#its been a loose outline ive been toying with for a while but its finally making its way onto paper

[aidanchaser]

ive had kind of a bummer week so i started a new project to get some creative hits before going back to work on longterm projects. here's a snippet of the 1920s AU i've been playing with~

It wasn’t snowing, though it certainly felt cold enough to. Marinette pulled her collar closed against her throat and cheeks, keeping herself as snug as she could. She had some privacy in the dark alley that guarded the back entrance of the Lucky Lady, but the click of her lighter must have attracted attention from the street. She saw the white suit jacket and vest that was becoming painfully familiar approach. Her mask was still in place, but she did not need him getting too close. She could not risk Adrien Agreste getting a decent look at Ladybug. She stepped back into the shadow of the alley, and he took the hint, coming to a stop when he was at arm’s length from her “Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he said, voice soft enough to wring out Marinette’s heart, “but do you happen to have a light? I seem to have left mine in my coat pocket.” He sounded like the boy who had abandoned her, not the man who had returned. His voice was gentle, uncertain. There was none of the swagger she’d seen in the young man in her shop that morning, nor the cold grin he’d sported when he’d entered the Lady Luck. She took a drag on her cigarette to steel her nerves, then handed him her lighter. She risked a glance at his face as he lit his own cigarette, careful to keep her own face in the darkness. “What happened to your coat?” she asked. “I gave it to a gentleman who looked like he needed it more than I did.” The tip of his cigarette glowed orange, and he returned her lighter to her. His eyes looked warm in this dim light. She tucked her lighter back into her coat. “And what happened to your date?” “I called her a cab. I was hoping to chat with you before returning home.” Marinette could not stop a sneer from crossing her face. She hoped the darkness hid that, too. “What business do you have with me?” “I heard a rumor that if a gentleman is down on his luck, you’re the lady to see.” “I’ve been known to reverse fortunes,” she murmured. “From toppling those on thrones to lifting up those in the gutter. You don’t strike me as a man in a gutter.” He turned his head to blow a lungful of smoke away from her. The street lamp glinted off of his hair, creating a golden halo. “One man’s heaven,” he shrugged, and let the rest of phrase disappear behind a rueful smile.  Everything about it prickled against Marinette’s skin like a bed of needles, but she did not want to waste an opportunity here. Max had told her that they would need more information, so she was going to get it. “What do you want me to do?” “Only to tell you that, if you’re interested in toppling thrones, my father has staked a lot of his reputation and finances into this one sale.” “Mayor Bourgeois is the one selling.” Adrien shrugged and extinguished his cigarette against the wall. “I just balance the books. That’s all I can tell you.” “How do I know you won’t use this for your own gain? You just want me to take down your father so you can take over in his place—is that it?” The self-deprecating smile vanished. He let out a deep breath, and the warm air of his lungs collected in front of him as surely as if he had taken another drag on his cigarette. “Do it right, and there won’t be anything left for me to take over.” He tipped his hat to her. “Thanks for the light.” And he turned back to the street. Marinette waited until he had rounded the corner and was well out of sight before snuffing out her own cigarette and hurrying back inside. She could already hear Max and Nino warning her it was a trap, but she felt recklessness curling inside her chest. She had to know what else was hidden in that art exchange, or it would burn her alive. She had to tear down Gabriel Agreste, and if Adrien came tumbling down with him, well, she wouldn’t complain about that.

[jirnkirk]

so………. i wrote a rebelcaptain fic, about 7k, about favorite colors (it’s a weird topic but whatever) and before i post it on ao3 i’d love some feedback. i reworked the second scene literally five times and the whole thing is far far from perfect but it’s reached the point where i don’t think i’m getting anywhere with it tbh. but anyway pls comment tysm

i. Massassi Base; green

The celebrations are just gearing up as Jyn knocks on his door. She has guessed that they both share an aversion to the jubilation that left hundreds of bodies in its wake, bodies blown up by grenades or felled by blaster shots, disintegrated now, just flecks floating in space. She knows no one will miss them at the party; the attention has been taken from the Scarif survivors and placed on Han Solo, Leia Organa, and Luke Skywalker, all eager-eyed and fresh, reveling in their accomplishments.

Jyn just feels tired.

The door opens and, as she expected, she is greeted by Cassian, who wears loose gray pants and a thin white shirt, a marked difference from his typical beige uniform and large, fur-lined parka. He is assisted by a crutch under his arm, and Jyn can see the outline of bandages poking through his top. He received treatment in the bacta tanks for two days, and the doctors said he was lucky to be alive. That they were both lucky to be alive.

Jyn doesn’t feel that way.

She feels stranded. She had been prepared to die on that beach, listening to the waves crash, watching as the world exploded in a beautiful pink, simply holding Cassian. She had been ready to greet death with open arms and a smile before the opportunity had been snatched away. Dying, she has come to find out, is easy; living, on the other hand, is a much taller order. Especially when everyone you know has been ripped away.

Except Cassian.

“Jyn,” he says, and there’s only a little bit of surprise in his voice. He winces as he talks, his ribs still aching, no doubt. She’s surprised he can even stand, to be frank, but a little bit of stubbornness and pride can go a long way.

“Can I come in?” she asks, and he draws the door further back and steps aside to allow her into his room.

After she crosses the threshold, he shuts the door behind them. Jyn supposes she should feel embarrassed, sneaking into a man’s room in the middle of the night, but she thinks that she’s gone through too much with Cassian to allow such trivial shame to prick the back of her neck, so she holds her head up high as she studies the space around them. His quarters are bigger than hers, but still small; the walls, floor, and ceiling are all gray concrete, with the white sheets on the bed and the ivory table shoved against a wall providing the only breaks in the monotony. There are no personal effects. In that, they are alike.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Jyn says mechanically, though she knows Cassian has not been asleep. The bed sheets are rumpled, like their occupant has been tossing and turning, unable to rest.

Cassian knows she knows, but small talk is normal, and normal is sane. Normal is good. If Jyn squints, she can pretend they’re somewhere else, far away from this base, far away from this rebellion, tucked in a safe corner of the galaxy. But they aren’t.

“You didn’t,” he responds automatically, his voice hoarse and tired. Jyn walks further into the room and he follows her with a strange, loud, three-legged gait, breathing heavily. She stops when she gets to the edge of his bed, trailing her fingers along the thin comforter, feeling Cassian’s gaze on the back of her neck.

“I didn’t want to be alone,” she mumbles to the mattress.

Cassian shifts his weight. “Let’s go outside,” he suggests suddenly. Jyn turns to face him, confusion flitting across her face as her brows knit together. “It’s quiet,” he explains quickly, mumbling. “Quiet and peaceful.” She glances down at his leg, then his bandage, then back up at him, and sees his jaw has set and his eyes have hardened, so she nods. She opens the door for him and he shuffles out, each breath causing him to grimace, but she knows offering help would be more painful, so she shuts the door and keeps pace with him. Cheers filter down the hallway, muffled by the walls but clear enough, full of hope and joy. Jyn ignores them.

The walk to the entrance to the base takes fifteen minutes, when it usually takes little more than five. Jyn says nothing, and Cassian just looks angry. The guards nod at them and open the doors; though the base is usually locked down at night, they seem more than willing to let Jyn and Cassian go out. It seems that not everyone has forgotten Scarif so quickly. Or maybe they have relaxed tonight. Jyn wonders if the guards wish they were at the party.

The cool evening air hits their faces as they step outside, the doors sliding shut behind them. The guards posted outside the base glance at them only once, just long enough to discern their identities, and face front again, their limbs relaxed without the threat of the Death Star hanging above their heads. Jyn breathes in the scent of the forest, damp and mossy, and exhales slowly, feeling the tension leave her shoulders just a little. Cassian has begun to limp towards the treeline, so Jyn follows him silently until they reach the edge of the forest. Panting, he throws his crutch to the ground and lowers himself down, his face blanching as he does so. Jyn bites her lip and barely restrains herself from offering a hand, an arm, something. Once he settles himself on the leafy forest floor, Jyn follows suit, the foliage crunching under her weight. With the temple behind them, as they look out into the forests of Yavin IV, Jyn can almost imagine that the Rebellion is a distant memory, that there is no war, and it’s just her and Cassian, listening to the sounds of the trees rustling in the gentle breeze.

Jyn twirls a stray blade of grass between her fingers. “I always liked green,” she admits. Yavin IV might be the greenest place she’s ever been; the trees and shrubbery are practically untouched except for the Massassi temples dotting the landscape.

Cassian shifts his weight so he can rest his back against a mossy tree, his breathing slowly returning to normal. “Why?”

She shoots a sideways look at him, frowning. “I don’t think people normally ask why someone’s favorite color is what it is.”

“You can just say there’s no reason.” Cassian picks up a handful of leaves in his right hand and crushes them, letting their remnants float to the ground. “I don’t have a favorite color.”

Jyn raises her eyebrows. “You don’t?” she asks, somewhat incredulously.

Cassian shrugs and scoops up some more leaves. “I don’t have a reason to.”

Jyn falls silent, watching the battered leaves fall from Cassian’s hand. She feels a pang of pity for his childhood; while her own may have been twisted and  strange and cut short, she had a favorite color, a favorite toy, a favorite book. She could remember a life untouched by loss, or grief, or fear, quick as it may have been. Cassian glances sharply at her and Jyn looks away, hoping that the pity did not show on her face.

“It reminds me of home,” she finally answers.

“Where?” Cassian’s voice is gentle and inquisitive; they are two normal people, sharing normal things about each other, like where they grew up. If Jyn repeats that enough, she can almost believe it.

“Lah’mu,” she replies, the word sticking in her throat. “In the Raioballo sector. I wasn’t born there, but I remember it the most. It was…” She pauses, deliberating what to say. That it was misty and damp, but her parents always had a fire burning, so their simple house was never cold. That she would write words in the volcanic soil to practice, finding it more entertaining than a pen and paper, and her mother would scold her afterwards for bringing dirt into the house. That the water from the ground tasted so strongly of minerals that drinking water had to be distilled from the air. “It was beautiful,” she finishes softly, her voice barely audible.

Cassian has stopped ripping up leaves from the forest floor and has started staring at her. Before, he had just been looking. Now his gaze goes through her skin, to her very center, where she is most vulnerable and naked. But his eyes don’t wound. They’re kind. Jyn bows her head and sets her jaw against the tears that begin to gather in her eyes, clouding her vision but never spilling over.

Cassian reaches out a hand and puts it on her knee. Jyn doesn’t look at him, can’t look at him, but she feels warmth radiate from where his calloused hand rests on her leg, and she instinctively grasps his fingers with her own, feeling the rough callouses that mirror the ones on her own palm. She can’t remember the last time she held hands with someone, or the last time she touched someone for no reason at all. His skin is reassuring against her own. It reminds her that he’s still there, that he came back for her when no one else had.

“I’m sorry,” Cassian murmurs, and Jyn knows that he is expressing his sympathy and sorrow for much more than just the loss of her home.

“Me, too,” Jyn whispers. Sorry for her mother, sorry for Saw, sorry for her father, for K-2, Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, for Scarif and Alderaan. Though she doesn’t say any of those names, Cassian can hear them laced through her voice. Jyn looks back up, her eyes clear, and moves to sit next to Cassian by the tree, bark scraping her back as she positions herself beside him. She doesn’t let go of his hand.

They sit peacefully until true nighttime begins to settle over the forest, and the green is replaced by varying shades of black and gray. Wordlessly, they stand, Cassian hissing in pain as he hoists himself up with his crutch, and turn to go back to the base. The guards let them in and Jyn and Cassian wind their way back to their rooms, Cassian gritting his teeth as they walk. Jyn is surprised the doctors allowed him out of the med bay, but she supposes that he didn’t give them much choice in the matter. Compared to climbing the comm tower half-dead, this must be simple.

They reach Cassian’s room first. Jyn has noticed that the rooms of those higher up in the chain of command are closer to the entrances, no doubt to allow them to evacuate quicker. Sergeants are located further away. The new title still prickles Jyn; it fits her poorly, like an itchy shirt that’s too big, but she got tired of looking down and running. So the placard on her door reads Sergeant Erso. Captain Andor flashes in the light at her as she opens the door for Cassian and he drags himself to the bed, where he immediately collapses.

Jyn hovers by the doorway. He looks exhausted.

“Goodnight,” she says finally.

Something flashes in Cassian’s eyes. Disappointment, so brief that Jyn barely notices, and most likely would not have noticed if she were anyone but herself. She begins to pull the door shut before she can be drawn back in.

“Goodnight, Jyn,” Cassian says. Jyn looks back at him and sees him smiling, close-lipped, but his eyes have crinkled around the edges. She smiles back and closes the door.

ii. EF76 Nebulon-B frigate Redemption; red

They stand a hairsbreadth apart, pressed in on either side by the walls of the narrow hallway they have escaped to near the docking bay, so close that Jyn can count Cassian’s eyelashes. A great clamor swells from the hangar as mechanics give finishing touches to the ships and pilots shout goodbyes as they board, but Jyn pays the commotion no attention, trying to soak in Cassian for as long as she can.

He says, “Eight days only. Just gathering intel on Bothawui. First mission back, so it’ll be easy,” and flashes her a smile, a forced kind of lazy that makes her uneasy. The kind of smile her father gave her when she caught him late at night, huddled guiltily over plans, or the one her mother would carefully arrange when Jyn asked too many questions on Coruscant. Jyn has inherited that smile, and she recognizes it easily.

He was only cleared for duty two days ago—Jyn thinks it’s too soon—and it has only been seventeen days since Scarif. When she closes her eyes,  Jyn can still feel the heat of the Death Star’s laser against her skin, can still hear the waves roaring as they come crashing towards the beach, can still remember screaming until she was hoarse when Mon Mothma told her that the plans were lost, can still remember watching the last remnant of her father explode and be lost into space and the cheers that followed. Most of all, she can remember the feel of Cassian trembling underneath her as they waited for death, sand digging into her knees, the only time she had truly felt at peace even as death barreled towards them. But now that they are here, stuck in the vastness of space with a quarter of the Alliance fleet as they search for a new base, the thought of losing him almost makes her stagger.

“Don’t make any stupid decisions,” Jyn mutters, and she means it as half a joke, but the words carry more weight than she intends and hang heavily between them.

Luckily, Cassian plays along. “How can I if you won’t be with me?” he asks, a smile dancing on his lips.

Under different circumstances, she might have smiled too, but she finds her jaw has suddenly locked and her heart has leapt up into her throat. She screws her eyes shut and balls her hands into fists, and feels Cassian’s warm hand press her head against his chest. She can’t help but flash back to all the times she has been left: by her parents, by Saw, by K-2, by Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze and, unbidden, tears slide between her eyelids and drop onto Cassian’s shirt.

It’ll be easy, she tells herself, but even that simple lie rings hollow and false in her mind.

“Jyn—” Cassian begins, but his tone is too gentle and sounds like a goodbye, like he’s going to say something she can’t come back from, so Jyn cuts him off.

“Just make sure to come back, okay?” Her voice is quieter than intended, barely above a whisper, and it quavers.

His gaze softens as he nods, and wraps his arms around her, pulling her in tighter against her chest, and she can feel him rise and fall underneath her; the embrace is warm and unassuming and quietly fierce and as he releases her a heartbeat too late, Jyn fights the urge to tug him back and feel his arms around her again.

“I will,” Cassian murmurs, but Jyn doesn’t believe him. Promises are a dangerous thing, because they represent a future they can’t afford. “You be safe,” he adds softly, and then he reaches up to brush a lock of hair behind Jyn’s ear, and his fingers leave a trail of stardust where they brush against her skin. They linger like that, Cassian’s palm against Jyn’s cheek, warmth spreading from her stomach throughout her entire body, until they can no longer ignore the shouting from the hangar and Cassian sets his slim shoulders before he marches towards the cargo bay. He still has a limp; he’ll probably have it forever, that’s what the medics said, and his footprints echo unevenly as Jyn stares at his retreating back, which grows smaller and smaller until Cassian  turns a corner and disappears.

As the days pass, and five days turns into eight, eight to ten, and still Cassian doesn’t return, Shara Bey, her temporary partner, tells her not to worry.

“Captain Andor is a pro,” she tells Jyn confidently as they dodge blaster fire on Jelucan. “He’ll be fine.”

“Kes is gone for much longer than scheduled all the time,” she says through gritted teeth as she weaves their ship in and out of TIE fighters, maneuvering so two of them crash into each other and blow themselves up. “Kriffing idiots,” she grins. Even if she doesn’t share her sunny outlook, Jyn decides she likes Shara.

“The Alliance is really bad at time management,” Shara informs her cheerily back on the Redemption, a cup of caf clutched between her hands. “They probably just underestimated the time it took.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Jyn says, a little helplessly, her bowl of mushy, congealed oatmeal untouched. Her eyes are puffy from lack of sleep, and she doesn’t miss the way Shara looks at her with pity. Jyn suspects the happy act is partially a charade for her benefit, but she appreciates the effort nonetheless.

Two days after, they bring him back battered and bruised and bloody, limp as a rag doll as a stretcher wheels him to the med bay.

Jyn watches with hungry eyes that threaten tears behind the fiery rage burning in her pupils, and when she blinks, she sees red spots on the inside of her eyelids flashing in front of her as her heart slams against her ribcage, waiting for something, anything. The medics bar her from the room, so she paces, feeling as if she’s suffocating, choking, drowning in a sea of fear that presses down on her chest until she can’t breathe. He was red, so red—red spiraling out from his abdomen, on his forehead, caked beneath his fingernails, seeping out from his thigh. If she stops moving, she thinks she might collapse, sink to the floor with her head between her knees and collapse into the dark depths of sorrow and self-pity. But she’s stronger than that, so she doesn’t pause until he is wheeled back out—how long that was, Jyn doesn’t know; it was long enough for Draven to stop by and tell her to go to bed, but after Jyn gave him a terrible, bloodshot glare, he gave up—and then she follows him to the bed they set him down in, where he looks small and fragile, his chest rising and falling shallowly, his skin pale.

“He should wake in approximately three hours,” a med droid tells her, as miffed as a droid can possibly sound; no doubt it didn’t want her interfering with the patient, but Jyn simply settles into the chair by Cassian’s bedside and ignores the droid, so it moves out of the room and slams the door behind it.

She doesn’t know when she falls asleep, only that when she wakes up, her neck hurts from the chair and Cassian is staring at her.

Jyn sits up quickly, a little too quickly judging by the sharp pain in her neck, but she brushes the twinge aside as she takes him in, alive and breathing and looking like a miracle.

“Hi,” she whispers, afraid to say anything else.

His skin has regained some of its color, and his eyes are sharp and alert; she wonders how long he has been awake. “Hi,” he echoes, a bit raspy.

Jyn’s eyes are drawn to the bacta patch on his upper arm, where dried blood is still visible around the edges. Cassian follows her gaze and shifts his gown so that it covers the bandage. “I’ve had worse,” he reminds her, but Jyn can feel the fear creeping back up her throat, constricting her airway, and the possibility of having lost him hits her so suddenly that the words are tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“I was so scared, Cassian,” she blurts tremulously, the pent-up fear and anger and loneliness she feels pouring out all at once, and Jyn finds herself half-sobbing as the words fall out of her mouth, her heart racing: “I was so scared you weren’t going to come back and-and-and I just—you were so red, I thought I could lose you, everything was so bloody—”

“Jyn,” Cassian cuts across her, firm but gentle, “it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

She meets his eyes, brown boring into green, and takes a deep gulp of air to steady herself.

I’m not going anywhere.

Promises are a dangerous thing, but Jyn allows herself to keep this one, at least until morning, because he has come back for her every time: on Jedha, on Eadu, on Scarif. Come back when everyone else has gone. So she takes Cassian’s words and places them next to her heart as she slows her racing pulse, letting deep breaths of air settle into her lungs. And then she reaches out to clutch his hand, their fingers tangled together, and she lets herself relax.

“Thank you,” she breathes. “For… for always coming back.” Her voice still quavers, her lips still tremble, and though the words seem woefully inadequate for the depth of gratitude she is trying to convey, he gives her a quiet smile; in that moment, an unspoken something passes between them, and Jyn knows he understands, and his words echo in her mind: welcome home.

Then Cassian’s smile widens turns into a grin, and with a mischievous glint in his eye, he asks, “So I take it you don’t like the color red?”

Jyn laughs, a sound she hasn’t heard since Cassian left, and gently slaps his arm. “I hate you,” she grumbles, and out of all the lies Jyn Erso has told, this may be the biggest one.

iii. Echo Base; white

Her mother is dying.

She’s had these dreams before; they’ve followed her since she was eight years old, so she knows what happens next.

Krennic stands over Lyra’s prone body, cape flapping in the wind, laughing as kicks her head with his boot. Her head lolls to one side and Jyn, hiding in the grass, can see the death in her mother’s glazed eyes. Jyn hurls herself at Krennic, howling, trying to gouge out his eyes, but he swats her aside effortlessly and continues to laugh as he points his blaster at Jyn, who falls down in the grass but doesn’t perish with her mother this time, not like she normally does. No, her brain has made a new scenario, and now Jyn finds herself on the comm tower, dragging her broken body towards the satellite, choking from sand and blood and fear. The tips of her fingers are bleeding from the effort of crawling along the path, and then a boot steps on her hand, and she feels her fingers break under the weight, and she screams, screams until her voice gives out and her throat bleeds raw. Krennic tsks at her and shakes his head from side to side. “Galen would be so disappointed in you,” he chuckles. A shot rings out and Jyn looks up to see Cassian, he’s come back for her, he’s shot Krennic—except, no, that’s not right, it’s the other way around; Krennic smiles as Cassian falls, and Cassian is Bodhi and Baze and Chirrut, and Jyn wants to tear Krennic’s face apart, but she can’t move as he throws her off the tower like a rag doll—

The lights switch on and Jyn sits bolt upright in bed, her heart racing. Her shirt clings to her back and hair is plastered to her neck with sweat even though the sheets have been kicked off the bed and there are goosebumps on her arms. A knot begins to grow in her stomach as she blinks to adjust to the sudden influx of light, and she can make out Cassian standing by the switch at the door, concern evident on his face. She hadn’t even noticed him getting out of bed.

“You were screaming,” he says gently, even though they both already know that.

Jyn swallows. “How loud?” she whispers. The walls between the rooms were thin; someone else could easily have heard her. Usually she wakes up on her own, shivering, and Cassian slings an arm around her and she can go back to a listless sleep, but the longer the Alliance has stayed in Hoth, the worse her dreams have become, egged on by the frosty air; the bags under Jyn’s eyes could swallow an ocean. She thinks Cassian can’t sleep, either, or at least not well; he just wears it better. He had pretended to be sleeping when she had first crawled into his bed during a mission to Bothawui, and they had quietly settled into the same room at Echo Base, though Jyn technically had quarters right next to Cassian’s, which she knows he requested specifically, though he has never said so.

“I think I’m the only one who heard,” Cassian responds, and silently moves back to the bed. She positions herself with her back to the wall, knees drawn up to her chest, and he joins her. The motions are completed with a practiced ease, a familiarity that only comes from many repetitions. Her mother used to say that repetition was the only way to become good at something. They are very good at this.

Whatever this is.

She wears only a thin shirt and shorts, and Cassian wears no shirt at all, revealing the patchwork of scars that lace his back and chest, but embarrassment over skin seems tedious, like a waste of energy. They are beyond that; their intimacy is something deeper and more profound that Jyn cannot quite put into words. She distantly wonders how many rebels think that they’re sleeping together. The whole base, probably. Technically, Jyn supposes, they’re not wrong.

“What was it?” Cassian asks.

Sometimes Jyn can’t answer, because the only thing she remembers are flashes of intense, scalding emotion: fear, anger, sorrow, powerlessness. She considers for a moment before replying simply, “White.”

Cassian doesn’t press. He waits for her to continue of her own accord, letting her mull over her next words so that they do not rip open a fresh wound, and she is grateful for it.

“I hate this planet.” Sometimes, she has to go in circles before arriving at the source. Cassian is all patience. She wants to trace the outlines of his scars, the blaster wound from Scarif, a jagged ridge that slices across his navel, two matching silvery lines down his back, smaller marks around his collarbone. “I hate how you could go to the other side of it and it would look the same. It’s blinding.” The next words get trapped on their way up and she swallows, unable to speak.

“It reminds me of Fest,” Cassian murmurs absentmindedly, filling the silence. “Fest had more citizens and cities, but it was cold and harsh. Like here. I can’t remember much, just snatches of memories.” He scratches at the mattress distractedly as he talks. “A cup of hot chocolate warming my hands, Stormtroopers crawling around the industrial cities, my father teaching me how to aim a gun… He always said that if you could shoot in a snow flurry, you could shoot anywhere.” Cassian smiles at the memory, his face momentarily taken over by an untainted happiness Jyn has never witnessed before, and she watches with fascination, wondering at the man he could have been. They have all lost in this war. They have lost family, friends, allies, but most of all, they have lost the people they could have been. They have lost possibilities; they have become bound on either sides by the walls of the Alliance and the Empire, only one long path stretching out before them. Sometimes, Jyn lets herself imagine the door at the end of that hallway, what it might lead to. Never for long, though. Too dangerous.

“I was born on Vallt,” Jyn admits slowly. “It was similar. Cold. Harsh.” She chews her bottom lip as she searches for what to say before she finally settles on, “This planet is too white.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to steel herself. “It reminds me of emptiness, the kind you feel when you have nothing left. I look outside and I see Stormtroopers, and I see Krennic and his white cape.” She locks her jaw. “White reminds me of fear.” Cassian’s smile has faded as he listens to the words unsaid. “And…” But she can’t continue. Jyn feels like a child, like when she would have a bad dream and sneak into her parents’ room and slither in between them, cocooned by their warmth and comforted by the rise and fall of their chests against hers, but they aren’t here anymore, just like Bodhi and K-2 and Chirrut and Baze—

No, she tells herself. Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

But the images keep coming, this time not dreams but memories: Lyra crumbling onto the ground, Galen choking on his own blood, K-2’s voice over the intercom, the green laser from the Death Star swallowing Jedha and Scarif, and somewhere very far away Cassian’s voice says, “Jyn,” but she cannot see in front of her because her eyes are swimming with tears that pool but never fall, and panic begins to rise in her chest, her breath coming in quick, short gasps as her throat constricts. “Jyn,” comes Cassian’s voice again, more urgent. She feels a pair of steady hands grab her arms, trying to pin them to her sides, but she throws him off, flinching at his touch, something primeval and feral awakening in her as she kicks out at him and her foot connects with his side.

“Get off of me!” she growls, heaving herself off of the bed and stumbling blindly across the room, great sobs heaving in her chest, she can’t breathe, her vision is crowded with the dead, with all those who left her, all those she killed, the world spins—

“Jyn.” Strong hands take ahold of her arms again and she is whirled around to face Cassian. She tries to slide out of his grip, but her limbs have gone limp, the tears have started to spill down her cheeks, she can taste salt, and they drip down her chin and fall into her shirt, and she can hear Cassian telling her to breathe but she can’t, her lungs are collapsing, her throat is closed, all she can see is the white walls, the white floors, the white bed, and he tells her, “Focus on me. Focus on my voice.” He sounds calm and collected, like he’s done this a thousand times before, like nothing is wrong. “Try to breathe. In through the nose, our through the mouth.”

Focus on my voice. Jyn claws herself towards the noise, steady and low, soothing, and Cassian slowly begins to come in focus. She feels herself shivering in his grip, her muscles shaking, but she manages to gulp in one breath and exhale shakily. “In through the nose, out through the mouth,” he repeats. Over and over and over and over until Jyn’s heart rate has slowed to a fast jog and the sobs have stopped coming, though she keeps crying, crying like an infant, her lower lip trembling. “Just breathe,” Cassian instructs, and Jyn follows shakily. “You’ll be fine.”

She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes to stem the flow of tears, feeling more exhausted than she has ever been in her life. Cassian pulls her in gently, and she lets her arms drop, her head resting on his chest; he strokes her hair, his breathing slow and stable, and quietly murmurs, “You’re okay, Jyn.”

She can’t speak, just buries her face deeper into his skin, breathing in the scent of him, feeling his heartbeat. They remain frozen like that until the warmth from his body has spread over Jyn, and she can breathe steadily again, and then Cassian pulls away, tilts her chin up at him and kisses her. A simple kiss, though they have been building up to it for years, dancing around each other, pulling close and pushing away, and as their lips meet, Jyn feels her skin tingle. When he pulls back, she wraps her hand around his head and bends him closer, their lips crashing into each other this time, and he tastes like home, and he takes like kept promises.

iv. Bright Tree Village; brown

The morning air is still cold, and its tendrils brush Jyn’s face, raising goosebumps as she steps onto the platform outside the hut they had been put in for the night. She feels like a phantom; the reality has not sunken in yet, although the charred branches from the bonfires last night and scattered remains of food on the ground informs her that yes, the Emperor is dead, Darth Vader’s body has burned. Yet this moment just feels like a short pause, a collective breath by the Alliance before they wade back into the fray.

But she will try to enjoy this respite while she can.

Below her, Luke and Leia sit on the forest floor, heads bowed. They are still wearing their clothes from last night—Leia in a simple beige and gray dress, Luke dressed in all black—and she can just make out their mouths moving rapidly. Trying to make up for lost time, she supposes; they must have a lot to catch up on. Shara Bey and Kes Dameron run after their son, Poe, who is sprinting around as fast as his tiny legs can take him, which is not very quick, allowing Shara and Kes to sneak kisses before they have to go grab him. Jyn has heard Shara describe him with such longing in her voice it made her heart ache, listened as she detailed his tuft of dark hair and wide eyes, and as Shara scoops Poe up into her arms, laughing despite the bruise on her collarbone and the dark bags under her eyes, Jyn allows herself to smile. Kes wraps his arms around Shara’s waist and kisses Poe on the cheek, laughing at something his wife says in his ear.

She hears Cassian before she sees him, the wooden boards groaning unevenly under his weight before he appears in her peripheral vision. He stands by her side, hair mussed up, with a shallow cut on his left cheek, and he reaches out to lace his fingers with Jyn’s, each ignoring the dirt caked into the palms of the other. He inhales the fresh air, drinking in the view from among the trees that stretch far below them and far above them, the green disappearing into the pink- and orange-streaked sky as the sun begins to filter in through the leaves. The lines seem to momentarily disappear from his face, and for once, he looks his thirty years. Beneath them, Han Solo has joined Luke and Leia, gently kissing the princess  after he sits down on the leafy ground. Others have begun to trickle down from their huts, bleary-eyed but cheerful as they greet their comrades with lingering hugs and wide smiles. Several Ewoks have joined and begin to clean up their village, darting in between the legs of the rebels to pick up the trash, and Poe squeals with delight as he sees one, causing Kes to shush him hurriedly.

Cassian and Jyn stand like that for a while, clutching each other’s hands, watching the peaceful scene unfurl below them. They have the luxury of leisure now, at least for the moment, and they want to relish in it; forks have appeared in their path, and each split brims with possibility. Their path. They always been a we, Jyn supposes, ever since he handed her a blaster before Jedha; their webs had been tangled together, even when they were at a distance. It used to frighten Jyn, but now she only squeezes his hand tighter.

“Where will we go?” Cassian asks eventually, his voice still sleepy and scratchy. This is probably the first decent night’s sleep he’s had in years, save for the times he lay unconscious in the med bay.

Jyn shrugs. “Probably Coruscant. I’m sure Draven wants us to do some cleanup—”

“No,” Cassian cuts across her. “I don’t mean tomorrow or whenever we’ll ship out.” He grips the bark railing in front of him with his free hand and looks out to the sliver of horizon he can make out between the trees. “I mean after.” He relishes the words, daring and bold and brimming with opportunity.

Jyn sucks in a breath. “We might not—,” she begins on instinct, trying to stop him before his words get too dangerous.

“Don’t,” he says softly, letting go of her hand and turning to face her, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ears. “Don’t say that. Not now.”

She understands. Not now when, for once, everything has gone their way, not now because they thought they would never make it this far and they deserve a future, or to at least imagine one, not now because they have earned a little bit of hope. So Jyn chews her lip and considers, trying to rack through all the planets she hadn’t been to, through the ones her parents had told her about, until she answers, with finality, “Naboo.”

Cassian nods, pensive. “My parents went there once, when they were first married,” he recalls, smiling briefly. “Whenever there was a particular cold day, my mother would always grumble and say she wished they had settled there, where green things could actually grow.”

“My father said it was the most beautiful planet he had ever laid eyes on,” Jyn recollects, recalling vivid descriptions of rolling hills, water so clear you could almost see the bottom, red roofs shining as the sun’s rays hit them, trade stalls with a variety of goods, each different from the last, and a happiness that seem to invade the air so that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Lots of green,” Cassian remarks, a playful light dancing in his eyes.

Jyn gently shoves him with the palm of her hand and he rocks back on his heels but never loses his balance, smirking at her. “Maybe after we go there, you’ll learn to appreciate colors more. Might even get a favorite one,” she teases, grinning at him.

“I already have one,” Cassian says easily, smirking, but a hint of color creeps up the back of his neck and seeps into his ears.

Jyn raises her eyebrows. “What is it then, you lying bastard?”

Cassian throws his hands up in mock submission. “Easy there, I didn’t lie. I didn’t have one before, but I do now.” Jyn’s eyebrows move further up her forehead until he admits, “It’s brown.”

“Brown,” Jyn says flatly, more of a disappointed statement than a question.

Cassian nods. The smirk has disappeared from his face. “Brown,” he confirms.

“Like the Ewoks?”

Cassian laughs, and Jyn is startled at the sound; without other troubles lying in wait in his mind, his laugh is easy and light, like a gentle breeze playfully wheeling through the trees. “No. Not like the Ewoks.”

“Like what, then?” Jyn prompts.

He shrugs and casts his gaze downwards, at the now-busy ground below them. “Like home,” he murmurs.

Jyn frowns, bemused. “But Fest—”

“Not Fest,” Cassian interrupts, raking his gaze over her dark hair, her dark eyes, like he’s trying to memorize her, every line and scar and bump. “You.”

Jyn feels her breath catch in her throat. The sounds of morning below have vanished, and she can only hear the beating of her own heart hammering against her ribcage. She instinctively reaches out towards his face, tracing the outline of his jaw, and smiles a watery and trembling smile at him, and she feels safe. Like she’s home. Through everything, their one constant has been each other, and somewhere along the way they fell in love. He catches her hand and presses it to his skin, closing his eyes and leaning into her palm, and breathes in slowly. Jyn cups his other cheek and kisses him gently, just once, before she pulls back and they rest their foreheads against each other, simply there, reveling in the each other.

Someone clears their throat behind them.

Jyn releases Cassian and turns to stare at Draven, who looks like he hasn’t slept at all and is nursing a bad hangover. “Sorry to interrupt,” he begins drily, “but there’s work to be done.” He glances over them, and Jyn expects to see some sort of disgust and sourness in his expression, but he seems as if he’s about to smile at them, or maybe he’s just in a lot of pain from last night. “We need you to go to Coruscant,” he informs them, “to help stamp out loyalists hiding there. Report to me in two hours.” He looks at them once more then turns on his heels and leaves, crossing over a rickety bridge to another hut.

“You were right, then,” Cassian says mildly as he watches Draven’s retreating back. “Coruscant.”

Jyn rests her head on his shoulder. “Then, Naboo?”

“Naboo,” Cassian promises.

As the sun’s rays begin to shine down on them, Jyn wraps her fingers around her kyber crystal and smiles at their future.