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They all run together and never make sense

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Jyn comes back to consciousness to rhythmic beeping from at least two different machines and the sense her eyebrows are about the only thing that doesn’t hurt. The rest of her aches deeply, strongest at her right knee and left side, and radiating out from there. She slowly opens one eye and then the other without her vision swimming, focusing on a vaguely familiar brown stone ceiling.

It’s the worst beating she’s had, that she knows. She closes her eyes again and tries to remember what happened. There was the beach, Cassian’s arm warm around her as they held each other up, neither of them capable of it on their own. Then an Alliance ship, and the sense of a great light behind them, engulfing Scarif just like it had engulfed Jedha. But, after that, she doesn’t remember. They definitely should have died.

Cassian.

If she’s alive, she knows he is too.

Her eyes open again and she gets up on her right elbow -- the left one would pull at her side too much -- before a cool metal hand touches her shoulder without putting any actual weight on it. It gently forces her back down.

“Please remain still, Sergeant Erso,” says the friendly but firm voice of a med-droid. “You don’t want to reopen your wounds.”

She makes a noise between a groan and a growl, her throat too dry for actual words.

“I will return in a moment with water,” the droid says. She listens to its metallic footsteps and finds she can’t keep her eyes open anymore.

It could be hours later when the sound of the droid setting down a metal cup wakes Jyn again. Her eyes snap open and she takes the time to do a damage assessment. Definitely broken ribs, probably three or four of them, but they don't seem to have punctured anything important and they’re securely bandaged under what appears to be some sort of white, short-sleeved gown. Her leg might be broken too, high up, or she's at least torn something. The same goes for her left shoulder. The cuts on her face itch, and she figures the rest of her body is just as torn up. She's probably missing some internal bleeding or minor organ damage, but whatever the med-droid has given her is holding back the majority of the pain for now.

She's surprised her vision isn't blurry, or that dizziness and nausea aren’t forcing her eyes closed again. No concussion, then.

“How are you feeling, Sergeant Erso?” the droid asks, cheerful, as it helps her drink without allowing her to sit up enough to actually see what's around her. The water tastes faintly of sand.

“I'll live,” Jyn manages as the droid takes back the cup. She manages to turn her head just enough to see it set the cup on a small, high table next to her bed, mostly full of noisy monitors.

“Of course you will,” the droid assures her kindly. Jyn decides it has an almost female voice. She takes a few shallow breaths that only twinge a little.

“Where am I?” she asks. The whole room, small enough that she can see it only contains one other bed, half-curtained in gauzy white and almost close enough to touch, is the same brown stone as the ceiling, recessed lighting casting a cool glow on metal. It smells like damp rock and disinfectant.

“You are currently in the medical bay of the former Alliance headquarters on Yavin 4,” the droid informs Jyn. She repeats the words back to herself to make sure she understands them. She’s not convinced she didn’t suffer some head trauma.

“Former?”

“Yes, Sergeant Erso,” the droid says as Jyn turns her attention back to the ceiling. She’s getting the feeling the droid would like her to shut up and go back to sleep.

“Where are-” she starts. The ugly lump in her throat keeps her from finishing.

“We’re all alive,” Baze’s voice, even gruffer than usual, says from the half-curtained bed. “More or less.” Except for, of course, K-2.

“Baze!” Jyn says. She sits straight up and then leans forward, holding her ribs. The droid makes a whirring sound in distress.

“Please remain still,” it advises as Jyn wheezes a little and tries not to cough. Baze makes a sort of stilted laugh, so they must be in about the same shape.

“Let me see him,” Jyn insists, reaching for the sheet tucking her in tightly at the waist in an attempt to get up. The fact that she’s attached to the monitors on the bedside table is only going to slow her down momentarily, especially now that she realizes there’s some sort of protective brace around her knee.

The droid waves an insistent hand at her as it rushes over to the curtain by Baze’s bed and pulls it back. Jyn finds she can turn to look at him without pain.

“Hey, little sister,” Baze croaks, and Jyn smiles even though it hurts the side of her cheek. He's sitting up in bed and shifts so his torso is facing her. It's a mess of bandages, except for over his heart. There Jyn can almost read the black words in a slanting almost calligraphic script.