response #1 to challenge "Strange Bedfellows"
Season Five spoilers generally, with one minor reference to something in "Fait Accompli" --
"Girlcrush"
Sydney is under the covers, the mug of cocoa on the bedside table, a Nancy Mitford novel spread across the quilt between them. Rachel is on top of the covers, wearing Sydney's hand-me-down pajamas, both hands folded beneath her head as she lies on her side.
"You and your dad had fun," Rachel says. "That's great."
"Yeah, it is." Sydney's expression is more wry than delightful. "Fun is usually in kind of short supply, between us."
"Maybe it'll be different soon, with the baby." Rachel's father used to sit on the floor and patiently play Barbies with her; even if he did make the Barbies talk about the Seahawks' defensive line, he made sure they had those talks in the dream car. So she thinks of dads as fun.
Sydney doesn't look convinced, but she says, "Maybe."
She takes a sip of her cocoa, and Rachel is happy -- because she made that for Sydney, an offering of gratitude and friendship, and other things Rachel's not quite ready to name. Sydney likes it, which fills Rachel with a radiant, illogical hope.
The term for what Rachel feels is a "girlcrush," or so the women's magazines say. (Rachel is the kind of woman who's always found Cosmopolitan and Elle slightly ridiculous but has always ended up reading them fairly regularly anyway.) It doesn't mean you're a lesbian, the magazines say; this is supposed to be reassuring. It's natural. It's common. You find a woman who -- captivates you, and that's a sign you've found someone who represents the kind of woman you yourself hope to become. Girlcrushes are harmless, so you should enjoy them, though it's probably better not to discuss them until they're gone. Then, you and your friend can laugh about it together.
Rachel doesn't foresee laughing about this with Sydney, ever. But that's mostly because she can't imagine the feeling ever being gone.
"Do you have everything else you need for the nursery?" Rachel hopes there's something else, something she can go get. She wants only to serve. Although she's self-aware enough to find this desire a bit amusing, it still holds sway over her.
Sydney considers this, her face wreathed by the steam from the cocoa. "Pretty much. Not many baby clothes yet, though."
"Onesies." Rachel will bring some home tomorrow, buttercup yellow and mint green.
"The way they fit into your hand. So little!" Hands on her belly, Sydney sighs. "It seems like the baby would be bigger."
"Before you know it --"
"Yeah. Don't remind me." A silence follows, during which Sydney studies Rachel's face carefully. Rachel feels herself blushing; all she can think is, She knows. She's going to say something. But instead, Sydney begins, "I realize you probably won't want to share an apartment with an infant who's waking up at 3 a.m. --"
"I'll stay," Rachel promises. "As long as you need me."
Sydney smiles back, and it doesn't matter if she doesn't really understand. It's enough -- for now.
"Girlcrush"
Sydney is under the covers, the mug of cocoa on the bedside table, a Nancy Mitford novel spread across the quilt between them. Rachel is on top of the covers, wearing Sydney's hand-me-down pajamas, both hands folded beneath her head as she lies on her side.
"You and your dad had fun," Rachel says. "That's great."
"Yeah, it is." Sydney's expression is more wry than delightful. "Fun is usually in kind of short supply, between us."
"Maybe it'll be different soon, with the baby." Rachel's father used to sit on the floor and patiently play Barbies with her; even if he did make the Barbies talk about the Seahawks' defensive line, he made sure they had those talks in the dream car. So she thinks of dads as fun.
Sydney doesn't look convinced, but she says, "Maybe."
She takes a sip of her cocoa, and Rachel is happy -- because she made that for Sydney, an offering of gratitude and friendship, and other things Rachel's not quite ready to name. Sydney likes it, which fills Rachel with a radiant, illogical hope.
The term for what Rachel feels is a "girlcrush," or so the women's magazines say. (Rachel is the kind of woman who's always found Cosmopolitan and Elle slightly ridiculous but has always ended up reading them fairly regularly anyway.) It doesn't mean you're a lesbian, the magazines say; this is supposed to be reassuring. It's natural. It's common. You find a woman who -- captivates you, and that's a sign you've found someone who represents the kind of woman you yourself hope to become. Girlcrushes are harmless, so you should enjoy them, though it's probably better not to discuss them until they're gone. Then, you and your friend can laugh about it together.
Rachel doesn't foresee laughing about this with Sydney, ever. But that's mostly because she can't imagine the feeling ever being gone.
"Do you have everything else you need for the nursery?" Rachel hopes there's something else, something she can go get. She wants only to serve. Although she's self-aware enough to find this desire a bit amusing, it still holds sway over her.
Sydney considers this, her face wreathed by the steam from the cocoa. "Pretty much. Not many baby clothes yet, though."
"Onesies." Rachel will bring some home tomorrow, buttercup yellow and mint green.
"The way they fit into your hand. So little!" Hands on her belly, Sydney sighs. "It seems like the baby would be bigger."
"Before you know it --"
"Yeah. Don't remind me." A silence follows, during which Sydney studies Rachel's face carefully. Rachel feels herself blushing; all she can think is, She knows. She's going to say something. But instead, Sydney begins, "I realize you probably won't want to share an apartment with an infant who's waking up at 3 a.m. --"
"I'll stay," Rachel promises. "As long as you need me."
Sydney smiles back, and it doesn't matter if she doesn't really understand. It's enough -- for now.