Rebelcaptain + "my one night stand is actually my child's teacher and now back to school night is awkward"
Less of a one night stand and more of a “holy shit I’ve never connected with anyone this much and it was just a random convo in a bar that turned into a midnight walk now what” thing BUT STILL.
(Also, to anyone interested: I hardcore headcanon Rey as autie-spec so just. Deal, I suppose.)
“No,” says Jyn, without looking up from her phone.
Finn scoffs. “You don’t even know what I have.”
“I know it’s a no.”
“You suck,” says Finn, but he puts it back, whatever it is. “It’s a party. Parties mean cake.”
“And you’ve had three pieces.” She peers at him through her bangs. “I’m not paying for fillings, Finn.”
“I don’t need fillings,” says Finn. “And I’ve had two pieces.”
“You’ve had three,” says Jyn, in the don’t push me voice, and Finn just scoffs. Finn’s never been scared of her the way other foster kids have been. She must not be all that intimidating, considering his situation. “I’ve been keeping track. So has Rey.”
Rey, sitting in the chair next to Jyn, offers a fist bump. Jyn knocks their knuckles together, and goes back to her emails.
“You’re killing my game,” says Finn.
“Since when do you have game?” says Rey, and there they go. It’s more soothing than anything, to be honest. Rey and Finn never actually fight—they bicker, but they’ve never been angry at each other that Jyn’s seen, not in the full year since she took them on, and so the pair of them playing snap and snarl just means occasionally reaching out and snagging Rey by the back of her uniform skirt to keep her from bouncing right off her feet.
Rey’s overstimulated, she thinks. Finn’s tired. Jyn’s done. Her patience with this event ran out about five minutes after it started, but parent participation is a big thing here, and if she leaves people will notice. Sitting in the corner going through her emails, at least, is more acceptable. And it keeps people from asking if she’s really the mother of the Juvenile Hall Hell Twins.
She turns her phone on sleep mode by accident, and swears.
“Can we go?” Rey flops into the seat next to her again, draws her knee up to her chest. Another mother hisses when Rey’s skirt slips up to her hips, and Jyn absently nudges at her leg, knocks her foot back to the floor. “My head hurts.”
“Do you have the stuff?”
“Bag,” says Jyn, without looking up, and Rey drags Jyn’s messenger bag out from under the chair to find the fidget cube and her noise-canceling headphones. “If I meet one more idiot I’m going to stab them.”
Finn says, “Don’t do that.”
“Make me,” says Jyn, and taps him in the ankle with the toe of her shoe. “You finish the list?”
“Everybody but Mr. A,” says Finn, happily. Jyn taps Rey on the shoulder, flashes five fingers—five minutes—and then shoves her phone back into her pocket. “He said he couldn’t come, but I saw him over there, he’s the last.”
“Is this the sweaters one or the blind one?”
“Sweaters,” says Finn. “He always has great sweaters.”
“So you’ve said.” She’s not entirely sure if Finn has a crush on his—chemistry?—teacher, or if he’s just starry-eyed about the sweaters themselves, but she’s sure she’s heard the name Mr. A being tossed around the living room once or twice. Though it might have been in context of Finn getting detention. She can’t quite remember. “Go say hi, then.”
Jyn looks at him, and lifts one eyebrow.
“Jyn,” says Finn. “C’mon.”
“I said one more idiot.”
“Mr. A isn’t an idiot.” Finn, thirteen and suddenly remembering that, gropes for words. “He’s—weird. He’s kinda weird.”
“He’s your kinda weird.”
“Nobody’s my kind of weird,” says Jyn. “And I don’t need dating advice from a kid who eats three pieces of cake in fifteen minutes and then swears it has no effect on his game.”
“Oh my god,” says Finn, and when she nudges him with her elbow he rocks back and forth like she’s shoved him off a cliff. “C’mon. Please?”
Pros and cons don’t take long. Pro: get it done, get out faster. Con: make yet another enemy of your foster son’s fleet of teachers. Not that it’s hard. “Fine,” says Jyn. “Where?”
Finn’s smile could battery power the sun, she thinks. Add that to the list of pros.
There’s a knot of teachers over by the buffet table (picked clean by middle school-aged, humanoid crows), all gaggled together and laughing and whispering about private school education things that make Jyn’s teeth go on edge. Finn melts away from her about halfway between her wallflower position and the table, slips into the labyrinth to go root out his teacher—biology? Lit? I don’t remember—and Jyn drags the phone back out. Two emails from Bodhi, those she’s already read, a bunch of texts from Saw, one or two from Mara, and—
“This is my mom,” says Finn, in the stumbly way he has when he’s excited, and Jyn looks up from her phone to correct him when she stops.
Sweaters, yeah. Sweaters, and dark eyes, and a surprised little O to his mouth, and Jyn wants to die. He looks almost the same as he did four years—four? Four—ago, just slightly better put together. Not quite as disheveled as a last year uni student balancing on the edge of a sidewalk at two in the morning, laughing like he’s never met anybody as funny, pressing a scrap of paper into her hand.
Call me, please. Please.
She still has the number, somewhere. She’d never picked up the phone.
Cassian’s eyes flicker, and then his face closes down. A small thin smile settles like an angry cat on his mouth. “You’re Finn and Rey’s mother.”
“Foster-mother,” says Jyn, through tacky lips, and looks at the hand he offers, wondering if there’s a bomb in it. Finally, she takes it, shakes once. “Jyn. Erso.”
Finn, oblivious, rolls his eyes. “Mom.”
“I don’t know who Mom is,” says Jyn. Her tongue is numb. “I’m Jyn.”
“Jyn, come on.” He fidgets with his blazer. “She doesn’t like to be called Mom, I told you. She said she’s too young to have two thirteen year olds.”
“And I am,” says Jyn.
Finn pokes his tongue out at her.
“It’s good to finally meet you,” says Cassian. There’s a hint of something in his face that she can’t make out without a shot of vodka and traipsing through Islington past midnight because last call sounded and they still had too much to say. “Finn and Rey both have a lot to say about you.”
“And they talk a lot about you, too,” says Jyn. She wants to die. “You’re—”
“My history teacher,” says Finn. His eyes have begun to narrow.
“Rey’s in my homeroom class,” says Cassian at the same time. Oh, God, fuck, God, fuck, fuck me, fuck— “We’ll probably be meeting up again in a few weeks. Parent-teacher events.”
Please, someone, vaporize me right now. “Right,” says Jyn, and looks down at her phone in her hand. She’s surprised she hasn’t dropped it. “Finn, I think Rey’s had enough. We should probably go.”
“Yeah,” says Finn. He gives her one last beady look. “Sure.”
“Good to meet you,” says Jyn. Again.
“Pleasure,” says Cassian, and shoves his hand back into the pocket of his wooly jumper. “I’m sure.”