YOU KNOW YOU'RE GOOD WHEN YOU
CAN EVEN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART.
YOU KNOW YOU'RE GOOD! AND I'M
GOOD! 'CAUSE I'M MISERABLE, AND
NOBODY EVEN KNOWS!

1. A Real Tough Kid (2011)

The first thing she sees is white.

She doesn't hate white. It's what she likes to call a blank canvas, like when Momma pulls up a fresh Word document or when Maddie brings over plain white paper to draw on. It's an opportunity for something new most of the time, but for some reason this feels like the end credits to one of Buffy's movies.

The first thing she feels is pain.

It's in her left hip, white hot and instantly the most painful thing she's ever felt. Ellie-Marie bites back a wince when she shifts against the bed she doesn't remember laying on, still adjusting to the intense lighting when a voice cuts through beeps and machinery she hadn't even thought of yet.

"Don't move like that, baby. You'll hurt yourself."

Ellie feels a piece of her soothe in the same way she does after crawling in her parents bed when she has a nightmare. Her head turns and there, with red eyes and messy hair, is her father.

"Daddy? What happened?" She asks, shifting despite his protests. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Peanut," he answers, but he doesn't look fine. He doesn't look fine at all. Swallowing down her pain Ellie pulls herself up further, scooting until she's upright.

"You don't look fine."

Daddy cracks a smile at that. It doesn't go all the way, though, like it hurts him, and for a split moment she can't help but wonder what's bad enough to bring them to the hospital, to make him look so sad.

"What-"

Maddie.

Blood. She remembers blood instead of her babysitter, the way it stained the floor she'd just proudly mopped for Momma yesterday morning, how she felt it soak through her little rainbow socks that matched her pajamas. When Daddy had burst in, the yelling, the pain, the final sight of Maddie behind the couch carved into like a jack-o'-lantern. The final touch of her still lingers on Ellie's head when she'd patted it so playfully, doting in the way Maddie always is to everyone.

She looks down to the end of the bed, wiggling her feet hopefully. They're clean. She wasn't hurt there, so maybe that means that part was just a bad dream? Maddie's okay. Maddie's gotta be okay. She's got a big sister and parents that are gonna want her back home soon. Maybe she dreamt the blood up, maybe this isn't anywhere near as bad as Daddy's face is telling her it is.

"Daddy?" Ellie asks. She doesn't wanna look away from her feet. They wouldn't be clean if everything was messy. Maybe she just got stabbed and Maddie got out and ran away. That would make sense, wouldn't it?

"Yeah, baby?"

On the other hand, she's never dreamt of seeing someone she loves torn apart. Even in her scariest nightmares it isn't what she saw tonight, all bloody and kinda gross but definitely scary. If Maddie's only hurt, she wouldn't be this confused.

Ellie-Marie is getting a really bad feeling that unlike her, Maddie won't feel better with a bandaid.

One thing is for certain: she shouldn't ask Daddy about it. He still covers her eyes when they walk by roadkill and lets her cry into his shirt when Bambi's mom dies. He keeps the bad dreams away when yet another boogeyman comes to visit. He wants to protect her, that much Ellie knows for certain. Auntie Abi always teases him for being overprotective and she's about ninety-nine percent sure that means he doesn't want her seeing potential crime scenes.

Daddy's panicked. He has been, she can tell by looking at him, which means he needs her to be calm. Luckily she can do that; she's a big girl, tougher than she seems (uncle Luke's words, not hers!) and this is just one little secret. Even if it's scary now, it won't be forever. She just has to make sure Daddy doesn't know so he can't worry about her.

"I'm glad you're okay," Ellie-Marie says instead. It isn't a lie. Her biggest fear was that the bad man would kill her daddy like he said he would, but he didn't. That means this could be worse, which means she could be worse, which means he really doesn't need to worry about her now 'cause this is all just bad.

Reaching one hand out she grabs for one of his, softening herself as much as she can. "And I got a question for you."

"What is it?"

"Why did the skeleton go to the hospital?"

Daddy's smile is a little more real now. It squishes his face and crinkles his eyes. He still looks tired, but that's okay. She's got Ellie Magic. She can make it better.

That, and Uncle Randy bought her a pun book when she turned seven and while she's still figuring out what a lot of them mean, her adults all seem to enjoy it. That makes it fine. She doesn't mind not knowing yet.

It's all a part of Ellie Magic, really.

"Why?"

"'Cause it was a bona... a bone-afied emergency!"

As she predicted her father dips his head, smile widening as he chuckles. "Do you even know what bonafide means, baby?"

"Nope!"

For some reason her answer makes Daddy laugh harder, shoulders shaking before he leans close, pressing a firm kiss to her head.

In the back of her mind she can't help but wonder if Maddie would laugh, too.

2. Since He Left (2014)

"Sorry, am I interrupting?"

This is a question Ellie doesn't need a verbal answer to. It's easy sometimes, forgetting that her sister's timezone isn't the same as hers is. While it's 10:30 here, the Meeks-Macher movie night just started back...

Back in Woodsboro. Ellie doesn't know what else to call it at this point. Nowhere really feels like home with her family so scattered.

"No," Buffy lies. She can hear the sound of scuffling on the other end, distant footfalls as the sound of the television gradually fades. Uncle Randy doesn't even make a sound of protest about this interruption.

It's this that lets Ellie-Marie know she needs to hang up.

"I'm not gonna stay on long," she comments conversationally. "Today wasn't a bad day."

It wasn't a bad day. A bad day is singling it out. In reality, it's been a bad four months with no goodness in between. Technicality or not, she's not lying.

"It wasn't?" Buffy asks tentatively. Ellie can tell she doesn't fully believe her, which is understandable. Looking back it feels like all she's been doing is calling to complain or cry, maybe whine a little about how lonely it's become here. It's been entirely unfair to her sister, which means this isn't a bad thing to do. "It's later than usual. Thought you might've had a hard day."

She did. Today she finally tried to call Dad's phone for the first time since he left. The number wasn't disconnected, his voicemail was still the same.

He didn't call her back.

It's confirming everything she's been afraid of. Then again, it seems as though the levels of how much her father must hate her escalate with each passing day. Every postal delivery paired with no note, every phone call that isn't him on the other end, no word on if he wants to ever see her again. Even Mom's seen him to finalize the divorce. It's like he doesn't want to be around her at all, like every time he told her she's his favorite person was him saying whatever he thought she wanted to hear.

Meanwhile she'd listen to him rattle off the dictionary through a static connection if it meant she got to say she loved him one last time.

It has to be her. Ellie knows it's her, picked up the phone to tell Buffy everything she feared. She's glad she didn't, though. Her sister puts up with much more than she should on a daily basis, from school to worrying about Ellie when she shouldn't have to, and it's about time she gets rid of at least one of those worries.

"I had an okay day!" She chirps, purposely making her smile audible. "Really, I think this is one of my better ones. I got some baking done, 's why I didn't call until now."

"You bake when you're stressed," Buffy notes, and Ellie momentarily wants to curse how well her sister knows her.

"I was actually wanting cinnamon rolls today. Mom said that counts as my science and math, too. I kinda won!"

The silence on the other end lets Ellie know that Buffy isn't entirely believing the lie she's trying to sell. Time for the big guns.

"Really, Fifi," she says, using the nickname she gave Buffy long before everything went downhill. "I'm doing good today. Go back to your movie for now, okay? I'm gonna eat another cinnamon roll for you."

Not for the first time she says a silent thanks up to the sky above that Gale Weathers, the one who can sell it all, is her mother. Ellie-Marie can nearly convince herself with how widely she's smiling now, conveying the joy she's known for through the phone. She can handle this on her own for a little bit. Calling Buffy every day shouldn't mean her sister worries for the next hard time. There's no right for Ellie to cause that much stress.

"Okay," Buffy relents. "Okay. You're like, totally sure?"

"Positive. Now go, don't keep...who's tonight for?"

"'House of Wax', the 2005 one."

"Don't keep the Sinclair brothers waiting," Ellie chides playfully, grinning like she's won the world's biggest prize. "You've gotta analyze Vincent again! I'm expecting a text when it's done."

Buffy laughs at this and for a moment Ellie feels like her smile is realer than it is, lying back against her pillows with another quiet wish that her sister was here.

"I will," Buffy agrees once the laughter fades, the sound of distant footsteps once again echoing through the phone. "I love you, Els."

"I love you, too."

The sound of silence lets Ellie-Marie know the phone has been hung up, ceiling fan whir filling in what her sister leaves behind. She can't bring herself to glance over to her bedside table or confront the photographs on her wall, staring up at the ceiling with a bone deep ache in her body.

She should be over this. It's been four months, she should be fine. She shouldn't dedicate time to worrying her poor sister who didn't ask to become a therapist, and honestly, she probably should make some cinnamon rolls.

Right after her eyes stop aching.

3. I Can Handle My Shit (2022)

"No one is expecting you to be okay, Ellie."

That's the problem.

Ellie-Marie can feel a piece of her singe back at the comment she's already heard far too many times in the duration of the last twelve weeks, the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes nearly getting her this time. This therapist is the best one Mom could get, which means Ellie feels more than a little guilty for how much she doesn't want to be here nor does she feel up to complying, but there's only so much of one repeated message that a single person can take.

It's not only Janice saying this. It's everyone.

The part of her that wants to snarl and remind the world that she's been doing this since she took her first breath wants to ask what people are wanting from her. Alright, so they don't expect her to be okay. What do they expect, then? Clearly crying isn't an option when people are counting on her to hold it together.

"I'm doing fine," she says for the billionth time, keeping herself gentle in the way she naturally is. She won't let her own teeth gnash away at how much she cares about people. If she wants to be annoyed, she can be annoyed at herself. She should be doing fine. She'd like to believe she's doing as fine as everyone thinks she's doing, because in what world is she the one who needs reassurance? She's not the one who lost her ex-girlfriend, lost her ex-best friend, lost her entire family or her brother or sister. She'd been in that hallway when Daddy and Abi got stabbed because of her, because she can't get over a dumb little ringtone, and she'd been in their pile of blood because- again- of her.

There's nobody to blame but herself. She's fine.

"This can be our last session, Janice," she continues. "I think my issues have become manageable enough for me to give this time to someone else. There are people with problems a lot worse than mine, and-"

"Ellie-Marie," her therapist interrupts, formalities reintroduced like Ellie will otherwise ignore the words. "No one knows your mental state better than you do. I understand that you've got a critical level of self-awareness, one not even many adults possess. It isn't my place to tell you that you're not where you say you are, but to say your experiences have dimmed significantly solely due to the lives of others is a blatant dismissal of what I know you are capable of understanding."

Ouch. That jab might require another therapy session on its own.

"No one is expecting you to be okay," Janice repeats. She sounds sincere in a near painful way, pitying like an empath to a shelter puppy, and Ellie wishes she could take it entirely. "Nor are they expecting four months of therapy to be enough for what you've experienced."

"What I've witnessed," Ellie corrects gently. "Is nothing compared to what my family went through. It's like comparing broccoli and cauliflower. They might look the same, but one is waaaaay worse than the other."

Janice doesn't look impressed with her comparison. Ellie makes a silent note to find a different one, just in case this one didn't hit the mark. Broccoli and cauliflower are both gross, but one can be covered with cheese and bitten away while the other is just...it's just there.

Maybe she's hungry.

"Janice," she says, rerouting before she gets into dairy related metaphors. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do I seem okay to you?"

She was never a theater kid, obviously didn't get the chance to be one from home, but she'd like to think she's a good actress when the time calls for it.

Like it has recently, for example.

Janice presses her lips together and sighs through her nose, closing her eyes like she's debating against the truth.

"You've been handling this remarkably well for someone with your history, yes. However-"

That's all she needs to hear.

"Sorry for interrupting, but I think that's all that's gotta be said," her lips tug into a reassuring smile as she leans forward in the seat, ignoring the little piece of her that's torn between silently rejoicing and pleading for Janice to rethink her conclusion. "I have a really, really good support system. I appreciate what you've done to help me open up further to them, but I've got it. I feel secure enough to give my slot to someone who needs it more."

She didn't eat for six days when she got back to New York. She covered up her mirrors with blankets and her hands shake when she thinks of the blood that once soaked them, but it's not worse than anyone else.

She's doing. So fucking good.

Janice looks a little less unsure when she sits back, folding her arms over her stomach in thought before nodding. "Alright," she concedes. "You're an adult. If you believe yourself to be in a better place than when we started, this can be our last session."

Ellie shouldn't be as dismayed at this as she ultimately feels. She's the one playing it off, after all, and she's probably telling more of the truth than she thinks. It's settled: she's fine.

"Okay!" Her smile grows as she leans back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other daintily. "Then we can start. How's your day going?"

4. Love Me For All Time (2023)

She doesn't need a rude awakening to know she's crashing in on Anika's life.

Honestly, Sir Purrington being unbearably cute has probably won her a lot more grace than she deserves. Being here for two weeks wasn't a part of the plan when she showed up in the middle of the night, puffy eyes dried to the best of her abilities as she forced herself to smile for her best friend, but Dad showing up with her beloved feline son didn't hurt her 'please rehome me for a short time' case. Anika has been nothing short of hospitable since then, giving Ellie-Marie the guest room without pushing the why of it all, though the crucial evidence of her intrusion still remains everywhere. They've had to work out shower schedules and Ellie, despite Anika's insistence, refuses to get a second key made. That's literally asking for trouble. Having a curfew isn't, so she's home by seven at the latest, making sure Anika can still go out with her key to her apartment.

All because Mom wrote a book.

It feels like a repeat of being eleven and watching the phone come up with nothing. She hasn't spoken to her mother in two weeks, not since their fight that's left Ellie with a luggage full of random clothes and knick knacks that don't have any set place here like they did at the penthouse. Her friends, her father, Abi and Lulu have all either called or shown up multiple times and not once have they taken her steadfast I'm fine's to be what they are.

It isn't like she doesn't have a home. Push comes to shove, she can live with Anika or even Lou. If she truly wants to get away, she could even go back to Woodsboro, back to Dad and Abi.

There's only one problem with every one of those options, and it's that every solution ends with someone else being pulled in.

She's better than anyone thinks. She's probably better than she thinks, even though it doesn't feel that way right now. Sir Purrington, for example, is even purring away at her side as she scrolls through apartment listings near the university Buffy said she's enrolling, the same one Anika will be attending in the fall. Sam and Tara won't be ten minutes away from the unit she's currently eyeballing, and Rory surely won't be any further.

She's doing better than she was two weeks ago.

That's her mantra.

"Knock knock," Anika calls through the open crack of the door, stepping in once Ellie gives a wave. "Whatcha' doin', Elsie?"

"Looking at apartments," as if demonstrating this she turns her phone to face Anika, carefully studying her friend's reaction. "I found this super cute one near Blackmore. It's like, all cozy and everything? Sir Purrington friendly, too!"

"Uh-huh," Anika says, carefully pulling the phone from Ellie's hand and beginning to scroll through the photos. "Cute. You know you don't have to get outta here now though, don't you?"

"I know!" She chirps out what she's been parroting for the last week without any true thought to the matter. "But like, school's gonna be starting for you soon-"

"Four months isn't soon."

"And I don't wanna be here to jank up your groove or anything!" Cheerfully Ellie reaches for her phone once Anika seems to be done, setting it to the side. "I know how important it is to have your own space during college."

"Never say 'jank up your groove' again," Anika requests, cutting a look that Mom would probably be proud of before continuing. "Besides, NYU also doesn't start for another four months. You haven't gone to a single class yet. What if we work better as roommates?"

Unfortunately she has a point.

Fortunately Ellie was raised by a group of incredibly stubborn individuals and therefore won't let that stop her.

"I just, I don't want you to force yourself into anything. You're already going through a lot right now," Anika continues in her blindness to how Ellie-Marie most certainly will not be crashing her party any further, pulling herself further into the guest mattress and cutting Ellie's objection off with a sigh. "Don't say you're not. You came here with like, six outfits and your sad puppy eyes. That's a crisis, babe, and I wanna be here for you."

Her heart can't help but to melt a little at the simplicity of the wish, leaning forward to take her friend's hands into her own. "Nini," she says. "It isn't a crisis anymore. The crisis is over. It's way over, actually. Everyone's gotta move out eventually, don't they?"

"That's the worst fight-"

"And it's over now," even though it doesn't feel over in the slightest Ellie-Marie sticks to this argument, slotting yet another smile on her features like an accessory. "Even if it wasn't, it isn't your job to keep a roof over my head. You have a life!"

"And so do you!" Anika counters. "You've gotta be living somewhere to do everything you've got planned, Els."

"I will be!" Releasing one of Anika's hands Ellie reaches for her phone, raising it demonstratively. "In this cutie. I think it'd be a good fit for Sir Purrington and I, don't you?"

Dubiously Anika eyes her phone, brows arching like she's debating on how she can win this argument. She's never been pushy, a feat Ellie is more than grateful for, but she's been trying to coax these feelings out into the open since Mom first took everything Ellie believed in and crushed it between her fingertips and a keyboard.

"Besides," she continues, dropping Anika's other hand to gently push her shoulder. "You've gotta make our gay little country proud when you get a girlfriend! She'll need a place to move and you know, I would definitely be jackin' your vibe then-"

"Shut up!" Anika laughs. It makes Ellie flush with an achievement that she typically never has to fight so hard for, settling back with a grin when her friend pushes her away.

Very resolutely she doesn't think of how her Mom still hasn't called to ask where she is.

She'll find out soon enough, Ellie tells herself. She'll be proud I bounced back so quickly.

That's what she's good at, after all.

5. Even When You Wanna Die (2023)

Today's Anika's funeral.

Today's Anika's funeral.

Today's Anika's funeral.

Ellie can't get out of bed.

She's been doing good. She's been holding onto the silver linings that have come of this entire mess like a raft in the middle of the ocean, finding warmth in things like Tara's smile or their hands intertwined, her mother's recovery or her father's presence even though he could have left by now. Her family is blessedly together despite the circumstances and odds, and yes, she does think there are always things that shine regardless of what dims around them.

But today is Anika's funeral. She doesn't feel warm.

The ceiling is taunting her at this point. The walls close in and the cats in her calendar photo look like they know that Ellie's the reason today is as bloody as it is. Sir Purrington is purring extra loud against her side like he's trying to heal her brokenness, loud enough to be an engine in one of the macho cars always revving in traffic, but her heart isn't in it enough to even entertain his efforts.

Her phone's on silent. She's got no idea if it's been blowing up or if she was dreaming when she saw five missed calls earlier, but looking at it may as well not be an option now. Every atom in her is begging to stay in bed until the wretched day ends, but it's eight in the morning and she doesn't think anyone will let her fester the way she's embarrassingly ready to do.

"You need to get up," she speaks into nothingness, voice weak to her own ears. "You gotta get up. You told them you'd sing."

She also told Anika she'd never let anything happen to her. Her promises apparently don't carry as much weight as Ellie wishes they did.

"You need to get up," she repeats. Like a robot her mouth goes to open once more, a repetition she's determined to keep up until it forces her to her feet before rapidfire knocking cuts her thoughts away.

For a blinding moment she can't make out if it's at her front door or if someone's finally broken in, and for once she doesn't care.

What she does care about is when her phone screen lights up out of the corner of her eye, a flash of Abi's name reminding her that she's not the only person she'll be inconveniencing if she doesn't get up today.

Rubbing one hand over her eyes Ellie forces herself to push against the weight sitting on her chest, taking a deep breath when a wave of vertigo threatens her stability. She can do this. She's stared down the eyes of death several times now and came out alive regardless of the chances, won at too many costs.

At the foot of the bed sits her simple black dress, threaded with bits of gold that remind her still of Anika's hair. She gets changed as the knocking continues, runs the brush through her hair twice and then exits the room.

She's doing good. She's doing great, even.

"Auntie Abi!" Ellie-Marie cheers upon opening the door, her enthusiasm not entirely false. "Sorry I overslept, I..." couldn't get out of bed. "Didn't sleep well."

It's not a lie. The important thing is it not being a lie.

Abi gives her a look that she's learned to mean there are to be no apologies today, reaching out to place a hand on Ellie's shoulder. "A princess never arrives late," she says, all dead seriousness to counteract the slogan the two of them would always use in youth. "Everyone else is simply early. We have two hours, little dove. More than enough time."

It's a pleasant reassurance that ultimately does nothing to settle the little spiral forming in the pit of her stomach, dread sinking to the bottom like a rock in the ocean.

"You look pretty," Ellie offers up, keeping her voice small as she steps back. "I mean, you obviously always do, but you get it. You look tragically pretty. Like the saints."

Abi shakes her head at the compliment, her smile a soft thing that Ellie-Marie has always found a sense of home in. "I know what you mean, baby. Thank you. You look stunning as always."

The compliment makes Ellie kick her foot at the ground sheepishly, tucking her head down in unspoken gratitude. She's never been good at taking a compliment and today, when she feels like she deserves it the least, is no exception. "Thanks."

She hates this. There's a knife that sinks deeper and deeper into her heart the more she lets the silence ruminate, Anika's laughter as she helped move Ellie in now ringing around the room like time's echoing gunshot. Somewhere out there is a world where she doesn't feel like a ghost clutching her throat in efforts to choke down that final scream, and in that world Anika laughs still.

In this one there is nothing but the sound of her body against the ground.

Ellie wonders distantly if crying now would be a selfish thing. She hates crying at funerals if only because she feels as though she doesn't deserve to, acutely aware of how her father's grief has kept her sharp in regards to others to this day. She can cry in the comfort of her own home, though with her aunt's eyes on her Ellie only feels like another concern.

"Sorry," she whispers, not entirely sure what she's apologizing for yet feeling the guilt strike like an arrow all the same. "I don't know..."

"Ellie-Marie," Abi interjects, stepping forward until she's close enough to collapse against. It takes everything in her to not lean into what calls her now, nails digging into her palms as she forces salt to remain in her throat. With her attention captured Ellie looks up obediently, determined to keep her lip from trembling as her aunt smoothes her hands over her ears, soon coming to cup her cheeks. "There's no need to apologize, you understand? No one your age should have to go through this much. If you need to cry, you can. I'm not gonna judge you."

The words are so kind, so tender that Ellie is tempted to collapse here and now, swallowing her whimper with a nod. "Thank you," she manages, reaching one hand up to wipe at her dampening eye. "But...but we gotta go now. Traffic's a mess. I'll be okay."

The 'for now' lingers in the air like an unspoken curse between them, her aunt's expression melting into utmost sympathy before she relents to a nod. Ellie allows her head to be tipped up and wants to freeze time when Abi kisses her forehead, cherishing the lifelong comfort in a brand new way now. After all, Anika won't ever feel it from her family again.

With her best friend relying on her one last time, Ellie can't fail the way she did before.

She'll be okay. She always is.

+1. All The Pieces of Me Shattered (2024)

She doesn't know why she's up right now.

On a rational level she does. Her thoughts get louder than speakers at a concert after she's spent too long running from them, throwing glitter and warmth over the decrepit, broken corpse of her past until the coldness of the morgue and the lonesomeness of the grave catch up. It happens to everyone, Janice explained at their first official therapy session months ago, but it takes no mercy on traumatized individuals.

On a personal level, Ellie wishes it would just end already.

She's exhausted. The clock read 3:42 when she finally gave up on falling asleep to the sound of her girlfriend's oddly soothing snores, and by now she's pretty sure it's ticking it's way into the 4:30 area. Her second cup of hot chocolate warms her palms as she curls up in her corner of the couch, fleece blanket tugged over her frame as she watches tonight's rerun of Forensic Files. Additional true crime probably isn't great considering she's already fluent in the most monetized case in the country and has it to credit for the late night venture from her and Tara's room, but she can't help how it scratches the memories of waking up at Grandma's house when she forgot to switch it from the news.

Ellie feels seamlessly made of memories. At least these ones aren't all bad.

"Don't you want some mozzarella sticks with that?"

Tara appears in the doorway like she hadn't been sleeping like a rock when Ellie left nearly an hour ago, arms folding over her chest as she leans against the frame. Those half-decade old butterflies have fluttered into a sense of tranquility when she sees Tara now, smile unfolding around the edge of her cup as she catches her beloved's eye.

"I was thinking nachos. They don't go too well with hot chocolate, though."

Tara's feet pad softly against the floor as she makes her way over to the couch, finding her spot next to Ellie-Marie like two puzzle pieces slotting perfectly together. "You're having a nacho kinda night, huh?"

"Yeah," Ellie answers in a rushed breath, shifting to equally adjust the blanket over Tara, who helps with a few light tugs to cover the spaces missed. Fussing over her is not only second nature, especially now, but also comes easier than the alternative.
When she settles back Ellie grabs for her hot chocolate once more, passing it over in a wordless offering and smiling at the hum it earns in return, shifting to better settle against Tara as she awaits the inevitable question.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

On reflex her mouth opens to say no, to make a proclamation of content and insist that it be left at that for as long as it can be. Her mind knows this song and dance better than she plans to ever let on. For tonight, for tomorrow, for the rest of time, she can be however fine the world needs her to be.

But the words don't come.

What comes instead is a sound Ellie knows like the back of her hand.

Tara's got her in an instant. The sound of the cup being placed carelessly on the coffee table hasn't completely registered in her mind before Ellie feels the arms wrap around her, that gentle tug guiding her closer to her girl until she's practically being cradled.

"Sorry," she forces out, a choked sound that intermingles with an ugly, trembling sob. "Sorry. I don't- I don't know what's-"

"Sunshine," Tara cuts her off with a nickname Ellie doesn't feel entirely deserving of at this moment, pressing a firm kiss to her head. It's a move that's become remarkably grounding and she can't help but press into it now, squeezing her eyes shut as more tears bead and fall. "Don't apologize."

"No, but I-"

This time she's interrupted by Tara's fingers beneath her chin, raising her head with a softness many people aren't fortunate enough to know she has. "Ellie," she says, firm gentleness solidifying the ground Ellie walks upon. "Are you okay?"

The egg cracks.

The weight of this lifetime impedes until she's crushed beneath a mountain of words she's never said. Operating on muscle memory her brain immediately wants to enforce this shame of forcing this onto Tara, someone who has objectively needed a good cry for much longer than Ellie, who may as well be weeping every day with no one cause behind any tear.

Her heart wants to leap through her chest in hopes of landing somewhere it'll be safe.

"I wanna be," she forces out between sniffles, shoulders bowing in like she's apologizing to a saint rather than speaking her wishes to the love of her life. "I-I wanna be. I'm sorry, I don't- this is so stupid, I'm so sorry."

"Ellie," Tara repeats her name like it's something precious in her mouth, smoothing one hand over the back of her head. "Don't. Apologize. I mean it. You didn't do anything."

"Tara-"

"No," she interjects without any room for disagreements, shifting further until Ellie fears she may actually wind up in Tara's lap. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Sunshine. They use that 'in sickness and in health' shit for a reason, and if you're gonna apologize for being some version of sick then you're gonna be shocked when you get the flu or something."

Despite herself Ellie can't help but chuckle at the remark, classically Tara in a way she wouldn't trade for the world.

"We're not married," she reminds her quietly, leaning forward to use Tara's sleeve to wipe away tears. "I don't think you have to live by that yet."

"I'm getting you used to the idea," Tara says. "And don't change the topic."

"It's stupid-"

"It isn't stupid if it upsets you," the repetition of her own words makes Ellie-Marie scrunch her nose in distaste, unable to hold any exaggerated annoyance when Tara only ruffles her nose back. "You don't have to shine all the time, Els."

"I don't wanna put everything on you," the confession slips out like a whisper as Ellie shrinks into herself, barely pushing back against the tears left in her eyes. "It isn't fair. You don't deserve this."

"And you don't deserve to carry everything by yourself," Tara says. It isn't the first time Ellie has heard such a statement, relayed back to her by friends and family alike, but tonight has stripped away her protective layers to leave the softened inside so casually kept in the dark. She can't help the ache that tugs her sun from where it sits behind the clouds, awaiting the inevitable shelter she'll push upon Tara in the wild hopes that her rain won't drown her out.

But Tara isn't going anywhere.

"Ellie," her name feels safe when Tara uses it now, grasping her attention despite how she wills it to fix itself. "I wanna be here for you. All of you. Can I do that?"

The question serves as a counter to everything Ellie-Marie has ever been. She prides herself on the warmth she naturally exudes like the sun has graced the Earth, finds peace in knowing she's here if her loved ones have been drenched in the rain. Knowing that she won't be pushed away for her own aches and pains doesn't mean she's willing to push them on everyone else so easily, content to act like it's her birthday every single day and leave confetti instead of shredded memories of what once existed in her wake. She can be productive in her tears and grief despite how much her bones weigh in bids to keep her down. She can be everything everyone needs. She can do it with a broken heart even if it feels impossible.

But does she have to? How long can she truly keep Tara out of this, blocked out by that innate desire to be what's needed of her? How will she know what's needed of her if she's too busy hiding?

Her chin crumples once more as she finally goes into Tara's arms, the scattered pieces of her falling together to find a safe place now.

She'll come back together soon. She always does.