Chapter Text
The Rebellion might have won a great victory when the Death Star exploded, saving countless planets from its wrath. The stunning success of that mission (or rather, in Cassian’s eyes, the impossible, odds-defying success of countless missions strung together) energized the assembled forces, giving them new vigor for their next military endeavors. But, speeches and heroics aside, that didn’t make the actual logistics of the ragtag rebellion any easier.
It’s this topic that comes up quick early in the conversation between the still-recovering Captain Andor and the visiting, temporary-quartermaster Major Syndulla, shortly after the two soldiers wrap pleasantries and well-wishes in the med bay. Aside from two med-droids, which have been informed by Cassian to please let him be, unless any of his various bio-metric-panel lights give them reason to suspect he might perish within the next fifteen seconds, and threatened by K-2S0 to ensure that they will, under any and all circumstances, monitor the Captain’s health to the utmost degree or face disintegration, the med bay is otherwise empty. Which is a good thing, because the droids have, upon being faced with such opposite directives, erred on the side of closely monitoring from a far distance, and maintain a line of sight on their solitary charge.
The one small comfort the droids find is that Cassian Andor has rarely been alone as he recovers. Indeed, it seems to them that nearly every member of the Rebellion has come to visit him at least once, despite his records stating that he is nothing more than an ordinary captain who had been on Scarif, and was rescued in a last-ditch effort, along with about eight others, by the same Twi’lek officer who is currently visiting him now. Neither med droid is quite sure what makes this Cassian so special, though the older of the two droids, 2-1B, notes that one of Cassian’s most frequent visitors, a certain Jyn Erso (unranked, due to recent recruitment), had not only been brought into the medbay at the same time as Cassian, but in fact, had been clinging so tightly to the then-comatose Captain, she’d actually been medically sedated while still holding his hand. Furthermore, upon waking, the first name Jyn Erso had called for was, in fact, Cassian Andor’s.
2-1B has pointed this out to his compatriot, FX-7, suggesting that perhaps the Captain meant a great deal to the young woman. He even goes so far as to suggest Cassian might heal faster if he was moved to quarters closer to Jyn Erso's. But FX-7 simply saw it as par for the course, given how quickly organic life-forms made friendships while doing things so absolutely counter to odds of success like stealing plans for a superweapon or attacking said superweapon with very limited resources at hand. FX-7 points out that if the Rebellion insisted on being foolish, then they, as practical, level-headed droids, needed to be less emotional indeed. As med droids, they would not take on something as impossible as match-making, or planning to destroy other superweapons. Matchmaking, after all, has a lower success rate than even a stormtrooper's accuracy at 200 meters. 2-1B, privately, thinks that FX-7 will never be promoted with that lack of optimism, and so, has resolved to be the better monitor of Cassian Andor’s health.
The droids resume their usual squabble, using binary, a system of beeps and chirps that they assume no one in the room can translate. Though, if they’d had access to Cassian Andor’s actual file, and not the carefully sanitized one provided by General Draven to low level Rebellion soldiers, they would find that he was rated as highly literate in droid’s binary.
Hera Syndulla, who also has a great deal of knowledge in the language is aware of all of this, but keeps her thoughts on the matter, as well as her own musing on the relationship between Jyn Erso and Cassian, private. She’s not here to gossip. There’s enough of that going on in every other hallway of the Massassi tunnel, given all the excitement of new recruits and new mission plans. Instead, she’s here to visit with her friend, and maybe, if he’s up for it, get a few answers about the current curious state of affairs in the Rebel supply room.
Currently, Hera sits by Cassian’s side, on a stack of old pallets that function as a guest’s chair, and looks at her friend with a rueful smile. “So, yes. By the fifth day, I had every remaining box and hovercraft catalogued, as well as unpacked. I knew the Rebellion didn’t have much but--”
“But now that you’ve got clearance to know all our secrets, you’re perhaps disappointed?” Cassian replies. He’s turned his head, the one part of his body he currently can move, thanks to the various bandages and bacta-patches applied to the rest of him. “I warned you when you showed up here, Syndulla, not to expect much.”
“I’m not sure you said it in those words, precisely.”
“I did say we promoted our talent easily and without fanfare.”
“And then I’m the fool for not realizing that meant a promotion doesn’t come with a salary increase and a new uniform.”
“I have been told that Mon Mothma’s commissioned a whole set of new officer’s badges though,” Cassian rolls his eyes, but is too good of a soldier to issue any further commentary on that choice, beyond saying, “cost a whole eighty credits, too.”
In the background, 2-1B lets out a not-too-subtle excited beep, hoping that one of those badges might be destined for him, as he would quite fancy a promotion soon, especially before FX-7 receives one. Cassian, hearing the beep, keeps his face expressionless, proving yet again to be someone with a very tough to break composure.
Hera, who, as a relatively late recruit compared to Cassian Andor (but really, with his history, wasn’t everyone a late recruit), has no such humility when it came to critiquing senior leadership. “It’s foolishness. A soldier can’t eat their medal, and they certainly can’t shoot a trooper with a promotion order.”
He raises his eyebrows in tacit agreement at the comment. Then, he shifts, as if to shrug, only to wince in pain at the movement.
At that, Hera folds her arms, not out of annoyance, but to hopefully fight the urge to adjust the injured man’s blankets and pillow. It’s in her nature to be a worrier, or as Kanan would say, a bit of a mother-Convor-hen, when her friends are in need. But even Kanan had reminded her not to fuss over Cassian, given how many times the man had already tried to leave the med bay before his wounds were fully healed. She’d heard that during the attack on the Death Star, it had taken Kaytu and three other droids to restrain him from attempting to help his Rogue One crewmates on their mission. She didn’t blame him. Kanan had been the same way with his own injuries, and Hera knew if their places had been swapped, she’d do the same.
As if on cue, Cassian changes the topic, “ you’re not here to split your quartermaster assignment with me, are you?”
She shakes her head. “You need to rest and let the bacta work.”
“I have.” There’s a great deal of annoyance barely held back in those two words.
“Continue doing so, and I’ll… ask you questions about our supply caches.” Was she really bargaining work as a bribe for rest? And was it… working? It seems so, as he lets out a slow sigh, before nodding.
“It’s the least I can do.”
An ironic phrase for the man who had nearly died, had been ready to die, to retrieve the Death Star plans, but Hera let him have the humble line, even if she didn’t believe it. Besides, she needed his help more than she would admit. “Good. Because we need to discuss the missing rock-climbing kit. We’ve only cataloged thirteen total, before Blue Squadron took a dozen for their deployment to Turak. The last one is absolutely needed for the upcoming mission to Brentaal, there’s no way any operative will be able to scale the Gravaal mountain range without one and--”
“There is,” Cassian says, flatly. His eyes are closed, as if he’s already attempting to rest like she told him to.
“Pardon?”
“The Gravaals.” Cassian names the mountain ridge again, as if it’s common knowledge to have a secondary transit line up one of the most remote mountain chains found on a Core World. “If you go from the east, dock your ship in one of the Suporro Sea coves, there’s an old smugglers’ path up the Gravaals.”
Hera unfolds her arms and retrieves a datapad out of her pocket to pull up a map of the world. Her hope at not having to hunt down the missing kit fades swiftly, though, when she zooms in on the coastline. The coves, as he’d called them, are little more than sea-caves, sure to fill by high tide. “Exactly what sort of ship are we landing in one of these coves?”
Again, Cassian tries to shrug, only to wince once more. “Done it in a U-wing, though an X would work fine, too.”
Hera’s lips press into a tight line. In other words, there’s no way she can send Captain Solo and the hulking antique he calls the Falcon on this mission. And she’s not cleared to fly, not with the news that she’s only so far shared with Kanan and the med droids. The mission to Scarif had been risky enough, one that she undertook in part to save her friends, as well as the plans. Even if she was, it would be a tight fit for the Ghost, and the Phantom sustained damage over Scarif.
Cassian comments, “Isn’t that recruit from Tatooine supposed to be quite the pilot? Have him take an X-wing.”
“Luke,” Hera says, realizing with a bit of surprise that she’s already on a first-name basis with the young man, “has other missions at hand currently.” Like training with Ezra, and talking to Kanan so the three Force-users can figure out next steps going forward.
“Or Bodhi Rook? Don’t overlook him.”
“I wouldn’t,” she promises Cassian. “But he’s volunteered to work with Princess Leia on the matter of refugees from both Jedha and Alderaan.”
“Has he now?” A small smile appears on Cassian’s bearded face. “Good. I’m glad to hear that. He’s still an excellent pilot, but I’m glad he and the princess have met. Any other candidates?”
“There’s a smuggler by the name of--”
“No,” Cassian says, cutting her off, his smile vanishing. “I am quite aware of Han Solo, given how loud he’s been every time he’s walked down the damned hall outside. There’s no way that nerfherder could--”
“I see the princess has also paid you a visit,” Hera cuts him off this time, but with a teasing tone. “And shared her opinion of Captain Solo?”
For being limited to only facial expression at the moment, Cassian’s complicated feelings on the subject are quite readable to Hera. Or maybe it’s that she feels the same way: both glad the grieving princess has a distraction in the form of an admittedly at-times charming Corellian, but also deeply annoyed by aforementioned Corellian’s overall… state of existing to put it mildly. Han Solo had already been banned from rustling around her supply room, after going in search of a new hyperdrive core screw for his ship. Hera had informed him that any future supplies requested by him would be delivered by Chopper, and that had been enough for Han to determine to go elsewhere for his materials, which suited Hera just fine.
It did not, however, explain the missing rock-climbing kit.
By the time Hera’s formulated another question to see if her guess as to the thief is correct, Cassian has dozed off, a side-effect of the multitude of bacta transfusions he’d had. Healing a shattered spine is no easy task, especially not in a med bay of this size. As she leaves, she quietly hails the med droids. “Too-Onebee?” she asks softly. “What are the odds he’s out of here by the end of this standard week?”
The droid’s optics flicker, calculating, before responding, “it depends, Major Syndulla.”
“On what?”
“On if Jyn Erso will continue sitting by him when he sleeps at night.”
“Oh?” Hera crosses her arms again. “Tell me more.” Her previous desire to not hear gossip, it turns out, was a time-limited one.
2-1B keeps his voice modulator turned down as well, as to not wake the sole remaining patient. “She… uses her voice in a calming manner for him.”
“How so?” Hera asks.
Instead of replying directly, 2-1B plays a short audio-recording of the most recent time. A soft, pleasant noise fills Hera’s ears, something halfway between singing and humming. It’s a lullaby, she realizes, though not one she’s heard before. And certainly not one she’d ever thought Jyn Erso would be singing.
“I see,” Hera whispers. It’s suddenly a little difficult to speak, regardless of any desire to be quiet. Odd how she can have been through so much loss, so many battles, and still be touched by how good people can be to each other amidst a war. “And how does this alter his odds?”
“On the nights that Jyn Erso visits, Cassian’s sleep measures at a 57% deeper level, with statistically significant more healing REM noticed. Additionally, he sleeps for longer, and wakes in a mood more conducive to taking his morning medications and cooperating with our various health scans.”
“I see,” Hera nods, once, and barely manages a thank you to 2-1B before she rushes down the hallway, intent on telling the Princess not to send Jyn Erso out on that holocron-seeking mission with Ezra and Luke after all. It seems as if the best place for Jyn might very well be here, on Yavin IV, at least until the end of the standard week. After Cassian is healed, then, perhaps there's a mission he's better suited for, and a companion he should take.
Cassian’s sleep that afternoon is anything but restful, full of bad dreams of the future, and worse memories of the past. He hates this, hates being forced into endless days of bedrest while the Rebellion, including those that had been part of what might have been, what should have (if odds were to be believed) his last mission, go on, keep fighting, without him.
By the time he hears Jyn’s loud footsteps cut across the medbay floor, he’s fully awake, though he pretends not to be. Hera’s visit has given him a great deal of things to ponder, pieces of equations to put together, and in doing so, he’s pretty sure he’s solved all she left unasked. Which means, then, the case of the missing rock-climbing kit falls directly onto his (admittedly, currently otherwise useless to the Rebellion) shoulders.
So, he lets her come to a stand-still by his bed, lets her think he’s sleeping, if only for a moment, because he knows if his eyes were open, she’d say hey, you in that way only she can, stringing together two of the simplest words in Galactic Basic into something that somehow feels as warm as a mug of hot caf on the coldest of days. They’re simple words, near meaningless, and yet, for her, for them, he can’t help but find something more in them. Even her voice, lately, he’s found more comforting, found himself looking forward to hearing again, in a way he doesn’t anticipate his other friends’ visits. Even if half her topics are gossip, and the other half are complaining about the lack of any excitement on the base.
Tonight, though, Cassian is not going to allow the conversation to devolve into the equivalent of what his elderly aunts used to chat about as they cooked dinner around the hearthfire.
He hears her take a deep breath, something that strikes him as strange. Why would she be about to speak, even though she thinks he’s sleeping? What reason would she have? Surely, she knows hearing the chisme (as Kes Dameron, another notoriously nosy occupant of the Massassi temple would call it) of the gathered forces of the Rebellion is enough to put him to sleep, he doesn’t need more gossip as he slumbers.
So, to get to the heart of the matter, he cuts her off. “Jyn” Cassian’s eyes remain closed. “When you asked me how I got to the summit of the Gravaals, did you have the Rebellion’s best interests at heart?”
“Yes,” she says, far too quickly for it to be entirely honest.
“Ah. Are you sure about that.” His eyes remain closed.
“ ‘Course,” she mutters.
He opens his eyes now, just slightly, just enough to lock onto her own, and to see the blush high on her cheeks. Tonight, her brown hair is loose, giving her face a softer look, as if she came to see him right before her own day ends. Only now does he realize too, that when she visits, she’s never wearing the clothes she would for a day’s work on the base, but rather, a comfortable shirt and loose trousers, perhaps the same things she’d been assigned as sleepwear. The difference would be more noticeable if she’d worn a uniform, but of course, Jyn, for all that she enjoyed some elements of life on a base, like the mess hall and the shooting range, had refused the structure of a uniform.
“Why the Gravaals?” Cassian presses the issue of the mountain range once more, recalling how detailed her questions on it had been only days ago. Then, it had seemed to Cassian as if she might be tone to receive the mission, but he’d heard from Leia this morning, before Hera had visited, that Jyn was to be sent out on some sort of question for Jedi knowledge that seemed less practical than most of the Alliance High Command’s recent ideas. But Cassian hadn’t protested when Leia brought it up, in fact, he’d reminded Leia that he wasn’t Jyn’s commanding officer, not in any official sense, when she’d asked him if he thought that was best for Jyn. After he’d said, again, he had no jurisdiction over Jyn’s missions, as he had no direct reports, including her, Leia had countered.
But you are her friend, Leia had said, in that way only she could, making it sound like the title meant so much more than it did. She hadn’t said that when they’d discussed Baze and Chirrut’s plans, nor had she questioned him when he’d suggested Bodhi would be excellent in any role she saw fit to place him. So why did the princess think it mattered to him where Jyn went?
And why, now that he ponders the discussion again, does it feel like Leia might have been right? The mission Leia had described sounded not especially dangerous, but certainly lengthy, requiring at least five days of sub-lightspeed travel, not to mention all the time spent searching through some swamp-planet’s depths for what might or might not be signs of one of the last remaining Jedi. Cassian realizes, now, as he hadn’t then, that he isn’t very fond of the idea of the mission.
It’s too late, of course. Jyn will probably be headed to Dagobah tomorrow morning, which means not only will she be gone, but Hera won’t have her rock-climbing kit back, either.
“Pure curiosity,” Jyn finally responds to him, sounding as reluctant to speak as he is.
“Really?”
“I had your health in mind,” Jyn admits. “And you’re basically the heart of the Rebellion, Cassian, so doesn’t that count?”
“My health.” He repeats the word, “As far as I can tell, is quite well-assured, as long as I stay stuck in this… medbay.” The curse he almost uses is swallowed when he remembers the ever-watchful attention of the med droids.
“There’s more to health than whatever the fierfeking monitors are beeping about with you hooked up like that,” Jyn tucks her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on one arm. “You’re not somebody who’s going to feel like yourself until you’re out there doing stuff again.”
“You sound sure of yourself.”
“Cause I’m the same way.” Her smile appears, then disappears, as swift as a blaster-bolt. “Tell me I’m wrong, Captain, and I’ll put the kit back.”
So she knew this was about the rock-climbing kit. Jyn Erso is many things, but one thing she’s certainly not is a fool. It’s one of the traits of hers he finds the most endearing, as well as, in moments like this, the most exhausting. Tiredly, Cassian replies, “I’m going to tell you to put the kit back regardless.”
“But.”
“You’re part of the Alliance now, Jyn. You can’t take things without due cause and proper procedure.” All the same, he sees her tactic now. Hide the tools that a different soldier would need to go on the mission, which would mean High Command would have no choice but to call on the one soldier who had successfully landed a ship in the coves. As far as plans went, it was mildly treasonous, but certainly brilliant.
She sighs, unfurls her limbs and stretches. “For being called a Rebellion, you all do like your procedures.”
“It’s the way it has to be.” When he’d been a member of the ARG, things had been quite different. But Atrivis had been a smaller area, a single sector in a desolate part of the galaxy. To coordinate a large-scale war, certain protocols had to be followed, and not the least of those was supply chain management.
“Fine.” Jyn stands. She glances around the medbay, perhaps noticing, as Cassian has, that he’s the last casualty still healing. It had been nearly full after Scarif, and packed after the attack against the Death Star. Now, he’s the only one left, and his dismissal date, an amorphous, ever-shifting deadline, can’t come soon enough. “What’s the protocol for asking you to be assigned to be my copilot?”
“Jyn.” For a one-syllable name, he manages to say it with a great deal of emphasis.
“I’m serious. If I can’t have Bodhi with me, or Han--,”
He interrupts, “Please don’t tell me you’ve befriended the smuggler.”
“He’s a good barve. Plays a mean hand of Sabacc and--”
“He’s obnoxious and not remotely committed to the cause.” Cassian finishes her sentence, wondering just how soon after healing he’s going to be able to petition for Captain Solo to be sent on a mission very far from central command. Or, alternatively, Cassian would gladly be the one to take the mission and get away from the Corellian who talked enough to take up all the breathable air in the atmosphere.
“Then there’s another reason for you to heal up,” Jyn says. She’s turned to gaze down at him, and like the weather on Yavin can change in an instant, so does her expression. The light-hearted teasing has faded, somehow, leaving a different, gentler expression in its wake. Once more he notices how her loose hair seems so soft, her eyes such a brilliant shade of green. Once more, he tells himself that as either a fellow soldier or a friend, he has no business noticing such things. Then, her hand reaches out, over the cot he’s resting on. For a moment, he freezes, not even daring to breath, wondering if she means to touch him, if either of them are going to speak of how they’d clung to each other on Scarif’s shore, both of them certain of their own final moments, neither of them wishing to be alone. But instead, Jyn simply pushes the errant locks of hair away from his eyes, a small, simple gesture that he still finds comforting. “I’ve heard you play Sabacc, too, and I’m sure you’re a much better partner than Solo.”
“I--”
“I’ll bring a set of cards when I come back tomorrow. We’ll play a few rounds and see.”
He wants to tell her that he doesn’t need nursing back to health, that he’s fine without any company, and most of all, he wants to remind her to put the rock-climbing kit back, but he forgets all of those things with the way her green eyes soften as they gaze down at him once more. “I just want you better, Cassian,” she admits, softly. “You brought me to this Rebellion. Don’t make me fight in it alone.”
“I won’t,” he says, his voice soft, but firm. “As long as you--” He’d see Hera again, and he had to ensure that kit was where it belonged.
“Yes. I will. It’ll be back on the shelves tomorrow, I promise.” She pats his cheek, briefly letting her fingers run down his jawline, her touch warm despite his beard. “I just have one more thing to do with it first.”
That’s as good an answer as he can expect to get from her, Cassian figures, so he lets his eyes slide closed once more. Sleep comes quickly, before she’s even left the room.
When he wakes, the first thing Cassian notices is how rested he feels, how most of his monitors seem to be showing promising health levels. The second thing he notices is a small statue, clearly hand-carved, sitting next to his medical cot. It’s a loth cat, with perky ears and a mischievous expression. He’s reminded of the old phrase said by his aunts, suddenly, and resolves to tell it to Jyn, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already heard it. No creature is more content than a loth cat who has found something it wasn’t supposed to have. Because the little carved animal is also made of a unique greenish-blue native rock of Yavin, which Cassian knows quite well can’t be found anywhere close to the forest floor. Rather, it’s only located inside high cliff-caves, where ancient seas had once washed through and left mineral deposits in those bright colors. To find a sample, one would both need to be skilled at rock-hunting, as well as climbing rocky cliff sides. And if one had the time to find the sample, then perhaps that same person isn’t on her way to Dagobah.
When he learns an hour later he’s cleared to move his arms, and to sit up, the first thing Cassian does is reach for the little statue. He marvels at how well-carved it is, which also reminds him of the fact Jyn had borrowed his best knife before Scarif, and hadn’t returned it. But regardless, the loth cat is charming, all the same. it's also, he thinks, nearly the same brilliant shade as Jyn Erso’s eyes when she smiles at him.