Chapter Text
The steam hung heavy in the chamber, soft curls of mist rising from the pool and making the projected nature on the walls look more realistic. The water shimmered with a faint mineral glow, the kind of light that made the mountains look alive.
Heartman paused in the doorway. Samantha was already there, her shoulders just visible above the surface, the rest of her concealed by the rippling water. Her hair clung damply to her neck, and she tilted her head toward him with a soft smile.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice low.
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ve been struggling with the nausea all day. Thought a soak might do me good.”
He nodded, his eyes full of sympathy. “I could use a bit of stamina myself,” he admitted. With practiced motions he unbuttoned his shirt around the heart monitor and folded his clothes neatly on the bench. The chill of the floor under his feet only made the heat of the spring more inviting.
His new heart monitor was waterproof, and he could feel its faint weight tugging against his chest as though it longed for the heat as much as he did.
Across the pool, Samantha leaned back against the edge, watching as Heartman lowered himself further into the water, releasing a quiet sigh as the heat seeped into his bones.
For a moment, they both rested in silence, listening to the soft drip of condensation from the ceiling. Then Samantha drifted closer, the water stirring gently around her. She settled beside him, her presence steady and reassuring.
“I’ll keep your head above the surface when you flatline” she murmured, sliding nearer still, her hand brushing just briefly against his shoulder as if to test his weight.
Heartman glanced at her, the warmth of the spring and their closeness blending into something more than comfort. His heart monitor thumped quietly, the sound strangely relaxing amidst the steam.
“This spring…” Samantha said softly, her eyes on the glowing water. “It feels like it was made for us”
Heartman let the words sink into him, then gave a quiet nod, his voice low. “A place that invites connection”
_____
Sam woke with a start. The room was dim, shadows stretching long against the walls, but something had pulled him from sleep. A prickle crawled down his neck.
Through the small window in his door, someone was watching him.
Sam pushed himself upright, pulse quickening. The figure shifted, retreating. He grabbed Dollman on instinct, holding him close as he slipped to the door and eased it open just enough to peer into the corridor.
Heavy steps echoed ahead, slow, deliberate, as though each one carried more weight than the last. The figure was moving away, up the stairs.
Sam tightened his grip on Dollman and followed, each footstep careful, silent. The sound of the weighty steps guided him, pulling him along until he emerged into the bay.
There, in the glow from monitors, sat Heartman. His outline looked strange against the light, his movements oddly mechanical, his body slouched to the side. From behind, it looked as though he was writing, shoulders hunched, hands moving steadily over some unseen surface.
Then a voice cut through the stillness, warm and familiar.
“Hey Sam. Long time no see”
Sam froze.
He wasn’t sure if he’d really heard it. Slowly, carefully, he stepped around the figure.
That’s when he saw it. The heart monitor strapped to Heartman’s chest clearly read a flatline, the stillness impossible to mistake. And yet the body moved, breathed, lived. Heartman’s arm shifted as though to block Sam’s view, folding across the monitor, trying to hide the truth.
Sam’s pulse quickened, a jumble of disbelief and hope tangling inside him.
Then the head lifted, eyes finding his with a warm smile that was unmistakable.
“It’s me” the voice said again, this time without disguise. “your old pal, Deadman”
_____
It really was! The voice confirmed it, warm and achingly familiar. He explained, simply, that it was possible because Heartman carried his heart now, creating a strange, fateful bond. Heartman’s own heart had grown too weak, and Deadman had known his days were numbered. Illness had already begun to claim him, so he made the choice. His parting gift: to keep his friend alive even as his own body failed.
When Deadman held his arms out Sam’s eyes blurred. He didn’t wait, closing the space between them and pulling him into a hug, holding on like he might slip away if he didn’t. Deadman clutched him back with all the desperation Sam remembered. No words could touch the rawness of that reunion. They held each other, and Deadman expressed his sorrow. Sorrow that Sam had lost Lou, and him, both in the same cruel tide.
Then, as if some invisible cord had snapped, Deadman suddenly went quiet and the body slumped forward. The exoskeleton caught most of the collapse, but the suddenness made Sam lunge, hands gripping Heartman’s shoulders out of pure instinct.
A jolt ripped through the moment, the defibrillator shocking Heartman’s chest. His body convulsed, then drew in a tiny gasp. Heartman blinked awake, confusion etched across his face, his eyes fixed on Sam.
_____
Sam’s hands were pressed firmly against Heartman’s shoulders when the world snapped back in, the dull, familiar ache in his chest, the faint hum of the defibrillator winding down. Heartman blinked, his mind foggy, registering warmth, the press of muscle, the faint scent of sweat and engine oil.
It took a moment to realise where he was. And who was holding him.
Heartman froze. “…Sam?” His voice was tentative, confused.
Sam quickly held his hands up as if he had been caught doing something illicit. His expression was hard to read in the dark, but his silence spoke volumes.
Heartman’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on? And-” his eyes darted around the dimly lit room, “-where are we?”
Sam said nothing. His touch hadn’t felt hostile, but Heartman couldn’t shake a sudden, uneasy thought. Had Sam been touching him while he was… gone? While he was at his most vulnerable?
Before the tension could thicken further, a familiar voice piped up from waist level.
“Poor Heartman here is understandably confused,” Dollman said, dangling slightly as Sam shifted and Sam quickly held him up, almost as shield between himself and Heartman “If you’ll give us a moment alone, I’ll explain things to him”
Sam gave a small nod, relief flashing across his face. Without a word, he placed Dollman in Heartman’s hand.
Heartman glanced down at the small figure, his confusion deepening “O-Okay?”
Sam was already walking away, his movements quick, embarrassed, disappearing down the stairs towards his room.
The scientist looked after him, shaking slightly. He turned his attention back to Dollman, still resting in his palm. “Well” Heartman said “I do hope you’re about to make sense of whatever this is…”
Dollman tilted his head back to look at him properly. “I imagine you’d prefer the truth straight, rather than let your imagination run wild”
Heartman gave a small, stiff nod. “That would be ideal”
“Well…Sam wasn’t touching you,” Dollman said, tone calm but carefull. “At least… not you . Deadman took control while you were walking the beaches”
Heartman blinked, caught between confusion and disbelief. “Deadman!? He’s back? And he-? He can possess me?”
“Yes,” Dollman replied evenly. “And the reason he can… is because you carry his heart. The bond between you isn’t just symbolic, it’s a literal connection. When your heart stops, he has been slipping in to fill the gap”
Heartman’s breath caught, his fingers tightening minutely around the puppet. “So Sam thought he had… Deadman back?”
“He did, if only briefly. And he didn’t want to waste a second of it” Dollman’s tone gentled, the edges of a smile in his voice. “It wasn’t meant to alarm you. Just… two people taking what time they could get”
The scientist’s expression flickered, surprise, bewilderment, and then something softer beneath. “I see… Well, that certainly explains…a few things. And here I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head faintly. “No. Never mind”
Dollman chuckled softly. “Probably for the best.”
Heartman adjusted his glasses with a finger. “I think I need to be alone”
“Of course, but not yet. Take me with you to your room”
Dollman was placed on the edge of Heartman’s desk, his wooden legs dangling idly. When Heartman finally sat down, Dollman leaned forward, voice low and deliberate.
“Heartman… you know Sam hasn’t been himself since Deadman died”
Heartman’s brow furrowed. His thoughts were still racing but Dollman waited. “I’m aware he’s been… withdrawn” he finally said “It’s only natural”
Dollman nodded his head. “He’s been carrying the loss like a weight tied to his chest. When he thought no one was looking…” Dollman’s voice softened “…he’d get this look, like the world had gone grey. Without Deadman to comfort him when Lou died his wold shattered”
Heartman shifted in his support unit, his gaze dropping for a moment. It sounded all too familiar.
“When you flatline” Dollman continued “you’re… absent. But Deadman is here . And in those three minutes, Sam gets a piece of him back. It’s the first time I’ve seen him breathe easy”
Heartman’s voice was quieter now. “And you’re suggesting I should… allow it?”
“I’m saying you have the power to give Sam something no one else can” Dollman said softly. “A reprieve from the grief that’s been eating him alive. Let him have those moments. Let him have Deadman, not just as a memory, not as a voice from a recording, but here. Now.”
Heartman tapped his fingers lightly against the table, deep in thought. “It would be… unconventional” he murmured.
“Maybe” Dollman replied “but so is everything else about the world we live in. And this? This would be kindness”
The room was silent for a beat, only the faint hum of Heartman’s equipment filling the air. Then Heartman exhaled, long and slow.
“I’ll think about it” he said, but there was already a quiet resolve in his voice.
_______
Sam shut his door behind him, pacing around the room before letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He felt like his heart was about to beat through his rib cage.
He’d pressed Dollman into Heartman’s hand like a lifeline, grateful the little figure had spoken up before Heartman could ask too many questions. Grateful that someone else could untangle this mess of explanations. Sam didn’t think he could have gotten the words out without stumbling all over them.
He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, his hands fidgeting nervously.
It had been Deadman. In Heartman’s body, yes, taller, slimmer, but it had been him . The voice, the way he smiled, the warmth in his grip when Sam had pulled him close. For three whole minutes, Sam had felt like something he’d lost forever had been given back. He hadn’t wanted to let go.
But now… now he was left with the memory and the uncertainty. Heartman had woken up in his arms, confused, probably wondering how they’d ended up pressed together in a dark corner.
Sam rubbed a hand over his face, groaning quietly.
“What if he thinks I… ” The thought trailed off, tightening in his chest. Heartman couldn’t defend himself when he was flatlining. If the whole thing had felt too intimate, it might seem like he’d taken advantage.
He hoped Dollman could make him understand before that doubt took root. The last thing Sam wanted was for Heartman to think he’d crossed a line he’d never dare cross without permission.
Still… even with the unease curling in his gut, Sam couldn’t ignore the lingering warmth in his chest. Seeing Deadman again had lit something inside him he hadn’t realised had gone so cold.
________
Heartman found himself sitting alone in his room, the gentle thumping of his heart monitor keeping him company. Dollman’s words still clung to him. A kindness , he’d called it.
He leaned back, folding his hands over the defibrillator at his chest. He could picture Samantha’s face, that warm, steady gaze of hers. She’d been so understanding about the many interruptions in their time together, the flatlines, the trips, even the days when his work consumed him completely. But this… this wasn’t another experiment or mission. This would be sharing .
Would she see it as generosity? As compassion for Sam? Or would it wedge something between them, a quiet unease, a lingering question about where his loyalties lay?
Then there was Sam. Reliable, reserved Sam, who had only ever opened himself fully to Deadman. Giving him those moments might bring him light again… but it would also create something intimate, something personal, between the two of them. Could their friendship remain the same after that? Would Sam start to see him differently? As a stand-in for someone else?
He rubbed at the corner of his glasses, exhaling through his nose. He didn’t doubt the good it could do. He just couldn’t predict the cost.
In the end, that was the balance he’d have to strike: the good it would bring Sam against the changes it might bring to their relationships.
Heartman leaned back, hands resting loosely in his lap, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. His breathing slowed as he let the familiar background hum of the Magellan fade away.
“Deadman… are you there?”
For a moment, there was only the silence of his own thoughts. Then, like a voice speaking just behind his shoulder, Deadman’s reply came, warm and faintly amused.
“Calling me forth as if I was a ghost at a seance?”
Heartman huffed softly through his nose. Deadman. He couldn’t have suppressed the smile if he tried “Hello, old friend” he said softly.
“I didn’t think you’d miss me now that I’m part of you” Deadman chuckled “I see you carry it with you at all times now”
“You’ve given me more than any friend should ever have to” Heartman said “Of course I missed you”
“Missed” Deadman repeated “Past tense”
“Well, you’ve been around for a while I’m told…”
There was a pause, then a shift, a presence sliding into focus behind his eyes.
“ I owe you an apology” Deadman said, his tone still light but edged with genuine regret “I wanted to pass on but when I saw how lax the security was I couldn’t just-“
Heartman held his hand up in a gentle gesture. “ Dollman told me about Sam. About how much he’s been missing you”
Deadman didn’t answer right away. “Yes. Unfortunately he was never good at letting go”
Heartman closed his eyes, trying to find the words. “ He suggested… that I let you and Sam have more of those minutes. With my permission, of course”
A low hum of thought from Deadman. “ And you’re considering it?”
“I’m considering… the effect it might have ” Heartman admitted. “ On my relationship with Samantha, on my friendship with Sam, and on the… boundaries of my own self, frankly”
Deadman’s voice softened. “ I’d never push you into something that would make you feel replaced”
Heartman let out a slow breath. “ It’s not so much replacement I fear as… becoming a vessel for something that is no longer mine”
There was a brief, almost wistful chuckle in his mind. “ I suppose that’s the strange thing about having two hearts, isn’t it? You can’t stop them from beating for different people”
Heartman smiled faintly “No, I suppose not. And that’s why it’s not my decision to make alone”
__________
Samantha was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a cup of ginger tea between her palms. She looked up when Heartman stepped into the room, his hands fidgeting at his sides in habit of his when he had something weighty to say.
He stayed standing for a moment, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving a small, respectful gap between them.
“I’ve been… considering something” he began, voice polite but cautious. “It concerns Sam…and Deadman”
Her brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded for him to continue.
“I told you Deadman can take over during my flatlines” Heartman said, glancing at the glow of the defibrillator status light on his chest. “Dollman spoke to me about Sam… about how much he’s been struggling since Deadman’s death” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “There is… a possibility, should I allow it, for them to spend those minutes together. Not by accident, not in secret, but with my knowledge and consent”
Samantha took a sip of her tea, her gaze fixed on him over the rim of the cup. “And you’re worried about what I’ll think of that”
“I value what we have far too much to assume” he replied gently. “This would be… intimate. And I would be, in effect, lending my body to them. I want to be sure you’re comfortable with it before I even consider saying yes”
She set her cup down on the nightstand and studied him for a long moment. “Do you love me?”
Heartman blinked at the directness. “More than anyone”
“Then I’m not worried” she said simply. “I found love with you. I don’t want to stand in the way of anyone else finding love, especially not when it’s already there” Her tone softened. “Sam’s a good man. Deadman’s your friend. If this gives them some happiness… I think that’s worth it”
Heartman’s shoulders eased just slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You make it sound so simple”
“It is simple” she said, leaning over to press a brief kiss to his cheek. “We just complicate it in our heads”
_____
Sam woke up slowly, blue and pink lighting disrupting his sleep. The hum of unfamiliar machinery filled his ears, and for a moment he wasn’t sure where he was. He looked around, not his quarters, not the Magellan. The library walls, fossil displays, and low ambient light told him exactly where he was.
Heartman’s lab.
And Heartman, standing in front of him, slack in his support unit, flatlining. Before he could move, the defibrillator jolted, and Heartman gasped back into himself, blinking as though surfacing from deep water.
“Just like old times” Heartman murmured, fishing a pipette from his pocked, sampling the single tear that ran down his cheek.
Sam’s eyes swept the room. How did he end up here? They couldn’t be back at the lab, could they? “Where are we?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.
Heartman didn’t answer, trusting Sam to recognize the space once his brain caught up. Instead he sat on the couch, next to Sam. “This place does wonders for my mood” he said with a soft smile.
Sam shifted on the couch, uneasy. Heartman sat a little too close, knees brushing the edge of Sam’s space. Out of instinct, Sam scooted a fraction away, guilt tugging at him even as he did it. He didn’t want Heartman to think he was crossing boundaries, not after everything that had already happened between them.
Heartman seemed not to notice, or chose not to comment. He gestured at the huge screen in front of them, bringing various maps and carts up.
For a time, he spoke at length about Lou. Her origin, the tangled history unearthed in fragments. Sam sat quietly, listening, but the conclusion was the same as always: they still didn’t know enough. The unknown stretched between them, heavy and unresolved.
Then a soft mechanical hiss came from the wall. A small panel slid open, and Samantha’s face appeared in the narrow window. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her eyes fixed on Heartman. There was something stern in her gaze, not unkind, but insistent. A look that said “ Stop stalling”
Heartman shifted, uncomfortable, as though she had caught him hesitating. He looked back at Sam, then away again, reaching for words that wouldn’t come directly.
“You know…m-my fondness for this place isn’t wholly nostalgic” he said at last, voice carrying more weight than the words suggested. He hesitated, then forced a small smile. “It has the most delightful hot springs, you see.”
The room shimmered. The walls dissolved into light, the floor trembling beneath Sam’s feet. He blinked in surprise, the room around them breaking apart into flickers, dissolving into something else.
When the world steadied again, he was no longer standing in Heartman’s lab. He was standing on the surface of rippling water beneath a wide-open sky, cliffs rising in the distance. The air was warm, rich with the mineral tang of sulphur. Heartman’s spring.
Sam looked down instinctively. His naked feet pressed against the surface, but he didn’t sink.
That’s when he realized. He wasn’t in Heartman’s laboratory at all. The hot spring, the library, even Heartman standing in front of him, none of it was really here. It was a projection, a carefully crafted hologram reaching out from Heartman’s lab and wrapping itself into the walls of Sam’s own room.
Heartman’s words hung in the air, the hot spring around them shimmering in unreal light. For a moment he looked back toward the panel in the wall. Samantha was still there, steady and patient. “Though, truth be told,” he said “even they aren’t my favorite thing about this place…”
Finally, Samantha smiled faintly and raised her hand, giving him a gentle thumbs up. Heartman quietly returned the gesture.
Sam, watching the exchange, lifted his brows. For the briefest second, a flicker of a smile crossed his face in quiet recognition.
Heartman seemed to realize, a second too late, that Sam had seen more than he intended. Flustered, he quickly flicked his wrist, and the shimmering projection thickened like a curtain, closing over the small window. Samantha’s presence vanished from sight, tucked away safely out of Sam’s view. Heartman straightened, trying to reclaim a measure of composure.
“If you can find the time,” he said carefully, “you should come visit. Give the old bones a soak”
The metaphor lingered between them, heavy with meaning.
Before Sam could respond, Dollman leaned into the silence, his voice bright and teasing “Ooh… a warm bath does sound good… mmm!”
Sam slowly turned to look at him. What was going on? Heartman, in turn, raised a hand and gave Dollman a thumbs up.
Sam’s gaze flicked between the two of them, from Dollman’s earnest enthusiasm back to Heartman’s awkward attempt at confidence. The realization dawned slowly but firmly.
They had been talking about this. Planning it. Conspiring behind his back.
Heartman’s smile lingered just a little too long, his tone warm, almost indulgent as he said,
“A perfect treat for a weary traveler”
The words hung between them, charged, the hot spring rippling faintly under Sam’s dry feet. Heartman didn’t press further; he simply let the suggestion breathe, giving Sam space to feel the weight of it.
Then, as if to draw a curtain over the moment, Heartman stepped back, casual again.
“Anyway, I’ll see you aboard the Magellan ”
He turned smoothly, flicking his wrist. The hologram wavered, shimmered and dissolved.
The hot spring vanished. The books, the walls, Samantha’s watchful presence, gone. Sam was back in his own private quarters, standing alone in the sterile light.
For a long moment he didn’t move. His pulse was steady, but his thoughts were racing, tangled up in half-understood implications. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, shoulders slumping forward, hands resting against his knees.
He stared at the floor.
He knew, deep down, what Heartman had just offered him. The metaphor had been clear enough, kinda. The bath, the soak, the weary traveler finding warmth where he was welcome.
And yet…
Sam wasn’t completely sure if he had understood Heartman correctly, or if his mind was making connections that weren’t really there.
The silence of his quarters pressed in around him, broken only by the sound of his own breathing as the thought kept circling back round and round.
A voice cut through.
“Sam? Are you there?”
Sam’s head jerked up. The shimmer of a hologram filled the space, but when it solidified, the body that appeared was not Deadman’s. It was Heartman’s. Tall. Lean. Smooth. But the voice, the gestures, even the warmth behind the eyes, those were Deadman’s.
The dissonance hit Sam like a jolt. His jaw tightened.
“You look… troubled” Deadman said, tilting Heartman’s head in a gesture that didn’t belong to him. “Did Heartman tell you?”
Sam only answered with a tight nod. His mouth opened, then shut again. The memory of Heartman’s spring flickered in his mind. Samantha’s look. The weight of Heartman’s words: A perfect treat for a weary traveler.
And now here Deadman stood, or at least his voice, his soul, inside Heartman’s frame.
Sam’s stomach twisted. It hadn’t really bothered him before, but now that the option was presented…
He remembered the first time he had touched Deadman. The warmth of his body, soft and plump under Sam’s hands. The rougher patches of hair. The sense of strength beneath every contour. Deadman had been real, grounded.
Heartman was the opposite. Slim. Clean. Almost clinical in his perfection. Imagining Deadman in that shape, tall, narrow, hairless, felt wrong, as though intimacy itself had been hollowed out and dressed in a disguise.
Deadman stepped closer. “Sam?”
Sam finally lifted his eyes. What Deadman saw there was not just weariness but hesitation, the look of a man standing at the edge of something he wasn’t sure he wanted to see.
“Just… thinking” Sam muttered, forcing the words out.
Deadman studied him. For a moment, the body swayed in a way Heartman’s never would have, the mannerisms slipping and leaving only the uncanny gap between flesh and voice. Then Deadman softened, or tried to. “Well,” he said gently, “don’t think yourself into knots. Rest if you can. Tomorrow will bring enough of its own burdens.”
The small smile he offered, strange on Heartman’s lips, felt borrowed. He glanced toward the wall as though he could see beyond it. “We’ll talk more aboard the Magellan.”
And then, with a flicker, he was gone.
Sam sat in silence, shoulders rigid, hands curled against his knees. His mind wouldn’t stop. He could still feel the echo of Deadman’s body as he’d known it, weighty, warm, covered in scars from lengthy operations, human. And now he was being asked to imagine that same presence inside Heartman’s smooth, fragile form.
Sam’s breath left him in a slow, uneven exhale. He knew exactly what Heartman had offered him. The question was whether he could bear to accept it.
______
Sam was checking the straps on his gear when the door opened with a hiss. He didn’t look up at first. He already knew.
“Sam”
Deadman’s voice. But not Deadman’s face. Heartman’s tall, lanky body stood there instead, posture softer than Heartman’s would ever allow.
Sam’s hands stilled on the straps. He felt his throat tighten, the memory of warmth and weight, Deadman’s old body pressed against him, flooding back so suddenly it hurt. The plumpness of his belly, the hair under Sam’s palm, the way Deadman’s weight had anchored him. Now, looking at Heartman’s leaner frame, Sam felt the loss in his chest like a bruise.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt” Deadman said. He smiled, but Sam couldn’t look straight at him. The smile was still wrong on that face.
Sam muttered, “You’re not interrupting” His voice was gruff, but the hesitation underneath betrayed him.
Deadman tilted his head. “You’re quieter than usual, even for you”
Sam shifted, restless, eyes on the floor. “Just… getting used to this” He gestured vaguely at Heartman’s body, then immediately regretted it. His hand dropped back to his side, balled tight.
Deadman’s expression softened. “I know it’s strange. Stranger for you than for me. I only… wanted you to know I’m still here. For you”
That hit deeper than Sam expected. He swallowed hard, his chest tight with something between grief and longing.
“Doesn’t feel the same” he muttered “But thanks”
Deadman paused, then nodded, accepting it without flinching. “No. It doesn’t. But I promise you, Sam, what I feel hasn’t changed”
The words lingered, heavy. Sam finally met his eyes, and for just a heartbeat, his defenses cracked. Vulnerability shone through, sharp and unsteady.
But he couldn’t hold it. He looked away, muttering low “Need time”
Deadman gave a small nod. No pressure, no push, just quiet understanding. “Then I’ll wait”
The heavy footsteps disappeared down the hall, leaving Sam alone again.
He stayed there, fists still clenched at his sides, his mind circling the same question: was it better to hold on to memory, or to try to love what had become of it?
_____
Sam fell back on his bed, heavy from a long day of work, eyes closed, the quiet of the room pressing in around him. He tried to focus on his breathing, on the familiar weight of his own body, but his thoughts kept circling back to Deadman’s voice in Heartman’s frame, to the offer left hanging between them.
He pictured Deadman as he used to be: solid, rounder in the middle, a warmth that filled his arms when Sam held him close. The faint rasp of chest hair against his cheek, the comfort of it. The sense of safety it gave him, a home he could wrap himself around.
But when he let the memory blur into the present, the picture shifted. The man before him now was tall, lean, smooth-skinned, the wrong silhouette, the wrong weight. He tried to imagine Deadman’s laugh carried by Heartman’s chest, Deadman’s embrace with those long, narrow arms. He even let his hand drift across his own stomach, trying to trick himself into feeling it.
For a heartbeat, it almost worked. Deadman’s voice, Deadman’s tenderness, all of it seemed near enough to touch.
But then Heartman’s image intruded, unbidden: the clean-shaven face, the tubes burrowed into his skin, the way his body sat more like glass than earth. And Sam’s hand froze. His chest tightened with a frustrated sigh.
It wasn’t disgust, but the thought of reaching for Deadman and finding someone else’s body in his arms, it tied him up inside.
Sam turned onto his side, clenching his fist against the mattress. He couldn’t force the picture. He couldn’t make himself believe, not yet.
With a low groan, he gave up trying.
The silence of the room filled back in, heavy and unyielding. And Sam lay there, caught between longing and loyalty, wanting desperately but unable to bridge the gap.
For now he’d keep it buried, let the frustration burn out on its own. Or so he thought.
Dollman was sitting on the shelf nearby, his carved eyes watching with that patient, unsettling stillness he always carried.
“You’re restless” Dollman finally said, his voice smooth, quiet. “Like a man who’s had one foot in the water and pulled it back”
Sam shifted on the bed, scowling faintly. “Ain’t nothin’” he muttered, but the words didn’t hold.
Dollman tilted his wooden head. “You tried, didn’t you? To imagine it. Deadman, but in Heartman’s frame.”
Sam’s silence was answer enough. His jaw worked, his fists tightening in the bedsheets. Finally, he forced the words out, low and gruff. “It ain’t right. I can’t… I can’t picture him like that. It feels like-” He cut himself off, unable to finish.
Dollman leaned forward a little, the wood creaking softly. “Like you’d be touching a man who isn’t him”
Sam let out a breath through his nose, sharp. “Yeah. Even if it’s Deadman in there, it’s still… Heartman. Can’t put my hands on him. Not like that”
For a moment, Dollman said nothing. Then, with the kind of measured calm that came from being built to listen, he answered “No one is asking you to erase the man you remember. Grief has its shape, love has its shape. What they’re offering you now… it will never be the same shape as before”
Sam glanced at him, brow furrowed.
“But,” Dollman continued, “different doesn’t mean lesser. You may not be able to imagine it yet. That doesn’t mean the spring isn’t warm, only that you haven’t dared step in with your whole body”
Sam exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. He didn’t argue, but his silence wasn’t agreement either. It was the silence of a man caught between wanting and not knowing how.
Dollman’s carved mouth curved in the faintest impression of a smile. “You’ll know when you’re ready. And when you are, the spring will be waiting”
_____
The corridors of the Magellan thrummed with their usual rhythm, the low, constant hum of machinery, the muted hiss of air cycling through vents. Sam walked them out of habit more than purpose, hands tucked into the straps of his pack though there was no weight to carry yet.
When he passed the holodeck, the door stood slightly ajar, light spilling in a sharp line across the floor. A shadow crossed it, followed by the sound of metal against metal.
Through the gap, he caught sight of Heartman, or rather, not quite Heartman. The man’s body was moving in ways Sam had never seen before. Precise, grounded, powerful. Each step was measured, every strike of the katana carved through the air with intent.
But what struck Sam most was the steadiness. Heartman was frail, always tethered to time, his body carrying the quiet fragility of a man who had already died too many times. This was different. The man before him moved with the confidence of someone who trusted every muscle, every motion.
Sam knew who he was really seeing. Deadman.
The realization set his pulse to a faster beat. His throat tightened as he leaned slightly against the doorframe, watching. The sword cut through empty space, but Sam could tell there were enemies, phantoms conjured by the holodeck, invisible from his angle. Deadman didn’t falter. He twisted, parried, struck again, movements flowing into one another with startling grace and power.
Sam’s chest ached in a way he hadn’t expected. For the first time, the strangeness of Heartman’s body seemed to fade. He wasn’t looking at Heartman’s thin frame, his pale hands wrapped around the hilt, he was looking at Deadman. At the way he carried himself, the strength he had always worn quietly.
Sam let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His eyes lingered, tracing the familiar presence made new.
Deadman, in Heartman’s body, struck the last blow with a sharp exhale. He stood still for a moment, katana lowered, shoulders squared, as if grounding himself.
Sam stepped back into the shadows of the corridor before the door could slide open fully. His heart was still pounding, but his thoughts were clearer than the night before.
For the first time, he could really see him.
Deadman let the katana rest at his side, his breath steady, though Heartman’s chest rose and fell with the rhythm of exertion. He turned his head just slightly and Sam froze.
“Sam” he said, voice carrying smoothly through Heartman’s mouth. Not a question, but an acknowledgment.
Sam stepped forward, caught between retreat and honesty. His throat felt dry. “Didn’t mean to intrude”
Deadman gave a faint, knowing smile. One that felt entirely his own despite the borrowed face. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then set the katana upright, letting its tip touch the floor.
“You were watching” There was no accusation in it. If anything, a quiet warmth.
Sam’s jaw worked before he answered. “You… move different. Stronger. Nothing like him”
Deadman tilted his head, almost bashful, though his grip on the sword was still firm. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s seen me like this. I wasn’t sure it would… translate”
Sam found himself staring again, at the posture, the way Deadman’s presence shaped Heartman’s frame into something steady, almost commanding. His pulse thudded uncomfortably in his ears.
Deadman took a step closer to the door. “I’m glad it was you who saw”
Sam shifted, uneasy under the weight of it, but he didn’t look away. For the first time, the strangeness of the body between them didn’t feel like a barrier.
Deadman gave him a small nod, like a soldier acknowledging another, before adding softly “It’s okay if you can’t get past this. Maybe the memories will be enough. But you’re not alone anymore”
Sam’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something, but the words tangled. All he managed was a small grunt of agreement before Deadman turned back into the holodeck, blade lifting once more.
Sam lingered in the doorway for a beat longer, then finally moved on, but the image of what he’d seen, of who he’d seen, refused to leave him.
_____
The wind tugged at Sam’s hood as he trudged along the narrow trail, package strapped to his back, boots crunching against the gravel. The horizon was pale and cold, the kind of empty that usually soothed him. Today, though, his head felt louder than the landscape.
Dollman swayed lightly against his hip where Sam had clipped him to the harness. For a while he said nothing, just let the silence stretch. Then, in his measured, even tone, he spoke.
“You know,” Dollman began, “That was quite something. The way Deadman handled that katana…” He made a soft hum. “Strong. Solid. Not at all the fragile movements we’re used to from Heartman”
Sam’s grip on the straps tightened. He kept his eyes on the path. “…Yeah. I saw”
Dollman’s voice carried a kind of calm, like he was only musing aloud. “It was good to see him like that. Confident. Steady. You don’t often get to see someone shine through so clearly, even when the body isn’t theirs”
Sam’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t answer. The image of Deadman cutting the air with the blade, each movement purposeful, had stuck with him all night.
Dollman gave a small chuckle. “Strange, isn’t it? How posture, the weight of a step, the way someone grips a weapon, it can tell you more about who’s standing there than the face ever could”
Sam finally let out a breath, low and frustrated. “…Doesn’t make it any less strange”
“No,” Dollman agreed softly. “But sometimes strange is where the truth lives. And sometimes… it’s where we find what we were missing”
Sam glanced down at him, suspicious but unable to fully guard against the words. Dollman only looked back with that same patient expression he always had, as if he’d simply made an observation about the weather.
The silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It followed Sam all the way to the next knot point, quiet but steady, like Dollman had slipped a stone into his pocket for him to carry. Small, but impossible to ignore.
_____
Sam found Heartman in one of the quieter chambers aboard the Magellan, flipping through different screens, fingers tapping away at a virtual keyboard. For a moment Sam nearly turned back, the words felt too heavy in his throat, but he forced them out anyway.
“Heartman” His voice came out rougher than he intended.
Heartman looked up, polite as ever. “Sam? Something the matter?”
Sam shifted on his feet, then finally just blurted it out. “I… I want to give it a try”
The scientist tilted his head, studying him, but said nothing. Sam’s face grew warmer. “With… with Deadman” His hands curled into fists.
Heartman looked like he wanted to ask Sam if he wanted to do it now? Here? Embarrassment for asking out of the blue flooded Sam and he started to turn around. “Never mind”
But Heartman stopped him. “Wait Sam” The screens all flickered out as he stood up. “Come. My work can wait”
Sam took a step back as Heartman got closer and the scientist gave him an inquisitive look.
“It’s just…I keep thinking about it, but the body-” He stopped himself “It’s hard to get past”
Heartman was quiet for a moment, then he stood back and gave a small, understanding smile. “Close your eyes,” he said gently.
Sam frowned, uncertain.
“Go on,” Heartman encouraged, voice mild. “Close them. Trust me.”
Reluctantly, Sam obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut. The room fell away into darkness. He felt the faint shift of air…and then…
“Sam”
Deadman’s warm, rounded voice.
Sam’s breath hitched, but he didn’t open his eyes.
A hand touched his arm, careful, deliberate. The weight of the palm, the way the fingers pressed, was different than Heartman’s timidity. Firmer, confident, as if they had always known his body. Another hand brushed along his jaw, bold in a way Heartman’s never was, thumb grazing the stubble at his chin.
Sam stood still, letting it happen, the touches filling him with memory. The way Deadman used to hold him when words failed. The warmth of a chest pressed briefly to his side. The ghost of laughter in his ear.
Deadman’s hand slid down to his wrist, squeezing lightly, grounding him. It was so vividly him, even through another’s skin.
Sam didn’t lift his own hands. He couldn’t. Not yet. He only let it wash over him, a tide of sensation and familiarity that tightened his throat and ached behind his eyes.
Deadman didn’t push further. He just stayed there, holding him with patience, giving Sam space to feel.
And Sam did. Eyes still shut tight, breathing uneven, he let those touches bring Deadman back to him. Not Heartman’s body, not the ship, not the strangeness of it all. Just Deadman.
Sam’s breathing deepened, the touches carving old memories into the present until he couldn’t separate one from the other. With his eyes closed, the world rearranged itself: the corridors of the Magellan fell away, the hum of the ship faded, and there was only Deadman.
He could see him in the dark behind his eyelids: plump cheeks, rounded shoulders, that gentle earnestness always in his gaze. Not the body standing in front of him, but the man he had lost.
Sam’s hands trembled before they lifted, slow and uncertain. He reached forward, brushing along familiar arms, towards the chest. For a moment his fingers hesitated at the maschine strapped there, the steady rhythm of the heart monitor pulsing against his skin. That small, mechanical thrum tricked his senses, told him the body was fuller, more substantial, closer to what his mind yearned for.
A sound left his throat, half relief, half ache, as sorrow melted into something fiercer. Longing swelled inside him, threatening to burst.
Before he could stop himself, Sam leaned forward, desperate. His lips found Deadman’s, and the kiss came back to him just as he remembered: warm, generous, steady. He didn’t even register the absence of a beard; the press of mouths, the shape of it, the rhythm of how Deadman kissed him, it was exact. It was real.
Sam’s hands gripped tight, as if the kiss itself could anchor them both against the years of separation. In that moment there was no hesitation.
Sam clung to Deadman’s kiss, holding it like a lifeline, his chest tight with a pressure that felt equal parts grief and joy. His lips moved desperately, drinking in the familiarity, the truth of it, until his lungs begged him for air and he drew back with a shaky breath.
Still trembling, Sam kept his eyes closed, unwilling to let the vision shatter. His forehead rested against Deadman’s, and in the dark behind his eyelids he could still see him.
But the longer he lingered, the more the awareness crept in. The faint scent of tar, the steady electronic pulse against his fingertips, the subtle wrongness of the air moving in the room. He hesitated, fighting the moment, then finally, slowly, opened his eyes.
Deadman was still there… but only through Heartman’s borrowed form. The same hands, the same mouth, yet not.
Sam’s chest ached. He almost wished he had kept his eyes closed.
Deadman, sensing the shift, didn’t move away. His borrowed face carried a softness, a look Sam knew too well. “It’s still me” he said quietly, voice steady, unmistakably his own.
Sam swallowed hard, his hands still clutching the other man’s arms. He could feel the tremor in himself, the conflict that hadn’t fully broken. “I know” he murmured.
And though part of him still reeled from the difference, another part, raw and tender, was already yearning to close his eyes again, if only to keep Deadman alive in the way he remembered.
Sam’s breath hitched as reality slid back into place. He stumbled a half-step backward, hands loosening from Deadman’s borrowed arms. The warmth of the kiss still lingered on his lips, but the air between them had cooled.
Deadman’s expression softened. He didn’t chase Sam, didn’t press. Instead, he gave the faintest of nods, voice quiet but steady. “I’ll always be here if you need me, Sam”
And then, like a tide pulling back, the presence shifted. The shoulders rolled in on themselves, the spine straightened but in a fragile, tentative way. The confident weight of Deadman’s stance was gone. Now Heartman blinked at him, his face just a touch flustered as though he’d walked into the tail end of a conversation he wasn’t prepared for.
Sam stood frozen, realizing only now how stark the difference was. Where Deadman had filled the body with solidity, steadiness, and heat, Heartman seemed lighter, almost precarious, his hands fidgeting at his sides as though unsure where to rest.
It hit Sam all at once: he had seen Deadman more clearly in those three minutes than he ever thought possible. And now, with Heartman standing before him, the contrast made Deadman’s presence burn even brighter in memory.
Sam’s throat tightened. He managed only a small nod, words failing him as the weight of it all pressed down, the kiss, the offer, the strange in-between that left him shaken…but wanting more.