[ daisy sleepwalks. not often, not all the time, but enough to know: it's happened before, it will happen again. it comes most when dreams are strongest, when muscle memory and emotions propel her out of bed and onto the floor, and ends when she wakes, jolted from sleep by the end of a dream in terror or joy or something in between.
tonight, daisy walks: from her room to the living room, across the floor, to stand in the threshold of cassian and jyn's bedroom like a ghost haunting their sleep. she is dreamwalking into a room, too, but the room in her dream is dark, shrouded in shadows. like cassian in the bed, there is a man in the room, but his face is distorted, a blend of men's faces, the specificity unimportant.
what is important is the gun he holds out, the bullet it fires, the blood its trajectory spills from her stomach. what is important is the sudden pain she feels blooming in her gut. what is worse is the second bullet, fired as the gun prods itself into the wound.
she cries out, but in her dream, no one can hear her. she is dying, she is fading, she is crying out but no sound comes. (in life, she is falling to the ground too, but someone can hear her. that is, if they wake as well.) ]
[ cassian has noticed this about daisy and sleepwalking. he is always aware of movement in the house, even on a vague level, and he has picked up on foot patterns just to make sure he knows when it's only daisy or illya. once he recognizes it's just her shuffling around the house, he can usually go back to sleep. ]
[ it's a very light sleep tonight, especially when she comes to stand in the doorway. it still doesn't stop him from walking through her dream and the abject horror of watching her being shot. ]
[ cassian is out of bed barely seconds after daisy hits the floor, at her side moments later. she hadn't screamed aloud, but he saw in her face how desperately she wanted, needed, help, and that combined with her fall to the ground whisks him quickly from his own sleep. he cups her shoulder over the fabric of her shirt and gently nudges her. ]
Daisy. Daisy. [ he is very Concerned and Worried but his voice is still calm, because that softer sound will be better to lure her out of sleep. he's prepared for whatever panic might follow, determined to pull her from the dream. ] Come back to New Amsterdam.
[ in the real memory, daisy fades into death. it's a bizarre thing to know, but while jemma was a brilliant biochemical scientist, her bedside manner did leave quite a bit to be desired. daisy had dipped just past the medically approved line of living, and it had only been the gh-317 injected into her body that had brought her back. (it had been the inhuman blood in her system that had prevented her from dipping into madness as a result.)
but in her dreams, there is no miracle cure. there is only pain, the sharp spike of surprise that never fades away, the sting of betrayal — it translates into a horrified gasp from her mouth, her hands clutching to her stomach. ]
Please, don't — [ raw, terrified; her mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out, only the faintest whine at the back of her throat, as if all her sound has been expelled into the dream itself ] — please!
[ it does not matter. begging does not save your life or your soul, and so daisy dies. she is shot in the stomach, she is shoved out of her dream, she weeps and collapses into the ground. it's the nature of this dream.
only this time, the ground is someone's hands, cassian's hands; daisy's eyes open and then widen in realization, her body tensing in embarrassment. ]
I — [ she has nothing to say. she can only try to curl into herself, as if that will somehow prevent cassian from seeing the way her control seems to fray and break, tears pooling in her eyes as she comes down from the dream itself. ]
[ despite her clearly panicking around him, cassian is surprisingly calm. he is very concerned about what he's just seen, but there will be a time and a place for that - namely after daisy isn't about to lose her mind remembering it. ]
[ but he does know what it's like to die. the all encompassing panic that comes with a dream that doesn't care about whatever the reality it is. ]
[ she looks at him wildly, almost ashamed, but as far as cassian is concerned there's nothing to be ashamed about. he rests his hand gently at her arm, taking care that it's on skin, simply so he can share his own calmness with her. touch based asmr. ]
You are alive. [ he says so very resolutely but very softly. ]
[ his steadfastness bleeds through the bond, settling the wildest spikes of daiy's panic into a steady ache in her chest, the blue glow between them almost navy in the dark. ]
I was — [ dreaming. she'd dreamt a nightmare that she hasn't had in a while, one that had clearly propelled her out of bed and across the apartment. cassian might be calm, but she wonders: is anyone else awake? did anyone else hear her fall, or worse, fall into her dream with her? did anyone else feel the sharp stab of a bullet paired in their stomach? ] Were you?
[ her hands reach forward, suddenly, pressing against the firm slab of his stomach, feeling for wounds that won't be there. she ought to be embarrassed of this, if nothing else, but there's a frenzied determination to the movements instead of any shame. cassian cannot suffer for her own memory. that's just wrong. ]
[ he doesn't do anything when she suddenly jerks out and presses her hands into his stomach. he knows what she's doing before she even vocalizes it, checking to make sure he hadn't been shot too. if the physical proof helps, she can even double check that he is uninjured. he supposes it's lucky that he has a shirt on, so she can't see the actual scars across his torso from being shot in the past. ]
[ he shakes his head, slow enough for her to register it. ] No. He did not.
[ he saw it happen though. he ended up witnessing her dream, as much as he can tell she wishes no one had. ]
[ carefully, he lifts one hand, keeping it in her line of sight. ] Can I show you that you have not been shot today?
[ in the dark, illuminated by only the glow between them and the faint light in the distance from jyn's curtain-blocked window, daisy cannot see much at all. even when her hands press against his shirt, it is only by feel that she determines he is still solid, unblemished by any still-bleeding wounds or other trauma.
(someday, she might realize how false that latter statement is, but for now she is relieved.)
some part of her knows it was just a dream. she knows that while she might wake up with a stomachache or with cold sweats from panic, she isn't going to bleed out on the floor from a bullet wound in her dream. but that part of her is faint, drowned out by the all-too-real emotional reaction, the shock of memory and the uncomfortable realization that this dream wasn't a private thing.
she ought to be more rational, but right now, all daisy can do is nod weakly, her hands falling limp to her side as cassian's begin to move. ]
Okay. [ she trusts him. he doesn't have to move so slow, as if she's a wild animal who might strike... even if she's acting a little bit like one. ] Okay.
[ jyn, not conspicuously silent, is not in the room - she's out for a midnight run, a frequent enough venture that cassian doesn't stress about it. ]
[ the glow from their chests is a strange light, and he's not sure how comforting it is. he's not sure what the best method of comfort going forward is. he knows trauma, and he knows daisy, but he is struggling with the overlap, to used to dealing with trauma in a more mechanical way than a familiar one. ]
[ but he doesn't think she needs to be rational. that's why all his movements are careful and deliberate. she says okay and he moves his hand again, still keeping it in her line of sight. he mimics her earlier actions and gently sets his hand to her stomach, to the exact spot she was shot in the dream. there is, obviously, nothing there, but his touch shouldn't bring any pain like it would to a real wound. ]
[ he reaches for her hand with his free one and repeats the process, only this time he brings her hand down too, showing her for herself that there are no wounds. ]
[ she cannot help it. his hand touches to her stomach, and daisy winces, an instinctive reaction that comes as the dream still lingers in her memory. he touches her stomach, and her body stiffens, as if preparing for the pain — and when it does not come, she's not sure quite how to convince herself to relax.
she lets out a breath, shaky and uncertain, and peers up at him; it's with an uncharacteristic stillness that daisy allows him to collect her own hand in his, and to press it against her own stomach, a second reminder that she's alive and well here. ]
Cassian.
[ she does not want to be dreaming anymore. she wants to be here, with her friends, with people who care for her and about her and who would never shoot her in the stomach. her wrist turns in his grasp, away from herself, in order to curl her fingers around his own, tight and firm and needy. don't let go, she wants to say, but the words don't come.
she doesn't quite know how to say thank you, either. or anything at all. just the hollow repetition of his name, and a brief moment of stillness, before she bolts upright, burying herself in an embrace that hides her face in the crook of his neck, the faintest sound of muffled sniffling echoing between them. ]
[ he expected the wince, but a brief window of anticipation is better than a few minutes of spiraling anxiety. cassian remains calm and collected the entire time, though it seems to be helping her. ]
[ if it were anyone else grabbing him so tightly, he might start pulling away, but he can feel how much daisy needs to be grounded through a familiar face, through a reminder that whatever this dream was is over and that new amsterdam is here and now. cassian isn't expecting her to say thank you, much less anything, but he certainly isn't expecting a hug either. logically he knows the gesture is one of the best comfort sources out there, but he's so unused to offering it up on his own end - especially so genuinely. ]
[ not that it was an offer so much as daisy's own initiative, but he doesn't pull away from it. it takes him a few seconds, but eventually he wraps his arms around her and does not comment on the quiet sounds of her crying. it won't help to draw attention to it, it's the same with jyn. ]
[ he's sort of at a loss for words, but he's not sure daisy needs them as much as she needs the physical reminder of reality now, and he can give that much for now. ]
[ she is glad for the silence. she is grateful, too, that cassian instinctively knows not to share meaningless reassurances, that he does not try to soothe her with shushing or pats on the back — and for once, she does not crack a smile or a joke at his soulmate status with her soul sister. instead, daisy simply leans into the embrace, the empathy bond warming where her forehead nestles against the crook of his neck, that small sliver of skin-to-skin reinforcing the sensations of the hug.
there is more than sorrow that filters through it. cassian is not just a stoic pillar or a good chef or a space cadet; he is a friend, true and loyal and definitively important, and as daisy curls herself against him, the emotional result of that filters between them. it isn't just gratitude or the ebbing tide of her fear, but a warmth, a blanket of unbreachable trust that settles in her bones as she takes in each breath.
eventually, daisy settles too, tears and hiccups petering out to a single exhale, a groan that trails off, her own discomfort with the whole exchange all too evident. she doesn't like looking ... broken, for lack of a better word. weak, for another. but she trusts cassian not to judge her for it, and so daisy tries to stifle that instinct; she tries to gingerly let him go, rather than bolt away, and to offer a small smile instead of a roll of her eyes. ]
Thank you, [ she finally decides on, simple seeming better than something elaborate or complicated. ] For helping.
[ he didn't have to. it is a very simple fact, but it has more significance than daisy might realize. he didn't have to, most of his life here is full of things he doesn't have to do and chooses to. he didn't have to comfort daisy, but he did, because she is his friend. ]
[ quiet is a lot more of a comfort than people realize. it's support without expectation. while it can also be a useful tool in getting someone to talk, the silent
[ he gets wave after wave of daisy's feelings, though he doesn't try to analyze any of them. he just waits it out, and what she gets in return is just that continued steady calm, sympathy without pity, and that need to help, that he wants to. ]
[ when she starts to pull back at last, cassian lets her take the lead there, letting her slowly disentangle at her own pace in hopes of making her feel less awkward. he assumes she might come out that way, many people do. he's half expecting an eyeroll, he's used to that kind of deferment, but instead she just smiles a little and says thank you. ]
Of course. [ sometimes that's easier to say than 'you're welcome.' ] Let's go make some tea.
[ he's gonna do it for sure, but phrasing it like a we makes it feel less like she isn't capable. ]
[ the offer isn't expected, but it doesn't surprise her, either. jyn drinks so much tea she might as well sweat it out, and daisy has seen cassian make it for her more times than she can count. an offer, in this moment, seems right.
but it feels like more than just a cup. it feels, for daisy, like cassian is bringing her a little closer, the bridge of their friendship strengthened with an extra cord across the steps. one small gesture, amongst so many others, that ties them together. ]
Alright. [ soft and agreeable and near totally at ease, she lets him pull her to her feet and guide her towards the kitchen, where she can pour herself into a barstool and watch him work. ] But I want sugar in mine.
[ is that a surprise? she doubts it. cassian has an eye for what people like, even if he doesn't always say so. ]
[ he guides her easily and gently into the kitchen, but he busies himself with gathering up what he needs for a cup of tea to give her a few moments of privacy. ]
[ cassian knows she likes sugar in it, and he knows which kind of tea she prefers too, which is why he pulls out the english breakfast without even asking after filling up the kettle. he does have an eye for what people like, he's just too naturally observant without any other espionage outlet. ]
[ while it's boiling, he sets the sugar on the table in front of her and digs out her preferred mug. it's a small part, but she can do the sugar herself and feel productive, but he'll do the rest before that. ]
I have been lectured so many times about the proper way to make tea.
[ it's not a flippant question. daisy's entire experience with tea pre-new amsterdam boiled down to whatever jemma happened to be drinking. it wasn't the sort of thing she tossed back on a regular basis. even now, she's still only drinking it because jyn does. ]
How many ways can there be to heat up water and throw a tea bag in?
According to Jyn, anyone who puts the milk in first is dead to her.
[ not that he would do it - it sounds weird even to him - but it doesn't stop him from making fun of jyn's tea dedication. ]
[ he starts digging around in the cabinets, looking for any of daisy's favorite snacks too. distraction with food and drink is very important, but also a level of normalcy. ]
I prefer caf. Coffee, here, but given how rare it is, tea is an easier option.
[ daisy would agree. not to the same extent as jyn, never so vehement or opinionated about it, but milk in tea just sounds gross to her. she might have felt differently if she'd grown up with her mother, but she's too americanized to appreciate milk in tea at all, regardless of the order.
she drops a compressed cube of sweetener, some agave or cane sugar substitute, into the cup, and rattles a spoon around until there's no more resistance. nothing left to dissolve. ]
There's a mushroom substitute, apparently. One of the girls at work is always talking about it. Mushrooms and cacao, I guess. It still sounds gross to me, though.
Honestly, I have never drank it for the taste, so that part does not concern me much.
[ he needs to stay awake because he sleeps like shit, duh. the tea he drinks in new amsterdam is the most caffeinated he can possibly find. not now though - it might be english breakfast but of course he has two versions, and this one is decaf. ]
Though mushrooms in tea sounds a particular kind of unappealing.
[ can he drink one... every five hours? never sleep again?? this is a potential mess, he's already googling to see if they exist on this planet and where he can find some. look what you've done, daisy. he wants to keep one on hand at least for emergencies. ]
[ the tea kettle starts to whistle, and he brings it over, pouring the boiling water into daisy's cup. ]
I cannot say I am that invested in caffeine that I would want it injected in me. [ there is a reason cassian does not regularly drink or partake in drugs and it is control reasons! who knows what literally injecting a caffeine into his body would do, it might have weird side effects! no, he'll stick to drinking it like a regular human disaster. ]
Sometimes I just do not want to or cannot be fall asleep. [ is that a tiny bit of opening up to her?? maybe. maybe because he wants to see if she wants to talk about anything, but knowing how much she's like jyn, it's probably a no. ]
[ for a few moments, daisy is quiet; she watches as cassian pours water into her cup, and when he's done, she toys with the string laid over the side of her cup, tapping and tugging on it and watching the bag bounce in the water.
she doesn't think she's going to say anything much at all, but something about his statement and the casual way it's laid out in front of her catches her attention. it's truth, but more importantly, it's vulnerable truth. an admission of a kind, made sincerely. ]
I get that. [ not quite the same, but it starts her off easy enough. ] I can't usually fall back asleep after that dream. I just... [ an exhale, a hand rubbing against her stomach as if to triple check. satisfied, she continues. ] It just feels real, you know?
[ cassian is fine with the quiet. he likes the quiet, it's how he and jyn offer comfort often too. it's fine if daisy wants to keep the quiet; he's leaving this window to see what road she takes. he isn't afraid to drag her down a different one, but there's always an easier way to do it with patience. ]
[ he notices where her hand falls, but he doesn't draw attention to it. he only frowns a little as he listens. ]
They always do. [ he's dreamed often about getting shot too. about so many things that always feel too real. ] But there's no reason you need to go back to sleep right now anyway. Eat some snacks, watch a film.
[ a beat. ] Is that what happened, before you got here?
[ that in itself is reassurance, both to cassian and to daisy herself. she has lived through that trauma, enough that in her waking hours it no longer weighs on her, and a dream of it will pass with time as well. ]
I was a different person then, I think. [ not literally, but. ] I didn't know who I was, so I made up this whole... existence. Everything I thought I knew about myself was fake.
[ it's perhaps more than cassian wanted to know, but once daisy starts, she finds she can't stop the words from coming out, her hands coming up to grip tightly around the tea mug. ]
I grew up in this orphanage, you know? A Catholic one, with nuns and an old priest who never came out except for Christmas mass, where people came all the time to adopt cute kids and feel better about themselves. They didn't even know who I was. My parents... we didn't know anything. They gave me this horrible name — [ she scoffs into her drink, a quiet sound ] — Mary Sue Poots. Just ... the worst name you could give a kid.
[ at least, the worst name you could make up for one. ]
But it shouldn't have mattered, you know? I got foster families. I just couldn't keep them. No matter what I did, no matter how bad I wanted to stay, they'd send me back. A year, six months, maybe three. Nobody wanted me. "A bad fit," that was always the excuse. "Not right for us."
[ it had weighed on her. even now, daisy wasn't sure she was the right fit for anybody. there was always the risk that someone would get sick of her and bail. ]
I left as soon as I could... and I got rid of it all. My name, my history, my whole life, I erased it. I gave myself a new name, a new purpose... I didn't even know who I was. I called myself Skye like I was some wannabe Madonna, one name and everything. [ which she was not. ] And then I got shot and I found out I was probably part alien and...
[ she shrugs. the rest, as they say, was history. her history. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
› action movie night only real life
tonight, daisy walks: from her room to the living room, across the floor, to stand in the threshold of cassian and jyn's bedroom like a ghost haunting their sleep. she is dreamwalking into a room, too, but the room in her dream is dark, shrouded in shadows. like cassian in the bed, there is a man in the room, but his face is distorted, a blend of men's faces, the specificity unimportant.
what is important is the gun he holds out, the bullet it fires, the blood its trajectory spills from her stomach. what is important is the sudden pain she feels blooming in her gut. what is worse is the second bullet, fired as the gun prods itself into the wound.
she cries out, but in her dream, no one can hear her. she is dying, she is fading, she is crying out but no sound comes. (in life, she is falling to the ground too, but someone can hear her. that is, if they wake as well.) ]
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[ it's a very light sleep tonight, especially when she comes to stand in the doorway. it still doesn't stop him from walking through her dream and the abject horror of watching her being shot. ]
[ cassian is out of bed barely seconds after daisy hits the floor, at her side moments later. she hadn't screamed aloud, but he saw in her face how desperately she wanted, needed, help, and that combined with her fall to the ground whisks him quickly from his own sleep. he cups her shoulder over the fabric of her shirt and gently nudges her. ]
Daisy. Daisy. [ he is very Concerned and Worried but his voice is still calm, because that softer sound will be better to lure her out of sleep. he's prepared for whatever panic might follow, determined to pull her from the dream. ] Come back to New Amsterdam.
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but in her dreams, there is no miracle cure. there is only pain, the sharp spike of surprise that never fades away, the sting of betrayal — it translates into a horrified gasp from her mouth, her hands clutching to her stomach. ]
Please, don't — [ raw, terrified; her mouth opens to scream, but nothing comes out, only the faintest whine at the back of her throat, as if all her sound has been expelled into the dream itself ] — please!
[ it does not matter. begging does not save your life or your soul, and so daisy dies. she is shot in the stomach, she is shoved out of her dream, she weeps and collapses into the ground. it's the nature of this dream.
only this time, the ground is someone's hands, cassian's hands; daisy's eyes open and then widen in realization, her body tensing in embarrassment. ]
I — [ she has nothing to say. she can only try to curl into herself, as if that will somehow prevent cassian from seeing the way her control seems to fray and break, tears pooling in her eyes as she comes down from the dream itself. ]
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[ but he does know what it's like to die. the all encompassing panic that comes with a dream that doesn't care about whatever the reality it is. ]
[ she looks at him wildly, almost ashamed, but as far as cassian is concerned there's nothing to be ashamed about. he rests his hand gently at her arm, taking care that it's on skin, simply so he can share his own calmness with her. touch based asmr. ]
You are alive. [ he says so very resolutely but very softly. ]
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I was — [ dreaming. she'd dreamt a nightmare that she hasn't had in a while, one that had clearly propelled her out of bed and across the apartment. cassian might be calm, but she wonders: is anyone else awake? did anyone else hear her fall, or worse, fall into her dream with her? did anyone else feel the sharp stab of a bullet paired in their stomach? ] Were you?
[ her hands reach forward, suddenly, pressing against the firm slab of his stomach, feeling for wounds that won't be there. she ought to be embarrassed of this, if nothing else, but there's a frenzied determination to the movements instead of any shame. cassian cannot suffer for her own memory. that's just wrong. ]
Did he shoot you?
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[ he shakes his head, slow enough for her to register it. ] No. He did not.
[ he saw it happen though. he ended up witnessing her dream, as much as he can tell she wishes no one had. ]
[ carefully, he lifts one hand, keeping it in her line of sight. ] Can I show you that you have not been shot today?
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(someday, she might realize how false that latter statement is, but for now she is relieved.)
some part of her knows it was just a dream. she knows that while she might wake up with a stomachache or with cold sweats from panic, she isn't going to bleed out on the floor from a bullet wound in her dream. but that part of her is faint, drowned out by the all-too-real emotional reaction, the shock of memory and the uncomfortable realization that this dream wasn't a private thing.
she ought to be more rational, but right now, all daisy can do is nod weakly, her hands falling limp to her side as cassian's begin to move. ]
Okay. [ she trusts him. he doesn't have to move so slow, as if she's a wild animal who might strike... even if she's acting a little bit like one. ] Okay.
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[ the glow from their chests is a strange light, and he's not sure how comforting it is. he's not sure what the best method of comfort going forward is. he knows trauma, and he knows daisy, but he is struggling with the overlap, to used to dealing with trauma in a more mechanical way than a familiar one. ]
[ but he doesn't think she needs to be rational. that's why all his movements are careful and deliberate. she says okay and he moves his hand again, still keeping it in her line of sight. he mimics her earlier actions and gently sets his hand to her stomach, to the exact spot she was shot in the dream. there is, obviously, nothing there, but his touch shouldn't bring any pain like it would to a real wound. ]
[ he reaches for her hand with his free one and repeats the process, only this time he brings her hand down too, showing her for herself that there are no wounds. ]
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she lets out a breath, shaky and uncertain, and peers up at him; it's with an uncharacteristic stillness that daisy allows him to collect her own hand in his, and to press it against her own stomach, a second reminder that she's alive and well here. ]
Cassian.
[ she does not want to be dreaming anymore. she wants to be here, with her friends, with people who care for her and about her and who would never shoot her in the stomach. her wrist turns in his grasp, away from herself, in order to curl her fingers around his own, tight and firm and needy. don't let go, she wants to say, but the words don't come.
she doesn't quite know how to say thank you, either. or anything at all. just the hollow repetition of his name, and a brief moment of stillness, before she bolts upright, burying herself in an embrace that hides her face in the crook of his neck, the faintest sound of muffled sniffling echoing between them. ]
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[ if it were anyone else grabbing him so tightly, he might start pulling away, but he can feel how much daisy needs to be grounded through a familiar face, through a reminder that whatever this dream was is over and that new amsterdam is here and now. cassian isn't expecting her to say thank you, much less anything, but he certainly isn't expecting a hug either. logically he knows the gesture is one of the best comfort sources out there, but he's so unused to offering it up on his own end - especially so genuinely. ]
[ not that it was an offer so much as daisy's own initiative, but he doesn't pull away from it. it takes him a few seconds, but eventually he wraps his arms around her and does not comment on the quiet sounds of her crying. it won't help to draw attention to it, it's the same with jyn. ]
[ he's sort of at a loss for words, but he's not sure daisy needs them as much as she needs the physical reminder of reality now, and he can give that much for now. ]
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there is more than sorrow that filters through it. cassian is not just a stoic pillar or a good chef or a space cadet; he is a friend, true and loyal and definitively important, and as daisy curls herself against him, the emotional result of that filters between them. it isn't just gratitude or the ebbing tide of her fear, but a warmth, a blanket of unbreachable trust that settles in her bones as she takes in each breath.
eventually, daisy settles too, tears and hiccups petering out to a single exhale, a groan that trails off, her own discomfort with the whole exchange all too evident. she doesn't like looking ... broken, for lack of a better word. weak, for another. but she trusts cassian not to judge her for it, and so daisy tries to stifle that instinct; she tries to gingerly let him go, rather than bolt away, and to offer a small smile instead of a roll of her eyes. ]
Thank you, [ she finally decides on, simple seeming better than something elaborate or complicated. ] For helping.
[ he didn't have to. ]
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[ quiet is a lot more of a comfort than people realize. it's support without expectation. while it can also be a useful tool in getting someone to talk, the silent
[ he gets wave after wave of daisy's feelings, though he doesn't try to analyze any of them. he just waits it out, and what she gets in return is just that continued steady calm, sympathy without pity, and that need to help, that he wants to. ]
[ when she starts to pull back at last, cassian lets her take the lead there, letting her slowly disentangle at her own pace in hopes of making her feel less awkward. he assumes she might come out that way, many people do. he's half expecting an eyeroll, he's used to that kind of deferment, but instead she just smiles a little and says thank you. ]
Of course. [ sometimes that's easier to say than 'you're welcome.' ] Let's go make some tea.
[ he's gonna do it for sure, but phrasing it like a we makes it feel less like she isn't capable. ]
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but it feels like more than just a cup. it feels, for daisy, like cassian is bringing her a little closer, the bridge of their friendship strengthened with an extra cord across the steps. one small gesture, amongst so many others, that ties them together. ]
Alright. [ soft and agreeable and near totally at ease, she lets him pull her to her feet and guide her towards the kitchen, where she can pour herself into a barstool and watch him work. ] But I want sugar in mine.
[ is that a surprise? she doubts it. cassian has an eye for what people like, even if he doesn't always say so. ]
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[ cassian knows she likes sugar in it, and he knows which kind of tea she prefers too, which is why he pulls out the english breakfast without even asking after filling up the kettle. he does have an eye for what people like, he's just too naturally observant without any other espionage outlet. ]
[ while it's boiling, he sets the sugar on the table in front of her and digs out her preferred mug. it's a small part, but she can do the sugar herself and feel productive, but he'll do the rest before that. ]
I have been lectured so many times about the proper way to make tea.
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[ it's not a flippant question. daisy's entire experience with tea pre-new amsterdam boiled down to whatever jemma happened to be drinking. it wasn't the sort of thing she tossed back on a regular basis. even now, she's still only drinking it because jyn does. ]
How many ways can there be to heat up water and throw a tea bag in?
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[ not that he would do it - it sounds weird even to him - but it doesn't stop him from making fun of jyn's tea dedication. ]
[ he starts digging around in the cabinets, looking for any of daisy's favorite snacks too. distraction with food and drink is very important, but also a level of normalcy. ]
I prefer caf. Coffee, here, but given how rare it is, tea is an easier option.
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[ daisy would agree. not to the same extent as jyn, never so vehement or opinionated about it, but milk in tea just sounds gross to her. she might have felt differently if she'd grown up with her mother, but she's too americanized to appreciate milk in tea at all, regardless of the order.
she drops a compressed cube of sweetener, some agave or cane sugar substitute, into the cup, and rattles a spoon around until there's no more resistance. nothing left to dissolve. ]
There's a mushroom substitute, apparently. One of the girls at work is always talking about it. Mushrooms and cacao, I guess. It still sounds gross to me, though.
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[ he needs to stay awake because he sleeps like shit, duh. the tea he drinks in new amsterdam is the most caffeinated he can possibly find. not now though - it might be english breakfast but of course he has two versions, and this one is decaf. ]
Though mushrooms in tea sounds a particular kind of unappealing.
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[ or whatever the modern equivalent is. surely there are shot-sized energy drinks in the futuristic version of a 7-11 somewhere in this megacity. ]
Or a caffeine IV.
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[ can he drink one... every five hours? never sleep again?? this is a potential mess, he's already googling to see if they exist on this planet and where he can find some. look what you've done, daisy. he wants to keep one on hand at least for emergencies. ]
What is caffeine IV?
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I don't actually know if it's a thing.
[ it could be. alien medicine that saved her life was a thing. caffeine in an iv isn't that far off. ]
But IV drips can cure hangovers, so I guess if you put coffee in one, it might wake you up? I don't know. I'm not a doctor.
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I cannot say I am that invested in caffeine that I would want it injected in me. [ there is a reason cassian does not regularly drink or partake in drugs and it is control reasons! who knows what literally injecting a caffeine into his body would do, it might have weird side effects! no, he'll stick to drinking it like a regular human disaster. ]
Sometimes I just do not want to or cannot be fall asleep. [ is that a tiny bit of opening up to her?? maybe. maybe because he wants to see if she wants to talk about anything, but knowing how much she's like jyn, it's probably a no. ]
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she doesn't think she's going to say anything much at all, but something about his statement and the casual way it's laid out in front of her catches her attention. it's truth, but more importantly, it's vulnerable truth. an admission of a kind, made sincerely. ]
I get that. [ not quite the same, but it starts her off easy enough. ] I can't usually fall back asleep after that dream. I just... [ an exhale, a hand rubbing against her stomach as if to triple check. satisfied, she continues. ] It just feels real, you know?
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[ he notices where her hand falls, but he doesn't draw attention to it. he only frowns a little as he listens. ]
They always do. [ he's dreamed often about getting shot too. about so many things that always feel too real. ] But there's no reason you need to go back to sleep right now anyway. Eat some snacks, watch a film.
[ a beat. ] Is that what happened, before you got here?
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[ that in itself is reassurance, both to cassian and to daisy herself. she has lived through that trauma, enough that in her waking hours it no longer weighs on her, and a dream of it will pass with time as well. ]
I was a different person then, I think. [ not literally, but. ] I didn't know who I was, so I made up this whole... existence. Everything I thought I knew about myself was fake.
[ it's perhaps more than cassian wanted to know, but once daisy starts, she finds she can't stop the words from coming out, her hands coming up to grip tightly around the tea mug. ]
I grew up in this orphanage, you know? A Catholic one, with nuns and an old priest who never came out except for Christmas mass, where people came all the time to adopt cute kids and feel better about themselves. They didn't even know who I was. My parents... we didn't know anything. They gave me this horrible name — [ she scoffs into her drink, a quiet sound ] — Mary Sue Poots. Just ... the worst name you could give a kid.
[ at least, the worst name you could make up for one. ]
But it shouldn't have mattered, you know? I got foster families. I just couldn't keep them. No matter what I did, no matter how bad I wanted to stay, they'd send me back. A year, six months, maybe three. Nobody wanted me. "A bad fit," that was always the excuse. "Not right for us."
[ it had weighed on her. even now, daisy wasn't sure she was the right fit for anybody. there was always the risk that someone would get sick of her and bail. ]
I left as soon as I could... and I got rid of it all. My name, my history, my whole life, I erased it. I gave myself a new name, a new purpose... I didn't even know who I was. I called myself Skye like I was some wannabe Madonna, one name and everything. [ which she was not. ] And then I got shot and I found out I was probably part alien and...
[ she shrugs. the rest, as they say, was history. her history. ]
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