Chapter Text
Rey dreads three o’clock.
Normally, Falcon Autos, the auto repair joint at which Rey works, has a very relaxing, lived-in atmosphere. The break room adjacent to her boss’s cluttered office is full of old but comfortable furniture (including an ancient, dinged-up futon that she has been caught napping in on more than one occasion) and walls covered in fading posters of 70’s car ads. Out in the shop proper, classic rock floats from the speakers and turns the cold, dingy space into a cozy, welcoming workstation. All day long, Rey bops her head along to Elton John, or Jackson Browne; right now, it’s the Eagles, the slight country twang and dark warmth of the music soothing the tiny part of her soul that still craves the desert’s heat.
By the pounding, violent drumbeats and wild guitars that break the shop’s lazy calm, however, Rey can tell her most hated time of day has come.
“Can you put on something else?” Rey shouts from underneath the vehicle she’s tending to, after several minutes of the musical torture. “This music is stressing me out.”
She turns her head to look out from under the car, and can see her boss approaching. At least, his boots. “No can do, sunshine. Sorry.”
Rey groans, rolling herself out and glaring up at Han Solo. Gray hair falls over dark brown eyes as he peers down at her, a roguish grin on the handsome face that age still hasn’t managed to wrestle from him. Then his wrinkled hands are on his hips as he considers the vehicle, pointedly ignoring her. “You can’t tell me you like this stuff,” Rey accuses.
He grimaces, waving his right hand in a so-so kind of gesture.
“Yeah, see, exactly,” Rey huffs.
Just then, the aggressive punk tune fades out, replaced by the deep voice of the radio show’s host.
That was California Uber Allies, by Dead Kennedys, you’re rocking with the crew of the Finalizer on this Tuesday afternoon, with hosts Kylo and Hux. Welcome to the First Order.
Han listens to The Finalizer every afternoon from three to seven without fail. Rey can’t possibly figure out why. Everything they play is entirely not up her and Han’s alley, in-your-face or whiny or cruel, or sometimes all three in one. The hosts don’t even seem to like each other, as far as Rey can tell; she supposes half the fun for their normal audience must be listening to the two of them argue. The same kind of sick delight people get watching a fist fight in public, taking out their phones instead of intervening. Rey doesn’t get it.
“I’m switching it back,” Rey says, but Han lays her head back down and pushes her gently back under the car.
“You’re gonna work is what you’re gonna do. This baby’s gotta be done by 4.”
Rey sighs and continues to work, watching as Han’s boots make their way back into his office. Through the shop, the voices of Kylo and Hux echo.
For the next hour, we’ll be taking requests, provided that Kylo hasn’t destroyed the switchboard in a fit of rage.
Yes, the phones are open, and by all means, don’t limit yourselves to only requesting songs. I’ll also accept suggestions of bones in Hux’s body to break.
Rolling her eyes, Rey tunes out the broadcast and gets to work. If Han wants to waste his afternoon listening to these miserable pricks, she’ll let him. She works quietly for a while until she hears a song with a beat she can actually get behind, and starts letting herself listen again; Han must have finally come to his senses and changed the station.
I believe…
Rey wiggles a little bit to the tune, as much as she can underneath the car.
…in HOMICIDE…
“Okay, that’s it,” cries Rey, rolling her way back out from under the car and storming over to the radio. “I can’t listen to this one more minute, Han…”
But he grabs her wrist before she can change the station. “Kylo is my son,” he mumbles desperately.
Rey blinks, confused. “I thought your son’s name was Ben.”
“He uses Kylo for the broadcast.” Han shuffles a little bit, crosses his arms.
Rey furrows her brow, looking from the radio back to Han back to the radio again, as what he’s said actually hits her. She gapes at him. “That guy’s your son?” Good Lord. Rey puts a hand on his shoulder, jokingly comforting. “Han. Your son’s an arsehole.”
Han doesn’t laugh, though. “Yeah, well.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking utterly helpless for the first time since Rey met him. “I know the music sucks, but…This is how I get to hear from him.”
And just like that, Rey’s heart breaks. She knew Han’s relationships with both his ex-wife and son were strained, certainly. Leia’s stopped down to the shop before, looking regal and yet not out of place in the cluttered shop, and they’ve gotten into rows more than once. But Ben…she’d heard so little about him, she guesses, and now that she thinks of it, the only pictures Han seems to have of him are from when he was young, no older than twelve. She’s not sure why she assumed they were speaking.
Because you’d speak to Han, if he were your parent.
“Look, kiddo, we can work something out if we need to. It’s no big deal.”
Rey shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just get earplugs. Your son’s got horrible taste in music.”
Han doesn’t thank her; he just nods his head and wanders back into his office, something heavy and weary about the way he takes each step. She watches as he sits at his desk, rubs at his face, and then turns away from her, back to his work. She stands there dazed for a moment until Kylo’s voice breaks through.
We’re still taking requests through our website or by phone, from now until four-thirty, you can give us a call at…
Before she can fully process what she’s doing, Rey’s ducking into the break room and whipping out her phone, dialing the number as Kylo reads it out. She gets a busy signal the first two times, but on the third try…
"Thanks for calling in, this is Kylo at The Finalizer. What’s your name?"
"Yeah, hi. Will you call your father?" she says hotly, completely ignoring his question. "He's miserable over you, you know, and I’m sick of hearing you and your loser friend bicker every afternoon."
There is a strangled sort of noise on the other end, and then, "what?"
"Or come visit him, even, I mean..."
"Who is this?" The man on the other end seems to have regained his composure, and Rey is loathe to admit it, but dear God, that deep voice with that stern tone does things to her. "Who am I talking to right now?"
"Rey," she replies automatically. She curses under her breath.
"Rey who? Where are you calling from?"
"Nowhere." God, she's terrible at improvising. She really should have had more of a plan. "None of your business," she corrects, taking care to sound as unkind as possible.
"Well, Rey from Nowhere, I’ll thank you to fuck off," he spits, and the call is disconnected.
Huffing furiously, Rey dials again. This time she only gets the busy signal once.
“Thanks for calling in, this is Kylo…”
“Do you hang up on all of your listeners like that? Or just the ones who remind you to be a decent human being?”
There’s a low, rumbling, angry sound; it takes Rey a moment to realize it’s Kylo, not a wild animal that wandered into the studio. He disconnects again. She doesn’t waste a moment in dialing again, and calls several more times, never seeming to get through to the station. She wonders if perhaps he’s blocked her number somehow until someone finally picks up.
“Thanks for calling in, this is Hux…”
“Tell your coworker he’s an arse.”
The chuckle that escapes Hux is cold and malicious. “I’d be happy to. To whom do I have the absolute pleasure of speaking?”
“It doesn’t matter,” says Rey. “He’ll know who it is.”
“Trust me, without some clarification, I’m really not sure he will. Nevertheless, I’ll pass the message along. Thanks so much for your call.”
Rey hangs up, chucks her phone onto the futon, and heads back into the shop. The moment she gets out of here, she’s stopping by the pharmacy to grab earplugs and never letting herself hear that loser’s voice again. She looks back at Han in his office. He looks so much older to her now. It makes her ache, brings her back to lonely nights out in the desert, looking up at the stars and feeling so small and wanting so desperately to belong to something.
She can’t look at him anymore. She ducks back under the vehicle, trying not to notice how much angrier the music on the radio gets.
*
The next day, as she’s rotating a customer’s tires, she hears the bell on the shop’s front door jangle and then fall to the ground with a clatter. The door itself sounds like it’s hit the wall hard enough to punch a hole in the drywall. Rey pokes her head over the car, ready to tell the person responsible off, but they’ve already stopped in front of Han’s desk.
The man in Han's office is tall.
His long hair rests just above his shoulders, just unkempt enough to be cool instead of grungy. And dark, just like his apparel. His black sweater is both loose and snug around his admittedly massive frame, sleeves and torso a touch too long but still hardly able to contain the width of him, accentuating every hard edge and curve of his body as his arms cross. The only thing about him that isn’t pitch-black is his skin, pale where a sliver of it is exposed on the back of his neck. He must be a customer but she doesn’t recognize him.
"Don't have other people try to get in touch with me for you. It's pathetic."
Her blood runs cold at the familiar timbre of the man’s voice. Oh, no.
"What?" asks Han, sounding lost.
"Some girl," the man fairly shouts, "has been calling me at work. About you."
Ohhhhhhhh, no.
Han rises to his feet, now partially visible to Rey just off to the man’s side. "What girl?"
"She said her name was Rey but I'm sure it's fake. She sounds..." He waves his hands wildly. "Young. British."
Rey moves to run into the office, if only to take the blame and spare Han his son’s fury, but Han gives her a look that roots her to the spot.
"I don't know who you're talking about, kid."
"Like hell you don't," the man growls, gripping the desk with shaking hands. For half a moment Rey thinks he'll overturn it.
"Easy, Ben," says Han with a warning tone.
The man – Ben – doesn’t overturn the desk, but he does sweep his right arm across it, scattering pens and paperwork all over the floor. He clenches and unclenches his fists, breathing heavily, but his posture is a little more relaxed after his outburst.
"Leave me alone."
Han opens his mouth to reply, but Ben is already storming out of his office. When the door to the shop slams closed, Han slumps into his chair and rubs at his face before looking up at Rey. She wants nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear.
"Sunshine."
Rey enters his office, sheepish.
"Wanna tell me why you're calling my son at the station?"
Rey bites her lip. "You were upset," she begins defensively, "and he's just being...I just thought maybe if he knew how you were feeling, I could get him to..."
His expression turns unreadable. Rey thinks he softens, but then he's on the ground, picking up the papers Ben had knocked over. "You don't have to do that, sunshine."
Rey gets on the floor with him. "I'm sorry, Han, I was trying to..."
"I don't need anyone's pity," Han says, not harshly.
Rey can't find the words to fix the situation, so instead, she helps Han tidy his desk and picks up papers until Han dismisses her early. Her guilty stomach churns the entire walk home.
*
The tiny two bedroom apartment she shares with Finn and Poe feels considerably more crowded now that Rose is in the mix. Finn, Poe, and Rey all had few belongings each, but Rose is more traditionally feminine in her tastes, unlike Rey, and she’d brought with her no shortage of fluffy pillows, mismatched decorative pieces, and more hair products and contraptions than Rey even knew existed. Rey loves Rose dearly, but sometimes she misses when it was just the three of them, particularly now, when all she wants to do is lounge on the couch and sulk. It’s hard to be miserable in a room that feels sunnier than Flagstaff in July.
The shower’s running; it has to be Finn, since Rose should be in class and Poe is out schmoozing with business prospects. His cat, BB, has been snuggled up next to her for the better part of the last hour, purring and bumping his orange and white head against her hand as he tries to lift it and force her to pet him. She finally manages to smile when he rolls over onto his back for belly rubs. BB is a weird cat, almost more like a dog in behavior, but wickedly smart and devious like all cats before him.
Against her better judgment, she opens up her laptop and finds herself on the website of The Finalizer. She presses the play button and lets the angry music sink her deeper into her miserable mood.
That ancient little number was brought to you by Kylo and his somehow matronly taste in punk.
I’ll ask those of you with functioning ears to disregard Hux’s comment. Those of you who don’t, enjoy whatever new-school garbage Hux is about to throw our way…
“Why aren’t you at work? And…why are you listening to that?”
She jumps; she hadn’t heard the shower turn off, but Finn has emerged from the bathroom, looking like he’s seen a ghost. BB is completely oblivious to Finn’s terror as he leaps up from Rey’s lap and rubs up against his legs. Rey hastily closes her laptop, but the accursed man’s voice continues for a moment as her laptop tries to catch up with her action. “What do you mean?” she asks innocently.
“That’s a First Order station,” he replies warily, raising an eyebrow. “And those two are the worst of all of them.”
Rey had forgotten how long Finn had interned at First Order Broadcasting. “Did you have to work for them?”
“I was an assistant for their show for months. I can’t tell you how much equipment I had to replace every time Kylo would…” He shudders. “He’s got a hell of a temper on him. And Hux is just needlessly cruel. He always looked at me like I was a worm under his shoes. I wouldn’t have pegged it as the kind of program you’d like.”
“I don’t like it,” Rey says. “I just…my boss listens to it a lot. I’ve gotten used to listening to it in the afternoon.”
Finn hums with concern but doesn’t argue with her. “Would you mind putting in earbuds, then? I’m practically having war flashbacks over here.”
Rey laughs. “Sure, peanut.”
Finn nods and ducks into his room, leaving the door open for BB to trot after him happily. Rey moves to reopen her laptop, but can’t do it without thinking of Han and his dejected expression when Ben had left his office.
She has to make it right. Rey unlocks her phone and settles her thumb over the most recent number she’d called. She steels herself for whatever is going to come next and dials.
Of course, today she doesn’t get the luxury of a busy signal to give her more time to prepare. "Thanks for calling in, this is Kylo...."
"It's Rey. From…" She almost says nowhere, but now doesn’t feel like the time for a joke. “Yesterday.”
He growls, then, and Rey suddenly has the wherewithal to add, "Don't hang up."
To her surprise, he doesn't. "What. Do. You. Want."
Rey hesitates, trying to figure out the best approach. “I shouldn’t have said what I said yesterday.”
There’s some shuffling on the other end, then a scoff, but no words.
“Would you meet with me tonight?” Rey asks, taking care to temper the irritation in her voice at his attitude. “I just want to…apologize.”
"What a joke," Kylo groans. “Let me guess, you’ll be bringing Han Solo along? How do you know him, exactly?”
She closes her eyes and prays to whatever gods there are to help keep her from screaming at him. "Look. Tonight at eight, I will be at the Outpost in Brooklyn, seated at the bar close to the door, alone, wearing gray. I’ll answer whatever questions you have then, I promise."
"You can't answer me now?"
"Don’t you have a show to run?”
“I do,” he says, his tone acrid. “I wonder why you’re so insistent on calling me during it. He must really be desperate if he’s going to keep trying this. He always was so pitifully sentimental.”
This time, Rey is the one who hangs up, so angry she feels like steam is blowing out of her ears. What Han sees in his son, Rey will never know.