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sasschijinx · 2 years

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Day 7 - A free space drabble

Here's a snippet of something that has been rolling around in my head. It's set in the Evo-verse, which is probably my favorite 'verse to read but not one I've written in. I have a rough outline of the story in my head but I'm not sure what I'm doing with it. I guess we'll see 🤷🏻‍♀️

Rogue tossed her backpack over her shoulder as headed out of the auditorium classroom.

Her civil liberties class had ended early and she was done class for the day, and she was eager to get home and start on the copious amount of homework that had already started piling up.

She had just started her junior year at the local university, studying pre-law. It was ironic given her criminal past and brushes with the law, but she knew she could help make a difference for mutant rights in the courts and help those less fortunate. It really wasn't that different than what the X-Men did. Practicing law and defending the less fortunate were actually the perfect profession for a bleeding heart like her.

For years she had covered up and hidden behind a tough, untouchable Goth facade but that was only because she was literally untouchable. One swipe of a finger, an elbows, her lips, and thoughts, feelings, mannerisms, even mutant powers, were all downloaded into Rogue's brain. Over the past couple years, after sealing Apocalypse in the pyramid and saving the world, Rogue had slowly been working toward control over her powers.

It was slowly going at first but more recently she was making great progress. She was now able to make physical contact for up to 10 minutes before her absorption power kicked in.

She was nearing her Mini Cooper S, a high school graduation gift from Logan and the Professor, when she saw him. Remy LeBeau.

It had been 2 years, 3 months, and 10 days since she last saw the low-life swamp rat but she didn't think about him. Much.

At first she managed to convince herself that despite having found some common ground with the irritatingly handsome Cajun thief and one-time enemy, there was no way she was attracted him. He was a criminal. He had no scruples. And she definitely wasn't hypnotized by his devilish eyes. His dreamy red on black eyes, which threatened to burn her alive with their gaze.

Most of all, Rogue didn't believe in love at first sight. No matter how many of those harlequin novels she secretly read, sensible women do not just fall for the scoundrel. And one thing she highly valued about herself was her sensibility.

She stopped in front of him, ready to throw down.

"Not uh, no. Ah don't think so. You best move off my car, swamp rat, before Ah kick your ass. Ah got nothing to say ta ya."

He licked his lips, giving her a once over that ended with his gaze locking in on her bright green eyes that were no longer dulled down by thick black eyeliner. "Is dat any way t'treat an old friend, chere?"

"Friend?" she scoffed. "It's been two years! Two years since New Orleans. Haven't heard from ya since. Ain't such a great friend, huh?"

Even after two years, she had to admit, he still looked good. He was wearing his hair longer. A longish auburn shag that fell across his face. It was so much better than the stupid bowl cut. And gone was the goatee. Instead he was rocking all-over stubble. He was also wearing plain clothes, though he was still wearing a beat-up duster. This was the first time she'd seen him wearing something other than a uniform.

Rogue found she liked it. A lot. Then she immediately chastised herself for the errant thought.

He looked genuinely pained for a split second before masking his face. "Things have been... complicated down South. I'm sorry I couldn't look you up sooner. Truly, Rogue."

She wasn't buying his apology and was ready to dish out a sarcastic retort.

"Ahm SO sorry to hear that," she said in mock sympathy. "So, what can Ah do for my old friend Gambit? And hurry it up. Ah got a constitutional law exam to study for."

"Please, it's Remy," he said sincerely. "And law, chere? Dat's the subject of m' people."

He smirked and she rolled her eyes in disgust.

"It's true. We thieves are well acquainted with de many facets of U.S. and international law. Practically learned all de criminal law statutes along with our ABCs. If y' ever lookin' for a study buddy, I'd gladly offer m' services."

She sneered at his come-on and motioned for him to hurry up and start talking about the real reason he was here.

He took a breath. "I was hopin' y might consider putting in a good word with de X-Men for me."

Her mouth actually dropped. That's not at all what she thought he'd say. She looked at him blankly. "Ah'm sorry. What did ya just say?"

****

Gambit had been shadowing Rogue for weeks now. Getting to know her routine and rituals. Waiting until just the right moment to make himself known.

She seemed to have grown into herself. She walked with an air of confidence. Something the Goth teen hadn't had when he last saw her. In fact, she had ditched the Goth look altogether and seemed to be in favor of a more stripped-down natural look. Interesting.

Remy found it sexy as hell. He couldn't argue with her new look. Though the dark Goth style had never been his type, Rogue wore it well. And beyond even her good looks, there was something about her that drew him to her. Maybe it was the fact that her upbringing had paralleled his so closely that it innately felt like she was his kindred spirit. He felt connected to her in ways he couldn't describe or even begin to understand.

Not that he believed in that twin flame/soul mate nonsense. Not really.

Now that she ditched the makeup and apparently her flat iron, if her fluffy waves were any indication, Rogue was a knockout.

Even more curious was, although she still wore gloves, her outfits were noticeably less layered with more skin showing. In his shadowing of her, he hadn't seen her interact much with anyone other than brief conversations with classmates on campus and batistas at the local coffee shop she liked to study at. He hadn't dared follow her inside the Mansion's gates... yet. He wanted to lay low for as long as possible.

He looked up to see her huffing over to him. Dieu, she looks beautiful when she's riled up. He can't wait to talk to her, to verbally spar with her. He's been aching for it since he'd gotten back to town three weeks ago.

And for the last two years if he's being honest.

He glances down at his watch. She's right on time.

#rogue/gambitweek2022 #rogue/remyweek2022 #gambit #rogue #romy all day every day #xmen #romy #remy lebeau #anna marie #my otp #roguegambit #sasschijinx

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astudyinimagination · 5 years

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Warning: long post ahead.

So I’ve been reminded recently that Luke/Mara is one of my favorite ships, going strong for… 13 years now? That’s how long it’s been since I first read the Thrawn trilogy, holy cow…

Anyway, Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade. Gosh, they’re so CUTE. I mean, pretty much even when Mara was all “IMMA KILL YOU” and Luke was like “Okay, but have you considered: you’re actually probably a decent person and I like you already?”

I mean, seriously.

I’m forever salty that the old Lucasfilm writing board or whatever it was that controlled the old EU didn’t let us have enough Luke/Mara (Zahn was gonna write a book about them doing a family trip with their son! We were ROBBED, I tell you!). But what we did get of the two of them was that they adore each other, that they complement each other well, that they’re a badass team, and that they help each other heal.

Ding-ding-ding! That’s the sound of all my Optimal OTP boxes being ticked off.

Over the years, I’ve come up with a lot of wild AUs, most of which never fully see the light of day, but I always work in Luke/Mara because… you know, I’m contractually obligated. My as-of-yet-unwritten-just-thought-out stuff for the Obi-Wan adopts Mara AU (The Hermit and the Orphan) is my favorite, because Luke and Mara actually grow up together as best friends (not excluding Biggs, mind you!) and sort-of sweethearts. Also, there may or may not have been a time that they snuck up on Jabba’s palace to graffitti it and then ran the heck out of there. They Never Speak Of It, but Obi-Wan knows they did SOMETHING stupid and dangerous that one time, he just doesn’t know what.

But I’ve been thinking recently about a different sort of AU, one that, for the first time out of ANY of my AUs, is actually focused on the two of them.

A lot of Luke/Mara AUs make their relationship serious a whole lot earlier than Hand of Thrawn, right? A popular scenario is that they get serious soon after The Last Command. Which is all good stuff, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like to see more (and maybe they do exist and I just haven’t found them yet) fics in which Luke and Mara meet DURING the Rebellion. During the timeline of the films.

And there are different directions to take this, of course, but the one I want to do is much the same as Hermit, wherein she discovers on her own that Palpatine stole her from her parents and murdered them. (This, btw, is the backstory for Mara in that oneshot I did a while back for a prompt wherein Mara is a siren and Luke is ace and doesn’t understand why the Rogues go goo-goo-ga-ga over her.)

So Mara eventually joins the Rebellion as a defected Imperial agent. Imperials do defect to the Alliance sometimes; it’s not unheard of. The Falcon gang—Han, Chewie, Luke, Leia (and Artoo & Threepio)—are assigned to be Mara’s probationary team. (Han gripes initially but he and Mara hit it off pretty quickly.) Luke eventually adds her to the Rogue Squadron roster and the Rogues are delighted to have someone new to adopt.

And then the Rogues are on a mission and things go very, very sideways. And Mara has to use the Force to save the day somehow.

And it makes sense to Luke now, why he always had a funny feeling around her. He’s still very untrained, mind you, and he didn’t realize that he was picking up on the presence of another Force sensitive, albeit a very muted one—Mara naturally doesn't want the Emperor to have any inkling of where she is.

The Rogues keep her secret. They sometimes discuss what Luke and Mara might be able to do together, everything from serious questions to telekinetic ball games.

But then one day, somebody outside the family finds out.

Mara gets hauled before a tribunal, and some people are wanting her to be locked up or even executed, but the Rogues and the Falcon gang step up and say no. They’ve seen Mara’s heart, they know she’s a good person, they know they’re in no danger from her, they’re not gonna lose a sister. Not this way.

So Mara ends up in the clear and… she was already starting to heal, but this was big. She knew she’d be as safe from the Emperor as she could be in fighting his rule and she’s got the opportunity to get back at him, but she never thought she’d find a family here.

And then the Battle of Hoth happens.

Luke had already told Mara that he was going to go check into a possible living Jedi Master; Mara’s skeptical but wishes him luck. And no, she doesn’t go. She doesn’t want to think about what a Jedi Master might have to say about her, if one would even speak to her at all and not just try to kill her outright and eliminate a potential threat. Instead, she goes with the rest of Rogue Squadron and tells High Command that Luke is following a lead on a living Jedi, and she’s therefore out of the action for most of ESB…

Except that she has flashes of visions of Han and Leia and Chewie in pain. But they can’t be anything to worry about, right?

Until she feels Luke’s pain, in the present. However far away she is physically, they’re close by this point, they’ve done what training together they could, they communicate telepathically sometimes, and she can feel his pain on Cloud City. It’s only a comm from Leia that prevents her from taking off on a wild goose chase to find him.

And it scares her, how bad Luke looks and feels, like he’s been through Hell and back, and he’s Luke, he’s the irritatingly sunny farmboy who never gives up, that’s his schtick, he’s not supposed to be like this.

She’s the broken one.

He’s not supposed to be broken, too.

Mara stays with him a lot while he’s recovering. After one night of sensing his nightmares, she bunks up with him. Totally chaste. She’s there to help him sleep. (And it works, because of course it does. This is still shippy fic. You are going to get the Person A sleeps with Person B to help them through the night trope and you are going to LIKE IT.)

And eventually, in the midst of planning Han’s rescue (and Jabba’s downfall), Luke opens up to Mara. It’s the kind of secret that is begging, screaming, to be told, and if anyone could understand what he’s feeling right now, it’d be Mara.

And the sad thing is that Mara feels more kinship with Luke now than ever.

So, here’s a sidebar: I LOVE the Luke/Vader subgenre of fic in the fandom. It’s just—*clenches fist*—SO GOOD. I love the trope of villainous fathers with heroic sons, and it started with them. And if the heroic son helps the villainous father redeem himself, even better.

But here’s another thing: I’ve also been writing heroic daughters being in conflict with their fathers for a long time. It was years before I understood what I was doing—I was working through my own real life issues. And the thing is that here and now, years after that understanding, I’m still writing that dynamic.

The closest thing Mara has to a father is Palpatine. And, more or less, that’s how she thinks of him. He is the man who raised her. He raised her, and trained her a little, and made her his assassin.

And he also kidnapped her as a baby and murdered her real parents.

All that love that Mara had for him turned to hatred, and there is no hatred more powerful or more complicated than the kind that used to be love.

And yet, she still thinks of him as her father. She can’t get away from that.

But like hell is she going to let Luke go through what she’s going through if she can help it.

Darth Vader, the man Palpatine used to encourage her childhood fear of, is the Anakin Skywalker she’s heard snatches of stories about while running around the galaxy with Luke and the Rogues.

And maybe there’s a chance that he’s not as far gone as everyone would assume.

So she takes a ship and uses her old Hand code to get herself docked in the Executor. Vader definitely wants to know what this is all about, because that code is specific to Mara herself, the one Emperor’s Hand who went truly rogue. And she tells him straight up that, look, she doesn’t care about him one bit, but she does care about Luke Skywalker. She’s never gonna be able to get to know her own father (slipping that in to let Vader know why exactly she left), but if Luke still wants to have a relationship with his father, she wants him to have a shot at that.

(At some point during this conversation, Vader threatens Mara, and she’s scared, yes, because she knows he’s more powerful, but she points out: “You just tortured your son’s best friends and cut off his hand. You have a long way to go in the goodwill department.” He doesn’t need to be hurting or killing yet another of his son’s friends.)

He wants to know what she has in mind, then, and she tells him straight up: get Han back. She says outright that if he doesn’t do it, she and Luke and only a handful of friends are going to go rescue Han because the Alliance can’t spare anyone else, and she doesn’t like those odds. Vader has the resources and they don’t: send people to Tatooine to free Han and the slaves and overthrow Jabba. As a goodwill gesture, it’d be pretty weighty.

She gives him a private comm number and says that if Han’s returned to them safe and sound, she’ll try to help him and Luke meet somewhere just to meet. Has to be totally neutral ground—she’s not gonna help Vader capture his son. But she’ll help them try to have a conversation more or less like normal people if they’re both willing to try.

“Why are you doing this?”

“If you knew Luke, you’d know why. I want him to be happy. And even after everything you’ve done to him, and to the people he cares about… he still wants his father.”

And Vader comes through. Han is freed, and the slaves are freed, and there’s rumors that Jabba’s corpse was fed to his own rancor.

Mara tells Luke what she did. At first he can’t believe it, he starts throwing around things like how could you’s, but in the end he listens. And he’s not sure what to do. He knows that Mara’s intentions were pure, but how can he hope to think the same of his—of Vader?

But also. Vader freed Han. And the slaves. And took out Jabba, one of Luke’s oldest and most cherished wishes.

After a long while of going back and forth with himself about it, Luke agrees to a meeting under truce, only as long as Vader will honor it.

The meeting does happen… and I have no idea what happens from there. Especially because… well, look, Anakin definitely had every right to be the one to kill Palpatine, and I don’t want to take that away from him. But also… I really want Mara to see Palpatine one last time. I want her to look her father in the eye and tell him every way he wronged her.

So I have no idea how this ends. I want it to be a happy ending, of course. Sad endings are for one-shots that you don’t have to commit to. But I have no idea, after several weeks of thinking about this, how this ends.

#Mara Jade #Luke Skywalker #Darth Vader #Palpatine #Star Wars #SW AU #Sky writes stuff #Luke/Mara #sorry guys that this ends so unsatisfactorily #I'm hoping that writing ABOUT it might help

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frasier-crane-style · 5 years

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Let’s talk about Treks baby

The One Where Riker Stars In The Grey.

When Riker is reassigned to go over a terraforming colony bedeviled by pesky, genetically engineered wolves, a new first officer is assigned to the Enterprise. And he’s kwazy.

The irritatingly named Quintin Stone is sort of the Nick Locarno to Peter David’s later Mackenzie Calhoun. Brooding rogue, troubled past, gets the job done, you know how it goes. It’s a pretty unabashed power fantasy/Mary Sue in New Frontier, but there the whole thing is so over the top and tongue in cheek that you really can’t take it too seriously. Quintin, on the other hand, is more played for drama--for most of the story, there’s a question as to whether he’s outright homicidally insane. Luckily, Troi is on top of things, checking on his mental well-being and also kinda being his love interest, like a literal version of this gif.

Spoiler alert: It turns out he’s deeply traumatized by a not wholly believable incident in his past*, so good on ya for catching that one, Troi.

Looking back on it, this book would almost seem to count as a deconstruction of the ‘broody antihero’ trope, showing that the character type just doesn’t work in TNG. He infuriates most of the cast and doesn’t get the girl, while those who are taken in by him are presented as saps (yup, Wesley).

Speaking of New Frontier, with the self-aware jokeyness and tongue-in-cheek acknowledgment of Trek’s campier elements, would it be fair to say PAD was ahead of the curve in predicting the modern incarnation of Trek? Its take on Star Trek would definitely fit in with the Kelvinverse movies and especially with The Orville, which is pretty much the people’s choice for Trek these days.

*Okay, I get the interpretation of the Prime Directive as not interfering or revealing yourself to alien cultures until they develop warp drive, at which point they’re going to figure out you’re there anyway. And if you can stop an asteroid from wiping them out without them knowing about it, fine. Cool. I get that. But I don’t get Star Trek stories where the PD means you can’t interfere with the Romulans’ development, even though they’re showing up on your doorstep every other week and shooting at you. It’s like saying if Hitler 2.0 showed up in Germany and started amassing power, the US shouldn’t try to discourage that shit or, I guess, engage in any diplomacy whatsoever. It’s mindbogglingly isolationist. And isn’t it arguable that part of a culture’s natural development is interacting with other cultures? Like the back and forth between America and Japan driving forward the medium of animation?

The One Where Picard Nearly Bangs Guinan’s Sister

This one has a bit of nontroversy attached to it, because it came out while Star Trek was still kind of hashing out the Borg, so there’s a disclaimer at the beginning basically going

The gist of it is that Borg aren’t supposed to have gender (a bunch of people with blue hair just had their ears perk up, didn’t they?), but PAD here has a drone that gets detached from the Collective and is a girl. It seems pretty self-evident to me--Picard gets assimilated, they get him back, he’s still a dude, so why wouldn’t it work that way with a chick? But this is back when assimilation wasn’t the Borg’s m.o. the way it would later become. They assimilate a Ferengi in this book (yup) and it’s kind of a big deal. Oh, and as you might’ve guessed, Girl Borg bears a few similarities to Seven of Nine, who would show up later in the franchise, although PAD’s take on it is more “we rescued a girl from a serial killer’s basement after ten years and she’s totally catatonic,” less “what is this human emotion you call ‘kissing’?”

Good thing we have Deanna Troi, a counselor, to ease Girl Borg through the healing process. Oh, wait, she basically takes one look at GB and goes

Thanks for the help, Troi. I guess this subplot is supposed to prove that it’s pointless to try to save any assimilated person other than Picard, because mentally they’re already dead, so might as well just have a bunch of fun guiltlessly blowing them away

(And that goes for you too, audience.) But still, bit of a downer. At least Spock would’ve tried a mind-meld.

There’s also this chick Delcara, who in a pretty XXtra Flamin' Hot narrative choice is like Picard’s soulmate and he’s sort of in love with her slash obsessed with her after having a psychic vision of her in Starfleet Academy and y’know? TNG might’ve opened the door to this by having Crusher bang a ghost, but we should close that door. We should close it right now.

(By the way, in case you’re wondering if this Guinan’s sister business means Picard is down with the swirl, it turns out she’s Guinan’s adopted sister, so is it just me or is that weirdly ambiguous? She’s a beautiful black woman and Picard wants to do her. You can come out and say it, book. No one minds.)

Anyway, Delcara is piloting one of dem planet-killers from back in TOS--in hindsight, it’s weird that the Abrams movies never did anything with the one big Death Star-y thing that actually is canon to TOS, isn’t it? They gave Khan and Nero ridiculously super-sized ships, but the one kaiju that’s actually in continuity, nothing--on a vendetta against the Borg, who basically killed her family twice over. Man, if only there were some kind of psychologist on board the Enterprise to help her through that trauma.

I sense she feels great bitterness, Captain.

Yeah, why does she get a seat next to the Captain again? Let Worf have that seat. How is it fair that he has to stand around all day, he actually does stuff!

Anyhoo, as you might’ve guessed from the opening set on a holographic rendition of Don Quixote, with a Data Discussion(tm) of quixotic endeavors... and the fact that Delcara intends to totally wipe out the Borg, gosh, I wonder if she’ll succeed--this one’s something of a downer. It does give the promised Planet Killer on Borg Cube action for those fanboys who’ve wondered who would win in a wrassling match, and Picard learns a valuable lesson about not pursuing suicidal vendettas against the Borg, which he definitely takes to heart...

(Wow, he did that one-handed? What kind of gains does Sir Patrick have?)

But still... bit depressing.

The One Where Bones Becomes A Space Pirate

Another giant novel, I’m surprised this one never got raided for parts in any adaptation. Even on the page, it’s pretty breathtakingly cinematic, and yet, the only part of it that’s really been used is, if you squint, Bob Burnham in Discovery being a disgraced Starfleeter.

The premise is that, some months ago, the TOS Enterprise crew was involved in a breaking of the Prime Directive that resulted in the destruction of a world and the ‘Enterprise 5′ of bridge officers blamed for the tragedy being shunned and hated wherever they go (ah, that utopian Star Trek future, predicting an entire population that’s politically engaged).

Now, with the command crew scattered, everyone’s trying to get back to the planet where it all happened to find out what tf went down for reals. In a bit of a stretch, this is really hard for them--no one seems to be able to call in a favor or hire Han Solo to take them there or anything, which I suppose is in keeping with Star Trek 3′s similar situation six years prior. They don’t have to go so far as to steal a Constitution-class this time. I suppose it’s fitting for the wild and woolly TOS era. In TNG time, they’d probably be able to dial a Space Uber. (As it turns out, it seems like if they’d just coordinated their plans, they all could’ve hitched a ride with Spock, but then there’d be no book, much less a Giant Book.)

Anyway, Kirk’s been court-martialed and is working as an asteroid miner, Chekov and Sulu fall in with Orion pirates, Spock is challenging the whole thing in court, and Uhura’s in jail........oh. It’s like that, huh, Starfleet?

Like I said, most of the plot involves the crew going off on all their separate adventures, eventually getting the band back together and figuring out what went down. Apparently, the book was criticized for its nonlinear structure, but I think it worked out really well. Starting months after the incident, with everyone disgraced, gets you pumped to find out what happened. Then when they flashback to the shit going down, there’s a great sense of foreboding because you know something is going to happen, just not what exactly.

If I can make a criticism, it’s that after some great build-up, the ending seems a bit anticlimactic. The nature of the threat requires some unbelievable Hollywood Evolution to buy (nothing new for Star Trek, admittedly, and this is a crew that’s fresh off meeting Apollo and Abraham Lincoln) and while it is fitting that they’re able to resolve the situation without blowing up anything or punching anyone (Star Trek loves to talk the talk about how anti-military it is, then end their movie with some Klingons getting blasted), it still seems a little... dry. You’re not going to have Kirk hang off of anything, story? Not even a little? Okay. I still had fun.

And you’ll note that once again, Deanna Troi was of no help whatsoever. Geez, woman, you’re oh for three here!

#star trek #peter david #judith and garfield reeves-stevens

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anghraine · 7 years

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so in your rogue one au, how did the proposal happen? what's their marriage like?

Their marriage is basically … two troubled and uncommunicative people who love each other very much.

So there’s a certain amount of confused flailing and a lot of emotional dependency (they could probably count on one hand the number of other people they trust), and when things go wrong between them they go really wrong. But there’s a deep bedrock of affinity and trust that keeps their relationship on a pretty even keel. Jyn, Cassian, and the Rebellion are all far better off for them being together.

As for the proposal:

“I think we should get married,” Jyn announced.

She tried to sound matter-of-fact about it. She felt matter-of-fact about it. And a little nervous, maybe—that was why she blurted it out as soon as she barged into Ice Chamber Exactly-the-Fuck-Like-All-the-Other-Ones, where Cassian was repairing Kaytoo.

Cassian’s hydrospanner didn’t drop, of course. But it went completely still in his grip. “What?”

“All of us?” said Kaytoo. “No. I might consider Cassian, but not you.”

She’d thought him still powered down. Or she would have, if she’d thought about him at all. It was almost a relief to fold her arms and scowl in his direction.

Maybe she was more than a little nervous.

“Do you even know what marriage is?” she demanded.

“The establishment and formalization of permanent association between individuals,” he said promptly, “which is legally binding and widely acknowledged. Often, but not always, the intended result is reproduction, though that is obviously untenable in this case.”

“All right, you know.” She squinted up at him. “But don’t jump to conclusions. I’ve cobbled droids together before. I could build a bunch of tiny KX units and Cassian could program them and you’d correct all the mistakes.”

“What is the purpose of a small KX unit?”

“Metaphorically tiny,” said Jyn. “They’d have to be around your size to properly terrorize stormtroopers.”

“Yes,” he said, mulling it over. “That would be satisfactory. However, I still do not wish to marry you, Jyn Erso.”

“But you’ll marry Cassian?”

“No,” decided Kaytoo. “I just find that prospect somewhat less distasteful.”

Very carefully, Cassian set down the hydrospanner. Jyn’s pulse, already thrumming a quick, shallow beat, pounded in her head and throat. Even her ears rang, and her chest hurt. She was going to deck anyone who called it romantic.

“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” she asked Kaytoo. “You just had an update.”

“I was deactivated for repairs after our last mission, if you recall.”

She did recall. In fact, she might never forget, though she hadn’t been there herself. Jyn and Cassian worked together more often than not, but not when it came to delicate negotiations with informants. Instead, she’d been training some of their recruits in hand-to-hand combat, something vastly more suited to her tastes and skills. It seemed a fairly routine operation by Cassian standards, in any case, but he went MIA for ten days and came back with ruptured organs, half his bones broken, and Kay barely functional.

Jyn was not informed. Not officially. Not unofficially, either, until Luke Skywalker—convinced of their relationship before they were themselves—took it upon himself to pass the news. Jyn, did you know that Commander Andor’s back? Pretty rough shape, but it looks like he’s going to make it. I probably shouldn’t be saying anything, but I figured you’d want to know.

He definitely shouldn’t have mentioned it, as far as regulations went. Luke had the news from Princess Leia, who had it from General Rieekan, who had it from Draven himself, concerned in a Draven sort of way over the near-loss of his best agent. Jyn didn’t care. By then, Cassian was out of bacta and healing, though near insensible with exhaustion and painkillers. Jyn and Bodhi only got to see him at all by shamelessly exploiting the memory of the Death Star.

He was too sleepy to say much, but they’d long since figured out what the droids and doctors never did, for all the countless times they patched him up. Cassian, himself quiet when not silent, liked to hear people talking around him. All the more when he was injured. So Bodhi and Jyn chatted about the small accomplishments and squabbles on the base for well over an hour, until Bodhi got called off.

Without him, without Kaytoo, everything wrong seemed to swell up in her, beyond any containing. She wanted … she didn’t even know.

The longer she stayed with the Rebellion, the more her feet itched, yet the more determined she felt to stay. Even beyond the fight, the Rebellion gave her more than she’d had in years: family, in the remnants of Rogue One, and friends, and a sanctuary of trust. But more to lose, too—fear ate at her, sometimes, with the Empire’s net closing and their forces spread thin. Missions grew more desperate and often more solitary, particularly Cassian’s unofficial ones.

Honestly, she couldn’t even keep track of those. It was easier to guess by his state when he returned: injured, or merely tired, or bleak-eyed and toneless for hours afterwards.

Jyn herself came back from her rougher missions restless and eager for fighting, drinking, anything. Once, Cassian took her flying after a single glance at her; somehow he managed to sneak them both away, and they flew through obscenely narrow, jagged passages in the ice until she felt human again. But when it came to him, she didn’t really know what to do, except stick around. It seemed enough; he’d hold her with his face pressed against her shoulder or neck, and either returned to something like himself or managed to sleep. But she still felt useless and furious at herself for it—herself and Draven and the Empire and the nameless clonetroopers who had driven him into the Rebellion.

(Whenever she tried to imagine them, Krennic’s troopers flashed through her mind. A village of Lyra Ersos dropped to the ground, right before Cassian-Jyn’s eyes, and they fled into the darkness.)

Sometimes she longed for nothing so much as an end to it all. Cassian never talked of a future after the war. Jyn didn’t know if he even considered it. But she did. She didn’t pin anything on the hope, but hoped nonetheless, clinging to the dream of something beyond this. At least for awhile. Bodhi, he’d like to go legit again. Maybe Han would figure out how to stop tripping over his own tongue around the princess. Jyn and Cassian and Kay could go fight crime or something. Anything but this.

“We might live,” she whispered. Cassian was awake, though out of it. “After. What would you even want?”

He turned his head towards her, blinking. More alert than she’d thought, but not by much. Despite the dim light, his eyes were almost uninterrupted brown, each pupil a small black point.

He mumbled, “What everyone wants.”

“And what do you think everyone wants?”

His eyes closed again. “Peace, family, marriage.”

Jyn started.

“Democracy,” added Cassian, because of course he did.

Her mouth twitched. “Everyone wants democracy, huh?”

“They should.”

She didn’t quite laugh at him. But if the Jyn of two years ago had known that she’d end up loving a man who babbled about democracy while higher than the stratosphere—well.

The bay was empty. She leaned down to kiss him.

“Go to sleep, Cassian.”

When he woke again, he didn’t remember any of it. But Jyn’s mind kept winding back, to laughing as they careened through some hellish ice canyon, and I figured you’d want to know; to family, marriage, and Cassian hiding his face in her neck. To how much she wanted to claw out of this life, and how much she wanted to stay.

“Of course you don’t recall,” Kaytoo was saying. “You weren’t there. But I took sufficient damage to require a shift to low power, and during my repairs, some incompetent lifeform put a restraining bolt on me.”

“What an idiot,” said Jyn.

He studied her. “Your comprehension of the situation is surprisingly accurate.”

“I’m not much for shackles, myself.”

Cassian pulled the bolt off. “There you are, Kay. A free droid again.”

“Thank you,” he said, the robotic tones somehow carrying a wealth of intensity. Then he added, “I am still not marrying you, however.”

“I should hope not. You can leave,” said Cassian. He looked at Jyn, irritatingly neutral. Among others, that would mean nothing; it had long since become his resting expression. With her, though … with her, it meant he was either concealing his real thoughts or confused. Either seemed probable enough at the moment. “Jyn, I—”

“Don’t answer yet,” she said quickly. “I have reasons. Hear me out.”

Cassian glanced back at Kaytoo, who had not budged beyond turning his head to examine Jyn.

“Kay. Go.”

“How am I to evaluate her reasoning if I am not here?” he demanded.

“I can evaluate on my own,” said Cassian.

“Yes,” Kaytoo allowed, “but with far less accuracy, and certainly less efficiency.”

Well, she definitely wasn’t going to have to deck anyone. But while she’d intended to wait until one or both of them managed to kick Kay out, some vague instinct reminded her that divided attention could be an advantage.

“First of all,” said Jyn, raising a finger, “officers’ spouses have full access to their quarters at all times, and a commander’s quarters are much warmer and more comfortable than a lieutenant’s.”

“A valid reason,” Kaytoo said, with cool approval, “but inadequate.”

“You already have access to my quarters,” said Cassian, and now she felt certain that his blank expression was one of genuine bewilderment.

“Someone”—she shot a meaningful look at Kaytoo—“keeps changing your passcodes.”

“There is a fourteen percent chance that Cassian’s security could be compromised, while the likelihood of your death by hypothermia in your own quarters is less than two percent.”

Cassian rubbed his temples. “You want to marry me for my passcodes?”

Not dignifying either with a response, she ticked off a second finger. “Also, spouses are entitled to disclosure about serious injury, death, imprisonment, and so on. You have the clearance for my status, but I don’t have it for yours, and I’m tired of finding out on someone’s whim, if at all. And even with the clearance, you’re not automatically informed—you have to know enough to check.”

“Yes,” Cassian said quietly, a faint but familiar softness touching his mouth and eyes. He studied her face, as she’d seen him study so many faces, searching for answers. Not for the first time, she wished that hers expressed more; she couldn’t switch her guard on and off at will, and reserve had sunk deep in her bones.

“Another valid consideration,” said Kaytoo. “You surprise me. However, you could simply list each other as emergency contacts, if you were not so foolishly intent on subterfuge.”

Still skittish, Jyn stiffened her spine. “Thirdly, you already want to get married.” Before Cassian (or, more likely, Kay) could question that, she added, “You said so in the infirmary.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Picking his words, Cassian said, “I do not remember, but I would not have meant … have expected—”

“You never expect anything,” she said dismissively. “And you’re not denying it, are you?”

“That is not proof,” said Kaytoo. “Nor is it proof that he referred to a marriage with you, specifically.”

“Of course he did,” she said.

Had she ever thought about anything like this, in those years before the Rebellion caught her in its net, she would have expected to doubt. She always doubted people; she always had to, if she didn’t want to get robbed or betrayed at every turn. Cassian himself had come within a hair of betraying her, too—reluctant tool of the Rebellion’s betrayal, but still. He was a spy and an assassin and a liar who’d regarded her with the same suspicion she did him, yet a month from meeting, they trusted each other with their lives. By the time the Death Star exploded above Yavin, they clung together as neither had done since childhood. And they never so much as considered the possibility of betrayal afterwards.

“I’m sure I meant you,” said Cassian.

Kaytoo made an irritable metallic sound. “If you don’t remember, then you can’t be sure of anything.”

“Kay,” he said, eyes unwavering from Jyn’s face, “you definitely need to go away now.”

The droid, truculent as ever, demanded, “Why?”

Jyn rolled her eyes, but sobered the instant that Cassian took one of her hands. She’d felt ungainly about them, unsure whether to leave them dangling awkwardly by her sides or fold her arms, but—this was okay. This was good.

“We’re going to be sentimental,” he told Kay. “You won’t want to witness it.”

“Oh.” With another indecipherable droid sound, Kay stalked off. Even the clatter of his limbs managed to sound judgmental.

As soon as the door sealed shut behind them, Jyn raised her brows. “Sentimental, are we?”

With a hint of a smile around his mouth and rather more than a hint around his eyes, Cassian said, “I assume you have real reasons.”

She lifted her chin. “I assume you do.”

They both looked down at their linked hands. For herself, Jyn felt rather martyred. They could and did read each other at a glance, all the time—during missions, debriefs, everything. It seemed decidedly unfair that the ability should desert them now. It also seemed unfair that her thoughts scattered as Cassian’s thumb traced absent circles, her entire body warm, even though they regularly did far more than hold hands.

“I’m not used to us needing explanations,” she said at last, torn between exasperation and assurance.

“Neither am I,” said Cassian, his voice milder, but with the same edge of frustration.

Their hands tightened. After another long pause, he said,

“Marriage is … safer.”

“Safer?” Jyn repeated. If she didn’t perfectly understand her own reasons, she felt sure that safety hadn’t entered into it.

“It is not that I distrust you, Jyn.” She heard him took a deep breath, exhale through his teeth. “You know how I am. I always prefer stability, where I can get it.”

“You want to marry me for stability?” Jyn nearly laughed. “Me?”

“No, I—” Cassian made an inarticulate noise that perfectly expressed her own feelings. “Marriage has protections. Laws and customs and rights. Wherever we go, whatever we do, our oath would go with us.”

The idea of an oath alarmed her, a bit. She hadn’t really thought of it that way. But, of course, marriage would be an oath, that was the whole point of it. Not unspoken understanding, not ready promises, but a contract, sworn and inscribed. Others might not honour it, but they could never take it from them.

Jyn could see why that would appeal to Cassian. On consideration, it appealed to her, too, little as she cared for laws and rules in general. She still didn’t care about them for their own sake. But if he preferred stability, the formalities that made order out of nothing, she preferred security, things nailed down every way that she could think of, signed and sealed and backed by as much force and legitimacy as possible.

“And you?” he asked.

At that, they both looked up, both flushed. He’d gone solemn, while Jyn felt a smile trembling on her mouth. Even as she succumbed to the smile, she hung onto her composure.

“I believe in this war,” she said, trying to strand her thoughts into some sort of sense. “In fighting the Empire with all we have. You know I believe it.”

Bewilderment blanked out Cassian’s expression again. “Yes.”

“But I’m not you.” Jyn had to be cutting off the blood in his fingertips. She couldn’t bring herself to care. “I can understand and fight for a cause. I do, everyday. Just—”

Not as Cassian did, not as the fire that animated her life. She would risk her life for the galaxy, but that was something she chose, not who she was.

“I fight hardest for myself. I live for myself, me and mine. I don’t care if it’s selfish.”

Jyn searched his face. His eyes, she thought, looked soft again. Maybe. He was frowning.

“I don’t follow.” At her sigh, blowing her fringe out of her face, Cassian said quickly, “That is, I understand. I know you. I simply don’t see how it … relates.”

She relaxed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she told him, squashing the urge to drop her eyes again, “but you’re mine, all right?”

To her relief, his confusion faded into a slow smile. It was a familiar one, by now, a mix of delighted and unsteady. Who cared that neither of them went in for endearments or chatter about love, when Cassian looked at her like that? And Jyn suspected her own expression did … something, at these moments. They were the only times her guard really cracked; she’d feel that instinctive, irrepressible something heating her cheeks and curving her mouth, though nobody seemed to notice but Luke and Cassian. The former smugly insisted that she went all bright and surprised, Jyn, it’s nice. The latter caught his breath, which honestly said more.

She felt pretty sure her face was doing the same thing now.

With his free hand, Cassian reached out and tucked her hair behind her ears. “What is the wrong way, exactly?”

His voice had dropped several registers, his thumb lingering at her cheekbone. Jyn laughed in her throat.

“It’s not that I distrust you, Cassian,” she said, smiling back. “I don’t suppose you’ll disappear without—shackles, say.” Jyn thought of Draven and nearly wrinkled her nose. “I never think that. But you know how I am. Verbal agreements are … they’re broken all the time.”

I’ll always protect you.

Stay in the bunker until daylight. I’ll be back then.

“I know you won’t,” Jyn added hastily. Cassian didn’t look offended or hurt, just thoughtful, eyes studying her and fingers resting lightly against her jaw. But with him, she never knew what would sail past and what he’d torment himself over for weeks.

Cassian did keep his word, with her. Jyn trusted him to keep it. But a more general wariness lingered in her.

She fumbled for words. “It’s just …”

“Safer?”

“Oh, fine.” Jyn scowled. “Safer. You were right. Are you satisfied now?”

“Yes,” Cassian said readily. In one of the great injustices of the universe, he had dimples, when he was happy enough to show them. Like now.

As always, though, he quickly turned grave.

“I try not to think of the future,” he said, each word slow and careful.

She narrowed her eyes. As she did, Jyn realized that if they stood another inch closer, they’d be colliding. She wasn’t sure when that had happened, which one had moved. Probably both; they’d done that from the first. Cassian seemed to notice at the same time, his eyes very dark as he searched for words.

“We have cheated death so many times, but I—” He shook his head. “But sometimes I imagine, anyway. Jyn, I never picture a life without you in it.”

Her mood flashed to absurdly cheerful. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jyn,” he murmured, only just audible, his entire body tilted to her. They’d be kissing already if she were taller. But she straightened up as he leaned that bit down, and he was whispering against her lips, “Jyn, Jyn.”

They pressed together, accustomed enough that it was easy, natural: a familiar language in the slide of his fingers down her throat and her hands in his hair, the parting of their lips and uneven breaths. Not enough for it to feel ordinary, for her to think anything for a few long seconds beyond Cassian and I want, I want—

When they separated, breathless, she collected herself enough to remember her one reservation.

“We’d give up our secrecy, though,” she admitted. “And Command wouldn’t let us serve together.”

Cassian hesitated, then looked into her face and said, “They don’t have to know.”

“What about all those rights?” said Jyn, putting his hair back into order with the ease of long habit.

“Leia,” he said instantly.

It took a moment to follow that particular leap of thought. Only a moment, though.

“You think she’d help hide this?”

“I think she already is,” said Cassian. “One way or another.”

Luke, of course. He told her everything. And odds were good that Leia had figured it out on her own, anyway. She had the same sort of uncanny sense about people. Though she never said a word, she’d always treated them as a package arrangement, you and Erso need to embedded into every order she gave.

Jyn grinned as Cassian straightened her vest. “She does owe us a favour.”

“I don’t imagine that will be necessary. But if it is …” He gave an eminently Cassian shrug, then touched his thumb to her bottom lip. Another repair: the thumb came away smeared with a drop of blood.

Is that a yes? she almost asked, but she had some pride.

“You need to drink more water, Jyn.”

She decided it was.

#anon replies #respuestas #jyn erso #cassian andor #kaytoo #otp: welcome home #luke skywalker #star wars #fic talk #esb au #the instant i got this (months ago sorry anon) i thought ... omg it would be terrible. amazingly terribad. i love my failboat children

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