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Permission Slip

Summary:

Contrary to popular belief, field trips were the bane of Rey Kenobi’s teaching existence. At least, they had been-- then little Logan Solo volunteered his dad to help chaperone, and suddenly, there's not enough field trips in the world for her third grade class.

 

Based on @reylo_prompts post: "Curious Cat prompt: Ben is the single parent of a child in Rey's elementary school class, and he works flexible hours, so he always volunteers for class trips. The kids ship them."

For @Trixie_Ren

Notes:

Another So Dad(Dy) Ben Solo fic for your woes and mine 😉. Thank you so much for reading!!❤️

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, field trips were the bane of Rey Kenobi’s existence.

 

Well, perhaps not the actual trips. In her five years of teaching third grade at Chandrila Elementary, seeing the wonder in her students’ eyes as they explored principles they learned in class was rewarding in itself. 

 

However, organizing these trips? Absolute hell.

 

Rey knew that it wasn’t anyone’s fault in particular that she had been heading up the field trip committee since she took over for Ms. Kanata, but each year, there was something different to fret over.

 

Her first year, it had been funding. Public school funding was always something of a running joke among her colleagues, but there was nothing as nerve-wracking as not having enough money for a trip the kids were so looking forward to, especially after permission slips and the accompanying money were already collected. 

 

Rey didn’t know if she could stomach the smell of chocolate-chip cookies anymore when she thought back to the last-ditch bake sale she had put together for that year, but they had managed.

 

The next year, it had been a question of how many trips. The next, how many teachers could go. The year after that, it was funding again, though, that time, thank the baking gods, some wealthy donor had stepped in and promised money for the next two years. (She still didn’t know who L.O.S. was, but she owed them her sanity for the generous gift.)

 

Which brought her to this year: not enough parents volunteered to chaperone. As someone who worked with children, Rey understood that parents were busy. Work-life balance was something she still struggled with, and she was able to send “her” kids home at the end of the day. She couldn’t imagine the juggling act some of her students’ families were doing on the daily, and she wasn’t about to throw another item into their already crowded hands if she could help it.

 

So, yes, when little Logan Solo had piped up at the beginning of the week and volunteered his father as a chaperone for the rest of the year, she may have shed a few grateful tears. 

 

True, she had made sure to tell Logan to bring back the permission slip with his father’s signature to make sure that the older Solo knew he was getting himself into (she still remembers how Armitage Hux, her fourth grade counterpart, swore that he had sold his soul to hell when he had agreed to partner up for a field trip two years ago, and she didn’t much care for the indirect she-devil implication, thank you very much)....but it would be foolish to underplay her relief that it wouldn’t just be her, Mr. Dameron from across the hall, Dameron’s husband Finn, and little Brienne Phasma’s mother trying to corral forty-five kids on Friday’s trip to the aquarium. 

 

Never mind the fact that she hadn’t actually met Mr. Solo yet. Logan, even though his brown eyes sparkled with mischief, his smile currently missing a bottom front tooth, was a good kid. True, it was only November, but she didn’t have a reason to call Mr. Solo in for a conversation about the child’s grades or behavior.

 

For that alone, she probably counted Logan’s dad among her favorite parents this year… and not just because he had Logan’s grandmother drop off a bottle of wine emblazoned with a label of “My kid is probably why you drink,” complete with a picture of Logan hamming it up. (It was a very good cabernet sauvignon though, and it had gotten her through grading several cursive exercises.) 

 

Logan had returned with the permission slip on Tuesday, an extra note jotted down under Mr. Solo’s signature (which, to Rey’s relief, wasn’t written in pencil or resembled Logan’s sloppy scrawl). “I’m a freelancer who always has Fridays off. Just let me know when the field trips are, and I’ll be there.”

 

Oh, Mr. Solo was definitely her favorite person in the world right now, and she told Logan to tell his dad as much. As he raced out of the classroom for recess that day, she had considered asking the eight-year-old about his guardian, but then shelved the thought. It didn’t really matter what Mr. Solo was like-- he could be old, wrinkled and senile as long as he helped out with field trips. 

 

Maybe that thought, that decision to envision Mr. Solo as older, would be her fatal mistake. No, scratch that: it was her fatal mistake, because when little Logan Solo walked in early Friday morning, his father in tow, Rey hadn’t been prepared to forget how to breathe. For a moment, she forgot how to operate a raincoat’s zipper, much to the confusion of nine-year-old Bradley Wexley, owner of said raincoat. She had never expected to be the type to have a literal child wave their hand in her face, chanting her name in growing confusion, but there she was at 7:36 a.m.

 

She wasn’t sure how old she had expected Mr. Solo to be, but she could easily say that he was much younger than she thought he’d be. And maybe much too attractive than he had any right to be, for being the parent of one of her students. Whiskey-colored eyes glanced at her and then away, back to Logan, with whom he shared a similar mop of dark wavy hair. 

 

He seemed to have a great smile, even if it was currently small, more akin to a smirk, and there were beauty spots dotting his face, like angels had kissed him. ( Angels? Really, you doofus? She’d ask herself later, but she still stood by it.)

 

To top that all off, of course , he had to be broad-shouldered, strong looking, a dark button down tucked into blue jeans under his leather jacket, and Rey had to thank the gods and little Bradley Wexley that she was already stooping to help with that stupid tiny raincoat zipper, because her knees would have buckled under her. 

 

Shit. She straightened up, tried to keep her eyes averted, tried to busy herself, turning to her desk, but that didn’t change the fact that she was very well aware Mr. Solo was on his way over, a grinning Logan leading the way. 

 

This field trip just got harder for a completely different reason, and Rey wasn’t quite sure if she was as grateful as she had been literally five minutes prior. 

 

Field trips: as always, the bane of her teaching existence. Typical.

 


 

“Guess what Miss Kenobi is like,” Logan’s voice was demanding but playful in the backseat of the car, and Ben peeked at his son via the rearview mirror and smirked.

 

This was a common game for them, and maybe the easiest way to get Logan to share about his day. Ben couldn’t remember when the game had started, or how, much like he couldn’t remember what life was like before he became a parent right out of college, but he did know that it was Logan’s favorite.

 

“Hmmm, let me see,” he mused, following the curve of the road and pausing at a stop sign. “Is she grandma’s age?”

 

The boy giggled, shaking his head as he fiddled with his lunchbox. “Younger.”

 

“Oh, so she’s definitely forty-two,” Ben insisted with confidence, his son shrieking with laughter. 

 

“No!”

 

By the time they pulled into the elementary school parking lot, Ben had guessed that Miss Kenobi had a cat, that she was actually the tooth fairy, and that she could wiggle her nose. The only guess his son hadn’t rejected was the fairy one, a theory that Logan conceded was a possibility, seeing that his teacher had put his newly lost tooth into a special bag and sealed it with a bit of fairy dust and a special note to his dad just the week before.

 

Still, there wasn’t enough time for Logan to correct his dad as he now lead him down the fall and to the blue and purple fish decorated door of his classroom.

 

The last time Ben Solo had come into contact with a third grade teacher, it had been Ms. Maz Kanata some twenty-two years ago. (Logan would argue that, since “Uncle” Poe was a third grade teacher, it had been much sooner, but Ben disagreed. He had gone to college with Poe, and could not compromise the image of frat king, keg-standing Poe “The Pilot” Dameron with the supposedly professional Mr. Dameron.)

 

Was it maybe silly of him to assume that the Miss Kenobi his son wouldn’t stop talking about was a matron, like Ms. Kanata? Definitely, but he hadn’t known that until two minutes ago, when he walked into the classroom and nearly choked on his tongue. 

 

In his defense, there wasn’t a way for him to know that Miss Kenobi was twenty-five or twenty-six and totally gorgeous.

 

 Logan, understandably, since he was more interested in Legos and Galaxy Battles, had never waxed poetic on his teacher’s looks. True, at many dinners and multiple after-school drives, his mini-me had noted that Miss Kenobi was “really pretty” and “super smart,” but he used the same qualifiers to describe his grandmother.

 

Ben shut his eyes for a moment, tried to will a mistake in the universe, for an actual matron to walk into the room and the beautiful woman with the freckles and hazel eyes to be a teaching assistant or something. Anything to make him feel even the slightest better about practically drooling over the woman surrounded by eight and nine-year-olds. 

 

Instead, the universe seemed to point and laugh at him, his son tugging on his hand and huffing at him exasperated. “ C’mon , dad! You said you wanted to meet Miss Kenobi!”

 

Had he said that? Maybe he had. But when? 

 

Ben wracked his brain, tried to remember. He had missed parent-teacher conferences in October due to a strenuous deadline at the tech company he worked at, so it wouldn’t surprise him if he had promised his son to finally meet the woman who made the eight-year-old love science more than chicken nuggets and Saturday morning cartoons.

 

Really, that had been his downfall-- wanting to spend more time with his kid and seeing him enjoy learning. Something sentimental and maybe laughable, considering how STEM had basically ruled his life up until two years ago. Sure, he considered himself a freelancer, but it had taken forever to be in a stable point in his career. Now he had a contract, had health benefits and a 401K with the company. The stability didn’t change the fact that his schedule was now far more flexible… nor did it change the fact that it’s what led him to this odd moment in time, at the mercy of a bunch of third-graders and their teacher. 

 

He let his son drag him along, darting between the tiny desks that barely came to his knees it seemed, to the larger desk, where Miss Kenobi was flipping through papers, probably trying to find an attendance sheet. He wasn’t sure where he should focus: if he focused on her feet, his eyes would drift up to her legs, which seemed to go on for days, which would lead his eyes to her pencil-skirt clad ass…and dear god, he needed to get a grip. 

 

He would not be the single dad perving on the teacher. He refused. Besides, she was probably married, like most third grade teachers were.

 

His eyes darted to her left hand, her ring finger bare. Wrong again. Dammit.

 

“Miss Kenobi!” Logan’s voice seemed louder than usual, and he almost hushed his son, but then Miss Kenobi smiled, and Ben forgot how to use his mouth. Dammit. 

 

She smiled at him shyly, her lips pink, her chestnut hair pulled back in a half up-do. She seemed to be flushing a bit against her dark-red turtleneck, but he was probably imagining things. The heat was turned up rather high for this point in the school year, right? She was probably overheating, like he was. 

 

(Probably for different reasons, but it was fine, right? No harm, no foul as long as he kept his mouth shut.)

 

“This is my dad.” Logan grinned up at the two of them, thankfully oblivious to the internal crisis his old man was going through right now. 

 

His little face grew solemn for a moment, his small hand patting his teacher’s. “I told him that you said thank you for the grape juice he sent for parent meetings and that he’s your favorite person ever.” 

 

Ben heard himself sputter now, his eyes wide as his stare snapped to his son. “Logan!”

 

At the same time, Miss Kenobi tittered nervously, crossing her arms, her face flushed to match her sweater’s hue. “It’s alright-- I did mean it. It helps a lot to have an extra set of eyes on these kids.”

 

“I can imagine,” he mumbled, his son smiling all too widely. “Still, Logan and I have had a few conversations about oversharing and--”

 

“I wasn’t oversharing!” Logan insisted, obstinate. “It’s not like I told her that you guessed that she was forty-two!”

 

Ben wondered, for a moment, if it was too early in the day to find some adult grape juice of his own and drink himself into a stupor. He was starting to understand why his parents didn’t tell him a lot of things when he was Logan’s age.

 

“Honestly, I’d rather be forty-two some days,” Miss Kenobi murmured with a shrug. “Most parents think I’m sixteen.” 

 

“You’re sixteen?” Logan gasped, his eyes bugging out.

 

“Add ten to sixteen and that’s how old I am,” she answered patiently, her eyes lighting up with pride as the boy’s brow furrowed and then smoothed, puffing his chest out.

 

“You’re twenty-six!”

 

“You’re absolutely right,” Rey cooed, and Ben wondered how he hadn’t melted into a puddle yet. Goddammit.

 

“Logan, do you want to go tell Kyle that he’s line leader today? It’s your turn to be the caboose.” With an excited cry, Logan scampered off and Ben looked to his feet.

 

Shit. No more hiding behind his kid. 

 

He jerked his head up at the woman’s hum, found her hand up and offered to him in a handshake. “Hi. You can call me Rey, Mr. Solo.”

 

“Ben,” he blurted, hurriedly accepting her hand, hoping that he wasn’t crushing it in his large palm. “Logan told me a lot about you.”

 

“I’m at a disadvantage then,” Rey mused, her cheeks pinking again. “I mean, not that I need to know more past that you help him with his homework and pack his lunches.”

 

“Right,” he agreed, the two falling into silence for a moment before she shrugged again, plucked up a sheet of paper. 

 

“I should probably do roll. See you on the bus in five?”

 

“I’ll be there,” he assured her, wondering if he could kick the stupid out of the phrase as she turned away, cajoling her class into a straight line by the door.

 

Ben was very aware of Poe’s grin and raised eyebrows when the group emerged from room 104, the other third grade class waiting in the hall. He already knew that Logan’s godfather would taunt him later, say something like “This is what you get for Logan not being in my class this year.”

 

Still, he couldn’t find it in him to regret volunteering, not when Miss Rey’s eyes flickered to him and Logan at the back of the line ...even if it didn’t change the fact that this was about to be the longest bus ride of his damn life.