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g-girlshavingfun · 2 months

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Meetings (I)

A series of short drabbles about how the core-four of the first generation met.

(I) Rachel + Abby, Matt + Joe

(II) Matt + Rachel, Joe + Rachel

(III) Matt + Abby, Joe + Abby

——————————————————————— Rachel loved Abby before she met her.

She was a bit scared of her - of who she’d be and what she’d take from her and if they’d even like each other - but she definitely loved her and that love only got stronger when they finally met.

Abby was pretty small, tiny really. Somehow she was still heavy and somehow she was still loud. Somehow now matter how tightly Rachel held her to her chest her body didn’t break despite how tiny and fragile she was.

Rachel was grateful for that.

When their parents took her home, Rachel learned to fall in love with her cries, always loud in the middle of the night as she screamed for food and love and attention. She loved her eyes, they had slowly darkened in the weeks after her birth to a bright emerald green. She loved her smile, a wide toothless thing that lit up her whole face in contagious laughter.

Everyday as Abby grew, Rachel learned a new thing to love about her sister.

Every time Rachel left, for school and then for work, she would come back and meet someone new. Some new version of her little sister with those same eyes and that same smile, who snarked and rolled her eyes and told clever jokes and loved Rachel as much as Rachel loved her. New versions who were annoying and kind and didn’t take life too seriously, didn’t take it seriously enough.

Sometimes Rachel would meet a new version of her little sister and she’d hate her a little bit, hate her for being stubborn and sad and angry and reckless and just a little bit darker than the version of her sister she had met before.

But every time Rachel met Abby she loved her. Every time.

———————————————————————

Abby doesn't remember the first time she met Rachel, nor does she remember a time she didn’t love her.

Everything she knows about her has always been there, the warmth and the love, and nothing about it has ever changed.

She knows that being wrapped up in her sisters hugs, back when Abby barely reached Rachel’s waist and and her arms couldn’t meet around her back, was one of the first places she felt at home. Was one of the last places she felt safe.

But she doesn't remember the first hug.

She knows that her sister listened to every word she said. Unlike their parents who didn’t have time for childish nonsense, she remembers Rachel listening to her rambles, her stories, her complaints. In return she’d tell stories of her own, make jokes, give her advice whether it was asked for or not. She was always there to listen, long before Abby had anything meaningful to say.

But she doesn't remember their first conversation.

She knows her sister protected her. From monsters hiding in the closet and lurking in the trees. From her parent’s absences and from their sadness. From boys who were a tad too old and girls who were a tad too cruel.

But she doesn't remember the first time Rachel protected her.

Everything she remembers about her sister, everything she knows, has always been there. Even when their parents were gone more often than they weren’t. Even when she went through a revolving door of nannies. Even when the friends that she knew and loved would die and leave, her sister was always there as she had always been.

Abby doesn't remember ever meeting her sister.

But she remembers always being loved by her.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Matt had never met anyone like Joe.

Where Matt came from, folks introduced themselves to new people with a smile and a firm handshake. They’d engage in polite conversation briefly, talk about the weather or their families or whatever game was on last night, before they moved on to the heavy stuff.

He came from a small midwestern town.

Joe Solomon came from somewhere where a curt nod was enough introduction. Where they jumped straight into a conversation about the infiltration of a Czechoslovakian political party meeting they had been assigned. Where it was normal for facial expressions to be frozen in a permanent scowl regardless of any smiles or jokes sent their way.

He probably came from the lab in Langley’s basement.

But Matt was grateful to be partnered up with Joe on this one, even if Joe didn’t seem to return the sentiment, as the man might not have the best manners but he clearly knew what he was talking about where Matt didn’t.

So they got on a plane, four different planes actually cause Joe looked at him like he was crazy when he asked about a direct flight, and assumed their covers. Joe played the part of a Czechoslovakian official almost perfectly, and when he fell into hot waters Matt disappeared into the crowd to pull him out of it. Matt lifted the minutes from previous meetings from some guy’s pocket and Joe informed him of said guy’s identity then translated the notes for them. The couple times they ran into trouble, in the form of guards and military and general suspicion, if Matt couldn’t charm their way out of it Joe’s fists could.

They worked well together. Really well.

And they got along pretty well too. Matt coaxed a couple smiles out of him and Joe even started cracking jokes. Matt hoped that they’d work together again, that they could be friends, that they could be brothers.

He’d always wanted a brother.

———————————————————————

Joe had never met anyone like Matt.

He talked too much and smiled too much and was far too new to this business. His handler had warned him that his partner for this one had only been an agent for a few months. That he was hand picked for the academy and was top of some of his classes there, but that he was still green and inexperienced.

In other words it was Joe’s job to keep the man alive for the next month.

So Joe kept him alive.

He scanned every room they went in twice. He did all the translating and most of the fighting. He kept Matt relaxed by trying to join in with his wise cracks and overly happy expressions. He did all he could to bring the man back to whatever hillbilly family was waiting for him back home.

And then Matt saved his life.

Joe’s cover was flawless, his accent almost native, the soldier shouldn’t have suspected him at all. Yet he ended up dangerously close to having a gun aimed point blank at him in a crowded hallway. That was it. He was done.

Until Matt appeared out of nowhere and orchestrated a perfect distraction for Joe to slip away in before disappearing himself, slipping into thin air like a ghost.

So maybe the man was alright. Maybe he could work with him.

He didn’t know that this wouldn’t be the last time Joe had to keep him alive, nor would it the last time Matt returned the favour. He didn’t know that they’d work together seamlessly for over fifteen years. He didn’t know that he’d end up looking back on this assignment as the best thing that ever happened to him.

He didn’t know he would end up loving this man like a brother.

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls fanfiction #rachel cameron #rachel morgan #abigail cameron #abby cameron #joseph solomon #joe solomon #matthew morgan

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g-girlshavingfun · 2 months

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A sister’s vigil: 5 times Rachel visited her sister in hospital, and 1 time she didn’t.

2/6

Word count: 5,285

‘No’ was Abby’s favourite word. Until of course someone dared say it to her, then it suddenly became ‘yes’. But she was also impatient, and sometimes she was more impatient than she was stubborn, so Rachel was pretty sure she could win this one.

———————————————————————

Chapter 2/6

“Can you take me to the park?”

“Not today Abs.”

“Pleeeeeeease! Pretty pretty please!”

“It’s raining Abby why would you want to go to the park?”

“Cause that’s when all the best worms come out and I need to get them before Corey or his worm hotel will be better than mine!”

“…What? No. No worms, no hotels, no park! Just, go read a book or do your homework or something.”

“But that’s so booooring.”

Rachel was going to kill her. She loved her little sister, she really did. She loved her when she spilled paint all over Rachel’s Countries of the World summer assignment. She loved her when she practised her back kicks in the house and broke their mother’s fancy china. She even loved her when they came home from the park and she had handfuls of mud and worms falling out her pockets. But Rachel had an Arabic essay to write, a CoveOps assignment to work on, and a start of year Culture and Assimilation exam to study for. She was going into her senior year this September. This time next year she’d be starting as an agent at Langley. She needed to ace these assignments, these exams, this year, and she couldn’t do that with her little sister draping herself over her shoulder and begging to go collect worms.

“Can we play Home Invasion? I’ll even let you be the invader!”

Rachel was going to kill her.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” for the first time in hours, Rachel removed herself from her desk. She grabbed her little sister by the armpits, swung her up in the air, and started lugging her out the room. Thankfully, Abby was still pretty tiny to Rachel, tiny enough that she never struggled to haul her around when necessary. “You, are going to go downstairs and find someway to entertain yourself. Don’t start any fires, don’t break anything, and don’t bring any animals into the hou- YES worms count as animals Abby. I am going to stay up here and work until dinner. Then we can play after dinner okay?”

She dropped her sister onto her feet at the bottom of the stairs, crouching down to catch the troublemaker’s eyes.

“Okay?”

Growing up, Rachel listened to every word her parents said, every word Sarah said, and every word her teachers said. She hung onto their requests, their instructions, and she always complied. Even when she didn’t want to, because they were older than her and smarter than her and they knew best. Once, she found a stray cat in town and begged her parents to let her keep him. She picked out a name - Felix - and promised to take the best care of him. She outlined her plan to fill a cardboard box with newspaper and sand and put it in her room. To change it every other day and let Felix sleep on a spare pillow under her bed. There was space under there after Abby had added Lupa the Labrador to her growing collection of stolen goods. Cats didn’t need walks but she figured Felix would get bored cooped up in her room all day so she would carry him out to the garden every lunch time for a run around. She even got Sarah to agree to mind him when Rachel was away at school.

One stern look from her mother and she crumbled. Felix was taken to the nearest animal shelter right then and there. It was probably for the best. Abby would’ve fed him worms, or stepped on him, or built a canon to shoot him out of somehow. The point was her mother knew what was best, and one stern look could always convince Rachel of that.

She tried to emulate her mother’s stern face now. Clenched jaw. Slightly narrowed eyes. A small crease digging into her forehead. Until a few years ago, Rachel couldn’t imagine anyone saying no to face she was trying desperately to copy.

Sure enough, after about a minutes silence between the two, Abby’s nose began to crinkle. Rachel’s used to do the same when she was thinking hard, until her CoveOps professor told her that it was a tell that would get her killed one day. She bribed her roommate, Heather, with CIA case reports she borrowed from her mother’s office in exchange for watching Rachel do her Computing assignments all semester. Every time her nose crinkled Heather had her full permission to spray her with water. Her nose hasn’t crinkled since.

Abby would need to lose the tell as well one day. Otherwise it would get her killed.

But for now Rachel appreciated the crinkle, she loved the crinkle, because it meant she was winning. Sure enough, her little sister pursed her lips, shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the next, and huffed a tiny frustrated breath from her nose. With all the attitude of Tristan’s annoying younger sister and all her preteen friends, Abby rolled her eyes, scuffed her foot against the floor, and grumbled in agreement before darting off to do who knows what.

“Okay. Back to work.”

———————————————————————

“Rachel?”

Caroline Cameron’s voice echoed through her eldest daughter’s room. She had obviously just got home from work - her hair still pulled back in a bun, her beige pantsuit still immaculately pressed, and her heels still high despite the late hour.

“I grabbed pizza on my way home. It’s in the kitchen. Your sister’s already inhaling it.”

And with that she retreated back to her office to continue working. She’d remain in there until at least one of the Cameron girls had gone to sleep, maybe both, at which point she’d reemerge to eat a single slice of cold pizza and stare vacantly out the kitchen window. That had been her routine - except when she was away on assignments - for the past year now. Ever since her husband died.

Rachel sighed. She was going to regret this.

“Will you join us?”

Every now and then, when she was feeling brave, she’d do this. Ask her mother to break her routines. Tell her that there was a world outside of foreign dignitaries. Beg her to please, please, notice her children who still needed her. She hadn’t much success yet, but she was hopeful.

“I have work to Rachel.”

Or maybe delusional.

Rachel’s mother sent her a stern look as she closed her office door. And that was that.

Two summers ago, the three Cameron women had huddled together in a hospital waiting room of in the middle of the night. An ex-filtration of an undercover Interpol agent out of East Berlin had gone badly wrong, leaving several of the operatives involved, including Michael Cameron, injured in the fallout. The call had came late in the day, when Abby was already in her pyjamas and Rachel was already curled up with a book. When the doctors broke the news that their father would live with no lasting effects other than a limp, Abby was asleep in her sister’s lap with one hand clinging to Monty the sheep - short for Montauciel - and the other to Rachel’s hand.

He was the only surviving agent.

A year later he was dead.

He wasn’t a field agent anymore, was barley an agent at all. He decoded the occasional foreign intelligence and went on long walks, drowning himself in the guilt of surviving. Of attending six funerals in half as many weeks. Of outliving agents decades younger than him. Of outliving his best friend. Physically, he was fit aside from his leg, but he wasn’t well. Their mother never told them how he died, but he was perfectly healthy, only in his early 40’s. He no longer had job where he put his life at risk. He didn’t drive. Didn’t drink or smoke. He didn’t do much of anything. He was just sad.

Rachel knew how sad people died. She knew how her father died.

She was terrified her mother would die the same way.

She was also terrified her sister would choke to death on subpar pizza before she reached her eighth birthday.

“Slow down Abs, the pizza’s not going anywhere.”

“Shmighte choo.”

Rachel assumed that was mouth-full-of-food for something snarky, so she gave her a light cuff round the head as she walked past. It earned her a tiny glare, which did nothing in the way of intimidation and only made her hide a smile, but thankfully the farm yard animal in their kitchen swallowed before speaking again.

“I’m sick of pizza.”

“Yeah you look it.”

“We’ve had it four times this week and its only Wednesday.”

“What kind of seven year old complains about too much pizza?”

“One whose slowly dying of nutrinchel defi- deficies!”

“First of all it’s nutritional deficiencies, and you don’t have any. Second of all tone down the dramatics and I’ll ask mother to get Chinese tomorrow instead.”

“Can’t we cook something?”

No.

The possible outcomes of a Cameron using the kitchen for anything more advanced than making coffee included major food poisoning, a house fire, or a city-wide blackout.

“Sarah would cook burgers on Wednesdays.”

Sarah got married last year, a few months before Michael Cameron died. She still worked for the family after the wedding, but she lived with her husband in an apartment on the other side of town. At 7:00 everyday she would make her way across town, make Abby breakfast and tame her hair, take her to the park to hunt for worms or to school to hunt for trouble, make her dinner in the evenings and talk with her about whatever Abby wanted. Just as she did with Rachel.

After six months being married she found out she was pregnant, and she made the tough choice to start focussing on her own family. It made sense, and Rachel understood, and she didn’t miss her at all.

Abby did though.

Their mother hired a temporary nanny until the end of the school year, but Abby’s been Rachel’s responsibility over the summer. She hopes her mother remembered to hire someone new for September or her sister will end up running wilder than usual.

“Fine, I’ll ask mother to bring home burgers tomo-“

“Tomorrow’s Thursday!”

“-rrow if you just shu-“

“Thursday is pasta night!”

“-t up and EAT!”

She didn’t mean to yell, really. But she’s been up since 6:00 working on her Arabic and her COW assignment still needs rewriting and she’s definitely not going to ace her start of year Culture and Assimilation exam. She misses a father that was hardly ever around and a mother that isn’t even gone, her sister is getting on her last nerve, and this shouldn’t be her responsibility.

“Just, eat your dinner Abs then you can go play before bed.”

“…We can go play.”

“What?”

“You said you’d play with me after dinner. I made new booby traps for Home Invasion! Oh, speaking of you should definitely wear thick soled shoes… some of them are pointy…”

She couldn’t, she really couldn’t today.

“I’m sorry Abs. Tomorrow, I promise.”

When Abby started school she got in trouble all the time. She spoke over her teachers and shot spitballs at her classmates and never seemed to sit still. Rachel told her parents that it was just because she was clever and bored, but her mother pointed out that Rachel was clever and bored at school, but they never received phone calls about her rigging a bucket full of glitter above the boys bathroom door. When Abby started getting in trouble, she quickly learned that if she cried, the teachers would go easy on her. It was a flawless tactic. It also helped her get her way with Sarah, but it never worked on Rachel.

Rachel knew that even when her sister was really upset, she didn’t cry. She never cried when she had nightmares, or when she was scared of storms at night. She didn’t cry as they sat in the waiting room waiting for news about their father, didn’t cry when their mother told them he was dead, didn’t even cry at his funeral. She cries when she wants something, not when she’s upset.

When she’s upset, her lower lip starts to shake and her chin starts to wobble. The blood vessels in her eyes pink up, bold against the green of her iris’, and they shine with immobilised tears. A small crease begins to form in her forehead and a wave of trembles spreads from her head to her toes. She swallows once. Maybe sniffs. And then her jaw clenches and her eyes cloud in anger, narrowing into slits as the rest of her body stills.

That’s what she looks like now.

“Abby…”

That’s what she looks like before she turns on her heels and bolts out the room.

———————————————————————

Rachel is just finishing up the second edition of her COW assignment when the doorbell rings.

She waits a moment in the hopes that someone else will answer it. It’s unlikely that her mother would leave her office at this time for anything short of the fire alarm going off, and Abby isn’t technically allowed to answer the door by herself, but not being allowed to do something hasn’t stopped her before. Unfortunately, Abby has apparently chosen this moment to do as she’s told for once, and the bell rings again.

And again.

And again and again and ag-

“What!”

When she was storming down the stairs and planning the murder of whoever was using their doorbell as a pincushion for their finger, the last face she expected to see was Tristan Marley’s.

She supposed it should’ve been high up on her list of possibilities, given that he lives just across the road, but ever since they broke up a year and a half ago they both made a strong effort to avoid each other.

Initially when Tristan asked her out she said no. It was the winter after her father’s injury and she was halfway through tenth grade. It was an important year. She had just committed to the CoveOps pathway over research and development and she didn’t want to be distracted by boys when she was already distracted by her family. It didn’t matter that he was cute, with floppy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, tall for his age and just beginning to develop some muscles. It didn’t matter that he was smart, for a civilian at least. It didn’t matter that he was kind, always laughing at her jokes and tolerating her sister’s nonsense and smiling at her parents when he saw them. None of that mattered. But her father ranting about how he was a respectable boy from a good family who would make something of himself one day, her mother explaining that civilian allies were important as long as they were influential like Tristan’s family were, Sarah gushing about how cute the two of them would be together. That mattered. The only person who wasn’t thrilled when she finally said yes, was Abby, who called him boring and stupid and a butthead.

She was only five but maybe Rachel should’ve listened to her.

“What do you want Tristan?”

All the Culture and Assimilation classes in the world couldn’t make Rachel be courteous to that two-faced two-timing weasel.

“It- It’s-“

Of course the unathletic moron couldn’t even walk across the road without getting out of breath.

“-A-Abby, sh-she f-fell and sh-she’s hurt. Come on.”

It’s a good thing Tristan had grabbed her hand and started running, pulling her down their gravel driveway and past the towering gates that bordered their estate, because Rachel’s brain had momentarily stopped working.

“Wha-what do you-“

“Just come on!”

He dragged her across the road without even looking because he’s an idiot and they came to a stop in the yard outside his window where her baby sister was lying crumpled on the ground. She was curled up on her side clutching at her left leg. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, her face pale but splotchy. Tiny whimpers clawed out of her mouth and punched Rachel in the chest as streams of tears ran down her tiny face.

That didn’t make sense. Abby doesn't cry.

“What the hell happened?”

Rachel dropped to her knees next to her sister’s head, ignoring the pain shooting through her legs. She ran a soothing hand through dark hair and tried to force comforting noises past the lump in her throat as she scanned her tiny body for injuries. There were flakes of blood in her hair and the way she was breathing made Rachel worry about her ribs, but it was clearly her leg that was the problem. Halfway between her knee and hip there was a massive lump that was already beginning to bruise, purple and blue and red wrapping around her leg that was growing to twice it’s normal side.

Oh God she’s broken her femur.

“I have no idea what she was doing or that she was there I just came home and my room kind of smelled like feet so I opened my window a bit more and-“

A discarded bucket lay on it’s side nearby. Ever since Tristan and Rachel had broken up, Abby had found great pleasure in playing pranks on him. There was a tall tree with branches extending to the boy’s window that she uses to access his room. She smuggled a small family of birds into his bathroom. She coated his nicest pants in itching powder. She even wedged planks behind the front wheels of his car so he couldn’t reverse out the drive. Rachel was sure she had done more but Abby had gotten pretty good at not getting caught. She must’ve been setting up a bucket of something above Tristan’s cracked open window when the window opened and knocked her out the tree.

Worms.

A glance upwards confirmed her suspicions. The little liar had been collecting worms for a stupid prank on Rachel’s stupid ex-boyfriend and now her stupid baby sister was-

“Call an ambulance Mr Marley.”

That was her mother’s voice.

“Now please.”

“Right. Right yeah.”

Her mother was supposed to be in her office working. Not out in the cold and the rain in her high heel shoes and finely pressed pantsuit crouching at her daughter’s side.

“Ca-can’t you drive her?”

“No. I’ve been drinking.”

She said it quietly. Like she was ashamed. Which didn’t make sense because her mother didn’t feel shame. She was proud and loud and assertive and she doesn't drink alone in her office on a Wednesday evening.

“I can drive.”

“Your hands are shaking and you can barely see.”

They are?

They were. One alternating between sweeping the hair off Abby’s forehead and the tears off her cheeks, and the other holding tight to two tiny hands, but both were trembling and she couldn’t stop them. Her vision was blurring too. She didn’t know why since she had just eaten and she was well rested and the rain was starting to let up so there was no reason for her vision to be blurry. Or for her breaths to be coming out in tiny gasps. Or for her voice to be catching and stuttering when her voice was always meant to be strong and assertive.

“Tri-Tristan can drive.”

“I’m not trusting that boy with my daughter.”

She hadn’t felt like that a couple years ago but whatever.

“Stay here and wait for the ambulance, I’ll go pack us a bag.”

And with that she got up, turned on her heel and headed back to the house, ignoring the pitiful cries Abby let out as she did.

“Shhh Abs its alright, she’ll be back in a moment. You’re okay, you’ll be fine.”

Tristan was being characteristically cowardly and didn’t reemerge from his house, leaving her alone with her sister as they waited for the ambulance to come. Abby’s cries were slowly getting quieter and less terrifying, but they wouldn’t stop coming, and Rachel still didn’t know what to do. How to comfort her. How to fix this. Where was their mother? Children in pain want their mother right? When Heather gave Rachel a concussion in Protection and Enforcement in the eighth grade all Rachel wanted was her mother to sit by her side and smooth her hair until the world stopped spinning.

Abby must want their mother.

“Hurts Rach.”

“I know, its alright. You’re okay, you’ll be fine.”

But all Rachel could give her was the same platitudes as they waited for the ambulance, for their mother, for everything to be normal again.

———————————————————————

When their father was airlifted to a DC hospital after being stabilised in Europe, he and the two other agents that survived long enough to make the journey were placed in a private wing with members of the secret service on every door and some of the best doctors in the country assigned to their care. They were highly ranked and respected agents recovering from injuries sustained on an important operation so they received the best, most efficient care the country could offer, and their families were kept well in the loop.

Apparently the same luxuries were not afforded to seven year olds who fall out of trees.

When the ambulance initially arrived at the ER and the three Camerons were hastily unloaded, they were met with a swarm of activity. A nurse ushered Rachel and her mother away as doctors fought over access to Abby like vultures picking off pieces of meat from a corpse. She overheard scraps of their conversations, “displaced femoral fracture”, “potential pneumothorax”, “mild concussion”, all phrases she understood but was struggling to comprehend, the words moving sluggishly through her brain and failing to activate any centre of knowledge. The only thing she could comprehend was that her sister was still crying. She was gasping and spluttering on the air that she forced into her lungs. She whimpered every time one of the nurses or doctors brushed their hands against her skin. She was still crying and Rachel couldn’t fix it.

They took her away for surgery soon after and Rachel and her mother had heard nothing since.

That was four hours ago.

“Sit down Rachel.”

That was four hours ago and now Rachel was pacing.

Her mother had no right to tell her to sit down. Her little sister was having surgery on a broken femur and she was worried. The pacing was helping distract her from the worry.

“Everyone in this waiting room can tell that you’re worried. It’s a tell. Sit down.”

She sat down.

“Aren’t you worried?”

Her mother wasn’t pacing, but that was probably because she didn’t want everyone in the waiting room to know she was worried. Mothers worry about their children when they were hurt. When they cry even though they never cry, when they struggle to breath, when they get dragged to surgery and no one updates them for four hours. Her mother must be worried.

“No.”

Or maybe not.

A tight band wrapped itself around Rachel’s chest and began to squeeze. Heat spread from her head and heart to her cheeks, her fingertips, her toes. Tension wove itself into her muscles and pulled tight, leaving her jaw and fists clenched and her body shaking. The anger came over her suddenly. Unexpectedly. Uncontrollably. She exploded.

“Of course not! Why would you worry about your daughter, your seven year old daughter, whose scared and in pain and in surgery? Why would you worry about her when that would require you to care about her-“

“Of course I care Rachel.”

“-and think about her and generally acknowledge her existence? Much better to just ignore it right, that’s what you’re good at. Just ignore when your children need you or want to spend time with yo-

“I doubt I’m the one she wanted to spend time wi-.”

“I was busy! I already got her breakfast and lunch and did her hair. I spent all of yesterday helping her with her left hook and all of the day before playing Home Invasion. I spend time with her every day, every week, trying to keep her out of trouble, but I have my own life. I have work to do!”

“Your school work doesn't keep the roof over our heads Rachel.”

“No and neither does drinking whiskey in your office all night.”

“How dare y-“

“Mrs Cameron?”

The doctor looked embarrassed to be interrupting our conversation, though everyone else in the waiting room looked relieved. Her mother looked embarrassed as well. Not in any obvious way, there was no flush to her cheeks or averting of her eyes, she hid her emotions like a perfect operative, but Rachel’s words had struck her.

Good.

Rachel couldn’t bring herself to care about her mother’s embarrassment, distracted by the doctor telling them that Abby’s surgery had gone well. That they used screws to stabilise the bone and it should heal perfectly in a couple of months. That she has three broken ribs on her left side, but no pneumothorax or bruising of the lung. That she was recovering in room 14, awake but groggy, and has been asking for them.

Before the words had fully left the doctors mouth, Rachel began stalking down the hallway, nothing able to stop her except the sound of her mothers voice.

“Rachel. Take the bag with you.”

With me?

“You… you’re not coming?”

The silence was answer enough.

Anger surged through Rachel’s body again. How could she not be coming? How could she not be coming when her daughter is asking for her? As quickly as it took over her, the anger left. Only a tired resignation, an emptiness she felt in her bones, remained. So she simply shook her head, grabbed the rucksack at her mother’s feet, and stormed off.

———————————————————————

“Thought I told you not to break anything?”

“At least I didn’t start a fire.”

“Well there’s plenty of time until summer break ends. I suppose you’ve still got time.”

Abby gave a little giggle at that, grimacing at how it pulled at her chest. From where Rachel was perched on the right side of the bed, her breathing still looked shallow, but it was slow and even now. Though she still looked pale, a bit of colour had returned to her cheeks. Her eyes were drooping with exhaustion but she was no longer crying. Overall, despite the bed dwarfing her tiny frame, and the massive red cast covering half her leg, she looked okay.

“Where’s mother?”

Sitting in the waiting room. Getting a cab home. Going to the bar across the street.

“Tracking down something to eat. No pizza, I promise.”

“What’s in the bag?”

Rachel had no idea. Whatever their mother felt was more important than comforting her injured, crying child as she waited for an ambulance. A case file, a change of clothes, a bottle of whiskey, anything could be in that bag and their mother would’ve found a way to justify its importance. So Rachel didn’t show her sister the contents of the bag as she opened it, just in case all it revealed was disappointment.

But the bag’s contents didn’t fill her with disappointment or anger. It didn’t stoke the flames of frustration she felt towards her mother. Instead her chest felt the tinniest bit warmer, the tinniest bit fuller as she unzipped the rucksack.

Sitting at the top of the bag was a ball of white fluff with four brown stumps for feet. Roughened and dulled with age but still distinguishably recognisable. Rachel removed Monty the sheep from the bag and placed him carefully on Abby’s chest, enjoying the way an embarrassed flush spread across her sister’s cheeks.

“I’m not a baby! I don’t need a stupid stuffed toy!”

“Stupid? Need I remind you I bought you that toy. And you better keep your voice down, you’ll upset poor Montauciel.”

“Monty can’t hear me he’s stuffed.”

The grumble and the pout weren’t convincing Rachel that her sister wasn’t a baby. Nor was the tiny hand reaching up to grasp at one of Monty’s feet. She looked back down at the open bag to hide her grin from her bashful sister and caught sight of the yellowing foot of a stuffed dog.

“Now you definitely don’t want this one, in fact I’m fairly sure she belongs to me.”

Her sister tried snatching Lupa out of her hand anyway, probably jarring her ribs in the process though she didn’t let on.

“No! They’re best friends, they have to stay together.”

“Only if you admit you stole her.”

“She was lonely in your room! You never even play with her.”

“Oh you mean you still play with the stuffed toys?”

“Shut up that’s not what I said.”

The way she clutched both toys to her chest, Lupa now held tightly in her right arm as though guarding her from her sister and Monty held more cautiously on her injured left side, really wasn’t helping her case. She was beginning to get frustrated though, forehead creasing, cheeks flushing, and jaw clenching. Usually this would’ve egged Rachel on further, but she decided her sister had had a hard enough day. They all had.

Instead she ran a hand over her sister’s head and lowered herself down next to her.

“Sorry about earlier”

The words, barely a whisper, barely a breath, were met with a tiny shrug.

“S’okay.”

“Are you okay?”

“Hurts a bit.”

“Get some sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Will you sign my cast?”

“I’ll track down some sharpies in the morning. Sleep now.”

Usually an instruction to go to sleep was met by an abundance of protests, but the combination of a long day, the hour being past past midnight, and the multitude of drugs she’d been given today had Abby’s eyes drooping closed almost immediately as she exhaled a deep sigh and relaxed into her sister’s arms.

“She hides them in the same place you used to hide the dog. You should warn her that under the bed isn’t exactly the secure hiding spot she thinks it is.”

It was sloppy of Rachel not to notice her mother lingering outside the door. Or it would’ve been if her mother hadn’t been highly trained, one of the best operatives there is. If Rachel hadn’t been more exhausted, more emotionally drained than she had been in a long while. If she had really cared whether her mother was eavesdropping on her children rather than joining them or not.

“Her name’s Lupa.”

“Hmmm.”

Heels clicked against the floor. Slowly. If it was any other woman Rachel would’ve called it hesitantly, but her mother isn’t a hesitant women. They came to a stop on the left side of the bed where she slowly - slowly not hesitantly - reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Abby’s ear. Her eyes were red.

Why would they be red?

A moment of pause, then she leant down and pressed a lingering feather-light kiss against the girl’s forehead.

“I convinced the nurses to let you stay the night. You should get some sleep too.”

With that, she pressed an identical kiss to Rachel’s own head, turned on her heel and left the room.

Rachel, exhausted from the days events and confused by her mothers uncharacteristic behaviour, did exactly as she aways did. She did as her mother told her to and joined her sister in sleep.

———————————————————————

Authors note:

What do you mean one of the Cameron parents was destroyed by the guilt of losing their best friend and the other by losing their husband? Hope nothing in their daughter’s lives ever parallels these events, with the exception that unlike their parents who suffered in their grief alone and failed to reconnect with their family, the girls return to their home and lean on each other/a mutual friend in order to overcome their grief for the good of the child(ren) in their lives.

Not sure if I’m happy with this one or not, the pacing feels a bit all over the place and I got taken on a lot of tangents, but wanted to add a bit more to their backgrounds.

I envisioned kid Abby as a slightly bratty, overactive, evil genius. We know from the series that she’s not a fan of rules and that definitely caused a lot of grief growing up. We also know that Rachel is always on top of the girls shenanigans despite only having a couple years experience as a headmistress, and though I’m sure the spy training helps, I definitely think she got a crash course in troublesome kids from Abby growing up.

Also, Montauciel is the name of the sheep that went on the first hot air balloon ride in 1783. Abby wanted to name him fluffy but Rachel intervened. Lupa was named after the she-wolf from Roman mythology so the stupid stuffed sheep had to have a cover name as well.

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls fanfiction #Rachel Cameron #rachel morgan #abigail cameron #Abby Cameron #sisters

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g-girlshavingfun · 2 months

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Matt: [On the phone to Joe who’s babysitting] Keep your eye on Cammie. She has a tendency to wander off.

Joe: [seeing Cammie is gone] Matt... uh, wh-wh... I'm... I'm totally capable of...

Matt: You lost her, didn't you?

Joe: No. No, no, no, no. No, she is right next to me. Hi, Cammie.

Matt: I can hear it in your voice. Look in the dairy case.

Joe: [finding Cammie but struggling with doors] Matthew, do you honestly think that I would lose...

Matt: The doors don't pull. They slide.

#Joe babysits exactly one time and this is how it goes #gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls incorrect quotes #incorrect gallagher girls quotes #incorrect quotes #source: modern family #joe solomon #joseph solomon #matthew morgan #cammie morgan #cameron morgan

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g-girlshavingfun · 2 months

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Abby: Drugs aren't illegal when you put them in food. Everybody knows that.

Rachel: Is that right? I'm not sure that's right.

Townsend: There's drug scones down there! If people eat the drug scones then we'll have drugged those people, Abigail!

Joe: So? Drugging people isn't a crime.

Matt: You two have a very loose grasp of the law.

#@gildengirl once said imagine these 5 on a mission together so I did #gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #gallagher girls incorrect quotes #incorrect gallagher girls quotes #incorrect quotes #source: derry girls #abigail cameron #Abby Cameron #Rachel Cameron #rachel morgan #edward townsend #joe solomon #joseph solomon #matthew morgan

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g-girlshavingfun · 2 months

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One of my favourite one shots that I reread constantly btw

Ok, so I don't write. I have never written a fanfic. This doesn't have a name and it's probably poorly written. It's Rachel's point of view around the time of Cammie's second kidnapping attempt. I was bored and I had this idea stuck in my head so here it is. I debate not even posting it but what the hey🤷🏼‍♀️

@averagejoesolomon you totally got me hooked on the Rachel only calls Matt, Matthew. So all the credit to you on that one!

This whole thing is basically read at your own risk. Haha

Just like that, what she had left of her world was crumbling. It happened so quickly. Rachel hadn't seen what had happened. She just knew that one moment she had been talking to Cynthia McHenry and the next she felt her instincts as an operative hit her like a swift punch to the gut.

Something was wrong. She looked around the ballroom looking for Cammie but she didn't see her. She didn't see any of her freinds or even that Goode boy. Never one to be dissuaded from her mission, she decided to look for Abby. She at least she might know where her neice was.

As much as her sister annoyed her, she was happy to have her back in her life. However temporary it might be. She was aware how an operative's life gets crazy. She knew her sister was dedicated but she didn't know how far they would be pulled apart when she stepped out of the field after Matthew's passing. They had just recently talked about why there hadn't been much contact between the two of them in recent years. Why Abby had walked farther away from Rachel and Cammie and deeper into her various covers. Rachel knew the guilt the came with losing Matthew. The countless nights that kept her up thinking about what might have happened if she told if him to stay home. If she had pulled the "wife card" and asked him not to keep secrets. She knew that Abby had been hurt. Rachel had never lived through anything harder. It didn't surprise her that everyone else who also loved him felt the same. When he died there was a very real whole in each of their hearts. She had suspected Abby just didn't know how to miss Matthew with her. After all, her sister had never been one to grieve in front of others. Rachel hadn't know just how deep routed her sister's guilt and regret had dragged her. Rachel regretted not going to get her baby sister back sooner after Matthew's passing but she hadn't wanted to press Abby too hard in a time of grief for both of them.

Now, if only she could FIND HER. Her sister always had a knack for being where she wasn't supposed be. So, if Rachel could think if the most inconvenient spot for someone to be she might find her.

When she had finished looking around the ballroom the hair on the back of her neck started to stand on end. She felt a cold sweat start. Her blouse was too tight. She pulled at her collar and silently chastised herself being so obviously uncomfortable. Rachel wanted to tell her instincts to shut up, that nothing was wrong. She knew better though, something was off.

She felt eyes. She pretended to check her make-up in a small compact while checking behind her. She locked on a familiar pair of green eyes staring back at her. Of course he was there. She had just checked the whole room and hadn't spotted him once. If Joe was about to poke fun about her being off now was not the time. When she turned to face him she realized that he wore an expression just as grim as her own.

"You got the same sick feeling in your gut?"

Before she could respond something seemed to dawn on Joe.

"Where's Cammie, Rachel?"

"I don't know. I've been looking for her, or her roommates. Even Abby."

"Zach". Joe mumbled the boy's name. "He's probably with her, right? Did you see them slip out?"

"No, well maybe, but if I knew that I wouldn't be so gosh darn worried now would I, Joseph?!" She hadn't meant to snap but she was feeling worse by the second. Now her instincts seemed to be at work on her stomach.

When the shot went off they didn't question where it had come from. They didn't need to wait for some sort of command. Old habits did truly die hard. They were across the ballroom in seconds. Not drawing the attention of a single onlooker. They slipped out the back door into a dark ally. The Circle. They were there. Beside her Joe started to speak into thier comms unit. There was a big problem. Rachel looked for Cammie. She was being snagged back down the ally, toward the safety of the door by Zach. Neirher of them was bleeding. She was able to breath agian. The bullet could have been a warning shot. It didn't feel that way though. Where did it land?

She brought herself back to the scene. They were after her daughter and she had to protect her daughter. The kids were fighting like operatives. That was something the headmistress in her couldn't have missed and was quietly proud of. Now only if they could all get out of it. Other gallagher girls rushed out beside her, ready for the fight, ready to protect Cammie.

The second that Rachel could she ran at Cam. Yelling Cammie's name she threw herself against her daughter, deeper into the shadows of other gallagher girls. Farther into safety. Only after the immediate securing of Cammie did Rachel realize that people were still screaming. It was Macey standing over.....

Abby. Abby. Abigail. She knew Cammie was secured. Joe would help make sure of it. She needed to get to her sister. She needed to help her sister. She was bleeding from the shoulder, there was so much blood pooling beneath her. Rachel couldn't breathe. She couldn't catch her breathe. Rachel had always been cool under fire; a natural operative. This felt so different. The operative in her was mad for missing the fight. For not getting there in time. The mother in her was scared and hurting for her daughter. The sister in her felt cheated and so very crushed. She couldn't lose Abby on top of everything else. Her heart beat to one terrible pulse- She was not ready to lose anymore family. She dropped to her knees beside her sister. She didn't know if she had told Macey to go back to her roommates but she got up and walked away. Rachel pressed some leather jacket into her sister's wound. She didn't realize that she was crying until she saw her own tears falling on Abby's face. Rachel was screaming. She really. couldn't. breath. She heard screaming and crying in the background. Cammie. She couldn't take this or rather she didn't want to. Her sister way dying in front of her and her daughter was being emotionally tormented. She debating getting up, but she couldn't stop crying. She didn't want Cammie to see her so emotionally distraught and she couldn't bring herself to her feet. Cammie would have to be strong.

Joe was on the seeminly knew what she was thinking because instead of coming toward Abby he commanded the women around Cammie. Keeping her safe. Cammie's sobbing became softer. Rachel's didn't.

She didn't get up when the paramedic team arrived. She wasn't going to leave Abby. She couldn't lose her. She didn't feel like a good operative in control. She felt like a big sister, weak from all that crying. She felt Joe behind her. Pulling her up from her knees. Trying to tell her to let go of Abby's hand. She forced Joe to let go of her arms. Desperate to be the one who fixed it. To do something, anything. All she could do was tell the medic what she saw, and tell Abby that she was going to be ok.

When she turned back around he was there. Teary but not crying yet.

"She's strong. She'll pull through". He tried to reassure her but his voice shook. His hand on her arm felt unsteady. Joe never cried. It was going to be a long night. She had to keep busy. She went to check on her daughter. She couldn't lose any more of her family.

Rachel saw the footage. She knew in that it all happened in a few minutes. It felt like this night would never end. She watched that security footage obsessively outside of her office, sitting on the corridor floor with her head on the wall, right underneath Gilligan's sword. Cavan's sword. Maybe Abby was right. They should have thrown it in the lake. Her daughter was asleep inside her office, away from danger for now. Abby was in surgery. Abby might of died. Abby could still die. Every time she let herself linger on that fact she felt like crying all over again. So, she didn't let herself think of it. She watched the security clip again waiting and watching for a clue. Something. She couldn't truly focus on it though. She was too tired or emotionally distraught. It didn't matter the reason, she knew that a truly great operative had to know when to wave her white flag. In that moment she didn't even feel a little guilty about turning off the video.

Joe stepped out of her office. She did a double take, the last time she had seen him look that way was the night he told her about Matthew. He had been crying. Joe Solomon does not cry. There he was though. He face was streaked eith tears and his shoulders shook slightly. She braced herself for the worse but he just stood there. He looked awful. She moved forward to give him a hug. She couldn't help herself, she started crying again too. Rachel hated to cry in front of anyone but she figured that this secret was safe with him, just like any of the other she had shared with him. She was thankful that she had a freind in him. Thankful that someone else loved Cammie and was willing to fight for her.

After a moment they separated and sat down on the corridor floors.

"I'm so sorry Rachel. I'm so so sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything."

"Joe. After everything that's happened tonight, we are not going over this again.. Its not your fault". Joe started to cry again. Rachel hadn't seen Joe cry so much. She couldn't resist asking him

"What?"

He looked at her pitifully. "You don't know whats my fault, belive me. I.... I think you should think it's my fault."

She wasn't suprised that he was saying these things. She knew of course that he felt guilty. Matt went on the mission he was supposed to. She just wished that he didn't get so hung up on it.

He continued "This never would have happened if Matt were here. He would have taken care of it, you know?"

Of course she didn't know that to be true but she had felt it as well. She didn't want to dwell on what it could have been so she told him that they didn't know that. That he couldn't control who the director sent on that mission. The circle might have come after Cammie even if Matt was alive. Matthew was just a human being, who made mistakes. They didn't know if Matthew being alive would change everything. Joe didnt seem convinced though and Rachel couldn't blame him. It was well worn territory in a familiar conversation. They didnt truly fight, but when it came to blame about Matthews death they didn't exactly see eye to eye. Rachel thought about Matt. It struck her though that as bad as it was at times it could also be worse. Rachel thought about losing Cammie or Abby or even Joe and shuddered. She didn't want to lose anymore family.

She tried to reassure him

"Hey, it will be ok. We will take care of it together ok? We'll all take care of one another. We will do the best we can. Just promise me we will try. Ok?"

Joe had stopped crying but his attention seemed to be drifting.

"I'll try...ok?" It sounded so defeated. Rachel didn't want to press him further. Everyone had already had such a rough night. She let the conversation go until he quipped.

"I feel like I should be telling you these things."

They couldn't help each giving a small laugh

They sat there. They waited for a doctor to come tell them that Abby would make it. They sat and waited for Cammie to wake up. Theorized ways to keep her out of harms way. They talked about surviving. All of them. Together.

Rachel rested in knowing that at least for that day. She wasn't losing any more family.

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls fanfiction #Rachel Cameron #rachel morgan #joe solomon #joseph solomon #joe x rachel #rachel x joe #abigail cameron #Abby Cameron #cameron morgan #cammie morgan

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g-girlshavingfun · 2 months

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Very Rachel, Joe, and Abby about Matt after he goes missing

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g-girlshavingfun · 2 months

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A sister’s vigil: 5 times Rachel visited her sister in hospital, and 1 time she didn’t.

1/6

Word count: 3,839

She’s known what a sister was since before she could walk. Probably. Her mother has plenty of sisters from her time at The Gallagher Academy, and Rachel will meet her own when she starts there in a couple years.

But this sister will be different.

———————————————————————

Chapter 1/6

“Is she done yet?”

Rachel didn’t really want to be here. She had just rented Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory from the video store, and her father had given her a new set of codes to crack, and her roundhouse kick still needs work. All of those options sounded more appealing than sitting in this waiting room with only her nanny, Sarah, and her thoughts, for company.

“Not yet.”

Darn it. This was taking forever. Rachel had been stuck here since Sarah picked her up from school this afternoon and she had already done all of her homework, tried all the snacks from the nearest vending machine, and finished all the puzzles in the newspapers set out on the coffee table. Now she was just bored and she didn’t want to be here.

“When will she be done?”

“Hard to say kiddo. For some women it takes hours, some take days.”

“Days!”

“I’m sure she’ll be done soon Rachel. Why don’t you go to the gift shop and find something for your new sister?”

Sister.

The word scared Rachel a little bit. Not because she didn’t know what it means, obviously she knew what it meant. She’s known what a sister was since before she could walk. Probably. Her mother has plenty of sisters from her time at The Gallagher Academy, and Rachel will meet her own when she starts there in a couple years.

But this sister will be different.

Rachel read all about genetics in a biology book she found in her mother’s office, so she knows that this sister will share 50% of her DNA. That means she’ll look a bit like Rachel, and will be clever and well behaved like Rachel, and will live in the room across the hall from Rachel’s in their parents house. Their parents. That they’ll share. Like they’ll have to share books and puzzles and tapes rented from the video store. Rachel’s good at sharing, all her teacher’s have said so. So Rachel thinks she’ll be a good sister.

But what if her sister isn’t good at being a sister?

What if she isn’t good at sharing? What if she creases all the best books and fills out the puzzles wrong and wants to rent the wrong movies? What if she takes more than half of the cookies Sarah bakes? What is she takes more than half of their parent’s already divided attention? What if she’s loud and annoying like Tristan from across the road’s sister? What if Rachel doesn’t even like her?

What if she doesn't like Rachel?

So yeah, the word sister scared her a little. But she took the money Sarah was handing her and made her way towards the gift shop she could see through the waiting room doors. Sisters probably like gifts, so if Rachel wanted her sister to like her a gift would be a good start. Plus, anything was better than just sitting there thinking about how her sister might be turn out to be an annoying, cookie stealing, puzzle ruiner who hates her.

———————————————————————

“Excuse me miss,” Rachel’s mother always expressed the need for manners, even when talking to bored teenage gift shop attendants who don’t look up from their nails when Rachel talked to her. “What do you think I should buy a baby, who might be really annoying, to make her like me?”

The teenager, Mikaela according to her name tag, still didn’t look up from filing her nails.

“Baby clothes in aisle 2, toys in aisle 3, balloons are behind you.”

“Thank you miss.”

Rachel didn’t think her sister would appreciate balloons, and the nursery at home was already filled with clothes, so Rachel headed towards aisle 3. The books caught her eye first. They weren’t very advanced, so Rachel wouldn’t even want to share them with her sister, which made them perfect until Rachel remembered that babies couldn’t read.

Why would they put books in the aisle for baby toys when babies cant read?

Mikaela probably organised the aisles.

There were wooden puzzles which looked simple enough for a baby to figure out, at least a clever baby like her sister was going to be, but on closer inspection the boxes said not suitable for children under 18 months. That was 1 and a half years. Her sister could’ve started to hate her by then. That ruled out one of those plastic Barbie dolls too. That’s fine. Rachel’s mother, their mother, didn’t like those dolls anyway so she probably would’ve frowned at Rachel until that little crease formed on her forehead if Rachel bought one for her sister. Maybe a wooden train? Her father once said trains are for boys but her mother got angry when he said that. She told Rachel that toys are toys and toys are for any child clever enough to play with them. Maybe that didn’t apply to Barbies. So her mother would probably like it if she bought her sister a train, but her father wouldn’t. What if when she finished her most recent set of codes her father didn’t giver her any more because he was upset she bought her sister a boy’s toy? Maybe it would be okay if she bought her a pink train. Except there weren’t any pink trains, or pink dinosaurs, or pink trucks, so there goes that plan.

Having a sister was hard.

Rachel was about to give up and buy one of the simpler books - at least she could read it to her sister until she was old enough to read it herself - when she spotted the row of stuffed toys.

Perfect.

Age-appropriate, good for boys and girls, and Rachel had outgrown stuffed animals so she wouldn’t have to share. Well, she had outgrown them all except Lupa the Labrador who still sleeps under her bed where her mother can’t see - toys are for children after all and Rachel isn’t a child - but she was a gift from Sarah so she doesn't count. Now Rachel just had to figure out which animal to get. Not a dog, obviously, and not a regular bear, they were boring. Rachel doesn’t like horses so that was out, and she likes cats a lot so she figured she shouldn’t risk it and buy her sister one of those. A cow didn’t feel right, but she was worried that a tiger might scare her - she was only a baby after all. That left her with a stuffed sheep.

She picked one from the back like Sarah had taught her and took it to the till to ask Mikaela’s opinion.

“Do you think this one will make sure she likes me miss?”

“Sure kid.”

“Please may I have one of those candy bars too?”

———————————————————————

“Is she done now?”

“Not yet kiddo. Now what have you got your troublesome sister?”

“She’s not going to be troublesome. She shares 50% of my DNA so she’ll be clever and well behaved and she’s going to like me cause I got her this sheep.”

Rachel held up her gift before Sarah’s eyes. It was a bit smaller than Rachel’s head, with fluffy white wool - not real wool obviously, but sheep have wool, not fur - and big brown feet. It didn’t look exactly like the sheep Rachel had seen at the petting zoo she visited with school, but it was close enough. Her sister was still only a baby, so she probably wouldn’t know the difference.

“She would’ve liked you anyway kiddo. She’s your sister and sisters love each other.”

“Even if they’re annoying?”

“Even then. Especially then in my experience, but don’t tell my sister I said that.”

The wink Sarah sent her made Rachel giggle, even if what she had said was silly because Rachel had never met Sarah’s sister. Or her brother. Rachel doubts her parents would allow them to come over to the house so she probably won’t get to meet them until she’s old enough to go to their houses. If they had houses. They’re younger than Sarah and Sarah didn’t have her own house - she lived in the upstairs bedroom when Rachel’s parents were on work trips and in the outhouse when they were’t - so maybe her sister and brother didn’t have their own houses either. Either way, Rachel hasn’t met them so she won’t be telling Sarah’s sister that Sarah called her annoying.

“Do you know that Rachel means sheep?”

What?

Rachel felt her face folding into her mother’s frown, her own forehead creasing not in disappointment but confusion, and Sarah continued in a quiet, low tone.

“Your name, Rachel? It means female sheep, or ewe, I think I read somewhere. So its a clever gift you’ve bought there, you’ll be giving your sister a little version of yourself to look after her when you’re not there. I think she’ll love it. And you.”

“When I’m not there?”

Rachel didn’t like the way her voice shook. Her father didn’t like it when she got over emotional, and her mother said she must always speak in a strong and assertive tone or no one would ever take her seriously. But she hadn’t thought about not being there for her sister.

She didn’t like not having thought of things.

“When you end up going to that fancy boarding school your mother went to? You’ll be off having a grand time learning all sorts of complicated things that I could never understand. You’ll be back for the holidays of course but I was worried you’d be leaving me alone to take care of your sister in the mean time, now I’ll have a little Rachel helping me out. So its a good gift, well done.”

Now Rachel didn’t know how to feel. She was bored of the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room. She was still scared of the word sister. Scared that her sister wouldn’t share, and she’d steal their parents and Sarah, and that they wouldn’t even like each other. She was worried that the gift she bought wasn’t good enough to make her sister like her. And she was terrified of leaving her sister, who wasn’t even born yet and who she hadn’t even met and who she might not even like, alone. Because what if while she was gone her sister took over her bedroom? And took her best books and puzzles and Lupa the Labrador. What if she made friends with Tristan from across the road and his annoying sister, and became Sarah and their mother and father’s favourite, and got to meet Sarah’s sibling before Rachel did?

What if the little sheep wasn’t enough to look after her when Rachel was gone?

“Sarah, do you thi-“

“Rachel?”

Her father was a stern looking man with a stern sounding voice. He commanded attention in every sense of the word, Rachel and Sarah’s attention in particular. His words were strong and assertive, like her voice should always be, but deep, like her voice probably wouldn’t ever be. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a solid, clean shaven jaw. Rachel’s father said that stubble signified laziness and a lack of personal hygiene. His hair was dark, darker then Rachel’s, and like her he had brown eyes. They were cold normally, constantly scanning and assessing his surroundings, looking down on those around him, but they softened when they landed on his daughter.

“Do you want to come meet your sister?”

No. I’m not ready.

“Yes please.”

That was the right answer. Rachel always knew the right answer.

She took her father’s offered hand in her left, clinging onto the stuffed sheep with her right, and wished she had a third hand to take Sarah’s with. But Sarah remained where she stood. Standing, because Rachel’s mother had told her it was polite for Sarah to stand up when her employers approached. Standing still, because even if she was the person to teach Rachel to tie her shoes, and ride a bike, and braid her own hair, she wasn’t technically family. She was staff, her father said. So she wouldn’t get to meet Rachel’s sister yet.

Rachel would have to go on her own.

———————————————————————

Rachel’s mother was the most beautiful, put together person in the world. Not like Sarah, who was pretty but wore casual clothes and usually had flour in her hair which was always falling out of her ponytail. Not like Tristan’s mother, who wasn’t very pretty, and whose face was always red from yelling and whose clothes were always wrinkled.

No. Rachel’s mother’s hair was always perfectly straight when it wasn’t in a tight bun, cut to sit gently on her shoulders with bangs that never fell in her eyes. Unlike her husband, her eyes were hazel, but like her husband’s they were calculating, and they never missed a thing. Even the things they can't see. Her clothes were always ironed, always perfectly matching, always appropriate for the office but never impinging on her athletic capabilities. She was never messy or flushed or harried or stressed. She was always perfectly put together and in control. She says she has to be, that Rachel has to be, or no one would ever take them seriously.

She doesn't look put together now.

Her hair is loose and damp. Its drying in soft, messy waves against her neck and forehead, kind of like Rachel’s does after they run track in gym. Her face is red like Tristan’s mother’s, and sweaty like Tristan’s father’s. The whites of her eyes - her sclera according to the biology book - were red as well from what Rachel could see, though they were barely open at all. She was wearing a hospital gown, which Rachel didn’t think was appropriate for the office or for chasing Russian informants, and had nothing on her feet except thin stockings.

She didn’t look like Rachel’s mother.

But then she smiled, all warm like her husband's eyes, and Rachel knew it was her.

“Over here Rachel.”

Her fathers voice drew her gaze to the corner of the room where he now stood next to a plain white crib. When had he let go of her hand?

He began reaching into the crib as Rachel’s feet moved towards him on their own accord, her heart pounding in her head and thoughts of her mother-that-wasn’t-her-mother fading from her mind. The room was quiet. Silent if not for the beating of her feet on the tiled floor, the rushing of blood in her ears, and the soft whimpers coming from the bundle of blankets in her father’s arms. They were pink, just like her father said things for girls should be.

“Oh.”

The breath left Rachel’s lips without her permission when her father bent down to show her the bundle of blankets. Except it wasn’t just a bundle of blankets. It was a tiny button nose and tiny pink lips. It was two tiny ears and tufts of dark hair. It was flushed pink cheeks and a wobbling pink chin. It was two tiny eyes screwed up in displeasure, a tiny version of their mother’s frown creasing a tiny line on a tiny forehead.

It was her sister.

“She’s so little.”

It was all Rachel could think to say. She knew babies were small of course, but her sister was tiny. She was barely bigger than the stuffed sheep Rachel was clutching to her chest and Rachel almost worried about how her sister would hold her new toy before remembering that babies don't hold things. That she’d grow up a bit before she could hold the little sheep.

“Is she? She didn’t feel that way.”

Rachel wasn’t quite sure what her mother meant by that, but her father let out a rare chuckle so it must’ve been funny. She couldn’t quite bring herself to fake a giggle though, her eyes and mind and heart still transfixed by the tiny pink thing wriggling in her fathers arms.

“Do you want to sit down and hold her?”

What!?

Rachel couldn’t do that. No way. She’d squish her, or drop her, or sneeze and accidentally throw her somehow. Her sister was far too tiny and fragile for Rachel to possibly hold.

“Yes please.”

Because that was the right answer.

She sat back in the chair next to her mother’s bed where she set down the little sheep, never once taking her eyes off the wriggling bundle of pink blankets that held her tiny pink sister. Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to do with her arms. She held them out in front of her, crossing them over at her chest with her palms up like they do in the movies. They never drop babies in the movies so this must be the right way to hold her new tiny sister.

The bundle of blankets was coming closer - not independently of course, her father must still be holding her - and Rachel’s heart was pounding again. Her breaths were coming out funny and her stomach - stomach not tummy - was starting to hurt a bit. Her sister will never like her if Rachel drops her. Or squishes her. Or sneezes and and throws her across the room somehow.

Somehow, her father read her mind. He was good at that.

“Relax Rachel. You won’t hurt her. Hold your arms like this, and make sure you support her head, there you go. Careful, she’s heavy.”

She can’t be heavy, she’s tiny.

Except she was. Heavy that is. Rachel’s arms sagged slightly under the weight of her sister as their father slowly let go and oh my God she was going to drop her. How could something, someone, be so tiny yet so heavy at the same time?

“Hi.”

The word was barely a whisper. Barely a breath. It flew unbidden out of her lips on silent wings and fled from the room just as silently. Her sister didn’t reply - babies can’t talk so of course she didn’t - but she did still in Rachel’s arms. Her chin stopped wobbling and the crease in her forehead faded. The tiny sniffles and whimpers that had concealed the room from silence followed Rachel’s voice out the room. Two tiny eyes fluttered open. They looked like glass windows on a hazy day, a little bit blue, a little bit grey, not quite focussing on anything at all. Babies eyes looked like that, Rachel knew. The biology book said that lots of babies are born with light eyes but that they darken over time. So Rachel’s sister could have blue eyes, or she could have brown eyes like Rachel and their father, or she could have hazel eyes like their mother. She could even have green eyes, but the book said they were rare. She could have any kind of eyes, just like she could be any kind of person.

Rachel hoped she wouldn’t be an annoying person.

She didn’t think she would be.

“Is this for her?”

Her father was holding up the little sheep. He didn’t complain about it being a boys toy, and a quick glance at her mother revealed a perfectly smooth forehead, so Rachel thought she might’ve chosen the right toy. Not that she’d know for sure until her sister was bigger and had decided whether she liked Rachel or not. But for now it was good enough.

Drawing her eyes back to the tiny, heavy bundle in her arms, Rachel gave only a small nod. It was all that she could give, the lack of air in her lungs stealing the words from her mouth before she even started to form them.

“We better give it to her then.”

And with that her father started lowering the little sheep onto the bundle of blankets.

It’s going to crush her.

Rachel was so worried about dropping or squishing the baby herself, so worried about the gift she got for her sister not being good enough, not being enough, that she never considered it being too much. Too big. Never considered that it would nearly outsize her sister, that it would be the thing to squish her, to break her ribs and banish the air from her tiny lungs before she was even an hour old. Her sister would never grow up to become any kind of person, to steal Rachel’s books and puzzles and bedroom, to decide whether she even liked Rachel or not, all because Rachel messed up and bought too big a gift for too tiny a baby.

Except it didn’t crush her. The tiny sheep rested gently on the bundle of blankets, rested gently on her sisters tummy, and her breathing didn’t change at all. Her ribs didn’t cave in and her lungs didn’t stop working and her tiny heart didn’t stop beating and maybe her sister wasn’t as fragile as Rachel thought. Maybe she was the strongest baby ever. Maybe that meant she would grow up to be a strong person like their parents, who was good at sharing like Rachel, who had a big heart like Sarah.

Maybe she would like Rachel.

Rachel really hoped so, since Rachel already loved her.

“Do you want to know her name?”

Yes. More than anything.

But even if her sister’s lungs were strong and filled with air, Rachel’s own were still empty. Still withholding life from the words she was desperate to say.

I love you. Even if you’re annoying. Even if you’re badly behaved and don’t share. Even if you don’t like puzzles and you steal Sarah’s cookies and you like Tristan’s annoying sister more than you like me. I love you. And I won’t ever leave you alone.

Instead she just nodded once more, trying not to blink in case she missed the next time her sister’s tiny nose crinkled up. Sarah says Rachel’s nose does that when she’d thinking too hard. Maybe her sister is already thinking hard. Rachel knew she’d be clever.

“Her name is Abigail.”

Abigail.

The name rolled softly off their mothers tongue and ticked Rachel’s ears. It was quite a long name, longer than Rachel’s by 1 letter and 1 syllable even though Rachel herself was much bigger. And it reminded her of the mean old lady who worked in the principal’s office at her school. Her name was Gail. Last time Rachel walked past the office she overheard - overheard, not eavesdropped - Gail fighting with her husband using the office phone. Apparently they were getting a divorce. Maybe she was mean to him too. Or maybe he was mean to her and that’s why she was mean to Rachel and her friends.

Abigail.

It was a nice name, but it wasn’t quite right. Wasn’t quite right for her tiny, strong, loved, baby sister. That was okay though, Rachel knew what was right for her. And with that the air returned to her lungs and a foreign weight settled on her chest. All the words in the world, at least the ones Rachel knew, returned to her throat and started clawing their way up to her mouth. Thankfully, only two made their way out.

“Hi Abby.”

———————————————————————

Authors note:

Okay so I’ve never written a fanfic before and this is the first piece of creative wrong I’ve done in like 6 years, so sorry if it’s poorly written, but I can’t get Rachel and Abby’s possible dynamic out of my head.

I’ve got a rough plan for the future instalments but don’t know when I’ll have them written. This one obviously focussed on Rachel but each instalment will introduce someone new and will obviously explore the Cameron sister’s relationship more.

My personal headcannons for a lot of these characters will be buried in this fic. Like Rachel being about a decade older, and their parents being cool, distant spies, and how that influences both sisters and their relationships differently. So buckle up for some of that if you’re interested

Shout out to @madsbrainrot1 for inspiring me to write a fic structured like this!

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #Gallagher girls fanfiction #Rachel Cameron #rachel morgan #abigail cameron #Abby Cameron #sisters

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