Chapter Text
01
Like a can of fucking whipped cream
Rey dreams of the desert. For a few seconds she’s aware it’s only a dream, senses the bond that binds her to consciousness, but as soon as she feels the familiar, unmoving heat on her skin, the bond is broken.
She is in the desert.
She raises her hand to her forehead to keep the morning light from blinding her and squints at the horizon. There is nothing in front of her except a discarded beer bottle and a few drooping cacti on the sand dunes. She forces herself to put one foot in front of the other, then the other in front of the first, and head for the belly of the desert.
She knows she can't look back, only ahead, nothing behind her, yet her neck tenses, tears welling in her eyes. Her legs weigh tons, but she has no mercy on them.
On herself.
She imagines her bones moving, mechanically, one welded to the other like a machine, she knows machines, machines are good. She exhales and speeds up.
Like a machine, forward, always forward.
When she wakes up - to her phone alarm screaming Girls just wanna have fun in her ear, because girls still wanna have fun and Rey reminds herself of that every morning - she sits up straight away, as if waking from a nightmare.
But she would not describe the desert walk she is forced to take every night as a nightmare, but rather as probation. Once, only once, she resisted the dream and refused to move. She just stood on the edge of the desert and waited. What followed was a real nightmare.
Rose is already whirling around in the kitchen, cracking eggs and chopping up some strange green salad when Rey tries to get to the coffee machine without forcing any communication out of herself.
”Good morning” Rose is almost glowing, she deserves an enthusiastic housemate, so Rey makes an effort:
”Good mmmmmm...”
Well, that was almost right. Rose doesn't seem to mind the total failure of communication, she reaches over to the other side of the kitchen counter, where Rey could never have reached in her current state because of the danger of knives and strange salads, and pours her a mug of coffee.
The absent-minded but caring smile that she holds for Rey's pre-ten am self never leaves her face for a moment. Rey looks for a chair between yawns but quickly gives up.
What's a chair anyway? runs through her mind and instead, she sinks into the carpet. She's already thinking of simply lying on it, who wants to earn money, she can live without it, and will surely reach complete and utter bliss if she gets another hour, just one, of sleep when an angel pushes a mug of coffee into her hand.
”Drink it” says the angel. Rey is very grateful, but has certain standards, so she asks:
”Mmmm?”
She senses that the sounds are not in the right order, but fortunately the angel understands.
”Three sugars, a little milk” she replies, and suddenly a glass of water appears in Rey's other hand
”And drink this after your coffee, it's good for your skin.”
Rose hums as she continues chopping the salad, and Rey gratefully takes a sip. Words begin to stir.
~
An hour later, Rey is gliding across the road with six dogs at her side, trying to tear her in six different directions. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone in one of the cars leaning halfway out, holding his phone at a suspicious angle. Rey knows she looks funny in the company of five big dogs and a small schnauzer, sort of like Daniel Radcliffe in the paparazzi photo with the dogs attached to him as bodyguards, but it still bothers her that someone wants to capture it.
”I am not Daniel Radcliffe” she shouts to the phone and quickens her pace.
Rey knows she's lucky. She enjoys the odd jobs that supplement her salary.
She's lucky.
She thinks of this as she lets the dogs go in the park, as she drags Mrs. Peterson's chihuahua off her scared-to-death bulldog, as she is summoned by a sobbing man on Task rabbit because an Ikea wardrobe has conquered him. She thinks of this too when, later in the afternoon, she licks the envelopes for Rose's temporary tattoo business until she can feel her tongue and doesn't at all like that it's in her mouth.
Although most of the idea and work is done by Rose, Rey regularly helps out with the packaging and occasionally comes up with tattoo ideas, so she always gets a share of the profits. It's thanks to Rey that classics such as "cool people eat pussy", with a cute cat face scribble of course, and "my boobs can bring world peace" and also "babes will be babes" were born.
Rey promises to take the parcels to the post office the next morning and settles contentedly on the sofa. They still have a full 42 minutes before they have to leave for the bar, so Rose sits cross-legged beside her and takes Rey's hand in hers. With a wet sponge, she rubs one of her favourite tattoos, a pole dancing panda, on her skin. The pole is, of course, a bamboo branch.
"It's going to be a quiet night," she says. Rey just hums.
”So we should tidy up the oracle room a bit.”
”Please, please don't call it that, it's so lame.”
She forces herself to open her eyes. Glances down at Rose, who is covering the back of Rey's hand with another tattoo; „you should've seen the other guy.” She's so focused she doesn't look up as she answers.
”Okay, okay, I'll stop, but I bought this faux velvet fabric, we could put it up as a curtain so we don't have to stare at the walls of the First Order. Plus...” here she smiles „..it makes the room wiiiiiitchy.”
Rey wants to roll her eyes with such force that she instead closes them back so as not to hurt Rose. She feels a wet sponge brush across her chest and her skin prepares for another tattoo. If she had to guess which one, she'd say without hesitation "my right boob saves lives."
She moved in with Rose, whose previous flatmate had been the victim of a marriage, about a year and a half ago. Within ten minutes of moving in, they had established that they adored each other and within half an hour that they both liked to watch Friends while they shoved whipped cream in their mouths. And after two days, Rose also found out that Rey was an extremely good judge of character.
”Foster homes, orphanages," she shrugged when Rose asked how she knew their new neighbour was an asshole. ”And observant, I guess. I was always watching how I could fit in the quickest. I can't explain it better than that.”
Rose then suggested that she leave the small restaurant, where she mainly had to feed bacon to hungover people, and come to work at the Rebels.
”We'd work together, which would be great. We're looking for a bartender anyway” she explained ”Plus, you know I'm a fortune teller and you could try it too. Extra money.”
Rey laughed at first. She knew Rose was a fortune teller, and she knew that a lot of people came to her. The owner of the bar, Ahsoka, without much hesitation, made an unused storage room in a quieter part of the bar available to her and allowed her to predict fortunes for the customers.
To her, it served the same purpose as the DJ, a pool table, or a board game corner; another way for people to pass the time and order more and more drinks. Rose had once read Rey's fortune too; a love that would relieve her of the burden she was carrying.
"What does that mean? "Rey turned the cards over suspiciously, and Rose laughed:
”Just a cliché I tell every other single person.”
But the more Rose insisted that people didn't want their futures, just to talk to someone, the clearer it became to Rey that her friend believed in something. Finally, thanks to two screwdrivers, she got her confession:
"My sister died a few years ago," she said, "You know, it's hard to explain, but I'm beginning to believe that there were signs in her life that, how can I put it… pierced the fabric of time that would have foreshadowed her death.”
She hesitated a moment before continuing. She didn't look at Rey.
”I know it sounds like total, utter madness, but I think life is built up from patterns. Everything repeats itself. Fortune-telling, at least in my opinion, is based on recognizing these patterns. A girl comes to me; I may not be able to tell the first time she has daddy issues, but during the third visit I can and I can also predict that she will end up with a guy who takes advantage of this fact. Listen.”
She grabbed Rey's hand.
”I'm not telling you to look into the crystal ball and discover that she's going to have six grandchildren and two cats. I'm saying use that scary good people skills of yours and say something that will move them forward.”
Rey opened her mouth to protest, so Rose quickly added:
”If you deem it unnecessary, then say something they want to hear. You don't have to believe it. Think of it like this: they are paying so they can pour their hearts out to you.”
Rey was working in Rebels a week later.
~
”Rose, one of your tattoos is itching like God” complains Rey as she throws her backpack into the staff room. The other bartender, Poe, laughs:
”Is it the stripper koala again?" he asks. Rey grumbles.
”No, it's the pole-dancing panda, Rose!” she yells a notch louder in the direction she thinks Rose is in „Your tattoos of animals doing vaguely sexual things are destroying my skin.”
"And your honour," Poe adds, before tactically jumping away from Rey. Rose emerges from behind the bar, holding two pieces of long red cloth.
”The panda is made of the same material as all the other tattoos” she chuckles "That means it's not your skin that's allergic to it, it's your morals.
”You are such a prude” confirms Poe, taking another step back. Rey indignantly puts both hands on her hips, the unaffected one and the one scratched angry-red.
”I am far from a prude” she protests „You both know I had sex at a Mcdonald's bathroom once while there was a birthday party outside.”
Rose shakes her head in disappointment.
”Rey, darling I love you but you shouldn't brag about that.”
Rey doesn't even have time to argue, Rose pushes the curtains into her hands and disappears, with Poe following her with his palms up, laughing. Rey allows herself a sigh.
The first time Rose spoke of the Rebels, Rey sat up with a gleam in her eye at the mention of the street name.
”Wow, you work in that big black bar with the guards and everything? Very fancy.”
Rose looked annoyed for a second.
”No, that's the First Order. The Rebels is the one right next to it. Not so ... fancy in the traditional sense. Also less mob activity.”
The Rebels was called "Bunker" a few years ago and that told Rey all she needed to know about the place. It was an underground bar that imitated a cave. Until Ahsoka put up a map at the entrance showing the location of each room, new guests would look around in confusion after descending the steep stairs and if they just randomly started in one direction, sometimes they'd wander around for fifteen minutes before stumbling into the main bar. The Rebels consists of fifteen large rooms, in most of which there are only chairs and tables, but others have pool tables, dart boards, board game shelves, and even a DJ room was installed in one of the caves at Poe's insistence. As this attracts mostly university students with its disco balls and flashing lights, Poe usually takes it upon himself to manage the room and pick up lonely students.
As she hangs the red curtains, Rey gives thanks for the small oracle room and the little natural light that sneaks in through the window. The bar sometimes reminds her of an alien spaceship or the stomach of a monster. At such times, she considers it a blessing to be able to climb the stairs that lead up to the small passage, which at least is not underground.
She takes one last look at the monumental First Order building beside them, then with a disappointed sigh, draws the curtains. As she looks around the small room, she has to admit that Rose was right (as usual). The red curtains perfectly complement the candles, the stacked cards, and the small table, also covered in red fabric.
They might even think we can actually tell the future.
~
Rose's prediction comes true, they have a quiet evening. Two or three groups of people mill about in each room, but they don't drink much, preferring to enjoy the empty space and sprawl out on the chairs. Poe mostly complains about Grindr, Rey listens while snacking on an ice cube, and Rose designs her new tattoos in her notebook. As Poe is pointing at his phone and Rose is drawing, Rey is the first to notice the new guest entering. Her first thought is that the poor thing must have had a horrible time coming down the stairs, her second is that he's not coming towards them for a drink but for help.
The blond-haired man is dragging his feet with his hand clasped on his thigh, but he is obviously in as much of a hurry as he can possibly be in his state. The right side of his face is bloody, probably from a split eyebrow. When he reaches the bar, he grabs hold of it and Rey notices that there are bloodstains on his hands. Rose springs up from the floor:
”God, what happened to you?”
Rey turns to her in surprise.
”Do you know him?”
”He came to me once to have his fortune told.”
”Rose, right?" he asks in a hoarse voice. Rey and Poe watch in horror as his chest rises and falls at an ever-faster pace.
”What have they done to you? Who…?” begins Rose, but the stranger interrupts her.
„I'd like you to tell me my fortune.” He glances behind his back. ”Now.”
Rey tries to protest, but Rose shushes her and jumps out from behind the counter.
”Hold on to me. That's it... Rey, get me some water, please," she whispers as he slips his arm around her shoulders and they head for the other end of the bar, towards the oracle room.
”What the fuck is happening?” Rey stares at Poe, who grabs a bottle of cold water with a frown.
"Just hurry up," he whispers and disappears into the staff room. Rey thinks of the man's face and quickly fills a glass with ice, then after a moment's hesitation, takes a bottle of vodka from the shelf. Poe, reappearing, thrusts a crumpled blue shirt into Rey's free hand and as she slips out from behind the counter, throws the bottle of water after her as well.
”Fucking mobs” he mutters. Rey wants to run, but her instincts tell her that drawing attention to herself is not the best idea right now, so she just strides through the rooms, one after the other, stubbornly avoiding people's eyes, hoping they won't decide to order another round right now.
The rumour that the First Order was not only in the hands of the local mafia, but also a hotspot for it, reached Rey a few years ago, but she always only half believed it. It wasn't that she doubted the existence of the Mafia - she knew from experience how effectively they were integrated into the city's vascular system - but that the First Order was acting as their hive.
She'd never seen a dead body in the alley that separated it from the Rebels' building, but every time she ventured to the surface for a breath of air, she could watch people entering the bar, all flaunting their obviously enormous wealth. Occasionally she'd see a celebrity or two, tall, thin models (never alone, always with a man) and movie stars with slicked-back hair. She couldn't imagine them kissing the Godfather's hand as they entered.
Well, I guess I was very wrong.
She takes the stairs two at a time and almost pulls the door off its hinges as she enters the oracle room. The man looks even worse than he did at the counter, even though he's sitting down, sweat is pouring off him in rivulets and he looks only minutes away from passing out. Rose is fanning him with a piece of paper and keeps asking him over and over again who did this to him.
”Listen, should we be afraid?”
She tries to look him in the eye, but his gaze slides down from the world around him and drifts back and forth uncertainly. Rey, on the other hand, shivers at the question, so she throws everything on the table and closes the door.
The man suddenly comes to at the sound of the lock and picks up the vodka. He drinks it greedily, taking huge gulps as if it were just water. Rey crouches down at his feet and watches his eyes move.
"Rose, your friend has a concussion, you should call an ambulance," she says quietly although she knows that if this is really a mafia case, an ambulance is out of the question. The man also confirms this. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shakes his head:
”If you send me to the hospital, you'll be signing my death sentence. So...” he adds with a smile ”... I'd appreciate if you didn't.”
”Well, you can't stay here," Rey says. She glances at Rose, who, after some hesitation, nods in agreement. The man is surprisingly cooperative:
”Of course, I wouldn't fuck you over like that” he says, but despite his firm tone, his lips quiver.
He's shaking all over now, the bottle slipping from his fingers. The girls jump back just in time to see him throw up vodka, blood, and bile on the table and on the meticulously arranged deck of cards.
”Fuck” Rey expresses her feelings with the unadulterated poetry one would expect in such a situation. Rose rushes over to him with the water and Rey is about to follow when her ass starts to shake. She needs a few seconds to pull her phone out of her back pocket after the initial bewilderment (Am I doing it? Is this twerking?). On the screen are five messages, all from Poe. She feels the panic on her tongue.
”Rose.”
She holds the screen to her face.
Mob here
Can1t stall anymore
He go there
Get out
the man
The next few minutes don't seem real. Rey thinks that she and Rose must be soulmates; there is no other explanation for the wordless, oiled harmony with which they dictate painkillers and water into the now completely panic-stricken man, tear off his bloody shirt and replace it with Poe's blue one. With his limbs moving uncontrollably and Rey growing impatient, she slaps him hard across the face.
”Get yourself together” she adds for emphasis. He looks lost as the girls push him towards the window. He squeezes his thighs and looks up as if trying to assess which option is worse; the high window or the mafia chasing him. Rey wants to hiss at him to hurry, there's nothing more they can do for him when someone outside shakes the doorknob.
The people inside look at each other and the hesitation disappears. Rose pushes the man through the open window, who doesn't even look back as he tries to get as far as he can with only one functioning leg. Rey pulls out a garbage bag and sweeps everything off the table into it, while Rose closes the velvet curtain and begins unbuttoning her blouse with trembling hands.
The handle almost falls out of place this time and a voice joins in.
”Let me in. Now.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The voice is deep. And impatient.
A chill runs down Rey's spine. Though not the voice, she knows the tone. Tall, tattooed men swim before her eyes with guns in their hands, Plutt offers them beer, the younger Rey steps forward and the men's growls lick across her face...
”Dude, in a second...” Rose shouts back at the door, which is about to fall off its hinges. She shoves the bag under the table when Rey comes to her senses and glances at Rose's open blouse.
Neat idea.
She crosses the room in quick strides, ruffling her hair as she moves. Tangles it to look as if it were done by someone else's hands. She turns the lock, opens the door and...
Looks up.
The voice does belong to a tall man, but if he has tattoos, his elegant suit hides them. A thin strip of white skin emerges at his wrists, his black leather gloves covering the rest.
Gloves? But it's hot, you idiot, he's a gangster, of course, he's wearing gloves.
Rey tears her gaze away from his wrist and peers into his face.
”Can we help you?”
The man does not answer at first. He lazily runs his deep brown eyes over her, from her tangled hair to her tattered converse, lingering at her throat.
"I'm looking for someone," he says finally, and Rey shudders. His eyes are still glued to her chest and the corner of his mouth seems to twitch into a half-ready smile. When his gaze finally returns, Rey can feel her cheeks heating up.
”A man. Blond. Tall, white shirt." Here he glances into the room. "Bloody enough, has trouble walking, easy to recognise.”
Rey leans against the doorframe, trying to act nonchalant as if annoyed by this tall black-haired creature.
”As you can see, there's no one here but us but it's a big place, maybe he got lost" she says and prays to herself "just don't come in, don't look under the table, don't drag us into it, don't make us run".
”Then why didn't you open the door sooner?” he asks, as calmly as if he already knows exactly what happened in the room.
Rey points to her friend's unbuttoned blouse instead of answering.
"We were in the middle of something," Rose adds. The suggestive tone doesn't embarrass him at all.
”And what's a broken vodka bottle doing on the floor?”
”I'm not about to discuss my very specific kinks with you, sir” growls Rey. He raises an eyebrow at the last word. His mouth twitches again.
”Fuckin' cockblocker” spits Rose and starts buttoning her blouse in frustration. Rey is impressed by the deep conviction with which her friend has delivered this - anatomically incorrect- but fitting expression. The man still looks suspicious, but after some hesitation, he straightens up.
”I'm sorry, miss” he says and Rey can't figure out why the undivided focus the man watches him with, bothers her so much.
She knows what it feels like to be undressed by a man's eyes, but this is different. She can't escape the thought that he's not only taking off her clothes but sliding her bra aside, he's also cutting into flesh, twisting bones until he reaches something intangible. She catches herself imagining pushing him out before he can see too much.
Get out, leave me alone!
”The man is dangerous, so be careful. And again, I'm deeply sorry for interrupting you and your...girlfriend?”
Rey nods.
”Ah, such a pity.”
The man does actually look disappointed for a brief moment. Rey is beginning to doubt whether he really is a criminal; how can someone be a member of the mafia with such an expressive face?
He turns on his heels and heads for the billiard room.
After Rey shuts the door, she and Rose stare at each other in silence for a full minute before they start hissing curses and collapse to the floor.
~
They agree that the likelihood of the tall stranger coming back is pretty slim, given that he's combed the whole bar, but it's still safest to get rid of the ruined stuff sticky with blood and vomit, after closing the bar.
”I'd hate to run into him again, he was fuckin' intense” shudders Rose.
Poe nods vigorously.
” I tried to hold him back, small talk, flirting, it all bounced off him. I swear it was like he was wearing armor. I've never seen a man so focused.”
Rey can't help but agree. She can still feel the scrutiny on her face.
The garbage bag hidden under the table almost burns the girls' legs during the night as they read palms and promise bright futures in low, muffled voices, but they refuse to touch it. Finally, when Poe helps the last of the drunks out and Rose starts to stack up the chairs, Rey takes it upon herself to get rid of it.
Waste management, like the Sopranos. Only literally..
She runs up the stairs, through the alley and into the small enclosed courtyard, where they collect the rubbish from the small bars around. She doesn't dare to look back. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees what looks like shadows moving and tall, gloved suits emerging from them, all heading her way. She is about to reach the entrance to the courtyard, choosing the two massive garbage bags she is throwing the smaller one into when:
”You're working rather late.”
Rey immediately turns around, fists raised, ready to punch, claw, bite, or anything, but she almost immediately regrets giving in to the rising panic. A few feet away from her, the tall stranger stands with his hands in his pockets and an amused expression on his face.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he says. And takes a step forward.
Rey is not at all reassured by this statement and after such a long day she would really like to throw the bag at his head and go home to sleep.
But you want to live Rey, you know, you could sleep with the fishes if you fucked up. I wonder if they still use that lingo. You should ask him…
”Why only the right one?" he interrupts her thoughts on the linguistic undercurrent of the mafia and before she knows it, he somehow comes two steps closer again.
”What?”
Rey would like to back away or toss the bag to land as far away as possible, but she's afraid it might be a bit suspicious mid-conversation.
The man smiles faintly (like he's having an amazing fucking time, isn't that nice) and points to her breast.
My right boob saves lives, of course.
Rey straightens up and mutters the words of another of Rose's tattoos to herself like a mantra: no shame in boobs, only fat and sexiness.
”My right breast saves lives, my left breast is deadly, sir.”
The man offers his hand with a face like a little boy who's stolen a cake.
”Kylo, actually.”
Rey looks down at the outstretched hand, then pointedly back up into the man's face.
”Did you find your friend, Kylo?”
”Unfortunately, no” the man, Kylo frowns and pockets his hand again „But he's certainly grateful that you helped him get rid of his bloody shirt, so he attracts less attention.”
Rey glances down at the bag startled, its mouth somehow open. The bloody collar of the shirt is treacherously white against the black bag.
”This was me, mine” Rey says without hesitation „My nose always bleeds when I see boobs.”
Kylo smiles, still calm. Rey realizes she wants to peel that composure off him, piece by piece if she has to.
”Look” he says and brushes his hand through his hair along with a sigh as if Rey is making him do something he had absolutely no intention of doing. „I know you helped him and I know you can't change that. But I'll give you one piece of advice; next time something like this happens, stay out of it.”
Rey's mouth goes completely dry.
”I don't know what you're talking about.”
Kylo nods.
”Of course, you don't. Just saying, maybe next time I won't be this nice.”
Rey understands the threat. She already understood the way he towered over her at the bar, understood the unbreakable strength and will that bends reality around him. Now she understands the wordless promise with which he turns on his heel without hurting her or pulling a gun or even touching her.
He is being nice, Rey realizes.
”Do you want to know your future, Kylo?”
Kylo pauses and turns back, to Rey's utter satisfaction, surprise evident on his face.
”My friend, ehm girlfriend and I do fortune-telling. In the Rebels." says Rey, fully anticipating Rose yelling at her for this.
She doesn't understand why exactly she's inviting the big bad wolf into the straw house, but she senses it has something to do with the fact that he had his back turned to her. He waited in the darkness for her to finish her work, warned her, and then turned around without laying a hand on her.
”So, if you're wondering about your future, how many kids you're going to have, and stuff, feel free to come in when you get tired of being a snob in the First Order, we're very professional.”
She adds quietly.
”I'm Rey by the way.”
”Fortune teller, huh?” he asks. The smile slides back onto his face. " So how come you can't predict the lottery numbers, Rey? Or are you so good-hearted that your only desire is to serve the community?
He's fucking with me. I was nice to him like a can of fucking whipped cream and he's fucking with me.
She surprises even herself by smiling.
”My Ferrari is parked on the other side of the building” she says drily.
”Ah, my bad, then I'll be sure to stop by.”
At the end of the alley, a door opens and someone steps outside for a second. Rey only sees a mop of ginger hair and a shadow crossing Kylo's face.
”It was nice meeting you, Rey, but I have to go” he says „Be careful.”
”You too” Rey says, before realizing that it's probably useless to give a criminal advice like that.
She'd like to put both feet and -just to be safe- her hands in her mouth so she can't say any more nonsense, but instead, she just bites her lip and watches wordlessly as Kylo's smoothly moving form disappears into the building of First Order.
However, before the door closes and the little light that seeps out of the alleyway and dilutes the shadows disappears, Kylo glances back at Rey.
And she lets out a long sigh.