Cassian Andor Appreciation Week
The target on Jenoport was a weapons and information trader, a woman who worked for both the rebellion and the Empireâthough Cassian would classify that she only worked for herself. It had been an easy shot, clean and quick, and he should have been in and out and back into hyperspace with Kay in less than 30 minutes. But he hadnât counted on the boy being there, on the wandering child who found his mother slumped over on a cargo crate, a blaster hole through her head.
The child was maybe ten standard years, tousled blonde hair, cheeks still round with babyfat. He wasnât the same age as you when you lost you parents, he told himself, quickening his step, the bag with is disassembled rifle bouncing on his back. But his hands were still shaking. You were younger.
His legs burned as he moved faster and faster over the rocky terrain, and when he was within a klick of the ship, his eyes began to burn, too. He could still hear the childâs blood-curdling wail, a feral, animal scream of despair. What had he sounded like when his mother had died? When his father had?
Soon, he could see Kayâs spindly form in the distance and the glow of the light orbs turned in his direction. The droid loped his way toward Cassian and said, âGood, you made it back three minutes earlier than I had calculated. We can headââ but Kayâs words faltered as Cassian brushed past him, past their ship, and headed toward the cliff.
Chest tight, Cassian found a seat on a flat stone and stared out, vision blurred, at the horizon. He hadnât thought about his parents in years, and at the same time he thought about them every waking minute of his life. They were why he was here and here in this moment now. Now, he could almost count in decades the time between when he last had a family and when he had not. When was the last time he had held or been held by someone he loved, when an embrace hadnât been a tussle, when a kiss hadnât been guided by desperation and loneliness?
When he found his blaster out of his holster and in his hands, he didnât bother questioning his own intent. The cold metal warmed in his hands, all its familiar parts, the edges smoothed from wear from his fingers finding the trigger over and over again over the years.
âCassian?â K2SOâs heavy steps clanged behind him, a surprising note in his usual salty tone.
âYes, Kay?â His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.
âWe need to return to base. The three minutes extra minutes you saved have now passed, and we are now behind schedule.â
Kay stepped closer, and Cassian could hear his joints shift as though he were crouching. âWhat is it?â
âIf your continued dignity and service demand it, when we are onboard the ship, I can perform a voluntary memory wipe of this moment.â
Cassian laughed, felt the weight lift off his chest. âThat wonât be necessary, my friend.â
âAffirmed, then,â Kaytoo said.
Cassian rose to his feet, reholstered his blaster. âShall we go?â
âThat would be the idea,â Kay said, and soon they were off, streaking through hyperspace, no more tears in his eyesâonly starlines.
Based off this quote from the Rogue One Novelization by Alexander Freed:
âOn Jenoport, [K2SO] had found Cassian staring at his blaster with tears on his face. K-2 had volunteered for a memory wipe in case Cassianâs âcontinued dignity and service demanded it.â
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