THE SOUND OF a phone ringing is enough to make Ellie leap a foot out of her skin.

It's been this way for years. A phone rings, her heart speeds up, fear paralyzes her veins until she catches sight of the caller ID, she pretends she isn't on the verge of throwing up until the call is over. The cycle is neverending, the desire to chuck her phone from the sixth floor growing with the passing days, but she's familiar enough with the routine to negate fear long enough to check her screen.

Quinn.

"Hey-"

"I need a favor."

If only she could get paid every time she heard those words. Feeling a smile twitch at her lips Ellie unfolds her legs from beneath her, mentally preparing to hear either the most nonsense request or a question that makes her brain tired. She's never been one to judge, not even someone she considers a friend of a friend at best, but Quinn is a special variant of strange and unusual. "Mhm," she hums. "is this a 'play the role of distraction while I sneak out my ex' or 'run to that Chinese place down the road' kind of favor?"

"That was one time, thank you, and that Chinese place is closed on Fridays. I already checked."

Twice, though Ellie graciously doesn't rise to the opportunity to collect her well-deserved credit. "Right. So what is it?"

Quinn's small, nervous chuckle is the only warning she gets for the request.

"Ineedyoutogototheparty."

"Huh?" She couldn't have heard that right. She probably didn't- Quinn talks at the speed of light on a good day, of course it sounds like she's asking something ridiculous when she's this rushed. "Quinn, you're being all whispery again. What's going on?"

Through the phone she can still feel Quinn's sigh, almost seeing her eye roll in her mind's eye. "I need you to go to the party. That frat party? Tara went and I-"

"Tara went?" Now she's paying attention. She's never been a partier, not since the day she learned the demise of her aunt Tatum, and everyone knows that. Quinn included. "And you're calling me?"

"Sam's the only one who didn't go. Can you imagine if I called her instead?"

Well, that's not easy to argue. Despite her reluctance Ellie-Marie has already leaned forward, grabbing her shoes from under the couch while holding the phone between her ear and shoulder. "She would've killed you," she states bluntly. "She would have killed you dead-"

"Thank you!"

"-but she's going to anyway! Tara wasn't supposed to go!" The urgency in her voice is enough for Sir Purrington to stir from where he was curled on the back of the couch, slitted eyes opening into what Ellie can only assume to be a cat's version of a glare. A half shrug of apology is all she can offer before she's on her feet, one hand brushing through her hair to get rid of that I've been laying on the couch while binging Gossip Girl look. It's all she can muster up for this evening of playing designated wrangler, a role she's come to view as essential in college life. "You know Sam's gonna kill you. She's gonna kill you and then she's gonna revive you, then she's gonna kill you again."

"Thanks."

The obvious sarcasm from Quinn is enough to drive in how her point has landed, a heavy sigh being offered in lieu of further predictions for how the next hour is going to look for her. "Look," Ellie begins, grabbing her pistol from its designated place by the door before turning her attention to the myriad of deadbolts. "she's totally gonna kill you. But if you tell her that I went with Tara to supervise, maybe she'll kill you a little less."

The gene of letting others figure out the consequences of their actions skipped right over her, it seems.

It's like she can hear Quinn perk up through the phone, a sharp little gasp making a begrudging smile pick at Ellie's lips. She can't help but love helping out, even if it's breaking every personal comfort she has. "You'd do that for me?"

"Uh-huh," namely because she's a sucker, something that's been pointed out many times. "but you gotta tell Sam. That's our deal."

"You got it. Thanks again, Els. I owe you."

The sound of Quinn hanging up is what allows Ellie-Marie to exhale a sigh of oncoming dismay, eyes closing as she clicks the fifth lock from place. She loves her friends more than her heart can convey. Even though Quinn isn't at the height of trust quite yet, she was still someone in need. A friend of a friend who needed a little help. That's no biggie. It feels like a biggie in this circumstance, but it's no biggie. It's a college party, they're supposed to be fun. Technically, if she thinks back to all the times she didn't go to any parties she was invited to, this will be like a free trial to see what she missed. Frat parties are fun, right?

Right.

Turning to lock her door Ellie runs an overview of the night through her mind, cheeks puffing out as she tries out different excuses in her mind. Tara has been staying the night more often than not, the two of them tangled in bed or intertwined as all friends wind up during sleepovers. They're together more now that she and Sam moved to New York, although Ellie doesn't imagine Tara being excited to continue that after this obscenely obvious arrival. Not only will she be cramping the vibe of this party with her bright pink sweatshirt and her overwhelmingly obvious dislike of oddly placed beat drops and club remixes, she'll also be contributing to embarrassing Tara. Not a great combination, but if she can just spin tonight to look normal, maybe it'll be less of a disaster than she's predicting.

"I didn't know you could actually leave at night."

Nevermind.

A strained smile pulls her lips as she gets her keys back in their pocket, turning to face Jason with a mounting dismay in her heart. "Jason, hey! I didn't hear you coming up."

Shifting his bag over his shoulder Jason offers a shrug, leaning against his door in a way she can tell is trying to be casual. Tara was right; his gaydar is awful. "I'm getting better at sneaking. Greg's the lightest fuckin' sleeper in the world, I swear. Living with him is like living with a-a-you know, I didn't have any pets. Some kind of dog or something."

"Like a dachshund?" Ellie offers, inching away from her door. He's bound to get the message soon. "My grandma had one. They wake up barking if you drop a hair pin.  Super cute though! Totally worth the noise."

His head tilts in a way meant to be thoughtfully intrigued. He can be nice, Ellie-Marie knows. He can even be funny sometimes, but there's a reason she warned their neighbor, Bella, against him. Taking a hint isn't a plan of his plan anytime soon. If she can get him comfortable on his level of friend, though, he'll be pretty okay.

Until then she'd like to keep his amount of crushes to a minimum.

"I didn't know you had a dog."

"My grandma," she corrects. "She had a few. I'm more of a cat person myself, but you know. Your grandma's dogs are extended family and everything."

"Yeah."

This is getting awkward. She doesn't know if it's actually awkward or if it's in her head like Buffy says it has a tendency to be, but it feels awkward. One hand lifts, scratches absently at the side of her neck the same way it always does when she's nervous, and she doesn't miss how his eyes track her moves. He's too interested at the best of times.

Now? Now it just feels weird.

"Anyway," she says, breaking the silence first because a staring contest is the last item on her list of priorities. "I can tell you about them sometime! Not tonight, but maybe later, yeah?"

"Why not tonight? You're already out."
It's a move he's tried to make several times before. She's been in his apartment all of once after first moving in, a decision she has lived to regret after he did nothing but monologue about how college sucks and how he wants to become an indie producer more than he wants a degree at this point, and she doesn't plan on going back

"I'm, uh, going out. To that party."

For a fleeting moment it seems that panic flashes across Jason's face, straightening up from his not-so-casual-casual-lean against the door. "Really? That's not like you."

"I'm branching out." It's a good reply. She's watched enough interactions to know that people typically like this answer, sometimes using it as a backdrop for pride. "You know, spicing it up. Going wild. Doing college things."

Jason appears unconvinced. Ellie can't exactly blame him, she's never taken up offers to go partying before, but it's not like she can tell him everything.

"And you're sure you don't have time for one story?" He asks, and for a moment she almost considers it. After all, it's either spend the night with the guy who spends too much time on Reddit or go to a party in a way that makes guilt burn hot and heavy under her skin.

Maybe this will help her case later. Tara's never liked Jason.

"Sorry," the apology is genuine despite how she knows it shouldn't be, frown pinching her features. "I've really gotta go. My friends need me there. But I'll fill you in later, yeah? Maybe we can pick out a dog for you!"

Stop. Stop talking, Ellie-Marie.

Disappointment shades his expression in a way that makes her heart ache with an apology unspoken, a tiny smile of assurance being offered in hopes of finding one returned. He can be a friend. He's a little creepy, but if she can get him to understand her, he can be a friend. It seems to do the trick because Jason turns back to his door, moving to unlock it after a short nod. "Yeah," he agrees, much to her chagrin. "Yeah, later. How's tomorrow night?"

"Sounds..." awful. Like a nightmare. Like she's gonna wind up texting Dad to call her so she can intimidate this entire ordeal away. Like she needs to get him onto friend level before trusting any of this. "great! I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it." The smile he gives her is a strange and eager thing, one that makes her stomach churn with instant unease. Whatever she offers back must measure up to what's expected, though, because he steps out of her way, voice lingering behind him. "Have fun tonight, party girl."

At least that's an easy one. From how her night has been going, she's sure anything will seem fun in comparison.

MAYBE SHE SHOULD have taken the Reddit guy.

Arriving to this frat house was like arriving to the gates of Satan's mansion. So far she's avoided two piles of puke, sidestepped a couple who definitely shouldn't be doing any of what they're doing in public, and downed a shot out of pure stress alone. The lights constantly changing around her are only outdone by the pounding of the bass to whatever song this is supposed to be, the people dancing are both too drunk and not drunk enough, and she has zero freaking clue where any of her friends are.

The experience is humbling, to say the least.

Her squinted navigation and blind guide via sweaty bodies steadily migrating towards the kitchen is only interrupted by a familiar hand grabbing hers, head turning despite knowing that palm like the back of her hand.

"Anika?!" She shouts, unable to hear her voice above how this music is crawling into her skull. Her friend looks about as confused as Ellie happens to feel, pulling her closer until they are side by side. "Thank God, I thought I was gonna get absorbed!"

"What are you doing here?" Anika asks, tucking their heads together like they've done for years. "This is not your scene, Els. Did Buffy call you? We told her it'd be fine, but I know you're always ready to be where she is-"

"Quinn asked me to come." It's a quick answer that hopefully gives all the information Anika needs to know, eyes still searching the crowd of bodies for the raven hair she could recognize anywhere. "I'm officially on Tara duty."

"Oh, so your dream job. Got it." Her friend's remark is met with a whispered hush that is immediately drowned out by the pounding of the speakers. Anika's teasing expression only lasts so long before it's back to being knit with concern, leaning closer to practically yell in her ear. "We're having a code fuckboy! That perv, Frankie? He's with her."

It's information that should have been given from the start. A tilt of her head motions Anika to lead their way through the crowd, too tired to yell more than need be. She's not too crazy about her first frat party.

She's especially not too crazy about Frankie around Tara.

It's the sight of Tara being led up the stairs by the local creep that finally lets her detach from Anika's hand, striding forward before she has a second to consider her actions.

"Tara!" She shouts, some small part growing incredibly smug at how Tara immediately halts at her voice.

That smugness is quickly vaporized by the realization that Tara is absolutely fucking wasted.

She's up the stairs quicker than she realizes she can move, nudging a swaying partier out of the way until she's stood in front of the pair. Frankie doesn't look too pleased to see her, she notes.

That makes two of them.

"Sunshine!" Tara cheers, the fond nickname so slurred that it sounds more like one long drawl. "I didn' thin' you'd come. Y'party now?"

"I don't think so." Pissed as she feels herself becoming Ellie-Marie still keeps her voice even more gentle than normal, one hand reaching to take Tara's free one while the other moves to grip Frankie's wrist. Red is beginning to tint her vision in a way she wishes could be metaphorical, rage zeroing in until the target is made known. Her nails, acrylic and bright pink, dig into the skin of his wrist without her attention being taken from his face.

She can smell the alcohol on Tara's breath without even looking her way. Either her displeasure is equally potent or Tara can read her regardless of her lacking lucidity, the feeling of their hands slipping apart being the only thing that prepares Ellie for the soft grasp on her shoulder.

"Go find 'Fi or Anika, Els. I'll catch up, 'kay?"

"No."

"Els, 's okay! I wanna."

"Tara," the brashness of her tone doesn't match how Ellie looks at her. She knows it well enough to not linger too long on how confused Tara looks, swaying still because Frankie won't stop fidgeting under Ellie's grasp. That's a him problem, really. "I love you, but you're hammered. Stop."

"Listen, you're bein' really really cute righ' now, 'kay? Y'cute when you're grumpy. Bu' I wanna do it. Let 'im go, 's okay."

It's tempting. It's always tempting to give into what Tara wants, horrible as she is at telling her no, but what Tara needs is always overriding whatever her wants are.

And what Tara needs isn't what Frankie does next.

In a manner that says he's used to pretending drunk girls can consent entirely he's tugging Tara up the stairs, movements sharp enough to pull her hand from Ellie's shoulder completely.

Her nails, still sinking into his skin, tighten with the move. She's never been a violent person, still has nightmares of bones under skin, still sees killer staining her body no matter how violently she scrubs in the shower, still knows she should live with regret that she doesn't feel, but she can't- won't- let someone hurt her heart anymore.
She's never been a violent person, but Tara slips and falls at the hands of someone already waiting to hurt her.

That feels like a pretty good reason to be one again.

With a yank more forceful than she's committed in a little over a year Ellie-Marie pulls Frankie into her waiting fist, not allowing a moment's recovery before bringing her head forward in a sharp headbutt. She can feel his teeth shred at skin across her forehead, feel blood pool at the surface as he's sent to the floor and-

And into the waiting arms of Sam, who looks just as pissed as Ellie feels.

Confident that she has backup her attention turns back to Tara, kneeling down on the stairs the best she can. "Tara," she begins, all soft tones and this love she's never been able to disguise. "Tara, hey. Are you okay? You didn't fall too hard, did you?"

"No...no, wha'- are you fucking kidding me?"

The whiplash is enough to pull Ellie back to reality completely, leaning back to follow Tara's gaze to where Sam stands. She should have figured this would happen, should have figured that this is where the night would end, but her mind was on one person the moment Quinn asked for this favor.

Tara's hand slips down like she doesn't even realize it, grabbing Ellie's hand as the lights come up and the music fades out. Mad as Ellie-Marie knows she must be, especially at her, Tara still waits for her to be on her feet before moving forward.

"Sam, what the fuck?" She demands, voice rougher than Ellie has heard in ages. "You're stalking me now. You sent- hang on."

The betrayal that registers in place of rage hurts worse than she ever could have imagined. Tara looks as though Ellie dealt a final blow in being here, showing up for the reasons they all agree to never mention in her presence. No one has ever looked at her in such a way before.

It guts more than she cares to admit.

Her heart pounds in her chest as Tara drops her hand, turning on her heel to storm out of the frat house.

With regret brewing in her soul and apologies forming on the tip of her tongue, Ellie-Marie follows.

SHE WALKS HOME.

Tonight's miracle of miracles would be Tara showing up regardless of how pissed she probably (definitely) is. Unlikely but still a potential occurrence, it's a bet Ellie knows she can't take deep down. Losing sight of Tara came easily after she disappeared out the door and so she walks back to the apartment building alone, head down like a dog riddled with shame as she tries to make sense of the evening.
She's exhausted, she knows that much. She's upset that Tara is upset, tired of always winding up with blood on her, betrayed in the slimmest of ways at Quinn not helping her out much more than this. The night has been hit after hit. All she wants to do is go home and curl up next to Sir Purrington, staying on the phone with Buffy until one of them falls asleep. It's the same method that put her to sleep at eleven years old and still soothes her soul now, calling to her louder and louder as she draws closer to the building.

Then she sees the police cars.

With nausea coiling tight enough in her stomach to make bile build in her mouth she rushes forward, pushing her way into the lobby with white noise thundering her ears. It's déjà vu. It's 2011. It's 2022. It's here. It's now.

It's happening again.

She knows before the officer has the chance to approach, shaking legs barely supporting her weight. He asks for her apartment key. She hands it over. He requests her identification. She hands it over. He's talking, she's pretty sure, but all she can catch are bits and pieces before he's called someone over.

"Ellie-Marie Riley," Says this new man, kneeling down in front of her like that'll draw her back to Earth. The badge he presents shows he is a detective. The expression he wears shows she's already in deep. "I'm afraid you're a player in this investigation. Would you mind coming down to the station with me?"

She reads his badge again. Detective Bailey. Quinn's dad, she remembers vaguely. She'd attempted her fair bit of research before taking most of what Quinn said as truth,  none of it important now. All her brain can do is repeat one question over and over.

There are no more words left to fight with, so she nods.

And Detective Bailey leads the way.