I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.

I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.

Wherever You Are

My Precious Darlings

"-monds blank forever . . . are . . . okay . . ."

"-tinent you visit if you want to see the Taj Mahal . . . hmmm . . . India . . ."

It wasn't that Dot minded her conjoined twin sister's new hobby.

"Caspian or Caribbean . . . Seas . . ."

It was that Bette so frequently concentrated aloud.

"Dot, do you know the answer to this one? 'Blank was I 'ere I saw Elba'? It's a . . . palindrome."

"Able."

"How did you know that?"

"A palindrome is spelled the same backwards and forwards, Bette."

"Oh."

Or worse yet . . .

"Jimmy, do you know the answer to this one? Detroit's nickname. Blank city."

Or worse yet yet . . .

"I don't know, Bette. Dot, what do you think?"

I think I need some quiet time from you two.

"Motor."

"Now how did you know that, Sister?"

"You fell asleep while Annabel was making us watch that Spinal thing movie."

"Oh, it was so confusing. I told you, I don't care for documentaries."

"Annabel said it wasn't-"

"Okay, what is the capital of Norway?"

Dot found herself switching to silent communications as Jimmy continued staring at the newspaper crossword Bette had directed them all to in lieu of, well, almost anything else.

Bette, why don't we take a break and read a nice, quiet book?

They say crossword puzzles are good for the memory.

Not if you don't live long enough to remember me killing you.

What?

Hush, I'm tired. And my jaw hurts.

Sister, are you okay?

Yes. I just . . . I just haven't been feeling myself lately.

Bette also was becoming increasing involved in . . .

"What is Minnesota?!"

"What is Nicholson?!"

"What is . . . what is . . ."

Peso.

Don't tell me, Sister! I need to get it by myself!

. . . Jeopardy in the afternoons on ABC.

Oh, that Alex Trebek. He's so handsome.

I thought you watched this for the memory.

I do-

"Ooh, what is . . . what is . . . oh darn it, treble f?"

Did you know that answer, Dot?

Yes.

Well, why didn't you tell me?!

You told me not to.

Argh . . .

"Okay, glasses, I'm going to leave you right here on the dresser. I'll pick you up in the morning, you sweet little things, you."

Sister, why are you talking to your reading glasses?

So I'll remember them when I need them in the morning.

I'll tell you when you forget. I'm right here, you know.

But I need to remember on my own! Do you think I'm not smart enough to remember things on my own, Dorothy Jean?!

Calm down, Elizabeth Ann, calm down. I'm just trying to help.

I don't need your help!

Alright, well, stroke your glasses then. I'll wait.

I'm done, thank you.

Sometimes, Bette's little tricks worked.

Alright, just let me pick my glasses from the dresser-

And sometimes . . .

Why is there an old lady in Annabel's yard?

Because Annabel and Patrick moved to Sarasota two years ago, Bette.

Oh. Right.

. . . and sometimes . . .

Who's Patrick?

Annabel's husband, Bette.

. . . they didn't.

Oh, Patrick. Of course. I love that boy.

Yes. Are you alright?

Dorothy Jean Tattler Darling Walker loved her conjoined twin sister.

She always had.

Even when she didn't.

And these many, many years of joy . . .

Oh, Sister, this baby is so warm and soft against me. I am in love.

Me too, Bette.

. . . had been indescribably heavenly.

And the times of distress and discomfort . . .

Ouch.

Are you alright?

Oh, same old neck pain. You want to take the head tilt for a while, Sister?

I would if I could, Bette.

. . . they had weathered together . . .

I know. I love you.

I love you too.

. . . as best they could.

But more and more lately . . .

Jimmy needs to be leaving for the store soon, Dot.

Jimmy's retired, Sister. The store's closed.

Oh. Yes. I remember now.

. . . Bette's slips in memory were getting harder and harder to cover up.

"Jimmy, don't you need to get going to the store soon?"

"Not without my Delorean, Bette. You okay?"

And Dot . . .

"Sure, darling. "

. . . was getting more and more . . .

"Why?"

. . . concerned.

"No reason."

Sister, are you awake? Bette?

Snore.

"Jimmy?"

Her hand on his forearm, just above the stump, stirred him.

"Dot?"

"Hey, Jimmy. I'm sorry to wake you up-"

"No, no. It's okay."

He turned to her, nuzzling his face to hers.

Gentle, sweet kisses.

Keeping his stump carefully on her side of the shared body.

Here in the dark, and if she closed her eyes in the daytime, she could see them all.

Still young.

Still dark of hair and firm of skin.

Still lithe and lively.

All the ways they used to be.

Sometimes when she caught a glance of herself in the mirror or took notice of her wrinkled, age-marked hand, she was momentarily taken aback.

When did I get so old? I still feel young.

Young.

When they had escaped their mother's clutches, albeit through their first murder.

I'm sorry, Momma. But we were crazy. You'd made us crazy. We'd made ourselves crazy.

Aside from that poor frog.

Stop it, Bette! You're hurting it!

Make me, Dot.

Stop it, stop it!

Hush. Or I'll hit you in the head with a rock.

When they had first come face-to-face with the loathsome Elsa Mars.

We were so taken in. Over and over.

As well as their future mother-in-law-had-she-not-been-dead-by-that-time Ethel Darling.

I wonder what she would have thought of us the way we are now marrying her Jimmy.

And all the other freaks that summer of 1952.

They were so mystical, in their own way, they were beautiful.

She could still see them, hazy now in her memory.

But she and Jimmy were still bright clear and in full color.

Her and Jimmy and -

"I'm worried. About Bette."

She could feel his neck twist to look over at the further darkness where his sleeping Bette lie, see his love and concern in her mind's eye.

"Is she alright?"

Dot nodded, hoping it was true.

"Yes. Right now anyway."

A pause.

She didn't want to tell her sister's secret.

Didn't want to betray her.

"What do you mean?"

But she needed to take care of her sister.

And herself.

I love you, Bette. But I've been dreaming nightmares of being attached to a screaming, babbling, incoherent vegetable for the rest of my life. And it . . .

"Bette's memory is slipping. She tries to hide it. But I'm worried it's getting worse."

. . . scares me.

"Yeah," Jimmy's voice sounded somber. "I've noticed that too. I wasn't sure if it was just getting older or . . ."

They didn't want to say it.

Couldn't say it.

Not here in the dark.

Not yet.

"I want to help her," Dot confessed. "Take care of us both. But I don't know how."

How.

How to help and assist conjoined twins.

Safe from prying eyes and craning necks.

Safe from people who would whisper and snipe and mock.

Safe from the world.

Safe.

Who could help? Who could they turn to who could do, who knew anything at all?

Who would be safe, trusted?

And he just didn't know.

"I'll think of something, Dot. I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you both. I promise."

"Thank you, Jimmy Darling. I love you."

And he nuzzled back in, more comforting than sexual.

"I love you too, Dot. And Bette."

"Yes."

And he did not let them go.

"Always."

Not for a while.

What do I do?

Jimmy lay awake for a while, listening to her breathe.

Them both breathe.

His wives, his companions.

His constants.

Thirty years plus now.

He had always wanted to protect them, keep them safe.

When he had loved them.

And when he had thought he loved someone else.

And when he couldn't think at all.

He had always cared about their well-being.

And then his hands had been cut off by his own naivete and stupidity.

And he had thought he could never protect anyone or himself ever again.

Then his freak family had all died, except Desiree and Bette and Dot.

And he had still thought, with the exception of the Glorious Drowning of The Dickweed Dandy Mott, that he was powerless to stand up to anyone or do any good for himself or others in the world.

Bette and Dot had proved him wrong.

A little at a time.

One act at a time.

One day at a time.

One month at a time.

One year at a time.

They had loved him, mind and soul.

And then later, after a little convincing, mind and body and soul.

And oh, how he had loved them.

Them in all of their ways, their unusual-ness, their just-like-everyone-else-ness.

Their them-ness.

And he had tried to provide.

He'd had his missteps, his slip-ups.

His downright failures.

But they had loved him and he had loved them.

And they had done alright, he figured.

He'd even gotten to be a father.

A real father.

The one he'd always wanted.

The one he'd always dreamed of.

And his daughter, his Annabel, she was amazing.

Wonderful and smart and tough and gentle.

Not perfect, no.

But pretty darn, as far as he was concerned.

She'd found someone like her, an outsider. Someone just as caring and loving and loyal and kind as he'd always hoped for her.

And that boy had loved her.

And them.

Which honestly, was pretty damn amazing.

And they had a child themselves, the most beautiful little boy the world had ever seen (unless they had a second, of course).

And they were all doing fine, just fine.

Except they weren't.

They were getting older.

Slower.

And sicker.

All of them.

He and his darlings anyway.

And there wasn't a damn thing he could do . . .

What do I do now, Ma?

. . . about it.

He got up then.

Right then and there.

Crept from the room.

Edged the door, closed it as quietly as he could.

And made a phone call in the dead of night.

Pencil clenched between his teeth, the only way he and his stumps could manage the dial.

As he squinted at the number written on the paper on the wall.

"Hello?"

Sleepy voice, mumbled words.

"Lucy? It's Jimmy. Jimmy Da- Walker."

And just like that, instant alertness.

"Jimmy! What is it, what's wrong?"

Three a.m. phone calls. They had that effect.

"I'm sorry to worry you but . . . Dot and I are worried about Bette."

Lucy The Friend dropped out of the conversation immediately.

And Brandon's first female EMT smoothly and calmly took over.

"Tell me everything, Jimmy."

Man, I love you, Lucy.

Thanks to brigid1318 and midnightrebellion86 for reviewing before!