Chapter Text
She knows she put it somewhere. It’s here for sure, it’s got to be. Rey just has to find it.
Sunlight blares through the windows, filtered yellow by the desert dust caked so bad onto the glass that not even a good scrubbing would clear it. Rey would know.
If she had the ready cash for it, Rey’d have bought herself an AC unit to be installed in this place before you could spit, fuel consumption be damned. But she’s got her money tied up in other, more necessary, parts of the project.
No pun intended or anything.
She rifles through another shit-crammed drawer, the one to the left of the crowded sink. The dishes are piling over in a real nasty way. One more item on the to-do list before she heads out tomorrow.
She can’t have this place looking like a wreck when Ben gets here. First impressions are really, really important, and she would hate to start off on the wrong foot on what she considers her very first date with him. She needs Ben to know that she’s got it together. She’s dependable. Responsible. Strong. Not to be trifled with, but in a cute way. Like Angelina Jolie.
Rey takes a break from searching and washes every dirty dish. She pats the corners of all the hung up posters, making sure they’re well-stuck. She makes the bed, which takes up nearly the entire bedroom, and imagines Ben draped across the covers. Maybe with her in his arms.
The RV’s as clean and right as she’s going to get it, at least on the inside, so she sets back to searching. It’s not like there’s a whole lot of places to look.
Eventually Rey finds it under the dresser, where she least expects to. She’s always etching out the weirdest hiding spots when she’s drunk.
In her hands sits a pristine black metal pistol. Loaded.
~*~
It’s the big night.
Rey’s never driven a limousine before. She’d watched a bunch of these how-to videos on the internet about it, hours and hours, and though the limo’s a whole lot shorter and easier to navigate than the RV was, she’s still triple-careful about every move she makes. The corners, she knows, are really tricky, so she swings them wide when she can.
She stops at a light. People on the sidewalk are staring, but the windows on this thing are too dark for them to see inside.
She’s sure of that because when she was knock-knocking on the driver’s side window just a few minutes ago, waiting for the real licensed limousine driver to open up so she could whap him on the head with the butt of the gun, she couldn’t see one freaking thing through the glass. Just herself, her dumb disguise in the reflection.
The driver’s suit, it ended up being way, way too big for her. Rey had to tuck the shirt in all the way down to her thighs and cinch the jacket back with a clip, and she still looked ridiculous. It got a bit better once she thought to roll the sleeves up to her wrists. Rolled them under, not over, so you can’t tell unless you look close. Had to do the pants too, so she could hit the gas pedal without her foot getting caught.
Other than all that, it’s been, like, no big deal. And it’s super dark in the limo anyways so her driver disguise only has to hold up so well.
Rey sings along with the music she’s got going at half-volume. She pats the steering wheel and smooths back a stray hair. It’s pulled into such a tight bun she feels like her brain is getting pinched.
She steers into the parking lot, the special lot with the backstage access door. Rey’s had to wait months for him to play at the right venue. Some of those concert halls, the security is just too up your ass about it. Never would’ve worked.
Then she parks. And she waits. She won’t have long, assuming she’s timed it right. That limo driver won’t stay unconscious and hidden forever.
Even knowing what’s to come, Rey feels a bit jealous of all the other little idiot fans crowding around in that clunky performance hall, getting to enjoy the magic. The crash of drums and screaming blend together in a muted roar, so Rey can’t even make out Ben’s bass guitar.
The sky is flat dark with hardly any stars, since they’re in the middle of the city. The concert’s just finished by the sound of it, and Rey can only hope the band and band-adjacent folks don’t decide to have an afterparty right there backstage.
Luck is on her side. The door swings open, and people pour out, people with big boxes of equipment and giggling girls under their arms.
Rey straightens up.
Ben’s near the back of the group. His black shirt with white-splatter bleach marks clings to his body. He’s got a cigarette in his mouth and he’s texting.
He’s just as beautiful as he is up on stage, or in photos. But out here, he’s real.
Most everyone else, they get into one of the other cars parked here. There’s one other limousine, some scattered towncars, and a van. All nice, like you’d expect. Stages of Grief wouldn’t just hire anyone to drive them around.
Ben, though, he doesn’t get in with the rest of the crew. He’s got his own ritual, one that Rey’s learned about through her painstaking research. After every show, no matter what, Ben hires his own private limo and has them drive him around town for an hour so he can chill without anyone bugging him to socialize.
That’s why this limo’s only got a few front-facing seats back there. It’s not even a party limo or anything. Kind of a waste of money in Rey’s book, but then again, she’s not paying.
Rey inches the window down just enough for her to stick her hand out and wave the real limo driver’s badge. Ben’s too far away to see the picture on it.
He exchanges a few words and a laugh with the lead singer and heads on over to Rey’s limo, swinging the door open and climbing in. The little window between the front and back of the limo, Rey had left it cracked open. Ben smells like weed and cigarettes and sweat.
“Head out,” he says. In the rear view mirror he’s all pale white skin and shadow, his nose drawing a crooked line down his face. He’s pulling his hair back into a low bun and it gives Rey a nice look at his arms. Thick.
Rey could just…she could just pass out right now. She’s never been so close to him before, even when she had front row tickets.
But she has a plan to follow, so she follows it. Shivers crawl under her skin as Rey hits the all-door lock button. She tested her janky wire job three times before she drove off the limo car lot. Hopefully nothing got knocked loose on the ride over here, and the back door child locks engage like they should.
Ben doesn’t notice a thing. He’s sprawled out in the backseat and staring wanly out the window. As Rey eases them out into traffic, her eyes dart from the road to the mirror, running laps over Ben’s jaw and neck.
He’s going to love her, she just knows it. He has to. And even if he doesn’t…well, he will. They’re meant for each other.
It takes about ten minutes for her to get to the alley she’d picked out. Turns aren’t too sharp, but it’s well hidden from the main road.
It’s only when she comes to a complete stop and pulls the parking brake that Ben says, “What the hell are you doing?”
Rey hits a button and the glass barrier between them slides all the way open.
“Did you fucking hear—”
Then the gun barrel’s in his face, eye to eyeball.
“Don’t move unless I say.” Rey practiced for hours in the mirror how to make her face look cold and mean, how to put some steel in her voice. She says everything exactly how she’d rehearsed, and never mind the bright bubbles of excitement crowding behind her ribs. “Hand me your phones, all of them. Go slow when you do it.”
Ben stares at her, not at the gun. He slips his hand inside his pocket and pulls out a phone. Rey takes it with her free hand.
She nods the gun, gesturing. “And the other one. Please.”
“I only have one phone,” he says in a tired voice. Very practiced, very neat.
“I don’t think so,” she says. “I think you’ve got a second one in your back pocket.”
One for work and one for personal life stuff. Rey got that from an interview on late night TV. She’s done her research.
Ben shifts his jaw and sighs, sliding the phone from his back pocket.
Rey has him hand over his keys. His pocket knife, which ends up being a lot bigger than she’d expected. His wallet, but that one’s just for fun, not because he’ll be able to use it to attack her or anything. She tucks it in her jacket pocket, and the rest get tossed in the center console.
He looks calm as ever. Maybe he sees it in her eyes, that she’s no ordinary criminal. Maybe he’s even a little curious and wants to know more about this odd girl.
Or maybe not. Rey, she just can’t stop thinking about how it’ll feel to touch him. How his skin is so real and solid.
“Put this on.” Her voice doesn’t shake, even though she feels shaky. Rey tosses him a black strip of cloth. “Over your eyes, I mean. Tie it tight so you can’t see.”
He sifts the cloth through his thick fingers and looks at her. “Where are you taking me?” he asks in a low voice.
“Put it on like I said.”
So he does, knotting it tight at the back of his head. No tricks. Then Rey has him hold his arms out in front of him so she can handcuff his wrists. It’s hard to do with one hand, but she doesn’t dare let go of the gun yet.
His wrist, where her hand brushes it, the skin is warm.
“No yelling,” she tells him. “I’ll shoot if you yell.”
He just sits there facing straight forward, not making one move. Hands in loose fists on his lap, with the chain connecting them.
Up close like this he looks stronger than Rey’d thought. The handcuffs could be a toy. She should’ve bought thicker ones, heavier duty ones. Maybe she’ll snap an extra pair on him once they get home.
Rey adjusts the rear view mirror so she can see him better and pulls out of the alleyway. They drive another fifteen minutes or so to where she’d parked her truck behind this family-owned hardware store with no cameras out back.
That’s where she’ll dump the limo. Probably the cops are already looking for it. That limo driver she knocked out, he’s probably blabbing about how she bamboozled him.
With the gun pressed to the back of his neck, Ben does exactly as she tells him to. He gets out of the car and quietly walks where Rey pushes him. She has quite the time of it getting him into the truck cab without him bumping anything.
Time is ticking. Rey imagines police sirens screaming her way.
Once he’s seated and buckled, Rey hooks his handcuffs to a chain she rigged up that runs beneath the seat, so he can’t lift his arms up from his lap more than an inch. Sitting up front with her, he’s probably going to be tempted towards some funny business, and Rey doesn’t want any of that.
She climbs in and pulls off his blindfold. He’s just as impassive as before, with only his eyes roaming around the truck interior to give away any interest.
There was no reason to put the blindfold on him in the first place. It was just that Rey didn’t think she could handle him staring at her back there. It’d mess up her concentration, and then maybe she’d get in a wreck.
But her truck doesn’t have dark mirror windows. And people will definitely call the cops on her truck if they see someone blindfolded in here.
Rey waggles the gun so Ben notices it, loosely pointing it at him. “I have to put this away to drive, but don’t get any ideas. You try to signal anyone outside or attack me, anything like that, and you’re done. Okay?”
Ben leans his head back against the seat. “Yeah.”
Reaching past the gun with her other hand, Rey brushes her knuckles along his cheek. Ben doesn’t flinch. He’s a lot warmer than she is. She likes it.
“Be good,” she mutters, “and I won’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.”
He keeps his eyes straight ahead and nods very slightly. There’s no tension in him at all.
The trip ahead of them is long. Several hours, assuming Rey keeps to the speed limit exactly, which she does. They drive until they hit the city limits, and then just keep on driving. Soon it’s nothing but road and desert.
Rey’s got a close eye on the gas gauge that’s inching towards Empty. She’s pretty sure she calculated it right, but it wouldn’t be good if she went and ran out of gas while they were still on the highway.
Aside from that lingering stress, though, everything’s working out perfect.
Rey’s been planning this for years, ever since she started public high school after being taught by her parents for nearly her entire life. She made friends, then more friends. And one of those friends showed her Stages of Grief.
Originally her plans weren’t always so…kidnappy. You know how kids are. They look at some bee-eff-dee rock star and imagine their scroungy fourteen year old selves getting front row tickets to a concert. The people around them sway, and the guy, the super hot, super rad bass guitarist with a movie star face, he looks down at that front row of girls and he’s like holy shit, there’s the love of my life.
It doesn’t happen that way. The tickets are pretty much always mid at best, and the crowd of people is always way too fucking loud and way too fucking tall. The rock star doesn’t see the girl. He doesn’t see anyone, just blaring hot lights and his own set notes scotch-taped to the floor.
So you try to get them alone some other time, like with backstage passes. But Rey didn’t have access to that kind of money, and by the time she did, she was smart enough to know that if she went that route, she would just be another face to be dealt with. Just cash in the hand. He would never really look at her, no chance.
The road stretches long with just the occasional passing headlights for a change of pace. Rey flips on her favorite CD of Ben’s to fill the silence.
Ben doesn’t react to anything. His eyes don’t leave the road, not that Rey sees.
Instead of pouring her part-time job money into backstage passes and jacked-up merch, Rey poured it into a savings account until it was enough to get her that retro garbage RV. The truck had been a graduation gift from her parents.
She pretended to go to college so they’d let her stay at the house rent-free. Instead she worked, and side-hustled, and she stocked that RV with whatever she thought she’d need. It stayed in a storage facility so her parents didn’t even know it existed. Nobody knew except her.
She didn’t buy the gun until after she ran out on her parents. The same guy who sold black market guns with the serial numbers scratched off, he sold her some bunk plates for the truck and RV.
It was all way, way easier than she thought it’d be.
Several miles before the turn off, Rey thinks better of leaving Ben all his senses. It’s just caution, but she pulls over to the side of the road and wraps the blindfold around Ben’s eyes again. He doesn’t complain.
“You can take a nap,” she tells him. “We still have a while to go.” She pats him on the shoulder and resists the urge to let her hand linger.
None of it feels real to her yet. Like if she goes too far with him too soon, he’ll just disappear in a puff of cigarette smoke.
Rey makes the turn onto the rough gravel road, and there’s no other car around to see. If that highway was in the middle of nowhere, then they’re heading into the end of nowhere.
She has to drive slow on the gravel. This is the most tedious part of the whole thing, but if she goes too fast it might mess up her truck.
Miles pass.
They wind around the low desert hills and finally Rey gets to her marker. It’s just a stripe of reflective tape wrapped around an ocotillo branch. Hardly anyone else would notice it, even if this road weren’t long abandoned.
She turns just after the bush and puts her high beams on. No one from the main road will be able to see, as they’re too far out and there’s enough hills between them and the road. Rey urges the truck slowly past all kinds of desert plants, some scratching at the paint where she has to squeeze by. She knows the way by heart.
An hour or more later, the shabby striped exterior of her RV comes into view. Rey parks and before she does anything else, she hops out and hides the truck keys in the wheel well of the RV.
She keeps the blindfold on Ben so he has to rely on her as she leads him across the rocky ground and through the side door. He’s so tall she has to make him crouch through the doorway.
A nudge here and there, and then she’s got Ben sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the black of the blindfold.
She considers keeping the gun on her, but decides against it and sticks it in the narrow area behind the sink. It’s a sneaky spot she made herself, and when you place the slats back it looks pretty much seamless. No one would ever find it unless she pointed it out, she’s almost positive.
Worst case scenario, something goes wrong—he goes nuts and overpowers her—and even with those handcuffs on he’ll be dangerous. It would be a total nightmare if the gun fell into his hands. She can’t let that happen. Without the gun in play, she’ll still have a chance. Rey’s got a lot of tricks up her sleeve.
Her heart’s hammering like bam-bam-bam. He’s really here.
She just watches him in the dark for a while, sitting over there on the bed with his feet planted wide and his hands clasped in his lap as if this were a job interview or something. His bun is a little mussed, and he’s got dirt on his pants.
He’s all hers. Hers and nobody else’s.