Chapter Text
Rey couldn’t stop fidgeting the closer they got to launch. Day by day.
She leaned over her desk, one hand braced beside a spread of schematics, the other tapping the end of her pencil against the margin of a page already crowded with her handwriting. The figures were right. They had been right the first time. She had redone them anyway.
And again.
It was not nerves. She had told herself that. It was habit. It was discipline. It was what they expected.
Still, her pencil hovered.
“Rey.”
She straightened at once, turning in her chair. Mr. Smith stood a few desks over, sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie loosened just enough to suggest effort rather than comfort. He did not look at her directly as he spoke, already flipping through a folder in his hands.
“Take this down to Flight.”
Rey pushed to her feet, smoothing her skirt out of reflex more than necessity.
“Yes, sir.”
He crossed the distance in a few strides and handed over a thin stack of papers, clipped at the corner. “Guidance wants confirmation on the latest systems read. They’re green across the board, but Flight will want to hear it.”
Rey nodded anyway, taking the papers carefully. “I can answer if they have questions.”
That, at least, earned her a glance.
Smith’s expression did not change, but something in it measured her, brief and assessing. “Just deliver the update.”
“Yes, sir.”
He had already turned away.
Rey exhaled quietly through her nose, fingers tightening just slightly on the edge of the report. Just deliver the update. As if the numbers did not live in her head already. As if she had not stayed two hours past her shift to make sure they held.
She stepped out into the corridor before she could think too much about it.
The walk to Mission Control was not long, but it always felt like crossing a threshold. Engineering lived in its own world of paper and pencil and quiet insistence. Mission Control was something else entirely. Louder. Brighter. More important.
The closer she got, the more it settled over her.
She passed through the final set of doors and the room opened up at once.
Rows of consoles stretched out in careful lines, each one occupied. Headsets, blinking panels, men leaning forward in their chairs, eyes fixed on data that flickered and changed by the second. Voices overlapped in controlled bursts, clipped and precise. No wasted words. No room for them.
Rey paused just inside the entrance, only for a second. She was not supposed to linger. She knew that. Still, her gaze moved, searching, and then found him.
He did not stand out because he was loud. Quite the opposite. He was still where others shifted, composed where others pouted. Seated at the center console, headset resting against dark hair, one hand near his mouth as he listened to a stream of information that did not seem to touch his expression at all.
Ben Solo. Flight Director. The final word in the room.
She suppressed the smile that threatened to emerge; it came naturally.
Rey adjusted her grip on the papers and started forward.
No one stopped her. No one acknowledged her, either. She moved along the edge of the consoles, careful not to disrupt the flow, until she reached his station. Close enough now to hear the low murmur of his voice through the line.
“Say again.” Quiet. Even. Controlled.
The response crackled faintly through his headset. Rey waited, pulse steady, shoulders squared.
When he lifted his hand from his mouth, she spoke.
“Comm Systems update from engineering.”
He did not look at her.
“Who sent you?”
Rey held her ground. “Mr. Smith, sir.”
A beat.
“Status.”
“Green across all primary systems. Guidance requested confirmation for Flight.”
Another pause, shorter this time.
“Margins.”
She blinked once. Then, without looking at the page, “Within tolerance. Slight variance in the relay, but corrected in the latest calculation set.”
Silence.
For a moment, she thought that was it. That he would dismiss her the way the others did. Take the paper, nod once, move on. Instead, he turned.
It was not abrupt. Not dramatic. Just a shift of attention that landed fully and without warning. His eyes settled contentedly, but the rest of his face gave nothing away.
“Did you verify that yourself?”
Her fingers tightened once against the report. Would he prefer that she did? Or her boss?
“Yes.”
Something in his expression changed, not softer, not warmer, but… decided.
“Good.”
He took the papers from her then, already scanning the top page. Rey stood there a second longer than she should have. Then she nodded, once, and turned back the way she came, the noise of Mission Control rising up around her again as if nothing had shifted at all.
Behind her, at the center of it, Ben Solo did not look up as he spoke into the line again.
– –
2 weeks out from launch
– –
Even at night, Houston, Texas, was hotter than ten hells; Rey, in all of her British glory, was still not used to this.
She came to America to study science and engineering, physics and astronomy, and she didn’t realize it would all convince her to stay.
Now, she had missed the bus. Fair is fair; it’s nearly midnight.
She watched as her colleagues passed her in their cars, half of them often complete dickheads to her; she expected nothing less than them ignoring her predicament… but she had a good rapport with some. But they’re all married. It wouldn’t look good if she flagged down a married co-worker for a ride.
So she turned on her heel and set forth for her suburb five miles down. Then she stopped. Perhaps she could just sleep in the break room. She turned back around, but before moving ahead, a car stopped in front of her.
Not passing. Stopping. Rey hesitated.
The headlights cast brightly across the pavement, bright enough that she had to lift a hand slightly to shield her eyes. For a moment, she did not move. Her mind ran quickly through possibilities, most of them unhelpful.
Then the driver’s side door opened and everything stilled in a different way.
Ben Solo stepped out into the light. No headset now. No console. Just the same stillness she had noticed before, carried with him like it belonged there. His sleeves were rolled, his tie loosened, though not carelessly. Nothing about him ever seemed careless.
Rey lowered her hand slowly.
…’Of all the people,’ she thought.
He closed the car door behind him with a quiet, deliberate motion, his gaze settling on her as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
“Missed your ride?”
Rey let out a breath that almost resembled a laugh, though it did not quite reach that point. “It would seem so.”
He glanced once down the road she had been about to take, then back at her.
“That’s a long walk.”
“I am aware.”
Something flickered in his expression. Not amusement, or at least not quite.
“Get in the car.”
There was no edge to it. No impatience. Just the same certainty he used in Mission Control, as if the decision had already been made and he was simply stating it aloud.
Rey did not move right away.
He was not her colleague in the way the others were. He was above them. Removed. The kind of man people spoke about carefully, even when he was not in the room.
Yet, he had stopped. For her.
Rey tilted her head slightly, studying him in the dim light. “Do you smoke? I don’t like cars that smell like cigarettes-”
“Get in the car.” This time, quieter.
Rey held his gaze a moment longer. Then, before she could think better of it, she stepped forward.
– –
‘Ben Solo’s car smells like his cologne’ was her first thought. He wore a perpetual scowl, even after-hours. The closer they got to launch, though, she wasn’t surprised. Everyone was staying late, drinking too much caffeine, and falling behind on sleep. Even herself, a junior engineer. Though the running she’d been doing between Mission Control Center and the other buildings had her extra fatigued.
After he requests her neighborhood, she tells him with brief directions and fidgets with her chipping nail polish.
“How long have you been at NASA?” she asks, eyes bright even in the darkness of his car.
He didn’t look at her. “Long enough…”
Rey huffed softly under her breath, the sound almost a laugh. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
She turned slightly in her seat, studying him now instead of the road. “It’s a deflection.”
That got something. Not a smile, but a shift. Subtle. A flicker at the corner of his mouth that disappeared as quickly as it came.
“Six years,” he said.
Rey blinked. “Six.”
“Yes.”
She leaned back against the seat, considering that. “And they made you Flight Director.”
“They needed one.” A long arm of his flits out and turns on the car’s radio.
Message received by Rey, Rey does not copy, however.
She tilted her head. “You don’t seem like the sort to downplay your own achievements.”
“I don’t,” he said. “I state them accurately.”
The car moved steadily through the night, the hum of the engine filling the spaces between their words. Rey shifted again, more comfortable now, one arm resting lightly against the door as she watched the city pass by.
“And you,” he said after a moment. “How long?”
She hesitated.
“Not long,” she admitted. “A few months.”
“English.” It was not a question.
Rey glanced at him, surprised. “That obvious?”
“Your accent,” he said. “And the way you say certain numbers.”
She frowned slightly. “Certain numbers.”
“You round differently.”
Rey stared at him for a second, then let out a short laugh, more genuine this time. “That might be the strangest observation anyone has ever made about me.”
“It’s accurate.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Then, softer, “Why NASA?” The question landed differently than his previous accusation.
Rey’s gaze dropped back to her hands, though she no longer picked at her nails. Her fingers stilled, resting lightly against one another.
“I wanted to see how things worked,” she said. “Not just on paper. Not just in theory. I wanted to be part of it. The real thing. Astronautics aren’t as big or funded in the UK.”
She glanced out the window, watching the blur of passing lights.
“It felt bigger than where I was,” she added after a moment. “Bigger than what I could do there.”
Ben’s grip on the wheel adjusted as he turned the car with care into her neighborhood.
“You are,” he said.
Rey looked at him. “Am what?”
“Part of it.”
As they arrived at her home, the one she rented with two other women colleagues, she unbuckled and looked over at him.
“I very much appreciate the ride, Mr. Solo.”
“Call me Ben.” He replies without moving his gaze from the cul-de-sac.
The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. It sparked a warmth in her chest and lower belly that made her want to shun herself.
“Ben… and… as much as I appreciate the ride, it would be more admired if you would… avoid telling anyone about your charity this evening…”
He turned his head then, not sharply, but fully, his eyes settling on her with a focus that made her feel as though she had said something far more revealing than intended.
“My charity?”
Rey pressed her lips together, already regretting the phrasing. “You know what I mean.”
“No,” he said. “Explain it.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her bag. “It’s just that people talk. And they do not need much encouragement to start drawing conclusions where there are none.”
“About you getting a ride home.”
“About me,” she corrected, a little more firmly. “And I would prefer not to give them anything to work with.”
A pause. He studied her for a moment, something unreadable passing behind his expression.
“You’re concerned about your reputation.”
“Yes.”
“And this,” he gestured faintly between them, “would damage it.”
“In this environment,” she said carefully, “it would… complicate it.”
Silence settled, thicker now.
Rey shifted, suddenly aware of how close the space felt, how the quiet of the cul-de-sac pressed in around them in contrast to the constant noise of the Space Center. The porch light from the house cast a soft glow through the windshield, catching the edge of his jaw, the line of his mouth.
“I did not intend to imply anything improper,” she added, softer now. “Only that I would rather not have to defend something so… inconsequential.”
“Inconsequential.”
He repeated it like he was testing the word.
Rey exhaled quietly. “You know what I mean.”
“I think I know what you’re saying,” he replied. His brow furrowing
Another pause. Then, “You think they’ll reduce it.”
Her gaze flicked back to his. “They will.”
“To what?”
Rey hesitated, then, quieter, “To something it is not.”
He leaned back slightly in his seat, one hand still resting on the wheel, the other now relaxed against the console.
“And what is it?”
The question landed low. Not teasing, nor dismissive, just direct. Rey’s breath caught before she could stop it. It was a simple question. It should have been simple.
“A ride,” she said, though it came out softer than intended. “Nothing more.”
His eyes held hers, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, almost imperceptibly, his gaze dropped. Not away. Just… lower. The briefest flicker, like he had taken something in he had not meant to. She could see the gears turning in his head, the ones men often put on full display when they held want.
When he looked back up, his expression had settled again. Controlled.
‘He’s really good at schooling himself,’ Rey thought, ‘I want to be like that.’
“Then you won’t have to defend it,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts.
Rey blinked. “No?”
“No one will hear it from me.”
Relief came quickly, though it brought something else with it. Something she could not quite name.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling.
She reached for the door, fingers brushing the handle before she paused again.
“Ben.”
He did not move, but his attention sharpened. She hesitated, searching for something that did not feel like too much.
“Try to get some sleep,” she said instead. “We’ll need you clear-headed in a couple of weeks.”
A faint shift at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile.
“I could say the same to you.”
Rey huffed softly, pushing the door open and stepping out into the warm night air. The heat wrapped around her again instantly, familiar now in a way it had not been before.
She closed the door gently, turning back toward the car. He was still there, watching her. For a second, she considered saying something else.
Instead, she stepped back.
“Goodnight, Ben.”
“Goodnight, Rey.”
– –
The next day did not feel like the same room.
It looked the same, of course. It sounded the same. Rows of consoles stretched in careful order, and yet, the moment Rey stepped through the doors, something felt different. Not in the room, but in her.
Awareness settled over her shoulders as surely as the Texas heat had the night before, quiet but persistent, impossible to ignore once felt.
She did not pause this time.
Instead, she moved forward with purpose, report in hand, her eyes scanning the lines she had already committed to memory. She had checked the numbers twice, then three times, then once more just before leaving engineering. They had not changed. The communications tests were much too delayed. If there were an emergency, the crew wouldn’t be able to-... Rey didn’t want to imagine it.
By the time she reached his station, her pulse had steadied into something focused, something resolute.
“Systems update,” she stated.
He looked at her immediately. Not after finishing a thought. Not after acknowledging someone else. Immediately. It caught her off guard, though she did not let it show.
“Status,” he said.
Rey did not look down at the report. “Not green.”
There was no visible reaction from the rest of the room, no sudden halt in conversation or movement, but something felt off all the same; surely the men in the room were listening with equal concern, if not staring at her.
“Explain.”
“The relay is lagging beyond tolerance,” she said, keeping her voice even. “It’s minor in isolation, but it compounds under sustained load. It will affect communication timing. The crew wouldn’t be able to relay back-to-back information.”
He looks at her, studies her, that much she can see. Perhaps she’s too all-over-the-place to tell if he’d actually just glanced at her lips? She didn’t have time to give it a second thought.
Ben stood and adjusted his belt as he took a broad breath. “Have you been sitting on this?”
Rey scoffs, Ben quirks a brow.
Rey schools herself, “No, sorry, no– of course not.”
Ben nods incredulously, “Must be a hardware issue, then?”
Rey nods in agreement as he begins to walk, beckoning her with two thick fingers. She walks alongside him. Barely able to keep up in her pencil skirt and kitten heels.
‘He has long legs, is tall,’ Rey notes to the little book of Flight Commander Solo in her head.
In the time they took to get from the Mission Control Center to what she found out the destination was: the outside of the men’s bathroom, they’d devised a plan of action that Rey would have Mr. Smith act on promptly.
Rey nodded, committing it to memory as easily as she had the numbers. “I’ll tell him.”
She turned to go, already thinking three steps ahead to how she would phrase it, how to make Smith listen without questioning her too closely.
“Rey.”
She stopped and turned at once, certainly not anticipating his next words.
“Yes, Mr. Solo?”
“Ben.” He tsks.
“Ben.”
“Might you consider taking Smith’s job when he retires after this mission?” He inquires with a curious pout.
Rey bites the inside of her cheek and furrows a brow, not on purpose. “Oh? People just… go for those things-?”
“That position-” he moves out of the way for someone to enter the bathroom, “is integral to managing our launch timelines. You…” Ben nearly emotes, “are doing much of what he already does… catching technical issues and bringing them to guidance and myself.” Ben says gently. “Rey, you and the computing team are the reason we’ll launch on time…”
Rey looks at him in a bit of awe.
A moment, and then an “oh” slips from her rosy lips.
Ben straightens up, “I would like to see you go for it.”
“A woman has never held that position-”
“Be the first, then, go for it… Unfortunately… it would be a conflict of interest for me to write a recommendation-?”
“Why?” She asks abruptly.
“It just would,” he frowns, not willing to elaborate.
Rey nods, simply grateful he believes in her.
He gives a curt nod back and disappears into the men’s restroom.
Turning on her heel to head back to engineering, she could barely contain her urge to eek.
Butterflies in her stomach, she could see them now, blue butterflies and a new position.
And both were so hers.