[she's grown more accustomed, recently, to hearing her given name out of someone else's mouth. out of general draven's mouth, out of the alliance, it'd felt like a weapon being flung in her direction at best, and a violation at worst, but from allies, it'd felt safe. it'd felt like something she could start to inhabit again, maybe, if given the time.
(and she's had it here, in kenos, that time. jyn is something she can trust in cassian's voice — and in the space they carve out away from everything else, the idea of actually being jyn erso feels more within her reach than it has in a long time.)
that couldn't be further from true here, with that name in the voice of a total stranger. with things that she's locked inside the cave in her mind clear and visible to him. she hates this. she —
"thank you," her younger self says, as polite as her parents had ever taught her to be, and her smile, though still shy, is much less tentative.
— can't really hold it against him, can she? he hadn't asked to be stuck in this. the thought surfaces among all the rest. it takes hold, sticks, as she watches that stranger have such unfailing kindness to a girl who's just experienced the worst thing she's ever seen up to that point. a lump forms in her throat, tight and sticky.
a child doesn't know the answer to that question, not really, and all she can offer is: "if it doesn't go out, i won't be scared."
it's up to jyn, the adult one, to swallow it all down and step in — and she does, with a quick pace, until she's by their side once again.]
There's a space you open at the bottom, [she says, and though her voice is tight, it's not unkind.] You'll see a dispenser. Any oil should work.
no subject
(and she's had it here, in kenos, that time. jyn is something she can trust in cassian's voice — and in the space they carve out away from everything else, the idea of actually being jyn erso feels more within her reach than it has in a long time.)
that couldn't be further from true here, with that name in the voice of a total stranger. with things that she's locked inside the cave in her mind clear and visible to him. she hates this. she —
"thank you," her younger self says, as polite as her parents had ever taught her to be, and her smile, though still shy, is much less tentative.
— can't really hold it against him, can she? he hadn't asked to be stuck in this. the thought surfaces among all the rest. it takes hold, sticks, as she watches that stranger have such unfailing kindness to a girl who's just experienced the worst thing she's ever seen up to that point. a lump forms in her throat, tight and sticky.
a child doesn't know the answer to that question, not really, and all she can offer is: "if it doesn't go out, i won't be scared."
it's up to jyn, the adult one, to swallow it all down and step in — and she does, with a quick pace, until she's by their side once again.]
There's a space you open at the bottom, [she says, and though her voice is tight, it's not unkind.] You'll see a dispenser. Any oil should work.