A/N1: And now we return to something I apparently find easier to write than fluff, the angst-fest, and a powerful type too, as to me first-person narration is more emotional than third-person one. Please enjoy, hopefully.
I wish I had my Stormy here with me. Toys do not betray, do not break trust, do not hurt feelings, especially when you are so very sure you actually don't have too many feelings anymore. I'd feel so much safer with a wooden doll or a stuffed animal behind my back, safe from him - and from myself.
It all has started yesterday. We returned successfully from an infiltration mission, safe but slightly more traumatized by Empire's doings than usually, so we just went to have a quiet drink or two at our canteen. Two awfully pessimistic - or maybe just being realistic? - soldiers, a spy and a thief, good team-mates, friends even. We've seen each other at our best and at our worst; before battles, amidst fire of fights, and after battles; both unable to live too far apart of each other ever since Scarif but never closer than necessary.
We didn't drink much that night, really. But it was nice to talk to a fellow living being about silly things, to not think about atrocities of war even if for just few hours, no objectives to accomplish, no lives to take. I didn't want badly for this carefree time to end so quickly. Cassian had to notice my hesitation to part ways, always a spy, so offered to continue our evening in his quarters. I wasn't sure if this wouldn't be too much of invading his privacy - at cramped base we all need it desperately - but I really didn't want to be alone, yet. Maybe he didn't want, either?
I was spending time at his place only if it was necessary for mission briefings, and it felt very different yesterday, this time almost cosy. Cassian made us each a cup of a herbal tea, grabbed somewhere on one of his highly classified missions. We were happily continuing our mindless canteen chat, childhood happiest memories and friendly banter. Sipping hot beverage, inhaling sweet aroma, we were oddly at peace with situation and surroundings - a rare treat these days.
Finally the weariness started to show up, as both Cassian and I had our share of sore muscles and sleep deprivation. Arrangements for spending the night had became an issue for a short while - it wasn't all that late and it'd be better if no one could notice me leaving my superior officer's quarters, at least better for said officer. Besides, I was too tired to drag butt to the other end of the base to my own bunk. The decision was made quickly though - as friends and companions we were well used to sleeping at weird places and in tight spaces of various vehicles during missions. Why couldn't we share sleeping space outside an assignment? After all, sharing bunk bed is more comfortable than our usual sharing of durasteel floor or muddy ground. Half-dressed, we slipped under sheets to watch some utterly stupid holovid drama.
It felt safe, with his warm steady breath on my neck. But the holovid story was a teary one, the type you're supposed to watch alone, not even with a cuddly toy - to later go back to it, to cuddle into it with relief. So, I got out of bed, leaving sleeping Cassian behind. I was sitting in cold room until the drama's very end, until the echo of last dialogue and last tune have died out.
End of projection let the narrow ray of light from refresher light up the bed, so tempting with its warmth and safety of Cassian's presence. To my surprise, I discovered he wasn't sleeping at all, and his dark eyes, shining in that tiny amount of light, were watching me with intensity I've never seen before. My cuddly toy. He wanted to warm me up and so I let him.
We were kissing like we were probably supposed to kiss on Scarif, like if the world was supposed to end right then and there. And it has ended for me, in a way, because that night all the defense I ever had against the world has crumbled into dust. All that left was under our hot fingers - my scars and his scars, my messy hair and his scratchy stubble, our probing lips and twisted limbs, all of our trembling bodies.
In the end, there was nothing between us, no actual intercourse. And yet, Cassian had hurt me so much. If it was simply a case of casual sex, I wouldn't really mind, it's not unusual for stressed out soldiers to seek physical relief, quick shags every now and then. There are no saints in Rebellion, nor in any other army. But I thought we were more than that, that we were friends and had each other's trust. My fault, I let him do the harm. But he could always read me so well, he should've known that there were things he wasn't supposed to do. That there are things belonging to this whole something-more thing I have no longer hopes for, that disappeared years ago with Stormy, with my parents and all the pretences of normal life. That gentle pushing hair strands behind ear, stroking my cheek, entwining hands, kissing my bruises or whispering softly my name are things that belong to rituals of common people, not two soldiers broken beyond repair.
Tonight I'm alone at my bunk. I wish I had my Stormy with me. He was just a doll, I'd be safe with him. He'd never rub salt into my mental wounds, reminding me of all the things I won't - can't - have, would he?
A/N2: There's a bit of history behind this one, so bear with me.
During one of my lovely sleepless nights I was killing time by browsing through really old things, my creations that were wandering with me through various machines since at least 1998. They include things like scanned drawings, digital art, poetry and some short stories. Most of said stories is naive and rubbish, poor plot and style far from readable, but I've found some interesting things too - like a decent micro-story about a relationship of a girl and her beer-buddy going awkward, dating back to 2001. It was written in surprisingly dark manner - or maybe not so surprisingly, since I was in a dark and lonely place at that time. Either way, after reading I was just sitting for a while, switching mindlessly between folders; and then things kind of clicked together, almost in an audible way, when my eyes focused on desktop wallpaper. It's Rogue One - themed, and it took a single look into Cassian's eyes for my mind to start twisting old story into something new. The short thing got translated (now I write solely in English but used to write in my native language back in 2000's) and bits got cannibalized into newest fic. Here it is, hopefully mix of old and new turned out at least not much worse than my recent writing activities.