[there are times he wondered who he would have been if one thing had changed
he couldn't imagine away the war. that would change everything.
he couldn't indulge any idea too far or too long. that was insanity.
but something. a handhold. an... insertion. when a memory couldn't be tamed. when there was no way to save or stop who he had been. he could send someone else back as a thought.
mostly that would be kay. someone who wouldn't have to change to be there or come back. whose own 'life experience', personality, trajectory, mortality, mission, choices, would be unaffected. as isolated a variable as one could wish.
kay could have helped him limp back to base. kay could have guided him so he could keep his eyes shut. kay could have steadied his shaking hand. kay's photoreceptors could break up the dark kay could keep him from being utterly alone
...kay could never take the shot for him. cassian wouldn't allow... wouldn't do that.
if he'd known kay since cassian was a child perhaps he would have mimicked droid functions more than he even does now how he manages his own mental processes in tech model perhaps he might also have aspired to impermeability never registering pain nor doubt nor love
Cassian has so… forebode, forbade— In their intimacy: that if he took his mind off Jyn, if he stopped focusing fiercely on the present, on giving to her, he would default.
The droid mode he slipped into when he had to survive combat. Had to inflict damage. Had to desert an innocent. Had to find an exit. Complete a task. Steady his hands. Clear a path. Choose a method. See details. Commit murder.
And in that mode, would he harm her somehow not physically hurt her she could take him if she needed to she was better unarmed than he was he was pretty sure a blow from her would wake him up
but what would she think of him if he was… gone, like that looked into his eyes and saw just shell looking back would she fear him would she feel violated would she be angry would he be deserting her and what with?
Here's the answer.
She pulls him to look at her. His eyes feel like chasms looking back. He loves her, he knows her, he's with her… but he fears too distantly, too far down, too infinitesmal amid everything else that's been allowed to storm up inside…
But her eyes don't… she's not searching. Not looking to him for reassurance. She's giving it. Wants him to see that she's there. That she's with him, she's willing, she's wanting, he's wanted. She understands and she's staying and he should go on.
He hasn't made a sound… but something breaks from him. A shudder. He kisses her hard.
Doesn't linger… his mouth moves from hers to her cheek, her jaw, her neck; he seizes her body in his arms, scraping the backs of his wrists against the metal wall, not caring, as long as, if her chest against his can staunch the rupture; thrusting inside her until he'll only feel her, reach her from the depths, make everything else stop…
her
looking at him with the first brightness he's seen in her eyes, outgleaming the crystal at her fingertips pushing herself suddenly aft, away from bodhi and kay, and catching cassian's arm and both start, feeling the jolt through their bodies, blindsided at how after so many collisions, so much navigation, so much invasion of one another's space, their proximity suddenly feels entirely different but she goes to tell the others in the hold that they're coming through the shield gate and he clamps his hand to the grab bar to look out at scarif and put any such thoughts far, far out from mind
stabbing at him with her crystalshard eyes though she never shouts, her voice never raises, no bluntforce trauma but precision to pierce looking for his armor looking to shatter it looking to cut through the curtains and mazes and lies of a terrible mess of ambiguous universe to find something real he was a liar and a murderer he'd lied to her and meant to kill her father and by the force that had to mean something they'd failed, they'd failed in everything there had at least to be this but he couldn't or wouldn't give it to her in his own failure and pain and rage and because on some level he needed her to surmount it for somebody's sake needed the truth as badly for both of them it had them and they had to keep going
looking up at him from the shuddering floor the planet literally splitting around them kicked and battered all her walls shown the ram that what they'd been built on could be simply pulled away and leave her foundationless looking at him with open emptiness and need if he can't convince her to follow him now she'll let it all fall around her
looking across at him, the green schematic and monitor lights flaring heightened in her eyes jaw and shoulders and everything hardened from a life he's just barely glimpsed as data and can now see he hasn't grasped at all but he meets that look with the full weight of his own seeing someone who's decided only to survive and wondering if he can bring her to where he'd instead decided to go and must take her now
limp and broken and so profoundly struck, like she can barely find the will to keep breathing and doesn't understand why she must, but still and quiet, no flinch, barely a shiver, as he cleanses her wounds crawling under the covers he held up for her, resigned or uncaring if she's about to feel him push himself against her, perhaps that's the price of his help the alternative to which was dying, or perhaps she's so far inside herself now she's not aware of him at all; but he didn't, he was never going to, he folds the blankets around her and turns away, silently finishes packing for the morning, then folds himself down to a shadow in the chair and watches her all night until he made himself simply leave, knowing a second longer would change the life that wasn't his own and though she'd been too hurt, outside and in, to make him even imagine such a thing when he'd been near her every time in those first few months with aune sometimes he would try to think (minus her injuries, though he had no mental image of her likeness without them, just the notion—the shadow of her) of that woman instead
He couldn't throw off their circumstances. Not one of those times.
When if he could, he would have gathered her in his arms and held on for the rest of his life.
He can now. He does it now. Exerting inside her, as if friction, nerves firing, can imprint her on him for good, send him back to hold her all the times he hadn't, generate from their stimulation a Force to shatter and replace that universe with one they bring to birth; and none of that even matters as long as he can stay with her wherever the hell they are, stay in her and hold her tight.]
[action]
he couldn't imagine away the war. that would change everything.
he couldn't indulge any idea too far or too long. that was insanity.
but something. a handhold. an... insertion. when a memory couldn't be tamed. when there was no way to save or stop who he had been. he could send someone else back as a thought.
mostly that would be kay. someone who wouldn't have to change to be there or come back. whose own 'life experience', personality, trajectory, mortality, mission, choices, would be unaffected. as isolated a variable as one could wish.
kay could have helped him limp back to base.
kay could have guided him so he could keep his eyes shut.
kay could have steadied his shaking hand.
kay's photoreceptors could break up the dark
kay could keep him from being utterly alone
...kay could never take the shot for him. cassian wouldn't allow... wouldn't do that.
if he'd known kay since cassian was a child
perhaps he would have mimicked droid functions more than he even does now
how he manages his own mental processes in tech model
perhaps he might also have aspired to impermeability
never registering pain
nor doubt
nor love
Cassian has so… forebode, forbade— In their intimacy: that if he took his mind off Jyn, if he stopped focusing fiercely on the present, on giving to her, he would default.
The droid mode he slipped into when he had to survive combat.
Had to inflict damage.
Had to desert an innocent.
Had to find an exit. Complete a task. Steady his hands. Clear a path. Choose a method. See details. Commit murder.
And in that mode, would he harm her somehow
not physically hurt her
she could take him if she needed to
she was better unarmed than he was
he was pretty sure a blow from her would wake him up
but what would she think of him if he was… gone, like that
looked into his eyes and saw just shell looking back
would she fear him
would she feel violated
would she be angry
would he be deserting her
and what with?
Here's the answer.
She pulls him to look at her. His eyes feel like chasms looking back. He loves her, he knows her, he's with her… but he fears too distantly, too far down, too infinitesmal amid everything else that's been allowed to storm up inside…
But her eyes don't… she's not searching. Not looking to him for reassurance. She's giving it. Wants him to see that she's there. That she's with him, she's willing, she's wanting, he's wanted. She understands and she's staying and he should go on.
He hasn't made a sound… but something breaks from him. A shudder. He kisses her hard.
Doesn't linger… his mouth moves from hers to her cheek, her jaw, her neck; he seizes her body in his arms, scraping the backs of his wrists against the metal wall, not caring, as long as, if her chest against his can staunch the rupture; thrusting inside her until he'll only feel her, reach her from the depths, make everything else stop…
her
looking at him with the first brightness he's seen in her eyes, outgleaming the crystal at her fingertips
pushing herself suddenly aft, away from bodhi and kay, and catching cassian's arm
and both start, feeling the jolt through their bodies, blindsided at how after so many collisions, so much navigation, so much invasion of one another's space, their proximity suddenly feels entirely different
but she goes to tell the others in the hold that they're coming through the shield gate
and he clamps his hand to the grab bar to look out at scarif and put any such thoughts far, far out from mind
stabbing at him with her crystalshard eyes though she never shouts, her voice never raises, no bluntforce trauma but precision to pierce
looking for his armor
looking to shatter it
looking to cut through the curtains and mazes and lies of a terrible mess of ambiguous universe to find something real
he was a liar and a murderer
he'd lied to her and meant to kill her father
and by the force that had to mean something
they'd failed, they'd failed in everything
there had at least to be this
but he couldn't or wouldn't give it to her in his own failure and pain and rage
and because on some level he needed her to surmount it
for somebody's sake
needed the truth as badly
for both of them
it had them and they had to keep going
looking up at him from the shuddering floor
the planet literally splitting around them
kicked and battered
all her walls shown the ram
that what they'd been built on could be simply pulled away
and leave her foundationless
looking at him with open emptiness
and need
if he can't convince her to follow him now
she'll let it all fall around her
looking across at him, the green schematic and monitor lights flaring heightened in her eyes
jaw and shoulders and everything hardened from a life he's just barely glimpsed as data and can now see he hasn't grasped at all
but he meets that look with the full weight of his own
seeing someone who's decided only to survive
and wondering if he can bring her to where he'd instead decided to go
and must take her now
limp and broken and so profoundly struck, like she can barely find the will to keep breathing and doesn't understand why she must, but still and quiet, no flinch, barely a shiver, as he cleanses her wounds
crawling under the covers he held up for her, resigned or uncaring if she's about to feel him push himself against her, perhaps that's the price of his help the alternative to which was dying, or perhaps she's so far inside herself now she's not aware of him at all; but he didn't, he was never going to, he folds the blankets around her and turns away, silently finishes packing for the morning, then folds himself down to a shadow in the chair and watches her all night
until he made himself simply leave, knowing a second longer would change the life that wasn't his own
and though she'd been too hurt, outside and in, to make him even imagine such a thing when he'd been near her
every time in those first few months with aune
sometimes he would try to think
(minus her injuries, though he had no mental image of her likeness without them, just the notion—the shadow of her)
of that woman instead
He couldn't throw off their circumstances. Not one of those times.
When if he could, he would have gathered her in his arms and held on for the rest of his life.
He can now. He does it now. Exerting inside her, as if friction, nerves firing, can imprint her on him for good, send him back to hold her all the times he hadn't, generate from their stimulation a Force to shatter and replace that universe with one they bring to birth; and none of that even matters as long as he can stay with her wherever the hell they are, stay in her and hold her tight.]