Dandelion

[tamcranver]

Written for sophieisgod in the 2009 yuletide fic exchange.
Fandom: Imagine Me and You
Summary: Heck and Rachel's divorce is going more smoothly than she'd like. It's a good thing she has Luce to come home to at the end of the day.
Rating: Uh, I'm gonna say PG-13, for mild sexual content.
Notes: All information on flower meanings was culled from Wikipedia or here.





Kissing Luce in the middle of the street, surrounded by honking cars and shouting drivers and seeing and hearing none of them, was the most fantastically romantic thing that had ever happened to Rachel in her life.

What came afterwards was a lot of awkwardness.

Not with Luce, of course. It would've sounded bad to say that Luce was easy, and it wasn't true, anyway, because she wasn't. Luce was, in so many ways, an unknown. On the one hand, she was beautiful and fun and so inexplicably perfect that she made Rachel's skin tingle. On the other hand, she was so damn judgmental about other people's relationships that Rachel wanted to scream, and she always bought the orange juice with too much pulp and the cheapest brand of toilet paper she could find, and there was nothing even remotely sensible or orderly about the way she ran her shop or the way she ran her life, and it drove Rachel absolutely mad.

But there was nothing about Luce or being with her that Rachel would have changed. Even the fights were fantastic—no fear or secrets or talking around the problems, just honesty. Half the time the ended in laughter, and half the time they ended in sex, and sometimes they ended with Rachel and Luce laughing while they had sex. Rachel had never been in a relationship that moved so quickly or wildly, but she loved every minute of it. It didn't feel easy, but it felt right.

But undoing the life she'd spent so long building, unraveling the ends and weaving them into something different—well, there was nothing that felt either easy or right about that.

She threw open the door to her and Luce's flat breathing hard through her nose, as if the pressure in her chest might just go away if she could get enough air in and out of her lungs in the shortest possible amount of time.

"Rachel, is that you?" called Luce from the loft upstairs.

Rachel set her keys on the kitchen counter and got herself a glass of water, determinedly ignoring the burning in her eyes. "Yeah," she called back.

Luce appeared, smiling broadly. Rachel's face must have told her something was up, though, because the smile quickly faded. "What's wrong?"

"D'you ever want to just pack it in and run away to another country? Someplace really far away, with lovely beaches and little cocktail drinks with umbrellas in them, where you never have to deal with anything again?"

"All the time." Luce slid in behind her, wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.

"All of us have," Rachel said. "But we don't. Because we realize that we have responsibilities, and we can't just go running away from our problems and leave them for other people to deal with. I think it's totally—if you're involved in something, if you're, like, one of the main people involved in it, you can't just wash your hands of it all and say, 'Oh, whatever you like, doesn't matter at all to me.' Not only is it annoying, it's—it's completely irresponsible!"

Luce sighed. "I take it your talk with the solicitor didn't go well." She started to pull away, but Rachel was struck with the sudden sensation that if Luce's arms weren't there to hold her together, she might just lose it entirely, so she grabbed at her hand.

Luce leaned her chin on Rachel's shoulder for a moment before saying, "Why don't we sit?" She gently pulled Rachel out to the dining room and sat her down at the table. "Do you want another water?" she asked. "You've finished yours."

"No, that's all right," said Rachel, but Luce took her glass to the kitchen and refilled it anyway before coming back to sit across from Rachel.

"Now," she said. "What happened?"

Rachel wrapped her hands around the glass of water without drinking it, just smearing the condensation around with her fingers. "It's not…well, I always knew it was going to be shit, getting a divorce and all. Given everything. But I thought we could at least be friendly about it, Heck and me. Work it all out."

"Is he giving you a hard time?" asked Luce softly.

"No," Rachel admitted. "It might be easier if he was. But he's not even there—it's just me and my solicitor and his solicitor and a speakerphone. Which, I know it's expensive to fly back from Australia, but you'd think he—well--and that's not even the worst of it. He's just so damned--"

"What?"

Rachel took a deep breath and thought about how to word it, how to say it so it didn't sound so crazy. "It's like he doesn't give a shit. He's completely detached himself from everything—do I want the house? Fine! Money? How much would I like? He even," and here her voice broke, ridiculously enough, "he even said I could have the couch."

"The couch?" asked Luce, eyebrows raised.

"Yes! The one we bought at the auction! And when I asked if he was sure he didn't want it, he just kind of…laughed a bit. Like, oh, silly me, worrying about worldly possessions like that, when he's found true peace lying on a beach in Australia." Suddenly painfully aware that she sounded a bit ridiculous, she said, "It's not that I want to fight with him over every tiny thing. I mean, obviously he's being quite reasonable about everything, it's just…."

"You'd like him to care about it more?" suggested Luce. Somehow it sounded a little better when Luce said it.

"Well…yes." She sighed, feeling a bit childish but unable to keep from resenting him. "I'm doing all the work here, while he writes about which hotel has the best martini—the least he could do is pretend that we were actually married and that it meant something to him." The awkwardness about complaining to her new lover that her old husband didn't care enough about her wasn't lost on Rachel, but she thought Luce would probably understand. What she and Luce had was fantastic and exciting and quite probably the kind of true love you only found in old Clark Gable movies, but damn it, she'd hoped she and Heck could at least still be friends.

"Darling…." Luce reached out to grab both of Rachel's hands. "Do you think maybe he's trying not to care? Getting a divorce is pretty much always going to be shit, but with this…." She bit her lower lip, looking pained and guilty, and Rachel wanted to scream, because she hated it whenever Luce blamed herself for anything to do with Heck. None of it had been Luce's fault, or Heck's, for that matter, and if anyone got to feel guilty about anything, it was Rachel. She squeezed firmly at Luce's hands, and Luce smiled briefly before saying, "What I'm saying is, Australia's a long way to go to get over a broken heart, and it hasn't even been two months. Not a long time to mend, you know?"

She did and she didn't. Anything to do with her marriage, with Heck, with talking to her sour-faced solicitor, it still hurt like an open wound. But not a big one. Just a sting—her heart was as whole and full as anyone could ask for. She knew—it wasn't even flattering herself, she knew —that Heck had been hurt by the breakup of their marriage a hundred times worse than she had. "You think I'm being selfish, don't you?" she said, feeling a jab of guilt.

"No," said Luce. "I think you're hurt. You both are." She let go of Rachel's hands and stood up, stepping around the table to grab at her arm. "Come here."

She took them to the screened-in deck where Luce kept her plants. "A friend sold me these today," she said, picking up a small pink flower in a pot and handing it to Rachel. "It made me think of you."

Rachel held it up to her face to look at it. It smelled like apples and looked a bit like a dogwood flower, but she didn't recognize it. "What is it?"

"It's eglantine," said Luce. "Sweet briar. It means 'I wound to heal.'"

"I wound to heal," Rachel repeated, and thought of Heck's voice, tinny on the speakerphone, and Cathy, her solicitor, and her careful explanations of how far they had come in the divorce and what they had left to do. "It's lovely."

Luce smiled with one corner of her mouth and said, "But do you know what really makes me think of you?" She picked up one of her herb boxes and gestured towards it. "These."

Rachel put down the eglantine and laughed. "Thyme makes you think of me?"

"And fennel," said Luce with a nod. "Do you know what they mean?"

"I didn't think they meant anything at all," said Rachel, beginning to feel a little lighter. "They're just herbs."

"Just herbs!" said Luce with an exaggerated scowl. "Hah! I like that!"

"Well, all right, then. What do they mean?"

"Thyme means bravery. Courage. And fennel…." Her hand hovered over it. "It means strength. 'You are worthy of all praise.'" She reached her free hand over to stroke Rachel's cheek briefly before dropping it down to her side. "So. You can see why they make me think of you, then."

"I think you'd better put down the herbs, babe," said Rachel, her chest feeling tight again, but for a completely different reason this time.

"Why?" Luce asked, but she was already grinning as she set them back in their place.

"So I can do this." She leaned forward, reaching her hands up to tangle her fingers in Luce's hair, and kissed her.

"Mmm," Luce mumbled, pulling her lips away to press a kiss to the corner of Rachel's mouth. "I was hoping you'd do that."

Rachel grabbed at Luce's hand to put it on her breast. "And I was hoping you'd put your hand here."

"D'you mind if I adjust it a bit?" Luce had already moved her hand to reach under Rachel's shirt. It felt as if every nerve in Rachel's skin was alive and alert—she could feel each callus on Luce's hand as it slid up her stomach to circle around one breast, pulling at her bra.

"Not at all," she murmured, finding Luce's mouth again. It was strange, really. You wouldn't think kissing one person would be so different from kissing another. The mechanics of it never changed, after all. But somehow, kissing Luce was better than it had ever been with anyone else. It was like finding something she hadn't even known was missing.

They stepped backwards and Luce pulled away. "No," she said. "No way. We are not having sex here."

"Why not?" asked Rachel disappointedly. She kind of liked having sex on the screened deck—it was a bit like having sex in the woods without the actual woods.

"Because we'll knock over my plants again, like we always do, and then I'll have to clean them up. Again." She peered over Rachel's shoulder and added, "Plus, I think our neighbors across the way are back, and I have no interest in giving them a free show."

Good point. Reluctantly, Rachel let Luce pull her out into the living room and on to their fantastic couch. Maybe Rachel didn't care for Heck's complete disinterest in their divorce, but she couldn't complain about him giving her the couch. It was really a first-rate couch. She particularly liked lying on it with Luce on top of her, kissing her way down Rachel's stomach and wiggling her pants down over her hips. Even more than that, she liked feeling the leather on her bare skin while Luce put her tongue—right—there.

And after that, well, Rachel didn't think about much of anything for a while.

When they had finished, Luce sighed contentedly and stroked at Rachel's hair. "Well," she said. "I'm famished. What do you say we have a late dinner?"

Rachel craned her neck to look at the clock over the fireplace. "God, it's ten o'clock already!" She grumbled and rolled over a bit to bury her face between Luce's neck and shoulder. "Best not," she mumbled. "I've eaten already."

"But you haven't eaten my fantastic chicken with thyme and fennel," said Luce, edging her way out from under Rachel.

There was something very warm and pleasant wrapping itself around Rachel's heart. "You're quite a romantic, aren't you?"

"Well." Luce stood. "It's also got lemon verbena, but that ruins the symbolism somewhat."

"Why? What's lemon verbena?"

"It's supposed to attract the opposite sex."

Rachel couldn't help bursting out into giggles, and after a moment, Luce followed suit. "All right," said Rachel, when they'd gotten over their fit of laughter. "You've persuaded me."

"Good," said Luce. "Let me go get the herbs, and you can help me with the chicken. Maybe we can have mashed potatoes as a side? We've still got half that bag from the last time you made potato salad."

"Sounds good." Rachel watched Luce vanish, engulfed by the ferns and sunflowers and cacti of the screened deck. She sat for a long moment on the couch, trying to sort out just what it was she felt. Then she steeled herself and picked up the phone. "I'm brave," she muttered to herself. "And strong. And worthy of all praise." She thought of the eglantine and dialed Heck's cell.

It rang four times before Heck answered. "Rachel?" he said, sounding worried and not at all calm and detached, as he had before. "What is it?"

"Nothing," said Rachel. She was surprised at how strong her voice was, at how calm she felt. "It's just been such a long time since we talked without our solicitors listening in, so I thought I'd call and just…say hi. So, hi."

"Hi," said Heck, and maybe she was imagining things, but she thought she could hear him smiling.

"So, how's the book coming?"

"Oh, well enough, all things considered."

That didn't sound particularly good. "What does that mean?'

"Well, considering I haven't got any experience writing travel books, or any books, really, and it's rather difficult for me to obtain insider knowledge of anyplace when I keep getting lost and have to go back and ask the same people for directions three times, and I keep having these crippling fears that the only thing I'm really good at is cheating people out of their money. Other than all that, I think it's going swimmingly." There was a long pause, while Rachel tried to think of something suitably reassuring to say in response, and then Heck asked, hesitantly, "How's Luce?"

Now there was a question with an easy answer. "She's fantastic. We're both fantastic." Speak of the devil; Luce reappeared from the screened deck, holding a handful of freshly-cut herbs. She waved at Rachel with them and turned to go into the kitchen. Rachel smiled and turned her attention back to Heck. "My mum's started bothering me about grandchildren again, but other than that, no complaints." Wait. That wasn't true at all. "No, I--"

"I think I've got a girlfriend," Heck interrupted. "Well. Maybe. I don't know. I've never actually called her that."

"Heck!" Rachel hadn't expected Heck to begin dating again so soon—he had never been a player like Coop, never one to jump right from one relationship to another—but the surprise wasn't unpleasant. Maybe there was a hint of hurt under her happiness, that she could be replaced so soon, but it wasn't as if she had any right to complain. She'd replaced him while they were still married, and she was deliriously happy, and if anyone in the world deserved that kind of happiness, it was Heck. "How long has this been going on?"

"We met on the plane out here. She's gone home now, but we've been talking on the phone. Maybe we'll meet up when I get back, whenever that is. Christ, Rach, I don't know how to do this dating thing anymore. I'm too used to being old and boring and married."

They'd only been married a few months, but Rachel knew exactly what he meant. "No need to put a name on it," she suggested. "Just take it as it comes. Is she nice?" Maybe Heck was off living the adventurous lifestyle these days, but he deserved someone nice. Someone who would love him just the way he was.

"Yeah," said Heck. "She's lovely."

There was a long pause, then, while they both breathed awkwardly into the phone, until Rachel remembered why she'd felt the need to speak with Heck in the first place. "Heck," she said, "do you give even the tiniest fraction of a shit about this divorce agreement we're writing?"

"Um," Heck said. He sounded as if he'd been caught off-guard. "Sure. I mean, of course I do."

"Then you might say something during the talks other than 'whatever' and 'if you want.'" Rachel tried to keep any lingering resentment out of her voice. They'd been having such a nice chat, after all. All things considered.

Another silence, and then Heck said, "Rach, do you ever feel like you've just wasted years and years living the wrong life, and once you've figured it out, you just want it all to go away, so you can start living the right life?" Before she could answer, he added, "Stupid question. Of course you have."

"I have not!" Sure, in retrospect, marrying Heck had been a mistake, but she couldn't have known that at the time, and she couldn't find it in her to regret the years they had spent together when she hadn't even known Luce then. Of course, Rachel quite liked her job and her coworkers, and her parents and sister were still rather ever-present, so perhaps her life change hadn't, in the end, been so large after all.

"Well, I have," said Heck. "I don't know. I just don't want to think about the flat we shared, and I don't want to think about the filthy money I earned at my filthy job, and I don't want to think about all our stupid cooking contraptions. Do you still have those little tiny egg-cooker things?"

"Heck," Rachel broke in. The last thing she wanted to talk about was those ridiculous egg-cookers. It hurt to think that she was one of the things Heck never wanted to think about again, but she figured that was probably his right. Everyone dealt with a broken heart differently. "Do you mean you don't want to talk to me about all this? Do you want to just talk to your solicitor, and your solicitor can talk to me?"

"I don't really want to talk about it at all," said Heck with a sigh. "I suppose that's not very realistic, though, is it?"

"No." He hadn't said he didn't want to talk to her, so that was a plus. "Look, Heck, you can't just let me make all the decisions. It's not fair on either of us. And you can't just leave behind your filthy money and never think about it again—you'll need it if you're going to keep on globetrotting."

"Bugger," said Heck, as if he'd never thought about that. "I suppose you're right." He paused, and then said, "I've been something of an ass about all this, haven't I?"

Rachel laughed, feeling wonderfully relieved. "Not too much," she said. "Thanks for giving me the couch."

"I gave you the couch?" asked Heck indignantly. "What did you let me do that for? Screw the blood money—that couch is fantastic!"

She felt another laugh bubbling up, and she let it out in a giggle. "Well, you can sleep on it next time you visit us." Maybe he actually would visit them, too.

"Rachel!" called Luce from the kitchen. "D'you want to help me peel the potatoes?"

Heck asked, "Is that Luce?" He sounded a bit more serious, but not angry.

"It is. I had better go." She thought about it for a second before saying, "It was good talking to you." Maybe that sounded like false politeness to Heck, but it was true.

"You, too," said Heck, and he sounded sincere enough. "Talk to you later, I guess."

Rachel nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her over the phone. "Yeah," she said. "Bye."

She strode into the kitchen feeling like she'd run the entirety of the park's five-mile path: exhausted, but satisfied.

"You seem happy," said Luce, standing over a small pile of half-peeled potatoes. "Was that Heck on the phone?"

"Yes." Rachel walked over to take the potato peeler from Luce and gave her a brief peck on the lips. "I've got a professional question for you. What kind of flower can you send that to your ex-husband that means, 'We've broken up, but you're a fabulous person and I hope you're happy traveling the world and your new girlfriend is nice?'"

"I don't get a lot of requests for that sort of flower," said Luce with a wry smile. "Wish I did. Oh, I don't know, a dandelion, maybe?"

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "A dandelion?"

Luce nodded. "It's not fancy, but I think it'd get your sentiment across."

Rachel leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms. "Well, go on. I know you're just dying to tell me what it means, so, come on. Out with it."

"It means," said Luce archly, "'May all your wishes come true.'"

God, that was fantastic. Who'd have thought such an ordinary little weed like that would mean something so lovely? It made Rachel think of the days when she was a little girl, and she and her friends would make wishes on the fuzzy dandelion heads before blowing on them as hard as they could, sending wisps of dandelion everywhere and incurring her mother's wrath. Who could have guessed that, years later, she'd find herself without a thing to wish for except on a friend's behalf? "You know," she said conversationally, putting the potato peeler down and reaching out to grasp Luce's hand, "I'm going to think of you, now, every time I see a dandelion."

The smile that blossomed on Luce's face was as beautiful as any flower.