There are, believe it or not, choices Karma's proud of.
Choosing Amy, for one. Recent events notwithstanding (and yes, those are mostly her fault and yes, she knows that and yes, she knows planning to meet Amy's father in secret after those recent events is probably not going to land on her top ten list of good choices or help fix anything but it's a choice between that and trying to tell Amy he's back so, really, it's no fucking choice at all) no choice she's ever made has felt so right or brought her so much joy.
The last few weeks (or months or whatever) have sucked, they've sucked out fucking loud, but she wouldn't trade all the years before them for anything in the world. Even if this really is the end - and Karma can't quite get herself to believe it is - it was all worth it.
Amy was worth it.
Finally. Something she and Reagan can agree on.
Dumping Liam is right up there too at the top of the list too, even if she's not entirely sure she actually did it or if he sorta dumped himself (what with the outing Lauren and the sleeping with Amy and the general being him of it all), but either way it's done and she's not going back on it, so she's totally counting it, though she does regret - just a little - that it was Lauren that kicked him in his little Liam and not her. And then there was Tommy and she was the one to kick him in his little Liam (and yup, that's totally the terms she's using for all dicks from now on) and she's actually really proud of that one.
He had it coming. And Amy saw it and so, at least in one way - a very ball kicking and abstract and not really saying the words because right now words won't work for them way - Amy knows.
Karma's sorry.
Someday, Karma hopes, 'sorry' will mean something, though she understands all too well that someday is not today and probably not tomorrow or even the day after, but she keeps reminding herself that there's a decade behind them.
And all the time in the world in front of them.
There are those choices, and a few others along the way, that she's proud of. And then there's the last week. Or maybe - if she's being honest - the last few months, at least most of them, at least every moment that had something to do with faking it or with breaking Amy's heart or with flaunting Liam in front of her (even if she didn't mean to do that) and definitely every single moment that involved Reagan, except maybe the last one.
I think she understands. And so do I.
Yeah. That was a good one. In that one moment, Karma understood - maybe for the first time - what Amy had done for her, what she had given up when she gave her and Liam her blessing, and how much that had hurt and, oddly enough, how good it had felt. She knew, in that moment, what Amy must have seen in her eyes - the happiness and the hope and the, God help her, love - and how even through the pain, knowing she had given that to Karma…
She'd never realized how strong and brave and selfless Amy had been in that moment and so, yeah, Karma thought of that moment, that last moment, with Reagan as a good one. Good for Amy and really, that's what matters. That's all Karma's ever wanted, more than anything, more than her own popularity, more than her own love, more than her own happiness.
Well… usually.
She's a teenage girl and that means she's gonna be selfish and she's gonna be stupid and she's gonna make choices she's not proud of. And there's a moment, right now, the tiniest of tiny ones, just before her fist connects with Jack's jaw (and there's a lot of that going around lately) when Karma thinks that maybe - just maybe - this is one of those choices.
It lasts barely a second, less than a heartbeat, not even as long as it takes her to exhale the breath she sucks in before she swings. It's gone before she really even notices it's there and that makes it like so many of those choices, the not so proud ones. Something she'd probably do differently, something she'd know was wrong and definitely not one of her better plans.
Kinda like stealing a picture from a truck or kissing a girl who wasn't hers.
And just like with so many of those choices, Karma doesn't see it, she doesn't feel it, she doesn't even notice the moment, she doesn't recognize the second's worth of doubt or concern as she pulls back her fist. She doesn't register the momentary doubt that crosses her mind as her arm uncoils and she sends that first hurtling toward his face. All she does notice, all that does register?
It's him. It's the one person - maybe the only person - who ever hurt Amy more than she did and he's standing there, with that same dumb fuck look on his face she remembers from her childhood. The one he always had when he'd forgotten something - like a birthday or a holiday or that it was fucking Wednesday and he was supposed to pick Amy up from school cause Farrah was at work and instead he left her standing on the curb and Karma's parents had taken her instead and Amy had spent the night until Farrah could pick her up on Thursday and Jack still hadn't remembered - the look that had made tiny Karma feel things that her tiny heart couldn't quite understand but even then, even as a kid, her mind had made the connection.
That look. Amy's tears.
That, she sees. That look on his face and just by itself, it would be bad enough but that's not all, she sees or hears or feels. It's that look and it's the sound of her name on his lips and it's the sight of him next to Liam (of all fucking people and sometimes Karma swears the fucking universe is out to get her).
But mostly?
It's that hand.
His hand. Jack's hand. The one he's got on her arm, not her as in Karma, but her as in Lucy as in her, as in the girl that was with Liam (cause of course she was), as in the girl who called him 'dad' and fuck all, that's just too fucking much.
It's Lucy that's standing there and Lucy that Jack's reaching for - so very not forgotten - and it's Lucy that's Amy's… fuck… Amy's sister.
(and just when Karma was starting to get used to Lauren)
It's Lucy that Jack's touching, it's Lucy that Jack's showing concern for and Karma knows (she knows) somewhere deep down that Jack did act like a father toward Amy at some point, that he wasn't always a drunk drugged out forgetful bastard but even though she knows it, she can't remember it. She can't see it in her mind's eye, she can't see him holding Amy while she cried or taking her for ice cream or even holding her while she blew out her birthday candles and she knows there's a fucking picture of that.
All Karma can see is that look and Amy's tears and the way Farrah held her while Karma pleaded with her parents to adopt her and all she can remember is that moment, the first time she ever hated anyone and that's more that tiny Karma's heart - the one that still beats in not so tiny Karma's chest - can fucking take.
So, she may not notice the moment of doubt but she does notice that and then she really notices the feeling of her knuckles slamming into Jack's chin. She notices the way her skin splits along the points of impact, the sudden sharp burning sensation as the punch draws blood - hers and his - and there's a moment (another one), maybe a little longer, maybe not quite so tiny, maybe fucking huge actually, the kind of moment Karma's quite sure she could sink into and revel in and remember forever.
The moment when that look shatters on his face and that hand falls from her arm and Jack's toppling backward toward the sidewalk. The moment when Lucy's running to her father's side and Liam's standing there with a look on his face - one that screams 'Thank God it wasn't me this time' - and Karma can only think that as good as it felt and as much as she'll never regret it?
It wasn't enough.
Not fucking nearly.
And then the doubts do come, then the moments of second guessing and questioning and oh fuck fuck fuck come surging into the thrashing rapids of her mind and Karma realizes, there's gonna be questions, there's gonna be a lot.
Why did she punch a man she's never met?
Why does she look so happy about it?
Why? Why? Just… why?
And maybe, she thinks, for just a moment, she didn't think this through.
But then she's already halfway down the street, her bloody and already swelling hand at her side, and Jack's not even up off the pavement - he's got the good sense to stay down, unlike some people who never know when to quit - and Liam's calling after her and Lucy's crying over her father (her father) (her father) and staring at Karma as she walks away.
Let Jack explain, she thinks. He's got that coming, maybe even more than the punch. Let him explain who she is and let him explain why she punched him in his jackass lying deserting good for nothing face and let him lie lie lie like she's sure he's always done.
And if he doesn't? If he can't? If he can't figure out how to lie and weasel and bullshit his way out of this one?
Then he'll have to tell the truth.
To everyone.
Karma pauses, for just a moment - a tiny one, really - on the sidewalk as she realizes what she's done and she sees the spirals of it, the ripples in the water as it flows out from Jack to Lucy to Liam to her to…
Amy.
There are choices Karma's made that she's proud of and there are some she'll regret forever and she's really not sure right this very second which of those this choice is but then she remembers that look and she remembers tears and Wednesdays and Thursdays and her best friend's pain. And she knows.
She didn't have a choice at all.
Reagan's reading street signs and trying to listen to her GPS but that's not exactly the easiest thing to do when she's also trying (not horribly hard) to ignore Amy's hand on her thigh and Amy's warm breath on her ear and Amy's other hand tickling the hairs along the back of her neck.
"I should have dropped you at home," she mutters, the last word coming out in a shudder as Amy nips lightly at her ear. "Your house was on the way here," she says. "It would have made so much more sense."
That would have been the simpler plan. Drop Amy at home, let her visit with Farrah and Bruce and Nana - who had apparently decided to extend her visit and no, Reagan had no idea what could have inspired that - while Reagan scouted out the coffee shop, making sure she knew where she had to go for her meeting with Mr. Lee tomorrow.
"You need to see your family sometime, Shrimps," she'd argued. "You can't spend all your time with -"
Amy had cut her off and then - in relatively short order - won that argument,as she had most every one they'd had the last few days, by playing dirty.
And then playing dirty again.
And one more time. Just for good measure.
Reagan had a hard time - fucking impossible time, really - arguing when she could barely catch her breath and when she could still feel Amy everywhere and she could barely stand. She hadn't quite realized the monster she'd created - or unleashed at the very least - when she and Amy had finally slept together, but now that beast is out of its cage and Reagan's not entirely sure she's going to be able to survive it.
Not that she's minding the finding out.
Except that navigation, even on streets she remembers from her childhood, is a hell of a lot easier when Amy's hands aren't roaming and Amy's tongue isn't flicking against her ear and her neck and Amy's voice isn't recounting their last… encounter… in vivid fucking detail (and how had Reagan not known how erotic hearing about how good she tastes could be?) and so, if she misses a street or two or three and finds herself driving in a giant fucking square and ending up right back where she started, it's totally not her fault.
In 500 feet, turn right on Mulberry Street
The GPS says right, but Reagan swears it's a left and no, she hasn't been in this part of town in years and yes, they've made some changes, but she's pretty sure rerouting entire streets isn't one of them.
In 300 feet, turn right on Mulberry Street
Right. But no. Left. It's a fucking left.
In 100 feet, turn right…
"Fuck it," Reagan mumbles, reaching down between them, her hand squeezing into the few (so very few) inches of space between her and Amy (and seatbelt laws, apparently, be damned cause Amy isn't even a little buckled in), fumbling for the phone. "Shimps, please…"
She's asking Amy to scoot, to let her get to the phone.
She's not surprised Amy doesn't hear it that way and she's even less surprised when Amy's lips find her neck again and she's not really surprised at all when she tips her head back to make it easier for the blonde and she is a little surprised that she's able to concentrate long enough to pull the truck over - just before the right (no, left) on Mulberry - and park them along the curb, shutting the engine off (barely) before turning and capturing Amy's lips with her own.
"Never pictured you as the makeout on the street corner type," Reagan mumbles into the breaths between kisses, fumbling blindly with the buckle for her seatbelt and laughing lightly as Amy finds it for her and deftly pops it with one hand.
"You complaining?" Amy asks and Reagan shakes her head as she turns in her seat, pulling Amy closer as her legs slip around the blonde and her hands roam up underneath Amy's shirt, earning her a low moan from her girlfriend.
Two can play dirty.
It's more fun that way.
"We can't spend… all day… fuck… making out in the truck, though," Reagan manages - barely - as Amy's hands slip from the seatbelt to just under the hem of her shirt, tracing tiny circles on her skin, Amy's fingertips just barely dancing across Reagan's flesh. "I promised Nana I'd have you home in time for dinner."
"Fuck dinner," Amy murmurrs, the vibrations of the words rolling across the skin of Reagan's neck. "Unless you'd rather spend time with my grandmother than with me…" She punctuates the question with her hand, sliding up up up, and Reagan catches it, gripping Amy's wrist through her own shirt, just before it reaches its intended destination.
"Shrimps," she says through gritted teeth. "Not here. Not…" Amy's other hand works between them, fumbling with the button and then the zipper of Reagan's jeans and fuck she never knew it could be so fucking hot to be wanted. "Amy… please."
The hand between them stills and Amy sits back - just a little - so she can see Reagan. "You don't want…" Her voice trails off and there's this look in her eyes Reagan's never seen before, but she knows it in a heartbeat.
"Of course, I want," she says, pulling Amy closer again and kissing her. It lasts longer than she intended (like you could stop kissing Amy) and she's out of breath - again - when she finally manages to push Amy away. "You're all I want, Shrimps. Well… you and maybe some dinner cause I think we've burned off every calorie I've consumed for the past three days… but, yes, I want. Always."
That look is still there, in Amy's eyes, but it's faint and it's fading and Reagan reaches out a hand and traces it lightly across her girlfriend's cheek. Amy turns into the contact and brings her own hand to cover Reagan's.
"I just… I'm new to all this and I thought maybe you were getting…"
"Getting what?" Reagan asks, managing to keep the laughter out of her voice but not the smile from her face. "Tired of you? Bored with you? Sick of feeling you under me and over me and inside me?" She leans forward in her seat, tipping her forehead against Amy's and kissing her lightly on the nose. "Never, never, never, never, and not in this or any other lifetime."
Amy returns the smile and that look fades - not completely, but enough, enough for now - and she nods. "OK. Just checking," she says and she settles back into her own seat, but keeps her tight grip on Reagan's hand. "And just so you know.. I may have to… check… again later."
Reagan squeezes her hand. "Give me a couple hours, a decent meal, and like all the fluids and I'll be good to go." Amy laughs and Reagan spins back behind the wheel. "But first, since you made me drag you all the way out here -"
"You're a grown up," Amy says. "I can't make you do anything."
Reagan side eyes her as she starts Lightning back up. "Oh, I think there's a few things you can make me do," she says. "Surprisingly well, actually." Amy blushes but she can't hide the proud little smile that crosses her face. "But for now," Reagan says, "we're gonna find this coffee shop so I know where I'm going tomorrow cause, clearly, I don't have a clue."
Amy plucks the phone from between the seats and studies the screen. "GPS says it's a right here."
"Of course it does," Reagan says. She glances across the street, trying to remember landmarks or spots or anything from when she was a kid. "It says right, I say left."
"Trust the technology," Amy says. "It's got, you know, satellites and shit."
Reagan laughs and reaches over, taking the phone from Amy's hand. "Yeah, satellites and shit," she mutters, flicking her finger across the screen, scrolling the map up and then down and then all around. She pauses on a spot not that far from where they are and holds the phone out so Amy can see. "That was my grandparent's house when I was a kid. My mom's parents."
It's a spot on the screen, might as well be dust or dirt or a speck of something or other but Amy hears it in her girlfriend's voice. There's this… mix… a little happy, a dash of sad, a pinch of anger and a whole fucking cup's worth of not knowing what the hell to do with any of it.
Amy imagines that's what she sounds like when she (almost never) talks about her dad. Or Karma. And when did she ever think she'd be thinking about them in even remotely the same way.
"My mom used to bring me and Glenn to see them," Reagan says, her eyes fixed on some spot out the window. "Whenever she and my dad would fight… she'd pack us up and bring us to Gramma and Papa and let us run free in the backyard for hours."
It was, Reagan remembers, a huge yard, big enough to seem like a forest or a jungle or the fucking Amazon to a pair of under ten year olds appreciative of the chance to escape the yelling (her mother) and the crying (her father) and the…
"Mess."
Amy's head snaps up from the phone. "What?"
"Mess," Reagan says again, softly. "It was such a… that's the only word… mess. Just a fucking mess."
Amy slides across the seat and wraps an arm around Reagan's waist, resting her chin on the older girl's shoulder. "You don't talk about it much," she says. "Not that I'm one to talk but…"
"They had a swing set," Reagan says and she notices (so fucking clearly) the way Amy doesn't even flinch at the fucking oddity, at the seeming randomness of it all. "Glenn used to push me, always sending me higher and higher and… I think he was trying to launch me into space, get rid of the tiny pain in his ass."
She laughs a little at the memory and Amy's grip tightens, almost imperceptibly.
"I tried pushing him once," Reagan says. "And I was doing really well, not as well as him cause short arms and all, but he was getting some height." She runs a finger along the edge of the steering wheel, tracing a tiny line over and over. "And then I heard my dad get there, he'd come to get us, and I heard the car door slam and then my mom and…"
And then the swing came back but she wasn't watching, she was looking, staring toward the front, toward the house, to the slamming door and the raised voice and she wanted to run, she wanted to barrel through the miles and miles and miles of yard and trees and crash through the house and clutch at her father's leg and beg him to take her home.
"I wasn't watching and the swing came back," she says. "And it caught me right in the face and busted my lip open and knocked a tooth out and my nose… the blood just wouldn't stop."
Amy rests a hand on Reagan's cheek and turns her face gently toward her. She looks her up and down (and all around) and smiles gently. "Looks good now, though."
Reagan snorts and smiles and shakes her head. "Yeah," she says. "My Papa ended up calling an ambulance and I got to ride in it and they even put the sirens on for me," she laughs again at the memory. "Glenn was so jealous."
She glances down at the phone screen and does the mental math, of a sort. In 500 feet, turn left on Mulberry. In 1000 feet, turn right on Kohn. In 300 feet, turn left on King.
Your destination will be on the right.
Except that's not her destination. Not anymore. Not for a very long time. About eight years or so.
Give or take.
"GPS is right," Reagan says. "We turn here. I remember now." Amy slides back into her own seat and Reagan turns the engine over and hands her back the phone. "Turn the voice off," she says. "I like taking orders from you better."
Amy blushes again - while also filing that little bit of information away for future reference - and mutes the GPS. Reagan takes the first turn without direction and they're off again, in search of the (so far) elusive coffee shop.
"Turn left on Hills," Amy says and Reagan does. "Turn right on Meyer," she orders and Reagan does as directed. "Um… it's the next street up. Right on Frederick."
Reagan nods and makes the turn, pulling to a stop at a red light three blocks from the shop and it's at that moment that she kinda (more than kinda) (a lot more) (like a lot a lot more) wishes she'd listened to her own GPS and gone the wrong way again and kept going that way on and on and on, forever.
Cause there's Karma. And there's Karma punching some guy in the face while Liam (cause of course) and some girl Reagan doesn't know (Liam moves fast, apparently) and, at first, she thinks it's some kind of lover's spat, some kind of Liam getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar kinda thing but that doesn't make sense because Karma's punching the other guy and then…
Well.
Then Reagan sees the other guy. She sees him hit the pavement and she sees the other girl (whoever the fuck she is) running to his side and she sees Liam looking between Karma and the guy and he looks confused (what the fuck else is new) and then Karma's storming off in their direction and she gets to about a block and a half from them and pauses, just for a moment, before she keeps walking, turning left at the corner and disappearing out of sight but that's fine cause Reagan's not looking at her anyway.
She's looking at him.
And yeah, he's older and the beard's gone and he doesn't look drunk and he's bleeding (and for a fleeting moment, Reagan's proud of Karma) but it's still him. The him she saw in all those pictures at Thanksgiving. The him she's seen in the small stash of photos Amy's got hidden in her desk that she thinks no one knows about.
And the light turns green.
"In 400 feet," Amy says, still staring at the screen. "Your destination will be on the right."