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He was pretty delirious once the painkillers kicked in.
It was a calculated risk to give them to him in the first place—Jyn wasn’t entirely certain what it was in the syringe, just that the emergency med-kit was immediately recognizable—but Cassian could barely walk. He was shaking severely and when they finally found and stole a ship, he nearly passed out from the pain of walking on board. So, while Cassian figured out the autopilot to get them off Scariff, Jyn searched for something to help him. The emergency med-kit was both a blessing and a risk as the syringe was most likely some sort of pain reliever but without a label, there was no way to know for sure. She was reluctant to use it at first but after the seventh time Cassian insisted he was fine through wet eyes and labored breaths, she went for it.
When she first injected him, Cassian’s rambles were limited to the success of their mission. He was clearly spiraling but remained mostly coherent as he praised their victory, as he lamented their losses, and then that coherence fizzled into something that Jyn couldn’t make sense of. Initially, she thought that Cassian was speaking complete gibberish but, after a couple minutes of careful listening, she realized that as he slipped in and out of consciousness, he was slipping in and out of Basic too. Jyn didn’t know what language he spoke, but she was able to identify a handful of repeated words, vaguely familiar sentence structures, and perhaps most significantly, that Cassian’s speech in the mysterious language somehow sounded more natural even despite his slight slurring.
“What language did they speak on Fest?” asked Jyn. She set an ice pack on Cassian’s wound, careful not to press too hard. She’d finally convinced him to lay down on one of the benches in the back of their stolen ship—albeit in a somewhat awkward position, as it was the only way to avoid touching his blaster wound without putting too much pressure on his severely bruised back—despite his reluctance to leave the pilot’s seat. Jyn, confident in his ability to set it on auto, sat on the floor beside him to tend to his injury. She was exhausted and ached everywhere but only one of them had been shot. Her own rest could come after he fell asleep.
“Nãm sé,” Cassian muttered. His right hand fell on top of the ice pack as he shifted on the small bench. “Never been.”
In Jyn’s defense, she wouldn’t have guessed that Cassian had lied to her because she had no reason to. If anything, Fest seemed like an honest and genuine answer because its demise added weight to the reason why he joined the Rebellion. Plus, Jyn had never known anyone from Fest, so she had no reference to judge whether he looked like the people he lived there; whether his accent matched whatever language they once spoke; whatever language Cassian didn’t even know. She hesitated, searching for the right thing to say.
“You’re not from Fest,” she said finally, careful to keep her words soft. She wasn’t mad. If Cassian had lied about his origin, he probably had a good reason for it. She’d learned quickly that almost everyone in the Rebellion forged their identity in some way or another, each for their own reasons. “What’s your home language?”
“I was raised on Ferrix.”
It was hard to tell whether he intentionally dodged her question, given his current state, but Jyn was still in her right mind, and she knew enough to realize that answer didn’t make sense either. “They speak Basic on Ferrix.”
“I said I was raised on Ferrix.” Cassian’s gaze focused on the ceiling, his chest rising and falling increasingly slowly. Each time he spoke his words were drawn out and deliberate, almost like he had to actively think to speak lucidly. His dive into incoherency must have been related to his body relaxing from the drugs. “I didn’t say I was born there.”
“Where were you born, then?”
“You wouldn’t know of it.”
Jyn’s instinct was to ask him to tell her anyway, to not assume she was ignorant, but something about Cassian’s tone stopped her. He didn’t sound like he accused her of being ignorant, he sounded like he was sad. Like he wished she would recognize its name but felt the chance was so small he shouldn’t bother saying it. Like he’d been disappointed so many times before that he’d given up sharing that part of his story entirely.
Because his emotions were written in his eyes, bleeding through his words, Jyn chose not to press the question. Cassian’s face was still paler than usual, his gaze unfocused and his body still shaking just enough to be visible. Jyn pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, unsurprised to find it was hot. His body was struggling to repair the damage done by the blaster, and though Jyn wished there were something more she could do, there wasn’t. The emergency med-kit was barely stocked, and she’d already used up most of it.
“How are you feeling?” Cassian didn’t immediately respond. He blinked several times as he rolled his head to look at Jyn for the shortest moment before turning back to the ceiling. “Cassian. How’s the pain?”
“Meljorar,” he answered, his speech breathy. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head before he continued in a slow, deliberate way that Jyn was grateful to understand. “My insides don’t feel like they’re cooking anymore, so… it still burns, but it’s better.” An odd expression crossed his face as he hesitated, wetting his lips as he inhaled. “Meljorar is better. Feels better. Kevésbenos.”
“Kevésbenos?”
“It’s less pain. It hurts less. What is in these painkillers?”
Jyn’s heart skipped a beat, her hand instinctively reaching for Cassian’s arm. Surprisingly, his body seemed entirely calm. “Is something wrong?”
“Just brain fog,” mumbled Cassian. He winced as he adjusted the ice pack against his wound. His shirt was still mostly on, and the ice pack covered most of his exposed skin, but what Jyn could see was bad. The pain might have been going down, but the injury seemed to be getting worse. “Are you okay, Jyn? Are you still hurting?”
“No.” It was surprising that he asked after so long. Jyn hadn’t even considered whether he cared but suddenly, she was confident that he did. The fast-paced escape and his own excruciating pain were likely all that stopped Cassian asking sooner. Jyn glanced down at her bruised arm, her sore legs, and shook her head. “No, I’m all right. Just try to get some rest, okay? I’ll keep an eye on the ship while you sleep.”
“For the last time, I’m fine.”
“You almost fell three times walking to this bench, you’re slurring your words, and you’re obviously still shaking. You need to rest. We can argue about how ‘fine’ you are later.”
Cassian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You sound like Maarva.”
“Who’s Maarva?”
“My—” He broke off suddenly. He shook his head, his gaze shifting downward and looking anywhere but at Jyn when he spoke again. “Nobody. Forget I said anything.”
The pain behind his words said the person in question was the opposite of nobody. Jyn hesitated but decided to take the chance. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”
“No, it’s— it’s too hard to explain. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Cassian—”
“Later, okay? Another time.” Jyn nodded, her heart sinking at the desperation in his tone. Whatever happened with this person—to this person—must have left behind a deep emotional scar. Cassian took a deep breath as he turned back to Jyn. His eyes seemed somehow more exhausted straight-on. “I want to tell you about her, and I will, I promise, but it’s not— it’s not really a nice story. We lost enough today; I don’t want to think about all that too.”
There was no better explanation. They had no idea who else made it off Scarif—if anyone else made it off Scarif—and that fact was almost more devastating than their mission’s success was empowering. As such, Jyn chose to say nothing else. She leaned back against the side of the bench, letting the ship’s roaring engine and Cassian’s soft breaths take over the silence. Finally, Cassian allowed his eyes to remain shut, his body still save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He seemed somehow calm despite the pain he was in.
Aching for peace of her own, Jyn let her own eyes drift shut, her arms in her lap and her legs extended as she embraced the quiet. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to just breathe and as she watched Cassian fall asleep beside her, she wondered if he felt the same. If he’d done nothing but fight until they met and this was the first time in so long that he had no mission, no goal, nothing to do or stress about but healing. He seemed so still that Jyn assumed he was out at last, but then the faintest voice cut through the air and suddenly, her time to breathe was over.
“Kenari,” was all Cassian said at first, and Jyn’s heart skipped a beat. He was either telling her something or talking in his sleep and she had no idea which. Not wanting to wake him if he was asleep, Jyn said nothing, unintentionally prompting an elaboration. “My home language is Kenari.”
It broke her heart to have to whisper, “I’ve never heard Kenari before.”
“It’s a dead language now. Kenari is gone so its culture is too.”
“Was it…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the Death Star.
“Long before that.” He shook his head. He faced the ceiling again as he spoke, unwilling or unable to meet Jyn’s gaze. “It was Imperial miners. They killed my people and then they destroyed what was left of our world. Technically it’s still there, but… it’s inhospitable now. From the— the mérco.” Jyn’s knit brow must have been asking for an explanation even from the corner of his eye. “There isn’t a direct translation. Or if there is, I don’t know of it. It’s the— like the fumes from the mines.”
“They’re toxic.”
“Igeí,” Cassian muttered, as a quiet, pained groan slipped through his lips. His right hand squeezed the ice pack on his wound and, almost instinctively, Jyn reached up to give him something to squeeze with his left too. His fingers had nearly stopped shaking but they were still abnormally warm wrapped around hers. “Where were you born?”
“On Vallt.” It had been a long time since Jyn had told anyone that fact. Suddenly, Jyn couldn’t remember if she ever even had. But something about Cassian’s honesty and vulnerability in that moment convinced her it was okay to share her truth too.
“Vallt is a glacial planet?” Jyn nodded, pleasantly surprised that he’d heard of it and, at the same time, feeling guilty for the fact that she didn’t know of Kenari. “You like the cold?”
“It’s all right. I didn’t grow up where I was born either, so…” She nearly elaborated on the why of the matter but ultimately decided not to. Like Cassian, she wasn’t really in the mood to recount unpleasant stories. “What about you? Was Kenari cold?”
Cassian snorted, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Kenari is arboreal. Always warm like a sauna. Probably eighty percent humidity on average.” The briefest moment of hesitation passed before he added playfully, “Personally, I don’t favor the cold, but I do love my parkas.”
“You do have some amazing parkas.”
“Glad you noticed. It’s hard to find people who appreciate a good parka these days.” His fingers twisted around Jyn’s, his thumb gently tracing her skin before he squeezed her hand. She didn’t understand the look on his face until he continued. “I’ll get you a new parka when we’ve settled, okay? And boots. Your boots… I can temporary fix them when I wake up. Put some new laces to make them tight and detail them so you don’t— you don’t have all the sand. Okay?”
Jyn had no desire to let Cassian do those things for her, but his words grew more slurred and less coherent with each sentence. What he said was probably less a genuine offer than it was exhausted ramblings, and there was no reason to shut him down. If Cassian actually tried to detail her boots for her when he woke up, she could argue with him then. But in that moment, it was about letting him have peace. Allowing him space to relax and heal the best that he could given the circumstances. All that considered, Jyn nodded and gently squeezed Cassian’s hand back rather than saying a word.
She leaned against the bench as silence washed over them, her head pressed on the side of Cassian’s shoulder. They were a little dirty, a little bloodied, but it didn’t matter. Their mission was over. Jyn knew, deep down, that they would both return to the Rebellion to continue fighting, but they didn’t have to. They didn’t have to do anything else and that was what helped her relax. Right then, for the first time since she could remember, nobody expected anything of Jyn. And whether he’d realized it yet or not, nobody expected anything from Cassian either.
As far as the Rebellion knew, they both died on Scarif. If they decided to disappear—whether together or apart, though Jyn did prefer the former—no one would know, no one would care, and never had such a bleak thought ever felt so freeing. Jyn spent her life doing what she was told, what she was forced to, what was expected of her, and she didn’t have to anymore. She could just walk away, pursue whatever life she wanted without consequence. Dreams of the infinite possibilities of her future—their future—almost sent her to sleep but Cassian’s voice broke the silence for the second time, his whispered, tired words catching her attention faster than the ice pack he pressed to the bruise on her cheek.
“Were you always called Jyn?”
“Yes.” It was an unusual question but somehow, coming from Cassian, it didn’t seem that strange. The only reason it bothered her was because it revealed there was still something she was missing. She took the ice pack into her own hand, too distracted by the question to argue over it. “Were you always called Cassian?”
There was no way he’d fallen asleep that quickly but apparently, that was what he wanted her to believe. Cassian’s eyes closed, his body nearly motionless as he shielded himself from the question. Part of Jyn wondered whether he would have elaborated if her answer was different, but the thought didn’t last long. One look at Cassian’s face, at their fingers still intertwined, and she knew that she would never lie to him again.
Cassian wasn’t ready to talk about whatever happened to him and Jyn wasn’t ready to share her life story, either. But they silently agreed to be honest with each other, to tell the truth once they were ready to cross those lines and, in that moment, Jyn couldn’t ask for anything more.