
Chapter Nineteen / Say What You Can
WHEN THE LIGHTS come on Ellie-Marie is willing herself to not puke.
The entire building leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Despite the efficiency of what their little plan will shape up to have she still finds herself stiff as she strides in behind Kirby, arms folding over her chest in a reaction she knows isn't her own. None of them are speaking as they file off to the side, like they're all afraid of their last words being documented as questions that will ultimately mean nothing. Even Kirby is silent up until the second set of doors has locked behind Ellie.
She'd love to know when this existential dread of what may as well be inevitable goes away, but she's not going to voice such a thought aloud. No one needs a vocalization of ‘if this kills one or all of us, who's gonna leave a ghost and who's gonna leave in a bodybag?’ and Ellie isn't willing to put that into the world quite yet. She's never been the pessimist in their group, and while her ankle kisses the threads of skin still hanging onto gauze that hasn't been changed and her skin is still raw from scrubbing her family away, she's not going to let her brain take her there now. If she knew she wouldn't look borderline crazy, she'd give her brain the simple reminder it seems to need: you've done this before. You'll do it again. You don't get to be afraid now.
“I’ve already got the area secured,” Kirby is saying, a voice distant to whatever argument Ellie’s mind is attempting to start. “Once he gets through those doors, both sets are gonna lock him in and create a kill box.”
“Weapons?” Sam questions, her voice tense with a strain Ellie knows far too well.
“One gun and I have it,” Kirby answers, gesturing to her holster. “We're safe in here. I’m registered, I know what I'm doing.”
At her side Rory pointedly clears her throat. Ellie-Marie glances over, not needing to ask for her confusion to clear. Pastel nails drum against Ellie's own holster in a confirmation she doesn't intend to let Kirby know about, the curt nod she offers not needing to go beyond a silent promise. If everything goes south, there's not gonna just be one gun in this place. While she intends no disrespect, the thought is nearly laughable. Between the two of them only one was born and bred in the chambers of the past.
She's Ellie-Marie-Fucking-Riley. Of course she has a gun.
“Fine,” Sam seems to resign, already making to move away from the door. It seems to unfreeze whatever ice has trapped their group by the entryway, dispersing in a synchronicity that cannot be learned. “I'm gonna call Mindy, see where they are.”
“Shouldn't they have been here by now?” Buffy asks. “Mom, have you heard from Dad at all?”
“Not yet. Maybe their subway got delayed?”
“Why would their subway get delayed?”
“I dunno. Don’t subways need gas sometimes?”
The conversation fades to quick background noise as Ellie slinks away from the discussion unfolding, turning her attention to the rest of the theater. She can feel the photos of Maddie and Tatum staring at the back of her hand, shoulders forming a tension she's not even close to replicating in her everyday life.
It's truly a shame how many accomplishments are dimmed out by the circumstances they occur within.
Her feet are guiding her along without Ellie needing to think twice about where she's going, leading her down rows upon rows of family history memorialized in blood and senseless death. There's a case for each of them, right down to Maureen Prescott, and each one feels like visiting a gravestone of an old friend. She's learning rapidly that while blood may be thick, there's nothing quite as binding as a generational thread of an evil that seems to never end.
Except, of course, a connection with the killers themselves.
It takes her eyes drifting over accidentally for Ellie to notice what's been dedicated to Amber Freeman, mouth twisting into a scowl without even trying. Even after a year, after killing her herself, Ellie still hates the guts of her childhood bully, attempted murderer, and the bitch who tried taking out her entire family. Some things never change, it seems.
“You look irritated.”
Auntie’s voice rings through the flurry of emotions clouding Ellie's brain. There's never a time she complains about Abi collecting her from the cold hands of memory and now is no different, attention pulled from the smirking photograph working to taunt her, twisting that scowl into a smile at the sight of her aunt.
“I think you were right about this,” she dismisses the observation with a wave of her hand, far from the desire to talk about how heavy Amber still makes her feel. People, from Tara to Dad to Abi, were concerned after last year about what aftershocks Amber's long overdue demise would put on her. It's for the best that none of them think of that now. Especially not when the very real possibility of it happening again exists.
“I normally am,” Abi grins, though it doesn't quite meet her eyes. “Which ‘this’ are you talking about now?”
“I get more annoyed with every wacko I survive.”
Thankfully this one earns a chuckle, one that Ellie-Marie was sure she'd have to fight to get, and it makes that smile feel a little more real. “I mean it! If this is how every final girl feels, I can't imagine how Laurie Strode is holding up.”
“You're spending too much time with Buffy,” is the response that earns, a playful nudge given against Ellie's shoulder as Abi steps closer. “Those are clearly her words. Where are yours?”
The ease with which her aunt reads her would be comforting in any other situation, she must admit. Being known so well is like an old cardigan she was sure she'd up and outgrown, hesitant to pull those sleeves over her arms until those she loves put it on for her. A heavy acceptance settles in that pit she's dug for herself at the bottom of her stomach despite how badly she wants to drown it out.
“I'm sorry you're here again,” she concedes in a reluctant admission, bowing her head as though paying respects to the innocence that could have been yet never was. “I didn't want you to be. After everything, I thought you were gonna be safe back in Woodsboro.”
“You thought I'd throw you to the wolves?” Abi asks. There's an underlying layer of disbelief in her tone that instantly makes Ellie regret voicing such a thought, tucking her head further down in either shame or embarrassment. She can't tell which it is anymore.
“I hoped you would,” she's focusing on her hands while she admits the cruel wish, plucking further at her nailbeds because they've already become a horror show lately. “You and Daddy both. You guys have been doing this for twenty-seven years, I know you're sick of it. I never wanted to be the reason you came back to something that's been so awful.”
No. Wrong phrasing.
She's opening her mouth in sync with Abi, cutting her auntie off in that same panicked ease she wishes she didn't possess. “I know I'm not the reason, but you get it, right? I'm not the reason, I'm a reason. I know Momma and Lulu are, Fifi obviously is and-”
“Sunny,” Abi stops her rambling with a hand in the air, the smile on her face fond with a sickly sadness. “Listen to me. I told you I'd be wherever you needed me the day you were born. I haven't gone back on that once, have I?”
“No, but-”
“You've gotta let me finish,” the chiding is a gentle enough reprimand for Ellie to close her mouth, looking up to her aunt through dark lashes. “Do you think I didn't know you were gonna keep your dad outside?”
Of course she knew. Ellie can't even be surprised nor annoyed that her aunt knows her as well as she does, continuing to fidget with her hands in silence.
“I knew,” Abi continues when she doesn't, reaching out to pick Ellie's chin up from where it's purposely pressing into her chest. “That's why I came in here. I know where you want me. I know where you need me.”
“I need you alive,” Ellie whispers. “I don't want you to go through this again.”
A sympathetic pain flashes across her auntie's face before she's being pulled into a hug that feels a lot like both the beginning and the end of something great, lingering there as long as she can.
She loves her family. She loves her friends, loves her…Tara, loves everyone around her. She loves them all, she does, but there's only a handful of people left in the world who haven't walked away from Ellie. Be it for five minutes or five months, emotional or physical, each of them had a reason at one point or another. She holds no grudges, writes no names on a blacklist of people she will one day rule against for prior misdemeanors, but there's a consistency in the curve of her aunt's arms that she hopes and prays is here to stay.
She'd do anything to know it's a guarantee, but nothing ever is.
When she parts from Abi it's a blindingly similar moment to childhood, a reflection of innocence in striking eyes that make Ellie-Marie feel safe if only for the barest of seconds.
“Promise me you'll be okay?” The plea is small and frail with lessons time has taught, lip quivering as she chases what she needs to be forever.
They both know it can't be, but Abi doesn't throw her aside for it. Rather than she provides a soft hum, a melody that used to rock Ellie to sleep before she answers.
"I can't promise you a lot, my little dove. Only that I love you...and also that, if we come out of this together, we're taking that Aruba trip."
A watery grin cracks Ellie's sorrowed features at the hopeful future ahead of them, barely noticing when a hand brushes along her back. It takes Tara actually appearing at her side to register the shift around them, heart picking up the same way it always does when she's around.
It's like walking around with a little exclamation point these days.
“Hey.” For once in her life Tara sounds unbelievably, endearingly awkward. She's not talking to her, Ellie realizes. She's talking to Abi.
Oh, this is adorable.
“Hi,” Abi greets in return, an amused grin tugging on her lips. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah! Yeah, it's like… it's good. It's so good. I've never felt better while waiting to kill someone.” Tara remarks dryly, that same humor that makes Ellie giggle still having some sort of magic effect at the worst of times. The way Tara perks up must be in Ellie's imagination, but it's still a nice thought.
“Eh, I've had better,” Abi dismisses. If she didn't know better, it'd be easy to call that an intimidation tactic. “Sixth time around. The fourth one had to be a favorite, fucker really earned it that time.”
This has to be a tactic. Is it a tactic? Maybe this is just how survivors are supposed to talk to each other.
If that's the case, she's been doing this all wrong.
Still, now isn't the time to worry about social etiquette. What she chooses instead is to admire how Tara’s laugh sounds more angelic than a harp, something pure in this sea of death that she can't help but latch on to.
She doesn't even realize Tara's actually talking until it's too late to act normal about it.
“-lie. Els, hey, you there?” Tara asks, one hand waving up and down in front of Ellie's face. Predictably she startles, blinks before forcing herself back down to reality.
She's doing so great at this whole inconspicuous crush thing.
“Yeah!” She exclaims, pointedly ignoring how Abi stifles a snort at that. Traitor. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”
“I asked if you wanted to come with me,” whether she's taking sympathy or if she didn't notice how hopelessly taken Ellie is, that's up for debate. What isn't is the tone she takes now, warm enough to melt chocolate like Ellie is the sweetest thing in her life. “I found the old lobby room. It has a popcorn maker, so obviously I thought of you.”
The sentiment behind the thought is nearly sickening in its sweetness. With a sheepish look Ellie redirects her attention back to Abi, once again ignoring the laugh it makes her aunt huff out. If there's a cover here to be blown, it's gone. “Is that okay with you, auntie?”
The real question is clear. It's so clear, in fact, that Ellie chooses to pretend that what little promise she got was a guarantee.
Predictably Abi waves her hand in the air, head shaking fondly. “It'd be cruel of me to keep you from your natural habitat. Go on, and bring me back some popcorn if you still can.”
Ellie doesn't get the opportunity to wrinkle her nose at the comment before Tara is already pulling her along.
Like always, she goes right with her.
THERE ARE MANY things Ellie-Marie doesn't say.
Secrets are a familiarity that she's not too fond of despite their consistency in her life, but from Tara she keeps more than a fair share. Simple things, like I like the way you sound in the morning or there hasn't been a day in the last five years where I haven't thought of you. Things she could and probably should say for the sanctity of both their friendship and her sanity are scaring her to death each time the opportunity arises.
After Tara nearly kissed her, maybe it should be easier.
It's not.
There's no denying that her hand feels right where it was, though, intertwined with Tara's like the piece of a missing puzzle finally made itself known before she took off in search to show off some ancient popcorn.
Jesus. She's hopeless in every sense of the word, performing internal soliloquies of adoration religiously yet never speaking a word aloud. It's getting easier and easier to feel like a coward these days.
Tara is the one who breaks the comfortable silence. She holds up a package of kernels with a grin that could be considered dangerous if Ellie reminds herself who she's with. “See, Sunshine? Free snack.”
“Toss ‘em here,” her hands outstretch with the request, making a grabby motion to emphasize her point.
“You gonna say please?”
With a lighthearted roll of her eyes Ellie-Marie makes another grabbing motion, pairing it with a purposefully exaggerated flutter of her lashes. “May I pretty please have the grossly outdated popcorn, Moonlight?”
The look she receives in response feels more fond than she's ever been looked at before, a certain sort of giddiness trying to break through to the surface. This whole crush thing is getting so, so out of hand.
Tara doesn't make it any easier when she saunters back over rather than tossing the bag, barely a foot away from where Ellie stands. “What're you gonna do with it? Don't tell me you'll pop it. I know this place is boring as hell, but this thing is like- shit, this thing is old. Look!”
Ellie has no choice but to step closer when Tara puts the packaging on the table, one black fingernail underlining the expiration date. “It's got twenty years on us!”
“Sheesh, eighty-three?” Her nose wrinkles. “That is not first date popcorn.”
“Els, be real. This isn't even popcorn anymore. I could probably open this and uncover an ancient tomb.” Tara pauses then, looking from the bag to Ellie-Marie. “I didn't dub you for a movie date kinda girl.”
Act normal. Act normal. All you gotta do is act normal.
“I haven't really…” nevermind. Do not say ‘never been on a date’.
“You haven't really…” Tara picks up, waving her hand like she's pulling the rest out. “What? You haven't- oh.”
Goddammit.
Ellie can feel the rapidly shifting color of her cheeks as she groans, dropping her head into her palms. This is humiliating. The one time Ghostface hasn't tried gutting her in the last few days has to be now, doesn't it? She wouldn't even complain at this point. “I know! I know, it's stupid. It's like, there's eight million people in the city and I haven't been on one date.”
“You know how many people live in the city?”
“Oh my God!” Kill her. Kill her now, God, she's begging. Her hands press even tighter to her face as she tries to will herself into proofing away, desperately trying to ignore how cutely Tara is giggling.
“Ellie,” she says, her name sounding so bubbly when paired with the giggling she can't even blame Tara for. “Els, hey. Come on, you're good!”
“Don't look at me.”
“Woah, no need to punish me here.”
Before Ellie can even begin to decipher what that means there are hands gently tugging at her wrists, light enough that they would ultimately do nothing if she doesn't move willingly.
And because it's Tara, she does.
The smile she finds awaiting her is the first nice surprise in ages. An embarrassed chuckle passes her lips without Ellie being aware it's even coming, ducking her head down to avoid Tara's stare.
“Ellie,” Tara repeats, her voice achingly soft. “You don't have to be embarrassed. You know you can tell me anything, don't you? I'm not gonna judge. Like, it’s kinda cute…not even kinda. It's cute.”
“It's cute that I haven't been on a date or it's cute that I know the amount of people living in the city?”
“Both. I don't get the first one, but if you're looking to join a nunnery, I can come with. We can break a few rules.”
“Shut up!” There's no bite to how Ellie scolds away the comment, wrists still captured loosely in Tara's hands as they giggle. She doesn't really want to pull away.
She doesn't really wanna hide, either.
When the giggles fade it's back to what she dreams of frequently, Tara's face unreadable as she stares up at her. Neither of them speak.
Then she says it.
“Can I tell you something else?” Ellie-Marie asks.
“Anything.”
A deep breath is taken as she tries pulling the right words together, discomfort suddenly mounting at how serious Tara is beginning to look.
“I really like you,” she blurts out. “Like. A lot, a dumb amount, and I have for the longest fucking time and I know now isn't a great time to say anything because we could literally die any second and I know it might've been a good thing to not tell you because if we do die then that's a total damper and also way too much to put on you but when I got the call the other day my first thought was ‘what if she never knows’ and-”
“Ellie!” Tara interrupts. The alarm to her voice is one that has her alert instantly, head whipping to find whatever the hell made her sound like that.
There's nothing.
Breathless she turns back to face Tara, lips parted in a silent question. When it becomes clear she's not saying anything else Tara takes over.
She looks hurt. More than that, she looks worried.
This is not a promising sign.
“You got a call?”
This is also not a promising sign, but at least it's for an entirely different reason.
“Yeah. Yeah, I mean…yeah. In my apartment.”
“In your- Els, you haven't been to your apartment in two days.”
She has actually, to grab Buffy's birthday present, but now doesn't seem like the time to offer up that information.
Tara takes another step closer, still holding Ellie's wrists like they're a fine gold she's trying desperately to not scratch. “Why didn't you say anything?”
“I didn't wanna worry you guys.”
It's the truth. That's something neither of them have to argue against at least, both well-versed in how easily Ellie goes against her own rules if she thinks it'll inconvenience someone else. She was hoping that she'd never admit to that, that only Bella would know.
She talks way too much.
Tara lets go of one wrist to push hair back from Ellie's face, eyes clearly searching for something she doesn't know how to give. “Do you remember when it was? Someone- I know who we've been around. One of them fucking called you and-”
“It wasn't one of our friends,” Ellie soothes. She's not about to let Tara work herself up now, even though she's also panicking for an entirely different reason. “I trust them. I’m not gonna make things worse now, okay? It's over.”
“And if it isn't?” Tara challenges, the thinnest warble to her tone being all that suggests the panic Ellie wishes she could vanquish. “You were alone. You were scared, you- and then I fucking pull you in here alone-”
“Hey,” the sudden shift makes Ellie pull her wrist from Tara's other hand, both now free enough to cup her face. There's a dampness clinging to painted lashes that she wipes away with practiced ease, lowering her voice further. “Don't do that. You didn't know, and besides, I trust you even more.”
The assurance seems to soften the growing panic in Tara, even for a bare moment. Her face smoothes out and she shakes her head, pulling Ellie's hands away from her face to hold them once more.
“You don't have to trust me, Els. You don't have to trust anyone.”
It's an obvious reminder that Ellie-Marie has grown used to hearing. She's not allowing it to deter her now, squeezing Tara's hands thrice. “I'd trust you if you were holding a knife and standing over a body.”
The reveal is no longer the lighthearted joke it once might have been. Ellie is dead serious as she locks their eyes together, the words a vow she intends to prove.
“You've got a lot of faith in me.” Tara breathes out in a chuckle, head shaking in what she knows to be disbelief. It's nothing to be taken lightly, this. Which is fine. Every word is still true.
“Of course I do,” Ellie responds. She doesn't have to devote time to this, moreso stunned by the thought of not having faith in Tara. “You're you.”
What melts in Tara's expression is what Ellie remembers seeing two nights ago. Her heart skips a beat when Tara tilts her head up, eyes flicking down in a move that anyone can read before-
“ELLIE!”
Her scream tears away that softness in a flash. She doesn't get the chance to respond before she's whipped behind Tara and sees what crashed this party.
Just in time to see the knife sink into Tara's back.
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