What if We Rewrite The Stars

Phoebe walked several steps ahead of Turner and Abby, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She hadn't said much since AU Abby had walked back off to her bungalow. Turner, likewise, had been quiet. He was contemplating that whole debacle and how AU Abby had described the start of it all. He wasn't going to let that happen to him.

“So...what's she like?” Abby finally said.

Phoebe didn't turn around.

“You already met her.”

“No, I mean Becca.”

Phoebe slowed slightly.

“Oh.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“You want the honest answer?”

Abby nodded.

“She’s still Becca.” Phoebe said as she turned back forward again.

“What does that mean?” Turner suddenly asked, looking at this version of his sister.

“It means she's probably the closest thing here you're gonna find that's normal to you.”

Phoebe stopped walking in front of the door to the hotel proper, causing Abby and Turner to nearly bump into her. She turned around, addressing the pair face-to-face for the first time since before the AU Abby talk.

"Becca remembers who she is," she said, simply. "She still loves you. She still rolls her eyes at your terrible jokes. She knows exactly how to push your buttons. She knows who you are, deep down."

Turner smiled faintly. "That sounds like Becca."

"She just doesn't trust anyone anymore," Phoebe said, throwing a bucket of cold water on the mildly positive mood Turner had built up.

"Oh."

"She's had to watch the time she gets with her boyfriend become scarcer and scarcer," Phoebe explained. "After he shut himself in, basically, any time for romance probably feels like winning the lottery. Especially so for her. And time that she gives to other people is time that she doesn't get with him."

"That makes sense..." Turner winced.

"That's why I think you should go alone, Turner," Phoebe finished.

"Wait, why?" Abby piped up. "I'm her sister!"

"No, you're the sister to Becca in your timeline," Phoebe corrected. "The Becca I know, her sister is a machine, getting at odds with Becca like she's the predecessor to Paige. If you two go up there together, there's no telling what Becca's going to do."

"So what, you want me to stay down here?" Abby asked incredulously. "And do what?"

"That's up to you," Phoebe shrugged. "I can't make you do shit. But I think Turner should go up there alone."

Turner nodded slowly, not saying anything.

"I swear Turner," Phoebe shook her head darkly. "You better not promise her anything. Because once you go back to your timeline, whenever and however that is, you're not going to be able to deliver on your promises, because the you here isn't going to remember any of them, and probably wouldn't want to do them anyways."

Turner stopped at the foot of the stairs. "I wasn't going to."

"You were thinking about it," Phoebe's eyes narrowed. "I already heard you promised something with Sara."

Turner sighed with resignation. "That was-"

"Before you realized, yeah," Phoebe waved her hand. "But I'm serious. She doesn't need another promise from you. Well, who she thinks you are. She's had enough of those. That you'll spend more time with her, that things will get better, that you'll make up for lost time."

"Then what's he supposed to say?" Abby spoke up from beside Phoebe.

Phoebe stared at her like she had three heads. "The truth? That he's not her Turner?"

"Why bring me here if it's just going to destroy her?" Turner asked.

"This place is beyond redemption," Phoebe explained. "I don't think she needs to see you. I think you need to see her with your own two eyes. I might not be the brightest bulb in the shed...well I'm going to law school when I get out of this dump...but I've been able to glean a few things. You and Abby are here for a reason, and I'm willing to bet that reason is a warning. Not to let your current timeline fall into disrepair like this one has. Who sent you and why is beyond me."

Phoebe gave Turner a slight push, urging him up the stairs. "Now go. She's not in the penthouse suite anymore, but she's in the room across the hall."

"There is no room across the hall," Turner argued.

"There wasn't," Phoebe amended. "But there is now."

---

Turner took the elevator up to the top floor. He'd taken this ride so often that it was beginning to feel as second nature as walking up the stones to the front porch of his house in Virginia. It felt like it was just a bad day at work, and he was returning home to recharge his batteries.

"I'm not doing that though," he reminded himself as the elevator dinged and he stepped out. "This isn't a bad day at work. This is dealing with a dozen people's lives that are twisted and messed up."

He brought his hand up to knock on the door, and for a second, left it there. For a moment, he thought about why he was here. What did it matter if he put eyes upon this alternate version of Becca? He'd already heard about her, and that should be enough, without destroying someone's week.

Then again, he had come all this way, and wasn't being transported back to the real world, so maybe there was a reason for this. And if there was one thing he'd learned from the people here, ignoring the problems didn't make them get better or disappear.

He knocked on the door.

For several seconds, there wasn't any sort of feedback. No "come in", no sound of shuffling inside, it didn't even sound like anybody lived there.

Then, slowly, the door opened, and Becca peered out from inside. She looked the same, the bright orange curls, her green eyes, the same frown when she knew something was wrong.

"Turner?" she trepidatiously said.

Turner sighed. Hearing her voice, knowing he was going to have to break her heart when he told her he wasn't the same Turner...it ruined him inside.

"That's me," he started. "But not in the way you think."

"What do you mean?" Becca turned her head, looking at him through the corner of her eyes as she opened the door a few more inches. "Abby put you up to something?"

"No, not like that," Turner shook his head softly. "Can...I come in?"

"If you want," Becca answered through thinly veiled excitement as she vacated the doorway.

Turner followed her, stepping into the room. He had to give it to whatever production on this show was, this place looked a lot like the bedroom back in Virginia. Pastel yellow walls, little Lego decorations strewn about on shelves, fuzzy and warm blankets draped over the backs of chairs, and a photo of the two of them directly in the center of the dresser. It was a picture of them getting the keys to the apartment, a memory he cherished dearly. They looked so happy then, so unaware of what was going to happen in a few short months.

"You really are him," Becca said, still standing off to the side.

Turner swallowed. "Yeah, I'm me."

"That's not what I said," Becca shook her head as she padded over to the side of her bed, sinking into the material while never taking her eyes off of him. "You said not in the way that I think."

"I did," Turner assented.

"Talk."

"Well...I think I'm from a different timeline," Turner started, seeing how Becca reacted to it. Surprisingly, she didn't seem that shocked by the information.

"You're clearly not the Turner I remember, so no big surprise there," Becca said.

"I'm from halfway through the third round, on a date with Abby where we went boating," Turner continued.

At the mention of Abby's name, Turner saw Becca's fist curl up slightly.

"Abby," Becca repeated.

"Yeah," Turner nodded.

"She's here too?"

"Phoebe's keeping her company downstairs. Your Phoebe, not my Phoebe."

"Of course," Becca said coldly. There wasn't any anger in her voice, at least not any direct anger. It was a tone she used for talking about people she didn't care for, usually Paige. Never her sister.

"She's not your Abby," Turner carefully added.

Becca deflated slightly. "If you're from then, that's right before...yeah..."

She paused, then looked at the photograph on the dresser.

"You two were on a date?"

"Yeah."

"Boating?"

"Yeah."

"And then you just...ended up here?"

"Pretty much."

"That's one hell of a date," Becca said, adding a humorless chuckle behind.

Turner finally sat down , choosing the chair opposite her.

"Phoebe said you're still...you."

Becca's eyes snapped toward him.

"She said you still remember who you are," he continued. "She said you still love me."

Becca's expression softened, for a second. She studied Turner's face closely, looking for an angle.

"I do."

Turner nodded. "I love you too."

"I know."

Something about the certainty in her voice made his chest tighten. She wasn't saying it because she was reassured, she was saying it because she had spent so long needing to hear it that she'd stopped believing it needed to be said.

"How long has it been?" Turner asked.

"Since what?"

"Since you started feeling like this."

Becca looked down at her hands.

"I don't know. At first, I thought it was just jealousy. You know, like it was in the first round, before the whole elimination thing. But that had gone away after that big stink against the producers, and things were finally going well."

Turner stayed silent.

"After the producers came the second time and got rid of Kendra, I thought I was being unreasonable. They kept telling me that the whole point of this place was that everyone else was supposed to be competing for you, and that I needed to accept that. I still had you! Kendra had said it herself, I'd be tied to you forever, but not in the competition."

"What happened?" Turner said, knowing full well what happened next.

"You stopped spending time with me," Becca continued. "I know you didn't choose it. At least, I know that now. Back then, I didn't."

She looked toward the photograph again.

"You'd disappear for hours. Sometimes days. And whenever I finally got you alone, somebody else needed you. Or there was a challenge. Or production wanted something. Or you were too tired. They even moved me into another fucking room for crying out loud."

Her voice started breaking slightly.

"But you were still my boyfriend. So every time you left, I kept thinking you'd come back. And every time you came back, it was for less time."

Turner lowered his gaze.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. That's the problem."

That answer again.

"Why?"

"Because I can't even be angry at this version of you," Becca answered. "I'm angry all the time. I'm angry when you're gone. I'm angry when someone else gets your attention. I'm angry when you come back and act like everything is normal."

Becca started blinking rapidly, holding back tears.

"And I'm angry because I know you're not going to stay, and I'll have to go back to living this life with a Turner that couldn't give two shits about me."

For the fifteenth time today, Turner was at a loss for a response. He was used to the calm, domestic life he'd been cultivating. Where if something was the problem, it was that he had forgotten to buy shredded chicken at the grocery store, or he hadn't told her that he was working late that night. Here, there was no reproach. No reassuring speech that could make the situation any less cruel. Nothing that could change the fate of the girl sitting in front of him.

"I don't think he doesn't care," Turner said quietly.

Becca glared at him. "What do you know? You haven't lived here for weeks, had to deal with this heartbreak every day-"

"No, I haven't," Turner interrupted. "But he's me, isn't he?"

"He isn't you," Becca responded darkly. "That's not fair."

"I know-" he tried.

"No you don't!" Becca shouted. "You get to walk in here, tell me you're from another universe, tell me you love me, walk back out, and go back to your Becca. And she...she gets the version of you that loves her back. The version that notices when she's upset and cares enough to fix it. The version that does...this...!"

"Becca-"

"She gets you," Becca landed on.

Turner could practically feel the envy dripping from her voice. "I...don't know what to say."

"Good," Becca wiped a tear away from her cheek. "I don't want you to say something stupid. Like you can fix this whole thing. Or that everything is going to work out."

Turner sighed. "I know. I can't take you with me. I don't even know how to start going about fixing this place. I don't even know how long I'm going to be here, or if there's any way I can ever come back."

Becca stared at him. "That might be the most non-Turner thing you've ever said."

"I know," Turner sat down on the bed next to her.

Becca's mouth curved into a tiny smile. "But you could at least stay for a little while."

"Becca..."

"Please?"

He knew what she was asking. Not forever. Not tomorrow. Just for a few hours, where she didn't have to be alone with the stranger that had been made out of her boyfriend.

"I'm not asking you to replace him. You have your own world, your own Sara, your own Phoebe, your own Abby..."

"My own Becca," he finished, finding her hand and squeezing it softly.

He looked up at the picture of the two of them on the dresser. "She wouldn't be upset with me for sitting here. With you."

"No," Becca smiled, before resting her head on his shoulder and interlacing her fingers with his. "She wouldn't."

For a moment, the two of them sat there, letting the moment settle.

"I hate him sometimes," Becca whispered faintly. "I know that's awful of me to say."

When Turner didn't immediately respond, she continued. "I mean, I hate what he's become. And then myself for allowing myself to think that way. I know that somewhere in there, he's still the person who used to love me. You."

Turner brought his arm around Becca's shoulders, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked.

"Anything."

"I was scared to come up here."

Becca pulled back. "Why?"

"I knew I'd have to tell you I wasn't the right Turner."

Becca snorted. "I had that figured out by the time you came to my room, because he wouldn't have."

"And then I wanted to pretend I was. Because you're...still Becca."

"But you came anyway," she corrected. "You didn't have to."

Turner thought about all of the people he had seen since getting here, all of the warped personalities he'd run into. Sara, Emma, Kathryn, Phoebe, and Abby.

"If I don't look at this," he tried. "Then I can pretend it isn't real."

Becca closed her eyes resting on his chest. "And you don't want to do that?"

"I don't want to become him," Turner answered.

"That's what I want to hear," Becca smiled faintly.

Turner could see the pain behind that smile. She knew this wasn't forever, that he would have to go back eventually, that somewhere out there, another Becca would be able to keep this version of him. For the first time, Becca here wouldn't have to wait for Turner to come back, to yell at some other girl who was spending time with him.

As she turned on the TV, Turner understood why that made this place so dangerous. Leaving her here would hurt, but staying would be even worse.

Becca's head fell and rested on the pillows of the bed as she fell asleep in his arms. Much to his dismay, he felt something tugging him up. Something similar to the feeling that began when Kendra was trying to take him somewhere.

He winced, looking upwards, then looked back down at Becca. He kissed her softly on the forehead before disappearing in a flash of light.