Rachel. He's been wanting to say her name since he first knew her, since he first saw her. She was breathtaking in a way that wasn't simple and ordinary; no, she was...different from the others. That's what initially drew him in, helped him to find that she was such a perfect compliment to his brashness and bold intelligence. She was a more gentle hand, every bit as smart as he but in ways he couldn't comprehend. They'd fit. Perfect friends. So, he'd called her Watts in order to distance himself from her a bit, even as she brought him meals Angela couldn't be bothered to make and took care of him through his, ah, episodes.
He felt inherently guilty about one episode in particular. The one in December, one of his lowest points. He'd yelled at her, screamed really. His mind had been a haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and much of the evening was blurry. Except for the part he most wanted to forget. When he'd flung the door open, yelling, and she'd stood there. She froze at the sight of him, eyes widening fractionally. He knew she was seeing his scars, but his addled brain didn't much care. He'd realized the mistake in his words seconds later, and attempted to say something, but then he was falling. Watts — no, Rachel — had caught him, stumbling under his weight, and half-walked, half-dragged him over to his futon and dumped him on it.
He'd been absolutely atrocious to her, and yet she hadn't stormed out on him, swearing like anyone else would. No, his loyal Watts, his Rachel, had cleaned up his shoulder, bloodied from the broken glass, and even tidied his apartment a bit after he'd passed out. He'd felt terrible in the morning when he remembered the events that had transpired, and even worse when she'd admitted that night had been her birthday.
His Rachel stuck by him even when he didn't expect her to, and he couldn't be more grateful for the fact. She'd stuck around long enough to slip through his various defenses of sarcasm, insults, anger, and aggression, and now was the one person he trusted more than anything (and, dare he say, loved more than anyone since his parents). She meant more to him than she could ever understand. His precious Watts. His wonderful Rachel.
When they'd kissed, it had slipped out. Rachel. The moment had proved too personal for him to address her as Watts; too intimate. Watts was for bus rides and school and hurrying down the sidewalk together. Rachel was for moments like this, personal moments that only the two of them and no one else would share.
And Rachel seemed to agree, as she whispered his name for the first time. James. And he found he quite liked it, her calling him James instead of Mycroft in moments like these.
In those moments, they were no longer Mycroft and Watts, teenage detectives. No, they were James and Rachel, who were just two teenagers hesitantly making their way through something new to them. Something neither wanted to mess up. Something...precious.
xXx
I hope you enjoyed this. I recently read Every Breath and fell in love with it. They storyline, and characters, and James and Rachel's relationship as friends and then more. I may write a few other stories regarding Every Breath, but as of now nothing is set in stone. Please tell me how it was, and thank you for reading.