Archive of Our Own

She sat up and swore.  She was meant to be training Finn today on Ahch-To, after getting a look at a new recruit for the Academy.  But stupid, beautiful, giant, stupid, mamal-eyed Ben Solo lured her onto his father's old freighter with a heart-plucking "I miss you" and promises of food.  Her two biggest weaknesses: sad-eyed Solo, and her stomach.  She could almost hear Master Skywalker laughing at her.

As usual during their frequent meetings, they devolved spectacularly from reserved and quiet affection, to blood-pounding bickering, finally spiralling into an aggressive makeout session.  He had a rather large mouth and sometimes the only way to get him to shut up was to put her own mouth over it.  Inbetween transitions, Ben cooked and she ate, suffering his condescending glances at her table manners -- which descended into yet another argument. ("I didn't say anything!"  "You don't have to say it, your look is enough!")  She wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep as they talked, voices dipping and climbing into the small hours of the morning, stuffed into the bunk, practically folded around one another.  But she realised the moment consciousness returned: this was his degenerate plan all along.

She stood and stomped her foot on the floor.  Huffed, pursed her lips, and closed her eyes, centering herself to pinpoint the location of this new world.  Ben was no longer on the ship.  So he'd spirited her away while she slept and then promptly abandoned her.  She ought to take the Falcon and just leave him there.  It'd serve him right.

As satisfying as it was to play out that fantasy, she resigned herself to fetching him.  She smoothed out the sleep-dishevelled clothes and set out.

***

Ben Solo sat in a seedy cantina in an even seedier corner of Merhs, a space port city renowned for its black market and, oddly enough, music industry.  His long face was a mask of concentration as he sat at the sabacc table, gaze flicking from his cards to his opponent.  The picture of ease and confidence, in neat trousers, a jacket, and pilot's gloves.  A tousel of black hair fell into his eyes, causing him to shove it up and out of the way continually.

He was absolutely cheating.  

Even if he'd been so inclined to deal with a backwater degenerate with the respect he did not deserve, the man's thoughts were so simple and easy to lift, the effort not to hear them was more trouble than it was worth.  Rhan Mnaa was a caricature straight out of Ben's old storybooks, complete with black, twirly moustache.  It was hard to take him seriously. 

Over the rim of his cards, Ben said easily, "Look, if you want to fold now, I'll take the parts and still pay you the credits.  That's pretty generous."

Rhan's laughter howled.  The pitch of it just-so.  Ben considered punching him. 

"You must have a terrible hand if you're trying to bargain."

Ben shrugged.

Rhan laid down his hand.  "Pure Sabacc."

Ben raised his brows then put down his cards.  "Idiot's Array."

The twirly black moustache tremored.  In a violent sweep, Rhan pushed back from the table, crashing chairs and toppling drinks.  Ben mirrored the movements, back and away, ready.

"You -- you cheated!"

"Can't prove it."  Ben's laconic reply.

The man fisted his hands, once, twice.  In an instant, he made a decision, and reached beneath his coat for the until-now hidden and contraband blaster.  Ben reached for his; then he remembered he'd been made to leave it outside the establishment before entering.

He only just dodged the blaster fire by stepping aside with a pivot.  Glass shattered, followed by deafening silence.  All at once, a murmur stirred, which then roared to a din, as patrons and employees alike responded to the disturbance.  Someone's drink had been blaster-smashed.  And from the gathering storm of sound around, was not happy about it.  A rather large Gamorrean swayed toward Ben, obviously mistaking the direction of the blaster fire as coming from him.  So Ben dived underneath the sabacc table and started to crawl his way toward the exit. 

Things were not going according to plan. 

He wanted that part for the Falcon; he'd been looking for months.  God only knew how long it would take for him to be able to locate another one.  If he could get to his blaster, he could take what he needed and be on his way.

As he squeezed his way beneath the narrow tables, the disturbance in the cantina imploded into an all-out brawl.

He spotted a clear path to the door.  Just as he was about to make a dash toward it, something large and furry grabbed hold of him from behind, dragging, and lifted.  Ben's experience with Wookies was not a passing one.  If he'd pissed this one off, he'd have a lot to answer for.  The creature held him as though by the scruff of his neck and growled in his face. 

At just the same moment, a hooded figure stepped through the doorway, and the yellow shaft of a lightsaber plunged to life.  "Let him go."

The din lowered to a simmer, and the entrance of the hooded figure drew the attention of everyone in the room.

Rhan, who had been busy dodging the attentions of the insulted Gamorrean, looked begrudgingly around to his gang and nodded.  The Wookie set Ben down with little grace.  Ben stumbled for balance, shrugging his jacket back into place.  The hooded figure tossed him a staff and he caught it -- swinging it and bringing it down to his side, at the ready.

"I forgot," Rhan said, "about the Jedi wife."

Ben frowned, out of breath.  "I was Kylo Ren, you know."  He looked around expectantly, into a sea of blank faces.  "Supreme Leader of the First Order?  Really?"

A rogue agent (he thought it might have been a Toydarian, looking to cause trouble) threw a glass at someone's jaw, and the cantina crowd devolved into fighting again.

"Was this side-trip really necessary?" Rey said, half-pout and half-chastise, keeping the lightsaber at the ready and her eyes locked on their opposition.

"Really, really necessary," he assured her.  He couldn't spare a glance at her as they backed against one another, but he didn't need to use the Force to feel her eyes roll.

"And when were you going to take me back to Ahch-To?"  She jerked seamlessly to block some wayward blaster fire.  "Hm?"

He shifted to miss a lunging club, replying between huffs.  "As soon as you agree to marry me."

Another strike from the saber.