Chapter Text
"I’m sorry, Rey, but we have to let you go."
Heart falling into a pit of anguish, her grip tightened on the serving tray as she braced herself for the blow of Maz's words. This couldn’t be happening—not here, not now. This job had been her lifeline, her stability in a world that had never offered much in the way of security.
She found joy in the simplicity of refilling coffee cups and serving lemon bars to friendly and familiar faces every day. It was a place where she had found a modicum of financial freedom, albeit it did not pay very well, but still allowed her to afford the things that sustained her simple life.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling as tears threatened to spill. "Maz, I’ve been here for eight years."
The small, older woman’s eyes softened behind her thick, round glasses. "I know, kid. You’ve been great. But I just can’t afford to keep so many on staff anymore."
Rey swallowed the lump forming in her throat, her voice tinged in desperation. "There must be something—anything."
"If I could, you know I would," Maz sighed, her tone laced with genuine regret. "But it’s just not possible. I’m sorry, Rey. I really am."
Her shoulders sagged under the burden of complete finality while her fingers loosened their hold on the tray, setting it down. Her hazel eyes followed Maz’s hands as they signed her last paycheck, the sympathy she found in her now former boss’s expression somehow making her feel even worse. For the last several years of her life, the Loopy Lemon Café had been Rey’s safe haven since she was a young teenager, but now it, too, was slipping through her fingers like tiny grains of sand.
As Maz handed her the last paycheck, Rey’s thoughts drifted to the unfortunate decline in their daily customers, the way the once-bustling, crowded cafe had grown quieter in the last few months. There were much newer, flashier restaurants popping up around town now, drawing people away with their trendy atmospheres and more flexible hours. The cafe was only open during the week and for a few hours on Saturdays, which, to their detriment, caused them to become forgotten by the tourists who ventured to their small town at their leisure. Even though Rey had insisted she make some kind of social media for them, Maz had refused to modernize, convinced that word of mouth would be enough to keep the place afloat. Now, that stubbornness seemed to catch up with them, seeing as the business was on its evidentiary decline.
Maz stepped out from behind the counter and pulled Rey into a tight hug. She stiffened for a moment before returning the embrace, tears slipping from her tightly shut eyes. As much as it hurt to leave, she knew that Maz wasn’t her enemy here, no matter how painful it was.
"I wish you all the best, Rey," Maz spoke softly. "If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know."
Rey couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped her lips. "Letting me stay would be a start."
Maz patted her back gently. "Don’t make this harder than it already is, kid. You’re strong. You’ll be just fine."
Rey wasn’t sure she believed that as she tucked the crumpled check into her blue sunflower apron pocket. The world outside of the cafe doors felt even more daunting now, like the walls of her safety net were vanishing before her eyes. Her rent was due, and she still had to go to the grocery store. Not to mention she still had parts to purchase for her beat-up 2001 Honda civic that remained in disrepair in her front yard.
"Fine?" Rey muttered under her breath. "How am I supposed to be fine when I can’t even pay my rent?"
Pulling away, Maz placed her hands on either side of Rey’s arms, squeezing her tightly as she shook her head insistently. "You’ll figure it out, Rey. You always do. You’ve been through worse."
That much was true. But it didn’t make the uncertainty gnawing at Rey’s insides any easier to bear. Niima Outpost was a small town, and jobs like this didn’t come around often. Now, she felt like she was back at square one—lost, with no clear way forward. Just like she was when she was sixteen, her yellow rain-boots squeaking against the clean, polished floors as she poked her head inside, questioning whether the cafe was still hiring based on the ad she found in the local newspaper. Little did she know this cafe would bring her so much joy, something to look forward to in the way of making money for herself.
Looking around the cafe for what she knew was the last time, she took in all of her surroundings. Who would serve Mrs. Goodwin her favorite slice of cherry pie now? Or Mr. Ramsey's pimento cheese and bacon sandwich with an extra slice of pickle to go? This place was all she knew, and the thought of leaving it all behind broke her into a million pieces. Sure, she could come and visit Maz, but at what cost? The hum of the fridge in the kitchen, and the soft glow of sunlight through the windows burned through her senses with the smell of freshly brewed coffee—all of the things that she would miss so terribly.
With a sigh, she nodded her head towards Maz as the older woman patted her back again before breaking free of their hold. Picking up her bag, she pushed through the door, the familiar chime of the bells that hung above clattering together with a somber goodbye as she squinted against the sunlight. Everything felt colder, more bleak now that reality was spinning around her.
And Rey, once again, faced it alone.
☾
"We’ll figure it out. You know that, right?" Rose spoke softly as she stroked the side of Rey’s hair. They sat together on their small loveseat, wrapped in matching Christmas pajamas adorned with reindeer and snowmen against a navy-blue background. It was October, but the choice of flannel felt perfect as the temperature dipped. The TV played in the background, flickering warmly against the deepening twilight outside, casting soft light onto their brightly colored floral tapestries.
Their decor reflected both of their personalities, a fact that their friends, Poe and Finn, never let them forget. The small, two bedroom historic mill house lived on a quiet avenue in walking distance of downtown. It was old and full of character, which delighted both of them the moment they agreed it would become theirs. Its paint was chipping on the outside, and the porch leaked whenever there was a decent storm, but it was everything they both dreamed of.
Rose enjoyed dabbling in all things DIY, roping Rey into her projects whenever the inspiration would strike her. She lingered on the home improvement side of TikTok and crafted a bright yellow porch swing one evening—despite the challenges of hanging it from their weather-worn porch beams; they added bits of charm to their well lived in space with random, antique, mix-matched items they found in thrift stores and yard sales.
"What if we don’t?" Rey muttered, worry clouding her voice. "Plutt’s going to harass me the second he hears I lost my job."
Rose rolled her eyes. "Who’s going to tell him?"
"People talk, Rose!" she wailed as she buried her face in her hands. "It’s a small town; someone will mention it when Maz tells them I’m not around anymore. Then it’ll be all over that What’s REALLY Going on in Jakku, Niima Outpost and Cratertown Facebook page!"
It was a tight-knit community where they lived and it most certainly had its drawbacks—their landlord, Unkar Plutt, being one of them. He made it his business to know everything about his tenants, and he was bound to find out eventually regarding her state of employment as soon as everyone caught wind of the cafe’s sudden decline.
"That’s cute that you think anyone on that page actually cares," Rose teased, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth with a lilt. "Besides, you know Maz would never let them hear it from her."
"She doesn’t even have Facebook to defend me!" Rey sniffed as she twisted the blanket they shared in her lap. "What am I going to do?"
Rose leaned her head on Rey’s shoulder and sighed heavily. "Well, for starters, you are going to apply for as many jobs as you can, no matter what it is."
She grimaced, choosing to remain silent until she spoke. "Fine, but I refuse to clean toilets."
"Beggars cannot be choosers, Johnson."
A small smile formed on her face as she playfully shoved her best friend to the other side of the couch.
The next day, Rey was busy piddling away on her laptop, begrudgingly following Rose’s advice to job hunt. In their small town, any decent-paying work was scarce, and each time she hit the refresh button, her frustration only seemed to grow. Hours passed in a cycle of searching, waiting, and applying to anything remotely viable. Yet nothing seemed to stick.
Most of the listings felt out of reach—either they required way more experience than her serving job could provide, or specialized skills she didn’t have from her lack of certifications and higher education. Maz’s recommendation was stellar, but she needed these jobs to pay more than minimum wage. The cost of living was better here than anywhere else in the state, she could admit, but finding something beyond part-time hours felt impossible. She tried calling around to some restaurants that put her out of her job in the first place, but it was to no avail.
She kept running into dead ends, and the bright red circle around rent due on her cute kitten calendar was creeping closer with every passing day. Woefully hanging her head, she gently tugged at the loose strands of the three buns she wore. If she didn’t find something soon, there would be no water pump for her car, no way to split the water bill with Rose, and certainly no way to help with keeping their lights on.
After two weeks of searching, she clicked on the refresh button. A new listing appeared.
Caregiver Urgently Needed
Care and companionship for a disabled man. Hours would be 8 to 5 daily, with Saturdays off. One year fixed contract. No prior experience needed.
Rey’s breath caught as she examined the listings. No skills required? Was she reading this correctly? She scrolled down to check the pay rate, her eyes widening immediately as her cursor highlighted the wage.
"Sixty dollars an hour?!" she blurted, clapping a hand over her mouth. Realizing the time—2 a.m.—she winced as she looked back toward the wall that separated her bedroom from Rose’s.
Her heart raced as she reread the post, her mind spinning in a million different directions. This could be exactly what she needed, and yet the timing was too good to be true.
"It could be a scam," Finn warned as they sat around the breakfast table the next morning. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows, momentarily blinding Rey as she sipped coffee from her snow owl mug.
She glowered at her friend. "It isn’t!"
Finn raised an eyebrow. "Why would anyone post something like that in the middle of the night? Has to be a scam, right, Rosie?"
Looking at Rose expectedly, she glanced up from mixing pancake batter in a strawberry-shaped bowl. "I’m on Rey’s side. Definitely not a scam."
He gave them both a look. "You two cannot be serious. Did you apply?" He scrutinized Rey over his mug, suspicion clear in his expression.
"Yes, I did. And they responded."
"Oh, fantastic," he said with a mock grin. "I can see the headlines now: Local woman from Jakku County disappears in broad daylight. Classic ID channel story, really. You’re not going alone, right?"
"What is this, the 1950s?" Rey snapped. "Nothing bad ever happens here!"
Finn laughed, setting his coffee down with a shake of his head. "Again, you can’t be serious."
"I’m perfectly serious!" she fired back.
"Just last week, someone got stabbed in Rectory Square Park," Finn replied sharply, his grip on his mug tightening. "Just in case you forgot, that’s literally down the road."
Rey huffed, folding her legs into her chair and glaring at him. She knew he was looking out for her, but his sudden disapproval was wearing her nerves thin. She set her mug down, pulled up the job listing and the email confirming her interview time, and slid her phone across the table, pointing to the address pinned on the map.
"If this was a fake listing, why would the address be in the nicest part of town?"
Finn raised an eyebrow as he picked up her phone, his fingers wrapping around the ridiculously bright floral phone case. His lip twitched as he tapped on the address, his brow furrowing in mild surprise, before he turned the phone back to her with a smirk.
"Whoever this alleged guy is, he’s definitely loaded."
She studied the image on Google Maps, and Finn was absolutely correct in his assumption—the man who owned this place indeed had to be "loaded." The house was grand and unmistakably historic, standing three stories tall with a brick fence that wrapped elegantly around the yard. Gas lamps lined the property, casting a soft glow against the hazy southern backdrop of moss-covered oaks. At the center of the long, circular driveway stood a large fountain, its stone edges weathered but stately. In the distance, she thought she could see a sprawling garden and, just beyond, a separate structure—possibly an old stable converted into a guest house.
Rey blinked, then reached for her phone to zoom in on the picture.
"If it makes you feel any better, old man," Rose teased, "I’ll take Rey to the interview and wait outside in the car. If this turns out to be a scam, I’ll be right there to notify you and the authorities of her abrupt departure." She placed a warm, buttery stack of pancakes in the center of the table and a plastic container of syrup.
"You both mock me, but it’s better to be safe than sorry," Finn replied with a shrug, dipping his fork into the stack with an exaggerated air of caution.
Rey rolled her eyes, stifling a grin. "As if we don’t already have each other added on Find My Friends."
"And whose idea was that in the first place, hmm?" he asked as he drenched his pancakes in the sugary sweet syrup.
☾
All three of them stared, eyebrows raised, as Rey strolled into the living room to showcase her outfit for the interview that would take place in a few days. She was wearing a whimsical dress adorned with cats in various poses, floral prints, and a Peter Pan collar. Her hair swept into a loose French braid that draped over one shoulder, paired with black tights, red Mary Jane heels, and witch earrings that dangled from her earlobes.
"You can’t wear that," they all said in unison, eyes widening.
Rey winced, holding the hem of her dress and doing a quick twirl. "It’s the earrings, isn’t it?"
Poe grimaced, shaking his head as he took a quick sip from his wineglass, the confetti-colored beads that adorned the surface catching the light with his movement. "Honey, it’s everything."
Rose and Finn nodded gravely in agreement. "It doesn’t exactly scream ‘I’m ready for a big-girl job,’ you know?" Rose said delicately, glancing sideways at their two friends, "your style is totally you—and that’s great! But maybe… just for this first meeting… we tone down the cat motifs and witchy vibes?"
Rey’s shoulders sagged as she sighed, turning to take in her reflection in the full-length mirror she had dragged out for the occasion. Others did not understand her taste in fashion, and despite this, she didn’t care. She thrived on finding hidden gems in thrift stores, breathing new life into pieces that were left behind. There was something undeniably satisfying about rescuing those forgotten clothes from past decades, everything from the tackiest Halloween sweaters to the loudest dresses from the ‘80s. They all deserved another chance—a new purpose in a life where she could care for them and style them into something uniquely her own.
"I guess you’re right, but what happens when I wear my usual clothes? Wouldn’t that be false advertising?" she asked, glancing sideways at her friends.
Finn smirked. "By that point, you’ll already have the job, so it won’t really matter then, will it?"
"That is, if said job isn’t a scam,” Rose teased, grinning as Finn leaned over to give her arm a playful flick.
Poe picked up Rey’s wine glass, smoothly sidestepping the coffee table to hand it to her. "Don’t listen to him, peanut. This is not a scam. You’ve got this. Let’s toast to getting the interview in the first place, alright? We’ll figure out the outfit later."
Rey took the glass, raising it to meet Poe’s in a cheerful clink.
"To Rey, who is finally getting a job with a livable wage!"
Both Rose and Rey groaned collectively, downing the rest of their wine before eagerly extending their glasses in Finn’s direction for another round. Plopping down onto the chair sitting adjacent to her friends, Rey smiled as she observed their easy banter. Finding this family among a diverse group of friends was something she would always be grateful for—they had welcomed her with open arms, without hesitation or judgement.
Before moving to Niima Outpost, Rey had lived in a small village on the outskirts of London with a foster family. They were American missionaries from a rural area, a similar community to what she already called home. Although her time there had been simple and quiet, she appreciated the family’s kindness, and when they asked if she would like to join them back in the States, she had accepted the invitation with gratitude.
In that moment, her future seemed incredibly bright, with every single one of her dreams finally coming true. Not only was she in the process of being adopted, she had just enrolled in school, making friends, and, for the first time, was given a space to truly call her own. Her room was beautiful—a collection of mismatched objects and well-loved toys, a small twin bed piled high with frilly pink pillows, and a handmade doll she had learned to sew back at the orphanage. There were always warm, home-cooked meals and freshly baked goods that filled the air, and every night, she found complete solace as her foster parents tucked her in with a kiss on her forehead. A small, blue nightlight that was shaped like crescent moon hung on the wall beside her and it cast out every shadow that lingered.
Then, one day, her worst fear manifested. Rey's foster parents, the ones she had come to see as her real parents, were going through the bitter process of getting a divorce. Once full of radiant love, their home became a battleground of resentment. No longer did Rey experience the quiet comfort of a homemade meal or a kiss on the cheek before bed; instead, they greeted her with uncomfortable silence around the dinner table and whispered arguments that leaked through the walls in the dead of night, punctuated by slamming doors.
When she believed the turbulence had ended, she realized she was mistaken. Late one evening, Rey ran to the front porch barefoot, her hair loosely braided, hanging down the middle of her back as she watched the man she had grown to view as her father walk out, his car's ignition roaring to life as he left her behind with a grief-stricken mother and a ache in her heart.
At just fourteen, Rey found herself adrift, struggling to understand the loss of the life she had thought was secure. After spending ages alone as a young child, her dream of finally having a family felt so distant. To have experienced finding that love, that security, and then to lose it within five years, brought her to her lowest point. Her foster mother, once so resilient and grounded in her faith, faded under the weight of their circumstances as a single parent. Without a stable income, their rent piled up and the fridge became increasingly bare. By the time Rey turned sixteen, she would need to step in. After scouring the pages of The Jakku Chronicle, their local paper, she finally spotted an ad for the Loopy Lemon Cafe. It felt like a sudden lifeline—a small chance to bring some stability back into their lives.
And yet, the woman Rey had believed loved her so deeply had left, too, leaving only a handwritten note on the counter after she returned from school one day, her backpack falling to the floor in a heap of books and papers. She tried to reassure Rey she would be "just fine," that she could stand on her own two feet. But the impact was anything but reassuring. Her world crumbled, a loneliness creeping in inch by inch, threatening to consume her whole. Though the blue glow of her crescent moon nightlight chased away the shadows in her bedroom, they lingered in every other corner of her life, casting a heavy stillness over her days. She was always eternally grateful for her friends at that point, and for their families who welcomed her with open arms.
Perhaps that was why Maz’s words had felt like a knife to the gut. She had taken Rey in when she was still a teenager, providing what she could, teaching her how to be independent, to drive, to cook spaghetti, to knit. She had treated Rey like a daughter, offering the love Rey had always yearned for.
It wasn’t fair.
Out of nowhere, the floodgates opened, tears slipping down her face, the wine loosening her emotions. She barely registered her friends encircling her, arms wrapping around her in quiet support, their gentle voices asking what was wrong. Her only response was to ask if they could take her to bed. As she slipped under the covers, she hoped that sleep would bring her some peace, dulling the edges of the reality she now faced.
"I don’t know what happened," Rey murmured the next morning when Rose climbed into bed beside her. She wrapped them both in her patchwork quilt, resting her head on her best friend’s shoulder, finding some peace in the comfort of Rose’s embrace. "I blame the wine."
Rose sighed softly. "I think you’re too hard on yourself," she whispered. "You have every right to feel frustrated."
A small sniffle escaped Rey as she buried her face beneath the quilt. "Why did this all have to happen? I don’t understand. Everything was going so well, and then, when Maz told me…"
"I know—"
"It just came out of nowhere."
Rose slid an arm around Rey’s midsection, hugging her tightly. "It did, but she has been checking on you."
Through a tiny hole in the quilt, Rey watched a rainbow of light dance from one of her sun-catchers. "Yes, you’re right."
"And she has promptly filled out every job reference you’ve asked for," Rose added gently.
Another point to be acknowledged. Yet why did she still feel the large, gaping hole in her heart when she thought about the look in Maz’s eyes the moment she told her she had to be let go?
"I suppose that is another good point," Rey agreed reluctantly. "Is it wrong for me to feel so… jilted?" Her voice came out barely above a whisper, a twinge of hurt echoing against the fringes of her tone. She had been through much worse; and at the core of it all, she knew she would find her way again. But Finn’s voice echoed in her mind: what if it was too good to be true? What if his skepticism was justified, and the job interview was nothing more than an explicitly devious ruse?
Rose’s expression softened, and she met Rey’s gaze with unwavering assurance beneath the quilt. "I know Finn’s words are hanging over you, and I know you’re doubting yourself. But sometimes, things just happen, and you have every reason to feel how you feel." She paused, squeezing Rey’s side. "This time, I really believe it will be different."
Perhaps it will be, Rey thought, just like it had been before. But she was tired of teetering within the unknown, never fully knowing what to expect when the waves crashed through her fragile sand castle-like walls.
"Let’s hope so," Rey replied softly as she pushed the blanket away from their faces. "How do you know I was thinking about what Finn said?"
Rose sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes at the same time as she nudged her playfully. "He always ends up getting to you in the end. That’s how we wound up stalking each other's locations."
☾
Rey didn’t exactly concede to the idea of changing her outfit for the interview, but she refused to compromise on the pair of red Mary Jane heels. She glanced down at them from her spot in the passenger seat, tapping them together rhythmically as they drew closer to their destination.
Finn and Rose had helped her rummage through her closet, clothes flying in a kaleidoscopic whirlwind around her room. Among the fluorescent colors, floral prints, holiday sweaters (which she adamantly refused to part with—especially the one featuring a reindeer with a battery-operated, light up red nose) they’d agreed on a simple, dark blue A-line shirt dress sprinkled with tiny polka dots. Paired with the heels and her hair left down, they agreed it struck the right note of professionalism— well, mostly.
As Google Maps announced their imminent arrival, Rey fidgeted in her seat, twisting her dress between her fingers as her heart pounded. She couldn’t stop thinking about how she desperately needed this job and this money—how it would literally solve most of her problems at that moment. She had been with no sort of income for almost a month, stretching out her savings until she no longer was able.
"Stop worrying, you’re going to do great." Rose’s tone, although reassuring, had cut through her thoughts like a knife, causing the opposite effect and thus making her feel even more anxious.
Rey pushed back a lock of hair behind her ear, fingers brushing against the pearl earrings she had chosen carefully that morning to distract herself. "Easier said than done," she muttered.
"Careful, or you’ll end up crumpling that dress with all that wringing," Rose warned with a smirk.
Rey rolled her eyes. "Why would that matter?"
"Well, considering these people are hella rich, they probably like their clothes with a permanent press of perfection for their afternoon tea," Rose replied matter-of-factly, her sarcasm showing through her amusement. "You know how some of these wealthy Jakkuvian people can be."
"You mean stuck up?" Rey couldn’t help but grin, her nerves settling without her quite realizing it. "Heaven forbid anything interrupt afternoon tea."
"And you make a mean cup of it, too." Rose matched her smile as she pulled the car into the sprawling driveway of the estate.
Both of their mouths flew open simultaneously as they neared the house, taking in the breathtaking view. Morning sunlight glinted off dew-dappled magnolia leaves lining the property, casting a soft amber glow over the flawless lawn and gravel driveway.
"Oh, my god…" Rose breathed, eyes continuing to widen as she pulled the car into park. "This old man is not playing with his landscaping. Look at those perfectly straight, horizontal lines in the grass and the tiny ass gravel in this driveway—you know that this is definitely some rich people shit!"
Rey was too busy gawking at the house to catch everything Rose was saying. Bits and pieces filtered through her buzzing thoughts with sentiments such as what does this guy even do for a living? How could a person live in such a huge place? Think he has a butler? Bet his name’s Arthur or some shit like that.
But it was Rose’s final, earth-shattering screech that jolted Rey back to reality. Off to the side of the house, the unmistakable winged logo came into view—a bold, angular emblem shaped like outstretched wings, split by a rectangular band bearing the words…
"This man owns an ASTON MARTIN?"
Rose blinked several times, turning to face Rey, her mouth agape in pure shock. Somehow, with each passing second, it seemed to stretch wider as she tapped Rey’s arm repeatedly.
"I’ve never actually seen one of these in real life… well, besides, at that fancy mall Finn made us go to. But even then, it was for some sort of raffle no one was ever going to win." Rose’s voice dropped to a whisper as she gripped her arm. "Rey, you’re about to work for a man who owns a $200,000 car."
"W-who says I’ll even get the job?" Rey stammered, though she could see the look in Rose’s eyes—a mixture of awe, disbelief, and, somehow, a fierce certainty that this would be her job. "I haven’t even interviewed yet."
A sage, almost wise look crossed over Rose’s visage as she gestured toward the house. "Oh, it’s going to happen. You love cars, so you should definitely bring that up during the interview. If he owns something like that, he’ll probably love the fact that you’re into them. Old dudes love cars."
"This is sounding like maybe you should be the one interviewing," Rey muttered, folding her arms.
With a dramatic sigh, Rose shook her head with utter conviction. "Thanks, but no. I absolutely live for the call center life. Nothing thrills me more than arguing with old people who think they know more about health insurance than me."
The funniest part about this? She wasn’t even being sarcastic. Rey was used to the dramatic reenactments of Rose’s latest exchanges with grumpy, often downright rude customers who demanded discounts on their premiums. It was almost a tradition for Rose to recount, in vivid detail, how she handled yet another tirade about how it used to be.
"Go in there and give it your best shot, Johnson. Looks like you’re interviewing with his wife. Wow, she’s really tiny… stately, even. Doesn’t she look familiar? Why does she look so familiar?" Rose muttered, squinting as she tried to place the woman’s face.
Rey gritted her teeth, reluctantly turning to look out the window, dreading whatever spectacle Rose was gaping at.
Standing at the base of the grand porch steps was a petite woman, her silver-brown hair twisted into an intricate braid that crowned her head. She was holding a leather-bound portfolio, her fingers lightly gripping the cover. Her clothes comprised a crisp, loose white blouse that was tucked into a high-waisted, A-line pencil skirt, with elegant four-inch heels, all in a stark, snowy white. Draped casually around her shoulders was a soft cream cardigan, her arms resting out of the sleeves in a way that radiated quiet elegance and effortless poise.
"If anything, she fits the bill of a Jakkuvian country club wife one thousand percent."
"That’s my cue," Rey grumbled, giving Rose a warning glance that clearly begged her to stay cool.
Rose just grinned, unfazed. "You’ve got this, babe. I’ll be right here. Go get ‘em!"
As Rey pushed her way through the passenger side door, she held her purse firmly to her side, wincing as she looked at Rose through the glass. Her friend gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up as she motioned for her to face the woman who stood serenely merely five feet from her.
Taking a deep breath, Rey turned around and did her best to approach the woman with calm and collected strides, boring a smile that exuded a false sense of confidence. She was desperate not to appear anything less, and the closer she got, the more she realized how deeply her overwrought feelings were getting the best of her.
The shorter woman’s eyes were kind, albeit firm, as she nodded her head and held out her hand. "Miss Johnson, is it? My name is Leia Organa-Solo. It is very nice to meet you."
Provisionally accepting her palm, Rey faltered the moment their hands touched, feeling embarrassed that her own felt so clammy against the placid composure of the older woman who stood before her. Even though Rey did not consider herself to be that tall, she still had to look down at the woman despite the heels that she donned.
Leia turned and walked up the steps of the porch, motioning for Rey to follow. She stood behind for several seconds, gazing up at the residence in reverence, a sensation of intimidation overwhelming her as she tried to rationalize the size and grandeur of the Corinthian order columns that lined the veranda. She wiped her hands alongside her dress, the urge to wrap her fingers through the fabric tempting her once more while she followed along through the double doors of the foyer.
The exterior of the home was breathtaking and altogether a beautiful depiction of historic Jakku architecture. These people exuded money; a type of wealth that Rey had never, and probably would never, experience for herself. But she didn't feel prepared for what she would encounter on the inside of the mansion—decadent halls that were covered in lavish paintings and marble flooring with a painted table in the center, a bouquet of fresh, pink roses positioned within a crystal vase that sat at the focus. Warm, lambent sunlight was streaming through the lace curtains of what she could only assume was a sitting area, or perhaps what once served as a drawing room, off to the left of the foyer. Pocket doors were half slid out, and Leia smiled gently as she observed Rey take everything in, her eyes widening as she jolted back to reality.
"We will conduct the interview here, Miss Johnson. Please, do have a seat." Leia slid the doors closed just as Rey stepped through them, moving to sit down on a light blue floral lounge. She sat across from her, lacing her fingers together tightly within her lap as she watched the older woman open the leather-bound portfolio she held.
Leia began the interview by asking Rey to tell her about herself, where she came from and what she enjoyed doing in her free time. Most of the questions ranged from things that were personal to things that she accomplished in her occupation before.
"Miss Johnson, I understand you used to be a server."
"Y-yes ma’am, I worked at the Loopy Lemon Cafe in downtown for several years," she stuttered nervously.
Leia smiled faintly, tilting her head to the side. "Your former employer gave you a stunning review, although I’m curious to know why you have applied for a caregiver role rather than an occupation you are more familiar with."
In truth, Rey did not know why she was interviewing for this job either, only quietly admitting to herself that she needed what it was offering to pay, and she felt as though her skills were malleable enough to learn how to take care of someone in need.
"I… well, I am a very hard worker, I’m never ill and I-I love cars… I couldn’t help but notice the Aston Martin sitting in your driveway. That is a beautiful model. I’ve heard that the new V-8 Silencer brings a 128-horsepower increase even though it’s no longer a twelve cylinder…" Rey’s voice trailed nervously when she noticed Leia arch a curious brow at her. "Um… but, I also have been told that I make a mean cup of tea, and I wanted to try something… new."
It was then that she noticed her leg was bouncing up and down rapidly—another one of her restless ticks that she did when she was feeling intimidated. She coughed, an uneasy smile spreading across her features as she placed her hand firmly down on her knee to stop herself from shaking so much.
"I see, but do you know anything about caregiving for someone who suffers from paraplegia?" Leia asked as she curled her perfectly manicured fingers around a pen. "We are talking about someone who has lost the sensation and ability to use their legs and two broken arms."
"I… Well, no, " Rey admitted softly. "But I am a fast learner."
Leia pressed her lips firmly together, nodding her head slightly as she straightened her posture. "So none of this unsettles you?" she clarified.
"I suppose it probably upsets him more than it does myself," she answered, a small laugh burbled up in her throat, but she coughed it down again to remedy her rather bad joke. "Sorry… n-no, this will not bother me in the slightest."
The older woman smiled curtly, a minor look of surprise hinting at the corner of her eyes as she lowered the portfolio to her lap. "Why should I hire you, Miss Johnson? What makes you stand out from the other candidates who have interviewed for this position?"
Rey could feel a thin sweat building across her forehead as a feeling of panic overcame her. She knew that in truth she probably was not the sort of employee this opulent woman wished to have working for her, but she had made it this far, perhaps she could still use whatever charm she had left to win her over despite her terrible joke.
"W-well, I… I feel as though I can adapt to any environment, I don’t live very far from here and I’m a lot stronger than I look… a-and I can change the oil in your car so that way you won’t have to go into town, and I know that a cup of tea can really help solve anyone having a bad day… n-not to say that will solve what your husband is going through—"
"My husband?" Leia queried softly, completely ignoring the other nonsensical things Rey was sputtering as she interjected. "It is not my husband who has paraplegia, it is my son."
A lump formed in her throat then, "Your son?" she whispered.
"Ben was in a motorcycle accident about a month and a half ago," Leia spoke softly, her eyes falling to a picture that rested on the fireplace mantle behind where Rey was sitting.
"Oh… I’m sorry." Her voice faltered, a warped notion of shame eating away at her insides as she felt her cheeks burn. "I-I say really stupid things when I’m nervous."
There was a grandfather clock ticking away slowly in the background. The noise was distant when the interview started, and Rey did not notice it at first until it suddenly chimed rather loudly in the small room. She flinched at the sound, the room suddenly beginning to feel much more stuffy than she initially thought as she studied her hands in her lap.
A long pause stifled their conversation and she could feel Leia watching her with meticulous observation, almost as if she were carefully considering the previous weight of their discourse. She silently prayed that her inanity had not completely ruined her chances, hoping that maybe she still proved herself. Rey knew she could take on the challenges that Mrs. Organa-Solo had presented her, but her insensitive comment might have just ruined her odds.
And then Leia spoke, a twinge of amusement sweeping across her features, completely relaxing her reserve.
"Well, then… would you like the job?"
Rey’s eyes lifted to regard the woman in front of her, a breath catching in her throat as she nodded her head enthusiastically, baffled at how short the interview was, but too shocked to remark on it. "Y-yes!"
"Would you be able to start immediately?" She placed the pen she was holding in her hand inside of the portfolio as she stood. Rey continued to nod, her eyes widening as she slowly stood with her, her purse nearly choking her from hanging loosely across her side as she adjusted it.
"Yes, I can! Whenever you need me to be here, I will be here."
Leia’s eyes softened as she signaled for them to leave the sitting area. "Fantastic, I will introduce you to Ben now."
Following behind her in a daze, Rey was struggling to keep up with Leia’s brisk pace as she pushed open the doors and placed her portfolio on the table in the center of the foyer. She was reminding Rey of the hours and giving her a brief tour of the main house, showing her where certain places were, like the kitchen and the restroom. Their footsteps echoed against the floorboards, and she noticed the tasteful transition from black-and-white marble to wood. Several pictures were hanging on the wall as they passed through a hallway—a younger Leia holding an infant with a tall, clean-shaven and rather handsome man beside her—of which Rey could only assume was her husband.
They circled the main floor of the house until they approached the back door, an arbor of trees surrounded by climbing shrubs and greenery hanging against the rather large pergola that separated the main house from the back garden. Based on what Rey had gathered from her research on Google Maps with her friends, this must have been the garden and separate guest house they had spotted from the road. Something about it reminded Rey of a barn, with large black doors framed against white paneling that matched the front of the main house. A gas lamp hung beside the door with a flame glittering against the dying light of the early morning sun. Leia pressed her hand against the door and took a swift look back at Rey before entering.
"We converted our horse stables into an apartment for Ben to help him feel more comfortable. There is also a minivan that has an adaptation for his wheelchair. His own personal driveway is on the other side of this house," she explained.
She appeared to be apprehensive as she opened the door, her gaze shifting to the floor as she gestured for Rey to enter behind her.
"He has good days and bad ones… and I’ll apologize now if he is an insufferable ass." She rolled her eyes, looking towards the farm doors that separated them from her son. It was oddly quiet in the house except for a fan that hummed from above. Approaching the door in confidence, Leia rapped her knuckles against the frame, pursing her lips together as she gave Rey a wary look.
"Ben? I have someone here to meet you."
Rey could admit that she had absolutely no idea what to expect once Leia opened this door, and she instantly found the fabric of her dress again and fiddled with it. There was some movement on the other side of the door, and a friendly voice belted from beyond.
"He’s decent, Mrs. Solo, you can come in." A voice rumbled within.
Slowly pushing back the doors, a tall young man dressed in nurse’s scrubs with the brightest red hair that Rey had ever seen smiled gently at them. He was pale with emerald eyes and an accent that suggested he was also British. There seemed to be something apologetic in his expression as they all watched the dark figure that sat before him slowly rotate his wheelchair around to face them.
The man sneered at them, dark eyes swirling with irritation as his chair came to a full stop. Shadows clung to the circles beneath those eyes, and an unkempt beard that only added to his rough exterior offset his raven hair, falling loosely to his chin. His face was sharply angular, marked by a prominent nose and scattered beauty marks that seemed to soften, ever so slightly, his otherwise harsh features. From his sheer size, Rey guessed that if he stood, he would easily tower over them all. But what truly held her attention was the long, angry scar slicing through his right eye, cutting across his brow and down his cheek. The scar was fresh-looking, raw and red, as though it was still healing, and she tried to avoid staring at it as his glare bore into her.
"Ben, this is Rey Johnson. She is going to—"
"Jerk me off?" he interrupted his mother sarcastically, the words dripping with a biting vulgarity. "Because if that is the case, I’d rather try doing it myself."
"Benjamin." Leia scolded, her voice sharp and cutting as her mouth tightened into an irritated scowl.
A look of pure, stunned horror fell across Rey’s face as she glanced between him and the red-headed man who tried—and failed—not to flinch at Ben’s cruel tone. Clearing his throat with an awkward cough, he stepped forward, extending his hand toward Rey as if to pull her attention away from the unexpected outburst.
"Uh… hi, Rey," he stammered, managing a forced smile. "My name is Armitage Hux. I’m Ben’s nurse. It’s really nice to meet you."
Rey stared at Armitage’s hand, unable to speak as she looked between him and Ben again. She felt frozen in place, trapped within the gaze of the detestable man that sat before her. Hesitantly reaching forward, she released her hold of the fabric of her dress, stretching out her palm to meet his.
"Oh… it’s nice to meet you too?" Rey managed, her voice faltering slightly, the polite response sounding more like a question. Her eyes darted back to Ben, who was studying her intently, a curious tilt to his head. Armitage moved quietly back behind him, folding his hands behind himself as he nodded at her.
Leia clucked her tongue as she turned sharply on her heel, addressing Rey over her shoulder. "Never mind him, Miss Johnson. Sometimes he forgets his manners as a way of… deflecting his emotions."
Ben’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through his eyes, but he didn’t respond. Rey held his stare for a moment longer, something defiant within her refusing to be shaken, before she looked back to Leia and gave a short, tentative nod.
"I’ll leave the three of you to become acquainted, and when you are ready, meet me back at the main house so that we may go over your paperwork."
As the door clicked shut behind her, Rey slowly turned back around to face the two men. A sardonic smile crossed over Ben’s lips as he watched her expectedly, almost as if he were requesting a challenge to his obscene comment. She tried to reign in her embarrassment with a hunch to not start off on bad footing.
She returned his smile genuinely, a demulcent expression forming across her features as she tried to regain her power in the conversation. She gazed down at him again, reaching out her hand to make amends.
"I’m Rey," she repeated nervously, her brows knitting together as she left her hand shaking in mid-air.
Ben inspected her palm for a moment before his eyes flicked up to meet hers, rolling his lips together as he glanced back down to his left hand, barricaded within his cast that clutched the control of his electric wheelchair.
"Yes , I know your name is Rey. My mother already said that."
She blinked, realizing the gravity of her mistake as she snatched her hand away, her fingers finding their way back to the already wrinkled area of her dress. She laughed timidly, that same familiar blush creeping back up to her features as she remembered what she had said earlier in the interview.
"Could I make us all some tea?" she offered to diffuse the rising tension in the room.
Ben’s gaze turned to Armitage, who responded with a thinly veiled smirk, his eyes flashing with daggers poised as he shot back at her. "Ah, is that all you’re good for? Making tea?" The mockery in his voice was acute, a clear show of disdain that ignored her effort at easing the atmosphere. She could already see how deft he was at this—picking apart her words, latching onto every opportunity to undercut her, just as Leia had warned.
"I… well, I always find that a nice cup of tea helps—" Rey began, only to be cut off by his narrowing gaze.
"And I’m sure it’s not even sweet tea, is it? Just that steaming hot pile of garbage you Brits seem to love?" Ben gibed.
Rey bit back a retort, momentarily forgetting how different the Southern custom of sweet tea was. The first time Maz had taught her how to make it, she had explained how critical it was to add at least a full cup of sugar and a generous squeeze of lemon—anything less was considered an offense to the locals, especially in Niima Outpost, where tea culture was serious business. It amused Rey, given the equally fervent ritual of proper tea-making back in England. She refused to let his provocations get to her, smiling softly once more while she held her ground.
"How about I show you the basics, Rey?" Armitage offered quietly, moving toward the door to change the subject. "I’ll show you where everything is and help you get settled. We really appreciate your help here."
Rey noticed the look Armitage shot Ben—a silent plea, as if asking him to stop being difficult. She briefly thought she didn’t need anyone stepping in on her behalf, but she nodded tentatively, following Armitage toward the door. Just as she turned to leave, Ben’s voice cut through the silence.
"Oh, and find another nervous habit," he said with a smirk, his eyes trailing down to her dress. "Would be a shame to ruin such pretty fabric."
Rey swallowed the urge to glare back, offering him a curt nod instead, then followed Armitage out, her shoulders squaring slightly as she focused on taking in her new surroundings.
The rest of her afternoon comprised both Armitage and Leia simultaneously, walking her through the logistics of Ben’s paraplegia. There was a large binder that rested on the countertop in the kitchen of his small apartment that detailed every medication he took, what that medication was for, and how much he could have. All of this would be in a locked cabinet that she would have a key to.
Armitage explained that once she arrived each morning, he would leave to see his other patients in the area, returning by lunchtime to give her a break. After lunch, she would take over for him until dinner. A flicker of unease ran through her at the thought of being alone with Ben for that long. Sensing her apprehension, Armitage offered a reassuring smile, promising he would never be too far if anything were to go wrong.
Would anything go wrong? The thought nagged at her as she imagined him falling out of his chair and lying helplessly on the ground in a gigantic heap of black clothing and an ugly disdain for her incompetence. What if he needs to go to the bathroom? Fuck, I can’t lift him up.
"He has a catheter," Armitage mentioned casually, catching her concern. "And don’t worry—you won’t be the one dealing with that." He added with a smirk, as if amused by her visible relief.
"These are all perfectly understandable concerns, but I promise you’ll be fine."
Although she appreciated his optimism, her mind wandered back to Ben’s sneering ridicule and the onslaught of sarcasm he had hurled at her in the five-minute whirlwind of their first encounter.
I’ll apologize now if he is an insufferable ass. To her, this felt like a gross understatement as opposed to a casual flaw, but Rey supposed Leia was already used to her son’s ill manners. If every interaction would be like this, she could only imagine how draining her first day would be. A repugnant sense of irritation crawled down her spine at the thought of facing him again.
But she needed this money.
And if Ben-fucking-Solo continued to be an ‘insufferable ass,’ then she resolved to be a blazing ray of sunshine that would penetrate through his self-imposed misery.
Notes:
Content Warning: Brief mention of Ben making an inappropriate comment when he is first introduced to Rey.
Additional Author's Note: Though this story is *inspired* by the film adaptation of Me Before You, it will not be completely about Ben being injured given there is a much bigger force at play. Elements of this story have been taken but much else has been changed to suit the overall plot of this story. Some details regarding Ben's injury will be thoroughly censored beforehand, but please note that some creative liberties have been taken with medical topics and may not fully represent reality.
Future chapters will be released every two weeks on Monday evenings (EST). Keep up with me on the bird app or bluesky for sneak peaks and extras!
Chapter 2
Summary:
From the moment Rey stepped into the guest house, a stifling, indignant rage seemed to permeate the walls. The tension hung thick in the air, palpable enough to cut through with a knife, and it bled a darkness she could only assume was the very essence of Ben Solo himself.
Notes:
Thank you so much for your comments and kudos on Chapter 1 of this series. I am so appreciative of all the kind words you have shared with me and I truly hope you enjoy this second installment. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Be sure to read the ending author's note for the glossary and an additional note.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rey traced her fingers absentmindedly around the rim of her frosted glass, watching the amber color of the beer catch a hazy light, flickering faintly in her grip. Music surged back into her awareness—a cover of the Eagles—filling the air in haphazard strums and an earnest, if not slightly off-key, harmony. Not that she disliked live music. In fact, she often enjoyed it when performed well. But here, in the cramped, sticky warmth of the pub, the stale scent of beer mingling with greasy hot wings and the hum of the crowd, she felt herself slowly blending into the shadows of the booth she sat in beside Rose.
And she admittedly couldn’t stop thinking about his stupid comment.
Her friends had taken her out to celebrate her new job, their chatter filling the already loud atmosphere with laughter and disbelief over the surreal nature of her new employment. She tried to stay present, to respond and join in when appropriate, but a part of her lingered on Ben’s haunted, dark eyes and the angry scar that slashed across his face. The way his lips twisted around that cruel remark, the faint flicker of satisfaction in his gaze when his words landed their blow—it all lingered, sharp and unsettling like nails on a chalkboard.
"But guys—the car! THE CAR!" Rose practically shouted, smacking her hand against the table to punctuate her words. "It was real! So disgustingly rich, I swear I could see hundred-dollar bills oozing out of the gas tank."
Rose’s exclamation snapped Rey back to the present, making her jolt slightly, though luckily no one seemed to notice.
Finn and Poe exchanged an amused look, thoroughly captivated by Rose’s enthusiasm as she recounted the mansion’s grandeur and its impeccable grounds. Rey smiled thinly, nodding her head in agreement as she tried to calm her bustling nerves. She wanted to allow herself to feel that accomplishment of interviewing for the job, recognizing that she could, indeed, do hard things with both modesty and assuredness despite the lesser enthusiasm of her new employer.
Yet, she still couldn’t help but think about the words he spat with bitter resentment.
"And get this," Rose began dramatically as she leaned in closer, gesturing for the others to follow as she hugged her beer as if it held the weight of her tale. "He’s not actually an old man—he’s young. Well, relatively speaking."
There was a brief pause as both men studied her closely. "I don’t even know what that means," Poe said, squinting at her with one eyebrow arched. "Who said he was old?"
Rose shrugged. "It’s just you’d assume with that fancy house and the car that he would be some old, stodgy guy. But no, he’s young and, according to Rey, doesn’t seem to fit the initial profile."
Finn chuckled as he took a sip of his drink. "Is he nice at least?"
They all turned to look at Rey expectedly, an eager sense of curiosity whispering across their faces as they waited with bated breath for her account of the man in question. She grimaced slightly as she brought her drink to her lips, her eyes shifting sideways as if to suggest she would rather not say. Her friends exchanged puzzled looks before peppering her with questions, demanding that she not gate keep any information regarding her encounter.
"He’s…" she trailed off as she plopped a tot into her mouth. "… interesting?"
Their faces fell flat, unconvinced by her tone, as they all exchanged looks again.
"Interesting as in good, interesting, or bad?" Rose inquired skeptically.
Rey thought about it for a moment as she chewed and sighed, dragging her eyes down to her plate to make them stop observing her, but it was to no avail, seeing as this sparked even more questions from them.
She huffed, exasperated and annoyed from ridicule. "Fine, he’s an asshole." Saying it out loud was oddly liberating, as if finally admitting it peeled a layer of tension off her shoulders. She took another sip of her beer, glaring at its contents as she imagined it was Ben’s face instead.
"Can you really blame the guy, though? Being paralyzed sounds… really shitty?" Finn offered, his tone softer as he shrugged. "What did you say his name was again?"
"Ben Solo," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "At least his mum was pretty nice. And his nurse, too."
Poe frowned at this, tilting his head to the side pensively. "Wait, Ben Solo… that name rings a bell. What’s his mom’s name?"
"Leia. Leia Organa-Solo."
A look passed between Poe and Finn, one that instantly made her wary. They leaned in, signaling for her and Rose to do the same. Rey’s eyes darted between them, wondering what had caused them to act so strange. Rose seemed to be equally curious, also puzzled by the connection he suddenly had made.
"You realize who that is, right?" Poe asked, his voice hushed against the noise of the bar. "That family practically runs this town. Hell, they run the entire county. Ben’s grandfather was Anakin Skywalker."
Rey blinked, clueless to his meaning. "And that would be…?"
"They’re a prominent family of big time lawyers," Finn explained. "Y’know, the good ol’ boys. They have a lot of connections. Anakin used to be the Solicitor before he died and now his mom, Leia, is the Attorney General."
Rey looked at them all, trying to piece together their reaction. "So… does that make them bad people or something?"
Poe eyed her carefully. "Well, all we’re saying is that they are a powerful family. And around here, their word is law."
Out of the four of them, Poe and Finn were the only ones actually born and raised in Niima Outpost. Like Rey, Rose had moved there with her family when she was in middle school, so while she had spent most of her life in the town, there were still things that went over her head as much as they did Rey’s.
Rose leaned back with a smirk, adding to confirm, "So, another words, the Jakkuvian elite slash small town royalty. And Ben Solo is the next generation."
"Correct," Poe replied cautiously. "Just… be careful, Rey. It's not like I know them personally or anything. I just want you to know who you're dealing with."
Rey mulled this over, thinking back to Ben’s harsh sarcasm and that impenetrable scowl. He wasn’t, by any means, a Prince of any story that she knew, but he had some type of presence—that much was clear to her.
"Well, he may come from old money and small town royalty," she muttered, taking another sip of her drink. "But I need this job, and if putting up with his bad attitude is part of it, I’ll manage."
Poe grinned, lifting his glass in the air. "That’s the spirit. Here’s to surviving Jakku royalty."
They clinked their glasses, laughing, but amid the celebration, she felt a shiver run down her spine at the mention of the good ol’ boys and power. She didn’t exactly know what that meant, and a part of her dreaded what that would entail later on. But for now, she would keep that bit of information in her back pocket, deciding to look into it more when she wasn’t desperate to pay her bills.
☾
From the moment Rey stepped into the guest house, a stifling, indignant rage seemed to permeate the walls. The tension hung thick in the air, palpable enough to cut through with a knife, and it bled a darkness she could only assume was the very essence of Ben Solo himself. She stood silently in the annex, her gaze drifting to the frosted glass panels of the sliding barn doors that separated the living area from his bedroom. Beyond those doors was the most miserable man she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting for now a second time, his presence radiating resentment that seemed to saturate the entire space even though she could not see him.
Within his room, the deafening chords of an aggressive heavy metal song echoed through the walls, each drumbeat pounding against her ribcage. She gripped her lunchbox with an irresolute wave of self-consciousness, feeling completely unsure if she was making the correct decision or not. Perhaps she should reconsider cleaning toilets—at least she wouldn’t be facing this monumental test of patience each day.
"Rey, sorry it took me a moment," Armitage said as he appeared from the back of the house, his voice raised to compete with the noise. "I was just getting my things together for my next patient."
He caught the apprehension etched on her face and offered an apologetic smile, gesturing back toward the closed doors. "He’s… in a bit of a mood this morning, I’m afraid."
Rey let out an exasperated snort. "Seems like he’s in these ‘moods’ pretty often, yeah?"
Armitage chuckled, rubbing a hand over his hair. "Yeah, you’re not wrong," he admitted. "But don’t take it personally."
"Hard not to," she muttered, her gaze fixated on the vibrating doors. "It’s 8:30 in the bloody morning, and he’s blasting that?"
His lips twitched in amusement. "Whatever gets him out of bed, I suppose."
She pursed her lips together as she nodded, gripping her belongings a little tighter. Armitage motioned for her to follow him down the hallway to a small closet.
"You can leave your things here if you’d like," he offered, reaching out to take her jacket. "And just so you know, the fridge is always fully stocked, and Mrs. Solo will make sure you have whatever you need."
"Thanks," she murmured, handing over her jacket as she tried to ease herself into the quiet moment of his kindness.
The song shifted into what Rey could only assume was the chorus as the melodic notes played in contrast to the heavy guitar riffs.
A home like yours is upside down
Too much animosity
Nobody does it better than the enemy
Armitage remained indifferent as he led her into the kitchen, opening the cabinet that contained Ben’s medication. The kitchen itself appeared streamlined and polished—black wash oak cupboards lined the walls with stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops. It was all modern and distinctly cold, which Rey felt was a fitting match for its somber occupant. There was a distinct absence of warmth and a lack of personal touch—simply nothing to help the space feel lived in. The entire house seemed to reflect a sense of carefully curated detachment, devoid of anything remotely joyful. It was almost comical as she observed it—a villain suited for his lair.
"Right, let’s go over those medications again, shall we?" Armitage said, picking up three bottles and setting them carefully on the counter. He held one up to face her, tapping the label as he spoke. "These are the main ones he’ll need multiple times a day: Gabapentin for nerve pain, Midodrine for low blood pressure, and Tegretol for seizures."
"Seizures?" Rey asked, a hint of unease in her tone.
Armitage nodded. "Yes. Because of his accident, Ben is at risk. It’s really important that he doesn’t miss a dose."
She winced as she took the bottle from him, scanning over the label while he recited the instructions.
"It’s 1200 milligrams," he continued, "broken down into four doses over the course of the day."
"What if I forget to give him one?" she asked warily.
"Don’t stress too much about it," Armitage reassured her with a gentle smile. "Ben’s actually pretty diligent with his meds. He knows the routine well enough to remind you if it slips your mind." He swapped the Tegretol bottle for the Midodrine, placing it in her hand.
"This one, for his low blood pressure, is 5 milligrams three times a day," he explained, then held up the Gabapentin. "And this is for his nerve pain—200 milligrams, three times daily as well."
Rey nodded, mentally cataloging his words as she watched him place the bottles back into the cabinet. He secured it with his key, gesturing to her as he spoke. "Just remember to lock this back up when you’re finished."
Armitage then placed a hand on a white binder resting on the counter and slid it toward her with a gentle smile. "If you’re up for some light reading," he said, "this goes into more detail about his paraplegia, emergency contacts, and the steps to take if he has a seizure."
Rey swallowed thickly as she opened the binder, thumbing through the pages until Armitage directed her to the emergency section. The instructions were thorough, complete with an infographic illustrating the correct procedures.
"The main thing to remember during a seizure is to never try holding him down or putting anything in his mouth," he pointed to a diagram of a person lying on their side. "You’ll also want to time it. Most seizures last about two minutes, but if it goes beyond five, that’s when you’ll need to call for an ambulance."
"D-do I place him on his side, like in this picture?" Rey asked with a trembling voice.
Armitage shook his head. "If it happens, it’ll most likely be in his wheelchair. Just put the brakes on and leave him secured in his harness. If he’s in bed, yes, you will need to put him on his side. He has protective guard rails on either side to keep him from falling off. Just mind his casts for his arms."
Though she tried to hide it, Rey felt a rising wave of worry. She studied the images, her mind buzzing with questions as she tried to absorb as much information as possible, giving Armitage a small nod to signal that she understood despite the nervous energy that pummeled her.
"Don’t panic," he said, his tone once again extremely calm amongst the chaos of the music and the obvious distress that covered her face. "The first time will be scary, but remember to keep him comfortable. Place something soft under his head and make sure any clothing doesn't restrict his neck—this will help him breathe."
He guided her over to a calendar on the fridge, pointing to the days marked for Ben’s physical therapy sessions. Handwritten times scrawled across the white squares, showing when she’d need to be ready to assist him.
"Ben goes to physical therapy four times a week," he explained. "Each session lasts two to three hours, depending on his strength for that day. And remember, he can’t move or go anywhere without his back brace because of the injury to his mid-lumbar region. He is a spinal precaution and, most importantly, no BLT."
"BLT?" she echoed inquiringly.
Armitage nodded. "No bending, lifting or twisting."
"And here I was thinking it had something to do with his sandwich preference," she quipped, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked, shaking his head. "Nope. Those movements put a lot of strain on his spine. Any wrong move could risk further injury, so we’re extra cautious."
"Got it," she affirmed. "Anything else I should know?"
Armitage thought for a moment, then reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small, pocket-sized planner adorned with painterly fluorescent flowers in various colors. Handing it to her, he added, "Mrs. Solo asked me to give this to you. She’s sorry she couldn’t be here to wish you well on your first day, but she thought you might appreciate having something to keep track of everything."
Rey took the planner and smiled, glancing down at the vibrant cover as she thumbed through the pages. "Thank you. I appreciate your help."
Armitage nodded, gathering his things. "If you need anything, call or text me. Like I said yesterday, most of my other patients are nearby, so I can get here pretty quickly. I’ll cover your lunch break at noon for an hour, and Mitaka, the night nurse, will be here around 5:30. We alternate schedules, so sometimes he’ll be the one here to greet you in the morning."
Adjusting the strap on his shoulder, he looked at her with levity. "We truly can’t thank you enough for being here, Rey."
She gave him a small, wavering smile. "You’re welcome. I’m really glad to help, but honestly, I’m not sure why I’m needed. It seems like a nurse would be better at this… for him."
His expression softened then. "I understand why you’d feel that way," he said gently. "But Ben… he needs more than just medical care. He needs someone to help him feel normal again and to help him feel connected to reality. Having someone like you to bring him patience, kindness and empathy will truly make a difference in his recovery time."
"So he basically needs a companion?"
"Yes," he answered.
There was a twinge of protest on the tip of her tongue—an urge to resist the words he was saying. Just from her brief encounter with Ben yesterday, it appeared he would rather attempt to take care of himself than have someone be there with him. She doubted that her company would make any sort of difference, but at the risk of losing the money she so desperately needed, she kept her mouth shut and simply nodded in acknowledgement. Armitage gave her a small salute as he made his way to the door, and as it clicked behind him, she realized the music had abruptly stopped.
☾
Rey stared at the frosted sliding glass doors that separated her from Ben, her hands wringing by her sides as her purple heels tapped feebly against the hardwood floors. Should she let him know she was there? He likely already suspected her presence, but a small part of her wanted to retreat, to hide until he actually needed her. After all, that’s what it seemed he wanted in the first place—distance, silence, and a guarantee that she would leave him alone. She could keep herself busy with light housework and perhaps even some gardening. Hell, she wasn’t even joking when she told his mother that she would change the oil in their cars for free or perform any other maintenance their vehicles needed. As long as she had something to do that didn’t require that much interacting, maybe that would be for the best.
But she couldn’t help but think about what Armitage had said to her, how her presence seemed appreciated and that she could be a positive impact on Ben’s health. Could she even make a difference? Would it be worth it to give it a shot?
On a whim, she resisted the instinct that told her to shrink away and to give up. She didn’t want to believe that his bitterness or his condition made him a monster, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone otherwise. There had to be more to him. No one was fully bad, right? Maybe he was just terrible at first impressions.
Before she could overthink much more, she marched over to the doors and slid them open. The sound of the door cutting through the quiet revealed him sitting just beyond, his wheelchair positioned to face the garden. The view from his window was rather stunning: a meticulously trimmed hedge maze stretched across the yard, with a small fountain at its center. An angel poured water from a marble jug, the sound of the gentle stream harmonizing with the soft rustle of the autumn breeze.
Ben did not turn to look at her. In fact, he didn’t seem to acknowledge her at all. He continued to stare passively across the yard, his right hand positioned firmly on top of the controller of his wheelchair. She walked up to him tentatively, clasping her hands together as she moved to stand beside him. He continued to stare outside, refusing to look until he could no longer deny her presence.
"Hello," she said softly. "Can I get you anything?"
He tilted his head to the side, his angular features contorting into a look of pure, unadulterated vexation. With a slow, deliberate turn of his wheelchair to face her, he sneered immediately, his eyes roving across her outfit with a mix of disdain, disbelief and utter disgust as if she had just come in smelling like garbage. She wore a white undershirt with a Peter-Pan collar, layered beneath a fuzzy, peach-colored sweater that radiated brightly against the charcoal grey and midnight tones of his insipid decor. Her skirt, a whimsical display of radishes in shades of purple, orange, and burgundy, complete with vivid green leaves, seemed to demand the most of his attention, seeing as it’s where she caught his gaze. She had accessorized with a bubble-gum pink watch and paired the ensemble with bold purple tights and matching heels.
Rey could readily admit that her taste in clothing didn't suit everyone, and she knew well that her outfits could be a bit jarring at first glance. She had grown used to her friends teasing her for her fondness for mixing bold patterns and vibrant colors in ways that often defied conventional style. Still, there were moments when she won them over, proving that her choices, although peculiar, were a unique and quirky reflection of her personality—a style that was unapologetically her own. She was proud of the way she dressed, but seeing the look on Ben’s face made her question whether or not it was worth it to express herself fully around him.
"No," he said curtly, his tone laced with acerbic disinterest. "I’m fine."
Rey hesitated but pushed forward despite the inner voice urging her to retreat. "I was thinking… maybe we could go for a walk in the garden? It’s such a beautiful day."
"No," he replied again, his flat refusal slicing through her hopeful suggestion.
She stammered, her voice trembling slightly as she grasped for a different approach. "I—I’d like to get to know you better. To understand what you… enjoy doing."
He smirked, the faintest twitch beneath his left eye betraying a simmering annoyance. Rolling his lips together once, twice, he tightened his grip on the handle of his wheelchair’s controller and exhaled sharply.
"Rey… Rey Johnson, isn’t it?" His voice dripped with mockery, his words curling around her name like a snake around its prey.
"Y-yes?" she murmured hesitantly.
The caustic twist of his lips paired with the sardonic timbre of his voice made her feel as though he were scrutinizing a smudge on an otherwise pristine pair of Air Jordans—an unwelcome, inconvenient imperfection he had no patience for.
"I’ve made a few observations about you I feel compelled to share," he began. "First, you are incredibly chatty—unbearably so. You seem incapable of ceasing your incessant talking, even when it’s painfully clear that I have no interest in the conversation."
His gaze raked over her outfit, a flicker of ridicule flashing in his eyes. "Second, you appear to have a peculiar fascination with a truly deplorable taste in fashion."
He sneered—a final blow to her already vulnerable state. "And third, I do not wish to be bothered by you unless it is absolutely, unequivocally necessary. Basically, I don’t give a shit what you do, as long as it’s far away from me."
Rey stood in silence, allowing the cruelty of his words to hang heavy in the air between them. His expression betrayed a flicker of satisfaction, as though he relished in the idea of his digs finding their mark. It was his full intention to drive her away, to establish his dominance quickly and without warning.
She studied him carefully, resisting the urge to flinch under his piercing gaze. Was this some sadistic game he played with everyone his mother hired, a twisted way to assert his control over a life he no longer fully commanded?
Or was there something about her, specifically, that he had detested from the moment they first met?
Her jaw tightened as the seconds stretched on, her mind cycling through various responses. If he wanted her to break, he would wait a long time.
"Fine," she said with a shrug, stepping back slightly. "But may I ask you something?"
He grimaced, the irritation etched across his features deepening. "If you must."
"Are you this much of an asshole to everyone you meet, or is it just me? Is there something about me that gets your knickers into a twist? This is now the second time we have met and I’ve barely said over two sentences to you—"
"Two sentences too many," he interjected sharply. "And to be perfectly clear, yes, I am this much of an asshole to everyone. You’re not special, if that is what you were hoping to hear."
Her scoff was immediate, her arms crossing tightly over her chest as she peered down at him. "Why? What do you get out of being so cruel? Does it make you feel better to be a monster?"
His glare darkened and his upper lip curled with a sense of derision that made his contempt clear. "Because…" he began, disdain growing in his voice. It appeared the words he wanted to say were stuck behind some invisible barrier. He locked his gaze with hers, Adam’s apple bobbing before he continued. "I am a monster," he agreed. "And I don’t owe anyone anything. Least of all you."
White, hot anger flared in her chest, but she smothered it before it could spill over and cost her the fragile semblance of peace she needed to maintain. With a curt nod, she spun on her heel, her movements brisk and deliberate as she marched toward the doors.
"If you need anything," she called over her shoulder icily, "I’ll be in the kitchen."
She pulled the doors behind her with a controlled force before she could get his response, the sound of them clicking into place, echoing faintly against her thundering heartbeat. She let out a slow, measured breath once she was alone, her fists knitting together into the fabric of her skirt as she tried to shake off his encounter. Not long after this, she heard him mumble something, and the sounds of the same aggressive heavy metal song blasted from within, drowning out any other remaining thoughts she had.
☾
For the rest of the morning, Rey kept to herself, tidying the kitchen and occasionally staring blankly at the walls as she tried to forget about their encounter. The heavy metal music blared relentlessly from behind the sliding doors, a constant assault on her ears that was interspersed with his occasional bursts of profanity that sliced through the thunderous guitars and pounding snare drums.
Curiosity got the better of her as she pulled out her phone and opened her Shazam app, holding it up to identify the song he was playing on repeat. The app pulsed momentarily before revealing the title: "Nero Forte" by Slipknot. Her gaze dropped to the screen, and she couldn’t help but cringe at the fiendish album cover—a haunting image of a ghoulish figure, wrapped in what appeared to be lace, staring blankly at her despite the eyes being covered and darkened.
"Of course it is," she muttered to herself, tucking her phone away with a slight shake of her head.
By noon, Armitage returned to relieve her for a lunch break, his countenance tinged with trepidation as he stepped into the kitchen. Rey greeted him with a firm smile, determined to remain composed despite the events of the morning. She gave him a quick and concise update: Ben had taken his medication right on schedule. While it hadn’t been a pleasant interaction, he had begrudgingly accepted the pills she offered in a paper cup, swallowing them with a sip of water through a bendy straw placed against his lips (that were remarkably plush, despite herself not wanting to fully admit).
There had been no words of thanks, no acknowledgement of her effort, and Rey hadn’t lingered long enough to give him another opportunity to lash out, retreating quickly to avoid further confrontation.
She found a shady bench nestled in the courtyard just outside of the guest house, where golden leaves cascaded to the ground in a halo of autumnal bliss. The crisp crunch beneath her heels as she walked was a small, satisfying reminder that fall was truly on the horizon. Niima Outpost rarely experienced the full splendor of the seasons—something she often missed from her time in England. When she could experience anything other than a hot and humid day, she was grateful. Though this time of year was difficult for her, she tried to remember what she had, even when everything else felt as though it were falling apart.
As she chewed her sandwich, Rey tried to remind herself why this job might ultimately be worth it. She weighed both the pros and cons in her mind—it was within walking distance from her house which meant she did not always need to rely on her car to get there, the money would be absolutely life-altering, allowing for her to earn her freedom in a way that did not seem possible before, and she could learn how to set reasonable boundaries with him that wouldn’t completely dismantle her self-confidence. However, the cons revolved around his attitude and unpleasant demeanor. The last thing she needed was to let a bitter man with a surplus of animosity—arguably the most she’d ever encountered—consume her thoughts. It was hard to muster sympathy for someone so unapologetically hostile, yet Armitage’s words lingered in her mind: Having someone like you to bring him patience, kindness and empathy will truly make a difference in his recovery time.
Rey sighed, her thoughts drifting to the life she had led until this point. If there was one thing she understood deeply, it was what it felt like to have someone believe in you despite everything, even when you didn’t believe in yourself. Maybe she could find that same thread of compassion for him—even if he didn’t make it easy. She wanted to be the bigger person, to let this nonsense go and to just treat this as a job. It wasn’t a career, and it was only for six months. That would be enough time for her to save up and to look for something that was less complicated.
Caught in the swirl of her thoughts, Rey didn’t notice she was no longer alone until a faint rustling of footsteps on the lawn drew her attention. A thin, timid-looking man with neatly cropped gray hair was approaching her, his steps quick and purposeful. As he neared, he offered her a soft, polite smile and a wave before letting his arms fall back to his sides.
"Good afternoon," he began, his voice carrying a prominent and unmistakable British accent. "Are you Miss Rey, by any chance?"
His tone was warm yet formal, and she found herself momentarily taken aback by his unexpected appearance—and the fact that someone else on this property, besides Armitage, shared a piece of her roots.
"Er… yes?" she replied hesitantly.
His smile widened as he extended a hand, giving hers a firm yet courteous shake.
"Ah, very good! My name is Anthony Threepio, but you may call me Threepio, and I wanted to introduce myself. I am Mrs. Organa-Solo’s personal assistant. It is so very nice to meet you."
"You’re… also British?" she blurted before she could stop herself, the words spilling from her mouth in surprise.
"Quite right, my dear girl," Threepio said with a nod, his tone measured and thoughtful, completely unfazed by her question. "I have been with the Organa-Solos for a very long time. Born and raised in Salisbury, you see, though I moved to the States as a relatively young man after befriending the family."
There was something about him that felt familiar and warm, allowing for her to feel more at ease as she sat back with a smile. "Funny how you are now the second person I have met here that share a background with me," she mused.
Threepio chuckled, the sound both rich and amiable, a comforting gesture to distract her from the lingering apprehension she felt from the morning’s events.
"Ah, yes, Nurse Hux," he said. "At least the three of us can appreciate proper tea and not that dreadful iced, sugary concoction they serve here. I daresay, if you ever fancy a cuppa, I’d be more than happy to brew one for you. A necessity in a world such as this, don’t you think?"
Rey beamed at him, the feeling of someone finally agreeing with her boosting her confidence. "That would be really nice, actually. Thank you."
"Splendid," Threepio clasped his hands together with quiet enthusiasm. "And if there is anything you need, you mustn’t hesitate to ask. We all want you to feel as comfortable as possible. We are so very glad that you are here."
Her inner monologue whispered its doubts, a certain someone who was not glad for her presence instantly springing to mind. She knew the same person did not want her to feel comfortable, either. In fact, she was sure that he wanted to do all that he could to not make her job easy. Still, she offered Threepio a gracious smile, giving him her thanks.
They parted ways shortly after, Threepio’s polished and short strides carrying him towards the main house with a purposeful air. Rey watched him go, his pristine demeanor so perfectly in tune with the manicured estate. She wondered briefly if he had even the faintest idea of what truly went on behind the frosted glass of Ben Solo’s closed doors.
But then again, did anyone?
☾
The weeks crawled by, each day feeling more harrowing than the last, marked by a persistent sense of dread that settled over Rey like a heavy fog. Every morning, her alarm tore through her dreams with its unrelenting buzz, and every morning, she groaned, slamming her hand down on the phone to silence it. Her routine was monotonous, a rinse-and-repeat cycle she couldn’t escape.
She’d narrowly crawl out of bed, throw on her most outrageous outfit—sometimes as a deliberate act to annoy Ben, other times simply out of exhaustion. Breakfast was a blur of toast crumbs and brief coffee sips before she dashed out the door to walk to work, rain or shine. The day began the same way it always did: greeting either Armitage or Mitaka at the door, then navigating the minefield of Ben’s mood swings and his blaring, angst-ridden music. Her footsteps became a careful dance around him, minimizing interacting with him unless it was clearly unavoidable—giving him his medication, accompanying him to his physical therapy appointments, and enduring his pointed remarks, letting none of it sink too deep.
It was even more grueling when she had to assist him with eating or drinking, her nerves stretching thin as she pretended not to notice the grimace that twisted his face with every bite of the meal she had prepared. She took to turning on the TV to drown out the suffocating awkwardness between them, carefully selecting the dullest documentary she could find, hoping it would be enough to distract him.
But even the monotone narration of a WW2 special wasn’t enough to stave off his sharp criticism. She braced herself for the inevitable snide remark, his words dripping with contempt as though pointing out her perceived flaws brought him some measure of sadistic satisfaction. It was a delicate balancing act—trying to do her job while avoiding a verbal sparring match with his highness, the Prince of Misery.
One morning, she mustered the energy to greet him with a cheerful, purposeful voice, hoping to bridge the ever-present chasm between them. Unfortunately, she became met with complete disdain as he used a remote to shut the frosted doors that separated them. She had to move quietly around him, existing on the fringes of his world, ensuring he had the space he so clearly craved while still fulfilling her responsibilities as his… companion? Is that really what she was to him?
More like a gnat buzzing incessantly in his ear—small, persistent, and endlessly irksome, she thought as she folded a pile of his freshly laundered clothes. Perhaps, she mused bitterly, even more insignificant than that—a mere speck of dirt on the periphery of his carefully guarded walls.
Ben was resting in the living room, his eyes closed, a pair of AirPods nestled in his ears. The soft cadence of a narrator’s voice droned on about economics—something she had noticed earlier when she’d glimpsed the audiobook cover while serving him his lunch. He seemed perfectly content to pretend she didn’t exist as she dutifully lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes to his lips, her gaze fixed anywhere but on him. She only dared a quick glance now and then to check if he needed a sip of water, careful not to linger too long under his sharp, indifferent disposition.
Rey quietly made her way back to Ben’s room from the laundry room, his back turned to her as his head rested against his wheelchair. The faint, rhythmic sound of soft snores caught her attention—an oddly humanizing moment for someone she often saw as unbearably cold. It was such a mundane act that she almost smiled, surprised to realize he could even do something so ordinary.
Tiptoeing inside, she began placing the freshly folded garments into his drawers, careful to arrange each one in the precise, meticulous order he had insisted she replicate. Her movements were deliberate, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his obsessive need for everything to be in its place. The thought of him encountering her own chaotic, haphazard closet crossed her mind, and she snickered at the image of him fainting in sheer horror at its lack of organization.
Everything Ben owned seemed to fall within a muted palette of neutral tones, though it was clear his favorite color was black. Nearly all of his shirts, whether short-sleeved or long, were from a brand Rey had never heard of: Eton. Curious, she quickly googled the name, and her jaw practically hit the floor when she saw the price tag. Most of the shirts ranged from $150 to $225—a staggering amount for something as simple as a T-shirt.
The product description left her even more baffled: "Knitted in Italy from Filo di Scozia; a luxury, two-ply, long-staple, double mercerized yarn for a flexible, knitted jersey with a soft, silky, lustrous look." Whatever that meant, she thought dryly, eyeing the pristine, neatly folded fabric in her hands. She could already hear the exaggerated gasp followed by the barrage of mockery when she told Rose about this. It would be worth every second to hear her friend’s thrilling commentary. If nothing else, it would make for an excellent laugh.
But as she continued placing his belongings neatly into the drawer, her movements faltered. Her fingers brushed against something unexpected—cool, metallic, and distinctly out of place. The sensation sent a prickle of curiosity down her spine. Carefully, she shifted aside the neatly folded clothing, her brow furrowing as she unearthed the object hidden at the bottom of the drawer, buried beneath layers of fabric concealed from sight. Her hand paused as she held it up to the light, her frown deepening as she examined what she had found.
It was a badge, gleaming faintly in the soft morning light, much like the kind she had seen police officers wear. The word Solicitor was boldly etched across the top, and above was an eagle with its wings spread wide in a striking display of authority. In the center of the badge was the state flag, framed by a blue band that read State of Coruscant. Encircling the outer edge were the words Fifth Judicial Circuit, each letter pressed neatly into the golden metal.
But it was the name engraved just below that caught her breath and held it still.
Anakin Skywalker.
Notes:
Uh oh, do we have a powerful family of lawyers on our hands now?
Thank you to @kyloremuss for the most beautiful manip!
Glossary
Solicitor - The chief prosecuting attorney within a judicial circuit.
Judicial Circuit - A specific tribunal that possesses the legal authority to hear cases within its own geographical territory.
Attorney General - Chief Prosecutor, Chief Legal and Chief Securities Officer of the entire State.I also wanted to add some clarifying things about the places in this story in case it gets a little confusing!
Places
Coruscant - State
Jakku - County
Niima Outpost - Town
Chapter 3
Summary:
"Did Hux ever mention," Ben began with his usual dry, sardonic tone, "that if I have one of my seizure clusters, I am to be given diazepam, which is to be administered… rectally?"
Rey smirked, slowly turning to face him. "Sounds like you're eager to show me."
Ben raised a dark brow, intrigued. It was clear he relished in her challenge. "Eager?" he echoed mockingly. "Hardly. I thought you’d be interested to know exactly what you’ve signed up for, seeing as you’re so determined to stay."
Notes:
Thank you all again for your kind words and support so far on this little story of mine 🩵 It means the world to me! I appreciate your kudos and comments so very much and I hope you enjoy this next chapter.
CONTENT WARNING: Please mind the tags that have been added. A brief description will be located in the ending notes of this chapter for some further context.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A patch of dappled sunlight danced across the kitchen walls, shifting with the gentle sway of the trees that bordered Ben’s cottage. The wind carried a soft rustling that stirred the air, a quiet melody that accompanied the relatively warm afternoon in Niima Outpost. Rey found a small comfort in the fleeting warmth—it meant she could still wear her dresses without the need to bundle up, clinging to the last remnants of pleasant weather before autumn’s chill finally took hold.
She stifled a yawn, willing herself to stay awake as her gaze drifted to the neon-colored watch on her wrist. The minutes ticked by, each second testing her patience as she awaited Armitage’s arrival to relieve her. Her mind wandered to the evening ahead, the thought of returning home filling her with a sense of yearning. She and Rose had recently started a routine of evening walks around their neighborhood, racing against the shortening daylight to soak up what little sunlight remained before it vanished beyond the horizon.
But what she also wished to escape from was her daydreams of the badge she had found the day before and the lingering words of Finn and Poe from a month earlier. Her mind was on an endless loop, replaying their words as it bended and twisted around the phrases they had used to describe the Skywalkers.
They’re a prominent family of big-time lawyers. His grandfather was the Solicitor. His mom is the Attorney General.
Y’know, the good ol’ boys.
It felt so cryptic, so loaded, and yet so maddeningly vague. Who were they, exactly? The mere whisper of their name carried an undeniable weight, like the echo of a legacy long intertwined with power and influence. And why was she told to "be careful?" Why was that something that they had warned her about? She wished she had more answers to supplement the thoughts that swirled around her. Ben might have been an insufferable asshole, but surely it was just a reflection of his personality and not the family he came from… right?
Rey had been working for the family for about a month now, yet her hesitancy to ask questions about their history lingered. Something about it felt wrong, like prying into a vault that wasn’t hers to open. After all, Ben Solo was a fortress of sharpened edges and impenetrable walls, his anger and biting cruelty fueled by his unfortunate situation. It was easier to chalk his hostility up to circumstance rather than dig deeper into the rumors of the enigmatic family behind the broken man.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more—something lurking beneath the surface of the murky shadows he hid behind—something she had not quite pieced together yet. Despite his unpleasantness, she still had respect for his privacy and kept her questions at bay, but it didn’t stop her mind from spiraling. All she really wanted was to do her job and go home—to let the day’s irritation fade like a bad dream as she stepped out of his oppressive, darkened cottage and into the golden sunlight that shimmered over the walls lined with oak trees covered in Spanish moss.
Rey’s thoughts wandered as she pondered the significance of Ben holding onto his grandfather’s badge. Maybe it was nothing more than a keepsake, a memento to remember a man who had passed. She turned the possibilities over in her mind, unaware that Ben had maneuvered his automatic wheelchair in her direction.
His expression was tinged with annoyance, his amber eyes fixed on her as he rolled closer.
"It’s 3 o’clock," he announced flatly, his baritone voice cutting through the haze of her musings and startling her back into reality.
Rey jolted, her words tumbling out of her in a flustered rush. "O-oh, right."
She scrambled to her feet, quickly fishing into her pocket to retrieve the key to the medicine cabinet. Crossing the room, she unlocked it and pulled out his seizure medication. Ben’s gaze never wavered, watching her intently from the other side of the kitchen island, a quiet rigidity filling the air.
She placed his pills into a paper cup, grabbing his water bottle as she brought the dose to his lips. He tilted his head back, his raven hair falling away to reveal ears that stuck out ever so slightly. Averting her eyes to avoid his own, she gave him his straw, watching as the liquid traveled through the tube. Once he finished, she took the cup and tossed it in the trash, returning his water back to the counter.
"Did Hux ever mention," Ben began with his usual dry, sardonic tone, "that if I have one of my seizure clusters, I am to be given diazepam, which is to be administered… rectally?"
Rey smirked, slowly turning to face him. "Sounds like you're eager to show me."
Ben raised a dark brow, intrigued. It was clear he relished in her challenge. "Eager?" he echoed mockingly. "Hardly. I thought you’d be interested to know exactly what you’ve signed up for, seeing as you’re so determined to stay."
Rey leaned her hip against the counter, casually crossing her arms as she tilted her head. "Consider it noted. I will file that away in my emergency binder," she retorted, meeting his gaze without flinching. "But if you think that’s enough to scare me off after being here for a month, I fear you'll be disappointed."
He let out a low, humorless chuckle as his eyes roved over her, his demeanor unyielding. "Bold of you to assume I want you here at all."
"Who said that I assumed this or that I even care about what you want?" she shot back. "Besides, I am not employed by you—I am employed by your mother, so it really doesn't matter what you want."
An uneasy silence settled between them, the air thickening as their gazes locked in an unspoken battle of wills. Neither would relent, their shared stubbornness creating an impasse as they sized the other up. But then, something shifted. A sliver of vulnerability pressed against Rey’s resolve, threatening to break through. Her eyes wavered, dropping to that same patch of sunlight she was watching earlier pool softly on the wall behind him.
"And I need the money," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I really need the money."
Admitting this to him, of all people, was as close to humiliation as Rey might imagine. She prided herself on her resilience and composure, and revealing her weakness felt like tearing down a wall she had spent years fortifying. It was not like her to be so cruel, even in a month of biting frustration, especially toward someone in his condition. But from what little she had gathered about Ben Solo, she knew he wasn’t the type to tolerate pity. In fact, pity seemed to incite his wrath more than anything else.
And, to be perfectly honest, it wasn’t pity or empathy she was seeking from him, either. That realization confused her more than anything. What exactly had compelled her to admit her greatest insecurity—her financial struggles—to someone who seemed to thrive on twisting her words against her? She was revealing more of herself, and now that the truth was out, she wondered if she had given him another opportunity to tear her down.
He continued to stare at her, his expression unreadable, before turning his wheelchair toward his room. The soft hum of the motor filled the silence as he moved towards the entrance. Just before passing through, he paused, tilting his head slightly to the left.
"Then let’s hope you never have to add giving medication rectally to your resume," he said in a low voice. He vanished without waiting for her reply while she stood there, completely alone, in bewilderment.
As the frosted doors closed behind him, muffling the faint hum of his wheelchair, Rey exhaled, trying to dispel the lasting vexation brewing in her chest. With a shake of her head, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she began typing furiously into the search bar:
What is a Solicitor?
☾
The next day, Rey was relieved to have her time off. Saturdays in the fall carried a comforting ritual: starting the day with an early morning coffee alongside Finn, then wandering through the bustling farmer’s market to peruse the fresh produce and handmade crafts and home goods. Afterward, they would stroll through the quaint, historic streets of Niima Outpost, the crisp autumn air wrapping around them as they caught up in each other’s lives, each adorning a fresh bouquet.
It was another one of their traditions that she cherished—a bit of normalcy amid the whirlwind of her current job. Finn’s presence and lighthearted personality served as a brief distraction from the worries that currently plagued her. It helped her forget, if only for a little while, the trepidation that lingered the next day.
"Does it bother you to not have the entire weekend off?" Finn asked as he took a sip from his coffee.
Rey shrugged, scrunching her nose with a mild disdain, a small smile forming despite the mention of her job. "I mean, I’m not exactly thrilled to be spending time with the Lord of Darkness, but we mostly leave each other alone and only interact when it’s absolutely necessary."
Finn glanced down at her with a sympathetic look, nudging her lightly as they walked. "Still being nasty, huh?"
"Yeah," she replied, rolling her eyes. "It’s definitely a core personality trait."
"Certainly not a flaw," he joked with a smirk.
She snorted. "Oh, absolutely not. But hey, the pay is amazing, and honestly, it’s not the worst job when he’s occupied. When I take him to physical therapy, for instance, he pops in his earbuds, so I never even have to talk to him."
Finn chuckled, shaking his head. "Sounds like you have a decent routine, at least."
"Right? I’ve learned to not let most of what he says bother me. I just take it one day at a time."
Their footsteps crunched over dead leaves and gravel, the sun shining brightly above them as they shifted topics. They chatted casually about Finn and Poe’s blossoming relationship (for which Rey took full credit, of course), Rose’s latest ambitious DIY project, and anything else noteworthy in their lives. Eventually, the conversation turned to Rey’s own dating life.
"I’d rather not discuss it," she sighed dramatically. "It’s as dead as these leaves."
Finn laughed, nudging her shoulder. "Come on, that Armitage guy sounds pretty cute."
Her face twisted in immediate distaste, shaking her head adamantly. "Definitely not. He’s a ginger and way more Rose’s type."
"Fair," he conceded. "But I think you should try putting yourself out there again."
Rey couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the comment. Her dating history was, to put it mildly, less than stellar. The last time she went on a date, it had culminated in her attending a Magic: The Gathering tournament in an overly cramped, humid and foul-smelling establishment that was packed with intensely judgmental nerds and equally disapproving bystanders. The memory alone was enough to make her cringe.
"Maybe when I get more situated with the job," she sighed, her voice carrying a note of resignation. "Which… by the way, I wanted to ask you something."
"Go for it," he replied casually.
She hesitated for a moment, her steps slowing as her gaze darted around their surroundings. When she was sure they were alone, she took a deep breath and gathered her courage to continue.
"I found something the other day in Ben’s drawers," she began quietly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "It was a badge that had the word Solicitor and Fifth Judicial Circuit on it… and there was also a name engraved."
"Love that you're rifling through his underwear drawer already," he joked. She playfully nudged him in response.
"Be serious," she replied, annoyed.
He stifled a cough to hide his smile, tilting his head as he inquired. "Whose name?" he asked earnestly.
"Anakin Skywalker," she clarified. "I know you said that was his grandfather."
Finn nodded slowly, his brow furrowing then as he considered it. "Yeah, he was."
"I tried to look up what a Solicitor was," Rey continued, "and it said something about being a chief prosecuting attorney… like someone responsible for handling criminal cases."
Finn appeared thoughtful as he shrugged. "Yeah, something like that," he replied. "I’m not super familiar with all the technicalities, but I know that it’s an elected position that lasts for four years. And the Skywalkers have held onto it for a really long time."
"How is that even possible?" Rey asked, perplexed. "How could they keep winning if it’s only a four-year term?"
Finn smirked, but there was an undeniable weight hidden in the shadows of his expression, as though he was hesitant to spell it out. "No one wants to go against them," he explained. "They’re kind of… above the law. People know it, but they don’t talk about it."
Rey frowned deeply as she stopped in her tracks, trying to grasp what he was saying. "Above the law? What do you mean?"
"It’s like an open secret around Jakku County," Finn replied, his voice low. "There are two systems of justice—one for the Skywalkers and one for everyone else."
Her puzzlement only grew. "But why doesn’t anyone call them out on it? Why doesn’t anyone say anything?"
Finn glanced around instinctively before responding. "Who would? No one wants to question them. They have money and connections, which is enough to make sure anyone regrets it if they try to say something. People would rather just keep their heads down and pretend they don’t know."
She shook her head, walking over to toss her empty coffee cup into a nearby trash bin. Crossing her arms over her chest, she frowned deeply. None of this made any sense. Even though she had lived in Niima Outpost for years, this was all brand-new information to her—an entire narrative she had somehow missed.
"I… I didn't know," she murmured softly, almost to herself. "Like, none of it."
Finn gave her a sympathetic look, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Why would you know?" he asked gently. "You’ve had enough on your plate ever since you moved here. It’s not exactly common knowledge anyway—it’s more like this whispered legend everyone sort of knows but doesn’t talk about."
"So, what all have you heard then? About what they’ve done?" Rey asked, a hint of unease arising in her tone. "Am I… like, in danger working for them?"
Finn let out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting down the sidewalk. "I don’t think so," he replied cautiously. "After Anakin passed, things seemed to mellow out a lot. It was mostly him, not Leia. From what I’ve heard, she didn’t really associate much with him, but I can’t say for sure."
Rey frowned, her arms tightening around her torso as the crisp air seemed to grow colder around them. "You know, I wonder why her maiden name is different? Where does the name Organa come from?"
Finn shrugged. "I don’t know the full story. Do you trust anyone you work with to ask? Maybe Armitage?"
She shook her head quickly, a flicker of unease flashing across her face. "I’d rather not. The more questions I ask, the more attention it brings to me—and that’s the last thing I want, especially from Ben if he were to find out."
Finn nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I wouldn’t ask him, that’s for sure. But maybe you’re right. Sometimes the less you know, the better."
☾
After lunch that Sunday, Rey stepped into the main house to drop off the mail she’d retrieved from the post before relieving Armitage. With Christmas around the corner, packages were arriving in steady supply for the Organa-Solos, and it seemed as if the UPS truck was making multiple stops a day to deliver their goods. She could’ve sworn she’d already seen it earlier that morning—a surprising feat for a weekend.
As she slipped through the kitchen to place the boxes on the counter, the sound of muffled voices from the next room caught her attention. She immediately recognized the speakers: Threepio and Leia. Their tones were low but carried an unmistakable urgency. They were walking slowly toward the kitchen, and Rey instinctively stepped behind the wall to avoid being seen.
"…I saw that car again," Leia murmured, clipped with concern. "The same one as before."
"I believe I saw it also, madam," Threepio replied uneasily. Rey heard the soft clinking of glass and metal as he moved toward the pantry, preparing what she guessed was afternoon tea. The kettle hissed softly as he ignited the gas stove. "What should we do?"
"Ask Snap to review the footage again," Leia said gravely. "And lock the gates in the evening after Rey leaves and the nurses arrive."
"Should we inform her?" Threepio asked cautiously.
Leia hesitated. Rey imagined her fiddling with the necklace she always wore—a mannerism she’d noticed before. "No," Leia replied firmly, her tone resolute. "I don’t want her to worry. She has enough to deal with as it is."
"Quite right," Threepio agreed with a soft sigh. "I’ll make the arrangements with Snap. Are there any other additional security measures we should take?"
"Yes," Leia replied after a brief pause. Her voice dropped lower with a sense of something foreboding. "I won’t risk it… not again."
Rey pressed her back against the wall, her heart beginning to race as she tried to piece together their conversation. Slipping out just in time, she raced back toward the guest house, trying to pretend she didn’t just overhear the fear in Leia’s voice.
☾
"Rey?"
The voice was soft, tinged with an aching familiarity that made Rey pause. She placed her bookmark carefully between the pages of the book she had been reading in the kitchen of the guest house, turning toward the sound. Standing at the back door was Leia, completely calm.
She gestured to Rey gently, beckoning her closer with a kind smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Rey’s lips pressed into a thin line as she glanced nervously at Ben’s closed bedroom door before rising from her chair and stepping toward the doorway.
"Mind speaking with me for a moment?" Leia asked warmly, opening the door wider. The invitation felt genuine, even if it carried an undercurrent of whatever it was she was discussing with Threepio.
"Of course," Rey replied, nodding as she followed Leia outside. The crisp chill in the air greeted her immediately, which was the complete opposite of the cozy warmth she’d left behind in the guest house.
Leia motioned toward the patio furniture, settling gracefully into one seat and gesturing for Rey to do the same.
"I wanted to check in on you," Leia began, her voice gentle but probing as she folded her hands in her lap. "To see how you were holding up?" She offered a knowing smile, her gaze flickering briefly to the guest house. "I see my son hasn’t scared you off yet."
Rey couldn’t help the soft huff of laughter that escaped her, though there was a sense of weariness. "No, he hasn’t. Not yet, anyway," she admitted, sinking into the chair across from Leia.
The older woman smirked, a divine serenity that also conveyed quiet, unshakable understanding—a deep familiarity of knowing who exactly her son was and having the patience and resilience to still love him despite how difficult he made it for anyone to do so.
As Rey observed her, she realized how similar their eyes were, both in shape and in their stormy hue, though Leia’s held a softness that Ben’s often lacked. Her gaze momentarily dropped to her hands, folded neatly, yet slightly wrought with underlying tension, as she laced her fingers together. A delicate diamond Cartier watch hung loosely against her wrist, catching the dimming light of the sun as it faded beyond the tree line.
"Good, I’m glad. From the moment I met you, I knew it would be a good fit."
Rey raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching upward in the ghost of a smile. "Really?"
"Really," Leia replied resolutely, leaving no room for doubt. "Ever since his father passed away, I’ve been worried about him."
She hesitated, Leia’s words settling over her like a sinking stone. In the time that Rey had worked for the family, she had never once asked about her husband. His absence, although conspicuous, always seemed like a line she shouldn’t cross—a private wound that welcomed very little inquiring.
The idea of knowing more felt invasive, especially after overhearing Leia’s earlier conversation with Threepio. This, in combination with the revelations from Finn the day before, only left Rey feeling even more certain that respecting their boundaries was paramount.
So she kept her response simple, her voice soft and tentative. "I’m really sorry for your loss… I can’t imagine how difficult that’s been."
Leia’s eyes met Rey’s, the reflection of gratitude and empathy holding steady in her gaze. The warmth in her expression made Rey feel as though she had made the right decision by not pressing further, and perhaps Leia appreciated not having to explain a pain that didn’t have words.
"It has been difficult, yes. But I appreciate that, Rey," Leia said softly.
For a moment, they sat in a comfortable silence, the gentle chorus of robins and whippoorwills filling the air as they chased the last golden rays of sunlight filtering through the magnolias.
Leia shifted slightly, her tone lightening with a touch of amusement. "I was wondering, would you like to join me for lunch one afternoon during your break? I understand if not—it’s the only time you get a reprieve from the beast…" Her voice trailed off, a playful smirk softening her words. "But I’d love to have you. And you should know, Threepio isn’t just my assistant—he also is a rather fantastic cook."
Rey smiled, the gesture reaching her eyes as she instinctively rubbed her arms against the cool breeze. She nodded, her answer immediate and genuine. "Of course I would. Thank you, that sounds lovely."
They parted ways shortly after, agreeing to meet the following week when Leia would have some time away from the office. Before leaving, she asked Rey if she had any specific requests for the meal, of which she smiled shyly and insisted that she would be happy with anything. Leia laughed in response, giving her reassurance that the meal would be wonderful and to prepare to have her socks blown off.
Later that evening, as Rey prepared to end her shift, she swapped places with Mitaka. Unlike the taller and more amiable Armitage, Mitaka was shorter, his dark hair swept neatly to the side, and his demeanor far more reserved. Rey suspected his guarded attitude stemmed from the emotional armor he had built up over time working with Ben. As she collected her things, her gaze drifted toward the bedroom. She paused, watching Mitaka unlock the medication cabinet to retrieve Ben’s evening doses.
"Mitaka?" she called softly, her voice careful not to frighten him—although he jumped like a startled fawn, anyway. She winced before continuing. "I was wondering… why do you keep the medicine cabinet locked?"
He turned to face her slowly, his expression unreadable as his brown eyes flickered toward Ben’s room before settling back on Rey. "Did Armitage… or his mother not tell you?" he asked hesitantly.
Rey frowned, shaking her head. "No, they never really explained."
Mitaka swallowed, his fingers idly twirling the small key as he kept faithful watch on the frosted doors. After a moment, he sighed, his voice low. "After the accident… Mr. Solo tried to take his own life."
Rey froze, the revelation hitting her like a sudden gust of cold, icy wind. Her gaze dropped from the cabinet, her mind reeling. "I… I didn’t know," she murmured, the words faltering from her lips just as she spoke them.
"It wasn't always locked," Mitaka began, his voice even quieter now, almost reverent. "He knocked his pills over from his nightstand, using his wheelchair. Before he could do anything, though, his mother found him after hearing a loud crash." He glanced away briefly, his jaw tightening. "Mrs. Solo had it moved out here after that. It’s definitely unnecessary, given his condition right now, but she wasn’t willing to take any chances… especially when his broken arms heal and if he is able to walk again."
"Do… do you think he would try that… again?" she asked, her voice trembling, the words heavy as they left her lips. Her throat tightened as her heart sank into the pit of her stomach, the mere thought of it suddenly making the air in the room feel completely dense.
Mitaka ran his free hand through his hair, stilling the other that held the key as he laid it flat on the counter. His eyes met her own with a mixture of sadness and weariness, as though he carried the weight of too many unspoken truths. He shrugged lightly, the motion almost imperceptible. "I don’t know," he answered, but his tone was heavy with implication.
There was a brief pause before he spoke again, lowering his eyes, "But I will say that there are a lot of things, Rey, that you don’t know."
The final gravity of his words left her feeling lightheaded as he grabbed the medication and brushed past her to Ben’s room. She was utterly dumbfounded and confused, unsure of how to even move her feet towards the exit after their brief conversation. Several intrusive thoughts bled through her defenses as she tried to think of anything but the picture Mitaka had painted for her. He was right in that aspect—there were several things she did not know about this family. And a part of her feared what would happen if she found out based on what Finn had mentioned.
Tightening her coat around her shoulders, she swallowed as she finally found her footing after her moment of reprieve.
☾
By late Tuesday afternoon, Rey stood at the sink, methodically scrubbing a pot as she waited for Armitage to relieve her for the evening. The dull sound of the sponge grazing over its surface barely masked the whirlwind of thoughts. Mitaka’s words from the other day played on an endless loop, each repetition magnifying the lump in her throat. She tried to push away every dark image that threatened to tear itself to the forefront—haunting visions of Ben in moments of despair that she dared not fully imagine.
Her gaze flickered toward the partially open doors of his bedroom. A small sliver of light spilled from the crack, and the soft, flickering glow of his television was the only sign of life from within. She stared at the seam, her stomach twisting with knots. Was he actually watching something, or had he fallen asleep again? She caught herself leaning towards the direction of his room, listening for any sound—eager to have proof that he was okay.
She finished scrubbing the pot, carefully placing it on a hand towel to dry before wiping her damp hands on her apron. Her heart was thudding a little harder now, each beat amplifying the unruffled silence of the house. Slowly, she made her way to the entrance of his room, her footsteps deliberately soft against the floor. She hesitated at the doorway, her hand hovering just shy of the glass.
"Ben?" she called softly, her voice low as she pressed her fingertips lightly against the door. She waited, her breath catching in the stillness.
But there was nothing.
Her chest tightened as her ears rang, the rush of blood suddenly making herself feel dizzy. She knocked gently, this time her voice carrying a little more urgency.
"Ben? Are you alright?"
When she still didn’t get a response, Rey hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. Ben had been lying in bed since lunch when Armitage had helped him settle after his physical therapy session that morning. Darkness cloaked the room in shadows, daylight savings having stolen the light as it dipped behind the trees.
He was lying in bed, his dark linens stark against the pale light of the television. Her breath hitched as Rey paused, frozen in place, when his head turned slowly to face her.
His eyes were hollow and sunken, heavy with exhaustion, as though sleep had completely eluded him. The scar on his face slashed angrily across his right eye, the cut running deep as it disappeared below his neck. Something about his gaze appeared distant—unfocused, as if caught somewhere between the waking world and somewhere else. She noticed his fingers peaking out from his casts were clutching the bedsheets, crumpling the fabric and pulling it taut as though trying to anchor himself to reality.
He was mumbling something, but it was indistinct and incoherent, and she took a step closer to hear him better. His dark amber eyes were glassy as they locked onto her own and yet somehow filled with a quiet, desperate plea.
A look she had never seen him give her before.
"R-Rey," he whispered hoarsely, his voice fragile and broken as beads of sweat formed on his brow. "I-I’m about t-to ha-have a sei—"
Before he could finish, his body jerked violently. His head tilted back, eyes rolling just as a great spasm tore through him. The tremors were fast acting and unrelenting. His body was stiffening before he convulsed uncontrollably. The vibrations from his contortion rocked his headboard as a loud thump clapped against the wall.
"Ben!" she cried, rushing to his bedside while panic gripped her heart. She moved quickly, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she acted with clarity. His fingers loosened their grip on the bedsheets while his arms and legs jerked.
Rey was grateful that her training made its way to the center of her mind as she remembered exactly what to do. Stay calm. Keep him safe. Secure the guard rails.
Once they locked into place, she realized she needed to roll him onto his side somehow, but in order to do so, she would need to get onto the bed to help him. Without thinking too much, she threw herself on to the bed by climbing from the foot as she grabbed his shoulder, instantly finding it rather difficult to move his large frame, all the while being mindful of his arms. He was still convulsing in violent shakes, a bit of foam and spit trailing from his lips.
"It’s okay," she murmured, her voice quivering, completely unsure if he could hear her. "You’re okay, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."
She checked his collar, loosening it to ensure nothing restricted his airways as she glanced at her watch, mentally timing the seizure just as Armitage and Mitaka had instructed. Fear gripped her as the seconds crawled by, watching as the big hand ticked across the circular face with unbearable ineptitude.
"Come on," she whispered, placing her hand against his cheek. A wave of panic washed over her. "You’re going to be okay," she assured him again.
Gradually, after two minutes, his spasms subsided. His body was slowly beginning to slacken as he collapsed onto the bed, his breathing coming in heavy, uneven bursts. She continued to stroke the side of his face, the ends of his scraggly beard surprising her with a feeling of softness. Tearing her apron off, she raised it to his lips to wipe away his spittle, studying his face and searching for signs of consciousness as he settled.
"Ben," she said softly, leaning closer, gentle urgency lacing her tone. "You’re okay, it’s over now. Can you hear me?"
His lips parted slightly, a faint, breathy sound escaping him as his chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a flicker of recognition in his gaze, but it faded just as quickly as it emerged, and he promptly drifted off into a quiet slumber, leaving her to feel numb as she sat up slowly, staring off into the distance.
Notes:
CONTENT WARNING: Brief mention of Ben having past suicidal ideations. After his accident, he attempted to knock over his medication that was sitting on his night stand. Before he could do anything, Leia intervenes and prevents him from completing the act. She then has his medication locked in a cabinet that only herself, Rey, Mitaka and Armitage have access to.
There is also a brief description of Ben having a seizure at the end of this chapter. Rey must act quickly to help keep him safe while this occurs.
Chapter 4
Summary:
Ben smirked quietly, arching a brow. "Hux’s taste is clearly on the more modest side of things. I doubt you would waste your talents on anything other than luxury showpieces."
Her cheeks warmed as she shook her head, pressing her lips into a firm line as she quickly came to Armitage’s defense. "A car is a car, and in my book, the more practical, the better."
His expression never faltered, a challenging glint in his amber eyes. "I’m sure your opinion might change if you ever got behind the wheel and experienced the horsepower of the Silencer."
He had her there.
Notes:
Thank you all again for your lovely comments and kudos on this little story of mine. I know we explored some heavier topics in Chapter 3, but hopefully this chapter will make up for some of that 🩵
Be on the look out for some new edits and artwork to accompany future chapters! I am so excited to share more when the time is right!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Various wavelengths of sound merged into a blinding, fervent hum—a cacophony of white noise that seemed to echo within the confines of Rey's skull. The edges of her vision blurred while her heartbeat drummed furiously in her chest. Without thinking, she fell into her usual coping mechanism, her fingers clawing at the fabric of her pants—wrinkling and distorting the polyester until it softened under her grip. She inhaled slowly, trying to anchor herself in the corner of Ben's room as her gaze fixed intensely on the red-haired man who accompanied her, his movements calm and deliberate despite the urgency she felt in the situation.
Armitage was sitting at Ben's bedside, methodically checking his vitals and listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His face betrayed zero emotion while he focused entirely on the task. Ben was asleep and had been for hours, luckily oblivious to his surroundings while poked and prodded by his nurse.
Every so often, Armitage would glance at the time on his watch, counting the seconds carefully before finally flicking his gaze in her direction. She still gripped her clothing, pulling it taut as she nervously awaited his verdict. The familiar feeling of dread gnawed at her insides while images of Ben having a seizure flashed throughout her mind—a residual sense of panic lingered beneath the surface of her otherwise steady gaze, leaving her to feel powerless once more.
Had she not gone to check on Ben, this might have been an entirely different situation. The expeditiousness of her movements seemed to come from a divine place—a sense she did not realize she possessed until her eyes met his, fighting to stay tethered to their reality.
She wondered if she could find this strength again or if it was fleeting.
After several agonizing minutes, Armitage removed the stethoscope from his ears. His posture softened, and a half-smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"You did great, Rey," he said with gentle reassurance. "Everything you did was spot on. You helped him through it, and he'll be fine."
Rey immediately sighed in relief as the knots in her stomach subsided. She nodded at him, finding it difficult to reply through the rush of adrenaline that still coursed through her system. His validation felt like a lifeline, pulling her through the mental fatigue she felt trapped in since the seizure began, his certainty bringing a sense of comfort she longed to feel despite her insecurity.
"I'm glad," she breathed. "But it all happened so fast… and he seemed to know it was coming. Is that normal?"
Armitage nodded as he adjusted the stethoscope around his neck and stood to face her. "Yes, it's quite common. Many people who experience focal awareness seizures can recognize the warning signs before they happen. It was a good thing you checked on him when you did. His shirt could have restricted his breathing, but you must have cleared his airways quickly."
He offered her another small smile, his eyes reflecting genuine approval as he crossed the room to place a hand on her shoulder. He glanced back at Ben, who now seemed even more comfortable than he had just moments ago.
"You kept him safe, and based on what you told me, you were calm. You handled it exactly as I would have." He squeezed her shoulder briefly before stepping through the frosted doors.
Rey looked up at him and returned his smile weakly. "Thank you," she murmured, still feeling tense despite his confidence.
She glanced over at Ben, his hands folded neatly across his abdomen as his chest rose and fell steadily.
Dark, violent circles traced beneath his eyes, accentuating the ridges of his scar that carved down his brow and cheekbone. After carefully studying him, she ducked her head and left him to rest.
In the kitchen, Armitage was preparing a cup of tea for himself as the kettle hummed softly on the stovetop. He was scooping a proportional amount of leaves into a diffuser, patiently waiting for the moment he could pour his cup.
Moving to place her things on the counter, she furrowed her brow.
"What happens next?" she asked, breaking the stillness. "Will he need to go to hospital?"
Armitage shook his head, turning to face her as he leaned against the counter, arms folded casually. "No, he'll be fine. His seizure didn't last over two minutes. If it had gone on longer, then yes, we'd have had to take him in. But he's stable now. All he needs is to rest."
He chuckled softly then, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "I suppose he told you about the diazepam?"
Rey rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he did. Thankfully, I didn't have to use it… but I would have," she admitted with a slight smirk, wry humor lacing her tone. It would not be pleasant to endure, but it was her responsibility to keep him safe, which was more important than their pride.
Armitage grinned appreciatively. "Good to know you're a team player, Johnson. I'm doubtful he would remember it, anyway."
"He wouldn't?"
"Not necessarily," he replied, shaking his head. "It depends on the type of seizure, but some key details could be hazy after the fact."
Rey thought back to Ben's face just before it happened, the faint glint of recognition in his eyes before he succumbed to sleep. It had been one of the most distressing things she had ever witnessed, and a pang of sympathy washed over her. How awful it must be to endure something so debilitating—and frequently, at that.
"Will he be in any pain?" she asked.
Armitage's grin faded, replaced by a somber expression as the kettle whistled. He turned to remove it from the stove, his voice heedful. "More than likely, yes. Seizures can cause significant muscle pain, headaches, and a sore tongue. Those things are manageable, but they also leave a person feeling completely drained and can wreak havoc on mood stabilization and anxiety."
"He has anxiety?"
Armitage shot her a knowing look. His eyebrows raised almost comically to his hairline. "Ben wouldn't admit it, but yes, he does.” He poured the hot water into his mug, steam curling upwards as he continued. "And, to be perfectly honest with you, that isn't surprising, given everything he has been through. If anything, it would be more unusual if he didn't."
Rey could admit she often forgot that despite his hardened exterior, Ben Solo was still human. His sharp words and witty comebacks were not merely a reflection of his personality, but a shield to deflect his complicated emotions and hide from the trauma and grief he carried.
Her conversation with Mitaka echoed profusely throughout her mind. Guilt settled within her as she considered the possibility that there was far more to Ben's story than he let anyone see. Perhaps, she thought, the more she learned about him, the better she could understand the reasons behind his bitterness and the barricade he had built around himself. Understanding certainly didn't mean she would excuse his behavior, but maybe it would give her a small window into the person he once was—the person he might still be beneath the pain of it all.
Armitage placed his mug on the counter, the gentle clink pulling her from her thoughts. "Anyway, Rey, everything will sort itself out. Go home and rest, and I'll see you in the morning." He looked towards the door, and she nodded reluctantly, grabbing her things and slipping into the night.
☾
The following day, Rey woke up earlier than usual, her lingering worry pushing her out of bed before the sun fully rose. She quickly stopped at one of her favorite local coffee shops, The Jawa Bean, to grab some drip coffee and a pair of rhubarb pastries for her and Armitage. The shop, already bustling with the early risers of Niima Outpost, gave her a moment of reprieve before she headed back to the Solo cottage.
As she turned the knob and stepped inside, she closed the door softly behind her, the instant feeling of warmth from the fireplace greeting her. Armitage, seated in the living room, turned at the sound, his brow lifting in mild surprise.
"You're here rather early," he remarked, standing as he stretched his tired limbs.
Rey offered a small, sheepish smile as she held out the coffee and pastry for him. "Yeah, I was still feeling a little worried, so I wanted to come in early. Please don't tell Leia—I'm not expecting to get paid for the extra time or anything."
He glanced at her offering, his expression softening as he appreciatively accepted the cup and pastry. "This is lovely, Rey. Thank you. I will say though, knowing Mrs. Solo, she would love to compensate you. I told her what happened, and she appreciated what you did for Ben."
She shrugged off her bright red coat and hung it neatly on the hook by the door. Waving her hand dismissively at him, she returned to her coffee and took a small sip before answering, a fraction of her voice growing quiet.
"It's nothing, really. I just…" Her eyes flickered toward Ben's room, the doors left partially open. A pool of sunlight peered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the floor. "I just want to make sure he's okay."
Armitage nodded in understanding, gesturing behind him. "He's awake now if you want to see him."
Normally, Rey would have avoided unnecessary interactions, reserving her visits for when she needed to administer his medication, asking him what he wanted to eat, or taking him to his physical therapy appointments.
Their conversations were already stilted, sparse, and fraught with immense friction. Ben despised small talk, letting her know early on that this was a boundary he intended to enforce, leaving little to no hope that he would change his mind.
But today, something felt different the moment she stepped inside the cottage. A thread of prolonged concern urged her forward, beckoning her toward his room.
She hesitated briefly before setting down her coffee, carefully sliding back the frosted glass doors so that she could enter. The sight of him sitting upright in bed greeted her, his head slightly tilted as his gaze remained half-focused on the television screen before him.
Ben's dark eyes shifted to meet hers when she entered, studying her with quiet intensity. For the first time since she had started this job, he didn't seem irritated to see her. Instead, his expression held something softer—curiosity, perhaps. The subtle shift surprised her, and for a fleeting moment, she almost forgot why she had walked in.
"Hi," she managed softly, stepping closer to the bed. She clasped her hands together to dispel the onslaught of nerves she felt, but despite her effort, she found it useless.
Ben's gaze never wavered as if he, too, felt surprised by her sudden and unannounced appearance—a mirror to her own inner turmoil.
"Hi," he whispered back. Though his tone had no hint of derision, only quiet inquisitiveness, it left her with a feeling of shyness.
She squeezed her palms more tightly, forcing a tentative smile despite how unnatural it felt. "I just… wanted to see how you were feeling."
His gaze flickered toward the television briefly before returning to her, his lips pressing into a tight line. "I'm okay," he replied.
Rey faltered, unsure if she should press further. Vulnerability wasn't easy, especially with him, but she knew pushing her pride aside was the right thing to do. Words jumbled in her mind, and just as she opened her mouth to comment, he cut her off.
Something about the way he looked at her, something unreadable that passed through his gaze, made her stomach twist in knots.
"Hux told me what you did for me last night," he began, his tone gruff and distant. "So… I guess I ought to be grateful you didn't let me choke to death."
She blinked, startled by the admission, but he continued. His focus briefly shifted away before returning to her with a wry expression.
"You're also probably relieved you didn't have to administer that diazepam after all," he added dryly. "Although, I'd argue it's your loss."
It was strange to hear him speak this way; he seemed not to aim for the kill but to be more playful with her. For a moment, she almost forgot who she was talking to. Their usual verbal sparring was so normal that she struggled to imagine any other way of conversing with him. It was his way of thanking her while within the bounds of his sarcasm, and the unexpected shift caught her so off guard that a small huff of laughter escaped before she could stop it.
Though she tried to stifle herself almost immediately, a small smile formed despite her effort. "I realize you might not remember everything that happened last night," she mused, "but I'm almost certain you'd remember something like that, Ben Solo."
A faint ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, so fleeting that Rey wondered if she'd imagined it entirely. His gaze drifted back to the program he was watching, causing her to believe the conversation was over, but just as she turned to exit, his baritone stopped her mid-step.
"Well, I guess since you're here early," he began with a drop of mirth. She turned to face him again, bracing herself for whatever it was he had to say. "Which, by the way, is rather impressive given your obvious enthusiasm to be here."
Rey instinctively rolled her eyes, already preparing herself for any vile comment he wanted to throw at her. Maybe it was too soon for her to assume things could be different. Yet, to her astonishment, his expression shifted slightly as he continued, appearing insouciant. "I suppose some breakfast would be acceptable… like a smoothie."
Her shoulders relaxed, another perplexed smile forming as she nodded in agreement. "Okay… banana or strawberry?"
"Surprise me." He was smirking, maybe even smiling at this, and she couldn't help but also smile secretly to herself as she turned around and headed for the kitchen.
☾
By the end of the week, Ben had largely recovered from his seizure. He spent most of his time resting, venturing to physical therapy only when he felt capable of handling it. The days had been quieter since the small olive branch he'd extended to her, and Rey couldn't help but wonder if this provisional truce would last or if things would eventually return to their typical day-to-day.
Although there was a shift in energy between them, Rey kept her distance, focusing entirely on her responsibilities as Ben's caregiver. She could admit that the newfound peace between them made her job easier, but she could still not completely trust it. After visiting the doctor, Armitage informed her that it had yielded positive results, which made her hope that it would help lift his mood or at least encourage him to be more tolerable. However, Ben seemed indifferent to this, noting that this was all routine for him.
Since the incident, Rey took it upon herself to research the seizures he normally had, feeling determined to better educate herself on how to respond to them in the future. If something like this happened again, she wanted to feel more secure in handling it, even though Armitage insisted she did fine.
After meticulously combing through resources on the internet, Rey learned all that she could of focal awareness seizures, understanding their traits and the auras that often preceded an event. While the information wasn't difficult to digest, she knew she still had much to learn, but it still gave her a modicum of hope.
She couldn't stop thinking about it as she checked the motor oil in the Aston Martin, the familiar rhythm of the task soothing her despite the sudden chill in the air. She was on break, technically speaking, but had finished her lunch early and couldn't resist the pull of the V-8 engine calling to her forlornly. Satisfied with what appeared on the oil stick, she let the methodical process ground her, keeping her sane amongst the chaos of her thoughts. The only thing she could count on was how an engine worked. Sometimes, tinkering was the best remedy for her racing thoughts.
The quiet moment was interrupted by the familiar hum of Ben's wheelchair rolling over the gravel driveway. Rey glanced up, realizing she wasn't alone anymore. Beside him, Armitage walked steadily, the two of them bundled up in pea coats that almost matched. Ben's outfit was the same, except for a pair of striking red-and-black Air Jordans, which felt rather bold in contrast to his otherwise muted attire. Something about it seemed almost fitting—like a villain with his cape—and she hid a small smile as they approached her. They stopped halfway, their equally bewildered expressions mirroring one another, humor adorning their eyes.
It took her a moment to understand what might have struck them as amusing, but a glance down at her outfit gave her an answer. She wore an oversized yellow coat, a black and white polka-dot skirt, teal leggings, and red ankle boots. The contrast of her quirky attire with the grease-smudged reality of her interest in cars painted a picture that seemed, admittedly, incongruous.
"What am I looking at, Hux?" Ben asked, bemused, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. He seemed to feel better and looked much more at ease than just a few days prior.
Armitage grinned, crossing his arms as he nodded toward her. "It appears to be Johnson… checking the oil of the car."
"A bit of an oxymoron, don't you think?" Ben added dryly, tilting his head as his gaze fixed on her with curiosity.
She shut the hood of the car with a delicate thud, wiping her hands on a small oil rag she kept tucked in her pocket. Jutting her chin in the air, she replied smugly, "Haven't you two ever heard of the saying, don't judge a book by its cover?"
A look passed between the two men, their expressions teetering between amusement and mild surprise. An intrusive warmth spread through her insides as she felt the need to bolster her walls of defense for whatever scrutiny they were bound to offer. Not that she cared what either of them thought—she knew her trepidation was more of an instinct whenever Ben was present.
"Maybe you can help me with mine then," Armitage suggested brightly, catching her by surprise. "It's time for a service."
Rey blinked. "Y-yeah. I can do that. What do you drive?"
"A Mini Cooper," he replied sheepishly. "Practical, reliable, and doesn't guzzle petrol like other vehicles I could mention." He tossed Ben a sideway, amused glance—a clear and playful jab aimed directly at him.
Ben smirked quietly, arching a brow. "Hux's taste is clearly on the more modest side of things. I doubt you would waste your talents on anything other than luxury showpieces."
Her cheeks warmed as she shook her head, pressing her lips into a firm line as she quickly came to Armitage's defense. "A car is a car, and in my book, the more practical, the better."
His expression never faltered, a challenging glint in his amber eyes. "I'm sure your opinion might change if you ever got behind the wheel and experienced the horsepower of the Silencer."
He had her there.
She couldn't deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked at his words, but her pride stepped in to keep her expression neutral. So, instead, she shrugged indifferently, choosing not to dignify his remark with an answer.
"So, what brings you two out here, anyway?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Ben tilted his head back, peering through dark lashes at the sky, his gaze narrowing against the pale autumn light that filtered through the clouds. A faint smirk crossed his features, and he practically basked in the knowledge that he had won.
"I wanted to get some fresh air," he said thoughtfully. "Now seemed like the perfect time, considering it's supposed to rain later. Thought you could join me."
Rey nodded tentatively, conceding that a walk through the garden might be pleasant—though she hadn't expected to do so with him, of all people. As Armitage excused himself to visit his next patient, Rey set off across the expansive lawn alongside her unlikely companion.
A faint breeze rustled through the air, carrying with it the crisp scent of falling leaves—golden, red and orange shades blanketing the ground beneath them. They meandered toward the cluster of oaks at the far edge of the property, their branches haphazardly towering above them.
For the first time, Rey truly took in the vast land that the Organa-Solos' called home. It was quite impressive and stretched further than she imagined, yet still nestled comfortably within the boundaries of the historic neighborhood surrounding them. She could see the faint outline of a nearby pond, a small bench sitting just beyond the shore. It seemed like the perfect spot to sit, think, and escape everything.
"What got you interested in cars?"
His voice broke through her wandering observations, and there was no hint of ire in his tone for once. He seemed genuinely interested as if he wanted to know something personal about her.
Rey paused, her gaze shifting toward him, the mark of sincerity in his words drawing her in. "My foster father was a mechanic," she said eventually, her voice growing soft. "He used to take me to his garage and let me help him work. He taught me everything I know."
"I didn't realize you were in foster care." The civility in his tone threw her off balance, and she nodded once slowly. She didn't care to elaborate, and her silence seemed to speak volumes as he peered up at her. Did he actually feel sorry for her? It was a strange idea, hard to reconcile with the abrasive man she knew.
And yet, here he was, almost behaving nicely.
Nice. The world felt odd to associate with him, and she couldn't decide if this shift was disarming or unsettling. Perhaps it was both.
They stopped just short of the bench, and Rey turned to him, shoving her hands restlessly into her jacket pockets. Her nerves prickled under the weight of their shared silence.
"You don't have to do this," she said suddenly, clearly thwarted. "It's really unnecessary."
Dark eyes met her own with an unreadable expression. "Do what?"
Of course, he would claim ignorance. Rey huffed, irritation bubbling to the surface as she shrugged dramatically.
"This… being nice to me. You don't owe me anything just because I was there for you in a crisis. I was just doing my job."
He paused, inclining his head curiously. "I'm not being nice to you because of that."
"Then why are you doing this?"
Only a week ago, the mere sight of her seemed to anger him, and now he wanted to act as if none of that ever mattered.
Ben's lips twitched into a faint smirk as he replied dryly. "I think it would perplex anyone seeing you, dressed as you are, on the cusp of fifty-degree weather, changing the oil in a luxury vehicle."
"I wasn't changing the oil," she countered after a beat. "I was just… checking it. Which, by the way, it was pristine—spotless, actually. I didn't even need to bring out my low-profile jack or torque wrenches. It's clearly well taken care of."
His eyes shifted, a shadow of amusement tracing the edges of his distinctive features.
"I know it is. But why do you own those things?" he asked with an air of suspicion. He was clearly deflecting from the initial question to distract her, and even though she did not care to admit it, Rey knew it was working.
"For emergency situations," she explained tiredly, with a shrug. "Also, it's cheaper than going to the garage."
"A fair point," he reluctantly conceded, his gaze narrowing. "Although, still not something I would peg you for being interested in."
She took advantage of the bench beside her and sat down, leveling herself with him as he adjusted his wheelchair to face the pond—a family of ducks drifted by, quacking softly as they glided over the rippling water.
Rey scoffed with a lilt but still pointed, deciding to humor him. "Alright then, what sort of hobby do you fancy? Is there something I wouldn't peg you for enjoying?"
He thought momentarily, his fingers gripping the controller as his head pressed back against the headrest. Soft tendrils of raven strands brushed against the leather, catching faintly in the wind. "Calligraphy," he said at last, his baritone even and confident.
Rey blinked, momentarily stunned by his unexpected answer. She turned to face him fully, studying his profile—the sharp lines of his jaw, the steady focus of his gaze fixed on the pond. His eyes flickered briefly in her direction, and she suppressed the urge to grin.
Sitting back to face the pond once more, she crossed her arms.
"You're right," she admitted in disbelief. "I didn't exactly expect you to be the type of man who enjoys something as… dainty as calligraphy."
"Dainty?"
"Y'know, pretty penmanship and all that."
Ben threw her a look, one that was rather incredulous, before turning his wheelchair to face her fully. Without hesitating, he launched into an impassioned explanation, and his appreciation for the craft was evident in his tone. "Calligraphy isn't just about pretty penmanship," he began earnestly. "It's all about precision, technique and control. You must have the proper grip to angle the pen so the ink can flow smoothly—all of it matters, not to mention the history. It's an art that dates back centuries, with different styles and cultures shaping it into something unique."
He fixed his gaze on her with surprising intensity. "It's more than just writing words. It gives a deeper meaning to what you're putting down on paper because you spend time with each stroke of the letter. It forces you to think and stay focused. It's meditative. Relaxing, even."
His voice softened, growing distant with longing. "It's something I wish I could still... do." He looked down at his arms, his casts barely visible underneath his large coat.
Armitage's words floated back to her mind— having someone like you to bring him patience, kindness, and empathy. As Rey turned to regard Ben, his admission settled like a sinking stone between them. It felt deeply private, as though he were peeling back a layer of his vulnerability for her to glimpse a wound he rarely if ever, exposed.
She wondered how often he allowed himself to acknowledge the pain, let alone even bring voice to it. Did he still hold on to the hope of reclaiming what he'd lost, or was this a rare, fleeting admission of something he feared could be gone forever? Though his casts would come off eventually, his ability to walk and exist as he once did was still a question yet to be answered.
Rey studied him for a moment, her thoughts swirling together. Her mouth parted slightly as if to say something, but she hesitated, swiping her tongue over her bottom lip nervously instead. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft and wary.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
Ben didn't respond immediately, his eyes drifting over the reeds in the water, ducks, the birds that flew above them—anything that wasn't hers. Yet, when his gaze finally settled on hers, she refused to look away, choosing to hold his stare with a quiet determination. There was a surge of energy between them, crackling to life with unspoken understanding. It felt deceptively soothing, and she wondered if, at any moment, he would turn on her as he normally did.
But before she could process the moment any further, they both let the heaviness dissipate, breaking their shared gaze almost simultaneously.
Ben cleared his throat, his eyes hardening as if retreating behind his familiar barricade. His fingers tightened around the controller of his wheelchair. "Yeah, well," he muttered, brushing it off with conscious indifference.
Rey's pulse quickened as an idea suddenly formed. The words felt like they were tumbling out of her before she could think it through. She spoke tentatively, unsure of how he might respond but daring herself to do it anyway. "What if you… taught me?"
His eyes snapped back to hers, his expression giving way to a flicker of surprise.
"I… I want to learn," she said.
There was an initial pause—a stretch of silence so heavy it felt as if it might crush her. A large part of her realized it was a risk to ask him of such a thing, and whatever he said next would steer the course of their ceasefire. He seemed to contemplate her words, and she silently warned herself that he may, in fact, decline.
She held her breath for the inevitable.
"Perhaps I could," he said at last, his voice measured again as he tilted his head to the side. A flash of—could it be mirth? —stoked the depths of his whiskey-drenched eyes, leaving all traces of dejection. "Although I'd hate for you to spill a brand-new bottle of ink on one of those interesting… dresses you're so fond of."
Rey huffed softly at his obvious sarcasm, grateful he seemed open to the idea. "I'll have you know I can manage a proper bottle of ink." Her lips briefly upturned into a soft smile. "Besides, I'm sure I have something old enough in my wardrobe that I wouldn't mourn the loss of."
"Now that I'd be interested to see. Is it the one with all the cats on it?"
☾
The following Wednesday, Rey found herself seated in the grand dining room of the Organa-Solo estate, a delicate teacup painted with pink roses, warming her hands on the brutally cold day. The atmosphere was serene—gentle sunlight strewed through old lace curtains, casting elaborate patterns onto the polished cherry oak dining table in burgundy and orange hues.
The teasing smells of freshly baked croissants and other aromas caused her mouth to water with anticipation. In the adjoining kitchen to the dining room, she could hear dishes clattering as Threepio diligently prepared their lunch. The menu called for homemade chicken salad sandwiches, pasta salad with fire-roasted tomatoes, and potato chips he had peeled and cut from scratch.
Leia, seated at the head of the table, sipped her tea with grace as she spoke with a note of fondness. "Threepio makes the best chips in town," she remarked. "Or what you Brits affectionately refer to as crisps."
That was honestly saying something, given the reputation of The Outpost, their local pub, which was known for its homemade chips.
"Thank you again for inviting me," Rey said warmly, a genuine smile stitched to her features. "If Threepio's food is as good as his tea, I know I'm in for a treat."
"That you will be, girl," Leia replied, with a twinkle in her eye as she sat her teacup gently onto its saucer. "He truly is a gem."
Their conversation meandered toward light topics—the weather, the changing seasons, and the rare mention of snow in Niima Outpost.
"They're predicting snow this year," Rey mentioned, stirring her tea absentmindedly.
Leia rolled her eyes, lips quirking into a knowing smirk. "I'll believe it when I see it. We haven't had snow in a decade."
Rey nodded in agreement. "That must have been before I moved here."
Leia leaned back in her chair, resting her hands elegantly on the armrests. She grew silent momentarily, her expression turning unreadable as if she fell victim to the strands of a distant memory. It occurred to Rey that Leia shared many mannerisms with her son, even if neither would admit it. However, whatever had crossed her mind faded before Rey could decipher it.
After a moment, Leia's tone shifted to that of calm curiosity. "Tell me, how is my son doing in his physical therapy appointments?" she asked thoughtfully. "Armitage has kept me in the loop, of course, but I'd like to hear what you know."
Rey recalled Ben's latest visit with Dr. Holdo, his physical therapist, and the notes she shared with her. "He's making progress, I believe," she began carefully. "Some days are harder than others, but he pushes through. I think he's been feeling a lot more motivated lately."
Leia smiled faintly, pressing her lips together as she looked away from her. "That sounds like my son. I wonder what's changed?" Her voice had an air of assumption, but Rey ignored it.
"She seems hopeful," Rey continued, stifling a cough, "and she said that if Ben keeps working as hard as he has been, he might start seeing results a lot faster than expected. Especially with his arms."
Leia's expression brightened at this, eyes beaming at the news. "I'm so glad to hear that. For a while, we weren't sure what would happen. Armitage and Mitaka are great about informing me, but you know how he is. He refuses to tell me anything." She sighed, rolling her eyes. It was not unnoticed by Rey that Ben never allowed his mother to accompany him to his doctor visits, but she mostly assumed it was because she was not home very much.
The tone of the conversation shifted once more. "Now, if only you could convince him to shave that awful beard."
Rey's lips twitched at the sudden change in her demeanor as Leia leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. "He used to be so clean-cut if you can imagine it. His hair was always long, and I never minded that—it suits him given his ears—but the beard?" She gestured with exasperation. "I didn't even realize he could grow one that long."
She couldn't help but laugh at Leia's comment, forgetting herself as Leia's laugh soon followed. As their levity settled, Leia reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, quickly tapping away before turning the screen to face her.
On the small phone screen, there was a photo of a much younger Ben, standing between Leia and a man Rey presumed to be his father based on the resemblance. The trio posed in front of a sign that read:
The University of Coruscant: Sheev Palpatine School of Law.
Rey blinked, her eyes tracing over every detail of the photo. Ben's towering presence was undeniable; he loomed over both of his parents, which was easy to do with Leia, but Han appeared just as tall as his son. His dark suit clung to him impeccably, exuding quiet confidence offset by the slight narrowing of his gaze towards the camera. His hands shoved into his pockets, he appeared disgruntled—almost irritated to be captured at the moment—but there was a faint upturn at the corner of his lips as if a trace of cooperation had slipped through his resilience.
"That was the day he received his acceptance into law school," Leia remarked with a bittersweet twinge. "Can't you tell how thrilled he looked to be there?" She smirked, tucking her phone back into her pocket with a sigh. "It was a very different time."
Rey wavered before replying, recalling the man standing beside Ben in the photo.
"Is that… his father?"
Leia's expression softened considerably, her features illuminated by the tendrils of a soft memory.
"Yes," she said quietly. "His name was Han."
A flash of noticeable pain washed over Leia's face as the subject of her late husband came to the forefront. Not wanting to linger on the subject for long, Rey nodded dismally, speaking with careful consideration. "Ben looks just like him," she observed.
A wistful smile curved into the corners of Leia's lips. "Same personality too, although he'd never admit it," she chuckled lightly. "He's too stubborn—just like his mother."
Not long after, Threepio entered the room, balancing two plates with practiced poise and wearing his usual wide, friendly smile. He approached the table with finesse, setting the plates down before them as if they were works of art getting ready to be displayed at a museum.
"I very much hope the two of you are hungry!" he exclaimed eagerly, pride in his tone. "I must admit, I got a little carried away with the sandwiches." He placed the utensils neatly on either side of their plates, adjusting them to his liking. "I am very interested to know what you think, Miss Rey!"
Rey couldn't help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. The mouthwatering aroma from his dedicated craft only fueled her anticipation of savoring it. "Thank you, Threepio. The food looks amazing."
He beamed at this, taking an additional moment to highlight the unique flavors they might discover in the pasta salad. The ardor of his cadence delighted Rey even further as she tucked into the meal. Once he was confident his presentation was complete, he bowed slightly and left them to enjoy.
Rey couldn't deny her immediate satisfaction as she finished her plate. Tempted to lean back in her chair to relish the moment, she caught herself just in time, remembering her refined lunch companion. She straightened her posture, smiling politely as Leia dabbed her napkin across her lips with an air of equal satisfaction.
"I told you, didn't I?" Leia remarked wryly, a trace of smugness playing in her tone.
"You most certainly did," Rey agreed. "I am completely stuffed."
Leia's poised demeanor remained intact, but she shifted slightly, leaning back in her chair and propping her hand beneath her chin. With a lazy gesture, she encouraged Rey to follow suit, clearly uninterested in the propriety of her manners.
"I wanted to ask you something, Rey," Leia began thoughtfully as they settled more comfortably. "There's a very important event coming up—a charity ball. It's something we do every year in Niima Outpost for the holidays. I was hoping you could help me get Ben to attend. He hasn't been in quite some time, and it would mean a lot to me for him to go. Naturally, there will be an invitation for you as well."
Rey's pulse quickened. Leia didn't appear to be the type to ask for favors lightly, and this request appeared to come from a place of genuine need, perhaps even desperation. The task seemed far too out of reach for her to achieve, feeling as though Mount Everest would be an easier conquest than convincing Ben to go to a ball.
She swallowed hard, her relaxation crumbling under the thought of persuading Leia's son to face multiple strangers and ridicule. "I… I don't know if he would be willing," she squeaked.
Leia pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully before lifting with the faintest glimmer of hope. "If anyone could convince him to do it, it would be you."
"Me?" Rey's voice cracked, the shrillness of her surprise causing her to wince. She instinctively clenched the fabric of her Jackson-Pollock-inspired pants, her nerves betraying her apparent disbelief. "I seriously doubt that."
Leia remained silent for a moment, her gaze resolutely lingering on her, as though she held a quiet confidence in her that Rey couldn't see for herself.
"I think you'd be surprised," she murmured. It wasn't a command nor a plea—it was simply a statement delivered with a conviction that left Rey daunted. Maybe even compelled.
Rey withered under Leia's unwavering gaze as she felt a moment of hesitancy. Though things had been mild over the last several days, how could she tell this woman, who had shown her nothing but kindness, that her son only seemed to tolerate her presence every other day of the week? She didn't know how long this spell of altruism would last between them, and the last thing she wanted was to disappoint her.
Yet, there was something in Leia's expression—calm, steady, and seemingly so assured—that stirred a fraction of mild determination within Rey.
And if for no other reason, she could at least try, especially now that it seemed she had gained some trust with Ben.
She exhaled slowly, trying her best to smile as she nodded.
"I'll do what I can."
Notes:
Sigh, do we think she'll be able to convince him? 👀
Reposting the glossary again for context as well as a list of places!
Glossary
Solicitor - The chief prosecuting attorney within a judicial circuit.
Judicial Circuit - A specific tribunal that possesses the legal authority to hear cases within its own geographical territory.
Attorney General - Chief Prosecutor, Chief Legal and Chief Securities Officer of the entire State.Places
Coruscant - State
Jakku - County
Niima Outpost - Town
University of Coruscant: Sheev Palpatine School of Law - The law school
Chapter 5
Summary:
Ben turned his wheelchair to face her, his voice quiet and measured—a level of tenderness she was not used to.
"Rey," he murmured.
He never called her by her first name. He rarely said her name at all. It was usually Johnson. Never Rey. Only when he was about to fall victim to his seizure. Never like this. So intimate, careful. His eyes were luminous, and she counted every speck of gold, noting how they appeared to soften for her own.
The fluttering in her stomach intensified.
Notes:
Once again, thank you all so very much for your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions on this little story of mine! This chapter was so much fun to write and I have a few extra details in my ending author's note if you are interested in learning some more about the lore/behind the scenes.
There is also a very special treat that I wanted to share with you guys at the end! 🪒
I appreciate you all so much and I hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Feet propped up against the wall of her bedroom, Rey stared at the ceiling. The fan above her turned slowly, its blades casting shadows that moved lazily across her freckled skin. It had been a week since her lunch with Leia, but she couldn't shake off the concern she felt from their conversation.
How could she possibly convince Ben to attend a charity ball… with her?
"He won't agree to it," she muttered, exasperation threading through her tone as she glanced sideways at Rose. They lay side by side on the bed, mirroring each other with their toes pointed at the ceiling and hands folded neatly over their stomachs. "I don’t know why she thinks I could convince him to go."
"It sounds to me like you're turning over a new leaf with him?" Rose offered, though her small, hesitant wince didn’t go unnoticed by Rey. "I mean… he hasn’t been mean to you lately."
"He still avoids me," Rey countered flatly.
"Well, that’s not exactly out of character. It sounds like he avoids everyone."
Rey rolled her eyes as she sighed heavily. "He still refuses to speak to me when we are alone. He even demanded I help him put in his earbuds when I took him to physical therapy so he could listen to his audiobook."
"Still not out of character," Rose pointed out. "But he also went on a walk with you."
"That was one time, over a week ago, and never again," Rey replied while her thumbs twiddled in her lap. Biting her bottom lip, she winced at her memories. There were caveats she had disregarded; that much she could admit. A small smile here, a thank-you there. Not enough to convince her things had really changed.
"It hasn’t been as… tense, I suppose," she admitted softly. "There seems to be a bit more trust between us. But that doesn’t mean all is right in the world and that things aren't... awkward."
She shrugged, desperate to ignore the weight that pressed down into her chest while she shook her head. Pinned to the front of her overalls were two golden birds, their wings shaped to appear as if they were in mid-flight. Her forefinger and thumb idly grasped at the plastic as she turned them over—the act providing a much needed comfort as she mulled over her quandary. "I don’t even know how to bring it up to him without looking like an idiot."
The emotional whiplash following their tentative truce left Rey feeling even more confused than before. Over the past several days, there were moments when she wondered if she could approach Ben with a bit more kindness, as though the fragile bridge they cultivated could hold more securely. Other times, it felt forced—unnatural—leaving her to wonder if he preferred the cold, distant dynamic they had before his seizure.
No matter how much she tried to move forward, neither of them could fully escape the shadow of what had happened. To be able to do so would take much more than just a friendly conversation by the side of the pond.
"Just be yourself," Rose encouraged, giving Rey’s shoulder a gentle nudge. "It seems to have worked a little already."
Rey turned her head, frowning as she met Rose’s gaze. "He was only being nice because he felt like he owed me for saving him."
"And that’s a perfectly good reason for him to keep being nice," Rose replied with a matter-of-fact smile. "Once he really gets to know you, I don’t see how he couldn’t."
Rey considered Rose's words, turning them over in her mind. There might have been something to her idea—catching more flies with honey and all that—but she was skeptical of it actually working on him. Their conversations were already sparse, and she knew it would take much more to convince him.
As well as herself.
"Just give it time. When is the ball, anyway?" Rose asked curiously.
"In a month," she replied with another sigh. "So I guess I still have some time to ask him… but what if things just stay the way they’ve always been? What do I do then?"
Rose fixed her with a pointed expression, her voice firm but kind. It was her mothering voice—the one that made Rey face her insecurities with less hand holding. "All you can do is try, Rey. The worst he can say is no. If he doesn’t want to go, that’s his decision. If you're worried about disappointing Leia, I'm sure it will be the opposite."
Rey exhaled deeply. She knew Rose was right. As long as she gave it her best shot, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Ben declined. He was a grown man, fully capable of making his own decisions. Did it honestly matter if he said no? She was sure she would not lose her job because hiring someone to deal with Ben in the first place took great effort, and their awkward relationship would carry out as usual. What made her care so much about the outcome?
"Fine," she relented stubbornly. "I'll give it some time and see what I can do to bring it up."
"Atta girl," Rose beamed with a smirk. "Why not focus on killing him with kindness in the meantime? If anything, he is bound to see the error of his ways eventually." She waggled her brows in an attempt to make her laugh, but Rey groaned.
"If you say so," she muttered.
☾
That Friday, the sun lingered just above the horizon. Colors of deep fuchsia and orange haze swirled in the sky with painted hints of violet. It was beautiful and a mark of winter's promise as fall clung desperately to the frigid air. Rey was waiting by the window, as she always did at the end of her shift, anticipating Armitage’s arrival to relieve her. She observed the sinking sunlight fade into the distance, casting an eerie, dark red glow against the magnolias that surrounded the property.
Rey glanced at her watch, noting that Armitage was now twenty minutes late. Though she didn’t have any pressing plans for the evening, it would still be nice to get home and watch Love is Blind with Rose while they made dinner together. Their evening walks were becoming a thing of the past, since the sun was fading much earlier.
She crossed the room and headed back to the kitchen, fishing her phone out of her purse. Just as her finger hovered over the screen to unlock it, her phone buzzed, and Armitage’s name appeared on the caller ID.
"Hello?" she answered tentatively.
“Rey,” Armitage said, sounding very hurried and breathless. "I’m so sorry I didn't call sooner, but I’m gonna be late tonight. One of my patients had to be rushed to hospital, and I’m down at the ER. Any chance you could stay a bit while longer?"
It almost crossed her mind to protest, the sinking feeling of dread clawing at her as she peered over her shoulder at Ben’s room. She cursed herself under her breath, shaking her head as she let defeat suffocate her. Would he be angry at her staying for longer? With Mitaka out of town and Leia and Threepio as well, there really was no one else.
She had two options: complain and stomp her feet or accept her fate.
It was hard to wrap her mind around the latter.
"Y-yeah, sure. No worries. I’ve got it," she stuttered finally.
Armitage let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you so much. I definitely owe you one. Don’t worry about anything except keeping him comfortable. I shouldn’t be too long, and he should be fine in his wheelchair for a bit longer."
"Right," she replied, forcing herself to sound more confident despite her bitterness. "I’m sorry to hear about your patient. I hope everything turns out okay."
"Cheers. I’ll see you soon."
Once she ended the call, she turned and stared at Ben’s room. The frosted doors gleamed faintly under the dim light of the dying sun. She clenched her fists for a moment and took a few deep breaths, feeling desperate to ease her fluttering, aching heartbeat. After she summoned all of her courage, she crossed the room without a second thought and rapped gently on the door.
"What is it?" came Ben’s voice, slightly muffled with an edge of disinterest.
She hesitated before sliding the doors open. He was sitting in his wheelchair, his eyes fixed on his phone, watching something that seemed to hold his attention far more than she ever could. She stepped inside with caution.
"I… have some bad news," she said softly, gripping the edge of the door for support.
He raised a dark brow, his curiosity piqued as he paused what he was listening to and lifted his head to look at her.
"You’re stuck with me for a few more hours."
Ben stared at her for a long moment before giving a slight nod. "I see."
"Right, is there anything I can get you?" she asked, clasping her hands. "I can start dinner if you’d like."
He seemed to consider her words, tilting his head thoughtfully before turning his attention towards the living room. "I’m not hungry right now," he said after a pause. "But perhaps you could put something on for me. Good DVD weather, I think." He nodded towards the window. Leaves were falling more rapidly after being snatched from their branches, chasing the wind.
"Sure," she replied. "What is it you want to watch?"
His eyes flickered to hers, his expression unreadable. "My DVD copy of Arsenic and Old Lace."
Caught off guard, she blinked. "Alright."
Rey moved toward the entertainment center, her footsteps soft against the floor with the faint hum of Ben’s wheelchair following close behind. Opening the cabinet, she retrieved the DVD and walked to the television.
"Have you seen this before, Johnson?" Ben asked curiously as he observed her from behind.
She frowned, shaking her head. "No, never. What is it about?"
"A drama critic and author who’s vehemently against marriage—though just married himself on Halloween—discovers his entire family is utterly insane," he explained dryly.
Rey pursed her lips together as she fumbled with the DVD, delicately placing the disc into the reader. "Doesn’t ring any bells." And she couldn't say she felt any surprise that this would be something he would want to watch.
She turned to grab the remote, fiddling with the controls until the title popped up onto the screen.
"Do you not enjoy old films?" he asked curiously, almost as if he was not expecting her answer.
She sucked in a sharp breath, exhaling as she straightened. "Oh… I don’t really enjoy those kinds of films."
He blinked.
"Those… kinds… of films?" He repeated slowly in disbelief.
"Old, black-and-white films," she clarified as she turned to face him. "I just find them to be a bit boring."
Ben scoffed, his brow arching incredulously. "And here I thought with your wacky, hipster aesthetic, you’d find them to be utterly riveting."
A faint smile crept onto her face just as embarrassment flushed her cheeks. She shook her head. "If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen."
But just as she moved to take a step, Ben’s voice cut through the air. He was firm and commanding, leaving no room for her to disobey him.
It startled her.
"Sit down and watch this with me. That’s an order."
She froze, a mix of surprise and mild irritation clouding her expression as she narrowed her eyes directly into his own. "An order?" she echoed.
A challenge. This felt familiar to her—safe, almost. It reminded her of when he asked her to make him a smoothie. And when he wanted to know more of her interest in cars. The spark she thought had faded reignited, causing her heart to race.
"Yes," he replied, placidly taciturn. There was a small smirk pressed against the edges of his lips. "Consider it part of your job description."
☾
It came as a surprise to her—likely as much of a surprise to Ben—that she genuinely enjoyed the film. She recalled times with her foster family when the Turner Classic Movie channel would play in the background, an old western filling the house with muted dialogue as she worked on homework or helped her mother with chores. Normally, the cadence of those old actors’ voices would lull her to sleep, but this time, she found herself utterly captivated.
Cary Grant’s performance as Mortimer Brewster had her giggling more than once, earning an amused side-eye and a faint smirk from Ben, who observed her from his wheelchair beside the couch. The dialogue between the characters was so incredibly sharp and engaging that Rey couldn’t resist shrieking at one particular moment when a lonely old man arrived to inquire about a room Mortimer's aunts had listed in their boarding house. When they offered the man some wine, Rey couldn’t stop herself from calling out to warn him, even though the act was ridiculous.
She looked over at Ben, laughing, and there was a twinge of his own amusement hidden beneath his impassive expression.
When the movie ended, Rey sat back, one hand covering her mouth as she reeled from the final twist.
"So, after all this time, Mortimer wasn’t even related to them?" She turned to face Ben, adjusting her legs beneath her on the couch as she grinned in disbelief. "For the record, I didn’t think Jonathan looked anything like him. Cary Grant was far better looking."
Ben smirked as he shrugged. "The film was originally a Broadway play," he explained. "Joseph Kesselring, the playwright, based it on a real-life event. A woman who owned a nursing home in the early 1900s who had 64 of her residents die in a mysterious manner. They all suffered from gastrointestinal issues." He cocked his head to the side, emphasizing his mock confusion with one eyebrow raised.
Rey snickered, her sarcasm matching his own. "Mysterious? Hardly. There’s nothing mysterious about it—she clearly used arsenic."
"Correct," he replied with a smirk, his amber eyes glowing. He turned quiet for a moment while he studied her, earnest in his next inquiry. "But did you like it?"
She paused, taken aback by the genuine interest in his question. The faint glow of the dimly lit lamps from behind him cast a soft halo around his raven hair, making him appear… different, and less guarded than he usually was. There was something about the way he asked that made it sound like he truly wanted to know her response.
As if he actually cared.
His gaze lingered on her and she realized this was another opportunity to repair the fragile connection blossoming between them—an absolute waste if she did not meet him half-way.
Flies and honey. Flies and honey, she repeated the phrase in her mind.
"Yes," she said finally, a small, genuine smile spreading across her lips. "I loved it."
A comfortable silence settled between them, one that, surprisingly, didn’t feel awkward—at least, not until Ben broke their eye contact. It was only then that Rey realized she had been staring at him, and an unfamiliar warmth spread across her cheeks. She told herself it was because of the heat in the room and absolutely nothing else.
"I’m glad," he murmured, his tone quieter than usual. "Next time, we’ll watch Fight Club. For variety, of course."
Next time? Her mind snagged on the words, turning them over. Was he actually planning on spending more time with her? Or had she completely misheard him? Her mind briefly flashed to his promise of teaching her calligraphy, and she wondered if he had forgotten about it. She would ask him about that later, perhaps after their Fight Club viewing.
What was getting into her?
She smiled dreamily until she noticed the frown tugging at his lips. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her, puzzled. "What is it?" he asked.
Rey jolted upright immediately, the question snapping her out of her inner world. Coughing to hide her embarrassment, she busied herself by smoothing the cushions on the couch.
"N-nothing!" she stammered, her voice a pitch too high. "Sure, whatever you like. I think… I think I’m going to start dinner now."
Avoiding the mix of confusion and curiosity in his expression, she all but fled to the kitchen, her hands working furiously to prep their meal as she flung open the fridge door to grab what she needed. She tried to ignore the heat prickling down her spine, but the faint sound of his brief chuckle followed her as he wheeled himself back toward his room, sending her pulse into overdrive.
☾
After she calmed down, Rey glanced at her phone again, hoping for any updates from Armitage about when he might arrive. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Ben, knowing he’d been stuck in his wheelchair since lunch when Armitage could relieve her for her break. She knew it wasn’t comfortable for him to sit for that long, but he said nothing, regardless.
While the pasta simmered on the stove, she busied herself with tidying up the cottage. She tossed a fresh load of laundry into the machine, dusted the fireplace, and meticulously wiped down the counters in between stirring the gravy. When everything was at a point where she could step away from the stove, she grabbed the broom and began sweeping the floors.
Rey actually found a strange solace in doing the chores. They gave her something to focus on, something to keep her hands and mind occupied—especially so she wouldn’t dwell too much on her earlier exchange with Ben. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts kept creeping back to him, but she forced herself to redirect them to something else she could easily digest.
She thought about her car, a top priority she couldn’t wait to dive into. After months of saving, she finally scraped together enough money to replace the water pump—which was a crucial repair she’d been putting off for too long. There were other smaller fixes she’d been meaning to tackle as well, like changing the spark plugs and giving her oil a change. But between catching up on overdue bills and chipping away at her growing credit card debt, her funds stretched thin.
At least the water pump was within reach now. She figured the rest would come later.
Something else that brought her joy was the ability to listen to music while she cleaned. The song she was listening to had an infectious melody, and she became lost in the rhythm as she twirled the broom around without a care in the world, simultaneously using it as a microphone to belt out the chorus. It was a one-hit wonder, and an absolute gem of a song that she had heard while shopping at a thrift store one evening. Her friends didn't quite understand it, but she didn't care.
It was exactly what she needed to help her ease into a much better head-space—one that was absent of a very confusing man and his ever-changing temperaments.
Her earbuds were cranked up to full volume as she became utterly immersed and oblivious to everything but her own little performance. She sashayed across the kitchen, letting loose as she leapt and sang into her broom mic, twirling it dramatically with each beat of the chorus. For a moment, all the stress of her day faded away, leaving her in her own carefree bubble.
Or at least it did when she thought she was alone.
Too busy jumping, twirling and sliding onto the wooden floors in her red socks that definitely didn't match her rainbow sweater and gray lounge pants—she hopped onto the ottoman in the living room, eyes closed as she shook her hips to the beat.
Her first clue should have been the subtle shift in the shadows dancing across the hall, but it wasn’t until she jumped back down and turned mid-spin that she realized Ben was there, watching her. His bemused, almost perplexed expression said everything: he had witnessed her mortifying performance.
Fuck.
She shrieked and nearly dropped the broom as she fumbled to yank out one of her earbuds. Her breath came in uneven gasps, half from dancing and half from the shock of being caught. "What?!" she cried, desperate to recover even a shred of dignity.
It was too late. Ben’s smirk deepened, darkened delight flickering in his eyes. "I said, what in God’s name are you listening to?" He gestured lazily towards her earbuds. "But don’t stop on my account. It looks like you were just getting to the good part, even though I doubt my mother would enjoy witnessing you jump on the furniture. Could turn into a worker's comp issue, you know."
Rey groaned, fuming as she rolled her eyes and hastily removed her second earbud, stuffing both back into their case. "You're not wrong about the worker's comp... but it's the best 80s song ever, and I can't help myself." She replied smugly, crossing her arms as she turned to face him. She couldn't allow him to see any hint of her embarrassment, even if it was hard not to acknowledge how stupid she just looked. She wouldn't let him win.
"It's something you definitely do not understand."
"You’re right," he drawled, the corners of his lips twitching with that same, haughty smirk he was so good at giving. "There’s not much 80’s music I find tolerable, except for anything by Metallica. Master of Puppets is a classic."
Her face twisted into exaggerated mockery, arms tightening defensively. "As if! This song is infinitely better—truly a lost treasure. It's a one-hit-wonder." She could already tell Ben was a bit of a music snob, and whatever he was about to say would only further her exasperation.
"Oh?" He tilted his head slightly, a glimmer of interest sneaking into his tone. "What’s it called?"
Rey hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. She also knew he would have something infuriating to say the moment she told him. With a resigned sigh, she muttered, "We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off… by Jermaine Stewart."
The flicker of amusement in Ben’s eyes was almost unbearable. She braced herself as he let out a sigh, somehow making it sound even more disdainful. "That sounds horrible," he said flatly. "And not even remotely surprising."
"You’ve got no taste," she shot back, her indignation flaring as she turned away from him. "It’s catchy, lighthearted, and actually fun."
"Fun?" he echoed sarcastically. "Sure. Because fun is the ultimate measure of quality for music."
She spun back around, grabbing the broom that leaned against the counter. "Oh, and I suppose Metallica and Slipknot are both your ideas of quality?"
"Yes," he replied, his confidence both frustrating and endearing. She hated admitting the latter.
"Well," she retorted, brandishing the broom once more like a makeshift microphone, fully embracing her own cringe, "I’d rather sing my heart out to terrible 80s pop music than spend one second trying to dance to whatever it is you claim is music."
The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, and for a moment, she thought she saw something softer behind his usual stoic exterior. Then, with a casual shrug, he leaned back in his wheelchair, unimpressed. "You need a teacher," he said, the teasing edge in his tone no longer undeniable, "someone that could show you much better taste in music."
"No thanks," she replied tersely, but the smile on her face betrayed her words.
He quietly smirked in return, causing her to wonder if perhaps she had just broken the fourth wall between them.
Ben turned his attention to the kitchen then and gestured behind her. "What’s for dinner?" he asked casually.
"Uh… well, I thought I would make us pasta with green gravy."
A look of pure disgust brushed across his face, completely wiping away every drop of mirth she had earned.
"Gravy?" he asked incredulously. "What in the hell kind of pasta has gravy on it?"
She glowered at him, annoyed that he didn’t understand what she meant. "I don’t know… I think it’s called pesto, or something like that. Threepio dropped it by earlier in the week."
Ben suddenly grinned, the light in his eyes unmistakable now. The sharp angles of his face softened, and for the first time, Rey noticed the way his slightly crooked teeth flashed when he smiled—how the deep crescent-shaped dimples carved into his cheeks made him appear much younger, almost boyish, despite the scruff of his unkempt beard and hair.
"That's not gravy," he chuckled, trying to control himself. "That's a type of sauce."
Rey immediately felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks, embarrassment prickling at her skin once more as she waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "I didn't know that! I've never heard of it before!"
His laughter rumbled low in his chest then, rich and unbridled. "You worked at an old-lady cafe. Don't tell me you didn't serve pesto in that place." He raised a suspicious eyebrow at her with careful attention.
Thinking back to her experience at the cafe, she had never come across something like pesto on its menu. Though it was quaint and affectionately known in the community for their sandwiches and pastries, it was entirely possible Maz never served something quite so... fancy, given her stance on palatable cuisine for the locals, which meant nothing like that.
"It's not that type of cafe!" she raised her voice in protest. "We served other things like soups and salads and sandwiches..."
"All things that can contain pesto." A wry sense of shrewdness clung to his features, infuriating her even more so—although she hoped it went unnoticed. She knew arguing with him was pointless. Even with her experience working in the food industry, there was always a possibility that he knew more than she did.
She pursed her lips in annoyance and changed the subject to save herself from further ridicule.
"Well, you know what? You need a shave, because if that beard gets any longer, I know I'll have to pick out that pesto once you finish eating." She grinned sheepishly, knowing perfectly well he would never agree. "Then I'll have to sue you for undue distress in the workplace."
Much to her bewilderment, his gaze held firm while he donned his usual smirk, clearly unfazed by her threat. "Fine," he challenged. "I'll let you."
☾
What started out as a joke turned into a much more serious affair. Rey couldn't exactly recall a time when she had to shave a man's beard. She was more certain, in fact, that it was something she had never done. A part of her was still in disbelief that this was actually happening, wondering what sparked this challenge in him.
Could this be the new leaf that Rose was referring to?
Ben followed her to the washroom and maneuvered his wheelchair to the adapted sink. He faced the door, staring off into space while she turned on the faucet and took out a razor and some shaving cream. Her hands shook with nerves. She didn't know how to calm herself without clutching her clothes for comfort. With quiet acknowledgment, she reminded herself there were other ways to self-soothe without falling back to her usual coping mechanism—like breathing, for example.
Once the water was at room temperature, Ben leaned back in his wheelchair by adjusting a control. She had never thought about how high-tech it was. For a moment, she wondered how long it took him to adapt to this change when he became paralyzed. The thought distracted her briefly, but she immediately went back to focusing on her breathing again once he settled himself to a comfortable height.
She scooped up the shaving cream, making a big white pile in her palm. She smoothed it on his cheeks as he closed his eyes. His hair, still rather long and unkempt, fell across the back of his headrest, cascading into a pool of waves. It was hard for her not to notice how silky it was or what it might feel like between her fingertips.
Focus, she scolded inwardly. The last thing she needed was another reason for him to tease her, or to face something she was not ready for.
When she felt satisfied with how much shaving cream she had lathered, she set the razor on his cheek, being mindful of her movements. She then drew it down to make her first mark. Watching his eyes flutter under his lids, his Adam's apple bobbed once his breathing steadied. It was as if he were trying to calm his own nervous energy.
"What does it feel like?" she whispered.
Ben pursed his lips together, shrugging his shoulders. "Like you're taking away something I have put a lot of effort into growing."
She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Not that." Peering down at his legs, she winced. "I meant... not being able to feel... anything."
He opened one eye to survey her, and she noticed how the overhead light made his whiskey-colored iris glow with warmth.
"Ah," he murmured. "And here I thought you were also mourning the loss of my impeccable facial hair."
Rey remained firm and shook her head. She removed the extra shaving cream by rinsing the razor in the sink of water behind him. Narrowing her eyes, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand and not on his sarcasm. It would be very much like him to turn this into a joke when she needed a serious answer.
Why she felt as though she needed it, she didn't exactly know.
"It feels like when your arm or leg falls asleep," he said, lowering his voice."It's this annoying pin-and-needle feeling that won't fade. They call it phantom sensation."
Rey could only imagine what that must feel like, but she didn't want to press any further, even if he didn't appear bothered by the question.
The razor hissed against his skin, filling the air. It created a momentary distraction that masked the sound of her pounding heart. She pursed her lips together, nodding with sympathy. "That sounds dreadful."
He smirked, and she gently scolded him.
"Did you shave off my eyebrow?"
"Only the one," she countered. "Now stay still, or I'll have to give you my withering stare."
"Oh?" Curiosity colored his tone, a hint of eagerness she did not expect. He opened both his eyes then. "I definitely need to see this."
She ignored his teasing, shaking her head as she suppressed a grin. "No! It will hurt you."
"I'm sure I could handle it."
Rey shushed him profusely and continued her work, using precise movements to maneuver the razor across his skin. He chuckled softly as she tilted his head by placing her index finger against his chin, peering down at him from all angles while she inspected her handiwork. After a few quiet minutes, she finally finished. Taking a washcloth, she gently wiped away the remnants of the shaving cream. It was then that she felt a small twinge upon seeing his face revealed.
The way he looked reminded her of the picture that Leia showed her when he got accepted into law school. His features were striking, and it sparked a feeling in her she had never felt before—like butterflies infiltrating her stomach, battering the sides of her ribcage, desperate to be let out.
A feeling she felt fearful to confront.
Sitting there, under the light, her view of him became clearer. There was no questioning how attractive he was to her. Dark eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His lips were full, jaw strong and angular, highlighted by the lamp from above. Despite his scar carving from his eyebrow to his neck and beyond, she noticed something else. It was as if the mask was finally being peeled away, revealing something more than just his appearance.
It was as if she could see beyond what he hid behind. A fraction of his walls tumbling down.
Her brows knitted together in mild confusion while her lips parted into a smile. Ben's eyes fluttered open, his expression mirroring her own.
"You definitely gave me a soul patch, didn't you?" he asked softly.
That same rush of warmth she felt earlier came flooding back while she shook her head fervently. "N-no!"
"Then why are you looking at me like that?" His tone was suspicious, dark, whiskey eyes narrowing as if he were trying to catch her in a lie.
Rey took a deliberate step back, tilting her head toward the mirror. "You just look... different."
"Different?" he echoed. He turned his wheelchair, adjusting his seat to sit up with another flick of his controller. The moment his gaze landed on his reflection, it was as if something clicked.
Rey tried to ignore the continuous heat that prickled up her neck. She was desperate for something—anything to avoid the intensity of his stare in the mirror—so she busied herself with wiping down the counter and draining the sink.
"Yes, you're right. I look different," he murmured as he watched her pretending to be engrossed in her task. Ben was perceptive. That was a given. Whatever she was feeling didn't seem to slip past him in the way she had hoped. The silence buzzed between them with increasing tension. Still, she focused on ignoring him to find her composure.
There was a subtle shift between them, but she wondered if it was only her imagination. The way he looked at her now—was it different? Or was her mind playing tricks on her, twisting his smirk into something more than it actually was?
Her conversation with Rose echoed in the back of her mind again.
Could it be that he was seeing her in a new light?
Why did she suddenly care so much?
Whatever filled the air seemed to magnify, escalating with each breath. Her hands shook as she wiped up the last remnants of water from the counter, eyes lowered to keep herself anchored to reality.
Ben turned his wheelchair to face her, his voice quiet and measured—a level of tenderness she was not used to.
"Rey," he murmured.
He never called her by her first name. He rarely said her name at all. It was usually Johnson. Never Rey. Only when he was about to fall victim to his seizure. Never like this. So intimate, careful. His eyes were luminous, and she counted every speck of gold, noting how they appeared to soften for her own.
The fluttering in her stomach intensified.
"P-pardon?" Did she hear him correctly?
He paused, his gaze fixed on her intently, but before he could speak further, the front door opened and closed. Rattling keys plopped on top of the counter in the kitchen, along with the sound of grocery bags rustling.
"Rey? Sorry it took me so long," Armitage's voice rang out in the cottage, breaking the spell of their shared moment.
Hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, and before they both knew it, the washroom door swung open. He stopped abruptly, coat halfway off his shoulders and his cheeks nearly as red as his hair. He blinked slowly, his gaze flickering between Rey and Ben, his brow furrowing together in confusion as if he were trying to process what he was seeing.
Then, as realization dawned, he grinned.
"About time someone convinced you to shave, mate."
Ben glowered at him, but it did nothing to dull the sheer delight in Armitage's expression. She felt herself exhale—the breath she didn’t realize she was holding dispelled into nervous laughter once the moment shifted into something lighter. Heat prickled the back of her spine as she shyly glanced back down at him.
"How'd you talk him into it? Mrs. Solo is gonna love this." Armitage did not seem to notice their shared tension. Or, at least, he didn't appear to.
"Don't remind me," Ben groused as his scowl fixed on him. Rey let out a nervous chuckle, shrugging her shoulders as she glanced at Ben.
"I told him I would sue him for undue distress in the workplace if I had to pick food out of his beard." Even though she said this casually, she felt that growing shift again. Whatever had transpired between them, it was becoming harder for her to keep her composure now. She could feel Ben's dark eyes on her, causing her to wonder if he could see right through her.
"I also threatened him with my withering stare," she blurted quickly, eyes darting down to her toes.
Armitage made a face at her, looking to Ben for clarification. He remained silent for a moment, watching her carefully before he shrugged. "But she never did." There was a slight bite to his tone, hidden by what almost sounded like disappointment.
"It's dangerous. I could hurt you!" she shrieked and rushed to grab the razor and shaving cream, putting them back in the medicine cabinet. Straightening her sweater, she marched past the two men and headed for the kitchen.
"Anyway, it's time for dinner. I'll set the table."
She had no interest in lingering, deciding it would be best for her to exit the conversation before she became left alone with Ben again. She needed more time to process what was going on, to understand the complexity of her emotions. Yesterday, she didn't believe in the possibility of anything changing between them.
Now, she wasn't so sure anymore.
☾
An hour later, Rey cleaned up the kitchen while Armitage helped Ben back into his bed. She drifted into her thoughts, trying to distract herself. She wanted to forget the way Ben looked at her when he said her name.
But it was of no use. She still could picture his expression and the intensity of his stare when directed at her. The feeling was so strong it caused her to pause her movements as she relived their conversation. The look in his eyes. The cadence with which he delivered her name. How it rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, like he's said it a million times over...
She was startled when she noticed she wasn't alone a moment later. Armitage took a seat on the bar stool across from her at the counter, drawing her attention. She smiled at him shyly, but kept her focus on her task.
"I haven't seen him smile like that in a while," he remarked.
She raised a brow. "When did you see him smile, exactly?" she asked.
Armitage chuckled. "At dinner, plenty of times, but they were small. Minuscule, even. Most people probably wouldn't notice, but it makes me wonder if he might like you."
Her heart raced in her chest as she shook her head dismissively. "I doubt it."
She could feel his eyes on her, a knowing look lighting his face. Whatever he was thinking or even implying, she had no interest in talking about it.
"His mood has improved significantly over the last few days. Something evidently changed his mind." He laced his fingers together and her gaze met his, loaded with doubt over whether she could believe him. Had he been speaking with Leia? She said nearly the same thing.
"Changed his mind about what, though? I didn't really do anything."
"But you did," he said with sincerity. "You were there for him, when few have been."
"I had to be," she murmured. "If I hadn’t gone to check on him..."
"I know," Armitage spoke softly, eyes suddenly pleading with her own, edging back into more serious territory. "You don't have to say anything more about it."
He sighed while running a hand through his hair, and a piece of it fell into his eye, giving him a more boyish appearance. The corners of his lips turned upward as he shrugged. "Look, I've known him a long time and I can just tell. I know it's difficult to believe, but trust me."
Rey did want to believe him, but her mind raced with questions, blending and merging all at once. She almost let them spill as she observed him carefully. She wondered if it would be safe to confide in Armitage, to ask about the badge. About the Skywalkers. About Ben. Where did she even want to start? Could she really trust him to not betray her?
"Just give him time, Rey." He spoke with reassurance, as if whatever was plastered on her face spoke volumes.
It took everything within her to stop herself from asking, but she nodded reluctantly, making it known she did not want to continue the conversation. She had to be careful about this, even if things were feeling different. Feeling and knowing were two different things. Her intuition spiked, breaking through her awareness like a bolt of lightning.
Leaving the cottage not long after, she thought about how she might ask Ben to the charity ball. If Armitage was right in his assessment of their current state, could this mean she might have a chance of getting him to agree to going with her?
And if he said no, what then?
Give him time.
Her footsteps echoed against the pavement as she meandered down the sidewalk, idly kicking a few loose stones and crushed acorns. The past several days had been a whirlwind of contradictions, and the whiplash from it all was taking its toll. She was exhausted, grateful that Saturday offered the promise to sleep in.
But she needed a plan. If she was going to convince Ben to attend, she had to approach the subject without making it awkward. Then again, playing it cool was not a strong suit of hers.
And she didn't want it to sound like it was a date...
It wasn't a date, right?
A sharp gust of wind unraveled a few loose strands from her braids, brushing them across her face and breaking her concentration. She tried to tuck them back behind her ears while her gaze flickered to the street-lamps that cast hazy pools of warm light on the street.
Her thoughts wound tightly around the spool of her consciousness once more, unraveling in restless loops that kept her distracted—blissfully unaware of the paranoia that came with being alone at night.
The darkness settled around her like a shroud—thick, endless and almost suffocating, punctuated only by flickers of golden light that stretched long shadows across the pavement. As she neared the end of the street, the sidewalk dissolved, giving way to a grass covered path softened by years of fallen leaves and sand. Towered oaks loomed above her, their twisted limbs tangled in Spanish moss that swayed with the rising wind. The cold seeped through her layers, and she wound her arms across her midsection in response.
As she rounded the corner, Rey glanced both ways before she jogged across the deserted road. Cars lined the street, parked in neat parallel rows, their occupants long since disappeared into the safety of their homes. There was a sudden stillness in the air. Birds were snug in their nests, while a dog emitted a soft howl in the distance. A rustle of feathers and a scurry of flapping wings beat overhead, causing her to look up momentarily.
And then her ears perked, and she swiveled her head in a new direction.
At first, she barely noticed the sleek black Volvo nestled among them—just another dark silhouette blending into the night.
But she was not mistaken by the low and quiet hum.
The engine was running, and the soft vibration of the idling car thrummed through the air. It was very subtle, but completely unmistakable to her knowing ears. She had worked with enough engines to know the distinctive purr.
Rey slowed, her gaze fixed on the tinted windows before she hurried across in front of the car—the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks that she wasn't alone after all. She thought she could discern a figure inside, and she frowned. Why would someone be out so late at night?
She realized that the person in the car might wonder the same about her.
Even if it might have been silly of her to feel nervous, her pace quickened regardless as she reached the front steps of her home just a minute or two later. She shoved a hand into her pocket, fingers fumbling for her keys and her phone to check the time. Just as she placed her key inside the lock, she received a message.
It was just Finn. But he had sent her something—a link to an article?
She pulled her phone closer to her face, squinting at the screen as a small picture of Leia, Han and Ben appeared atop the link that read:
Han Solo: Husband of Attorney General Leia-Organa-Solo, Dead at 72.
Notes:
Is she going to open that link? 👀
Author's Note: I wanted to add a few little tidbits of ~lore~ for you all just for fun. I planned this chapter months ago, and I knew that I wanted to incorporate subtle nods to our favorite Sasquatch by adding things like his Air Jordans and now, a favorite old film of his, Arsenic and Old Lace. These will not be the only ones, so expect more easter eggs in future chapters! If you haven't seen AAOL, oh man. I definitely recommend it.
In addition to me adding my own twist to the movie scene in Me Before You, I also added a little Rivals nod with the song, "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off," by Jermaine Stewart. If you haven't heard this before, I encourage you to go listen, and then you will understand why Rey was dancing like there was no tomorrow 😂
And if you are a fan of Gilmore Girls, there is a little quote in here somewhere!
And FINALLY, drum roll please!
...
....
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IS THIS NOT THE MOST PERFECT MANIP? Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to @flyboysolo for helping me bring this to life! It is seriously everything I have ever wanted! Y'all give my girl some love!
And that's not all! I have a few more things to share in the next few weeks as well, so stay ready!
[UPDATE: April 1, 2025]
A special thanks to @hotside_reylo for this BEAUTIFUL artwork I commissioned for the movie scene! So incredibly thankful to have such an iconic piece made! 🩵
Again, thank you all so much for your endless support. Kudos and comments really encourage me and I would love to hear your thoughts!
Chapter 6
Summary:
There was nothing but cold, calculated annihilation that waited for her when she finally met his gaze—and it transported her back to the first day they had met.
“What did you hear?” he asked, precariously calm.
Notes:
As always, thank you all so much for your continued support of this story. I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate hearing from you all. This next chapter will be taking us down a much different path, but stick with me! It will all be worth it in the end 🩵
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Rey finally entered the house, she stumbled blindly to her room, fumbling for the doorknob with hurried footsteps.
Rose had gone to bed hours earlier, stating that they could catch up on their trashy television show another day. It was fine by Rey, given the disconcertment of her feelings at this moment. It would be too much to comprehend, and there were more important matters at hand.
Finn's article link.
A surge of hesitation pulsed within her—an internal battle warring between curiosity and restraint. The desire to know the truth gripped her, propelling every fiber of her being into a surge of chaos. This wasn't her place. This wasn't her life. She had no right to cross that line.
And yet, the pull to know more was undeniable. She had an insatiable need to understand what had happened to Ben's father, and she wondered if he would ever discuss it with her.
But did she really have a right to know?
Her fingers faltered over the link. After counting to five, she let her phone drop back down to her bed, her eyes boring profusely into the flowery case as it became one with the rose-colored duvet.
She turned on her heel, yanked off her sweater, and tossed it into the growing laundry pile on the floor. The fairy lights above her door frame twinkled as she headed to the washroom. She splashed cool water over her heated cheeks, desperate to calm herself, and watched in the mirror as soap bubbles cascaded down her skin, falling in rivulets down the porcelain sink drain.
With methodical practice, Rey went through the motions of her routine. She flicked off the switch of her bathroom light when she finished and her gaze once more spotted her phone nestled within her bedsheets. It was going to be now or never. If she read the article, she couldn't go back to being blissfully ignorant to the pain that Leia and Ben went through.
But if she did, maybe it would help her understand the enigmatic presence that seemed to haunt both of them.
A small part of her wondered if it could also help her decipher the confusing, conflicting feelings she was having for the vexatious man in the wheelchair.
There was only one way to find out.
Rey burrowed herself within the soft embrace of her comforter and pulled it taut over her head. Yearning for repose, she inhaled the scent of lavender balm she had brushed against her pulse points for encouragement and pressed the power button of her phone. The gentle glow from her bedside lamp filtered through the fabric, and the screen illuminated her vision. She tapped away until the message from Finn stared right back at her.
She sucked in a deep breath and clicked on the link.
At first, every detail of the family photo that adorned the page captured her intrigue. Her gaze drifted to Ben—the very roguish and tall, dark figure looming beside his mother with a smirk. He was wearing a suit and tie with black Ray-Bans that concealed the dark brown eyes she knew all too well. Leia and Han were both smiling brightly at the camera, their mutual demeanor relaxed, buoyant, and blissfully unaware of the tragedy that would befall them.
An ache settled heavy in her chest and she realized she had seen a version of this photo before. Someone must have taken it on the same day that Ben had received his acceptance into the Sheev Palpatine School of Law.
For a while, she stared, deciphering the many feelings she had all at once while looking at the photo. This side of Ben was so foreign to her; it was difficult to reconcile the man she knew with the younger one in this photo. His build was impossibly lean, but the faint ripple of muscles that threatened to burst from the confinement of his suit jacket made up for what he lacked in breadth. She found it interesting to note that this was not the case for him now, even though he had lived in paralysis for over three and a half months. He was broader—fuller, even. A giant, if he could stand beside her.
Shaking her head, she muttered a curse to stay focused as she scrolled down to read the article:
Han Solo—beloved husband, community leader, and dedicated motor head, died tragically in a motorcycle accident on Sunday, August 15. He was 72.
Born in Corellia, Han was a well-known and important figure in Niima Outpost. A lifelong lover of winding country roads, motor oil, and powerful engines, he made his mark as a muscle-car mechanic and co-owner of Solo Motor Speedway—a venture he built in partnership with his best friend, Peter Chewbacca. Both men played a key role in establishing the only purpose-built, road racing facility in Coruscant by overseeing land acquisition of the old Niima Outpost Airport and designing the track themselves. The speedway became a cornerstone of growth within the racing community, which still stands as an economic driver in the growing region today.
Known for his charm, fierce independence and loyalty to the love of his life, Leia, and their only son, Ben Solo, Han left a lasting impact on everyone who knew him.
He will be missed in the most profound of ways.
Her eyes frosted over the illuminated glare of her phone. She couldn't tear her eyes away, and she shuddered a breath as her fingers gripped the rubber casing.
“A motorcycle accident?” she breathed.
☾
Rey clutched a cup of lukewarm coffee, wincing at the sun before it darted behind a cloud.
She pressed her back against the mint-green countertops in her kitchen. She could hear Finn, Poe and Rose chatting in the living-room, laughing about whatever was on the television. She wanted to rejoin them, but her body craved silence. Her mind drifted from the article to the look on Ben's face when he whispered her name last night. She could picture the way his lips formed over the syllables—slow. Deliberate. Achingly soft.
A feeling of warmth pooled deep within her belly.
“Did you read it?” Finn whispered as he slipped into the kitchen, startling her from her thoughts. Separating the dining room from the kitchen was a door that was propped open, and it creaked as he closed it behind him. His footsteps paused halfway as concern etched across his brow.
Breaking her freeze, her eyes locked with his, and she nodded sadly. “He died in a motorcycle accident.”
“Poe knows Han’s friend, Peter Chewbacca,” he said, moving to sit at the breakfast table. “I told him about our conversation from a little while ago, when we went to the farmer's market, and he showed me the article.”
“How does he know him?” she asked.
“He recently became a volunteer firefighter at the station. Poe says he doesn't talk much, or even come by very often. Only when he needs to fulfill his hours.”
Poe had been a firefighter for as long as Rey remembered. He immersed himself in learning everything possible, dreaming of becoming the fire chief of Niima Outpost someday. Finn was an EMT and in the middle of paramedic school. Their roles were in complete alignment, and it was further confirmation in Rey’s mind of how suited they were to one another.
She frowned at him. “Why are you just now telling me this?”
Finn shrugged, watching her as she sank into the chair beside him. “Well, I got curious after you mentioned you saw the badge in Ben's drawers. Poe wanted to know more, too. He found the article and then the next thing I know, he's blowing up my phone, telling me he met the guy who owned the speedway with Ben's dad.”
He shook his head, dragging a palm over his face. “It was a crazy coincidence, and I wanted to show you sooner, but then Ben had his seizure and it didn’t feel right to add anything else to your plate.” There was regret in his soft brown eyes, and she knew he meant what he said.
“But what happened to ‘the less you know, the better’?” She recalled their conversation from that day, thinking back to their mutual agreement. It felt risky to investigate, and she already regretted reading something she couldn’t take back.
“You needed answers,” he replied. “And I’ve been thinking that if you are going to continue working for this family, you will benefit from being more informed.”
She held his gaze, the grip on her coffee mug fading just as the sun burst through the clouds again. They both winced, and she swatted her hand towards the curtains and pulled them across the window. It felt like more than just blocking the sun. She wanted to ensure that no one else could eavesdrop on their conversation.
“What else did you find out?” she murmured as she turned back around to face him.
Finn pulled out his phone, using both hands to tap away on the screen until he placed it face down on the table. A moment later, her phone pinged, and a message popped up with another article link.
“We tried googling Ben’s name first, but nothing came up except for a brief mention in Anakin’s obituary,” he explained lowly. “It mostly just talked about how great a solicitor he was and all that he did for mitigating crime in Jakku County. Nothing too crazy. But then—”
Rey clicked the link, her eyes scanning the words until they fell upon a name she did not recognize. He knew exactly where her eyes landed, and he cleared his throat as he leaned over the table. “Apparently, Leia has a twin brother. His name is Luke Skywalker, and he is a professor.”
“Not just any kind of professor, though,” she murmured as she enlarged a photo of the sandy-haired man. “He is a professor of law at the same university that Ben went to.”
Finn nodded. “Has Ben ever mentioned him?”
“No,” she said softly, “never.”
He sighed, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest. He stared passively at the curtain behind her, worrying his bottom lip.
“What is it?” she asked.
Sad, dark eyes flickered in her direction, and she noticed how his fingertips idly grasped at the sleeve of his shirt. Concern knitted across his brow again, and she felt a sudden wave of anxiety float through her. Finn was protective of her, that was for certain. Yet, she always knew when he was being overly dramatic.
This did not feel the same.
“Obviously, Han died in the same accident that Ben was in,” he began softly. “But there is no mention of that fact in the article. It makes you wonder if they are trying to hide something.”
She felt puzzled, realizing that he was right as she held his gaze. “You said they have connections.”
“They do,” he replied.
“Why would they not want to include that, though?”
Finn’s expression turned grave and her throat tightened in response. “That’s the million dollar question. I’ve been hearing rumors that it is because Ben had something to do with it.”
She froze. “What do you mean?” Her voice came out in a whisper, strewn with an edge of reluctance. Rumors were rumors and nothing more. She couldn’t rely on the local gossip of Niima Outpost, especially when she was just now getting to know the family on a more personal level.
But Finn was her friend, and he had lived in this small town his entire life. If anything, he knew what he was talking about.
He exhaled, leaning closer as if what he was about to say was completely confidential. “As in, it wasn’t just an accident after all.”
☾
Leia decided to give Rey Sunday off for staying so late that past Friday. She felt reluctant to oblige at first, worrying that the missing paycheck would affect her finances. Her prestigious employer had an answer for this, however, and assured her she would still get compensated.
It didn’t occur to her until later on that day how much her body needed to rest. It even gave her an opportunity to begin work on her car. After a few more tweaks and tune-ups, she could kiss walking in the frigid air goodbye.
Her heart pushed against her ribs as she made her way up the front porch steps that Monday morning, her lunch tote in hand. Her hair hung loose to her shoulders, with one braid circling the crown of her head, tucked under her chestnut locks. She wore a burgundy, heart-printed dress and added a mauve shirt with a Peter Pan collar and dark purple tights to match. The days of wearing dresses were drawing to an end, and she wrinkled her nose at the thought as she slowly opened the door.
At first, she didn’t hear anyone. The doors to Ben’s bedroom were open, and soft patches of sunlight were scattered across the wooden floors. She wondered if Mitaka had stayed late to get him ready for his casts to be removed later that morning. It didn’t occur to her to question it, so she went about her usual routine of putting her things away and starting breakfast for them.
As she neared the closet, muffled, angry voices filtered through the back hallway of the cottage. Their precise location was a place she had not ventured to before, knowing that it comprised Ben’s study, which was very personal to him. Carefully placing her things inside, she moved towards the sound. She could distinctly hear Ben’s voice, and to his counter, his mother.
“Benjamin,” Leia pleaded. She sounded irritated and defeated. “Just this once.”
“No,” Ben answered coldly. “Why would you even want to? You never cared before.”
“That’s not true, and you know it.”
A harsh sound erupted from his throat, equal to what Rey would assume was a laugh.
“Don’t lie to yourself, mother,” he replied acerbically. “It’s not doing you any favors.”
“I know how important this is for you, Ben. Please don’t make me beg.”
Rey gripped the wall beside her, moving her back against it just as Ben spoke again. The hatred in his baritone spoke volumes through the darkened hallway, and she could only imagine the look he paired with the snarl that detonated through the air.
“Fuck you.”
There was a pause, but Rey eventually heard the faint sound of Leia gasping. Not too long after this, the door to Ben’s study swung open, and she stormed out. Tears welled in her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen. She stopped abruptly when she noticed Rey standing at the end of the hallway. The older woman tried to compose herself, straightening her posture and smiling thinly at her, but she said nothing as she passed, disappearing out the front door.
Feeling dazed, Rey continued to stare at the empty spot Leia once occupied. The scent of her floral and woodsy perfume gently wafted through the air, leaving an absence of her exuberance. Then, her attention then swung back toward Ben’s study as a loud crash reverberated through the walls.
Without a second thought, her heels clicked furiously against the wooden floor, and she pushed the heavy door open to reveal Ben sitting amongst a pile of broken glass and damaged photo frames.
She swallowed thickly, eyes scanning the peripheral just as he turned his head to look at her.
“Please don’t move,” she squeaked. “I don’t know what I would do if you popped a tire.”
She exited the room urgently, grabbing a dustpan and broom before hurrying back to clean the mess. Crouching down, she carefully swept every shard of glass into the pan. When she looked up, their eyes met. She noticed his hair was neater today—as if he had gotten a trim over the weekend. Now clean-shaven, he could no longer hide behind his facial hair, leaving his varying expressions exposed. He was glaring at her, and she wilted every so slightly under his watchful gaze.
“What are you doing?” he hissed.
She straightened, holding the broom securely in her grasp. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”
He scoffed, deep and unadulterated. “I don’t need your help.”
“Yes, you do,” she replied bluntly. “You’re surrounded by glass.”
Ben looked down at the floor—fragments of wood and glass still scattered the area around his feet. She moved to rescue the photos, picking up each one carefully before slipping them into her dress pocket. She turned to resume her task, but froze when she realized he was staring at her again.
There was nothing but cold, calculated annihilation that waited for her when she finally met his gaze—and it transported her back to the first day they had met.
“What did you hear?” he asked, precariously calm.
Her eyes flicked to the floor, heart dropping into the pit of her stomach as she replied softly. “It sounded like you just had a fight with your mother.”
“And did she say anything to you just now?”
Why was he so angry? Her grip tightened around the handle of the broomstick. “No, she didn’t.”
“I know you’ve been meeting with her,” he said, his voice both measured and accusatory. “I know you are in communication with her frequently.”
“She’s my boss. Am I not allowed to speak to her?” she snapped.
Anger flared behind the storm in his darkened eyes, and she caught the defensiveness in his posture. “She isn’t trustworthy.”
“Is that so?” she replied. Fragments of ice clung to the bitterness in her rebuttal—an obvious elevation in her tone that rose to match the challenge in his. “And I suppose you are?”
There was double-meaning in her words, but she did not dare elaborate on what else they might imply. Ben tilted his head and offered her a sardonic smile as he nodded. He looked at her as if he had caught on. There was an absence of humanity in his voice, and a part of her drowned in the cadence of his delivery.
“I never said that I was.”
His wheelchair crunched over the debris that remained as he left her to stew in silence. She felt too angry to digest the tectonic shift between them, and she couldn’t deny that there was a temptation to hurl the broom at him. After a moment of deep breathing and contemplation, she opted to fume quietly instead as she resumed sweeping. When she finished, she reached into her pocket and felt for the photos. Her fingertips brushed against their smooth, glossy surfaces.
One by one, she turned them over in her palm.
The first two were old family photos. One showed Ben as a toddler, running gleefully toward the camera, away from his mother. Leia sat in the background on the front porch steps of the mansion, smiling lovingly in a fluid white gown. Her hair was in a style Rey often wore—a braid that wrapped loosely across the crown of her head. She wondered if Han was behind the camera, ready to catch the dark-haired boy as he scurried across the lawn.
The second photo was of Han and Leia. He sat in a weathered rocking chair, his left hand lightly touching her own, while she stood behind him, her arms ceremonially draped around his neck. Frozen in time, they appeared to be not much older than she and Ben were now. The thought troubled her for reasons she could not explain.
But despite how she felt about those photos, it was the third that stood out to her the most.
The vintage photo was in black and white, tinged with weathered grey and framed by dappled, decorative edges. It was a portrait of a young man wearing a black suit and tie, his hair long and curled beneath his ears, parted to the side in a style characteristic of the time. There was a darkness in his eyes, and a visceral unease washed over her as she realized there was something uncannily familiar about his smile.
It was a smile she recognized.
☾
“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with him?” Armitage huffed quietly as they watched Ben enter the adapted minivan.
He peered down at her. The man in question had been silent since their argument, refusing to speak to either her or Armitage, and only stared ahead when told it was time to leave for his appointment. Ben’s eyes were murky with abhorrence and his lips tightened into a thin line as he traveled up the ramp. As she watched him, she thought that if his gaze could kill, he would have stopped at nothing to leave death in his wake.
She glowered at the back of his head for a long moment before she briefly turned her attention back to Armitage. “I honestly don’t know,” she muttered.
As the ramp lifted, she marched to the vehicle, tightly winding her fingers around the door handle before she yanked it back to enclose him. The ferocious impact rattled the van, and she straightened her posture before giving Armitage a side-eye that signaled for him to get in with no questions asked. Though he appeared confused, he obliged immediately and presented her with a short nod as he climbed into the passenger side.
She saw that Ben’s eyes were closed, his fingers clenched around the armrests of his wheelchair. He had opted to listen to his audiobook on the way to his appointment to have his casts removed—which was just fine by Rey. She had no interest in making idle small talk with the bastard, anyway. A viscous ache throbbed behind her eyes, and it dulled the questions she might have asked. She decided it was easier not to know what his problem was.
She could tell Armitage was uncomfortable, and she felt genuinely bad for him. The urge to smooth over Ben’s vile mood nearly overpowered the will she had scraped together to resist it—but she shoved it down, hard.
Her gaze flicked to the rearview mirror as she drove, both fascinated and perplexed at how he could exert such sclerotic control over his posture. Could he really maintain that rigidity for the rest of the day, or would he eventually collapse and fall headfirst into a pit of regret for his cruelty towards her?
Her grip flexed across the steering wheel, fully aware that she already knew the answer to that question. She glared at the view in front of her, not even realizing she had stopped abruptly at the stoplight across from where she needed to turn.
The ginger-haired man beside her shot his hand into the air and fumbled for the grab handle that was above him.
“Maybe I should drive us home, then?” Armitage offered quietly, eyes raised in a silent plea as he clung to the handle.
“No need,” she replied tersely.
Rey fought the urge to glance at Ben again to see if he had opened his eyes, and resisted long enough to turn onto the next street toward the entrance of their destination. The muted greens and browns of trees lined the narrow roadway of Dr. Phasma’s quaint country office on the other side of town. It was about a fifteen minute drive from the cottage, and they avoided most of the midmorning traffic. But she dreaded knowing that her peaceful ride in the car would soon end the moment she parked.
As they pulled up into the short driveway, Rey observed the sign that was posted out front. A bed of ivy leaves curled around the base of a white wooden post, topped with an iron horse’s head. The sign itself hung from a matching wrought iron frame, shaped into a swirl nestled inside of an obtuse triangle. Two silver hooks held the rounded plaque steady, and it read: Dr. Gwendoline Phasma, M.D. Family Medical Practice.
What was now a doctor’s office clearly had once been a home—worn by old age and a labyrinth of sophisticated charm. White, batten board siding lined the house, accented by black porch steps and a front door with a wide glass pane. Intricate details of carved wood traced the frame of the glass on the door, while a gas lamp hung from above. Morning sunlight danced through the mosaic of trees, and Rey couldn’t help but think about how obnoxiously posh it all seemed.
When she parked the van in the handicap spot, her eyes drifted to Ben for a final time—and much to her surprise, she caught the reflection of him staring. Amber eyes, crystalline with mossy undertones in the bleeding warmth of the sun, locked with hers, and a peculiar feeling rippled its way down her spine.
She hated how her body betrayed her, even when she knew he was an asshole.
“Do you mind getting his bag while I help him up the ramp, Rey?” Armitage asked, interrupting her thoughts.
She nodded wordlessly at him and pushed the button that would allow Ben to exit the van. When she climbed out, her footsteps crunched over tiny gravel, and she grabbed his things, turning sharply on her heel to check him into the office before she could decipher his look any further.
An hour later, Rey sat in the waiting room of Dr. Phasma’s office. She could hear their soft voices through the antiquated plaster walls—lavishly decorated in a way that conveyed an impression of coziness as opposed to the normal, cold demeanor of a typical doctor’s office. In a fleeting conversation with Armitage one day, he had mentioned that Dr. Phasma was a good friend of the family, having known them for quite some time.
She carefully reached for a magazine that rested on the coffee table in front of her, thumbing through the pages of a holiday recipe themed issue of Country Living to distract herself from boredom, but she jolted the moment she heard a door click open down the hallway.
“How do your arms feel, Ben?” The sound of a woman’s voice flitted through the hall as they neared, and as they grew closer, Rey stood.
The voice belonging to the woman was exceedingly tall, her eyes kind and face framed with a stylish, platinum blonde bob. She was smiling down at Ben, who did little to return the favor, and only shrugged his shoulders as he met her gaze.
“It feels like I’m finally ready to feed myself.”
His hardened eyes flicked in Rey’s direction, and she bit back a retort just as all the attention in the room turned to her.
The woman smiled awkwardly as she moved to extend her hand to Rey. “You must be Rey. I’m Dr. Gwen Phasma. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you as well,” she managed, grasping her hand and smiling gently despite the rise of anger that bubbled beneath the surface.
Turning her attention back to Ben, Dr. Phasma’s lips lifted into a knowing smile. “It’s going to take a while to get your strength in your arms back, but after working through some physical therapy with Dr. Holdo, you’ll start seeing results. In the meantime, you’ll still need to rely on Rey and your nurses for help with basic tasks for a few weeks.”
“I’ll manage,” he impatiently groused in return.
“Don’t rush your healing,” she advised with caution. “After all that you have been through, your body needs to rest. I only want the best.”
“As does my mother, allegedly.” Ben turned his head to face the door and glanced at Armitage. “Speaking of Dr. Holdo, we’re due to see her now. I appreciate your help, Phasma.”
He moved the control stick of his wheelchair, and Armitage nodded his thanks to Dr. Phasma, glimpsing at Rey before moving to open the door for Ben.
Rey moved to grab Ben’s bag, hauling it over her shoulder, and trailed after them. Before her fingers touched the doorknob, she paused, turning to look at Dr. Phasma one last time, and thanked her for her help.
“It’s my pleasure. You know, Leia speaks fondly of you,” she said softly. “She mentioned you helped him recently when he had a seizure. It’s a scary thing to witness, but I’m glad you were with him.”
Warmth spread across Rey’s cheeks, and she nodded meekly. “I am too.”
“Call me if you ever need anything. I know he thinks he knows better, but if you ever have questions, I’m always here to help.” Her hands drifted into the solid white pockets of her lab coat, and Rey nodded her thanks to her again.
She rejoined the two men a moment later and cranked the van back to life. On the way to their next appointment, Rey thought about Dr. Phasma’s kindness and wondered how often she and Leia spoke. Ben obviously did not want his mother present for his casts to be removed, and she considered his earlier disdain for Rey meeting with Leia regularly. It had never dawned on her before that Ben rarely interacted with his mother, chalking it up to be a conflict in schedule. But maybe there was something more to it than what she witnessed on a surface level.
While Ben attended his physical therapy, Armitage and Rey sat in a room adjacent to a window that looked out into the gym. She watched carefully as his therapists helped him from his wheelchair. Two people on each side lifted him to stand, and his massive frame towered above them. It almost took her breath away to see how tall he was, but she caught herself before it escaped and lowered her eyes.
“So much for taking it easy,” Rey muttered as she crossed her arms over her chest. Armitage was reading a book beside her and smirked, turning his head to look over at her.
“He’s the last person to listen to reason.”
Rey rolled her eyes. “You’re his nurse. You ought to scold him more.”
“Doesn’t do any good,” Armitage sighed as he slid his bookmark back into place. “You should know that by now.”
“And yet you still believe that I should be patient with him?”
His emerald eyes flicked up to the ceiling for a moment before turning back to her. “Yes, I do. More than ever, actually.”
“He’s such a dick,” she grumbled, turning her attention to flick an invisible piece of lint off her sleeve.
“What happened this morning?”
She sighed wearily. “I accidentally walked in on him having a fight with Leia. He was angry and sent her away in tears. I didn’t hear the entire conversation, but I think she wanted to come with him today.”
Armitage nodded sadly in understanding, clasping his hands together in front of him as he placed his elbows on top of his knees. “Things are... difficult, to say the least, between them.”
“I gathered that,” she murmured. “She asked me recently to talk with him about attending a charity ball. Now I see why she wants me to do it.”
“It’s still worth a shot,” he replied.
Her thoughts immediately drifted to the hatred in Ben’s eyes from that morning, and she shook her head. “Two days ago, I might have believed you. Now? I’m not so sure. He’s so bloody hot and cold that I never know what to expect or what version of him I’ll get. It’s exhausting.”
“It is,” he agreed. “And yet, you are still the only person to really stand up to him.”
She whirled her head to face him. “I refuse to let him treat me poorly. I understand that a horrible thing has happened to him, but that doesn’t mean he gets to be a piece of shit.”
Armitage’s lips curled slightly in response, nodding his head in agreement. “Do you remember when I said I’ve known Ben for a long time?”
Rey sighed again. “Yeah, but you never mentioned how long,” she said.
“We went to uni together. I obviously chose a different major, but we met at a party and became friends.” There was something distant in his gaze as he turned his attention back to the window in front of them. Ben was doing his best to move his legs, and the therapists gripped his shins, pulling him forward on a specialized treadmill.
Rey lowered her eyes and slumped back in her chair against the wall. “I wasn’t sure he could make friends.”
Armitage snorted. “You’re not the first person to say that.”
“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”
“People were afraid of him,” he said quietly, turning to face her again. “Knowing who he was and where he came from.”
“Do you mean his grandfather?”
“Exactly,” he murmured.
“Did you know Anakin?” Her heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, and she shifted in her seat.
Armitage was silent for a moment, then knitted his brows together. That same, lingering sadness wove through his expression, as if he were remembering something from another time.
“I did, yeah.”
She stared at him. Of course he knew Ben’s grandfather. If they were friends at the University of Coruscant, then it was likely he had gotten to know the man behind the mystery before he died.
He was the Solicitor of Jakku county. The man who presided over every criminal case that crossed his desk. It wasn’t clear how much Armitage knew about him, but maybe it was more than she knew now. She considered Finn’s words from a few weeks ago—if Armitage was someone she could trust.
“What was he like?” she asked softly, daring herself to find out.
A tick worked its way through his jaw, and his eyes once more met her own. After several beats, he spoke—his tone tangled between admonition and sobriety, causing her blood to run cold.
“Unpredictable.”
☾
Frozen droplets of rain pelted against the window as Rey sat at the breakfast table the next morning.
She salvaged the picture frames. Though still worn around the edges, she carefully glued each one back together, pressing the corners firmly, then lining them up in neat rows to dry in front of her.
Having gone to the craft store yesterday for new glass, she hoped it would be the last time she would have to do any repairs.
But all bets were off, considering she could never rely on the stability of Ben’s mercurial temper.
Her tranquil silence was interrupted just moments later by the hum of his automatic wheelchair cutting through the air.
A faint stain of purple lingered beneath his eyes, which served as a bitter reminder of how draining his recent physical therapy sessions had been. He had already gone to one earlier that morning, with another scheduled for later that afternoon. Part of her felt sorry for him. The other part still reeled from their ugly encounter.
She spent most of yesterday in utter avoidance of him by reverting to their old routine before his seizure. She spoke to him when it was necessary and kept herself focused on what she could control—which were her duties and responsibilities as his caregiver. Not his friend.
“What are you doing?” he asked vexatiously as he approached.
Rey lifted one frame up and motioned to the photo of his toddler self running towards the camera. “Your photos needed fixing, so I thought I would glue them back together.”
She couldn’t help but notice the nerve that danced beneath his eye as he tilted his head. “I didn’t smash them by accident, you know.”
“Right, I gathered that,” she muttered.
“Which means I didn’t want them fixed, or have them stare back at me while I rot in this chair.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Spare whatever it is you have to say, and do yourself a favor and go back to robbing your grandma’s wardrobe, or whatever it is you do that isn’t making tea,” he snapped.
He turned his wheelchair around, intent on disappearing back into the confinement of his bedroom.
But her voice captured his attention.
“What the hell is going on with you?” she growled abruptly.
He paused, his head tilted just enough for her to see the hard line of his profile.
“I thought things were getting better between us.” She hoped her small, wounded admission would not come across as sounding vulnerable.
Ben turned to face her fully again, and she saw the irritation sear through his eyes with pacified fury. “That’s where you were wrong.”
“Are you sure?” she challenged. “What could have possibly changed in three bloody days to make you be so hateful towards me?”
She placed the picture frame back down on the table and laced her fingers together as she continued. “I’m just trying to do my job as best I can, and it would be really nice if you could try to not make my life as miserable as you apparently make everyone else’s.”
“And what if I reminded you I didn’t want you here in the first place?” he queried softly, his tone both icy and careless, sending a spark of dread down her spine.
She seethed. “I would remind you it doesn’t matter what you want, and that I think you are a liar.”
“A liar,” he echoed silkily. His lips curled into a smile devoid of warmth. It stung to hear him repeat the word, and it felt so impossibly heavy, especially in contrast to the way he whispered her name just days ago.
“You called me a monster once.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so nostalgic.” She coated her words with as much venom as she could muster.
He chuckled, darkness clouding the stormy hue of his eyes. “I fucking love it when you stoop to my level.”
“I’ll never be like you,” she whispered, desperate to dispel his words.
She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.
“Who's the liar now?” he muttered.
☾
That evening, she stood at the mouth of the long, darkened hallway that led to Ben’s private study. The ashen glow of the moon streamed through the curtains, being the only source of light she could see.
She decided to repair the photo frames despite his impertinence, and her grip compressed against the wooden frames while she then debated whether it would be worth it to put them back where they belonged.
Her eyes shifted behind her, but she remained alone. Ben had gone to his room ages ago, leaving her to stew for hours after their last conversation. Her body still roiled with residual anger from his malice.
But the photos, she reminded herself, were probably more important to his mother than to him. And for her sake, it was worth the trouble to fix them.
Rey tiptoed down the corridor with immense effort, desperate not to make any noise. Floorboards creaked underneath her softly, but not enough to bring alarm to the other presence in the cottage. The faint sound of his stereo beat softly through the walls, and it gave her hope that she had enough time to return the items without being caught.
Slowly urging the door open, she peered inside the room before entering. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears as she surveyed what was in front of her.
The wall behind Ben’s mahogany desk was lined with bookshelves that stretched to the top of the vaulted ceilings. Dark quilted furniture, draped in shades of midnight, burgundy, and emerald, eclipsed her peripheral vision. A large window sat adjacent to the desk, casting half the room in the dying light of the sun.
She ambled to the center of the floor, gazing up—and up—at his shelves of law texts and other curiosities. Each volume looked old, yet somehow kept in pristine condition. She wondered if he had read them all, or if they were just for show.
As she turned her attention to face the small table that held his other photographs, she switched on a small lamp. A green ceramic lamp shade encased golden light that illuminated the room, and it allowed her to see the other photos that remained more clearly.
They were mostly of Ben in various stages of his life, posing with his family.
One showed him at graduation, diploma in hand, smirking at the camera in that familiar, infuriating way she knew all too well. Another featured him with his parents. He looked more casual here, dressed in a brown and green flannel, khakis, and worn, tan, Red Wing moc toe boots. His hair was shorter, but still swept away from his face.
She focused on her mission to return the photos, finding new places for them among the others. Her fingertips traced their backs to prop them up and angle them to face her. Crouching to get a better look, she spotted another interesting photo that sat in the back row.
A man, cloaked in dark business attire, stood next to a lanky, awkward teenage Ben in front of the stairwell of an old building. It was hard to decipher what the structure was, but it looked important. Her eyes glanced back at the photo she had repaired of the younger man with the familiar smile, and that was when she realized who this person was.
Rey whipped out her phone and pulled up Anakin's obituary that Finn had shown her the other day. As she tapped on the link, her brows knitted together.
The picture was different, but it was unmistakably the same man who stood beside Ben in the photo.
The same man, though much younger, with the carefully curated smile that seemed to transcend decades.
Ben’s grandfather.
She stepped back as if a bolt of lightning struck her and immediately slid her phone back into her pocket. Why did he display the photographs, but hide away his solicitor badge?
A thought formed, and it begged to question what else Ben kept hidden away from the light.
It might have been a risk, it might have gone against everything she had stood for.
But now, alone in the room full of secrets, she couldn’t help but wonder what lingered beneath the floorboards.
In the cracks between the drywall.
Between the pages of his ledgers.
In the drawers of his desk.
As stealthily as a cat, she glided towards the desk after only seconds of deliberation. There wasn’t much time. She didn’t know what she was looking for, or what she would do once she found it. The thoughts swirled in her mind into a kaleidoscope of chaos, submerging into names and objects and phrases she had thought about relentlessly since she first became his caregiver.
The badge. The Skywalkers. The good ol’ boys.
Ben Solo.
Her hand draped across the brass handle of the first drawer on her left. It opened easily, grinding against the wood in a hushed whoosh sound. With bated breath, she peered inside. The smell of faint cigar smoke and leather burned through her nostrils, but any physical traces were not present in the drawer's captivity. Assorted piles of office supplies, organized in small, matching containers, stared back at her instead.
She opened another drawer just below it, but found nothing out of the ordinary.
The third and final drawer sat nestled at the bottom, closest to the floor, but just as inconspicuous as the others. Her eyes narrowed onto the ornate brass handle.
When Rey tugged it open, what she found was not at all what she expected to discover.
She pulled the object into the light and her eyes scanned the dust covered photo, which appeared even more mysterious than the others of Ben’s grandfather.
Ben looked to be in his early twenties, bathed in the halcyon glow of infectious laughter. He stood tall amongst a group of four others, shirtless in his swimsuit, a girl tucked beneath one arm.
Three guys surrounded them, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, all beaming with the same easy, radiant grin.
They appeared to be standing on a boat, the view of the ocean just beyond where they all stood.
Rey leaned in, her eyes immediately drawn to the girl, and the bitter, illogical taste of jealousy filled her mouth.
Whoever she was, she was beautiful. Her hair was long and blonde, her skin pale with high cheekbones. She posed like a model, curled beneath Ben’s bicep in a black bikini—her hand resting lightly against the planes of his chest. Her lips were curled into a smirk almost identical to the one he usually wore.
It made no sense for her to feel this way.
He had been very clear. He didn’t want her there.
So why couldn’t she take the hint?
She came from nothing. She was nothing.
Most of all to him.
She hastily put the photo back in the drawer, recoiling at the touch of the frame as she shoved it closed. It was a mistake to go through his things.
As she reached to turn off the lamp, her heart pounded louder in her chest, threatening to burst. It had been quiet—too quiet—since she had entered his study. A glance at her watch sent panic rippling through her. Mitaka would be there any minute to relieve her.
She needed to escape before Ben noticed.
Her steps were soundless on the blood-red carpet as she slipped through the doorway, careful not to make a sound as she sealed the heavy door with a soft click.
She thought she had made it.
But when she turned—
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Her ears perked at the familiar hum of Ben’s wheelchair as he grew closer, and his shadow sharpened into focus on the door.
She froze, nausea twisting in her stomach.
What could she say? Would it be the truth or a fractured version of it? He had already lost trust in her once. And she was certain she had lost it again.
She slowly turned to face him.
“Why were you in there?”
Everything around them faded. Her world view narrowed into the blackened hue of his pupils.
“I was putting your photos back,” she spoke timidly, her voice barely audible.
“I thought I told you I didn’t want them.”
His searing gaze was a warning, intensified by the edge in his tone.
“I... I did it anyway.”
Curiosity flared in his eyes, but agitation still simmered beneath. This wouldn’t be something she could talk her way out of, and she was sure he would have her fired for trespassing. He was well within his rights, and she regretted ever going in there. She shouldn’t have tried to search for answers she was not ready to find.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, pinching the hem of her dress.
The world was closing in, and all she wanted was to go home and go back to her old life. She missed the cafe. She missed Maz. She missed pouring coffee for the locals and wrapping leftover sandwiches for the older customers who could never quite finish their meals.
She wanted her old life before the Skywalkers, before Ben Solo, before all of this.
Without thinking, she attempted to hurry past him and angled her body in a way that she could slide through the crack between his wheelchair and the wall.
But he grabbed her wrist, preventing her from escaping.
His fingers clamped down on the sensitive skin, strong, firm and remarkably unforgiving. He yanked her down, dragging her several feet until she was eye-level with him. She yelped and scrambled for purchase; her face only inches from his own.
“Don’t go in there again,” he whispered.
And though his voice was quiet, it crawled like ice down her spine.
Notes:
I'm sorry... kind of 😏
Fun fact! I wrote most of this chapter only this past Saturday and I *might* have stayed up WAY too late so that I could meet my posting deadline...
... it was worth it 😈
Here is another fun fact! The image that says Solo in the moodie is a real place in the town that I live in! I came across it one day whilst driving in the country (I mean, real deep in the country), and it just so happened to be beside a race track. Was it a coincidence? Maybe so. Did it give me hella ideas for a small town, modern AU, reylo fic? Absolutely.
Thank you again for reading. Your comments and kudos always encourage me, and I would love to hear from you!
Chapter 7
Summary:
Time moved at an impossibly slow rate as dark eyes scanned her with careful and deliberate attention. Rey did not move swiftly enough, and as a result, his hand brushed against her own.
Cold, calloused fingers wrapped gingerly around the handle while the steel toe of his boot pressed authoritatively against the concrete.
His body was a barrier to her destination, confining her to the corner of the entrance.
Notes:
Hello there! All aboard the Ben Solo pain train! Here is your first class, VIP ticket! 🎫
I am over the moon at the growing support of this story, and I appreciate every single one of you for reading. This mystery is on the cusp of unfolding, and Rey is surely going to get more than she has bargained for in these next few chapters. Stick with me! It's about to be a wild ride 🚂
I hope you all enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The golden rays of the moribund sun dispersed through the clouds in tiny, pin-prick strands. Darkness was approaching rapidly, but the sun insisted on waving its final goodbye through the rain before it drowned below the horizon.
A sprinkle of rain clung to Rey's eyelashes, catching the ends by forming droplets that merged with fresh tears already pooling beneath as she ambled down the sidewalk after her shift.
The phantom whisper of Ben's fingers against her wrist throbbed with an ache she did not want to acknowledge fully. Though there wasn't any proof he had touched her, the weight of his hand still lingered, and it swept through her like a cool, frigid gust of wind.
Her teeth chattered through the bitter chill, and she wrapped her arms around her midsection to absorb any warmth she could muster.
But her body had gone cold long before she succumbed to it.
Don't ever go in there again, he warned, his voice a whisper and colder than anger, still fresh in her mind.
The message was clear. Transparent. Words that clearly fractured the glowing tether between them until it cracked and splintered.
Rey stood at ground zero again, and the emptiness split within her, illuminating the growing chasm that only continued to widen.
For all she knew, this was the end of whatever she thought was changing.
And she had no choice but to carry on.
Was it even worth it to stay at this job? To take care of someone who never wanted her there in the first place? The choice to quit eluded her before tonight, but now the thought grew legs, and the urge to run to safety overwhelmed her with pure, raw instinct. She never acted upon it because she saw a glimpse of Ben's soft side. Buried beneath years of tempered callousness, a hint of his underlined warmth resonated with her far more than she wanted to admit.
It was a side of Ben she knew was not often exposed to the light.
She could understand his frustration at his situation. His paraplegia, the seizures, his restricted movement, all of it. But it did not justify his unsavory actions.
It did not justify him grabbing her.
And it only made her question his secrets more.
A lone tear traced a path down her cheek as she drifted down the sidewalk, her lunch tote and purse clutched in a daze. The harrowed realization of being trapped sank into her bones, cascading briefly into a blinding wave of white, hot anger before it simmered into nothingness once more.
Could she text Maz, beg for her job back, plead that she would accept whatever mediocre wage she could offer her, even if it meant scrubbing the floors with her bare hands for the rest of her life?
It was a risk she wanted to take, but she feared she already knew her former employer's answer.
Cold wind rattled the lifeless tree branches that hung above while dead leaves skimmed the asphalt. They tumbled away from the curbside, skittering along the surface. Rey looked up at the twigs the leaves once occupied and noted how they reminded her of small, dry bird bones.
It was enough to send her reeling with abrupt desperation.
Fuck it, she decided as she trawled through her purse for her phone. I'm texting her.
She could recall Maz's phone number easily, remembering that she had no choice but to know it when she was a teenager.
Her fingers hesitated over the older woman's name, but she clicked it regardless and considered her words carefully.
Maz, I miss you. I hope you are well. I was wondering if I could come and talk with you in person someday. I wanted to know if there was any way that I could get my old job back. I know you say you can't afford to keep me on, but I will do anything. Please.
Her words froze on the screen, and the cursor blinked with a steady pulse. Should she send it? Should she wait?
But then the ache of knowing she would have to confront Leia on her decision weighed her shoulders, and it pressed her down into the earth, far beneath earth's quiet skeleton of topsoil, clay, and bedrock.
She conjured her own version of hell, and she wanted to scream in frustration at the pain of it all.
Drugged by despair and the chill in the air, she powered off her phone and buried it deep into her coat pocket. She didn't note the time of the moonrise as it cascaded above her or when her fingertips brushed against her key to open the door of her home.
She drifted silently, like a feather buoyantly above the ground, and closed her bedroom door behind her with her back against the weathered wood. The dead latch kissed the strike plate with a quiet click as her world came to an impasse.
☾
The following week crawled by with a bitter and gradual ascent. A frost had settled over Niima Outpost each morning, glaciating the ground with shards of white, spindly crystals.
At noon, when the sun crept above the skyline, ice clung to every surface it blanketed, and it lingered in the shadows until radiant threads pierced through their delicate veil.
The process would repeat itself when nightfall came at around five every evening. All that was mortal and earthly descended into silence, and what little there was of the bright, autumnal, golden essence she had fallen in love with became eroded with decay, taking with it the songbirds and warblers as they sought warmer regions.
Her routine was monotonous since the encounter—insipid compared to the brief, jubilant reprieve she had earned after Ben's seizure, and a part of her mourned what she lost in the days that followed this.
But the other wondered if it was ever worth mourning at all.
The unsent text to Maz drifted through her mind, and she daydreamed about the moment she would find the courage to send it. She stared at the cursor as it blinked in the rhythm of her heart—a disquieting and gentle, low pulse.
It was Friday evening, and she had greeted Mitaka for shift change, wincing at him just as Ben cranked up the volume of his stereo. Now that he could move his arms more freely, he worked relentlessly on lifting weights. Every so often, the sound of a dumbbell hitting the floor's hard surface would cut through the blast beats of his death metal. Rey had gotten so used to this that she stopped flinching.
The visible disdain that smattered across Mitaka's face was her only indication that she was not the only one who felt exasperated, and for that, a small part of her was thankful. He muttered a curse before he straightened his shoulders, brushing past her quickly as she closed the door.
A few hours later, she lay in the safety of her bed, happily fading into the void until a steady knock pounded on her door, an unwelcome interruption to her peace.
"Peanut?" came Finn's voice, interwoven with concern.
Rey sighed, counting the seconds of her dispelled breath, and reluctantly told him to come in.
The door opened tentatively, and Finn peeked his head through the crack before he widened it. He frowned the moment he saw her, and she grimaced as she buried herself further beneath the duvet.
A weight settled at her side, and he gripped the edges of her shroud, pulling it away from her face.
Brown eyes met hers, and she glared.
"You can't stay here forever," he remarked dryly.
He was right, but Rey inwardly disagreed with him. Though she longed for her old life, she also considered what it would be like to work from home by joining Rose in the call center. Making another career change to help her discover her true passion might be worth it. If she couldn't find the courage to get in contact with Maz, she could at least stay within the confinement of her room and assist customers with their insurance claims. She didn't care how difficult they were. God knows she had enough experience to deal with that.
But she also knew how close she was to financial freedom, closer than she had ever been. To walk away now would be a setback she might not recover from, even if staying meant enduring Ben's cruelty a little longer.
"I do what I want," she muttered. "The bed is safe. The bed is nice. I don't have to worry about the real world here."
Finn was silent for a moment, his expression sobering as he lowered his voice. "Is this about him?"
Rey confided to her friends earlier in the week that she and Ben had gotten into an argument, but she ignored the finer details of what happened after she left his study. It confused her greatly, and she knew speaking of it would do her no favors. Their turbulence was nothing to be surprised over, but perhaps her reaction this time did give cause for worry.
"It doesn't matter," she answered tiredly.
"Sure it does."
His sincerity made her ache with guilt. She wanted to tell him, wanted to unburden herself with the weight of the truth, but she didn't know how to face it.
And her feelings for Ben, the conflicted, twisted thing she could not name, only made things worse.
"I don't want to talk about it."
There was a hint of defeat in his expression as he pulled away to face the door. Rey wondered if he still had questions regarding the talk they had in her kitchen—about the incomprehensible rumor that surrounded Ben and his father. If he did, he did not press her further. He just turned back around with a familiar steadiness in his eyes. Finn was good at reading her, knowing when to push and when to let it go, and she was thankful for this.
"Why don't you come out with us to get your mind off everything?" he offered gently. "It'd be good for you to get out of the house."
A tsk slipped through her lips, followed by a frown. "But the bed—"
"I know," Finn interrupted with a sad smile. "But maybe think about it? Poe and Rose wanted to pregame before we leave in like an hour."
She knew he was right, that getting out of the house might be the best medicine for the cavity that grew in her chest. It would do her no good to stay in the house while she floundered in her sadness, so maybe going out with her friends would cheer her up.
Deciding to take him up on his offer, she relented, much to his surprise.
“Fine,” she murmured. "But have me home at a decent hour."
Finn smiled. "No promises."
☾
The affectionate, quaint, sticky pub known as The Outpost felt unreasonably crowded for this time of night.
Hazy and distant laughter filtered through the thick crush of bodies swaying near the bar—cramped in their corners, weaving through each other with cheap beers in hand as they fought for a view of the band that played. She remembered celebrating with her friends at this bar the night she accepted the position as Ben's caretaker, where she had first learned about the arcane force known as the Skywalkers.
What a time it was to be blissfully ignorant.
She studied the amber liquid in her glass as a distraction, watching tiny bubbles rise to the surface, merging with the foam that curled lazily around the rim. Poe had already complained that the bartender, Beaumont Kin, a friend of his and Finn's, had no clue what he was doing, but they all reminded him they did not always come here for the drinks.
It was mostly for the company and the tater tots.
A low, pulsing vibration crawled down her spine, dragging her back to reality from her thoughts. She sank further into the booth beside Rose, already a bit buzzed from the beer, and rotated her shoulders inward. The steady beat of the drums hammered through her chest. It wasn't exactly the type of night she had planned for herself; wishing she could have just stayed home and drank in peace.
"Are you alright?" Rose asked as she peered down at her.
Rey shook her head. "I've had enough classic rock for one evening."
"But we're just getting started!" Poe protested, nudging her beer closer. "Just drink more, and you'll forget about the shitty covers they're playing."
"Kinda hard not to notice," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
She glanced toward the door. "I think I'm going to get some air. I'll be back."
Her friends grumbled their understanding and watched as she descended from the booth. Weaving through the crowd, she was careful not to bump into anyone as she slipped through the doors. They creaked and clamored behind her as she strayed to a bench that lingered against the brick wall of the pub.
Once she settled into the crisp air, she sat silently, taking in all her surroundings.
The sidewalk was empty, save for a man dressed in black, who was smoking a cigarette beneath the golden glow of the streetlight. Across the road from the pub, a group laughed as they exited a restaurant, exchanging brief goodbyes before disappearing into the night.
Strings of holiday lights stretched from one end to the other, twinkling against the darkened palette of the sky. The clock tower stood as the focal point, wrapped in similar lights that curled upward into its domed roof. Rey counted at least ten strands radiating from the tower, tethering to the surrounding buildings like spokes on a bicycle wheel. A long garland encircled the base, and beneath every face of the clock was a small wreath, each adorned with a bright red bow.
She forgot how fast time had moved in the last few months, not even fully realizing what time of year it was.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the Loopy Lemon Café. It looked the same from where she sat on the bench, the sign still shaped like a coffee cup, and the storefront painted in a robin's egg blue. Plants lined the windows; behind them, she could make out the glimmer of golden lights from Maz's Christmas tree, probably still adorned with the same tinsel she had used for years and funky ornaments made of popsicle sticks.
A tight and familiar ache formed in her chest, and it caused her to pause.
The holidays were always a stressful time, and though she had her friends and their families to spend it with, she always wished she had a family of her own to go home to.
Maz had always been that person.
When Rey was a teenager, Maz had taken her under her wing, sharing the secrets and techniques of how to bake the perfect sugar cookie and singing carols that were often shouted off-key. Since she had lost her foster parents, it was the closest she came to having a family, and she missed it deeply.
She still felt sadness, realizing she had not spoken to Maz since she was let go from her job. Whether that had anything to do with her schedule or her own embarrassment at not taking the time to reach out to her, she knew a simple text could solve most of her anxieties.
Pulling out her phone, she opened their text thread. Her message sat there, still unsent, glowing on the screen. She read over it several times before she erased it. She began typing again, formulating something new, wanting to let Maz know how much she missed her. Her thumb hovered over the send button momentarily until she stopped herself to check the time.
It was awfully late. Maybe it would be best to send it tomorrow instead?
After several long minutes of pondering, she stared upward with a sigh and watched the glint of cold starlight fade into the blanket of the night. An icy puff of air slipped past her lips, and that's when she felt the chill seep through her red coat. It was probably time for her to go inside, and even though she had more to process, freezing alone in the dark wasn't likely to solve any of her problems.
Her buzz had worn off, and she idly wondered if someone had polished her beer while she was gone. A fresh pour from the tap sounded like a good idea regardless, and she pushed herself up from the bench in pursuit of it. Sliding her phone into her pocket, she moved to open the door.
What she failed to realize while lost in her thoughts was that the man who had been standing nearby, smoking a cigarette, had moved at the same time.
He swooped ahead as she reached for the gilded handle, his frame suddenly very close. Too close. Bathed in the soft red light spilling from the bar window, he loomed over her. His build was solid, with shoulder-length brown hair and tan skin. A thin white scar carved across the right side of his jaw, stark against his complexion. Even beneath the bulk of his winter coat, there was a placidity to him that felt practiced and controlled.
Time moved at an impossibly slow rate as dark eyes carefully and deliberately scanned her. Rey did not move swiftly enough, and as a result, his hand brushed against her own.
Cold, calloused fingers wrapped gingerly around the handle while the steel toe of his boot pressed authoritatively against the concrete.
His body was a barrier to her destination, confining her to the corner of the entrance.
She gasped and recoiled immediately, snatching her hand to close around her other palm as she stared up at him with wide, doe-like eyes.
He returned her stare and stood there, utterly stationary. An icy surge fell to the pit of her stomach. She wondered if she had ever seen him before. Raking her brain, she replayed every recent encounter she had in the past few weeks. Did he work at the same place where Ben received physical therapy? Was he a nurse at Dr. Phasma's office?
No matter how much she tried to remember, nothing surfaced.
She couldn't explain what gave her the feeling, but the way his onyx eyes locked with hers somehow did not feel like the first time.
A dispelled breath slowly escaped her lips as she stared up at him, a hollow chill deepening within her chest.
Then, every muted sound came crashing back to her awareness.
Deafening chords ripped from the guitar while cymbals crashed in a thunderous finale. The singer let out a thick country accent, giving his thanks, blithe and satisfied, which drew an abundance of applause from the crowd beyond.
Not only was it a cacophony of noise, it was a flood, both loud and crushing, swallowing her whole.
She blinked, realizing that the barrage of clamor resulted from him opening the door for her, his arm braced casually against the frame above her head.
He gave her a cold smile. A nod toward the entrance.
An unspoken suggestion: after you.
After several more seconds of her staring, he raised a single, dark brow at her as if he were asking a question, but he still remained silent.
When she found her footing again, she mumbled a reluctant "thanks," sliding past him quickly.
As she did this, her gaze caught on something inked on his wrist.
It was a small tattoo in the shape of a hexagon turned on its side. Inside the hexagon was a circle with sharp triangles that jutted symmetrically around the edges like teeth.
It was an odd symbol she had never seen before, and she pondered its significance.
Or if it meant anything at all.
☾
The next morning, Niima Outpost rested beneath its winter mantle of dull browns and grays. Stratocumulus clouds drifted above, which filtered the sun's half-hearted attempt to break through. The promise of rain lingered but stayed silent and suppressed. Rey had decided she wanted to take a trip just over forty-five minutes outside of town. The weather was uncertain, but she dressed accordingly—fully aware that anything could change.
She toted a clear, domed umbrella speckled with light and dark pink polka dots. Wrapped in a thick gray peacoat, she added a red beret and matching gloves made of bright crimson, with white hearts and other geometric shapes woven into the thread. She tied her hair back in a French braid and fastened on her favorite pair of daisy earrings, hoping the bit of cheer might offset the otherwise grim purpose of her outing.
Rey opted to take the first bus out of town with her car still out of commission. She waited at the stop, quietly tapping her foot against the sidewalk as she double-checked her phone.
She told Rose she had a few errands to run before slipping through the door and turning off her location, choosing not to tell any of her friends where she was really going. What good would it do to worry them, especially when her reasons weren't even clear to herself?
Loose fringes of an idea had surfaced after she returned home from the bar the night before. It was a risk to seek her own answers, to step into a world that offered no guarantee of safety.
But the pull was stronger than her fear.
And just like the siren's call that pulled her to the truth about Ben's father, she felt the same need to immerse herself in the world he once called home.
The University of Coruscant.
Clouds billowed above, darkening in uneven patches across the distance, heightening the chill in the air.
When the bus finally rounded the corner, Rey climbed aboard and made her way to the back, settling against the silver-plated windowpane.
She read on the University's website that many of their archives were stored on a digitized platform with materials accessible to state residents but never made public online. On a whim, she pieced together a plan: visit the University, find the Sheev Palpatine School of Law, and visit the library so she could access the files.
If luck were truly on her side, it would be a bonus that she could also learn more about Ben's elusive uncle, Dr. Luke Skywalker. A brief description of his biography on their website provided little to no details other than a list of his accomplishments and papers he had been a part of, lectures, and both current and future courses he would be teaching.
Though she did not know what to do if she were to run into him, the goal was to do her own research, to take Finn's initial advice, and to inform herself of the family she worked for. Feeling as though it was too much to ask Armitage any more questions and an impertinence to speak with Leia, she took the matter into her own hands.
The moment her feet touched the brick-laden sidewalk, she noticed each one had a name etched across the top, possibly of a donor or an alumnus who had once walked these same grounds.
Her eyes scanned across the names, her pace slowing as she took each one in. She wondered if any of them ever came back to visit or if this place had been nothing more than a stepping stone into their next phase of life. University had never been part of her path. Even though she had once dreamed of earning a few certifications in mechanics, she had to put this on hold, knowing fully that on her previous salary, it was not something she could commit to.
As she continued to walk, Rey assumed the campus was primarily empty today because of the approaching holiday. A few students leisurely walked the path to various buildings, bundled underneath jackets and scarves, to brace themselves from the cold. She did not need her umbrella then, so she hooked it to her forearm, allowing it to brush against her legs, and pulled out her phone to navigate where she needed to go.
The campus was large, and its buildings spread across various locations. Some of them tucked downtown in the capital city of Chandrila, others were within walking distance of the dorms that settled along the Horseshoe— an elongated space in the shape of its namesake, covered in magnolias and overgrown oaks that had been there for over a century.
Rey had never visited the capital before but knew this was where the State House stood, along with Leia's office as Attorney General of the State of Coruscant.
And this made her wonder if Ben's relationship with his mother was always full of turmoil, just as Armitage alluded to the other day. Or had there been a time when things were better?
Her GPS notified her of the next turn, which took her down the street from where the bus originally dropped her off. She turned around a corner, spying the State House from a distance, and that was when she realized she had arrived at her destination.
The building was massive, with tall, overarching Doric order columns cushioning the base of the frieze that hovered above the circular form. It reminded Rey how serious the lawyer occupation was and how there was little to no room for nonsense.
Not that she could decipher, anyway.
To the side of the edifice was a courtyard lined with trees similar to what she had seen near the dorms. The masculine proportions of the building contrasted with the manicured layout of the brush that aligned the property, a cohesive balance to what Rey assumed was a visual representation of both law and order.
She wandered toward the courtyard's entrance, taking in its stillness, until she found herself standing at the base of a towering copper statue.
Rey looked up with curious inspection, noticing the statue was of a man, captured mid-step as if he had heard his name, clutching a book to his side. His hair was cropped short, and he wore a tailored suit typical of the time when he held great importance.
Her gaze dragged to a plaque that curved towards the viewer, and she immediately recognized the name that appeared engraved in clean, deliberate lettering alongside the dates of his birth and death:
Sheev Palpatine.
And beneath it, a quote that read: "Let your death be the final word in the story of your legacy."
She wondered why they had chosen such a brazen quote for the memorial, and the cold, familiar feeling of ominous dread filled her stomach. It begged to question who this man was and what exactly his relationship with the Skywalkers looked like.
A few droplets of frozen rain fell overhead, signaling her it was time to find the library. She took one last look at the statue, grimacing as she digested the dead look in Palpatine's eyes.
The library was easy to locate, serving students at the heart of the University.
Her footsteps trailed along the pavement as she ascended the stairs. The temperature had noticeably dropped several degrees, and as she shook her umbrella free of rain that clung to its edges, she propped it up against the doorway among others that gathered.
Subdued tones of dark brown, beige, and burgundy surrounded her. Multiple levels lined with bookshelves stood in neat, orderly rows that vanished into what she thought appeared to be miles. The circulation desk greeted her with quiet, unassuming nods, and directed her toward the section she needed.
Rey quickly learned that the digitized archives were located in a room beneath the main entrance and accessible only by elevator. She clutched a small note that was scribbled with directions that they had given her and steps to navigate the system.
Residents were granted access through a general login and password, temporary credentials she did not need to keep but ones that would unlock whatever data she sought, an incredibly useful tool, yet one not virtually known by most of the locals.
When she arrived at the computer lab, a slow wave of relief washed over her in knowing that she was alone. Half of the room was bathed in a dull, pale glow, the other in complete darkness. For the first time that day, she felt a moment of bliss, and she gravitated to the farthest corner of the room before settling into a seat in the dark.
After a series of clicks, Rey eventually logged onto the database and began with a single search term.
A name: Luke Skywalker.
Dozens of results appeared with papers that he had written and co-authored, curriculum outlines for his courses, and a long archive of lectures that spanned over the last twenty-eight years. From what Rey could tell, Luke had started his academic career in the late 1990s, earning his bachelor's and master's, followed by a PhD—all at the University of Coruscant.
She continued to scroll. Nothing unusual stood out at first, just endless PDF thumbnails, published journal articles, and listings of past speaking events.
Until one title caught her eye.
Anakin Skywalker. Guest Lecture Series. 2001.
A single flyer was attached to the document.
She clicked the link. The screen flickered before the image loaded. It was sluggish but in high resolution, and the glow illuminated her face with soft blue light. Someone had scanned the original image, perhaps quite a few years ago.
She leaned forward, zooming in.
In bold letters, the title of the lecture series stretched across the top of the flyer:
An Evening with Solicitor Anakin Skywalker On Law, Legacy, and Moral Absolutes.
Rey scrolled further, eyes scanning the list of participants.
Anakin was listed as the primary speaker. Beneath him was Moff Tarkin, a professor of criminal law, and Dr. Luke Skywalker, who was noted as a newly appointed adjunct professor at the beginning of his academic career.
And then a final name, covered by a thick, black line.
She blinked, squinting her eyes.
Was the name removed by hand, or did someone digitally alter it after scanning the image?
Why would someone go through the trouble of redacting it?
Frowning, she pulled out her phone and snapped a quick photo of the flyer. She stared at the image, trying to make sense of it before shaking her head. It all begged to question who had wanted this name erased, and why they did it.
Was it suspicious? Or was there a mistake? It was difficult to tell and eventually, when she felt she had done all of the research that she could, Rey powered down the computer and made her way back to the front of the library.
She numbly nodded her thanks to the staff and stepped outside, grabbing her umbrella as the chill greeted her.
Her trip was necessary, but rather than help her understand or bridge the widening gap, it only left her to mull over her original question when she first started her inquiry.
Who were the Skywalkers, really?
☾
"Go ahead and pull the foley," Armitage said, his voice low just as Rey stepped into the cottage's living room.
"Ten-four," Mitaka replied.
Her eyes immediately drifted toward the frosted glass panels of Ben's bedroom. She could see the silhouettes of both men, their shadows muted by the distortion in the glass.
It wasn't often that the two nurses crossed paths, seeing as Rey usually filled the space between their shifts, providing relief to each of them. She wondered if something serious was taking place.
Not wanting to disturb them, she went about her routine and kept to herself by putting her things away slowly, partly out of habit, partly to avoid any unwanted interaction with Ben.
After her visit to the library yesterday, it felt strangely surreal to return here. This place, her workplace, felt heavier, like it belonged to a different version of her. Her weekend had been emotionally exhausting, and the transition back into caregiving felt jarring.
One positive she could count on was that Sundays were usually quiet in the cottage, meaning Ben had no scheduled physical therapy or doctor's appointments, usually leaving the house in a state of stillness.
That is when he wasn't blasting his unforgiving death metal.
Once she put her things away, Rey went through her grocery list for the afternoon to pass along to Threepio and took stock of the fridge, noting what they needed replenishing and what she might attempt to cook that wouldn't end in total disaster.
Several minutes passed as the men's voices behind the doors faded into hushed murmurs. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but then Armitage and Mitaka eventually emerged from the room. They closed the doors behind them, exchanging disgruntled looks that caused Rey to pause.
"What's all this then?" she asked, eyeing them.
"We pulled the foley," Mitaka replied flatly.
She stared. "And that means what, exactly?"
Armitage stifled a cough as he peeled off his blue latex gloves. "Foley catheter. It drains urine from the bladder. Ben asked for it to be removed so that he can try to self-cath, now that he has more mobility in his arms."
"Why would he do that?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"He wants to see if he can start urinating on his own," Mitaka replied, glancing at Armitage. "Rather than relying on the catheter."
Armitage nodded gravely. "In the meantime... he'll wear briefs. Adult diapers, to be exact."
A soft red flush crept up on both men's cheeks, each fully aware of where this conversation was going.
"Oh," Rey murmured.
"And let's just say..." Armitage looked between them. "He isn't too happy about it."
Suddenly, without warning, a loud crash echoed from behind the closed doors, an object clamoring to the wooden floor.
"FUCK!"
The three of them exchanged startled glances, and Rey exhaled slowly, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater as she gestured toward the door, fully aware that she could no longer avoid seeing Ben.
"I've got it. You both go. I'll see you later," she grumbled.
Mitaka winced profusely. "Are you sure?"
"Not really, but go."
She motioned for them to leave and marched past them, stopping at the frosted doors. When she slid them open, she found Ben sitting upright in bed. The portable urinal lying helplessly on the floor.
His head whipped in her direction, raven hair falling across his face as he seethed. She ignored him, eyes scanning the mess as she mentally listed what she would need to clean it up.
When she returned—mop and gloves in hand—she said nothing. She righted the urinal and set it aside for later, then disinfected the spill before beginning to mop, methodically keeping it contained.
And then Ben's baritone cut through her concentration.
"You're still here?" he spat.
She gripped the handle of the mop, slowly turning to face him.
"Someone needed to help you clean this up." She arched her brow.
"That's what they're here for," he drawled, nodding towards the door, clearly referring to his nurses.
"No," she snapped in disagreement. "They are here to assist you with your medical needs."
"And I presume you're here to clean up the shit that follows."
She froze. The mop hovered above the floor as water trailed from the cloth. She didn't look up at him and only allowed a gentle scoff to pass through her lips as she shook her head and dropped the mop into the bucket with a wet slap. Squeezing it out as hard as she could, she reached for the urinal.
"I'm sick of it, Ben." Rey did not intend to say anything, merely thinking she could play his same game of defiance and childishness. The words came without warning, so much so that she was not entirely sure she had said them aloud. But she was angry. Very, angry.
"Of what?" he asked, his voice perilously soft.
She hesitated, blood thundering inside her ears, unsure if she truly wanted to fight with him.
It was a knee-jerk reaction, a desire to connect even if it meant doing so negatively.
"Of your pity party. I'm sick of it."
He pushed the hair back from his face, and she paused once more.
It was still strange to see him move so freely. Though she had watched him use his arms over the past week, whether it was lifting weights or feeding himself, there was something about the strength he carried. The precision. The lean tension of corded muscle beneath the skin that had once looked so fragile.
A fact that made her cheeks redden despite herself.
"Oh," he murmured. "You are?"
She did not respond and only turned around again, intending to leave.
Yet her voice found her once more, slipping past her lips before the thought fully formed, her emotions a betrayal to the logic that clawed to the forefront of her mind.
"I am," she said sadly. "I've seen that you are capable of being a decent human being."
A sound erupted from his chest, half laugh, half something darker.
"Are you sure about that?"
She turned toward him for a final time. His posture was rigid, loaded with ire, and hardened eyes filtered with rage. It appeared that he believed his words to be true, that perhaps he wanted to believe himself irredeemable and for her to believe this as well.
But she stubbornly held his gaze, clinging to her mop for support.
"Yes," she whispered.
She spun on her heel, not giving him a chance to respond this time, and gathered her supplies, leaving him to sit in silence.
Notes:
I know, I know, I know.
I really hate to do it to him, but I mean... this man is paralyzed, and it's not glamorous 👀
I have also updated the list of places for clarity.
Places
Coruscant - State
Chandrila - The Capital city in the State of Coruscant
Jakku - County
Niima Outpost - TownAs always, your continued support is always so much appreciated! Thank you for your kudos and comments and I would love to hear from you! Your encouragement seriously brightens my day! 🩵
Chapter 8
Summary:
“I thought that maybe we were becoming friends.”
Ben was silent now while his fingers pulled the blanket taut in his grasp. His expression was unreadable, but after several beats, something within him shifted. He turned his head to the side, deliberately looking away from her as if he could no longer bear her gaze.
“Maybe it’s better that we aren’t,” he whispered.
Notes:
Hello there! Welcome to another installment of Moonlight Miles. I have finally decided on how long this story will be, and if you peep the chapter count, we will be ending at a whopping number of twenty! But this also means that we are almost half way through 🥲
At the end of this chapter you will find a special treat that I had commissioned for a certain scene 👀
I hope you all enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Rey! REY!” Rose's voice echoed from the living room, her fervent and distinct enthusiasm bouncing off the walls. “Come here!”
A cold wind whipped across the shutters outside of her room, and they clattered against the siding, which jerked Rey out of a deep sleep. She could hear the faint muffles of someone calling her name, but it was not until Rose practically clamored to her door and shoved it open that she realized she was not dreaming this sequence—but actually living it.
Rey blinked in disoriented confusion, stunned by the sudden intrusion of her friend.
“You will not believe it!” Rose shrieked.
Rey groaned inertly, grumbling an apathetic response, “Believe what?”
Not bothering to answer, Rose merely scoffed and grabbed Rey by her arms, disregarding her personal space, and dragged her in front of the television.
The local news report flashed on the screen, and a bright red band ran parallel across the bottom with all capitalized white letters that read:
SNOW STORM WARNING FOR NIIMA OUTPOST
Rey squinted her golden hazel eyes to comprehend what she was reading fully. After she wiped them with the backs of her palms, she stared and turned her attention to the window.
Ambling closer, she peeled back the curtain to reveal a thick blanket of snow that concealed the ground—a profusion of frigid arctic bliss—a rarity for their small southern town of humidity and heat.
She gawked, fully awake now, and took one look at Rose, who grinned like a Cheshire cat. Before either of them could think, they both raced to the front door and flung it open, running as fast as they could off the porch steps and onto the lawn, laughing and dancing exuberantly. They raised their arms to receive the snow with wide, open embraces and shrieked like children without a care.
Scooping a massive pile of snow into her palm, Rey packed it into a ball and heaved it without warning at Rose, giggling as it struck squarely against the side of her head. Rose gasped, offended, and moved to do the same, but Rey dodged it skillfully before it could collide with her. Their cheeks and noses flushed pink against the wintry essence, and their breath came in short bursts as they dallied in their play, leaving Rey to realize once it was over how she had not felt this alive in weeks.
An hour later, she wandered to the mansion dressed in her red beret and matching gloves, delicately balancing her clear, domed umbrella as she marveled at the sky.
Snow was not scarce in England, and she did not take it with as much jollity as she did now. Winters were much harsher there, and though it would bring about a fervor within the orphanage from which she came, it did not always promise safety.
Thankfully, she viewed this differently now as an adult, but a part of her lingered in the mindset of the little girl she once was before being rescued by her foster parents. Shivering in her coat of many colors and perpetually seeking warmth, she could never fully enjoy the stillness of the snowfall.
Until now.
Her footsteps crunched over the sweeping envelopment of snow, and her eyes drifted back to the path she had carved along the hedges leading to Ben's cottage. She smiled secretly before closing her umbrella, shaking it free of the crystalline snowdrops that capped around its edges, and placed it against the annex wall.
Following her conversation with Ben last Sunday, the week trudged by with sluggish animosity. It was a blur of routine doctor visits and physical therapy appointments, leaving no room for her to process any part of their encounter—not that he seemed interested in speaking to her, anyway.
Now that he could feed himself, he only relied on her help with the chores, transportation, and administering his medication, which remained locked away by her shared key with his nurses.
After placing her things away, she greeted Armitage in the kitchen, his pale face drawn with an expression of reluctance.
She gazed at him strangely before speaking. “What is it?”
“I have a massive favor to ask of you,” he winced, his emerald eyes pleading with her.
Rey pressed her lips together firmly. Great, this was bound to be good.
“Another patient of mine does not have anyone to stay with them during the storm, and Mitaka is in a similar situation. Is there any way—”
“Please don't say that you need me to spend the night here,” she groaned.
His shoulders fell, cowed with regret as he repeated her words back at her. “I need you to stay here overnight.”
A muttered curse escaped her lips like a thief in the night, and she glared at the ceiling momentarily before shaking away her visible disdain.
“I guess I have no choice.”
She knew Leia was conveniently out of town with Threepio, which unfortunately reminded her of the last time she had to stay with the Prince of Misery and Gloom by herself, and she wondered how she had gotten so lucky to be in another similar circumstance.
Something told her that this would not be as pleasant.
Her heart sank at the memory, and she thought about Maz again, fighting the urge to message her.
Think of the money, your freedom, and your car.
She exhaled profoundly after a pause and nodded. “Okay, yeah, fine, I can.”
A minuscule, grateful smile appeared across Armitage's lips, and he hoisted his bag around his shoulders, gesturing to Ben's closed doors. “Thank you. You know I wouldn't ask you if I wasn't in a tight spot.”
“I know,” she muttered as she folded her arms across her chest.
“He's a bit under the weather right now and is sleeping, so maybe he'll be less abrasive than he has been lately. Just keep an eye on him.”
Though he could not verify this with certitude, Rey appreciated his attempt to soften the blow of her situation, even if she doubted a cold would stop Ben from being anything but abrasive.
“Got it,” she sighed.
He adjusted the strap on his bag. “By the way, Threepio fully stocked the fridge yesterday on your day off, and there's plenty of wood in the shed for the fireplace if you need it.”
Turning to leave, he tapped his fingers lightly against the medicine cabinet on his way to the door. “And if he needs any fever reducer or anything else, it's all in here. Just text me if you have questions.”
“No worries. You can see yourself out now.” She smiled wryly with an obvious bite to her tone, which gave him cause to hesitate, but she shooed him off with an eye roll before he could say another word.
The moment Armitage left, Rey surveyed her surroundings as she considered what to tackle first. She needed to do laundry, and she wanted to make a pot of chicken noodle soup they could share for lunch and dinner, even though she knew Ben would likely protest this. Her eyes drifted to his room at the thought of him, and she shuffled closer to take a quick peek by scrupulously easing back one of the doors.
She found him lying peacefully amidst a sea of black as his chest rose and fell with each soundless breath while he slept. A sigh of relief escaped her in knowing she did not have to speak with him yet, but she mentally prepared herself for the moment she would, and slid the door back into place.
☾
Rey closed the lid of the washing machine and allowed the hollow echo of the metal to center her as she dialed the knob to the setting she needed.
It occurred to her it had been some time since she had last checked on Ben. She was busy cooking for a majority of that morning, but fully knowing he would not ask her for anything, she took the plunge and made her way to knock gently against the doorframe before she entered.
Ben was awake, his hair ruffled across the sweaty expanse of his forehead. Already rather pale—which fit his overall reclusive nature—his skin gave off a sickly twinge, and she narrowed her eyes, wondering if he was worse off than she originally imagined.
“Do you need anything?” she asked flatly, pulling the door back.
Ben’s dark eyes shifted to meet hers in a painful, gradual motion, and he swallowed before he nodded his head once. “Could you adjust my pillows?”
The request was simple, yet it still made her pause before she stepped through the entrance. When she grew closer to him, she realized just how ill he was.
Armitage had not seemed alarmed before he left, but now, as Rey gave Ben her full attention, she frowned with apprehension and gently placed one hand around the back of his neck and the other on his pillow to shift him.
A soft hiss emitted from his lips, sending her nerves alight as she pulled her hand back to regard him, worrying she might have made things worse. There was obvious tension in his brow as he squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, but then he opened them again, and they locked with her own.
“What else can I do?” She felt hesitant, and a feeling of empathy washed over her despite her need to also protect herself.
He paused. “Stay.”
Her heart thundered profusely, and after a moment, she nodded and heeded his request. Spying a dark upholstered chair in the corner of his room, she moved it closer to him and tried to make herself comfortable.
A long, rectangular window to the right of Ben’s bedside relayed the most breathtaking view of the mansion’s snow-covered grounds. She could see the giant hedge maze she had walked by earlier, her path of footsteps now completely buried beneath fresh snowfall and no longer visible.
It was difficult for her to look at him, and she did not fully understand why he wanted her company now after he had been so vile the last couple of weeks. Observing the snow drift in silence, it blanketed the landscape and obscured all the familiar shapes of pattern and symmetry she had once memorized before the ice, keeping her distracted long enough until he spoke again.
“What makes you think I’m a decent human being?” he rasped, his baritone noticeably weaker than normal.
Though she said nothing at first, her gaze drifted to him as she clutched the fabric of her skirt absently, which had small, deliberate holes against a solid emerald backdrop that rested above the teal color of her tights.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, dumbfounded.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Last week, you said you saw me capable of being a decent human being. What makes you think that?”
A light scoff tore through her as she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said tiredly. “I thought... after your seizure, things were different.”
“Different, how?”
She shrugged. Was now the time to be candid, even with him being sick?
“You weren’t... well, you weren’t being cruel,” she said evenly.
The faintest trace of a smirk tugged across his lips, and a small, crescent-shaped dimple appeared.
“Cruel?” he repeated, tilting his head inquisitively to the side.
Rey frowned and adjusted her legs beneath her. It was challenging to be honest with him, and finding the courage to do so was like baring her throat to a lion, praying he would not bite. Every warning bell in her mind activated, but deciding to persist, she found her voice before it faltered.
“You startled me,” she admitted. “When I heard you arguing with your mother... and what you said to me—the way you said it to me before and after I left your study, and when you grabbed my wrist...”
Her voice noticeably trailed off, and after a moment, she dared herself to meet his eyes again. “I just don’t understand, Ben. I know you don’t trust easily. I was a stranger to you and your mother when I first took this job. But after your seizure... after some of our conversations, and the movie...”
She paused again, her voice growing more thin by the second.
“I just thought...”
“You thought what?” he murmured.
Rey could readily admit that she was naïve, perhaps even too trusting. She had known this from the start when Finn cautiously warned her about applying for a job with little to no description.
Her thoughts now circulated around every clue she had uncovered recently, every hushed piece of gossip she had learned.
Her trip to the university.
The hidden photo of his younger self with the girl.
His grandfather’s badge.
All of it.
And yet, even with all she knew, it dawned on her that she saw him more clearly now as a broken man, teetering on the edge of destruction, haunted by a past so painful he had nearly ended it all after the accident.
Perhaps, even after these last few weeks, she was willing to understand his flaws and pain and what role the Skywalker legacy played in his life.
In any case, what else did she have to lose?
The freight train of noise that billowed throughout her mind blended into the scenery of her reality. A shaky breath escaped her, and before she knew it, she stood abruptly. Though there was a bit of trepidation, she looked down at him, deciding to no longer cower.
“I thought that maybe we were becoming friends.”
Ben was silent now while his fingers pulled the blanket taut in his grasp. His expression was unreadable, but after several beats, something within him shifted. He turned his head to the side, deliberately looking away from her as if he could no longer bear her gaze.
“Maybe it’s better that we aren’t,” he whispered.
Rey did not expect his words to sting as much as they did, but they still pierced a small fraction of her heart—a tender, delicate spot where defensiveness seemed to bleed freely. It was not fair that he got to decide that this was how things would be.
“Why do you push everyone away?” she asked in frustration. “The way you treat your mother, your doctors... even your best friend?”
Her comment seemed to catch his attention, and his eyes traced a leisure and dark path back to hers.
“If only you knew.”
“I want to,” she said firmly, earnestly. “I want to know.”
Anger fueled her, and she no longer cared how it sounded. She wanted an honest answer from him that would not cause him to shut her out. But he still lacked trust in her, and the question formed against his lips.
“Why?”
“Because...” She angled her head and crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. “I don’t think you’re as dark as you claim to be.”
He stared at her blankly. “Elaborate on what you mean by ‘dark.’ ”
Rey was tired of fighting—tired of the same perpetual argument that always circled back with no resolution in sight. They constantly strayed to the edges of a catastrophic eruption, forever stagnant in their defenses, too busy fortifying their walls, and she finally had enough.
To end this bickering, she pushed down her ego far beyond the crevices of her being, deciding on a new course of action.
Eliciting humor.
She threw her hands up, gesturing to the midnight expanse of his duvet, “You’re gloomy. And a total ass. But there's still somewhat of a heart inside you. Probably growing as we speak.”
A flash of surprise flickered across his ailing expression, and he narrowed his eyes. “Did you just... compare my heart to the Grinch?”
Was it working?
“If you didn’t act like him, maybe I wouldn’t have to use it as a metaphor,” she shot back, confident now.
“At least I didn’t steal Christmas.”
“Who knows!” she cried, feigning outrage. “I might have just infiltrated your evil plan to do so by calling you out, seeing as Christmas is just around the corner.”
Rey could almost hear Rose’s voice inside her head, reminding her to kill him with kindness. It wasn’t exactly this. But he seemed to take it well.
“And here I assumed you didn’t enjoy sarcasm.”
She shook her head. “Sarcasm’s fine. I just don’t like superiority.”
“Ah. You must hate me, then,” he said lowly.
“I’ve never hated anyone.”
She marked her reply with sincerity, allowing the drop of mirth she had cultivated to fade just as quickly as she manifested it.
Ben’s lips pressed together into a tight line, his cold and familiar demeanor once more sharpening his features to challenge her. “Not even when you heard me cuss out my mother?”
There it was again. The instinct to push her away. To rebuild his walls.
“I don’t think you should treat her like that,” she spoke truthfully. “Especially after all that she’s done for you.”
“All that she has done for me...” he echoed coldly.
“Look,” Rey pleaded, “I don’t know what happened before the accident. But I do know that she cares for you.”
It was apparent in his lifestyle and the small touches she had made to his living situation. Rey could not fathom how much money Leia had put into the cottage renovation, the countless doctors’ visits, the rehabilitation center, and the physical therapy he had access to. Even if things were arduous between them, she knew his mother loved him despite all of his defects.
He remained silent, his resentment still stewing beneath an air of malady and exhaustion. Rey wanted to believe there was good in him, that she could reach him somehow, even if it felt like a lost cause.
But she could sense it happening.
He was slipping back into his default state of being by retreating and shutting her out—easily withdrawing behind the mask of cold familiarity.
Rey’s shoulders slumped ceremoniously, already knowing that this final attempt was her last card to play.
And then, without warning, he surprised her.
“Why do you think Hux is my best friend?” he asked curiously.
Rey gazed at him in astonishment. “Is he not?”
“At the very least, he's someone who has been in my life for quite some time now.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “... your best friend,” she corrected.
“More like the hired help.”
It was a start and more than she had gotten in the last few weeks since his change in mood. But she still considered the possibility of his poor health, and that the fire within him did not burn as hot as it usually did because of this.
Yet, another part of her wanted to believe that maybe it was a conscious decision to put down his weapons, even if for a moment, to meet her in the middle of their ever-growing chasm.
Rey could not help herself but to grin and did her best to stifle a laugh at this, but it slipped out anyway despite herself.
☾
With his bedroom doors left ajar, Rey carefully balanced two heaping bowls of chicken noodle soup with a can of ginger ale for Ben in the crook of her arm, mindfully adding a blue, bendy straw despite his agitated protest of not needing it.
A TV tray hovered over his lap, and she smiled brightly when he piqued an air of displeasure at her entry.
“Chicken noodle soup, fresh out of the pot.”
“You made this?” he asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
She made a face and gently sat her bowl on the windowsill before placing his on the tray.
“Yes, I made it. Who else would have?”
“We do live in the age of DoorDash and Uber Eats,” he replied dryly.
She snorted. “Do you really think anyone would actually dare being out in this snow? People already can’t bloody drive around here—plus, it’s Niima Outpost. DoorDash barely exists.”
He rolled his eyes, a slight hint of amusement catching the amber glow. “Fair point. Though Threepio could’ve made it before he left with my mother.”
“If this is your way of saying you’re refusing to eat what I made, you’re out of luck. Soup is your only option.”
He let out a soft sigh and winced as he tried to shift positions, adjusting himself against the pillows.
“Fine,” he muttered, sullenly eyeing the spoon she had placed neatly beside his bowl.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, absently watching a documentary about some WW2 military ambush. Rey paid little attention until they finished their lunch and the program ended.
“We ought to put on a Christmas film now,” she suggested.
Ben’s gaze drifted to hers with placid, unamused disinterest. “That sounds horrible. Yeah, no thank you.”
“See? What did I tell you? You are the Grinch.”
“It’s because I’m green, isn’t it?”
The apparent reference to the movie went beyond her until she smirked at his sarcasm.
“I have seen that movie, you know.”
“And at first, I will admit, I thought that was a metaphor for you saying you were going to vomit.”
“Not quite,” he said dryly, “But if you serve me any more of this soup, who knows?”
She frowned, peeking over at the empty bowl that now rested on his nightstand, his TV tray pushed to the side.
“Was it bad?” There was a touch of insecurity in her tone, but she did her best to smother it down for the sake of her pride.
He shook his head casually, the faint upturn of that same aggravating smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. It’s probably one of the best things you’ve made, actually. Are your skills improving?”
“Who says they needed improving in the first place?” she challenged, gesturing to his obviously empty bowl.
“You always have room for improvement. Don’t you know that a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”
Rey sneered in annoyance, ignoring the flush of heat that crept down her neck. Who was he to make such blatant gender stereotypes?
“And who said I was trying to impress you?”
“No one,” he shrugged with maddening casualty. “But if you’re trying to get to know me better, you might as well continue to improve your culinary abilities.”
Her face immediately fell flat as she stood to collect their dirty dishes.
“And if you were not ill and paralyzed, I might throttle you for that comment.”
The subtle hint of an amused smile flickered across his face as he watched her stomp off.
“It was a joke, Johnson. But I’ll admit that I find it amusing being able to ruffle your feathers so easily.”
She raised her middle finger over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen.
☾
A tedium of fresh snow bordered the cottage while the frigid air grew still, daylight waning softly to darkness.
It had been a few hours since Rey had last checked on Ben, wanting to give him space to rest after lunch. The silvery haze of the moon emitted a fragile light that spilled through the slit in the curtains, barely covering the window beside his bed. She padded silently across the floor and pulled them closed as she spied Ben nestled amongst a burrow of blankets.
His bedside lamp emphasized his most prominent features, and Rey sucked in a small, deep breath as she found the nerve to place the back of her palm against his forehead. A thin sheen of sweat coated his brow, and she noticed his complexion had worsened—ostensibly much paler than before.
Rey scolded herself inwardly for not realizing this sooner and decided it would be best to send Armitage an update on his condition to take extra precautions. Feeling thankful that he kept his read receipts on, she tried to reason with herself that he would respond when he had time to do so. After all, he had other patients that he was responsible for, and he trusted her to take care of Ben when he or Mitaka could not be there as backup.
While she waited, she eased into the dark quilted chair once more and surveyed her surroundings. Ben's rhythmic breaths were the only sounds made as her gaze drifted to the bookshelf behind her.
A peculiar magazine cover from Cycle World caught her attention, resting against a blended yet neatly organized stack of law texts and novels. She leaned in while peering at the cover before gently placing her hand over the smooth texture, opening a page carefully dog-eared to an article titled “Song of the Sausage Creature ” by Hunter S. Thompson.
Traces of a small, involuntary smile formed across her lips as she scanned the piece. The first thing that caught her attention was the illustration of an outlandishly cartoonish man riding a fiery red crotch rocket, his mouth practically unhinged while he simultaneously screamed, lurched forward, and hurtled into the open road—his cowboy hat helplessly trailing behind him in a frenzy.
The second was the subject itself: motorcycles—but more specifically, the vertiginous feeling of owning a Ducati 900 and experiencing the raw and crude violence of its torque without evaporating into a pile of mush across the blacktop.
As she read, the soft smile that once fell across her lips faded into despondence, a pang of regret unfurling inside of her chest. There was a grim truth to the parallel that was Ben's reality, and she wondered how much of this resonated with him in knowing that he himself had fallen into the embrace of the Sausage Creature.
While lost, she did not feel the burn of Ben’s gaze until she finished reading. It startled her somewhat when she looked up, watching his bleary eyes blink themselves back into the present.
“Did you learn anything?” he asked softly as he nodded to the magazine in her hand.
Her cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink as she closed the binding, placing it back on the shelf and moving to sit on the edge of his bed.
“S-sorry, I didn’t mean t—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted, swallowing thickly. “I was just curious.”
She nodded timidly as she folded her hands onto her lap.
“Um,” she began in embarrassment. “Well, I didn’t really learn anything new per se, although motorcycles aren’t exactly my forte. I’m pretty familiar with the basics of how an engine works, though. I guess it just reaffirmed that I am not the only person who believes that slow is good, but fast is, well, better.”
This was a direct quote from the article, something that stood out to her upon reading. Ben appeared to know exactly what she referred to as well.
He nodded in agreement. “Yes and no,” he whispered.
It only then occurred to her just how blatantly insensitive her comment was, and she felt the overwhelming need to shove her foot inside her mouth to prevent herself from saying anything more foolish.
“I—oh, I-I didn’t mean tha—,” she stuttered.
A small breath of air escaped him in what she assumed was laughter weakened by his ill state, the same lopsided smile she had borne witness to earlier in the day inching its way back across his features.
“Going fast is better,” he agreed. “But clearly, I paid the price for that decision.”
She looked down at her hands again as she played with one of the holes in her skirt, embarrassed that she had said it, regardless.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Don’t be.”
They sat in silence until he spoke again, his tone even as he pulled the covers above his shoulders.
“Tell me something good.”
She angled her body back to face him and tilted her head with surprise.
“Like what?” she asked.
“Anything.”
Rey thought for a moment while she moved to lift the glass of water from his night table, adjusting the blue bendy straw she had given him earlier to his lips as he took a small sip. A change of topic was necessary, so she racked her brain for something interesting to tell him.
“When I was little, I had a pair of sparkly wellies that my foster mum bought for me, and I refused to take them off. I wore them all summer—in the bath, to sleep at night, everywhere. My favorite outfit was the sparkly wellies and my bumble bee tights.”
“Bumble bee tights?” he echoed curiously.
“Black and yellow stripes,” she answered with a sheepish grin.
“Oh, dear god.” A part of her loathed at how quickly her heartbeat stuttered at the sight of that smirk again, but she giggled anyway, allowing her more vulnerable side to the forefront.
“I really, really, really liked having stripy legs!” she cried defensively.
“And what happened to these magnificent wellies and stripy tights of yours?”
She couldn’t help but keep smiling, the corners of her hazel eyes crinkling at the fond memory.
“Ah, I outgrew them. They sadly don’t make tights like those anymore, not for a grown woman, anyway.”
“How strange.”
“Oh, you can mock. Haven’t you loved anything in your life that much?”
There was a prolonged pause as he cast his eyes at something behind her. The golden hue of amber tones that burned through the darkness in his eyes brightened for only a moment before it faded solemnly into the stillness.
And then he responded, his voice distant and sad, as he shifted his gaze back to her own.
“Yes, I did.”
☾
It was an unexpected surprise to hear the subjection in Ben’s voice once he admitted his truth to her.
A part of her wondered what exactly he loved so much and who that might have been, even if he never quite alluded to what it was exactly that he referred to.
Her thoughts helplessly flickered to the photograph of the girl, her long blonde hair draped across her back and large, lustrous brown eyes glowing in the sunlight.
The life he led before was a world that Rey knew she had no place in. It was a life of abundance and power, a place where rules were seldom followed by the ones who established them.
She also wondered if this girl, curled beneath his bicep with her hand casually splayed over the vast expanse of his chest, came from this same world.
A chill ran through her, and she took this as a signal to check her phone and stoke the fire one last time before she headed to bed, knowing well that these continuous thoughts would only torture her. A pile of blankets she had pulled from the linen closet sat atop the couch where she planned to sleep. The snow had finally come to an impasse, but the gelid, wintry frost that saturated the air still seeped through the cottage walls, so she decided to ransack Ben’s wardrobe for a sweater and a pair of socks to combat this.
He was asleep again, his eyes fluttering beneath his lids as he dreamed. Rey checked his temperature, realizing that he still felt feverish. Armitage had not responded, which worried her somewhat. Still, after they ate dinner, she had the forethought to give Ben a fever reducer and plenty of water, helping him adjust his comforter as best as she could for his fluctuating body heat as he drifted off.
Slowly moving through the darkness, she eased his wardrobe open, thumbing through the fabric until her fingertips landed on a black sweater inconspicuously placed towards the back of the rack. As she brought it into the moonlight, she frowned when she noticed a hole in its side, slightly tattered and worn on the edges. Rey could not help but bring it to her nose to smell as the faint scent of sandalwood and leather wound through her.
Inspecting the hole, she idly decided that she would try to mend it for him tomorrow, then tugged the sweater over her head and unfastened her braids, allowing her hair to spill across her shoulders while she slid on a pair of his socks over her teal tights.
When she attempted to tiptoe back out into the living room, she could hear a subtle ruffling coming from his bedside and she halted when the familiar feeling of dark eyes burned through her.
She turned around to look at him, half expecting that he might have needed something from her, or even worse—that he was cross with her for stealing an article of his clothing.
But when her gaze reached his, she found something else entirely.
He watched her in silence for several long, agonizing minutes as the obscured cloudiness of his sleep faded into keen awareness.
Rey opened her mouth to apologize for stealing his sweater, once more kicking herself for breaching his trust as her cheeks flushed. A distressed sense of anguish gripped her tightly, constricting her voice. The echo of fear she had felt when leaving his study replayed relentlessly, and she wondered if she had once again damaged the frailty of their truce.
However, this was not the familiar cold and stony conduct that he had possessed that evening when he grabbed her wrist.
It was something she had glimpsed at briefly after they had watched Arsenic and Old Lace.
After he caught her dancing in the living room.
After she had helped him shave.
It was a sliver of the man beneath the armor he forged, heat flashing in his eyes as they roved down the contour of her silhouette.
She could not tell if this was a result of his fever, and a part of her, deep down, hoped that it was not.
An ardent feeling of warmth cascaded down her spine at the realization, and she lost all sense of reality and manners of speaking when he whispered hoarsely to her.
“Stay.”
Rey stood dumbly for a moment before she squeaked. “What do you mean?”
This felt significantly different from before, but it still shocked her to hear him say it for now a second time that day.
“I mean, don't go.”
She swallowed, heartbeat thundering inside her chest as she looked around until her eyes settled onto the chair she had claimed earlier in the day.
“Not there,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened at the timbre of his voice in realizing what he meant.
Ben looked over at the unoccupied space beside him, his eyes falling heavy again with distinct infirmity, gesturing for her to sit down.
With acute hesitation, she nodded and sank shyly into the mattress, lifting her legs to lie flat beside his own, and rested her head against the pillow.
Rey stared up at the ceiling and folded her hands neatly across her abdomen, trying to reason with the nerves that lingered.
Being so close to Ben, feeling his presence so intimately, made her feel foggy at best.
The steady rhythm of his breathing filled the air, and after a few minutes of silence, she wondered if he had fallen asleep again. She shifted her head to face him and only found him staring at her.
“Rey.”
His voice had obvious tension, but whether that was a factor of his illness suddenly evaded her. She no longer knew how to feel or think or if her fears remained valid once she heard the cadence of which he said her name.
Not just her last name, but her first.
“Yeah?” she whispered back.
He rolled his jaw once as if he were not sure himself—a side of him she was not used to.
“What you said earlier about wanting to get to know me, are you sure?”
Nothing could have prepared her to hear him ask this, and she paused as she studied his facial expression. She could see every ridge of his scar that cut across his brow and cheek, disappearing underneath the collar of his shirt. A constellation of beauty marks she had never quite had the courage to observe before traced his skin, and she could not help but remain curious over how many of them there were.
“I'm sure.” Could he hear the frantic beating of her heart pulsating beneath her ribs?
His lips formed into a tight line. “Why do you want to know me after how horrible I've been?”
Ben Solo was not a man known to apologize; at least, that isn't what she had gathered in the last two and a half months she had gotten to know him. He was abrasive, and probably even more so before his accident. The darkness that pooled within him could be easily mistaken for a barren, empty abyss incapable of being forgiven.
But she knew there also had to be some light within him despite the many flaws he had, the family he came from and the past he kept hidden away.
And her willingness to forgive, to see him for who he was beneath the mask of chiseled hatred and being misunderstood, suddenly outweighed the fear she had felt before.
“I see the conflict within you,” she murmured, daring herself to hold his gaze. “And I think you're torn.”
“Torn?” he asked softly.
“I think there are nuances to what you have been through, and even if you're right about being horrible, I still think there is more to you than you let anyone see.”
Ben's eyes narrowed slightly. “And what are those nuances?”
She shrugged, her shoulder barely reaching the side of her jaw as she moved her other hand to lie underneath the pillow. “I know your father died in the same accident that you were in.”
There was somber gravity in the look he gave her, and he paused as he studied her carefully. They had never spoken about Han or how he had died, but it was a truth that should no longer be ignored. It was a part of his story, a factor in how he carried himself.
Though Rey did not know her birth parents, she understood what it was like to be alone, to lose someone she cared about.
“You know?” His expression was disbelieving for only a second before he spoke again, his eyes lighting in a way that appeared to form a connection. “Ah, you do know.”
“I saw his obituary.”
“Did my mother show this to you, or did you go searching for it on your own?” He did not sound angry, but a sinking feeling made its way into the pit of her stomach, anyway.
“No,” she whispered. “I saw it.”
“So someone showed you,” he clarified.
“Well, yes, but—”
He smirked, shaking his head, and interrupted her. “There are many things you don't know about me and my family that others seem to be experts on.”
“You're not the only person to say that.”
Rey wondered what he would think about her finding those answers on her own or how her friends also knew things about him. It was a universal truth within Niima Outpost that the Skywalkers had power and connections, and a small fraction of her mind considered the rumor Finn had told her about Ben having something to do with his father’s demise.
But because of her own hesitation and the walls that Ben placed around himself in defense, she failed to realize that these rumors, secrets, articles, and gossip came from sources other than him.
And Ben was the one she wanted to hear it from.
Not her friends.
Not the internet.
Him.
So without warning or thought, Rey did something she never once imagined herself doing before.
In the soft glow of moonlight that glinted off the sheet of icy fluorescence, Rey lifted her left hand and nudged it to fall into his own.
His palm, much larger than hers, was startlingly warm beneath her touch. She grasped the space between his index finger and thumb, squeezing the smooth skin before she brushed her own thumb against his knuckles.
“I'm sorry about your father, Ben,” she murmured.
There was a slight hitch in his breath the moment their hands touched, and it did not fall unnoticed by her as she dared to continue to hold his gaze.
Though he remained frozen for a while, his hand eventually closed around her own, and he mimicked her idle caress, gently swiping his thumb across the small breadth of her knuckles.
His touch was soothing despite the callouses that formed from his relentless weightlifting, and a surge of delicate, tranquil warmth oozed its way down her spine—like the universe was tilting on its axis by their hands finally making contact.
She did not know how long they stayed like this, staring at one another.
Submerged in the comfort of his sweater and their locked hands, her eyes slowly closed as her senses blurred into a deepened, serene state of sleep.
☾
A cold wind rattled across the windowpane as snow flurries fell from the sky. The blanket of white seemed to grow, showing no signs of relenting.
But it was not the sound of the wind that woke Rey up from her deepened slumber much like it did yesterday; it was the panicked, masculine voice of someone familiar, someone close.
She startled, eyes widening at the sound of Armitage peeling back the covers away from Ben's body as he tried to shake him awake.
“Rey!” he said hastily, “Rey, how long has he been out like this?”
She immediately checked the time on her watch. It was seven thirty in the morning. She could not remember exactly what time they had both fallen asleep, and she scrambled from the bed as she searched for her phone.
Then she understood what Armitage meant.
Ben was lying completely still, his breath coming out in short, ragged puffs.
She tore her eyes away from him as she searched for the message, pulling it up for Armitage to see.
“I-I'm not sure! I tried to text you yesterday, but I heard nothing back from you. He was feverish all day. I gave him medicine, water... soup, anything I could think of.”
“Dammit,” Armitage cursed as he whipped his phone out from his scrub top.
He dialed frantically, pulling the covers completely off of Ben, speaking urgently.
“He needs to go to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” she repeated softly in disbelief.
“I wasn't able to see your message until this morning, and I came as soon as I could. His fever has reached to 105°.”
Before she knew what was happening, Armitage reached dispatch, calling for the immediate arrival of an ambulance.
Should she have sent another message? Should she have reached out to Mitaka instead?
There was no time for her to process what had happened between them last night, the confessions either made to one another, or even the incessant guilt she felt for not helping him sooner.
She could only stare at Ben, watching with impotence as Armitage did what he could to cool him off until the paramedics came and swept him away.
Notes:
What are we all thinking Armie is gonna say to Rey about catching these two kiddos in bed? Do you think he will give her shit for it? He has told her multiple times to give this grumpy man some time 😏
Wanted to give a shoutout to both of my betas rainydaychai (@rainydaychai) and yellowlightsaber (@theyellowsaber) for their endless help. They both have some insane, beautiful, AMAZING WIPS out right now that you should check out 🩵
I also give all the credit to @yellowlightsaber for her influence on the Grinch icebreaker!
A MASSIVE thank you to the ever so talented @cndcrd for her beautiful artwork! I was so fortunate to ask her if she would be able to recreate this scene for me and she absolutely knocked it out of the park! When I tell you it's the exact image I had in my brain!
Find her on IG, twitter and bluesky.
P.S! If you are curious, the article that Rey reads is another one of my IRL AD easter eggs that he has mentioned before when he worked as a security guard. You can find it here if you are interested!
Thank you all again for every comment and kudos you have left on this little story of mine! I really appreciate hearing from all of you, and I encourage you to keep doing so! It really brightens my day! 🩵
Chapter 9
Summary:
“So, are we going to address the elephant in the room?”
His comment initially caught her off guard, and she slowly angled her head towards him, narrowing her eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Clearly, you and Solo made up.”
Notes:
Good evening, lovelies! I hope you all are ready for this next chapter of Moonlight Miles. I am so excited to delve into this next installment!
I hope you all enjoy! 🩵
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The ambulance's wheels spun over a mixture of snow and ice that covered the gravel driveway, leaving a sundry of muddied tracks over what was once a blanket of stark white. The silvery streaks of flakes Rey had found comfort in now became a hazard, an utter detriment to getting Ben, who lay strapped to a gurney in a mess of IVs and an oxygen mask, to safety.
Watching helplessly through the window as the emergency vehicle pulled out onto the street, a mishmash of strobing lights flashed across her profile, bathing her in an ominous glow of red and white.
She couldn't ride in the cabin beside him, so she called for an Uber, which miraculously picked her up not long after Armitage left with Ben and the paramedics.
Clutching his bag of belongings to her side as she crawled into the back of the car, a part of her felt desperate to believe that perhaps he would not need it after all.
Rey observed the snow falling on every plain and treeless hill through the countryside, on decaying branches and homes that glowed dimly in the early morning light. They blurred past her through rivulets of fallen, wintry mixture as they melted against the heated car.
Her heart thundered within her chest as her eyes darted to the navigation, counting down with bated breath the minutes until she would arrive at her destination.
Rey's breath slowly dissipated when her Uber finally arrived at the main circular entrance to Jakku County Hospital. She pushed the car door open and thanked her driver, generously tipping him for his service.
Sliding glass doors whooshed open when her feet triggered the mechanism, and she swiftly moved to the counter, bracing her hands across the desk to inquire about Ben's whereabouts. A secretary with kind eyes and short, dark hair pointed her toward a smaller waiting area outside where they took him. She nodded her appreciation before shakily stepping through the door.
The main waiting area was overloaded with patients of variable illnesses and physical concerns, but the smaller, more intimate setting Rey now found herself in allowed for a slight moment of reprieve. She was thankful for the ability to sit down and breathe before she shed her coat and Ben's bag onto the chair beside hers.
For an hour, she steadily tapped her foot against the floor with her hand propped up against her chin, and she jolted the moment a familiar ginger-haired nurse pressed through the entrance of the treatment room, his black scrubs ruffled and his Columbia jacket thrown over his right shoulder. He shoved his hands deep within his pockets as bloodshot, emerald eyes rose to meet her when she stood to greet him.
“How is he?” she asked, breathless.
A faint, pained smile brushed against Armitage's lips as he moved to raise a hand to her arm and gestured for them both to sit down.
“He'll be fine, but there will be a long road to recovery. Apparently, he has had a UTI for over a week and chose not to tell anyone about it.”
Rey stared at him, puzzled. “But why?”
His eyes hardened as he leaned back into his chair and stretched his long, tired limbs for a moment before securely wrapping his arms around his midsection.
“Because he's a proper idiot, that's why,” he mumbled. “And probably embarrassed, even though he has no reason to be.”
Unfortunately, it was not out of character for Ben to be secretive, not just with her, but also with Armitage and Mitaka.
“He went to the doctor last week. How did they miss that?”
Armitage shrugged. “I suppose he lied.”
Anger boiled within her, and she shook her head in disbelief. To know that he feigned any concern in favor of his ego left her fuming. Why was he so difficult?
Armitage turned his head to face the direction of the circulation desk, staring pensively out into the open of the waiting area as his fingers flexed across his biceps.
His jaw ticked as he spoke. “But he's not the only muppet in this situation,” he sighed regretfully. “I am also here to blame.”
“No,” she argued. “It's not your fault.”
“It is,” he quietly disagreed. “I let you down. I should have tried harder to get a signal, but my phone went into SOS mode from being so far out in the country. I ran out of there as fast as I could when I saw your message first thing this morning.”
Empathy cut across her expression as her brows arched into genuine understanding at his lament. It was impossible for either himself or Mitaka to be there at every turn, which made her responsibility for Ben even more paramount during their respective absences. She knew part of the resolution could be if she had thought to text Mitaka, but it completely evaded her when she became lost in the whirlwind of their armistice.
“I should have texted Mitaka… but I wasn't thinking straight,” she admitted guiltily, casting her eyes in the same direction as his own.
Armitage wiped a hand across his face before placing his thumb and forefinger on either side of his chin, letting out a deep breath.
“Even if you did, there still wasn't a guarantee he would have gotten the message given the spottiness of signal around here,” he replied. “It's no use panicking over it now, anyway. We'll do better next time.”
“Hopefully, there won't be one,” she countered, her voice much softer than before.
Minutes of silence ticked by as the sounds of the hospital faded into a lull of whispers and muted rings from its phones until Armitage swiveled his head to face her again.
“So, are we going to address the elephant in the room?”
His comment initially caught her off guard, and she slowly angled her head towards him, narrowing her eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Clearly, you and Solo made up.”
Oh…
… that.
She sifted through her memories for the moment she woke up that morning, lying in bed beside Ben, their hands caught in a loosened hold. Not long after this came the familiar, antagonizing feeling of embarrassment rippling across her skin, her cheeks burning rosy and pink.
“What… What makes you ask that?” It was a long shot to feign her ignorance—to pretend it was all a misunderstanding.
But Armitage was no fool, and she was a terrible liar.
He did not even need to say anything as he nodded his head once toward her choice of clothing, which caused her to freeze as though someone had chucked her outside into the frigid, cold air.
The realization of her mortification screeched to the forefront of her mind, crumbling all her walls of denial.
“Uh—O-oh, well, t-this… is actually… mine?”
She couldn't help but wince at the sound of her voice as it came out more like a question than a statement, and she immediately cursed herself for failing so miserably at hiding her chagrin.
Armitage grinned at her expense, dimples forming into the corners of his mouth as it practically rose to meet his eyes.
He obviously did not believe her nonsensical sputtering, and she really couldn’t blame him.
“You and I both know that if you saw that sweater in the shops, you would probably go for something a touch more colorful and perhaps your own size.”
“And how would you know that?” she sniffed. “My style fluctuates based on my mood, and I’ll have you know that I happen to prefer overly large, overly dark sweaters.”
“Seeing as you are the last person I imagine being in said mood…”
“Fine,” she huffed, groaning in surrender. “Stop being cheeky.”
“I'm only teasing,” he smiled wistfully, “but I'm glad to see that maybe I was right.”
“About what?” she asked.
“About having patience with him .”
A myriad of emotions she intended to keep hidden flooded to the surface despite her best effort, and her eyes watered in the corners as she looked away from him.
“What if it’s just like the last time?” she whispered. “That he’s only being nice because he’s sick?”
“People are full of contradictions, Rey,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “And kindness goes a long way. Especially to those who haven’t experienced it much in their life.”
“I’ve shown him plenty of kindness and forgiveness, and it only seemed to make things worse.”
Armitage nudged her shoulder gently with his own. “Believe me when I say it didn’t.”
Rey wanted to believe him. She could recall the look in Ben’s eyes from memory, darkened in the moonlight that cascaded behind his slew of raven hair.
The way his lips parted in disbelief at their contact, her hand entangling with his own while an electric pulse tripped through them like a live wire contacting a metal point.
It scared her to be so vulnerable, to reach her hand out to his, but something was changing.
And maybe it was both of them.
☾
Not long after their discourse, Mitaka arrived at the hospital to join Armitage and Rey, pushing through the doorway of the waiting room in a heavy Canada Goose coat and thermal clothing to protect himself from the cold. His dark hair had remnants of snowflakes crystalized in tiny streaks that rested across the strands of his otherwise neatly parted waves.
Rey couldn’t help but find it odd that he would own such a jacket, given it snowed very little in Niima Outpost, but she shrugged it off, recognizing that Mitaka also seemed to be the type that would overly prepare for any unpredictable situation.
When his gaze fell on the two of them, Armitage rose to meet him, immediately reporting the recent updates of their shared patient's condition. Speaking in low whispers, she noticed Armitage raise his hand to rub the back of his neck as he shrugged at whatever question Mitaka had asked. She could sense their mutual irritation, even though she was not close enough to hear what they were saying, and a palpable energy of annoyance radiated off the shorter man, who rolled his eyes before he acknowledged her.
She watched as they sat down again; with Mitaka flanked by Armitage's left side and Rey to his right, leaving the ginger between them.
They sat in silence for another hour, until finally, a doctor emerged from the treatment area with an iPad in hand, his glasses breached carefully on the bridge of his nose. He gestured towards the two men, who stood immediately to talk to him.
Rey stayed behind, not wanting to interfere. She bit her bottom lip and fidgeted with her hands in her lap as she waited. After several minutes of head nods and muffled voices, the doctor turned to leave, and Mitaka and Armitage looked back over at her, inclining their heads to suggest they needed to speak with her.
She stood, legs wobbling after sitting for so long, to form a small circle by their sides.
“What did he say?” she asked tentatively.
“They did a urinary analysis with a reflex to culture. It’s where they see what bacteria grow, and what kills it.” Mitaka answered. “The results are back and show what his UTI is sensitive to, which is good, but the bad news is, the infection has progressed to his kidneys.”
She could feel her heart sinking at the realization. “Oh.”
“I wish you would have texted me, too,” he added with a grumble, vaguely uncharitable. “Given how serious his situation is now.”
“I'm sorry,” she whispered, even though she knew simply apologizing was not enough. She deserved that.
“We've already discussed it. Rey knows she should have texted you, but what matters now is that he is being taken care of,” Armitage replied sternly. “And it's unproductive at this point to ponder the situation's what ifs.”
A look of displeasure crossed Mitaka’s features, and his jaw tightened, but he eventually backpedaled his irritation and sagged his shoulders, ultimately yielding to Armitage’s words of defense on her behalf.
“The doctor also just informed us that Ben wants to see you,” Armitage said softly as he turned to face her.
Rey’s eyes darted up at him in surprise. “Is he allowed a visitor right now?”
“Doctor approves it, so yes,” Mitaka remarked dryly.
Her hands nervously fell to the hem of Ben's sweater, which now completely covered the attire she had been wearing since yesterday. Mitaka's gaze followed her hands as they knitted into the fabric, and he raised a brow at her, but she pretended she didn't notice, uninterested in engaging with him further. Instead, she tugged it off over her head. The chill in the air closed around her while she stiffly walked back to the chair, folding the sweater before tucking it beneath her jacket.
A door opened behind the circulation desk where the doctor disappeared through, and a nurse peeked her head into the room. When she found Rey, she smiled warmly at her and gestured for her to follow her into the treatment area.
Traipsing after the nurse, she trailed her through a labyrinth of hallways and rooms. They came to a circular desk at the center of the annex—in what Rey presumed was the nurse’s station—with emergency personnel busying themselves with varying tasks.
As they passed, the nurse led her to the end of a hallway, completely bare save for one room in the corner, far away from other patients. She wondered if Ben had requested this or if someone else had done it for him in his favor.
Either way, it did not surprise her.
“He’s awake now. I’m going to check on a few things, but I’ll be right back,” the nurse smiled. “By the way, my name is Kaydel, if you need anything.”
Rey nodded appreciatively before slowly inching toward his room. After a gentle tap on the door, she opened it carefully before she emerged.
The room was dark, save for the gentle glow of a long-mounted light above his bed. With curtains drawn to his left, it had a comfortable air of privacy, shielding him from the outside world. A television hung against the soft yellow wall opposite his bed, playing a monotonous daytime game show that she knew he detested, flickering occasionally across the space.
A deep-set brown leather chair sat beside a small table for a guest. Although it wasn’t Ben’s typical charcoal gray and black aesthetic, it was comfortable and would make due for his recovery.
He loomed upright in the almost comical, too-small bed, with an IV hooked to his right hand. His hair was noticeably unkempt, sticking out in countless directions. A hint of stubble brushed across his jaw, and those same darkened circles under his eyes that never seemed to fade lingered heavily below his closed lids in a way that made her feel numb.
An overwhelming feeling of déjà vu pulsed within her as she took stock of his condition. It was as if she were back inside his bedroom at the cottage, seeing him for the first time after his seizure. He did not startle at her knock and kept his eyes shut, his quiet, rhythmic breathing in competition to the machines that hummed beside him.
She dared herself a step closer.
“Ben?” she whispered.
He said nothing. Only the beeping of his heart monitor and the droning noises coming from the game show filled the space. Rey grew closer, whispering his name again—her pulse increasing at the sight of his incapacitated form.
“Ben?”
Suddenly, his eyes flickered open, and he turned his head sluggishly to face her, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.
“Hi,” she breathed, relieved to see him awaken as she moved to sit on the edge of his bed.
A slow tug formed on one side of his mouth, turning into what she thought was a smile. “Hi,” he murmured, almost surprised to see her.
“How do you feel?” she asked softly.
Ben blinked several times to adjust his eyesight, looking around the room blearily for a moment before he looked down and winced at the sight of his IV port.
“It burns,” he growled, glaring at the contents of a clear liquid that trailed through the tube and into his hand.
“Your IV?”
“Yes.” He raised his opposite hand to grab the tube, but she instinctively swatted it away before he could rip it out.
“Let me get Kaydel,” she reasoned as she moved to stand. “Please don’t take that out. It looks important.”
“It's actually quite irritating.” His softened eyes returned to their usual biting glare as they hazily trailed to meet hers as she stood.
Rey ignored his disapproval as she wandered back to find Kaydel at the nurse's station. After explaining her concern, the blonde expressed a twinge of apprehension at her request, which Rey immediately felt guilty over, but Kaydel nodded evenly and returned to the room with her after a few moments with a warm compress.
“What is that going to do?” he asked suspiciously, as Kaydel moved to place the compress against his IV.
“It's going to soothe the burning some, and I’m tweaking the pump to slow down the rate of the vanc,” she replied.
Rey watched from the other side of his bed with folded arms, her brows knitted together. “What does 'vanc' stand for?”
Kaydel flicked her eyes up at her as she smoothed down the front of her dark blue scrubs.
“Vancomycin,” she explained. “It's a high powered antibiotic.”
“To be more specific, in case you were wondering, it’s an actual thorn in my side,” Ben groused from below as he sneered up in Kaydel's direction, his eyes drooping despite his best effort to hamper the action.
A wave of sympathy washed over Rey as she winced on Kaydel's behalf, knowing all too well what it was like to be in the line of fire of Ben's biting cruelty. She made a mental note to talk with him about how he should treat the medical staff and to remind him that not everyone understood his dampened, caustic sense of humor, like Armitage and Mitaka. Or even herself, to a fault.
“I'm sorry it's not comfortable, Mr. Solo, but I promise I’ll be back later to check on you with another compress,” Kaydel replied, glancing at Rey warily, then swiftly exiting the room before he could make another comment.
Ben closed his eyes once more, and his head collapsed against the pillow with enervation. She knew the last several hours had been draining for him, and she did not want to agitate him further by overstaying her welcome. Her eyes softened momentarily as she made to step out of the room so that way he could rest, but his baritone caught her mid-step.
“You're not leaving,” he murmured in what appeared to be a command.
“I'm not?” she asked curiously.
He shook his head, gradual and piecemeal, with his eyes remaining closed as he lifted a finger to point toward the chair beside his bed.
“No,” he replied. “You’re staying.”
“I am?” She felt her voice trail lightly as she watched his finger drift slowly back to his side.
The familiar warmth she had felt only twelve hours ago now inched its way back down her spine again, her nerves alight with that same electricity that hummed beneath the surface of her flushed skin.
She wanted to protest in favor of his health, but the small sliver of his amber eyes caused her to freeze, leaving zero indication that he would allow her to argue with him, anyway.
“I said you’re staying, Johnson, so you will.”
Rey couldn’t help but make a face at him as she relented, lowering herself to the chair beside him just as he ordered, deciding she would let him get away with his tone for now only because he was unwell.
Ben closed his eyes again, satisfied, and his hand shifted to his abdomen, shortly succumbing to the sleep he resisted. The sounds of the game show played faintly in the background, serving as a type of white noise that allowed her to fall victim to her own exhaustion. With her boots shed and her legs curled underneath her, she folded herself comfortably into the chair.
As she drifted into an interval of broken awareness, a part of her wondered if sleep came easier when they were within the other’s intimate company.
☾
Rey had lost all sense of time and space while she slept in the chair beside Ben.
A gentle nudge to her arm jostled her awake, and her eyes opened frantically as she pushed herself up from her position in the chair. She blinked several times before her gaze landed on Armitage, who stood before her with concern plainly smattered across his brow.
“Rey, you need to go home before the roads ice up again,” he reasoned, offering his hand to her to stand. “I’ve called you an Uber.”
She gave him a perfunctory nod before allowing him to help her. All at once, her eyes fell across Ben’s sleeping form beside her, and her heart clenched at the sight.
“Are you going to stay with him?” she asked softly.
Armitage shook his head. “Not as of right now, but don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine.”
“And Mitaka?” Even though she already could guess his answer, she asked anyway as she glanced up at him.
“He’s also going home for now, too, but we’ll take turns coming up here. You don’t need to risk your safety right now, Rey. I let Mrs. Solo know what was going on, and she suggested you take a few days off while he recovers.”
Her brow furrowed at this as she shook her head. “I really don’t mind, though.”
A small puff of air escaped him as he smiled. “I know, and so does Mrs. Solo, but all Ben really needs is to rest and let the antibiotic do its job. Nothing you can really do here for him now.”
It didn’t matter that he was right, for a part of her lingered in the worry she felt about Ben’s current state.
With reluctance, she sighed, nodding as she followed him out of the room.
The following day, Rey disobeyed Armitage’s orders.
She stepped through the opening of the waiting area, a tray of four coffees in one hand and a paper bag of chocolate croissants in the other.
Armitage glanced from his chair in front of the window as she entered. She was wearing her hair down in an oversized, bright pink sweater and her Jackson Pollock-inspired black and white pants. She had clipped her hair to the side in a bright yellow butterfly charm she had collected from an antique store a few years back, with her red ankle boots wrapped in the same gray peacoat.
He was reading, and he made a face of disapproval as she glided towards him with her sunniest smile.
“I thought I told you to stay home?” he asked, unimpressed as he put his book aside to accept the delicacies.
“You should know by now that I don’t listen,” she quipped.
He rolled his eyes. “Jawa Bean’s open?”
“Surprisingly, yes, but I’ll have you know it wasn’t easy getting these. The line was almost out the door.”
“Truly?”
She plopped down beside him as she slipped her coat off. “Yep, but the snow is melting now that the sun is finally out, so I guess people are tired of being cooped up indoors.”
“Guess the storm is over, then,” he mused as he dug through the bag and extracted a croissant. “Who’re the other two coffees for?”
Rey smiled as he passed her the bag. “Well, I wasn’t sure if Mitaka would be here or not, so I got him one as well. But I figured I could give one to Kaydel and Ben’s other nurse as an apology treat if he weren’t.”
“An apology treat?” he asked.
Her face fell flat into a knowing look. “I can only imagine what he’s putting them through.”
Armitage chortled. “You’re not wrong. I thought that the fourth one might have been for him.”
“No way.” She shook her head as she sank her teeth into the gooey chocolate center. “I figured he couldn’t have anything other than clear liquid right now, but I did get him a croissant, and I have a feeling he’ll complain about that not being healthy enough.”
“He has been much more concerned about what he eats, which isn’t bad,” he said thoughtfully.
She nodded in agreement. “Yes, but hospital food notoriously sucks, and sometimes you need a crash-out snack.”
Armitage grinned. “Fair enough.”
They munched silently for a few minutes as the hospital attendees buzzed around them; the sun strewed through the window more brightly from behind. Down below, piles of snow gathered in the parking lot as the groundskeepers did their best to salt the asphalt.
“Can I see him?” she asked once she finished her coffee.
Armitage shrugged and pointed towards the circulation desk. “I’m not sure. You can ask Kaydel. I doubt they’ll mind if he is awake and open for visitors. I told him you were staying home for the week, though.”
“What did he say?” She couldn’t help the lilt that tinged her voice when she asked.
A knowing, small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as raised a brow. “Not much, but I think he seemed disappointed.”
She let the conversation end there as she pressed her lips together firmly, glancing at him sideways before she stood and tossed her cup into the trash. Taking the bag with the croissants in tow and the additional two coffees, she smiled sweetly at the secretary at the front desk while she inquired about Ben’s condition and whether he could receive a visitor.
The secretary paged for Nurse Kaydel, who appeared not long after, her long blonde hair swept behind her in a french braid. She greeted Rey warmly, even more so when she offered her the bounty, of which she accepted with gratitude as she opened the door for her to follow.
“I’ll warn you he isn’t in the best mood today,” Kaydel said brittlely, eyeing Rey sideways as she led her to the back of the treatment area.
“He never is,” she countered.
As they wound around the corner, Rey gestured to the other coffee in the tray that Kaydel held. “Give that to his other nurse, by the way. I’m not sure I know their name, though.”
“Miss Larma,” Kaydel replied with a smile. “I’ll give it to her, thanks so much, Rey. You’re the sweetest.”
Once they parted, Rey gingerly stepped to the door of Ben's room, knocking twice before she heard a grunt inside for her to enter.
The room glowed brightly from the astute, sparkly glow of the sun, filling the room with a cheerful energy that, regardless of its best effort, could not penetrate the dark cloud that loomed in bed at its focal point.
The television was on, but it no longer played the unsavory sounds of The Price is Right. Instead, the familiar cadence of a show Rey had seen Ben watch occasionally called Time Team replaced it. She paid little attention to it when he had it on but knew it was about archaeological digs and other discoveries, with excavations lasting over a few days. She could admit that sometimes it could be interesting, and other times, not so much.
Ben was sitting up again, but this time, he appeared to have taken a shower with his hair neatly pushed back, save for a small piece dangling on the wide expanse of his forehead. The moment she entered, his dark amber and whiskey eyes connected with her own, and she felt her heart float upwards.
She offered him a small smile as she approached. “Hi again.”
A slight, sardonic twist of his lips formed as he observed her. “You can't stay away, can you?”
She smirked, sitting beside him on the bed as she opened the paper bag. “Thought you might appreciate something other than red jello.”
“It's been blue lately, but I guess I’ll accept something less slimy, so... thanks.” Rey wasn't sure she had ever heard him thank her, other than when she saved him from “choking to death,” as he put it the day after his seizure. So she considered it a small win, even if he couldn’t help his sarcasm.
“What is it?” he asked.
Rey pulled the croissant from the bag with a napkin she placed at the bottom. “A chocolate croissant.”
A twitch of approval forged across his features as he accepted her offering. Their fingers brushed lightly, an electric shock searing across her skin from their brief contact. She tried to downplay her reaction, pretending it wasn't as big of a deal as her heart suddenly made it appear.
Ben's expression remained stony, but she could have sworn she saw his pupils dilate with heat.
She stifled a cough as she crumpled the bag to throw it away.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked.
As he ate, his expression returned to its usual shade of indignation. “My IV burns again, and the nurse hasn't been back for quite some time to give me another compress.”
“I can go get her for you.”
“Why bother? They're not helpful,” he grumbled.
“They're doing their best,” she tried to reason. “Let me help.”
A gentle knock rapped across the door before he could protest or she could move.
Armitage slowly peeked his head through the opening, then stepped inside, pushing the door behind him as he came to join them.
“Just wanted to check and make sure you were good,” he said as he eyed them.
Ben's face fell as he nodded towards the door. “Finding one of those nurses would be a start.”
“Still burning?” Armitage asked as he pedaled backward.
“Yes,” he replied with a snarl as he moved to finish the rest of his croissant.
Armitage nodded once, not needing more information, as he disappeared through the door to find someone.
“I fucking hate hospitals,” he muttered.
He turned his head to the side and smoothed his hair back, glancing to the window at the sun as it shone brightly into his eyes. Rey moved without him asking her to adjust the curtain, and she returned to his bedside, swapping his napkin for a cup of water.
He accepted it with a nod before bringing it to his lips to take a sip.
“It's only temporary,” she winced. “I'm sure you'll be outta here soon.”
“They're all idiots,” he said bitterly, ignoring her optimism. “I'm better off being cared for by Hux and Mitaka at home.”
Rey tilted her head unsubtly, looking annoyed as she took the cup back. “You have a kidney infection,” she reasoned flatly.
His dismissal was discernible, and he rolled his eyes as he watched her place the cup on the table beside him. “Doesn't fucking matter.”
She opened her mouth to comment, but then Armitage returned with a petite woman with short brown hair, a pale complexion, and small, square, black-framed glasses.
And she looked terribly frightened to enter the room.
“This is Alyssa, the med tech,” Armitage informed as he walked in from behind her startled frame, almost as if he were ushering her inside.
Smiling weakly, Alyssa raised her hand awkwardly to wave before taking uncertain steps to Ben’s bedside to check his IV. Rey did her best to smile, waving back.
Ben only glared profusely, refusing to speak as he watched Alyssa like a wolf stalking its prey, paying careful attention to her movements as she fumbled with the tubes after taking the bag off the hook.
“Nurse Hux says your IV is burning?” she asked. Rey noticed the girl’s hands were visibly shaking. “The pump says you only have a minute left on your infusion. Can I get you a warm compress?”
He didn’t respond for a beat, merely continuing to glare until he deadpanned a reply, “The infusion didn’t last as long as it did before, and I want to know why.”
After carefully inspecting the pump settings, Alyssa turned back towards Ben. “The nurse set the infusion rate higher than normal.”
Ben scowled as he cocked his head to the side. “Why?”
Alyssa wrung her hands nervously before darting a glance to Armitage, who stood at the end of the bed.
“S-she probably was... busy?” she blanched.
Rey could practically see the steam fuming from Ben’s ears as he glared at the girl who most certainly did not deserve his hatefulness. Alyssa recoiled inwardly as Ben let out a pained sigh, bringing his hand to swipe across his face.
“Can you go get her?” he asked calmly, yet strikingly rude.
“Y-yeah, one sec!” She practically fled the room, nervously tripping on her tennis shoes as she darted out the door.
Rey slowly turned her attention from the doorway to Ben, who continued to seethe beneath her, his grip on his blankets becoming taut.
“You could stand to be a bit more kind,” she hissed. “Alyssa did nothing wrong.”
Ben’s darkened eyes gradually moved upward to look at her, his inky brows knitting together. “Clearly, no one wants to do their job in this piece of shit place they call a hospital.”
“From my point of view, she and every other nurse here are just doing the best they can to care for someone as difficult as you are,” she remarked, furious.
“Difficult?” he challenged, matching her tone.
She didn’t realize she was clenching her fists by her sides, her sweater suddenly feeling hot and itchy from the detectable fury she felt from explaining to a grown man that his behavior was unacceptable. She took a step closer to his bedside, glaring down at him as he returned it, thickened with equal rage and annoyance.
Then, Armitage coughed awkwardly from behind, his arms tightly wound across his chest.
“What?” they both growled as they whipped their heads to glare at the ginger with heated, sharp eyes.
Armitage threw his hands up in surrender, mouth slightly agape. “Just wanting to remind the two of you I’m still here.”
☾
Later, Rey sat in the chair beside Ben’s bed as he drifted back to sleep.
She was embarrassed about her behavior earlier and apologized to Armitage after she realized he was still in the room. Ben did not care, though, only mumbling something sarcastic under his breath. He refused to make eye contact with either of them for the next several hours as he idly watched the television.
Their quarrel did not faze her, and she periodically looked up from her book as she sat in the chair to find him stealing small glances at her as well.
The sun was sinking below the horizon, turning the sky into a pink lemonade haze. This gave Rey a craving for the sugary concoction and made her realize how much she missed summer-time in Niima Outpost. The snow was nice, but she was tired of being cold, and she wondered how long it would take for it all to melt.
Armitage returned after a few moments of speaking with Kaydel, informing Rey of their new plan to monitor Ben’s IV infusion rate more closely.
Nodding in understanding, she continued to read as she settled into the leather chair, making herself snug.
“You don’t have to stay any longer, you know,” he said as he gestured towards Ben’s sleeping form. “He’s out like a light.”
“I know,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t mind, though. I don’t have any other plans for the night.”
“Not even anything holiday-related?” Armitage asked.
It was hard for her to believe that Christmas truly was around the corner—in three weeks, to be exact—and that she had various plans to keep track of over the next several weeks, not to mention the charity ball she still neglected to ask Ben to. But there was still time, and she did not want to pressure herself with outside things when there were more serious matters.
“Well, my roommate Rose and I have plans to put up our tree tomorrow evening, but all our decorations are down, and, honestly, Father Christmas has a few more days to get himself ready before the big night,” she said, a slight smile forming across her lips.
Armitage smirked. “Fine, I tried to tell you before, and you didn’t listen, so I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”
“I won’t stay for much longer, just for a little while, I promise,” she assured him.
After he left, she snuck a peek at Ben as he slept, watching the rise and fall of his chest. She had turned down the light above him to a low, dim setting to help him sleep better, and a part of her frowned, secretly wishing she could help him go home, but she knew her influence was minimal and that his condition was serious, leaving her no choice but to follow doctor’s orders.
But then something strange caught her attention.
His biceps crept above the covers, mostly hidden, save for the small stretch of skin she could see just below the sleeve of his hospital gown.
Red, blotchy patches covered the surface of his otherwise pale appearance, causing her to stand and close her book with a quiet thud as she examined him more closely.
She gently turned the dial of the lamp above him to get a better look, noticing that the rash materialized not only on his arms but also on his neck and parts of his face.
Alarm bells seemed to go off as she felt panic grip her, utterly perplexed that neither she nor Armitage had seemed to notice this before he left, and she fled to the nurse’s station in a panic just seconds later.
Nurse Larma sat at her computer, typing away on a patient’s charts until her eyes flickered to Rey’s with concern.
“Something is wrong with Ben,” she said, gesturing behind her to his room. “Has anyone bathed him with anything that might have caused him to have an allergic reaction?”
Larma shook her head, standing to move away from the desk. “No, I don’t believe so, honey. But we can certainly go take a look at him.”
The older woman followed Rey’s brisk pace back to his room, and after flicking on the lights to where she could get a better look, Larma frowned and moved to grab her walkie-talkie.
“Could I get someone to room 504?”
☾
A cup of water hurtled against the wall opposite Ben's bed, nearly hitting her in the head before she entered.
Rey closed the door behind her warily, and her eyes widened in confusion as she observed him simmering with rage, his fists balled tightly on his lap.
It was the next morning, but she wouldn't have had any indication of the time, given how dark the room was with his curtains closed and his lamp off, the soft glow of the television the only source of light in the room.
“Ben?” she asked, flummoxed.
“I want to go the fuck home,” he growled.
Without a second thought, Rey crossed the room and opened the curtain, allowing the gentle spill of sunlight to flood his surroundings.
He winced, glaring at her as she turned around.
“You can't.” She threw her arms toward his red, splotch-covered arms. “You have to stay here, and you also need to stop acting like a fucking child, Ben. These people are trying to help you so that you can eventually go home.”
“Eventually,” he spat. “This isn't even that serious.”
She narrowed her eyes and moved closer. Gently placing her hands on either side of his face, she lifted his stubbled chin for a better look.
Ben stilled immediately at her touch, suddenly losing the willpower to fight with her. Rey could feel the beat of his heart rapidly pulsing beneath his sensitive skin, and he looked at her from below, his honey irises striking into a golden flare at the feeling of their shared contact.
“Does it burn? Does it itch?” She realized that ignoring his periodic outbursts of rage seemed to work, allowing her touch to give him something else to focus on rather than his anger.
A soft sigh emitted from him as he looked away from her, embarrassed, his rage visibly stifling. “Yes and no.”
“They said it happened once the infusion finished,” he mumbled. “But it's a mild case.”
His skin was still noticeably red, with uneven patches that stretched across his arms and face. She wondered how far the rash went and if it also covered his legs. Not that it mattered, given he wouldn't be able to feel it, anyway. But a pang of sympathy pierced her chest, regardless.
Kaydel knocked on the door a few moments later with another unfamiliar face behind her.
“Hi Ben, hi Rey,” she said as she smiled, glancing down at the puddle by her feet.
Rey grimaced, instantly moving to the sink on the other side of the room with an apologetic glance. She grabbed a few paper towels as she bent down to clean up the mess, cursing Ben in her head while she did so.
“We're going to need to pull your trough levels today,” she explained as she motioned to the person behind her. “This is the phlebotomist, Erick.”
The older man smiled kindly as he took out his tools: a needle and tourniquet.
Ben remained silent as he watched Erick move to place the tourniquet around his arm, looking for a vein he could use to stick him.
“Why do you need my blood every fucking day?” he asked, irritated, as Erick pushed against his vein before sticking him with the needle. He didn't flinch.
“It's for the vanc trough,” Kaydel said as she scribbled something down on her notepad. “We need to see the lowest point of your vanc blood levels to get a feel for how low it gets in your system.”
“Yet, you always draw my blood before you give me the fucking vanc,” he retorted.
“We do, yes,” she replied with a small, pained smile. “I know it's annoying, but right before the next dose would be the lowest point. That’s the longest period of time before we put more into your system.”
He refused to say anything as he looked away, deciding to glare out the window instead while he waited.
☾
About an hour later, Armitage and Mitaka joined them for the results, standing beside Ben closest to the window while Rey remained seated on the chair.
Dr. Ematt, a man with long, white hair and a scruffy beard to match, stood across from them, with Kaydel standing in the corner at a mobilized, adjustable desk with a laptop.
“So, the trough came back, and the results show you are supratherapeutic, Ben,” said Dr. Ematt as he adjusted his stethoscope around his neck.
Rey looked from the doctor to all the nurses in the room, their expressions neutral to the news. This confused her, given that this must have meant that Ben was okay.
“Oh, that’s great news, yeah? Super means good!” she smiled enthusiastically, desperate to drum up some morale. “You’re super therapeutic Ben!” Why didn’t any of them seem excited by this?
It did not fall unnoticed that Armitage and Mitaka shut their mouths firmly. At the same time, Kaydel turned her eyes away to focus on capturing notes on her laptop, the doctor hesitating slightly before he smiled politely.
But it was Ben who slowly angled his head in her direction, clearly exasperated and in no hurry to spare her feelings.
“Supra means over,” he sighed.
Her brows furrowed, shoulders falling. “Over?”
“It means his levels are too high,” Dr. Ematt explained gently. “We will continue to monitor, hold his next dose, and see if it’s necessary to switch to another antibiotic. The results of his sensitivity panel give us few options, so we may stay on the vancomycin.”
“What about his rash?” Rey asked.
Dr. Ematt nodded as he moved to lift one of Ben’s arms for closer inspection. “It’s a symptom of the vanc. It’s not clearing his system very well, but decreasing the antibiotic dose should help.”
His eyes flicked back to Kaydel. “Remind me, what showed up in his sensitivity culture?”
“Meropenem,” she replied.
“Hmm,” Dr. Ematt hummed as he stepped back from Ben’s bedside. “On second thought, maybe we should switch. I think I’m leaning towards that now, given his reaction to the vanc so far.”
He smiled suddenly, as if he had arrived at his final conclusion. “Let’s do that then. Kaydel? Let Alyssa know we need to switch.”
“On it,” she replied, clicking on one last button before following him out the door.
Rey turned to face Armitage and Mitaka, who exchanged puzzled looks and murmured lowly to one another.
“What is it?” Ben groused impatiently.
Armitage frowned. “We’re just... surprised, is all,” he said. “Usually, they don’t like giving meropenem because it’s so broad spectrum.”
“Which means what, exactly?” Rey asked.
“It means it can kill a bunch of different bacteria,” Mitaka began. “Some antibiotics only kill specific bacteria. It’s usually better to use the one that targets the specific kind.”
“It can be bad because one course of antibiotics might not kill all the bacteria. Some might survive,” Armitage said as he moved to stand on the other side of Ben’s bed. “Those bacteria will become resistant or immune to it, and then you might develop a strain that cannot be killed with that antibiotic anymore.”
“Like MRSA,” Mitaka clarified.
Ben sighed, disconcerted by what Rey could only assume was the constant back and forth between his nurses as he focused on Mitaka and glared.
“So I could create a world ending super bacteria all because I couldn’t take a piss by myself.” He pursed his lips together firmly, glowering.
Rey whirled her head around, tilting it to the side to return his glare on Mitaka’s behalf. “Sounds to me like the next time you have issues, you ought to consider telling someone rather than keep it a secret that you’re ill.”
The room was silent, save for the television that quietly played in the background, no one moving a muscle as the attention shifted to Ben. But then Armitage snorted, unable to suppress his wide, toothy grin—his cheeks flushing as red as his hair. Not soon after, Mitaka and Rey joined him, the former raising his hand to his mouth to stifle his uncontrollable laugh, yet failing miserably.
Ben’s scowl deepened as he looked away.
“Fuck all of you,” he hissed.
And they laughed some more.
☾
Seated within the unquiet darkness of Jakku County Hospital's waiting area, Rey sat alone, patiently biding her time until visiting hours began.
Pockets of sleepy guests sat in neat rows before her, quietly speaking in hushed tones, keeping their conversations minimal in the early morning light. Their prittle-prattle was a nice, low buzz in her ear as she quietly worked on mending Ben's sweater in her lap, sipping coffee between interweaving threads.
Though the promise of Ben's antibiotic brought a sense of hope, it also unnerved her, given how serious his treatment was and that he would need to stay under observation for at least another week.
He expressed intense, unsubtle intimation at the doctor's decision to keep him there longer than he originally planned. Still, she tried to ground him back to reality with the same statement— he should have told someone he was sick—which left the conversation unproductive.
But Ben eventually gave in to defeat, understanding that following the doctor's orders was in his best interest, even when it angered him.
So, she figured she would continue her daily visits as a distraction to help him find peace within the mundane stillness of life in the hospital.
They moved him to a new room on the med-surg floor, giving him more privacy towards the end of the hall, much like he was in the ER. This brought a minuscule amount of satisfaction, even if he did not show it much.
A secretary stood from her spot at the circulation desk, informing family members and other visitors that they could now see the patients, and Rey eagerly placed Ben's sweater into her bag along with her sewing materials as she stood to enter the treatment area.
She found Ben asleep, his chest rising and falling softly in time with the heart monitor that beeped quietly beside him. He looked peaceful with his eyes closed and his hair neatly cascading behind him on the pillow, leaving her relieved as she moved to the chair beside his bed.
He did not startle, so she continued sewing, taking out his sweater and laying it across her lap.
Lost in the task at hand, she did not realize that he had woken until he quietly shifted in bed, bringing her awareness to him.
At first, he gave her a look that eluded her, and she felt herself freeze, worried her presence was more a burden to him than a relief.
Rey could readily admit that her visits were excessive, seeing as Armitage told her this on multiple occasions throughout the past week, but perhaps it was her guilt for not truly doing her job the first time that made her want to stay. To make sure that he would be okay, even if she knew he was. She wanted to see it. Feel his presence—know that maybe it wasn't too late.
Soft sunbeams trickled through the opening of the curtain behind her, descending upon his form as he slowly eased himself up. He pushed a button on his bed to help him rise into a sitting position, but his gaze never faltered from hers as he did so, almost as if he were unsure if she was truly there.
“Was that a dream?” he asked, his voice quiet and gravelly with exhaustion, clearly still trying to wake up from his slumber.
She frowned, placing the sweater back down onto her lap. “What do you mean?”
“You... being there... holding my hand,” he murmured.
Rey stared at him, confused, shaking her head.
“No,” she whispered, suddenly faltering. “It wasn't.”
Ben surveyed her carefully, almost as if he did not believe her until his eyes drifted to the fabric on her lap and stiffened.
“What is that?” He tilted his head toward his sweater.
Rey stilled, cheeks flushing instantly as she scrambled to raise the sweater before her to show him.
“O-oh, it's your sweater... I thought I would try to mend it for you.” She dropped the sweater back down before grasping it again to show him where the hole once was.
“I tried to match the fabric as best as possible, but it might be off a shade.”
She winced, trying to smile as her brows knitted together.
Her mind immediately drifted to when she had tried to repair his photo frames without asking and his reaction after the fact. She wondered if this was overstepping, if she had crossed that line once more without thinking. Given her skills in mending, it seemed perfectly reasonable to help him with such a task, but she realized that sometimes, she didn't always need to be the one fixing things.
Some things would simply remain broken.
It wasn't easy to decipher the look he was giving her. At first, she thought it resembled pain, perhaps even some sort of affliction of a wound she could not see.
To her, the sweater meant nothing but a piece of winter clothing.
But then she remembered the look he had given her when he had seen her wearing it. The way his eyes turned molten with heat, how they seemed to burn her on the spot.
His silence felt deafening, and her blood ran cold at the thought of losing his trust again.
Ben swallowed, his grip tightening across the fabric of his blanket.
“You... did?”
This tone was unfamiliar, leaving her nothing short of breathless while her eyes widened and she nodded, trembling slightly as she did so.
And then, all at once, he flexed his hand; the action hypnotizing her with an aching, infinitesimal amount of awareness as he spoke so tenderly. So softly.
She could feel her blood thundering in her ears, focusing completely on his outstretched hand, unsure if she was still within her body or if she had floated above herself.
Did she hear him correctly?
“P-pardon?” she stuttered without thinking, eager to process what it was he actually said.
Because he certainly did not just say what she thinks he did—did he?
A low rumble escaped him while his lips formed into that familiar smirk she had missed when they weren’t speaking.
A look she wouldn’t mind seeing him give her again.
His lips formed over the words to repeat himself as he held his hand in offering to her, gesturing her closer.
“C’mere,” he whispered.
Notes:
WOW, when I tell you that last line even surprised ME. Does this mean what I think it does? 😈
A part of me was severely worried that I would not be able to post this on time given I spent a majority of my weekend writing, but many thanks to my lovely betas (@rainydaychai & @yellowlightsaber) for their endless help and support!
And one more additional shout out to Mr. Rainy for helping me with some of the British lingo and the Time Team reference!
Thank you all so much for your kind words, kudos, bookmarks, and subs. It truly motivates me to keep going, and I appreciate you for taking the time to read this little story of mine. 🩵