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The intern dorms were quiet. Although the Motherlobe was in disarray -- the Grand Head had been abruptly kidnapped the prior evening -- Sam found herself alone. The others slept, snug in their beds and probably dreaming. She was sitting on the couch in their communal living room, listlessly watching the television. It was the early morning news, the anchors too jovial for 3:45 A.M., and she assumed they had chugged an entire pot of coffee before the cameras rolled.
An avalanche smothered the north. In the south, an inferno raged through a rainforest. Miles away from the Motherlobe, a missing daughter reunited with her family. An influx of information crawled through one ear and out the other.
She readjusted herself, realizing she had started slouching so far down she was nearly off the couch. Taking the remote, she changed the channel. An infomercial for face cream meant to cure sagging skin greeted her, and she changed it again. Another infomercial for a weight loss pill blared through the speakers, and scoffing, she returned to the news, letting the remote land in her lap.
She breathed from her chest, filling her lungs with as much air as possible and only exhaling the bare minimum. Leaning into the couch cushion, she pulled in her knees, hugging them close. She lent an ear to the closed door, the subdued running of other agents infiltrating like hushed whispers. Somewhere in the chaos was Hollis barking orders, demanding any information about Truman’s whereabouts, and Sam yawned.
A second door opened in the hall. Slippers shuffled, dragging Lizzie toward the adjacent kitchen. She didn’t seem to notice Sam at first, despite the flashing lights of the television. Carrying herself toward the fridge, she flung it wide open and examined the contents, groaning.
“No ham or mayo. Can’t even make a good sandwich,” she muttered, taking out a package of cheddar singles. “Okay, fine. Grilled cheese, you’re up.”
Lizzie was more interesting than the segment on a zoo’s efforts to breed their cheetahs. She followed Lizzie’s movements unblinkingly. Lizzie grabbed two slices of wheat bread from the plastic-wrapped loaf and a can of non-stick spray. She coated a frying pan, set it on the stovetop, and turned on the burner. The blue and orange flames stoked the pan, and she tossed down the bread, muttering she should’ve cut off the crust.
Lizzie turned, rubbing her eyes. She was dressed in loose slacks and a tank top. Fixing the straps, Lizzie looked over to the couch. Sam stared at her, finally blinking when their eyes met.
“Holy-!” Lizzie snatched the oven, her fingers nearly nicking the fire. She jerked upright, fully awake. Clearing her throat, she hissed, “Sam, what the heck? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you didn’t see me,” she huffed, clutching the cushion.
Rolling her eyes, Lizzie returned to her bread, flipping them. She grabbed her cheddar, peeled off the plastic, and placed them in the center of both sides.
“Well, what are you doing up? You like sleeping,” she wondered, tugging and airing out her shirt.
“What about you?”
“Duh. I’m hungry. What’s your excuse?”
Sam rubbed her neck. As the anchors chuckled, the weatherman walking onscreen, she didn’t answer. Lizzie seemed to take her silence as an answer in itself. She returned to her meal, a faint trail of smoke tying the gap between them.
As the weatherman pointed in the direction of her home on the greenscreen map, Sam replied, “Apparently, my brother almost died.”
Lizzie’s shoulders stiffened. She immediately turned off the burner, the cheddar sizzling. “Oh, my God, Sam, I’m sorry,” she breathed out, pivoting to her. “I-I didn’t know. Is he okay? What happened?”
It was an inaccurate phrasing on her part, but Sam hardly minded. She stretched her legs and hugged the pillow a little tighter.
“People aren’t dumb enough to mess with him. In any case, if the going gets tough, Dogen knows how to scare ‘em, or he’ll have an accident, and they deserved it.” Sam waited, collecting her thoughts. She listened to Lizzie telekinetically toss her grilled cheese onto a paper plate. “But this time, it was different, y’know? This time, from what my mom told me over the phone, this freaky scientist terrorized him, and he de-brained my brother. He was helpless.”
She released the cushion, letting it fall. She listened to Lizzie’s approach and felt her settling next to her. Lizzie raised the sandwich, which wriggled in midair. Squinting in concentration, she peeled the sandwich into triangular halves, the cheese dripping in the middle.
“Thanks,” Sam murmured as it flopped into her palms. She crammed it in her mouth, the burnt bread and excessively gooey cheese somehow palatable.
Lizzie nodded, blowing on hers. “So, like, how’re you holding up?”
She shrugged. “Dunno. Lots of pretty bad stuff has happened today. My brother almost got his brain trapped in a tank by some creep, and now, the Grand Head’s been kidnapped.” She went to take another bite only to pause, dropping her gaze to the carpet. “Everything’s off. It’s just one big issue after the other. It’s like, I’m tired, but my mind’s so heavy that I don’t wanna be asleep.”
Her gaze shifted to the carpet before bringing her attention back to Sam. “Because…what if something bad happens when you’re asleep?”
“Exactly.”
Lizzie hummed to herself, taking a small bite. They lapsed into silence, the television and their chewing filling the void. Despite her sated hunger, Sam’s full head still ached, wound tight with worrying knowledge.
“If it’s, uh, okay…” Lizzie scooted closer to Sam and raised her arm around her shoulders. She didn’t lower it, causing it to slightly tremble as she asked, “Then, um, maybe if it’s too heavy in your brain, you can lean on me?”
Sam finished her sandwich, taking in Lizzie’s bashful expression. She pursed her lips in a lopsided grin. Despite her furrowed brow, her eyes were inviting.
And Sam couldn’t say no to a nice pillow.
She curled into Lizzie, who looped her long arm around Sam. Although she was wiry, and her skin was cooler than ice, Lizzie soothed Sam, freezing the worries lurking in the crevices of her brain. She didn’t want to speak, nestling into Lizzie and keeping her attention on the television. She didn’t mind when Lizzie changed the station to an adult cartoon or when the crumbs from Lizzie’s grilled cheese fell into her slightly greasy hair, for Lizzie brushed them away.
“Thanks,” was all Sam said.
It was Lizzie’s turn to not answer. Instead, she patted her head, alleviating Sam’s swirling, circular thoughts. And the sound of crude humor lulled Sam to catnap against Lizzie’s chest.