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They pass the table of a fortune teller, a lone woman amongst a handful of peddlers with overpriced fruit, stolen military rations, and hand knitted shawls. Her tip jar is empty but her face is serene, like it doesn’t matter whether or not people pay to know what she knows. Either way, she still knows it.
There was a time when Jyn wouldn’t believe that someone could know anything that wasn’t their own thoughts or memories. But she’s seen too much in her short life; she knows how kyber feels, the way it buzzes on her chest, the way it makes it feel like she could fly. She remembers Chirrut, how he knew things, and wondered if it was distance to kyber that did that to him or something deeper, something else she couldn’t name. She remembers every moment that felt predestined, like she had been there before frozen in time. Jyn believes in the woman like she believes in those moments.
Cassian doesn’t stop her when she steps to the table. They are always in a hurry, running from something, gathering supplies for the rebels that lie in wait. But he knows there’s only days before they might die, another almost-death day to add to all their others. They can only escape cleanly so many times before meeting their end.
So Jyn steps to the table, and Cassian doesn’t stop her.
“Girl,” the woman drawls, drawing out the syllables. The way she speaks feels definite, powerful. Jyn somehow knows the truth will live in every word the woman speaks. “Your name was meant to be spoken with his. Like always calls to like. Those who become someone else are destined to find others like them.”
Jyn feels her eyes grow wide. Cassian doesn’t touch her, but he’s moved to her elbow, the heat of him pressing against her.
The lady turns away from them, signaling her reading was done, before she speaks one final time.
“Captain, is it fair you know the people she’s been before, but she knows nothing of you?”
“We’re leaving,” Cassian says, not giving her an answer. Jyn files away the message, not sure how to take it or how to question Cassian in a way that will get her answers. Ever since Scarif, since the many missions they’ve taken after beating the odds and surviving, they’ve slowly opened up to each other.
But the fortune teller was right; Cassian knew Liana, Kestrel, Tanith… Jyn only knew Cassian Andor, spy for Rebel Intelligence.
Who was he before he met her?
*
Cassian leads them to the safe house for the evening, a tiny, one room flat on the outskirts of the city, with a tiny kitchenette and even tinier fresher. The curtains were moth-holed and the bedspread scratchy, but it was a real mattress, full-sized so they’d both fit comfortably. Rarely were accommodations as nice as these.
They clear the flat and find themselves back in the main room. Light filters through the curtain holes in pinprick shapes, some flying like little freckles over Jyn’s face and arms, down her neck. She was holding herself stiff, shoulders bunched near her ears.
“You’ve got questions,” he says.
“Do you have answers?”
He shrugs. He always figured he’d tell her eventually. There had just never been time– he found her, they made it to Scarif, they somehow survived, and now they fly around the galaxy going to towns that need help starting their own fights. So much moving, so much talking to strangers…it’s hard to snatch a moment for themselves. Flight time was often left for sleeping, sometimes the only sleep they got in between missions.
“Jyn, it’s not like I wanted to keep it a secret from you.”
Her shoulders fell, like all she needed was that little bit of assurance.
“I know. I wouldn’t want to pressure you to tell me either. Those memories can hurt.”
She jerks a blade out of her boot, sliding it under a pillow before taking her boots off and laying on the bed. She pats the space next to her, an offer to sit.
“Sit a spell and tell me about your sad, sad life Captain,” she jokes. “I might be able to relate.”
He’s used to her deflections, the way she uses her quick wit to distract from what bothers her. It irritates him, the way they never seem able to be genuine. Something’s always hidden, always better off not being said. He was tired of it.
“I’ll give you the terrible truth,” he tells her.
Cassian stays sat up while he tells her, head curling towards his lap the longer he speaks. Jyn doesn’t move. He tells her he was stolen as a child, and her breath slows. He tells her his sister might still be out there, might be alone except for her own thoughts. He doesn’t know and that’s what kills him.
When he tells her about the prison, about why he rarely takes his shoes off, he swears he hears a stray tear plink against skin like the world’s teeniest work bell echoing in the silent room. Can imagine how it rolls from the corner of her eye down a cheekbone too hollow from lack of good food, down the slope of her chin until it hits against the back of her hand.
He does not look at her. She still does not move, but he hears no more tears.
When he gets to Melshi, she shifts. He hears her cargo pants crinkle against the sheets, like she was readjusting her seat.
This time, he sneaks a peek. Her eyes are red-rimmed, like she would have cried much more if she let herself. But her mouth turns up in a grin, one she keeps biting back for it to return a second later, over and over.
“Did he ever tell you what happened that day he was sent to break me out of jail?”
Time moved fast back then– Melshi returned with Jyn, a knot on his head, a bruise marring his cheek, threw her at Cassian and said, “Here’s your girl.” That was all they spoke about before Jyn and him had to leave, chasing down Bodhi and her fathers, before leaving for Scarif.
Melshi was currently laid up in a Hoth sickbed, covered in blankets, still asleep. They weren’t sure when he’d wake up.
Jyn’s voice fades away, realizing he’s lost in thought. She doesn’t say a word, choosing to pick at her nail beds while waiting for him to come back. He lifts his head back up and nods, and she falls right back into her story.
“He stood in front of me and asked if I was Liana Halick, ignoring all the voices around that asked him to take them too. I nodded yes because I’ve learned never to look a gift horse in the mouth. He unlocked my cuffs and then I hit the shit out of him.”
Despite his brain wanting to wallow, he smiles.
“You almost got away.”
“I did,” she says. “But Kay stopped me. Stood in front of me like a wall then jerked me up until I was dangling above the ground. Took me to see Draven, and Mothma, and you. You know the rest.”
He does.
They settle into bed, lying beside each other but not touching. The full sized bed makes that hard but Jyn likes to sleep curled into herself, leaving room for Cassian to lie flat on his back. It still aches, even after months and tons of bacta, but he’s able to work, and he’ll fall asleep eventually. Today his heart hurt more than his bones. Thinking of Melshi reminds him of Kino. It reminds him of Kerri, a soul he swears is still alive in the galaxy.
It reminds him of Keef Girgo, of all the different men he’s had to become, how the fortune teller acted like it was a burden he needed to share. Spies can’t share everything. That’s driven into them from day one. But he and Jyn are inseparable now, he’s heard Draven saying it himself, annoyed but not willing to do anything to change it.
“Cassian?” Jyn whispers. Her voice scares him, and as he jerks his back caught. He let out a hiss of pain and she rolls over, immediately nudging his hip for him to roll on his belly.
“You don’t have to,” he tells her. They always play this game when he’s hurt. She wants to massage, to help in some tangible way, he tells her it’s okay, and she does it anyway. It makes them both feel better to play coy, act like they both don’t want it so badly it makes their gums ache.
“I know.”
He turns and her hands touch his skin, trying to will away the pain. It takes a few minutes before he remembers how this started, with her saying his name like a question. A question backed with a little fear.
“Jyn, did you want to ask me something?”
A few breaths pass with no answer. Jyn changes nothing about her motions, keeping the pressure on his back just shy of painful, the way he liked it.
She laughs, the sound echoing around the room.
“I think the old woman got to me. I can’t stop thinking about what she said.”
He knew his muscles grew tense and that she would notice but keep going.
“I just…You did know things about me before I ever knew who you were. And you’ve told me some things just like tonight but I know there’s more. There’s always more. That doesn’t mean you’re required to share. I don’t want to be needy.”
“It’s not needy to ask questions. It’s what people do when they’re together.”
“We’ve never done things like other people though, have we?” Her smile is small but real, full of her trust in him. “I don’t mind it. I like that we make up our own way.”
“I do too,” he tells her.
“So you’ll share things with me? And I’ll share with you? You know my aliases, my crimes, but there are moments I’ve never told anyone about. Moments that hurt. But maybe…maybe telling you will make them hurt less.”
“Maybe,” he says.
She keeps rubbing, thumbs ghosting up and down his spine. They make him want to melt in the mattress. Never move again except to kiss her and raid the stash house of its meager rations, then head right back to bed.
“I want to tell you something else,” he mumbles into the pillow. He’s scared to look at her, to see what giving her such a sensitive piece of himself would mean.
Her hands falter for just a moment, but she gets back into her rhythm before answering.
“Okay.”
“My real name isn’t Cassian. It’s Kassa.”
“Kassa,” she repeats. “Kassa, Kassa, Kassa.”
She says his name a few more times, like she wants to roll it around her mouth and see how it feels.
“It fits you. Why’d it change?”
“I don’t know. The people who took me gave me their last name. For some reason they felt the first had to be changed. So Kassa became Cassian. It made me angry. It still does when I think about it for too long. But it’s nice to have Kassa be my secret. Whenever I realize I forgot what my sister looked like, how the water on Kenari felt on my skin, certain words that used to flow off of my tongue, I could always say Kassa and remember I was connected to them. And now it’s our secret.”
Jyn kneels on the floor where his head was turned and looks him in the eye.
“Our secret.”
She kisses him on the forehead, then moves to settle back into bed, scooching to the middle so they could touch.
“Thank you for telling me, Kassa.”
He feels a lump grow in his throat. He feels lighter now that she knows. He wants to tell her more; wants to hear her stories of lands before him, dreams she had, people she became. He wants to hear it all.
“Thank you for listening, Jyn.”