Miguel Silvera (timetorun) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2016-02-22 20:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, gemma diaz-petit |
narrative: revenge is a dish best served cold
WHO: Gemma Diaz-Petit, with guest appearance of Rachelle Diaz-Petit
WHAT: Narrative made of vignettes leading to new Whiskey Sour plot.
WHEN: Over the years
WHERE: Many places
RATING: Full of cuteness and then sads.
The first time they met, Rachelle was bleeding. She came limping into the office where Gemma's mother worked. There was blood on her knee and leg, but she smiled cheerfully when Gemma looked up from her book. She'd been too shy to speak to others much, although her father insisted she go to school rather than get private tutoring. She tried to see that as a good thing, since he was determined to make her less of 'his little mouse,' but even now she cringed inwardly when the blonde haired girl walked up to her. Her smile was bright, her front tooth missing, and she plopped down into the chair next to Gemma. Startled, Gemma shied away, but her attempt to do that made Rachelle only lean over to grab her book. She made a face at it. "You're reading a book about biology? Diaz, you do know we're eight, right?" Rachelle's parents both had these thick French accents, she'd heard it before when Mrs. Petit came in with bronchitis once, and their daughter had a touch of it. It sounded kind of elegant. Gemma side eyed her and slouched in her chair, looking at her hands. "My mother's out for a house call, she can't help you." Half of what her mother did around here was charity work, considering what a poor place Io could be, but if she minded, she didn't say so. Gemma wondered if the work was enough. That's what doctors were supposed to do. She wouldn't know. She'd never actually gotten sick before, her mother so fastidiously aware of her health to the point of giving her oxygen masks for a cough. "That's okay, I just skinned my knee bad, I was playing rough with my friend, he's an idiot." Rachelle leaned down to look at the torn flesh and then back up at Gemma. Her eyes were a fascinating mix of colors, hazel was the correct name, and Gemma almost told her what made eyes the color they were, what made hers hazel, what made them unique and beautiful, but she knew that it was the kind of dumb thing that someone who was eight shouldn't say. So she just looked at the other girl. Rachelle smiled. "Now you're supposed to say something," she offered helpfully. "Since we're conversin'." This might be the longest conversation Gemma had with anyone from school. "...I can help with your knee?" she murmured, almost a question, shy and uncertain. Rachelle clapped her on the shoulder warmly. "I think we might need to be best friends, Diaz, 'cause I get these a lot." You've ever been kissed, Diaz? She asked. They were twelve and sitting on a porch, both sunburned, although it showed freshly on Rachelle's white skin more than Gemma's tan. They were side by side, their feet knocking together when they kicked it underneath them, and Gemma's eyes widened when she looked over at her friend. She felt dry mouthed, her insides twisting, because she didn't know how to answer without also revealing the rest of her thought process. No, she'd never been kissed. Yes, she wanted to be. She wanted to be for months, when they were curled up in the same sleeping bag together, and breathing the same air. Gemma just shook her head, unwilling to look away from the pair of challenging hazel eyes that always saw to the heart of her. Rachelle gave her a lopsided smile. Gemma, she said, the name never passing through her lips before now, and Gemma understood why. Because in that word was all of Rachelle's heart, and she didn't want another living soul to hear it. She leaned in, and turned that 'no I've never' to a 'yes, as much as possible.' She didn't have any more tears to shed. Gemma was so dehydrated from crying at this point that she looked sick, wan, and her mother kept whispering that it would be alright. She flew away from her home, from her friends, from her love, and she knew she wasn't like other people. There was not going to be a second batch of perfect circumstances that would let her find that again, especially not as a teenager. And she didn't want there to be. She tried to cry and there was nothing left. She sailed away to a new city and away from Io, empty eyed. Gemma didn't know. They traded letters and messages as much as possible, but not a whisper of it came through. Those years in between, her entire life was only one name, and she hadn't moved on, her heart unwavering. But it seemed insane to do that when they were on different planets entirely. She studied and worked and wrote down her thoughts every day, in perfect penmanship, to tie into a little package and send it to Io. So she was shocked the day there was a knock on the door, and she opened it to find the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes looking at her. Gemma gaped at her, unable to think of a word to say, her hands twisted around the letters she'd planned on sending out that day. Rachelle gently reached out to take them from her hands and smiled, a mixture of mischief and longing. "Don't have anything to say to me, Diaz?" She asked, and her voice was what shook Gemma out of the shock. She used to fantasize about this very thing, but now it was happening. She had years worth of things to say, but they were floating around in her brain somewhere, unable to get grasped on. She was somewhere between tears and smiles, maybe both, and she shook her head. Instead Gemma pulled the love of her life into the room, locked the door, and they didn't leave for a week. They were engaged three days into it. The RAC wasn't so bad. Gemma could barely say more than a few words to her coworkers, but it was easier with Rachelle's friends. The Cherry Bombs teased her, and usually that made her nervous, but there was something boisterous and warm about them. Jaime and Liam were in the RAC too, and it led to Gemma willingly moving away from Mars and what she knew to the exciting (and terrifying) new place in Ganymede. Rachelle laughed and danced around her on her graduation day, and whispered to Gemma: "I want to marry you right now." They waited until the next day. It was strange, half living on a ship when it was in HQ, and the close quarters always surprised her. They had their tequila nights and card games that Gemma hopelessly lost at, but her anxieties turned into laughter the more time they all spent together. She wished she could say some part of her knew when it went wrong. That one day she was in her lab and her heart just started hurting, or she had a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to believe that they were so connected that she should have known when her heart died, but Gemma had no idea. She went about her life, writing a new letter, complaining about the stove that they never used and yet it always seemed to have a burning smell. She answered the door for the Cherry Bomb captain, a toothbrush in her mouth, her hair pulled up, and Gemma didn't get it at first. She made her say the words. Your wife is dead. Widow was a hard word to accept as part of her identity. She worked through the RAC, she followed in footsteps that she knew were faster than her, better than her. Rachelle saw the challenge of the RAC as something to be excited about, she dreamed of being the Cherry Bomb captain some day. She would tell Gemma all her plans in the early hours of the morning, and that maybe she'd find a way to bend the rules, so Jaime and Liam could join her squad. Or she'd make them wear wigs. They giggled into the pillows, still those little Ioan girls. When she walked to the Whiskey Sour for the first time, she stopped and stared at the Cherry Bomb. She could never step foot on it again, but she wondered if every time she was at HQ and saw it, would she feel this sick? Gemma squared her shoulders and turned away, to the Sour. Valentine's Day was behind them, thank god for that, because it never did get any freaking easier. Gemma believed it existed to hurt half the population while making the other half happy. She couldn't resent them, having been the latter once upon a time. She hadn't given much thought to the Pluto escape, outside of concern for everyone, and it seemed one bad thing was happening after another. Mara was still missing. But Jaime was Captain. She smiled just thinking about it. Rachelle would've been so pissed if he made Captain before her. She would've punched him in the arm, hugged him, and bought him a drink. Gemma only did the latter two. She was surprised to see a message left in the Med Bay. She turned it over in her hands, the envelope white and blank, and pulled out a hand written note. Lars is out. Last location Callisto. Look for Mercer. Sorry can't do more. Safe flying, Petit. Gemma knew the handwriting, she could almost hear the voice from her time on the Cherry Bomb, and that heartbreaking message years before. She hadn't been to the trial, but she knew that name like it was a brand on her body. Lucian Lars. Imprisoned for the first degree murder of Rachelle Diaz-Petit. She felt the coldness spread from her fingernails through the rest of her body, until she was made of ice. And she made a choice. |