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Jyn hasn’t often thought about how she’ll die. She always assumed it would be in a firefight of some kind, ideally going down in a blaze of glory while fighting for a cause that was worth it (though that last part seems less realistic now that Saw’s abandoned her). Still, whatever she imagined, dying while huddled next to a vent wearing nothing but a towel is not it. The night is gorgeous, the planet’s triple moons glowing in a sky arrayed with stars while snow glistens below, but it’s also deadly. Without her credits or lockpicking tools, Jyn’s odds of finding somewhere warmer before she freezes are too slim to risk it.
Some of her predicament is her fault, yells the part of her mind that sounds like Saw. She was the one who decided to save a few credits by staying the night on her accomplice’s couch rather than getting a hotel room. Looking back, she should have taken one look at Creet’s hideous, leering face and run the other way.
Still, if they’re going to apportion blame for this situation, the rest of it goes to Creet, who interpreted the terms and conditions of her staying quite differently than Jyn. He appeared out of the steam as she was drying herself after a shower, his hip cocked as if he had anything she’d want to look at. She shoved off the hand that trailed down her bare shoulder, ready to incapacite him but he pushed her just as she lunged and she slipped and fell on the wet tile.
The next thing she remembers is landing on the ground after Creet had thrown her out of his house and hazily scrambling to get to him before he slammed the door. When long, shivering minutes of trying to fry the lock without tools proved fruitless and her mind clicked from panic to survival, she made her way through empty, pristine streets until she finally found the air conditioning vent blowing out the hot air that is currently the only thing standing between her and death.
After what seems like forever, there's the sound of footsteps and hope rises in her chest at the possibility of salvation.
It’s dashed though, at the modulated voice that follows it. ‘I’ve seen you before somewhere sir, I swear it. You’re an officer, aren’t you?’
Jyn huddles closer to the vent, hoping the stormtrooper will be sufficiently occupied with whomever he’s talking to that he won’t notice her.
Another man responds, his tone almost entirely congenial but Jyn can hear a slight thread of panic. ‘No, I’m just a lowly civilian unfortunately.’ He chuckles, warm and charming, the kind of laugh that makes you want to believe it. ‘I must just have one of those faces. Now, I think this is a shortcut to my hotel and I’m rather keen to get out of this cold. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.’
At that, he turns into the alley and Jyn’s line of sight. He’s wearing a blue parka that looks so warm she shivers at the thought of it and a smile that falls into a tense line as he walks away.
The trooper follows, modulated voice growing more confident. ‘No sir. You are Lieutenant Joreth Sward. I was assigned as your escort in the office of Admiral Grendreef. I’m sorry to have to ask, but what are you doing here with false papers?’
Jyn watches Joreth, though she’s certain that’s not his real name, as he weighs his options. She feels for him, it’s a spectacular bit of bad luck to find someone in this vast galaxy that recognises an old identity. He sighs, defeated, and then in one fluid motion, grabs a blaster from the leg holster under his jacket, turns around and shoots the stormtrooper through his visor.
The armoured corpse drops and so do its killer’s shoulders, burdened by this new addition to what must be a considerable body count. It’s rare, Jyn’s found, to find someone that good at ending lives who doesn’t relish it just a little.
Whoever he is, and her money’s on a Rebel spy, he’s her best shot at getting away from this fucking vent and into some clothes. Plus, she’s just thought of an idea that will serve both their interests. ‘I can help you get rid of that if you like.’
His blaster is up and aimed on her in an instant, though his brows crease with concern as he takes in her predicament. She notes that his eyes fixate more on her blue-tinged fingers and toes than her barely covered legs.
Jyn puts one hand up as the other pulls the towel tighter around her chest. ‘Relax! I just want to help.’
He reholsters the blaster, assuming, probably correctly, that Jyn doesn’t pose much of a threat in the state she’s in. ‘Presumably in exchange for my coat, no?’
She eyes the fur-lined hood with envy. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say no.’
He quirks his lips and takes off the jacket, walking over to hand it to her.
Jyn almost yanks it out of his hand, shoving her arms in and zipping it up before moaning at the feeling of being enveloped in a warm cloud. Her thanks is muffled as she buries her face in the fur.
He helps her up and looks down at her feet. ‘You should probably take my boots, too.’ He leans down to take them off.
She opens her mouth to protest but the combination of the prickling of oncoming frostbite and what looks like four pairs of thick socks on his feet makes her accept with a grateful smile.
They both turn to the body.
‘You said you could help me with it? I’m new to this planet and I’m not sure where to hide it.’
Jyn smiles. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I know exactly where to put it.’
Now that she’s got a coat, the walk back to Creet’s house seems much shorter, even if she’s now burdened with the extra weight of half a stormtrooper. They arrive at the door Jyn was so mercilessly thrown out of and when her new (accomplice? ally?) companion pulls out lock picking tools from his boot, she holds out her hand for them. He raises an eyebrow but passes them over without comment.
The sound of a door unlocking has never felt so satisfying and if the deadly, pretty man behind is impressed that it only took her a few seconds to do it, then that’s fine as well.
Quietly, they drag the body into the small hallway. Jyn retrieves the blaster she can feel tucked in an inside pocket of the coat.
Its owner whispers, ‘You didn’t tell me we’d need that.’
‘We probably won’t, he has to have passed out by now.’ Still, part of Jyn hopes he hasn’t, so she can have a good excuse to shoot him right in his tiny excuse for a dick. Unfortunately, she scopes out the rest of the house to find Creet snoring in an armchair, one hand down his pants and, she notes with equal horror and irritation, her scarf in the other. The floor around him is strewn with empty bottles. Her finger twitches on the trigger but she’s never managed to kill someone in cold blood unless it’s necessary.
With a sigh, she returns to the man in the hallway and they drag the body to the rug at Creet’s feet.
The spy takes in the scene and looks at her with sad, knowing eyes. ‘You want me to make it look like it was him?’
Jyn shrugs. ‘If you like. I’m sure he’ll manage to get rid of it before the authorities come knocking.’
With practised efficiency, he takes the offending blaster, wipes it down with a cloth pulled from his jacket, and places it in Creet’s hand. He then moves the body to look like the trooper was shot in the doorway. Jyn knows there are enough illicit substances and arms in the house to give Creet a suitable motive for wanting an intruding trooper dead.
He stands back, looking over his work, then flashes a conspiratorial smile at her. ‘This is perfect, thank you. I don’t know what I would have done with him.’
Jyn, momentarily caught in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, clears her throat and grunts, ‘No problem. It’s killing two birds with one stone, really.’
He smiles again but his eyes flash over to Creet, dark and deadly. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to kill the second bird?’
She considers it again but shakes her head. ‘No, I want him to wake up to this.’
She turns to the corner to find her coat, bag and boots where she left them and then heads to the bathroom to get her clothes. The worn, patched fabric now feels like armour, though she knows it won’t stand up for long against the onslaught of the cold outside.
Jyn comes back out to the main room to find the spy waiting for her, or more likely, waiting for her to give him his coat.
She passes it to him and he takes it, eyeing her much lighter jacket with some skepticism. ‘Are you going to stay here?’
‘No. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere now that I’ve got some credits.’ She’s not at all sure actually, most hotels will be fully booked at this time of year, with the famous winter markets drawing tourists from all over the galaxy.
He opens his mouth to say something then closes it, his expression careful but kind. ‘You could stay with me if you need to. No expectations, I promise.’ His eyes dart to Creet and his lips curl in disgust. He reaches into his pocket and holds out a keycard.
Jyn considers the offer. This man is dangerous, certainly, but so is she, and as long as she doesn’t get in any more showers, she knows she can defend herself. More than that though is the fact that giving a complete stranger a key to your room takes a lot of trust and Jyn finds herself unwilling to betray it.
She accepts the card, noting the name Jeren Serth (which is probably no more his real name than Joreth) underneath the logo of an upmarket hotel chain. ‘Thanks. I should only need it for tonight before I can find a way off this frozen hellhole.’
He tilts his head in vague contemplation but nods with a smile. ‘I’m here for a few more days. You can stay as long as you like.’
The hotel is nearby, thank force, and the room is sparsely but expensively furnished. The bed looks softer than anything Jyn’s slept on since she was a small child and she eyes it with longing. She sets her pack on a nearby chair and looks around for things to steal while Jeren grabs what seem to be pyjamas (another luxury reserved for childhood) and heads for the bathroom.
He comes out less threatening, even slightly adorable as the loose shirt billows around his slim frame. ‘I’ve got a spare pair if you like. I can’t imagine those are comfortable to sleep in.’
Jyn’s clothes aren’t comfortable to do anything in, each piece stolen or scavenged with little regard to whether they might actually fit her. She accepts and changes in the bathroom, relieved to find a lock on the door no matter how much she finds herself trusting her new roommate.
They approach the bed, his expression resembling someone approaching a skittish animal, kind but very aware that he might be perceived as dangerous. He untucks the sheets and blankets and places a pillow at the foot of the bed before slipping in with his back facing her. ‘Sleep well.’
She gets in and sighs at the gloriously soft sheets, the perfect amount of give in the mattress. She’s the kind of warm where she can’t even imagine being cold and sleep settles over her quick and easy. There’s only time enough to slur out a ‘Y’too’ before she’s out cold.
When she wakes, he’s gone. The chrono on the bedside table reads 12:00 and she stretches out luxuriantly, wondering when the last time she got to sleep in this late was. She should get up, probably, but there’s nothing waiting for her but an overpriced ticket to force knows where to do yet another job with cretins like Creet. Sleep seems a far superior option so she lets herself drift off again, arms and legs stretching to cover the entire bed like she used to when she was a child.
She wakes again to the sound of the door opening, Jeren walking through laden with shopping bags.
His eyes are fond as he takes in her spread eagled form. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Better than I have in ages. Can you imagine sleeping on this mattress every night?’
He shakes his head with a wry grin. ‘No, I’m used to bunks that are more spring than mattress.’
She takes the opportunity to confirm her suspicions about who he works for. ‘I don’t suppose the Rebellion can afford much else.’
He doesn’t react, a mark of a truly talented spy, just watches her face looking for signs he can trust her. He must find them because he gives a small nod. ‘Speaking of that, I have a proposal for you.’
Part of her, the part that absorbed Saw’s deep mistrust of the Rebellion, wants to cut him off straight away but she really doesn’t have anything else to do and Jeren has proven himself to be more honourable than most men she’s met in recent years. Still, she keeps her tone wary as she asks, ‘What kind of proposal?’
‘Well, I’d like you to be my wife for the afternoon.’
So an actual proposal then. ‘Do I get to know why?’
‘I have something to pick up from the winter markets and I was just thinking that I’d look a lot less suspicious there as part of a couple. I can offer you some credits and I’d drop you off on another planet on my way home.’
It sounds like easy money even considering the inherent risk of getting involved in Rebel intelligence work. Jyn hasn’t made it this far by being soft though. ‘How many credits?’
His eyes narrow. ‘200.’
‘Give me 250 and we’ve got a deal.’
He rolls his eyes but she can see his lips fighting a smile. ‘What about this?’ He turns to the shopping bags, ‘I bought you some clothes in case you said yes, including a coat that will actually keep you warm. You can have them when you leave and that should make up the extra fifty.’
Jyn gets out of bed and looks in the bags to find practical, well-made clothes that, quite notably, don’t have any holes in them. Right at the bottom is a scarf that feels like the most expensive item of the lot. It’s a beautiful colour, a light, dusty green, that will still fade into a crowd when she needs it to. She wraps it around her neck and looks at herself in the nearby mirror. The scarf plays off her eyes, making them seem greener than they are.
‘I noticed your old scarf was otherwise occupied.’ Jeren has come up to stand behind her. ‘It looks good on you.’
It strikes her that this is a gift in the way that the other clothes aren’t. He didn’t buy this because he needed it for his mission, but just because she might like it. The thought glows warm in her chest and she meets his eyes in the mirror with a smile. ‘I think you just got yourself a wife.’
He smiles back and Jyn takes a moment to look at their reflection. They look good together, all lovely eyes and well-shaped cheekbones.
He starts, then says with a chuckle. ‘I suppose if you’re my wife, I should probably know your name.’
Her mouth forms the J without even thinking and it’s the first time she’s had to fight the impulse to say her real name in a long time. She manages to stop herself before she can voice the consonant and instead gives the latest name she’s been using. ‘Call me Liana.’
Jyn dresses and they spend the rest of the afternoon working on the basic details of the Serths’ backstory. It’s almost fun imagining this alternate life for herself, rewriting her history to make herself the kind of woman who would stay in a hotel like this and come all the way to these markets simply to eat food and look at pretty lights.
As they’re preparing to leave, Jeren says, ‘We’ll need to touch, couples tend to be tactile in the cold weather. It’s better to be natural with it but tap me twice if anything makes you uncomfortable and once if it’s okay.’
Jyn nods, bemused and not a little charmed by the notion that this man will ask her consent to simply put his hands on her, the almost complete opposite of what has been her experience of men so far. She adjusts her scarf, blissfully soft against her skin and, leaning in to her Coruscanti accent, says ‘I’m ready whenever you are, darling.’
He holds out his hand and she takes it and taps once.
As they walk, the scents and sounds of the market start to wash over her. Even better is the rush of warmth that hits her as they step into the market itself, the result of the massive heaters stationed at various points around the square. Everything is picture perfect, little house-shaped stalls positioned at strictly regulated intervals, identical strings of lights adorning their roofs. In the centre of the square stands a tree festooned with decorations that shimmer in the light. It’s an ordered, inorganic beauty, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. Ginger and cinnamon spice the air and her mouth waters at the thought of the delicacies she might be able to try with the Rebellion paying.
Liana turns to her husband with a smile of childlike delight that Jyn doesn’t entirely fake.
He returns her smile, gently squeezing her hand. ‘What would you like to try first?’
Jyn follows her nose and drags them towards a stall serving out cups of warm, spiced wine. It goes down smooth and sweet and sets a light haze over her mind, softening the edges of the world around her.
They drift from one stall to another, trying pastries, pies, and various types of roasted and candied nuts. He wraps his arm around her waist, keeping his touch light until she gives the sign that it’s okay. Tucked up against him, belly full for the first in ages, it’s so easy to let herself drift completely into Liana, into someone for whom companionship and comfort are everyday occurrences rather than impossible luxuries.
Jeren is the perfect pretend husband for this perfect pretend life. He listens intently to what she says and his beautiful face is almost constantly lit up with a laugh or a smile. He looks so utterly like a man lost in delighted love that it takes her breath away. She tries hard to match him, stretching muscles in her face that haven’t been used in years. Real or not, the mere physical act of laughing feels like a blessed relief, as if she’s had a whole adolescence worth of mirth buried in her somewhere, waiting to be let out.
The best thing though, the thing that makes her feel some tantalising version of safe, is his eyes. There she can see glimpses of the man beneath Jeren, tracking the stalls looking for signs of his contact and also tracking her face for discomfort or hesitation. Every so often he’ll make eye contact and raise his eyebrows slightly, checking that she’s alright. She’ll nod, tap a finger on whichever part of him is nearest. When she taps the hand resting on her waist, his thumb gently strokes her in response and Jyn’s body lights up like a revelation.
More, it sighs. Slowly, as carefully as he’s touched her, she places her hand over his and nudges his thumb to stroke her again. He does, finding the sensitive place just above the swell of her hip. Jyn shivers, pressing her flushing face into his chest.
They continue on, a giddy, delicious tension now simmering between them. She’s not even sure of what exactly she wants from him, only that she wants better than what she’s had of sex and she thinks he might be able to give it to her.
All too soon for Jyn’s liking, she hears a sharp inhale and feels his body tighten almost imperceptibly against her. He must have spotted his contact.
She wraps her arms around him, leaning in close. ‘Will they spook if I’m with you?’
He nods, letting out a small chuckle that sounds so real that for a moment she thinks he’s misheard her. Damn, he’s good. ‘They’ve probably spooked already, but I need what they have.’ Worry flashes in his eyes and it dawns on Jyn for the first time that what he’s doing could be dangerous. He steps back. ‘I’ll meet you back at the hotel?’
‘Okay,’ she puts on Liana’s coy smile, ‘bring me back something nice.’ Then, because it seems like something Liana would do, and also because Jyn wants to, she reaches up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘See you soon, darling.’
His lips brush her forehead. ‘Don’t have too much fun without me.’ With one last squeeze of her hand, he melts into the crowd.
Jyn turns back the way they came but some gut instinct keeps her from leaving, something about the slight tension in his shoulders. She finds a stall selling jewellery that keeps him in her line of sight and watches him approach a liquor vendor while she tries on rings.
He was right, the contact seems nervous but so would anyone giving information to the Rebellion. Their conversation starts smoothly enough and the tightness in Jyn’s stomach fades until she glances a man standing near her with an Imperial issue earpiece.
It could be nothing, she reasons, just routine security for the market or even an off-duty officer who forgot his earpiece was there. He’s looking straight at them though, head cocked with an intent, expectant look on his face.
Jeren leans in slightly and his contact, just for a moment, meets the Imperial’s eye.
Jyn’s stomach sinks. Through the noise of the crowd she hears, ‘Confirmed. Arrest him.’ Six stormtroopers emerge from a nearby alley and the trap snaps shut.
There’s nothing she can do or say that won’t get her arrested right along with him. She watches, frozen, as they surround him, watches his body tense for a fight and then surrender in the face of insurmountable odds, back ramrod straight as they cuff him. They frogmarch him out of the square and it takes everything she has not to run after them, batons brandished and swinging. Instead, she blithely apologises to the jewellery seller for wasting their time and strolls to the exit. She gets there in time to see the troopers shove their captive into a speeder.
The smart thing to do would be to go back to the hotel, grab her stuff and get on the next ship off planet. She knows this, knows that even the complacent soldiers stationed here will probably be too much for her to take on alone. Were their situations reversed, Jyn would never dream of expecting him to come back for her (she’s learnt the hard way to stop dreaming of anyone coming back). Still, she finds herself hot wiring a bike and following the speeder. Jyn has had to sacrifice many things about herself over the years, but she will never be able to leave someone behind.
She tracks the speeder to the local station and laughs in scornful delight when she sees the familiar squat black building. Low level buildings like these are prefabricated and installed within days of Imperial occupation, the equivalent of a rubber stamp on the landscape claiming the Emperor’s ownership. Jyn’s broken out of them so many times she’s lost count, their layout indelible in her mind. The risk of a few wily criminals escaping here and there is nothing if it means that no one in the entire Imperial machine will ever have to have another original thought.
Checking the charge of her blaster, she heads to the grille high up on the north wall that will give her access to the vents. There’s nothing in these overly clean streets to serve as a step so instead she has to run up and leap to open the grille and pull herself up into the vent. Once she’s in, she waits for her arms to stop shaking then gets out a light and crawls through to where, unless she’s horrifically mistaken, the station chief's office is located.
She’s not mistaken. In fact, these buildings are so uniform that desk is in the exact same place as all its interplanetary counterparts.
The chief is sitting right in front of the vent, engrossed in his datapad. He’s a little too much like a sitting duck for Jyn’s taste but she’s never been one to question good luck on a mission.
She lines up the shot and it strikes him straight between the temples. The datapad clatters to the desk as his body slumps in his chair.
Silently as she can, Jyn kicks the vent cover off and slides out and down into the office, rushing over to lock the door. After she’s searched the body for the ID card clipped to his belt, she grabs the datapad from the desk where she finds a half-written intake report for Jeren and not, thank the force, whatever his real name is. She deletes all trace of it then sets to hacking into the system that remotely controls the doors in the event of an escape. It’s laughably easy and it galls Jyn anew that an organisation can have such oppressive power over an entire galaxy and still be so deeply incompetent.
Jeren, suspected Rebel spy that he probably is, will be in the most secure cell, tucked in the far corner of the building at the end of a single corridor. He’ll be under constant guard, but if she locks all access to the corridor, she should only have to deal with a couple of stormtroopers.
Said stormtroopers are lazing by the cell door, having an inane conversation about timetabling changes. They’re both dead before the second one has time to raise his blaster.
The door slides open to reveal Jeren, huddled against a wall and almost completely bare, probably to keep him from swallowing whatever suicide pill Rebellion spies always seem to have tucked away somewhere. Suddenly, the utter insanity of what she’s just done hits her and she breaks out into hysterical laughter. Once her giggles subside some, she manages to get out, ‘We've got to stop meeting like this.’
Jeren looks at her unbelieving for about half a second before he lets out a small smile and leaps into action. He takes a blaster off of one of the guards and finds his clothes tossed in a nearby corner.
She tries to give him the same respect he gave her and so she doesn’t let her eyes linger on him while he dresses. Still, she can’t help but notice the smooth skin and long lines that make up his body.
They get out the same way Jyn came in and she marvels at the way they don’t need to talk, how brief looks or nods have them moving together like they’re one entity. Once they’re outside, they hurry away as slowly as looks natural, eventually stopping under a bridge.
It’s beautiful, the bare trees lit up with warm white light that reflects off the frozen surface of the river. Adrenaline courses through Jyn’s veins, asking her to do something reckless like push Jeren up against the wall and kiss him.
He’s looking at her with an almost shy kind of awe that makes him look years younger. She wonders how long it’s been since someone came back for him. ‘Thank you, Liana. I-’ He shakes his head, mouth wide in a bewildered smile. ‘Thank you.’
‘My name’s Jyn, actually.’
‘Jyn.’ She hasn’t heard her name aloud since Saw, and even then, she’s never heard it said quite like that, like it’s sacred. He offers his hand. ‘I’m Cassian.’
They hold hands for the first time as themselves, standing on the cusp of something immense and intoxicating. Without even thinking about it, hands move up arms and under shoulders and suddenly they’re wrapped up in each other.
Cassian’s head shifts from where it rests against hers. He whispers, ‘Come with me.’
It’s all Jyn’s ever wanted anyone to say to her. She tightens her arms around him and taps once.