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Part 16 of From Tumblr, With <3
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2018-07-06
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2,028
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1/1
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Waiting for a Sign

Summary:

Cassian struggles to adjust to his new physical limitations and role within the rebellion. Jyn helps, of course, but she's not there all the time.

Draven is… surprisingly perceptive.

Notes:

For an anonymous prompt on tumblr: Cassian lets his fear/sadness show and another male character tells him, "Sometimes strength is letting others see your vulnerability and humanity."

I was just about to close my inbox when this came in, but I couldn't ignore it because it's so up my alley :) Thanks a million anon, who really knows my writing style and preferences <3

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

He’s running as fast as he possibly can, away from the blaster bolts that seem to be chasing him, flying past his face and exploding on walls and buildings in front of him. They throw dust into his eyes and down his shirt, where it sticks on the sweat and makes his skin feel gritty and not his own. 

His feet are pounding on the ground and he’s watching her run just ahead of him– because she’s faster than him, but he’d let her go first even if she wasn’t, because this way he can watch her, keep her safe. 

He hears it before he sees it happen– glass shattering off to his left, and he has to throw his arms in front of his face, feels cuts forming on his arms and blood running to his elbows. 

He takes his eyes off her for a second, just a second, but when he looks back up she’s gone, and he drops to his knees as more shots fly above his head and his heart slams against his ribs. Because he can see it already on her back– beneath the dust coating her vest and turning it grey, the red stain opening between her shoulder blades like a poppy flower blooming on Yavin– and he doesn’t have to turn her over to know. He does anyway, he always does, because he refuses to believe until he sees her shining, unblinking eyes that she’s really gone–

 

That’s when Cassian always wakes up. He’s sweating and shivering all at once and shaking so hard it’s difficult to breathe. The first time she saw it, Jyn thought he was ill– struck with some violent fever or other in the middle of the night– and wanted to take him to the medbay. She got out of bed to get dressed but he made a choked, desperate sound as she slipped away and caught her wrist. 

He couldn’t bear for her to go, to not be pressed up against him and breathing and alive because his eyes were wet and burning and when he closed them all he could see was her corpse in his arms. She seemed to understand, although he couldn’t speak, and came back. She sank back into his arms under his thermal blanket (they weren’t even on Hoth anymore but he kept it because he liked the weight of it) and he clutched her to his chest like he’d never ever let her go and she let him, even though he probably squeezed her too hard. 

He doesn’t know how long he cried into her chest that first night she was there for The Nightmare, but it scares him even more when he thinks that he lets her see him like this. Even now, he can’t remember the last time he cried in front of anyone besides Kay. 

Tonight, he reaches out blindly for her through the awful stiffness of his back and his leg that remind him why he's not in the field with her. He panics all over again when his hands grasp the edge of the bed, his arm flat on the sheets because she isn’t there. His mind whites out again before he remembers, fingers in claws around the blankets, that she’s just out on a mission. She checked in before he went to sleep and she’s okay. 

He repeats it to himself, She’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay, before he remembers the recording and fumbles for his datapad. She made it for him for nights like this, and it’s just a long audio file of her voice.

Hey, Cass, she says. This is for when you can’t go back to sleep. I’m sorry I’m not there, but I promise I’m all right and I’ll be back soon. Try to think about something else, okay? Like, right now, I’m watching Baze try and teach Bodhi how to braid his hair. 

She laughs, and it’s such a beautiful, wonderful sound and his fist curls again, around phantom threads of her hair. 

It’s not going well. I think Bodhi’s going to have to cut that tangle out. Chirrut’s laughing, of course. We’re sparring later today, and I think this time I’ll beat him– Hells, he heard that and now he’s laughing at me. Oh well, maybe I won’t… but some day. 

Cassian’s lips move along with her words in perfect sync. She doesn’t talk about anything in particular, her speech wandering from Chirrut back to Baze, then Bodhi, then Kay, to the U-wing she’s been modifying, to the food in the mess that day, then back to him.

I… I know this is sort of still new, but I’ll miss you, Cass. Which I guess is why I’m even making this. It makes me feel better knowing you’ll have this… part of me. I don’t know, maybe you won’t even listen to it. But at least you’ll have it, just in case.

He lost count of the number of times he listened to it after one week. It’s been four since she left, and he knows the entire recording by heart. He repeats it in his head during the day when he starts to worry. 

Not that he has any reason to worry. The pathfinders’ mission to Kashyyyk isn’t due back for four more hours, at best. So he keeps everything locked away during the day, his face a careful mask of calm blankness as he goes through it without her. Slow, painstaking repairs to K2, physical therapy for his leg and back, preparing intelligence missions with Draven that other spies will go on.

He sent a young officer on her first red mission last week. Late that night, he’s reading the report her superior turned in. Apparently, she did an excellent job. More than sufficiently prepared for solo missions. Future leadership potential. 

Before he thinks about it, his fingers hover over the edit button. It’s a crazy, traitorous idea, but so, so tempting to change Sergeant Shysa’s file just a little bit. Not a lot, but just enough to keep her from being sent on any more missions like this. 

He can see her face, deep green with dark red markings down her lekku. He trained her in a few different types of firearms when she first joined up. It was before she was recruited to intelligence, and he refused to instruct her on a sniper rifle. Apparently, she’s found someone more willing since then.

The puppet governor on Coyerti’s capital city died of a single shot to the head. Local forces found no traces of the assassin or its affiliation. The underground resistance publication proposed an Empire-motivated power grab. She did a good job covering her tracks. If she lives, she will be as good as him or better. 

The door opens behind him and he jumps, glances at the time. It’s later than he thought– he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he’s so tired. He hasn’t been sleeping well. 

He turns around, even though he knows who it is. “Sir.”

“Andor.” Draven crosses the room and takes a seat across from him, nodding at the datapad. “The report on Shysa?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s a good operative.”

Cassian swallows. “Yes, Sir.

“We’re going to promote her.”

“So soon?”

He shrugs. “We’ll have an opening for captain.”

Cassian feels all the air rush out of him. “Sir?”

“Congratulations,” Draven’s face doesn’t change at all. “Major.”

Cassian shakes his head, too tired to hide his emotions because he knows what this means. “You can’t take me out of the field. A few more months, then I can go back. I promise.”

Draven’s lips are pressed together. “You said that a few months ago. And a few months before that. Read the writing on the wall, Andor. It’s been almost a standard year.”

“I’m almost there. I just need a little more time.” 

“There is no more time. We need more leaders in the field, and you can’t be in the field anymore.”

“Yes, I can.” He’s gritting his teeth but he doesn’t care. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. 

“I just talked to Kalonia. You still can’t hide a limp, and you can’t run worth a damn. Your back spasms, you get stiff after sitting too still.”

Kriffing fuck, Cassian knows this already. He can feel his muscles tightening as Draven speaks. He should move around soon or he won’t be able to sleep… He looks at the time again. The Pathfinders are overdue by one hour. But that doesn’t mean anything. Fuck, he hopes it doesn’t mean anything. 

“Just accept the promotion, Andor.” Draven says. “It means you’re good at your damn job.”

Cassian’s head is spinning. He can’t accept it. He can’t leave the field. He can’t leave her unprotected. And his job– before himself, before the Rebellion, is keeping her safe. Because he doesn’t know what he’d do if he never saw her smile again, and he’s terrified, because every time she leaves, she might not come back and he can’t bear it, he can’t, he can’t, and oh, Gods he’s falling apart–

“…Andor. Andor? Cassian. Cassian.” Draven’s come around the table and his hand’s on his bicep. 

The datapad clatters to the table and Cassian sees his hands are shaking. And he’s dizzy, because he’s hyperventilating– when did that happen? How did this happen? Why isn’t Jyn back yet?

“Cassian,” Draven’s saying over and over again. The name sounds alien in his mouth, and Cassian can’t remember Draven ever calling him that before. “You have to breathe. Take a breath with me, Cassian. Breathe.”

Draven draws in a long, exaggerated breath, and Cassian concentrates, unclenches his chest and takes a stiff breath. 

“Good. Good.” After two more breaths, Draven lets go and returns to his side of the table. 

Cassian’s hands are still shaking and he feels suddenly cold all over, but he tries to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. He swallows, then feels his face burn when he realizes he’s crying. 

Draven sits across from him, staring, face impassive as always.

Cassian feels a rush of shame and wonders if he can walk steadily away. It’s twelve steps to the door, then 182 steps to his room. He can make it that far. He has to. He starts to gasp again in a panic. Because he’s still falling apart, and he can’t let Draven know how badly…

“Andor.”

On instinct, Cassian’s head snaps up so he can see Draven- still wearing that perfectly calm face. 

“Don’t stand up. Or, don’t try. I can’t have you falling and getting a concussion on top of everything else.”

“I-I’m sorry.” He blinks and more tears slide down his face in hot, wet tracks. 

Draven’s face finally changes at that– only slightly, just a pinch of the eyebrows. “Don’t apologize.”

Cassian feels himself relax, just the tiniest bit. “Okay.” His voice sounds small, like he’s a child again, lost and confused and terrified. 

“It’s not a weakness, Andor.”

“What is?” His voice is shaking and he hates it, but he can’t will it to stop. 

“We know you’re human underneath. It’s not a weakness to show it.”

Cassian opens his mouth to– protest? Agree? Even he isn’t sure, but Draven saves him from answering. 

“Remember this, Cassian. If you keep things too close to your chest, they will eat you alive. Allowed to breathe, they will not have so much power.” He stands up. “Get some sleep tonight. Let Erso see you well-rested for once.”

Then he’s gone, and Cassian moves in a haze back to his quarters, counting steps so he knows where he is. 

He stops crying once he lies down in bed, and sleeps more deeply than he has in weeks. He only wakes up when Jyn slides into bed next to him, smelling of sweat and recycled air of the transport. 

He runs a hand down her body for any damage, but she catches it and brings it to her lips, then holds it to her chest so he’s wrapped flush around her. He falls asleep again with his nose against her hair. 

He doesn’t have any dreams. 

Notes:

Original Tumblr Post

Ending Credits
"Oblivion" - M83 and Susanne Sundfor

 
Thanks to @gloriouswhisperstyphoon for the music recommendation, and those on tumblr who helped me write Cassian's panic attack.

 

Come say hi on my tumblr- cats-and-metersticks for cat pics and fic sneak peeks

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