Remy/Rachel - Tears and sandwiches (backdated)

[x-eidolon.livejournal.com]

When a phone call from Rachel to her parents ends in tears, Nathan asks Remy to check in on her.



A hushed silence had fallen over the room, unnaturally muted and still. After receiving a panicked phone call from Nathan, this was hardly the scene one would have expected. A room in shambles, perhaps, or a telekinetically created tornado and a screaming teenager in its eye. But no. All Remy found was a broken telephone and a sobbing teenager huddled into a corner, encased in a blue bubble that blocked soundwaves from travelling through its confines.

"Dere's a reason dat Remy hasn't had kids. Beyond de psychotic assassin thing." He muttered to himself as he walked in and knocked on the blue ball. There was no response and he sighed. Telekinetics. He laid a hand on the edge and began to charge it. His powers wouldn't actually explode the field, but he'd been told it created a highly unpleasant feedback. Enough to possibly get one redhead's attention.

Without even raising her head, Rachel raised a hand and brought it down in a sharp slicing motion. The bubble disappeared, but it had sent a sharp jolt up Remy’s arm in parting. It was his best guess as to whether it had been intentional.

Her shoulders were still now, and there was, quite abruptly, no audible crying going on although her knuckles were a stark white due to the bruising grip she had on her arms.

“Go away,” she said, voice hoarse and obviously choked up. There was no way in hell she was ready to deal with him right now. “I’m fine.”

"Remy brought you a sandwich. It's a po'boy. See, Lorna brings food to people to help dem feel better. And, well, dere's dis place in de city dat makes a fine po'boy wit crayfish. Just like I remember as a boy." He sat down next to her and offered her the paper bag. "You should try it. Nothing like a po'boy."

Rachel couldn’t help it. She snorted, and then laughed because she was forced to raise her head and grab a tissue to blow her nose in. It was more than slightly hysterical, and really wouldn’t stop until a couple of minutes had passed and she was running out of air.

“Goddamnit, Remy,” she groaned, dropping her forehead back down on her knees to obscure her face even as she lightly batted the paper bag away. “If there is one thing Essex got right, it’s that you’re fucking horrible at the comforting gig.”

"It's a damn good sandwich." He passed it over. "So, you not doing well. I get dat."

She accepted the bag with a non-committal sound, but made no effort to either say anything in response or lift her head and retrieve the sandwich.

Remy sighed. "You know, if Essex got de fake me right, he'd be kicking you ass right now. It's a horrible thing you went through, Rachel. Remy don't deny dat. But, look at it. Everyone you cared 'bout is alive. You parents are alive. And dey bleeding right now. You have a chance to do things different. You don't see dat?"

“I’d accept de ass-kicking any day.” She really would, and she tilted her head just enough that one green eye could peer up at that pair of familiar red on black ones. This was a scene so familiar to her, it made her heart hurt; it was almost exactly like that one time he had stormed her room after her parents had died. “But don’t you also see? The people I cared ‘bout were constructs – not real people. These people… Dey’re not those people. And me? I’m not your Rachel. Just like you’re not my Remy and I’m not my parents’ Rachel.”

To hear those voices, filled with warmth and love and trying to soothe her aches, even over the telephone… It had been too much. She bit her lip and squeezed her arms tighter around her knees to hold in a sob, but could not quite keep at bay the fresh wave of tears. “None of it was real, Rem. What makes you think Rachel is real? For all we know, dis another one of dem astral constructs.”

"It's not. You beat it by believing in it. You find a way to accept it. Dere's no easy way." Remy said. "Or you throw it all away."

“Den I should still be six!” She clenched her fists, and a telekinetic wall was raised just in time to counter the destructive force that she had released at the light fixtures. It ruffled Remy’s clothes, but left him and the room unharmed. “Xorn offered me de choice of staying in the astral plane until I faded away. Maybe I should’ve taken it ‘cause dere’s nothing I would’ve done differently.

“I loved, I hated, I fought, I won and I lost so much,” she recounted. “And, you know, dat be fine with me if everything weren’t for nothing.” She had once allowed herself to daydream about a life in this world, when finding Xorn had still seemed like a crazy mission. It would have been a happier one, maybe. But having it dropped in her lap like this after removing the rug from under her feet was just…

“Get up and move on, and do what needs must. I learned dat from fake you,” she admitted quietly. “But in dis instance… Can’t.”

Remy sat silent for a long time, slowly unwrapping the sandwich. Finally he spoke. "You know how bad you imitation of my accent is? I mean, bad. You should work on dat." He took a bite and then offered the sandwich to her.

“It irritates de crap outta you and dat makes the little monster inside of me happy,” she replied, not missing a beat. She peered up at the sandwich for a moment, then with a sigh finally leaned over and took a small bite and pushed his hand away. “M’not hungry. And don’t tell me how good it is because my nose is blocked and I can’t taste a thing.”

"Stop crying as much." He said. "You know, you mom saved my life twice and I have scars from you dad. You should give dem a chance. Dey've earned it. Remy go wit you if you need."

“Fuck off,” she grumped, turning away to pick up a shard of the broken telephone. “That’s your debt to repay. Leave me out of it. I do want to see them, but I’m just –” Bloody scared.

"I know. But it's not going to go away, and de longer you run from it, de worse it's going to be for you and for dem." He stashed away the sandwich. "So, get up, move on and do what needs must. Been told dat you made de choice to come back, Rachel. Well, dis is part of de price for dat choice."

The Cajun got to his feet, moving as she remembered her mentor doing, but smoother, younger. "De offer stands. No one is going to force you to face you parents, Rachel. You can hide forever if you want. Or, you can start fighting back 'bout what was done to you. De choice is yours."

With a sigh, the girl unceremoniously grabbed his wrist with both arms and pulled herself to her feet, brushing the backs of her hands against damp cheeks. She didn’t meet his eyes, or acknowledge his words; simply led him to her door and paused with her hand on the doorjamb.

“I’ll think about it and let you know,” she conceded quietly, when it became clear that he wasn’t going to fill the silence either. “Now, I’m gonna hug you because I need one and Dad called you. So don’t go all crazy reflex batshit on me.”

"Relax. Remy had years of practice. You can ask 'ro. Remy hardly ever try and kill her in her sleep dese days.”

“Eh, Storm can more ‘an hold her own against the likes of you. It’s you dyin’ that m’more ‘fraid ‘bout,” Rachel said in half-jest, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight hug. She breathed him in, the familiar scent warming her insides by just that little bit as his arms settled around her. It was comforting, yet different – less smoky, more spicy and a tinge of something else she couldn’t quite place. But it was still him… Just not him.

Later, when Rachel had locked the door after him and curled up in bed, she took the time to cry in piece because she could. And when she fell into a troubled sleep this time around, she felt less inclined to claw her heart out of her chest.