“TALK TO ME.  Please.”

Tara acts as a sanctuary.

Ellie-Marie has thought that since the day they met.  There was something about her,  something about how she treated Ellie like a friend rather than a bug to examine under the microscope of inherited fame, that made everything else seem safer.  She didn't care about what the world thought.  She didn't care about what anyone thought,  good or bad.  She based her choices off her life, and she seemed to choose Ellie for Ellie the day they met.  They'd hugged at the end of the day after mere hours together,  Tara's perfume a little too strong in that way preteen girls always spritz it to be, and that was that.  Even her naturally trusting nature was shocked by how easily Tara Carpenter stepped into her life.

Now Ellie-Marie thinks she was always meant to be there.

She's shivering in this lobby despite the seventy-five degrees it's kept at.  The world is too loud and the lights are too bright to be anything but migraine inducing,  piercing through her eyelids as if the universe is cruelly begging her to wake up to what's happened.  Like she could forget for a millisecond when the blood of her family still stains her skin.  Like she could distract from the fact that this is proof of the worst.  Like she could be anything but a villain in her own story.  

When she woke up last year,  they'd scrubbed Dad and Abi's blood off of her.

This year there's no reason to even bother.  She escaped without a scratch.  Paramedics have bigger things to worry about because her life was spared.

For better or worse,  she doesn't know yet.

Tara's fingernails are gentle as she traces them along Ellie's scalp.  There's no way she's slept lately,  either,  not when Sam is as involved as she is,  but she's still here.  She's holding Ellie like she's a porcelain angel and she's stroking her head without saying a word, acting as a one woman army when people dare come their way.  In a better mindset Ellie might comment on the softness behind the gesture,  a trait Tara vehemently denies having despite the proof being both concrete and heartwarming,  but this one only leads her back to why she needs the comfort now.

For her part Tara only seems partially surprised by the request,  four words spoken in a voice so hoarse with screams and sobs that should have worn out her body with the force they wracked her with.   Maybe she's surpassed the point of exhaustion; she remembers hearing about that happening to a few people, after all.

“What about?”  Tara asks,  drawing Ellie from her thoughts.  She's drawing shapes in her scalp now,  each one light enough for goosebumps to involuntarily stand along Ellie's neck.  Her eyes beg to close,  body longing for the rest Tara offers by simply being here.  All she has to do is trust that she's safe,  that she'll be the first to know if something is wrong,  and Ellie can do that if Tara is the one she's trusting.

Unfortunately for her body,  her mind still races for survival.

“A story,”  she requests after a moment's thought,  allowing her voice to remain tired rather than the plea that this would be elsewhere. Tara won't make her plead the same way the world does.  “Any story.  I know you've got plenty.”

Tara's brows arch at the request.  There's no telling if the curve of her lips is more endeared or if it's concerned by the mundane nature of it all,  the request feeling more elementary than the blood embedding itself in her pores suggests, but she isn't immediately objecting to it.

Maybe it is wrong,  searching for comfort in the wake of a new,  potentially fatal uncertainty.  It settles in her stomach as a strange sort of betrayal.

Even so,  Ellie feels like she has made pain sanctimonious her entire life.  She'd quite enjoy something simple now.

“Alright,”  without any warning Tara cuts Ellie's thoughts off at the neck with her honey-sweet voice,  smoothing her hand over short locks before she's back to tracing.  “I’ve got one.  You want me to make it fictional and give it a happy ending?”

The question has every ability to cut through her paper thin skin and slice open those veins that have only narrowly missed those feverishly aimed knives of the past.  If Amber Freeman had the control she believed she had over Tara then it would come out as the taunt it once would have been, a fine mockery of the high hopes Ellie is beginning to have to build up using pebbles rather than rocks,  but from Tara it simply feels genuine.  

“Tell me whatever you think I need to hear,”  she answers.  “I trust you.”

Tara falls back into silence with that,  the short fingernails against her scalp halting momentarily before Ellie feels a deep breath being drawn in.

“When Sam left,  I thought it was me,”  comes a confession bereft of that safeguard Tara typically places between herself and the world.  The familiarity is chilling enough for images of tears soaked into pillows that smelled like home to flash into Ellie's mind and it takes her entire heart to bite them back, devoted now to whatever is needed from her.  It's a comfortable sweater of knowing someone else needs her rather than feeling like she's the one leaning on another's shoulder.

“You don't have-”

“I didn't know who to blame.  Dad left a few years before she did, back when I was too little to really…care,  I guess?  We weren't close.  Not like Sam and I were.”  Tara's keeping her voice carefully controlled.  It's easy to tell when Ellie has listened to every word like it played into a line of her life's song, every second of conversation spent tuning into whatever Tara may need.

She should have told Lou the truth.  Everyone knew anyway,  but if Lou's really gone-

No.  No,  she's not thinking like that.  Not now.  Now she's listening to Tara.  Now she's elsewhere,  attentive because this is something personal.  With a shift upwards Ellie pulls away from where she had been held close, tucking back strands of hair before reaching for Tara's hand.

“Hey,”  she says, squeezing her hand once.  “I get it.  You don't have to keep going, Moonlight.  Guilt like that is a bitch.”

“No,  yeah,”  shaking her head,  Tara seems to tug herself back to Earth,  returning that squeeze before continuing.   “I felt bad.  For like,  a long fuckin’ time,  I thought it was me or Mom.  Guess that didn't help our relationship much, you know, but that's not the point.  The point is that it's really,  really easy to blame yourself for things you couldn't control.”

“You sound like my old therapist.”

“Shut up,”  that playfully chastising smile finally appears on Tara's lips as she shakes her head,  hair spilling over her shoulders.   “I just,  I know you.  I know you feel bad about everything, you know?”

No.  No,  she didn't know.  Ellie-Marie can't control how her face pinches in exhausted confusion,  keeping the question a silent ghost between them.  

Tara doesn't even bother to mask her scoff.  “You don't hide it all the time.  Not to me, anyway.”

“Right,”  note to self: get better at acting.  “Um, this was about you though,  right?  Not to be rude or anything but I've had a lot of guilt talks lately,  so like-”

“Els,”  there's no obvious annoyance in how Tara interrupts her once more, leaning close.  “I'm still telling the story.”

“Oh,”  was that supposed to be obvious?  Ellie has no clue where this story ends and reality begins again,  silence falling over once more as she forces herself to stop leaping to conclusions.  “Sorry.”

“You're fine,”  Tara absolves this interruption with a tone so fond Ellie may believe it to be out of a fairytale in a better state of mind,  resolving to enjoy how Tara strokes her thumb absently over her knuckles.  “Anyway, I felt like a shit a lot of the time after I turned thirteen.  I didn't like anyone I was around besides Buffy, Wes, Mindy, Chad and-”  an unspoken name hangs in the air now,  one she covers by clearing her throat.  “And I felt like everyone was gonna leave anyway,  so who cares about how many friends I have?”

For a fleeting instant Ellie wants to quip about how strongly she identifies with such a feeling,  mind flashing with those who have either died or left her in another fashion or form.  It doesn't seem right nor does it seem fair to take Tara's life and assign her feelings to it, but she doesn't feel half as alone  now as she has with these thoughts in the past.  Her mind leads her now to the blood soaked through her clothes and lingers on the faded crimson that's undoubtedly shaded her legs,  the tricks it plays begging to lure her away from whatever Tara is trying to say. 

Unfortunately for the haze of fear and loathing in her mind, Tara's always wielded a sword sharp enough to slice through Ellie's shadows.

“Then summer came around,”  Tara continues, her thumb still smoothing over Ellie's knuckles.  “I felt a little better after I met you,  but it wasn't because of how…I dunno,  cheery?  Bouncy?  You are.  I just,  I could tell you really cared about people.  It was kinda unreal,  actually,  but I liked it.”

She wishes she knew where this was going.  As of now she can only pet the reared back head of the last hour as she waits for the inevitable grief to strike again, fixated on how Tara seems to be grasping for words and still manages to be sincere.

Even so Tara is looking more frustrated by the moment,  lips twitching into a half scowl before she ducks her head.  “What I'm saying is,  you and your family have been through some shit.  I don't know the half of it,  I get that,  but I know you're all a lot stronger than you give yourselves credit for.  Especially you, Els.  I've never met someone with a heart like yours,  and it's…you're really,  really special.  I know how much you love Gale and Lou and I know it's hard to keep believing now, but you've taught me a lot about hope.  They're gonna be okay.  That's- fucking hell,  how do you do this?”

A scoff of amusement finds the way past Ellie-Marie's dismay at the question,  a fond sort of teasing blooming in her chest.  “How do I cheer people up?”

“How are you so good at it?  I'm doing a shit job over here.”

“No you're not!”

The look she receives at that is nothing short of incredulous, her barely formed smile finding a little more life when Tara forces back a huff.  “I'm trying to tell you everything’s gonna be okay.  That's everyone's favorite thing to say when the world goes to shit.”

“Does that make it less true?”  Ellie asks, trying to pinch off the hopeful curiosity sneaking into her words.  Despite everything she still feels touched at the warmth this entire attempt has held, far more comforting than anything else she could have been told.  She's had her fair share of guilt talks over the course of her little life,  from therapy to adults to mantras in the mirror,  but none of them ever stick.  Tara's not going to be exempt from such a fate,  Ellie knows,  but that somehow makes everything feel much softer.  She knows that this is a constant uphill battle in her life.  Tonight has already made sure to leave it's mark on her soul and damage her beyond repair,  the image of that knife sinking into Mom playing on repeat in her brain,  Lou's lifeless eyes staring from the darkest corners, but it's nice to hear it from someone who knows guilt the same way Ellie knows ghosts.  No amount of sweet words will make this disappear overnight,  no amount of reassurance will convince her she's done enough,  and Tara isn't trying to force it.

That's the thing about her.  She doesn't try to force anything.  When she's here,  she's here.  She's not going to lie just to make things better,  won't speak to hear the sound of her own voice,  and somehow Ellie finds herself wishing she could hear everything Tara does happen to believe about her.  It's getting harder to hope the more she feels like failure is becoming her soulmate,  but if it actually means something,  if it helps even a little,  maybe she can keep it going.  Even if it's just for a few people,  maybe she can scrape the rock of adoration against the stick of doubt and strike some sort of fire to keep them warm.

It'll be enough if she can do that.  She needs it to be enough.

But first,  she needs to hear the entirety of what Tara meant.  Fumbling words and all,  she wants to know.  The intensity of such a desire must reflect in her eyes because Tara looks away,  her thumb slowing to a halt at Ellie's ring finger.

“No,”  she says,  not quite meeting her eyes.  “I mean it.  You're a fucking ray of light,  Ellie,  and I know enough about hope now to know that Lou and Gale aren't lost causes.  You didn't think that last year,  did you?  With Dewey or Abi?”

“No,”  Ellie answers immediately.  “No.  I needed- I needed them to be okay,  but…”

This is the nasty part.  This is the part that reminds her of bones beneath skin,  of Buffy wailing in her arms and of blood staining everyone who dared to touch the girl walking out like Carrie White after prom.  This is the part that makes her look in the mirror while hunting for remorse that doesn't exist, her eyes not leaving that reflection of what she did until she breaks down to the truth.  She doesn't feel bad for what she did to Amber.  She doesn't even remember it,  not in full,  but she remembers the horror.  She remembers seeing Mom's face,  a blend of shock and worry.  She remembers Buffy shaking in the corner,  broken and bruised in the worst of ways.  She remembers aunt Sidney hovering for several moments after the dust settled.

She remembers.  She's never felt more like a monster.

She's never cared less.

“But what?”  Tara asks,  prompting Ellie away from her thoughts.   Her face is soft with a concern that Ellie-Marie aches to brush away,  that longing for comfort returning once again.  When it came last year she was alone in a hospital room, crying alone for thirty minutes before deciding to do something about it.

She doesn't speak of it often,  what she felt then.  Sam understands.  When they locked eyes after the bloodbath in the Freeman household,  when she took Tara in her arms while Ellie ached for the comfort of her father or auntie,  she knew Sam understood.

Fury is infantile.  Rage is sweet.  Seething is an understatement.  Whatever was felt then was pure,  burning and hateful.  It came pleading for justice once Ellie's tears dried on her pillow,  took her by the hand and pulled her out of that hospital bed.

She was peaceful.  Not harmless.

“But I was more angry than I was scared,”  she confesses,  keeping her voice soft.  It's a plea to not be seen as who she was after her loved ones were threatened,  for Tara to see her still as the girl she is and not a potential killer.  Any other time and perhaps it would feel safer,  but now it feels like grounds for suspicion.  Of course she could be the killer,  she beat a girl to death last year.

But something in her says Tara won't see her like that.  Whether it be a deranged hope willing itself into existence or a gut feeling that promises to be true,  Ellie doesn't know.  She just knows that Tara's eyes are soft and she looks so understanding,  so patient,  so adoring in a way she's never seen on anyone else,  and she trusts her despite it all. 

“I was more angry than scared,”  she repeats,  barely conscious of when Tara begins stroking her knuckles once more.  “I needed them to be okay,  and I-I needed Amber to pay for it.  I needed her gone.”

Tara goes quiet once again,  her stare heavy on Ellie's shoulders as she steers her eyes away.  This is shaky ground she paces on now,  a match struck that she cannot blow out if she tried.  She's speaking on the girl who broke Tara's heart,  her first love,  her greatest betrayal.  If this is the weight Ellie believes it to be,  there's more than enough reason for her to drop the conversation now.

“What do you need now?”  Tara asks,  her breath warm as it hits Ellie's face.

She's always defying expectations.  She's never what Ellie fears while being everything her heart is terrified of,  a comfort and a worry in the worst of times.  Perhaps that's part of what makes her so special.

With a slow, forcefully calm breath Ellie-Marie looks back up,  catching a flash of the last red and blue light as it leaves the parking lot outside.  She's still stained in blood,  still living in the remnants of the two women who wanted nothing more than to protect her,  and that's not forgiveable.

“I need to fix this.  I need this fucker gone,  TT.”

Tara's face softens even further at the confession that shakes as it passes Ellie's lips,  a promise written in the doe brown of her eyes despite her next words.   “On one condition.”

“What?”

“We do it together,”  Tara says,  her voice firm in a way that's achingly reminiscent of Mom.  “As a team.  Deal?”

Ellie's eyes flicker to their hands once more,  leaning back slightly to extend her pinky finger.  It's childish to most,  she knows,  but Tara says nothing when she smiles and takes it with her own.

“Deal.”