Jyn crumbles like a rotting tower, body tumbling down onto the plush moss underfoot with a dull thud. Her gaze lingers not on Kira but on the would at his jaw - the gentle swelling of it, the hues of damage and healing, the epicenter where her fist had been and its radiating shockwaves.
"You aren't going to hurt me, Jyn," she encouraged, placated. "I'm much larger than you, and I'm much faster than you. When I'm an enemy who's looking to end your life, you can't hold back. You know what happens if you do?"
Jyn knew. But stubborn tongues refuse to move. She stayed silent. A disgruntled sigh at lack of cooperation and response.
"You die, that's what happens. And do you want to die?"
She managed to at least shake her head, more out of obligation than out of self-conviction.
"Right. So, let's try it again. Attack me."
It'd taken Jyn months to be able to spar properly, consistently held back by the shadow at her elbow with each raised fist. They were comrades, they were family (or the closest she'd had, at least). But even the most resilient of minds and hearts can be reprogrammed, can be desensitized. Then, there were few who willingly volunteered to spar with her - her hands too nimble, her footing too steady. Still, the night of her first successful match, she'd promised herself - never a civilian.
And now, muted eyes soaking in the sight of a man who'd shown her nothing but kindness and generosity, she knows she's betrayed everything that had kept her human all those years. The one thing that kept her from being what she'd accused Cassian of being, after Eadu (you're no better than a Stormtrooper). She'd done the very thing she'd promised she'd never do.
She feels something in her shatter - even as he absolves her of her sins, even as he forgives her before she needs to ask - the damage for Jyn is irreparable. She scrambles back away from the edge of the water, fumbling to get back to her feet. Traces the shape at the cliff of his jaw and wilts under his gaze. Turns on her heel and flounders on the unsteadiness of her gait as she attempts to move forward - away from Kira, away from the spring, away from what she's done.
An apology is needed, she knows - she demands it of herself, even if he won't - but how could two words exonerate her from what she's done? Not just the punch, not just the delirious result of the fever - but all of it, all the back back to that night on Onderon, promising herself - never a civilian.
no subject
"You aren't going to hurt me, Jyn," she encouraged, placated. "I'm much larger than you, and I'm much faster than you. When I'm an enemy who's looking to end your life, you can't hold back. You know what happens if you do?"
Jyn knew. But stubborn tongues refuse to move. She stayed silent. A disgruntled sigh at lack of cooperation and response.
"You die, that's what happens. And do you want to die?"
She managed to at least shake her head, more out of obligation than out of self-conviction.
"Right. So, let's try it again. Attack me."
It'd taken Jyn months to be able to spar properly, consistently held back by the shadow at her elbow with each raised fist. They were comrades, they were family (or the closest she'd had, at least). But even the most resilient of minds and hearts can be reprogrammed, can be desensitized. Then, there were few who willingly volunteered to spar with her - her hands too nimble, her footing too steady. Still, the night of her first successful match, she'd promised herself - never a civilian.
And now, muted eyes soaking in the sight of a man who'd shown her nothing but kindness and generosity, she knows she's betrayed everything that had kept her human all those years. The one thing that kept her from being what she'd accused Cassian of being, after Eadu (you're no better than a Stormtrooper). She'd done the very thing she'd promised she'd never do.
She feels something in her shatter - even as he absolves her of her sins, even as he forgives her before she needs to ask - the damage for Jyn is irreparable. She scrambles back away from the edge of the water, fumbling to get back to her feet. Traces the shape at the cliff of his jaw and wilts under his gaze. Turns on her heel and flounders on the unsteadiness of her gait as she attempts to move forward - away from Kira, away from the spring, away from what she's done.
An apology is needed, she knows - she demands it of herself, even if he won't - but how could two words exonerate her from what she's done? Not just the punch, not just the delirious result of the fever - but all of it, all the back back to that night on Onderon, promising herself - never a civilian.