Chapter Text
What was love, if not a withhold of judgment. When the last bell tolled and the curtains drew closed, would Jyn be in good graces? Could she manage to do or say the right things in order to earn her way to virtuousness? Or was her fate based on something else entirely?
Neon green painted the sky, blanketing the land in its ghostly glow, highlighting every scar and deepening every shadow. Reflections danced across pools of crystal-clear water, and trenches carved like roots through the beach. A sense of dread tightened its hold on Scarif.
Jyn staggered forward under the unnatural light. Her hands shook with a mixture of panic, adrenaline, and all-too-familiar numbness. A salty tropic air rushed to fill her lungs. Pressure gathered against her shoulders, and eventually, gasping, she collapsed beneath it.
Cassian made no noise as he hit the sand beside her. His own palms were comparatively steady, pressed into the fine grains. There was a notable tension that sat behind his eyes, but nothing else about the way that he held himself suggested its existence. No blemishes disturbed the glassy outer shell that surrounded him –he was as solemn as he was distant.
The sky continued to glow.
The mission had failed.
A rumbling shook the planet to its core, and the world began to fall apart before Jyn’s eyes. It took every ounce of will not to fall apart, herself. Inner turmoil wracked her body, raising the hair along her arms and neck.
Her hands retreated from a small plastoid cartridge, like its surface was made of red coals. An itch burrowed itself under her skin, begging that she would scratch and bite and tear away the surface. Alternatively, she shifted in the sand, sitting a bit more dignifiedly in the face of all her failure.
She remembered when she had first heard the phrase “failure is a part of life.” It had been years ago, before the loneliness had set in, when her confidence was both boundless and frequently misplaced. She could remember the sincerity in the speaker’s tone, and she could also recall how she’d laughed in response, simply astounded that such a concept could exist in a galaxy as harsh as this one.
Failure certainly hadn’t been a part of her life– had never been an available option, given the alternative. She had strict rules and orders that set her apart; that kept her alive. There was no excuse for bending them to her personal gain, or anyone else’s. Not then, and not ever. Divergence from success was unacceptable.
That must be why there was a faint aching in her chest; because she had failed. And there was a wave of crimson blood spilling from her palms because of it. Each drop carried dead weight, and the victim’s voices were stuck in her head, questioning her as to why she’d survived all this time. So she could drag them to their early graves? Drown them in the sand and ash? Waltz on back to the Rebellion like- like-
Her throat hitched, and she bowed her head, vision blurring. Nausea roiled her stomach and the heat of the air beat down on her.
She had failed. And it would cost her everything.
A delicate hand brushed her shoulder. Cassian’s hushed voice crept into focus. With effort, she tilted her head to look up at him.
“This isn’t over.”
His hand eased gingerly down her arm.
“The Rebellion knows what it needs to do now.”
Tremors unsettled Jyn’s breath. She fought back a rising tide of despair that desperately yearned to drag her away. Her lungs choked on nothing as she mourned, “I really thought we would make it…”
The wind howled louder in both their ears, and the horizon approached with ramping intensity. Fear hung low in the sky, but it was already stale. The reality of a small Rebel attack against the might of the Empire had been cause enough for apprehension on both sides. Jyn was finding now that she had no more fear to dredge up. And neither did Cassian, if she was reading him correctly.
He withdrew himself, his fingers falling away from her. He may as well be a stone wall, foreign and territorial –only a silent presence on a far gray hillside. Jyn noticed him from a distance, but she didn’t dare draw nearer.
She wanted to say something –anything– to make the silence less so. The phantoms in her head clamored to flood her mind and drown all sense of reality with their criticism. Her skin still prickled where Cassian’s fingertips had traced her arm, and a deep shiver crawled its way up the length of her spine.
“We failed, Cassian.”
The sand stung their faces. The truth stung everywhere else.
“We don’t win the war…” Cassian murmured slowly, pausing to tilt his head. “…overnight…” Something in his expression twitched.
Jyn looked at him again, before flinching as he suddenly whipped his gaze upwards into the atmosphere. Her heart fluttered when she followed his lead and caught sight of a small band of ships entering the base airfield.
“Those aren’t Rebellion,” Cassian breathed.
“They aren’t Imperial,” Jyn countered.
She could feel her pulse rising again, like it had never managed to settle in the first place. Each thump was uneven against her ribcage, and she tensed in order to negate the rebounds. Her crystal-charm necklace shifted beneath her shirt.
Cassian glanced her way as she pulled it out into the open. Her fist closed habitually around the white stone tied to the end. Her mothers phantom drifted forward to perch itself on her shoulder.
You should have ran when I told you.
“What choice do we have,” Jyn challenged. “We’re of no use dead.”
Her comrade dropped his gaze to the busted cartridge. Shadows draped themselves over his form, haunting him in their own way.
A looming, solid wall.
There was no time for debate. Jyn twisted back to the ships, wondering if any of them would manage to spot their tiny forms. Dozens of bodies must litter the beach by now. Rebels, stormtroopers, pilots… How many of the volunteers had managed to survive this long?
Blood pooled in her palms. She knew the answer already.
“If we’re doing this,” Cassian fixed her with his dark brown eyes. “Then we can’t let them know what this is.”
His hand had found the plastoid case, resting on it protectively. His knuckles were singed from the blaster bullet graze that had caused his fall. His right leg was splayed underneath him, likely dislocated at the hip. But still, his entire body looked relaxed —shielded from any hints of emotion. Jyn stifled a breath before she reached out and placed her own palm against the device, next to his. “I know.”
For just a fraction of a second, it looked like Cassian had more to say. Something flickered behind his gaze, and its fierceness took Jyn by surprise. Then it was gone, and she had to wonder silently to herself whether it had even been there at all.
They turned to the sky again, and it wasn’t long before one of the ships –a cargo shuttle– came swiftly over the dunes. It pulled up short, with its starboard-side ramp extended and two figures waiting to rush forward. As soon as the craft touched down, they were racing in their direction. To Jyn and Cassian’s relief, both of the men were clad in Rebel gear.
Jyn hobbled to her feet first, scooping up the black box as she went. Cassian struggled with his leg, but both of the men swiftly took him under each arm, and their group was able to surge forward, back towards the ship; towards reprieve; towards their next chance. The combined wind with the roar of the engines and the shouting of voices from somewhere unseen caused reproach to grip Jyn’s mind. But she was shoved onboard before the thoughts could sink its claws into her skin and the sheer adrenaline of the situation could come crashing down on her. She stumbled forward again as the ramp hissed at her backside and slammed shut. She registered the words, “Let’s go!” before her feet nearly came out from under her, and the cargo shuttle was thrown into acceleration. Her hand flew out to take hold of a nearby shelf.
“Get down. This is gonna be rough,” a female human in a flowing slate-gray garb hurried over. Her voice was commanding, but not harsh, and Jyn found herself obediently sliding to the floor. Adrenaline still coursed in her veins, making every sight and sound a thousand times more intense than it was. Her chest heaved once more, and her vision swam in and out of blurriness.
The men helped Cassian down against the ship’s side, where he leaned awkwardly on his uninjured leg. It was evident that exhaustion was creeping in, but he was fighting it with what he could. His eyes were scanning every inch of the ship, searching for clues as to whether they were refugees or captives. Luckily, he didn’t have to look far.
A muralpiece spanned the far interior wall, bursting with neon colors, boasting the Rebel Alliance insignia. It was bright against the light gray confines, and for now, it would have to be evidence enough that they were safe. Jyn could feel the familiar turbulence as the ship neared max torque. Not a second later, another female voice announced from the cockpit, “We’re jumping to hyperspace!”
Jyn took hold of the shelf again, squeezed the black plastoid box in her other hand, and prayed that maybe, somehow, by any means necessary, she and Cassian would be able to put Scarif behind them. Its war-torn beach and the crystal-clear waters melted away into nothing more than recollection as they slipped forward into hyperspace.