Chapter Text
The first time news leaks about their “relationship,” it’s on a Cassian Andor Tumblr blog. His fans there have been ragging on his past girlfriends for weeks and have been getting bored. But news on Cassian Andor and Jyn Erso though? Costars, too? That’s some fresh blood.
At first, they are all for it: “Age appropriate, finally! Someone with her own career and not just famous because of her exes!” But it’s someone’s sister whose roommate worked at the restaurant where they were spotted on their first date, and as the kids say, “Pictures or it didn’t happen.”
But then a picture does show up . The two of them holding hands as they leave a grocery store together in Santa Monica. (A carefully crafted bit of PR work by Bodhi, who set up the time and even picked the color of the flowers that would sit inside the grocery bag, and Kay who not-so-subtly tipped off the paps. “What about the fish tacos pictures?” Jyn asks, but that’ll come later in more reputable sources.) And TMZ and US Weekly begin to speculate on “Cassian Andor’s Ardor.”
“You have to play it coy now,” Bodhi tells Jyn when the story starts picking up steam. “Pretend to hide the relationship. You don’t want to just put it out there like some reality TV star, all thirsty for attention.”
Jyn gives him the side eye. “Two years and LA and the Oxford gets beaten out of you.” She shakes her head. “Thirsty? Really, Bodhi?”
He shrugs. “When in Rome.”
“This is madness,” she says. “Why did I agree to this? Whose idea was it, anyway? Was it yours? Was it Mothma’s?”
“Draven’s, actually, which is why you had to agree to this in order to do the film.”
Jyn sits up straighter. “Why does my reputation and Cassian’s l reputation matter to him?”
“It doesn’t, but you know these auteur directors. He asked for this because he thought it would. Ask your performances more volition and, uh, intimate.”
Jyn let's loose a string of curses. “Ok, fine, so what is done is done. So how exactly do I play coy?”
“You’re a good actor, Jyn. Improvise something.”
+
Jyn’s mother is the first real-life person she knows who asks about her and Cassian.
“Did I really have to read about you and your new boyfriend on Google alerts, darling?” Lyra asks when Jyn Skypes her on a Saturday afternoon--evening back in London.
“You have a Google alert for me, Mama?” Jyn asks curiously, running her hand along the cool cotton of her duvet as she lies in bed for a chat.
“No, I have one for Cassian Andor,” her mother teases. “Of course I have one for you! But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who Cassian Andor is.”
Jyn had just meant to tell her mother that she’d be back in London for filming later in the summer; she hadn’t even considered that she’d have to explain the Cassian situation to her or to really, anyone else. It wasn’t as though Jyn had many close friends.
“Are you really dating him, dear, or is this just a rumor?” The months of the contract stretch out before Jyn, and she can either spill it all now or really commit to the lie, even to her mother. She chooses the latter, though she doesn’t know if that’s the right or wrong choice.
“We’re working on a movie together, that’s all.”
Lyra makes a noise in her throat, one of obvious disbelief. And Jyn thinks, pull off the bandage now because it’s going to come out eventually--it has to, that’s stipulated on page six of the contract.
“Okay, maybe,” Jyn hedges. “We’ve had dinner together--just as colleagues, but also one little date.”
“The fish tacos on the beach?” her mother asks. So those had published, Jyn thinks.
“Yes.”
“And is he a good kisser?” her mother asks playfully, and Jyn blushes hot and furious. She and her mother have entered that stage in their relationship where they are now also friends, but she doesn’t think she’ll ever be comfortable discussing her love life.
“We haven’t yet. Almost, but no.” That’s the truth at least, she thinks, and her heart does a strange little somersault. Jyn doesn’t add, we didn’t because a chicken got in our way.
“Well, I for one am glad to hear about it. The start of something new is always fun and exciting. And I’m glad you’re back in the saddle, as the Americans like to say. After Alistair, and all the things with your father. . .”
Her father. A sore spot for them both.
“I don’t want to talk about Papa,” Jyn says.
“He didn’t leave you, Jyn,” Lyra says quietly.
“He left us both. I don’t care if it was for a job. God, that might even be worse.”
“It’s complicated, Jyn. Relationships are complicated.”
Jyn almost barks with laughter. She wants to tell her mother, well, even as complicated as my relationship is going to be with Cassian Andor, at least I know what to expect. It’s spelled out in the contract! Not like you and Papa. But she holds her tongue. And she holds it and holds it and holds it.
+
Cassian throws a party at his home just as pre-production wraps, so of course Jyn is invited. There’s a bit of a who’s who, including Leia Organa and Han Solo, Hollywood’s current golden couple, or “LeLo,” and a few friends of friends and stylists and producers to maybe leak a little more info inadvertently.
Jyn gets on with Leia, but Solo especially.
“Kid,” he says, “is it true what I hear about you and Andor?” Han raises an eyebrow and winks suggestively.
Jyn shrugs noncommittally, petting the gray pit/lab puppy that’s settled at her feet. “Is someone spreading rumors?”
“I could, if that’s what you two are angling for.”
“It’s not.”
“You could do worse,” the reformed scoundrel says. “And I bet he couldn’t do better.”
“It’s one thing to hear about the Solo charisma, another thing to experience it first hand,” Jyn tells him, and that gets her a laugh.
They clink beers and Han goes off to find Leia.
“Flirting with the wrong actor?” Cassian asks her later when he finds her standing alone in his yard at dusk, gazing at the view that his yard affords.
“You saw that?”
“I did.” He takes a drink of his vodka tonic. “That’s how rumors get started,” he offers. He’s strangely close to her, drifting dangerously into her personal space, and even more strangely, she allows it.
“I hear some people could misconstrue such an innocent thing as a conversation.”
“The tabloids would have a field day with it.”
“We wouldn't want that.”
They stand a little longer together, the quiet punctuated only by the low drone of passing cars and singing crickets.
And two days later, the tabloids have their fun, but not about rumors of Jyn and Solo. It’s Jyn and Cassian, a grainy photo of them standing in his yard, bodies too close, watching a romantic sunset.
Jyn stares at it and thinks, “There are pictures now, so I guess this is happening,” and wonders if Bodhi or Kay planted someone at the party, or if it was just some enterprising guest doing a little improvisation.
+
Jyn has a perfectly valid reason to show up at his door the day after Cassian’s party: the rose gold and quartz necklace her mother gave her when she turned sixteen is somewhere in his house, and with them flying out to Chicago in two days for their first location shoot, she doesn’t want to forget about it. On his patio it had caught on her hair on her neck, and Leia had helped her take it off to untangle it. But a distraction--Han Solo throwing a soccer ball into Cassian’s vintage turntable that he had put on the lawn furniture--had distracted everyone. Perhaps Leia hadn’t gotten the clasp on right; and Jyn certainly hadn’t noticed that it was gone until she woke up--the couple of drinks in her system hadn’t helped her memory, either. But she wants it back, and she hopes it won’t take too long to find.
To her irritation, her texts and phone calls to Cassian go unanswered, but she’s in the area and figures she can ring the bell and maybe the housekeeper could let her in for a look. In fact, she hopes the housekeeper is the only one there so she can look in peace, but when she rings the door, it’s him. Of course it’s him. And he’s in the middle of buttoning up a dress shirt.
“Jyn?”
“Sorry!” she sputters. “I called and texted but you didn’t answer . . . my necklace. I lost it here last night.”
“Come in,” he says without asking her any questions, without being rude or snarky, and it surprises her, though she’s not sure why. “I’m sorry I missed your call, but as you can see,” he says sweeping his hand, “I’m in the middle of something.”
Jyn gapes. His living room is full of people. Strangers. Press. Humans with cameras. And they can all see her.
She circles around Cassian, grabbing his arm and hiding behind his back.
“Is this a trap?” she hisses. “We’re not that far into our ‘agreement’ yet to invite the press into your house to take photographs.”
“As I recall,” he says, pulling her out from behind him, “you were the one who showed up, unannounced.”
“I can come back later,” she says, scooting back toward the door.
“Let’s find your necklace, Jyn,” he says firmly. “Look, they’re from a small artsy magazine in Mexico, and no offense, but they probably don’t recognize you. You can search in peace.”
“How you can have a party the night before and be all ready for a photoshoot today,” she mutters, and he laughs.
“I’m a pro,” he says. “I’ve been at this since I was six years old. Well, not the drinking part.” He eyes her eyeing the photographers and journalist and adds, “Trust me, Jyn.”
“Is that in our contract?” she grits.
“It should be,” he says, “if it already isn’t.” He shoves her a little bit, his hands firm on her shoulders. “Get in, get out. I’ll keep them busy.”
And he does. A makeup artist comes up to Cassian, saying something in Spanish, hair product, powder, and brushes in his hand, and Jyn skirts away into Cassian’s yard.
Jyn resist the urge to get down on her hands and knees when after thirty minutes her search yields nothing. The California sun is hot against her face and she misses England desperately in the moment with all its gray skies and seasons. She’s ready to quit when she hears the sliding door open to reveal Cassian, a cold glass of lemonade in his hand. The ice in the glasses clink against the sides as he walks toward her, and he hands her a drink without preamble.
“Any luck?” he asks.
“Clearly, no,” she says. He’s in a crisp white shirt and navy blazer. The top two buttons of his shirt are open, revealing tan skin and hair, and she chokes down her first gulp of lemonade. “Break from being a beautiful person?” she says, recovering.
“They’re moving around the lights,” he says, nodding. “Would you like some help?”
Jyn shrugs. “Sure, though I’m about to give up.”
So of course, in two minutes flat, Cassian finds the pendant resting near at edge of his yard a the overlook.
“How’d you do that?” He places the pendant in her hand, the stone cool, the metal warm from the sun.
“I remembered seeing you wearing it last night when we were talking over there,” he says.
“Oh.”
Jyn fumbles to get it on her neck, the silence between them suddenly heavy, but her fingers feel weak and sweaty and she can’t quite get it.
“Can I?” he asks, and he takes it from her gently without waiting for a response. He walks around so that he’s behind her, and automatically she lifts up her hair and feels his arms loop over her head. The quartz pendant settles on her chest and she can feel the warmth of his hands on the back of her neck as he works the lobster clasp. Her chest suddenly feels tight, and she wants to run for the hills--or go over the cliff.
“All better,” he says.
“Thank you,” she says under her breath as he finishes and steps away from her. “So uh, I guess I’ll be going? See you in Chicago in a few days.”
“Ah, yes,” he says, taking another step back. But his eyes are on her, staring. Then there’s the sound of a camera’s shutter and they both jump. It’s the reporter and a photographer.
“¿Cassian?” the report says, “¿Estás listo?”
“Si, claro,” he replies, waving at them. “Excuse me, Jyn.”
But she says, “No, excuse me. I’ll let myself out.” She starts to walk away, then turns halfway across the yard. “Thanks again, Cassian,” she says. He nods, and then she is gone.
+
For however pretend their relationship is, though, it’s still a relationship—coworkers. Colleagues. And so with any relationship where two people have to spend that much time together, tension and conflict follow.
Their first fight is about craft services. He takes the last of the hot water that she wanted for tea, and she chases him down to give him lecture about the importance of her cuppa. He gives her an odd look, squeezing lemon--and just lemon!--into the styrofoam cup, like he’s taunting her.
“They can boil more water for you,” he says evenly.
“That’s not the point,” she huffs, put off by his lack of anger at her confrontation.
Cassian leans in, closing in on her personal space, and he almost jerks away until she remembers there are eyes on her. “Remember, we’re supposed to be pretending to fall in love on set,” he says. “This doesn’t look good.”
She grits back, “It’s a enemies to lovers thing then. People love that shit.”
He pulls back, but then reaches out and caresses her face, leaving her reeling in surprise. “If that’s how you want to play it.”
She finds a Starbucks instead and sucks down a skinny vanilla latte, still fuming, her cheeks still burning.
+
Cassian feels like he’s forgetting something, but it’s hard to concentrate when Clotilde’s hands sneak underneath his shirt. Cassian feels her fingernails scrape against his skin. His dog, Cesar, strains at the leash, barking, and he faintly wonders if this is a sign that he should really make the conscious effort to extricate himself from this situation where his ex-girlfriend is clearly trying to get back into his good graces at the dog park. A very public dog park.
When she leans in to kiss him—and he lets her and reciprocates--that’s when he feels his phone buzz in his blazer pocket. Her lips press against his and he slowly pulls away.
“I have to take this,” he says to her disappointment. She lingers on a bench with her labradoodle as he pulls out his phone and hits the home button to reveal the lock screen. At first, he thinks he’s seeing things, but no, he’s not. It’s a pic message from Jyn Erso, and it’s a photo of her. With a chicken. A rooster, to be specific.
A smile tugs at his face despite himself as he swipes over to his messages and enlarges the picture.
“Coq au Vin and I have reached a truce,” she writes, and in the larger photo he can see her glaring at the bird nestled in her arms.
He texts back without second guessing himself, any thoughts of Clotilde and her overtures receding into the background. “Clearly he is smitten. Does this mean I have competition now?”
Jyn texts back immediately. “Possibly. This very well could be a love triangle.”
“Then I guess I must work harder,” he responds, chuckling to himself.
“I guess so,” is her easy reply, and when she adds a smiley face emoji as an afterthought, it’s not the round yellow face he sees, but hers.
+
The second time they butt heads is off set.
“You lied to me!” she says at the entrance of his house in the Hills.
“You’re drunk,” he says tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve seen this before.”
“When you said to Bodhi that you couldn’t do join me for this charity drive this afternoon because you were feeling ill, you were, in fact, making out with yet another twenty-five year old at a dog park!”
He flushes hot even as he tries to defend himself. “I was getting some air. I ran into an old girlfriend.”
“And found her tongue in your mouth?”
Even the crickets grow quiet at the pitch of Jyn’s anger.
“Are you jealous?” he asks incredulously, and sees her face shift from rage to shock to disdain.
“You humiliated me,” she says. “And when this gets into the tabloids, it’ll humiliate me again and again until this contract is over.”
“Come inside,” he tells her. “If we’re going to do this, let’s not draw more attention to it.”
She’s still furious, but she walks into his house.
“The event was important to me, Cassian. And you being there could have given it a lot more attention. And instead, all people are going to talk about when they talk about me tomorrow is not the charity work that I do, but that my fake boyfriend cheated on me.”
He hangs his head because he was in the wrong. “I’m sorry, Jyn.”
But she’s still burning, her green eyes almost black with rage.
“How do I make this up to you?’ He’s thinking maybe another charity event to make up for this, maybe dinner, a show of outward affection that can be leaked to the press--maybe her trailer full of flowers, but she surprises him again.
“Don’t think you can just talk your way out of this,” she says, and she leaves, slamming the door shut behind her.