Chapter Text
Before Frank
The kitchen always smelled like cinnamon and vanilla.
The windows were open, the breeze stirring the lace curtains, and Sam was sitting at the table with his legs swinging, mouth stained red from the cherry pie he wasn’t supposed to touch yet.
“George Jr.” Grandma warned, not looking up from the dough she was kneading. “I will tan your hide if you take another slice before supper.”
Sam held up his hands, fingers sticky. “Wasn’t me.”
Jim, four years old and barefoot on the tile, piped up from the floor where he was drawing spaceships in crayon. “It was you!”
Sam glared at him. “Tattle-tale.”
Jim stuck his tongue out and went back to his drawing, pressing hard enough to snap the blue crayon in half. He didn’t care. He had a whole box.
Grandma wiped her hands on her apron and bent down beside him. “Don’t press so hard, sweetheart. You'll break ‘em like that.”
“I want the sky to be blue,” Jim insisted.
“It is,” she said, smoothing his hair. “Even when you can’t see it.”
Jim paused. He looked at her, then at the window, then back to his picture.
He handed her the broken crayon. “You can have this piece.”
She smiled and kissed his forehead. “Thank you, sugar.”
Across the room, Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re such a baby.”
“I’m five,” Jim said proudly.
“Exactly.”
“Better than nine,” Jim muttered, and Sam lunged at him. The crayons scattered as Jim shrieked, scrambling to escape his older brother. Sam tackled him to the floor, both of them laughing as they wrestled, limbs everywhere.
“Boys,” Grandma warned, her voice sharp but not angry. “Don’t knock over my pie.”
They froze mid-tangle, glancing at the cooling rack.
“We’re not near it,” Sam said, muffled by Jim’s elbow.
“Good,” she said. “Because if that pie hits the floor, I’m sending you both out to dig fenceposts.”
Sam groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back. “Manual labor is child abuse.”
“Tell that to your mama next time she comes home,” Grandma muttered, returning to her dough.
At that, both boys went quiet.
Jim curled back up on the floor, picking up his crayons. Sam stayed flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like he could see through it. Outside, the cicadas droned in the trees. A tractor hummed in the next field over. The sky was bright, stretched wide over the golden hills.
It was a good day.
They didn’t get many of those after.
The house creaked around them like it was breathing. Outside, the wind rattled the shutters, and the oak tree scratched its long fingers against the roof like it wanted in.
Jim was curled against Sam’s side under a patchwork quilt, his small toes tucked under Sam’s knees for warmth.
“Don’t hog the blanket,” Sam muttered.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Jim elbowed him gently, and Sam sighed. But he didn’t move away.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of the hallway light; Grandma always left it on, just in case they had to pee or the shadows got too loud. Sam lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Jim lay on his side, watching him.
“Do you think she’ll really come?” Jim whispered.
Sam didn’t answer at first.
“She said she would,” Jim added. “She said she’d be home tonight.”
Sam rolled to face him. “She said that last time, too.”
“She meant it this time,” Jim insisted. “She promised.”
Sam exhaled, slow and tired. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“She’s gonna bring us something,” Jim went on, voice sleepy. “A toy. Or candy. Or maybe, maybe something from space.”
Sam huffed a laugh. “Like what, an alien?”
Jim grinned, eyes barely open. “Maybe.”
“I don’t want a stupid alien,” Sam said, but there was no bite to it. “I want a baseball glove. Mine’s too small.”
“I want one that lights up,” Jim murmured. “And glows different colors and-”
“That’s not how baseball gloves work.”
“Yours don’t.”
Sam laughed under his breath. Jim yawned and wriggled closer.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you wake me up when she gets here?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, softer now. “I’ll wake you up.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
"Maybe she'll take us with her when she leaves again."
Sam didn't say anything. Jim nudged his head against Sam’s chest and closed his eyes. The wind kept blowing outside, but Sam didn’t fall asleep. He just lay there, watching the doorway, waiting.
Jim spotted the shuttle before anyone else did.
He was standing on the porch in his socks, eyes wide as the small craft kicked up dust along the driveway. “Mom’s home!” he screamed, barreling back into the house. “She’s home!”
Sam didn’t move from the couch. He just stared out the window, jaw clenched.
“C’mon, Sam! C’mon!” Jim grabbed his arm, bouncing in place.
Sam shrugged him off, slowly getting to his feet. “Okay, okay.”
The shuttle doors hissed open, and there she was.
Winona Kirk, still in uniform, her blonde hair twisted up and her eyes hidden behind tinted lenses. She looked tired, leaner than the last time, and vaguely distracted. She didn’t smile right away.
But Jim didn’t notice. He ran full-tilt into her legs and wrapped his arms around her hips. “Mom!”
Winona patted his head. “Hey, baby.”
Jim looked up at her, beaming. “You came back! I knew you would!”
“Of course I did.” She sounded like someone trying to remember the right lines to a play she hadn’t rehearsed.
Sam came down the steps, slower. Winona looked at him, her hand still hovering over Jim’s head.
“Hey, Sam.” She greeted. 'Sam', not 'Georgie' like she used to. Not like how Sam remembered.
“Hey.” His voice was quiet.
She bent slightly to pick up her bag. “You gotten taller?”
“I guess.”
She didn’t hug him.
Jim didn’t notice. He was too busy tugging at her hand. “Come inside! I drew you a spaceship! I put it on the fridge!”
Winona let herself be led. “Sure, sweetheart.”
Sam stood on the porch for a long moment, watching her go inside. Watching her lean down to look at the drawing, to nod in the right places, to smile like it cost her something.
He stayed outside until the sun dipped behind the clouds and the porch boards cooled under his bare feet.
Frank
The shuttle pulled up late, past dinner, headlights sweeping over the gravel driveway. Jim had fallen asleep on the couch, his little legs tangled in the afghan. Sam sat on the steps, bouncing one knee, arms crossed so tight it hurt.
He stood the second the shuttle doors hissed open.
But when Winona stepped out, she wasn’t alone.
A tall man followed her down the ramp. He wore civilian clothes; dark jacket, boots that didn’t belong in Iowa, and a beard that looked more like laziness than style.
Winona waved, like it was nothing. “Boys! Come say hi!”
Sam didn’t move.
Jim stirred on the couch, blinking blearily. “Mom?”
“Yeah, baby. I’m here.” Winona’s voice was too bright.
Jim scrambled off the couch and out onto the porch, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. “You’re back!”
He barreled into her, same as always. She gave him the same one-armed hug, brushing his curls off his forehead.
The man beside her just watched.
“This is Frank,” Winona said. “He's Mommy's new friend.”
Sam’s face went still.
Frank gave a little chin nod. “Hey.”
Jim peeked out from behind Winona’s legs, peering up at the stranger. “Are you in space too?”
Frank gave a dry chuckle. “Not if I can help it.”
Sam finally stepped forward, but he didn’t greet Frank. “Can I talk to you?” he asked Winona.
She blinked. “Right now?”
“It’s important.”
Winona glanced back at Frank. “Can it wait?”
“No,” Sam said, sharper than he meant to.
Jim just stood there, swaying slightly with sleep and confusion, holding onto the hem of his mom’s coat like it was an anchor.
Winona sighed. “Okay. Two minutes.”
She followed Sam toward the side yard. He kept walking until they were half in shadow, the porch light spilling just far enough to catch her face.
“She’s not okay,” Sam said. “Grandma. She forgets stuff now. She burned the soup last week and said it was your dad’s fault. She doesn't play with us anymore.”
Winona didn’t say anything.
“She puts the milk in the cabinet. She says things that don’t make sense.” Sam’s voice cracked a little. “Can you talk to her? She listens to you.”
Winona’s arms folded. “Sam…”
“She’s sick,” he said, urgent now. “You have to talk to her. Please.”
“I’m only here for the weekend.” Winona looked back toward the house. “I can’t- ..I don’t have time to play therapist right now. She’s just tired. Everyone forgets things sometimes.”
Sam’s face crumpled in the dark, but he swallowed it down. “You don’t even know him,” he said, voice shaking. “Why’d you bring him here?”
Winona’s gaze snapped back to him. “That is none of your business.”
“She’s really sick, and you don't care.” Sam whispered, because it felt like a fact he wasn’t supposed to say out loud.
Winona didn’t answer.
Instead, she turned back toward the porch. “Go help your brother brush his teeth. It’s late.”
Sam didn’t move.
Winona walked away anyway.
Back on the porch, Frank had his hand on Jim’s shoulder.
Sam stood there in the dark, his fists clenched, and watched the door shut behind them.
It started with a crash.
Not the kind you ignore, not the sound of a dropped spoon or a bumped chair. This was sharper. Heavier. Like the world cracking open.
Sam dropped the book he was reading and ran.
The sound had come from the kitchen.
When he skidded through the doorway, he almost tripped over her.
Grandma was on the floor. Face pale. One arm twisted under her, the other reaching toward the counter like she still meant to finish stirring the soup.
“Grandma?” Sam said, falling to his knees. “Grandma-”
She didn’t answer.
Her eyes were open, but not seeing. Her lips moved like she was trying to speak, but all that came out was a soft hiss. Like she was trying to exhale something she couldn’t quite hold.
“Grandma!” Sam shook her, gentle but desperate.
She was warm.
But too still.
“Jim!” Sam shouted, not taking his eyes off her face. “Jim, get the comm! Get the one in the hallway!”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs.
Jim burst into the room, panting. “What happened?”
“Go!” Sam shouted. “Now!”
Jim froze, eyes wide, then bolted back down the hall.
Sam turned back to her.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, swallowing the panic rising in his throat. “You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. They’re coming.”
He kept saying it, over and over, like if he said it enough, it would become true.
Jim came back, dragging the wall unit comm behind him by the cord. “I didn’t know how-”
“Give it to me.” Sam snatched it, fumbling with the controls until the screen finally lit up.
He stabbed at the emergency channel. “This is Sam Kirk, please, my grandma collapsed, she’s not- she’s not breathing right-”
The automated response was calm. Too calm.
“Please confirm location and nature of the emergency.”
“She’s not moving! She’s- she’s on the floor! Just send someone!”
He gave the address three times.
The line went quiet for a beat. Then: “Help is on the way.”
Sam dropped the comm onto the floor like it burned. His breath came fast and shallow, and he crawled closer to her.
“C’mon, Grandma,” he whispered. “C’mon. Don’t do this. Don’t leave us, don’t-”
Jim stood in the corner now, arms wrapped tight around himself, trembling. “Is she gonna be okay?”
Sam looked up, eyes wet. He didn’t answer.
They sat like that for nine minutes. The responders came in white coats and polished boots. They were quiet and efficient and already too late.
They pulled Sam away when he tried to hold onto her. They told Jim not to look. They lifted her body onto a stretcher like she was already gone. And then they took her.
Just like that.
The waiting room was too cold.
Jim sat in a hard plastic chair, swinging his legs, fingers digging into the seams of the cushion. Sam sat next to him, jaw clenched, staring straight ahead. No one had told them anything yet. Not really. Just vague phrases like “doing everything we can” and “you were very brave.”
Jim hated it here. He hated the white lights. The sharp smell of antiseptic. The way the walls didn’t echo, like sound got swallowed.
He hated how Sam wouldn’t talk.
And most of all, he hated that no one had told them she was gone.
Even though he already knew.
Jim rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.
“They’re lying,” he whispered.
Sam blinked. “What?”
“They said it’s gonna be okay. But they’re lying.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a long time.
“Yeah.”
The house was too clean. The neighbors had dropped off casseroles wrapped in foil, and someone had vacuumed the living room rug. The furniture had been dusted. Everything smelled like lemon and grief.
The funeral had been two days ago.
Winona hadn’t cried. She’d worn her black dress and stood with her hand on Frank’s arm the entire time. When the preacher talked about Grandma’s kindness and her life in the fields, Jim had leaned against Winona’s hip, but she hadn’t touched him. Not once.
She held Frank’s hand the whole time.
Now the house was quieter than ever.
Sam poured cereal into a bowl for Jim, who sat at the kitchen table with his feet dangling off the chair. His hair were still messy from sleep.
“There’s no milk,” Jim said.
“Sorry,” Sam muttered. “Gimme a sec, I'll grab it.”
Jim picked at the dry cereal with his fingers.
Sam got the milk and poured it into the bowl. Sam rinsed a spoon and handed it to him. Jim took it.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. Frank came down first, barefoot, shirtless, scratching his stomach like he owned the place. Winona followed, yawning, pulling her hair back.
Sam stiffened where he stood.
Winona smiled faintly when she saw the boys. “Morning.”
Jim perked up. “Hi, Mom!”
She kissed the top of Frank’s shoulder as she passed him. She didn’t touch Jim. She didn’t even stop.
Jim’s smile faltered.
Frank moved toward the fridge, peering in. “You’re out of beer.”
“It’s nine in the morning,” Sam said flatly.
Frank snorted. “And you’re ten.”
Winona grabbed a mug from the cabinet. “Sam, don’t start.”
“I wasn’t.”
Winona didn’t look at him.
Frank pulled out a soda instead and popped the tab. Sat down at the table like he’d done it a hundred times.
“So when’s school start again?”
“We don’t go yet,” Jim said, quiet.
Frank shrugged. “Good. You can help around here.”
Sam’s eyes flicked to Winona. “He’s five.”
“So?” Frank said, drinking. “Gotta learn sometime.”
Winona sipped her coffee like none of it mattered.
Sam clenched his jaw.
That night, the guest room door stayed shut.
Sam lay awake in the room he now shared with Jim, listening to the wind push against the windowpanes. Jim was curled against his side, already asleep.
The bed used to feel big when they shared it. Now it felt like the walls were closing in.
Sam stared at the ceiling.
Grandma was gone.
Winona wasn’t going back to space, not yet, but she didn’t look at them the way she used to. She looked at Frank. She listened to Frank. She followed him through the house like he was gravity.
Jim didn’t see it yet. Jim still believed she was Mom, with a capital M.
But Sam saw it. All of it.
And he knew. He knew that if someone was going to take care of Jim, it wasn’t going to be her.
He turned onto his side, pulled the blanket higher over his brother’s shoulder, and watched the moonlight move across the floor until sleep finally came.
It happened on a Tuesday.
The suitcase was already packed when Sam got home from school, set by the door like it had been there for hours. Winona stood in the kitchen, talking fast and quiet into her communicator, her free hand tucked into Frank’s.
Jim was on the floor with his toy shuttle, making engine noises. He didn’t know yet.
Sam froze in the doorway. “You’re leaving?”
Winona looked over. “Sam. You’re home.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She sighed. “I have to report back early. There’s been a reroute. Longer mission this time.”
Sam looked at Frank. “And him?”
Frank didn’t smile. “I’m staying.”
“What?” Sam’s voice cracked. “You’re leaving him here?” He jabbed a finger toward Jim.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“You’re leaving us with him.”
Winona stepped forward. “Frank’s been helping out, he knows the routine, and it’s only for a few weeks.”
Sam’s heart was pounding. “You said that last time.”
“Don’t start, Sam.”
“You said you’d be here longer.”
“I stayed two months,” she snapped. “That’s more than most shore leaves.”
“You didn’t even tuck him in.”
Winona flinched.
Sam pointed toward Jim, still on the floor. “You didn’t play with him. You didn’t talk to him. You just sat around holding his hand and drinking coffee. You didn’t even-”
“Enough.” Winona’s voice cut sharp. “You are ten, Sam. I am doing the best I can.”
“No you’re not,” he whispered.
Winona didn’t answer.
She turned back to Frank. He kissed her cheek. She touched his wrist. The suitcase beeped as the transporter activated.
Jim looked up, only now realizing what was happening. “Mom?”
“I’ll call when I can, sweetheart,” she said.
He stood, wobbly. “Are you- are you coming back?”
“Of course I am.”
He reached for her hand. She didn’t take it. The blue light shimmered around her body, and then she was gone.
The silence afterward was enormous.
Jim turned toward Sam, eyes wide. “Why didn’t she hug us?”
Sam didn’t have an answer.
Frank cracked open a beer in the kitchen.