Chapter Text
Today is not the best day Cal’s ever had. Although, if he’s ranking it on his ‘worst days of my life’ scale, it doesn’t feature in the top one hundred. Still, things could be better. Basic things too, like being able to breathe.
Maybe, a little voice in his head whispers, if he’d admitted to feeling sick before heading out this morning, he wouldn’t be in this current mess. And maybe, that little voice goes on, if he stopped for a few seconds, he’d see that whole ‘sick’ thing has been going on a lot longer than merely ‘this morning’.
That little voice sounds a lot like Cere, and doesn’t that just add an extra kick when he’s down?
He coughs, hard, lungs trying to dispel the Koboh Matter lodged in them. Except that’s hard to do when he’s still breathing the stuff in. Damn rawkas. Damn Imperials. Damn everything that led to him going to the Forest Array today to make sure the Empire wasn’t onto them (they aren’t, because they still don’t have a clue what really lies beneath Koboh’s rust and ruins).
But mostly, damn the rawkas. Cal did a great job observing the patrols from a distance, listening in, he and Merrin putting their minds at ease that, as far as the stormtroopers and their commanders were aware, the Array was some long-dead relic of a lost era. Except Cal had been so focused on evading the stormtroopers (it’s nice to get through a day without a body count), he ignored the needling from the Force reminding him there were shorter, stouter, more avian threats he needed to mind.
Which is how he got punted off a walkway and into a field of drifting Koboh Matter.
BD squawks at him to get to higher ground. Cal would tell him he does a good rawka impression if 1) he could spare the air for speaking and 2) …no, really, he can’t breathe. Cal staggers to a piece of metal and uses it to climb back to the walkway he had been so rudely shoved off. Falling to his hands and knees, Cal wheezes, trying to get enough air into his lungs to –
The rawka pack (Brood? Flock? Murder? Nah, a raucous of rawkas) squawks in a perfect imitation of BD. Cal looks up just in time to see the birds racing toward him. Instinct kicks in, Cal holds out a hand and the Force throws them far, far away. And now, safe from the most dangerous lifeform on Koboh, Cal can finally focus on what really matters: breathing. The harder it is to get more than a sip of air, the worse his panic. His airways are thinner than the cocktail straws at Pyloon’s. Black spots wash across his vision, his ears full of the sound of his choked, pathetic attempts to breathe.
By the time the black fuzz clears from his vision, Cal senses Merrin approaching. He sits back in a meditative pose, lungs finally operating well enough to keep him from passing out. Never mind that he’s coughed up what feels like half a lung, shredded the back of his throat, can taste blood, and he’s dizzier than the last time he nearly suffocated to death.
Merrin glances at him. “You are not supposed to breathe the Koboh Matter, Cal,” she states.
BD beeps protectively, something about Merrin not always needing to mock or belittle Cal’s pain, and he is allowed to experience it. Merrin looks simultaneously surprised at BD’s ferociousness and somewhat cowed, even if she can’t fully parse what he’s saying.
Not sure speaking is the best use of his air, Cal puts a hand on BD’s head to settle him down and waves a hand in Merrin’s direction that hopefully conveys ‘I’m fine’. He reaches for his water bottle and sips it, his ragged throat grateful for the relief. His lungs, however, do not thank him for being cut off from breathing, a process he is suddenly painfully conscious of. It feels like he has a hand around his throat and another crushing his chest. He’ll be fine. He just needs to get some fresher air and distract himself. He needs to calm down. It’ll make breathing easier.
“Are you okay?” Merrin asks, crouching at Cal’s side, her hand resting on his back.
BD approves this question.
“Yeah,” Cal says, voice as shredded as his throat. He coughs again, spitting to get the taste out of his mouth. Koboh Matter tastes of rock and metal and starlight in one mouthful (lungful), and he’s not a fan. “Rawka are the best.”
Merrin casts her gaze to where the raucous wound up. “I believe they would be able to take down the deadliest of creatures on Dathomir if we put them to the test.”
Let’s do that! BD trills.
“Let’s go back to the Outpost,” Cal says over BD’s bloodthirsty chatter. “It’s getting late, and we need to make sure Turgle isn’t trying to corrupt Kata.”
Merrin stares at him.
“What?”
“You paused for breath three times.” Her hand slides around to his forehead, pauses, before she wipes it off on his shirt with a faint frown. “You seem very sweaty.”
“It’s a hot day.” Rolling his eyes and sliding free of her touch, Cal takes the pathway back to the Outpost. It’s slow going – not because there are patrols to dodge, but because Cal is wearier than expected and catching his breath is a lot harder than it should be. By the time they reach the Outpost, twilight blackens the sky, a chilly breeze blows, and Cal is wiped out.
“Perhaps next time you will accept I can check these things myself and do not require an escort,” Merrin says, going ahead of him.
“Yeah, yeah.”
She stops, looks at him. “I am serious, Cal. You are allowed to stop. You need to stop. Before you cause yourself a permanent harm.”
Permanent harm? She’s hanging around Greez too much if she’s getting this dramatic. Thankfully, he doesn’t have the energy to argue, and instead he follows her into the saloon. They find Kata in a booth, tucking into whatever Greez has cooked up for her dinner. Cal checks in, listens as she talks about her day (math lessons with Doma, biology and checking in on the garden with Pili, self-defence lessons with Mosey along with mucking out the nekko stables), and tries not to cough all over her. He accepts a cup of soothing tea from Monk and continues listening as Kata excitedly explains how Mosey taught her to throw a punch. BD demands a demonstration, Cal translates, and Kata happily performs for BD’s camera. She’s got good form. Mosey is a very good teacher. Between her and Merrin, Kata will be an unstoppable force when she’s older and taller.
Whatever happens, Cal does not want her being forced into a fight. And hopefully, once they’re secure on Tanalorr, she’ll never need to.
Kata smiles at him. He smiles back.
“You look dirty,” she tells him. “Greez will shout at you. I accidentally tracked some mud in today. He made me sweep it up and take a shower.”
“Yeah, dirt makes him twitchy.”
BD snickers.
“Twitchy.” Kata considers this for a moment. “That’s a good description.”
There’s a tap on Cal’s arm. A distinctly metal tap, complete with echoes of cooking and drink mixing and when will he eat something containing a vegetable? Uh oh. Greez. He stares at Cal, nods sharply, and drags him over to his chair by the bar. Monk hovers nearby, cleaning out a tumbler. Cal suspects the bartender is paying very close attention to what’s about to be said. And speaking of, Greez is tapping him again to regain Cal’s attention. “What is going on with you?” he demands.
Cal gives a brief explanation. Greez looks worried. “You’re telling me you got a lungful of the stuff blocking the one and only shipping route to you know where?”
“I’m fine, Greez, honestly.” He smothers most of the cough.
Monk hands over another hot drink. Cal takes it and sips casually. Drinking still takes time away from breathing, which Cal is still woefully conscious of. Breathe in, breathe out.
Greez is not so easily fooled. He never was. “The shadows under your eyes are so big they should be called an eclipse. You’re so pale I actually need shades to look at you.”
“Greez.”
“And that fluff you call a beard is somehow more ragged than it’s ever been. It’s both bushy and scratchy. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Greez!” There’s only the mildest of wheezes in Cal’s voice. “I’m okay.”
Leaning close, eyes narrowed, Greez drops his voice low. “Just so we’re clear, if you’re wrong, or if you’re lying to me, I am going to remember this moment and hold it against you. Because I know you are full of it, Cal. Totally full of it. And it wouldn’t kill you to admit that you feel lousy either.”
Sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose, Cal leans against the bar. “I’m not wrong, and I’m not lying. I’m okay.” With the patrol behind him, he needs to get back to prep for Tanalorr. There are plans to draw up for infrastructure, negotiations with Sister Taske and the Anchorites for getting Cere’s archive relocated, supplies to gather, people to contact, and all of that while he’s on Koboh dodging troopers, leftover Bedlam Raiders and the wildlife…
Damn rawkas.
“Monk! Make a note of it! If Cal is lying or wrong, I get to hold it over him.”
“You got it, boss!”
Cal gets to his feet, nearly spilling the tea in his haste. “I gotta go meditate.”
Greez laughs. “Oh, sure, meditate, yeah, the Jedi’s built in escape route. How about you try sleeping? Or maybe take a shower first? You’re filthy!”
Cal does his best not to stomp away.