Log: Angelo/Rachel and Tequila (Backdated)

[x-eidolon.livejournal.com]

It's graduation day, Rachel's birthday and ultimately a day when neither Angelo nor Rachel want to be around happy people. So they set about educating Angelo as to why exactly Rachel should not drink.



It was difficult to relax when your every movement was being watched. Rachel sighed, feet dangling from her perch on one of the garden walls as she listened to the ambient noise of the mansion. All grand plans to spend her birthday curled up in bed with only her thoughts for company had been abandoned upon learning that there was a graduation ceremony going on in the school. That much joy and hope in a single place… it was discomfiting to even think about.

Idle thoughts were abandoned, however, when the sound of footsteps approached, and wary green eyes darted in the direction of the sound.

"Who's there?"

"No one who shouldn't be", a voice answered as Angelo stepped around the wall with a cigarette in his hand - then froze in his tracks, staring at her.

There was no immediate recollection or sharp intake of breaths from her end, but having Angelo stare at her like he had seen a ghost clued Rachel into the fact that the man obviously thought he knew her. So she dug deep and frowned when her memories provided her with a match.

“It’s… kinda rude to stare, y’know,” she finally said, when it became apparent that Angelo wasn’t going to speak.

He jerked his gaze away at the words, looking down. "Sorry. Sorry, Ray. I just... wasn't expecting to see you." Ever again. "And it's, today is, you know... today."

“What? High school graduation?” she joked, hating the way she felt self-conscious and awkward around the alternate version of someone whom she had spent her earliest years with, but knowing that she could not help it. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make light of it. Can’t be easy. Seeing me and all.”

"It's not", he admitted, suddenly finding the gravel at his feet very interesting. "But that's not your fault, you're here, we've all just got to... adjust." Clearly he'd been telling himself that since she arrived.

"It's not", he said frankly. "But that's not your fault, you're here, we've all just got to... adjust."

“Well, hopefully not for long,” she tried for cheerful, but failed almost miserably and she had to turn away to avoid looking at him. “I should be gone once, y’know, Xorn’s located. If he’s ever located, what with more important things like graduation parties going on.”

"Giving the kids something good is important", he said quietly. "They went through hell not that long ago, we all did. Doesn't mean no one's working on your problem."

“I know…” She clicked her teeth shut against the defensive tone and sighed. “I know. It’s just… it isn’t like I can take all the freakin’ time in the world. I’d go at it alone if I have to… But all the waiting is kinda killing me here. And I can't help but feel that I'm running out of time.” Her whole life had been a race against time and the odds, after all.

"Can't just rush into a thing like this, if some of us are gonna go back with you", Angelo told her gently, though he was finding it as hard to look at her as she was at him. "But the team do understand emergencies. They'll find Xorn for you as quick as they can.”

That did very little to ease the fear that she might actually return home to find that she was too late. It probably would not help the nightmares much either. The redhead let out another sigh, blowing off the strand of fringe that had fallen across her face to obscure her right eye. Obviously, she got that the world – this world, in particular – did not revolve around her and that the people here simply could not understand the restlessness, the urgency, the need to move and do something that was very quickly driving her out of her mind. But in the meantime, no reassurance they offered her was going to do more than frustrate her even further. So the soldier in her turned away from Angelo and sought company amidst the ever-present anger roiling within her, refusing to say further on the subject.

"Hey, Jello?" Rachel subconsciously and unthinkingly used her childhood nickname for the boy she had looked up to as a child. "D'you think ‘my’ parents should know I'm here?

There was a quickly hidden flinch at the old name coming from this girl - who, after all, he didn't know even if everything in him told him he still loved her like he'd loved the child – then he paused to consider. Slowly, reluctantly, he answered, "No. Not if you're going to leave again."

Having caught his reaction, Rachel raised her gaze skywards to hide a wince and to deliver a harsh scolding to herself.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’s what I said.”

"Better that they don't know you were ever here than to lose you again", he said quietly. "But if something goes wrong, if you end up not being able to get back at all... then they'd need to know."

"Well, I can't not go back," she asserted, a steely determination lighting verdant eyes as she leaped lightly off the wall. Rachel refused to even consider the possibility of failing despite the countless what ifs. "So I hope they listen to me."

Angelo watched her with pride in his eyes, in spite of how much this whole encounter hurt, that day of all days, and nodded. "Now there's my stubborn baby sister", he murmured, mostly to himself but still audible.

Rachel offered him a wan smile, the vulnerability that had surfaced now safely obscured by the reminder of her mission. It would have been so easy to abandon her world for this one, where people she loved were alive and the world not on the brink of self-destruction. But every moral fibre in her being told her that would just be wrong.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Angelo. I really am. But if she were anything like me, I think you should know that she really, really loved you."

That almost broke his composure completely, and his eyes shone with held-back tears. "I loved her too", he said softly. "And I wasn't even there to see her go.”

She held herself back from gathering him into a hug, firmly reminding herself that this was not her Angelo. And she was not his Rachel. Hers was still out there, back home, fighting for his life and waiting for her to return home and save him from the painful claws of war and destruction. Instead, she nodded, her mind inadvertently wandering to the many deaths she had not personally witnessed.

"Don't," she said, voice firm in an unconscious imitation of one of her closest friends. "She wouldn't have wanted you to." And Rachel really did believe that, even if she was speaking on behalf of someone not quite her.

"No", he agreed with a painfully strained smile and a nod. "She wouldn't, she went... hard." Part of him wanted to ask if she'd been through the same, but a larger part didn't want to know.

Rachel returned his nod with a solemn one of her own, not quite sure if there was anything she could say in response to that. Professor Xavier had filled her in to prevent any unnecessary faux pas on her part. But if she were brutally honest with herself, a small part of her was glad that the Rachel in this world was dead. If only because that meant that she would not need to see what her life would have been like in a world where Apocalypse had failed.
A strange sort of silence fell over the pair as she leaned against the wall and watched his cigarette burn. It was strange. Standing here with him on her birthday and witnessing the grief he was trying to hide. She had not even seen his counterpart from her world in over a decade, even if she had made it a point to check in on him telepathically every once in a while.

Laughter rang out from the mansion and the redhead flinched.

Angelo glanced at her, then back at the house. Abruptly, "I was gonna stay for graduation but y'know, I don't really feel like being here anymore. I know a place in the city with great tequila."

Alcohol and Rachel did not mix well. At all. Every last encounter she had had with it ended with her unconscious and faceplanted on the nearest available flat surface – which usually happened to be the floor. Besides, getting drunk in a foreign world full of strangers and not-quite-strangers was pretty much a Bad Idea to begin with.

So the redhead hesitated, worrying at her lips with her teeth for a moment as she considered Angelo’s proposition.

“I’m a horrible drinker.”

"Up to you", he said with a shrug. "I'm going, I just figured maybe you could use some time away from here. I'll see you safe home if you get wasted."

Home? Rachel snorted, shaking her head. What home?

“Oh, what the hell,” she pushed herself off the wall. It would be worth just getting out of the mansion and away from what she currently felt were disgustingly happy people. “Just… make sure m’not around people when I’m drunk. Things tend to get... messy.”

"I know everyone where we're goin'", he told her. "I can get them to keep well clear, and then you can have my couch. Just promise not to kill my roommate if he wakes you up?"

“I can’t promise you that if he touches me,” she said. It would have been a very blunt statement if it were not for the fact that Rachel purposely made it sound more flippant than anything else. “But you may stick a sign on me. Like a hazard sign or warning label somethin’.”

"Warning taken", he said, managing a similar tone. "Maybe not on you, maybe on the inside of his door or somethin'. We'll see."

“Lead on then, McDuff.”

****

Angelo may or may not regret making the offer to the redhead, especially seeing that she was currently halfway to being completely wasted. After two glasses of watered down tequila pop.
Well, at least her drinking habits would burn no holes in his pockets anytime soon.
Angelo was going between shooting a bemused look at Rachel and glaring daggers at the man on the next bar stool, who was giving her an entirely different look. "Touch the girl, ese, and I cut your fingers off. You really meant it when you said you were a horrible drinker, huh?"

Giggling, Rachel briefly turned her head to glance at the man beside her before propping her head up in her palm. “No~ope. Warned ya, didn’t I?”

"Yeah, you did", he said with a wry grin. "No going to sleep on me now, you're too tall to pour you into a cab and back out again on my own."

“Oh, c’mon,” she sat up, but had to pause a moment for the room to stop spinning. Rachel grinned at Angelo, leaning towards him. “Big strong man like you, canna handle lil’ ole me?”

Angelo blinked, his own perception a little clouded by the tequila, then visibly decided to ignore any implication of flirting. "Strong, yes, I've dragged your dad upstairs when he was drunk before. Big, no."

“Bigger’an me,” the redhead insisted, picking up her empty glass and peering into it. “If y’can carry Dad up I don’t see why y’couldn’t carry me. And didn’t you say you’d drink three glasses for every one I drank? Drink up, Jellybean.”

"Jellybean?" He laughed a little and downed what was left in his glass, reaching for the next one. "Also, the way you're goin', that isn't gonna be difficult."

She shot him a glare, which quickly dissolved into a grin as she waved the bartender over and ordered another four glasses. One for herself and three for Angelo. Korvus did not drink. But Kurt did. And on the rare occasion that she joined him, this was how they rolled.

“To…” Rachel raised her glass, forehead creased in a frown as she waded through mushy brain matter in an effort to come up with a toast that would not send either of them further into the abyss of depression. “Uh.”

"To your birthday", Angelo proposed. "And not drinkin' alone."

Sure, that worked. If one ignored the fact that she had turned 18 in her own world two months ago and the fact that it was this world’s dead baby Rachel’s birthday too. Fortunately, tipsy Rachel found it very easy to ignore them both and, in fact, did so with great gusto.

“Happy birthday ter me,” she crowed agreeably, clinking her glass against his and leaning forward until the barstool threatened to tip. “T’least for now. Flyin’ monkeys are special company.”

Angelo was decisively ignoring the second fact as well, even if it was the whole reason he'd come out drinking in the first place. "If you fall on the floor, I'm not pickin' you up", he threatened, not meaning a word of it. "An' if you're seein' flyin' monkeys, you've had enough tequila."

“You,” Rachel declared, wagging a finger at him. “D’not get ter deprive me of tequila on my birthday, punk. The flying monkeys will get to you.”

"I'm not afraid of any flyin' monkeys", he claimed with a crooked grin, emptying another of his glasses. "But I guess you can have a few more tequila pops."

“Damn right, I can,” she sniffed, taking an exaggerated sip of her drink. “I haven’t had alcohol since…” She trailed off, nose wrinkling. “Somebody died.”

That got a sideways glance. "Somebody, huh?"

“Uh huh,” she turned back to face the bar and took a swallow from the glass. “Lotsa’ somebodies. Bodies. Hah.”

"Right, your... home's got that a lot", he agreed. "War, an' all."

She hummed in agreement, smacking her lips for a second taste of the sweetened tequila. “So whut’s de real deal, Homme? Everyone’s talkin’ bout Genosha like it was de end of de world. But otherwise, this world’s all fairy-tale like an’ everything.”

"The real deal 'bout Genosha or about the world?" he asked. "Genosha was probably the closest call we've ever had."

“Your world,” she clarified. Loudly. “S’like, picture perfect.”

"Noooo, it's really not. If you stuck around, you'd see the cracks."

“I don’t wanna stick around, ya great lump,” Rachel wrinkled her nose at him, waiting for him to take another gulp of his alcohol before following with a sip of her own. “An’ neither do you want me to. ‘Sides. I live in a great, biiiiiiiiiig, gaping hole. Cracks, I could so handle. All easy-like.”

"'d rather have you than no Rachel at all", he confessed quietly, downing a glass. "An' yeah, I guess compared to where you're from, it would look pretty perfect."

Bright eyes latched onto his form for a long moment, a frown creasing her forehead. She reached out and prodded a finger right in between his eyes in a clumsy attempt to smooth his own crinkled brow out. “Pretty an’ perfect,” she agreed, sounding more subdued. “My scarred and imperfect self could never hope to fit in. Don’t belong here, I don’t.”

Angelo looked at her, then pushed up his sleeves and turned his hands palms up, displaying the ugly scars of old burns - some of them, tucked well up his arm where they weren't likely to be accidentally revealed, clearly from cigarettes. "You're not the only scarred and imperfect one 'round here, trust me."

She reached across and pulled down a sleeve, smoothing the material across the burn scars with a lingering touch. “We shouldn’t compare scars,” she murmured, and then tipped the rest of her drink down her throat to see if it would soothe the ache Angelo had unintentionally created in her chest. “An’ y’shouldn’t try ter make me stay.”

"I know. I'm sorry, I know you can't, not if there's any chance you could fix it, but... I'm drunk and I talk too much." He signalled silently to the bartender for another round.

Rachel did not reply, steeping in her own thoughts as she traced the rim of her empty glass with a finger. She picked up her fourth drink as the bartender laid it down, raising it in Angelo’s direction in a silent toast before downing half of it in great gulps.

“Can’t fix it,” she said, inhaling deeply. “Lost too much to fix. But even after losin’ so much? I think I’ve still got more ter lose. Nup. Soooo I can only try an’ stop things from gettin’ worse-r.”

"There's always more to lose until you're dead", he said grimly. "...you're not planning on dying, right?"

“Depends.” And it was not like she had not tried to before. “On wh’er there’s anything left to live for.”

"And you won't know that 'til you get there", Angelo said with a nod. "So I guess I'll never know."

“Jus’ in case, I don’ think you’d wanna.”

"...no. No, probably not." He tipped back a full glass of tequila in two gulps, not seeming to notice the burn any more.

****

Her head lolled about on his shoulder, moving along with the cab’s motions as it navigated the streets and its late-night traffic. The girl was conscious – barely – but it took too much effort to even sit up or open her eyes. Teeth sank into her bottom lip as she supressed a giggle.

“Remy’s gonna kiiilll you~”

"Remy's never gonna know about this", Angelo said firmly, trying to stop her slumping over completely. "Besides, I told you to stop, like, seven rounds ago and you threatened me with flying monkeys."

“You didnae try verrah hard, m’dear,” she pointed out practically.

"You're a telekinetic", he countered, enunciating the last word very carefully. "There didn't seem much point trying, you could have put me on the ceiling or something."

“S’pose that makes you a smart boy, huh?”

"'m very good at self-preservation." Beat. "Mostly. Look, we're here."

“Yay,” she grumbled, but only moved to curl up tighter against his side, not even bothering to crack her eyelids open. Wherever ‘here’ was entailed moving. And Rachel did not want to move.

"Come on", he coaxed, tugging at her as he opened the door. "You can't stay in the cab all night. Well, you could, but the driver wouldn't like it and it'd be really expensive. My couch's softer anyway."

There was an indignant noise of protest at the moving of her headrest, caught somewhere in between her throat and the whine that made its presence known first. Rachel tugged Angelo back to her, quite unaware that she had used her powers in the process as she latched onto his arm.

He was trying to leave her. Why the fuck was everyone trying to leave her?

"Ray - " It was almost a yelp of startlement as she dragged him back without touching, then he sighed and wrapped his arms - and skin - around her. "Okay, I'm not gonna move without you, but we have to get out of the car. Ready?"

Screw the ready, set, go. The girl huffed. Then unceremoniously levitated them out of the cab and dumped Angelo on his feet, forcing him to find his balance and cradle her without dropping the both of them on the sidewalk at the same time. Behind them, the cab door slammed shut.

"Rachel!" If he hadn't had quite so much tequila, it would have been fine, but as it was, Angelo's balance deserted him and he wobbled, then landed on his rear on the cement, just managing to keep Rachel's head and extremities from hitting it hard.

His only response was a drunken giggle as the cab driver took off with a loud rev of his engine. This time, Rachel did open her eyes as she peered up at Angelo, checking to see if he was all right and breathing. He seemed fine from her angle, if a little winded. So the teenager merely half-rolled off of him so that her legs were on the pavement, half-heartedly – but very considerately, she thought – struggling to pull herself upright so that he would have enough room to stand. She hummed the last couple bars of a nursery rhyme as she did so, a crooked grin on her lips.

"You're the flying monkey", he grumbled, not without affection, as he dragged himself back to his feet and moved to steady her. "Can we go inside now?"

Obligingly lurching to her feet, Rachel barely noticed that she was incapable of standing upright as she wrinkled her nose at him. “Demanding,” she slurred, shaking her head only once and stopping because that made her world spin faster than it should around her. And that was Not Good.

"We can stay on the sidewalk if you want. But it's kind of cold." He was supporting her as they made for the steps at a slow shuffle. "And I still gotta make that sign, Chistery."

“Wanna fly?” Rachel offered, eyeing the moving stairs.

"If you promise not to drop me."

“Pfffshh. Insults.” Robbing both pairs of feet of any purchase on the ground, Rachel brought them dangerously close to braining themselves on the door before she subjected them to gravity’s call again – mercifully gently this time.

Angelo was digging in his pocket for his keys as she set them back down, and produced them with a triumphant flourish before unlocking the door.

He had barely removed his keys from the lock when Rachel propelled them forward again, shutting the door loudly behind them, and clearly against the use of her feet. It was dark in the apartment, but that hardly deterred the redhead as she sought out the couch that Angelo had so generously offered her.

They had hit the walls a couple of times as they floated up to the apartment door, bringing a pause for that to be unlocked, and then a piece of furniture as she took them in. "Okay, Chis, put us down now", Angelo said, laughing. "I think I've already got bruises."

She dropped him first, almost obligingly, but definitely unceremoniously. Then she lowered herself onto his back, piggy-back style, sans permission, arms curling about his shoulders and neck as she buried her face into the side of his neck. “Wuss.”

"Am not." He dropped onto the couch, careful to sit a bit forward to leave room for her. "You mentally regressed to being six on me?"

“Are too,” Rachel snorted, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand as she released Angelo from her evil clutches and flopped back-first onto the couch. “Shu’up.”

He nudged at her legs, trying to make her comfortable, as he stood back up. "Sleep on your side, okay? No choking to death when you pass out."

But the teenaged soldier merely mumbled something into the cushion, curling up on her side and compressing herself into a small ball, completely and mercifully dead to the world for just a few hours.