Cassian dreams of a beach, the dark shore more rocky than sandy, the water choppy and opaque. Wind whips the ocean into white caps that pound furiously against the coastline, indomitable and never ending, eager to throw themselves again and again at the sharp-edged pebbles hoping one day to soften them. It’s not like the beaches of Scarif where you can see to the seabed if you wanted to, where you could walk without fear of riptides if Shoretroopers weren’t likely to shoot you on sight, where nothing is hidden except the secrets inside the Imperial datacenter built on one of the artificially stabilized islands.
No, this beach is not Scarif, but its pull on him is overwhelming, as much a part of him as the Rebellion. It feels so real, the beach does. He wants to stay here, but he knows the truth. He knows the beach isn’t real. He’s always known this beach isn’t real.
This isn’t the first time he’s had this dream.
It is, however, likely it will be his last. And he’d like to savor it, but…
The taste of iron floods Cassian’s mouth, the rust-red tang bursting on his tongue on the heels of a sharp, tearing pain. His tongue. He’s bitten his tongue. He’s—
Groaning, he pushes himself up. He’d fallen. And fallen. And fallen a third time. Each thud had been accompanied by a crack only he could hear, a lurch in his gut, his chest, his heart. He hasn’t been in this much agony since he was six and had learned firsthand even Fest wasn’t safe. That was an ache that never did heal, much like the aches he now carries, if only because there wouldn’t be time for them to heal.
Some of his more morbid colleagues say people know what death feels like when it comes for you. Cassian hadn’t known what that meant and ducked out of those conversations, admonishing them for such dark talk; he hadn’t experienced it and he certainly hadn’t seen it in the faces of any of the people he’d killed for the Rebellion. Betrayal. Anger. Those he’s seen. But not… not this empty, useless knowledge.
Maybe it doesn’t apply to people shot in the back, people who don’t see it coming, people who think you’re their friend until they can think nothing at all. Then again, so much of the time, Cassian hadn’t seen their faces, had he? Who is he to say what they’d seen and felt? Maybe he just hadn’t noticed. Whether they knew or not, he can’t call what he did for them a mercy, though not knowing would definitely be one.
All Cassian knows is now he gets it. All those late-night whispers between frightened people make sense now and terror threatens to freeze him to this spot, spreading like frost inside of him with every beat of his heart. He doesn’t want to die in an Imperial base. There is still so much to do. But especially here. Alone. He doesn’t want to die and if he had the choice, he would choose anywhere else.
He’s not sure he has a choice in the matter anymore.
He has to try.
He has to try.
And he has to get to Jyn. He can’t let her do this alone.
He’s pretty sure he’s broken a rib, each inhale a torture all its own, familiar enough from his years of fighting. His wrist twinges every time he moves it and the blaster shots he’d taken…
The thought of climbing up that damned ladder… he winces and gasps and shoves himself upright as best he can, lurching forward. Stumbling, he catches himself. And almost trips again, his toe catching on the landing beneath his feet.
When he spits, it’s more blood than saliva.
The dream lingers in the back of his mind and for the first time ever, there’s someone there with him, hand clasped snug in his, a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes that he’s never seen before, but suspects exists somewhere under the layers of caution she wears like a shroud.
Jyn.
He should have told her before how much he admires her, how much he—he cares for her. How sorry he is. He should’ve taken that chance at least before it was too late. And now it’s too late.
He would have liked to have taken her to that rocky, tempestuous beach.
He would have liked to take her home. What is left of it anyway.
As he grabs the rung closest to him. Breathing deeply, he rocks his foot against a lower rung to build momentum, mentally preparing himself for the effort it’ll require of him. All the while, he focuses on one thing:
No one has stayed with her before him.
He isn’t about to disappoint her now.
He loves her. Already he loves her.
If they somehow make it through this, perhaps he’ll tell her as much.