It feels strange - wrong, almost - to be able to exist like this. Without the threat of war, without the looming shadows of the growing Empire and Resistance, without the inherent and urgent need to survive in the most catastrophic of circumstances. Floating in the atmosphere of heartbeat and breath, a voice comes back to Jyn - violently, demanding attention.
"Jyn, if you're listening .. My beloved, so much of my life has been wasted. I try to think of you only in the moments when I'm strong, because the pain of not having you with me ... Your mother. Our family. The pain of that loss is so overwhelming I risk falling even now. It's just so hard not to think of you. Think of where you are ..
She tries to silence it, tries to ignore the first time she'd seen, heard her father since she was seven.
It frightens me to imagine you grown, somehow working to oppose injustice in the galaxy, whether from a laboratory or a starfighter; it frightens me, and I think the Rebellion could ask for no better friend.
Her eyes squeeze shut as her breathing shallows. His words are etched forever in the cavern of her mind, her heart - the one where she had once kept the disgust and hatred meant only for Galen - that now felt emptied of their sharp, dangerous weapons.
"Yet if it isn't so? If I'm wrong, and you left the Rebellion and Saw behind but this message still finds you? You make me no less proud, Jyn. If you found a place in the galaxy untouched by war - a quiet life, maybe with a family - if you're happy, Jyn, then that's more than enough.
Is that what this is?, she wonders. Is this the place her father had imagined for her, dreamt for her - a place untouched by war - with the family she'd found in Cassian? Had Galen meant to exclude himself from that grouping? Hadn't he been her family, once?
The gnawing, eroding guilt begins to seep its way back into her, compounded by the rage she'd felt listening to Cassian's story. She wonders if Galen would've wanted the same for Cassian, had they met - would have seen the echoes of his daughter in a man promised to the Rebellion from such a young age. She thinks he would have, she thinks he would have liked him.
His words force her out of the overbearing fog of her mind, and she's grateful for it. Breathing returns to normal, she thinks the tremor in her hands has left (if they'd been tremoring at all). She exhales the breath of a laugh, turning to again kiss his jaw.
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"Jyn, if you're listening .. My beloved, so much of my life has been wasted. I try to think of you only in the moments when I'm strong, because the pain of not having you with me ... Your mother. Our family. The pain of that loss is so overwhelming I risk falling even now. It's just so hard not to think of you. Think of where you are ..
She tries to silence it, tries to ignore the first time she'd seen, heard her father since she was seven.
It frightens me to imagine you grown, somehow working to oppose injustice in the galaxy, whether from a laboratory or a starfighter; it frightens me, and I think the Rebellion could ask for no better friend.
Her eyes squeeze shut as her breathing shallows. His words are etched forever in the cavern of her mind, her heart - the one where she had once kept the disgust and hatred meant only for Galen - that now felt emptied of their sharp, dangerous weapons.
"Yet if it isn't so? If I'm wrong, and you left the Rebellion and Saw behind but this message still finds you? You make me no less proud, Jyn. If you found a place in the galaxy untouched by war - a quiet life, maybe with a family - if you're happy, Jyn, then that's more than enough.
Is that what this is?, she wonders. Is this the place her father had imagined for her, dreamt for her - a place untouched by war - with the family she'd found in Cassian? Had Galen meant to exclude himself from that grouping? Hadn't he been her family, once?
The gnawing, eroding guilt begins to seep its way back into her, compounded by the rage she'd felt listening to Cassian's story. She wonders if Galen would've wanted the same for Cassian, had they met - would have seen the echoes of his daughter in a man promised to the Rebellion from such a young age. She thinks he would have, she thinks he would have liked him.
His words force her out of the overbearing fog of her mind, and she's grateful for it. Breathing returns to normal, she thinks the tremor in her hands has left (if they'd been tremoring at all). She exhales the breath of a laugh, turning to again kiss his jaw.
"You were there for it."