Chapter Text
London (LHR) -- British Airways -- BA1506 -- 05:55pm -- 8 -- Landed - On-time
Cassian tries to stop himself bouncing on his toes like a child. He’s in the Terminal 8 arrivals hall of JFK, waiting for Jyn with a handmade sign that she’ll roll her eyes at but secretly love. She’s coming home from her first extensive international tour. She’s young for it but she’s more than good enough and the narrative of a beautiful former child prodigy returning to the stage is like catnip to marketing.
It’s been six months since he’s seen her and he’s missed her even more than he thought he would, her absence like a throbbing bruise always on the edge of his consciousness. Their most recent phone call, when she told him that they were adding another week to the tour, was rough and Cassian let his more of his frustration bleed into his tone than he’d usually allow. But now that absence is finally over and they’ll get at least three months together. It’s not enough time, but he doesn’t think he could ever spend enough time with Jyn. They’ve been together four years now and Cassian’s noticed his eyes lingering on jewellery stores more and more, the idea of becoming each other’s official family growing in a small, safe place in his mind.
He checks the time - 6:40, she should be out soon. He thinks about which wine would go best with the roast dinner he’s made (Jyn’s favourite because it reminds her so much of home) and decides on the Bordeaux he got as a thank you for playing at some corporate event and has been saving for a special occasion.
The clock ticks over to seven and he wonders if anything’s gone wrong, JFK’s queues are infamous and it’s perfectly likely she’s still stuck in immigration or customs. He tries to call her anyway, mostly expecting she’ll still have her phone on airplane mode. Instead, it rings four times and then goes straight to voicemail.
Strange.
Perhaps her finger slipped when she went to pick up, so he calls again. This time it only rings once. He leaves a voicemail saying he just wanted to know how she was getting on, that he’s standing in front of a big concrete pillar, that he can’t wait to see her.
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach but Cassian’s never been a pessimist, her phone could have been stolen, could be broken, perhaps she’s on a really important call. So he waits, watches as friends, families and lovers are joyfully reunited like it’s the opening scene of Love Actually.
He tries calling every ten minutes, aware that more and more of his worry is seeping into every message. With growing dread, he thinks of all the times she’s ignored her father’s calls, how doggedly she can cut someone out of her life when she feels she needs to.
Finally, she texts him, You deserve better.
Any hope he had that this was some crazy misunderstanding and she was still coming home to him is crushed in his chest along with his heart. His mind races trying to parse her meaning. Jyn’s never been one for self-loathing, unless she’s done something awful while she was away, a passionate tryst with some exotic virtuoso perhaps, but no, she’s nothing if not loyal. Maybe this is her version of that most meaningless of break-up cliches, ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ tossed at him so she can avoid having a proper conversation about what she’s feeling. That sounds the most like Jyn, but he never would have thought she could be so callous to someone who hadn’t hurt her first. Perhaps the only explanation is that he never really knew her at all. That he fell so hard and so deeply that he’s invented someone and something between them that was never really there.
Someone jostles his shoulder, a woman arm in arm with her wife or girlfriend, blissfully unaware of Cassian’s world crumbling around him. He can feel the building pressure and sting of tears and blinks them back. There’ll be plenty of time for that, to mourn the loss of the woman he at least thought Jyn was. It still takes effort to turn away, to give up on the hope that she’ll appear with some perfectly innocent explanation. He tries calling her one more time. His heart lifts when it rings more than once, mind forming the right words to convince or reassure her when she picks up, but after the seventh ring he hears the familiar, brusque tone of her answering message. Cassian never thought he could hate the sound of Jyn’s voice. He tosses his sign in the bin as he makes his way to the exit, the garishly painted words now a sick taunt,
Welcome home!
The first week without Jyn passes in a haze. He doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol because he’s not sure he’d be able to stop drinking if he started. Instead, he practises until his fingers bleed, playing the saddest pieces from his repertoire and then when he runs out of those, inventing ad hoc viola arrangements of tragic arias. If he breaks down during E lucevan le stelle then at least no one is there to hear him. His next-door neighbour banged on his door a couple of times until he opened it and whatever she saw (red eyes, unwashed hair and the distinct air of someone who might shatter at any moment) made her cut him some slack. In his weakest moment he tries to call Jyn, only to find she’s changed her number. He calls Bodhi who says he’s spoken to her but she didn’t tell him why she left.
‘She uh, she didn’t sound well.’ Bodhi says, like he’s tip-toeing around a much harsher truth.
Cassian ignores the swell of worry, the urge to track her down and try to fix whatever’s gone wrong. Jyn doesn’t want that from him anymore, doesn’t want anything from him anymore. He gives rein to the bitter, ugly part of him that’s glad she’s upset, that thinks she should be. Bodhi ends the conversation with a promise to take care of her and Cassian tries and fails not to feel jealous of the fact that Jyn will let him.
The haze is broken a few days later when someone knocks on his door. His heart starts pounding, certain and exultant that Jyn has changed her mind and come home. He yanks open the door and tries not to let his face fall too obviously when he finds Cynthia on the other side. She takes one look at him, sighs, and walks past him into the apartment. He quickly steps out of the way of her cello and follows her into the kitchen.
‘I knew something must have gone wrong to make Cassian Andor miss a gig.’
He freezes, suddenly remembering the Hartford wedding he was meant to be playing this morning. ‘Fuck. I completely forgot.’ It hurts to talk, his throat rough from disuse.
She shakes her head. ‘Don’t worry about it, the one good thing about being a violist is no one even noticed you weren’t there.’ There’s a teasing lilt to her voice and Cassian’s mouth twitches for the first time in what feels like forever. Then he remembers why he hasn’t smiled and the crushing weight of it overcomes him again. He sees her eyes catch on the box of Jyn’s things on the dining room table, ready to be sent to Bodhi. ‘When did she leave?’
He collapses onto a stool at the counter. ‘Friday before last.’
Cyn’s eyes soften in sympathy, and more than that, in empathy. There’s a deep sadness she carries around with her, the emotion flowing through her playing, aching like a bruise but somehow still so beautiful. It’s almost comforting now, to have someone who knows in exquisite detail what it’s like be heartbroken and lonely. ‘I’m sorry Cassian.’
It’s the first of what he knows will be many apologies whenever someone asks after Jyn. He dreads having to repeat the truth over and over, Yes, she left me. No, I don’t know why. They will only remind him of deeper truths, No, I’m not holding up. Yes, I still love her. No, I don’t know if she ever loved me.
Noticing him starting to get lost in his thoughts, Cynthia switches to caretaker mode, briskly opening his fridge to survey what she has to work with. ‘Are you hungover?’
He shakes his head.
‘Good. Go and shower. I’ll make you an omelette.’
Cassian obeys, pausing only to touch his hand to her arm. ‘Thanks Cyn.’
She scrunches up her nose. ‘You can thank me by washing. Go.’
He goes.
He doesn’t fall into bed with Cynthia that night, or the next. But somewhere along the way, as they both pine for people they can’t have, it becomes natural to turn to each other for comfort, for a brief respite from loneliness. He never lets himself imagine Cyn’s features a little softer, body more muscular, her eyes green instead of brown, never lets his tongue slip on the first letter of her name, but he still never quite manages to close his eyes when they’re together.
Years pass and the hole Jyn left in his life starts to scar over. Cyn’s orchestra, the New York Symphony, needs an violist and she listens to his audition piece until they’re both sick of it. Thankfully, the maestro and the first viola chair, a scowling man named David who plays like every piece is a battle, like it well enough and Cassian is able to devote himself to his new orchestra with everything he has. Sometimes he’ll see a poster for one of Jyn’s concerts, or Bodhi or Leia (but never Kay) will accidentally bring her up in conversation when they catch up, but Cassian’s fine with it. He is. He’s fine, and perfectly content with, or at least perfectly resigned to, never seeing her again.