THERE ARE TWO options Ellie-Marie faces now.

She mulled them over the entire ride here.  Rory was reluctant the second Ellie told her where she needed to go,  grumbling something about Gale-Fucking-Weathers under her breath,  but the firm promise of a spa day combined with the cross-fingered agreement to  “make a fucking move on Tara,  like you should have done five years ago”  helped the scales weigh in Ellie's factor.

After that compromise was met,  it became time to worry once more.

Option number one: Mom actually texted and was only being short out of urgency.  It being out of actual danger or pure suspicion is neither here nor there,  just it being her on the other end is what's important.

Ellie would prefer option number one.

Option number two: Mom didn't text.  Whoever used her phone either has her or hurt her  (any other option will make her sick),  which means she still needs help.   Even if it kills Ellie in the process.

Ellie would not prefer option number two.

From the way her day has been going,  she's thinking it's going to be option number two.

With her bag still slung over her shoulder and her gun tucked against her hip in a way that's comfortingly familiar,  Ellie-Marie makes her way through the lobby,  smiling at the bellhop whose name she knows rhymes with bead.  His affinity for never wearing a name tag created a running joke between Ellie and Buffy.  There's something hopeful in the way it still makes her smile now.

She maintains that bright,  camera-ready smile until the elevator doors close behind her.   The button to the top floor is lit up,  the music playing is faint,  the sounds of heavy machinery are nostalgic,  and she feels like she's going to fall apart.

It's hard for a few of her friends to understand,  Ellie knows.  Hours have passed with either tears shed or laments without a breath between the details of how little she's connected to her mother these days.  How little she's been connected to her mother since she woke up eight years ago to one little sticky note and a father she didn't see nor speak to for five months afterwards.  It took one night for Mom to stop looking at her directly.  It took one night for Mom to disappear behind glass,  nothing but a memory that's grown to seem so perfect in comparison to this that Ellie occasionally wonders if it was truly real.

It's what no one gets.  Mom used to be Mom.

Mom used to hold Ellie in her lap while they flipped through photo albums together.  Mom used to shift her arm around her when Ellie would curl against her side.  Mom used to poorly recreate toaster strudels and Ellie would still eat them anyway, even the burned parts, because Mom made them.  She grew to be an unreliable critic because she could never criticize anything her mother did,  could never criticize anything her parents did,  because they were her parents.  To Ellie,  they were perfect.  They would never hurt her.

Then Dad left.  In his wake he didn't just leave Mom-  he took the best parts of her with him.

There are times she loves her mother to the point of wishing she hated her instead.  Unrequited familial love pierces her heart in the way no knife could,  opens wounds that never close,  stings until death pulls them apart.  It's something she can never do,  though.

Because Mom used to be Mom.  Even if she doesn't love her as much as she used to,  Ellie would still go to her grave fighting to protect her.

That's why she braces herself now,  watching as the elevator number ticks to the final floor.  She's going into an unknown situation.  It could be Mom or it could be death.

Even if it's the latter,  Ellie would have gone to it with a heart full of love.

Her breath draws in when the elevator finally comes to a stop,  the doors rumbling open to the hallway.   Mom's penthouse is a little different.  She selected one that could only be entered with three different locks and a pin-code,  down the hall from the elevator rather than renting a place where one could step right in.  Ellie still has the keys and she shifts through them now,  making quick work of unlocking the door before moving to the pin pad.  They're numbers Ellie can remember like the back of her hand; Dad's birthday and Lou's birth year,  followed by a singular two.  Ellie's favorite number.

She takes one more deep breath when the keypad turns green, placing her left hand on the door and turning the knob.  The other hand,  her dominant hand,  rests still on her hip in preparation to draw.  She's killed for her family before.   She'll do it again if need be.

“You'll be fine,"  she whispers,  knowing she’d look positively insane if any bystander could be around.  “You'll be fine.”

Ellie opens the door.

SHE REMEMBERS SEEING her father step through the door twelve years ago.

It's still clear as day in her mind.  What had only been nine minutes felt like forever while she prayed for her Daddy to arrive home before she was killed for the crime of being a child, her little feet dangling just beyond where she could barely place her tiptoes against the ground.  She'd wondered then, when the door was practically kicked in and her father was demanding for her release, if he would still read to her in the hospital.

Because she stopped thinking about dying when he came through the door.  She knew it was possible, knew what happened to aunt Tatum and aunt Rebekah.  She'd been mourning them since the day she was born.  Ellie-Marie knew death in the same way she knew her favorite teddy bear.  But Daddy was there.  He would protect her,  because that’s what he always did.  The safest place was wherever he was.  Even if she was bleeding out,  even if the world went pitch black,  even if she woke up with twenty stitches in the hospital room.  He did what was best for her.  Like he always did.

Ellie still feels safest with him.  It doesn't matter what people see,  it doesn't even matter what he sees.  Ellie feels safest when he's around.

So why is she terrified now?

When the door swings open and four heads swivel her way,  Ellie's first instinct is to let out a sigh of relief.  There's no visible danger,  no cloaks or daggers.  It's her parents,  auntie Abi,  and Lou.  These are her original people.

Then Dad’s face darkens and terror births in Ellie's heart in an instant.

She's never been scared of her father.  She's never doubted him, either.  He wouldn't hurt her beyond tucking her in too tight when she's got the flu.  No,  what she's scared of is the reason.

*You involved her in this?”   He asks,  the question laced with a thin layer of irritation that Ellie hasn't often heard.   The question is directed towards Mom,  who rolls her eyes like upsetting Dad isn't a rare and incredibly difficult thing.

“She's involved anyway,  Dewey.  I figured it was for the best that she was at least ten steps ahead.”

“Without checking with her father.”   Lou observes.  “Yet another classic move of yours.  Right beside sticking your nose where it shouldn't be.”

The energy has shifted within the minute Ellie has been here.  She doesn't like how that's looking for her near future.

In silent question Ellie's eyes dart to Abi, eyebrows raising in a way she could only describe as pleading.  They're typically professionals at this silent conversation game,  communicating with ease across any room,  but today Abi seems just as lost as she is about this.

At least someone is.

“Uh…hi?”  The greeting comes out as more of a question,  though it gets the attention of who she has gone back to calling her adults.  She still calls it a win.  “Should I not have come?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

In his chair  (his chair,  Ellie notes.  The same one he sat in for all of two months.  The same one Mom still hasn't gotten rid of despite almost religiously changing up the rest of the penthouse on a yearly basis)  Dad turns to face Gale,  expression stern.  It's a good opportunity for Ellie to slip closer to Abi,  accepting the open arm offered her way like a cat seeking shelter from the rain.

“She needs to be with Tara and Buffy.  She's safest with them.”  Dad states, though Ellie doesn't think he realizes how gentle his voice still goes when he looks at Mom.  She noticed it last year and she notices it now,  watching how they look at each other with that thin layer of grief between them.  It's palpable to everyone, this hurt,  and is a feeling that's the complete opposite of being a little kid with two parents obviously in love,  intensely staring at the wall when they'd get all googly eyed again.

She misses those days.

“She needs to be ahead of the game.”  Mom argues back.  “That's what this fucker is doing.  He's playing a game,  and if you want her to live-”

“She's gonna live.”

“-then you're gonna have to step off sometimes!”

“Oh, like you do?”  Dad bites back, a bit of that gentleness vacating his voice.   “All the time?   When's the last time you hugged our daughter,  Gale?”

“Enough!”

Abi's interjection makes Ellie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.  Her parents both look over and Dad's expression seems to soften in apology,  mouth opening before her aunt shoots him a look.   “You're both wrong.  Gale,  you should have told Dewey.  Ellie’s his daughter as much as she's yours.”

“Thank you!”

“I'm not done, you oaf.”  Abi corrects.   “Dewey,  you're being a hypocrite.  Ellie's too much like her parents to not get involved.  If Gale didn't tell her,  she would've gotten to it anyway.  So stop acting like the bickering old married couple you both know you are,  don't stress her out anymore,  and for the love of God,  remember that she's the perfect mix of both of you.  She's got more determination in her pinky than most people have in their entire body.”

She isn't lying.  Ellie-Marie knows that throwing in her own quip  (she learned it all from four people in particular,  truth be told)   wouldn't lighten the mood now the way she wishes it would,  yet the knowledge doesn't keep her from having to bite her tongue.  A simple not the time is perfect in many instances.  An instance where it is not is when the tension in the room is thick enough that a machete would struggle to get through it.

Later.  Later she'll tell auntie Abi that she and Lou helped make her the most determined person in the entire universe,  driven in every way that one could possibly dream of being.  For now she hovers still by Abi's side,  eyes darting between her parents in a silent plea for one of them to say something.

(It's something she does often on the occasions they're all together.  What lives between her parents feels like a root desperately trying to break through the Earth’s surface,  and while Ellie may be the dandelion formed between them,  it's as though they cannot work around the poison seeped into the surrounding dirt.)

The silence seems to only grow more awkward before Dad takes a breath,  returning to that apologetic look.  He's always hated when she gets involved in troublesome matters,  be it between him and Mom or being hunted.  “I’m sorry,  baby,”  he starts,  his voice seeming to catch in his words.  “I don't mean to involve you like that.  It's just-”

“Do you want to be here?”

Mom cuts through whatever her father was about to say with that flawless ease she seems to possess no matter where she goes or what she does,  expression stern despite the briefest concern flickering in eyes the same color as Ellie's.  She knows her mother well enough to know the signs of emotion.  It's what has kept her clinging on this long.

“I was talking, Gale.”   Dad is making an active effort to not scowl as he looks over his shoulder,  eyeing where Gale has chosen to stand just behind his chair.

“Not fast enough.  Ellie,  do you want to be here?”  

The repetition of the question makes Ellie realize how serious this little meeting must be.  Her attention finally shifts from feeling like the desperate child of divorce she very much is to the subject at hand,  her nod firm and immediate.  “I wanna help.  I don't care what I gotta do,  I wanna help.”

What Ellie expected was a smug look from her mother to her father.   She expected the passive aggressive acceptance,  she expected the silent resignation of Dad knowing he can't get between her and something she's decided on.  What she didn't expect was for Mom's expression to shift into that of hesitation,  wary in how she eyes her.   Mom has always been the most confident person in the world.   What's so different now?

Abi's grip seems to tighten around Ellie once the decision has been spoken,  the silence settling over the room like a paperweight only broken by Lou.

“Alright,”   she starts,  stepping forward from where she'd been quietly observing the debate.  “You heard her.  She wants to help.”

When Lou catches her eye Ellie can feel that faint promise of unity, her tiny smile going unmatched yet not unnoticed by her cousin. She wants to help,  and Abi was right.   Nothing can keep her from that.

AS IT TURNS out,  this involves her much more than anyone was letting on.

“Dad,”  Ellie starts,  grabbing his attention from where he'd been connecting legal documents.  “As much as I hate saying it,  Mom was right.  This involves me a lot more than I thought it did.”

The little snort Dad offers is enough to reassure Ellie that she didn't do anything wrong with the statement,  looking up from where she's piecing together fake names like a puzzle.  Mom's suspicions were correct.  Jason and Greg had a lot more going on than a simple art folder of murder.

(“What's up with artists and crimes?”   Ellie had asked upon first starting the research.   “I mean,  Picasso was a piece of work.  Jason and Greg-”

“Were creeps,”   Abi interjected, putting one document aside.    “Especially Jason.  If this wasn't going back to the Ghostface shit,  little dove,  I’d be saying good riddance.”

In the presence of others  (sans Buffy,  who knows all her best secrets)  Ellie would push against the statement.   In the presence of her family,  she only laughed.  Her auntie always knows what to say.)

“Your mom is usually right.  That's why I didn't want you involved.”

“Is that why uncle Randy and aunt Julie aren't here?”

Ellie's not too sure many people can handle her questions.  That's the thing about her-  she's a naturally curious girl who can't stop until she has every piece of the puzzle.  Jodie Bridger,  one of Sam and Tara's neighbors,  once called her a mini-detective.

Personally,  Ellie thinks that she may as well be ahead of the trouble that seems to follow her relentlessly.

Dad doesn't get annoyed by her,  though.   He gets exhausted of her persistence when it involves being overly self-sacrificial,  but they both know she comes by it honestly.  He's fond of her questions,  much like Tara is,  and he gives her a worn smile now before placing his paper aside.

“They're with Juno and Buffy,”  a pause before Dad glances around,  leaning closer with a growing grin.  “Your uncle isn't the biggest fan of Ethan.”

Ellie’s giggle lightens how heavy the weight of the situation has become, papers momentarily forgotten.   “Duh. Isn't that a conflict of interest or something?”

“I dunno.  I like Tara,  so-”

“Dad!”

“What?”   He asks,  raising his hands in defense like he didn't just tease her in the most dad-way known to man.   “I’m just saying!  If you like her-”

“Dad!”

“Stop terrorizing our sunny.”   Abi scolds,  leaning forward to lay the map on the table.  “She and her incredibly obvious crush aren't the focal point right now.”

“Auntie!”

Out of the corner of her eye Ellie sees Mom's lips tug into a smile,  one that almost feels comforting if not for the circumstances.  This is normalcy.  This is as close as her family gets to it,  at least,  and it feels like a promise that not everything is going to be this awful forever.   If her father and aunt can joke after being through this so many times,  she can do the same.

It's her phone ringing that pulls Ellie from her thoughts.

The levity from the room is sucked in an instant.  She can see what her adults are thinking before Lou strikes forward like a snake,  snatching Ellie's phone from the table with a snap.   “Hello.”

It feels like the entire room is holding their breath.  Even Mom is pulled from her work, her expression of concentration shifting into that of a woman preparing for a fight.

Only when Lou loses her tension does Ellie feel like it's safe to breathe again,  reaching to accept her phone when it's extended back out to her.  “It's Buffy.”

“Thank fuck.”  Abi breathes beside her,  leaning back into the cushions.  Dad shoots her a look  (like Ellie isn't nineteen years old)  before he finally relaxes as well,  easing his hand away from the gun Ellie didn't even realize he had.

With a sheepish smile she stands from the couch,  mumbling a quiet excuse me before making her way into the kitchen.   “Hello?”

“You gotta get back here a-s-a-p.”

Nevermind the relaxing.

“What?”  Ellie asks,  trying to keep the urgency from her tone.   “What happened?  Are you okay?  Is Tara okay?  Rory?”

“This isn't a life-or-death thing,  Els.”   Buffy informs, sensing her worry despite their distance.  “I just,  like,  don't think we should all be apart right now.  Horror movie rules?”

“Weren't those-”

“Don't drink,  don't do drugs,  don't have sex,  and never say  ‘I’ll be right back’.  Yeah,  those were the originals,  but Mindy and I decided something earlier.”

“What is it?”

Buffy takes a deep breath over the phone,  prepping herself in the way Ellie always hates to hear.  This is never followed by something good.   “We're in a franchise.”

And surprise surprise,  it wasn't followed by anything good.

Ellie brings her hand up to her mouth at the reveal,  foot tapping against the ground as she contemplates the reveal.  It isn't a shocker,  not really-  this is the sixth time this has happened,  after all.   What it is,  is a statement Ellie understands without words.  Everything is on the table.  Anyone can die,  anyone can betray you.  It's all up to timing.

“I'll be there.”  She decides,  glancing around the doorway to the living room.   “I promise.  Give me half an hour,  ‘kay?”

“Okay.”   Buffy agrees,  though hesitation still wavers in her voice.  Ellie knows better than to hang up now.   “Hey,  Els?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

It's not a promise Ellie can keep.  It's like she knew hours ago,  trying to make her dad promise the same thing.  Safety isn't a guarantee.  If anything,  it's a hope.

But with so little else for Buffy to hope for,  Ellie can't take this from her now.

“I will be."  Ellie promises,  and with that Buffy hangs up.