Chapter Text
There’s a man on the subway.
Anne doesn’t know his name. She doesn’t know his face. But she knows he’s there. Everytime she gets on she hears the tap, tap, tap tap tap of his cane.
He must have the same schedule as her. That’s the only explanation she can think of as to how she hears this same rhythm every morning. It’s a familiar beat. She’s not sure where she’s heard it from. Her childhood, maybe? She’d ask him, but she can never figure out whose tapping it is. There’s lots of old folks that come this way early in the morning, to walk their dogs or enjoy the sunrise.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
With a huff, Anne reaches into her bag for her earbuds. She’s too tired for this, that damn cane is going to put her to sleep. She turns up the volume on her phone to max, blaring a pump-up playlist in her poor ears. Her eyes roam the subway, looking for the cane, but fails to see one moving in that cadence.
Her gaze drifts to the vanishing skyline. It’s all so large from this distance. She thought it was small when she had her powers, when she blitzed through the LA skyline like it was nothing, but from here it all seems to sprawl into infinity. These early morning commutes leave the city feeling both empty and impossibly full. It’s a lot for her overtired brain to handle. She’s up at odd hours most days, following the sun in her rise and sleep. She almost never sees her girlfriends awake anymore. She’s too tired to be good company when she gets home from work, and they’re still asleep when she gets up. Why did she take the morning shifts? Whose bright idea was that? Oh, if I leave work at an early time I’ll have more time for activities, yeah, activities like sleeping.
It’s all she ever does anymore. Eat, sleep, work. It’s not… the worst thing in the world. She is following her dreams, career wise. It just so happens that said career involves brutal hours and being on her feet all the time. But she hasn’t had a day off in over two weeks at this point, and she’s beginning to think she’s losing her mind. Capitalism, for all Anne has done to save it, has not been kind in return.
Can’t believe I have another 60 years of this, she muses.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
There’s something to be said about knowing what happens when you die. It sure makes the present feel… more. Sometimes Anne wishes she didn’t know how everything in her life was tiny and insignificant compared to everything she could be. That the connections she makes and the life she lives could theoretically be but a blip in her memory someday. What if she forgets it all? What if she loses it all? The thought is terrifying, and it makes her cling harder. But sometimes, she clings too hard. The world becomes too much. Her senses act in overdrive, and her tiny little life suddenly looms so very large.
What is she clinging to? Her mortality? Her loved ones? She’s not sure. When she was a teenager she coped with apathy. She tried not to connect with others for fear of losing them either when she became God or due to interdimensional bullshit (which was still possible. She’s not sure if she’ll ever not miss her frog family.) but that didn’t work. It only served to make her wish for the end sooner. And what good was that when she knew she would not die until 91? Waiting for death for another 70 years didn’t sound like the best use of her time. It’s why she took up herpetology instead.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
She’s always the first one to clock in, her shift lonely and quiet at first. The aquarium opens in an hour for schools, two hours for the public. In that time she cleans the tanks, feeds the animals, and does a quick examination to make sure everyone is healthy. In a way, she is their protector, their guardian, their god. Do frogs have gods? She knew Amphibia had religion in the form of the Core and the Guardian, but what about her Earth frogs? Do they see her as an omniscient, benevolent force, or something to fear? A predator, or a savior?
Anne wonders, sometimes, what her life would be like if she had taken up the Guardian’s offer. What the work would be like. What godhood entails. Is it paperwork? Is there some higher being she’ll respond to? Or is she her own boss, sort of an entrepreneur, work when you have work thing? She didn’t bother to ask when she had the chance.
Of course, this is all hypothetical. She’s not even sure she wants to be a god. Definitely not anytime soon, that’s for sure. She’s gotten more mature, and more responsible, definitely, but she’s not at the protect whole worlds level quite yet. She’s not sure she’ll ever be ready. But who knows, maybe Domino 3 will give her some training. In what form, she has no clue. She hasn’t seen the beast since that fateful day.
Sometimes she hopes that it was all fake. Maybe Domino 3 was never real, and she doesn’t have to worry. A dream, a hallucination, a movie just like the government tried to insist. She doesn’t need that eternal burden on her back, the lofty ambitions that someone else unfairly thrust on her at such a young age. But deep down she knows that’s a lie. It was real, and she will have to choose someday. The thought makes her stomach swirl.
Sasha and Marcy seem to have already decided for her, she thinks with a fond annoyance. They’re constantly joking about their goddess of a girlfriend. It’s cute; they lavish her with affection and kisses, endless worship spilling from their lips, massaging her aching feet and sending her to bed with pouting glances and soft longing. Sometimes Anne can’t help but feel unworthy of the praise they so easily adorn her with. She’s not perfect, not by a long shot. And yet, they stare at her like she hung the moon.
It’s probably just the honeymoon phase, the logical side of her brain reminds her.
But what if it’s not? Her emotional side flusters. What if they really do see me like that?
Is that such a bad thing?
Maybe I just want them to see me as I am.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
Anne frowns. She glances around the exhibit, but no one is there. No one should be here, at least. With a suspicious eye she turns back to cleaning Sprig’s window.
Some of the worship is leftover guilt, that she knows. Sasha and Marcy, despite all her best efforts, will never not blame themselves for Anne’s death and resurrection. Like, there was a thousand year prophecy with their faces carved into stone, but somehow it’s their fault that she was chosen to become Guardian.
Say, now that she thinks about it, did the Guardian… know she was destined to die? It sounded like it wasn’t entirely omniscent, but the prophecy was set into motion a thousand years before her birth. Maybe they didn’t know the choices she’d make, but they always knew she’d be part of the prophecy. Did that mean they watched her grow up? Did they grow attached? If Anne were to become Guardian, would she get attached to other mortals? What about the mortals she’s attached to now?
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
Anne clutches the bottle so hard it snaps.
It’s following her.
The sun is high in the sky when Anne gets off work, and she makes a beeline for the grocery store. They’re running low on fruit, and Anne will be damned if she lets Marcy die of scurvy because that woman will not eat an orange unless it is shoved in her face.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
She eyes the cashier, but they don’t seem to notice anything. No one does. Nobody seems to even be phased, which would make sense if it was the first and only time they heard that noise, she supposes. But surely someone, anyone would react? Even just a flinch?
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
She takes the scenic route home. Jumps up steps and zigzags across town.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
She runs.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
Finally, blissfully, silence echoes through the doors of the apartment complex. She stands there for a good half hour, waiting for the noise to start back up, staring at whoever comes through the door, looking for a cane. It never comes, and she finally feels relaxed enough to go upstairs.
Is she hallucinating? Is she going mad? Or is there something, someone at play here?
The obvious answer is just that she’s drained from work. The more she thinks about it, the more her brain replays the sound, the more likely she is to mistake a memory for reality. It’s like when you think you hear your mom calling you, except you don’t live at home anymore. That surely has to be what’s going on, right?
And yet… there’s a sinking stone in her gut that screams otherwise. There’s something about that noise that reads danger, danger, but she has no clue what.
“I’m home,” she calls.
“Anne!” Marcy enthuses from down the hall. There’s a padding of socked feet before she comes into view. “Welcome home! You– oof, you look rough.”
“Ya don’t say,” Anne grouches. She pushes past Marcy to flop face first onto the couch.
“Rough day?” Marcy sits by her side, rubbing her back. Anne melts into the touch.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Just… stressful.”
“Well, why don’t you take a nap, and when Sasha gets home we’ll do something together, ok?” Without another word Marcy leaves Anne to her flopping, presumably to finish up her work. Anne can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. She can feel her vision darkening at the edges. In fact, she’s so tired that she doesn’t think of anything again until there’s a gentle shake on her shoulder.
“Mgh?” Anne blinks blearily up at blonde.
“Hey, love.” Sasha coos, her voice husky. “Sorry to wake you up. Marcy told me you had a rough day, so we got some stuff together for you.”
“Stuff?” Anne blinks.
“Yeah, like, face masks and a movie. Stuff you like.” Sasha brushes a curl away from her face, and Anne gets a good glimpse at the pure adoration in her eyes.
Most days it makes her stomach aflutter. Now it makes it crawl.
“Yeah,” she says, despite the sand in her mouth. “That sounds good. Thanks.”
“I’ll get started on dinner, you go take a shower.” With a kiss to her head Sasha leaves her, but not without a fond glance back. It’s a glance that Sasha is glad to give, Anne knows. She wouldn’t give it otherwise. And yet, her sleepy, grumpy mind can’t help but grumble, is it love, or is it worship? Does she do this because she cares, or because she feels obligated to?
Of course, she knows the answer logically. Sasha loves her, just as she loves Sasha and Marcy. But the reverence that she stares at Anne, she doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t want it. And if she doesn’t want it from her girlfriend, who’s to say she’ll ever want it from anyone else?
By the time she finishes her shower, Marcy has returned from her work cave (study) and is chatting with Sasha animatedly in the kitchen. “Hi Anne!” She stops to give her girlfriend a peck on the cheek, motioning her to sit. “We’re making your favorite.”
“You guys don’t have to, it was just a bad day at work,” Anne protests. “Nothing crazy.”
“But we want to,” Marcy insists. “Let us pamper you, ok?”
Anne sighs, her shoulders slumping. Just because she feels a little grouchy from ruminating earlier, it doesn’t give her the right to be ungrateful for her girlfriends. “Yeah, ok.” She won’t deny that it’s nice, it feels nice to be cared for and to have the things she likes handed to her on a silver platter. But at the same time all she can think about is devotion, devotion, guilt, guilt.
“Wanna talk about what happened at work?” Sasha asks as she serves dinner.
Anne hesitates, drumming her fingers. “Maybe later,” she settles on. Better to wait when I know for sure what the heck happened.
“That’s fine,” Marcy assures her. “You shouldn’t tell us if you don’t wanna–”
“I do,” Anne promises. “Just… not right now.”
“Ok, then later.” Marcy smiles, and Anne manages one back.
The rest of the night goes fairly smoothly, all things considered. Marcy presses soothing cream into her cheek, while Sasha braids her hair just like when they were kids. Anne wants nothing more than to melt into their touch, but instead she stays ramrod straight. They’re concerned about it, she can tell, but she can’t bring herself to really relax. She calls it leftover paranoia from the rest of the day. They take the answer with reverence.
“You’re safe here,” Sasha reminds her.
“I know, I know, I’m just… still grumpy, sorry.” Anne sighs.
“Nothing wrong with that. All that matters is that you keep us posted.” Marcy flashes a blinding smile, and Anne squirms in her seat.
The guilt still warps her gut. Why can’t she just… be normal? Why does everything have to come with overthinking and ruminating? Why can’t she just accept that her partners love her for who she is?
Maybe because there’s more to that love, her brain whispers. Something stronger than love, and we feel unworthy.
They all climb into bed, Anne squished between her partners. Sasha strokes her cheek, and Marcy coos soft platitudes.
“We love you,” she teases her ear. “You’re amazing. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
I’m not perfect, Anne thinks. Please, please don’t call me perfect. Only gods are perfect.
“I love you too,” she says instead. The other two close their eyes.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
Anne doesn’t sleep a wink.
If work was hard already, with no sleep it’s almost impossible.
She can feel a headache forming before she even gets on the subway. She shoves her earbuds as deep as they’ll go, refusing to hear the noises around her. She can’t do this today, not when she heard it outside her window all night.
This has to be something more now. It has to be. It can’t just be a hallucination or her memory playing tricks. It’s specific, it’s exact, it’s the same noise and same rhythm. And it’s following her. Sometimes it’s further away, sometimes it’s quiet, and other times it’s blazing in her ears.
By the time she makes it to work, she’s already ready to go home, but the fear of bringing it back with her haunts her. How did Sasha and Marcy not hear it? Were they just asleep? Did the noise wait until they were asleep?
I’m going crazy, she thinks. I must actually be going crazy.
Either that or…
Someone is following me.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
She spins around in a circle, once, twice, almost making her dizzy. She checks the filtration in the tanks, the humidifiers, anything that could be making such a noise. But everything checks out. It’s no different than yesterday.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
Her breath hitches.
Slowly, carefully, she takes the room in, eyes darting each way and that. She backs up slowly- and hits something warm and fleshy.
Anne shrieks.
“Woah!” A voice laughs. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
Anne whips around, hand to her chest. “Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry, I didn’t see you–”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” The guy in front of her is maybe a year or two older, if that. He wears a small smirk, and mirthful eyes. He’s also wearing, Anne realizes, the same uniform as her. “Guess this is one way to do an introduction, huh? I’m Adam.”
“A-Anne.” She takes his hand in a firm shake. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, that’s all. I’m normally the only one in here for a good hour.”
Adam glances down at their still connected hands, his fingertips dancing over Anne’s palm. “Interesting. Well, now there’s two of us! I’m new. Folks said you might be able to give me a tour before the school crowds came in, so I got here early.”
Anne cocks her head in confusion. Weird, her boss didn’t think to warn her about that? Not even an email? Just a “hey, newbie alert” would’ve been plenty!
“Yeah! Yeah, I can show you around. Sure!” She gestures to the window. “We can start with the animals. This is our pink tree frog, his name is Sprig.”
“Hey, little fella,” Adam laughs. He leans in to get a better look. “Y’know, I have a sneaking hunch he’s your favorite.”
“Aw, what gave that away?”
“He has a name at all.”
“Oh.” She frowns. “Do you not name your frogs at… other institutions?”
“Dunno,” Adam shrugs. “He’s a cool little fella, I’ll tell you that. I’ve always really liked frogs. My dad got me into them. You?”
“Oh, no, I hated them when I was a kid,” Anne says. “It wasn’t until I was a bit older that I really started to… appreciate them.” She smiles fondly. Her fingers brush against the cage.
The rest of the team slowly filters in over the next hour or so. They handle the kids and public, so Anne is free to show him around.
Adam is… nice. He’s nice! He laughs at the right times, makes fun quips and matches her enthusiasm in spades. He’s even a bit goofy, and maybe Anne is just lonely, or nostalgic today, but he almost reminds her of Sprig. The other one, that is.
“Adam, this is Gina,” she introduces him to the resident entomologist.
“Hi!” She holds out a hand that he takes with a pause. “Nice to meet you, I didn’t know we were hiring.”
“Oh, yeah, called in a few favors to get me in here,” he grins. “In this economy, gotta use all the connections you got, right? I’m sure you get it.”
Gina laughs awkwardly. “So… uh, you from around here then?”
“Ah, no. My dad and I moved out here a few years back. We wanted to be… closer to family.”
He leans against Anne. “You mentioned being from around here though.”
“I did?” Anne asks.
“Yeah, earlier.” Adam’s brow raises. “I mean, you are from here. Right?”
“Well, yeah! My parents own a restaurant a few blocks from here.”
“Really? You’ll have to take me sometime. I’d love to meet the folks.”
Gina frowns.
The rest of the day is uneventful… mostly. Sure, Adam sticks almost exclusively to Anne, but it’s whatever, he’s just a little shy. And sue her, she sticks to him too. He takes her words as gospel, quick to do every task with precision and charm. There’s clearly a reason he was hired.
They’re wrapping up, getting ready to clock out, when she gets a text. She smiles fondly.
“Someone special?” Adam asks. “I thought we were special.” He snickers at her sputtering.
Anne rolls her eyes. “Just my girlfriend.”
“Oh?” Adam peeks over her phone. “Left work early, I’ll be home when you get home. That’s nice.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Well, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to get some drinks later, but I guess you’re busy.” He laughs. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“Uh, maybe? We’ll see how I feel after work.” He pouts, but doesn’t complain.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.
“Do you hear that?” She asks.
“Hear what?”
“The… tapping. That tapping.” she snaps her fingers to the tune.
Something flashes over his face. Anne can’t tell what it is, but something about it puts a chill on her spine. Then he’s back to his normal self. “Uh, maybe? I dunno, I believe you, though.”
“I’ve been hearing it lately.” She grouses. “Keeps distracting me…”
“Hey, it’s ok,” He says. “I believe you, trust me.” He takes her hand in his.
“Thanks.” Anne pulls back, and Adam scowls, tightening his grip on her wrist, before his perfect smile is back on his face. He lets her hand go with such ease Anne wonders if it was even real. First she’s hearing things, now is she seeing things?
“I’ll see you tomorrow, think about those drinks, ok?” He waves. Before Anne can blink he’s stepping into an Uber and driving off.
Anne is alone again.
Tap, tap, tap tap tap.