It's nice, the way he touches her, and though it occurs to Jyn briefly that she probably ought to apologize for the fact that she can't remember the last time she washed her hair or how long it's been, she lets it go. She didn't make him put his hand there, and she's too unaccustomed to this — to simple, easy affection, even if she can't understand his directing it at her now — to want to give him a reason to change his mind. Instead, she closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in deep, trying to commit this to memory. She can still feel his arms around her on the beach on Scarif, still picture with sickening clarity the way his body looked as it fell down the vault. This, she wants to remember just as vividly, something to remember after it's gone, to counter what her imagination can conjure up.
"I hadn't really thought that far yet," she says, though there's a certainty in her voice that suggests that she would have come up with something suitable. If nothing else, she'd have fought every possible doctor and nurse and whoever else to get herself out of here, though after that, it's a blank. "I didn't want to be, either."
For years now, she's been alone — or she was, before Cassian told her welcome home and gave her one for the first time since she was with Saw, a gravitational pull in the words that she's not sure even she could have fought against — but this is different. Being the only one to survive the mission and the reason all of them were there in the first place is more than she can bear the thought of shouldering. Dying, she was fine with, but living with all of that on her conscience?
Again, she thinks that she and the Death Star might just be more alike than not, both with kyber at their hearts, both destroying everything in their paths, designed for nothing more.
Head ducked again, unable to bring herself to meet his gaze for this, she falls silent for a few seconds, working up the will to ask what she already knows the answer to. She needs confirmation, though, and he's the only one who can give it. "It's just us, isn't it?" she asks, her voice a little softer. "None of the others... They couldn't have made it."
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"I hadn't really thought that far yet," she says, though there's a certainty in her voice that suggests that she would have come up with something suitable. If nothing else, she'd have fought every possible doctor and nurse and whoever else to get herself out of here, though after that, it's a blank. "I didn't want to be, either."
For years now, she's been alone — or she was, before Cassian told her welcome home and gave her one for the first time since she was with Saw, a gravitational pull in the words that she's not sure even she could have fought against — but this is different. Being the only one to survive the mission and the reason all of them were there in the first place is more than she can bear the thought of shouldering. Dying, she was fine with, but living with all of that on her conscience?
Again, she thinks that she and the Death Star might just be more alike than not, both with kyber at their hearts, both destroying everything in their paths, designed for nothing more.
Head ducked again, unable to bring herself to meet his gaze for this, she falls silent for a few seconds, working up the will to ask what she already knows the answer to. She needs confirmation, though, and he's the only one who can give it. "It's just us, isn't it?" she asks, her voice a little softer. "None of the others... They couldn't have made it."