Chapter 7: Mudd's Women

Author's Note: This is for the LJ 60 prompts in 60 days: Dissemble

Thank you to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.

I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.

Grace shoved Rachel as she passed, her hands laden with cheeseburgers and milkshakes. "Stop daydreaming and tend to your tables," she hissed.

Rachel shook herself. She wasn't daydreaming, per se. She was thinking about Miles. About his warm, oddly-callused, nimble hands, and his brown, glistening eyes. Even after hours of pondering, she still wasn't sure what to make of him. The prickle of his beard. His enjoyment of Stephen King novels. His thoughtful choice in second date entertainment – even if it didn't work out.

Grace push Rachel upon her turn to the kitchen, "You've got hungry people out there."

Rachel shook herself again, and this time she was successful at dragging herself out of the kitchen and to her tables. Rachel took orders, filled drinks, delivered food, all with more than half of her brain pondering the puzzle that was Miles Matheson. By the end of her shift, she had only received about half of the tips she normally would have for a Friday lunch-rush – a typically good shift tip-wise. She really did need to get her head back into the game, or else she'd need to dip into her clothing-fund to pay her third of the rent this month.

She normally was quite good at focusing on the present. The past held no fond memories, and the future only the unknown. She personally blamed her distraction on her runaway hormones. Her Tuesday was out of town, so she was feeling a little deprived. That's why she'd been fantasizing about Miles' oddly-callused, nimble fingers tracing their way down her belly, curling themselves in her landing strip, and teasing her clit.

Rachel bit her lip, walking down the street a half-mile from the café and a half-mile from her apartment; it was not the best place for these thoughts. Once she got home, she would have to do a little something about her out-of-control hormones. For tomorrow was Saturday.

Rachel entered a more sketchy neighborhood and needed to focus on her surroundings. Eyes alert and forward she wound her way around broken bottles of cheap booze and discarded hamburger wrappers. She unlocked the door to her apartment building, shut the door and went up to her apartment.

Rachel unlocked that door, shut and locked it behind her, and went to her room to take care of her business. Grace was working until 6, Nora started work at 4 (an 'after-school' shift) but wasn't home now, and Mia got out of school at 3:30.

Rachel woke up from a catnap to the sound of the door slamming shut. Rachel pulled on her comfy jeans and walked out to the kitchen/dining room/living room/Grace's bedroom to see what had gotten Mia all worked up.

"What's up, chicken-butt?" asked Rachel.

Mia grumped and rolled her eyes at the familiar 'term of endearment.'

Rachel continued, "School?"

Mia nodded.

Rachel probed further, "Classmates?"

Mia shook her head.

"Teacher?"

Mia shook her head.

"Headmaster?"

Mia gave Rachel a quizzical look.

"Classwork?"

Mia sighed, "Math."

Rachel asked, "Can I help?"

Mia looked skeptical.

Rachel expanded, "Would it hurt to give it a try?" Rachel had always enjoyed the escape school had offered, even though she had never finished secondary school. Her marks and test scores dipped below the 90th percentile in her second year, and, at the time, she lacked the "skills" to persuade the headmaster to reconsider her dismissal.

Mia sighed and dragged her book bag over to the kitchen table. She shoved the glass of wilting sunflowers over and simply poured the contents of the pack over the table.

Mia pawed through the pile and pulled out a math quiz and her hideously expensive math workbook. Why the schools had moved away from reusable textbooks to expensive one-use-only workbooks was beyond Rachel.

Rachel took a look at the quiz marked "4/10" in cherry-red ink, and attempted to figure out Mia's problem.

When Grace came home several hours later, bearing café rejects and a few groceries, she found the pair huddled around the math workbook, Rachel animatedly explaining something about fractions.

"Dinner, anyone?" she asked, a hint of a smile in her voice.

Mia sprang from the table to dibs the best option – which today turned out to be an over-cooked hamburger with a bite cut off of it. Rachel opted for one of the burnt muffins, cut off the burnt bottom, and slathered it in peanut butter.

While Mia was chowing down on dinner, Grace turned to Rachel and said, "You all sorted now?"

Rachel nodded, her mouth gummy with peanut butter.

"Good." Grace replied, "I've never seen you so distracted by a guy before."

Rachel hurriedly swallowed her muffin-and-peanut-butter, taking a swig of water to clear the remaining gumminess, "I'm not distracted by Miles; I'm just distracted."

Grace gave her a half-grin and said, "Sure… You may be good at lying to your men, but I know the truth, I see the evidence. You actually like this guy."

Rachel shook her head, and said, "He's a good mark. That's it. I don't really like him. He's too…"

Rachel paused, meanwhile the corners of Grace's lips just quirked upwards; Rachel continued, "He's too diffident. Not sure of himself. I like guys who know what they want."

Grace gave her an amused look, "Hon, you're either lying to me, or to yourself. You like to have control over the situation. Usually you guide from behind, but I'm sure you're just fine with a diffident mark. Just tell me about him so I can figure out why you're so distracted."

Rachel sighed, took a bite of muffin to give herself a bit of time to think, and then responded, "He has an excellent library." Grace nodded, still probing. "He's thoughtful – he wanted to take me to a play, 'cause I said I wanted to be a playwright." Grace nodded. "And he's sorta mysterious. He works with some Chinese scientists, he regularly eats Chinese food, and he sold his beloved Dodge Challenger to pay for his mother's chemo treatments."

Grace nodded yet again, clearly still not having figured out why Rachel was supposedly entranced by Miles. But that was okay. She wasn't the one who was going screw him. Rachel finished her muffin and left the kitchen with a "Good luck, chicken-butt," for Mia.