Archive of Our Own

No Greater Force

Get up, Bodhi Rook.

Bodhi groans, not wanting to come back to consciousness. Everything hurts. He did what was needed, but they tossed a grenade into his ship, and now everything hurts. He doesn't want to have to do more. He's already done more than enough.

You have. Galen is leaning at his side, though Bodhi knows that's impossible. He saw Galen die in Jyn's arms, and though it's stupid to be jealous—Galen was Jyn's father—Bodhi wishes he had been able to have a few last words of his own.

Come on, Bodhi. Galen smiles, and it's that same sad, grieving smile that drew Bodhi to him in the first place. Galen had a face that should smile blindingly, possessively, but he never did. Because, Bodhi would come to learn, everything Galen loved and cherished had already been ripped away from him.

“It hurts.” Bodhi tries to sit up and gasps. “I can't. I can't.”

If you don't, you die here. Galen's hand reaches out, brushes hair away from Bodhi's face. His fingers are so delightfully cool, and Bodhi leans into the touch. I don't want you to die here. That wasn't why I asked you to help.

“Don't want to die.” Bodhi manages to roll himself over, to push himself up on his elbows. The world rocks and sways around him, and he can't tell what's due to weapon's fire and what's due to his vision swinging back and forth, back and forth.

Then follow me. Galen's fingers slide through Bodhi's hair, another focusing burst of cold, a brief break in the general burning throb of Bodhi's body.

Bodhi doesn't know if he can. But he pushes from his elbows up to his knees, and then from his knees up to his feet, and then he's stumbling in Galen's wake, heading away from the wreckage of his shuttle and towards... well, he doesn't know towards what.

But if it gives him a chance of getting out of here, he'll take it.

***

“Come on, Cassian.” Jyn keeps her arm under Cassian's shoulder, bearing the brunt of his weight. She can feel something shifting in Cassian's chest, ribs moving in ways that they shouldn't. What did he break when he fell? What did the blaster bolt hit? He's most likely a dead man walking, she knows. They all are. But as long as they're walking—she reaches up to touch her kyber crystal, drawing in a gasping breath filled with the acrid stink of burned armor and roasted human flesh. As long as they're walking, there's still a chance.

Cassian draws a breath, his head rising to look down a cross-corridor. “Kaytoo.”

Jyn freezes, not sure she heard him correctly; if she did hear him correctly, not sure what she wants to do. “We can't. He's gone, Cassian. He's—”

But Cassian isn't listening. He's pulling away from her, and Jyn has just a moment to decide if she wants to follow him or not. Then Cassian is collapsing to the ground, his hand pressed against the wound in his side that the blaster bolt made, blood starting to trickle out in a slow stream.

Jyn catches him before he can finish falling. She settles his arm back across her shoulders and takes him where he wants to go. What is there to lose, after all? They're most likely going to die here anyway. Better to die trying to help a friend.

The bodies are thick around K-2SO, the air even less palatable than it had been in the hall. Cassian intentionally drops away from her, ending up in a huddle on the ground next to K-2's chassis.

Jyn kneels down next to him. She doesn't know enough about droids to help with this. “Can we just take his head?”

Cassian shakes his head. “His personality chip, his memory chip—they're not in his head. I helped design the circuits. If they haven't been damaged—” Cassian presses down on a plate that doesn't want to move. His hand rises, slams down on the charred bit of metal, but he doesn't have enough strength.

Jyn's leg feels like a spike-spider is chewing its way up the bone, but her hands work just fine. She shoves Cassian's fingers out of the way and pops the plate up for him.

“Thank...” Cassian chokes, spitting out a gob of red blood. “Thank you.”

Jyn looks down at that gob of red blood, trying not to worry about what it means. She knew Cassian broke some ribs on the way down. Surely lungs were bruised, too. He's alive, and he's breathing, and he's making decisions. She won't worry about more than that until he either stops being one of those things or they're in a medical unit.

Cassian rummages around inside K-2's chassis, disconnecting wires, talking to circuits in a language that Jyn doesn't know. Then he's fumbling two little squares of metal towards his pocket, but his hands are shaking too much him to manage.

Jyn takes the data chips, pulls Cassian's jacket open just enough to slip them into the inner pocket, and then moves to help Cassian back to his feet.

They must look like a comical mess. Jyn's starting to lose feeling in her leg, and Cassian is clearly just generally losing control of his limbs. He shivers and jerks in her arms when he's not dead weight.

But they walk.

They walk forward, step by slow step.

They get into the lift, and take it down to the ground. Jyn tries to call the others, but no one is answering.

So she just keeps walking, towards the beach—towards the water. Towards the end of the bodies, and the start of something beautiful.

It's the best she can think to do as she keeps Cassian and herself both upright through sheer stubborn force of will.

***

He's here.

Baze manages to lift his head just enough to see the woman. She's standing amid the smoke and the corpses, her head tipped back, her eyes focused on the sky.

And so is she. My little girl. The woman turns her eyes from the sky to Baze, and he expects, somehow, to see stars there. Instead they're ordinary brown eyes, though they fix him in place as easily as his injuries do. And her brother too close to be safe. Will you help them, Baze Malbus?

Baze curls protectively around Chirrut's body, laying his head back down on Chirrut's chest. Can he still hear a heartbeat there? Still feel a faint stirring of breath? He wants to say he does, but that's probably just wishful thinking.

They will need a teacher. The woman is kneeling across from him, her hand also resting on Chirrut's chest. Or two. Ones not twisted and torn over what came before.

Baze tries to laugh, though it sounds more like a sob as it slides from his throat. If there is someone not twisted and torn by the events that came before, Baze knows he isn't it.

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. Her hand shifts from Chirrut's chest to cover Baze's hand, and it is beautifully cold, a point of bright focus in a world getting hazier by the minute. You spoke his words. You lived them, for a brief moment. Will you forsake them now?

It hurts. It hurts so very much, because it always does. It always will. It wasn't what Baze had expected when he took his vows and made his oaths. He had expected a life of helping people, of guiding people, of finding himself in old stories and the reflected light of the kyber crystals.

But being one with the Force means being one with all living things, and pain seems to be integral to living right now. Pain is the thing that you choke down so that you can reach out and help another. Pain is the cost of standing, of gathering those you love into your arms, of watching their blood drip down to the ground and wondering if there is even any point in what you are attempting.

Pain is what it means to be alive, and—

Chirrut gasps. It's just a soft, pained sound, but it's there. It's proof that he's alive—proof that there's hope, even if it's slim.

Hope is the most painful thing of all, perhaps, the very core of being alive.

Baze walks.

***

Bodhi finds a ship.

It's an Imperial ship, but that's actually for the best. Bodhi has been flying Imperial shuttles all his life. This one is faster and shinier and really just nicer than his shuttle that got exploded.

The cockpit is also full of dead bodies.

One of those bodies is a resistance fighter. Bodhi recognizes the symbol on the woman's helmet, though most of the rest of her body is a bloody mess. Was she trying to capture the shuttle? Trying to get back into the air? Just trying to take as many Imperials out as she could before the clearly broken leg she has caught up to her?

Bodhi doesn't know, just like he doesn't know if any of the Imperials that he's tumbling out of the shuttle—there's no time to be decent, no time to be gentle—were people like him. People who didn't really like what the Empire was doing, or who really just didn't think about it, but came in and got a paycheck and went home.

Probably not. He tells himself that firmly as he rolls the last one out. This is a highly secured, classified base. Even the janitors probably knew what they were doing—the kind of weapons of mass destruction they were working on.

Right?

He wants it to be true, but he doesn't think it is. For every shuttle jockey he met who was eager to watch the Empire roll over recalcitrant planets, there were two who couldn't tell you where in the world those planets were, and three who didn't care what happened so long as it didn't impact their work schedule or down time. Was that better? Was apathy better than active complicity?

Galen told Bodhi that it wasn't.

Because it's not. Galen's voice is a soft whisper in his mind as Bodhi tries to remember the pre-flight checks he needs to do. Apathy kills, too. It's why my hands are dripping blood, and yours too.

“No.” Bodhi doesn't shake his head, afraid that the world will go from a hazy tunnel to pure black if he does. “We tried. We're trying.”

We're trying. Galen turns his head, lifting a hand to point to the left. My girl. Will you get her home, Bodhi?

The shuttle's engines catch, and though there are a few yellow warning indicators, nothing flares up red. “Do I get to rest then?” Bodhi's whole body is shaking. “Do I get to... to...”

You've earned your rest, yes. Galen reaches over, his hand a cool balm against Bodhi's neck. You get to rest, brave one. I promise.

Bodhi hits the controls, and the shuttle rises slowly, ponderously, up into the air.

***

The shuttle doesn't so much touch down as it drops the last ten feet to the ground, but since the ground is sand and the shuttle is designed to survive entering and exiting the atmosphere regularly, the shuttle survives.

Jyn stares at the shuttle in disbelief, not sure if she's about to die—to die faster, at least—or if she's being rescued.

Then Bodhi's head emerges from the pilot's seat, and she decides that this is, in fact, an attempt at a rescue.

Which is good, because Cassian is shivering against her, and she's not sure how much longer she can keep them both vertical.

Bodhi doesn't get up to help her stumble into the shuttle, but given that half his face is a mass of burns and blood, she can't blame him. Better he stay at the controls, making sure the shuttle can get back in the air.

Especially because the air is starting to change color. They're going to use the weapon again. They're going to use the weapon against their own people in the hopes of keeping the information Jyn transmitted—Force, please let it have transmitted—from getting out.

They're going to do to Scarif what they did to Jedha. Perhaps worse than what they did to Jedha.

“Come on, Cassian.” Jyn drags the man over the lip and into the shuttle, Cassian's whole body seeming to go boneless as she does. “We're going home. We're getting away from here.”

“Home.” Cassian repeats the word after her, pulling weakly on her arm to try to get himself out of the doorway. Then he says something in his own language again, something she can't understand.

Bodhi responds, though, the lilting, lyrical words sounding more like music than like communication. Or maybe that's just the ringing in Jyn's ears.

Or the air itself starting to heat, starting to change, preparing to—

“Little sister! Jyn!” The voice that calls to her is desperate, hoarse, barely recognizable.

Jyn still bolts past Cassian and out the door again.

Baze is on one knee, Chirrut's battered, bloody body held out towards her like an offering. The wind is starting to whip around them. There isn't time.

There's never enough time.

Cassian would tell her to walk away. Cassian would tell her that sometimes you have to save who you can.

Cassian is dying, gasping blood onto the floor of another stolen Imperial shuttle.

Jyn doesn't take Chirrut's proffered body. Instead she grabs Baze by the arm, dragging him to his feet again. He leans against her, and he's so very heavy, even compared to Cassian's nearly dead weight.

Or perhaps it's the fact that Baze is never alone, and she's not asking him to leave Chirrut, even if she's ninety percent sure Chirrut is dead. If she stopped for K-2, she can't leave the Guardian behind.

You are my child, a voice whispers in her ear, and Jyn thinks she feels the kyber crystal heat just a bit on her chest.

“Mama—” She chokes on the word, on the dust that is stirring through the air.

And then she's tumbling into the shuttle, desperately pressing the button to shut the door as Bodhi starts urging the shuttle back into the air. Jyn fumbles with the unfamiliar controls, shutting doors, trying to seal them in for the trip out of atmosphere.

How many people are they leaving behind? How many bodies will they have by the time they actually manage to meet up with the rest of the rebellion? Will they meet up with the rest of the rebellion? Did they succeed in getting the transmission out?

Her head is spinning. Are they losing oxygen? Or maybe Bodhi's just having trouble flying straight. He seems to be feeling about as good as she is.

Baze is busy administering first aid to Chirrut, using the Imperial kit that's included on all shuttles. Jyn should probably do that to Cassian. And to Bodhi. Maybe to herself, too, though the pain in her leg is getting more distant, less distracting.

They need you still, my love. Lips brush against her forehead, familiar and cool and so very missed over the last decade. Hold on just a little bit longer.

Something cool presses against her leg, and then they are exiting atmosphere, the shuttle rolling and shaking dangerously as Scarif enters its death-throes beneath them. The battle up here must have been just as devastating as the one on the surface from the amount of debris that they're having to maneuver around, but Bodhi is managing despite his injuries.

Baze has stripped his armor off, and he is bleeding, too; the scent of cooked meat is starting to permeate the shuttle, and Jyn isn't sure which of them it's coming from. If they survive this—if they're able to join back up with the rebellion—what are they going to look like? How many of them will still be able to fight?

“Jyn...” Cassian's voice is weak, more of a cough than her actual name, but it jolts Jyn into action.

Crawling forward, Jyn lies against Cassian's side, reaching out to touch his face. “I'm here. I've got you.”

Baze has already shoved something into Cassian's wound, pressed a hypodermic against Cassian's neck. It hasn't changed the blue hue to Cassian's lips, the sallow unhealthy look of his skin, but his eyes are clearer.

“If I don't...” Cassian gasps, choking on more blood. He lifts one shaking hand to press against his shirt where she helped him store the data chips. “Kaytoo... please...”

“You're going to do it yourself. You said that you helped reprogram him initially. I need you to help me.” Jyn takes Cassian's hand in both of hers, holding tight. “I need you to stay with me. All right?”

“Stay...” Cassian's eyes close, then open again with terrible slowness. “Jyn... I...” More blood, so very red compared to the rest of his face.

“Hush.” Jyn pulls her kyber crystal off her neck, the chain tangling in her hair and pulling some free. She presses it against Cassian's chest, though she doesn't know what she expects it to do. “We're going home. We're going to be all right.”

“Home.” Cassian smiles, his eyes drifting closed again. “I like... going home... with you...”

This time he doesn't try to force his eyes open.

“Baze.” Jyn claws at the large man's arm, but Baze is holding Chirrut, and both of them aren't moving, either. “Bodhi!”

“Here.” Bodhi's voice slurs the single syllable into multiple, but he's at least still talking to her. “Getting there. We're getting—”

The shuttle shudders and jerks, and if she weren't already lying down Jyn knows she would have fallen. As it is she's just grateful that down remains down, that all of them aren't tossed against the shuttle's ceiling. “What was that?”

“Tractor beam.” Bodhi sounds much calmer than Jyn had expected. “They have us in a tractor beam.”

“Who does? Our people or theirs?” Is Scarif gone already? Who's left out there? Jyn hadn't thought her heart could beat faster, but she was wrong.

“I don't know.” Bodhi slides out of the pilot's seat and down to the deck with her. He huddles against her and Baze, completing their small, helpless little circle.

A cool hand touches her forehead again, and Jyn hears her mother's voice whispering a song from her childhood. How long has it been since she heard someone sing to her like that? Since she was able to rest her head against someone?

There is more than one voice singing, now. Her father, too, she thinks, and her smile grows as she lays her head down against Cassian's too-cold chest. Someone she doesn't know, a woman who doesn't sound much older than Jyn herself. A chorus of people, singing in a thousand different languages, but the song is all the same.

Rest well, little children, though darkness has come...

Darkness does indeed rise up to claim her, and Jyn loses consciousness crouched in the center of Rogue One, her blaster in one hand, Cassian's hand and her kyber crystal in the other.

It's an image that she'll see later—an image that will become a symbol of what Rogue One did for the resistance.

Right then, in that instant, it's all that she can do, and she's just glad not to be alone in the deep vastness of space as the cold presses in all around, her body failing her just as every system she's ever believed in has in the past.

***

They all live.

It's a miracle that they do. Really it's a miracle that the rebellion survives. When Alderaan didn't, when billions of civilians died, why should five kind-of sort-of rebels surviving matter at all?

It matters to Jyn. It matters to her that she can wander from the sick bed of one of her people to the sick bed of the next. She and Bodhi were the ones least badly hurt, and they're still going to need physical therapy for at least two weeks. In Bodhi's case he might end up needing additional surgery once the war is won, to help with some of the scarring on his face and left arm.

Jyn always visits his bed first. Bodhi doesn't move much, seeming to prefer staying where he is and reading or fiddling with some bit of machinery or other.

“Hi again.” Jyn settles down in the chair that the medical staff seems to have finally accepted needs to be left by Bodhi's bed. “How're you feeling?”

Bodhi's hair hangs loose, covering the worst of the burns on his face. He smiles at her, though the expression still looks tired and drawn. “About the same as yesterday. You?”

Jyn rubs at her thigh. “Getting there, bit by bit. You heard anything from Intelligence on what they're planning with us?”

Bodhi shakes his head. “I haven't asked, though. If they want to forget I exist, I'm fine with that.”

Jyn snorts. “I very much doubt they're going to do that.”

“I can dream, right?” Bodhi sets down the bit of metal, and Jyn recognizes it as part of a navigation console. “Everyone's healing enough that they're going to... you know... start figuring it out. How to reward us. How to punish us.”

Jyn and Bodhi had stood at the back of the crowd while Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, and Chewbacca were honored for their work taking down the Death Star. It had been the information Jyn and her crew retrieved that allowed the action to take place.

Would they have allowed Cassian to attend, if he'd been capable of doing more than opening his eyes at that point? Or would the guards who circulate throughout the sick bay have requested that Cassian return to his bed? And would he have listened?

Jyn draws a breath. She'll get to Cassian and the complicated, thorny mess that he represents later. Right now she's with Bodhi. “They're going to reward us. You know they have to. Everyone knows that Rogue One is the only reason we were able to keep more planets from being destroyed. You're a hero, Bodhi.”

Bodhi smiles, as he always does when Jyn says that he's a hero. “I never set out to be. I just... I thought I was a good person, you know? Thought I was generally doing the right thing, being kind, helping out my neighbors... and then your father...”

Jyn reaches out to lay a hand on Bodhi's knee. “He would be proud of you, I think.” It's not her place to say this, not really. Bodhi knew her father better than she did. All she knew was the idealized image her child-self had of Galen Erso, and the broken man who died in her arms.

“He would be proud of all of us.” Bodhi's hand covers hers, and he leans towards her, voice dropping to a low whisper. “I don't know if I should tell you this. Maybe it was just... me being crazy. But on Scarif, I thought I saw... I thought I heard...” Bodhi glances around nervously. “I'd had my head scrambled so much it was probably just a hallucination. But it was your father who led me to that shuttle. Who helped me get us off the planet.”

Jyn closes her eyes, holding Bodhi's hand tight. “I don't know if it was real or not. But it's the type of thing he would do. And I thought... I thought I saw my mother. So maybe there were enough ghosts around for everyone.”

Bodhi nods, his eyes finding Jyn's crystal. “Or maybe it was more than ghosts. Maybe what the Empire was doing—that kind of weapon—maybe it's fundamentally wrong. Maybe the Force... I don't know.”

“Maybe.” Jyn gives Bodhi's hand a squeeze. “I'm just glad you got us out of there. You were amazing. And I'm going to make sure everyone knows it. Though I'm going to have to get in line, I think—Wedge and the others are singing your praises.”

“Not anymore. Mainly they're talking about Skywalker's run and the Falcon's abilities.” Bodhi's smile is pleased, though, his shy joy obvious even with the scars and the hair.

“I don't know, I hear they're planning to retire the Rogue One call sign. Unless the lot of us want to keep it...” Jyn allows her voice to trail off, an invitation, a chance for Bodhi to speak.

Bodhi frowns down at their linked hands. “I don't know. I... I'm tired still, Jyn. I don't know if I'll ever not be tired again. But if the rest of you are going to stay, if there was more I could do... I don't know.”

He raises his eyes to meet hers, and Jyn smiles, giving his hand another squeeze. “That's fair. We'll figure out what we can do and where we're needed, and then we can all make a choice from there.”

Bodhi nods.

Jyn uses her chin to point towards the bit of metal Bodhi had set aside. “Want to tell me what that is?”

Bodhi's expression relaxes, a smile stealing across his face again. Jyn allows him to talk for as long as he wants, listening to his explanations with half her mind, studying him with the other half. He's going to be all right, she thinks. He's never going to be anyone's perfect soldier, and he's going to carry the physical and mental scars of their desperate fight for a long time, but he's going to be okay.

He could still be a good part of a team, with someone who knew how to help him.

She wants him as a part of her team, which is ridiculous, because she doesn't even have a team. She has a collection of people she fell in beside, and they happened to help stop a planet-killing weapon, and—

And she can't walk away again.

The realization—one that's been building, slowly but steadily—washes through her veins like ice water, cold clarity and pure determination. She can't walk away, but she also can't be anyone's perfect little soldier. Saw showed her that, in no uncertain terms. She will walk away before allowing herself to be bent into someone's pawn, before allowing herself to be made into someone's captain.

But if she chooses her crew, and they choose her—if she knows that what they're doing is the right thing to do—

“Go on.” Bodhi's voice is soft, his smile kind as he gives her knee a pat. “Go see the others. I know that you want to.”

“I like spending time here with you, too.” Jyn feels a flush heating her cheeks and neck. She hadn't meant to let herself get so caught up in her own thoughts.

“I know. But you're wandering, and I know you're worried about what's going on with the others.” Bodhi's smile widens just a bit. “With Cassian.”

“Cassian needs someone to worry about him.” Jyn stands even as she defends herself.

“No argument there.” Bodhi is already returning his attention to his project. “Tell me what the others think about staying. And when you figure out what our first mission should be.”

Jyn can't think of an appropriate answer to that, so instead she leaves, limping towards where Chirrut and Baze have been stashed.

Chirrut had spent the most time in the intensive care part of the rebellion's ramshackle medical wing, and the doctors had elected to keep him close to that section even now—not that you could tell that from the way Chirrut looks or acts. He turns his head to Jyn as soon as she's within visual distance of him, and Jyn knows better than to ask how he knows it's her. There's probably something about the way she limps that is making it easy for him to pick her out of a crowd.

Baze is reading something to Chirrut, an actual physical paper book. Jyn stops to study it, not having seen many of those over the course of her lifetime.

Baze pauses, lifting his eyes to study her. “Welcome back, little sister.”

“If you don't keep working on your exercises, I'm going to end up being the bigger sister.” Jyn has a chair waiting for her here, too.

“Don't worry.” Chirrut smiles. “He does them when he thinks no one is looking. Wouldn't want the doctors to think he's actually listening to them. Same with you, for that matter. Can't have you believe he cares what you think.”

Baze glowers at Chirrut.

Chirrut laughs, a pleased sound that seems at odds with the medical environment they're still all stuck in. Or perhaps that's just Jyn's idea of what medical units are like, her time with Saw's guerrillas tainting her impressions. Surely normal people don't associate medical settings with death and blood and horror?

Jyn pulls her chair closer to Chirrut's bed. “I heard you were up and about yourself, Chirrut.”

“I have been. It's delightful.” Chirrut reaches out to touch the staff that's leaning beside the bed. His original one had been left behind on Scarif, lost in the destruction there, but Baze had spoken with the medical staff, and the slick black staff that he found to replace Chirrut's old one is simple but pretty. “You seem to be walking better every day as well.”

“I hope so. Otherwise someone's not doing their job right.” Jyn leans her arm against Chirrut's bed. “Any update on when you're expected to be freed from here?”

“If I continue to improve with my walking, they're expecting to discharge me in another two or three days. I will still need assistance, but I expect I'll have that.” Chirrut reaches out unerringly and puts a hand on Baze's forearm.

Baze doesn't pull away, his face going through a complicated dance of emotions that Jyn knows all too well.

“When you're free to go...” Jyn had meant to build up to this, to ease into the topic.

“I'm not going anywhere.” Chirrut's words are calm and certain, the hand that isn't touching Baze rising to point at her. “I have duties to see to here. There is a Jedi who has never known the Force in need of guidance. And there are two captains who require insubordinate crew that I would be loathe to leave behind. What about you, Baze?”

“You're insufferable. You know that, right?” Baze huffs out a breath, his eyes flicking to Jyn and then away. “Neither of us is going anywhere. So if you're planning to make a move, consider us as potential allies, at least for now.”

Jyn raises both hands. “Look, I'm not planning on undermining the rebellion or anything. I'm just...”

“You're just being a rebel, in the best way possible.” Chirrut points at Jyn's chest, and she knows it's silly, but it feels as though the kyber crystal on her chest starts to warm. “You will not sit silent, even if you are asked to do so; you will not watch horrors, even if someone kindly offers you blindfolds while doing so. You have grown, Jyn Erso, and I'm excited to see what you become.”

“Look, I just—” Jyn swallows, trying to find the words she needs—the words she wants—to explain what she did. “I did what had to be done. I did what was right. If we hadn't—if we'd hesitated—more people would have died.”

“The Force has been rife with ghosts for a long time, the caretakers and guardians of the flow hunted and set adrift.” Chirrut eases himself up into a sitting position, and though he's not moving with anything like the sure grace he had before his near-death experience, it's so much smoother and easier than when he first started his recovery. “Those ghosts—the voices of those silenced—have given us another opportunity. I am not going to waste it, and I know that neither will you. Find a path, and we'll help you see if it's one we all wish to walk or not.”

“What he means is we'll help you.” Baze rocks back, draping himself over his chair and glaring at the world in general.

Jyn, who has gotten used to Baze over the weeks, just smiles at him.

“I said exactly what I meant.” Chirrut settles his hands in his lap with firm dignity. “But yes. Let us know if you need to do any rebelling, and we'll most likely help.”

“You're impossible, the both of you.” Jyn finds herself smiling anyway. She somehow feels... safe around these two, in a way she hasn't felt safe in a long, long time. Which is ridiculous—Chirrut and Baze couldn't save their own people, couldn't save their own world.

But perhaps that's why she feels safe with them. They couldn't save their own people and world, and it broke Baze in a way she recognizes, deep inside. But it didn't break Chirrut, and together the two of them have helped give the galaxy hope.

Together the two of them have uncovered a living Jedi—proof, perhaps, that destroying something completely isn't possible even for the Empire.

“I'm interrupting.” Jyn nods at the book in Baze's hand.

“Yes.” Chirrut grins. “But we don't mind. On the other hand, if you wanted to go check on Cassian, we won't be affronted. We understand these things.”

“Chirrut.” Baze admonishes his love with just that single word.

Jyn tries not to wonder exactly how transparent she's been for both Bodhi and these two to send her to Cassian as though she were an eight year old schoolgirl with a crush and nothing else to worry about in the universe.

Instead she stands, gathering her dignity—she is a hero, after all—and offering them a smile. “May the Force continue to be with us.”

“It always is,” Chirrut murmurs as she walks away.

Cassian hadn't been quite as bad as Chirrut, but it had been close, and his physical therapy has been an intensive, grueling process that leaves him tired and sore and grumpy more often than not. Jyn has helped him as much as she can, including yelling at him that trying to get back to full fighting strength faster than the doctors say is possible is only going to end up with him having permanent disabilities.

He had scowled at her for that one, but he'd also taken things easier, and Jyn figured that was a trade-off she was willing to make.

Cassian's not in his bed now, and he's not on the physical therapy course, either. Jyn flags down one of the medical techs. “Where's Captain Andor?”

The technician's eyes widen, and a ridge of fur that runs from the nape of their neck up to the top of their head and down to the tip of their nose stands on end. “Ah... General Draven asked for him this morning. He's been gone for a few hours.”

Jyn straightens. “Thank you.”

She doesn't ask any other questions. Draven had grilled them all as soon as they were conscious, but he'd left them alone after that, too busy with running the rest of the war to really harass them further. If he's called Cassian in specifically...

She'd known they were getting close to decisions being made. That was why she's been trying to make her own, after all. Deciding that she is going to stay, trying to feel out what the others intend—it had all been because this was inevitable.

They heal. They get rewarded and punished.

And Cassian is the only one of them that can really be punished.

Bodhi is a defector from the Empire. Jyn has already more than repaid the rebellion for rescuing her—a rescue she had never asked for and still doesn't think she really needed. Baze and Chirrut owe no allegiance to the Rebellion.

But Cassian. Cassian disobeyed orders. Cassian talked others into disobeying orders.

Cassian lost so many friends on Scarif, and they can hurt him all over again by placing the blame for those deaths on his shoulders.

Jyn's limp gets worse the faster she walks, but she can't help speeding up as she picks her way out of the medical center and towards where she knows Draven's office is. People look at her as she moves, but no one stops her. Perhaps they've been ordered to leave her alone; perhaps she doesn't even warrant an order. She's not a prisoner, after all. If she wants to leave, she could. The fact that they could rip her heart out just by hurting some of the other people here—by hurting Cassian—doesn't change that fact.

Jyn meets Cassian halfway to Draven's office. He's thinner than he had been before Scarif, his face still too pale, dark circles beneath his eyes. He smiles when he sees her, though, a tender, tentative expression, and it makes something in Jyn's chest hurt and relax all at the same time.

She's in so much trouble. Maybe she should have run away instead of running towards this man.

“Captain Andor.” Jyn tries to keep her voice cool, calm and level. “What did the general want to talk to you about?”

“Second lieutenant.” Cassian raises a hand to his jacket sleeve, though Jyn can't see any rank insignia there at the moment.

Jyn bears her teeth, knowing she looks feral and unable to help it. “What?”

“That's my deal. For getting back into the field and getting out of trouble over Scarif. I give up some of my rank—a rank I don't ever have to use anyway—and I don't get penalized in ways that matter.” Cassian shrugs, not quite meeting Jyn's eyes. “I thought it was more than fair.”

“Well, I think it's bantha shit, and I'm going to tell them that.” Jyn starts marching forward, shoving her way past Cassian. How dare they? Without even talking to the rest of them, without considering how much Cassian has already sacrificed, how dare they?

The door to Draven's office is closed, but Jyn pushes her way through without so much as a knock. If Draven is doing something classified, he should have closed his office up better.

Draven looks up at her, and his eyebrows draw together. He doesn't look startled, just... weary. “Erso. What can I do for you?”

“You can undo this shit with Cassian's rank.” Jyn limps up to the desk, planting her fists on it and leaning forward. She's only taller than Draven because he's sitting down, but she'll take whatever little advantages she can get. “Right now. Because it's not funny.”

“It's not a joke.” Draven sits back in his chair. “Nothing remotely funny about it, or about the fact that one of my best spies—one of my most senior spies, at least for time served—disobeyed direct orders and got two dozen of my other best men killed.”

“He saved your sorry ass.” Jyn growls out the words, keeping her voice low. If it becomes a shouting match, Draven will win, just because he's bigger and his chest is wider. She doesn't want him to win at anything. “He saved how many planets from destruction? And it nearly cost him everything. You will not use what happened against him.”

“I'm not.” Draven glowers up at her, refusing to stand. “I'm not an idiot, Erso. I didn't do this haphazardly or out of a grab bag of punishments.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Jyn finds her forward momentum stopped by the edge of Draven's desk and his utter refusal to stand or otherwise admit she's a threat. “Explain it to me.”

“I don't know if I have words small enough to manage that.” Draven continues to glower at her, though his expression cracks before hers. Or perhaps he just has better control of his emotions and what he shows. “Sit down, Erso. I need to talk to you.”

Jyn debates telling him no. She will lose some of her power if she sits—will go from the avatar of righteous fury to a small woman, dwarfed by the chair, shorter than Draven. But her leg aches, and she isn't sure what else she can do with her righteous fury if she doesn't want to escalate this ridiculously by pulling a blaster. Which she doesn't even have.

Jyn sits, though she stays on the edge of her seat, her hands still fisted.

“I didn't strip Cassian of his rank lightly, and I didn't do it to hurt him. If I wanted to do that, I would have sat the man through a whole court martial, let others poke and prod at his wounds and see who bled out first, him or them.” Draven draws a breath. “I will admit this: you were right. This time, you were right. This time what we needed to do was take the bigger risk, which I wasn't willing to do, because this time, we would have lost too much if we didn't. If we hadn't been able to stop the Death Star... I won't say that it would have killed the rebellion. The rebellion is too big for that, too organic a thing. If we all died tomorrow, someone else would come along and pick things up. But that would take time, and it would take lives, and I don't like wasting either. So... this time, you were right. This time, you were heroes. But I can't have you making this same call over and over again, because—”

“Because then you don't get to order the murder of people who could have been our allies?” Jyn smiles, an expression that she knew was all teeth and threat. This is why she hated Draven, originally—he is the reason her father died, the finger on the trigger that is Cassian Andor. The fact that she feels he doesn't appreciate or treat Cassian the way he deserves to be treated... that came later, though it's a pretty powerful motivator right now.

“Because then people are going to die.” Draven leans forward, his expression hardening. “This was one particular incident where we didn't get the information we needed fast enough or accurately enough to make the right decisions, but I promise you, that's not usually the case. I have—or at least had, we're still seeing who's going to be field worthy—a lot of good people out there risking their lives, and I don't want them dying stupidly or needlessly. Do I need to read you the list of those who died at Scarif?”

“Do I need to read you the list of the dead from Jedha?” So many of those had been hers, too, though she is still struggling to maintain a distance from Saw, to keep her grief from becoming overwhelming. “Or from Alderaan?”

“Do you think I don't know them?” Draven's jaw sets.

Jyn draws a breath, holds it, focuses on the warmth of her kyber crystal where it sits against her chest. She can be patient and calm and reasonable with the best of them. It's not easy, but she can do it. “Did you read Cassian that list of the dead?”

“Do you really think I needed to?” Draven settles back in his seat, his fingers steepled in front of him.

No, Jyn doesn't. Jyn thinks Cassian had likely worked out who didn't make it back within twenty-four hours of waking up. The fact that it's such a long list is only one of the reasons he looks so tired all the time now, though Jyn thinks it's a big one. So many sacrificed, and it wasn't even fast enough to save Alderaan. “What are you going to do with Cassian?”

“Continue to use him. He's a damn good field agent, and he still has contacts that I need, information lines that are going to be essential moving forward.” Draven lifts one hand to point at her. “The question's more what am I going to do with you.”

Jyn smirks. “You think you can do anything with me?”

“No, which is why I'm giving you to Mon Mothma.” Draven returns her smirk. “I don't like you, Erso. I understand you, but I don't like you. You think you're smarter than everyone, that your pain trumps everyone else's.”

“That's not—”

“You think that your cynicism is going to protect you, but scratch that surface and you're a ball of useless heroism looking to explode and take out yourself and everyone around you.” Draven just keeps talking over her, and Jyn can't tell if his words are meant to be an insult or a compliment. “You're a gifted speaker, a charismatic leader—you draw people to you. And I have no doubt that after this you're going to be sticking with the Rebellion, because you can't let the Empire get away with what they've done with your father's ghost and you can't forgive them for all the people you led into a meat grinder. A necessary meat grinder, but a meat grinder.”

Draven finally pauses, and Jyn just glares at him. “What does all that mean?”

“It means you're going to be assigned to Mon Mothma as an irregular unit. As soon as medical releases you, you're going to be made a second lieutenant, because we all know better than to try to give you less than an officership. Rook, Malbus, and Imwe—assuming he's cleared for duty—will all report to you. Cassian will be on your team when I don't need him.”

Jyn blinks, not quite sure she's understanding. “You're giving me a team? And a promotion?”

“It's not a promotion because you weren't a part of the Rebellion before. It's a commission, and you better be worth it.” Draven sighs, arms dropping to his sides. “Andor isn't going to be what he was before this. I don't need his psych report to tell me that. But I still need him, and I'm not letting him go that easily. But I also know he's going to do better if he gets a chance to recover with a team that respects him, that's been through the same Force-damned nightmare he has. So he's going to be yours when I don't need him, and I expect you to fix him rather than breaking him further. Understood?”

“You are one weird—” Jyn can't think of an appropriate comparison and just grinds her teeth.

“I've been in this job a long time. I've seen a lot of people go through a lot of things. I've sent a lot of people through a lot of things.” Draven opens one of his desk drawers, pulling out a bottle of something. He pulls out only one cup, filling it halfway. “Did Cassian tell you that he's a monster?”

Jyn hesitates, then gives a slow nod. It's something Draven should probably know if he doesn't already.

Draven tosses back the drink and nods. “I figured. He's self-aware enough, compassionate enough, to know that half of what we do is walking a very fine line. He's been one of the good ones—he never lost track of where that line into monstrous was, even when he or me or someone else shoved him over it for a bit. He never decided that being a monster was fine, or good, or really all for the best. He just knew that it was necessary.”

“And you don't think he will anymore.” Understanding dawns in Jyn, and she doesn't know if she's impressed or horrified. “That's why you're willing to do this. Because he won't be your perfect pet monster anymore.”

“It takes a monster to successfully handle them. I know what I am. I know what the people in my command are. I know how many good men died next to you on Scarif and how many of them I would have had to put tracking collars on when the war ended.” Draven gestures from the bottle to his glass to Jyn.

Jyn shakes her head.

Draven nods and puts the bottle back away. “I never would have had to with Cassian. He was either going to die in the field, rise up the ranks to succeed me, or end up getting discharged from the service and groping his way blindly through a life that didn't feel real. But now... well, now I think he's going to make a fourth option, though I think it's going to hurt him and you and an awful lot of other people along the way. So good luck with that. Even a monster that wants to pull its teeth and claws has a tendency to bite when you try to do so.”

“Maybe the answer is not making monsters in the first place.” Jyn grits her teeth, settling back into her anger. Anger is safer here than compassion or sympathy, far safer than pity—and it's something that she knows is hers, that she knows Draven isn't cultivating for some unknown reason of his own.

“I wish we lived in a world like that.” Draven gives a half-hearted chuckle, studying Jyn quietly for a second. “You're dismissed, Erso. And I do really hope we don't see a lot of each other, because as much as you despise me, I think I despise you too.”

“Good to know the feeling's mutual.” Jyn lurches her way to her feet. “Do I get to tell the rest of my team, or will you be doing so?”

“Feel free to tell them. See if they're all staying. I'm sure Mon Mothma will be talking to you all soon, anyway.” Draven turns back to his work, clearly ignoring her.

Jyn starts limping her way back to the door, trying to keep her shoulders as stiff and straight as possible, to show as little weakness as she can.

“Oh, and Erso...”

Jyn pauses, not turning her head.

“In the future I'll expect you to salute.”

The gesture Jyn throws over her shoulder isn't a salute, but it's easily understood anyway.

***

“Let me get this straight.” Mon Mothma looks at Jyn as though she's grown a second head. “Your team hasn't even been cleared for any missions yet, because half of you still can't walk straight; you haven't been officially recognized as an officer, and I will speak to Draven about telling you information before I was ready; and you have no idea what I intended as your first mission, but you'd like me to change it and listen to you.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Jyn leans against the wall in the corridor, her good leg bearing her weight easily, trying to make the posture look like attitude rather than injury.

“All right.” Mon Mothma turns to Jyn. Getting an actual appointment with the woman had been impossible, so Jyn had elected to just ambush her as she moved from her office to another meeting. “Tell me what you'd like to do.”

“Infiltrate an Imperial droid factory, steal as much data as we can, and escape with an enforcer droid that hasn't been programmed yet.” Jyn doesn't allow her gaze to waver at all.

Mon Mothma studies her for a moment and then bursts out laughing.

Jyn scowls. “What?”

The other woman waves a hand. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just... well... I do love meeting a hero in the flesh.” The smile only grows. “This is about the droid that was destroyed on Scarif. The one that Lieutenant Andor retrieved component pieces for.”

Jyn considers denying it and instead just shrugs. “Kaytoo was an important part of my team. I'd like to get him back.”

“You could just ask me to buy another enforcer droid's body.” Mon Mothma raises a hand to her chin, studying Jyn.

“I could... but then I'd have to listen to Kaytoo gripe for months about being in a corpse, and how it isn't right, and I'd rather avoid all that.” Jyn pushes herself off the wall, being careful not to let her bad leg sag. “Besides, this way you can use us for something else useful at the same time. I'm sure you have targets that could fit both our needs and yours.”

The politician gives a slow nod. “Your team isn't supposed to be deemed field ready for another week. If I figure out a mission for you in that time period... are we going to have any issues getting you to take it? Or getting you to accept that you and your team are a part of a larger organization now? Albeit a part I intend to give relative leniency to, given the skills you've shown.”

“Given that you don't want to court martial us. Yeah, Draven made it clear where you both stand with regards to me and my people.” Her people. When did they become her people? Sometime in the shuttle as they ran before the Imperial fleet, she thinks. Sometime in the two weeks she's been going bed to bed, watching them recover, helping them recover.

They're her people, and she's going to protect them. In the long run that's going to mean taking down the Empire.

In the short run it means getting the last of her people back.

“All right.” The smile on Mon Mothma's face this time is small and looks very honest, though Jyn knows that politicians perfect looking honest. “Get your team ready, and I'll get your mission ready. We can make it a trial run, to see how things turn out. After that, you'll go where I need you to go.”

“We don't want the rebellion to fail any more than you do, ma'am.” Jyn takes a step closer to Mothma. “I'd say we want it to succeed more, given what we did when you wouldn't.”

“Couldn't.” The smile vanishes, replaced by a hard stare. “When I couldn't, not when I wouldn't. And that's part of why I want you, Jyn Erso. Part of why I fought for you. I need someone who will do what needs doing, no matter who's standing behind you or in front of you.”

“I know who's standing behind me. We rode through a cloud of Force ghosts to get here, and we'll do it again if we need to.”

Jyn can see the puzzlement and surprise on Mon Mothma's face, and she wonders if she's pushed too small.

Then Mothma just inclines her head, a different, smaller, sadder smile taking over her face. “May the Force be with you, then. And all the ghosts of all the good people who aren't with me today to say as much.”

Without further words Mon Mothma turns and walks away, her heels clicking on the floor.

Jyn raises a hand to her crystal, feeling it pulse beneath her fingers. “May the Force be with us all.”

It seems like the only appropriate thing to say as she walks back towards medical and her team.

***

“This is not how things were supposed to go!” Bodhi's terrified voice rings in Jyn's ears.

“The plan rarely survives contact with the enemy.” Cassian's voice is calm, though his accent is thick enough for Jyn to suspect he's more upset than he's letting on. “We're doing fine.”

“We are not doing fine, you're being shot at!” Bodhi's voice cracks.

“Not us, just... there are orders to shoot suspicious individuals.” Jyn looks back over her shoulder, at the hovering pallet that has an Imperial enforcer droids body on it. “There's nothing suspicious about a good Imperial just moving a little droid around.”

“I didn't think they would notice our little foray into their mainframe quite this quickly.” Cassian is wearing an Imperial officer's uniform again. He looks good, smooth and slick, his skin back to its usual color. Dark circles are starting to form under his eyes, though, and Jyn suspects that he's feeling worse than he looks. His eyes are distracted, his finger playing with the frequencies that he's listening to, likely flipping between Rogue One's and the Imperials'.

“This way.” Cassian starts moving again, walking with brisk, sure strides down the corridor. “You have the shuttle ready, Bodhi?”

“Yes.” Bodhi sounds calmer having been given a task. “Once everyone's back, all we need to do is open the doors.”

“They'll open. I have the override for that.” Cassian murmurs the words, nodding decisively to a true Imperial officer as he and Jyn slide past her.

“Then just get here. Please.” Bodhi's words are soft, as though he's whispering to avoid detection.

Jyn hopes that's not the case. If they can't get to the shuttle and take off—

The base intercoms crackle to life, and a familiar voice begins reading off something in a language that Jyn doesn't understand.

“Ha!” Cassian's head snaps up, his lips turning into a brief, fierce grin before he schools his face to mild irritation. “Nicely done.”

Jyn flicks her own audio feed to the Imperial signal and hears the same loop of unfamiliar words, their cadence familiar, the syllables just a second or two delayed from what's coming over the speakers. “Is that...”

“Baze's voice.” Cassian's expression doesn't shift as he fills her in. “He and Chirrut have taken down the comms. It'll buy us some more time.”

“And who knows?” Chirrut's mild voice comes over their own channel. “Maybe we will be lucky and convert one or two Imperials to the way of the Force. Not that I'm expecting much, but it never hurts to be hopeful.”

“That's the biggest lie anyone's ever told.” Baze's voice follows Chirrut's. “You and Jyn close? We just made it back to the shuttle.”

“We're close. Two more turns—” Cassian pauses as someone behind them calls out for Jyn to stop. Swinging back, Cassian murmurs to her, “Left, straight, right, into the shuttle dock. Can I help you?”

It's incredible how quickly he can change. His body language had been stiff and haughty to begin with, but now Jyn knows that she would punch Cassian if she didn't know this were an act. He manages a sneer that is both boredom and disdain all rolled into one as he steps up to the man following them.

“Where are you taking that droid?” The man—lieutenant, Jyn reads from his uniform—doesn't back down at all. In fact it looks like he went to the same officer's school, because he returns Cassian's tone and expression almost verbatim.

“To perform necessary maintenance. What business is it of yours?” Cassian draws his gaze slowly along the Imperial's uniform as he speaks, obviously reading the rank and decorations for duty there and finding them wanting.

“We were told to watch for suspicious activity—” The man winces as the volume from the intercoms increases dramatically. “And this seems suspicious.”

Cassian folds his hands behind his back, using the motion to signal for Jyn to keep going. She does so reluctantly.

She's not surprised when the sound of a blaster being fired comes about fifteen seconds later, and Cassian's steps sound quickly behind her.

She breaks into a dead run. If they're leaving bodies behind them, subtlety is going to be off the table.

Cassian catches up to her at the door to the shuttle dock. He's breathing hard, harder than she had expected, and he has a hand pressed to his side. Pressed to the area where Krennic shot him. When he notices Jyn's stare, he frowns. “Keep moving. We—”

Blaster fire erupts from behind them. The stormtrooper is too far away, though, and Cassian tackles Jyn forward, into the docking bay.

The scent of charred meat fills her nostrils again, and it's all Jyn can to keep from screaming. This is going to be Scarif all over again. She never should have recommended that—

“Go!” Cassian is dragging her to her feet, his hand locked on hers. His left arm hangs loose at his side, and smoke curls up from it. “We have to go.”

Jyn scrambles to her feet, pushing the memories away. They have to go. They've done what they needed to do—they have a body for K-2, and they have data for the Rebellion, and if Cassian's little data mines start going off they're going to have taken this construction facility offline for a week at least.

Now all they have to do is survive it.

Jyn sprints, and she's faster than Cassian right now. Even tugging the pallet with the Imperial droid's empty shell on it, she outstrips him within a half-dozen paces.

She debates letting him go, especially once blaster fire follows them into the room. People can run better without their hands being held, after all.

But it feels like her hand is the only thing keeping him moving, keeping him fighting. She dragged him off Scarif; she'll drag him out of here, too.

They tumble into the shuttle, dragging the pallet behind them. The enforcer droid's chassis is scorched from blaster marks already, and Jyn wonders what K-2 will think of that when they get him back online. When—not if. Even if Cassian's not sure they can manage it, Jyn wants to have hope enough for them both.

Bodhi has the shuttle off the ground before the door has even finished closing, ignoring the warning beeps that trigger both in the shuttle and from ground control. “The doors!”

Cassian fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a transmitter. He presses the button, and the doors to the docking bay swing open, allowing them access to the outside.

There's not much they can do after that but hang on and trust to Bodhi. Chirrut quietly whispers his mantra, and given that Bodhi starts speaking it with him after the fourth or fifth repetition, maybe it helps.

Or maybe Bodhi is just that good a pilot. Or just that good at flying in the worst of circumstances. Avoiding the turrets here must be nothing compared to flying through the horror that had been the sky about Scarif.

When she thinks she can manage it without being thrown against the wall by a swift maneuver, Jyn crawls over to the first aid box and brings it over to Cassian. “Let me see your arm.”

Cassian does, holding out his injured arm. He's smiling, something Jyn hadn't expected.

But maybe she should have, because she's smiling too. They did it. They did it, together, their little ragtag team. They'll get back to base and put K-2 back together and then... then they'll really be Rogue One. Then they'll be able to take on the whole damned universe.

The burn marks on Cassian's arm aren't as deep as she had feared, though she doesn't hesitate to strip his uniform sleeve away and dress the injury. After the beating his body took at Scarif, Jyn doesn't want to take any chances. “How's your side?”

Cassian looks briefly confused, and then gives his head a shake. “It's nothing. Just the usual trouble old injuries give.”

Jyn files that information away, wondering how many of those old injuries Cassian has, exactly how many times he's been injured badly enough to impact his future health. She turns her attention to the rest of her crew. “Everyone else?”

“Unharmed.” Chirrut rests with one hand on Baze's knee. “Bodhi?”

“Nothing a good sedative won't fix.” Bodhi laughs, the blue lines of hyperspace collecting around the shuttle. “I did it. We did it.”

“We did it.” Jyn grins. “We want to keep doing it?”

“I'll never say no to shooting stormtroopers.” Baze pats his ridiculously large weapon.

“We go where we're needed.” Chirrut inclines his head to Jyn. “Right now, I would say that's here, little sister.”

It's the first time Chirrut has called her that, and Jyn feels something warm unfurl in her chest. It shouldn't matter, not really, but... it feels good anyway.

Bodhi turns to face them, his hair hanging down to frame his face again. “I can't walk away until this is done. Until the Empire can't hurt people anymore.”

Jyn turns to Cassian, reaching down to take his left hand and give it a squeeze.

“I've been here forever, and I expect to be here another eternity.” Cassian gives her fingers a squeeze, not wincing despite the strain it must put on his injury. “I'd rather spend it with you guys than anywhere else.”

“Then let's go report to our boss.” Jyn settles back against the bulkhead, still keeping hold of Cassian's hand. “I think she's going to be proud of us.”

***

Jyn doesn't know if Mon Mothma is proud of them, per se, but she does accept the data they give with a smile, and she gives them a week's leave to heal and to see about getting K-2SO up and running.

Jyn helps Cassian as much as she can. Bodhi is the one who actually has a better idea what he's doing, and he spends a lot of time with them too, but Jyn is quite capable of holding pieces together and connecting wires as she's told.

By the end of day two, they've tried rebooting K-2.

By the end of day four, they have a recognizable, surly droid blinking down at them and flexing his hands.

Jyn had been prepared for many things after Cassian gave a brief, clinical report of what transpired after K-2 lost awareness. She'd been prepared for snarky comments, for jibes about how K-2 could handle matters better than any of the humans had managed, for complaints about being in a body that wasn't originally his.

She hadn't been prepared for K-2 to calmly, gently, pick up Cassian and hold him to K-2's chest.

She definitely hadn't been ready for K-2 to set Cassian down and then pick her up to repeat the process.

When K-2 sets her down, Bodhi scrambles away, hands up. “No, thank you. I'm good. I don't like heights.”

K-2's eye lights blink. “You are a pilot.”

“That's different.” Bodhi shrugs.

“You are all impossible.” K-2 gives his head a shake, looking down at his hands and then around at them. “Impossible, and dangerous... and absolutely wonderful. Thank you.”

“You know... we just did what we had to do to make it possible to live with Cassian.” Jyn redirects the droid's attention to the person most used to dealing with it.

K-2 complies, his optics turning to fix Cassian in a hard stare. “You have been injured again.”

Cassian starts to protest, and Jyn smiles as the two bicker about the relative strengths and weaknesses of droids and organic life forms. The arguments have the ease and gentle chiding of something revisited over and over again, and it's good to hear.

It's good to see. It's good to watch the way Cassian smiles, the way he glances past K-2 and mouths a thank you to her.

“You should kiss him.”

Jyn startles.

“I mean—not right now. It would be awkward right now.” Bodhi rocks onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. “But in the future. I think you should.”

Jyn just stares at the pilot.

“Or not.” Bodhi shrugs. “But I don't think he'd complain, if you did.”

“No.” Jyn hugs her arms across her chest, looking back to Cassian with a smile. “I don't think he would. I'll take your suggestion under advisement. That's proper enough officer speak, right?”

Bodhi laughs, a low, pleased sound.

K-2's optics flicker, and Jyn realizes too late that the droid can probably hear them even if Cassian can't. K-2 doesn't say anything, though, just lifting Cassian's left arm up and examining the bandages still wrapped there.

It wouldn't be a breach of command etiquette, since Cassian is only hers because he wants to be. All it would take is a word from Cassian and he could slip back into Draven's corps, disappearing, a ghost in the messy, organic machine that is the rebellion. And it would be nice, it would be so nice, to kiss Cassian and see him smile, to take some of the weight off his shoulders even if just for a little bit...

“Maybe.” She says the word for Bodhi; she's not surprised to see K-2's eyes flash again. “If the moment seems right.”

K-2 turns to her. “Moments are only right because we make them happen.”

Cassian studies her, his head tilted just slightly, wariness and amusement warring for control of his beautiful face.

Jyn draws a breath, looks from Cassian to K-2, and throws caution to the wind. She steps forward, takes Cassian's shirt in both her hands, leans forward and stretches onto tip-toe to be at the same level as Cassian, and kisses him firmly while he's still trying to figure out what's going on.

The door hisses open; Jyn hears K-2 leave, and she's not surprised when she looks around to see that Bodhi's gone too.

Cassian raises his hand to his lips. “Jyn...?”

“Just if you want. Just if...” Jyn pauses, running her tongue over her lips, trying to clear a suddenly dry throat. “I think I've been in love with you since I saw you fall. Which sounds stupid and melodramatic, but... you were amazing. And then you kept being amazing, you came back for me, you walked with me, into the unknown... I'm fine if you don't want to. I know you have—”

She doesn't get a chance to finish, because Cassian is kissing her back, his hands cupping her face, his lips rough against hers.

He pulls away, and she can see the ghosts in his eyes, suspects he can see the same in hers.

“I know it's dangerous.” Jyn reaches up to touch his face, to mirror the way he's cupping hers. “I know one of these days we might not come back, one or both of us. I've been a soldier before, and I never thought I could be again, but for the rebellion... for you...”

“I thought I gave away my heart. I thought I buried it along with my parents.” Cassian shudders. “I'm still not a good person, Jyn. Even trying to be a good person, I led two thirds of my friends to their death.”

“No.” Jyn grasps his hand firmly. “Scarif wasn't our fault. It wasn't.”

Cassian shrugs. “I didn't get the information soon enough; didn't get a clear enough picture. We had to go in messy, go in fast with a poor infiltration, no extraction scheme... Scarif wasn't my fault, like the war isn't my fault, like Draven's decision to have me kill your father wasn't my fault... but Scarif still left blood on my hands.”

“Then it's on mine too.” Jyn takes his hands, holding them tight.

Cassian opens his mouth—to protest, most likely—and then stops. Exhales. Studies her, his brown eyes looking so much older than his actual years. “You want me, even knowing me?”

Jyn nods. “I want you, you stupid spy.”

The startled laugh that Cassian gives then will warm her heart for a long time to come. “Then you've got me, twice over. May the Force grant you don't regret it.”

Jyn wraps her arms gently around his chest, holding him tight. “I won't.”

Cassian buries his head against her shoulder, and Jyn threads one hand into his hair, touching his scalp. The other she keeps wrapped around his chest.

She has Rogue One. She has all her people, miraculous as it is.

She has Cassian.

She doesn't have an extra hand to touch her kyber crystal, but she prays to the ghosts of her parents, anyway.

If there's any force in the universe strong enough to overcome grief, to overcome death, then she's grateful that it let her get this far. She hopes—such a strange thing, to hope so often now—it will let her get them all through this war.

But even if it doesn't, even if all she gets is these few weeks... they've been enough.

They've been filled with love, with a team who understands her more than she thought anyone ever could, and maybe that's all anyone can ask of the universe, in the end.