Chapter Text
Rachel is acting weird, Chloe notices.
And by weird, she does actually mean exceptionally bitchy and equally anguished.
Chloe recognizes the symptoms of the same affliction that sees her rummaging through the freezer at home for any ice cream to sate her cravings (or heading to the local grocery to grab herself a tub for this and next time, so long as Joyce stays away from it in the meantime).
Fucking red wave, she calls it, directly to Rachel’s face to. That at least seems to take her by surprise.
She’d offered her tampons for said red wave, which Rachel turned down with a sigh. Chloe suspected she might’ve had her own and didn’t have to scrounge for them at the local clinic, but what really made her question her diagnosis was what Rachel said after.
“I don’t have periods. I just forgot to do my weekly injection.”
Bullshit is what Chloe had thought first. Much like shitting and burping and every other gross bodily function, every girl had periods. Whatever aspect of her pride Rachel was hoping to keep intact by refuting that notion wasn’t going to be worth the much larger strike to her dignity of denying a basic biological reality.
But, even a curious scientist to this day, Chloe had spent the rest of the day considering if Rachel’s statement had any merit. From what she knew, every girl had periods until they hit menopause, and — unless Rachel suffered from undisclosed “whatever the fuck was up in Orphan ” syndrome — she was sure that wouldn’t be something Rachel would be actively dealing with.
A quick chat with Ms. Grant offered up some new possibilities and answers, such as hormonal imbalances that made her not experience the fucking red wave, or just that she was a late bloomer in some ways (not obvious ways, if her…ah…upper chest area was any indicator).
But weekly injections, that had been the real kicker.
Chloe had wondered if Rachel had been diabetic, only to reprimand herself for such a brain-dead lack of observation. Half of her cramps ice cream ended up eaten by Rachel, most times, after all. Maybe someone had hooked her up with something much heavier than they had been using so far, but Rachel would never keep something that good and that exciting from Chloe (and even if she had, Chloe’s sure she would be able to find out about it).
Rachel is acting weird, Chloe remarks. Exceptionally bitchy and equally anguished, with no period and no explanation why beyond her hint of not having taken a weekly injection. The rest of her day is wasted trying to figure out what’s up before meeting up with Rachel after class.
It isn’t until then that Chloe finds her answer, and feels like a fucking moron for not having figured it out.
(And, unfortunately for her, Rachel seems to relish in that oversight.)
Leaning up against the bathroom sink, rolling an unlit blunt between her fingers, Chloe parses the connotations of Rachel’s admission. Hopefully, her shock isn’t too apparent, but out of her periphery she can already tell Rachel wears a playfully coy expression.
“You…gonna light up, or what?” Rachel posits, leaning forward. It takes Chloe too long to think that she’s being far too casual about all of this.
Surprised, shocked, and a little confused, Chloe blinks down towards the joint in her hand before lifting it to her lips and digging in her back pocket for her lighter. “Sorry, I guess I’m just a bit…”
“Surprised? Shocked?” Rachel’s smirk tilts. “A little confused?”
Chloe lets out a huff of laughter around her joint. “Yeah, literally exactly that. How long have you been…you know…?”
Rachel shrugs with an all-too casual roll of her shoulders. “Transgender?”
Chloe nods slowly.
“Just about all my life,” Rachel responds.
Chloe nearly lets her joint fall from between her teeth. “You’ve been getting injections since you were born?!”
At this, Rachel’s wry bemusement shifts to loud, unbridled laughter. Chloe’s always loved how Rachel laughs, melodically but theatrically, but in this instance it makes her stomach coil and her brow furrow.
“Fuck you,” she grumbles in embarrassment as she fiddles with her lighter. “I’m no expert on trans stuff.”
To her credit, Rachel manages to come down from her fit of laughter fairly easily, and the expression she wears when she does is patient and kind, enough so that Chloe’s heart flutters all over again.
“Sorry, sorry,” she offers, though her voice still carries a playful tone, “it’s just kind of funny to me. No one knows anything, but most of the time I hardly get to laugh about it. Big secret and all that.”
"Right," Chloe grumbles, trying to mask her hurt behind the thin plume of smoke rising in front of her face. "So you told me so you could laugh at me?"
Rachel sighs. "I told you because you're my best friend, Chloe. Why else do you think I'd tell you I took weekly injections earlier today?"
"To mess with me?"
"Rachel pauses, seems to consider Chloe's words sincerely, and then giggles. "Well, maybe a bit of that. But I had to breach the topic somehow."
Chloe isn’t entirely convinced, but she takes a long drag of her joint as she fights back the urge to argue. Smoke blossoms in her mouth before her exhale, and she already feels her body coming back under control. Rachel watches with that same patience gracing her features, though Chloe does note the occasional glance she steals towards her joint.
Finally, Chloe exhales and takes the joint between her fingers, passing it off to Rachel as she calmly considers her next set of questions. Granted, she is — as she says — no expert on trans stuff, but she’s read up on queer issues to know at the very least that trans people exist; Rachel sitting before her, toking up just after coming out to her, is evidence of that fact.
That doesn’t stop Chloe from wondering what else is true. After all, she’s seen how Blackwell’s worst and whitest treat those who fall outside the acceptable norm. She’s heard Steph’s occasional grumblings about how hard it is to be an out-and-proud lesbian in Arcadia Bay sometimes, and she’s been witness to some downright nasty things said both around and to Mikey. Years ago, she’d stuck up for Max against bullies picking on her for quirks and habits Chloe had later found out were completely out of her control, and she’d been perceptive enough to hear the barbed words thrown at her back whenever she did.
Not to mention how she’s been the subject of ridicule more recently, too. Sometimes about stupid adolescent mistakes she made, and sometimes about things she herself hasn’t even come to terms with yet.
God knows how people would react if they found out Blackwell’s star pupil had such a big secret.
Rachel, now looking both more relaxed and somewhat concerned, tilts her head aside to catch Chloe’s downward gaze. “You okay, Chloe? Sorry if I, you know...”
Chloe blinks a few times in surprise before turning her attention back to Rachel. Thoughts still race in her mind, and seeing Rachel’s concern warns her that she should be careful about what she asks.
However, the first question doesn’t come from her. Instead, Rachel’s lips part just barely as she folds her hands between her thighs, her expression sinking. “You’re not…weirded out, are you?”
Chloe’s heart clenches, and a jagged urge courses through her body. “The fuck? No, why would I be?” Rachel flinches slightly, which makes Chloe want to punch herself. She takes a deep breath in before adding, “Sorry. I’m not weirded out. I promise. It's just...new, that's all.”
For a moment, Rachel seems to take the admission well, though her features remain resolutely dejected. Chloe admits she’s never seen her look this small, this anxious, this… sad , even. Rachel loudly exudes energy in every facet of her life, and that just so happens to include her sadness and her upset. Anguished screams towards the sky, violent outbursts with no prior consideration, loud sobbing fits that could nab her on Oscar, all of those are typical for Rachel, or at least from what Chloe’s seen of her.
Of course, Chloe is just finding out that there’s more to her best friend than meets the eye.
That’s always been the most fascinating part of being her friend; now, it feels trepidatious, intimate, and she’s terrified of violating this that Rachel’s entrusted her with. Who knows what else she might lose if she freaks out about something so arbitrary, and who knows how much trust she’ll squander if she doesn’t treat something so obviously important with its due respect?
“Who else knows?” Chloe asks gently. Rachel looks up at her and purses her lips.
“Just my family,” she explains. “And I guess now you, too. I’ve known since I was really young, and have basically lived my entire life as Rachel. Mom was the one who encouraged me to transition. Dad mostly allowed it if it would keep me quiet and not stain his career.” She admits that last part with a hint of venom in her tone; after everything she’s been through with her dad, Chloe wonders if she could ever talk about him any other way.
Chloe leans back ever so slightly to hop up onto the sink counter, letting her feet dangle above the tile floor. “You seemed pretty casual telling me,” she mentions, which earns her a less boisterous and more sincere laugh.
“Duh. You’re my best friend.” Then, she adds with a knowing wink, “Plus, we’ve made out. Figured you’d like to know.”
Ignoring both the insinuation of Rachel’s words and the rich blush that they evoke, Chloe nods in understanding. Then, she dares a more uncomfortable question, swinging her legs and gritting her teeth before asking, “So you’re all-girl? Like…” She tries not to let her eyes dip below Rachel’s belt, but her curiosity unfortunately gets the better of her (thankfully, it’s also somewhere her gaze has fallen before, so she allows herself some leeway).
Rachel gives her a look — somewhere between annoyance and amusement — and shakes her head. This time, there’s no ignoring her blush.
“But you said—”
“I take estrogen, Chloe. God gave me my gorgeous eyes, vocal training gave me my marvellous voice, and estrogen gave me this killer rack, but I can’t get surgery until I’m older.” Rachel glances away, sighing wistfully as she eases back against the stall border propping her up. “Until then, you and I have different plumbing.”
“Ah,” Chloe remarks. Rachel giggles again, and it only serves to deepen her blush. “I mean…you look, uh…you look great.”
Rachel raises a questioning eyebrow at her, looking coy all over again. “For a transgender girl?”
“No! No, for…” Chloe stops, dams the rambling words behind her teeth as she searches for a better way to put it. As far as Chloe’s concerned, Rachel is a girl, just not a…no, normal’s not the right word either. After all, Chloe’s as far from normal as they come, anyways.
The obvious answer staring her right in the face is trans , but Chloe doesn’t want to say Rachel’s drop-dead hot despite something. Besides, it’s entirely possible that there are other transgender people out there that are just as good-looking that she’d be attracted to—or just find generally attractive, of course.
Finally, as Rachel continues to watch her flounder around her phrasing, she admits defeat with a sigh. “For a self-made girl, yeah.”
Rachel smiles; it’s devilish and cheeky, but Chloe can’t help but admit it’s one of her best looks. She’s probably having way too much fun with this.
“Way to save face, Price. And before you ask, no. I’m not bullshitting you.”
“Why would you be bullshitting me?” Chloe asks, and Rachel frowns in nonchalance.
“I dunno, just figured it’s something people would ask me if they ever found out.”
Enough goes unsaid between them in their relationship that Chloe can pick out the meaning behind the sentiment. Rather, trust is something that’s been so tenuous since their first meeting, and it leaves Chloe doggedly wondering if she’s placed her trust in the right person. After all, she’s no stranger to Rachel’s proclivity for falsehoods, watching white lie upon white lie stack around her until her true intentions are safe behind a barrier of strategically-used deception.
Hell, Chloe’s trusted her with a very fragile heart — one she leaves to weather life’s many shitty punishments on her sleeve — and been close to regretting it time and time again, but something keeps drawing her back to trusting Rachel, hoping that those white lies don’t barricade her, too.
Not long ago, Rachel trusted Chloe in finding out what happened to her real mom, and Chloe had told her the ugly, painful, melodramatic truth.
Maybe this is Rachel’s way of repaying that trust.
Chloe’s brow sets at the question, that same determined scowl crossing her face as when she resolved to tell Rachel that truth. “ I know you’re not bullshitting me. I would never think that. I trust you.”
Rachel, admittedly, seems almost taken aback by the determination with which Chloe responds to the veiled accusation, but only briefly before a melancholic smile graces her lips. “Thank you.”
Rachel extends her hand towards Chloe, passing the joint between them as she settles further against the stall border behind her. The jagged frenzy in her mind once again falls away, calm smoking misting between the cracks left behind as Chloe takes another deep drag. Rachel watches, silently content, and it occurs to Chloe just how much Rachel looks like…well, Rachel.
Calm yet probing hazel eyes study her, and an ever-present smirk plays upon her lips. Honey-gold hair falls straight over one shoulder, a three-piece earring dangling just above the other. The neck of her graphic tee dips low, leaving her collarbone exposed and revealing just the slightest bit of her bra strap.
Rachel’s curious eyes dip down to follow Chloe’s gaze, then dart back up before she winks. Chloe coughs around a bloom of smoke gone down the wrong way, whacking her chest with her fist.
Yeah, she thinks through the haze and the fit of coughs overtaking her, same Rachel as before.
And she is, obviously. Why else would she have changed when she’s been Rachel this whole time? After all, Chloe reckons, she knows about all the masks Rachel wears around others, sees her shift from one persona to the next in the blink of an eye, and yet Chloe’s the only one in on this secret. If anything, Chloe might just be privy to the most private, unseen part of Rachel’s life, and that notion settles alongside with her raspy gasps for clean air.
Once Chloe’s finished sounding like she just survived drowning, Rachel springs forward and saunters towards the door, deftly locking it before turning back around and rummaging through her satchel. She produces a brick-sized yellow container looking like it belongs in a toxic dump and sets it down on the counter, patting it with a pleased hum.
Chloe looks between it and Rachel a few times before the truth strikes her. “You didn’t actually forget to take your weekly injection, did you?”
“Bi-weekly,” Rachel explains, “at least according to my endocrinologist. Good for my dad, too, because he’d never want any more than is recommended to be covered by our plan. Not that I’d want him to, anyways. As long as he’s paying, he can take it away, so I’m happy to have a backup source.”
Chloe bristles at the notion of her family having a healthcare plan, something her and her mom unfortunately aren’t so lucky to have. Half the time, her solution is just not to get sick or injured, and when that fails her solution is to just take care of herself and accept her death if it comes knocking early. Her household doesn’t need any more stress than what it’s dealing with already, especially with a parasitic moustache taking up space rent-free in their garage.
“I did some research and figured a booster between injection weeks won’t do any lasting damage,” Rachel continues, oblivious to the way Chloe envies her medical nonchalance, “so I started taking extra doses last month. Frank gets them for me for cheap on what should be a good, regular schedule.”
Chloe’s heart nearly plummets as Rachel says the name, and for a moment she worries her faith has been taken for granted; it wouldn’t be the first time she’s had that fear. “Frank knows?”
“No,” Rachel corrects swiftly, calmly. “I don’t actually think he knows what it’s really for. Men are so oblivious, sometimes. I told him since I wanna be an actress, I’ve gotta fill out faster than puberty will allow. Somehow, he believed it.”
“Well, thank god you’re not a gullible man anymore,” Chloe teases, hoping to ease the tension of the last two bombshells.
Rachel sighs wistfully, though in obviously dramatic fashion. “I wish I could say it offers me a unique perspective, but it doesn’t. I’ve been Rachel way longer than I was anything else.” Rachel flips open the case, allowing Chloe to catch sight of the needles lined up neatly inside. A small glass jar of clear liquid sits in a separate compartment beside the needles, which Rachel picks up and sets down on the sink counter.
“That your girl juice?” Chloe asks.
Rachel rolls her eyes as she grabs an empty needle from the container, lining it up with the lid of the jar. “Please call her something else, Chloe.”
Chloe winces. “Sorry, was that offensive?”
“No, it just sounds gross."
Chloe nods, reflecting on what she said — and yeah, she can see how it could be construed as gross, but Rachel’s the gross one for thinking it — as she watches Rachel draw the liquid into the syringe. There’s a strange reverence to the process, Chloe notices. Rachel holds the syringe so carefully, so daintily, as she lines it up with her thigh, an intense focus colouring her gaze.
There’s still so much Chloe’s learning about her best friend, but to be trusted with this kind of a secret — one that undoubtedly colours her understanding that yeah, Rachel is hella attractive with a nuance beyond her own muddied sense of identity and attraction — helps numb any of the hurt she might’ve otherwise felt with not being told sooner.
It does occur to her to maybe ask why Rachel took nearly a year to tell her, especially given how often they’ve been…intimate, for lack of a better word. More than once, Rachel’s elected not to go beyond just making out, even when they both clearly want more and Chloe’s already halfway out of her shirt. Some of that apprehension must be because of this, but Chloe’s not entirely sure how much of it is responsible. After all, it’s not like Chloe hasn’t expressed interest in the types of things Rachel wouldn’t even need to be naked for.
Only time will tell, she supposes as Rachel sets a still-full syringe on top of the container. Chloe quirks an eyebrow at her as she hops up onto the counter beside her, tugging the hem of her shorts further up her thigh.
“Can you hold this?” she asks, stretching the denim out for Chloe, who obliges with a clearing of her throat and a dry nod.
She hooks her fingers beneath the hem, holding it up as Rachel reaches over to take a small wipe from the box and clean the skin before lining the needle up with what otherwise looks like a large freckle or mole. Her breathing steadies as she pierces the skin of her thigh with ease, hardly reacting to any pressure in the application. Once again, her eyes take on an intent air as she empties the clear contents of her syringe, just faintly wincing as she does so. It’s mesmerising, especially with her hand so close to Rachel’s skin — not closer than it’s ever been, mind you, but every other time Rachel has pulled away, leaving Chloe dazed, confused, and aching for more.
Now, Rachel’s putting her trust in Chloe, expecting neither of them to budge, showing her a part of her life no one else gets to know about.
Finally, Rachel removes the empty syringe with a deep exhale and places it beside herself, reaching again for her wipe and buffeting the pinprick of a wound left behind as she squeezes her eyes shut. Chloe continues to stare, watching crimson seep through the damp cotton, before Rachel lifts her head and clears her throat.
“Uh, could you get me a band-aid? I should have one in my bag,” she asks, knocking Chloe out of her trance and urging her to rummage through her satchel. She produces a small baggie of band-aids and removes one, peeling away the small bit of paper and bringing it close.
Rachel moves the wipe away in time for Chloe to apply it, sighing as she does. It’s funny, Chloe reckons, that she’s seen other band-aids in nearly the exact same spot before and had never thought to question it. She’d chalked it up to skating accidents, even though Rachel never skated anymore without Chloe and that the upper thigh would be a hella weird place for a skating injury.
Just what else about Rachel is Chloe completely overlooking?
A shudder and a wavering sigh return Chloe’s attention to her work as Rachel’s eyes fall shut for a moment.
“You good there, Rach?” she asks tentatively; once again, complete rookie at trans things.
Rachel nods, though her eyes remain closed for a brief moment before she opens them again and beams at Chloe. “Yeah, thanks. I get a little squeamish sometimes, but now you know what it’s like when I take my estrogen.”
“And how bitchy you can get without it,” Chloe remarks playfully, which Rachel chuckles airily at.
“So to avoid the hormonal bitchies, I now have someone to help me with my injections!” Rachel beams, and once again Chloe’s left feeling like the ground’s fallen out from under her. Rachel pitches sideways and plants a quick kiss on Chloe’s cheek, grinning against the rich blush blossoming beneath her lips. “Now let’s get the hell outta here, stud.”
Chloe watches Rachel hop off the counter, her hips swaying confidently as she collects her belongings and heads to the door. Whatever intimacy was woven between them in this quiet moment of confession has faded into the background, but it isn’t like every other time. This time, when Rachel turns from her, she doesn’t feel jaded about a romance she’s not even sure about pursuing — let alone wanting — nor does she grab for an affection that’s just been yanked from her chest, leaving her hollow and hopeless.
This time, she feels invited, left not wanting but welcome to imagine a future where Rachel and Chloe are more than just a fleeting friendship immolated by its own thunderous passion and excitement. Rachel’s given her both anchor and lifeline, new possibilities before her own eyes and a certainty that she still has some use to her.
As Chloe follows behind her, longing eyes flitting where they usually do behind Rachel, she quickly gets an answer she wasn’t expecting.
“B-T-Dubs, can we get some ice cream? I’m seriously fucking craving right now.”
Chloe chuckles softly to herself. “I have, like half a tub at home.”
Rachel scowls at her and crosses her arms, jutting a leg out in front of Chloe that nearly trips her. “I’m basically pulling a double puberty right now, Chlo. I need a full tub. Give a girl a break.”
With a roll of her eyes and a declaration of “Drama Queen”, Chloe acquiesces to Rachel’s demand; at the very least, the way Rachel beams at her when she calls her this invites the same fluttering in her stomach that it always has. It’s good to know that — despite the very recent confession initially surprising her — not everything has to change.
And if it does, she supposes, it could turn out hella gorgeous.