[ their habit is like this: every morning, they depart from the place they're currently calling home, variable as it is with the state of their finances. they often spend their days apart, investigating kenos, the factions, their fellow shard-bearers, the war. in the evenings, they reconvene; they share a meal and talk and share notes, retire to their bed and seek some semblance of sleep. the mood varies. some days, they're more lighthearted; or one or the other is, coaxing the other into a better mood. some days are harder, for one reason or another, and there are so many reasons.
on this day,
after a long day in highstorm, after encountering a mirror with amos and everything that entailed, cassian lets himself in wordlessly. he locks the door behind him. he unbuttons his coat and hangs it up on its hook. or, he tries. once, twice, and once jyn intercedes he lets her help. he doesn't look at her until they've finished that, then breathes out so heavily he seems to lose all the air in him. if he closes his eyes, he sees nothing but a green world, a solemn expression on a small face. so he doesn't, even as he drops his face to her shoulder and makes a soft, exhausted sound. his hands, as he puts his arms around her, are still shaking. they don't often talk about their shared aspect, the same mark inked on her skin as his, but it's impossibly salient now: she can feel the full brunt of his quietly keening misery, old stitches ripped open and left to bleed.
not so long ago, this would have seemed an unfathomable display of weakness. captain andor, rebel spy through and through, is an unfailingly stalwart figure at rebel bases. he always gets the job done, no matter what it takes, with a cool head and calm nerves. he's known for it. only a handful of people ever knew there was more to him than that: draven, kay, melshi. and they kept his secret, because they too understood how important it was to the cause that he be unflappable. to the cause, to himself. he buried every flicker of unhappiness, every part of him that bled at the cost, deeper with every day. he put it all in a grave where he'd one day join all his ghosts. but the weight is so heavy some days, like today,
and this is jyn. she's seen the worst of him, and she still trusts him, and she's still here. and he trusts her like he's trusted nothing in a very long time. so in the privacy of these small rooms, with no one's eyes on him but hers, he lets her help him bear the weight. ]
[routine is a strange thing. usually, it's only found jyn in the worst of places, like stowed away in the cargo hold of some imperial freighter for monotonous days as she waits to strike, or, well — prison. she's never had reason to like or trust consistency, stability; being stupid enough to trust it just makes you that much less prepared to deal with the next inevitable round of shit flung your way.
in kenos, though, she's found that it isn't terrible to have some sense of stability. maybe she's still wary of fully trusting it, but she finds herself actually looking forward to the evenings that she and cassian share, finds that there's relief in coming home to someone. and even if sleep can't always be found (it's rarely found by one or the other of them, often both), there's relief in the presence of another trusted person, in being able to reach out and confirm that presence with physical touch.
but this relief, as it stands, is tenuous — and very often fraught.
it doesn't stick today, with cassian so heavy in her arms, practically collapsed against her; it doesn't stand a chance, with the way that heaviness seeps into her own chest, causes her heart to sink to the pit of her stomach. his misery becomes hers, and it's — a lot to hold onto.
she's carried his weight before, and she'll carry it as many times as he needs her to, but she wonders if having somewhere to land, like the bed just a few paces behind them, wouldn't make this just slightly easier for him.
a light thumb brushes the side of his face — just to get his attention, nothing more. and she asks, softly:]
[ he stirs, just slightly, at her touch. if he weren't all but boneless in her arms like this, it might have been hard to notice. or it might not — jyn has learned how to read him very well in a very short amount of time. better than most, better than people who had years to try.
he stirs, and then he nods. takes a deep breath and says, ]
Yes.
[ and moves to straighten, hands falling back to his sides. can you, she asks, and it seems to strike something in him. he isn't hurt; there isn't a scratch on him that wasn't there before. she can see that. she knows, but she still asks him if he can walk with her, as if he might say no, and that would be an acceptable answer. he thinks, he doesn't know what to do with that. but then he remembers jyn in the holy city, fallen to her knees, after saw showed her the message from her father. practically catatonic, even as he'd taken her by the hand and dragged her all the way to the u-wing. even during the scramble to jump to hyperspace, even in the relative quiet, until he'd gotten the message from draven. proceed with haste and keep to the plan.
maybe she would've understood, then, if he'd refused. but there's no need to find out today. instead, he simply follows her, pliable and obedient and quiet, as she leads him to the bed. ]
[there isn't anything to do but wait. maybe she'll get a response, maybe she won't; that's up to cassian, and she won't push him one way or another. for all the patience she lacks for so much, in this moment, she finds that it's nearly infinite.
but she does get a response, and she can't deny the relief that comes with it. her face softens, mouth setting into something that isn't quite a smile.]
Okay, [jyn says softly, then, for lack of anything else to say. good isn't right, because there isn't anything good about the way he'd collapsed into her arms like that. but it's okay that he'd needed to, because she's here to hold on — no further questions asked.
just as she turns, she reaches back for a hand that she'd dropped, takes it as she leads him those few paces over to the bed. tugs on it, gently, as she finds a seat on the edge of it, indicating for him to do the same.
[ she leads him by the hand to the bed, and he follows. just as promised a scant few days ago, if even, he follows her to their bed as easily as he'd followed her to scarif. easier. and when she motions for him to sit, he does without letting go of her hand. he does without looking at her face, either. this is jyn, and she might be the safest place in kenos, the safest place he's ever known, but he can't bear to think how he must look. what story his face, his eyes, the set to his mouth must reveal.
he'd lied to melshi a matter of minutes after finding out he'd been orphaned for the second time in his life. but melshi didn't know him as well then as he did later, as jyn does. she would see right through any false assurances. and, in truth, he doesn't have the heart to make them. this manifestation of the blight, these mirrors, managed to reach through his ribs and pull something very old and very broken and very raw into the light. and, to his credit, amos had been kinder than some would've been. than many might've been. but the kindness can hurt too; pressure on a wound can still be enough to crack a fragile surface. jyn, so far, has trod carefully, and he's grateful for that, but even her kindness could become a knife if misapplied. ]
[he doesn't look at her, but she doesn't take her gaze off of him, noting the way he follows, pliant, as if her hand is a string that's the only thing pulling him along — and noting the blankness in his face. the deadness in what she can glimpse of his eyes. there's always something between the lines with cassian that tells her multitudes, a lift of a brow here and a twitch of a lip there, but what she gets now is... nothing. whatever is on his mind has him so deeply shaken that she can barely read him at all.
there's a time and place to push, though, and this isn't it.
so she keeps her hold on his hand, giving it a squeeze as the space on the bed beside her creaks under his added weight and silence settles in between them.
after a time, she casts out a quiet probe.]
Did I ever tell you about when I scammed an Imperial officer out of all his credits?
[she doesn't know what might've been in the file that the alliance had compiled on her, beyond a general rap sheet — specifically liana hallik's rap sheet — so it might be something he has scant details on already. if it is familiar, that's safe. if it isn't, and some part of her might be willing to bet on that (she doubts anyone there could've followed her entire trail of aliases), that's still safe; it's parsecs away from everything else, including the unspoken, and it can give him a distraction, if he wants.]
it might be. it's not harder than standing had been. the softness under his legs is more comfortable, probably, than leaning on jyn had been. and her hand is still in his, warm and small, gently squeezing as he joins her on the bed. he feels no less like there's some horrible, hollow emptiness in his chest, but he's felt that since the mirror illusion had worked its magic. neither breaking free from the bubble nor the walk back nor any moment here has been able to fix any part of that.
and why should it? there are some things that can't be fixed. hasn't he always known that? there were no survivors on kenari. he's been doing things that couldn't be taken back, couldn't even be forgiven, since he was a child. there had never been any making it better, just lashing out at the galaxy that had allowed awful things to happen. just devoting himself to a war that would make the galaxy a better place for other people. he couldn't outrun his pain — and he tried — so he'd weaponized it for a worthy cause.
tomorrow, he wants to tell jyn, he'll be fine. sooner. this is an old misery, and all he needs is a little time to put it back where it's lived since he was a child. once the puzzle piece is back in its place, he'll remember how to live and breathe and talk and work around its presence. this isn't even the first time its spilled over the barriers of its prison, though the first in a while.
he wants to, but she beats him to speaking. he blinks, the question slowly sinking in, and then he finally turns his face to look at her. ]
No, [ he says finally, ] you didn't.
[ and she hasn't. it brushes against the edge of a memory — had it been on her rap sheet, or had he missed that charge while having it compiled? — but even if he had known about this before, it would've been some dry charge of theft from the authorities. not the colorful story she seems prepared to share. ]
it's been a long time since she's been in the position of trying to provide reassurances to someone else, of wanting to try, and she's — out of her depth. completely. that becomes more and more clear to her as the seconds wear on, as cassian's face doesn't change, the silence starts to eat at her, and she drops her gaze to the floor. this isn't what she's made for; soft words and patience to just be had been left behind when saw had taken her off of lah'mu.
maybe there's someone she could punch. she could do that.
but that would mean leaving him alone, wouldn't it? and no matter how inadequate she is, that doesn't feel right. so, when he finally speaks, and when she picks her eyes up off of the floor to find him looking at her:]
Stupidest man I've ever seen in my life, [she offers, and though it's not exactly the the most interesting start to a story, at this point she figures she has to keep going.] He thought he'd tracked down a whole operation or something, and was definitely too pleased with himself about it. Because when I told him to pay me in advance for the scandocs, he did.
[she scoffs.]
I was in the Outer Rim with all his money and a different name the next day. And he didn't even recognize me when he arrested me for assault years later. [lifting her shoulder in a shrug, she caps it off.] Like I said, stupid.
or, at least, all of the attention he can muster. it's still no small thing, the full force of his intensity, but a thing that jyn might be used to, by now. it's been a long time since he's looked at her with anything less. he watches her, and he listens, and a glimmer of humor unfurls in his eyes, softens the set of his mouth. it's so easy to imagine her doing this. it's so easy to imagine her pride — and scorn — at being so much the richer after outsmarting an officer. ]
Stupid, [ he agrees, at length, flickers of warmth in his voice.
he tilts until he's able to rest his head at her shoulder again, hair tickling at her neck. this bare spark of warmth he feels now seems like it must be coming from her. a small, flickering flame she lends him from the story she tells, from the heat of her body; the warmth from being at her side, from her shoulder, from her hand in his. his nails had dug half-moons into both of his palms, earlier, and maybe she can feel that now, though he doesn't think of it. he thinks of her. that's so much more easily done than anything else.
though he lapses back into silence, for a time, there's a different quality to it. less hopelessly lost, for one thing, like his body might be here but his mind is years and parsecs away. she's his anchor, in this moment, keeping him grounded here. but there's something else too: the awareness of jyn means the reminder of her worry. she must be worried. of course she's worried. and he wants to say something to her. and he doesn't want to give her an empty lie they'd both see through. and...and, the thought arises, he doesn't want a near stranger in this world to have a fragment of him that jyn doesn't. he hadn't had a choice in amos seeing what he did. he does have a choice now.
his lips part, and he breathes out at her shoulder. and, finally, he says so softly, ]
I had a sister.
[ he says every word slowly, carefully. as gently as if they're something fragile that might shatter as soon as he gives them breath. someone else might say that to begin an explanation, but that's as much of one as he can bear. ]
[it's no small thing, watching him come back to her (because of course she's watching; once her eyes are back on him, they don't leave), little by little — flickers of amusement and glimpses of softness and all. these are pieces of the real cassian as she's come to know him, not captain andor, the spy, the liar, but the man she'd trust at her back and with her life without question, and if she's managed to make those pieces surface, then maybe she isn't so useless after all. the smile she gives him is soft but radiant; the relief she exhales is visible, her shoulders sagging with it.
by the time he comes to rest there, on her shoulder, he can do so easily. his added weight there, and by her side, is comfortable; she sinks into it, head landing on top of his as she listens to him breathe.
he doesn't owe her anything, she thinks; they can just sit here in silence, together, for as long as he needs, until he pulls himself back together from whatever it was. it doesn't take away her worry, no, but demands only make things worse. she can just be here, a presence, holding his hand.
she isn't ready when he breaks the silence — and she especially isn't ready for what may be the most profound piece of truth he's ever given her.
in the immediate, her intake of breath is sharp, and a voice, his, echoes in her mind: "you're not the only one who lost everything." there'd never been time, really, to consider what that might've entailed, between scarif and here, and — there's a sinking feeling, right to the pit of her stomach, as she considers it. his family, like her family, like so many families, gone. taken, because that's what the empire does.
her hand squeezes his, more tightly than before, and she only says:]
You saw her.
[there's no point in phrasing that as a question; she can fill in the blanks herself.]
[ breathing really does feel a little easier, with jyn at his side. with her hand around his; with her head resting against his; ensconced in her. he has so rarely had reason to feel protected in his life, but he does now. jyn is a safe harbor. she wouldn't let any harm come to him. the only pain that exists here is that which he brought with him. this close, he can feel her surprised inhale as much as he can hear it, as she begins to understand the shape of it. her grip on his hand tightens as if she's afraid he'll slip away. on instinct, more than anything else, he moves his head somewhat to rest more easily on her shoulder.
of course she understands. he knew from her file about her mother's death, when she was a child. he was there when the ruins of jedha collapsed around saw gerrera. he was there, still clutching the rifle intended for the job, when fire from alliance x-wings killed galen erso. he knows how intimately she understands losing family. they leave you behind, her teenage self had said. but therein lies the difference between the two of them. ]
I left her.
[ solemn as the grave. he left her behind, on kenari, when they sought out that downed ship. he left her behind on kenari, and there were no survivors. he watched the man who loved him like a son be strung up in a square; he was far out of reach when the woman who him loved more than anything he could ever do wrong died in her home. today, in highstorm: he walked away from her. even if the apparition was removed from the real girl kerri had been, even if she'll never know, he walked away from her, again. ]
[she only shifts, just slightly, when he nudges closer, giving him the space to be comfortable before resting her head on his again, keeping a firm and steady grip on his hand the whole time. no matter what, she's here and she's not going anywhere.
even when he says —
i left her.
— and she feels it as an ache in her own chest.
she wonders, then, in the silence that ensues, somewhere between the words and the solemnity of something old and worn made new again, if a piece has suddenly clicked into place. she wonders if she understands how a man who'd fallen twelve stories would will himself to move again, no matter how painful it must be, to get to the top of a tower. to come back.
the feeling in her chest, the ache and something else entirely at the same time, twists, grabs her by the throat.
and it's — ultimately not important right now. not more important than finding something to say.
it would be an insult to this honesty to give him some meaningless platitude, and she's not one for that, anyway; it'd also be an insult to lie when he'd be able to sniff it out in an instant. for those reasons, and more, she can't tell him that it isn't his fault.]
Sometimes, [she says, finally. haltingly.] People leave when they don't want to. And it doesn't — [her voice catches, and she's forced to take a moment, a breath, before picking the thread up again.] It doesn't mean they're cruel.
[there's a thought that surfaces, then — a hologram, flickering out even before walls start to crumble around it (my love for her has never faded). it's followed by another — a hand slipping away from her face in the rain (i have so much to tell you).
no matter the thorns that had grown around the door to the cave in her mind over the years, the unwieldy roots that she may never actually weed through, there's a truth that's clear: galen erso hadn't been cruel. she refuses to believe that the man tucked into her side, the one who has come back, who wants to come back, is either.]
of course he's a cruel man. he knows that. she knows it, too. she knows what he was assigned to, meant to, did do to her father. she knows he's done other jobs like that and worse, for the rebellion. he admitted as much to her. she knows what kind of person he is, doesn't she? maybe he hadn't wanted to leave his sister, maybe it hadn't been his choice, and maybe he'd spent years trying to make it right — but it doesn't change what was done. and it doesn't change what he did afterwards, either.
but he feels, just as strongly, a warmth kindle in his chest just the same. the fact that she's trying means so unspeakably much to him. the fact that, on this of all subjects, she's offering words of comfort, holding him close, despite all of the pain being left has caused her is no small thing.
at her shoulder, he closes his eyes.
there is nothing he can bring himself to say, so he doesn't. not about his sister, not about what happened in highstorm, and not about his past. and not about jyn's past, either. the simple idea of formulating something to say to that is unbearable. he swallows, grip on jyn's hand tight, a soft tremble going down his spine.
he has been carrying kenari since he was a child. he has been carrying this loss for so long that he grew around this hole in his life. he rebuilt himself: for ferrix, for the rebellion. he's tried to rebuilt himself here in kenos, in the wake of scarif, but he has no clear image of who he's needed to be here. someone strong, for jyn? maybe. a spy on the side of neither faction, focused on unraveling the mysteries of this place? maybe. the persona he premised on convenience, using the name of a dead friend? that's already wearing thin, and the time is likely coming when he'll have to abandon it entirely.
the clarity he'd discovered on scarif feels like a condemnation now. the recognition that their work to find the death star plans could never erase his crimes had been a revelation to a dying man. it's something very different to a living man: yet another weight to carry for the rest of his life. and today, and right now, he's tired. ]
[cassian doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. now, well more than before, it's all clear to her between the lines: the tremble down his back, the way he grips at her hand and doesn't let go. yet, also, there's the way he breathes out, settling against her — and it's like there's an added warmth that comes to her, too.
nothing's okay, exactly. the past is always hovering over them both — a fact that neither her understanding his just a little bit better nor any attempt at a reassurance, however effective or pathetic, will ever change. though she's accustomed to it (they both are), the present is uncertain. and the future? she's still not entirely sure how to think about, when she'd counted it out for so long.
but they can have this, a quiet moment tucked away from everything else. there can be a time and space to regroup, to allow the old wounds to settle back in again. her job is just to be here, a steady support, someone who'll keep the rest of the world out and away from him while he takes what he needs.
and so jyn doesn't say anything, either, instead letting the silence lapse over them for as long as it will. she keeps her hold on him solid and firm, a reaffirmation that she isn't going anywhere, and her eyes close, too.
nothing's okay, exactly. but maybe there's something here that's better than it could've been.]
[jyn is, at first, distracted; she's mid-communion slapfight and that's taking up all her time and resources. at some point in there, though, the frustration and anger bleeds over into physical expression, and she moves to curl her right hand into a fist, when — she winces.
she doesn't regret anything she's said on communion, but she does regret punching solid wood.
and it's enough to pull her out of it, to slide her gaze over toward cassian. she gives him a shrug, says,]
The people who do disagree are asses.
[hayame and silco, like. what are their opinions worth.]
[ there's a slight pull downward at one corner of his mouth, disapproval at the reminder of her injury. like, you could've reacted in ways that were not punching logs, jyn.
but. anyway. ]
Diplomacy isn't what I'm good at. [ and, to make his point, ] I lied to all of them for months.
[she tucks her hand in against her chest, and scrunches her eyes shut for a moment while she breathes — because it hurts that much, yes, but also because she can avoid the clear disapproval if she doesn't look at it.
after she opens her eyes again, though, she... better gets it. the point. and she turns, facing him more fully.]
That doesn't make you not good at it. [she says this like it's a fact — because to her, it is. plain and simple.] And they can see that.
[we've done terrible things on behalf of the rebellion, he'd said once. and the truth of it glimmers darkly in his eyes now, skates across his face in the slant of his brows, the tenseness about his mouth. in the sharp line of his shoulders as he looks her way, written in the scars across his knuckles. spies, saboteurs, assassins. that had been the most honest he'd been with her since meeting her, remains one of the most vulnerable sentiments he's ever expressed.
that is what he is. that is who he is. she has to know that; she has to know that better than anyone, even those here who have seen his heart. she'd come to know what he's capable of, in the damp and dark of eadu. and that's where he always belongs, in the end, those shadows. not public forums, public discussions, places where he would've given a report of his findings and quietly left. his recent address to bearers had been familiar in that way. this is not. ]
There's a reason I didn't report to Mon Mothma.
[ the very face of diplomacy in the alliance, if there is one, determined as she was to try peaceful solutions within the empire as long as they were possible. no, he was quickly sent to general draven for his skills. for the skills he developed, years with the rebellion. ]
It wasn't me that inspired the others to go to Scarif; this [this kind of situation ] is where you shine.
[even if jyn can't avoid it in her nightmares, all reminders of it have gone unsaid and unacknowledged during her waking hours. scarif. just hearing the name now, here, is a jolt down her spine, a shock to the system; the grip holding up her injured hand slackens, and everything else leaves her mind.
unavoidable; there's no point in trying to pretend otherwise.
so her gaze sticks, studying him over the small distance between them. she knows the difference between cassian's lies and his truth, and she knows that what she's getting is the latter — at least in the way he sees it. and it's complete bantha shit; how much had her words to the council alone actually accomplished? most of them had still wanted to surrender, even when she'd given them every reason to fight.
four people couldn't have faced an entire imperial installation.
but they'd been far more than four, because —]
Scarif wouldn't have happened if you didn't believe me.
[ caught in his thoughts as he'd been, cassian seems to snap back to reality with jyn's visceral reaction to hearing scarif. he almost feels the same, himself, saying the name aloud for the first time in this world. hearing jyn echo it back to him. what was he thinking, bringing up everything that happened there, now?
he listens, and he swallows, and he nods, slowly. there's truth to what she says, he knows. melshi, pao, plenty of others who followed him to scarif. (to their deaths.) he knows. but that — wasn't the same thing. he'd known those people for years, through missions against the empire, fellow soldiers, fellow operatives. this is different. ]
I'm sorry. [ he breathes out. ] Of course, you're right.
[ he leans closer to her, presses a kiss to the top of her head. small affections that he'd been getting used to giving. ]
[it'd taken both of them to get to scarif — and scarif itself, everything that had happened there? is on both of them, too. jyn thinks of all the faces she'd spoken to just before the shuttle had landed, most of which she hadn't known and never will know; she think about how none of them are here. everyone had known exactly what they'd been walking into, but knowledge doesn't make anything less painful.
a wound often hurts more when it's reopened than it had when it was originally made. i'm sorry and you're right tear it a little further.
something goes tight in her chest; her gaze drops, focusing on the floor. she'd rather be anywhere else, think about anything else, and —
his kiss is a balm, one that feels good to lean into. or good enough, at least, for her to lift her eyes back up, to reach for him with her good hand before he can pull away from her, brushing strands of hair from his forehead with her thumb.]
Your hair's still long, [she tells him, quietly.] Never got around to cutting it, did I?
[ no, there's no need to talk about this. he'd been wrong to bring it up. so he lets the topic drop — scarif, the communion, all of it — in favor of keeping close to her. of allowing a small uptick to his lips, as she lifts a hand to his face. ]
Are you offering? [ just as soft. his eyes drop from her face to her sprained hand, and then back. ] One-handed?
[this is better. why bring up, and linger in, something that's only that's only going to hurt, when, here, they've found an easier way? his closeness is easy, and so is his touch. what she knows as his smile is warm, loosening the tightness in her chest and steadying her breath.
she can linger in that.
there's a shrug, as light as she's resolved to be in this moment, alongside:]
If you're brave enough.
[a hint of a smile, too, begins to pull on her own mouth.]
[she can linger here now; they can linger here. that's what she wants, more than anything (and she can think of that as a want), because maybe, just maybe, what they have in here, tucked far away from what lurks outside these walls, can be protected if they stay, if they hold onto it tightly enough. there's a chance.
kenos has chances — and maybe, just maybe, they can feel like possibility.
or, at the very least, chances can feel like his lips against hers, gentle and warm. they can feel, too, like the second kiss she leans in and claims, like just... being.
her smile is bright.]
Get the scissors, and we'll see.
[nothing will come in here to threaten those chances.
[While discussions mostly went smoothly, Claude's conscious that he ruffled a few feathers during talks, and he's not about to go making that worse an hour or so after talks conclude. There is, however, at least one person he wants to reach out to, so he contacts Jyn and hopes she'll oblige him a little more time.]
Hey... I just wanted to thank you for today. What did you think about how things went?
[when the meeting ends and everyone involved begins to disperse, the first thing jyn does, before she really even thinks about it, is look around behind her, open her mouth to say something —
before she, again, remembers.
she exhales a heavy breath into the empty air of an empty house, and closes her eyes for a moment. for an hour.
it's unexpected when claude reaches out — and there's a sense of some of that surprise — but it isn't unwelcome. she'd meant to say something to him beforehand to... thank (?) him for believing in her enough to put her up for this in the first place, but she hasn't been able to find the words for that. still isn't able to, so she starts with:]
I think it went a lot better than it could've.
[it's quiet and thoughtful over communion, and some parts relieved — at what she's saying, but also, maybe, that she's not having to sit with it alone right now.]
[ they go back to his room at the hotel. and later finds them curled up on his bed, facing one another, entangled. cassian has one of her hands held in his, kisses each of her knuckles as he listens to her talk about the ambassador meeting. he hadn't attended, couldn't bring himself to show his face, so to speak, at thing like that. not with the fresh blood on his hands, not with the uncertainty of what kind of intel he was going to get. so he obliges jyn by listening to her retelling, sometimes breathing out a huff of a laugh at appropriate moments, never taking his eyes off her. ]
It went well, [ he finally suggests.
it certainly sounds like it'd been less contentious than it could've been. no one had even thrown a punch. ]
[it's no small thing, being the center of cassian's focus; it's no less intense than it's ever been. after an absence, jyn feels the acuity of that intensity — not as a sharp thing to startle her, but as something warm and welcomed. like his touch, like the half-laugh she pulls out of him every so often, like... him in general.
he's a good audience, and for a good audience, the story is easy. even for someone who isn't good with her words.
and so is the smile that lingers with traces of amusement for a time, before smoothing out, rather than faltering.]
Sure, [she offers in response, with a tilt of her head on the pillow rather than a shrug of her shoulder; it's comfortable where she is, entangled with him, and she'd rather not do anything to disturb that.] If you forget the idiot who wouldn't stop trying to tell people it was a good idea to send someone who doesn't know how to fight into a forest full of monsters that'll definitely kill them.
[it's abundantly clear that she's still sore about that, even if the rest of the group had ended up having the sense to vote against it. like... what kind of brainless thing?]
Or the idiot who was trying to plan escalations during peace talks.
[oh, has she neglected to mention this part up until now?]
[ the first thing just gets a soft, amused scoff. not the brightest idea he's ever heard, but people suggest all kinds of strange things in diplomacy — easy for some people to forget practical realities. he can see the logic, if he thinks about it, and that combined with the fact that the suggestion had been voted down mean he isn't too fussed about it. groups can be good for that, weeding out the foolish ideas. but the second thing she says —
she had neglected to mention that part up till now. his eyebrows draw together, creases forming between them, and for a moment there's nothing but disbelief writ across his face. ]
What?
[ he isn't shocked, exactly. he's taken aback, yes, but also angry. scoffs again — but there's nothing amused in it this time. ]
[that'd been about her exact reaction sitting at the table, receiving these plans through private communion. it'd still been her reaction days later, long after the whole thing was over. jyn has thought about that a lot in the time since, that willingness, eager willingness, on the part of some people in zenith to turn the tide in its favor and getting caught up in all the bantha shit everyone does.
it'd been an insult to anyone who'd actually been there to try to do something in good faith.
only problem with relaying this now is: she's not good with names. she's shit with names. fuck if she could even remember her cellmate's name on wobani now, much less than when she'd still been in there.]
The... white-haired man on the Zenith side.
[she scrunches her face, takes another minute to think — because she really is trying here. then:]
Cid? I think that was his name.
[that sounds right. anyway,]
He told me in private that he was willing to be the unarmed diplomat and die to escalate tensions with Meridian.
[ in truth, extreme dedication to faction isn't something either of them are unfamiliar with. it isn't even something exclusive to zenith. they've both met meridian zealots. hayame, for one. set, in some ways, willing to destroy anyone who threatens the promise he'd made his son; though in other ways, he's as indifferent to the concept of sides as any bearer cassian's met.
still. his eyebrows pull downwards, disapproving, as jyn wracks her brain for the name. and when she produces one, cassian gives a slight nod. white-haired, zenith, cid — yeah, that sounds familiar to him too. he has a faint memory of a man he'd spoken to upon arrival, so certain that everyones' worlds were gone forever and that yima was doing them a kindness. ]
It's a waste of time.
[ impossible as it is to be tense, in this soft bed with jyn, there's the edge of a growl in his voice. ]
[there's a relief, jyn finds, in hearing this voiced outside her own head; a relief, she finds, in not being alone, on so many counts. almost funny how profound that revelation is when she's spent so much of her life that way, anything that mattered kept to herself without anyone else she could trust.
(this cements it, now, that she can never go back to that, but she doesn't have to.)
she could kiss him — literally — but for the moment, holds off. says instead,]
Fucking bantha shit, is what it is.
[a roll of her eyes; her own scoff has no less of an edge than his voice.]
And these people are too stupid to realize it won't benefit them.
[ there's a relief, he thinks, to share this with jyn. maybe he can't tell her what happened, and maybe he can't tell her everything he's looking into, but this is something. a trusted confidant, a person who understands. someone on the same page. he's had john gaius as a co-conspirator, but jyn is someone he knows and trusts implicitly. or maybe it's just that while he doesn't, strictly, need her so that he isn't completely alone in this, he wants her. he wants her, and he has her. a small miracle.
her agreement only seems to seal that. he closes his eyes briefly, then opens them to focus on her once again. follows the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the brown hair framing her face. ]
Jyn.
[ the cord around his throat and small pouch slung across his chest, visible through the absurdly open shirt, feel so heavy. but this is a thing he's already committed to; and Jyn is someone he's already committed to; so he cannot put this off. ]
If I left Zenith, would you come with me?
[ it's a question and not a question. they went to scarif together. they went to highstorm together. but she gets a say in this. she gets a glimpse of the plan he's been turning in his head, over and over, for a week now. ]
[it's a question, and it's unexpected. irritation, annoyance, everything in between all fall off of jyn's face as it turns serious, as her eyes find his, searching. it's a question, the kind cassian wouldn't ask her if it weren't serious; she knows that as certainly as what she can read in what he can't say. she knows that as certainly as she knows, now, that he trusts her. wants her.
(which is no small thing, either — being wanted, rather than left behind. there's a stupid moment where something stings in her eyes and lumps in her throat, but she manages to blink, manages to swallow, hopefully before it ever shows.)
at the same time, the question isn't actually unexpected at all.
because, suddenly, a knot in her chest that's been there for weeks starts to loosen. because, she admits,]
I've been thinking. [she pauses, idly dragging her bottom lip through her teeth, considering. over so many nights during which she'd given up on sleep entirely, she had been thinking; ruminating over something that'd turned her skin cold, but had just been frustratingly far out of reach. now, though, slowly, haltingly,] It's all stupid, but maybe Zenith isn't the best place to get anything done.
[that's exactly it, isn't it? the place she's tried to get to — and finally arrived at, with the help of a trusted confidant putting things to actual words that she hadn't quite been able. there are things that she could do in meridian to try to make this place better.
that they could do.]
And I think we should go. [she takes their still-joined hands, gives his fingers a gentle squeeze.] I'd go with you.
[ is it a surprise that jyn's been having similar thoughts? no, of course it isn't. because maybe they got it wrong. because it's bothered him since the beginning, hasn't it, since the oracle, since before jyn got here — silco saying, a universe to be remade cannot have anything else left. if we're rebuilding from the ashes...it must only be ashes. how many sleepless nights has he spent wondering about their world, and thinking about the worlds he saw when he traded with set, with vash, with quetzacoatl? how much is he really willing to burn, to ensure he takes down the empire?
how much can he even trust yima to do that for them?
he trusts quetzacoatl's offers more. he trusts set's promises more. and maybe the sides don't matter, but then what is he even doing with zenith? and it makes sense; john had agreed. one on each side. one with a good reason to stay in the sunlit city, able to keep his eyes open. and hadn't akua spoken to him, too, of the ease of changing sides, how that had to mean something. it has to mean something, all of it.
and then jyn says, i'd go with you.
unbidden, he remembers a different conversation from a lifetime ago. he remembers being unable to stay; he remembers another being unable to go. he remembers that's just love. the reminder is like a shock to his system. he shivers, even as she squeezes his hand gently. ]
I want you to come with me, [ is a confession, even though she's already agreed. but she should know this; he wants her to know this. ] And I want to go to Meridian.
[ there are so many pragmatic reasons for him to go, and he'd expressed them all. but to jyn, and only to jyn, he shares this reason. cassian andor had needed zenith, in the shadow of the iconoclast oracle; but now he wants meridian. he only needs to lean forward a short distance to meet her mouth with his, to push all of that longing into a kiss, soft and sweet. ]
[she doesn't need cassian to say it in so many words, because it's already been there, between them. i want you to come with me. but hearing that, actually hearing it so clearly? is a revelation.
it's a swell of emotion in her that she can't quite blink back this time, can't quite swallow down. and how could she? if it's been decades since anyone has told her they loved her, it's been just as long since anyone has expressly wanted her in their life, enough to ask something so significant. her chest shakes on the next breath, but one the next —
jyn lets him have that, with her, as he presses their lips together; she gives that back, kind, because she wants this, too. wants him in her life just the same, wants him to come with her wherever she goes. always.
when she feels her lungs begin to burn, she pulls back just far enough for a breath. just far enough to say, softly,]
Then we'll go.
[one last affirmation, because it feels important to also say clearly, before she lifts her free hand to his face, cupping his jaw, and pulls him back in toward her to kiss him again. it's not quite gentle, like the way he'd kissed her; it's with the force of all the things she still can't put a voice to.]
[ jyn isn't the first person to follow him somewhere. melshi had followed him to the rebellion, for conviction as much as the personal. cassian had recruited, collaborated with, numerous people within the alliance, and many of them took up the cause of scarif because he asked. it feels similar, and different. because jyn has her own reasons for wanting to leave zenith, but there isn't just reason or duty or cause to this. she wants him. there's no question that she wants him.
and it's terrifying.
will jyn grow to regret her love, as others who have loved him did? will this, the wanting him, hurt her as it has others? will he let her down as he did his family, his home? won't she suffer for it? and the love, the choice to return to jyn, is a commitment; it's one he made with open eyes. but — there's still a contradiction between them. jyn wants him. he wants her to live. he doesn't have it in himself to want life.
she pulls him back in, more insistent than the last time, and he follows. of course he does. his free hand goes to her hair, brushes it backwards blindly, fingers trailing till they find the back of her neck. he pulls her closer as they kiss, narrows his attention to her soft lips, to the warmth of her, to the nearby thudding of her heartbeat.
he doesn't have it in himself to want life, but he does want her. he does want this — quiet moments where nothing else and no one else exists. he's lived with pain for so long that he'd forgotten how its absence felt. that even these glimmers of time without it, when she overwhelms his senses and blurs out everything else, are breathtaking. before, he'd used sex to drown out the noise. with jyn, with others before her. but this is different. this is devoting the whole of his attention to her, to cherish her, because he wants to give that to her, because he wants to spend his life on doing that. this love is not a bandage over his pain, but a counterpoint to it.
he has always wanted a better galaxy so someone else should not suffer. for the first time in a long time, he wants something for himself. ]
[cassian follows her, and she follows him. jyn thinks: that's how it is, how it's always going to be, for the rest of the time that they have to live, beyond anything that would've ever seemed possible not so long ago. (and she wants as much of that time as she can get now. she'll fight however hard she has to in order to hold onto it, for the both of them; she'll do what it takes, with clear-minded purpose, to ensure that they both live.)
that's what love is — or, at least, how the concept, made real in her hands and in his (gentle, always gentle) hands on her, made real in the space — and heat — that they share, takes definitive shape in her mind. it's not the holodrama nonsense that could never actually fit into anyone's reality, but the commitment, the choice to follow each other. the trust that the other will be there, never far behind.
and because she doesn't doubt any of it, not anymore, she opens herself up to it.
she opens herself up to him — lips parting under his, hands moving to his waist to nudge him over top of her as she lies on her back, so that everything she feels on all sides of her, in every possible way, will be him. it's not a position she usually likes to be in, with a near complete lack of leverage and space to be able to move.
[ they've done this before. he knows her cues, just as she knows his. it's so easy to open in response to her, to shift his weight as he lets go of her hand — mouth still on hers — and brace his arms, his knees on either side of her. navigate the fleeting sense of worry for her comfort without taking his attention from her. they've done this before, but in some ways it feels like a first time. they aren't in a half-empty room of a home they'd called their own in a moonlit city. this room is hideous, and unfamiliar, and anonymous. they aren't hiding from their respective demons, from recent experiences, in one another.
his touch, for its intensity, is tender in a new way. he'd told her before, with his words, i love you. now he shows her. he shows her in the way his lips meet hers; he shows her with the sweep of his tongue; he shows her with how he fumbles, one-handed and without looking, for the hem of her shirt. he shows her when he pulls his face back, but only so he can press a kiss to the base of her throat, near the kyber crystal she always wears, and then another just because. ]
[it's familiar enough to be seamless, and yet wholly new at the same time. he's always been gentle with her, always careful, always giving her nothing less than his full attention, but there's still no precedent for the way his touch is so achingly tender, or for the way that what he'd told her is so clear in his kiss; not in their previous moments together, or in her life at all. they're open to each other in a way they've never been before — and that realization seizes in her chest. has her taking in a shaky gasp as he presses his lips to her throat.
this is intensity like she's never felt, and it —
doesn't scare her, because it's him. it feels right, because it's him.
and here, now, nothing else matters — including time.
but they've still squandered weeks of it away, haven't they? weeks that they could've been sharing this. maybe time doesn't matter, but she doesn't want to fucking waste any more of it.
she nudges them both upward, quickly capturing his mouth with hers before releasing as she does, if only so she can push his shirt from his shoulders and down his arms before tossing it aside, if only so she can give them enough space to work her own over head. if only so they can remove the last of what remains between them, piece by piece.]
anyway i guess this is a good place to note we're getting nsfw
[ she nudges them both upward, and they part after the quick, chaste kiss. he smiles as she dispenses with his shirt, works on her own; and he sits up to give her space to do that, to pull the cord from around his neck and pool it, ever so carefully, in the top drawer of the bedside stand. and with that task done,
he can return his attention to jyn.
because that may not be everything between the two of them gone yet — there's the matter of her leggings, which will perhaps not be so easily removed, and his swim trunks — but he finds himself as impatient as she feels. (i love you. i love you.) he curls back over her so he can catch her face with both hands and bring it back to his, returning his mouth to hers and savoring the taste of her. his fingers tangle in her hair, find the fabric of her hairband and pull that off as well, letting the waves fall to her shoulders.
they have to part for breath eventually, and he leans his forehead against hers when they do, closes his eyes briefly. (i love you. i love you.) opens them, kisses each eyelid when she blinks, then carefully lowers her till she can feel the fabric of the bedspread against her back. he slides his hands back to her sides, kisses her throat again, and then kisses her stomach. working his way downwards, see, because he is impatient and she is impatient but they have time. and maybe there's something a little deliberate to it, too; because she is impatient, and he will oblige...soon. ]
[there's nothing in any world, in any galaxy, more beautiful to see, than his smile. it fills her with a warmth like she's never known, gentle as it starts in the center of her chest and spreads out to the rest of her. a part of her would be content to just stay like this, under a smile that she's sure could warm an entire planet for the way it does her, for the way that it tugs on the corners of her own mouth, oh so easily.
but the rest of her is impatient; they both are. it's relief she sighs into his mouth when he curls back over her, the warmth of his skin on hers, with nothing else between them there, even better. one hand reaches for his face, catching him as he catches her (following him, as he follows her), thumb grazing gently over the rise of his cheek as they kiss; it lingers, there, when they emerge for a shared breath, and just exist for a moment, foreheads touching, in that shared space.
i love you, is her equally silent echo of the unspoken, in the way that she allows her eyes to close just long enough for him to kiss each of her eyelids, in the way that she holds on as he slowly, carefully, lowers her onto her back.
in the way, too, that allows herself a long, slow breath, and then another, as he takes his care, working his way down her throat, to her stomach, with kisses pressed to her skin. though tries, and mostly succeeds, to remain still (a feat for her), she wriggles just a little bit under him, pushing the band of her own leggings down as she does. because she's impatient, because even if they have time, it doesn't stop anticipation from building in her.]
[ jyn's impatient little movements don't go unnoticed. and because his lips barely leave her skin, she can surely feel the way they curve into a smile despite himself, the small huff of warm breath somewhere in the vicinity of her belly button as he tries not to laugh. he catches one of her hands in one of his, brings it close so he can kiss each of her knuckles once again, and then the back, and then the palm. there's a wrinkle about his eyes with the force of his smile, surely visible to jyn, as he patiently works his way around her hand.
he's not teasing her. but he's not not teasing her.
her other hand gets the same treatment, as he shifts his weight back somewhat precariously onto his knees, while he keeps a safe but firm grip around the wrist of the hand that's been kissed. and it's only after that job has been done that he releases her, turns both his hands to that band of her leggings. he gives it an experimental tug, pulling down far enough that he can press another kiss to a few centimeters of newly exposed skin, then curls his fingers around the elastic to pull it down harder. it gives, of course, but tight as it fits her, pulling it down her hips takes more effort than he'd maybe banked on this requiring.
at one point, he looks back to her, catching her eyes with his, and very slowly raises an eyebrow. his voice almost doesn't tremor from repressed laughter when he says, ]
[bastard, comes the thought, but it has no heat even in her mind. there's certainly none of it in the scowl she attempts to form on her face, and her eyes aren't nearly as hard as she's trying to make them. it's all impossible when she can feel his smile against her skin.
it's even worse when he glances up, when she can see the way that his eyes crinkle with it, and her heart jumps into her throat from the sight of that. when all that fond warmth settles over her again, smoothing out all her edges and keeping her in the moment.
fuck, comes another thought. it's a good look on him.
she's powerless, really, in the face of that, to do anything but let him continue to fucking tease her, let him try his own efforts at pulling down her leggings. except —
she bursts into small titters of unrestrained laughter when he gets stuck and catches her eye. it's not at him (except it kind of is), and —]
I'll break both of Diane's arms, [she pronounces on a breath, still laughing.] And when she can't defend herself, I'll go to that stupid fucking mud pit and throw mud at her until she lets us have normal clothes back.
[ he'd done so well at keeping a straight face, even as jyn started to laugh. but then she laughs all the harder, begins to spell out a ludicrous threat against diane, and
cassian andor, who has been on both sides of an interrogation without cracking, who is famously hard to read according to certain groups within the alliance, who smiles much more easily for an act than out of real mirth,
begins to laugh helplessly, tips over so that he lands beside her, shoulders still shaking, and gestures for her to get on with handling those leggings (and leg warmers, diane why). regaining his composure is fucking difficult when jyn fails to stop with her colorful threats, just keeps going until the image reaches a new level of absurdity. he passes a hand over his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stop laughing, offers a breathless, ]
"That doesn't sound like a super fun time."
[ without looking up. has diane said those exact words, in that exact order, in that exact cadence, over the course of this day? of course she has. probably to both of them! ]
[they've made each other smile before during small moments of amusement over the past several months, have even gotten a laugh out of each other a couple of times, but jyn's never heard anything like this from cassian — nothing this solid or sustained. she'd be thinking about the sheer wonder of that if she weren't also laughing helplessly, tipping over onto her side with it, only encouraged by his.
his impression, which really is in diane's exact cadence, only makes that worse.
she can't remember the last time she'd laughed like this, either — until her sides ache, until there are actual tears in her eyes. after a time, after she's wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and she catches her breath, she sets to work on the stupid leggings and leg warmers, wriggling and tugging on the whole combination to the point of finally getting free of them.
without missing a beat, she tosses them to the other side of the room, where they land in a heap on the floor. good fucking riddance.
falling gently back down onto the bed, then, she shifts closer, hooking a (now) bare leg around cassian. for a moment, it's almost like she's going to lean in to kiss him, but she stops short of that. says, instead, in her own impersonation,]
"Maybe you should try the spa! Rest and relaxation gets everyone in tip top shape!"
[ he really can't remember the last time he laughed like this. there are tears in his eyes from pure mirth, and he wipes them away with the hand still at his face. maybe when he was still a teenager, maybe, with brasso or bix or someone who'd made up the patchwork of his new life. who can say?
and he doesn't focus on trying to remember, not when he has the privilege of hearing jyn's laugh. the sound is so bright, so sweet, so lovely. he feels a surge of satisfaction when she only laughs harder at his impression, finally starts to get his breathing back under control as she wiggles out of those leggings herself. he's finally able to drop his hand in time to watch her throw them across the room — which would make him grin if he weren't already — and he tips his head up to look at her as she returns to laying on the bed. his smile softens, then, to something fonder, as he turns his face towards hers. as she hooks that leg around him. and then she leans in so close,
and echoes diane.
and he drops his head back on the pillow, reaching to smother his own laughter all over again. then he has a better idea — moves his hand to, instead, go behind her head and pull her in for another kiss. likely, they're both still laughing, but that has to be a good way to get her to stop mimicking diane and to help him recover his composure. he's still the one to break off the first attempt, trying so hard to push that mirth aside, and takes the second attempt with more ferocity — enough to push her backwards, encourage her to return to her back, his free hand moving out to steady his weight on her other side once again. ]
[there's nothing that's ever been as easy to her as being here. the smile that forms on her face in response to the one that softens on his is easy; so is the satisfaction that curls just on the edge of it when she pulls more laughter out of him, and so is the laugh that bubbles up from her chest in turn — quieter now, that they're so close, but no less bright.
and isn't it amazing how easy this is, how light? life as she's known it — as they've both known it — is hard and cold and fucking unfair; those things are still true (she'd never, of course, be under any delusion of otherwise), but sometimes, sometimes, in the certain moments, with the right person, it can be something else.
it's that thought, maybe, that comes at the same time as cassian's second attempt to kiss her, that quiets her laugh down, has her taking him in instead. has her reaching for him, pulling him over her as he guides her onto her back again, sighing into his mouth at the comfortable familiarity of the weight.]
[ jyn pulls him back over her, and he moves fluidly to accomplish just that — following her, following him — without taking his mouth off hers. he's still bent sideways over her, but her arms guide his hips and allow him to, sightlessly, bring his knee back to her other side. this kiss is no less full of love than the past ones, and as he's repositioned it becomes languid. she sighs, content, and he takes her lower lip into his mouth for a moment; and he gently, so gently, savors this kiss. they have time.
he lifts his lips from hers only to kiss her again, and then again, curled over her. his arms are bent, fingers to elbows balanced on the bedspread, so close to her that the bare skin of their chests are pressed flush as he makes every attempt to kiss her senseless.
and then finally, when he really has no option but to come up for air, he raises his head with eyes dark and intense, and, ]
It's not too late if you still want to try the spa, instead.
[they have the time — and she's less impatient now, somehow, to linger in it. his kisses are languid, savoring, radiating warmth; she doesn't have to reach to pull him in, as close as they are, but she still has both hands gently holding his face.
still does, even as, when they emerge for air, he lifts his head and says that. still does, even as she lifts a single brow, and responds, easy,]
Fuck off.
[her voice, breathless, also has no bite at all whatsoever; on the contrary, there's just another hint of a laugh in it, one that reaches all the way to her eyes.
then, lifting her head just slightly off the pillow, she leans in for another kiss before he has the chance to comment.]
[ he's smiling again — can't seem to stop smiling — as her lips meet his once more. and, again, he takes the time to enjoy this, to enjoy her, to enjoy everything about this moment. and then he finally pulls back, gently takes her hands from his face, and moves downwards once again. with the shiny leggings thankfully gone, the only fabric left between them is her underwear, and that's much more easily dealt with.
and once that is dealt with,
there is really nothing left to do but reward her, at last, for her patience. the time for teasing her has come and gone; now he only wants to make her feel very, very good. and so he — sets his mouth to task, as intent as he's been about anything in all the time she's known him. ]
[even when she can't see it, just feel it, his smile has an instant effect on her; it's like it transfers from his lips to hers. or maybe they share it, because in some ways, it's hard to tell what separates them when they're pressed so closely — and that distinction doesn't really matter, anyway. no, what matters is that, honestly, she would be content just to stay like this.
but that's not what he has in mind.
and — she's certainly more than content with that, too.
it's not a sense of urgency that comes to her, exactly, as he works intently, because she's learning the value of time, and it's not want, because of course that had never left — but it's heat. it's her senses steadily becoming overwhelmed, eyes sliding closed so she can focus on that, surrender to it. it's her own pounding heart and breaths becoming harder to catch, and her hands, empty, tightly grabbing fistfuls of sheets. it's being brought to a place she'd tried to seek out with others in his absence, and while most of that had been fine, done what it'd needed to do, it —
hadn't been this fucking good.
something in her, one last bit of sense, maybe, tries to say something to that effect, but in the end, it's a gasp she's able to manage, and a half-formation of his name.]
curled on his side next to jyn, their foreheads touching, he's still in awe of this. of her. and he still leans forward to peck her lips, brief, and murmur as he pulls back, ]
You're beautiful.
[ and she is. she's as beautiful now, tangled in the blankets, hair loose and half in her eyes, as she's ever been, always is. she's beautiful because she's jyn, and he will never see her otherwise. it's such a strange miracle that they have this after everything — this chance to discover one another in new and different ways, to actually think about some kind of future together. A life. he doesn't know how to want life, but he wants her — achingly. maybe that's something. ]
[people can be happy here, vash had told her what seems like an age ago now; it's funny, how time feels when it's actually there, stretched beyond any and all limits she'd ever known. happy — the word sticks in her mind, taking root there as they're curled together, as a gentle thumb brushes the hair away from cassian's forehead and he is, in this moment, the only center of her world. is that what this is? the actual name she could put to the smile that can't seem to fade from her own face when he kisses her and tells her that she's beautiful, or the warmth that settles in her to the point of feeling like it's permanent.
is she happy?
the whole concept of that is so foreign that she still struggles to piece it together, but, she thinks — maybe. maybe she is. maybe it's actually possible.
he has this way of showing her what's possible when she'd thought otherwise.
and that's one reason, one reason out of so many, more than she can actually quantify, that —]
I love you.
[it's soft, barely more than a whisper, but it fills the space they share with every bit of emotion she feels.
you're beautiful, too, is a thought that goes unsaid, maybe less because she's not quite sure how to say it, but because she doesn't need to. it's there in how her eyes never leave him, how her hand keeps touching his face, reverent, fingers ghosting over the skin there like they're handling something precious. it's also there in how she leans forward, pressing her lips to his in a long, slow kiss, one that can take the time that they have.
(it wouldn't be terrible if you two made each other happy.)]
[ vash had said, she loves you. you love her, too.
it had been the first time cassian had heard that sentiment in so many words about the two of them. and, even then, he'd known there was truth to it — whether he liked it or not. it had been terrifying to consider. there are so many reasons why she shouldn't love him. there are so many reasons why he's likely to bring her pain. has there been anyone who loved him who didn't regret it? and how little he deserves peace; how little he deserves the way she looks at him now, the way her hands skim his face like he's worth something.
the way she says, i love you.
she wouldn't like knowing that these thoughts are never far, even at a moment like this. but maybe she would like knowing the way she speaks, the way she looks at him, the way her touch feels — that all of it seems to fill the space between them, suffuse this moment, until there's little room for worries of deserving. it's so hard to take his eyes off her. it's so hard to think about anything but his arms curled around her, but the way she leans forward now to kiss him, unhurried. it's so hard to think about anything but the slow bloom of bliss inside his chest, anything but pressing closer, deeper, into the kiss.
i love you, goes unsaid. but she has to know, by now. i love you, i love you.]
[she knows; she knows she can say that, safely, and knows that it's returned, because she's heard it — but more than that, because she can feel it. i love you is in not only how he meets her halfway, but also in how he catches her, gives her a soft place to land.
it's love and it's home, one and the same.
those things have always been connected in jyn's mind, she realizes now, and no one brings them together so seamlessly as him. and it's a certainty that's just as safe as any other, here; she does mean in this eyesore of a room, yes, but she'd also mean it anywhere he was, because the safest place for her in any world, in any galaxy, is in his arms.
smiling easily against his mouth, she lets him press closer, and as far as she's concerned, they can stay like that.
[ Not terribly long after the Exalt Oracle's conclusion, but more importantly, maybe a day or two after Quetzalcoatl had a little tussle with everyone's favorite rat... It occurs to her that she owes a "call" to someone! ]
¡Hola, Jyn!
[ And right away, Jyn is just (gently) blasted with all of the cheerful, friendly warmth that is Quetzalcoatl in Communion. ]
I just wanted to let you know, since we talked about it un poco. Um, there won't be a chance for you to give him a smack with it since I didn't keep it! Eso sería raro... But I did cut off señor Silco's hand!
[it's difficult, as it always is, to be unaffected by the quetz blast. for her part, there's a definite sense of amusement, and an actual laugh, however brief.]
Shame you didn't keep it. [even through that, though, does jyn also sound maybe just a little disappointed? maybe. hard not to be, when something that's played such a significant role in overly violent daydreaming for several months will never come to pass. (play a small violin for jyn rn)
but that's fleeting, overpowered by an eagerness radiating off of her in communion when she adds:] What'd he look like when you cut it off? Did he cry?
Ah, I didn't think about it until later!! I probably would have grabbed it if I was thinking about it, but... Ay, well, since it was right in front of Yima's house! I had to run!
[ Since a scuffle was one thing, but actual, vicious violence was enough to bring out the Zenites that fiercely guarded Yima's manor. Considering she had gone there to try and do a good deed, she had decided it was best to not push her luck... But she says all of this as sunnily as ever, as well as Silco's, uh, less than sunny response. ]
No crying, nada! He was actually a little scary, how cold he was! He's such a little guy, but la intensidad, wow! He said he was going to kill me, but that's no surprise! I figured that was already the case!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
you know when.
on this day,
after a long day in highstorm, after encountering a mirror with amos and everything that entailed, cassian lets himself in wordlessly. he locks the door behind him. he unbuttons his coat and hangs it up on its hook. or, he tries. once, twice, and once jyn intercedes he lets her help. he doesn't look at her until they've finished that, then breathes out so heavily he seems to lose all the air in him. if he closes his eyes, he sees nothing but a green world, a solemn expression on a small face. so he doesn't, even as he drops his face to her shoulder and makes a soft, exhausted sound. his hands, as he puts his arms around her, are still shaking. they don't often talk about their shared aspect, the same mark inked on her skin as his, but it's impossibly salient now: she can feel the full brunt of his quietly keening misery, old stitches ripped open and left to bleed.
not so long ago, this would have seemed an unfathomable display of weakness. captain andor, rebel spy through and through, is an unfailingly stalwart figure at rebel bases. he always gets the job done, no matter what it takes, with a cool head and calm nerves. he's known for it. only a handful of people ever knew there was more to him than that: draven, kay, melshi. and they kept his secret, because they too understood how important it was to the cause that he be unflappable. to the cause, to himself. he buried every flicker of unhappiness, every part of him that bled at the cost, deeper with every day. he put it all in a grave where he'd one day join all his ghosts. but the weight is so heavy some days, like today,
and this is jyn. she's seen the worst of him, and she still trusts him, and she's still here. and he trusts her like he's trusted nothing in a very long time. so in the privacy of these small rooms, with no one's eyes on him but hers, he lets her help him bear the weight. ]
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in kenos, though, she's found that it isn't terrible to have some sense of stability. maybe she's still wary of fully trusting it, but she finds herself actually looking forward to the evenings that she and cassian share, finds that there's relief in coming home to someone. and even if sleep can't always be found (it's rarely found by one or the other of them, often both), there's relief in the presence of another trusted person, in being able to reach out and confirm that presence with physical touch.
but this relief, as it stands, is tenuous — and very often fraught.
it doesn't stick today, with cassian so heavy in her arms, practically collapsed against her; it doesn't stand a chance, with the way that heaviness seeps into her own chest, causes her heart to sink to the pit of her stomach. his misery becomes hers, and it's — a lot to hold onto.
she's carried his weight before, and she'll carry it as many times as he needs her to, but she wonders if having somewhere to land, like the bed just a few paces behind them, wouldn't make this just slightly easier for him.
a light thumb brushes the side of his face — just to get his attention, nothing more. and she asks, softly:]
Can you walk with me?
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he stirs, and then he nods. takes a deep breath and says, ]
Yes.
[ and moves to straighten, hands falling back to his sides. can you, she asks, and it seems to strike something in him. he isn't hurt; there isn't a scratch on him that wasn't there before. she can see that. she knows, but she still asks him if he can walk with her, as if he might say no, and that would be an acceptable answer. he thinks, he doesn't know what to do with that. but then he remembers jyn in the holy city, fallen to her knees, after saw showed her the message from her father. practically catatonic, even as he'd taken her by the hand and dragged her all the way to the u-wing. even during the scramble to jump to hyperspace, even in the relative quiet, until he'd gotten the message from draven. proceed with haste and keep to the plan.
maybe she would've understood, then, if he'd refused. but there's no need to find out today. instead, he simply follows her, pliable and obedient and quiet, as she leads him to the bed. ]
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but she does get a response, and she can't deny the relief that comes with it. her face softens, mouth setting into something that isn't quite a smile.]
Okay, [jyn says softly, then, for lack of anything else to say. good isn't right, because there isn't anything good about the way he'd collapsed into her arms like that. but it's okay that he'd needed to, because she's here to hold on — no further questions asked.
just as she turns, she reaches back for a hand that she'd dropped, takes it as she leads him those few paces over to the bed. tugs on it, gently, as she finds a seat on the edge of it, indicating for him to do the same.
inviting him.]
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he'd lied to melshi a matter of minutes after finding out he'd been orphaned for the second time in his life. but melshi didn't know him as well then as he did later, as jyn does. she would see right through any false assurances. and, in truth, he doesn't have the heart to make them. this manifestation of the blight, these mirrors, managed to reach through his ribs and pull something very old and very broken and very raw into the light. and, to his credit, amos had been kinder than some would've been. than many might've been. but the kindness can hurt too; pressure on a wound can still be enough to crack a fragile surface. jyn, so far, has trod carefully, and he's grateful for that, but even her kindness could become a knife if misapplied. ]
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there's a time and place to push, though, and this isn't it.
so she keeps her hold on his hand, giving it a squeeze as the space on the bed beside her creaks under his added weight and silence settles in between them.
after a time, she casts out a quiet probe.]
Did I ever tell you about when I scammed an Imperial officer out of all his credits?
[she doesn't know what might've been in the file that the alliance had compiled on her, beyond a general rap sheet — specifically liana hallik's rap sheet — so it might be something he has scant details on already. if it is familiar, that's safe. if it isn't, and some part of her might be willing to bet on that (she doubts anyone there could've followed her entire trail of aliases), that's still safe; it's parsecs away from everything else, including the unspoken, and it can give him a distraction, if he wants.]
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it might be. it's not harder than standing had been. the softness under his legs is more comfortable, probably, than leaning on jyn had been. and her hand is still in his, warm and small, gently squeezing as he joins her on the bed. he feels no less like there's some horrible, hollow emptiness in his chest, but he's felt that since the mirror illusion had worked its magic. neither breaking free from the bubble nor the walk back nor any moment here has been able to fix any part of that.
and why should it? there are some things that can't be fixed. hasn't he always known that? there were no survivors on kenari. he's been doing things that couldn't be taken back, couldn't even be forgiven, since he was a child. there had never been any making it better, just lashing out at the galaxy that had allowed awful things to happen. just devoting himself to a war that would make the galaxy a better place for other people. he couldn't outrun his pain — and he tried — so he'd weaponized it for a worthy cause.
tomorrow, he wants to tell jyn, he'll be fine. sooner. this is an old misery, and all he needs is a little time to put it back where it's lived since he was a child. once the puzzle piece is back in its place, he'll remember how to live and breathe and talk and work around its presence. this isn't even the first time its spilled over the barriers of its prison, though the first in a while.
he wants to, but she beats him to speaking. he blinks, the question slowly sinking in, and then he finally turns his face to look at her. ]
No, [ he says finally, ] you didn't.
[ and she hasn't. it brushes against the edge of a memory — had it been on her rap sheet, or had he missed that charge while having it compiled? — but even if he had known about this before, it would've been some dry charge of theft from the authorities. not the colorful story she seems prepared to share. ]
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it's been a long time since she's been in the position of trying to provide reassurances to someone else, of wanting to try, and she's — out of her depth. completely. that becomes more and more clear to her as the seconds wear on, as cassian's face doesn't change, the silence starts to eat at her, and she drops her gaze to the floor. this isn't what she's made for; soft words and patience to just be had been left behind when saw had taken her off of lah'mu.
maybe there's someone she could punch. she could do that.
but that would mean leaving him alone, wouldn't it? and no matter how inadequate she is, that doesn't feel right. so, when he finally speaks, and when she picks her eyes up off of the floor to find him looking at her:]
Stupidest man I've ever seen in my life, [she offers, and though it's not exactly the the most interesting start to a story, at this point she figures she has to keep going.] He thought he'd tracked down a whole operation or something, and was definitely too pleased with himself about it. Because when I told him to pay me in advance for the scandocs, he did.
[she scoffs.]
I was in the Outer Rim with all his money and a different name the next day. And he didn't even recognize me when he arrested me for assault years later. [lifting her shoulder in a shrug, she caps it off.] Like I said, stupid.
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or, at least, all of the attention he can muster. it's still no small thing, the full force of his intensity, but a thing that jyn might be used to, by now. it's been a long time since he's looked at her with anything less. he watches her, and he listens, and a glimmer of humor unfurls in his eyes, softens the set of his mouth. it's so easy to imagine her doing this. it's so easy to imagine her pride — and scorn — at being so much the richer after outsmarting an officer. ]
Stupid, [ he agrees, at length, flickers of warmth in his voice.
he tilts until he's able to rest his head at her shoulder again, hair tickling at her neck. this bare spark of warmth he feels now seems like it must be coming from her. a small, flickering flame she lends him from the story she tells, from the heat of her body; the warmth from being at her side, from her shoulder, from her hand in his. his nails had dug half-moons into both of his palms, earlier, and maybe she can feel that now, though he doesn't think of it. he thinks of her. that's so much more easily done than anything else.
though he lapses back into silence, for a time, there's a different quality to it. less hopelessly lost, for one thing, like his body might be here but his mind is years and parsecs away. she's his anchor, in this moment, keeping him grounded here. but there's something else too: the awareness of jyn means the reminder of her worry. she must be worried. of course she's worried. and he wants to say something to her. and he doesn't want to give her an empty lie they'd both see through. and...and, the thought arises, he doesn't want a near stranger in this world to have a fragment of him that jyn doesn't. he hadn't had a choice in amos seeing what he did. he does have a choice now.
his lips part, and he breathes out at her shoulder. and, finally, he says so softly, ]
I had a sister.
[ he says every word slowly, carefully. as gently as if they're something fragile that might shatter as soon as he gives them breath. someone else might say that to begin an explanation, but that's as much of one as he can bear. ]
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by the time he comes to rest there, on her shoulder, he can do so easily. his added weight there, and by her side, is comfortable; she sinks into it, head landing on top of his as she listens to him breathe.
he doesn't owe her anything, she thinks; they can just sit here in silence, together, for as long as he needs, until he pulls himself back together from whatever it was. it doesn't take away her worry, no, but demands only make things worse. she can just be here, a presence, holding his hand.
she isn't ready when he breaks the silence — and she especially isn't ready for what may be the most profound piece of truth he's ever given her.
in the immediate, her intake of breath is sharp, and a voice, his, echoes in her mind: "you're not the only one who lost everything." there'd never been time, really, to consider what that might've entailed, between scarif and here, and — there's a sinking feeling, right to the pit of her stomach, as she considers it. his family, like her family, like so many families, gone. taken, because that's what the empire does.
her hand squeezes his, more tightly than before, and she only says:]
You saw her.
[there's no point in phrasing that as a question; she can fill in the blanks herself.]
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of course she understands. he knew from her file about her mother's death, when she was a child. he was there when the ruins of jedha collapsed around saw gerrera. he was there, still clutching the rifle intended for the job, when fire from alliance x-wings killed galen erso. he knows how intimately she understands losing family. they leave you behind, her teenage self had said. but therein lies the difference between the two of them. ]
I left her.
[ solemn as the grave. he left her behind, on kenari, when they sought out that downed ship. he left her behind on kenari, and there were no survivors. he watched the man who loved him like a son be strung up in a square; he was far out of reach when the woman who him loved more than anything he could ever do wrong died in her home. today, in highstorm: he walked away from her. even if the apparition was removed from the real girl kerri had been, even if she'll never know, he walked away from her, again. ]
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even when he says —
i left her.
— and she feels it as an ache in her own chest.
she wonders, then, in the silence that ensues, somewhere between the words and the solemnity of something old and worn made new again, if a piece has suddenly clicked into place. she wonders if she understands how a man who'd fallen twelve stories would will himself to move again, no matter how painful it must be, to get to the top of a tower. to come back.
the feeling in her chest, the ache and something else entirely at the same time, twists, grabs her by the throat.
and it's — ultimately not important right now. not more important than finding something to say.
it would be an insult to this honesty to give him some meaningless platitude, and she's not one for that, anyway; it'd also be an insult to lie when he'd be able to sniff it out in an instant. for those reasons, and more, she can't tell him that it isn't his fault.]
Sometimes, [she says, finally. haltingly.] People leave when they don't want to. And it doesn't — [her voice catches, and she's forced to take a moment, a breath, before picking the thread up again.] It doesn't mean they're cruel.
[there's a thought that surfaces, then — a hologram, flickering out even before walls start to crumble around it (my love for her has never faded). it's followed by another — a hand slipping away from her face in the rain (i have so much to tell you).
no matter the thorns that had grown around the door to the cave in her mind over the years, the unwieldy roots that she may never actually weed through, there's a truth that's clear: galen erso hadn't been cruel. she refuses to believe that the man tucked into her side, the one who has come back, who wants to come back, is either.]
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of course he's a cruel man. he knows that. she knows it, too. she knows what he was assigned to, meant to, did do to her father. she knows he's done other jobs like that and worse, for the rebellion. he admitted as much to her. she knows what kind of person he is, doesn't she? maybe he hadn't wanted to leave his sister, maybe it hadn't been his choice, and maybe he'd spent years trying to make it right — but it doesn't change what was done. and it doesn't change what he did afterwards, either.
but he feels, just as strongly, a warmth kindle in his chest just the same. the fact that she's trying means so unspeakably much to him. the fact that, on this of all subjects, she's offering words of comfort, holding him close, despite all of the pain being left has caused her is no small thing.
at her shoulder, he closes his eyes.
there is nothing he can bring himself to say, so he doesn't. not about his sister, not about what happened in highstorm, and not about his past. and not about jyn's past, either. the simple idea of formulating something to say to that is unbearable. he swallows, grip on jyn's hand tight, a soft tremble going down his spine.
he has been carrying kenari since he was a child. he has been carrying this loss for so long that he grew around this hole in his life. he rebuilt himself: for ferrix, for the rebellion. he's tried to rebuilt himself here in kenos, in the wake of scarif, but he has no clear image of who he's needed to be here. someone strong, for jyn? maybe. a spy on the side of neither faction, focused on unraveling the mysteries of this place? maybe. the persona he premised on convenience, using the name of a dead friend? that's already wearing thin, and the time is likely coming when he'll have to abandon it entirely.
the clarity he'd discovered on scarif feels like a condemnation now. the recognition that their work to find the death star plans could never erase his crimes had been a revelation to a dying man. it's something very different to a living man: yet another weight to carry for the rest of his life. and today, and right now, he's tired. ]
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nothing's okay, exactly. the past is always hovering over them both — a fact that neither her understanding his just a little bit better nor any attempt at a reassurance, however effective or pathetic, will ever change. though she's accustomed to it (they both are), the present is uncertain. and the future? she's still not entirely sure how to think about, when she'd counted it out for so long.
but they can have this, a quiet moment tucked away from everything else. there can be a time and space to regroup, to allow the old wounds to settle back in again. her job is just to be here, a steady support, someone who'll keep the rest of the world out and away from him while he takes what he needs.
and so jyn doesn't say anything, either, instead letting the silence lapse over them for as long as it will. she keeps her hold on him solid and firm, a reaffirmation that she isn't going anywhere, and her eyes close, too.
nothing's okay, exactly. but maybe there's something here that's better than it could've been.]
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I expected more people to disagree.
[ with his nomination, he means. ]
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she doesn't regret anything she's said on communion, but she does regret punching solid wood.
and it's enough to pull her out of it, to slide her gaze over toward cassian. she gives him a shrug, says,]
The people who do disagree are asses.
[hayame and silco, like. what are their opinions worth.]
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[ there's a slight pull downward at one corner of his mouth, disapproval at the reminder of her injury. like, you could've reacted in ways that were not punching logs, jyn.
but. anyway. ]
Diplomacy isn't what I'm good at. [ and, to make his point, ] I lied to all of them for months.
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after she opens her eyes again, though, she... better gets it. the point. and she turns, facing him more fully.]
That doesn't make you not good at it. [she says this like it's a fact — because to her, it is. plain and simple.] And they can see that.
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that is what he is. that is who he is. she has to know that; she has to know that better than anyone, even those here who have seen his heart. she'd come to know what he's capable of, in the damp and dark of eadu. and that's where he always belongs, in the end, those shadows. not public forums, public discussions, places where he would've given a report of his findings and quietly left. his recent address to bearers had been familiar in that way. this is not. ]
There's a reason I didn't report to Mon Mothma.
[ the very face of diplomacy in the alliance, if there is one, determined as she was to try peaceful solutions within the empire as long as they were possible. no, he was quickly sent to general draven for his skills. for the skills he developed, years with the rebellion. ]
It wasn't me that inspired the others to go to Scarif; this [ this kind of situation ] is where you shine.
[ chirrut would agree, he knows for sure. ]
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unavoidable; there's no point in trying to pretend otherwise.
so her gaze sticks, studying him over the small distance between them. she knows the difference between cassian's lies and his truth, and she knows that what she's getting is the latter — at least in the way he sees it. and it's complete bantha shit; how much had her words to the council alone actually accomplished? most of them had still wanted to surrender, even when she'd given them every reason to fight.
four people couldn't have faced an entire imperial installation.
but they'd been far more than four, because —]
Scarif wouldn't have happened if you didn't believe me.
[again, it's a fact.]
That took both of us.
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he listens, and he swallows, and he nods, slowly. there's truth to what she says, he knows. melshi, pao, plenty of others who followed him to scarif. (to their deaths.) he knows. but that — wasn't the same thing. he'd known those people for years, through missions against the empire, fellow soldiers, fellow operatives. this is different. ]
I'm sorry. [ he breathes out. ] Of course, you're right.
[ he leans closer to her, presses a kiss to the top of her head. small affections that he'd been getting used to giving. ]
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a wound often hurts more when it's reopened than it had when it was originally made. i'm sorry and you're right tear it a little further.
something goes tight in her chest; her gaze drops, focusing on the floor. she'd rather be anywhere else, think about anything else, and —
his kiss is a balm, one that feels good to lean into. or good enough, at least, for her to lift her eyes back up, to reach for him with her good hand before he can pull away from her, brushing strands of hair from his forehead with her thumb.]
Your hair's still long, [she tells him, quietly.] Never got around to cutting it, did I?
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Are you offering? [ just as soft. his eyes drop from her face to her sprained hand, and then back. ] One-handed?
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she can linger in that.
there's a shrug, as light as she's resolved to be in this moment, alongside:]
If you're brave enough.
[a hint of a smile, too, begins to pull on her own mouth.]
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so by way of answer, he lifts a hand to cup her cheek. he leans back down to kiss her on the lips, soft and chaste. and then he says against them, ]
Let's find out how brave I am.
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kenos has chances — and maybe, just maybe, they can feel like possibility.
or, at the very least, chances can feel like his lips against hers, gentle and warm. they can feel, too, like the second kiss she leans in and claims, like just... being.
her smile is bright.]
Get the scissors, and we'll see.
[nothing will come in here to threaten those chances.
she'll make sure of that.]
post-ambassador discussion
Hey... I just wanted to thank you for today. What did you think about how things went?
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before she, again, remembers.
she exhales a heavy breath into the empty air of an empty house, and closes her eyes for a moment. for an hour.
it's unexpected when claude reaches out — and there's a sense of some of that surprise — but it isn't unwelcome. she'd meant to say something to him beforehand to... thank (?) him for believing in her enough to put her up for this in the first place, but she hasn't been able to find the words for that. still isn't able to, so she starts with:]
I think it went a lot better than it could've.
[it's quiet and thoughtful over communion, and some parts relieved — at what she's saying, but also, maybe, that she's not having to sit with it alone right now.]
We have a start.
later,
It went well, [ he finally suggests.
it certainly sounds like it'd been less contentious than it could've been. no one had even thrown a punch. ]
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he's a good audience, and for a good audience, the story is easy. even for someone who isn't good with her words.
and so is the smile that lingers with traces of amusement for a time, before smoothing out, rather than faltering.]
Sure, [she offers in response, with a tilt of her head on the pillow rather than a shrug of her shoulder; it's comfortable where she is, entangled with him, and she'd rather not do anything to disturb that.] If you forget the idiot who wouldn't stop trying to tell people it was a good idea to send someone who doesn't know how to fight into a forest full of monsters that'll definitely kill them.
[it's abundantly clear that she's still sore about that, even if the rest of the group had ended up having the sense to vote against it. like... what kind of brainless thing?]
Or the idiot who was trying to plan escalations during peace talks.
[oh, has she neglected to mention this part up until now?]
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she had neglected to mention that part up till now. his eyebrows draw together, creases forming between them, and for a moment there's nothing but disbelief writ across his face. ]
What?
[ he isn't shocked, exactly. he's taken aback, yes, but also angry. scoffs again — but there's nothing amused in it this time. ]
Who was doing that?
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it'd been an insult to anyone who'd actually been there to try to do something in good faith.
only problem with relaying this now is: she's not good with names. she's shit with names. fuck if she could even remember her cellmate's name on wobani now, much less than when she'd still been in there.]
The... white-haired man on the Zenith side.
[she scrunches her face, takes another minute to think — because she really is trying here. then:]
Cid? I think that was his name.
[that sounds right. anyway,]
He told me in private that he was willing to be the unarmed diplomat and die to escalate tensions with Meridian.
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still. his eyebrows pull downwards, disapproving, as jyn wracks her brain for the name. and when she produces one, cassian gives a slight nod. white-haired, zenith, cid — yeah, that sounds familiar to him too. he has a faint memory of a man he'd spoken to upon arrival, so certain that everyones' worlds were gone forever and that yima was doing them a kindness. ]
It's a waste of time.
[ impossible as it is to be tense, in this soft bed with jyn, there's the edge of a growl in his voice. ]
This war, these factions, all of it.
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(this cements it, now, that she can never go back to that, but she doesn't have to.)
she could kiss him — literally — but for the moment, holds off. says instead,]
Fucking bantha shit, is what it is.
[a roll of her eyes; her own scoff has no less of an edge than his voice.]
And these people are too stupid to realize it won't benefit them.
[also just... stupid in general, but.]
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her agreement only seems to seal that. he closes his eyes briefly, then opens them to focus on her once again. follows the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the brown hair framing her face. ]
Jyn.
[ the cord around his throat and small pouch slung across his chest, visible through the absurdly open shirt, feel so heavy. but this is a thing he's already committed to; and Jyn is someone he's already committed to; so he cannot put this off. ]
If I left Zenith, would you come with me?
[ it's a question and not a question. they went to scarif together. they went to highstorm together. but she gets a say in this. she gets a glimpse of the plan he's been turning in his head, over and over, for a week now. ]
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(which is no small thing, either — being wanted, rather than left behind. there's a stupid moment where something stings in her eyes and lumps in her throat, but she manages to blink, manages to swallow, hopefully before it ever shows.)
at the same time, the question isn't actually unexpected at all.
because, suddenly, a knot in her chest that's been there for weeks starts to loosen. because, she admits,]
I've been thinking. [she pauses, idly dragging her bottom lip through her teeth, considering. over so many nights during which she'd given up on sleep entirely, she had been thinking; ruminating over something that'd turned her skin cold, but had just been frustratingly far out of reach. now, though, slowly, haltingly,] It's all stupid, but maybe Zenith isn't the best place to get anything done.
[that's exactly it, isn't it? the place she's tried to get to — and finally arrived at, with the help of a trusted confidant putting things to actual words that she hadn't quite been able. there are things that she could do in meridian to try to make this place better.
that they could do.]
And I think we should go. [she takes their still-joined hands, gives his fingers a gentle squeeze.] I'd go with you.
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how much can he even trust yima to do that for them?
he trusts quetzacoatl's offers more. he trusts set's promises more. and maybe the sides don't matter, but then what is he even doing with zenith? and it makes sense; john had agreed. one on each side. one with a good reason to stay in the sunlit city, able to keep his eyes open. and hadn't akua spoken to him, too, of the ease of changing sides, how that had to mean something. it has to mean something, all of it.
and then jyn says, i'd go with you.
unbidden, he remembers a different conversation from a lifetime ago. he remembers being unable to stay; he remembers another being unable to go. he remembers that's just love. the reminder is like a shock to his system. he shivers, even as she squeezes his hand gently. ]
I want you to come with me, [ is a confession, even though she's already agreed. but she should know this; he wants her to know this. ] And I want to go to Meridian.
[ there are so many pragmatic reasons for him to go, and he'd expressed them all. but to jyn, and only to jyn, he shares this reason. cassian andor had needed zenith, in the shadow of the iconoclast oracle; but now he wants meridian. he only needs to lean forward a short distance to meet her mouth with his, to push all of that longing into a kiss, soft and sweet. ]
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it's a swell of emotion in her that she can't quite blink back this time, can't quite swallow down. and how could she? if it's been decades since anyone has told her they loved her, it's been just as long since anyone has expressly wanted her in their life, enough to ask something so significant. her chest shakes on the next breath, but one the next —
jyn lets him have that, with her, as he presses their lips together; she gives that back, kind, because she wants this, too. wants him in her life just the same, wants him to come with her wherever she goes. always.
when she feels her lungs begin to burn, she pulls back just far enough for a breath. just far enough to say, softly,]
Then we'll go.
[one last affirmation, because it feels important to also say clearly, before she lifts her free hand to his face, cupping his jaw, and pulls him back in toward her to kiss him again. it's not quite gentle, like the way he'd kissed her; it's with the force of all the things she still can't put a voice to.]
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and it's terrifying.
will jyn grow to regret her love, as others who have loved him did? will this, the wanting him, hurt her as it has others? will he let her down as he did his family, his home? won't she suffer for it? and the love, the choice to return to jyn, is a commitment; it's one he made with open eyes. but — there's still a contradiction between them. jyn wants him. he wants her to live. he doesn't have it in himself to want life.
she pulls him back in, more insistent than the last time, and he follows. of course he does. his free hand goes to her hair, brushes it backwards blindly, fingers trailing till they find the back of her neck. he pulls her closer as they kiss, narrows his attention to her soft lips, to the warmth of her, to the nearby thudding of her heartbeat.
he doesn't have it in himself to want life, but he does want her. he does want this — quiet moments where nothing else and no one else exists. he's lived with pain for so long that he'd forgotten how its absence felt. that even these glimmers of time without it, when she overwhelms his senses and blurs out everything else, are breathtaking. before, he'd used sex to drown out the noise. with jyn, with others before her. but this is different. this is devoting the whole of his attention to her, to cherish her, because he wants to give that to her, because he wants to spend his life on doing that. this love is not a bandage over his pain, but a counterpoint to it.
he has always wanted a better galaxy so someone else should not suffer. for the first time in a long time, he wants something for himself. ]
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that's what love is — or, at least, how the concept, made real in her hands and in his (gentle, always gentle) hands on her, made real in the space — and heat — that they share, takes definitive shape in her mind. it's not the holodrama nonsense that could never actually fit into anyone's reality, but the commitment, the choice to follow each other. the trust that the other will be there, never far behind.
and because she doesn't doubt any of it, not anymore, she opens herself up to it.
she opens herself up to him — lips parting under his, hands moving to his waist to nudge him over top of her as she lies on her back, so that everything she feels on all sides of her, in every possible way, will be him. it's not a position she usually likes to be in, with a near complete lack of leverage and space to be able to move.
but here, with him, she'd never want to.]
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his touch, for its intensity, is tender in a new way. he'd told her before, with his words, i love you. now he shows her. he shows her in the way his lips meet hers; he shows her with the sweep of his tongue; he shows her with how he fumbles, one-handed and without looking, for the hem of her shirt. he shows her when he pulls his face back, but only so he can press a kiss to the base of her throat, near the kyber crystal she always wears, and then another just because. ]
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this is intensity like she's never felt, and it —
doesn't scare her, because it's him. it feels right, because it's him.
and here, now, nothing else matters — including time.
but they've still squandered weeks of it away, haven't they? weeks that they could've been sharing this. maybe time doesn't matter, but she doesn't want to fucking waste any more of it.
she nudges them both upward, quickly capturing his mouth with hers before releasing as she does, if only so she can push his shirt from his shoulders and down his arms before tossing it aside, if only so she can give them enough space to work her own over head. if only so they can remove the last of what remains between them, piece by piece.]
anyway i guess this is a good place to note we're getting nsfw
he can return his attention to jyn.
because that may not be everything between the two of them gone yet — there's the matter of her leggings, which will perhaps not be so easily removed, and his swim trunks — but he finds himself as impatient as she feels. (i love you. i love you.) he curls back over her so he can catch her face with both hands and bring it back to his, returning his mouth to hers and savoring the taste of her. his fingers tangle in her hair, find the fabric of her hairband and pull that off as well, letting the waves fall to her shoulders.
they have to part for breath eventually, and he leans his forehead against hers when they do, closes his eyes briefly. (i love you. i love you.) opens them, kisses each eyelid when she blinks, then carefully lowers her till she can feel the fabric of the bedspread against her back. he slides his hands back to her sides, kisses her throat again, and then kisses her stomach. working his way downwards, see, because he is impatient and she is impatient but they have time. and maybe there's something a little deliberate to it, too; because she is impatient, and he will oblige...soon. ]
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but the rest of her is impatient; they both are. it's relief she sighs into his mouth when he curls back over her, the warmth of his skin on hers, with nothing else between them there, even better. one hand reaches for his face, catching him as he catches her (following him, as he follows her), thumb grazing gently over the rise of his cheek as they kiss; it lingers, there, when they emerge for a shared breath, and just exist for a moment, foreheads touching, in that shared space.
i love you, is her equally silent echo of the unspoken, in the way that she allows her eyes to close just long enough for him to kiss each of her eyelids, in the way that she holds on as he slowly, carefully, lowers her onto her back.
in the way, too, that allows herself a long, slow breath, and then another, as he takes his care, working his way down her throat, to her stomach, with kisses pressed to her skin. though tries, and mostly succeeds, to remain still (a feat for her), she wriggles just a little bit under him, pushing the band of her own leggings down as she does. because she's impatient, because even if they have time, it doesn't stop anticipation from building in her.]
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he's not teasing her. but he's not not teasing her.
her other hand gets the same treatment, as he shifts his weight back somewhat precariously onto his knees, while he keeps a safe but firm grip around the wrist of the hand that's been kissed. and it's only after that job has been done that he releases her, turns both his hands to that band of her leggings. he gives it an experimental tug, pulling down far enough that he can press another kiss to a few centimeters of newly exposed skin, then curls his fingers around the elastic to pull it down harder. it gives, of course, but tight as it fits her, pulling it down her hips takes more effort than he'd maybe banked on this requiring.
at one point, he looks back to her, catching her eyes with his, and very slowly raises an eyebrow. his voice almost doesn't tremor from repressed laughter when he says, ]
This place has terrible fashion.
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it's even worse when he glances up, when she can see the way that his eyes crinkle with it, and her heart jumps into her throat from the sight of that. when all that fond warmth settles over her again, smoothing out all her edges and keeping her in the moment.
fuck, comes another thought. it's a good look on him.
she's powerless, really, in the face of that, to do anything but let him continue to fucking tease her, let him try his own efforts at pulling down her leggings. except —
she bursts into small titters of unrestrained laughter when he gets stuck and catches her eye. it's not at him (except it kind of is), and —]
I'll break both of Diane's arms, [she pronounces on a breath, still laughing.] And when she can't defend herself, I'll go to that stupid fucking mud pit and throw mud at her until she lets us have normal clothes back.
[it definitely doesn't sound threatening at all.]
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cassian andor, who has been on both sides of an interrogation without cracking, who is famously hard to read according to certain groups within the alliance, who smiles much more easily for an act than out of real mirth,
begins to laugh helplessly, tips over so that he lands beside her, shoulders still shaking, and gestures for her to get on with handling those leggings (and leg warmers, diane why). regaining his composure is fucking difficult when jyn fails to stop with her colorful threats, just keeps going until the image reaches a new level of absurdity. he passes a hand over his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stop laughing, offers a breathless, ]
"That doesn't sound like a super fun time."
[ without looking up. has diane said those exact words, in that exact order, in that exact cadence, over the course of this day? of course she has. probably to both of them! ]
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his impression, which really is in diane's exact cadence, only makes that worse.
she can't remember the last time she'd laughed like this, either — until her sides ache, until there are actual tears in her eyes. after a time, after she's wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and she catches her breath, she sets to work on the stupid leggings and leg warmers, wriggling and tugging on the whole combination to the point of finally getting free of them.
without missing a beat, she tosses them to the other side of the room, where they land in a heap on the floor. good fucking riddance.
falling gently back down onto the bed, then, she shifts closer, hooking a (now) bare leg around cassian. for a moment, it's almost like she's going to lean in to kiss him, but she stops short of that. says, instead, in her own impersonation,]
"Maybe you should try the spa! Rest and relaxation gets everyone in tip top shape!"
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and he doesn't focus on trying to remember, not when he has the privilege of hearing jyn's laugh. the sound is so bright, so sweet, so lovely. he feels a surge of satisfaction when she only laughs harder at his impression, finally starts to get his breathing back under control as she wiggles out of those leggings herself. he's finally able to drop his hand in time to watch her throw them across the room — which would make him grin if he weren't already — and he tips his head up to look at her as she returns to laying on the bed. his smile softens, then, to something fonder, as he turns his face towards hers. as she hooks that leg around him. and then she leans in so close,
and echoes diane.
and he drops his head back on the pillow, reaching to smother his own laughter all over again. then he has a better idea — moves his hand to, instead, go behind her head and pull her in for another kiss. likely, they're both still laughing, but that has to be a good way to get her to stop mimicking diane and to help him recover his composure. he's still the one to break off the first attempt, trying so hard to push that mirth aside, and takes the second attempt with more ferocity — enough to push her backwards, encourage her to return to her back, his free hand moving out to steady his weight on her other side once again. ]
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and isn't it amazing how easy this is, how light? life as she's known it — as they've both known it — is hard and cold and fucking unfair; those things are still true (she'd never, of course, be under any delusion of otherwise), but sometimes, sometimes, in the certain moments, with the right person, it can be something else.
it's that thought, maybe, that comes at the same time as cassian's second attempt to kiss her, that quiets her laugh down, has her taking him in instead. has her reaching for him, pulling him over her as he guides her onto her back again, sighing into his mouth at the comfortable familiarity of the weight.]
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he lifts his lips from hers only to kiss her again, and then again, curled over her. his arms are bent, fingers to elbows balanced on the bedspread, so close to her that the bare skin of their chests are pressed flush as he makes every attempt to kiss her senseless.
and then finally, when he really has no option but to come up for air, he raises his head with eyes dark and intense, and, ]
It's not too late if you still want to try the spa, instead.
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still does, even as, when they emerge for air, he lifts his head and says that. still does, even as she lifts a single brow, and responds, easy,]
Fuck off.
[her voice, breathless, also has no bite at all whatsoever; on the contrary, there's just another hint of a laugh in it, one that reaches all the way to her eyes.
then, lifting her head just slightly off the pillow, she leans in for another kiss before he has the chance to comment.]
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and once that is dealt with,
there is really nothing left to do but reward her, at last, for her patience. the time for teasing her has come and gone; now he only wants to make her feel very, very good. and so he — sets his mouth to task, as intent as he's been about anything in all the time she's known him. ]
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but that's not what he has in mind.
and — she's certainly more than content with that, too.
it's not a sense of urgency that comes to her, exactly, as he works intently, because she's learning the value of time, and it's not want, because of course that had never left — but it's heat. it's her senses steadily becoming overwhelmed, eyes sliding closed so she can focus on that, surrender to it. it's her own pounding heart and breaths becoming harder to catch, and her hands, empty, tightly grabbing fistfuls of sheets. it's being brought to a place she'd tried to seek out with others in his absence, and while most of that had been fine, done what it'd needed to do, it —
hadn't been this fucking good.
something in her, one last bit of sense, maybe, tries to say something to that effect, but in the end, it's a gasp she's able to manage, and a half-formation of his name.]
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and later,
curled on his side next to jyn, their foreheads touching, he's still in awe of this. of her. and he still leans forward to peck her lips, brief, and murmur as he pulls back, ]
You're beautiful.
[ and she is. she's as beautiful now, tangled in the blankets, hair loose and half in her eyes, as she's ever been, always is. she's beautiful because she's jyn, and he will never see her otherwise. it's such a strange miracle that they have this after everything — this chance to discover one another in new and different ways, to actually think about some kind of future together. A life. he doesn't know how to want life, but he wants her — achingly. maybe that's something. ]
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is she happy?
the whole concept of that is so foreign that she still struggles to piece it together, but, she thinks — maybe. maybe she is. maybe it's actually possible.
he has this way of showing her what's possible when she'd thought otherwise.
and that's one reason, one reason out of so many, more than she can actually quantify, that —]
I love you.
[it's soft, barely more than a whisper, but it fills the space they share with every bit of emotion she feels.
you're beautiful, too, is a thought that goes unsaid, maybe less because she's not quite sure how to say it, but because she doesn't need to. it's there in how her eyes never leave him, how her hand keeps touching his face, reverent, fingers ghosting over the skin there like they're handling something precious. it's also there in how she leans forward, pressing her lips to his in a long, slow kiss, one that can take the time that they have.
(it wouldn't be terrible if you two made each other happy.)]
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it had been the first time cassian had heard that sentiment in so many words about the two of them. and, even then, he'd known there was truth to it — whether he liked it or not. it had been terrifying to consider. there are so many reasons why she shouldn't love him. there are so many reasons why he's likely to bring her pain. has there been anyone who loved him who didn't regret it? and how little he deserves peace; how little he deserves the way she looks at him now, the way her hands skim his face like he's worth something.
the way she says, i love you.
she wouldn't like knowing that these thoughts are never far, even at a moment like this. but maybe she would like knowing the way she speaks, the way she looks at him, the way her touch feels — that all of it seems to fill the space between them, suffuse this moment, until there's little room for worries of deserving. it's so hard to take his eyes off her. it's so hard to think about anything but his arms curled around her, but the way she leans forward now to kiss him, unhurried. it's so hard to think about anything but the slow bloom of bliss inside his chest, anything but pressing closer, deeper, into the kiss.
i love you, goes unsaid. but she has to know, by now. i love you, i love you. ]
🎀
it's love and it's home, one and the same.
those things have always been connected in jyn's mind, she realizes now, and no one brings them together so seamlessly as him. and it's a certainty that's just as safe as any other, here; she does mean in this eyesore of a room, yes, but she'd also mean it anywhere he was, because the safest place for her in any world, in any galaxy, is in his arms.
smiling easily against his mouth, she lets him press closer, and as far as she's concerned, they can stay like that.
time, love, home. they have all three.]
hi! this is stupid!
¡Hola, Jyn!
[ And right away, Jyn is just (gently) blasted with all of the cheerful, friendly warmth that is Quetzalcoatl in Communion. ]
I just wanted to let you know, since we talked about it un poco. Um, there won't be a chance for you to give him a smack with it since I didn't keep it! Eso sería raro... But I did cut off señor Silco's hand!
LKSJDFKJFKS no this is perfect and so is quetz
Shame you didn't keep it. [even through that, though, does jyn also sound maybe just a little disappointed? maybe. hard not to be, when something that's played such a significant role in overly violent daydreaming for several months will never come to pass. (play a small violin for jyn rn)
but that's fleeting, overpowered by an eagerness radiating off of her in communion when she adds:] What'd he look like when you cut it off? Did he cry?
[please tell her he cried, lmao]
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[ Since a scuffle was one thing, but actual, vicious violence was enough to bring out the Zenites that fiercely guarded Yima's manor. Considering she had gone there to try and do a good deed, she had decided it was best to not push her luck... But she says all of this as sunnily as ever, as well as Silco's, uh, less than sunny response. ]
No crying, nada! He was actually a little scary, how cold he was! He's such a little guy, but la intensidad, wow! He said he was going to kill me, but that's no surprise! I figured that was already the case!