Chapter Eleven
"Andor."
Cassian glances up to see his boss standing in front of his desk.
"Morning, sir."
Davits Draven glances over the stacks of paper littering his desk with a weary sort of look on his face. "How's the office treating you?"
"Fairly sure it will put me in an early grave, sir," Cassian says flatly and his superior throws him a thin smile, and Cassian thinks it is tragic that they find this amusing.
"Well, I'm glad to hear that. Because I'm putting you back in the field."
Cassian looks up in surprise. "Sir?"
"I'll try to give the exciting cases to Dameron and Antilles long as you're unarmed. Elsewise, Kay will have to cover you until you get your gun back."
Well, if he misses the first time, he can avenge my death, Cassian thinks wryly.
"I'm grateful. Thank you."
"I want you both in early," his superior says and drops a file on his desk. "This is the case."
"Yes, sir."
Draven eyes him for a moment, nods and turns to leave; then he stops in the doorway and adds, very quietly:
"I'm sorry, Andor. I honestly am. I don't want to send anyone out there, and I like you. Always have. But it's the job, and someone has to do it."
"I have to go back, sir," Cassian replies in an equally quiet voice, eyes fixed on the table top. "I'm no good at this," he waves a hand at the stack of paper on the desk, the computer, the assortment of empty coffee mugs. "I'm not made for it. I need to be in the middle of the fight."
Draven sighs and leans against the doorframe. "I know that, Andor. It's part of your tragedy," he says with a wry smile, and Cassian tries to remember the day they first met; he was hardly twenty then and Draven still shy of forty, but he doubts they looked much different – save for a few lines on their faces, a little less grey in Draven's hair, maybe. Still, even then, they must have had that same blunt, weary look in their eyes, that same tired smile like their life was one big cosmic joke they never really knew how to laugh about. The same hands – scattered with faded scars white over their knuckles, scrubbed raw in a vain attempt to wash the blood off; the same dusty shoes, same bulletproof vests.
.
"How long have you been with the force, son?" The American has a worn sort of voice, and blinks into the brightness of the scorching sun like he's never been outside during daytime before. His Spanish is stilted but takes Cassian by surprise anyway.
"Two years, give or take."
He nods and glances down at the two bodies in the dust. "First time?"
Cassian takes a deep breath. "Second."
The American sighs and gets out a pack of cigarettes. "You smoke?"
Cassian's mind flickers to another bright summer's day, years ago; him laughing and caughing and nearly burning his fingers on the cigarette stub. He swallows heavily and shakes his head. "Not anymore. Thanks."
"So, did they tell you it gets easier?"
Cassian nods, and forces himself to keep looking at the bodies even though it makes him sick.
"That's a lie," the American says flatly and lights his cigarette.
"I know, sir."
The American nods, slowly. "Good. Better to fight facing the music."
Cassian huffs. "Don't think it matters much either way, sir."
"Maybe not." He scrunches up his tired eyes against the sunlight and gives him a thin smile. "Anyway. You did good."
"Thank you, sir."
The American nods and turns to leave, stopping Cassian's boss as he walks by. "Do yourself a favour, give the kid a better gun. His aim is wasted on that thing."
.
Draven sighs and frowns down at him.
"Still. By rights, I'd fire you. Tell you to get the hell out of here, tell you you don't have to give the last bit of life this fight hasn't already taken from you."
Cassian meets his superior's tired eyes and fights down two emotions, one as misplaced as the other – the first is a wistful, distant sort of longing, a futile wish that he could be someone able to take this if it was ever offered to him, that he could be whole enough to at least want to walk away.
The second is relief. Gratitude that, despite the fact that he's far from home, stuck in a country he never wanted to set foot – despite all that, here is a man who understands him. Draven never pitied Cassian for his grief – if anything, he seems to respect him for it, and the man never let sentiment get in the way of his job, which is something Cassian can appreciate.
"But we both know I won't do that and even if I did, you wouldn't go."
"Change the world or die trying," Cassian mutters with a pained little smirk, and Draven smiles thinly.
"You know, your brand of humour takes some getting used to."
"My friend said that when I signed up," Cassian says softly. "He didn't think it was very funny."
He also knew the dying part isn't really optional, he thinks with a bitter little smile and shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the hollow feeling in his chest, the dull throbbing in his temples at the mere memory of the look on his friend's face.
He wishes his ghosts would quiet down a little.
"I appreciate it, sir," he adds and gets to his feet. "I'll see that I get that permit. I'm sorry it is taking so long."
Draven sighs and pats his shoulder. "You've done enough, Andor. Take whatever time you need."
Cassian nods. "I'll be back soon, sir."
"Very well", his superior mutters and leaves with the ever-same measured steps, hands clasped behind his back. They should be so different, shouldn't they – the well-respected influential son of some wealthy mid-western family and the orphan from across the boarder – but in many ways, they really aren't.
War does that, Cassian muses, it takes and it takes until the people in it are all the same. With a sigh, he grabs his jacket and leaves.
.
.
"Jyn? You home?" She looks up from the novel she's been trying to read for the past hour or so (making it exactly halfway down the same page for the fifth time by now) and considers remaining silent, then sighs and drops her book onto the mattress.
"Yeah, I'm here!"
There's a knock on the door. "Come out. I brought Chinese."
She's suddenly very glad she didn't ignore him. She pulls her hair into a haphazard ponytail and traipses towards the kitchen where her angel of a flatmate is piling noodles onto two plates, humming to himself.
"What's got you all chipper?" she asks and forgets to make an effort not to let it sound reproachful. Bodhi raises a brow at her.
She sighs. Crap. He's treating her like a goddamn grenade with a lose pin as it is. Way to improve your situation, Jyn. Good job.
"What?" she adds and tries for a semi-convincing grin. "I thought your only customer these days is that guy whose wife left him for her personal trainer."
"Brady has gone to visit his sister in Florida to take his mind off things," Bodhi mutters. "He told me all about it. I couldn't stop him."
Jyn snickers into her water glass. "You're too nice, that's all."
Bodhi gives a non-committal shrug and says: "Anyway. He's off moping someplace with more sunlight, so he's some other barista's problem for now. Chicken or pork?"
"Should you be volunteering to eat pork, Bodhi?"
"Are you my mother?" he gives back flatly and grins at her. "You take it, then."
"Wine?" Jyn asks, climbing onto her chair to fish a bottle from its precarious position on the top shelf.
Bodhi frowns up at her. "Jyn, it's two thirty."
"Is that a no?" She flops back onto the seat and pours herself a glass. "My French aunt had wine with every meal. So did Saw."
"I don't think we should take drinking advice from Saw Guerrera, do you?" Bodhi mutters and shoves a spoonful of noodles into his mouth with a headshake. "Also," he adds, his speech severely impaired by the food in his mouth, "your aunt had wine for breakfast?"
Jyn frowns, then shrugs. "Probably, yeah. So, again, what's with the good mood and fine dining?"
"This is literally cheaper than a sandwich."
"Bodhi!" she whines. "I've had the most boring day ever, so if you have a story, I want to hear it."
He shrugs, grins, fidgets in his chair for a while.
Something dawns on Jyn and she smirks at Bodhi over her wine glass. "No, it was a customer, right? College boy is back. I know this face, Bodhi Rook, do not lie to me!"
Bodhi grins back, shrugs, and eats his noodles.
Jyn nudges his shin with the tip of her foot underneath the table. "I tell you my stories, Bodhi."
"Yes, sadly," he replies, mouth strategically stuffed with food. "I never asked you to."
"Please tell me you opened your mouth to say something other than that's three dollars thirty, please."
"Yes. I did," Bodhi says, then hastily starts chewing on another spoonful of noodles.
Jyn grins at him. "Really? I thought you'd never manage. Did Chirrut intervene?"
"No," Bodhi says, "not Chirrut. I forbid him to."
"Not Chirrut?" she repeats, brow raised. "So who was it?"
"Um," Bodhi stammers, blankly, and Jyn frowns at him, then it hits her. Bodhi tells her everything – except there's one subject he's been painstakingly avoiding for over a week.
"Oh, come on, Bodhi," she says then, very quietly, and her voice doesn't sound nearly as casual as she'd intended it to.
"What?" Bodhi gives back, clearly trying to sound firm despite his guilty conscience resounding through every syllable. "He came in to pick up a coffee before work a couple of times. It's not like I could throw him out, Jyn."
"You don't have to chat with him, though," she bites back. "We don't even know what angle he's working –"
"For Heaven's sake, Jyn," Bodhi mutters, "it's not like we're trading state secrets, okay? We never once talked about you, either. I wouldn't."
"So what do you talk about?"
"Coffee, mostly. And football," Bodhi replies flatly, and Jyn's anger makes way to confusion for a moment.
"Football?"
"Yeah."
"Football football?"
"Yeah. It's pretty popular in Mexico," Bodhi says with a shrug. "Jyn, please don't look at me like that, I sold a guy a coffee and talked about ball sports." He stops and grimaces. "Did that sound wrong?"
"A little," she mutters, staring at her hands. She knows Bodhi did nothing wrong, but she can't help feel slightly betrayed.
Slightly more betrayed than she did already, that is.
Her best friend watches her for a while, his dark eyes flickering over her face, then he asks very quietly: "Jyn, are you okay?"
She wants to lie and say yes, but then sighs. "Not really. And that... worries me."
Bodhi sighs, then gets to his feet and gets himself a wine glass. "Okay. Me too, a little, to be honest."
He pours red into both their glasses and takes a long sip.
Jyn sighs, clinks her glass against his and runs a hand over her face. "Bodhi… Why am I such a mess?"
He shakes his head vigorously. "You're not a mess, Jyn."
"I see a psychiatrist!"
"Yeah, so do I. Because we've had terrible things happen to us. That's not our fault."
She smiles a little. "I'm not sure you hanging around Chirrut that much is a good idea."
"Okay," Bodhi mutters, then adds very slowly: "Do you think we ought to do something about it? Did you tell Mothma?"
She grimaces. "Some of it. Not much."
"Why not?"
"Because he's her patient!"
Bodhi nods, slowly. "Yeah, that's not it, is it?"
She glances up at her flatmate and almost laughs. "Sometimes I hate you a little, Bodhi."
"You don't have to tell me, Jyn," he says softly and throws her a smile. "Just... just maybe consider telling her? Maybe it would help."
"I don't know," she mutters, shaking her head, and spins her glass in her hands. "I don't feel like it would help. It's just... it shouldn't bother me. I saw this coming, and – for God's sake, I hardly know that guy and I... I don't even know if I like him."
"I thought we established that you did."
"No, we didn't! I make a difference between fancying and liking, remember?"
Bodhi nods. "Right. Okay." He drains the rest of his glass and stares down at the table.
She sighs. "Bodhi. Spill."
He shrugs. "Well... I just think that might be – that might be part of the problem?"
"What is?"
"You're trying so hard to make that distinction. Maybe... maybe that's something you should talk about with Mothma. I feel like it hurts you."
"It keeps me from getting hurt, Bodhi," she replies, a tad too sharply, and he grimaces.
"Yeah, well," he murmurs, avoiding her eyes. "How's... how's that working out so far?"
She sighs. "Bodhi. I'm slightly more pissed off at that guy than I should be, that's all. I'll be perfectly fine."
"Yeah, are you sure about that?" he mutters, glancing up at her with his big dark eyes that break her heart. "Because I feel like the cars parked outside always look like there's someone sitting in them."
She huffs and leans back in her seat. "Don't believe that – look, from what I heard, he lost his parents and his little brother when he was a kid. They were murdered. That probably makes you paranoid."
Bodhi looks instantly sad – which is actually at least half the reason why she didn't tell him in the first place. The boy has too much empathy for his own good.
"Maybe he's not quite right in the head, but that doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't have a point, Jyn. You are a witness... to two murder cases. With some cartel all wrapped up in it. And we know nothing about these guys. They're his job. And maybe it doesn't hurt to look over your shoulder from time to time."
"You're telling me I need to look over my shoulder? I've done that precisely two thirds of my life."
He grimaces. "I'm just worried."
"I know, Bodhi. It's sweet of you, but I really can take care of myself," she mutters. "D'you want coffee? I'll make us coffee." She gets to her feet and fiddles with the espresso can. "Now tell me that story of how a clinically paranoid, suspended DEA-officer helped you finally talk to the guy you've been ogling for months, I wanna hear about that."
Bodhi grins and shakes his head. "Well, turns out he's a technology major, but for some reason his college also makes him take Spanish classes. Anyway I was..."
"Not getting out a word?" Jyn supplies with a small grin, brow raised, and Bodhi squirms a little in his seat.
"Yeah, well, sort of." He shrugs and says with a slight smile: "I've no idea how Cassian figured it out but somehow he guessed. So anyway, the good detective suddenly lost all recollection of the English language –"
Jyn smiles against her will. "I'm sure that happens."
Bodhi smiles a little. "Yeah, definitely. So they talked about something for a while that sounded like the route to Central Park."
She doesn't want to, but goddamn it – she laughs, just for a moment. There's a spark of surprise in Bodhi's eyes that he blinks away, but not before she sees.
"So, they talked, then he paid and left and, you know, we talked. For a while, 'bout college and stuff. He's called Luke."
"That's much better than college guy." Jyn says, smiling slightly.
"It is." He smiles and takes his coffee from her. "And that's the story. All there is to it."
"Well, at least someone profits from all the lying," she mutters and shakes her head.
"You know, Jyn, I think he was really trying to help," Bodhi says softly and she sighs.
"Yeah. That's not the point," she says, more to herself than to him, and stirs in her coffee.
Her friend sighs and nods. They sit in silence for a while, then –
"You know why he's still coming, right?" His dark eyes flicker up to hers again.
She stares at the tablecloth and nods, turning her cup in her hands.
"I don't know him, Bodhi," she mutters, staring into her coffee. "He's seen horrible things, but that's no excuse, right?"
He smiles weakly. "I don't know."
"Yeah, well. Like I said. I don't know him."
Bodhi grimaces a little. "That's generally the case before you get to know someone, Jyn."
"Bodhi," she says, feigning exasperation to cover up a strange sensation she can't quite place. "You took four months and someone pretending to speak no English to just get the name of your crush. I'm not taking advice from you."
He chuckles and shakes his head. "Okay, fine." He sighs and collects the dishes. "We could go out tonight."
"Nah. I'll stay in."
Bodhi nods, looking a little torn between worry and relief she doesn't want to go out – usually Jyn's the one dragging him to a bar.
"Okay. A movie, then."
Jyn sighs. "Fine. Yeah, why not?" She gets to her feet and pats his shoulder. "But I think we discussed your football buddy enough for today, right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Bodhi mutters, staring into the soap water in the sink. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –"
She sighs and wraps an arm around him for a moment. "'s fine, Bodhi. It's not your fault. It's my mess."
He pulls her closer for a moment and nods. "We've got through worse."
"Guess we have," she mutters and fills a glass of water. "How's about Star Wars? For tonight?"
"Which of them?"
Jyn grins. "How is that a question? We're doing all of them. Like old times. And I'm getting popcorn."
He nods, a grin spreading on his lips. "Sounds good."
"Yeah. Doesn't it?"
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