Chapter 3: They Roll Their Eyes, Pull Our Elbows

Normally, Jamie would have slept through most of the four-hour journey back to DC, but not this time. Her mind was strained, beyond confusion, beyond exhaustion.

Tegan had offered her a job filming their shows. Tegan, who she had heard and half-seen. . . in bed. . . with Sara. With Sara!

The shock of this was still fresh, as was the multi-layered conflict in Jamie's mind.

Tegan was hot. Sara was hot. Sex was hot. Therefore, the thought of them together was. . . hot. But it shouldn't be hot, it couldn't be. They were sisters. That was incest; immoral; an actual crime. A crime she shouldn't have witnessed at all. . . but which had made all the blood rush to her cheeks and elsewhere.

But then, why? She thought about that over and over on the long bus ride, why is it immoral? Can what two adults choose to do with their own bodies in private be immoral? And the standard that had always made sense to her, when she had thought about gay relationships in the first place, was "consenting adults," and they were adults, and weren't they. . . consenting? So what was the difference? And it wasn't like anyone was being hurt by the whole thing. . . Not to mention the whole argument that you can't help who you fall in love with. . . All of the arguments that had made so much sense in the context of being gay suddenly failed her, and her mind swirled in a hopeless, uneasy muddle. She recoiled from it because she'd been conditioned that way and she knew it, and she understood that social mores were arbitrary but she felt it nonetheless. She was shocked; she was aroused; she was ashamed for being aroused; she was shocked at herself. And she was curious. And she was going on tour with them.

. . . . . .

Kim leaned against the frame of Jamie's bedroom door and watched, wordlessly, while Jamie packed. Jamie grabbed a bunch of t-shirts from her closet and lay them on top of her suitcase, looking skeptical. "They're all Tegan and Sara shirts," she mused.

"Is that a problem?" Kim huffed, clearly bitter. Jamie shrugged.

"Guess not," she said. "Kind of like a. . . uniform." Jamie just busied herself with packing because she could see Kim there, out of the corner of her eye, watching her expectantly, but if Kim wanted to say something she was just going to have to say it.

"Unbelievable," Kim said heavily, incredulously, shaking her head. Jamie knew Kim must be seething with jealousy, and Jamie would have felt even more so had the roles been reversed, but Jamie also felt like Kim wanted her to apologize and she wasn't going to do it.

"I know," Jamie said, managing to sound a bit sympathetic.

"They want you to record shows and stuff? Backstage stuff?"

"For a documentary, yeah," Jamie said, stuffing her phone charger into the outside pocket of her suitcase and zipping it shut. She heard, felt, Kim sigh; the whole building may have shifted under the weight of that sigh.

"So. . . you're going to the venue and then. . . backstage?" Kim asked slowly, her eyes saying traitor. Jamie raised her eyebrows, gave a little shrug again.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Jamie said suddenly, crouching in front of a shelf of CDs and flipping through, pulling one out. "That CD you wanted. . ." she said, handing the CD to Kim who looked at it, looked at Jamie, looked at the CD again.

"Thanks," she said, with all the verve of someone who has just been handed a plastic tray of hospital food.

. . . . . . .

The first few shows as part of the Tegan and Sara crew was a complete blur for Jamie. The filming of the actual show itself was not so much different from the others she'd filmed, except that she didn't have to camp out in front of the club for hours in order to get her prime spot up at the front. That, and in addition to worrying about whether her recording was good enough for the fans, she worried now over whether the filming was good enough for Tegan and Sara themselves. The rest of the evening was an overwhelming sensory overload. The show was good and the banter was funny, as it generally was, although the jokes had taken on new meaning for Jamie, as had the song lyrics. So many songs sounded then so obviously written for each other. When they played I Won't Be Left, Jamie had to swallow a lump in her throat.

I know you're scared even though you say that you're not. . .

The shock she was still feeling over the whole scandal of Tegan and Sara was mixing and swirling with moments, moments on stage, moments backstage, and her hazy recollection of those soft words she'd overheard in the dark:

I love you.

I know.

Tegan, Sara, the boys in the band, and the crew were all enthusiastic about having her there and all did what they could to help her get adjusted to life on the bus and to her new role. The filming itself, after initial difficulties with the camera, was easy and natural; knowing when to turn the camera off was trickier.

"Hey, so how's it all going so far?" Ted asked her, backstage after the third show. He sat down on a sofa, biting into a green apple.

"Great," she said, hesitating slightly over the drastic oversimplification of her own answer. "You guys sounded really excellent tonight."

"Except for Sara, who sang off-key all through 'Burn Your Life Down,'" Tegan quipped.

"Oh, because it's totally normal and professional to forget the lyrics to like, songs you wrote, and we've played like, a hundred thousand times," Sara said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Jamie felt a little wave of relief. They were teasing each other. That was good. The fight about the girl was intense but seemed to have blown over quickly. There had been a moment on stage a few nights ago where Sara, out of the blue, in the middle of Tegan's anecdote, stepped up to the microphone and said I hate you to Tegan. Tegan was so taken aback, she was not able to finish her story. They just played the next song. Jamie felt a twinge in her chest remembering Tegan's response. What? You hate me? I was just telling this story and now apparently Sara hates me. . . Tegan didn't even fight back. She blinked, her brow creased, like someone had slapped her.

"Gaaaawd, I stink," Tegan said languidly, tossing her sneakers under the coffee table and flopping down next to Ted.

"You're telling me," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Are you getting all this, Jamie?"

"Oh yeah," she said, smiling. When did one turn the camera off?

"Ted, you're not really in a position to talk," Sara started with a laugh. "Your sneakers smell the way I imagine a zombie's sneakers would smell." The boys were laughing. "Or like, no, but not even like a regular zombie's shoes but like shoes that belong to a zombie who has been like, he was, kind of like ostracized by the other zombies for having smelly feet. . ."

Jamie laughed, trying to keep the camera steady, to keep her voice out of the footage.

"That's unfair," Shaun said. "Teasing Ted about having smelly feet is like. . . if we teased you two about being gay."

"What?" they both said, the same time, in the same incredulous tone. It was such a twin moment that it gave Jamie a shiver.

"Well, do you think having smelly feet is a choice?" Shaun asked, and the laughter continued. He turned to Jamie, on the other side of the room with her camera trained on them. "What do you think, Jamie? Are smelly feet a choice?" Jamie shook her head with a chuckle.

"Um, no," she said.

"Is being gay a choice?" he asked. Involuntarily, her eyes flicked over to Tegan, who was in the process of stretching her arms above her head, on the sofa, her green and blue plaid shirt lifting enough to reveal a slice of her belly. Jamie looked away quickly.

"No," Jamie said simply. No, it wasn't. Not any more than it was a choice to fall in love with an unattainable rock star. Or, possibly, your own twin sister.

"Well, there you go then. Give Ted and his zombie sneakers a break," Shaun said.

"Thanks, Shaun," Ted laughed. "That was really touching."

. . . . . . .

Life on the bus was and wasn't what Jamie had expected. The proximity and togetherness was intense and, because Tegan was there, it was intoxicating. Instead of just the rush of adrenaline she experienced from seeing her on stage, she was now spending nearly every waking hour with it pumping through her veins, and it was exhausting. She kept telling herself she'd get used to it and maybe she was, a little, but it was still overwhelming.

There were rules on the bus, to keep everyone sane and alive. Everyone was required to keep their possessions in their own bunk and nowhere else; no overnight guests; shower time limits were strictly observed. Jamie adapted to those rules quickly, although her sleeping habits were not consistent with touring. She found herself sleepy, grumpy, and several of the other dwarfs most mornings. It did nothing to help Jamie's frayed nerves that half of the time Tegan and Sara still seemed startled by her presence, though they generally recovered quickly. The other half, they seemed to think nothing of walking around in front of her in their pajamas, causing her to hurriedly avert her eyes every time she caught a glimpse of their pale legs from under their pajama shorts.

Life on the bus also involved sleeping in a bunk, directly under Tegan's. The first seven nights it took her ages to fall asleep because a) her bed was moving and b) Tegan was a foot above her face. At night she half-expected to hear Sara climb into Tegan's bunk, right above hers, but that had yet to happen. Jamie was starting to wonder if it had all been a hallucination, a manifestation of the unknown drug on her virgin brain. And the fight in the lobby the next morning? Well, it was shocking enough that Sara had slept with Tegan's girlfriend and that's all it was. A fight between sisters, albeit a fairly twisted one. Jamie thought of that, of the shocking betrayal that it represented. Had Tegan forgiven Sara for that? How could she? Was Sara sorry? Did their twin-ness make this more of a blow, or. . . somehow. . . less of one? She didn't want to believe that Sara would do something that egregious, and thought there must be more to the story that she didn't know. She couldn't really imagine what circumstances could possibly exist to allow Tegan to let it go so quickly.

By the eighth night of the tour, she'd almost convinced herself all over again that she'd imagined everything. They were in a small town in rural Ontario, and after the show Ted and Johnny went to a midnight movie while Shaun went to meet an old university friend. Tegan and Sara had disappeared. Jamie got some takeout and returned to the bus. She ate and chatted with a couple of members of the crew before they went off to their bunks, but her sleep cycle was so messed up that even though she was exhausted, she didn't think she could sleep. Thinking it might be a good chance to get some atmospheric rural nighttime footage, she grabbed her camera and her jacket and went out for a walk.

The night was bright and still. Her footfalls crunched on gravel on the soft shoulder of the road as she set out in the direction of an old farmhouse in the distance. She stopped, turned on the camera, just to see if she could get anything usable. It was a good camera; she thought she might be able to capture something worthwhile. The farmhouse in the distance intrigued her; she hurried her pace.

The farmhouse itself looked abandoned, and the large red barn beyond was downright derelict. It was eerily beautiful there in the silver light of the full moon. Jamie got some good shots of it, and then jumped over a shallow ditch and started across the field towards the barn.

She circled around the back of it, camera running, the tall grass soaking the cuffs of her jeans. It was cold, but she was liking the shots she was getting. They were creepy. She shivered a little to be out there alone, but she wanted more footage. There was a ladder at the back of the barn and when she craned her neck up, she saw the dark opening above. After a moment's hesitation, she started her climb. It was a slow process; because the camera was too big for her pocket, she had to set it a step above her and then climb up, move the camera, climb up. The ladder itself had started rotting in places, and Jamie idly wondered who would find her if she fell to her death.

At last, she reached the opening high above the field, with only one small splinter in her palm. She placed the camera inside on the floor and hoisted herself inside. It was darker inside, and she gave herself a moment to adjust to the light. Hay was heaped up all around her, and she could see ahead where the loft ended. She cautiously crawled forward a few feet and then froze.

Voices.

Heart in her throat, she hesitated. Should she rush back to the ladder, climb down and run her ass off back to the bus? She was a fast runner. She could probably outrun the organ thieves or whoever they were. But something compelled her on, and she inched forward, very quietly, camera in hand. She lay down on her stomach and peered over the edge, camera ready, and she saw them.

The large doors of the barn were open, and the bright full moonlight streamed in, illuminating them where they stood. Now, laying still, hardly breathing, she could make out their words.

"You know that's not what I meant," Sara said. "I mean, what's the point if you're going to assume that-"

Tegan stepped closer to Sara slowly, took Sara's face between both hands. Sara sighed, hands on Tegan's wrists, pulling away half-heartedly. "Tegan," she said, looking down, unable to finish. Sara stepped back a little, pulled away, but Tegan caught her wrist and wouldn't release it.

"Wait," Tegan said, plaintively, and Sara pushed her back with her other hand.

"No, it's. . . fuck, this is sick!" Sara said, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. "It's fucking sick and so are we. . ." Tegan recovered her balance from the push and took a tentative step forward as her sister's voice filled with tears. "No, what are you doing, no. . ." Sara moaned, wearily, heavily, putting her arm up in front of her face as if to shield herself from Tegan. Tegan stopped with a hurt shrug.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Why?" Sara asked. Tegan shrugged again. Sara wiped her eyes with her sleeve, struggling, hesitating, and then suddenly, quickly, made three quick steps and grasped Tegan's face, as Tegan had done to her moments before, but without the tentative tenderness. She kissed Tegan intensely, and Tegan staggered back one or two steps before catching her heel on a loose board and stumbling back into a mound of hay. Jamie gasped with them, involuntarily, and put her own jacket sleeve over her mouth as she watched, transfixed.

Sara followed Tegan down quickly, first kneeling, and then pulling her body on top of Tegan in the hay. Sara's hands in Tegan's hair, Tegan's mouth on Sara's neck. Sara pulled Tegan's head back and kissed her mouth again, and Jamie was conscious of what was happening to her body as Sara's tongue made its way over Tegan's lips and into her mouth. Jamie could hardly hear the buzz of the camera over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

The camera! Jamie quickly turned off the camera and set it aside, eyes locked on the two figures below, whose eyes were locked on each other. She watched them, guilty for watching them, unable to look away.

What the fuck am I doing? she asked herself, pressing even flatter into the boards beneath her. This is wrong. It's wrong I'm seeing this. It's wrong that it's happening. It's wrong that I'm watching them and they don't know it. It's wrong that it's making me hot, all over. She thought all of this but didn't move as they kissed, urgently, repeatedly, their hands in each other's hair, gripping each other's sides, hips, Sara's pelvis beginning to rhythmically press into Tegan's, as Jamie had seen her do through the shadows that first night in the hotel room. Small pleading noises began to escape Tegan's mouth in response, her hips involuntarily lifting to meet Sara's, and after several minutes Sara roughly yanked the button fly of Tegan's pants open with one hand, the other propping herself up above her sister. Breathing heavily, Tegan pulled Sara's shirt free of her jeans, her hands seeking out the softness of her sister's skin. Jamie's stomach flipped at the sound Tegan made as Sara's hand slipped under the waistband of her underwear. Tegan's moans were muffled, swallowed by Sara's mouth on hers and some of the anger seemed to dissolve from their kisses as Sara's fingers slid down inside Tegan's jeans and disappeared.

Jesus, she whispered into the sleeve of her jacket. Tegan lifted her hips a little and slid her pants down several inches, and Jamie clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms at the sight of so much of Tegan's skin - her hips, her thighs, pale in the moonlinght, and the place where Sara's hand moved, fingers pressing deep inside, sliding in, sliding out, sliding in, curling forward. Sara's hand continued its movement against Tegan, but now her eyes were on Tegan's, their faces close. Jamie sucked in a sharp breath when she saw Sara, one hand still pressing into Tegan, raise her other hand to Tegan's cheek and turn Tegan's face to hers.

"Look at me," Sara growled, and Tegan did, her eyes wide on her sister's as Sara's hand pressed into her over and over, the intensity of the command causing her to inhale sharply and push her hips more desperately into Sara's hand, the hay sliding beneath her as Sara's free hand pushed Tegan's sweaty hair back from her forehead. Moments passed, Tegan's ragged breathing and agonized whimpers echoing through the night, and Jamie didn't know, couldn't judge how long it was before Tegan could no longer look in her sister's eyes and instead wrapped her arms around Sara's back, squeezing her, eyes shut tight, mouth open in a silent cry, her neck strained, and Jamie almost cried out too as Tegan half-cried, half-moaned into Sara's neck. Sara's hand kept working until Tegan gripped her sister's wrist desperately, pulling it into her, cries caught in her throat, shaking again until her body went limp.

Sara lowered herself down next to Tegan and slowly withdrew her fingers. Tegan sighed as Sara's fingers left her and moved up to her face again, through her hair. Sara kissed her again, much more tenderly this time, slowly, and, as Tegan's hand made its way to the button on Sara's jeans, Sara took hold of Tegan's hand, stopped her.

"No," Sara said.

"Sara. . ." Tegan protested softly. Sara shook her head, kissed Tegan's fingers, stood up, brushed the hay off of her knees, and walked quickly and wordlessly out the open door.

Tegan lay there gasping, spent, her jeans around her thighs.

"Sara," she said, in a tone that expected no answer. She yanked her pants back up and sat in the hay, catching her breath. Jamie watched as she pulled her knees up and pressed her face down into them, hugging them into her chest.

Holy Jesus fucking Christ. Jamie couldn't see Tegan's face, couldn't even come close to knowing what she was feeling exactly, but she herself had bitten her tongue so hard when Tegan came that she tasted blood. She lay there, watching Tegan, heat pulsing all through her, until Tegan stood, wiped her face with the front of her shirt, and walked out into the moonlight.