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In the dark, Jyn waits.

She isn't sure how long she's been doing so, or how much longer she'll need to. Her thoughts have been a jumble since she first found herself here, in the small underground cave she knows so well, until eventually she's stopped trying to comprehend them. The pieces just don't fit. But she waits, because she knows she's supposed to wait for someone to come for her, everything just like it was before. For all she knows, it isn't even real. She's had so many nightmares set here, buried so much of her life here, left a part of herself behind that she could never get back. It doesn't make sense that she should be back here now, when she knows how this story ended — that her father left with the men who killed her mother, that Saw came and took her away until he left her, too — but even with a ladder and a hatch to the outside, memory overrides everything else. They practiced this. She never quite believed it was the game her parents tried to say it was. She knows her part, and that she's supposed to stay hidden until it's safe.

Down here, there's no light, the lantern she once clutched no longer working. Her hand wraps around her mother's crystal instead, an instinct she's had since she was given the necklace in the first place, that same day everything ended. The men who did it might still be there, except they aren't, because that was so many years ago. Part of her knows that. Part of her is right back where she was that day, unable to separate the past from the present, sitting and staring and waiting because it's what she did then and has to be what she'll do now.

At one point, her eyes close; it could be for seconds or minutes or hours, though it feels like little more than just blinking. Her head aches, and her mouth feels dry, and very, very distantly, she's aware that there's something that she's not getting, that she should be able to piece together. Soon that thought is lost to her too, though. She's here but she's not, a little girl who was pulled from a cave but who never really got out. For all she knows right now, this is all that's left, the small, dark space seeming smaller and darker, like it's closing in around her.

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The day before, Jyn missed work.

After working with both groups of kids on his own, not wanting to disappoint them, Lincoln had called Jyn's phone with a dark feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, expecting it to go to that awful pre-recorded message that would tell him his friend's phone was no longer in service. Such an innocuous recording that says so much.

But the call had connected and he'd listened to the ringing until it went to Jyn's voicemail, where he had left a message, asking her to call him back. With that done, he'd called Cassian, and it's because his call to Jyn had connected that hearing that recorded message after dialing Cassian's number hits him so hard. He calls Jyn twice more, then decides to give her space until the next day, and when she still doesn't answer, he goes to her house.

Whether or not she wants to see him doesn't matter. He's not leaving her alone in this.

What he expects to find is Jyn sitting in the dark of her home, possibly drinking, but what he finds instead is her little dog barking furiously at what looks like a rock in the yard. He crosses the yard, looking at the rock, knowing it wasn't there the last time he was out here and he stares at it for a long moment before he realizes what it is.

Lifting, his arms straining a little, Lincoln pushes up the hatch. The hinges move easily, too easily he worries, and he peers down into the dark below. Sprinkles is finally quiet beside him, sniffing the air that comes out of the cave below and Lincoln drops into a crouch so he can get a better look inside.

"Jyn?"

She half-expects it to be Saw who opens the hatch. Immediately, Jyn knows that isn't right, that Saw left her and then he died when Jedha crumbled around them. Right now, she hardly feels present in her own body or mind, though, never mind any particular place or time. If asked, she wouldn't know where or when she is. At least, not until Lincoln's face comes into view, familiar and tethering her to something that's been out of reach since she first found herself back down here.

It still doesn't make sense, but she returns to herself somewhat in that moment, a visible shift in her expression as she draws in a breath, what feels like coming to even though she was already conscious. This isn't in her head. Lincoln is really there, and though she's still not sure what she's doing here or how long it's been, at least she's somewhat aware again, if dazed.

Jyn blinks up at him, wide-eyed, and swallows hard, taking a few moments before she speaks. "How did—" she starts, then rolls her shoulders, stretching her back as she pulls herself to her feet. Her limbs feel tired, but she's used to running on empty, as it were, and she isn't just going to stay all the way down here looking up at him. She doesn't need to. She doesn't want to, either. This cave has haunted her since she was a child, leaving her tense and shaken now. Besides, if he's here, she can trust that it's safe.

She just has to will herself to actually move, to snap herself out of this haze she's been in. Slowly, she reaches for the first rung of the little ladder below the hatch. With her head tipped up, she asks, "What happened?"

Edited 2019-08-02 06:33 (UTC)

"I don't know," Lincoln answers. He doesn't want to start with what he's figured about Cassian, not when Jyn is in a hole in the ground, and he reaches out one hand to help her up the ladder as she climbs. First he has to get her out. The rest can follow.

She doesn't know. That much he's aware of. If she was hiding in this hole because Cassian is gone, he knows she wouldn't be coming out so easily, letting him help her up the ladder and back into the fresh air. If the cave was a place she felt safe, protected, somewhere she could deal with the loss, then she would stay here. And she wouldn't be asking him what happened.

"You didn't come to work yesterday," he says. "I called, but you didn't answer, so I came to look for you." Above ground, Jyn's little dog sniffs the hole and whines. "Sprinkles was here barking."

Yesterday. It seems like longer than she thought, except Jyn has just enough awareness to know that she couldn't have possibly have determined that one way or the other. Time, while she's been down here, has both stood still and dragged on indefinitely. She doesn't know when yesterday even was, from her own perspective. Now that she isn't alone and isn't quite so lost, it's frightening to consider how this could have happened, how she spent so long just shut down. As she glances back behind her, though, taking Lincoln's hand with one unsteady, dirt-smudged one, she's not sure how she could have done otherwise, transported somehow into the worst part of her past. Even knowing what Darrow can do and the ways in which the past can come back to haunt a person, this seems distinctly, disorientingly wrong.

"Sorry," she says quietly, finally pulling herself up to the surface. The sky is grey, a light rain falling, like on Lah'mu the day Saw came for her, but this is clearly the yard of her house, where she was all along. Gradually, things are starting to become a little clearer, no matter how off-kilter and ill she feels over this whole thing. Even having been unable to help it, she's a little guilty, too, over having inadvertently stood Lincoln and their students up, realizing that if he worried, others must have as well.

"I think... I think I woke up here." It fits. If she woke up there, of course she wouldn't know how she got there, or be able to make sense of where or when she was. Nodding slowly to herself, she frowns. She doesn't swing the hatch shut yet, sitting on the ground and looking down into it again for a moment before turning back towards Lincoln. "Does Cassian think I left?"

It wouldn't be the first time, and she couldn't blame him if she did, but she hates the thought of it all the same, mostly for that reason. Now that she's got some grasp on reality, she has to find out what she's missed.

At Lincoln's feet, Sprinkles sniffs the ground, then Jyn's hip, circling her master, pacing in a way he's not sure he's ever seen the little dog dog before. Something about this is still stressing her out and he has a feeling the dog somehow knows Cassian is gone. Some kind of canine sense he suddenly wishes they shared, because he has absolutely no idea how to break this sort of news to Jyn.

She's his best friend. His family. If their positions were reversed, she would tell him and she would do it plainly rather than trying to beat around the bush in order to hurt him less. No matter how he says it, it's going to hurt.

Crossing his legs, Lincoln sits down beside her and looks into the hole where he'd found her. The ground is wet from the rain and the cold water seeps into his jeans, but he ignores it and stares down into the dark. If she goes back down there once he's delivered this news, he'll go down with her. He'll stay with her for as long as he needs to. Victra will understand.

"He's gone, Jyn," he says, his voice soft. "I called him when I couldn't reach you and the phone went to the recorded message that says his number is no longer in service."

Somehow, Jyn thinks she knows the moment before he says it what Lincoln is about to tell her. It's the pause before he speaks, or maybe the way Sprinkles is acting, or even just the fact that her head is still a mess and she hasn't wholly separated the past from the present. The last time she was in this cave, the last time she climbed out of it, she'd been abandoned, her family gone. It fits that the same would be true now, that their time together would finally have run out under circumstances like these. She always knew it would, really. Even when she signed the papers that made them legally married, she was perfectly aware that they weren't promising that they'd always be together, just that they would choose to be, if they had a choice. They never did, though. Nothing lasts forever. Everyone leaves. That fact just might be the only constant in her entire life.

Hearing it still feels like being physically struck, no matter how gently Lincoln speaks. This blow isn't one that could be softened.

She can't quite look at him, her face unchanging but her wide eyes brimming with tears as she nods to herself. With Lincoln right here, she knows better than to think that she's alone, but it feels close enough to it. Cassian is gone, and she knows perfectly well what was waiting for him back there, because it was waiting for her, too. That she should get to be here when he isn't doesn't seem fair. Neither does having lost him now, too, no matter how inevitable that might have been.

"Oh," she says, barely more than a breath. "So that's that, then."

"I'm sorry."

He isn't apologizing because she'll think he's to blame as the one delivering the news, but he is sorry for the pain he knows she's feeling. Darrow isn't all that different from the world he's come from in this sense, in the way it just takes people away and never gives them back. Over the years, Lincoln has lost so many people he loves to war or to the Mountain Men or to disease they were unable to prevent and he's so terribly sorry that someone he loves so much now is experiencing that same pain.

There's barely any distance between them and Lincoln closes it, sliding his arm around Jyn, leaning close to her. It hurts him, too, because he had really liked Cassian, had enjoyed the friendship they were building, one that had perhaps begun because they both loved Jyn so much, but had also developed into something in its own right. It hurts him, but he knows what he feels is barely even a fraction of what she's feeling.

"I'm so sorry, Jyn," he says again, leaning his forehead against her hair.

Instinctively, Jyn wants to pull away. Even with as untethered as she feels, though, in so many different ways, she has just enough sense not to. It's an old habit, one she'd stupidly thought mostly buried but coming back to the surface. Keeping people at arm's length is safer; it's how she's survived. If only she'd adhered to that here, if she'd been strong enough not to let her emotions get the best of her, she wouldn't be left now with this gaping chasm where her life used to be. Part of her hates it, that her first response is to regret what she had because she's lost it. Another part of her, though, is already building those walls back up again. If she could lose Cassian, then she could lose anyone. Lincoln may be sitting next to her apologizing, but for all she knows, he'll be next. It's an unfair line of thought, perhaps, but then, so is everything about this situation.

Although she tenses, she stays put, breathing through the overwhelming impulse to start crying. If she falls apart now, she has a feeling she'll never pull herself back together, and she can't let that happen, Saw's earliest lessons to her after she lost her parents echoing in her head. She's never been able to keep anyone in her life. There's no reason why she should have thought this time would be any different.

"I can't stay here," she says after a few moments' silence, her voice pitched low so it won't be too unsteady. Everything about this place suddenly feels different. She let herself settle, and she shouldn't have, because what was once the home she thought she'd finally found for herself is now empty and hostile. There's no reason for her to stay. "Can I sleep at your place tonight?"

"Of course," he says. Jyn will always have a place with him, there's absolutely no question of that. Even if Victra is at his place tonight, he knows she won't protest either, he knows she'll want Jyn to be as comfortable as possible, whatever that means in a situation like this.

Either way, he won't leave her alone. If she hadn't asked to come stay with him, he would have stayed here. He can't fix this, would never even attempt to, but he can still be here. Still make sure she knows he hasn't gone, too.

"You're always welcome," he says softly. "And for as long as you need, there's a place for you."

If it were up to her, if circumstances were different, Jyn wouldn't even go in the house at all. Only the thought of the animals, and a vague, far-off concern for how long they must have been alone convinces her otherwise. Sprinkles seems alright, at least, if aware that something is wrong, crawling into her lap where she's still sitting on the damp ground. The cat and the porg must be inside. She'll have to find somewhere else for them. She can't stay here, and she can't put down roots again yet, either, or maybe not ever. Obviously to do so in the first place was a mistake, one that has now netted disastrous results. For now, at least, she'll pull herself together enough to feed them and grab the clothes she needs and leave it at that. The rest, she'll try to deal with when she's at least feeling a little more present. She was out of her head for a day or so; it's not as easy as just snapping back into the present.

"Thanks," she mumbles, then gathers Sprinkles up into her arms so she can carefully shift, the first step towards pulling herself to her feet. She barely feels like she can move, but she doesn't want to stay here any longer than is strictly necessary, surrounded by reminders of a life she should have known better than to think could truly be hers. "I need to pack. It won't take long."

Lincoln nods as he gets to his feet, then holds his hand out to Jyn to help her if she wants. There isn't a lot he can do and he knows it. He can't make it better for her, he can't bring Cassian back. All he's capable of is giving his friendship to her and that is something she'll always have, for as long as he's here.

He wishes he could promise that will be forever, but he knows he can't.

"Do you need some help?" he asks. "I can get things together for Sprinkles. Food and bowls, things like that." He's never had a pet himself, but he thinks he can work out easily enough the sorts of things they'll need to bring for the little dog. Anything at all he can do to make this easier.

Buying herself a moment to consider that, Jyn takes Lincoln's hand to get to her feet, setting Sprinkles back down on the ground as she does. She feels tired, weaker than she would like, having to remind herself at the realization of it that she hasn't eaten and probably hasn't really slept in over a day. That used to be commonplace for her, but somewhere down the line, she stopped being used to living like that. She's gone soft, Saw would say. Part of her thinks that his feelings on any subject shouldn't matter. Part of her thinks he would be right. All those walls and sharp edges that she constructed to protect herself got worn down and blunted, and she should have known better. If she had, she wouldn't feel like she does now.

The fact of that makes her reluctant to accept help. The sooner she gets away from here, though, the better, so she nods. "Yeah," she says. "Hope you don't mind if I bring her with me." Of the animals that have come to live with them — with her, now — Sprinkles is the one to whom she's most attached. The others, she can rehome, but not that little dog. "I'll pack my bag while you do that."

"Of course not," he says. Victra might not have liked it very much, he doesn't know how she feels about dogs, but she isn't there with him right now anyway. If she comes over for whatever reason, if she feels they need to talk, then he isn't going to kick Jyn or her dog out. He and Victra can find privacy elsewhere.

"Come on," he says gently, reaching down briefly to stroke the dog's ears. She actually seems to like Lincoln, which he appreciates, given just how much he's come to love dogs after having been afraid of them at first.

They head for the house and Lincoln leaves Jyn to it, suspecting she might need the space, and he begins to pack for Sprinkles as she follows him around and studies him.

In some ways, Jyn has never shed the habits that come from a lifetime spent on the run. No matter how much has changed, no matter the dangerous extent to which she let herself settle down, she never could rid herself of that entirely. Her decorating is sparse, her belongings few. When she never knew at what point she would have to pack up and leave, being able to gather her things at a moment's notice and carry her life along with her, or to have only things that she wouldn't mind leaving behind, was necessary. She just never really thought she would have to put that into practice here.

She does, though. It takes her only a few minutes to pack the duffel bag she stored under her bed. Most of her clothes fit inside it; she leaves only a few in drawers. The drawing Lincoln once gave her of herself, the first item of any sentimental value she let herself keep besides the crystal already hanging around her neck, gets carefully folded and stored, and she fits her computer and its charger in as well.

Two and a half years, and this is what her life amounts to.

Everything of Cassian's goes untouched, as does everything he gave her. She can't go near any of it yet, unable to decide what she wants to do in the first place. So with her bag slung over her shoulder and her jaw set in determination, mostly so she won't do something stupid like start crying, she heads back to where she knows Lincoln will be. "Alright," she says. "This is everything."

"I think I've got everything for Sprinkles, too," he says, lifting the bag. He notices the size of Jyn's bag, but he says nothing, because it's not all that out of the ordinary for him. All Lincoln's life, he'd had so little, and he had been perfectly comfortable with that. The only things that ever really mattered were his weapons and his sketchbook. If he needed to pack his apartment even now, leave within minutes, he would easily be able to do so.

Things don't matter to him. There are times when he almost wishes they did. It seems so much more normal to have more things than one knows what to do with, but that just isn't him and he knows it isn't Jyn either.

"It's just the couch," he tells her. "But you can take the bed and I'll sleep out in the living room."

"It's fine," Jyn says, shaking her head. Nothing about this is anywhere close to fine, but sleeping arrangements are the least of her concerns right now. It's enough to have somewhere to stay that isn't here. She's hardly picky about such things, and she wouldn't want anyone going out of their way for her. "You don't need to give up your bed for me. The couch is good." She can guarantee that it won't be the worst place she's slept. For that matter, she can't guarantee that she'll sleep at all, exhausted though she may be. She feels too fucked in the head for that.

Keeping her bag on her shoulder, she sets about leaving food and water out for the cat and the porg. The latter will be fine, more self-sufficient than is customary for house pets anyway. The cat, she feels a little worse about leaving, but she'll check back tomorrow, or maybe ask someone to come by. She just can't be here, and it's enough to be bringing Sprinkles with her.

"Okay. Let's go."

Lincoln only nods rather than bother trying to convince Jyn otherwise. He knows she's not in a good state right now and he doesn't want to make it worse for her in any way. She needs a friend right now, just to have someone nearby and Lincoln can do that.

He can be quiet, he can just be around, he can make Jyn as comfortable as he thinks she's going to be. It won't be everything, he can't fix this. But he can there for her.

So they leave without saying anything else. Lincoln figures there really isn't much else to say.

Jyn has left behind a lot of places in her life, usually without so much as a second thought or a glance backwards. Not since she fled Lah'mu as a child has it felt as difficult as this, though. Part of her keeps thinking that something is wrong, that there's some mistake, that Cassian will turn up just in time to stop her from leaving. She knows that isn't true, though. Lincoln wouldn't have told her if he weren't sure; he wouldn't be that cruel. The house seems empty, anyway, quiet and abandoned and unwelcoming, nowhere she'd be comfortable spending a moment longer than necessary.

As they walk away, she steels herself, determinedly not looking back over her shoulder at the place she had, for a little while, let herself call a home. She won't be that foolish again. What she'll do with the house, she doesn't know. The thought of selling it is a little too devastating to bear, but she'll never be able to live there.

They're a little ways away when she finally breaks the silence. "I'm glad you came," she says, quiet and fairly flat. "Don't know how long I would've been there if you hadn't found me."

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