Hello friends! Hope you're all having a good new year so far! Okay, so a little background on the first part of this story: it was inspired by a book I read for a sociology class called Death Without Weeping. Basically it's about the high infant mortality rate in Brazil and how it affects maternal relationships with children. From an etic perspective the mothers seem callous and cruel when in reality it's a coping mechanism against the near certainty of child death. That's kind of how I imagined Bodhi's relationship with his mother; loving but withdrawn and impersonal thanks to the Empire and the near constant threat of death/injury/subjugation. Anyway, I'm done rambling!

Hope you all enjoy it! :D

Summary: Bodhi reacts to Cassian's confessions of love in a variety of different ways.

"I love you," he says and Bodhi laughs.

The words catch him by surprise and leave him a little confused. He knows what they mean and what they represent, but it sounds strange and unfamiliar to him, a phrase he's only heard in passing. He thinks he's heard it once before but he's not sure; his mother might have told him that as a child. He knew she cared for him, was as affectionate with him as she could be, but he doubts she ever told him she loved him. She couldn't.

Jedha was a harsh, unforgiving world, one that cut lives brutally short rather than letting them flesh out. Between ice and desert and sand, childhood mortality was extraordinarily high. Surviving past childhood was remarkable enough but surviving to adulthood was phenomenal. His mother never told him she loved him because the chance of losing him had always been too great. If she never got attached, never allowed herself to love him, she wouldn't be broken and desolate when she lost him.

She loved him in her own way without ever saying it, relying on gestures instead of words. She loved him in the way she ran her fingers through his hair and cupped his face in her warm, calloused hands. She loved him in the way she pressed her forehead to his and whispered a prayer against the side of his neck the day Imperial guards appeared in their town. She loved him in the way she let him go, knowing he stood a better chance of survival if he was free and untethered, if she urged him to leave instead of begging him to stay. His mother loved him, he knew that, but she never, ever told him.

Love was an obscure, alien concept in the Empire. There were no friendships, no closeness, no camaraderie; relationships were sterile and impersonal, stripped of anything resembling emotion. Bodhi learned quickly that self-reliance and independence were the only acceptable options when it came to working with the Empire; help was not offered or given and failure was met with harsh punishment. Love did not exist in the Empire and so Bodhi forgot about it.

When Cassian tells him he loves him, the words soft and tentative and almost unsure, Bodhi laughs before he can stop himself. He realizes his mistake instantly, the confused, hurt expression fleeting across Cassian's face, and immediately tries to amend. He takes the captain's hand and presses his lips to his palm, gentle and feather-light. An apology.

No one has ever told him they loved him and so Bodhi doesn't know how to react. The pain in Cassian's eyes at this admission is almost worse than the truth itself and he shakes his head briefly like he doesn't understand.

He takes Bodhi's hands and traces the long lines of his fingers slowly. His expression is unreadable and strange and for a moment Bodhi wonders if he's angry with him. But then Cassian is clasping the pilot's hands in his own, tight and secure, and he says he loves him again.

Cassian tells him he loves him and Bodhi has never heard those words before but they sound nice when Cassian says them and he smiles.

OOOOO

"I love you," he says and Bodhi is angry.

Cassian is a fool, stubborn and headstrong, and he's much too good for someone like Bodhi. He's brave and inspiring and fearless, not weak and unsure like an Imperial defector, and it feels like a slap in the face everytime he says it because Cassian deserves so much more.

He knows what the other rebels say about him, the looks and judgement and accusation. He's heard it all and he accepts it because it's true but he hates that it's beginning to reflect on Cassian. Bodhi can take the criticism, it's nothing new and certainly nothing he hasn't heard before, but it should never involve Cassian.

Bodhi has known from the time he was ten years old that he was expendable, fodder for the Empire and nothing more than a means to an end. There were thousands like him, perfect, polished soldiers who never questioned orders and did what they were told without hesitation. There was no room for doubt or insecurity or weakness. Bodhi could be replaced and they made sure he knew it.

He found little welcoming when he joined the Rebellion, his appearance met with the suspicion and wariness of bedraggled fighters looking for another trap. They accepted him for the same reasons the Empire had: he was a means to an end. He had information that they needed which made him valuable for the time being. They didn't trust him though and he didn't blame them; he barely trusts himself.

But Cassian is brave and loyal, the very face of the Alliance's success. He deserves medals and accolades, not the whispered questions and queries about his relationship with an ex-Imperial pilot. Bodhi sees the way they look at him, the way they point and nod, speaking in quietly judgemental voices. He sees the way Cassian's reputation is being questioned because of him and he hates it.

Cassian is not bothered by what others say or what they think, their opinions mean nothing to him. Cassian tells him he loves him and Bodhi shoves him away in desperation.

He's angry and hurt and miserable, wishing Cassian would just give up in his foolish, misguided attempts at trying to make Bodhi out to be some kind of hero to the Rebellion. He's not a hero or an idol; he's nothing. Bodhi is poison and decay and rot and he's going to destroy everything Cassian has fought so hard to build. He screams this at him, pushes him away as a surge of hot, bitter tears streak down his face and splatter to the ground below.

The captain grabs him at some point, hugging him to his chest in a tight, unforgiving embrace. He holds him, breathes into his hair, and whispers I love you, I love you, I love you as Bodhi sobs himself sick in his arms.

Cassian tells him he loves him and Bodhi sobs and insists there's nothing to love.

OOOOO

"I love you," he says and Bodhi is too weak to speak.

The room is uncomfortably bright and smells like stripped metal and ozone. Everything around him is white: white walls, white floor, white ceiling. It's all shockingly, blindingly white except for the areas that are splattered with red.

There's red everywhere, bright speckles and dark pools, splatters and drips and blotches. It stains his clothes and his skin, dried in some places and shiny in others. It's in his hair and his mouth and his teeth, copper and rust and iron. He spits a mouthful and it splatters across the bright white floor in a sickening pattern.

He doesn't know how long he's been here, how long he's been missing; there was no concept of time in this white, white room. He guesses it's been close to three days since he was taken, three days of torture and pain and featureless white walls. He knew he was going to die here, defectors and traitors to the Empire are always doomed to an awful, gruesome fate, but he didn't know how long they planned to torture him for information before they deemed him useless and spent.

They broken his fingers first; a pilot is useless without his fingers. The hands came next followed by the wrists. They kept him conscious and rewarded each act of defiance with another broken bone. He had no information for them, nothing he would ever give up, and they made sure he suffered for it.

When the door slides open and voices fill the room, Bodhi recognizes them and nearly sobs. What comes out instead is a ragged sort of cough and he spits blood on the polished white floor once more.

Cassian is there and suddenly the pain doesn't seem so bad. His hands are on his face, his arms, his chest, and he's saying his name over and over. Bodhi smiles with bloody teeth and lets himself lean into his captain's touch.

He slumps suddenly, no longer strapped to the chair, and finds himself caught and cradled in large, strong arms. He's confused and disoriented, blinking brokenly at the white ceiling, and he's clutched protectively against a warm, solid chest.

"Rest, little brother," he hears from above and voice sounds remarkably different now that it usually does. No longer growled and booming but gentle and comforting.

A cool, gentle press of fingers passes over his forehead and he hears what sounds like a Jedi prayer being mumbled endlessly above him. It's soothing and soft and he feels himself drifting with the words.

When he opens his eyes again the room is much darker. He's in a bed instead of a chair and the taste of blood no longer fills his mouth. Cassian is sitting beside him, dark eyes fixed on his face, and he looks utterly exhausted. He visibly sags when Bodhi opens his eyes and gingerly wraps him in his arms, holding him close and stroking his hair.

Bodhi's hands are wrapped, the bones mostly healed but still too fragile and thin to keep unbandaged. They're bruised and tender, a painful throb accompanying each heartbeat, and he closes his eyes against the pain. Cassian holds his healing hands gently in both of his own and presses soft, tender kisses to each fingertip.

He tells him he loves him and Bodhi falls asleep holding his hand.

OOOOO

"I love you," he says and Bodhi trembles beneath him.

Cassian's hands are warm and strong, mapping the planes of his chest and curves of his shoulders with each word. He's memorizing Bodhi's features, breathing his name along his collarbone and tracing the lines of his muscles with his lips. They're tangled in each other, arms and legs and feet, and the warm press of Cassian's skin against his own is enough to make Bodhi shiver.

The lights are dim, just enough for them to see, and it makes the experience that much more intense. Bodhi has never had someone take him apart like this before, one piece at a time until there's nothing left. Cassian's hands are everywhere and it's leaving him breathless and wild.

Cassian kisses him again, warm and grounding, and the pilot arches into him. The captain smells like leather and grass and metal and Bodhi breathes him in like he's never had a breath of air until now. It'd intoxicating and overwhelming and he can't get enough.

Long fingers smooth themselves over his chest, bumping over his ribs like tiny speed bumps. Bodhi has a scattering of freckles across his chest and shoulders, a souvenir from the bright, blinding sun of Jedha, and Cassian finds every single one of them with his tongue.

The captain shifts on top of him, matching his body with Bodhi's like they were made to fit like this. The pilot's hands find his shoulders, splaying his fingers across his back and clinging to him like a drowning man. Cassian holds him tight, possessing anything he can and Bodhi lets him have it all.

He breathes Cassian's name and bites his lip, short fingernails digging into warm, brown skin. His breath hitches in his throat when the captain's long fingers dip along his hips, tracing bones and joints and muscle. Cassian kisses him again deeply and Bodhi groans, arching into him further.

Hours feel like seconds and seconds feel like days and time loses all meaning around. Bodhi is only aware of Cassian's hands, his lips, his voice, and he wonders how he ever lived without it. It's a crime, to be sure, and he's happy to spend the rest of his life atoning.

Cassian tell him he loves him and Bodhi clings to him tightly.

OOOOO

"I love you," he says and Bodhi believes him.

It's been a year since the Empire fell and the threat to the galaxy was extinguished. A year since Jedha and Galen and Scarif. A year since they nearly made the ultimate sacrifice to give the Rebellion a chance at success.

The Alliance is stronger now, stronger than it's ever been before and there's a ceremony planned for later that evening to commemorate the one year anniversary of Scarif.

The Rogue One crew has a place of honor in the ceremony and none of them really want to go but they do because it's a way to keep the spirit of the Rebellion high. There are new fighters and recruits coming in every day, volunteers to fight a war that's already been won. There's no room for slacking or stagnation, however; the Alliance must remain vigilant and alert at all times in order to protect the free worlds of the galaxy. This is part of the reason they're encouraged to attend, to keep the rebel moral elevated.

Chirrut and Baze are already there by the time they arrive, tucked away in a corner and speaking quietly to each other. Chirrut looks at ease in the meeting hall, pale eyes leveled at the growing crowd in front of them. Baze is standing just behind him, watching the crowd as well. He looks bored and restless like this entire night will be a waste if he doesn't get to shoot at something.

Jyn sits a few feet away, trapped in a conversation with four girls who look like they're no older than about eight. Daughters of other fighters, no doubt; the rebel base has become their new home and they've adapted well. They've found an unwitting mentor in Jyn and they're fascinated by her. They listen, eyes wide and attentive, as Jyn tells them the proper way to distract an Imperial guard and break his arm to steal his weapon. The girls are completely enraptured and there's little doubt that they're going to be attempting distraction techniques later tonight after the ceremony.

K-2 tuts quietly behind her, watching the children with blank, silver eyes. One of the girls reaches out like she's trying to figure out on her own how to disarm him and the droid steps just out of her reach. She pouts a little, he sighs, and K-2 is "captured and at the mercy" of four little girls five seconds later. He gripes but it's half-hearted.

Cassian leads Bodhi to the other side of the table, finding a chair close to Jyn and Chirrut. He keeps his fingers linked with the pilot's, his grip steady and grounding. To be honest, Bodhi had been dreading this ceremony. He still has nightmares about Scarif, dreams where they don't make it out, the plans aren't retrieved in time, the planet disintegrates all around them and their efforts were for nothing. The ceremony was a reminder of how close they had been to losing everything and it was only sheer chance and luck that they succeeded at all.

He would have been completely fine spending the night making arbitrary repairs to their ship if Cassian hadn't come and coaxed him out. He didn't want to go but he still believed in the Rebellion and everything it stood for and if going meant he could somehow keep up morale then fine. It doesn't change the fact that he's gripping Cassian's hand hard enough to make the captain wince when they walk in the room.

The ceremony begins a few moments after they enter, admirals and generals and Alliance leaders speaking before the accumulated crowd. They talk about the destruction of Jedha and Scarif, the souls who were lost in the fight against the Empire. They talk about victory and triumph and salvation and how the galaxy was freed from tyranny thanks to the brave rebel fighters seated at the front of the room. It's grandiose and uncomfortable and no one is happier for it to be over than the Rogue One crew.

The celebration will last well into the night but Cassian spirits Bodhi away before they can get caught up in the crowd. He noticed Baze doing the same thing to Chirrut and Jyn a few seconds after the ceremony ended and takes a page out of his book. For being the guests of honor, the Rogue One crew is incredibly good at vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Cassian takes him back to the ship and they disappear inside, the door closing and locking behind them. They're both more comfortable here, surrounded by metal walls and flight controls, and it makes the chaos of the day seem bearable. It's been a full year and they're still here.

When Bodhi tugs him into the sleeper cab toward the back of the ship, Cassian follows without complaint. They collapse on the bed and curl into each other, hands tangled in fabric and clinging to clothing. Cassian stretches out flat and Bodhi curls against his chest, the captain's arm curling around his waist and holding him close.

They don't talk about Scarif but they're both thinking about it, how close it had been, how dangerous. Scarif had been a victory, yes, but it had also been a killing field. They survived where many others did not and that knowledge weighs heavily in moments like this.

Cassian pulls him close, lips brushing along his hairline and pressing gentle kisses to his temple. For all the anxiety and heartache Scarif had brought them, it brought him this too and he's quietly thankful. His thumb traces small, circular patterns into the curve of Bodhi's shoulder blade and he listens to him breathe.

"I love you," he tells him quietly, the words gentle and soft as an evening breeze.

Bodhi smiles and presses a kiss to the solid line of his jaw. "I love you, too."

Thanks for reading guys! :D