What happens between Amy and Sabrina's first kiss and their second. With 100% more Cooperfeld sister action and attempted truth telling.

"I thought you learned your lesson."

Lauren's voice is loud (it's always loud) (you've just gotten used to it) (and to her) (which is lucky for you, right about now) and you pull the pillow down hard over your head to muffle her and hope that she might think you're still sleeping.

Not that you did any of that, last night. Sleeping.

You showed up on her doorstep with a stolen from Bruce's left behinds six pack (half gone by the time you knocked on Lauren's door) (it was a long walk) and lips you could swear were still swollen from kisses (it had only been one) (really) (one long one and three beers in you kinda lost the whole counting thing) and a headful of confusion (even without the beer) and a heartful of panic.

All that meant - at best - two hours of fitful tossing and turning and dreaming (and no, you're not going to think about those dreams, not even a little) and not much actual sleep.

"You told me," Lauren says and you swear she's just getting louder. "You told me that you learned your lesson."

You lift the pillow up off your face. Not much. Just enough. Just enough to shoot Lauren your best 'fuck you' eyes. Except you can hardly open them, so it's more 'fuc…' eyes and Lauren either doesn't notice or, more likely, deems it as something less than your best effort.

She's not wrong.

But that's as much as she's getting cause it's as much as you can manage, what with the lack of sleep and your mind awash with the remnants of that six pack (and that was still six too few, in your opinion though your head and your stomach might disagree) (and your heart) (can't forget that)

(no matter how much you'd like to)

and so she's lucky she's getting even that much effort, that you're even bothering to look up at her and not just burying your head further into her guest bed, that you're not pulling the duvet up under your chin and tugging the pillow down over your head till you can't see her or the light or whatever's past the light

(you know, the outside world) (the one with people) (one in particular)

and when she drops down on the mattress and it shifts beneath you like a wave, you groan and pull the pillow back down, burying yourself in the softness as you try and ride out the tides under you.

"You said," Lauren says (yells) (not really) (but even quiet Lauren is loud and she's not quiet right now cause she's making a point) "and I quote -"

"I know what I said," you snap even if the duvet and the pillow and the cottonmouth take away most of the actual bite and it comes out more as a mumble than anything else. "Falling for your straight best friend… rite of passage… queer girl's natural evolution… yadda yadda…"

Lauren rolls onto her side next to you and the mattress shifts again and you can feel it, every rise and sink and roll caressing your skin with it's perfect little memory foam fingers

(and if they could only erase the feeling of… other fingers and hands and lips… and fuck… you smush down the urge to puke cause that's a one way ticket to never being invited back, sisters or not)

and she talks again, a little quieter this time (or maybe the pillow's just doing a better job.) "I was going to say that you said… and I do quote… 'Never again. I'm never falling for a straight girl and I'm never falling for my best friend. Never. Never never never." She tugs up the corner of the pillow and smirks down at you in the darkness beneath. "You were very specific about the never."

She's right. You were. And you meant it but it's not your fault that 'never' arrived in a gorgeous brunette package just as dorky as you and all questioning and confused (and then not confused) (and then still not confused cause kissing you and can't kiss if confused, right?)

(fuck)

and it's certainly not your fault that that 'never' package kissed you (though you may shoulder some responsibility for kissing back) (but let's not digress), so - if anything - the only thing that is your fault is just being too bomb a tour guide and really, you can't help it if you've got better gay guru skills than Shane could ever hope to have.

Right.

That's it.

Everything else? All the feelings and the sorta feelings and the thinking about feelings and the thinking about thinking about feelings… totally not on you.

(fuck)

(again)

You snatch the pillow out of Lauren's hand and smother yourself into the duvet, letting out a hoarse and watery and exhausted scream.

"Feel better?" she asks and you shake your head, rocking the pillow back and forth, a marshmallow in an earthquake.

"Fuck that," you mutter into the fabric.

You said all that, you said every word and yeah, you did mean it, but you didn't think you had to because let's be real, you only had one best friend and you'd already done the fall in love with a straight girl and best friend bit with her (two birds, one redheaded stone of fucking pain) and you'd managed to make it through, to come out the other side, to fall out of love with her (mostly) (kinda) (enough to ignore it and move on and make out with catwomen and sorta make plans to date Felix - like it would ever really happen - and that was enough for the moment) and so you could say it and say that you meant it all you wanted cause it wasn't happening again.

Except… well..

Fuck that too, apparently.

You really did think you'd learned your lesson with Karma. But then the universe (and see? You were right) (such a bunch of dicks) just had to drop Sabrina back into your lap (not literally) (unfortunately) and yeah, maybe she wasn't your best friend (years living apart and all that) but she was close and, as Nana always said, when it came to horseshoes, hand grenades, and love?

Close totally fucking counts.

(and yes, Nana said fucking) (where do you think you got your potty mouth from?)

Lauren leans back on the bed and puts a hand on your shoulder (but her grip's a bit too tight and you can't help wondering why her comforting gestures always feel one step away from attempted murder.) "You tried," she says. "I know that you did. This wasn't like Karma," she says. "You didn't willingly dive down this rabbit hole."

You nod, and grunt a "Yeah", hoping that one or both look or sound more convincing to her than they do to you.

You didn't willingly dive.

But, really… didn't you though?

How did you fall for Sabrina? Let's count the ways (as best as your hungover and exhausted and trying not to think about the kiss mind can.)

You sat with her at the coffee shop, relegating Karma to the third wheel seat. OK, so that happened but come on, that was only fair. You'd played front wheel of the tricycle for Karma and Liam plenty of times.

(that sounded so much less dirty in your head)

(no, it really didn't)

You took her side at game night. But, come on (again)... Karma was totally cheating (even if she didn't mean to) (which makes complete sense) (cause screwing up and not meaning to is so not Karma, right?) and she was being all weird and defensive and possessive and sometimes you just can't help wanting to needle her. Just a little.

And maybe… maybe… you spent a little too much time with Sabrina at school. And maybe… maybe… you were just a little too excited to see her and show her around introduce her to everyone (like Felix) (especially Felix) (and yeah… maybe the universe isn't the only bunch of dicks.) And maybe you could have been a little more 'hey mom, it's my friend from camp' and a little less 'hey mom, it's my future wife' when you introduced her to Farrah, but you were…

Excited.

That's not a crime.

It's stupid… so fucking stupid (and it's all so diving headlong into the rabbit hole and you know it) … but it's not a crime.

(It should be.) (They should so take you to jail.) (Lock you up and throw away the key and protect you from yourself and your hormones and the parts of you that think when your brain doesn't.) (Like your heart.)

(That's totally the part you meant.)

(Unfortunately, it really is.)

Lauren squeezes your shoulder gently (and, surprisingly, doesn't take the opportunity to try and steer you out of the bed and down the hall and out the door.) "You said Sabrina kissed you, right?" she asks, not even waiting for you to respond before rolling right on. "So, she must have felt something," she says. "It's not like girls just go around kissing other girls if they're not at least a little into them. I mean, who would do…"

She trails off and for once, Lauren isn't not saying the name because she hates the name (and the girl it belongs to) but it's too late and even if she hadn't said it, you were already thinking it.

You were already floating through the deep end of that metaphorical (and literal) fucking pool.

"Sorry," Lauren says. "I didn't mean… I didn't think." She squeezes your shoulder again and there's a pause and you can practically hear her mind whirring along, trying to find the right thing to say. She finally settles on "Sabrina's not Karma, you know. And this isn't you two all over again, hell, it didn't even start with anyone faking anything."

She's got a point.

And she's got a moment, the kind you've missed since she left, one where she's being all supportive (and if anyone had ever described this moment to you, you'd have thought they were nuts) (the kind in the head) (not the kind that can kill you)

(though they're not all that different…)

and it's a different kind of support, one you're not used to. Karma's support comes - so very often - in ways that make your heart hurt, even if she doesn't mean it. Shane's support is always couched in some gay Yoda bullshit and his insatiable desire for gossip. Lauren's support… well…

Lauren support tends to come in the way of food (wedding cake) (to be specific) or angry revenge plans (It's Hump Day!) or saving you from angry revenge plans (and then reading your journal anyway) but this is a kinder and gentler Lauren and it's different and kinda weird and you're not sure what to make of -

"But whatever," she says, and then the squeeze does turn into a shove. "Liam's going to be back in a few minutes and you need to look sorta… well… whatever passes for presentable with you and you still have to figure out how I can figure out if I'm actually starting to have… you know…"

"Feelings," you mumble into the duvet.

"Yes," she says. "Those." She pushes a little harder and your body starts to move (she's deceptively strong), but your face stays planted, the fabric of the duvet bunching against your cheeks and your nose. "And then," Lauren says, "we can call Shane and the three of us can figure your shit out."

You raise your head up, the pillow slipping down onto the back of it, covering your shoulders like some sort of fluffy shawl. "Shane? You're going to call Shane?" You blink at her. "Fuck, this Liam-crush must be worse than I -"

The words die in your throat as Lauren shoves (again) - and nothing deceptive about it at all - and you slip off the bed and bang your knee on the floor as she smirks.

"Well, he and I are destined to be best friends," she says. "The non making out in the street or anywhere else kind." You glare at her over the edge of the bed, but there's a look - something almost… caring - behind her smirk and you can't help but laugh. "Hurry up," she says. "I think there's still some doughnuts in the kitchen, but only if you get to them before Liam - "

You're over the bed and out the door and into the kitchen before she can finish the thought and for the next four doughnuts (the ones you eat there) (and then the two more she packs in a little brown paper bag for you) all is right with the world.

It won't last, but that, you've discovered, is what sisters are for.

She's waiting for you when you get home and you're not really surprised.

OK, maybe you're a little surprised. Mostly by the she in question cause when Farrah said you had company in the living room, you assumed Karma.

And yeah. Not her.

Sabrina practically jumps from the chair when you walk in and she starts towards you and then stops and then starts again and then stops and - if that wasn't the exact same thing your heart was doing - it might be cute.

"Hey," she says. "Your mom said you'd called and said you were on your way home, so I could… um… I thought maybe we could…"

Her hands are twitching at her sides as she talks and the words fizzle and about a thousand and one ways to end that sentence run through your mind.

maybe we could talk

maybe we could kiss again

maybe we could kiss again again… and then again

maybe we could forget it ever happened and never speak of it again cause I told you about my slugger and she's still not a switch hitter and I don't even really know what that means cause I never watched baseball or softball or, you know, any kind of ball

Maybe you could do something other than standing there staring at her and hoping you don't still have powdered sugar on your lips.

Not that she's looking at your lips.

Is she?

No.

Well... maybe. It's hard to tell cause you're looking at hers and not at her eyes and you really need to stop staring before this gets really fucking awkward -

"I really want to kiss you right now."

Too late.

"What?" you say, finally dragging your eyes up to hers, sure that you didn't hear her right and that she couldn't possibly have just said that cause whatever it was that happened last night was so obviously a glitch, a hiccup, a momentary loss of -

"I said I really want to kiss you right now."

OK. Maybe not so momentary.

"You do?"

She smiles and ducks her head (and it's only the most adorable-slash-sexy-slash-you are so fucked thing you've ever seen.) "Is that so hard to believe?"

Truth or lie or fuck it all and kiss her?

"I'm not quite sure what to believe with you," you say (choosing truth) (and the whole truth) (for once) (it can't backfire any worse than your usual MO, right?) "Yesterday morning you were questioning, then yesterday afternoon you were straight as a Lauren label and then there was last night…" You lean against the back of the chair and run a hand through your hair. "Guess I'm just getting a little whiplash."

You smile as you say it - as best you can - trying (hoping) to make her understand that you're not mad because you're not. Confused and terrified and worried and confused and desperately wanting to feel her lips on yours again and confused, yes. Mad? Not so much.

"Yeah," she says. "I get that. It's kinda the same thing for me."

One thing you've learned over the last year or so? The word 'kinda' is a fucking bomb with a perpetually lit fuse.

"I meant it," Sabrina says and then it's like she's reading your mind (which it?) "All of the 'its'," she says. "The questioning and then the slugger and then... "

"The kiss," you say (and then you remember that your mother is here, still, but you don't dare turn to look for her because that might break the spell.)

Sabrina nods. "Definitely the kiss," she says. She takes one halting step forward and pauses again, her hands clutched in front of her. "And I do want to kiss you right now. More than… well… more than I… but there's something I have to tell you first. Something you need to know."

If 'kinda' is a bomb? 'Something I have to tell you' is a fucking nuke and not a little suitcase nuke or a dirty bomb or whatever. It's a full on missile, barrelling down at you from thirty-five thousand feet.

"It's OK," you say (and it's not) (but you're not coming out of this in one piece no matter what, better to limit the damage.) "I know."

She takes a step (nothing halting about that one) back and the color drains from her face and if you could still look in them, you'd see tears in her eyes. "You know?"

You nod. "Yeah, I mean, I get it." You step around the chair and settle down into it, your legs suddenly feeling like they weigh about a thousand pounds. "It was the speech," you say. "My little labels are for douches ramble. Right?"

Sabrina moves (again), a step closer. "Your speech?"

At the rate you two are going, this is going to be the longest 'I was inspired by your speech and it got me all hyped and I just let that go to my head and got so caught up that I kissed you and I liked it, but I'm not gay' conversation ever.

"You got caught up in the moment," you say. "And yes, you liked kissing me, but a kiss can be… hot…"

(was it hot? yeah)

(no) (not going there)

"And not mean anything more than that," you say. "It's OK. I get it. I know you're not a lesbian or bi or whatev -"

"I don't know what I am," Sabrina says, cutting you off. "And yeah, I got caught up in your speech and the moment. And yeah, the kiss was hot. Really really hot."

(you blush) (just a little)

And then she comes to you, kneeling down in front of you (and that visual turns you so red you're not sure there's blood left anywhere in your body but your face) and you have to shut your eyes.

"That isn't what I needed to tell you, but you need to know, Amy," she says, her hands covering yours (and the fuse on that bomb burns lower and lower.) "That kiss meant something. It meant…" She shakes her head and you wait for the explosion, for the detonation that will blow what's left of your heart away. "I never expected… and then I kissed you and it was like… how had I missed it all that time, how had I never just… seen it."

Last time someone said something like that… it was you.

And you know how that ended.

"I don't know what it meant," Sabrina says. She reaches and her hand cups your cheek and you're pretty sure you're not breathing (the bomb, in your experience, sucks the air out of the room and out of your chest and your lungs, so you're just getting ready.) "But I do know that I want to figure it out. With you."

You force yourself to open your eyes and look at her.

you said you learned your lesson

You did. You did say that.

Know what else you said?

Fuck that.

"I've been told I'm a pretty bomb tour guide," you say, letting your hand settle over hers, against your cheek. "But I think I'd rather be a travelling partner if that's cool with -"

She cuts you off, again, but it's lips and not words and it's hands and not stammering speeches and it's her in your arms and you in hers and it's like four more doughnuts and a slip and slide right down the rabbit hole and you still don't know what she had to tell you, but right then?

You don't care.

That's another bomb for another day and if it comes with kisses (and feelings) like this?

Bring it on. You can take it.

You can take anything.