Jyn Erso (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nextchance) wrote2019-08-01 03:23 am
nextchance) wrote2019-08-01 03:23 am
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(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.
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."