Chapter Text
“What’s all the love in the world if you find it at the wrong time?” - Ivan B
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“What?” Rey stares at Plutt in shock, mind refusing to wrap itself around what he’s just asked her to do.
Surely not.
Plutt’s never been an attractive man, or easy to get along with, but he let’s her camp out in his store on colder days in exchange for tinkering with the shoddy electronics that he sells and that’s good enough of an exchange for her. She’d be a fool not to be aware of the rumors that swirl about his activity on the black market, but he’s never asked for more than she’s willing to give.
Never tried to involve her in his less than kosher dealings.
Until today.
His brows cave inward as his jaw works. He’s pissed at her, just like he is about 95 percent of the time she’s here in his shop. What else is new?
“I said,” he grits out as his face turns an angry, beet red color, “That it’s time to start earning your keep, woman.”
The man leaning against the other side of the counter leers at her. His teeth are yellowed, probably rotting, and even though she refrains from wincing she knows that her face definitely still shows her aversion to the very idea.
“I am not sleeping with this man,” she says evenly.
“You’ll do what I tell you to do,” Plutt suddenly yells, slamming a fist down next to the register. The delicate items locked in the counter rattle from the force of it.
“You don’t pay me enough to even entertain the idea of this!” Rey shouts back. “You don’t even pay me in the first place!”
She wants to slam her fist through something, too. Plutt’s face to be exact, but she can’t. There’s no one left in her life to bail her out if she’s ever tossed in the brig.
No one who would even care.
Instead, she clutches the motorcycle compressor that she’s been working on as if her life depends on it. Her fist tightens until the metal cuts deep into her hand, and blood begins to drip slowly onto the aged linoleum beneath her feet.
It’s silent while she and Plutt stare each other down.
“She’s a feisty one,” the other man laughs suddenly, and the sound of it makes her stomach turn. “I’ve had my eye on her for a while now, you know. Make it worth my time.”
They’re talking about her as if she’s one of the items he sells.
Bile rises in the back of her throat, and her ears begin to ring as she blinks back the hopeless frustration rising in her.
Unkar’s final mistake is to reach for her.
She doesn’t think twice.
Rey swings the compressor through the air with all her might. It collides with Unkar’s face, a satisfying crunch and a spray of blood erupting as his nose breaks beneath the force of her blow.
Rey runs.
Shit.
It’s a game.
It’s only a game.
Waiting for leftover food to be abandoned by diners and snatching it up before the server can appear to throw it out in preparation for another round of guests.
She has to see it as a game; otherwise she’ll go mad.
It’s made infinitely more cruel by the fact that not many people are stupid enough to brave the November chill when they have a better option.
Being indoors.
Which is why Rey finds herself perched on an empty metal railing, meant to hold bicycles, not humans, hungrily eyeing the solitary couple that has chosen to take their meal outdoors.
God only knows why.
They look toasty, huddled together for warmth underneath the restaurant’s blazing heat lamps while she’s stuck shivering in the cold wind as it playfully tumbles down the narrow street, leaving an icy touch in its wake.
She pulls her thin canvas coat closer to her body, curling her fingers up underneath the cuffs for the semblance of warmth, while the woman under the lamp leans into her boyfriend, gazing up with starry eyes and her heart on her sleeve.
Rey’s stomach knots as she watches the woman’s hand creep up, wiping a crumb from her man’s mouth before closing the distance for a long, lingering kiss.
Would they get a move on it already?
Every moment that passes increases the chances that the server will come to check on them and rob her of her dinner.
Finally, they stand. The man tucks his woman into her thick, woolen coat and she winds a red scarf around her neck, shaking out her perfectly curled hair once she’s done. Rey’s toes tap the ground impatiently, beating out an unsteady rhythm as they lean in for another kiss, demonstrating to the world just how sickeningly in love they are.
She’s pushing off the rail and racing toward the flimsy barrier that separates the restaurant seating from the rest of the world before they’ve even finished walking back into the building.
They haven’t left her much.
The bones of a couple cornish hens, picked clean, a handful of rejected roasted potatoes, and an apple with a single, dainty bite taken out of it.
Scraps, really.
Garbage.
The garbage will do.
A tiny smile flirts with her lips as she leans over the barrier between her and the object of her sole attention.
The apple.
It lies just out of reach, her fingertips just whispering against the smooth peel even at the crux of her stretch.
Frustrated, Rey pushes up onto her toes, one foot shooting out behind her for balance and her middle pressing painfully into the sharp railing of the barrier as she channels every inch of her willpower into her lunge. The callous of her index finger catches the rough edge of the broken skin.
It wobbles temptingly, but it’s not enough.
She breathes in a sharp breath, and this time when she lunges she grunts like a crazy woman, throwing her body into motion just as the server swings open the door and steps through. They make direct eye contact. Fury and annoyance flash in his eyes as her hand wraps around the apple and the barrier shakes dangerously underneath her.
If she’s going down, she’s taking this goddamn apple with her.
“Get! Get out of here, you filthy street rat!” The server shouts, whipping a towel from his shoulder and snapping it threatenly in her direction. “People eat here! Shoo!”
Rey takes off, the worn soles of her shoes slapping loudly against the concrete as she tears out onto a busier street, leaving a verbal trail of protest in her wake.
When she’s sure nobody is following her, she slows to a stop.
The apple in her palm gleams.
A treasure in the midst of a horrid, horrid week.
Rey swallows back the lump in her throat as she simply stares down at it, breath shaky and the hint of tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.
Suddenly, she’s being pushed, knocked aside like an afterthought as she fumbles in vain to keep her hard won prize in hand.
Her apple tumbles to the ground as if in slow motion, juice shooting off at a sharp angle as it hits with a bruising force before rolling away. It completes a single, lopsided turn before coming to rest at the heels of a woman with a fancy camera and a perfect, instagrammable outfit.
Her jaw works as she stares at the wet spot on the concrete in shock.
She would have savored that.
A hand lands on her shoulder, an apology, but it’s laughing and rushed. Then a group of young men push past her, eager to move forward with their vacation while her life crumbles into pieces around her.
She hates this city.
The men, there are three of them, each shockingly different and definitely American, dart across the street with the last, blinking seconds of the light. They slow to a leisurely crawl on the opposite sidewalk, ensnared by the flashiness of the street vendors that charm and cajole their way into robbing people blind.
All for a few useless baubles that would later be thrown into a drawer and forgotten.
People didn’t need trinkets to live.
Food. Shelter. Companionship.
That’s what they needed. Something to give meaning to their sad, miserable lives.
Not a fucking momento.
She’s furious.
Anger is a funny thing.
It pricks at her, swift and needling, working her over and leaving tiny wounds until it hooks into her skin and doesn’t let go. It’s no longer enough to simply glare invisible daggers into their helpless backs as she watches them walk away.
She has to even the stakes.
To take the hand that life has dealt her and mix it up with somebody else’s so that when it’s reshuffled, she isn’t left with only the jokers.
Without pausing to think, Rey starts forward, ducking and weaving nimbly between tourists in a dance that she’s known since childhood. It’s startlingly simple to shadow someone, to conceal yourself despite being surrounded by dozens of people.
Everyone is too caught up in their own lives to be bothered by a nobody like her.
Rey settles on the tallest of the men to track, the one who looks as if he hasn’t gone a day in his life without running conditioner through his shining, raven locks. His broad back appeals to her, if only for the fact that it presents her with a larger target. There will be no missing him. No chance that he will slip away if he realizes her game.
And this is a game now, too.
One that she’s been playing her entire life.
The strong don’t expect the weak to prey on them. They’re the alpha, the king of the pack, the bull in the china shop feared by all.
He won’t see her coming.
Until he does.
There’s a moment, a fraction of a second really, when their eyes meet. He’s fingering the weight of the flash printed hoodies in front of him, and she’s studying the way the shadows hit the angled planes on his face when his gaze darts up, dark and curious. It’s a direct hit, and there’s something inside of her that intrinsically responds.
He’s startlingly beautiful.
Rey shifts, uncomfortable in such a frivolous revelation. She’s about to bolt, to run away with the sole purpose of escaping him, but then his friend touches his arm, drawing both his attention and his laughter. His face utterly transforms, lit externally by the golden sun and internally by a joy that shines so brightly that she knows she will never understand.
To have that much happiness where it spills out through the cracks and laugh lines of your face? It’s alien to her.
She’s lucky if amusement even shades her eyes.
It’s another barrier between him and her.
Not that she even needed to look for them in the first place.
She’s been careful to keep a buffer between them at all times since their brief moment of contact, slipping between or behind the people milling around her anytime his intelligent gaze rises to do a quick sweep of his surroundings.
Looking for something.
Possibly her.
A shiver winds its way through Rey, starting in her shoulders and running its way down through the tail of her spine. It’s thrilling, really, this electric buzz of being both the hunter and the hunted.
Eventually his restless energy settles, and his focus shifts to the shawarma truck sitting catty-corner from where she stands, obscured by the crowd waiting for the light of the crosswalk to change.
Rey lets them carry her to him, crossing one road and then the next until she’s standing directly behind him.
He’s huge up close.
Perhaps she should have picked a smaller target.
With a steadying breath, she moves. Just a quick dip into his back pocket to snag whatever it was that he’d tucked in after paying the vendor. That’s all. She’ll be in and out before he’s even realized that it’s happened.
Easy.
Her fingers have barely slipped from his pocket, precious cargo in tow, when an iron grip encircles her forearm.
“I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you,” he says casually before he even turns his body to face her. His voice is deeper than sin, simultaneously gritty and silky at the same time, and Rey squirms, feeling as if she’s been caught with one hand in the till and he’s both smacked and soothed her at the same time.
It terrifies her.
“I don’t mean to be,” Rey whispers, blinking furiously down at her shoes to battle back the tears that are threatening to spill over.
She’s so close to breaking that there’s almost nothing left. No hint of emotion in her voice to give him any insight into the state of her being other than the bone deep exhaustion that surely emanates from her in waves.
There’s no way she doesn’t reek of quiet desperation.
“Look at me,” he commands, and she half expects him to lift a hand to her face and force her chin up so that she has no choice.
He surprises her.
He pulls her into him instead.
Rey stumbles forward, heels ghosting the pavement as he draws her arm higher and forces her stolen loot well above his head. She has no choice but to shift onto the balls of her feet, throwing her free hand out to his chest to brace herself from falling further into him.
There’s a catch of breath in the sudden stillness.
Her jacket pulls comically, sliding up her arm as his grip slips up to her wrist before catching again. For a moment she’s left entertaining the thought of twisting away, leaving him standing there helpless and frustrated with only her jacket in hand while she dances away to enjoy her newfound freedom.
Maybe she’ll take his wallet for good measure.
It’s almost like he can read her mind because the pressure increases into a vice, and she’s stuck fast with only the uncomfortable sensation of her jacket digging painfully into her armpit.
A tiny shake brings her attention back to him.
"What’s your name?” He asks, possibly for the second time.
He’s switching tactics. Trying to get information out of her.
Rey swallows, then locks her eyes with his in a desperate plea. They’re so deep, so expressive that she feels like she could get lost swimming in his emotions before she even recognizes her own.
“Please, I need this,” her voice cracks on need. She’s needed so much for so long.
“You need five euros and a map?” His eyebrow raises as if he can hardly believe her.
“I need to survive.” Her confession is soft, spoken on the trail of a breath, but she still feels like she’s betrayed herself by admitting it out loud.
They’re staring, her face inches from his, so close to his chest that she’s forced to look up at him through hooded lashes. She watches as his pupils dilate slightly, rapidly shifting back and forth between her eyes as he searches for any hint of the truth.
He must find something.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his pity as piercing as a dagger to her pride, “but I can’t feed every beggar in Europe.”
Before she can open her mouth to protest, she’s enveloped in him. His free hand skims up the back of her, sheltering her temporarily in his warmth and the deep woodsy citrus of his cologne, before plucking the pickpocketed items straight out of her hand.
The irrational part of Rey wants to burrow into him, leeching his warmth until she’s sated and safe and the bone deep chill she’s felt this entire week has disappeared.
It takes everything in her to pull away instead of acting on such a fantasy.
His hold relaxes fractionally, not enough for her to pull away completely, but enough for her to slip through. The thicker cuff of her sleeve catches momentarily, as if begging her to stay, but he widens his fingers so that she’s moving again.
Her fingers brush over the calluses on his palm.
All hell breaks loose.
Blue light sizzles between them, crackling as it erupts from the epicenter of their touch and twining around their joined hands before shooting off down their arms, dissolving only when it reaches the center of their chests.
Her heart feels like it’s been wrenched in two for nineteen years and someone finally came and tipped the pieces back together.
“What the hell,” he whispers in shock. “Who are you?”
She stares at the center of his chest, swearing that she can see his heart beating beneath the heather grey knit of his sweater.
Soulmates? Her?
With him?
She knew she had one, everyone did, but her life was a mess. What could she ever hope to offer him?
“I’m nobody,” Rey whispers, already beginning to shake her head in denial. She would step back if she could, put some distance between them, but his hand is wrapped securely around hers again.
“Not to me.”
It’s the curly haired man that saves her.
“Ben! Look! I found ‘I Love Weed!’ keychains!”
Ben.
What a soft name for a giant behemoth of a man that looks like he could swallow her whole.
“Not now, Poe,” Ben says firmly. There’s a bite to his voice but it’s not directed at her.
No, when it comes to her, his expression is still wondering.
His gaze is locked on her, steady and sure. As if he’s drinking his fill and might never be satisfied even if he had the rest of time and space to learn her. They flicker rapidly as they catalogue her face, her messy hair, her cupids bow, the little knick on her cheek that she got from falling into the street when she was young.
She’s sure that hers are doing the same.
His face is less modelesque up close, no longer all harsh angles that make her catch her breath and marvel at his beauty from afar. She still can’t get enough of it. The vaguest hint of a silver scar threading from his forehead to his jawline, the carelessly scattered moles, and the way his brown eyes shine in the right lighting like they’re secretly honey dipped.
They’re still holding hands, but it’s no longer the bruising grip from before.
It’s morphed into something softer, having fallen just so, as if they’d come together by choice rather than circumstance. His thumb just graces the tops of her knuckles, and her nostrils flare as she inhales sharply.
He catalogues that, too.
It’s featherlight, his touch. Gentle.
Nobody’s ever touched her gently before.
“Look!” Poe demands, shoving a set of keychains between their faces.
Ben’s eyes flicker away to glare at his friend, and it’s enough.
Rey staggers backwards, hand slipping from where Ben’s still lingers in the air as if she’ll realize her mistake and move to remedy it immediately. His eyes snap back to hers, and he looks absolutely gutted.
It feels like she’s been punched.
But that’s better than going to sleep hungry tonight.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Rey cries, an all encompassing apology for everything that’s happened between them.
She rips the fiver from his now slack grip, and then she’s running. It doesn’t matter where, as long as it’s far away from him. Far away from this street and these people and the painful knowledge that she’s willingly leaving her soulmate behind.
Her soulmate.
God.
She dodges and weaves around people without pause, desperate in her attempt to disappear.
‘Find the flow,’ her mother used to say. ‘Find the flow and let it sweep you away.’
And, thankfully, it does.
The crowd carries her forward, urging her feet to fly faster and her breaking heart to beat steadier until, before she knows it, the sigil of the city lies before her.
I Amsterdam.
It’s a promise of importance, of worth.
An empty, bullshit promise.
It pulls her in anyway.
Rey almost stumbles at the freedom that she’s suddenly afforded as she parts from the milling crowd, but then she’s darting across the open pavilion as quickly as she can. She’ll be in countless photographs, something she usually avoids, but nobody so much as blinks an eye as she leaps the princess steps and scrambles through the empty cutout of the ‘d’.
She might as well be invisible.
Nobody thinks to look twice at the girl with the worn-out clothes and shadowed eyes.
Nobody wants to know her name, or where she’s from, or the last time she put food in her stomach.
Nobody cares who her soulmate might be.
Nobody... except one.
“Wait!” Ben sounds as if she’s thoroughly wrecked him as he shouts after her. As if she’s ripped something precious from his hands before he’s even had the chance to savor it.
Rey doesn’t look back.
She knows she won’t stop.
She can’t.
She’s already robbed him of his money.
What kind of a monster would she be if she robbed him of his life too?