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“Where is she?” Cassian thunders, pushing past the men keeping watch at the entrance to their ship. No one answers.
“Where is my wife?” he asks, rage cutting through the concern in his voice. He spots Bodhi in the cockpit and stares him down. “I swear to everything living in this galaxy,” Cassian starts, “if you don’t tell me where Jyn is right now, I’m going to -- ”
“Honey, you’re home.” Jyn’s voice cuts through the tension growing in the ship like a lightsaber. He turns to see his wife, standing against a wall with a rag pressed to the gash in her abdomen. She’s smiling in an effort to distract from the way her other hand clutches at a railing, white-knuckled. “This looks...worse than it is.”
Cassian exhales harshly, then presses his palm to his eyes. “You,” he starts, “ should be lying down. And you -- ” he gestures to everyone watching, “ -- should have been watching her! I gave you express orders.”
“Okay, I think you’re overreacting a little,” Jyn says, then hisses when the rag slips and air hits her open wound.
“We are going to have a talk,” he replies, taking Jyn by the elbow to help her into their bunk. Cassian eases her onto the bed and goes to the tiny bathroom to collect more rags and some alcohol.
“It’s really nothing, Cassian,” Jyn calls from their bed. “The blaster grazed me, and I shot him down right after.”
He rounds the corner, supplies in hand, and shoots her a look. It’s half you’re going to be the death of me and half I love you more than anything in the world -- it makes Jyn drop her shoulders and sigh softly.
“I know you were worried. I know you told me to stay on the ship. I know that, but I had the shot, and I took it.”
Cassian sits beside her and takes the bloody rag from her calloused hands. He looks up at her and works at disinfecting her wound. Jyn clenches her jaw when the alcohol touches bloody skin. “I was doing my job,” she offers, quieter this time.
He doesn’t respond, just reaches for gauze to clean her up.
“So now you’re not gonna talk to me? Cassian, I’m sorry, but -- ”
“Jyn. You’re pregnant,” Cassian breathes, voice breaking on the last word. “You’re having a baby.”
She told him three weeks ago, just after they returned from a mission. Lying in bed together, Jyn reached for his hand and placed it atop her stomach. Cassian looked over with wide eyes, and she just nodded, biting her lip.
Terror and excitement coursed through his veins then, just like they do now, looking down at his injured wife. (And child.)
“Cassian, I’m well aware that I’m -- “
“Do you know,” he starts, not meeting her eyes. “Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to...either one of you?”
Jyn says nothing. They’re both silent for a long minute. Cassian knows they have jobs; the Alliance counts on both of them, and this, this feeling of complete and utter devotion, is why they shouldn’t be where they are right now. He would leave the rebels in a heartbeat if it meant saving his wife and child.
Cassian feels Jyn’s hand come up to grip his arm, finally making him look at her again. Something in her green eyes shines so intensely it makes another part of his heart break off into her hands. When she leans in to kiss him, he meets her halfway.
It starts as nothing: a brush of lips just to mend what was a little rocky. But then, gods help him, Jyn opens her mouth and sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, gripping his arm just a little too tight. Her nails must be leaving marks on his skin, but Cassian can’t bring himself to care. Not with her pulling her back so he’s hovering above her.
“I don’t want to...” Cassian trails, glancing at her stomach and the barely-patched up gash below her ribs. But then Jyn’s tugging him down so their hips meet and he gasps, forgetting any concerns he had.
He gets the rest of her tunic up and off and starts working at the button of her pants. Cassian’s never been particularly good with undressing Jyn in the heat of the moment -- he gets too ahead of himself, too lost in her warm skin and bright eyes. She laughs at his fumbling and swats his hand away. Before he can protest, her pants are on the floor.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Jyn says with a slow smile. Cassian flashes her a smirk before disrobing and tossing his shirt and pants near the door. He crawls back on top of her, lets his fingers dip under the waistband of her panties and tease at her clit until she’s moaning and whimpering into the open air.
When he sinks to his knees at the base of the bed, Jyn quirks a brow at him. Cassian drags her underwear down and presses kisses up her thighs until he’s right there, and flicks his tongue at her clit for all he’s worth. He pours everything -- every thought, every worry, all of his feelings -- into it, concentrating on showing Jyn just how much she, just how much they, really mean to him. She’ writhing on the bed, hands fisted in his hair, to an almost painful degree, but it doesn't matter.
She comes just as he’s whispering, “Mi vida, mi alma,” into this junction at her hip.
Jyn, with a sated smile, says, “Te queremos,” and Cassian’s entire heart threatens to shatter with the amount of love he feels.
Dangerous or not, he belongs, wholly and completely to this tiny, forged-family.