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When Georgie first brings him around, Melanie can tell right away that she’s nervous.
Since Tower Fall, Georgie has become a leader in their small community. She organizes and directs the Wardens, coordinates food and medical supply runs, and everywhere she goes, she earns the admiration and respect of others. And yet, despite this widespread approval, Georgie has her doubts from time to time, not fully trusting her plans or instincts, particularly when it comes to strangers. Outsiders.
So it’s a little surprising that after extensive questioning, Georgie informs Melanie over the radio that she’ll be bringing the strange man in custody home with her later that morning. Guests aren’t necessarily rare for them, but ones staying overnight from another dimension entirely? This would be a first for them. In between feeding the Admiral and getting breakfast together, Melanie makes up their spare room. It isn’t until Georgie and the man arrive home an hour later, that she realizes that she’s completely forgotten his name.
The man’s name is Samama, or Sam, for short. He's polite, if not a little awkward, a slight hesitation clinging to his soft, lilting voice. And he’s curious. Georgie wasn’t wrong about that. He asks her hundreds of questions about the Incursion, the Wardens, exclusion zones, and life before. Melanie tries to keep her answers succinct. She doesn’t know how much Georgie has told him, or how much she actually trusts him.
“If you’re so wary of him, why’d you bring him here?” Melanie asks one night as they’re laying together in bed.
“A second opinion. Can’t tell if he’s actually a threat or if I’m just being paranoid. All the fear’s been burnt out of me…” Georgie mumbles, half-awake. She falls asleep much more quickly now, the exhaustion of the search for the Archivist - for Jon - is catching up to her. She shuffles beneath the blankets and pulls Melanie in closer. “Besides, you’ve always been better about detecting other people’s bullshit.” She pauses for a drawn out yawn, then adds, “If you notice anything, let me know, yeah?”
“I always do,” Melanie says, kissing her lightly.
So while Georgie is on her rounds with the other Wardens, Melanie learns what she can about Sam. She knows that in his world, he was an office worker and has his own ties to the Magnus Institute, although, from the way he tells it, he wasn’t trapped there in the way she, Basira, or Martin had been. He isn’t allergic to cats, which is good, as the Admiral has taken to the man, demanding belly rubs and ear scratches. Sam likes to hum. Melanie often hears him as he's helping out with house chores, petting the Admiral, or when he’s thinking about how to best answer a question. It's an unconscious habit, one that’s more endearing than annoying. Melanie doesn’t recognize the songs, but she likes the gentle rise and fall of the melodies he chooses. He has a pleasant voice.
By the fourth morning, Melanie realizes that Sam must be tall, or at least, taller than her. She doesn't hear a grunt when he opens the kitchen cupboards. Just the creak of them opening as the pots are retrieved swiftly and with little effort. It’s something that she takes full advantage of in the following days during meal preparations. Sam doesn’t have much cooking experience if the irregular sounds of his chopping is anything to go by. But his garden weeding is getting better. As is his consideration of her blindness. After stubbing her toe once on a chair he left pulled out, he’s been diligent about keeping walkways clear.
Melanie doesn’t get a full picture of just how skinny Sam is until she’s laying next to him in bed one early morning. He had woken up screaming from a nightmare and had sounded badly shaken up, especially after she came running into his room with a fire poker. Leaving him in that miserable state seemed cruel. In the end, she plopped down onto his bed, her knobby knees bumping into his, listening quietly while he told her about his dream. Her hand found its way to his leg - so thin - at some point, giving it a gentle squeeze whenever his voice became shaky, or his breaths came in a little too fast.
After he finishes recounting the dream, Sam asks if hers are just as bad.
“Oh, sorry! That’s private, I wasn’t thinking…” he rushes to apologize when she hesitates.
And maybe it’s that tiny gesture, that thoughtful consideration of her privacy in spite of how desperately he wants answers. Perhaps this is what finally cracks open some of Melanie’s defenses, emboldens her to share some things about herself. About the past.
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m not going to be able to get back to sleep anyway. Come on, move over…”
She hears the blankets and pillows rustle as Sam makes room for her in bed. He smells of mint toothpaste and Georgie's shampoo, and of course, fear. That tangy scent of sweat that sprung to one’s skin after witnessing something truly horrifying, yes she was very familiar with that from the Incursion days. Once she’s settled in bed, Melanie tells him of the old days - ghost-hunting, meeting Jonathan Sims, working at the Magnus Institute. How she first got together with Georgie and how they had been left untouched by the Fears during the Incursion. The ways they tried to help, how they’d slip in and out of other peoples’ domains, pulling out the ones they could. Leaving people behind more often than not.
There wasn’t time to unpack after Tower Fall. Roads had to be cleared. Graves had to be dug. People needed food, housing, medical attention, and clean water. Addressing the collective trauma of an apocalypse had to wait. It wasn’t like anyone was running to the front with new ideas anyway. No one had the slightest inkling of where to begin in terms of recovery. Melanie was only glad that she’d been in therapy when it all went to hell. At least, she had a kind of a foundation for processing her messy emotions. Also she still had her family - Georgie and the Admiral - and a friend in Basira, which was more than others could say. But then, Basira had become restless. Eventually, she moved out to a town more than an hour away. Now Georgie was working more and more hours trying to pin down the Archivist. And as lovely as the Admiral was, he was a cat at the end of the day.
All of this to say, it was nice to talk to another human being about what she experienced, especially because Sam was an outsider to this mess. She could speak freely without worrying about triggering a bad memory, or feeling guilty about having an easier time during the apocalypse than others. Yes, Melanie cannot see anymore, but she isn’t stupid. She can recognize the shift in a person’s tone and read between the awkward pauses. She can tell when she is being judged. And she knows that Sam isn’t doing that while he listens to her.
When she gets to the end of her story, Sam doesn’t kick her out of his bed. He simply rolls over and wishes her a good night.
“It's probably closer to morning now,” Melanie points out. Sam answers with a sleepy hum, that’s promptly followed by quiet snores. Melanie could just leave, but she’s rather tired herself. Also, she’d hate to disturb the Admiral. Not to be excluded from the impromptu slumber party, he had padded into the room earlier, leaping onto the foot of the bed and curling himself into a furry ball. Melanie turns to her side and pulls the blankets up to her chin. Within minutes, she slips into a dreamless sleep, warmed by the heat of Sam’s back and the Admiral purring at her legs.
After that strange morning, a shift occurs. Sam and Melanie transition from two reluctant roommates to something like friends. She supposes that’s to be expected after they spilled their guts to one another in bed. Their conversations deviate from the Incursion and the Archivist, to more normal topics, like music, books, their university days, odd first jobs, their parents. Sam laughs more and stops apologizing so much. Little by little, Melanie opens up, learns to trust. One evening, she asks him if he’d be willing to help with cutting her hair. It’s getting long again, she can feel the tiny hairs tickling the back of her ears. She’s able to shave the tops and sides well enough on her own, but she needs help with getting the front hairline even. Georgie usually does it, but she’s been so busy and tired lately, Melanie hadn’t wanted to bother her.
“Stop moving! I’m going to mess your hairline up!” Sam exclaims. It only makes Melanie squirm in her chair more as she tries to suppress another laugh.
“I’m sorry but I can practically feel how hard you’re concentrating right now.”
“Because I’m trying to make sure it looks right!”
“By burning a hole through my skull? You haven’t cut anything in two minutes!”
“Shit…” Sam groans, ignoring her. “ I think I nicked off too much on the left...”
“Then cut some off the right. Christ, Sam, it’s a hair cut, not open-heart surgery,” Melanie says, fully laughing now. She shifts in her chair, which earns her more grumbling from the stressed man. “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t see it if you mess up.”
“Yeah, but Georgie will. And she’d actually kill me then.”
“Nah, she’d just throw you in the Exclusion Zone for a couple days and let some ghosts get their shots in.”
“I still don’t believe you about the ghost bullet thing. Turn to the side for me? Thanks.”
Melanie obeys, chuckling to herself in the process. “After all the insane things I told you, that’s the thing you don’t believe?”
“Bullets don’t have souls or unfinished business. It literally makes no sense-”
“Yes, because everything else in this fucked-up reality does,” Melanie deadpans.
“Yeah, alright,” Sam huffs. She can tell by his tone that he’s smiling though. She hears the electric razor come to life again. Sam’s long fingers come to rest along the right side of her face. “Okay, look up. Perfect, stay still. And stop laughing.”
When Georgie arrives home hours later, she runs a warm hand across Melanie's smooth scalp.
“Looks pretty good,” Georgie says, sounding half-impressed. They're sitting together on the couch, drinking tea and enjoying the quiet morning. Melanie shifts her legs onto Georgie's lap, soaking in the delicious warmth that radiates from her body. She hears Georgie blow into a steaming cup of Earl Grey and then take a sip. “You've gotten so chummy with him. More than you ever were than Jon.”
That's because Sam isn't like him.
This situation with Sam, it isn’t like how it had been with Jon at the end of the world. Melanie knows that Basira and Georgie aren’t entirely convinced. She can't even blame them much considering all that they have been through. She is aware of the similarities between the two men. A curiosity, a bookish, introverted nature, a penchant for attracting monsters, apparently. But Sam is more sensitive, tactful. He has a respect for other people's boundaries, something that Jon didn’t start to learn until it was too late. There's also no pretense with Sam. He's honest about his feelings. He doesn't pretend that he isn't scared or overwhelmed by it all, like Jon had done. And like she used to do, if she's telling the truth.
Next to her, Georgie laughs, though not unkindly. “It's alright, Melanie. I think it's sweet. Seems like Sam could use a friend. It's not like I've been the most…welcoming to him.”
“You’re under a lot of stress,” Melanie points out. “Especially right now.” Georgie needs reminders like this from time to time. She's taken on so many new responsibilities after Tower Fall, as if she was paying some kind of penance for her lack of involvement before. For distancing herself from all the chaos and monsters. Or maybe as a distraction from Jon.
Melanie feels Georgie shift uncomfortably beneath her. “Yeah, maybe….”
Five years later, Georgie still blames herself for what happened to Jon, insisting that she should've tried harder, reached out sooner, stayed in touch. It's hard to listen to her when she gets like that. Georgie is the kindest, most loving person Melanie knows. When she isn't patrolling the Exclusion Zone, she's dropping off groceries to their elderly neighbors, doing wellness checks, or putting folks in touch with other community resources, like the health clinic or the volunteer daycare center. But Georgie doesn't see all the people that she helps. She only remembers the ones that she doesn't. The people that she hadn’t been able to save.
“What was that song you were humming?” Georgie asks, changing the subject. “Before, when I first came in.”
“Oh, I don’t know…it’s something I picked up from Sam. He’s always humming it around the house.” Melanie thinks to herself for a moment. “It’s called ‘I See You’ or something like that. By Billie Holiday.”
“Hmmm…that’s an old one,” Georgie remarks.
“Well, he can be an old fart at times.”
Georgie snorts as she continues to rub her hand over Melanie’s legs. “Wonder what’s keeping the Admiral. He’s usually screaming for his breakfast right about now.”
“He’s probably still knocked out in Sam’s room. Sam had another bad dream.” Melanie frowns. It pained her that she couldn’t do more for him. But he seemed grateful for the cup of tea she brought him and the Admiral’s warm presence. “It was a bit of a night for him. I was going to let them both sleep in this morning.”
“You big softie ,” Georgie murmurs.
“Yeah, yeah.” Melanie grumbles, nudging Georgie with her left heel.
Georgie lets out a loud yawn. “I should probably be going to bed, too. It's getting late.”
“Can I join you?” Melanie asks. It's been a few weeks since they spent a morning in bed together. Among other things.
Georgie seems to pick up on the hint, because when she speaks again, there's a flirtatious tone to her voice. “To sleep, or….?”
“Or….” Melanie trails off. Georgie hums in approval, her body shifting, her right hand moving to Melanie's hip while she bends to kiss her. Melanie smiles against her mouth, tasting milk and Earl Grey. Her heart’s a stupid-happy bird, fluttering while Georgie’s soft lips travel along her right cheek, her jaw, down her neck. She allows herself a few more kisses before gently taking Georgie’s head in her hands and pushing her up and away from her neck. Any more of this and they risk fucking right here in the living room. And as close as she and Sam have gotten in these past couple weeks, she’s certain that he’s not in the least bit interested in seeing her without her clothes on.
Melanie rises from the couch, extending her hand until she feels the familiar touch of Georgie’s palm and fingers, wrapping around her own.
“Come on,” she says, tugging Georgie towards their room. “Let’s go before the kid wakes up.”