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[seenitbefore]

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[seenitbefore]

"Okay." It sounds strangely stifled in his own ears. Inanities. What can he possibly say to her? Make small talk, ask her about the garden, offer to fetch and carry for her? What can he possibly expect her to say in reply? He should go back inside; whether he's in her way or not, his presence isn't making either of them more comfortable.

But inside there's not-Bodhi instead, who seems even more disquieted by him than not-Jyn; and there's the - thing - the thing in the cage, that hissed and beat its gray-feathered wings and shouted at him - sounding so like K-2, like a childish parody of K-2 - and if he thinks about that, he really will be sick this time.

Cassian bites his tongue, looking down at his hands. Which are his hands, indisputably, and yet a little too thin, too soft - the calluses trifling, the back of the left unscarred, the right with a couple of long-healed punctures - like claw marks, he realizes suddenly. He swallows hard.

[thenextchance]

"Hey," Jyn says, a little suddenly. Calling him to attention, but maybe not quite the tone she meant, the note she intended to strike. "You're fine here, okay? In the garden. This is okay."

[seenitbefore]

He straightens up, reflexively, feeling awkward even as he does so; out of place, ill-fitting. "Okay," he says again, carefully neutral. "Thanks."

[thenextchance]

She makes a face.

She hates that.

[seenitbefore]

"I can--" he starts, and then pauses to clear his throat - he is not handling this well, where is his head? And then, for the sake of something to say: "I can - lend a hand. If you like. If - if you point me in the right direction, I mean."

Which is a lie, and not even a very good one. What does he know about gardening on this or any other planet? But it's out there now, an offer made in good faith, at least, and he tucks his thumbs in his pockets - someone else's pockets - and tries to stand easy.

[thenextchance]

She considers for a moment. Then nods. "There's another trowel," she says." The bulbs in the bucket just need to go around the outside of this bed."

She gestures at the bed she's kneeling in front of, its borders delineated by weathered chunks of wood and stones of various sizes that let the earth inside it round a few inches higher than the surrounding ground.

[seenitbefore]

So. He casts about for a moment till he spots the thing, stuck in the smaller flowerbed at a haphazard angle. When he's retrieved it, it seems clear why she prefers the one she's using now; the handle on this one is stouter, looks as though it wouldn't fit so comfortably in her hand, though the wood seems well-worn. Cassian takes care not to dwell on that observation.

Instead he skirts her and the bucket, carefully, half afraid he's going to step on some prized cultivar or other. Settles to the ground at a respectful distance, and watches her work for a moment before he risks starting his own hole. (Can you screw up digging a hole? He's not going to find out.)

[thenextchance]

There are, in fact, ways to dig holes wrong, but Cassian is pretty unlikely to find them in the context of this task.

“You didn't do anything wrong,” Jyn says, to Cassian but also to a bulb. “You're doing fine.”

[seenitbefore]

For a second he actually smiles: small and wry, but genuine, an expression that belongs on his face, though it's gone before she can even turn her head. "I haven't done anything at all yet."

[thenextchance]

Jyn snorts. "Sure," she says, which is notably not either 'yes' or 'no'.

[seenitbefore]

"Except be here," and his tone is dry again.

[thenextchance]

"You didn't do that wrong," she says. "It's not volitional."

She's rolling her eyes at you, Cassian Andor. Can you hear her doing it?

[seenitbefore]

It's hard to say which he finds more disconcerting, her straightforward kindness, which he doesn't know what to do with, or that utterly familiar edge of exasperation. He answers mildly, careful not to glance back at her. "So, I haven't done anything."

He tests the point of the trowel against the earth, and then, with a mental shrug, starts in. The handle fits so smoothly against his palm that his stomach flutters, and he has to breathe against another surge of dizzy panic, wondering if he - if this other -

Observe, don't wonder. Focus on the musty smell of soil, the color of it, as it swallows the metal edge, until the sensation of being disembodied fades.

[thenextchance]

"Not yet," she answers, and stops to carefully pry apart a clump of bulbs that will do better if they're separated. "You're going to dig holes, though."

[seenitbefore]

"I guess I am," amiably. "May as well start earning my keep."

He nudges the loose soil aside with the back of the trowel, the way he's seen her doing. Digs deeper. The motion is unfamiliar, for which he's strangely grateful. Angle the blade downward, sliding under; push with the heel of your hand. Lever a handful of dirt loose, lift it out. It's not difficult - just not something he can do without thought, without noticing.

It helps a little.

[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.'