The cell was cold and dark, empty save a few molded stones that one might sit on. Eris was curled on one such stone, near enough to the door but far enough she couldn't be touched, pressed against the wall by a small window of bars exposing the vacant cell on the other side.
Out of pity, or perhaps bribery Eris didn't know, a chipped plate had been shoved through the bars along with the offering of a cracked seeping cup of dirty water. Eris didn't hesitate to guzzle it, a thin stream dripping down her chin and soaking into the collar of her shirt. A frightening alien with black eyes allowed her another cup, she knew she wouldn't get a third. Taking the tray and moving back to her stone in the corner she took another large gulp.
It was then, warm water held on her dry tongue, she remembered Bodhi – he wouldn't be given the same courtesy. Though it left her throat tight and parched she trusted herself with another sip before placing the cup on the floor away from her.
The food was another matter. It was some sort of formed mush that when cupped in her fingers began to fall apart. Taste was nothing to her, she'd never had the privilege of eating anything "good". Hunger was everything. She stared mournfully at the half she'd left Bodhi licking the remnants from each finger. In a moment of weakness she scooped another bit into her cupped hand and hesitated, if she ate again she didn't know if she'd stop. Her stomach clenched in starvation.
Clanking metal had her dropping the mush back onto the tray and turning with the expectation of Saw Gerrera's dark intimidating form. The door to her cell was forced open with a loud screech and a narrow shaking form was tossed carelessly to the cold floor. She dropped the tray at the sight of the work goggles before he'd curled into a ball and shrunk into himself.
"What did you do to him?" she demanded, her tone one part concerned and two parts vicious. No answer of course was given, leaving her to kneel over him. "Bodhi," she said, her voice a gentle breath. He flinched at her hand on his shoulder winding himself into a tighter knot. "Bodhi," she said louder, more firm.
She crawled over him to find his face, pulling at the arms he'd brought up to protect himself. "Do you remember me?" she asked but how could he. They were strangers.
He whimpered screwing his eyes shut so as not to see. His mind was a million fractured pieces, unable to connect thought, to understand. At first he'd thought it was the Bor Gullet back to steal his mind again with a slimy painful touch on his shoulders, his temples, his neck. But these hands held him fast, secure, the voice was light though he had trouble with the words. He remembered her in pieces: steady, quiet, freckles, cold blue, pretty, afraid. "Yellow," he croaked opening his eyes.
Eris stared down at him in wonder, and ache. He couldn't be gone there was so much she wanted to ask, how was she supposed to know what to do without him. "Bodhi," she whispered again, but the name struck no memory in him. Releasing a disheartened sigh she pulled at the end of her shirt and began wiping the sweat from his face, her spirits too low to realize he wasn't flinching at her touch anymore.
Moving him was a challenge, he wasn't limp and pliable but rather a tight knot of arms and legs recoiling at every breath and scrape against the ground – it was lost on her that each flinch was to press further against her, because she was yellow and yellow was safe.
She maneuvered him onto the stone in the corner, leaning him against the wall but away from the bars to the next cell. For someone so small he was surprisingly heavy, that or her arms had thinned to the point of weak. She preferred him to be heavy. Sitting back she watched him curl his knees to his chest staring wide-eyed and mindless at the ground between them, his lips working over mumbled incoherent words.
Eris thought for sure the water would touch something in his broken mind, he hadn't been carried the last half of the way, he must have been thirsty. But he made no move, he didn't even acknowledge it. So she held the cup to his mouth and let him move past the initial startle until he was eagerly lapping. He drained the cup dry and still his throat bobbed aching for more, a feeling she knew. Gently she wiped her sleeve over his chin catching the water that had dripped from the corners of his mouth.
Food was a separate matter entirely. There was no spoon, no form to the slop so that she could shovel it. Instead she was left using cupped fingers that she brought to his mouth, using her other hand to pull his chin so that she could actually feed him. She was glad when his jaw began to work chewing, she wasn't gonna do that for him as well. For a long while she sat at his side scooping little bits of the watery mush into his now expecting mouth, feeling every so often the sudden foreign warmth of his tongue on her skin looking for more. When there was nothing left she closed his mouth and set about cleaning the dried crusted bits at the corners, swiping the pad of her thumb on her tongue for moisture. In doing so she let herself look at his small angular face, a thin sharp nose, a sharper jaw, endearingly wide eyes – he had a good face. A shame this was his circumstance.
Finished she shoved the plate away, wiped her spit-dampened hands on her pants, and sat with her back against the wall next to him. Without his direction she was left wondering what to do. They might be left to rot, given to the Imperials for compensation, tortured for more information, killed – or, Saw Gerrera might ask if she'd changed her mind about fighting. If that came to pass she would agree, become a mercenary, maybe with time and trust have Bodhi released and he could join them as well though not as a soldier of course. That could be her life, she could live with that, she could live that way.
It was in these thoughts she heard other voices demanding release the same way Bodhi had, the shuffling of many feet, the grumble of irritation. Eris froze: her knees to her chest where with her back against the cold wall she felt a tremor in the stone as the cell next to them was opened and at least two men were forced in. She slowed her breathing so as to make less sound, she didn't swallow the saliva draining to the back of her throat, didn't turn her head to try to see through the grate Bodhi was beside, she didn't tense in preparation of attacking. No noise did she make when every noise was a betrayal.
She waited. There was a man at the door, his feet she heard scuffing. And another man, larger heavier, skulking at the back of the cell. Eris didn't know if there were another, as far as she knew they were only two. Bodhi shook next to her rocking back and forth, his mumbled breaths too soft to be overheard. They may go unnoticed, and for now that was the plan – the only advice the man she assumed was Galen Erso had given was that most people would hate Bodhi for the insignia he bore. If that were true, and so far it was, they needed to remain unknown.
"Who's the one in the next cell?"
Her heart stuttered, that didn't take long. Heavy feet shuffled toward the wall. "What? Where?" came a deep angry voice closer to the metal grate. In the shadows of the cell adjacent sat a huddled figure shifting awkwardly in a dark uniform, though on his shoulder clearly seen was a spoked symbol. "An Imperial pilot," the angry man snarled.
"What pilot?" came a softer, thicker accented voice.
"Imperial." Another pause as the distance was measured between the ragged pile and the bars between them. "I'll kill him," he growled.
Eris lunged curling herself around Bodhi until she was between him and the wall, wrenching the violent stranger's arm painfully back through the bars. The sound that tore from the back of her throat in warning was closer to a growl and she looked an animal: eyes glittering, teeth bared, breaths coming in deep angry pants as she crouched over the incoherent boy now behind her.
An aged hateful man with faint scars lining his sun-darkened face glowered working his sore arm gauging how best to attack. Beside him a smaller man came into view his face intent with purpose. "Back off," he told the large fanatic aiming for insistence rather than a threat. The younger man released a heavy breath turning to the small barred window where the pale woman was rooted, her eyes daggers as she quietly observed.
He turned to the battered dirt-encrusted man trembling behind her trying to call to mind the face on the Imperial holograms in the city, tried to see past the wisps of hair and fearful face to find a resemblance. He honestly couldn't tell. But they'd made no mention of this wild looking woman, though from her tattered shirt and slacks he knew she'd been no more than a slave - a labor worker. Her absence wouldn't be noticed.
"Are you the pilot?" he asked. The man didn't look up. "Hey-are you the pilot? The shuttle pilot?" He tried reaching a hand through the bars to shake him by the shoulder, to jog him out of the daze he was in, but she was quick to grab his arm forcing him back. "Who are you?" he demanded, wondering how much she knew of this planet-killer.
"Doesn't matter," was her unapproachable response. There was a faint accent to her voice, a fluidity to it revealing the wasted years as a slave to the Empire, and that she was able to retain the flat accent she'd been brought up with revealed a small stubborn defiance.
He sized her up, found his first impression had been wrong. She was small yes, weak no. Her grip on his wrist when she'd caught it had felt strong as any shackle and he knew, the next hand to reach beyond those bars would be broken. There'd be no more warnings. "I am Cassian Andor," he bid her, softening his tone and face to appear inviting. Kneeling so as to level himself with her, to not be above her. Trustworthy. But she would not be moved, not by him.
But behind her came a whispered groan, a timid unsure thing. "Pi-lot?" Cassian watched hope flash in her eyes before she turned.
Chirrut spoke softly. "What's wrong with him?"
Cassian could only shake his head as he watched the girl settle once more facing the three men opposite her, a fire still alight in her eyes but it had dimmed and her brows had creased. This was grieving her. "Bodhi Rook?" he asked recalling the name from the holograms, thinking maybe it would jar something in him.
But the shriveled man shut his eyes and shrank back. She looked almost as disappointed as Cassian felt, he was no good if he was broken. "Galen Erso," he tried next, trying to be gentle but even he heard the urgent clip to his tone. "You know that name?"
Eris felt him shrink again, this time to pull away from her. His breathing grew loud and quick, short little bursts of air like a hound's panting. This was the first true response he'd shown since Saw Gerrera had taken him. Forsaking the others she slid to the floor kneeling in front of him watching his pained face. "Bodhi?"
His eyes opened. Everything was a wet blur unable to make out more than smudges and color. He could see yellow. Yellow and Galen Erso. A memory struck him, a yellow-headed girl huddled behind Galen's slightly broader shoulders glaring untrusting and bitter, and mutely afraid. Another memory: she'd looked to him and taken his hand. Another: a weapon that could destroy an entire planet, it wasn't a trick or a dream, it was real as was the danger and he could do this – he could do right. "I brought the message," he said, though still uncertain. "I'm the pilot."
With the drying of his eyes his vision began to clear. Clarity, he found, was her freckled face, that too full mouth, those grim blue eyes, and her messy yellow hair. And she was staring up at him with the same yearning look in her eye as when she'd taken his hand in the shuttle, when she'd let him lead her, when the first choice she may have ever made had been to choose him. She had more faith in him than he'd ever had in himself. "I'm the pilot."
For what seemed like the first time in the entirety of her weary life, Eris smiled.
