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Day 5: Favorite Dynamic/Relationship, Hope

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For Cassian Appreciation Week

Day 5: Favorite Dynamic/Relationship  ❙ Alternative prompt: Hope

Cassian Andor had seen many people broken. By war, official or otherwise. By poverty. By impossible choices. By the sheer hopelessness of daily oppression from the Empire, and, if he was being truly honest, from the Republic before them. He had gotten used to seeing people break, and he no longer let it get to him.

But sometimes, it still did.

Luke Skywalker had joined the Rebellion as a teenager. Fresh-faced farm-boy from a sandy rock in the middle of nowhere. Reeling from sudden loss, but still full of youthful enthusiasm. Still full of hope. Cassian couldn’t stand to see it die in him.

Rebellions are built on hope, he’d told Jyn, and Jyn had repeated his words to the Council. And somehow, those words had become true. It had become a kind of catch-phrase, the unofficial slogan of the Rebellion. Cassian had heard those words come back to him time and again over the next five years. General Organa, bolstering the failing faith of a battle-weary soldier. Veterans inspiring the fearful new recruits. Wise-asses, throwing it around every time they heard someone say I hope we don’t have faux-bantha stew again tonight. Erso, muttering to herself when she thought no one was listening. (Or maybe she did know he was listening. It was hard to tell with Jyn.)

It seemed to be commonly accepted that Rebellions were Built On Hope. But what about what came next?

The war was over now. Cassian was not so naïve as to think that the work was over, too. He knew that this war, any war, was merely one battle in the fight that would never truly end. Still, there might be some respite, every once in a while. In this moment of calm, they’d earned the chance to regroup, to look back on what they’d accomplished, and to enjoy it.

Shara Bey had lost no time and had begun enjoying right away. The wedding was so rushed, they hadn’t even bothered inviting anyone. She and Dameron had just held the ceremony right here on base, and whoever happened by was free to celebrate with them.

Bodhi Rook had gone off to visit Baze Malbus, one of the only other surviving NiJedhans. They were rebuilding Jedha City, or rather, building anew – nothing could replace that ancient site of pilgrimage – and Rook thought he might stay on and help. He thought he might even help out a bit with the scrolls Malbus was writing, dedicated to that other monk Cassian had known so briefly.

Erso was planning to find some out-of-the-way planet, the sandier the better, to settle down, and never think about war or rebellion again. Cassian gave her three standard weeks. It was the most generous bet in the pool.

Lando Calrissian had returned to Cloud City. Class stratification had worsened in his absence, and Lando realized that he needed to make some changes before it became another Canto Bight. If some of Cassian’s favorite jackets happened to go missing the same day he left, it was surely just a coincidence. As was the sun-yellow shimmersilk cape hanging in their place in Cassian’s wardrobe.

But what of the fresh-faced farmboy? The brash young hotshot who’d destroyed the Death Star? The sandy-haired kid whose care and faith and hope had made even the most cynical smuggler stick around and join the fight? That young boy was dead and gone, replaced by a stony faced Jedi. The very last one, as far as anyone knew. So many millennia of tradition would die, at last, with him.

Cassian couldn’t bear it. He’d been young once, too. He’d believed in the goodness of people,  the rightness of the galaxy, and he’d had it crushed out of him by the time he was six. Skywalker hadn’t, and this had saved him. He couldn’t lose it now, not when they finally had time to put down their weapons and be free.

Skywalker was sitting alone in the mess hall. It wasn’t hard to find an empty table – since the war had officially ended, most people had left the Base and gone home. The only ones left were those without a home to go to. Cassian gave a nod to General Draven, also sitting alone, but passed his table to join Skywalker instead. The young man looked up, surprised, when Cassian sat down.

“Captain Cassian Andor,” Cassian introduced himself.

“I know who you are,” Skywalker said off-handedly. Then he smiled ironically. “I assume you know who I am too, don’t you?”

Cassian nodded, taken aback.

“Well you can just call me Luke. No title needed. The war is over, apparently, so we’re all civilians now.”

Cassian huffed a laugh. “I guess so. That’ll take getting used to. I haven’t been a civilian since I was six years old.”

Luke’s eyes grew wide, and his cynical mask slipped. “Six? You – What? – That’s terrible! You were a child!”

“I didn’t officially join up until I was eight,” Cassian amended, but Luke’s eyes just grew wider. “I mean twelve?” This conversation wasn’t going the way he’d hoped.

“I was nineteen when I joined up,” Luke said, staring off into the distance. “I thought I was so young. I was just sheltered, I guess. Six,” he repeated with a touch of despair.

“That’s just what I’d like to talk to you about,” Cassian said firmly, pleased to see Luke turn back to him, the dazed look fading. “Nineteen is young, should be young. And it can be young again. These children growing up now, and the ones who come after them – they won’t have to fight like we did. They’ll get to have a childhood, a real childhood, in a free galaxy. And we have to help shape that galaxy for them.”

“Shape the galaxy…” Luke turned away. “What do you propose? What master plan do you have for the galaxy’s glorious new future?” His voice was bitter.

“No, no, nothing like that! Please, I’m from a Separatist planet, I would never suggest…” Cassian shook his head vehemently. “No, I would never suggest we take away choice, just when it’s finally become possible again. But what are the choices offered to these children? Freedom is a half-gift if there’s nothing left to hope for.”

“Rebellions are built on hope,” Luke quipped ironically. Then he started. “Oh shavit, I’m sorry, I forgot you were the one –”

Cassian just laughed. “We don’t need to reuse those tired old words anymore,” he replied. “It’s not a rebellion now. It’s peace. It’s possibility. And what will you bring to it?”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know. I… I know I should be happy – ecstatic even – but honestly, I just feel tired. I reconciled with my father, saw the good in him, got him to see the good in himself, just in time to lose him. We won the war, and I’m thrilled, but once the parties died down, I just – I feel like I don’t know where to go next.”

“It’s normal to feel this way,” Cassian assured him. (He certainly hoped it was.) “Take your time, but don’t wallow. Think – what is it you wish you had had, when you were younger?”

“A teacher,” Luke said automatically. “I don’t mean I never went to school or anything. But I wish I’d had more training as a Jedi. I got about three lessons from Master Kenobi before I lost him, and I had longer with Master Yoda, but it still wasn’t enough. And I felt so stupid, getting these basic lessons when I was already fully-grown. I wish I’d had those lessons as a kid, like I was supposed to.”

“Then that’s what you can offer,” Cassian said earnestly.

Luke perked up. “I guess you’re right. I probably won’t be the best teacher in the galaxy, but I’m the best we’ve got right now. I won’t let that go to waste.”

“Now all you need is children.”

“Are you propositioning my brother?”

“W-what?” Cassian sputtered, whipping around. Princess Leia – General Organa – whatever she was going by these days – was standing half a meter away, smiling that enigmatic smile of hers. “N-no, Your Highness – General – I was just…”

“Call me Leia. As my brother keeps telling me, we’re all civilians now. What were you saying about children, then?”

Cassian regained his composure, ignoring the mirth in Luke’s eyes. This was the thanks he got for trying to cheer the boy up? “I was just saying, Your – Leia – that Luke should become a teacher. Train the next generation of Jedi. And for that, he’ll need children. Not necessarily his own,” he added, blushing under Leia’s amused smirk. How could such a young woman be so intimidating?

“Oh, good, so borrowed will do? That’s good because – and I haven’t told anyone else, not even Han, and I will kill you both if anyone finds out about this – you just might have your first student soon.”

Luke’s eyes lit up again. “Oh, Leia, that’s wonderful news! Congratulations!”

“Shh!” she shushed him, but she was still smiling. Cassian took the opportunity to start to slink away.

“Wait, what about you?” Luke asked, and Cassian sat back down, chagrined.

“What about me?” Cassian asked innocently.

“What will you offer to this Glorious New Future?”

Cassian shrugged.

“Glorious New Future?” Leia asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Cassian was just reminding me that we each have our parts to play in the post-Empire galaxy. That we each have something to offer. I can train new Jedi. You can rebuild the Senate, without all the corruption. Han can, I dunno, tell amusing stories? Ferry you around to important councils?”

Leia laughed. “He’s good for more than that, you know.”

“Spare me the details, please. Anyway,” he turned back to Cassian, “what about you?”

Cassian’s stomach clenched. He was a seasoned spy. He could charm his way out of any situation, convince almost anybody of almost anything. But some lies, he had trouble convincing himself.

Suddenly, his fingernails became very interesting. “I gave a lot in the war. Before the war. Like I said, I’ve been in this fight since I was six years old. Maybe I don’t have anything left to give. But that’s alright, I did my part.”

Leia laughed again, and Cassian looked up, bewildered. “Don’t be stupid,” she admonished. “You just brought my brother out of the funk I’ve been failing to get him out of for weeks. You do know what you just gave him, don’t you?”

Cassian shook his head.

“Hope.”

Cassian started to smile, and the twins added in perfect unison, “Rebellions are built on hope.”

Leia gently placed her hand on her still-mostly-flat stomach. “And the Glorious New Future is built on hope, too.”

(Soon to be added on AO3.)

Day 4: Silence

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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.

Day 1: Dreams

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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.