Author's Note: The story is for Teresa, who dared me to write a happy-Rachel story. This is the best I could come up with.
Thank you to xyber116 for beta'ing this one-shot.
I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.
Rachel took a big whiff of the nutty, businesslike aroma of her decaf coffee, the odor that was paradoxically both a source of comfort and vigor. She needed the placebo effect of the smell and taste of coffee, and as she placed one hand over the slight convexity of her lower abdomen, her little developing womb-parasite didn't need the adenosine antagonist. Rachel took a gulp of the still very hot drink, savoring the bite and tingle of the tannins and the nutty taste from the Maillard reaction during the roasting, and then set her mug down and turned back to her computer.
She was working on the Discussion section of her thesis dissertation and she needed a clear and alert mind to achieve the right degree of dispassion. She wanted to shout from the rooftops that her new method of sub-300nm silicon etching would change the world! That it would allow Moore's Law to keep on progressing. That it would allow tinier computers and improve insulin pumps, pace makers, and everyday electronics. That the new method used fewer harmful chemicals, and was less energy intensive!
However, you couldn't just proclaim that you were going to save the world in a scientific thesis or paper. There were rules; there were societal mores. Passive voice must be used. Statements must be supported with evidence, mad wild guessing was limited to the last paragraph of the conclusions. Rachel grinned remembering all of the over-the-top conclusions she had read. The best one she could remember was in a paper on a cisplatin analogue, and how the authors concluded that it would be an even better chemotherapeutic based solely on the crystal structure and some QM/MM simulations! Rachel shook her head and opened up her LaTeX document. She stretched and ran her fingers through her hair, combing it back in a crude ponytail while she reread her last page. She absentmindedly hunted around on her desk for a ponytail-holder, tied back her hair, and jumped right in, discussing her next body of data and its implications and relevance.
At some later point, Rachel was startled out of her intense focus by a rumble of thunder. She heard the scritch scritch scritch of Franklin bolting towards her, her claws scrambling for traction on the wooden floors. Franklin buried her low, narrow head in Rachel's lap, her patented proto-whine reverberating in her throat. Rachel soothingly ran her knuckles along Franklin's brindled head. She was a rescued greyhound and absolutely hated thunder.
There was a flash of light, a small brownout, and a crack of thunder. The volume of Franklin's proto-whine increased. Rachel saved her file, turned off the computer, and unplugged it. It would be awful if a power surge destroyed her computer. She had her thesis backed up in three different places, but still! Rachel stood up and stretched. She dragged an Ikea armchair over to the living room/office window and set about watching the storm rage. Franklin scrambled up into her lap, and Rachel carefully readjusted Franklin's 65lb weight around so she wasn't squashing her two-inch-long nutrient-thief.
The clouds were gray cumulonimbus – not green-bellied, good – and the fierce wind was whipping the rain around. One moment the rain would sheet against the single-paned glass of the living room window and the next it would be propelled at a 45-degree angle to the left. The heavy rain had ripped a few leaves from the maple tree across the street, and the wind tossed the maple leaves back into the air, in a convection-like manner. There was another flash of light followed almost instantaneously by a peal of thunder. Franklin whined and used her expressive eyebrows to mournfully indicate her apprehension about the storm, pleading for Rachel to make the loud noises stop. Rachel ran her knuckles along Franklin's head and thumped her lean chest affectionately.
"It's okay Franklin, my girl, it's okay. It's just a little storm, sweetheart." Rachel murmured calmingly.
Rachel saw a blue branching arc of lightning and heard the thunder echoing off of nearby apartment buildings. Then the background hum of the A/C cut out and the red LED-indicator light of their seldom-used cathode ray tube television blinked out. The power must have gone out, either a tree fell on a local power line, or a transformer blew. Rachel was glad that she had saved her thesis and unplugged her computer.
Rachel readjusted slightly in her armchair and settled in to enjoy the show Mother Nature was putting on for her enjoyment. Rachel wanted to go out and play in the rain, feel the cold droplets cleanse her, smell the crisp, biting odor of ozone, dance in the wonder of the power of Mother Nature's adiabatic expansion, but she couldn't. There was a non-zero chance that she could get a cold, and for each second trimester infection the mother got, the baby – statistically speaking – lost seven IQ points. She needed to give her tiny maturing hormone-factory the best possible start.
The rain slowed down a bit, and Rachel watched the rivulets of droplets race down the window. Some of the droplets determinedly took their own path; others readily followed and even merged with others. Rachel leaned back and thought about how her life was shaping up. She had the perfect husband and the perfect house; soon she would have the perfect little baby, perfect degree, and perfect new job. Her life certainly was coming together. She snuggled with Franklin, blithely content in the present and joyfully looking forward to the future.
- Author's Note: Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)