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

[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.

[kestreldawn]

"My father," she whimpers, sound more and more like a lost, frightened child with each breath, word that escapes her. And perhaps, that's what she is in that instant - the little girl in the nightmare, whose outward appearance had grown with time, but whose existence underneath had stagnated. "He was there, he was -"

Another unrelenting cry strangles her throat as she tightens the grip around him. She's a pile of bones, and skin, and sobs - a broken collection of tooth, eye, nail. She feels disjointed and flayed. The only thing, in this moment, that is keeping her together is the pull, the security of Cassian's arms.

"He was under the dirt, I could see him - I tried, I tried to pull him out -" A few desperate gulps of air. "I couldn't save him."

[candor1]

Cassian's throat tightens to. How can he possibly comfort her about Galen… The best he can offer is that he didn't actually kill him personally as intended.

His arms tighten involuntarily around her. Anticipating, with dread, that she might well break from them very soon.

Jyn, you are literally the only person in this who should take no blame for his death. No blame at all.

Leave that for the Alliance, the Empire, and me…

"You were there for him at the end," murmured Cassian into her hair. "Can you imagine… He got to see you one more time. He knew you'd heard what he wanted you to hear. That's beyond what he could have hoped for."

He couldn't quite say her name. Back to not being able to feel he deserved to.

[kestreldawn]

She doesn't think about how this might sound to Cassian - how it might be for him to have to listen to (yet another) nightmare about the loss of her father. They'd been frequent throughout her life, first after their separation. They'd begun to subside as the dreamless nights became more prominent -

Until Eadu.

Then her father seemed to haunt her - the broken, crumpled leaf of a man she'd cradled in her arms. The withered, desperate look in his eyes when he saw her, recognized her, knew her. When she'd absorbed the anger and hatred she'd felt for him for all those years in a single instant - and forgave him.

But Cassian didn't hear about those. He doesn't know - not yet - that these are an unfortunate theme when the nightmares bleed their way through the safety net in her mind. If not Galen, then Saw. If not Saw, then Lyra. If not Lyra, then Maia. And on and on down the chain of those who betrayed her, hurt her, or those she'd done the same to.

His words manage to find her in the fog and haze of her tears, and it's only then - his mention of "the end" - that she realizes. Remembers. He'd been there. He'd left the ship with the intention to murder her father - stare him down in his scope and take his life with a single shot. She remembers Chirrut's face, his words to Baze: "Does he look like a killer?"

She stiffens, sobs managing to devolve into murmurs and sniffles and breaths. She isn't sure what she feels now.

"It shouldn't have been the end," she manages to spill, her words lined with the poison of bitterness. It isn't all directed at Cassian - she had managed to make peace with that, for the most part, mostly due to the fact that he hadn't pulled the trigger -

But though the wound had healed, the scar was still there. Faded, and hardly visible, but still there.

[candor1]

He hears it… feels it… and can do nothing but bow his head and keep holding her. And say nothing.

If she doesn't push him away…

Not knowing if it's for her sake or his own, and horrified at the fact that he can't tell…

"You have his eyes," he says quietly in the dark. "I saw you in his. That's why I couldn't."

[kestreldawn]

Like the Light and Dark that'd been warring inside of her, there's yet another battle now - there's Rage, fiery and angry and destructive, versus Sorrow, broken and injured and tired in a way that transcends the physical.

It shouldn't have been the end for she and Galen, Papa - he'd be there, right there, in her arms. She'd called out his name - the one she'd given him - and he'd turned, he'd seen her. She had wondered whether he recognized her, but she knew he had the moment he saw her.

The life they could've had, together - the years they'd have to hunt down and regather. All the kisses to her forehead, the coos of Stardust, the lives they'd have to rebuild together and make up for.

They'd all been there, in his eyes - in his face.

Until the light had left.

And now, crumpled in a way that makes her think of her dying father's body, she isn't sure whether she wants to scream or cry - hot or cold, fire or ice.

His words aren't entirely amiss; there's a softness to them that manages to at least calm Rage down, enough to be a quietly growing ember as opposed to raging wildfire. Sorrow grows stronger.

"And if you hadn't?"

[candor1]

He'd matched her duality before… but not right now. There's only the one side in him at this moment: the ice and the sorrow.

"I wish I knew.

"There are things I knew I would never do… that I've done.

"There are things I tell myself now I wouldn't ever, ever have done. But I'll never know because I never chose not to. I just wasn't asked.

"I want to say that if it hadn't been your eyes, it would have been your truth. Maybe it was… not just his eyes but how he was looking with them… the way I've seen you look, because you were right and it shone through you… perhaps that's what I saw. Why I chose and would have no matter what.

"But I don't know, Jyn. I wish I could. But I can't lie to you. I just don't know.

"I can only tell both of us… I finally made a choice because you gave me one. And I'm never going back on it. I'm never doing any of that again. I thought I'd have to die to make certain. But here we are. So I'll make certain anyway."

[kestreldawn]

The words placate her, a muddy spackle for the holes in her heart that always seem to grow bigger, deeper whenever she thinks of her father. (Sometimes, she even hesitates in giving him that title, for how little he'd actively been in her life - and yet, Saw didn't deserve the title either, despite raising her through all of her formative years. .. If training a child to be a soldier could be called "raising.") Objectively, she knows - it had been an order, a command from Draven. Cassian had been successful because of his willingness to follow orders of his higher ups, regardless of what they might have been. She knows that's how he'd amassed the title of Captain, had been put in charge of Fracture.

But objectivity fades in the face of what Jyn had, for a long while, considered yet another betrayal.

Still - they hadn't known each other well enough. It would cause the death of whatever they had, if he'd done something like that now. But then? They were mostly strangers, forced to work together out of circumstance and order - not by choice.

Rage and Sorrow are more easily tamed, and both seem to crawl back to the safety of their caves in the depths of Jyn's heart. Her eyes are swollen, red-rimmed and glossy as she pulls away from him - searches for his face. She doesn't say anything, not right away, makes no immediate move to touch him again (despite the cry of every cell and nerve-ending in her body to do so). She studies what she can see of his face, his expression - she's searching for something -

Something she can't yet verbalize or compact into a singular word.

But whatever it is -

She finds it.

And when she does, she closes her eyes, bows her head to touch their foreheads.

Forgiveness. Love. Acceptance.

[candor1]

When she does that, he could weep.

He closes his eyes, presses his forehead to hers, too… somehow still unable to reach for her hand.

She'd said it wasn't cowardice. He's still not sure he agrees. But it's all he has this moment. He can't bring himself to tell or ask her in Basic—her and Galen's language. So he does it in Yaval.

"Te quiero." Not the idiom he'd normally choose outside the throes of passion, but the one he'd taught her, now, so knows she knows. And the next, only able to say aloud because she probably won't understand and thus not have to answer: "Perdóname."

[kestreldawn]

Her hand finally raises, finds the outside of his bicep. First one, then the other. Squeezes gently, reaffirming - she's here. She's with him. Always.

Jyn had spent her life carrying her demons and betrayal, wearing them like a coat of armor, cradling them like babes. The anger towards Galen is what drove her to become the best soldier Saw had in his arsenal - mostly unfeeling, mostly deadly, mostly void. The betrayal from Saw was almost worse, in a way, and she used it to keep her alive all those years she'd been on her own. Despite her skill, despite the surety of her movements and the strength in her muscles, she was still so young when he'd left her. How could he have left her to fend off the world on her own? It was no wonder she got caught; demons always find their target, eventually.

But this - this place, this whatever-they-wanted-to-call it (miracle? coincidence? fate? destiny?) - meant she didn't have to run anymore. This was a world without the ghosts of Galen and Saw, a world without the shadows of Liana Hallik, Tanith Pontha, and Kestrel Dawn. She had no reason or desire to be anything other than who Cassian knows, trusts - loves. She doesn't want to run anymore. She doesn't want to suffocate under the weight of grudges and misplaced anger for the sake of spite.

Her hands slide from his arms and around his back, and while she recognizes the first phrase - she always would, she thinks - she doesn't immediately understand the second. But in the quiet of the nighttime filling this haphazard bedroom in this haphazard home they've created with each other, she can hear her heart -

Calling out, quietly. Softly.

Her eyes close, listening to the melody: I forgive you.

[candor1]

He seems to feel it. He touches his face to her neck, adding all of himself to the embrace enfolding her, and the release of tension melts them together. They rock one another to the silent music, not noticing when they fall back asleep.

* * *

Narede's head snaps to stare back at them. The dawning realization, utter horror, far too late, in her taut, bloodless face. Beside Cassian, Dorosz's muscles tense, and his heart seems to stop.

"No," Narede starts.

Then around them, the planet seems to explode.

Cassian jolts awake, uncertain if the sensation of something bursting from his throat was a vocalization or not. He fights a moment with the feeling of being trapped in his body—feeling far longer than it probably is—when the lingering sleep paralysis abruptly breaks and his limbs thrash violently.

He sits up instantly, terrified he may have hit Jyn.

But she's not there beside him. She's not in the bed.

Dawning horror, muscles tense, heart stops.

No… no, no.

Not sure if he's forcing himself to move slowly, or if his blood has turned to magma which is hardening to ash, Cassian sets his feet on the floor and stands. He somehow manages to get the word past the block in his throat, even while on some level fearing saying it aloud will vibrate wrongly on the strings of existence—change an outcome— "Jyn?!"

[kestreldawn]

Another nightmare had lurched into Jyn's mind once they'd managed to sleep - this time, it had involved the Man in White. The final moments, her steps towards him deliberate and vengeful. She'd wanted to take his life - wanted to take away from him what he'd taken from her when she was but a child. Only this time, there was no Cassian to save her - no Cassian to stop her from destroying herself, and the moment she'd curled her finger around the trigger of the blaster -

She saw his face and instead of Krennic's, she saw her father's.

She screamed, fell to her knees. Began to fall.

When her body hit the ground, she'd bolted up - skin plastered in sweat, heart pounding against her breastbone - so much so that she'd pressed her palm to it, willing it back to a state of calm. The Man in White wasn't here - she knew that. She'd worried that she'd woken Cassian again (she'd silently prayed that he'd not demand an empty bed after so many broken spurts of sleep), but the exhaustion had overtaken him. She could hear the buzz of his breath as it left his mouth, went into his lungs - and she'd smiled.

She felt the trickle of something on her leg, thought that perhaps it had been blood, and panicked slightly. She'd slipped out of the bed as carefully as possible, then quickly padded her way to the bathroom, using her hand to catch the liquid running down the inside of her thigh. She'd half-closed the door behind her, fumbling to find the toilet in the dark.

While sitting, she realizes - they hadn't used any protection. Before the fountain, she had received an implant to prevent any unwanted pregnancies. She'd had no sexual partners to speak of, but the need for the device was based in a more gruesome kind of prevention - avoiding pregnancy in the event of rape, specifically after being captured by an enemy force. She knew it wasn't in the realm of impossibility, and thus had taken procedural steps to avoid a child created under those circumstances.

But here? She doesn't know if the device travelled with her through - into? - the fountain. There is no way of knowing for certain. No med droids to do a scan for the thing, see if it was still firmly lodged in place.

It doesn't take long for her to connect the sticky substance she's hastily wiping from her thigh to what it could have done to her already, without her knowing, without her realizing. She feels her stomach twist, her heart leap. What do they do? How could they possibly handle bringing a child into -

The sound of her name being bellowed snaps her out of the panic. She remembers Cassian, realizes he's woken to an empty bed. She flounders with the door, her sticky hand sliding from the knob as she mutters a slew of inappropriate words under her breath. She finally manages to open the door, standing from the toilet.

"I'm here - I'm here!"

[candor1]

The optimistic way of seeing it is that he's so far being successful in shedding his old life. Captain Andor, Rebel Spy, would have swept the whole house top to bottom, familiarized himself with every point of entrance and egress, checked every potential hiding and defensible spot, when he first commissioned it. He'd had the opportunity before he appearance drove all other concerns from his head, but he hadn't taken it.

The pessimistic side…

…who cares. He had to find her. And since he hadn't properly mapped the place, he has to go only by her voice.

But thank the skies for her voice.

He finds her and instantly grabs her in a fierce hug. …And his legs go suddenly weak and he sinks down (as he had on the beach), pulling her with him… until she's sitting and he kneeling on the floor beside her, his arms around her waist, his eyes closed into her stomach.

For skies' sake, soldier, pull yourself together.

"It wasn't a dream," he says, muffled, trying to explain to her and sternly remind himself at once, though he can't yet release her or stand. "You're real."

[kestreldawn]

She's careful when she returns the embrace, keeping the soiled hand away from his skin - not only to avoid making a mess on him but also - perhaps, a bit, not ready to admit to him what it was she had been doing, thinking, worrying. She descends to the floor with him, taken aback slightly at the fever in his touch, the strength behind his arms. It still catches her off-guard, sometimes, them coming together like this - the way their bodies wrack with fear and loss - the way they seek out solace and comfort and confirmation in each other.

But there's no part of her that regrets it.

She would've lived the life she had, lost all she had, a thousand times over if it meant she'd still end up here, with him.

Her clean hand comes down to his shoulder, gently rakes the strands of his hair. She makes quiet, comforting noises - not ones to silence him or demand he stop, but ones meant to soothe. Console.

"I'm here, Cassian .. I'm here" she coos, a phrase that seems to live permanently on her tongue. She knows his fear, knows it more intimately than her own perhaps. Whatever he needs from her, whatever she can provide for him to find a modicum of peace, she will give it - always, without hesitation, without condition. "A nightmare?"

[candor1]

Eventually, he's able to speak again. Though since there isn't a real reason to give, he shrugs a bit helplessly against her. "The unknown."

It's ludicrous—they're both seasoned, well-traveled soldiers. And they're literally jumping here at shadows.

He releases a loud exhalation that was either a laugh or… or the reason he then broke away to turn slightly from her and hastily wipe his eyes. Before she can speak, he turns back to her, eyes still a bit averted but seeming now more sheepish than panicked. Those eyes also belatedly sweep the room, then fix on her in some dismay, realizing where they are.

"I'm sorry for barging in… I'll see you in bed whenever you're done." He unthinkingly reaches for her hand to squeeze it—which turns into a surprised jolt and grabbing her hand to look— "Are you bleeding—?"

Then realizing. His expression changes again to something not quite embarrassed but at least warm. "…Oh… yes. —Here." He sits more upright, eyes sweeping the room. Though he hadn't properly inventoried this cabin, he has examined others, and so knows what is provided and what isn't, what he's seeking… There. Mentally thanking whoever did provide these cabins with some furnishings. Still keeping hold of her hand, he reaches up, with an impressive stretch of his arm and back, to turn on the tap, and grab hold of the small towel he'd located to hold under the water.

The non sequiteur flashes in his mind—in addition to running water from the river—which he also remembers could be heated, if that hadn't been the best option earlier because it would have taken much more time to heat the furnace then the tank—he knew the houses are equipped for electricity; but there's no source. The strategic brain, having been dormant for a while, is suddenly glad to have a project and starts recusing itself from the rest of his mind, drawing up plans for setting up wind turbines.

It's the first proactive thought he's had about this place. Trying to add to it. Long-term.

No wonder. It's suddenly become a place he's grateful to be in and wants to protect.

He switches off the water and brings the cloth back down. Taking her hand into his lap (appropriately—shut up) he begins methodically to wipe it off.

[kestreldawn]

There's no beast greater than The Unknown. Jyn had once thought the imagined creatures in her closet or under her bed, had once thought her father, had once thought the Man in White, had once thought, had once thought - but now, she knows that they all pale in comparison. There is no foe worse than The Unknown. No way to fight it, no way to prepare for its entrance or attack, no way to protect one's self from it. So he need not say anything more than that for her to understand.

Her mouth opens to echo his words, tell him she'll be only a moment but then -

No, no, no - don't! (She hates that she even has the thought of not wanting his hand in hers)

She tries her hardest to snatch her hand away before he can grab it - but it's too late. He's felt it, he's come to the same conclusion she has. Her tongue falls limp in her mouth, made defunct with the flush of embarrassment that's now blanketing her body in heat and pink (she's grateful for the darkness, just this once).

Jyn makes neither sound nor word while he seemingly takes charge, handles the situation with the tactical mind she'd come to admire and cherish in him. Hers seems to have faded for the moment, thanks to the mortifying discovery he'd made despite her best efforts. Maybe it was for the better -

He doesn't seem all that concerned -

Shouldn't he be?

She waits, feeling the rough of the damp cloth against her hand, feels the stickiness leave her skin with each swipe. Swallows the rock that's formed in her throat until she finally whispers one word - indicating the undeniable lack of,

"- Protection."

[candor1]

(If he could have heard her inner thoughts, he would have wondered why on earth she should be embarrassed—it's… literally from him after all… or does she think it's failure somehow that…? he's found there's always cleanup, regardless… But the mental Farir would sadly shrug and Cassian grimace and nod. Narrowing patterns. Teaching women falsehoods to keep them in line. Including blaming themselves for things that aren't actually problems…)

The single word causes him to look quickly up at her. He looks confused, concerned, mind visibly whirling through possibilities of what she meant… then his brow clears and he looks… now, quite definitely ashamed of himself.

"Yes, we should have talked… I forgot you didn't somehow already know… unless… are you all right? Has something…?" Being as helpful as a droid on a scuba mission, gilipollas…

[kestreldawn]

Jyn's embarrassment is mostly - feeling idiotic, foolish for not knowing (or perhaps not realizing) to expect the trickle she'd felt coming down her thigh; what goes up ..

She feels like she should simply know more at this stage of her life. Despite not walking the path of what could ever be considered a normal life for a woman like Jyn Erso, she still had the habit of occasionally (rarely) measuring herself against the standard milestones of those around her. She feels ashamed that Cassian's now had to come and clean her of something she should've been able to have handled on her own. There's embarrassment at remembering that she'd thought it was blood, though there was no logical explanation for it to be.

And these feelings are hot, and raw, and exacerbated by the gnawing panic at the back of her mind. She'd known more women than she'd ever be able to count who'd lost the seedling inside of them - sometimes by accident, more often by choice and on purpose. She'd known women who'd gone to great, dangerous risks to expunge themselves of the clump of cells.

She always assumed she'd be one of them, if she ever found herself in their position.

Her world was not one made for children.

The sandstorm of thought and worry is blinding her, howling in her ears. She doesn't hear him speak right away, can't seem to make sense of his half-sentences and vague implications.

"No, I'm - Nothing's happened," she murmurs. She pauses, inhaling sharply before adding, "I don't know if - the implant came with me, through the fountain." Safe to assume it hadn't, if their technology was seemingly destroyed upon entry, she wonders.

[candor1]

(Now it's good he can't hear her thoughts—he'd feel horribly guilty. She had been taking care of it herself before he barged in… and he didn't have to clean it up "for" her, he'd wanted to… assert that just as she wasn't alone in the predicating event she needn't "take care of by herself" anything after it. On the other hand, if she wanted to, he shouldn't have intruded.)

Mercifully, expression analysis and abductive reasoning, much as it can sometimes seem so, isn't mindreading. He's intent on her face as she speaks; his expression shifts a little as he thoughtfully nods. He's familiar with what she means by 'implant'. Practically standard issue for at least half the agents he's worked with.

"I hadn't thought of that… We might want to find out—if possible without being too invasive—"

More invasive than if whoever had brought them here had managed to remove even a technology inside her… the idea of which makes him obscurely furious. At the overall principle, having known many whose lives were only sustained through internal tech; but even more, specifically, at such a potential violation of Jyn.

But, though he didn't know how they'd interpret the results of such a discovery, it would be something worth knowing. Perhaps as a clue to the motives of whoever brought them here. Perhaps to try and predict if those motives would from now on leave them in peace…

That was too disturbing a line of thought to pursue. An enemy he didn't even know if he really had, as well as even if he did he wouldn't know how to fight…

—as well as all of it being entirely beside her excellent point that required response.

He set aside the towel. Turning his focus to them, he turned over her newly clean hand in his before entwining their fingers. "Either way, we won't… I…"

He'd never, ever thought this would even be a question…

Draven, of course, had denied his first request exactly because he insisted it could be. But Cassian had only waited the required window and requested again until approved.

—but now, a considering any "future", let alone one outside of the war, was actually an option for them…

…and though he suspected Jyn, like him, hadn't been interested in children… they had an entirely new paradigm to work from… if any elements of that decision were not solely about the war, then…

Oh, spit it out and be clear for sky's sake.

His voice is steady, matter-of-fact, but his gaze remains on their hands. "It won't be an issue unless we want a child. I was granted a sterilization procedure three years ago."

[kestreldawn]

Silence. Excruciating silence.

She wonders, if he's imagining a hypothetical future for them, one filled with the sound of children's laughter and bedtime stories. She wonders, what name he would choose for it, if it ever came to be, one only he would use - one only they would understand (Stardust has already been taken). She wonders, if the thought of a child repulses him, angers him, fills him with the same dread that's settled thickly at the base of her spine.

She wonders -

Broken, battered - held together only by the ever-present need to survive and the strength in each other's arms - yet promised a future unlike the one they'd been promised as children ..

No war, no Alliance, no Empire.

Could he have ever dreamt it before?

She'd never seen herself beyond the age of 30, perhaps 40 at most. No matter how hard she'd tried, no matter how many scenarios she could think of - they always cut to black. The thought of children ..

Her father had always said she'd inherited her mother's spirit, her mother's love of adventure and excitement and progress. He'd said she'd gotten his eyes, his acute sense for detail, his intelligence. And perhaps once upon a time, she'd fabricated a makeshift life - full of an apartment on Coruscant (perhaps even the same one she'd lived in with Mama and Papa), a shadowy figure meant to be a partner of some kind, a baby to dote on.

- But Jyn was not meant to be a mother. She'd known that the moment she stared into Lyra's eyes, felt her hands as she placed the crystal around her neck, pleaded for her to trust the Force. If being a mother meant the pain she saw reflected back in her mother's eyes - it was a fate she didn't want.

The touch of Cassian's hands slowly lets her mind seep back into her skull, the image of domestication quick to fade from her consciousness.

She reflexively squeezes his hand - using the other to touch and lift his face towards her. Her thumb skates across the bulb of his cheek, her eyes soft. Her tongue feels heavy, stubborn. Unwilling to move.

Then I'll make you kriffing move.

"A child was never in the cards for me." How could she torture a child by bringing it into her world? Of course, she'd never thought she'd be here, sitting in the darkened bathroom of a cabin, in some unknown and far-off town, clutching the hand of the man she loves (the latter piece is somehow the most absurd).

She falls quiet for what feels like hours, eyes studying his features, walking the terrain of his face, until she finally adds,

"But you would have made a wonderful father."

[candor1]

Though his hand remains entirely gentle on hers… it's with a bit too much suddenness and violence that he shakes his head.

"Neither of us could know that."

Even without the war…

There was no without the war. No moment in his life had been unaltered by it… had been less than wholly defined by it. What ifs were worse than pointless.

But before becoming the full of what it would make of him,

(knowing how immediately young that could start to influence a child and how and why it shouldn't)

there were still his own parents to go by

—.

He shakes his head again.

But more softly this time.

Deliberately puts his focus back on their joined hands. Lets them reel him back.

Until he can speak again more gently. With an element of apology in his voice. "…Sorry. I… you know." Looks up at her finally, meaning it and wanting her to see that he did. "But. Thank you. For… thinking that. Of me." Whether he agreed or not, whether it worried him that if untrue she could be disillusioned of it, or worse, made vulnerable for it… still. It was very moving to know she could think that way of him.

His thumb moved across the back of her hand, trying to say what his voice couldn't.

[kestreldawn]

The violence in the shake of his head makes the hand that was placed against his cheek recoil, like his skin had somehow became fire, burning her. She loosely clenches and unclenches her fingers, before letting it rest in her lap.

It feels like a scolded child - needing to withdraw itself in order to be punished.

She feels, then - suddenly and all at once - how impossibly young she is.

Although forced to grow up at an impossible speed, although forced to learn the ins and outs of combat, warfare, weaponry, stealth as a means to deceive - she'd never learnt about life outside of what it meant to be a soldier. And it's here, now, that she feels a flare of anger for what she had taken away from her.

It isn't just Galen, it isn't just Saw, it isn't just Lyra - it isn't just Cassian (current situation temporarily suspended) and the rest of their squadron. It's the person she could have been, perhaps should have been, had things been different.

And she knows Cassian has lived the same life. Marred and scorched and singed by blaster bolts, by Operation: Everything. She wonders how often he mourns the child he'd been.

It made no sense to think of them in terms of anything aside from what they were, what they are now. Parenthood was never meant to be a part of that - and even now, when faced with a future not under the raining flames of war, it would never be theirs. Just as well, she thinks. That life was never meant to be mine.

She offers a slight shake of her head in reply, slightly dismissive, slightly - well, embarrassed. That she'd let those words slip out of her lips without thinking them through. Although beginning to shed the weight of the armor's she worn all her days gives her aching body reprieve, she finds it also overwhelms her - like the shield around her mind, the one that could process, release information strategically and to her advantage, has somehow been tampered with, weakened. Things that she knows, somewhere, shouldn't be let go of come rushing forth before she can stop them.

"I shouldn't have -" she starts, then stops, physically biting the edge of her tongue to make herself pause. "I shouldn't have said that." There's an apology lurking in her words, however concealed. "It wasn't right of me, to suggest it .."

/as ever, thought I'd jump things ahead, but will change in an instant if she wouldn't go along!!/

[candor1]

He may not be able to consciously parse whatever expressive signals he can pick up from her muscles and limbs, but they're clearly feeling the same way: suddenly, as they were never ever allowed even when they were, excruciatingly young.

He touches his forehead to hers momentarily… then raises it to once more strategically scan the room.

Making the long cold walk back to the bed right now is unthinkable. (Far worse than the crossing of a rocky wasteland on foot over ten days which left him with muscle deterioration from dehydration; shinsplints, two sprained ankles, and three broken toes.) But staying seated on the cold hard floor, with plumbing accoutrements digging into their backs, isn't optimal either. Immediate options… all right… the water wouldn't heat yet, not without a more self-defeating walk and quest to find and stoke the right fire… so next best thing.

Pressing a quick kiss to her temple, he stands, keeping hold of her hand a moment longer, and does another quick search of the room. In short order, he finds all the towels and lines the bathtub with them. He holds out his hand to her again in invitation. And, if she takes it, will lower them both into the tub, to take her closely enfolded into himself, intertwining them both, warming the fabric with their bodies, in the makeshift nest/cradle.

So secured, feeling her warmth in the hollows of his arms and chest and legs, keeping her as enfolded as won't be claustrophobic/entrapping, and allows them both to breathe, he finally speaks.

"I asked you to tell me something from your past before," he said. "I…" how to word this without displacing or abdicating responsibility… from the known fact it was his own need driving both times… "…can tell you one of mine, now." …Didn't quite work but perhaps she'll understand the quality of his voice, his heartbeat in her ears.

noooo this is beautiful (and fml, i lost the tag i just wrote ._.)

[kestreldawn]

Jyn exists in the proceeding silence, feeling hollowed. It's a relief, in a way, to be able to exist without necessarily feeling like a kettle that's about to explode - but it's also exhausting, bearing one's self to another person - even if that person happens to be Cassian. There's an exhaustion in her bones that transcends physical labor, or the intensity of adrenaline withdrawal after a night like her arrival. And underneath the layer of fatigue that's settled within her, there's something else -

The faint tensing of muscles, always on edge and always on guard for the first hint of needing to excuse herself - needing to run as the first, dreaded syllables leave Cassian's mouth: "It's best if you .." - "I think you should .." - "You need to .." So that her heart, her ears will not be able to hear the word that follows, the one that would demand her exit, demand her removal from his hands and his body and his life.

So when he stands, she braces herself for the moment - calculates how quickly she could grab her clothes and bolt through the door. But the words never come - instead, he rustles around and puts things into what she thinks is the tub (vague outlines in the moonlight, lack of memorized house geography). And then his hand is there, again, in front of her - calling out to her, reaching for her. Willing her to join him.

Eyes lift, hand mirrors. Skin against skin as she unfolds herself and stands, easily falling into the curves of his body with hers. Her head leans back against his shoulder, arms comfortably weighted by his.

A cocoon.

The symbolism of the act isn't lost on her - they can shed their old lives, who they had been before - be together now, here, in a life they'd never thought they could have - and come out on the other side happier, lighter, trusting.

She hums an approving note as she angles her face more towards his neck, closing her eyes - content. What a beautiful thing, this is - she feels she might burst open, break free of the tether-and-twine of bone and sinew.

<3 <3!

[candor1]

He turns his face to rest his cheek against her forehead, relishing the feel of her head filling the space between his shoulder and neck. The rest of her between his arm and ribs, across his stomach and chest.

Evolution is an idiot, part him thought, making our most vulnerable, indefensible, compromised positions feel the most matchlessly safe…

But it is and he does. Safer with her than he's ever been in a steel subterranean bunker fully armed.

…

It's not something he's ever put voice to.

Not to anyone. Not even himself. Not ever.

Not even when pressed to do so for debriefing, rehabilitation, or under threat of courtmartial.

He says it aloud now, needlessly, unbidden, for no explainable reason. Probably when he shouldn't. To her.

"Draven recruited me when I was sixteen. He oversaw the development of my career. After two years of reeducation, he put me with my first field unit. All fresh agents. I was the most junior. It's standard practice—for us to learn with and from one another. All our code names were colors so we were called Spectrum. We worked together for a year. Every hour of every day. Sometimes with no one else available to us at all. Usually no space between us even when we wanted it. …I suspect you know the dynamic. Though compared to the rest of my own experience, even in guerilla cells… the social experience was… concentrated.

"Since I was the youngest, they took it on themselves to train me… not just in combat and espionage. In every aspect of the kind of life we would have as operatives. I thought out of tribal-initiation psychology or boredom, but probably part of the point of team training. No one can understand what kind of life it is except by living it. That was close as one could get before making the full commitment. Making the choice. While there's still a chance to turn back—find another way to serve."

There are certain things there's no coming back from. Unfortunately, that also means they are things you can't understand until they happen.

"So… among other things… Her" name—? "codename was Blue—"

Why are you telling her this, who wants to hear about a predecessor, good or bad…? there's no comparison nor should be, nor should it be implied… it's lose-lose either way… she can't want to know…

That's a terrible place to stop but he can't help taking a moment. To hold Jyn closer and breathe and marshall his thoughts. It seems he's going to tell this story even though he clearly thinks it's a terrible idea.

But it demands to be told. And never yet had been. So… get rid of it, at last, now.

He continues with a note of humor in his voice. That, given what he's about to say, probably shouldn't be there. "I think they played Sabacc for me. To choose who would give me my first experience." (All of them—Narede, Dorosz, and Blue [gender blind].) "I don't know if Blue lost or won."

He suddenly remembered Narede's expression at the time—and now in a new light. They'd all cruelly assumed that she was jealous, in a way that hurt but she'd never admit. Now, he wonders if she hadn't felt suddenly that she'd doomed him to something she felt powerless to prevent…

"It wasn't good."

Nothing like tonight. But even though tonight had been exceptional… trying to put that into words never quite worked, even if he could switch gears out of his slightly distant, chilly recounting to reallow the deep, intense warmth and affection that tonight with Jyn inspired… letting that open would make continuing impossible, and for some damn probably mistaken reason, it seemed continuing was going to happen.

"I could tell even without basis for comparison. And in retrospect… we ended up together for a while and I never knew how she felt about me. …Which… turned out to be the point: none of us really knew. I'll never know.

"We were…"

…okay, worse, place to pause still. But now he has to stop again to slow his heart from its sudden thudding.

—When in an entirely new tone, he suddenly whispers, "I don't know why I'm telling you this. You can't possibly want to know. It's not right… I shouldn't have said that much already—"

The feeling again: I'm doing something unforgiveable to her, this could have been beautiful and I just killed it…