I posted four short pieces as part of the Rebelcaptain Whumptober challenge @fulcrumstardust organized. Thanks for getting the ball rolling, Moira! ❤️ It was a lot of fun, although it definitely confirmed that I can't really do proper whump - angst or hurt/comfort are about as heavy as I get.
Two are stand-alone:
Radio Silence
the night needs no stars
and two are part of the Field Medicine AU:
Difficult Patient
don't wake me
I also posted a few short snippets under the #trick or treat tag recently.
I will not be doing NanoWriMo, mainly because I'm getting on a plane tomorrow and travelling for 18 days. But! Once I'm back home, I do plan to get properly started on the longfic project I've been pondering for months - I just have to decide which one.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso
Characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso
Additional Tags: MSF in space, Alternate Universe - Medical, Light Bondage, Under-negotiated Kink, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Sex
Series: Part 2 of Field Medicine
Summary:
So much anger is seething inside Jyn that she can’t see straight, and she doesn’t know how to bleed it off. It’s a constriction in her breath like a cracked rib, pain like an invisible bruise rising under her skin. She wants to hurt someone, anyone, but she has barely enough sense left not to pick a fight in a well-patrolled place like this; she’ll end up in the local jail and have to spend half her contract money on bail. That leaves the other alternative...
Inspiration for this one hadn't struck yet, and then two things happened yesterday: we had the first significant snow of the season, and the power went out.
[Note: this snippet is set in the same MSF canonverse AU as I fought the war (but the war won). If you haven't read that story, all you need to know is that it's still Star Wars - but Jyn is a journalist and Cassian is a medical aid worker.]
-
The ceiling light flickered and faded before dying altogether with a pop, leaving Jyn in the dark. The power was out—again.
Jyn rubbed her hands together until the friction generated an ember of warmth and folded them tightly around it as though she were praying. If she was the kind of person who prayed, she’d be begging for the heating to come back. She could shoot during the daytime without artificial lighting, or use the spotlights on her drone camera; its battery recharged on solar. But the damp cold of Aldhani had settled in the marrow of her bones.
Her head jerked up at a sound in the hall, just before there was a rap on her half-open door. “Jyn?” a familiar voice called. “There’s a fire in the lobby. Come down and stay warm.”
Of course Andor had come to track her down.
“I’m fine,” Jyn said, picking up her tablet and squinting at the dim glow of its screen.
“I can see you shivering from here. Helpful hint—gloves need fingers if you want them to actually keep your hands warm.”
“Alright, alright, I'm coming,” Jyn sighed, making a performance out of her grudging agreement. If she played along, maybe Cassian would sleep with her tonight—and she meant sleep, as in share blankets for body heat; Force knew it was too cold for sex.
She locked her camera away in its case before trailing after Cassian down the broad staircase to the grand lobby. Despite the high ceiling, it was relatively warm down here. The MSF crew lodged in the other wing of the hotel had closed all the doors leading out of the lobby and built a roaring bonfire in a huge stone hearth she suspected had been mainly ornamental until now.
They’d also dragged most of the furniture into the radius of the firelight. Jyn found a seat on an upholstered bench, and only bristled a little for show when Cassian sat beside her. A bottle of something was making its way around the circle. Cassian sniffed at it suspiciously and then tossed back a draught, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and passing the bottle to her.
Jyn drank and winced—it was even harsher than the stuff Melshi brought from home. She handed the bottle on to her neighbour and wrapped her arms around herself, staring into the fire. The flames crackled and sang and flowed in bright shapes that mesmerized her with a sense of formless patterns.
“Warm enough?” Cassian tipped his head down, checking on her.
Jyn blinked, half-blinded by starbursts of light behind her eyelids. “Could be warmer.” Mellowed by the drink, she pulled his arm around her and tucked herself into his side. Faint afterimages still streaked across her vision.
“Have you ever seen the Eye?” she asked. Cassian had mentioned that he’d been to Aldhani before; he’d taught her a few words of Dhani.
“No,” he said quietly. “It only happens every three years—the next time is more than a year away. And I don’t know if the Dhani want outsiders seeing it… but the Empire doesn’t.”
“I wish I could see it,” she said wistfully.
Aldhani had simmered under the Empire for years, never quite docile but grudgingly obedient. Then the Imps dammed a river and tried to flood the sacred valley—and the Dhani erupted. Their unexpected resistance had brought Jyn here, to this Imperial resort town built in the hope of turning pacified Aldhani into a tourist destination. So far, judging by the number of power outages, the Dhani were proving stubbornly unpacified.
Jyn and Cassian didn’t talk openly about politics—it was too dangerous. As the foster-daughter of a man the ISB had killed, Jyn mostly kept her head down and hoped they’d forgotten about her. But Cassian barely hid his smouldering hatred of the Empire. Jyn had seen him strain at the narrow bounds of faux “neutrality” MSF was forced to work within; she’d listened to him rage at being used as proof of official benevolence by the government that had caused the damage they were allowed to alleviate only in part.
“One day.” He pressed his cheek against her hair, speaking low into her ear, and his arm tightened around her. “One day we both will.”
For once, Jyn didn’t scoff at his unfounded hope. She only leaned into his side and closed her eyes and imagined what that would be like.
-
A/N: for some reason, this has become my AU of choice for domestic fluff? Probably because I can make it a happier universe in which the Empire is defeated a lot earlier than it happened in canon!
Happy birthday! I really loved your story "a little pain (never hurt anyone)" and would be so excited to see a snippet from Cassian's POV. Thank you!!
Thank you, anon! ❤️ This is a snippet of Cassian's thoughts in the aftermath of hurricane Jyn:
[ the story ]
Cassian stumbles into the fresher, catching a hip on the corner of the sink. He strips off the prophylactic and throws it in the disposal, splashes cold water on his face. He can still smell Jyn on his hands, still taste her…
What the fuck just happened? Why had she come here? Nothing she wanted him to do was that weird, but her mood was—she was nearly feral, snapping at him as though she was daring him to kick her out. She’s volatile, but she’s never seemed fragile to him before.
He thought he’d managed to give her what she wanted, but now, she wants nothing more than to be rid of him. She could barely stand his touch after they were done, but he couldn’t leave her alone until he was sure she was alright—at least physically.
She’s probably already disappeared. If it’s what she wants, he should let her go.
Cassian rips a strip off the flimsy paper wrap of a sterile dressing and scribbles his comm code on it. He has no idea what’s going on with Jyn, and he doesn’t want to know—but he doesn’t like the thought of her blundering around like this, trying to pick a fight. She’ll get hurt. At least this way, if she comms him, he might be able to pick up the pieces after something happens.
[Yes, I’m a day behind—yesterday was a complete shitshow at work! Hoping I can catch up with an extra piece on a future day.]
I got a couple of requests for the MSF AU, so here’s a little snippet of a friend trying to talk some sense into Jyn...
*
“He’s not here, so you can quit watching the door.”
“Hmm?” Jyn looks back at Maia and tips her head to the side quizzically, as though she has no idea what the other freelancer means.
Maia rolls her eyes. “Andor isn’t here. I interviewed Draven earlier today, and he told me he and that killer droid of his are on Metalorn.”
“That death trap?” The hair on the back of Jyn’s neck rises and she shivers, although this cantina is a tiny unventilated box and drops of sweat are already itching at her hairline. “What the fuck did Draven send him there for?”
“To do his job.” Maia’s voice is drier than the bottom of Jyn’s empty glass. She leans forward and stares at Jyn with an intimidating focus. “You know, watching you two is entertaining—mainly while I’m waiting for the screaming to start. But it would be so much easier for everyone else forced to be on the same planet as the two of you if you’d just admit that you like each other.”
Jyn scowls, scraping the hair off her neck and knotting it at the back of her head in a vain attempt to cool down. “We don’t like each other. We just keep running into each other and I figure I might as well take advantage. For an arrogant bastard, he’s a good lay.”
Maia’s just lifted her glass to take a drink; she laughs so hard that what’s left of her Corellian ale churns into bubbles.
“Glad you find my sex life so amusing,” Jyn grumbles.
“Hey, it’s hilarious, in a sad kind of way. You two could actually have a meaningful relationship, or as close to one as people in our line of work can get, and instead you’d rather spend it yelling at each other as foreplay.” She shakes her head. “I mean, whatever turns your engine over, but…”
“Oh, shut up.” Jyn stands up. “I’m going to get us another round, and you’re going to come up with another topic of conversation.”
But while she’s at the makeshift bar, waiting for the rusted bartender droid to pour another couple glasses of cheap ale, Jyn can’t help thinking about what Maia said. Is that really how it looks to other people? Do they think she and Cassian are compatible? How? He’s mid-Rim, well-educated, quiet but politically committed and passionate even if he has to suppress his opinions most of the time because of his job. She has the accent of a privileged Core Worlder (though she barely made it through primary education), doesn’t believe in wasting time on politeness, and is aggressively loud about not caring who’s shooting at who as long as she gets a decent recording.
Maybe there’s something deeper underneath their connection, some kind of vague recognition due to their matching abandonment issues or what the fuck ever. But Jyn isn’t a psych counsellor, she’s not about to start thinking that way.
She looks around the crowd jammed into the dingy cantina. If she wanted to, she could find another slumming tourist to screw inside of five minutes. They’re a dozen for a credit around here; all she’d have to do is lower her standards slightly.
The thing is, she doesn’t want to. Sex is a lot of fun, but it’s not like she needs it that badly, and she just isn’t interested in teaching another conceited jerk how to be a decent lover.
At least, that’s what she tells Maia when she gets back to the table with their drinks.
The other woman just shakes her head again. “You’re full of shit, Erso. I hope I’m still around when you finally admit it. Just don’t wait too long and lose your chance.”
For the anon who asked for an update from the MSF AU. I didn’t quite manage to work the bean soup in, but I hope this is close to what you wanted!
*
Jyn gets up from her knees, joints cracking, and leans backward from the waist to stretch out her aching spine. The fall air is cool, but an hour of crawling through the mud picking beans has left her hot and sweaty. Wiping her forehead with the back of her sleeve, she inspects the plastic bucket holding her harvest.
She’s collected a whole double handful of beans from the patch she planted with so much effort in the spring.
She props her hands on her hips and throws her head back with a sigh. Why did she expect any better? After all, she wasn’t on Tirahnn often enough to watch over them. And Cassian has trouble remembering to shower when he’s busy at the clinic, let alone water the garden at his home.
“Jyn!” Speak of the Jedi, here comes Cassian home from work, trailed by Kay. “How’s the harvest coming along?”
With a groan, she bends over to pick up the bucket. “Not very bountiful.” She tips it toward him, displaying her meagre haul.
He smiles at her. “Enough for a pot of soup, at least.”
Kay approaches, skirting around the edge of the plot, his heavy tread splattering her boots with more mud. “Beans were not the most appropriate crop. Based on my observations of the typical sunlight and precipitation in this region, you should have planted jilim instead,” he informs her. “They are more suited to this climate.”
Jyn doesn’t even know what those are, but she supposes she’ll find out if Kay’s already making plans to optimize the yield of next year’s garden. She sets the bucket back down on the ground and sighs, surveying the muddy plot with its untidy wobbling rows. “Good thing I never wanted to be a farmer.”
“The squash turned out well,” Cassian says, trying to cheer her up. Which is true; five or six head-sized gourds with warty, mottled rinds are nestled among the leaves. But they can wait until tomorrow. Right now, she’s too sore and grumpy to pick any more vegetables.
Cassian steps up behind her, linking his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head. “Come in and get clean while I start on the soup. There’s enough water for a hot bath. But only one.”
“Only one, you say?” Jyn leans against his chest and lifts a hand behind her, reaching to cup the back of his neck and ruffle his hair. “That’s a shame.”
“Isn’t it?” he says serenely. “Luckily, we can share.”
“I don’t require water for a bath.” Kay tilts his head. “But according to the readout on the cistern it is currently holding at least seventeen decalitres—”
“Hush, Kay.” Cassian kisses the top of Jyn’s head, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “We’re conserving water. For the garden.”
The door jerks open and Jyn whirls around, brandishing the pipe above her head—
It’s Kay. The tension drains from her shoulders and she drops the metal to the floor with a clang, barely missing her toes. “Still prowling, I see.”
“I’m patrolling,” he corrects her in the snippy tone he still enjoys using with her. “There are valuable items in this room. Why are you here, Jyn Erso? Cassian didn’t tell me that you were expected to arrive.”
*w* (you should never ask me for prompt) - so if you're inspired: 1. Shameless Fluff (of course) or 19. Domestic Bliss (I may have a thing here, shh) or 27. Substance Use - Alcohol, drugs, etc. (because I feel like it fits with the other two. Or not, no pressure.) Enjoy!!
It occurred to me that I’d never written any post-scripts to the (happy) ending of I fought the war (but the war won)... so once I thought about it, I couldn’t resist a little peek at domesticity in that AU.
If you haven’t read the original story, all you need to know is when they met, Cassian was a doctor working for the Star Wars equivalent of MSF and Jyn was a freelance reporter, but at this point, they’re older and semi-retired.
Also, this is definitely the most shamelessly fluffy thing I’ve ever written!
Rain is ticking on the metal roof, trickling down the shutters, and Cassian can hear the hollow rattle as it runs through the drainpipe on the side of the house to refill the cistern. He rarely uses the fireplace, but the evening air tonight carried a chill, so he lit one of the twisted bundles of dry grass used for fires on this planet of few trees. K-2 is taking an oil bath in the machine shed, after which he’ll depower for the night to avoid the damp—he doesn’t enjoy the rainy season on Tirahnn.
Cassian, on the other hand, loves it. It’s a quiet time of year for the clinic: a few infants born, a few chest infections, but generally not much else. Something about the fresh green scent of the cool air revives his spirit almost as much as the crisp bite of Fest’s winter once did.
And when Jyn visits him in the spring, the constant rain means they stay mostly indoors: long lazy days during which she grumbles about nothing to do, but he enjoys watching her sleep in and read and putter around in his pyjamas with a cup of tea, yawning, until he convinces her to come back to bed.
Every time Jyn returns to this house his heart lifts a little, even though by now he’s finally learned to believe her when she says she’ll come back. She’s spent far more time with him here on Tirahnn than he expected, to be honest; he never thought it would be more than a temporary waystop for her.
Instead, it’s gradually become a real home for both of them. Her favourite purple scarf hangs beside his medkit by the door; he buys the kind of whiskey she likes on his monthly shopping expeditions to the nearest city, and she brings back sweet dried chozen fruit for him. Her thumbprint gives her access to the house, the speeder, the data terminal (everything but the clinic’s medical records) and the scent of her is on his pillow.
RIght now she’s curled tight into his side on the sagging couch, her cheek pressed against his shirt and her arm looped around his waist. She was out in the rain earlier, digging in his neglected garden; her hair is still damp, and she’s borrowed one of his old sweaters. His hand steals beneath it and caresses the line of her back, up and down. The firelight makes her pale cheeks glow golden and catches on the fine hairs in her brows. The smoke from the burning hay on the hearth smells sweet.
“What did you plant?” he asks, idly curious.
“Some beans.” She yawns. “It was kind of fun to get my hands dirty, I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”
He kisses the top of her head. “And tomorrow you’re gone, and I’ll have to do all the weeding.”
She smiles with her eyes closed, and pokes him gently in the stomach. “You’re the one who gets to eat them.”
“I’ll save some for you,” he offers.
“You’re such a sap,” she mumbles into his chest.
“Yes, but I’m your sap.”
“You are,” she agrees, lifting her head, and the kiss she gives him is intense enough to prove she likes it that way.
Cassian shifts on to his back to gather her closer, pulling her weight on top of him. The chill in the air is dispelled by the warmth of her lips and her body covering his. While they kiss, slow, drowsy and delicious, he listens to the fire rustle and the rain fall, and his heart brims with quiet joy. Jyn goes away, but she’ll always come back, like the rain.
