Please read "The Devil and the Gypsy" for the back story on these two.
"Oh, that's perfect...that's just perfect!" Rachel spat at her steering wheel as her car sputtered to a stall in the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. She coasted to a stop, trying in vain to get the car cranked again. "Come on, you damn thing! You're a Bentley...you're too damned expense to break down!!" She beat the dash board in furious retribution.
"I'll be sure to let my Jaguar know that. She's stays in the shop more than she stays on the road." Came a slightly amused, masculine chuckle across from her. "I think she's having an affair with my mechanic..."
Rachel laughed in spite of herself. "Shut up!" she managed to hurl, while giving her car one last chance to redeem itself. It chugged and coughed...then went silent. She pushed herself away from the offensive, uncooperative piece of machinery.
The tall, russet haired man leaned over to peer at the insturment panel. "Sounds like it's out of gas..."
She glared at him. "No, Daniel, I am NOT out of gas, you moron..." Still, she stole a glance at the gas gauge...just in case. No luck, three quarters of a tank.
She picked up her cell phone from out of the console. "I'll call the car service to come get us." Her deft fingers indexing through her address book.
Daniel leaned back in his comfy leather seat. "Good luck with that." He smirked, as he over heard the 'signal not available' message leaking from the phone.
"So much for 'Verizon goes everywhere'..." the dark haired beauty snarled, throwing the phone down in a fit of rage. "Where is that annoying, little announcer man from the commercials. Shouldn't he be here with about a hundred service techs?" She peered over her shoulder as if she thought the might actually appear.
"That's just Hollywood magic, Ms. Donivan." Sighing, Daniel reached his muscular body down to the floorboard. "They've cut cell phone service to the tunnels temporarily, remember?" Daniel reminded her, pulling out the newspaper, pointing to the headlines.
"LATEST MUTANT TERRORIST ATTACK HEIGHTENS NYC SECURITY"
"Seems the Port Authority thinks that these genejokes who can blow shit up with their minds are going to start detonating bombs with their cells phones, instead..." The sarcastic humor in his voice was hard to miss.
But the humor, sarcastic or not, was lost on her. "Don't use that word in front of me." Her voice was harsh and firm.
"What word? Genejokes? Would you prefer 'Muties?'" Daniel chuckled again. Then he saw the look in her eyes. The look she got when she was going in for the kill. "Geez.. I didn't realize you went to the mutant sensitivity training class..."
She leaned across the seat, threateningly. Her fist clenched into tight balls, her jaw set in anger. "You are never...never to use those slurs in front of me again. Do you understand?" He might have been twice her size and easily twice her weight, but he suddenly felt a sincere chill run up his spine. Maybe her personal assistant guy was wrong. Maybe she didn't need protecting, after all.
Abruptly, Rachel yanked her door open, popped the trunk, and got out. Ignoring her rude compainon's orders for her to get back in before she froze to death or got her head shot off, the head of Donivan Enterprises clicked her high heels to the back of her car and dug through their luggage to find her purse. She held the black leather Prada in her freezing hands for a moment. How much had this thing cost? A thousand? Two thousand? Not that it really mattered, she grabbed the slim cellphone looking communicator out of it and slung the expensive piece of indulgence back in the trunk, callously. She had the cash to buy as many purses and shoes and trinkets as her weary heart desired. It didn't make her happy. Nothing made her happy. The closest she could get to feeling happy was to just feel...numb.
The tunnel was eerily empty. The latest rounds of mutant violence had spooked a lot of people she gathered from the papers. People were avoiding the tunnels and bridges. Which meant most people weren't leaving the island. But she had gotten over being scared a long time ago. She wasn't worried about if she'd be killed...just when. She had made a lot enemies over the past several months. And the worst enemy she'd made was herself.
She stared at the gold X on the communicator. Tears stung her eyes. She didn't want to have to do this. Not him. He was the last person she wanted to talk to. And, she knew she had to be the last person on Earth he wanted to hear from. But, she was stranded in the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, in the middle of the night, in the freezing cold, with a broke down car and no cell phone reception. She was cold and exhausted and her feet hurt from wearing these ridiculous heels all day. All she wanted was to go to her condo, change into her pajamas, and crawl into a bottle of one of the many mind numbing distractions she'd had discovered since moving out of the institute. Since running away from home.
Four months, one week, two days....she glanced at her watch, which was every bit as expensive as her handbag...ten hours, and fourteen minutes. That is, if you were counting.
Four months, one week, two days, ten hours, and fourteen minutes since she abandoned the only family she had left.
Four months, one week, two days, ten hours, and fourteen minutes since she had told the man she loved, the man she couldn't live without - she was leaving.
Four months, one week, two days, ten hours, and fourteen minutes since she had made the worst mistake of her life.
And, given her track record, she had thousands of mistakes to choose from.
Her fingers completely numb, she pressed the top button just like he'd shown her. He had every reason to hate her; every reason to write her off and get on with his life. But that wasn't his way. Instead, he'd given her this communicator; in case she was ever in trouble.
In case she ever needed him...
She waited for this super duper signal to be picked up on its dedicated frequency, possibly by the Star Ship Enterprise given the high tech gleam of the techno-bauble. There was a catch in her throat and it was hard to keep the emotion out of her voice as she heard that familiar voice on the other end. His tone was alarmed, concerned, protective – ready and willing to come to her rescue...like always.
"Rachel??" The slender box spoke out in a Germanic accent that made her close her eyes and lean against the trunk of her car for support. "Rachel? Is that you??"
"Yeah, Kurt....It's me." The one you loved and protected and thought the sun rose and set on. Yeah, it's me.
The one who ran out on you when you needed her most...four months, one week, two days, ten hours, and fourteen minutes ago– That is, if you were counting...