A/N: I saw "Rogue One" for the second time this week, and I was struck, again, by Jyn's attitude toward the Empire's oppression. I thought the "It's not a problem if you don't look up" line was one of the saddest in the movie, and I wondered, when did she start believing that? So naturally, I thought I should work it into a fan-fic. There's a nod to the old EU in here; I just can't let it go. Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"You can stand to see the Imperial flag reign across the galaxy?"

Jyn shrugged. "It's not a problem if you don't look up."

Look Down

Even when you are facing an adversary, Jyn, always look up. Always look someone in the eye. Show them you can't be cowed.

She remembered Galen's advice, could hear the words as clearly as the day he'd spoken them. It was something she took to heart. She had never been cowed, never showed panic or cowardice in the face of trouble. She'd never allowed herself to be broken.

But she seldom looked up; there was nothing there for her anymore. When she was young, she used to gaze up at the sky, terrified that Imperial ships would appear, would take her parents from her. Then after that happened, she would stare at the stars, imagining that, at any moment, her papa might come back to save her.

He never did.

She stopped looking up because she realized she had nothing to either hope or fear. She had nothing and no one—not even Saw. She was eighteen now, an adult orphan, a vagrant, a criminal. She found it easier to run if you didn't have your head in the clouds, easier to survive if you were grounded by the weight of your footfalls. If you shuffled along, head down like everyone else, well, you might just make it.

It didn't pay to get involved. She'd gotten involved with Saw and his rebels, had believed in the cause, and what had that gotten her? Abandoned, that's what. But that didn't matter now. She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm fine on my own," she mumbled to a forkful of noodles. The meal was the first substantial one she'd had in days, and she didn't feel guilty about having pickpocketed the credits she'd used to buy it. Still, she left a generous tip on the table as she rose to leave. Might as well help some other being live to struggle through another day.

The afternoon sun was unseasonably warm on Imperial Center, but Jyn kept her head covered. She'd taken a huge risk coming here—she knew that—but when she'd heard that the Imperial science officers would be convening for a symposium with the Emperor, she had allowed herself to hope for the most insignificant mention, the barest glimpse of her father.

Foolish. Jyn chided herself now, but didn't dwell on the feeling for long. Keep moving forward.

Forward took her by the Imperial Hall of Heroes, a portion of which was under construction. She stopped for a moment, gazing at the site from across the street.

She'd been passing by yesterday when something—she never knew what—compelled her to look over. The scene she saw was something she'd never forget.

The Imperials were using enslaved Wookiees to do the construction. Jyn hated slavery—which was pointless, since there was nothing she could do about it—and she hated watching any creature die at the hands of another. She'd seen that too often. A ranking officer, a captain, was beating a Wookiee, using a force whip to pierce his flesh, and even above the city's traffic and noise, she could hear the Wookiee's enraged howl. It stirred her; she recognized the sound as the same one her heart made the day she'd watched Krennic shoot her mother.

A junior officer looked on and Jyn resented him for not doing something when, suddenly, he did.

Jyn had to cover her mouth to stifle a shocked cry. She looked around frantically; was no one else seeing this? No, she realized. They weren't; they had their heads down, moving along, pretending everything was okay. Nothing to see here.

Jyn was the only one who saw the junior officer move. The Wookiee turned his strength and rage on the captain and the captain drew his blaster and aimed at the alien—and missed because the junior officer had barreled into him, knocking him down. The young man himself was no doubt in a state of shock over what he'd done. The Wookiee managed to disappear in the confusion.

She blinked, clearing the memory, but she wondered about the junior officer and the Wookiee. Had the Wookiee been recaptured? Had the junior officer been dismissed from service, or, worse, shot for treason? He'd no doubt been dealt with by now. Jyn shook her head. What an idiot, she thought. He should have never gotten involved. (But a part of her would have been disheartened if not a single soul had intervened for the Wookiee. There were moments when she still liked to believe in human goodness.)

"May the Force be with you," she said later that day, lifting a shot glass on behalf of that brave, stupid man. She threw her head back and downed the dark liquid without so much as wincing as it burned its way down. She didn't turn as someone sat next to her at the crowded bar. "Another, please," she called to the bartender.

"And an Alderaanian ale for me," a thick voice slurred from beside her. She turned to regard him, if for no other reason than to see what kind of being was already drunk at this hour of the day. She gasped in spite of herself.

"Sith!" She swore incredulously. "It's you!"

"'M sorry, have we met?" He focused his bloodshot eyes on her face, squinting, and she could tell it took an enormous effort for him to do so.

"No," she said quickly, recovering her wits. "I recognize you from the Hall of Heroes. I saw what you did yesterday."

His eyes narrowed. "What I did," he sneered. He lifted his glass of ale and gulped down half. Jyn just stared, her own drink forgotten.

"You're not at all what I expected," she said bluntly. She didn't know what she had expected the man to be like, but it definitely wasn't this drunken, disheveled mess. (Her heart of hearts was remembering something Papa had said long ago: It takes a good and noble person to sacrifice himself for a stranger. At the moment, this man looked neither good nor noble.)

"I'm not at all what I expected, sweetheart," he shot back angrily, face coloring. "Yesterday when I woke up, I was Lieutenant Solo, a man with a future. Now I'm nothing, and I have nothing." He finished his drink, ordered another before he said, "But I'll be damned if I ever watch another human being treat an alien that way again."

The simmering anger in his eyes told Jyn that this man, Solo, hadn't acted in a single moment of compassion. No, something had started stirring within him long ago. She found herself wanting to know more about him.

"Well, I see you weren't shot to death by a firing squad. What happened?"

He shook his head, looking sideways at her. "They want to make sure you know you're not worth the blaster bullets it would take to kill you." He paused. "I was drummed out, stripped of rank, insignia, and honors."

"Oh."

He shook his head again, thinking about much more than just the end of his career. "It was bound to happen sometime."

"What's that?"

"I wouldn't have lasted long. There was too much screwed up stuff. People are going to start realizing, you know," he said with sudden fervor. But the flame extinguished as quickly as it had ignited, and Jyn saw him sink even deeper into his misery. "Doesn't pay to stick your neck out, kid."

His jaw was hard-set as he slapped a few credits on the counter and stood to leave. Bitterness made him look older than he was; he was probably only six or seven years older than Jyn. He was tall, handsome, and jaded—just the type she usually found herself attracted to. But she only felt profound disappointment when she looked at him.

For reasons she couldn't explain, she followed him out of the bar, scampering to match his long stride. "So that's it?" She questioned incredulously, half-shouting, incensed. "You know there's something wrong and you're not going to do anything about it?"

He stopped suddenly and turned around. Jyn nearly ran into his chest.

"And what are you doing about it, sister?" His eyes were menacing. "You're a nobody just like me—look at you." He raked his eyes up and down contemptuously, from head to foot. She took a step back. He saw the hurt hidden deep in her eyes, but he was too drunk to care. "Nobodies can't afford to do anything about it." He turned sharply on his heel and stalked away.

Inexplicably, Jyn's eyes were stinging. "You've seen what they are!" She yelled at his retreating back. "And you're okay with watching the Empire devour the galaxy and lay waste to its people?"

"Nothing says I have to watch!" He barked over his shoulder. "Shouldn't be a problem if I don't look up."

She watched Solo disappear into the crowded street before turning the opposite direction herself. Only out of instinct was she able to move. She felt gutted. She noticed wetness on her cheeks and angrily swiped it away. She covered her head with her scarf and moved through the throngs of beings, blending in.

Don't stick out, don't stop, don't let anyone see you.

She'd come to Imperial Center clinging to one last shred of hope, and that had been a fool's errand. And then she'd witnessed an incredible act, had seen someone do something so selfless that she had almost started to believe in the greater good again. But she realized Solo was right: nobodies don't have the luxury of doing something about the Empire.

Jyn wanted to leave Imperial Center as soon as she could steal or grift her way into affording the passage. The city-planet made her feel small, and she'd had quite enough of that. Standing in the street, she could feel the weight of Imperial rule, how it stifled her, had taken everything from her. She was a nobody—she knew that now, and she couldn't do anything about it, but she didn't have to have it thrown in her face.

So she did all she knew how to do; she put her head down.

Years passed before Jyn Erso was willing to look up again.