Cassian looked up from where he'd just deposited his duffle in the ship's hold; past Jyn, waiting to follow, now raising her eyebrow at him; to see Draven crossing the landing platform. Sparing Jyn a glance, Cassian left her and the ship to meet him.
His C.O., former mentor, recruiter, converter, tilted his head and Cassian understood. They stopped in the center of a clear space on the tarmac. There was no one around them and nothing anyone could hide behind to listen. Even among their own people… except they were a smaller subdivision of "their own", now; not just Rebels, but Intelligence. They all shared loyalty, but Intelligence didn't always share all is information. Not amongst its own let alone the rest of the Alliance.
They stopped face to face. Draven had his hands at his sides. Cassian's were clasped loosely behind his back. Draven was half a head taller than Cassian, which might be part of why, when they stood this close, for all Draven had groomed him into a full colleague, Cassian always felt a bit regressed.
Being taller, Draven had to bow his head to make sure Cassian (and no one else) heard him. And, perhaps, so that the back of Cassian's head would block the view of Draven's lips moving from the vantage of the ship Cassian had just left—from, potentially, Jyn's eyes.
Draven said in a low voice, "Galen Erso is vital to the Empire's weapons program." Cassian's brief nod. Draven met his eyes grimly. "Forget what you heard in there. There will be no extraction. You find him…"
Cassian's chin lifted slightly, eyes fixed on Draven's. (Don't…)
Draven didn't wince, but his brief exhalation between his teeth was equivalent. (I'm sorry.) "…you kill him."
Cassian looked away, mouth tightening.
Of course. Of course it wasn't enough to put him on a volatile mission to a precarious locale seeking an imbalanced warlord with a chip on his shoulder. (Or maybe just a chip. The shoulder might be gone by now.) It wasn't enough to add to that the unwelcome x-factor of another human. It wasn't enough that that human was as undisciplined, anarchic, convictionless, unpredictable, provocative, and aggravating—and who somehow connected with something in Cassian's chest that made it burn and hurt and be irritated all the more—as Jyn Erso. On top of all that… he would have to travel with her one-on-one, into a warzone, keep her safe, keep her trust, and try to keep everything at some impossible equilibrium; while having to conceal from her the exact thing that betrayed their express request of her, and, if he'd read her right (which he had) was most likely to provoke the least predictable of reactions. Any more explosives you want to add to that pile…?
Draven offered no apology or commisseration for Cassian's momentarily averted eyes (which would read between the two of them as clearly as a grimace). Only added, flatly, "Then and there."
Allowing one more millisecond to turn his inner rebellion to dispassionate, resigned detachment, Cassian lifted his eyes back to Draven's. Likewise didn't speak—no argument, no goodbye. Definitely no verbal agreement for a classified directive. Only meeting Draven's gaze and giving a single crisp nod.
Then turned on his heel and strode back to the ship. Where he would proceed to speak with Jyn as if nothing had changed. As if their purpose was still synchronized. As if nothing had happed.
…and instantly compromised regulation, precedent, and his mission (for the first time, not the last) to let her keep her stolen weapon.
Cassian raised his eyes back to Finnick. Though Finnick would never know it, the same look was in them as when he'd looked then at Draven.
Of course. You care about Jyn.
…Which wasn't fair… either time, but even less for Finnick. Who'd saved her. Who'd helped her. Helped them both.
But there was still that sense of… ludicrous irony.
But Cassian was hardly innocent or passive in either case. And then as now, there were reasons. Hopefully good ones.
So Cassian likewise nodded. This time, to complete the act, gave a smile. But the same again when he let all inner turmoil drop, to turn, and walk away.
no subject
Cassian looked up from where he'd just deposited his duffle in the ship's hold; past Jyn, waiting to follow, now raising her eyebrow at him; to see Draven crossing the landing platform. Sparing Jyn a glance, Cassian left her and the ship to meet him.
His C.O., former mentor, recruiter, converter, tilted his head and Cassian understood. They stopped in the center of a clear space on the tarmac. There was no one around them and nothing anyone could hide behind to listen. Even among their own people… except they were a smaller subdivision of "their own", now; not just Rebels, but Intelligence. They all shared loyalty, but Intelligence didn't always share all is information. Not amongst its own let alone the rest of the Alliance.
They stopped face to face. Draven had his hands at his sides. Cassian's were clasped loosely behind his back. Draven was half a head taller than Cassian, which might be part of why, when they stood this close, for all Draven had groomed him into a full colleague, Cassian always felt a bit regressed.
Being taller, Draven had to bow his head to make sure Cassian (and no one else) heard him. And, perhaps, so that the back of Cassian's head would block the view of Draven's lips moving from the vantage of the ship Cassian had just left—from, potentially, Jyn's eyes.
Draven said in a low voice, "Galen Erso is vital to the Empire's weapons program." Cassian's brief nod. Draven met his eyes grimly. "Forget what you heard in there. There will be no extraction. You find him…"
Cassian's chin lifted slightly, eyes fixed on Draven's. (Don't…)
Draven didn't wince, but his brief exhalation between his teeth was equivalent. (I'm sorry.) "…you kill him."
Cassian looked away, mouth tightening.
Of course. Of course it wasn't enough to put him on a volatile mission to a precarious locale seeking an imbalanced warlord with a chip on his shoulder. (Or maybe just a chip. The shoulder might be gone by now.) It wasn't enough to add to that the unwelcome x-factor of another human. It wasn't enough that that human was as undisciplined, anarchic, convictionless, unpredictable, provocative, and aggravating—and who somehow connected with something in Cassian's chest that made it burn and hurt and be irritated all the more—as Jyn Erso. On top of all that… he would have to travel with her one-on-one, into a warzone, keep her safe, keep her trust, and try to keep everything at some impossible equilibrium; while having to conceal from her the exact thing that betrayed their express request of her, and, if he'd read her right (which he had) was most likely to provoke the least predictable of reactions. Any more explosives you want to add to that pile…?
Draven offered no apology or commisseration for Cassian's momentarily averted eyes (which would read between the two of them as clearly as a grimace). Only added, flatly, "Then and there."
Allowing one more millisecond to turn his inner rebellion to dispassionate, resigned detachment, Cassian lifted his eyes back to Draven's. Likewise didn't speak—no argument, no goodbye. Definitely no verbal agreement for a classified directive. Only meeting Draven's gaze and giving a single crisp nod.
Then turned on his heel and strode back to the ship. Where he would proceed to speak with Jyn as if nothing had changed. As if their purpose was still synchronized. As if nothing had happed.
…and instantly compromised regulation, precedent, and his mission (for the first time, not the last) to let her keep her stolen weapon.
Cassian raised his eyes back to Finnick. Though Finnick would never know it, the same look was in them as when he'd looked then at Draven.
Of course. You care about Jyn.
…Which wasn't fair… either time, but even less for Finnick. Who'd saved her. Who'd helped her. Helped them both.
But there was still that sense of… ludicrous irony.
But Cassian was hardly innocent or passive in either case. And then as now, there were reasons. Hopefully good ones.
So Cassian likewise nodded. This time, to complete the act, gave a smile. But the same again when he let all inner turmoil drop, to turn, and walk away.