Amy's not sure what time she finally falls asleep. She's not drunk (Shane) or high (Lauren) but she can't get her mind to stop. Stop moving, stop going, stop whirring and whirling and playing it over and over and over. Every time she closes her eyes, she keeps seeing (and feeling) (so feeling) Reagan and her lips and her hands and her body and…

And she closes her eyes. A lot.

She's not sure when sleep finally comes and she's even less sure how it is she wakes in the morning with Shane wrapped around her from behind and her head tucked under Lauren's chin and if that's not the strangest cuddle sandwich she's ever been a part of (and really, it's the only one, so there's that.) Amy can hear them, whispering or, really, trying to cause Shane's still clearly sorta drunk and Lauren's still clearly sorta high and they're both still sorta arguing with each other.

So, you know, the usual.

Amy does her best to ignore it, to stay in her little cocoon of cuddles and memories and those few thoughts trickling through that maybe (just maybe) things will be OK. It's easier for her to do that now and yeah, she knows one (or two) kisses from some girl she's never going to see again really doesn't change anything, it doesn't mean Karma's going to suddenly love her and it doesn't mean she's not still going to have to figure out who she is, exactly, or tell people about it or deal with it for the rest of her life.

But at least now she's got one (or two) nice memories to hold onto, even when the shit hits the fan and she's pretty sure the fan's gonna get drilled eventually.

So, for now, she tries to ignore the annoyed (Lauren) and defensive (Shane) whispers flying back and forth over her head and focuses, instead, on the sense of being close to someone (or, in her case, a pair or someones), of being held and comforted and even, in a way, loved. It's enough to make her squeeze her eyes shut and snuggle a little closer and not want to move.

That's not gonna last and she knows it, but for the moment? Well… Amy's slowly learning to appreciate the good moments, even the shortest ones, even the ones she knows are nothing more than momentary waystations on the path to that shit and that fan and the end of everything as she's ever known it. Even the ones that are nothing more than being wrapped in four drunk and high arms connected to two drunk and high mouths being run by two drunk and high minds with nothing better to do than argue over what's best for her.

Shane and Lauren as parents. It's almost enough to make her laugh.

She feels the weight shifting on the bed as Lauren moves and Amy knows that sooner or later, she's gotta wake up. She just votes for later. Much later. As later as possible. As later as it takes for her to be sure she's gay (or bi) (or pan) (or some other letter she hasn't finished researching on the Internet yet) and as later as it takes for her to not be in love with her straight best friend and not be finding comfort in kissing girls (even hot DJ ones) she'll never see again or in Shane's arms.

Amy's not entirely sure such a later exists or that she won't have to wait until she's like ninety-five to find it, but, for the moment at least, she's willing to wait. Wait and listen.

"Bad idea," Lauren whispers (and yes, Amy notes that her sister-to-be seems to think every idea Shane has is bad and until Reagan, she might have been inclined to agree.) "She's not ready, Shane. She's not even fucking close."

Amy sighs softly and squeezes her eyes shut even tighter cause, yeah, maybe they're not talking to her or at her, but they're talking about her and that, she thinks, might be even worse because that's exactly what she doesn't want to be. She doesn't want to be the thing they have to whisper about and debate over and work on.

She's not their fucking project.

"Ready or not," Shane says, "it's what she needs to do. Trust me, I know -"

"No," Lauren snaps, her voice rising, heading right out of whisper-town. "You don't. You don't know shit about it. You've been out since you could fucking walk. You don't know anything about what it's like to deal with this kind of… burden… now."

Amy tenses in Shane's arms but he doesn't seem to notice. Burden. Lauren said burden and, apparently, that Shane notices.

"A burden?" There's heat in his voice, and Amy winces at the sound. "So being gay is a burden?" he asks, the heat growing and she can feel the tension in his arms.

"Being gay isn't the burden, dipshit," Lauren retorts and she's basically abandoned any attempt at keeping her voice down. "Putting up with everyone else is the fucking burden. Everyone else like my stepmother who can barely relate to straight Amy or my father who can barely handle me and I'm actually his."

It's a blurt, an outburst, a momentary lapse in her usual super precise not a word out of place way and Amy can almost feel the regret (and the horror) (and the terror) (and the oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck) radiating off of Lauren and she says a silent prayer that Shane's still drunk or hungover or just… Shane… enough that he misses it.

No such luck.

"You? What the fuck does having to deal with you have to do with…"

He trails off and Amy knows he's going over it and over it in his head, running it back and forth and slowly (it is Shane, after all) and she knows where he's going to go with it even before he does, she knows he's going to come to the exact wrong conclusion -

"Wait. Are you?" Shane scoots up on the bed, his grip on Amy faltering. "Are you gay?"

Amy waits for the explosion, she waits for Lauren to lose it and to use her anger and rage and her wickedly sharp tongue to distract and diffuse and turn it back on Shane and nuke him back into the Stone Age. She knows Lauren can and she knows Lauren wants to.

But she doesn't.

Instead, Amy pops her eyes open and watches as Lauren breaks right in front of her, as whatever is left of her high, whatever's left of the girl she turned into last night, the one who just wasn't careful enough, falls away and all that's left is the girl Amy's come to know lately. The one who dropped an olive branch pill bottle in her lap.

The one that's scared out of her mind. A feeling Amy knows all too well.

She reaches out a hand and gently cups Lauren's cheek. It's an odd gesture, more intimate than anything they've done so far and Lauren's eyes flick down to Amy's and there's so many questions and so many fears dancing through them and for a moment (just one) Amy's almost glad for her own confusion and her own questions.

There are, she thinks, worse things.

"It's OK," she whispers and she feels Shane shift to look down at her. "I'm here," she says, "and maybe that doesn't mean all that much but -"

She's cut off by the feeling of Lauren's hand on hers and the feel of tears spilling over her skin and she pushes off of Shane and rolls, pulling Lauren into her arms as the other girl loses it and grips onto her like a life vest and Amy knows.

It means everything.