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Their eyes meet, cautious and hopeful and mistrusting and terrified, and Margaret feels the chaotic fear of everything leading up to this moment still into something resembling peace.
For the past several hours, she’s been deathly afraid of eye contact, doing everything she can to avoid the sensation of becoming someone else. The first few times it had happened, she let her body run ahead of her brain, let the words that piled up behind her teeth spill out as quickly as they came until she could shed the moment like a snakeskin. She spoke Russian and Korean and closed gaps and mended fences. She knew strangers as intimately as she knew herself.
It was easier that way. Dwelling on what’s happening to her for too long makes an animal kind of horror claw at her throat. She doesn’t like the feeling.
The only real tether she has to reality is the pull in her chest, an insistent tugging somewhere beneath her breastbone that is guiding her to Daniel Kellner, a stranger she does not yet know, not like the others, someone her instincts are screaming at her to find and protect.
Her singular point of contact with him, a rushed phone call fueled by her frantic, inexplicable need for him to live, was enough for her to grab onto that tether with white-knuckled fists, desperate to keep hold of the only thing that seemed to make any sense.
But Daniel Kellner is not just a voice on the phone, a vague inclination of directional guidance. He is real and in the room, strapped into a chair with his wide gray eyes locked on hers and two-day stubble darkening the slant of his jaw. She is barely aware of the other people around them.
“I know you,” Daniel says, his voice breathy and raw.
Margaret nods, the motion jerky. She drifts closer to him, drawn in by the bags hanging darkly under his eyes and the shaky bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. She knows she doesn’t look much better.
“I know you, too,” is her response, honest and quiet.
She can feel the aches in Daniel’s body, the adrenaline that’s been keeping him in motion since the wrestling match still pumping through his veins. He is exhausted, and so is she.
She folds her hands around his, and from there, it’s dangerous and overwhelming and fucking terrifying, until it’s not.
And after, she keeps her hand wrapped up with his as the EMTs look them both over, their bodies huddled together in the back of an ambulance outside KCXE. Hugo is close by, speaking in hushed, brisk tones over the phone. Scanlon is hovering near him, a lost, forlorn expression on his face. Margaret can’t look at either of them without a migraine spiking behind her eyes, so she keeps her gaze trained on the curl of Daniel’s fingers around her own. Hugo and Scanlon’s feet are at the edge of her periphery and that’s enough for her.
Jane also isn’t too far, but Margaret knows that Daniel doesn’t really want to talk to her right now. The tight, panicky feeling that he gets when he thinks about his girlfriend is enough to keep him leaning heavily into Margaret’s side.
Neither of them had thought about what would come after the report was given, after the news broke, after the world was upended on itself. They hadn’t really been sure they’d get this far at all, to be honest. But here they are.
The EMT who had been assessing her pupillary response steps away. Margaret shifts a little, the shock blanket that’d been draped around her shoulders crinkling oddly. Her shoulder wedges itself further into Daniel’s side. He silently accommodates her squirming.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do with them,” Hugo snaps into the phone. His voice is louder now, but Margaret still doesn’t look at him. “But I can tell you what we’re not going to do. We are not locking them up somewhere, or studying them, or whatever the hell it is you sick bastards want to do to two very traumatized people who need, at least, a decent night’s sleep!”
Hugo keeps talking, but his voice gets quieter as he walks away. He probably doesn’t want the two of them to overhear him any more than they already had. Margaret feels Daniel tense beside her, the whole line of his body against hers going absolutely still. She squeezes his hand. After a moment, he squeezes back. He doesn’t relax, but she takes the win for what it is.
“Sleep actually sounds really nice,” she murmurs. She keeps her voice light and tinged with humor. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more exhausted in my life.”
Daniel hums. Margaret soldiers on. “I pulled all-nighters in college and they weren’t this bad. But I guess I wasn’t having other people’s feelings shoved into my brain, was I?”
That earns her a tiny laugh. She smiles.
“At least you’ve had the numbers for a while,” she says. “This advanced empathy thing is all new to me. Stepping into someone else’s shoes is not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Neither is actually understanding why math is the ‘universal language’.”
“What were they thinking, giving us superpowers?”
Daniel actually laughs at that, the percussive punch of it jostling Margaret. “Who fucking knows.”
A calmer quiet settles around them, the sharp edge of adrenaline-fueled fear dulled, for now. Margaret dares to look up, finally, and carefully avoids eye contact with the people milling around outside of KCXE. Luckily, most of them are paying her no mind. It doesn’t seem like any of them need her attention.
She can feel Scanlon’s flat gaze boring into the side of her skull, and continues to keep him just out of focus until he disappears.
“Jane…”
Carefully, Margaret brings her gaze to where Daniel’s girlfriend is approaching their ambulance. Her clothes are slightly less askew than they were when she’d arrived at KCXE, but her shoes are still scuffed and caked in dirt. They tell enough of a story about where she’s been that Margaret doesn’t even need to look her in the eyes, not yet.
“Danny,” Jane answers. Margaret watches her gently press fingers into the bandaged palm of her left hand, remembers the feeling of Daniel’s sadness and fear as he wrapped up the wound. “Are you… How are you?”
“I’m okay,” he whispers. His fingers squeeze a little tighter around Margaret’s.
Jane is quiet for a beat. She drops her hands and shifts a little closer, edging towards them like they’ll bolt if she moves too quickly. Maybe they will. Neither of them is particularly stable at the moment, and Daniel is too used to constantly running, now. If he goes, Margaret will follow. That’s just how it is.
Margaret takes a deep breath and shifts her gaze up to Jane’s face. Her eyes are startlingly blue, a bright, piercing color that would make Margaret uncomfortable even when staring into them wouldn’t give her an instantaneous play-by-play of Jane’s life. She breathes through the sensation of becoming her, lets the impressions and feelings wash over her without carrying her away, and tries to just look at Jane on the surface. It’s easier to do it with Daniel at her side. He’s still her tether to what’s real. He might always be.
Jane looks haggard, dark bruises hanging below her eyes and dirt and blood smearing her temple. Her clothes are rumpled, even torn or snagged in places, and she’s favoring her left side a little bit like she’d twisted her ankle at some point. Margaret knows why that is, of course; the wrestling match, the car chase, the convent, the safehouse, the dive, the second car chase, the running and running and running. But she ignores all of that for now.
Jane had frozen when they made eye contact. She clears her throat, uncomfortable and intimidated in equal turns. “You’re Margaret, right?”
Kansas City’s favorite weather girl nods. “I am.” She shifts again, pulling herself a little further away from Daniel’s comforting warmth. He makes an aborted sound of protest in his throat. “Did you call Sister Maura yet? She’s worried about you.”
She already knows the answer, of course, but she pretends a little, for Jane’s sake.
Jane swallows. Nods. Rolls with it. “Yeah, I, uh… I called her as soon as the broadcast was over.”
“Good. That’s good.” Margaret musters something resembling a smile. She looks away first, an animal with strange eyes. The shock blanket slips from her shoulders. She lets it go.
Jane inches a little closer. She must not have liked having Margaret’s eyes on her.
“Danny,” she starts, too-soft and hesitant, “do you want to go now? We can go home. Or wherever would make you feel safest. The EMTs cleared you, and I think Hugo is working something out to help.”
“I’m not going anywhere without Margaret,” Daniel says. He’s sitting up straight now, the line of his back rigid and absolute. Margaret had known he was going to say that and she still can’t help the rush of pleasant relief that sloshes around in her chest.
Jane pauses again. Whatever expression she has on her face must not be good, because Daniel switches out the hand holding Margaret’s to wrap it around her shoulders and reel her back in. He’s gentle with her, but the weight of his touch feels possessive.
Hugo’s voice replays in Margaret’s head. It’s the two of them. There’s always been just the two of them.
“What?” Jane asks. She sounds standoffish now, anger creeping in around the way her mouth forms the word. “Are you… Are you sure? Danny, she’s a stranger. Sure, she helped with the broadcast, but you’re not… I mean, you’re not—”
“Do you think I’m keeping him here?”
Margaret looks back into Jane’s icy stare, allowing herself to read the jealousy and uncertainty boiling there. Jane doesn’t know what she’s capable of. She doesn’t know what the aliens did to her, what they did to either of them. She doesn’t know the full shape of how inhuman they’ve become, the bridge they form between the known and the unknown.
That doesn’t keep a cold wash of horrified offense from dumping itself over Margaret.
“I just have this empathy power,” she blurts. Panic starts to drum itself up behind her eyes, her breath coming quicker as a headache pounds to the stuttering beat of her heart. “It doesn’t work like that. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. I can’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to. I can’t—I-I wouldn’t—”
“Margaret, breathe,” Daniel’s voice murmurs into her ear. His free hand grasps the one that had started curling into the fabric of her jeans and brings it to rest against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and grounding under his shirt. “Come on, breathe with me. Slow. In… and out. Good, that’s it…”
She sucks in greedy lungfuls of air, trying to keep that breathy, wounded wheeze from hitching in her chest like it had on the train. She focuses on the vibration of Daniel’s voice buzzing against her hand and the controlled swell and collapse of his lungs. That tether, holding her to the ground. It takes her longer than she’d like to calm down, but after the day she’s had, she thinks she should give herself a little more grace.
“...There you go,” Daniel is saying when she stops seeing spots and stars dance in her vision. “That was quicker than the train.”
“Well,” she says, gasping, “we’re not being shot at this time. It’s a big improvement. God, I hope that doesn’t become a recurring thing.”
“What, being shot at?”
“The panic attacks. But that too, I guess.”
Daniel shrugs. They’re still tucked against each other, but at some point during the panic attack he’d turned her to face towards him so that she could brace against his chest. “I don’t think there’s gonna be any more shooting. But I’m guessing we’ll both have our fair share of episodes.”
“Oh, great.” Margaret rolls her eyes, feeling her pulse level out into a more acceptable baseline. “Looking forward to it.”
Daniel’s eyes are half-lidded and dark when she looks into them. She likes his eyes; the nebulous, stormy color of his irises, the long sweep of his eyelashes. They squint with a smile before he turns to look back at Jane.
Right. They have an audience.
“We’re the only ones who can really help each other, Jane,” he says earnestly. “No one else in the entire world knows what we’ve gone through. I can’t do whatever comes next without her.”
Margaret dares to make brief eye contact with Jane. The jealousy is still there, now colored with fear and a small amount of pity.
“He still loves you,” she tells Jane. She thinks she needs to know this for certain, despite the way she’s trying to convince herself otherwise. “He just needs to get his bearings. And he doesn’t quite trust you anymore.”
Jane flinches. Her left hand curls into a fist around her bandaged palm.
“I do love you, Jane,” Daniel adds. He’s quiet, but steady. “I think it’s maybe a little different than it was before all this, but I love you. And I’m glad you helped me.”
Jane bobs her head in a nod. Her eyes flick between the two of them. “Right. I’ll, um… Well. When you get a new phone, call me sometime.”
Her voice pitches up at the end, making the request more of a question of intent. Daniel answers with a nod. They watch as Jane nods again, backing away into the crowd of people and disappearing into the lightening of dawn that’s just starting to chase away the shadows.
Daniel sighs. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to talk to her again. Not in person, anyway.”
Margaret, silent, closes her eyes and leans forward until her forehead rests against his breastbone. She knows how he feels. It’s the same way she feels about Jackson.
Because Daniel’s right. No one else, in the entire seven-billion population, can understand what they’ve been through. They still don’t fully understand it themselves, but between the two of them, they just might be able to piece it together. It’s the two of them, after all. They’re like two halves of a best friend necklace, the poles of a magnetic field, covalent and ionic bonds. Something universal and mysterious and inescapable. Maybe even before the aliens got to them, they were twined together, the very fabric of their beings born from the same starstuff.
Or maybe Margaret is just sentimental.
“Why’d you never tell her you don’t like it when she calls you Danny?” she asks, her voice muffled by the fabric of Daniels’ jacket.
“I don’t know,” he sighs. He rubs her back, the long sweeps of his palm leaving behind trails of warmth that soak into her shoulderblades. “I guess I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She’s the only person who’s ever called me Danny, and I thought it was… special, I guess? Maybe that’s stupid.”
Margaret hums. “It’s not stupid. I do the same thing with Jackson. He calls me Maggie, even though no one’s called me Maggie since my grandma died.”
“When was that?”
“I was ten.”
“So not very long ago, then.”
“Watch yourself, Kellner.”
They both manage to chuckle. Margaret pulls away from Daniel and smiles, happy to see him smiling, too. She looks into his stormcloud eyes and becoming feels so much easier with him; she already knows him, down to her bones, and all she feels is her own relief and joy reflected back at her.
Eventually, Hugo will find them again. He’ll tell them that Wardex will be taken care of, that Scanlon—despite having gone God knows where—won’t be giving them any more problems. He’ll smile, that paternal pride shining through in his face, and he’ll hug them both so tightly that something in Margaret’s spine will pop.
They’ll get out of the ambulance and get into a car with Santiago at the wheel and he’ll drive them to a hotel a couple of miles out of the city. The receptionist on duty will do a double-take when he sees their faces, but will give them a room free of charge. It’ll be the first of many kindnesses they’ll gently refuse.
Daniel will take his first shower in days and Margaret will watch game shows on the TV until he’s done, then will take her turn washing off the events of the day. When they’re clean they’ll order room service and lay in the comfortable queen bed, always keeping at least one point of contact between them. Daniel will shudder his way through a panic attack. Margaret will hold him and hum quietly until they both fall asleep.
And eventually, they will need to face a world brought to its knees by the truth. They’ll need to decide if they’ll disappear or take charge, if they’ll keep running or stand their ground. If Jane and Jackson can be trusted with their newly-surfaced strangeness, the nebulous shape of their unbreakable bond.
But for now, with the future one unknowable, mysterious stream stretching out before them, they sit in the back of an ambulance and hold hands, lifeline pressed to lifeline, tether held tight.
Margaret looks into Daniel’s eyes and neither of them look away.