La paz llegará, el amor siempre vivirá—No me ames, mas quedate otro dia

[candor1]

WHO: Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor, Bodhi Rook, Finnick Odair (independent threads)
WHERE: Cabin 56, the woods, the spring, wherever else happens
WHEN: Feb 6 through now. "Ten days in the [new] life".
OPEN TO: Jyn, Cassian, Bodhi and Finnick
Quick apology for what a first-love middleschooler I've been being IC and OOC, with me neglecting and Cassian unable to gear shift at all away from Jyn! (Turns out we're super OTP, quelle surprise) Thanks for forebearance, and sorry, guys…!
This might help with moving back into the rest of the game from that first obsessed flush of her arrival. Mainly prompts for kestreldawn and I to multithread several CR developments in a single post, rather than a slew of logs.
WARNINGS: PTSD (both helping and triggering one another—and worrying about that), exchanging war/life/traumatic stories, issues they haven't thought about in decades resurfacing 'cause this is so new and everything's getting unlocked, smut (though surprisingly happy/healthy), treating physical injury (possible self-harm convo), reproductive choices, panic attacks
STATUS: Open

1. the next moment (Jyn and Cassian in their cabin)

2. that night (same)

3. in the next few days (Finnick and Cassian at the spring)

4. in days following (Bodhi, Jyn and Cassian TBD)

5. today (Jyn and Cassian, cabin and forest)

Comments

.:. 1. the next moment .:.

[candor1]

They had been taken out of the war. They couldn't take the war out of themselves. But for this moment, at least, they've found their way home.

They stay there. Kneeling together on the floor, arms around each other, her cheek and lips to his hair, his head bowed to her chest, and just listen to their own hearts and breaths slowing, synchronizing. He thinks he could fall into this peace and never come back out.

…But they hadn't died. Not on the beach, not in the fountain, not in each other. So life inevitably reasserts itself.

Respiration and circulation slow. Adrenaline falls. The surplus heat their bodies were generating finally too dissipates. It may take starting to shiver for one or both to really parse the reality that the fire has died, they're both naked and damp and exhausted, and it's really, very cold.

[kestreldawn]

Jyn feels cavernous, emptied of energy and ammunition. She'd felt this way before, many times over in battle, but this - this was a different beast all together. She knows the energy will return once they've rested, and she thinks that there are certainly worse things than a life without needing gas cartridges for their blasters (though this will take some time to accept and adjust to).

Her eyes close for the briefest of moments, needing to temporarily halt the optical part of her brain to allow for a diversion and rerouting of energy to be sent to her tongue. She positions herself so her chin rests lightly on top of his shoulder, one hand at the back of his head nestled in his dampened strands, the other pressed against his pockmarked back.

"Cassian?" she asks quietly, the reverence still in her voice as though she's about to ask for a favor from God. "What does te quiero mean?"

[candor1]

He turns his face into the curve of her shoulder and neck to kiss it before letting his head rest there in turn. "Where did you hear that?" he murmurs back, frowning a little into her skin. But his muscles under her cheek and his arms around her are relaxed; he's not upset or unsettled, just trying to resolve the inconsistency of her knowing a phrase in a language she doesn't understand.

[kestreldawn]

His question surprises her; had he not realized the words had fell from his mouth hours earlier? It seems strange to her, that he wouldn't remember. But then, she's no stranger to saying things in a fit of emotion, whether it be rage or sadness or joy. Or, perhaps, passion.

She pulls away from him slightly, only to allow herself to dive into his eyes. Her arms rest gently on his shoulders, and her lips, already missing the feel and taste of his skin, press against his cheek. She lowers herself onto folded legs, giving her knees some reprieve from the strength of the ground.

"From you."

[candor1]

His eyes go distant for a moment—replaying his memories of the last hour. Which, on their own are enough, but especially landing on the moment he must have blurted it makes him… Captain Andor Rebel Superspy… blush. He sits back as well, countering the relative distance of their bodies (two endless centimeters!) by sliding up his hand under her hair to cup her face.

He seems oddly… chagrined? vulnerable? the way some men got from what his body had done in hers. But that didn't bother him; his embarrassment was at his involuntary reversion to that language. But it was indeed that aspect, not the meaning—which he provided with a slight smile and raising his eyes to hers.

"The exact translation is 'I… want you.'" Seriously, why the hesitation, actions have already spoken louder… More embarrassed, again, that he didn't realize he'd said it—and just admitted to her that he didn't remember. At least this next bit they've now said in a language they both understand… "Also a way of saying 'I love you'."

.:. 2. that night .:.

[candor1]

They'll eventually find the bed, or restoke the fire and lay down again in front of it, once more piling all their clothes on top of them; arms around each other, other parts shifting of their own accord to strengthen the weave of them. But most definitely not for the last time, one will be woken by the nightmare of the other. Just as often it'll be Cassian's; this first time, it's Jyn's.

[kestreldawn]

"Papa?" a voice rings out like a bell. It's small, and weak, and faint. It belongs to a child. "Papa?"

Suddenly, Jyn's walking beside -- herself, only it's who she used to be, when she was small. The girl looks no older than four, her limbs short and her hair flaxen and layered with curls. The girl doesn't see her, or at least isn't letting on that she does. Jyn tries to reach out, touch the girl's hair, but her arms won't move. Only her feet, only where they decide to go.

There's no sun. The air is cold, damp - she wonders if they're inside of a cave. The girl breaks into a sprint, running towards something small on the ground - Jyn can see there's something there, but not what it is.

Jyn's feet mirror the girl's movements, and she's suddenly running full-speed ahead. Yet .. barely keeping up with the girl. She tries to shout, tries to ask her to slow down, to wait. She opens her mouth and forms the words with her lips, her tongue - but no sound escapes. Silence, no matter how hard she tries.

They reach a small stone, jutting out of the earth. No, it isn't a stone. It's -

A hand.

Somehow, Jyn knows it belongs to her father. The girl reaches out, takes hold of it. Uses all of her might and all of her will to free the body from its grave, and inch by inch, more skin is revealed - but as the arm is birthed from the ground, it begins to crumble, piece by piece, until -

Jyn woke with a start, body gleaming with and coated in sweat, her breathing so ragged and heavy that she wonders if she'll vomit right there in the bed. She coughs, hand pressed to her chest, tries to catch the breath that keeps eluding her. Eyes close, forcing back the tears that are rushing forward, head hangs, her hands now pressed against the back of her neck.

[candor1]

Cassian jolts upright as abruptly, hand already outstretched for whatever could be instantly weaponized; but he remembers himself quickly, too, and turns his attention to Jyn.

Seeing her doubled forward, hands clasped behind her neck, he reins in his own adrenaline instantly. Shifting closer, he leans over, to oh so gently run one [newly rebandaged] hand up her taut gleaming back, the other, all of him bending around her to do so, lightly, carefully, reaching in to touch her face.

"What is it?" he whispers. "Are you all right?"

Both stupid questions he doesn't really need to ask, but his voice is meant as a calming caress as much as his hands.

Trying to bring her back from wherever she'd gone, back here, to him. …Or if not, see if she'd let him go there with her.

[kestreldawn]

Cassian's touch startles her - she's forgotten where she is, who's there with her. In the breath that it takes for her mind to catch up, she has half a mind to at least prevent herself from throwing fists and limbs to shirk off her would-be attacker. Barely, but it's enough to keep her from injuring Cassian any more than he already is.

Once her mind and heart and breath return, she crumples into, against him, ear pressed against his chest, arms around his torso. She can feel the ache in her throat as she tries to swallow her tears, the heat and salt of them at the rims of her eyes. Don't cry, Jyn. Don't cry. The voice sounds like Papa, sounds like Mama somehow combined. The whisper of another nightmare she'd once had, the way Galen's touch had cooled the flames, melted the ice.

But for as soothing as the words had once been, they did nothing now but shatter her shield - and little by little, breath by breath by sob, she folds in on herself, her tears unable to be stopped.

[candor1]

He's grateful she didn't punch him. He would have acceded to the logic of it if she had. But more so, is beyond grateful that she folds herself against him and he can hold her close and kiss her brow and give her his warmth.

When she doubles over further—just happened to him not hours earlier—he hangs on and follows. Just to be there. Hurting for her, but knowing he could only wait.

.:. 3. in the next few days [attn. Finnick] .:.

[candor1]

He said he's never been able to do things for himself, but will do anything for her. Well, he has to prove it. He was already supposed to focusing on healing his injuries, and now with Jyn just as capable of keeping them both alive, he has no excuse not to. It's appalling having to stay inside—try to spend so much time asleep. Whenever he's been put on bedrest, he's had to be sedated. It's too much, being left alone only with his own mind.

He finally has an idea that they're both all right with—eye-glintingly suggests they share eventually, but this time he goes alone.

Cassian makes his way back to the spring. What Johanna had told him didn't necessarily imply such advanced healing properties as he would like, but still: closest alternative in this place to bacta. Whether or not it hastens the healing of his hand, it's not a terrible idea to wash it more freshly than with melted snow. And the warm spring might do good to the rest of that arm as well.

Cassian and Jyn have also been thinking and talking about Finnick Odair. Cassian's been wanting to speak to him again ever since speaking with Annie, and finding out (how much she meant to tell him or not, but even just by her attention to him) that he may have done harm there. He hasn't known how to approach Finnick again… but thanking him for helping Jyn, no matter how Finnick would have done it no matter what, was something he wanted regardless.

So he'd had it in the back of his mind to perhaps try and find Finnick after the spring.

He hadn't expected to find Finnick at the spring.

(Things like this are why some people choose to believe in something like the Force… sorry, Chirrut.)

[fishermansweater]

He misses water, here.

Not that there isn't water. There is, of course, and he's by it every day, fishing, setting and checking traps, and simply using the river as helpful navigation through the forest. But he's used to swimming, all the time. Used to the sounds of the ocean as a constant in his life except at the darkest times, when he's in the Capitol. At home, he can usually still swim, even in winter. Here, to do so is to risk hypothermia, unless he swims in the hot spring and dries off quickly.

Today, he just needs the water: too many thoughts in his head, thoughts of things Annie has said, of things he's been trying to avoid thinking about, of memories that are never very far from the surface that make him feel like he can never wash himself clean. He's stripped down to his briefs, and he's been swimming around and around the pool. It's not really big enough for him to swim with the freedom he'd like, but it's better than freeing in the pool under the waterfall.

He's underwater while Cassian approaches, so even though he's been keeping his customary low attention on the ambient sounds that might alert to an intruder, the man appears from the trees before he realizes he's coming.

The one person he doesn't want to be alone and barely dressed in front of. Finnick propels himself across the pool and hauls himself out, as far from Cassian as it gets. His skin, shining with moisture before he starts to dry himself off with his dry undershirt, has almost no scars, despite his combat-wary attitude.

"You should look after that," he offers, jerking his head toward Cassian to indicate the man's hand. He knows when that happened, and he knows it should be better healed than it looks. "Infection will kill you as surely as the cold."

The words sound more abrupt than he means them to, but perhaps that's not surprising.

[candor1]

Cassian had paused, obligingly, a slight distance away. He waited now as Finnick increased it.

…It hurt, dully, distantly, but more than he'd anticipated. Yes, they were strangers. But to have another person, on neutral ground, so quickly after Jyn, recoil from him, even while he was passive, as such a threat… because they understand these things and you are. Yes. But he didn't plan to be again. To anyone. Definitely not to them.

But he wouldn't deny what he'd been; so all right, he'd work to prove it. To all of them.

"Probably not," said Cassian, deliberately dropping his eyes from Finnick and stepping to the edge of the pool. He knelt there, lowering his unhurt hand to touch the water. "I've been inoculated against most terrestrial bacteria for this sort of ecosystem. But you're right that I need to look after it better." He raised his eyes to Finnick again, raising an eyebrow in a universal do you mind/may I too?

[fishermansweater]

Finnick had to school his expression not to show his confusion at Cassian's words. He didn't know what the man meant by the words, and he did know that ten percent of tributes died of infection, sometimes as many as four or five in the same Games, sometimes as few as one. Very rarely none, and then usually only because of sponsor medication.

He wasn't going to admit not knowing what Cassian meant about that not being a threat to him, not to a man who'd already seen him so unbalanced, who'd looked into his eyes and somewhere in them seen the fear he was never supposed to show. Who could have used that against him, if he chose. He'd known so many men who would have, who would have done whatever they could to change the rules, to buy more time than they'd had. How many little meant-to-be kindnesses and extravagant gifts had he been showered with in just such attempts?

He didn't want this to turn into one of those games. He knew how to play them, how to destroy his opponent by making them want him so much it drove them nearly mad when he could throw the barrier of the President's demands between them. But here, would that have mattered? People who claimed to have no knowledge of Finnick, Panem, or the Games would not know that silent fear behind the eyes of every single person in Panem.

He had no defenses, here, and no proof whether Jyn was enough of a barrier between them for safety.

So Finnick tugged his warm pants back on, keeping at least a layer of clothing as a thin sort of armor. He was still watching Cassian to see the man offering the pause before action that indicated waiting to see if it was all right first. Finnick nodded.

"The healing works better if you drink it."

[candor1]

Cassian's eyebrow lifts again, this time in amusement. "Not unusual," he said, "but there is something a little awkward about drinking and bathing in the same place…"

But it's not a dig at Finnick having been in the water. It's self-referential. For Cassian—after leaning over to scoop some water to his mouth in his palm—then shakes his hand dry, sits back, and begins to remove his shoes.

"Don't leave on my account if you weren't done," said Cassian. "I promise to stay on my own side."

.:. 4. over the days after that [attn. Bodhi] .:.

[candor1]

[Jyn and Bodhi have already found each other, and facilitate a reunion with Cassian. Will leave the setup to them!]

re: bodhi (i keep wanting to use the term "bodhilicious")

[kestreldawn]

from here

Jyn forgets. She forgets that Bodhi's lived a life entirely separate to the one they'd inhabited together, the one that led to Scarif. She realizes, as he talks, that she knows almost nothing about him - aside from: defector, pilot, her father's messenger. She's learnt a few other traits of his, like anxious, nervous, fidgety, but that exhausts her knowledge of the man walking behind her. She'd wished, back before Scarif, that she'd had more time - more time for she and Cassian, of course, but more time for the rest of them. She'd wondered from time to time whether, in another life, they could've blossomed into friends. The kind she'd always seen on the holodramas as a child, the kind she'd seen around her as she navigated a war-torn world, but had never experienced for herself.

She wonders, now, whether that could happen.

Her eyes quickly scan the Inn as it always does whenever she enters, and she finds Cassian almost immediately. His back is to them as he sits at the bar, and there's no hiding or dimming the light that shines from her then. It's as though she comes alive at the sight of him. She forces her eyes away from his frame, to flick over her shoulder to Bodhi.

"Looks like we'll be having a reunion sooner than I thought," she murmurs lightly before gesturing with a jut of her head towards Cassian at the bar.

[onlyeverdoubted]

He sees Jyn's reaction before he has anything to tie it to, but when he realizes who she's looking at, it makes sense. He hadn't thought about it before (when was there time to think), but of course. They're as good as made for each other, aren't they? For a moment he's faintly jealous, and what a strange thing to feel, such a plain, petty, human thing, a leftover from another life. It's not of either of them, precisely--he's quite aware of what's out of his league, and besides, Galen's daughter? Never. But of the potential, the comfort, everything that would come with... Well, beside the point.

He just nods, pushing away the moment of smallness he's rather ashamed of, trying to focus on the Captain. This isn't any less miraculous than finding Jyn. Should have been practice. But he's already a bit overwhelmed, and it's not news that his head isn't wired up right. He's completely at a loss for words and more than words, for any idea of what his reaction or his place in this should be. He fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve and grunts a shy reply that doesn't quite settle into a word. A bit better than just gaping at Jyn in the woods, but only a bit.

[candor1]

Cassian isn't drinking. (Of course not. Why wouldn't he go to a bar to not drink.) He's leaning over a piece of his homemade paper, with an odd array of things beside him: his flint and steel, his pocketknife, one of the bar's dishes currently littered with whittled wood fragments and ash, all clearly for the purpose of the sharpened, charred stick he's currently using to slowly and carefully sketch something on the paper.

He's grimacing as he does so. Either with concentration and/or pain of this physical therapy for his still-healing hand; or he's really displeased with the drawing.

[kestreldawn]

Jyn can't see the consternation on his face from behind, but the hunched over stature makes her eyes flinch, briefly, with a vague sense of concern. He looks like he's concentrating on something, perhaps something on the bar in front of him, and she debates for a moment whether to interrupt him. She glances sideways at the pilot she'd stumbled upon, catches something strange in his eyes (something she can't quite read, which frustrates her), then moves her feet in Cassian's direction, motioning with a quick swipe of her hand in the air for Bodhi to follow.

As she nears his back, she slows her pace slightly - so as not to spring up on him suddenly, without warning. She reaches a hand out delicately, presses it to his shoulder as carefully and purposefully as possible.

"Guess what I found loitering in the woods?" she murmurs near his ear.

.:. 5. today .:.

[candor1]

They made a list.

It had to have crossed both of their minds on the beach, in one another's arms: that neither of them had ever—as adults or even most of childhood—experienced anything outside the war. And now they never would. It may have made them ache for each other more than for themselves. But perhaps because of them, others could have fuller lives. And in each other, their dying moment could be to dream of what it would have been like if they'd had the chance.

Here was their chance… and they didn't know where to start. They were painstakingly skilled in so many areas. Domesticity could never have been considered to add them. It wasn't even things like how to divide chores or navigate rituals or resolve arguments… it was having unstructured time. Free of missions, duties, demands of cause or survival. …They needed to maintain their own survival here, but of an entirely different kind. The kind that would have been a blissful vacation for either of them, last life. Finding and preparing their own food was child's play. They had solid shelter—that they hadn't even had to dig or build or infiltrate or capture. They were in a resource-rich forest with fuel for their fireplace literally lying, apparently inexhaustibly, on the ground. But mainly: no one was kriffing shooting at them. Trying to capture or torture or stab them in the back. …Indeed, the possibility that this was capture… when it felt now like "rescue", giving them the reward and opportunity and togetherness instead of annihilation… (but that was a conversation they'd yet have. See, an item on the list.)

Nonetheless; what to do with themselves when not having to run, fight, lie, sow unrest, build order, or scrabble for survival? What to do without the imposed rules of others?

…Why not make their own rules?

Thus: the list. From parchment like that he'd made for his map: their own bespoke laws and regulations.

Example item: give a piece of information about myself to you once a day in exchange for one of yours. Especially things neither wanted to remember or think about. Because they wanted to know all of each other's. And though they wouldn't be as good/kind to themselves as to the other, that was their way of forcing both to do what they thought would help them.

It would grow—possibly the only piece of "decorating"/personalizing their home they'd do—but a lot of it would stay the same from those first days.

Whether or not it was the first that had occurred to them, the item that had become number one on the list: whoever wakes up first, whoever wants to go out and start their own (still often solitary and independent) pursuit of the day: no matter what time of day or night, no matter whether you're going to catch breakfast or need to use the facilities or having a panic attack and need to punch a snowdrift or just stretch one's legs, never leave without waking the other and making sure you've both confirmed knowing it. Never ever just disappear.

Until now, in their whole existence, both have had to get used to always waking at the slightest provocation, instantly, ready to fully function.

Something must actually be working… because in each other's arms, despite the periodic night terrors and disrupted hours for both… they're actually starting to sleep longer and deeper.

…And perhaps not quite really wake up when kissed, but give the countersign from acclimation/habituation, not remembering on properly waking that it's happened.

Cassian went out to check traps and gather firewood, knowing he'd said goodbye and that Jyn had returned the kiss and said it back. Not realizing she hadn't been fully awake.

That she would really wake to simply find him gone.

[kestreldawn]

The sleep - no, the rest that Jyn has been getting ever since she'd found her way into Cassian's cabin (and bed) is unlike anything she's ever known. Sleep has never been a particularly enjoyable thing, aside from the respite from war and death. It's a means to an end, namely two: recharging for the next day's fight, and allow your body to heal its injuries. She only dreams when exhaustion has taken a firm grip on her body, when her brain no longer finds the energy or ability to keep them at bay. Otherwise, her nights are dreamless, mostly empty. When she wakes, she's physically energized but still mentally vacant, emotionally weary.

In Cassian, she's found more than a partner, than a lover, than an equal. She's found more than the missing half she hadn't realized was missing. She's found shelter, and strength, and warmth, and - home. A concept foreign to her since she'd spent that in the bunker, her only friend the insistent droplets of water that fell onto her from above. A concept she might not have ever really know, not entirely.

And so, she now finds herself eagerly anticipating the nights when she and Cassian are able to rejoin again, in whatever way possible, as the night blankets the world around them. She seeks out the harbor of his arms and knows his heart is the beacon, guiding her home.

Yet they have lived solitary lives, ones defined by their singularity and independence. So they've easily reached a mutual respect for each other's need to continue living that way, while also recognizing that they can, should they choose to, begin to modify and adapt to living their independent lives together. The rule to always ensure when the other was leaving had been Cassian's idea, but it felt as though he'd ripped it out of the back of her mind when he'd suggested it. It helped to quell some of the rumbling fear that always lurked in the darkest corners of her - the fear that he would leave. Again.

In the haze of sleep and the unconscious, she'd apparently gone through the motions of confirmation when he'd left - but the bridge between the conscious world and the one she was inhabiting had not finished rebuilding from the night before. When her eyes fluttered open after being kissed by sunlight, she instinctively reached her arm across the bed for his body, having no recollection of his leaving. When, instead of muscle and bone, she was met with the cold, unfeeling mattress, she'd leapt out of the bed.

The panic was so quick, so instant that she'd begun to feel nauseous, hand pressed to her churning stomach, a dry heave quickly following. He was gone. Had he broken the rule? Had he forgotten? Or worse - had he --- She couldn't bear to finish the thought

"Cassian?!" she shouted, feet melted into the ground, unable to move right away. "CASSIAN?!"

[candor1]

Outside in the woods, just beyond the treeline, Cassian has just wrenched a dead bough down from where lightning had all-but split it from its former trunk. (Helping the trees and any passersby as well as adding to his and Jyn's supply of firewood.) The crack and crash drowned out any other recognizable sound. Nonetheless, he pauses a moment, an odd tingle down his spine. But he shakes his head to clear it and gets back to work.

[kestreldawn]

Jyn's panic has blossomed into something worse - terror. She tears through the cabin, finding the scrubs that were tossed to the ground the night before. She doesn't even think about which belong to him, belong to her - they're merely a courtesy (and a hindrance in getting her out the door faster) so as to avoid rampaging around the town stark naked. She shoves her feet into her boots - wrong foot in wrong boot, switches - and doesn't stop to tie them. Some part of her knows the danger in that, but it's quickly silenced by the nausea that seems to have spread to the rest of her body.

She swipes her coat before running out the door, slamming it behind her.

Despite the terror flooding her body and shutting down her systems, she tries to think tactically. If he'd merely forgotten or broken the rule all together, he would still be here, somewhere. She refuses, will not, cannot think of the alternative. She thinks of where he normally goes, what his usual routine is like on any given day. The focus of running through his vaguely outlined schedule allows her breathe again, soothes some of the nausea so that it's holed up in her stomach, instead of everywhere.

Traps. Wood. Exploration. Fish. Manic eyes scan the horizon like quadnocs, and she curses herself for being human rather than machine -

Limited.

She hears the unmistakable sound of splintering; head snaps in its direction. Foot in front of foot, one after the other, until she's racing towards the sound.

"Please be him, please be him," she whispers in between breaths, weaving carefully in and out of the trees.

[candor1]

Cassian is midway through using his tiny knife—

(his failure to get something larger is mainly hesitation to ever pick up any proper weapon ever again. But this is clearly not the right tool for the job… might have to force himself to reevaluate…)

—to loosen some remaining wood in order to pull down the last lightning-struck bough. When he hears the sounds coming fast at him at his seven.

Instantly, he snaps to, leaving the knife stuck in the bark, grabbing up one of the already broken boughs, and crouching into defensive readingess, facing the source of the sounds.

(What was that about never again picking up a weapon…?)