"Sorry, I can--" He breaks off, partly because the irony of I can go is too bitter, and partly from another wave of disorientation.
She's Jyn: small and scruffy and brusque, shouldering her way into a place as though she's settling in for a siege; she even sounds like herself, which Bodhi doesn't, quite. But this woman has threads of gray in her hair, and something soft about her eyes. On some level he recognized Jyn the moment he saw her, before she ever knew his name, before they'd exchanged a word or a good long look; and on that level he can't recognize this other, motherly Jyn at all.
He breathes in. Breathes out, slowly. Watches her push up her sleeves, with a strange pang.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2018-12-15 04:50 am (UTC)She's Jyn: small and scruffy and brusque, shouldering her way into a place as though she's settling in for a siege; she even sounds like herself, which Bodhi doesn't, quite. But this woman has threads of gray in her hair, and something soft about her eyes. On some level he recognized Jyn the moment he saw her, before she ever knew his name, before they'd exchanged a word or a good long look; and on that level he can't recognize this other, motherly Jyn at all.
He breathes in. Breathes out, slowly. Watches her push up her sleeves, with a strange pang.