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Amy Dallon stared at the door in front of her.
She shouldn't be here.
She should be at the hospital, healing people. There were people who could be dying right now because she was so fucking selfish as to come here rather than heal. People who couldn't be home with their families because she was here. But she couldn't go back. She'd been there earlier today, five hours. Five hours of numbness, rote healing.
Do I have your permission to heal you? Peel off her glove, hand to bare skin, concentrate, focus, force herself to only heal, despite every idea for more that came to mind. Ways she could change the patient, make it impossible for them to have the same sort of injury they did, or harder. Ways to make that smoker with lung cancer get sick every time they inhaled cigarette smoke.
Ideas for so much worse. There was so much her power could do, and she couldn't let herself do any of it. But the urges, the unbidden thoughts that kept rising to the top of her mind...
Do all that, and then on to the next patient. Do I have your permission to heal you? It blurred together. She didn't remember who she healed almost all the time. Hadn't in years.
And that was on days when she didn't have emergencies. Multiple injury events. Cape fights spilling out into others. On those days... everything blurred together in a different, worse way. There were no moments of peace walking to the next patient or waiting for the next patient serious enough to merit her. There was just - moving from patient to patient to patient, hands, arms covered in blood sometimes...
And then the ones she couldn't help. Couldn't heal fast enough before they died. The ones where there just wasn't enough biomass to work with. The ones with brain damage.
She should be at the hospital.
If not that, she could at least be home, at the small little apartment she'd moved into after turning 18. Getting out of the house should have helped. And it did.
And... it didn't. She was away from Carol, but that didn't stop her adoptive mother from calling. Visiting. Berating. Scolding. Trying to control. Trying to get her to come home. And she saw Vicky less, too. Vicky didn't understand why Amy didn't want to go to college. Why Amy had decided to become a 'consultant' for the PRT. So even when she did see Vicky, her sister would ask about that as much as anything else.
It had been the only real way to get out of the house. But Vicky... Vicky just didn't get it. Not all of it. Not enough.
Moving out had helped at first. But she couldn't just heal Protectorate heroes - local and otherwise. Couldn't just go to the aftermath of Endbringer fights and patch the survivors up. She kept going to local hospitals. She kept...
She just kept going. Over. And over. And over. She couldn't not.
But if she couldn't do that, she could be home. Getting badly needed sleep. Reading a fucking book. Look into those plans she'd once had to adopt a pet cat. Even mindlessly watching stupid videos on the internet would have been better than this.
Instead, she was here.
Amy reached out and knocked on the apartment door.
Nothing for a moment, and then she opened the door.
"Can I come in?" Six months ago, calling her breathtaking would have been a lie. She'd been striking, even then: pale skin, gorgeous, long, curly dark hair. Tall. Her eyes were maybe a little too large, but expressive, a very noticeable green that stood out.
Nothing about her had changed, and yet now, looking at her, she was, indeed, almost breathtaking.
She nodded and stepped aside. Amy went in, hearing the door close with a click behind her.
The apartment was larger than hers - she didn't know how the other woman did it. Did she have a job? Work, at all? Then again... she might not even need to pay rent, depending on a lot of things.
The other woman brushed past her as they entered the first room. There was a book on a side table next to a large, comfortable-looking cushioned chair. She'd interrupted her reading...
"You shouldn't be here," she said.
"Of course, that's how you greet me," Amy muttered, "No 'hi Amy, how are you?', not even a 'what do you want?' You're undead, Taylor, but I don't fucking understand how you can be so... you."
Taylor was just wearing... normal clothes: black shirt, long sleeves. Faded blue jeans, snug around her long legs. She'd probably just been planning to have a quiet night in.
And here I am, fucking it up for her because I can't fucking help myself. She'd traded being one kind of freak for another.
"Hi Amy, how are you?" Taylor asked, no real inflection in her tone as she said it. Amy rolled her eyes and let out a breath.
"Well, it doesn't count when you do it like that." Amy crossed her arms over her chest. She looked down at herself. A nice, dark red turtleneck. She'd thought she'd looked nice in it when she'd put it on. A skirt - nothing too short, but shorter than she usually wore. Heels - fucking heels. Small ones, sure, but still.
Overdressed. Overdoing it. Of course. Why the fuck did she even want to look nice for Taylor?
You know why.
"Sorry," Amy said quietly. "I - I just wanted -"
"Amy, you can't keep doing this," Taylor interrupted. "It's only been two days since I fed on you last. If I do it again so soon, I could seriously hurt you."
Amy bit back the first response that came to mind, berating Taylor for assuming that's what Amy wanted...
It was what she wanted, after all. Not all she wanted, but...
Six months ago, if someone had told her someone other than her sister would start to dominate her thoughts, her dreams, become a daily focus for her, she'd have...
Well, she'd freaked because someone knew how much she'd thought about Vicky, but then she'd have refused to believe that person.
And now... she thought of Taylor daily. Hourly, some days. The pale, dark-haired girl dominated her thoughts sometimes. She dreamed of her. Found her thoughts wandering off about her at the stupidest times. Wondering what Taylor might think of some stupid, pointless thought that came to her mind...
She thought about all of Taylor, not just the feeling of her fangs sinking into her throat, the feeling of her blood filling the other girl's mouth...
But she did think about that more than almost anything else...
Almost. Cruelest fucking word in the English language, wasn't it?
Amy glared at Taylor. "And if I said I don't care if I get hurt?"
"I care if you get hurt, Amy. If I take too much of your blood in too short a time-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I know intimately what too much blood loss can do to the human body, Taylor." Amy took a step towards Taylor.
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I don't care. Because I'm tired of feeling numb all the time, and the only time I don't is when I'm with you, when you're feeding on me." She pulled down on her turtleneck, baring her throat, the bite marks there mostly faded, but the one from two days ago was still there, still a sign of Taylor. She licked her lips a little at the way Taylor's pupils dilated a little, the way she took in a little sharp intake of breath at the sight of the sign of her claim to Amy...
"Amy... you can't keep doing this," Taylor said again. "I can't be... I can't be what you seem to want from me." Taylor stepped back.
"And what the fuck do you think I want from you then, Taylor?" Amy dropped her hands to her sides, raising her voice. "Unless you've been holding out on me, even a fucking vampire can't read my mind, so what the fuck do you think I want?" She blinked, "Apart from the obvious, anyway."
"You're treating me like drinking from you is a drug you need another hit of," Taylor said quietly. "Or worse. I can't be your reason to keep living, Amy." Taylor said quietly.
"Oh fuck you!" Amy shouted. "God, who has a fucking high opinion of themselves? Be my reason to keep living? Jesus goddamn Christ, what do you think I was doing for the 19 years and change before I met you, just living without a reason?"
She turned away, shaking her head, "Don't go acting like you haven't been getting anything out of this. I remember what you said that first night. About how much better my blood tasted than everyone else's." Her power protected her from all sorts of illnesses, diseases, infections, anything that could make her body not work perfectly. Apparently it made her blood 'super pure' to a vampire's taste buds.
"I didn't say I wasn't, Amy. But this isn't healthy."
"Getting a walking corpse to drink my blood because the feeling of ecstasy I get when you feed from me is the only way I can fucking feel anything anymore isn't healthy? Why didn't I think of that?!" She threw her hands into the air. "You know what, Taylor? Fuck this, and fuck you. I'm done." She walked to the door, half-opening it, pausing, hand on the knob. She opened her mouth to give Taylor one last parting comment but then shook her head, slamming the door behind her.
She held back the tears - at how fucking stupid she'd been, how fucking stupid Taylor was, how fucking pointless it all had been - until she got into her car.
What the fuck did she think was going to happen? She barely knew Taylor - Taylor barely knew her. Just all the fucking issues she'd unloaded on the other woman.
Be my reason to keep living! Amy could live just fine being numb. She'd managed it for long enough. But God forbid, maybe she liked not being numb?! God forbid she wanted to spend time one with of the two people on this fucking planet she actually liked spending time with.
God forbid she think maybe Taylor liked spending time with her.
God forbid you fucking say something sooner, Amy? You never can do anything right, you know. You fucking lucked into Taylor, and then you fucking screwed it over because that's all you fucking do with your life.
"Fuck you," She muttered. She wished she could say that the voice in her head sounded like Carol's, but it didn't. If it sounded like anyone, it sounded like Vicky. Like her every nightmare of what would happen if her sister found out what she really was. What kind of freak she was, how disgusting she really was.
Taylor knew and didn't mind. But, of course, why would she? She didn't care. Couldn't. Who could care about her? Vicky cared, but Vicky didn't know her.
"Fuck this. Fuck her. 'Only reason for living' my ass." She started up the engine, blinking back tears.
What had she even wanted, really? What had she expected? Why hadn't she just-
Fuck you. She drove out onto the dark streets of Brockton Bay, ignoring the question of whether that last thought was directed at Taylor or herself.
Six months.
Six months ago, her life had changed.
She remembered their first meeting perfectly. She'd been wearing this nice dark blue blouse Vicky had foisted on her. Pants that were tight on her, that Vicky had insisted made her look good. Almost everything she had that wasn't her preferred baggy/oversized stuff was a gift from or foisted on her by her sister. Gloves, because she always did, now. Tired of finding everything out about someone just by shaking their hand when she was off the healing clock.
She'd only even been at Brockton Bay's one active lesbian bar because Vicky had pushed her to.
She'd sat there, contemplating the merits of developing a drinking problem, wondering if her power would protect her from the long-term damages of alcohol. She'd been at the end of the bar, away from everyone else, nursing a glass of Coke, running through harsh thoughts for her sister, for Dean. Fucking Dean.
And then Taylor had sat down next to her.
Tall. Dark, curly hair, gorgeously maintained. A black lace choker around her neck, contrasting with her pale skin. A black dress.
The whole look should have been pointlessly gothy and edgy and a total turnoff, but it hadn't been. Striking, but not beautiful.
"Usually, people here dressed like you are don't try to avoid everyone else."
"I'm not really here to actually get a date," Amy had muttered. "Just here because it's pretending to make an effort at finding a girlfriend, or my sister starts trying to set me up on dates again, now that she's finally figured out why I didn't like all the guys she set me up with." She'd pinched the bridge of her nose as she'd said that. "Sorry." With Vicky's help - at Vicky's insistence - she'd done makeup - but Vicky had refused to let Amy try to do more to cover up her freckles - her hair... she didn't really look that much like Panacea. She didn't do many publicity events, and even when she did, she was always wearing her hood, her robes...
"Fair enough." She'd flagged down a bartender and ordered an iced tea. Amy had stared at the woman.
"I just said you didn't have a chance. So why are you still sitting there?" Only one other woman had bothered to approach her that whole night, and she'd driven her off with her usual prickliness, but...
"I didn't sit down here to flirt." The dark-haired woman had explained. "I figured your vibe of 'get the fuck away from me' might rub off to keep people away from me too." She'd spoken in a quiet, careful tone, not a lot of inflection, tilting her head just a little as she spoke. Amy had gotten the distinct feeling of... of being examined. Considered. Evaluated.
It wasn't creepy, the way the other woman was looking at her. But it was weird.
"Really." Amy had almost taken off her glove to touch the woman, see if she was telling the truth. "And who forced you to come here?"
"I did." She'd answered. "Psyched myself up to come here," she exhaled slowly. "Got out of a bad relationship. Took a lot to even come here."
"Ah." Amy nodded, taking another sip of her Coke. This could've still been some sort of flirting, but...
"Taylor." She'd offered her name. "If I'm going to be using your aura to keep people away, I should give you my name."
"Amy." Amy had replied.
They'd sat in silence for a while. Amy stewing. Dean had been the one to 'notice'. To finally say something to Vicky about 'maybe Amy's gay'. She still didn't know how much Dean had known or how long he'd known. What he'd suspected, and when.
Useless bastard probably thought he was helping, suggesting she might be gay. It had made Vicky ask, and then Amy's choices were to lie about it - and then Vicky would just go back to offering more double dates and attempts to set her up with guys - or be honest when confronted.
She'd selected the latter.
And then Vicky had started offering - threatening - to set her up on dates with gay or bi girls she knew, or Dean knew, or that her friends knew. Apparently, Shadow Stalker was bi. Vicky's hints when she'd brought it up hadn't been hard to pick up on.
Vicky's grasp of what she actually wanted in a partner was blessedly no better now that she'd known Amy was gay.
Eventually, the silence had gotten to her, and she'd asked Taylor about her gothy outfit. Taylor had said she always liked black. She'd asked Amy about her outfit. Amy had explained her sister dragging her for shopping at various points. They'd talked back and forth - it had felt... stilted, for her. Sounded stilted for Taylor.
They were playacting at getting to know each other. A script. And then an errant comment about a book she'd been reading - she'd finally picked up the Maggie Holt series, after years of Victoria urging her too - and it turned out, they were something Taylor was incredibly fond of. They talked about that back and forth for a bit, then to other books. The hour had been... interesting.
When it hit the time she'd always planned to leave, Amy almost hesitated. She didn't want to date Taylor or take her home or -
But still. It had been weirdly nice. But probably nicer to make sure it was a one-time thing.
It was only when she'd gotten outside, away from Taylor, into the alley by the back entrance to the bar that she'd stumbled, a sudden feeling of... she still didn't have the words for it. An absence of something had hit her, and she'd realized she'd been talking way too much. Sharing way too much. She didn't talk to people. Amy didn't have friendly conversations!
So why the fuck had she talked to her?
Cape. Some parahuman with some kind of emotional Shaker aura, like Vicky? A full-on Master? A Social Thinker that knew just what to say? She must have recognized her. She'd doubled over, feeling nauseous. She hadn't spilled her guts, but she could have. She could have shared something important with some villain, someone who wanted info on New Wave, on her -
The next few moments had been a blur. Not because Amy didn't remember but because it had all gone so fast. One moment, she was there, doubled over, stumbling towards her car. The next, she was pinned to the wall, a hand on her neck, another on her right wrist.
It was Taylor. In the light of Brockton Bay at night, in a mostly dark alleyway, she looked - she'd looked even more striking. Imposing. Her green eyes were different - slitted, like a cat’s, her mouth open...
In that moment, seeing fangs in the woman's mouth, pinned to the wall, unable to move thanks to strength that had to be brute strength - Shaker/Master/Thinker and Brute and maybe Changer? Was she some sort of grab-bag? - Amy regretted her habit of wearing gloves now. She could have touched her with her free hand, knocked her out, called for help -
She'd tried to shout for help, but the hand on her throat had pressed down - and hadn't that done something, despite, or maybe because of the terror pumping blood through her veins - and choked it off. The woman had leaned in.
"I'm sorry. I need to do this. I'll try not to hurt you too much."
And then she'd leaned in more. She'd felt lips on her neck - through her skin, she tried to reach out with her power, do something, anything, but it was as if she wasn't touching anything at all, and then -
Pain.
Sharp. Sudden. Blinding. Two points, right into her neck, and then -
Amy still didn't really have the right words for it. Ecstasy, she'd called it. That still seemed too little. It wasn't - it wasn't orgasmic, but it was like a high, a rush, exhilaration - all at the same time bound up with almost perfect relaxation, contentment, bliss. A flood of joy rushing through her -
She'd moaned, sagging in Taylor's grip as feelings she couldn't remember feeling in years rushed through her. Distantly, she could still feel the pain in her neck, could feel her blood pumping out, could hear a gulping sound -
The pain, again, the high fading quickly, the bliss lingering as Taylor pulled back, and then Taylor's tongue licked over where she'd bit her.
"The fuck is going on with your blood, Amy? It's perfect."
That had been the last thing she'd heard - Taylor had grabbed her chin, made her look her in the eye, and then...
She'd woken several hours later on a couch that wasn't hers, in an apartment that wasn't hers.
The next week after storming out of Taylor's apartment, was one of those periodic weeks from hell she got.
Leviathan had attacked earlier than anyone expected, hitting some city in southern India that Amy couldn't pronounce the name of - or at least wasn't going to bother trying to get right. She hadn't gone to the battle itself; her contract with the PRT didn't cover that, but she had gone in the aftermath. The battle had been a victory, as much as any Endbringer fight could be.
Healing capes in the aftermath of Endbringer fights, capes who had gotten too injured to serve, or who would have needed months and months of physical therapy and healing to get back onto the streets - that had been her contract with the PRT. It paid for her apartment, food, what little entertainment she bothered to buy (books, internet access, some Aleph horror movies that didn't really do it for her anymore), and then piled up in her account.
She could have demanded so much more than the modest amount she did. She was paid less than Strider, and all he did was move people.
Asking for money had been hard enough. But she'd needed a way out of the house. Away from Carol. Away from Vicky, or so she'd thought.
It had all been the hardest thing she'd ever done, and even after two days of constant work, healing capes (and civilians, she couldn't just say no to that when Search and Rescue brought them in the aftermath), especially once who got buried by rubble and were found hours or more after the battle, after feeling even deader inside than usual, she couldn't say making the contract wasn't still one of the few smart decisions she'd made in her life.
It still sucked.
And yet, at least during those two days, she'd barely thought of Taylor.
And then it was back to the Bay. A day of exhaustion, numbness, staring at her laptop screen, barely even doing anything. She'd try to read and be unable to focus her eyes, going over the same page over and over and over again, unable to retain any of it.
Finally, she'd settled for just staring at the wall.
She'd had a lot of thinking about Taylor to catch up on.
And then, after that one day of rest, back to the grindstone. She could have kept staying home, but people at Brockton General and every other hospital in the city needed her. A cape fight between Lung and Empire 88 - broken up by New Wave and the Protectorate coming in to force them apart and catch Hookwolf for what had to be his seventy-thousandth merry-go-round with him not actually managing to be successfully taken to the Birdcage. She'd had to heal Eric and Crystal and Uncle Neil. Velocity and Dauntless. And a whole bunch of civilians caught in the earlier fight. ABB and Empire thugs taken prisoner. PRT officers and cops who'd taken hits trying crowd control or trying to restrain the unpowered minions...
That had taken so long everything else had mounted up.
The numbness had gotten so intense, so overwhelming, she'd stopped even noticing it by the end of that week. She'd gotten to the point, like she sometimes did, of just... not paying attention to anything. Running through familiar patterns on autopilot.
She'd barely even noticed driving home. Taking the stairs up four flights because waiting for the elevator seemed to be too long. Unlocking the door.
The first time she actually really registered anything more than in passing since leaving the hospital earlier was the sight of Taylor sitting on her couch.
She was wearing a long black skirt, down to just above her feet, a black shirt with long sleeves, but less concealing, tighter, without being too much. The lace choker. Her hair as gorgeous as always - it was fucking unfair someone who couldn't see themselves in a mirror always kept her hair so fucking perfect.
Amy stood there, staring. She blinked. Taylor stared back at her. Amy slapped herself on the face. She had to be seeing things. Taylor couldn't be here.
But she was. Amy pinched herself.
Still there.
"How the fuck are you here?" Amy demanded finally, finding the words.
"...it's been a week. You haven't come by again. You didn't answer any of my texts."
"You texted?" Amy blinked. Did I block her number? That sounded like something she'd do. Stupid, self-defeating, useless, stubborn. Then she shook her head. "I didn't ask why you were here, you creepy-ass stalker of a vampire. I asked how. Don't you need an invitation or something?"
"...you invited me in once."
"Five fucking months ago! It fucking lasts that long?!"
"Until you formally uninvite me, it lasts forever."
"Who the hell made these stupid rules?" Amy demanded, then she shook her head, "Fuck it. I don't care." She walked past the couch into the little half-kitchen that was basically in the same room as her living room. She looked longingly at the coffee machine, but after the day she'd had, all she really wanted to do was sleep. She forced herself to settle for a glass of water.
"What happens if I uninvite you right now?"
Taylor blinked for a moment, and in that moment, Amy almost thought she looked hurt, eyes downcast for just a second. But just that second, just that moment. And it had to be Amy deluding herself. Just like she had a week ago.
"It doesn't really matter now that I'm here, but I wouldn't be able to come back in without your invitation," Taylor answered. "Why didn't you answer any of my texts? Why didn't you come by again when it was safe? I was worried about -"
"Worried about never getting to taste the best fucking blood you've ever had again, right?"
"Worried about you!" Taylor snapped, raising her voice just a tiny bit - which for her, might as well have been shouting. Amy refused to let herself flinch, ignoring the twinge in her gut.
"Right. I buy that." Amy countered. She gulped down half the glass of water, licking her lips. "I didn't come by for the same reason I blocked your number." Because I'm a fucking idiot. She didn't say that, instead digging her hole deeper. "Because I meant it when I said 'fuck this, and fuck you. I'm done.' Done with all of this, and done with you." She didn't have a handy door to slam to punctuate it this time.
"You're throwing a temper tantrum because I wouldn't feed from you when it wasn't safe?" Taylor's voice returned to normal. The vampire did have emotional inflection, but it was so fucking subtle and so hard to pick up on. Amy still wasn't really sure about it. But the sarcasm was clear in her words.
"It's not a goddamn temper tantrum, Taylor!" Amy said, raising her voice. "This, this is the whole fucking problem." She gestured to Taylor, and then to herself. "You don't get it. You don't take me seriously. You called me an addict; you said you're somehow my only reason for living. I'm not, and you're not! I managed just fine before you, and I can manage just fine without you now!"
Taylor stared at her for a long moment, silent, and then she nodded and stood. "Fine. I'll get out of your hair. Just... please remember you promised to keep vampires a secret."
"I fucking should tell people. You might not have killed anyone, but that's by pure chance and your bitchass sire. How many people die a year to Vampires?" Amy didn't even know why she was bothering. Taylor was going to leave; she was going to be free of the vampire. She could find something else to do with her time, she could - she could be free of her.
Like you got 'free' of Vicky. Like she hadn't just replaced one twisted obsession with another.
So the fuck what. It's a better obsession. A safer obsession. I managed years, and that was with Vicky right there. I can survive obsessing over Taylor from a distance. Imagining what's nearly as impossible, but -
Arguing with Taylor wouldn't change anything, anyway.
"Amy..." Taylor started, and Amy shook her head.
"I said 'should'. Not that I would. The rest of New Wave would probably decide I'd cracked if I started talking about Vampires. At best, they'd call you some weird Master/Brute/Trump/Changer/God Knows What The Fuck and pretend you're the only one." And then if they decided Taylor had 'mastered Panacea,' fuck only knew what would happen. She'd get stuck in M/S quarantine and Taylor? They'd go after her. Birdcage her, if they could, maybe?
Taylor didn't deserve that.
"Alright." Taylor nodded. She started for the door, then stopped, turned halfway back to her. She stared at Amy. Amy stared back at her.
Say something, you stupid bitch. Amy wasn't sure if she meant herself or Taylor.
"I haven't killed anyone yet, you're right. And I didn't want my first victim to be you." Taylor said, her words even quieter than usual but carrying through the room.
Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Amy didn't even bother undressing, collapsing onto the bed. She could pretend she just fell asleep easily, but the momentary look of pain, imagined or not, on Taylor's face played through her mind on repeat. The way Taylor had emphasized 'you', in the last thing she'd said, too, had remained in her mind.
Berating herself for her stupidity. Over. And over. And Over again.
Amy had done the unthinkable.
She'd called the hospital, and said that even though she'd volunteered, she couldn't come in today. If there was an emergency, she could be called, but otherwise, she'd needed the day.
She almost thought the nurse she'd spoken to sounded approving when she said it was okay. But why the fuck would a nurse approve of Amy being a selfish piece of shit too caught up in the consequences of her own stupidity to heal people?
But she'd done it. What little sleep she'd gotten since Taylor had left her apartment was fitful, plagued by... she couldn't even call them dreams. Just memories and stupid thoughts, over and over again.
She imagined the feeling of hurt on Taylor's face. She had to have. Had to.
And yet, here she was...
She took a breath.
Closed her eyes.
Took another breath.
What was she even going to say? She'd had a chance to tell the truth a week ago. She'd had another chance yesterday. Instead, she yelled. She berated. She pushed back at Taylor. She latched onto one tiny thing Taylor said, blew it up, and focused on that.
Anything to avoid being honest, apparently. To take the fucking chance, to tell Taylor the truth.
And what the fuck even is the truth, you stupid bitch? Taylor wasn't wrong that Amy wanted the vampire to drink her blood. Taylor was wrong that she was Amy's only reason to live... but was she wrong that Amy was addicted?
As if getting addicted to feeling something, anything is bad? She could survive with the numbness, the emptiness, the wash, rinse, repeat of her life. But she didn't want to. Was that so bad? When Taylor fed from her, she felt better. Not just during. But after. Sometimes a whole day, the feeling of... blissed-out contentment. Hours on end of... peace.
Was that so bad?
But the truth was that it was more. That she hadn't come by a week ago just to have Taylor feed from her.
But what... what did that mean?
And could she actually say it?
Amy lifted her hand to knock.
Lowered it.
Lifted her hand to knock again.
Lowered it.
She did this... at least three more times, but finally, her hand about to knock, the door opened, Taylor on the other side. She was wearing casual, normal clothes again - shirt, jeans... hair as gorgeous as ever. Her expression was clear for a change: Frustration. Eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, glaring at her.
She must have... smelled me or heard me, and then I was here, in front of the door, for like, fifteen minutes...
"Why are you here?" Taylor demanded in a quiet tone.
Amy parted her lips a little, inhaled. "To apologize."
Taylor's expression faded to her usually carefully guarded neutrality. "What?" Her tone was flat, almost emotionless.
"I'm sorry for storming out a week ago. I'm sorry for not hearing you out yesterday or - I'm sorry for - I'm just sorry. For a lot of things." Amy trailed off. "I... that's - that's not all I want to say, but it's all you need to hear." She bit her lower lip, stepping back. She looked down the hall towards the stairs.
"Wait." Taylor said before she could leave. Taylor stepped aside, and Amy swallowed but walked inside. Taylor directed her to the living room, and Amy nodded, stopping once they reached it. Taylor sat down on her chair again.
"Why?" Taylor asked now.
"Why am I sorry? Why did I say what I said a week ago? Yesterday?" Taylor nodded. Amy licked her lips again and stared. "It - I don't - I don't really have a good answer?" She admitted, lowering her voice looking down at the ground. "I'm an idiot. I screw everything up. I -" She screwed her eyes shut, forcing herself to take another breath. "I didn't actually come here last week for you to feed on me. Or - or at least - that wasn't the only reason."
"Why else would you have come?"
"Why would you be worried about me except for liking the taste of my blood?" Amy asked. She shook her head. "I don't - you know me. Or at least, some of me. About all the stupid, freak bullshit I have going on. I've told you things I haven't told anyone. About myself, my power, my sister..." She trailed off, looking away.
She still wasn't sure what had possessed her to tell Taylor that. Taylor said the only time she'd used her emotional manipulation abilities - basically a shaker effect, even if it wasn't a parahuman power - had been that first night. Amy had no way of knowing if it was true, but she believed her.
Maybe she was an idiot but at this point...
I'm not sure I care.
"I think about you every day. Not just about you drinking my blood, though, yeah, that too, but - just... you. In general." Amy said, finally. She let out a small breath.
"What do you mean, 'just me, in general'?" Taylor asked.
"You! Your face, your hair, your lips." She flushed. "You. But not - not just that. Not just - not just - I think about just, sitting, with you. About the times after you're done feeding on me, and I relax a little, and you're relaxed and we just... talk, about books. Or about nothing. Sometimes you tell me about vampires. I -"
She cut herself off. "Taylor, there are two people I know that I really, honestly enjoy spending time with. Vicky's one of them. The other one? It's you. I don't - I don't really get how, or when, or why or - maybe it's just what happens when a vampire feeds off of someone enough times; maybe I'm just fucked up even more than I thought. Maybe you grew on me. Maybe I am addicted. But I don't..."
She paused, swallowed, tried to find the right words. Considered a few. Rejected them. Tried again.
"I don't want to be just your blood bag." Amy said finally. She held up a hand, a small snort of... almost laughter escaping her. "It's not that I want to stop being your blood bag, I just..." She put her hands over her face her eyes, pulling them down as she inhaled slowly. "I want more. I want - I want you. Taylor. All of you."
Taylor said nothing for... what felt like forever, but was probably just closer to a minute. Maybe less. She stared at her. Amy stared back, unable to hold herself in place - she twitched, fidgeted.
Taylor stood, but she still didn't say anything.
"Taylor. I just - I'm sorry." She said again. She started to turn, to leave. She'd... she'd said everything she'd have wanted to say and then some.
Taylor's hand touched her shoulder.
"Amy. Wait." Amy turned, almost letting out a cry at how close Taylor was, the distance between them minuscule now. Amy's eyes darted to Taylor's lips, and she licked her own lips. All she'd have to do was get on her tiptoes... maybe put her hand behind Taylor's head a little, tilt it down...
She didn't have to do those things. Taylor's hand on her shoulder went around the back of her neck, the other onto her hip... Taylor tilted her head down, her lips touching Amy's tentatively, slowly...
It was - it wasn't like Amy had imagined it. Taylor clearly didn't have a lot of experience kissing - but Amy had been less than that. The carefulness, the way she pressed, soft, gentle, slowly building up as Amy tried to yield to her -
But, Taylor was kissing her?! She'd said - she'd told Taylor the truth, and now the woman, the vampire, the object of her increasing obsessions, was kissing her. Amy kissed back, one hand getting up in Taylor's hair, feeling the soft, silky locks around it, her other hand clinging to Taylor's shoulder.
Her knees felt weak. She buckled a little - surprise, shock, need -
The kiss continued, Taylor pressing further against her lips, and then -
Amy forced herself away from Taylor's lips, gasping, cheeks flushed, lips almost feeling numb, heart pounding in her chest.
"This... this is real, right?" Amy asked quietly, hating how small and plaintive she sounded.
"Yeah. It's - it's real." Taylor nodded. "This is a bad idea, you know that right? You know what I am. What I could be. I'm a monster." Amy bristled when Taylor said this was a bad idea but felt herself relax just a little as Taylor went on.
I could be a monster. I'm closer to one than you are. And Taylor had a better excuse. She literally needed to keep drinking blood to live.
Well, keep existing, anyway.
"You know what I could be."
"Hardly the same thing. You're a hero." Taylor countered. "I want this, Amy. Want you. But I can't - I don't think I could let go easily."
"Like I can either, Taylor?" Amy felt herself smile, just a little. She tried not to let herself feel too much at this. At this happening, at it being real. Hope was a fragile thing, and she'd lost it a long time ago. But -
"Maybe you're right, and this is a bad idea, but I'm tired of caring about that," Amy whispered, not sure why she was, but it seemed... it seemed right. "Please... Taylor."
Taylor nodded slowly, then kissed her again, lips only lingering on her lips for a moment, then down her neck - trailing over the skin, licking along the almost entirely faded bitemarks there - Taylor's saliva left a tingling sensation everywhere it touched on her bare skin... Amy let out a soft moan.
Taylor pulled back, licking her lips. Amy watched her with baited breath, lips parted, the whole world felt like it was standing still. Taylor's eyes turned to slits, she opened her mouth, and Amy watched fangs extend...
Taylor leaned in, almost to her neck again, then she hesitated. Pulled back.
"Taylor?" Amy squirmed, doubts creeping back in.
"If - if this is going to happen, and it is going to happen... then I'm not drinking your blood like this," Taylor said, her voice almost thick, and Amy shivered as she realized - or hoped maybe? - that the note in the vampire's voice was desire, need. "We're doing it on my bed... and you're going to be naked."
Amy felt like her entire body went red in that moment, an incoherent, wordless squeak escaping her lips. She didn't resist when Taylor grabbed her hand and tugged her to follow her. She didn't resist when Taylor ordered - ordered - her to strip or resist when she was pushed down onto the bed, Taylor straddling her.
And she didn't resist when Taylor's teeth sank into her neck again, finally.
But this time, it was so much more.