Chapter Text
“I am the business.” Her eye makeup had smeared from being in the rain. Now the smears were streaked with tears. I felt queasy and looked away. Tyrell called her an experiment, nothing more. More human than human, but still, a machine. It was a shocking thing to become aware of. And I was the jerk that took the blinders off.
She came to me for help, and I did more than turn her away. I took away the last of the illusions she’d been clinging to. The illusion that she’d had a mother and been a daughter. That she’d been born and grown up. Tyrell had done a job on her with those implants. But then, so did I, when I proved to her they weren’t really her memories.
Now she had questions. Questions I didn’t want to think about the answers to. And I was tired. Bruised and beaten. Hungover, as usual. I needed a drink and I needed to sleep. I knew the answers to her questions would hurt her and I was done being the bearer of her bad news. Still holding my glass, I lay down on my bed.
I began dreaming almost immediately. It was the same dream, third night in a row. Rachel was in my bed with me. Her hair was down, and we were naked. She was stroking my back, I was smoothing her hair. We were comforting one another. I kissed her cheek, and her skin felt like satin under my mouth. I wanted her, but it was more than that. In the dream it felt like something warm in my chest had cracked open, spilled out, and spread. The feeling stayed with me the last two mornings, even after I jerked off in the shower and had my first drink.
Tonight, I dreamt music. It was music my mother used to play on the piano when I was a child. Music I associated with feeling safe and happy. The warmth from the dream spread past my chest to the rest of me. I could have stayed in that dream for the rest of my life and died happy.
But my mind wouldn’t allow me. I woke up, alone in bed. My mother was still dead and gone. But Rachel was still here. She was the one playing the music. I got up to find her, still half in the bag and unsteady.
Her hair was down, just like in my dream. It floated around her head, made her look like an angel. I sat with her at the piano.
“I didn’t know if I could play. I remembered lessons, but I didn’t know if it was me or Tyrell’s niece.” I closed my eyes. I felt like a real heel. She had to wonder that because of me, because I’d been pissed off at life, and wanted someone else to feel bad, too. I tilted my head toward her to get her attention. Her profile was perfect. Elegant. It took my breath away.
“You play beautifully.” I meant it as an apology, and a come on, if I’m being honest. She turned her head to look at me. Her face was blank. Blank, and beautiful. She glanced down at my mouth, so I took my shot and nuzzled her cheek with my nose. I kissed her on the spot behind her ear. That was my go-to move, tried and true.
I leaned back to gauge her reaction. She held my gaze and looked like she was considering it. I took that as a good sign and went in for the kiss.
But she pulled away like she was disgusted by me, and the idea of kissing me. I was steamed. I couldn’t make sense of it. Here I was, risking my neck for her by keeping her safe. I’d been charming, I was a good-looking guy, what was the problem? I tried to snatch her arm when she got off the bench and whiffed.
She grabbed her fur and hurried to the door. Like she couldn’t get far enough, fast enough, from me. Who did she think she was? She was a replicant, a skin job. And I was the sap trying to make it with a washing machine. She had a lot of nerve turning me down. I beat her to the door, easy, and watched her fumble with the lock. I was turned on and pissed off. She went to open the door and I blocked it with my foot. Then I punched it, hard, with the side of my fist, and slammed it shut in her face. The breeze it made blew back her floating hair. She looked scared, real scared. Good.
No. Not good. I tried to clear my head. What was I doing? She was scared of me and who could blame her. I was breathing hard. I waited until I calmed down a little before trying to say anything. “Rachel. I’m sorry. Please don’t go. I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
I stepped away from the door. Her hand stayed on the handle. She was breathing hard, too. I felt like a bum, just like my pop was, like my wife said I was, before she left me. I didn’t want to scare Rachel. I wanted to take care of her. I wanted to have that dream feeling while I was awake. I was going about it the wrong way, to say the least.
I put my hands up and slowly backed off. I went to the kitchen to find us something for breakfast. Toast. I poured a glass of orange juice for her and splashed a little in my gin.
When I turned around, she was wearing her fur and sitting on the arm of the davenport, smoking a butt. Her legs were set at an awkward angle. She had nice stems. I set her breakfast down and walked away without saying anything. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to stay. I wanted her to want to stay.
Boy did I need a shower. That sponge bath I gave myself last night wasn’t doing it. I took my time. I wanted to give Rachel a chance to relax. The hot water felt good on my sore body. The booze started to go to work. I left my hard-on alone and it went away.
When I came out, she was still there. I was surprised and glad. She watched me with those big brown eyes. I was wearing a towel and nothing else, looking for a shirt that was clean enough. I started to flatter myself she liked what she saw, then remembered the way I’d scared her. I’d be lucky if she didn’t walk out on me again.
“Deckard?”
I almost said, “What is it, darlin’ ?” I didn’t want to scare her off, so I buttoned my lip and raised an eyebrow.
“Deckard… can we start over. Can we go back to the piano.”