Under Wraps - A Reylo Fic - Chapter Four
Summary: After the lightsaber splits, Kylo wakes up first. He escapes with Rey on Snoke’s shuttle, though he could never imagine what that decision will lead them to discover about one another.
Rating: Teen for now. Explicit later on.
Notes: Work is complete and will upload every Wednesday/Sunday. Check it out on AO3 for a list of tags.
Links: AO3 - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -|| FF - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -
"Leave your ghosts to rot with their corpses."
Rey's eyes lock with his. His clipped words attempt to cut the strings tying her to a past he feels she should destroy. Care wields the shears in a delicate clasp, in the gentleness of his voice, but the sharp gaze fixed on her slices like a blade.
She will not be rendered apart. She will not unfurl in ribbons.
Rey inhales deeply, holding on to the air for as long as she can before releasing it on a shaky breath. Compose or combust, she recites to herself. It's a mantra that's helped her out of sticky situations more than once.
She picks at the woven threads which fray at the end of her right wrap. What does he think of the marks he's uncovered? Can she open herself up to him? How will his perception of her change once he knows the full story?
On Jakku, and in the Blobfish's eyes, Rey had not been a person, but property - only as good as what she could salvage, only as valuable as the profits she accrued. Using her quick mind and taking advantage of what luck came her way, Rey had proven her worth to the junk trader and the other scavengers.
Maybe if he knew what he was asking me to forget. . .she thinks, deciding.
Tugging at the stiff fabric, Rey pulls it down until the two thickest bands encircling her bicep show: principle and interest. The top ring, as thick as her thumb, is the color of rust. The one underneath, just a hair thinner, is a dusty sepia. Over time, the lines have stretched and faded, the lack of expertise in their application more than noticeable. Then again, she hadn't been a very willing recipient at the time.
Rey touches the tattoos, contemplating her words. "The sum my parents bartered for me was branded on my arm the day they flew off."
She swore she wouldn't, yet the tears appear despite her wishes. When she casts her eyes over his face, she sees that water glasses his expression too.
"You were a child." His voice is low, infuriated.
A flare of his rage licks up the curve of her ears, leaving them red. Rey can't stop her hand from tearing away the rest of the linen, exposing every line beneath. She needs to share the whole story, to give him resolution. "Every year, the tallies were marked," she explains.
More than the etchings she'd made in her AT-AT, the rings on her arms reminded her of how many years had passed. Her debt collector never missed a due date: Unkar had been nothing if not punctual.
"It was hard to salvage enough for portions," Rey goes on, "let alone pay off a debt. There were limited ways for a person to earn credits."
Fear spikes in her chest, corresponding with his panicked thoughts. His mind cycles through images of her: scared and alone and unclothed. His panic ebbs into anger as he visualizes hands reaching for her from dark corners. The upsetting imaginations float unwanted in her mind.
Her hands close over his fists where they strangle the sheet, clawing crescent moons into his skin. The brief violence cuts off the offensive inaccuracies he's picturing, though she understands why Kylo would leap to such conclusions.
She corrects his assumption: "I learned to repair ships to earn extra."
The breath he releases disturbs the wisps of hair framing her face. Relief washes over him in a way the Force makes tangible for her.
His hands turn underneath hers, resting palm-to-palm. Free of the unwelcome thoughts, he assesses the rings again, especially those circling her wrist. Rey knows why they've caught his attention. While the others steadily decrease in size, scaling down as she'd chipped away at her debt, these are just as thick as the ones she started with.
"What happened here?" he asks, his thumb rubbing over the area.
Her body turns traitor at the motion. Small bumps erupt over her flesh, hairs prickling at the electric sensation of his touch.
Rey jerks away, but it's too late: curious amber eyes are already darting back and forth between her arm and the nervous way she's biting her lip.
She tries to play off the recoil and circles her fingers around her wrist, twisting them as if she can scrub away the ink. "Jakku is rife with danger. One careless step can kill you," Rey illustrates without revealing the whole story; the lesson she learned years ago still haunts her. "I survived, but I couldn't haul any scrap for months. I needed a loan."
She had fallen into the cycle that had claimed so many other scavengers: working themselves to the bone, endlessly hungry, trying to buy back their freedom, believing they could. . .only to have it ripped away because of an accident or illness. Jakku ate the weak.
In some small way, she supposes Unkar's generosity had saved her, even if it meant crushing her with debt. He'd wanted to break her, to show her she'd never crawl out from under the shadow of his trade stand.
The Blobfish had underestimated the depth of her stubborn streak. "After that, I was more determined than ever to pay back my price," Rey continues.
She yanks on the tie of her left arm wrap, uncoiling the cloth in rapid time. These tattoos are mismatched with those on her right; they start out just as thick but quickly thin. The saturation is deeper, the lines less jagged. The sepia-colored rings fade with each tally, disappearing completely before they reach her elbow. The rust-colored lines that continue after are so thin they almost look like bracelets.
Halfway to her wrist, the lines vanish altogether.
She smiles at the pride in his voice, but it falters when she remembers the bittersweet moment Unkar closed out her account.
"Nothing changed," she mutters, pinching her fingers together in agitation. "I had my freedom, but I was still stuck on Jakku, still trading for rations, still just surviving."
