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To Living

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“Hey, come back.”

 

Bodhi flinches and looks up from his drink. Across the table Cassian is staring at him, concerned and so Bodhi takes another sip. He was never much of a drinker, even before the war. But now, after Scarif, well…

 

“What were you thinking about,” murmurs Jyn from where she’s slouching in her and Cassian’s side of the booth. She’s looking up at him from under her lashes, but she nudges him under the table before he can get too distracted.

 

Bodhi considers telling her the truth, that he’d been thinking about Scarif. That he’d been breathing in ozone from the blasters and smoke from the fires and salt from the beach. That he’d been seeing the starburst of flame rushing at him. That he’d been having his eardrums blown out from the force of the blast. That he’d been burning up in the ship’s main bay.

 

Instead he says “nothing really,” and swallows more of the cheap liquor that Cassian and Jyn favor. When he sets the glass back down again, his own scarred visage stares back at him from the amber depths. Bodhi pointedly looks away and instead directs his gaze towards Cassian who’s clearly not buying it.

 

“You were thinking about Scarif” he says but his tone is more suggesting than accusatory, purposefully leaving a way out.

 

“Yea, maybe,” Bodhi admits. He feels a touch guilty about having brought it up, they were supposed to be celebrating: ‘another successful mission for Rogue One.’ Maybe Jyn picks up on that because she smiles softly, “don’t worry about it,” she says, “it’s all over, we lived.”

 

“Kriff yea we did,” agrees Casian and he takes a long pull from his glass before slamming it down clumsily on the table.

 

Perhaps they’d all had a bit too much.

 

Nevertheless, Bodhi takes a sip in suit and so does Jynn. Bodhi looks around the table. Even weeks after Scarif Cassian still has one arm in a sling so that the wound in his shoulder can heal. Under his shirt, there’s a starburst shaped scar that was punched out by a blaster bolt and overtop of that are stiff wrappings to support the still healing muscles of his side. Jynn came out somewhat better. But there’s still a scar at her temple and calluses on her hands, all these little marks from climbing that goddamn tower. A tally of damages. Bodhi knows that if he were to look in a mirror, he would be greeted by his own scarred visage, the skin around his face and neck, his right side and left hand, it’s all been warped by the flames.

 

But they’re alive.

 

They lived.

 

And so Bodhi takes the bottle and refills everyone’s glasses the best he can with what’s left. “To living,” he declares before he takes a drink and chugs the whole thing until his eyes water. Jyn laughs and does the same and soon Cassian’s choking on ice cubes, laughing all the while.

 

We did it, Bodhi thinks;

 

We’re alive.

 

We lived.