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English
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Published:
2023-07-17
Completed:
2023-08-06
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2,144
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2/2
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they'll judge it like they know about me and you

Summary:

Anyway, it’s all led Han to at least one of two conclusions: they’re either, one, fucking, or, two, need to be locked in a room together soon so they can fuck and get all this out of their systems before they drive everyone around them, including him, insane.

Or: when there isn't really anything else to do on Hoth, Han tries to figure out Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor

(now with a part two; surprise!)

Notes:

from prompt 33 on this list!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Look, it's not like Han has ever been a guy who's overly concerned with everyone else's business. What's it been to him, if it hasn't meant credits or making sure he doesn't lead the Empire straight to him? Those two things, his ship, and keeping Chewie happy are the only things that have consistently mattered to him over the years. And maybe he's a general now, maybe he has more friends than just Chewie, but he still couldn't give less of a shit about what anyone does with their personal life.

Okay? Just making sure that's clear.

But it's not his fault that there's something weird going on between Andor and Erso, and has been literally since the day he'd ever first had to be in the same room as them. Sure, you could say that surviving an experience like they had would bring anyone closer, but Erso doesn't look at Rook or any of the others in the same way that he's noticed she always looks at Andor — and the way that he looks at her , in return; it's lingering and a little intense, like they're having an entire silent conversation that no one else would ever be privy to.

He’s never actually seen them touch, never even so much as brush hands, but they also do this thing where they hover incredibly closely to each other when they’re in the same room, as if separation is impossible. And he can’t be the only one who’s noticed it, right? It’s weird, and it’s distracting.

Anyway, it’s all led Han to at least one of two conclusions: they’re either, one, fucking, or, two, need to be locked in a room together soon so they can fuck and get all this out of their systems before they drive everyone around them, including him, insane.

Hoth isn’t exactly the most exciting of places, especially when they’re restricting the number of ships that can go in and out everyday; it gives him a lot of time to think, and it probably gives everyone else a lot of time to think, too, so isn’t he doing a nice thing to think about everyone else’s well being?

It’s not a story that he’s sticking to or anything, because he doesn’t need a story; it’s just the truth.

And it’s not like he’d meant to overhear voices deep in conversation as he’d passed by the north entrance of base one day while Leia had been avoiding him, and it’s not like he’d meant to stop and hide behind a corner nearby, trying to get more context. These things just happen , you know?

Not that the hiding had really been necessary; from the way the two figures nearby are huddled together, Han’s pretty sure he could strip all his clothes off of him and run by naked, and neither would even notice.

(He won’t do that; this is Hoth . What is he, an idiot?)

"That could be weeks, Cassian. Months." If the voice hadn't been enough to confirm it, then the irritated huff of a sigh is definitely none other than Sergeant Jyn Erso. She continues, "What if something happened to you? No one would know? I couldn't even know? That's fucking bantha shit —"

"Jyn," he hears Andor cut in, stopping that in its tracks with the precision of a well-placed knife, in what is also, weirdly, the softest voice he's ever heard the guy use at any point. "You know how —"

"I know." What's even weirder is hearing her sound like she's on the verge of tears, when as far as Han has ever been able to tell, Erso only ever has two modes: mildly irritated in a funny way, and angry in a way that isn't funny at all, a way that should probably send anyone who's smart running. Both of those are practically halfway across the galaxy, leaving a person he doesn't recognize at all. "I know."

He gets the sense, now, that being here is an intrusion on something he isn't supposed to see — and part of him actually does feel a little gross about it. Contrary to popular opinion (Leia's opinion), he actually has decency, thank you very much; ask Chewie, ask Luke, ask literally anyone else.

In fact, he’s turning to leave, to go find something else to do with this day….

But that’s when, out of the corner of his eye, he catches Andor holding Erso’s face in both of his hands like it’s something precious, before he leans in and kisses her square on the mouth.

Well, Han thinks, a triumphant smile spreading across his face; he just can’t help it, even given the context of how he’d learned this particular information. What do you know?

Because he has decency, though, he keeps everything he’d seen to himself in the weeks that follow, especially given that Erso, without her Andor-shaped shadow at her heels, seems a lot more sullen than usual. He gives her space, too, and doesn’t even poke what could be so easily provoked.

At least, not until he catches her alone in the corridor outside the war room after a briefing one day, and he feels like he might actually explode from all the time he’s been decent about this. Because — doesn’t he deserve this victory for figuring this whole thing out? And don’t they deserve to know that they’re not nearly as good at secrets as they think they are?

Yeah, totally deserved.

So that has him grabbing her by the arm before this chance slips away, stopping her in her tracks. She wheels around to face him with coldness in her eyes, and an even colder, “ What ?”

"I caught you, sister," he pronounces, grinning, and releases his grip on her; maybe he’s pressing some limits here, but he’s smart enough not to press all of them. When her arms are folded across her chest, and a single brow has ticked up as if to say I’m waiting , he elaborates. "I saw you kissing Captain Andor by the north entrance. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong. Because you can't."

He expects some kind of reaction from this: annoyance, a creased brow and a hard glint in her eyes, a punch thrown his way that he’s readied himself to duck. Something; anything.

But that’s not what he gets.

No, instead he gets blank eyes staring at him, like he’s just said, unnecessarily, that it’s cold outside, and —

"That wouldn't exactly be weird to see." Erso lifts one shoulder in an easy shrug, adds, "Considering we've been together for over a year," and then turns on her heel to head down the corridor.

It's not until her retreating back is almost entirely out of view that Han manages to yell out: “ WHAT ?!”

Chapter 2: six months gone

Summary:

A crease forms between his brows. He asks, "What's Solo doing here?"

The effect on Jyn is instant. All traces of her smile, her relief, her anything else are all gone; in their place, her jaw sets and her eyes harden in the way that Cassian knows means danger for someone. Her hands fall away from him, curling into fists, and her whole body tenses like she’s gearing up for a fight.

"Leaving," she growls. "That's what he's doing."

Or: ... yeah, he's still at it, folks.

Notes:

surprise, it's a sequel! or... a postscript, an epilogue, whatever you would like to call it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Five months, twenty-eight days, and six hours have passed since he's last had contact with Echo Base.

There have long been operational reasons for Cassian to be in the practice of keeping track of these things: for the anticipation of any potential extraction timeline, for the eventual debrief and report to follow, for the purpose of planning future missions. He’s risen through the ranks in a short period of time, especially compared to the average, for being nothing if not exceedingly thorough — because that’s what the rebellion needs. His attention, his effort, as much as he can give.

It’s only in the past year and a half that any of the reasons have turned personal, that, well, if he’s being honest with himself — many of them have.

When time had meant nothing to him once, other than the operational logging, it seems like his solo assignments tend to drag on for eternity now. He’s given this one no less attention, no less effort than he’s given any other, but in quiet moments between when that’d been needed and in the seconds just before he’d drifted off for a requisite few hours of sleep just to be able to keep going, he’d felt the absence, acutely, of a soft hand in his, of a warm presence by his side. He’d missed the way her nose always scrunches just before describing something particularly annoying, and the way that he’s always rewarded with the most beautiful smile when he throws in the right kind of dry agreement, so fucking much that it had ached.

But, finally, after five months, twenty-eight days, and six hours, he’s securely on a ship, cleared atmosphere, and is enough within hyperspace, away from Imperial territory, to risk a transmission.

Echo Base, though, isn’t his first one — at least, not base command. He’ll report in, of course, when he has a better sense of his ETA, so they’ll have a precise window to lower the shields without incurring unnecessary risk.

His first transmission is in code, for an additional layer of security, to the channel that can only be accessed by Sergeant Jyn Erso. Just one word, which she’ll be able to understand, if she’s reading (because they’d worked out that code, together, not long after Scarif): alive.

Intellectually, he knows there will be a lag (there always is when communicating from hyperspace, among other perfectly logical reasons), so not getting an immediate response shouldn’t, in and of itself, be a cause for concern. Still, in the idle moments — when he’s had so many in the past five months, twenty-eight days, and six hours, so he’s primed to dwell in them — the thoughts begin to circle, heavy in his mind and even heavier when they settle in his chest. They hold possibilities, worst case scenarios. Fears.

For a long time, he’d pushed down fear to the point of nearly forgetting it ever existed. Here now, though, in the waiting, the memory of it is sharp, painful like a blade to the gut.

The line buzzes; the waiting doesn’t have a chance to linger for long.

Two words, in code, bring him all the relief that maybe he still doesn’t deserve to actually have, but that he accepts, allows to wash over him all the same: welcome home.

It’s been five months, twenty-eight days, and seven hours, and he finds that the hours that remain are their own form of excruciating.

Jyn’s there at the exact moment he steps off of the ship and out into the hangar. Of course she is; he hadn’t doubted that for a second. He hadn’t doubted, either, that she wouldn’t wait whatever seconds it would take for him to actually approach her, that she’d take matters into her own hands and run toward him, cutting the time in half.

And he hadn’t doubted that he’d be practically knocked over by the force of their collision, hadn’t doubted that she’d take his breath away with their first kiss in almost six fucking long months.

No, it’s easy, natural, right, the way they fall into each other like no time has passed at all, the way they exist, for this one moment, away from the chill of Hoth and the even colder complexity of their reality. Where he can hold her and she can hold him, and nothing but the fact that they’re together and they love each other.

Except —

Out of the corner of one eye, Cassian is fairly certain that he sees someone moving — when up to this point, as far as he knows, people have done this reunion a courtesy of giving it a wide berth. He pulls back from Jyn, not far, but enough to study the movement, to pinpoint the identity of the person doing the moving with a pretty high degree of certainty; the man in question isn’t exactly subtle, even on his best day.

A crease forms between his brows. He asks, "What's Solo doing here?"

The effect on Jyn is instant. All traces of her smile, her relief, her anything else are all gone; in their place, her jaw sets and her eyes harden in the way that Cassian knows means danger for someone. Her hands fall away from him, curling into fists, and her whole body tenses like she’s gearing up for a fight.

"Leaving," she growls. "That's what he's doing."

She turns away from him, then, in a blink, stalking toward Solo’s direction with single-minded purpose across the hangar. The man is clearly only aware of what’s happening too late, because he doesn’t manage to get away before she’s shoving him, before she’s yelling out a lot of things — most of which Cassian can’t hear, because of the whir of machinery that sounds behind him then, but a very clear “Get fucked!” does manage to reach his ears.

There’ll be a debrief to attend, and a report to file, because the intelligence he’s gathered is valuable. But for now, he’s content to watch this play out in front of him, and allow the ghost of a smile to tug on the corners of his mouth.

Notes:

as always, you can find me on tumblr!

Notes:

as always, you can find me on tumblr!