Welcome Home
i.
Living out of a van with a bunch of anarchist punk pseudo-vampires is not where Amanda saw herself at twenty-four, but then, there are a lot of things she never saw coming about her young adult life.
Anyway, say four arms of physically embodied chaos show up in your life, flirting wordlessly for a few days via their battered, spray-painted (and weirdly verbal) van and note-wrapped bricks before making first contact, whereupon they just assume you're going to be a part of their lives and you'll be part of theirs from now on—what are you gonna do, not run away with them?
("Yes!" she can hear her brother's voice answering that question, hitting that note of panic totally unique to Todd Brotzman. "Yes, not climbing into a van with those guys and disappearing is the smart move in this scenario!" Todd can be surprisingly square when it comes to some things.)
The truth is, Amanda's always been an adventurer, drawn to and thrilled by things that on their surface tend to frighten and revile other people. If she never envisioned that she'd be living her life among the Rowdy Three, it's only because—especially after her illness took hold—she never imagined that she'd be so lucky.
"Cross," says Amanda, popping out of the van one morning before they set out on their daily reign of terror, "what's this?"
Cross, the subject of her address because he just so happens to be the nearest of the Three to the door, squints briefly at the object she's brandishing at him before answering, dismissively, "'S a picture of you" and turning back to secure his bag.
"…yeah. I… see that," Amanda says, glancing pointedly again at the framed photo. "What's it doing in the van?"
Gripps, on his way past them, says, "Martin took it," which doesn't go very far in helping her understand what happened, though he seems to regard that answer as the end of it, not even checking his stride. Obviously, Amanda's not going to get anywhere until she goes directly to the source.
She heads over to where Martin's is waiting for the rest of the group to finish up—as usual, he was up and had his stuff loaded before any of the rest of them even awoke. He's sitting on one of the old abandoned seats decking out the campsite, elbows resting on splayed knees, hunched over with the perpetual cigarette held in the crook of his mouth and staring into the middle distance. Amanda has gotten to know all the guys a little more by now, and knows that Martin will definitely take the chance to tease her by pretending not to notice her if she gives him the chance, so she doesn't give him the chance—she stops beside him and holds the picture directly in front of his face.
His gaze adjusts; he's now peering at the photo through lenses so smudged and dirty Amanda thinks it's a miracle he can see anything at all. After a few seconds, he lifts his eyes—just his eyes; he peers over his glasses at her for a second, then lifts an eyebrow and exhales a little cloud of smoke in a nonverbal question. What?
Oh, he wants to play hardball. Amanda isn't exactly worried at the discovery of a personal effect that she didn't pack in the van—she's way past the point of regarding the Three as a threat against her in any way—but it is weird, and she does want an explanation. She cocks a knee out, puts her hand on her hip, and wiggles the photo a little, but he just keeps his eyes on her. "What, me?" she answers. "Just wanting to know why a photo that used to be safely in my brother's apartment was buried under a pile of clothes in the van. Y'know, I sure as hell didn't bring it."
Martin breaks the strong, silent act with a sudden grin, and he taps the glass in the frame with the edge of one of his rings. "Needed a better look atchya," he says, and pinches the filter of his cigarette between forefinger and thumb, removing it from his mouth for a second so he can tap off the ash with his middle finger.
In a way, his total lack of embarrassment reassures her—because it's what she expected; if he was weird about being confronted it might make her uncomfortable, suspicious. His total confidence that he had a good reason for having the photo makes her believe he did, so her eyes are a little softer even as she demands, "Better than what?"
"You remember the first time you met that Dirk guy?"
Amanda's eyes narrow. "I knew it; I knew that's how you guys found my house."
"Bullseye," he says in warm-toned approval. "All of us knew when we got close—something real interesting was goin' on with the person in that house, and we wanted in on it. We spotted you through the window, but we couldn't get a good look, so when we were bustin' up your brother's place later that night, I saw that—" he jabs at the picture frame with the stump of his cigarette—"and snagged it. Good enough?"
Still weird, but Amanda's never been the type to judge—especially given that the action in question led to her meeting the Three. Still, she can't resist teasing a little, and she tries with some success to hold back a grin as she questions, "Just needed a better look at me, huh? Sure that's the only reason?"
Martin's way too cool a guy to look hunted, ever, but Amanda thinks his stare in response to that is a little bit too steady, like he's working really hard to keep it that way. "You got another one you're wondering about?"
The grin slips through despite her best efforts. "Sure it wasn't love at first sight, Martin?"
He can't seem to help himself, cool guy or not—he snorts at that, two dragonlike streams of smoke pouring from his nostrils, and she tilts her head back and laughs, easing up on him. When she glances at him again, he's looking at her with that expression of affectionate adoration she's gotten repeatedly from all four boys since that day she first climbed into their van, the one she can't seem to get her fill of. She likes to think there's a similar fondness in her expression as she smirks down at him.
Then Vogel is cawing at them, jumping and waving his hands in the air like he has to work for their attention despite the fact that they're just ten yards away from the van. "C'mon, we're packed up! Time to go!"
"Someone's hungry," Amanda notes, amused, and offers her hand—Martin clasps it in his smoky, grimy one and lets her haul all ten miles of him to his feet, and she knocks her shoulder lovingly into his before letting him go and making tracks towards Vogel, scolding him good-naturedly for his impatience. Martin, forgotten, takes a second to visibly shake himself, then leans over, picks up his baseball bat, rests it on his shoulder, and follows.
A/N - this is not season 1 epilogue/season 2 compliant!
This was born of two things: first, the fact that dating from their very first appearance, my brain kept screaming "new boyfriends! new boyfriends! new boyfriends!" the entire time the Rowdy 3 were on my screen, then the Amanda storyline (the absolute ideal; everything I've ever wanted from a show) played out and left me glowy for days
and second, my need for some backstory/slice of life stuff centered around Amanda and the guys. I found myself thinking about it a lot so I wrote some down. Later on I might write something longer with a recognizable plot, but this fic will probably be just a few short chapters, just me stretching my legs and saying "hi" to a new fandom.