Chapter Text
“You may wait in the lounge, darling.”
Ben Solo pauses just as he’s about to settle on one of the two chairs to the left of the examination table, where Rey is perched.
He considers his mother for a moment before saying, “I’d rather stay here, thanks.”
Over her clear, rimless glasses, Leia Organa gives him a pointed look.
He ignores this and turns to Rey—much to her mortification. “It’s okay if I stay, right?” he asks softly.
Rey fidgets uncomfortably, blushing hard as both mother and son look to her for an answer.
“The lounge is perfectly serviceable,” Leia Organa points out.
“What are you going to do to her hand?” he demands, brusque. “Because I think you need to—”
“Darling.” She rolls her chair over to Rey, medical gloves in hand. “Your PhD is in engineering. I am the medical specialist in the family, yes?”
“Well—yes, but—”
“We have an award-winning orthopedic surgeon on call, whom I could have asked to do this, but you said you needed me to take care of it… so I got out of bed, and now here I am, eager to be of assistance to Ms. Johnson.”
“But—”
“I’m going to perform an initial evaluation for trauma and proceed from there,” she tells him in a mild tone, taking her glasses off and carefully folding them over the neckline of her pristine blouse. “Now, darling, please go wait outside.”
He exhales sharply, eye twitching. It’s definitely a tell, Rey decides.
As she watches her son stride out the door, Leia Organa smirks, eyes gleaming with mirth.
She puts the medical gloves on, turns to Rey, and in a warm, confiding tone that must come so easily for normal people, she says, “He’s a bit of a micromanager, isn’t he? It drives his father insane. I’m afraid Ben gets it from me.”
“I’m sorry about—you had to get out bed and—”
“Oh. No need to apologize for that, Rey. May I call you Rey?” Leia Organa indicates for her right hand and proceeds immediately to examining it. “He doesn’t ask me for anything, so, really, I’m glad he called. Ben said you slipped in the shower?”
“Yes.”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Yes, and I put cold compress and took ibuprofen for the pain.”
“And you gave your hand a rest,” Leia Organa muses, studying the way Rey’s little finger spasms.
“Yes,” Rey croaks.
Leia Organa continues to prod her hand, touch gentle and light. “How is the pain level? I can administer an anti-inflammatory injection.”
“That—yes, thank you.”
Nodding, she finally takes her medical gloves off and rolls her chair back to her desk, where spends some time typing things on the computer, from time to time asking Rey questions for her medical history.
Increasingly, Rey feels as if she’s failed some kind of test.
“We’ll do an X-ray just to make sure, and then we’ll apply a splint to reduce the swelling.”
Rey nods into her lap, heart thumping weakly.
Scrambling off the examination table, she waits, as instructed, while Leia Organa dries her hands by the sink.
Afterwards, she takes her time lathering hand cream while studying Rey, not even surreptitiously.
“I hope you won’t take offense,” she ventures. “I know I can be a little straightforward at times, but—aren’t you a bit young for my son?”
“What?” Rey asks, slow and uncomprehending.
“You’re his girlfriend, yes?”
Face flushing with shame, she splutters, “What? No, I’m just—no. I work at First Order.”
It only gets worse.
“He’s dating an intern?”
“No! I’m—I’m an assistant,” she manages. “And he—we’re not—”
“I only mean it’s a bit unusual for him to like someone—”
“He doesn’t like me!” Rey blurts. “Not like that, or not even—” She shakes her head for good measure. For once in the last half hour or so in the doctor’s office, she sounds assured. “He doesn’t.”
Leia Organa gives her that same pointed look. From her desk she takes a piece of memo pad and scribbles something quickly. Handing it to Rey, she says, “That’s my personal phone number. I wish for you to contact me when you need medical care of any kind.”
Rey can only accept, and nod, more and more confused.
“Did you drive going here?”
“No.”
“Perfect, you can—”
“That’s fine, I’ll get an Uber.”
“How about you—”
“She’s fine too,” Ben Solo cuts in, answering for her.
“Really,” Leia Organa says dryly.
“Yes.”
“You’re taking Rey home then?” she confirms, still in that dry tone.
He takes a short pause, squinting at the approaching car’s headlights. “Uh-huh.”
The car stops in front of them, and Ben Solo walks over to open the door for his mother. Leia Organa looks up at him, saying, “And I suppose I won’t be hearing from you for another three months.”
“I… I’ll call,” he promises—sounding like he himself isn’t convinced by it.
She pats his cheek, fondness softening her eyes. “Get some rest over the weekend, darling—the rugged look may be appealing to some, but not to your mother. I worry—”
“I’m fine.” He holds her by the elbow. “Thank you. For this,” he adds, awkward and stilted.
Kissing him lightly on both cheeks, Leia Organa murmurs, “Anytime, darling. Anytime,” and waves goodbye to Rey before disappearing inside the backseat.
Rey watches Ben Solo watching the car drive off in the distance, and only looks away when he turns towards her.
He sighs heavily and hangs his head, shoulders hunched in. Inexplicably, he seems lost for words, worrying his bottom lip as his gaze flits to and from her.
“What is it?” she asks in a small voice.
He heaves an impatient huff before squaring his shoulders. “I should get you a hotel room,” he confides, weary, kneading his eyelids, “but I won’t. I’m taking you to my place.”
“What?” she blurts in sudden, complete panic.
“If you think I’ll let you—” Looking pissed off now, he takes his phone out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, thumbing the screen, muttering, “Your apartment’s every structural engineer’s worst nightmare.”
“Finn and I have lived there—”
“If I put a hammer to a wall, it’ll fucking collapse. Please don’t get me started on this.”
“Sir—”
“First of all, who allowed someone to build a house on that fucking hill? Second of all, I’d like to ask if the structural engineer they consulted knows how to actually calculate for the load bearing capacity of a fucking building. Third—”
“Sir—”
“I told you to call me Ben,” he says, tone clipped as he clicks his phone off. “Uber will be here in six minutes. You can text Finn that you’re staying with me so he won’t worry.”
“I don’t even have my things,” she protests. “And why should I—”
“Because we have an agreement,” he interrupts rudely, as if that were the end of the discussion, which, Rey realizes now, it could well be.
“What’s wrong with a hotel room?” she asks quietly, in desperation.
She doesn’t expect him to explain, but after a brief pause he speaks to her in a gentler tone, appeasing. “Because I don’t like the idea of you staying in some hotel besides Uncle Lando’s… so I checked, but there are no available rooms anymore, and if I call him again for a favor—this favor—he’s definitely telling my dad this time, and that’s—my dad is a lot. I’m already going to be circumventing questions from my mom after this. And tomorrow I’m meeting with an uncle who—who is the worst of them, and I’m tired, and I just—” He peers down at her through soft, half-lidded eyes. “Does it make you uncomfortable? The idea of staying at my place? Because if it does—I guess there are decent hotels, maybe. I think there’s one near here with good reviews—”
“No, I—it’s fine,” she allows, heart pitter-pattering, “you’ve already gone to so much trouble.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I know. But… it’s fine,” she decides, talking more firmly. “I can stay at your place. If that’s really what you want?”
His stare, dark and heavy, bears down on her chest. But before her breath catches, he breaks it off, staring hard at a point past her shoulder instead. “It is. It is what I want.”
She looks away too, nodding. “Okay then.”
The only time she’s been to his apartment building was to sneak in the basement parking lot to tinker with his car, so that the next day it won’t start and he’d be on the train and Finn could pickpocket his phone and install the spyware app.
She’s heard him moving around his apartment, but doesn’t know what it looks like, only filling in the gaps in detail with her imagination, which is surely lacking, given she’s never been inside an apartment building like this before.
Now as he enters his door code, she has to temper her anticipation with the hard fact that he’s only invited her into his home because he thinks her home—the one she’s shared with Finn for going on six months now, without any incident besides some leaking here and there—is a disastrous anomaly that offends him professionally.
His door makes a beeping sound, but he doesn’t open it as his dog continues to bark angrily from the other side.
“He doesn’t bite,” Ben Solo assures her, “he’s just—”
Rey hears growling, paws scratching insistently at the door, followed by pitiful whining.
“He might get excited when he sees you, because there usually isn’t anyone else here. So just…” He trails off on this vague note.
Wide-eyed, she nods as Ben Solo slips himself behind his door.
“Chewie, no. Sit.”
“Jesus Christ, will you calm down?”
“Dude, you cannot—”
“Oh, you’re biting me?” Rey hears Ben Solo’s soft chuckle. “Stop, you’re hurting Dad, stop.” More amused chuckling.
“Down.”
“Good boy.”
“You have a visitor, so you need to behave. Do you understand, Chewie? Behave.”
“Stay,” Ben Solo warns.
Rey steps back in alarm as the door promptly opens. Instantly, something huge and brown lunges at her.
“Christ, Chewie—”
She’s on her back on the carpeted floor of the hallway, face getting sloppily and enthusiastically licked by a golden retriever.
“Chewie, no! Stop, stop. Jesus—”
Ben Solo is trying to drag the massive dog away, but, unbothered, Chewie stands his ground, staring at her a moment, his head tilted to one side before sneezing violently, and then, as if coming to a decision, nuzzling his snout on her cheek. He continues licking her face, which tickles her and makes her squirm.
A laugh bursts out from her, belly-deep and new.
Chewie stops to stare once more, again tilting his head, listening as her laugh tapers off. He makes soft woof sounds that seem like a question, and she can’t help but laugh more.
Carefully elevating her right hand wrapped in the finger and wrist splint, she props herself on her elbows to look more closely at the dog. Chewie mirrors her by sitting on his haunches, tongue out, panting, tail swooshing back and forth. His intelligent, inquisitive look makes her giggle.
With a soft bark, he nuzzles closer and decides to rest his head on her middle. Shy and tentative, she touches his overgrown, matted fur.
Looking up to ask Ben Solo what to do, she sees him staring down at her with that expression—the one from the train—eyebrows raised, wrinkling his forehead, eyes wide, doleful and pleading.
He’s breathing heavily, making his plush bottom lip quiver.
“I—sorry, I just—”
That snaps him out of it, whatever it is, and his face clears.
Scooping Chewie, who’s now restful and boneless, into his arms, he asks, “Do you need help getting up?”
It’s a testament to how big the dog is that he isn’t dwarfed by Ben Solo’s broad shoulders at all.
“No, I—” She scrambles to her feet, hoisting her backpack on her shoulder. “I’m fine.”
They’re staring at the bathtub as it fills with soapy water.
For her part, it’s because she’s nothing short of mesmerized by the pretty, aquamarine color of the bath fizzer Ben Solo dropped into the tub a moment ago. For his part… she doesn’t know why he’s staring at it, because surely he’s watched his tub fill with water many times before. She shifts in place, softly clearing her throat.
“Uh, right,” he mutters, “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Wait, I—”
She looks down at the house slippers on her feet—his house slippers that he told her to wear.
“I’m really sorry. About all this. About putting you out for the night and—and the thing with Plutt. If you—”
“We already clarified all this.” He steps closer, but only to open a cabinet, take a toothbrush out, still in its packaging, and leave it on the countertop. “It’s nothing I don’t want. Don’t feel as if—” He cuts himself off, and indicates the half-full tub instead. “It’s late, you should—it’ll help you relax.”
“But what about you?” she blurts.
He looks exhausted, depleted, but also antsy. “What about me?”
“How—I mean—”
“I’ll shower tomorrow. I can brush my teeth in the kitchen sink, it’s fine. You should lock the bedroom door by the way. Chewie’s taught himself how to turn the door knobs. Set an alarm on your phone in case you doze off while in the bath. Good night, Rey.”
He’s gone before she can say good night back.
On his bed, she tosses and turns in his overlarge t-shirt and boxer shorts, smelling faintly florally. His soft, plump comforter is a pleasant weight on her body.
Just hours ago, her hand had been pulsating with pain from scouring bathtubs just like Ben Solo’s.
She’s sure her body’s never felt cleaner, safer, or more surrounded by so much lush linen. She continues tossing around the massive bed.
At half past four in the morning, she gives up, plugs her earphones in, and pulls up the spyware app on her phone.
Her mind finally stops racing this way—quieting as she listens to the faint, soothing sounds of Ben Solo’s breathing.
“Rey? Rey, I—sorry, but I—”
She startles awake, hearing Ben Solo through her earphones, and on the other side of the door.
Groggily, she clambers out of bed, almost tripping over nothing in her half-sleep state as she rushes to unlock the door.
Chewie slithers inside and jumps into the bed, curling on the corner.
Ben Solo rakes his eyes over her body. “I—there’s a robe,” he croaks. “I left a robe—” He looks past her, inside his bedroom. “Anyway, sorry to wake you up, but I need to take a shower. I have to leave in an hour.”
“What? What time—” She checks her phone and sees that it’s already half past eight in the morning. “Shit, shit, I need to—”
“We talked about this last night,” he says gently, “you don’t have to go with me.”
“No, I know, but I need to go, too,” she explains, scrolling through her missed calls. Ten from Jannah, two from Finn. “I didn’t hear her calls.”
Ben Solo takes a step inside the bedroom. “Whose calls?”
“Jannah's. The person I clean houses and apartments with,” she clarifies, sitting on the side of the bed, her backpack by her feet.
He takes two more steps inside. “You do that on the weekends too?”
“Yes.”
“Wait…” He walks right in front of her now. “Wait,” he says, making her pause just as she leans down to pick up her backpack, crammed full with last night’s clothes. “You’re not going to do that anymore,” he informs her.
“What do you mean?” she asks, confused.
“This is the whole reason why I’m paying off your loan.” He tries to tug her backpack off her hand. “Tell Jannah you’re quitting.”
She tries to tug her bag back. “This is my job,” she insists, disbelieving.
“Which you don’t have to do anymore,” he counters. “And might I add that you’re not supposed to strain your hand?”
“I won’t use the hand. I can’t, anyway, because of the splint. I’ll use my left hand.”
He gives a hard pull, successfully taking her backpack from her, the clothes almost spilling out. “This is not up for discussion.”
“You can’t just—just make me—I’m not quitting, you can’t make me,” she manages to say. “I like this cleaning job. I like it even more than—” She cuts herself off, although she thinks he figures out the rest.
“Fine, we’ll talk about this more when I get back, but you’re not doing any of that this weekend. Text her to say you’re taking the weekend off.” She starts shaking her head in protest, which makes him fume even more. “Damn it, Rey, if I have to pay you, I will.”
Breathing heavily in indignation, she grinds out, “That’s not the point.”
“There is no point,” he snaps, “you’re just being stubborn.”
“You’re being a tyrant,” she snaps back.
“You’re being a little brat.”
Her breath hitches at the heat in his voice. His breath catches too, although she isn’t sure why. “Finn’s probably wondering where I am.”
“You can go meet him.”
“Oh, thanks for giving me permission,” she scoffs, caustic.
“You can do whatever you want. Just not this cleaning job, not—not anything to strain your injured hand,” he stresses. “You agreed to listen and do what I say.” He pushes her clothes inside her bag before zipping it close. “And you can’t go back to that fucking apartment,” he warns, giving her bag back. “You’re staying here this weekend. Tell Finn you are. Now can you please go wait outside? My need for a shower is almost medical.”
Eyes stinging, she storms out of his room, Chewie jumping off the bed and following after her.