Work Text:
They sat in the back of the ambulance, Grace- or Amanda, rather- her head in her hands, fingers tugging on her curls, the scent of fear, sweat, and anger still thick on her skin. The lights of the police vehicles flash, bathing them in blue and red, invading the bright clinical light of the ambulance. Amanda doesn’t like it, how the red coats Mike. She’s seen enough of it staining him from today (and from before?). She shakes her head, trying to stay in the present, to sort out the thoughts and memories in her mind.
The hypnosis had let her view those memories as an observer, but now, after having seen the anklet and the boy now a man, the past has invaded her present. The fight had awoken things from her mind that she was still trying to process. She felt as if she was still half in her dream, unable to wake. She dug her nails into her forehead, voice quiet, "There was just so much. And I don’t understand why- what exactly happened.”
Mike took her hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb, voice soothing, "It’s alright, Amanda," he glanced around to make sure the policemen and the emergency personnel were otherwise occupied. He didn’t want anyone thinking they were insane- when he still had a lot of trouble believing it himself, “Don't you remember? Frankie- Madson, I mean-“ he shook his hand, pressing his fingers to his temples, "Whatever the hell his name was. Roman was innocent."
"No, Mike, that’s not what I mean at all," she looked up at him, eyes wide, studying him- as if trying to fight puzzle pieces together, "No, I mean… In the fight, I- I saw Margaret. I held her. Which must…" she studied him, quietly, trailing off, "Which must mean…"
She blinked, reaching out, smoothing his hair away from the sides of his face, "Who did you see in the mirror, Mike?"
"Amanda," Mike smiled, squeezing the hand that lay between them gently, unwilling to admit it out loud, "It doesn’t matter."
"It does," her brow had furrowed, "It matters to me. All my life I’ve-“ she sucked in her breath, “All my life I’ve been searching. Searching for something. Obsessed with those- those damned scissors and what they took from me. Tell me what it is, Mike," she licked her lips, hesitant, "Frankie said it was my life. But- but even now," she reached up, cupping his face in her hand, smoothing his cheek with her thumb, voice soft as she searched his face for answers, "Something tells me that’s not true in the way that I think it is."
Mike watched her, silent, before he breathed deep, giving in, "In the mirror…" he reached up, placing his hand over hers, voice quiet and still despite the hustle and bustle around them, "I saw Margaret."
She sucked in her breath, gasping, "Margaret." She nodded, tears spilling over, her other hand reaching up to cradle his head in her hands, "Margaret. And Mike… I shot you."
Mike laughed, dry, "Water under the bridge, huh?”
Amanda withdrew, biting her knuckles, casting her eyes towards the bandages obscuring his side- the reason they were in this ambulance now, the reason Mike was going to the hospital, "Roman nearly did kill Margaret now."
"Amanda,” Mike looked around, " Amanda . We're not them. We're really not-“
"But we are!” She snapped, brows furrowing with earnestness, "We are. We've always been influencing each other. Because of Roman I have never known peace! He’s there in the back of my head. I’ve never been able to settle down. I’ve been haunted by the memory I never had of finding your- her- body."
Mike softened, brushing hair back from her forehead, "Margaret isn’t in my life-“
"She is, Mike," she looked at him, eyes boring through him, “She's been there this whole time. Looking back on it, I can see it so clearly. Our date… that wonderful night… Your temper- you’ve been angry for so long."
"Yes but-“
"You used to hurt others, you said," her brows furrowed, watching him, "Why, Mike? What made you so angry?"
His mouth opened and closed, "I- I don’t know I- I’ve just… I was always….” He trailed off, "I’ve always been angry," he swallowed, staring, realizing that she might be right, "It just… it wasn’t fair."
"What wasn’t?"
He shook his head, pressing his hand to his forehead with a wince, "It just isn’t,” he clenched his eyes shut with a hiss, "It just. It wasn’t fair,” he stared up at her, eyes wide. She was right, "It wasn’t fair. They were so happy. Even without the money, we still had so much. And your opera-“ his voice was rising, anger flaring, sharp and hot, “He murdered me- he murdered her and- and then he got you killed for it, Roman- Amanda, he- I-“ he looked up at her, mouth opening and closing, helplessly.
Amanda took his face her hands, thumbs tracing his cheeks, “Mike…” she smiled, sad, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she laughed, mirthless, “It most certainly was not your fault.”
He snorted, wet, looking down, letting his hands trail down her wrists, “I know it wasn’t. I wasn’t there after all,” she didn’t say anything and he sighed, knowing she was right, “Damn. Do you think anyone will believe us?”
“I don’t know, Mike, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it myself. I don’t think I’d have believed it if not for…”
Mike pulled her close to his uninjured side, rubbing her shoulder, “Everything?”
Mike's touch grounded her, reminding her that she was Amanda and he was Mike and the two figures dancing in their shadows were ghosts of the past. They were part of them still, but she had learned and grown. Hadn’t that been what he’d said about the life’s behind them? That this rebirth was a chance to learn and to grow? To live anew? She laughed, wet, genuine humor in her tone, “Yes, everything.”
Mike sighed into her hair, tone dry, “I hope you know that if you call me Margaret in front of anyone else, we're going to have a hell of a time explaining it.”
Amanda laughed, clear, carefree, and, at long last, at peace.