Their joined hands threw dancing shadows in the firelight.
"We can change the rules whenever we want," said Cassian with a small smile. To prove it, he cleared his throat and started on—"Kay's favorite joke.
"A crew's separated from their ship and make camp in a field. The captain wakes them in the middle of the night. She says, 'Look up at the stars. What do they tell you?' "The navigator says, 'We are currently near the equator.' "The ambassador says, 'Their constellations reflect a matriarchal mythology.' "The pilot says, 'The universe is larger than one being could ever explore.' "The mechanic frowns at all of them and says, 'That somebody stole our tent.' "
After a pair of matched facts that were so heavy, the joke and its levity were a welcome change of pace. Jyn didn't try to hide her smile, or the soft fondness in her eyes that no one but him had ever brought out of her so effectively. If it weren't for everything else — how absurdly complicated this all was, how utterly draining the day had been — she thought it might well have been a romantic moment, trading deep personal truths and jokes while holding hands by the fire. She couldn't let herself go down that road, though. Just this was enough, and so much more than she ever thought she would get to have again.
"I can see why that's his favorite," she said, laughing quietly. "It's a good one." She wished she had a joke she could offer him in turn, but she couldn't think of any. "Does that count as a fact? Is it my turn or yours?"
Rules or lack thereof be damned, she wanted to hear whatever he saw fit to tell her.
It was so good to see her laugh. She looked so wonderful, here in the firelight, free and safe and smiling. I wish you the universe.
"It was my job," he said, (Fact,) "before Melshi and Kay extracted you from Wobani, to build a profile on you. Even though we had all your files, some physical details had got lost.
"When I finally saw you in person, most details were right but I felt in some intangible way I'd gotten you completely wrong. And one tangible thing. From the amount of damage you've caused others, we assumed you'd be tall. I loved that you were short."
Belatedly, his face flushed. "I don't know if that really counts either."
"That I'm short?" Jyn echoed, laughing again, soft and amused in her incredulity. With practically each moment that passed and each word exchanged, it felt as if the odds of her surviving this without getting her heart broken again diminished substantially. Not for the first time today, and probably not for the last, either, she told herself that the smart thing would be to give herself some distance, to sever this attachment before it could take root again. She had forgotten how good it felt to be around him, though, easy and right.
In a way, it felt like coming home. It shouldn't, and yet she savored it, warmth suffusing through her.
"When I was young," she said, another fact of her own, "right around the time I realized I wouldn't be getting much if any taller, I hated being so short. Hated that people would look at me and just see a scrawny little girl. Saw taught me that being underestimated could be a strength, and how to use it to my advantage."
"I had that," said Cassian, the same warmth in his eyes, "for being scrawny. I was never going to bulk up, be broad and muscular like my friend Brasso. But Saw's right. I thought fewer people would mess with me if I looked intimidating, but some people mess with you because of that. It helped to be secretly…"
His voice died because the real end to that sentence
"Yeah," Jyn agreed, little more than an exhale between them. She didn't need to know how he was going to finish that sentence, if he even had a specific end for it, to get the general idea of what he meant. It was one of the survival tactics she'd had in those years on her own: knowing that people would dismiss her based on her size and stature, and knowing that, if she couldn't just skate by under the radar, she would be able to make them regret it. "It did. It does."
Her thumb brushed against the back of his hand again, an idle, thoughtless gesture.
"All right. Fact. Sprinkles was actually yours, before. I think that's why she went running to you like she did. She must remember you."
That felt nice, the movement of her thumb on his hand; in sensation and even more, because it seemed natural.
The fact she gave numbed his hand. He’d almost managed to forget, because it was so unimaginable. But he shouldn’t, because she couldn’t. Or should he, because if he focused on it, he would second-guess everything until he tormented her and drove himself mad…
They’d find a balance. He was determined to.
So, it wasn’t a fact, but he felt pretty okay with replying, “How the Force did you let me name her ‘Sprinkles’?”
"You didn't," Jyn replied with a shake of her head, the slant of her smile turning apologetic. Even venturing back into his having been here before felt awkward and wrong, but keeping it from him felt even more so. He didn't need to know all of it. Details about their actual relationship were firmly off-limits, at least for now. She couldn't even figure out how to say that they'd had a relationship, never mind the extent or any specifics of it. At least something like this seemed safer, nothing that directly involved her.
"She was a stray. A former owner'd named her. Trust me, I would not have let you name her Sprinkles."
It was a big deal that she'd chosen to share this with him. He needed to get outside his own head and acknowledge that. Maybe best to think of it as her having been bereaved (she had) and sharing about that. Take himself out of it.
Because it wasn't him. Even if the nose of a small dog said otherwise.
He hadn't figured it out, but he knew enough to close his other hand around hers and hold them close. For a long moment he just looked into the fire.
"On Lothal," he said at last. "I knew better than to name any of the loth-cats. But of course, my favorite one, I started to think of as 'Ziggy'."
Even with his hands clasping hers, Jyn couldn't help wondering, as he lapsed into silence, if she shouldn't have said that after all. At the very least, there was probably more she should offer along with it — that she didn't expect anything from him, that she knew he wasn't just going to slot back into a life he hadn't lived.
Had this reunion of sorts happened years earlier, that might have been more difficult for her to wrap her head around. She was so far removed from that life she'd shared with him now, though, having been without him longer than she was ever with him several times over. Most likely, if he had shown up and remembered all of it, it would have been equally as complicated, just in a different sort of way.
When he did finally speak again, she cracked a small smile, watching the flames flicker in the darkness. "Ziggy," she repeated. "Good name." She was running out of facts, she thought, at least ones that he wasn't likely to know already and that didn't involve that past life here. After a moment, she settled instead on details to supplement something he doubtless knew. The subject was an uncomfortable one, but given all he'd shared with her, it felt warranted.
"On Lah'mu, after they came for my father... I hid in a cave underground. We were all supposed to go. We used to practice sometimes, like it was a game." Then they'd changed the plan, left her alone, the beginning of a recurring pattern in her life. "I don't know how long I waited there. Days, maybe. Long enough the lantern I had burned out. I've never really liked small, dark spaces since then."
Maybe they'd someday get to have the conversation: that his difficulty with the 'alternate self' thing was… fundamentally not yet believing that he'd had no choice in leaving. Wondering what kind of man he really was if he'd done that. Wondering in whose shadow he walked, how he compared, and hoping it actually wasn't him. Hoping he still had choices. Knowing that kind of thinking was pointless and not being able to help it.
He hoped, also, he could tell her that she could never run out of facts; the more he learned, the greedier he was for more. Including things he only knew the outlines of. That couldn't compare to hearing her versions.
The idea of a child version of her alone in the dark made his heart contract with pain. He lifted their hands to his face. His lips didn't make contact with her skin, but he rested their fists against his mouth.
The best he could say in support, they seemed to have decided, was a kindred fact.
"I still get nervous when I'm barefoot," he said. "In the prison on Narkina 5, we couldn't wear shoes because they electrified the floors to punish us and keep us in line."
Of course, he'd managed it earlier today, and on the metallic floors of the ship, no less. He felt safer in Jyn's space.
"Narkina?" Jyn echoed without meaning to, brow shooting up as she turned to him. "Kriff." She'd never been there herself, but she had spent enough time in enough other Imperial prisons to have heard stories, all of them horrific. It hurt to think about him in a place like that and still dealing with the effects of it now, even if there was plenty she could say the same about, even having known for a long time that their lives had been more alike than not.
Maybe that was part of why she had never pressed him for information about himself. There wasn't much of a need to, when she felt on some intrinsic level that they knew and understood each other already. He'd all but said as much, albeit in anger: You're not the only one who lost everything.
With him opening up to her now, though, she wanted to learn as much as she could, even when it was hard, or maybe especially then. It was easier, anyway, than thinking about the proximity of her hand to his mouth, the warmth of his breath on her skin sending a shiver through her.
Her voice quieted again before she offered her next fact — a continuation, really, of the one that had preceded it. This, she had never told anyone before, not even him. "Sometimes I feel like I'm still there," she admitted. "Like I never left, and I'm still just that girl alone in the dark, waiting for someone to come find her."
There's more than one kind of prison… I sense you carry yours wherever you go
The firelight danced in his eyes, bright like tears. The look on his face was of such heartbreaking tenderness; not surprised she had that, wishing she didn't.
"I get that," he said softly. He bit the inside of his lip then said, "Fact: for a while I was a recruitment officer. Recruitment isn't about getting people to join the fight. It's arming them, physically and mentally, against the one they're already in. …If you were one of my recruits, I might suggest you try to envision you as an adult finding you as a child. You being big enough now to find yourself."
It was deeply, painfully unfair, having him look at her like that while so close in the dim firelight, listening as she told him some of her most closely-held truths. Jyn almost felt like she couldn't breathe, watching him. That look seemed to say almost as much as the words themselves did, though she took those in, too, oddly touched by the sentiment. Simply the fact that he understood meant more than she would ever be able to tell him.
There were, of course, other ways of trying to convey as much, ones that she once wouldn't have thought twice about with him. Near as he was, it would have been too easy to close the rest of the distance between them. She knew, though, that it would be a mistake, too liable to ruin whatever tenuous understanding they'd settled into here. She wasn't sure she could bear that.
So, instead, she would have to try to find words, and not flippant ones about how she thought he'd already recruited her. She considered for a moment, quiet and thoughtful, then finally found a way to phrase it in another truth.
"Fact," she murmured. "If we'd lived, I would have stayed."
He didn't want to risk putting an arm around her, trying to kiss her, even putting their faces too close. He dreaded presuming so would only follow. It felt all right, though, to move close enough to bump their shoulders together.
"I have no facts to follow that," he murmured back. "Except how glad I am to be here with you."
Still, the temptation to lean in was overwhelming, his proximity enough to make her feel a little lightheaded. This, Jyn thought, was going to be the hardest part. It wasn't having him here, because regardless of what that entailed or what they were to each other, he deserved to have this chance; it wasn't his lack of memory of being here before, because in truth, she was so far removed from that now it might only have made things more complicated instead of less. Hell, it wasn't even trying to sort through her own feelings and figure out what she wanted, because that was getting too far ahead of herself.
No, what would be maddeningly difficult was ignoring what once became second nature to her, having him this close and not doing anything she would regret too badly, pretending he didn't so thoroughly get under her skin. She didn't expect and wouldn't ask anything of him — something she probably needed to tell him instead of just thinking — but that didn't change the way she once again felt drawn into his orbit.
"Me too," she agreed, surprised by how much she meant it. "I—" I missed you seemed wrong. I love you remained off-limits. "It's really good to see you."
I— He would have given a lot to know how that sentence would have gone. She kept stopping herself. Well, that wasn't up to him. He wondered if she could ever stop feeling like she had to. For now, he gave her hands another gentle, meaning-full squeeze.
The sky was dark. Though he'd risen late, it was disconcerting how time had telescoped and the day vanished. They'd spent it all talking.
Cassian looked up and couldn't see what he sought. Releasing Jyn's hands, he stood and kicked out the remains of the fire. Ashes and shreds of fabric drifted in the air. Now, just far enough away from the city lights, he could see the stars.
"All different, huh?" A fairly pointless question. Every skyscape was specific to the planet you were on, unless you had planned astronomically carefully to be in the place and time of a planet's rotation relative to another's to have the same view of the same part of the Galaxy. You'd still be seeing things at a different angle, but if you knew what to look for, you might spot some of the same features. Here, Cassian didn't recognize anything.
Distance was good. Distance would help her get her head on straight, remind her how to breathe properly again. Jyn stayed sitting for a few moments, rolling her shoulders back as she watched the last embers of the fire glow, then extinguish. Her hands already felt cold where his were no longer wrapped around them, the electricity of those last words exchanged by firelight fading with the smoke in the air. That was good, too. She had to start getting used to this — to existing around him without what they'd once shared.
"All different," she confirmed, finally getting to her feet in turn. "They change more quickly than they should, too. No one knows why. At least it's still a nice view."
Maybe that was the years she'd been here speaking, the utter weirdness of so much of it having dulled to something she could begrudgingly accept, sometimes even appreciate. As she'd told him earlier, it wasn't a bad life. The only real problem was that she'd once let herself want too much and even believe she could have it.
More questions without answers, that others, even Jyn, had grown to stop asking. Was it Cassian's job as newcomer to shake them up, re-ask them, or did he defer to her greater experience and just…
(Do I look grateful to you?)
Cassian had slept unaccustomedly long and deeply and was suddenly almost as tired as when he'd arrived. Some things required multiple days to sleep off. If you could. If you had someone like Jyn watching your back.
"I think I need to go back to sleep," he said, passing a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry…"
"Hey, don't apologize," Jyn said, shaking her head. Given everything she knew the last few days had entailed for him, it was no wonder that he was still exhausted. In truth, she was feeling some of that herself. With her emotions running so high and how damn confusing everything was, sleep would be welcome, even if it came with its own set of complications. Thank the Force there were several bunks — she'd already put him to bed earlier in one that could be his own — but she didn't know what it would be like now to sleep across a room from him, or share the casual intimacy of the same sleeping quarters.
The thought made her suddenly determined to ignore any such awkwardness. If that option failed, well, she could sleep anywhere; she'd leave him the room and curl up on one of the bench seats in the sitting area. In any case, she could appreciate the fact that he trusted her enough to stay in her space and rest here.
The dream of resting together invaded his mind and he pushed it away. He could only dream.
"You're sure—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "I won't make you repeat yourself. Thank you."
He stomped out any remaining embers and picked up the bottle from the oil to bring inside. A final wisp of material made its way into the atmosphere in his vision, and was gone.
Tucking the bottle under his arm, Cassian turned again to Jyn and offered a smile. "Lead the way."
Jyn gave him a look at the sentence he cut off, almost teasing in its pointedness. She wouldn't have minded at all repeating herself as many times as he needed to hear it, but there was a relief in finding a familiar rhythm again, in letting things be a little less emotionally charged. The expression quickly gave way to a smile of her own, and she nodded before starting to head back into the ship. As much as she might have wanted to, she didn't reach for his free hand. Distance, she reminded herself. She had to start getting used to that.
"You don't have to keep thanking me, either," she said as she glanced over her shoulder at him. She sort of understood the impulse. When nothing had ever been given to her for free, or, really, without her having to claw her way to and fight for it, when the entire concept of safety was still a relatively new one to her, she wasn't in the habit of taking anything for granted. But letting him stay was hardly even a decision. Even if she hadn't preferred having him close to her, she would never have cast him out. "But you're welcome."
Winding around the corridor, she turned into the bedroom. "D'you want something else to sleep in? I can see what I can find, if you do."
Something else to sleep in… He exhaled another smile. "What a luxury. Sure." As she turned in one direction, he went in another back into the kitchen, where he rinsed out the emptied bottle and set it among other refuse. While he was at it, he washed up other dishes from their earlier meal.
"I know, crazy, right?" Jyn agreed with a soft laugh, one that masked how stupidly nervous she was over something so simple. Just as distance was good, though, so was giving herself something to do. Heading back to the bedroom, she grabbed her own sleep clothes from her bunk and ducked into the walk-in closet with them. Easier to do both things at once — to change without having to navigate around him and to see what else there might be for him to wear to sleep.
Tempted as she was to offer a cape as a joke, this didn't seem like the right moment for it.
When she emerged a few minutes later, she'd changed for bed and brought with her an unearthed T-shirt and sweatpants, which she set on what she would have to start thinking of as his bed. The latter would probably be too warm to actually sleep in, but she'd give him the option anyway, and at least both seemed likely to fit him comfortably. She huffed out a heavy breath when she heard the water stop running in the kitchen, then stepped out into the hall.
"I left clothes on the bed. I'll just, um—" She gestured back over her shoulder, as if to indicate that she had to do something unspecified. "I'll give you a minute."
"Thanks." He dried his hands and crossed to accept the clothes. Since it was clearly her intent, he waited until she was gone before changing into them.
Some minutes later, he emerged into the bedroom wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants (he'd decided that whatever she thought appropriate, he would go with) and holding his former outfit perfectly folded. He set the pile down next to "his" bunk and turned to Jyn. The pattern on the t-shirt, which he indicated, lifted his eyebrow. Clearly, he couldn't imagine it had been… 'his'. "We'll do that shopping trip tomorrow, yeah?"
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"We can change the rules whenever we want," said Cassian with a small smile. To prove it, he cleared his throat and started on—"Kay's favorite joke.
"A crew's separated from their ship and make camp in a field. The captain wakes them in the middle of the night. She says, 'Look up at the stars. What do they tell you?'
"The navigator says, 'We are currently near the equator.'
"The ambassador says, 'Their constellations reflect a matriarchal mythology.'
"The pilot says, 'The universe is larger than one being could ever explore.'
"The mechanic frowns at all of them and says, 'That somebody stole our tent.' "
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"I can see why that's his favorite," she said, laughing quietly. "It's a good one." She wished she had a joke she could offer him in turn, but she couldn't think of any. "Does that count as a fact? Is it my turn or yours?"
Rules or lack thereof be damned, she wanted to hear whatever he saw fit to tell her.
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"It was my job," he said, (Fact,) "before Melshi and Kay extracted you from Wobani, to build a profile on you. Even though we had all your files, some physical details had got lost.
"When I finally saw you in person, most details were right but I felt in some intangible way I'd gotten you completely wrong. And one tangible thing. From the amount of damage you've caused others, we assumed you'd be tall. I loved that you were short."
Belatedly, his face flushed. "I don't know if that really counts either."
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In a way, it felt like coming home. It shouldn't, and yet she savored it, warmth suffusing through her.
"When I was young," she said, another fact of her own, "right around the time I realized I wouldn't be getting much if any taller, I hated being so short. Hated that people would look at me and just see a scrawny little girl. Saw taught me that being underestimated could be a strength, and how to use it to my advantage."
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His voice died because the real end to that sentence
(Morlana One)
was …deadly.
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Her thumb brushed against the back of his hand again, an idle, thoughtless gesture.
"All right. Fact. Sprinkles was actually yours, before. I think that's why she went running to you like she did. She must remember you."
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The fact she gave numbed his hand. He’d almost managed to forget, because it was so unimaginable. But he shouldn’t, because she couldn’t. Or should he, because if he focused on it, he would second-guess everything until he tormented her and drove himself mad…
They’d find a balance. He was determined to.
So, it wasn’t a fact, but he felt pretty okay with replying, “How the Force did you let me name her ‘Sprinkles’?”
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"She was a stray. A former owner'd named her. Trust me, I would not have let you name her Sprinkles."
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Because it wasn't him. Even if the nose of a small dog said otherwise.
He hadn't figured it out, but he knew enough to close his other hand around hers and hold them close. For a long moment he just looked into the fire.
"On Lothal," he said at last. "I knew better than to name any of the loth-cats. But of course, my favorite one, I started to think of as 'Ziggy'."
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Had this reunion of sorts happened years earlier, that might have been more difficult for her to wrap her head around. She was so far removed from that life she'd shared with him now, though, having been without him longer than she was ever with him several times over. Most likely, if he had shown up and remembered all of it, it would have been equally as complicated, just in a different sort of way.
When he did finally speak again, she cracked a small smile, watching the flames flicker in the darkness. "Ziggy," she repeated. "Good name." She was running out of facts, she thought, at least ones that he wasn't likely to know already and that didn't involve that past life here. After a moment, she settled instead on details to supplement something he doubtless knew. The subject was an uncomfortable one, but given all he'd shared with her, it felt warranted.
"On Lah'mu, after they came for my father... I hid in a cave underground. We were all supposed to go. We used to practice sometimes, like it was a game." Then they'd changed the plan, left her alone, the beginning of a recurring pattern in her life. "I don't know how long I waited there. Days, maybe. Long enough the lantern I had burned out. I've never really liked small, dark spaces since then."
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He hoped, also, he could tell her that she could never run out of facts; the more he learned, the greedier he was for more. Including things he only knew the outlines of. That couldn't compare to hearing her versions.
The idea of a child version of her alone in the dark made his heart contract with pain. He lifted their hands to his face. His lips didn't make contact with her skin, but he rested their fists against his mouth.
The best he could say in support, they seemed to have decided, was a kindred fact.
"I still get nervous when I'm barefoot," he said. "In the prison on Narkina 5, we couldn't wear shoes because they electrified the floors to punish us and keep us in line."
Of course, he'd managed it earlier today, and on the metallic floors of the ship, no less. He felt safer in Jyn's space.
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Maybe that was part of why she had never pressed him for information about himself. There wasn't much of a need to, when she felt on some intrinsic level that they knew and understood each other already. He'd all but said as much, albeit in anger: You're not the only one who lost everything.
With him opening up to her now, though, she wanted to learn as much as she could, even when it was hard, or maybe especially then. It was easier, anyway, than thinking about the proximity of her hand to his mouth, the warmth of his breath on her skin sending a shiver through her.
Her voice quieted again before she offered her next fact — a continuation, really, of the one that had preceded it. This, she had never told anyone before, not even him. "Sometimes I feel like I'm still there," she admitted. "Like I never left, and I'm still just that girl alone in the dark, waiting for someone to come find her."
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The firelight danced in his eyes, bright like tears. The look on his face was of such heartbreaking tenderness; not surprised she had that, wishing she didn't.
"I get that," he said softly. He bit the inside of his lip then said, "Fact: for a while I was a recruitment officer. Recruitment isn't about getting people to join the fight. It's arming them, physically and mentally, against the one they're already in. …If you were one of my recruits, I might suggest you try to envision you as an adult finding you as a child. You being big enough now to find yourself."
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There were, of course, other ways of trying to convey as much, ones that she once wouldn't have thought twice about with him. Near as he was, it would have been too easy to close the rest of the distance between them. She knew, though, that it would be a mistake, too liable to ruin whatever tenuous understanding they'd settled into here. She wasn't sure she could bear that.
So, instead, she would have to try to find words, and not flippant ones about how she thought he'd already recruited her. She considered for a moment, quiet and thoughtful, then finally found a way to phrase it in another truth.
"Fact," she murmured. "If we'd lived, I would have stayed."
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(would I first have to find)
and none of them took hold as actual thoughts.
He didn't want to risk putting an arm around her, trying to kiss her, even putting their faces too close. He dreaded presuming so would only follow. It felt all right, though, to move close enough to bump their shoulders together.
"I have no facts to follow that," he murmured back. "Except how glad I am to be here with you."
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No, what would be maddeningly difficult was ignoring what once became second nature to her, having him this close and not doing anything she would regret too badly, pretending he didn't so thoroughly get under her skin. She didn't expect and wouldn't ask anything of him — something she probably needed to tell him instead of just thinking — but that didn't change the way she once again felt drawn into his orbit.
"Me too," she agreed, surprised by how much she meant it. "I—" I missed you seemed wrong. I love you remained off-limits. "It's really good to see you."
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The sky was dark. Though he'd risen late, it was disconcerting how time had telescoped and the day vanished. They'd spent it all talking.
Cassian looked up and couldn't see what he sought. Releasing Jyn's hands, he stood and kicked out the remains of the fire. Ashes and shreds of fabric drifted in the air. Now, just far enough away from the city lights, he could see the stars.
"All different, huh?" A fairly pointless question. Every skyscape was specific to the planet you were on, unless you had planned astronomically carefully to be in the place and time of a planet's rotation relative to another's to have the same view of the same part of the Galaxy. You'd still be seeing things at a different angle, but if you knew what to look for, you might spot some of the same features. Here, Cassian didn't recognize anything.
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"All different," she confirmed, finally getting to her feet in turn. "They change more quickly than they should, too. No one knows why. At least it's still a nice view."
Maybe that was the years she'd been here speaking, the utter weirdness of so much of it having dulled to something she could begrudgingly accept, sometimes even appreciate. As she'd told him earlier, it wasn't a bad life. The only real problem was that she'd once let herself want too much and even believe she could have it.
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(Do I look grateful to you?)
Cassian had slept unaccustomedly long and deeply and was suddenly almost as tired as when he'd arrived. Some things required multiple days to sleep off. If you could. If you had someone like Jyn watching your back.
"I think I need to go back to sleep," he said, passing a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry…"
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The thought made her suddenly determined to ignore any such awkwardness. If that option failed, well, she could sleep anywhere; she'd leave him the room and curl up on one of the bench seats in the sitting area. In any case, she could appreciate the fact that he trusted her enough to stay in her space and rest here.
"Honestly, I think I could sleep, too."
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"You're sure—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "I won't make you repeat yourself. Thank you."
He stomped out any remaining embers and picked up the bottle from the oil to bring inside. A final wisp of material made its way into the atmosphere in his vision, and was gone.
Tucking the bottle under his arm, Cassian turned again to Jyn and offered a smile. "Lead the way."
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"You don't have to keep thanking me, either," she said as she glanced over her shoulder at him. She sort of understood the impulse. When nothing had ever been given to her for free, or, really, without her having to claw her way to and fight for it, when the entire concept of safety was still a relatively new one to her, she wasn't in the habit of taking anything for granted. But letting him stay was hardly even a decision. Even if she hadn't preferred having him close to her, she would never have cast him out. "But you're welcome."
Winding around the corridor, she turned into the bedroom. "D'you want something else to sleep in? I can see what I can find, if you do."
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Tempted as she was to offer a cape as a joke, this didn't seem like the right moment for it.
When she emerged a few minutes later, she'd changed for bed and brought with her an unearthed T-shirt and sweatpants, which she set on what she would have to start thinking of as his bed. The latter would probably be too warm to actually sleep in, but she'd give him the option anyway, and at least both seemed likely to fit him comfortably. She huffed out a heavy breath when she heard the water stop running in the kitchen, then stepped out into the hall.
"I left clothes on the bed. I'll just, um—" She gestured back over her shoulder, as if to indicate that she had to do something unspecified. "I'll give you a minute."
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Some minutes later, he emerged into the bedroom wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants (he'd decided that whatever she thought appropriate, he would go with) and holding his former outfit perfectly folded. He set the pile down next to "his" bunk and turned to Jyn. The pattern on the t-shirt, which he indicated, lifted his eyebrow. Clearly, he couldn't imagine it had been… 'his'. "We'll do that shopping trip tomorrow, yeah?"
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