At the going down of the sun... Who: Richie & Rachel Where: Beach What: Talking When: Tuesday afternoon Rating: G Open: Only to those in the first line Status: WIP
Richie sat there on the sand near the point, letting the sound of the waves wash through his mind, hoping to clear his head. Saphira sat closer to the rocks, settled on the sand, wings folded and eyes almost closed, her head lowered and resting near her tail, able to watch along the beach.
He dug his toes into the sand, the grains falling between them as he stared down, watching until there were only a few grains left. He didn't know what he was going to say to Rachel, because he didn't know how to talk to her. She was a completely different person to the one he'd known, even though at first she hadn't seemed that way. All the memories they had were the same, all the things they had shared as kids growing up together, all were identical, yet at some point their worlds had separated. He could only put it down to the time he went through the portal the first time, the time his father had 'broken the universe'.
"How different could it be?" he muttered, realising it was clearly very different. The Rachel he'd known when he'd returned with them all had also been taken away, had disappeared when the others had, and all the readings he'd taken, looking for her, looking for the others, just before the Manhattan door had opened had shown nothing. At all.
And then she'd come back, older, and different. Older than him! She’d grown up in a world where her sister was married, and Timmy and Eve had had a kid and were planning more. She had been happy, cheeky, confident and loved her motorbike. They'd worked side by side, searching and helping in New York, repairing the damage done by the aliens, and then they'd received the news her father was missing.
Falls and collapses in the whole of the damaged area of New York had claimed the lives of rescuers and victims alike in the early weeks, and the time had come where the authorities had created the Restricted Zone. There were eight buildings in that area, each off-limits to everyone but the specialist teams. The teams were made up of two units; the combat engineering teams who were the advance parties, securing and shoring up unstable structures, and then the specialist rescue teams, who were steadily working their way inside, searching floor by floor, basement by basement, for any more survivors.
He grimaced as he remembered how she’d looked when he’d told her that no, Auggie’s facial recognition hadn’t found her dad, that the last time he’d been seen was near the Restricted Zone, and his bracelet couldn’t be detected. She had turned pale, but at the same time had braced, as if to weather an oncoming storm. And she had set to finding her father, staying in contact at all times with the search co-ordinators, harassing the men heading up the combat engineers for news on which buildings were at what stages of search, and constantly visiting Auggie to see if anything had been detected, either on the facial recognition, or the tracking bracelet.
She had been strong, held up under the onslaught of doubt and worry, and he had just wanted to hold her, let her know everything would be alright. Instead he had tackled the problem head on, getting his father to negotiate with the authorities to let them include one of them on every team that went down there instead as ‘special advisors’.
And then breaking point had been reached. His father had told him ‘take her away, keep her distracted, remind her that the world is still turning’. And had arranged it all for them, the show, the restaurant, the reminder that life was still happening, and things were still good, regardless of the situation in one tiny corner of the world. Their world. And the two of them had done that. They had gone from ‘best friends’ to ‘friends with benefits’ and in that moment had learnt, taught each other, that no matter what was going on around them, there was still good stuff possible.
And then Marta. The loss of one of theirs on the Manhattan side of the door, in a way that was too shocking to all of them, especially Aaron, reminded them that life was still fragile, and could be stolen so easily. And that night it had gone from accidental enjoyment, to supportive and caring companionship.
And that was what had carried him through the intervening years. In those weeks as his father, Howard and he had worked on the portal generator, had pushed and tested and failed and tested again, and finally, finally found the answers, he had found caring and comfort each night he needed it in her arms, without question, without query, without quandry. She had known he would one day be gone. She had known that they they didn’t know for how long. So no questions had been asked, no promises had been made, just a bond had been formed that was deeper than friendship, and more enduring than the oncoming storm of separation.
Or so he had thought.
He rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip as he stared out at the ocean. This had been the last place they had been alone together. This had been where they’d said their ‘au revoir’, not goodbye. So it seemed fitting that this was where he would say ‘goodbye’ to ‘his’ Rachel, and ‘hello’ to the person this world knew as Rachel. It was time to let his past stay where it was, and his future to start to unfold.