No but this is excellent, OP. And it's not even totally the committed to the cause thing, either-- it's the fact that, once Cassian makes a decision, he Does The Damn Thing, even if it's the Riskiest Fucking Option. When he's in, he's all in. The boy commits. (Crimes, violence, to the Rebellion, to Jyn....)
"Lieutenant," says Draven, a headache building along his optic nerve. "Your brief was to observe the facility and report your findings, and then we'd send in a team if it was deemed a plausible target."
"I understand," says Lieutenant Andor, swaying stubbornly in front of the chair before Draven's desk. "I decided there wasn't the time. Comms chatter indicated they were moving 'troopers planetside in less than four standard hours, and approval would take too long."
I wanted to go in, and someone would tell me not to do it, Draven translates. His eye twitches, and he gestures at the chair. "Sit down, Lieutenant."
"I'm fine standing, sir," Andor says. There's a dark wet stain on his shoulder, but it's difficult to tell if it's the lieutenant's blood or--
Well. It seems like there were quite few options as to whose blood it might be.
"I don't generally like to send in my people without the proper equipment and overhead for that sort of job, Lieutenant," Draven says.
"I was able to improvise," Andor says. "Plenty of blades if you go in through the kitchen." While Draven processes this, a liquid plop on the floor draws his attention.
"You're bleeding on my floor, Lieutenant."
"Sorry, sir," says Andor, still not moving towards the chair.
Draven considers the problem before him-- and there's no question, it is a problem. Andor may have just eliminated-- assassinated-- murdered, Davits, call it what it is--- a mid-level Imperial officer known to have participated in several incidents of torture and at least two of the man's guards, but he'd also done it without official approval, with no backup, and on nothing more than gut instinct. He digs into a drawer in the bottom of his desk while he thinks, and comes out with a crumpled bacta patch. If he tells Andor to go to medical, the bastard will just go and bleed in his bunk out of contrariness.
"I think it's expired, but it should still stop the bleeding. Sit down and patch yourself up," he says. Andor makes to disagree, but Draven makes a sharp gesture with his hand. "Sit, Lieutenant. And tell me exactly what you did in there."
And Draven listens, bracing himself to make a hell of a lot of excuses to the Council over the next several years.
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