Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This stunning art was commissioned by @Gopherbroke.  Look at all the detail!  She studied trains for days, she was so committed.  I love how she pulled them out of the shadows of the alcove so we could get a look at Rey's gorgeous smile.  Thank you so much, my friend, I treasure this.  <3

+++

Watch the white dawn gleam,

To the thunder of hidden guns.

I hear the hot shells scream

Through skies as sweet as a dream

Where the silver dawn-break runs.

And stabbing of light

Scorches the virginal white.

But I feel in my being the old, high, sanctified thrill,

And I thank the gods that the dawn is beautiful still.

––  Leslie Coulson, The Rainbow, 1915

+++

There’s a hiss, and a lurch, and then they’re moving.  

Rey knows every swerve of the tracks.  She could close her eyes and map out each bridge and street crossing, where the engine slows down on a sharp curve or digs in to take a hill, in the same precise way she drafts the plans for battleships.  

After a year of taking the regional train to work at Cramp Shipyards, the Trenton line is as well-known as the ache in her work-weary bones.

The setting sun slices through the windows across the aisle, painting the empty train car in stripes of orange and gold.  She turns away from the sun to follow the Delaware River as it snakes along beside the tracks, it’s grey waters lustrous with a sheen of oil.  Chin nestled between fingers, she watches as the faded concrete buildings and smoke-filled skies over Philadelphia give way slowly to the rolling, wooded hills of Bucks County.  

It’s cold.  The kind of cold you can feel in your teeth.  The swell of green buds on trees promise rebirth, despite the small mounds of grey-tinged snow clinging stubbornly to street corners and lamp posts in the last bitter bite of winter.  

A door slams at the front of the car.  A deep clarion voice announces, “Trenton Transfer station in one hour!  Tickets, please!”

The conductor trods a well-worn path down the aisle, his wizened fingertips grazing the tops of the seats.  She places her ticket in his upturned palm, and he punches it and returns it with a wink. Rey smiles and nods in their familiar routine.

Left alone again, she returns to her window and her thoughts.  The tension in her muscles eases with the gentle rock of the train and the rhythmic clack of the wheels below.  She crosses her ankles and rubs her shins together to fight back the chill.

It’s her last bit of pride that she won’t wear her overalls outside of work.  Rey changes in washroom before work, then back into her old blouse and worn skirt after clock out.  Careful not to muss up her bun, she unwraps her kerchief to scrub off the sweat and grime, or stray patches of grease, after her shift.  

The cost of her propriety is bare legs exposed to the cold now that nylons are rationed.  

Her friend on the assembly line, Rose Tico, teases her.  “Miss Rey, a true lady.  Well, I don’t give a damn!  I’m Rosie the Riveter and proud of it.  It’s a new world, new rules.”

But Rose is a city girl, she doesn’t have to ride out each day with the Bucks County matrons returning from luncheons or shopping excursions, returning to the men who take care of them.  Rey returns home each day, alone. She doesn’t mind the smell of oil on her skin, it makes her feel useful, but she can do without the judgmental stares, or worse the pity, of the wealthy women on the train.

Lost in thought, the door slides closed quietly behind her without notice.  A flicker of movement from her periphery causes her to turn, where a large shadow blocks the dwindling light.

It’s a man in a forest green jacket and khaki wool pants.  Rey recognizes the Marine uniform, he’s an officer.

He scans the train car, duffle bag in hand.  She cranes her neck to catch his profile, and when she does it steals her breath.

An angry red gash bisects his right cheek, marring the pale skin.  The wound is fresh, the stitches partially covered by dark medical tape.  The contrast of his pallor with his raven hair and crimson scar sends her pulse skittering.  

Wounded and on medical leave, or maybe discharged, she surmises.  Her heart swells in sympathy.

The officer turns to her.  Deep brown eyes, wary and guarded, meet her curious ones and connect.  The spark is like the ignition of a welder’s torch, and heat prickles under her skin.  Her gaze floats to the scar as she swallows. The officer works his jaw and looks down, turning away from her.

Hefting his bag with a quiet grunt onto the seat across the aisle, his free hand flies protectively to his ribs.  She wonders just how deeply his wounds cut. He seats himself at the window facing the back of the train, opposite from her, so his scar is hidden from view.

Removing his cap, he holds it in his lap and worries the brim between pinched fingers.  The fading light casts his face in an orange glow. He squints against it momentarily before his lids close and he leans back.

Rey returns reluctantly to her own window and nibbles her lip.  He caught her staring at his scar.

Was I rude?  Did I embarrass him?  

There’s a pit in her stomach at the thought.  

Rey’s a patriot, through and through.  Her life had detoured when the war broke out, like everyone’s did, but she adapted to the new reality.  Rey is a survivor, whether being shipped off to live with a distant aunt after her mother died or being recruited as a draftsman in the factory.  She made the best of what she had.

She gives her all to the war effort.  After her work week at the factory, she spends her free time scavenging for aluminum scrap to recycle.  She convinced Aunt Maz to plant a victory garden. Rey volunteers as a hostess at the USO, greeting them with a friendly face, eager to offer a measure of comfort.  

“Will you do your part to bring our boys home?” Uncle Sam asks her sternly each day from the poster on her wall.

Yes, of course!  Of course I will!

She peeks over and the officer’s eyes are still closed.  The shame of making him uncomfortable burns her throat. She fidgets and crosses her arms, pulling her wool cardigan tighter, and starts picking at a small hole on the cuff of her sleeve, twisting a loose thread.  Rey knows Maz will fix it for her, since she’s useless with anything soft. Rey was made for fire and steel.

After the sun sets, Rey dares another glance.  He’s staring out at the twilight now, his mouth drawn tight.  

His profile is regal, a Roman nose and strong chin chiseled beneath angled cheekbones.  Unusual looks, striking and handsome, with a fascinating seriousness. His wide shoulders form the perfect frame for his uniform, and he fills his jacket to the brim.

But it’s his dark eyes that snare her.  His eyes are haunted.

Rey looks down at her hands as they twist in her lap.  The USO taught her how to comfort the men coming home. Boost their morale by letting them win at the board games, be optimistic and gentle.  It’s the women’s job to provide emotional support for the men fighting on the front lines, they said. Working together, that’s how we win the war.

He’s a stranger, but she wants to do her part to help.  She has a gift she can give to him. She can listen.

Rey clears her throat and breaks the silence.  

“Are you going home?”

His shoulders stiffen.  He regards her, eyes dragging along her face on their own time.  Rey doesn’t shrink from his scrutiny and waits.

His voice is gravelly and low.  “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s wonderful,” she says, encouragingly, nudging him on.

Rather than take her invitation, he tilts his head.  “Is it?”

Her eyebrows crease.  This is uncertain terrain, a swerve from pleasant conversation.

“Yes, of course.  To go home, that’s what everyone wants.”  The ground shifts beneath her feet as the train curls around a bend.

“Ah, yes.  I suppose it is.”  His expression is as flat as his tone.  “Thank you, ma’am,” he says dismissively, turning away from her.   

Rey blinks, unsure how they slid off track.  The train sways, throwing her off balance again.  She was being polite, and he rebuffed her, rudely.

Her temper rises.  A year ago, she would have giggled around an officer like the other girls, or perhaps been too bashful to talk to him at all.  Not anymore. Her timidity has been burned away in the factory like impurities from metal. She works now, and she builds. She wants him to respect that.

“I’m not a ma’am,” she blurts out, voice louder than she intended.

His eyes snap back to her.

“I’m Rey, I’m not a ma’am,” she repeats, eyes narrowing.  “I work at Cramp shipyards in Philly. I draft plans and make battleships and submarines.  I’m doing my part to help us win.”

She doesn’t shrink from him and stubbornly lifts her chin.

When his voice returns, it’s rough around the edges.  “Thank you, Rey.” He doesn’t look away from her this time.    

She swallows and nods.  “Where’s home, then, for you?”

“Princeton.  And you?”

“Bristol, Pennsylvania.”  

“I know Bristol.  Small town, quaint.”  He leans closer to her on his armrest, interest piqued.  The intensity of his stare heats her cheeks, and she looks down.

She nods at her hands.  “Not much to see in Bristol.”

“That’s a good thing.  Quiet. Peaceful.”

When she looks up, his expression has softened, but his eyes are unrelenting.  She can almost feel them graze her skin, the hair rising on the back of her neck.

She turns the conversation back to him.  “I’m sure your people will be delighted to see you.  Will you have a welcome party waiting?”

The corner of his mouth tugs, but he shakes his head.  “No, they don’t know I’m coming. It’s a surprise. I can’t wait to see the look on their fucking--”

He stops himself and clears his throat, abashed.  “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I’m afraid I’ve been gone too long.”

Rey purses her lips to bite back a smile.  “Oh, please don’t apologize. I’ve heard worse at the USO.”

His smile is gentle and slow, as if the muscles relearn to the shape of it as they go along.  The light touches his eyes and crinkles the corners, his face brightening from within.

Rey melts in her seat.

“I’m sure they’ll be so happy to have you back.”  

She swallows.  Her eyes can’t stop darting down to where the scar is stretched taut on his cheek.  “Were you injured badly?”

His smile freezes as the light flickers and fades.  “I didn’t bleed out in the mud or get my legs blown off, so I guess I’m lucky.”

The brutality hits her like a slap.

“So many,” he turns from her, voice trailing.  “So many didn’t come home . . .”

“I’m sorry.”  She runs out of words.  Nothing could ever be enough.

He nods at the darkness outside.  The silence stretches between them like elastic.

Rey looks out her window and wipes away a tear.  The stars prick out of the expanse of darkness. She watches the moon’s reflection waver on the water as a line of poetry bubbles up from memory.

And I look at the stars- for the stars are beautiful still.*

The rocking of the train car lulls them into an uneasy quiet.

The silence is pierced by a loud squeal ripping out from the tracks.  With a jerk, the brakes engage suddenly and she’s pitched forward. Something’s wrong.  

Rey snaps out of her reverie as the train shakes to a halt miles from any station.

She looks to the officer.  His hands clutch the armrests as his shoulders hunch forward as if he’s been punched.  A lock of black hair is tossed forward over his brow as his wide eyes stare out at nothing.

She leaves him to run to the front of the car.  It takes both hands to slide the heavy door open, then she steps into the alcove between cars with a click of her heels on cold metal.  Rey picks her way down the stairs to the open track, hunting in the darkness for sound and light.

Up ahead there’s a lantern and voices.  A few steps forward on the gravel, and she makes out the conductor, who waves to her and cups his hand by his mouth.  

“A truck is stalled on the crossing, Miss!  We need a few minutes to clear the track. Back on board, please!”

Rey finds the officer waiting at the top of the stairs, alone in the alcove.  He’s much taller than she expected. His knuckles have turned white from his grip on the handrails.

“They’re working to clear the tracks, everything’s fine,” she explains quietly.

His wild eyes land on her face as his chest expands with each breath, stretching at the seams of his jacket.  She can see the panic vibrating through him, like an electric current, his muscles rigid with tension.

Her friend at the shipyard, Finn, is also a vet who found work after medical discharge.   Finn still jumps at loud noises sometimes, his hands shaking and sweat breaking out on his brow.  Rose and Rey reassure him, their soft voices reminding him he’s safe now.

She understands that the echoes of the battlefield can linger long after you’ve left.

Acting on instinct, her right hand reaches out until her fingertips gently brush his.  He flinches at her first touch, but releases his iron grip and allows her to hold his hand lightly, palm to palm.

His hand is warm and rough, but it feels good.  Her hand is rough now, too.

“It’s okay,” she says softly, just a whisper.

Diffuse light from the passenger car pools around them as they stand in shadow.  He tilts his chin down to her, following her voice. Rey’s heart pounds in her ears as she squeezes his hand.  Their ragged breaths are the only sound in the small space between the cars, forming small puffs of steam in the cold air.  

Has she ever held a man like this before?  Been held like she’s a lifeline, like she could be his rescue?  The heat of his palm opens up something deep inside her, like a blossom in the sun.

Her left hand floats up on its own volition to cup his jaw beneath his scar.  Her thumb brushes just to the side of his full lips, light as a breeze, fingertips delicate and searching.  He doesn’t flinch. Holding still under her touch, his eyes skate across her face until they land on hers again.  

She holds him as safe in her gaze as she does in her hands.

Something in his haunted eyes draws out a yearning from within.  She feels bold, nearly reckless, desire burning through caution. As if under a spell, her body moves independently, responding only to his need and to the heat under her own skin.  

Lifting up on the balls of her feet, she leans into him.  “It’s okay,” she whispers again, not just a reassurance now, but permission.

The press of her lips to his is soft and chaste, a simple caress of her skin on his.  A kiss that says, it’s okay, you’re safe, or maybe, I’m so sorry.  His lips are full and warm, and he patiently accepts her gesture like a gift.

She draws back and rocks on her heels.  His fingers twine with hers, squeezing tightly to not let her go, as his eyelids press shut.

When he looks at her again, his dark pools have ignited, tiny flecks of gold sparking in the darkness.  A vibration kicks on under their feet, the train engine idling as the kinetic energy builds. Her heartbeat thrums in her veins and she recognizes the same fire in him that is burning through her.

The train engine revs and the officer surges forward, pulling their clasped hands to his waist as he reaches for the small of her back and takes her mouth in a kiss.  Rey cups his jaw, lips parting to let him taste her. She stumbles back a step as he advances and presses her into the corner, caging her in.

She’s never been kissed like this before, so desperately.  A moan escapes from the back of her throat, and her hand drops from his cheek to cling to his arm for balance.  His palm behind her back braces her as he bends her to meet his mouth, their bodies pressed together at an unnatural angle.

He kisses her breath away.  He lifts her up in his palm as his hips dig into hers, breathing her in like she’s air.  There’s no hesitation, no space for tenderness, only raw need. She’s dizzy from it, and when he breaks suddenly she’s left gasping for air.

She blinks up at him in surprise as he searches her face, a lock of his hair thrown forward over his brow.

“I’m sorry-” he starts to pull away, but she shakes her head.

“Don’t.”  

She grabs his collar, pulling his forehead to hers.  Their exhales fog in the cold air.

There’s a dizzy freedom in not thinking.  Rey angles to kiss him again. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth as she nips at him, his hot velvet tongue slipping inside.  He pushes her into the wall and wedges a thigh between her legs. She yanks her skirt up to her knees to make more room for him. He reaches around her hip to palm her ass through her skirt, twisting to reach for her and drag her to him.   

She makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a whimper at the heat of his thick leg between her thighs.  “Oh, God,” she whispers as he nuzzles behind her ear.  His sharp, hot exhale on her skin gives her goosebumps.

He reaches another hand to her ass to lift her nearly off the ground and seat her on his thigh.  The friction from the rough fabric of his uniform causes her to flush and heat.

He presses a palm into the wall and lifts up to look at her, eyes dazed.  She finds her breath again, then her voice.

“What’s your name?”

“Ben,” he says to her mouth, leaning in to kiss her again.  

“Ben,” she murmurs as his hand slides under her cardigan to palm her breast through her blouse.  She captures his wrist to press it down harder, arching up to fill his hand.

His other hand burrows beneath the edge of her skirt until it finds only her satin panties and bare skin.  He makes a guttural sound, and she moans in response. He lifts her skirt to drape over his thigh, then it’s just the rough fabric of his woolen pants rasping against her thin panties, her thighs shaking around him with every stroke.

His mouth on hers anchors her as she rocks on his thigh, gasping into his mouth.  She can feel the sharp press of his belt buckle against her stomach, his cock pushing up against her hip.  His lips give her no quarter, his passion consuming her whole, and she pushes back with both palms to lean against the wall and catch her breath.

He freezes, his eyes hooded.  They stare at each other as his hands fall to her hips and squeeze, lifting her up and down on his leg.

She’s so wet, she must be staining his khaki pants.  She bites her lower lip as he works her on his thigh, a small sound building in her throat as her eyelids flutter.  He stares down at her intently.

The train suddenly whines to life, the sound of metal scraping against metal, lurching back to motion.   

They lose their balance and Rey stumbles back onto her feet and away from him as her skirt falls down.  He steadies her as the slam of a door nearby breaks the spell. Ben lets go of her, and she smooths out her skirts and straightens her sweater.

The conductor joins them in the alcove.  He eyes them both and his smile fades, replaced with concern.  “Everything okay, Miss?” he asks, eyeing the officer.

Rey’s cheeks are hot.  “Yes, fine.” she answers quickly.  “We were watching them clear the track.”

“Yes, Miss.  Back to your seats now, please.”  

The conductor holds the door open as they enter the train car and walk to their seats.  As she finds her row, Ben passes behind her. “Forgive me,” he says quietly, hand on her low back, and then leaves her to step into the bathroom.  Rey slides back into place.

She pats her hair nervously and looks out the window to avoid the conductor’s curious eyes.

A few minutes later, the stop for Bristol is called.  The officer still hasn’t returned to his seat.

Rey considers staying on past her stop, but blushes at the thought.  She’s never done this before, she doesn’t chase servicemen.

When the train stops, she quickly gathers her bag and rushes down the stairs.  As she walks down the platform, she resists the urge to look back and hunt for him though the windows.   

The bitterly cold air comes as relief to her flushed skin as the tears cluster at the corner of her eyes.  

Rey walks the well-known path back home, alone.

Chapter Text

Rey doesn’t see the officer again on the Trenton line.

She looks for a few weeks, makes sure to sit in her same spot on the car, just in case he’s also looking.  

He doesn’t return.  

She takes to bringing a book with her to keep her wandering eyes trained downward.  Sometimes it’s a manual from the factory, other times a novel Rose recommends or a book of poetry.  Anything to keep her idle hands and mind busy.

Rey slowly forgets his taste, the heat of his skin against her palm.  The details of his face grow fuzzy, the angles less defined. Was he really as tall as she remembers?

She cannot forget his haunted eyes.  At night, alone in her small room, she closes her own so she can see his.  Rey can still feel the weight of them on her skin.

She continues her routine as the short days of spring begin to stretch long.  Working extra shifts at the shipyard to earn more money, taking lunch breaks with Rose and Finn, hunting for scrap to recycle on the weekends.  

She greets the returning service members at the USO dances on the weekends, playing board games and dancing, smiling at all the right times to put them at ease.  None of them have scars like the officer. When she dances with them and they hold her, none of them feel the same. She stops looking for him in others.

Spring arrives in earnest.  She replants the victory garden with Aunt Maz.  They curl up at night under blankets, listening to the news reports from Europe as Maz knits.  In April, they wrap tightly together as they listen to firsthand reports of the liberation of the concentration camps.  Rey has to run to the bathroom to retch as tears stream down Maz’s face as they listen to the first hand accounts of the horror.  With shaking hands clasped, they bow their heads and say a prayer for the souls lost and for the torment of the survivors, for those stolen by the war.  For the future of the world.

The war is ending in Europe.  News pours in at night, then Mussolini falls and finally the devil himself in Germany.  They hold each other as they weep in relief, waves of sadness and joy that overlap and merge.

The factory closes for the day when Germany finally surrenders.  The workers flood out into the streets as the buildings of Philly empty out.  There is screaming and laughing, tears and hugging, and the happy chaos spreads throughout the city like wildfire.  

Finn buys bottles of beer from the corner market and they toast the beginning of the end.  He kisses Rose madly as Rey laughs, her fingertips tracing her own lips in memory and in hope.

The long, scorching days of summer arrive after they complete the last battleship, the U.S.S. Galveston.  The countdown to the end of the war in the Pacific brings excitement to factory floor, talk of a new normalcy wrought with worry.

Who will keep their jobs once the boys come back?  

What will happen when life returns to normal?

What is normal anymore?

Rey feels guilty for thinking of herself.  She’s dreamt of the war ending for so long, but now it feels unreal.  She doesn’t know what her life will become, after all this.

Who will she be, if she isn’t the woman she is now?

+++

In late July, the factory manager calls everyone to assemble at the start of the shift for an announcement.

Mr. Plutt walks to the center of the floor.  “All right, listen up. As you know, the war ending means production is winding down.  We’ve got word from corporate of some changes. I want to introduce your new shift supervisor, just transferred down from New York City.”

A few catcalls, most likely from Poe, at mention of the rival city.

Plutt scowls.  “Pipe down! He’s a former Marine Captain, decorated, a real war hero.  He made it out of Iwo Jima in one piece, so I know he can deal with you lot.”  

The crowd shifts then quiets.  Rey stands next to Rose, but her view of the man is blocked.  

“So please welcome Captain Benjamin Solo.”

The workers begin to clap and Rey takes two steps to the right to get an unobstructed view of the man standing next to Plutt.  He turns in her direction.

It’s him.  Ben, the officer.

He’s wearing civilian clothes, his scar faded to a thin red line, hair brushed back from his temples in waves.  

Rey squeaks and looks down, darting behind Rose.  

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Rose whispers.

Rey just shakes her head.

“Thank you, Mr. Plutt.  I appreciate the welcome.”

Rey gulps and keeps her gaze down.  His smoky voice echoes through the open space, loud and clear.  Her heart thuds in her chest.

“On behalf of Cramp Shipyards, we thank you all for your efforts.  It’s people like you . . .” He pauses.

Rey peeks around Rose, her curiosity getting the better of her.  He looks healthier, some color back in his cheeks now. His hair is longer, and she thinks it suits him.

“Women and men, I should say, that have kept this country running.  It takes all of us to achieve victory. We’re almost there now, so let’s get back to work.”

Rey ducks back behind Rose as everyone starts clapping again politely, the crowd breaking apart.  He hasn’t seen her yet. She walks quickly back to her station with Rose hot on her heels.

“What was that about?” Rose asks, prodding her shoulder.

“Nothing, I just--  nothing.” Rey picks up her welding mask.

“Bullshit, Rey.”  Rose is relentless, blocking her view.  “Out with it.”

Rey sighs and closes her eyes.  “I met him before, on the train.”

“Captain Solo?”

Rey’s eyes are firmly pressed closed as she nods.  It will tumble out eventually, anyway, she cannot keep anything from Rose.  “We kissed.”

When she opens her lids, Rose’s eyes have nearly doubled in size.  “Him?  Really?  Rey, I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Shhh, Rosie.  I don’t, it was just one time.”

Rose smiles.  “This should be interesting.”

“Not a word to Finn or Poe, promise!”  Rey clutches her arm, imploring her.

“Of course not.  Girls come first, you know that.”

Rey nods and replaces her mask and resumes her work.  She ignites her torch, welcoming the singular focus of her task at hand.

+++

In the days following, Rey clocks in just before her shift and scurries out afterwards, not sure what to say or do if he finds her.  

Will he remember?  

She feels certain he will.  

Has he thought of her, too?

Her mouth runs dry at the thought.  After all this time, she had almost convinced herself that he wasn’t real, just a dark prince of her imagination, a figment.

Now that he’s within reach, there are too many feelings swirling to land on just one.  He’s her supervisor, essentially a stranger. Her body pulls taut as a wire.

What will he do?

It’s two weeks until she sees him again.

Flat on her back on the factory floor under a hull support brought in for repair, she aims her blowtorch at the juncture of two plates, splicing them together.  

She pauses for a breath and lifts her mask to wipe the sweat dripping into her eyes.  The sharp click of heels on concrete pull her attention to the side. A pair of large, brown oxfords, shined to perfection, edge under the lip of the plate.  

Struggling to hear over the din of noise engulfing her, she can barely distinguish his rumble talking to the workers above.  A low velvet laugh and she freezes, pulse throbbing.

She exhales when he walks away, her eyes following his heels as they leave the floor.

This is ridiculous.  She can’t keep this up.  He’s her supervisor, she must talk to him.

+++

The opportunity presents itself the next week.

Rey rounds a corner leading to the long hall by the drafts room just as he steps into the opposite end.  It’s one long tube, no opportunity for escape.

She spots him first and stops dead.  He’s looking down, a slight scowl pinching his face.  

He lifts his chin and sees her, a spark of recognition as his expression softens.  He stops ten feet away.

Her heartbeat thunders as they stare at one another.

“Hello,” she manages, finally.

“Hello, Rey.”

Butterflies alight.  She clasps her hands in front of her waist, suddenly conscious of her stained overalls.  The words she was preparing for him have been lost. She blinks, suddenly shy.

His eyes are just as she remembered.  

“How have you been?” he asks cautiously.

A small smile flickers to her lips.  “Fine, just fine. And you?”

“Much better now.”

She twists her fingers nervously, then reaches up to tug on the kerchief wrapped around her hair.  She scrambles for something safe to say.

“Do you still take the train in from Princeton?”

Instant regret.  The train means recalling that night, potential landmines everywhere.

“No, I live in Philly now.  Moved a few weeks ago. Close by.”    

No more chance encounters on the tracks, then.  Her stomach sinks.

It’s her one chance to speak to him, alone.  She must tell him.

She takes a couple of steps forward and lowers her voice and her eyes to the floor as the words spill out, hot and fast.

“I want you to know I am not a good-time Charlotte or a victory girl who chases men in uniform.”

She blushes as she looks down at her feet, small in her scuffed boots compared to his large and impeccable dress shoes.  

Floating down from above her, his voice is soft.  “That’s not what I think.”

She dares to look up.  He’s frowning at her.

Rey steadies her voice and looks him straight in the eye.  “I never did that before, so I don’t want you to think that’s who I am.”

He shakes his head swiftly as he bites his lower lip.  “I don’t. Rey, I don’t.”

The weight of it slips off her shoulders, a knot she didn’t know she carried for four months easing.

He sighs as his eyebrows lift.  “I must apologize. I never should have put you in that position.”

Rey narrows her eyes as fear wraps wispy fingers around her throat.  Never seeing him again would be better than hearing he regrets it.

“I behaved poorly, selfishly.”  

Voices leak out from the hall behind him, the sound of footsteps moving closer.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and he moves closer.  She has to blink quickly to keep him in focus. “I was not a gentleman.  You were kind to me, and I-- I took advantage of you.”

The fingers squeeze as she swallows a lump in her throat.  His words carve into her like a knife and leave the sick feeling of being used.

He takes another step, just an arm’s reach away.  “Can I--” he stops, clearing his throat, and restarts.  “May I--”

A group of workers step into the hallway and he pauses.  They move aside to let them pass, Rey crossing her arms and looking down to avoid his eyes.  The shame wells up with the tears, and she can stand it no longer. She turns suddenly and weaves into the crowd, brushing past shoulders to rush out of the hall.

Her name rises above the sound of footsteps as she rounds the corner, but she’s already taken off in a run.

+++

It’s easy to avoid him.  In the morning, Rey waits outside for Rose so they can walk in together.  She’s careful to stay in groups. He observes the floor sternly from the catwalk above.  If her rebel eyes drift up, she looks away quickly.

When he comes down for a walk-through, she stays busy with her head down, not trusting herself enough to hide her heartbreak up close.

One day, as Rey is working underneath a support brace, she hears a loud thud and a sickening smack.

Rose starts screaming nearby, bloodcurdling and wild.

Rey scrambles out, and runs to where a group of workers are huddled, pushing her way through to get to Rose.  She kneeling down by a woman lay sprawled on the floor.

“Paige, Paige!”  Rose is sobbing over her sister.  She’s unresponsive, her leg twisted at a terrible angle.  Blood pools underneath her nose.

Finn runs up beside Rey.  “What happened?!”

A voice calls out from the crowd.  “She slipped from up top, changing her wire.  That’s almost a twenty foot drop.”

Rose is hysterical, shaking her sister’s shoulder, “Wake up, Paige!  Please!”

Suddenly Ben pushes through the crowd and kneels down next to Paige.  He plants a huge palm beside her head and bends over, fingertips pressed against the side of her throat.

“She’s breathing and has a pulse.  We need to get her to a hospital, fast.  You--” He points to Poe. “Get the flatbed truck and move it around to the side loading dock.”

Poe runs from the floor.

Ben looks around, hand brushing through his hair.  He finds Rey. “Rey, go get some fabric and something firm and light, like framer’s board, for a splint.”

Rey nods, and runs to the draft room, hands trembling.  She grabs the long-edge rulers off the tables, then a couple of cotton cloths used for cleaning.  She returns to the floor and slides to her knees, handing them to Ben.

“Help me.  Here, hold this firm,” he says as he places the frame.  She assists him, his big hands working quickly to align Paige’s leg and to tie off the knots.  The floor is frozen in silence, watching him work.

Rose has Paige’s head cradled in her lap and is sobbing quietly.  Rey reaches up to undo her handkerchief and moves to wipe away the blood from beneath Paige’s nose. Rose acknowledges her with a grateful smile, then starts crying again.

Ben makes quick work of the splint.  He bends down to scoop Paige up in his arms and the crowd parts.  He nods to Finn, “Can you help her sister?” Finn wraps an arm around Rose’s waist, and they make their way out to the loading dock.

He places Paige gently in the back of the truck, then Rose and Finn climb in with him.

“Rey, go tell Plutt to call the Tico family.  Tell them to meet us at Methodist Hospital.”

She nods and watches as Poe drives them away before sprinting to the office.

+++

After her shift is over, one of the men from the factory drives Rey over to the hospital.

When she enters the waiting room, she runs to hug Rose.  She holds her tight as her friend sobs in her arms, small body shaking.  

“She’s going to be okay!  She’s in surgery for the leg and has a concussion.  She woke up a little before they took her in.”

Rey scrunches up her face on Rose’s shoulder, tears off relief slipping down her cheeks.  After embracing Rose’s parents, she seats herself with Finn and Poe in the corner.

“What a day, right?” Poe says, voice hollow.

“Thank God she’s going to be okay,” Rey says.

“Thank God, and thank Captain Solo.  He knew what to do in the moment,” Finn adds.

Poe says with a snarl, “Plutt is worthless.”

Rey nods in agreement.

Finn speaks up.  “Did you know Captain Solo led one of the first charges on the beach on D-Day?  It was fucking brutal, a bloody nightmare on that beach.”

Poe nods.  “About forty percent of our guys were killed instantly, slogging through the sand, like sitting ducks.  Solo got hit with a shell, ripped him up good.”

Chills race up her spine.  She looks to Poe.

“I got a lot of respect for the guy.  While we were waiting out, he traded stories with me and Finn.  He’s been through hell and back.”

Rey swallows thickly.  “Where is he?”

Finn responds.  “He took the truck back once the Ticos got here.  He spoke with them for awhile. He’s a good guy.”

Rey leans back in her seat, palms in her lap.  She doesn’t know the weight of caring for so many lives, or what it feels like to lose them.  She imagines that kind of burden leaves marks.

+++

Rey takes her break and clocks out, walking to the locker room.  She makes sure she is alone before reaching into her bag and retrieving the small package wrapped in brown butcher paper, tied up with a string.  In careful script, just his name on the outside.

SOLO.

She looks both ways as she slips past the time clock and into the mailroom.  Making sure she is alone, the places the package carefully into his mail slot, then hurries from the room.

On the way home from work that day, she reads from the same book of poetry she just gave to him, written by a World War I soldier who died serving his country.

Rey may not have the right words, because she hasn’t lived through what he has seen.  So she gave him someone else’s words, someone who had also known battle and loss, blood and pain.

Someone who could speak to the hollow hurt inside and give it a voice.

When night falls dark we creep

In silence to our dead.

We dig a few feet deep

And leave them there to sleep -

But blood at night is red,

Yea, even at night,

And a dead man's face is white.

And I dry my hands, that are also trained to kill,

And I look at the stars - for the stars are beautiful still.*

+++

It’s a sweltering day in the middle of August when Rose stands up on the platform to announce Paige is finally coming home from the hospital.  There are cheers and back-slapping on the floor, the mood of the workers shifting to humor as the threat of danger slips further from their minds.

Rey has seen no sign that Solo received her gift.  He patrols the floor more often now. After Paige, the workers had thawed to him and greet him warmly.  He, Poe and Finn now meet with the other vets in the factory on Tuesdays for coffee. It seems to help them somehow, sharing stories and listening.

Rey aligns the rivets in the base of the sheet of metal one by one before reaching for her mask.  His low bass voice spills over her shoulder.

“Good morning, Miss Neiman.  How are things today?”

She turns and gives him a quick smile.  “Just fine, Captain Solo.”

“Hmm.  Good and careful work, here.”

“Thank you.”

She smiles wider to herself, where he can’t see.

“I was wondering if I might have a word with you in my office?”

She stills, pressing her lips together.  She looks around, but the other workers seem to pay her no mind.

“Of course, sir.”

She follows him back off the floor, stomach twisting, climbing the stairs to the catwalk and then into his office.  Her two strides match his one, and she struggles to keep pace.

He passes his secretary with a greeting, and then holds open his office door to guide her inside.  

The desk is bare except for a few stacks of paper, no knick-knacks or photos.  The wide window on the far wall faces out to the factory floor.

She walks over and looks down at the sparks of the welders shooting like stars in the distance, the expanse of the assembly line spread out before her.

He closes the door and joins her at the window.  They look out at the factory side-by-side, in a thick silence.  He slides his hands in his pockets while she holds her sweating palms together.  

“A funny thing happened the other day.”

“Oh?”  Rey feigns curiosity at the haulers, her heart skipping.

“Yes.  I received a gift, a very thoughtful one, actually.”

“Hmm, how nice.”  Rey attempts to eat her smile, only half succeeding, coughing to cover it further.

“Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Rey shrugs.  

“Well, if I knew who gave me the gift, I would like to thank them.  It was extremely generous.”

Rey nods.

“And there is only one person I know here who is that kind and generous.”

Her smile tremors, and she looks over her shoulder at him.  His haunted eyes are tracked on her, measuring her reaction.

“Thank you for what you did for Paige,” she says quietly.

“Of course, it’s my duty.  She’s one of mine.”

She looks out at the floor again.

His voice lowers.  “We were interrupted in the hall before.  I didn’t get to finish what I wanted to say.”

She rushes to get the words out, anxious to not spoil the moment.  “No, it’s okay, I under--”

“No.  No, you don’t.”

His firm tone silences her.  

“It wasn’t right, what I did.  I felt ashamed afterwards. I couldn’t face you again, after being such a monster--”

She crinkles her brows.  “You aren’t a monster.”

“Please let me finish, Rey.  I was a monster.  You were so sweet, and giving, and I just took what I wanted.”

Rey grimaces and closes her eyes.

“I’m a monster because deep down, I don’t regret it.  I should, but I don’t.”

She turns to look at him.

“When you met me, I had just come out of the hospital.  I was a mess. I couldn’t accept that I lived when others didn’t.  I lost so many good men. I don’t deserve to be here, and I sure as hell didn’t deserve your kindness.”

“Don’t say that, please.”  Rey blinks fast as her stomach twists with her hands.

He shakes his head.  “It’s true. I needed time to recover.  I saw doctors, different kinds. They helped me come to some kind of terms with the guilt and with the spells.”

He turns to her, piercing eyes earnest.  “I’m not who I was before, and I won’t ever be.  I’ve seen terrible things, done terrible things. But . . . it’s getting better.  I’m much better.”

Rey reaches out her hand to him.  He allows her to take it.

“I want you to know that because I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

Her spine stiffens, like iron, and she squeezes his hand.  Her ears start humming.

“I wanted to find you right away, but I wasn’t ready yet.  I didn’t have anything to offer, and I already took too much.”

Rey finds her voice.  “You keep saying that, but I kissed you first.”

His exhale wracks his shoulders, as his thumb brushes hers.

“You may have forgotten that, but I don’t.  I wanted it, too.”

That look from the train is back, the smile that set his features glowing.  The corners of his eyes crinkle and the sparks from the factory floor reflect in his eyes.

She’s caught for a moment, captured by the hope she sees there.  It’s the hope that tugs at her heart.

There’s a sudden metallic whine, then the machinery from the floor grinds to a halt.  Shouts and yells start up, a ruckus as the workers start milling around and slapping backs.

They look down through the window, confused, until his secretary bursts through the door and Rey lets go of his fingers.

“It’s over!  The war is over!  Japan surrendered!  It’s all over the radio!”

They look at each other in astonishment.  Rey’s hand flies to her heart and tears well in her eyes as his mouth drops open.  The secretary is laughing, wildly, and bounces as she runs out of his office, door left open, yelling out the news down the hall.

A hand flies to his hair, threading deep, as he takes a half stumble back.  The color has faded from his face and Rey bites her lip worriedly.

“Are you okay?  Ben?”

He shakes his head again.  He looks at her. Then he scoops her up into a bear hug, arms wrapped around her back, and twirls her around.  She laughs in surprise, hiccuping in his arms, and the tears spill as she buries her face in his neck, the sobs of joy racking through her.

When he sets her down gingerly he cups her cheeks in his palms and rubs the tears aside with his thumbs.  He lowers his lips to her forehead and and she holds his wrists tightly, as if he might slip away again. She catches her breath.

Ben grabs her wrist and says, “let’s go,” and they fly down the stairs together, flooding out with the workers into the streets.

The energy of the crowd is electric, a communal feeling of elation, of normality untethered.  

His hand tightens around hers.  Kisses are being given freely, the mask of propriety is stripped off and thrown in the air in the freedom of the moment.  

Rose and Finn are dancing, and Poe walks up to Rey with a grin on his face.  He catches the look on Ben’s face, and diverts to chase after Kaydel, who skips away giggling.  

Rey looks at Ben’s profile, steely but happy, eyes fixed far in the distance.  She wraps her other arm around his bicep, to move closer.

The immensity of it all hasn’t settled in yet, it’s still swirling in the air around them, like a ticker tape parade.

When things gets too rowdy, Ben leads her away from the crowds, turning down a quiet street as their footsteps echo off the walls.

Rey pulls up short, suddenly, squeezing his hand, and he arches his eyebrows up in a question.  This moment needs to be marked, preserved in time somehow, like an insect caught in amber.

“Kiss me,” she says, the thrill of saying it aloud leaving her breathless.  His dark eyes simmer.

He leads her into a doorway and leans back against the wall, drawing her out of sight from the crowds running down the main street.

Ben searches her face, his voice dropping.  “God, Rey, you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

Her heartbeat threatens to break her ribs.  She looks up at him, eyes dancing. “And you are very tall.”

He throws his head back and laughs, vibrations she can feel in her own chest.

He brushes a loose hair away from her cheek, then leans his forehead down to hers.

“When I heard they had an opening here, I took it.  I wanted to find you, if nothing else to thank you and say I’m sorry for how I left things.”  

She reaches up to cup his jaw, her thumb lightly brushing the track of his healed-over scar.  She whispers, “I wouldn’t change anything about that night. That night led you to me.”

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, bold by the feel of him and by the freedom that was won, and shares the hope she carries in her heart.  

“It’s just the two of us, now.  We can start fresh.”

She lifts on tiptoes and presses her body into his, trusting him to hold her safe, his large form docile and patient as his hands squeeze at her waist.

They stand in the shadows, unseen by others, a secret world made for two.

In the last moment before they kiss, a small sigh escapes her lips, and he breathes her in.  

They become a part of each other as the world is reborn.

+++

The End

*Quotes from “The Rainbow” by Leslie Coulson, 1915.