#melshi

[jynmelshian]

i absolutely love this bit of trivia. duncan pow so nice and chill that they just had to write melshi into the most epic storyline thus creating one of the most interesting dynamics of the show so that tony gilroy could have his rogue one blorbo back. incredible

[colleybri]

Cassian

Yes you can hold on longer. I soothingly repeat the lie: “They’re leaving”.

Melshi knows it’s untrue. “Stop saying that.”

But his faith in me is giving him faith in himself.

All we need to do is survive. Hold on until the next minute. Then the next.

And he needs the lie. Asks for it. “Tell me they’re leaving”.

This time, when I say it, it’s true at last.

I’ve often lied for myself. Now I can lie for others. And find the truth also, within - the belief that can enable us to climb back up.

Let’s call it hope.

[the-new-fandom-order]

Genuine question, who’s everyone’s Glup Shitto? I’ll start, mine’s Melshi

[adeptnenyim]

ups, I did it again. Some progress has been made, though my idea of anatomy or clothes is still very... strange xD

This time art is inspired by the first part of the great series by Taste_is_Sweet "And Breathe", which changed my brain chemistry and made something with my sanity, but I'm not complaining. :D

"One Bite at a Time"

(I hope I linked it well D: ) (thank you @toooldforthisbutstill <3 )

[wolviecat]

Years ago, when they escaped the prison on Narkina 5, Andor promised to himself that he's not going to let them put him in another box. This one wasn’t nearly as high-tech as his previous prison, but even without the electrified floors, they made sure he can’t run. Because his second promise was that he's not going to to leave Melshi behind.

for @badthingshappenbingo PARRILLA

Almost there...

[tboyandor]

wish you weren't here

an exploration of Cassian's experience of his second time getting fried. because seeing the aftermath of it on his face in the skyway devastates me every time.

read it on ao3

--

Cassian’s second frying was worse than his first. The first time was horrible, but he hadn’t known what to expect, so his body responded with simple, straightforward shock. The second time, however, he had his whole first shift to dread the possibility of experiencing it again. He knew what would happen, what it would feel like, and he was terrified of it.

So when table 5 was deemed the loser of ‘the game’, he felt rooted to the spot out of sheer terror. He watched for a moment as his new tablemates proceeded with slumped shoulders and heavy steps towards the box of silver floor in the middle of the room.

Taga was shaking, and crying a little, too overcome with his own fear to pay any mind to the new man.

Ham’s eyes were wide, his expression stunned and far away.

Xaul looked primarily angry, his face flushed.

Jemboc looked defeated, sorrowful. There was no fear in his eyes, only the weariness of a man who felt he had failed in some fundamental way.

“I’m sorry, Keef,” he mumbled sympathetically as he passed Cassian, resting a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment.

Cassian just felt numb, and like he was going to be sick to his stomach, but a distant part of him felt a deep appreciation for Jemboc’s kindness. He thought of Clem for a moment and couldn’t breathe.

Ulaf staggered past him next, looking as sick as Cassian felt. Cassian braced himself to catch the old man if he fell over, although, he realized, he’d more likely end up falling to the floor with him.

Last was Melshi. The man who had reminded the others of the name Cassian had told them. He hadn’t expected that. Melshi seemed to Cassian like the kind of person whose actions he would never be able to fully predict.

They had spoken very few words to each other since Cassian had arrived on the floor, but each moment of eye contact between them (and strangely, there had been several) felt entirely new and unpredictable. Cassian didn’t know why he looked at Melshi, or why Melshi looked back at him; all he knew was that there was something in this man’s eyes that drew him in.

Kindness, and deep sorrow, and something incendiary, maybe.

As Melshi passed him on his way to the box, Cassian saw a version of his own terror in his eyes, but most of all he looked tired.

Suddenly, all the rest of table 5 were standing in the box, awaiting their punishment, and Cassian - Keef - was still rooted to the spot.

“Keef,” the floor manager was speaking to him, his gruff voice somewhat softened, though not to excess. “I need you to get in the box with your table. No exceptions for new men, I’m afraid.”

Cassian looked at him. Kino. It was like looking into the headlights of an oncoming speeder; this man was set in a direction, and he wouldn’t change course now, not for Keef. But there was pain in Kino’s expression. Sympathy and ruthlessness fought for dominance behind his eyes. Sadness won.

“Please,” Kino said in a hushed tone, with an edge of desperation, taking a step in Cassian’s direction. “I don’t want to force you. It’s better for you, for all of us, if you comply.”

Cassian looked into the headlights, and opened his mouth, but it was dry and no words came out.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to say, I didn’t do anything!

It’s not my fault our table was last, I just got here!

I went out for peezos and milk and now I’m here.

I just want to go home.

But home, he knew, was nowhere he could reach.

So he said none of those things, and instead willed his feet to move him to the appointed place.

He arrived, and stood next to Melshi. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed. They stood behind Jemboc and Ulaf, who stood behind Taga, Ham, and Xaul.

It felt like a second and an eternity before the floor was activated.

Then it turned on, and his whole body was alight with pain. His screams were indistinguishable from those of the men around him. 

The agony began in the soles of his feet, like a million tiny whips lashing every inch of his skin, and swiftly rose up through his calves, exploding through the rest of his body.

Then all at once, it was over, and his body hit the metal floor. For a moment, he could hardly see or hear through the pain still wracking his limbs, and he lay curled on his side, trembling. He could feel a bruise blooming on his ribs where he had fallen and hit steel.

Sight and sound returned to him, and still he lay curled on the floor, hardly breathing from shock. For a moment, he thought it would be like before, that the shock would pass and he would pick himself up, in horrendous pain, but with his nerve not entirely lost.

This time, though, the crushing weight of this place and the pain and his grief and the horror of all of it was too much to bear.

Cassian burst into tears.

He couldn’t tell how far around the room his sobs carried, but there was only a very small part of him that cared about that right now. He was in too much pain, and he had rarely felt so out of control of his own body, and so alone.

“Keef,” said a soft, pained voice that he was still learning to recognize. “It’s over. You’ll be alright. I know, it hurts. Hey, look at me, you’re going to be okay.”

Cassian took a gulp of air that devolved into another little sob, but he opened his eyes, and wiped them with trembling, tingling hands.

Melshi, still laying on his stomach the way he had fallen, had dragged himself closer to Cassian to try and bring him some comfort. Cassian hadn’t expected this. He realized that, though he was still learning to pick Melshi’s voice out from the crowd, he knew he would recognize his eyes anywhere.

“Breathe,” Melshi told him, a well-practiced reminder, whether from saying it so often to himself or others Cassian wasn’t sure. Cassian tried to take a deep breath, and his exhale came out shuddering. “Can I touch you?”

Cassian nodded despite himself, he wasn’t in the habit of letting people he’d just met touch him, but he needed comfort and he was beginning to trust this man to give it.

Tentatively, Melshi wrapped an arm around Cassian’s back, rubbing him softly in slow, soothing circles. With his other hand, which Cassian noticed was trembling, he took one of Cassian’s hands in his, and dug his thumb firmly but gently into his palm in an attempt to bring sensation back to the frayed nerves there.

He encouraged Cassian to take more deep breaths, and Cassian tried his best, through his sniffles and the tears still leaking from his eyes. Around them, he saw that the others were similarly gathering themselves. Jemboc was helping Ulaf stand, and Xaul had an arm wrapped around Taga’s shoulders.

“We don’t have much time. They’ll be sending us back to our cells soon,” Melshi said gently. “Can you stand?”

It sounded like a monumental endeavor. Cassian’s feet were burning and he could almost feel the painful blisters erupting on his skin, but he nodded his head.

“Okay, here we go,” Melshi said quietly, half to himself.

He still kept one hand on Cassian’s back and the other he offered for Cassian to cling to, which he did, with both hands. Melshi’s legs shook a little as he stood up while supporting Cassian in doing the same, but he let Cassian lean his weight on him, his head pressed against the taller man’s chest as he helped him up.

Then they were standing, and Melshi still held him close, still let him clutch his arm like a drowning man, as his last few sobs hiccuped out of him.

The blaring sound of the klaxon made Cassian jump, and Melshi held him tighter.

The Voice delivered its booming proclamation. Cassian only caught a few words of it, trying to calm his breathing and staunch his tears by focusing on the feeling Melshi’s uniform against his face, the smell of his sweat and the feeling of his arm around his back and his hand in his.

But he knew that the Voice said something about a cellblock, skyway, proceed, on program.

“On program!” Kino echoed, when the Voice had finished its pronouncement.

Gently, but urgently, Melshi peeled Cassian off of him, and inclined his head, speaking to him.

“Can you walk? Put your hands behind your head?”

Cassian nodded, wiped the remainders of his tears and snot on his sleeve, and raised his hands behind his head.

Melshi’s hand still rested at the small of his back, as though he were worried that Cassian might fall over at any moment, which was probably a realistic concern.

“Thank you,” Cassian croaked, his voice and composure still wavering, but steadier than they had been a minute ago.

Melshi’s only response was a small squeeze of his hand against Cassian’s back, before Kino’s eyes fell on Melshi and his distinct lack of program. Cassian watched as Kino’s eyes flicked between them, a brief flash of pity in his gaze when he looked at the new man, shaking and ruined by his ordeal. Kino made some inner calculation and settled on a warning glance at Melshi, rather than a barked order.

The warmth of Melshi’s hand left Cassian’s back, and he was on program: hands behind his head, eyes front, feet down on the deadly floor. There was nothing else to do, and sadly, nowhere else to be.

Cassian’s tears had dried up, but he still felt panic running wild in his chest and every nerve and muscle in his body felt as though it was screaming at him.

Soon they were all filing in a long line out of the workroom, and Melshi drifted away from Cassian into the sea of orange and white uniforms, but not before meeting his eyes once more, as he put some distance between them.

His glance seemed to say: I’m sorry.

Wish you weren’t here.

I’m sorry you’re here.

And what a kindness it was, to feel that someone wished he was anywhere but here, in this prison.

Cassian hoped his responding gaze told Melshi something of the same: I wish you weren’t here either. But since we’re both here, thank you for going out of your way to make it a little more bearable, for me.

[oatshow]

portrait of the artist and the muse

[mara-lea-mohnblume]

I think that Melshi never wanted to be a soldier. Perhaps he was an artist or craftsman in his former life. The way his appearance changes between Andor and Rogue One kept me thinking about it. He was made a soldier for the Rebellion by the Empire, by Narkina 5. It was the only way to deal with his past. He lost everything.

[javiiwave]

a breath of fresh air ☁️

[absolutelybloodyhopeless]

Another ad for my Etsy! I write personalised digital letters (emails) from a range of characters. Most of my listings right now are Star Wars and Moon Knight but I have two for TMA and one for Bucky Barnes. More will be coming soon if my sales start up again!

[jynmelshian]

me too proudspartan313.......................

[uwingdispatch]

Seems like a good day to tell y’all about my new Rogue One mini pouches!

One for Jyn, one for Cassian, and the U-Wings. Jyn’s has the Rogue One starbird and a Kyber crystal like the one her mother gave her. Cassian’s has the Rogue One starbird and his rank badge. And of course…the U-Wing one has U-Wings!

Hope you love these! They’re currently 20% off for my Life Day sale! Shop is here. 💜

[colleybri]

[Melshi]

People have to know about this.

But Keef seems distracted. “You got through? Everything OK?”

I think there’s a catch in his voice and he looks away as he repeats “Everything OK”.

So I don’t think it is.

We have to find listeners. We have to shout, spread the news, bring down the lie.

It’s a strange blaster that he gives me. With a “Pre-Mor” logo.

It’s a strange goodbye too, here in the fresh air and sunrise.

New beginning, and all that.

It makes me feel ready.

We have to fight. We have to be heard. Find listeners.

[Just tourists - the human lady friend of the ‘anteater’ alien on Niamos] (Lancashire accents)

“Ayup, Rej. That lad’s been standing by the shelter for ages. Should I check he’s allright?”

Rej, snout in his breakfast: “Probably waiting for them Twi��lek girls.” Does one of his naughty laughs. “Come and have your caf.”

“No, he was with a human chap earlier. Said goodbye. Had a kind of awkward hug.”

“Oh, end of holiday romance then.” Rej laughs again.

“No, he was on the phone - I think he got bad news. Looked really small suddenly. Hunched. I think he needs a proper hug.”

“You soppy lass. Sit and eat!”

He’s right. Best to not get involved!

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 12: The Ghosts

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Rogue One may have rescued Cassian but he's not out of the woods.

The piece of art above is a preview. I commissioned 5 illustrations for this fic from @amikoroyaiart and you can see the first 3 on my Patreon.

READ THE FIC ON AO3

THIS IS A WHUMPY FIC W/GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON AO3.

——————–

CHAPTER 12: THE GHOSTS

As the Lambda shuttle dropped out of hyperspace, Rogue One was greeted by a familiar ship floating in a vast nothingness. Their rendezvous with the Ghost took place in a remote part of the cosmos near neither planet nor space station. They transferred to the starship through an umbilical, leaving the imperial vessel—along with its tracking beacon—powered down and floating aimlessly.

Jyn and Melshi struggled to support Cassian as they entered the Ghost’s cargo bay. Hera greeted them, taking in Andor’s dire state. She retracted the umbilical and shouted into her commlink, “Chop, get us out of here.” She pointed at Baze, Chirrut, and Bodhi. “You three head up to our crew quarters. You can grab blankets and water for Cassian.” She turned to Jyn next. “I would offer to put him in one of our bunks but I don’t think he can make it up the ladder.”

Erso nodded her agreement.

“I need to speak with you,” Hera said, lowering her voice.

Jyn and Melshi eased Cassian to the ship’s deck before she stepped to the corner with the general. “We can’t go back to Yavin,” Hera began.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I just got word from base of an immanent threat. The Death Star has arrived in orbit over the moon. Our fighters will be engaging shortly, but even if they succeed in defeating the weapon, the base location has been compromised.”

“What about Cassian?” Jyn fought to tamp down the panic rising in her throat. “You can see he clearly needs help now.”

“They’re scrambling the fleet. I’ve secured us a rendezvous with the Nebulon-B frigate Redemption. We have to hurry because they’ll only wait for a short window of time. The fleet is going to have to constantly keep moving until we find a new base location.” Hera looked over her shoulder at Cassian who sat slumped against Melshi. “He looks bad.”

“They were ruthless,” Jyn replied grimly.

Hera placed a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. The Redemption has a full medical set up. They’ll be able to help him.”

“If he survives the flight back.”

“We have to keep hope.”

Rebellions are built on hope. It felt like years since Cassian first said that to her. She’d almost scoffed in his face at the time. But now, it was the mantra that kept her going.

“I’ll be in the cockpit,” Hera said. “If you need anything, there’s a comm on the wall or you can just come up.”

“Thank you. For everything. None of this could have happened without you.”

Hera couldn’t hold back a smile. “I’m sure you still would have found a way.” She turned and climbed up the ladder out of the cargo bay.

Jyn went and knelt next to Melshi.

“I don’t feel so good,” Cassian murmured.

“We’ll be home soon.” Jyn could have sworn his bruises looked darker. “They’ll get you fixed up. You can have a nice, long rest. You’ll be safe there.”

Cassian nodded weakly, his chest lifting heavily as he tried to stay lucid.

“Do you want to lay down?”

“Maybe.”

“You need to try to stay awake, though,” Melshi cautioned.

Cassian’s head fell back against the bulkhead, no longer able to hold it up. “I’m awake.” His body visibly shuddered as he struggled for another rasping breath. “It’s so cold in here.”

Jyn and Melshi shared a concerned look. “I’ll go find a med kit,” the sergeant said, pushing up and hurrying out of the cargo bay.

Cassian’s teeth began to chatter. “I’m freezing.”

Fear gripped Jyn; she’d seen enough men die to know this was the beginning of the end. “Cassian,” she said firmly. Her tone startled him and his eyes slowly pulled open. “Don’t let go,” she commanded.

His gaze became dull and he began to slide down the wall. She caught him by the shoulder and eased him to the floor before ripping off her vest and stuffing it under his head. “Help is coming.” She tried to stay calm but all of this was too familiar. They’d been here once before, Cassian dying on a ship’s floor while Jyn frantically tried to save him. “We’re not doing this again.” Her voice broke. She cradled his face in her hands and leaned over him. “Cassian!” He was declining quickly, his breath weak and his eyes rolling, but he reached up and took hold of her wrist. She put her cheek against his. “Stay with me,” she whispered as tears stung her eyes and slipped from her lashes onto his skin.

His other hand weakly grasped the back of her shirt at the base of her neck as he nuzzled against her. “I’m with you, Jyn,” he breathed before going completely limp.

——————–

The phantom trail of Jyn’s tears still tickled across his cheek; the feeling of her fingers against his skin was still alive; but he found himself alone. Cassian opened his eyes and once again saw swaying, beautiful, verdant branches of an ancient, silent forest. Slowly, he sat up, still stiff from Tarkin’s abuse. He noticed his hands were cut and bleeding, his wrists raw, but the pain was gone.

Carefully, he got to his feet and looked around, taking in every detail. He could tell the tree line ended somewhere far off in the distance, and beyond lingered a tease of sunlight and warmth. Where he stood, the grass was lush and the tree canopy high, vaulting like a natural temple. The breeze gently tousled the hair around his eyes and smelled of something green and fresh.

“I was worried you’d be back.”

Cassian spun around, and what he saw cause his breath to hitch. His mother and father stood between two arched trees, their expressions more relaxed and gentler than he’d ever seen. His mouth fell open, unable to find words to express his heartache and joy as he stared dumbly at the two people he grieved most.

“You’ve had a hard time of it,” Maarva finally spoke, gesturing at his still bleeding face. “Harder than I think we’ll ever fully know.”

“Perhaps that’s why he’s here,” Clem said, leading Maarva forward a few steps.

Cassian wanted to go to them, to hug them, but he was afraid any movement could break the spell. He stood frozen in place as emotions pushed to the surface. “Dad?”

“My boy.” Clem’s voice was soft and kind, fully aware that he and his son last looked on each other during a moment so horrific neither dared speak of it.

Tears slipped down Cassian’s face. His gaze shifted to his mother. “Are you both safe here?”

She looked pained by her son’s worry. “There’s nothing to harm any of us.”

“But you can’t stay,” Clem said very gently.

Cassian knew in his heart it was the truth but he didn’t want to accept it; he could sense that he didn’t belong in this place—a feeling he lived with for as long as he could remember. “I want to stay with you.”

Maarva’s chest heaved as though she were holding back a sob. “You’ve been through a lot of strife but you have a good heart, Cass. We want to let you rest, but this isn’t your time.”

“And,” Clem said with a loving smile, “unless I’m mistaken, you still have some unfinished business.”

Cassian thought of almond-shaped eyes and dirty combat boots and a woman with so much fire in her heart she could burn everyone around her.

“Look at him!” Maarva startled Cassian from his reverie. “He’s healing!”

He looked down and saw his fingers were no longer crooked and bruised. He touched his face and realized the cuts had turned into thin scars.

“Not long now,” Clem nodded.

Cassian stared at his parents, trying to imprint their faces on his memory. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said, tears still burning his eyes. “I miss you. I think about you all the time.”

They came as close as they could without touching. “You’re a good boy,” Maarva said, fighting her emotions.

“He’s a good man now, love,” Clem teased his wife. Cassian had forgotten how comforting his father was, how his eyes twinkled and his smile calmed those around him. “We’re not going anywhere, Cass.”

Clem wrapped an arm around Maarva, who gave one stiff nod before saying, “We’ll be here when the time is right. Do your best.”

“Remember,” his father said, “eyes open. Possibilities everywhere.”

His heart ached but Cassian smiled. Losing his parents was a pain he could not put down. Though Clem and Maarva were not his biological family, they had loved him as no one else in the galaxy had loved him. And he loved them, loved their quirks, their flaws, their passions. He knew he hadn’t always been a good son, but they loved him anyway; they loved him because, unlike so many of his other relationships, his connection with his mother and father was unconditional. He never doubted them.

“I love you.”

“I know, my boy,” Maarva finally smiled.

Clem gave him one final nod then said, “It’s time to wake up.”

——————–

Jyn had watched as tears slowly formed on Cassian’s eyelashes and slipped down his temples while he slept. She chewed her lip with anxiety, unable to help him while he silently suffered.

Hours passed before his eyes unexpectedly opened; she moved to his side, taking his hand in hers.

“Where am I?” he asked, his vision unfocused and disoriented, not seeing her or the room beyond.

“You’re on the Redemption. It’s an Alliance frigate.”

He blinked hard, unable to see past his tears, so Jyn gently wiped his lashes with her thumbs. Cassian finally looked at her. “Jyn,” he breathed with relief.

She sat next to him on the bed and placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm him. “Everything’s OK. You’re safe. You’re healing.”

He was shuddering with emotion as he closed his eyes against more tears.

“What is it, Cassian?” Jyn’s voice betrayed her worry. “Are you in pain? Do you want me to get the doctor?”

He reached up and set his hand over hers in the middle of his chest and just breathed for a long time.

“I saw my parents,” he finally said.

Worry flashed through Jyn. Many rotations ago, Cassian and she had once spent a long night drinking strong still alcohol, telling each other about their parents, eventually both crying so hard they ended up laughing—a testament to grief’s strangeness. She knew losing his mother and father had caused a deep fracture in Cassian’s heart.

“That’s good,” she said, gently squeezing his shoulder with her other hand, concealing her fear. “That’s really good.”

He stared blankly at the ceiling as more tears welled in his eyes. “They’re together now.”

Jyn swallowed her own emotions, biting down hard on her lip. She wasn’t sure what any of this meant; part of it scared her; the surgeons had said Cassian was not yet out of the woods. She feared a visitation from deceased parents did not bode well for her friend, but she dared not voice her concern. Instead, she asked, “What did they tell you?”

His eyes began to roll back in his head as his eyelids drooped. He was desperately exhausted and still heavily drugged. “They said,” he mumbled, “that I have unfinished business.” He barely got the last word out before he lost consciousness again.

Jyn looked down at him, taking in every detail; his beard was growing back, his arched brow was now split by a gash, his sharp cheekbone was marred by a dark bruise. She thought he was beautiful, and all she wanted was the chance to make him laugh again, to see him smile at her from across the room, to talk late into the night about everything and nothing.

She slid back to her chair and pulled her knees up to her chin, suddenly overwhelmed with the turmoil she’d been fighting since Cassian first disappeared. Jyn clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her sorrow while tears poured down her own cheeks. She took out the kyber crystal that hung around her neck and squeezed it. If the Force would give her this one little thing, if it would save Cassian, Jyn Erso promised the mystical power that she would truly believe in hope.

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE REDEMPTION" - Tarkin may be gone but he still has a hold on Cassian.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

REACH CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 “The Reprieve”

READ CHAPTER 12 "The Ghosts"

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 “The Reach”

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 “The Hand”

READ CHAPTER 25 “The Heart”

READ CHAPTER 26 “The Beginning”

[littlemisspascal]

The After

Pairing: Ruescott Melshi x Female Reader

Word Count: 7k+

Summary: There is a story before, when, and after Keef Girgo enters your life. This is the After.

Rating: M (18+, minors please do not engage!)

Warnings: Prison/Narkina 5 storyline but an AU where woman inmates are assigned to each unit as ‘peacekeepers’, language, established relationship, references of dead bodies, violence + blood + injuries, talk of having children but no pregnancy, angst, near-death experiences

- Reader has no official name and no physical traits described in detail. However, she is implied to be shorter than Melshi.

Author Note: Thank you everybody for the kind support of this story from beginning to now! Unbelievable this is the end! What was supposed to be such a little thing has turned into this epic journey with characters I've come to love so much. Hope y'all enjoy 💜

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜

Series Masterlist

You find yourself floating in a realm of total darkness. No colors, no sounds, no warmth. And it should scare you, being trapped here in this unnatural stillness, unable to move or scream, but numbness prevails over the alarm pinching faintly at your nerves. It swaddles your limp body, from your head to your toes, like you’re something fragile. Something in need of care.

You could get used to this. 

~~

A strike of pain hits the center of your chest, disturbing the numbness with the same force as an unexpected slap across the face. It startles you, whole body convulsing, and your lips part to release a wordless gasp but—

—you can’t—

There’s nothing in your lungs to exhale. 

Odd, considering you taste smoke on your tongue. Bitter. Ashy. Almost like…almost like you’re burning alive.

“Come on…”

Fire, hungry and vicious, laps at your tender insides like they’re made of paper. It bites most cruelly above your hip, almost feeling deliberate in nature. As if an invisible enemy is pressing a lit candle there against the flesh.

And yet all you can think about, the only thing rattling around inside your panic-stricken mind that you can focus on, is water. Gushing. Rippling. A beast gobbling up whatever it yanks beneath its surface.

“…breath, damn it…”

There’s a voice somewhere, far away yet impossibly close. They sound upset. Panting harshly like they can’t find their breath either. 

And beyond the voice, faintly roaring over the rush of blood in your ears, the sound of waves crashing upon a shore. 

Then another sharp pang connects with your chest, putting an abrupt end to your musings as your peaceful realm of darkness explodes into light and an abundance of colors.

Your vision swims, and there’s a split second of wild incomprehension, skin tingling and lungs full of flames, heart thumping hard in your chest. And then you feel it, something wet and salty rising in your esophagus. Up, up, up until there’s nowhere left to go but out.

There’s no strength left in your body, and yet the second your lips part you’re retching up a disgusting blend of saltwater and stomach acid onto the sandy floor. There’s a shout of your name from nearby, familiar in its cadence, but it’s impossible to focus when you’re choking on brine, every muscle constricting with agony.

“Thank the Maker,” the voice says next, a quiet heave of relief.

You manage a shuddering breath, tongue heavy in your mouth and the taste of salt and iron fighting for dominance. There’s still a fiery burn throbbing from your hip. The kind no amount of water will douse. Your head’s too heavy to look, eyes wanting nothing more than to roll back into darkness.

“No, no,” a hand pulls at your shoulder, rolling you over just enough for Jemboc’s face to slide into view. Water droplets slide down his skin, along the anxious lines marring his expression. “Now’s not the time for sleeping.”

A shiver wracks your frame. You’re soaked to the bone, clothes sticking uncomfortably, and slowly, oh so unbearably slowly the pieces start coming together. A timeline of memories settling into place. It’s hard to tell if the nausea cramping your stomach is from your harried prison escape or nearly drowning to death.

I was shot, you think to yourself. There’s a sharp twinge from your wound, as if it’s pleased to finally be remembered.

“What happened?” Your voice comes out barely louder than a weak hiss between clenched teeth, whole body strenuously protesting the effort. 

Jemboc’s grip on your shoulder tightens. The intensity of his stare drills into your bones, adding to the desperation thrumming beneath your skin. “Pure pandemonium once everyone hit the water. Felt like it was every man for himself; fighting the current, scrambling for land. But I saw you sinking and I-I didn’t think, just grabbed you and pulled you with me to shore.”

You blink at him for a long moment, fatigue pulling at your eyelids, then gingerly tilt your head to take in your surroundings for the first time. The sky’s a canvas of orange, purple, and dark blue overlapping one another, the last beams of sunlight fading fast. You’re on a beachy shore, sand so white it could pass for snow, dotted with sharp rocks and leafless trees. And it figures, of course it does, that the outside of the prison is as dreary and spiritless as the inside.

“Hey.” There’s a new softness to Jemboc’s voice, drawing your hazy attention back. His gaze isn’t on your face anymore, staring someplace lower on your body with grimly pursed lips. “Your wound…It’s–it’s not looking too good.”

Doesn’t feel too good either, is the automatic snappish retort that comes to mind first, but then the true meaning of his words sinks in like the jagged edges of a trap springing shut. 

You’re not making it off this beach. 

You can’t move, and even if Jemboc carried you along with him you can’t fight. Can’t help him find a way to get off this damn moon. All you’ll be is a useless burden weighing him down.

“Should’ve let me drown,” you rasp.

Jemboc bites harshly into his bottom lip instead of responding, hand still grasping your shoulder, as if letting go meant watching you dissolve into sea foam. 

You think you’d actually prefer that over the alternatives. If the dropping temperature doesn’t kill you first, you’re going to bleed out here, a stain of scarlet on the snow sand swept away by the midnight tide. You’d fought for a softer conclusion, asked the universe for a little more time, and this…this is what you received.

What a load of bantha shit, you think, snorting a quiet huff of air that has your sore lungs smarting. It isn’t funny, not even a little bit. It’s fucking tragic. But you bet Melshi would laugh too, that low, husky chuckle of his if he were here—

Your heart stops.

“I–where–” Panic wraps around your vocal chords like a noose, tightening by the second. Your fingers curl into loose fists at your sides, sand gathering beneath your nails. “Rue,” you spit out with strangled urgency. “Where’s Rue?”

You can remember your last moment with him so clearly up there on the landing bay. The feeling of his calloused hands on your face, holding you like his most precious treasure. How his brown eyes blazed with such fervent emotion, voice drowned out by the encompassing maelstrom. If those had been his last words—fuck. Fuck, don’t think like that. 

Jemboc won’t meet your gaze, glancing towards the waves. “I’m not sure.”

Something sharp punctures a hole behind your sternum.

No. That won’t do. That won’t do at all.

“Jemboc, what do you mean you’re not sure? Where the hell is he?”

“It means I don’t know,” he chokes. He gestures vaguely at the beach, the water, frowning deeply. “I told you: it was pandemonium. I just saw flashes of faces, there and gone. Running as fast as they could. Taga, Ham, Kino, Keef, Melshi—I lost sight of all of them. I…I don’t even know if they made the swim.”

You’d always known escaping prison would be hard. That there’d be losses. Sacrifices. But this—this specific kind of pain of unknowing is excruciating. Gaping black holes of uncertainty eating away at your hopes, leaving behind nothing but fear and increasingly catastrophic thoughts. You almost think it’d hurt less, being able to actually see the corpses of your tablemates right in front of you, lifeless and briny. At least then you’d know their fates, be able to firmly close their stories and make peace with their endings.

Jemboc rubs a hand over face, then sniffs quietly, and it only hits you then he’s probably feeling just as lost as you are. With no routine, no instructions to follow, the sudden abundance of options and lack of fellow support is overwhelming. Even worse, every second he spends at your side, his odds of successfully avoiding being caught again continue to dwindle. Like hell are the guards going to let everyone go without a single attempt of recapture.

Maker help any unfortunate souls they find. Those inmates will be dragged back kicking and screaming, if they’re even conscious after a severe beating with a zap rod.

“You’ve got to go,” you say, even though the thought of being totally alone makes you sick. But he deserves better, deserves to have made it further than this point. “You have to leave me behind.”

“I know,” Jemboc says. And it’s the closest to an apology that you’ll ever receive. 

Everything will be alright, Melshi had told you. A lie you’d asked for. A lie you’d swallowed as a future painkiller in case what you feared most came to pass. 

Melshi’s always been your safe haven. Your shield of protection. But he’s gone now. And it’s such a selfish desire—selfish and unfair and so damn greedy—to want him here. To hold your hand and hear his voice one last time before you fatally drift off into the unknown. 

Worse than that, deep down in a place of sharp teeth and possessiveness, half-feral from years spent trapped in a toxic cage, you want him to drift away with you. For your last breaths to be taken together…so in sync your dying souls leave the world behind as one, entangled force. Indivisible.

Jemboc murmurs a quiet goodbye, short and sweet, but you’re lost in your head, somewhere far, far away beyond the stinging pain. Even as your former tablemate leaves you, his figure growing smaller and smaller until there’s nothing left of him to see, you feel so distant from it all, watching from another place. Another realm. Familiar, yet different. More…permanent, somehow. A door which once shut can never be opened again.

Your body’s cold, no feeling in your legs. The hole in your side continues oozing, edges caked with sand, furiously irritated by the saltwater and trauma. It just—it seems so easy, reaching out your hands, to finally let it all go.

~~

And yet.

And yet…

Something—some nameless, shapeless thing—tells you to wait. 

So you do. Your only company a vicious hybrid of heartache and caustic pain who thrives on catching you off guard with its teeth and talons. It can’t be much fun, playing with somebody who’s barely breathing by the narrowest of margins, but that doesn’t seem to lessen the ferocity of its attacks. 

If time passes, you’re blind to it. There’s no change here. No growth. Just you and the monster in the shadows, waiting for you to give up.

But still you wait. For what? No clue. It must be important though, that much you know. That much you cling to. There’s a part of you, a tiny segment tucked away in the same chamber as your sluggishly beating heart, that even thinks the ache emanating from every piece of your body is good. Pain is proof of life. And living, staying alive…that’s good too, isn’t it?

Your answer comes in the most unexpected form.

“Mysie my. A prisoner escaper. Bleeding like a stuck pig, haye. Killing’s all they know, Freedi. Spoiling our water.”

An answering grunt.

A short pause. A decision reached.

“Naye this one. Naye today.”

~~

When your eyes next open, it’s a very slow process reconnecting with your senses. Brain function coming back online like a dusty old datapad finally recharging after years of neglect.

You’re in a ship cabin, that much is obvious from the metal ceiling and how the bunk you’re lying on has been built into the wall. You blink up at the orange bulb overhead for a moment, unable to summon any thread of familiarity.

Did the guards find you? Are you on your way back to your cell, or, worse, the box?

The flutter of fear in your stomach is doused as quickly as it arouses when you shift yourself upwards, noticing for the first time a red blanket with fraying edges covering your body. The prison guards wouldn’t be so kind, offering such a comforting item, you’re certain of that much. 

 So, if you’re not with them, then where…?

The cabin smells like the sea, salty and crisp, with a hint of distinctive fishiness making your nose scrunch up. There’s a line of cargo boxes pushed against the wall across from you. An opened one reveals a bundle of nets intertwined. Above it, small box-shaped wire traps hang from a shelf. Doesn’t take a genius to recognize the equipment of a fisherman.

It’s such a quaint space. So quiet. A complete contrast to the chatter and noises of prison and yet equally unnerving in its own eerie way.

You look down at your lower body still concealed and slowly peel away the blanket, taking in the dried blood stains on your scrubs with a grimace. Those won’t be easy to wash out–hell, you’d burn them in a millisecond if you had any extra clothes available. Lifting up the hem of your shirt, your eyes widen, taken aback by the sight of a large bacta patch neatly covering the blaster gash. Exactly what Melshi had said you needed…

The screeching of the rear hatch door opening startles you out of your musings, heart falling somewhere deep inside your stomach. You sit up straighter, acting on instinct, only for fatigue and soreness to cripple your movements, limbs feeling like they’re weighted down with sand.

It’s two aliens, hulking and dark-headed. One has a cybernetic eye peering straight into your soul, while the other’s even more menacing with an extendable blade serving as a replacement for his right hand. You stare at them, at a loss for words, and there’s a lengthy moment where the pair simply stare right back.

Who the hell are these guys?

“Awake finally, haye?” the one with the cybernetic eye finally says, bobbing his head as if he’s amused. His gray hat impressively remains fixed in place. “Ye be a lucky one. Lost half your blood ye did.”

“I, um. Thank you.” Your voice comes out sounding like you’ve swallowed rocks. Maybe you did, not like you can remember anything in-between Jemboc leaving you behind and waking up here. Hopefully you haven’t lost much time. “I-I don’t know how to repay you for the kindness.”

The other alien says something in another language, deep and throaty. Not a single word of it makes any sense to your ears, but it elicits a chuckle from Gray Hat that’s a little too mocking for your liking.

“What?” you ask, gaze flicking back and forth cautiously. “What did he say?”

Gray Hat takes a closer step, just a small one but in this little of a space he might as well be looming over you. “Freedi saying there be an offer on escapers. Alive or dead. A thousand credits each, haye.”

The response hits you like a physical blow, every piece of you that isn’t struck speechless is bristling with frantic alarm. Fuck. Fuck. You aren’t safe. You were never safe. What are you supposed to do? You can’t fight them, especially not the one wielding a knife. Maybe, and that’s a big fucking maybe, you could outrun them if you made it outside. Think. Use your damn brain and—

“No need to look worried. They not be getting ye.”

“Th-they’re not?” you stutter, panic still raging in your veins. It feels like a trick, a mean scheme to make you lower your guard, but the corner of Gray Hat’s mouth is curling up in what you think is a semblance of a smirk.

“Prison spoiled our water,” Grey Hat says emphatically. “Not much squiggly left. Not anymore. Care not a snod about who they kill. We say scob the Empire and scob their credits, haye, Freedi?”

Freedi agrees with a grunt.

Is this some kind of weird, convoluted hallucination? What are the chances, that of all the strangers in all the galaxy you just happened to be rescued by two who would reject a massive sum out of mutual hatred for the Empire? Infinitesimal, surely. And yet…

Seriously, who the hell are these guys? 

“Oh, yeah,” he continues, as if he’s heard your thoughts. “Dewi be my name. Dewi and Freedi.”

~~

Your new companions are fishermen, just like you’d assumed. Though with the worsening water conditions on account of the toxic waste produced by the prison, they’ll soon have to find new fishing grounds if they want to catch healthy squigglies. The way Dewi explains it, the moon was a beautiful place once upon a time. You believe him, despite the lack of evidence when you look out the ship’s window at the bleak landscape, because if anyone has the power to turn paradise into a nightmare it’s the Empire. 

Dewi’s the chattier of the pair, switching between Basic for you and Narkinian for Freedi. You learn it’s a language uniquely native to the moon, developed by the once-large fishing community of dozens of species, and you can’t help but compare it to the prison’s sign language. Makes you realize just how important communication is for survival.

They feed you—not a squiggly or anything else caught in their nets, but some pieces of meiloorun fruit cut into little cubes. The sharp burst of citrus on your tastebuds has your lips immediately puckering, hitting you like lightning. Maker, it’s good. Better than that, it’s real food. Real flavor. Real smell. No tubes in sight. 

Juice dribbles out the corners of your mouth, swiped away by your tongue, and you probably look a bit like a starved animal with how quickly you sink your teeth into another bite. But neither Dewi or Freedi so much as bat an eye.

Swallowing the last piece, there’s a moment you almost forget about the ache in your chest screaming for Melshi’s presence. 

Dewi told you you’re the only escaped prisoner they’ve seen so far. There haven’t been any reports over the coms from other fishermen saying they found anyone either. No news is good news, so the old saying goes, but in this particular case you think it might actually kill you to never see Melshi again. To never have the chance to tell him you love him one last time. To never know what he’d been trying to say right before the fall.

A bacta patch might be able to heal a blaster shot, but it can’t do anything to fix your suffering heart.

It only really occurs to you that you may have to leave Melshi behind, that you can’t stay here indefinitely, when Dewi asks, a curious lilt to his voice: “Where ye be looking to run now, eh?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. What do you do, when the only person who you dreamed of a life together with is gone? Where do you go when nowhere will ever feel like home without them? 

“I don’t know,” you eventually say. “I didn’t plan this far.”

I didn’t plan to be alone.

Freedi mumbles something, low and surprisingly soft for such a large fellow, dark eyes sympathetic. You smile at him, a weak, trembly thing but a grin nevertheless. Turns out some things don’t need to be translated to be understood.

“One last squiggly pool there be to check tomorrow,” Dewi replies, cybernetic eye whirring quietly as he glances towards the sky outside. “Ye welcome to ride with us to Lothal, haye.”

You don’t know anything about Lothal. You don’t know what you’ll do for money, how you’ll create a new identity for yourself, not a single clue. You nod your head, accepting the offer anyway, even as your fragile heart collapses in on itself. 

~~

As morning transitions into afternoon, glimpses of a blue sky peek through the cloud layers, so pale it hurts to look at directly.

With squinted eyes, you turn your attention across the quarry where Dewi and Freedi are hauling their nets out of a polluted lake, water black and foul-smelling. You can’t see the contents from where you sit in the shade of the quadjumper, but judging from their grumblings it doesn’t sound like a big success. Something tugs sharply behind your ribs, knowing as soon as your companions have finished you’ll be leaving Narkina 5 behind and everything connected to it. Taking with you only your memories, some bloodstained scrubs and a new scar as mementos of your stay.

You know you’re luckier than most, know that there are inmates who bled to death in the prison halls and drowned in the sea and never tasted one breath of freedom, but the thing is—you had hope. More than that, you had dreams.

Maker, you had so many dreams.

Keef had once said escaping Narkina 5 was your and Melshi’s best chance at staying together. How strange it is, how funny, how tragic that escaping is exactly what split you apart. 

You look down at your hands, the water-worn pebbles smooth against your palms. You’re luckier than most, it’s true. But it’s also true you’ve lost far more than you’ve gained.

Exhaling through your nose, you lean back against the quadjumper, stones slipping free from your grasp as your eyes fall shut. You listen to the slicing of Freedi’s arm-blade cutting through rope, the wind stirring up the grit and sand, the beeping of your pulse.

Wait.

Beeping?

You turn your head just in time to see two figures knocked to the ground by the sheer force of a trap ensnaring them in thick, white netting. 

What the hell? 

Crouching behind the protection of the ship, you watch Freedi and Dewi approach the strangers flopping about, not unlike a couple of beached squigglies struggling to escape. Thoroughly wrapped in the sticky net though, it’s impossible to identify the intruders—if they’re friend or foe.

The unexpected surprise has blood whooshing in your eardrums, muffling Dewi’s voice as he ambles along, not in any hurry to let them loose. It reminds you of your own first encounter with him, initially believing him to be a threat before he dropped the facade and revealed his true character. The unknown figures can’t be too dangerous then, you reckon, for Dewi to be so calm. Still, your feet remain firmly planted, hesitant to expose yourself just yet.

A second wave of surprise catches you off guard though when Freedi abruptly presses a button on the sensor trap, reeling the netting back in as quickly as it was launched. You have to blink a few times to make sure you’re seeing things right because that’s Keef pushing himself up on his elbows. That’s Keef, right there, caked in dirt and grime and the slimy residual substance of the net. 

And next to Keef, there’s—

All air leaves your lungs at once in a gasp, or a sob maybe, you don’t know because it doesn’t fucking matter, you just move closer on instict. Melshi turns at once, registering your emergence into the light, and your eyes lock with his, brown and beautiful and so unbearably haunted. 

Melshi slowly shakes his head, the look on his face rapidly shifting from bewilderment to such blatant relief it nearly sends you to your knees, choking out a quiet, “Dream?”

The moment is frozen, disconnected from the flow of time, and then he’s moving, scrabbling onto his feet to reach you, but you’re faster. You collide with his chest, sending you both tumbling onto the ground, though you’re too consumed with reuniting your lips with his to feel the impact. 

It’s a desperate kiss, open-mouthed and hungry, with clashing teeth and panting breaths. And fuck, you can feel him, all of him—his chapped lips, his heaving chest, the frantic throbbing of his heartbeat matching yours—and still he isn’t close enough. You don’t think he’ll ever be close enough, not even if he crawled beneath your skin, nestled between the gaps in your ribs.  You’re terrified that he’ll vanish the moment you pull back, taking the heat buzzing in your veins with him, but your shaking hands can’t hold onto him tight enough. 

Can’t stop Melshi from physically forcing you away with hands on your shoulders, looking utterly wrecked with shiny eyes and spit-slick lips, words spilling out of his mouth so fast they bleed together, “Wait, wait, wait, lemme lookit you. Dream, lemme see.”

The sound of your nickname breaks something inside of you, and suddenly you’re crying, tears streaming down your cheeks, lungs shuddering with unrestrained sobs. “Rue.” It’s more of a whimper than name, scraping against your throat, pulled from the depths of your core.

“You’re alive,” he murmurs, a low rasp, his gaze flickering over every detail of your face. “When I saw you fall—fuck, dreamer, I’ve never been so scared. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, so fucking sorry—”

“No,” you gasp out, shaking your head madly because he needs to know, “not your fault.”

“Thought I lost you. That I’d never get to tell you—”

“Tell me what?” you ask hoarsely, gripping onto his wrist like a lifeline. 

Melshi’s thumb ghosts over your jaw, catching stray teardrops before they fall. “What I should’ve told you every day we were together,” he says, soft yet firm. He kisses you again, like he can’t help himself. A quick peck on the mouth, then another, then one more. And then—

“I love you.”

“Rue,” you whisper, eyes widening and heart fluttering like a damn butterfly. You shove your face into that warm, safe nook between his neck and collarbone, uncaring of the streak of slime smeared on his skin. “I love you too. Always, always, always.”

Your voice is muffled, thick with snot and tears and the wellspring of emotions overflowing inside of you. 

Melshi understands you all the same. He always has.

~~

Even within the safety of the quadjumper, you and Melshi refuse to separate from each other. Sitting on the bunk, you can imagine it must look a little funny how closely you’ve managed to intertwine your bodies in such a small space. Keef sits on a cargo box, carefully watching Dewi and Freedi up in the pilot seats. Despite the dark bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes, his gaze is razor sharp, observing every movement for the slightest sign of deception.

Reminds you of the first day you met Keef, what feels like years ago but in reality is closer to a handful of weeks. Quiet and watchful. Mind like a sponge soaking up Table Five’s movements. 

You try not to think too hard about your missing tablemates or how much you wish they were here too. The universe's cruelest of lessons is that life isn’t fair. Not to anybody. But coming in second, so dangerously close the lines blur during moments of distress, is the self-awareness you can’t save everyone. 

You’ll never forget your boys. Ham, Taga, Jemboc, Ulaf and Xaul. You’ll never forget Kino either, alpha wolf of Unit Five-Two-D right up until the end of everything.

They’ll stay safe in your memories. The Empire can’t touch them there.

“What’s in Niamos?” you ask, causing Keef’s head to swivel your direction.

Unlike you who didn’t have any idea where to flee, Keef knew exactly where to go when asked. Dewi and Freedi had simply looked at each other, nodded in recognition, and agreed to make the flight without any fuss. 

“Palm trees and beautiful beaches,” Keef replies. “More importantly, it’s where I left my stuff before they arrested me.”

Your eyebrows lift, thinking it must be a helluva hiding place for him to believe his belongings are still there. “What kind of stuff?”

He looks towards the front again, but not before you catch a brief shadow of his crooked smile. “The kind of stuff that’ll get us anywhere we want.”

Us, he’d said. We. 

Not me. Not I.

Keef’s loyalty to both you and Melshi continues to surprise you, even though by now it shouldn’t. Not after all he’s done. He fulfilled his vow. He got as many people out of Narkina 5 as he could. He kept Melshi alive for you, dragging him away from the waves they’d been certain you drowned in.

Your heart has yet to stop fluttering helplessly whenever you look at Melshi—from love, from disbelief. He’s tired and bruised and emotionally strung out beyond his limit. But he’s also tangible and warm and here. 

You take one last glance out the window at the water covered moon, finding it amusing how Narkina 5, a place that had felt so huge and imposing while trapped inside, is such an imperceptible speck when viewed from amongst the stars. The Empire’s still an ever-present threat on the horizon, but you don’t feel their phantom strings anymore. 

No, you just feel Melshi’s fingers gently tracing the edges of the bacta patch beneath your shirt. It’s stopped bleeding. It’s stopped hurting too, just a little itchy as the bacta helps your body regrow the missing skin. And even if there was any pain, the heat radiating off Melshi is pleasantly soothing enough to forget about it. Like your own patch of sunlight, melting away the last lingering traces of soul-chilling loneliness.

For all your precious dreams of a life together outside Narkina 5, for all the years you’ve shared a bed—nothing can change the fact that real life is a whole other beast compared to prison. There will be new sides of Melshi you’ve never seen before, yet another alternate persona buried deep beneath the familiar layers. 

And maybe that would have worried you before—before you were shot, before you nearly bled out on the beach, before you faced the most terrifying form of reality where Melshi wasn’t by your side—but now? Now there’s just a sense of giddy anticipation. It means you can fall in love with him all over again. 

Again and again and again…

Outside, the stars stretch and morph as the ship enters hyperspace, silver streaks slicing through the heavy blackness.

Inside the ship though, Melshi’s arms are your safe haven, and his lips are whispering those three special words against the shell of your ear. 

…again and again and again…

~~

Niamos is exactly how Keef described it. Beautiful beaches and palm trees galore. As close to the definition of paradise as a place can be if one ignores the Empire’s occupation and their security droids.

Stepping off the quadjumper, a tropical breeze sweeps over you, lifting up your clothes to tickle at the skin beneath. It’s close to evening time, hardly a soul in sight along the walkways. Which is good, Keef says. Less witnesses means less trouble. 

While he heads off to recollect his things, you say your goodbyes to Dewi and Freedi. They’ve only been figures in your life for such a short fraction of time, yet their impact has been monumental. There aren’t enough words in the galaxy to thank them, nor enough credits to repay them.

“All we ask is a favor,” Dewi says, offering another one of his sly smirks.

You nod your head, eager to express your gratitude however you can. “Name it.”

“Ye were lucky once, don’t be testing it,” he tells you firmly. “Keep your blood in your body, haye.”

“If I have any say in the matter,” Melshi chimes in, squeezing your waist, “she’ll never lose another drop again. Not even over a damn papercut.”

You tuck the crown of your head beneath the underside of his jaw, hiding your smile.

~~

When Keef returns, he’s changed into a striped shirt and dark pants, a canvas bag hanging on his shoulder. He pulls out extra clothes, shoving them into your and Melshi’s arms with instructions to get dressed in the nearby public restroom. You don’t pause to ask him where they came from, if they’re stolen or not. Clean clothes are clean clothes, that’s all that matters.

Stripping out of your dirty, paper-thin scrubs feels good, but putting on something else besides orange and white is another heavenly pleasure entirely. Your new outfit’s a little big on your frame, a dark blue floral patterned shirt tucked into matching colored pants, but you’re too happy about the newness of it all to complain. It’s the slip-on shoes that are the hardest to adapt to, so used to being barefooted you feel like a toddler learning to walk again the way your toes are all scrunched together.

You wash your hands, indulging in the cool water running over your wrists, then wipe your face with a wet towel. Maker knows you’d trade one of your limbs for a hot bath to soak in, but Niamos is merely a stepping stone, not a place to settle down and produce roots. Maybe the next destination will be better, safer, wherever that happens to be.

Wadding up your scrubs into a ball, you toss them into the trash and leave the restroom to find Keef and Melshi. The fading sun rests on the horizon line, sky the color of honey, beautiful and sweet, bathing the world in golden light. Melshi, too, standing at the pier’s edge with his hands clasped behind his back, seems to glow against the backdrop of the ocean.

He turns as you go to him, brown eyes shining like solar flares and dark hair tousled by the wind. He’s the most beautiful thing in the galaxy you’ve ever seen. You’re so in love with him it’s—it’s exhilarating. An adrenaline rush. A force of nature, immense and infinite.

“All this space. Fresh air,” Melshi murmurs, looking out across the water. You press yourself against his side, arms crossed over your stomach. “Like a dream, right?”

“The best dream I’ve ever had.” You cast a glance at Melshi out of the corner of your eye, at the blue-and-gray pattern on his shirt. Circles connected by lines sprouting from their centers. There’s something about it oddly mesmerizing. Almost familiar somehow. “View’s gorgeous, too.”

The tips of his ears burn red once he realizes you’re not talking about the sunset. It’s so cute you think you might melt. There’s a bit of smugness, too, knowing you’re the only one who has that adorable effect on him. 

“Where’s Keef?” you ask, suddenly noticing the other man’s absence. 

“Over there on the transmitter.” Melshi nods to a structure behind you next to the restroom. “Said he had to make a call. Family, I think.”

Looking over your shoulder, you can see Keef, leaning in so the transmitter picks up his voice over the sounds of the splashing waves. I have someone waiting for me, you remember him confessing late one night in the sleep block. Remember him saying she’s the greatest.

“Do you have someone to call?” you ask, curiously blinking up at Melshi.

“No.” Melshi doesn’t sound upset by the fact. He flexes his hand, the scar there flashing gold this time instead of silver. “You’re everything I’ve got in this life, dreamer.”

“Yeah?” you breathe shakily, watching as he takes your hand in his with such delicate gentleness. The laser burn along your knuckles has long since healed, but that doesn’t stop Melshi from pressing his lips to the spot, as if he can still see the mark there. You wonder if it would turn golden in the fading light too.

You feel more than see the upward curl of his mouth. “Yeah.”

~~

Keef’s quiet as a mouse when he finally rejoins you. You don’t like it—how utterly blank his expression is, the way he tries to bury his shaking hands in his pockets, the emptiness in his eyes. You don’t like any of it.

And you’re not the only one who notices the shift in attitude. You can tell Melshi’s concerned as he licks his lips and tentatively breaks the silence, aware of the fragility of the moment. “You got through? It’s okay?”

Keef doesn’t look either of you in the eye when he nods, too jerky, too reflexive. “Yeah.” The next words are choked out, a hushed hitch to his breath. “Everything okay.”

Two things quickly become apparent to you. 

First: he’s lying. 

And second: you’re not looking at Keef Girgo anymore. You’re looking at the man beneath the illusion. He’s right there, the real him, within arm’s reach, and there’s so much you want to say to him but your mouth refuses to speak any of the words aloud.

“How many do you think made it?” Melshi asks, out of nowhere. There’s something sharp about the question. An undercurrent of desperation that unsettles you. “How many of us made it out alive?”

At that, Keef finally meets your gazes. There’s a distantness in his brown eyes, like his body’s here physically but his mind is miles and miles away. You want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Want to ask what’s wrong with him. But your hands stay at your sides and your voice stays mute.

After a long beat, Keef blinks and comes back to himself just enough to manage a limp shrug of his shoulders, faintly replying, “Not enough.”

“What if it’s just us?” Melshi presses, unsatisfied with the answer. “What if we’re the only ones?”

“Rue,” you say, faltering at the heaviness in his stare, weighing down on your lungs. You swallow, unable to understand why it’s there, what’s rattling around inside his head. “What are you saying?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, pursing his lips before his narrowed gaze shifts away, half of his face edged in dim shadow. You can sense he wants to tell you, he’s just debating whether he should. Meaning whatever it is, it’s something big. Something that will have consequences.

“Somebody’s got to tell people what’s happening back there,” Melshi says at last, but he isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s looking straight at Keef.

Glancing at the other man reveals he’s still quiet, withdrawn, but there’s wrinkles creasing his forehead that weren't there seconds ago. And the steady way he’s staring back at Melshi—it’s like he’s already started putting the puzzle pieces together and he’s waiting for Melshi to confirm it’s the right picture. 

“Guys,” you huff, fully aware there’s a silent conversation going on right in front of you and hating every second of it. “What’s going—”

“We need to split up,” Melshi interrupts, voice strained. “Increase our chances.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mind whirling. The beginnings of dread start stirring at the bottom of your stomach. “No way. You-you don’t mean that.”

“One of us has to make it,” he continues, as if you hadn’t spoken at all, ignoring your subsequent tugging on his shirt. “People have to know what’s going on.” 

You keep shaking your head, unable to stop yourself, because it’s everything you don’t want to hear but at the same time, in the deepest part of yourself, you know he’s right. 

Staying silent about the horrors you witnessed means being complicit in the Empire’s crimes against the prisoners. Against Ulaf and Xaul, every lost soul and every one still locked away. You owe it to them to speak up and get the word out. To be brave when all you want to do is run to the farthest, most remote corner of the galaxy.

You owe it to them to try.

“I know,” Keef agrees. Another nod of his head, less jarring, more certain. “I hear you.”

On impulse you wrap your arms around Keef, pulling him in for a tight hug, hooking your chin over his shoulder. There’s a beat of hesitation, his arms awkwardly hovering in the air, and then he hugs you back.

“This isn’t a goodbye. It's a see you later,” you tell him, squeezing for emphasis. His chest rumbles with an inaudible laugh. “Repeat after me.” You look him square in the eye, leveling him with a challenging look. “Say it.”

“This isn’t a goodbye. It’s a see you later,” Keef echoes dutifully, but there’s warmth there that settles your rousing dread and replaces it with something softer. Something lighter.

Something a lot like hope.

“Here. Take this.” Keef digs around in his bag, retrieving a blaster that he gives to Melshi. Caught up in watching Melshi’s hand grip the weapon, secure and steady, no trace of nervousness as he tucks it behind his back, you miss noticing Keef’s second rummaging until he startles you with your name. “Take these too.”

He deposits a stack of credits into your hand. Surprised, you nearly spill them onto the ground, eyes widening as you take in the large amount. Understanding kicks in, that this must’ve been why he was so determined to come back here. This really is the kind of stuff that can get all three of you anywhere you want.

“Dank farrik,” you breathe. “Where the hell—actually, nope. You know what? I think I’m better off not knowing.”

“What dream means to say,” Melshi cuts in smoothly, shooting you a fond look as you stuff the credits into your trouser pockets before his expression changes into one of pure seriousness, “is thank you.”

The two men clasp hands amicably, leaning in closer to pat each other on the back. It’s a brief and wordless gesture, but the meaning’s still understood by both. Take care of yourself out there.

Melshi then inclines his head at you. “You ready, dream?”

You nod, giving him a small smile.

The pier is long, the path beyond even longer. But walking with Melshi, shoulder to shoulder, hands locked together, you find it easier to look forward to the future’s possibilities rather than fear its uncertainties. A future full of golden sunsets, fresh air smelling of fragrant blooms, an abundance of blankets on a plush bed, bites of meiloorun fruit exchanged between kisses, laughter, hot baths, even more kisses, perhaps a little dreamer or two to keep you and Melshi on your toes. 

It won’t be easy. It won’t be soon. But it’ll be a good one.

Because it will be yours and Melshi’s.

You stop walking, ignoring the concerned furrowing of Melshi’s brow as you abruptly spin around. Before taking another step into the unknown, there’s one final thing you’ve got to know for certain.

“Hey!” you call out, catching the attention of the man at the end of the pier. “What do we call you when later comes?”

A second of silence follows, your ears straining for his answer.

“Cassian.” The response is carried on the wind, a smile stretching across your face. And if you look hard enough, there in the last fading beams of sunlight, you swear he’s smiling, too. “My name is Cassian.”

[darlingjmiller]

the parallel of cassian not being there to care for his frail dying mother but being there for frail dying ulaf…