#baenakinskywalker

There'd been a ten day long strike along the border. She didn't have much information beyond the location and the major players involved; Al-Qaeda, and the world’s military giant: the United States. But she wanted firsthand information on the individuals on the ground, who won, who died, who was injured, damage to the surrounding area- she wanted it all and she would get it if it killed her.

When she finally made it to the site- after another two cigarettes, some jerky, and a second Wild Tiger as she parked -she was quick to grab her camera bag and readjust the scarf over her head. She worked her camera free from her bag, slid the strap over her head, and exited the old clunker of a car she’d spent way too much time in. Before her boots even hit the sand below her, she was hit with a wave of commotion from the personnel on site.

She pulled the camera up to her eye and began scanning through the area. Building: potentially residential, two stories high, uneven walls. Street view: three ruined buildings to her right, the tattered remains of an awning on her left, each bracketed perfectly by a line of dull gray buildings. Civilian: covered from head to toe in varying shades of red, each as rich as the last, flowing softly behind her. Personnel: three men in American military uniforms between two buildings, guns not raised but gripped tightly as they walked. Ruined shop front: front windows broken, no lights inside, several sets of ruined tables.

And then it happened.

An accidental photograph of an officer- captain, based on the details of his uniform -as he growled something at a soldier of lower rank. He was holding his helmet in one hand, gun hanging loose at his side, aim set on the ground as he stood close to the other man, face contorted in rage. She pressed the shutter release, capturing the photo. She focused in further. His jawline could cut glass; even though his jaw was covered in unkempt scruff, her trained eye could see it. His eyes were piercing, his skin tan and rough. The lines by his eyes told her he squinted at paperwork after long days.

(She wondered if the lines by his eyes also meant he laughed deeply. She didn’t know if it would be so sharp that could cut through a man or if he had a laugh that made others relax- but a small part of her wanted to.)

When he looked away from the other man, he pulled a cigarette from a pocket on his vest, exposing his slender frame. It was hidden to anyone with an untrained eye, covered by the thick material of his uniform and his heavy vest, but she knew how kevlar clung and how much weight it added to anyone’s form. He put the filter between his lips and cupped his hands around the end of his cigarette as he lit it, his eyes finally catching sight of her and her camera. Something in his expression changed, just slightly, but there was a change. She pressed the shutter release.

An explosion ripped their attention from one another. They both turned, her with her camera focused on a large plume of ash and rubble, him with his helmet slammed down over his head in instinct, both crouching behind the nearest object, knees bent.

He raised his gun, quickly crossing the street in a low run. “American or English?” he sighed, a pang of annoyance in his tone as he settled in front of her, his body closest to the explosion, shielding her.

“Fuck off.”

“You’re not allowed to be here,” he growled, cocking his gun.

“Freedom of press,” she countered, inching closer as another explosion went off.

He turned back to her with a brow raised. “Who the fuck-” His fingers settled atop her camera in an attempt at forcing her gaze onto him. She shook him off. “Ma’am, what part of war zone doesn’t make you wait until the guns are lowered before you come charging in?”

She pulled her camera back, ignoring him as she adjusted her focus. “Only cowards wait,” she huffed, pressing the shutter as she saw the group he was with mirror their position on the other side of the dirt road running between them. When she pulled back to look down at the camera itself, she caught sight of him looking at her. “What?”

His lips twitched upward. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“Heard that one before,” she smirked, raising the camera to her eye again. She licked her chapped lips, letting out a breath before she did something she never did: give up a part of herself. “Jyn Erso.”

“Cassian Andor,” he breathed after a pause.

“You’re a captain?”

“Yes.”

She grinned at the faint surprise evident in his voice. “Wonderful to make your acquaintance, Captain Andor.”

“Likewise, Erso.”

So maybe she was wrong and it was an eleven day fight.

At least she got to meet Captain Cassian Andor.