Chapter Text
Even though the war has been over for years, Cassian is still hard-wired to spring into immediate action at the sound of Jyn screaming.
There is little cause for either of them to scream anymore. Thank the gods for that. They both still have nightmares – of stormtroopers and planet-killing weapons. Of Scarif. He doubts those will ever leave them completely. But aside from the night terrors that still plague them their lives are far easier than he ever dared dream they might be during the long, horrible time that came before peace.
Cassian’s fight-or-flight reflex, however – honed to a knife-sharp edge out of decades of necessity – is still there. Simmering just below the surface.
Never has he found it a more useless thing than he does now, as he listens, helplessly, to Jyn shouting and screaming with pain from their bedroom.
He should be in there with her, right now, to help her through this. This whole situation, of course, is as much his doing as hers. But ever the soldier, Cassian’s never quite understood how to handle problems that can’t be easily solved with the help of a good blaster. Like an idiot, he began to panic as soon as things began to progress, pacing the floor and punching the walls of their bedroom and throwing things in an impotent rage every time Jyn so much as winced in pain.
In the end, the medic suggested it might be in everyone’s best interest that Cassian leave the room and wait to be summoned.
The two assistants in the room had had to physically restrain him at the suggestion to keep him from assaulting the medic. But in the end, Jyn shot him a look telling him, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted him to leave. And so he left, terrified, fuming, his nerves in a raw tangle.
It’s almost dawn when the nurse finally comes to fetch him again. His hair is a wreck from having pulled on it all night, and he’s practically worn a groove in the floor of their hut from his frenetic pacing. He blinks at the nurse once, and then again, when she tells him the baby is here, before bolting from the room and into their small bedroom to meet their daughter.
oOoOoOoO
Jyn can see, right away, that the baby is her own mother’s spitting image – all brown hair and bright eyes and an expression so outraged, so indignant, it’s all Jyn can do not to fall to the floor in helpless gratitude.
“Jyn.”
Jyn looks up from their child’s small, bundled form, to find Cassian, standing at the door like a terrified fool, eyes wide and nervous and hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. His voice is hoarse from all the shouting and carrying on he did last night while she, in this bed, did all the actual work.
She’d almost be angry with him, really, for having to be carted out of here like a crazed animal. But she knows he has his own demons, just as she will always have hers. And it’s not as though he really could have done anything, anyway, even if he’d been here.
So instead of giving him the lecture she composed in her head while she was writhing and screaming in pain, she just nods.
Cassian swallows. “ Is everything…?” He trails off. Takes a deep breath. “The medic said everything was fine, but…?”
I won’t believe you are all right until I hear it from you, his eyes tell her.
Before answering him, Jyn cradles their child closer. She looks down at her. And then, for just a moment, the baby tiny eyelids flutter open. In the length of time it takes a single heart to beat two times, Jyn shares a look with their daughter that’s so intimate – so private; so meant for just the two of them – that it feels, just for a moment, rather like they are co-conspirators to a plot only the two of them are meant to know and understand.
Jyn’s heart clenches in her chest at the swell of emotion that rises up in her. And then, just like that, their baby’s eyes close again, and the moment passes.
She looks back to Cassian. Her foolish, brave, incredible husband, who sacrificed so much and has asked for so little in return. “Everything’s fine,” she tells him. She manages a crooked, tired smile. “We’re okay.”
Cassian’s face breaks into a grin so wide it looks like like it will split in two. He breathes a sigh of enormous relief. “Good,” he says. He takes a tentative step towards the bed, and then another.
Jyn pats the space next to her, wordlessly inviting him to join them. He climbs into bed beside them both and gently, carefully, gathers mother and child into his arms.
“Good. That’s… that’s so good, Jyn.”
Jyn sighs, and snuggles close to his side, before drifting off into a dreamless sleep.
oOoOoOoO
They name her Lyra, for Jyn’s mother.
As they raise her, Cassian and Jyn vow to each other, and to their child, that the sacrifices of the brave men and women who died so the galaxy could have peace will not be in vain. And will always be remembered.
A new chapter, at last, has begun.