nextchance | (no subject)

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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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."