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Cassian Andor does not need help, and he resents the implication that he does. Jyn doesn’t give him a hug when he finally tells her about it, or try to comfort or reassure him in any way. She just cocks her head and frowns, considering.
I suppose, she says, that we all do.
And they go back to doing what they were doing.
---
Today is the anniversary of his father’s death. He remembers, even though it was so long ago. It’s not a good day for an intake session with a therapist.
He reschedules the appointment.
---
The next appointment falls on the anniversary of the first time someone died for him. Tokli is memorialized on the Alliance’s Wall of Heroes, and Cassian passes his fingers over the name every year on this day. The day doesn’t always line up with local time. There isn’t always a wall. Cassian isn’t always on planet. Sometimes he just looks at a holo of Tokli’s name, death date, and picture.
It’s not a good day for an intake session.
He reschedules the appointment.
---
The next appointment falls on the anniversary of Scarif, and Cassian doesn’t even bother with politeness when he tells the desk officer he’s not interested in next available this time, and that it can be a month out for all he cares. When she informs him that a standard month on this planet is rather long, Cassian just disconnects the call.
It’s a terrible day for an intake session.
---
Mon Mothma finds him after that. Lectures him but pretends she isn’t lecturing him. Tells him that she and Draven have had many discussions about the mental health of the Rebellion’s agents. That he’s a high priority.
Cassian isn’t able to talk his way out of it.
His appointment is moved to tomorrow.
There aren’t any anniversaries tomorrow.
It’s going to be the day of his intake appointment.
---
Dr. Tenva has been carefully chosen for Cassian, and he eyes her warily. She is older, kindly, and utterly non-threatening.
He immediately doesn’t like her.
Mothma is going for the motherly angle, and he’s not going to fall for it.
Tenva gestures to a ratty old armchair rescued from some dump, a placid smile on her face. “Would you care to sit down?”
“I would not,” Cassian says.
“That’s fine. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Captain?”
Arms crossed tight, Cassian gives a slight gesture toward the datapad lying on the small table next to her chair. “You have my file.”
“Files don’t say everything. I’m interested in what’s not in the file.”
Cassian shrugs. “Not much to say, I’m afraid.”
“Your record is stellar.”
“Thank you.”
“Alliance Intelligence agents have a one in four chance of failure each mission. Yet – ”
“I’m aware of the statistics.”
Tenva stops. Closes her mouth. Smiles again. Cassian can almost see her switching gears. “Is there anything you’re particularly proud of?”
“My chilaquiles.”
“I meant in your line of work.”
“I know what you meant.”
The psychologist relaxes in her chair, a move obviously meant to put Cassian at ease. He purposely stands more stiffly.
He is not at ease here.
“You’re clearly very intelligent,” Tenva says. “No formal education, but exceptionally bright.”
“I would imagine that’s why I was assigned to Intelligence.”
And there it is: a quick pursing of her lips. A slight crack in her exterior.
She’s starting to get frustrated with him.
Cassian smiles, just a little. He should be out of this useless session soon, and can then get on with his business.
“Well,” Tenva says, “then you know when to cut an interrogation short and get to the heart of the matter, yes?”
Cassian raises his eyebrows, challenging her. “Is that what this is, Dr. Tenva? An interrogation?”
“That’s what you think it is.”
Cassian says nothing. She’s got him there.
“The Scarif operation,” she says. “You went on it to be absolved.”
It takes all of Cassian’s spy training not to tense up. He keeps his posture deliberately loose and casual, considers giving her another shrug, and decides that would be too obvious.
“We all want absolution at the end of the day, when we’ve done the things I have,” he says.
Every time I walked away from something I wanted to forget –
The memory rises up and he slams a solid metal door down hard on it.
“Good things, in the end,” Tenva says. “Carried out by a good man.”
Cassian knows what she’s trying to do, and his arms drop, and his fists clench, and he turns around, opens the door, and he leaves.
He does not schedule a follow-up appointment like he’s supposed to.
---
Mothma finds him again two days later when he’s getting ready to ship out with Kaytoo for a quick mission. He wonders how she has time to track him down for something as useless as a kriffing counseling appointment when she’s supposed to be running the kriffing Rebellion.
She leaves little room for argument, and sweeps away.
Bodhi, as it turns out, is a big fan of Tenva’s. Cassian hasn’t mentioned that he’s been forced into therapy, but Bodhi has talked about Tenva over the past couple months. And Cassian is happy for him – they all are – because they’ve seen the change in Bodhi now that he’s been talking things through with someone. It’s helped a lot.
Doesn’t mean, Cassian reflects as he pre-flights the ship with perhaps more vigor than necessary, that it’s right for him. He says nothing to Kaytoo about it, but they’ve barely made the jump to hyperspace before the droid brings it up.
It’s a good idea, Cassian.
You suffer from severe PTSD, Cassian.
Do you know the criteria for Major Depressive Disorder, Cassian? You qualify for almost every single one.
I’d suggest medication, Cassian, but you’d deactivate me.
Cassian deactivates him.
---
It’s just pure ignorance, Cassian, to ignore science and think you can regulate your own neurotransmitters just by ignoring them.
Cassian wishes he hadn’t reactivated Kay, but he needs him for the mission.
It isn’t any different than taking anti-inflammatories for your leg and back when they flare up with changes in air pressure, Cassian.
It’s a lot different, Kay. I should be able to think my way out of this. Not that it matters anyway. It doesn’t affect my work, and that is what matters.
You are being irrational. You’re shedding.
Shedding?!
Hair loss is a symptom of high emotional stress.
Cassian doesn’t say anything else, because he cannot argue that point. He must have made a comment in passing about how he’d noticed strands tangled around his fingers when he showered.
You have very nice hair for a human, Cassian. It would be a shame to waste it. You already look prematurely old for your age due to your stress level. If you started to bald, it would only add to the look.
Cassian deactivates him again.
---
It’s someone new this time when Cassian walks into the room. This one is young, stocky, and has multiple piercings. She’s holding a large mug of steaming caf and scrolling through her datapad.
“Sit if you want,” she says, not looking up. “Or stand. I hear you like to stand and be difficult. Do what you want, Andor. I won’t mindfuck you.”
Cassian likes her.
---
By the third session, he’s still not sitting, and he’s still not talking. Dr. Olari seems to be amused by his mind games, and will gladly follow him around wherever he leads her, no matter how pointless the topic.
Now he is getting frustrated, and he knows her psychology is working on him.
“Puffer pigs,” she says, face pinched in consideration of this new knowledge. “Really.”
“Truly,” Cassian says. “Blow right up when you scare them, but incredibly useful.”
“We could use some. Don’t suppose you got any connections to some.”
“Not my area, no.”
“Hm. They do sound awfully cute, though.” Olari sets her mug on the side table, tucks her feet up under her, and grabs her datapad. In silence, she taps something in and scrolls before letting out a laugh. “Ha! They are adorable. Oh, I’d get one just to keep around the house for entertainment. Look how cute, seriously.” She turns the pad around so Cassian can see it. He leans forward to get a better look and smiles a little.
“That’s a puffer pig all right.”
Olari chuckles and blanks the screen, setting the datapad off to the side. “I’m glad to see you smile.”
The smile immediately disappears.
“And there it goes again,” she notes. “It doesn’t have to, you know.”
Cassian’s arms cross. He doesn’t even bother to stop his body language. “Anything else?” he asks.
Olari shrugs and leans back. “How’s your crew recovering from last week?”
His arms tighten. “Well,” he replies. “We were lucky.”
“Luck appears to be on your side quite often.”
Cassian says nothing. Only conspicuously checks the chrono over her head. They still have twenty minutes.
“I’ve talked to one of your crewmembers,” Olari says. “You put yourself in danger.”
Cassian’s heart thumps. He feels betrayed.
“Who?” he asks. Olari shakes her head.
“It’s not important. Why did you do that?”
“The cause comes first. Who was it?”
“Do you think so little of yourself? Of your own life?”
She’s not going to share. Cassian knows when to give up a line of questioning. He stares her down, but she just stares right back.
“There are very few who would risk their life for me,” he says. “Would you save me, if you didn’t have to? Go out of your way for me?”
All Olari gives him in response is compressed lips, and pity.
He doesn’t want her pity.
He’s never going to come back.
---
“It wasn’t pity,” Jyn says that night in his quarters. “She doesn’t pity you.”
“You think it’s compassion,” Cassian says, and scoffs. He turns away and brushes datachips off his desk and into his hand. He needs them for tomorrow’s meeting with some other officers to go over statistics. “She’s just trying to get to me.”
Jyn steps up to him. “Is that such a bad thing?” she asks quietly from behind him. He looks at her over his shoulder, and to her credit, she doesn’t back down at the ugly look on his face.
“You think I’m a headcase, too,” he says. Jyn shakes her head.
“No.”
“Then tell me.” He turns and crosses his arms as his anger rises. “Tell me what your analysis is of me. How damaged you think I am.”
“Not if you’re going to lash out at me. I’m not the one you’re mad at.”
He looks down and away, ashamed. She’s right. “I don’t know why they’re doing this.”
“Mothma has talked about this before,” Jyn says.
“They all want to save me for some reason,” Cassian says.
“That must be difficult, when you don’t even want to save yourself.”
Cassian looks up at Jyn, who has no judgment on her face, no expression. She’s just willing to listen. “Would you save me, if you didn’t know me?”
Carefully, Jyn comes toward him, and she gathers him into her arms. He is slow to return the gesture, but when he does, he sighs into her.
“You’ve had to bear it alone for so many years,” she says. “You don’t have to anymore.”
---
Cassian is still not satisfied with the situation, but he goes back to Olari a week later, and then sees her a few more times after that. He isn’t sure how much it helps – he doesn’t even understand why this woman cares, since she doesn’t even know him, and is only talking to him because she’s forced to – but Jyn keeps encouraging him, and at one point he realizes the rest of the team knows as well. It makes him furious – I’m weak – and he leaves in the middle of dinner when he finds out, but they take him back as they always do, and they support him as they always do.
He wonders about the countless people he’s talked to in the galaxy, who barely know him, who only know a perception or a lie, and he wonders if they would save him, too. If they would have ever come to his aid if he’d called, if he’d needed them.
It’s too much to think about, he concludes as he lies down beside Jyn in his bunk late at night, and she turns into him, laying her hand on his chest. It sends him down too dark a hole.
And besides…he has people here who care now. Truly care.
He wraps his arm around Jyn and nuzzles his cheek into her shoulder as he closes his eyes.
Jyn would save him. Every time. He knows that in his heart. He always has.