She should get up, go to him, try to help. Once, Jyn would have done so without a second thought, least of all about her own emotional state. In a different lifetime, he'd seen her like this and worse. That wasn't now, though, something she had to forcibly remind herself again through the blurry mess of everything else. He hadn't seen this, and she didn't want him to; some part of her did still want to go hold him, but she had no idea now if that would be welcome or if it would only make things worse.
All of that was hypothetical, irrelevant, when she still could barely move or breathe. She watched him move, tear-filled vision adjusting to the dark, but she didn't really see, almost as if she wasn't in her own body at all. Wildly, almost desperately, she remembered something she'd learned from an older woman in Saw's cadre after having nightmares as a child, before she learned how to hide them. It seemed as worth a try as anything.
Five things you can see. Cassian. The opposite bunk. The closed door. Her own blanket, where it was held up to her face. Closet door.
Four things you can touch. Blanket. Bulkhead. The cord — her free hand found it — of her necklace. In the process, the racing pulse in her throat.
Three things you can hear. Her own shallow, rapid breathing. Cassian's equally rapid breathing. Soft footsteps on the bedroom floor.
Two things you can smell. Sweat. Him.
One thing you can taste. Salt, where tears had dampened her lips.
Jyn tried to breathe, still feeling as if that was a losing battle, and again took stock of what she knew. Cassian was awake, and had called her name. He was panting now and apologizing, and that was backwards. She should have been apologizing to him instead. The words wouldn't come, but she gave a short, sharp shake of her head that she hoped he would be able to see. "No, it's—" she tried, but that was wrong. "Me too."
no subject
All of that was hypothetical, irrelevant, when she still could barely move or breathe. She watched him move, tear-filled vision adjusting to the dark, but she didn't really see, almost as if she wasn't in her own body at all. Wildly, almost desperately, she remembered something she'd learned from an older woman in Saw's cadre after having nightmares as a child, before she learned how to hide them. It seemed as worth a try as anything.
Five things you can see. Cassian. The opposite bunk. The closed door. Her own blanket, where it was held up to her face. Closet door.
Four things you can touch. Blanket. Bulkhead. The cord — her free hand found it — of her necklace. In the process, the racing pulse in her throat.
Three things you can hear. Her own shallow, rapid breathing. Cassian's equally rapid breathing. Soft footsteps on the bedroom floor.
Two things you can smell. Sweat. Him.
One thing you can taste. Salt, where tears had dampened her lips.
Jyn tried to breathe, still feeling as if that was a losing battle, and again took stock of what she knew. Cassian was awake, and had called her name. He was panting now and apologizing, and that was backwards. She should have been apologizing to him instead. The words wouldn't come, but she gave a short, sharp shake of her head that she hoped he would be able to see. "No, it's—" she tried, but that was wrong. "Me too."