I'm the pilot. Jedha's gone. I delivered the message. Galen's gone, but Jyn's alive. I'm the pilot. I got us off Scarif. We're alive. I'm the pilot.
These facts ring through him with the familiarity of long repetition. He was supposed to pick things that were true, things anyone around him could confirm if he slipped. These days, he doesn't need random rebels to confirm Jedha or Scarif or Galen, and piloting lives in his tendons and nerves. He picked these things because they were true. If he'd had any children or--or spouses, he would have picked those, too.
Bodhi drags his hands down his neck, fingers curling in the collar of his flightsuit. That wasn't so bad; he hadn't slipped as far as rocking or counting his breaths. The urge to physically hold his skull together has mostly passed. He can swallow and look around for Cassian, and be grateful that he's a little too tired to jump when he finds him at his side.
"You--you're sorry?" he rasps. "You're never sor-sorry. Not in so many words." His mouth twitches again, a little dry this time, a little sharp in ways Bodhi himself doesn't quite realize. "What's happening? What are--you're--all these things you're s-saying? What?"
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branchandroot
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Date: 2018-11-22 08:21 am (UTC)These facts ring through him with the familiarity of long repetition. He was supposed to pick things that were true, things anyone around him could confirm if he slipped. These days, he doesn't need random rebels to confirm Jedha or Scarif or Galen, and piloting lives in his tendons and nerves. He picked these things because they were true. If he'd had any children or--or spouses, he would have picked those, too.
Bodhi drags his hands down his neck, fingers curling in the collar of his flightsuit. That wasn't so bad; he hadn't slipped as far as rocking or counting his breaths. The urge to physically hold his skull together has mostly passed. He can swallow and look around for Cassian, and be grateful that he's a little too tired to jump when he finds him at his side.
"You--you're sorry?" he rasps. "You're never sor-sorry. Not in so many words." His mouth twitches again, a little dry this time, a little sharp in ways Bodhi himself doesn't quite realize. "What's happening? What are--you're--all these things you're s-saying? What?"