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[seenitbefore]

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[callsign_rogueone]

Bodhi presses a kiss to the bridge of Cassian's nose. "Not that kind of dangerous. Erm. Well, yes, that kind, but I'm not worried there. Jyn and I can handle it, and if this keeps up, we can...call your dad?" He squeezes at the back of Cassian's neck, working his thumb in beside the stiff tendon. "I asked Creepy Space You about any triggers, because of the kids. I think he understood."

Some of the assurance he'd felt after that strange (and awkward, can't ever forget the awkwardness of spooning some other man in his husband's body. That's going to be one of those intrusive thoughts that keeps him awake at night several decades from now) conversation the other night fades away. Cassian's squeeze is just shy of bruising, and the things he chooses to share about that other reality are chilling. "Oh. I--other me--he's young, though. There was a time you were intimidating to me, too."

[seenitbefore]

"I know you can, I just--" He squirms at the pressure, but some of the tension in him shudders loose again. "Mmh." And laughs, reluctantly, because this is never not funny to him. "Yeah, big tough me with all my shit together, no wonder."

(He knows Bodhi is right in this - they do need to face this, discuss it, be smart about it - but that doesn't make it any less daunting.)

[callsign_rogueone]

"Your resting bitchface was a force to be reckoned with," Bodhi smirks. He wishes the term had existed back then, not that his 24 year old self would have had the guts to use it, at first.

"Although, I don't know, everything I'm hearing about that place is...grim." he allows himself to settle back down fully, weight half pressing into Cassian and half digging into the couch cushions at his back. He lets his head rest on Cassian's shoulder and keeps on dragging fingers through his hair, frowning pensively. "He told me Neph's there, too. Not Djem, thank god, but I--I don't want any of what I'm hearing to be real."

[seenitbefore]

"Neph?" incredulously. "Neph and not Djem, that's - I don't know what to make of that." His magpie child, in all those endless tunnels. A shiver creeps up his spine.

He blots out that image deliberately, focusing for a moment on Bodhi's hand in his hair, the space of warm breath between them. Here. Safe. "What--" He forces it past the sudden clench in his throat. "What else did he say? This time?" He centers his palm between Bodhi's shoulder blades, digs his fingers in gently, and tries to ignore the crawling in his stomach. "If he's been trying to scare you, I'll - I don't know. Give him the mother of all hangovers."

[callsign_rogueone]

Make no mistake, Bodhi doesn't want Djem anywhere near any of this bullshit, but the thought of one child out there in the universe somewhere without the other is...wrong. Everything about this is wrong.

He makes an incoherent noise, something meant to be comforting, apologetic. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all, but what if Cassian ran into this Other Nephele at some point? Better to be braced for it, right?

"No, no, I don't think he was," he shushes, sweeping his touch from the crown of Cassian's head to the knob between his shoulderblades and back again. "The opposite, almost. I think he knows he's--that we're scared."

"He admitted we were all there with him. The other us'es. I knew that, but he didn't know that I knew, right, so that was a nice piece of truth." There's that noise again, the soft apologetic one. "He mostly asked about us, the kids, K. To keep from having to answer questions about himself, I'd guess, but we worked on some sign language. He...doesn't seem to want to scare the kids, if we can help it."

Then, hushed, "I don't think he was ever a kid. I think this war he's in has been going on a very long time." Bodhi pulls Cassian to him by all points of contact, digs knobby fingers in a little too hard, as if to wring away the might-have-beens of his own childhood and the realities that apparently exist somewhere out there in an infinite multiverse.

[seenitbefore]

Cassian is quiet for a minute or two, digesting this. Despite the evidence he's been picturing the other, the stranger, as a stranger: a tall menacing shadow to match his K-bot, a faceless invader from that other, nightmare world.

Easier, less threatening, than the image Bodhi builds for him now of a too-old twentysomething, a scared, scarred kid unwilling to hurt kids even younger. A human being open to reason, capable of compassion. Defensive among strangers.

And therefore not, perhaps, a stranger at all.

I'm afraid, he wants to say. Afraid I really have gone crazy and I'm dragging you both with me. That this has been inside my head all along, that I'm making it all up, that I'm lying to myself and I don't even know it. I don't want this to be real and I'm terrified that it's not.

"I love you," is what he says aloud, abruptly, against his husband's neck.

[callsign_rogueone]

"I love you," Bodhi replies instantly. Then he has to detour to seal a fierce kiss to Cassian's mouth, one that may give away his own fears about what is and isn't happening. When he pulls back, it's to rasp, "We will be okay."

That sits between them, resting on the spare pillow they'd pulled out of a closet for Other Cssian's use. It's lumpy and smells like Jyn's herb garden, old dry scents tucked in a sachet and tossed in the linen closet summers and summers ago.

"Let's start small," Bodhi says as he shuffles his knees for a better fit. "Are there any clients you can put off? Any appointments we need to cancel?"

[seenitbefore]

"Yeah," he murmurs back, and swallows, and says it more firmly: "Yeah, we will." If they just keep reassuring each other of it, it might wind up being true. Right?

Right. Sure.

Cassian digs his toes into the snug space behind the edge of the end cushion, and considers the question. Almost at once he realizes the essential problem. "That depends, though. On when it's - on whether I can count on being here ahead of time. How do you plan around--?" He breaks off, exhaling sharply. "This is nuts."

[thenextchance]

"Sure," she says. This time it's a little warmer, a little more amused, a little 'I could bicker with you about something in there, but am choosing not to.'

[callsign_rogueone]

Bodhi would much rather focus on something he can affect (dentist appointments and PTA conferences and track meets and deadlines) than things he can't (his own shitty coping mechanisms and sometimes-slippery grasp on reality). So he tightens his arms around Cassian's shoulders and taps points between his shoulderblades.

"Yes, but so far, it's been every other day," his ring finger strikes between vertebrae, "If that keeps up, you'll be with us, um, Wednesday and Friday and Sunday," his middle finger drops just inside the wing of a scapula, "Was there anything due by Friday that you can't get done in, um, two days?" index finger to the little wispy hairs at the nape of Cassian's neck, "What kind of bug lasts for a week that we can lie about you having?"

His voice peters out, thumb sliding up the rise of bone behind Cassian's ear. This next part is...not something he wants to pick at, much, but it's the question that rings loudest and most often. "And if it goes on longer than that, how do we tell the kids?"

[seenitbefore]

"If--" Cassian echoes, and sighs, trying to relax into the touch. "No, I don't think so. Just minor stuff. Djem's got cute art guy on Friday. Rex will probably call when he gets back from Florida, but I don't know if that's Saturday or Sunday..." all this evenly enough. But the last question makes him flinch despite himself, voice cracking finally. "God, I don't know, I don't wanna think about it. 'Hey guys, I'm losing my mind but don't worry, we think it's on a schedule...' Fuck. I don't know."

@livesfree

[seenitbefore]

Cassian turns up, this time, in full boy-next-door guise: clean shirt, clean shave, hair trimmed so it has a chance in hell of staying out of his eyes, everything about him broadcasting I have nothing to hide, and also am a comfort to my widowed mother. To anyone who’s actually acquainted with him, it’s either hilarious or mildly sickening, depending.

His good humor’s not even entirely manufactured. He’s had his hands full, and it’s been a while since he’s seen DJ, who is - not his friend, definitely not his boyfriend, not even really his ally, but - someone he likes seeing. Whom he - doesn’t rely on, knows he can’t trust, but who’s been a relative constant over the past few years, when very little else has. Who’s not only easy for him to work with, but also - yeah, okay - fun.

So it’s a little, genuine grin that he greets him with, along with a civil “Hey.”

[livesfree]

Somewhere along the line, Cassian and DJ become friends, or the closest equivalent of friends that DJ can actually have. So much so (and absolutely not because he stumbled upon it by accident), Cassian knows a few pockets of hideouts that DJ uses on top of his usual haunts.

Right now, it's a dingy cantina, the kind that you have to watch your credits in. DJ's a regular (until he decides to move on, of course, or until he decides to swingle the whole place just because he can) and at the bar he's got a rather expensive looking drink.

It's not like he's actually paid for it. He never does, not with how easy it is to slice into their droids and computers. He happens to be glancing around when he sees him--cleanshaven, looking strange, but still good (far better than DJ ever has). Attractive, even, and when DJ smiles he feels a weird twinge of jealousy.

"Look what the cat d-d-dragged in," He greets, and flourishes a ringed hand to the empty seat next to him. He's in need of a shave, and his hair is mussed underneath his favourite hat, but for the most part he's pretty clean. He's come into wealth, recently.

[seenitbefore]

Just for that, Cassian flashes him the smile that goes with the rest of it, ingenuously sweet and a little shy. It disappears the second he slides into the proffered seat. "We can't all be fashion icons like you," he says, mildly. (Which is to say, in the particular idiom of wary not-quite-boys, you're not looking half bad yourself.) "That hat's a classic."

Part of him, the part that's still a stupid kid despite his best efforts, wants to just... skip all this. Lean in to press himself against DJ's rangy height, make him laugh, get out of this dive and find somewhere to kiss that smirk off his face, and just... leave business till later. Just for now.

Which is pathetic. What is he, fifteen? Cassian shuts those thoughts down firmly, crosses thin arms on the bar. "Break anything interesting lately?"

[forceofothers]

Chirrut steps back and to the side, gesturing them into his and Baze's quarters and taking himself out of the way at the same time. It's showy, almost grandiose, and also partly lost in shadow because he forgets to hit the light plate until he's in the middle of doing it. “Clearly,” he says, “this is a matter to be discussed over tea. Baze!” Over his shoulder. “Would you mind putting on the kettle for our guests?”

“That you are not at home,” Chirrut says to Cassian, “does not mean you are not welcome. Please, come in. We secured a table and chairs week before last.”

This is true. Where exactly the table came from is uncertain – probably food service surplus – but it is just small enough to be shoved into the corner not occupied by a battered desk or two bunks shoved together as well. There are three chairs, an integrated heating element style kettle set pride of place on the tabletop, and a pretty painted tea tin beside it. (Cassian won't recognize the brand, but Bodhi might – it's Ithorian, packaged for export off planet but mostly bought by members of the Ithorian diaspora. A gift from Murr in Comms, whose cousin sent two tins in their most recent care package. He gave the Guardians the tin design he considers “the better one,” an aerial view of the Cathor Hills.)

And there's Baze, who doesn't actually sleep with his cannon. At least not on this particular base.

“You needn't apologize,” Chirrut says to Cassian, somewhere between a pronouncement and a confidence. “I myself am usually following at most two thirds of anything.”

[seenitbefore]

"That's reassuring," quiet and dry; but he does follow Bodhi inside. It's a room much like the other two, though crowded with furniture, and moreso with three - no, four men trying not to trip over each other within its confines. The air has a faint, not unpleasant scent, unlike the metallic tang that pervades Bodhi's space.

Cassian offers a small, uneasy smile to that fourth as he clears his path: middle-aged, thickset, long hair and a resigned expression. "Sorry about this," he murmurs.

In answer he receives a long, penetrating look. "Hmm," is all Baze says, however, before he turns back to his task.

[livesfree]

"Hearts," DJ says mildly, though judging from the look on his face he's joking. He is--mostly--because if anyone has a lot in life as a handsome playboy, it isn't him.

But he's perfectly fine with it. That'll be Cassian's job. Making out for intel, like it's some sort of teenager's holovid. He taps the bar, surprisingly graceful for someone who looks stronger than he actually is (he's all stocky frame and not much else), and motions for the server to pour Cassian whatever he wants.

"Done a few jobs. Lately, casinos. Pleasure planets--settin' up a pretty nice system lately." That's all he's really going to say about it, too. Cassian gets the most information out of DJ anyway, especially for someone not paying. Probably because DJ thinks he's cute.

"What brings you to meeting little old m-m-me for a sit-down? Finally give up the whole resistance idea?"

[seenitbefore]

By now Cassian's trained himself not to rise to that bait (any more than he lets his eyes follow those curiously graceful gestures); the only reaction it gets is another smile, with a few more teeth in it. "Maybe I just missed your bad jokes."

[callsign_rogueone]

It would be nice, Bodhi thinks, to reassure Cassian that Baze is all bark and no bite, but he'd rather not start off by lying to the man. He offers his own apologetic smile, but gets only a flat stare in response. That's fair; he did interrupt their sleep with this latest impossibility.

The sight of the tea kettle settles the smile a little more comfortably on Bodhi's face. The tin of leaves is far from what he's used to - fat clay and pastoral landscapes where Jedhans hammered metal and enameled geometric arrays - but still occupies a practical ritual area within the living space.

(Every household in his neighborhood kept a pot on a warming brazier inside the front door, circled by matching thumb-sized cups. Theirs had been part of his grandmother's trousseau, patterned in green and yellow.)

"I can, um, the tea?" Bodhi offers, conscious of the host-obligation but also keenly aware of the night cycle, invading what little time Chirrut and Baze have alone together, and the strangeness of his own request. By rights, he ought to have come to their door with sachet of tea leaves as a preliminary exchange for the trouble, the least he can do is tend to the pot while Chirrut does...whatever needs doing.

[seenitbefore]

[ continued from tfln ]

It might if you gave it a chance.

Helpful for whom, exactly?

ohhh i will meditate on how to translate him entirely to this canon, rest assured

[helmut]

Helpful for you. Or me. I know now where you draw the line, captain.

*chinhands*

[seenitbefore]

You think so?

[helmut]

You have not attempted to deny my assertion about your feelings for Jyn.

[seenitbefore]

I'm sorry, was I supposed to? Where are you going with this?

[helmut]

That if we are to go into the field again, we have to be sharper. We cannot be distracted. I lost comms with you for too long on our last mission.

[ by 'too long,' he probably means 3 minutes. ]

Luckily for us both that we are resourceful.