[ too much time. cassian gave them both too much time.
it's enough time to go home and ruin things with jyn. it's enough time to roam the streets of highstorm, of kowloon, with a gnawing sense of wrongness overtaking his usual cool efficiency. he'd felt this way before; he recognizes it. back on eadu, when he'd pulled out his sniper rifle and been unable to shoot galen erso.
orders? when you know they're wrong? you might as well be a stormtrooper.
jyn had condemned him then, and maybe she'd been right to. it's impossible to imagine she wouldn't condemn him now, if she knew. but she doesn't know, so it doesn't matter. nothing does matter, except that cassian will be able to fulfill his end of the bargain and get the forceforsaken information he'd asked for. how many times has he paid for criticial intel with blood and lives? more than he could possibly ever count. so he needs to remember that,
because he can't fail now, like he had on eadu. he can't fail, as in deep as he is now. this can't all be for nothing.
so he also has enough time to take his blaster apart and clean it, slow and painstaking, till it gleams. make sure the power pack is full enough (unnecessary, he only needs one shot); and note that he will want to recharge it, likely soon. he has enough time to, slow and painstaking, take every single emotion inside of his chest and lock it somewhere dark. his hands need to be steady for this. he has to do it right.
cassian arrives not long after dokja, who receives a faint ripple of affirmation in response to his communion. no words, just the equivalent of a read receipt. dokja can likely hear the sound of footsteps behind him, and then a pause that stretches for a long moment...before cassian crouches near him. there's a blaster at his thigh, the only visible weapon.
(the only visible weapon.) ]
I thought you'd change your mind.
[ is not exactly true. is not exactly false, with the certainty dokja had demonstrated when they spoke. it's ironic that dokja is the more relaxed, of the two of them. cassian, as in communion, is wound so tight as to be nearly expressionless. ]
no subject
it's enough time to go home and ruin things with jyn. it's enough time to roam the streets of highstorm, of kowloon, with a gnawing sense of wrongness overtaking his usual cool efficiency. he'd felt this way before; he recognizes it. back on eadu, when he'd pulled out his sniper rifle and been unable to shoot galen erso.
orders? when you know they're wrong? you might as well be a stormtrooper.
jyn had condemned him then, and maybe she'd been right to. it's impossible to imagine she wouldn't condemn him now, if she knew. but she doesn't know, so it doesn't matter. nothing does matter, except that cassian will be able to fulfill his end of the bargain and get the forceforsaken information he'd asked for. how many times has he paid for criticial intel with blood and lives? more than he could possibly ever count. so he needs to remember that,
because he can't fail now, like he had on eadu. he can't fail, as in deep as he is now. this can't all be for nothing.
so he also has enough time to take his blaster apart and clean it, slow and painstaking, till it gleams. make sure the power pack is full enough (unnecessary, he only needs one shot); and note that he will want to recharge it, likely soon. he has enough time to, slow and painstaking, take every single emotion inside of his chest and lock it somewhere dark. his hands need to be steady for this. he has to do it right.
cassian arrives not long after dokja, who receives a faint ripple of affirmation in response to his communion. no words, just the equivalent of a read receipt. dokja can likely hear the sound of footsteps behind him, and then a pause that stretches for a long moment...before cassian crouches near him. there's a blaster at his thigh, the only visible weapon.
(the only visible weapon.) ]
I thought you'd change your mind.
[ is not exactly true. is not exactly false, with the certainty dokja had demonstrated when they spoke. it's ironic that dokja is the more relaxed, of the two of them. cassian, as in communion, is wound so tight as to be nearly expressionless. ]