[there's nothing that will come between her and what she's, again, pilfered from this spread.
jyn doesn't feel particularly guilty about it; if they didn't want people to take it, they shouldn't have been stupid enough to leave it out. plain and simple. there are a couple of men standing by the corner on the opposite side of the table watching her, she thinks — and she catches them narrowing their eyes at her judgmentally on occasion — but they certainly wouldn't come between her and the pile of food she's put together into something of a sandwich. she even looks them directly in the eye as she takes a massive bite out of it, just to prove a point.
no, there's nothing.
until there's a voice in her ear, which causes the plate to slip from her fingers.
a part of her, still carrying some last stubborn vestige of hope that had refused to die, had looked for him in the hours after she'd woken. the others, too, but him most logically, because he'd been with her at the last — and he'd come back, not just once; if she could still be standing, so could he. no matter what reality had told her, what reality has always told her, that hope is as dead as the cold weight sinking in her heart, she couldn't bring herself to let go of it, in the end.
breath catches in her throat; her heart thumps so loudly she can barely hear anything else around her. she turns, slowly, and — ]
Cassian, [is all she can manage to say for the moment, barely above a whisper, taking him in —
before her arms are around him in an instant, tears she isn't able to blink back falling as she clutches onto him tightly.
against him, she tries again:] A few days. I —
[her breath hitches, cutting her off, and she doesn't finish.]
no subject
jyn doesn't feel particularly guilty about it; if they didn't want people to take it, they shouldn't have been stupid enough to leave it out. plain and simple. there are a couple of men standing by the corner on the opposite side of the table watching her, she thinks — and she catches them narrowing their eyes at her judgmentally on occasion — but they certainly wouldn't come between her and the pile of food she's put together into something of a sandwich. she even looks them directly in the eye as she takes a massive bite out of it, just to prove a point.
no, there's nothing.
until there's a voice in her ear, which causes the plate to slip from her fingers.
a part of her, still carrying some last stubborn vestige of hope that had refused to die, had looked for him in the hours after she'd woken. the others, too, but him most logically, because he'd been with her at the last — and he'd come back, not just once; if she could still be standing, so could he. no matter what reality had told her, what reality has always told her, that hope is as dead as the cold weight sinking in her heart, she couldn't bring herself to let go of it, in the end.
breath catches in her throat; her heart thumps so loudly she can barely hear anything else around her. she turns, slowly, and — ]
Cassian, [is all she can manage to say for the moment, barely above a whisper, taking him in —
before her arms are around him in an instant, tears she isn't able to blink back falling as she clutches onto him tightly.
against him, she tries again:] A few days. I —
[her breath hitches, cutting her off, and she doesn't finish.]