The Solos were nice—she would shout that to the heavens and back if she could, appreciating the lack of questions from the parents as Ben tromped in with her in arms, interrupting breakfast. Watching the father and mother simply glide into their next actions without more than a raised eyebrow made her wonder what they had seen, if dealing with random bloody girls was just one of many weekly occurrences, if she just filled a quota of unusual bumps in their day.
After they were formally introduced to their strange little visitor, the two elders simply exchanged a look before father followed son to bring the car into the garage. Ben had smiled at her before he trudged out again, the girl finding herself echoing the look, cheeks coloring a bit as his father, Han, snorted, smile deep set in his rough face as he trailed behind his son. Before the door closed, Rey could hear the question, probably asked so that she could hear it, be a witness to its implications: "So that's the dame you're dizzy with? Cute girl."
Ben's mother, Leia, sighed after the two, rolling her eyes and glancing at the girl apologetically. "Ignore the old coot. He just likes embarrassing the boy." The young woman nodded slowly, mind whirling about, asking herself again and again: could it be true? For her, the question continued to hang overhead, answer just out of reach, as she was bid to sit down, a plate of pancakes pushed in front of her, something to keep her distracted as the older woman looked her over, worrying over the amount of blood on her dress. Rey stifled an appreciative groan at the first bite—or really, any bite of the homemade food. It had been a while since she had even smelled home cooking, room service and city restaurants making up the bulk of her food source.
"Oh, you poor dear, you…" The dancer let the mother tut over her, hands gentle as she was examined, a grateful sigh departing the gracefully wrinkled face with every confirmation that the girl was fine, that it really wasn't her blood. Leia had a round softness to her, a quality that reminded Rey of a pillow she once stole from a hotel—nice smelling, comfortable, dependable. She couldn't remember the last time she had been treated so sweetly, so genuinely, and in the warm glow of the kitchen, the white walls now swallowing the sun's color as it crept through the large window, she felt at home.
She felt self-conscious when Leia finished—not because of the physical examination, but because her stomach still growled, calling for more food, the taste of home addicting. The mother only chuckled, sweeping a hand out to the stove with a smile. "Help yourself—there's more food than we need. I'll go start that bath…we'll have you cleaned up in no time."
The bath gave her the moment of privacy she needed this morning, sinking back into the simple tub, face smoothing to a frown. Just a few hours ago, a man had been shot because of her. It had been an innocent situation at the beginning—she had finished her set, her feet sore and tired from shimmying across stage, her voice aching from the many encores she had given, the club's patrons always deafening in their demands. He, this mystery man, had offered to walk her to the car, to be a chaperone for the short distance, and she hadn't wanted to wait for Snoke's men—she had wanted to go back to her hotel right then, and despite the bathwater's heat, she found herself shivering with what came next.
Snoke was a jealous man, a mobster who didn't like to wait, didn't like to share. For the past year, she had been dancing around him, accepting his protection but teasing him on, uninterested in the rest of his offer—to be his moll, his little arm candy, subject to his leers and kisses and wandering hands. Despite her disinterest, the kingpin stepped in whenever he felt that a reminder was needed, a "gentle" warning of what could happen if she was without his protection.
Last night was a reminder in patience, she decided, crossing her arms and pulling herself into a ball, wishing that the hot water could soak into her and clean her of more than the glitter and blood that still remained on her skin. Because she couldn't wait another minute or two, her companion had a bullet deposited into her chest, the boy—he had barely been old enough to get into the club, she remembered him saying—tumbling back into her, her thin arms struggling to hold him up, her scream still piercing her ears, still ringing like her old town's church bells. She had seen the assailant's face, and really, she didn't need to, watching the blood slip and seep into the sidewalk of Snoke's nightclub, regular patrons and cronies of his not so much glancing over as they passed—and she had run.
In hindsight, Rey knew that it had been a coward's way out, dropping the boy and running, but she hadn't had much of a choice. Sure, any member of the mob would know better than to so much as scratch her, but she didn't want to test their limits that night, remembering three separate brawls that had broken out during her time onstage. Snoke's Order was tense that night, and there was no way to tell how far they'd go, how much they'd forget in their desire for violence.
She didn't know how long she had been in the tub, only that her fingers were pruney and that Leia had left her a note by the towel and clothes set out for her. Rey glanced over the note, allowing the chilly air to nip at her as she sat in her towel. I have the guest room made up for you if you're tired. Han and I went to town. Ben is in the garage if you need him.
The dancer couldn't say that she was tired enough to sleep. It had only been just recently that the adrenaline had started filtering out of her, her heart calming once she was safe in the Solo house. She shrugged on the offered shirt, the white cloth sturdy and yet soft on her skin. The sleeves were too long, covering her hands, but she struggled on, pushing the extra material up her arms, trying to keep them out of her way as she struggled with the offered pants. The thought of wearing pants was a rebellious one, and despite her situation, Rey grinned, ignoring that the probable reason for the jeans being offered was out of practicality, that they were the closest to her size.
The clothes smelled like Ben. It was a simple scent, she realized, wandering through the house, to the kitchen and out the door, setting her sights on the garage. He smelled like simple, white soap and like homemade bread, as if the smell baked itself into the clothes. There was a tinge of grease there as well, but it didn't bother her—it just reminded her that he worked with his hands, that he was practical in his knowledge, not trying to impress anyone with fancy words.
The garage wasn't what she had been expecting, the flapper glancing about the cluttered space as she let herself in to the workspace, the door closing softly behind her. If she had to pick a favorite part of the Solo homestead, she'd quickly settle for the family's kitchen and washroom, the space clean and bright, with Ben's mother clucking over her like a mother hen, but she was sure that the garage had some hidden charm, somewhere. Rey felt absolutely foreign to herself as she picked her way through the mess: a rogue engine here, the body of a car suspended here. In the middle of this mess was her hero, too engrossed in his task to look up, maybe even hear her when she came in. She knew that she hadn't been quiet—not even her dancer feet could be silent in the chaotic workshop.
"What are you doing?" Rey winced as she watched Ben startle, jerking up and into the car's hood, away from the engine that he had been leaning over the past half hour. Despite herself, a smile twisted on her lips as he uttered a curse, the foul word out of place in the gentle man's mouth. She smoothed her face as he swung around, rubbing the back of his head, feeling a bump already forming.
"You look better." She nodded slowly as he set his wrench down, leaning against the car and wiping his hands on his jeans, the grease leaving long ebony streaks across the denim. Rey struggled to keep the nervous smile off her face as he looked her up and down, a grin stretching across his cheeks as he realized that she was wearing his clothes, shaking his head and chuckling before turning back to his work.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Hm?" Ben knew it was rude, borderline ignoring his guest, but he wasn't sure what to say, what to do, keeping his eyes glued to the engine. Perhaps he had hoped that she would turn out to be a prima donna, not want to get dirty, keep herself away so that he could escape this experience unscathed by feelings. But she was here, and now she was dragging a stool over, assuming a perch next to his tools, examining them with a scrunched brow as if they would tell her what they were, as if she didn't want to bother him with questions.
"Can I help?" He opened his mouth to tell her no, that he'd much prefer that she kept her distance, that she was making it hard to concentrate as it was, that he wouldn't be able to work with her sitting there, asking to be looked at, her damp hair curling as it dried, his old shirt sitting on her frame better than it ever had when he was small enough to fit in it. What came out of his mouth wasn't any of that. "Why do you want to help?"
"I don't want to owe you anything." She crossed her arms as he looked at her again, her pursed lips and furrowed brow being adorable and frustrating, and he shook his head with a laugh. "Listen—you don't owe me money or anything." He saw worry flicker across her face, as if she heard that phrase all too often, biting her lip anxiously.
"If you wanted to keep me company, though, I'll consider this paid in full." In a flash, the worry was gone, and she smiled up at him, mouth opening, probably with another question for him, like usual. He cut her off, smirk widening as an idea grew. "In fact, how about this—you answer any question I have. No lies, no exaggerations—just the truth."
She balked, like he knew she would, her mouth gaping at him. She settled though, crossing her legs with a sigh. "Alright."
"So Rey—got a last name?" She rolled her eyes at him, and he did have to admit, it was a bit of a lame question, and he nearly amended it. "Kenobi. My last name is Kenobi. I never use it though." She wouldn't look at him, as if the answer was too painful, as if his gaze sat too heavy on her.
"Oh yeah? Why's that?" He turned back to the car, his hands settling back into familiar patterns, listening to her voice become stronger, more confident, now that his eyes weren't on her. "It doesn't really glide the way it should on the announcer's tongue—at least, that's what Finn at the club says."
They remained like this for the afternoon, Rey talking, Ben fixing. The day felt shorter, time condensing itself to answers, not minutes. The dancer had explained the actions of the night before, snipping it down, streamlining it for comfort, but he didn't say anything, shaking his head in pity for the poor man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. For anyone else, it would have been enough to send them running, to get the job done and then never speak to the girl again. He didn't particular care to do that, he realized, looking at the girl as she played with the shirt's hem, explaining her situation in a halting voice.
He couldn't say that it was all her fault that a man was dead—the only thing she was guilty of was having a pretty face and needing to live. The fact that there was another man trying to take advantage of that to get what he wanted from her, that this other man was willing to possibly hurt her made Ben grit his teeth, willing himself to remain silent. If he could, he'd offer Rey an out—but he wasn't in the position to do so, knowing that this gangster Snoke would simply track her down. He could maybe help her change her name, but the first way to do that would be through marriage, and Ben seriously doubted that the girl liked him enough to even consider that as a plausible idea. So he remained neutral, asking questions until they were away from the harrowing story, until there was a smile on Rey's face again, recounting stories from before she danced in clubs.
Eventually, the mechanic gave in, answering questions, tit for tat, the dancer moving closer to watch him work, now on the car's body, trying to figure out what he could salvage of the twisted metal. Between questions of her first haircut (she had taken kitchen shears to her tresses when she was sixteen, before she ran away from the orphanage and started dancing) and of why he was still in the family business (didn't like leaving his family, but he did like to work on cars—they were interesting), she explained that she had accidentally scrapped the car's sides against an alley wall, trying to get out of her parking space in a hurry, the valet having done a shitty job that didn't allow for fast getaways.
"Then again, Mitaka was probably told to do that, so I can't be mad." She sighed, shrugging at the questioning look, exhaustion peeking through. "Don't envy me, Ben. I know you do…or you're curious about it at least. Don't be. City life… it isn't nice. It's dirty and tough and you wouldn't like it."
"Oh yeah?" He smirked at her, leaning against the car, looking over the roof at her, perched on the opposite side, trying to stay out of his way. "So you're saying that, if I were to go to your club tonight in my Sunday best, to watch you dance, I wouldn't like it?" Rey flushed scarlet, and Ben couldn't help but feel a jolt of pride at the knowledge that she was blushing because of him, her smile nervous and yet flattered.
"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that they would eat you alive. They'll know you're too good for this world and they'll take you out back and get rid of you." Rey knew that she shouldn't be grinning at this—she was honestly afraid that it would happen if he should ever wander out of his world and into hers—but watching the man laugh, throwing his head back and really laughing at the idea, she couldn't help it, her heart thudding in her ears when he looked at her fondly.
"Well…as long as they do it after I see you dance, I suppose I'd still think it was a swell time." She snorted at him, trying to stay calm as he stepped around the car, coming to her side, standing over her stool. She didn't know what he was about to do, if there was something that he wanted behind her or if he was about to kiss her…and really, she didn't know what she wanted him to do. He leaned down, reaching behind her and turning a radio on, the set bulky behind her, the invisible announcer a loudmouth as he blabbered on, talking about the news, about the special program airing tonight.
Ben straightened and she looked up, keeping her gaze steady on him, ready for him to disappear, retreat, ignoring the intense mood between them. He looked taken aback, as if he wasn't ready to step away but he wasn't sure what more to do, looking at her face, glancing at her eyes, her nose, her mouth. Rey wondered what would happen if she reached up and tugged at his collar, if he'd stoop down, if she would only have to straighten up in her seat to reach his face, if he'd allow her to be so forward as to kiss him.
She took a breath and cautiously touched his arm, hand climbing up until it rested on his shoulder. Ben's face was solemn, as if she was about to bestow an honor on him, not a kiss—but then the radio broke in, smashing the quiet mood, the jazz singer's loud warble making the pair jump, laughing at their mutual fright, both glancing down.
"Are you going to dance for me?" She knew that he was teasing, and so she smiled up at him, trying to calm herself after her small attempt at bravery. "I only dance at the club. If you ever see me dance, it's only because I invited you to the show. Nothing else." She expected that to be the end of this dancing talk, that he would shrug and go back to work, not about to entertain her coyness.
"How about dancing cheek to cheek?" He was watching her closely, trying to gauge her reaction, and Rey appreciated that, knowing far too many men who'd just grab her to dance with them, not even so much as saying hello before they did so. Ben at least seemed concerned for her comfort, and perhaps that's why she came to him that morning. True, she had worn that engine practically down to nothing, being rough with her brakes and speeding when she could. She could have gone to any mechanic and hidden out in their shop while waiting to have it fixed—but she came to Ben. He was special.
Her "friends" teased her incessantly about him whenever they pulled out of the gas station, accusing her of aiming too low, that he was too simple for her, that she'd get bored with him and toss him away if she ever did pluck up the nerve to be his doll. She had to disagree, a sentiment she found herself repeating as she looked up into his dark eyes. He was very interesting, and would never turn her away, even if it was a smart thing to do, even if she had hurt him. He wouldn't force attention on her, unlike Snoke—in fact, he was the complete opposite of all the phonies and thugs she dealt with every day, and that made him that much better.
He offered his hand to her, and she took it, allowing herself to stand up, her feet no longer aching, no longer tired, despite the lack of sleep. The music had slowed, and her breath hitched as Ben pulled her close, in part out of necessity with the garage's cramped space—but she hoped that it was also because he wanted to be close to her like she wanted to be close to him.
They had barely taken a step when there was a knocking on the garage's door, Han's gruff voice louder than the radio. "Rey, there's someone here to see you." From his father's tone, Ben knew that he was suspicious of the visitor, that if he had a choice, he'd have sent them off. He glanced over at Rey, who sighed, steeling herself. "Someone here to collect me, probably." He squeezed her hand and she flashed a thin smile at him before letting go, the two now emerging from the workshop.
The red-haired man, Hux, stood beside Han, his serious demeanor broken by a lone raised eyebrow as he looked at the girl and her pants. He ignored how Ben glared at him, only focusing on Rey who smiled and shrugged at him. "My dress was dirty—I got into an accident with the car." He didn't question it, instead nodding thoughtfully and waving her to him, inspecting her.
"Phasma's waiting in the car for you. She's been worried sick about you, even more than Mr. Snoke." Hux ignored how she tensed, pushing her off towards the vehicle, turning to follow without even a question about the car. Ben supposed that the gangster probably considered Rey the more important thing to retrieve, that the car was inconsequential, something to come back for.
He tried not to look at Rey as the sleek black sedan pull out of the lot, but he knew her eyes were on him until dust clouds obstructed her view. She confirmed it, days later, on Monday again, the weekly routine easing his worries, trying not to rush to the car, trying to keep his head down, noticing Hux's blonde dame in the driver's seat, that she was the only companion that day.
"Hey, Phas, will you be a peach and get me a soda? Mr. Snoke gave you my spending money again, didn't he?" Despite her pouting plea, the mechanic knew that Rey didn't really care about the soda, her hazel eyes on his in the instant that Phasma disappeared into the store. In a moment, there was a piece of paper pressed into his hand, and a kiss pressed to his cheek, and Ben wasn't sure how he managed to gas up the car in his daze, only that she was here one moment and leaving in the next.
Later, after dinner, after his mother asked him again how Rey was, if she'd be coming back, Ben unfolded the note. He tried to ignore its scent—delicate, smelling like vanilla and lavender, probably her perfume—focusing instead on the words, written in sloping cursive:
Ben—
My next big performance is this Saturday, and I want you to come. Keep the car and drive it to the Imperial Club, and be sure that you clean yourself up…my friend Finn will be on the lookout for you. Try to blend in, baby—I don't want you to get filled with lead, okay?
-Rey
He considered for a moment, even though he knew that he was going. He was too far in as it was, and as he said before…as long as he saw her dance before he was bumped off, he still had a good time. Ben absentmindedly kissed the envelope before setting it aside, turning to the closet, wondering how he'd blend in to the dark crowd of gangsters and molls.