Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. (Neither does Mr. Lucas.)
A/N: So, I finally broke my word-count record! Wow, what an odd feeling...
Anyway, this is a sappy, sloppy oneshot from the POV of our favorite Rebel captain. Sorry for any mistakes, grammatical or canonical.
She is beautiful, he thinks as she's marched into the coms room. He hadn't expected that. Hadn't counted on her hair to be his favorite shade of brown, or her eyes to be so large and green and piercing. Her appearance has no bearing on the mission, of course. She is a criminal, and he is too seasoned a spy to be distracted by a pretty face. But it's been a long time since he's actually enjoyed looking at, well, anything, and he has no reason to lower his gaze. So he doesn't.
She is trouble, he thinks as he primes the transport's engines for takeoff. Not that he'd ever thought otherwise. But knowing she's light-fingered enough to steal a blaster from under his nose just makes it all the more apparent- she cannot be trusted, cannot be unsupervised, and, most importantly, cannot be underestimated.
She is clever, he thinks as they push through the crowded streets of Jedha. Her suggestion to leave K behind, her (completely correct) suspicions about the heightened levels of Imperial security, her ability to differentiate between civilians and incognito militants... He may specialize in intelligence, but she's no fool, either. Pity she's not on our side, he silently muses. She would make an excellent spy.
She is kind, he thinks as she returns the crying little girl safely to her mother. There was no reason for her to risk her life for the child (and at least a dozen reasons in his mind not to), and yet, she did. She dodged laserfire and explosions, ignored his shouted protests, and shielded the girl with as little hesitation as a mother would have for her own offspring. His shock quickly gives way to shame as he realizes that, if it were just him on this desert moon, the little girl would most likely be dead right now.
She is strong, he thinks as she knocks a trooper off his feet with a swing of her truncheon. More lie dead or unconscious in the dirt around her. He wants to help her finish off the last few, but she's in his line of fire, so all he can do is watch. Which is not such a bad thing, because with each movement and every blow landed, she leaves him more and more awestruck.
She is stubborn, he thinks as she glares into the black eyes of the Tognath and starts giving him orders. Even though she's on her knees, bound, and at his mercy, she is unflinching, unyielding, and unafraid. "Anyone who kills me or my friends will answer to Saw Gerera," she states with all the defiance of a true rebel. In the back if his mind, Cassian wonders how Saw could've managed without her for so long.
She is somewhere, he thinks, as he rests his head on the bars of his shared cell. Somewhere, with someone, doing something. The uncertainty of where, who, and what chill him to his core, even though he knows it shouldn't. You only met her yesterday, for Force's sake! He wants to ignore every thought related to Jyn Erso, and focus on more pressing concerns. Like escaping this prison. But all he can think about is how cold it is, and how cold Jyn must be, and how he should've given her his coat back in Jedha City.
She is breaking, he thinks when he finds her collapsed form in what he assumes are Saw Gerera's private chambers. She is on her hands and knees, eyes red and face streaked with dried tears. What did they do to you? The question is quickly drowned in hot anger that boils up in his throat at whomever 'they' are. His hands immediately find his blaster, and he makes up his mind to shoot anyone who tries to keep him from taking her away from here.
She is dangerous, he thinks as she tries to explain away her father's guilt. There is such a deep conviction in her tone, her every word laced with a new-found faith that threatens to pull everyone on board into her private rebellion. Including himself. And for that reason, at this moment, he is terrified of her.
She is on to me, he thinks as he sloshes through the murk behind Bodhi. After his mediocre excuses back in the U-wing, how could she not be? Anxiously, he glances over his shoulder for the third time, unconvinced that she isn't already hunting him down. But there is only rain and darkness, and the echoes of his conscious telling him it's not too late to turn around.
She is down there, he thinks as Rebel bombers and X-wings thunder overhead. Explosion after explosion erupt from the distant landing pad, and he is powerless to stop any of it. Did the Alliance get my message? Do they care at all whether we live or die? Those questions may as well be drops of rain, for all the attention he pays them. His thoughts ignite into sheer panic as the image of Jyn being blown to pieces in the attack flashes across his vision. "No. No, no, no, no." Over and over he whispers the same word, and stumbles to his feet in a race against reality to get to where she is.
She is broken, he thinks when he finds her clutching her father's body and pleading with him to "Come on". She is so grief stricken, she doesn't notice his presence, or how much danger they are in. This was what he wanted to spare her from, this is why he didn't take the shot. But the Force truly does hate him, or her, or everyone, because here lies Galen Erso, murdered at the hands of the Rebellion. And here he stands- Cassian Andor, the man Jyn will blame for it all.
She is wrong, he thinks as she starts accusing him of lies, of murder, of betrayal. It's all he can think in the haze of fury that blurs his vision, muffles his hearing, and burns through his mind. He is angry at her, for treating him like he's the villain of her story. He's angry at Bodhi, for standing on the sidelines and silently judging him. He's angry at K, for not calling off the bomber squadron sooner. He's angry at Draven and Marrick and Mothma and the whole blasted Rebellion, for using him to do their dirty work for so long. And more than anyone, he's angry at himself for thinking any good could've come from this accursed mission. She's wrong, he thinks again, and spins to face her verbal assault with a few harsh words of his own.
She is right, he thinks, 30 minutes out from Yavin 4. After hours of replaying their argument in his mind, he finally allows himself to admit it. He had lied to her, had used her. He had (albeit indirectly) caused her father's death. She even managed to put into words the fact he's been trying to deny for so long- that if he only ever follows orders, never questioning, never doubting, he is no different from a Stormtrooper. Take away my cause, and I am as much a liar, a thief, and a murderer as any Imperial. With that confession comes pain, so sharp and piercing he feels nauseated. And guilt, as crushing as the gravity of a thousand suns, so heavy he's not sure he'll ever be able to stand up under it. But he must, because Jyn is right. And even if the entire Alliance claims otherwise, he will find a way to do right by her.
She is adorable, he thinks as she smiles up at him, her eyes dancing with surprise and relief and joy and gratitude and mischief and so many other things that he may never have time to discern. He is drawn to her, and it's almost accidental how near they are now, her body rotating to mirror his. "I'm not used to people sticking around when things go bad," she comments, and he knows he is forgiven. He wonders if she realizes how close he comes to kissing her right then and there. But he doesn't. Instead he leans in and mutters, "Welcome home," and prays she understands all he means by it.
She is a leader, he thinks as she squares her shoulders and declares to their miniature army that they will find the Death Star plans, that they will find a way to find them. He hangs on her every word, so much so that he nearly misses his cue to speak until she turns to him with eyebrows raised. Snapping to attention, he faces the soldiers. His speech will not be inspiring like Jyn's, but it doesn't have to be. She lit a fire; he has only to direct it.
She is stardust, he thinks as they wait for K to locate the data file. Somehow, he isn't surprised by the label; it suits her better than Liana or Tanith or Kestrel ever could. He wonders if she'd ever allow him to call her by it, and smiles to himself at the idea.
She is gone, he thinks when he awakes in searing pain, alone. With great difficulty, gritting his teeth, he rolls onto his back so he can stare up at the apex of the data vault's shaft. He suppresses the urge to vomit as wind chills the sweat on the back of his neck through the grills of the platform. Whether his nausea is a symptom of worry, shock, vertigo, or a concussion, he doesn't know. He doesn't know if his leg is broken or simply feels like it is, doesn't know how many ribs he cracked colliding with that metal beam, doesn't know what caused him to fall in the first place. But what he does know is Jyn is up there (she has to be), and even if he shatters every other bone in his body, he will find a way to reach her.
She is safe, he thinks as the white clad Imperial collapses, dead or dying, between him and Jyn. With him falls the weapon he'd trained on her, and Cassian forces the possibility of what could've happened if he'd been just a second slower out of his mind. And that's not too difficult, because she smiles his way, alive and eyeing him with what can only be described as pride. Warmth and relief floods his aching chest, and he decides that, despite her sooty, sweaty, bloody appearance, Jyn Erso has never looked more beautiful.
She is near, he thinks as he leans against her and the cool metal wall of the elevator. Gazing at her half-lit face, sorrow and regret wash over him, because everything he has ever wanted- peace, victory, her- is within reach, but still lifetimes away. They will never make it off this planet; that much is obvious. Thus, they will never see the Death Star destroyed, or if it even can be. They will never know what might happen between them, if they only had the time. They will never know if their sacrifice will accomplish anything, or if they will save even one life by dying here. Peering deep within her eyes, he believes she's mourning the same future he is. And that hurts more than any injury ever could.
She is afraid, he thinks, watching as she stares out at the wave of devastation growing ever larger on Scarif's horizon. There is a slight tremor in her gaze, an almost imperceptible quiver in her lips that gives her away. Right then, all the pain and terror he feels falls away, and he reaches for her. She welcomes the gesture like he welcomed her hand just moments before, and rests her chin against his shoulder as he wraps his arms around her. She trembles beneath his embrace, and he can't help but hold her tighter, as if by doing so he can protect her from what's about to happen. Her grip on him strengthens, too, her fingers digging into his back as their bodies press together. Suddenly he wants to say all the things he couldn't before, tell her everything she is to him. But words escape him, fleeing as rapidly as the seconds they have left to live. And oh, he's never wanted to live so badly, now that he is aware of just how much she needs him. And yet, impossibly, he's never been so willing to die. So when the last thing he feels before death overtakes him is Jyn burying her face in the crook of his neck, he is content, knowing he will forever be where she is.
Thanks for reading!