Work Text:
As far as Jyn knows, Cassian’s cover is still intact – Captain Casein Willix is not currently in binders, being dragged to an Imperial cell.
Not like her.
That, at the very least, is the silver lining in this utterly kriffed situation that the two of them have somehow landed in. Even as panic creeps up on the corners of her vision at the feeling of binders around her wrists, breath coming fast, and nausea rising up in her stomach, Jyn’s glad that he’s not currently in her place. Cassian’s never been caught while she’s done this half a dozen times.
(Though that doesn’t make it any easier.)
Posing as Willix’s wife had been a long shot; no matter how good her scan docs were, there had always been a possibility that it would crumble to dust under a bit of careful scrutiny. Willix had never mentioned having a significant other before this mission, leading to more attention on her than they would have liked. All her earlier aliases had simply been variations of Jyn Erso, adding different names, hair colors, or accents. Working in Intelligence and fully taking on the persona of another person, however, is an entirely new battlefield, one she’s not nearly as experienced in as Cassian.
And when she’d slipped up, not even Cassian could catch her.
She hadn’t quite been able to hide the anger in her eyes when other officers had teased and cajoled her but when they’d gone for Cassian, when they’d “good-naturedly” called his masculinity into question multiple times for “bagging a woman after all these years,” she’d snapped. She can take anything they throw at her with a clenched jaw and bitten-back retorts but defending Cassian is second nature.
He hadn’t been entirely unaffected, either. It’s only because she knows him so well that she could see the twitch of his eyes, the slight clench and unclench of his back teeth. When she’d seen a barely there flash of pain in his eyes at a particularly biting comment, the words had spilled out of her mouth almost unconsciously before she’d realized an Imperial wife wouldn’t spit curses and insults as colorfully as she’d just done.
("Who the hell have you brought here, Willix?")
It’s likely the ‘troopers who arrested her wrote her off as some sort of courtesan or sex worker snuck in for the night by Willix rather than a rebel but that’s only because they haven’t immediately dragged her off for interrogation. Cassian had only had a few minutes to try and salvage the situation and that’s what he’d come up with, even though it’s entirely out of character for Willix. They’re placing all of their hope that these ‘troopers have half a brain and don’t push the matter further.
(Hope. Fuck, but she doesn’t feel fucking hopeful right now.)
But Jyn knows it’s only time before they start digging even further. She doesn’t know when they’ll start with the torture – painful injections, electricity, locking her up in a small box for hours and days until she cracks. Will it be a droid or an actual human? She’s had both, and hasn't yet decided which she prefers more. Maybe now she’ll be given a chance to figure that out.
Kriff. Her mind has already begun to spiral, sinking into darker and darker thoughts as she’s unceremoniously shoved into an empty cell, binders still on her wrists. Without her gloves as a barrier, she can feel the cold, heavy metal against her skin, too tight, chafing and rubbing her wrists. The doors clank behind her, loud and ominous, all too final and conclusive, making her stomach drop because stars, she won’t be able to last long in here at all.
She won’t break, won’t spill Alliance secrets, but she can’t last like this. Not when it’s this dark, not when the walls are already closing in on her, not with cuffs on her skin and not when it feels way too much like she’s back in Wobani –
Slowly, Jyn unclenches her fists and her jaw. Forces herself to relax her shoulders and unlock her knees. Forces herself to breathe. As she does so, she uses the wall as a guide to slide down onto the floor, her fancy gown scraping against the rough ferroconcrete. She’d thought she looked half-decent on the ship –– Cassian had told her she looked beautiful, which she’d scoffed at –– and now she looks, and feels, like an utter mess.
Once she hits the ground unceremoniously, she closes her eyes. She imagines Cassian sitting next to her, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He inhales and exhales deeply, coaching her to mirror his breathing. In and out. In and out.
Her air intake slows with each measured breath, from fast, desperate yips to deeper inhales. She raises her hands – still in binders – to her neck, pressing her fingers to her pulse as it slows beneath her touch. It’s only until she moves to lean into him, needing physical contact to ground herself, that she remembers she’s alone in her cell.
And Cassian? Kriff, she doesn’t know what’s happened to him. Her heart lurches in her chest. Now that she’s talked herself (mostly) off the ledge, her mind wanders. Him, they hadn’t touched, merely suggested he come with them. Casein Willix is still an officer of the Empire, even if he had brought in a non-Imperial stranger claiming to be his wife to a high society event.
But in the whirlwind of her impromptu arrest, she’d only been able to desperately meet his eyes once before they’d hauled her off. She doesn’t know what happened to him, if he’s safe or subjected to similar treatment. He could be in the cell next to her. He could be getting interrogated, tortured, their covers blown because of her, he could be bleeding and in pain, because she hadn’t fucking been able to keep her bloody mouth shut ––
She lets out a shaky breath, dipping her head back to rest it against the wall behind her. Once again, she forces herself through her breathing exercises, imagining she is anywhere in the galaxy but here, with Cassian at her side, safe and unharmed. Every minute she spends in this cell, her thoughts spiral further, no matter how hard she tries to rid herself of them.
In a situation like this, it’s hard to remember that Cassian will come back for her. If he can. She’s been with him long enough to erase most, if not all, of her doubts about that. Unless he’s physically unable, he will not leave her behind.
With that thought in mind, she keeps a steady eye on the door to her cell and waits.
When the door clicks open –– minutes or hours later –– Jyn startles, blinking away the haze from her vision. She cranes her head up, squinting against the dim lighting of the room. For a second, she can’t make out the blurry form in front of her before Cassian steps closer, holding out a hand to help her up. He’s still in his Imperial grays, using the blank mask that goes along this particular cover.
She grasps his outstretched arm without saying anything, her lips twitching. Once she’s up, Cassian unlocks the binders and she rubs her wrists gratefully as they clatter to the floor, feeling lighter than she has all day. Her skin is red and angry from the tight bindings but no open wounds. No more scars.
“Are you hurt, darling?” he asks formally. If not for the worry in his eyes, he would have appeared entirely unbothered. The strain in his neck and jaw tells her that he wants to reach out and pull her into his arms, to check and make sure for himself that she’s physically unhurt before worrying about her mental state, but he restrains himself due to the constraints of the mission.
“I’m fine,” she says verbally, but meets his gaze and lets him see the cracks in her façade. A silent communication speaks into the air around them. I’m not, but I will be. Not here. Wait until we’re back on the ship.
“Good.” At that, he gathers her into his arms. To prying eyes, it’s an embrace between a wife and husband; to her, she clings to him like a rock in a stormy sea, burying her face into his neck for a few precious seconds before stepping away. “They will pay for this, I promise.”
Shaky and still half-trapped in her memories, she wants to be as close to him as possible until she pulls herself out of it, but she has a role to play.
“I just want to leave,” she murmurs, looking down at the floor. Demure, quiet, perhaps a bit ashamed. As she does, however, she takes stock of his physical state; from first glance, he looks unharmed and she breathes a sigh of relief. “I didn’t like how they talked to you –– but I shouldn’t have spoken in anger.”
“It’s all right, my dear,” he replies, taking her hand and leading her forward. “I have taken care of everything. You don’t need to worry about anything.”
As they leave the cell, Cassian doesn’t bother to look at the chagrined ‘trooper who’d dragged her here in the first place. The walk back through the cell block is much better in comparison to the earlier one, especially with Cassian’s steady presence at her side as he leads her out.
Though she knows the night won’t be easy, not with the way her mind still rushes and her hands still shake, at least she’ll have someone alongside her to weather the storm.