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Chapter Text

Baze Malbus did everything in his power to stay away from the new batches of Guardian hopefuls. He wasn't trying to be cold, although he was naturally a loner, but too many of them fled the temple before getting even halfway through their trials. Baze had enough responsibilities, training, and meditations of his own that required all of his time and attention. The monks and initiates alike looked to Baze as an example of what a Guardian could and should be. He could not let his discipline be shaken; he could not waver in his faith.

As much as he prepared himself for anything, however, Baze Malbus never accounted for someone like Chirrut Imwe.

Only a week prior had Chirrut Imwe found himself at the threshold of the temple for the Guardians of the Whills. It was a part of Jedha he passed through many times, but never before did he have a reason to pause. That fateful morning, however, Chirrut had felt something new. It was a nagging order in the back of his mind, a strong wind pushing at his back, a swift current guiding his feet. With no hesitation or incident, Chirrut arrived at the temple with his meager belongings and nothing to explain his presence except that he felt like he was meant to be here. 

It was a little odd, Chirrut first thought, that the monks were so pleased by his explanation and made them more keen to welcome him as an initiate. Never one to question good luck, Chirrut gladly took their acceptance. 

He spent the rest of the day wandering around with a monk who vaguely answered his questions. Before getting started in the morning he wanted to map out the temple spaces in his mind's eye and let his feet grow accustomed to the new grounds and paths. It was an easier task than he thought it would be. The temple came together quickly, the image in his head had a sense of wholeness that only compared to his childhood home. Chirrut smiled to himself, feeling even more confident that this was right. 

They rounded another corner where winded grunts and the solid impact of fists echoed. The monk explained this was their sparring courtyard and described the racks of simple traditional weapons lined up against one wall, the specially pounded dirt that lightly cushioned any falls, and the types of fighting that were taught. The monk kept prattling on, mentioning that Chirrut would not be expected to participate, that no one is forced to learn combat skills, but Chirrut wasn't registering anything that was said. His whole body turned toward the group sparring and a spark licked up his spine causing a hitch in his breath. He couldn't see him, but Chirrut felt him. A righteous, powerful energy that was barely contained within a mortal body. Chirrut followed the man's movements, only his energy appeared clearly in Chirrut's mind. This was another sign - another mystery to unravel about this new journey.

No noise escaped Chirrut's lips as he mouthed the name Baze Malbus. 

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It had only been ten days, but that was long enough for Baze to decide that Initiate Imwe was annoying. The young man acted more like a wild dog than a monk in training - bounding over to Baze whenever he entered his sight, yapping away about this or that (Initiate Imwe spoke too quickly and in too many riddles for Baze to understand much of what he was saying). He was impulsive and loud and pushed against the rules and boundaries of the Guardians.

Why was he even there? 

Initiate Imwe seemed to have a special connection to the Force. Baze understood that much immediately, even before Imwe explained how he was led to their temple. There was a confidence in him, one that Baze would never admit he admired, a sureness in his footing that even the highest achieving Guardians struggled to maintain.

How did this boy move through life in Jedha so carefree?

Jedha wasn’t the most terrible place, but no one there had an easy life. The deserts were endlessly lonely. The infrequent rain was violent. Your heart and soul could easily freeze due to the long winters. Jedha, NiJedha, and the Kyber Temple were important and worth protecting, but it wasn’t a life that one easily chose. 

Most of the Guardians had either endured or been close to people who lived through horrible things. It had emboldened them, solidified their decision to devote themselves to the safety and peace of others. Baze was no exception to this, but only his temple mentor knew the full story of sorrow and regret and shame. 

Baze couldn’t imagine himself laughing as loudly or smiling as broadly as Initiate Imwe, not after he was pushed onto the path that eventually led him to the Guardians.  

Still, Baze tried not to make too many assumptions about Initiate Imwe. The Force had shown him many surprises and proved him wrong enough times to know better. 

“Baze Malbus!” a voice echoed down the corridor. 

Baze paused mid stride, catching his heavy sigh before it escaped his lips. It was his duty to mentor, Baze reminded himself, he should feel lucky to know an initiate as enthusiastic as Imwe. Others could learn from his eagerness and rapt attention.

“Baze Malbus,” Chirrut said softer, now standing only a couple steps away. Baze felt the lightest of tugs on the sleeve of his tunic - a gesture he assumed was Initiate Imwe checking to make sure his surroundings matched what he saw in his mind. 

The easy smile never left Chirrut’s face as he spoke, “Guardian Qolnob said you could demonstrate how a lightbow works for me.”

Baze huffed. Of course he could do that, but Initiate Imwe was so far away from the trial of constructing his own, what would be the point? Baze started walking again, listening for the much quieter sound of slippers following him.

“Sword training today,” Baze responded.

Initiate Imwe hummed in excited interest, no trace of disappointment about not getting his way. Baze really didn’t understand him at all. 

Every moment Chirrut spent with Guardian Malbus reinforced his belief that he was meant to be there. “There,” of course, meaning specifically by Baze’s side. Chirrut easily fell into step next to Baze as he wove them through the temple toward one of the courtyards for training, the feeling of warmth in his chest.

Chapter Text

Sparring with Baze Malbus was never boring.

Most of the other Guardians viewed any physical training as another chore, another way to discipline their body and soul just like meditation or the housekeeping tasks around the temple. It was decent exercise for Chirrut, to go up against these people, but it wasn’t improving his skills and it certainly wasn’t fun . 

There was always a pang of guilt when Chirrut knew he was enjoying himself. There was an admonishing voice in his head (that wasn’t his own) that would remind him to take committing violence seriously. Chirrut did, the weight of the injuries he’s caused sat on his shoulders, but when he was moving like this it felt free and natural. 

So Chirrut kept on, sparring with whoever stepped up, giving them pointers while trying not to come across as cocky or arrogant. Thankfully, the other people at the temple didn’t care enough to question him about his skills. At the end of the day they were glad that Chirrut knew how to pull his punches and would be someone to rely on when and if a real fight ever went down. They weren’t there to show off their strength, but because they believed in the Force.

Baze Malbus, on the other hand, fought like he was made for it and whenever Chirrut sparred with him he felt his blood heat up and rush through his body. He had mastery with a variety of weapons, quick reflexes, and natural survival instincts. There was also something else… a wildness, a strength that could easily be overpowering and overwhelming if it was allowed to fully spread its wings. Being able to control something so intense with the precision Baze executed was nothing short of a miracle.

Chirrut thought it was lucky that Baze Malbus ended up with a good heart and desire to help people instead of a bully or villain. The galaxy had too many of those and not enough people like him and the other Guardians. 

Baze was reluctant to admit it, but Initiate Imwe was the best fighter he’d ever seen. There was a fluidity about the way he moved that Baze could never achieve no matter how hard he trained. His strikes snapped out like a whip, lightning quick and surprisingly forceful, but still with the utmost control. He was different from other Guardians, even the most physically talented ones. It was obvious that many of them only trained and sparred in safe conditions, but underneath the grace of Initiate Imwe’s moves, there was the ferocious tenacity of someone who grew up fighting to survive. 

He tried not to spar with Initiate Imwe too often, wanting to maintain an impartial attitude and appearance. He was helping with training of all of the initiates. It was just a coincidence that Initiate Imwe excelled physically just as he himself did (Baze tried not to think of a lesson where one of the older Guardians said that there were no coincidences in Force). There was just something special when he traded blows with Initiate Imwe, something that stirred a ferocity in Baze’s gut and allowed him to move past his physical form and feel more of the Force.

Baze knew he couldn’t stop chasing that glimmer.

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Seasons weren’t something experienced on Jedha. There were times when lightning or dust storms were more frequent. There were times when the sun was blocked by almost black clouds and everyone in the city would set out whatever barrels or bowls they had to collect the water in, knowing that it would soon be a precious commodity. But these events were still sporadic and spontaneous enough that it wasn’t very useful information for planning ahead more than the very immediate future.

Most of the time, Jedha was sunny and mild during the day, and at night it was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and wasn’t easily shaken. No one would really say it was pleasant, but most people who lived on Jedha didn’t know anything else. 

Without the changes in the environment around them, it was hard to track time unless you were intentional. Days would turn into weeks, weeks would melt into months, and every new thing would somehow feel like it was there all along.

It was hard to think of a time before Chirrut Imwe was at the Kyber Temple.

Baze knew it wouldn’t be long before Initiate Imwe passed his trials and became a full fledged Guardian. It was astonishingly fast, but even the jealousy some Initiates felt toward Initiate Imwe wasn’t because they didn’t think he deserved it, they just wished they could connect to the Force like him, too. He was so sincere, so likable, you couldn’t hold your own feelings against him. 

Not that he would ever like Initiate Imwe know, but Baze was also starting to warm to his frequent presence at his side. It was admirable to turn away from what you knew, and although all Guardians had a safe place to live and food to fill their stomachs, it was a different challenge that wasn’t suitable for most. Yet Initiate Imwe threw himself into learning and improving, even the way he questioned the Guardians and their rules came from a place of trying to understand and make things better.

The desire to do good and the respect Initiate Imwe had for all life radiated off of him. He was a true servant of the Force, as understanding with troublemakers out on the street as he was with his fellow Guardians. It made Baze want to be a better person, a better Guardian. 

Still… Baze wished Initiate Imwe would at least talk a little less and a little softer.

Chirrut knew that he had won over Baze Malbus.

As time passed (and Chirrut persisted), small yet significant changes had started to happen. Baze started to seek Chirrut out to spar. Baze would sometimes share his tea or a snack if Chirrut found him taking a break. Baze started to match his pace to Chirrut if Chirrut met him in the halls or on the grounds, letting them walk together rather than Chirrut just following Baze around.

He had been accepted by Baze Malbus, not only as a fellow Guardian, but as a friend. He felt it in the Force, in the connection between them. Now Chirrut was determined to make him say it out loud.

Chapter Text

Chirrut jolted awake only a moment before the sound of an explosion ripped throughout the temple. His body reacted before his mind caught up, grabbing his staff and running out of his quarters toward the sounds of shouting. 

Someone was attacking the temple. Could it be non-believers? One of the many competing religious sects? A gang who wanted their resources? Was it the imperial forces that had been spreading throughout the galaxy, determined to destroy anything related to the Force? Chirrut didn’t know, and at the moment he couldn’t care. He took enough time for a deep breath to attune himself to the courtyard-turned-battlefield and picked a target.

He was holding his own at first, the attackers near him weren’t prepared for his speed or his staff. No doubt they thought this would only be a gunfight, or that maybe the monks wouldn’t fight back at all (if that’s what they believed, it was proof that they didn’t know the first thing about the Guardians of the Whills). But the more enemies Chirrut disposed of, the more he felt danger pinching at his spine. People were still shouting, still dying, and the fight didn’t seem to be ebbing. 

Soon Chirrut realized his problem - he had never fought against this much firepower. He’d faced many blasters in his time, but they were usually only few in number and in rough condition. Even at their maximum charge, a blast wouldn’t necessarily have killed him unless aimed particularly well. But whoever this was came prepared with weapons that were meant to slaughter anyone in their path. 

For the first time in a long time, Chirrut was scared.

The small patches of vegetation that dotted the courtyards were burning. Unintelligible screams and shouts mixed with the smoke in the air. Chirrut thought he recognized some of the voices, but he couldn’t be sure… didn’t want to think about his fellow Guardians and Initiates making those pained sounds. Moving on into the Force was a beautiful thing, but it should be their choice to die in battle, not whatever this was.

Rapid fire hit the ground too close to Chirrut. The earth shook angrily, sending him to his hands and knees. Another round went over his lowered head. Chirrut probably screamed, but he couldn’t hear himself over the roar around him. Crawling forward, Chirrut searched for something to provide cover, but there was nothing around except for broken bits of stone. Well, there also were fallen bodies, but he wouldn’t go near those. 

Panic bubbled up from Chirrut’s gut. All of the destruction and death and anger around him hit him again and again like relentless waves of an incoming tide. Chirrut collapsed, his pulse pounding in his ears, lungs feeling crushed under the weight of his terror.

“Imwe!” 

Chirrut swore someone called his name and he looked up from the dirt in the direction the Force tugged him. The next moment there was brightness and intense heat that seemed to skim past where Chirrut lay. It felt different, it wasn’t the chaotic feel of fire or the impersonal malice of blaster bolts. It was purposeful, righteous, unwavering. The blasters near him were silenced. This was the power of a lightbow, he realized.

“ Chirrut! ”

The sound of Baze’s deep voice calling his given name snapped Chirrut’s focus back in place. He was still confused and in shock, but the overwhelming pressure he felt had disappeared and he could breathe again. 

Suddenly Chirrut was being lifted, held in strong and sure arms against a broad chest. Through the smoke and the sweat Chirrut could smell citrus. He idly thought Baze must’ve been enjoying his usual late night snack of the bright orange fruits that grew by the back wall of the perimeter. Chirrut knew Baze must be mad, he hated being interrupted while he was eating. He closed his eyes and chided himself for thinking about something so silly when only moments ago he thought he was dying.

Soon enough, Chirrut was set upon cold stone, far enough away where the soot in the air wasn’t overpowering. He was safe now, the Force told him, he didn’t need to be scared anymore.

“Stay here,” Baze ordered. 

Chirrut didn’t think he could get up even if he wanted to, and nodded at Baze without opening his eyes. Before he slipped into exhaustion, Chirrut felt the warmth of Baze’s forehead against his own, the tickle of his unruly hair. At the touch, Chirrut felt like a blanket of comfort was being draped over his spirit.

“You are one with the Force,” Baze murmured softly before leaving him to return to the other Guardians, “and the Force is with me.”

Chapter Text

Baze Malbus was having a hard time tamping down his anger. It was something he long struggled with, but he had practiced for years at the temple in order to present the image of a collected, reliable, reasonable Guardian. But this attack… The burning and breaking of the only place he ever called home… He wasn't, he couldn’t suppress his rage. 

Of course he had read in many texts and heard from many of the Elders that using anger to connect with the Force was dangerous and led many people to regrettable and extreme actions. Baze knew this, was wary of it, so he tried to channel his overwhelming feelings into the physical work of cleaning and rebuilding. He kept his hands busy and made him too exhausted to dwell on the attack during the few hours he tried to rest.

There was nothing broken that could not be repaired. The attack didn’t make it past the courtyard, away from the inner temple where the priceless scrolls, books, and artifacts were kept. The Guardians, with their honed instincts and protection from the Force, suffered no casualties, although more than a few had to be treated with their meager bacta supply. 

A small crack appeared in the rock Baze was gripping as he thought of one person in particular, bloodied and small and quiet. He was never quiet.

“You need to rest, Baze Malbus.”

Baze merely grunted at the voice, heaving another large stone onto the low wall he had been reconstructing, unwilling to think that his thoughts might have summoned Chirrut to him. All of the initiates and most of the other Guardians had given Baze a wide berth over the last couple days, unsure of how to respond to his simmering temper. Only one person regularly came to him, talked to him, tried to get him to settle. 

“I’m almost done,” Baze said through gritted teeth as he lifted another stone. It was a lie as much as it was a truth. Yes, this section of wall was almost complete, but there were still others and Baze was still angry. He would keep going until everything was fixed or until he felt better.

Chirrut scoffed. Baze thought Chirrut needed to be more respectful to his seniors.

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

“How do you know?” Baze automatically responded.

An amused lift laced Chirrut’s voice, “I’ve been watching you.”

This time, Baze snorted, as close as he ever got to a laugh.

“I brought dinner.” Chirrut opened the container he was carrying and let a spicy scent fill the air. “If you still feel like showing off your strength after you eat, then I won’t stop you, but you must eat.”

Without waiting for Baze, Chirrut plopped onto the ground, taking apart a large, tiered, metal thermos. He took the top for himself and out the bottom two layers for Baze. Grumbling, Baze sat, trying to wipe the dirt from his hands onto his also dusty pants. Chirrut didn’t hide his chuckle at the futility of Baze’s actions.

Baze made a halfhearted sound of admonishment and took the food. One layer was freshly cooked rice topped with a meaty curry. The other was bursting with steamed vegetable dumplings with a salty vinegar hastily drizzled over them. Whoever was on cooking duty was spoiling them, making more hearty and flavorful meals than what a normal day usually warranted. It was a simple gesture, but it brought comfort, nonetheless. 

As Baze ate, Chirrut updated him on the progress of rebuilding the entrance, taking quick bites of his own food between sentences. The majority of Guardians were working there, hoping to restore some sense of safety and defense. They also had to show the people of NiJedha that the Guardians of the Whills were still strong. Chirrut mentioned there was also discussion of additional guards posted around the perimeter during the night. Baze already knew he’d volunteer for many of those shifts.

Quiet settled between them, less uncomfortable than Baze thought it would be, but still unnatural. He examined Chirrut from where he sat, taking note of cuts and bruises they didn’t waste bacta on. Chirrut’s breathing was steady, easy, his shoulders surprisingly relaxed. But Baze read the effort and strain in his expression - the way his jaw clenched, the crease between his brows, the tick at the corner of his mouth where he forced himself to maintain a small smile.

With his chopsticks, Baze picked up the last two dumplings and dropped them in Chirrut’s empty container. “You’re too skinny,” Baze said as an explanation, because it was easier than saying he was worried about him. 

Chirrut finally flashed a sincere grin and that, too, comforted Baze.