Author's Notes: So, I found the inspiration for this in the strangest of places. I've been picking through my old CDs and found Blink 182's self-titled album from 2003. Remembered I liked it a lot, figured I'd give it a whirl. In between songs 4 and 5, my favorites, is an interlude of a woman reading a letter from the lead singer's grandfather to his grandmother back in WWII. And unfortunately for me, I got hit with the worst of feels and became really emotional over it. Plus, it's May the Fourth, so I wanted to write something Star Wars-related at least. I definitely suggest listening to it, as this was heavily inspired by it. Here's the link: watch?v=Ky-3hpkTdHM

Disclaimer: I don't own Rogue One and/or Star Wars.

I want to leave in the worse possible way so I can come home to see you
But things don't look so good in that subject
This war has spoiled a lot of things for everyone I guess
I've never been so lonesome in my life as I am right now
I'm completely lost without you darling
I never realized I could even miss any one person so much
I just hope it won't be too much longer till I'm able to be with you again
And live a sane and normal life

It had been nothing special, but the memory of that night crept on him whenever he tried to sleep. The warmth of her body in the bed next to his, the way her trigger finger gently drew circles and loops on his bare back as he laid on his stomach, the soft and somber look on her face as she gazed at him. He was so used to seeing a hard expression staring back at him that this one caught his attention. He'd only had an hour left before he had to leave, but had been loathed to leave.

When had that become an issue? He used to get itchy on the days in between missions, pacing the halls and rooms, like he didn't know where he belonged on base. The field was where he was supposed to be, his ship the closest thing he could call a home, but truth be told, he hadn't had a home since he was six. The Rebellion was his life, but it wasn't where he lived.

And yet he had lied in that bed and thought, I could stay here.

For someone that hadn't been able to stand still for years, the thought had been a startling one. He'd had an hour and he needed to get in the refresher and he needed to be ready to leave it all behind. Instead, he had rolled onto his side, dragging the blanket over them, and slipped an arm around to pull her close. He had been lazy with her, taking the time that he couldn't afford to waste, as if daring the clock to tell him otherwise, until she nearly tore the sheets and was begging him to come back up to her.

He'd never been slow with anything else before, always efficient, never taking much pleasure, and it had worked for him. It had been the way he lived for so long. But in that moment, he'd wanted to savor every last second, commit it to memory, burn the image of her coming undone in his mind, because it was all that he would have for a very long time.

Returning to the ship was dangerous, but it had to be done every once in a while so that he could check in with command. Being deep undercover had never bothered him before, but now there was a tired ache in his bones that he struggled to shake. By the time he made it, he was soaked from the rain and trudged water onto the ship. He set up the commlink and then waited for the Alliance to make contact. Sometimes it took them only a few minutes, sometimes an hour, but he had learned to be patient. Most of his time undercover was spent waiting. It had never dragged him down before.

Waiting for orders. Waiting for a mark to make a move. Waiting to make a countermove. Waiting behind the scope of a sniper rifle. Waiting in the dark in a hiding place. Waiting for someone to make a mistake.

Waiting for it to end. Waiting to come home. He'd never entertained that idea before.

As he waited now, he pulled off a hollow panel and reached inside to take out an envelope. Dangerous to have one of these, but all Intelligence officers did. There was also a vibroblade and a small blaster hidden in there, in case of emergency. Those weren't as dangerous as the envelope though. A man with the right cover could explain away a hidden cache of weapons. A letter was a little more difficult to do

He had always been taught to bring nothing personal with him on a mission. He brought nothing of himself into a mission, only his cover. He'd burned through a lot of identities over the years, but there were a few that he had spent years carefully cultivating. These IDs were for the long haul missions, the ones that would take months, and this one had taken so much out of him, more than he'd thought he had. It surprised him when a mission was still able to take away something from him when he thought that he'd given the Rebellion everything already.

But then, he reasoned, he hadn't known that he was bringing this letter, so it wasn't entirely his fault. He was the spy, not her. Of course, he didn't blame her either. He could've easily burned the letter after reading it - should have burned it - but instead he'd folded it up and put it away, hiding it along with other dangerous materials, like it was part of his defense. He kept it on the ship at least. That should count for something.

When he unfolded the worn down letter, something deep inside of him uncoiled. Nothing on the outside could possibly hint his change in demeanor. He'd learned to wear his cover IDs like armor so thick that nothing else was able to get in. Even with no human around him, he did not let his guard down. He kept his eyes neutral, his expression blank, and his breathing steady as he read the letter, though he was careful to keep it from getting wet.

It never took him long to read it, seeing as how it was little more than a paragraph, but he took his time anyways, examining the messy loops, the sharp scratches, the dark and heavy press of the ink. It had only taken a few minutes to write it, probably while he was in the 'fresher, and a few seconds to hide it in his jacket pocket where he didn't find it until he was almost landed on another planet halfway across the galaxy.

But if he closed his eyes after reading it, he could picture that night again as clear as day until the letter and that one last memory were the same.

Come back, the press of her lips against his said.

I need you alive, her nails on his back told him.

It's not home without you.

He leaned his head against the metal interior of the ship, closed his eyes, and took a deep breathe. It was the only second of weakness that he allowed himself.

"You've read that letter approximately nine times," Kaytoo's mechanical voice rang out from the other side of the ship. "You shouldn't have to read it; you should have it memorized by now."

Cassian opened his eyes and straightened up, turning his head slightly to look at the droid. "I do." Slowly, carefully, he folded the letter, slid it back into the envelope, and returned it to its slick. He replaced the panel, making sure that nothing looked out of place, and then checked the commlink again.

"Then why do you keep reading it?"

There was no possible way that Cassian could explain something as human to Kaytoo as this, not when he himself used to be so good at shutting down everything that made him human. For one, he wasn't even sure why he kept coming back to it. Maybe it was so he could see her familiar, disastrous scrawl. She always wrote like she didn't have time, even when she did, but he had come to recognize her handwriting. It was the closest thing he had to her after six months of being undercover. No pictures, no personal mementos, just a brief letter that shouldn't have meant so much to him.

"It reminds me of why I'm here," Cassian told him instead, even though he knew that wouldn't make sense either, "that I'm doing this for a reason."

"You're doing this mission because those were the orders," Kaytoo pointed out.

Cassian glanced at him. "After the orders then."

"More orders typically follow after," Kaytoo grumbled, as if he needed a break as well. Ridiculous really since he always acted as if time off was a waste of time unless it helped Cassian sleep or gave him a moment to recuperate from a wound. It almost made Cassian smile, thinking that Kaytoo only cared about respite if it was for the benefit of Cassian's health. But then the droid had to go and continue talking. "What does the letter say?"

"Nothing important," Cassian replied smoothly, the kind of response that would fool even his superior officers that knew him quite well to be a natural born liar.

Kaytoo, on the other hand, did not care about lies and let out a mechanical whir that Cassian supposed was the droid's version of a sigh. "Highly doubtful, considering your serious and very delicate treatment of it." For a droid that did not understand human behavior except on a literal level, he was highly perceptive. Cassian supposed that was his fault when it came to reprogramming. "I surmise that it is from Jyn."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because your behavior has changed since she joined the Rebellion."

Cassian barely arched an eyebrow at him. "It's not changed that much."

"Your missions have affected you before. You are excellent at your job, but you are still human, so it's unavoidable." Kaytoo was probably the only one that knew Cassian as well as he did. He'd been told on more than one occasion that he was difficult to read. But Kaytoo had had years of study and practice and Cassian was almost certain that he kept some sort of log on Cassian's behavior throughout the years. It made it easier for him to predict things. "But nothing has ever made you soft before."

"Soft?" Cassian scoffed. "I think not."

He'd killed a man last night. She had not made him grow soft. It was impossible. After all these years, after Scarif, after her, it was too late for a man like him. The Rebellion had worn down every edge of him until he was jagged and rough. He had no doubts about what kind of person he was. Soft was not a word meant to describe him and hadn't been for a very long time.

"You're only soft with her," Kaytoo said. "Even when you're angry or upset." He waved a metal hand. "That is why I know the letter is from Jyn. Only she has that effect on you."

This time, Cassian said nothing in response because he had nothing to say. Lying was second nature to him, but he was not in the business to lie to himself. That would only get him killed in the field. A moment's hesitation or a second of doubt could cause him to get shot or, worse, captured. He had to admit that Kaytoo was right, as much as he didn't want to consider it. Once he was off the ship, he put the letter completely out of his mind and only when he slept did he allow himself to think of her, but it was true.

He'd never really thought of an after while on a mission. It was just the mission and then the next. The in between had never occurred to him before and yet right now it was all he yearned for. Six months. He'd been gone from her for six months. She went on other missions with the Pathfinders while he was gone and all he could hope for was that he heard nothing of her whenever he established contact with the Alliance. No news was better for the both of them than any news, but it still hurt.

The idea of her simply living her life without him by her side stung more with every passing day. He'd never entertained the idea of going back to base after a mission before because he'd had nothing to go back to. Now that he knew her, when she wasn't around, it felt like a part of him was missing. He could never take her with him, not truly. He'd thought, foolishly so, that he'd wiped away any idea of loneliness from his soul since the death of his parents when he was six, but it clawed into him now, burying itself deep, until it felt like it was a part of him in place of her absence.

He was homesick, not for a place, but for a person. It didn't seem fair that someone could have that effect on him when he'd allowed no one else in before. He couldn't even remember allowing it to happen until it was too late and he didn't want to let her go.

"It's okay, Cassian," Kaytoo said. "I won't tell anyone."

Cassian almost smiled again, but then the commlink crackled with life on the other end and his attention was dragged back to the matters at hand. He did not think to ask about Jyn - knew it was best that he didn't and he would only get reprimanded later - but when the communication was over, he let his mind wander to her, if only for a moment.

"You better come back," she'd growled while hugging him goodbye in the hangar. "I hate being kept waiting."

But he was a spy and waiting was the biggest part of his job. She had known that and accepted it, though not as readily as he had. It had never been an issue before, but he thought of pulling her into his arms against his chest and wished, not for the first time on this mission, that time could move by a little quicker. It was not that he had some place he'd rather be, but someone he wanted to be with.

That was what they were fighting for in the Rebellion at the end of the day, was it not? He'd just never seen it until her. It had never been for him, always for someone else. The idea that the future could be his, well, he'd just never considered it before. Maybe she had changed some things in him after all.