Chapter Text
Rey sits in the waiting room, leg bouncing with her nerves; her injury couldn’t have come at a worse time. Qualifiers for the national team were in two months, plus a regional tournament was happening in four weeks. That one, she’s pretty sure she will be missing. She had played through it for the local one, and won, thank you very much, but the tears came on her way home. The pain in her elbow was worse than it had ever been, forcing her to drive one-handed, making a mental note to call her doctor in the morning.
One referral later, and here she is. Waiting to be told her career is over before it even starts. Okay, maybe that’s a bit extreme, but if she focuses on the worst outcome, whatever the PT tells her will be good news. At least Rose keeps telling her that, so Rey is choosing to believe it, too.
“Rey?” A woman’s voice calls her name, and she jumps up. She’s an older woman, taller than Rey, with lavender hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. There are two pens and one pencil sticking out of it. Rey likes her already. “I’m Dr. Holdo, but you can call me Amilyn. Let’s get you situated and discuss what brings you in today.”
Rey follows her into a wide open room with some machinery in one corner, with a rack full of random equipment nearby. Two beds are to her left, a gentleman is sitting on the edge of one, his foot resting in the therapist’s lap. A few other people here, too. One is sweating away on a stationary bike, and another is carefully making their way across the room.
“Ben,” Amilyn calls. From the far side of the room, a guy typing away at a small computer on a cart looks up. “Can you come over here?” Rey watches, almost stupefied, as instead of standing up and walking over, he spins on his little stool and pushes off with his feet — shooting across the room, and when he doesn’t make it the entire way, keeps scooting their way before spinning to face them both.
“What’s up?” He asks, glancing at Rey, then back at Amilyn. Rey takes him in; he’s practically folded up on the stool, so she knows he’s gotta be tall, but he’s lean too, though the shirt he’s wearing is slim-fitted, causing some of the buttons to strain across his chest. Rey is trying to ignore his forearms, blatantly on display with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He has longer hair that falls over his ears and glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Mentally, she sighs, knowing when she gets home, she's going to have to say ‘oh no, he’s hot,’ to Rose.
“Ben, this is Rey, Rey, this is Ben. He just started his residency, and I’d like him to take point on your plan of care. I’ll be supervising, of course. If that’s alright with you.”
“Sure,” Rey answers with a shrug. Amilyn grins, gesturing to a doorway leading to a small room. Rey steps in first, lingering by the bed.
“You can take a seat,” Amilyn says, and Rey hops up. Watching as Ben rolls his way into the room. There’s an awkward beat of silence before Amilyn clears her throat. “The computer, Ben.”
“Right, be right back.” He rolls backward out of the door. Rey can hear the wheels of the little stool as it travels across the carpet.
“Speedy way to move,” Rey speaks into the silence, just catching the small smirk on Amilyn’s lips as Ben scoots his way back into the room, pushing the computer cart in front of him.
“Okay,” Ben says, stretching out the word, clicking around on the screen. Amilyn leans back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. “Tell me about your injury, Rey.” His voice is deep, almost illegally so.
Rey crosses her legs, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt with her left hand. “It’s my right elbow.”
“Alright, and when did you hurt it? Do you remember what you were doing?”
“It’s been about two weeks? I was bowling.”
Ben nods, quickly typing something. Then he opens his mouth again. “Ah. Glow bowling? Hot date?”
Rey glances at Amilyn, who is now staring at the ceiling like she wishes this wasn’t the first time he’s said something dumb, before leveling a glare at Ben. “No. I bowl professionally.”
It would almost be funny, watching the myriad of emotions flicker across his face before he gets it under control, if she didn’t experience it every. time.
“How does that work?” He asks. Rey blinks. That question is a first. Normally, it’s some variation of ‘sure you do, sweetheart.’ Honestly, Rey should be considered for sainthood for not knocking out men’s kneecaps with her bowling ball on a regular basis.
“What do you mean? It’s bowling. I’m assuming you know what it is, since you mentioned glow bowl.”
“Right.” He’s smiling a little, “right, but professionally? That’s a thing?” He laughs now, “It’s not hard.”
Rey nods, “Oh. I see. You’re one of those. Take someone out on a date and rocket a 6-pound ball that your fingers don’t even fit in down the lane. And maybe the pins all go pow, and it looks really cool, and your date is so impressed because they can’t throw anything but a gutter ball. You don’t actually know how to keep the score in your head to know what you need to keep ahead of your opponent. And you don’t understand the physics of it or entry angles into the pocket, or the lane topography, or how oil is put on the lane in different patterns, or that your ball that’s had hundreds of other fingers in it is just an over used piece of plastic and you’re actually throwing it so hard it never even rolls, just skids across the oil.” Rey finally takes a breath and notices Ben’s wide-eyed stare, hands frozen over the keyboard.
“I bowled in college,” she says much calmer than she feels. “I went on a scholarship, and I just missed qualifying for Team USA my senior year. So I’m trying again this year. I know I can make it, but it’s soon.”
“How soon is soon?” Amilyn asks, cutting off whatever Ben was going to say.
“8 weeks,” she offers with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have waited, or bowled when I was hurt. I probably made it worse. God, I’m an idiot.” She moves to put her face in her hands and winces. “Fuck…oops. Sorry.”
“We’ve heard it all,” Amilyn says, waving her off, “and we hear it often.”
“Yeah, just an hour ago, I had someone call me a sadistic tyrant. But let’s check you out.” Ben stands from the stool, and Rey stares. Sure, his legs looked awkward on the stool, but wow, is he tall.
She zones out while he looks her over, pokes and gently prods, then he has her bend her arm until he’s seemingly satisfied. “Are you icing at all? Heat?”
“Yes to both.”
“Good. Keep doing that. We’re going to start easy, a few exercises to start, don’t want to overwhelm it when it’s already tender. When you do these at home, ice and rest right after, got it?”
“Yup,” Rey agrees and lets Ben walk her through everything. It’s uncomfortable, she wants to retreat to her car to cry, but finally, she’s done, and he’s handing her an ice pack.
“You did so good, Rey,” Ben tells her. Rey stares at the second hand as it ticks around the face of the clock to avoid looking at him. He’s an asshole, but damn, if his voice isn’t doing things for her.
“You did too, Ben,” Amilyn says, and Rey jolts a little because she forgot she had been here the entire time. “I’ve got a patient, so I’m going to step out. Do you feel fine typing everything up?”
“Yeah, I got it. Do you want me to observe the next patient?”
“Only if you finish your paperwork,” she says with a grin. “Rey, it was lovely to meet you. I’ll see you again soon.”
Then they’re alone. Rey knows she’s being ridiculous. He’s hot, sure, but he’s a jerk too, and older, maybe. How old are med students anyway? Doesn’t matter. He’s her therapist, plus the elbow of her dominant hand is useless, so she can’t do anything about his hotness anyway at the moment.
“So how bad is it, really?” She asks, adjusting the ice pack.
“Pretty standard tennis elbow…or well bowling elbow in this case,” he tells her, grinning a little, “it’s going to be tight meeting the deadline for the tryouts you want, but I think it’s doable.” A glimmer of hope, at least. Ben glances at the computer screen. “I’ll print out everything we went over today. I know it can be overwhelming, and sometimes that makes people forget things. So just in case, you’ll have a physical copy of what to do.”
“Makes sense,” Rey agrees, watching him as he sits back down on the stool, turning to the computer to click around a bit.
“Can you come twice?” Ben asks while he starts typing, “or just once.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Rey answers, making Ben sputter as he turns to look at her with wide eyes, his cheeks flushing pink.
“A week!” He practically shouts. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I meant for appointments. Is twice a week doable? It’s not mandatory, but we can keep a better eye on your progress as well as adjust things more efficiently if we’re seeing you more often.”
“Oh. I suppose two is fine. Pretty average, I would say.” She smiles at him, and he coughs a little into his elbow, and if he turns away from her at the waist, well, that’s none of her business.
“Explain it again,” Ben says, eyeing her form while gently adjusting her arm. This is her third week and sixth appointment. Her arm isn’t radiating pain every time she moves anymore, but PT isn’t fun. Ben is nice to look at, though, so she has that, at least. He’s been less of a jerk since her first appointment, so that helps too.
Rey grits her teeth through the pain, allowing him to distract her. “It’s not like other professional sports. You can go on a circuit, which is just traveling around doing tournaments out of your own pocket, and if you do really well, you can qualify for tv tournaments. Those pay better, obviously. Ideally, you want sponsorships.”
“Do you have any?”
“Yeah. A ball company. So I have to throw only their stuff, but I don’t have to pay for them anymore, which is really great, I won’t lie.”
“What if the ball sucks? Four more.”
Rey shrugs, making Ben frown, adjusting her once more. “They produce a lot every year. There’s always something to use.”
“I still don’t get it. A bowling ball is a bowling ball. How are you feeling? Do you think you can do ten more?”
“Probably. I feel alright, just need a minute,” Rey says as she flexes her hand “A bowling ball is not a bowling ball. Once you graduate from little house balls, things change. There are different cores, those will affect how the ball will move on the lane, and the way you drill it can change that, too. It’s all made to fit my hand.”
“So they don’t come predrilled?” He asks, sounding mystified.
Rey laughs, starting her reps once again. “No. Even the ones you use, most alleys have a pro shop, so a guy in there will drill them for a variety of possible hand sizes. It should sit in the palm of your hand.”
“Oh. So when I do this,” he says and then makes his hand look like a bird talon, which makes her laugh again, “you’re saying that’s wrong?” He’s smiling at her, and Rey looks down at her own hands to avoid looking at his face, because it’s a good-looking face. It’s probably awkward if she just keeps staring at it at every appointment, plus she’s his patient. She guesses. He’s not officially a doctor yet. Maybe. She doesn’t actually know how any of this works for him,. Technically, Amilyn is the lead on her case.
“Just a little!” She answers, adding a quick “done,” for good measure.
“Alright, put your arm on the table here. You’re still okay with a gentle massage?”
They had discussed it at the beginning of her appointment today, and she had said yes. It’s still a yes. She nods, placing her arm across the edge of the table where he indicated. Ben moves fast, wheeling forward, gently wrapping both of his hands around her forearm, thumbs gently smoothing up towards her elbow. Beneath the table, his leg bumps into hers. Neither of them moves away.
“How’s this?” he asks, applying pressure, voice low and intimate, like there aren’t other people here, like Amilyn isn’t getting cursed out by an older woman doing squats twelve feet away. Rey nods, ready to open her mouth to answer him when he moves, changing the pressure. A moan comes out instead. Ben’s gaze flies up to hers, and he freezes. He’s blushing again, and this time Rey is close enough to see it spreads to the tips of his ears just peeking out from the fringe of his hair.
Rey licks her lips. She watches him track the movement. “It’s good,” she whispers, “don’t stop.” He doesn’t make a noise, but she watches his mouth form the word fuck before he turns his focus back onto her arm.
Five more weeks if it all goes well. She’s doomed.
Rey tucks her fingers into her palm, tilting her wrist slowly up, breathing through the stretch. “Remember when you asked me if I did this on a date?”
Ben grins, a crooked little thing at her. “I specifically remember it being a hot one.”
“Right. I’ve been thinking about that.”
“You’ve been thinking about me?”
Rey scoffs. “That’s not what I said. Is that like your move? Bowling for a first date?”
“My move?!” Rey watches his nose scrunch up in disgust, making her grin in response. “Not on a first date, but absolutely a date. I like to know how they handle losing.”
Rey cackles at that, drawing the eyes of everyone in the therapy room their way for a moment. “How do you handle losing, though, Ben?”
Ben crosses his arms across his chest and smirks at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Quite gracefully, though I’m sure.” He reaches past her, causing her to catch a whiff of him, it’s some sort of godly combination of woody, citrusy, and sweet. It would probably be awkward to sink her teeth into his pecs over it. He’s holding a small hand weight when he straightens. “Alright, moving on up, from no weights to a pound.”
“Fancy.”
“Yup, curls, from a 90-degree angle here at your side, then straight out to the side before bringing it in towards your shoulder.” Rey watches him demonstrate, baulking a bit, he's wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt today, and holy sleeper build batman. She didn’t even know he had muscles like that, but his biceps pop with every curl he shows her. “You got it?” he asks after a minute.
“Oh! Yeah, I can do that.” Jesus, she should have said something, instead of making him say it, instead of just staring at his arms like she wants to lick them. He places the small weight into her hand, curling her fingers around it to adjust her grip.
“Good, just like that,” he tells her after her first rep. “Not too much?”
“No, it feels easy.”
“Alright, well, let's not go too crazy, you’ve gotta work back up to weight, and overdoing it could set you back.”
“I know,” Rey grumbles, finishing the set and then looking up at Ben, who is watching her. “What now?” she asks, rolling the weight over the top of her thigh.
“I can take that. Do you have any weights at home?”
“Nothing that light.”
Ben hums as he puts the weight down off to the side. “A stick of deodorant, or a half-full bottle of water, would work, something light. Or nothing is still fine as well.”
“I can do that.” Rey rolls her shoulders as Ben settles onto the stool. Over the last few weeks of being here, she’s discovered that his transportation choices are not singular, everyone but Amilyn chooses to rocket across the room on ridiculous little stools. It’s impressive that all of them aren’t also being seen for injuries.
“Do you feel up for another massage?” He asks, swiveling on the stool.
Rey sighs in delight, “Please, it’s so much better than using the tennis ball like Amilyn told me to do. I’m doing it, but it sucks.”
Ben chuckles, scooting in as Rey turns to rest her arm on the end of the table. “It does help, I can feel the difference in your tendons.” And suddenly he’s there, one of his legs sliding between hers, a miscalculation on his roll forward combined with her movement. They both freeze for a moment, staring wide-eyed at one another. Rey moves. Under the guise of adjusting her arm for a better placement, she scoots forward on her chair a few inches. She doesn’t look away from Ben, so she sees the clench of his jaw, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the way his gaze turns molten when her core presses against his knee. He straightens in response, glancing down long enough to find her arm, then he presses his knee back into her.
Rey sucks in a sharp breath, making Ben glance off to the side, taking in the room at large, then he clears his throat, thumbs digging into the muscle below her elbow. “This is crazy.” The words are little more than a shallow exhale from his mouth, but she hears him as if his lips are pressed against her ear. She hums in agreement, tilting her head to watch his hands work. It feels so good, better than an ice pack does after the work she’s done today. Her left hand clamps around the seat of the chair when Ben’s knee starts to move. It’s slow, methodical, and it takes everything in her not to rock against him and draw attention to what they’re doing.
“Ben,” she whispers, breath coming faster now.
“Fuck, what are you doing to me?” he asks. It’s rhetorical, but Rey feels the same way. He’s like a magnet, a drug. She wants to crawl inside of him and never leave. “I’ve been trying so hard to be good.”
“You are good,” she tells him breathlessly, “So good, but I don’t want you to be.” His fingers dig into her pressure point, and she jolts, her release sudden and sharp, her right arm twisting in his grip to hold on to him. “Ben,” she gasps his name now, looking right at him. He breaks eye contact first, looking around, then sagging in relief. Rey is still reeling, feeling jittery, like she needs to come again, but what they just did was already stupidly risky. She can wait to get home.
Ben reaches blindly for his computer cart, dragging it closer. “I um,” he clears his throat. “I can’t - I need to print this, but I need a minute, or five, or forever. I can’t get up and go to the printer right now.”
“Because you already are,” Rey teases, smiling blithely when he turns to glare at her. “Sorry, that was insensitive of me.”
Ben drops his head, taking another deep breath. “Is the coast clear?” he asks, fists clenching on the small desk surface. “Because I’m about to get up and walk down this hall into the bathroom, and I need to know if I can do that.”
Rey looks around, then back at him. “All clear,” she affirms, watching him stand, swiftly sidestepping his computer. It takes him four strides to get to the bathroom. She hears the door lock behind him.