step off the ledge and risk it all again

Leave all mail for Jyn Erso here.

Jyn had barely left Cassian's side since she first caught sight of him walking up to her ship. Really, it was as much for his sake as her own. He was the one who'd newly arrived here; she was helping him acclimate. That she didn't particularly want to be away from him, half-convinced that he would just be gone again, was true but secondarily so. At least, she kept telling herself as much, which had to be a start. Eventually, she might even begin to believe it.

Even so, she wasn't good at staying still, and even if she had been, she wouldn't have wanted to hover too much. He knew how to contact her if he needed. It wouldn't have done either of them any good for her to veer from helping into acting like he couldn't do this on his own. Desperate for a chance to breathe a little easier and get her absolute mess of thoughts in order, she ventured out for the afternoon. This time, unlike that first day, she knew where she was going when she left the ship, too. Greta was one of the people here she'd known the longest, who had met her when she was still with Cassian the first time around; she was kind but sensible, someone who would likely be upfront with her and maybe even be able to help her get her head around all of this. Force knew keeping it all in her own head wasn't getting anywhere, leading to more confusion and complication when she already had both of those in abundance.

She also would most likely have dough. It was, perhaps, a ridiculous thought, but since the train crash a year and a half ago, hitting things hadn't always been the best for her injured shoulder. She'd healed well enough, but it still bothered her sometimes. She'd figured out that time the city nearly emptied out and she had helped Greta in the kitchen that kneading bread dough could be just as therapeutic, which seemed like exactly what she needed.

So, after knocking at the door, she offered in lieu of a usual greeting, "D'you have anything that needs kneading?"

Jyn left the Falcon in a daze, her head spinning and chest so tight it felt like she could barely breathe. She'd seen a lot of strange, impossible things in the time she'd been in Darrow. Monsters coming from out of nowhere, items of significance appearing with no explanation, people from the past and the future and entirely different universes. A lot of fucking weird bees. But this— this was unprecedented. She had seen it happen before, yes, befriended Rey a second time when she turned up without any memory of having been here before, but it was different when it wasn't the same at all when it was someone this close, someone with whom she had so much history. Someone whom she'd once loved enough to marry.

Someone she loved still, and that was always the problem in her life. Caring was a liability, a weakness, and only ever got her hurt, but try as she might, she had never really been able to turn it off. At most, she could cloak it in anger, and had done so, but the logic propping that anger up was flimsy and all but impossible to maintain when Cassian looked at her like he had a matter of minutes ago.

Stupid, really. She had been without him now for longer than she'd ever known him. There was no good reason for her heart, so carefully and desperately re-armored in his absence, to have gone so soft again. Even now, as she left the ship, a part of her wanted to stay put after all, to watch him and see that he was still there, still real. While she'd promised to be there when he woke, though, she couldn't stay put. She needed to do something to try to get rid of all the restless energy that felt like it was bursting out from under her skin; she needed not to be alone with her own thoughts. So, taking a gamble that she had time go to and come back, and leaving a note just in case she was wrong, she set out.

The temptation just to go and stay gone, as far away as she could, was at least one that she could ignore without any real trouble. She knew from experience that it wouldn't help or change anything.

Instead, she found herself at Spike's door, not even having realized that was her destination until she was part of the way there. It made sense, though. He was her oldest friend, someone she knew had lost people just like she had. If there was anyone who might understand, it was him. She knocked at the door, impatient in her restlessness, weight shifting as she waited.

There aren't many of them left now who come from the same galaxy, a fact that's strange to consider on several different fronts. Mostly it's that with as far-reaching as that galaxy is, it shouldn't be anything that people have in common at all; rather, it should go without saying. While she's been here, though, Jyn has come to find it significant. Sometimes she's wound up gravitating to those people, and other times it's been more off-putting than anything else, but it matters all the same. She thinks that might be even truer now that there are so few of them, and ones she's all grown fond of, in her way.

Some of the others who've been there and then gone are never really far from her mind, but she tries her best to keep those thoughts buried, just like she does with so much else. Dwelling on those losses never does any good.

Instead, she focuses on taking care of her ship and her garden, both easier now that her shoulder is well healed from last October. It's a good thing, too, when the heat means her plants require more attention than usual. The sun bears down on the back of her neck as she kneels in the dirt, pulled from her work only when she sees a blur of movement in her peripheral vision that means someone's approaching.

Or several someones, as the case may be, Jyn's instinctive smile for Anakin widening when she sees that he has the twins with him. "Hey, you lot," she says. "Staying cool, I hope?"

When Jyn first opens her eyes, she's back on Scarif. Her vision blurs in the light, but she can sense it — the heat and the smoke, the crackle of flame, the sharp pain that she nevertheless feels at a distance, her awareness of it like it belongs to someone else. Her shoulder burns from pulling herself up the data tower, her whole body stiff and achy with a myriad of injuries. There are no arms around her this time, no sense of the peace she'd finally felt, a miserable inevitability. For years now, a part of her has wished that she'd stayed dead on that beach like she was supposed to. Of course if she were to wind up there again, it wouldn't feel the same at all.

She has a moment of thinking that this must be what the man on the phone meant when he promised her that she'd be with them again. If she dies, like everyone she's ever loved has died, they'll supposedly be reunited in the Force, or something. It's a cheap trick, but fair enough. The thought of that, though, plus her vision starting to clear again, makes her realize that she was wrong, at least about the first part. She isn't on Scarif. She's still on the train, only it's not much of a train anymore — there was a crash, she remembers that, and she must have hit her head, lost consciousness for she's not sure how long.

Her chest seizes tight with fear and pain that she can no longer source, and she tries, at least, to breathe despite the smoke and take stock of the situation. The train derailed, and she's still in the wreckage, some of which burns several meters away. Some sort of head injury, not her worst, but inconvenient. Her shoulder —

She attempts to push herself up, but utterly fails, a strangled cry in her throat. Fear turns to panic then, childish and choking, and she holds her breath as she glances toward the source of the pain. A thick, round piece of metal protrudes from her shoulder, originating from whatever she's landed on top of, keeping her pinned in place, a dark stain soaking her shirt. With the arm she can move, she gingerly lifts her hand to her temple, her fingertips coming away bloodstained, too, though not half as badly so. Even if it were worse, she doesn't think it would matter. She can't get herself out of here, and she's not going to hold her breath waiting for someone to come crawling through the wreckage looking for survivors. The soot in the air makes it hard to breathe, never mind to raise her voice enough to cry for help; she manages it once, but despite her best efforts, over the sound of the flame and the general chaos, the sirens she can just barely make out in the distance, she doubts anyone heard.

So that's it, then. She's going to die here like this, either bleeding out from the wound in her shoulder, suffocating from the smoke, or eventually, the fire spreading enough that it will take her, too. If she's lucky, she'll lose consciousness before that last one, but she never has had all that much in the way of luck. There's only one thing she's ever really had, and she reaches for it now, sticky fingers fumbling with the collar of her shirt until she can tug her crystal loose and curl her hand around it. Her tongue is clumsy in her mouth when she speaks, but the words come instinctively anyway, a mumbled wish. "I'm one with the Force," she says, pausing intermittently to take shaky breaths. "And the Force is with me. I'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me." She wants to believe that, at least, and that maybe, in the very end, she won't be alone after all.

Though she's had months to prepare, it's still hard to believe that they officially start their program next week. Perhaps predictably, Jyn doesn't feel ready in the slightest, worries she'd thought she moved past and questions of her own competency bubbling back to the surface. Perhaps it is, at least in part, a result of how odd the past few months have been, her focus largely elsewhere. It isn't as if she's been ignoring this, but things have been rough to say the least, between the hallucinations Cassian was having and not telling her about and her father's arrival. The latter, she still doesn't quite know what to do with or how to talk about. It's been strangely preoccupying, her whole life here feeling like it's been turned on its head, though the ostensible changes are few.

If there's anyone she can talk to about it, she thinks, it's Lincoln. She just can't figure out where to start. It's easier to keep herself busy, checking equipment in the space where they'll be teaching, making sure it's all in good shape and ready to be used. Probably the best thing she can do for herself is throw herself wholeheartedly into it, keep herself busy and distracted. It worked for years, trying to hold the weight of her father's absence at bay. It's just the other way around now, in a sense.

"I can't think of anything else we need before we start," she says. "Though I could keep going over all of this and still think of five things as soon as people actually get here."

Though she's lived in more places than she can count and observed celebrations for all sorts of various occasions, Christmas is still something relatively new to Jyn. Last year, she was given several explanations, but none of them really served to make it understandable for her. That also hadn't mattered. She'd embraced it wholeheartedly, decorating the house she and Cassian and Bodhi had just moved into, appreciating the spirit of the thing if not the specific meaning of it.

A lot has changed since then. Some of it has been for the best, but that's been harder to keep sight of these past couple of months. Between the hallucinations that Cassian tried to keep from her, that awful movie showing, and then her father's arrival, she's been thrown for a loop, out of sorts and melancholy, not really sure what the feeling that captivated her last year was except that it isn't here now. Being reminded of Bodhi at every turn doesn't help, either. He's been gone now for as long as she's been married, but it doesn't feel right that he's not here now, especially now that her father is here. Bodhi probably knew him better than she ever did. He would make things easier, she thinks, bridge a gap that she doesn't quite know what to do with.

Not wanting to dwell on it, after pulling out her Christmas decorations, she's called Anya, figuring she could use the company and a way to get out of her own head. Cassian is at work, Space Hospital is on in the background, and it might be nice and festive, if not for her own mood.

"Hand me that string of lights?" she asks, perched on the arm of the couch so she can hang them along the wall. All of this probably won't make her feel better, but it at least seems worth a shot.

When she'd first had the idea to do this, Jyn had been ready to walk right in and get it done without a moment's pause. She's always been as impulsive as she is cautious, and knowing full well that nothing could change her mind, she hadn't seen any reason to wait. The shop had been busy, though, too much so for a walk-in, and frustrating as it might have been, she'd begrudgingly made an appointment for a few weeks down the line.

Those few weeks have passed. In retrospect, it's probably not a bad thing, having had time to really consider what she's doing, but her thoughts on the matter are the same as they've been since the day she accidentally dropped her necklace down a storm drain. The ring Cassian gave her when he asked her to marry him is just a symbol, nothing that somehow stands in place of their entire relationship, but even something she treasures so dearly might not be with her forever. She wants something that can't be lost or taken from her, something tangible but permanent.

It's an odd subject for her, permanence, and a difficult thing to try to wrap her head around even now. Nothing in her life has ever fit that description before, and for a long time, she actively avoided it, making sure she had no attachments, that she stayed perpetually on the move. When it comes to anything physical, that's even more the case. A potentially defining mark would have been a dangerous thing before, making it easier to link one of her aliases to another, from which nothing good would ever have come. Maybe none of them would have led back to her real identity, but it still would have been a hell of a lot worse for the rest of them to be connected, defeating the purpose entirely.

Darrow is different, though. Cassian has reminded her of that on multiple occasions, and she knows he's right. The fact that she would actively seek out anything so lasting at all seems like proof of that. Whatever apprehensiveness she may have, she knows it's the result of old habits rather than anything else. It's certainly not enough to change her mind. Months ago, she said her vows and signed some papers and wouldn't downplay any of that for a second, but although this is for her, in a way, it seems almost like an even bigger commitment. There's no undoing this. And while it may be just one word inked on her skin, it's a weighty one, something she had forgotten entirely could exist until he reminded her of it. Except for her having gotten him to write it so she'll have it in his handwriting, it matches the inscription on the inside of his ring, which makes it mean all the more.

Her own ring is on her hand, though that isn't where she usually keeps it. With the position of the tattoo, though — against her ribs, from her side to under her breast — she can't wear a shirt to have it done, and so she's left her necklace at home, having far fewer compunctions about having someone see her body than having them see her kyber crystal. She can't claim anymore that Cassian is the only person who has in years, but that doesn't mean she's about to go showing it off.

Lying on her side while the artist gets ready to start, she looks up at Cassian, having not been about to do this without him here. "If you're going to try to talk me out of this, now's your last chance."

Of the three of them who live together — her family, she mentally calls them, though she's still sometimes afraid to do so out loud — Jyn is the only one who doesn't work. She's alright with that, on a theoretical level. Most of the money she acquired during the Purge went to getting the house, but it's not like she doesn't still contribute, and it's also not like she has too much time on her hands. When she gets bored, she gets too restless, dangerous, paranoid, as if waiting for the metaphorical other shoe to drop. She got that from Saw, probably. The fact remains that she isn't overly used to idleness, and doesn't intend to change that here. There's Sprinkles to take on walks, there's a boxing gym where she's become a regular, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she has actual friends, people who want to spend time with her and with whom she can meet up.

Today, she's supposed to grab lunch with Bodhi while he's on his break and Cassian is on a shift of his own. They see each other plenty, of course, but she's already planning to be in the area, and he's offered to treat her, so there's really no reason not to. Except supposed to turn out to be the operative words there. She gets them a table, she sits, and she waits, checking the time on her phone with increasing impatience. The text she sends goes unanswered. He probably got caught up with work, she tells herself, but when she calls him, it doesn't ring or go to voicemail. Instead, it plays an automated message about that number not being in service. Jyn is fairly certain that she can feel her stomach drop, the world suddenly tilted on its axis, but stubbornly, she sets her jaw and tries his work. Maybe he forgot to pay his phone bill, or something. Maybe it got lost in the mail and she'll have someone's ass to kick for this stupid panic.

Only, when that call gets picked up, she's informed by a rather detached-sounding voice that he didn't show up for work this morning, which is stupid, it's crazy, she saw him, said she'd meet him later—

Jyn hangs up on the man on the other line and tries to ignore the way her hands are shaking when she dials Cassian's number, knowing that he won't answer while he's working, but wanting the reassurance of it ringing, of his voice on the voicemail message. She exhales finally, slowly, in desperate relief when she hears it, leaves a quick message to let him know that she's coming home early so he won't see only a missed call from her, then hangs up. Though she's only ordered a soda for herself, wanting to wait for Bodhi before she got anything else, she leaves a twenty dollar bill on the table to cover it and storms out.

In the alley she ducks into, walking as far back from the sidewalk as she can, she screams, loud and long, and slams her fist into the brick wall.

After that, she loses track of what happens, doesn't remember getting on a bus and going back to the house or fumbling to get the door unlocked. Her head is going in too many other directions at once, and just trying not to fall apart in public takes about as much effort as she can manage. Only one person has seen her cry since she was a small child. She has no intention of changing that today, even if she can't stop thinking of Bodhi on that beach, of the burns on his arm the day he arrived, of the fact that he followed her and fought for her and died because of it.

People talk about those who've disappeared going home, like there's something peaceful in it, something normal. Jyn knows better than that. This is no different than her mother in that field when the 'trooper fired his blaster, than Saw in the catacombs, than her father in the drenching rain on Eadu. There's no home for Bodhi to go back to, and she's been left yet again.

Of course she has. She always knew she would. She knew perfectly damn well how dangerous it was to let people into her life and her heart like this, and she did it anyway, and now she's paying the price again. Up until now, she's been lucky. It isn't as if she hasn't lost anyone — she still thinks sometimes about Liesel, who reminded her so much of herself, and about Korra, and about Rey — but she kept her family, and now, once again, that's splintered, slipping through her fingers despite how tightly she's tried to hold onto it.

The only thing to do for that is to give herself distance. Standing in the kitchen, something in her chest feeling heavy and tight with grief, she fetches the first aid kit and thinks about packing a bag. She'll leave a note this time, answer any calls that come in, but she can't stay. Lincoln would take her in, she thinks first, then dismisses that possibility. He's too close. Maybe she'll find some seedy motel, the kind of place she spent more nights in than she could count in the years between Saw leaving her and getting arrested on Corulag, and wait out the aftermath there. First, though, she needs to bandage her hand. The damage isn't too bad, no bones broken, the bleeding not too heavy, just bruises and split skin over old scar tissue. Today isn't the first time she's hit a solid object. It won't be the last.

Her dominant hand being the injured one, though, taking care of it is a longer process than she would like it to be, her movements clumsy. The emotion closing her throat probably doesn't help with that, either. As such, she's still at the counter when she hears the front door open, and Jyn winces, first angry with herself for not having left yet, then guilty for thinking like that at all. "I'm in the kitchen," she calls, so Cassian will know she's here. Somehow, miraculously, she manages to keep her voice even, though her relief at his presence is at war with not knowing how the hell she's supposed to face him like this. She told him herself that everyone leaves, and has known from the beginning that she would lose him eventually, too. That fear has never been as visceral as it is now, though, and the only response to it she knows is to run.

The truth of the matter is, Jyn still really doesn't understand what the whole deal with Christmas is or what it's supposed to be. When it comes to decorating, she's only done what she's seen in stores or seen other people do, though she thinks that it's turned out alright, all things considered. The tree is still standing, despite a few near-mishaps with the lights and with Sprinkles, and she doesn't need to know why people put them up in the first place to like the way it looks in their new living room, casting a faint warm glow and still smelling like it did the first day she brought it in. Cleaning up once they get rid of it is probably going to be hell, but it will be worth it.

As far as she's concerned, it would be even just for this — Cassian's arms around her, the two of them curled up on the couch, Sprinkles nosing her way into a piece of wrapping paper discarded earlier. It still terrifies her sometimes, the moments when she catches herself thinking that she could get used to this, but she wants to, more than she would know how to say. Words have never really been her strong suit, anyway.

It's easier to turn her head enough to brush her lips against Cassian's shoulder, everything seeming for the moment calm and peaceful and still in a way she never really imagined she could be so comfortable with. Then again, she never would have imagined any of this for herself in the first place, from the holiday and all its odd trappings and traditions to where she is and whom she's with.

"Look, it looks like she's trying to wrap herself up, doesn't it?" she says then, a faint, fond sort of smile on her face as she nods in Sprinkles's direction. "I can't see that ending well."