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It's a weird feeling - coming back from the dead.
It's more than just a tad morbid, thinking about it that way, Gert reckons. But she can't shake it off. Chase looks at her with a kind of longing sometimes that tells her he feels it too, the weight of what happened - did it even happen? does her Chase know enough about freaking time travel to explain it to her? do they live in some kind of alternate universe now?
Does he feel it too, the way her heart constricts every time she looks at him and remembers what it felt like to see him die in her arms?
"Gert?"
His voice is husky, sleepy; Gert can see the sheet wrinkles marring his jaw as Chase turns blindly towards her, nuzzling his face in her neck on instinct. If she stays very still and manages to slow her breathing, he'll go back to sleep in no time, curled up around her, taking all the space like she loves. He's big and warm and he should feel suffocating, really, but he's the opposite; he holds her together, makes her feel safe in a way that defies everything she's ever believed in about independence and self-sufficiency.
Chases slides an arm across her belly, his hand warm as it slips beneath her tank top and cups her hip. "I know you're awake. Talk to me," he murmurs, his lips dotting kisses up her jaw, her temple.
Gert exhales slowly. There are a dozen things crossing her mind: Chase dying, his declaration of love, how she hasn't reciprocated yet. And there's Molly, and Old Lace, and how she still doesn't know what they'll do and where they'll live if she goes to Smith. The living arrangements worry her, too, because they can't stay at the hostel forever, but she's sure as hell not going back to her parents'. What will they do if Chase can't find an engineering program near her? Will he still love her if they don't get to see each other as much? Is it the trauma forged in the crucible of everything that went south that ties them; will he still love her when things quiet down and life goes back to what used to be normal?
Her heart collides painfully with her ribcage. Gert wants to pull at her hair, peel her own skin, whatever it takes to shed the panic attack she feels coming. At her side Chase straightens, half-sits up, alert, worried - everything she did not want him to be. She wants him soft, and warm, and relaxed, around her, over her. Inside her.
That's it. She needs endorphins and oxytocin.
Chase cups her cheek, amusement shining in his still hazy eyes. "I'm not having sex with you to distract you from your anxiety, Gert."
The heat that flares in her cheeks is the worst thing ever. "What? I said it out loud? Shit. Shit."
"Breathe," Chases says softly, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone in a slow, appeasing motion Gert tries her best to focus on. Chase has become very, very good at helping her process things, once he quit with his sports metaphors. It's not like telling her to breathe is exactly helpful in and out of itself - plenty of oxygen around her, she knows it - but it's the effort and the concern that do the trick. With his hand at her hip he brings her to him, and Gert leans into the touch, leans even closer until her forehead is touching his temple and his fingers thread into her hair, slowly massaging her scalp.
"I didn't mean to wake you up," she apologizes, a small moan escaping her lips at the way his fingers slide and stroke. He opens his mouth and she interrupts him before he can say a word. "Sorry. I know. I don't have to be sorry."
Chase pulls back slightly, just enough to press a kiss to her forehead. He ticks off all the boxes for perfect boyfriend, it's almost ridiculous. Gert has seen boys like him in the romcoms Molly loves and if anyone had asked her, she'd have said that Chase Stein, lacrosse player extraordinaire and elite jerk from Atlas Academy, was the farthest from it, thank you very much. Except he is, for real. She's pushed him away, yelled at him for no reason, belittled his ideas, and yet - he's learned her ways, helped her find new ones.
Gert forces herself to inhale and exhale slowly, once, twice, until she stops feeling like her throat is closing and she can speak properly. She pushes back, leans her back against the wall. Chase mirrors her, his arm touching hers, just enough solid warmth to help her go on. "We haven't talked about it. Me dying. You dying."
Chases frowns a little, and that's ridiculous, too, how cute confusion looks on him. "...Because we didn't die?" he tries.
Gert laughs. It's not funny - it's so far from funny, how sweaty and sticky she feels when she wakes up from a nightmare where she sees him die again and again. But Chase's right. They didn't die. He's alive, and she's alive, and a normal person would focus on that.
Gert has never described herself as anything remotely close to the norm, though.
She turns to him, tucking her legs beneath her. Her knee bumps his leg and his hand falls there automatically. It's crazy, she thinks, how they fit - at peace. Sometimes Chase looks at her and she feels on fire, lost and confused and terrified, and sometimes all she needs is his touch, his warmth, to feel perfectly at ease. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks. Her voice croaks; she feels the tears in her throat.
Chase shakes his head. "No, I mean, not really. I don't - I don't want to imagine it." He's nervous. There's a tick in his jaw, right across his dimple, and Gert smoothes it with her fingers. "I don't want to imagine a world without you. I don't want to be without you." She wants to cry. The tears are burning at the corners of her eyes. Instead, she laughs, something loud and bubbly that startles Chase into adorable embarrassment again. "Too cheesy?" he offers with a shy smile.
Gert kisses him. She should probably ask before, and not assume that because he's not as messed-up as she is when intimacy and self-confidence are concerned she can just go around and kiss him all she wants, but she does, because he's so Chase and she loves him so much, and fuck her anxiety because it's the only thing that keeps her from blurting it out in the middle of brushing her teeth. Chase smiles into the kiss and she loves that about him, too, how bright and beautiful he is, she can feel it deep inside her bones.
She blinks away the welling in her eyes. "That's what you said. The other you," she explains as his brow furrows further, he'll get a permanent wrinkle there. "Shall we call him future Chase? Or Hot Chase? 'Cause he looked super hot."
"Are you trying to make me feel jealous? Of myself?"
She smacks her lips. "Maybe?" She laughs again. The pain in her chest has eased; she can hear Chase's chuckle, she can still feel the lingering taste of his mouth on hers, he's so wonderfully alive it's absurd she ever doubted it. In the darkest depths of her mind nothing good ever happens; but he's here, the moonlight twinkling in his eyes, and she's such a sap, really.
Chases takes her hand, smoothes his thumb across her palm. "Feeling better?" At her nod, he prompts, "Do you want to talk about it? It's not because I don't want to that we can't, you know. If that's what you want."
Gert shakes her head. She does want to talk about it - she needs to, really. She's trying to put the pieces together but it's so weird, so completely bizarre, to imagine that in another world, another time, she died, and Chase spent years trying to invent time travel to save her. It speaks to a depth of feelings her anxiety keeps denying is possible, and yet reality keeps providing her with proof of it.
Chase loves her so much he invented freaking time travel to save her.
That's a thought she'll try to keep in store next time her anxiety wakes her - and him - up in the middle of the night. He loves her, and he's here with her, and -
"Gert? Did you space out on me?"
"No." She lies back down, pulls him down with her. Gert folds herself to his side, hides her grin in the crook of his arm when she wraps her leg over his and he lets out a nervous sigh as she brushes him. "There's a dozen things on my mind."
"Anything we can solve tonight?"
He's so typically male, always wanting to solve things, he should be infuriating. But he's not. He said we.
Her heart might just explode.
Gert peruses the list. Molly. Old Lace. School. Their future. Housing arrangements. Being in love with him. She shakes her head. "No. Not at -" she cranes her neck over his chest, glances at the old clock on the floor, "three in the morning, no."
"Wanna tell me the list?"
"So you can prioritize and coach us into this?"
There's no heat to her snide, not in the middle of the night, not when vulnerable feels safe - like home. She feels Chase's answering chuckle as she lays her head atop his chest, and focuses on the way his breathing slows down, peaceful, helps her get hers in sync. She threads her fingers in his shirt, and he wraps both arms around her.
The room is quiet again, until she can't hold it any longer. "Do you know, you might be the only guy out there skipping on having sex to talk about feelings."
She embellishes a shudder, and he laughs sleepily. "Anytime." He slides his hand down her body, cups the back of the thigh that's draped over him. "If you're still into that in five or six hours, I'm here." He sighs, strokes her skin gently. "Wait, did you say three? Make it seven hours. At least. Do not wake me up before ten."
"Even for sex?"
"Especially for sex. I need my stamina."
Gert pinches his side, and Chase laughs, something warm and inviting, and fuck her anxiety, really. She wants him, all the time, and she doesn't have time to worry when he smells so good and feels so real.
"Hey, Chase?"
"Mmh?"
She slides her leg across his lap, doesn't have to fight his hold on her much to fully straddle him. Her fingers tremble against his chest, but from excitement, not fear. "How about sex now and in seven hours?"
His eyes cloud with desire, and it sends a stupid thrill through Gert, to know she's the one doing that to him, and to call that wonderful boy hers. It gets her oddly choked-up, which prompts an immediate, "Are you sure?" from Chase, desire melting into concern in half a second as he frowns.
She's sure. And she's tired of the whole one step forward/two steps back dance her anxiety and insecurities force her into. So Gert taps her mouth with a lone finger, their little secret code, and Chase pushes up, curls his hand around her neck and pulls her in for a kiss. He's eager and feverish and puppy-like enthusiastic, and they're freaking seventeen - that's what love should feel like.
And Gert has decided - fuck everything. She wants to be bold enough to make a grab for it.
The thing with anxiety is, Gert never makes up her mind one way or the other and sticks to it, no questions asked. It's infuriating and absurd because she feels like she must think of all the options and all the ways, all the time, so here she is, with about a hundred different scenarios in her head of how everything could go wrong - starting from the littlest thing.
It's like, Molly whines about being hungry, and they're running low on food, and her brain immediately jumps to the worst places: what will they do once they're out of money? should they go back to school? how is she ever going to go to Smith if she doesn't validate her curriculum anyway? and Molly, who's gonna take care of her? and what about her parents? did helping them absolve them of being freaking murderers?
And that shit storm spurs from a lack of oatmeal. It gets worse when she thinks of how messed-up they all are now, and how angry she gets over finding out that her own mother caused the biggest, most debilitating thing about her, something that's controlling her life and having her spiral out of control over the simplest things. Gert misses her meds almost as much as she hates that sick feeling of weakness, being unable to get by without them. She misses her shrink; wonders what she'd say about her obsession over her almost-death experience.
The thing is - Gert knows she didn't die. That Chase didn't die. That somehow, they all made it out alive, and, well, as well and safe as possible, considering everything. But almost dying makes her want to live life to its fullest, and that scares the hell out of her, because, hey, anxiety, and what is she even supposed to do with the rest of her life now?
Her parents are murderers. Nothing's gonna change that. She can't just go back to them, go back to school, and then what? Go on a date with Chase? Watch romcoms with Molly, and criticize everything while secretly loving them? Have game nights with the gang? How is she supposed to live the life of a teenage girl when she feels like she's about a hundred years old?
It's like - they're kids playing adults playing heroes playing warriors but deep down, they're just kids, aren't they? are they still kids? were they ever, after Amy's death?
"Gert?"
She looks up; realizes she's been spacing out, her book forgotten on the couch in the common room. Chase materializes in her vision, a smudge of something dark across his cheek. He's been tinkering with the car again, or the plumbing, maybe. Gert thinks of all the times she called him dumb to make herself feel better and bites the inside of her cheek.
"Hey," Gert says, soft, as Chase comes closer, smelling like oil. "Something wrong with the car?"
"Not anymore," he informs her as he sits beside her. "I wanted to make sure before I - well, uh. I was thinking that we, I mean, if you want to -" He rambles, and he's adorable. "I was thinking - what about a road trip? A day trip, nothing big."
"Where?" she asks, and knows instantly it's the wrong thing to say.
Chase's gaze flickers down, and Gert wants to slap herself. "It was a dumb idea, don't worry about it," he says, then smiles that self-deprecating smile she remembers from all these years ago, the first time she ever noticed the bruises.
"Chase." She brushes her lips against his, once, experimentally. Soft. I love you. "It's a great idea." She cups her hand around his neck, strokes his pulse point. I love you. She wants to ask where to? again but doesn't. It doesn't matter. She can let Chase have this, do something nice and romantic for her, without over-thinking it.
She can do it, right? Right. Live a little.
"I thought it might be nice, forgetting about all the decisions we have to make," Chase explains. "I mean, not forget forget, we'll still have to think about it, but - I thought, what's the point worrying about everything now?"
"No point at all," Gert agrees with a vigorous nod, even if her anxiety threatens to roar and rip his head off for even daring to suggest otherwise.
Chase cracks a smile at her, presses a kiss to her forehead. "We can take Molly and Old Lace, if you prefer. It doesn't have to be just the two of us."
It does, though. It really does. They've all been in each other's space for too long now, and Gert needs some air; needs not to worry about Molly and her dinosaur for a goddamn day. She needs to let her boyfriend - boyfriend, best friend, best thing to ever happen to her - take her out for a romantic getaway, even if it just means driving for a while, holding hands.
She needs to focus on the life coursing through her veins instead of the bitter taste of dust and death that lingers in the hostel.
Anyway - not everything has to be a disaster, right?
Her boyfriend is hot.
It's something that Gert has known for years, really, back when they were thirteen and Chase stopped wearing braces and all of a sudden he had messy puppy air and big brown eyes and that smile that could light up the whole town; and then he turned fourteen and grew like five inches during the summer and got muscles where his skin had been soft and pliant before. So, yeah, every fiber of her being is aware that Chase Stein is a very fine specimen.
That every other girl at the beach knows it, too, is not something that Gert is ready to deal with so soon in their relationship, though. He's back from a swim, dripping fat droplets of water on her as he settles at her side, and the bunch of girls nearby fawn over the sight of him, Gert is pretty sure one of them will faint for real.
"Hey, Chase?"
"Yeah?" He leans up on his elbows, the sun catching the drops of water on his long lashes so, even Karolina in all her glowing-up glory would pale in comparison.
Gert's heart skips a beat. He's her boyfriend, she's allowed. She wants to point out that every girl wonders what the hell he's doing with her. If she does, she can envision about a dozen ways their day could go from there. In half the scenarios Chase gets somewhat angry with her, or upset, and she can close the Chase chapter before it gets too much, or hurts too much, when he eventually leaves her.
"I love you," is what she says instead, because it's true, and because she means it with everything that she is. She means it more than all the stupid, angry things she's ever thrown at him when she was scared or hurt; more than anything she's ever said to him, really.
Chase's mouth forms a perfect O. He takes it far better than she did, Gert thinks. Chase looks surprised but very pleased - which is a lot better than she did, considering she blew him off and basically told him to get lost and ready to die. "Good," he says, aiming for smooth, landing in awestruck, lovefool territory. She loves him all the more for it. "Want some ice-cream?"
It doesn't have to be a big deal. She loves him and he loves her, and not everything has to be a disaster, that's her new mantra. And she does want some ice-cream. "Sure. Pistachio and strawberry, please."
Chases screws up his nose and makes a face. "That's the worst combo ever, Gert. Jesus."
"I'm not making you eat it," she whines, and tries to flick at his nose. Chase catches her wrist, presses a kiss to her pulse point before he aims for her lips. He catches her by surprise and she laughs into the kiss, giddy like she wasn't sure she could feel anymore. "Go fetch my ice-cream, dude," she pushes at his chest, watches him as he walks to the ice-cream stand, all golden muscles and overall perfection.
She wants to capture that moment forever.
Instead, she gets up and rushes to him, jumps on his back, and Chase catches her easily like he was just waiting for her to do it.
Gert enjoys living the moment even more.
He's stroking her hair as she lays her head in his lap, and Gert feels the good kind of tired, the exhaustion that comes from a day fully lived, from sunshine and fooling around in the water and her stomach full of the picnic Chase threw for her. She could fall asleep like that, and part of her wants to - wants to stay there for awhile, and forget about everything waiting for them in the real world.
"I've been thinking, about what you said the other night," Chase starts, his fingers never ceasing their soothing pattern across her scalp. "The whole dying thing. I - I've realized he - I mean, I, I died on you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did that to you."
"Chase..."
His hand goes to her shoulder, strokes down her side. "I know, it's crazy, right? But that's what I've been thinking. That I died on you, and you've gone through enough shit. And that's messed-up."
Gert tenses. That's it - that's the moment when Chase realizes she's fucked his life up. And this whole romantic daytrip, it's been a giant masquerade to dump her. Shit.
She sits up, almost punctures his thigh with how quick and heavy she leans into it to help herself up. When she meets Chase's eyes, she does a double take. He doesn't look angry at her, or tired, or sad. There's an odd sort of gleam shining there, something that Gert can't quite name, but that makes her bite her tongue and resist the urge to run or yell.
She takes his hand, laces their fingers together. Counts all the different ways he's shown he loves her, hopes she shows him enough, too. Once she's calm enough and thinks she won't freak out, she asks in a rasp, "Explain."
Chase sighs, something loud and heavy, and she forgets, sometimes, that he's as scarred as she is. Her anxiety makes it easy: it makes her believe she's the only one that's fucked-up, that she's a burden, and shines everybody else in a false light of happiness and security.
Looking at the past year, years, really, Gert realizes how wrong she's been.
"It's just - I hadn't really thought about it, until you said something. That I died. Imagining you dying?" Chase winces, the words a mere murmur. "It kills me. It does, Gert," he insists, squeezing her fingers. "But me? I didn't care. I mean, who doesn't even stop for a second to think about the fact that they died?"
Their conversation is surreal, Gert knows it. Around them, couples and families are enjoying the last minutes of sun, happy and warm and relaxed, and here they are, talking about death like an old friend.
"So it got me thinking," Chase continues, spurred on, maybe more to his benefit than hers. "About a lot of things. You and me, obviously. All the shit that happened. My dad, my mom. And, uh..." He looks up at her, little boy holding little girl's hand, small and unsure. "I keep defending them. Our parents. Despite all the shit they've done. I keep telling you your dad isn't the worst, and I keep coming back to my dad no matter what, and...that can't be healthy. It's not."
"It's not," Gert agrees, her eyes prickling with tears. She's been angry at everything and everyone, and it's kept her going - the rage, the righteous fury. Chase's coming from a different place, and...Jesus, it's a lot to unpack, an entire lifetime of abuse. Gert wants to cry for him, with him.
Chase nods. Worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Shakes his head. "Anyway, I just - I guess that's why I don't worry too much about the future. I figure, this is the first shitload I gotta deal with."
"We," Gert corrects him. "I'm here for you. We've got years of shit to deal with. I got you, babe," she sing-songs.
He rolls his eyes, nips at the finger she taps against her lips before kissing her. "You, Gert Yorkes, are a giant dork," Chase says, laughing against her mouth. "I love you so much."
They've reached their dose of cheesiness for the day, Gert reckons, so she goes for the easy, "I know," that elicits another gorgeous smile from him.
Chase flops down on the sand and she follows.
"So...that's your list?"
Gert nods.
"Okay. That's...manageable." Chase's poker face is terrible. He's saying oh, that's okay, but his face is a whole journey. Gert laughs. "No! I mean it. We can do that. Most of that."
Chase reads through her list again. Gert's tried organizing the things she worries about in different columns: degree of severity, priority, the things Chase can help with, and the things that are out of both their control. The thing with lists is, though - you gotta start somewhere. "Want to talk about school?" she offers.
Chase shakes his head. "Pick something easier, Gert."
"Condoms? We're running low. And I need a refill for my birth control."
"Gert!" he hisses, and he's ridiculous. "That's Nico and Karolina's territory."
Gert puts her hands on her hips. "So what you're saying is that women are in charge of dealing with all the less glamorous aspects of sexual relationships?"
Chase grimaces and throws his hand in defeat. "Okay. My bad. I'll pick." He peruses the list once, and then again. It's not exactly easy to choose an easy topic to worry about, Gert knows. In the end he puts the paper down, and flicks the loose end of her braid. "How about your hair? You've been saying you needed to dye it again."
"How is that going to help reduce the list of all the things that are fundamentally wrong or terrifying in our lives?"
Chase shrugs. "I don't know. But you gotta do nice things for you, too. That helps, no?"
There's a part of her that wants to protest that things aren't as easy.
But then again, why shouldn't they?
She links their arms together. "Wanna do your nails while we're at it?"
Chase snorts. "I know you're joking, but I gotta take care of these hands, you know. To preserve the Stein magic."
Gert thinks of his hands, of what they can do - build and heal and love and soothe.
And that's about the most magical thing she's ever known.
the end