Are there any fic out there where Baze Malbus is basically the Wolverine of the Star Wars universe and everywhere he goes, he ends up with a new young lady to teach the art of being grumpy and kicking ass too? Cause I think there should be
Oh god so I may… have started writing a thing?
Baze wakes up, which is the first surprise. The second comes at the feel of desert under him, similar but wholly different to the sands of Scarif. For an overwhelming second he thinks he’s back on Jedha, but he knows Jedha’s land in the very core of him, and this isn’t it. This is something very different.
It takes him the whole of the suns trek across the sky to learn just how much.
Niima Outpost is small, ragged, and untrusting. But it does have water. Foul, sour water, but water nonetheless. Baze has had worse. It also has information, which Base finds infinitely harder to stomach.
It takes him a while to understand what the wrinkled stall-holder is telling him—he’s somehow skipped not only years but an epoch—but in the end it’s clear. Or as clear as it can be. Because while almost three decades seem to have passed, they’ve also passed him by. The face looking back from the burnished metal plate behind the stall-holder is no older than the one that fled Jedha’s destruction. His knees certainly don’t feel the weight of his lost time.
That first night is spent mostly sleepless, his back to a wall and head spinning with his circumstance. His hands feel too empty in his lap, missing the reassuring weight of his repeater canon like a lost limb. He can’t help but curse whatever power—the Force, his head whispers traitorously even as he growls it into silence—transported him here for not bringing his firepower with him. It would have made earning passage off Jakku easier.
Which is what he must do. Because if he’s here, the burning sands of Scarif already fading into memory, he must believe that somewhere out in this future galaxy, Chirrut is as well. And if nothing else in this new time is familiar, the need to find his way back to his husband very much is.
- - -
He wakes to find a dusty, waif of a girl trying to pick his pockets. This goes about as well as expected. Even as he grabs her Baze feels a sharp pang of nostalgia for the streets of Jedha where the urchins knew well enough to avoid him, even if the worst they ever faced was a hot meal and Chirrut’s calm education on the difference between assassins and tourists. Not that he is much of either right now, out of time as he is.
The girl twists and hisses in his grip like a feral tooka and Baze has to work at making sure he doesn’t accidentally snap her toothpick of a wrist as he rises to his feet.
“Stop that,” he says mildly, not very surprised when that just gets him a feral growl and renewed thrashing. Baze rolls his eyes and lifts the girl into the air until she tires herself out. It doesn’t take long. The rags she’s wearing do nothing to hide the lack of meat on her bones.
“Are you finished?” he says after she goes limp, hanging like a particularly angular vine in his grip.
A second, and then finally a nod.
Baze lowers the creature to the ground and is unsurprised when she takes the opportunity to scarper. The kick to the groin however…
Baze groans as he slowly unfolds himself. The girl has disappeared into the growing rush of the early-morning market. Baze would curse her if he weren’t so very mildly impressed.