Archive of Our Own

The rain is persistent, heavy, and very cold.

It would be less of a problem if Melshi weren’t out in it, but he is. And it’s the kind of insidious, damp chill that seeps in everywhere and doesn’t leave. Melshi’s been cold for the last standard hour, uncomfortable verging on miserable as the night wears on. Even standing under the wide awning of the building, well back from the wet. Even wearing three layers of shirts under the hooded coat Cassian bought for him. Even pacing back and forth along the alley wall, huffing plumes every time he exhales.

Melshi’s sure the huuka lounge is warm. Hot even, most likely. Melshi wouldn’t mind being hot right now. He wants to be inside with Cassian for a few reasons, only the least of which is the warmth. But Cassian wants Melshi outside, where it’s safer.

Not much safer, mind. There are still the bored stormtroopers plodding along their patrols; the other Leisure Zone patrons’ curiosity or suspicion as they pass. Melshi’s cover is, his cheating husband’s in the huuka lounge; he’s working up the courage to confront him. He knows he’s more than agitated enough to sell it. So far nobody’s cared enough to ask.

Doesn’t mean they won’t. Doesn’t mean they’ll buy the story if they do. But Cassian was still adamant about going in alone.

Melshi and Cassian don’t fight much—that’s more Cassian and Jyn—but they fought about this. Cassian nearly died less than a month ago, for the third time since Scarif. The third time in barely more than four months. And, sure, the chance of Cassian getting drugged again is almost nonexistent. But it’s not zero. And if the worst happens, Melshi would at least be there. Near enough to help. Not parsecs distant while Cassian stops breathing in someone else’s arms.

So they fought and Melshi lost. Because Cassian said he would keep his eye on anything he ingested the entire time, and was more worried about changing the plan than anyone drugging him. As if Melshi hadn’t caught him with a glass of Tevraki whisky the day before they left, staring at it like the damn thing would bite him. Then forcing himself to drink it and trying not to puke.

Melshi was mad enough to admit he saw it. Except Cassian just rolled his eyes like it was no big deal. I did it, didn’t I? And then Jyn sided with Cassian and that was the end of it.

It shouldn’t have been the end of it. It should have been the end of this karking mission, and not just because Cassian’s not ready for what he’s forcing himself to do. But because Jyn fell ill nearly the second they stepped out of their ship. Now she has a fever and can barely finish a sentence without coughing. But she flat-out refused to go home, insisted she could recover at the safehouse just as well as in their quarters. Melshi fought with Jyn about that too, but Jyn was adamant she was fine, she went on raids with Saw sicker than this. And Cassian said it was her choice. So she stayed.

She probably is fine. It’s a low fever. It’s not a bad cough. She’s not spitting up anything. Her lungs sounded all right whenever Melshi put his ear to her back. But she’s been sick for days, and she’s not really any better. And she has a fever and she’s coughing. And Morlana One is wet and cold.

And, well. Melshi knows what chest rattle sounds like. And maybe Jyn’s lungs aren’t rattling yet, but they might. They could.

It’s not likely. Melshi knows that. Chest rattle was common in his sector, not here. He’s been trying not to worry. But Jyn was wheezing before they left tonight, bundled up in their overheated apartment. And he keeps thinking, what if it gets worse? What if she stops breathing?

And right now Cassian’s in the dim, hot huuka lounge with a disgraced Narkina Five Prison guard, drinking and smoking Force knows what. Cassian’s sure the man won’t remember him. Unlike Melshi who was there so much longer. But, who knows? Maybe the karking bastard has an eidetic memory. Maybe he’s already slipped something into Cassian’s huuka or whatever he’ll make himself drink. Maybe it’ll be too much again and Cassian will suffocate.

Maybe Jyn’s going to drown in her own mucus the way all three of his parents did. And Melshi will be pacing in the rain as his oyshanan stop breathing.

Optimism has never been Melshi’s friend, but he knows he’s not usually this bleak. He trusts Cassian, trust Jyn. He trusts his own abilities. And this is actually the low-stakes part of the mission. Things won’t get difficult until Cassian pickpockets this guy’s scandocs and Jyn forges a set for each of them. But Melshi had ice rattling his guts even before they left the fleet. They’ve been here nearly a standard week and nothing bad has happened. It doesn’t matter. It still feels like he, Cassian and Jyn have been hanging from a cliff the entire time. He’s horribly sure one of them will fall.

It’s not rational. He’s aware of it, can’t shake it any more than he can melt the ice in his belly. He learned a long time ago to trust his feelings, but this isn’t a feeling. It’s a formless, frigid dread, heavy and pervasive as the rain. He’s pacing the alley like a Loth-cat in a cage, thumbs running madly over his fingers. He badly wants someone to say, I hear you. They’re leaving. But the ships keep circling and he’s barely hanging on.

It's not rational. He’s pacing and twitching like he’s high on stims and it’s completely irrational and he has no idea what’s wrong with him tonight. Maybe he’s just tired. He isn’t sleeping well. He hasn’t since Jyn and Cassian became his oyshanan, but after Troithe he’s barely slept at all. And now Jyn is sick. Being tired amplifies everything.

He’s worried. It’s just love. Love always means fear. But, he can’t sleep. Hasn’t for weeks. He keeps jolting awake in panic, certain they’re not breathing. He’s spoken to the mind healers about it. It’s helped. A bit. They’ve tried. But of course he’s afraid Cassian and Jyn will die. They almost did. Cassian almost died three times. It’s just love; Their lives are dangerous. The mind healers can’t change that. He’s not going to stop worrying.

They gave him pills. The pills help him sleep but they make him dopey, hard to wake up. He can’t take them on missions. He rarely takes them at all. What if something terrible happens and he doesn’t wake up? It’s not worth it.

But he’s exhausted. It’s amplifying everything, making him irrational. He’ll go to the mind healers again when they get back. Maybe this time it’ll really make a difference.

He’s drifting, yanks his mind back to the present. He hears bootsteps, troopers nearly at the mouth of the alley. He would’ve walked right into them. He needs to pay attention.

Melshi stops his pacing, steps right back so he’s against the wall. His coat’s dark brown. The alley’s just dark enough here he’s not visible on first glance. There’s no door or window on this side, so no cameras. As long as he doesn’t attract attention he’ll be fine.

He needs to sharpen up. He hasn’t been listening to his comm.

It’s all right. They have two code phrases to bring Melshi in. Melshi’s sure he would’ve heard one of them. Cassian’s still flirting with the mark: You know, you still haven’t told me what it’s like working for…what is it now? The Imperial-Preox Authority? That sounds fascinating. He sounds calm, happy. He had a full hypo of antieth before he left tonight. He said he’d keep his eyes on anything he ingested. Jyn’s at the safehouse. They’re fine. They’re both fine.

Melshi folds his writhing fingers into fists, stuffs them into his pockets. Closes his eyes, takes a deep breath of the wet, frigid air. Winter rain. It reminds him of his home planet. They called it “Sickness Season,” when the air got like this. And now Jyn’s coughing.

He’s on Morlana One. Jyn’s fine. Cassian’s fine. Melshi takes another breath, expects it to taste like fever and a rattle in his lungs. But it’s just icy cold, the damp, sour dregs of pollution. Nothing bad is happening.

Oh, you’d think it’d be, wouldn’t you? the mark scoffs. Being part of the great polity for the sector, right in the middle of everything. You’d think it’d have some kind of actual authority attached, wouldn’t you? He’s drunk, slurring his words. So close to Cassian Melshi can hear his bitter resentment. Cassian can probably smell it like the alcohol. Some kind of authority. Like the name. You’d think that.

I would. Especially for someone with your rank and…I don’t know. You so seem so… Cassian pauses. Melshi imagines him licking his lips, his gaze flicking from the mark’s eyes to his lips and back. Imposing. Imagines Cassian’s hand fitting around the mark’s wrist, solid and warm. A tease. An invitation.

He’s almost sure that’s the mark, clearing his throat. I was. You bet I was, beautiful. Clink of ice in a glass. A long, wet, unpleasant gulp as the man swallows. I used to be in charge of over 700 men, Oh, yeah. One floor of a giant prison, full of rapists, murderers, insurrectionists, rebels… Melshi hears the sneer in the mark’s voice, all but sees the hatred blazing in his eyes. “And barely 12 of us per floor, keeping those animals in line.

Melshi starts pacing again.

Only 12, for that many? Melshi’s sure Cassian’s leaning forward, all guileless, big brown eyes. That sounds dangerous.

Stroking the mark’s ego. Might as well be stroking his cock, for how he’s eating it up. Oh, it was! Never doubt it. Just me and a handful of other men. One thin line between the worst kind of scum and the sweet, innocent citizens of the Empire like you.

Melshi grits his teeth, imagines putting his fist through the mark’s throat. Silencing that smug, self-satisfied voice. He keeps pacing.

You must’ve been so brave, to do that. Cassian sounds so earnest. It’s an act, a ploy. But he has to be there, fawning over this asshole calling them animals. How can he not be sick, listening to it? Melshi feels sick, hot rage like bile in his throat.

He yanks his hands out of his pockets, flicks his thumb over his fingers. Reaches the end of the alley and snaps around.

The mark scoffs again. Bravery? Against those dregs? No. All we needed was a charged zap rod and electrified floors. Melshi swallows, tastes bile. Doesn’t heave it over the ferrocrete. They say the mind can’t remember pain, but it doesn’t forget it happened. Let me tell you, one taste of that would train them up. And then all you had to do was say, On program! Hold your position! and they’d snap-to like droids. Believe it.

He laughs, says something else. Keef responds but it’s lost, too quiet over the pulse throbbing in Melshi’s ears. Immediate compliance or they’ll spark the floor.

It’s not right. Something’s missing. But he heard it: On program. Hold your position. That means feet down, hands behind your head. Immediate compliance. He’s knocked his hood off. His ears are cold. He’s panting puffs of white into the air. White walls. White uniform. The streaming water makes sense. Hydraulics, he thinks. Waves. They’re deep in the lake. But, something’s wrong. Melshi’s on the bridge—he’s on program, he must be on the bridge—but it’s not right. He’s not with the other prisoners. He’s too cold. He can hear Keef but he can’t see him.

I’m not here. Which here? He doesn’t know. He has to. Keef is depending on him. For the escape? No. No. Something else. Inside. Keef needs Melshi inside.

Isn’t Melshi already inside? Where is he?

Dark. Freezing cold. Water. Keef flooded the floor. Except Melshi’s feet aren’t wet. They feel different. Heavy? All of him does. Uniform’s sodden from the lake. But he’s not wet.

He’s dry. His clothes are heavier, more confining. Shirts. Coat. Pants with pockets. Boots.

Boots.

He’s wearing boots. He’s outside. He’s wearing boots outside because it’s cold and raining. There was no rain on Narkina Five. It was never this cold.

He’s standing in an unmonitored alley near a huuka lounge. Keef is Kassa. Cassian. Cassian’s inside. Cassian is depending on him.

Come on, Melshi. Drop your damn arms. He can’t. He’s on program, hold position.

But, he can move. A little. Like whenever Kino punched him. He had to move for that, get back into line. He can take a step. He can take two steps. He’s done that. No one sparked the floor.

Melshi takes two steps, out into the rain.

His hood’s down. Rain soaks his hair, his hands. It’s so cold he gasps. Water runs under the sleeves of his coat, soaks his wrists. Curtain of water over his face, neck, nape. Soaks into the cloth of his shirts. It’s freezing. He’s freezing. Cold enough to hurt. Cold enough to start him shivering.

It’s real. He’s wet and shivering and this is real.

Melshi chokes out a sob of relief, lowers his hands. His heart races like he’s been startled awake, come up fighting. He flexes his fingers. His hands are shaking: stress and cold. Breath shudders from adrenaline. He has to get a hold of himself, walk through the door ready to make a scene. Cassian is Keef—Jero. He’s Jero tonight. Melshi is Rune.

He takes a breath. Air like ice in his lungs, shuddering in, shuddering out. He can’t stop it. It can’t be helped; there’s no time. Cassian’s waited too long as it is.

Melshi curls his hands into fists, stalks to the mouth of the alley then around the corner to the archway entrance. Slows down as he passes the bouncer—don’t look scared, don’t look angry—Speeds up again under the archway.

The door to the lounge slides open. He stalks in, reels from the sudden blast of heat. The air is blue with smoke, cloyingly fragrant. He coughs. How can anyone breathe in this? How can Cassian breathe in this? Melshi missed his cue. What if something happened to him?

“Rune?”

Cassian. Melshi whips his head towards the voice. There. He’s there. Snug in the corner nearest the door, back to the wall. Bubbling huuka on the table next to his couch. Glass of something clear next to the huuka. And a flushed brunet practically in his lap, staring at Melshi in shock with woozy, bloodshot blue eyes.

Melshi doesn’t know him. He knows that contemptuous, knife-blade blue like he knows his own name. So many guards with eyes like that, with their zap rods and taunting smiles. If I use this, you’ll remember it.

He did. He never forgot. And this blue-eyed asshole is pressed against Keef’s side, pawing him.

He crosses the room in six strides. The patrons near him lean away, jerk back their limbs. “Get away from him!” He grabs two fistfuls of the fancy collar, heaves the guard to his feet. Lets go with one hand and pulls back his fist.

Guard has his hands up, whimpering. “No, no, no—!”

“Rune!” Cassian cries, “Rune, wait—!”

Melshi hits the guard in his sniveling mouth. Something cracks. Good. He’ll remember it. Keep his Force-damned filthy hands to himself. “You don’t touch him, you hear me?” He’s snarling, lips pulled back. Hits him again. Guard’s begging, fumbling at Melshi’s coat. Blue eyes wide with fear. Good. Melshi pulls his arm back. He’s going to take him apart.

Keef catches his wrist, holds fast when Melshi jerks it. “Hey! Hey. Stop. You need to stop.”

Melshi stares at him, chest heaving and flexing his fingers. Right knuckles sting, leak red. Keef’s eyes are frightened too. The guard’s crying, trying to pry Melshi’s fist off his collar. “Did he hurt you? Can you breathe okay?” Worry seeps through like rain. Melshi drops the guard to put his palm on Keef’s chest, feel the rise and fall. Steady. Keef’s lungs are steady.

Keef takes Melshi’s other wrist. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. You are my third gift,” he says in Kenar. “You understand? Are you with me?”

Melshi blinks. This isn’t Keef. This is Cassian, holding his wrists. Holding Melshi there with him. Cassian’s eyes are still afraid. “I’m with you.” It’s the one thing he knows.

“Good. That’s good.” Cassian kisses the knuckles of Melshi’s left hand. “Wait for me outside, all right? I’ll fix this.”

He can’t remember the script, doesn’t know if this is Jero or Cassian. He nods anyway. “I’m sorry.” He kriffed up. Maybe ruined the escape. No. They got out. They made it.

“It’s all right. Just, go now, okay? I’ll be there soon.” Cassian squeezes his wrists gently, lets go and steps back. “I’ll be there soon.”

Melshi nods again, makes his body turn and walk away.

He stalks back out the door, under the archway. White, grey and orange in the corners of his eyes. Realizes his hands are on the back of his head. He whips them down. His knuckles are bleeding. He can’t feel it. He makes fists in his pockets. Doesn’t look at the bouncer as he passes him again.

Cassian will be here soon. Melshi clings to that but the archway is turning white and orange and grey. He can’t stay here. He’ll disappear if he does.

Melshi can still move. He goes back around the building to where the alley is. It’s safe there. No one can see him coming apart. Two stormtroopers pass him. He keeps his head down and they don’t look.

Nobody in the alley. He steps out from under the awning. The rain is coming down harder now, colder. Stabs where it hits his skin.

He’s shivering again, teeth clacking, hands vibrating where they dangle at his sides. The split skin on his knuckles hurts. This is real. He can feel it. If he’s wet, cold and shivering he’s here. He’s still here.

Ten minutes. Ten kriffing minutes to mollify that karking asshole ex-guard enough to make sure he went home to lick his wounds instead of having Melshi arrested. At least Cassian got the scandocs while he apologetically helped straighten the bastard’s clothes. But it took too long. He planned for a couple minutes of wide-eyed groveling at worst. But Melshi was supposed to just rough the guy up, not try to take his head off. It complicated things.

The droid takes forever to bring his coat. Cassian seethes, thinks of going without it. He can’t, it’s cold enough to be dangerous tonight. He settles for yanking it on as he stalks out the door.

Cassian seethes. He’s worried. He’s angry. Mostly at himself. Melshi’s been off since they arrived. Cassian noticed—of course he did—but, the mission’s important. And Cassian…Cassian had to drink tonight. He had to smoke. And he had to look like he enjoyed it. It took a lot of his concentration.

But he let Melshi down.

Melshi’s been off for weeks, ever since he was captured at the factory. Not badly. Just, not quite himself. It made sense. Cassian’s been a little off since Troithe too. But this is the worst Cassian’s seen him.

He fought about this mission. He missed his cue and then the alternate cue after that, just silence over the comm. Cassian was about to kriff the mission to look for him when Melshi showed up soaking wet.

That was smart, helped their cover. But there was a wild emptiness in Melshi’s eyes, like looking into the depths of space. And he probably cracked the mark’s jaw.

Cassian had to talk him down. Melshi. His rock. His safety. Melshi would’ve killed someone tonight.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong and has been wrong long before this mission and Cassian could kick himself for ignoring it. And Melshi’s been outside for twelve minutes now, waiting in the cold with those wild, empty eyes.

He’s not under the archway. Cassian clenches his jaw, puffs mist through his teeth. It’s close to freezing. The air bites when he breathes. Melshi was soaking wet when he came in.

He’s not under the awning at the end of the archway either.

There are stormtroopers on patrol. Cassian can’t run. He strides around the side of the building, fear in his guts like teeth. The rain has turned to sleet, pummeling the awning. There’s already a layer of thick, wet snow on the ground.

Melshi’s deep in the alley, masked by shadows. He’s standing in the rain. His arms are loose at his sides. His right hand is bleeding. His head’s uncovered, tilted back with his eyes closed. His coat was already soaking. He’s shivering violently. Sleet collects in his hair.

Cassian runs to him, slips on the ferrocrete, catches his balance before he falls. “Melshi!” He grabs his arms, cups the side of his throat. It’s slick with water, ice-cold. “Melshi, what are you doing?”

Melshi doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes. “S-staying h-here,” he says, voice shaking like the rest of him. Cassian can see the corner of his smile. He remembers that hopelessness from the prison.

Something is very, very wrong. Cassian yanks his comm out of his ear, drops it in a pocket. He pushes his own hood down, shudders as the rain hits. He plucks out Melshi’s comm, pockets it. Holds Melshi’s face with both hands. His skin is freezing. “You’re here. I can see you. Come on, look at me. Look at me, Melshi.”

He pulls a tiny bit, coaxing Melshi to lower his head. Melshi does, opens his eyes. They’re fathomless, empty as death. “Keef.” His hopeless smile widens. His lips are blue.

It’s terrifying. It makes no sense. Melshi was off, anxious, but he was all right. He’s not anymore. Cassian doesn’t know what happened. Melshi was outside. Safe. Just waiting for his cue over the comm.

The comlink. Melshi heard everything.

On program. Cassian was in Narkina Five barely more than a month. He heard the words; they meant nothing.

Melshi was there more than two years.

Cassian swallows, smiles back. He’s terrified. “I’m here, Melshi. Let’s get out of the rain, yeah?”

Melshi shakes his head. “I can’t. It’s keeping me here.”

He’s not making sense. It doesn’t matter. Cassian forces a grin, makes sure it hits his eyes. “I’ll keep you here. You don’t have to worry.” He lets go the sides of Melshi’s face, takes his hand instead, threads their fingers. Melshi’s nails are blue like his lips. “See? I’ve got you. I won’t let go.” He’s failed him so badly already. “But we can’t stay here. It’s too cold.” He steps backwards, gently tugging. “Come on, lets go home. Jyn is waiting for us.”

Melshi blinks, concerned. A sign of life trickling back. “She’s sick,” he says, like he’s remembering. “Is she okay?”

Cassian seizes on it. “We’d better go check on her,” he says seriously. It’s not a lie—they should, he’s also worried about her—but he widens his eyes, lets himself show his fear. He’s manipulating Melshi like a mark. Cassian hates it. But the concern on Melshi’s face is so, so much better than that terrible, hopeless nothing. And when Cassian steps back again and tugs, Melshi follows.

“Don’t let go,” Melshi says. “If you let go I’ll disappear.”

“I’ve got you. You’re not going to disappear.” Cassian walks faster, wipes rain from his eyes. Grips Melshi’s hand painfully tight.

The door to the dingy safehouse apartment slides open before Cassian’s finished knocking the “all clear” code. Jyn’s fully dressed despite how late it is, or how Cassian told her to sleep. She’s pale and miserable, hair hanging limp around her dark-streaked eyes. Melshi’s in his green shirt so Jyn’s wearing one of his sweaters. She’s swimming in it. The brown color makes her look like a tiny tree.

Her necklace is around Cassian’s neck, because he had the more dangerous job tonight. He wishes she’d given it to Melshi instead.

“You’re late,” she wheezes accusingly as she steps aside. Cassian tugs Melshi in. Jyn sees the water cascading from both of them, the blood on Melshi’s hand. The way they’re shivering. Her red-rimmed eyes go huge. “What the kark happened?”

“Took the short route. Less cover.” The building’s brutally warm, their apartment even more so. Right now Cassian’s grateful for it. He sheds his coat in a sloppy heap behind him. “You should keep back so you don’t get wet.”

Melshi’s shaking so violently Cassian’s burning fingers can’t unfasten his coat. Jyn steps in impatiently and does it instead, pushes the coat off Melshi’s shoulders. “Force, your lips are blue!” She touches his face. “You’re freezing.” Then, “Melshi?” Because he’s vacant as a doll. “Melshi? What’s wrong?”

“Something happened. He’s in his head. We need to get him warm. Help me with his clothes.” Cassian says it like warming Melshi up will fix this. He has no idea what will fix this. Melshi’s too cold, but it’s a stab in the dark.

If you let go I’ll disappear. Cassian didn’t let go. He’s terrified Melshi vanished anyway.

He drags Melshi’s shirts off one at a time, telling Melshi exactly what he’s doing. Melshi lifts his arms, bends, does every normal thing to help. But he’s not there. Jyn unfastens his boots, makes sure Cassian’s bracing him securely before she has Melshi lift his feet one at a time. She peels off his wet socks, tosses them in the sodden pile with his shirts. Melshi’s feet are very white. When she stands up her pants are wet from the knees down.

Cassian splashes through the puddle to the fresher, comes back with bacta ointment and a towel. He dries Melshi’s hair and his torso as fast as he can without hurting him. When he’s done he wraps the towel around Melshi’s shoulders. He’s still shivering but at least his lips are almost pink. Cassian smears the ointment on the split skin over Melshi’s knuckles. His nails are less blue. Cassian knows the ointment stings. Melshi doesn’t react.

Jyn starts with Melshi’s belt, but hesitates, pulls her hands back. They’ve undressed each other plenty of times, but not like this. “Melshi? Can you hear me?”

He blinks slowly. “Jyn? Are you okay?”

She wheezes in relief, coughs a little. “I’m fine,” she says quickly, smiling up at him like that’s true. “But Cassian and I are worried about you. You’re very cold. We want to get you into dry clothes, but we don’t want to take your pants off without your permission. Is it okay if we do that?”

He nods, teeth clacking. “I’m trying to come back. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cassian says. He’s careful not to sound worried. He’s worried as hell. “Here, put your hand on my shoulder.” He braces Melshi again so he can lift his feet for Jyn. Melshi’s shorts are dry so they leave them on. “Can you take him to the bedroom? I have to get this stuff off,” he says to Jyn, starts hauling up his sweater before she replies. He doesn’t want to see more of Melshi’s empty compliance.

When everything but his shorts and her necklace are on the floor and Cassian’s damp and cold instead of wet and freezing, he goes back to the fresher and towels himself down too. He’d love a real cycle in the sonic, promises himself one later. Once Melshi’s body is warm and his mind is behind his eyes.

The bed is barely big enough for two people. Cassian and Melshi have been taking turns on the ratty, lumpy couch. Melshi’s already under the covers, curled up and shaking like a tooka kit. Jyn’s taking off her boots. She’s exhausted. This is the last thing she needs. She frowns at Cassian when she sees him hesitate. “Well, go on.”

Cassian nods, swallows. Melshi needs the warmth. But he’s so vulnerable. “Hey. Is it okay if I join you in there?”

Melshi gives a miserable little nod.

Cassian takes a breath. Melshi needs this. He agreed. It’s not a violation. Cassian crawls under the covers, fits his chest to Melshi’s back, wraps his arms around him. Jyn got Melshi into sleep pants and a fresh T-shirt. It’s like hugging a clothed block of ice. He yelps when Melshi shoves his feet between his shins. But it’s a sign of life. Melshi working his way back to them.

“Keef?” Melshi’s voice is still trembling. “Where are we?”

Cassian squeezes his eyes shut, ignores the tiny, horrified sound Jyn makes. “We’re in an apartment on Morlana One. We’re safe. Jyn’s here too, remember? You’re really cold and we’re warming you up. We need to move back a bit to give her room. Don’t push me off the bed.”

Melshi doesn’t push him off the bed. Jyn lets in a blast of cooler air when she lifts the covers, then plasters herself to Melshi’s chest. She tucks her head under his chin, wraps her arms around him. Her right palm curves over Cassian’s flank. He squirms his arms out from between her and Melshi so he can hold her too.

It’s not comfortable. He forgot to take the necklace off and the pendant’s denting his shoulder. His right arm is going to fall asleep. Jyn’s still in Melshi’s sweater and it itches wherever it touches him. And if she coughs too hard he’s going to end up on the floor. But the deep shivers wracking Melshi’s frame slowly ease.

“How are you doing, Melshi?” He asks when his trembling finally stops. His question is a humid puff on the back of Melshi’s shoulder.

“Do you know where you are?” Jyn adds.

“Morlana,” Melshi says. His breath is even but his voice is unsure. “It… This is Morlana, right? It keeps changing.”

“We’re on Morlana One,” Cassian tells him. “It’s winter. That’s why it’s so cold.”

“It’s warm,” Melshi says. “Narkina Five wasn’t like this. Jyn’s here. But I keep… I’m there. I keep going back there. I’m trying to stay here. Are you Keef or Cassian?”

“Cassian,” he says immediately. “We’re on Morlana One. You and I escaped from Narkina Five a long time ago. We’re free. We joined the Rebellion. Do you remember?”

“I hit you in the head with a shovel,” Jyn says.

“I was there. I remember it.” Like Melshi’s not here now.

How many times has this happened to him? Did Cassian just not notice before?

That’s not important; this is. “How can we help you come back?”

“I don’t know,” Melshi says. “Talk to me? Tell me something real?”

“I destroyed my father’s favorite formal robe when I was five or six,” Jyn says. She wheezes over every word. Her chuckle turns into another cough. “I’m fine. I’m just coughing. I can breathe,” she adds when Melshi tenses.

He’s been so worried about her. Cassian’s worried about her too. He meant to check on her when they got back, but Melshi needed all his attention.

Cassian can’t check on her like this either, but he can listen. She still sounds pretty bad but at least she’s not any worse. Cassian’s not sure what he’d do if he had to take care of both of them.

They both wait while Melshi relaxes again. Cassian rubs his arm, the junction of his shoulder and neck. “She’s okay, Melshi. Everyone’s okay. Do you want to hear the story?”

“Yes. Please,” Melshi says.

“Fantastic. It’s a good story.” There’s a smile in Jyn’s voice, no sign of fear. Cassian knows she’s as scared as he is. “So, this was when my family was still living on Coruscant. My parents were forced to host these big parties to prove their loyalty to the empire, right? So my dad had formal robes as well as his uniform. Now, he hated his uniform, but he loved his robes. They were a wedding gift, and really, really expensive. He hardly ever wore them because he was worried they might be damaged.” She stops to cough. Cassian rubs Melshi’s arm, murmurs she’s all right. “And that worked just fine. Until,” she goes on with a wheezy flourish, “my mother made the mistake of telling me stories about the noble, heroic Jedi knights. And then the even worse mistake of telling me about the special robes they wore. Because of course I wanted to be a Jedi.” She laughs again, coughs. “And of course I remembered my father’s robe, and decided it was exactly what a proper Jedi needed.” She pauses, catching her breath. “So the next time he’s at work and my mother’s busy with the bit of research they let her do, I tiptoe into their bedroom with the biggest pair of scissors I could find. And I pull my father’s favorite formal robe off the hanger, and proceed to hack it up into something I can wear to be a Jedi.” She coughs. Says, “I’m okay, Rue,” when Melshi tenses. “You can imagine how thrilled my mother was when I showed her my handiwork.”

Jyn’s a good storyteller. Cassian can’t find the story funny tonight. He laughs anyway so Melshi can feel it along his spine. In that dark, empty place inside him.

Melshi doesn’t laugh. “Did she hurt you?”

Jyn’s startled tension is in her hand on Cassian’s side, in her body under his palms. Melshi would’ve been belted, Cassian knows. That might be why he’s asking. He might be asking because of Narkina Five. There’s no way to find out.

“No,” Jyn says seriously. “She didn’t hurt me. She yelled a lot and sent me to my room. Then she made me apologize to my father when he came home. He didn’t hurt me either. He was upset, but he didn’t hurt me.”

“Good.” Melshi shifts a little, the first time he’s moved since Jyn got into bed. “I’m not cold.”

The back of Melshi’s shirt is damp with sweat. Melshi’s feet are hot between Cassian’s shins. The bed’s uncomfortably warm. “That’s great. I’m so glad, Melshi.” It’s an enormous relief. One thing he doesn’t have to worry about. One thing of so many.

“Are you back with us, Melshi?” Jyn asks.

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “I think so.”

“Do you know where you are?” Cassian asks him.

“Morlana One. It’s winter. I got wet in the rain. I nearly kriffed the mission.”

Cassian exhales, leans his forehead on Melshi’s nape. “I nearly kriffed the mission, not you. When the guard said those words…I wanted to smash his face in. But, they were just words. And…I was thinking too much about the mission, not about what the mark was saying. I didn’t think about how many more times you’d heard those commands. That maybe they weren’t just words to you. I should’ve thought about it. I should’ve gone looking for you as soon as you missed the first cue.” He takes a breath. “I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

“You brought him home,” Jyn says.

“You’ve always been there when I needed you,” Melshi says. “You’re the one who keeps getting sent off alone.”

Cassian frowns. That came out of nowhere. It’s also not true. Melshi should know that’s not true. New fear sours the pit of Cassian’s stomach. “I’m never sent off alone. There’s always someone with me.”

“Yeah. At the ship.” Melshi’s voice is his, alive. That’s excellent, except for this sudden, inexplicable anger. “Not on the actual mission.” Melshi sits up, freeing Cassian’s right arm. Cassian gets a foot on the floor before he tips off the bed. Melshi hauls Jyn tight against him so she doesn’t fall off either. She squirms around so she’s kneeling, still in his arms. “I’m always with Jyn, or we’re both with a Pathfinder squad. And they’re always with us on the field. You never have anyone except a voice in your ear. If you’re lucky.”

“It’s always been like that,” Jyn says while Cassian stands next to the bed. She sounds as confused by this as Cassian. “Cassian’s specialty is solitary missions.”

“That’s right. It is.” It’s more comfortable out from under the blanket, but Jyn and Melshi are bundled together while he’s standing on his own. He feels oddly defenseless without their body heat. “You were on the field with me tonight.” And Cassian let him down. He wants to apologize. He doesn’t; it’s not relevant right now.

He doesn’t know what’s going on. Melshi shouldn’t be angry.

Melshi scowls. “Yeah. Tonight. For once. And how about all those other times you needed someone, huh? What about your last kriffing mission, where Draven set you up like a damn courtesan and you nearly died?”

Cassian’s clutching Jyn’s pendant, heartbeat loud and threatening in his ears. He doesn’t know when he grabbed it, takes his elbows instead. Imagines pushing Kay’s hand out with his next breath. That was a month ago. He’s safe. “Nobody could’ve anticipated that. And Bodhi and Luke found me in time.”

“You stopped breathing!” Melshi barks. Cassian jerks back. Jyn wraps her fingers around Melshi’s wrist. “You stopped breathing, Cassian!”

“I know.” He swallows, tightens his grip on his arms. He’s safe. He was in no real danger tonight. “But, Luke and Bodhi got me out. I’m alive. I’m right here.”

“You almost weren’t.” Melshi scrubs his face, holds Jyn like he’s trying to shield her. He has one palm on her side under her ribs, rising with each inhale. “What if next time you stop breathing you don’t start again?” He blinks, suddenly fighting tears. “And now Jyn’s lungs are infected! What am I supposed to do about that? How can I keep you safe? Either of you?”

The shocked, worried confusion in Jyn’s eyes must look like Cassian’s own. “It’s just a cold, Melshi,” she says. “I know I look and sound bad, especially with the wheezing. But, I’m all right. I swear it. I’m breathing just fine.”

He shakes his head, wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You’re not getting better. And you might… It might get worse. My parents died like that. They were all right until they got worse and they stopped breathing. And Cassian stopped breathing too and now you might. And I can’t… I need you to keep breathing. You both have to keep breathing.”

“What about you?” Cassian widens his eyes, shrugs his shoulders when Melshi frowns at him. It’s not a pretense. He doesn’t understand any of this. “The factory. The last mission we went on together before this one. You had acid burns in your lungs, remember? You were barely breathing by the time we found you.”

Melshi’s laugh is wet as his eyes, teetering on panic. “Yeah, well. Kind of think you beat me there, Cass.” His next laugh sounds even worse. “I should never have accepted your courtship. I haven’t slept since.” He wipes his eyes, smile dying. “I’m so scared. I’m terrified all the time that I’m going to lose you both. I can’t sleep because you might stop breathing.”

“Melshi.” Jyn straddles his thighs to hug him properly. Melshi holds her for dear life.

Cassian stays where he is, gripping his elbows. Wishing he could fit there too.

“We’re fine. We’re both fine, Rue. We’re not going to die. You don’t have to worry about us,” Jyn murmurs. But both of Melshi’s big, trembling hands are splayed over her back, right where her lungs expand. Like he can’t help it. Like he can’t stop himself.

Cassian was taught to notice everything. He watches Melshi’s hands, thinks about the precision of his fear: Not just that Cassian and Jyn will die, but that they’ll stop breathing.

And then Cassian thinks of how Melshi’s insomnia started right after the factory mission. Melshi believes it started with their relationship. But he was going to make courting gifts before Jyn and Cassian invited him in. He already loved them.

He loved them already. And love means worry; Cassian knows that. But, the three of them almost died on Scarif scarcely two months before the factory. And even if Melshi barely knew Jyn then, he and Cassian were best friends. There was still love. And Cassian almost stopped breathing on the way back to Yavin. But Melshi didn’t. And he could sleep.

Cassian licks his lips, takes a breath. “Melshi, did you ever talk to anyone about what Azult did to you?”

He can see the answer in the way Melshi goes still, the flash of fear in his widening eyes. “No. Why would I?” he asks, brow knitting. “That was months ago. I’ve been worried about you two.”

Cassian expected that answer, recognizes the new anger warming behind it. He thinks of Bodhi, makes his voice as gentle as he can. “He almost killed you by damaging your lungs. Given your history, that must’ve been especially terrifying.”

Melshi’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean, ‘given my history’?” He sits straighter against the wall behind him. He crosses his arms, forcing Jyn to let go. She climbs over him, kneels on his other side where there’s more room.

Melshi pulls up his knees, rests his elbows on them. A barricade. His hands are trembling. “What ‘history’?”

“Chest rattle,” Jyn says. She glances at Cassian. He nods because she’s right. “You told us how sick you’d get every year,” she says to Melshi. “You just told us all three of your parents died from it.”

“Chest rattle’s an illness,” Melshi snaps. “I got a lungful of acid at the factory. And Azult…” He stops, grits his teeth. Breathes in, out through his nose. “It’s not the same. I wasn’t sick. I got out. I killed him!”

“I know you weren’t sick. You saved yourself. What you did was incredible.” Cassian goes to Melshi’s side of the bed, kneels so he’s not looming over him. He puts his hand on Melshi’s arm, feels his tension like bricks under his skin. “But you were badly injured, and then tortured. Especially your lungs. It almost killed you. It’s…” He swallows. Melshi’s here, safe and alive. “It’s hard for me to think about, and I didn’t live it. And I didn’t spend nearly twenty years of my life beforehand wondering when I’d stop breathing.”

Melshi’s jaw clenches. Red blooms in his cheeks like sunburn. He glares down at Cassian. “So, you’re saying this is an excuse. I’m worried about you because I can’t handle what happened to me.” It’s an accusation, not a question. Melshi’s gone quiet with anger, pulled back from them like a wall.

“It’s not an excuse, Melshi,” Jyn says, gentle as Cassian. He swings his glare to her. “It’s like when we were on the shuttle coming back from Scarif. You told Cassian to teach me the symbols even though you knew them. So he’d stay alive.” She shuffles closer, puts a hand on Melshi’s elbow. “You’re keeping yourself alive.”

Melshi twitches like he wants to jerk away but he doesn’t. “Don’t patronize me,” he snaps. “You’re saying I can’t handle what happened.”

Oh, yes: Cassian recognizes this anger. “We’re saying you haven’t handled it, not that you can’t.” He moves his hand carefully to the back of Melshi’s neck, kneads the muscles there. Melshi doesn’t shake him off either. He’s so much kinder than Cassian. “But, Jyn’s right. Sometimes the things in your head…thinking about them feels as bad as dying. Sometimes it feels like dying would be easier. You know I know what that’s like.” Melshi jerks his gaze back to him. Cassian nods. “That was Jenoport.” He takes a breath. “This isn’t your Jenoport. I’m not saying that. But I’m saying maybe you’ve got something in your head that feels as bad as dying. So you’re thinking about us dying instead.”

“Because that’s easier,” Melshi says, flat with incredulity. “Because lying awake at night listening for your breathing is somehow easier than talking about what happened to me.”

“Well you haven’t, have you?” Jyn shrugs when Melshi’s attention snaps to her again. He’s fuming. “You were fighting to breathe, Melshi! After being sick for nearly half your life! Surely that’s worth mentioning! But you haven’t!”

The concerned, loving belligerence is so very Jyn. Normally it just makes Melshi smile with fond annoyance. Now his expression darkens like the sleet-shrouded night outside.

“I’m not. Sick.” Melshi’s eyes are seething pits, his voice cold as the rain. “I’m not sick. And I don’t need either of you telling me what I can or can’t handle. Damn right, this isn’t my Jenoport,” he snarls at Cassian. “I don’t deal with problems by putting a gun to my head.”

Jyn gasps. “Melshi! What the kark?”

Cassian whips his hand away from him, rockets to his feet. Realizes he’s standing with his fists clenched. He forces them open. Breathes. Doesn’t say, You think your death was a ‘problem?’ because it’s not relevant. He knows what Melshi’s doing. “You don’t mean that.” He wishes he felt more certain.

“Like you haven’t said worse to him,” Melshi sneers at Jyn, ignoring Cassian. “You poke at him all the time. You like to leave wounds so when he finally gets tired of it and kriffs off like everyone else you’ll see it coming. But I guess you’re handling those bad thoughts just fine, aren’t you?”

“Leave her alone! This has nothing to do with her!” It’s late, Cassian’s voice is too loud. That’s dangerous in an old building like this. He forces himself calm. “We’re trying to help you. What the hell’s your problem?”

He already knows what Melshi’s problem is. Of course he does. He’s making things worse. But Melshi’s just gutted them and Cassian can’t stop himself.

Melshi’s lips twist into something like a smile. “I think you both know what my problem is.” He shifts to the side of the bed, stands up. “I’m going to wash this kriffing pollution off. I’ll sleep on the couch. The last thing I need is either of you.”

He walks out. The door slides shut behind him.

“He doesn’t mean it,” Cassian says. “He’s angry because he’s frightened.”

Jyn looks at him. Her eyes are big and liquid. “I don’t… I’m not mean to you like that all the time, am I?” She sniffs, wipes her nose with her sleeve. “I don’t want to push you away. I know it’s still hard for me to…to believe anyone will stay. But, I’m not trying to make you leave. I don’t want you to leave.”

“You’re not pushing me away. Melshi’s just being an asshole. Don’t worry about it.” He goes to the side of the bed. She comes close enough so he can wrap his arms around her. He kisses the top of her head.

She hugs him back, tucking her cheek against his chest. “Tell me if I’m being mean, okay? I know we fight a lot. But, I don’t want to be mean. I’m never trying to hurt you.”

“I know.” The sweater is itchy against his skin. “You’re not mean. You don’t hurt me.”

“But you’d tell me if I did?”

“Yes. I would tell you if you did. Just like you’d tell me.” He gives her a smirk he doesn’t feel. “Probably at very high volume.” He kisses her again.

Her answering smirk is barely a breath over his skin. “Kassa?”

“I’m right here.”

“I don’t know what happened on Jenoport,” she says, cautious. He very carefully doesn’t go still. “But, I’ve never worried about you…giving up. And I’m not going to worry, even if…even if you wanted to give up, once. I know you won’t.”

He swallows, humbled and a little scared by her faith in him. “You’re right. I will never choose to leave you, Jyn Erso,” he says, quietly and with vehemence.

She makes a tiny, gulping squeak, hugs him tight. “Same here.”

“I know.” He does.

Cassian stays with Jyn, rubbing her back until she falls asleep. He has one ear trained on the fresher, but doesn’t hear the sonic running. Melshi’s also not moving around. Brooding, Cassian thinks. Melshi isn’t the kind to brood.

When Jyn’s wheezing breaths have gone soft and even, Cassian eases himself off the bed. He quietly pulls a pair of sleep pants off the shelf they’re using. The apartment’s too hot for sleep pants. He tugs them on anyway: a thin, pretend barrier between his skin and the world.

The pants are Melshi’s, cuffs dragging. Cassian thinks about taking them off, getting his own. Then he thinks about Bodhi, wearing Luke’s jacket and Cassian’s pants and shirt. He rolls up Melshi’s cuffs instead.

He gets the container of mednog from the kitchen before he knocks on the fresher door. No answer. He tries the button, expects it to be locked, but it retracts into the wall. He steps through and it closes again.

Melshi’s facing the mirror, gripping the counter edge. The fresher is even warmer than the rest of the overheated apartment. The back of Melshi’s T-shirt is damp from nape to waist. His eyes are locked on his reflection, but whatever he’s seeing isn’t in the room.

Cassian’s heart lurches, but Melshi turns to look at him. His smile is wry and sad where it dents the corners of his mouth. But he’s there behind his eyes.

Cassian doesn’t relax, but his heart settles. He holds out the flask. “Mednog.”

Melshi’s gaze drops to the flask then lifts back to Cassian’s face. He moves slowly when he takes it, as if Cassian will spook. But he unseals the flask and drinks, wipes his mouth after with the side of his hand. He recaps the flask and sets it on the counter next to him. “Thanks.” He’s still looking at Cassian. “Is Jyn okay?”

Cassian nods. “She’s sleeping. Her breathing’s all right,” he adds because he knows that’s what Melshi meant. He takes a breath of his own, puts one hand on the counter so he won’t cross his arms. “I shouldn’t’ve cornered you like that, in the bedroom. I would’ve been angry too.”

Melshi blinks. His smile widens a little. It’s just as sad. “I’ve been standing here for the last twenty minutes, working up the guts to actually step into the sonic.”

It’s not an apology. Neither was Cassian’s. But it is an admission: Melshi asking for help.

Cassian looks at the sonic, assessing it like any other problem. “Is it the white? Or the thing itself?”

Melshi grimaces. “Both, I think. I want to get clean, but if I step in there I’ll be back on Narkina Five.”

“Right.” Cassian puts his hands on his hips, thinking. “What if I’m out here? Or I go in with you? Will that be different enough?”

“I don’t know.” Melshi cups his mouth, staring at the sonic. “We stood next to each other back then, sometimes.” He scrubs his face, radiates frustration and misery like the heat rising from the floor. “Kriff. Karking hell.”

Cassian wants to touch him, offer some kind of comfort. He doesn’t know what Melshi wants so he stays where he is. “So we stay clothed. That never happened there. Yours are sweaty anyway.”

Melshi considers it. He’s scared, Cassian can see it. But he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“All right. Good.” Cassian takes Melshi’s hand. It’s shaking. He watches Melshi’s face, prepared to let go. Melshi flicks a smile at him, threads their fingers. Cassian smiles back, squeezes a little. I’m here. “Ready?” He waits for Melshi’s nod, then opens the cubicle and steps in. Melshi steps in behind him, takes a breath before closing the door. “I’m going to turn it on now. Tell me when you’ve had enough, or squeeze my hand.” Melshi nods jerkily, swallowing. “We don’t have to do this,” Cassian says, because Melshi’s body is shaking like his hands.

“I know. It’s okay.” Melshi’s voice is shaking too.

Cassian lifts Jyn’s necklace off over his head one-handed. “Duck your head.” Melshi does. Cassian puts the necklace on him. “Hold that if you need to. Or hold on to me. Or both. Whatever works for you, all right?” Melshi nods. “Okay. Now I’m turning the sonic on.” Melshi grips Jyn’s pendant, closes his eyes. Holds Cassian’s hand tight enough to hurt. Cassian turns the dial to the fastest cycle and hits the button.

Melshi whimpers at the whining noise, flinches when the vibration hits. Cassian puts his free hand on Melshi’s heaving chest. “You’re safe. We’re free. We’re in a cheap apartment on Morlana One. Jyn’s sleeping in the other room. She’s safe too. We’re all safe. You’re just getting clean. Nothing bad is happening.”

Melsh’s knuckles are white around the pendant. “K-keep talking.”

Cassian licks his lips. “The first time I used a sonic was in the tiny fresher on my parents’ ship, on the way to Ferrix.” He ignores the wash of fear. This isn’t the first time he’s talked about his past. “Kenari is hot and humid. We washed in the river—which was a bad idea in retrospect, since it was likely polluted—but I’d been trekking through the forest for hours by the time my adoptive parents found me. And then I spent… Oof. At least a day freaking out on the ship. I probably smelled like a dead bantha.” Melshi’s mouth twitches towards a smirk; it’s good enough. “So Clem decided to put me in the sonic and clean me up.” Cassian chuckles, though it wasn’t funny then and really isn’t now. “He said they probably heard me screaming on Coruscant. He had to wrap his arms and legs around me like a rathtar, and even then I struggled so hard I broke his nose.”

“Headbutt, right?”

Cassian puts a smile in his voice. “How else would I break anyone’s nose?”

Melshi’s eyes are still shut tight, his hands clenched around Jyn’s pendant and Cassian’s hand. He’s shaking, terrified. But his breath shudders towards a laugh. “Scrappy bastard.”

“That’s why you love me,” Cassian says easily, automatic. His grin freezes, slides off his face.

Melshi’s eyes open. “I do.”

There’s less than 30 seconds left in the cycle. Cassian shuts it off. “There! All done.” He grins, makes sure it reaches his eyes. “You did great.” It’s true, but he can’t look at him.

Cassian knows he’s being stupid. He told Jyn Melshi didn’t mean anything he said. But he can’t look at him.

He lets go of Melshi’s hand, steps out into the fresher. Doesn’t meet Melshi’s eyes in the mirror. “I really think you should sleep with Jyn in the bed. It’s my turn on the couch anyway, and what you said really upset her.” He makes sure the mednog flask is tightly sealed, puts it back on the counter. Doesn’t look at Melshi. “I think she believed me that what you said was banthashit. But, she does have abandonment issues. And you implied we were your problem, and said the last thing you needed was either of us. So.” He shrugs, still averting his gaze. He’s being so stupid. “I think it’d be good if you stayed with her tonight.”

Melshi closes his eyes, rubs his forehead. “Kriff. I really went at you like a rabid gundark, didn’t I?”

“You were cornered. You lashed out,” Cassian says. “But, yeah. You hurt her a lot.”

“Yeah.” Melshi rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll apologize in the morning.” He steps closer. “What about you?”

Cassian frowns at his own reflection, doesn’t look at Melshi’s eyes. “I’m sleeping on the couch like I said.”

“No. I mean…” Melshi takes a breath. “Kassa.” Cassian’s head jerks up. “I hurt you too.”

Cassian blinks. “Oh. Well.” He looks away again, shrugs one shoulder. “I should’ve known better.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Melshi’s smile is apologetic and so very sad. “That didn’t give me the right to be an asshole about it.” He takes another step. They’re close enough for Melshi’s body heat to be warmer than the room. He lifts a hand, hesitates. “Can I touch you?”

Cassian reaches to the side, hits the button to open the door. Melshi freezes, pulls his hand back. “You can touch me. It’s just hot in here.”

Melshi chuckles, relieved. He wraps his arms around Cassian’s chest, meets his eyes in the mirror. “I do love you. I will love you. Tonight and tomorrow and until I die. Hell, even beyond that if I have a say in it. Nothing is going to change that. Not ever. Especially nothing I say because I’m being a defensive asshole. You understand?”

Cassian nods, swallows. Puts his hands over Melshi’s, keeps his eyes on Melshi’s in the mirror. “I don’t want to die, Melshi. You can’t… Please stop thinking that. I swear. I promise, I want to live.”

“Kriff.” Melshi lets out a breath. “I know you want to live. That’s not...” He stops, closes his eyes. Breathes then opens them again. “After I killed Azult. I was on my knees in the cell, thinking of what you and Jyn would do. Because I was too karked to make a plan. And.” He winces. “And I knew Jyn would keep fighting until she ran out of chances. But, you would turn Azult’s gun on yourself. So you couldn’t get recaptured and betray the Rebellion.” His smile is tragic. “I’m not as brave as you, so I went with Jyn. I was thinking of that, after what you and Jyn told me. But I was a karking bastard to say it the way I did. I know why you tried to kill yourself on Jenoport. I know how hard you’ve worked to make sure you don’t feel that hopeless again. But I was lashing out and I just wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry, Kassa. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Cassian says. Some of the tension in him loosens. Melshi hugs him tighter as if he can feel it. “But, you’re wrong about what I’d do.” He nods at Melshi’s confusion. “Before Azult captured you, yes. Probably. But not now. Now I would do everything I could to get back to you.”

Melshi’s eyes are huge. “Even betray the Rebellion?”

Cassian shakes his head. “Never, if I could help it. But, if I don’t come back, they’ll move the fleet anyway. They’ll change the codes anyway, right? Everyone’s replaceable, so there are always contingency plans. And we went back for you when we weren’t even sure you were alive. But you were, because you fought.” He grins. “And Draven couldn’t say a damned thing. Because Luke and Han brought Leia to Yavin in a tracked ship and got medals.”

He turns around so he can put his hands on Melshi’s waist, look him directly in the eyes. “So, I’m going to fight too. I’ll fight until I run out of chances. Or until you bring me home.”

Melshi’s face goes slack with astonishment. Then he huffs out a wild, joyous laugh and cradles the sides of Cassian’s face to kiss him. Cassian can feel his happiness, his relief, in the soft, heady slide of his lips and tongue. “Why the kriff didn’t you say anything?” he asks as soon as they break apart to breathe.

“I don’t know,” Cassian says honestly. “I think I just…thought you knew?”

Melshi shakes his head fondly, thumbs the line of Cassian’s lips before moving his hands to his shoulders. “Dumbass.” There’s a wealth of affection in it.

Cassian laughs, the last of his tension uncoiling. He leans in for another kiss. This time Melshi keeps it to a firm press of his closed lips before he pulls back. He rests his forehead on Cassian’s, smiles apologetically. “It’s too hot in here for this. And I’m about dead on my feet.”

“Yeah,” Cassian sighs. He’s exhausted too. It’s been a brutal night for all of them. He follows Melshi out of the fresher into the living room, snags his hand. “I’m scrubbing the mission tomorrow. You were right, none of us are in any shape for it. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

Melshi blinks, frowns like he’s not sure if he should be angry. “What about the scandocs? As soon as the Imps know they’re missing, they’ll revoke access. We’ll be back to square one.”

“If the forgeries are done carefully, they should still work,” Cassian says. “We can come back in a few days, when Jyn’s better and…you’ve figured out why you can’t sleep. Or, someone else can take over.” Or he can come back by himself. He knows better than to suggest it. “But if we try to push through, it’s going to end badly. I already made that mistake. I won’t risk it again.”

Melshi waits a beat, searching Cassian’s face. He exhales, nodding. “Yeah, okay.” He smirks humorlessly. “Wish you’d decided that earlier.”

“Me too,” Cassian says seriously. “I let you down, Melshi. You were in trouble and I didn’t recognize it. That’s on me.”

Melshi shakes his head. “If anything, it’s on me. I should’ve told you and Jyn something was wrong months ago. I should’ve told you before we left the apartment tonight. I just…” He grimaces. “I didn’t want to let you down.”

“You’ve never let me down, Melshi,” Cassian says.

Melshi smiles, but something dark and sad flickers through his eyes. “It didn’t feel the same. At the factory. My lungs…” He swallows. Cassian puts his free hand on the junction of Melshi’s neck. “They were burning. I couldn’t breathe, but…it wasn’t the same. Chest rattle feels like drowning. So I didn’t think about it.” He shrugs, a tiny, helpless bob of his shoulders. “I didn’t want to think about it. And Azult was dead, and my lungs healed. So I thought I was fine.”

Cassian nods. “That’s the worst part. When you win the fight but you’re still not fine.” He’s sure his smile looks as bitter as it feels. “I broke free on Troithe. I killed one of the women who drugged me. And I still freeze sometimes, if I see blond hair in the corner of my eye. Or if someone tells me to do something.”

Melshi cups the side of his face. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

“It’s only been a few weeks for you too. Three months is nothing.” He turns his head for long enough to kiss Melshi’s palm. “But, you’re not fine.” He takes a breath, steeling himself. “And you really need to deal with this. We need you to deal with this. Please. You can’t disappear, Melshi.”

Melshi closes his eyes, drops his head in defeat. “Yeah. Kriff.” He takes a deep, unhappy breath, in and out. “Force, I hate this.”

“I know. I do too.” Cassian rubs Melshi’s hair. “For what it’s worth, I know you can handle this. You’re the bravest man I know.”

Melshi lifts his head, smiling wearily. “What about Jyn?”

“She’s the bravest woman I know. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.” Melshi’s expression collapses. “What if I can’t handle it?”

Cassian winces inwardly. His faith in Melshi is absolute, but it’s far too late and they’re both far too tired for this conversation. “Neither of us are handling anything right now. Come on.” He leads Melshi into the bedroom by the hand.

Jyn is sprawled out diagonally on the bed, snoring lustily interspersed with an occasional wheeze. She’s wearing Melshi’s brown sweater like a nightgown, hair in a wild mess around her head. The blankets are in a pile on the floor. She looks absolutely adorable. Cassian loves her so much his heart aches.

“I could sleep on the floor,” Melshi whispers. He smiles at Jyn with such tenderness, Cassian’s heart aches with love for him too.

“Just help me move her,” he says.

He bends and slides his arms carefully around her back. Melshi gets her thighs. They slowly shift her until she’s mostly vertical on one side of the bed. Jyn mutters a little but doesn’t wake. She’s warm, still a bit feverish. But when Melshi crawls in next to her she rolls over and snuggles against him. Melshi wraps his arms around her, gives Cassian a last, ruefully sleepy grin and closes his eyes.

Cassian drops a kiss on Melshi’s temple, then turns off the bedroom light. He’s looking forward to the relative coolness of the couch. He’s not looking forward to the solitude. But that’s not why he leans against the doorframe instead of leaving.

It’s been a bad night. And It’s quiet enough to hear them breathe. It won’t hurt if he stays awhile, making sure it doesn’t stop.

END