A/N: Me at Me: Go write edit your chapters for Break of Reality or start writing that other self-indulgent fic.
Me at Me twenty minutes later: You can write about Holiday, as a treat.
Her first order of business is hiding Bev.
Rebecca takes care of it four days before she hands in her official two-weeks notice at Providence. There's still a gaping, smoking hole in Rex's old quarters (she tries not to look at it on the way to her lab) and the ink's still wet on White Knight's death certificate when she phones up her old PhD adviser with a flimsy cover story and a flimsier excuse. Two hours and three more phone calls later, Six pulls up to her dingy apartment in an old van, and thirty-hours later they're six states away. It's still a little too close for comfort—it really won't take that much googling to connect the dots—but her adviser's ex-wife's step-daughter doesn't ask too many questions, her house is warm and safe and clean, and that's about all Rebecca can really hope for on such short notice.
Beverly whines about it, of course. "But Becks." She sticks out her bottom lip and pouts the way she did when she was five and her big, mean older sister was too busy trying to graduate high school at sixteen to watch a movie with her. At eighteen now, it's comically ridiculous to see that petulant look in her eye, and absurd to see that Bev's face make that expression; a face that is both far-too-old and far-too-young and for Christ's sake, Rebecca is not about to start crying.
"It's not gonna be permanent," she whispers. It's the same thing she whispered to herself the day Bev went EVO.
"How long?" and the choked-out half-sob that tears out of her sister's mouth is like a slap to the face. Rebecca has no fucking idea how long this will take. She's about to go up against an organization that has a military larger than some countries on the whim of a dead man spouting conspiracy theories. It's optimistic to think that she'll succeed, and foolish to assume that she'll live. But Bev doesn't need to know that. Not now, when's she's about thirty seconds from falling apart. Not now, when she's back and in Rebecca's arms and safe and human and Christ, Rebecca needs her to stay that way.
So she lies. "Couple of months." It used to be so hard to lie, but this one slips out quick and easy; like her knife during a dissection. She wishes she had it now, so that she could rip her heart out and stop feeling.
They don't say that much more after that. Rebecca can't tell her sister anything without endangering her and Bev's sobbing too much to ask anything else. She keeps it together long enough to go over the forged papers she hands off to Bev's host-mother, long enough to make it out of the house, but not long enough to make it back to the car.
But if Six notices her swollen red eyes and puffy cheeks when she slams the passenger door shut, he at least has the decency to remain quiet about it.
A/N:
I freaking love Dr. Holiday. I mean, I love every character in Generator Rex, but I'm a female engineering student so Holiday is like, my icon. Yes her outfit is a little silly and not OSHA compliant, but she's so well written I can ignore that. She's probably out of character here, but I don't particularly care. This is my self-indulgent Holiday drabble set filled with my dumb headcannons.
Headcannon #1: Let's be real, my girl Holiday knew about the metananites from the get-go (she goes off the grid to find Rex my ass. Why the hell would she dip from Providence when it was better suited to finding Rex in the first place.) Also, keeping your younger sister who's probably traumatized from being an EVO like six blocks away from the hypercompetent, ruthless Black Knight would be dumb as hell.
I'll update when I see fit (or if I see fit.) Expect this to be a series of weird, rambly, drabbles at best.