Its been a really long time since I've posted anything. Written? Oh yes, but I'm rusty on the actual uploading side. Rogue One has very kindly hauled me away from this. Also I am very, very much in denial over the ending, so I'm going to refuse to acknowledge it for the moment.

Note: This chapter is intentionally disjointed, as I feel it lends to character development.

Prompt from the Rogue One Kink thread at rogueonekink dot dreamwidth dot org slash ?thread = 277308

edit 25 Jan 17 - oh god what did my spellchecker do to me? I'm so sorry - revised for a few grammatical issues and spelling.

The strange looks at him behind his back had followed him in the week following the demise of the Death Star, of Alderaan, of Scarif… of that place.

He blamed it on his defector status. During the Yavin 4 evacuation, no one had been quite sure what to do with the returned Rogue One members in general, and himself specifically. He had lurked in the hallways until Captain Andor's… Cassian's… rushed release from Medical. The other survivors had gravitated to him and his aura of protection, stability.

Bodhi finally felt at peace as he bought the team's new V-wing into the cruiser's already cramped hangar. The Nystullum's Pride was, to his eye, the most beautiful capital ship among the stars. She was from the shipyards of Calamari, and her long, sleek organic lines were delicately punctuated by bulbous hills, reminding him of the rolling dunes of Je- no.

His mind shied viciously away from that line of thought, and he closed his eyes, and clenched his hands around the control stick, and took a slow, shaky, deep breath.

Jyn unstrapped from besides him, stretching her arms over her head and cracking her neck. His mind latched on this, and from the depths of his memories, a childhood game surfaced. It was a foggy memory, dark, with no images of faces or places, but the general game rules remained.

If he was ever asked to describe her as an animal, some large, dangerous, toothy feline would certainly be the first thing to come to mind.

Jyn said nothing about his white knuckles or the shuddering breath, though her brow did elevate slightly. She rested her hand on his shoulder, showing no additional overt notice of his momentary flinch away from her. She gave him a gentle squeeze, a half smile, and headed aft.

She had changed, since Scarif, the part of his mind not focusing on the shutdown checklist mused. Still combative, abrasive, and sometimes downright hostile, but to the remaining members of Rogue One, she had begun opening up, even laughing with them, always seemingly keeping them in easy reach, as if they might blow away like stardust.

Her smile was something he treasured.

The V-wing gave a final purr as the engines cycled into their final cool-downs, and Bodhi shucked his headset onto the console. Baze and Chirrut had promised to make dumplings upon their arrival at the fleet, and that was something he found himself looking forward to.

Eight days after the death of Scarif saw Bodhi yawning deeply as he made his way down the Pride's main starboard housing corridor. It was late, shipboard-time, most corridor lights were dimmed with most inhabitants asleep.

The Rogue One survivors had been given custody of a hallway of rooms, somewhat offset from the primary housing area. The Pride's captain, an older, graying human male hailing from Nar Shaada and a veteran of the Clone Wars, had taken Cassian aside upon their arrival and offered it to them, with a knowing glint to his. You've been through enough nonsense, he had told Andor. You don't need an audience while you and your crew acclimate to being alive again. The other berthing areas surrounding were from snubfighter pilots temporarily assigned to the cruiser while their small fleet detachment bounced between transit points, waiting for a rallying call for the main naval fleet.

Time and space to recover? Cassian had agreed, and hadn't bothered hiding his smile at the older man's words. His crew. His entire life had been for the Rebellion, mostly alone. Now he had a group, rag-tag though it might be, that he could rely on.

It was a heady thought.

Seeing Cassian smile, seeing Jyn bounce lightly on her toes, and seeing Baze and Chirrut be… well, themselves… had eased something in his chest.

He had been working himself to near-exhaustion constantly for the last eight days, since Medical had thrown some bacta patches onto the shrapnel wounds from Scarif, declaring him well enough to get out while they started ripping out assets for the evacuation. Every time he stopped, every time he let his mind wander even the slightest from his task at hand, his memories inevitably tried to stray towards Je- that place - and his mind blanked on him.

He didn't think the others had noticed his borderline panic attacks when that happened, or his shaking hands, or his reddening eyes. The entire novelty of his existence would wear off soon enough, and they'd fade away like people always did.

He had tried to remember what had happened with Saw only once, on his first night on Yavin. Luckily, he had been in his own quarters, avoiding the Rebel celebration of their unexpected survival. No one knew how his hands had started shaking and lost grip on his mug of water, no one knew he hyperventilated, no one knew he fell backwards against the wall and slid down, eyes wide and tearing.

No one was knew he hyperventilated himself right into unconsciousness.

He turned down one of the side corridors that lead to Rogue One's territory, ignoring the burn of eyes open for far too many hours under the bright lights of the hangar. His thoughts wrapped around him, he didn't see the foot that suddenly jerked out into his path. He didn't see the figure step out behind him and give him a rough shove, to make sure he went down, at least, not until he hit the deck awkwardly. Eyes wide, he half-rolled to see who had come up on him, praying his racing heart to not burst.

Two completely mundane techs stood over him, their faces unremarkable in all things save the shared look of hatred on them. The one who had tripped him had darker hair and was shorter, the one who pushed was auburn-haired and had eyes that were nearly black. The taller one put his booted foot atop Bodhi's splayed hand, and ironically, only the shocking pain of finger bones cracking kept him from falling into the blackness of his welling panic.

"If it isn't Cassian's pet Imperial," the same taller one sneered, grinding his heel slowly atop Bodhi's hand. He saw stars as he could feel the bones grating, and he bit viciously into his lip to keep from screaming. "Poor little pet wandering around past his bedtime… What's wrong little pet? Looking for another planet to be the murderer of?"

Bodhi stopped moving, stopped breathing. No. No, this wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't believe that, could they? No! He had tried so hard to get the plans to Saw, to get the plans off of Jedha, to get them transmitted off Scarif. Alderaan was an innocent victim, like Jedha.

Like Jedha. Like Jedha. The images of his dying home, of his childhood growing up in Imperial oppression, of his family… of his mother, his sister… it was like being caught in a whirlpool of lives and places snuffed out. Tears welled in his unblinking eyes, dripping down to where he mouthed silently, over and over Jedha.

The techs didn't notice, or didn't care. The roar of the screams in his ears blocked out their taunts of Cassian's protections, of the woman being a whore, of the useless old men, of he himself planning the death of Alderaan, of his own homeworld, of his family, all for the Empire. Once an Imperial, they sneered, always an Imperial.

They had started beating him as they growled their accusations. One hand had fisted into his hair, holding him still as they whispered to him.

It didn't matter, he couldn't hear them. His mother danced in his memory, with his father, his younger sister and brother giggling in a moment of happiness. The room began to shake in his memory, though only he seemed to notice, and his mantra changed to being a hoarse "No… no…"

The floor fell away, taking his family with it. His father smiled and vanished into the void, his brother holding the older man's hand. His sister slipped away, leaving only his mother standing, strangely, above the dark pit. Her lips moved, forming the familiar shapes of his name, as she faded.

The crack from that blotted out the crack in his side as kicked ribs gave way. Spots started at the edges of his vision, and his breath hitched painfully as blood and tears mixed down his face.

Jyn sprawled across Cassian's bed as the Captain paced like a caged animal. Chirrut and Baze were holding a silent conversation conducted only in eyebrow wiggles and shrugs.

She adjusted her arm under her to be propped higher. "Cassian, stop it. We know why you called us in. It's Bodhi."

The pacing didn't stop, although the other pair shifted their attentions. "I'm worried about him," he admitted, running a hand through his shaggy hair. " He's been working ridiculously long shifts, working himself basically into unconsciousness. The Captain has said that the Pride's engines are working at better efficiency than they ever have after he finished some adjustments. That, and every random project that they'd planned on doing over the next month is done already. I'm not sure what's up with him, but I'm worried."

Chirrut leaned forward against his walking stick, his blind eyes unerringly finding Cassian's. "You've seen his hands shaking." It wasn't a question.

His Guardian shifted in his probably uncomfortable position, perched atop the room's short dresser. "The boy seems to be in a constant state of panic whenever he's not working. I feel like he's pushing himself to avoid a full blown panic attack."

Jyn bit at her lower lip. "That makes sense, and implies that he's trying to keep his mind off other things." Her mind started to put pieces together, and she wasn't sure she liked the answers she was coming up with.

"He was a native of NiJedha," Chirrut said softly. "On the jump to Eadu, his sleep was… less than restful. He was muttering… troubling things." He shifted back, closing his eyes now.

Cassian tensed, not liking the phrasing of the monk. "How troubling?"

"Do you know what Bor Gullet is?" Baze answered with a question of his own.

And just like that, Cassian felt himself go cold. "Where could he have run into one of those-"

Baze cut him off. "You know where."

Jyn sat up and adjusted herself so her elbows rested atop her knees, frowning. "What's a Bor Gullet?"

Paling beneath his tan, the captain resumed his pacing. "We actually don't know much about the species. Its small, tentacles… and communicates entirely by touch telepathy. They've been used by various cartels to… strip minds, basically rape them. The more painful the removal, the more likely the victim will come out with lasting damage. There's no firm numbers that I've seen at least, but its… its bad."

"And what does this have to do with Bodhi?" She knew the answer, but giving voice to it made it true.

Chirrut remained silent as Baze gave her a look that clearly said you know, and you're making me say it? "It has been said that Saw Gerrera had one in his possession."

It was a good thing the man was done and gone, otherwise Jyn would be hunting him down for more reasons than just her abandonment. To use that… thing… against anyone, but Bodhi? She knew she was possibly one of the least empathetic people around, and even she felt nothing but sheer disgust

She had never been religious, though her mother had believed in the Force. She hoped that the Force, or any other higher power, would kick the kriffing hell out of the bastard in whatever afterlife he went to. Or reincarnated into some protoplasmic goo.

"Our young friend had not been treated well by the universe thus far," Chirrut observed, breaking the silence. "It is likely that the damage that creature has done has left him off balance enough that he has been unwilling to deal with the death of Jedha."

That bought Cassian to a stop again. "He's working himself to death so he won't remember? Why hasn't he said anything?"

Jyn snorted. "You said you went to an Imperial Academy, maybe its different at an officer level. A cargo pilot? The Empire" there was a bit of a sneer at that word, '"sees those as disposable. You've spent some time with him, he's as depreciating and unassuming as someone can be."

The conversation might have continued along the same vein had Chirrut not jerked, his milky eyes opening again. "There's something wrong with our young friend."

OH GOD A CLIFFHANGER? What have I become?

I had a plan for how I wanted this to progress, and then I had a complete nerdgasm last night and tore up that draft and started a new one. You're going to love this.