Cassian couldn't believe it. Of all the lame plot devices to get them into bed together, The Writer had gone for the broken-down speeder and tavern-only-has-one-room-left ploy. He eyed the bed suspiciously. At least it didn't look too narrow. He took his outer clothes off, leaving his thermals on. Thank the force Beeloond was a cold planet. Surely a long-sleeved thermal and long johns had to be a successful passion-killer. Just to be doubly sure, he dug in the pocket of his jacket (now hanging from the bedpost) and pulled out a beanie hat. That should definitely do the trick. Cautiously, he lay down on the very edge of the bed.

Only to find himself rolling inexorably to the middle like an out-of-control spaceship heading over the event horizon of a black hole. The mattress was completely shot.

"Hey, keep to your own side, bed hog," Jyn grumbled.

"You try it – this thing's got a deeper gravitational well than a gas giant orbiting a neutron star," Cassian shot back. He wriggled back towards the edge of the mattress and hooked his heel over the rim to try to keep himself in place, then glanced back up at Jyn. She too appeared to be trying the passion-killer approach: a shapeless sweat shirt and her own thermal long johns. The trouble was the long johns were made from a clingy material which showed off her ass, and the oversized sweat shirt made her look fragile and vulnerable. He knew this was an illusion – she was tough as tempered durasteel. But it still made him want to wrap his arms round her and look after her.

Force-dammit, this was not what he needed. The Writer was at it again. He swallowed, remembering the times before Scarif when he'd had similar thoughts. Maybe it wasn't The Writer, maybe it was real. For a moment, a warmth flowed through him at this thought. Then it struck him that presumably The Writer could also give him whatever memories she wanted. Kriff! He hated feeling like this. He frowned and screwed his eyes shut.

He felt the mattress sag beside him, then felt Jyn thrashing and struggling to stop herself falling into the black hole in its centre. The vibrations stopped after a few moments, to be replaced by a sharp yank on the bed covers. A brief tug-of-war ensued before an uneasy truce evolved, with Cassian uncomfortably aware of cold drafts swirling round his knees. They lay in silence for a few moments. Then…

Prrrrrrp.

"Dulce madre de la fuerza!" Cassian started to cough and choke.

"Sorry – that bloody stew of cabbage and beans. It's gone straight through me."

The only thing to be said in favour of the smell was that Cassian was pretty sure it was genuine. Writers of this sort of thing didn't really go for build up of sexual tension accompanied by stinky farts. It just didn't work as part of a romantic scene. Eventually the pong dissipated. Cassian drifted into a fitful sleep, only to wake far too soon, gripped by the bitter cold. The bed covers were nowhere to be seen. Actually, scratch that – he could see them – wrapped in a cocoon round Jyn. He wondered whether he could disentangle them without waking her, then thought like I give a fuck and seized the corner of them, giving a good hard pull.

"'Oi, sod off!" Jyn was clearly not amused. She elbowed him in the ribs, hard. Another tug of war ensued. Eventually, neither of them properly covered, they tacitly abandoned the fight.

Next time it was Jyn's turn to be rudely awakened. Cassian was flat on his back, snoring like a macro-fuser with a buggered timing belt. Roll him onto his side… She slid a hand beneath his shoulder blade and tried to push him over so he faced away from her. He was heavier than she remembered from Scarif. She managed to prise him ten or so centimetres from the mattress, then he flopped back. Momentum carried him onto his other side. The good news was the snoring stopped. The bad news was he was now in the middle of the mattress, and not only hogging most of the bed, but making the dip in its surface so steep that she needed retro-rockets to arrest the inexorable slide towards him.

She scrabbled for a moment or two against the coarse sheets, trying to claw her way out towards the edge of the bed, then gave up and let herself slide into the hollow. Cassian was warm – furnace-hot, in fact. Comfortingly so. It was a while since she'd felt anything other than shivery and clammy in bed. His body was solid, curled around her back. His breathing ruffled the tendrils of hair on her neck. With a shock, she realised she could get used to this. Really easily.

Cassian made a vague, sleepy murmur, then slid his arm round her waist. Another shock, this time at just how nice it felt. How right it felt. She felt his breath again, dancing across her skin. Almost of its own volition, her hand drifted down on top of his. Seemingly in a reflex response, his fingers threaded themselves between hers.

"Querida."

His voice was so muffled with sleep, she wasn't sure if he was actually awake. What was it he'd said it meant? Bantha shagger? Jyn still wasn't sure she was buying that one. For starters, the way he said it really, really didn't sound like someone saying "bantha shagger". Much too soft. Gentle. The word wrapped round her and embraced her, every bit as warm and comforting as her arm.

She gave herself a mental shake. This wouldn't do at all. He'd said it meant "bantha shagger", and she was damn well going to take it at face value, and that was that. She dredged through her memory for the last person from Fest she'd met, a trader in spare parts for speeders (now, that would have been useful a couple of hours back). What was that phrase he'd taught her? Oh yeah, that was it… But her voice as she said the words was every bit as soft and gentle as Cassian's had been.

"Y tu mamá también."

6.626068E-34

The first thing Jyn registered was the comfortable warmth. A languorous, almost sensual feeling washed over her. There was a warm, unmistakably male body behind her, spooning against her. Unmistakably male? Well, definitely a case of morning glory. Mmm, but whose? Dark hair, a scruffy beard, brown eyes that could shift from stone cold to warm as a summer's day in a split second – but seemed to save the latter for her, and her alone. Cassian… the man who felt like home, who felt like… her everything.

Cassian! She shot to the edge of the bed. As she moved, she was hit by a waft of… Oh force, the smell. Two bodies worth of rank, several-days-old armpit, suddenly released from the covers of the bed. She rolled over. Cassian gave a huff of breath as his sleep was disturbed, and she was assaulted by a new smell. Kriff, the guy had morning breath to strip the paint of a ship's hull. Mind you, she reflected, she probably had as well.

On reflection, thank fuck for smelly pits and tonsils – those initial feelings on waking up had been… No, just focus on the smell. Much safer. And try to forget the fact that all indications were that he was… more than adequately endowed.

Cassian opened his eyes and rubbed at them blearily with the backs of his hands.

"Kriff, I need a piss." Then he looked at Jyn with something close to embarrassment and added, "But, ladies first."

Jyn was about to say "I can wait" when it dawned on her that he probably didn't want to get out from under the covers in case she realised he had a stiffy you could hang your coat on. She stifled a grin – he wasn't to know she already knew. Unless of course he was now doing the whole "you know that I know that you think that I feel that you..." business.

She swung her feet out of the bed and went to the fresher. By the time she got back, he was fastening his pants up.

"So," he said, casually, "we have to come up with a plan to infiltrate the prison workshop."

"I think I might have an idea," Jyn replied.