Chapter Text
How do people go on like this?
Not just individually. Georgie can understand how people get up every day, make their coffees and tell their partners they love them, put on the TV and make breakfast. But how have people been taking the underground to work, chatting it up in local cafes, going to shows, picking up the phone to call their boss as if it's the most normal thing in the world.
At first, she doesn't get it. Not at all. She gets up and sits in the living room, staring at the coffee in her hands until it gets cold. Afraid to drink it. Afraid to look away in case something happens to it.
And then something clicks into place. She goes into the recording studio one morning, waves to Henry, whom she hired to work the sound board, and prepares her script. The mics are on, she gets a thumbs up from the sound booth, and she starts reading. She hops in a taxi on the way back, absently scrolling through her phone. When she gets home she emails Henry back about the release date and any special effects, and starts preparing her dinner for her girlfriend. The other week she picked out an audiobook of Howl's Moving Castle to listen to for ‘movie’ night, a callback to her childhood that she hopes Melanie will like. That's when it hits her.
This is just what they did in the weeks leading up to... everything. She's gotten back to normal, slotted right back into their former routine. Sure, the #apocalypse tag is still trending on Tumblr and the posters about everything being alright are inescapable, but it's almost like it never happened.
She's jostled out of her trance when her stove starts beeping and she rushes to take the chicken out of the oven, praying to... whatever... that it's not burnt.
She burns her finger on the pan and swears, turning on the lukewarm water to run it under. She doesn't process the pain, still reeling. Her insides crawl and she barely has time to run to the bathroom before she's vomiting up her guts, the rancid smell making her gag and eyes water. Fuck.
—
"Hey, Georgie, I was wondering: have you ever considered having guests on your podcast?"
"Henry?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm kind of busy. I'm on a date. With my girlfriend."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Well, I've got someone to come on next week?"
Georgie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yeah?"
"Melanie King from Ghost Hunt UK . She's been on hiatus for a while but she agreed to-”
"HENRY!"
"Yeah?"
"Some other time." She hangs up the phone, turning to glare at her girlfriend. Melanie gives her a smug grin, yelping when George chucks a pillow at her.
"Hey!"
"Oh, fuck you," she says, but she can't help but smile in response. "I love you.
Melanie wraps her arm around Georgie, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. "I love you too. But can you rewind the book a bit? I think I missed that last bit."
—
Georgie is concerned about her girlfriend. She can't sleep in the bedroom, she takes the couch every night and assures Georgie it has nothing to do with her. She picks at her food, still keeps canned beans and stuff they ate during the eyepocolypse, as she jokingly calls it. Whenever she leaves the house, she goes out to God knows where and doesn't disclose it. She never changes her clothes unless she has to shower, which she declines needing any help for. She hasn't adjusted back to a 24-hour day schedule, forgetting that days exist at all. She still operates like they're underground. They still haven't fit her for new, probably more sanitary prosthetic eyes and she shuts down the conversation whenever it comes up. She doesn't seem comfortable in the flat.
Georgie gets why when one morning she's woken up by Melanie. It wouldn't be odd if it were anyone else, but Melanie was not a morning person in the slightest. If she was up before 10AM, it was because something was wrong.
"What," she asks groggily, glancing at the clock. It's 5 in the goddamn morning.
"We have to move out," Melanie insists.
"Huh?"
"I can't stay in this city a moment longer, my- my skin is crawling and every stranger on the street seems like they either make too much or not enough noise, a-and this place," she gestures at everything around her, "is so wrong! It's so wrong! Everything has changed except this fucking place, my mouthwash from Before is still in the bathroom, the Admiral still sleeps on the armchair, you still haven't gotten new blankets for your bed, and I- I- it feels so out of place and I'm going to have a suicidal breakdown if I have to stay here a minute longer, so-"
"Melanie?"
"Yeah?" She's fidgeting with her hands now, biting her lip like she's scared. Georgie sighs as quietly as she can.
"'Let's talk about this later, OK? I'm not sure if we have the money to-"
"Daisy left us everything," she says, rocking back and forth on her feet. "Well, she left it all to Basira who doesn't want anything to do with it. So." Georgie raises her eyebrows. "O..K. We're moving out, I guess."
Melanie melts, all the tenseness dropped. "OK. Good. Thanks." Georgie stares at her as she turns her heel and flops back right down on the couch, pulls the blankets above her head, and starts snoring within a minute. Fantastic.
She's up now, whether she likes it or not. She cancels her alarm, a horrible way to wake up to which she has no other alternative, and heads into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Still rotating Melanie's words in her mind, she wonders if moving out really would be best. Getting a fresh start.
One thing she knows from the singular psych course she took freshman year of university is that one thing can't fix all your problems, certainly not avoiding them. But what's best for them is very different from the textbook advice of recovery.
According to The Interweb(m), houses in rural England are fairly affordable now. People are desperate to make money After, it seems, and with Basira/Daisy's help... well. All that would necessitate would be talking to Basira, a challenge of its own. But it's doable.
Besides, who does Georgie have if not Melanie? Henry, the sound guy? They're not really friends more than coworkers. Her grandmother died the year before the apocalypse, praise Jesus, and all her old friends are back to their old cliques Georgie never liked to begin with. What was left for her in London? She can always bring the recording studio with her, she muses as she drinks her coffee, looking through houses in small towns like Bilbury.
Basira. All she has to do is grow the balls to talk to Basira.
When Melanie drags herself into the kitchen, careful to pour herself a cup of coffee without spilling or burning anything, she swivels her ear towards Georgie “You're quiet."
"'You really want to move?"
"Yeah," she says, acting more confident in her decision than she is.
Georgie sighs, leaning back in her chair. "I think we can do it." A grin bursts out in her girlfriend's face. "We can be gone by the end of the week... if I can pile the money together and we can get all our stuff into a truck."
“We can be uhaul lesbians."
"Honey, we've been uhaul lesbians from the start," she laughs, shutting her computer and standing up, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend. "I think you know I'll do whatever you ask for by now," she whispers in Melanie's ear, making her shiver. "How do you feel about a two story house, big backyard... right by a big forest…”
"Sounds like Heaven,” she smiles.