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scoundrels-in-love · 5 years

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Before you leave, Remember I was with you (You must know you are beloved)

Cassian Andor doesn’t believe in soulmates, despite words on his wrist. Jyn Erso thinks of them as symbol of death. Baze Malbus swears he’ll never say the words so they can’t take Chirrut from him. Chirrut knows all is as Force wills it. Bodhi Rook will never meet his soulmate, but he can see these bonds and he hopes his actions means one day, fewer will end in death and tears. Canon Compliant Soulmate AU.

Also on AO3.

There are surprisingly many things Cassian Andor believes in;

Steady blaster hand. His gut instinct. K-2SO. That every deed that keeps replaying behind weary eyelids in the dead of night was worth it, if it brings ends of Empire closer.

But the concept of Soulmates isn't one of them.

In a sense, he even resents the thought - his parents who died for one another, eyes on each other as eternal stillness settled in them, met and lived with no involvement of the great and mysterious Force.

No mark adorned their wrists, but was their love for each other, for him less because of that? There will be no memorial with their names (nor with his, he suspects) and yet they were a world, a home destroyed, too.

And, yet, there are lines on his wrist as if mocking his belief.

Having a Soulmate is asking for heartbreak. Loving anything is asking for one, in fact. That is why he loves nothing but memories - those have broken him already, there is no more to be lost or gained.

And for all that, the words on his wrist are simply a threat, even to his identity as a spy. And mockery, when he is tired and his grasp on hope is slipping, with his hands so slick with blood. No one is out there, they are on their own. A handful of desperate rebels against a galaxy on its knees and the laser rifle pressed to its temple.

Yet, when he was still young, fifteen or sixteen, he used to lay awake and tried to imagine it, if only so he wouldn’t have to think about the things he had done that day.

Maybe they are in a bunker, waiting for order to move or an extraction that will never come in time. Maybe they’re deep undercover. Someone's out there , someone tells him. And he strains his hearing, hears the shuffle of boots. Stands up and says something brave, no, maybe he presses a kiss that is more than duty to their lips first. Fights. Dies.

There would be no glory in it, but it could be a good death. No Imperial torture or taking a lullaby.

In a few years, it felt childish and dangerous to dream of something so lofty and painted with softest hues of love.

So he stopped.

When Jyn thinks of Soulmates, she thinks of death.

She recalls the way she would trace the beautifully carved word Lyra! across her mama's wrist with her childishly chubby fingers again and again through the years, each time a new and persistent question on her mind.

What she never understood (still does not, her nails digging into the thin lines on her hand unconsciously) why would it tell you the very last thing your Soulmate will tell you.

"It is a promise, Stardust. Promise you will meet them, talk with them and spend a lifetime with them." Papa had told her with a smile as serene as first autumn's rain and somehow, just as sad.

He had lied. As he always did.

Mama never saw soft snow of age settling in her hair, the defiance imprinted on his wrist coming much sooner. And his scream is embedded so deep into Jyn's soul it does not have to be visible on scarred skin to haunt her.

But she has a mark nonetheless, a frustrating inevitably she loathes and rejects. Why would she want someone to ‘complete’ her, when no one in her life has stayed or been truthful?

This Soulmate of hers obviously doesn’t even know her. Jyn doesn’t want her father to be proud of her - his pride, his feelings matter not to her. He is dead. If not to the world, then at least to her. Even more so if he is actually out there somewhere, doing Force knows what. Never seeking her out, never looking back.

So she hides the mark beneath gloves and wraps, curses it for its recognizability and even tries to cut it out once, just after Tamsye Prime.

And doesn’t think of it as almost lullaby when she wonders if survival is worth all this, if this can even be called surviving.

Not at all.

III

Bodhi Rook will not meet his Soulmate in this life. Three inky teardrops his fate has cried on his wrist tell him that.

Instead, he sees the ones who are bound by Force's thread. And more often than not, it is a cursed chain, wrapping around his neck and pulling him under even though it is not for him to bear.

He remembers vividly one day when Empire's cargo for him to deliver were stormtroopers seeking out Force sensitive children to take with them.

He sees it still, imprinted on his soul; there is a mother, a dirty handed child pulled out of his imagery battle and now clinging to her skirt. His eyes sparkle green in curiosity, hers in defiant fear.

Bodhi does not see the trooper's eyes, but the faint glow around them has more color than Jedha has ever had. I found you. Finally, the ends of thread seem to whisper as they entwine.

"Not my Aslik, please!" she begs the trooper who is yanking at the boy's arm.

Something sputters in the man, he freezes like a droid that's been shut down, before everything shifts into new, painfully sharp focus.

"Run!" he tells her suddenly, the recognition flaring a sense of urgency in him like an all-consuming pyre. And as the trooper spins, his blaster rifle already trained on his comrades, she flees with Aslik on her arms.

It takes twenty direct shots to take him down and only three to mow down the woman. They never even knew each other's names.

Just one of many stories Bodhi could tell, just one of many pairs torn apart before they meet, passing by in corridor before one dies on another patrol in NiJedha, the other forever surrounded by weeping cloud of longing.

Perhaps it is the first thing he sees about Galen Erso - the dimmed colors of a broken bond, the hollowness of a man that has lost too much. (He does not understand how much until much later, when he stares at Jyn whose eyes burn with fire that will carry them all forward, or consume them.)

He has seen it often and yet, there are echoes, too, of such love and determination it almost knocks him down when he witnesses it in Galen’s eyes. It must be what draws him to the scientist, reverberating through Bodhi’s soul and guiding him out of the cave he has retreated to, hiding from everything. Everyone. Including himself.

Funny, he thinks, just before Bor Gullet consumes him, that I came into the light, only to lose myself again.

When he, much later, comes to in his cell on Jedha, one of the first things he thinks, really thinks, is that he doesn’t remember ever witnessing an acknowledged, still living bond like the one that weaves around and between the two Guardians. It blooms so vividly he gets lost in it, as if it is living, breathing painting.

He follows it, in dull-edged awe, through the dust that will someday softly cover the weeping wound on Jedha’s surface, follows through the rubble and rumbling whispers of death as horizon tries to swallow them.

And Bodhi doesn’t even need to look at them directly to know , when the Captain and the woman stumble in. In fact, he tries not to glance their way all the way until they are on Yavin IV. Or else he will say something, like don’t shoot him, Cassian . It is not his part. And yet, relief fills his chest like an emergency flare when they are back in the ship, his hands clean of Erso’s blood.

They argue and yet, what had been clash of colors on Jedha becomes so bright and unified it almost hurts his eyes when he stumbles up the stolen ship’s ramp as it fills with more people and sees the two of them leaning in close. He cannot discern the words, but it doesn’t matter. They know.

And when he looks at his new friends (can he call them friends or would they recoil in disgust that an ex-imp would consider them as such?), once they’re aboard, he thinks - it was worth it, all of it. If he has to pay with his life just so that one other Soulmate story can have a happy ending in the future, it is a price well worth paying.

Even in his last moment, he hopes it will be the stories of his friends, even without him and his ship.

In some way, Chirrut knew. Knew from the day he met Baze, felt it like a soft tremor of a bell rung far far away. Knew it when he traced the lines on the other man’s wrist. Baze never told him what was written there, as if he could outwit Force itself.

But the echo had been just that - an impression he couldn’t quite grasp, make sense of its texture or shape. Now, it stands before him, clear and simple in its monumental form, like the crumbling statues on Jedha. A few must have survived, the ones far from NiJedha. The thought comforts him.

So much has been lost. So much has been gained. Saved.

In the Force, he will be with it all again. And that is what he tells Baze: “Look for the Force and you will always find me” . Smiles (tries to) as he hears his stubborn husband say the prayer he cannot chant anymore.

Their vows are complete once more and all is as the Force wills it.

He does not think about the day he renounced his faith, turned his back to the Guardians. (But never Chirrut.)

Lies. He thinks about it when masses of people pass by them, Imperial forces peppered among them. He thinks about it at night when he wonders how many dawns they have until---

Chirrut knows, as he always does, but only smiles and tells him 'All is as Force wills it'.

Kriffin Force can will it anyway it likes, Baze isn't giving his soulmate up to it so easily.

And yet, each time Chirrut chants 'The Force is with me and I am one with the Force', something twitches in his Guardian's chest. What if this is the last time, the one imprinted on his left wrist?

So, he does not respond anymore, the line to draw a full circle of prayer stopping midway. If he does not say it, then it does not matter what any mark says.

Yet, when Chirrut's eyes are losing their indescribable light (light of galaxy's patterned chaos and faith in its order) in his arms, Baze knows. Knows he cannot deny his husband one final comfort of hearing the chant completed and perfect, as their lives, their love.

And as mere minutes later, he marches forward with gun blazing, straight into the embrace of death, he also knows that none of it matters - for he is one with the Force and the Force is with him.

He doesn’t know how there is so much fight left in her still, that he can barely keep her from launching at the Imp, that she can hold him up still. That he can actually lean on Jyn, though Cassian tries not to put his full weight on her.

He doesn’t know if there is any ship above the shield to even receive the transmission. Maybe it went directly into the hands of the Empire. His entire life has been built around knowing and knowing who to ask if he doesn’t.

Now he can only ask Jyn. And somehow, it’s enough.

“Do you think anybody’s listening?”

She smiles, hauls him forward another step. “I do. Somebody’s out there.”

He crumples a little then, draws a breath that transforms into a bolt of pain. This is it, Cassian realizes. Not that he thought there was a way they could get off Scarif. But none of it fills him with fear or anger. Instead, he feels calm and straightens back up so they can limp into the elevator.

Maybe it’s because he’s spent so long with death’s hand guiding his own. Maybe it’s because of Jyn. Her faith, which had grown before his eyes, from a dormant seed into a jungle without an end in sight, shields him with its canopy.

Cassian smiles just a little at her, in the fluttering light as they move toward the surface. Where the rest of his team fought and died. He only regrets K2-SO will be so far away, but soon they all will be nothing more than stardust, so does it really matter?

In the end, he had been right - it will be a good death. With more unsung glory than he ever thought. With more love than he could’ve imagined.

VII

They crumble on the beach and watch. She doesn’t remember much of those moments on Jedha, everything had been too much of a rush, too much of her father’s words breaking into the bunker she had hid herself away into. Here, the distance between them and the approaching horizon marks all the time in the world, infinite and a grain of sand all at once.

Jyn thinks of the others, wonders if there is even a single person who made it off in time. Doubts it. Thinks of Bodhi’s dark eyes and the determined light in them when he had said Rogue One , of the solid warmth of Baze’s hand and voice, of Chirrut’s chant. Somehow, in this moment, she believes it more than ever.

She doesn’t have to think of Cassian, because he’s filling the rest of the space around them. In her. She feels his smile more than she can see it.

“Your father would be proud of you,” he tells her and oh.

Oh.

There is an odd sort of relief in her, so bright she can almost imagine the greedy green glow is overshadowed by it.

She had never thought much of fulfilling destinies in a good way, but it is somehow comforting to know this is where it’s supposed to end, that these are the calloused hands meant to save her, hold onto her. That Soulmates means warmth and home , and trust so warm it doesn’t matter she has had days in its shine. That her convictions have not been thrown in her face in the very last moment.

They found each other and she thinks it means that the plans found their way into the right hands, too.

He really would be proud of me , she realizes and calm, content pride in herself, in Cassian and her Rogue team, washes over her.

This peace carries her into the Force when it all ends, the words a sort of lullaby once again.

#Rebelcaptain #SpiritAssasin #Rogue One #Star Wars #rebelcaptain fanfic #my fic #rainy writes stuff

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