[A.N]: Thank you all for reading so far! Right now I have 11 chapters written, working on ch.12. I will probably post one chapter every other day until I am up to date with what is already written, then they will come slower, maybe one chapter a week or every 10 days, because I don't have much time to write right now. But until then, there are still a few chapters left to post! Hugs!

Also there is a problem with adding breaks, I usually use the asterisk * but it seems to keep disappearing, so I am really sorry if the past chapters didn't have the proper separation, I just noticed.


It had already been a few days since Cassian had stumbled, almost dying, into the med bay and then stumbled, a little less dying, out of it, mere hours after having surgery. Doctor Crane had insisted that he spend at least a whole day recovering in the infirmary, but he didn't want to stay there any longer than it was necessary. It smelled like disinfectants and death and it creeped him out. So he took off the moment he didn't feel like fainting and went back to work.

His superiors didn't agree with this decision and forced him to take a week off. He argued it, but in the end it wasn't all that bad. He needed a break, even though he would never admit it. As things got more tense between the Empire and the Rebellion, he often found himself so absorbed in his work that he neglected even his most basic needs. So he took this opportunity to catch up on sleep and eat and take care of the personal stuff he had been delaying for months.

He still had to attend the intelligence briefings every other day, but that didn't bother him. He liked to stay informed. He felt like he was still relevant even if he was grounded. It gave him a purpose and a sense of direction. It's easy to get lost when you have nothing else to do but to listen to the voice in your head.

And right now the voice in his head was telling him that he'd made a huge mistake regarding the whole Corinthia Enoch situation. He had been so blinded by rage that he didn't listen to the voice of reason, if he even had one at that point. She was right. He should have just dropped her off someplace and then forget all about it. Hell, for a moment he even wanted to help her get fake papers and maybe recruit her for the Rebellion. They were always in need of specialists, and a medic with military training wasn't something that easy to pass up.

But then he heard her name and all his composure flew out the window. All the people that had been killed by Admiral Enoch and his ISD Corinthia, all the pain and the suffering caused by the Empire, in that moment, he blamed it all on her. All his bottled up anger had been spilled and he wanted revenge.

He started regretting it the moment he calmed down a little. By that time they had already labelled her a spy and locked her in a cell and there was nothing he could do to get her out. If when they had left the star destroyer she was no danger to the Alliance, right now she knew the location of their base, their names and who knows what other things. Even if she had never been an imperial spy, they had made an enemy of her. And he blamed himself for that too.

General Draven was a distinguished general and strategist, but he wasn't very good with people. He dealt with armies and ships and troops, not with individuals. He was stubborn and proud, hated to be defied or contradicted, and Corinthia was nothing if not defiant. He had made it his personal quest to expose her and drain her of all her secrets. From what he'd heard he was conducting the interrogations himself, which wasn't that odd given the importance of the prisoner, but to Cassian this wasn't a good sign. He was afraid the general would turn this into a personal vendetta.

On the other side, Mon Mothma had changed her opinion on the doctor a little after Cassian had been debriefed on the mission and actually objectively spoke in her favour a couple of times. He had told them everything that had happened and he didn't avoid emphasising her role in the success of the mission. Draven argued that they had too much luck leaving the ship so they had to have been allowed to leave and she was too well prepared not to be a spy. Cassian didn't think of it that way. Yes, they had both been very lucky getting out of there, but she had no way of knowing he would stumble into her infirmary one day. It's not like she had been trained to do this and that if she ever ran into a rebel. It wasn't a believable scenario. She had a bag ready, but no matter how much they had searched it they still didn't find anything that would prove their assumption that she was an agent working for the enemy. She had some clothes, medical supplies and equipment, survival gear, some personal effects, a blaster gun and 20000 credits in coins. It looked like the bag of someone who really wanted to run away. She had seen him as her ticket to freedom. And he put her in jail. So much for gratitude.

At the end of the meeting Cassian realized he hadn't heard half of what was discussed and cursed himself for letting his guilt get the best of him. He was supposed to be level-headed and smart, but right now he wasn't displaying any of those traits and it was getting on his nerves. Which, of course, made him even less focused.

General Draven asked him to stay behind after the meeting and Cassian had a bad feeling about that. He wasn't allowed to go on missions yet, as per doctor's orders, even if his wound had almost healed, so he assumed what Draven wanted to talk to him about had something to do with Corinthia and right now he wanted to stay as far away from her as possible.

"Captain," the general addressed him, closing the door after the others had left the room. "How's your injury?"

"Much better, thank you."

"You take your time and rest. We wouldn't want to lose your services," he continued, fiddling with some datapads.

"I will, thank you." Cassian was sure he didn't keep him there just to ask him about his health, so he was waiting patiently for the general to get to the point.

"About our prisoner…" he finally spoke. "We haven't been doing much progress."

That much Cassian knew. He expected the doctor to be difficult, but they had their ways of getting the information out of people so it was just a matter of time until they broke her.

"She refuses to tell us anything relevant," the general continued.

"Have you tried everything?" Cassian asked, furrowing his brows.

"No! No." Daven started rubbing his eyes like he was too tired for this. "Senator Mothma opposes the use of any kind of force or… coercive measures in this case. She thinks that we can still win her over as an ally, and torturing her if she's innocent wouldn't be a moral thing to do."

"And what do you think, General?" Cassian took the liberty to ask.

"I think that innocent or not she may have information we need. What's the sacrifice of one, when you could save millions? Don't you think so, Captain?" he asked, giving him a sideways glance.

"It's not my decision to make, Sir" Cassian replied automatically, but a cold shiver was running down his spine.

"You're right. It's mine." Draven took a datapad out of the stack on the desk and offered it to Cassian. "That's what we know about her so far. There are records of the interrogations that have been conducted until now. She's yours."

Cassian reluctantly took the datapad. "With all due respect, Sir, I doubt that she'll be more willing to talk to me."

"Then make her. Threaten her, earn her trust, lie to her. Hell, torture her if necessary and I'll deal with Senator Mothma later, but find out what we need to know." There was a mask of anger not very well hidden on the general's face and Cassian wondered what exactly was making him lose his composure like that.

"What if she doesn't know anything useful?" he asked, without looking the general in the eye.

Draven came closer and put a hand on his shoulder in an act of reassurance. "Then it's my mistake. Your conscience is clear, Captain." The general's hand felt heavy on his shoulder.

Cassian replied with a very unconvincing nod.

He looked over the data pad with disgust. Once again he had to do something he dreaded. Usually he could keep his conscience silent by repeating that this had to be done and if he did it, no one else had to go through this moral debate. But today wasn't one of those days and the voice in his head kept screaming at him that it wasn't worth the damage it was doing.

He saluted and left the room thinking that he should have stayed in the fucking hospital for a month.


The nights were the worst. During the day she could find ways to entertain herself, whether she tried to see animals in the discolorations on the floor, or counted the iron bars for the millionth time, at least there was light and she could keep a part of her brain busy.

At night, surrounded by darkness, she felt lost. It wasn't complete darkness, fortunately. The lights on the corridor were always on, but dimmed so that it took some effort to distinguish anything. There was also a small night light above her bed, but that one would automatically turn off after five minutes, so it was useful if you needed to use the toilet, but not much else.

In the dim light her cell looked eerie, like the deep dark shadows could come to life. She had never been afraid on the dark, not as far as she could remember, but in here it seemed at the same time endless and constricting. Claustrophobic was also something she had never imagined she'd end up being, having lived most of her life either on ships or in boarding schools where space had always been a luxury. But in this cell there was nothing that made her feel safe, that made her feel at home. It was just a box and it was suffocating her.

Her nightmares were back, too. On the ship she managed to keep them at bay by working long hours and going to bed so tired she almost fainted. And if that didn't work, there were always the pills. Even if she woke up in the middle of the night she would just turn on the light and maybe read a few lines from a book until the dream was forgotten and she could go back to sleep. Now, with nothing but darkness surrounding her, the nightmares felt real.

She dreamt of darkness and screams and running scared of threats that she couldn't define. Sometimes she dreamt that she was choking and dying slowly, sometimes she dreamt that she had to kill the ones she loved. The pain and the fear were ever-present. And every time she woke up, her heart beating a million times a minute, she struggled to realize that it was just a dream. When you live in darkness and dream about darkness it is so easy to get the two mixed up. So she gave up sleeping at night altogether.

The "night" lasted nine hours. She knew because she had counted how many times she had to turn on the night light until the main lights came back on. She always felt relieved when it was finally "day" and she could go to sleep knowing that if she woke up from a nightmare at least she could recognize her surroundings. She tried to keep busy at night by pretending she had an exam in the morning and she had to revise, so she spent most of the time remembering the theoretical parts of her medical training. It felt familiar, she had done it a million times during her school years and it helped her stay grounded. Occasionally she'd fall asleep, but most of the time she could stay awake long enough for the night to pass without any incidents.

She usually slept until noon. She guessed that because she woke up around the time the guards would bring her lunch. She was starting to get used to the food, it tasted like mud but it was an edible sort of mud. She missed the food on the ship though, at least there they put up an effort to make it look nourishing. Actually she missed everything about her former life, including her colleagues and the whiny stormtroopers. Most of all she missed the illusion of being in control of her life.

After a particularly restless night, as she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her back to the wall trying to alleviate the pain in her spine, Cassian appeared in front of her cell. She didn't expect to see him again. He never took part in her hearings, it was always someone else asking the questions. There was no reason for him to visit her alone unless he wanted to personally twist the knife in her metaphorical wounds. Well, maybe that was the exact reason he was there.

"I thought I smelled shit," she spoke, her voice betraying her exhaustion, "but I never thought you'd materialize in front of me." She smiled but she was too tired to keep it on her face for more than a second.

The rebel approached her cell and leaned on the metal bars. He had lost his frown and his body language showed less hostility than last time she saw him. She couldn't help but notice that he looked good. Not that he was ugly before, but now he looked well rested and clean. His hair and beard were groomed and his sand coloured uniform fit him. He was doing well while she hadn't seen herself in a mirror since… She wasn't sure how long she had spent in that dreaded cell.

"Does it make you feel better throwing insults at everyone?" he asked her, lifting an eyebrow.

"Obviously, fuckwad, otherwise I wouldn't be doing it." It didn't make her feel better. Nothing short of a mild coma would make her feel better at that point. There was a perpetual sneer imprinted on her face, she didn't have to look into a mirror to know it was there. "Did they sent you here to interrogate me?" she asked for the sake of making conversation.

"Yes," he answered, looking at her through the bars.

"Not a great plan." She uncrossed her legs and got up the bed. Pain shot through her back again but she did her best to hide it.

"Maybe it's not. But maybe it is."

"What makes you think that?" She took a few steps closer to the door.

"If you cooperate, maybe I can help you out a little." His voice was even and professional, not betraying any emotion.

Cora crossed her arms over her chest and leaned on the bars, somewhat mirroring his position. She was close enough that she could just stick out her hand and touch him.

"Oh, you've helped enough, thank you very much," she said, putting as much venom in her words as she could. "I ain't telling you shit."

"Are you sure?" He tilted his head a little and the light emphasized the angles of his face. "You aren't getting out of here anytime soon, and I could make your stay a little more bearable. Let's make a deal, you answer one of my questions, I'll bring you a book."

Cora didn't think, she acted. She slipped her hand through the bars and missed his nose by only a few millimeters. She really wished she could leave him with at least a scratch on his face for having the nerve to propose a deal to her after what he had done. But he was a lot faster than her, she had to admit. Almost like...

"A weasel!" Cora started laughing. It was a nervous, hysterical laughter, that had no happiness in it. She took a step back from the door, running her hands over her face and then through her hair. She was laughing so hard she had to sit down on the stone floor in order not to stumble and fall.

"A what?" Confusion could be read all over Cassian's face as he approached the cell once again.

"You look just like a weasel," she said when she finally stopped laughing. She hadn't laughed in so long it felt strange and invigorating, even though it was just a byproduct of her fatigue. "Small furry creatures," she said, trying to get her breathing under control and wipe the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes, "with cute little faces and noses and tiny little toes. Really cute, but annoying as fuck. They're so fast and flexible and full of energy and they keep slipping through your fingers when you play with them. I kept thinking you reminded me of something, I just couldn't put my finger on what it was." With her breathing steady she got up the floor and dusted herself, even though a little dust couldn't make her look more deplorable than she already was. Cassian still looked genuinely confused, so she continued.

"One of the girls at school had one. We weren't allowed pets but she hid it in the dormitory and let us play with it from time to time. It was a cute little critter." She sighed, remembering the rest. "They found it eventually and killed it."

She didn't need this memory. She didn't need any of the memories from boarding school to come flooding back, but it was too late for that. Her brain refused to let go of anything that could keep it busy for a while. "I don't know what they did to the girl," Cora continued, unable to stop now that she had opened up, "but she didn't speak for a week after that. We never asked her, you learn really fast to not ask questions."

She turned around and lay on the bed, feeling exhausted again. The high given by the sudden outburst of laughter was now gone and it left her even more drained of energy than before.

"Can you tell me more about your school?" Cassian asked, and Cora thought once again that his voice was pleasant when he wasn't angry. She looked at him. He was resting his forearms on one of the horizontal bars of the door.

"It's not a nice place," she finally told him, turning to face the wall. "Never send your children there." She pulled the blanket over her head trying to shut the outside world out, but more than that to stop him from seeing the tears that had started running freely on her cheeks.

When she finally gathered the courage to turn around, he was gone. She was alone once again.