Rebellions are built on hope

Written for Cassian Andor Appreciation Week.

(Because deadlines are just suggestions, right?)

Day 4: Silence

Cassian was not a man of many words. But Bodhi was, so they split the difference.

When Bodhi was scared, his nervous chatter seemed to expand to fill every moment of silence. Cassian and the others had learned to tune it out, to turn it into soothing background noise, until Bodhi managed to calm himself down.

When Bodhi was happy, his words grew wings, and Cassian delighted in following them as they soared to further and further heights. Bodhi’s laugh was infectious, and even Cold Captain Andor had to smile at the sound if it. Bodhi’s eyes would light up, and Cassian’s would mirror them, growing wider and wider as Bodhi chattered on until he ran out of breath, or until Cassian ran out of willpower and kissed his smiling mouth.

When Bodhi was angry, his words turned bitter and sharp. Cassian would listen quietly, interrupting only if (when) Bodhi turned that anger back on himself. And when Bodhi was sad, Cassian had to coax him to speak, but he would, and Cassian would listen, and eventually, Bodhi would feel better.

Then, one day, Bodhi lost his voice. Cassian had almost forgotten the sound of silence.

He brought Bodhi herbal brews, their bitterness tempered by ossberry syrup, and wrapped him in the softest scarves he owned. But in the meantime, the silence chafed.

He tried to channel the easy banter of Willix, an alias he used when posing as “just your average guy” at seedy cantinas across the galaxy, *coincidentally* sitting beside off-duty stormtroopers with lips loosened by cheap brandy. But it was hard to keep up banter without someone to play off of. He tried to channel the smooth charm of Aach, another alias he may or may not have based off a handsome gambler he’d met at Canto Bight. But his flirtations made Bodhi laugh, and laughing made Bodhi cough, so they were back to square one.

Out of sheer desperation, Cassian started talking about the details of his day – something Bodhi somehow managed to make interesting, but Cassian did not. Bodhi pressed a finger to Cassian’s lips, and shook his head with a slight smile. Cassian tried to mirror the smile, but he felt uneasy. Silence around Bodhi was unnatural.

Then Bodhi leaned against him, his head heavy against Cassian’s chest, and Cassian listened to the even in and out of Bodhi’s breathing. He listened to the hum of the Rebels, organic and otherwise, passing by outside their quarters, the hum of the glowpanels and temp-regulator within. He listened to the sound of Bodhi shifting on the bed, fitting himself more comfortably into Cassian’s casual embrace. And he listened to the memory of Bodhi’s laugh, sure to be heard again many times, as he looked down at Bodhi’s now-silent smile.

Surrounded by this beautiful symphony, Cassian felt at peace.

Written for Cassian Andor Appreciation Week.

(Because deadlines are just suggestions, right?)

Day 1: Dreams

It wasn’t unusual for Bodhi to wake sobbing from a nightmare. Cassian could often tell which one it was without being told.

The insistent “I defected. I defected!” meant he was in Saw’s caves. If he started whimpering, it meant Saw had brought out Bor Gullet. Crying Stordan Tonc’s name usually meant Scarif, as did shouting the names of too many soldiers to get in, kriff it! before he had to take off, to avoid going down with the planet. Crying for his mother was self-explanatory – he hadn’t gotten leave to go to her funeral, had never gotten a chance to say goodbye. Depending on the tone, a repeated “I’m sorry!” could mean different nightmares. Rapid-fire, almost shrill repetitions, matched with quick, shallow breaths, usually meant something to do with life in the Imperial Army, while a slow, mournful tone meant remembering NiJedha, and how it fell.

No matter the nightmare, Cassian would hold Bodhi in his arms and whisper “I’m here,” until the sobbing ceased.

Sometimes, Bodhi would talk afterward, about the nightmare, or about whatever thoughts jumped through his jumbled mind, and Cassian would listen. Or sometimes he’d get up, and Cassian would wait while he paced the corridors until he tired himself out enough to lay down again. Sometimes he’d ask Cassian to talk to him, or even to sing. Cassian knew he had no voice for singing, but Bodhi found it soothing, and Cassian took satisfaction in that. Very rarely, Bodhi would be calm enough, or exhausted enough, to fall back asleep on his own.

After Bodhi fell back asleep, Cassian would close his eyes. He’d listen to the rhythmic in and out of Bodhi’s breath, feel the warmth of the body beside him, the weight of him in his arms. He’d concentrate on this moment, this warm, dark, safe moment, until his heart, too, was calm enough to let him rest. No matter how often Bodhi woke him with a nightmare, Cassian always slept better when Bodhi was in his arms.

Cassian got nightmares too, of course, but he didn’t like to wake Bodhi. Bodhi had made a near-complete recovery from Bor Gullet, but his mind still drifted sometimes, and he got confused easily when he was tired. So Cassian tried to shield him from unnecessary disturbances, and refused to become one himself.

Despite his best efforts, though, sometimes he would wake Bodhi with his sobbing. And Bodhi would hold him and whisper “I’m here,” until the sobbing would cease.

Cassian never talked about his nightmares. Not with Bodhi, nor with anyone else. Bodhi didn’t like it, but he respected Cassian’s boundaries. When it came up, he’d smile sadly and tell Cassian that he knew he’d talk when he was ready. And Cassian would avoid his eyes, knowing that day would never come. Because what he couldn’t tell Bodhi was this:

Bodhi never woke from Cassian’s nightmares.

Cassian had learned early on not to cry about the horrors he lived through, so why bother crying over horrors he only imagined? No, Cassian only cried when he dreamed about his family. His father’s smile or his papa’s laugh. His sister’s conspiratorial whisper when she told him things he was too young to know about, but she, at eight, understood completely. His grandparents, his aunts and his uncles, and oh so many cousins, celebrating a birthday, a promotion, or a wedding. In his dreams, he remembered his family, and he saw them, alive and intact and so happy, all together back on Fest.

And when he awoke, he remembered. And he sobbed.