Summary: She's the new intern, he manages a different department. Fate likes to push adversaries into unlikely situations.
Rating: T
She's fresh out of the jungle, for a lack of a better term.
The new intern down in design eats like a starved animal and laughs like a hyena. Her cheeks are still stained rosy from her overseas exploits and her tan has yet to fade, making her look strange and out of place in the growing chill of pale fall. She isn't learning in his department so they haven't been introduced, but he knows her supervisor well and can't help himself from asking about the annoying curiosity filling Jean's old place.
Dameron cocks an eyebrow, somewhat surprised he needs to ask. "That's Kenobi's grandkid."
"Sir Benjamin Kenobi's spawn? The Sir Ben Kenobi. We have his relative in our program?"
"Guess she doesn't take after the family much." Dameron shrugs and sips his coffee. "She's been out in the Great Victoria Desert with him for the past few months doing research on skinks."
"What's she doing here?"
"Studying for her MEng apparently."
"She's a child."
"Older than she looks. Brilliant, too."
Ben sighs, not getting anywhere. "Can you do anything about her table manners?"
"Worried about how the execs will take it?"
"I'm an executive, dumbass."
Dameron bites his lip. They've known each other for too long not to be familiar and it bleeds into their work more than it should. He recovers graceful as always. "I'll talk to her about it."
It takes the walk back to his office to realize he didn't ask for the intern's name. No matter, he was sure he'd hear it soon enough.
However, he doesn't expect to learn it from a screaming match. It's playful from what he can tell, but too loud, too disruptive. The engineering interns occasionally work with the developers in the basement levels of the building in great big white spaces littered with tools and pencils. He needs to speak with a particular dev about a blueprint proposal that's going up in a few hours—has a few details he can't quite read—and he makes the trip himself, knowing he'll never get Jantz into his office.
The messy girl with the wild hair is shouting at Dameron's gold-star prodigy—he's an intern who transferred from another company, his name is Frank or Finn or Fred, something like that. The two are verbally duking it out over a drafting table about some incredibly minor detail. She's pointing a wrench threateningly at him, but she's smirking as she's doing it.
This needs to stop now.
He's beside them immediately, a tall looming adversary in a black three-piece suit and dark red tie. He knows he's an intimidating presence and the nonsense stops the second he's wedged himself between it.
"I do not care who started it," he begins, passing a cold gaze over the two of them, "but you'll both stop it, now."
They quiet instantly. Forrest talks. "Dr. Solo, we weren't—"
"I don't care, just quit yelling. You're giving me agita." He does his best to keep up the cold politician's mask he inherited from his mother. "Could one of you calmly find Jantz?"
The annoying pair exchange a look and the girl answers him. "Jantz?"
Lord. "Short, big laugh, too young to be as grey as he's getting."
"Oh, Dr. Franklin. Rey could you—"
The girl nods and hurries off, leaving her coworker uncomfortably in the company of the dark suit who runs the show many stories above this floor. He's not really inclined to speak and pulls out his phone, making quick changes to his calendar. He'll have to skip meeting with Susan from financial for lunch and push back the appointment with—
"Ben!"
Ever the authority-disrespecting wiseass. He smiles big and claps the eccentric engineer on the back. "Jantz, just the man I needed to see." As they lead off to a different part of the drafting room, he catches the girl's eyes on him. She looks determined, almost aggressive in her frustration. She's upset by authority? Good. Cry yourself a waterfall, little jungle cat. This was his turf.
"What the hell is his problem?" Rey asks when the big black eagle disappears from earshot. "Why's he bothering with us if he's a doctor?"
"PhD, not medical. That's Benjamin Solo, the vice chair of some department or another."
The name rings a few bells, but she doesn't know why. "And what's his job?"
"Generally making life miserable and pushing production speed until we all die." Finn shrugs and glares at the door behind which Solo has disappeared. "And being a downright asshole."
"He looks awfully young to be a vice chair."
"You know Skywalker up in Flight Operations?"
That man is a legend. "Of course, what about him?"
"That's his uncle."
"So it's all a game of spoils?"
"No, I think the family is just talented."
Rey mulls Finn's words over for the rest of her shift. She glances up when movement crosses her line of sight, catching eyes with Solo when he leaves. He looks cocky and she glares for a split second before returning to her work. She isn't interested in losing this internship and she keeps her trap shut, vowing to avoid the grim reaper at every turn.
She takes the subway downtown with Finn when they finish their mockup draft of a basic wing part, neither satisfied but both too hungry to keep pressing into the late night. Besides, she has classes tomorrow morning and doesn't want to risk coming in like a zombie, graphite marks coating her face when she doesn't have the time to shower.
He's lived in this city for the better half of the past eight years, attending college and working a few odd jobs and internships. She decides he probably has a better clue about where to eat and what bars to check out so she follows him down into the lower east side.
"You haven't had real American Chinese food before, have you?" he asks when they step off the platform, hurrying out to escape the rancid smell of sweat and machinery.
"I didn't know there was fake American Chinese food, though the whole thing sounds like an oxymoron."
Finn laughs. He's got a great big grin—it's friendly, she likes it. "C'mon, I know a great little hole in the wall."
The restaurant is loud, small, and dim. The colors on the walls are all shades or reds, browns, and golds, giving the air of a distant place in a faraway time. Spices and smoke hang heavy in the air and the candles on the table obscure the tone of her skin. She doesn't know a thing on the menu and gives up less than halfway through the dishes, opting to ask Finn what he recommends. He says everything, which is no help.
The beer is a little sour and tastes faintly of plums, but it's rich and cold and she loves how it goes with the rice and duck dish that she mistakenly ordered. It's weird to be here, weird and surreal, like she's drifting around outside herself. Months of being surrounded by sand and scrub has left her a little lonely, and though she loves her grandfather, he isn't the most understandable man. But here, she likes here.
They part ways after dinner with a brief hug and she has to jog a few blocks to catch the B home across the river. She walks the few streets to her apartment on the high alert that had set in the moment her feet hit the ground after dark. She unlocks the door to her tiny apartment after a few tries with the deadbolt and is greeted by the sweet, sweet sound of utter silence…minus the traffic outside. This place can never seem to sleep and it suits her fine.
In the darkness of her small studio space, she lays on her sparse bed with her laptop on her stomach, scrolling through any information she can find on this Ben Solo. His accomplishments seem impressive and she hates him more for that. Eight years her senior and twenty years ahead in the business, what a jackass.
Morning comes and she trips over another box she swears she'll unpack one of these days. Rey has been in the states for two months now but still can't seem to find the time to get her life outside of school in order. She thought taking a year and a half off would help her organize but no, god no. She's out the door on time thankfully and arrives to class in real clothes, not another suit jacket or a skirt. She's so thankful to have all that ridiculous training out of the way.
"How many classes are you taking this semester?" Finn asks when he sets down across from her for coffee, eying the tall pile of textbooks beside her computer.
"Three. Feels better than college but I am drowning under the work."
"Wait until next year, then everything starts to fall apart. Social life, bills, job. Everything."
"Thanks for the assurance, Mr. Optimist." She takes a bite of the muffin sitting neglected by her coffee. "What time are you on today?"
"Like, four-something. You?"
"I'm due in at one."
"You're on your own for dinner tonight."
"I'm also on my own with the man in black."
Finn rolls his eyes. "We're engineering interns working on wings. He works with the rocket scientists."
She feels her jaw drop a little. "Of course he does."
"So you're fine, Rey, you're not going to run into him."
Oh, but she was.
She was.
It turns out they took coffee breaks at the same time on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She would see him in the shop closest to their building and duck immediately out of his sight, paralyzed with the fear of getting the boot. He seems to hate her more than she can justifiably understand and she really loves this internship. But alas, her luck has never been good, and after two weeks of dodged interactions, she turns and spills her drink all down his front.
It's clichéd as hell, it's horrible, and instead of apologizing, she says: "Did you have to stand so close to me?"
She bites her tongue the second the sentence leaves her mouth. Here comes the pulsing regret and the getting fired. It was here, it was here, it was—
"Have you ever looked before leaping, girl?" The papers in his hands are sopping wet but his suit is free of hot liquid. He looks pissed beyond all measure.
"Yes, in fact, and this wouldn't have happened if you weren't breathing down my neck." Where was this coming from? Why was she saying this?
"Apologies that you've lived in the jungle for the better half of a year, but cities are crowded and there is no room for personal space."
"Desert. Australian desert."
"Whatever. Could you move so I can order, or are you here to deny me a caffeine fix on top of verbally assaulting me?"
He…he isn't going to fire her?
"You're not giving me the boot?"
"Hadn't considered it until now."
Oh, lord. What was she supposed to do? Bribe him? Offer favors—sexual favors? Suck his dick?—cry, bargain? What? She couldn't lose this opportunity—
"Can I get you dinner?"
What the fuck.
The barista fixing his drink has the good mind to not pay their conversation heed. Solo raises a tall eyebrow. "I didn't know we were paying interns enough to take executives out to dinner."
No, no, no, no, no.
"Small, not fancy. Erm, I—"
Second eyebrow goes up. "A date?"
Fuck.
"No."
He gives her a once over after he hands the cashier his card. "Collect your thoughts and figure out what it is you're trying to do here."
"I can't lose this internship and I don't want to get sacked."
"You'll be grateful to know I can't sack you, nor would I for something so petty as spilled coffee." Card back, wallet replaced in the pocket of his sweeping overcoat. "What time are you off tonight?"
Oh Christ, no, she didn't want this. "Can't we forget the whole—"
"Dear, dear, but you already offered. It would be rude of me to decline."
His voice is soft but grating with mockery. She can't stand him. "Eight."
"Perfect, I'll fetch you."
He doesn't know why he's torturing her. Descending the stairs to the first of the basement labs, he finds her on the small pale peach bench between the elevators, rubbing her fingers together nervously. She at least has on slacks, but her top is a denim button-down smeared with grease and charcoal. He's a vision of meticulous tailoring and she looks like a mechanic's daughter—no matter where she takes him, one of them will stick out sorely.
"Can we please just call this off? I don't actually know a lot of places to eat." She's not looking up from her feet.
"It's a big city, there are hundreds of places to go."
"We don't know each other."
"That's the point of dinner."
She looks up and cocks an eyebrow. "You hate me."
"I think you can be annoying but I don't hate you." Besides, she was a little pretty when she wasn't acting like a savage. "If you don't have anywhere in mind, I know a few places close by. If it all goes poorly, we don't ever have to speak again."
He winds up choosing and takes her a few blocks up to a little French restaurant where the walls are blue and the lighting is green and orange, a mood like the shore settling on the tables and chairs. It's dark enough inside that the stains on her shirt blend into the dark blue material. He is overdressed for this place, but she would be underdressed anywhere else.
She orders a beer before he has the chance to buy a wine for the table and bites his tongue at the uncouthness. Jungle girl can live like she's in the jungle for all he cares. He gets a cocktail instead.
The silence between them is thick and uncomfortable.
"What made you come here to study?" he asks after too long a pause.
"Oh, it's somewhere new I had yet to visit. I haven't spent a lot of time in big cities so I thought it might be a nice change of pace. It bustles, I like it." She takes a sip of her drink. Foam catches on her lips and he finds himself watching as she licks it away. "You have a doctorate in…"
"Astrodynamics. I make the satellites go round in circles."
She smiles a little, the tension easing. "I feel like you're oversimplifying things."
"Me? Never. Always drawn out to the last detail." He decides then that he likes her smile, how it reaches up to her eyes. "You're here for your MEng. Surprised you're not off for a biology masters."
"Granddad would have liked that, but…" She folds her hands and rests her chin atop, gaze elsewhere. "Don't tell the old man, but I've always liked machines better than creatures. That, and I've always loved the stars."
"So instead of being an astronaut, you want to build the ships?"
"Don't think I'd like being stuck in such a small space for so many months. Would you?"
"I've never given it a second thought."
Their food arrives and he can see her deliberate the manner in which she intends to eat. She waits for him, following slowly instead of scarfing it all down at once. He's entertained to say the least.
A few bites into his meal, he breaks the less-uncomfortable quiet. "Where was your favorite place you've visited?"
"That's an unfair question." She sets down her fork to deliberate. "I loved Sigiriya, but that was more of a detour than research. Granddad did some work with the elephants in Sri Lanka though. Tibet was beautiful too, and New Zealand. It's hard to choose."
"I didn't realize you're a bona fide world traveler."
"My grandfather's a naturalist, of course he's taken me everywhere."
"And you go and settle in a city with a few great big parks and even bigger skyscrapers, content in the basement of a building in midtown."
"It's a new world to compare against the one I've known. I like it here."
"Which is nice to hear. We tend to take a lot of pride in our city." He finishes off his drink, setting the glass down lightly. "This isn't as horrible as you thought it would be, is it?"
"Still not convinced you don't hate me." She says it with a smirk.
"What if I let you pick the next place we go?"
"Dinner and a movie is too much of a date. How do you feel about a jazz club?"
He likes jazz clubs.
He likes the ambient blue and purple of the lights, how they make the white furniture change in hue with the slightest shift of shadows. The violets play well around her dark hair and hazel eyes, making her teeth glow whenever she laughs. Usually when he goes out with coworkers, they wind up at a bar cheering on one sports team or another. For a group of math geniuses and physicists, they all surprisingly got far too worked up about a game of football. This also isn't how he sees Susan, their interactions loaded like a hot pistol ready to go off, but neither can bother pulling the trigger. Maybe they should stop toying with each other one of these days and just cut the lunch scandal loose.
"Rey." Her name rolls nicely around his mouth. She turns from watching the band to look at him. God, she's young. "What got you into jazz?"
"Finn, believe it or not. He's one of the other interns. First week we met he took me here."
He frowns a little. "Are you two…?"
"No." She laughs, shaking her head at the thought. "We're just friends, and I think he's got a thing for someone else." She shifts so she faces him entirely, taking a sip of her electric blue drink. "And you, are you seeing anyone?"
"I have lunch with a woman I cannot stand, does that count?"
She smirks a little, eyes bright. "No, I don't think it does."
"I've been doing this the wrong way for years, then."
Her laugh is starting to grow on him, untamed and exuberant. "Don't worry, so have I."
He's starting to think she's not so annoying after all. Maybe she's even a little cute.