Author's Note: Here's the second and final chapter! Mild sexual content ahead so be prepared. I apologise in advance for the not-so-well-written love scene, guys.

Reviews are (almost) better than Jyn and Cassian riding off into the sunset. So please leave one (or several) if you can. Happy reading!

Chapter Two: You Only Come In On Saturdays

What I am saying is I am sorry.

What I am saying is I am still home if you want me to be.

Lydia Wang

And when I get tired and eventually leave

I'll get back on the road and I'll leave you in peace

And I won't even look back as the tears hit your cheek

Please don't look at me

Please don't look at me

Do not look at me

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.

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"What are you doing, Cassian?"

Kay approaches him with the question four months into whatever he and Jyn have been doing. Honestly, Cassian has expected Kay to say something much earlier. It is a testament to his friend's loyalty more than anything that the subject hasn't been brought up before.

"What do you mean?" asks Cassian, leaning back in his chair and flipping through the paperwork on his desk. "I'm filing a report like I'm supposed to."

Kay purses his lips and inhales with more force than usual. "Where were you on Saturday?"

"At the library," says Cassian casually. "Reading."

(If reading means talking and drinking coffee with Jyn at the restaurant, rolling in his sheets with her and letting her ride him until his world explodes into white.)

"Where were you two Saturdays ago?"

"I don't recall," replies Cassian immediately. He throws his pencil down on the table and looks up at his friend with feigned concern. "Kay, what is this about?"

"Your skill at being evasive astounds me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know what I'm talking about." Kay leans in closer, his voice dropping an octave to prevent the other detectives from overhearing their discussion. "Saturdays are your days off. Usually, you spend it at a bar that has live music and serves mezcal. Or you spend it at a museum or at a park or at my place. The library? Please." He scoffs and his eyes pierce at Cassian from behind his glasses. "I have tried not to say anything, but this has gone on long enough. I did tell you to be careful, didn't I?"

"And I am being careful," says Cassian, bravely meeting his friend's eye. He has always been good at burying the guilt and the shame, he reminds himself. "Kay, there is really no need for this."

"Are you or are you not currently seeing the criminal Jyn Erso?"

"She is my informant. We exchange valuable information."

Kay's mouth curves into a sardonic smile. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"There is nothing to call," says Cassian irritably. He sits up straighter in his chair, levelling Kay with the most truthful look that he can muster. "We meet sometimes. Our deal is working out great. For her, for me, for our work. I know where the line should be drawn, Kay. I am not stupid."

Something like hurt flashes across Kay's expression and there is a coldness to his voice when he says: "I do not know which is worse. You lying to me, or you actually believing that whatever is happening or not happening is going to amount to anything."

"Kay - "

Kay lets out a long and weary sigh, and somehow, it is one of the worst sounds that Cassian has ever heard.

"You don't want to listen to me. That's fine. But just be careful, Cassian." The hurt dissolves into concern, and then into something akin to sadness. "Both of you do not have the luxury to be this naive."

There are new marks on her body. A stitched-up wound on her shoulder blade and a fresh, thin sliver of a cut just below her belly button. He didn't notice them when they're at the restaurant, only after he has taken off her clothes and lay her down on his mattress.

His fingers pause over the cut on her stomach and it takes everything within him not to press his lips against it.

"Cassian…"

"You've been hurt."

He feels her breathing turning steady beneath him.

"It's just a cut," she barely whispers. She runs a hand through his hair, tugging him back up to her. "It's nothing. It happens all the time."

"Jyn, if things are getting caught up - "

"Nothing's getting caught up."

He brushes two fingers over her shoulder wound and she can't help but wince. The gesture is enough to make him swallow down the painful, horrible lump that has been rising in his throat.

"It's nothing, Cassian. Nothing." She cups his face, drawing his lips to hers. "Ignore it."

"I've never asked you about your scars."

"And I've never asked you about yours. Let's keep it that way."

Her kisses are pleading, desperate, and he knows that she is begging him to understand somehow. He wants to and he does, to a certain extent. He is - in many ways - similar to her and he would rather push people away than see them live with the consequences of his own failings.

But this is different. This is Jyn. Long ago, he has resigned himself to the fact that he will always hurt the people he cares about. But not her, he thinks. Never her.

Of course he can't tell her that. He can't tell her any of it. And the truth of it pains him even more than the wanting her does.

So this time, he does everything slowly. As though by doing it slowly everything would last a little longer. His lips take their time wandering up her skin - from her ankles, across her thighs, to her breasts and then up to her forehead. It doesn't matter that she is whining and begging underneath him; it only means that her wanting him goes on for longer than they both deserve. When he finally enters her, it is little by little, and the ache is almost as good as the way their gazes are locked together the entire time they move as one.

They cling to each other afterwards - trembling, vulnerable, whole. He would like to think that this must be what peace feels like, but he knows from the way she has tears in her eyes that whatever he thinks it is, it will be shattered soon.

Because, despite him knowing better, he simply has to ask.

His fingers trail over the wound on her shoulder as he whispers against the softness of her hair: "Jyn, can you stop?"

Immediately, her hand ceases its caress of his arm.

"Stop what?"

"This." He presses his lips to the wound and then drops his hand to the cut. "And this."

"I can't stop getting injured, Cassian," she says, forcing a laugh like she already knows what he is asking, but would rather pretend that she doesn't. "I don't do it voluntarily."

"I don't mean stop getting injured, Jyn. I mean stop…" His eyes find hers and he holds the gaze. "Stop it altogether."

She shakes her head and the tears begin to fall.

"You can't just ask me that. You have no right."

"Jyn, I thought that - "

"It doesn't matter what you thought!" She scrambles up to get away from his touch and begins grabbing around for her clothes, her face obscured from his sight. "You don't get to make this about you, Cassian."

"How is this about me?" he cries. He reaches out for her but she flinches away from him. "You're the one with the fresh wounds, the one who's possibly being hunted down." Because of me. Because I was selfish. "I could help you. Protect you."

"I chose this, Cassian. Don't make this about your bloody sense of nobility." She spits out the word like it is a dirty one. Her jeans and shirt are back on now and she reaches underneath his bed for her boots. "You can't ask me to change who I am just so you could have a normal girlfriend. A proper one. Someone who wouldn't mess up your cause of fighting the good fight, or whatever it is you're calling it these days."

He feels the blood rushing to his face and he has to bite his lips to keep his voice from rising.

"So this is what it's about. You think I'm asking you to stop for my own good?" He sneers at her back. "Contrary to what you believe, this is not who you are and I've never been someone who does things for my own good."

She finishes lacing up her boots and wheels around to face him. With him still sitting on his bed, she towers over him, her green eyes boring into his with fire and tears.

"So why, Cassian? Why did you ask that of me?"

Because I don't want to lose you. Because we give each other hope.

But somehow, even now when it comes down to it, he can't say any of those things (and he thinks that she doesn't really want to hear them anyway). He can only watch as she shakes her head at him desperately, pushes her hair away from her face, and eventually grabs her bag from the floor.

Everything happens too fast for his liking. The bag is slung over her shoulder, then she is turning away from him with a heavy sigh, and it takes only a few seconds for her to cross the room and be at his door.

She turns around one last time and her face is sad, angry, afraid - everything that he can possibly feel all crammed into one beautiful and broken expression.

"You don't get to save me, Cassian."

Two weeks later, she doesn't show.

He sits in their booth with two cups of coffee and one plate of dough sticks and waits. The clock's hands move from two, to two-thirty and then to three, but she still doesn't show. Finally, Baze wanders over to his table and puts down the bill. For the first time, Cassian catches a soft and gentle look in the older man's eyes.

"Not your day, detective."

Cassian does not bother to ask how Baze came to know about his job. He fishes inside his pockets and pulls out a couple of notes and coins. He tosses them on the table and takes one last gulp of his coffee.

"Seems like it's not, Baze," he agrees quietly. "Seems like it's not."

And he is thankful when Baze makes no comment and just lets him go.

He waits for five days before he tries going around to her place. (After all, he is not that desperate.)

He wants to apologise, maybe. Tell her that she's wrong, that he's wrong, and that maybe they can simply be friends. The idea is laughable, but it's all he's got.

What greets him is an empty and boarded up flat with a 'For Rent' sign hanging on the door.

It is for the better, he keeps telling himself. It has been a stupid idea from the beginning. He should not have fooled himself into thinking that she'd stick around or that he would be enough to keep her around. He should not have let himself get involved with her in the first place. He is glad that she made the move first. She has always been stronger than him and it is right that she is the one who left.

His life returns to what it was before her. Everything is exactly the same, he reminds himself, but just without her in it.

(Without her sitting across from him in the crowded restaurant. Without her asleep in his bed. Without her breathing, looking, touching, talking or existing at all.)

"It is for the better," says Kay, looking at him with a pained and pitying expression.

It is Saturday afternoon and they are sitting on the sofa in Kay's flat with bottles of beer and a box of pizza between them. It has taken Cassian two whole months after she'd left to tell his best friend (almost) everything. He is quite sure that Kay has known that something has been amiss for a while now. No matter how good of an actor Cassian is, he is never good enough to fool Kay. It is, again, a testament to Kay's loyalty that he hasn't said anything until now.

"It is for the better," Kay repeats, taking a swig of beer. "Better that it happens now. When you're only just falling for her."

"I wasn't falling for her - "

"We should not discuss what you think you felt or what you think you didn't feel," says Kay in a clipped, strained voice. "I can't believe anything that comes out of your mouth when it is about Jyn Erso."

Cassian chuckles dryly. "Then what kind of girl would you be happy to see me with, Kay?"

"A girl who is not ridiculously short, brunette, a criminal, and carries around enough baggage to fill this entire room."

"So basically anyone but Jyn Erso."

"Anyone but Jyn Erso," says Kay, lifting up his bottle of beer in a mock toast.

Cassian notes his friend's rigid profile and his silence makes Kay turn sideways to look at him, confusion written across his features. "What?"

"Kay, I have baggage too, you know."

"I know," says Kay, his voice softening. "But you're my friend. And she's not."

Cassian's lips twitch. "Thank you for that, Kay."

"Well, at least Jyn Erso has one thing going for her," Kay remarks dryly.

"What's that?"

"At least she's British."

And it is the first time in two months that Cassian feels like he is genuinely smiling.

Despite everything, Cassian keeps returning to the Chinese restaurant on Saturdays.

He is used to the place now - the noise, the food, the people, the pattern. There is a calming presence to both Baze and the blind man Chirrut even though he knows next to nothing about them. They do not make conversation except for when he orders food or when they give each other a brief nod in greeting and in farewell. He thought about bringing Kay here, but Kay has never been a fan of Chinese food anyway. And even if he was, Cassian doesn't think he could bring himself to ask.

The truth is that the place is now irrevocably linked to her and he isn't ready to give away the only piece he has left of her just yet. The stories and the words - those he can share. But this place…

Maybe one day, some day, but not now.

(He tells himself that it is not because he is still hoping that she would come walking through the door.)

One afternoon, it is not Baze who brings him coffee, but Chirrut, and Cassian's eyes widen in surprise.

"Where's Baze?"

"I asked if I could be your waiter today, detective," says Chirrut with his usual friendly smile. He sets Cassian's coffee down on the table and gestures to the empty seat where she used to sit. "Do you mind?"

Cassian minds very much, but how can he say no to a blind man?

"Go right ahead."

Chirrut's hand runs along the edge of the table as he makes his way into the booth. When he is finally seated, Cassian cannot help but ask: "How do you know that I'm a detective?"

"You learn to pick up things when you're blind," replies Chirrut, waving a careless hand. It is not a real answer at all, but Cassian feels like it is the only one that he's going to get. "May I ask you a personal question, detective?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"We always have a choice, detective," says Chirrut. "You more so than others."

Cassian doesn't understand what Chirrut means and he doesn't think he wants to. So he asks instead: "What do you want to know?"

"How long have you been here, detective?"

Cassian's throat tightens. Somehow, he knows that here does not mean this restaurant at all.

"Five years," he says quietly. "And you?"

"Oh, we've been here twenty years now. Life has a habit of going by so fast. I came here wanting to open a martial arts school, but here I am, with a Chinese restaurant." He chuckles softly and there is another wistful smile on his face. "We can plan as much as we want, but the universe always has its own ideas."

"A martial arts school?" Cassian cannot help but match the older man's smile. "Are you any good?"

"I am not too bad," replies Chirrut, shrugging. "But here, things are not like they are back home in Hong Kong or in China. Some things are better here and some things are worse." His smile slips a little. "What about you, detective? Tell me. Do you miss home?"

A pause. Cassian does not remember if someone has ever asked him this question before. All he knows is that the question makes his heart yearn and ache and remember. There is a house on a hill. A woman with the warmest smile. Laughter. The taste of flames on his tongue.

"Some days I do," he whispers, his voice wavering. "But some days I don't. It comes and goes. Some days I don't remember at all."

"I know the feeling too well, detective," says Chirrut. There is not only friendliness in the man's tone, but also immense understanding and kindness. "You will always feel like you belong in two places. Like home is never going to be a place, but a person. In many ways, you will always be torn apart."

It is getting harder and harder for Cassian to breathe. He stares into Chirrut's blank, unseeing eyes.

"Chirrut, why are you telling me this?"

"I'm telling you this, detective, because you need to know that being torn apart is not always a bad thing."

Cassian frowns. "I don't understand."

But Chirrut only smiles his infuriating, unreadable smile and says: "Thursdays, detective. At eight in the morning. You will understand."

Next Thursday, Cassian makes a detour on his way to work and arrives at the restaurant five minutes before eight. He almost smiles when he sees how busy the place is, even this early in the morning.

"Detective," says Baze, nodding at Cassian as he walks in through the door and takes his usual seat. "The same?"

"I don't really know what this is about," says Cassian, his gaze immediately seeking out Chirrut. The older man is in his usual place at the back of the restaurant. Curiously, he is flipping through a newspaper even though his eyes are fixed on a spot just above it. "Chirrut, should I get a cup of coffee? Will I have time to drink it here?"

Chirrut's lips curl upwards. "Get two."

"Two?"

Baze snorts at seeing Cassian's confusion. He wipes his hands on his apron and heads for the kitchen. Chirrut, however, folds up his newspaper and turns to face Cassian.

"You're right on time, detective," says Chirrut.

Before Cassian can say anything else, the bell above the restaurant's door rings and Chirrut's smile grows even wider as his head turns towards the sound. Cassian's gaze follows Chirrut's and it lands on the figure who has just stepped inside from the cold.

It is her. Jyn.

His heart swells inside his chest and he gets to his feet before he can stop himself.

"Baze, where the bloody hell are you? I need a coffee and - " She spots him and her expression stills immediately. "Oh."

They stare at each other from across the room, neither of them daring to move, eyes locked onto each other for what feels like forever.

The place is too loud for him to hear her, but he can read the single word on her lips.

"Hi."

He smiles and it doesn't matter that he is late for work, or that Kay will be mad, or that they were both too angry the last time they met. He mouths back: "Hi."

She makes her way across the room to him and they end up standing awkwardly by their usual booth. He does not even want to consider looking at Chirrut; somehow, he has a feeling that the older man is probably smirking in satisfaction.

"Your hair is longer," Cassian tells her uncomfortably. "It looks nice."

She smiles a little, tugging a strand behind her ear. "I thought you only come in on Saturdays."

"I thought you didn't come in at all."

"I come in on Thursdays so I don't have to see you," she says, dropping her eyes. She doesn't sound mad, just a little sad. "I should find another place. But I've grown used to Baze's cooking, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Well. Should I…" He gestures at the door behind her. "Should I leave?"

"No," she says immediately, looking up into his face again. "Don't."

"Alright." He runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. "Well…how have you been, Jyn?"

"I've been…good." She tugs at another strand of hair, her eyes darting around like they do every time she tries to tell him something personal. "I have a job now, actually. This bookstore downtown. I don't know how long it will last, but I've been enjoying it so far."

His heart squeezes painfully at her words. He shoves a hand into his pocket.

"I didn't ask you to do that, Jyn."

"But you did," she says quickly with a shrug of her shoulders, and the gesture reminds him of how much he has missed her painful honesty. "But I didn't do it for you. I did it because I wanted to. I did it because I couldn't put Bodhi through all the shit anymore. I did it because you were right."

He frowns. "I was right?"

"It wasn't who I am. And you knew that."

He draws in a short, sharp breath. "Jyn, listen. I'm.."

"Yeah," she says, and her smile is a little bit half-hearted, her voice a little bit broken. "Yeah. Me too."

It is not nearly enough, he knows. But for them, it is acceptable for now.

He feels himself smiling back at her. "Coffee?" he asks.

"I don't want you to be late for work and risk Kay's wrath," she replies with the playful glint in her eyes that never fails to brighten up his mood. "How about Saturday? And you can take me somewhere nice afterwards."

"I always take you somewhere nice."

"Your flat is not nice."

His smile turns into a grin. "Fair enough. A park then. We can walk around. Pretend to be normal. Talk about how not serious this whole thing is."

"Yes, let's do that," she says, her grin now mirroring his. "I'd like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And it is like the day they met all over again - when they moved closer to each other in the precinct, their bodies circling each other and their eyes drinking in every little detail. He swears his heart is beating too loud, that the heat is rising in his face. But he doesn't care at all. The entire world - the restaurant, the noisy patrons, even Baze and Chirrut - falls away when she looks at him like that, and he realises (after months and months of trying to forget her) that he will never get tired of just seeing her.

Maybe Chirrut is right, he thinks.

For him, home might never be a place. But maybe - just maybe - it can be a person.

I see my light come shining

From the west down to the east

Any day now, any day now

I shall be released

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Author's Note: Yay! That's it for this story, guys. Probably two or three more left in this series as we're nearing the end. Thank you to the lyrics from Keaton Henson's "Strawbear" and Bob Dylan's "I Shall Be Released".

I am sorry for not giving a reason for Chirrut's almost supernatural insight. Because, unfortunately, I don't have one. Fight me. (Or send me better ideas.)

Thank you SO much for reading. As always, please let me know what your thought. Reviews mean more to me than you know.