Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sam had been prepared for the end.

Right when he was getting to the point of being able to admit his acceptance of a new, sprouting hope, the universe had to prove he was right all along. Like a push to keep him in his lane, to keep him just as hopeless and complacent as he was his entire life. He had been living day by day, and just when he started to live for the future— not his own, but the future of everyone else— the Last Stranding reached its crescendo.

The red sea stretched out before him in an ebb and flow of nostalgia for something simpler. Amelie and him embraced each other as he watched a brilliant orange explosion shudder beyond the horizon like God's own nuclear bomb. He was engulfed with a searing existential pain then, all at once, he felt nothing anymore. 

***

Sam was gone. At first it was a day, then a week. That should have been enough for Sam to convince Amelie one way or another. The violent storm ripping outside stopped nearly instantly— a good sign, no doubt. It gave everyone hope for the future, hope that Sam had succeeded. 

That week turned into two weeks. Fragile, now recovered, could not find him in her mind’s eye, could not sense his location as she normally did. It was then that Heartman had found himself, in those 3 minute windows of death, following not his family’s footprints but searching for another set altogether. Heartman knew better than anyone the difference in time between the world of the living and the purgatory of the beach. The beach was timeless but the seam that would normally connect ones Ha and Ka was ambiguous. Every day not spent searching could have meant a year for Sam. 

Three weeks. A month. The relief was instant when Die-hardman reminded them of the revolver. 

Sam barely remembered what happened when he finally got out of it— got out of the "nothing”. It was nothing, and then it was everything again as he took a choked breath and opened his eyes. It felt only like a second, but his body ached like it had been an eternity. It was telling him he shouldn't have been alive. He should have been stuck on that beach for the rest of his days. Instead, he was alive and back in the world of the living, back with familiar faces and back with Lou.

Even with his miraculous awakening, though, no one was keen enough to explain to him why he wasn’t wisping away on the beach. He was sacred to Bridges' staff. The martyr to their martyr. Who would want to bother someone like that with semantics?

There was talk about preparations and the air buzzed with an energy too professional for Sam's liking. When he was finally recovered enough to hold himself up with his own two feet, they informed him of their plans for the inauguration. And that was that. 

Two weeks until then though and Sam needed to fill the time with something. Porting wasn't different, people still needed him. It was almost exactly the same with Lou strapped to his chest except this time there was an electric energy in the air. Life? Hope?

It was nice.

The job he took up involved delivering scrap metal over to some guy who “wanted to see what he could make of it”, whatever that meant. The people he met over the course of his trek to complete the chiral network continuously surprised him to the point where Sam had stopped trying to expect anything from anyone. This hunk of scrap could go to something brilliant, or to a pet project all the same. His job was to deliver, not ask questions, he supposed. That didn't keep him from complaining when he had to trudge through the snow over a mountain range smothered in BTs. 

BTs didn’t worry him and they were unavoidable in the mountains. There was greater risk of him slipping and destroying the cargo than being dragged into a catcher BT. But even after making it through the threats, in what should have been a clear white sea that he needed only to wade through to his destination, the snow began to whip up around him. Before long he was pushing through a blizzard. 

In the white out, he barely made out the shade of a building. It was then when he remembered who exactly lived there. It might not have mattered so much but a familiar face was more than welcome, especially now.

***

Heartman found himself back in his home in the mountains soon after Sam was safe. It surprised him how quick people were to give the porter space— or perhaps they were eager to have things return to the way things were. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. With every resuscitation he was finding himself growing increasingly frustrated with the short 21 minute intervals. This was something he thought he made peace with long ago. It didn’t feel like he was waiting anymore, it felt like he was rushing.

A shocking pain in Heartman’s chest coincided with a loud bang from the front of the house. Heartman craned his head to the defibrillator strapped to his chest, eyeing it with some contempt as he habitually reached to his side to knock the chiral hourglass against the table. The windows brightened then faded from black back to a clear surface but visibility didn’t return. The blizzard still raged outside. The doors must have been blown open, Heartman thought at first.

It wasn’t until Heartman shuffled into the hallway that he saw Sam, though he heard Lou’s crying first. Heartman’s steps were soft and he waited patiently just at the edge of where the padded floor ended for Sam to attend to the BB. In the foyer, the porter was sitting by the fire along the back wall, orange case in hand and the whistle of a lullaby on his quivering lips.

“Sam.” He whispered, as if he were going to wake the already crying baby, “It’s terrible outside, were you delivering in that ? I didn’t expect you to be carrying on business after… well, I suppose we are all creatures of habit, are we not?” Heartman gave a sheepish grin as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

As usual, Sam remained silent. The voice wasn't unexpected considering that this was most definitely Heartman's residence. It was another moment before Lou finally stopped and Sam kept his attention on the infant in his arms. Eventually, she gave content gurgles, pressing her small hand up against the glass. He fixed her back into place on his chest when he was satisfied that she was safe and happy.

Taking a deep breath to steady his quaking body, he patted his cheeks with warming hands, finally directing his focus towards Heartman but not moving from his spot on the ground.

“Ah!” Heartman exclaimed suddenly, “I hope you weren’t planning on going back out. Normally I would be a little wary of uninvited guests but I would say you are an exception, Sam. Come inside.”

Heartman took a few steps forward, nearly offering a hand out to help the other to his feet. A soft “sorry” muttered under his breath accompanied an immediate retraction of his arm. The porter only glanced at the offered hand with a vague twitch of his brow. Heartman turned on his heel, opening the door to his study.

“Would you like a drink? Coffee?” Heartman spoke with the same sort of subtle desperation to connect he had the last time Sam was there.

On his feet, Sam eyed the raging flurry just outside. A second later, he was removing the cargo atop his back, letting the stabilizing backpack hip the floor with a heavy clunk.

“You could just show me where the machine is,” he started with a sniffle, feeling his nose start to run. “Wouldn't wanna squander however long you have left awake to make me coffee.”

“Hm. Ah. Not a machine. I know, our world is composed of many machines, autonomous and otherwise, but I feel coffee is something that is best done by hand. Like deliveries.”

Not a machine? Said the look on Sam’s face. He wasn't aware of any other way to make coffee. 

"It's not a waste, really. Have a seat. There are blankets if you need them— and don't mind the mess I've been doing a bit of, uh... redecorating." 

A mess was an understatement. The desk was piled with papers, books stacked against the shelves rather than on them, whatever system of organization had previously governed Heartman's study was in a state of complete overhaul. The middle area where the couches faced inwards and the soft floor lead to the lounging bed wasn't subjected to the same chaos, at least. Heartman didn't need to hit his head on his way down if he got caught up or distracted. This was the mess created in his search for Sam. He hadn't gotten around to cleaning it up.

"Have you heard of a french press?" Heartman opened the door on the catwalk that separated the study from the rest of his home.

Sam’s eyes lingered on the disarray before he followed Heartman to the threshold of the kitchen. He elected to stand in the door frame as if not wanting to intrude on what he knew little about; it was safe to say that he knew more about the technology and decor going on in Heartman's office than he did about a kitchen .

Heartman raised his voice as he went in, apparently intent on continuing his one-sided conversation. "Coffee is best if it’s freshly ground by a well maintained grinder and utilized immediately. It's not dissimilar to basic chemistry. There is a method to it, specific temperatures to meet that lead to less than satisfactory results if done improperly. The margin for error is smaller than you think." There was a pause and a loud mechanical whirring before he continued. "With your typical machines, they use pre-ground beans and pour unevenly heated water into one spot of the filter and into an unheated mug, which is why I prefer a more intimate process.”

The porter took in the information, storing it into a compartment in his head probably labeled something like interesting and mildly useless information. 

After a pause Heartman emerged once more, a cup in either hand. He brought his mug to his lips, face puckering at the burning on his tongue.

“... I hope you're doing well, Sam.”

Sam lowered the cup to show Lou, who pressed her forehead against the orange glass to try to get a better look at the dark drink and the faint wisps of steam.

“Yeah? I'd be even better if Bridges would stop prancing around the fat elephant in the room.” Sam, like many others, preferred answers, but they neglected to tell him much other than that they were 'preoccupied with planning and preparations.' “They told me to kill time before the inauguration.” 

“By ‘they’ I suspect you mean Deadman? Social graces are not his strong suit. A common theme among our group. No one told you, then? Talked to you about what happened during your absence?” 

The porter blew on his coffee before taking a small sip. The warmth spread through him instantly. Probably the best thing he'd drank in years.

“We all scrambled to pull you off your beach. We didn’t know where you were for upwards of a month… I can only imagine how hard that must have been for you on the other side.” That wasn’t true, Heartman had been trapped on his own beach for far longer than any living person should; he knew exactly what extended stays were like. It was only recently, he supposed, that it felt like a prison. It had been so freeing before. “Far be it from me to challenge orders from Bridges personnel, but what happened… you should be resting . When’s the last time you had a day off?” 

“Days off don't exist when you're a porter. I slept on my ass all day after you all brought me back, if that's what you're asking.”

Heartman furrowed his brows, discomfort washing over his face. “Excuse me if I sound upset, but I expected better. I wouldn’t have returned here if I’d known they were going to leave you in the dark.”

The porter scoffed.

“I mean it,” Heartman assured but was met with no response aside from the chime of the device on his chest.

“Five minutes to cardiac arrest.”  

Heartman ignored the voice entirely, it was background noise to him.  

“You wanna move to your chair?”

“Huh? Oh.” Lately, sitting still had been making him somewhat anxious but Sam’s presence was distracting enough. Heartman moved over to the lounging chair, his deathbed , and sat back in a practiced motion. Sam followed, standing beside the reclined seat stiffly and diverted his eyes to his cup. 

“Have you had a proper day off? A night’s rest in a bed with blankets and a pillow. And a mattress. I’ve seen the private rooms porters stay in. No personality, just the necessities. Must be hard to sleep at all—”

“Three minutes to cardiac arrest” Heartman rolled his eyes, it was more annoying when it interrupted him.

Another sip of his coffee and an indifferent face was all Sam offered. Obviously not.

“You and… Hm. Deadman told me you were calling your BB Lou? You and Lou should stay the night. If not for yourself, to let the storm pass. Timefall snow is nasty business.” The mug was placed cautiously on the side table. “I can show you around when I return.”

Heartman left the device to sound off its final warning, body going limp soon after like a macabre case of narcolepsy. His time on the beach was spent staring off into the horizon. The stinging pain lingered in his chest like a stubbornly persistent headache. Mild but refusing to be forgotten.

Three minutes wasn't long, but long enough for Sam to wander. With a slight motion, Sam gently nudged Heartman's cup closer to the center of the table then finished off what remained of his own drink. After bringing the empty mug to the dishwasher, Sam laid down on one of the two loveseats in Heartman's lab. 

Lou's orange casing glared strangely under the dim lighting. Sam held the case up a six inches from his face as he and Lou exchanged looks. Balancing the case with one hand, he used the other hand to cover his eyes, waiting a moment, then uncovered it quickly to see the bewildered and happily surprised glimmer in Lou's eyes. He scrunched his face up, crinkling the bridge of his nose as he stuck out a tongue. Lou gurgled joyfully, blowing a few heart bubbles out with a gentle twist in her pod. 

Just passing the time. Trying not to think about what Heartman said. Normally that was easy, but even with Lou as a cute distraction, he wondered why and how Heartman could care so much about how he was being treated. It didn't seem to matter much so long as Sam could still walk, so why was it a grievance now? This was the closest he got to discussing anything else aside from the professional matters with any of the core Bridges members (not counting the spontaneous spilling of personal information on their part). His interactions with Heartman only brought the discrepancy to his attention. It would definitely wrack his brain for much too long.

Chapter Text

“Administering shock. Please stand clear.”

A whirring from the AED built up into an audible shock that sent Heartman shooting upright. He caught a glimpse of the game of peekaboo Sam was engaged in, a smile creeping over his face. It was cute and even somewhat jarring to see someone as tough looking as Sam being so whimsical. A thumb went up to give Sam 20 likes with a semi-exhausted wink. 

Sam’s attention was only pulled away from his absent-minded game with Lou with the ping of his bracelet.

“Where were we? Right, a tour.” The leap from the lounging chair to his feet was rather peppy for a man who just had nearly 1000 volts sent through his chest. The chiral hourglass was reset in a swift motion. “You've already seen my study and the kitchen. It is a bit more extravagant than your typical prepper shelter. It gives you something nicer to look at which can make all the difference. For both general aesthetic and mental health. And I recall you, sir, needing a place to stay.” A gesture of his wrist beckoned Sam to follow. Straight through the kitchen (which was infinitely neater than the study) was an open hallway and stairs leading. 

Sam strapped the pod back onto his chest but left Lou physically unconnected to allow her a break. The orange glass filled in black and the infant curled up as she went inert. He got off the couch and followed behind when he realized it was too late to object; the tour had already begun.

“The floor plan was originally intended for 3 people so it is more room than I need by myself. It was built after the voidouts per my own request— though, I didn’t design it myself. I’m certainly no architect. This is the bathroom. Linen closet. The amenities.” Heartman went through the motions of moving through each of the rooms. A modestly decorated dining room sat just beyond and commingled with the kitchen. It made for an organized open space that gave the sense of there being more room than there really was. The right hand portion of the space opened into the hallway and stairs. Two doors on the right were identified as the bathroom and linen closet respectively. Having the bathroom in a separate room (or having a bathroom in general) was already a step above what Sam was used to. Heartman skipped over a room on the left, not bothering to open the door at all and instead moved straight to black slate steps. A short landing on the next floor housed only a few decorative plants, a well lit painting hung on the red brick of the back wall, and an already open door. 

“You can stay here.” Heartman waved a hand to activate the lights.

The bedroom did not look like it was very lived in as it currently stood. Against the wall just to the side, a modern looking double bed with neatly made sheets called attention to it as the centerpiece of the room. It was flanked by a dresser and a wardrobe built into the wall itself which was opened to reveal a row of suits and casual wear. An orange box similar to the one strapped to Heartman's chest sat at the foot of the closet next to a row of shoes and a few neatly stacked boxes. There were more family photos here, though the one on the bedside had been flipped down. Heartman moved over, trying to mask the rushed nature of his stride with a bit of casual talk while he righted the frame again. 

“I spend a majority of my time downstairs. I believe I mentioned before that sleep is a challenge. It's easier sometimes to just continue as I normally would with my work and it would be a shame to let the space go to waste. I don't mind taking the couch— or the floor occasionally” Heartman laughed at his own attempt at humor.

Sam gave a once over of the area before his eyes locked on the photograph. A picture of him and a woman. They were both in formal wear, the woman in an elegant white gown and Heartman in a tacky powder blue suit. A wedding photo.

In the photos on the walls, Heartman was happy. Grinning ear to ear, holding onto his wife playfully in what was obviously a candid photo. Another showed the three of them, his daughter looking more like her mother than him— if asked, Heartman would say that she had gotten all the good genes between the two of them.

“Er— This is the only bed in the house.” He clarified after the ensuing non-response from Sam.

“I don't really need all this. It doesn't take much for me.” Though, the way he looked at the neatly made bed and plush pillows was more curious than indifferent. He was too filthy and damp to be standing in a room like they were in now let alone sleeping in it. “I uh... appreciate it though.”

Sam’s eyes shifted to the picture frame again. A hand came up to pat at a spot on his chest, remembering something, before it fell away.

“This is your room?” Sam obtusely asked.

“Well.” Heartman turned away, pretending to straighten out the duvet. “This is my room, yes. In truth I haven't been sleeping well recently— more than usual — and I know you value your privacy.” From the corner of his glasses, where the world blurred, Heartman tried to see if there was any shift in Sam’s stance. No use, he was a statue. “If you insist, it wouldn't be that much trouble to set up a spot downstairs.”

With a gesture outwards, Heartman redirected his full attention to Sam after a long pause became too uncomfortable for him. “ It's no trouble at all. I apologize if I've been monologuing. Perhaps I can learn a thing or two from a stoic like you.”

“Listening to you talk is better than listening to the rest of 'em. Sometimes I feel like you've got more useful things to say than they do. More worthwhile.” Sam said in unpracticed short sentences.

“Thank you, Sam. It's a comfort to know someone appreciates my ramblings.” A more genuine smile cracked over Heartman’s face.

From the closet, an extra pillow was fished out from an unseen supply and handed off to Sam. It was plain, blue, and cleaner than the hands that accepted them.

“You probably want some time back to yourself, I suspect? Feel free to get comfortable in the study and you’re welcome to the shower if you wish. Bridges has a nasty habit of keeping too close to their member's business so you will be happy to know that no one will begin speaking to you over an intercom while you're trying to relax here.” Heartman said with no apparent self-awareness that he was one of the ones who did the bothering. There wasn't much room for argument there. All Sam could do was humor him and stay the night.

***

Sam probably had the best sleep of his life. His head hit the pillow and he melted into it in an instant. The soft surface of the couch did wonders for his now noticeably aching shoulders. Lou stayed by his side, an arm draped over the bulbous case. For Heartman, getting to sleep was a ritual. The practiced shedding of suit around the wires and harness, the absolute focus it took to clear his mind in order to fall into a slumber, the regular shocks to chest that would send him shooting upright. He, at least, had the aid of medication to keep him down for a good portion of it.

And for both of them, there were no more nightmares. None induced by DOOMs. The vision of a ruffed marine thickly dressed in layers of straps, kevlar, utilities, and weapons not unlike a porter was entirely a creation of Sam’s mind. 

“Sam? Are you awake?” 

With a choke mid-snore, Sam sat up abruptly to poke his head up over the top of the sofa. Short messy hair and a crooked pair of glasses peeked back at him through the crack of the kitchen door.

“I made some more coffee— er, have you read your emails?” Heartman stepped into the room. The AED strapped lazily over a robe with wires tucked neatly between the fuzzy lapels made for an uncharacteristically informal appearance.

There hadn’t been time to check his emails, he’d only just gotten up. Slowly, Sam pulled himself more upright with noisy, displeased joints. At Heartman’s behest, he did pull up the interface for his cufflink to see he had a new notification. A message from Die-hardman and instructions to accept an order at the terminal here at the lab. He didn’t need to read the entire thing to catch the gist of it. 

“I’m taking you to the capital,” Sam relayed curtly with a stretch of his arms. “Guess they didn’t want you to walk.” 

“It is dangerous, I understand. BT activity on the mountains is more frequent than at sea level and with my condition— well, it complicates travel. But , it seems a bit…” A tongue ran over his lips as he found his words, “It seems... peremptory. You'd only arrived last night and the storm just cleared up.”

It wasn’t like he normally stayed at the shelters he delivered to and when he did it was only for the night. The smell of coffee had Sam slightly more alert but not enough to make that point.

“Do they ever ask you to do something?” Heartman pressed.

“They can ask, but there’s never really a choice.” No questions, only strongly worded requests if he wanted to put it politically.

“They don't speak to me like that.”

“Because you’re the brains. I’m more like a personal pack mule.” Sam said matter-of-factly. All the expected spite was absent from his tone.

“Right...”

“I need to deliver the cargo from yesterday anyways, might as well take you too.”

“You can leave it here and I'll flag down another porter if they happen to be heading up this way— Oh I should get dressed, shouldn't I?” And just like that Heartman was scurrying off back to his room.

Sam wandered after him into the kitchen, scratching at his stubble. A mug was ready and waiting on the counter smelling fresh and pleasantly bitter. It must have been for Sam since Heartman took his own with him upstairs. 

Across the black surface, Sam saw himself gazing back at an unflattering angle. Craning his head to the side only added another crease to the multitude of chins. He frowned. It frowned back.

“Ready?” Heartman was there at the bottom on the stairs with a thick snowfall-resistant jacket draped over one arm. 

Sam looked down at himself, the one in the mug, before breaking him to pieces with a loud slurp. “Mhm.” 

***

Sam looked like a different person with his hair up. Frankly, it looked better down. The messy locks framed his face well. Tightly strapping on his boots, he stood there adjusting everything to make sure all the buckles and straps on him were secured. The cargo was still all in the front of the building, all he needed to grab was the power skeleton.

Standard procedure called for a tarp to be laid out, in which the person (living or dead) he would be transporting would fit into. There was no difference in the “packaging” used for the living and the dead, it was the same thing. Several loops were sewn to the exterior for straps to be threaded through, handles in convenient spots for lifting and maneuvering, and the zipper only accessible from the outside. 

It was a body bag. Better not to mince words. Sam held the lip open, waiting.

“Oh.” A finger pushed up on the bridge of his glasses.

Heartman couldn’t have been put off by it. The man surrounded himself with symbols of death, this was the least offensive thing to him and his condition in his own lab. Sam arched his brow.

“You don’t... have a truck? We could walk.” Heartman toed the black treated plastic. 

“Uh.” Sam looked down at the bag. Did he misread the message? It didn’t say anything about how to get Heartman to the Captial now that he thought about it. “I came here on a bike.”

“The bike then!” Heartman nodded enthusiastically.

“...But the storm wrecked it. Had to hoof it the rest of the way here.”

“Ah. That does present a problem.” 

Sam lifted the edge of the body bag open again, gesturing into it. It wasn’t necessary to state the obvious here: that the mountains were dangerous and if a BT didn’t get Heartman while in cardiac arrest, a surprise fall into some jagged rocks might.

“Off to the Capital then? We're expected. Maybe take the scenic route…” He said as he laid down to be entombed.

The cold metal zipper stopped just under Heartman’s chin, which Sam pulled back down again a few inches for the sake of the other’s comfort. He picked Heartman up briefly to put him atop the stabilizing device and strapped him in. The layer of tarp helped to ease the discomfort physically, but mentally it was still taxing. With hands crossed over his chest and given little freedom of movement as a result of being packed in tightly with his winter clothing, Heartman was sure to look foolish.

Sam was used to the weight by now, and carrying a live body was definitely easier than carrying a dead one— living people tended to try to help balance themselves on his back to keep themselves (and Sam) from falling over. Dead people, however, obviously had no say in whether or not they swayed left or right. And the porter was still very lacking in confidence concerning the matter of catching Heartman if he fell. It was easier to have him on his back, dead or alive, than walking beside him.

Sam let out a huff as he broke the power skeleton out of its casing and began the arduous task of setting it up over his legs. He was more than capable of carrying Heartman without a power skeleton, but this would just make both of their lives easier.

“You said the scenic route?” Regardless, Sam was going around the mountain range rather than through it; better that way, he thought. Easier on his knees, too.

“Yes. The invitation said I was to be present for the ceremony but I know my colleagues well. They’ll find something for me to do if I wait around too long with too much time on my hands. Ah— nothing compared to what they have you doing though.”

Heartman couldn’t see him nod but even if he could look, it was barely a twitch and any accompanying sounds were quieter than the whir of energy coming from the skeleton he’d focused his attention on.

***

Initially, it was a little terrifying being strapped to someone’s back. There was a need to brace himself with his arms but being bound meant he was at the other’s mercy. The straps fastening him into place in the reinforced seat-like backpack pushed his defibrillator into his chest, and the condensation trapped beneath the plastic was making him cold-sweat in uncomfortable places. Heartman kept the complaints to himself aside from wishing aloud that he had brought some form of entertainment along with them. An audio book, maybe.

For the better that he didn’t, perhaps, so that he could better enjoy a quiet journey down the mountainside.

“Sam, do you remember anything about the time you spent on the beach at all?”

“Maybe. Seemed like a big nightmare.” Surreal. “Amelie’s voice everywhere, telling me about her damn plan and whatever.”

“Amelie’s voice?” Heartman repeated, twisting his head as if he would be able to face the other from his position. All he saw was the soft snow bobbing out from under him.

“Mmm. Like… I was always tired, running forever, sitting around and waiting for nothing. I could have sworn I watched the Last Stranding happen but we’re here, so I must be out of my mind.”

“I —” Heartman started only to be cut short by a lurch forward, which was Sam’s backward. Holding in a breath, he closed his eyes as the ground got closer. Another jerk in the opposite direction and instead he was facing skyward. 

“Whoops.” Sam muttered somewhere behind him.

Heartman let out a nervous laugh in relief. This would be fun the entire way, he could see. “Uh. I don’t think you’re out of your mind. You are one of the most level-headed people I know.” The rapid alarm pace of his AED slowly returned to normal. “Her beach was disconnected- unreachable to us but still accessible to her. Or so it may seem. When I visit my beach, I’m quite lucid. I can feel the sand between my fingers, the landscape, the sound of the waves, and remember the experience when I return to the world of the living.”

“Mm,” Sam responded curtly.

“When I visit the beach, my consciousness is transferred to my Ka. I’m, medically speaking, dead. But because of the nature of my condition, and I believe due in part to my DOOMS, I don’t truly die. Not in a meaningful way at least. My Ha and Ka remain connected the entire time, though entirely separate. You—” Heartman cut himself off before he could continue. He wanted to choose his words carefully. “You traveled there physically, body and all. The beach is not meant for the living and I think the beach found a way to correct that.”

In essence, Heartman theorized Sam had died. Or was in a state of dying with no end, unable to repatriate. How painful that must have been.

“Yeah. Can’t repatriate if you don’t got a body to go back to.”

“Mmmm.” Heartman hummed in agreement. Sam’s precise way of speaking was a stark contrast to his own.

“Shit was fucked.”

“Yes, that is also a good way to put it. Shit was indeed fucked.” Heartman couldn’t help but chuckle.

There was just the sway then. Bobbing side to side with Sam’s footsteps, not unlike the swaying of a ship. Heartman couldn’t decide if it was more or less nausea inducing or if that was the work of his sudden fear of being dropped down the side of the mountain. At least he was already in a body bag.

“Uh,” Sam started again, “Right now, it’s kinda like normal. Except you’re not on the network, you’re right here. No bullshit.”

“Only neither of us can hang up.” Heartman interpreted Sam’s thoughts. “And generally people face each other when they converse as well. I am in awe, Sam, that you could go through all that and not ask questions. You jumped right back on the horse. Die-Hardman likely deems that patriotism or an obligation to your community.”

“Probably.”

“Hm, speaking of which, if I’m correct then we should be leaving the influence of the network any minute now.” Connection was spotty in the mountains at times with small patches of dead zones littered throughout the snow capped crests.

Sam gave a heavier exhale through his nose. “Mhm.”

“Yes. Then it’d just be us.” He drew out some syllables. Not another person for miles and definitely no one to call to check in on them.

***

The odradek spun and flickered. Lou gave a couple noises as it pointed with determination ahead of them. Immediately Sam lowered himself, crouching and moving slower as he approached, the odradek spinning faster and faster.

“Don't breathe,” Sam instructed in a low growl.

Heartman could sense the BTs much in the same way Sam could: with a wave of goosebumps that spread over his arms and chest. Already he was following instructions before they’d been given.

Holding his own breath as he unclasped his bracelet, approaching a dark cord as it materialized in flecks of ephemeral black. The cuff clicked and bore its blade, a thin line of blood wetting the edge rendered it a weapon against BTs.

“Three minutes to cardiac arrest.” A robotic voice droned through the whistling of the wind.

Oh, that was not good at all. Here’s to hoping the snowfall and gust was louder than the damn AED. Sam froze in place, head inclined to the BT. It floated in place like a water-logged corpse. 

“Sam, be careful.” Heartman whispered harshly from behind him. The scientist squirmed in place, presumably trying to press the mute button on the defibrillator. The monitor was strapped under his coat and he needed to flip the switch on the very top if he wanted it to stay quiet.

Three minutes. That was plenty of time to get rid of the immediate threat. It was just a tug and a swipe and then they would have enough breathing room to regroup. Walking around with a dead body swaying on his back rather than an alert, live one was definitely going to make working with it much more difficult.

Behind him, fingers fumbled with the zipper to the jacket that guarded Heatman’s monitor. 

“My AED—” the warning was cut off as he craned his head to the side to see the cautionary orange glow of Sam’s odradek. Heartman held his breath, pulling his lips in with his teeth. Slowly, his hand inched past the threshold of his coat. The cold sweat forming on his palms made the hard plastic top of his defibrillator feel slick to the touch.

“Sh!” Sam hushed as well. The wind swallowed it and carried it off into the void. The storm that accompanied the BTs in the mountains were not nearly as bad as the one Sam had shielded himself from the night before, but the cold burned his cheeks and bit at his eyes nonetheless. It was always worse the closer he got to the beached things.

Tears rolled down his face when he reached for the tether. Under his gloves, it had the consistency of a rubber hose. Now he just needed to…

“One minute to c—” The monitor blared before being cut off.

A hoarse screech tore through the wailing wind from the vacant space in front of Sam. He slashed at the cord as it’s form manifested against the grays and whites in the light of the odradek. Another shriek and each speck crystallized into weightless gold.

An uncomfortable chill ran over Sam’s shoulders. At the same time, the fingers of the odradek flicked to his left, then to his right before it settled on directing Sam’s attention directly behind him. He spun in place, blade gripped tightly in his fist. He couldn’t see anything. It was just an uneasy feeling and echoes. Under his suit, his skin was reacting to what his eyes could not.

Something in the shape of a person appeared suddenly in front of him. Its head was angled impossibly to the side and its arms held stiffly against itself. He couldn’t see it, just the outline where the snow refused to touch. Just as soon as Sam recognized it, it’s arms snapped outward at him. He jerked back, startled only to stumble back a few steps as the slump of the body on his back nearly threw him entirely off balance. The weight on his back was now in Sam’s control.

The arms dropped down into the snow. Though, it might be better to say they melted. The snow rapidly melted, giving way to tar-filled handprints. 

Sam backed up. Running was useless now. 

The tracks came for him immediately. Angry and wanting, slamming into the ground with such desperate force that tar splashed up high and sprayed the snow in messy splatter. Blackness spread out around his feet and from it, the moaning dead. Hands clasped at any looseness in his uniform and wrapped around his ankles. They pulled as much as they pushed. There was no coordination at all like they weren’t sure what they wanted or what to do next.

“Fuck,” Sam cursed more out of frustration than panic as the power skeleton whirred to maximum capacity.

Despite the over encumbrance, the power skeleton helped him push a leg through the mass of clawing limbs. Pushing himself to trudge through the viscous material, his pants and arm grew slick and stained with pitch. It still felt like trudging through molasses and at this rate, he wouldn’t make it away before Heartman woke back up. The only thing more appealing to a BT than one living human was two. It’d be bad for everyone if they managed to yank Heartman off his back. Sam sucked in another cold breath that stung at his lungs.

Sam stumbled out of the area of effect, breathing heavily as the adrenaline let him ride off the energy high. A ringing in his ears almost drowned out Lou’s crying entirely. The BTs moaned and clawed at the ground from the edge of the tar.

“Fuck off,” Sam spat. His hands went to the front of his suit to mess with the fastenings of the pants.

He watched the BT's hiss and shrivel away, the tar dissipating. Lou, meanwhile, was beginning to calm again, giving amused gurgles as she looked up at Sam's face.

This was the perfect time for Heartman to jolt awake on his back. The storm was dying down now. It was almost instant as soon as the tar receded into the snow. Sam’s hood automatically folded back, with the abrupt weather shift.

“God— oh. Are you okay, Sam?” Heartman panted, “I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble. Or, more than I’ve already caused.”

“Mm.” After a few moments of emptying his bladder and Lou giggling, Sam zipped his pants back up and got himself re-situated.

“Oh.” Heartman sounded surprised, “I hadn’t considered such a… direct approach. Good thinking.”

“What'd you wanna talk about?” Sam cleared his throat as he continued on his way. 

They were close to the edge of the network, according to Sam's map. Of course, being flanked on both sides by rockier terrain underneath the snow, as shown by a quick odradek scan, Sam chose the smoother path. His bracelet notified him when they were off the chiral network.

“Of course. The network. Er— to put it bluntly, I was wondering if there was anything you… couldn’t tell me? Or if you had any questions, too. I thought it prudent to have this conversation before we surround ourselves with politicians. The chiral network is useful but a little too useful in some aspects, one of them being that nearly everything could potentially be anyone’s business.”

Sam gave an immediate scoff. As if he had been ever holding back. Sam spoke his mind when he felt it necessary and had the willpower too. If anything, he spent so little time speaking that it was more of a concern for those speaking to him to watch what they said while on the network. The porter was rather lax in his choice of words for the most part. That wasn’t what Heartman meant, though.

“I don’t get why they’re treating me like I didn’t just come back from an EE’s Beach. No one’s told me jack shit. I don’t even know how long I was in there for.” Sam’s frustration finally started to bleed out into his tone. “And what about that Cliff guy, huh?”

“Ah.” Heartman watched the tracks they were leaving grow shallow as the snow thinned the further they went. “I couldn't tell you why everyone has been so distant about that, I can only guess. Maybe they wanted to give you space, it's no secret that you value privacy. On my side, I saw genuine concern for you. I do believe they care.

“You were gone for close to 2 months. We searched so hard for you, Sam. All of us. Die-Hardman reminded us that you had that pistol and we were able to track you down to your own beach with that. Lockne- Mama found you first, then during my time on the beach I made contact. I don't think you could see me… Fragile aided Deadman in pulling you out using her jump ability. I remember them referring to it as a ‘slingshot’. And uh, truthfully I'm still not clear on Clifford Unger. Deadman told me his files were expunged from the records. He has some fascinating conspiracy theories involving Clifford's history and Die-Hardman. I suggest you don't catch yourself alone with him if you want to spare yourself that tirade.

“We all thought you were dead, Sam. And I don't mean the cosmically meaningless sort of dead that applies to Mama, Deadman and I. We thought you were just gone. For a while at least.”

“So did I,” Sam grumbled. He had gone into the entire ordeal expecting to never come back, expecting for Amelie to keep him there so that he would never be able to return. So that he'd have to watch the Last Stranding happen right before his eyes. And he could have sworn he did.

The time there didn't feel like two months. It didn't feel like anything, really, but it most certainly didn't feel as long as Heartman was telling him it had been. Sam could imagine the entire lot of them working to search for him, visualizing it even better as Heartman explained their roles in the effort. And of Cliff. His entire background seemed so vague, and Amelie had revealed little, if not nothing at all. Why had he been there? Why had Sam been pulled into whatever Cliff had been trapped in as well? To know that his background was just as unknown in paperwork made things seem all the more difficult. A big fucking mess.

“I keep seeing his face. Cliff's. Every time I plug into the other side,” Sam elaborated with a couple gentle pats of the orange casing at his chest. Lou followed the motion with her eyes until they crossed. “I don't know if it'll keep happening even after all... this.”

“You're still having those? Deadman told me you had been having visions, but for them to be persistent— I suppose that rules out them being connected to the nightmares. Those stopped the moment you went to the other side. For me at least. Maybe they’re not visions- or dreams. Memories. The very nature of the beach makes it perfect for storing and transferring data. Your unique connection to the other side and with Amelie... It’s just an idea, though. Something to look into if I have time.”

Memories. Yeah, that’s what they felt like. He’d always had a suspicion that might be what they were but this solidified his thoughts, especially when Heartman had vocally agreed.

“Mm.” Sam sounded in approval of the idea. “I had a feeling. The memories don’t have anything to do with her, though.” He never knew what to make of it all in the first place; what seemed to be memories came and left like fleeting dreams. Deadman had already suspected something similar and told him as much, but he still had questions.

“From here I can only speculate. It is a strange case, but so are you.” Heartman hummed, tossing a few ideas around in his head. Sam had a feeling that if he allowed it, Heartman would spend hours theorizing. 

Getting to a shallow river, Sam started to wade across it, keeping in his head to gather his thoughts before he could try to get them to ever become words. He made sure to watch his step to avoid slipping. Some time between where they were and the middle of a river, Heartman had gone through another cycle. He never did turn the audio back on. Sam only realized that they’d spent hours in silence just then.

“You, uh... what sights are you expecting to see?”

“I've seen the mountain before. I traveled through here with the first expedition, the landscape from the upper ridge is a sight to behold. I've been crammed in my lab so long I almost forgot how beautiful the rest of the journey was.” Heartman inhaled the crisp air through his nose, “So… I guess this. Maybe the chance to just relax in the sun could also be nice.”

A break would be nice. 

Bringing the bracelet up to his focus, Sam checked the map. They were approaching the edge of the chiral network again and the forecast didn't predict rain until later that night. Sam assumed it was safe to say that he could indulge Heartman. 

He stopped by a stream, patting the straps at his shoulders before he carefully sat himself down on the grassy knoll. He made sure that he set Heartman down (relatively) gently and unzipped the bag partially for the bundled up scientist.

Heartman gave a quick smile and a “Thank you.” There was plenty he could say, he was never really at a loss for words but right here sitting peacefully in the cool, fresh air and nothing but the sound of the wind in his ears must have been good enough for now. Sam was expecting a story or a lecture. Instead, Heartman pulled himself the rest of the way out of the bag to sit at his side.

Chapter Text

The rest of the trip was uneventful save for the occasional encounter with BTs. They stopped to rest along the way, also allowing Heartman to charge his AED in the process. Spending time with another living person during his time in the waking world felt productive to Heartman regardless of what they were doing. 

Sam didn’t expect much from his trip to the capital. In fact, he was planning to leave right when he dropped Heartman off. Instead, Die-Hardman had insisted that he stay, and while he knew that he had the power to walk out, he didn’t feel it was worth going through the trouble it would put him against. Heartman tried to keep in touch with Sam as much was possible between catching up with everyone else. Refraining from chewing out his colleagues for neglecting to inform Sam was hard and he couldn’t say much besides a few passive remarks. Frustratingly enough, any apologies offered were directed at him rather than Sam. 

A part of Sam thought that he’d have the willpower to stand through the entirety of Die-Hardman’s speech. Standing in the back where eyes didn’t have to reach him, he could see Heartman sitting on a couch elsewhere, occasionally lying down to visit the other side. Though Sam finally broke once Die-Hardman started to (albeit indirectly) mention him, the porter taking that as a cue to leave.

Deadman thought it wise to take him aside, but Sam was, ultimately, grateful for it, as he had gained a lot more information that he didn’t expect he would receive. 

When Die-Hardman caught him in the hall after the speech, Sam considered ignoring him completely. The admission of murder caught his attention better than anything else he could have been told. He could feel his blood run cold as he turned to face the other with a quick swivel of his heel. It was strange that a man he’d practically been raised by elicited so much distrust in him. Even before Deadman’s sleuthing, Sam had been implicitly wary of him. The resentment he felt towards his mother had bled over and seeded into unhealthy skepticism at anyone who was close to her, including John. In the end he was just as much of a rat as Sam thought he was. Still, Sam felt a pang of something as he saw the man cry at his feet.

The following day, Sam was given instruction to decommission Lou. When the time came for him to set her down on the stone slab to be lowered into an absolute death, he couldn’t help but hook her up one last time. It brought on another memory deeper than he had been used to. Like a nightmare he couldn’t escape. Everything unfolded before his eyes like a tragic film reel, ending with Cliff standing before him at the moment of his death— their death.

It had been too much for him. Too much to take in at once. All the more reason to leave with Lou as soon as he could. Burn the Bridges tech that tracked him like a dog. Break open the prison that Lou was in and survive .

Sam was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions that eventually settled into a resolute certainty that he should leave. Still, it had been his priority to visit Lockne and have her make him something to carry Lou— or, now aptly Louise — in. Lockne had been the last Bridges affiliate he saw before he went off on his own.

Ironic how he came back to where it had all started, where the meeting with Fragile trapped him in a Bridges web he thought he’d never get out of. The cave, at least, was empty and BT-free, just as the rest of the world was now. It didn’t stop him from using the PCC gifted to him by Lockne to make something of his own.

And so he did. Just as empty as the world around him, but enough for him to survive and have something to come back to at the end of the day. A metal bed, a toilet, sink, and shower. He’d invest in a small stove later, he thought to himself, when enough porting gave him another PCC.

Weeks had gone by and it was peaceful. No Bridges. Nothing. Just Lou, and normal deliveries for normal people.

He didn’t expect anyone to arrive any time soon.

***

Heartman waited at the Capital for a day after. There was plenty to keep him busy but he wanted to have a few words with Sam before he left, at least to say goodbye in person. He deserved it after everything Bridges, Amelie and Higgs had put him through. It was a day more before Deadman very heavily implied some dangerous things. 

Without so much as a farewell... 

Sam wanted to be gone and Heartman desperately wanted to be okay with that. Among peers, they had all agreed this was very much like him, that if he wanted to be found he would come out and make himself known. With news of the legend of legends being missing came an abundance of theories. Some presumed him dead or worse. With the stranding over, it was possible that repatriation wasn’t feasible anymore. Some assumed he’d gone MULE. DOOMS sufferers had higher resistance to chiralium’s effects but they weren’t immune- Sam had been in contact more than anyone. Heartman didn’t believe either of those.

The stranding was over. Or, it had been delayed. Given this new very promising turn of events it was understandable that Heartman had much more to work on. A new topic to study, new papers and reports to write regarding his chosen field of interest. What’s more, beaches and chiralium hadn’t disappeared and the network was still active. Without timefall, chiral crystals were no longer growing like weeds but they could still be found in abundance in areas that had high precipitation. Fragile’s jumping hadn’t been affected and he still was forced to languish on his own beach every 21 minutes. It was plenty interesting. Why, with the seam apparently closed and the stranding effectively put on hold, were they still able to visit their beaches? Did this mean BTs, trapped on this world had passed over or were they simply locked away? If they had moved on, had his family left him as well?

With timefall and BTs gone, and the environment safer, humanity would be able to expand rapidly. Though immediately threats like that were eliminated, that gave room for new problems. Die-Hardman expressed concern about Terrorists and MULES becoming a new level of danger now that they too were unrestricted. Then, besides immediate physical threat from separatist groups, the psychological toll of the stranding would be significant in the general population. Those were problems for the president to deal with, though, not Heartman. 

Die-Hardman advised everyone that long distance travel was still not safe and Heartman was inclined to agree. Even still, against his better judgement, Heartman was quick to take advantage of the new freedom- as limited as it was. 

Heartman could have easily buried himself in his work. He had before and for the last decade done exactly that. It was hard not to let his mind wander to Sam. The unsung hero.

Deadman could not tell him where Sam was. If he knew, he wasn't budging. Die-Hardman was equally useless. Lockne didn't seem to know anything either, which caused Heartman to turn to prepper shelters. He followed up with anyone who may have even remotely hinted at seeing Sam somewhere on the network. He’d even found himself mirroring Sam’s paranoia of surveillance and went as far to visit in person as to not leave a digital footprint.

Travel by foot was hard, of course, especially with the necessary frequent breaks. It wasn’t as though Heartman was fit. Physical activity for him consisted of walking circles in the study. Being mildly winded would be more than worth it to know that Sam was okay, though.

It was only after seeing the effort and turmoil Heartman had put himself through that Lockne confided in him about Sam’s final visit. About the supplies she’d given him and who he’d been traveling with.

The news was shocking. More than shocking, but being told something was far different than seeing it. He wanted to be upset that she hadn’t told him— but why would she? They were co-workers at most. Of course they all considered Sam a good friend but no one had idle conversations with him or leisurely visits. Heartman, as far as he knew, was the only one who even attempted to become acquainted in a way that friends might via unanswered emails and awkward extraneous calls.

He had to see it for himself.

If Sam was using a PCC, that meant he was on the network. If he was on the network it meant he could be tracked.

It was an arduous journey. It felt bitterly familiar to make his way through the untamed landscape without even his cufflink to guide him, following nothing more than a hunch. It was at that point he began to question why he was doing this. Heartman was never the type to half-ass anything but even this was dramatic. The thought didn't have the chance to plant roots of self-reflection in his mind before he stumbled upon his destination. A cave where he’d marked off an isolated structure signal.

***

Lou slept soundly in her crib, Sam eyeing it occasionally as it slowly rocked back and forth. He'd have to go out and do another port for another week's worth of milk and formula for her, but for now, they were set. 

Now that Lou was out of the pod, Sam could only remember his past. Lucy and Louise were just as much a blur in his head as they were a constant presence— close enough that he could have sworn he could reach out and touch them. Lou was a chance to start over, even if Lucy wasn't there this time.

That being said, taking care of a baby wasn't entirely unfamiliar for him as much as it was a distant muscle memory. Lou was his life now, and he'd make sure to keep it that way. Nothing would get in between them, and it was this fond protectiveness that kept him and the baby so close. He'd fight Bridges tooth and nail if it meant keeping Lou safe and out of their hands.

So when the brief alert sounded, Sam immediately rose from his spot at the edge of his bed. Hair down and uniform off, he was left only in his baggy pants and a familiar tank top. There was little time to put anything on if he wanted to respond quickly— no one ever had ever come up to his set-up. 

 With a last backwards glance at Lou, he grabbed the Magnum atop a shelf by the door and looked at the camera display. Had Bridges finally tracked him down?

Heartman studied the outside of the base curiously then his surroundings. A brief spin around told him nothing. There were footprints in the mud but not much else. Even through the fuzzy resolution of the feed, Sam recognized the awkward posture and garishly bright colors of the figure. What was he doing here? Did Bridges send him to pick him up?

No, he could trust Heartman, couldn't he? Heartman wouldn't have turned on him… Even if he had, Sam could think of few people less threatening than the beach scientist.

As Heartman stepped forward, the door slid open. It had been a good couple weeks, and while Sam couldn't admit to himself that he missed seeing any Bridges faces, Heartman had lingered in his mind for longer than he had expected.

Looking beyond the unexpected visitor, Sam couldn't see any telling vehicles or other personnel, which prompted the porter to quickly beckon for Heartman to come inside with a couple of insistent gestures and a stern expression. The longer he kept his door closed, the better. And he didn't know at what point Heartman was on in his 21 minutes, so he didn't need Heartman going down for the count right outside his doorstep.

A look of astonishment crossed Heartman’s face, eyebrows raising and eyes widening. How long had it been this time? A few weeks. Over a month, he pondered with a hand pushing up his slipping glasses. He was happy to see Sam, genuinely. Ecstatic even. But before that feeling could push itself to the surface a surge of anger rose up instead.

"Wh—S- you —" Heartman stuttered. Fortunately for Sam, the words were having a hard time forming cohesively at the moment. He stepped inside, spinning back around to the other, ignoring the telling blips from his monitor advertising his elevated heart rate.

"Sam!" He raised his voice some, but he wasn't yelling at least. He didn't want to get to that point. His eyes flicked down to Sam's other hand, the one previously hidden behind the door frame. Confident that they weren’t endangered, Sam placed the gun back in its spot on the shelf with a huff.

"Is that a gun?! Were you planning on shooting someone? Sam? " More stuttering, much worse now that he was flustered. The noises after that sounded like they were meant to be words but the bewildered stammering was indecipherable and made Sam aware of how relatively silent he lived in his isolation until now. At some point, he should try to tell Heartman about how interesting his accent was. Not a good time for it now, though, as the other man was clearly agitated about something. About him ? Context clues didn't help point him towards anything very obvious.

Heartman had to take a deep breath to gather his thoughts, but his eyes wandered over to the crib and shot back to Sam questioningly as if asking a dozen questions at once. 

The porter followed the other's eyes to the crib and back, making direct eye contact with the other's expressive judgement before he had to avert his gaze again. Taking a BB out of its casing was against the law, that much was made very clear to him before he had left, and he was sure Heartman was rather aware of that as well according to his demeanor. That couldn’t be why he was there, was it?

Sam's silence was unbearable. The porter could communicate in solely confused glances if he wanted. Heartman watched Sam's eyes track to the crib and back and when he wasn't given any answers for his inquisitive looks he opted not to step towards it. Sam was absolutely capable of hurting someone, and Heartman would crumble like an autumn leaf under foot if he had to go up against him. But Sam didn't want to hurt anyone. At least he hoped.

"What are you doing here?" Sam gave a weighted exhale as he sat back down at the edge of his bed near the crib. How did you find me? Is what he wanted to ask but he had an idea about that.

"What am I doing here?" Heartman parroted as he took a seat in a metal chair a few feet away. "What are you doing here? You left us, you left everyone. Do you know what people are saying about you? That you're dead, that you're a MULE, a terrorist? It took everything I had just to get here and if it were anyone but me I'm not sure they would have made it this far. You're a ghost, Sam!" Hands flew out in front of him, gesticulating a bit more enthusiastically than normal.

"Christ. I know you never liked the UCA but... This?" Heartman motioned around the entirety of the small one room bunker. "That?!" He twisted in his chair to point at Lou's crib.

To leave the UCA behind and be left alone was Sam’s intention but the way Heartman characterized it by tone and demeanor alone made something in Sam's gut twist.

The porter couldn't give any shits about what people thought about him now. His reputation had never been something he took his energy to be concerned about, but he didn't think that other people would have cared so much about it. Cared so much about him . Enough to get all the way there just to walk up to his door. Sam hadn't seen a vehicle outside— did Heartman walk all the way here? For him? He was crazy. Respectable, but crazy. It couldn't have been worth it.

" What am I doing here! Is that a serious question?" Heartman started again with an equally frustrated and exasperated huff. Even his anger sounded delicate in his gentle voice. Heartman reigned his hands back in to cross them over his chest but not before checking his watch for the time. The watch was new, something he'd gotten just for this search. If he didn't have his cufflink, which he'd left at home, he needed some way of tracking the time before the 5 minute warning.

"I didn't want any of this— the UCA. Didn't wanna be a hero," he grumbled, getting up even though they had both just sat down. "I left for her," Sam continued as he moved to a compact fridge in the corner of the room to retrieve a small bottle of milk. He squeezed the bottle in his hand to warm it as he looked into the crib.

Perhaps, some part of it had been for himself, to return to what he had grown accustomed to even after having been spoiled by the indirect care of others. 

There was obviously something being tossed around in the porter's head. Sam had that very familiar look stamped on his face. Heartman tried his best not to interrupt him, but Sam spoke slowly in small bits and with every word Heartman was more sure that the other had missed his point.

 "I didn't wanna hear it. They wanted me to burn her." As low and gruff his voice was, there was a subtle softness that appeared, as fleeting as it was. Sam couldn't imagine a point in time when he would do it, when he could do it. How could he? A law was forcing him to give up one of the things that he had finally come to hold close to him after so long of pushing everything away.

Heartman dropped his head, putting it in his hands. Of course he understood why Sam did it. It was the same reason Sam didn't want to be a part of the chiral expansion. It was the same reason Heartman spent so many years searching the beach. Except Sam's reason was much better than his own. He'd put his faith in a living person.

Lou began to wake up with groggy gurgling. With a gentle touch, Sam tickled her stomach with an index, the infant's eyes sparkling with amusement as she giggled and grabbed onto his finger with her small hands.

"Deadman told me what they wanted you to do." Heartman stood to move over to the crib. He leaned over to the side to watch Lou grapple playfully at Sam’s hand. "I don't know that I would be able to do it either, but… you can't do this. You can't live in the middle of nowhere. What if she needs a doctor? What if you need one? You're here alone in a shelter that was never designed to be lived in more than a few days at a time. Why— you could have asked for help. You could have said goodbye! You just disappeared again ."

Lou looked up curiously at the new face peering down at her from over her crib. Sam’s own gaze was fixed on him too as he tried to figure out what exactly Heartman was playing at.

Hadn't they all expected it? Why would Deadman even give him the suggestion if not for him to take it? Deadman and the rest of them knew how much he wanted out. If Sam could have it ideally, then he would have lived with Lou doing independent porting while being far from alone with the other people he had grown to trust. Lonely, but not alone. He was content living like this. If he needed to, he'd carry Lou to wherever she needed to go. It was obvious that Heartman was discontent, even rising in anger, Sam could say. Disappointed, perhaps. Something in him was telling him that those weren't Heartman's biggest grievances, though.

"I started looking as soon I realized you weren't coming back." Heartman added after the customary non-response from his companion. 

“5 minutes until cardiac arrest.” the AED added helpfully. Heartman hung his head as he trailed back to the chair, lest he lose track of time and collapse.

If Heartman stared long enough, maybe he would be able to catch something. A slight twitch of Sam’s expression, some sort of subtle gesture or mannerism. If he could just decode it… Sam was more cryptic than the beach. The beach was easy. Quiet, not unlike Sam, but answers could be dug up with persistence whereas Sam was an impregnable fortress of cinched brows and ambiguous grunting.

"You didn't have to," Sam mumbled as he finally looked away to pick Lou up from her crib. He held the hand-warmed bottle up to her mouth as he sat back on the edge of his bed. Did you miss me? I'm sorry, I didn't know you cared. The statements raced through his head but neglected to go past his lips.

“I didn’t have to?!” Heartman’s words were dripping with disappointment but didn’t rise above speaking volume. Heartman’s eyes flicked to the infant in Sam’s arms. She didn’t have anything to do with this and frankly he wished the room was bigger so that she could be tucked safely away from any ensuing arguments. It was the only reason why the words Sam finally said didn’t result in him shouting.

“None of us had to try to find you after you went to Amelie either. We could have all given up before we tried. No, I think I did have to come here. You can’t just lock yourself away from everyone. I really don’t want to lose someone else.” It sounded a little selfish but maybe he was right to be. He wasn’t sure. He needed more time to think, though he knew if he had any to spare he would use all of it to worry.

Sam didn’t give any outward indication of acknowledgement. Heartman was afraid of losing him? The only thing he had been doing for them was porting and then suddenly he became their hero. Bridges had to have thought of him as a tool that they’d readily continue to use if he allowed them to. But Heartman? What did Heartman need him for aside from research?

A sliver of guilt slithered up into his chest, but from where, he had no idea. Guilt from the past? Guilt of the now? And of what? Hearing the other's disappointment and disgruntlement could have been the source or at least a part of it. Heartman wasn't blaming him for anything, but Sam could tell there was something that the other man was implying.

“Three minutes until cardiac arrest” the heart monitor spat out between a few erratic beeps.

“Always the worst timing. I must look crazy right now, hm?” Eyes dropped down to the floor and he let the silence fall, not expecting Sam to respond. Waiting for his heart to give out and force him to take a break. 

"I don't know what you want from me," Sam admitted.

Heartman nodded, mimicking Sam’s infatuation with muteness. It made him uncomfortable, even with the soft sounds of his AED and the cute gurgling coming from Lou preventing the deafening ringing of true silence. His heart was still going and he brought a hand up to his chest, under the device as if that would calm it down. His fingers brushed the metal and plastic leads that guided the wires to his chest. His hands were sweating too despite the cool air.

The final one minute warning blared, advising him to find a safe spot to move to. The chair might’ve been fine, but he didn’t trust himself not to fall out of it or tip it over some which way. Sam's eyes followed as Heartman went to lie himself down on the ground and Heartman inspected the ceiling for a moment before he raised his arm to set an alarm on his wrist watch.

“Could you do me a favor Sam. A small one, and I know I’ve asked many favors from you before. If anything I owe you a greater debt. Please just consider coming back. Not to the UCA or Bridges. Just…” Heartman trailed off, eyes shutting and arms falling limp to his sides before he could find the right word.

Sam's expression shifted, brows furrowing into a knot. The bottle continued to hover just out of Lou's reach, and it took another moment of silence and Heartman's temporary passing to remember to bring the bottle back down for her to suckle at.

It was silent again and in a burst of action, despite knowing that Heartman had set his own timer, he still set three minutes on the digital clock at the little alcove in the wall beside his bed. 

Looking over at his body again, he could only wonder how far he wandered on the Beaches to find his family. If Heartman would ever find them. He wondered how many others Heartman’s found on the Beaches, if he’s found other lost people that others have been looking for up above. If he’s ever found Lucy and Louise. But Sam would never ask.

When Lou finished off the bottle, he picked her up and put her back in her crib, dimming the lights in the base as he put the empty bottle on the small nightstand. "Just" what? What did Heartman want him to come back to, if not Bridges or the UCA? What else was there to come back to? If it meant abandoning Lou, then there was no question there. Sam wasn’t much for trade-offs in the first place, but this was a second chance that he couldn’t have taken away from him. Heartman wasn’t a bad person, far from it. But his intentions were unknown to Sam at this point. 

Heartman had to understand. He would have fought for a second chance if it were possible.

Chapter Text

"Sorry." Heartman muttered. A stinging pain spread through his chest but slowly dissipated as he worked through the initial disorientation and grog of returning from the beach to return to his seat. Upon hearing the other begin to speak again, the porter wondered if the three minutes away placated him. 

"Uh, I don't think I've said this before but it's nice to see you again, Sam. You and Lou. She's beautiful." Heartman's eyes raised up suddenly, "You were touching her." He was so busy thinking about everything else that he hadn't noticed it until just then. Of course, a baby needed to be touched and held but Heartman wondered if Sam was sacrificing his personal comfort or if there was no discomfort at all.

Sam glanced at the crib at the mention of Lou. He could vaguely recall his memory on his Beach. It seemed more like a nightmare than anything, but it was after the voidout that took out corpse disposal. The baby that wailed there on the wet sand, cold and frail. He remembered cradling her to his own naked chest as they cried together. Then, he repatriated, and, perhaps, that had begun his true meeting with Lou.

"Are you—?" Heartman raised a hand in some vague gesture, half way reaching out to the other but not taking any action to actually touch Sam.

Instinctively, despite the distance from Heartman, Sam moved back to avoid any active motion to touch him. It was a reflex for him. While Heartman was trustworthy, there was little he could do to resist the gut reaction to the instinctual discomfort of anticipated physical contact. Heartman dropped his hand into his lap. No offense was taken, it wasn't something Sam could control. Heartman bowed his head a bit at that, mouthing another apology. 

"You gonna finish your sentence? Something about a favor." 

Teeth bit the inside of his mouth and lips when Sam spoke up again. He wished it was to return the sentiment, say that it was nice to see him too. but it probably wasn't. He'd shown up unexpectedly, uninvited, and proposing things that may have been upsetting in nature. God- wasn't he right to do this though? There was no other way he would have been able to talk to him.

"Ah. Well, I had a thought. You could come back with me?" Heartman held up a finger quickly, as if to interrupt any objections Sam might have before he could finish. "I left my cufflink at home. No one knows I'm here and I'm not proposing you join with the UCA or make yourself known to the public! Just. With me. We can figure it out. There's options other than isolation. I'm— having uh—" He didn't want to say that he needed him, he didn't want to sound desperate (though it might be too late for that), but he did feel like Sam was the only one who understood him. Thinking about it too hard felt like a pain in the center of his heart, cold and wholly unlike the typical thrumming he was used to. 

"There are options." He repeated instead.

Sam had been used to doing favors. That's what he did as a job, essentially, only favors seemed more optional. Disregarding his status as a porter, favors were still a usual occurrence for him. He wasn't one to outright reject anyone, and if he were that averse to being helpful in some way, then he wouldn't have taken up being a porter in the first place. What Heartman suggested didn't exactly sound like a favor. Sam's confusion was apparent on his face again, expecting Heartman to bring up exactly where the favor came in. That must have been it, though. Just going to live with Heartman instead of out here where he could soak in the isolation, Sam surmised. 

"You need me there for something?" Other than that, there was no reason for Sam to leave his current situated living area.

 "Sam..." Heartman sounded pained, glancing to the floor. Of course Sam was still confused. Heartman had a much easier time explaining his beach and his quest for his family, despite it being so personal, because it was an accepted fact of his life. With a steady breath, Heartman continued, "I made a mistake. When we met in person that first time, I told you about my wife and daughter. That I was searching for them on my beach so that I might pass into the afterlife with them. I told you I was already dead but I see now that isn’t true. I'm disappointed that I allowed myself to be misled by grief so severely. I wasn't dead, I was— am very much alive a nd I needed help. I don't know what you did that made me realize that but I'm here now with the wisdom that life is made of connections just as much as death is."

The tension in the room grew thicker and Sam could respond with nothing but a scratch of his arm. Still, he did well to listen to Heartman's plight as he stuck his hand in the crib for Lou to play at, suckling at his rough fingertips and giggling as she grabbed and kicked at his hand. There was a lot more Heartman could say, but he was regretting every word that came out his mouth. It needed to be said, he only wished he could have told Sam in a friendlier environment. 

"I don't need you there. I want you to decide for yourself, but maybe ask yourself why you need to be here. You've forged many meaningful connections. Deadman helped you, Lockne helped you and if given the chance I would like to help too."

Did he... stop looking for his family, then? No, he couldn't have. Heartman had dedicated so much of his time to it. Sam had a hard time envisioning that Heartman would just drop it like that. Yet, knowing that he had been a catalyst for something like that made the core of his chest clench. Heartman needed help and how Sam initially offered that, he had no idea. Nor did he know how he would continue to offer that, but it wouldn’t be in his nature to deny this call to action.

Heartman’s throat felt dry after all that, especially with the way Sam’s face twisted in response. Was that bad? Did he fuck up? Did he come all this way for nothing? If it came down to it, he would visit. It would have to be limited given distance but if Sam really would rather stay closed off from the world, Heartman would put in the— What was he doing?

Silently, the porter grabbed a hair tie to pull his hair back. The porter jacket was slipped on with a learned motion and the fridge was emptied of its contents into a small metal crate. An ice pack or too was added as well before he secured it to his back. Heartman swiveled his head, sitting up straighter from his hunched, dour position. With an exhale, Sam looked around the compact space, knowing fully well that, as much as he had lived in it, it barely looked lived in at all.

Hooking a leg of his sunglasses on the collar of his gray hood, he strapped on the small carrier that Lockne had designed for him over his shoulders and across his chest. Lou fit snugly into the sturdy straps, making no fuss in being relocated. It was one thing handling and carrying a hundred or so kilos, but it was another handling a frail baby like Lou, and all Sam could do was try his best to be as soft-handed as he could be.

Was he… packing? Heartman wondered. No, it couldn't have been that simple. It'd only been maybe 40 minutes, most of which was spent with Heartman rambling on and on with Sam giving a range of quizzical looks without saying more than a sentence at a time.

"What are you doing?" Heartman shuffled in his spot, inching towards the door in case he was asked to leave- or worse, left alone without a word.

"Taking my shit. Thought we were gonna leave."  Sam responded. 

"What?" Heartman's voice cracked and he cleared his throat with a cough, " Right now? " 

With a couple configurations, the crib packed itself into a more portable prism-ish shape, which the porter also placed on his back. Of course, Sam made sure to take the gun too as a precaution. He stopped in the doorway to give the room another once over. The photograph, Sam remembered, still sitting in the alcove next to the bed. It was the same one, hadn't changed ever since the timefall got to it. He had meant to throw it away sooner, but he'd deal with it later. Sam shoved it into the pocket of his pants before he walked around Heartman, opening the door of the base back into the cave.

"Bike's 'round the back," the porter informed gruffly. He kept it parked deeper in the cave where he let it mooch off of the chiral network's charging. There wasn't much of a choice about moving outside. Sam had packed up so quickly that Heartman had hardly realized he followed the porter outside.

"A bike." Heartman repeated and moved around where Sam had indicated. He approached it, looking back at Sam as if asking what he was supposed to do with it.

Sam gave a low, disgruntled clearing of his throat as the thought of Heartman coming into full contact with him formed in his mind. The sound of discontent wasn’t reassuring. Heartman didn’t say anything, figuring that maybe Sam would offer to walk instead. He’d done it. It took forever but it was definitely possible with a degree of patience, conviction and frequent breaks.

Sam didn't have any other form of transportation on him, and he didn't want to have to stop every 21 minutes for Heartman. While Sam wasn't concerned about his safety, considering he would be there to protect him whenever they took a break, he didn't want to go through that trouble. This would get them there faster with less breaks in between.

Sam tried to shimmy the jacket he only just put on out from underneath the straps. He let it hang around his abdomen and waist, his arms now exposed. He gave a chuff and straddled the seat of the bike. Faint goosebumps already threatening to spring up just with the thought of how close Heartman would have to get. Heartman glanced down at his feet. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen the porter’s arm’s but it was the first time he noticed how built he was, how good he looked in a tank and on top of a bike.

Sam gave a jerk of his head to motion towards the space behind him.  

"Don't touch my arms." He didn't mean for it to sound like a threat, but Sam didn't know how well he'd be able to control the bike if he felt anything at his skin. The cargo would be in between them in the upper region, but Heartman had to hold on somehow. 

Heartman very gingerly threw his leg over the side. It was large, clunky, and vaguely threatening just from it’s probability of causing his early death. He would not be too happy if, after living for so long with a history of genetic heart conditions, this three-wheeled monstrosity tossing him against a rock was what punched his ticket.

"Keep the jacket between wherever you touch," Sam directed before slipping on his sunglasses and turning the bike on. The blue LEDs hummed to life, casting a blue glow around the dimly lit cave. He let the bike shift. The front wheel split into two to give them more stability. His first passenger that wasn't being carried on his back. He didn't know if this counted as porting or not.

“Right. Of course. No arms, just the jacket. I’ll try to be careful. If you’re sure.” Heartman awkwardly wrapped his arms around Sam’s midsection. It felt foreign but he tried his best to be gentle. Both hands rested on the other’s sides, over the jacket and a little towards the front, but not meeting around his waist. Heartman was tall enough that if he leaned too far forward, his head would be peeking over Sam's shoulder. With his hesitant grip and nervous shifting, to an outside observer it might have looked like an awkward prom photo where Heartman wasn’t quite given permission to engage in risky contact.

Sam sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth. His grip tightened on the handles of the bike, the smooth rev of the bike perhaps hiding the shake in his arms. The jacket between Heartman and his body helped alleviate the thoughts, but it didn't keep the goosebumps from settling on his arms and neck.

He held up an open palm to gesture to the man sitting behind him: "Five minute warning, then we get off."

“Er- Yes, my monitor is on.” Heartman stumbled over his words and tried to speak over the elevated beeping from his AED. “Do you not have helmets? I feel like these come with helmets.”

"Funny." The last time he had seen a helmet, he had been eight and learning how to ride a scooter. Sam cleared his throat, finally pushing off and driving the bike around the base and out of the cave.

“ What do you mean, funny?— ”

When they took off, the reserved grasp around Sam quickly tightened. With the terrain being as bumpy as it was, Heartman had little choice but to hold on for dear life. Heartman at least prevented himself from doing it too hard- not that he had the raw strength to do anything besides make Sam moderately uncomfortable. With his eyes closed for half of it, he didn't notice the battle Sam was having with himself over maintaining composure. The shaking, the sweating, and the gritting of teeth would be a lot more apparent if they weren't going nearly 100 miles per hour over rough terrain without helmets and an infant on board. Meanwhile, Sam tried to balance the anxious thoughts with navigation. It was ironic that it was near this place where Sam had lost one of his bikes.

He wouldn't tell Heartman that, though.

Riding down the mountain had been the hard part, but after that, it was smooth sailing. Sam made sure to take the paths between the rocks and the shallow sides of any river they crossed. He would say that he prided himself over his skills, but then could only think about the bike that slipped over the edge and that pride fell off the cliff along with said bike.

Sam was sure that if Heartman needed to, he would tell him to stop. And while Sam always thought it, he was never one to ask if anyone was alright or not. The sentiment never went past the mental stage onto the vocal one, so it stayed stuck in his throat as he continued on, reveling in the happy sounds that the baby was making. At least one of them was enjoying this.

***

Sam drove significantly faster given the snow and the chill without his jacket, and while they were lucky the sun was still out, he was sure that Lou would appreciate the warmth as soon as possible. Being so close to his body helped keep her warm for the short time they were out in the colder environment, at least.

When they had finally arrived, Heartman couldn't give much more than an exaggerated sigh of relief. The cold was back which was, strangely, a comfort to the scientist. He offered his own jacket to Sam but the question didn't seem to register. That was probably a no. 

Parking the bike out front, Sam followed his host inside. The (relatively) light load was unpacked in the entryway and his hair let down. He collapsed onto the couch as soon as he was inside. Lou, removed from her carrier and set beside Sam, idly played with the discarded hair tie. 

Now, Heartman felt a bit awkward. Thankfully, Sam decided to return with him but it occurred to him how much there was to do. Accommodations for Sam and Lou, where he would eventually relocate them and what to do about the network— the network! Heartman rushed around the room pulling the plugs from his external monitor displays and computers, the latter of which had to be accessed through a panel on his wall. 

Sam was trying to re-compose himself, wiping at his stomach through his tank top as if trying to get the feeling off of him. Bridges monitored from those things too? But didn't Heartman need those things? Sam would rather not be tracked, but he couldn't think of any other way Heartman would get his work done. Though the guy was intelligent enough, Sam mused to himself. He'd probably find some way to make things work.

"If you want to relax, or shower, what have you, I can keep an eye on Lou." Heartman said with an exhausted smile punctuated with a final yank of a cord. The freely hanging wires added to the erratic mess of the living room. There was a very short attempt to square out the papers on his desk before he moved to the opposite end of the couch to slump back instead. 

Heartman held his arms out, looking between Sam and Lou as a signal to be handed the kid. He didn't think he needed to assure the other that he had experience with children. There was initial hesitance, but Sam knew better than to be wary of Heartman at this point. If anything, Heartman was one of the people he trusted the most at the moment. Lockne and Deadman coming in for a close second, and then Fragile. Die-Hardman was in a strange place on that list that he'd rather not think about.

Lifting Lou gently, he placed her in the other's arms. The motion triggered a memory. Him handing Louise to Lucy, whose eyes were tired as ever. She woke from her nightmares in the middle of the night and volunteered to continue watching their daughter claiming to be unable to fall back asleep . Staying awake meant staving off the terrors that laid in wait for her to succumb to such a base need. Sam had lived with it his whole life but she, he had been afraid, would never grow accustomed to the visions. While his face read something more hardened, his eyes were soft. Pools of something once unattainable. 

 "I disconnected all the computers connected to the network— the ones that could be used to monitor us anyways. For the time being you can stay here, there are a few ideas I have for more solitary quarters that I want to explore in the meantime." His attention was immediately diverted to the baby who took to being held by him very quickly. Heartman bounced her in his lap and wrapped an arm around her back to support her head. 

"Ohhh Lou." He cooed. She was adorable . The last time Heartman held a kid, it was his own. A flash of melancholy passed through him but to his surprise didn't stick. It settled in his stomach as an almost negligible ache that bloomed into a warm instant fondness for Lou. Oh, he knew why Sam had gotten so attached now.

Sam rose from his seat without a word. His shoulders ached and the skin around his abdomen tingled. All the more reason for him to take advantage of Heartman's offer to use the shower. Heartman went about picking at the equipment Sam brought for Lou with his free hand.

"I'm uncle Heartman. You see, I have a genetic condition called myocardial cordiformia..." Heartman went on from there, talking just to fill the air more than he expected a baby to understand what he was saying.

Sam tried to wash his lingering thoughts down the drain. 

There was little to worry about leaving Lou with Heartman, so that barely preoccupied his mind. Guilt nibbled at his core, and while it used to consume him, it was nothing more than a pest at that point rather than a monster. Still, a pest was enough to piss off anyone plagued by it.

Sam looked down at his abdomen to find the pale hand prints stained onto his skin from where Heartman pressed tightly into him. He ran a hand over them where fainter marks also sat. The bunched up jacket that had been between them kept from blooming into a bright red rash but it was still enough for him to cause discomfort. The hot water running down his body did well to take his mind off of the physical sensation.

Lucy used to look at all the marks he had and ask him if he remembered how he got each one. She had been his therapist , so her questions were always rather meaningful in one way or another. And while she hadn't succeeded in curing him, she proved to him that getting close to at least one person wasn't impossible.

Chapter Text

With music playing, Heartman tidied up for the first time in months. The study looked less like a hoarder's den by the minute. Lou cooed in her crib, watching the whale skeleton suspended from the ceiling like a far-too-large mobile.

Freshly out of the shower after a long soak, Sam took in the room again . The lack of clutter made it feel a lot more like the room Sam saw on his first ever visit. He crossed over to the couch and sat on the arm to peer into the crib. She squealed and kicked her legs as Sam lowered a hand in to tickle at her stomach. Lou wasn’t exactly high maintenance— definitely not as much as Louise had been. Sam thought she would have cried upon his brief absence , but she continued to exceed expectations.

"Lou's very patient. She seems to be taking an interest in my field of study as well." Heartman laughed as he replaced a book from his arms into its proper spot on the shelves. “I—” The scientist stuttered to a surprised stop as he swung around to actually face Sam only to be greeted by a very shirtless porter.

The markings caught Heartman’s attention most immediately. A result of the aphenphosmphobia, no surprise. Each mark an indicator of where he'd been touched too roughly by the dead. The ones on the arms were familiar since Sam often strutted around in sleeveless shirts. Heartman recognized the mark around his abdomen which was still fresh looking, sparking a little guilt. Touch by the living breathing sort apparently left nasty rashes. When his gaze turned to the prints over his chest though, he couldn't help the smile that cracked over his face.

With a tank top scrunched up in his hand, Sam could feel the eyes on him but couldn’t find enough in him to care. His eyes flickered up to catch the smile. Before Sam could bring the question up in his head, Heartman was opening his mouth to speak again.

"err—" Heartman shook his head, "Sam, I have an extra room for you. There's nothing in it right now , but I won't force you to sleep on the couch for your stay here.

Heartman stared firmly at the padded floor as he hastily shuffled to the door that led further into his dwelling. He stopped at the threshold and gestured inwards with an arm towards the only room he hadn’t shown Sam. Sam followed half-way only to get a look. With an affirmative grunt , Sam returned to his spot on the couch.

“How’re you gonna work? Thought you needed the computers.” Sam pulled the tank over his torso and smoothed out the tight fabric. Heartman’s attention fell on Sam again while his head was caught in the tangle of the shirt before it was pulled back over his bare skin. He shouldn't have been surprised how fit Sam looked, but he still found it impressive.

"Well. I do need computers to do work. The chiral network was a massive help. It allowed me to get in contact with other scientists and access a multitude of academic materials both pre and post stranding. No network doesn’t mean no computers. I got along well enough without the network before. " Heartman went to his desk to sit this time and drummed on his desk with his fingers, "It does present a challenge, though. I could go… analog, so to speak. There are devices out there that still connect exclusively to the old network which I was working with before you came along."

The papers strewn over the surface in front of Heartman looked daunting. When was the last time he’d done any real work? Bridges had been lenient given he was in good rapport with many of its members, particularly Die-Hardman. But, he also had more than enough wiggle room given he was the only beach scientist. Heartman gave a low groan before looking back up to Sam.

"Your safety and comfort are my number one priority. But that is an interesting question— what will you do now?"

Sam shrugged.

"Port." Nothing was really different. At least now he had somewhere to keep Lou while he was out. While Sam never minded bringing Lou out with him on every job for fresh air, she didn't need to go on every mission. Especially when he had heavy cargo and needed to use his chest space for more packages.

“You’re going to keep porting?” 

"You had something in mind?" Sam asked with a raise of his brow. He was still a freelance porter and couldn't envision that changing. He wasn’t as smart or well-informed as Heartman was, nor could he keep focused enough on anything that wasn’t tactile or physical in some way. Staying inside for the rest of his life would probably kill him. Porting was his only alternative.

“Well.” Sam didn’t need to change profession but Heartman was sure Sam knew that too. It would be a personal choice, one that Heartman frankly wasn’t surprised about. “No I suppose I don’t. How long will you be staying put before going back to porting?”

"Heading out tomorrow morning." Delivering goods at night wasn't unfamiliar, but he wasn't sure how it'd work out in the snow. He'd rather not slip and eat shit on ice just because it was too dark or just too damn cold.

"Tomorrow? That's no time at all. Are you sure?”

Sam gave a nod. "D'you need something?" That would serve convenient for Heartman, he mused. Having a porter bring things in for him immediately rather than placing an order. Better than premium delivery.

“There’s no Bridges to run you ragged. And you have a reliable place to stay. You could sleep in. — But if you're going out anyways, I know I am powerless to stop you. I will get in contact with Lockne. Go to Mountain Knot City when you have time and talk to her directly for furniture and supplies for Lou. That way the items can't be traced back here after being picked up."

Another nod. Mountain Knot City. He’d keep it in mind. In a way, it felt like he was being given another all important mission.

***

Heartman spun in circles in the kitchen trying to decide what was appropriate for his guest. As Heartman sifted through his pantry and cupboards to assess what he had, he very quickly realized he never cooked himself anything extravagant. 

It wasn't that he didn't know how to, he was the one typically responsible for dinner once upon a time. But that was years ago. More recently he had been expanding his culinary repertoire now that cities and preppers could share over the network. Mostly, he just hadn't bothered. There was never a reason to, if he had a disappointing meal then that was that and he could move on to his research. 

What was easy?

Stew? Stew was easy.

Sam, left alone with Lou, stood there stiffly. Now what? He sat by Lou’s crib and poked his head over the top. She gave a toothless grin just at the sight of him. Sam already changed her diaper and wasted enough time wiggling his fingers at her to keep her occupied. Really, it was more accurate to say that she was the one keeping him occupied.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Heartman yelled, unsure if Sam could hear him from the other room.

"Anything's good," Sam shouted back.

Probably water— he should have said that.

"Water!" Sam amended. All he had been drinking as of late was beer and energy drinks. His diet hadn't exactly been the most diverse.

Heartman went about pulling a glass out of one of the cupboards. He practically crashed into Sam as he turned around to deliver the drink to Sam. 

"Ha— uh. For you." A hand went to his chest while the other held out the cup.

Sam responded with a quick look over rather than words. Heartman had taken off his jacket, now just in a collared button-up with the first few buttons undone. More formal than just a robe, but it still somehow looked like he was dressing down.

He took the glass, taking a couple gulps while he idled.

“Right…” Heartman turned around to get back to dinner while Sam did all but twiddle his thumbs.

Sam tapped a finger against the glass, trying to think of something to say or do but… God, he had to do something . He couldn’t live with just sitting around inside all day. Porting would at least let him feel like he was contributing something to the living situation. He wasn’t going to live there and not give anything in return, that just seemed like a shitty thing to do. Sam wouldn’t be comfortable if he just let himself be taken care of. But porting was for tomorrow. He had already resolved to wait out the night. There had to be something he could do now.

Did Heartman need help? Cooking took more than 21 minutes at a time. What if Heartman went out and started a fire, or he had a knife in his hand? Sam glanced around to try to gauge how much he was needed but after concluding nothing with his cursory observation, he was forced to ask instead.

"I could help."

"O-oh. Always the busy body, hm?” Heartman, despite being overly aware of Sam’s hovering, was still grateful for the company. “I can't judge you. I've always got my nose in my own business. I suppose we can divvy up the work- it's been a while since I've cooked for more than myself but I'm finding that sentiment to be shockingly common with you around."

Sam tilted his head.  

Heartman gestured to a cutting board. "You could chop the vegetables?"

That sounded easy enough. Taking the knife, Sam got to work. 

He chopped some carrots and diced an onion. Everything was either preserved or frozen, fresh food was hard to come by unless you lived next to the source. Sam found himself antagonizing over the right way to do his appointed portion of dinner preparation. Having never cooked properly, he wasn’t sure how things should have been done. Asking wasn’t something that occurred to him.

If Sam was going to be preoccupied with helping him, then Heartman figured he might as well put music on. Heartman excused himself for a moment to move into the study then flipped through his vinyls for something classic but tasteful. The notes hung in the air and carried brilliantly through the home. 

The music was nice, Sam thought. Once he had gotten a couple sections of it down, he gave soft whistles along with the more recognizable chorus of each song.

Heartman rushed back into the Kitchen to begin measuring out everything that didn't need to be cut up and put meat on to sear. The table was cleared, dishware set out and amongst the controlled chaos of him and his sous chef, he even found himself time to pour some wine.

Heartman gave Sam a quick thumbs up at his progress and managed to stop himself from decimating his touch-repulsed guest with a compulsory pat on the back. It all took more than 21 minutes, but with Sam there he had the luxury of simply instructing him to not to let the food burn while he went down for the other three. When the food was done, Heartman insisted he serve it, making sure to check on Lou without prompting before they sat down to dinner.

It had been much too long since Sam had been actively participating in kitchen-related activities too, he realized.

Sam had refilled his cup of water several times, filling it one last time as he sat stiffly at the table and taking a moment just to look over the entire set up. Dinner. With real food, on a table. With another person. 

It was so strange, but all he could do was try to feel comfortable about it. He had no idea if he looked comfortable, though. It was rare Sam looked comfortable in his own skin, they had both been isolated from society and the effects were noticeable to anyone that wasn’t them.

Heartman certainly didn't notice the hesitancy. 

The steam was still rising threateningly off the surface of the stew as Sam brought a spoonful to his mouth. It burned his tongue and warmed his throat on the way down. Like with the coffee, Sam usually didn't have time to care about whether or not something was hot.

Still, the silence (accompanied by the faint music filling the air) facilitated his thinking, and that man's face— Cliff’s face— came back in his mind. Heartman still didn't know about it. No one did except for him.

"I, uh," he started, mouth half-full before he swallowed. "Figured out the deal with Cliff."

Heartman's interest was grabbed as soon as he heard 'Cliff'.

"You figured out why you've been having those visions?" He called them memories last time, but that was a theory. "If I recall, there was nothing remarkable about him that could be found in his files. Correct?" If there was any development on that front in Bridges, no one had told him. The most he'd heard was when he checked his emails which hadn’t been recently at all. More conspiracy from Deadman — he wondered why he worked for Bridges if he were so suspicious of the director. Heartman wasn't exactly at the center of all that, everything he heard about was second hand and mostly he had assumed Cliff was sent by Higgs (Up until Higgs was taken out of the picture). He was used to not getting answers to these sorts of questions at Bridges.

“Mhm,” he answered. The files were all gone because Bridges had wanted them gone. Sam ate for a moment more, trying to figure out how to word everything. He had felt only confusion towards Cliff when they had first (violently) interacted. It was antagonism. Protecting Lou from Cliff. Then it was a flash of sympathy, someone trying to desperately possess a BB— but why? And when he shot Cliff down for the last time? More confusion.

Now he knew. And while it answered his questions, some part of him wondered if it had been worth it to know.

“They’re mine. My memories. Saw ‘em when I hooked up to Lou the last time before I left.” Before he left the capital to burn his cufflinks and break Lou out of her glass prison. “Cliff was my father. I was the first Bridge Baby.” It was why Cliff stopped pursuing him when he realized Lou wasn’t his own.

Sam had to take a break despite having said relatively so little . Taking a sip of water, he pushed down the emotion that began to bubble up in the core of his chest. Typically if Sam talked at all, he asked questions. Heartman rarely got answers unless asked directly and even then getting a response at all was rare. So Heartman leaned in when Sam made the decision to tell him about Cliff. 

Heartman squinted, it was his turn to look confused for once. "Clifford Unger, the man you claimed was after your BB- violently so - is your father?" That was a rhetorical question, he was trying to fit the few pieces he had together in his head.

“Bridget, your adoptive mother, started the BB initiative. If you were a bridge baby then it stands to reason that experiment failed… And with your mother’s role in starting the experiments anew— supposedly because Homo Demens used stolen BB research to create their own according to Bridges, though we both know that wasn’t quite true. Ah, I can see why Deadman has been so fanatical now.” 

“Amelie and Bridget were the same person. She just came up with the whole thing to hide it. Die-Hardman was her right-hand man through and through. But he and Cliff knew each other, old war buddies." There was a gruff frustration in the tone of his voice as he continued eating, shaking his head. 

"Name's John McClane. He was the one that helped Cliff try to break me out. Cliff didn't know what he was getting himself into, thought he was saving my mom and me." Once Cliff had put him into the BB program, there had been no escaping from there. They had both been doomed from the start. "Bridget was lying to him and Die-Hardman tipped Cliff off, so he tried to take me and run. But Bridget stopped him before he could get away. She killed the both of us, but she brought me back on the Beach. She's the reason I can repatriate." The scar on his stomach tingled with the mention of it. 

"She left Cliff there at the Beach. Bridget raised me after that and I never could have known."

When he finished, Sam realized how stiff the air had gotten. Nothing to it that was eloquent in any way, not like Heartman would have gone about it. He had been concise with his words, but even through his typical brevity there was a heaviness that betrayed the composure he was trying to front. Sam hadn’t confronted his feelings on this in any real capacity since he learned the truth — the real truth that not even Amelie had confessed to right before condemning herself to the beach. He didn’t want to confront them here either.

"Sam." Heartman hesitated to continue from there. Sam could tell here was a lot of thinking going on behind those eyes, and he couldn’t blame him. It was convoluted and just plain stupid.

Heartman reached across the table, placing his hand palm down in front of Sam. Not grabbing him, just letting him know he was there. Immediately, his gaze darted to the extended hand. Reflex pulled at his muscles, telling him to scoot backwards. However, he stayed in place when Heartman’s reach stopped before it could become uncomfortable. 

"I'm sorry, no one should have to learn that this way. Bridget was wrong for keeping this a secret from you."

Sam just shook his head. He didn’t need the pity nor the apology— not like Heartman could have done anything about it.

Heartman tilted his head as Sam shook his. Perhaps he mistook his empathy for something else, perhaps he just wasn't ready for that.

“Mm,” he sounded, crossing his arms on the table as he leaned against it. “I don’t know how to feel about it. Cliff didn’t deserve it.”

Sam wondered how different it would have been to grow up with Cliff as his father. Detached from Bridges altogether. But it was pointless to think about it in the context of the now. And Amelie, how should he feel about her? Every pleasant memory of her was tainted with the betrayal— All that lying. His mind ran in circles both justifying and vilifying her. What was worse was that he couldn’t do anything about any of it besides produce a never ending supply of headaches. Logically, he should hate her but instead, it was just a churning mess of uncertainty.

"It must have been painful for him. As fathers, we can both relate to losing a child." And a wife. He spoke with a softness, the same sort he had when he was recounting his own tale the first time he met Sam in person.

Yeah. It was almost coincidental how similar their situations were. Two fathers that lost their families. Maybe it was the best thing that he was there now with Heartman rather than anyone else. If there was anyone who understood the most, it was probably him. For that, there was a spark of gratefulness that started to bloom somewhere in his chest. 

Sam scoffed. “And to think I would still be in one of those pickle jars if he hadn’t broken me out.”

"I prefer you uh... not pickled. And I'm sure Lou would agree." Heartman added soon after, trying to keep the conversation lighter, not because it made him uncomfortable but because he didn't want to let Sam sink back into the back of his mind where he would sit quietly without speaking up.

"Thanks," Sam said roughly, his voice rigid and awkward. For nothing in particular— for everything in general. He gave a sniffle, trying to fill the heavy silence that fell right after his word of acknowledgement.

A ghost of a smile crossed Sam’s lips briefly at the comment before it disappeared. Heartman almost missed it.

Finishing off the stew, Sam wiped the back of his hand across his mouth with a sigh. Aside from the topic at the table, it was the best dinner he had had in years. Moving the spoon to the center of the bowl, he scooted in his seat a bit and cleared his throat.

"I'll wash this," he said as he picked the bowl and cup up, walking back into the kitchen.

"If you're sure. Thank you." Is all Heartman said with a warm expression as his eyes traced the porter's short path back to the sink. 

In the kitchen, Sam scrubbed at the dishes by hand. It felt weird to be back at this, to be in a house instead of a private room. Heartman wasn’t taking all of his body fluids and turning them into grenades, Sam didn’t have a needle stuck in his elbow to continuously draw blood up into a firearm. He wasn’t holding his breath, sneaking around BT's with kilos of cargo on his back.

He was washing the dishes and taking care of a baby.

***

One eye was kept on the time while he dug through desk drawers for a laptop. Older tech, but not that old, that could connect to the old network. The computer he normally used for work was integrated fully with the network after Sam arrived with the Q-pid. It wasn’t a switch that could just be turned on and off like connecting to a wifi hotspot. It would require intimate knowledge of programming and the Q-pid software to undo it. Lockne could do it— but that was a lot to ask for Sam’s paranoia. 

There was an obvious hesitancy in turning the thing on. Heartman had effectively disappeared while he went on his personal quest. It took a few minutes of staring before a quick glance at the time motivated him to hurry up and log into his accounts. Dozens upon dozens of emails poured in, a few from the new president himself.

The most recent one caught his eye. Concerning Sam and addressed to him. The fact that it was preceded with an email from Deadman made him worried. Luckily, the one from Die-Hardman was only a request to keep an eye out for the rogue porter. It also mentioned that should Sam visit, Heartman should convince him to come back to Bridges. Deadman mirrored Die-hardman’s concern but from the opposite lens with a word of caution to exercise a healthy amount of skepticism towards the president.

Heartman knew full well the director's— the president's brand of leadership from working closely with him in past years. There wouldn't be any violent repercussions. It was his formal way to show concern, but there was always the matter of the BB, Lou. That was something entirely different. Heartman made a face of discontent reading it before deleting both emails.

Chapter Text

Most of what Heartman had gathered were films he thought Sam would like.  Of course, he had no idea what Sam liked and had to go off educated guesses. Really, he could hardly imagine Sam sitting down to relax if he hadn't seen it for himself.

“I’ve been meaning to show you some of these. You like films, right? I didn’t get the chance last time before we were called down to the capital” Mention of Capital Knot reminded him of his cufflink. It made him nervous, the thought of putting it back on. It had been a few weeks since he started his quest to search for Sam and though Die-Hardman hadn’t mentioned it in any of his emails, he was sure it would come up eventually. He shook the thought out of his head. “I also have shows, box sets, episodes about 21 minutes each.” Heartman pulled a few things from the shelf and off of lingering piles before moving back over to Sam.

“Got a favorite?” Sam glanced over, looking at the ones in Heartman’s hands. None of the titles were recognizable— not that he was surprised. He doubted he had ever seen anything Heartman decided to show him. The last time Sam had seen a movie had been years ago when he still lived somewhere with a family.

"Favorite." Heartman pursed his lips, "I do have a movie- not under 21 minutes but worth the cycles for me. I'm not sure you would— It's very..." Romantic. Sam didn’t exactly fall into the target audience of a genre that was, statistically speaking, composed mostly of older women. Still, Heartman set the ones he'd picked up aside to pull the feature length film off the shelf.

"It's post-stranding, the two protagonists fall in love but one moves to another knot city which poses a challenge, as you might imagine, for a budding relationship." Heartman looked over the front before flipping the box around. A simple white font in all caps read 'Love Stranding' across the top with two vignetted figures over a picturesque landscape dominating the cover.

"Didn't know they still made shit after the Death Stranding," Sam mused aloud as he scanned the box art. Judging by the description and the cover it wasn't hard to deduce the genre and by extension the plot.

"It certainly became a lot harder to keep producing media but not impossible. If anything, post-stranding, the industry became a bit narrower with smaller communities of very dedicated filmographers. Pre-stranding movies had a lot more to work with as far as props, sets and filming locations, making newer movies and shows very limited in capabilities when drawing comparisons. Without BTs and Timefall, I’m confident that will change relatively soon. Something to look forward to.”

Sam didn't comment on Love Stranding or the info dump, but his gaze was still inquisitive. Soft enough to help facilitate his display of vague engagement. While Sam had never been interested in romance, it definitely wasn't unsavory. He used to watch them sometimes with Lucy, and the atmosphere the movies created were always welcome. The porter rose from his seat and shuffled over to the shelves to comb over the titles. His head shifted slightly to the side to read the tilted words. 

"You seem like a documentary kind of guy. You watch any these days?" Sam ran a finger over the wood in front of the cases, drawing a line in the accumulated dust.

Heartman laughed and pushed up his glasses. Of course he looked like the type to enjoy documentaries. He remembered his own wife remarking on his strange tastes in entertainment as well. "If they're well researched and not sensationalized then they can be enjoyable! I don't have any hard copies, they're a bit redundant after the first viewing. What about you, Sam? I'd take you for an action movie man, having been in the action yourself."

"Yeah," Sam responded, looking away from the shelf to look back at Heartman. "Just like how fast they are." It wasn't often that people asked him about what he was interested in. This was weird. Usually things like that were reserved for conversations with himself. When was the last time he talked to anyone else about what he liked? Too long ago, maybe.

Heartman took over Sam's now abandoned spot on the couch to entertain Lou by dangling a hand into the crib while the other looked through what was available. With pure interest, she brought her small hands up to grasp at Heartman's, trying to pull it down closer to her body.

"You heard of Ride?”

“Ah, I may have.” He thought he heard the porter mention something about it once or twice over the cufflinks, but he refrained from sharing that.

“I like the show a lot. It's really cool, the bikes on there are awesome. Badass." The inflection in his voice, for once, raised slightly over his usual stagnantly low tone. Eagerness could be heard in his voice. "Learn a lot about what bikers used to do before the stranding. Used to travel in groups and shit. Seems cool."

"Oh?" When Sam told him about the show then kept telling him about the show, Heartman's face lit up with a gentle smile. The show was cool, awesome and badass according to Sam. That would explain why he chose to use a bike for porting so often.

Sam nodded, though his eyes were more fixated now on the hand that dangled into Lou’s crib. He took a few steps closer to chuckle at the way she tugged at Heartman’s fingers. Her large eyes fixated on him, deep and curious.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so enraptured by something. Nice to loosen up now and again isn't it? Perhaps I can put an order in for a copy so that we can watch. I'm always interested in observing relics of the past. Sounds like something quite unlike what I keep here.— You'll probably find my collection lacking in regards to your tastes."

Loosen up? Sam didn't really think of himself as tense. Just keeping to himself and minding his business. He gave a couple neutral nods, looking back to the shelf. "I'll watch anything," he answered, voice returning to its usual grumble. "I haven't watched anything in a while." 

Heartman’s hum of acknowledgement was accompanied with his own nod. Come to think of it, it'd been a while since he watched anything too. So much thinking and self-reflecting and worrying had left him little time for his typical hobbies.

"My wife used to put on romance a lot. Lots of pre-stranding stuff." Sam added. He could never remember the titles of anything, unfortunately.

"Mm, my wife liked the pre-stranding movies too. A lot of tv shows and long nights of binging. Though, I was always more the romantic than she was." Heartman pried his finger from Lou who gave a gurgle in protest. He found, with Sam around, he thought of Charlotte with a melancholy fondness rather than the cold yearning he’d felt before.

A moment of silent reflection passed between the two, each of them thinking the same thing without realizing it.

"You’ll watch anything, you said?" Heartman got up once more to stand beside Sam as he gestured over to a lower shelf, "These are the longer ones, if you'd like some classics. I uh, never thought I'd share them with anyone so they are very singular in interest. Oh! This."

Heartman pulled a case off the shelf labeled 'The Notebook'. Sam skirted his eyes over the cover, trying to dig through his memory in the off chance that he could recognize it by what he was seeing now. Not much. The title seemed vaguely familiar. He wouldn't have been surprised if he started to recognize it when it started rolling.

"This is what most would consider a true classic in romance. Not the best but let's face it, the classics are rarely aspirational." Heartman was already going about setting up the screen before Sam could nod in agreement with the selection.

The wall of windows dimmed and blacked out while Heartman inserted the disk into the hardware (Which was physically built into a panel on an adjacent wall). No chrial network meant no streaming, but hard copies still worked, lucky for them. The neon colored lights lining the very tops of the wall illuminated in the same way they did when Heartman went under. Except he wasn’t, they were just going to watch a movie.

Huh.

Watch a movie. He was going to watch a movie with Heartman. Before, there had been too much urgency to do anything like this. Usually, Sam would have been out taking orders about now. Instead, he was inside about to watch a movie with a... friend? Would he consider Heartman that? If they were about to do this, then they definitely weren't just colleagues. That, and he was technically living with him as well.

"You should, uh," Sam started then stalled. His mind was still on the previous thought. He began again, "I can wait. Until you start another full round of 21. It'd probably hit better that way."

"Hm?" Heartman looked up from what he was doing as Sam warned him. His eyes darted to the hourglass which wasn't set, then to his wrist to inspect the time. "Thank you for the warning, I nearly lost track."  Heartman gave a wink and a thumbs up. Sam nearly looked at his own wrist with the gesture, though he quickly recalled that he had burned his cufflink ages ago and that he wouldn’t be awarded any likes. A little disappointing. 

***

They sat on the same couch, Heartman giving a generous buffer between them for Sam’s comfort. Heartman had also muted the AED so that Sam could enjoy the movie uninterrupted at the very least. The movie began with the soft piano and gradual appearance of the actors’ names. Sam couldn’t recognize anything. The red and black evening of the displayed riverside didn’t ring any bells; he must have not seen it before, then. Maybe one of the movies Lucy had planned to watch with him. 

“You seen it before?” Sam asked not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he was hoping Heartman would elaborate on it. Was it going to be sad? Romantic movies always had to put in some kind of tearjerker and that was the worst part about them in Sam’s opinion. Lucy had always said that was the point of them, it wouldn’t be the same without it, to which Sam couldn’t think of an argument for.

"Plenty but none too recently. I'm guessing you haven't? It's— well, I'll let you see for yourself." 

Heartman remembered crying the first time he watched this, and the second and third time as well. Lucky for him, he was conditioned from repeat watchings that he wouldn't have to shed any sorrowful tears in front of his guest. The movie was obviously dated, but there were many parts that he found relatable. Being relatable, Heartman thought, was the appeal of these movies. Relatability and Idealism. 

He also thought it funny how he and his wife related to the characters. She had always told him that in this scenario, he was Allie. Routine, meticulous, always thinking but also dominated by his feelings (not to mention his inclination for art). She was Noah, of course. Happy go-lucky, adventurous and stubborn. It wasn’t a one for one correlation and they both knew the characters were meant for projecting onto. 

Heartman glanced over at the other occasionally, trying to get a sense if Sam was enjoying it or not. The porter was hard to read as ever, but he thought he recognized the glint of pure focus in his eye. 

At the climactic ending, as Noah and Allie lay together on the bed, Sam leaned back into the couch as if to move farther away from the screen. He wiped the meat of his palms over his eyes preemptively. The twist he had guessed (it was pretty obvious, to be fair) early on and thought that would grant him some sort of immunity to whatever would be thrown at him. He should have known better.

Had it been two hours already? Sam thought when the credits rolled across the screen.

Heartman turned to say something about the ending, jaw opening then shutting when he noticed Sam wiping at his eyes. There were a few moments more while he let the ending play out in its entirety before he turned a bit more fully in his seat to throw an arm over the back out the couch.

"It's sweet isn't it?” With anyone else, Heartman might've given a comforting pat on the arm or have scooted closer to bump shoulders. Instead he settled with extending his arm around the back of the sofa further. 

Sweet? They died. Was Sam’s immediate thought. He could picture Heartman’s long-winded response to that though and thought he wouldn’t make it through a recap and an explanation. “Mhm,” he grunted instead, getting up from the couch to stretch. Usually after something like this, he and Lucy would get close and enjoy each other's company while they had it. Maybe let some other things ensue. Of course, this was entirely different. Regardless, his skin prickled with the lingering ghost of a memory.

“If I had a choice, that would be my ideal way to go." 

Hearing that was almost as sad as the end of the damn movie. It was strange that it was never something that crossed his mind— it was definitely something Heartman thought about a whole lot. Sam had never worried about dying, considering that he was a repatriate. Repatriating didn’t exclude the pain of dying, but that still didn’t bring enough fear into him to avoid certain situations. When the Last Stranding came, he had expected to die there. Let what remained of his consciousness melt away on the beach. But he supposed that was different. He had made the conscious choice to accept true death if it came, knowing there would be no repatriating. Heartman was an enigma compared to all that. Sam remembered something Heartman had said to him during one of their meetings, that after he found his family, he would pass into the seam with them. Both vague attempts to control their fate maybe. And now look at them.

The porter tried to hide his sniffles with a deep breath. It was just some movie from forever ago— it wasn’t even about death. 

“It was nice.” Sam said after a long, thoughtful pause then turned his head away towards the crib and Lou (who was fast asleep). He coughed to cover a croak. “Sweet.”

"I'm glad you liked it. There are plenty of other options for other times as well." A sly smirk cracked across his face at Sam's attempts to hide his tears. He'd already seen them though and they definitely weren't a chiral allergy. 

***

The more he thought about it, the more Sam felt that it wouldn't have been that hard to put some sort of padding atop the metal beds in the private rooms he had stayed in. It was getting late and when he finally decided it was time for bed, Heartman wrapped up his work and headed upstairs. Sam insisted it was fine, if Heartman wanted to keep working, but the scientist’s will was a finely honed weapon when it needed to be.

It wasn't long before Sam turned in for the night, immediately passing out on the soft cushions after he had made sure Lou was taken care of. 

Hours later, faint noises of movement started to rouse him from his sleep. He could have sworn he heard Lou's crying invade his dream, but it hadn't been long enough to interrupt him. Groggy, Sam pushed himself up from his position on his back. He squinted in the darkness, trying to make out whatever was going on.

What little light there was reflected off the snow through the great window. Harshly rubbing his blurry eyes with the palm of his hand, he finally made out the shape of Heartman standing by Lou's crib. The single point of light emitting off of the AED shone like a single star in inky space. Tired, he half expected Lucy to have been standing there, but Sam knew better.

"Shh-shh, Lou." Heartman muttered, rocking the child in his arms.

Running his hand through his hair, Sam continued to watch as he fed a now hushed and satisfied Lou. He hadn't expected to get help from Heartman in caring for her. While Sam certainly didn't need it, it was much appreciated in situations like these where Sam was less than willing to get off of the couch. His brows rose slightly as he finally let the sight settle, giving a quiet chuckle before he lied back down to resettle in his sleep.

For Heartman, the motions were muscle memory: waking up late at night, getting a bottle ready and being as quiet as possible while doing it so as to not wake his wife— Sam, in this case. The ruffling of blankets in the night momentarily turned Heartman’s head. When his eyes focused, he saw Sam comfortably facing the opposite direction.

Chapter Text

Light reflected the blue hues of the morning sky off the shimmering surface of the snow and into every window. Heartman was already up. Afraid to wake his friend so immediately, he lingered in the kitchen with some fresh coffee and took the rest of the time to shower and get ready for the day. He only entered the study when he heard movement within, carrying with him a second cup.

The porter stood over Lou’s crib, already dressed in freelancer gray. Without nightmares to jostle him awake, he wasn't as alert in the mornings so it took him a moment to realize the coffee was meant for him. Sam gave a brief “Mornin’” and continued getting ready for his day, coffee in hand. Heartman went straight to his desk to begin setting up his workspace around the laptop he would be using in place of his old computer. Not exactly convenient but he had gone a decade without the network to work off of, he could do it again. 

After changing Lou’s diaper and double-checking his supplies, Sam knocked back the remainder of his drink like it was a shot. He had his gloves on and was just about to strap on Lou’s carrier when he realized Heartman would be home. Judging by what he saw last night, he didn't think that the man was going to be neglectful anytime soon... Sam, instead, offered a small wave of his hand to Lou, who laid in the crib trying to push herself up onto all fours. 

“Be good.”

Heartman adjusted his glasses at Sam’s instruction, the words “I will” on the tip of his tongue. Ah, he was talking to Lou. Of course. Lou hardly needed to be told, she was already the most well behaved infant he'd ever met. 

No goodbyes were exchanged and no offense was taken. Sam was a ghost, coming and going with the wind and only making his presence known by the tracks he occasionally left on Heartman’s clean floor.

Before long, Sam was out, sunglasses on and hood up, mounting his motorbike and driving off. He would make sure to stop by Mountain Knot to pick up the extra furniture.

***

Sam had done two deliveries that day. He would have done a third, but that required a pick up further east. Too near the capital for his comfort— even if there was an entire Lake separating them.

A pick up of scrap metal and three stacks of parchment paper, each holding a hundred sheets. Sam paid more attention to the weight than the contents of his cargo typically. He was actually looking for orders that contained fresh food- he’d delivered similar items in the area before and wanted to ask where he could get them. A form of repayment to Heartman for dinner, he reasoned. Multiple responses from other porters came quickly, and while several areas had been noted, the closest and most convenient was somewhere past Mountain Knot. He would have to go there today regardless which made it all the more convenient.

Stepping down the distribution center ramp was both familiar and foreign. To better hide his identity, Sam had taken to wearing a scarf and mask. The scarf (a deep gray to match the freelancer colors) was mostly tucked into his suit and helped to hide the shape of his face while the navy blue mask did most of the work (usually along with a pair of shades) in keeping him from being recognized. The large space, once empty, was bustling and Sam was thankful he wasn’t premature in pulling his mask down.

A loaded truck bearing Bridges’ logo passed by on his slow descent into the center proper. A dozen people milled about inside bearing both porting and delivery team uniforms all busy with an apparent influx of work. Generally, he tried to avoid going to the distribution centers, but even the ones he had been to in the last month hadn’t been so robust. Sam approached the terminal, intentionally facing his back to the small crowd.

The packages were whisked away and his freelancer ID showing his new alias appeared on the screen as it tracked cargo condition and a few other metrics. Excellent, as always. He expected a chiral projection to greet him that he would have to awkwardly speak with while trying to cover his voice. Instead the side door opened and Lockne poked her head out wearing a gentle smile.

“It’s better if we speak in here.” she called, waving Sam over. 

Sam wasted no time in following. He had never seen the inner workings of one of these centers beyond the private rooms. The hallway wasn’t very spacious, windows on either side allowed Sam to peek at the multitude of shelves stacked with a seemingly impossible number of cargo containers. Conveyer belts and automated machines sorted and packed them onto carts to, presumably, be more personally delivered to the residents of Mountain Knot. He tried to pick out the case he just delivered in the chaos but his attention was pulled away when he heard Lockne call his name.

“Sam.” She had taken a turn and was holding a sliding door open with an arm. 

He entered, eyes once again going everywhere except the person he was supposed to be speaking with. Given the name tag on the desk, he could guess this was something like her office. It didn’t look like the sort of office he was used to. Government bureaucracy had a certain feel to it. Overly formal, depersonalized, a splash of red white and/or blue, and the distinct smell of ink and paper. 

Lockne’s office reminded him more of Heartman’s study, though much less grandiose in presentation. Paintings depicting scenes of deep space with streaking comets decorated the sides of the room. The far wall had a shelf indented into it which Lockne had repurposed into a miniature greenhouse. Bright grow lights hung just over them, facilitating green tendrils to reach and thrive. A cascade of leaves spilled out of the planters, nearly touching the floor where there were even more plants. He'd never seen that sort of growth in wild plants. They always died as soon as they sprouted because of the timefall and the variety of grasses and mosses weren't nearly as vibrant.

Her desk was sleek in design (more of what Sam had expected) dotted with smaller pots that were home to succulents but also miniature models and diagrams of vehicles. One of them was the same model of bike he used.

“I’ve gotten into mechanical engineering.” Lockne must have caught him staring. “I’ve always been into it, technically.” She clarified.

Sam’s brows cinched together at the contradicting claims. After a moment he nodded. Mama was the one interested in it. That would be hard to get used to.

“Where’s Lou?” Lockne tapped the panel next to the door and when it slid closed the magnetic locks clicked as well.

He hesitated, looking to Lockne’s cufflink with a healthy suspicion.

“It’s okay, you’re not being recorded. You can relax.” She lifted her wrist and tapped the cufflink, “This is Målingen’s, she’s the one who designed this iteration, she knows its tricks.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped with the assurance. “She’s with Heartman.”

“I was looking forward to seeing her again. Probably better not to have her with you.” She nodded in understanding, “I’ll have to make the trip up to see her sometime.” 

“Uh,” Sam started, shifting from foot to foot. He wasn’t one for small talk. There was a pile of boxes pushed against one wall of the office that he would have assumed were for him if it wasn’t being used as a second table. Sam tugged his mask down under his chin and hooked his shades on the collar of his hood. “Is that for me?” he pointed with his jaw.

“Oh. Yes. Everything Heartman asked for and a few extra things. Consider it a home-coming gift from me.” Lockne half-smiled, tucking a strand behind her ear as she began moving a pot and clipboard from the top of the waist-high stack. She paused as she set them down, one hand brushing over the stiff leaves of the relocated fern. “Sam. How have you been?”

“Alright.” He shrugged.

A raised brow, the look she gave him reminded him of Mama. “You’ve gone AWOL with a BB and were living in a cave for over a month.”

“What’s new.” Sam let out a breath that could have been a laugh had it not been for the tone. He decided not to argue the point of referring to Lou as a BB knowing Lockne was a prospective mother herself at one point.

That was apparently funny, given the smile that spread across her face more fully. “If anyone deserves some peace and quiet, then it’s you. You’ve more than earned it. Not sure you’re going to get it if you’re staying with Heartman. ”

Sam snorted. He pressed his lips together and turned his head away, feeling a little guilty for laughing at that. When he composed himself, he shook his head and began pulling the backpack off to prepare it for the cargo.

“Those packages don’t have tags, by the way. They’re logged in the system as delivered, so if you lose one, you won’t be able to track it down.” A beat, "You know, Sam, you wouldn't have to go through all that trouble if you came back. You wouldn't have to sneak around or hide your face and I wouldn't have to cook the books just so you have a place to sleep."

And there it was. "I am back." Sam said dismissively. Sometimes he chose the most obviously obtuse words in an attempt to frustrate the opposition into dropping the subject. It only worked if they didn't know that was what he was doing. Or weren’t disgustingly persistent like all the core Bridges members seemed to be.

"Back back . " She emphasized, "So that we can talk to you without having to send coded messages or pulling wires out of our wall."

"You talked to Heartman." He already knew that, but he had assumed it was just about the furniture.

"Yes—" 

"Then you know I already had this conversation with him."

"I know that he somehow convinced you to come this far." Lockne crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned on the desk. She was much more casual in comparison to Heartman. Less stiff, more natural. "He didn't ask me to say any of this. He actually asked me not to mention anything about it at all."

Sam took a second to examine her in an attempt to judge her truthfulness. He had no reason to believe she was lying. "Should have listened."

"Sam." There was an exasperation in her voice, but also one of amusement like his belligerence was an endearing trait of his. “You’re upset at the UCA, at Bridges, because of Amelie. She’s not here anymore. And Mountain Knot is on the fringes of the UCA anyways. If you wanted to stay here— or with Heartman— we could work something out. We could talk to Die-hardman for you.” The politics were flexible, is what she was saying. But wasn’t that what got John and his father into trouble to begin with? What led to the mask John wore for so long, serving so loyally under the person who broke him.

The second and third cargo crates were smaller but still rather hefty. He could balance his load for peak efficiency in his sleep. Securing the straps over them was fluid, and without thought. He was thinking about it now, though. To avoid having to reason Die-Hardman’s actions and their consequences. Sin so deep that decades later, it’d passed on to the next generation and led to where he was now.

“Die-Hardman is just as guilty as her.” His eyes flicked up at Lockne. He knew that wasn’t entirely true, but his anger wasn’t very rational or objective. Besides, if he said it out loud enough, he might believe it. That would make everything a lot easier for him.

“Sorry.” 

The apology caught him off guard. It almost made him feel bad for being so passive aggressive. Almost. 

“Call me a broken record, but I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Was she reading off some checklist Heartman had sent her?

“I’m—”

“Alright.” She finished for him.

“Yeah.” Sam tapped his fingers against the last, smallest case. “I’m uh,” He clipped the box to his hip. “I hope you’re doing okay too.”

That was enough to ease the built up tension, he thought, given the reemerging grin. “I’m doing great, thanks to you.”

He began the process of putting the backpack on again and after some grunting he gestured to the veritable forest Lockne was cultivating in her office. "I didn't know you liked that sort of stuff."

"I'm more of a technician at heart. I am a technician. I'm good with numbers and code— just about anything a computer can do. Plants are arguably the exact opposite, chaos ruled by nature. At least, that's what it looks like. It’s all calculated, from how tall they get, to the surface area of their leaves to how deep their roots grow.” She glanced down at one of the smaller plants on her desk. Was this Lockne or Mama, he wondered. He hadn’t seen anything like this at Mama’s lab, so it must have been Lockne.

“‘S pretty.” He said after a long silence. Sam didn’t have anything important to say, he had questions but none he was willing to ask. Besides, he wanted to get back to Lou before the sun went down. 

“That too.” She laughed then circled around her desk to rummage through one of the drawers. She held out a small metal prism, the end had a loop like a pendant or charm. Remarkably similar to the q-pid. “Since you’re sticking around, feel free to stop by anytime. This will get you through the door, no need to knock.” 

***

The subsequent time alone was spent catching up on work and taking care of Lou. Switching between his business and entertaining her was seamless for him. Most of the time was spent with her on his lap while he flipped through research papers. Heartman took to reading aloud when he noticed she seemed fascinated every time he spoke. Though the initial hour or so had been difficult (she cried when she realized Sam wasn’t coming back immediately), she calmed down significantly with enough distraction.

Heartman was settled into the couch, taking a break from his work, with Lou in his arms when he heard a noise from the front of the lab. Some random movie he'd picked out played on the screen that encompassed the back wall. The din of the film playing muffled the noises of Sam coming into the room. He was sure Sam would have put everything down and go for a shower or get back into more comfortable clothes. Instead, he felt a presence looming over him along with that inexplicable feeling of being watched.

Heartman craned his head around as Lou began squirming in his grasp, giggling and reaching uncoordinated arms out behind him. He didn't expect Sam to be right there and couldn't help but jump. A hand went to his chest as he took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Sam. You scared me." He laughed it off, eyeing the bags and metal boxes packed onto Sam’s back. Heartman recognized the packaging of the furniture but he wasn't sure what the rest was. "It went well, I suspect? You came back with more than I expected."

Heartman stood, an idle hand waving the movie away. The windows lightened, casting the room in gentle pinks and oranges. With a short nod and huff, Sam squinted when the darkness dissipated and the lights from outside filtered in.

"Looks like Lou misses you. We watched a movie and she helped me do some research. Very well behaved, if not a little handsy with the wires on my defibrillator." Lou was leaning out towards Sam in Heartman’s arm. He waited for Sam to put everything down before handing her off.

"Someone's happy," he commented as she laughed and smacked a palm against his chest. She buzzed her lips together, toes curling as Sam tickled her stomach with a finger. After a short hello, Sam leaned back down to pick up one of the smaller cargo bins, this one with a handle and bearing labels declaring it perishable. "I picked up groceries. Whatever I could get."

“Oh. Thank you, Sam. That was very thoughtful of you.”  Heartman blinked.

Sam nudged the furniture with a boot, which he figured he should have taken off at the front. "Where do you want me to put all this?"

The cargo looked like a lot less when it was on Sam. Seeing the pile stack up as he unloaded had Heartman raising his eyebrows in disbelief. This was why people said he was the best at what he did. Heartman circled around the couch to inspect it. Perfect condition, too. Time fall wasn't an issue anymore but living up on the mountains he was used to cargo having had a bit of a fall or two before reaching him.

“Uh, groceries in the kitchen, the furniture can go in the room you will be staying in. I won't force you to stay on the couch for any longer than you need to." Heartman reached down to grab one of the boxes but, finding it was far heavier than it looked, he cleared his throat and instead led the way.

Sam placed a kiss atop Lou’s head then lowered her back down into the crib. Dutifully pretending he hadn’t seen Heartman try to lift a 40 kg package.

***

They were in the hallway on the left hand side just before the stairs. Sam recognized this as the room that Heartman had skipped in his initial tour. Inside was completely empty. The air was musty and a layer of dust had collected on the window sills. This room was also free of padded flooring. No need to pad the floors if you never went inside.

"You sure?" Sam asked to confirm, looking around again.

Heartman spun in the center of the empty room, facing Sam properly now. “Certainly! It's only ever been me here— I did consider turning it into a guest room but I never have visitors." He tapped the tips of his fingers together, pausing as if he expected a response but Sam knew better. "Ah. You should have a bed, mattress, and dresser— assuming Lockne didn't throw anything else in. I'll assist you in building. Let me get us something to drink."

Heartman wasn't much of a drinker. He had a bit as a nightcap on occasion but he drank more for the taste and he had… expensive tastes. Sitting down and building furniture was an activity that usually called for beer and music, he thought.

When he came back he had a can for each of them (and a set of tools). The cans read “Timefall Porter”, the brew from the farm over the mountains that he was given a few months ago as a gift. It had been taking up space in his fridge. Sam already had one of the crates opened, boots off in the hall and his jumpsuit piled on top of them. The porter pulled the hair tie off his head as he took the offered can with a nod.

“It occurred to me that this is probably one of the last few brews made using timefall.” Heartman mused as he settled cross legged on the floor. It was better to have them now than to let them go bad. Besides, he was sure Sam liked beer. Beer and Monster.

Metal parts quickly covered the floor in a chaotic mess as the cargo box was emptied and arranged. "She couldn't have gotten us a PCC version or something?" Sam grumbled.

"Yes well, you can't chiral print everything." Heartman said cheerfully.

When they were done with the bed frame, Sam was on his second can (the rest of Heartman’s, it went mostly untouched and Sam wasn’t one to waste a perfectly good drink). They had moved the crib into the room too, and Lou watched them through the bars until she fell asleep.

Heartman’s “assistance”, as he called it, mostly consisted of being something of a cheerleader. He talked while Sam did most of the work and handed screwdrivers off to him when needed. During the breaks (the three minutes that Heartman had to lay down), Sam considered asking about what it was that he had said to Lockne. What would Heartman say to that? Everything, probably. But Sam couldn’t think of any answer Heartman could give that would satisfy him. Worst case, he’d have to have that conversation again.

It was warm, comfortable, and strangely enough Sam didn’t mind Heartman going on about the sexual dimorphism of beetles, though he couldn’t remember how the conversation ended up there. Asking wasn’t really that important, he decided. He had Lou, a bed, and his own little hole carved out in this corner of the world. With a mattress and central heating, no less. He didn’t want to sound unappreciative anyways.

Chapter Text

A sense of stability and balance had washed over the residents of the mountain-side lab. For Sam, the new room was an anchor. A definition for the word “home”. For Heartman, it was the bittersweet nostalgia for a life he had let go of ages ago. So much had changed in such a short amount of time, and yet almost nothing at all.

Heartman still researched the beach and Sam still freelance ported. Porting in particular had been the same as it ever was.

Mostly. In some ways it was easier. There were more porters, though still not enough to meet demand. Slowly but surely, preppers had been more willing to connect with the outside world and it wasn’t entirely uncommon now to see them outside when he had a delivery to drop off. That made it harder to keep his cover, but if he didn’t speak at all and hurried off before they could pry too much, it wasn’t too bad. They could make assumptions about him- that he was mute or just rude- and he wouldn’t deny them. It was only the people who would recognize him that he needed to be wary about now.

The MULES were becoming a bigger problem than before. They were more bold in their assaults and claim for territory. If keeping to the road, he went mostly unbothered. However, Sam rarely took the road anymore. It was convenient for long haul deliveries from Mountain Knot to the Distribution Center North of Mountain Knot but there were so many preppers living in the mountains that it was easier to brave the rocky terrain and snow than risk further exposure to anyone utilizing the highway's safety. 

Sam was running one final delivery home. The area was newly claimed as a hunting ground for the local MULES, but their beacons didn't reach out this far. He just had to avoid the scouts- small groups of 2 or 3 that roamed the perimeters like roving bandits looking for someone to hold up. 

It was the shouting that got his attention first. Three MULES surrounding a lone porter off in the distance. With nothing but a walking stick and the cargo on their back, they were on the ground begging to be left alone. The bandits were laughing and jeering, pulling cargo out of the porter's hand with aggressive force.

Before Sam could even be angry at what he was seeing, he had already turned his bike in their direction. Someone with his voice was shouting out, telling them to fuck off and leave that porter alone. 

***

The front door gave a pneumatic hiss as it opened and closed, followed by the chime of the automated delivery AI greeting a wary guest. Heartman stayed in his spot initially, expecting the only porter who had been making deliveries to him in the past week to come trampling into the study. After a few moments when his roommate failed to turn up in the doorway and grunt out a hello, Heartman made his way to the hall.

"Sam? ”

There was a moment of shock where Heartman could do nothing but stare.

Sam was slumped against the wall beside the fireplace in the foyer. His loose hair was plastered in curling strands to his forehead with sweat. A dark bruise painted one cheek while a bloody cut split the skin over the cheekbone on the opposite.

“What happened? Your face— Oh that is a nasty cut.” Heartman dropped to his knees next to Sam. Now he could make out the slashes and punctures where the metal prongs of tasers cut through the uniform to reach skin. 

"I'm not a doctor— not the medical sort, anyways- but I don't think any of this is immediately life threatening." Of course, that didn’t change the fact that there was a man bleeding all over the floor in his foyer. Two fingers picked at the torn pieces of the jumpsuit around Sam's blood sodden bicep.

"Nnh." Sam barely had the energy to groan. The scowl only deepened with the proximity of hands to his wounds.

"If I didn't know any better I would say you took a dive off the mountain face. Let's get all this off of you." 

Sam shook his head, lifting an arm slightly as if to move Heartman away. It wasn’t fast enough to deter the laser focus of the concerned scientist. Heartman tugged at the myriad of straps and buckles that kept the backpack and shoulder carriers secure while Sam writhed and struggled against it. 

“I’m helping .” Heartman muttered with a firm but empathetic voice.

When the backpack was freed it was pulled away and pushed into the corner for the time being. Even without the equipment weighing him down, Sam looked like he was only on the edge of consciousness. An ache ran through Heartman’s core seeing Sam so disoriented and unable to even resist as Heartman went from removing the cargo to pulling at the zipper to his porter suit.

But Sam was not as checked out as Heartman had guessed. Though his eyes were nearly closed and he hadn’t uttered a word, Sam finally found his strength. Sam’s forearm pressed into Heartman’s chest, not hard enough to hurt but enough to give him pause at the unfamiliar sensation of initiated touch. 

Heartman let it push him back, watching the fatigued man use the wall to lift himself to his feet.

“Careful, Sam. You’re— Sam, can you hear me? You’re bleeding from your head and I think you’ll need stitches. I fear you may be concussed— Stay put.” Heartman urged, but Sam was already crawling his way down the hall.

Sam miraculously made it to the couch. He fell back onto the backrest of the cushions, expression scrunching as he tried in vain to hide the bite of pain that pulsed up and down his body. Luckily for him, Heartman hadn’t yet followed him into the study to witness it. He had a good few seconds to steel himself before the quick nervous gait of his companion returned. 

“I keep an abundance of medical supplies around for— well, me. I’ve never sewn up anyone living before but I’ve exchanged plenty of notes with Deadman…”

Sam’s eyes darted to the Bridges-colored case brandishing the red and white cross on its side.

“Can you take the suit off for me? Just the top half.” The words came out of Heartman’s mouth slowly to give Sam time to process.

"I'm fine," Sam grumbled, gritting his teeth. He eyed Heartman's hands as if he were an injured animal, frightened by the prospect of a human approaching. Sam wasn't dumb— if Heartman was going to patch him up, he'd be touching him all over.

"Sam ." Heartman said, this time more sternly.

"I'm fine, " With an outstretched palm, Sam swiped dismissively at the air.

"Ah. No, you are not fine and if you think you are then I may be right about the concussion. You can be angry at me for this later." Heartman huffed out a laugh though his expression shifted immediately to the same stern focus as before.

Sam tried to meet Heartman’s eyes to convey his disagreement. Too soon those hands were back on him, yanking at the zipper to reveal the tank underneath. The wounds were more abundant than Heartman initially thought, though most of them superficial. 

Taking the porter outfit off was a bit like trying to dress a toddler. Sam didn't want to stay still and the refusal to cooperate ( whether intentional or not) made getting the garment over his shoulders that much more difficult. It was the touching, the electric phantom chill of his aphenphosmphobia that made it barely manageable even through the aching pain of his physical injuries.

Heartman audibly sucked in a breath as the tank was peeled away. It clung to his skin, wet with blood in a few places. At Sam's sides and back sat several puncture wounds, bloodied and bruised from where the tasers stabbed into him. His skin was rubbed raw from the shoulder straps of his apparatus, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but had been exacerbated by the battle Sam had obviously been in. Bruises stained his torso all over; the number of hand prints paled in comparison to the dark blotches. The deep cut at his arm was more visible without the material of the uniform around it.

After a cursory glance over the other Heartman was up again to grab a damp washcloth but was back within seconds. Heartman didn't need to rush but he didn't want to force Sam into discomfort for longer than necessary. 

Heartman's left hand grabbed the underside of Sam's bicep with delicate, unsure fingers while he dabbed at the open wound. Sam’s immediate reaction was to suck in a breath and hold it. Where Heartman’s fingers made contact, he felt his skin tingle, the inside of his chest lurching feeling as if something was trying to claw away.

"I'm going to stitch this up, okay? Why don't you take this and clean your face off." The rag was dropped into Sam's lap while he pulled the kit up onto the couch with him, shuffling through the supplies.

This process was just as tenuous as getting Sam to this point in the first place, all the while a tension hung in the air. Who would be the first to address this? They both knew the answer yet still stayed silent as one tortured the other with a needle. 

Sam quietly congratulated himself when he made it through the ordeal without socking Heartman in the jaw. Heartman would have congratulated him too, had he known the level of restraint Sam was practicing. With the last stitch in, the scissors cut the tied off thread and Heartman pulled his hands away like he was touching hot iron.

"You're doing great. Just the bandages now, okay?" The gauze was laid on thick over his bicep, patched over with an ace bandage. This time the motion was more tender, hands avoiding touching Sam directly. 

Though Heartman had steeled himself his eyes kept flicking to Sam's face. The stare that was returned was beyond intimidating. Heat spiked against his skin just under the suit jacket.

"Sam?" Heartman scooted back an inch or two waiting for some sort of recognition. 

Sam took a moment to assess the situation. "Fuck," he groaned, wiping his face with his hand as he shook his head.

Heartman’s stiff posture relaxed and a goofy half smile returned to his lips. 

"You didn't," he paused to take a breath, voice still hoarse, "have to do that. Would'a been fine."

"I disagree, I think I very much did have to do that.” Heartman gathered the gauze, antibacterial sprays and pain medication from the kit and dropped it in Sam’s lap. “When you decide to stop bleeding on my couch, I'd appreciate it if you bandaged the rest of your wounds as well.”

Sam gave a sniffle, running a thumb over the bandage wrapped around his arm. Whether or not he was still bleeding anywhere else, he had no idea, but he could at least start bandaging himself up. 

After a brief respite, Sam complied. Every movement shot pain up his spine, but the tingling that radiated from his arm was distracting enough.

"I shouldn't have to tell you how terrible you look at the moment. Can you please tell me what happened? I don't think I've ever seen you so hurt before." Heartman stood in front of the other, arms crossed as he watched on.

"MULES. Saw a couple ganging up on a porter so I went in and beat the shit out of them." Sam gave a scoff and while there was a smidge of pride on his lips there was just as much frustration. “I let him take my bike and I stayed behind to make sure they didn't chase after him. Turns out they're tired of me running all over 'em. Shit ton of trucks, there were like forty of them. Got tased a bunch. I used one of the boxes to bash their heads in but I left the other one alright.”

Eyes wide, Heartman simply stuttered, unable to figure out where to even start with that. Sam worked for Bridges, he had to have attended the safety briefings.

“Sam, you're going to send me to an early grave before I get the chance to do it myself. It would... Behoove you to be more careful in the future. You shouldn't have to subject yourself to a platoon of men who clearly have it out for you.”

“Didn't expect for them to send a whole fucking army,” Sam mumbled.

Heartman pressed his fingers together then steeped them in front of his face as he took a deep breath. "Forty on one is very impressive for the amount of damage you've sustained... But, I'm afraid I'm going to strongly suggest you stay put until you've healed."

"Latest I'll leave is the day after tomorrow."

They both stared at each other. Heartman in both further disbelief and imminent disagreement. Sam in oblivious confidence.

Chapter Text

“Got anything for bruises?” he asked. His entire body ached like a bitch, and Sam didn't think he'd last through the night like that.

“Nothing for bruises except time and acetaminophen. With the severity of your injuries, you'll likely be sore for the next few days.” 

“Shit,” Sam muttered, shaking his head as he slowly slumped against the back of the couch again with a prolonged groan.

“If you're looking for something to do tomorrow and the day after, you could get the peroxide out of the medicine cabinet and work on cleaning the upholstery. I could use some other help around the house as well if you're intent on being up and about.”

Sam said nothing about the implied additional day he’d be taking to rest. At the mention of the couch, he twisted carefully to the dark browning blood smears and blotches. "Where'd you say the peroxide was again?"

“The medicine cabinet. I hope you're not thinking of doing it right now. If you move your arm too much you'll pop the stitches I just put in. Ah, but I can do them over if that becomes a problem.” 

The skin on Sam’s arm crawled at the mere thought, rubbing a hand gently over the spot again. “Fuck off,” he muttered on a breathwith an instinctive shake of his head.

Heartman did a double take, unsure if that was directed at him. He elected to just ignore it and instead went into the hall to retrieve the cargo.

One package was in near perfect condition while the other had very clearly been used as a bludgeoning weapon. Sam’s eyes followed the best they could from his spot on the couch. Heartman dropped the cargo onto the floor.

“I fucked up the grocery box.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Heartman picked a chunk of hair out of the lip of the battered box. That one was pushed further off to the side. The other he lifted to inspect for damage.

“That one’s for Lou.” He motioned vaguely with a fatigued, stiff arm. Sam probably got more injured than he should have protecting the cargo. “Open it up.”

Inside was a child’s mobile, small and out of place against the machine cut foam surrounding it. Slowly, Heartman plucked the stem of the toy out of the packing. Little toy dolphins and whales hung off of strings on the arms of the mobile. They swung outward as Heartman gave the wheel a quick spin with a single finger.

Heartman placed it back down, holding a finger up indicating that Sam should hold on while he disappeared further into the house. When he came back he held a sleepy Lou in his arms.

“Very cute…” Heartman lifted the mobile up to hold it over her, seeing if it would catch her attention. “Lou, look what your daddy got you. Very thoughtful of him because he cares about you— Not so much about himself.” Heartman raised a brow at the other, jingling the mobile over Lou.

With a few groggy blinks of her eyes, she hadn't gotten the chance to stare up at Heartman before her wide brown eyes fixated on the mobile that jingled about. Sam tried to look more alive when he noticed the baby slowly starting to wake, no mind paid to Heartman’s comment.

“Thinking of hanging it above the crib.” It would definitely keep her entertained, given how she reacted to it now. Sam felt a warmth build in his chest knowing that he had done well to make sure this got to her safe. 

Heartman took the spot on the couch next to Sam, trying to be mindful of the stains left on the cushions.

“It would be perfect over the crib. And when she starts crawling and walking we can hang it in a play pen.” Lou stayed in his arms; with Sam that badly hurt, it was probably best he rested his arms until the bleeding completely stopped. Spots of blood were already soaking through parts of the bandages.

“Walking…” Sam held his cheeks full of air at the thought.

Heartman grinned down at Lou who seemed nothing but fascinated by the toy, “Mhm, then she’ll be talking and asking questions and learning so so much.” 

“Hard to imagine.” Sam gave a hoarse chuckle at the sight of Lou reaching up with stubby fingers in an attempt to capture one of the spinning creatures.

“You’ll do fine.” Heartman assured.

“I barely know how to change a diaper.” Though the smile had painted wrinkles in the corners of Sam’s eyes, there was a distance to them— like all the realization that Lou would grow up and hit these milestones was only just dawning on him now.

“I’ve seen you change her diaper, you do an excellent job.” Sam wasn’t convinced, “No one knows how to raise a child, especially not a BB.”

“Do you think that makes a difference?”

Heartman shrugged, “She’s extremely bright for her age. Her comprehension of the world around her was years ahead of what she should have been capable of.” She had protected Sam when Higgs was about to fill him with bullets and understood what was being said around her enough to show appreciation or displeasure.

“So what, she’s like a super genius?” Sam was skeptical, but there was a sense of pride in the idea of Lou being so impossibly smart.

“Uncertain, there’s no telling if her initial connection to the beach somehow amplified her cognizance or if the effect persisted after her removal.” Unless he did some tests and kept her under observation, which he might but that was for another time.

Sam didn’t want to think about what any of that meant. He definitely didn’t know how that was supposed to ease his fears of continued parenthood. Heartman caught on to the vague uneasiness— it was a different sort of uneasiness from the soreness and discomfort of being touched.

“You’re not alone. I’m here. Lockne is here.” Others too, if Sam decided to tell them. 

Sam sighed, wondering if he should ask Heartman about this— raising a kid, he meant. Heartman had automatically started to help, maybe to fill the void that had been left unfilled after an untimely voidout. Not that Sam minded. If anything, as time went on, the porter figured that he would need it even more. But the questions didn't come out, instead remaining stuck on his stern, contemplative expression.

“What did you do before porting, Sam? I understand you weren't always a porter. I was a father before I was a scientist— er and a lab assistant. I helped with research and development for a variety of projects but it was only a job. What did you do before your job became more than a job?”

Sam blinked, trying to figure out how this line of questioning was related to anything else. “Worked with Bridges 1. I was part of the main team for their plan to expand west since I had DOOMS and could repatriate.” In part, that had been more of Bridges’ incentive to push him towards more therapy with Lucy. “I was a father too. My wife was my therapist, it’s how we met. She tried to get rid of my condition even while I was with them.”

“Hm. Get rid of your condition? I would be surprised if something like that could be cured at all; merely treated. The physical manifestation of your phobia is a sort of hypochondriasis for what your body believes to be an allergy. Psychotherapy would be a step in the right direction but if Bridges expected to eliminate your condition entirely it was a fool's errand from the start.” 

“Mm,” Sam gave a single nod.

"Not to imply it's all in your head, so to speak. It's very real. Obviously. Mm. Interesting you met your wife that way. The arduous path of healing is filled with lovely surprises, no?"

“Maybe a little unethical,” Sam bit the inside of his cheek. Still, his words held a faint air of humor to them as he struggled to remember when exactly he had started falling for her, which session it had been. Or when she had started falling for him.

“A therapist marrying her patient?” Heartman responded quickly with amusement. “Yes, that's considered very taboo but not unheard of. Then again I believe we've overstepped our working relationship as well. Monstrously so. It seems to be a fairly common occurrence among Bridges staff, doesn't it?” 

Heartman gave himself a little 'Yes' as if answering for Sam; something he did on occasion especially when he didn't expect an actual response.

“Heartman needs those to live, Lou.” A hand reached up to catch Lou’s tiny fist as she clutched the wires feeding out of his shirt. 

Sam attempted to lean forward just as Heartman stood, holding his arms out.

“Your stitches.” Heartman reminded Sam, pausing to let his AED spit out a 5 minute warning. “Ah but what I was going to say before my curiosity got the better of me: There must have been a time where you weren't so inundated in the porter lifestyle. Surely you have other interests or hobbies you could indulge in? Like my films and literature.”

Sam let his sore appendages drop back down to his lap.

“You like bikes, right? Have you considered building your own?”

“Yeah, I like bikes,” Sam affirmed. He loved bikes, but they weren’t the easiest to come across or maintain. “The one I gave away to those porters I fabricated myself.” 

A familiar soft smile crossed Heartman's face. Perhaps that was a good idea. It was just something he thought of off the top of his head— people customized anything with a set of wheels all the time. At least, pre-stranding.

“The bike I had before I did all the shit for the current Bridges was… I drove it off a cliff running from BT’s. I’d love to customize one for myself though, see how cool I could make it.” 

“Er, uh. Well. You can take better care of any new bikes you make now that Timefall and BTs are a thing of the past. And not drive them off of cliffs.” Heartman cleared his throat some before heading out the room, though that didn't stop him from talking. “It would certainly be fulfilling, creating something of your own! I'm sure Bridges models are fine but with research and hands on experience you could probably improve upon them. Lockne would be a good place to start with her—” Heartman by this time had returned from placing Lou back in her crib. He didn't want to hand the baby to Sam when he still looked like that.

"Her... She seems to picked up on Mama's propensity for being gifted with mechanics." Lockne's situation was no secret, but it did make it extremely difficult to describe and frankly awkward at times to speak to her. Heartman moved to his chair as the countdown to his next cycle neared.

“Yeah, she told me,” he responded, finding a sudden longing for the bike that he had given away. That porter better have been taking damn good care of it. “Bridges' reverse trike is probably my favorite model of theirs. But the seat's a little too low sometimes. I just wanna be able to tweak it myself. When you fabricate shit, Bridges makes it too rigid. Change anything yourself and the whole damn bike falls apart. I wouldn't mind a bike that was a little faster too.”

Sam had really taken to the idea quickly. Heartman noticed the change of demeanor. Was that all he needed to do to appease a grumpy Sam?

Chapter Text

The next day passed without any major incident. It could have been worse. Sam was completely incapable of sitting still. Heartman wondered if Sam was always like this or if the fidgeting was just a learned habit from his years of porting.

Heartman kept him busy with the cleaning like he promised he would the day before, but even with the distraction he found the day was a lot longer when he had to balance out his work with watching and entertaining both Lous and Sam. All things considered, the excited conversation (for Sam) of ideas for his pet project was pleasant and he managed not to pop his stitches.

Now, it was the morning but only barely so. Heartman had been up a few hours already, getting work out of the way so that he could more fully entertain his roommate for the day. He sat in his usual spot at his desk, switching between speed reading a research paper on his laptop and rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses.

“You, uh,” Sam started, clearing his throat, “seen my hair tie around?”

Heartman spotted the porter in the doorway to the kitchen. The cut at his cheek was bandaged, a white square of gauze crookedly taped over it. Considering his injuries, Sam already looked a lot better. He was still tired though, he never had enough sleep and the caffeine addiction wasn't helping him process what he was seeing. 

Sam was in front of him, looking around the room dressed in his porter uniform. Heartman did a double take, glancing at the laptop to check the date and time.

“Nevermind.” Sam finally spotted it on the arm rest of the couch. Heartman shook his head, stuttering with a few Er's and Uh's but not forming any words as Sam crossed back up the short set of stairs and onto the catwalk.

“Hold— Sam. Hold on!” There was a quick scramble, the laptop was shut and his office chair pushed out behind him with some loud clattering. He closed the distance pretty fast for someone who spent most of his time sitting and reading.

There was no outward indication that Sam was listening, not even turning to acknowledge him.

“Where are you going? Why are you dressed? It's uh- it's very early, you could be sleeping in... I was going to wake you up with breakfast.” Heartman wedged himself between Sam and the railing to cut him off.

With a vaguely confused expression, Sam tried to find space around him. Nothing. He was stuck there, gridlocked.

“I hope you're not planning on going out because that would be reckless.”

“I said I was gonna head out today. I can handle it,” A step to the right in an attempt to get around and use his bulk to will Heartman out the way.

Heartman stepped further into the way.

“Stayed here all day yesterday and I got a bunch of sleep.” He had the physical capability to push Heartman out of the way rather easily, but could he? Of course not. His gloved hands fidgeted at the straps by his underarms.

“Right. I remember you saying that. I said, if I recall correctly, that your body needs more than a day to heal. You may be accustomed to Bridges pushing you to your limits but you don't need to do that anymore, Sam. You have a warm bed to rest in and a daughter to care for.”

Heartman made a very good obstacle with his body, Sam completely incapacitated by the physical blockade of his mere presence. He repeated his go to montra: “I’m fine.”

“Is porting more important than your health?” Heartman asked, taking a step forward.

The movement toward Sam was startling and he stumbled back a step as if afraid Heartman would continue forward and barrel into him. A grimace dominated his features, both in slight pain from having tightened all his muscles at once but also from showing a physical reaction like that from the least scary person on earth.

“You are always fine, Sam.” Heartman took another step. They became locked in a dance, spinning around each other slowly like two gunslingers readying for a duel. Heartman held a finger at him, Sam giving a blink as he tried to process what was going on. 

Sam watched as Heartman moved away and down the steps. He wasn’t about to wait for whatever objection would be thrown at him now and turned for the door again now that the physical barrier had moved himself.

Heartman stepped around the couch, toward the window then gestured with his hand to activate the motion sensor. With another gesture and a few flicks of his fingers the gentle oranges and yellows of the rising sun blocked out. The screen went black and the cool blues and vibrant pinks filled the room along with the voice of the computer, "Lab security measures activated."

Sam glanced back again to try to see what exactly Heartman was doing when the lights went out. Quickly catching on, he rushed forward just in time for the exit to lock with a click. He slammed his palm into the polished metal but it didn’t budge. It was made to keep people out and it’d be just as good at keeping people in. Shaking his head, he leaned his back against the wall. " Fuck ," he hissed on a breath, frustration dissipating as quickly as it had come. 

Heartman spun around after, a sympathetic look on his face as if he wasn’t the one responsible for locking both of them in.

“You're really gonna hole me up in here forever.” Sam pushed himself off of the wall, walking back towards the study dejectedly.

“Forever?” Heartman stepped away from the screen to slump back into his desk chair. “I'm not keeping you here forever. I'm... unsure how to impart on you that leaving in your current condition is more than dangerous. Both for your body and your life, given the circumstances surrounding you receiving those injuries. We still don't know if you can repatriate and I'd really prefer not finding out like this.”

The words hit something in the unknowable space between Sam’s ears. There was, in part, a curiosity. Curiosity in if he really could repatriate still, but also a sliver of fear at the possibility that he couldn’t. That was as much as Heartman could read.

“If our positions were switched, I'd hope that you would stop me from doing something like this. Have you stopped to look at yourself in the mirror?” The bruises splotched the side of Sam's face like a creeping moss.

“It looks worse than it is. I just can’t stand not doing anything for days.” Sam bit the inside of his cheek, chewing contemplatively.

“You will be healing . Hardly nothing. You can't really be completely incapable of finding ways to occupy your mind. There's plenty to do.” Heartman waved a hand around the room before getting up once more; might as well make them something to drink.

Sam had settled back onto the couch, trying and failing to get a boot off with the toe of the other. No indication that he was listening besides the indignation in the slow removal of his uniform.

Heartman went about the familiar process of making both of them coffee, appearing once again blowing on the steaming surface of one mug. 

“I'm sorry for resorting to something so ... dramatic .” He handed the slightly cooled peace offering off to Sam, “I don't want to nor do I enjoy using your aphenphosmphobia and the lab security to keep you here. You're not a prisoner, I hope you don't feel that way.”

Shifting to unzip his uniform, Sam glowered at the door over his shoulder. 

“Can you even lift your arms over your head?”

With the question, Sam’s furrowed brows twitched in a shift from expressing his injured fatigue to something more defensive. “Yeah,” he grumbled. Finally, the boots came off with a few lazy kicks of his heel against the floor.

“Yes?” Heartman questioned as he watched Sam undress himself. His eyes caught on the visible bruising on Sam’s arms. And the bandages. And then the rest of him.

“I’ve gotten better,” Sam set the coffee aside then tried to stretch his shoulders out. At about 45 degrees, a sharp pain shot through one shoulder blade and spread out into his chest. The porter sucked in a breath as he dropped his arms with a defeated sputter of his lips.

Heartman gave a short smile, hoping to relieve the tension. The evidence was undeniable now, Sam would have to stay.

“It's still early, you could go back to bed. Or find something else that doesn't involve something so strenuous. The deliveries can wait a while longer.” That was the best assurance he could give.

“No,” he groaned at the thought of going back to bed. “We’ve already cleaned the place, it’s not like we can just clean it again.”

“Well, there are plenty of things to do, like I said. Books, movies, board games- chess? Learn a new skill, cooking, sewing so you can fix your ruined clothes.” There was a pause as he watched the other's face, seeing if any of that interested him. “You're a smart man, you can find something.”

Sam’s expression contorted, the porter shaking his head at each of the suggestions.

“Whatever you decide, Lou will be overjoyed to have you here another day.”

***

Subject: You’re Disconnected

Sender: Die-Hardman

I’m glad to hear that your research is going well. As you are already aware, your work is invaluable to Bridges and to America. As time goes on, it will undoubtedly prove to be the foundation of all metachriology, beach science and chiral network innovations. Of course, I’m not emailing you purely to pat you on the back. I know you don’t need it, your dedication is what motivates you. That’s also why I wanted to speak to you personally, but it seems like it’s even harder to connect with you than before the network was established.

The world is changing. There’s hope beyond the horizon and endless possibilities for America and her people. As a core member of Bridges, I’m sure you understand more than anyone that she’s weak and vulnerable and far from done fighting. The separatists didn’t disappear with Higgs, our people are traumatized from a generation of living in bunkers, and we don’t have nearly enough doctors to be dealing with either. What I mean to say is: it’s dangerous out there. 

I don’t want to presume why you’ve disconnected from the network but in any case you still have Bridges’ funding and support. We should set up a meeting. Perhaps in person? My schedule may have gotten busier but I’ll find the time.

***

Lou swung her arms up at the creatures spinning overhead. She had no idea anything was ever wrong, the bruises and discoloration didn't register on her face the same way it did when she was still in the pod. Back then, she could see that he was hurt and though she could do nothing about it she would offer him a pouty lip or a pitiful look.

“You don't like being inside all day either, do you?” Sam mumbled and Lou's giant eyes rolled over to his face. Could she understand him? At one point he felt like they understood each other perfectly. He plugged into a defective BB and shared an intimate moment with them that cascaded into newfound parenthood.

Sam breathed in slowly. His lungs weren't as tender now, but he didn't want to push it and get lectured. “When you're older, I'll take you porting with me again. Too dangerous right now.” 

He leaned over the crib, resting his chin on his forearms against the metal railing. Lou's full attention was on him, aside from the hand in her mouth. 

“Yeah I got fucked up pretty good. Bunch of MULES.” 

Sam stayed there. Every time he spent more than a minute looking at her he rediscovered how small and fragile she was. Then he remembered all the shit she was put through, stuff she never asked for. She was young, she'd probably forget that she saved his life all those times, she'd forget she was a BB. 

Maybe far into the future when she started her own family, she too would have those flashes of memories. A time capsule that he could only hope was full of their warm moments together. 

Sam ran his hands over his face. The worst thing about staying inside was that he had nothing to focus on. He couldn't just turn his brain off and put one foot in front of the other until his muscles ached and he had no energy to attempt thinking about anything anyways. Heartman was putting ideas in his head now, making him think about trivial things like taking care of himself and the future . And it was always just a little bit rude, but in a way that would make Sam cross his eyes inward at himself. 

“Fuck.” Sam pressed his palm into his forehead, “I'm so bored .” 

Lou's mouth widened into a toothless grin around her hand. She withdrew a slobbery finger and pointed it at Sam.

Sam waited, not expecting words so much as some sort of mutual understanding. Lou pulled the hand back, plugging it straight back into her mouth.

“I get it. You’re cute.” He dropped an arm into the crib for her to swat at and probably drool on as well. It wasn’t so bad, he guessed, maybe it was just habit. It felt wrong to be staying still for too long.

Chapter Text

Sam watched the screen intently as a list of barely decipherable text overtook it. A bar of light highlighted the first listing and blinked, selecting it. RIDE-S01E01CKCA. Sam couldn’t tell what the last few letters stood for, but even he recognized the name of his favorite show. He chuckled as the familiar opening sequence of the first episode began to play a little too loudly.

“This shit’s great. It’s been years since I’ve seen it, I miss it.” Sam talked over the landscape shots and scooted over slightly in a more inviting movement. He took his place on the bloodstained portion of the couch (scrubbed and faded to just sad brown smears now). “The guy’s amazing, I loved riding around like he does when I would do deliveries. When I did freelance porting, I’d just ride everywhere, ride to go nowhere sometimes. It’s relaxing.”

The bikes and riding them long distances were the focus (duh) but the show was also a monument to pre-stranding America. The interconnectedness, people bustling outside, the landscape before it had been terraformed by a massive surge of voidouts. For Sam, it was nostalgic. He saw the America that was gone and, in his opinion, would never come back, but mostly it reminded him of feeling like he understood someone. While everyone else wanted to squirrel away in their holes, he wanted to ride.

Then a voice picked up from the screen, causing Heartman’s brows to knit together. He looked to the screen then to Sam. 

“Wh-” Heartman started, head swinging back and forth, perplexed.

“What?” Sam barely pulled his eyes away from the opening sequence to acknowledge Heartman’s confusion.

“You’re—” Heartman cut himself off as he finally settled on Sam, ignoring the show entirely. A hand reached out to the back of Sam’s head to gently tug the hair-tie from his short ponytail. 

Sam leaned forward instinctively to escape causing the band to slip right off his head. It startled him, but it hadn’t sent his heart into a racing panic as it normally might.

His hair tumbled over his ears in unkempt strands. Normally, he’d already had it down when he was inside, but Heartman had caught him at exactly the wrong moment for this viewing and didn’t take no for an answer. His host stared at him in astonishment, as if they hadn’t been sharing the same space for weeks. Sam’s head couldn’t recede into his neck much more and he was almost convinced that if he moved, he’d break some hyper-important mysterious concentration that Heartman was facilitating.

“Sam, that looks like you. This is a pre-stranding show... That's incredible. I’m—” Heartman leaned forward in his seat, a thumb and index finger going to his chin. “I’ve heard of doppelgangers before but had never seen it in practice.”

Sam was already shaking his head, “The hell are you talking about? I don’t look like him, I don’t even talk like him,” he grumbled. “My wife said the same thing. I don’t see it.”

“You're kidding.” Heartman laughed, again switching from the screen to Sam. The man in the show was a lot more laid back than Sam. The personalities were different without question.

Sam shook his head in insistence; he had never seen the resemblance and didn’t expect to see it any time soon. There was a contemplative silence that followed. Heartman pursed his lips at Sam’s cheery doppelganger with (what Sam assumed to be) scientific fascination. Sam allowed himself to settle once more into his seat but hugged his arms over his chest and tapped his fingers over a bicep…

“I got more muscle than him anyways.” a hint of amusement managed to pierce back into his expression in the form of a cheeky tilt of the head.

“Yes, you do seem to be more fit than him. You really don't see the similarities at all?” Heartman persisted.

“Uh-uh.”

“Y— Look, you have the same tattoo on your hand! That can't be a coincidence!” An accusing finger was gesturing out to the recording. 

“Oh,” Sam missed the scene that showed the tattoo, but he’d watched enough to know exactly what Heartman was talking about. “I got this because of the show…”

“Oh!” Heartman parroted.

“I must have been seventeen, eighteen maybe.” Practically half his age now.

“You don’t sound especially pleased about it. It suits you!”

“I thought it was cool.” It was embarrassing enough to admit it, it was worse having to talk about it.

“Not the worst impulsive tattoo decision you could make.”

Sam snorted, trying to dispel the sudden bashfulness “You’d know a lot about that?”

“That would be a fun secret, wouldn’t it? I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

Heartman couldn’t keep secrets, Sam thought to himself immediately. But Heartman was smirking at him and he wondered if he was meant to take that as a joke or a challenge. Either way, Heartman’s sense of fun was clearly warped. He decided not to comment on it and Heartmen refrained from further comments about his likeness to the host.

With his attention fixed on the show, Sam was still relatively subdued in his speech. Yet, it didn’t stop him from speaking up from time to time to make comments in admiration. Despite the fact that Sam knew several motorcycle tricks of his own, he was still in awe every time he saw one on screen.

“I’ve always wanted to try a pre-stranding bike. I like the big headlights and shit. I think I’d run one for fun.” Heartman had planted the idea of bike customization in his head, and every so often it came surfacing. “The Bridges bikes look cool too, but I think I’d keep them for delivering.”

“They're very loud and seem to run on gas, you'd be hard-pressed to find convenient ways of fueling your pre-stranding bike.”

He was sure he’d find some way to fuel it up, someone at a prepper shelter had to have some fuel.

“Hey, Sam. There is one thing I'm noticing. Everyone here is wearing helmets and road leathers- should you be doing that too?”

“Uniform doesn’t come with a helmet.”

Heartman gave a firm shake of his head. “Not yet, maybe.”

“I don’t really care. I know how to handle one, never fallen over like that to bust my head open.” All the motorcycle accidents he had gotten in hadn’t involved his head; he couldn’t imagine a situation in which he’d have to protect his head. If he had gone off the cliff with his bike, then a helmet wouldn’t have done jack shit for him. He shrugged. “And it looks more badass without one.”

A look was exchanged between them- or more accurately, Heartman gave Sam a look. “He wears a helmet, isn't he cool?”

“Yeah. But it looks badass without a helmet.”

“You'll have to explain the dichotomy between cool and badass . I'm afraid I'm severely uneducated in this field.”

Sam turned his head to hide his smirk. That, he could tell, Heartman was serious about.

Chapter Text

Sam's room was filling up with toys for Lou. Little trinkets for her to teethe on or toss around in her tiny fist. With the crib, diapers, and bottles, it looked more like the room belonged to Lou than it did to Sam. But he did add his own personal touch to it, even if for him that meant decorating his end table with monster energy.

At some point, he had also gotten a customized fabrication model of a Bridges bike from Lockne, which she had printed on the spot for him much to his surprise and excitement. It was a reverse trike, only the headlights were made more prominent, and the handlebars were more grip-friendly. While still stable, the design was made sleeker, and the top speed was 20 mph faster than the regular Bridges bike. There was more science she went over, but Sam retained none of the technical wording, and only that limitations placed on the previous designs by the Stranding no longer applied.

Needless to say, he had ridden it around quite often soon after. Even as the snow around Heartman’s home started to extend at the base of the mountain and become heavier towards the top, Sam was still keen on making deliveries. Without timefall snow to ruin him, he was much more eager to head than before. With another customization, Lockne had helped him get built-in all-terrain for the wheels, and deployable chains just in case, and Sam had taken advantage, riding up and down the snowy mountainside with ease.

The sun was just starting to set and Sam was riding back up the mountain. Hood up, the porter narrowed his eyes at the faint glow that shone over the snowy peaks as he made his way over a crest. Beautiful blues and pinks lined the railings line a runway. They reminded Sam of the neon hues that triggered during Heartman’s time on the beach. 

Sam rode slowly up the steps until he came to the sliding glass door where the display traced across the side of the shelter in the shape of a heart then continued inside.

Wreaths of twisted sticks and dried autumn leaves joined the eccentric art pieces on the walls. Tinsel and even more lights coiled up the pedestals in the hallway. Even the fireplace, as minimalist as it normally was, hadn't gone unassaulted. He stood there for a good minute trying to make sure he didn’t end up going to the wrong place. The lights glowed faintly in the oncoming dusk.

“You were busy...” Sam let the foggy cloud of his breath tickle his nose for a moment longer before he stepped inside.

“The hell is all this for?” He shouted the question from the lobby as he tapped the snow off of his boots. Sam took a moment to soak in the warmth directly in front of the fireplace. There, three stockings hung. He lowered his face to one to scrutinize it, going as far as to pull a glove off and feel the fabric between his thumb and index. They were real- why wouldn't they be? 

“Sam!” Heartman responded from the study.

Sam tucked the cargo box of groceries under one arm and slipped his boots off before he made his way inside. As the door slid open, he was assaulted with chromatic pageantry. Just like the hall, but now it smelled faintly of… cinnamon? Sam took a step in, head on a swivel only to jump back a second later.

The BT statues. When he thought he’d gotten used to them, now they were greeting him with fuzzy red hats and knitted scarves. Somehow that made them more unnerving than they usually were. Sam pushed one away indignantly and watched it creak back and forth on the suspending wires. Those damn statues.

“Surprised? It's December, so I thought I would do a little decorating. Normally I pace myself but I was feeling festive and wanted to see the look on your face.” Instead of the characteristic blue suit, Heartman wore a vibrant red one. A goofy grin dominated his expression. “That one right there!”

“December?” Sam repeated. He hadn't been keeping track of the day of the week let alone the month . “This is for… Christmas? Is it today?”

“Yes, it's for Christmas.” Heartman assured, “It's December first, Sam. I do this every year for myself. The lights, the smell of gingerbread, eggnog, wine, a warm fire. It's very soothing on my nerves.”

December first. Heartman was saying that as if it weren't currently Christmas, and Sam was sure he'd remember a holiday that was on the first day of the month. Later in the month, maybe. Fuck if he could remember. As a child, the holiday had been highly anticipated but Bridget was rarely there to spend it with him. While Bridget was busy trying to bring holiday cheer to the dwindling masses and tending to her responsibilities (he was told they were very important, especially during the holidays), Amelie had been the one to keep him company. Looking back, the thought made his stomach turn disgusted sadness.

“Do you like it?” Heartman straightened out his suit and Sam had to think if he meant the outfit or the room. The room, probably.

Sam blinked himself out of his thoughts and let his eyes scan the room once more. Ornaments hung artfully from the ribs of the great whale skeleton on the ceiling, minimalist glass sculptures resembling snowflakes brought new life to the shelves, and Heartman wrapped colorful fairy lights around anything that would have them. “Yeah. It's nice.”

The scientist turned around in his spot, grabbed a plate off the desk, and met Sam in the center of the room as he trundled down the steps. Heart-shaped cookies littered the platter.

“It's been a while for me. Christmas. Can't remember the last time I did anything for it.” Sam took a cookie with his ungloved hand, looking over it briefly, sniffing it, before finally taking a bite. Cinnamon and something sweet that he couldn’t place— that must have been what the smell was.

“Well, now you can!” Heartman gave a quick thumbs-up. “You don't have to get anything for me, I don't want the stress of obligation to be on your mind. But we could find some festive films, maybe think of gifts for others- I'm sure Lockne is too busy in Mountain Knot to get herself anything.”

Sam pushed the rest of his treat into his cheek with his thumb. He had never missed Christmas. He never even celebrated it with his wife, being too preoccupied with Bridges 1 to even consider the holiday. The order load was the heaviest at that time of year and on top of that people still needed food and medicine. 

Heartman gestured vaguely, “Relax, drink, tell stories, spend time with... friends. Enjoy the atmosphere.” The grin on his face would be infectious to anyone who wasn't as steeled to the outside world as Sam. 

Sam eyed the festive BTs in the corner as he cleaned the crumbs off his fingers against his leg. If Heartman was so into it, then he figured that he had to get him a gift. It only seemed natural.

***

“You do this by yourself every year?” Sam didn’t know where to look so his head remained on a swivel.

“Yes. I used to do this with my wife. A bit of a tradition. We would decorate the house together. It was more her thing than mine. Er— I think it was because of my colorblindness that she was insistent that she decorate… I have trouble differentiating and when everything is so bright it does pop quite a bit. It is rather resplendent to me, I admit. I can only wish it's not too hideous.” Heartman chuckled.

Sam looked around again, seeing the lighting and the traditional red and green Christmas decorations. “No, it's fine,” He wondered what exactly Heartman saw, then. Was it just gray? Or was it some other color? 

Heartman paused, looking off into space a moment before speaking up again, “I like the idea of it too. It's certainly not a religious obligation for me, I'm agnostic. Even if I was alone I could feel like I was a part of something, connecting to something. Hm. It's different now.”

It was different for Sam too, immensely so. Sam seated himself on the couch in his usual spot, arms bare and hair down. The cookies Heartman made were out on an end table and within arms reach. He unconsciously took one as he sunk into the cushion. “So what? You do something different every day, then? I dunno how this is supposed to work.”

“Heh, no, nothing specific. We carry on with our days normally for the most part.” Heartman was busy again as if suddenly remembering something. He reached into his desk and pulled out a red sweater from its drawers. He held it up to himself before folding it and placing it neatly on the desk’s surface, “There are plenty of pre-stranding Christmas movies we could enjoy some time or another and it's a good excuse to make a large dinner.” 

Sam's eyes quickly locked onto the vivid red sweater noting the white stitching that outlined yet another heart in the center of the garment. It was tacky but oddly characteristic of the other man.

“You speak as if you're entirely unfamiliar with the concept.”

“Didn’t celebrate it at all. I must have been a kid the last time I saw a tree.” With no one else sitting around it but he and Amelie. Heartman didn’t have one here either, but the almost excessive amount of decorations certainly made up for that slight lack. Sam could bring one in if he wanted it, maybe. Where he’d find one, he had no idea. “You decorated pretty good for someone who can't see color,” he added offhandedly, mouth half-full of his third cookie.

Heartman perked up with a tilt of his head and a furrowing of his brow. The confusion melted away quickly back into a smile. “I can see color, just not the same ones as you.” A familiar flick of his wrist activated the screen behind him.

Sam directed his attention to the screen, his eyes narrowing at the sight— was he always prepared for something like this?

A bar of color appeared on the screen from red to purple. “This is what you see. A full spectrum of color. I have tritanopia, a form of colorblindness wherein I am missing my short-wavelength cone or S-cone .” 

Heartman continued on with big medical-sounding words that Sam had never heard before. It wasn’t so bad until Heartman started bringing cones into it, then Sam glanced at the little chiral hourglass to check how much golden sand was left.

“To you, that would look like this.” Heartman flicked a finger pulling up another bar of color underneath the first. Instead of a full rainbow, it was full entirely of reds and blues, much like the lighting in the study when the window would blackout. Sam glanced around again to take another look at the decor. He nearly made a comment about living like that, but he was sure Heartman would give him the same response as he had given the last time he said something like that about his heart condition.

“You ever wonder what the other ones look like?” The other colors. Sam leaned over to aptly run his fingers over a little green ornament that hung from a string of lights wrapped around the end table. He tried to place what the equivalent would be on Heartman’s spectrum.

“Mm. I have, yes. But imagining colors you've never seen before is impossible. Imagine trying to explain the beach to someone who has never been there. You could and they would understand, but they would never be able to feel what the absence of time is. Don't feel sorry for me though, I'm perfectly content with this. From what I understand, my limited palette can be quite beautiful.” Heartman swiped the figures to the side and pulled up a few photographs, all of them landscapes filled entirely with blues and reds. The cool tones mixed together into a sort of almost gray palette but that only made the reds stand out even more.

Sam stared hard at the photographs, wondering if there were any colors that he couldn’t see. There must have been— but Sam wouldn’t have been able to imagine those either. The porter gave a couple of understanding nods. Some day, maybe, he’d try to figure out a way to explain green to him. Or he’d try to explain yellow. Or anything else, really. Sam would sit on that thought while he could.

“I have a hard time telling the difference between blues and greens and reds and oranges. It doesn't affect my day-to-day life much at all. Besides my wardrobe.” Heartman had joined Sam on the couch now, he wasn’t sure when that happened. “It'll be Lou's first Christmas.”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice. I’ll try to pick something up for her when I can. Is uh,” He cleared his throat. “When is it?”

An arm went over the back of the couch as Heartman pulled an ankle over his knee. “Hm. When's what? Christmas?” Heartman blinked, “Christmas is the 25th. 24 more days to pick out a gift for Lou if you'd like. I don't think she'll remember so there isn't too much pressure.”

The 25th. It was currently the first. Sam would have to keep track of the days himself. For Lou, he wanted to get something a little bit more. He doubted she would remember, but it was thought that counted. Sam’s eyes trailed back towards the window where he noticed the chiral hourglass had run out and been reset. All without him noticing. He must have lost track of time.

“Oh, another thing I wanted to ask. Since you two will be here, we should take a photo. Build new memories. The sweater on the desk is for you and I got Lou a smaller one so you two could match.” He jerked his head towards the desk.

The red sweater sat still folded and waiting, apparently, Sam’s for the taking. He rose from his seat slowly at first. It’d be worse if he refused to take it, Sam had never been one for sweaters. He liked his arms to be free to the wind. It wouldn’t hurt to humor him. New memories. That’s what he was given this second chance for, he guessed. He’d better make the most of it.

Sam took his last (he hoped) cookie and dusted his fingers against each other as he approached the offering. The reds and whites were vivid, almost blindingly so. Sam traced his thumb over the knitted heart with his thumb then searched for the second sweater that would be for Lou. It was the same as Sam's, only much smaller. Where Heartman had gotten this, he had no idea, but he kept the question to himself. Taking it over to the crib in his room he managed to slip the sweater over her and carried her— she had grown quite a bit, gaining a bit of chub on her cheeks and arms. 

It was only a moment later when he returned to the study, sweater over his tank top as well. It fit just a bit too perfectly except for around his biceps. 

“She’s adorable,” Sam mumbled as he tickled at her cheek with the other hand. Lou giggled and grabbed at his sleeve with her small palms.

Chapter Text

“Ohhh.” Heartman cooed bending over to be eye level with her. Sam held Lou securely to make sure she didn’t topple out of his hold as she reached out to try to swipe at Heartman’s nose.

“Aren't you precious? Oh, we will definitely want a picture of this.”

Heartman's use of a baby voice often made Sam bite the inside of his cheek to maintain a composed exterior. Unfortunately, Heartman was using it more frequently, making it even harder for Sam to keep his cool.

Heartman rummaged through his belongings until he found a camera, along with its accompanying tripod not too far away. He set it up in the middle of the room, facing a neater section of shelving. Heartman explained that he did so to prevent any glare from the window. Although the view from the office out to the frozen crater would have made a great backdrop, the scientist lamented to no one in particular that the lighting wouldn't have been right.

“Why don't you stand over there for me?”

“I’m not good at pictures.” Sam awkwardly took his place in the general area where he’d been directed. Then a few steps back and to the side when Heartman came over to wave his hands an inch over his arm and shoulder as more percise instruction.

“You look brilliant, smile.” Heartman pressed two fingers into his cheek, pulling his own mouth into a grin. Belatedly, Sam attempted to follow suit with a slight upturn of his lips. With his shoulders pulled back, Sam looked like a steel rod had replaced his spine.

Heartman returned to the camera, navigating menus to adjust settings. He held up 3 fingers. Three. Two. One…

A mechanical click signaled the aperture snapping two photos of the pair.

“Excellent. Just one more.”

Just before Sam could relax his already aching cheeks, Heartman set another timer and rushed over. Sam didn’t have time to consciously react to the sudden proximity of the other man, but his body told him how close Heartman was standing to him when goosebumps trailed up his arm underneath the sweater.

“I like photography. I'm not much of an artist myself but, as you can see, I am a bit of an enthusiast.”

Another click as a third snapshot was taken. Sam wondered if Heartman even smiled or if the photo captured Heartman mid-sentence.

“I'm not sure if I would consider these to be art in a colloquial sense but I think the sentimentality, or memories behind these keepsakes could be in and of itself a form of it. It's subjective and abstract. As long as they evoke feeling, who is to say?” Heartman rambled, rubbing under his glasses as he recovered from the flash. “Oh, how did they turn out?”

Though Sam spent most of the time at Heartman’s side focused on tingling skin, the substance of the words spoken to him had been absorbed. Memories as art— it sent him back to the not too distant past of plugging into his BB. Little frozen moments in history that could have belonged to Lou for all he knew at the time. Bittersweet, distressing in the same ways a movie or book could be. But this was a good memory and it’d be idolized in a picture just in case Sam’s memory bailed on him. Though, as he glanced back at Heartman and his bright red suit and equally bright smile, he doubted this would ever slip his mind.

He used the photos as an excuse to break away, letting his muscles process the task at hand while he regained his senses more fully. Heartman really was standing close to him… Lou caught his eye next, sweatered and looking anywhere else besides the camera in every photo.

“Looks as good as it’ll get,” He scrolled back to their group picture, giving a thumbs up to mirror the one that Heartman gave in the photo. “What’re you gonna do with these?”

“Mm. I'm not sure. Print them out and hang them up? It's about time I started a new photo album.”

Sam wandered over to the cookies as Heartman took his place in reviewing the pictures. Lou reached for it, wrangling his fist to steer the treat directly into her mouth and Sam let her. She gummed at it, getting crumbs all over her cheeks turning it to questionable mush.

“The walls in my bedroom have been too bare for my liking, I was considering commissioning some new pieces but this would be a nice place to start as any. If you weren't trying to be discrete I would suggest a holiday card,” Heartman continued.

As Sam stole the treat back away from Lou to finish off for himself, he looked again at the photo from over Heartman’s shoulder. With their matching colors, if they put this on a holiday card it’d look like a family portrait.

Suddenly, Heartman’s AED was belting out a warning. The countdown meant both of them had either not noticed or willfully ignored the other notifications. They were blending more into the background with each day, just as common place as the thrum of the heat kicking on or the howl of wind. Sam’s head turned to the timer that duplicated itself on the equipment by the window.

The thought that Heartman should probably lay down hit them both at the same time. They both stepped to the left, Sam spinning back around to see he was still in the way. In tandem, they moved to the right. Finally, they managed to coordinate and Heartman made it all of three steps before he teetered backwards. The timer glared an angry ‘00:00’ at them, as if to say they had plenty of time had they only listened.

Sam nearly stuck his free arm out but hesitated for a moment too long. Luckily the padded floor caught the dead weight for him. Lou burst out in laughter, pointing and clumsily waving a chubby finger at the downed man.

“Not funny, Lou,” he grumbled back at her, walking around the body to see if he could help in some way. While Sam knew Heartman was alright, he still wanted to prop him up or move him. At least put him in a less compromising position.

With a hurried movement, Sam redid the chiral hourglass with a tap against the desk. Then he paused as he went to move the tripod… He placed Lou on the ground beside Heartman, rushing towards the camera. “Maybe a little bit funny,” he amended as he lowered the tripod and set the camera timer up.

Lou took the opportunity to test if she could fit one of Heartman’s lapels in her mouth. When that didn’t work, she stuck her hand in his mouth instead. As before, Lou paid no attention to the camera while Sam squatted behind the two. He held up two fingers idly, expression stern as he waited for the flash to go off.

“Nice,” Sam whispered to himself, wrangling the camera from the tripod just as Heartman began to stir.

* * *

It seemed like it would be an idle day of delivery until Sam checked the terminal in Heartman’s lobby. He squinted as he read the orders, committing them to memory. Given that the orders were so diverse, he’d have to his his head against the mountainside for him to forget.

Alcohol— labeled FRAGILE in yellow lettering— rare beetles, which Sam figured were for research purposes, and cargo marked as [UNLISTED]. He swallowed thickly at that as the memory of the Higgs delivery flashed into his mind. Heartman wasn’t like that. Maybe not for malicious purposes, anyways. Maybe it’d be best to go on foot for those orders.

Sam had picked up all of Heartman’s cargo first, making sure the fragile bottles were at the base of the everyground pile of boxes strapped to his back. On both sides of his hips were thin cargo boxes holding the beetles. And stacked carefully on top of the alcohol was the unmarked cargo. He made sure that he would definitely not topple over for this one, lest he either break all the bottles on his back or die in an explosion. Or both, he guessed, if the latter happened first.

On top of those, Heartman had asked him to take the camera to the photographer- not as an order, just as a favor to develop their most recent pictures. So, instead of packing it into a marked box, it hung by its strap around his neck. While he really only needed the chip inside, Sam felt more confident he wouldn’t lose it if it were strapped onto his body somewhere.

So, he also took the opportunity to capture sprawling grassy hills and rocky mountainsides. Getting the photographs processed hadn’t taken as much time as he had thought it would have.

He was surprised when the photographer didn’t ask any questions as she took the camera away. He’d been imagining a process involving pinning chemical laden white squares onto a clothes line, but that would have taken far longer.

Sam donned his sunglasses and put his hood up along with his other accessories he’d been using to avoid detection until he was confident that he looked as generic of a freelancer as he could manage.

The chiralgram greeted him with a smile as he entered the bunker, “It’s digital, I just ran the files through my printer.”

The pnuematic hiss of the cargo shelf signaled the arrival of an envelope, thick with a stack of glossy photos in no time at all.

“…Did you look?” Sam trusted Heartman knew what he was doing sending him here, but the fear that there was an oversight and the photographer could have caught a peek at his face crept through him.

“I know better than that,” She laughed, “I’ve seen enough of his research to last a lifetime.”

Sam recalled a short break he took on the way to the small bunker where he’d flipped through his landscapes and found bodies and dissections in progress as well. He wondered if she’d also accidently caught a glimpse of a corpse or two while filling Heartman’s orders.

He bowed his head in place of saying goodbye and started back on his path up the mountain.

* * *

It had started to snow a few minutes before he got to the door, Sam trudging in as he shook his head to get the flakes of snow off of his tied-back hair. For once Heartman wasn't in his study. Instead out in the lobby where the fire painted the reflective glass with an orange glow.

Heartman turned at the sound of the automiatic doors just in time to be feel the accompanying gust of chilled wind across his face. His hand was stuffed into an oversized red sock clearly not meant for wearing. Something inside crinckled as he withdrew to pull his suit jacket tighter over himself.

“Welcome back!”

“Uh,” Sam cleared his throat as he detached the packages from his hips and placed them near the fireplace. “Beetles,” he motioned.

Heartman watched Sam unload the cargo, giving a nod as he glanced down at the box placed on the floor. The beetles were for research based on his most recent studies relating to chiralium and its effects on wild life. There had to be a lot of swapping with the biologist down the way to produce real results.

The cargo off Sam’s back was set down gently, “Drinks. And uh, whatever that is.”

Finally, he produced a manila envelope from his uniform, “Photos.”

The clanking of bottles in a metal case took Heartman’s attention briefly before the envelope did. That must be the wine he ordered. Probably in excellent condition too, normally he would check but with Sam he rarely found everything wasn't in order.

“Do I need to go out? It’s not... dangerous, is it?”

“Hm? Oh is that the unmarked one?” The scientist reached down to grab it off the floor with one hand. His handling of the cargo elicited a soft thunk from inside as the contents shifted.

Sam instinctively stepped back.

“Dangerous? By itself, no. It's a surprise though, I'm afraid I can't tell you what it is.” He punctuated with a soft shake of the box. More thumping as what ever inside hit against the sides through the padding.

Sam gave a couple of slow nods as he continued to eye the box. A surprise didn’t sound any better, but with the shaking the scientist did, he didn’t have to worry about anything blowing up.

“Can you please help take the rest in? I've been looking forward to getting that wine, I didn't think you'd make the trip today.” Heartman gestured for Sam to follow as he went back inside. The mystery package went on top of the desk, unopened.

Sam carried the rest in, placing the wine near the kitchen door only for it to be snatched up by Heartman when his hands were free.

“Do you like red wine, Sam? I should have asked before I ordered it, I admit I got a little ahead of myself.”

“Not really,” he admitted. “But a drink’s a drink. Can’t be picky with alcohol.” Timefall Porter had become popular with the Death Stranding and other than that he hadn’t had much else.

“Normally I perfer white but this wine, I think, is worth a try. This is one of my favorites though so forgive my bias.”

Cracking the cargo open, Sam observed over Heartman’s shoulder. This was fancy wine. Expensive shit. Heartman handed the bottle off to Sam to inspect more closely, though Sam wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Most of the label was in French- or maybe Italian- and the thick green glass made the contents seem far darker than it must have been. He imagined he wouldn’t have a say in whether he tried it or not.

* * *

Sam ran a towel through his hair. The heat and lingering moisture of his shower clung to his skin like morning dew. Lou was just as fresh as him, happy and bundled up in a onesie that Heartman must have gotten her judging by the trail of tiny cartoonish handprints printed over the chest and back. Clothes and toys for her just appeared in his room occasionally and he wasn’t one to complain.

After dinner, he put her down and stepped out into the short hall where he saw Heartman twisting a wine bottle opener into the cork of one of the vintages he delivered earlier. The loud pop made Sam jump.

“I love the smell of freshly opened wine. This one is very oaky... fruity... Now that the stranding has been postponed, I look forward to small luxuries like this being much more viable to acquire. No porter seems to enjoy delivering fragile cargo up a cliff prone to rock slides and blizzards.” Heartman held the bottle under his nose and inhaled then offered it out to Sam.

“None of them seem to know what ‘fragile’ means anymore.” Sam tentatively leaned in. There was a woody, earthy smell to it, paired with the sweetness of something. Mostly, it smelled alcoholic.

Heartman gave a light chuckle. The wine came out in a deep red, darker the more was poured into the glass. Sam only noticed there were two glasses when Heartman pushed the first across the counter toward him.

“You... sure you want me to drink this? Seems like a waste.”

“A waste?” Heartman furrowed his brow, eyes flipping between the rejected glass and Sam's face. A finger on the base of the glass pushed it a little closer once again, “It's meant to be enjoyed. Besides, I've already poured the glass. You'll like it, I insist you try it.”

The porter tightened his stern countenance again and placed his own finger on it to push it back an inch.

Heartman didn’t take it, instead he was pouring the second glass for himself leaving the porter with no choice but to take it or abandon it on the counter. It genuinely would have been a waste if he just left the wine sitting there untouched. Conceding, Sam finally picked the glass up when Heartman headed back into the study.

There, Heartman was finally unwrapping the string holding the envelope containing the recently delivered photographs closed.

“Uh.” Sam could see that the topmost photo was the one of all three of them together, “I had her print some more pictures too.”

The photos were taken back with Heartman to the couch and placed in his lap so that he could sort through them while also sipping wine with a free hand. Sam seated himself on the couch as well, a comfortable foot away to both see the final products and contemplate actually drinking. He took a small sip of the wine, almost as if afraid. Quickly, with another sip, he found that the wine smelled much better than it tasted.

“These came out excellently.” Heartman flipped through the first one which he had already seen, the solo ones with Sam and Lou, the next few were taken by Sam. Landscape shots of the snowy peaks and the distant green knolls down in the valley below. “Breathtaking. Is this why you're so eager to leave in the mornings?”

“One reason,” Sam affirmed with a mutter. “Better now that I can get some fresh air without all the timefall.”

“I think we should hang the group photo. Some of these landscapes could look nice on the walls. If you ever get a chance, you should take a few of the tar belt.”

“Tar belt,” he repeated to himself. He’d probably make that an entire day’s venture considering he also wanted go the exact opposite direction and stop by the Wind Farm to bring back something close to a Christmas tree. And he had to go pick up presents at some point too. He’d remind himself again whenever he was going to head out.

“It's out of the way. I know there are no deliveries up that way but I heard Die-Hardman recently funded a project to start construction again on the bridge to Edge Knot.”

Heartman scooted closer by a few inches to give Sam a better look at the photos as he flipped through them. The disturbing ones Sam saw earlier were shuffled to the bottom of the pile, “Whoops,” Heartman sheepishly laughed to himself as he moved on.

The next few pictures were Sam's selfies, the first one eliciting a laugh from the scientist. Sam’s always neutral face took up a dominant portion of one photo, the crystal blue horizon at his back. In another, Sam held two fingers up lazily at the camera, tongue sticking out while somehow maintaining his stoicism. “I like that one.” Heartman commented casually only to be cut him short as he flipped to the last picture.

“Sam?!” Heartman pulled it out of the pile and turned it around so at Sam.

Sam hid his face behind his glass, head turned to conceal the onset of laughter. “You said I could use the camera.”

“You're laughing.”

“I’m not,” he said, pressing the side of his index finger against the corner of his lips to limit the smile from spreading.

Heartman tapped a finger against the snapshot, “Her fingers are in my mouth!”

“They were clean,” he retorted.

“Lou has her fingers in her own mouth half the time.” Far from clean.

Sam snorted, unable to keep the fit of giggles in. His shoulders bounched and he shook his head as if trying to pull himself together.

“Watch out, Sam Porter, you're a heavy sleeper.” Heartman tossed the photo into Sam's lap with a shake of his head.

It landed closer to the other end of the couch and Sam picked it off the edge of the cushion before it could fall to the ground.

“You can keep that one, then. That isn't a regular practice, is it?”

“No, just saw the opportunity.” This one was definitely getting framed. “Lou enjoyed it.”

“I’m starting to think it was your idea and not just an accident,” Heartman stood before Sam had time to magically produce even more embarassing photos.

* * *

Instead of walking back around the couch, Heartman approached the back, as if to sneak up on Sam and prevent him from declining a refil. “Behind you.”

Sam twisted in his spot to realize Heartman was tipping a bottle in his direction. With a huff, he held his glass up for it to be refilled. There was a bit of a tizz in his head, a faint lightness that was subtle enough to be his heartbeat, but it wasn’t enough for Sam to even think anything of it.

The bottle went on the table beside Heartman’s lounging chair. His death-bed, he supposed. He had to take his three minutes eventually. The routine of it kept it from being taken with a proper good-bye. Just an acknowledgement as Heartman lay down, if any at all, and Sam would either wait for him or not.

By the time the three minutes were up and Heartman popped back into tangible existance, Sam was already two-thirds the way through his glass.

Without a breath spared, Heartman began to speak as soon he regained consciousness. “I don’t make a habit of drinking so much at once. You must be feeling it more than me– the lightness in your head, the dulled senses, the heat in your cheeks. When I go to the beach all that disappears in an instant. Complete clarity. Instant sobriety, and waking up is jarring to say the least. Have you ever experience anything similar?”

“Dunno,” he answered with a sip of the wine. “Never died while I was drunk. Makes sense though, alcohol’s just in the body.”

Heartman tapped a finger against his lips in thought. It would be interesting to study, but there was no point in trying to test it out. They didn’t even know if repatriation was possible. “It’s true, though that wouldn’t explain why I can still feel the pain of my still heart on the other side.”

Sam squinted into the distance, perhaps donating a portion of his own wine-attled brainpower to the thought.

“Are you feeling okay, Sam?” Heartman picked his glass back up, chuckling. “You're meant to sip wine, let it sit on your tongue and enjoy the flavor– did you drink all that in 3 minutes?”

“‘m fine,” he grumbled, not sure if he wanted to let the wine sit in his mouth. It felt more natural to treat it like he did the occassional beer. All at once.

“I would say that was impressive if it weren't wholly irresponsible. But it is so very you, Sam.”

Of course, usual confusion plastered on his face again when the other had pointed out that the action was characteristic of him; Sam couldn’t see it.“This stuff still doesn’t taste all that great.”

“Are you tasting it?”

Sam shrugged as he poured more into his mouth, getting closer to finishing off his glass.

Heartman tipped his glass into his mouth. Taking a gulp to rival Sam's, though he was clearly not as practiced. He brought a hand up to his lips like he would spit it out if he didn't hold it in. “Mm. It's much worse when you do that.” He eyed Sam’s glass in kind.

With the last bit of wine left in his glass, Sam sipped it, keeping it atop his tongue. When the flavor got too much for him, though, he quickly swallowed it. The porter wasn’t sure if he was cut out for wine, but at least it was alcohol. “Dunno if I like it either way. I’m not used to it.”

The scientist grabbed the bottle and brought it back to the couch with him, offering it to Sam. “Fair enough, you should drink a little slower regardless.” He punctuated with a sip from his own glass, feeling a little motivation to join Sam but not to the same degree, he wasn't sure if he could.

“I think the last time I properly drank was during my teen years. It's hard to believe so much time has passed and everything has changed. That was back when I still lived in Britain. You would think cross-continental travel would be a tremendous undertaking, but it's actually more manageable by boat due to fewer BTs causing problems. It's difficult to uproot your life like that willingly, but I'm glad my parents made the effort.” Heartman raised his glass towards Sam, as if making a toast. “If not for that, I would not have met some of the most important people in my life. Or had this wine. You really don't like it?”

It seemed dangerous to put the bottle within reach, but Sam figured if it stayed in the kitchen, he might not have sought more once he finished his second cup. Now that it was within arm's length, all he could do was pour himself another glass, despite having just stated his dislike for the wine. At this point, Sam didn't try to place the reason for it anymore; he just drank.

“It's too expensive for me,” he admitted, taking a long sip. The heaviness in his shoulders started to gradually melt away, the thoughts in his head swimming slower and slower.

“Too expensive,” Heartman repeated. Most of his money went to lesiure since everything he needed for his research was otherwise funded by Bridges. Sam was doubtlessly spoiled when he was younger as well but somehow acted as if he were born in the same caves he squatted in while storms passed overhead on his porting runs.

Even though Sam had already expressed his dislike for it he’d keep drinking it. “How's Britain?” he asked, with his lips still on the edge of the glass.

The question about Britain piqued Heartman's interest. “I don't know how it is now, but it was in a similar state to America. The population density is much higher, with more people per square mile over a smaller area. So when the stranding occurred, a good portion of what used to be the United Kingdom was decimated. However, there was also more unity amongst those who survived. In America, there are miles and miles of nothingness. You could drive for 12 hours straight and still be nowhere, whereas in Britain, you could have traveled to the other end of the island. Knowing your neighbors was a requirement.”

Heartman held out his glass, gesturing towards Sam since he was the one with the bottle. “It was a culture shock for me to come here and see how much everyone wants to be left to their own devices. But here I am, living in the mountains away from everyone else like a crazy old hermit.”

“You and me both,” Sam chuckled, taking a slow gulp of the wine and letting it linger on his lips. His thoughts were starting to jumble, but not enough for him to be worried. Three glasses were nothing to be concerned about; he had consumed more alcohol before, even if not wine specifically. “I've always loved open spaces. I could never imagine this place being as crowded as it was before… everything.”

As Heartman was still holding his glass, Sam poured out more wine into it, filling it almost to the brim. He expected that he would drink the rest of the bottle at this point, but he would try to slow down as per Heartman's request. Although, he wasn't quite sure what “slower” meant.

“Thank you, Sam...” Heartman trailed off, waiting for Sam to finish pouring. But Sam kept pouring, and Heartman's eyes widened in surprise. He was momentarily at a loss for words. “Jesus,” he whispered under his breath once Sam had finally stopped pouring.

Heartman muttered, his gaze fixed on his over-poured glass. “Yes, we do have a lot of similarities,” he said. He resolved to be the one pouring the drinks from now on.

“Good thing I live here and not in the city,” Heartman pointed out, gesturing to the window. Now that it was dark, the moonlight reflecting off the snow made the heart-shaped lake appear like an inky blot at the bottom of the crater. Heartman took a sip from his large glass, uncertain if he'd be able to finish it. As he drank, his other hand absently patted Sam's back between the shoulder blades. “It's less macabre now that I can't see the BTs in the distance. Not that I minded.”

Sam didn't even notice the gentle contact on his back, nor did the usual panic and discomfort rise up in him. The alcohol had temporarily numbed his aphenphosmphobia.

He took another unconscious drink, reminiscing about how Lucy used to drink champagne with him. She would come up behind him and rub his back, two flutes in hand. He would take one from her to lighten her burden and sip the drink as she ran her gentle hands over his back and shoulders. Her touch felt like a hot shower after a long day.

Sam gave a relaxed sigh and opened his eyes, looking down at the red liquid in his glass. He held the body of the glass instead of the neck, having imagined snapping it more than once. “It's nice,” he mumbled, giving Heartman a quick glance.