Chapter 2
Meeting K-2SO is...well, it’s an experience.
“Jyn Erso,” the droid says. “You are smaller than I expected, even for a weak humanoid.” Somehow, the flat, mechanical voice is dripping with disdain.
“Charming,” Jyn comments dryly.
“Don’t mind him,” Cassian says. “Politeness isn’t his forte. K2 tends to say whatever comes into his circuits. It’s a side effect of the reprogramming, he can’t control it.”
“Excuse me,” K2 says, offended. “I am perfectly able to control my speech patterns. I was merely stating my opinion bluntly, which is exactly what I intended to do.”
“Well, this may surprise you, but not everyone cares about what seven feet of scrap metal have to say,” Jyn remarks, raising her eyebrows at the insolent droid in warning. “In fact, some people might feel inclined to respond in kind, and then you might end up with a blaster hole in your main circuits, which is exactly what they intended.”
K-2SO huffs. “You are a very violent individual. I could tell from your files; this is why I told Cassian that marrying you was a bad idea. You are not well-suited for teamwork, nor do you care to fit in with the Alliance. Judging by your physical appearance as well as your psychological evaluation, you neither can nor want to provide the support Cassian needs.” He pauses for a moment. “Luckily, he won’t have to rely on you, since he has me.”
“Guess we both drew the short straw, then,” Jyn replies, shrugging nonchalantly. The droid’s assessment rankles her a little, but Saw trained her too well to let her emotions show.
Across from her, Cassian hides his snort behind a cup of caf.
“I can’t help but notice you weren’t at the ceremony,” Jyn points out.
“It was a stupid idea,” K-2SO says. “And your human rituals are equally nonsensical. Why would my presence be required?”
“I’m just saying. It doesn’t seem particularly supportive to me,” Jyn continues. A little jab she can’t help but make.
“We need to get to the briefing room. Come on, Kay.” Cassian cuts into their conversation before the droid can answer.
It’s probably a good thing; K-2SO was clearly gearing up for a rather vicious comeback, and no matter how much Jyn might have enjoyed the verbal sparring, she would have been equally as likely to have a violent outburst, and it’s probably not a good idea to harm her new the annoying but obviously beloved droid. She could take her husband in a fight, she thinks, maybe. But there is no guarantee for how long they will have to live with each other. The lives they lead, it might be a week before one of them dies, or a month, a year. A decade. Who knows how long this war will last, how long the fragile bond between the Alliance and the Partisans will be only held together by the brittle thread between them, two digital fingerprints and scrawled signatures preserved on a holo somewhere, the legal document the only reason for them to be in each other’s orbit.
She hates him a little, for marrying her. She hates herself a little, too. And Saw Gerrera and Mon Mothma, and everyone who agreed to it.
But Jyn knows she can’t go on that way. Can’t spend the rest of her life hating Cassian Andor, not when it might last a long time, still. She needs to preserve her energy for the fight that lies ahead of them, and behind them, and all around them; hating him when she needs to channel all her rage against the Empire seems like a waste of strength.
If they can manage to keep up the polite indifference they have been treating each other with for the first days of their marriage, then it’s really all she can ask for.
She hasn’t seen much of her new husband in the two days since she first met him; she’d pretended to be asleep when he got up after their wedding night, while he used the fresher, until he stepped out of the room. She knows he didn’t buy her act, but she didn’t need him to; she just needed to avoid the awkwardness, as did he. She didn’t see him at all that day, as he was swept up in briefing after briefing and she was left to wander the labyrinthine tunnels of the base until she had memorised every twist and turn.
Jyn doesn’t quite know why he sought her out as she was waiting in line for her breakfast - a bowl of unidentifiable, tasteless brown mush - doesn’t know if he was ordered to make nice, to try and build a relationship to tighten her bond with the Alliance, doesn’t know whether his honour or masochistic tendencies dictated it. He doesn’t seem the sentimental type, the one who’d actually care just because. She’d gone through his belongings earlier and found nothing to even hint at his personality; everything was utilitarian, unemotional, the picture of a man entirely unattached to anything but the cause.
Cassian Andor, she thinks, was truly the perfect choice for this mission.
“Will you be alright?” he asks even as he stands, but before he turns to leave. He even makes it sound like a sincere inquiry.
“Of course,” Jyn says. “I know my way around.”
Cassian looks at her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable, before he nods and leaves, K2 in tow.
He doesn’t return to their room that night, having left on his mission without saying goodbye.
Saying goodbye to Bodhi is infinitely harder than she imagined.
He hugs her very tight, and she clutches him right back, like if she presses him to her hard enough, she can keep a little piece of home with her. Bodhi doesn’t comment on the desperation in her embrace, or the way she trembles, and Jyn is thankful for that, too. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop being thankful for every little thing Bodhi does.
“I’ll see you soon,” he promises, although it is not his promise to make. He is counting on Saw deeming him trustworthy enough to go back and forth between Jedha and Yavin IV, carrying supplies and messages without giving too much of the Partisan’s plans away, and that hope is solely build on the fact that Jyn trusts Bodhi, and that her trust and friendship might inspire Saw to feel the same. In truth, Saw is equally as likely to consider their friendship a distraction, a liability, to keep Bodhi from seeing her again.
But he allowed Bodhi to drop her off, to stay for the wedding, so. Jyn hopes.
“Do you want me to tell him anything?” Bodhi asks.
Jyn shakes her head. She has nothing to tell Saw Gerrera, not yet; nothing that Bodhi couldn’t tell him, anyway.
Bodhi nods, draws in a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay.”
“Take care,” Jyn says. Her voice doesn’t crack.
“You too,” he says. “I’ll see you soon,” he repeats, turns to walk away. He doesn’t make it three steps before he whirls around again. “You’ll be alright, though, won’t you?”
“Always am,” Jyn replies. “You know me. I’m tough to kill.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” She cracks a smile. “I’ll be okay.”
“But if you’re not…”
“I know,” she says. “I know. Thank you.”
He nods again, and then turns sharply and stumbles onto the ship as quickly as he can. Like he might not leave at all if he took one more second to think about it.
Jyn knows exactly how he feels.
It takes three more days of sitting on her ass, twiddling her thumbs, exploring the base but being generally useless, before something in Jyn snaps. She’s never done too well with idleness.
She walks straight into the control room, to Mon Mothma, and says, “I need a job.”
Thankfully, Mon Mothma doesn’t try to protest, does not feed her some benign, vague line like Jyn would expect a politician to do. “It’s been suggested you help out in the cargo bay, organising supply shipments to and from the Partisans.” It’s obvious it’s a topic that’s been discussed before, extensively, from the sour looks exchanged between some of the council members present.
“No,” Jyn says immediately.
It’s not - it wouldn’t be the worst job she could be stuck with, she thinks. She’d have some connection to her past, some control over what they send. But she’s not cut out for it, she knows, and she’d lose her temper within a week, for sure.
Mon Mothma smiles. “I thought that might be your reaction,” she says. “Which is why I suggested you act as an advisor to the council instead. You have been to many systems; I’m sure the information you have gathered there, as well as your instincts and experience when it comes to battles, will be of greater use to everyone involved.”
“I’m not sure I’m well-suited to be stuck in a room,” Jyn replies, although she knows it’s fruitless - they won’t let her out on missions, not yet, not until they believe she will return. “I’m not particularly good at devising strategies either.”
“What are you good at, Mrs. Andor?” one of the council members, a middle-aged, sand-haired man with the insignia of a general asks, sneering.
“It’s Jyn Erso, still,” Jyn snaps. It’s probably the wrong answer to give to make them trust her, but she’s not - it’s all she has left of her father, of her mother. She can’t even imagine giving her name up freely, and she won’t let them take that away from her forever. Not like this.
The man doesn’t blink. If anything, it seems like he expected her resistance. “What are you good at, Jyn Erso?”
Jyn smiles coolly. “Making trouble,” she says honestly.
The man’s answering smile is sardonic. “Of that,” he says, “I have no doubt."