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K-2SO
Just climb.
K-2SO barely manages the words. Holds tight to the fact that he does. Cassian will understand. Hear all he failed to say. That's what humans do; what he's watched them do.
Not that any of it matters now, anyway. Nothing matters beyond this. Beyond Cassian and Jyn climbing to the top and broadcasting Project Stardust. Beyond climbing above the infinitesimally small odds—almost impossible odds—and making all of this worth it.
And they will make it worth it. They will. K-2SO believes that, despite everything. Cassian's beaten near impossible chances before, and by his own calculations, so has Jyn.
It should be enough to let him rest. There's no time to process otherwise. No time for questions or hints of compunction. The most he can do is simulate a scenario where Cassian survives, and leave this world as close to pleased as he can.
But such a scenario won't come. K-2SO's internal logic is short-circuiting, malfunctioning, and he can't see a future in which Cassian Andor survives. Too soon, he's collapsing against the console, with a strong possibility of being seconds away from not seeing a future at all.
There is, however, one other course of action. One that every Imperial Droid is aware of, but never deigns to discuss. Worse than diagnostics, or reprogramming; worse even than being shut down indefinitely. Because for a droid with a purpose-built mind, the absolute worst fate imaginable is having said mind crammed into a body unfit for said purpose.
K-2SO knows this. Feels it, in the metal akin to bones. Accepts it. But he also knows Cassian and Jyn need air support—targeted air support—or the whole mission is for naught. Jyn will be shot down in 96.72% of scenarios. Cassian will die in 94.36% of them before the broadcast is complete. Everything K-2SO did, before the reprogramming and after, will have a 98.27% chance of becoming pointless violence. Idle, aimless, and in vain.
His head hits the console and the exposed wires connect. There's a few seconds before he falls—before his only chance to change those odds are lost.
So, K-2SO does the only thing he can: he pushes. Not physically, not in the way most flesh-bound creatures will understand. He pushes in numbers and energy and power. In a way that strains his very soul, if he has one.
He pushes, he spreads, and he searches. For a quectosecond to an eternity, he's no longer a droid. He's a flood, looking for a valley to swamp. A hunger, looking for a feast to devour. All he needs is one Imperial ship, linked into the circuits. A single clump of—
There.
Back in the control room, K-2SO's body hits the floor.
His eyes flicker once, twice. Then fade.
But that doesn't matter anymore, either.
Transfer complete.
Cassian
"Are you sure about this?" K-2SO's voice comes from a small, swivelling console at the front of the ship. For a moment, Cassian is sent back in time to Luthen's ship—to a similar, albeit more cooperative, ship interface. "Because based on my calculations, there is a strong possibility you will be called back very soon."
Cassian ignores him, jumping down from the ship and hoisting up his final bag. He winces as his stitches pull, side twinging.
"Cassian? I know you can hear me."
He stalks to the front of the ship to start the pre-flight checks, K-2SO's absence next to him still markedly foreign. They'll find him a new body soon—if only because Cassian isn't sure how much longer he can deal with this added level of oversight.
When K-2SO speaks again, it comes from at least five speakers. "Would you like to know the exact probability?"
"No." Cassian's response is curt. "Be quiet, K."
His sigh echoes throughout the entire ship. "So this is the thanks I get for saving your life."
Cassian rolls his eyes, organising the last of the supplies while keeping a close eye on the tarmac. He's technically grounded after Scarif—both on the Council's and doctor's orders—but his whereabouts are hardly a priority right now. Not with the rebel alliance in disarray, retreating from Yavin while scrambling to locate the Death Star plans and Princess Leia.
An operation he'll undoubtedly be called in to assist with—healing blaster wounds or no—when there's something or someone to rescue. Until then, there's no reason for him to sit here, waiting with bugs under his skin, his heart on a knife's edge.
"What about Jyn Erso?" K-2SO asks, apparently unable to bear the silence. Typical.
Cassian suppresses a sigh and checks another panel on the wall. Flicks several switches. "What about her?"
He feels K-2SO's judgmental stare even without eyes directing it. "The two of you appeared to be having a… moment, when I picked you up on Scarif."
A light flickers outside, drawing Cassian's gaze to the airstrip. But if someone's there, they don't seem concerned with him or his ship. Not that many of them would be; he's more than earned his right to disobey orders.
"I thought I was going to die," he says, more offhandedly than he feels. He's willing to die for the rebellion, but that doesn't mean he wants to. "I thought we'd just made it all worth it. It could have been almost anyone, and there would have been a moment."
"But Jyn Erso isn't just anyone," K-2SO points out.
"No," Cassian says, turning back to the task at hand. "But she isn't Bix."
It's the simple truth. Not good or bad, just a neutral statement of fact. Cassian likes Jyn; respects her, trusts her judgement, enjoys her company. Agrees with her risk assessment, most of the time. And he can acknowledge a connection there—an attraction, even—that under different circumstances, might have grown to something more.
But those circumstances won't be found in this lifetime. Not with he and Bix's history, with a soul so deeply entwined it can't begin to imagine settling elsewhere. With a mind that, while he can remember a life before her, doesn't care to—because most of it is layers of grief and pain he prefers not to revisit alone.
He can still feel her absence, even now. Carved like a line in his palm, an event that—if he was inclined towards superstition—he would perhaps consider whether it changed his very lifeforce.
Not that Cassian believes in such things. If he did, he certainly wouldn't be going to find Bix now. Not with the Death Star on the loose; not while she was safe, far away from him.
The thought isn't as reassuring as it once was. Is anyone really safe with a planet-killer on the loose? Much less someone with ties to the rebellion, no matter how faded they might be? He doubts it. And maybe it's selfish—no, it definitely is—but Cassian's acutely aware that he may not have another chance. That he almost died once already, came so close he could taste the abyss. That every goodbye might be their last.
That their most recent one—the one he didn't even realise was happening—almost was.
"You're really going, then?" Cassian turns to find Vel at the door, less surprised by her sudden appearance than he is by the lack of Kleya at her side. In the few days he was gone, the two formed a worryingly strong united front.
"I said I was." He swings himself down so they're level—and so that K-2SO has less power to interrupt. "Did you doubt me?"
"Yes," Vel says evenly. "And no. I just thought you'd be more stubborn about it."
Cassian shrugs. "They're looking for the plans too, right? So as long as I'm headed in the opposite direction…"
"You'll be fine," Vel agrees. "Or as fine as any of us ever are." She smiles at him, her warm affection not quite hiding the pain underneath. Her own loss of Cinta, still simmering raw and ripe below. "I'm glad you're going," she says earnestly. "That you're not leaving it too late."
"We'll see," Cassian murmurs. "I'm not there yet."
She ignores the unhelpful observation. "Better question, do you know where you're going?"
"Mina-Rau," Cassian answers instinctively. He knows it's right as soon as the planet's name forms on his lips: where else would Bix go, then to the one place she managed to call home?
Vel tilts her head at him, appraising. "Huh. Then I suppose you've always known."
"Maybe," Cassian replies non-committally. Vel gives him a look, an expression that says she's not buying his bullshit. Good. He likes that about her. Mostly. "You'll let me know?" he asks. "When you hear—"
"If we have a need for you, we'll let you know," Vel says, in a tone that says it's the best he's going to get. She wants him to go; is practically shooing him along before he changes his mind. Like Wil and Dreena. "Now go, before you incriminate me out here as well."
He scoffs. "As if you care about that." But he turns to complete the last of the checks, anyway. "Can you tell the others…"
Vel shakes her head, turning to peer across the tarmac. "Tell them yourself."
Cassian ducks his head around the door, noting the figures bobbing towards them in the dark. He suppresses a stab of frustration: he's always too complacent on Yavin, too trusting in their mantra of having friends everywhere.
"You can't always be on," Vel says softly from below him. She knows exactly where his mind is, the words as familiar to her as they are to him. "Although you've more than proven yourself capable of it."
Cassian frowns and opts not to reply, striding to the front of the ship to let K-2SO know they'll be leaving as soon as this conversation is over. By the time he returns, Jyn and Kleya are standing next to Vel.
They're clearly recovering more quickly from their injuries than he is.
Still, there are certainly worse people to interrupt an unsanctioned departure. And in truth, Cassian's somewhat glad to see them; he'd felt guilty about leaving without a farewell.
"What, you thought you'd just sneak away?" Jyn asks, crossing her arms, unimpressed. "Disappear without so much as a goodbye?"
"I'm coming back." Cassian jumps down again, followed by another wince of pain. The doctor, he admits, has a more valid reason to ground him than the Council.
Kleya watches him closely. "Are you?"
"Of course," Cassian says, and he really does intend it as the truth. He lives and breathes the rebellion; rationally, another near death experience doesn't change that. He can't just leave all of it behind—it's madness to think he ever thought otherwise.
But Kleya's face carries a hint of doubt that makes him feel exposed. As if she senses, like he does, that he wasn't really meant to make it this far—was never meant to witness the final battle. As if, now more than ever, he's living on borrowed time. Like his luck's officially run out.
Cassian doesn't know what to do with that feeling. And perhaps that, more than everything else, is why he's chosen now to find Bix.
A messenger, no longer sure of the message he's delivering.
"Hm," Kleya hums. Her eyes flick upwards. "You sure you don't want company? We could do with comms—"
"No." Cassian's voice is firm. "No way." He understands Kleya's claustrophobia here. She's a traveller, a gatherer. It's something they share: her of information, him of people. But he won't take the rebellion to Bix. Not permanently. Not like that.
Kleya nods, as if she expects the answer. Almost seems satisfied by it. She exchanges a look with Vel, completely unreadable; this must be how K-2SO feels most of the time.
As if thinking along similar lines, Jyn steps forwards and taps the ship. "Keep him safe, K. We're counting on you."
"I'll certainly try." K-2SO's dry tones issue from right next to Cassian, who swears. He frequently forgets there's a speaker there, a detail the ex-droid takes great joy in exploiting. "He doesn't make it easy."
"No," Vel agrees. "He doesn't."
There's a pause as the four of them look at each other, before Vel sighs and reluctantly begins a round of hugs. They're stiff and awkward for the most part—but necessary. So very, very necessary.
Bix isn't the only one with whom Cassian fears a final goodbye.
He pulls back from Jyn with a small smile. "Look out for a new body for K? I don't think he much enjoys being a ship."
"You mean you don't enjoy him being a ship," Jyn says as she steps backwards, quirking an eyebrow.
Cassian nods. "That too."
He hops back up, pounding on the door in a familiar signal. There's a button to close it somewhere, but he's yet to use it—he suspects K-2SO would override it, if he tried.
Cassian offers the women on the ground one last, heavy smile; he's not sure his face remembers how to make any other kind. "See you soon."
The statement is met with mixed responses. Doubt, mingled with reluctant acceptance, alongside a touch of hope.
Always a touch of hope.
Then the moment passes. K-2SO closes the door, and Cassian heads towards the front of the ship.
"How curious." The android's tone is mild. "I'm detecting a distinct possibility that you're lying to them."
"I'm not," Cassian says firmly. "I'll be there when they need me."
"And if they don't? Need you, that is."
Cassian exhales, long and tired. He wants to argue, to deflect—but nothing comes.
He doesn't have an answer.
Bix
There's a simplicity to life on Mina-Rau. An ease of movement that doesn't exist elsewhere, captured in the spectacular clashing of primary colours beyond Bix's window. Not so much the yellow and blue themselves—although they are beautiful, particularly at harvest time—but in the noticeable absence of others. No blinding white, attempting to smother her, and no colossal grey, intent on hiding all the places where it failed.
The air is deep and crisp here, the sky open and clear. It stretches in an empty expanse, the complete lack of ships just as reassuring as Bix once found the sight of them. But everyday she wakes without an Imperial ship gracing the horizons is worth celebrating, for her and B2EMO and the tiny human swaddled in the crib behind her.
Of course Cassian Andor would be the exception to the rule.
No one's told her he's coming—visits from Vel and Wil are rarer by the month—but they don't need to. Bix has seen Cassian land a ship a thousand times, maybe more. She can spot it as easily as she can his walk, or the back of his head in a crowd.
Even more so when he's not trying to hide it, the flourish of each movement like a signature.
Bix's hands are shaking as she sends out word to the surrounding farms, reassuring them on the basis of instincts alone.
No. Not instincts.
A feeling.
That's all it is, really. A feeling that tells her all she needs to know, that she trusts nearly as much as the man it heralds.
The ship lands in the one part of Bix's field that's already been harvested. She wonders if someone gave him her address, or if she's just as predictable as he is. If there's something about the lay of the land that points to her, an imprint of Bix Caleen amongst the grain that she's too close to notice.
"Bee," Bix calls to the small droid in the corner, without turning away from the window. He's still in his dock, but he won't mind sacrificing a full charge for this. "There's someone here I think you'll want to see."
There's a whirring sound as he perks up, his voice as hopeful as it is everyday he asks. "Cassian?"
Bix smiles. Overjoyed, to not once more be the bearer of disappointing news. "Yes. Cassian's here." She watches the door of the ship outside, opening far too slowly. But she's sure it's him, she is. "He's just landed, if you want to—"
There's a loud clunk, and then B2EMO is speeding down and out across the field. Bix follows him to the ramp, her eyes locked on the figure gradually being revealed by the rising metal panel.
Her eyes aren't as good as they once were, but even this far away, she can see the familiar mop of dark brown hair, the same lean frame that always seemed alarmingly fragile without armour.
And if Bix has any lingering doubts, they're quashed by B2EMO's continued excitement, pitched over the wind.
"Cassian! Cassian! Cassian!"
A snatch of laughter, so soft Bix thinks she imagines it, accompanies Cassian's jump to the ground. There's an added weight to the movement, one born from time or injury or both. Bix steps beyond the doorway, just as he looks up to do the same.
Their eyes meet; there's no heavy pause, no dramatic lingering expression, no time to waste for either. Cassian simply starts running, barrelling towards Bix with B2EMO streaming along at his side. She wants to match his strides, clear the distance between them as quickly as possible, but the home's final occupant won't allow it.
Bix manages a few steps down the ramp before she stops, waiting for the last piece of her heart to step into the life built in its absence. "I'm sor—"
Cassian doesn't let her finish. He's already there, in front of her, closing the remaining space. He shakes his head and gathers Bix against his chest, B2EMO spinning around them happily.
"I'm sorry." His voice is a hoarse whisper. "I'm sorry you felt you had to—"
She pulls back and kisses him, not sure whether she's drowning or flying. Bix pours into it everything she has left to give, all the love that isn't already living outside her body. All the apologies that he won't listen to—for not being brave enough to say their last goodbye in person, for making the decision for him, for believing he wasn't strong enough to eventually make the right one for himself.
Apologies he understands implicitly, because in this they are kindred spirits—not equally passionate, but equally desperate. To be heard, to be forgiven, to forgive in return.
A blast of the ship's alarm startles them apart, and for the first time since he's arrived, Bix feels a flutter of apprehension. "Is there someone—"
"No." Cassian doesn't so much as glance outside. "My ship just has a lot of personality."
Bix can't help it: she smiles. Soft and warm. An expression she might have forgotten how to make, if not for the part of Cassian she brought here with her. She cups his face, and it's only when she brushes away tears with her thumb that she realises they're both crying. "I missed you."
His eyes dart across her face, as if trying to commit every freckle, every line, to memory. Her soul hurts; she did that. She made that fear real. The Empire started it, but she—Bix Caleen—she finished it. The fact that it was barely even a choice doesn't make it sting any less. "I missed you too," Cassian manages.
There's a long beat of silence where all they do is look at each other. Words are useful, and hearing each other's voice is curative, but they're not strictly necessary. Not right now.
Not for a few seconds, at least.
Bix's hand brushes Cassian's right side, feeling the telltale bulk of bandages. She was correct about the injury, then.
Only time will tell about the rest.
From somewhere, Bix dredges up the courage to ask a question she can probably guess the answer to. "Did Vel—"
A quiet gurgle comes from behind them, and in that moment, Bix is sure.
He doesn't know.
Cassian's face is pure shock. Genuine, undisguised emotion—and even as a rebel spy, his acting was never that good. His eyes shift up the ramp, in the direction of the crib.
Another pause, more hesitant than the last. He clears his throat. "Is that…"
Bix nods. He can't finish his sentence, she can't even start hers. What a pair we make.
"Yes," Bix finally says, hardly more than a whisper. More gurgles issue from the house, and B2EMO—wonderful, helpful Bee—goes to investigate. "He is."
She sees that register, the realisation hitting home: a son, his son. And he: a dad, a father.
Bix turns slightly, so she's no longer blocking the door. "Would you like to meet him?"
Cassian's nod is scarcely noticeable, as is his intention to move. Carefully, Bix takes his hand and guides him inside, drawing them towards the crib at the back. B2EMO is already there, making his own special brand of soothing noises. And when they peer over the side, it's clear they're working: a fragile picture of peace greets them.
Bix is aware it won't last long.
The newcomers stare at each other, the innocent, bright-eyed curiosity of their child in stark contrast to Cassian's storm of emotions. Bix doesn't see any anger amidst them right now, but she's sure it will come. Rightfully so.
"Brasso," she says, by way of introductions. "Brasso Clem."
Cassian's focus shifts back to her, and Bix realizes she's watching something she never thought she'd see: Cassian Andor, coming to understand that he doesn't possess a whole heart anymore—that most of it lives beyond him now. Forever.
Brasso fusses again, and Bix picks him up. Then, just as deftly, she deposits him in Cassian's arms.
"I don't—"
"You're doing fine," Bix reassures him. Unless Yavin has changed substantially, he won't have much experience with babies. "It helps he's in a good mood."
"Cassian!" B2EMO chirps happily, circling the trio. "Bix! Brasso! Cassian!"
Bix laughs quietly. "He's not the only one, apparently."
Brasso makes a grab for Cassian's stubble, and he doesn't even flinch—just looks down at him in wonder.
"I thought maybe you knew," Bix says. "I thought that Vel or Wil told you, and that was why… that was why you came."
Cassian shakes his head, eyes like moons. There's no reaction to the confirmation that their friends, their family, knew. "No. They didn't. I came because… it felt like the right time."
Bix nods. There's some place he needs to be. Maybe, you're the place he needs to be. "I'm glad. I was worried…" She can't finish it. "Well, I was worried."
He understands. "Almost. The last mission. A friend saved me, but it was close. Too close."
The final admission is so soft, Bix almost misses it. Even so, she can't help but prod at Cassian's words. It seems impossible that he didn’t suspect; didn't feel a shift as the universe was forged anew. And she thinks she saw a flicker of… something, on his face. "You really didn't know?"
He shakes his head a second time. She looks again for the fury, the indignation, but it's still not there. "No." His brow furrows. "But… the woman. The Healer. Sometimes she would say something, and I would wonder. But I never… it felt wrong to hope for such a thing, with everything that's happening."
Bix's smile is all the cognitive dissonance of a parent rolled into one. The joy, the pain, the love. The terror and exhaustion. The hope.
Always, always the hope.
She's not naive—she knows Cassian can't stay here forever. Isn't really theirs, while there's the Empire to overthrow. Even if he feels lost now, it won't last long, and Bix doesn't think she'll be making any hard choices for him again any time soon. But however long they have him, it's already more than she ever allowed herself to dream for.
Foolish, in hindsight.
Dreams fuel rebellions, too.
Bix lifts her hands to cradle his face, the sounds of B2EMO and the co-opted Imperial ship a perfect cacophony of homecoming chaos. Between them, Brasso gives another happy gurgle.
"Really, Cassian?" Bix asks him gently, teasing. Her heart burns with the knowledge that she can. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Rebellions—those are built on hope."
She gazes down at Brasso and drops a hand; he snatches at her, gripping a finger so tight it almost hurts. "And this… this is the absolute best hope there is."
Cassian leans into her palm and smiles back. Tender, but small—like it's hard, or he's out of practice.
Like the first grains of spring after a long dark winter, budding at last.