Drabbletag 7 - Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Rey/Phasma
Title: Salvage
Fandom: Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Pairing: Rey/Phasma
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Drabbletag7, Phasma/Rey - shine
Word count: 250
Summary: Rey finds something interesting in the desert
"Could get a fair price for this," Rey says, turning the helmet over in her hands as her unexpected guest watches. It gleams in the light, clean lines and chrome. Rey hates the Order like all scavengers do, reflexively, but it's hard to deny beauty when she sees it.
The wounded woman barks a laugh, contemptuous. Even without her armor, reduced to bandages and pain, she's imposing - tall and powerful, all muscle, glacial eyes.
"And everyone would know who you stole it from," she says, not bothering to hide the threat. "Are you expecting a reward for this?"
"No," says Rey. She figures it's like the story of the sand-rat and the Rancor. Those things don't feel gratitude. Still, she shrugs and says, "It's good armor. I could have found a buyer."
Could have left you to die.
The woman lies back with a pained grunt, hands folded over her bloodstained stomach, and Rey thinks she's sleeping until she lifts her head and says, "There's a credit chip in my gauntlet. Buy some bacta, and food that doesn't taste like reconstituted waste."
After a moment, she adds, "Enough for two."
.
Those things don't feel gratitude, but Rey learns how to wash blood from an enemy's bare skin, and what it's like to feel an enemy's hand close around her wrist and find the rough touch welcome; it's hard to deny beauty, harder to deny loneliness, and in the emptiness of the desert, allegiances don't matter.
She doesn't sell the armor.
Fandom: Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Pairing: Rey/Phasma
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Drabbletag7, Phasma/Rey - shine
Word count: 250
Summary: Rey finds something interesting in the desert
"Could get a fair price for this," Rey says, turning the helmet over in her hands as her unexpected guest watches. It gleams in the light, clean lines and chrome. Rey hates the Order like all scavengers do, reflexively, but it's hard to deny beauty when she sees it.
The wounded woman barks a laugh, contemptuous. Even without her armor, reduced to bandages and pain, she's imposing - tall and powerful, all muscle, glacial eyes.
"And everyone would know who you stole it from," she says, not bothering to hide the threat. "Are you expecting a reward for this?"
"No," says Rey. She figures it's like the story of the sand-rat and the Rancor. Those things don't feel gratitude. Still, she shrugs and says, "It's good armor. I could have found a buyer."
Could have left you to die.
The woman lies back with a pained grunt, hands folded over her bloodstained stomach, and Rey thinks she's sleeping until she lifts her head and says, "There's a credit chip in my gauntlet. Buy some bacta, and food that doesn't taste like reconstituted waste."
After a moment, she adds, "Enough for two."
.
Those things don't feel gratitude, but Rey learns how to wash blood from an enemy's bare skin, and what it's like to feel an enemy's hand close around her wrist and find the rough touch welcome; it's hard to deny beauty, harder to deny loneliness, and in the emptiness of the desert, allegiances don't matter.
She doesn't sell the armor.