Archive of Our Own

Sam never really considered Mike a friend. Their personalities don't mesh. And he was a friend of Josh's, really. Sam was around him more than she really wanted because Hannah liked him, but Sam never thought highly of Mike.

She probably still wouldn't if it hadn't been for the shit they went through on that mountain.

She shouldn't be surprised about it, really. She's always known that he wasn't voted class president just because he was popular. For all his terrible practical jokes and awful behavior, he did his work well. He's not incompetent. He's just an asshole.

But they make a good team. A great team, actually. Manage to come up with a plan that gets them out of the lodge alive, and without ever saying a word. They work well together.

Just not well enough to save any of their friends.

She'll always remember the two of them in the rescue helicopter with a row of empty seats across from them. Mike's hand grips her wrist like he thinks one of them will fall apart if he lets go. She thinks he's right, but she doesn't know which of them it would be.

It's cold in the police station's interview rooms. She can feel it even though it has to be warmer than Blackwood. Maybe it's the stabbing isolation of being led into one room, watching Mike get escorted into another, and knowing that no one is waiting for them outside. Maybe it's the way the police officers look at her like she's some fragile, broken thing. Maybe it's the fact that she agrees with them.

Sam leaves after that. She takes a leave of absence at first. After a couple of weeks, she decides to move. After all, Hannah is gone. Beth is gone. Josh is gone. Everyone is gone except her and Mike. All that's left is the wind whistling on a mountain and two broken teenagers.

She leaves the state. She moves into an apartment at first, but she keeps waking up from nightmares covered in sweat with her throat raw from screaming, and the landlord gets too many complaints about the noise. Sam finds a tiny little house after that. It isn't great. There are shadows she can't chase away tucked into every corner. But it's something.

She has acquaintances at her new university, but she isn't close to anyone. It's too hard to hold a conversation. She prefers the company of animals instead, volunteering at a no-kill shelter whenever she can.

It's a year and a half before he finds her. She still doesn't know how he did it. One day there's a knock at the door when she's studying, and there Mike is at her front door.

She doesn't know what to say.

“Long time no see” is what eventually makes it out of her mouth.

“Same to you,” Mike says. “Can I come in?”

Sam makes them both dinner. He asks about school. She tells him about school. They don't talk about the mountain. They don't talk about the friends they've lost.

Mike asks if he can visit again. Sam tells him it's okay.

He comes by every couple of months after that. It becomes routine for her to spend a week getting ahead in her studies so she can spend a weekend with Mike. It's silly, actually, because it's not like they talk to each other. Mike spends most of his visits sprawled out on Sam's couch messing around on his phone while Sam reads a book at the table.

Still, it's a way of recharging her batteries: the quiet electricity of not being alone.

“Finals are next month,” Mike says one day.

“Are you worried, Mr. Bigshot?” Sam asks. Mike chuckles. She's glad he can still do that.

“Nah, exams will be fine. It's the summer I'm worried about. My dad wants me to come home.” Mike unconsciously touches the ends of the fingers he lost. Sam understands immediately. It's the same for her. She hasn't been back since she left, no matter how many times her parents ask. They visit her instead.

“You could stay here,” she says. He seems surprised by the offer. She is too, really.

“You sure?” he asks.

“I'm sure.” It's true. She doesn't know why.

He shows up at her door again when the semester ends with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Sam doesn't have a spare bedroom, so he sets his things down in the living room.

The first day is normal. Mike has enough of a sense of responsibility to have offered to help around the house, so they go grocery shopping together. He remembers she doesn't eat meat. They play music in the kitchen while they cook. It's nice.

The first night is a mess. Sam doesn't usually have nightmares on the days that she sees Mike, so when she wakes up, groggy and confused at three in the morning, she doesn't know why. But when she hears the shout, she's on her feet, and by the time she hears the thud of Mike hitting the floor, she's already made it to the living room.

“Mike, hey,” she says, her voice as gentle and calming as she can make it with her heart pounding the way it is. Mike is on his hands and knees by the couch, shaking. Sam puts her hand on his back.

Mike takes a swing at her. She dodges, but it's close.

“Mike, it's me. It's Sam.”

“Sam?” he says. She can see the haze of raw panic clear from his eyes, swiftly replaced by guilt. “Shit, Sam, I'm sorry. I thought you were-- I thought-- I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Sam says. She knows what he thought. She knows where he was, what he was seeing. She sits on the couch and waits for him to join her. “You get the nightmares too?”

Mike turns sharply to look at her. She's never told him about them. “Yeah. Sometimes. It's been a while, though. I thought I figured out how to make them go away.”

He's trembling again. Sam takes his hand, the one that's missing fingers, and squeezes it. She hopes that knowing she's there will ground him. “How?” she asks.

“If I'm really tired, they don't come. But usually, I...” He hesitates. His expression looks a little like shame. “I don't...sleep alone often. If I go more than a couple days by myself, I start seeing things.”

Unlike Sam, Mike will often talk about his friends at university. He's mentioned a few girls by name, but no one more than anyone else. It's not like the way he used to be with Emily or the way he used to be with Jessica. Sam had thought it unusual for a serial monogamist like him. It makes sense now.

“Sorry I made you sleep on the couch,” she says.

He laughs. “I seem to recall offering,” Mike says. Some of the color has come back into his face now. Sam squeezes his hand again, and he squeezes back.

“Come and sleep with me, then.”

Mike raises an eyebrow at her. “Well, well, Samantha. Who knew you could be so forward.”

Sam rolls her eyes and stands up, leading him back to her bedroom before he can make any other stupid comments. “I'm not going to have sex with you. But I do want you to be able to sleep.”

It's definitely weird. Sam's bed is a little too small for the two of them to share, and even if it wasn't, Sam has never slept next to a man before. But Mike has his back against a wall, and his breathing is steady, and Sam feels safe too. They fall asleep with her hand still on his.

Sam wakes up first. Predictably, she finds that Mike has slung his arm around her waist in his sleep. Less predictably, Sam doesn't mind. It doesn't feel right to leave him alone in the bed, so she thinks about what they'll have for breakfast and what they can do today until she feels him stirring behind her.

She turns to face him as he yawns and opens his eyes. He's quick to pull his arm away once he realizes where it is. “Good morning,” he says, a little sheepishly. It's endearing.

“Do you want to hang out with some dogs today?” she asks.

Mike blinks.

Mike is even more instantaneously popular with dogs than he is with women. He and Sam barely make it through the shelter doors before they're surrounded by overly energetic canines. Sam leads Mike and a group of dogs out to the play area, where the dogs spend the better part of an hour chasing toys with them. Eventually Mike collapses back onto the grass, one of the younger dogs immediately curling up beside him. Sam taps Mike's forehead with a water bottle and sits beside him.

“You're good with them,” Sam notes as Mike cracks his water bottle open. “Do you have dogs?”

“I used to have a couple. I grew up with them. They died the summer after we graduated high school, though. I always wanted to adopt a couple more, but I was about to leave for college, and then. Well.” He pets the dog beside him absentmindedly. “I wasn't sure it was the right time to have a living being depend on me after that.” Sam nods.

“You should come here more,” she says. “I've got an internship with the animal hospital, so I'll be gone a lot during the day. Besides, these little guys need a lot of attention.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I think it'll be good for you. It's good for me,” Sam says, putting her water down so she can use both hands to give a dog head scratches. “The dogs don't ask me a bunch of questions or expect me to talk or know that all my friends were killed on a mountain.”

Mike looks at her then, but her face is impassive. “Sam,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“I'm fine. We should get these guys back to the kennels.”

Mike finds ways to spend his days. Maybe he's met people out here. Sam doesn't ask. She has her internship to worry about, and Mike's always been a good socializer.

Mike goes to the dog shelter at least every couple of days. He swiftly becomes a favorite with both the staff and the animals. A recommendation from Sam is high praise as far as the shelter staff is concerned, and Mike's personality does the rest. Sam comes with him every Saturday.

It's three weeks in before one of them mentions Blackwood again. The shelter seems like the safest place to bring it up, where the barking of dogs can chase away the bad memories. “You know, there was a wolf up on the mountain that saved my life,” Mike says.

“There was what?”

“A wolf. You remember how you helped me blow up the sanatorium? Wolfie helped me make it through that place. I think the flamethrower guy trained him to help fight off the wendigos.”

Sam snorts. “You named him Wolfie?”

Mike feigns distress. “How dare you insult my good friend Wolfie and the name his loving wolf parents gave him.”

Sam laughs outright at that one. “Don't worry, Mike, it's not your dear friend Wolfie I'm laughing at. It's all you.”

“You wound me.” He mimes a strike to the chest and falls down flat, only to find that being on the ground puts him at the right height to get his face licked by an overly enthusiastic dog. He groans and scrunches his eyes shut.

“So, are you gonna get a big dog next time? Charlie there certainly seems to like you.”

Mike pushes Charlie away so he can wipe his face. “Charlie needs to get some better smelling breath. Ugh.”

Mike cries in his sleep sometimes. Sam doesn't think he knows. She hasn't told him. She just sits beside him, rubbing his back, wondering which part of the mountain his mind has taken him to.

“You know, Sam, you're a really good cook,” Mike tells her over dinner.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Is that so.”

Mike takes another bite before he continues. “Yeah. I know I used to make fun of you for eating rabbit food all the time, but it isn't bad once you try it.”

“I'm surprised. I was sure you were gonna complain about it. Or sneak a steak into the fridge.”

“In your house? The one you're letting me stay in for free all summer? Come on, Sam, even I'm not that much of an asshole.”

“You used to be.”

Mike flinches. “Ouch. True, but harsh.”

Sam punches him lightly on the arm. “Honesty is important, Mike. Besides, I did say ‘used to.’ A lot of things have changed since then.”

“Yeah. I just wish more of them had been for the better.”

It's hard to talk after that, so they don't. Silence washes over them. For a moment, Sam can't breathe.

The moment passes. So does the evening.

Mike has gotten clingy in his sleep. He's probably noticed that Sam isn't repulsed by his touch or something. Or maybe muscle memory just tells his body that she's someone he's dating. Whatever the reason, Sam keeps waking up with Mike's chest pressed up against her back and his face buried in her hair.

It's kind of nice, actually. Sam hasn't slept with anyone since Hannah. She forgot how nice it is to have the warmth of another body beside her. Sometimes she slips her hand into Mike's just to lace their fingers together.

It's cold. It's snowing and she's wearing a jacket but she's not dressed for the weather. Her fingers are stiff with cold, and she can't climb like this. Her hands can't grasp the holds. The wall is high, impossibly high, but she needs to get over it. She needs to.

There is a screech, and the stench of rotten flesh fills her lungs. The wendigo scales the wall easily, comes right up to her to scream in her face.

Stay still, she thinks. They can't see you if you don't move.

But her hands are so cold, and she is so scared. The rock slips out from beneath her fingers.

She falls. The monster pounces. She doesn't know which will kill her first.

Sam wakes up screaming or sobbing or both, and Mike is there beside her, already awake, already holding her hand. She leans her head against his chest instinctively, needing to feel the warmth of living flash, needing to hear the beating of a heart. He talks, but she can't focus on the words. He's probably trying to comfort her, or maybe he's trying to lighten the mood with his bad jokes. She doesn't know. What she knows is that he's alive. She's alive. They're alive.

They're the only ones who lived.

She loses her mind then, and she doesn't know how long it takes for her to get it back. She cries into his chest for a long time, her hands balled into fists at his back, twisting creases into the fabric of his shirt.

Mike pats her head, rubs circles into her back, keeps talking even though he knows she can't hear him.

Eventually, Sam's tears run dry. Eventually, the sun rises. Another dawn she's lived to see, another day her friends are dead. She pushes herself up and off the bed, busies herself with breakfast.

She acts like it didn't happen. She's gotten good at pretending. If it wasn't for her swollen, bloodshot eyes; if it wasn't for the exhaustion that spreads through her like ice over glass; if it wasn't for the way Mike watches her, cautiously, carefully, caringly; if it wasn't for all that, she could have done it.

Mike lets her off easy. He doesn't say anything about it, even though he must be tired too. He leaves it alone for days. Sam must have forgotten that he's actually clever, because of course he would know to wait, but it takes her by surprise when he finally brings it up.

“Can I talk to you?”

He looks serious. Very serious. “Of course,” Sam says. “You can always talk to me.”

Mike smiles a little. “And you know I appreciate that, right? You know that's how I've made it through this summer. But I think we need to talk to someone else about all this. Professionals.”

Sam's face hardens. “No,” she says. “No. No, I don't need help, I'm fine.”

“Sam, come on. You're smart enough to know you're lying. With everything we went through? That was trauma, this is PTSD. And the nightmares?” He shakes his head. “Are they always that bad for you?”

He's looking at her with compassion. With empathy, even. Sam knows this. But it still feels like pity. “I don't need therapy. I don't need a doctor.”

“Sam. Please. We're barely surviving this. I don't want us to have made it off of that mountain but have it kill us anyway. We need help. We need medicine.”

“Medicine didn't help Josh.” Her voice is acid. Mike flinches. It's true, after all.

“You're right,” he says. “It didn't. But I don't want to lose you the way we lost him.”

Sam turns away. She doesn't want to see that desperate, earnest look Mike's got right now. Treatment is the smart choice. It's always been the smart choice. But she doesn't want to go.

Minutes pass, but Mike keeps waiting for an answer. Specifically, an answer that isn't “no.”

Sam gives in. “You're not going to make me do this alone, are you?”

Mike's face breaks into a grin. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

True to his word, Mike is right there by her side while she makes the calls, while she drives to the doctors' offices, while she sits in the waiting room. She almost bails at every step, but she can't run if Mike is there. It's the two of them, all the way, down to the end.

She comes out of the office with her eyes and nose red from crying, and for a second she's humiliated that Mike is seeing her like this again. But he takes her arm and drives her home and before they get out of the car, he lays his hand on hers. “Thank you,” he says.

She looks down at their hands, torn between saying “I'm not doing this for you” and “I'm only doing this because of you.” She can't decide which one is more true, so she doesn't say either. She puts her other hand on top of his, squeezes, and gets out of the car.

Mike sets his own appointments for the week he'll be back in his apartment. He goes with Sam to every appointment she has before he leaves. He goes with her to the pharmacy.

Somehow, the summer ends. Sam and Mike spend the last day at the shelter, where Charlie crawls into Mike's lap like he's not a seventy pound dog. Then they go home, and Mike packs, and it's over.

They stand on either side of the threshold, with Mike already outside and Sam wondering how she's going to deal with therapy alone. “And you're going to go to your doctors too, right?” she asks.

“Yeah, Sam. You heard me make the appointments. I'll keep them. Besides, I can't keep sleeping with people just to get rid of the monsters under the bed.” He gives her a smile that's a little bit sad. He hugs her. He gets back into his car and drives away.

Sam misses him more than she thought she would.

Mike starts visiting more often. Sam considers it a part of her treatment. Medication every morning. Therapy twice a week. Mike once a month, twice if she's lucky.

Sam cries more in that office than she has in any other room on the planet. She tells Mike as much the next time he comes to visit. Sam expects him to play the tough guy, so it surprises her when he nods. “Yeah, me too. I think that's just how therapy works, though.”

She doesn't admit it, but she agrees. Sam had been furious when her therapist first suggested she come in twice a week instead of once, like she had at the start, but she has a lot to work through. Therapy is an exercise in dismantling the walls she's built up in her head, brick by brick. She's amazed she hasn't come crashing down with them.

Sam doesn't know if her therapist believes her about the wendigo. She wonders if she just considers it a delusion, some figment of Sam's imagination that hunts her from her nightmares to her memories. She wonders if one day her therapist will expect her to tell a truth that isn't real. She figures she'll burn that bridge when she gets to it.

For now, Sam deals with the grief. The shock. The overwhelming guilt.

So much of what happened on the mountain happened too far away from her for Sam to have possibly done anything about it. She could never have saved Matt or Jess or Emily. Chris... Chris took a risk. He knew it was a risk. He knew he might not come back from it. Sam should have told him not to go. Chris might be her fault.

She shouldn't have left Ashley alone. Maybe the wendigo wouldn't have gotten her if Sam was there. Ashley is probably her fault.

What happened to Josh happened because of Sam. She believes this, no matter what the police or her therapist or even Mike say. She could have been better to Josh. She should have. She should have known he wasn't doing well, should have known his medication wasn't working, should have known he couldn't possibly be okay after losing both of his sisters.

He acted like he forgave them all. He was still friends with Mike and Jess and Emily. She thought he was moving forward.

Sam was stupid to have believed that. The whole group was in denial about what happened, about the fact that Hannah and Beth disappeared (fell off a cliff, ate her sister, turned into a monster) because of their stupid prank. How could Josh possibly forgive people who never apologized? Sam wanted to believe he was okay because that was easier. She wanted to believe it because it hurt to talk about Hannah. She wanted to believe it because she wanted to be okay, too.

Well, she isn't okay. She doesn't deserve to be.

“You deserve happiness,” her therapist tells her.

“Why? Why would I get a happy ending when almost every one of my friends is dead?”

“You didn't do anything wrong, Sam. You didn't hurt Josh.”

“I didn't help him.”

“You told me you were there for him,” her therapist says. “You were a shoulder to lean on. You were the person he could talk to about his sisters.”

“I didn't help him enough.”

Sam shuts down after that. Her therapist is used to it by now. They finish the session, and as she's showing Sam out, she says, “It's okay that you don't believe you deserve to be happy yet. But you don't deserve to be miserable. And one day, you'll believe it too. That's what I'm here to help you do.”

She doesn't think the medicine helps. She thinks about Josh taking pill after pill to try to chase away hallucinations. She thinks about Josh being taken away by what's left of his sister. She thinks about taking her medicine. All of it, all at once.

She calls Mike.

It's the middle of the night and midterm season, but Mike drops everything to get to her. He stays on the line and talks about nothing while she waits for him. He sings along to shitty pop songs on the radio, badly, and it makes Sam laugh even though she's crying. He downloads stupid movies for them to watch together.

Sam is vaguely aware that there are birds singing outside. She's more aware that her neck is sore. She doesn't remember falling asleep, but when she opens her eyes, she finds herself still seated on the couch with her head leaning on Mike's shoulder. He must have thrown a blanket over them after she passed out. Sam studies his face for a while.

He looks worried, even in his sleep, but not frightened. No nightmares tonight. She's glad about that. She's seen her friends hurt and terrified enough for several lifetimes. She doesn't want to see that anymore.

She stands up to stretch, and the movement wakes him. “Sam?” Mike asks groggily.

“I'm still here,” Sam says. “I'm here.”

Mike suppresses a yawn. “How are you feeling?”

Sam rolls her head from side to side, working the stiffness out of her neck. “I've been worse. You're not a bad pillow.” Mike looks at her for a long time. Sam sighs. “You're not asking how I slept, are you.”

“I'm really glad you called me.”

“I'm glad that you came.”

“I'll always come for you, Sam. Any time. Every time.”

“Thank you, Mike.”

“You still have therapy on Thursdays?” he asks.

Sam sighs. “Therapy on Monday and Thursday. Cattery on Wednesday. Dogs on Saturday.” Medication with breakfast. Journaling after dinner. Mike once a month, or more if she calls.

“Talk to me about it.”

Sam almost scowls. He's a clever son of a bitch, phrasing it like that. Not “do you want to talk about it” because she never does. Not a question at all. Not even a demand, somehow.

A request, maybe. Or an expectation. And Sam can't believe she's thinking this, but she doesn't want to let Michael Munroe down. Him of all people.

Things have really changed.

“I don't know. Therapy is going fine. I'm talking about what happened, I'm talking about our friends, I'm doing the exercises, I'm taking the medicine. I'm doing all of it. I just thought I'd feel less like shit afterward.” She sighs.

“I know what you mean. My therapist keeps telling me it's a process, but it's a process that sucks.” Mike pauses. Sam won't look at him. “I've just been doing school part time, you know. All the classes I'm taking now are ones I failed out of in the spring.”

Sam lifts her head. “I thought you were gonna graduate early?”

“So did I. But I couldn't focus on the lectures anymore, after what happened. I started meeting more people, going out to more parties. Trying to do more things I can't fuck up.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Sam expects Mike to be the one dodging eye contact now, but when she looks at him, he's staring at her. He's probably been watching her the whole time. Mike shrugs.

“It was embarrassing. I'm still going to be an undergrad when you're halfway through grad school. You're already doing internships. You're going to be a conservationist like you always wanted to. I've never had trouble like this before.” Sam opens her mouth, but Mike raises his hand. “I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I think you're doing fucking great. I admire you for it. But we aren't the people we were when we started college, is what I'm saying. We can't be good at everything like we used to be.”

Sam looks at him for a long time. “I don't want to be sad anymore,” she says. She reaches out for his hand, and he takes it.

“I know, Sam. I know.”

Sam takes the first week of February off. So does Mike. They don't tell each other this, but they know, just like Sam doesn't need him to tell her he's coming for her to expect him at the door. Not in February. Not for the anniversary.

They're quieter than they've ever been on the second. They sit beside each other on the couch in front of the silent TV, letting the sun go down on them. They're just sitting in the dark by the time one of them finally says something.

“We should visit their graves,” Sam says quietly. She's never gone. She still hasn't gone back to California since she left.

“Yeah, we should,” Mike agrees. And then pauses. “But not yet.”

She doesn't think Mike has ever visited their graves either. She doesn't think he's ready. She probably isn't either.

“Okay. How about for now we just go get dinner?”

That night, Sam cries herself to sleep. So does Mike.

The next day, Mike overcompensates. He turns on the charm as hard as he can, flirting relentlessly with everyone they talk to: the barista who takes their coffee order, the girl sitting at the table next to theirs, the guy whose dog Sam asks to pet when they pass him on the street. It's something Mike's told Sam about, something he's brought up in therapy. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad, if she didn't know how desperate he must be not to think about what's happened to them this time of year. About what they've done.

The waitress at the diner they stop at for lunch likes Mike so much that she gives them dessert free of charge. Then she brings him their receipt with her phone number written across the bottom. Sam watches him stuff it carelessly into his wallet. The waitress will be disappointed when he doesn't text.

Sam throws a tank top on over a sports bra and yoga pants, and she invites Mike to come to the climbing gym with her. “Sure,” he says easily. “I like watching you climb.”

Sam always goes for the boulder. The rock walls feel silly to her, with nowhere to go once she gets to the top and the weight of a harness digging into her hips. But leaping from hold to hold with nothing to catch her but her own skills feels real.

She and Mike choose different routes along the same side of the wall, racing to get to the top. Sam usually wins. Mike is athletic and a risk taker, but she understands the way the climbing paths work better. She sits at the top of the structure, watching Mike struggle with his chosen path.

“You know,” he says, voice strained with the effort of hauling his weight up with only his arms, “you look good like this.”

“Like what?” Sam asks.

“Tight clothes,” Mike says. “A little sweaty. It's pretty hot.” He jumps for the next hold, but he doesn't get quite the grip he needs. His fingers slip on the plastic. Mike lands hard on the mat below and groans.

“I think you look pretty hot like that,” she calls down to him, smirking. “Flat on your ass.”

“Rude,” he says, starting over. He makes the jump this time, and when he gets to the top, he grabs Sam's outstretched arm instead of bothering with the last few holds. “I was complimenting you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Michael. I'm not going to give you a slice of pie, and you already have my phone number.” Sam turns toward the stairs that will take them back down to the floor. Mike follows.

“In my experience, I have found that flattery can often lead to kissing. You're just a tough sell, Sam.”

“Tell you what,” she says, leaning on the railing. “Let's do another race. If you win, you get your kiss. And if I win, you buy dinner. Sound good?”

Mike grins. “You're on, Gibbings.”

They pick each other's routes. They're both a little out of their skill ranges. It takes several tries for either of them to get anywhere, and once they do, it's a close race. Sam thinks she's lost when she falls, but Mike gets stuck with the wrong foot on a hold, and his backtracking gives her enough time to catch up. In the end, Sam clambers over the top of the structure first, with Mike just a couple of seconds behind her. She raises her arms in victory.

“Dinner's on you, Munroe,” she says, pointing at him.

Mike runs his hand through his hair. He looks... really disappointed.

“Mike? We were just joking around, right? You look really bummed out.”

“Um. Yeah, well. I actually really like you, Sam.”

“What?” Some part of her is waiting for the punchline.

“I kind of thought this could be my chance, but you're too damn good at this. Take it easy on me next time, huh?” He winks, but it lacks his usual confidence.

Oh my god, Sam thinks, he's really serious.

“Oh,” she says aloud, a little drawn out, and Mike flinches like she just sentenced him to death. “Mike, I'm really sorry, but I don't--”

He holds up a hand. “It's fine, Sam. You don't have to say it. I'm a big boy, I can take a hint. I'm, uh. I'm just gonna go lift weights. You can get me when you're done climbing.”

He doesn't even take the stairs. He just lowers himself off the edge of the wall so he can drop down, leaving Sam alone with her suddenly tangled thoughts.

Sam sits down where she is, covering her mouth with her hand. She really hadn't expected this. Sure, they spend a lot of time together because that's what friends do. Sure, Mike flirts with her sometimes, but that's just something Mike does. He flirts with a lot of people. And sure, they sleep together, but that's just how the two of them deal with their damn PTSD. It's not like they're having sex. They're not like that.

She looks over at the fitness area. She can see Mike from here. He's sitting on a bench with his head in his hands.

Sam groans. “Oh man. What are we going to do now?”

The drive home is incredibly awkward. They take turns showering, and Sam chews her lip the whole time Mike's cooking dinner. When she finishes washing the dishes, she turns around to find that Mike has moved his pillow out to the couch.

It's actually a little bit devastating.

“Mike,” she says. “The elephant in the room?”

“I'd rather keep not talking about it,” he replies. “I just want to go to sleep.”

“You gonna be okay out here?” Mike hasn't slept on her couch since the first night that summer.

“Sure. I've been taking my medicine and going to therapy. I'll be alright.”

“Okay. Good night, Mike.”

It's too early to sleep, but it's too awkward to be out in the main part of the house, so Sam reads at her desk until she gets tired. She lies down and pulls the blankets up close around her.

It's surprisingly lonely. She misses Hannah. She misses Josh. She misses Beth. She misses Mike, and he's just outside.

She doesn't sleep well. Neither does Mike, if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by. He's already eating breakfast by the time she gets up, so she follows suit and makes toast. He passes her the butter knife, and her fingers brush his when she takes it from him.

She drops the knife.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Still asleep, Sam?”

“Guess I must be,” she says. Good work, she thinks as she eats. Really subtle. Super normal. Fucking fantastic.

Sam never notices just how much she touches Mike until she tries to stop. She's used to sitting close to him on the couch, touching his shoulder when she passes him in a room, or poking him in the back of the head if he looks like he's concentrating too hard. She doesn't like the distance she's putting between them.

They're halfway through another silent dinner when Mike sighs heavily and puts his fork down. “Look, I know it was my idea not to talk about it, but you were right. We have to.” He takes a deep breath. “Sam, I like you a lot. You're the strongest person I know, you're tough as nails, and you are really, really hot. Like, Jesus Christ, I would do anything you told me to in bed.”

Sam blinks. She's really not sure where he's going with this.

“But more importantly,” he continues, “you are my best friend. And being friends with you is more important than anything else in my life. So I need us being friends not to change. You're not into me the way I'm into you, and that's fine. I'll get over it.”

“I... I didn't want to like, lead you on.”

“You weren't. You never have. So please stop avoiding me. I don't think I can handle that.”

“Good,” Sam says. “Because neither can I.”

What Mike asks for is “a little space.” While Sam is happy to give it to him, she doesn't exactly know how much “a little” is for them. They still text a couple of times a day, but he doesn't call her, and she's not sure if she's supposed to call him. But it's hard to go without hearing his voice for too long, so she calls him two weekends after his visit.

“Sam, you would not believe the shit I heard in class yesterday,” Mike says as soon as he answers.

“What, did someone misattribute another quote to Einstein?”

“Even worse: Malcolm X.”

“Ooh, that's bad. What did they say?”

The conversation feels like any other they've had, for which Sam is grateful. Once they've exhausted the topic of how ignorant Mike's classmates can be, Sam tells him about some of the new dogs they've gotten at the shelter.

“I think you'd really like Tycho. German Shepherd-Pitbull mix. He's not great with people just yet, but I definitely think he's going to be a cuddler.”

“Send me pictures next time you go back! I've missed dogs. I haven't been around one in ages.”

“No need to wait. I can, in fact, send you pictures right now.” Sam puts the phone on speaker so she can still talk while texting photos. “So how's your Saturday going?” she asks.

“Could be better. I've got a pretty bad black eye developing over here.”

Sam's hand thumps loudly against the table as she glares at her phone. “And you didn't lead with that? What happened?”

“Well, I met a girl at a party last night, and she did not mention that she had a boyfriend who was also at the party. Instead of introducing himself, he socked me.”

“Damn. You didn't hit him back, did you?”

“Nah. I told him he could join in, but he didn't appreciate the invite. Took his girl and left in a hurry.”

Something about the way he's talking makes Sam pause. “Hey, you're... okay, right?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Mike says dismissively. She has a sudden suspicion this is how he felt whenever she used that word with him.

“Just be safe, alright?”

“I know how to use a condom, Sam.”

“I don't mean that, asshole. Don't go getting into any fights. I don't want you to get hurt.”

“Like I said, I'm fine. I'll talk to you later, okay? I've got people coming over.”

He hangs up, leaving Sam to worry alone.

“Do you have plans for spring break yet?” Sam asks the next time they talk.

“I've got a few prospects lined up,” he says. Sam doesn't like the way he says it. It reminds her of their senior year of high school, when Mike kept half a dozen girls hanging on the idea that they might be his date for prom before he picked Emily the way he'd always planned. She didn't like that Mike. That's the Mike that broke Hannah's heart.

“Make coming here your spring break plan,” she says. It's not a request, and he knows it. Mike pauses for a while before answering her.

“Well, damn. If you put it that way, I guess I don't have a choice, do I?”

“No, you don't,” she agrees. “So I'll see you at the end of the month.”

Mike comes as commanded. Sam is waiting for him on the porch when he arrives. He looks especially tired, with that haunted look in his eyes that tells her he hasn't been sleeping well. She wonders if it's the nightmares coming back.

“Alright, Sam, you wanted me, and now you've got me. What was so important you needed to have me over for a whole week?”

“I got a roommate.”

Mike's mouth falls open in confusion, and it takes a moment for words to make it out. “You got a what?”

“A roommate. And I want you to meet him.” She stands up and opens the door, ignoring Mike's protests. “Come on, he's waiting for you.”

“Sam. Hey, Sam! Fucking--”

Mike follows her inside, bristling, ready to throw down with whomever Sam let into her house. But when he crosses the threshold, he doesn't see anyone. What he does see is a large dog bed on the far side of the living room and Sam halfway around the corner, bent at the waist, trying to coax something back into the living room.

It takes the promise of a treat to get Tycho to come and greet a stranger, but between the one in Sam's hand and the one she tosses to Mike, they manage to get him to say hello.

“Hey, buddy,” Mike says, scratching the dog between the ears as he licks the treat out of Mike's hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm fostering him for a month,” Sam says. she leans against the wall as Tycho gives Mike his full attention. “I've had him for about a week and a half now.”

“Sam,” Mike says seriously, “if this was not the most perfect creature on the planet, I would be really mad at you for the roommate joke.”

“Sounds like you're losing your sense of humor, Mike.”

“You made it sound like you were living with someone! I thought I was gonna have to fight to win him over.”

“It looked a lot more like you were just going to try to fight him,” Sam says, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, I would have played nice. Probably.”

Tycho rubs his head up against Mike's legs, whining for more petting. Sam smiles. “Well, it looks like you got him either way.”

“Charm is what I do.”

“Even for dogs?”

“Oh, always for dogs, Sam. Especially for dogs.”

Sam lifts herself back up off the wall. “Alright. You keep Tycho occupied while I make lunch, and then we can take him to the park after we eat. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Sam was right: Mike likes Tycho a lot. He spends well over an hour with him running through the dog park and another half hour just rolling around in the grass with him.

Mike stays glued to the dog's side when they get back to the house. Tycho whines when they sit down to eat dinner even though Sam's already filled his bowl.

“Come on, buddy, you've got all that tasty kibble!” Mike says, pointing at the dog bowl. “You don't want our food. It's all vegetables. You've got the good stuff, trust me.”

“All this attention is going to absolutely spoil that dog,” Sam says, failing to keep the smile off her face.

“Good,” Mike says. “He deserves spoiling. He's an angel.”

They turn on the TV after dinner. Tycho hops up onto the couch to flop down across both of their laps. It's a habit Sam probably shouldn't let him keep, but she figures she can work on it later. Despite his size, she finds the warmth and weight comforting.

Tycho stays there until both of their legs start to fall asleep, and then Sam has to push him off, as gently as she can. “Come on, Tycho,” she says, nudging him off her thighs, “I have to go to the bathroom, and I need working legs to do that.”

Tycho jumps back off the couch, turns in a circle, and settles down on the floor by their feet. Sam stands up gingerly. “Thank god,” she says.

“Sweet freedom,” Mike agrees, stretching. He leans down to run his hands along Tycho's side. “No offense, buddy.”

They watch TV together for a couple more hours, but eventually the passage of time takes its toll. Sam yawns. “Alright, it's time for me to get my beauty sleep. How about you?”

“I'm gonna stay out here with Tycho for a bit longer,” Mike says, scratching the dog under his chin. “I'll come to bed later.”

Sam nods and leaves him to it, listening to him talk to the dog as she brushes her teeth and washes her face.

It's not surprising that she falls asleep before Mike comes back to her room, but it is surprising to wake up at three in the morning still alone in the bed. Sam rolls herself out of bed, figuring she'll grab a glass of water and pick Mike up off the couch while she's at it.

The second surprise is that the couch is empty, too. In the dark of the living room, it takes a minute to find him, but eventually Sam spots Mike in the corner, curled up with Tycho on the dog bed. Sam smiles. “Next to a dog” is a really good look for Mike.

His breathing is calm, easy, and slow. Sam lays a blanket over Mike before heading back to bed.

When spring break ends, Mike doesn't want to leave. He stays in the doorway with his bag on his back and his hands in Tycho's fur for five minutes before Sam figures out this isn't going to be a short goodbye. It's another half hour before he finally stands up to actually go.

“Thanks for having me, Sam. This week has been really good for me.”

Sam thinks it's true. He looks less like an insomniac now than he did when he arrived. “Glad I could help.”

“I'm really gonna miss this big guy,” Mike says, looking down at Tycho.

“You could always adopt him,” Sam says. “Even with the driving distance. The shelter would trust you with it.”

Mike shakes his head. “Nah. A dog as good as this deserves a family, not some guy who's held together with therapy, medication, and duct tape.”

“I think you're doing quite well for yourself, Michael.”

“Why, thank you kindly, Samantha,” Mike says, putting on a Southern Belle accent. “But I don't think that's good enough to be someone's whole world. You know how dogs are.”

“If that's what you think, I guess I can't change your mind,” she says. “But he will miss you. And so will I.” Sam pauses for a second. “We are good, right? The two of us?”

“Yeah,” Mike says. He's casual about it, but it doesn't feel as contrived as it did over the phone. “We're good, Sam. Don't worry. Talk to you soon?”

“Very soon,” Sam agrees, wrapping her arm around him in a goodbye hug.

When Sam finally goes back to California, she does it in the middle of spring. She waits until the poppies and mariposa lilies bloom, and then she gets in her car and drives toward the coast. The traffic gives her too much time to think about where she's going.

Mike is outside his apartment when Sam pulls up. He invites her inside, but she refuses. She has to keep moving. If she doesn't, she'll never make it. The only stop they make is to buy flowers.

The Washingtons have a plot in a high end Burbank memorial park. Bob and Melinda bought one for the family when Melinda's mother died, thinking that one day, far in the future, they could all be together. There are more headstones here now than there are living members of the family.

Sam wept the first time she came here, when they buried empty coffins and set plaques with Hannah and Beth's photos in the grass. They each had roses, Sam remembers, all eight of them, and they tossed them onto the coffins before they covered them in dirt.

They had a body to bury with Josh, at least. Sam doesn't know how much of a body. She thinks sometimes about the headless corpses she and Mike found strung up in the wendigo's lair, but she's always been too afraid to ask Mike how it killed Josh. She knows he would tell her the truth.

The graves are clean and well-maintained. Each one has a bouquet of fresh flowers beside the headstone. Bob and Melinda must still visit every week or so.

Sam leaves roses for Hannah. It was always roses for Hannah. She leaves roses for Josh and Beth too, mixed in with the lilies Mike carries, but it isn't quite the same.

She cries this time, too, but this feels like the right place to do it.

The other gravesites are less ostentatious. Emily would probably have hated hers. It's too simple. Mike jokes that they should have brought her jewelry instead of flowers, and Sam elbows him even though it makes her laugh. They leave Emily carnations. She used to like those.

Matt's headstone is simple, clean, and sturdy. It reminds Sam of the way he used to be. They lay violets in the ground vase. “Sorry I gave you a hard time, buddy,” Mike whispers as they turn to leave.

Chris and Ashley are in the same cemetery. Mike tells Sam it was Ashley's mother's idea. The families both live nearby, and Chris was Ash's best friend, so maybe they'll be at peace if they're together here.

They're buried next to each other. Always so close, but never in the way that they wanted to be. Sam and Mike leave them morning glories and jasmine blossoms.

Jessica is the hardest for Mike. Even after all the time and all the therapy, he blames himself for her death like Sam blames herself for Josh's. He busies himself with brushing dirt and grass off of the headstone so Sam won't see how much he's crying, and Sam pretends not to notice his whole body shaking with the effort of holding in his sobs. They leave Jess roses, too.

They go to Mike's apartment after that, and since they're both too exhausted from crying to eat, they just go to sleep. Mike's bed is bigger than Sam's, but they still end up a tangled mess of limbs in the morning.

Sam tries to get up, but Mike holds onto her tightly in his sleep. She settles back in and waits for him to wake.

“You smell nice,” Sam says when Mike finally starts to stir. The pillows are full of the scent of his shampoo.

“Don't hit on me, Sam,” he mumbles into her shoulder. “I already got over you.”

“Strong words from the little spoon.”

Mike sits up straight. “I was not the little spoon.” He blinks once. “Was I?”

Sam grins at him. “You'll never know.” She gets up and wanders to the kitchen while Mike calls after her.

“Sam. Sam, come on. I wasn't, right? Just tell me!”

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“She's really not gonna tell me,” she hears Mike mutter from his bedroom.

Sam rummages around in Mike's kitchen until she finds everything she needs for breakfast. She makes a couple slices of avocado toast. He's got the good California ones, the ones that Sam missed while she was gone but never bought because they reminded her too much of home. When Mike wanders into the kitchen, she slides a plate toward him, and he sits down across from her.

“I'm going to visit my parents today,” Sam says.

“I think that's a great idea,” Mike replies.

For a while, they just eat in the peaceful quiet, with the morning sun streaming in through the windows. It's warm here.

“Mike?” Sam says, staring out the window at the city around them.

“Yeah?”

She turns to look at him, the start of a smile tugging at her lips. “I think we're going to be okay.”

Mike beams back at her. “You know what, Sam? I feel the same way.”