When Cassian and Kay were returning to Yavin after spending a couple of unexpectedly pleasant hours in Tikus's bar, Cassian at first felt very high-spirited. The day hadn't been a complete loss after all, because he'd made a pair of interesting acquaintances. He'd discovered that the green-eyed brunette's name was Liana, and that she was actually working in Tikus's bar. That had been excellent news, because Cassian now knew where to find her when he decided to go back to Kafrene. Tikus and Liana definitely weren't sympathizers of the Empire, and they might be potential recruits for the Rebellion, if they decided to join the fight. The pair was very promising and would be valuable assets with their skills, especially Liana. Despite her youth, she was an accomplished fighter, he could bear witness to that. And she had an inner fire, a light that created a compelling aura around her. Cassian hadn't disclosed yet his and Kay's work for the Rebellion. It was still soon, but Cassian was already planning to tell Liana and Tikus the truth during one of his future visits to Kafrene. He hoped the revelation wouldn't scare or shake up his new friends. Yeah, it was true that his offering of friendship wasn't completely unselfish, but he was an Intelligence spy above all else, and almost everything he did, he did it for the cause (except for, among other things, rescuing Liana that same day, and for his past flings with fellow rebels; the flesh is weak and even a seasoned spy had carnal needs from time to time). He couldn't afford friends or lovers for the mere sake of friendship or sentimental relationships, as calculating as it sounded. But that was the life of a rebel like him, completely devoted to the cause. If someone thought that being a rebel was romantic (like in those sappy spy holomovies), they couldn't be more wrong. There wasn't anything romantic in what he did. Cassian doubted that killing, torturing, lying, deceiving, blackmailing and using people could fall into that category.
And that was precisely something that had been nagging at the back of his mind during the flight back to Yavin, despite all his high morale. That hadn't happened to him ever before when planning to recruit new promising members. He'd had no qualms about that, ever.
But now, Liana's eyes pierced his memory in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. He was no fool and was perfectly aware that he felt a burgeoning attraction for her, and even though he didn't consider himself a conceited man, he believed he'd seen hints of the same interest on her part. But in her case, the idea of turning her into one more of his hookups added another shovelful of heavy load to his sense of self-loathing. Such issue hadn't existed with Kyla, Reeta, Sienna or any of his other affairs. Every time, he'd straightaway admitted his interest, or viceversa, his fellow rebel had taken the first step, they fell in bed together, and they had fun for a few weeks or months, whenever their schedules allowed them time for that (which was never often). As easy as that. None of those women ever touched his heart and those involvements never interfered with his efficiency at his tasks. As soon as they were done with a tryst, he put on his spy mask again and focused entirely on the current mission he was carrying out, setting aside everything else. Sometimes, he'd had to seduce and have sex with an Imperial after having spent time with one of his hookups just mere hours before, if the mission demanded that extremely unsavory measure. He invariably took long scalding showers after those missions were completed, because he felt so filthy that he doubted that even all the hot water in the galaxy could clean him. But he didn't feel guilty for his own sake or for his flings. Some of them surely also had been assigned those kinds of missions sometimes. That was none of his business. Spies never pried into other spies' business. That was the spy's code. The missions were top secret and the agents couldn't talk about them with anyone without authorization. That way, every agent only knew about their own assignment, in case that they were caught by the Empire (and all of them carried cyanide pills to prevent the Empire from extracting any information at all).
No, he didn't feel guilty because he thought that he somehow was cheating on his flings. There was no cheating. Both parties were aware that their affair wasn't romantic or sentimental. It was just biology, a physical release, with no cuddling or confidences, no dates, no holding hands in the hallways, no stolen kisses in hidden corners. Both of them knew that there was no place for that in their lives, because their whole lives, their whole being, belonged to the cause.
The source of his guilt came from the fact that some of those Imperial women he deceived and used weren't bad people. Cassian knew that things rarely were black or white, that many Imperials weren't devils. They were simply unaware ordinary citizens who believed blindly the lies they were told because they ignored that the reality was much more complex than what they were shown; who didn't really know about the atrocities the Empire was capable of committing, because those acts were silenced and disguised. Many Imperials lived comfortably without feeling the burden of tyranny and oppression on their own shoulders, like deep-sea animals didn't feel the weight of the million tons of water above them. Most of those people had no reasons to rebel against the system because all their basic needs were satisfied and their families and friends were safe as long as no one among them protested or rose up. They lived their peaceful lives looking the other way, never looking directly beyond the wall which kept them in their protected world, which kept them under the illusion that everything was alright in the galaxy. The youngest generations were even more brainwashed because they had been born and raised into the Empire and didn't know anything else.
None of that turned them into monsters. Cassian himself assumed that most probably, if he had been born into the clutches of the Empire, his life would be radically different. He'd be on the safe side of the wall, unwilling to look away.
That was the source of his guilt. Some of the women he used were perfectly decent and good. He targeted them because they were usually housewives or workers with monotone jobs who couldn't resist the appeal of a bit of adventure and spice in their mundane and mostly dull days. It was very easy to seduce them and fulfil the goals of the missions through them (making them talk inadvertently about bits of information they ignored were of significance for the Rebellion, making copies of documents they carried or kept in their surroundings, memorizing codes they used...). The trick consisted in making them lower their guard, and faking a romantic interest in them along with luring them into bed were the most effective ways of achieving that.
But the worst guilt, the heaviest burden in the pit of his conscience, was that he had been forced to kill a couple of those decent women and make it look like accidents, to prevent them from committing an indiscretion and spilling the beans in front of the wrong ears.
He excelled at all that. He was the true monster in those cases. And every time he deceived and used a woman, he had to swallow the bitter pill and sink a bit more into the mud.
But it was all for the cause, and that was almost enough for him to put up with the guilt as if it were an annoying fly around his head. As if there wasn't a load in his black heart so heavy that he doubted it could ever be lifted. It didn't matter. There was no redemption for him. His fate was to sink to the bottom.
He'd accepted that long ago.
But the present nagging feeling made him more uncomfortable than he was used to. Something had restrained him with Liana. He might have gone straight to the point and discreetly proposed sex to her. But uncertainty and reluctance had stopped him. Not because he didn't wish to take her to his bed. For the Force's sake, he hadn't felt so aroused in ages. Those lips were to die for. That slim, strong body with its subtle but firm curves in all the right places which he dreamed of undressing. That soft skin. Those eyes that made him long for losing himself into them to explore her secrets.
He had it bad for her. He couldn't use her as a simple release.
He wanted more. And that couldn't be. That was not an option for him. His heart belonged to the fight. There was nothing left to offer anyone.
That last certainty calmed his turmoil enough to help him recover his usual cool-headedness. He came to a decision.
He couldn't have Liana in his life as he wished he could, in a romantic way (he'd had a romantic relationship a lifetime ago, with his childhood friend Bix Caleen, and that felt so foreign to him now, as if that had happened to another person). He wouldn't pursue anything sexual with Liana either. He knew that if he had any taste of her, he'd be lost. He wouldn't want to stop.
So he'd just deal with her as one more of his scattered friends and acquaintances (who were all recruited members of the Rebellion, potential new members, contacts and informants), nothing more.
With that determination in mind, he soon was back on track and the trip back to Yavin was as uneventful as usual.
Except that that same night in the ship, he dreamed of her and her green eyes full of fire.