#Cassian makes a lot of angry faces but has just adopted another person into his murder squad

[egregiousderp]

Fulcrum X Fulcrum (With Spoilers for Season Three of Rebels if that wasn't Obvious. We good? Okay~)

Okay look. I know a few things after this year’s double punch of Rebels and Rogue One:

–Cassian Andor is a former Separatist and a former Fulcrum agent apparently involved with recruiting

–Agent Kallus is apparently really good at reprogramming droids.

–Even parts of the fandom that LIKE Kallus want to see him punched.

–That jacket and hair combo’s gotta come from somewhere

–I need these assholes to meet.

–The timeline technically meshes so it could happen.

And so I ended up writing Cassian/Kallus (Cassius?) pre-slash fic snippet I might never go further with over Clone Wars Politics, Kaytoo’s Sass, Namedropping, and my old favorite: “Sad Pan Kallus is Pan As Hell.”

For the record I blame Moon for not stopping me.

——–

——–

“I’d heard a rumor some of the members of the rebellion held separatist leanings during the Clone War.”

It isn’t much in the way of conversation when you’ve been paired off with a strange man to fix an imperial droid. But it’s something considering theirs had been a conversation of false starts:

The information in this unit must be valuable.

The withering scowl back.

Kay has no information.

Or:

I didn’t catch your name.

It’s the same as yours. Fulcrum.

And his look.

That isn’t an answer.

Cassian. Cassian Andor, Rebel Intelligence.

Now Kallus is hunting for another thread, picking at the man’s accent. Rim world. Beta quadrant. Separatist territory–in Kallus’s youth anyway.

“We take what we’re given,” Cassian replies stiffly, not looking up. There’s a ways to look up for Kallus no matter what. “Wanting a droid to take the place of a man does not make a lesser rebel.”

He’s fiddling with the insides of his droid, brows knit deep and hard.

“We don’t choose where we’re born, I suppose,” Kallus defers.

“You’re from Coruscant,” there’s a scoff to the name of his homeworld, “Tell me, Captain Kallus, do they still teach the Separatists were terrorists and radicals, railing against democracy?”

He’s never told Captain Andor his name.

“It’s hard to argue with the image of a temple burning,” Kallus replies quietly.

To say the least of the horrific, withered countenance of the Emperor that had given Kallus nightmares as a child, a fear of Jedi that lasted long into his adult life.

“I don’t have to.” Cassian growls, face going hard and pinched before he’s leaning. Back down, fiddling with something in the back of his droid’s head, the lump of metal cradled in his lap like it’s the face of a child.

It’s personal, Kallus notices. This droid, this one droid matters to him or he never would have asked for the help in the first place. And it’s Imperial or any number of people probably would have helped, not just Kallus.

Kallus goes back to reattaching the droid’s right arm, to balancing the servos. He tests the motion in the metal fingers, letting the silence linger between them. He sneaks glances at the other man with the right afforded a tall, well-muscled person. No one wanted to upset him on first look, so often he could look where he pleased without issue.

Captain Andor knows he’s looking but seems bent on willfully ignoring him instead. He is a handsome man beneath the perpetual scowl, Kallus notes. Though he thinks many beings are handsome and he has no reason to believe the life of a rebel is an easy one though he’s barely begun his own.

Kallus wants to ask how he became a Fulcrum agent if he’s traveling in the company of an Imperial KX, but talks with the lilting accent of a rim-worlder.

Doesn’t

He lets his eyes slip away, bending so his head is lower than Cassian’s. The subtle quirks of body language worked into him in Imperial Intelligence. The unspoken cues that told a person to trust. To expect authority. To yield.

Cassian doesn’t look up, adding, “You should talk to Rex. About the Clone Wars. About being a clone.”

“I’ve already spoken to Captain Rex in gratitude for his service.”

“And in your texts on history was there ever a mention of his name? Of the names of any of the clones serving the Jedi?” Cassian’s accent apparently gets more pronounced when he’s riled. A dangerous trait in an agent, perhaps.

Kallus is quiet.

“…Did he really serve under General Skywalker?” He asks finally.

“So you think he’s lying?” Cassian shoots back.

“I- No,” Kallus pushes at his hair, flattening it back, “My mentor, Colonel Yularen always…spoke highly of General Skywalker. Nothing more.”

The unspoken unease that two men who once fought for the same side so closely might face off again as enemies lingers with him.

He wonders how many times he undid the work of Cassian Andor’s hands while serving the empire.

Cassian glances at him for a moment then goes back to tightening screws with angry little jerks of his arm.

“Would you still have thanked Captain Rex if he had killed General Skywalker on command?” The Rebel snaps.

Kallus grimaces.

“I don’t know what I would have done.”

The honest answer.

Perhaps not the best one because Cassian levels a look at him, seems to peer at him.

He’s a sharp man, Kallus notes. Easily his equal and should be treated as such. Stubble and bags under the eyes like he’s been camped out in a jungle on his own, and not in the great ruins of Yavin with a company of rebels. Rough edges and hard choices.

Kallus looks back at him and is sure it shows in his face that he isn’t sure if Captain Cassian Andor, Fulcrum, is what he wants to become.

He looks at the way Cassian’s hands rest almost tenderly on the dome of the droid’s head, a throwaway pile of scrap with an Imperial logo still prominently on its arm, and thinks maybe he’s precisely what he should like to become.

Cassian’s hard eyes pinch.

“You should think carefully about programming, Captain Kallus,” his voice is very soft, a handkerchief hiding a vibroblade in a dark alley, “Not all of it is done to droids.”

“It has been thoroughly brought to my attention I ought to ask more questions. Do let me know if I bore you,” Kallus replies, keeping his tone as bland as if he’s at a core dinner dressed in gold braid.

The corner of Cassian’s mouth goes up in a humorless smile, a noiseless chuff of laughter.

He toggles a switch and the KX unit’s white eyes flick back to life.

A metal hand clamps almost immediately around Kallus’s neck.

Kallus chokes, instincts leaping hard. A second metal hand bats away his blows, unfolding limb by limb.

“KAY!” Cassian shouts.

The droid’s head swiveled to him immediately.

It paused a moment, then unclamped his metal fingers from Kallus’s throat.

“…Clear of Hostiles.” A male voice intoned, a little primly.

Kallus coughed, slumped on the stones of the temple floor.

“Are you alright?” Cassian snaps, dropping to his knees with a curse.

To his surprise, Kallus laughs under his breath, rubbing his throat and jaw.

He pulls himself to his feet, waving off the other man’s hands

“Now there’s the rebel welcome I’d expected.”

Cassian’s startled into cracking a smile, quickly trying to cover it. A quiet thing.

Kallus covers his staring by patting the droid’s metal arm.

“That’s quite a loyalty subroutine your KX has.”

“I am seventy percent certain I should find that response insulting,” the droid replied pausing and flicking its white eyes to him, “I’m K2-SO. I’m a reprogrammed Imperial Droid.”

“Kallus,” Kallus intones, “Formerly ISB-021, an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau, and formerly a Fulcrum Agent in service of the Rebellion.” He pats the droid’s arm again. “You could probably consider us kindred spirits.”

Cassian’s mouth widens.

“I will not,” the droid says, once again sounding smug, “My programming is far superior to a defective Imperial Agent’s, Cassian’s seen to it.”

“Kay.”

“Fine by me,” Kallus says, ruefully rubbing his neck, “Good Men like Captain Andor should be in good hands. Yours seem to serve more than well enough.”

Something passes into Cassian’s face that he can’t quite read.

Kallus quickly removes his hand from the droid’s arm.

“Everything seems in order.” He inclined his head in a formal bow, “Fulcrum.”

Cassian’s eyes flick over him before he nods back.

“Fulcrum.”

“Let me know if you need help with Imperial equipment. I’m here to do whatever good I can.”

Cassian considers this, dark eyes briefly flicking down to Kallus’s hands, then up again to his eyes. There’s fur in the lining of his coat even in the heat of Yavin, framing his face. He nods after a moment.

“I will.”

The droid turns to him.

“You will?” It repeats.

Cassian shushes Kaytoo, eyes still on Kallus. He says nothing.

Kallus smiles.

“Thank you,” he says, meaning it.

“You actually like him?” He can hear the droid say too loudly as he leaves.

Cassian’s response is murmured too low for his to hear but Kallus’ smile broadens into a grin.

“Do you want to know how I feel about strange men touching me?” the droid’s offended voice is gradually lost to the ruckus of the cargo bay.

[youareiron-andyouarestrong]

please write that please please please please

inspired by @rebelcaptain excellent Parks and Rebels meme, specifically this post

oh, Ophelia, you’ve been on my mind girl since the floodoh, Ophelia, heaven help a fool who falls in loveah, ah, got a little paycheck, you got big plans and you gotta move

for someone whose head barely reaches the top of his shoulder, Jyn Erso gets into a lot of fights.

Cassian knows, intellectually, that no one trained and raised by Saw Gerrera was ever taught the whole ask your questions and then shoot strategy. more like, shoot everything in sight and never bother about the damn questions, because this is a rebellion dammit. 

and being now dubbed “the heroes of Scarif” haven’t taken the edge off any either. that hasn’t stopped anyone for muttering “traitor” or “Imperial scum” or even “traitor’s daughter,” “loose cannon” whenever she does something unorthodox, which to be fair, Jyn basically makes a living doing unorthodox things. 

usually, it’s not insults to her that make her react with violence. Jyn usually fixes the offender with a flat, icy-eyed stare that never fails to bring goosebumps on Cassian’s arms, and he’s seen sentient beings twice her size become visibly uncomfortable or unnerved by her gaze. no, it’s never remarks against herself Jyn takes issue with, it’s the insults to other people. 

specifically, in this instance, Bodhi. 

Jyn seems to feel some sort of responsibility for him, since Saw Gerrera’s Bol Gullet messed with his mind and left him not quite–stable. it’s true that Bodhi occasionally has trouble carrying on a conversation and sometimes it’s small, seemingly insignificant things that make him freeze in place or stammer uncontrollably. he has screaming nightmares sometimes and Cassian knows for a fact Jyn’s often sat with him those nights, holding his hand or just quietly talking, keeping his mind off it. he knows this because he’s done it before himself. 

it’s also true that not everyone has the same level of patience for Bodhi as they do, even if the Rogue Squadron of pilots seems to have basically adopted him and are busy training him to be a proper fighter pilot. it’s also true that Bodhi doesn’t have quite the same vicious, feral “FIGHT ME” quality that Jyn does. he bows his head and takes whatever insults or criticisms come his way. 

Jyn does nothing of the kind. 

some sergeant Cassian doesn’t know is chewing out Bodhi for whatever reason or another–he wasn’t fast enough/quick enough/whatever and Bodhi is standing perfectly still, as if any movement will call even more attention and chastisement on him, the only thing moving about him is his eyes, darting back and forth. Cassian is already on his way over, ready to straighten this out, when Jyn comes up out of nowhere like the wrath of a righteous god and says in her precise, crisp voice, “Leave him alone.” 

the sergeant snaps at her, “stay out of this Imperial,” and Jyn’s mouth becomes a long, thin line, a look Cassian recognizes as providing no good will towards the sergeant. 

she takes Bodhi by the arm, presumably to lead him away, when the sergeant says sourly, “Imperials have to stick together, don’t you?”

Jyn turns around, slow, slow, slow, her stance like a predator. Cassian walks over faster. 

the sergeant (stupid man) goes on to say something else, something that starts with “traitor” and will probably end in “you don’t belong here” or something equally unimaginative, when Jyn straightens up to her full height of five feet three inches, and then promptly proceeds to tackle the unfortunate sergeant to the floor, and starts whaling on him. Bodhi yells at the top of his lungs, “Cassian!” even as he sprints over. rebels converge around them in a circle, shouting incoherently. Cassian forces his way through the crowd, giving no thought to how roughly he does it. when he reaches the writhing tangle that is Jyn and the sergeant who she’s making mincemeat out of, he manages to grab her around the waist and lift her physically in the air, off of him. her teeth are bared and her knuckles bloody and she looks nothing so much like some ancient goddess of wrath. 

the sergeant staggers upright, battered and bloody, protesting and demanding recriminations, when Cassian snaps at him, “you’re dismissed,” in his lowest, coldest voice of command. the whole ring of rebels around them freeze at the sound of it; the only time Cassian Andor speaks like that is when he’s about to go spare. he glares at all of them, his eyes black ice. “now,” he orders and they all scatter.

“Bodhi,” he starts and the pilot nods hastily. “I’ll just–go,” he says and darts away. 

Cassian, arms still locked around Jyn’s waist, looks down at her warily. she’s not fighting him anymore, which is good, but that silence and stillness are usually a pretty good indicator Jyn is plotting something. “come on,” he tells and hauls her out of the landing bay, into a small deserted hallway. “I need you to stay calm, alright?” he tells her and she glares at him.

“no, I’m going to stay angry,” she snaps. “I find that relaxes me.”

“Jyn,” he starts, purely frustrated and she growls out, “what?” he looks down at her, meeting her glare for glare. 

“you cannot start fights every person who looks at you, or anyone you know, wrong,” he says and sees something like shame flashing over her face before vanishing into defensiveness. 

“he was chewing out Bodhi,” she says and he sighs. 

“I know,” he says, “and I’ll talk to the sergeant about that. but you cannot start picking fights with people. they will ship you out to the Outer Rim if you keep it up.”

“I’ve been on the Outer Rim before,” she snaps, “I managed just fine there.”

“I won’t,” Cassian says and Jyn freezes in place, those impossible eyes of hers so wide he can see the flecks of gray deep down in them.

it takes a minute for him to parse through what he just said, the implications of it and it feels like a load of durasteel has suddenly taken the place of his stomach.

because he’d meant it.

Jyn is eyeing him, wary, and he has to resist the urge to clear his throat or shift uncomfortably back and forth. she takes a deep breath and then another and says, not quite as casually as she should, “well. since you won’t manage without me.”

“probably,” he says, because logic tells him he would, but his heart (traitorous, stupid organ) protests it furiously. 

she doesn’t pick any more fights–at least, not in his hearing and Cassian wearily concedes that that’s the best he can hope for. 

the fights he gets into on her behalf don’t enter into it.