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Cassian is in shock. He has been, for the last couple of hours, ever since he’s heard the news.
Jyn Erso is dead. Jyn is dead. She’s dead.
She’s been missing in action for a few weeks now, but this morning, they’d declared her killed in action. No one, not even Jyn kriffing Erso, would be able to survive that long in Imperial custody alone, especially since she’d probably been injured beforehand of her capture.
Force, the thought of that makes his knees weak, threatening to collapse. Because of a blaster bolt to the shoulder, he’d been on medical leave at the time of Jyn’s mission. If only he had been better –– if only he had been strong enough faster ––
Maybe he could have gone with her and prevented this whole mess from ever happening.
The worst part is? They’re not sending anyone out after her, no rescue missions, no retrieval missions.
(”Don’t get your hopes up, Captain,” Draven says gruffly, a hint of sadness in his eyes. It seems that, despite himself, the general had grown rather fond of Jyn as well. “You and I both know how small her chance of survival is.”)
Blearily, he stumbles through the hallway, not really seeing or processing his surroundings. He nearly slams into a recruit but doesn’t bother apologizing, just keeps walking, head down, with a narrow, single-minded focus.
He needs to get back to their –– his , now, and that realization nearly makes him throw up –– his room and just…he needs to…
Kriffing hell, how is she karking dead?
It doesn’t make sense. How could someone so dynamic, so full of life, someone like Jyn –– how could they just be snuffed out like that? It doesn’t make sense. When Draven had told him the news about how she’d never reached one of her checkpoints, he hadn’t believed him. Surely she would get there soon. She might just need the extra time; it’s her first solo mission, it makes sense.
But when he finally reaches their––his room, he knows what really happened and breaks down for the first time he can remember, keeping the lights off, just in case.
Maybe she’s in their bed, asleep. If he keeps the lights off, he can’t know for sure. She could still…
He turns the lights on.
She’s gone. She’s really gone.
All of the sudden, he feels almost irrationally angry. How dare she? How dare she go off and die without him? They’d promised they would die together, damn it, and it’s not fair for her to leave him behind like this! It’s not kriffing fair that now he has to live alone!
“You’re kriffing selfish, Jyn Erso!” he snarls, lashing out, tears running hot down his face. His fist connects with the wall, but it doesn’t match the hurt in his chest, so he hits it again. “You’re selfish ! You LEFT me, you –– !”
Again.
And again and again, until he’s sliding down the wall, cradling his broken hand to his chest, barely able to suppress his sobs. After a while, he doesn’t bother trying to hide it; no one’s here in his room to hear him, not even Jyn.
And that’s because of Jyn’s death. Killed in action.
He supposes, with a certain kind of detached emotionlessness, that this is the best possible death for her. It’s what she would have wanted, to die in battle. He hopes it had been quick, that it had been a good death, but he knows the possibilities of that are slim. The Empire is not known for its kindness.
After a while, he falls into a restless sleep, still curled up on the floor because he cannot bear to sleep in the bed the two of them used to share. His back aches when he wakes up, protesting his every movement. At least he’s feeling something; everything else just feels numb.
For the next couple of days, he throws himself into his work. It’s easy to forget about Jyn when he pushes all of his attention into the Alliance. He becomes the man he’d been before he’d met Jyn in a matter of hours –– if not more reckless and more willing to throw himself in the line of fire.
At first, he’d had hope that she would defy the odds and come back to him. But as the weeks pass, he slowly loses that hope. Once he’d truly believed that rebellions are built on hope; he scoffs at it now. Jyn had been the hope the Alliance had needed, and now?
What would they do without her? What would he do without her?
He hates her for leaving him, but he could never hate her fully, not when he loves her so much.
The nights are the hardest when there’s nothing to occupy his mind. He keeps himself awake until he collapses from exhaustion, sometimes in unorthodox places. More than once, he’s been shaken awake by a worried Bodhi, and it takes time to brush the other man’s concerns off.
( ”I’m fine,” he says, rubbing his eyes and blearily looking around his surroundings. Kriff. He’s managed to fall asleep in the shuttle he’d been working on. “Really, Bodhi.”
“You’re not, though,” Bodhi cuts in, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. The other man looks almost as ragged as Cassian feels, and he imagines that he looks worse. “It’s okay to –– to not be okay. Jyn is –– um. Jyn was my friend too, and it really hurts not having her here anymore.”
Cassian shakes his head and gets up, ready to leave. “I don’t want to talk about her right now.”
“If you ever –– “ Bodhi pauses, throat working oddly. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
“I won’t,” he says simply, shaking his head. He doesn’t need to talk. He’s fine. “Goodnight, Bodhi.”)
Draven requires him to go to the medbay at least once in the aftermath of Jyn’s death. He does, albeit it unwillingly, but follows Draven’s orders nonetheless. The psychiatrist there recommends that he starts going to grief counseling, or at least considers starting some sort of medication, but he shoots both of those ideas down. Draven had told him to see what the doctor had to say, not do it.
But when the door to his room opens in the middle of the night and he grabs his blaster off of his nightstand, he nearly drops dead when the lights turn on and he sees who it is, he thinks he should have taken the doctor up on their offer.
Force, he’d thought he’d had longer before the hallucinations start.
And then ––
“Cass –– “ the figure –– that’s all sh––it is, just a figure –– coughs, sounding as if it has dust in its throat. “Cassian? Are you there?”
“Go ‘way,” he mumbles, already turning back to his bed. Tears prick at his eyes, chest constricting. “You’re not real.”
“It’s me,” she––it––says again, and a hand grabs weakly at his own. He closes his eyes, face wet. He doesn’t even try to hide it. “It’s Jyn –– I’m real. I’m here.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Cass, would you just –– “ the figure tugs at him more insistently to turn, and he does, and stars , he doesn’t care if this isn’t actually Jyn so long as he gets to hold her in his arms just one more time.
“Is it really you?” he chokes out, breathing in her scent, nose in her hair. She’s dirty, malnourished, and clearly injured but –– but she’s right here in front of him and he’s holding her and she’s real beneath his hands, so she can’t be a hallucination. He holds his breath, unable to believe it after so many days of mourning. “Jyn?”
“It’s me,” she repeats, sounding close to sobbing herself. “I’m here. I came back to you, Cassian.”
At that moment, he doesn’t care how she managed to survive, just that she did. And now that he has her in his arms once again, he’ll never let her go ever again.
It’s when Jyn starts to shake in his arms that Cassian knows he has to let her go to take care of her. As much as he wants to keep holding her in his arms, it’s no longer feasible. She needs some sort of attention, medical or otherwise, and he won’t let his own selfishness keep her from getting that.
“Hey,” he murmurs, drawing back slightly. “You okay? Are you cold?”
She shakes her head at first, but then shrugs and whispers, voice hoarse, “A little. I’m tired.”
“Do you want to clean up?” he offers, knowing how much she enjoys taking advantage of the actual shower in their quarters. Hot water might do her some good, and wash the grime off of her. In the dim lighting, he can barely make out her face underneath it. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”
“Just wanna sleep,” she mumbles, shaking her head again. Blearily, she blinks up at him. “Help me change? I’ve been in these clothes for what feels like weeks .”
Cassian can’t hide his flinch. He’d been hoping that she hadn’t been in Imperial custody, that she’d somehow managed to hole up somewhere until it had been safe enough to leave, but that doesn’t seem like the case here. Losing time is a dangerous indicator of torture.
Too tired, or merely not caring, Jyn doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she just looks at him expectantly and raises her arms slightly, likely as high as they can go right now.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it up gently over her head, then reaches around her to unclasp her breastband. His hand brushes against something rough, and she winces, but before he can apologize, she’s dancing away from him, taking a step back.
( if he’d been in a better mindset, one not so fraught with worry, he’d recognize that she doesn’t want him to see, that she’s hiding something. )
The body beneath it is the same Jyn he remembers –– but there are so many differences. New scars, ribs poking out beneath her thin skin, a bruise stretching from her waist to breast. . .
And then she turns to grab another set of clothing, and he sees her back.
Between each vertebra, there’s a circular scar, red and heavily inflamed. He can see how it pains her in every movement she makes, and he can’t hide the croak that rips its way out of his throat. “Jyn!”
She turns back to face him, using a shirt to cover up her breasts, to hide from him. She’s taken his anguish for disgust, his anger at the Empire for not wanting to see her anymore.
And that’s just so far from the case that all the breath leaves him in one heavy exhale, and he immediately takes a step forward.
Despite her hesitance and the fear in her eyes, she doesn’t back away. She stands tall, chin up high. Even though she’s gone through endless hours of torture, her posture screams “I’m not broken!”
He loves her. Stars, he loves her.
“You don’t have to hide from me,” he rasps, reaching an arm out. His eyes are pleading. “Please, Jyn. Don’t –– don’t feel like you ever have to hide from me.”
She nods, slowly. Removes the shirt from her chest, slips out of her pants, and stands in front of her, completely bare.
“Come here,” he says, reaching out. “Can I touch you?”
She nods, still not speaking, jaw clenched. As soon as she gives her permission, he’s at her side, holding her gently. His hands smooth lines across her back, careful not to touch any of the marks on her skin. “I love you,” he whispers into her hair, over and over again. “I love you, I love you, I love you .”
Jyn doesn’t cry –– he can’t remember the last time he’s seen her cry –– but her shoulders shake and she sniffles, tucking her face completely in his shirt.
“Shhh. . .shh. . .you’re okay. You’re okay. I love you, I’m here. . .”
After a good amount of time, Jyn steps back, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist and laughing awkwardly. He knows it’s hard for her to be vulnerable, even around him, so he lets her take the time and space she needs to regain a sense of control.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, but before he can tell her she has nothing to apologize for, she adds, “Can you help me get into some new clothes?”
He hands her a pair of underwear, which she insists she can put on by herself, then slides one of his oversized sweaters over her head, taking care when tucking her arms into the sleeves. As soon as she has clothes on again, she’s back in his arms, and he leads her gently to the bed.
“Jyn, have you gone to medical?” he asks gently, as she curls up under the covers. He knows she hasn’t, knows that she hates it, but she needs the treatment.
“I’ll go in the morning,” she mumbles, face pressed against the pillow, one arm reaching for him. “C’mere.”
Maybe it’s because he’s selfish, but he doesn’t press the issue any farther. Jyn needs him right now, and any bacta treatment can wait until the morning.
And stars , does it feel good to hold her again after so many nights of being alone. While he stays awake for most of the night, watching her sleep in disbelief and checking to make sure she's still breathing –– when he wakes up in the morning, he can't remember the last time he's felt so rested.