A/N: I've been having some serious disagreements with FFN today, so I'm going to be posting things on an lj account first from now on. Link's in my profile, and there'll be probably one more chapter there tonight than there is here, if you're interested.
The sixth time she spoke to Megan, she was halfway to friends with her and Megan didn't blush as much. She'd found out that Megan went the Boston Conservatory for two years and had lived in New Jersey since leaving, and had been working at the bar for three years and as a yoga instructor at a gym for two. Megan knew she was a doctor with a misanthropic boss and liked the challenge of picking up women. Remy still went out to the bar most nights and threw back vodka tonics and scotch whiskey bitters and waved to Megan every time she left with a new girl and the occasional boy sliding hands along her hips and lips along her jaw.
"Slow night," Remy remarked. Her third scotch whiskey bitter sat on the bar in front of her, fingertips tracing a design in the damp glass.
"Yeah," Megan said in her usual soft tones. "I guess someone put the word out that thirsty Thursday is a bad idea if you actually have to get up in the morning."
Remy smirked. She tossed back the last of her drink and licked her lips, eyes half shut as she indulged in the heat sliding down her throat to settle in her stomach. "It's not always a bad idea. If it was, I'd be shit out of luck."
"Not all of us are blessed with your metabolism," Megan said with a smirk of her own.
"Lucky me," Remy drawled. She glanced at her watch, sighing. "I think I'm going to head out. Long day." She winced internally at the memory of a day of breaking into an apartment—which involved hoisting herself up a fire escape and sustaining a nasty scratch on her hip—and holding down a paranoid patient so Kutner could change his IV—which resulted in a wayward fist slamming into her collarbone.
She was buttoning up her coat when she heard her name half-whispered from the other side of the bar. Glancing up, she met Megan's eyes inquisitively. The redhead was standing awkwardly behind the bar, twisting a cleaning rag in her hands. "What's up?"
"I…well, I just wanted to…" She shifted her weight, looking down at the floor. Remy, sufficiently intrigued, stepped back up to the bar, wedging her way between two chairs and leaning her elbows on the freshly-cleaned wood.
"What's up?" she repeated, one eyebrow raised, feeling a faint smile play at her lips. She resisted the urge to tease the redhead, like she had been growing fond of doing the more she spoke with Megan.
"Why did you kiss me?" Megan blurted out, quiet even in her outburst. "When you crashed at my apartment. Why did you kiss me?"
Remy inhaled sharply, looking past Megan at an unspecific spot in the shelves of alcohol behind her. "You already asked me that," she said softly, her voice softer than Megan's. "And I already answered."
"It didn't make sense," Megan said, stepping closer to the bar to allow the other bartender to move past her.
"Oh?" Remy said.
"Yeah," Megan responded. She leaned against her side of the bar, bracing her weight on her hands. Remy momentarily glanced down at Megan's hands, taking in pale skin and a faded bruise and two silver and one steel ring on her fingers, before she glanced back up.
"Not everything has to make sense," Remy murmured. "Especially not in life."
"Doesn't mean I can't try to make sense of it," Megan said. She cocked her head to one side, a shy smile on her lips as she matched Remy's coyness. "And that makes life easier to deal with."
"Not always," Remy said darkly, eyes drifting past Megan's head once more. It made perfect sense that she had Huntington's; she could launch into a lengthy explanation of genetics and Mendel and why there had always been a chance and why it had worked out that she had it and that there was scientific, logical reason of why she was going to die a humiliating painful death that made perfect sense. And it didn't make life any easier to deal with.
"Remy…Remy!" Megan said sharply.
Remy shook her head, blinking rapidly. "What?"
"You zoned out," Megan said, concern leaking into her voice. "What's wrong?"
"I…" she paused, staring at Megan. She wondered what would happen if she told Megan the truth. If she told her that she was dying, if she told Megan that she wouldn't grow old and have a family and a house and a fulfilling life. If she blurted out that no matter how hard she tried to care about her quality of life, that even after realizing that she didn't want to die at the whim of an idiot with a gun, she still couldn't make herself really want to live anymore, either.
The feeling of a hesitant hand on her arm jerked her out of her thoughts once more. She shook her head again. "Nothing," she said. She flashed a smile that felt too tight across her skin. "I'm just tired." Remy pushed herself away from the bar, shaking her hair out of her eyes and widened her smile forcefully.
"You're lying," Megan said. She didn't move, remaining propped against the bar in a deceptively casual manner.
"Who isn't?" Remy muttered. "Have a good night."
She was halfway across the bar before she heard her name again. Halting in her tracks, Remy took a deep breath, tamping down on her temper, which she felt rising in her throat. The burn spreading across her cheeks wasn't nearly as comforting as the burn of a scotch whiskey bitter or vodka tonic spreading down her throat. She exhaled slowly before she turned around slowly.
Megan was climbing over the bar with ease, sliding to her feet between two barstools and made her way across the almost-empty bar. "Hold on a second, will you?"
"Look, Megan, I'm just…really tired," Remy said lowly.
"No, I get it," Megan said. She stopped in front of Remy, hands in her pockets. "I just wanted to ask you something."
"What's that?" Remy said, holding in a tired sigh. She wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep.
"Have you ever heard of a band called the Legal Cubans? They're a local band, from the college."
"I don't think so," Remy said. Despite her exhaustion, she couldn't suppress the prickle of curiosity.
"Kind of New Pornographers meets Bloc Party with a folky influence." Megan smiled softly at the intrigued look Remy knew had replaced her earlier annoyance. "They're playing tomorrow night. A kid I know is the bassist and wants me to go, and I was thinking that since you're a music person, too, you might want to come with."
Remy blinked, her anger vanishing in lieu of interest. "That is quite possibly the most you have ever said aloud at once."
Megan blushed, glancing down at her shoes, and shrugged noncommittally.
"Are they playing here?" Remy asked. She felt herself relaxing, her anger fading, replaced by the inexplicable fondness she felt for the petite redhead, the fondness that she tried to ignore, tried to drink away, to fuck away, that she didn't want to feel for anyone.
"Nah," Megan said. "At McGinty's… that place down by campus?"
"Never been there," Remy said. "When's the show?"
"Around nine," Megan said. Her blush had faded. "So, you in?"
"Yeah," Remy said, unable to keep the affection out of her voice. "I'll meet you there?"
"Do you know how to get there?"
"I…no," Remy admitted. She smiled embarrassedly. "Good point."
"I can drive, if you want," Megan said.
"Sure," Remy said softly. "Meet at your place?"
"Sure," Megan repeated. "Cool." She glanced down, fidgeting uncomfortably. "I'm sorry if I ticked you off," she added in a hesitant voice.
"You didn't," Remy said hurriedly. "I mean… really. It wasn't anything you said, I promise."
"What was it, then?"
Remy sighed frustatedly. "I'm just tired, you know? I had a shitty day, and I'm tired, and I get cranky when I'm tired, and you got the short end of the stick. I didn't mean to snap at you."
"Still, I feel bad," Megan said. "You weren't upset until I brought up… ah, well, until I started asking you questions."
"Don't worry about it," Remy said. She couldn't fathom why Megan's feelings meant so much to her when she still couldn't bring herself to care one whit about anything else, anyone else, even herself. "It's nothing you said."
Megan fidgeted silently for a long moment before taking a deep breath and looking up, staring Remy in the eye. "Then will you answer?" she asked boldly. "You had to have had a reason, and I think I deserve to know why you kissed me."
Remy unconsciously tilted her head slightly, staring Megan down with half-lidded eyes. The surge of infuriation she expected to feel never came; instead, before she could process that it might be a bad idea, she reached out and took Megan's hand in hers, holding it up between them delicately, fingers brushing over the bruise she'd noticed earlier.
"Why do you always have bruises?"
Remy watched as Megan's newfound boldness shattered, her eyes darkening and freezing wide open, mouth hanging halfway open, visibly tensing at the question. She felt Megan's hand tremble inside of hers in the split second before Megan yanked it away, as if Remy had held a lit match to it.
"Tell you what," Remy said softly. "When you want to talk about this—" She gestured to Megan's hands, now shoved as deeply as possible into the pockets of her jeans. "I'll talk about that."
She paused, looking at Megan tiredly, all the annoyance and intrigue and curiosity of the past minutes escaping her and leaving her exhausted once more. An errant lock of red hair had slipped from behind Megan's ear, mingling with her bangs. Remy's fingers itched to touch it; she settled for checking the buttons on her coat and pushing her own hair behind her ear.
"I'll see you tomorrow night," she said finally. She offered what she hoped was a friendly smile before striding out into the cold and back home.
That was the sixth.