Work Text:
Cassian Andor has done many things he is not proud of.
He has been a spy and a murderer, has betrayed those who trusted him and turned his back on those who asked his help. He has become the worst a man can be for the sake of his cause, and for that they have praised him and called him Captain. He is a thief and a betrayer, and some times the only thing separating him from his enemy is the cause he claims to follow.
She had pointed this out, of course, had compared him to a Stormtrooper. There had been no true response he could offer.
He doesn't regret his actions, doesn't allow himself to. To regret would be to admit that he might have had another choice, that there might have been a different path for him to take, one that would not be so filled with shadows and pain. Sometimes he wonders what might have been if things had been different, wonders what might have —
It's useless, wondering. No amount of wondering will change what he has done, no possibility will ever wash away the blood at his hands. He is aware of it, he has accepted it, because someone must pay the price for the rest of them to have the future. He's a dog of the rebellion, and a loyal dog at that.
She is nothing like him.
Jyn is the opposite of him, one who should have been as entwined in this hopeless war as Cassian is, drawn either to the rebels for his father's sacrifice or to the Empire for his service. And yet she has fought to stay away, to choose neither side, to simply survive as long as she can because those who take sides may not see the end of it. He called her out on it, mocked her for thinking she is above him, when the price she has paid was not of her own choice.
Except Jyn is here now in his arms, holding onto him as though he is the hope she came to look for, and he knows he cannot offer her any comfort.
If there is any regret he has, it's her. Not this, not holding onto her as they watch the horizon, not following her into battle he knew they could not win, but bringing her into this in the first place. He had lied to her, had used her as little more than a bait, and even so she had stood before the entire Council and told them the obvious truth about what they must do. It hadn't become any less true because people had refused to listen to it in the face of overwhelming odds, it hadn't been a lie or a vain hope that Cassian and the others had followed to their doom. Jyn had had no stake in it all, had lost her father to rebel fire, and yet she had chosen to fight for a cause that only ever sought to use her and ruin her. Not because she had been forced to, but because she had known it was right.
And here she is, collapsed on the beach, watching the horrifying dawn that will soon swallow them both.
Every part of Cassian is aching, but he ignores all that, clutches Jyn close to his chest and refuses to let go. She is trembling but he doesn't know why, fear or exhaustion or simply relief that it will be over soon, that all the fear and pain will be wiped away and they will not have to fight anymore. She has fought for most of her life, just like he has, except she had no cause to pin her hopes to, nothing to trust but the Force. He wonders if the Force will give her peace in this moment, if there is any comfort she can find when there is very little he can offer her. He has nothing but dirty hands and a sweaty brow and an ache in his heart so deep he doubts it will let him go even in his death.
She is no more pure than he is, streaked with dirt and her hair a mess, and for a delirious moment Cassian imagines washing her and brushing her hair, seeing her smile at him as she dresses herself for leisure rather than fight, imagines a time after the war and a home that might not be just for him and —
The sand shifts under him, and her hair smells of salt as he presses himself close, knowing there is no more time for them, that any hope they might have had has become but a wish. He wonders if the message was even received, if it made it away from the Empire's clutches, wonders if they accomplished anything at all or if he is just trying to find absolution for a thousand sins he cannot wash away.
It doesn't matter, now. The rest of the galaxy might as well not exist. He will never know if it will go on under the flag of the Empire or that of the Alliance, does not care anymore, not in this moment. He has done everything he can, has given his all to the cause, and in this final moment he wants to steal a few breaths just for himself.
Jyn is solid in his arms, and soon she won't be, and a memory from not too long ago stirs in his exhausted mind, struggles to make it to the surface. His lips move around the word, tasting its syllables, his tongue so dry he could swear the air itself is sticking to it, hot and pressuring and too much, always too much.
"Stardust," he murmurs, isn't sure if she even hears him, not sure if there is anything to be heard. She holds him just a bit tighter, though, in that final half of a breath, and he knows there are no regrets, not for him and not for her, not for anyone who followed them into this hell for the sake of a tomorrow they will never see.
If she is to become stardust, he wants his dust to mingle with hers, spreading out into the vast galaxy on winds that only exist in the Force, and while he has long since lost his faith in anything but the cause he is willing to believe, just for a moment, if that will keep him with her.
The moment stretches out, out, into impossibility, there should be nothing left of him but he still feels her in his arms and her eyes are sparkling and —
Stardust.