Work Text:
...
Her worst nightmare has come true. She had a misguided judgment of what her worst nightmare would be.
Once it, for a short while, it was Becka marrying Garth. Another time it was anything to do with Dr. Grove. This is so much worse.
The shears...
The blood...
Seeing it made her sick to her stomach. She could almost smell it. Or maybe she could and her brain was just blocking it out so she wouldn't pass out.
What had she done?
Agnes wasn't that naive. As soon as she saw Becka standing across from her, doe eyed and covered in blood, she knew the look of bad news. She just didn't know how much until Becka said that.
She did that to her father for her? For Agnes?
She didn't want to think about it. The sound; even though she hadn't heard herself, the way Becka described to her with a vivid example made her think she could hear it right next door. The violence committed upon Dr. Grove in her name seemed too close. The blood felt like it was on her hands.
She tried to think about anything else: the hollow sounds of her footsteps against the floor board, the certainty in Becka's voice as she spoke, the sloshing of the water. The reassurance of her father's voice telling her everything would be ok after she told him. Nothing made it better though.
Agnes didn't want to feel this way about it. She didn't control feelings, not as well as she once she did, not as well as she supposed to. She was never supposed to feel this way about Becka: afraid.
The thought in her mind and the thought of the word curling off of her tongue felt like sin. Even though the guilt piled on with the feeling, it didn't stop her from feeling it.
She had no reason to feel this way. She knew Becka had to this for her, not to her. Like she said, she would do anything for Agnes. Why did that make her tremble even more? What was Becka capable of in her name?
She was powerless against it. She was powerless against stopping this from happening. If she had just never told anyone, never told Becka, none of this would have happened.
It's easier to blame everyone else. Well, Daisy was very right about that. Even now, Agnes couldn't escape that fate. Just like she couldn't escape that her hand was trembling against the doorknob.
She thought going to get Zilda would calm her down enough to face Becka, but she was clearly wrong. She needed to see calm though; Becka needed that right now. She deserved as much after all of that.
She wasn't ready, surely not. Neither was Becka, not when Agnes told her of the sins her father had committed. She cannot use that as an excuse to abandon her friend, not after what she did to protect her.
Becka was a pretty vison when she opened the bathroom door, all despite the turmoil she had just endured. Standing tall, as tal as she could anyway, with pride and her eyes following the sound of the door opening, as if Agnes and her presence was something she was waiting on. She couldn't be anything but pretty. Agnes tries to push down how that thought remained true even under her fear when she first took in Becka coming to her home in the dead of night.
She could still see it; Becka covered in blood. It didn't make sense that Agnes could still see it, Becka was all clean. The evidence of death draped on her skin; she could still see it. White towel wrapped around her body and skin as clear as could be should have been enough reassurance.
The vision of it makes her wonder even more what it had looked like; the shears plunging into Dr. Grove, with enough force for him to taint Becka. She thought she would never get past the disgust on the matter.
It's still there: the rush of goosebumps when she thinks about. But another layer of something. Another layer of something dangerous lies underneath. A sense of curiosity and pride accompany her disgust. It's a weird feeling to be so conflicted about it.
A flash over envy flows over her. Next comes the chastisement that follows closely after. God have mercy on her. Maybe He would; he knows she isn't thinking straight. Still Agnes knows she must be chastised. What punishment she deserves for thinking something as such?
For a split second, just one, she had wished she was Him. She wished that she was God. That meant she would get to see it, the divine justice carried out in her name. The way Becka had looked at her only made her desire it so much.
It felt like an eternity when the door finally shut behind her. It would've been easier to let Zilda handle this. Agnes didn't want her getting sucked further into this than she already was. It was worth bearing the weight if that meant Becka would be at ease. Easy wasn't an option anymore.
Agnes didn't know if she was taking scattered, slow steps for herself or for Becka. A wave of timidness, a new kind, flooded through her as she approached.
The shock seems to have just caught enough up to Becka, or maybe it had already on her way here and Agnes just hadn't paid enough attention.
She didn't seem... all here. That's all Agnes could describe it as. Was she reliving the acts she had just commited? Was she feeling regret? How long had she been like that? How long had Agnes left her alone like that?
"You never put a towel on your head. You're going to get sick." Something easy, something familiar, she decides to say to stop her lips from trembling. At last, her trembling steps settle her beside Agnes. The cool porcelain beneath makes Agnes worry yet again about if she had made the water hot enough for her.
"It always tangles my hair." Becka's voice still sounds fractured, broken almost. Timidly, as if she is trying to regain her footing after the gravity of the situation.
Or maybe it was just from the cold; all the more reason for Agnes to get a towel on her head. Nothing about what Becka had told her had given that she regretted it in any way.
"I can't imagine why. Here." Becka is stubborn so of course Agnes has to do it for her.
When was the last time Agnes had been able to do this for Becka? Probably the last time she went to- She doesn't want to think about it. She just wants to be here with Becka, in the present.
She was supposed to be doing this to soothe Becka, but she had somehow selfishly found comfort in it. As her hands massaged Becka's head through the towel, an unwanted twich of her fingers was no longer there.
The irrational fear that Becka would ever do what she had done to her father to her was washed away. All down the ocean's drain it went once she realized and felt Becka relaxing against her shoulder. She felt so... small against her. She had always been, as long as Agnes could remember.
Agnes stiffens, not out of fear this time, just out of disbelief that Becka is this close to her. It had been too long.
Her Becka would never do anything like that. She doesnt know why she never doubted. The guilt of ever thinking otherwise feels even heavier than before.
"You're threatening to put me to sleep." Becka murmers, lips almost against Agnes' shoulder.
"Sorry." The suddenness of her voice made her feel like she had done something wrong. She didn't want to mess up.
"I didn't say it was a bad thing. Maybe this is the only way I can now. You're better at this than me." Agnes wishes she wouldn't talk like that, at least not soon. Every word that comes from her mouth makes the possibility of this being some bad dream wane dramatically. Not as if Agnes didn't already know this was something she would gave to live with.
"Well I'd rather you not go to sleep in the cold with nothing on. See, isn't it being dry better?" She had such pretty hair. A shame that it couldn't be worn down often. Maybe it was a good thing. Agnes is firsthand proof that it would be a distraction.
"Well if you dry it for me, then I'd say yes. Thank you." There's that look again. The one that made Agnes feel, just for a second, that she was the center of Becka's world. What a sinful thing to feel. No one was ever that important. Becka just has a way of making it feel like the truth.
"Come on, put these on." She feels guilt, another type she didn't know she could feel when she sees the small smile Becka wore on her face drop. She's been getting a lot of that tonight: feeling new feeling or different variations of feeling she didnt know she could feel.
"Are these my old clothes?" Becka's question made her realize that is what she had grabbed in her frantic, hazed rush.
"I... hope they still fit. They aren't from too long ago." Agnes can't find the strength in her to look Becka in the eyes.
"Just surprised you kept them. That's all." Standing in front of her now as she sits, Becka feels the closest to her as she has all night. A soft gaze is cast upon her before she saunters not too far to get dressed.
Agnes wonders are there any wounds that she had failed to miss that Becka will cast away under her clothes. They can't be any worse than her father's. Nothing will probably be worse, Agnes imagines yet again. With the way she came in, it would be hard to think otherwise.
She wouldn't be surprised if Becka had none. She had always been strong, much stronger than Agnes. She had not failed in seeking justice for the sins of her father where Agnes had. Instead, now she had to sit with it and still holds her shoulder upright like girls of Gilead always do.
It is an eerie quiet that settles once Becka is no longer visible to her. She has no idea why she insisted on staying with her, to Zilda anyway. She just didnt want Becka to be alone. Or maybe she was the one who did want to be alone. A revelation quickly come upon her, assuring in her mind that would never be the case.
She just wished for it right about now. She fiddles with her fingers closed in her lap as she weight. The draping of clothes in the floor and her own heavy breathing are the only thing she can hear.
"Do you think it will be warm? Like here?" Becka's voice from behind her folding screen snaps her attention foward, rapidly blinking her eyes to bring her to the present.
"Like where?" She does not understand what she is talking about. She wishes she never asked.
"Where we run away to." Oh, that. Agnes doesn't think she's ever felt this much guilt in her life. She could drown in it.
Becka risks everything to protect her and this is how she repays her: by lying to her. She can't run away, she just can't. She can't just leave her life behind and...
Agnes isn't brave, like she said. She isnt like Becka. She would understand. Becka understands her more than anyone. Or maybe she wouldn't. She wouldn't because she lied. They'll help though; the doctors will help in a way Agnes couldn't. Her father told her as much.
"I dont know. I hope so." She hopes for her. She asked for her. She asked her father to give Becka the best of whatever they had because that's what she deserves.
"Could you help me?" She wishes she could say no. She cant bare to look her in the eye now. Becka trusts her to walk hand and hand to some place they don't know. Agnes can't even do that for her.
"Of course." Becka beats her, coming to her first. She looks the same, since the last time Agnes recalls these garments adorning her.
But she also looks different. A quiet strength, or perhaps a loud one since anything Becka does seems to be amplified for her, surrounds her. She can see it in her eyes. She can see it in her stance. It isn't that different; reprimand would have no end if she wasn't always standing up straight. It looks differnt though; not a stance of obedience. A stance of defiance, a dangerous one.
Becka doesn't looks the same as she used to. Maybe she hadn't for a while.
"The strings are always my least favorite part." At least that remains. Familiar movements of Agnes' fingers intertwined with the strings of Becka's dress feel the same as before. Whenever Agnes went over, she always ask this of her.
Paula would scold her for it; she's sure if it. Something about this being a widely duty done unto her husband and not some lowly friend. It didn't feel like a duty, not for Becka. It was just another way to be close to her.
"I remember." She tries to make that the only thing she remembers when going there. She tried so hard. She can still see him though; his head peering into Becka's room, eyes settling over her in a way that made her skin crawl.
Agnes should focus on the heat of Becka's back against her. She should focus on the comfort Becka finds in her. She isn't though. All Agnes can feel is the sins of Becka's father washing back over her. It isn't fair.
He's gone. Becka took care of that for her. She doesn't have to be afraid anymore. She shouldn't have to tremble in fear. Her breathing shouldn't be uneven. She shouldn't be grasping at her chest and-
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Agnes stutters out. She realizes too late that Becka has turned to face her. She can see the tears forming in her eyes and the shake of her hands.
"It's ok. Sit ok?" It isn't ok. Agnes was so distracted that she had probably tied the strings too tight and hurt Becka. Of course, when Agnes is supposed to be comforting Becka, she ends up like this. And Becka is still ever so kind.
Agnes holds herself from peering up at Becka as she sits. She doesn't need to see the solemn look in her eyes once she realized she didn't fit it all. She shouldn't have to carry that burden.
"You don't have to worry about him anymore. I swear it. I made sure of it." Becka's firm grip on her hands reassures her, if the evidence of the blood stained clothes Zilda had whisked away wasn't enough.
"I know." She does, but just now is letting it sink in fully. Becka killed her father. Becka can't ever go back home. She had taken that away from Becka.
"I don't regret it. Nothing I do for you will I ever regret." Becka crouches down, kneeling before Agnes like she is God above, looking up at her while uttering words that sound like a promise. Agnes can't take it as anything but.
"I know." Agnes mutters with conviction. Becka deserves that much.
"The blood is on my hands. Not yours." Becka says it because she knows Agnes needs to hear it again. She sounds proud of it. What is Agnes supposed to do with that?
Her words along with the hand she places on Agnes' thigh to stop the shake of her leg makes Agnes glance down, fingers halting their movement in Becka's hair. The touch had never felt so grounding
"I would do it again. A thousand times over, just for you Agnes." Agnes doesn't want to acknowledge it now, she can't escape it though. This is what devotion feels like, isn't it? She doesn't know how to handle the weight of that.
"All will be well. It will be just us." She sounds so hopeful. Agnes fees like a villain for being the one who will break that hope.
"Just us." Just for a moment, it can be. Just for a moment, Agnes can take in the strands of Becka's hair around her fingers as she lays her head on lap, like a lamb running to their shepard for guidance.
Just for a moment it was just Agnes and Becka, as it used to be. Agnes cherishes the moment that will soon cease.
...