Just birds. Blameless, disinterested birds. Though Cassian couldn't shake the feeling of someone walking over his grave.
Whatever the case, the moment had passed, and nothing—not even Kaytoo—could bring the confession so close to his lips again.
Cassian spent the night on the shuttle. It was his first night without her since the wedding. When he jerked and screamed, it was Kay's hands that woke him, pinning him down so he didn't hurt himself. He couldn't fall asleep in the cot again. Instead he sat with Kay in the cockpit, listening to comm nonsense chatter. When his head began to sag, and Kay put a metal arm around his flesh and bone shoulders, Cassian let himself lean over, close his eyes, and press his flushed forehead to Kay's cool chestplate.
When he woke again, there was sunlight, and Kay had kept Cassian propped against him all night.
He didn't want to go back. He wondered if that thing had happened to him that he and Draven had discussed before, about others… whether training or recruiting or evaluating or just… conversing. Had he hit his breaking point? He didn't want to go back and lie again. He felt so tired of lying.
But let's be honest. Be specific. He didn't mind lying to Grendreef, kind as the man had been to him. He didn't really mind lying to the household or children. They couldn't care much less. He didn't want to lie more to Jyn.
"I don't know if I can do this, Kay," muttered Cassian.
Kay was straightening Cassian's rumpled clothes; a level of caretaking Kay would never have performed for anyone else and Cassian rarely allowed for himself.
"If you think you've broke," said Kay, recognizing what Cassian meant immediately, "then you shouldn't go back. We should leave, right now."
That thought was still less bearable. Cassian wouldn't go into the fresher to dry heave or weep. He wouldn't curl in on himself and wait and see. He wouldn't sacrifice himself in a meaningless lasers-blazing assault. (Nor would he do that to this enemy he'd grown—not just Jyn but Grendreef's children—to love.)
Lying more, it was.
He closed his fingers around Kaytoo's to gently guide the droid's hand away. (Not move it: Cassian would never be strong enough to move any part of Kay, but he could give signals for Kay to follow; and, for Cassian alone, Kay always would.)
"I'll check in again," Cassian murmured. "Mon Cal blink code tonight, to confirm the mission is continuing. If I fail to… you're to evacuate."
"Cassian."
"Kay. One of us has to make it back."
A long silence. Cassian put his hand on Kay's chassis and again touched his forehead to him.
Finally, Kay said, "Then you'd best go now." And Cassian rapped Kay's chestplate in confirmation before leaving the shuttle, possibly for good.
* * *
He reached their door—his and Jyn's—rather: Joreth's and Jyn's—and rested his forehead against it for a moment, as he had against Kaytoo. In all the ways he'd imagined his own death or destruction, this hadn't been one of them. Taken down so gently. So tenderly. By someone who hadn't meant to bring him down at all.
It wasn't Jyn's fault. Of all of them, she might have been the only one not at all at fault.
Why couldn't they have met some other way. Some other time or place. The Force was cruel after all.
He indulged the thoughts for a handful of heartbeats. Then he struck himself together and opened the door.
no subject
Whatever the case, the moment had passed, and nothing—not even Kaytoo—could bring the confession so close to his lips again.
Cassian spent the night on the shuttle. It was his first night without her since the wedding. When he jerked and screamed, it was Kay's hands that woke him, pinning him down so he didn't hurt himself. He couldn't fall asleep in the cot again. Instead he sat with Kay in the cockpit, listening to comm nonsense chatter. When his head began to sag, and Kay put a metal arm around his flesh and bone shoulders, Cassian let himself lean over, close his eyes, and press his flushed forehead to Kay's cool chestplate.
When he woke again, there was sunlight, and Kay had kept Cassian propped against him all night.
He didn't want to go back. He wondered if that thing had happened to him that he and Draven had discussed before, about others… whether training or recruiting or evaluating or just… conversing. Had he hit his breaking point? He didn't want to go back and lie again. He felt so tired of lying.
But let's be honest. Be specific. He didn't mind lying to Grendreef, kind as the man had been to him. He didn't really mind lying to the household or children. They couldn't care much less. He didn't want to lie more to Jyn.
"I don't know if I can do this, Kay," muttered Cassian.
Kay was straightening Cassian's rumpled clothes; a level of caretaking Kay would never have performed for anyone else and Cassian rarely allowed for himself.
"If you think you've broke," said Kay, recognizing what Cassian meant immediately, "then you shouldn't go back. We should leave, right now."
That thought was still less bearable. Cassian wouldn't go into the fresher to dry heave or weep. He wouldn't curl in on himself and wait and see. He wouldn't sacrifice himself in a meaningless lasers-blazing assault. (Nor would he do that to this enemy he'd grown—not just Jyn but Grendreef's children—to love.)
Lying more, it was.
He closed his fingers around Kaytoo's to gently guide the droid's hand away. (Not move it: Cassian would never be strong enough to move any part of Kay, but he could give signals for Kay to follow; and, for Cassian alone, Kay always would.)
"I'll check in again," Cassian murmured. "Mon Cal blink code tonight, to confirm the mission is continuing. If I fail to… you're to evacuate."
"Cassian."
"Kay. One of us has to make it back."
A long silence. Cassian put his hand on Kay's chassis and again touched his forehead to him.
Finally, Kay said, "Then you'd best go now." And Cassian rapped Kay's chestplate in confirmation before leaving the shuttle, possibly for good.
He reached their door—his and Jyn's—rather: Joreth's and Jyn's—and rested his forehead against it for a moment, as he had against Kaytoo. In all the ways he'd imagined his own death or destruction, this hadn't been one of them. Taken down so gently. So tenderly. By someone who hadn't meant to bring him down at all.
It wasn't Jyn's fault. Of all of them, she might have been the only one not at all at fault.
Why couldn't they have met some other way. Some other time or place. The Force was cruel after all.
He indulged the thoughts for a handful of heartbeats. Then he struck himself together and opened the door.