. "I was an acolyte from my arrival on Korriban until I became an apprentice at 18. And that's just counting years, which is hardly the best metric to use."

Ibani's smile thins. "Any acolyte that survives their first year is a killer of armed adults many times over, and that skill only deepens with time."

"That... still does mean children." Chirrut replies, sounding pained, though he melts into Baze's embrace willingly enough.

That is the opposite of smiling. Baze's distress deepens--not only because of Chirrut sounding pained, but because of what Ibani relates. The larger Guardian is just going to stick his head in the sand and pretend that children aren't facing armed adults. He'd be even more upset if he realized they were also facing each other.

Baze tries to think of some joke, something to lighten the mood, but he can't think of anything appropriate. He has no idea what to say. I'm glad you survived? No. They've said that. How many children are there? No. That's just depressing.

"I would like to beat on your instructors," Baze says eventually, frowning. "If they can even be called that."

Ibani's smile is fierce and the Force echoes it. "I'd be happy to let you, especially if it was Harkun," she replies.

"Karkhole was the only one of them who blatantly tried to have me murdered." And nearly succeeded, but she's not going to mention that right now.

No one will mind if Ibani joins in the cuddling, right?

Chirrut winces - death and pain and joy because of it are a little too familiar a sensation, and one he was just as happy to leave behind.

Edited 2017-09-21 01:01 (UTC)

No, no one minds if Ibani joins in on the cuddling. Baze encourages it, in fact; his arms are easily big enough to hold both his friends, and he loops one around each of them.

He can't do anything about Chirrut's wincing, much as he'd like to. So Baze simply embraces the two of them, sighing. He has to pull away from Ibani to sneeze beige glitter, but once he's done wiping his nose, he returns to snuggling her.

"Did you get enough to eat, Ibani? Chirrut, do you need more tea?"

Ibani winces at Chirrut's wince, feeling his emotions in the Force.

For a moment, she feels monstrous and the Force may carry that feeling to those who can sense such things. (Korriban makes corpses and monsters and she's no corpse, a nasty little internal voice whispers in her mind.)

She leans into Baze. "I'm good for now," she replies.

"Not right now, thank you." Chirrut agrees, loathe to let Baze move, or move himself.

Baze is rather comfortable at the moment. But he's a tad bit restless; he wants to get up and move.

"So, how about a sparring match? We could all stretch our legs."

"That does sound good," Ibani replies, pleased at this suggestion.

Chirrut knows he can't actually order them to stay put. They are adults. Neither of them are concussed, or drunk, or on some illicit drug.

All of this logic does not stop hot rage from broiling in his veins. Baze has only just come back, they are both sick, and they want to fight? More violence? Chirrut frees himself abruptly, keeping his hands busy with cleaning up the assorted dishes.

Normally he'd be the first to suggest it. But they're ill. And he just can't bring himself to the idea of causing Baze more pain. Not today.

"Enjoy yourselves if you go." He's proud he doesn't snarl it. "I'll take these back to the rats."

Oh, damn. That is also the opposite of smiling. Baze sees the lines of tension in Chirrut's body and face, and is, for a few moments, stymied. The larger Jedhan geniunely thought that suggestion was a good one, and doesn't understand why the smaller one is so upset, just that he is. Why wouldn't Chirrut want to spar? Normally he'd be the first to suggest it. Why doesn't he--

And then Baze sneezes pink glitter, and all becomes clear to him. Oh. Of course. He and Ibani are ill. How could he have forgotten? He peels himself off the bed, and crosses to Chirrut. Baze lays a hand on his friend's shoulder, restraining himself from embracing him around the waist, like Baze really wants to do.

"I'm sorry, Chirrut."

Ibani is also confused at first, the feeling radiating in the Force.

Then Baze sneezes and something clicks. Oh, right, they're up here to REST. Sparring is probably not restful.

Ibani also crosses over and puts a hand on Chirrut's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Chirrut," she says quietly. "I'd forgotten that neither Baze nor I ought to be doing anything strenuous right now."

She's not used to taking it easy when she's ill.

Chirrut shivers, the bowls and cups clinking together on their tray.

"I just lost you." He mutters, unwilling to tear himself away, still furious enough that he could scream with it.

Chirrut's words pierce Baze through and through. He draws a loud, shuddering breath, and dissolves into tears. Fat, salty droplets spill over his cheeks, rolling off his chin to spatter on the floor.

He carefully plucks the tray from Chirrut's hands, and sets it on the tear-drizzled floor. Then Baze folds his friend into a tight embrace, cupping the back of his head.

Chirrut said that he forgave Baze, but he still worries. He has no words that can smooth this out, nothing he can say to ease his friend's worry. Baze has so many regrets, but how he's treated Chirrut over the past day is at the top of the list.

Ibani tastes Chirrut's fury, feels the other emotions storming inside.

Baze is not the only one who's without words. Ibani hesitates a moment, then carefully wraps her arms around the two of them.

She's weeping again, silent tears. She hasn't wept this much in one day since she was a small child.

Chirrut sighs into Baze's shoulder, and does his damnedest to release his anger to the Force. It's... difficult. The terror behind it has only just been calmed.

He doesn't want Baze to cry... but he's so happy Baze is here to do it.

Baze cries for a good long while, trying, like Chirrut, to give his emotions over to the Force. He doesn't succeed; Chirrut was always better at meditation than Baze. So he cries instead, soft, cleansing tears that leave him feeling both hollowed out and lighter-hearted. He sighs in Chirrut's ear, unwilling to release him. So Baze doesn't.

"I think a nap might be a good idea," Baze says, feelijg drained down to the marrow. "Ibani, you can stay and nap if you want; the beds are big enough for three pushed together."

"Thank you for the offer Baze, but I think I'll sleep better in my own room."

If only because that way she knows she won't disturb them when, if, she has nightmares. She has a nasty suspicion that the emotional turmoil of the day will dredge up nasty things from the depths of her memories and her fears from the future.

"If you are certain - there is always room for you here." Chirrut assures her, sincerely. "And you should rest, this illness has been persistent."

"We will only let you go if you promise to take a nap," Baze teases, his grin tempered by the tears still in his eyes.

She hugs them both again. "I'll rest, I promise," she replies. "And I hope the two of you feel better soon."

Physically and emotionally.

It's been a LONG day for all of them.

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