Constant sandstorms engulfed Jedha even now, the Death Star’s legacy here outlasting even the battle station’s second chance at life above Endor. Cassian stared out of the viewport at it from the co-pilot’s seat, Bodhi handling the main controls, Chirrut crowded into the cockpit behind them. When Cassian glanced back to look at him, his eyes were shut as he drew even, silent breaths into his lungs. Baze stood behind him, arms crossed. He didn’t look at the surface of Jedha, its atmosphere obscured by red and orange and brown, split occasionally by dry cracks of white-hot lightning. No, instead, he focused on Chirrut, his attention never straying from his companion’s face, his body.
“Are you sure you want to be here?” Cassian asked, the question for everyone. He knew the answer already, he was sure, but he felt compelled to ask anyway. Just in case. With so many other ships glittering in the darkness of space around them, he didn’t imagine Chirrut, Baze, or Bodhi would want to be the first to leave. Pushing himself to his feet, he squeezed between the pilots’ seats and grabbed hold of Chirrut’s hand and squeezed briefly before stepping past. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know when you’re ready to head back.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Chirrut said, throwing the words over his shoulders like they were balls to be juggled, light and unconcerned, like Chirrut was certain Cassian would catch them and care for them. Cassian knew Chirrut. ‘Light and unconcerned’ was his default mode of conversation. That didn’t make what they were doing any easier on him, Cassian was sure. Cassian just wished there was something he could say to make this… right. Better. Something more than what it was.
Jyn looked up as he approached, her features drawn and serious, her fingers pressed against her lips. K-2 was in the far corner poking at a datapad, making less of a nuisance of himself than usual. Cassian was, frankly, relieved. K-2 might have meant well, but now was not the time for his particular brand of input, well-meant or not.
“How does it look?” Jyn asked.
Cassian shook his head. It had been nearly impossible to look away from the fury that still raged down there, the unnatural chugging and churning of dust in what should have been a peaceful atmosphere. He couldn’t imagine how it would ever recover, though the New Republic seemed to think it would if they launch enough droids and tech at it. “Bad.”
“If the scrubber droids work at one-hundred percent efficiency,” K-2 said, quiet, as though he recognized the need for delicacy, “the atmosphere can be returned to livable standards in thirty-six point seven standard years.”
Bile burned a line up his throat and anger churned within his chest, battering at his rib cage, no target left to hurt except his own body and mind. The Empire no longer existed and yet a palpable stamp remained on this world, on so many worlds. Would they ever be free of the Empire’s noxious touch? Sometimes Cassian didn’t think so. Sometimes Cassian didn’t even expect to live long to see a galaxy that wasn’t still freshly scarred.
Jyn took his hand and squeezed it until his joints cracked together. “This is a good thing, Cassian. It’s a good day.”
He didn’t speak at first, mulling over her words.
“You know me too well, I think,” he answered, bitter and darkly amused all at once, squeezing back just as tight. Without breaking the touch, he took the seat next to her, urging her to scoot over a little with his knee. “What gave it away?”
Jyn’s fingernail traced a line between her eyebrows. “Your groove has a groove.”
“My groove…” He huffed a laugh and consciously relaxed as best he could. It wasn’t fair of him to turn this day—a good day, as Jyn called it—into another day for sorrow, not when it wasn’t even his sorrow to mourn. The New Republic was taking steps to undo the damage the Empire had wrought on the galaxy. That was a thing to be celebrated. What right did he have to make it into something less than that? Lifting her hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss against her knuckles and spoke into her skin. “You are something else, Jyn Erso.”
From the forward compartment, Baze’s voice delivered what Cassian thought might have been a prayer. The language was unfamiliar, the melodic sound of it both like and unlike Baze’s normal, gruff tone. When Cassian looked toward them, he saw Chirrut’s hand clasped in Baze’s, Chirrut’s other hand around Bodhi’s shoulder. He couldn’t see their faces, but when he heard Bodhi’s quiet exclamation of, “Look at that,” he was heartened. Despite himself, he was heartened.
For a moment, it felt truly like the Alliance had won, that everything would be okay.
“Come on,” Cassian said, getting to his feet and tugging Jyn up along with him. Pulling her against his side, his hand slipping around her waist, he gestured at K-2. Jyn was right; this was a good day. This was something worth witnessing. “I think I’d like to see the rest of the equipment being launched.”