Jyn nodded again, once more turning to her usual means of meeting his gaze so he would know she meant it. She didn't really think he would doubt her anyway — as he'd just said, he trusted her, and it was crazy that she so readily trusted that in turn — but some things were too important to brush off. This was one of them, even if a part of her wanted to seize on that first part and talk about holos and sleeping arrangements and his cooking.
She would double back, she decided. For now, her hand lifted to his face, thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. "I think we're doing okay there, too," she said. Those heavier things, the aftermaths, were innumerable, and there was no easy way through them. So far, they'd been facing them as those subjects arose, which seemed like the best thing to do. That was exactly why she felt she needed to respond more directly to what he said, rather than letting it go. "Anything you're worried about, you can tell me. I'd rather know than have you keep it in. Like you said to me, right?"
He regretted bringing it up—I fear you don't say anything because you don't want to ruin my day—but knew, if she'd done so, he'd want her to answer completely.
"It's nothing tangible," he said. "Not necessarily real. Just… are you sure you want to be bogged down now with things that have all to do with me, not you, not really us?"
He knew what she'd say but he needed to put it that way.
Maybe he could hope it wouldn't burden her but instead free her to tell him hers.
"Of course," Jyn replied without hesitation, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was probably insane, actually, how much she wanted that. She liked all of the lighter things they could do and share together, ones there had been so little of in the rest of her life. Being able to talk and laugh with him, fall asleep in his arms at night and wake up there in the morning, watch him while he cooked, help him get used to reading English characters and try to pick up words in the other languages he knew — those were all like tiny miracles. If that was all she was looking for, though, she wouldn't be trying to get it with someone who she knew had as many jagged edges as she did.
He wasn't the person she had married, and yet some of those vows still held true. For better or for worse. She wanted the good and the bad. Wanted to know him in all the ways those few days spent together in their galaxy hadn't given them a chance to. Wanted him to be able to turn to her — not just as a romantic partner, but as a friend. Somehow, that felt like something even more vulnerable.
"You can tell me anything. Always. And I'll always want to hear it."
He wondered if he'd died after all, to be able to talk like this. But of course, it wasn't that, it was her.
He closed his eyes, breathed her in, and, with as great an effort as he'd ever made, lowered the partitions. And, very deliberately, spoke.
"I worry that right now I'm doing to you something I used to think my ex wife did to me. That I keep picking things apart. Which makes me worried that things that made me unhappy in my marriage were just me after all and I'm going to carry them through to you.
"I'm worried of talking about her too much and making it seem like I'm comparing, when I'm not. Or if I am, it's myself I compare. Never you.
"I'm afraid that I'm him and afraid that I'm not. I'm afraid of hurting you the way he did.
"I don't believe it's true, but if this was only trauma-bonding or infatuation, what a horrible betrayal of you that would be.
"I don't believe this is true either, but if my need to serve and believe in something shifted from the Rebellion to you, that would be a burden and a distortion, not letting you be… a person.
"I'm still afraid of hurting you in my sleep, even though I know you can stop me. But I don't want you to have to.
"I'm afraid you'll die or disappear, and my fear of that will put too much pressure on you when the only way of coping with it I can imagine is… to follow you.
"…But I'm not afraid of finding something in my past that I can't share with you and think you won't accept, and that's remarkable.
"And I think, I hope, sharing this was correct, and that's… that I even could… thank you."
Jyn listened, eyes wide and attentive, taking in everything he had to say. It was all she really could do — hear him out, show him how much she did want to hear these things, even when it wasn't easy, even when it hurt. More than once, she was tempted to interrupt and had to bite her tongue; just as often, she was struck speechless, grateful he continued and in so doing gave her a few moments more to consider her own words. At least the last thing he said provided her with an easy response, one she didn't need to think about at all before offering.
"Don't thank me," she said, a ghost of a wry smile on her face. She hadn't done anything, after all. From her point of view, there was nothing to thank her for. "Thank you. For telling me."
This, too, she meant utterly. Deciding what to say next took a bit more thought, her expression scrunching slightly in a way she suspected he would already have come to recognize as being indicative of her weighing her words, trying to determine what she wanted to say and how to say it.
"I didn't say this a few minutes ago, but I guess maybe I'll say it now," she settled on. Her hand was still on his cheek, his skin warm against her palm. "The other moment that I must've already loved you, even if I didn't know it. When you fell—" Her fingers dropped lower, grazing the scar from that blaster shot again. "There was a moment I almost let go and went after you. I couldn't, obviously. The plans. And you'd said keep going. But almost."
I get it, is what she meant. She still didn't entirely know how she had survived losing him before except through sheer stubborn force of habit, and too many sunrises sitting out on the beach, wishing she'd had the end with him that she was supposed to.
"There's a lot here to answer. But here goes. I do know there's nothing in your past that would change how I feel about you, or run me off. And I think you'd say the same about me. I honestly could not care less if you hurt me in your sleep because I know you would never hurt me consciously. I think you'd say the same about that, too. I only worry about what it would do to you if that happened. I think you'd never forgive yourself, and that scares me."
Already she'd gone in a direction she hadn't intended. Frowning slightly, she bit her lip as she tried to reroute herself. "I don't think you need to worry about talking about your ex too much. I think... It's not easy to hear, but... I think it might help. To know more. And maybe not... feel like... worry that..." Now, finally, she looked away, insecure in a way she hated expressing, but sort of thought she had to. "That I'm a second choice."
Maybe, in spite of everything they'd both just said, she already was. Force knew she had been for everyone else, throughout the entirety of her life.
"As for him... I stand by what I said before. You're sort of the same, because you're still you, the person I fell in love with, and you're also not, because you didn't live any of that. Somehow that's still the one thing that makes sense to me."
His dark eyes widened at the idea of her letting go on the data tower. He didn’t interrupt but just held her tighter.
“That makes sense to me, too.” And it did relax his shoulders.
“And you’re not second choice,” he said at once. “That relationship ended. My biggest regret on that beach was that you and I would never get a chance to begin. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about her. Her name is Bix. We knew each other from childhood. Without that history, I don’t know if we would have been friends or lovers, on and off, at later times. I think maybe not. Especially the last time; she’d been seeing someone else who was killed and we escaped a massacre on our homeworld together… I kind of think a lot of it was driven by worry, wanting each other to be saved, which neither of us could really provide. We argued a lot. She left me because I was so tired, I talked about leaving the Rebellion for her and she disagreed. Maybe I agree with her but I don’t have to like how she did it. But all you really need to know is that you have nothing to prove. And where I arrived by the time I met you was completely different from where I’d ever been with her. I never… interrelied with her in fourteen years the way you and I did in five days.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
She would double back, she decided. For now, her hand lifted to his face, thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. "I think we're doing okay there, too," she said. Those heavier things, the aftermaths, were innumerable, and there was no easy way through them. So far, they'd been facing them as those subjects arose, which seemed like the best thing to do. That was exactly why she felt she needed to respond more directly to what he said, rather than letting it go. "Anything you're worried about, you can tell me. I'd rather know than have you keep it in. Like you said to me, right?"
no subject
"It's nothing tangible," he said. "Not necessarily real. Just… are you sure you want to be bogged down now with things that have all to do with me, not you, not really us?"
He knew what she'd say but he needed to put it that way.
Maybe he could hope it wouldn't burden her but instead free her to tell him hers.
no subject
He wasn't the person she had married, and yet some of those vows still held true. For better or for worse. She wanted the good and the bad. Wanted to know him in all the ways those few days spent together in their galaxy hadn't given them a chance to. Wanted him to be able to turn to her — not just as a romantic partner, but as a friend. Somehow, that felt like something even more vulnerable.
"You can tell me anything. Always. And I'll always want to hear it."
no subject
He wondered if he'd died after all, to be able to talk like this. But of course, it wasn't that, it was her.
He closed his eyes, breathed her in, and, with as great an effort as he'd ever made, lowered the partitions. And, very deliberately, spoke.
"I worry that right now I'm doing to you something I used to think my ex wife did to me. That I keep picking things apart. Which makes me worried that things that made me unhappy in my marriage were just me after all and I'm going to carry them through to you.
"I'm worried of talking about her too much and making it seem like I'm comparing, when I'm not. Or if I am, it's myself I compare. Never you.
"I'm afraid that I'm him and afraid that I'm not. I'm afraid of hurting you the way he did.
"I don't believe it's true, but if this was only trauma-bonding or infatuation, what a horrible betrayal of you that would be.
"I don't believe this is true either, but if my need to serve and believe in something shifted from the Rebellion to you, that would be a burden and a distortion, not letting you be… a person.
"I'm still afraid of hurting you in my sleep, even though I know you can stop me. But I don't want you to have to.
"I'm afraid you'll die or disappear, and my fear of that will put too much pressure on you when the only way of coping with it I can imagine is… to follow you.
"…But I'm not afraid of finding something in my past that I can't share with you and think you won't accept, and that's remarkable.
"And I think, I hope, sharing this was correct, and that's… that I even could… thank you."
no subject
"Don't thank me," she said, a ghost of a wry smile on her face. She hadn't done anything, after all. From her point of view, there was nothing to thank her for. "Thank you. For telling me."
This, too, she meant utterly. Deciding what to say next took a bit more thought, her expression scrunching slightly in a way she suspected he would already have come to recognize as being indicative of her weighing her words, trying to determine what she wanted to say and how to say it.
"I didn't say this a few minutes ago, but I guess maybe I'll say it now," she settled on. Her hand was still on his cheek, his skin warm against her palm. "The other moment that I must've already loved you, even if I didn't know it. When you fell—" Her fingers dropped lower, grazing the scar from that blaster shot again. "There was a moment I almost let go and went after you. I couldn't, obviously. The plans. And you'd said keep going. But almost."
I get it, is what she meant. She still didn't entirely know how she had survived losing him before except through sheer stubborn force of habit, and too many sunrises sitting out on the beach, wishing she'd had the end with him that she was supposed to.
"There's a lot here to answer. But here goes. I do know there's nothing in your past that would change how I feel about you, or run me off. And I think you'd say the same about me. I honestly could not care less if you hurt me in your sleep because I know you would never hurt me consciously. I think you'd say the same about that, too. I only worry about what it would do to you if that happened. I think you'd never forgive yourself, and that scares me."
Already she'd gone in a direction she hadn't intended. Frowning slightly, she bit her lip as she tried to reroute herself. "I don't think you need to worry about talking about your ex too much. I think... It's not easy to hear, but... I think it might help. To know more. And maybe not... feel like... worry that..." Now, finally, she looked away, insecure in a way she hated expressing, but sort of thought she had to. "That I'm a second choice."
Maybe, in spite of everything they'd both just said, she already was. Force knew she had been for everyone else, throughout the entirety of her life.
"As for him... I stand by what I said before. You're sort of the same, because you're still you, the person I fell in love with, and you're also not, because you didn't live any of that. Somehow that's still the one thing that makes sense to me."
no subject
“That makes sense to me, too.” And it did relax his shoulders.
“And you’re not second choice,” he said at once. “That relationship ended. My biggest regret on that beach was that you and I would never get a chance to begin. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about her. Her name is Bix. We knew each other from childhood. Without that history, I don’t know if we would have been friends or lovers, on and off, at later times. I think maybe not. Especially the last time; she’d been seeing someone else who was killed and we escaped a massacre on our homeworld together… I kind of think a lot of it was driven by worry, wanting each other to be saved, which neither of us could really provide. We argued a lot. She left me because I was so tired, I talked about leaving the Rebellion for her and she disagreed. Maybe I agree with her but I don’t have to like how she did it. But all you really need to know is that you have nothing to prove. And where I arrived by the time I met you was completely different from where I’d ever been with her. I never… interrelied with her in fourteen years the way you and I did in five days.”