Remorse
Title: Remorse
Pairing: Remy Hadley/Valerie (Patient)
Summary: "You're not fine. Your liver is screwed up, your marriage is over, and, for the first time in twenty years, you know what it's like to be like everyone else. You're not fine; you're human." Episode tag. Remy Hadley/Valerie (the patient without emotions)
Rating: T
Author's Note: Without knowing, I used the title of the episode as the first part of this oneshot. I wrote this right after watching the episode. Watching the previews and seeing their interactions, I couldn't stop thinking about how it seemed there was or there should be something going on between Remy (Dr. Hadley/Thirteen) and Valerie, the patient of the episode. The looks between the two of them just inspired me. I found this in my document folder last night and decided to post it.
All things said by Remy are italicized.
Remorse.
After all of that, she feels remorse. She treated him horribly, and he took it all because while she felt nothing, he felt the world for her. She'd like to say that it was her father who turned her into the monster she was, and that it was the brilliant crippled doctor who brought her back what he sought so hard to ignore. With these old urges, she's reminded that what she likes is hardly ever what she gets. What she gets is the irony. In the end, she has the woman she threatened, hurt, and tried to silence as the one person to stand be her side.
"Does it stop?" she asks.
"No. But some days, it's bearable and you can almost breathe."
She wants to do more than breathe. She wants to thrive the way she did before the poisoning and the thousand pounds on her eardrums.
"I can breathe. I am here, and I'm not dying. I'm fine."
It takes more effort to keep her voice stable.
"You're not fine. Your liver is screwed up, your marriage is over, and, for the first time in twenty years, you know what it's like to be like everyone else. You're not fine; you're human."
She laughs, "It's not all it's cracked up to be."
She shakes with the comment. It's such an understatement. It's as if she'd been playing on Easy and someone just switched the game controls to Extreme while she went to the bathroom. It takes forever to catch back up, and even the slightest achievement is just another failure with this new track.
"There is one thing to be said for emotion and feeling,"
She rolls her eyes, expecting some speech on the little things that make life cheerful and why she should be grateful that her brain took to the treatment. She crosses her fists and mumbles inaudibly. It's a good thing she didn't speak up; she might've missed it.
"The sex will amaze you," the doctor says.
She remembers hearing people talk about how they feel during those moments. She has never felt anything. All the time with her husband, all the times with the professors, clients, and co-workers; she's only ever been conscious of another human being moving atop her.
"Last time I felt anything, I was thirteen, sitting with my friend, Beckee, at her house on a Saturday morning. No one was home because her brother had a baseball game. We were playing 'Truth or Dare', which with two people is basically just an excuse to get anything you want from the other person. I'd gone through beatings and bashings, but nothing tops that feeling. I shouldn't have listened to her...."
"What'd she want?"
"Just to know what it was like. She told me to make her understand, so I did. It started with me showing some scars. Then, I told her that she needed to grow up and accept that she just isn't the same type of girl I am. Beckee told me she could handle anything I could throw at her. I waited and changed the subject, making it seem like I'd never go along with it. I let her feel comfortable and safe. It was around five minutes after she asked when I hit her. The first time, she seemed so stunned."
"The first time?"
"I didn't stop there. I couldn't. She wanted to understand. I was going to make her…. Earlier that day, we were just two kids, two goofy kids who made a promise not to tell anyone if they…. I never talked to Beckee after that day."
She tries not to think too much about it. She sighs.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I didn't need her. Never needed anyone then and don't need anyone now. I live for me."
"And how's that working for you?"
"Well this conversation isn't helping."
"We don't have to talk."
"And what would you suggest?" she asks.
"I'd suggest rest because I'm your doctor."
"You're off my case," she mentions, "You're not my doctor. Right now, you're just…"
"Remy."
"And what do you suggest, as Remy?"
"I suggest that this time, I make you understand. I would like to show you what good there is in the world," she smiles, "Of course, I'm waiting until you're out of here. I can't handle another sexual harassment charge."
It's a promise. This person who has obviously had her own set of problems is now willingly strapping herself down to you, telling you that she'll be there when you get out. It isn't simply a set of words strung together by the brain to better herself; the best thing for her would be to leave. It is a choice brought on by something that she'll just have to wait and wish to comprehend. There's a smile and she notices another thing her brain must have remembered how to show.
Hope.
After all of this, she feels hope.