It didn't take Jyn long, just a few names into the list, for her to realize what he was doing. A good deal of her childhood and adolescence had been spent in the company of soldiers, and even the members of Saw's weathered, battle-hardened company took the time to remember their dead. At first, she hadn't quite understood that, her own losses too great at too early an age to wrap her head around the idea of commemorating longer and longer lists of people who'd known what they were getting themselves into. Later, she'd come to close herself off so much that it didn't matter, because she didn't have people to remember. Eventually, perhaps cynically, she'd landed on it making sense for others, just not for her.
In so many ways, though, Scarif was different. Most of the people Cassian named were his dead, not hers, and yet she felt some of that weight all the same — them, and any others who'd died on Scarif's beaches or in its skies. The people in Jedha City, and on Alderaan, something she couldn't bear to tell him about yet. Everyone who'd followed her into battle, or been killed by her father's weapon, the brutal legacy she'd spent most of her life trying to outrun.
By the time he got to the ones she did know — Baze, who'd called her little sister, Chirrut, who'd called out for her across a crowded Jedha square like they were old friends, Bodhi, who'd been here and gone and become her kriffing family, Kay, who'd sacrificed himself for them and the mission in the end too — her own breathing had gone shaky and shallow, her eyes glassy despite her best efforts. Most days, she could hold it all at a distance, having grown as accustomed to living with and being the only survivor of it as anyone could. With Cassian here, though, freshly arrived from the beach where they'd died together, it was all too close to the surface again, as was so much else.
"You don't have to thank me," she said, grateful that her voice wavered only a little. "I get it. And I'm here."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2025-05-09 02:42 am (UTC)In so many ways, though, Scarif was different. Most of the people Cassian named were his dead, not hers, and yet she felt some of that weight all the same — them, and any others who'd died on Scarif's beaches or in its skies. The people in Jedha City, and on Alderaan, something she couldn't bear to tell him about yet. Everyone who'd followed her into battle, or been killed by her father's weapon, the brutal legacy she'd spent most of her life trying to outrun.
By the time he got to the ones she did know — Baze, who'd called her little sister, Chirrut, who'd called out for her across a crowded Jedha square like they were old friends, Bodhi, who'd been here and gone and become her kriffing family, Kay, who'd sacrificed himself for them and the mission in the end too — her own breathing had gone shaky and shallow, her eyes glassy despite her best efforts. Most days, she could hold it all at a distance, having grown as accustomed to living with and being the only survivor of it as anyone could. With Cassian here, though, freshly arrived from the beach where they'd died together, it was all too close to the surface again, as was so much else.
"You don't have to thank me," she said, grateful that her voice wavered only a little. "I get it. And I'm here."