#for anyone curious: his cause of death was a punctured lung caused by broken ribs

[ultimate-angst]

Can you please do a scenario where Shuichi is dying and Kaede does everything in her power to save him, but ultimately fails he spends his final moments in a lot of pain? Bonus if Kaede indirectly lead to Shuichi’s death. Not really killed him herself, but she’s the main reason he’s in his position.

First request!! I’m still just getting back into writing, so there may be some mistakes. The setting is up to you, but it’s either post-game or in a non-game AU. I hope this is to your liking, anon. :)

It’s quite long, so I put it under a cut!

I’m Sorry I Couldn’t Save You (Saimatsu)

TW: character death, lots of pain (emotional and physical), probably inaccurate medical stuff (what, do I look like a human doctor to you?)

Shuichi had never really been a fan of hiking. It was always too hot, or there were too many bugs, or he got tired too fast, or some imagined predator would scare him back to civilization. His mind was always able to find some excuse to turn back, to return to the cool air and safety of their shared apartment.

Kaede, however, was stubborn as a mule and a master at talking him into situations he’d rather have no part in. It’s my birthday, she’d begged, doe-eyed and pouting, I’ve always wanted to go hiking. I don’t have anyone else to go with. That last bit was a lie, but he’d caved in to her demands anyways. He never could resist her.

That was how he’d ended up at a nearby trail, hat settled firmly on his head and a rucksack full of supplies on his back. Kaede sported a triumphant grin, squeezing his (admittedly sweaty) hand as they prepared to start their trek. 

“Come on, Shuichi, this’ll be fun,” she insists, starting to tug him along. Although embarrassed at the contact, he doesn’t fight it, plodding alongside her with all the enthusiasm of a wet dish rag. 

“I’m sure it will be,” he replies. He’s not sure if it’s to appease her or to reassure himself, but it sounds like the right thing to say either way. She seems satisfied with the response, and they fall into a steady pace as they make their way up the trail.

The atmosphere around them is calm, peaceful, quiet aside from the chirping of birds and Kaede’s gentle humming. She looks so content, and suddenly Shuichi doesn’t care that it’s too bright outside, that it’s too hot under his hat, that the pack is getting heavy on his back, that they’re slowly getting farther from the nearest town. Kaede is joyful and practically bouncing on her feet and still holding his hand, and that’s all he can bring himself to care about.

He listens as she points out the birds and squirrels that cross their path, the flowers she thinks are pretty, the trees she wishes she could climb. Occasionally, she pulls him to the side to examine a butterfly or a pretty beetle, and though he doesn’t want to be out longer than they have to, he doesn’t mind the little pauses, the moments where she grips his hand just a little tighter as she pulls him to her side.

They reach the marked halfway point, and Kaede pauses to awe at the beautiful valley below them. She releases his hand, and Shuichi doesn’t tell her that he misses the warmth as he watches her pull out her phone. She snaps a few photos of the view, then turns to him with a bright grin. 

“Here, let me take your picture.”

The words throw him off guard, and he’s left stammering for a response. She giggles, reddening his cheeks further.

“Come on, please? I promise I won’t post it, I just want a picture of you,” she pleads, batting her lashes in a way she knows he’ll give in to. And he does, sighing in resignation as he averts his gaze.

“Alright, fine.” His voice wavers against his wishes, but Kaede doesn’t seem to care, perking up immediately with a little squeal of joy. 

“Yay, thank you! Okay, I guess you should stand here?” She guides him closer to the edge of the path, squeezing his arm reassuringly when she notices his apprehensive gaze.

“Don’t worry, you’re fine, just don’t move too far back.” She takes a step back towards the path, studying him. Lifting her phone, she instructs him to smile. He obliges, tipping his hat back and flashing a shy grin. He feels a bit awkward, and he hates having his picture taken, but maybe he doesn’t mind as long as she’s the one behind the camera. 

“Okay,” she says when she’s finished, lowering the device and skipping towards him, “now one of us!” She slides into place beside him, casually throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him against her side. His mind freezes momentarily, and he can feel his face heating up at the sudden close proximity. He forces his thoughts back to the present moment just as she raises her phone, trying to find a good angle. She grins, and she doesn’t even need to remind him this time as he flashes the camera a sheepish smile. She snaps a few pictures and then lowers the phone. Quickly, she presses a chaste kiss to his cheek before pulling away.

He feels his entire chest heat up, breath catching in his throat. The sudden release of his shoulders causes him to stumble, and he tries to find footing behind him. 

He doesn’t have time to react. His heart drops to his stomach as his foot finds nothing but air. He blindly reaches out for something, anything, to hold on to, but he’s left flailing wildly as he falls backwards.

The first impact as he falls forces a strangled yelp from his throat, tears burning his eyes as pain shoots through his back to his extremities. The next impact hurts even more, and so it continues, each one stinging more than the last until he finally blacks out.

The first thing he registers when he wakes up is pain. His whole body burns with it, and the sudden force of it all causes him to gasp. The motion sends a stabbing pain through his chest, and he lets out a low whine, his breathing shallow.

He doesn’t even attempt to open his eyes until he hears a frantic voice crying his name, accompanied by footsteps and the skidding of rocks. The sound is unfocused, fuzzy, and he tries to push back the pounding of his skull as he attempts to open his eyes. The sunlight stings, and he squints at his surroundings as he tries to take them in.

He’s laying mostly on his side, facing a wall of rock and dirt. If he shifts his gaze a bit, he can see bushes and other small plants. Something on his head is warm. He starts to move his head, and his vision darkens as the pain returns tenfold. He whines, immediately squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to make it stop.

The whine is quickly followed by the same voice repeating his name, more urgently this time. He can’t seem to remember who it is, but it’s so familiar. He responds immediately to the voice, letting out a high whimper. The footsteps speed up, and through the haze of pain he can hear them growing closer.

“Shuichi? Oh my god, Shuichi!” The footsteps skid to a halt behind him, and he can hear how heavy her breathing is. He winces as a gentle hand is placed on his shoulder, a soft noise rising from him.

“Shuichi, can you hear me?” He groans in response, his mouth unable to form a proper response. He hears what is either a sigh or a sob, but his fuzzy mind can’t figure out which. “Oh thank god, you’re awake, you’re alive, you’re-” The words turn into a choked sob.

“I’m gonna take off the bag and turn you over, okay?” The voice is shaky but kind, and he lets out a small sound in acknowledgement. He feels the pressure on his shoulders being relieved, the weight against his back disappearing. The hand that had been on him slips to his upper back, just below the base of his neck, and the other moves to the front of his shoulder, applying a gentle pressure as she rolls him onto his back. 

The movement sends a sharp pain through his chest, and the strangled gasp that escapes his throat quickly turns into a sob. He can hear the voice apologizing repeatedly, smoothing their hand over his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. One hand reaches up, tenderly brushing the hair from his face. It feels sticky, and he can’t think well enough to wonder why.

“Oh, Shuichi, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” the voice sobs. The hand presses against his cheek - gently, as if terrified to hurt him further. He forces himself to breathe shakily through the pain, wishing it would subside quicker. As soon as it’s back at a manageable level, he cracks one eye open, squinting at the light before adding another.

It takes a moment for his brain to realize who the girl above him is, and he doesn’t even register the whimper slipping past his lips.

“Kaede-” His voice is pitiful, pleading. Pleading for what? For her to help him? For her to take his pain away? Her thumb rubs his cheek, wiping away the tears that are starting to build.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” The hands pull away as she sits back, turning her attention to their bag. “I’m gonna call for help, okay? Just hang in there. You’ll be okay, okay?”

He closes his eyes, listening to her search for her phone. He breathes shallowly through the pain, his chest burning with each inhale and exhale. 

After a few moments, he hears a groan. Another moment passes, followed by a frustrated cry. He can hear Kaede’s breathing quicken, her voice shaking as she holds back tears.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening......” Shuichi pries his eyes open, glancing over at his companion. She’s frantic, pulling at her hair with one hand as the other holds her phone. She’s biting her lip, tears sliding down her cheeks, her face flushed with panic and frustration. The cycle of quiet and panic continues until she’s at her breaking point, letting out a sharp cry as she throws her phone in the bag. She hangs her head, her hands grasping tightly at her hair, allowing herself to fall apart for a moment.

It hurts him to watch, especially knowing that he can’t move to comfort her. His voice is low and strained as he speaks her name, but it makes her jolt noticeably, her head shooting up to look at him. Guilt washes over her features, and she quickly moves over to his side to soothe him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, there’s no signal down here,” she sobs. Her hand rubs his shoulder in a feeble attempt to calm him, but that doesn’t stop the panic that shoots through him.

No signal. No help. He’s going to die here, scared and hurting and-

He’s jolted from his thoughts as she slips her hand behind his shoulder. She’s wiped the tears from her face, and she looks like she’s trying hard to stay strong.

“Shuichi, you’re going to have to move. I’m going to get us back to the trail and out of here, okay? This is going to hurt, but I can’t call for help and I’m not leaving you here alone.” She pauses, allowing him to take in her words. Her hand smooths over his shoulder, hoping to keep him calm. “I’m going to start sitting you up, okay?” She waits for him to give her a pained nod, then starts to move. She shifts towards his head, both of her hands moving to his shoulders. Slowly, trying to be as gentle as possible, she starts to lift his torso, moving him to a seated position.

If he was hurting before, he can’t even fathom what threshold of pain he just crossed. His chest burns, the pain shooting through his body as he gasps for breath. Kaede doesn’t move her hands from his shoulders even after he’s sitting, rubbing her thumbs over the cloth of his shirt and muttering reassurances. Once his breathing becomes less ragged, she shifts.

“We’re gonna try to stand, okay?” Shuichi feels panic run through him, knowing how much this will hurt. He knows he doesn’t have another choice, though. He doesn’t want to die here. He feels himself nod.

Kaede is quiet for a moment, and one hand disappears from his shoulder. He hears the rustling of their bag, and he figures Kaede has put it on herself. After a moment, the hand returns to his shoulders, gently pressing against him.

“Ready?” He forces himself to nod, and he feels her arms slip under his armpits, starting to lift him up. It strains the ache in his ribs, and he instinctively cries out, tears burning in his eyes. 

“I know,” she says, trying to soothe him. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” She remains steady and strong behind him, lifting him to his feet. As soon as he’s mostly upright, she wraps one arm around him, the other hand guiding his arm around her shoulders. He’s gasping for breath, sobbing through the pain in his ribs. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, and the realization of this causes panic to shoot down his spine. His shallow breathing grows rapid, and the tears begin to fall, dampening his shirt and the dirt below him. Kaede’s free hand finds his shirt, pressing against him to try and soothe his panic.

“Kae- I can’t- I can-” He hardly manages to push out the words before a cough bubbles up his throat. The force of it burns his chest and his throat, and he sobs as he inhales. Another one tears at his throat, and they continue to come until he can hardly catch a breath between them. He vaguely registers Kaede starting to panic, and he feels himself being lowered back to the ground. The pain shoots back through him as he sits, his back propped up against the wall of rock. Once he’s settled, Kaede removes her bag, digging around before pulling out a bottle of water.

“Hey, okay, breathe, Shuichi, can you do that? Just breathe for me.” He feels a hand on him, rubbing his shoulder gently. He tries to do as instructed, forcing back the rising coughs and drawing in a shaky breath. Light coughing pushes its way through as he exhales, but it starts to calm down enough that breathing doesn’t feel like a fight. He’s exhausted now, though, the exertion taking whatever energy he might’ve had. He becomes acutely aware of the taste of iron on his tongue.

“Here, drink some of this, okay?” He feels the rim of the bottle pressing against his lips, and he parts them, swallowing the water that pours out as Kaede tips the bottle back. The cool liquid helps soothe his throat some, but it’s not long before he coughs again, spilling some on his shirt. Kaede is quick to pull the bottle away, screwing the lid back on and putting it back in the bag. Shuichi gazes at her through teary eyes, his vision becoming fuzzy. Kaede is watching him, looking worried and scared and thoughtful, and he accepts the moment of silence as she thinks.

“I’m gonna go back up the trail,” she says slowly, sounding for the first time uncertain with her decision, “and see if I can catch a signal up there. You stay here and rest, okay?” He feels himself nodding slowly, though the movement hardly registers. His eyelids flutter.

“I’ll be right back, okay? I won’t be long. Just hang in there for me.” Her hand presses gently against his shoulder, soothing and warm. He wishes she didn’t have to go.

“I’m going to leave this here. Just in case you need anything from it.” He vaguely registers a weight against his side, and he figures it’s their bag. 

A hand brushes his hair from his face, and soft lips press against his forehead. He’d be embarrassed if he weren’t about to pass out. 

“I love you, Shuichi. You’ll be okay. Just hang in there.” Her voice is distant, foggy, and he exhales slowly as his eyes fall shut. His ribs still ache, pain hitting him with every shallow breath, but her words bring enough warmth to soothe him momentarily.

And just like that, her warmth is gone, her footsteps retreating as she runs back towards the trail. He feels himself falling, darkness clouding his thoughts, until he falls unconscious once more.

When Kaede finally returns, paramedics in tow, she’s quick to rush to his side, her eyes scanning over him to make sure he’s okay. She glances over the blood dried on his head, the red staining his right side, the scrapes and bruises decorating his arms and legs.

The last thing she notices is how still his chest is. Her heart drops, and her whole body goes cold. Without thinking, her hands find his shoulders, squeezing them worriedly, before sliding up to his cheeks. She cups his face, tears blurring her vision as she sobs, pleading with him to wake up, to open his eyes, to do anything at all.

Choked sobs turn into hysterical crying as an EMT pulls her away, giving the other paramedics room to examine the bloodied boy. Her chest feels so tight that she thinks she’s going to burst, and she screams as if that’s going to relieve the pressure. She can’t bear to think that Shuichi, her Shuichi, is gone, dead, that she’d left him to suffer his painful fate alone.

That final thought is what breaks her. He died alone. No one there to comfort him, to hold his hand, to wipe his tears and hold him close as he passed. 

She was supposed to be there for him through thick and thin, through sickness and in health. And she’d failed him.

[livlepretre]

for the writing ask! 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 30, 31, 32, 44, 48, 51, 53, 54 (any other advice?) - sorry for all the questions. im just really curious, lol

oh geez haha I will endeavor to answer!

8. Favorite trope to write.

obviously enemies to lovers 😈

9. Least favorite trope to write. can I list fluff as a trope 

12. How do you deal with self-doubts?

I hit publish the same way other people do impulsive things like jump off a bridge (I did that too once. woke up with nightmares about it for weeks). When you’re doubting yourself-- and I doubt myself all! the! time!-- the best thing to do is to steel yourself for like 5 seconds, take the leap, and then wait. Most of the time people are incredibly kind and receptive, and whatever plot point was causing the anxiety will either go unnoticed or will be appreciated by someone out there. I feel like so long as the writing comes from a place of honesty and isn’t about sensationalizing or taking advantage of anyone, then it will work out.

13. How do you deal with writers block? I let myself put the work down and don’t stress about it. I have a rule where I only write if I feel like writing. It’s a hobby for me, so if I decide I would rather watch The Office or go for a walk with my husband, I just do what I want instead. A lot of times that’s because I have writer’s block, but writer’s block can’t be pushed. 

If I am determined to write here are some strategies I employ: 

Chances are I’m stuck because I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, or I’m not certain of what a character would do. So I reread the story up until that point, make notes on anything I laid down earlier that is relevant to the part I’m on, and map out character motivations. Hopefully this helps me create a working outline that will push me forward. 

If I’m stuck because of trouble writing the story in a more profound sense, I put the story down and start something new and low stress. In other words, I intentionally start a project where the bar for publication is super low.  For example, both Love Bites and (The Stars Were Brightly Shining) are pretty much first draft stories. I would write the chapter and hit publish same day (most of the time). This gave me something fun to do that was still exercising the writing muscle but also gave me the opportunity for positive feedback and made writing fun again. 

If I can’t write at all, then I turn to reading. I read things that I really like, and I take notes on what I like about the story both from a narrative structure/plot perspective and in terms of the writer’s style and word choice. In theory we’re supposed to read a lot as writers, and writer’s block is a great chance to do so. 

And, eventually, I’ll be cooking or typing up something for work or in the shower and the missing puzzle piece will fall into place. It’s okay if that takes months. I’ve had 4 hiatuses on FE that have lasted 4-6 months each. So long as you want to finish the story, you will. 

14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book? ehhh probably watching seasons 1-2 of The Originals so I could figure out certain plot elements for FE. I do get sucked into research holes every now and then, but as they’re largely useless I try to scramble out of them as quickly as possible. (I say this with fear in my heart for the research I would have to do to write the 1492 time travel story I have in mind) 

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

Poetry, books I read and love, folklore, songs, my unhappy adolescence 

16. Where do you take your motivation from?

Honestly I get A LOT of motivation from everyone who reads and sends me a message. FE is a much bigger and much more arduous project than I anticipated, and the support has been a HUGE help. Also, for my other projects like SWBS, it’s such an inspiration to keep thinking about it and to get back to it whenever someone mentions it to me. I really do thrive on the community aspect of writing. 

Also, it’s turned out that the older I’ve gotten the more disciplined I’ve grown as a writer. I’m 30 now, and there’s a huge difference between my writing habits the last few years and what passed for them when I was 21 and writing After the Fire, But Before the Flood. 

19. First line of a WIP you’re working on.

Three broken ribs, a punctured lung, a broken collarbone, and a concussion, with bruising along her face, from where it connected with the side pillar, and along her throat and chest from the seatbelt. Two dead parents. A low buzz throughout the town: her name on everyone’s lips. - Nights at the Museum

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Damon looks at her and cants his head to the side and he tells her, voice flip and unreachable as only his can be, “I see you’ve cheated death again.” He makes it sound like it’s him she’s cheated by not finishing the turn. 

She opens her mouth to respond, but what can she say? Death still sits heavy in her lungs. Smoke burns her eyes and blood clogs her nose. She could choke on the smothering weight of it all. On the weight of his expectation in her. His disappointment. 

“I never wanted to be a vampire,” she tells him, finally.

The look Damon gives her strips her bare. Somehow over the past six months she has let him in, and now that he is here, she cannot hide from him. “You never wanted to make a choice with your eyes open.” 

-Innocence 

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

well this is pretty spoilery for FE, so, reader beware: 

Rebekah has her pinned by an arm around her waist, her back flush to Rebekah’s front, both of them kneeling on the bed, while Rebekah reaches around and slowly fucks her with her hand. - Fairytale Ending

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

Right now I am very fond of this: 

Looking up into his face, into his eyes, gone dark and blue as the river back home when the moon was low in the sky, she finally admits the truth she's been hiding from herself for months. The thing she has been most afraid to ever, ever say, even to herself. Her gravest sin, which in this moment, feels like her redemption. "I love you." Saying it out loud is like the moment she drove the knife into her own side. - Fairytale Ending 

31. Hardest character to write.

Damon -- he has a very particular kind of humor and cynicism which I find really difficult to replicate (although I think I’m getting more confident) 

32. Easiest character to write.

Klaus-- literally there is nothing too extreme, it’s so much fun 

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. This will make like no sense but it’s from a creative writing class I took in high school, and the feedback was actually given to one of my friend, and I’ve remembered it ever since: “You have to use your avocado knives.” The context was basically he mentioned a pair of avocado knives sitting on a table and they never come up again. It’s the chekhov’s gun idea: when you put something down in the story, you have to actually use it. Everything in the narrative should have meaning if it’s mentioned, and work either functionally, metaphorically, or emotionally. 

48. Favorite genre to write in. Horror. 

51. Describe the aesthetic of your story _______ in 5 sentences or words. I’ll assume this is for FE: 

Gothic horror, where the blood is both in the grass and on the heroine’s hands. 

53. What does writing mean to you? It’s just something that I really, really like. 

54. Any writing advice you want to share?

I shared the bulk of it yesterday so here’s the rest: do what you want and have fun. 

[jyn-mother-fucking-andor]

Closer

Here the link to ao3 if you'd rather read it on there. http://archiveofourown.org/works/9452069

They don’t speak on the way down.

They don’t acknowledge the distant shrill screams of TIE Fighters and X-Wings outside.

They don’t think about how they’re not going to get out in time.

Blood is soaking through his shirt and he isn’t sure how much longer he’ll be able to stay upright.  Not that it matters.  All he sees is her and nothing else matters.  The end will come, that much he knows to be true.  But right now, he doesn’t care.  Because she’s here.  Because he’s with her.  Her face is covered and sweat, blood, and grime and yet she might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

There’s so much he wants to tell her.  Too many things that will be left unsaid.  They’ve only known each other for a matter of days, and yet he feels like he’s been staring into those brilliant green eyes for years.  And he knows that he will do anything to keep them burning bright. 

As the world flashes by in the poorly lit shaft, he traces the line of her cheek with his thumb.  Her breath hitches and a brief flash of panic dances across her face.  In all the time he’s known her and after all the things they’ve seen and done, this is the first time he sees genuine fear in her eyes.  

                                                         *** She recognizes the look in his eyes.  The hunger, the longing that lies just beneath the surface.  She recognizes the look because she’s almost positive that she’s mirroring his expression.  The gaze.  His thumb grazes gently along her cheek.  It’s calloused and sweaty, but she leans against his touch all the same.  

They’re standing close enough that she can feel his heart hammering in time with hers.  The world rushes by around them and for a moment, she thinks that he might close the distance between them.  And while she’s longing to do just the same, she’s almost relieved when he doesn’t move.  If he pressed his lips against hers, that would be it.  It would mean the end.  It would mean their grand finale.  

And even though the end is coming quick, she’s just not ready for that kiss goodbye.                                                         ***

They make it out to the beach soon enough.  There are still explosions and screams of pain going on around them, but Cassian hardly seems to notice.  In a way, it’s almost as if they’ve been put on mute.  That he in Jyn are in their own little bubble, their own little pocket universe.  

It’s enough for him until she points out the jet of green shooting from the sky, hurtling towards them, expediting the end.

He wants to lie. 

He wants to smile.

He wants to tell her that everything will be alright.

It wouldn’t be the first time he lied to her.  Nor would it be the second.  But as he looks at her and sees her close her eyes, the thought leaves the taste of ash in his mouth.  Never mind that she’s too smart to fall for it anyway. So instead, with the last bit of strength he can muster, he pulls them towards the shore.  Before too long, she’s the one leading him.  He’s weaker with every step, his breathing labored.  But she gets him there, gets him to the water.  It seems to go in slow motion after that; with her guiding him down when his legs eventually give out.  She never lets go, either.  Their hands are still clasped together, fingers tangled. 

“Your father would have been proud of you, Jyn.” he says with a smile.

It’s not even close to all he wants to say, but in a way, it’s appropriate.  It’s enough in that it isn’t nearly enough.  Although he suspects a thousand years wouldn’t be enough time with Jyn Erso. 

She smiles and grips his hand tighter, so much so that he’s beginning to lose feeling.  Again, not that it matters.  The horizon is coming towards them now, rising like the sea. They’ve maybe got a few minutes left before it swallows them whole.  So he takes a chance.  With all the strength he has left, he pushes himself off the sand and wraps Jyn in an embrace.  She doesn’t fight him on it, if anything, she’s hugging him tighter.

The sky is lighting up.  Scarif is falling apart.  And he pulls her as close as he can.  He ignores the screaming of his probably broken ribs.  He’ll be dead in a few moments, why should a bit of pain stop him now?  None of it matters.  Because she’s here. Because she’s with him.  And for the first time in a long time, Cassian Andor felt content.

Somehow, he thinks she understands. 

                                                     *** Jyn wakes in the med bay four days later.

Alone.

She doesn’t know who picked them up or how.  She wants to ask what happened to Cassian and the others, if any of them made it out.  Emphasis on “wants to.” She remembers the explosions.  She remembers how all the comms went silent.  She remembers how hard he fell.  She remembers the shallowness of his breath on the beach.  But no matter how curious she may be, she doesn’t ask questions.  She won’t ask questions when she’s not prepared for the answer. Yes, rebellions may be built on hope.  But at the end of the day, hope only goes so far.  In this Galaxy, you have to learn to draw the line between hope and wishful thinking.

She hears the news a few hours after she wakes up.  That the Death Star has been destroyed.  However, another two go by until she learns that Cassian is alive.

When she’s eventually given clearance to leave the med-bay a week later, she doesn’t go to where they’re keeping him in bacta.  She knows she wouldn’t want him to see her like that, and she can assume that he would feel the same about her.  Instead, Jyn immediately requests to be sent back out again.  Back into the fight.  Back to the cause.  Back to the dream.

She gets denied, of course.  Not that she had been expecting anything different.  

You only just got back, Mon Mothma had said.   Imperials know your face, they know you were on Scarif, you’re a liability now, Draven told her later.  

She thinks Draven’s full of it, but holds her tongue. She’s got more important things to worry about than getting yet another insubordination charge.  So she forces a tight lipped smile  and asks if she could procure the access code to Captain Andor’s quarters.  When he raises an eyebrow, she makes up an excuse about needing to return the blaster she’d borrowed. 

Jyn’s not entirely sure if she’s convinced him, but he hands over the access code all the same.                                                        *** Medics take him out of stasis almost three weeks after the events on Scarif.  As it turns out, six broken ribs, a punctured lung, a ruptured spleen, internal bleeding, and a five story fall make for a rough recovery.  The new blaster scars pretty much go without saying, but the medics make a point to tell him that he’ll always have a bit of pain in his back.  Bacta tanks can be life saving, but they can’t make miracles.  

Cassian Andor was lucky to be alive, simple as that.  And while he listens to their requests that he take it easy and refrain from strenuous activity, he doesn’t make any promises.  This was a rebellion, after all.  Freedom comes with a cost.  Close bouts with death are just part of the collateral.

He asks after Jyn almost every day.

Sometimes the medical droids give him an answer, sometimes they don’t.  She’s alive, that much he’s gathered.  He hasn’t seen her since the beach.  He also knows that she hasn’t come to see him, the droids can tell him that much.  And while that hurts, he understands. He knows why she’s staying away.  

They’re similar that way.

He gets clearance to leave the med bay nearly ten days later.  He hates that he’s been out of commission for almost a month.  Hates feeling useless.  Yes, the Death Star is gone but the war has only just begun.  The Empire took a hit but they won’t be down long.  They’re just biding their time. 

He gathers his things and makes his way to his quarters.  He���d argued with Mon Mothma when she insisted he get his own private room.  Perks of being a captain, she’d said.  He still thinks a bit ridiculous, but at the same time he can’t deny that it would be nice to finally decompress on his own.

However, when he punches in the access code and the automatic door slides open with a gasp, he’s startled to find that there’s someone already in his bed.                                                           *** She hasn’t seen him in almost a month and all of a sudden, there he his, standing in the doorway.  And Jyn doesn’t say anything.  What could she say?  What excuse could she possibly have for sitting on his bed, in his private quarters?  How could she tell him that she’s been coming in here for weeks?  That this is how she missed him.  And even if she did tell him all that, who’s to say he’d understand?  But at the same time, it’s him.  He’s Captain Cassian Andor and he’s proven time and time again to understand her more than almost anyone else.  

Ever. 

They spend a great deal of time just staring at each other, maybe trying to determine that this is real.  That they’re actually here, together.  Eventually he steps inside and she stands up.  And like before, neither of them say anything.  

They just stare, taking each other in.  

Somehow, he looks thinner than he had before.  His already hardened face gaunt.  She supposes that it shouldn’t really be all that surprising.  He’d been restricted to the med bay for weeks, his recovery wouldn’t have needed to be so long if not for good reason.  Of course it would show. 

He walks towards her then and her heart starts to race.  He’s got that look in his eyes again.  The one that makes her breath quicken and her legs shake.  She’s scared, there’s no denying that.  He might know and he might not.  Not that it particularly matters in the end.  Although this time it’s different.

   You see, this time, they didn’t just risk it all for Empire schematics.  This time, they didn’t just lose their friends.  This time, they’re not minutes away from near certain death.  This time, they’re right here, in this little room.  This is uncharted territory.  This is the brave new world.  This is their life now.  

So yes, Jyn is terrified.                                                       *** It’s awkward.

He’s not really sure where to go from here.  The idea of Jyn Erso in his quarters was something he couldn’t say he actively entertained.  Key word being actively.  He has yet reconcile the reason he sees her every night in his sleep.  But now that she’s here, now that he’s with her, the thoughts are becoming increasingly difficult.

“You’re okay,” she says after a minute.  There’s an officialness to her voice, as if they were in a debrief and not in his private quarters.  

“More or less,” he says, matching her tone.

“Good,”

“Good,”

It’s stilted.  It’s strained.  But it’s where they are.  Sure, they’ve almost died together more times than one, but force be damned if they’re able to get through an actual conversation.

“Well-um…” she says, nervously rubbing her hands on her trousers. “Here,” she hands over a scuffed up blaster.

He raises an eyebrow in confusion before it dawns on him what she’s holding.  The blaster.  His blaster. He figured she’d lost it or that it had been left behind on Scarif.  All things considered, it seems a bit silly that, after everything, she’s giving it back now.

“Jyn-”

“It’s yours, I can always get another,”

“Steal another, you mean,” he means for it to come out as a joke, but his voice is gruff and he winces.  However, she hardly seems to notice and lets out the smallest smile.  

“Something like that,” she says and tries to hand him the blaster once again.  

They’re close now, perhaps only a foot apart.  He grasps it lightly and when he does, his calloused fingers brush against hers.  It’s barely more than a whisper of touch, and yet both of them are paralyzed. He expected her to flinch and though that he’d be the one to pull away.  But, as a surprise to them both, neither of them move.  Instead, he runs the tips of his fingers gently atop hers.  Her breath hitches and she moves to step closer.

The blaster clatters to the floor and just like that, they’re chest to chest.  She’s so close that he can smell the soot and oil in her hair and on her skin.  It’s a harsh combination and oddly comforting.  He lets go of her hands in favor of resting them on the swell of her hips.  Her hands go to the lapel of his jacket and he’s positive that she can feel how hard his heart is beating right now.  And just like that, it’s almost as if they’re in the elevator all over again.

“When was the last time you used a refresher?” she asks suddenly.

The question is so simple and yet it throws him completely for a whirl.  It’s such a mundane concern that combined with their current situation there’s an absurdity to it.  One that Cassian welcomes.  He supposes that bacta baths and basic hygiene protocols from the med bay don’t count, so he shrugs.

“I figured as much,” Jyn says, and with that she pulls away.  A part of him mourns her absence and he almost reaches out to pull her back into his arms until he sees her vest drop to the floor.  

“Jyn? What are you-” he starts to protest.

“Shhh,” she interrupts, placing her fingers to his lips.  There’s a quite humor in her eyes.  One that he believes would disappear as quick as a blink.  Yet there’s no mischief in them, no hidden joke.  Rather, there is a sense of tranquil melancholy.  Sad yet content.

“Come with me?” she asks quietly.

He can only nod.                                                       ***

The shedding of their clothes isn’t a sensual affair.  Nor is it provocative or uncomfortable.  It’s methodical and cathartic, as if they’re shifting into a new skin.  Jyn figures that she should feel anxious with the fact that she’s about to see Cassian naked and he her.  And yet, she’s fine.  Of course, there are lingering looks.  Of course, there is some awkwardness.  But above all else, she feels warmth.  She feels peace.

Next goes her shirt, then her shoes.  Little by little, Cassian joins her.  Slowly removing his jacket and unlacing his boots.  This isn’t the fist time they’ve changed in front of each other.  But, just like everything else with them, it’s different this time.  He stills when her hands pull on his shirt.  For half a second, she thinks he might stop her.  That he might say that they’re going too far.  But he doesn’t.  And when his shirt is discarded on the floor, his hands go to her belt.  She hopes he doesn’t notice how bad she’s shaking, though she knows he can feel her.

Before too long, the remainder of their clothes end up on the floor.  Though it’s technically his space, she grasps his hand and wordlessly leads him to the refresher.  

It’s small and cramped, clearly built for one person at a time.  But they make do.  He reaches around her and turns on the water.  It’s lukewarm at best but it feels almost heavenly.  She trails her eyes over the planes of his shoulders and chest as they stand under the stream washing over them.  Her eyes catch the new blaster scar, the one on his left side.  It’s pink and jagged at the edges, fresh.  The bruises are still there, some more yellow than others.  But they’re there all the same.  Bacta can do a lot, but it won’t fix everything.  Unable to help herself, Jyn’s fingers goes to the new scar, caressing it.  It’s big enough that her hand almost doesn’t cover it all.  She shutters when she remembers where it came from.  The man in white took so much from her.  He may not have taken Cassian, but he tried.  He almost succeeded.  And though she’s sure he’s dead, a small part of her will always be afraid that he’ll come back.  That he’ll try to take Cassian again.  The cave starts closing in again.

“Hey,” Cassian whispers, pulling her back to the light.  His hand is on her cheek, guiding her eyes to his.

“I’m okay,” he says.  “We’re still here,”

She doesn’t say anything back.  Rather, she nods and tries her best attempt at a smile.  Whether or not she succeeds is a mystery to her, but Cassian seems to accept it none the less.  She makes a grab for the soap, but he beats her to it, pouring a little in his palm and threading it through her hair.  It’s tangled and rough, but he works through the strands with methodical precision until it’s smooth.  Soon enough, it’s her turn and he has to lean down for her to reach him.  He holds her steady at the waist as she stands on her tip toes.  They can’t help but chuckle a little at that.                                                     *** Cassian thinks this is the first time he’s actually registered how much taller than her he actually is.  It’s funny and absurd in that Jyn Erso is a walking hurricane, one that barely comes over his shoulders.  The laughter they share dies down, however, when she reaches for the body wash.  Then her hands are on him, and it’s hard to breathe.  

He works with her, scrubbing and washing away all the dust.  All the pain.  He does his best to ignore that he can feel her trembling or that he’s almost panting.  Her breathing wavers when his palm brushes against the curve of her breast.  Part of him wants to just say crew it and kiss her, but he doesn’t.  Just like the elevator, it’s not the right time.  He goes on with scrubbing her clean and her him.

They’re chest to chest again, the water washing over them.  His arms go around her waist and hers go up his back, griping each other tight.  His face is buried in her wet hair and hers is resting on his shoulder.  They don’t speak.  They don’t cry.  They stay grounded together.  Holding and supporting each other in every sense of the word.  

Eventually, the water runs cold but they don’t move until Jyn’s teeth start to chatter.  Even then, they’re reluctant to let go.  When they can’t take it anymore, Cassian shuts the water off and grabs a large towel.  They dry off as best they can and Cassian shakes the cloth through Jyn’s hair.  It’s the first time he’s seen it down.  It’s a shorter cut than he’s seen on other women; just barely going past her clavicle, the ends curling slightly.  He thinks it’s beautiful.  He thinks she’s beautiful.  A diamond in the rough.  

They don’t dress.  This time, it’s him leading her to his bed.  He doesn’t comment on the fact that the sheets look slept in or that his pillow smells like her.  He leans back and tugs her with him until they’re laying together.  She pulls the covers up and he wraps his arm around her back, pressing her into him.  He can feel her bare breasts against his chest, just as he’s sure she can feel him against her thigh.  Their respective bodies respond to the touch, but neither of them acknowledge it.  

Not now anyway. 

  They’ve both got things to do, orders to receive, and debriefings to attend.  There’s still much they need to talk about.  A lot that was left unsaid on Scarif.  But for now, they’ll lay here.  Together.  

There would be time for all that later.