#msf au

“Alright, alright, I'm coming,” Jyn sighed, making a performance out of her grudging agreement. If she played along, maybe Cassian would sleep with her tonight—and she meant sleep, as in share blankets for body heat; Force knew it was too cold for sex.

She locked her camera away in its case before trailing after Cassian down the broad staircase to the grand lobby. Despite the high ceiling, it was relatively warm down here. The MSF crew lodged in the other wing of the hotel had closed all the doors leading out of the lobby and built a roaring bonfire in a huge stone hearth she suspected had been mainly ornamental until now. 

They’d also dragged most of the furniture into the radius of the firelight. Jyn found a seat on an upholstered bench, and only bristled a little for show when Cassian sat beside her. A bottle of something was making its way around the circle. Cassian sniffed at it suspiciously and then tossed back a draught, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and passing the bottle to her. 

Jyn drank and winced—it was even harsher than the stuff Melshi brought from home. She handed the bottle on to her neighbour and wrapped her arms around herself, staring into the fire. The flames crackled and sang and flowed in bright shapes that mesmerized her with a sense of formless patterns.

“Warm enough?” Cassian tipped his head down, checking on her.

Jyn blinked, half-blinded by starbursts of light behind her eyelids. “Could be warmer.” Mellowed by the drink, she pulled his arm around her and tucked herself into his side. Faint afterimages still streaked across her vision. 

“Have you ever seen the Eye?” she asked. Cassian had mentioned that he’d been to Aldhani before; he’d taught her a few words of Dhani. 

“No,” he said quietly. “It only happens every three years—the next time is more than a year away. And I don’t know if the Dhani want outsiders seeing it… but the Empire doesn’t.”

“I wish I could see it,” she said wistfully.

Aldhani had simmered under the Empire for years, never quite docile but grudgingly obedient. Then the Imps dammed a river and tried to flood the sacred valley—and the Dhani erupted. Their unexpected resistance had brought Jyn here, to this Imperial resort town built in the hope of turning pacified Aldhani into a tourist destination. So far, judging by the number of power outages, the Dhani were proving stubbornly unpacified. 

Jyn and Cassian didn’t talk openly about politics—it was too dangerous. As the foster-daughter of a man the ISB had killed, Jyn mostly kept her head down and hoped they’d forgotten about her. But Cassian barely hid his smouldering hatred of the Empire. Jyn had seen him strain at the narrow bounds of faux “neutrality” MSF was forced to work within; she’d listened to him rage at being used as proof of official benevolence by the government that had caused the damage they were allowed to alleviate only in part.

“One day.” He pressed his cheek against her hair, speaking low into her ear, and his arm tightened around her. “One day we both will.”

For once, Jyn didn’t scoff at his unfounded hope. She only leaned into his side and closed her eyes and imagined what that would be like.

-

“That death trap?” The hair on the back of Jyn’s neck rises and she shivers, although this cantina is a tiny unventilated box and drops of sweat are already itching at her hairline. “What the fuck did Draven send him there for?”

“To do his job.” Maia’s voice is drier than the bottom of Jyn’s empty glass. She leans forward and stares at Jyn with an intimidating focus. “You know, watching you two is entertaining—mainly while I’m waiting for the screaming to start. But it would be so much easier for everyone else forced to be on the same planet as the two of you if you’d just admit that you like each other.”

Jyn scowls, scraping the hair off her neck and knotting it at the back of her head in a vain attempt to cool down. “We don’t like each other. We just keep running into each other and I figure I might as well take advantage. For an arrogant bastard, he’s a good lay.”

Maia’s just lifted her glass to take a drink; she laughs so hard that what’s left of her Corellian ale churns into bubbles.

“Glad you find my sex life so amusing,” Jyn grumbles.

“Hey, it’s hilarious, in a sad kind of way. You two could actually have a meaningful relationship, or as close to one as people in our line of work can get, and instead you’d rather spend it yelling at each other as foreplay.” She shakes her head. “I mean, whatever turns your engine over, but…”

“Oh, shut up.” Jyn stands up. “I’m going to get us another round, and you’re going to come up with another topic of conversation.”

But while she’s at the makeshift bar, waiting for the rusted bartender droid to pour another couple glasses of cheap ale, Jyn can’t help thinking about what Maia said. Is that really how it looks to other people? Do they think she and Cassian are compatible? How? He’s mid-Rim, well-educated, quiet but politically committed and passionate even if he has to suppress his opinions most of the time because of his job. She has the accent of a privileged Core Worlder (though she barely made it through primary education), doesn’t believe in wasting time on politeness, and is aggressively loud about not caring who’s shooting at who as long as she gets a decent recording.

Maybe there’s something deeper underneath their connection, some kind of vague recognition due to their matching abandonment issues or what the fuck ever. But Jyn isn’t a psych counsellor, she’s not about to start thinking that way.

She looks around the crowd jammed into the dingy cantina. If she wanted to, she could find another slumming tourist to screw inside of five minutes. They’re a dozen for a credit around here; all she’d have to do is lower her standards slightly.

The thing is, she doesn’t want to. Sex is a lot of fun, but it’s not like she needs it that badly, and she just isn’t interested in teaching another conceited jerk how to be a decent lover.

At least, that’s what she tells Maia when she gets back to the table with their drinks.

She props her hands on her hips and throws her head back with a sigh. Why did she expect any better? After all, she wasn’t on Tirahnn often enough to watch over them. And Cassian has trouble remembering to shower when he’s busy at the clinic, let alone water the garden at his home.

“Jyn!” Speak of the Jedi, here comes Cassian home from work, trailed by Kay. “How’s the harvest coming along?”

With a groan, she bends over to pick up the bucket. “Not very bountiful.” She tips it toward him, displaying her meagre haul.

He smiles at her. “Enough for a pot of soup, at least.”

Kay approaches, skirting around the edge of the plot, his heavy tread splattering her boots with more mud. “Beans were not the most appropriate crop. Based on my observations of the typical sunlight and precipitation in this region, you should have planted jilim instead,” he informs her. “They are more suited to this climate.”

Jyn doesn’t even know what those are, but she supposes she’ll find out if Kay’s already making plans to optimize the yield of next year’s garden. She sets the bucket back down on the ground and sighs, surveying the muddy plot with its untidy wobbling rows. “Good thing I never wanted to be a farmer.”

“The squash turned out well,” Cassian says, trying to cheer her up. Which is true; five or six head-sized gourds with warty, mottled rinds are nestled among the leaves. But they can wait until tomorrow. Right now, she’s too sore and grumpy to pick any more vegetables.

Cassian steps up behind her, linking his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head. “Come in and get clean while I start on the soup. There’s enough water for a hot bath. But only one.”

“Only one, you say?” Jyn leans against his chest and lifts a hand behind her, reaching to cup the back of his neck and ruffle his hair. “That’s a shame.”

“Isn’t it?” he says serenely. “Luckily, we can share.”

“I don’t require water for a bath.” Kay tilts his head. “But according to the readout on the cistern it is currently holding at least seventeen decalitres—”

Every time Jyn returns to this house his heart lifts a little, even though by now he’s finally learned to believe her when she says she’ll come back. She’s spent far more time with him here on Tirahnn than he expected, to be honest; he never thought it would be more than a temporary waystop for her.

Instead, it’s gradually become a real home for both of them. Her favourite purple scarf hangs beside his medkit by the door; he buys the kind of whiskey she likes on his monthly shopping expeditions to the nearest city, and she brings back sweet dried chozen fruit for him. Her thumbprint gives her access to the house, the speeder, the data terminal (everything but the clinic’s medical records) and the scent of her is on his pillow.

RIght now she’s curled tight into his side on the sagging couch, her cheek pressed against his shirt and her arm looped around his waist. She was out in the rain earlier, digging in his neglected garden; her hair is still damp, and she’s borrowed one of his old sweaters. His hand steals beneath it and caresses the line of her back, up and down. The firelight makes her pale cheeks glow golden and catches on the fine hairs in her brows. The smoke from the burning hay on the hearth smells sweet.

“What did you plant?” he asks, idly curious.

“Some beans.” She yawns. “It was kind of fun to get my hands dirty, I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”

He kisses the top of her head. “And tomorrow you’re gone, and I’ll have to do all the weeding.”

She smiles with her eyes closed, and pokes him gently in the stomach. “You’re the one who gets to eat them.”

“I’ll save some for you,” he offers.

“You’re such a sap,” she mumbles into his chest.

“Yes, but I’m your sap.”

“You are,” she agrees, lifting her head, and the kiss she gives him is intense enough to prove she likes it that way.