Chapter Text
Rey has lost all sense of her "please hire me pitch".
She tries to convince herself to stay seated, determined not to check the time on her home screen again. The words had been ingrained and natural on her tongue, just an hour ago.
Being here is an escape in of itself, she reminds her flexing fingers, forcing her conscience to actually enjoy the chilled, open-window smell of damp pine needles and the brighter notes of springtime undergrowth.
Yet the longer it takes the state park manager to arrive – Mr. Skywalker, she remembers, trying at the very least to jam that piece of information back into the forefront of her interviewing-mind – the more she begins to forget everything she ever intended to say.
Her eloquent musings on a dream career in environmental conservation have worried themselves into oblivion – just, poof – like the plan was nothing more than an idea she forgot to write down at 2am. Surely not the words she needs to secure some semblance of a calm, money-making existence this summer.
How long will an American taxi driver wait for a passenger out here, in the middle of this real-life nowhere? she wonders again. More pressing still, Rey wonders how much the extra time on the meter will cost her.
She suppresses the image of her online bank statement, with its three accusing dashes. The overdraft fees feel like micro cuts, though they're the least demeaning of her recent financial wounds.
A dark, friendly face leans into the office again.
"Still not here?" Finn inquires, peering around the cramped room she occupies as if his boss might just be hiding behind a stack of boxes. The sincerity of the teenager's concern pulls a smile from her, despite the tightness in her chest.
"Maybe I should have looked under the desk?" Rey offers, going so far as to duck forward.
He blows out a puffing laugh, "If you had any idea how often I've actually found him there."
Her raised brows must seem like a question because he quickly amends, "I mean, not that Mr. Skywalker’s always sleeping on the job or anything. But I think he keeps odd hours? He definitely spends more time at the park than they must pay him for, so hey, if the guy needs to take a nap..."
She's grinning broadly, deciding she likes Finn. He's warm and unassuming in all the right ways: without preamble or some hidden agenda.
So unlike Ben...
"I've always been a napper," She says conspiratorially. "Especially after losing the privilege of taking one in a classroom, after grade one. I almost started a napping club at university, if only to justify my mid-afternoon comas."
Finn leans the muscled length of his body against the doorframe, his baggy polo and cargo pants accenting his figure somehow, despite all the rips and grass stains.
"Now that right there – a napping club – that's about the only thing that would get me to switch sides and root for the Spartans.” He laughs. “You go to MSU, right?”
She's encountered this brand of old-school, athletic rivalry in Michigan citizens before, learning that unlike proper English football rivalries, it is usually a harmless line in the sand: either you "bleed" University of Michigan maze and blue, or you root for the green of her (almost) alma mater, Michigan State University.
"Please tell me you're simply in denial, Finn? That you already know the truth deep, deep down, and that, if I'm actually hired here this summer, I won't have to spend most of my time informing you of all the ways our roster will prove far superior to U of M's this fall?"
Finn doubles over, wheezing and clapping, "I don't think I've ever been on the receiving end of such a classy put-down... Even if you are dead wrong!"
“In my experience, the truth tends to sound fairly classy.” She grins.
“With that accent, I bet you could make anything sound classy. But seriously, we have to talk football. What do you think–”
"It's April nineteenth, for Christ's sake!" A man calls from the front reception area, voice growing more animated as he moves through the small building to enter the back hallway. "You, Mr. Finn Kanata, do not get to talk about football until July first, and not a day sooner!"
Finns straightens with some measure of embarrassment, even though his dimples linger.
"Don't want to replay some of the bad memories from last season, hey boss?" He asks, "Like that fifty yard bomb we dropped on you, or the six sacks we got in before–"
"Yeah, yeah, okay, you've got me," the man grumbles loudly, pealing into view to slap Finn on the back.
He's slightly shorter and significantly older than the teenager but wears age well, as if it's a friend he’s walked beside instead of fought. In his smirking face, Rey recognizes the same kind of suppressed mirth she's seen professors affect, in light of a hilarious comment that completely contradicts their intended lesson.
His gaze actually sparkles as it shifts from his young employee to her, sharing the infectious warmth like she is part of their joke.
She wouldn't have believed it possible, but she likes the man even more quickly than she liked Finn.
"The surveyor couldn't find a corner stake for a landowner's property line..." He offers weakly, dropping his eyes from hers.
"No bother," she says, meaning it now, as she glances at a still-grinning Finn.
"No really, Rey, I'm sorry for making you wait so long, especially with this traitor.” Mr. Skywalker pats the teen's muscled shoulder once more before scooting into the room and pumping her hand overtop his desk. “Still trying to convince the kid to apply elsewhere next year but he's adamant. I'm Luke Skywalker, MSU, class of '89."
Rey tells herself she isn’t intimidated by the handsome, fifty-some year-old alumnus as he settles down across from her. She tells herself she does not find the callused hand enveloping her own deliciously warm and broad.
"Rey Kenobi. Future 2019 MSU graduate, and classy Spartan defender.”
She watches Finn throw his hands skyward, hearing him guffaw and mumble a string of win-loss records as he walks down the hallway. It's perhaps a bit unprofessional, but teasing the young man feels right, as if she may have secured something precious in the process.
Securing the job, however, is a whole other matter.
The nervousness seeps in again, despite the amused and entirely placid look Luke Skywalker is assessing her with.
He is made for his environs, she decides quickly, his face emulating a piece of weathered driftwood: mostly smooth and lined, yet also sandy and rough where his blond-grey beard gives way to cheek stumble. Eyes the color of shallow lake water seem to glint sunlight, below his fringe of side swept hair.
"So, you're a long way from home, Rey Kenobi." He inhales, picking through a tipping pile of paperwork. "And I'm trying to remember exactly where that home is..."
"Dover, England" She offers, "Or, a bit outside Dover, actually. Though I don't believe I put that information on my résumé?"
"No, you didn't." He finally snatches up a packet which looks far more professional than the cover letter she submitted almost a month ago. "But because of your work visa situation, all of that interesting info gets passed down the food chain. So... let's see here."
He flips through the crisp pages for a moment, actually licking his thumb, to her chagrin. It's a benign mannerism but also terribly erotic for some reason. She stuffs her hands underneath her thighs to stop fidgeting.
Somewhere far away, outside in the depths of an evergreen tree stand, she hears the thrum of a woodpecker at work. Rey makes herself focus solely on that hollowing sound and the rattling call that follows it, thinking pileated woodpecker, as Mr. Skywalker examines what must be the bullet points of her chaotic, condensed life in southern England.
"Why MSU?" He asks, still absorbed in what she is beginning to fear may be a too-extensive account of her time spent in foster care... perhaps even more alarmingly, of the rougher years which followed?
The tightness in her chest builds.
"It was outside the UK."
At this he finally looks up, leaning back in his desk chair. "That bad, huh?"
"No." She hates that he's looking at her a bit differently now, as if he's managed to fit a particularly jagged puzzle piece into place. "It wasn't bad. Just crowded, and worn-down, and severely... broken."
"Broken in what way?"
She’s already losing control of this conversation. She grasps for something clever to steer them back towards more professional waters but fails. His thoughtful gaze is too distracting. Instead, she remembers a thread of the topical speech she rehearsed this morning.
"Have you ever looked at an endangered species list, Mr. Skywalker?"
His lips quirk, "Sure. At least once a year. And please, Luke is fine."
"For Michigan?" She presses.
"Yes," he considers for a moment, "Though the plover situation inclines me to review all of the Midwest shorelines. So, I’ll usually check a few other states as well. Parts of Canada too. Why?"
His interest is palpable, making her all the more nervous as she barrels on.
Maybe he has some type of a naturalist background, to keep up with plover habitation?
"The Piping plover is certainly a prime example of a severely threatened avian species, and it really does interests me... but my conservationist heart has always belonged to the Eurasian beaver. I find the species fascinating for a variety of reasons, but honestly, it first intrigued me because of its mass depredation." She takes a breath, "It's another one of my country’s un-proud moments in history, when we nearly wiped them out some five hundred years ago.”
Rey hopes she doesn't sound ridiculous. Ben always rolled his eyes or called her juvenile, whenever she mentioned how she felt about extinction trends.
The memory of the far-away man is like a virus, threatening to swell through the open window. Before it can, she mind-slams the pane of glass, watching the boughs of a shaggy red pine sway as she reclaims some semblance of calm. Mr. Skywalker waits.
"Of course, there were a multitude of factors which contributed to the beavers' original demise in England and in the larger parts of Europe. But mostly, it boils down to human intervention. Trapping, commercialism, pest-removal. In both the deterioration of the populace and the reintroduction of the animal, humans have proven to be the critical factor... Which is a disheartening conclusion, at least in my mind. I'm sure some of the avian conservationists staffed out here feel the same way.”
She can feel him assessing her, as another industrious thrum echoes outside, in the humid springtime silence.
"Have you heard of antinatalism?" He asks finally.
"Yes, I have... sorry," she exhales, wishing he was less attractive so she could explain her thoughts more clearly. She’s led him astray with the beaver anecdote. It was supposed to be an introduction for her greater conservation interests, not the explain-my-fucked-up-psyche moment she’s turned it into. “That's not what I'm trying to say."
"Nothing wrong with having a well-articulated opinion..."
He says it with a chuckle, and she believes he truly wouldn't judge her if she did believe that the human race should attempt to save the planet by abstaining from further reproduction.
"What I mean, by bringing up the beaver example, is that I was feeling phased out myself... As if the system I grew up in – the one that's likely reported all the details of my early life in that packet they sent you – was taking more from me than it was ever giving back. I don’t blame anyone, but I also didn’t want to remain in that cycle when I turned eighteen. America felt like... an escape.”
Rey lets the tentative explanation float there, realizing how half-formed and incomplete it feels. More importantly, how incredibly personal this conversation has become.
It's a summer job interview, Rey, not a fucking tell-all.
“A migrant species summering in northern Michigan then?” Mr. Skywalker muses, bobbing back and forth in his chair while tugging on his beard. “But will you prove invasive, in the long run?”
She’s never considered this biological parallel and finds herself laughing aloud, because how truly invasive is she? She’s already altered the driving patterns of some Michigan fauna, during her early morning bike workouts. Perhaps she should shed her spandex plumage in the future, if she wants to deter unwanted sexual advances from local men?
“Yeah, you might change things here.” He says, grinning at her like he can actually hear her inappropriate thoughts. “But largely for the better, I think.”
“Introduced species almost always cause unforeseen consequences in the ecosystem they invade,” she warns, feeling compelled to honesty.
His patience for her rambling thoughts feels like another gift that deserves respect. He doesn't have to indulge her, or keep her around if he's already decided she wouldn't make a good nature guide.
“I think the worst you may do, Miss Kenobi, is finally get Finn off my ass about football. I’ve done it for the past two seasons because I'm the only MSU fan around here, but I'm tired of carrying that dutiful torch.” He leans forward on his elbows. “Can you start next month?”
For a moment she’s wondering what sports Luke Skywalker might actually enjoy watching, but then the words sink in and she balks, “You’re offering me the job?!”
“Well yeah, I think I just did.”
She recovers, blinking at his amused expression, realizing she's nearly yelled at her future employer.
“Sorry, yes, of course! I want it and can start then, but I haven’t told you anything about my experience or my schooling?”
He taps the papers in front of him, “The letterhead at the top of your transcript, your recommendation, and your stellar grades cover all of that. From what I'm told, it's more important for our next Explorer Guide to have an actual interest in wildlife and the ability to captivate a bunch of sun-burned kids who'd rather be on their iPads. Check and check.”
He draws x's in the air, then adds with a lowered voice. “Full discloser, I apparently crapped out on last season's hire and picked a guy who spent half of his time collecting edible plants and the other half smoking them. A sixty-year-old hippy with a doctorate in biology does not an environmentalist make.”
Rey suppresses the urge to giggle, as she watches the bewildered man shake his head.
"Botany, is admittedly, one of my weaker areas of study. So no worries there."
"I'm sure you'll do fine." He brightens, like the sun emerging behind a cloud bank. "There's a field guide shelf in the reception area that you're welcome to borrow from, and if that's not enough to help you with the local flora I think the hippy left some books behind in his cabin... Which brings me to the only other question which really matters – are you interested in living out here for the summer? The cabin's half-way furnished, and would be part of your pay of course, though admittedly, it is pretty damn rustic."
He's rushed through the last part, as if he is suddenly the nervous one. Rey's breath quickens at the thought, at the unlikely implication...
"Yes, of course! That sounds perfect, actually. I hadn't looked around town for lodging and was kind of dreading it, if this all worked out. No driver's license or car, you see."
A winding twenty-mile bike ride along the Lake Michigan shoreline would have been a gorgeous daily endeavor, of course, but Rey has already worried about the threat of rainy days and the lack of street lamps. It would be dismal and dangerous, to pedal in darkness.
So many other problems could, however, be solved by a free place to stay. With the money she saves on rent she could even justify refurbishing her BB8 12 speed. It’s a boon she never expected.
A darker thought follows, casting a shadow over her hopes.
"Would I have an address?"
"Well, no." He apologizes, "You can always get a PO Box at the post office in town though, if you need one, but we only accept business mail out here."
She beams, lifting her cell phone. "And the cell service, is it always this horrible?"
"If you manage to get a bar on that thing, then it's a good day. Not that you'd be making many personal calls anyway?” The way he lifts a silver eyebrow is positively didactic, making her spine tingle. "You'll get a walkie when you start up."
“No, of course, no phone calls.” She assures quickly. “Though, an internet connnection would be nice to have, once in a while. I’m determined to start grad school applications this summer.”
“Well, you are in a bit of luck there.” Luke rises, unclipping a carabiner of keys from his belt loop. “The rest of this place is pretty much like Little House on the Prairie, but I managed to get a company to install a dish in my place and in the front office. It's only cable internet, but you can use either of the computers behind reception, during off-hours of course.”
“That would be great.” She rises as well, disappointed that it seems he's dismissing her so early, in light of all her unanswered questions. “I’m so excited to work here! Will you email me all of the other job details… or call?”
“Hold on, first you’ve got to check out the digs.”
He jangles the keys as he sidles out of the room, beckoning her to follow.
Rey shoulders her backpack and scrambles after, trying to ignore the blinding giddiness of the situation. So many adventurous potentials are suddenly within reach.
My own private place! In the middle of an old growth forest, with miles of hiking trails and wetland habitat to explore... and one of the world's largest freshwater lakes, with shoreline that supports Piping plovers!
As far as she’s concerned the cabin he's leading her towards could be four posts with a roof, because amazingly, she’s found both a place to live and a job for the long summer ahead.
And with the heady warmth of two friendly men in her professional life, perhaps she can begin to unfurl and breathe here. Maybe attend nighttime, unchaperoned social events, or take a weekend hike-and-bike trip simply because she wants to.
She may even feel heard and seen once again, like she did during the brilliance of her first year studying in America.
And then, as the stretching daylight of an indigo summer begins to ebb and she has gained memories and a renewed sense of courage, she can prepare for the personal challenges which will surely await her in the fall. Back there, at university... with Ben Solo.