A/N: Whoahhh *trips and falls into writing another Reylo ficlet* Oops!

This outline has been sitting on my laptop for some time. After writing a few canon compliant fics, I decided to explore an AU scenario - still the same galaxy, however.

Two or three parts depending on how long my next portion runs with its pacing.

Enjoy! xox

All is as the Force wills it

Ben Solo gawked at the scene laid out in front of him: endless, barren scenes of sand, sand, and – as one would guess - more sand. The landscape, or lack thereof, went on for as far as the human eye could see. Even from the comfort of the cockpit, he felt his mood turn sour by the sudden inconvenience.

Kriff. This really was a shithole.

"Alright." His father piped up in the pilot's seat in front of Ben. The tone was tired, on the brink of exasperated, but didn't sound at all surprised. "Let's see what the problem is, kid."

Despite now being a 29 year-old grown man, Ben did not expect "kid" was going anywhere anytime soon. He had accepted this fact long ago.

"Here, Dad. Let me go look-"

"No, I got this. You stay here."

Ben watched as his father stubbornly lifted his aging figure by gripping the two front cockpit seats, one of which his co-pilot of over four decades currently occupied, before heading to the hyperdrive chamber. Whether or not the legendary Han Solo would accept his own seniority, well, that was an entirely different story. Chewbacca and Ben observed his retreating figure before they joined their gazes in mutual understanding. Chewbacca gave out a soft series of growls, translated into more or less I know in Basic. Ben sighed in defeat. The man was too proud.

Disobeying instruction, Ben unfastened his safety belt and shuffled out after his father. He had just about rounded the corner before his ears were accosted by a string of cuss words that would have made the lowest of Tattooine junk dealers blush.

"Blasted piece of-" Han gave a hard kick to the paneled wall of the corridor. "The damn hyperdrive generator is busted - again. It could take us weeks to get to nearest system!"

Growing up, there were three truths Ben had come to understand: Without a doubt, his mother always has the last word. If it came down between him and Chewbacca, the wookiee had claim to the co-pilot seat.

And, last and probably the most common, the Millennium Falcon was never short of needing repairs.

Though less eruptive, Ben shared in his father's frustration. The medical aid they were responsible for delivering to Rattatak had them put in a bit of a time constraint and their present situation was a definite drawback. A planet subjected to years of unrest, exploited for slavery, and caught in decades worth of war violence was finally on the upsurge and the New Republic was counting on the success of this humanitarian mission by their best pilot to extend their peace and ever growing influence.

Pausing a moment to collect himself, Han rested his hand on his hip while the other explored his lower chin in thought. He muttered to himself as though he did not realize Ben had joined him. "Looks like we'll have to go to the nearest settlement and try our luck there – otherwise, it could be awhile. Chewie will watch the Falcon-"

"There's a nearest settlement?" Ben asked dubiously, thinking back to the lifeless wasteland had just seen outside.

"Niima Outpost. It's the only encampment in these parts that has a navigational beacon." Han explained. "But don't let the access to tech fool you – it's seediest trading post out there, ridden with crime and low lives…" His father interrupted his own warning as if a sudden realization washed over him.

Han Solo looked at his son with new, pleading eyes. "Please don't tell your mother."

Ben would never. He was far too frightened to anger a senator.

…

Ever since his mother deemed he was old enough – his father had tried to be a bit too lenient with what was an appropriate age - Ben had traveled to countless planets and moons on assignments granted to his father by the Republic. It turns out that the skills gained by being a notorious reformed smuggler and a Rebellion general translated nicely into relief mission work, including but not limited to transporting precious cargo from one side of the galaxy to the other.

These experiences provided Ben with a considerably broad understanding of the galaxy and its diverse inhabitants. But Niima Outpost? He had never seen anything quite like this before. For once his father had not been exaggerating. Despite its residency since the years following the fall of the Empire, the outpost's minimal structures lacked a certain level of permanency that one would find in more established trading settlements. Here there were hardly completed buildings at all: just a series of skeletal frameworks housing various open aired spaces. Much to Ben's disappointment after trekking a ways across Jakku's unforgiving surface, the majority of them appeared to hardly give relief from the planet's harsh environmental elements. The solace of shade was merely presented in the forms of gnarled, repurposed metal and thin fabrics that were at the mercy of a scorching breeze.

As mismatched as the buildings were that made up the settlement were those who bustled about in it. Species from every corner of the galaxy seemed to dwell here, shuffling about their business with their nets and rucksacks weighed down by salvaged materials. The outpost was a swarm of blurred activity that it was nearly impossible for Ben to observe it all in a single glance.

"Stay close." His father's hushed command brought Ben's attention momentarily before his eyes were eventually drawn to an elderly human woman sitting a handful of meters away. She was clad in thick garments that covered her from head to toe, surely with the intention to shield her from the severe sun. She was too concentrated at the task at hand to notice Ben's keen observation, scrubbing a rag rigorously over the bit of hardware on her table. The leathery, worn skin pulled tautly over her tired knuckles was as aged and brittle as the pieces she desperately attempted to shine. He found himself mesmerized.

Then there was a whisper.

It floated so gently across his consciousness that Ben had a hard time discerning if the source was from somewhere in his surroundings or, even more puzzling, somewhere from within him. It spoke no distinguishable words but somehow commanded his attention amidst the clamorous flurry of the outpost. With little hesitation, he moved his gaze in the direction it so urgently guided him.

His breath caught in his chest.

A woman stood across the way chattering eagerly with an elderly Pa'lowick gesturing wildly beside her, engaged in their pleasantries. In response to something the female amphibian said, she threw back her head in easy laughter that carried across the bustling outpost, which had become now all but white noise to Ben. A loose, muted shawl used to shield her head from the overbearing sun shifted ever so slightly to reveal dark hair underneath, escaping in light wisps that framed her kind face. In addition to her youth, her attire also drastically contrasted to her seated companion who donned frayed garments similar to that of the previous elderly human. Instead, her thin figure was dressed in a modest flight suit of deep maroon, her hips flanked with a plain satchel on one and a helmet resting at the other – which, from a quick glance, Ben recognized as a repurposed Rebel one that had been since painted with imagery of her own. Though her suit clearly timeworn and second hand, she stood out amongst the locals with an individual brightness that was more radiant than even the most intense glare of the surrounding landscape.

An unusual sensation crept up from deep inside Ben. He swallowed hard, only to find his mouth had since grown dry. Ben Solo was not a stranger to the advances of beautiful women and the pursuit of attractive companions (maybe not as quite as notorious as his father -but still- he had his fair share); however, no one had ever captured his attention quite like this. He was unable to ignore the inexplicable tug on his consciousness, a strange feeling of knowing as though his mind was wrestling with a memory. But how? He had surely never seen this woman before. He continued to watch as she consciously angled herself towards the seated junk merchant, her hands moving animatedly in conversation. Ben was left captivated.

As if suddenly sensing she was being watched, the woman jerked her attention in his direction and forced Ben to abruptly break his trance. Dammit. He could feel her eyes bore into him but he hastily avoided her gaze, his own eyes now focused upwards at the unimpressive awnings above: an overall poor attempt to appear preoccupied. He silently willed the flush of color that threatened to crawl up his neck and above his collar to stay put, lest he be exposed. He felt as foolish as a guilty youngling caught by a parent with a hand in a box of warra nut cookies before dinner. Real smooth, Solo.

"Ben, quit wasting time." Han's gruff voice cut through Ben's self-ridicule. As he followed his father further into the outpost, he boldly stole a final side-glance. Much to his chagrin, she had all but disappeared.

Ben did not have much time to mourn his missed connection as he and his farther approached the center of Niima Outpost. There stood what appeared to be one of the outpost's few permanent structures: an awning-roofed blockhouse crafted from rusted, repurposed hulls of dismantled ships. Despite its unimpressive appearance, it was undeniably the junykard settlement's focal point from which all activity orbited around. From a sweeping glance, it did not take long for Ben to understand the order of business around these parts either. Salvaged parts were dragged in from the outside, buffed and shined, all in preparation to be handed over to a creature so grotesque looking that Ben found it difficult not to stare. He watched on as it considered each of the scavengers' offerings one by one, determining their worth by producing as many or as little colorless ration packets as deemed fit. Ben had a difficult time deciding what was causing his stomach to churn: the junk boss' repulsive appearance or the sheer lack of an ethical standard, allowing corruption to thrive in its wake.

The stout, amorphous form studied the pair of them as approached the blockhouse's counter from the other side of a barred window, its beady black eyes leering greedily from underneath drooping, fleshy brows. Just out of reach from the sun's scorching blaze, Ben could not help but observe from this close proximity how its skin's mucous sheen glistened a pale pink. It must have liked what he saw as confirmed by its pulled back moistened upper lip, revealing a jagged set of teeth in what Ben assumed to be an attempted grin.

"What can I do for you fellas?" Its gravely voice sneered, not so subtlety eyeing up Ben's tailor-made leather jacket.

"Pretty basic stuff." His father started off with a tone Ben was all too familiar with. Confident, smooth, and never too eager - as to not disclose their current predicament. Desperate beings meant dollar signs. "Want some assistance with a little more pep for a Correllian YT-1300 stock hyperdrive – Class 1 series." Ben maintained a stoic expression, however, a smirk threatened a tug on the corner of his lips. His father had that hyperdrive rigged for years. Class 1? More like Class 0.5 – twice as fast as most warships the Galaxy had ever seen. Clearly his father was only modest about his freighter when there was an ulterior motive involved. "I'm looking to purchase some power cells that may have been scavenged in these parts." His father rolled his shoulders back, nonchalantly placing his hands on his hips. Want, Ben mused at the verbiage, not need. "Heard you haven't been short of a supply since the Battle."

The junk boss eyes flitted to the ex-smuggler's belt as if something caught its attention for a brief moment before meeting his anticipating gaze. An identifiable smugness had seeped into its features before it finally replied. "That'll be twenty-thousand credits for the lot of them."

The words had barely flapped out of its mouth before his father's words cut through the air. "How much?!" Suaveness had exited the gangplank and impatience was simmering just underneath his cool demeanor, fast approaching his boiling point. Ben instinctively winced. Having been on the receiving end of a scolding or two from Han Solo, experience told him this would not end well.

The blob did not budge. "I said what I meant. Twenty-thousand credits for the power cells." Propping itself on one of its flubbery arms, it leaned towards Han in challenge. "If you don't have the money, might I suggest a new occupation for the time being…" It gestured towards the weary scavengers in line behind them and the others working diligently at their tables. "Sounds like you may be here awhile." It remarked before giving a bellowing laugh at its own cleverness. Ben was ready to intercept and prevent his father testing the infrastructure of the barbed window before a shout interrupted their heated exchange.

"Unkar Plutt!"

The junk boss reacted to the title by jerking its attention towards the nearing voice. (Look at that - so it did have a name.) Ben also turned his head to catch a glimpse of their guardian before a familiar feeling hitched inside of his chest: Her.

The young woman stomped up to the blockhouse's window with purpose without so much as a glance in his and his father's direction - there was a determined fury in her expression directed solely at the scum who hid behind the bars.

"I could have sworn a handful of power cells were no more than 1,200 credits a piece last week when sold to those Bimmisaari pilots just two days ago." She began pointedly, her inflection tinged with sarcasm. Everyone within earshot fell into a tense silence, straining to listen. With a planet so devoid of culture, one could not blame its inhabitants for seeking entertainment in whatever way they could. "Supply low? Not at all surprised – I've seen your cronies' technique. I'd about trust a Bantha to set my grandmother's table before having them handle any parts worth a damn."

She paused to let the insult hang in the air before darting her eyes over to Ben and Han. She observed them for a moment, a brief assessment before turning back to the junkboss, who was now visibly uneasy from the undesired attention. She narrowed her eyed before dryly adding "Or are your gauged prices for low quality goods specially reserved for representatives of the Republic?"

At her bold accusation, the line of scavengers buzzed with mutterings and whispers. Ben did not turn around to join them, keeping his eyes focused on her. While he should have been concerned over how he and his father were identified when they have prided themselves on discreetness in the past, he was completely enthralled by this impassioned individual. Her scarf that had previously draped over her head now hung loose over her shoulders - revealing more of her dark hair pulled back in a plait on the back of her head, streaked with lightened strands from extended exposure to the sun. From this distance, Ben could even observe the light, scattered freckles splashed across her cheeks: constellations against a gold sky.

However, it was her fiery stare that called Ben back to he and his father's current circumstance. He caught his father's eye who, to his slight surprise, looked just as baffled as to how to proceed. Admittedly, neither of them were well versed in junkyard politics and the Han Solo aggressive negotiations of "shooting your way out" was not going to work when there was nowhere to run. They were trapped.

Unkar Plutt was not pleased with this confrontation. "No sales for insubordinate behavior – those looking to stir up trouble." It wheezed with a slam of its flabby appendage on the counter surface, its beady black eyes blinking furiously in her direction. "You are too bold, girl."

Not a second passed until the three of them were shut out of the blockhouse with a defiant slam of the shuttered window.

As if in mutual understanding, the three of them decided it was advantageous to avoid eye contact with the surrounding bystanders. They stared at the closed window in silence, allowing for a few minutes to pass by as the scavengers lined up behind them muttered annoyances amongst themselves, begrudgingly dispersing to different corners of the open aired junk market. Show was over and there would be no distribution of rations for some time due to these troublesome outsiders.

"Well." Ben's father broke the awkward silence when they were now more or less standing alone, rocking from his heels to his toes. He sheepishly scratched the back of his neck before giving Ben a shrug. "That was productive."

He turned to the young woman, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the blockhouse. "That thing's a crook and that is coming from a reformed one." She didn't respond but a smirk escaped the corner of her mouth. He returned her smile with a rare one of gratitude that surprised Ben in its sincerity. "Thanks for trying though." He looked back at Ben. "Let's get going, kid. Looks like it's back to square one."

Ben opened his mouth to add something but discovered words had failed him at the sight of her. He managed a mumbled thank you before ducking his head down and ambling after his father. Smooth, real smooth.

"Wait!"

He and his father obeyed, promptly turning on their heels to face her. "I can get you the parts." She offered hurriedly, color flushing her cheeks at her sudden eagerness. She cleared her throat and straightened her stance before repeating her offer, evenly. "I can get you the parts you need to fix your ship."

Han glanced at Ben, eyebrows raised with new interest, before returning his attention to this woman who was growing more mysterious by the minute. "Alright, we're listening."

"What are your ship's coordinates?" Without hesitation, Ben pulled his datapad from the inside of his jacket and handed it to her. She scrolled through the information displayed; her gaze too focused to meet Ben's own. He felt silly for being slightly disappointed. He watched as she thoroughly studied the coordinates on the screen, committing them to memory. "Tonight, meet me at this location." She inputted an additional set before handing it back to him and, for an instant, their eyes met. Her tightened, furious expression had been replaced with a softer one, a smile escaping her previous thin lined lips. Ben's face grew warm.

"Hate to break this party early, but it looks we've gained a couple of fans." His father announced dryly, noting the leering eyes of impatient onlookers She nodded in agreement.

"I'll see you there then." She started to walk away from them, adjusting the rucksack strap on her shoulder before turning her back towards them to leave.

"Wait!" Now it was Ben's turn to delay their departure. Puzzled, she paused to look at him. He swallowed, the thrumming in his ears returned. "What is your name?"

She grinned. "Rey." She called over her shoulder. "My name is Rey."

Then, disappearing into the hustle and bustle of the outpost, she was gone.

...

Kriff.

It was a hot one.

Not that she should expect much of anything different, to be honest. Over the last few decades, Jakku had seen governments, wars, and migrants had come and go and all that remained constant was the unforgiving climate that plagued it. If it were not for the remnants of battles from long ago that enthralled opportunist smugglers and junk merchants with lucrative business of technologies and goods, the planet would have sure been void of inhabitants by now - least Rey was convinced no one would choose to reside here otherwise.

Despite her aversion to the planet and its conditions, she strategically maneuvered through Niima Outpost with the ease of someone who frequented the area, minding the usual crowds. She was careful to avoid knocking into any of the junk merchant's workspaces, lest she wished to find herself in a petty quibble of demanded compensation for any "damaged" goods.

Some of them were opportunists, after all.

Rey did not stop until she spotted a familiar back of an elderly Pa'lowick, currently hunched over at one of the worktables. Diligently scrubbing at a piece of metal sheeting gripped between her webbed fingers, she did not notice Rey's approach from behind. Rey reached out with one hand, gently brushing her fingers against the loose fitting, scratchy garment that kept the amphibian's sensitive skin from being exposed to the glare from above. At the human's touch, the Pa'lowick jumped in her seat a little, only to turn around and give a wide, toothy grin at what she saw.

"Rey!" She cried out, the scrap piece all but forgotten as she reached over and closed her yellow leathery fingers around Rey's hands to give them an affectionate squeeze. They were rough to the touch, but nonetheless inviting. "It's so wonderful to see you!"

"Likewise, Toota." Rey replied as earnestly, the Wild Space language blundered roughly off her tongue. "Here, I have something for you." She rifled through the articles inside her satchel at her side before presenting a handful of colorless ration packs she had earned a couple of days prior. Not surprisingly, Unkar Plutt was unable to ignore the value of Destroyer capaciter bearings in mint condition. Rey only provided the best, but never her secrets. At the sight of the offered rations, the wrinkles alongside Toota's bulbous blue eyes scrunched up as grateful tears welled up, sticking to her long lashes. Rey immediately wished she had more to give her.

"You're too good to me, Rey dear." She gingerly placed the packs safely inside the pockets of her repurposed utility belt, cinched at the center of her round form. "How are your parents faring these days?"

"Good, but busy." Rey admitted, weariness hung off her tone. She thought back to her parents kind but tired faces that wished her well this morning as she left their home. "Trade is booming more with each passing cycle. With all these systems getting their bearings, there is always a need for new ships and manufactured goods-"

"You need to get out of there, dear girl." Toota interrupted by gently shoving a long yellow finger, speckled with purple, into Rey's rib. "You're much too talented to be limited by this part of the galaxy. You should be flying amongst the stars."

Rey winced at her words, not because they were unkind but because she knew they were true. "I know, Toota. It's just that they need so many hands…" Her voice trailed as she met Toota's unconvinced eyes. She completed her string of excuses with by giving a soft smile of defeat. "Maybe next year."

Toota's lips pursed at the end of her long snout, clearly skeptical but decided to not press any further. After so many seasons, the elderly Pa'lowick knew to stop while ahead. Rey intended to change the subject but was disrupted by a sudden prickling sensation of hairs rising on the back of her neck, alerting her that she was being watched.

She turned away from Toota to find her gaze unexpectedly tangled with a pair of dark brown eyes.

And, just as swiftly as their eyes locked, the other pair jerked away.

The owner was a young man who Rey had never seen before. She observed him with considerable interest, entertained rather than threatened by his efforts to appear occupied by whatever he could find above him. This was quite limited considering he towered over the majority of beings bustling past his lanky form. Though disheveled and grungy from most recent travels, his attempts to blend in were further in vain as Rey noted the fine material of his brown leather jacket. It was rare to see that kind of money around here – in clothing, no less. Peeking over the collar was a small area of pale skin that was tinged slightly pink, unsuccessfully covered by his dark drawn back hair. Was that sunburn or betrayed embarrassment? Rey wasn't sure, but one thing was for certain: He wasn't from around here.

"Handsome, isn't he?" Toota chided. She was studying the young man now too with peaked curiosity. They both watched him fumble around, still desperately glancing in every direction other than theirs before the Pa'lowick clicked her tongue in approval. "You don't often seen men like that in these parts."

Rey blushed furiously, ducking out of sight to seat herself beside Toota. He was rather attractive; there would be no use in denying it to her prying friend. "I guess so." Her reply was as offhanded as she could muster.

"His father is rather good looking too." Toota casually added. From her safe spot, Rey looked past the young man towards a gruff, worn-looking older one. A determined hard lined mouth, chiseled chin, and peppered grayed hair, he was shaped by unnamed adversities the galaxy had to offer. Yet, even from this distance, his eyes glinted with a relentless spirit. What was his story, Rey wondered. She was becoming increasingly fascinated by the mysterious pair.

"His father?" Rey asked. Toota seemed so confident of their relationship. "What makes you say that?"

Toota eyed her, a genuine smile forming at the end of her long snout. "They both have adventure in their eyes."

Rey opened her mouth to ask for more clarification before she was interrupted by a booming, agitated voice yelling in Basic. "How MUCH?!" She swiveled in her seat just in time to see the older gentleman slam his hands onto the blockhouse counter. The maker. Her eyes darted in several surrounding directions in time to see a number of Plutt's hire hands observing the scene, quietly closing in case of reinforcements. The pair of human men remained unaware.

Survival instinct told her she should stayed about her business; watch the scene unfold as it were. However, there was something deep inside Rey that tugged her, urging her to intervene. She hesitated.

"I'll see you later, dear." Toota said knowingly, giving an encourage nod of her body and nudge of her eyes.

Rey gave her friend one last apologetic look before lifting herself up from her seat and joining the fray.

The path was clear.

"An invisible red thread connects those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstances.

The thread may stretch or tangle – but never break."

A/N: Well, there's that so far. I'd like to think that the two of them were destined to meet, regardless if Ben crossed over to the dark side or not. I hope you enjoy my AU head canon thus far.

Do we really still have a year until IX? Think of all the fics/topics to be explored!

Let me know what you think so far :) Hopefully there's still some active sequel fic readers out there! I need to catch up myself.

xox rose