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You scoff and stay lounged in the sand. When she starts groaning at the rumble of her speeder’s gears, you drag yourself back to your own.

You look into your speeder and, glaring, ignore the bandages on your wrist and fingers. They remind you to slow down, but you jab your hand into the engine regardless. These things are rusted to the bone – luck will have you with pulled threads at best. Lottery-lucky will see you back at your burrow with only a few cuts.

You become delicately focused on the dark pit. It’s been mostly picked clean of anything useful

You sit so focused that you don’t notice Rey stop her fiddling to discreetly watch you.

“Are you mad?” she teases.

You aren’t mad.

Swear it!

“Mad?” And scoff out a chuckle. “Why would I be mad?” There’s a certain restricting quality in your voice. It could have fooled her if she knew you weren’t so good at this. You’re charming – there’s no point in lying – and you’re slick. She wonders how long she went being unable to tell when you were mad. Maybe that’s why at a certain point when she could tell, she assumed you were newly erratic.

No.... she knows you’re mad. And if not ‘mad’ then bothered in some other sense...

You don’t take your eyes off the speeder.

“You mad I told you ‘you ought to learn you place?’” She mocks a pout.

You purse your lips and shake your head. “Nope.” Grunting “Just focused!” you wave your tool with a bare smile to prove it.

For seconds she doubts her suspicion. Just seconds.

She sits her knees up so she can rest your arms. And when you think she’s looking away she spots a tiny curl of your lips. She can hear something too: your manic, breathy chuckle.

Ready to call you out on it, she remembers something.

She hasn’t mentioned the kiss since that night.

And you do hold grudges.

You lounged in bed the morning after, though significantly energetic considering the circumstances (headache, swollen eye, your many aches and bruises).

Meanwhile she trekked through your humble home, insistent on leaving as soon as possible.

Today she was to work, and you were to rest.

You hummed along to her objectives and watched her pack her things.

“I’m going back to yesterday’s spot.”

“Is that so?” you mewled like a parent amusing their eager child. “Well if you do, see if you can make a trip to the Graveyard.” She nodded without question.

You tested her further. “Maybe look for uh...afterburners?”

“Afterburners?” she cried with a chuckle. “What has you making that request?”

You shrugged. “No reason I just think it might be handy to have afterburners just in case…?”

Not looking very convinced, she pulled on her pack and nodded. “You got it.”

She left you home to your own devices.

You don’t have many devices, that’s the problem. You came out here where you are now. You packed nothing but a ration, a half-empty canteen, and sighed toward the vastness.

The speeders were still there. You ran your palm along the rust and checked them out so you could be on the lookout for appropriate parts in the coming days.

She got home to see you lying in bed and properly taken care of, lazing around as she assumed you had most of the day, and definitely untouched by the scorching sun.

It was only for her – you promised you would rest.

Anything else about the speeders you kept your mouth shut.

“Do you uhm…” you click your tongue and pull out a small part, “have one of these?” As she furrows her brows, it appears no, she does not.

You spare her a look and she tenses in preparation for when you chose to enact your spontaneous arrival. You have that way of sneaking up on her. She thinks she can see you in the corner of her eye, yet you come around the corner too fast for her liking every time.

Then you’re sat by her, your sides touching as you lean to push the part in. It fits like a puzzle-piece.

You blink. Luck has a habit of grazing her.

And you giggle “Kriff,” to try and hide your frustration. “Yours is…good...pretty good. Your engine is -- I mean.” She watches you with the awe that arises when seeing someone who enjoys what they’re doing – and someone who does it good too.

Your speeder is busted. It would take more time to scavenge and fix it than the time it would save travelling once it gets up and running.

Hers though is put together. Startlingly.

“Hmm...” you swipe along your chin.

She worries with “What?”

“Yours is pretty good..." You scratch the back of your neck. Of course it was her luck to pick this one. “Really good. The only problem is the container, but the parts are…” you sigh, “real nice…”

She muses “Is that so?”

You look at her. You’re sitting close. She looks proud of you. For once she’s gazing at how the sun hits yourface and how your eyes twinkle

“Yes,” you nod, “That is so.”

Suddenly you hope up and her chance is gone, and she’s a little more alone. What she would have done with that ‘chance’ is curious even to her.

You head to your speeder and yank out everything you can, grunting and sniffling when the job’s done. Never mind the scrapes on your hand or the tears in your bandages, and never mind Rey’s confused, slightly horrified face as you scoop up everything and sit with her again.

She doesn’t budge from her seat. Guess your knees are doomed to touch.

This time it’s her treat.

She snatches your wrist and scoffs “What are you doing?”

She revels in the touch, but winces when feeling the cuts. This time it’s you who doesn’t take notice.

You can’t pry your mind away from a project once it’s latched on. Rey believes it to be a blessing and a curse. While she admires your drive, she often admonishes you to stop obsessing over it in the middle of the night.

You smirk. “I’m building you a speeder.”

Ugh! As I wrote this I realized it has potential to fit mighty nice up against The Force Awakens. Imagine scavenger!reader and Finn being gay having to chaperone their dumbass partners who have a “saving people” thing. UGH!