make ten men feel like a hundred.

[if there's one truth cassian knows, it is this: there will always be a war to fight.

the second death star is destroyed, the emperor falls, and approximately one year later, as star destroyers crash into the sands of jakku, the empire follows. treaties are signed, a new government is established. the iron fist of fear that had so long maintained a death grip on the galaxy starts to lift, liberating the hyperlanes, the trade routes, and all kinds of possibility. he finds himself thinking about a future in a way he never has before, envisions building a home and building a life. with time, he actually gets to do those things, gets to savor the simple joy of the woman he loves being his last sight before he falls asleep and his first when he wakes. happiness, once among the most distant of concepts, finds its way to him.

but he never trusts it — not completely, anyway. even through years, decades of peace, there's something that constantly lurks at the back of his mind, waiting for the other shoe to drop. it's what keeps him with a blaster almost always at close reach, keeps his guard up and alert.

when the whispers start to ripple through his network of contacts that he still maintains, that scattered remnants of imperial sympathizers are mobilizing, calling themselves the first order, surprise doesn't enter into the equation; he has always known that this would happen. enemies, after all, never disappear, but instead only change names. so, too, does the fight he's never left — he slips into the ranks of the resistance as he would a well-worn pair of boots, takes on new (old) assignments with seamless ease, even if his bones and muscles aren't as young as they used to be.

there will always be a war to fight, and as long as he's breathing, he'll be there to do it.

new (old) tactics begin to present themselves. he doesn't miss the way jyn's face blanches when they receive the news about hosnian prime, or the way that she looks like she's two seconds from passing out; honestly, he wonders how his legs are still holding him up. (it's a certain added horror that they, the last remaining survivors of the assault on scarif, share.) he only really manages to breathe again when starkiller base is destroyed, and not a moment before. it's a tricky operation, one that only succeeds because of the intelligence provided by one brave defector.

one brave defector. with a twinge, he thinks of bodhi, the pilot who'd been the key to everything so long ago. maybe war is inevitable, but so is hope, as long as people like that still exist. he chooses to believe that, because if he doesn't, every other choice he makes is meaningless.

there's a lot more that they can learn from the former stormtrooper, who identifies himself as "finn," when he wakes up; as of now, he is perhaps the resistance's most valuable asset. that is, yes, partially what brings cassian to the medbay on the base on d'qar a few days after that happens; intelligence needs every scrap of information that they can get to fill the holes in the files, to start to devise a strategy for the next offensive. but as he pulls up a chair to finn's bedside, the interrogation isn't the first thing on his mind.

there's the smallest of smiles on his mouth and a certain softness to his voice when he begins:]

You saved billions of lives with what you did. [a beat.] Thank you.