Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's madness all around them.

Baze realizes he should be used to it by now — the roar of fired weapons, people screaming as they fall to their death — and he is, in a way; but this feels different, somehow. This is slaughter and he knows it. They all know it. It is exactly why they're fighting this way, with everything they have.

He thinks that right now, arm to arm with rebel soldiers, he might just be ready for what's inevitable. Years ago, maybe, if he still had faith burning inside him the way Chirrut has, he'd held hope that they could pull through, that they needn't sacrifice their lives... but he doesn't carry that fire anymore. And, for what's it worth, he's ready to die for this cause, for Rebellion.

That is, until one of the last soldiers falls dead next to him and he sees Chirrut, marching towards the console. In that moment, all of his being focuses on his silhouette, on not letting him fall, that mad fool and Baze knows, just knows, that if it wasn't for fires from the blasters and ships roaring over their heads, he could hear his friend, his partner, saying his mantra.

I'm one with the Force. The Force is with me.

He yells his name, begging him to turn around and take cover. Baze knows Chirrut can hear him, even over the noise, but he stays on his path, as stubborn as ever. And when he finally reaches the console — unscathed, somehow, despite all the shots that were fired directly at him, that should have hit him — Baze can almost believe in the Force again. He doesn't though, not really, but what he believes in is Chirrut. Always had. And it is enough.

He sees him reach the console, his hands searching for the master switch, shots still miraculously missing his body... Chirrut pushes the handle down and Baze, the silent, broody warrior laughs. There's not much he can do to stop the silly, roaring laughter that bubbles up in his throat — perhaps from the disbelief, or from actual happiness. The switch is on, that kid from Empire can send a message and maybe, just maybe, they can actually survive this.

Then the explosion goes off.

He watches, smile freezing on his face, as his partner falls to the ground.

When Chirrut hears the desperate pleas of the young pilot, begging them to turn on the master switch or all will be lost because they will never be able to give the plans to the Rebels, he knows what to do. Even more so after realizing that half of their group is already dead and perhaps, there is no one else to do this task but him.

He leaves his cover and marches towards the console, Force strong in his mind and heart. Rather from the habit than anything else, he repeats the same old words.

"I'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me."

There's no need to say the prayer now, though. He knows that the Force is with him. He can feel it, just as he can feel the stench of death in the air, the defeaning roar of battleships, sharp shots from the blasters. Chirrut feels it all, yet he remains calm. Even though he hears Baze yelling at him to go back — smile tugs at his lips then — he doesn't. He walks towards the console without hesitation, as if he did it a hundred times before.

This is the place and this is the time he was supposed to be. All is as Force wills it.

He reaches the console. His hands roam over the panel, searching for the handle, his heart pounding so loud it almost buzzes out the noise of the battle and — there it is, the switch. With relief, he pulls it down.

Nothing really changes, and yet everything does. Chirrut doesn't need any confirmation through the comlink to know that it worked — he can feel it, he already knows it through the Force. He turns to where he can hear Baze laughing (Baze, from all the people, what a strange day that is) and —

The world explodes.

It doesn't, of course, not really, but it sure feels that way for Chirrut. One moment, he's standing next to the console, victorious, and next he knows he's laying on the ground, his conciousness slipping.

He knows what happens next — perhaps he's been prepared for it from the beginning — and he realizes that he's ready for it. Now, that he's done his part, played his role in saving the Rebellion's dream, there's not much left for him.

Chirrut senses Baze kneeling next to him and a weak smile graces his lips. That might be his only regret. To leave him.

"Don't despair, my friend," he says. He moves his hand, fingers tracing over the warrior's face.

He's ready to say his goodbye.

Only, Baze isn't.

"No," he hisses through gritted teeth. "That's not happening, you old fool."

For some reason, Chirrut doesn't feel annoyance at his stubborness.

He'd be dissapointed if it were any other way.

When the ground around console explodes, Baze feels his heart stop. Then, the dust settles, and he can see that Chirrut has fallen, he realizes he's already running, not giving a damn if a blaster shot reaches him; but it doesn't, and he falls to his knees, right next to the monk.

He's alive, he realizes, letting out breath he's been holding. Later, maybe, he'll thank the Force for that but right now, he's more focused on planning how to get his injured friend out of this, without getting them both killed.

But then Chirrut caresses his face — softly, as always, and he instinctively leans into the touch, if only for a little bit — and says the words and all Baze can feel is blind, raw determination. He's not going to let him die, not like this, not here, on this forsaken Imperial base. They are going to grow old together (we already did, he hears Chirrut's voice in his head but he shuts it off), even if he has to fight every single soldier by himself. He's not giving up. Not now, not after everything they've done.

There are still few rebel soldiers left, standing ground, fighting till last breath and for that Baze is grateful, as he carefully gets Chirrut up. He expects him to fight — say it's hopeless, say that their lives don't matter compared to the case — but he doesn't and hope blooms in his chest, even if he doesn't dare to name it yet. After all, they're in the middle of the battlefied, not knowing if they can even get off this planet.

"Come on, old man," he speaks, his voice rough. "I'm not giving up on you."

He's not sure whether he's speaking to Chirrut, or himself. It helps, though, as he walks with his partner's half-limp body towards the cover, shooting at any stormtrooper he can land his sight on.

"Neither is the Force, it seems." Is all the monk says. Baze prays that he's right, because damn right they're going to need something more than fool's luck to get out of this place. A whole lot of something's more.

If the Force really is a thing that exists — he's ready to start believing now — it better help them now.

"Alright, here's the plan," he rasps, not stopping, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He almost waits for Chirrut to laugh at him ("Really? You have a plan?"), but he doesn't, and Baze realizes he needs medical assistance as soon as possible.

It only makes him more determined.

"We get back to the landing zone. We find the pilot kid. We get whoever we can on the shuttle. And then we fly as far away as possible," he continues speaking, not even sure if Chirrut can hear him anymore, the weight of his body becoming heavier.

They're moving through the jungle now, each step closer to the destination, but each step harder.

Two stormtroopers jump out from the bushes and for a second, Baze almost panics. Thankfully, his body, used to fighting since his youngest years, reacts instinctively, and he shoots them both on the spot before he can really process what's happening.

He takes another few steps towards, what exactly? Their salvation? Or doom?

"Good thing I have you," he suddenly hears Chirrut whisper, and though his voice is weak, there's hope and warmth and all the Force in the world in it. Or so Baze thinks.

Salvation it is.

Chapter Text

Bodhi doesn't consider himself a brave man. He knows that there are those who would, just for the fact that he ran from the Empire to find Gerrera but... he also knows there are those who would call him a coward. He doesn't know which of them would be right.

Perhaps both. Perhaps none. It doesn't matter.

What's he's doing, is not for admiration or big names. He's doing it because he knows there might not be other chance, that he might be the only shot at this. At getting the message out and reaching the Rebellion. And he succeeds, albeit nothing goes as smoothly as he could have hoped for. In fact, everything that could go wrong, does.

As long as the job is done, it doesn't matter, right?

Only, that he doesn't feel like his job is done. There's no feeling of fulfillment, no redemption gracing him. If anything, he feels like he hasn't done enough. Galen said that this was his chance at making things right, at fixing his mistakes. Bodhi realizes that getting the message out and delivering it into right hands, however, was not his shot at making things right. It was Galen's.

He stays with the Rebellion. He volunteers to the most kriffin' crazy plan of stealing out the plans.

He names them Rogue One.

It should feel wrong, he thinks fleetingly, to take off from Rebel base without permission, especially as an imperial deserter. But it doesn't; it feels exactly right, and as Captain Andor pats him briefly on the shoulder, he knows he's exactly where he's supposed to be. He realizes that if anything can repay for what he's done while serving the Empire, it's exactly this.

The flight to Scarif isn't a long one, for which he is grateful — there's not much time for doubts or second thoughts. Still, as they reach the shield gate, he finds himself to be more nervous that he'd expect to. His hands on the controls are sweaty, heart beating wildly in his chest, threatening to jump out as they wait for the Imperials to give them passage and shit, this is taking too long, what if it doesn't work—

They're cleared to go through the gate.

Bodhi lets out a breath of relief and hears the squad whooping in the back of the ship.

This might just work.

When they land, they have no time to waste. Their moves might seem frantic, but they're not — everything is planned, even if hastily. Bodhi plays his part perfectly as the team takes out imperial officers who board the ship. He feels a pang of disappointment when Cassian tells him to stay here, guard the shuttle — why should he, when everyone else is going to be out there, risking their lives — but he's right, of course; this ship is their only way of escaping the base. If they're given the chance.

In the end, it indeed turns out he's more needed here than anywhere else. The Rebellion fleet arrives, and thank the Force they do, it's slaughter out there, but it also means that the Empire closes the gate. They're trapped on Scarif, with no chance of getting the plans out... unless they transmit them. But to do that, the gate still needs to be destroyed — and someone needs to notify the Rebels of that.

Bodhi tries. And fails.

He manages to plug in, but it's for nothing, not until the master switch is on. There's a twinge of panic in his head — everything's starting to fall, nothing is as it should be, they'll never get the plans out, their lives will be wasted—!

He shuts the voice down. Takes a deep breath. They can still do it. Galen would tell him to calm down, to think why he's doing this, to think of the lives he could save by helping the Rebellion. So he does. It works, for now.

The wait for the soldiers to turn on the master switch is the longest one in his life. It feels like hours, passing agonizingly slowly, like days, filled with nothing but fired shots, roar of engines and screams of the dying. Bodhi hates that sound, absolutely can't stand it. He clutches the comlink in his hand tightly, waiting for someone to come in, to finally bring the good news.

No one does, but the screen in front of him flashes bright red. Wide, a little wild grin appears on his lips.

Someone switched it on. He can get the message to the Rebellion.

"To any Rebel vessel, this is Rogue One, I repeat, this is Rogue One, do you copy?"

For a long while, nothing happens and Bodhi can almost feel his heart shatter. Then, a reply comes, from a kriffin' Admiral at that and his chest just swells with hope. He tells them about how the gate needs to be destroyed in order for them to beam the plans. Admiral's response is affirmative — they'll do what they can, meanwhile, hold on, Rogue One.

A sense of calm washes over him. He's done his job; now, he just has to wait for the others. Because they're going the make it, right?

He wonders if Galen would be proud of him — is proud, if Chirrut is right and you become one with the Force after death — and then, there's a beeping noise next to him. Bodhi looks down, to see a grenade, right next to his feet. For a split second, he hesitates; for a split second, he's ready for death.

Then he lurches forward, as far into the cargo hold as can.

The explosion still reaches him, and everything is swallowed by darkness.

When he comes to his senses, first thing he notices is pain. His right leg feels like it's been set on fire, but, he thinks, at least he can feel it. Bodhi opens his eyes reluctantly and grimaces at the sudden brightness. Slowly, carefully, he gets up and — it hurts like hell. Curse leaves his lips and he glances at his injured leg — it's bad, fuck, it looks really bad — before quickly averting his gaze to look around.

They're not getting off Scarif.

Not on this shuttle, at least. While the grenade left most of the ship intact, the back is badly damaged; he doesn't need to check to know it's not going to fly.

He wants to give up. A part of him does, at least. What can he even do now? His entire body hurts, he can barely use his right leg properly, the ship he was supposed to fly is useless trash... There's no way he can help anyone in this state.

For a fleeting moment, Bodhi regrets jumping away from the explosion.

Then he doesn't.

Yes, he may be injured, his ship destroyed, but he still stands, still is able to fight. There are people out there, people whom he started to care about, who count on him, and he's not planning on disappointing them. He's scared, of course he is, but so he was before running away with the message from Galen Erso.

Bodhi may not consider himself a brave man, but he is one.

He looks around one more time, his gaze landing on a spare blaster. Gritting his teeth from the pain, he moves to picks it up. From what he can hear outside, it sounds like the battle is still going strong — good, that means he wasn't out for long. He nods to himself with determination.

"Yeah, man, you can do this," he says, voice barely audible over the noise of the fighting.

Without last glance, he steps out, into the battlefield.

He has a ship to find.

Chapter Text

Baze realizes that, logically speaking, their chances of surviving, let alone escaping Scarif, are low. He thinks that Cassian's robot would probably calculate the exact odds of it happening and tell him them in his deadpan voice.

He's glad Kaytoo isn't with them for that reason. They're better off not knowing.

He tries not to let the worry slip in his thoughts at the reminder of the droid. If Chirrut believes that Jyn and Cassian can do it, then so does he.

For the sake of galaxy, he really hopes the monk is not mistaken.

They make their way through the forest, slowly but steadily, Chirrut's weight a constant on Baze's arm. He tries talking to him, make sure that he stays awake, but his conciousness seems to be slipping and Baze doesn't know what to do. There's a part of him that's scared — consumed by raw, primal fear — but he doesn't let it overcome him. It would do them no good, and he needs to be on his best if he wants to save Chirrut.

He doesn't really care about what happens to him at this point.

They're halfway to the landing zone — at least Baze thinks so — when they stumble upon a couple of other Rebellion soldiers. He almost shoots their heads off. Old habits die hard.

One of them, a man, is injured, though not badly; he nods at Baze and he thinks he's gonna like him, as he doesn't seem to be a type to talk much. The other one is a tall woman, who seems unscathed, minus few scraps covering her face. Baze has no knowledge about military and what not, but with the way she carries herself, it looks like she's of much higher rank than her companion.

"Malbus, sir," she says and he almost laughs. Oh, if only Chirrut was awake to witness this.

The only thing that's missing is a salute, he thinks. "Not a sir."

She raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn't argue. Instead, she settles on giving him a raport of sorts.

"We're coming from the North-East sector. It's been taken back by Imperial forces," she hesitates for a moment before continuing, "we had no other choice but retreat."

Baze nods solemnly. He doesn't ask about what happened to the rest of her squad; doesn't need too.

"What happened to him?" The soldier asks, motioning towards Chirrut, whom he half-dragged to this place, his body uncooperative. Baze tenses at her question.

"Grenade blast."

He waits for her to answer. Waits for her to say that he's a lost cause then, only slowing them down.

She doesn't.

"We should get him to a shuttle as soon as possible, then. Probably needs medical assistance."

Suddenly, Chirrut stirs.

"You know, I might be blind, but I'm not deaf. Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

Baze roars in laughter over noise of the battle, relief washing over him.

By the time Bodhi manages to get away from the landing zone, he's almost convinced he must be crazy. This is madness — his injured leg, the battle, people dying right there before him — all of it. Every second, he half-expects himself fall dead on the spot, but somehow, by a miracle (or maybe it's the Force watching over him, he's ready to believe almost everything at this point), he doesn't; instead, he keeps pushing forward.

He clutches the blaster to his chest as if his life depended on it (it does), trying to move through the jungle. It's not an easy task — the ground keeps sinking as it's mostly made of sand, and his injured leg doesn't help, buckling under him every now and then. He's certain he's leaving a red trail of blood behind him, but he can't really be bothered with it now.

It doesn't matter. None of it does; what matters is finding a ship. Getting to as many people as he can, and then, hopefully, leaving this kriffing hell.

Bodhi makes a vow to himself to never visit a beach again if he somehow survives this.

He's starting to get slightly dizzy and thinks that it must the blood loss. It's not like he can do much about it now, though, so he keeps pushing forward, praying to every god he's ever heard about to let him make it.

He catches himself murmuring the monk's — Chirrut — prayer.

I'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me.

At the thought of his companions, new wave of determination ignites in his heart. He's never really had many friends, not in the Empire. There was Galen Erso, of course, but he wasn't exactly a friend — at least he thinks he wasn't, as Bodhi isn't sure how one should be like. He knows that he cares about his companions, though, even if it's stupid on his part, even if he only just met them.

They gave him a chance, despite him being an Imperial deserter. He thinks of Cassian, who hadn't judged him at all, not even once. Thinks of Jyn, who was so kind to him, asking about her father. He thinks of Baze and Chirrut too, about how nice the monk always was towards him, and about how the warrior scowled at him, but never said a bad word. He even thinks about Kaytoo, with both fear and fondness.

He must help them, no matter what it takes. They deserve it, for all the kindness they've shown him.

Bodhi's leg buckles under him suddenly and he falls to the ground, curse leaving his lips.

For a moment, there's nothing but pain swallowing everything else, making him whimper, begging for the suffering to end.

Then he opens his eyes and sees Baze, and Chirrut, and what seems like two Rebel soldiers coming towards him.

Hope blossoms in his heart.

They find Bodhi only thanks to Chirrut. He seems to be barely holding himself together, but limps defiantly towards his destination, leaning heavily on Baze, who gladly offers him help. It's not exactly straight path to the landing zone, the way they're going, and the rebel soldiers seem to be annoyed by that. Baze can sense that they want to argue with Chirrut — why are they still listening to them, remains a mystery to him — but they stay silent under his fierce gaze.

If Chirrut says this is the way, then so be it. He may not understand it, but he believes in him, fully.

The monk turns out to be right, of course he does. They find themselves on a small clearing and there, kneeling on the ground and badly injured — alive, most importantly — is Bodhi. Baze feels Chirrut squezee his hand, as if he's trying to say that it's going to be alright. That they can all find each other and survive.

He wishes he could still believe in the Force this way.

They rush towards Bodhi, whose entire face, previously distorted in pain, seems to light up.

"You're both okay!" He chokes out, trying to get up before one of the soldiers stops him.

"Whoa, don't move!"

The higher-ranked officer basically yells at him, and Baze feels ridiculous need to protect the kid. Then he follows her line of sight and tries his best not to grimace.

It's a miracle that Bodhi managed to get there, he thinks, given how badly injured his leg looks. He's no medic, but he's seen enough injuries to know that they don't have much time to get him to help. If they even get to do that.

The officer knows that too, judging by the brief look of sympathy crossing over her face.

"We'll need to apply a pressure bandage, or you'll bleed out to death," she states and Bodhi nods, swallowing nervously.

"The shuttle is a no-go," he says as the soldier works on his leg. They all share a look of dismay. "A grenade was thrown in and I realized it too late, I'm—"

"There's nothing you could have done," Chirrut cuts in, and although his voice sounds weak, it still echoes with strength.

Not everyone seems to share the sentiment, though, as Baze notices that the other soldier is getting irritated. He can't really blame him — nothing is going according to plan, and his hope wavers, too.

The man questions. "What now, then? What do we do?"

There's a moment of silence (as much as there can be, when battle still rages on above them), when they look from one to other, lost. Bodhi seems to be half-concious by now and Baze has to admit he's surprised by kid's strength, while clutching Chirrut to his side, who's leaning on him heavily again.

"Baze," Chirrut whispers. "The shuttle."

At first, Baze doesn't understand what he means, thinking that maybe it's the injury, that he's starting to rave, when the realization hits him.

"No. You're not saying what I'm thinking," he hisses through gritted teeth.

There's madness Baze can agree with, and then, there's stupidity. Chirrut's idea is the latter.

"Oh, but I am, dear. It's our only shot, I would think."

He's right, of course, and the warrior hates it. What he even hates more, is the fact that he's going to be the one to break the idea to the others.

He decides to get it over with.

"We need to get Krennic's ship."

Not quite surprisingly, Bodhi is the first one to react. He looks at Baze as if he has grown a second head, his eyes wide, perhaps both from pain and shock.

"Are you kriffin' mad?" His voice sounds almost hysterical. "That's the worst possible idea! Even if he's not here, there are going to be death troopers all over the place and there's no chance we can fight our way to his stupid ship!"

The others probably think the same, judging by their expressions. The officer is the first one to speak, and her words catch Baze by surprise.

"As much as I hate this idea too... it might be our only chance."

In the end, they all agree to it, and though Bodhi seems reluctant, he doesn't argue anymore, his injury clearly taking a toll on him. Baze really hopes that they can make it, for all of their sakes.

The way back to Krennic's shuttle is long and stressful. They can't move forward fast with two people injured, and the rest of them are already tired of the battle, adrenaline wearing off. It doesn't help that they need to be constantly alert, having to watch out for stormtroopers that could ambush them any given moment.

It happens, of course, but they manage to fight them off, without any bigger complications. Baze gets scraped by a blaster shot — which should had hit him, to be fair — but it's nothing that hasn't happened to him before. He thinks, fleetingly, that Chirrut murmuring his mantra might have helped, somehow.

When they reach the place when they have last seen the Delta shuttle, however, Baze actually believes that they have the Force on their side. It seems like their earlier retreat made death troopers scatter around and so now, there are only two of them, which doesn't seem to make a problem for the rebel soldiers. The troopers fall in a matter of seconds.

As they move towards the ship, they try not to look at the bodies laying all over the sand. The time to mourn will be later, but now, they need to survive.

Baze can hardly believe that they actually manage to do it, even as his feet stand on the solid metal ground of the shuttle. It's not a victory yet, though, as they still have to get off the planet.

He gently lets down Chirrut on one of the seats, mindful of his injured body. Then he moves towards the cockpit, where the rebel officer already lowered Bodhi in the pilot seat. He seems like he might pass out any moment, his face pale and covered in sweat, yet in his eyes, there's nothing but determination.

"Okay, everyone. We're getting Jyn and Cassian, and then we get the hell out of here."

To Baze, it sounds like the best plan he's heard in his entire life.

Chapter Text

For the first time in what seems like forever, Jyn has a purpose. It's something new to her and half of the time, she feels like she's on a completely uncharted territory, but it's not an unplesant feeling, not at all. Her goal — Rebellion's too, she thinks, if they only weren't so daft — is something that pushes Jyn forward, makes her stand ground and fight, say no to the Imperial's regime, where Lianna Hallik, Tanith Pontha and Kestrel Dawn would all run away, letting the galaxy crumble to ashes.

(As Jedha City did. As did Chirrut and Baze's temple. As did the girl she tried so hard to save.)

Perhaps that part of her, the one which was always on the run, never caring about anything or anyone (and even that is not entirely true, is it, a voice in her head whispers), died on Eadu, together with her father.

She doesn't care. Not now, at least, when everything seems to be depending on her and their small squad.

Rogue One, Jyn decides, is the closest thing to a family she's experienced in years, since she was a small, silly girl on Lah'mu. Since Saw Gerrera abandoded her five years ago. Her thoughts wander to her companions — the strangest team in her life, surely — whom she barely knows (will she even have a chance to?), and yet she cares about them, as much as she hates to admit it.

If she's to die here, on Scarif, on a blasted Imperial base, it's going to be a comfort to know she died among some of the greates heroes she's ever met.

She has a mission to finish first, though, and so, with clenched teeth, Jyn hoists herself up on the bridge, her body screaming in pain. It doesn't do much for her determination, as she manages to get up, her entire being focused on getting to the console and sending the kriffing plans. She forces herself to go forward, limping slightly, but already feeling victorious.

When Krennic appears, ridiculous white cape billowing behind him (Force, how much she hates it, how many times she imagined killing that man, ripping him to shreds, his white uniform soaking in red—), blaster aimed right at her head, Jyn wants to scream. It's not that she's afraid to die — maybe she is, but does it really matter? — it's that she's so close, that they've already sacrificed so much to get the plans through to the Rebel fleet and fuck, he can't be the one that takes everything away from her, not now, not again, not when he's already taken her mother, her father and now Cassian.

There's nothing but fury in her eyes when she tells him her name.

"You know who I am."

She stands tall and proud, not afraid of the man who destroyed her entire life. Jyn was on the run from him since Lah'mu and she's not going to back down now, not when she's the only who can transmit the plans to the Rebellion.

"I'm Jyn Erso. Daughter of Lyra and Galen."

Her legacy and curse altogether.

Jyn considers her options, waiting for a chance to lunge at Krennic, throw him off the bridge, knock him out, but everything seems too much of a risk with the distance between them and the blaster he's holding. She's sweating despite the harsh wind, panic slowly seeping into her mind.

This can't be how it ends, not now, not when they're so close. Not because of him.

Jyn readies herself for the shot and it happens, she hears it, loud and clear, only that she's not the one laying on the ground. Krennic is, his white cape crumpled and Jyn looks up, shocked, to see Cassian leaning over the console, his lips curling in a ghost of a smile.

Her first instict is to run over and take him in her arms.

She runs towards him, only that she reaches the console first, her hand grasping the switch and turning it down.

The screen lits up, and mechanical voice announces:

"Transimission in progress."

Jyn lets out a broken sound of relief, which is neither a laugh, nor a sob.

When Cassian regains his conciousness, for half-second he doesn't know where he is, or what happened to him, or why the ground feels so cold and unpleasant under his body. Then, the information floods his mind, together with the pain, and he utters a curse, trying to get himself up. He manages to stand, though his knees are wobbly, and his left leg hurts like kriffin' hell, not to mention the shoulder which received blaster shot.

Blaster shot. Krennic. The plans. Jyn.

He's been through worse, he decides, and starts climbing the data tower again. It's madness, his body yelling in agony, every move burning, but Cassian does his best to ignore it. He has a mission to finish, and he won't rest until he's completed it.

Cassian has no idea for how long he's been out. Few minutes? Half-an hour? Longer than that?

He tries not think about the last option, settling for something between first two. For a moment, he considers trying Kay-tu, his hand already wandering over to the comlink, before he remembers what happened to the droid. Cassian doesn't even dare to think about the rest of their squad.

There's no trace left of Jyn, or Krennic, for that matter, which only makes him climb faster, determined to find them. He can only hope that she managed to get the plans through — he's seen her in action, knows she's more than capable of doing that — but with the blasted imperial director after her, everything could go wrong.

Rebellions are built on hope, he told her.

He prays that hope won't abandon him now.

Cassian has never been one to care about people; perhaps not since his family was killed in the Clone Wars, or since he was recruited by Alliance as a teenager. It's not a part of the job for a spy — quite the opposite, in fact. Less attachments you have, the easier it is to get rid of them. With Rogue One, however, it's different.

He doesn't know when it started, not really. He's not sure when "wanting to dump Jyn behind" became "make sure Krennic hasn't gotten her", but what he knows is that: he wouldn't have it any other way.

Perhaps it started on Eadu, when he decided to lower his rifle. Perhaps it started even earlier, when they all barely escaped Jedha.

What matters, is that Cassian cares for them, even if he'd never admit it out loud. He's grown fond of his companions, of what they inspired in him — he thinks he hasn't felt that much in years. In a way, he's almost jealous of them, yet thankful for what they gave him. He envies Jyn her wild fire, her stubborn will to go forward, no matter what obstacles are laid before her; he envies Bodhi the way he believes in redemption, if one only decides to fix things; he envies Chirrut his unwavering faith, the light he carries with him even after all this pain; he envies Baze his connection with his partner, as the two of them seem to understand each other without words... He envies them, and thinks they're the best people he's met in his life.

They give him another reason altogether to keep fighting.

How he manages to reach top of the tower, Cassian is not quite sure — the pain is almost overpowering, but he forces himself to push forward. The monk would probably tell him it's the Force, only, he's never really been in good terms with the Force, has he?

(He might it need now, though).

When he emerges on the platform, first thing he sees is a man in white cape. This time, Cassian doesn't hesitate for a second as he pulls the trigger immediately, acting almost on instinct; this time, he knows he won't feel guilty for killing.

As Jyn's silhouette appears before him after Krennic falls to the ground — dead, or only unconcious, he doesn't care — Cassian thinks it's all been worth it. He leans on the pillar, his injuries making it harder to stand with every passing moment, and watches as Jyn pulls down the switch, beginning the transmission.

He's never been proud of what he's done, even if it was for greater good, and perhaps he never will be — but right now, he doesn't regret his choices, knowing they led him to this exact moment, to saving the Rebellion.

Jyn gives him a wide, tired smile, and he's taken aback by how ordinary it is — they've always been on the run, from one mission to another, and he's never really taken the time to look at her through eyes of someone else than the spy.

He doesn't think he'll have the time to do it now, either.

It doesn't matter, though. They've done their job, now it's someone's else turn.

He watches as Jyn's gaze travels back to Krennic's motionless form on the bridge, and catches her before she can run to him.

"Leave it," he says, holding her close. She keeps struggling against his hold. "Leave it! It's not worth it."

Jyn finally looks at him again and gives a small nod. She offers him her shoulder to lean on and he gladly accepts, as they slowly move towards the elevator.

He looks at the sky.

"Do you think someone's out there, listening?" Cassian wonders.

"They're listening. I know it."

Jyn's answer comes immediately, as she glances towards the sky briefly too, and she says it with so much conviction, that he believes her.

Trust, after all, goes both ways.

Their ride on the elevator is silent. There is so much they could both say, share with each other, and yet, at the same time, there are no words to speak now. There are no words needed, not really, as they look at each other, slowly but surely descending down. They've done their job, what else is left?

Jyn thinks that she could have learned to care for him, as she gazes at his face. On Eadu, when she learned of his betrayal, she thought she hated him, but it was never really the case. She's not really good with feelings — Saw Gerrera's camp probably responsible for that — but she could have learned to care for him.

She already does, perhaps. There's something about war, and going to hell together, that ties people in a such an intimate, yet cruel way, that nothing else could.

Cassian wishes, idly, that they had more time. His entire life resolved around Rebellion and he's never really had a chance to form friendship but now, as he looks at Jyn Erso, he wishes that they had more time. She stands close to him, their breaths almost mixing, and for the first time he realizes how tiny she actually is. On the battlefield, at the council meeting, she was anything but small — her strength making her stand tall and powerful — but now, she stands next to him as Jyn; not Lianna Halik, not the rebel, not daughter of Imperial scientist, but Jyn, and he's hit with how short she actually is.

He wishes they had more time, a chance to know each other, in a way other than war allows to. It's a bittersweet thought.

The elevator comes to a halt, and they get out, Jyn basically carrying Cassian with her. They walk together slowly — there's no reason to rush now, not for them, not anymore. He leans heavily on her and she gladly offers her support, as they walk through the beach of Scarif, bodies of both Rebels and Stormtroopers scattered around.

Cassian hopes it was worth it.

They stop near the place where seawaves hit the beach and drop to the ground.

The Death Star goes off on the horizon and somehow, it seems like a fitting end.

"Your father would have been proud," Cassian says, his hand finding Jyn's. She doesn't say anything — there are no words left to say — only smiles, tears shining in her eyes and moves closer. He embraces her, as tightly as he can, not caring about his injuries anymore. He finds that he's not afraid to die, not with her warm body pressed against his, a promise that he's not alone.

Jyn, in a way, isn't afraid either. She's grateful for Cassian being right there beside her, as they await their doom; she's always been on her own and it gives her comfort to have him with her. She's almost glad that this is how her story ends — not as a petty thief, not quite as a hero yet, but as someone who did all they could to save the Rebellion. For her, it's enough.

Suddenly, there's a roar of engines over them, and an all-familiar voice shouts:

"Get on! Time for hugs will be later!"

There, on the open ramp of Krennic's shuttle, stands Baze, motioning them to get on the ship. Jyn reacts first, jumping to her feet and all but hoisting shocked Cassian up. They half-run, half-limp towards the shuttle, Death Star's power almost licking at their backs but somehow, by a miracle, or by the will of the Force, they make it, tumble inside the ship and collapse on the ground from the haste.

"Everyone on board, get us outta here!" Baze yells in the direction of the cockpit.

Jyn clutches her necklace. The fight is not over yet.

Chapter Text

When Baze's barked command to get them out of Scarif reaches the cockpit, Bodhi's hands are already moving quickly over the controls, his focus momentarily overshadowing the pain he's in. Sweat drips down from his brow on the console, but he either doesn't notice, or he doesn't care, his fingers dancing on the unfamiliar pannels. He's never had a chance to fly a high class shuttle, but thankfully, Krennic's Delta is very similiar to the Lambda they stole from Eadu, and he finds himself in the pilot's seat quickly.

(It's not as if he has any other choice, if they are all to live through this.)

Even seated in the ship, Bodhi can hear the roar of Scarif being destroyed by the Death Star, the wave of destruction trying to hunt them down, debris hitting the wings, and he is certain that it's not a good thing. Back on Jedha, he didn't pay much attention to their escape — still in shock after Bor Gullet, broken out of his cell only to see his home city being destroyed by unimaginable force — and now, he kind of wishes he did, because he has no idea how Cassian and Kay-tu managed to outrun what seems like inevitable doom. In the back of his mind, Bodhi wishes that Cassian could come up to the cockpit to help him out with what seems like an impossible task, but he figures he must be injured, and their fate depends entirely on his skills. How much luck can one crew have, he wonders?

All the alarms are going off, beeping wildly, lights flashing bright red, but Bodhi ignores them, his hands clutching tightly pilot handles. He can do this, he tells himself, abruptly turning the ship upwards, towards the sky, where the battle is still raging on.

He can do this.

Galen believed it. Cassian, Jyn, Chirrut, even Baze — they all believed, still believe in him, too.

Now, Bodhi believes as well.

Despite the ship shaking non-stop, threatening to fall apart any moment, ripped to pieces by the force of the Imperial weapon, Jyn remains unseated, hovering over Cassian's motionless form. He's fallen unconcious the moment they boarded the ship and while she's not truly surprised by that — he suffered so many injuries, it's a miracle that he climbed that tower, she thinks — fear grips her heart. No one ever came back for her, no one but him, and maybe she was ready to die on that beach with Cassian but now, they're on the ship, with a chance of getting out, and she can't imagine a scenario where he doesn't make it.

"Cassian," she hisses, kneeling awkwardly on the floor besides him. "Cassian!" She tries again, louder this time, but to no avail.

She's not sure if he could hear her over the roar of the destruction anyways.

Someone yanks her up, unceremoniously, and her first insinct — one that's a reminder of the old days spent in Saw Gerrera's camp — is to punch whoever did that, but her eyes meet familiar face of a rebel officer, and Jyn does her best to swallow the anger.

"You're no help to him," the soldier states, and she opens her mouth to argue, but the ship rocks violently, causing her to latch onto the other woman for support.

"There's nothing you can do for him right now, alright?" The soldier says, not losing her steadying grip on Jyn. She nods, teeth clenched. "Your other friend needs you. Go to the cockpit."

Jyn casts an unsure glance at Cassian's body, taking in his pale face, covered in sweat and dirt, before she returns her gaze to the soldier, who gives her a small, tight smile and forces something into Jyn's hand.

"Take this, you might need it. For the pilot."

Jyn looks down, at the strange cylindrical object in her palm, before recognizing it as injection shot. Adrenaline? Painkillers? She can't really tell, not having much experience with this kind of medicine, but she nods solemnly, shoving the object into one of her pockets. If the rebel thinks that Bodhi needs it, then he must have been badly injured as well and suddenly, Jyn can't be faster to get to the cockpit.

As she strides towards the ladder, Baze catches her hand, briefly, and squeezes it. It's a small gesture of comfort, but Jyn is thankful nonetheless, and nods to him, before disappearing into the cockpit.

Baze stays in his seat next to Chirrut, watching as his chest raises with every rattled breath, a murmur of the prayer on his lips. In his thoughts, he joins him — I'm one with the Force, the Force is with me — feeling the ship tremble wildly under them, and while he's never had the connection to the Force like his partner does, he can sense the upcoming destruction, too.

He looks over to where Captain Andor lays, unconcious, the rebel officer who earlier helped out Bodhi examining his injuries. She has a grim look on her face, one that doesn't bode well.

"How bad is he?" The question rolls of his tongue in a raspy voice.

The woman looks up and shakes her head.

"Can't really tell, apart from the obvious," she motions towards the shot shoulder, "he needs medical assistance as soon as possible, though, or..."

She trails off, and Baze only nods, understanding. He might have not seen eye-to-eye with the captain, not from the start, but, in the end, he's a good man, he thinks, and he'd hate to see him go this way. He's seen the way that Cassian inspired other soldiers to join their mission, and that's something that Baze can admire.

The shuttle shakes violently again and he shuts his eyes, finding himself murmur Chirrut's mantra along with him. It's louder than before — something is crashing against the ship, ominous thud after thud, and the engines are roaring madly, not like earlier, noises from the outside become almost defeaning, Baze can feel Chirrut gripping his hand tightly and for a second, he's conviced that this is it, they're going to be blown into pieces by some damned Imperial weapon they just found the plans to—

Suddenly, it all calms down, as soon as it started. The ship is no longer shaking, and while it's still not a smooth flight by any means, it doesn't feel like they're going to die any moment anymore. Baze sees the other rebel soldiers smiling, if a little unsure, at each other, and from the cockpit come whooping noises of happiness, no doubt from Jyn.

It's only then, that Baze realizes Chirrut is no longer holding his hand, nor is he praying.

Before he can panic, he starts saying the words, loud and clear, hoping they're going to be enough.

"I'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me."

Bodhi doesn't laugh along with Jyn's cheering, trying to stay focused at his task. He can already feel his conciousness slipping and they've only just managed to escape the Death Star's blow, but not the system itself, which could turn out to be harder than expected, he thinks, watching as most of the Rebel ships disappear, jumping into the hyperspace, making their stolen shuttle exposed and easier to detect by Imperials.

"Jyn," he speaks up, suddenly. He can feel that she looks at him, but his gaze remains on the Destroyers hovering above, and he's glad that he can't see the Death Star from where they're situated. "The tracking system. We can't leave to the base until we disable it, or they're going to know the location."

There's a moment of silence, and then Jyn lets out a string of curses, which, if he heard them in a situation other than this, would most certainly make him blush.

"Can't you turn it off on the computer?"

Bodhi shakes his head.

"I'd need the codes for that, and we obviously don't have them. I'm going to need you to find it, and destroy it," he explains quickly, stealing a quick glance at her. Her eyes are wide, from fear or something else, he doesn't know, but she nods.

"Okay." She takes an audible breath. "Okay. Where do I find it?"

Bodhi searches his memory, but his mind feels so sluggish, and it's so hard to even stay awake, yet alone locate a tracking system of a ship he's never flown, by the Force, how much he'd like to sleep...

There's a prickle of pain on his arm and he lets out a surprised yelp, his sight focused once again, and before him he sees Jyn Erso, with a slightly sheepish expression on her face.

"Sorry," she says, motioning towards the injection shot in her hand. "The tracking system?"

She's back to business in no time and Bodhi shakes his head, trying to get rid of the weakness that overcame him seconds ago.

"Right. Right," he repeats, more to himself than her. "It should be, ah, kriff, next to the compressor, I think?"

Jyn keeps looking at him, obviously waiting for him to continue, and that's when he realizes she doesn't know a thing about ships.

"Here," he gestures towards the panel over their heads, and Jyn jumps on the co-pilot's seat without hesitation, already trying to pry it open. "Wait! That's the compressor one. Try that on the right."

"You sure?" She asks and Bodhi finds himself wanting to yell, because no, he's not fucking sure, and if he's wrong he might bring entire Imperial fleet to Yavin 4, but if they don't do anything, then they're all going to die and—

"Hey!"

He looks at Jyn, who's watching him with a concerned expression, but he can also see that she's stressed, sweat dripping down from her forehead, and he nods vigoriously.

"Yeah, that should be the one."

She holds his gaze for a second longer, looks back at the panel, and next thing he knows, she's shooting at it with a blaster.

"What the kriff, Jyn?!" He all but screams, almost jumping up in his seat, though his leg doesn't let him. She opens her mouth to respond, but a mechanical voice cuts her off:

"Attention. Tracking systems have been turned off. Attention..."

They grin at each other, a bit wildly, perhaps, and Bodhi punches in the coordinates, jumping to hyperspace, just as one of the Imperial ships tries to call them out.

Lieutenant Webb is sitting at his post, monitoring every ship entering the orbit — although, mostly all of those who survived the battle of Scarif have already returned — when something unusual catches his attention. He looks at the unidentified ship on the scanner and his eyes widen when he realizes what is it exactly that he's seeing.

He jumps up, making few of his colleagues glance at him with surprise.

"An Imperial shuttle just entered the orbit!" He announces and before he knows it, General Draven stands before him, Senator Mothma trailing right behind.

The room, buzzing with activity earlier, is suddenly silent, as everyone holds their breath in anticipation.

"Is there any sign of other ships?" General asks and Webb glances back at the monitor, but the shuttle is right where it was just a minute ago, with no other vessels around it.

"No, sir! Only the shuttle!"

He sees Draven exchange glances with Mon Mothma, but just as the Senator starts to speak, his headphones come on, first emitating a static sound, and then a buzzing noise. They have masking systems, of course, to prevent any unwanted vessel making contact with the base. Just like the Imperial shuttle.

"They're trying to establish contact," Webb informs his higher-ups, his hand already on the headset. He looks expectantly between General and the Senator, who gives him a nod.

He takes a deep breath, turning his mic on, and reroutes the transmission from the headphones to the speakers.

"Imperial shuttle, please state your business."

There's a moment of silence, which seems to go on forever, but probably isn't longer than few seconds, before a voice breaks trough.

"Rebel base, this is Rogue One, I repeat, this is Rogue One, requesting permission to land. We have casualties on board and require medical assistance as soon as possible."

The room explodes. Suddenly everyone is shouting, arguing whether to believe them or not, some already running out to the landing zone or medbay, but Webb stands at his post, awaiting orders.

General Draven speaks first.

"Ask them to transmit the clearance codes."

Webb has no chance to do that, though, as Senator Mothma all but takes his mic from him, rolling her eyes at the General.

"General, for the Force's sake, I know that voice. This is Jyn Erso, without a doubt."

She turns on the mic.

"Rogue One, permission granted. Proceed to the landing zone, the medical unit will be waiting for you."

Chapter Text

Baze is the first one to awaken. Or, to be precise, he doesn't lose his conciousness when they land on Yavin IV and are rushed off to the medical bay. Instead, he demands they let him go, even more vigorously so when he gets seperated from Chirrut — thankfully, they all but drag Jyn Erso (who seems to be reluctant to leave her companions as well) with him into the same room, so they can "adress their wounds". Baze doesn't give a kriff about his damn injuries, because all he cares about is what happens to Chirrut, and where they have taken him, and why does this stupid medic keep telling him to lay down when he's okay, he just needs to get out there and see what's his partner condition.

On the cot next to him, Jyn isn't giving up her fight either, it seems, as she all but begs the medics to let her go, she needs to see Cassian, is he okay, what happened to him, what did you do with captain Andor?, and Baze isn't even surprised, not after seeing how distressed she was when the man collapsed back on the shuttle. There's something about almost dying together, fighting back to back, that ties people in a way nothing else could.

(Even the rebels, apparently).

It's not until Baze almost rips medical droid's arm off — snarling into its face to release him — that they inject a needle in his neck, which he can only guess is some kind of sedative, and his lids grow heavy, together with his limbs, and the last thing he hears before going into medicine-induced slumber are Jyn's cries, and medics' commands shouted to the droids.

When he comes to his senses, the room is silent. Baze opens his eyes slowly and blinks few times, trying to get used to the bright lights. He sits up, his movements slow as his body feels agonizingly stiff, every muscle aching, as if he ran for a hundred miles. There's a mechanical beeping sound, and Baze whips his head around, to see a med droid standing at his side.

"I see that you are awake, Mr. Malbus," it states, in a voice that's much softer than that of the last droid he talked to. "Your injuries have been taken care of, and there's a 87,6% chance that you'll make full recovery. I shall notify your healer that you have regained conciousness. Please do not strain yourself."

With that, the droid turns away and leaves the room. Baze glances down at his arm, which has been neatly covered in a crisply white bandage, and tries to move it. He winces, as the action brings him pain, but he decides that it's definitely not his worst injury, clenching and unclenching his fist, testing its ability. Nodding to himself, he throws his legs to the side, his feet making contact with the cold floor, and that's when he notices Jyn, laying on the nearby bed.

She seems so peaceful, he realizes, when she's sleeping. Nothing like the fiery fighter that has led the entire squad to battle, or the woman who stole Death Star's plans. She looks like a young girl who has seen too much, done too much, for someone her age, and it makes anger boil in him, thinking about everything that Empire has done. To people like her, to Jedha.

To Chirrut.

He stands up, a little wobbly at first, but quickly manages to catch his balance — he's always been strong, after all — determined to find his partner. Before he can do anything, though, the doors open, and a young woman in white coat comes in, almost dropping her datapad when she sees him standing.

"Mr. Malbus!" She all but yells, rushing towards him. "You shouldn't be up yet! Your injuries haven't been too serious, but your body needs rest, and I am still very concerned with your—"

Baze lifts his hand, and she trails off, her eyes squinting at him.

"I want to see Chirrut," he says simply, his voice groggy. The medic's lips form a tight line, as she looks at him, grasping tightly her datapad, and she reminds him of Jyn in her ready-to-fight stance.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. I can assure you that Mr. Îmwe is receiving all the care required, and we're expecting him to recover." He lets out a smile slip at this information. "However, we barely managed to stabilize him few hours ago, and he is now in bacta tank. I wouldn't advise visiting him, not when you still need to rest as well."

Baze doesn't back down, though, staring intently at the medic. He notices the thin golden band around one of her fingers, and motions towards it.

"You got a husband?"

She glares at him, moving her hand behind the datapad, out of his sight.

"A wife," she corrects him, her tone cold. He nods.

"Then you should understand why I want to see him," Baze says, never breaking the eye contact. Her gaze softens, as if she finally understands it, and glances sideways.

"I'm not sure if I have the clearance to allow it..."

"Please," he murmurs, voice barely audible, but she catches it.

Baze Malbus is not the kind of man who asks, but for Chirrut, he might do just anything.

"Alright." The medic lets out a loud breath. "Let's go, then."

The chamber with bacta tank is much darker, compared to the room in which he and Jyn are staying, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. There's a droid in the corner, checking something on the monitors, but Baze doesn't pay much attention to him, his gaze focused on the tank in the centre.

"21-B, leave us", he hears the medic say, and few seconds later there's a hiss of doors opening, no doubt from the droid exiting the room.

Chirrut looks peaceful inside of the tank. Truth to be told, he always does, but even more so now, illuminated by the blue, artificial glow. Baze can see where his body has been injured by the blast, and he clenches his fists, seeing how much damage exactly it did. He's not used to seeing him this way, so unresponsive, out of his reach, and it makes his throat burn, tears willing to spill any moment.

"He's had a lot of luck."

Medic breaks the silence, standing behind him, datapad in her hand. Baze nods, a little absentmindedly.

Was it really luck, he wonders? Or the Force?

Just few days ago, he'd laugh at himself for thinking so, but now, he isn't sure what to believe in. Maybe, he believes in anything that saved them. If it was the Force, then so be it.

"He was diagnosed with mild concussion, multiple shrapnel injuries, mostly focused on the torso, right hemothorax and, under closer inspection, punctured liver. We only just managed stabilize him few hours ago, as I said earlier. I expect him to make full recovery, but it's going to take time."

She gives him full report on his condition, and Baze glances at her, momentarily taking his gaze off Chirrut's floating form.

"When is he gonna wake up?" He asks, quietly.

"I'm afraid that's hard to say. We need to keep him under induced coma for at least next 48 hours and after that, I can't really tell. It depends on how well the bacta tank and injections work for him."

Baze nods solemnly. At least 48 hours, and even after that, nothing is certain.

He feels the medic rest a hand on his shoulder.

"I can give you five more minutes with him, but then you have to return to your bed."

What's five minutes, compared to the years they spent together?

He agrees, because it's better than nothing.

Jyn wakes with a hoarse scream in her throat, her muscles tense, as she tries to leave the confines of thin sheet around her, even though it hurts her entire body. Her mind feels sluggish and it's hard for her to connect the facts, sort the memories in right order and she's scared, she's so scared, just as she was when she spent hours under the hatch in the cave, and there are tears streaming down her face—

"Hush, little sister, it's okay, you're okay."

A voice comes out of nowhere, deep and soothing, and Jyn finds herself calming down slowly, focusing on reality. She feels a warm hand on her arm — a touch of comfort, no doubt — and she takes in her environment, including the man sitting on her bed, recognizing his concerned face immediately.

It all comes crushing down on her and she needs to take a deep breath to not let herself panic again.

"Baze", she whispers, her voice rough. He nods, small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Jyn has so many questions she wants to ask him, so many unknowns she needs to hear the answer to, but just as she opens her mouth again, a droid rushes into the room, heading straight for her bed.

"I have detected a raise in your heartbeat, Miss Erso, and I am glad to see that you are indeed awake. I was told to run necessary tests on you, please remain on your bed," it says in monotonous voice, and she nods.

Baze returns to his own bed, as the droid all but shoos him away, but his gaze remains fixed on her, and somehow, she finds it comforting.

It's only when the droid starts examining her body, than Jyn takes notice of her injuries. There are few bacta patches plastered in different places, covering minor scrapes and bruises, but her leg is bandaged, and when the cold arms of med droid touch it, she lets out a hiss of pain, which the robot completely ignores. It moves away to the monitoring system next to her bed, not saying a single word, which she takes as a good sign.

"You are making recovery progress exactly as expected. There's a 92,3% chance that your leg will be fully healed. It is advised that you stay in bed. Your healer will check on you later." With that, the droid is out, and Jyn lets out a heavy breath.

Her mind is in shambles.

She has hard time remembering anything that happened after Scarif, even though she knows, deep down she knows about the Krennic's ship, and how they tumbled on-board last second, the power of Death Star hot at their backs (your father's weapon, a voice whispers), and how she had to help Bodhi in the cockpit, how he brought the shuttle to the ground and fainted straight into her arms. The rational part of her brains knows it, but she can't register those facts, she feels like she should be on Scarif, blasted to pieces by Death Star. How can she still be here, able to hurt, to think, when she should be dead?

Baze shifts on his bed and she's brought back to reality, turning in his direction. She doesn't know what to say, or where to start. Most of all, she's scared of what answers can he give her.

She stopped running from truth on Eadu, though, and she has to face it now, too.

"How- how's everyone?" Jyn asks, and winces the moment that words leave her mouth, because it's such a stupid, simple question to ask, especially when her heart is gripped with worry.

Baze seems to understand.

"Alive," he provides, and she sighs with relief. "Chirrut is in and out of bacta tank, but they're saying he's gonna be okay."

Jyn nods, eagerly awaiting him to continue, not realizing she's clutching the sheets tightly in her hands.

"They wouldn't tell me much about others," Baze says, and sends her a look that can be only described as apologetic. "The pilot kid is in bad condition, from what I gathered, but the healers said he's gonna make it. Same with the captain."

She's silent for a moment, processing his words. They're alive, somehow, they're all alive, how is it even possible?

Do you even care how?, the voice in her head asks.

She thinks that she doesn't give a damn, as long as they're okay.

After a visit from a healer — who refuses to give her any vital information, besides that on her health — Jyn decides to leave her room, and search for others. Her journey is cut short, however, as she stumbles into one of the doctors. He gives her a stern look, but doesn't force her to go back, which she takes as a good sign, before he tells her that Mr. Rook is currently undergoing his second surgery and therefore she can not visit him. He promises her to provide with any update (after she all but threatens him into doing so, as much as she can threaten someone in her current condition) and points her in the direction of Cassian's room.

Jyn stands at the door for few moments, hesitating to go in. She doesn't know what to expect, and it's scaring her. Everything is scaring her since the moment she's awakened in the rebel base.

With heavy heart, she goes in.

The room is similar to the one she and Baze have been assigned, though there's only one bed. He's laying there, of course, his chest rising with every breath, his eyes closed. She steps towards him and sits on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do with herself.

Cassian seems uncharacteristically peaceful, Jyn realizes. The lines on his face are smoothed, and the ever-present frown between his brown has disappeared, his expression neutral. She thinks that he looks much younger now that he's asleep, and she can actually believe that he's only few years older than her.

Her hand moves almost by itself, reaching for his, and squeezing it lightly. The last time she touched him, they were on Scarif, kneeling on the beach and awaiting their death. Death that would have been given by a weapon her father built; death that never came for them. She was glad, then, to have him beside her, clinging to him for life, his presence giving her comfort she haven't felt since Lah'mu.

It scares her too, how much she depended on him in that moment. On a man who was assigned to kill her father — who almost killed her father — whom she should hate, with her entire being.

But that was Lianna Hallik speaking, and she's no longer her.

She's Jyn, even if she's not sure what that means yet.

The door hisses open and she whips around, alarmed, but doesn't let go of Cassian's hand. Senator Mothma steps inside, looking regal in her white robes and Jyn doesn't really know what to do, or how to adress her. Thankfully, it's the senator who speaks first.

"I was told that I'd find you here," she says, a small smile on her lips, one that Jyn doesn't know what to make of.

"Did we make it? Did you get the plans?" Jyn lets the question slip before she can think, and her heart thuds loudly in her ears as she waits for the answer.

Mon Mothma nods and she feels something in her shatter from relief.

"The transmission was succesful. We can't thank you enough for what you've done for the Rebellion."

There's something else in her voice besides grattitude, though, some strain, and Jyn frowns at the senator.

"Is something wrong?"

"I need you to rest, all of you," Mon Mothma replies, evading her question completely. She looks down, at where Jyn's hand lays interwined with Cassian's, and the small smile is back on her lips, though it doesn't reach her eyes.

She's hiding something, that much Jyn is sure of.

"While you recover, please consider what do you wish to do next."

Senator's words catch Jyn by surprise, and she raises an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" She asks, and the red-haired woman gives her a knowing look.

"Your role in the Rebellion, of course," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the galaxy. Jyn feels her head starting to spin, because this is all too much at once, she can barely accept the fact that she's actually alive, not dead, and now they're talking about her role in the Rebellion?

"There's a sergeant position waiting for you. Just say the word, and it's yours."

With that, Senator Mothma exits the room.

Chapter Text

Cassian dreams of the beach. He's kneeling on the sand, warm waves washing over his legs, the salty sea-air filling his lungs. Strangely enough, he feels loneliness creeping over him, as if something's missing — but he has his rifle with him, and the comlink to contact Kay-tu is right there in his pocket, what else could he need? He breathes in, and exhales slowly, relishing in the warmth of the sun (he can't remember last time he had a minute for himself, to relax, to catch a much needed breath, away from the Rebellion, away from the blood staining his hands, away from the missions), before it becomes hotter and hotter, and suddenly, it's unbearable, his body is on fire, everything burns, and that's not sun, it's the Death Star, and that's how he's going to die, miserable and alone, the same way he's lived his entire life—

He wakes up in the med bay. It only takes a moment for Cassian to recognize it — he's been there few times before, and the cot feels almost familiar by now, as does the smell of anaesthetics and bacta.

When he tries to move, his body groans in the process, every muscle sore, and he lets out a hiss of pain. Back on the tower, he might have overdone it with dismissing his injuries, Cassian thinks. Actually, he's certain of it, but given the chance, he'd do it all over again in a heartbeat, without any hesitation, even if now, he can barely move, mostly left to blink at the white ceiling.

Was it worth it, he wonders? Did they get the plans through, the mission succesful? He doesn't remember anything after Jyn, embracing him on the beach, as they awaited their doom. He thinks there might have been a ship — there must have been a ship, if he's here, alive — but his mind is blank.

Did anyone else from the Rogue One make it, too?

There's a rustling sound near him, and Cassian tenses immediately. He cranes his necks, relieved when he realizes it's a part he can move and relaxes, his eyes landing on Jyn sitting in the chair right next to his bed. Or, a half of her sitting on the chair, while her upper body rests on the edge of his cot.

She must have dozed off while watching over him, he realizes. Cassian isn't quite sure how he feels about this revelation — he's never really had anyone waiting for him to recover in the medbay, excluding his higher-ups waiting for the report. And Kay-tu, but it's hard to think about the droid now, some strange feeling spilling in his chest, choking him up.

Climb, his friend said, and after that, there was nothing but radio-silence.

Kay-tu was by his side since he joined the Rebellion. He isn't sure if he even knows how to be captain Andor without him there.

Jyn raises up her head and he shakes Kay-tu off his thoughts, or at least tries to. She blinks few times, looking somewhat confused by her surroundings, before she looks at him and her gaze immediately sobers up.

He offers her a small smile, which turns out to be more of a grimace.

"Hey," she says softly, voice barely louder than a whisper, and her entire face lits up as she moves to sit closer to him, almost hovering over.

Cassian is surprised by the force of her reaction, but he doesn't let it show. In a way, he's used to it — she's kind of a "punch first, then fix-it up" person — and he'd be lying if he said that he's not happy to see her either.

Something about Jyn Erso makes him feel alive. Something about Rogue One makes him feel like he could be whole again.

"Hi," he responses, his voice raspy. While he can't deny the warmth spreading in his chest upon seeing her right here, at his side, alive, Cassian has other worries, too. He could just a request a datapad, search the information he wants — he has the clearance to do it, after all — but he realizes he wants to hear it from her.

"Is anyone else...?" he trails off, because as soon as the words leave his lips, Jyn is nodding vigorously, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say that there are tears shining in her eyes.

But it can't be, can it?

"Baze is alright, they just cleared us both to leave the medbay. Chirrut's still unconcious, but the healer said he's gonna be okay, and I'm going to drop by Bodhi's soon, see if he's woken up yet," she says, smiling in a way he thinks he's never seen her smile before. It suits her, he decides.

"And the plans?"

"Mon Mothma said that they received them," she assures him, and Cassian lets out a breath of relief.

It wasn't for nothing. All the lives lost, all the pain, all the people he'd killed — in the end, it was worth it, and he's thankful for that. He doesn't know what he'd do with himself if they failed, doesn't even want to imagine it.

"We did it," he says, simply, because he doesn't really know if there's anything else to say.

The gaze that Jyn gives him is full of warmth, and while there's still weariness on her face, she looks more at peace than any other time he's seen her.

He feels his lids growing heavy again, but before he can slip back into the slumber, he thinks he can just make the ghost of touch on his cheek, calloused fingers — much like his own, he thinks, hands of a soldier — caressing the skin, and he finds himself leaning towards it.

It might be just his medicine-packed mind, though, imagining things.

(He hopes that's not it).

Jyn is on her way to see Bodhi when some officer runs up to her, and says that her presence is requested at the meeting. She gives him a dubious look, thinking he must have confused her with someone else, but he insists, so she follows him through the maze that is Rebellion's base on Yavin IV, dozens of different thoughts circling in her mind. Why would they possibly want her to attend any kind of important meeting, after what happened last time, when they all but ignored her warnings? A part of her wants to turn around, anger boiling at the reminder of how she was dismissed before Scarif — before she almost gave her life for the cause — but then she remembers Mon Mothma's strange expression, the way she pretended not to hear her question, and decides to keep her temper down. She needs to know what's happening.

When they make their way into the chamber, it's already packed with people. Around the table in the middle, Jyn can see Mon Mothma, and Draven, and few of the senators she remembers from the previous meeting. She notices Baze standing in some distance from her, too, and scrunches up her brows in confusion. Did they tell him to attend this meeting as well?

Before she can elbow her way towards him, the meeting starts, and the room falls silent.

"We have received news about Tantive IV," Mon Mothma speaks, and although her voice appears as calm as ever, Jyn can see in her posture that she's distressed by something, "the ship in the service of House of Organa, which has been carrying Death Star plans."

Jyn feels her heart stop.

"It appears that... the ship has been destroyed by the Imperial forces. We have no knowledge about what happened to the plans."

The chamber erupts, but Jyn can't hear any of it, suddenly finding it hard to breath. She looks across the room, sees Baze's concerned face, and he's moving, shoving aside people standing next to him, he's moving towards her, she realizes, but she can't allow herself to let him see her now. The room feels too tight, too full, too loud, and before her mind can even wholly register what's happening, she's already at the door, doing what she's always been best at.

She runs away.

By the time that rational part of her mind catches up with her, Jyn is already in the jungle surrounding the base, her breath ragged, barely healed leg pulsating with dull ache, painful reminders that she's alive. She finds herself leaning on a nearby tree, its surface wet and harsh under her palm, trying to catch her breath, trying to calm down, somehow. It's all for nothing, though, as the words of Mon Mothma play in her head over and over, each time louder, hammering into her brain.

We have no knowledge about what happened to the plans.

They almost died for those plans. There are people — many of them, and she can't even remember their names — that did die for them. And the Rebellion, they just lost it? Something they sacrificed so much for, something her father gave his life for?

(Did he truly? A voice in hear head asks, but she shuts it down before it can get to her).

She thinks of the rest of Rogue One squad, laying in the medbay, recovering from the injuries they suffered, and blinding rage explodes within her. Jyn throws a punch at the tree trunk, almost relishing in the pain that comes afterwards, shooting up her arm.

She doesn't know what to do with herself, doesn't know what to think. She can barely wrap her head around the idea that she's actually alive, that she didn't turn to dust on Scarif, and now she learns that it's all been for nothing? It didn't matter? None of it did?

It takes a while for Jyn to notice hot tears of anger streaming down her face. She wipes on her face, as she moves further into the jungle, trying to get away from the base. She doesn't seem to care for the fact that her beige pants — issued by the Rebellion after she has left the medbay — are now covered in mud, or that the cold is getting to her, thin cotton shirt not doing much for the cutting wind.

She needs to get away.

One thing that she doesn't think about, is that she no knowledge about the grounds surrounding the Rebel base, and so, after walking for a quarter of an hour, she finds herself back on the edge of the forest, the Ziggurat right in front of her, almost as if it's taunting her. Jyn lets out a curse, but doesn't turn around. Instead, she fixes her messy ponytail, and decides to go back to the base, anger still boiling in her veins.

Her feet seem to move on their own, carrying her around the corridors, of which only half seems familiar. If she passes someone she knows, she doesn't register it, her mind still occupied with Mon Mothma's words. Before Jyn knows it, she finds herself in the medbay — the place she was supposed to go in the first place.

She stops dead in her tracks. How can she face Bodhi now? Would she even have the strength to give him the news that are going to most certainly break his heart? She can't do it, can she?

"Ah, Miss Erso!" A voice exclaims, and Jyn turns around, to see the blonde medic smiling at her. She curses inwardly. "I've been searching for you. Mr. Rook has awakened and was asking for you."

Jyn nods, because she doesn't know else to do. She wants to scream, and bang at the walls, she wants the ground to swallow her whole so she doesn't have to deal with— with any of it, really. It's one thing to learn about the fact that their sacrifice has been for nothing, but something entirely else to have to give the news to someone else. And Bodhi? Bodhi has been the best of them all, his intentions so true that it almost hurts, and at the image of his face when she tells him, Jyn feels naseous.

She knocks at his door, and, with heavy heart, enters.

His room looks the same as the one that Cassian's been assigned, with one cot in the middle. Bodhi notices her immediately, a wide grin blooming on his lips, and Jyn wants to turn around and run. She can't do this to him, she can't tell him.

"Jyn! I'm so glad to see you," he exclaims, motioning her to sit on the bed. She hesitates, but does as he asked, forcing herself to smile.

He looks so happy. Battered, and tired, but happy nonetheless.

She's not going be the one who changes it, she decides. Jyn doesn't care if he's going to hate her for it later, for withholding the information from him, but she can't be the person to tell him.

(Once a coward, always a coward).

"How are you?" She asks in a small voice. Bodhi winces slightly at her question, but the grin never leaves his face.

"Well, I've been better, but hey, at least I'm alive, right?" he says, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "The doc said I had a lot of luck, 'cause they managed to save my leg. Sure, they put like a ton of metal parts in it, so now it's almost like a droid leg, which is kind of cool, I guess? But it's still mine."

He's rambling a little, perhaps from the medicine, but Jyn finds herself smiling at his words. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it, catching him by surprise, but he doesn't let go.

"I'm glad that you made it, Bodhi," she tells him, sincerely. He looks away, shyly, before letting out a laugh.

"I am, too. Baze dropped by just before you," he reveals, and Jyn's heart drops. But, if he knew, he wouldn't be act so light-hearted right now, would he?

Baze didn't tell him either, she realizes, feeling a little less awful for withholding the truth from Bodhi.

She still feels like shit, though.

"He said that everyone is okay," he continues, oblivious to Jyn's thoughts, "or, er, mostly okay. Apparently Chirrut is the only one who still has to wake up. I'm sure he will, though, this guy is just... woah."

Jyn lets out a small laugh at that, because yes, Chirrut definitely is something else.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean."

She stays with Bodhi for a while after that, trying not to let the guilt eat her alive.

When she leaves his room, noticing that he's worn out and almost falling asleep on her (even though he tries his best to deny it), Jyn almost wishes that someone could knock her out. Not telling Bodhi the truth feels so wrong, especially since he deserves to know as much as anyone — or maybe even more — and yet, she couldn't bring herself do it. How could she, looking into his bright eyes, seeing the tired smile that almost never left his face?

She leans against the wall and closes her eyes, exhaling loudly. Suddenly she realizes that she's exhausted, her leg throbbing with pain after her earlier escapade. Jyn thinks that she could ask a med droid to give her something for sleep, but just as she starts walking towards the medics' office, she hears rised voices, coming from behind one of the doors. She stops, unsure whether she should even care what is it about, but then, she's a thief, and that's Cassian's door.

Jyn barges in without even knocking. Cassian looks at her immediately, alarmed, but relaxes upon recognizing her, and moves his gaze back to the man who doesn't even move to acknowledge her.

General Draven.

She grits her teeth, thinking how much she despises this man — the one who ordered to kill her father, who refused to give her support during the council meeting. As far as she's concerned, the blood of rebel soldiers killed on Scarif is on his hands. If she needs someone to put the blame on, then it's gonna be him.

"Like I was saying, captain," Draven speaks in his monotone voice, not even sparing Jyn a second glance when she moves towards Cassian, "the loss of plans is a harsh blow for our cause. We're going to need every resource we can gather, and carefully spend those which we already possess."

She doesn't know what the general means, and, from the look on his face, neither does Cassian. Mostly, he looks incredibly tired, his face pale and sweaty, and she clenches her fists, another wave of dislike for Draven hitting her.

"I'm not quite sure I understand, sir," he says, his tone weary. General Draven finally lands his gaze at Jyn — distaste for her apparent in his eyes — before looking back at Cassian.

"I mean our resources, which are being spent on people who don't even belong to the Alliance."

Jyn thinks she's hearing wrong, because he can't possibly be saying what she thinks he is, right? But the look on his face, the way he spat those words out — he must mean it, and she feels her fist tingling, wanting to connect it with general's face.

Will they throw her in prison for it? Probably. She thinks it's worth it, though.

Those people risked their lives for his cause, and now he's complaining because of stupid resources?

"I had one of our medics report to me that you have requested to make sure that the rest of your squad, as you called it, is being put in the best care possible," Draven continues, his eyes darting to Jyn, as if daring her to punch him, to give him a reason to lock her up. "Funny enough, because I don't remember giving you the clearance to make such demands, captain. And, would you imagine, that the medic only told me that after you asked him to put the damned Imperial scum in another bacta—"

He's cut off, and it's not by Jyn's fist connecting with his jaw.

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you," Cassian all but snarls at him, his teeth bared, and Jyn isn't sure if she's ever seen him like that, so out of control, nothing but pure hatred on his face as he adds:

"Sir."

Draven looks taken aback — Cassian must have never argued with him before, she thinks — but quickly regains his composure, squinting his eyes at him.

"I see," he murmurs. "Very well, then. I except you to recover as quickly as possible, captain, because we'll be needing you."

The words sounds like a threat, a reminder that he belongs to the Rebellion, and no matter what, he has to do as ordered. Cassian has every reason to hate Draven, Jyn realizes, even more than her. He's the man who controls him, who whispers over his shoulder when his finger pulls the trigger.

When the door closes with a hiss after general, Cassian slumps down on the pillow, none of his earlier ferocity left. She stands closer to him, not really knowing what to do — if there even is anything she can do to help him — and he sends her a look that is just so lost, so defeated, that she sits down, taking his hand into hers, not unlike before.

"What are we going to do?" She whispers.

"I don't know, Jyn. I have no idea."

Chapter Text

What makes Chirrut finally jerk awake is pain. Not the physical type, mind you — although his body is hurting, but this is the kind of pain he's used to, and can deal with — but the other one, that can't be healed with stitches or bacta patches. The one which hurts the most.

It overwhelms him, swallows him, occupies his mind like nothing had before. He doesn't know where the pain ends and he starts; for all that Chirrut knows, he might no longer exist, replaced by the neverending suffering. He feels like suffocating, like there isn't enough room for him to breathe, even though a part of him knows that's not true, he knows that he's breathing just fine, if a little quickened, air entering his lungs. It burns, though, through his veins and through his mind, some terrible, unimaginable power burns his body and he wants to scream, he hears the screams — but they're not coming from his mouth, yet he can hear them, everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

The world around him shatters, all while staying exactly the same.

Then it's suddenly silent, unbearably empty, gone. Like a flicker of flame, it extinguishes, and together with it the last sliver of hope that it, whatever it is, could somehow survive.

Chirrut knows what has happened. He's been one with the Force for long enough to understand. Yet, he doesn't want to understand, tries to shut off the part of his mind which realizes the terrible truth — that this time, Empire's planet killer didn't destroy only a city. This time, their abomination took billions of lives, and he felt it, as if someone ripped his heart out.

They're one with the Force now, and the Force is one with them.

He hears the door hissing open — brutally bringing him back to reality — and for the first time, tries to take notice of his surroundings. The cot he's laying on is hard under his back, but not uncomfortable, and in the air he can just distinguish the unmistakable smell of bacta.

Med-bay, of course. They made it to the Rebels' base after all.

"Baze", he says, voice barely audible. As soon as his partner's name leaves his lips, however, he realizes it's for nothing; if he was here, he'd already be by his side, his presence a soothing constant, as it's been for past thirty years.

"Mr. Îmwe, please remain calm, I need to run necessary diagnostics on you," a mechanical voice belonging to a droid announces. "You have awakened before it's been expected, which prognoses good recovery. I shall fetch your healer after I'm done with the examination."

Chirrut doesn't bother nodding, and lets the med droid examine his body without a word. He flinches ever so-slightly when the cold metal arms touch his skin, but otherwise, doesn't show any sign of discomfort. Rationally speaking, he takes notice of his injuries — feels the pain under bacta patches covering his torso — but truthfully, it is nothing compared to what his soul experiences. The Force and him, they've always been inseparable, to the point where Baze would joke about being jealous but now, Chirrut almost wishes he never became the Guardian. That he never chose to believe in the Force. The amount of suffering that he witnessed — it's unimaginable.

They're one with the Force now, and the Force is one with them.

But he's there, he's made his choices, and no matter how much pain they bring him, he doesn't regret any of it.

(He's alive. It's a fact. An entire planet is gone. It's also a fact.

What does one do with such knowledge?)

The Force chose him to be alive, in this precise moment, in this time. There must be a reason for that. Flying to Scarif, Chirrut was at peace with death, expecting to meet it there. And he almost did, but then, he was given another chance, one he's not going to waste. It seems like there's something else he has to do in the galaxy, in this war, perhaps, that has already taken so many lives. That will take so many more.

They're one with the Force now, and the Force is one with them.

When the door hisses open again after a while, Chirrut immediately recognizes the familiar presence in the room.

"You're awake!" A well-known voice exclaims and then the empty space around him is replaced by warm body. Chirrut leans into it instinctively, not paying attention to his own body groaning in pain; he needs Baze, he needs to feel his arms around him, needs to know that this is truly real, and the Force hasn't separated them.

A joke crosses his mind — Oh no, Baze, I can't see you! — but he shoves it away as soon as it appears. Now is not the time for jokes.

"It would appear so, yes," he murmurs against him, relishing in the familiarity of the embrace.

Baze lets out a low sound from his throat, which could be a bark of laughter.

"The healer said you wouldn't wake up for some time yet," he says, moving a little distance away.

In his head, Chirrut can almost see Baze looking him up with concerned gaze, and the thought makes him smile. Then, he senses something else altogether — the distress, rolling off from his partner is waves, as his initial relief upon seeing him awake slowly fades.

Of course, he must know about the Empire, too.

"Baze," Chirrut says, his voice but a whisper in the silent room. "Tell me. The Empire. They've done it?"

Baze squeezes his hand a little tighter. He doesn't need a confirmation, but he still asks.

"Yeah," he answers, in an uncharacteristically small voice. "The Rebellion- they just got the news. Aldeeran is gone."

Aldeeran. Chirrut heard stories about this planet — as beautiful as it was rich with history and culture, its inhibitants respecting the nature and building their cities around it. He feels as if his heart could shatter at this loss, but it already did. And, perhaps, it will again, before this war is over.

"I felt it," he murmurs, even though Baze probably already knows that. "I could hear the screams."

"I know," he replies and for a moment, Chirrut wonders if maybe, he sensed it too. He doesn't ask, though — it doesn't feel like a right moment — and instead rests his forehead against his, their breaths mixing, not quite enough to comfort him, but enough to feel alive.

They're one with the Force now, and the Force is one with them.

Jyn's decision to stay with the Rebellion is perhaps the most deliberate one that she's made in her entire life. Suprisingly enough, it also comes to her easily — not something she really expected — but it does, and it feels so right, as if it's a thing that she should have come to terms with long ago.

This is her cause, too, she realizes that now. As much as Cassian's, or any other Alliance soldier. She never cared much for it, never truly sacrificed anything, but she's ready to do it now.

(She was on Scarif, too).

She pushes away the guilt, nagging at the back of her mind; the shame, licking on her spine and saying that this is something she should have done sooner, instead of running, never looking back on anything or anyone. The time to deal with it will be later, but now, there are stolen plans that need to be retrieved and this time, she'd rather do it with Rebellion backing her up, if she's truly to join their ranks.

For a moment, she debates whether she's really doing it for herself, or whether it's something different that's keeping her here. Faces of her companions flash in her mind — Cassian, who always came back for her, whom she could rely on; Bodhi, with his nervous smile and eyes gleaming with dreams; Chirrut, with the mirth in his voice and wise words; Baze, always ready to fight but his hand giving a steady support — and she realizes that she'd do it just for them, but it's not the reason, no, at least not entirely.

(Even if Cassian's face occupies her mind for a while longer than the others).

She thinks that maybe that's something her father would have wanted, too. Or hopes so, because she doesn't really know him, not anymore; Bodhi could perhaps tell her more about him, in some time. One thing she's certain of, though, is that her mother would be proud of her, had she known that she finally decided to stop running and pick up the fight (you should have done it years ago, a voice, sounding suspiciously like Saw Gerrera, whispers in her mind, but in the end, you have found your way).

Mostly, Jyn is doing it for herself. At least that's what she tells herself — she wants to be useful, wants to feel the fire inside her when she has a greater purpose — but that's only half-true.

She's doing it for people who lost their lives on Jedha. She's doing it for thousands of others, breaking under the regime of Empire; people she haven't thought about, paid attention to until now, until seeing Jedha's Holy City being wiped away, until Eadu.

With her mind set, Jyn makes her way to the Command Center. She bumps into few people in the corridors, but most of them pay her no mind, while others just give her a short nod, recognizing her as one from the Rogue One crew. It's something she's not really used to, with Jyn's first instinct being make sure no one can remember you, but she supposes it's something that's gonna happen often now, and finds herself nodding back at them.

The Command Center is almost empty, compared to the other times she's been here. There are officers scrambling around the place, comparing datas, but no trace of different ranks soldiers or senators, as it's been before.

She can only see one Commanding Officer and thinks that the Force must truly hate her sometimes because right there, standing at his post, is General Draven.

Jyn hesitates for a while before coming up to him. If she's to be honest, she was hoping for anyone but him — not necessarily Mon Mothma, because she realizes that the woman has many others responsibilities — but perhaps that Twi'lek she's seen around, and who looked nice enough.

Everyone would be nicer than Draven.

He's good at his job, that much she can tell, but it doesn't change the fact that she hates him. For Jyn, it's always been hit or miss, nothing in between — though she realizes that, joining the Rebellion, it won't be so easy anymore.

With her fists clenched, she approaches him.

"General?" Jyn asks, thinking that courtesy might be her best bet. Not that it comes to her naturally.

As usual, he barely spares her a glance up from the report he's reading, his brows furrowing when he recognizes her. He quickly slips into face of boredom, though, all but waving her off with his hand.

"Not now, Erso," he says, "I'm sure there are some shuttles in the landing zone you can steal and fly to whatever Outer-Rim planet you wish to."

It takes all of Jyn's might not to deck Alliance's Intelligence CO right here and right now, but somehow, she manages not to, screaming obscenities at him in her mind (with stinking bantha fodder being the nicest one).

She grits her teeth, calms the anger boiling in her veins, and says:

"That's not why I'm here."

Then, almost mimicking Cassian in the med-bay:

"Sir."

Draven turns towards her by then, giving her a look that says he's disinterested in whatever she has to say. Not that she cares.

"When senator Mothma visited me in the med-bay," she starts, holding his gaze, "she gave me a proposition. She said that... if I were interested, there's a place for me in the Rebellion. And that's what I'd like to do. Join the Alliance."

He's watching her closely, his expression mostly blank, but Jyn thinks she can just catch the glimpse of surprise in his eyes. Draven must have known about Mothma's proposition, surely — she's certain nothing goes past him — but he never expected her to accept, she realizes.

"Do you know what you're asking, Erso?" He finally says, setting the datapad down on the table. "This isn't some petty thieves gang. This isn't even Gerrera's partisans. We may not be officially Republic's army, but we're still military. There are rules, and there are orders. Orders that you'll have to obey, or bear the consequences. No disloyalty, no doing whatever you want to, no going rogue."

His tone is sharp, almost intimidating, but Jyn finds herself nodding to his words.

(It sounds like a nightmare, but she's willing to learn).

"Yes, sir," is all that she says in response, undoubtedly catching him by surprise.

If he's still against the idea, Draven doesn't voice it.

"Good. I'll see that someone takes care of that. You'll be temporarily joining General's Syndulla team, and later we'll see who's going to be assigned as your commanding officer."

Jyn realizes that she's smiling at his words — can't really help the grin that finds its way on her face — only when Draven gives her a funny look.

She thinks he might tell her something else, but he never has the chance, as the room suddenly falls silent for a moment and then buzzes back to life, only now with words spoken in hushed whispers, absolute terror reasonating within them. An officers runs up to Draven — his face pale, and his hand, in which he holds a datapad, clutching it so tightly that his knuckles turn white, shaking.

"Sir, the Empire," he starts, and Jyn feels her heart stop. "They fired planet killer... the Aldeeran is gone."

The soldier's voice is barely louder than a whisper, but for Jyn, he might as well be screaming.

Gone? An entire planet? That's not possible, how could it even be?

(You know how. Your father's weapon. They've done it).

She's vaguely aware of Draven barking orders — demanding more information — but her mind, unlike when the panic flooded it when she learned about stolen plans, is filled with blind, body-numbing rage.

Not for the first time in her life, it is directed at her father.

Bodhi isn't sure what to think when the medic accidentally blurts out the truth about stolen plans, clearly expecting him to already know that. He then proceeds to make up excuses, muttering some sort of apology under his breath, which are all completely ignored by Bodhi, who's already lost in his mind. There's a pang in his chest, which feels terribly familiar, but he doesn't let himself shatter in front of the medic, waiting for him to finally stop checking on his leg and leave him alone.

He feels... disappointed, though he can't really tell if it's at his companions, or himself. Perhaps it's a mixture of both.

He had hoped, more than anything, that they trusted him, that Rogue One — or whatever else they had — was something special, but apparently he was wrong. It's a painful realization, one that hits deeply, and Bodhi tries his best not to break, not again, not after everything he's been through. He escaped the Empire, brought the message to Gerrera, endured the horrors they threw at him and then, against all the odds, somehow managed to survive Scarif. He's not going to give up on himself that easily.

When Jyn finally slips into his room, Baze trailing after her, Bodhi is ready for them, his gaze harsh and face set.

"You lied to me," is what he says, not even waiting for them to sit down. Jyn exchanges alarmed glances with Baze, and he suddenly feels bad for being angry at his companions, but he can't let this go, not yet.

"Bodhi-"

Jyn reaches for his hand, slowly, but he snatches it away and she winces, hurt flashing on her face.

"You both knew, didn't you? About the plans?" He continues, not even noticing his voice rising. "And yet you didn't bother to tell me."

Baze makes a pained expression, but Bodhi ignores him, as well as Jyn, who tries to say something.

"What is it? Did you decide not to tell me because I'm a defector? Do you both not trust me after all that kriffing hell we've been through? Expect me to run back to the Empire?"

He only notices that there are tears of anger streaming down his face when he stops talking, his chest rising with heavy breaths. Later, maybe, he'll feel ashamed at his childish outburst, but it feels only adequate now.

Jyn looks at him, softly — which is something he's not used to see on her face at all — and Bodhi thinks she must pity him, so he turns away, still angered, not knowing how to deal with any of this.

"Look, kid," Baze says sharply, and he turns towards him, alarmed to see him suddenly standing next to his bed, "I'm only gonna say it once, so you better listen. You're a damn hero, that's what you are. And we trust you — all of us, I think — so stop with that, eh, whatever you're doing. We got your back, alright?"

Bodhi is staring at the man in front of him with disbelief — he thinks Jyn is, too — but Baze just shrugs.

"Don't tell Chirrut I got all mushy on you, or he's not gonna let me live," he adds, in his usual, bored tone, and Bodhi can't help the snort that escapes him.

As much as uplifting Baze's words were, he still has questions.

"But why-"

Before he can say anything, Jyn cuts him off.

"We're sorry, okay? I didn't want to lie you, but when I dropped by you were just so happy and ah, damn, I couldn't bring myself to tell you," she says. Bodhi finds himself nodding, unable not to; he's still somewhat hurt by the fact that they decided to hide the truth from him, but it feels like a stone has been lifted from his chest to know their reasoning behind it.

"I'm... we're actually here because we have some news," Jyn speaks up, once again giving Baze a strange look. She seems nervous, and Bodhi only know notices her bloodshot eyes and pale face, too wrapped up in his anger earlier to have noticed it before. Somehow, he doubts it's going to be good news. "And we wanted you to hear it from us."

The room suddenly feels tight.

"What news?"

"It's the Empire. They..." Jyn trails off, looking down. "They fired Death Star. Aldeeran is... it's gone."

For a moment, Bodhi's mind feels just blank, similar to how it did after Bor Gullet. He tries to process what Jyn just said and fails, her words not registering, not connecting to the facts.

"What? What do you mean? They couldn't just- How-"

Bodhi finds it hard to breathe, let alone focus on talking. This can't be happening, not now, not when Rebellion was so close to the victory. They were just testing the weapon, how could they already fire it at an entire planet? How could an entire planet just be destroyed, for that matter?

Of course that it could, he knows that, he's seen the power of Death Star with his own eyes, felt it on his back (Jedha, he thinks), yet he has trouble believing it, a part of his mind praying for this information to be false. As he looks at Jyn and Baze, though, at their solemn faces, he knows that it's true, and the thought makes him dizzy, his breaths short and struggled. He gasps audibly, noticing some strange wetness on his cheeks — are those tears? — and fights the wave of nausea that washes over him.

They did it they blew up Aldeeran you were too late too late to help too late to save them you were too late you were too late you were too late you were too late—

Someone squeezes his hand, but he barely feels the touch anymore, his body unresponsive. Bodhi wants to scream, to claw at his hair, guilt eating him up alive, sense of complete failure too strong for him to handle. He's mumbling something incoherent — something which sounds terribly like don't leave, please, don't leave — between broken sobs and sharps intakes of breath. It's almost as if he's underwater, drowning.

He barely notices the sting on his arm, but the world slowly starts to black out, the faces of his companions unrecognizable, sounds muted.

Last thing that he thinks before passing out is:

You failed them.

Chapter Text

Someone once told Jyn that rebellions are built on hope. She was but a step from laughing into his face back then, for Jyn Erso did not believe in hope, nor rebellions — there was only one thing she believed in, and it was survival. Dreamers were people she thought simply stupid; dreams didn't get her through the worst that galaxy had to offer, her stubborn will to live did.

Now, as she stands in the halls of rebel base on Yavin IV, accusatory looks thrown her way, Jyn starts to regret that she chose to start believing somewhere along the way. It would be so much easier if she didn't care about any of it, if she could take her things — which was just the stuff she had on her, not even owning a blaster at this point (she gave the one she stole from Cassian to Kaytu, back in the data tower) — and fly away from the planet, hide on some small moon with bad reputation with plenty job offers for people like her.

It's what Draven and half of Rebellion probably expects from her, she realizes.

Which is exactly why she can't do it.

That, and Jyn finds she cares for the people she met along the way too much to let go now, even though it'd be easy to when things seem helpless. Attachments will get you killed, Jyn — Saw used to tell her, all those years ago, and so she spent most of her life following his words. In the end, she thinks he might have been wrong, as she looks bad to Jedha. The memory brings a sharp pang to her chest, remembering the last words she said to her mentor — her father, in a way that Galen Erso couldn't be — and then left him alone, where he crumbled to ashes along with the Holy City, with his own, extremist rebellion.

She prays that the Force is real, and he can see her now; that her words of cowardice aren't the last thing he's ever heard from her.

Still, it hurts so much, to have to witness all the pain that Rebellion suffers and not being able to help; to feel like she's responsible, somehow. Of course, Jyn knows that she, by herself, never aided the Empire in any way, but she didn't do anything to stop them either, at least not till they broke her out from Wobani.

There's also the matter of her father. She spent most of her teenage and adult years hating him with strength that would surprise many, wishing he was dead. Upon learning that he was the one builiding Empire's planet killer, that hatred towards him almost doubled, made her see in red. Then... then it was Jedha's time, and his heart-breaking message, which opened something in Jyn that she shoved deep down, together with the hatch in the cave on Lah'mu.

Suddenly, he was her Papa all over again, and when his life slipped through her fingers, she vowed to herself to make sure that his sacrifice won't go to waste. She fought with all that she had, through pain, through blood and broken bones, her companions falling to death, only to send the plans to the Rebels. And she did it — not even for her Papa anymore, but for the Rebellion — only to have it taken from her, to learn that in the end it didn't matter. The plans were lost, perhaps even destroyed by now and the Empire fired their dreadful weapon, wiping off an antire planet. Her father's weapon did that. He worked on it with his own hands, he was responsible, in a way, for what happened to Aldeeran.

For that reason, she doesn't fight the glares sent her way, though she doesn't retreat into the shadows either. There are whispers — yeah, it's her, Imperial scum, daughter of the scientist, what she's even doing here — but Jyn does her best to ignore them, even if they mirror perfectly what she thinks herself.

Instead, she makes herself useful. They are told that there will be survivors, which Imperials will no doubt try to hunt down, and so every ship is mobilized, people running around the base. Jyn still doesn't have the clearance to do, well, anything, basically, as she doesn't belong to the Alliance yet — in the wake of news about Aldeeran, there was no time to actually assign her a rank — but she doesn't mind, thankful that she can do something with herself, occupy her mind. Moving heavy cargo crates to the shuttles helps to utilize the anger boiling in her veins, threatening to spill any moment if she only were to stop for a second.

Baze is in the hangar with her too, performing the same task, although he grumbled something about her injured leg first. She shut him down quickly, and they continue to work in silence, as it would be hard to maintain a conversation in noisy hangar, with roar of machines and shouted orders (not that they want to anyway; not yet).

Jyn hasn't talked with anyone else from Rogue One besides Baze since she received the news. She's heard that Chirrut, upon learning about Aldeeran, asked to be released from the med-bay and retreated to the temple, where he offers comfort to people seeking it. That sounds very much like him, so she nods when Baze tells her the news; Jyn is glad that Chirrut is here, with the Rebellion, offering his faith and light to share with the others. Force knows they need it.

She saw Cassian briefingly in one of the halls, making his way towards the Command Center. He looked pale and weak, limping visibly while leaning on crutches but seemed determined nonetheless, his brows furrowed. A tiny part of her wanted to join him, to seek comfort in him, but Jyn quickly shot this idea down; it's too selfish, too risky. From what she gathered, he is, after all, one of the best Intelligence officers that Alliance has to offer, and probably can help more than any of them can, even if he should spend another week on bedrest.

Bodhi is the only who remains in the medbay at this point. When he woke from his earlier attack, he seemed ashamed, but Jyn stayed with him anyway, never letting go of his hand. She promised him to come back if there are any news, and although he looked reluctant to stay alone, saying something about that he can help, too, in the end he just nodded solemnly when she exited his room, ready for the Rebellion to assign her a task.

So she ends up in the hangar, loading shuttles with heavy crates, which are supposed to search for any survivors and get to them before the Empire could. It's a tedious job, and her muscles soon start burning in protest, sweat dripping down from her brow, but she's thankful to have something to do. Jyn is so focused on her task that she doesn't notice the air in the hangar changing, low murmur running from station to station and it's only when Baze grunts, shoving her with his elbow, that she looks up, somewhat pissed.

"What?" She hisses.

He motions towards the others, and Jyn snaps her head around. Most people all but abandoded their jobs, talking animatedly and for a split second she can taste bile rising in her throat — did the Empire do it again? — but then she notices smiles on their faces, their voices cheerful.

She grabs a man running by the ship they're loading, making him stumble. He looks a little frightened by this sudden stop, but his eyes remain happy.

"What's happening?" Jyn asks. The man grins, so widely that she thinks his face is gonna break in half.

"Haven't you heard?"

Then, not waiting for either of them to answer,

"They rescued Princess Leia! She's on her way to the base. And they got the plans too!"

He almost yells and then, before she can stop him, gives Jyn a quick hug, disappearing into the crowd moments later. She looks at Baze, who has the most stunned expression on his face; she's sure it's similar to hers.

"They got the plans," she says, slowly, as if trying to make it more real. Baze nods, smile blooming on his face.

"They got them, sis."

Suddenly, he's laughing, loud and wholeheartedly — he has the kind of laughter that fills the entire room, Jyn realizes — and she finds herself laughing with him, crates all but forgotten at their feet. They share a hug, one that's a little awkward but well-deserved.

"I gotta find Chirrut", Baze tells her, his eyes still crinkling, his feet already moving.

"I have to tell Bodhi."

It seems that, after all, Rebellions are built on hope.

Upon learning about Aldeeran, Cassian makes a request to be released from the medbay with immediate effect. The medic who's taking care of him doesn't react well but in the end, he has enough power in the Rebellion to make it happen, and so she lets him go, shoving crutches into his hands and grumbling something about "stubborn moof-milkers she'll have to patch all over again when they come back crawling to the medbay". Cassian pays her no mind.

With some difficulty — walking this soon after suffering so many injuries turns out to be a painful task — he makes his way towards the Command Center. He doesn't let himself give into panic or despair, but does something he always did, which is making sure that he's useful.

(Not that Cassian thinks he's gonna be much of a help in his current state, his mind sluggish with medicine, but it's worth a try).

When he arrives, Mon Mothma sends him a sad glance, to which he responds with a nod. There's no time for pity now, not when the Empire has the upper hand, when they all but destroyed Aldeeran. It makes something churn in his stomach, and Cassian has to take a deep breath to calm himself down, as he adjusts to the crowded chamber, so loud after his secluded room in the medbay.

General Draven spots him within moments, waving him over. Cassian limps awkwardly towards him.

"Captain Andor," he says, in a form of greeting.

"I'm glad to see you--" Draven gives him a quick look-over, and winces ever so slightly, "in a better shape."

Cassian almost lets out a laugh, because he knows that he looks like bantha shit, and so does his CO.

"General."

"I assume you've heard the news." Cassian nods, swallowing. "We've received distress calls from survivors, though we're not sure yet about how many of them are out there. First rescue teams are already dispatched."

General turns towards the map displayed above the table, gesturing in its direction.

"The Empire will surely try to hunt them down, so we're trying to decipher their transmissions," he says, his tone grave, "which means that we might be as well sending our best soldiers into slaughter. After Scarif, that's not something we can afford."

Cassian grimaces, because even though he knows Draven's comment isn't directed at him, it still feels that way. Worse, he can't even find himself to be angry at him anymore, not when he knows that the plans have been lost, their victory a short-lived one, making all those sacrifices pointless.

(Were they truly?)

"What can I do, sir?"

"I can't very well go and put you in the field, can I?" He sighs. "Go help out with the transmissions, they could use a hand. Tell them to be quick."

Cassian gives his CO a nod and walks towards the computers station, where other Intelligence agents are seated, working frantically. He can see how pressured they are — sweat glistening on their foreheads, hands shaky on the controls — but he can't blame them for being stressed, not when he as well knows what's at stake.

It's not exactly his field of expertise, deciphering Imperial codes, but he's done it few times before and so he sits besides a male Twi'lek, grabbing a headset and getting to work.

Once again, he wishes that Kay-tu was there to help him out.

He knows it's not possible, but that doesn't do anything for the void in his chest.

It's not after few tiresome hours of listening to Imperials and going through codes on the holoscreen — or what feels like it, because Cassian is sure that his weakened body and barely healed injuries are taking toll on him — that he can finally take a break. They manage to crack through some of the transmissions and redirect survivors into more secure systems before the Rebellion can come for them, but what truly boosts up the morale in the base, making Cassian smile together with the others, is the news about princess Leia.

At first, no one really pays much attention to an YT freighter entering the orbit, but then the ship tries to make contact with the base, and upon the news that Yavin IV, this is Leia Organa, coming together with the Death Star plans the entire chamber just errupts with cheers.

After that, it's all a bit of a blur — people keep running in different directions, preparing for the arrival of the freighter (called Millenium Falcon apparently, its pilot has been very clear about that, though Cassian can't remember any ship bearing that name, so he doubts it's important) and while they're still suffering from the loss of Aldeeran — from the loss of Bail Organa as well, it seems, since there are no records of him surviving and there's a twinge of pain in Cassian's heart — it feels like they've been graced with a whole lot of a new hope.

Even though Cassian can barely stand on his feet, and that's with the help of crutches, he still goes to the landing zone with others.

(Draven stays at his post, as usual, but even he has a small smile on his face).

He just notices familiar silhouettes of the rest of Rogue One crew — Bodhi is almost swaying, as if he could faint any moment and he can see Jyn making him sit on one of the crates — but before he can make his way towards them, he's cut off by the crowd, as the ship makes its landing. For a moment, they just wait with their breaths drawn and then, the ramp goes down, four persons emerging from inside the ship.

No, Cassian corrects himself, more than a little confused, three persons and a wookie.

His trail of thought is a little messy after that because first, that truly is Princess Leia, looking battered and weary — blast, she lost her father, she lost her entire homeworld — but she carries herself with strength, her small posture nothing but enormous, even in the crowd.

Secondly, there are only four people that were on this ship (excluding two droids, but from what he can see, it's an R2 unit and a protocol droid, and they aren't exactly known for their combat skills) and somehow, they managed to break into Imperial prison and rescue the princess?

It seems even less likely than Rogue One surviving Scarif and yet, there they all are.

Lastly, there's a wookie with them. There's a friendly wookie with them, he notices, watching as he pats the taller of two men on the back. Their faces don't ring a memory in Cassian's mind, which is generally good, meaning they don't belong high in the criminal world nor are known Empire symphatizers.

All of them are quickly swept inside the Ziggurat, Cassian's higher-ups swarming around and he knows he should follow them, as they're most probably going to analyze the plans (the plans you stole, the plans most of your team has died for, a voice in his head whispers) but he finds himself walking in the opposite direction, where he can see Baze whispering something to Chirrut and Jyn talking with Bodhi, in attempts of what seems like making sure he doesn't fall asleep.

(The medic would probably hunt her down if he did, Cassian thinks).

Jyn is the first one to notice him.

"Should you be out of the bed yet?" She asks, a hint of concern on her face as she gazes over him.

"Could ask the same thing most of you," he replies, looking pointedly at Bodhi.

He doesn't meet his eyes, smiling nervously.

It's Chirrut who responds, "I can't speak for the others, captain," he starts, his voice joyful, "but I wanted to make sure if the princess truly is as beautiful as they say."

Cassian smiles at that, Bodhi lets out an actual laugh, but Baze just rolls his eyes at his partner.

"Sure you did. All but ran into me chattering nonsense about the Force and a farmboy."

Apparently no one but them knows what that means, because Jyn and Bodhi send him looks that are just as lost as his thoughts.

"You'll just have to wait and see, dear. I can feel it in the Force," Chirrut speaks, sounding serious. "A great change is coming."

They stay silent for a moment after that, not knowing what to make of monk's words. Though they usually make no sense to Cassian, somehow, he finds himself believing in him.

"What now?" Jyn asks suddenly and he looks at her. The spark in her eyes — the one which made her fight like she had nothing left to lose, which got her through Scarif — is finally back, almost if it never disappeared.

The answer is obvious.

"Now we fight back."

Chapter Text

Jyn doesn't plan on running into Leia Organa at all, and especially not so soon after Aldeeran. She realizes it's kind of inevitable — the princess seems to be an important figure in the Rebel Alliance — but even her worst fears don't include meeting her right after she's commisioned her gear and officialy given rank.

(Welcome to the Rebellion, Sergeant Erso, General Syndulla told her with a smile on her face. It still feels surreal.)

She has nothing against the princess, Force, she haven't even met her, but the guilt, the curse of her name, feels like too much for her to be able to face Organa. How could she, when her father was the one who build the weapon which destroyed her entire homeworld? The weapon which ultimately killed Bail Organa, her father? How could she bring herself to look her into eyes and say that yes, she's Jyn Erso, daughter of the Imperial scientist, yes, the one who built the Death Star?

Hello, princess, my Papa was the one who made the monstrosity that destroyed Aldeeran, it’s a pleasure to meet you.

Naturally, the Force once again proves to have something against her, as she rounds the corner only to come face to face with princess Leia. She almost passes her by without a word but then stops abruptly, brown eyes studying her closely and Jyn finds herself sweating under her smart gaze.

She’s a brave woman, always has been, no matter what her previous actions say about her, but being surrounded by authorities is not something that she’s used to. Not to mention that there’s something different about princess Leia, something Jyn can’t quite put her finger on, which makes her feel nervous, unlike when she faced Draven or Mon Mothma. It’s as if she’s gonna see right through her, no matter what Jyn says, through all her lies and masks.

Two soldiers accompanying the princess look at her expectantly and Jyn realizes that she's standing in the middle of the corridor, clutching a duffle bag tightly to her chest while staring blatantly at Leia Organa.

She's officialy so bad at the Rebellion and she barely even started.

"Your highness," Jyn finally manages to choke out, not exactly sure how to adress her. Or if she should even be adressing the princess at all.

However, Leia waves it off, her gaze softening.

"At ease, soldier," she says, but Jyn still finds it hard to relax.

It's only now that she notices how young the other woman actually is — a girl still, really — though her eyes seem decades wiser. Sadder, too, she thinks, a pang of shame in her chest, because right there in front of her stands someone who dedicated their entire life to fighting the Empire, who ultimately lost it all and yet didn't surrender. Then there's her, on the run since she was sixteen, never looking back, never caring about anyone but herself. Her only legacy a cursed one.

(It would be easier if she died on Scarif, she realizes suddenly).

"You're one of the Rogue One team, aren't you?" The princess asks and Jyn nods, casting her eyes downwards. She wants to walk away, hide in some hole, besides, surely someone as important as Leia Organa has better things to do then chatting her up in a hallway?

"It was very brave, what you did. I can't properly express our gratitude."

Jyn swallows, risking a glance at the princess. There's a wistful smile on her face, one that doesn't suit someone so young.

But then again, nobody really gets to be young in the middle of war.

"It had to be done, your highness," she answers, a shrug almost following her words, though she manages to stop herself.

Leia raises an eyebrow, seeming somewhat amused.

"That it did," she says, her eyes never leaving Jyn. Thankfully, one of the guards softly prompts the princess, saying something about preparing to another meeting and she nods, her brows furrowing.

"We'll see each other soon, I hope," Leia offers, and Jyn steps sideways, making way for her.

As she watches princess' retreating form, her white gown almost flowing behind her, making her look regal even despite her short height, she finds herself speaking, words tumbling out of her mouth before she can even stop herself:

"I'm sorry about Aldeeran."

Jyn immediately winces, cursing her lack of tact, but then Leia turns around, her expression unreadable — a common trait about Rebel Alliance members — though her eyes are nothing of sorts, incredible sadness reflecting in them.

"We all are," she only says and walks away, leaving Jyn alone with her shame.

When Cassian is given permission to retreat to his quarters, he almost sighs with relief. It’s not that he doesn’t want to keep helping the Rebellion, especially in times when any sort of help is desperately needed as they plan their attack on the Death Star, but he’s completely exhausted, his still recovering body refusing to co-operate anymore. The meeting of senators, generals and all other important Alliance figures had been a tiring one, similar in a way to the one they held before Scarif, only now Cassian stayed to the end, his fist clenched as he listened to their words.

Not all of them agreed that heads-on attack on the Empire was a good idea. Not even after Aldeeran, after they all witnessed what kind of horrific power Imperials bear and could use to wipe them any given moment. It made anger boil in his veins — how could they be so blind, so kriffing cowardly? Some of them sacrificed everything and then there were those who still wanted to run, to hide, instead of finally fighting.

He wasn’t the only one who felt this way, though. Cassian saw princess Leia, her dark eyes burning with rage as she countered those who were opposed to the idea of attacking the Death Star, all but spatting her words at them, speaking about her father, about her mother, about her homeworld, all gone. She was different from Bail Organa in so many ways — where he used calm persuasion, she roared with ferocity — but in the end, that was perhaps what the Rebellion needed, some of the senators retreating away from Leia’s sharp gaze, unable to meet her fury.

Cassian is certain that it’s her that managed to push the idea through.

Rebel Alliance accepted the order to attack Imperial battle station named Death Star and he felt a great weight being lifted from his shoulders.

The plans are still being analyzed — there’s no room for mistakes, not anymore — and so for some of the Alliance agents it’s finally time to catch a breath, to gather strength before what might as well be their last battle. It pains Cassian to know that he’s not a part of assault team, that he’ll have nothing to do but watch as others give their lives trying to destroy the Death Star, but he also realizes that he’s no good for them, not in his current condition.

He’s laying on the narrow cot in his quarters, a datapad in his hand, reading the initial report about the Death Star, when there’s a knock on his door.

“Comin’!” he yells, scrambling to get up. It takes him a while longer that he’d like to, as he needs to grab his crutches but few moments later he finally slides the door open, not knowing whom exactly should he expect to see on the other side.

Jyn Erso certainly isn’t the first person he has in mind and yet here she is, standing on his doorstep.

(For a second, Cassian wonders how she even found him, before remembering that their quarters have names on the doors. Not many people bothered to found his).

“Hi,” she says.

Cassian nods, his brows furrowed, as he doesn’t really know what to make of her unexpected visit. Then he takes in her somewhat nervous stance, the duffle bag she clutches tightly in her hands and it all becomes clear.

She’s leaving, of course. Why wouldn’t she, when her part has been done, when she has no reason to risk her life anymore? It’s what they expected of her.

Still, there’s a dull ache in his chest he can’t quite shake off.

“You’re here to say goodbye?” He asks, his words coming out a bit more harshly that he wanted.

Jyn looks at him, confused. She opens her mouth as if to speak but then closes it again, and Cassian sees something like hurt flashing in her green eyes. It’s gone in a second, though, anger taking its place.

“Is that what you think?” She hisses, taking a step forward which causes him to clumsily retreat back into his quarters. Not for the first time, he curses his injuries. “That I’m leaving?”

The accusation is clear in her voice and even though he doesn’t want to argue, not really, not with her, he finds himself snapping back at her.

“Well, aren’t you?”

She lets out an exasperated huff, her eyes narrowed as she all but glares at him.

“Of course I’m not!” Jyn yells.

She doesn’t say not now, not after everything we’ve been through, but it hangs in the air, unspoken yet obvious.

Cassian is suddenly quite aware of his door still being open as some soldier passes by in the hallway, clearly listening. He focuses his gaze back on the woman in front of him soon enough, though, knowing that it’s better not to ignore her anger, which right now seems to be rolling off from her in waves.

He finds himself agitated as well, for reasons he can’t understand.

“How should I know? You have nothing keeping you here,” he says, bitterly.

She looks as angry as she was on Eadu, Cassian realizes, almost expecting her to punch him.

(Her words said back in the ship still ring in his head. You could as well be a stormtrooper).

“That’s not for you to decide,” Jyn replies icily, not missing a beat.

She’s right by that and he decides to stay silent. As the moment stretches between them, she lets out a sigh and shakes her head.

“I don’t even know why I came here,” she says, and in her voice he can just detect the disappointment.

Before he can speak, Jyn turns around. She’s halfway through the door when he grabs her arm, by some miracle managing to stay on his feet, swaying as he catches balance.

Cassian doesn’t know why he reached after her, but he has a feeling he’d regret it if he didn’t.

“Wait,” he murmurs. She looks up at him. “It wasn’t right of me to assume that you were leaving.”

He says out the words quickly, as if she’s going to leave anyway if he doesn’t give her a reason to stay. Perhaps she would, but she doesn’t and he watches her nod.

“Damn right it wasn’t.”

He almost lets out a chuckle at that. Cassian wonders, briefly, if she’s expecting an apology from him and considers actually making it, even though word “sorry” never left his mouth easily, when Jyn blurts out:

“I joined the Rebellion.”

“You-- what?”

It takes a moment for her words to register in his brain and when they do, there’s a strange, unfamiliar feeling spreading in his chest; pride, perhaps.

He knew that they wanted her to join, but he never dared to think that she actually would. Never dared to even hope, as he laid in the medbay after Mon Mothma casually told him they gave Jyn a proposition of joining the Rebellion, among other news (though he didn’t hear much after we’d like her to start as a sergeant, that is if miss Erso agrees, naturally).

Jyn looks uncharacteristically nervous as she keeps speaking and Cassian can’t really fight the smile that blooms on his face.

“Yeah, just got my stuff a while ago,” she motions towards the bag in her hand, “and was on my way to the quarters, but then I saw your name on the door and decided to drop by. Tell you the news, I guess.” She shrugs nonchalantly, almost as if she wasn’t yelling at him moments ago.

Whoever’s her commanding officer, they’re going to have their hands full with her on the team, he thinks with amusement.

“That’s good,” Cassian finally says. “That’s really good.”

He’s speaking the truth, and Jyn gives him one of her rare smiles.

“I hope so,” she says. “Anyway, I’m gonna be going now. Drop my equipment by the quarters and all” she adds quickly, looking a little uncomfortable (he imagines this whole new situation will take some time for her to get used to) and Cassian nods, watching closely as she leaves his room.

This time, Jyn is already in the hallway when he goes after her.

“Sergeant Erso!” He calls out, testing how it feels to say it out loud (strange, mostly, but also pleasant). She whips her head around, mischief gleaming in her eyes as she responds:

“Yes, captain?”

Five days ago, he’d never think this is a conversation he would be having with Jyn Erso, daughter of an Imperial scientist he was supposed to kill.

Five days ago he might have been another person altogether.

Cassian smiles at her across the corridor.

“Welcome home”.

Nothing seems to stay cheerful long enough for Bodhi to actually feel at peace in the rebel base, and so when the news that the Death Star is targetting Yavin IV come through, he’s not half as panicked as one would expect him to be. He most certainly feels like he’s going to be sick any given moment, but he’s more at peace with whatever’s going to happen than people surrounding him think. Bodhi is glad, though, as he awaits any kind of news in one of the crowded chambers, resting on a wheel-chair (his medic almost suffered a heart attack when she learned he left his room to see Leia Organa arriving earlier), to be with the people he cares about. Who care about him as well, even if they’re too tough to admit it.

He can see Baze pacing along the wall, distanced from all of them, as Chirrut sits on one of the crates praying and offering comfort to people who seek it — both soldiers and civilians working for the Alliance — but Bodhi thinks that the warrior’s mouth are moving just the tiniest bit, murmuring something, which is most probably his partner’s mantra. He smiles.

Jyn and Cassian are both close to him, though Cassian seems to have problems with staying in one place, constantly fidgeting, despite the stern look that Jyn is giving him (in other circumstances, Bodhi would deem them funny but right now, he has bigger worries, and so do they).

They’re all a familiar piece in a room full of unknown people and Bodhi appreciates that, especially in their current situation.

(He knows that some of the people already evacuated from the base — mostly those of higher importance to the Rebellion or injured — but many stayed, refusing to leave, Princess Leia among them. He’s also pretty sure that they gave the same proposition to Cassian).

Listening to the announcements on the speakers is still nerve-wrecking to Bodhi; it’s hard to stand the fact there’s nothing they can do: to help, to save themselves. They can only wait.

He looks over at Cassian and notices him playing with something in his hands, though Bodhi can’t quite make anything out of the the thing he’s twirling between his fingers. He hasn’t seen it before, but he thinks it looks a like a databank, if a little large one.

“What’s that?” He lets the question slip before he can stop himself, motioning with his chin towards the object. Cassian looks up at him, startled, and in the corner of his eye Bodhi can see Jyn watching them.

“This?”

Cassian holds up the mysterious thing and yes, now he’s certain that it’s a databank. He nods eagerly, because he’d rather focus on anything else but the time remaining to Death Star firing at the base and turning them all to dust.

“That’s, uh, Kay-tu,” Cassian says, sounding a little uncomfortable.

Bodhi’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline at this revelation. From all that he heard, Kay-tu is dead — if that’s an appropriate word to use when talking about droids — his metal body left on Scarif.

“What?” Jyn asks before he can.

Cassian shrugs, though he seems tense.

“It’s a back-up copy he’s made of himself,” he explains, “before we went to Scarif. I suppose he did some calculations on our chances of survival and decided it’s a good idea.”

He gives them a crooked smile but to Bodhi, it looks more like a grimace. Scarif is still fresh in their minds, even now, with another enormous threat on the horizon.

“You’re not going to, I don’t know, upload him?”

Bodhi isn’t sure what’s the right term to use but Cassian doesn’t seem offended by his choice of words, so he takes that as a good sign.

“Enforcer droids aren’t something that’s just laying around, you know. And I doubt he’d appreciate me putting him in a protocol droid.”

“So, we gotta find an Imperial droid for him” Jyn says, making them both look at her in surprise. At this point, Bodhi doesn’t know who of his companions is the strangest one, but Jyn making plans to steal a droid from the Empire when there’s a possibility they’ll be turned into dust in few moments certainly nears the top.

But then Cassian lets out a low chuckle, and he’s really just confused. And tired.

“You’d do that? I thought you hated each other’s guts.”

“You’re forgetting I’m the one who gave him a blaster.”

“Fair enough.”

Bodhi is going to ask them a question — because he’s lost by this point, and what the kriff does Jyn mean about giving Kay-tu a blaster — but before he can do it, there’s a cheer coming from the nearby Command Center.

For a second, it feels like everything just stops. They’re all just looking at each other, not a word heard in the chamber, their breaths drawn and Bodhi feels his heart thumping wildly in his chest, his palms suddenly sweaty, bile rising in his throat and then—

“Death Star has been destroyed. This is Leia Organa speaking, I repeat, Death Star has been destroyed, our pilots are coming back to--”

Whatever else it is that Princess Leia has to say over the speakers, it’s swallowed by the sound of everyone just errupting into screams. They’re not really screams — more like wild cheers, Bodhi thinks — but it’s so loud, and overpowering, and the entire chamber is now simply drowning in happiness, people jumping up in the air, hugging each other, kissing, patting on the backs...

It’s beautiful.

“They did it,” he says, staring blankly in the space in front of him.

The Death Star is destroyed. They did it. He did it. He delivered the message and then — then it all went as Galen said it would. Perhaps even better.

He did it. He’s still alive.

(There’s a little voice in the back of his head, saying that he could have been the one to perish this day, on the Death Star, had he chosen a different path. He hushes it down, deciding now is not the right time).

Suddenly, Bodhi feels warm arms circling around him and he blinks, wide grin spreading on his lips. He hugs Jyn back, even though it’s kind of awkward, given he’s still in his wheelchair and she’s standing and then laughs, as freely as whe he was a kid, when Cassian joins them too.

He’s alive, and a couple of the most scary people he’s met in his life is hugging him. Worse, there’s a brilliant rebel spy hugging him, and a week earlier it would probably mean he’s there to shove a vibroblade between his ribs, not offer him a comforting touch.

Bodhi looks over Jyn’s shoulder at Baze, who’s currently roaring with laughter as he all but spins Chirrut in the air and he wishes that there was a holocam droid around, so that he could use a holovid of this later to tease him.

Later. That’s a word he didn’t dare to speak even in his mind, not until now.

Now, he realizes, he has a future.

Chapter Text

If one thing can be said about the Rebels, it’s that they definitely know how to celebrate. Cassian isn’t suprised at all when he learns that someone pushed through the idea of having a celebration in the wake of news about destroying the Death Star. The Empire is still a threat, looming ominously on the horizon, but right now they are weakened, brought to their knees by the Rebel Alliance. It makes something warm and unfamiliar spill in his chest. Apparently it’s also a great reason to gather everyone together and toast to tomorrow.

He’d rather spend the time in his own quarters, if he’s to be honest, but he still goes to the cantina with others, watching his companions closely. They seem happy, relaxed — more at ease that he’s ever seen them. Bodhi looks like his face may break in half soon from all the grinning, but it’s a relief to see him in so much happiness after everything that he’s been through. He deserves that, Cassian thinks, not able to stop the fondness he feels for the younger pilot.

They all deserve it.

Even Jyn seems to be adapting, though he can see her shoulders tense whenever someone comes up to them. She relaxes, however, once it turns out they’re just here to offer their gratitude and even cracks a smile or two, clinking glasses with other soldiers.

(He has no idea who managed to make this official enough for the higher-ups to agree to bring out the alcoholic drinks. It’s not that drinking on the base is prohibited, not per se, but it’s usually limited to people sharing a drink in the intimacy of their quarters. He can’t recall any other occasion where even the important Alliance figures would be drinking. Blast, Draven himself seems to be nursing a glass of what appears to be corellian whiskey few tables away).

Cassian never really fares well at big social gatherings but he tries to make the effort this evening. Today, they won; today marks everything that he’s ever hoped for, everything he fought for. It makes sure that deaths of his fellow soldiers weren’t in vain, that all the people he killed, tortured — none of it was meaningless.

Given a choice, he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat, knowing it would lead to this exact moment. The only thing he regrets are the people he lead to their deaths.

If he could, he’d trade his life for theirs.

“Hey,” Jyn’s voice pulls him away from his thoughts and he notices her watching him, concern reflecting in her eyes. Usually, she’s unreadable — he thinks that she’s either already affected by the alcohol, which wouldn’t be strange, given her rather small posture, or he’s getting better at reading her. “What’s up?”

Cassian shakes his head, glancing at his glass, which is empty by now. The cantina is over-crowded, laughs and cheers filling the air and he tries to feel at peace among his companions — he really does — but he can’t. He needs a break.

“I’m fine,” he tells her. “Just need to take a quick breather.”

She remains unconvinced, he notes. Cassian makes a move to get up, grabbing his crutches on the way, but so does she.

“Then I’m coming with you,” Jyn says firmly.

It’s nice of her, he supposes (not that he’d ever thought of using words “nice” and “Jyn” in the same sentence), but he definitely doesn’t need it right now.

He just needs to be alone, even if for a while.

“Really, Jyn, it’s okay. You can stay.”

She narrows her eyes at him, arms crossed over her chest.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” she says stubbornly. He shrugs.

“Then you’re welcome to leave,” he replies, his voice coming out more tired that he’d like it to. “This is for you, though, all of it. For them, too,” he motions towards Bodhi, laughing together with Chirrut and Baze.

The look that Jyn gives him is one of disbelief.

“Please. It’s all for Skywalker,” she says, sounding like she really believes it. He can see her looking at the man himself, currently standing in the middle of the room as he’s swarmed by countless soldiers, everyone wanting to at least shake his hand. He looks overwhelmed, mostly, and young. Too young, Cassian notes, a pang of sadness in his chest. It won’t take long before the look of wonder disappears from the boy’s eyes.

“Of course it’s for him. But it’s for you, too. Didn’t you hear them toasting to Rogue One?”

For a second, Jyn looks uncomfortable, as always when Rogue One is mentioned, but it’s quickly replaced by the usual defiance in her expression.

“They were toasting to the idea, not to us. I mean, to you? To them?” She motions towards their companions. “Sure. But not to me. Half of these people snarled Imperial scum in my face this morning. Hard to believe they suddenly think I’m a hero.”

Cassian can’t help the rage that flows over him upon her words. He knows that some of the soldiers were against the idea of Jyn joining the Rebellion, but to say that to her face? How dare they?

She risked her kriffin’ life for them.

“You gave them a piece of your mind, I assume,” he says, hoping that she can’t hear the barely concealed anger in his words.

“Can’t say that I did,” she admits. Cassian stares at her as if she’s grown a second head.

“What?”

She shrugs, not quite meeting his gaze.

“Can you blame them?” There’s bitterness in her voice but before he can say that yes, he can, actually, she continues, “My father did build the Death Star. And the Aldeeran— it just got destroyed by that weapon. I wouldn’t be welcoming either, at their place.”

He watches her closely, surprised. It’s not what he’d expected of her.

“It still doesn’t give them right to call you that, Jyn,” he says quietly but she just shakes her head, a grimace on her face.

“I’ve been called many things in my life,” she offers in a way of explanation. “Imperial scum isn’t even in the top ten.”

Cassian doesn’t know how to deal with the way she’s acting. He’s used to Jyn the fighter, not caring what anyone else has to say, ramming her way through the obstacles thrown in her way. He doesn’t know what to do with the resigned woman in front of him.

With the way she acted after Eadu, he’d never would have supposed she held so much bitterness towards her father, still.

He wishes he knew how to comfort her.

“I’m— I’m just gonna grab another drink,” she speaks suddenly, already walking away from their table. She doesn’t offer to bring one for him, clearly making an escape and apparently, allowing Cassian to make his, not even glancing at him as she steps towards the makeshift bar.

He decides it’s a good moment to slip away from the party.

Bodhi thinks there isn’t anything that could make him any more happier this evening, as he sits at the table with his companions, sharing stories and laughing — their grief not forgotten but shoven away for now — and then, Luke Skywalker approaches him, looking almost nervous. At first, he pretends not to notice him, convinced he’s there to talk to Jyn, maybe Cassian (though the captain disappeared somewhere few minutes ago), but then he’s met with a pair of bluest eyes he’s ever seen.

“Can I sit here?” The boy in front of him asks and Bodhi nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Sure, princess Leia has dropped by earlier but that was her job (or at least he thinks so). It was mostly Jyn and Chirrut she talked with and while she seemed rather nice — pretty, too — she appeared also incredibly intimidating, despite her small posture.

“I’m Luke, Luke Skywalker.”

Bodhi can’t help but smile, right as Jyn lets out a snort. He’s convinced that everyone on the base already knows the name of the boy from Tattooine who managed to destroy the Death Star, not even a day after he rescued princess Leia.

Luke Skywalker is a legend from the moment he landed on Yavin IV aboard Han’s Solo ship, though he doesn’t seem to notice it yet.

“We are aware, yes,” Chirrut speaks first, his voice warm as usual. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man.”

The young pilot looks a little surprised at the formality of his greeting but then a smile spreads on his lips.

“You guys are from Rogue One, right? The ones who got the plans?” Luke doesn’t even try to hide the exciment from his voice.

“Yeah, that would be us,” this time it’s Jyn who replies and Bodhi finds himself surprised at how casually she managed to say that. They all know how hard Scarif was for her, even if she tries to hide it.

“That’s... amazing,” Luke continues, admiration shining through his words. “Leia— she told me all about you, and your mission. It sounds really brave! I can’t imagine what it must have been like, to break into Imperial archives right under the Empire’s nose.”

He sounds truly amazed by it and Bodhi watches him with his eyebrows raised. There’s something incredibly inoccent about Luke, something a person who only came into the war just now can possess.

“Comes from a guy who blew up the Death Star,” Jyn replies, her lips curling into a smirk.

A blush appears on the boy’s face.

“Well, I couldn’t really do it if you didn’t steal the plans in the first place, so...”

“I do believe you are right,” Chirrut quips in. “Don’t you agree, dear?” His question is clearly aimed at Baze, who shrugs, toying with his drink (he doesn’t seem to be affected by the alcohol at all, even though he must have drank more than all of them together; Bodhi has been counting).

“Mm, I’d say so,” is all that he says.

“Tell me, boy,” Chirrut adresses Luke once more, this time sounding serious for a change. “What do you know about the Force?”

Though Baze groans openly upon hearing him, his partner pays him no mind, impatiently awaiting the boy’s response. Luke, however, clearly livens up — not that he was anything but a bubble of energy before.

“I— not much, but I’ve been travelling with a Jedi.” A shadow passes over his face. “He died. On the Star Destroyer, when we were rescuing Leia. Darth Vader, he... He killed him.”

Silence washes upon them as they process his words, people cheering in the background. Bodhi feels a shiver run up his spine; he’s never even seen Darth Vader but he’s heard enough stories about the man to have the nightmares. He can’t imagine how terrible it would be to actually face him.

“He was important to you, the Jedi,” Chirrut says softly.

“Yeah, he— he knew my father. I only learned that few days ago,” Luke speaks, sounding distant. “He was a Jedi too, apparently. My father, that is. Ben— Obi-Wan, he said that I should follow his footsteps. That it’s my destiny,” he laughs nervously. “I’m just a farmboy who knows how to fly, but I’m no Jedi.”

“Not yet, no,” Chirrut agrees. “But you could be.”

Luke looks at the monk, startled. Even though Bodhi can’t make much sense of Chirrut’s words either, he knows better than to doubt him. There’s something about him that can’t be rationally described and he learned to trust it.

“What do you mean?”

“You, my boy, bring the Force with you wherever you go. I can feel it.”

“How—”

“I used to be a Guardian of the Whills,” Chirrut explains, “together with my partner. Our duty was to study the Force and protect the kyber crystals, which are—”

“What powers the lightsabers!” Luke cuts in and grimaces immediately. “Sorry.”

Chirrut only smiles, nodding. Bodhi is long lost by now, not quite following their conversation, but he still finds himself listening, amazed. If he didn’t think of Luke Skywalker as a hero before, he surely would now.

“No, don’t apologize. I’m glad that you know that already. But yes, kyber crystals are essentially what powers the weapons that Jedi bear. What I’d like to say is that I’ve spent my life surrounded by the Force, trying to learn what I could about it — and you just glow with it, I can sense that. You could make a great Jedi one day, Luke Skywalker.”

The young pilot blushes deeply, casting his eyes downwards. He seems so... young, Bodhi realizes, and he can’t help but feel sorry for him. If he stays with the Rebellion, has to see more of this war — will the wonder stay in his blue eyes, or will it be replaced by something else, something darker and more bitter?

“I’m not sure about becoming a Jedi yet,” Luke finally says, looking at Chirrut, “but I’d be honoured if you could teach me more about the Force.”

The older man simply beams upon hearing his words and Bodhi finds himself smiling.

Baze, however, doesn’t seem to share his enthusiasm.

“Shouldn’t have said that. He won’t shut up about the Force for years now.”

The entirety of the base feels deserted in comparision to the crowded cantina. It’s a welcome change, Cassian thinks, slowly making his way outside. He tries to focus his mind on something else than Jyn — her troubled expression as she mentioned her father and his work — but it turns out to be a difficult task. Still, he’d take thoughts about her over the dull pain in his leg any day.

It’s already dark on Yavin IV, the night bringing the usual chill and he finds himself slowly relaxing, as the cold air washes over his body. He doubts that it’s gonna be good for his leg, but the silence of the evening works wonders for his anxious mind.

Cassian decides to rest on one of the crates with some cargo that’s probably gonna be loaded to a ship in the morning; the Rebellion is still seeking Aldeeran survivors, hoping to give them any help that they can. He almost sighs with relief when he no longer has to put weight on his still very much healing limb — the medic said he should be able to make full recovery but couldn’t promise it, looking apologetically at him as she said so. But he’s not scared of the truth, even though the possibility of his leg not recovering entirely certainly doesn’t bode well for someone in his field of work.

He’d still manage, of course, as he always does.

The angular shape of a databank in his pocket is a reminder that he can’t manage alone. Cassian has been working with Kay since his title was still just Lieutenant and the scenario where he’s not by his side in any future missions feels just wrong. Acquiring an enforcer droid in the middle of war might prove to be a little harder than the last time but he’s sure that it’s not impossible.

There aren’t many things that seem impossible anymore.

After all, he survived Scarif, against all the odds. Against the fact that he’s the one who deserved a second chance the least.

He doesn’t notice someone approching him until they stand right next to him, which, usually, would be really bad — sloppy of him, too — but he blames it on being tired, his senses dulled by the alcohol. Cassian looks at the newcomer and sobers up immediately upon recognizing Leia Organa.

“Your highness.”

He makes a move to stand up but she waves it off, smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Please, I could hardly demand an injured man to salute me,” she speaks gently. “And drop the formalities, Andor.”

He can’t help but smile, watching as she leans on a crate next to him. Cassian isn’t sure if he can call princess Leia a friend — he’s always felt as if he’s not enough to consider himself her friend — but he definitely doesn’t mind her company.

“As you wish.”

She glances at him, raising an eyebrow. As usual, he can’t help but think that she seems too wise for someone her age.

“Already tired of the celebration?” Though her tone is teasing, the curiosity in her question sounds genuine.

He shrugs.

“I’m not one for big things like that,” Cassian admits.

“Fair enough. Though I must warn you, this might be the smaller one, actually. The council insisted on an official ceremony,” she says and he can’t help but wince. Of course they did. They almost killed them all, running away when their help was needed the most, but the Death Star has been destroyed, now it’s their time to shine, isn’t it?

Leia doesn’t miss his reaction and gives him what he believes to be a reassuring smile.

“For what it’s worth, it’s mostly to celebrate our victory. Luke and Han will be given medals and so will you, together with everyone from your team.”

Cassian looks at her with surprise. She’s clearly awaiting his response but he finds himself at loss of words, not even knowing what to think about the news she brought.

“I— that would be an honour but I never—” he stumbles over his words, nervous. “None of what I did was for a medal or praise, it’s... I was just doing my job, and so was everyone else. They— the rest of the team, I’m sure they’re not expecting medals either,” he manages to say.

Judging by her look, Leia isn’t convinced at all.

“I’m afraid you can’t talk your way out of this.”

“But I—”

“You will be receiving medals, Andor, end of discussion,” she cuts him off, sounding very much like her senator-self and all he can do is nod.

They fall silent for a moment, though it’s not uncomfortable by any means. Cassian is still a little too baffled to maintain a conversation and Leia seems to understand that, allowing him to gather his thoughts. It was true when he said that none of his actions were for medals — all that he did, he did for the Rebellion, because it was needed. Not always right, but still necessary for the cause.

He finds it hard to accept a medal they want to give him when there’s so much blood of his hands.

“Don’t think about it that hard,” Leia suddenly speaks, her voice soft. “After all, Ha— Solo will be getting a medal too. I doubt you and your team deserve it any less than him.”

Cassian almost smiles at that.

“Well, he did rescue you and helped to destroy the Death Star.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he will be handsomely rewarded for that. The Alliance is apparently quite grateful that he rescued me,” she says with a scoff.

He notices her expression clouding, brows furrowed as she looks away. Cassian is aware that this is the first time they had an occasion to talk outside of an official briefing, but the words he should have said long ago are hard to get out of his throat.

“Leia—” he starts, which causes her to place her gaze back at him. “About Aldeeran, I’m—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts him, voice startingly harsh. “Please don’t.”

Cassian halts, tensing.

“I’ve had enough people offering me their condolences. I don’t want to hear it from you as well, not now.”

He nods, because while he can’t say that he understands — he did lose his family, but in a different way, long time ago — he knows Leia well enough to notice she’s not comfortable talking about this.

“Of course,” Cassian says simply. She gives him a weary smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. Then she stands up, moving away from the crate she’s been leaning on.

“I should probably head back before someone decides to send a search party.” He nods.

Leia is already halfway to the base when she suddenly turns around, as if she remembered something.

“I forgot to mention, but I met your team on my way here,” she says and he can’t be sure, but judging from her somewhat mischevious tone, it’s not something that she actually forgot about. “They’re really something else. You should make a request to officialy became their captain, Andor. I think you, and the Rebellion, of course, could benefit from that.”

He can’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

Bodhi stares blankly at the uniform laid before him on the bed. It’s a different cut from those that Imperial officers wear — less acute angles, the material softer, colored beige instead of durasteel grey — but it’s an uniform nonetheless. He was never good with those, always fidgeting, always uncomfortable, though he supposes now is the time to get used to wearing one. Bodhi is still amazed by the fact that he’s officially part of the Rebel Alliance now, half expecting it turn out to be just a dream at any moment, or even another torture brought to him by Bor Gullet. It doesn’t, and the uniform prepared for the celebration is a proof that he’s not dreaming, golden chevrons of lieutenant glistening on the sleeves.

Just as he makes up his mind to finally put it on, there’s a knock on his door. Bodhi startles; he barely even had time to get used to his newly assigned quarters, let alone expect any guests. He makes his way towards the door, limping with every step — thanks to two more bacta tank treatments, he can finally walk without any help. The healer said that after the next one, even the limp should be gone.

If Bodhi felt uncomfortable about having to wear a dress uniform, all of his doubts go away as he opens his door to see Jyn on the other side, donned up in similar clothes that are laying on his bed now. Her hair, for a change, is done in a neat braid, no sign of smudged black kohl around her eyes, even her fingernails scrubbed clean.

She’d look good — really good, he notes with surprise — if not for the miserable expression on her face.

“Go on,” Jyn says, noticing his amused smile that he can’t stop from growing on his face, “laugh at me. I promise I won’t punch you for it.” She sighs dramatically, letting herself into his room. Bodhi chuckles, closing the door after her.

“I promise I wasn’t going to!” She sends him a glare that would scare off even an Imperial officer. “It’s just, you know. It’d probably look better on you without that frown."

“I’ve never worn something so uncomfortable in my entire life,” Jyn says with a scoff, tugging at her collar. Before Bodhi can respond, however, she looks at his own uniform, sprawled on the bed. He doesn’t miss the glint in her eyes. “Well, I’m glad at least I won’t have to suffer alone."

It’s meant as a snarky remark, he knows that, but there’s something soft on her face, something that doesn’t quite match the smirk that appears on her lips. Bodhi wonders if maybe she means the Rebellion as a whole, if maybe she’s happy to have him there too.

But then again, she’s Jyn Erso, and he doesn’t have a doubt that she’d manage all on her own.

“Yeah, I was just going to put it on,” he replies. “I’m sure that we won’t be the only ones all dressed up, though."

“Yeah, I bet that Solo will let them force him in a uniform.”

“Oh, I guess not him, but... Cassian will wear one, for sure,” Bodhi remarks. Jyn all but rolls her eyes at him.

“Please, he’s been practically born in an uniform.” Before he can reply, asking what exactly was that supposed to mean, she motions towards his jacket, saying:

“So, a lieutenant, huh?”

For some reason, Bodhi blushes, a nervous smile finding its way on his face. Jyn is watching him curiously.

“Um, yeah. A sergeant, then?” He says, looking at the insignia gleaming on her sleeves. She shrugs, as if trying to play it off, but seems pleased that he noticed.

“You know, the Alliance and their obssession with making everything proper,” Jyn jests, but the smile she gives him is genuine. “I guess I’ll leave you to change now. But, Bodhi... I’m glad that you’re here.”

He grins. Though he knows that their road to recovery is still long, that not everyone in the Rebellion looks at them with a keen eye, he’s willing to take that risk and all it involves.

Just as he did when Galen asked him to.

“Thanks. I’m glad, too.”

Baze finds the whole ordeal with official ceremony annoying at most. A rebel kid dropped earlier by the quarters that he shares with Chirrut, bringing them some kind of formal clothes — he told him where he can shove those but of course, his partner found the whole thing to be extremely amusing. Hence why he’s now prancing alongside him through the corridors, wearing a set of dark robes that look much more elegant than his usual, battle-worn guardian outfit. Somehow, he managed to even incorporate the red sash into in it, suprisingly making it look good — how he achieved that without his help, Baze has no idea.

“Well, I can’t stand before the entire Rebellion looking like a wookie, can I?” Chirrut said before they left, making him roll his eyes, not even fighting the smile growing on his lips.

He has no doubts that his partner definitely makes the better impression from the two of them, but that’s something he’s used to. Truth to be told, Baze wants just to be over with the whole thing — he’s not a big fan of the authorities and their fancy events. Drinking Solo under the table few evenings earlier was enough of celebration for him.

Besides, he’s not even officially a part of the Rebellion.

It’s a relief to see familiar faces of Jyn and Bodhi in one of the halls, waiting under the stone doors leading to the grand audience chamber of the old temple. They both seem to be wearing official Rebellion uniforms, which comes as no surprise to him, though seeing how uncomfortable Jyn looks in hers, he can’t help the laughter that escapes his lips.

“Doing okay there, little sister?” Baze asks, not all affected by her glare.

“I’m fine,” she says, sounding anything but. Bodhi sends him an apologeptic look.

“You do seem awfully tense,” Chirrut quips in, making a sight related remark in his usual fashion. While the pilot cracks a nervous smile, Jyn scoffs, pacing along the wall.

“I’m fine.”

Before either of them can reply, captain Andor finally joins them, limping only so slightly. Actually, at first, Baze looks over him, not recognizing the man that accompanied them to Scarif and apparently, he’s not the only one.

“Cassian?” Bodhi says, sounding both surprised and amused.“You look... different.”

The captain stiffens, opens his mouth as if to respond and then closes it again. Baze doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so out of his element.

“Why is that?” Chirrut asks curiously. Cassian looks in his direction, somewhat alarmed, but Baze beats him to the reply:

“He looks like a kid.”

Which, to be fairly honest, is completely true. He looks nothing like captain Andor that he remembers, his face shaven clean, hair neatly combed, boots shining. The only things that remains the same are his weary eyes and Baze is suddenly hit with how young Cassian actually is. Blast, he must be under thirty. He never really cared about his age — Force knows it doesn’t matter during the war, Jyn is an example of that — but to see now that all of their companions are still so young, and yet so hardened by their battles already...

“I don’t—”

“Now, I’m sure that the captain looks dashing, doesn’t he?” Chirrut cuts him off, a way-too-innocent smile dancing on his lips. From under the the wall, Jyn lets out a snort.

The offended look on Cassian’s face doesn’t make him look any more similar to the ragged spy.

Thankfully for him, Luke Skywalker and his companions choose this moment to join them. They seem at ease, but Baze can see the nervousness in the smile of the younger man.

He really doesn’t understand why they had to dress up while there’s a wookie participating in the ceremony but then again, what does he know about rebellions?

The ceremony is kept relatively short, for which Cassian is thankful. He’s mostly recovered by now, but his leg still hurts from time to time, especially when he has to stand without moving and he’d rather avoid falling down in front of almost entire Rebel Alliance. However, Leia doesn’t take long, rewarding them all with medals, looking as regal as ever in her white gown and then proceeds to talk about those whose lives were lost in the fight against the Empire, both in the battle of Scarif and Yavin IV.

His fists are clenched when she recites the names of the fellow soldiers from Rogue One who didn’t make it, saying them along with her in his mind. Jav Mefran. Ruescott Melshi. Stordan Tonc. Taidu Sefla...

It’s not that Cassian regrets recruiting them all to go to Scarif, even when he very well knew it was basically a suicide mission — he’d do it again — it’s the fact that he’s standing there, alive, medal hanging from his neck when the rest of them is buried under sand, their names spoken into the cold air of the chamber by Leia Organa. He knows that he’s a valuable agent to the Rebellion, realizes how important his skills are in this fight, but it doesn’t do much for his conscience.

There’s only so much guilt that a man can carry with him before he breaks.

His thoughts accompany him as the ceremony ends and people finally start leaving, allowing the rest of them to do the same. Cassian plans to return to his quarters, take off the uncomfortable uniform, which hangs a little loose on him — he definitely lost some weight since the last time he’s had it on — and spent the rest of the day alone, until it’s time for the smaller celebration that’s planned for the evening, this time only for the higher-ups and their proclaimed heroes.

It’s a lot of kriffin’ celebrating, he thinks darkly, given how many people died. He wonders how Leia manages to go through it all with a smile on her face, not showing at all the grief that must be gnawing on her from the inside.

“And where would you be going, captain?”

He’s almost already in the corridor when the voice of Chirrut reaches him. Cassian turns around hesitantly, surprised to see not only his team, but also Princess Leia, along with Skywalker and Solo. The young pilot seems to be consumed in conversation with Bodhi — who looks very proud in his official formal uniform — a blush on his face as he keeps talking about something animatedly.

“I thought about retreating back to my quarters, actually,” he admits. It’s Leia, of course, who rolls her eyes at him.

“Come on, Andor. Don’t go moping somewhere, spend some time with your squad,” she says, brown eyes shining mischeviously as she passes him. He doesn’t miss the way that Solo’s gaze lingers on her retreating form before he makes his exit as well, his wookie companion a step behind.

“Well,” Jyn speaks, standing next to him, “can’t ignore Princess’ order, right, captain?”

Cassian actually plans to tell her no — he really does — but she’s looking up at him with a smile on her face, her jacket’s buttons already halfway undone (whoever tried to make Jyn Erso look like a proper soldier, clearly didn’t know enough about her) and he finds it hard to get the word out of his throat.

“No, I don’t think I can.”

He doesn’t allow himself to think that her smile grows even wider because of his words.

It’s few days after the ceremony that Chirrut starts packing. He usually travels lightly but decides it’s only rational to bring a spare set of clothes on their trip, among with some supplies and weapons (not that he’s expecting a fight; it’s just good to be prepared). Even the transport has been taken care of, as he had a chance to speak with Princess Leia — around whom the Force shines brightly and fiercely — she agreed that one of the shuttles could drop them off where he wanted to go, and then pick them up few days later, when the team would be coming back.

While Baze is awfully suspcious of his idea, he still agrees to come along; not that Chirrut expected anything different from his partner.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to leave so soon,” he says, putting what sounds like a third blaster into his bag. “You did get banged up pretty badly.”

Chirrut doesn’t miss the hint of concern in his voice.

“Well, I’m all good now, aren’t I?” He replies cheerfully.

Baze grumbles something in a way of answering, shuffling around their quarters. Surprisingly enough, they both got used to the place provided for them by the Rebellion pretty quickly — neither of them could call it home, not yet, but it was comfortable enough to actually like it.

He can sense the uneasiness in his partner and stands up from where he’s been sitting on the edge of their bed. It only takes a step for Chirrut to bump into him, as the space in their quarters is rather limited. Immediately, he searches for Baze’s hand, entwining their fingers together.

“Do not worry, dear. The Force is with us.”

It comes as no surprise to him when Baze snorts in response.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” he grunts, though a moment later he places a chaste kiss on Chirrut’s lips, making him hum with contentment. He retreats all too soon. “I’d be feeling better if you could just tell me where we’re going. Or even why.”

“Just trust me. It’s something that only Guardians can do.”

He hears Baze sigh next to him, his breath warm on his cheek.

“You seem to forget all the time that I’m not a Guardian anymore,” he remarks, sounding more amused than annoyed.

“Do I? How careless of me,” Chirrut says.

He feels Baze move, his arms slowly encircling him, enveloping in a familiar embrace. A grin finds itself on his lips, one that he’s sure his partner doesn’t miss.

“It has something to do with the Skywalker kid, doesn’t it?” Baze murmurs.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, since I can’t.”

Chirrut lets out a laugh upon hearing his partner groan.

His reaction when he learns that they’re going on Tython to search for the old Jedi temple is going to be priceless.

Jyn doesn’t do goodbyes. Partly, it’s because that’s something she’s always been stripped off — never got a chance to say goodbye to her father, both when he was taken away by Krennic on Lah’mu and when the explosion on Eadu killed him; neither did she have a chance to say it to her mother, shoot by a Death Trooper right on her eyes; or Saw, a man who was as much of a parent to her as Lyra and Galen Erso were.

That, and she’s scared that whoever it is she’s seeing off, won’t make it back.

Somehow, she still ends up on the landing platform on Yavin IV, thinking about just how much she hates this part. The shuttle — modest RM-09, without any real weaponry or shields, inconspicuous in most of the systems — is already boarded by all of the passangers, save for the two men standing in front her. Jyn tries to calm down her nerves, watching as Baze secures a small blaster into the pocket of his jacket, one that she forced him to take with them (though Chirrut seemed opposed to the idea, saying his partner already took half of the Alliance’s armory with them).

“Come on, little sister,” Baze says. “It’s not as if we’re going on a suicide mission. Just some, uh, what did you call it?”

He turns towards Chirrut, who’s leaning on his staff, a smile on his face.

“Sight-seeing,” he offers, making Jyn raise her eyebrows in surprise. She has no idea what the man could possibly mean but during the short time she’s known him, she’s learned not to ask questions.

Baze grunts affirmatively.

“Besides,” Chirrut adds, “we’re only going to be away for few days if all works out according to plan. You won’t even notice us being gone.”

It’s indeed reassuring news, but Jyn still wishes they would tell her more.

“And now you know even more about it than I do,” Baze says, sounding annoyed, though his gaze, as usual, is full of affection when he glances at Chirrut. Jyn lets out a short laugh.

The pilot of the shuttle prompts them to finally board the ship, saying he has a schedule that can’t be ignored and so, both of them share a brief hug with Jyn. Just before they can disappear inside the shuttle, she calls after them:

“May the Force be with you!”

She stays on the platform when the ship takes off, flying into the clear sky of Yavin IV. Jyn watches it until she can’t see anything but a small dot on the blue canvas and decides to go back inside. It’s still early, even for Rebel Alliance standards — breakfast time has just started — and she might catch Bodhi with Cassian in the mess, if she can find her way to it quick enough.

(It’s not as if she still gets lost in the maze of old temples that make for the base. Not at all).

This time, she takes wrong turn in one of the corridors only once, leaving her just enough time to meet her companions for the meal when she finally begins to recognize her surroundings. Jyn spots them immediately, occupying one of the tables in the cantina; she doesn’t miss the sight of Luke Skywalker on the other side of the room either, waving vigorously at Bodhi, who returns the gesture with a smile.

She approaches their table after getting her tray with a less than enticing breakfast — the only good-looking thing on it being a dried fruit bar — a cup of strong caf in her other hand. They barely acknowledge her arrival with half-hearted nods, lost deep in conversation.

“I don’t see why an R unit wouldn’t work, at least just until we can get something different,” Bodhi speaks, his own food half-forgotten on the plate.

Cassian shakes his head.

“Have you ever heard of an R-series droid ripping off its owner arms?”

“Uh, no, not really—”

“Exactly,” Cassian says, pointing at Bodhi with his fork. “I’m not taking any chances of being the first man in the history of galaxy that gets killed by a cute droid.”

Jyn snorts, almost spilling her caf in the process.

For the first time in what might be a decade, she feels like she’s finally home.