If you found a place in the galaxy untouched by war — a quiet life, maybe with a family — if you're happy, Jyn...
The last thing she wanted or needed in a moment like this was Galen Erso's fucking voice in her head. There was enough of a weight to everything else without bringing him or his message into it. Out of everything he'd said, though, it was that line that came back to her time and again, that cut deeply and lethally. The first time she had heard it, standing in the catacombs on Jedha before they collapsed, the bitter irony was that she had never been or known anything of the sort, and that was because of him. When she heard it again, it was worse for having had that and lost it. At least before, she hadn't known what she was missing.
And now, here Cassian was, again, offering her that kind of life, again — different, because he hadn't been here the first time around, but the same, because he was himself. The person she loved so desperately that even years apart hadn't worn it away at all, the only one who had ever come back for her. Would it matter that he had come back if she lost him again? She didn't know. She did know that letting herself even entertain the notion of having that happy, quiet life meant she was putting it at risk.
Her chest tightened, breaths becoming shallow, shaky gasps before she realized what was happening. It was her turn, apparently, for silent panic. Suddenly, having her face pressed to his shoulder wasn't enough. She turned in his arms, rolling onto her other side to face away from him, but she didn't move away; one hand curled around his wrist to keep his arm in place around her, and she leaned back into him, spine pressed to his chest.
"I need a minute," she finally said, her voice strained. "Sorry."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2025-06-15 03:16 am (UTC)The last thing she wanted or needed in a moment like this was Galen Erso's fucking voice in her head. There was enough of a weight to everything else without bringing him or his message into it. Out of everything he'd said, though, it was that line that came back to her time and again, that cut deeply and lethally. The first time she had heard it, standing in the catacombs on Jedha before they collapsed, the bitter irony was that she had never been or known anything of the sort, and that was because of him. When she heard it again, it was worse for having had that and lost it. At least before, she hadn't known what she was missing.
And now, here Cassian was, again, offering her that kind of life, again — different, because he hadn't been here the first time around, but the same, because he was himself. The person she loved so desperately that even years apart hadn't worn it away at all, the only one who had ever come back for her. Would it matter that he had come back if she lost him again? She didn't know. She did know that letting herself even entertain the notion of having that happy, quiet life meant she was putting it at risk.
Her chest tightened, breaths becoming shallow, shaky gasps before she realized what was happening. It was her turn, apparently, for silent panic. Suddenly, having her face pressed to his shoulder wasn't enough. She turned in his arms, rolling onto her other side to face away from him, but she didn't move away; one hand curled around his wrist to keep his arm in place around her, and she leaned back into him, spine pressed to his chest.
"I need a minute," she finally said, her voice strained. "Sorry."