Work Text:
Logan (9:32am): can you meet me @ the morgue? game’s over, bring something comfortable for A to change into if you can
Eleanor was in an Uber in what was probably record time. She’d grabbed the first bag she could find (which just so happened to be one of those reusable Target shopping bags--there seemed to be an endless supply of those where John Kramer was concerned) and had thrown in her most comfortable sweatpants, a t-shirt, a dark grey fleece-lined hoodie that was oversized enough on her that it practically swallowed Amanda whole, a pair of fuzzy socks and the pale pink Uggs that usually lay discarded under the majority of the brunette’s belongings but that Eleanor knew Amanda favored when she needed comfort. Fifteen minutes later and she was bounding two at a time down the stairs to the hospital’s lowest level, having deemed the elevator too slow.
Logan was waiting for her outside the steel double doors that led into their place of work, half-asleep in a plastic chair with his head propped against the doorframe in what had to be a decidedly uncomfortable position to be half-asleep in. At the sound of her approach, he stirred, looking battle-worn and drained as he seemed to take in his surroundings while absently pressing the heel of one of his hands hard against his temple. The idea that maybe she should've thought to stop for coffee flickered across Eleanor’s train of thought, but was overpowered immediately by her concern for her girlfriend.
“Where’s--”
“Hey,” Logan cut her off before she could even begin to pose the number of questions he knew she likely had, and moved to stand in front of the doorway. “It's been a long night, you know that, and Amanda… listen, El, she's kind of freaked out right now and she doesn't want you to--she doesn't want to scare you--”
“Logan, that scares me, you're scaring me--”
“Eleanor.” The graveness of his tone made her pause, and Logan watched the color drain from his assistant’s face. He took the bag from her gently, and with hands on her upper arms, carefully guided her to the chair he’d occupied just a moment ago. She didn't fight it.
“She's okay, El, or she's going to be--” The redhead’s expression crumpled at that, and he knelt in front of her. “She needs you to be strong for her right now. You can do this--” A much-too-loud ringing sound startled them both, and Logan reached into his pocket to remove his phone as he got to his feet again.
The Superior Jigsaw is calling…
He tapped the green button to accept the call, and brought the phone to his ear. “Amanda? Hey… yeah, yeah she’s here. No, she's fine, just worried about you… Not a word, I promise, yeah I’ve got them, mmhm…” His voice was hushed, but he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Eleanor’s head and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Be right back, he mouthed and then he was disappearing through the morgue’s doors, still speaking quietly into his phone as he went.
The time seemed to drag by as Eleanor waited for Logan’s promised return, though according to her phone’s clock only a few minutes had actually passed. She spent it scrolling slowly through her camera roll, stopping on each picture that contained the brunette to study it. There weren’t many. Amanda had a propensity for avoiding cameras, so Eleanor cherished the few photos she’d managed to convince her girlfriend to pose for, and she swiped through them near-reverently despite having them all practically burned into her memory. A few pictures of the two of them together, a handful of ridiculous selfies the brunette had clearly taken while Eleanor was off doing something else, a photo of her surrounded by her freshly-shorn hair and grinning wickedly into the lens…
She checked the clock again. Seven minutes. Where were they?
Finally, finally, one of the steel doors swung open again and Logan appeared. “C’mon,” he said, and extended a hand. She took it without hesitation and didn't protest when he slipped an arm around her waist, instead leaning into his side. The sturdiness of his large frame was familiar and comforting. “She's on the sofa in the break room.” He led her there, but before entering the room, paused so that he could look her in the eye. The solemnity from earlier remained, and the redhead shuddered.
“Strong, okay?” he reminded her, and pushed open the door.
Amanda was, as Logan had said, sitting on the sofa, and Eleanor’s fist clenched tightly around the fabric of his shirt when she saw just how small the other woman looked. If Logan had been battle-worn, Amanda was positively war-stricken. She sat practically curled entirely inside the hoodie Eleanor had brought for her, legs tucked against her body and wrapped tightly by her arms. Her gaze was far-off, and as the smaller woman registered the door opening, Eleanor didn't miss the flicker of fear in her expression before it melted into pure relief.
Before she even knew what was happening, Amanda was springing off of the sofa and barreling into her arms, and the force of it would have knocked them both off-balance -- Amanda was, somehow, so much stronger than she looked -- had Logan not still had an arm around Eleanor’s waist. When he was certain they were steady enough, he slipped away, leaving them with a quiet, “I’ll be in my office when you’re ready to go,” and the soft click of the door.
Eleanor encircled the smaller woman with her arms, holding her tight as Amanda’s face immediately sought its usual comfort tucked into the crook of her shoulder. Neither woman spoke, but Eleanor rubbed soothing patterns against her back until Amanda finally sagged into the embrace and her entire body shook with a sob that Eleanor knew she was trying to contain.
The two of them somehow sank together onto the floor, and then Amanda crawled into her lap and Eleanor could feel tears hot and wet on her neck so she held her even tighter, fighting desperately against her own tears that pricked painfully and threatened to spill. She found herself speaking, suddenly and without realizing, a sort of Hail Mary repetition of, “It’s okay, you’re okay, you're safe Mandy I’ve got you, I’m right here with you…”
They stayed like this for what could have been seconds or hours, Eleanor murmuring words of comfort into Amanda’s hair and rocking gently, silently praying to anyone or anything who would listen for this to be enough , for her despairing attempts at comfort to be the strength she knew Amanda needed to have to hold onto.
Eleanor slid one hand up to cradle Amanda’s head against her, and the other sought out a place beneath the fabric of her clothing in hopes that her skin against her girlfriend’s would serve as a sort of grounding, a further reminder that she was here, she had her and it was all okay, but suddenly the brunette was scrabbling backwards out of her arms and choking out a horrified, “No El please don't!” and then Eleanor’s hands lost contact but not before they grazed the marks scattered across Amanda’s body and came away sticky and red.
Amanda’s expression was nothing short of terror and Eleanor knew as she looked from her trembling, blood-coated hand to the brunette’s face that her own expression mirrored it, and her stomach felt like it was plummeting out of her body and down into the building’s foundation itself. “Mandy--” she began as her girlfriend managed a guilt-wracked, “ Please, El--” and the redhead was on her in an instant, both hands cupping her face and brushing away the tear-soaked hair that fell into it.
“Who did this to you,” Eleanor said, and it was less of a question and more of an animalistic snarl, and she was so startled by the rage that had somehow crept into her whispered tone that she could do nothing but stare, wide-eyed and afraid as Amanda backed herself away until she hit the edge of the sofa and refused to meet her eyes and cried out for Logan.
There was an echo of fast, heavy footsteps before the door burst open and Logan appeared, stopping only briefly to take in the scene before he was at Amanda’s side and lifting her onto the sofa. She curled in on herself again, tighter and whispering something that Eleanor couldn't make out in between the sobs that wracked her girlfriend’s tiny frame. Logan wrapped an arm around Amanda, anchoring her to his side as he said something lowly into her ear, and only once she had nodded and her frenzied whispering had ceased did he let his gaze fall on Eleanor.
The tears that had threatened earlier now rolled freely down Eleanor’s face, though she was otherwise rooted to the spot, completely frozen in her terror and guilt and desperation to hold, to comfort, to fix whatever horror she’d somehow caused. But then Logan was speaking, or maybe he had been, and she was jerked from stillness by some strange element in his tone that made her suddenly realize that she had to hear what he was saying and trust that he wouldn't misguide them, and that maybe relinquishing that control she constantly felt was so essential to maintain was what he meant when he’d told her she had to be strong.
When she was finally able to make sense of what he was saying, she realized it was just a gentle but insistent repetition of her name and Eleanor squeezed her eyes tightly shut and inhaled deeply, not letting the breath out until she was sure it would be a steady release. She opened her eyes again, forcing herself not to look at her girlfriend and to instead focus on Logan. “Go wash your hands,” he said when she finally met his gaze, “and get some water. For both of you. Can you do that?”
She nodded and, with one last fearful glance at Amanda’s trembling frame, turned and left the room. As she closed the door behind herself, Eleanor realized that the small break room was, in fact, the place where they kept their few dishes, so the tiny part of her mind that was still rational could only assume that Logan had given her the task solely to give her something to focus on while he talked Amanda down. A fresh wave of tears sprung and she veered into the morgue’s bathroom, letting herself sink against the door and biting the inside of her cheek hard and long enough that she tasted blood and even then was powerless against the strangled sob that somehow escaped.
Eleanor stayed huddled on the floor, choking back tearful, gasping breaths in an effort to stave off the impending panic. When that brought no real success, she pushed herself off of the door and towards the sink, and as she reached for the handle a shudder shot through her body at the sight of the blood on her hands. She used an elbow instead and, staring purposefully at the strip of metal that ran along the bottom of the mirror, shoved her hands beneath the water.
*
“Hey babe, can you bring me those big scissors you keep in the kitchen?”
She’d had stranger requests from her girlfriend, really, so without comment Eleanor found herself seeking out the aforementioned scissors and wandering down the hallway in the direction of Amanda’s voice. “Mandy…?” she called, and the response was a “Yep, in here!” from the bathroom. The redhead nudged open the not-quite-fully-closed door and nearly dropped the scissors.
Amanda was perched on the edge of the counter, her feet in the sink. Her hair was in a ponytail, except a quarter of the ponytail was scattered across the countertop and floor, along with the small silver pair of scissors Eleanor kept with her makeup. “Oh c’mon, it's just hair,” the brunette said with a roll of her eyes in response to the other woman’s gaping. “It'll grow back!” Amanda extended a hand backwards, palm up, reaching for the scissors as she watched her girlfriend approach in the mirror.
Eleanor slowly placed the scissors into Amanda’s hand, looking doubtfully between the already-shorn strands and her face. Without pause, the smaller woman grabbed what was left of her ponytail and chopped. As the hair hit the counter and then slid to the floor, Eleanor absently registered that there wasn't so much as a towel set down to catch it, and for some reason it was this that made her reach for Amanda’s arm, ghosting her fingertips along the curve of her bicep. “What are you doing?” she asked, and then, “I mean--what's… is there a reason, or?”
“Oh my god, El, you look so upset!” She laughed then, and while Eleanor knew it wasn't intended to be cruel, it still stung. She bumped her shoulder against Eleanor’s hand and continued hacking at seemingly random pieces of hair. “There's gonna be a game, a big one, startin’ tomorrow and I’m in it so I gotta change things up. Plus, John’s startin’ to--”
“Wait, Amanda--a game? Like, a Jigsaw game. What the fuck do you mean, you're going to be in it?!”
Amanda let the scissors clatter onto the counter and lifted her feet out of the sink before spinning around, encircling the redhead’s waist with her legs and pulling her closer. “Don't be angry, babe; I knew you’d get all worried so I didn't tell you ‘til now but it's gonna be no big deal, in and out, you'll hardly notice I’m gone! It's just, this part is part of somethin' bigger with John and there's a piece that needs to be… protected. But Logan’ll be watching, he can text you updates, and--”
Eleanor suddenly had her arms around Amanda and was holding on tightly, shaking her head, and the action was so sudden that it was startling enough to make the brunette pause in her explanation of the upcoming game.
“Amanda, no way, there's no fucking way. You know how dangerous this shit can be, you can't just put yourself in the middle of it and expect me to--”
“‘This shit’? Seriously, El?” She untangled herself and put both hands on Eleanor’s shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “You believe in John’s work as much as I do, I know you do, so you're just gonna have to trust us on this one.” Eleanor shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but the smaller woman pushed on. “Even if I wanted to stop it, it’s already in action, the pieces are in motion and it's all planned out, so just… don't worry about me, I’m fuckin’ tough, okay?” Without waiting for a response, Amanda pulled her close again and pressed her lips against Eleanor’s as if sealing a promise.
*
The heat of the water suddenly hit her all at once, and Eleanor was torn from her thoughts as she jerked her hands away from the faucet. The water was giving off steam but running clear now, and she wondered exactly how long she’d been standing there as she gingerly reached to turn off the water with one hand. She lifted her hands so that she could look at them, but upon closer examination they looked mostly okay, if not a little pinker than usual, and maybe the paper towels that she used to pat them dry felt a little more rough than they really were, but the damage didn't persist beyond that.
Eleanor folded the now-damp paper towels into a rectangle and wiped at her eyes and face, sniffling hard and pinching the bridge of her nose to stave off more tears. She squeezed her eyes shut, crumpling the paper towels in one fist, and forced herself to focus on her breathing, slowing it down until the floor felt a little more solid beneath her feet and the burning sensation behind her eyes wasn't so immediate. After tossing the paper towels into the trash, she scraped her hair back and tied it into a low, messy knot, which she undid immediately and maybe with more aggression than was really necessary when she found that one of the pieces pulled too hard. Instead, she tucked the few loose strands of hair behind her ear, tugged at the sleeves of her sweater until they covered her hands, and then made her way out of the morgue’s bathroom to wander somewhat aimlessly towards the main part of the hospital.
After a few minutes of glazed-over shuffling through the building, she blinked hard and found that she was on the ground floor. A quick glance at the sign on the wall was enough to orient her, and Eleanor found that she was a little closer to the building’s cafeteria than she would have liked. While it was a good place to find water, it was also probably the place where everyone else in the building would end up in search of sustenance as well, and she didn't particularly want to end up trapped in conversation with some hospital staff member wondering why exactly there was a weeping medical examiner in the cafeteria. Instead she turned and ducked down a quiet hallway and followed it until the soft electric hum of vending machines greeted her.
Eleanor reached for her pocket mechanically, and her stomach seized when she didn't find the lanyard that was perpetually there, but after a moment’s worth of panicked clutching she exhaled hard in a sigh of relief as her fingers made contact with the badge hanging around her neck. She removed it and swiped the card once, twice… three times, because Logan could probably use water too. She pressed the bottled water selection a few times and then turned her attention to the coffee machine, hesitating. Amanda would likely appreciate a warm drink, but she worried she’d forgo the water completely if given the option, so the redhead swiped her ID just once. The machine produced a cup and then began to fill it with steaming coffee, and the final bottle of water clunked into the bottom of the vending machine, its impact loud and startling enough to make her flinch.
She bent down to retrieve the waters and tucked them beneath one arm as she straightened again. The coffee continued to drip into its cup, and combined with the scent of fresh roast and the sensation of cool water bottles against her skin, Eleanor allowed herself the slightest bit of calm, grounded by the steadiness of everything for just a moment. She reached for a cup sleeve and unfolded it, and when the coffee was ready, slipped it around the cup. With the addition of three creams, one sugar and a lid, she had everything she’d come for and began to make her way back to the morgue.
The hospital was blissfully quiet and inactive, and she considered it some form of divine payback that she only encountered one other person on her way back, the blonde surgeon that she’d spoken to in passing but never really at length. He nodded at her, and Eleanor returned the gesture, offering a halfhearted smile as they passed one another. Before she knew it, she was once again standing in front of the double doors that led into the morgue, and she realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she didn't know if she’d been gone long enough, didn't know if Amanda would want to see her or talk to her or--
No. She couldn't let her own anxieties get in the way of things; like Logan had said, she needed to be strong. For Amanda. With a shaky but deep inhale, Eleanor pushed her way into the morgue again, heading for the break room before she had time to think too hard about it. She announced her presence with a somewhat-tentative knock on the door, and then opened it without waiting for an answer.
Amanda and Logan didn't appear to have moved in her absence, and Eleanor tried desperately to squash the pang of jealous despair that sparked with the reminder that she hadn't been able to comfort her girlfriend. The feeling was entirely forgotten, however, when Amanda’s gaze shot up to meet hers and the smaller woman offered a weak smile. Eleanor crossed to her and abandoned all the drinks she’d fetched on the table beside the sofa, dropping to her knees in front of Amanda.
She reached for her hands, but Amanda was already grasping at her sweater, and Eleanor allowed herself to be tugged upwards and onto the sofa. Immediately Amanda curled into her side, drawing her legs up and tucking them against herself so as to take up as little space as possible. Eleanor slipped an arm around her and pulled her even closer, bringing her other hand up to stroke Amanda’s hair. She wanted to say something, offer comforting words or reassurances, but she was afraid her voice would betray her own fear and unsteadiness and so instead she turned her head to press her lips against Amanda’s forehead, closing her eyes and lingering there.
A quiet sniffle broke the redhead from her reverie, and she looked down to find Amanda angrily swiping at the tears falling on her face. “Oh, Mandy…” Eleanor breathed, and her voice broke, causing her to look frantically to Logan and her hold on Amanda to tighten.
Logan shifted and put a hand on Eleanor’s arm. “Amanda,” he began, and the woman in question immediately buried her face in Eleanor’s shoulder, shaking her head.
“I can’t ,” she choked out, clutching hard at the material of Eleanor’s sweater. She was trembling.
The redhead shot another anguished look at Logan, sucking in a shallow, gasping breath when he mouthed, “Breathe,” at her. She let it out slowly, shakily, and inhaled again when Logan nodded at her.
“Amanda,” Logan repeated softly, “do you want me to explain?”
Amanda shook her head again, curling in further on herself. Her frantic mumbling started up again, and after a few seconds Eleanor realized it was just a desperate, repeated sob, “She wasn’t supposed to know!”
The redhead pressed her lips to the crown of the smaller woman’s head, staying like that until Amanda’s cries had faded from actual words to quiet sniffling. “I’m not angry,” Eleanor whispered into her hair, “I swear I’m not angry, I won’t be, but I want to know what happened; I want to-- I want to help…”
So softly it was almost imperceptible, Amanda breathed a quiet, “Okay,” against Eleanor’s throat, and the redhead brushed her lips against her hair again as she brought a hand up to ghost along her spine.
“Okay?” Logan repeated, and when Amanda nodded, he went on. “The game… it got out of hand. One of the men involved was a dealer, and he was meant to find a key in a… pit. Amanda wasn't going to be there, ideally, but he grabbed her and--”
“It was full of fuckin’ needles, El,” Amanda choked out, pulling back to look up at her. “It was full of needles and I was fuckin’ clean when I went in but he just--he picked me up and threw me in and they… and I--” Her face crumpled, and her voice was small as she said, “I was clean , El…”
Eleanor opened her mouth, but it was Logan who spoke first. “And you are still clean, Amanda,” he said forcefully.
Amanda turned to look at Logan, her eyes wide and panic-stricken. “But how do you know? You can't be sure, what if somethin’ got transmitted somehow or--”
“Amanda,” Eleanor said softly, and Amanda tensed, shrinking away and not looking at her. Eleanor cupped the brunette’s face with her hand and the gentle pressure led Amanda to face her again, though she still wouldn't meet her eyes. “Mandy, listen to me. You trust John, right?”
“Yeah…”
“And you trust Logan?”
“Yeah, but--”
“I trust them too, okay? They wouldn't let anything like that happen to you. Even if it was meant for someone else, they wouldn't even consider the possibility of potentially putting you in that s--”
Amanda shook her head. “But Hoffman ,” she choked out. “Hoffman would; he coulda mixed that shit in and just not said anything.” Her hand crept along the opposite arm, and she began to scratch hard at her track marks through the fabric of her shirt.
*
“Get the fuck away from me with that shit!”
Lawrence stopped mid-reach, the syringe in his hand hovering awkwardly, halfway extended between himself and Amanda.
Amanda scrambled out of the chair she’d been sitting in, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste to put as much distance between herself and the needle as was possible. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to speak, or scream, or something , but no sound came out. To her immense relief, it was at that moment that Logan made his way into the room, preceded by a wheelchair-bound John.
The older man took in the scene, his gaze landing first on Lawrence, then on the syringe still in his hand, and finally on Amanda, who had backed herself up against the wall. “Manda,” John began, “what’s--”
“John, I can't, I don't wanna be--” She swallowed hard and shoved herself away from the wall. The woman took a shaky, shallow breath as she crossed to him, kneeling in front of the wheelchair, and her voice was barely above a whisper as she continued. “I’m clean now, John, I can't go back to--”
Lawrence cut her off, approaching as he said, “It's not heroin, Amanda, it's a medical-grade sedative--”
“Shut up, Gordon! I don't give a fuck about your medical bullshit, it's a drug that you’re tryin’ to shoot me up with and I’m not fuckin’ doing it!” Her tone bordered on hysterical, and she shot John a wild look before lurching to her feet, shaking her head. “I can't, I can't do this, I-I gotta--”
Amanda began to push her way out of the room, but was blocked by Hoffman, who appeared in the doorway with a smug grin, having apparently heard the exchange from wherever he’d been before. “Pussying out already, Young?” He let out a sharp laugh, and looked to John. “Not like it's a surprise.”
“Hey Hoffman,” Logan growled and began to advance on him, “maybe shut your fucking mouth for--”
“Enough!” John’s chair rattled with the force of his outburst, and the room was immediately silent, everyone frozen and all eyes on him. “All of you, out, until you can stop acting like children and focus on what needs to be done.”
Amanda opened her mouth, and then closed it again, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides. She chanced one last look at John and her face fell before she spun on her heel, shoving her way past Hoffman and out of the room.
Logan and Lawrence exchanged a look, and the surgeon moved to take Logan’s place behind the wheelchair. Silently, Logan nodded, and followed after Amanda, not so subtly slamming a shoulder into Hoffman’s, successfully knocking the smaller man off balance as he passed.
Amanda wasn't difficult to locate. She was the only apprentice with her own ‘room’ in the warehouse, and tended to retreat there, some silent agreement between the rest of them -- even Hoffman, after she’d come at him with a knife and John had given him a stern lecture about personal space -- allowing the tiny room to remain as private as was possible for a curtained-off section of a room to be. As he approached, Logan could hear quiet sniffling from behind the drawn curtain, and he made a point of making his footsteps louder than usual.
“Hey,” he called, “it's Logan. Can I come in?” When there was no response, he slipped through the curtains, letting them fall back closed behind him.
Amanda was curled up beneath her comforter, her phone on the pillow beside her, but her gaze was glassy and unfocused. When she appeared to register Logan’s presence she began to shift, but he shook his head quickly.
“Stay, you're fine, you don't have to move for me.” He hesitated. “You okay if I sit?”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his for a moment and she gave a noncommittal half-shrug, which Logan took as as much of a ‘yes’ as he’d ever get. Carefully, he moved to sit on the edge of the small bed, aware of his proximity to her and making sure to keep as much distance as he could in the cramped area so as not to spook her.
For a while, neither of them said anything, and Logan began to wonder if Amanda had fallen asleep, when abruptly her phone began to vibrate. It lit up, and a picture of Eleanor appeared, the redhead’s expression light and seemingly frozen in mid-laugh. Oddly, Amanda tensed at this and pressed her face hard into her pillow, remaining there until the call finally went to voicemail. Seconds later, the same picture appeared, yet again accompanied by the insistent vibrations, and Amanda let out a choked yell, shrinking into herself as if it would protect her from the noise.
After a second’s hesitation, Logan reached for the phone and pressed the red ‘decline’ button. He pulled his own phone from his pocket and typed out a quick message to his redheaded assistant, hitting send before setting the phone down again. When his phone ‘ding!’-ed with a new message, Amanda tensed even more, and he was unable to stop himself from placing a gentle hand on her upper arm.
Amanda didn't shrug him away or make any kind of scathing comment; no, instead she just let out a shaky sigh and on the same breath said, “Everyone’s mad at me… I disappointed John, Larry’s frustrated, El doesn't-- I dunno, she says she gets it but she still doesn't want me to be part of the game…”
“Nobody’s angry,” Logan assured her slowly. Amanda wasn’t prone to opening up like this, or really at all, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to react. “You didn't disappoint John, and you know how Lawrence is. And Eleanor…” He sighed. He’d known his assistant for some time now, and knew she was nearly as prone to anxiety as Amanda was. It was one of her ways of caring, sure, but Amanda was fiery and impulsive and that combined with Eleanor’s proclivity to worry sometimes led to trouble. “She just cares about you and doesn’t want to see you get hurt, she's not angry.”
“She knows this is important though! She believes in John too; she doesn't have any reason to worry--”
“Would you want her in one of the games?”
Amanda gaped at him. The idea of Eleanor being tested was… so, so far beyond anything she could even begin to comprehend, let alone allow or even want. “Fuck no! Jesus, she doesn't… she's not… she's so fuckin’ good, Nelson, she doesn't need to be tested…”
“But you do.” It came out as a statement, but the question was there, hovering thickly in the air between the two of them.
Amanda was silent as she crawled out from beneath the covers to sit up and lean against the wall. She kept her knees hugged tightly against her chest, her feet still beneath the blankets, and her movements revealed a small, well-loved pig stuffed animal that she’d been clinging to beneath the comforter. She kept it tucked into the crook of her arm as she shifted.
“‘Course I do,” she muttered, not looking at Logan, her gaze unfocused and far-away but trained on the floor. “I said I’d--I fuckin’ swore I’d give myself to him, completely, and I can't even let… I can’t…” Her head fell to rest atop her knees, and she began to rub at the fur of her stuffed pig. “Why can't I just pretend to be asleep? What if I don't wake up in time, or the drugs make me all weird and I can't focus on the game, or…”
“Hey, you know we won't let that happen. Lawrence is a surgeon, he could probably administer anesthetic in his sleep and everything would turn out fine.”
“But--”
He pushed on. “You know I’m also a doctor, and I promise I’ll be there the whole time. John has me watching the cameras this time, you know that, and if anything goes wrong I’ll step in--”
“You better fuckin’ not,” she said, but her usual passion was gone, and the words came out dull and unconvincing.
“You know what I mean.”
“I guess…” Amanda shifted again, moving to tuck her pig between her chin and chest, but upon realizing what she was doing, she paled and shoved the stuffed animal away, banishing it into hiding beneath the comforter again. Before she’d fully concealed the toy though, Logan reached out to stop her, placing a hand on her forearm. Amanda bristled at the touch and shook him off.
“Don't tell anyone about this,” she muttered, “‘specially not about Killer.”
Logan’s gaze flickered to the small pig for a moment, and then back to Amanda’s face. “Not a word,” he promised.
Amanda studied him for a moment, searching for any trace of malice, but eventually seemed content with her observations and tucked the pig back into its place beneath her arm, wrapping her sweatshirt around its small form. “El gave him to me,” she said as she worked, though the statement didn't necessarily appear to be directed at Logan.
“I like him,” he offered with a small but genuine smile, and Amanda glanced up at him again.
She sighed. “Yeah… yeah. Me too.” Amanda let her head fall back to rest against the wall, and a long, shuddering yawn overtook her. “I wouldn't even have to pretend to be asleep…”
“Maybe you should get some rest,” Logan suggested, and Amanda shot him her customary ‘you're-a-fucking-idiot-Nelson’ look. “I’m serious. It's been a long day and you won't be any good to anyone if you're exhausted--”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “There's too much goin’ on and I won't be able to sleep with… everyone here, anyway.”
Right. It clicked then, the countless nights Amanda had spent working, downing energy drink after energy drink and refusing to stop even when she was far beyond the realm of productivity. It couldn't have been a coincidence that these times almost always coincided with Hoffman’s presence in the warehouse. Logan had been around Amanda enough to know that, while her guard was constantly up, she was always more than hypervigilant around the detective, and the animosity between the two of them ran hotter and deeper than Logan anticipated ever really understanding, even taking into account his own distrust of the man.
However, all that considered, Amanda still wasn’t going to be any good for herself or anyone if she was exhausted during the upcoming game. “What if I drove you to El’s?” Logan suggested. “I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”
Amanda hesitated. On the one hand, the idea of curling up in her girlfriend’s bed for a few hours seemed nothing short of heavenly, and she almost gave into the temptation of soft touches and pretty hair and the gentle, comforting words that she knew awaited her if she chose to let herself return to the apartment. But on the other hand, Eleanor’s tearful, frantic begging as she’d left earlier that day replayed in her mind, and Amanda didn't think she’d have the strength to resist for a second time the redhead’s pleas for her not to participate directly in the game.
“You know she’d want me to stay, and I… I don't wanna disappoint her anymore… And anyway, I told her the game was gonna start tonight…” She glanced at Logan, and then looked away quickly. “We’re not gonna start tonight, are we. I fucked it all up--”
“No,” Logan said quickly, “no, you didn't fuck anything up. If anything, it's our fault for not realizing--”
“It is my own fuckin’ fault, Nelson. Don't try to be a hero or some shit. I have to just get over it and deal with it.” Amanda sucked in a deep breath and began to slide off the bed, but stopped mid-movement, all of the color draining from her face.
“Amanda…?” Logan slowly reached towards her, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Is everything okay--”
“No, it's fuckin’ not, Nelson!” she snarled, suddenly filled with the usual Amanda Young fire that they’d all grown so familiar with, but there was a twinge of hysterical fear behind it. “Larry is not touchin’ me, and neither are you--” she shoved his hand away, “--and neither the fuck is anyone who isn't Jill. She's my doctor, she's the only one who knows how to handle my shit, so call me when that's what we’re doin' but until then I’m goin’ home.”
With that, she pushed herself the rest of the way off the bed and shoved her way through the curtains. A few moments later, the sound of the metal door opening and slamming closed echoed through the warehouse.
*
“Mandy… Amanda!”
Eleanor clasped Amanda’s hands in her own, revealing the blood beading up and beginning to soak through the sleeve of the sweatshirt where the brunette had been clawing at her arm. She made a pained, strangled noise, and suddenly she had encircled the smaller woman with her arms, holding her tightly, her face buried against Amanda’s neck.
The redhead was unable to hold back a choked sob, and she clutched harder at her girlfriend, clinging to her as if she’d certainly disappear at any moment. “I’m not angry,” she said against her neck, voice thick with tears and nearly unintelligible, “I’m not angry, I promise I’m not angry. Please don't--please…” Eleanor collapsed completely against the brunette’s thin frame, and she made a painful wheezing noise, gasping for air where she could find none.
Amanda’s arms were around her in an instant, and she looked to Logan, terror-stricken.
“El? Eleanor…” Logan placed a hand on her back, gentle but reassuring in its firmness. “You’re all right, El, you're both all right. Amanda is safe, you’re both safe, it's okay…” He rubbed circles over her skin, bringing his free hand up to rest on Amanda’s arm.
“She’s okay,” he said, his gaze shifting to Amanda, who looked all the part of a frightened child, her freshly-shorn hair making her look even younger than she already did. “It’s just a panic attack, I think, you’ve seen this before… Hey, El, you’re okay, just breathe. We’re right here, Amanda’s right here, that's it…”
Eleanor gave a shaky whimper and pulled back, and the look of pure fear on the smaller woman’s face elicited another sob. She shook her head frantically, squeezing her eyes shut, and inhaled shallowly once, twice, three times, becoming all the more desperate the more she struggled.
The redhead pressed her forehead against Amanda’s and brought one hand up to stroke her hair, the other white-knuckle fisted in the material of her sweatshirt. “You're okay,” she whispered, and it wasn't entirely clear whether she was talking to herself or the other woman. “You're okay, you’re okay…”
A quiet ringing sounded from Logan’s pocket and he shot the two an apologetic look as he pulled it out. A brief glance at the screen caused him to frown and he squeezed Amanda’s arm gently. “I should take this,” he said, and when the smaller woman opened her mouth to ask who it was, he tilted the phone towards her. She hesitated, and then nodded once, sharply, and pulled Eleanor more tightly against herself, one hand coming up to tangle itself in the curtain of soft copper hair as she guided her head back to her shoulder.
“Hey Lawrence,” Logan said into the phone as he pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah… yeah, she’s here, Eleanor’s here with her-- yep, that was her…” He continued the conversation quietly as he made his way out of the room, cracking but not fully closing the door behind himself.
Eleanor remained with her head on Amanda’s shoulder, still stroking the brunette’s hair absently as her gasps slowly evened out into steady breaths once more. Her hand unfurled from its vice grip on Amanda’s sweatshirt, and she eased it beneath the layer of clothing, ghosting her fingers up and down along the smaller woman's side.
Amanda tensed beneath her touch, her hand stilling at the base of Eleanor’s neck, and the redhead turned her head to look up at her. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Amanda’s jawline before slowly sitting up, not breaking their eye contact.
“Come here,” Eleanor murmured, tugging lightly at Amanda’s t-shirt. After a moment’s hesitation, she obliged, crawling into Eleanor’s lap and nervously allowing her arms to come up to drape over her girlfriend’s shoulders.
“I’m so sorry Amanda…” Eleanor brought her other hand to rest at Amanda’s hip as she leaned in to kiss her, slowly at first and then, when Amanda sighed against her mouth and relaxed into her embrace, much more deeply. When they were finally forced to break apart, more for want of air than anything else, Eleanor felt wetness on her cheeks and realized it was not from her own tears this time, but from Amanda’s.
Carefully, she lifted a hand to the brunette’s face, brushing the tears away with her fingertips. “I’m so, so proud of you,” Eleanor said, and kissed each of her cheeks as more tears rolled down them.
“You told me I shouldn't do it,” Amanda whispered. “You told me not to be in the game, and I did it anyway, I didn't listen, and it… it went so bad, El…”
“Mandy, it's over… you made it through. You--”
“Logan said he’d take me to see Jill tomorrow. To get some tests done…” Amanda looked up at her, and that wide-eyed, panic-stricken look was back. “What if they come back positive? I can't… fuck, please don't let me go through that again, please… ”
“Amanda, listen to me. You never, ever have to go through anything like that ever again. Okay? I’m not leaving you, I’m right here and I’ve got you, I--” Eleanor paused. She ran her fingertips over Amanda’s jawline, grazing her thumb over her bottom lip before leaning in to capture her mouth in another gentle kiss. “I’ll come to the clinic with you if you want…”
The smaller woman hesitated, caught between the near-desperate desire for comfort and the urge to protect Eleanor from that part of her life. But before she could speak, Eleanor allowed the hand on Amanda’s face to slip down along her arm and behind herself, where she intertwined her fingers with Amanda’s and brought their clasped hands between them to her chest, her heart pounding hard. She leant in to press their foreheads together, leaving just enough space between them that she could look into the other woman’s eyes.
“I love you, Amanda Young,” Eleanor said, and Amanda’s fingers tightened around hers. “I love you. So fucking much. And I’m with you , no matter what happens.”
Amanda stared at her, looking for all the world like she was going to cry again, but then she surged forward, her lips finding Eleanor’s with a fire that she’d been unable to muster since before the game. Finally, finally, she let herself sink against her, melting completely into the kiss, holding onto Eleanor like she was the last thing keeping her tethered to this place and if she let go, one of them might have disappeared as easily as smoke.
Time seemed to slow and speed up all at the same instant as they clung to each other, and it could've been mere seconds or ages before, “Well, looks like you two are feeling more like yourselves,” sounded from the door. They pulled apart, and as Eleanor’s cheeks flushed, Amanda turned to see just who exactly had had the absolute audacity to interrupt them.
“Shut the fuck up, Nelson,” she muttered, and it was weaker than usual, but some of the typical Amanda aggression was back and Logan couldn't help but smirk.
“You two ready to go?” he asked.
Amanda hesitated. She shifted back to look at Eleanor, and the redhead pressed a kiss to her forehead. She shot Logan a small smile, and just loudly enough that Amanda could hear, murmured, “Let’s go home.”