Chapter Text
Earlier on the same day that Bix first heard the screams of children she had decided that she would allow Cassian to see her breasts for the first time. Maybe even touch them if he wanted to.
It was a decision she had taken a full day pondering over. Cassian wasn’t stupid enough to plead with her in the way of some of her classmates - clumsy boys as they were when out of comfort zones. Instead he would say things like: “I can’t wait to see the way you’ve grown up!… when you feel ready, that is” or “You’re budding now. The flower will appear soon!” : clumsy attempts at poetic language that were nonetheless endearing and, yes, flattering. So, she decided that when they met up in the lunch break in their cramped little secret spot behind the cleaning store - she would deign to remove her top clothing. It was a cold day with snow threatening but Bix decided that she could stand it for a little while.
She had hated her breasts when they had first appeared, shockingly suddenly. It was probably over a few months but to her it almost felt overnight, a sudden arrival of something from the adult world in the same way as her first period. These… things, that her parents valiantly tried to sell to her as a wonderful step on the way to growing up, were to Bix nothing but a nuisance. She hated the idea of her body bleeding, without a visible wound. The mess, the inconvenience. As for her breasts, well - they simply got in the way when she got dressed. Made running uncomfortable. She resented having to wear yet another later of clothing to support them and hated the specific shopping trip to get, in her mother’s phrase, “properly measured up to get the correct support”. Chobb knew how much she hated that idea, even as a literal one. She knew what breasts were for, of course, had even seen Syeni Paak feeding her baby son a few times. But for her? That was just, frankly, gross. She didn’t want baby-feeding things as part of her body when she had no interest in babies. Worse, they seemed to be an object of fascination at school. Her classmates were majority human and, in a way that seemed to completely befuddle the few alien students, breasts were frequently a topic of conversation and attention. From both sexes. Cassian, it appeared, was no exception to this. She had even noticed his hands wandering there, recently, when they kissed. To the extent that she had finally snapped and said that from now on that area of her chest was strictly off limits, and that also he should wipe his mouth before he kissed her because there was spit there sometimes and frankly that was really gross too.
She had taken her coat already from the hall and had called a goodbye to her parents when her mother ruined all with the information that there was no school to go to today.
This was said with a smile as she came from the kitchen, and Bix’s puzzlement-threatening-disappointment was obviously not something Kimmi Caleen was expecting to see.
“It’s a holiday,” her mother had explained. “The new Imperial prefect is coming. They’re going to raise a flag; we’re in an Empire now, so apparently we need a new one. Hopefully nothing much else will change. But they want everyone out on the streets to celebrate the new flag.” Her mother arched an eyebrow, a fan of irony herself and ever aware of it in the galaxy around her.
“But it’s freezing,” was all Bix could think of to say, knowing even as she said it that it wouldn’t stop the disruption to her plans for the day. It was all coming undone.
“So wear your thickest coat. And why are you wearing that top? It’s far too thin for school anyway. And revealing. You’d get unwelcome attention. Come and have some breakfast - you can’t keep skipping that. I feel sometimes that you never want to just sit down and talk with us anymore.”
This was true but uncalled for - and therefore completely unfair. At an impasse all Bix could do was concede defeat and eat her cereal with as much sulkiness as she dared muster.
Ah well, there was always tomorrow.
…
Twenty four hours later she recalled having that thought. So much can happen in a day. So much. She had yet another unexpected day off school, her mother for once softened into pity. Her father had said he would go the trial with Maarva, but in the event he wasn’t admitted to the hotel where the tribunal would sit. Came home and told them that it was a miracle that even Maarva was admitted. Then again, of course she had the formal adoption papers from Fest. Her presence was in that sense at least regarded as 'necessary'.
Bix absorbed of this information what she could. She tried. Then excused herself, went to bed for the day. She spent most of it huddled under the covers, unable to stop herself from going over every detail of what had happened. Unable to stop herself from thinking how she might have stopped it, either. Her own helpless silence as she had watched the protesters, heard their shouts of ‘Long live the Republic’ and ‘Free Ferrix’. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do, either, to stop Clem Andor from walking out to stop them from throwing stones, leaving Cassian looking puzzled. That puzzlement turning to incomprehension and then horror as events unfolded. Bix saw all from across the street. Her father had pulled her away in time to miss seeing most of the slaughter, but she had seen Clem shot dead, nonetheless. The first casualty. Shockingly final. And pulling her away had not stopped her from hearing Cassian’s scream - a feral thing of rage and grief such as she had not known possible. Worse, even, than his occasional rages in his earliest months on Ferrix. Her instinct was to run to him. To do what, she wasn’t sure. Just to be there, perhaps, like she did in those early months. But she had no say in the matter, and not as much will to resist as she would have liked or expected, either, as her father forcibly dragged her home. It was only when they neared it that she realised she was screaming too.
It was a full day before she managed to eat anything at all. Even then, all she could manage was bread. Bread and milk. It was like being a young child again.
She remembered it all, two years later, when her mother died. Remembered the screaming, the feeling of helplessness - of seeming like a helpless, hopeless child. Felt a little guilt that her mother’s sudden passing - a weak heart, apparently - did not tear her apart with the helpless rage of it all in quite the same way. Listened while her father explained the difference between a natural death even when it seemed Unfair and something that was a genuine injustice. Her parents had not been believers in the Force as such but that was the first time that her father did mention it as part of his case. Bix was too overcome, really, to remember much of it later. Something about balance. Something about purpose. It all seemed like so much denial.
Denial was a curious thing as far as Bix was concerned. She had not accepted that she would probably not see Cassian again. He had said to her the night before the massacre and his rage-fuelled attempt at vengeance, “See you!” and she was pretty sure that he had not specified an exact time because why would he when there was no need, no foreknowledge. And she felt sure, even now, that they would meet again eventually.
Nonetheless, those earliest months were very difficult. Bix’s appetite fell away. Her periods became heavy and irregular. One time, about six months after the catastrophe, she fainted at school. Doctor Malloy identified something called "iron-deficiency anaemia" and prescribed her two sets of medication. He explained about the first: a pill she was to take once every morning that would help replace the iron missing from her blood. She’d need to take it for six months. But he was strangely coy about identifying the second medication: a brightly coloured pill Bix was also to take once a day, but indefinitely. Not much liking this idea of having no end in sight, Bix had asked exactly what it was and how it worked. She was thirteen - she had a right to know. With a glance at her mother, who had gone strangely silent and stiff at her side, Dr Malloy had admitted that the pill was a contraceptive. “But it will help with your heavy periods,” he had explained. “You’re losing too much blood. This will help. And once you get your appetite back, you should eat more red meat.”
Both pills helped. Bix thought the iron pill tasted like the water here, and wondered that drinking that alone didn’t help. But in a few months she felt her strength returning. Her periods became lighter and settled into an extremely reliable monthly cycle, so regular they would even make the Time Grappler proud. It felt like order returning, as best it could, after chaos.
***
Cassian came back. Bix had never doubted it. Perhaps for that reason her elation at his unannounced return to Ferrix was tempered by realism, or even pragmatism. Even from their first kiss on their way home from Cavo’s, after their first official date as adults, at the junction of Rix Road and North stairs… everything felt as if it were simply falling into place. Chaos returning to order. Balance, maybe. Purpose, even.
It was so evident that this was something different to their previous nervous testing of what attraction might mean. Bix felt as they kissed that this was only and entirely what was meant to be. Why be stupidly, childishly excited about something that felt so natural? Something that she had been - she could now dare to admit - waiting for? She was as hungry for this as she was for good food. She had a fine appetite, these days.
For Cassian, physically scarred from Mimban and already showing the signs of more profound and lasting emotional wounds, it seemed a different matter. He looked at her throughout their meal as he had for the last few weeks since his return, with a kind of awe. She had grown, of course; even her breasts had swelled a little more. She knew she was uncommonly beautiful, albeit knew it in a pragmatic way - she had to fend off interest more than most of her female friends, it seemed. No matter what she wore. Fully cognisant now of being ready for sex in at least one practical way (the colourful pill now indeed part of her morning routine) but not wanting it. Not now, not yet. Not with these boys.
But it wasn’t just that. She had grown up. Lost the uncertainty of her childhood, cowed a little as she had always been by her mother. Assured now of her place in Ferrix. She would inherit the Caleen Salyard one day. She would be prosperous. She was confident, witty. She thrilled Cassian that evening with her chatter; they fell - easily, it seemed - into conversation as if they had had only five minutes of time between this and their last meeting with just the two of them, rather than five long years. He didn’t want to talk much about Mimban or the prison before it and for now… well, frankly, she didn’t want him to talk much about it either. It was in the past. Inconvenient, sure. But they were only eighteen - they still had their whole lives ahead of them. So he laughed, and his eyes shone, and she loved to see this… and as easily as they talked Bix easily fell in love - and bathed in the feeling.
This was all as it was meant to be.
The kiss deepened as they stood there at the junction - her route home in one direction, his in another - both of them knowing that this was a metaphorical choice as well. They had kissed before but not like this. Tongue and teeth. Gloriously wet. She could taste something of the steak Cassian had eaten and guessed that he would taste the same in her as his tongue explored. He eventually whispered into her mouth “I've missed you so much” and then, to her surprise, broke the kiss to tighten the embrace, his hand behind her head pulling her cheek against his own. It was dark and their breathing was ragged with emotion; she couldn’t tell if the moisture she felt there was from his tears or from their kisses.
Manipulation? Maybe. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to leave him alone. Because he’d already told her he wasn’t going to Maarva’s, but instead out to the family hauler, out of use and broken down now for five years since Maarva’s breakdown but intact, still, on the edge of the Eastern yard. That he would spend the night there because he slept better away from Ma’s fretting.
“I can come… if you like…” she had breathed into his ear and she had felt his body hitch a little at that.
There was nothing to say, really. She thought vaguely about her father; that he would worry. Then defiance swept over her. So what. Let him. She’d face the consequences in the morning. She was of age now, anyway. What harm could possibly come of it?
The bunks in the hauler were single, designed for short term rest. The mattress hard. But it was warm enough with the little heater, and the lighting was perfect. She undressed for him, and - albeit five years late - let Cassian see and touch her breasts at last.
…
She bled, afterwards. “I think that happens sometimes,” she said, a little nervously. It was school gossip that had been the source of this rumour, rather than the far more general ‘talk’ her mother had given her several years ago. Her friends, like Karla… she didn’t know them well enough to ask. She had many friends, but no-one that close.
“I’m sorry… if I hurt you,” Cassian said, awkwardly.
She kissed him, lightly, on the nose. There hadn’t been pain, not really, but it had all been nonetheless a little… disappointing. Not quite what she had expected. She had felt something building up inside her that had not come to fruition. She lacked the experience or words to know or say more than what she was managing to say: “It’s OK, it’ll be better next time.” It was a very inadequate expression of her frustration - that sense of what might have been if their timing had been a little better. Of her appetite, ultimately unsatisfied. Still, at least this step had been taken at last - and with Cassian. She could admit consciously now how she had waited for him. Wondered, idly, how long she would have waited had he never come back. Dismissed the thought as utterly pointless speculation. She had had a feeling that he would come back. No - she had known that he would.
She went outside to pee and clean up a little and then realised that this was probably not blood of the kind they had thought after all - a familiar cramp went through her as she stood up. Oh. So, it was just her period. Very unusually, two days early. What a coincidence. And an inconvenient one as she didn’t imagine for one moment that Cassian would find her attractive in this state. At least these days, with her daily medicine, she bled less. Then she remembered what the medicine was and snorted a little at the irony. She hadn’t thought about that sort of thing. Perhaps she should have. Or perhaps Cassian should have brought it up. It struck her with horror, suddenly, the idea of an accidental pregnancy. It would mean the end of any chance of happiness! The end of her youth. She shuddered at the concept of a lucky escape.
Going back inside the hauler she explained that she had her period and started to dress. But Cassian said he didn’t mind if she didn’t. They could try again if she wanted, when they were ready. “I’ve seen a lot of blood,” he added. “This is a good kind.” She didn’t quite know what to say to that, and pondered it while he looked for a dark blanket for the tiny bed.
It still wasn’t quite right, but it was better. He finished too quickly, again, only a little better at trying to hold back. She felt closer to fulfilment this time, and knew what she needed. She rolled onto her back, needing him out of her and her fingers in the place that ached for touch only to find Cassian’s hand already moving there, right she wanted it, between her legs. His fingers sliding easily through the blood, parting her folds while his thumb found the exact place she needed it to be.
He watched her, by the dim lamp, as he brought her to her first ever climax. She shouted her joy, rode his fingers, pulled him close, kissed and bit at his delighted smile and marvelled at hearing the resonant rumble of his laugh - so much deeper than his speaking voice - as if it originated from a man much older in years. He caressed her face then, and she felt her own blood transferred there. Then he kissed her clean. “You taste like steak,” he chuckled again and she loved him for his frankness.
In the dark afterwards, dressed and cleaned up and spooning - a little uncomfortably - in the tiny bunk, Bix told him about the pill she took daily. Said that they would otherwise have had to be careful. He probably caught the slight reprimand in the words and whispered, “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t check." He then added, "I might have assumed..." He caught himself in time, looked a little guilty.
No, Bix thought. Don't put this on me.
"I don't think about consequences enough. It’s hard… to do that sometimes. To think ahead, when I have had so little control over my future. But I’m sorry. I mustn’t ruin things.”
And it was earnest but maybe also, again, a little manipulative. More than a little, even. Bix could acknowledge that, even then; even while still basking in the afterglow of pleasure and the promise of more to come. Acknowledge the existence of Cassian's self-pity. That they had to face that, and probably at some point also talk about what they had so carefully avoided talking about so far in these last few weeks. Everything that had happened. But he had been through so much - that could wait for now. Falling in love was easy. But finding their friendship again, necessarily a more complex thing now that they were so much older: that might take a little more work.
He then added, quietly, and sleepily in a way that suggested that these would be his last words for tonight, “But I think one day you should stop taking the pills. Because I think our children would be very beautiful.”
She laughed at this, an ‘uhuh’ sound with closed mouth. She supposed that they would. It was some distant, imagined future that need not trouble her for now. A dream. A fantasy. Meanwhile, they had a life to live.