Work Text
Texas, 1990, 22nd of June
Patricia thinks the perks of being the only one with a license and a car are fair enough—you can drive anywhere if you wish, it’s easier to visit someone, and it carries more things—, but nobody tells you how that makes
you
responsible about the driving part in car trips. Five people, and she’s the lucky one to have a damn license.
You can do it, Mendelsohn.
She can’t, her head has been on the verge of splitting lately, but thank God Vik always carries some Aspirin with her.
On the bright side, we’ll stop at every single stop because someone had the idea of a car trip across states instead of going straight to Texas.
Whatever, at least they’re going to the aquarium in Columbus—she doesn’t care much about the zoo.
-
Scratch that, the zoo is fun and Mandrills are cool.
“I’d win against them,” Luna says, chewing her burger. “No sweat at all.”
“You wouldn’t,” Amy says, stealing one of Patricia’s fries.
“Bet?” Patricia laughs at how Vik’s eyes turn comically big, and, for the sake of the blonde, she stops Amy
before
she accepts. It’s good to see her letting loose and being social, but not
that
much—Luna tends to do things when people bet.
“She doesn’t,” Tricia watches as Amy steals yet another fry and slides the portion to her. “Besides, you’d win. Amy has bad luck on these things.”
The
thwack
never reaches her ears, but the slap does reach her arm, and she smiles at the redhead.
“What’s up with your little faith in me, huh?” Amy complains, pointing a fry at her, and Patricia bites it. “Oh,
now
you want the french fries?”
“It’s not ‘little faith’,” Patricia rolls her eyes and gives what's left of her burger to Halliday, who's dutifully sitting at her side. “Even Lucas knows that your luck is nasty, babe.”
Vik and Lucas tap Amy’s back in consolation, and she sighs in defeat as Luna snickers.
“Now,” Patricia stands up and stretches her back. “When you all finish eating, meet me in the car, we still have an aquarium to go to today!”
-
“It’s all so… BLUE!” Lucas is, as everyone can see, excited. He's sprinting across the place as soon as he can.
The group parted ways, leaving Amy and Patricia wandering by themselves, pointing at different kinds of fish while saying “This one looks like you” at each other,
and it's a bubble fish
.
It was fun, but Amy can't quite understand why Tricia's migraines won't go away. She noticed the other girl taking most of the medicine in a gulp earlier.
Maybe Patricia is just stressed and Amy is reading too much into it.
-
Evening arrives, and they spend yet
another
night in a motel, except for Patricia and Amy, they're in the car with Halliday because the place doesn't allow dogs. So stupid.
Tricia doesn't mind the company. They talk about school, and their clubs, and Amy lets those skinny fingers roam in her hair all the while.
When she asks about the migraines, Patricia only dismisses it and changes the subject.
-
This happens every day until they arrive in Texas. Amy assumes it's only because she's not getting enough sleep. At this point, the car had more Aspirin bottles than it should have, so it was impossible not to bump into one.
Patricia would have told her if it was something else, wouldn't she?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Texas, 1990, 1st of July
“Are you sure you don't want to switch on the next stop?” Amy asks, messing with the radio. “We're only two hours away, it's a straight road… I can drive us there, and you should nap in the meantime, Patty.”
“You can put a tape of yours if you want,” Patricia shrugs, holding the wheel only with her left hand and brushing her eyes with the free one, evidently drowsy, “they're heavy sleepers,” she says, pointing at the sleepyheads at the backseat with her head, that are soundly snoring. God, Patricia is terrible at trying to change a subject.
“Patty–”
“Stop calling me that—,” she complains, but there's a hint of a grin on her face.
“I will if you let me drive,
Patty
,” Amy smirks when Tricia groans and weakly shoves her shoulder. “Seriously, you need some sleep, Tricia.”
Patricia manages to smile, but she breaks it with a yawn. “Amy, do you even know how to drive?” Her free elbow rests on the ginger’s seat, and her hand extends to snake between Amy’s hair absentmindedly, and she seems to think about something. “Wait, did Ed–”
“Bingo,” Patricia's fingers in her hair caused her to shudder positively, very much like the past few years whenever they had a sleepover and woke up entangled or when they held each other's gaze a second too long, amongst other moments. Both have been like this for a while—years, but neither of them made a single move. Maybe there wasn’t even
something
to make a move on. “You know how he is. Trust me, it'll be a breeze.”
“…I hate it when you're right,” she snorts, pinching her nose involuntarily and her eyes close to shutting. “Which is not often—
Ouch!
” Patricia withdraws her right arm after the slap Amy gave her, and it bothers Amy at first how much she misses the warmth, but it all goes blank when she feels Tricia’s hand close around hers tightly. “Sometimes I forget you're the muscle between us, but fine, we can switch. You're right, anyway, I need some shuteye. We'll change at the next gas station, ‘kay ma'am?” Patricia faces her, searching for confirmation with her drained eyes.
Amy nods, squeezing tighter the hand in hers, letting the automatic response slip out of her mouth because
of course
she's distracted by the way the streetlights hue the brunette’s face, almost ethereal. She could live a life of watching Patricia driving like this, and she'd never complain, not even once. “Perfect.”
They stay like this a few seconds longer than expected,
She Drives Me Crazy
softly playing on the radio—because Amy put on a mixtape she made with Tricia—, and Amy can count the freckles on the shorter’s face. Her silhouette is filled with angles—and the one scar that tugs the edge of her mouth upwards, makes Amy feel the irrational need to punch Julia for having done this—that doesn't match the tenderness in her dark green eyes at all, and, besides the tardiness to react, Patricia seems satisfied with the reply. She got slightly closer and left a kiss on the redhead’s burned side.
“Perfect indeed.”
And maybe, possibly, Amy saw the flush of red taking over Tricia’s face while she was turning to look at the highway again. Which is fine—Amy herself is sure she's as red as her hair right now.
Their hands kept intertwined, before and after they swapped spots.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Texas, 1990, 2nd of July
It's a big house.
Sunny lives in this big house.
The kitchen is large, the backyard is ample, the bathrooms are big, and the rooms are immense. Everything is damn giant.
So, how come–
“There’s only one bed,” Patricia, already sprawled over it without even half a mind to take off her sneakers, states. No sign of distress in her features—unless you count eye bags from the car trip, she's pretty fine. “You don't mind sharing, do you?”
Amy scoots closer and sits on the mattress, their thighs, and knees touching and sending an electric jolt across her body, and suddenly it is so tricky to take off her boots.
These fucking shoelaces—
“Should I? Planning to kill me, Mendelsohn?”
“Oh, please, as if”, Patricia gets up and kneels, taking one of Amy’s feet to rest atop her raised knee so she can take off that damn boot—a reverse Cinderella. “You survived hell, Halliday almost killed you, you took a fucking bullet… you're hard to kill darlin’.” Amy’s barefoot now, Tricia
must
have had hands made of silk because she took them off like it was a walk in the park and the redhead didn't even notice. “Besides, you don't deserve an ending like that”, she puts the ginger’s boots at the end of the bed and embraces Amy to take her down the mattress with her, her eyes peacefully closed while she whispers in her ear like it's a secret, “
you’re too handsome, hon.
”
Amy hums a throaty laugh and buries her head in the crook of the shorter’s neck when she returns the hug, trying her best to not get too mindful by the mint honey scent that pleasantly fills her nose. Would it be weird to inhale it deeply, hoping to engrave it in her memory? “Do you think they'll notice if we stay here for the day?”
“You’re tired from driving, aren't you, darlin’?” Patricia’s tone was somewhat amused, maybe she found it funny. Something twisted funnily inside Amy when she felt sneaky fingers press against her skin, drawing lazy circles up and down her back, her body just melted under the soft touch. Her body's response to it was to hold tighter than before, the lanky body in her arms.
“I'll take this as a yes,”
a soft kiss is laid on top of her head.
“We can stay like this ‘til dinner
—
or ‘til we need to pee, you know how it goes. Just relax, cherry bomb, I'll be right here.”
They remain like this for hours, occasionally getting up and saying
‘I’ll be right back’
, heading to get some food or to the bathroom, 2-3 times Patricia answers the door to say something and guarantees they'll be down for dinner, and always gets back to the mattress in the same position with her hands claiming their place underneath Amy’s shirt.
-
“It's getting dark outside, Amy,” Patricia stirs trying to untangle herself from the strong arms around her waist, only to be held in place, “wha—
Amy—
”
“
No
,” she squeezes Tricia’s waist possessively, her voice hoarse from not speaking for a few hours and her hot breath against the thin pale neck, and Amy feels how the girl sucks in her breath above her. “
Mine.
”
Amy couldn't see, but Patricia bit her lip to suppress a smile, although she could feel the girl’s body vibrate with a giggle. “
Love, we're stinkin’, and we
will
have to go down to see our friends sooner or later
,” she rolls to sit on top of Amy’s lap holding her down by the shoulders, her brown hair—she needs to fix that nasty “mullet” whenever she gets the chance—falling lightly as she rests her forehead against the taller’s, “
we can stay like this later, ‘kay?
”
“But—” She's cut by her own surprised gasp because a
certain someone
bit her earlobe.
“
No buts. I'll go take a bath, and you'll go next,
” Patricia kisses her neck before being set free, going to search for some clean clothes right after and heading to the bathroom. “See you at dinner, cherry bomb!”
Amy nods, eyes trained on the ceiling while her body heats up, her mind screams so loud and her heart hammers against her rib cage, and while her fingers trace the lines of where Patricia’s lips touched, Amy is smiling like a madman.
God, Charlie, and Ed would have something else to mess with her, but
damn
—didn't it feel good to have someone to fancy?
-
‘
God bless Evan’s cooking
’ was the major thought inside Patricia’s head because
oh, god,
that lasagna is heavenly. It almost makes her forget how tired she feels, how her headache is getting worse over time, and makes her feel slightly bad about how much she wants to puke—not because of the meal, but mostly ‘cause nothing would seem to settle, and she isn't hungry at all.
It started when they were almost halfway through the trip, Vik even gave her Aspirin when she asked for it in these two weeks—not counting the times she bought new bottles of it. Her memory might be bad, but if she took her meds and—
Oh.
Oh.
Well, shit. That explains a few things at least.
I am so fucking stupid
—, her jaw clenched at the thought, and her grasp on the utensils falters, but she does her best to keep things smooth. She trusts these people on the table, and she likes to think they trust her too—but she never told anyone besides Charlie and Sunny that she's sick, not even her brother. She
can't
live normally without Retrovir because the universe chose her unlucky ass to have AIDS.
Aspirin can't fucking save you, you dumbass idiot—
And she forgot to bring it with her. Patricia forgot the goddamn medicine that helps her body to run remotely normal—and her organism is punishing her for that mistake. A drop of sweat runs down her spine, and it's getting overwhelmingly cold, everything is too much, she needs to get out of here, far from the chatter because the amplified sounds through her hearing aids are getting louder thus worsening the migraine—god she's so lucky she was able to finish the lasagna to have the excuse to wash her plate.
-
From the dining room to the kitchen was a considerable 3-room distance. Three very large rooms and a hall.
Patricia wasn't even halfway to the kitchen when she collapsed, using her last will to put the plate & fork on a nearby small table, her body going limp against the wall and painfully down on the floor. Patricia is drenched now, her forehead and nape so wet that her hair sticks to it, and her eyes can't take the lights anymore so she tosses her glasses somewhere and shuts them, covering them with her hands, breathing sharp and hard—the kind that doesn't fill the lungs and feels like you're not breathing at all.
The well-known metallic taste of blood made itself present in her mouth and she wanted to spit but instead, she let it spread, taking the saliva with it and dripping it onto the nice carpet through her open mouth. Her body trembles and Patricia is not sure if it's because of the fever or because the headache is so excruciating that she's on the verge of crying, but all that matters is that her teeth won't stop clattering against each other, and it pisses her off. Texas shouldn't be
that
cold in July.
And sooner than she had the mind to care, Patricia's senses gave in and everything went black.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Texas, 1990, 3rd of July
Her first sense to come back was smell and her nostrils were filled with the odor of antiseptic, alcohol, and cigarettes. Weird mix.
Next is touch. Patricia can move her dormant legs with effort, not much, but enough to make her aware that something heavy lays above her lap. Then her fingers, the same frailty as when you wake up from sleep and your muscles are drowsy and buzzing, but she's getting the hang of it fast. First the right, then the oh–
She doesn't let go, opting for tracing lines with her thumb against the calloused hand holding hers she came to know so well.
Patricia opened her eyes bit by bit, the white ceiling light burned her vision, but she adapted, blinking as many times as needed until the messy red hair was in focus.
Amy drools when she sleeps and wets the blanket, her eyes are puffy as if she's been crying—which makes Patricia’s heart pang, but that's not the point—, and it feels right to be here—not this hospital room, but with Amy. Sweet, sweet, Amy, dozing so peacefully that Patricia
knows
that, when she wakes up, her backbone will be hurting like hell because of her position and she can't help but laugh.
The paws on the other side of the bed startle her, but she's
so
glad to see Halliday, but not surprised since he's now also a service dog she trained—with professional help, ‘course—, so he could go anywhere with Lucas and herself, hospitals included. Maybe he had barked before jumping on her, she wouldn't know, the only thing Patricia knew was that something messed with Amy’s rest, but Tricia was too focused on petting the best dog in the world to notice the movement on her lap until her left hand met the cold air of the room, and she was enveloped in a tight hug—that she returns with equal enthusiasm, dragging Amy’s waist to her with all of her might.
She could live like this forever, basking in the smell of nicotine and mint that was ingrained in the other girl, but all too soon they part, Amy sits on the sofa she was on and stares at her with… betrayal.
Oh well, shit.
“Were you going to tell me at all?” she asks, her hands shaky.
“…Who told you—” Patricia feels her voice crack, but Amy cuts her.
“Answer me.”
“It was Sunny, wasn't it? Charlie would never—” Amy narrowed her glistening eyes at her, and it sank in Patricia that it wasn't the right thing to say.
“You
told
them?!” The bitter facade and Amy’s face flushed with what could only have been anger looked through her. “I thought you trusted me.”
“I DO, I—,”
Deep breaths, Patricia, take deep breaths
, “I just—I didn't know how to tell you. You might be thinking I've told them, but I only said this to
Charlie
, Sunny just happened to overhear.”
“…Sounds just like her.”
“Right? I didn't want anyone to know—Amy,
Lucas
doesn't know,” the redhead is caught off guard by this, given the way her eyes go wide. “Few people know, darlin’. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just… I'm afraid, ‘kay? I was planning to tell you next year when I turned twenty. Forgive me? For not telling you sooner and for you to find out like this, I mean.”
Silence is constant in Patricia’s life—she's deaf, duh—, but seeing one of her best friends gaze at her with indifference is rather unsettling.
Amy doesn't answer her question, she only laces their fingers and says,
“
The others will be here soon, then we'll head home.” Not even the ghost of a smile. She doesn't even slouch on the sofa and Patricia wonders if Amy’s spine is hurting, and she's putting on a serious face to her, which doesn't help her anxiety, but putting her concerns aside, Patricia nods.
“Good.”
-
Needless to say, the hospital room was cramped when the others stepped inside—which Patricia was pretty sure wasn't allowed—, but she didn't complain. Lucas leaped on her for a tight hug, while Poppy did the same with her neck, except for the jumping. To the surprise of no one, the most worried were Charlie and Sunny, but she assured them she was fine now. In fact, Tricia felt so great that she wanted to get out of the hospital already—bureaucracy won't let her, but can't a girl dream?
“So,” Luna starts after she's finished ruffling Tricia's hair and crossing her arms. “How about you explain what happened, Pitcher?” There's nothing accusatory in her tone—if something, Luna sounds concerned. Patricia’s smile faltered, and she averted her eyes until they bore into Amy's. The girl only narrowed them and lifted a single brow, a gesture she came to know as challenging.
“Did I faint?” Everyone nods. “Who found me?”
Please let it be Charlie, please, please, please—
“That'd be me,” Amy says and Patricia wants to bang her head on the wall because only if she was reborn, maybe her bad luck would reset. “Or us, if you count Halliday—which I think you do. He found you first and came back to pull my shirt until I followed him.” She snaps her fingers and Halliday goes to sit beside her, being happily petted.
He deserves it, I guess.
“Good boy, Hal.”
Tricia sighs, fingers nervously toying with Amy's only to be squeezed reassuringly.
Great. That's it then. Just great.
And she starts explaining, first how she was nearly always sick as a kid and that it only seemed to get worse over the years, how she started to bleed through her nose and mouth constantly, how she began the treatment with drugs—now commercialized as Retrovir—, until what happened last night. “…And that's it, I have AIDS. Questions? Concerns? Food?
I’m serious, I haven't eaten yet.
”
“Here,” Poppy throws her a pack of Skittles, and she catches it effortlessly with her right hand. “I stole it from the vending machine down there.”
Patricia opens it with her teeth and sees Maia raising her hand. “Spill,” the brunette says, filling up her mouth with the candy. Somewhere in the hospital, a nurse disapproves.
“Why haven't you told us sooner?” Her ASL is painfully stiff, but she manages to ask.
Yeah, Patricia, why didn't you?
“We got desperate when Amy appeared carrying you, asking where the nearest hospital was.”
Dang. Sorry, MayMay.
“Right, uh… that…”, Patricia shifted uncomfortably in where she sat on the bed. “I was insecure. That's it, it's just… I
know
what people think of people with AIDS, I didn't want to risk it. I was planning to tell it next year when I turned twenty and went to college. If you guys wanted to get away from me, at least we'd already be distant.”
Lucas tugs her side. “Even from me?”
“
Especially
you,” Patricia shakes her shoulders. “I'm not proud of it but eh, sorry,” she bumps her forehead on his temple before gulping the final Skittles. Lucas would talk with her about it later, she knows it. “Wouldn't want to burden you with my problems, Scout. “
Mik, with one of his arms resting on Sunny's shoulder—and she's holding onto his waist the same way she's holding Maia's.
Note: make fun of her about this later
—look at her warmly. “Look around, Mendelsohn,” and she does, her eyes setting on Amy's fingers intertwined with hers, as Mikhail finishes what he is saying. “I don't think we're going anywhere,” her friends' reactions are a variety of confirmation—nods, speaking, essentially showing some kind of affection.
Although she sees it from the corner of her eyes, Patricia's gaze rakes along Amy’s hand, arm, shoulder, collarbone, neck… all the way up to her stare at her face—taking her time thinking about how much she wanted to kiss her right now. And she gives her a small smile, warmth spreading over her cheeks when Amy's eyes soften and the corner of her mouth barely lifts. Still, it's a win.
“Good. Fine by me,” Patricia says, eyes never leaving Amy's. God, she's so lucky. “The barbecue for the 4th of July is still going to happen, right?”
-
The day proceeded normally after Patricia was freed from the hospital. Doctor Andrews, even after being aware she had AIDS, didn't refuse to treat her and goddamn, it felt
good
. It was so stupidly good to be treated as a person because she has to cross two cities after Yellow Creek to fucking find a doctor that was up to care for her and go to Columbus to find a drugstore that had Retrovir—if she was lucky. Andrews just… damn, he handed her a prescription and gave her a pack of it. Not even once did he look at her as if she was a disease, Andrews even shook her hand and didn't immediately wash it or something.
She wanted to cry because of it—and she did, but only when she was alone in the car with Amy, Lucas, and Halliday, on the way to buy beef for the barbecue at a market because Sunny asked.
-
Everyone was in a hurry, already setting the table for dinner outside when they arrived and decorating—because Sunny, Maia, and Poppy thought it was cute, paying no mind to Luna's dissertation about how the 4th of July is a scam, the entirety of the US is a scam yadda-yadda. She turned into a blabbing mess when Vik kissed her cheek, way too much head over heels for her own good—and Evan was expelling whoever set foot into the kitchen except for Charlie—because he's gay—and Patricia, who was there only to put the beef inside the refrigerator and drink water.
Evan nudges her side with his hips, and she turns to him, gulping the water in one go and letting that characteristic
ah
from when you hold your breath. “You're fine for real this time, uh?” Tricia nods. “Cool. I thought you got food poisoning,” she laughed at the thought.
“Impossible,” she weakly fists his face to nudge it. “You're like—the God of cooking, dunno,” he smirks at that.
“Uh, thanks for the appreciation,” he says while chopping some tomatoes. He finishes it before going for the onions and continues after seconds of slicing only. “Amy got really worried. Desperate, even. I drove you guys to the hospital—after convincing her it was a terrible idea for her to drive given her state—and when we got there, she demanded I stay by your side until she finished signing the papers and telling all she could to them.”
Patricia’s throat dries, and she looks to the kitchen glass door that leads outside, where Amy is talking about something with Luna and Vik. “…why are you telling me that? Is there something I should know, Evan?” She turns to him, eyes focused on the lip-reading she would do because she had to be sure about whatever would come from his mouth.
He sighs but doesn't answer, opting to take some meat from the refrigerator to clean—he'd probably grind them to make homemade hamburgers. Her eyes follow his every movement. “Evan, what does it mean? You can't just go and tell things—maybe Amy didn't even want me to know about this—”
“You like her, don't you, Mullet?” She bit her tongue to stop talking.
How did he—Oh. Gays.
He lifts a brow. “I'll take this as a yes. Okay, listen—” she snorts, and he does too, after noticing his mistake. “Poor choice of words, but you get it,” Evan wipes the meat from his hands on his apron and takes Patricia by the shoulders. “I am
not
the one who gives a pep talk—this is more a Charlie's thing—, but I'll try: You like Amy, anyone here can see that. You should see your face whenever you spot her—”
Her ears burn. “I—it's not like that—” Evan, again, didn't let her finish.
“You're right, it's not like that.
It's worse.
I can't even stand it,” he rolls his eyes as she swats his shoulder. “But you know what I
also
can't stand?”
“…What?”
“Amy's pinning. I'll be frank with you—”
“Can I still be Patricia?” Evan tries to hold it, but he half snorts, half chuckles.
“…That one was terrible—now shut up and let me finish, goddamn it!” He inhales, trying to regain his composure. “Amy
likes
you too, Mullet. She has for a while.”
“…You think so?”
“I know so. She told Eddie, Meredith, Charlie, and me when she went downstairs from a sleepover with you at her house. She said something like…” he cleans his throat, trying to mimic Amy's voice and failing miserably.
“Oh my God she wants to join the Air Forces, this will be the death of me—just imagine her wearing a uniform fuck—I want to kiss her so bad—”
Patricia remembers that day, it was… about 3 years ago, September 27th. Amy said she needed to go to the bathroom and drink some water and left her room pretty fast after that, her face red. What Amy didn't know was that, after she left, all Patricia thought about was how obscenely hot Amy was when playing with her guitar earlier that night, and that's why the pillow was wet: Patricia screamed in it so much that the saliva went all to the cotton there.
“…You think I have a chance?”
“You only will know if you confess or ask her out,” he crosses his arms. “Don't you think you deserve this chance? If you do, go for it, Patricia. You have nothing to lose.”
After all this wisdom, maybe all of what he had left for the year, he got back to his work in the kitchen. She looked outside again, only to find fiery eyes already gazing at her. They held it this time, longer than ever before until someone called out for the redhead, and she was forced to break their eye contact.
Tomorrow, perhaps.
-
At some point, they seemed to have forgotten that there was only one bed, which led to an awkward silence
again
. Patricia's muscles go stiff and, if Amy noticed, she kept quiet all the while when she stepped inside and went to the bathroom.
With nothing left to do, Patricia changed into her pajamas—only a plain white tank top and a short—and lay on the bed, taking her sketchbook from her backpack—Debrah insisted she always carried one
“because you'll never know when you'll need it”
or so—and starts to draw. Nothing complicated and, in all honesty, she's pretty bad at it as a whole, but Patricia likes to doodle.
A cat, a dog, UFOs, spirals—spirals have a special place in her heart. She may not be as good at it as Maia—nobody was, that girl would be the next Picasso for all she knows—, but there was some sheer delight in drawing spirals non-stop, and maybe it was because it took her mind off of Amy for a while.
That's it, until Amy lies beside her and pulls her lanky waist until they crash together. There's no space between their bodies and Amy's hot breath smells like mint toothpaste, but it still itches on where it finds Tricia's flesh.
“
Hey
,” the grip on her hips tightened. Patricia looks at the redhead's eyes. Her mind, foggy, by the sudden presence as she tries to maintain eye contact with Amy, melts—she melts. “
You're not going to keep it to yourself whenever you get sick again, right?
”
She nods. “
I won't
,” she puts the sketchbook on the floor without nearly half the care when she takes Amy's free hand while adjusting to face her properly. “
Never again.
”
“
You promise?
” The hand on Patricia's waist travels to rest on her cheek, while the other squeezes her hand as if it's afraid of letting go.
The room is not exactly the most illuminated, the only light on right now comes from the bathroom—and the door is barely closed—, but Tricia is sure her eyes are above her chin, not below, where Amy’s gaze wanders for a few seconds.
“
I do
,” their foreheads touch, and their noses bump into each other. “
I do, I promise, I do, I do, I do—
”
“
I believe in you
,” but Amy never let the shorter go away—not that she wanted her to, anyway. Their eyes never leave each other's, earth mending with moss, like they're entangled right now for some unconscious feeling. “
Can I ask you something?
”
Tricia nods, her eyes breaking the contact to find the rosy lips less than a breath away from hers. Amy's hand on her cheek cups it and tugs her closer, slightly.
“
Can I kiss you?
” Amy asks and their upper lips touch.
The only answer Patricia ever gave her was crashing their mouths together, being reciprocated with eagerness. Both tasted like that damn mint toothpaste but with their hues around it—nicotine, a hint of blood—, whatever it was, they got addicted to it fast.
When Patricia felt Amy’s hand under her shirt, she knew she'd see stars tonight.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Texas, 1990, 4th of July
The soft snoring that comes from Patricia could lure Amy back to sleep, but she can't bring herself to stop thinking about what happened a few hours ago.
They didn't go further down the hips—both of them were concerned about what could happen because HIV is a bitch—, then they chose to stick with teasing above the waist.
Amy stretches her back and
damn
it stings. Patricia must've scratched her deep, not that she's complaining. She turns her head, neck aching, and looks outside the window. The sun is not up yet. Uh, she woke up earlier than she thought.
She huffs and, judging by the way it cracks her throat, it's dry. Amy sits, untangling herself slowly from her best friend—girlfriend? Friends with benefits? She doesn't know—and allows herself to stare.
Patricia doesn't drool when she sleeps, she barely snorts even, but her mouth hangs open with the throaty sounds of breathing that regularly leave her lungs. Tricia sleeps without a worry, but her brows still wrinkle now and then, sometimes her teeth bite air and her jaw clenches, but it never lasts. Amy hopes it isn't a nightmare, but hoping doesn’t make it real. The next thing in sight is the hickeys across Patricia's skin, her neck even got bite marks.
This… will be hard to hide later.
Her fingertips hover over chapped lips, tempted to grab her by the jaw and kiss it over, and over, and over again until she's tired, or her lungs explode without air, whatever comes first.
Later, Amy thought, she would do it senselessly. For now, she leaves their bedroom—after properly dressing—and searches for the kitchen.
-
She crosses the living room, only to find a sleeping Evan and Charlie sharing the couch, the television on, and she grins. A very silly thought, Amy doesn't even like Billy Idol that much, but Patricia does, and this reminds her of a song of his. Maybe the lyrics don't even match.
Amy proceeds on her way to the kitchen, washing a cup in the sink and filling it up with water.
In this quiet, probably around 3 AM on the 4th of July, she has some room to think alone about the recent events.
She kissed me. Goddammit, she kissed me and
I
kissed her back.
Warmth spreads over her body and Amy shifts her weight from one foot to another as her waist rests against the counter.
I touched Patricia, and Patricia touched me. She's so soft—gosh, her moans—
Her cup is long empty, but Amy only left the kitchen after she heard knocks coming from the front door, distracting her from how her mind spirals into horny and dirty things that a major side of her is mortified of—but then again, there's this tiny and loud part of her that wants to keep going. To
try
again and allow herself to be happier than she already is if she's given the chance.
The back of her right hand hurts, and she looks at it, only to find bite marks.
Great.
She must’ve bitten it without noticing while she was all horny.
Cassidy and Patricia are different
, she thought on her way to the door. Not only because Patricia is alive and Cassidy is dead—although this does… help.
Maybe the trauma has a role in it, I guess.
Another knock and Amy’s hand turns the knob and swings the door open—apparently, they've forgotten to lock it—, and she's not surprised to find Ed, Theresa, and Debrah on the other side.
“Hey, ghostie,” Ed’s unmistakably tired grin looks back at her. Lucas and Patricia’s mothers too. “Got some space in there for us?”
“You joke, but this house is so big that all of us could live here together,” she hugs her uncle and grins at a sleepy Debrah and a packed Theresa. “Come in, I'll help with the luggage. Charlie and Evan are sleeping in the living room, wake them up and ask for help with your bedrooms.”
“You're a dear,” Debrah hugs her weakly. “They are in the backseat,” with that, Debrah enters. Amy assumed she was tired because she had driven them here. Ed escorted her because she almost fell on her own feet while yawning.
She's left with Theresa, who points to the car with her head and starts moving. Amy doesn't need another hint to know that it's a cue for her to tag along, so she does.
In the distance, Amy can see the first rays of sunshine. It'll take some time for it to rise completely, but she wants to finish with the baggage to go upstairs already. Maybe it wasn't 3 AM, only normal and plain 5 AM.
She's already at the door carrying two suitcases when Theresa stops her with a hand on her shoulder. Amy turns her head to look at her. “Did I forget anything?”
Theresa doesn't reply immediately, taking her time analyzing something in Amy’s face—which makes her wonder if there's any dirt on her. When she finally speaks, Amy's eyes go wide, and Theresa’s narrow. “Why is your neck covered in…
hickeys?
”
Fuck.
“Er—huh…” Amy doesn't know how to explain it without saying ‘Hey, me and your daughter kind of fucked earlier haha
’
, so she looks away and, while biting her lower lip, she knows that her face is red. Theresa’s eyes soften at that.
“It was Patricia, wasn't it?” The redhead tenses involuntarily and clenches her jaw, looking anywhere but at the woman. Theresa doesn't seem surprised in the slightest and grins, the hand on the teenager's shoulder grips firmly. “You know… she likes you. Quite a lot, to be honest.”
The way Amy whips her head to face Theresa with wide eyes is comical.
“
I
—I think you're misunderstanding things—,”
Amy says, her voice unusually high-pitched as she tries to dismiss what Theresa said.
“Emmalyne, dear. Look at me,” Amy does what she's told, fighting the urge to dig a hole for herself, her shoulders contracting as if she wants to disappear. “I
know
how you look at my daughter, I noticed. So did Debrah. I think you're aware that she and I… we care about each other.”
Reluctantly, Amy confirms with her head.
“Perfect. And you kids are aware of Evan and Charlie?” A nod. “Luna and Vik?” Another. “Poppy and Honey?” Again. “Sunny, Maia, and Mikhail?”
“I had my… suspicions. Never thought it was real—” Besides the rambling, Amy nods.
“And your uncle is gay too.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“No buts,” Amy snorts at that.
So she got it from Theresa then
. “She
likes
you. If she could, Patricia would talk about you every single second. I… understand how this might be hard for you—hell, you went through things no child should. You told us what happened to Cassidy, and, my dear, I feel so
much
for you,” the redhead wants to cry, at first because
fuck
her feelings are reciprocal, second because that damn memory of Cassidy still burns in her mind.
God, I loved her so much.
“You were told it was wrong to feel like that, but you've grown up,” Theresa’s hand is not on her shoulder anymore, instead it cups her cheek as she steps closer. Motherly tenderness dripping from her every move. When she speaks again, her voice is no louder than a whisper:
“Whatever path you pick, we are here for you. But, please, choose the one that makes you happy, beyond all things. Happiness is worth fighting for, and you deserve all the joy in the world.”
Amy’s eyes are red, and her throat is tied. When she feels the hot tears starting to stream down her cheeks, she embraces Theresa, hard, letting go of the baggage, both literally and metaphorically, while she sobs nonstop and wets Theresa’s clothes.
Theresa returns the hug, so motherly.
I miss my mom.
She holds Amy until she's steady. Dawn is threatening to arrive already, the sun is higher.
“You are a good young woman, Emmalyne McRay. I see why my daughter fancies you.”
Theresa whispers and kisses the top of her head.
“Now, I truly think you'd want to be by her side when she wakes up, hm?”
Amy nods, her face sheltered in the space between Theresa’s neck and shoulder. She smells like books and pancakes, but Amy is sure the smell of books comes from Debrah.
“Good, because I want to be with Debrah. Let's keep going.”
They chuckle, but part and take the baggage again. Amy wipes the leftover tears from her eyes, and her throat is not so tied anymore.
“Thanks. For the pep talk, I mean,” Amy said when they were inside, going upstairs.
“No need. Ed would've done the same if he wasn't in a hurry to the bathroom. Helping my wife was an excuse,” Theresa replies. “Oh, and Meredith asked me to tell you she would arrive later. Extra hours.”
“I was expecting that,” Amy is aware of her social assistant being a workaholic. “I only hope she's not overworking herself and, if we're lucky, she arrives in time for the fireworks.”
Theresa only nods. Both remain in silence after they go upstairs, briefly breaking it to say their goodbyes, even though they are only a few doors away.
Amy would tell Patricia that her mothers had arrived later when she woke up, but for now, when the redhead opened the door to her shared room with a very sleepy brunette, all she wanted to do was snuggle back and cuddle. So she did it, surprised and giddy, to be welcomed with lanky freckled arms locking around her waist.
-
Kisses. Kisses all over her face and Amy wakes up grinning from ear to ear, embracing Patricia, who's squirming under her touch but keeps on distributing small pecks along all Amy's skin she can reach.
“Hey, handsome,” Patricia says, putting a little space between their bodies, and admiring Amy's bed hair. It looks like a red storm.
“Hey yourself,” Amy mumbles, pretty sure Tricia won't understand at first, but will deal with it anyway.
Nobody tries to talk to them, perhaps it's early, and no one is up yet, and they keep entangled, basking in each other's presence and all both girls could think of was how faint sunlight turned beautiful when touching their skins.
-
Evan is screaming orders at everyone in the kitchen—Patricia, Vik, Honey, Theresa and Debrah—, preparing an entire course of food with expertise, while Patricia handles the making of four different desserts for him. Needless to say, the place is pandemonium.
No one is allowed to enter—except Charlie, obviously—, and even though Amy is helping with the final decorations, she can't help but spare a glance or two at Patricia, who's covered in so much flour, jelly, and cream, that using the apron wouldn't make much difference, and smiles at the sight.
“Amy, could you pass me the flags, please?” Sunny is such a dear whenever she asks for something.
“Coming!”
-
Evening bath could be mistaken for bliss,
Patricia thought after cleaning herself. She's sure she missed a few places, but she’d survive—she washed her hair, after all!
Amy is not in the room, but Lucas is sprawled on the bed with Halliday, reading some superhero comic.
“Hey, Scout,” Tricia salutes her brother.
“Hairspray—” Lucas can't finish because he is hit by a stray shirt while the dumbass he has for a sister is hopping on the bed.
“No fair, you did this to my hair while I was sleeping, Edward Scissors Hand,” not that Patricia didn't like the height of it, it was pretty cool, but for fuck's sake, it was so
not
well-done.
“What, do you want me to fix it?”
“Maybe.”
“…You're joking.”
She was, in fact, not joking.
“Oh my God, you're not joking.
Oh my God—
”
“Don't you go getting ideas,” she messes with his hair, and Halliday stretches along the siblings' laps. “I just want you to fix this mess. Think you could do it?”
Lucas laughed but rested his head on her shoulder. “‘Course.”
“Cool.”
“But only if you use the
magic words
,” Lucas wriggles his fingers in the air, the comic long forgotten by his side.
“I hate you so much,” she rolls her eyes and shoves him lightly, but both are laughing.
“Nah, you don't.”
“Yeah. I don't.”
I could never.
“But I hate your bargaining.”
“Shut up and say it.”
“…” Patricia remains silent.
“…” Lucas crosses his arms and grins smugly at her.
Patricia inhales deeply.
Brat.
“Dear Supreme Lord of The Universe, Lucas Mendelsohn-Bertrand, would you, pretty please, fix my hair—that
you
mutilated—,” Lucas slaps her arm, but she giggles and continues. “And in exchange, I will do your chores for the rest of the month.”
“A month and a half, and we have a deal.”
Her jaw hangs open. “That’s unfair, even for you.”
He shakes his shoulders. “Business is business.”
“Brat.”
“
Your
brat, and you wouldn't change it for the world,” Lucas says, and she sighs dramatically.
“It’s not like if I have a choice,” he punches her arm and Patricia huffs a snicker. But he’s right: she’d never want a life without him.
He doesn’t need to know that her life began when he was born, as if she came too soon, and was filling her gaps of existence until Lucas arrived in this world. It was worth it.
The warmth that spreads in her chest is overwhelming, and Patricia tackles him into a bear hug, startling Halliday, but she doesn’t care. When Lucas hugs her back, she exhales in relief.
It’s not a dream, it’s real. We escaped. We are safe. We're fine.
Sometimes, Patricia thinks, her traumatized ass has to reassure herself of it, even after years.
Patricia doesn't hear Lucas's whispers of reassurance to her—and to himself—, non-stop ‘
I’m here
’, and ‘
I’m not going anywhere
’, but the ghost of hot air on her ear is enough.
After all this time, they still got each other.
-
They're tired, every single one of them. It turns out decorating, and moving tables and chairs is a real workout.
“I think my pinky hurts,” Poppy complained, trying to move it.
“I can't feel my feet,” Luna whines.
“My neck hurts from looking at you guys the entire day,” Amy teases, but it does hurt a little. “Please, grow.”
Luna kicks her and Poppy throws a handful of dirt at her.
“Dude, if your neck hurts, we
know
it's not because of looking at us,” Poppy teases, smirking. Luna follows suit.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t imply what I think you did.”
The three girls laugh, but Amy feels self-conscious of her hickeys. Someone calls Luna.
“She really got you, didn’t she?” Poppy asks when Luna goes away. Amy nods, sitting up and covering her neck with both hands. “Finally. Took you two long enough.”
“You knew?”
“Pretty much everyone did. The both of you were too close for being just buddies.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, whenever you watch her doing something you got that dumbfounded love struck smile—hard to ignore, you know?”
“
Oh.
”
“And she always do her best and extra when she feels you watching her, she told me that.”
Amy and Poppy aren’t
that
close, Poppy is closer to Patricia since they’ve met. So Amy’s not sure why the other girl is telling her that, so she asks.
“‘Cause she’s my friend and I think she deserves to be happy. If that involves you, that’s great,” Poppy gets up, and offers Amy help to do the same. “She’s still pretty closed off about her past, but I think we can tell it was bad.”
Amy accepts. Poppy continues.
“Personally, I guess she’s afraid to go after what makes her happy because she’s scared of deserving something good. Maybe now she’s willing to try. I’m proud of you two.”
-
Patricia isn’t fond of the smell of alcohol, so when Ed starts to get a little too high, and she can smell it from Luna’s breath, she retires to a more “secluded” space.
Amy, who lost her from sight, is searching for the deaf girl with a plate of burgers to her. It takes longer than she thought it would, but she finds Patricia sitting by herself in the garden, further in the backyard.
“You cut your hair,” Amy calls out when she's already on the wooden bench.
Tricia nods, absently touching her nape, feeling the smallest tickles of her buzz cut. Amy offers her the burgers and she takes it.
Silence settles—except for the eating sounds Tricia makes. Amy takes in the place, noticing that she only knows two types of flowers when she sees there are more than five species.
“I…,” Patricia coughs, and Amy perks up. “I liked what we did. The kiss and all the, you know…”, both of them giggle, smiling awkwardly at each other.
“I did too,” Amy puts her hand on Patricia's shoulder, eager. Somehow, Tricia’s smile grows wider. “A lot, honestly.”
It's slow. Amy has to take deep breaths and remind herself that it's
alright
to like Patricia. She has to remember Theresa's pep talk earlier. It took less than seven seconds to intertwine her hand with Tricia's, but to her? Amy believes that she understood what that guy who landed on the moon felt.
It got better when Patricia reciprocated her hold, and kissed her cheek, cupping her face with her free hand.
They're so focused on each other that they miss the first firework in the sky, but it explodes into pretty colored lights regardless, gaining their attention—well, only Patricia's, Amy's is too focused on her (hopefully) girlfriend (to be) to care.
Amy thinks.
What if?
Her hand rises.
I want it.
Amy gets a hold of Tricia's nape, said girl turns her face to her.
Choose the things that make you happy, Emmalyne McRay.
Amy decides to kiss Patricia under the fireworks. Patricia kisses her back. They will try to make this work, yes.
Fourth of July always has a show of fireworks, but none could beat theirs—or some sappy shit like that, Amy is no poet.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Perfect Places
Know that all my love
will be your breath
I will save you
when your lights go out
Texas, 1990, 22nd of June
Patricia thinks the perks of being the only one with a license and a car are fair enough—you can drive anywhere if you wish, it’s easier to visit someone, and it carries more things—, but nobody tells you how that makes you responsible about the driving part in car trips. Five people, and she’s the lucky one to have a damn license. You can do it, Mendelsohn. She can’t, her head has been on the verge of splitting lately, but thank God Vik always carries some Aspirin with her. On the bright side, we’ll stop at every single stop because someone had the idea of a car trip across states instead of going straight to Texas. Whatever, at least they’re going to the aquarium in Columbus—she doesn’t care much about the zoo. - Scratch that, the zoo is fun and Mandrills are cool. “I’d win against them,” Luna says, chewing her burger. “No sweat at all.” “You wouldn’t,” Amy says, stealing one of Patricia’s fries. “Bet?” Patricia laughs at how Vik’s eyes turn comically big, and, for the sake of the blonde, she stops Amy before she accepts. It’s good to see her letting loose and being social, but not that much—Luna tends to do things when people bet. “She doesn’t,” Tricia watches as Amy steals yet another fry and slides the portion to her. “Besides, you’d win. Amy has bad luck on these things.” The thwack never reaches her ears, but the slap does reach her arm, and she smiles at the redhead. “What’s up with your little faith in me, huh?” Amy complains, pointing a fry at her, and Patricia bites it. “Oh, now you want the french fries?” “It’s not ‘little faith’,” Patricia rolls her eyes and gives what's left of her burger to Halliday, who's dutifully sitting at her side. “Even Lucas knows that your luck is nasty, babe.” Vik and Lucas tap Amy’s back in consolation, and she sighs in defeat as Luna snickers. “Now,” Patricia stands up and stretches her back. “When you all finish eating, meet me in the car, we still have an aquarium to go to today!” - “It’s all so… BLUE!” Lucas is, as everyone can see, excited. He's sprinting across the place as soon as he can. The group parted ways, leaving Amy and Patricia wandering by themselves, pointing at different kinds of fish while saying “This one looks like you” at each other, and it's a bubble fish . It was fun, but Amy can't quite understand why Tricia's migraines won't go away. She noticed the other girl taking most of the medicine in a gulp earlier. Maybe Patricia is just stressed and Amy is reading too much into it. - Evening arrives, and they spend yet another night in a motel, except for Patricia and Amy, they're in the car with Halliday because the place doesn't allow dogs. So stupid. Tricia doesn't mind the company. They talk about school, and their clubs, and Amy lets those skinny fingers roam in her hair all the while. When she asks about the migraines, Patricia only dismisses it and changes the subject. - This happens every day until they arrive in Texas. Amy assumes it's only because she's not getting enough sleep. At this point, the car had more Aspirin bottles than it should have, so it was impossible not to bump into one. Patricia would have told her if it was something else, wouldn't she? -
Texas, 1990, 1st of July
“Are you sure you don't want to switch on the next stop?” Amy asks, messing with the radio. “We're only two hours away, it's a straight road… I can drive us there, and you should nap in the meantime, Patty.” “You can put a tape of yours if you want,” Patricia shrugs, holding the wheel only with her left hand and brushing her eyes with the free one, evidently drowsy, “they're heavy sleepers,” she says, pointing at the sleepyheads at the backseat with her head, that are soundly snoring. God, Patricia is terrible at trying to change a subject. “Patty–” “Stop calling me that—,” she complains, but there's a hint of a grin on her face. “I will if you let me drive, Patty ,” Amy smirks when Tricia groans and weakly shoves her shoulder. “Seriously, you need some sleep, Tricia.” Patricia manages to smile, but she breaks it with a yawn. “Amy, do you even know how to drive?” Her free elbow rests on the ginger’s seat, and her hand extends to snake between Amy’s hair absentmindedly, and she seems to think about something. “Wait, did Ed–” “Bingo,” Patricia's fingers in her hair caused her to shudder positively, very much like the past few years whenever they had a sleepover and woke up entangled or when they held each other's gaze a second too long, amongst other moments. Both have been like this for a while—years, but neither of them made a single move. Maybe there wasn’t even something to make a move on. “You know how he is. Trust me, it'll be a breeze.” “…I hate it when you're right,” she snorts, pinching her nose involuntarily and her eyes close to shutting. “Which is not often— Ouch! ” Patricia withdraws her right arm after the slap Amy gave her, and it bothers Amy at first how much she misses the warmth, but it all goes blank when she feels Tricia’s hand close around hers tightly. “Sometimes I forget you're the muscle between us, but fine, we can switch. You're right, anyway, I need some shuteye. We'll change at the next gas station, ‘kay ma'am?” Patricia faces her, searching for confirmation with her drained eyes. Amy nods, squeezing tighter the hand in hers, letting the automatic response slip out of her mouth because of course she's distracted by the way the streetlights hue the brunette’s face, almost ethereal. She could live a life of watching Patricia driving like this, and she'd never complain, not even once. “Perfect.” They stay like this a few seconds longer than expected, She Drives Me Crazy softly playing on the radio—because Amy put on a mixtape she made with Tricia—, and Amy can count the freckles on the shorter’s face. Her silhouette is filled with angles—and the one scar that tugs the edge of her mouth upwards, makes Amy feel the irrational need to punch Julia for having done this—that doesn't match the tenderness in her dark green eyes at all, and, besides the tardiness to react, Patricia seems satisfied with the reply. She got slightly closer and left a kiss on the redhead’s burned side. “Perfect indeed.” And maybe, possibly, Amy saw the flush of red taking over Tricia’s face while she was turning to look at the highway again. Which is fine—Amy herself is sure she's as red as her hair right now. Their hands kept intertwined, before and after they swapped spots. -
Texas, 1990, 2nd of July
It's a big house. Sunny lives in this big house. The kitchen is large, the backyard is ample, the bathrooms are big, and the rooms are immense. Everything is damn giant. So, how come– “There’s only one bed,” Patricia, already sprawled over it without even half a mind to take off her sneakers, states. No sign of distress in her features—unless you count eye bags from the car trip, she's pretty fine. “You don't mind sharing, do you?” Amy scoots closer and sits on the mattress, their thighs, and knees touching and sending an electric jolt across her body, and suddenly it is so tricky to take off her boots. These fucking shoelaces— “Should I? Planning to kill me, Mendelsohn?” “Oh, please, as if”, Patricia gets up and kneels, taking one of Amy’s feet to rest atop her raised knee so she can take off that damn boot—a reverse Cinderella. “You survived hell, Halliday almost killed you, you took a fucking bullet… you're hard to kill darlin’.” Amy’s barefoot now, Tricia must have had hands made of silk because she took them off like it was a walk in the park and the redhead didn't even notice. “Besides, you don't deserve an ending like that”, she puts the ginger’s boots at the end of the bed and embraces Amy to take her down the mattress with her, her eyes peacefully closed while she whispers in her ear like it's a secret, “ you’re too handsome, hon. ” Amy hums a throaty laugh and buries her head in the crook of the shorter’s neck when she returns the hug, trying her best to not get too mindful by the mint honey scent that pleasantly fills her nose. Would it be weird to inhale it deeply, hoping to engrave it in her memory? “Do you think they'll notice if we stay here for the day?” “You’re tired from driving, aren't you, darlin’?” Patricia’s tone was somewhat amused, maybe she found it funny. Something twisted funnily inside Amy when she felt sneaky fingers press against her skin, drawing lazy circles up and down her back, her body just melted under the soft touch. Her body's response to it was to hold tighter than before, the lanky body in her arms. “I'll take this as a yes,” a soft kiss is laid on top of her head. “We can stay like this ‘til dinner — or ‘til we need to pee, you know how it goes. Just relax, cherry bomb, I'll be right here.” They remain like this for hours, occasionally getting up and saying ‘I’ll be right back’ , heading to get some food or to the bathroom, 2-3 times Patricia answers the door to say something and guarantees they'll be down for dinner, and always gets back to the mattress in the same position with her hands claiming their place underneath Amy’s shirt. - “It's getting dark outside, Amy,” Patricia stirs trying to untangle herself from the strong arms around her waist, only to be held in place, “wha— Amy— ” “ No ,” she squeezes Tricia’s waist possessively, her voice hoarse from not speaking for a few hours and her hot breath against the thin pale neck, and Amy feels how the girl sucks in her breath above her. “ Mine. ” Amy couldn't see, but Patricia bit her lip to suppress a smile, although she could feel the girl’s body vibrate with a giggle. “ Love, we're stinkin’, and we will have to go down to see our friends sooner or later ,” she rolls to sit on top of Amy’s lap holding her down by the shoulders, her brown hair—she needs to fix that nasty “mullet” whenever she gets the chance—falling lightly as she rests her forehead against the taller’s, “ we can stay like this later, ‘kay? ” “But—” She's cut by her own surprised gasp because a certain someone bit her earlobe. “ No buts. I'll go take a bath, and you'll go next, ” Patricia kisses her neck before being set free, going to search for some clean clothes right after and heading to the bathroom. “See you at dinner, cherry bomb!” Amy nods, eyes trained on the ceiling while her body heats up, her mind screams so loud and her heart hammers against her rib cage, and while her fingers trace the lines of where Patricia’s lips touched, Amy is smiling like a madman. God, Charlie, and Ed would have something else to mess with her, but damn —didn't it feel good to have someone to fancy? - ‘ God bless Evan’s cooking ’ was the major thought inside Patricia’s head because oh, god, that lasagna is heavenly. It almost makes her forget how tired she feels, how her headache is getting worse over time, and makes her feel slightly bad about how much she wants to puke—not because of the meal, but mostly ‘cause nothing would seem to settle, and she isn't hungry at all. It started when they were almost halfway through the trip, Vik even gave her Aspirin when she asked for it in these two weeks—not counting the times she bought new bottles of it. Her memory might be bad, but if she took her meds and— Oh. Oh. Well, shit. That explains a few things at least. I am so fucking stupid —, her jaw clenched at the thought, and her grasp on the utensils falters, but she does her best to keep things smooth. She trusts these people on the table, and she likes to think they trust her too—but she never told anyone besides Charlie and Sunny that she's sick, not even her brother. She can't live normally without Retrovir because the universe chose her unlucky ass to have AIDS. Aspirin can't fucking save you, you dumbass idiot— And she forgot to bring it with her. Patricia forgot the goddamn medicine that helps her body to run remotely normal—and her organism is punishing her for that mistake. A drop of sweat runs down her spine, and it's getting overwhelmingly cold, everything is too much, she needs to get out of here, far from the chatter because the amplified sounds through her hearing aids are getting louder thus worsening the migraine—god she's so lucky she was able to finish the lasagna to have the excuse to wash her plate. - From the dining room to the kitchen was a considerable 3-room distance. Three very large rooms and a hall. Patricia wasn't even halfway to the kitchen when she collapsed, using her last will to put the plate & fork on a nearby small table, her body going limp against the wall and painfully down on the floor. Patricia is drenched now, her forehead and nape so wet that her hair sticks to it, and her eyes can't take the lights anymore so she tosses her glasses somewhere and shuts them, covering them with her hands, breathing sharp and hard—the kind that doesn't fill the lungs and feels like you're not breathing at all. The well-known metallic taste of blood made itself present in her mouth and she wanted to spit but instead, she let it spread, taking the saliva with it and dripping it onto the nice carpet through her open mouth. Her body trembles and Patricia is not sure if it's because of the fever or because the headache is so excruciating that she's on the verge of crying, but all that matters is that her teeth won't stop clattering against each other, and it pisses her off. Texas shouldn't be that cold in July. And sooner than she had the mind to care, Patricia's senses gave in and everything went black. - Texas, 1990, 3rd of July Her first sense to come back was smell and her nostrils were filled with the odor of antiseptic, alcohol, and cigarettes. Weird mix. Next is touch. Patricia can move her dormant legs with effort, not much, but enough to make her aware that something heavy lays above her lap. Then her fingers, the same frailty as when you wake up from sleep and your muscles are drowsy and buzzing, but she's getting the hang of it fast. First the right, then the oh– She doesn't let go, opting for tracing lines with her thumb against the calloused hand holding hers she came to know so well. Patricia opened her eyes bit by bit, the white ceiling light burned her vision, but she adapted, blinking as many times as needed until the messy red hair was in focus. Amy drools when she sleeps and wets the blanket, her eyes are puffy as if she's been crying—which makes Patricia’s heart pang, but that's not the point—, and it feels right to be here—not this hospital room, but with Amy. Sweet, sweet, Amy, dozing so peacefully that Patricia knows that, when she wakes up, her backbone will be hurting like hell because of her position and she can't help but laugh. The paws on the other side of the bed startle her, but she's so glad to see Halliday, but not surprised since he's now also a service dog she trained—with professional help, ‘course—, so he could go anywhere with Lucas and herself, hospitals included. Maybe he had barked before jumping on her, she wouldn't know, the only thing Patricia knew was that something messed with Amy’s rest, but Tricia was too focused on petting the best dog in the world to notice the movement on her lap until her left hand met the cold air of the room, and she was enveloped in a tight hug—that she returns with equal enthusiasm, dragging Amy’s waist to her with all of her might. She could live like this forever, basking in the smell of nicotine and mint that was ingrained in the other girl, but all too soon they part, Amy sits on the sofa she was on and stares at her with… betrayal. Oh well, shit. “Were you going to tell me at all?” she asks, her hands shaky. “…Who told you—” Patricia feels her voice crack, but Amy cuts her. “Answer me.” “It was Sunny, wasn't it? Charlie would never—” Amy narrowed her glistening eyes at her, and it sank in Patricia that it wasn't the right thing to say. “You told them?!” The bitter facade and Amy’s face flushed with what could only have been anger looked through her. “I thought you trusted me.” “I DO, I—,” Deep breaths, Patricia, take deep breaths , “I just—I didn't know how to tell you. You might be thinking I've told them, but I only said this to Charlie , Sunny just happened to overhear.” “…Sounds just like her.” “Right? I didn't want anyone to know—Amy, Lucas doesn't know,” the redhead is caught off guard by this, given the way her eyes go wide. “Few people know, darlin’. It's not that I don't trust you, it's just… I'm afraid, ‘kay? I was planning to tell you next year when I turned twenty. Forgive me? For not telling you sooner and for you to find out like this, I mean.” Silence is constant in Patricia’s life—she's deaf, duh—, but seeing one of her best friends gaze at her with indifference is rather unsettling. Amy doesn't answer her question, she only laces their fingers and says, “ The others will be here soon, then we'll head home.” Not even the ghost of a smile. She doesn't even slouch on the sofa and Patricia wonders if Amy’s spine is hurting, and she's putting on a serious face to her, which doesn't help her anxiety, but putting her concerns aside, Patricia nods. “Good.” - Needless to say, the hospital room was cramped when the others stepped inside—which Patricia was pretty sure wasn't allowed—, but she didn't complain. Lucas leaped on her for a tight hug, while Poppy did the same with her neck, except for the jumping. To the surprise of no one, the most worried were Charlie and Sunny, but she assured them she was fine now. In fact, Tricia felt so great that she wanted to get out of the hospital already—bureaucracy won't let her, but can't a girl dream? “So,” Luna starts after she's finished ruffling Tricia's hair and crossing her arms. “How about you explain what happened, Pitcher?” There's nothing accusatory in her tone—if something, Luna sounds concerned. Patricia’s smile faltered, and she averted her eyes until they bore into Amy's. The girl only narrowed them and lifted a single brow, a gesture she came to know as challenging. “Did I faint?” Everyone nods. “Who found me?” Please let it be Charlie, please, please, please— “That'd be me,” Amy says and Patricia wants to bang her head on the wall because only if she was reborn, maybe her bad luck would reset. “Or us, if you count Halliday—which I think you do. He found you first and came back to pull my shirt until I followed him.” She snaps her fingers and Halliday goes to sit beside her, being happily petted. He deserves it, I guess. “Good boy, Hal.” Tricia sighs, fingers nervously toying with Amy's only to be squeezed reassuringly. Great. That's it then. Just great. And she starts explaining, first how she was nearly always sick as a kid and that it only seemed to get worse over the years, how she started to bleed through her nose and mouth constantly, how she began the treatment with drugs—now commercialized as Retrovir—, until what happened last night. “…And that's it, I have AIDS. Questions? Concerns? Food? I’m serious, I haven't eaten yet. ” “Here,” Poppy throws her a pack of Skittles, and she catches it effortlessly with her right hand. “I stole it from the vending machine down there.” Patricia opens it with her teeth and sees Maia raising her hand. “Spill,” the brunette says, filling up her mouth with the candy. Somewhere in the hospital, a nurse disapproves. “Why haven't you told us sooner?” Her ASL is painfully stiff, but she manages to ask. Yeah, Patricia, why didn't you? “We got desperate when Amy appeared carrying you, asking where the nearest hospital was.” Dang. Sorry, MayMay. “Right, uh… that…”, Patricia shifted uncomfortably in where she sat on the bed. “I was insecure. That's it, it's just… I know what people think of people with AIDS, I didn't want to risk it. I was planning to tell it next year when I turned twenty and went to college. If you guys wanted to get away from me, at least we'd already be distant.” Lucas tugs her side. “Even from me?” “ Especially you,” Patricia shakes her shoulders. “I'm not proud of it but eh, sorry,” she bumps her forehead on his temple before gulping the final Skittles. Lucas would talk with her about it later, she knows it. “Wouldn't want to burden you with my problems, Scout. “ Mik, with one of his arms resting on Sunny's shoulder—and she's holding onto his waist the same way she's holding Maia's. Note: make fun of her about this later —look at her warmly. “Look around, Mendelsohn,” and she does, her eyes setting on Amy's fingers intertwined with hers, as Mikhail finishes what he is saying. “I don't think we're going anywhere,” her friends' reactions are a variety of confirmation—nods, speaking, essentially showing some kind of affection. Although she sees it from the corner of her eyes, Patricia's gaze rakes along Amy’s hand, arm, shoulder, collarbone, neck… all the way up to her stare at her face—taking her time thinking about how much she wanted to kiss her right now. And she gives her a small smile, warmth spreading over her cheeks when Amy's eyes soften and the corner of her mouth barely lifts. Still, it's a win. “Good. Fine by me,” Patricia says, eyes never leaving Amy's. God, she's so lucky. “The barbecue for the 4th of July is still going to happen, right?” - The day proceeded normally after Patricia was freed from the hospital. Doctor Andrews, even after being aware she had AIDS, didn't refuse to treat her and goddamn, it felt good . It was so stupidly good to be treated as a person because she has to cross two cities after Yellow Creek to fucking find a doctor that was up to care for her and go to Columbus to find a drugstore that had Retrovir—if she was lucky. Andrews just… damn, he handed her a prescription and gave her a pack of it. Not even once did he look at her as if she was a disease, Andrews even shook her hand and didn't immediately wash it or something. She wanted to cry because of it—and she did, but only when she was alone in the car with Amy, Lucas, and Halliday, on the way to buy beef for the barbecue at a market because Sunny asked. - Everyone was in a hurry, already setting the table for dinner outside when they arrived and decorating—because Sunny, Maia, and Poppy thought it was cute, paying no mind to Luna's dissertation about how the 4th of July is a scam, the entirety of the US is a scam yadda-yadda. She turned into a blabbing mess when Vik kissed her cheek, way too much head over heels for her own good—and Evan was expelling whoever set foot into the kitchen except for Charlie—because he's gay—and Patricia, who was there only to put the beef inside the refrigerator and drink water. Evan nudges her side with his hips, and she turns to him, gulping the water in one go and letting that characteristic ah from when you hold your breath. “You're fine for real this time, uh?” Tricia nods. “Cool. I thought you got food poisoning,” she laughed at the thought. “Impossible,” she weakly fists his face to nudge it. “You're like—the God of cooking, dunno,” he smirks at that. “Uh, thanks for the appreciation,” he says while chopping some tomatoes. He finishes it before going for the onions and continues after seconds of slicing only. “Amy got really worried. Desperate, even. I drove you guys to the hospital—after convincing her it was a terrible idea for her to drive given her state—and when we got there, she demanded I stay by your side until she finished signing the papers and telling all she could to them.” Patricia’s throat dries, and she looks to the kitchen glass door that leads outside, where Amy is talking about something with Luna and Vik. “…why are you telling me that? Is there something I should know, Evan?” She turns to him, eyes focused on the lip-reading she would do because she had to be sure about whatever would come from his mouth. He sighs but doesn't answer, opting to take some meat from the refrigerator to clean—he'd probably grind them to make homemade hamburgers. Her eyes follow his every movement. “Evan, what does it mean? You can't just go and tell things—maybe Amy didn't even want me to know about this—” “You like her, don't you, Mullet?” She bit her tongue to stop talking. How did he—Oh. Gays. He lifts a brow. “I'll take this as a yes. Okay, listen—” she snorts, and he does too, after noticing his mistake. “Poor choice of words, but you get it,” Evan wipes the meat from his hands on his apron and takes Patricia by the shoulders. “I am not the one who gives a pep talk—this is more a Charlie's thing—, but I'll try: You like Amy, anyone here can see that. You should see your face whenever you spot her—” Her ears burn. “I—it's not like that—” Evan, again, didn't let her finish. “You're right, it's not like that. It's worse. I can't even stand it,” he rolls his eyes as she swats his shoulder. “But you know what I also can't stand?” “…What?” “Amy's pinning. I'll be frank with you—” “Can I still be Patricia?” Evan tries to hold it, but he half snorts, half chuckles. “…That one was terrible—now shut up and let me finish, goddamn it!” He inhales, trying to regain his composure. “Amy likes you too, Mullet. She has for a while.”
“…You think so?” “I know so. She told Eddie, Meredith, Charlie, and me when she went downstairs from a sleepover with you at her house. She said something like…” he cleans his throat, trying to mimic Amy's voice and failing miserably. “Oh my God she wants to join the Air Forces, this will be the death of me—just imagine her wearing a uniform fuck—I want to kiss her so bad—” Patricia remembers that day, it was… about 3 years ago, September 27th. Amy said she needed to go to the bathroom and drink some water and left her room pretty fast after that, her face red. What Amy didn't know was that, after she left, all Patricia thought about was how obscenely hot Amy was when playing with her guitar earlier that night, and that's why the pillow was wet: Patricia screamed in it so much that the saliva went all to the cotton there. “…You think I have a chance?” “You only will know if you confess or ask her out,” he crosses his arms. “Don't you think you deserve this chance? If you do, go for it, Patricia. You have nothing to lose.” After all this wisdom, maybe all of what he had left for the year, he got back to his work in the kitchen. She looked outside again, only to find fiery eyes already gazing at her. They held it this time, longer than ever before until someone called out for the redhead, and she was forced to break their eye contact.
Tomorrow, perhaps.
- At some point, they seemed to have forgotten that there was only one bed, which led to an awkward silence again . Patricia's muscles go stiff and, if Amy noticed, she kept quiet all the while when she stepped inside and went to the bathroom. With nothing left to do, Patricia changed into her pajamas—only a plain white tank top and a short—and lay on the bed, taking her sketchbook from her backpack—Debrah insisted she always carried one “because you'll never know when you'll need it” or so—and starts to draw. Nothing complicated and, in all honesty, she's pretty bad at it as a whole, but Patricia likes to doodle. A cat, a dog, UFOs, spirals—spirals have a special place in her heart. She may not be as good at it as Maia—nobody was, that girl would be the next Picasso for all she knows—, but there was some sheer delight in drawing spirals non-stop, and maybe it was because it took her mind off of Amy for a while. That's it, until Amy lies beside her and pulls her lanky waist until they crash together. There's no space between their bodies and Amy's hot breath smells like mint toothpaste, but it still itches on where it finds Tricia's flesh. “ Hey ,” the grip on her hips tightened. Patricia looks at the redhead's eyes. Her mind, foggy, by the sudden presence as she tries to maintain eye contact with Amy, melts—she melts. “ You're not going to keep it to yourself whenever you get sick again, right? ” She nods. “ I won't ,” she puts the sketchbook on the floor without nearly half the care when she takes Amy's free hand while adjusting to face her properly. “ Never again. ” “ You promise? ” The hand on Patricia's waist travels to rest on her cheek, while the other squeezes her hand as if it's afraid of letting go. The room is not exactly the most illuminated, the only light on right now comes from the bathroom—and the door is barely closed—, but Tricia is sure her eyes are above her chin, not below, where Amy’s gaze wanders for a few seconds. “ I do ,” their foreheads touch, and their noses bump into each other. “ I do, I promise, I do, I do, I do— ” “ I believe in you ,” but Amy never let the shorter go away—not that she wanted her to, anyway. Their eyes never leave each other's, earth mending with moss, like they're entangled right now for some unconscious feeling. “ Can I ask you something? ” Tricia nods, her eyes breaking the contact to find the rosy lips less than a breath away from hers. Amy's hand on her cheek cups it and tugs her closer, slightly. “ Can I kiss you? ” Amy asks and their upper lips touch. The only answer Patricia ever gave her was crashing their mouths together, being reciprocated with eagerness. Both tasted like that damn mint toothpaste but with their hues around it—nicotine, a hint of blood—, whatever it was, they got addicted to it fast. When Patricia felt Amy’s hand under her shirt, she knew she'd see stars tonight. -
Texas, 1990, 4th of July
The soft snoring that comes from Patricia could lure Amy back to sleep, but she can't bring herself to stop thinking about what happened a few hours ago. They didn't go further down the hips—both of them were concerned about what could happen because HIV is a bitch—, then they chose to stick with teasing above the waist. Amy stretches her back and damn it stings. Patricia must've scratched her deep, not that she's complaining. She turns her head, neck aching, and looks outside the window. The sun is not up yet. Uh, she woke up earlier than she thought. She huffs and, judging by the way it cracks her throat, it's dry. Amy sits, untangling herself slowly from her best friend—girlfriend? Friends with benefits? She doesn't know—and allows herself to stare. Patricia doesn't drool when she sleeps, she barely snorts even, but her mouth hangs open with the throaty sounds of breathing that regularly leave her lungs. Tricia sleeps without a worry, but her brows still wrinkle now and then, sometimes her teeth bite air and her jaw clenches, but it never lasts. Amy hopes it isn't a nightmare, but hoping doesn’t make it real. The next thing in sight is the hickeys across Patricia's skin, her neck even got bite marks. This… will be hard to hide later. Her fingertips hover over chapped lips, tempted to grab her by the jaw and kiss it over, and over, and over again until she's tired, or her lungs explode without air, whatever comes first. Later, Amy thought, she would do it senselessly. For now, she leaves their bedroom—after properly dressing—and searches for the kitchen. - She crosses the living room, only to find a sleeping Evan and Charlie sharing the couch, the television on, and she grins. A very silly thought, Amy doesn't even like Billy Idol that much, but Patricia does, and this reminds her of a song of his. Maybe the lyrics don't even match. Amy proceeds on her way to the kitchen, washing a cup in the sink and filling it up with water. In this quiet, probably around 3 AM on the 4th of July, she has some room to think alone about the recent events. She kissed me. Goddammit, she kissed me and I kissed her back. Warmth spreads over her body and Amy shifts her weight from one foot to another as her waist rests against the counter. I touched Patricia, and Patricia touched me. She's so soft—gosh, her moans— Her cup is long empty, but Amy only left the kitchen after she heard knocks coming from the front door, distracting her from how her mind spirals into horny and dirty things that a major side of her is mortified of—but then again, there's this tiny and loud part of her that wants to keep going. To try again and allow herself to be happier than she already is if she's given the chance. The back of her right hand hurts, and she looks at it, only to find bite marks. Great. She must’ve bitten it without noticing while she was all horny. Cassidy and Patricia are different , she thought on her way to the door. Not only because Patricia is alive and Cassidy is dead—although this does… help. Maybe the trauma has a role in it, I guess. Another knock and Amy’s hand turns the knob and swings the door open—apparently, they've forgotten to lock it—, and she's not surprised to find Ed, Theresa, and Debrah on the other side. “Hey, ghostie,” Ed’s unmistakably tired grin looks back at her. Lucas and Patricia’s mothers too. “Got some space in there for us?” “You joke, but this house is so big that all of us could live here together,” she hugs her uncle and grins at a sleepy Debrah and a packed Theresa. “Come in, I'll help with the luggage. Charlie and Evan are sleeping in the living room, wake them up and ask for help with your bedrooms.” “You're a dear,” Debrah hugs her weakly. “They are in the backseat,” with that, Debrah enters. Amy assumed she was tired because she had driven them here. Ed escorted her because she almost fell on her own feet while yawning. She's left with Theresa, who points to the car with her head and starts moving. Amy doesn't need another hint to know that it's a cue for her to tag along, so she does. In the distance, Amy can see the first rays of sunshine. It'll take some time for it to rise completely, but she wants to finish with the baggage to go upstairs already. Maybe it wasn't 3 AM, only normal and plain 5 AM. She's already at the door carrying two suitcases when Theresa stops her with a hand on her shoulder. Amy turns her head to look at her. “Did I forget anything?” Theresa doesn't reply immediately, taking her time analyzing something in Amy’s face—which makes her wonder if there's any dirt on her. When she finally speaks, Amy's eyes go wide, and Theresa’s narrow. “Why is your neck covered in… hickeys? ”
Fuck.
“Er—huh…” Amy doesn't know how to explain it without saying ‘Hey, me and your daughter kind of fucked earlier haha ’ , so she looks away and, while biting her lower lip, she knows that her face is red. Theresa’s eyes soften at that. “It was Patricia, wasn't it?” The redhead tenses involuntarily and clenches her jaw, looking anywhere but at the woman. Theresa doesn't seem surprised in the slightest and grins, the hand on the teenager's shoulder grips firmly. “You know… she likes you. Quite a lot, to be honest.” The way Amy whips her head to face Theresa with wide eyes is comical. “ I —I think you're misunderstanding things—,” Amy says, her voice unusually high-pitched as she tries to dismiss what Theresa said. “Emmalyne, dear. Look at me,” Amy does what she's told, fighting the urge to dig a hole for herself, her shoulders contracting as if she wants to disappear. “I know how you look at my daughter, I noticed. So did Debrah. I think you're aware that she and I… we care about each other.” Reluctantly, Amy confirms with her head. “Perfect. And you kids are aware of Evan and Charlie?” A nod. “Luna and Vik?” Another. “Poppy and Honey?” Again. “Sunny, Maia, and Mikhail?” “I had my… suspicions. Never thought it was real—” Besides the rambling, Amy nods. “And your uncle is gay too.” “Well, yes, but—” “No buts,” Amy snorts at that. So she got it from Theresa then . “She likes you. If she could, Patricia would talk about you every single second. I… understand how this might be hard for you—hell, you went through things no child should. You told us what happened to Cassidy, and, my dear, I feel so much for you,” the redhead wants to cry, at first because fuck her feelings are reciprocal, second because that damn memory of Cassidy still burns in her mind. God, I loved her so much. “You were told it was wrong to feel like that, but you've grown up,” Theresa’s hand is not on her shoulder anymore, instead it cups her cheek as she steps closer. Motherly tenderness dripping from her every move. When she speaks again, her voice is no louder than a whisper: “Whatever path you pick, we are here for you. But, please, choose the one that makes you happy, beyond all things. Happiness is worth fighting for, and you deserve all the joy in the world.” Amy’s eyes are red, and her throat is tied. When she feels the hot tears starting to stream down her cheeks, she embraces Theresa, hard, letting go of the baggage, both literally and metaphorically, while she sobs nonstop and wets Theresa’s clothes. Theresa returns the hug, so motherly. I miss my mom. She holds Amy until she's steady. Dawn is threatening to arrive already, the sun is higher. “You are a good young woman, Emmalyne McRay. I see why my daughter fancies you.” Theresa whispers and kisses the top of her head. “Now, I truly think you'd want to be by her side when she wakes up, hm?” Amy nods, her face sheltered in the space between Theresa’s neck and shoulder. She smells like books and pancakes, but Amy is sure the smell of books comes from Debrah. “Good, because I want to be with Debrah. Let's keep going.” They chuckle, but part and take the baggage again. Amy wipes the leftover tears from her eyes, and her throat is not so tied anymore. “Thanks. For the pep talk, I mean,” Amy said when they were inside, going upstairs. “No need. Ed would've done the same if he wasn't in a hurry to the bathroom. Helping my wife was an excuse,” Theresa replies. “Oh, and Meredith asked me to tell you she would arrive later. Extra hours.” “I was expecting that,” Amy is aware of her social assistant being a workaholic. “I only hope she's not overworking herself and, if we're lucky, she arrives in time for the fireworks.” Theresa only nods. Both remain in silence after they go upstairs, briefly breaking it to say their goodbyes, even though they are only a few doors away. Amy would tell Patricia that her mothers had arrived later when she woke up, but for now, when the redhead opened the door to her shared room with a very sleepy brunette, all she wanted to do was snuggle back and cuddle. So she did it, surprised and giddy, to be welcomed with lanky freckled arms locking around her waist. - Kisses. Kisses all over her face and Amy wakes up grinning from ear to ear, embracing Patricia, who's squirming under her touch but keeps on distributing small pecks along all Amy's skin she can reach. “Hey, handsome,” Patricia says, putting a little space between their bodies, and admiring Amy's bed hair. It looks like a red storm. “Hey yourself,” Amy mumbles, pretty sure Tricia won't understand at first, but will deal with it anyway. Nobody tries to talk to them, perhaps it's early, and no one is up yet, and they keep entangled, basking in each other's presence and all both girls could think of was how faint sunlight turned beautiful when touching their skins. - Evan is screaming orders at everyone in the kitchen—Patricia, Vik, Honey, Theresa and Debrah—, preparing an entire course of food with expertise, while Patricia handles the making of four different desserts for him. Needless to say, the place is pandemonium. No one is allowed to enter—except Charlie, obviously—, and even though Amy is helping with the final decorations, she can't help but spare a glance or two at Patricia, who's covered in so much flour, jelly, and cream, that using the apron wouldn't make much difference, and smiles at the sight. “Amy, could you pass me the flags, please?” Sunny is such a dear whenever she asks for something. “Coming!” - Evening bath could be mistaken for bliss, Patricia thought after cleaning herself. She's sure she missed a few places, but she’d survive—she washed her hair, after all! Amy is not in the room, but Lucas is sprawled on the bed with Halliday, reading some superhero comic. “Hey, Scout,” Tricia salutes her brother. “Hairspray—” Lucas can't finish because he is hit by a stray shirt while the dumbass he has for a sister is hopping on the bed. “No fair, you did this to my hair while I was sleeping, Edward Scissors Hand,” not that Patricia didn't like the height of it, it was pretty cool, but for fuck's sake, it was so not well-done. “What, do you want me to fix it?” “Maybe.” “…You're joking.” She was, in fact, not joking. “Oh my God, you're not joking. Oh my God— ” “Don't you go getting ideas,” she messes with his hair, and Halliday stretches along the siblings' laps. “I just want you to fix this mess. Think you could do it?” Lucas laughed but rested his head on her shoulder. “‘Course.” “Cool.” “But only if you use the magic words ,” Lucas wriggles his fingers in the air, the comic long forgotten by his side. “I hate you so much,” she rolls her eyes and shoves him lightly, but both are laughing. “Nah, you don't.” “Yeah. I don't.” I could never. “But I hate your bargaining.” “Shut up and say it.” “…” Patricia remains silent. “…” Lucas crosses his arms and grins smugly at her. Patricia inhales deeply. Brat. “Dear Supreme Lord of The Universe, Lucas Mendelsohn-Bertrand, would you, pretty please, fix my hair—that you mutilated—,” Lucas slaps her arm, but she giggles and continues. “And in exchange, I will do your chores for the rest of the month.” “A month and a half, and we have a deal.” Her jaw hangs open. “That’s unfair, even for you.” He shakes his shoulders. “Business is business.” “Brat.” “ Your brat, and you wouldn't change it for the world,” Lucas says, and she sighs dramatically. “It’s not like if I have a choice,” he punches her arm and Patricia huffs a snicker. But he’s right: she’d never want a life without him. He doesn’t need to know that her life began when he was born, as if she came too soon, and was filling her gaps of existence until Lucas arrived in this world. It was worth it. The warmth that spreads in her chest is overwhelming, and Patricia tackles him into a bear hug, startling Halliday, but she doesn’t care. When Lucas hugs her back, she exhales in relief.
It’s not a dream, it’s real. We escaped. We are safe. We're fine.
Sometimes, Patricia thinks, her traumatized ass has to reassure herself of it, even after years. Patricia doesn't hear Lucas's whispers of reassurance to her—and to himself—, non-stop ‘ I’m here ’, and ‘ I’m not going anywhere ’, but the ghost of hot air on her ear is enough. After all this time, they still got each other. - They're tired, every single one of them. It turns out decorating, and moving tables and chairs is a real workout. “I think my pinky hurts,” Poppy complained, trying to move it. “I can't feel my feet,” Luna whines. “My neck hurts from looking at you guys the entire day,” Amy teases, but it does hurt a little. “Please, grow.” Luna kicks her and Poppy throws a handful of dirt at her. “Dude, if your neck hurts, we know it's not because of looking at us,” Poppy teases, smirking. Luna follows suit. “I’ll pretend you didn’t imply what I think you did.” The three girls laugh, but Amy feels self-conscious of her hickeys. Someone calls Luna. “She really got you, didn’t she?” Poppy asks when Luna goes away. Amy nods, sitting up and covering her neck with both hands. “Finally. Took you two long enough.” “You knew?” “Pretty much everyone did. The both of you were too close for being just buddies.” “Oh.” “Besides, whenever you watch her doing something you got that dumbfounded love struck smile—hard to ignore, you know?” “ Oh. ” “And she always do her best and extra when she feels you watching her, she told me that.” Amy and Poppy aren’t that close, Poppy is closer to Patricia since they’ve met. So Amy’s not sure why the other girl is telling her that, so she asks. “‘Cause she’s my friend and I think she deserves to be happy. If that involves you, that’s great,” Poppy gets up, and offers Amy help to do the same. “She’s still pretty closed off about her past, but I think we can tell it was bad.” Amy accepts. Poppy continues. “Personally, I guess she’s afraid to go after what makes her happy because she’s scared of deserving something good. Maybe now she’s willing to try. I’m proud of you two.” - Patricia isn’t fond of the smell of alcohol, so when Ed starts to get a little too high, and she can smell it from Luna’s breath, she retires to a more “secluded” space. Amy, who lost her from sight, is searching for the deaf girl with a plate of burgers to her. It takes longer than she thought it would, but she finds Patricia sitting by herself in the garden, further in the backyard. “You cut your hair,” Amy calls out when she's already on the wooden bench. Tricia nods, absently touching her nape, feeling the smallest tickles of her buzz cut. Amy offers her the burgers and she takes it. Silence settles—except for the eating sounds Tricia makes. Amy takes in the place, noticing that she only knows two types of flowers when she sees there are more than five species. “I…,” Patricia coughs, and Amy perks up. “I liked what we did. The kiss and all the, you know…”, both of them giggle, smiling awkwardly at each other. “I did too,” Amy puts her hand on Patricia's shoulder, eager. Somehow, Tricia’s smile grows wider. “A lot, honestly.” It's slow. Amy has to take deep breaths and remind herself that it's alright to like Patricia. She has to remember Theresa's pep talk earlier. It took less than seven seconds to intertwine her hand with Tricia's, but to her? Amy believes that she understood what that guy who landed on the moon felt. It got better when Patricia reciprocated her hold, and kissed her cheek, cupping her face with her free hand. They're so focused on each other that they miss the first firework in the sky, but it explodes into pretty colored lights regardless, gaining their attention—well, only Patricia's, Amy's is too focused on her (hopefully) girlfriend (to be) to care. Amy thinks. What if? Her hand rises. I want it. Amy gets a hold of Tricia's nape, said girl turns her face to her. Choose the things that make you happy, Emmalyne McRay. Amy decides to kiss Patricia under the fireworks. Patricia kisses her back. They will try to make this work, yes. Fourth of July always has a show of fireworks, but none could beat theirs—or some sappy shit like that, Amy is no poet.