Bodies zipped and spun into and around Martha in a mess of raging hormones and suppressed aggression. Tom Morello's guitar screamed as Martha lowered her shoulder into a stranger on her right. She bounced off of him violently and back into James who cushioned her impact before looping around to push someone away from her.

"Quit it!" Martha yelled.

"Quit what?" James yelled back.

"You know what!" She pushed him away before blindly jumping in the opposite direction. When she'd told James she wanted to try out the mosh pit, she wasn't looking for a babysitter. She'd only ever watched them from afar – not brave or stupid enough to jump in. But 'caution' is so three lives ago.

From deep within the horde, Martha felt the varied impacts of doughy fat, solid muscle, and iron bone with the occasional slick sweat of a shirtless hooligan. It was chaos and danger – and a damn fine metaphor for life! She let out a scream, equal parts rage and ecstasy.

Then for a moment through the anarchy, Martha saw a familiar set of eyes staring at her. Terror flared in her stomach and she stopped jumping. But before she could choose to fight or flee, a stray elbow connected with her jaw and sent her pinballing off bodies, dazed and blinded with shrieking pain.

She grabbed a fistful of the closest flannel to keep from falling, then a pair of hands grasped her shoulders and led her out of the swarm. Once they reached the end of the pool, James sat Martha on its steps and crouched in front of her.

"You okay? You alright?" he asked as she tried to blink away the stars. "Martha?" Slowly, James and the world behind him finished spinning and she was back on solid ground. He held up his index finger in front of her face. "Follow this," he said and moved it back and forth.

She grabbed it to stop him. "I don't have a concussion."

"How do you know?"

"How about, I don't care if I have a concussion."

James smiled and let out a sigh. "Can't argue with that... But now that you have your Riot Grrl Scout badge, what do you say we take a break from the pit?"

Martha stared into his hazel eyes and voiced the only thought in her head. "I love you."

James raised his eyebrows. "I love you too. Are you sure you don't have a concussion?"

She leaned in to kiss him but flinched at the touch, bringing her hand up to her cheek. "Owww!" It felt like someone had stabbed her in the mouth and taken a sledgehammer to her jaw. She brought her hand down and saw the blood from her lip. "Shit!"

"Yeah, I watched it happen," James said. "You got ka-locked!"

Whatever small amount of adrenaline she'd used to get through the incident was gone and a deep ache across the left side of her face was setting in. "Glad you got such a kick out of it."

"It was an elbow, but who's keeping track? Seriously though, we should put some ice on that." James stood and offered his hands to help her up. "I'd prefer to have a little more distance from the pit, if you don't mind. Plus, you need to check on your ward."

Martha took his hands and stood from the pool stairs. "Steph?"

"Mm-hmm. Last I saw, the vodka was going down much easier."

They climbed the stairs out of the pool and found her where they'd left her. She stood next to the same statue, but her posture was softened and her expression relaxed as she bounced lazily to the music. When she caught sight of Martha and James her face brightened and she waved excitedly.

"Hi-eeeeee! Oh my God! You're bleeding!" Steph began to laugh uncontrollably. "I'm sorry... I don't know why... I'm laughing. It's not funny... I'm sorry."

"Why don't you two have a seat while I find you an ice pack," James said.

"Good call," Martha said and they walked Steph to a nearby table and chairs.

"Oh Jimmy, could you make me another vodki tonic drink?" Steph said as they sat. "I tried to make one, but it didn't taste like your vodki tonic drink."

Martha looked at him and tilted her head. Maybe hold the vodka?

James nodded slightly. One tonic and lime coming up. Then to Steph, "Sure thing."

As he walked away, Steph said, "Jimmy's so nice. He used to be so mean but now he's so nice. Soooo nice of you to make him so nice." Her cheerful expression shifted suddenly. "Ugh, Robbie Drake. Like, don't make me vomit."

Martha turned and he was behind her. Dressed in a camo t-shirt and black jeans, the boy who'd stabbed James in the back and ripped the heart from her chest, who'd haunted her dreams for the rest of her natural life, who's eyes she now knew had spied her from across the pit, loomed over her with a repulsive half grin on his lips.

Her heart pounded and her hands began to sweat, but something was different. No part of Martha was telling her to run. No part was telling her to hide. Instead, she stood from her chair to face him.

"Like, seriously," Steph chimed in from behind. "If you don't go away, you might make me literally hurl."

"Just wanted to meet Quinn's chick," Robbie said. Standing nearly a foot taller than Martha, his voice was flat and lifeless.  Still, his eyes bore into hers. It made no sense, but she could swear he knew what he'd done in that future long ago and had come to taunt her for it. He continued, "Heard you finally took his cherry. You wanna see what it's like with a real man, you let me know."

Martha gritted her teeth and clenched her fists but before she could respond, Steph landed against her shoulder clumsily, then proclaimed, "Jimmy Quinn's gonna be back any second, so you better like, bail or... or else!"

His lip curled and Martha's skin crawled. "I can take care of Jimmy Quinn," he said, not breaking eye contact with Martha.

Her chest burned white fury but she was able to keep her cool. "Steph," she said calmly, not breaking contact with Robbie. "Do me a favor and sit back down."

"Wh-what?" Steph stuttered.

"Do it, Steph. Robbie and I need a little space." Steph did as she was told. Martha angled her right foot slightly behind her left and found the balance with her knees. Then she smiled and asked, "What exactly would a 'real man' do?"

He extended his hand toward her waist and she grabbed and pulled it past her as she sidestepped. Then with his balance upset, she swept her leg through his and drove his back down to the patio brick violently. Before his wind returned, she flipped him onto his stomach, pinned her knee onto the center of his back and pulled and twisted his arm back toward the opposite hip.

Robbie shrieked in surprise. He squirmed and Martha tightened her grip on his arm causing him to shriek again. "Don't fight it," she said, close enough to whisper. "Does it hurt? Is it painful, Robbie Drake?"

"The fuck are you doing?!" There was life in his voice now, along with fear and suffering that Martha found delicious.

"Why, I'm twisting your arm at a dangerously unnatural angle. If I wanted to, I could dislocate your elbow or break the ulna bone in your forearm. Spoiler alert – I'd love to do either. I just can't decide which."

"It was just a joke! Shit, I'm sorry!"

"Just a joke?" Martha said, then Robbie squealed. Her chest heaved as blood from her lip trickled back into her mouth. "You took everything from me! My heart! My soul! Any reason I had to live." She saw red, but felt a powerful darkness – born from pain and hatred – spreading outward from her chest. "You deserve this and so much more! You worthless piece of-"

"Martha!" Suddenly James was crouched next to her. "What are you doing?"

"What I've been dreaming of for the last 120 years!"

"Dude, she lost her friggin' mind!" Robbie pleaded.

"Shut up," James said dismissively. "This doesn't solve anything, Martha."

"But you died," she said and tears blurred her vision. "You... died in my arms. All because of this shit stain!" Robbie again cried out in pain.

"I know. I know," James said. "But I don't care about him. Not at all. I just care about you. Just us. Martha, look at me." She'd been burning a hole in the back of Robbie's skull with her eyes, but did as James asked. "I'm here," he said and smiled. "I'm okay. You found me. You have me. And not shit stain Robbie Drake or anyone else is going to change that."

She looked back at Robbie. All I have to do is shift my weight and this asshole becomes left handed...

"Martha, please," James said. "I... I don't want this for you. Please, let him go."

Martha looked at James then back to Robbie and the darkness flared. James placed his hand on her shoulder. He said nothing, but she read the entirety of his argument in his eyes. The darkness faded and Martha released Robbie.

He scrambled to his feet, holding his arm. "Fucking psycho," he muttered under his breath.

"What?!" James said, taking a step toward him.

"Nothing! I'm sorry," Robbie said, backpedalling.

"That's right. Now you've got two reasons to stay the hell away from us!" James threatened and Robbie ran from the party.

Martha looked around and noticed, for the first time, that everyone in the back of the house was staring at them. Even the pit had emptied out and someone, somewhere had felt the need to turn off the music.

James came to her. "Are you okay?"

"I..." Her thoughts were confused. The sensation had been foreign to Martha  – she'd never wanted to hurt someone this badly. "I don't..." Aside from a handful of whispers, the party was quiet enough to hear a pin drop as she struggled to find the words.

Then from behind her, there suddenly came a retching loud enough to wake the dead. She turned to see Steph emptying the pepperoni pizza she'd had for lunch, blended with three vodka tonics onto the ornate brick patio.

A chorus of groans morphed into cheers with shouts of "Rock n roll!" and "This party's off the hook" mixed in. The unseen DJ returned on cue with The Smashing Pumpkins and the party rolled on.

James held up a small bag of ice. Martha took it and held it to her jaw. "Thanks."

"How's it feel," he asked.

"Starting to hurt again now that my Street Fighter reenactment is over. Hey, maybe that's the answer. Maybe I should keep attacking people and let the adrenaline take care of the pain."

James considered the proposal facetiously, then said, "Something tells me that's a flawed solution. Speaking of flawed." He gestured over her shoulder. She turned to see Steph on her knees, crying and trying to wipe up her vomit with a party napkin.

Martha sighed and they walked to her. James took her arm gently and said, "It's okay, Steph. It's okay."

"B-but... it's... so gross!" she said between sobs.

He guided her up and toward a nearby set of chairs. "Undeniably gross. But trust me, you will not be the last one to do that tonight."

"Yeah? Okay," she said timidly, sniffling away tears. The three sat and James handed Steph her tonic and lime. She took a sip and her eyes opened. Then she guzzled half the cup. "That tasted awesome! See, when you do it, I don't even taste the alcohol."

He shrugged. "It's a talent."

"Thanks for being so nice to me, Jimmy."

Martha took James' hand and squeezed it slightly. He looked at her and her eyes flitted to Steph and back. He understood. "Hey Steph."

"Yeah Jimmy?" she said, her face brightening.

"There were a number of times before this year that I was unkind to you. I'm really sorry about that. I was going through some stuff, but none of that was your fault and you didn't deserve to be treated that way. I hope you can forgive me."

Steph's face sagged then broke as she began to cry again. Martha and James turned to each other in confusion. Through her tears, Steph explained, "That... means... so much... Because... SO many people are mean to me! People are being mean to me all the time, but no one ever says sorry..."

Martha looked at James as Steph continued to rant and mouthed 'thank you.' James lifted Martha's hand and kissed it.

"...my mother, my father, my friends, that bitch who works at the 7-11..."

James stood and said to Martha, "Hey, I've got an idea."

"...my teachers, my neighbors..."

Martha stood with him. "Whatever it is, let's do it. But what about..." She motioned to Steph, still talking to no one in particular.

"...the driving instructor, my housekeeper..."

"She'll be fine," James said and led her away. They looped around to the far end of the swimming pool and came to a stop at its center, just off the deep end. The warped mass of bodies below them continued to jump and twist. James stepped to the edge.

"Hey yo! Hey yo, check it!!" he shouted, waving his arms. Many in the crowd stopped or at least turned their heads to him as they kept bouncing. James grabbed Martha's hand and held it above her head. "Do you know who this is?!" The crowd broke into cheers for their champion. "Are you ready for us?!" Another cheer broke out. James and Martha backed up a few paces, then he smiled at her and said, "On three?"

Martha nodded and dropped her ice pack. "One," she began.

"Two," James added.

"Three!" the pair screamed together then dove, twisting in mid-air to land on their backs in the sea of hands, gripping and pushing and passing them down. The pair rose and fell over crests and troughs as if floating through a tempest. Martha looked to the side and found James already staring at her. She reached out her hand and he was just able to grasp it. He mouthed 'I love you' and she responded in kind before turning back to the night sky. As the pair of lovers drifted along, caught somewhere between humanity and the cosmos, Martha held his hand tightly and vowed to never let him go.

Author's note:

And now come the stan Robbie badboy fanfics...

lol, but like... ew.

Joking and trying to sound young aside, I really like the idea of James and Martha having an easier time getting over their own tormentors than each other's.  Something about that rings true to me about what it means to love someone. 

Thank you for reading!!