Chapter Text
It is 3:48am when Sam's ring terminal pings.
He shouldn't be awake. Shouldn't be sweating and panting against hot skin with a leg thrown over his shoulder.
The sound startles him out of the moment with a jolt, peeling back from Higgs's needy hands.
"Sam- fucking leave it," Higgs whines, pulling at Sam's shoulder. His face is flush and sweaty, endlessly insatiable. It's what Sam gets, he figures, for indulging him so consistently. Once Higgs digs his claws in, Sam knows he'll be there for a while. Tonight has already proved to be long enough, sweat beading down his nape.
It's a mess, but Sam finds some sort of god awful reprieve in it.
Still. He can't shake the suspicion. "Who's messaging at four in the morning?" Higgs slumps backwards with a groan, head hitting the pillow.
"Don't caaaare," he gripes. "It's probably some prepper tryin' to ask you about some fucking delivery." Higgs rolls his hips up, trying to goad Sam into continuing. "You’re in me right now and you're thinking about your damn messages."
Sam scowls down at him, arranging his hips so the angle changes. “We were supposed to be asleep hours ago.” Higgs smiles, cat-like, at that. His hand slides up towards Sam’s nape, loosely tangling his fingers in his hair.
“Aww, Sammy. Can’t resist a pretty thing in your bed.” The saccharine lilt to his words makes Sam’s heart pound harder. He’s affected by Higgs in ways that feel borderline uncomfortable, in the way his gut knots and curls when he says just the right words, or the way he arches his back when something feels too good.
He’s right, Sam can’t resist. It’s wrong; something he has trouble articulating to himself. Sam just shakes his head with a sigh.
“Last one.” Higgs has the gall to look disappointed, but he simply hitches his other leg around Sam’s waist.
“Make this one count, cowboy.”
He does. He makes Higgs yowl and twist around like a cat in heat, drives into him with a consistency that only years of porting could have given him. He can’t deny how good it feels when the man that had caused him so much trouble is reduced to shuddering sobs and incomprehensible begging. Sam knows, somewhere in the back of his head, the spite isn’t healthy. That if any part of this were healthy, he would be sleeping in the other damn bed.
A part of him wants it just as bad, for reasons he can’t explain. Higgs seizes up when he comes again, digging nails hard into skin until Sam has to wrench out of his grip.
Sam steps back quickly after finishing himself, leaving a needy Higgs pulling at his hand when he draws away entirely to check his terminal.
“You’re leavin’ me out to dry?” His voice carries across the small space easily, not doing much to hide the hint of irritation. “Here I was, thinkin’ you were a gentleman, Sammy.”
Sam grunts distractedly, not really paying attention to what the other man is saying. The room is dark, and the light of the projection makes him fight back a wince. He’s quick to pull up the SSS message, squinting at it.
A message from Lou. 3:48AM.
Hi Dad! Is it cool if we come by soon? We’re doing some runs nearby, and Die-Hardman mentioned something he wanted to talk to you about. Not sure what, but I miss you!
Sam doesn’t notice the smile at his lips until he’s typing back a message.
Sure thing, kid. Miss you too. How soon?
The reply isn’t immediate, and Sam tries not to dwell on the vaguely disheartened feeling. Fuck. He’d wasted his time and probably missed her. The guilt redoubles until he lets the hologram flicker out and promptly sets the ring down on the table next to the bed.
When he looks back to Higgs, he’s met with an aggravated stare. He hasn’t moved from his position, hips angled deliberately to avoid making a mess on the sheets.
Sam bites back a frown.
“Important?” Higgs asks scathingly. The irritation builds in Sam’s own chest, and he turns to grab a towel for the other. He throws it at Higgs dismissively.
“Yeah, actually. It was Lou.” Higgs scrabbles for the towel, expression tense. Sam can’t see the details in the low light, but he decides he doesn’t particularly care what Higgs has to think about it. “She and the others might visit soon.”
That gives Higgs pause.
“What? Here?” The surprise in his voice is dampened by the discomfort. He shifts until he’s upright, idly wiping himself down. “What for?” The scepticism in his tone is telling.
Sam grabs a towel of his own, cleaning himself before struggling, half blind, into a pair of boxers.
“To see how I’m doing,” Sam answers flatly. Because Lou misses him. The scoff that leaves Higgs is dubious at best.
“Ohh – a courtesy visit. Ain’t that just sweet.” It borders on a sneer, oozing with what Sam could only fathom as jealousy.
Sam grabs the towel from him once he’s finished and tosses them both into the laundry bin. He tries to ignore the bristling creature in his bed.
“I need you to behave yourself.” It’s a good opportunity for Higgs to stir trouble, if he so desires. Sam has been slightly more lenient as of late, but he isn’t afraid to tug the leash tight again. “They don’t know about any of this.” He motions between them.
He’s vague on purpose. It’s hard to distinguish what exactly this is, but neither he nor Higgs have ever had much interest in defining it. It was probably better left that way. Sam flicks a night light on to see Higgs’s face properly, met with something startlingly aloof.
“God forbid,” Higgs says icily. Sam narrows his eyes at him, lip curling unpleasantly.
“No trouble,” He reiterates.
Higgs’s brows raise, the gold on his forehead shimmering under the unnatural light. A challenge. “Course. Wouldn’t dream of it, Sammy.” Sam doesn’t believe him, and the tension is back between them like it had never left. The defiant, self immolating streak in Higgs hasn’t dwindled much at all. A habit a little too hard to break in a few months, Sam knows that much. It feels hopeless at times, wrangling Higgs into some skewed sense of complacency only for it to explode in their faces in a show of violence and ugliness. The hands find his neck again, teeth bare again, and Sam is reminded of the man he’s sharing his time with.
Sam’s patience balances on the tip of a needle; with it, days where he wants nothing more than to forget about all of it and throw them both into another voidout. A miserable affair, but Higgs has virtually nothing else to keep him in check.
So violent and ugly it is. Regrettably.
The moments he can get through and chip away at the snarling animal inside of Higgs are the ones that Sam tries to focus on. Sometimes, he can battle his own discomfort long enough to allow Higgs little things. Fleeting touches that leave both of them twitchy and uncertain, but undeniably genuine.
Sam’s stare meets Higgs’s own wide eyed look, wild and unhinged. He eventually breaks it, turning to grab water from the kitchen and something meagre for both of them to snack on. He isn’t cruel, Sam reminds himself.
“So when’s the friendship crew comin’ along, then?” Higgs eventually breaks the silence. Sam hands a glass of water and a granola bar to Higgs.
“Dunno. Soon, probably.” Higgs kicks him.
“No shit, Sam. When is that?” It’s high strung, almost bordering on nervous. Sam doesn’t have it in himself to feel bad, but he understands.
“She didn’t say. Just said soon. I already agreed.” Sam watches Higgs drink the water greedily until the glass is empty and wordlessly takes it when it’s handed back to him. The habit of keeping snacks around the bunker had never really stuck until Lou began living with him, and Sam was relieved he’d learned it.
“Course you did.” The snideness is agitating at best, and it takes all of Sam’s effort not to bristle.
“Do you have a problem?” Sam asks gruffly, testing the already rising waters.
Higgs seems to hesitate at that, brows drawing together to knit his expression into a tense leer. He finally breaks eye contact, scooting further up the bed to rest his neck against pillows. There, he pensively chews on granola.
“Just don’t think it’s gonna be a happy reunion, is all,” Higgs mumbles around a mouthful.
Sam tries to quell the rankled nerves. Stomps down the urge to give Higgs an earful about how he didn’t particularly care what he thought would happen, it wasn’t his place to say no. Instead, he sets his expression.
“Probably not,” he says, unable to shake the strangeness of this entire conversation. “They’re gonna want to know how you’re doing.”
Higgs’s nose wrinkles in a spiteful laugh. “They’re gonna want to know what I’ve been doin’ to you. They don’t give half a rat’s ass about me.” He’s flippant as he speaks, tearing another chunk of granola off.
Sam narrows his eyes at Higgs, sprawled naked in his bed. “You’re right, they don’t. I don’t want to hear you complaining about it.”
Higgs doesn’t seem particularly hurt by it, he just smiles toothily. Doesn’t answer until he’s finished his food.
“So what, I’m not gonna be able to touch you the whole damn time they’re here?” He leans forward finally, a hand snaking around Sam’s shoulder and sliding into his sweat damp locks, twirling a few strands around his finger loosely. This, he seems perturbed by, even through his nonchalance.
Sam allows the goading caress. “You embarrassed, Sammy?” The heaviness of Higgs’s stained eyelids prompt Sam’s gut to curl traitorously. He tilts his head away from Higgs’s imploring hand.
“No. Just don’t want more questions. You can handle it.” He is embarrassed, to a degree. Ashamed is more like it. It’s hard to justify their entanglement to himself, much less to his friends. His family. He wants it bundled up tightly under wraps, kicked under the bed where he can pretend that whatever they have isn’t deeper than he’s letting on. Enemies. Rivals. Leash and leashed. Two convergent ends of the same rope, twisted together into some unrecognizable knot.
Sam wants it to be easy, but it isn’t. Fragile’s memory hangs over him with a sense of foreboding, and as long as his guilt and repentant anger is there, he’ll never be able to shake his resentment. Never be able to feel anything but shame.
Higgs’s eyes flit over his expression searchingly, before he lets out a long winded sigh. “We’ll see,” he says, the best promise that Sam figures he’ll be getting.
As if on cue, the ring terminal pings once again, and Sam’s head snaps to the side. Higgs’s fingers snarl into his hair, tugging his face back to look at him.
“You gonna tell them ‘bout the little voidout we had?” There’s a danger to his gaze, a heat in his tone that spells misfortune. Sam struggles to reply, attention torn between getting back to Lou and the man in front of him. Higgs smiles, leans forward until his hair brushes Sam’s cheek, hooking his chin over his shoulder. His hands rise to rest on Sam’s exposed back, tracing faint circles over the skin there. Sam fights back the urge to shiver. “Or our little bond.” He’s referring to the handprints pressed into his skin, Sam knows. He grits his teeth.
“Haven’t thought about it.”
Higgs nuzzles his neck, possessive. “Should start thinkin’ about it, Sammy. Might slip up if you don’t decide what all they need to know.” There’s a grin in his words, feather light. The cat-like, toying nature of Higgs was a perpetual uphill battle. A knife driven just under the surface of skin.
Sam peels the other man off of him, twisting around to grab the ring off the side table. It’s mere moments before Higgs is reattached, and Sam can’t help but feel smothered by it. He frowns, pulling up the newest message.
In a few days, we’re finishing some things here in Australia :).
Sam’s chest tightens with excitement.
What are you doing up, by the way? Isn’t it late? A moment later.
He hears Higgs scoff behind him, invasively reading the messages. It takes all of Sam’s willpower not to shove Higgs off and retreat into a corner of the room where he’d be less watched. He’d probably end up being followed anyways.
Late night. Hoping to squeeze a few hours in before morning.
This time, the reply is immediate.
Go to sleep! It is morning!
A small tug curls his lips. Fondness swells in his chest, something that felt shockingly foreign until a year ago. He relishes the sensation. The anticipation of seeing Lou again.
I’ll see you soon. Night, Lou.
He gets a thumbs up in response, and sets the ring back on the table with a quiet exhale through his nose. The stubble of Higgs’s beard scrapes his back.
“Adorable. I could throw up,” he murmurs shrewdly, and Sam figures he isn’t entirely lying. Sam elbows his gut with no small amount of strength, resulting in a grunt from Higgs.
“Shut the fuck up.” He leans backwards, depositing Higgs on one side of the bed before stretching out on his own side. “We’re going to bed.” Miraculously, Higgs doesn’t complain. He simply settles against Sam’s side, still naked, and exhales.
“Wake me up if I start thrashin’ this time.” His breath puffs against Sam’s arm. Sam just grunts, settling onto his back and saying nothing as Higgs’s arm slides over his torso and rests there, a weighty reminder. Sam flicks the lights off.
Higgs drifts off quickly enough, obviously tired despite his complaints. Sam stares at the ceiling for a while and imagines what the next few days will look like. What he’ll have to explain to the rest of the DHV crew. It sits in his mind like an anchor, uncomfortable.
He tilts his head to the side to peer at the resting face of Higgs, expression muted in the darkness. He looks peaceful, for now. Never a long lasting thing, Sam notes. Carefully, he arranges himself onto his side, tucking an arm under his head and allows himself to look.
It’s a mess; Sam knows it. One he’s completely and utterly submerged himself into. The strange and fleeting tenderness he holds for Higgs is an inconsistent thing. It comes and goes in waves, often replaced with moments of ire so thick that Sam could very well choke on it. He hates being beholden to the man, even if he knows the mercy is warranted; necessary, even.
Sam isn’t sure there’s a good word for the way he feels. It makes trying to describe it to others an even steeper task. At least to himself, he can shove it to the side. Focus on more important things. Right now, all he can think about is the damn questions.
How could he have let him out of the damn side room? Nearly tore his arm clean off, that’s how.
Sam doesn’t touch Higgs while he sleeps, though his fingers twitch with the strange urge. He’s never certain when the other man would react poorly to it. So he just stares, a heavy feeling in his gut. Maybe it was fruitless to deny. Maybe everyone would know from the moment they set eyes upon them. Not completely unlikely, Sam figures. Higgs isn’t exactly known for his subtlety. It still unsettles him. Could he snap the cuffs back over his wrists and tell him to wait in the other room?
Not without breaking some of the trust they’d shakily established, no. Sam lets his eyes close, enveloping himself in comfortable darkness. He hears the rhythmic sound of Higgs’s breathing, and can’t help but be vaguely comforted by it. Lulled into something soft and easy. Fake pretenses, but Sam allows himself the brief respite.
When he wakes up, it's to the sound of an alarm in his ear. Higgs clings to his side, face shoved against his shoulder. A subtle snore escapes his lips, and Sam is relieved to find him still asleep.
He’s able to pry himself off the clingy man without disturbing him, stumbling towards his morning shower.
By the time he’s finished Higgs is awake, though he had fashioned himself a cocoon of sheets. Hair sleep mussed, he peers up at Sam as he emerges from the bathroom, still drying himself. Higgs sulks immediately.
“Without me?” he says, voice rough from sleep. Sam rolls his eyes.
“Don’t need to do everything together.”
“You leave for the whole damn day most of the time.” Higgs immediately sounds irritable, and Sam can’t help but blink in bemusement. When the hell had Higgs got so attached?
Discomfort tightens its hold on him.
“Thought you’d need the space.” It's only half of it. Sam needs the space, too. Close quarters works sparingly, especially with the absolute force of nature that is Higgs Monaghan.
Higgs’s expression twists. “I’ve had plenty of space, Sam. For a long fuckin’ time.”
Right. Sam shifts from foot to foot, averting his eyes. “Mhm,” he grunts awkwardly.
Higgs levels him with a stare made of steel, and Sam can make out from the corner of his eye the way his jaw shifts and grinds. He curls further into himself after a moment and stares at nothing.
It’s like dancing with two left feet, and Higgs can’t stop trying to spin them both in circles. Sam wonders if he’d misspoke, or done something wrong. A ridiculous thought to have, because he shouldn’t give a shit. Nothing between them is established. It’s all conceptual. Vague shapes in the fog. Sam doesn’t like thinking about it any harder than that.
He can’t fucking figure out what Higgs thinks about it all. He doesn’t even want to ask.
“You gonna join me today?” Sam breaks the heavy silence. Higgs’s gaze snaps up to him again, and he looks like a swaddled angry cat getting its claws clipped.
“Fuck no,” he grumbles, collapsing backwards.
Okay. Sam wrangles his frustration with a deep exhale. “Kay.” The nonchalance seems to ruffle more feathers than anything, because moments after Higgs is shooting up from the bed, blankets pulled tight over his midsection and making a b-line towards Sam.
Before Sam can react Higgs is grabbing him by the bicep and crowding him against the nearest wall. “Stay home.” Higgs’s voice comes out full of gravel and grit. His face is inches from Sam’s, breath tickling his cheek. He tries to press his lips against Sam's jaw but Sam is shying away before he can realize it's happening. His skin prickles hotly with unease, flashes of distress signaling in his brain. Remnants of a life lived without touch.
He tries to worm his way out of the contact, flinching when Higgs digs his nails into skin. It’s piercing, more than usual. Sam’s lungs constrict with the sensation, shoving at his hand.
“Fuck off, man,” he grits, a sharp twinge in his gut. Higgs’s expression flashes, before hardening. “Just — stop.”
Higgs stands stock still in front of Sam, as if trying to figure out what to make of the sudden cold shoulder.
“You think you’re gonna shove me back in that fuckin’ cage when everyone’s here?” he finally says, clipped. “Nah.” He smiles, though it bleeds with contempt. “Not a chance, Sammy. I’ll make it hell for you.” Sam scowls, squaring his shoulders to cast a fiery stare up at the other man.
“You try anything and I’m chaining you back to that god damn bed.” The ocean would sooner freeze over solid before Sam lets Higgs make problems for his family ever again.
Higgs has the gall to look hurt.
“You really that ashamed?” he goads. “Scared of what everyone’ll think of you fraternizing?” Higgs laughs. “Fuck, Sam, you’re a real mess.”
This is ridiculous. Sam exhales hard through his nose.
“I’m not talking about this. Get dressed if you want to come or don’t, I don’t care.” He shoves past Higgs roughly, bristling like a caged animal. He needs to cool off. There’s so little space between them at all times, it’s stifling.
Higgs, mercifully, doesn’t follow him. Sam can feel holes being burned into the back of his skull, but he can’t bring himself to look. He putters around the bunker with mundane morning tasks. Tries to think of anything but the glowering statue of a man at his back.
It’s when he hears shuffling that Sam’s head snaps around to figure out what Higgs is up to. Tension is quick to gather in his shoulders. He watches as sheets drop from Higgs’s waist, and Sam gets an eyeful of his naked form. Flustered, despite having seen him this way in far more compromising positions before, he tilts his head away, and tries to busy himself with more mundanities.
Higgs bustles in the background with something until Sam finishes putting dishes away and is done wiping a spot on the counter with a wet dishcloth. He turns to find the other man dressed, mercifully, and pulling out the makeshift porter suit they’d set aside for him.
Still need to get him one that fits. Sam’s mind supplies in a nonchalant way that sends his nerves racing all over again.
It’s too easy to fall into, he knows. It shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t feel like routine. Higgs inhabiting the spaces of his life that should have never been reserved for him. Sam wonders if there was any other way for it to be, with Higgs kept at a distance, a firm line in the sand between them. Somehow, the thought seems impossible. Intangible. Fighting against the tide only for it to crash down on both of them.
In all of its cosmic uncertainty, Sam can’t help but wonder why it had to be now. Not sooner. Not when Higgs still held some sliver of hope for it all.
Sam bites back a sigh, tearing his gaze from the other before he could be caught staring.
“So what’s the plan, Stan?” Higgs finally shatters the domestic illusion. Sam can still make out the guarded nature of his words. “More bullshit for more needy, useless people?” There it is. Raw contempt.
“Hard to believe you were ever a porter,” Sam mutters, donning his own suit. Higgs’s nose wrinkles with annoyance.
“Hard to believe you’re still doin’ this shit. Still mama’s good little boy, huh?” Sam fixes him with a glower, silently wishing he hadn’t offered his company at all.
“If you’re gonna be an asshole the whole time you don’t have to come.”
Higgs ignores him, saddling up behind Sam and tugging a few loose straps as some facsimile of a helpful hand. Sam can hear the grin in his voice as he talks. “Lookit us, bickerin’ like some old married couple.”
Sam elbows him in the gut.
They leave the bunker, eventually. Higgs’s mood is more foul than usual on their trek, and Sam does his best to stomp out the festering agitation. He knows better than to rise to it. They’d made good progress before, only now was Higgs randomly choosing to be belligerent and snappy.
He doesn’t shut up, either. Higgs’s angst is rarely quiet, in line with the rest of the man.
“Same fuckin’ weathered path,” he says, some hour into it. “I miss the damn delivery bots.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “They’d ruin cargo more than deliver it.”
“Least they aren’t dyin’ of dehydration and wading through shit currents,” Higgs spits.
They spend the day delivering. Sam pensively hands his walkman over to Higgs midway through the day, some attempt at reconciliation, which Higgs warily eyes before snatching it out of Sam’s hand.
He’s quieter after that, whistling and tapping his hand against his thigh while he walks, and Sam takes it as a small victory.
They’ve made their fourth delivery when one of the preppers seems to suddenly hesitate during their usual thanks.
“You got a traveling buddy now, Sam?” they ask, and Sam’s blood freezes. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Higgs leaning in too close. Far over the established boundary they’d summarily agreed upon. The attention piques his interest, and there’s a look in his eye that tells Sam it wasn’t entirely by accident.
“Uh — no, just a… porter.” Higgs grins, wide. He saunters closer, slinging an arm over Sam’s shoulder. Sam shoves him off, eyes wide with disbelief. “Fuck off,” he grunts heatedly, to which Higgs only feigns surprise.
“Oh, my bad. Forgot, you ain’t a toucher.”
Sam struggles to regain his composure, shaking his head and turning back to finish the transaction.
“Everything okay, Sam?”
“S’ fine.” He waves the hologram away once the likes come in and promptly whirls around to leave.
Higgs is on his heels, looking entirely too pleased with himself by the time they put enough distance between the shelter and them. Sam has to count his steps in his head in order to calm himself down, something he rarely did before Higgs. Now, it feels like a daily occurrence.
It’s obvious Higgs expects retaliation. He trots up a little too close, peers down a little too expectantly. When no slap on the wrist occurs, even after a minute of steadfast walking, the man’s expression dims; just out the corner of Sam’s eye.
“Nice guy,” Higgs goads, and it takes everything in Sam’s willpower not to tackle the taller man to the ground and shove something in his mouth just to keep him quiet. He can think of a few things his tongue would be better put to use for.
Higgs, stubborn as ever, continues. “Think he knows?”
Sam stops. Slowly, he turns to properly face the other man, staring daggers. That, obviously, is the reaction Higgs wants, because once again he’s grinning.
“The fuck is your problem?” Sam manages to say. Before Higgs can even cut in, Sam shoves a hand against his chest.
Higgs’s gleeful expression wavers as his eyes flit over Sam’s hard features.
The resulting silence is a little unexpected.
Finally, Higgs gives an aloof shrug. “Just think your rules are dumb. That’s all. Who gives a shit if a prepper sees me.”
“You should give a shit. You want Bridges on our asses?” Sam gestures to their surroundings. The sparse outcroppings of bushes and trees, bright blue skies. “Say goodbye to all this shit.”
Higgs laughs, eyes alight. “You fuckin’ threatening handing me over, Sam?” Sam wishes he could punch him. Hard.
“Fuck no, dumbass. I’m telling you what happens if we aren’t careful. You seriously think they won’t try to throw you in a cell for the shit you did?”
Higgs’s fists ball up at his sides, like he’s debating returning to violence. It isn’t the first time it’s happened since their small breakthrough.
“Same shit I was on the Beach for, huh?” he says icily.
“Yeah. ‘Cept they aren’t gonna think about that. They’re gonna poke and prod you for having come back at all.” Sam can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“So whatever the hell is going on with you, cut it out.” Higgs’s face sours.
“Nothin’ going on with me.” His voice is strained when he speaks. “S’ just the same as it ever was.” He shoves past Sam roughly, ignoring Sam’s resulting glare.
It takes a few moments for Sam to pull himself together. The frustration grows thick enough to be palpable, and he has to swallow it down before it can bubble up any further. Higgs hadn’t been acting this volatile in a while, the flip up was making Sam’s brain spin.
Later. This could be dealt with later. They had a few deliveries left, and Higgs needed to cool down before he blew his top.
The sun was already beginning to dip towards the horizon by the time their last order was secured. Not being able to stay overnight at facilities limited Sam’s network, but there was something to be said about going home to his own bed each night.
Higgs gloomily stares out over the scenery, making the most of the sunlight. Intercepting their path, a Bandit camp. Sam had checked over their route diligently, but if they wanted to make any good time, going through seemed to be their best option.
“We should try n’ skirt the edges. Think there’s less positioned over there.” Sam motions towards the South side of the camp, and Higgs follows his gesture noncommittally.
“Could just shoot ‘em,” he mutters, kicking at a pebble on the ground. Sam watches it clatter forwards a distance with a wince. “You got all sorts of gadgets and doohickeys to do the damn job for you.”
Sam leans back, searching for Higgs’s eye. “Last resort. That’s it,” he says, a warning. Higgs merely raises a brow, and Sam knows it's a challenge.
“Cute. You still believe in all that peace bullshit.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Even if the world ain’t ending by my hand, people will find a way to shoot and kill each other. People loooove sticks, Sam. They love beatin’ others to death with them.”
Sam exhales sharply. He grunts.
“You loved it when it was me.” Higgs glances down at Sam with an upturned lip. “I remember how much you loved it. It felt good to shoot me, Sammy. Don’t deny that.”
“You deserved a bullet hole or two.” Sam grumbles, before rising to full height and beginning in the direction of the camp. It’s still light enough to make their advance difficult to hide, but the foliage around the area is denser than usual.
He can hear Higgs behind him, boots crunching against the dirt. Keeping pace.
The Bandits in the distance steadily grow louder. Whatever conversation a group of them are having, they seem caught up in it. Sam slinks through the underbrush with a surprising amount of tact for a man carrying half his weight in cargo. His hand settles on his gun, ready, despite his prior warning. It’s all just precaution.
They make it part way past the group of them, stopping every few moments to try and still the faint rustle in leaves. The destination is set on an incline, and Sam silently curses whoever’s idea it was to set up shop so far up the slope. His thigh muscles ache tenderly, already sore from the day’s travel.
He continues on, picking his way carefully over the ground. The group of Bandits are almost out of sight before —
Something clatters to the ground, abrupt and loud.
Chaos swells and bursts like a gun being fired. Sam only has a moment to whirl around, wide eyed to Higgs, who’d let his pack drop unceremoniously. His eyes are met with a knowing squint. Then, the shouts, and the bootfalls.
Sam twists around for his bola gun, teeth grit as he aims and fires it around a Bandit’s legs. The man trips over himself, landing face first in the dirt with a grunt. It takes no time at all for him to be overwhelmed by others, more cries of alarm ringing out around their heads.
Sam aims again after reloading, watching the bola swing out in an arc, wrapping tight around another pair of ankles. They approach quickly, and Sam stumbles to full height, roughly grabbing at Higgs’s arm and shoving him up too.
“C’mon,” Sam grits out, taking off up the hill. Sweat beads down his forehead, the weight of his cargo bearing down on his muscles harder.
Higgs stumbles after him, throwing a glance over his shoulder before a bullet goes whizzing past his head. He ducks, scrambling in the opposite direction.
“Hand me a gun,” he says through an exhale.
Sam reels around to shoot another round at one of the pursuing Bandits, just barely catching the rope around their legs.
“Fuck no,” he bites back. A surge of anger builds behind his esophagus, and it takes all his willpower not to ram the butt of his gun against Higgs’s head.
They make it about halfway up, Bandits steadily gaining on them. Another bullet flies past, just barely missing Sam’s leg. Then, another. Another bola fires, another Bandit stumbles and hits their head.
“There’s a fuck ton of ‘em, Sam! Hand me a damn gun!” Higgs grips one of the folded guns on Sam’s back, yanking it off and causing Sam to stumble. He lets out an agitated growl at the man, watching as he expertly shakes the excess support from the frame, and unfolds it. Sam tries not to carry lethal firearms on him, and he’s grateful for it now. Higgs pulls the trigger on the stun gun in hand once a Bandit gets close enough, watching them seize and collapse to the ground with a wild shudder.
There’s a strange look on his face, a twist in his mouth that makes Sam stare for a moment too long. Then, he’s shoving Sam forwards again, interrupting the brief contemplation.
They run.
Up the hill, muscles aching, fire in their joints. Foliage slaps against Sam’s face and he pushes through the lush leaves, holding them back just long enough for Higgs to power through as well.
Then, a sound reaches Sam’s ears. The telltale noise of bullet tearing through flesh, a resulting sucker punch grunt. For a moment, Sam expects a blinding flash of pain to bloom somewhere over his body, but it never comes. He looks over his shoulder to Higgs, watches the way he cups his shoulder where red is beginning to seep over the dense fabric. He doesn’t even look at Sam, boots crunching against dirt as he powers through.
“Just keep runnin’,” Higgs grits out. Sam aims another bola, and fires it expertly. His heart pounds in his ears, scrambling backwards as more Bandits sprint after them, unburdened by cargo. Where the hell they got guns, Sam can only imagine. His brain is quick to point to Higgs, consequences from before Australia.
Even as they crest the top of the hill, Sam can tell Higgs is slowing, ever so slightly. The other man stumbles over a root in the ground, catching himself with one hand and wincing as blood splatters over the earth there. Sam hefts him back up, forcing Higgs’s weight to lean into his own.
“Shit– shit, ow!” he complains, shooting Sam a glare. Sam pointedly ignores it. He runs with Higgs at his side, ears straining through his own laboured breathing to listen for the bootfalls of Bandits. They sound too close to waste time checking, and Sam struggles to force down the carnal sense of fear that spears through his head, muddled with adrenaline. The location they’re delivering to isn’t far, now. Thirty minutes north at most, but Higgs pants through grit teeth and his feet stumble on occasion. There’s blood slicking the front of his porter suit.
Most of the time, run-ins with Bandits are no more than an inconvenience, doubled with a bit of pain. Nothing Sam wasn’t used to. The world feels a little more dangerous now, though. An electrified pole lands itself in the dirt not more than a foot away from Sam, forcing him to stumble and steer them both in the opposite direction.
Another bullet whizzes past, grazing Higgs’s leg. He lets out a wounded sound, trying not to stagger. That’s when Sam decides the damn cargo isn’t worth it.
He unlatches the straps to his backpack and lets the contents fall unceremoniously to the ground in a heap. Higgs’s eyes dart to him for a moment, then once more in a double take.
“The fuck are y –” Sam, with a bit more speed now, fully drags Higgs along with him, forcing the other man to pick up the pace.
It gets the Bandits off their tails long enough to put distance between them and their pursuers. Sam is heaving through burning lungs by the time he slows, just enough to check over his shoulder and make sure they weren’t under any immediate threat. Higgs falls halfway into him again, clutching Sam’s bicep with an iron grip before seemingly realizing what he is doing, and detangling himself.
Sam keeps going. He slows to a jog, then after what feels like forever, the jog slows too, until he’s walking.
He can hear Higgs’s laboured breathing behind him, but the adrenaline is starting to dwindle for both of them, and with it, the full force pounding fury that was building inside Sam’s chest returns. He’s too angry to speak, so he keeps walking.
Higgs manages to keep silent for about ten minutes.
“Sam,” he says, voice hitching. “Slow down for a second.” Sam barely pays him any attention, trudging in the direction of the shelter they were supposed to deliver to.
Higgs, to his credit, doesn’t immediately speak again. It’s only when he stumbles again on some loose rock, does he come to a stop.
“Sam,” he grits out with an air of desperation, and that’s when Sam spins around to fix him with a stare that could kill.
Higgs seems to freeze, palm pressed to the wound at his shoulder. Red smears the pads of the glove. He hesitates. “Just give me a second.” Sam grinds his teeth, gaze flicking from the wound and copious blood, back to Higgs’s pale face every few moments.
Silently, he approaches, and tries not to bark at Higgs when the man flinches backwards. Despite his boiling, brimming anger, he gently grabs Higgs’s shoulder and pulls his hand back to look. The bullet had gone through, thankfully, and hadn’t hit any major arteries. Sam figures he would have been a lot worse off if it had. Still, it dripped openly.
“You’ll make it to the shelter,” he says tersely. “Put pressure on it.” He turns back around after that, though slows his pace.
If he’d had his backpack with him, he could have treated it. Instead, they walk empty handed. Sam glowers the whole time, and Higgs is miraculously silent after the fact.
By the time they reach the shelter, Higgs is slow. Very slow. His feet drag, and pearls of sweat line his brow, the gold on his forehead catching under sunlight. Sam waits for him to catch up before he ducks into the shelter, ignoring the robotic voice that greets them.
Scanning ID. ID verified. Cargo verified. Weapons detected. Weapons will be locked until departure.
Higgs slumps against the far wall, sliding down into a half crouch, half sit. Blood smears against the metal there.
The air is heavy between them. Sam doesn’t speak, not turning to tap away at the terminal just yet. It isn’t like they have anything to give, and it feels ridiculous to ask for help now. He doesn’t want to speak to the other man, so he just stares in quiet, agitated silence.
Higgs peeks up at him after a few moments, eyes somewhat unfocused.
“Gonna yell at me?” he finally prompts, though the snideness doesn’t come through as well when he’s bleeding out.
“Why?” Sam’s voice is sharp as he speaks. Higgs blinks, a slight furrow in his brows like he doesn’t understand the question.
“W- well 'cause you’re mad as shi–”
“Why’d you drop the fucking bag?” That silences Higgs. He peers searchingly up at Sam.
“Got heavy,” he manages to say after a pregnant pause.
The irritation swells back up in Sam’s chest and he shakes his head, turning around to pace in the opposite direction, dragging his fingers through sweaty hair.
From where he sits, Higgs continues, “We got away, Sam, cool it.”
Sam lets silence sit heavy in the space between them. His throat flexes, tenses with the urge to swallow. He turns to look at Higgs again with a heavy stare, the words gumming up just behind his teeth, curdling on his tongue. He wants to scream, to throw a fit that would rival Higgs’s own, but instead he just stares.
Higgs shifts uncomfortably, though he doesn’t look away, refusing to back down. “The fuck do you want me to say, Sam? Sorry? You ain’t even the one with a hole in the shoulder!” Shakily, the man pushes himself to his feet, pitching his weight in Sam’s direction like he wants to curl fingers into the porter suit and slam him against a wall. Sam almost expects it, gritting his teeth when Higgs stops short, just a few inches away.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry for inconveniencing the great deliverer! Havin’ a good for nothing dog following you ‘round proving to be too much for you, right?” Higgs snarls, shoving himself forward so that he’s crowding against Sam. Mercifully, he doesn’t touch. Sam spots the hesitation. The shudder in his movement.
“Should get the damn muzzle before it bites, right? Doesn’t know what’s good for it.” Indignation bubbles behind his words.
Sam meets Higgs’s eye, letting the tension build for a few more quiet moments.
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” he says quietly; viciously. “And until you’re ready to suck it up and talk to me about whatever the hell this is, shut the fuck up.”
Higgs looks like he’s going to reply, but the words don’t leave him. His jaw shivers when he clenches it shut, breathing unsteady.
“I need t’ sit,” he says abruptly, walking backwards until his shoulder blades hit the wall again and he collapses. His hair sticks to his forehead, and it takes Sam a moment to shake his rage before he realizes that Higgs looks lightheaded, even as he slumps.
The argument would have to wait. Sam frowns to himself, turning to the terminal, embarrassment creeping up his spine. He had nothing to hand over except for the unfortunate whereabouts of the cargo.
When the woman flickers into view, Sam sucks in a breath and asks for supplies. Under normal circumstances, he’d have rather quite literally died, but nothing was normal since Higgs’s arrival in his day-to-day life.
Mercifully, she’s understanding. A few moments later, a whirring noise fills the room and the cargo display unit appears with a parcel. Sam grasps it and heads back to where Higgs is struggling to stay alert. It wasn’t necessarily a dangerous wound, but he’d lost enough blood to make it uncomfortable.
Sam settles between his legs, pulling the zipper of his suit down and shuffling the material off his shoulder, tugging his arm out. Higgs slaps him away quickly, glaring.
“I can do it,” he mutters, expression tightening as he pulls his arm free from the sleeve. More blood slowly trickles, Sam can make it out under the material of his black shirt. Without wasting time, he helps Higgs out of the shirt partially, despite his complaints.
With better access, Sam places his hand on the side of the bullet hole, lips pursing.
“This is gonna hurt for a sec.”
Higgs doesn’t have time to reply before he’s checking the wound for fragments of bullet. Sam ignores the sharp hiss from Higgs. For the most part, it looks relatively clean, though Sam makes out the slightest glint of metal from the irritated wound. He sighs, twisting around to grab the med kit he’d been supplied with.
He grabs the tweezers from it, and turns back to face Higgs, a cloth in his other hand. Dabbing away some of the excess blood, he digs into the wound again without warning. Higgs, again, lets out a sharp gasp, head slamming back against the wall with a loud thud.
“Fuck!” he curses, strangled breaths leaving him.
Sam frowns harder, continuing. The metal slips a few times, before Sam manages to get an angle on it and slowly drags it free. Higgs’s hips buck slightly, and Sam has to force him to lay still with a hand on his leg. It isn't until he looks up that he notices the dark flush on his face. Sam, somehow, manages to feel a little startled by the reaction.
He squints. “...hurts?”
Higgs pants, meeting his squint with a glower. “Somethin’ like that.” There’s the faintest twist to his lips as he says it that tells Sam everything he needs to know. How he even has enough blood left to feel horny is beyond Sam, and he rolls his eyes before getting back to work. The first piece is pulled free with a small clatter against the metal floor. Higgs shudders against him, his free hand finding Sam’s bicep again and squeezing.
Again, he inspects the wound, watching as blood builds and trickles over; seemingly endless. Higgs lets out a quiet groan, and Sam’s brain is immediately filled with thoughts of their trysts together. He wishes he could slap a palm over Higgs’s mouth to get him to shut up. Sam picks out another piece, pointedly ignoring the way Higgs’s thighs tighten around him, and the way he sounds; flushed and drunk with pain.
“Y-you should put your finger in.” Higgs’s voice suddenly trembles out. Sam’s attention snaps back to Higgs, eyes wide.
“What?” He balks, hesitating now. No fucking way he’s doing that. The fingers on his bicep curl harder, certain that the nails would bite if it weren’t for the porter suit.
“Please.”
“Fuck no. We’re in someone’s shelter.” Sam’s voice drops to a whisper, embarrassment burning over his face now.
That makes him grin, lopsided and stupidly elated. “Keep talkin’ like that. Gets me hard.” Sam grapples with warring agitation and interest in his brain. He wants to tell Higgs to shut the fuck up again, but he knows it won’t get him anywhere.
He just presses the tweezers back in, maybe with a bit too much force, and pries out another sliver of metal casing. Higgs lets out another unabashed noise, further and further from his initial grunts of pain.
“Stop,” Sam warns.
“It fuckin’ hurts,” Higgs mutters, no doubt catching Sam’s own flush. “Sammy,” he says, in the breathless, evocative way that Sam doesn’t want to think about right now.
Damn it.
Sam’s movements stutter. He inspects the wound for another moment, almost certain he’s pulled out the worst of it. He doesn’t want to look up right now, for fear of Higgs’s heated, watery eyes peering down at him.
The tweezers get set back down in the kit, and Sam’s hand hesitates over the cloth again, blood already drying on it. He grabs it, dabs around the bullet hole again carefully.
“Sam.” Higgs’s voice warbles, and Sam makes the mistake of glancing up when he does. Higgs’s expression is wrecked, cheeks flush and sweat dipping at his temples. The desperation causes Sam’s brow to twitch.
Fuck.
Without much thought, he lets the cloth fall to Higgs’s thigh, and presses the blunt end of his pointer finger partially into the wound. Just the very edge of it, but it's enough for Higgs to twist and let out a stifled moan.
From between grit teeth, Sam shushes him. “Quiet,” he musters, and all Higgs can do is nod frantically.
“Gh– ah, I– I love you.” The strangled whisper comes deliriously anyways, voice a few octaves higher than usual. Sam ignores him, pulling back slightly only to gingerly press the tip of his finger back in. The resulting shiver that it pulls from Higgs only serves as a reminder to Sam how he even got here in the first place. It’s completely immoral, and far too open. They had fucking rules for a reason.
Higgs’s hand drifts downwards, but Sam bats it away wordlessly, trying to ignore the slight tent forming in his own pants.
He digs in again, harder, and Higgs is letting out a choked off noise, eyes rolling back into his skull, face flushed and teary. “Shit, shit, shit– that’s right, Sam. Fuckin’ hurt me.”
Sam pulls back abruptly, the intimacy of the moment immediately shattering around him. Instead, he’s left with a vacuous pit in his stomach, and blood on his gloves. Higgs’s eyes blink back open, some semblance of clarity returning to his expression.
He wasn’t going to do this again. Wasn’t going to keep up with this hamster wheel of a cycle.
“Sam?” he murmurs, and there’s something in his voice that sounds scared. Sam shakes his head.
“Stop,” he grits out, and so Higgs does.
He cleans the wound quietly after that, brows set in a focused stare as he wipes blood away once more and cleans it with rubbing alcohol. He pulls bandages over the shoulder, drawing it tight enough for Higgs to wince. Once he’s done, he helps the man back into the sleeve of his bloody shirt, and then his porter gear, and Higgs doesn’t protest.
He halfheartedly checks the graze on Higgs’s ankle, finding it mostly superficial. There’s a pang of relief, despite his dour mood, and he rises to his feet without so much as a word. Higgs watches him closely the whole time, tired eyes flicking over every microexpression.
Sam thanks the hologram afterwards, assuring her that he’d return the cargo a little later. The admittance hurts his pride, but he barges through it and mentally notes it down for the next time he delivers something here.
“Let’s go,” Sam says, voice rough. Higgs peers up at him like a kicked dog, expression inscrutable, before he’s shakily pushing himself back up to a stand. His hand lingers on the cool metal of the wall for a few moments, steadying himself, before he’s trailing after Sam.
“Home?” he asks.
Where else? Sam noncommittally grunts. It hadn’t all been a waste, but the failure left a bitter taste on his tongue, and aching joints to boot.
They take the long way home.
A wide, arcing distance between them and the camp. Higgs shuffles his feet most of the way, and sways when he walks. It takes them until nightfall to make it back to the bunker, and by then Sam is tired too.
He lets his gear drop from his shoulders, then shucks his suit the moment they make it through the second set of doors. Higgs is quick to follow, stewing in silence. Sam doesn’t expect an apology. He isn’t sure Higgs knows how to apologize, so he lets himself accept the fact through his annoyance.
Still, he’s upset.
“I’m taking a shower,” Sam announces, and Higgs glances up from where he’s wrestling a boot off, fighting his dexterity with one hand.
There’s a moment of hesitation, before he’s nodding, silent. The silence is what unsettles Sam, ultimately.
The shower is quick-lived and not nearly as gratifying as it should be. When Sam returns with hair plastered to his forehead and a fresh set of clothes, Higgs is already sprawled out on the sheets, a hand thrown over his eyes.
Sam hovers, hating the renewed uncertainty. After a moment, he clears his throat.
Higgs doesn’t stir at first. Sam wonders briefly if he’d fallen asleep, before the hand falls away, and Higgs peers up at him with black rimmed eyes.
“How’s the shoulder.” It feels forced. More like a statement than a question.
Higgs’s head rolls back, staring at the ceiling.
“Feels like it got shot,” he mutters. Sam bites his tongue before he can reply. Whose fault is that?
“Wonder why.” Sam settles beside him, inspecting the bandages haphazardly. Higgs watches him from the corner of his eye, once again wearing that inscrutable expression.
“You ever think about gettin’ rid of me?” The question comes out of nowhere, jarring Sam. He blinks up at Higgs.
He’s silent for a few moments, and uncertainty crests Higgs’s face.
“Getting rid of you, how?”
“Handin’ me over to Bridges.” Higgs’s mouth twists when he says it, a nervous twitch of his lip.
Sam furrows his brows. “No,” he says gruffly. He hadn’t even considered it. Not after all the poking and prodding he’d gone through. All the endless trips around the continent; months of doing the dirty work, draining himself dry. The mothers pinned to feeding tubes like insects on a board. The children sealed in glass containers.
He doesn’t want them to subject Higgs to the same fate, for better or for worse. They both had been through enough at the hands of the wrong people.
Higgs’s eyes flit over Sam’s expression. Judging.
“Even if I hurt your friends?” His voice drops, something softer. Sam stares him down, hard.
“You won’t.” He sounds more certain than he feels.
Higgs goes quiet, swallowing with a click in his throat. His fingers drum against his sternum, a rhythm he and Sam both know intimately.
“I don’t believe you,” he all but whispers, and the admission leaves a sinking anchor of anticipation in Sam’s gut.
Sam doesn’t answer, his throat tight. Higgs’s eyes twitch over to him again; quick, fleeting.
“I mean, admit it Sam. You want somethin’ you can never have, right?” He smiles ruefully. “Everythin’ back the way it was. Before me.”
The silence is suffocating. Sam doesn’t know what to make of his words. Yes. He thinks. I wish I’d never met you.
He’d held Lou’s hand in his palm one day and decided then that he was happy. That despite everything his life had culminated in up to that point, he’d finally had that morsel of joy. Fragile’s promise to him, Deadman’s unshaking loyalty to their secret. To Sam’s real life.
He can’t help but want it all back.
He just shakes his head. The words on his tongue shrivel up before he can force them out, and Higgs laughs.
“Always handlin’ the dirty work,” he mumbles, letting his head tilt to the side, cheek pressing into the fabric. “The only fucker who can keep me pinned down long enough.”
It’s then when Sam terminal pings. He’s wrenched out of the moment, belligerently ignoring the flinch from Higgs. Wordlessly, he checks the ring.
A message from Lou.
We’re gonna be there sometime tomorrow evening. That okay?
Sam glances back up to Higgs, only to find the man shuffled onto his side, turned away from Sam. He stares for a couple moments, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek; watching the slow rhythm of Higgs’s breathing, the hair splayed out against pillows. Nervously, Sam swallows down the lump in his throat.
Yeah. Sounds good. Love you, Lou.
Sam thinks of Higgs’s words. The fear it stirs sits in his chest hard and burning. The anxious comments from Dollman; Sam? Are you certain about this?
He isn’t certain of many things, anymore.
Love you too!
Sam thinks about Lou, wrapped up in chiton and the world cracking around her ethereal form.
He can’t guarantee anything with Higgs around. He wraps the leash tight around his fist, and prays that he has the willpower to tug it when he needs to.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
…
The next day starts in a bit of a frenzy.
Higgs wrenches himself from the sheets, body slicked with sweat and his wound having been torn open mysteriously during the night. Blood stains the bedding, and Higgs doesn’t speak to Sam for the first half of the morning. He locks himself in the bathroom while Sam scrubs red out of fabric.
When he emerges, he looks pale and clammy. Sam fixes him with a pensive look, brows drawn tight.
“You okay?” he asks, and Higgs just shrugs, thumbing at the freshly changed bandages he wears.
After a moment, he finally speaks. “Feel like shit.”
Sam waits, expectant. After Higgs realizes he isn’t replying, his gaze nervously springs up.
“Gettin’ sick or something.” Sam narrows his eyes a bit harder.
“How do you feel like shit?” he asks.
Higgs grits his teeth. “Just fuckin’ do, alright?” With that, he stalks back over to the bed and sits, even though it hasn’t been made up yet. Sam scrubs the sheets harder.
After a while, Sam speaks again. “You’re nervous.” He mumbles. Higgs scoffs.
“Ain’t fuckin’ nervous Sammy. I don’t care.”
Sam raises a brow, rinsing soapy sheets under cold water. It’s as clean as he’s getting it for now.
“How’d your wound open?” he prods, though he figures he already knows the answer. The crusted, dried blood under Higgs’s finger nails had said enough.
Higgs turns halfway to sneer at Sam. “Dunno, maybe someone wanted me to feel like shit this mornin’.” It’s strangely accusatory despite both of them knowing the truth. Sam shuts off the faucet and without another word goes to hang up the now drying sheet.
He changes the bedding, moving around Higgs and his steely dissatisfaction like he was trying to avoid the plague. Sam tidies while the other man broods, and thinks to himself all the while.
Admittedly, he’s nervous too. He sets the children’s toys away for the first time since the fateful day it had all happened. Placing them gingerly in a storage box, he hesitates a few moments too long before sealing the lid shut. Part of him wishes he could give them to Lou again, though the thought seems silly, now.
He imagines how the first few minutes will go. Plays out every scenario he can think of silently in his brain. Thinks of the scenario where he has to crush Higgs into the ground with a knee between his shoulders and slam his head into the floor until he’s unconscious, just to get him to stop. Sam spends a little too long worrying about it.
Worse yet; he pictures the discomfort. Lou’s pensive expression, Dollman’s unabashed remarks about letting the guitar goblin free roam.
Sam sighs to himself, a little too loudly.
“The fuck’re you sighing about?” Higgs says from across the bunker, having propped himself up at the table at some point. Sam frowns.
“Nothing. You gonna help me tidy at all?”
Higgs pouts. “I got shot.”
Sam stares at him, deadpan. He decides the argument isn’t worth it.
The day carries on that way, Higgs restlessly flitting around the bunker and scratching at his bullet wound until Sam has to remind him to leave it alone. Each time, Higgs grumbles out an agitated reply and continues pacing like a caged tiger.
Sam, equally restless, and with nothing else to do around the bunker, decides to pipe up.
“Just act normal.”
Higgs takes it poorly.
“The fuck do you mean just act normal?” He throws his arms out before wincing at the motion, met with regret. “You think I know what normal is, Sam?”
Fair enough. Sam gives a feeble shrug, unsure what to do with himself.
It’s 6:00PM when Sam’s terminal pings again.
All the blood in his body goes cold for a moment, and from across the room, he makes out the way Higgs’s posture stiffens.
For a minute, the air between them is palpable with tension.
“Let me go out n’ talk to them first,” Sam says, standing up from where he’d been perched on the end of the bed. Higgs peers at him glassily, not even nodding.
“Don’t trust me to talk?” he says after a moment.
“Don’t wanna surprise ‘em,” Sam rebuts, shrugging on his Drawbridge jacket.
Higgs is quiet, Sam can only make out the movement of his jaw working vigorously.
Sam locks the door behind him when he exits the bunker. The walk up the stairs is tail-ended with nerves, some emotional cocktail of anticipation, excitement and fear.
With a bit of a hiss, the door slides open and Sam is met with the sight of the Magellan, still draining tar, and the mouth of the ship slowly yawning open.
It’s all made worth it when Lou sees his face and wastes no time in running to throw a pair of arms around his neck. She’s grinning ear to ear, and it takes Sam a moment to realize that he’s smiling too. He hugs her tightly.
“Fuck. Missed you so much, kid,” he mutters against her shoulder, and she pulls back just enough to smile at him.
“I have so much to tell you about,” she says, and Sam wants nothing more than to invite her into the bunker to talk about all of it.
Instead, he pulls back, swinging himself back into reality.
“I wanna hear it,” he grunts. “The others onboard?” Lou cranes her neck to check over her shoulder.
“Yep. Rainy and everyone is here, we all wanted to see you! I can’t believe I haven’t seen the bunker in months.” She moves to step past him when Sam quickly blocks her path.
“Uh…” He trails off, and a quiet look of confusion passes over Lou’s expression.
Coughing awkwardly, Sam barrels on. “Should… maybe talk to the others first.”
Lou blinks owlishly. “Oh. Okay. Is everything okay?”
Sam nods. “S’ fine. Just… y’know. Updates.”
Lou’s face grows a little more tense, which feels wrong to see, somehow. Some part of it, all of it, is still surreal.
“Higgs?” she asks, and Sam fights back a wince. Smart kid.
“Something like that.”
Lou smiles again, more subdued now. “Die-Hardman wanted to talk to you about him.” That gives Sam pause. He peers at Lou, questioning.
“Yeah?”
She nods. “He told me not to worry about it. C’mon. Let’s go say hi to everyone.”
Sam follows her to the ship, fighting back the urge to glance over his shoulder towards the bunker again. He doesn’t want Lou to worry about anything. The thought unsettles him, forces him to tense and untense his hands as his boots thump against metal in a way that’s comfortingly familiar.
Inside the ship, Rainy is first to greet him.
“Hi Sam!” She beams at him, and Sam is quickly reminded of how much he’d missed this. Friendly faces, people brought together in spite of their differences. “Tarman and the others are in the control room.” She holds out a hand, which Lou is quick to take.
Sam smiles faintly, trailing after the two as they lean into each other with a bump to the shoulder. The gentle, easy affection isn’t lost on Sam. No threat of Lou inheriting his aphenphosmphobia, then.
In the control room, the rest of the crew bombards him with greetings. Perched on one of the seats, Dollman waves vigorously.
“Sam! Welcome back aboard!” he calls out.
It’s vaguely overwhelming, but Sam buries his instinct to disappear into the corner. He’s abruptly pulled into a tight hug, a hand clasping over his shoulder as he startles. Die-Hardman pulls back with a grin.
“Good to see you, Sam.”
Meekly, Sam just nods, letting Die-Hardman’s hand slide from his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Sam catches Tarman’s wave, Tarcat crouching pensively on his shoulder.
Dollman jostles himself, hands outreached as he gestures.
“Sam, don’t leave me hanging!”
Fighting back an amused puff, Sam leans forward to grab the string affixed to his back, yanking him up to eye level. Immediately, Dollman does his own best approximation of a hug. Sam gives him a measly pat on the back.
“S’ good to be back,” he mumbles, underwhelmingly. All the same, the crew seems happy.
Lou swings the hand still clasped in Rainy’s own happily, tilting her head to grin at her.
It’s a bit of a blur, after the fact. The group recites their latest adventures, plate gates and gate quakes; new sorts of BTs, Lou’s first few forays into portering.
“Must be genetic. She’s picked up on it faster than a fish to water,” Tarman says from the navigator’s seat. “Might have your work cut out, Sam.” Sam glances at Lou with a quiet snort.
“Doesn’t surprise me. Kid's always been more talented.”
Dollman sits on his shoulder, not unlike a parrot, kicking his legs all the while.
“And how about you, Sam? Have things been okay since we left?” he asks, after the initial excitement dies down.
Suddenly, all the eyes in the room are back on Sam. Heat rushes to his cheeks.
Well, no. He wants to say. Higgs is living in my bunker and we’re both going crazy. He wants to say. I’ve been killed countless times by him in the span of time that we’ve been alone together. He wants to say. I think I accidentally tied our souls together in the Seam. He wants to say.
“Yeah,” he says instead.
Everyone is quiet for a moment, before he feels a tug at his hair. Dollman bunches a fistful of locks in his tiny hand.
“Are you certain, Sam?” he prods. The unspoken elephant in the room stands proudly, and Sam doesn’t exactly want to breach the topic himself. He chews on his cheek.
“S’ been fine.” The words come out before he can think of something more eloquent.
Glancing between each other, Die-Hardman finally takes a small step forward.
“I’m glad to hear that, Sam.” He hesitates, before: “How is taking care of Higgs?” There it is.
Sam blanches, chewing harder on his lip, the slightest tang of iron on his tongue. Noticing his discomfort, Die-Hardman’s expression shifts.
“If he’s giving you trouble, we can set things up with the –”
“No, it’s fine,” Sam blurts out again. Die-Hardman pauses, then nods.
“It’s always an option if it gets bad.” He folds his arms at his chest, giving him a look somewhere between pity and worry. “Everyone appreciates the effort. If anyone’s capable of keeping him under control, it’s you, Sam.”
“But you aren’t a one man army!” Dollman pipes up.
“Neither is he,” Sam grunts out, nervously scratching his ear.
“Well, no one would blame you if you needed a break, and some relaxation.” He takes a moment to pat Sam’s head gently. “Has he calmed down since we last saw him? Maybe I could talk with him now.”
The thought leaves a sour taste on Sam’s tongue.
“Dunno if he’d like that.”
Lou finally unclasps her hand from Rainy’s, padding closer towards Sam.
“He still in that room?” she asks, tense.
Suddenly, the walls feel too tight. Like they’re closing in. He scratches his beard now, shrugging.
“Uh… no.” Lou’s brows knit together for a moment. Sam forces himself to continue. “He – some shit happened. Dislocated his arm because of his restraints.” The silence around him is crushing. “Stopped making him wear ‘em.”
Lou’s weight shifts from foot to foot. Still no damn shoes. Sam idly thinks to himself. Can’t be good for her.
“Why?” There’s still childlike wonder in her voice as she speaks, and Sam fights to keep his expression steady. Deeper yet, she sounds uncertain.
Don’t blame you, kid.
Again, he shrugs.
“I dunno.” It’s easier to say than whatever he’d cooked up in his mind. Easier than all the strange justifications he’d made, all the guilt filled promises to himself that he’d broken.
“So he’s out? Whenever he wants?” she asks.
Sam hesitates. Shakes his head. “Not… really.”
Lou blinks, then looks away pensively.
“Lets not bombard the man.” Die-Hardman eventually butts in. “I can’t imagine the last few months have been easy.” He turns his focus back to Sam with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Sam stares awkwardly, glancing between him and Lou. She fiddles with her fingers, to which Rainy is quick to slide a small jar of cryptobiotes into her hand. It placates her twitching.
“Sam, is it alright if we talk?” Die-Hardman’s voice draws his eyes back. For a moment, Sam remembers being in trouble as a kid. Even behind the mask, Die-Hardman’s ever present looming voice had been a constant in his life. It still manages to feel strange, seeing him in the flesh this way.
Yielding despite his reservations, Sam nods.
Passing by Lou, he gently places a hand on her wrist; a quiet promise. When he pulls away, Rainy smiles at him reassuringly.
They walk through the creaking hull of the ship in silence. Dollman still sits perched on Sam’s shoulder, glancing around like the sight is new.
The tension swells and snaps when Die-Hardman speaks again.
“I know you struggle with crowds, Sam.” He turns, looking over his shoulder. “You’ll have to forgive everyone’s excitement. We’re happy to see you.”
“S’ fine.” It’s hard not to feel self-conscious, even as he says it. “I’m happy too.”
Die-Hardman laughs faintly. “Hard to tell, sometimes,” he teases. Sam stiffly shrugs, jostling Dollman.
“Watch it!”
Sam mutters an apology under his breath.After a pause, Die-Hardman continues. “I wanted to check in, I know it’s been an interesting few months with Higgs.” He eyes Sam. “I mean it when I say you can tap out anytime. We just needed a temporary spot for him while we figured everything out. There’s other options for him. And you.”
Sam’s mouth twists.
“UCA?”
Die-Hardman lets out a soft exhale, leaning back against the wall.
“They’re our best bet for making sure he doesn’t get back out.” He squints as he speaks, trying to catch Sam’s gaze. Sam doesn’t let him. “I know you don’t want to work with them, but I can make sure they make things as comfortable as possible for –”
“You can’t, though,” he grits out, voice rough. The interjection catches Die-Hardman off guard. “Once he’s behind closed doors, you can’t know what they’re gonna do.”
Die-Hardman is quiet, before his head dips.
“You’re right.” He secedes. The sound of metal straining under its own weight fills the hallway. Sam traces a steel bearing with his index finger.
“If you’re trying to make sense of it, don’t.” Die-Hardman fills the dead air. “You know him, Sam. He gets under people’s skin.”
Sam fingers a notch in the wall, staring at the ground. He doesn’t speak.
“If this is some kind of retribution –”
“It’s not that.”
Die-Hardman regards him with a raised eyebrow. He lets the hallway sink back into silence for a few long moments.
“Don’t punish yourself, Sam.” He looks partially at Dollman as he says it. “If you think you owe this to Fragile, or Lou, or anyone, you don’t.”
Sam grinds his teeth. His chest goes tight, and a chill threatens to race up his spine.
It takes a while for Sam to scrape together his thoughts. He hates the awkward, stifling pauses between breaths. The expectant, open air. He’s clammy, palms sweating with nerves.
“If he goes to Bridges, he’ll do it all again,” Sam finally forces out. Again, he feels a reassuring pat on his head, encouraging.
“And he won’t with you?” Incredulous, Die-Hardman shifts from where he’s leaning. “You can’t expect me to believe he’s just been sitting pretty in your bunker all this time.”
Sam glances up to Die-Hardman.
His face is worn, a set to his brow that brings a bout of nausea to Sam’s throat.
At Sam’s silence, Die-Hardman exhales again.
This time, Dollman pipes up. “There were reports of a crater. Near the distribution center not far from you.”
“Near double the size of a usual one.” Die-Hardman takes a small step forwards. “Sam, the UCA is bound to notice these things.”
Sam only answers with a noise pulled from his throat.
Die-Hardman gives another lengthy pause.
“I was a soldier before all of this. Seen things the likes of which people should never have to see.” His face is resigned, quiet acceptance. “There are some men out there that will fight tooth and nail until the very end if they can. That’s just the reality of it.”
He draws in a breath. “I’m not telling you what to do. I’ve done enough of that. But I just want you to understand the man you’re working with.”
Sam’s nail catches roughly on the indent of the wall, forcing a flinch out of him.
“Does the UCA know it's him?”
Dollman’s feet kick against his jacket.
“No. But there’s suspicion.” Die-Hardman fixes Sam with a look. “Discretion may be wise here, Sam. If they could get their hooks into people like Lucy and yourself, I’m sure they’ll be feeling similar about him.
“And since APAC’s dissolution they’ve been spreading further down South.” There’s a wariness to his words that makes Sam tense.
“What’re you saying?”
Die-Hardman’s face softens, ever so slightly. “You and I both know what they’re capable of doing.” He stops, then continues, “I don’t want you caught in anymore bullshit.”
“Does Lou know?” The question forces itself out from behind grit incisors.
“Know?” Die-Hardman echoes back.
“Bout… everything. That they’d do the same shit to her.” Die-Hardman crosses his arms over his chest again.
“No. I don’t think so. But she's aware of the dangers.”
“And Higgs?”
The man across from him frowns.
“She knows enough about him.”
Sam grapples with the strange flood of emotion, the tide filling his chest and the space between two lungs. It’s a collapsing pressure, an aching buildup that pools to the brim of his throat.
He can’t tell anymore. Whether he’s being selfish. Whether it matters. Sam thinks of the way Higgs’ hand had gripped his own one morning, terrified and uncertain. A real, true plea for help, wrapped up in the bundle of tightly wound despair and hate and visceral apathy.
The first moment he hadn’t tried to throw it all away.
All it had taken was everything Sam loved. All it had been was his life, however shaky the foundation, upturned and uprooted. The resentment festers like worming, wolfish maggots in his body.
But he’s made it this far. Stubborn and stupid, Sam doesn’t want to give up.
“So what? We run again?” He’s hoarse with the effort it takes to speak. Die-Hardman fixes him with a ruminative look.
“Does a life on the run sound good to you, Sam?” At that, Sam can’t stifle his snort.
“Changes nothin’,” he says. “S’ been the plan since Lou and I were out here.”
“And what about Higgs?” Dollman’s voice snaps Sam’s attention, almost forgetting the puppet body resting on his shoulder. “Won’t he run the moment he finds the opportunity, Sam?”
Sam’s nape prickles.
“He won’t.”
Die-Hardman considers him for a moment, before giving a brief nod.
“I expect to be surprised.”
Sam doesn't have to look at Dollman to catch his unease. With a bit of a sigh, Die-Hardman finally straightens, shoulders squaring.
“I think you should come with us on our next outing. One of the newly discovered plate gates will give you a good distance from the UCA up North, and time to think. Time to scout out new areas while laying low,” he pauses. “And time with Lou. She misses you.”
Sam is quick to nod, before his movement catches. He wants nothing more, but —
“... Can’t leave Higgs alone that long.”
Die-Hardman casts a glance towards Dollman.
“Then he’ll have to come. With some increased security measures.”
Sam’s brow knits, gaze dropping to the floor, a pounding, anxious knot forming in his gut. Right. Right.
“Yeah,” he grinds out. “Okay.”
…
Sam stands frozen outside the shelter door. Despite his offer to come with, he’d left Dollman with Die-Hardman, and made his way back down. He steels himself, and unlocks the door with no small amount of tension in his shoulders.
Peering into the room, he finds himself falling back into the habit of checking around the corners. Except this time, he quickly spots the slumped shape of Higgs in his bed.
For a moment, he’s relieved he didn’t bring Dollman down. Undoubtedly he’d have questions.
The door slides shut behind him, and Higgs barely stirs. From the pile of sheets he’d collected around himself, Sam catches sight of Higgs’s eye.
He doesn’t say anything at first, the gears in his mind spinning.
“What’s the verdict?” He’s muffled under the covers. “Death sentence?” Sam struggles not to roll his eyes.
“Not so lucky.” Sam closes the distance from the door, looming above the curled up man. Higgs huddles further in on himself, squinting up at Sam as he bunches fabric in his fists.
He isn’t sure how to broach the topic, so he decides to bite the bullet.
“They’re going through a new plate gate. They want us to come with.”
Higgs blinks. Once, then again. He shuffles from his cocoon with a wince, letting the sheet pull off of his bare shoulders and fall in a heap around his hips.
“Us?” he asks, incredulous. It’s followed by a sharp bark of laughter. “Don’t fuckin’ kid me, Sam.”
“I’m not kidding.” Higgs’s mouth flaps, before he sits back a little.
“Itchin’ for a joyride that bad?” The sneer leaves his lips, a strange contrast with the worry etched into the lines of his face.
Sam glances to his shoulder, eyeing the brown, drying blood staining the bandages there.
“Nah. Your lil’ meltdown caught the attention of the UCA.” Higgs pales, expression dropping. Then, he laughs again, unconvincingly.
“Yeah, you believe everything you’re told, huh Sam?” Sam furrows his brows. He doesn’t dignify it with a response, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What, so everyone is fine with it? Just fine with me hangin’ around?” Agitation bleeds into his words as he speaks. “Meanderin’ with everybody else, holdin’ hands and shit?”
Sam remains unflinching, tipping his head near imperceptibly as Higgs drawls on.
Higgs, with a bit of effort, rises from the bed, standing to full height. Even dressed down to a pair of old sweatpants, there’s an undeniable advantage to the inches he has on Sam. Higgs meets Sam’s eyes with a bit of a squint, sizing him up.
Then, with a fluid motion, he leans closer, a hand skating up the front of the jacket and coming to rest at the junction of Sam’s neck. He can feel the heat of his skin atop the fabric, radiating through.
A small smile curls at his lip, knowing, and Sam braces himself.
Higgs’s hand rises to twirl a strand of hair around his finger loosely, pulling just shy of too hard. His face is pressed close enough to feel his feathery, warm breath skate Sam's cheek.
"You'd be lettin' the coyote into your flock, Sammy." The curve of his lip pulls, smug. "Not a good look for the guard dog, is it?"
Sam’s breath hitches, caught in his throat as Higgs leans in. Too close. His jaw tenses, tilting his nose away from the ghosting exhale at the jut of his cheekbone.
He doesn’t pull back, doesn't rise to the needling remark.
Apparently not satisfied, Higgs’s fist curls into his hair, drawing his face closer. “C’mon, Sammy, don’t go quiet on me now.” He closes the distance with a slow drag of his tongue across Sam’s neck, lethargic and lazy. Sam screws his eyes shut.
His hands rise to grab Higgs by the shoulders, forcing him back an inch.
“Stop,” he grinds out, unable to ignore the burning of his cheeks. His resolve threatens to buckle at the lidded smirk Higgs offers in return, flirtatious and exactly what Sam doesn’t want to think about right now.
“You got any idea what you’re draggin’ your friends into?” Higgs murmurs. “Bringin’ me onboard?”
“You aren’t staying here alone,” Sam manages to say, gravel in his throat. For a moment, Higgs’s lips twitch. The expression wavers, a flinch quickly replaced with a stifled scoff.
“You said it’d just be a courtesy visit.” His grip doesn’t loosen in Sam’s hair. “Now you’re springin’ this on me?”
“Thought you’d like getting out.” Sam narrows his eyes when Higgs gives his hair a tepid tug, tilting his chin up just enough. Fighting back a growl, Higgs stares him down.
“You n’ I both know that ain’t the damn problem.”
Sam doesn’t know what to say. He meets Higgs’s glare with his own, trying to measure his breathing. Trying to keep it steady, even pinned like a mouse between the talons of a hawk.
The silence is crippling. Higgs’s eyes dart around Sam’s face, the edge he holds slowly slipping. After a delay, he untangles his fingers from Sam’s nape and pulls back.
“You’re serious,” he breathes out. A laugh quickly follows. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot. You and your damn crew.”
“You should pack some clothes.” Sam barrels onwards, ignoring the flash of indignance across Higgs’s features. “I’m gonna have to put cuffs back on you for now.”
Higgs snarls. “No fuckin’ way.” Again, he steps forward, towering. “No more cuffs. Ever.”
Sam isn’t sure what to expect most of the time when it comes to his outbursts. This time, the stoicism is plagued with the smallest fraction of guilt.
“They aren’t letting you aboard without them.”
“Then I guess we ain’t goin’ anywhere, are we Sam?”
At an impasse, then. Sam rights himself with a deep inhale. Tries to smother the stoked embers nestled in his ribcage with little success.
“Not your choice,” Sam finally says, flatly.
Like wrangling a feral cat; the screaming and caterwauling, the hissing and biting. Higgs works his jaw silently, breathing hard through his nose. It’s taking every muscle in his body not to succumb to the urge of slamming Sam into the wall. To not claw at his face and sink teeth into the artery in his neck like he’d tried so many times before. Admittedly, it’s a shocking display of restraint for the man.
“Fuck you.” His words are laced with venom, landing at Sam’s feet with a weighty hiss.
Sam watches him whip around and stalk out of sight, into the next room at a bit of a loss. The charged air seems to fizzle out with little fanfare, and Sam is left almost wishing he’d tried swinging a punch. The alternative feels stranger, somehow.
Slowly, Sam lets his tensed shoulders drop. The guard he’d unknowingly pulled up sliding from his body like physical weights.
He brings a hand to his face and rubs his eyes, letting out a quiet exhale. He doesn’t know what to make of Higgs’s strange aversion, except that maybe the man was embarrassed. Ashamed?
Sam doesn’t want to dwell on it.
He packs his meagre belongings. It takes no more than fifteen minutes before he’s sitting back on the bed with his head in his hands, scrubbing at his face.
Fuck.
It’d be so much easier without him. Everything. All of it.
Sam realizes, somewhat belatedly, that he’s exhausted. He thinks of Lou’s warm arms around him and her deliriously happy grin. It almost doesn’t feel like something so pure and right could have come from Sam. He’d never made anything of the sort before.
The soft thud of something beside him startles Sam out of his thoughts, his head snapping up to Higgs who he hadn’t even noticed until now. Dressed in a soft, old turtle neck and some weathered borrowed coat that they’d found buried at the back of Sam’s modest wardrobe.
Glancing to the side, he sees the cuffs from before.
Higgs is silent, he just looks. Again, Sam’s eyes flit upwards until he’s peering at Higgs’s slightly shadowed face, backlit by the ceiling light. He makes out the furrow in his brow.
Wordlessly, his hands come together.
“Just get it over with.”
Rising to meet him, Sam slowly brings the cuffs forward, hesitating again. He can hear the steady thrum of his heart in his chest.
Sam forces himself to look at Higgs in the eye, catching the man staring.
“Jus’ trust me,” Sam mumbles. Higgs clenches his jaw harder.
Sam clicks the cuffs over his wrists one more time. Higgs watches in cold silence.