A/N: Okay, guys, we've reached the end of another Devilishverse Fic From the Vault (Jen's Version). J/K, but this is the last chapter. I was really, really wanting to have the long fic finished by the time I got this one up; unfortunately, I'm still plugging away at it. I'm hoping to wrap it up within the next few weeks, though. Depends on where these crazy ladies decide to take me next. Until then, thanks for reading and commenting. Can't wait to share another big story with y'all.

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
You were bigger than the whole sky
You were more than just a short time

- Taylor Swift

. . .

8. Bigger Than the Whole Sky

. . .

Everyone leaves. That was the lesson Olivia's mother had drummed into her head over and over again from the age of six years old, when she'd cried and asked Serena why no one showed up at her birthday party (years later she realized it was because the other parents didn't want their kids around her depressed drunk of a mother); at sixteen, when she cried and asked why Meg had abandoned them; at twenty-six, when she wondered why a boyfriend had broken up with her. And then, to really drive the point home, Serena had finally left her too, without a goodbye and holding all that guilt, which seemed to be the birthright of all children born to an alcoholic parent.

Olivia had spent fifty-odd years trying to unlearn her mother's lessons, but that was a tougher one to undo, mainly because people kept proving it was true. You could be the best friend, daughter, partner, boss, or champion you knew how to be, and they would still walk out on you. No explanation, no chance to make it right. Just bittersweet memories of the way it used to be, and always that question why?

Why? she thought, gazing out through the crisscrossed bars at open infinite air straight ahead, at people like busy, swarming beetles below. She wondered if any of the faces out there belonged to someone who had known her once but didn't love her enough to stay. Perhaps that's how the ride got the name Wonder Wheel—it brought up old musings for which no explanation sufficed.

"You feeling all right?" Amanda murmured near her ear, probably to be heard over the whirring motor, the clang of sliding cars, and the maddening calliope music as much as to be discreet in front of the girls. Luckily the four of them had scored a car to themselves because no one else wanted the stationary seats (including Jesse, who only agreed because Jillian was frightened enough without careening to and fro in a metal box, a hundred-plus feet in the air)—no need to worry about eavesdroppers.

The girls were in their own world too, and probably unaware of any conversation going on around them. It was slightly concerning the way they tuned out everything within their vicinity to focus on each other, sometimes seeming to communicate in a made-up language or silent code. Twins could do that, but Jesse and Jillian had never shared a womb. They didn't even look alike. Olivia supposed she wouldn't have to fret about their closeness much longer, though; despite a good deal of encouragement from Amanda and Olivia to stay in the City, Jules had officially decided to move back home to be near her mother. Granted, it was only Staten Island, but Jillian would still have to switch schools and Jesse would still be separated from her best friend in all the world. Jesse had cried her little heart out when she heard the news, clutching at Olivia's legs and begging her and Amanda to adopt Jillian so she could live with them. Olivia had ended up in tears herself, and Amanda had to be the one who explained why they couldn't just take custody of someone else's child.

"But aren't cops supposed to protect kids if their parents do bad things to them?" Jesse had asked. No, demanded. "Well, it's bad for Jillian's mommy to make her leave. She's used to our school and all the kids and teachers. She'll hate her new school 'cause it's different, and I won't be there to make sure the other kids don't tease her if she can't talk or moves her hands too much or doesn't understand math. I won't be there to protect her!"

That struck a nerve for Amanda, as well as Olivia, and neither of them had been able to come up with a decent rebuttal, just more sad hugs and kisses for their sad girl. Fact of the matter was, Jules had made a major life decision that could be seriously detrimental for a little girl like Jillian, especially paired with the trauma of sexual abuse and losing part of her family. But Jules was a grown woman and there was nothing Olivia and Amanda could say or do to change her mind. The one consolation was that she was a good mother who loved her daughter and only wanted the best for her. One day Jesse would understand that and, hopefully, see it as a positive and not the devastating loss it felt like now.

Had that been Serena's reasoning when she chased Meg out of their lives, Olivia wondered. That she was somehow protecting her young, impressionable daughter from . . . what? Being raised by someone who would have loved her like their own flesh and blood, who wouldn't have left her alone for days on end, who would have praised her achievements and believed in her, who never would have screamed at, hit, or made her feel worthless?

No, not an ounce of love or understanding had gone into Serena's decision-making for her child, least of all when it came to Olivia's relationship with Meg.

Then, three days ago, Olivia had gotten the call: Meg was dead. Her beloved Meg, who had only just reentered her life a year ago, after being absent from it for so long. The Almighty must have a twisted sense of humor too, because it hadn't been the cancer that finally got her, not officially—weak from the illness and the chemo, she had lost her balance and fallen to her death on the stairs of her beautiful brownstone. Not even that drastic of a fall, but it had been enough to take her life, in her already impaired state.

It was all so eerily familiar. And, like Serena's death, so senseless.

Amanda kept encouraging Olivia to attend the funeral, claiming it would bring her the closure she hadn't gotten from her other abruptly ended friendships. Olivia doubted it; there had been no closure from Serena's funeral, from Tucker's, Mike Dodds', the one for Alex's fake death, the one she covered out-of-pocket for her little brother Simon, or from those of countless victims who might have been friends under different circumstances. Maybe closure was just a myth, an elusive thing like the cars of the Wonder Wheel, dangled in front of you but forever out of reach, always sliding farther away as you went round and round, round and round.

Round and—

"I'm just . . . thinking," she said finally, not wanting to have a heavy conversation around the girls, but also not wanting to be dishonest. Amanda usually knew when something was wrong, denying it only postponed her ability to help and turned Olivia into a liar. Better to give an answer that was somewhere in the middle.

"Hm." Amanda nodded, as if she expected as much. Not only did she usually know when something was wrong, but she usually knew what the something was too. Case in point, she asked, "Whatcha thinking about," then silently mouthed, "Meg?" right after. The consideration was nice, though the girls were gawking at the ground rapidly approaching them from below (round and round and round we go)—Jillian was especially bug-eyed—no interest whatsoever in the affairs of two grownup girls with grownup problems.

Olivia gave it a moment, then nodded in return, slowly. "Guess it's all still sinking in. That she's . . . " She fluttered her hand like a butterfly taking to the breeze. Or a soul leaving its earthly body. "I went almost forty years not knowing whether she was ali— still around or not, so why it should bother me now, I don't know. It just . . . does."

"'Cause you got a big heart. And you cared about her all that time, even if you didn't spend it with her." Amanda hiked her arm over Olivia's head and hugged her tightly by the shoulders. "I'd be more surprised if it didn't bother you. And worried. The Liv I know and love doesn't give up on anybody. One of my favorite things about you. Without it, you'd've probably kicked me to the curb ages ago." She squished Olivia against her, gently tilting her head down for a kiss on the temple.

In no hurry to disturb the affectionate display, Olivia lowered her head the rest of the way to Amanda's shoulder, and nuzzled there. She wished she could curl up and hide in her wife's embrace for a little while, until all the pain and sadness passed. By then, the funeral would be over, and Olivia wouldn't have to agonize about whether or not she should go. (Of course she should. Would. She had to, for Meg. They had chatted on the phone shortly before Meg died, and she had asked Olivia to speak at the ceremony, to look in on her wife and daughter from time to time in the aftermath. It's not fair of me to ask such things of you, she had said in a small, frail voice, but you're the only one I trust with it. With my family and my memory. Please, Livvy.)

"Never. Never ever." Olivia drew Amanda's hand across them into her lap, idly tracing the knuckles and thinking what those hands—the other so warm at her shoulder—had done for her. How the love in them, and in her wife's lioness heart, had healed her. In spite of all the losses and tragedies. "Just promise me you'll never go anywhere, because I can't . . . "

Make it without you, she meant to conclude, but her voice didn't hold out. It was probably just as well, since Jesse's fascination with the ride was starting to wane. She peeked over at her mothers, surreptitious at first, then growing bolder. Along with her blond hair and blue eyes, she had inherited Amanda's knack for cutting straight to the chase. "Are you going somewhere, Mama?" she asked, the blue eyes narrowed in scrutiny. With her head at that angle, she looked a bit like Frannie scenting out bacon and waiting to see if a strip or two would be shared.

And this was why Olivia didn't have these conversations within earshot of the kids. They were always listening, even when you thought they weren't.

"Nope," said Amanda, matter-of-fact as could be. Something told Olivia that the answer was for her reassurance, as much as Jesse's. Though she couldn't see Amanda's expression, she heard the warmth in the tone, its meaningful inflection. She felt the love emanating from the steady, supporting presence beside her. "I'm not going anywhere, baby girl. Y'all are stuck with me forever, so you best get used to it."

"Good." Jesse resumed her game of I Spy with Jillian, the two of them chattering happily amongst themselves.

The day was theirs alone, the adults present only to supervise, the siblings at the dog park with Daphne (Noah had taken some convincing, finally agreeing when it was framed as helping his Aunt Daph watch two babies and three dogs). The girls weren't worrying about the future—or the past—or what would become of their relationship. They were living in the here and now, enjoying a ride on the Ferris wheel they had daydreamed about for months.

Some of Olivia's dark cloud lifted as she watched them, admiring the innocence and wonder they still possessed. She didn't have that childlike resilience anymore, but it did her heart good to see it in her own kids, in Jillian, to whom life had already dealt a raw hand. It might have been all the rotating, but she suddenly felt lighter, and thoughts of her dear lost friend Meg became a bittersweet undercurrent, rather than eddies of sadness in her mind.

Three years ago she had sat on this same ride with Amanda, never guessing where they would be today, what they would have survived together, how much they'd have grown—not even certain if Amanda would still be a part of her life by this time, let alone married to her. Snuggling further into their embrace, her hands clasped around her wife's waist, she discovered something else miraculous: in spite of all the losses she had endured, there was no doubt in her mind that Amanda would always be with her.

Everyone leaves, but sometimes—sometimes, if you're very lucky—the right person stays.

"Forever. I like the sound of that," she said, and round and round they all went on the wondrous ruminative wheel.

. . .

The End