I've Got a Bad Feeling About This - OTA

[kestreldawn]

WHO: Jyn Erso
WHERE: At the fountain.
WHEN: February 6, night.
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: Grief, mention of death, depression, implied self-harm.
STATUS: CLOSED

---

Arrival
Blinding light.

That's the last thing that Jyn can remember. No, there's more: the wetness of tears, the feel of cloth and muscle and bone, the inevitable resignation at the end of her short life, and the reverberation of Cassian's heartbeat against her chest.

Cassian.

The name sears across her mind's eye like wildfire, a dagger in her gut, a sharp, hot pain that makes her body ache and her heart shatter. But before she can weep the way she wants to, before she can mourn the loss of him, of them, of the future ripped violently out of their grasp, she realizes she's in water. Her eyes open as widely as they can manage, but there isn't much to see, except the faint light overhead. Go up, she tells herself, her legs forcefully kicking with all of the residual strength she can muster. There's a way out, she can see it. Faint as it is, it's there.

When she finally breaks the surface, she's gasping and clamoring, the rush of the frigid air like needles in her lungs and in her throat. It almost makes her feel like she's suffocating, and the only thing she wants to do is get out of this -- thing. She thinks for a moment that perhaps it's a pond, or a lake, but as she stumbles out and off of it, she realizes that it's a fountain. A fountain? Her mind attempts to make sense of it all, but the chill of the air prevents her from doing so. All she can think now is to survive, that thing she's done so well her entire life, the thing she's so tired of doing. As she scrambles to her feet, it's then that she notices something strapped to her back. She pats the pockets of her drenched trousers, looking for her comm - not that she even imagines it might work in this place - but it's her first instinct to search for it. Only .. her pockets are empty. She's so disoriented that it takes her an embarrassingly long time to even realize that the clothes on her body are different. She considers plunging back into the fountain to see if her old ones are lost in the water, but even disoriented Jyn knows it's a bad idea. Who would she call, if she could find the comm? Who would hear her pleas and cries? There's no one left. She has nothing, not even the blaster she'd had those last moments on the beach.

Oh, the beach, she thinks, feeling her footing slip as she stumbles back into the darkness of her mind's eye. No, Jyn. Focus. You have to focus. She rummages through the pack and finds, much to her delight, a set of clothing for her to change into.

Change into dry clothes, she thinks, starting to create her checklist. Figure out where you are, find some food, find some shelter, check the area for danger, get some sleep.

There's a dull pain in her chest, squarely over what she thinks is her heart. It reminds her of what she's lost, it reminds her of what she might have had. It reminds her of her comrades, of Scarif, of Krennic, of Stardust. It reminds her of their mission. She presses palm to bone, willing the pain, the sorrow to leave. The ache pulsates with each beat of her heart, braying its despair. Emptiness, loneliness, it sings.

But there's no time to weep, the threat of tears beginning to sting the backs of her eyes. No, for now, she needs to survive.

Comments

[fishermansweater]

If he had something better to tell her, Finnick would. He can't stop imagining himself in her place, desperate for Annie, thinking they'd been separated, that she'd been hurt (he can't even let himself think killed). He can imagine how desperate he'd be, the need he'd have for action. To find her, see her, hear her voice, hold her again.

So he can understand Jyn's bluntness. He wouldn't want to waste any time on talking in that situation either. He can see the belief in what he's saying spark in her, and watches as it smolders behind her eyes, until somehow under the drenched clothes and the exhaustion in her face, she's suddenly forged of steel, strong in the face of the blows she's been dealt in getting here.

He can respect that.

"It's been dangerous outside," he says, gesturing to the sky, where the now ever-present auroras are dancing. "There have been lightning strikes for several days, he's probably holed up in one of the empty houses."

It had been constant rain that drove Finnick and Annie inside, and he's wondered, sometimes, if that was a play by the Gamemakers to force them into the village. Annie had tailed Cassian enough that Finnick knows he'd had no settled place to stay, choosing to camp out in the woods, just as the two victors had when they'd first arrived.

(Maybe the lightning is to drive Cassian into the village.)

There's something else to consider before they start out, though. The moon is waxing and the auroras are still casting their greenish glow over the night, but the temperature still drops at night, and Jyn is still soaked from the fountain.

"We might be out in the cold for a while. You should put on something warm. We can stop at the Inn if you want." He points, across the park, to the long, two-storey building across the road. "There should be a coat in your bag."

Cassian had been freezing before they'd even made it to the Inn; it's not that cold today, but it's cold enough.

More than half of you will die of natural causes, says a long-ago memory that will always be with him.

[kestreldawn]

Dangerous. Part of Jyn wants to laugh at the absurdity of such a statement. This? A quiet town in who knows where? This isn't dangerous. Not after what she's seen and what she's been through. Danger is hunkering inside a bunker, a mere child, hoping someone will rescue her. Danger is learning to fight and to do it well, taking Imperial life after Imperial life in the name of resistance and justice. Danger is stealing identities and creating false names, plotting out assassination plots and failing, getting caught. Danger is allowing herself to feel anything for a man like Cassian, but being unable to stop herself from launching herself off of the precipice. This is idyllic, she thinks, but this man seems to want to help her. Though she doesn't necessarily trust him, not yet, she sees no reason for him to have to lie to her. Unless, of course, the whole thing is a rouse - but she can't let herself think that way. No, she has to believe in what he says.

Jyn wants to tear from house to house, empty or not, screaming his name until he hears her. She even considers the option for longer than she should. But, given that she doesn't know how long she's going to have to be here, she thinks that perhaps barging into houses - occupants or not - is not the best first impression to make. Maybe people would understand, once they heard the full story. Maybe they wouldn't. She wants to scream his name until she can't manage to speak, until she can't manage to breathe, until there's nothing left inside of her but the sound of it. The only name she's ever loved to feel on her tongue and on her lips, the only name that she's ever carried with her like a relic, a talisman. She wants to chant it like a prayer.

She sets her jaw as he speaks. There's a desperation in her now, one that can only see the light, the promise of Cassian, nothing else. It isn't as cold as many of the places she's been, but there is a certain chill in the air. She takes the pack off of her body and searches for the coat. She wonders, would the fire inside of her be enough to keep her warm? Would the thought of Cassian be enough to drive away the cold? It has been so far. It's kept her alive so far. She slips the coat over her wet clothes, then hooks the pack on one shoulder.

"This is more than warm enough," she says. "I've dealt with worse." She can barely feel her limbs, her body - but it isn't because of the cold. It's a strange detaching between mind and body, and she swears she can see this all beginning to unfold from somewhere high above.

[fishermansweater]

Danger can be many things. There's something disbelieving in her expression for a moment when he says it, but this place is dangerous even aside from the lightning, though so many people here seem not to want to believe it. But Finnick knows the places danger can lie. Danger can be a stranger's smile. Danger can be a word whispered in the wrong place. A look to the wrong Peacekeeper. A rock or reef hidden under the surface. A meadow in which everything is poison. A bird engineered to kill. A child with nothing left but desperation. A kiss observed. Treason betrayed. Going outdoors in the two weeks after the revolt. Going to work the morning the docks exploded. The secrets he knows. The whispers of revolution.

Danger has been every day of the last ten years, that lie that nobody but the victors knows: victors are promised safety from the Games, but delivered danger for the rest of their lives.

Still, whatever she's been thinking, she doesn't voice it. Finnick watches, his expression impassive, as Jyn digs for the coat. He's not surprised that she chooses to sacrifice dryness for the sake of moving quicker. He'd probably do the same, though he's watched enough people die of hypothermia on live television to know the risks. Cassian is important. That's what matters to her now.

He doesn't argue, though it's only going to get colder as the night goes on. It's her choice, and she seems capable enough for him to trust her that she can make do with the coat, for now.

"We should check the houses on the outskirts first. A lot of them are unoccupied and he seems like he'd want to be somewhere remote."

That was the logic he and Annie had used when they'd chosen their house: that there was safety in isolation from the others.

He gestures to the road where it strikes off to the west-north-west, towards the blacksmith and a small clustering of houses. "We'll head to the edge of the village and circle around."

[kestreldawn]

Jyn's left her body, she knows this. The bulk of her consciousness has already taken to the skies, soaring over house and building and tree, searching for any sign of Cassian. His face radiates in her mind's eye so brightly she thinks she may go blind, and no part of her would complain or weep if she did. The heady smell of his skin, the brush of his hand, the prickle of those seedling hairs he can never seem to rid himself of - these are the things that will keep her warm. The look in his eyes when she catches him staring, those unspoken words that will never go silent again. These are the things that will drive her forward, these are the things that will save her - again.

"He would," she confirms, adjusting the pack so that it's on both shoulders. Less of a worry of dropping it. "He would want to be as far away from the main thoroughfare and village center as possible." Her line of sight follows his hand, then glances back to him, a light in her eyes that has yet to appear so vividly, so intensely before now. Hope.

Her mind returns to her, looking back out through her eyes, feet quickly pounding against the hardened earth in the direction he'd indicated. The rush of air against her, even with the coat, reaches down to her bones - but she can't think of that now. There will plenty of time to warm up by a fire, with him wrapped around her.

[fishermansweater]

The logic Jyn describes is very familiar, and it validates Finnick's decision that their search should mimic the route he and Annie had planned when they'd come in from the rain. All the houses are on roads, and most of the roads lead out into their surrounds. It's a small village, and nothing is very isolated, but there are some parts that are more isolated than others. There are spots, out on the edges, where the road runs for a distance then hits a small cluster of houses clinging to the furthest edges of the village.

Finnick grabs his spear again before he starts walking, but the way he holds and uses it is more like a walking stick than a weapon. He doesn't want to leave it, but he also doesn't want to alarm Jyn. Still, he suspects he has a better chance of her if not trusting then at least following him now. He has, after all, promised to help her find Cassian.

The more he looks at her, the more convinced he is at the impression he'd had of Cassian when the man had asked about her. There's no faking the way her dejection has become determination, her posture growing more alert, and her eyes shining with a light from deep within, and he can see that for just a few moments before she starts off, ahead of him, hurrying in the direction he'd indicated.

He hadn't been expecting her to bolt like that, but maybe he should have been. He needs to keep up with her, because he has a plan, based on checking around the remotest of the unoccupied houses, of which there's only one along the path he'd indicated: out past the blacksmith and the road that branches out past it. There are two houses further out along the main road, one occupied and one not.

Fortunately, he still has all the physical skill and fitness he'd ever had, from the struggle of merely surviving in this place, where so much of his time is taken in hiking to his fish-traps, foraging, finding wood for the fire and the furnace. So Jyn doesn't outpace him for long.

"Past the big building on this road, there are two houses further out to the west. Someone lives in one of them, but the other's empty. We'll check it first because it's closest."

[kestreldawn]

Jyn should have waited for Finnick, if not for practical reasons then at least for courtesy reasons. But her legs, her feet are moving of their own accord now - pulled like a marionette by invisible strings and an invisible master. There's a dull ache in her chest at the sudden increase in movement, and she has to remind herself of how to breathe, the importance of it, as she goes. The cold air circulating in her lungs feels like needles in her chest, but there's something invigorating about it. Something to remind her that she's here, that she's somehow survived. That even something like the explosion on Scarif was not enough - not enough to take them, not enough to keep them apart. She knows they will privately mourn the friends, the comrades they lost - perhaps silently clutching onto the hope that they, too, will end up here. Bodhi, Baze, Chirrut .. they deserved better.

She hears the growing sound of steps matching hers, and at the sound of his voice, she turns. She had no reason to doubt that the man wasn't at least athletic, if not in shape - but his speed impresses her. There's a twinge of something like that in her eyes when she gazes over at him, floating there for an instant, before it succumbs back to the drive, determination in her eyes.

"Which one's empty? And where to next, if he's not there?" She wants him to be there, she wants more than anything for him to be there - resting, safe, dark eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. Alive. But she knows the odds of such a thing happening - and they've never quite been in her favor. She needs to keep thinking ahead, keep planning for what comes next, until she's found him. Until she can collapse at his feet, or in his arms, or in his eyes - finally home.

[fishermansweater]

He understands. He'd understand just about anything in her desperation. He knows. He's lived with the fear she thought was her reality, and just the thought of being in her position hurts, deep in his chest. It's important. It's urgent. So he runs, and he catches up with her, and he sees that look in her eye as she assesses him, his ability to keep up with her, and he nods, his way of letting her know he'll keep up with her. He's with her.

"The furthest one. Just along here."

Some victors fall into the life of luxury and lose every skill they'd had. Finnick didn't, except for those first years after Snow told him what his role as a victor would be, when he'd as good as fallen apart, and Mags had been all that kept him together. For years since, he's trained, run, swum, kept himself in as good a shape as he can, because sometimes he might need to help a tribute train ... and now because of the Quell.

Here, that's been useful. Some other victors wouldn't have been able to fall straight back into struggle and survival as seamlessly as he did.

And now, it means that he can keep up with Jyn, can outline his plan to her, even as they run for the house just past Helen Magnus'.

"From here," he says, gesturing with the spear simply because that's what's in his hand, "Northwest. There's another road out of the village, three houses in a cluster, one of them empty. Then west of there, another road, another group of houses, then we cut down to the south, across the river."

[kestreldawn]

The nod is noticed, tucked away for later, when she's got the fortitude to acknowledge it appropriately. She knows that this, this desperate manhunt, wouldn't have been happening if it weren't for the man running alongside her. If it weren't for his memory, his attention, his willingness to help her. Jyn knows she will never forget it - him, this, any of it. He will always have an ally in her, for as long as she might be here. And so, she returns his nod with one of her own - a futile attempt at conveying all of that to him.

And it's then that she finally blurts:

"Your name, what is it?" There's a nicer way of going about that, but she doesn't think he'll mind, given the circumstances.

[fishermansweater]

He doesn't need more than her return nod. He doesn't need anything: that's not what this is about. He just has to believe that she, what she represents, can win, or at least can prevail, because that's what has to matter. He'll find Cassian for her. Maybe then, he'll feel better about everything that happened. About Cassian, and working him out. About how much of a threat he poses.

He'd forgotten to introduce himself. He hadn't needed to since he was fourteen until he came here, not really. He'd met people for the first time, of course, but they'd all known who he was. What he was. One of the Capitol's tamed district curiosities, a lover and a killer kept safe, or safe enough, for their entertainment.

"Finnick. Finnick Odair."

[kestreldawn]

Jyn emblazons the name into her mind's eyes - Finnick Odair. It's an odd name, she thinks, unlike ones she knows from home - but so is everything else so far this evening, so it fits the pattern.

For so long, she's kept the names of those who've hurt her, betrayed her, wanted her dead, or left her to die. The list of names of those on whom she could rely was short, the list of those she could trust even shorter. Finnick has made his way to the latter list - not yet - but for now, and until he proved otherwise, his name would stay on the former.

"I'd introduce myself, but you already know my name," she calls to him from over her shoulder, the faintest twitch of a smile on her face and in her voice.

[fishermansweater]

Her smile might only be tiny, but it's still a smile, and it gets a grin back from Finnick. There's something exhilarating in this, like chasing the winds to run from a storm, like dashing along the beach for the feel of the wind, and the sand under his feet. For a purpose that's worth it, it's one of the best feelings he knows. There's still something reckless in him, even after the Games, after mentoring, after everything that's been done to him, and when he has to be so careful, so often ... this feeling means even more, and he'll take it where he can.

Not that it's why he's bolting through the village at night, under the aurora-glow. But it's why he has the light in his eyes as she makes that joke.

"Guess I do. Come on, it's not far now."

He gestures to the house they're headed for, the one that's first because it's closest. Because it's closest, he's also not surprised that Cassian isn't there. It must be a blow to Jyn, but he does his best to keep her from feeling it too hard by reminding her of the plan: swinging around to the northeast and working their way through the empty houses.

He'll stay with her until they find Cassian, or they run out of houses.