Author's Note: Guys, WE HAVE MADE IT HALFWAY! I can't believe it! *faints from exhaustion* I would like to dedicate this monstrous - yes, monstrous - chapter to Wolf_Storm, imsfire, OhMaven, Yavemiel, manzakine, TricksandNonsense, Imentet, Hazelmist, skitzofreak, and so, so many others who have read and commented so faithfully. I'm sorry if I forgot to mention anyone. I assure you that I appreciate every single review. I wouldn't have gotten this far without all of your support, enthusiasm, and love for history. I am truly, truly grateful.

Reviews are (almost) better than Miranda Lambert's The Weight of These Wings. (No, seriously, go listen to it. The whole album is a thing of beauty.) So please leave one if you can!

Previously: In 1941, Kes Dameron proposes to Shara Bey. Cassian is recruited into the Baker Street Irregulars by Davits Draven. He is flown around the country by night to conduct secret missions. This is how he is reunited with Jyn, who is an ATA (Air Transport Auxiliary) pilot ferrying important passengers. Bodhi Rook has a sick mother, Rosemary Stuart has lost her fighter pilot brother in a bombing in Scotland, and the ATA's Flight Captain Jacqueline Cochran is writing letters to Washington in the hope of forming an all-female pilot unit in the States. That's it. That's all you need to know.

But in war, time is so precious to the young people.

Mrs. Miniver (1942), directed by William Wyler

July, 1942

England

If you are the sort of person who has read the right books, you would know that the most famous love stories are the ones that have changed the world. The ones that have launched a thousand ships, brought down a kingdom, slain a dragon. That have made kings and queens and unmade them. That have left a mark on the fabric of history.

But there are also other romances we humans tend to forget. The ones that are born from quietness, blossoming slowly from the earth like the first rose in springtime. The first splash of colour in a grey, white world. Love is sometimes like this: it sneaks up on you unawares. And before you know where you are, you are already falling.

In 1942, the Princess Elizabeth had registered for war service, America had joined the fight, and Egypt had become a battle ground. And one of our love stories was about to take root, while another was about to die.

.

.

Jyn Erso stood gasping for breath while she listened to her friends argue. Their voices rose and fell, as shrill and sharp as the gust of wind that blew pass.

"You're killing us out there, Bey!" yelled Anna Lekis "Are you completely useless? You're supposed to save the bloody ball, not stand and watch as it rolled into the back of the net!"

"Oh, you're one to talk, Lekis! You can barely run up the wing! It must be because of those cigarettes you keep smoking!"

"At least I stopped the fat one from shooting, you simply left the goal open for Halliday!"

Shara Bey gasped. "I did no such thing!"

"It would have been more forgivable had the ball bounced off your arse and rolled in!"

"Why, you fucking hypocrite!"

Anna Lekis pushed right into Shara's face. "Do you want to say that again, Bey? I'll knock you down, I swear I will!"

Jyn sighed. She gathered her strength and raised her voice to a shout. "Shut it! Both of you! SHUT IT!" Although both her friends were taller than her, they seemed to shrink in size as she thundered at them. "I don't care who's to blame for the goals. It's in the past, we can't change it! But so help me God, if any of you - I mean any of you - let it one more, I'm going to carve out your heart and eat it for supper."

Shara rounded on her, aghast. "Jyn, it's a just five-a-side game. With friends." She pointed to the other five ATA women who were grouped on the other side of Hamble's small and patchy field.

It was all a rather dismal sight, Jyn had to admit. The plan had sounded more promising when they decided on it in the crowded mess hall yesterday. Turned out they did not even have enough volunteers to make up twenty-two players. And they could find no proper-sized goals, just make-shift ones meant for children that someone had unearthed from one of Hamble's dusty cellars. The football itself hardly had much air in it. As Jyn watched, she saw the one called Halliday, who'd scored two of the goals against them, put a foot on it. A big-boned woman close to thirty, Halliday looked quite pleased with herself as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with a large hand. The sight filled Jyn with contempt.

She turned back to her own teammates. "We are winning this match."

Rosemary glanced around warily. The Scottish girl had proved a natural on the pitch, and although there were beads of sweat on her face and neck, she did not seem tired. "Jyn, we're two-one down. They're destroying us out there."

"You scored our only goal, Rosemary. You're our best chance. Can you score two more?"

"Yes, I can try, but - "

"I don't want you to try, I want you to do it."

Rosemary stood up a little straighter. "I can if you manage to get the ball to me."

"I will. Hear that, Anna? You get the ball to her as well."

Shara sniggered. "If Anna can run to the ball."

The Polish woman gave Shara a look of loathing. "Only if you save a shot, Bey." She inclined her head to Jyn. "What should we do with this one, Erso, if you're such a genius?"

Replace her, Jyn thought. But, of course, they had no one to replace her with. "Shara, don't come up the field," Jyn told her best friend. "Just stay in front of the goal. Guard it with your life."

"But you said before the game started that - "

"I know what I said! But that's before you let Halliday have a clear shot. From now on, don't you dare go higher than the half-way line!"

"This is insane," Shara grumbled. "It's just a game, for God's sake! It's supposed to be fun!"

"Winning is fun," Jyn countered. She turned to the last member of their team. Aster stood quietly by, sipping water from a canteen and wiping her face with a small towel. Jyn's voice softened when she locked eyes with the older Ethiopian woman. "You're doing great, Aster, really great, but I think Jade's right foot is not her best. If you force her to use it - "

" - then I might be able to nick the ball from her more easily." Aster nodded. "Yes, I can do that."

"And Rosemary, stay up there. Don't come down to get the ball. We'll try and get it to you. All you have to worry about is scoring. And Anna," she sighed as she whipped around to face the Pole once more, "please do try and run faster. And if Halliday tries to get pass you again, bring her down."

The Pole nodded. But it was Shara who stared wide-eyed at Jyn. "Bring her down? What does that mean?"

Jyn shrugged. "It means tackle her."

"Unbelievable." Shara scoffed. "Am I the only one who's not taking this seriously?"

"Yes. And I really don't appreciate your blasé attitude, Bey. Why did you even volunteer to play?"

"Because I was bored. And because I had time to spare. And because you forced me to."

Her friend had the right of it, Jyn knew. But how could she have known that Shara would take the game this lightly? If she had known, she wouldn't have forced her to join the team at all. "It doesn't matter now," Jyn said. "Just stop the ball from going into the back of the net. I don't care if you have to block it with your pretty face. Just don't let it in." She turned to the rest of her team. "Are we clear?"

They replied in unison, "Yes."

She nodded. "Now let's go win this bloody match."

'Winning this bloody match' was easier said than done, however. Halliday had another clear shot at goal only ten minutes into the second half. To Jyn's dismay, Shara was all the way on the left wing, trying to mark Jade, the pretty Geordie who played midfield for the other side. But thankfully, Halliday's shot was skewed, and the ball bounced off the top bar and tumbled into the nearby bush. Jyn could not help but roar her delight.

The match was meant to be a friendly competition. Something to help forge a bond between old and new ATA recruits. But from the way Anna Lekis slammed into Halliday a few minutes later, it was clear that friendship was the last thing on everyone's mind.

"Foul!" screeched Jade.

Anna shouted back. "We have no referee, stupid, so a foul can't be called! And it was a fair tackle!"

"A fair tackle?" Halliday scrambled to her feet. "I didn't even have the ball!"

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I bloody didn't!"

Shara stepped toward the pair with her arms crossed. She gave an exhausted sigh. "Really? This is all completely ridiculous. Lekis, back off. And Halliday, get a grip. There's no need for us to fight. Why don't we just call it a tie?"

Everyone ignored her. Even Rosemary, who by now had sprinted over to join the fray. It took them nearly ten minutes and two spectators to help resolve the issue. Halliday was awarded a free-kick, in which she sent sailing over the goal. "Do what I told you, Bey," Jyn barked at Shara as they resumed their positions, "and STAY IN GOAL!" This time the American obeyed, although she could not help but give Jyn an eye-roll.

In their next wave of attack, Aster swerved away from Jade and sent a lovely, curling pass to Rosemary. The Scottish girl brought the ball down with a sublime touch, and…whoosh! it sailed through the air as quick as an arrow before nestling into the top corner of the goal in one of the most beautiful sights Jyn had ever seen. The cheer she gave was embarrassingly loud.

Two-two, she thought, seething. Take that, you bastards!

Nearly everyone was covered in mud by the time the match came to an end. To the women's (except Shara's) dismay, the match ended in a tie, but most of them were too tired to complain overmuch. Jyn felt as if her bones and muscles were made of glass as she sank down onto the ground beside Rosemary. The redhead gave her a tiny smile and offered her a canteen of water.

"I'm completely knackered," said Jyn, after a few quick gulps. "If we had won, it would have been worth it. Those last ten minutes…I thought we had them."

Rosemary chuckled prettily. "Well, I should have scored a third. I had the chance. Too bad I missed. The angle was tricky, but I should have done better."

Jyn studied her, frowning. "You're very good, Rosemary."

The Scottish girl blushed. "Oh, I wouldn't say so."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not, really. Halliday's better."

"Halliday is stronger, but you have better technique." Jyn poked her in the shoulder with an elbow. "I can't believe you've been hiding your skills from us, Rose! You sly thing!"

"You're very good too, Jyn."

"Oh, I'm alright. I know how the game is played better than I know how to play it. Not like you. You're a natural. Why is that?"

Rosemary's smile turned sad, and Jyn suddenly realised the answer before she gave it. "I used to play with Jamie whenever he came home from school," the girl said softly. There was something broken in her expression now, like there was every time she talked about the brother she had lost. "He was a Celtic fan, our Jamie. There was only the two of us so we did almost everything together. And growing up where we did, we had plenty of space to run." She gave Jyn another tiny smile. "And what about you?"

"My father. He loved football. I used to watch the matches with him on the telly." When he was not working in his lab or buried in his books. When he had time to spend with me for more than five minutes a day. The world had been sweeter then. And less complicated.

"What are you ladies jabbering on about?" Shara sank down beside them, red-faced and tousled hair. She reached over to pluck the canteen of water from Jyn's grip.

"We were talking about how rubbish you were," Jyn replied.

Shara laughed. "Honey, you have to let it go. I didn't realise you're such a tyrant when it comes to soccer."

"Football."

"Football." The American rolled her eyes. "And speaking of feet, you right one is pretty sweet, Stuart."

Rosemary blushed again. "Oh, I don't know about that - "

"I beg your pardon, miss, but I'm looking for a…Miss Shara Bey?" A girl had come up to them. She was even smaller than Jyn, with chestnut curls that fell prettily to her shoulders. Jyn thought she had seen the girl around the place before. One of the maids' daughters, perhaps.

Shara raised a hand. "I'm Shara Bey. Do you have a message for me?"

The girl's cheeks reddened. "A message from Flight Captain Cochran, miss. She wants to see you in her office after dinner. And - and…"

"And what?"

The girl's eyes dropped to her feet, clad in tiny shoes of brown leather. "There's a man at the gate asking for you, miss."

Shara's smile died. "What man? Did he give his name?"

"No, miss." The girl shook her head, sending her curls to bouncing. "He just…told me to fetch you. To fetch Miss Shara Bey, he says. He says he's an old friend."

Jyn saw Shara's face darken. For a moment, she thought Shara would tell the little girl to go away. Or give some lie for the girl to carry to the visitor. But then she pursed her lips together, and stood up.

"Alright," said Shara, rolling up her mud-stained sleeves. "I'll go."

Rosemary stared at her, confused. But Jyn jumped to her feet. "I'm coming with you."

Her friend made no reply, but only nodded grimly as Jyn fell in beside her. The journey to the gate was made in silence. Yet as they walked, Jyn could not help but think, It must be. It has to be.

And sure enough, it was him.

His hat was in his hand as he stood waiting. Beside him was a small old car, its dark blue colouring scratched and peeling off. Even though he smiled ever so sadly when he caught sight of them walking down the path, there was only fondness in his gaze.

And Jyn saw Shara's mouth twitch upward as though she meant to smile.

Jyn was already asleep by the time Shara returned. She woke to find their tiny bedroom covered in darkness, and heard a thump when her friend walked into their dresser. A whispered curse followed.

"There's a torch on your bedside table, you know," Jyn spoke up, her voice still muffled from sleep.

She heard Shara shuffle around, another curse, and then flick!, her friend's stern and tired face finally came into view. "I think I might have woken up Mrs. Figgs when I came in," Shara told her.

Mrs. Figgs was their landlady. ATA pilots were not given lodgings at their ferry pools, so Jyn and Shara had been living in this room just above the town's little laundrette ever since they were assigned to Hamble. The place was within cycling-distance from the airfield, and the rent was not too expensive. So far the old woman's strict nature and keen hearing were the only drawbacks.

Jyn sat up in her bed. "You can always apologise tomorrow."

"As if I would." Shara scrambled over her own bed to Jyn's. "Scoot over."

"Are we five years old?" Jyn asked. Nonetheless, she moved to make room for Shara. Her friend had not changed out of her ATA uniform, but at least had the decency to kick off her shoes before sliding into the bed beside her.

"What did Cochran want?" Jyn asked. "You were gone for a very long time."

Shara shrugged. "I thought you'd still be awake," she commented.

Jyn had had trouble sleeping normal hours ever since she started flying at night. Whenever she had night flights, she could sleep through the entire day afterward; many of her friends had begun calling her an owl. But whenever she had to fly by day, the nights became a fitful sleepless torment. It was not uncommon for Shara to find her still reading a book by the light of a torch when the first morning rays came streaming through their window. I've become half a ghost and half a corpse, Jyn often thought.

"I was tired," Jyn answered. "Probably because of the football."

Shara scoffed. "Goodness, please! No more about the football."

Jyn let out a chuckle. They lay in bed for a while, drinking in the silence. The white light from Shara's torch bounced around the room, turning shadows into weird shapes. Eventually, Shara asked, "When will your next days off be?"

"I have another three days left of work."

"So…" Shara's frown deepened as she did the maths. "Next Wednesday, then?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I'm off that day too. I've talked with some of the girls and we want to go up to London and catch Mrs. Miniver. Are you interested?"

"That Hollywood propaganda picture?" Jyn snorted derisively. "Please. It's made by Americans for Americans, so that you lot will send us your troops and tanks."

"Well, I'm an American," said Shara. "It's made for me then. Come on, Jyn. Please do come. It'll be fun."

Jyn grew silent. There was something else hidden here, she realised; she and Shara knew each other too well. This invitation to Mrs. Miniver was merely an introduction to the real conversation, one Shara needed time to get to. But Jyn had never been a patient person, so she asked bluntly, "What did Kes want with you?"

Shara winced. "Jyn - "

"You're planning to tell me anyway. This Mrs. Miniver thing is total bullocks. Let's get the real thing over with so I can go back to sleep."

"You're breaking my heart, honey. You're a cruel, unfeeling woman."

"So are you. That's why we're friends. Now come on. Out with it."

It had been more than a year ever since her friend turned down Kes Dameron's proposal of marriage. On that day, Shara had come back to Hamble white as a sheet. When Jyn questioned her, she did not cry or rage or even make a crude joke. In a strangely subdued tone she had declared, "Kes asked me to marry him. I said no." And that was that. She retired to her bed and woke up the next day to ferry a Hurricane, all without shedding a single tear.

Afterward, no matter how much Jyn tried to pry, all Shara ever said was that they were still "friends", and that there were no hard feelings between them. But Jyn could not help but notice that the letters, the phone calls, and the trips to London began to stop. She even considered asking Cassian Andor about it during their night trips, but…well, she would rather not dwell on the reasons why she did not ask him at this very moment.

"What did he want?" Jyn asked again, after Shara had remained silent for a few seconds. "He didn't drive down from London just so he could admire your footballing prowess."

"We went for tea."

"And?"

Shara gave a soft sigh. Then in a quiet voice, began to tell the story. When she was done, Jyn drew in a jagged breath. "Are you going to go after him?" she asked her friend.

"I don't think he wants me to."

"Is that really the point?"

"Of course it is." Shara's voice was suddenly hard. "We agreed to be friends. Friends don't mess everything up by doing something stupid. Like he did."

"Bey, he asked you to marry him."

"Exactly."

"Are we both so bloody stubborn that we can't allow ourselves to be happy?"

"Maybe we're too bloody happy to allow ourselves to be stubborn."

"I doubt it."

"Well, at least I am happy." Shara gave a shrug. "If you were me, would you have said yes? No, you wouldn't. You would have told him to go to hell. I know you."

Jyn had a sudden image of a man with dark hair and dark eyes sinking to one knee before her and asking her the very same question Kes Dameron had asked her friend. She shook her head. "I don't know anything about love or marriages, so I can't possibly tell you anything useful." Her parents had been in love once, and happy. For a short period of time. And then they died. She never thought love was much use after that.

Shara's voice dropped even lower when she spoke again. "Jyn, I have something else to tell you."

"What?"

"It's about Cochran." When Jyn looked over, her friend had a cautious, almost scared look in her eyes. "She's going back to America. They finally gave her the green light. She's going to start training pilots for an all-female flying unit. Just like the ATA."

Jyn remembered Jacqueline Cochran showing her the letters that she had been writing to Eleanor Roosevelt, begging for this very thing. "Well, that's incredible. Good for her. About bloody time those folks in Washington got their heads out of their arses."

"Yes, but…" Shara's eyes met Jyn's. "She wants me to go with her."

For a long moment, the darkness seemed to have swallowed up the light from the torch. Jyn could only give a sharp laugh. "Are you taking the piss?"

"No, Jyn, I'm not." Shara sat up straighter in the bed and took her hand. "Cochran's looking to recruit some of the ATA American pilots as part of her first class. She wants those with experience. The ones who have already ferried fighter planes and bombers. I fit the bill."

"But…but…"

But all Jyn could think of was, You mean to leave me. The realisation staggered her. Knocked all the air out of her lungs. She thought she had already become accustomed to people leaving her, but this… Somehow I have never planned for this.

"I know, honey." Shara seemed to understand. She squeezed her hand. "But we can write letters. You can come over for a visit once the war is over."

"I always thought I was the impulsive one in this friendship."

The American gave a chuckle. "I have to give you a run for your money eventually, Erso."

"Is this because of Kes?"

"No. It's because of me. I want a chance to serve my country. Is that so very bad?"

"I never had you down for the patriotic type."

"Well," Shara said, smiling, "I am going to see Mrs. Miniver, after all."

Jyn could do nothing but laugh. After a while Shara began laughing too. And there they were, squeezed together in a bed that was too small, and laughing until Jyn thought she might even start weeping.

But, of course, laughter can never last forever. Eventually the two women became silent again. And that was when Jyn covered their entwined hands with her free one.

"I'm not going to miss you at all, Shara Bey."

Shara smiled. "I hate you too, Erso."

His mother was already pale as milk by the time the women had finished bathing her. Gone were the chocolate brown eyes that used to look on him with such love and kindness; they would never open again. Death had forced her mouth to droop down in a horrific half-circle, and her skin stretched over the bones of her face so thinly that he could see the blue and purple veins twisting like roots beneath her cheeks. When he reached out to touch her greying hair, he found it brittle and sharp. Like needles.

I should be crying, thought Bodhi Rook. Why am I not crying?

He heard the imam shuffle toward him. The old woman, a neighbour who helped bathe his mother and made her ready for the funeral, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. It is time, they seemed to say.

Bodhi covered his mother's face with the kafan once more. He gave a nod.

Then it was time for prayer.

Afterward, Bodhi would not be able to recall any of the words uttered by the imam and the mourners. Instead he reflected on what a bright and beautiful day it was, with hardly any clouds in the sky. Unusual for London. As he stood there beside the freshly dug grave, all he could think of was hot the sun felt on his skin. I did my best, mum, he mused as he looked up at the sky, searching. You like the sun, don't you? You always say you do.

Her death had been coming, he knew. It had been coming for years. He hadn't been surprised when he heard the news. Yet still it turned his entire world into a dream. Am I awake? he found himself wondering often. Is this real life? The real world? Or am I dead too, and this is all just some trick?

Then the prayers were over. And he moved forward automatically to carry out the next part of the funeral. The faces of the men around him - neighbours, sons and grandsons of neighbours - were solemn as they moved forward with him. He had seen some of them around his neighbourhood over the years, but had never spoken to them. They were either very old men or teenage boys, with those closer to Bodhi's own age having left London to join the war. Together they lowered his mother into the ground. Three handfuls of soil followed, poured and sprinkled over the plank that covered the body like raindrops. They made soft splattering noises as they hit the dark wood.

"We created you from it, and return you into it, and from it we will raise you a second time".

Then it was time again for prayer.

Later, after the grave had been filled, the old woman came up to Bodhi; she had lingered even when the other mourners had gone. An ancient, shrivelled thing, huddled and stooped, but the lined face under the hijab was kind. "She was very proud of you, Bodhi," the old woman told him.

Bodhi had no reply. He could only stare down at the brown earth, wishing it would swallow him up too.

"She spoke of you all the time," the old woman continued. "'My son is a pilot', she liked to say. Whenever we heard planes flying over our heads, she told me that it might be you up there."

His throat was dry as chalk. "Auntie, if you would forgive me - "

"Child - "

"Please."

The old woman gave a rattled sigh and nodded. "Yes, of course. But if you need anything. Anything at all…"

Bodhi thanked her politely and she moved away. Perhaps out of the graveyard, and back home to her husband or her own son, Bodhi did not know. He had never thought to ask. You would know, mum, he thought. I should have asked you while you were alive.

He did not know how long he stood there with his dead mother. It could have been hours, days, weeks. Finally he heard movement beside him. And when he looked up, he had to blink at the sight that greeted him, for Jyn Erso had never looked more like a dream.

"Hello, Bodhi," she said, smiling sadly.

He blinked again. "Jyn. How - how are you here?"

"Buses. Train. The usual." She shrugged. She was in her ATA uniform, creased and dusty like it always was. She frowned as she lifted up a bottle of wine. "I brought this. I forgot. I'm such an idiot."

"It doesn't - it doesn't matter. How are you here? I didn't - "

"You didn't invite me, but I thought I'd come anyway. I'm annoying that way." Her eyes softened when she looked at him. "Bodhi, I'm so sorry."

A lump began to form in his throat. He had to look away. "Thank you. Really, Jyn. You don't have to be here."

"Oh, I didn't really come up to London for you, you know. Some of the girls wanted to catch that new picture, Mrs. Miniver, and they forced me to tag along."

He smiled a little despite himself. "No one can force you to do anything."

"True." Jyn smiled. "See? You know me too well."

He beckoned her to follow him, and they found a bench underneath an oak tree where they made their seat. The day was getting hotter still, so he gave her permission to crack open her bottle of wine. He watched her drink it in silence.

"Was the - was the picture any good?" he finally asked.

Jyn looked confused as she lowered the bottle. "What picture?"

"Mrs. Miniver?"

"Oh." She thought for a moment. "It was…alright, I suppose. Do you want to see it? I can go again with you."

He shook his head. "No. I wouldn't - I wouldn't be any fun. Everything's a bit of a blur right now. Like - like - "

"Like you're in a dream. Yes, I remember," Jyn said in a strange, hollow voice. "It will be like that for a couple of weeks. Maybe months. Years."

Of course. She would know. How stupid of me to have forgotten. "How did - how did you get through it? When it happened to you?"

Jyn shrugged carelessly. "I fired guns. But I suppose that's not very much your style."

"No, it's not." He smiled brokenly. "I was - I was too young to remember when my dad died, so this - this is all new to me."

"How old were you then?"

"Less than a year old, I think." Strange. He hadn't thought about his father in a long time. But when he locked eyes with Jyn, the words came spilling out. "My parents married in Pakistan, came over, and had me here. We were - we were living in Birmingham at first, and then my dad decided we should come down to London. That's when he - he…there was an accident at work. My mother…she…it had been me and her ever since."

Jyn nodded, and he was relieved she didn't press him to say anymore. "What are you going to do now?" she asked instead.

What are you going to do now? The question felt strangely comforting when it should have distressed him. He thought hard for a moment, then found himself speaking softly, "All my life I tried staying close to home so I could take care of her. Everything - everything I did was so that we'd have enough money. When I was little, I used to believe that the money could help make her better. But as I grew older I began to realise that she's not going to get better, and all the money could ever do was make her dying a little less painful."

"Bodhi - "

"No, it's alright." He rubbed his nose, and gave a cough to clear his throat. "Now that she's gone, I can - I can…" But what he wanted to say was too horrible to voice out loud. Even to someone he trusted.

Jyn seemed to understand, though. She slid her arm through his and said what he dared not. "I've been thinking about what you said to me. Back when Clydebank happened. When I was such a bitch to you."

"You weren't a bitch."

She winced. "I was. But do you remember what we talked about?"

"Night flying?"

"Yes." She paused for a moment. "It could be good for you."

He was so grateful, he could have hugged her. "I want to. I really do. I want to do more than I'm currently doing. Now that - now that I can."

"I'll help you. I'll speak to people, I'll get you in."

"Will they consider me?"

Jyn frowned. "Why wouldn't they?"

Bodhi grimaced. He struggled to choose the right words. "Britain may be fighting this war, Jyn, but so is - so is the British Empire. But these men in high places…they…well, they like to forget that we exist, you know." Family members from Pakistan whom he'd never met were out there right now, he knew, fighting and dying for a country they'd never get to see. He even had childhood friends who fought in France, some who were now in North Africa and Burma. Even plane factories in Birmingham had workers whose faces were similar to his own. "It's - it's what they do. These generals and prime ministers and kings. They forget. My mother always said it's because they think it makes things easier."

Jyn stared at him, disgusted. "Not if I have anything to do with it! You'll be a night-pilot, Bodhi, even if I have to give my right leg to make it happen!"

He could never express how much her words meant to him, so he squeezed her arm instead. "Thank you, Jyn," he mumbled. "You're a - you're a good mate."

She waved away the compliment. "You'll make an excellent night-pilot, Bodhi. And one day you'll fly me across the channel, all the way to France. Perhaps when the war is over. Have you ever seen the Eiffel Tower at midnight?"

"I don't believe I have."

"You will one day. I promise."

A grin spread across his face. His first proper grin ever since he lost his mother. "I think I'll like that," he said. "I'll like that very much."

There was a symphony of sounds that she knew as well as her own breathing: the engines, the rain, the wind. A year of flying him around the countryside should have lost its appeal by now, but somehow the stars disagreed. They appeared to be in on the secret too; they seemed to wink at her as she flew pass.

Jyn leaned to the right, pointing down to the landscape below. "There's our castle right there," she said.

She heard him move to the window. "I've always wondered how old it is."

"I'd have to check, but it might be as old as the conquest."

"There's a boat in the moat tonight." He sounded amused.

"And a light in one of the tower windows." She swooped a little to the right. "And someone has put up flags on the battlements."

Cassian chuckled. "You're not supposed to point the castle out to me, Jyn. I'm not supposed to know where we're going."

"I know. Careless talk costs lives," she recited in a boring voice. "You say it so often, you should have the phrase tattooed on your forehead. But I say, what's life without a little risk?"

"Life without a little risk is still life."

She smiled. Of course he would say that. 'You're not supposed to point these things out to me' was also something he said often, but from the very first night she had never listened to him. He was the only passenger she talked to and the only one who talked to her; she was not about to let that end with a few cumbersome rules. And although their conversations were about mundane things - like the weather, the view below, the funny exploits of her friends at Hamble - she found herself missing them when she had to fly someone else. I've grown used to him, she mused softly.

It was a well-worn pattern they had. She made these trips with him once a month, maybe. Sometimes once every two months. It was always the same three military bases she flew him to - one in Scotland, another in Cornwall, the other in Yorkshire. Yet she still did not know what he did while she slept in the waiting room. All she could discern was that it was tiring work. He always returned to the plane weary and somehow more gaunt, and he would spend the entire return journey asleep, curled up like a cat and dead to the world. She no longer felt offended by it. She had come to realise how rare it was for him to find a semblance of peace.

The runway came into sight. Below them the moors stretched out like a great black carpet. She heard him tap his fingers against his seat as she started making their descent. "What's wrong?" he suddenly asked. He had a knack of reading her moods, which infuriated her to no end.

She made herself scoff disdainfully. "Who said there was anything wrong?"

"Is there anything wrong?"

She paused for a moment. For half a heartbeat she wanted to tell him about Shara leaving, and about Bodhi's mother. But all she said was, "There's a storm coming. Don't spend too long tonight. We don't want to get caught up in it on the way back."

He did not push her. He never did. But after they had landed and climbed out of the plane, he turned back to her one last time. "Will you be alright?" he asked.

"Well…I always am," she answered.

A strange look passed across his face. Then he nodded. "I'll see you in a bit, then."

This military base was the smallest one out of the three. The building where Cassian conducted his mysterious task was nothing but a large farmhouse - brick-red, three-story, and hidden amongst a clump of trees. Beyond that sat three huts. Only one had light coming from its windows. Jyn headed toward it, pulling her jacket tighter around her body. The wind was picking up.

Inside the hut she found a kettle on a stove, two candles burning, and a wooden bench covered with a patchy blanket. A familiar sight. She finished the sandwich she had in her pocket, and washed it down with cold water before lying down on the bench for the night. The blanket did not help much against the cold, but it was better than nothing.

I should have told Cassian about Shara, she thought wistfully. If Shara had been right about Kes Dameron, he would understand. I'll tell him later. Maybe later.

She dreamt the same dream again. The one that haunted her always. She was running, running, running. Behind her the gunshot rang out. Her mother screamed. The wind whipped around her, tugging at her clothes, pulling, scratching, and the ground began to fall from beneath her feet like it had not been there at all….

Then the door of the hut burst open with a bang that shattered the world.

The man was on her in a heartbeat. He stank of blood, vomit, urine. Bloody nails came clawing at her throat. A blade was pushed against her cheek, cold and biting. Out of the corner of her eye, flames were licking down the side of the table; the candles had been knocked down, she realised with panic. The floor titled beneath her as if to throw her off the face of the earth. No, no, she thought. This is not how I die!

The man began shouting, pleading, threatening. German. He's German. His grip on her neck was fire and iron.

Jyn spit out a mouthful of blood, then wrapped her legs around the man's waist as though they were lovers. She spun them, and with a harrowing shout, the knife slipped from the man's grasp and hit the floor with a clang. "Stop moving, if you know what's good for you!" she roared.

It was easy after that. The man was desperate but untrained. She grabbed his hand, twisted it until he screamed. A knee to the groin, then a punch in the face, and he was on his back sobbing as she pushed his own knife under his chin.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"No, no, no…." he wailed, half in broken English and half in German. "Please…no…"

Men were shouting outside. And before she could decide what to do, they had burst in. Two soldiers hoisted the sobbing German to his feet and dragged him away from her. "Are you alright, ma'am?" one of them asked, but she could not answer. All the strength had gone out of her legs and she found herself in a heap on the ground, the knife still in her hand.

"Get him back to his cell! NOW!" a voice rang out. Then the speaker came closer, crouched down in front of her with a gentle hand on her arm. "Jyn, are you alright?" asked Cassian Andor.

"I was slow," murmured Jyn. His face swam hazily before her. "I was too…too slow. It's been a while, I've forgotten. I should have - should have never let him put his knife on me. I could have dealt with him faster…Saw would have…"

"Shh. It's alright." He pried the knife away from her hand. "You're bleeding." He touched her cheek, then her neck, and his fingers came away red.

"It's just a cut."

Cassian looked over his shoulder and yelled, "Get something for her wound!"

"No, no, I'm alright, I'm just out of practice." She flailed about, trying to get to her feet. But he kept his hand on her arm and helped raise her up. "I've had worse, believe me."

"Here." Someone had given him a wet cloth and he touched it to her skin. He was tender as he wiped away the blood.

Other than a soldier who's putting out the flames, they were alone; the German had been taken away like Cassian had ordered. Jyn swallowed. "That man…"

"A prisoner. We made a mistake. He got hold of a knife. Escaped." Cassian's mouth grew tight. "It was my fault. I misread something."

"Misread…?" She did not understand. She laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady herself. And for the first time she saw the fresh cut on his forehead, the bruise below his right eye. "You're hurt."

"He caught me unawares. It won't happen again."

"What was he doing here?"

"I told you. He was a prisoner."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"What are you doing with him?"

Cassian froze, the cloth still at her brow. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes was enough. She shoved him away. "I need some air."

"Jyn - "

"Don't follow me."

The wind whipped at her face when she stepped outside like it had done in her dream. Breathe. Breathe. There was now light in the other two huts, she saw, and a soldier had just walked into the farmhouse. But she turned on her heels and marched away from the buildings, straight into the moors. The lights from the moon and the buildings were nothing but pale ribbons guiding her way, and she nearly tripped over a rock as she stumbled headlong into the grass. She only stopped when she came to the point where the light met the total blackness.

Breathe. Breathe. Jyn, breathe. Yet tears spilled from her eyes, unbidden. She never thought that the moors could make her cry before.

Cassian found her there much later when it had begun to rain. There was anger in his voice when he said quietly, "Jyn, you can't just walk off like that. It's not safe."

"This is not of one those times when you can just trod out one of your bloody slogans and expect everything to be alright, Cassian!"

"You're angry with me."

"No, I'm not." She wasn't. Not really.

"Then can we go? There's a storm coming. You said so yourself."

"Not until I get the truth."

He gave a heavy sigh. Then she heard the flick of a lighter, and he came to stand beside her to offer her a lit cigarette. "I knew you would say that," he muttered, all the anger gone from his voice.

Her fingers brushed against his as she took the cigarette from him. When she inhaled, the world felt pure again. Almost rich. She asked, "The German is a prisoner. I'm guessing he's a captured spy. And you're - what - his interrogator?"

"Yes."

"His interrogator. And maybe his torturer as well?"

"Jyn - "

"You're a brilliant liar, Cassian, but you can't lie your way out of this one." She smiled sadly as she flicked away the ash at the end of her cigarette. "Your prisoner had bruises too. I noticed."

"I do whatever is necessary to win the war and save lives." There was a hardness in his voice that she had never heard before. "Do you think we can win by playing nice, Jyn? Do you think we can win by playing by the rules? We don't have that luxury. I'm not saying that what we're doing is right, but if it were easy, everyone would do it."

She stared hard at him. "Is that what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night?"

His lips curled into a bitter smile. "Oh, I've given up on sleeping a long time ago."

You sleep in my plane, she was desperate to say, but instead she put the cigarette to her lips once more. After a quiet moment, she said, "So you do whatever it takes. No matter the cost."

"I play games."

She scoffed. "Games. You lie to him. Manipulate him. Sometimes use a little bit of violence to get your point across." Sadness rose up inside her, and she felt tears stinging her eyes again. She rubbed them away with ashy fingers. "My father was a prisoner of the Nazis, did you know that? I was eight when they took him. He's dead now. But before he died, do you think they were playing these games with him as well?"

Cassian sucked in a painful breath. "I did not know about your father."

"Well, now you do."

"I'm sorry about him, Jyn, I really am. But everyone plays games. This whole war is a game. We can only win if we play it better than them."

"Better?" She gave an awful laugh. "And here I was thinking we're trying to play it differently. Or we're not trying to play at all."

He frowned. "What are you saying?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "I'm saying you can do more. We can do more. Be more."

For a moment, Cassian seemed stunned. Then his eyes softened in a way that made her heart bleed. "It's not that easy, Jyn," he said.

"Yes, you're right, it's not that easy." She paused for a moment to inhale again. When she exhaled, the smoke trailed from her lips to his in a stream of silver. "But like you said. If it were easy, everyone would do it."

He smiled. Sad and regretful. And somehow that was the smile she would remember forever.

In life, Kes Dameron had always relied on two things: his wits and his luck. As he rang the bell of the flat in Russell Square, he had a strange feeling that he might be running out of both pretty soon.

When Kay opened the door and saw him, the blond man barely smiled. "About time, Dameron. Late as ever."

"I had to pack." He pointed down to his large suitcase.

"Not an excuse," said Kay, but he opened the door a little wider for Kes to come inside. He glanced down at Kes' leg. "I see you're getting fitter, Dameron," he remarked dryly.

Kes shrugged. "I manage." Like I manage everything else. That's all I ever do: just manage.

They found Cassian in the dining room, bent over a giant world map. A cup of tea weighed down one corner of the paper, a jug of water another. He greeted Dameron with a stern nod. So gaunt, Dameron thought, surprised. He looks like he's aged ten years.

Kes forced a chuckle as he tossed his coat onto a chair; his suitcase he had left in the foyer. "Studying a map, Andor? How bloody pretentious can you be, Captain?"

"Very," Kay broke in. "It's all he does now. Looking at maps."

"I'm preparing," said Cassian seriously, but his eyes shone with amusement.

Kes grinned "Preparing for what?"

"Everything," said Kay. "The whole bloody war."

"I'm analysing," said Cassian.

Kes gave a laugh. "Analysing? The only thing that needs analysing is your sense of humour. And that sodding beard."

Something close to a smile touched Cassian's lips. "I'm going to miss you, Dameron."

"Hopefully not too much, I hope? The girls will be jealous." He winked. "And you can come visit me anytime you want, mate, if you're mad enough to brave the U-boats."

"So you've finished the training, then? The interviews?"

"Yes." Kes took a sip of Cassian's tea without his permission. "Well, I was supposed to have one more, but they're in a hurry. Ever since we lost Tobruk and the Germans have marched on El Alamein, they're shipping everyone off as fast as they can."

"So when are you leaving, then?"

"Tomorrow morning."

For a split second, Cassian looked sad. "Alexandria?"

"Cairo."

Cassian's mouth tightened. "I thought we'd have more time."

Kes gave a shrug. "At least I have time enough to say goodbye to you lot, haven't I?"

"You won't be seeing any fighting when you're there, I hope?"

"With this old thing?" Kes scoffed, tapping his bad leg. "No, of course not, don't you worry. Churchill is planning to replace Auchinleck, and whoever takes up his place, I'm supposed to do whatever he says. Keep my eyes open, test the temperature in the streets, do paperwork." He shrugged. "A bloody vacation compared to France."

Kay walked over and pushed a glass into his hand, another into Cassian's. "This will be our last drink together then, Dameron."

Kes took a small sip. "Scotch?"

"Yes. A family heirloom," replied Kay. "Consider it a parting gift. My way of saying don't die out there."

"Blimey!" Kes grinned. "I believe this might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"And hopefully it will be the last, God help me."

Much later, after Kay had gone to bed, Kes found himself sitting on the floor of the kitchen with Cassian while they passed another one of Kay's family heirlooms between them. Smoke swirled from their cigarettes, and the map of the world lay on the marble tiles before them. A large ash tray covered the entirety of Fiji. After a moment of silence, Kes saw his friend's gaze drop from the bottle down to the continent of Africa.

"It will be one hell of a battle," said Cassian in a quiet voice.

Kes gave a deep sigh. "I know," he admitted. He grabbed the bottle from Cassian, and savoured the bitterness on his tongue for a short moment.

They all had tried to be confident about it earlier. Tried to face it all with a stiff upper lip, but… "If the Germans manage to keep hold of El Alamein," Cassian continued, eyes still on the map, "they can move on Alexandria, then Cairo, then the Suez Canal. If they succeed, it will be grim. Whoever Churchill hopes to replace Auchinleck with…"

"We better hope he's a bloody good commander."

Cassian nodded and turned to him. "Dameron - "

"It's a bit late to ask me to change my mind, Andor." Kes gave a humourless smile. "It was you who arranged this whole thing in the first place. And if you expected I would just sit around with my leg - "

"I'm not asking you to change your mind. I simply want to make sure that you're going for the right reasons."

Kes stared at his friend. "Have you gone mental, Andor? You should be the last person giving advice on healthy life choices."

"I just thought that because of…"

"Shara?" It always comes back to Shara, he thought. Ever since… He pushed the memory aside. "You're allowed to say her name, you know."

"Are you going to Egypt because she turned you down?"

Am I? He could still remember the look in her eyes after he had gone down on one knee. After he had asked the question. Even after more than a year later, the scene was still painful to recollect. He heard himself say, "I went to see her, you know. Told her where I'm going. She wished me well. But I'm going to Cairo because they're sending me there. Not because of her. You were right. We're better off as mates. You told me it was a terrible idea, and I should have listened to you."

Cassian was quiet for a few seconds. "I'm not always right, you know," he eventually said.

There was something in Cassian's tone that gave Kes pause. He studied his friend carefully through the smoke. "What's going on with you, Andor?" he asked.

Cassian shrugged. His eyes had glazed over from the alcohol. "Nothing," he answered. "I'm only rethinking some things. That's all."

And Kes knew his friend better than to ask any more.

He left the flat before the sun rose, while Cassian and Kay were still asleep. Outside a fog had settled over the city, and there was a chill in the air, with soft breezes that tickled and teased him like a woman he once knew and loved. An ARP warden stood leaning against a doorway, his helmet pulled low over his eyes. There was a union jack sticking out of a building's upstairs window, flapping lazily in time with the wind. He could see a taxi rolling pass, a shopkeeper pulling open her shutters, a stray dog gnawing on a bone in front of a newsagent. As he made his way to the tube station, he heard the quiet, familiar voices of London began to rise in one collective whisper. And before long the greyness of the night started to give way to morning.

Suddenly, Kes found himself wondering how hot it would be in Cairo. Whether he would come to love the sun just as much as he now loved the cold. Whether he would miss the rain, the buses, the tube. Even the unfriendly but defiant eyes of the people he walked pass everyday on the streets of London…

I'm off on a grand adventure, Kes Dameron told himself firmly. There's nothing to fear. Nothing to be sad about. I'm smart, young, and lucky. Life would be better. It must be. And then the dawn would come.

The most famous love stories are the ones that have launched a thousand ships, brought down a kingdom, slain a dragon. That have made kings and queens and unmade them. That have left a mark on the fabric of history. But the most tragic ones of all are the ones that have ended before they have barely begun.

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Author's Note: I can only apologise for my attempt at writing humour by squeezing in that nerdy five-a-side scene! But hey, I'm a shameless football fan, so I just couldn't resist!

All chapter titles are quotes from William Shakespeare. Now onto the history:

- The film Mrs. Miniver was released in June 1942, and went on to win the Best Picture Oscar in the following year. Directed by William Wyler, the film was inspired by his own war time experience, and explores the life of an English family who's learning how to cope with war. The film was made by Hollywood as a propaganda picture, to persuade America to put their full weight behind the war effort. Although Wyler later called the film "naive", he was proud of the impact it made. Even Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels said that the film showed "refined powerful propagandistic tendency [that] has up to now only been dreamed of". For those interested in Wyler and war-time Hollywood, I heartily recommend the documentary Five Came Back on Netflix.

- The ATA was a civilian organisation, which meant it did not provide housing for its employees. Billeting Officers helped foreign pilots find housing, but most British pilots found their housing with friends, renting rooms in clubs, cottages, and towns near their ferry pool. They would work 12 days at an end, usually flying from dawn till dusk, and then had two days off. Many of the girls would travel to London every chance they got to meet and party with friends.

- Jackie Cochran ferried planes in the ATA for 11 months, rising to the rank of Flight Captain. All the while she wrote letters to Washington, asking permission to form an all-female pilot ferrying unit in America. Finally, in June 1942, she was asked to return home to form the WAFS/WASP. I changed the month from June to July in this chapter just so it'd fit our plot, but Jackie did recruit a few American ATA pilots like Shara to join her back in America.

- During the colonial era, many South Asians came to Britain as seamen, and most early Pakistani settlers moved from port towns to the Midlands during the war. There were more than 800,000 Muslim Indian soldiers in 1945; most of them were from what is now Pakistan. These soldiers fought in the Battle of France, the North African Campaign and the Burma Campaign. British Pakistanis also contributed to the war effort by working in aircraft factories, including one in Birmingham which produced Spitfires. Bodhi's family background is a tribute to their contribution, which is so often overlooked. The character of his mother and her illness and death were inspired by what Riz Ahmed said about Bodhi. The funeral rituals were also written from research. If you're a Muslim and spotted any mistakes, please do let me know so I can make corrections.

- Tobruk was recaptured by the Axis in June, 1942. By July, the First Battle of El Alamein was underway. The Axis, led by Rommel, were positioned near El Alamein, only 106km from Alexandria, making them dangerously close to the Suez Canal and the base facilities of the Commonwealth forces. The 'Auchinleck' mentioned by Cassian and Kes is General Claude Auchinleck, commander of the Allied forces in Egypt, who were trying to prevent the Axis from advancing. The First Battle of El Alamein would end in a stalemate, and "the bloody good Commander" Cassian and Kes hope will replace Auchinleck would later be the famous General Bernard Montgomery. An officer of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) in Dunkirk, Montgomery took command in Africa in August, 1942. Tobruk would later be recaptured by the Allies in November 1942, during the Second Battle of El Alamein. Montgomery's victory would be the beginning of the end of the Axis threat in North Africa.

- Cairo during WWII was an interesting place, filled with Allied soldiers and officers, locals, and German spies. The British had two headquarters in Cairo: the British Troops in Egypt (BTE) in the Semiramis Hotel on the Nile and General Headquarters Middle East in Garden City. By the time Montgomery won his decisive battle at El Alamein, it had become a serious military city, albeit one still dominated by parties, secrets, refugees, and political tensions. The idea of sending Kes there was too romantic for me to turn down!

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Again. Sorry for the angst! PLEASE do let me know what you make of the chapter. Or if you just want to have a conversation about anything - books, films, history - feel free to leave a comment!

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Up Next: "Make Death Proud To Take Us" - in which Cassian does something drastic and Kay is far from happy

*This next chapter might take me longer than usual to write because there's other writing I need to prioritise and a TON of research I need to do, so please do bear with me!