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This isn’t what she signed up for.
Then again, being a personal assistant to a supervillain wasn’t what she signed up for, either.
But she really didn’t sign up for a trio of heroes crashing into Mr. Ren’s lair during her 3pm tea break, deciding she was there against her will, and taking her back to their base only to wrap her in a blanket and assure her it’s okay, she’s safe now.
Truthfully, it happens often enough that, if she were to ever leave her position, she’d put it in the job description. Must be willing to be “rescued” by Resistance heroes at least once a week.
“Hey, figured you may want some comfort food.”
Black Eagle walks in, still wearing his suit and mask. She can just barely see dark eyes, dark stubble, tanned skin and dark, grey-threaded curls as he smiles at her and puts the plate of cookies down in front of her along with a cup of milk in one of those plastic promotional cups from some event — probably a charity one, considering heroes and all that. Rey pulls the crocheted blanket closer around her, faking a soft, relieved smile as she reaches for one of the cookies — Oreos? But the generic, she realizes as she sees the top and lack of distinguishable branding.
“Thank you so much,” she insists, laying the gratitude on thick to play it up for the hero. Let them think she’s weak, let them think she’s a victim, let them think she was Kylo Ren’s captive — it’s easier in the long run if they don’t know the truth.
“Of course. One of us will take you home soon, okay? Just wanted to make sure you were doing all right with the shock of it.” She’ll give him credit, Black Eagle — real name Poe Dameron — seems like a compassionate guy. They’re all compassionate and kind — of course they are, they’re heroes, part of the Resistance Force.
She just wishes they were a bit … less savior-y.
“Thank you,” Rey says. Some days she continues to lay it on a little thicker, just because it’s fun to see the heroes stand up straighter and preen their feathers with pride that they saved yet another helpless bystander, but today she’s tired, and honestly? She just wants to go home.
Black Eagle gives her a smile — it’s warm, charming, handsome. She can tell why they picked him for the recruitment pictures and clips she’s seen on social media. And then he leaves, the door to what she guesses is a spare bedroom closing behind him.
Rey nibbles on the cookie, looking around at the room. Grey walls, grey bedspread. Cheap particle board furniture, generic art probably bought at the same store in plastic $5 frames. Being a superhero doesn’t pay well, she guesses, and she hums around the too-sweet cookie and decides to pick at a loose thread on the blanket again.
“Don’t tell me.”
The right diamond earring that he bought her as a “hiring” present suddenly warms and buzzes with Mr. Ren’s voice.
Rey swallows. “All right, I won’t tell you,” she replies.
“This is the third time this week, and it’s only Thursday. Do they have nothing else to do?” She can hear her boss sigh, hear the jingling of keys and the squeak of leather as he pulls his gear on.
“Don’t know, must be slow this week,” Rey agrees as she takes another cookie from the plate she’d been given and bites down into the too-bitter cookie and too-sweet “cream”. “You done with your meeting? They gave me generic brand Oreos.”
“The horror,” Mr. Ren deadpans. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She can hear the revving of his bike in the background, and hums, grabbing the glass of water she was given to rinse her mouth of not-so-great cookie.
“Thanks, see you soon.”
She really should keep a Tamogatchi in her pocket or something simple like that. At least then she’d have something to do instead of regretting leaving her phone on her desk when she got up to fix her tea.
The line to Mr. Ren is slightly static — still open, then. The helmet he wears shields some of the sound, but she can still hear a horn blare as he rides by.
“Don’t go over the speed limit for me,” Rey scolds.
“That wasn’t for me.” Liar, she thinks. “I’m guessing that the broken window in the east wing is their doing?”
“I’ll talk with insurance tomorrow,” Rey mumbles around her bite of cookie. And really, half of her job is probably being on hold with Cape Insurance. But she has the easier side of those conversations, really — she can’t even imagine the phone calls after a battle downtown.
“I’m on my way.”
“Take your time, don’t crash. Can’t exactly go anywhere.”
She looks around at the room again, trying to figure out whether it’s someone’s or just one they keep for … those they rescue, maybe? She’s counting the plain silver knobs on the dresser when the door opens again, and she can hear a blaring alarm from down the hall.
“So, uh,” Storm says as he stands in the doorway. He’s one of the heroes she interacts with most, real name Finn Stormm. He’s in his black and white suit, still, and will be for a few hours longer if the scrambling and yelled orders she hears are anything to go by. “Hope was going to take you home, but there’s an attack downtown, and I’m not sure where you live, but here’s probably—”
“FI—STORM WE GOTTA GO!” Rey can hear Poe yell from down the hall.
“Right,” Finn says. “So, just, uh, stay put, okay?”
He’s gone before Rey can reply, closing the door behind him but not locking it. Still, she’s learned to stay put when this happens — the last time she wandered around, she found the kitchen, but she also found an entire jungle when she’d opened another door, complete with a few monkeys and vibrant birds and buzzing insects and a tiger who just looked at her before deciding she wasn’t a threat or worth its time. No doubt some hero or heroine’s room designed to fit their personality and powers — but it certainly didn’t fit hers, and Rey remembers slamming the door shut as quickly as she could.
Yeah, better to stay put.
The heroes are sweet, they really are. Every time she’s ‘rescued’ there’s a 50/50 chance that they’ll take her home (she lies about the address, every time, and then walks or takes the subway to her little dingy apartment) or they take her back to their hideout. If the latter is the case, most of the time they wrap her in one of their blankets and give her snacks.
Sometimes there’s pizza, even. It’s not good pizza, she has to admit — it’s the bad kind of cheap pizza, with too much crust that’s too chewy and too much sauce and not enough toppings or cheese. But it’s still pizza, and if Rey’s entirely honest, some days she’s too busy to grab lunch so she’s grateful for those days when their savior complexes and Mr. Ren’s constant meetings overlap.
Storm’s nice to her, always. And he’s handsome, too, the white of his mask and supersuit a gorgeous contrast to his dark skin. According to Finn Stormm’s file back at Mr. Ren’s headquarter’s, the man used to work for First Order Tech. Some kind of janitor and guard combo. Rey’s pretty sure his power has something to do with endurance and being indestructible, along with some light telekenisis — while he was unable to shove an alien ship off of him last month when there was that invasion, when it was finally lifted off of him, he didn’t even have a scratch. Plus she’s seen Ren shove him into a building once, only to have the brick wall collapse instead of the hero.
That, and he makes the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she’s ever had. Honestly, a superpower in itself.
And she’ll never, ever turn down the hot chocolate that Black Eagle hands her. Not when he adds some cinnamon and chile powder in it and uses real chocolate instead of the powdered packet stuff.
There are others, she knows. Heroes she’ll never meet, just like there are villains she’ll never come across. The Resistance is a huge organization, comprised of heroes all around the world and throughout the galaxy. Same with the VC - Villain’s Council, though Mr. Ren always manages to find excuses to get out of the monthly virtual meetings. She doesn’t blame him — Doctor Terrible has a habit of taking over the conversation and making it about himself for the entire hour.
The entire Resistance team must have all gone to fight whatever’s happening downtown, because she hears no fighting, no shouting when Mr. Ren arrives. There’s just a low, mechanical, “Stand back,” in her ear, before she hears the sound of his laser blade activating.
The door to the room she was placed in “for safety” suddenly glows, the red-hot blade of Kylo Ren’s saber cutting a hole through the wood just big enough for her to duck through. He looms just beyond like the darkest shadow, the laser sword in his hand pulsing and buzzing with energy.
“It has a handle, you know,” Rey says as she stands from the bed, leaving the blanket behind and grabbing one more cookie for the road as she steps over the still-smoking remains of the door and ducks her head to avoid getting ash in her hair. “And they didn’t lock it. Did you even try to open it?”
Her boss stands before her, clad in his all-black suit and black-and-silver mask. He tilts his head at her like a curious puppy. “But what’s the fun in that?” he asks, his voice low and mechanical from the voice-changer in his helmet. But she’s heard him speak through it enough times now that she can just hear the humor in his tone even through the changer, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.
“No cape?” Rey asks as they start to walk back through the hallways of the Resistance’s base.
“Not today.”
Rey hums, biting into the cookie she took. As they walk, she sees no heroes — not a soul in the metal-lined hallways. Whatever’s happening downtown must be big. “They made your job easy. Any idea on what they’re fighting?”
“Sudden unidentified object crashed at Celestial Park, then opened up to reveal a mech.”
“Warren Steele?”
“Don’t think so.” She can hear his contemplative tone even through the mask.
“Rusty’s work?”
“Too clean. To be honest, I think it came from Zephyr.”
“I thought they evaporated him?”
“For a man who was turned to dust, he comes back surprisingly quickly.”
Rey hums as they leave the base. The salty-bitter smell of the bay smacks her in the face, and she blinks in the golden light of dusk. Has she really been there that long? “Guessing the meeting with Hux run over?” she asks, seeing Ren’s bike and walking towards it.
“Always,” Ren replies. With a click of a botton on the back of his black leather glove, the second seat of the bike pops open to reveal Rey’s helmet. She grabs it and fastens it into place before grabbing the black “leather” jacket that is kept for her, as well. As much as she hates First Order Tech, despite all the changes that Mr. Ren has imposed, she has to admit — steel engineered to move, look, and feel like leather’s saved her a few times when a hero decides that they need to ‘rescue’ her again from the back of the bike.
The bike whirs to life as she zips the jacket up and pulls the visor of the helmet down to keep her identity as hidden as she possibly can. Mr. Ren climbs on before her, offering his hand to steady her as she climbs on behind him. The first time she rode behind him on his bike, they were being shot at by another villain, and there wasn’t exactly a choice in the matter. She’s used to being the passenger, now — after all, she’s ridden with him twice this week, already.
“You’re not hurt?” he asks as they pull away. At least rush hour has calmed down, so the traffic’s not that bad. That, and Celestial Park is a good several miles away, so they don’t have to deal with that chaos.
“Not this time, no.”
“Good.”
“Did you grab my phone and purse?” Rey dares to ask, already halfway knowing the answer but hoping she’ll get the one she wants anyway.
“I was a little busy rescuing you,” Ren replies dryly.
“Damn it,” she mutters. “Was going to ask you to drop me at home.”
“Would you like McDonalds on the way back to headquarters?” Even through the mask she can hear the fond mix of exasperation and the joy he gets at indulging her — he grew up a rich boy, she knows, and drinks only the best coffee and sparkling water, and he doesn’t get her taste for cheap fries and extra-fizzy fountain drinks.
“Only if you’re paying,” Rey replies. She tries not to hang onto him too much, because the man is her boss after all, but she reaches out to hold his firm waist as they turn a corner. In the distance, she can hear sirens and explosions. She’ll call Cape Insurance later in the week — their agents will have their hands full already.
“It’ll be a business expense,” Ren says.
The 15 year old kid at the drive thru window stares blatantly at Ren’s mask, no doubt recognizing the villain, but Ren slips a crisp 50 into the tip jar on the windowsill and the kid decides to keep his mouth shut.
After all, the city’s heroes are off fighting something much bigger and more violent than a supervillain who ordered a vanilla shake and large fries.