A.N. Thank you all so much for the kudos, comments etc! It's wonderful to see some old faces who joined me on this journey 3+ years ago, and new faces as well!
I'm glad that the medical mish-mash came across okay.
I did some playing around with two timeline narratives here, hopefully they are easy to follow. Happy reading!
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Hours later, Jyn slowly makes her way through the halls of Echo Base, feet shuffling her forward as she leaves a hand trailing on the wall. Her fingertips brush the rough white walls, seeking out the contact; whether it's providing her balance to keep her from falling over, or grounding her to keep her from thinking too hard, she's not sure. She keeps her eyes fixed on the floor, placing one foot in front of the other. She doesn't need to look where she's going, as the halls are nearly deserted at this hour and the few souls who do still wander, keep their respectful distance. Part of her appreciates it because the last thing she wants right now is people crowding her, asking her questions, looking at her with pity, but at the same time, a small part of her is desperately hoping that someone will reach out to her, pull her from her solitude of dark thoughts and tell her that everything will be okay.
At first, there's no more blood. Jyn pulls and almost gags at the sucking sensation, the resistance, like the metal does not want to let go of its prize… like it wants to take Cassian with it, but by the Force she and Yevez will not let that happen. It slides out slowly, and she can only imagine the pain it must have been causing, the agony that must have flared when it pierced Cassian's back. Which naturally makes her wonder just how bad the situation was on Andelm IV, what all was going on such that he didn't even feel it.
The metal clatters to the floor and Jyn's hands shake, but she does her part to try to save him. Yevez is all smooth movements and fierce concentration. She watches his hands for a moment, as they dance in a battle to save Cassian, but has to look away when he slices into her partner, her best friend, and spreads his ribs apart.
No one does. No one reaches out to her, no one tells her it will be okay.
She passes through the halls like a whisper. There and gone in a heartbeat, with barely anyone the wiser.
She tries to focus on Cassian's face—the half that she can see—not on the gaping wounds. It doesn't help; he looks almost lifeless, and she can't bear it. Because he's not gone. Not yet. She glances up to K2, and sees that his gaze is fixed on his partner of almost a decade, on Yevez's work. Her heart aches in sync with the worry that lines his hulking frame.
This is a hopeful moment, a moment when it feels like as bad as it is, this may work. She doesn't yet know what is to come.
Finally, she turns the corner into the quiet wing that holds her room, along with the rooms of the rest of Rogue One's core crew. With a sigh, she shuffles the final few steps to her door, cues it to open and steps through, leaning back against it with her eyes shut once it closes. While it shuts out the rest of the Base, it does nothing to shut out the images in her head. Deciding that the images are worse with her eyes closed, she opens them and is immediately greeted by a sight that punches her in the gut: Cassian's empty cot.
"A little lower, Jyn," Yevez murmurs, and Jyn drags her eyes back to Cassian, forcing herself to watch. She needs to focus. Dutifully, she shifts her hand holding the pressor generator closer, as requested.
Yevez nods and mutters to himself quietly as he continues, his attention singularly focused on the task at hand, his eyes looking nowhere but at his fingertips. Clatter and noises in the surrounding med bay do not even cause his eyes to flick to check on them.
A voice yells out his name, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't shift from his task.
The voice yells out again and Jyn whips her head around to look at the person intruding on their insane operation—careful not to let her hand move.
The person freezes when they see what Jyn and Yevez are doing, pales, then mutters something like, "it can wait," and flees.
Turning back, suddenly Jyn feels a shift in the energy. Something has changed. A shiver runs down her spine.
Her heart was racing to begin with, but now it beats ever faster. It takes her a moment to identify why, but she does. It's Yevez; he's stopped talking. His mouth sets in a grim line, hands trying to work faster; it's impossible, he's already working as quickly as he can.
Jyn doesn't know what's caused the switch, but she knows it can't be anything good.
Cassian, stay with me, she pleads silently.
While officially they still have separate rooms, Cassian moved his bed in several months ago and spends most nights with her… at least, most nights he's actually at the base… these days he's been gone more often than he's there. So, while she's used to the sight of his empty cot, this time the reason that it's empty is entirely different. Her gaze drops to the blood on her hands and her knees shake.
And then she sees it. The blood.
It starts as an innocuous little trickle, out from between Yevez's hands in Cassian's side and onto the metal table, then falling to the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip.
And then it oozes out from the wound in Cassian's back, just below the pressor generator, which is supposed to be stopping that from happening. It no longer is.
Yevez curses. "Jyn, that's done, it's overwhelmed," he explains breathlessly, still not taking his eyes off of his work at Cassian's side. "Toss it. K2, grab the gauze and give it to Jyn and keep it coming. Jyn, take that gauze and pack it in that wound and press down for all you've got."
But there's just so. Much. Blood.
She drops her eyes to the floor and makes her way into the shower in her private refresher and turns the water on without even removing her clothes. Ice cold liquid shatters on her neck and slithers down her back as she stands beneath the stream, head bowed, slowly growing numb.
Numbly, she lets the medical device go. She doesn't see where it lands, because K2's suddenly stuffing white gauze in her hands. She pushes it into the wound, as much as she can, and then she stops and presses down. Hard.
The gauze is already red. And so are her hands.
Shivers begin wracking her body, but she makes no move to step out from under the stream and instead stands there as the water gradually warms. She watches as red liquid whirls around the drain, before vanishing out of sight, but not from mind. She can still smell the blood, feel it as it cascades off her body, seeps through her clothes.
The blood seeps from between her fingers, sliding down and joining the pool at their feet.
It's an ocean, a sea of red that shouldn't be there. That can't be there. He needs it.
She wants it gone, wants there to be no trace of it marring her eyesight, branding her memories. The water turns scalding and she soaks it in, lets it wash off the pain and terror that's steeped in her skin. She lets the water scald her into feeling something, something other than fear and soul-deep exhaustion that leads her to brace her hands against the wall and lean into them.
She adds more gauze and presses down again with one hand, leaning all her weight into it.
With the other hand, she reaches out and presses trembling fingertips against the pulse point on Cassian's wrist. There's a machine telling her that his heart is still beating, but she needs to know for herself.
She lets out a breath when she can feel a pulse beneath her fingertips, beneath the red now smeared on his skin. It's hope: a beating promise.
As the water loosens her muscles and the pool at her feet runs clear, she stays, unmoving.
But then it stops. Gone.
A mechanical alarm warns her the water is about to shut off.
Screaming. Wailing warnings. Machines and people alike, as Cassian's heart stops.
When the water does shut off—it's a precious resource on icy Hoth, one not to be squandered—she steps out of the alcove, leaving her soaked clothes behind and quickly stepping into fresh clothes. Sitting down on her bed, she draws her knees up to her chest and stares at Cassian's empty cot, trying to muster the energy to try sleeping despite the ache in her bones. Though she wasn't one of the people running and fighting for her life today, her body was taxed from spending her time fighting for the lives of others. For his life.
No.
"Shit," Yevez yells, grabbing a syringe and injecting it into one of Cassian's ports.
Sleep escapes her. Her eyes feel dry and won't close. Whenever they do, she flashes to her hands, covered in his blood as she fought with Yevez to keep him alive. Or to Cassian's face which gives nothing away, completely relaxed and lifeless.
Nothing, no change.
"Roll him," Yevez commands, grabbing another syringe and injecting it directly into Cassian's chest once K2 gets him on his back.
"Breathe, dammit, don't do this to me!" the medic pleads.
Knocking the back of her head repeatedly against the wall, she mutters, "Get out. Get out. Get out!"
"BREATHE!"
The knocking gets louder, and it take her longer than it should to realize that it isn't just her head against the wall that's making the noise; there's now someone knocking at her door.
Shuffling to her feet, she drags herself across the small space and opens the door, revealing Bodhi.
He stands before her, a little unsure of himself, a little worried she will send him away, but with nothing but kindness and concern in his eyes. "I uh," he starts hesitantly, "I figured you wouldn't be able to sleep. That is, I know I wouldn't so—" he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath and asks more sincerely, "Are you okay?"
A thousand replies flash through her head—yes, no, I'm not sure, I don't think I ever will be again, I'm terrified—and the less charitable side of her wants to demand, 'how the hell could I be?'
But she says none of these. She remains silent; Bodhi doesn't deserve her anger. She's not angry at him… she'll never be angry at him. His soul is too kind, too good for her to lash out at him. If she ever does, she can only imagine the hurt it will cause, the irreparable damage she'll immediately wish she could undo… so no, she doesn't say a word and instead answers by reaching out with and pulling him into a hug.
He reacts immediately, wiry arms encircle her and complete the embrace, holding onto her tightly. She hugs him tighter, soaking in the presence of a friend, of the friendship and comfort he offers freely, of someone offering her something without expecting or needing anything in return. These past few hours she's had nothing but people demanding of her, taking from her, needing her, and though she freely gives to them, it takes a toll. And now, to just be wrapped in an embrace with someone who is only giving, and giving the only thing he can think of right now, well… it's enough. No, she's not okay. But she's better now than she was before Bodhi showed up.
She doesn't know how long they stand that way—frankly, she doesn't care—before they finally break apart. It's only then that she sees Bodhi's thin mattress leaning up against the wall next to her door. He follows her gaze and swallows self-consciously.
"Um, I thought—that is, after Scarif, it helped me to have someone with me. And I figured you probably can't sleep, and I know I couldn't sleep, so I thought we could not-sleep together, or preferably, we'll actually be able to sleep together," he finishes with more confidence, until his eyes widen in horror when he realizes how it had sounded. "Wait! No, I mean, that's not what I meant! I just thought it might help—"
"It's okay, Bodhi," Jyn interrupts him. "I know what you meant, and thank you. I would really…" she closes her eyes for a second and inhales deeply, "I would really like to not be alone right now," she admits, opening her eyes to meet his.
Jyn hadn't slept on Bodhi's floor for quite some time now, as the pilot had finally reached a point where he felt safe in the Base, confident in his position with the Alliance, and his nightmares had become less common. Now, she can't imagine anything better.
She takes a step back to allow him entry, but stops him when he goes to reach for his mattress. "You don't need to sleep on the floor," she informs him quietly, and she watches his eyes flick over her shoulder to land on Cassian's empty cot.
He shakes his head. "No, no it wouldn't feel right," he admits. And he doesn't have to say it aloud in order for Jyn to understand what he really means: that it would feel like he's taking Cassian's place, that Cassian is never coming home.
"You can take my cot. I'll take his," she offers.
"No, no you don't need to do that. I think I'll just stick with the floor. You've done it countless times for me, it's only fair—"
"Bodhi," she reaches out and places a hand on his arm, stopping him mid ramble, heart full of love for him, "I won't hear of it. You deserve better than sleeping on the floor when there's a perfectly good cot available."
He hesitates. "Are you sure?"
No, her mind whispers, but aloud she confirms, "Yes."
"Okay," he murmurs. "I'll be right back, then." And he picks up his mattress and disappears to return it to his own room.
Jyn walks over to Cassian's cot. It's pushed to the side of the room, neatly made, covers tucked in precisely, a reflection of Cassian's meticulousness, and the fact that he hasn't been home long enough to sleep in it for almost a month. Sinking down onto it, she tucks herself under the blankets and buries her head in the pillow, searching for something, some hint that Cassian was here… that he's still here. She finds nothing. Cassian is not a man of material possessions, and he's not been here in so long that there's not even a trace of his scent. It's like he's already gone. Like he was never here, a small, lonely part of her whispers.
NO! Stop thinking like that, he will back! she counsels herself angrily, closing her eyes and forcing herself to go back and remember. To try to push out all the awful images that have been cascading over her and remind herself of what they led to.
And Cassian breathes. There's a pulse beneath her fingertips.
She and Yevez both sag in relief for a moment. A split second, before Yevez is shouting orders again, and, after a flurry of activity, her hands are once more on Cassian's back, pressing down on the gauze.
Where before she had difficulty watching Yevez's hands, now she doesn't want to look away, because she needs to see this through. So, she watches, on the lookout for subtle changes, for potential preludes to another crisis. One such change occurs when she sees Yevez pick his head up, pulling his gaze away from his task.
Her heart stutters for a moment, fear flaring that something has gone wrong, until she meets eyes with him, and her heart settles.
Because his gaze burns with determination. "He's still fighting, Jyn. We can do this."
While it was close, and she never, ever, wants to be part of surgery again, let alone on the person she loves most, Cassian is alive. He's still hanging on.
She hears her door slide open once more, signaling the return of Bodhi, who turns off the lights and quietly makes his way to her cot. She hears him settle, then everything falls silent.
She can't stand it. He's only five feet away from her, she's surrounded by a base full of over five hundred people, but she's never felt more alone.
She shakes her head and thinks, To hell with it! Surging to her feet, she seizes Cassian's cot and drags it, scraping and screeching across the floor so that less than a foot separates her and Bodhi. Settling herself back in the bed, she holds her hand out to her friend, knowing without a doubt that that he won't leave her hanging. He doesn't.
A warm, rough hand clasps hers and squeezes gently, then rests their paired hands on her cot.
In the darkness of Echo Base, she smiles. "Thank you, Bodhi." It's not enough. Words will never be enough to convey the depths of her gratitude, the depths of her thanks and love, but she thinks he understands.
Jyn whispers thanks to every god and deity she can think of when at last, Yevez drops his last instrument onto a tray and steps back, letting his head fall forward, eyes closed.
"That's it, that's all I can do for now," he tells her. "It's up to him."
She watches Cassian's chest rise and fall slowly, evenly. Watches his pulse beat steadily on the monitor, feels the warmth of his hand in hers, and she reaches out and squeezes Yevez's forearm. "Thank you," she murmurs with every ounce of heartfelt gratitude that she can convey. It's not enough, words can't communicate the depths of her gratitude. But Yevez gives her a tired smile and places one of his hands over hers. He understands.
Bodhi squeezes her hand once more and murmurs, "Goodnight, Jyn."
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A.N.2. Look! No cliffhanger! Or at least, I think this is as close to a non-cliffhanger as I get...