Chapter Text
They'd survived Scarif.
They shouldn't have survived, they knew that, but somehow they had. Somehow they, and handful of the others who'd gone with them had survived.
The names of the dead were carved into their mines the way one carves names into stone.
But they had survived.
As the war dragged on, Cassian continued his work in Intelligence. Bodhi was eventually accepted into an X-Wing squadron. Chirrut and Baze stayed and assisted in the training of the new Jedi and other odds and ends.
It took Jyn some months to really get her feet under her. They'd been in Echo Base for almost three months before she had an encounter with Kes Dameron, and learned about the Pathfinders.
If Jyn knew nothing else, she knew how to survive. In her years with Saw, she'd learned to do dirty work that most civilized people would flinch at. She knew a little bit of scavenging, sniping, sneaking, and another number of other talents that could be useful to the Pathfinders.
Cassian had congratulated her when she'd officially been accepted into the Pathfinders. They both knew she'd never been suited for Intelligence, try though she might, and the further she was away from Draven, the better.
The crew of Rogue One only saw each other rarely through the rest of the war, scattered between missions and outposts, going wherever the Rebel Alliance needed them.
Somehow Cassian and Jyn still managed to carve out time with each other. A stolen kiss here, an embrace there, a couple of hours in between assignments when they ended up at the same base.
Neither of them called what they had love, not at the beginning. When the high of surviving Scarif wore off and the reality of the death toll sank in, they were both merely looking for comfort; for the touch of another human being who could understand everything they've been through.
Jyn knew about the blood on Cassian's hands, and she accepted it. Cassian knew what she'd been through and was willing to deal with her trust issues. They made a good team, and better comfort for each other than anyone else could survive.
As the years and the fighting wore on, they accepted on an unspoken level that there was an attachment forming between the two of them. Gentle touches and deep gazes marked their time together. A brush of his lips against hers when he got sent on another mission that would last weeks or months; a fierce embrace when the Pathfinders were headed off on yet another possible suicide mission.
Neither ever muttered the L word to the other. He referred to her using a Festian endearment, and she called him 'dear' more than once. It felt like enough when he cupped her chin and kissed her, wishing her luck before the Pathfinders moved with the ground team before Endor.
When the second Death Star exploded and sent a brilliant light through the sky, as Cassian watched from the bridge of a ship, he knew he wanted more.
When Jyn stared up from rounding up Storm Troopers to see the menace fall to pieces above the forests of Endor, she thought about Cassian, and the hope that they'd see each other again.
Just days later, they stood before Admiral Ackbar and exchanged vows. They knew the war wasn't over with yet, even with the Emperor and Vader dead, but both Cassian and Jyn saw a chance for a future now, and they made decision to embrace that future together, whatever it might bring.
They had only a night before they were both deployed again, off to fight more battles against a dying Empire. Cassian was forced to go deep under cover and had only brief chances to check in. Jyn found herself on more and more missions with the Pathfinders.
Then Jakku.
Cassian was in the middle of a debrief when word came that a squad of Pathfinders were MIA. It was nearly two weeks later when contact was made with the remaining members of the squad, battling it out to a standstill against Imperial forces.
When the list of survivors came through, Cassian was leaning over a screen, conferring with Mon Mothma, when a Lieutenant rushed in and handed her a data pad. Mothma's expression was carefully neutral as she read over the names.
Minutes passed before she finally looked up and met Cassian's gaze, and what he saw in her eyes made him feel as if the world had dropped from beneath his feet. The sympathy and pity in that look stung as much as the day his parents had been killed. Over the next few days and weeks, he buried himself in his work, trying to ignore the new hole in his heart.
They should have all died on Scarif. That thought haunted what little sleep he managed. Bodhi, Chirrut, and Baze all made contact, but none of it really helped. He had his word, as he'd had before Jyn. The world without Jyn was darker and colder than he remembered.
Eventually the Empire and Rebel Alliance signed the Galactic Concordance, and the war officially ended.
Somehow Kes Dameron and Shara Bey convinced him to settle on Yavin 4.
Some people were never really suited well for civilian life, and Cassian, particularly without the hope that a life with Jyn had promised, was one of those people. He found himself running the bar at a cantina, always sober enough to serve.
In his off hours though, the alcohol became the only way he could think of to escape the dreams; to escape the remembered scent of Jyn on his pillow, her body pressed against his own, his fingers entwined in her hair.
Bodhi visited sometimes, but he was a reminder of another time, a time when they'd survived the impossible; a time when Cassian's wife had still been alive. The Pilot never stayed more than a few days, but he always made a promise to keep in touch.
Chirrut's wisdom never seemed to piece the darkness that surrounded Cassian when the blind Guardian and Baze visited. Churrit and Baze always stayed a few more days, a Chirrut's insistence, and would go and visit Kes and Shara, and their little son Poe. Chirrut would admire the force tree planted by the Dameron's home.
He dragged Cassian there one day and made the former intelligence officer stand near the plant.
“She is one with the Force,” Chirrut told his old friend. “She is still with you.”
Chirrut and Baze left a day later, the words Chirrut had given Cassian giving him no comfort in the cold light of morning.
Cassian sat at the table in his small kitchen, staring out the window as the gray rays of dawn spilled through a window, his fingers clenched around a bottle. He'd cut back on drinking during the days he had visitors, but now that he was alone again?
He wasn't scheduled to work today, and these days were always the worst; when he had not even the comfort of work to try and ignore the hollowness in his heart. He stared out the window, his fingers curling tightly around the neck of the bottle before he lifted it to his lips and took a long swig. He felt the burn slide down his throat, a numbness slowly settling over him.
A knock at the door jerked him out of his stupor Who in Force would be coming to his door this early in the morning. He ignored the knocking as it became more insistent. He took another swig, willing whoever it was to just go away. Minutes passed, and he finally forced himself to his feet and went to the door, prepared to tell the knocker to go away and slam the door in their face.
At first he couldn't tell who it was. The face of the small figure was shaded by their shadow, dawn's light spilling around them and through the door way, momentarily blinding him.
Then his eyes refocused, and he dropped the bottle.