Work Text:
“Ow!”
“If you held still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much,” Eli mutters, pulling the needle through again. Ezra hisses and moves his leg involuntarily, biting back a cry as he watches Eli work. “It’s your own fault I’m doing this anyway.”
“If you hadn’t tried to teach me the lineage of the kings across the sea for the eightieth time, I wouldn’t have done it.”
Eli snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well someone has to. And Lord Thrawn’s too busy.” Ezra hears the unspoken to deal with you only too easily.
“Good. I don’t wanna see him either.” He starts kicking his other leg against the chair, already distracted and watching a bird out the window. That is, until Eli pokes him with the needle again.
“What the kriff!” he yelps, jerking his leg away. The older youth responds by grabbing his shin, holding it steady and beginning work on his calf once more.
“Language. And I already told you. Hold still and it won’t hurt as much.”
“You’re stabbing me!” he cries, yelping again. “It’s gonna hurt even if I was tied down.”
“I am this close to doing just that.” Eli mutters what sounds like a prayer under his breath, beginning another stitch as Ezra whimpers. “You’re nearly eight, Ezra. And if you bite me again over this, Lord Thrawn won’t be pleased.”
“So you’d be okay with it if I bit you?”
“No, that’s not what I—“
“Cool.”
The young man ties off the suture before cutting the string and rising, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Deal with your own injuries next time.”
Ezra only shrugs, ignoring the sharp throbbing in his lower leg. “Okay.”
Eli stomps off with a huff, and Ezra smirks to himself, sliding off the chair. He can be gone and safely hidden in the stables before the man comes back—
With a yelp he crumples, biting back another cry as his knee hits the cold stone. The leg he’d injured in the fall is clearly unusable at the moment, even unable to take on weight. Grimacing, Ezra rises, leaning heavily on the chair as he tries to take a step. There. And another. Okay. It’s not as bad as it seems. Okay.
He’s nearly to the door when he almost collapses again.
Panting with exertion, Ezra moves over to the bed, pulling himself up on top of the covers before flopping backward to lie down. If he had the energy, he’d go and sneak another cookie or five, but if he can’t even walk across his own room—
No. No. This isn’t his room, and it will never be his room. This is a strange room, in a strange house, with two strange men. His parents aren’t here. And they won’t be.
He sits up, pulling a pillow to his chest and hugging it tightly. He misses them.
So, so much.
There’s a soft knock before the door opens, Eli peering in. “Can I come in?”
Ezra huffs and turns away. “You will anyway.”
True to his prediction, Eli does, sitting on the edge of the bed farthest from him and tracing the outline of a goose on one of the quilt’s squares. “I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. I shouldn’t have got upset with you, like I said, you’re– you’re not even eight yet, you’re still young and you were hurt and I just—I shouldn’t have said what I did, okay? Can you forgive me?”
Ezra buries his face in the pillow, shaking his head. “No. I don’t forgive people who poke me with needles.”
There’s an awkward silence before Eli nods, rising and patting the bed once. “Okay. Do you...do you need anything? I can send someone.”
“The batch of cookies they made this morning,” Ezra answers. Eli chuckles.
“Not sure it’s a good idea for you to have that many. How about one?”
Ezra pulls the pillow away abruptly, glaring at the man. “All.”
Sighing, Eli shrugs. “They won’t say yes, but I’ll ask for your sake anyway.” He leaves, and Ezra watches, uncertain how to feel.
He returns to hugging the pillow to his chest and ignoring the pain pulsing in his leg.