Chapter Text
Every sense had been thrown off-balance. All coherence and comprehension had fled with the last vestiges of adrenaline, leaving nothing but dust and an all-consuming ringing that radiated from Baze’s ears through every inch of his skull.
He’d awoken to find himself lying a hundred or so feet from the head of a demolished imperial walker, a massive metal carcass amid a heap of fallen trees. When the ringing in his head dissipated enough for him to hear anything, he found that all was quiet. The battle was over.
He fumbled for his comlink, relieved to find it intact. “This is Malbus,” he said into the battered device, hoping it was working well enough to reach the others. “Does anyone copy?” There was an agonizing pause as all he heard was a rough buzz. “Does anyone copy?” he repeated. Nothing. His heart was pounding. “Chirrut, are you there?” he asked slowly and clearly, his voice starting to shake.
“Hello? Malbus, is that you?” It was Rook’s voice.
“Yes, it’s me; are you alright?”
“My ankle’s hurt but I think I’ll-" His voice cut out for a moment, only returning to clarity when Baze shook the comlink. “Where are you?”
“By the head of a downed walker.”
“I think I can see the walker, but-" He was interrupted by more static. “- the same one.”
“Stay where you are. I’ll try and find you.”
Dragging himself to his feet and hoisting up his gun, he began looking for Rook and any other survivors.
The air was thick with lingering dust and the stench of battle. Still disoriented, he found his eyes darting to every tiny movement in his peripheral vision, each instance only a leaf or a scrap of fabric from a fallen rebel’s uniform fluttering in the wind. The silence was heavy, threatening to close in around him as he approached the head of the walker, its glass shattered and its drivers nowhere to be found, possibly among the bodies scattered between the trees, possibly lying in wait to ambush rebel survivors.
He sighed in relief when he finally saw Chirrut at a distance through the dust.
Chirrut knelt in the shade of the wreckage of an X-Wing, perfectly still in meditation, his dark clothes and dirtied skin blending with the rubble and bodies surrounding. Baze knew him. Separated from his companions in unfamiliar surroundings, he must have taken refuge there, as the chaos died down, to center himself and listen for further danger. His head turned ever so slightly at the sound of Baze’s approaching footsteps. His lightbow and staff both lay at his side yet he made no move for either. Baze knew him. He was keeping the element of surprise.
“Chirrut, it’s me,” Baze called. The exhaustion in his own voice caught him off guard as his aching legs robotically pushed him forward. Chirrut’s head turned a little more at the sound of Baze’s voice, but he still made no other movement.
“It’s over.” Still no response. As the length between them slowly closed, Baze thought that they likely had barely enough strength left between them for one man, let alone two. That was alright. Once they met back up with the others, they could have a chance to rest. “You didn’t answer when I called. Scared me half to death. I know Rook’s here somewhere; we should find him and then look for the others. I’m sorry I-"
Something was wrong.
Chirrut was kneeling, upright and composed, posed in meditation as Baze had seen him countless times before. At a glance, everything was exactly the same.
Baze knew him.
“Chirrut?”
He was trembling.
Still ready to give out at any moment, Baze’s legs carried him to Chirrut in a few panicked strides and he laid his gun within reach before kneeling at Chirrut’s side. Chirrut hadn’t moved, still shaking yet straight-backed and dignified, sightless eyes staring ahead.
Baze’s hands reached Chirrut’s shoulders even before his knees hit the ground, and as they made contact, Chirrut’s composure fell to pieces. He collapsed back into Baze with a pained and relieved sigh, his head falling onto his shoulder, the sudden weight catching Baze off-guard and shifting him slightly backwards as he caught him. Without thinking, Baze braced a hand against Chirrut’s ribs in an attempt to steady him, recoiling just as quickly when he heard a groan and felt Chirrut’s body stiffen. His hand came away wet with blood.
The next few minutes were a haze, his heart pounding as he heard a voice, seemingly foreign and far away and yet seeming to know exactly what it was doing and what was needed; it called into his comlink to Rook, to tell him to hurry and find the ship, to bring a stretcher if the ship even had one, if the ship was even still intact, if he could even find it; the voice didn’t know, it couldn’t remember but it didn’t want to carry him, it didn’t want to do further damage, whoever’s still out there just please get here soon.
Somewhere in the stream of words it clicked back into his brain that the voice was his own.
“Chirrut, I-“
Once he realized again that the voice was his, all he could think was how useless his words were.
“I’ve, uh-“ He was speaking Basic; why the fuck was he - “I’ve called for help,” he said in Jedhan. “I’ve called the others; they’ll be here soon, you’re okay, you’ll be okay-“
There wasn’t time to examine whether he believed any of it. In the moment, his only instinct was to protect.
“Baze?”
Through his hyper-focused distress and determination, he couldn’t say how many times he heard Chirrut’s gentle voice pronounce his name, but he heard. He heard, he slowed himself down, he took his hand, he held him still.
“Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” He couldn’t say anything else. That’s all he could promise. “Stay awake, koêdhe. I’m here. I’m here.”