Jyn digs tunnels until her hands blister and bleed and her shoulders ache. She tries to keep her promise to Cassian, and spends some nights in his empty quarters. His neighbor, a Captain Esai Ober from Intelligence, makes friendly small talk with her from time to time when he catches her entering or leaving Cassian's quarters or elsewhere around the base. Once he even made a point to sit across from her at the chow hall, although Jyn tried to convince herself that it was merely a coincidence. Just a function of the limited seating and the availability of a space across from her. He doesn't seem surprised to see her at Cassian's door, so she assumes Cassian did indeed tell the man she might be around. He's kind to her in a way that still makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight. She's tried to flesh out what his motives are, but he never seems interested in anything other than saying hello and sharing a terrible joke. Still, she's careful to not carry anything in her hands or pockets, lest anyone accuse her of stealing from an officer. Some nights the room feels too large and empty. His presence, or more accurately his absence, looms too strongly over the space, and she has to stay away. On those nights, she shivers in her own bunk until she eventually gives up and paces the halls bundled in every article of clothing she was issued in an failing effort to keep warm.
Cassian arrives back at base on Hoth one day ahead of his self-imposed timeline. It's late by the time he has completed the required mission debriefings and after action reports and makes it back to his quarters. Jyn is sitting on the sofa in his room, feet curled beneath her, and blanket wrapped around her slight form just enjoying the solitude. She greets him with a bright smile when the door opens to reveal him standing in the entrance, and she can feel the shift in the air. Things are different between them. Changed somehow. Charged.
"You're back." She states lamely, ashamed of her own inability to make small talk and her embarrassing propensity to state the obvious. She was never good at small talk, always preferring action to diplomacy or conversation.
"It went better than expected." He strides into the kitchenette, drops his bags on the small table, and rifles through it for a moment. "Here. Catch." He tosses something round to Jyn, who catches it easily one-handed.
Her eyes go wide when she recognizes the item as an actual, real piece of fruit. "What is this?" She turns it over in her hands, feeling the weight of it, examining the vibrant reds and pinks and oranges. Fresh fruit is a nearly unknown luxury in her life. It's almost too pretty to eat. Jyn thinks back and tries to recall the last time she had something this fresh and real. Her diet has mainly consisted of ration bars in all the shapes and colors of the rainbow and scavenged scraps from here or there. Her mother probably fed her things like this back on Coruscant, she figures. Mothers are probably concerned about things like that. Saw viewed food as a necessity. A force multiplier. A required evil that kept his troops from keeling over. He never concerned himself with things like taste or visual appeal. The chow hall here had fruits occasionally, but they're waxy and mealy, and likely picked too early. Bargain basement produce ripened with gas. They leave an odd chemical aftertaste in her mouth, but she eats them anyway.
"Some sort of fruit. Like a peach, I think." He didn't speak much of the local dialect, and he hadn't asked too many questions when he saw these beauties in the colorful market stalls. He'd grabbed a few handfuls, and gladly paid the shopkeeper a few credits with exactly this reaction in mind. He watches as Jyn looks at the object like it is a priceless artifact. Delicate fingers caressing the fuzzy skin of it; taking in the weight and shape of it. He wonders how long it has been since someone did something nice for her, just to be nice. No ulterior motive. No angle. No marks in a column keeping score. Their lives parallel in so many ways, but he recognizes sometimes when he sees her like this that he was so much luckier. More fortunate. Only a few small shifts in the universe could have sent him spiraling down the in the same direction. Lost. Without a compass. Alone. Even when he lost everything he hadn't been alone. His father had a friend, and he came looking for Cassian after his father was killed. Knew where to find him. What to say to get the scared, small child to come. Salix and his wife, Win, took him in. Absorbed him into their family. Cared about him. Fed him. Clothed him. Educated him in topics other than hand to hand combat and marksmanship. They tried to shield him from their activities with the Separatists, but he was young and angry and useful, and he'd started running weapons in his backpack a few weeks later. No one suspected a scrawny child, small for his age, to be smuggling blasters and grenades with his school books. Still, he'd had people to depend on. People who looked out for him. No one forced him to become what he is. And they never abandoned him. They'd been good to him. Who had been good to her? Had anyone?
He smiles to himself as he watches her bite into the flesh of it, juice exploding and dripping down her chin. He swears her eyes roll back a little as she chews, and his throat tightens. He stops any further thoughts before they can begin. Not the time.
"Omph messy." She mutters around her bite, but her eyes are alight with delight. Cassian grabs a towel off the counter, and dabs it to her chin before handing the cloth to her.
"Fresh." He smiles, and eats his own fruit slowly. They are a delicacy to be savored.
"Delicious." She replies, mouth full and smiling. "Thank you." She's trying to keep the juice from running down her arm, and steps aside as she moves past him to stand next to the sink.
Cassian grins back at her, satisfied in ways he can't put into words and that have nothing to do with the food. She watches him unpack, and restock his well-beaten bag with clean items. He stuffs his canvas onto the shelf in his locker before steps back into the kitchen area. His keen eyes don't miss the lack of her personal items around his room, but wisely keeps his concerns to himself. She was in here when he returned, he reasons. It can't be luck or coincidence. He wasn't due back for another day or two at best, and he hadn't given her a definite timeline. She looks relaxed here. Comfortable.
Jyn finishes her treat and washes her hands before moving back to sit on the sofa out of his way. It's easy to feel crowded in this small space. She watches as he unpacks a bag that looks suspiciously new. This isn't the bag that she rifled through before they left for Jedha; that one is packed away and ready for his next mission. He moves easily around the small kitchen space, and grabs various things from the shelves and cabinets with the practiced ease of a man comfortable in and familiar with his surroundings. He pours something she can't identify into a metal pot and adds water. The pot is placed carefully on what she has learned is a heating element, and he moves the lever to the desired location.
"So." He sits beside her and stretches his long legs out, sighing deeply. "What are you up to these days?"
"Still digging." She shrugs, annoyed at the work, but grateful for anything to occupy her time. It's honest work, and she's unlikely to be arrested or sent prison for it unless the Empire raids the base. "Ladling slop." Her tone has no bite, though, and he glances at her to see if he misread the notion. What he sees is that she's hiding her hands from him. She needn't bother. He saw the blisters and scabs already. His own hands have been in similar conditions more times than he can count.
"I have to leave again in a few days." Cassian slides down on the cushion, and brackets the back of his head with his crossed arms.
Jyn doesn't reply aloud, and just nods.
"You can still stay here."
"When do you leave?" She didn't expect to be so disappointed to hear he'll be leaving. She'd actually missed him while he was away. That's a problem, she reminds herself. You're getting too attached. Attachment just makes it harder. He'll leave. Just the the rest. Like everyone.
"Two days." He turns his head toward her and makes an apologetic facial expression. "No rest."
"They keep you busy." She agrees, frowning, and considering how best to keep her distance. How can she extricate herself now? Put a stop to this? How do you halt something with this much momentum?
A beeping sound interrupts any response Cassian may have attempted, and he rises and removes the pot from the portable heater. Jyn watches him curiously as he removes what appears to be a vegetable with long, green stems, a box of eggs, and some sort of mushroom or fungus from his mystery bag. He grabs three jars from a shelf and mixes things together, cracking the eggs and beating them into the mixture. She's never cooked like this before. They sometimes have real vegetables in the mess hall, but this seems more complicated than she's used to. A staff sergeant who works full time in the kitchen has taken to teaching Jyn when she noticed her curious glances. Chopping, peeling, learning ingredients, and following recipes. For all her grumbling, Jyn finds that she doesn't mind this punishment as much as she anticipated. The ovens and stoves keep the space warm, and she can feel her fingertips and toes while she's there. Plus, she's welcome to nibble after everyone has eaten if she's still hungry. She realizes that her own cooking abilities are sorely lacking while she watches Cassian move in an elegant routine here.
The sound of mushrooms sizzling breaks her train of thought, and she watches as he pours the egg mixture into the pan and keeps it moving with a spoon. In minutes he's portioning what Jyn has ascertained to be a grain of some sort into bowls and spooning the egg and vegetable mixture on top of it.
"Hungry?" He pushes a bowl across the table to the spot where she usually sits when they eat together. He's never cooked for her before. Not real food. He's rehydrated soup and bread, occasionally some vegetable patties. They have tea and caf, and occasionally alcohol, but never anything like this. Fresh. He's stopped asking if she would like for him to make her something, even if it's rehydrated soup or instabread. She always says no. It's automatic. She doesn't even think about it, and he knows this about her. She never admits that she needs anything or anyone. He thinks he understands, and he's noticed similar tendencies in himself for years. He's taken to just doubling everything he makes when she's around, and handing it to her without asking. She's stubborn. Proud. But she won't turn down hospitality from him.
Jyn is not actually hungry; she ate a few bites in the mess hall after dinner service ended, but she is not about to pass on this opportunity. She takes the proffered spoon and digs in heartily after watching Cassian to understand how to eat the dish. Her first bite burns her mouth, but explodes with savory flavor. She hasn't had a meal this delicious since...Lah'mu. Her mother used to cook for them when they were a family. Before she was alone. She can't remember what they ate, but she knows it was simple fare. Basic. Lah'mu wasn't civilization in the strictest sense, but they got by. They survived. They were together. For four years she had a home. Some days she wishes that she could remember more of it, but she's mostly grateful that those memories have left her. It's probably better to not remember what you're missing. Keeps you from being bitter about not having it now. Just keep looking down. Moving forward. But now...
It feels awkward to rave and compliment his cooking while she's eating, but she can't help herself from commenting "This is good."
He smiles widely at her for a moment before turning his attention back to his own bowl. "I had some time to look around." He shrugs, as if that is sufficient explanation for the meal he has presented to her. He is a decent cook, perhaps not gourmet quality, but he can put together a tasty spread when he has time and access to ingredients. He ate this dish in a diner once in some out of the way planet in the Outer Rim with a thermostat reading that reminded him of Fest. He was freezing in the blizzard-like conditions, and the light in the diner window beckoned him inside. He recalls feeling like the food warmed him from the inside out, comforted him in ways he couldn't recall. The snow was an unusual choice siren song; not the most hospitable memory of his life on Fest. He memorized the ingredients and recreates it when he can. They finish their meals in comfortable silence, and he does not protest when she insists on helping him wash up.
They make easier small talk now, and Cassian grabs the rest of the fruits from the table as they move to the sofa after stacking the dishes back on the shelves. It takes some encouraging, but she finally dig in and enjoys her share, not that he'd admit to her that he purchased these with her in mind. He leans his head back and watches while she animatedly tells him about her last interaction with Lieutenant Bessel. It had not gone well, and Cassian can see the hurt behind her stubborn smile. In a simpler universe he'd reach across the cushions and tug her toward him. Envelope her in his arms. Take her away from all of this. Take them both away. But this is reality, and no amount of day dreaming can change that fact.
"Are you allowed to tell me where you're going?" She finally asks after they lapse into silence.
"No. Sorry." He shakes his head sadly. So much of his life is a secret. Doesn't officially exist. Deniable.
"Be safe, okay?"
"I will." Her words wash over him warmly, and he doesn't see her again before he returns.
He comes and goes three more times in the next two and a half weeks, each time returning more exhausted than he thought possible. He never sleeps well away from base, and now he's added worry about Jyn to his reasons to not sleep. Is she safe? Is she sleeping? Is Bessel giving her a hard time? Has the base been overrun? Things were simpler when his life was just him and Kaytoo. Lonelier, but simpler.
He makes a point to pick up something small to share with Jyn on every planet, and there remains a conscious effort to not examine his reasons for doing so. It is never anything expensive or extravagant, just tokens. Reminders. If he is honest with himself, he'll admit that he does this because he misses her. The act of going through the markets and stalls, blending in, selling his cover, and spending the time choosing something for her calms him. Markets and bazzars are ideal places to meet contacts. Busy. Bustling. Most people don't pay attention to two or three bodies speaking in hushed tones over a basket of second hand socks. On the first trip he brings back another bag of fruits, small, berries that turn their lips and tongues royal blue. She laughs so hard her ribs ache when he sticks his tongue out at her. Cassian likes to recall that memory and smile to himself when he's alone on the ship. She looked so unburdened, clutching her sides and bursting with laughter.
On the second trip he grabs a bag of brightly colored candies and a small box of pastries. Jyn can't remember the last time she had a real pastry, but she assumes it was on Coruscant as a child. They are a tad stale by the time he gets them to her, but she can't remember having anything so decadent. His last mission was a disaster, and he was pressed for time. He only had a moment to grab something, and ended up with a deep purple scarf, warm and soft. Jyn acted like he'd given her the moon, and he still swears he saw tears in her eyes when she touched the material to her cheek.
"It's too much." She protested, having never owned anything so nice. "I can't..."
He didn't miss how the color made her green eyes sparkle and shine. "Keep it. Please." He wound it around her neck and tried to ignore the way his heart jumps when his fingers brush against her soft skin. "It suits you."
In truth he'd had no idea what to get her. The informant was late, and he had to get off-world quickly. The market was not exactly on his way back to the ship, but it only detoured him three or four blocks to find it. The elderly woman minding the stall smiled at him when she saw him perplexedly studying the selection. Most of the colors were bright. Vibrant. Loud. He couldn't picture Jyn wearing any of them.
"For your lady?" She'd asked him, eyes twinkling.
"She's..." He couldn't find the right words.
"What color does she like?" She handed him a red scarf, and he let the fabric slip between his thumb and index finger.
"Nothing bright." He he had no idea. "She wears dark colors. Blue. Grey." Practical colors. Sturdy. Designed to blend in. Disappear.
The shopkeeper frowned at him for a moment before asking "What color are her eyes?"
"Green." He supplied without a moment of hesitation.
"Ah." She rifled through some of the fabrics, and handed him the purple scarf. A dark purple, deep and rich. "This one, then."
He handed her the credits without haggling.
She'd actually blushed when he told her it looked nice on her, but she hadn't taken it off all evening.
The next time he returns, it's a different kind of homecoming. He'd been almost done. Almost free. Then a group of Stormtroopers appeared as if from no where, and he'd been injured. Nothing life-threatening, he reminds himself, but it's his fault. He'd been distracted. Sloppy. He used to be better than this. He didn't used to limp and his breath didn't used to catch when he moved his back through certain positions. He hadn't been quick enough to avoid the fire team, moving as a single entity through the streets of the outpost, searching civilians at random. He'd tried to duck. To run. To evade and escape. But his eye caught a glimpse of a brown-haired figure in dark, practical clothing. Bangs. Pale skin. Slight figure. He'd done a double take, and it nearly cost him everything. The blaster caught him in the leg. That kriffing leg that still ached from the fracture on Scarif. He remembers thinking that Jyn is going to kill him if he doesn't come back alive as he mustered the willpower to continue running. He wasn't detained. They couldn't catch him. He barely made it to the ship ahead of them, ducking blaster fire the whole way. He wondered why they're so okay with firing in crowded markets. Never concerned with the collateral damage, who may be hit by a stray bolt. He also thanks whoever is in charge of target practice for their inability to aim properly.
He's considering his near miss when his neighbor strolls by the medbay and stops to chat after checking on a young private on a gurney at the opposite end of the room.
"Andor." Eyebrows quirk upwards, and Cassian can't tell what the man is thinking. "You gonna make it?"
"It's fine." He shrugs, motioning to the limb in bandages. "I think they said they can save the leg." He jokes, but the thought had occurred to him. It's his own fault he's laying here, though. He's allowed himself to be distracted. To have a weakness. She is his blind spot.
"She know you're here?" Esai Ober doesn't have to specify which "she," nor does he miss the way Cassian's face reddens.
"No."
"Okay." Cassian thinks that Esai is being merciful, and he's grateful for that. She doesn't need to worry. He'll be fine. Still, he's not surprised when a breathless Jyn arrives at his side less than an fifteen minutes later trailed by his large comrade. The men make eye contact briefly as Jyn sidles up to him with uncharacteristic hesitancy. He's used to seeing her so confident. Sure. This is new, this indecision. It's like she can't decide if she should allow herself to be close to him or just run. Leave. He can see her mulling her options, the vacillation in her eyes. He glances up again at Esai, and the man just shrugs and leaves.
Jyn hasn't been this conflicted in years. She'd been in the galley prepping for lunch when Cassian's friend came knocking on the door to the kitchen. He'd known exactly where to find her. She hadn't noticed him speaking to Staff Sergeant Tro, but they'd approached her together. Cautiously.
"Erso." Tro never used her rank, and Jyn took that as a kindness. "There's something you need to know."
Jyn felt her throat constrict. Cassian. "What happened?" She tries to sound bored and disinterested, but she hears herself failing. Her voice comes out too high-pitched. Urgent. Fearful. Saw would be dismayed to see what she's become now.
"He's going to be fine." Captain Ober pats her left elbow. Her arm is poised, spoon in hand, action paused mid-stir on the stove. Jyn stares at her own joint as if it is foreign to her now; made unrecognizable by the man's touch. "But he's in the medbay."
Jyn remembers to breathe, and catches Tro's gaze, the woman gives her a silent nod. The words unspoken. Go.
She's rushing from the kitchen now, sweat dripping off her forehead from the heat of the stove. Esai strides quickly to keep up with her. Overtake her.
"This way." He's guiding her now, hand back on her elbow, and Jyn wonders in the back of her mind - the part that's still working - if this is something all spies learn. Cassian directed her around Jedha in much the same way. She'd ordinarily wrench her arm free, and act annoyed at the idea of someone touching her. Today she's grateful for it - the contact keeping her grounded. She knows the way to the small hospital they've set up, but she's not sure she could find it today. They tear around the last corner, and Jyn forgets to breathe as Captain Ober steers her down the aisle toward the gurney. The one with Cassian on it looking pale and listless. His eyes perk up when he sees her, and he sits up by a few degrees. His gaze bores into her, silently answering the questions she's not asking. He looks away for a moment, and she makes up her mind in that instant before he meets her eyes again.
"You're hurt." She's trying to measure her rhythms now. Keep the cadence even. Nonchalant. Act like her only friend gets shot every day. Like this is a common occurrence. Act like she's used to caring if someone else lives or dies.
"I'll be fine." He assures her as she shifts from one foot to the other and back. Unsure. Uncertain. He catalogues her tells. She's worried about him, he notes, and he thinks he likes that a little too much.
She's staring at the bandages. Splints. Dressings. Left. It's the leg he broke when he fell. At Scarif. The tower. The sound of his body hitting durasteel beams on the way before he crashed into the unforgiving grating below and didn't move. She watches it on repeat in her dreams on the nights she actually sleeps.
"Bone?" She rasps out the syllable, unable to formulate a more articulate question.
"Muscle." He shrugs and holds out a hand to her, waiting patiently for her to decide if she'll accept his invitation. She does, after staring at his outstretched limb, and slowly places her hand in his palm. Their fingers lace together, and she takes a deep breath, as if the warmth and solidity of his bones and skin under hers are reassuring that he's alive. That he didn't leave her. "It will heal fine." He's lying a little now; exaggerating the truth. The 2-1B unit said he might continue to have increased pain in this leg. Stiffness of the muscle. Scar tissue. But he'll be able to walk, and that's enough for now.
"Empire?" Jyn flinches at her question, but hopes he'll know what she means.
"'Troopers." He gestures with his unencumbered hand. "Good thing they have bad aim." His smile is wry. Sardonic. It makes her miss Kaytoo. It makes her furious.
"Don't joke." She's squeezing his hand and her knuckles are white. He's absolutely certain that she has no idea she's doing it.
"Jyn." He waits for her attention. "I'm right here."
She curses him silently for reading her so well. "Yeah."
A/N: I swear at some point this year I will have a weekend where I am actually home. Thank you to everyone who continues to read (and especially to you lovely souls who take the time to leave a review). I'd hug you all, but the best I can do is leave my heartfelt thanks. Chapter 10 is mostly done, but I won't post it until I've mostly finished 11. It might be a while. I'm working a lot of hours this week.
