Archive of Our Own

Perhaps the one saving grace was that Helen would think this entire situation was hilarious. Maybe not the whole hivemind-trying-to-assimilate-everyone part, but the part where Carol let herself get seduced by said hivemind in the body of a tall Polish model with brown eyes so deep you could drown? Downright hysterical. Carol could hear the teasing already—You fucked her and that’s what made you come out?

Carol would argue that no, obviously that wasn’t the whole reason she made Raban a woman. Part of it was because the whole fucking world knew she was gay now, so. Might as fucking well. Helen had cared about a lot of things (hello—motion sensor), but she had an infinite amount of patience for Carol’s timeline, even if Carol never got to the part where she readily held Helen’s hand out in the world. For her entire life, Carol had doubted Helen and never taken her at face value. 

Despite many floating around in her head, she’d asked Zosia one question.

They were in bed, a chalet in the Alps, a wood fireplace burning, and Carol had twisted in the sheets to bury her face in the spot between Zosia’s shoulder and neck. By that point, they smelled thoroughly of each other. Carol thought they spent more time in bed than they did out of it.

Zosia’s hand found her hair and fingernails scratched shivers over her scalp. With a deep exhale, Carol had asked, “Did she care? That I never…”

A small hum vibrated in Zosia’s throat, like the soft reassuring surge of a water heater deep, deep in the house. Something Carol had learned after spending every waking moment with Zosia: she knew now, a lot of the time, what Carol was going to say. It was her anger that confused her, Carol knew, but Carol wasn’t angry here. Wasn’t angry with her.

Carol braced herself as Zosia said, “She cared. But… that was never something she cared enough about to walk away from you.”

“That wasn’t. Something else was?”

“Carol,” Zosia warned, not unkindly. 

“I know, I know.” Carol ghosted her lips over Zosia’s collarbone, relishing in Zosia’s reaction, a pebble hitting still water. “Thank you for telling me.”

Weeks ago, Zosia might have said, Of course. You asked. But she knew better now, Carol had figured out. They adapted—it adapted—and every day Zosia started to feel more real. Carol wished, not for the first time, that she hadn’t taken Helen’s love for granted, that she hadn’t nitpicked it until it was as gnawed and bloody as Carol’s cuticles.

.

After Zosia said I love you, Carol tucked the words away in a cardboard box, buried in the back of the closet (ha) that was her head. It reminded her of her pet hamster when she was seven or eight. Carol had come home to find it dead in its cage, unmoving and stale, and when she’d told her mother, they’d gone out into the yard and buried it together. It was the first time her mother had mentioned Heaven as a concept. It was the first time her mother had looked at her and said, Only good girls go to Heaven.

Carol was silent as they packed their things. She’d let the Others take care of that while they’d traveled the last two weeks, but now a part of her craved the mundane, so she folded the new clothes she’d taken from expensive stores and found rather quickly she had no clue how to preserve items like this, how to store them in a fashion that wasn’t ruining. She stared down at silk pajamas, the fabric between her thumb and forefinger, and stood still enough that Zosia stopped on the other side of the room, too.

“Carol?” Blinking, Carol looked up. Zosia’s face knitted in concern, a familiar enough expression that made hope surge in Carol’s chest.

But it wasn’t real. “I’m good,” she said. She folded the pajamas like she would cheap cotton.

.

Breakup sex had never really been Carol’s style. She liked a clean cut, a scalpel’s edge, mostly because she was the one doing the breaking and her exes had never been that interested in trying to fight for her. She got a lot of Good riddance and You’re a piece of shit, which had been, at the time, very okay with Carol. Most of the time, she ended things because they got too real too fast. Too intense. She latched on to anyone who gave her a look longer than five seconds. She let people she wasn’t attracted to into her bed because it felt nice to be wanted.

So maybe her lack of experience in the breakup sex arena was why she found herself intertwined with Zosia not even an hour after the illusion had been shattered. It wasn’t like they needed to wait for the plane—the plane had been ready. But after Carol had disappeared into the lodge to have a little cry (not a cry cry, mostly an internal breakdown that would’ve caused tears in anyone else, but Carol had repressed most of that years ago), she emerged to find Zosia in the same spot as she had been. Sitting, eerily, in the same position.

On the same couch where she’d explained exactly how she was going to take away Carol’s agency.

Carol said nothing as she approached. Neither did Zosia. They looked at each other, the cold expression on Zosia’s face that had dug deep into the hollow of her bones replaced by a hopeful, tentative smile. There was always an element in that smile that made Carol feel like a wild animal, made Carol feel as though Zosia was just waiting for her to bite. That Zosia knew she would bite eventually.

(Helen was never waiting for her to bite. When Carol did, which was often, Helen reached over and ruffled Carol’s fur. Never afraid to stick her hand through the bars.)

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Carol said eventually, after a solid minute of staring, of letting her apprehension erode. “We’re going to have sex. Then we’re going to fly back to Albuquerque. Somewhere along the way, we’re going to pick something up.”

Zosia nodded. The same way she had after Carol said she was hers. “What are we picking up?”

“We’ll get to that later.”

Maybe it was a cliché, but Carol figured the best way to have one-last-time, end-of-the-world sex was on the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. 

She let Zosia lay her down and slot her hips between Carol’s legs. She let Zosia devour her piece by piece, tongue scraping across Carol’s teeth as though she wanted to memorize what the bite felt like before it happened. Zosia tugged at Carol’s bottom lip as she ground against Carol’s center, and she swallowed the moan Carol let out. She’d stopped being embarrassed about it after a few times, but this time it felt as though her body was stabbing itself in the back. 

They sat up. Carol tugged at Zosia’s long-sleeve shirt and took her in—the soft sports bra cradling her breasts, the smooth plane of Zosia’s stomach. She took off the bra first, not wasting a moment before kissing Zosia and palming a breast, feeling the weight of it in her hand as she drew a thumb across Zosia’s nipple. She closed her eyes and committed Zosia’s sounds and the way she shivered in Carol’s hands to memory.

A wave of nausea flooded Carol’s gut, and she pulled back. Examining it, she felt even more sick. Zosia looked at her, waiting. Pressing her lips together and squeezing her eyes shut, Carol decided it was now or never. Might as fucking well.

“Tell me you love me again.”

To Zosia’s credit, she only raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch before her expression smoothed into a comfortable, unfortunately familiar warmth. “Of course, Carol.”

“Time it, y’know, right or whatever.”

Nodding, Zosia kissed her again. Zosia pressed her to the ground and pulled at Carol’s sweatpants. They grew more frantic, more desperate, but Carol realized with a sick sense of dread that it was Zosia mirroring her own fervor, matching her beat for beat. It hadn’t been like this before. But she figured Zosia was as uncertain as she’d ever been, handling Carol with care.

As Zosia nosed at her neck, kissing and nipping the skin over her jugular, she whispered, “I love you.”

Carol wanted to throw up. Was this self flagellation? Felt like it. She slipped a hand between her legs and rubbed at her clit, a bit prematurely, she’d admit, but she was doing that thing, that conditioning thing. If she got herself off on it enough times she’d start feeling good about it.

A wave of arousal washed over her. She was wet, ready, but she wanted Zosia to make her beg for it. She slipped her fingers into Zosia’s hair, ignoring the small artificial bumps of the wig. (Which she’d discovered the second time they’d slept together. Carol hadn’t asked her to just take it off; it didn’t feel like her place.) She pushed Zosia’s head down and felt a smile against her abdomen. Zosia tugged off her underwear and didn’t wait before burying herself into Carol, pressing her whole face against Carol’s cunt, drowning in it. Carol held her there, wondering if it was even possible to suffocate like this. Part of her wanted to find out.

She loosened her grip.

Zosia tongued around her clit, teasing her. “Fuck, Zosia.” Zosia’s fingers dug into her hips almost painfully, and Carol hoped there would be bruises. Anything to remember this. Zosia’s tongue pressed into her, not enough, but Carol bit back the moan nonetheless. Zosia didn’t get to have that piece of her anymore. They didn’t.

The finger was a surprise. She didn’t feel Zosia’s hand move, and when Zosia dragged a fingertip against her, Carol bucked like a goddamn teenager. Zosia’s breath danced on her skin as she laughed, and Carol snapped, “Stop fucking laughing.”

Zosia lifted her head, and Carol couldn’t help but stare at the glisten on her lips and cheeks. “Or what?”

Anger surged. She wanted to throttle the woman, wanted to pin her to the floor and hold onto her throat and watch as her face morphed into something you couldn’t fake. Instead, Carol said, “Or we can stop.”

Zosia paused, a single finger still stroking idly inside of Carol. It felt like a gunshot. “Do you want to stop?”

A taut rope between them, tug of war. Carol could feel the muscles and tendons in her arms straining, and she could tell Zosia wasn’t even struggling. She wouldn’t, would she?

“Just fuck me,” Carol said. It felt like losing.

“Only if you say please.”

Speaking of losing. Voice tight, Carol said, “I want you to fuck me, Zosia. It would make me very happy.”

If Zosia frowned at Carol’s wording, a repetition to previously intense encounters, it lasted only a moment. Without preamble, she added a second finger and stroked Carol like she was stretching a rubber band. Long, deep, snap. 

“Faster,” Carol whispered. “Fu—faster.”

Zosia did not pick up the pace. With an unwelcome whine, Carol lifted her head to find Zosia watching her, fingers moving languidly in and out, like they had all fucking day and Carol wasn’t counting down the hours until she was back home in the house that still, against all odds, smelled like her dead wife. She was waiting for the bite, Carol knew. And wasn’t this what she had wanted? It wasn’t like they hadn’t played this game before in the last two weeks—they had, a lot, and Carol had enjoyed it entirely too much. (No, not ‘too much’—she was allowed to like this.)

But despite thinking it might solve something, Carol felt a pit of something sticky inside of her, tacky regret gluing her together. Her body wanted more. She wanted more. She wanted Zosia to want her for real. 

Fine. Carol could pretend for a little while. “Zosia,” she gasped. “Please—please fuck me.”

Faster was an understatement. Zosia worked her thoroughly. She had Helen and everyone Carol had ever let fuck her in there, presumably, but she also had practice, lots of it, and she had learned a lot. Zosia knew Carol inside (ha) and out, and dragged her thumb across Carol’s clit at just the right moment, as her fingers snagged something deep with her, and as Carol got closer and closer, Zosia moved up her body and pulled her shirt up. Two fingers deep, Zosia’s pretty lips and tongue moving across Carol’s breasts, and Carol found herself squirming underneath the most perfect woman she’d ever seen.

As Carol bit her bottom lip and tossed her head to the side, stomach swooping as she jumped, Zosia stopped moving. “F—fuck. Zosia?” Her voice cracked. She blinked, the woman above her blurry for a second before coming into focus. “Wha…”

Slow strokes again. A pulse in, a drag out. Zosia looking at her like someone else entirely, a hungry gaze. Maybe Zosia was the cat, Carol the mouse. Carol was so close, every shift of Zosia inside of her made her gasp, made her chest rise and fall, made her stomach twist. Zosia stared at her and worked her up again with a devastating slowness.

Carol groaned as she felt herself tightening around Zosia’s fingers—so close. With Zosia pressed against her, three fingers deep now with her thumb on Carol’s clit, she threw her arms around Zosia and breathed her in. Held her as her body clenched and tears pricked at the edges of her eyes. It was the tears that made her falter.

Blinking them away, Carol bit hard into her bottom lip. Zosia bit hard into Carol’s neck. Everything was the way it should’ve been, everything felt insane and good and—

It wasn’t happening.

Zosia knew it, too. Jesus fucking Christ. “It’s okay, Carol,” she murmured. “This is perfectly nor—”

“Keep going,” she said through gritted teeth. She was going to come. The last time they did this needed to be perfect (even if she was crying). She wasn’t a quitter.

(Famously, she was a quitter.)

“If that’s what you want.” Zosia kept going. Carol’s fingers replaced Zosia’s on her clit, trying to get the angle just right. Through whispered kisses, it was Zosia who finally pushed her over the edge. “Good girl, Carol. That’s it. You’re being so good for me.”

She fell, letting out an ungodly sound, and held the back of Zosia’s neck with tightly clamped fingers. It comforted her to realize she might leave bruises on Zosia, too. They would compliment the scar. (Carol, once again, felt like throwing up.)

“Another,” Zosia urged.

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll let you,” Zosia countered, “if you give me another. Please, Carol. I love you.” She dragged her teeth across Carol’s shoulder, moving so sweetly that it couldn’t be called fucking anymore. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, I love you.”

Carol was nothing if not predictable. She came a second time, this one rocking through her like slow tide, taking it’s goddamn fucking time as Zosia continued thrusting into her. Carol knew, after this one, that she was done, but she let Zosia keep fucking her until she couldn’t stand it. Until the thumb against her clit stopped jolting through her and actually started to hurt. She wanted to feel this tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

(She wanted to feel it forever.)

.

Carol asked for one last thing.

She asked for Zosia on her knees, kneeling before Carol while Carol sat on the couch where everything went wrong. She asked for the dildo and harness they’d used a few times over the last couple weeks and put it on. She asked for something she’d never asked anyone ever but had always wanted to try.

When Zosia wrapped her hand around the strap and looked Carol right in the eye, Carol didn’t turn away, despite desperately wanting to avoid her gaze. Instead, she watched as Zosia pressed a kiss to the tip of the dildo and wrapped her lips around it, hollowing her cheeks. She watched Zosia take it into her mouth and tried not to think about how annoyingly perfect she looked like this, so ready, so willing. She wasn’t going to think about that last part.

Zosia took Carol into her mouth and let Carol fist her hand into Zosia’s hair, holding her there as Carol moved her hips. A slow fuck into Zosia’s mouth—Carol swore she could feel it. Zosia took the five inches after a few minutes and Carol felt the tip of the strap nudge at Zosia’s throat. When Zosia pulled back, spit trailed after her lips and she wiped at them with the back of her hand.

“Up,” Carol said. Zosia complied. She climbed into Carol’s lap and let Carol rub at her clit, rocking against her with her hands on Carol’s neck. That was the other thing. Zosia was touchy, overwhelmingly so, in a way that no one Carol had ever been with had been. She used her hands all over, on Carol’s cheeks, neck, back, ass. She touched whatever she could reach, and Carol had wondered more than once where she got the idea that Carol liked it.

Carol worked Zosia open with two fingers. She was so fucking wet all the goddamn time, Carol was even a little jealous. She got there herself, sure, but all she needed to do was ghost her fingers in the right place and Zosia dripped. Not only did these freaks send her fantasy woman, but they sent a woman who was prepared to get down and dirty at literally any moment. Must’ve been uncomfortable walking around like that all the time. (What with Carol’s insane hotness and ability to attract strangers. Ha.)

When Carol slotted the tip of the dildo against Zosia’s entrance, Zosia gasped. “Good,” she whispered. “Just like that. Come on, Carol. Fuck me.”

Carol used both hands on Zosia’s hips to work her down onto the strap. They were chest to chest as Zosia bottomed out, stilling for a long moment as she got used to the fullness. Carol brought a hand up and palmed at Zosia’s breast, following her fingers with her mouth. Zosia rocked against her, starting the climb. Carol had learned Zosia liked it slow, deep. Sometimes rough. It had been hard work figuring it out, too.

“Do you fake it?” Carol had asked.

“Fake what?”

“The noises and such.” She hadn’t known why she was asking. It felt a little like walking into a sword.

Brows knit quizzically. “We’re not faking our sexual responses.” A beat later. “I’m not.”

Carol elected to ignore the pronoun. “But do you like certain things over others?”

“Hm,” Zosia murmured, thinking about it. She had been playing with Carol’s hand, running her own fingers over Carol’s knuckles and palm. “I think… there are some actions I respond to more, yes. But everything feels good.”

Carol bit back her automatic response—Everything? What if I beat the shit out of you? She wouldn’t do that. Probably.

So Carol took comprehensive notes (in her head). Zosia was more sensitive on her ear than she was on her neck. Zosia liked pressure, and she liked being smothered by Carol. Zosia liked kissing and Carol had figured out something new about herself: lips moving on the inside of your wrist felt really, really nice. Zosia liked to chase her own pleasure and go at her own pace.

Carol let her. Even now, as Zosia worked herself against Carol’s hips, breath stuttering between her lips. “Carol,” she whispered. “Oh, Carol.”

It was fucking insane to hear her name like that. “Say it again.”

Zosia leaned in and dragged the tip of her tongue along the outer shell of Carol’s ear. “Carol, I love you.”

That did it. Carol wrapped an arm around Zosia’s lower back and shifted them sideways, Zosia landing on her back. Somehow, the strap managed to stay in. Carol thrust into her hard, relishing Zosia’s nails on her back. More marks to look at in the mirror. To remember that this had happened. It had been real. 

Zosia moaned Carol’s name over and over again, in time with Carol’s thrusts. She whined and twisted and clamped her legs around Carol’s hips and held her deathly still when she came, as deep as Carol could get. They kissed as Zosia came down from it, and they lay intertwined, and Carol let herself pretend for just five minutes longer. 

Then, she silently picked herself up and put herself back together. She left Zosia on the floor, grabbed her things, and went to the gondola that would take them back down the mountain. A flushed yet put together Zosia joined her not three minutes later, and the two of them said absolutely nothing as they returned to the real world.

That is, until Carol asked for the atom bomb.

.

Carol’s wrist started to hurt. Her middle finger, too, where she held the vibrator hard against her clit to ride it out. It was taking longer and longer for her to get off. She needed to take a break, but she was so goddamn horny after almost three straight weeks of constant sex. The influx overwhelming, the disappearance devastating.

She was also running out of material. She’d grabbed one of her pocket notebooks and wrote down everything she could remember about the past three weeks. 

While they were still at Carol’s house, before the illusion started to crack, Carol didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about how she’d brought Zosia into the bed she’d shared with Helen, but she now fixated on it, wondering if it meant something that she didn’t entirely mind. It felt like crossing a line, sure, but it was a line that needed crossing to avoid drowning in grief. At least, that’s what she told herself.

They’d slept together on the couch. She’d fucked Zosia against and on the kitchen counter. Even in the hot tub, which was definitely not sanitary and was sort of ruined when Zosia made them both search each other for any open cuts. 

“Amputation is not fun,” Zosia had said with a smile. 

“Yeah, I bet,” Carol had replied.

They’d completed three puzzles in eight days, mostly because Zosia was scary good at puzzles. Carol fixated on a single spot and got absorbed, and by the time she re-emerged, Zosia had completed an entire chunk. 

Carol had learned, much to her delight, that Zosia wasn’t that great at golf. So much for not needing muscle memory. Or, at the very least, Carol was better than Zosia was, which was kind of crazy considering she had Tiger Woods in there or something.

They watched old movies at the vintage theater downtown. They had fancy dinners. They cuddled on Carol’s couch and watched Golden Girls. 

On the private jet, sex was surprisingly difficult. She should’ve requested one with a bed, or even a large couch.

Zosia brought Carol to a vineyard in the middle of nowhere, Italy, and Carol tasted some of the best wine she’d ever had. They fucked their way through Europe with pit stops at museums, restaurants. Carol ignored Zosia when she told her the people serving them were the real, actual people who built this restaurant from the ground up. A family business. Carol ignored it when the Others cosplayed real people around them, but eventually she told Zosia that she preferred it when they were alone.

And then the Alps. Skiing was hell on her body, but she’d never done it and figured now was as good of a time as any. She didn’t love it, as expected, but she liked the view and she liked watching Zosia somehow navigate her way down a mountain with an ease you’d never know from looking at her.

That is all to say, three days after Zosia left, Carol had abused her clit so much she forced herself into abstinence. 

.

Manousos didn’t ask, for which Carol was grateful. The two of them played house oddly well, but once he figured out she was a shit cook, he took over in that regard. Carol ordered out (press 0 for immediate delivery via drone) sometimes. They sat over dinner and talked about everything and nothing, both of them slowly cultivating a mix of English and Spanish that was manageable. Carol got the gist. Manousos did, too. They were both more alike than either of them wanted to admit, but at least they were on the same wavelength (ha) re: saving the world.

She knew too much about electromagnetism after three weeks of research. The words blurred together, but it brought Carol back to her college days when she’d spent hours in the library bowels, tucked into a book away from people and the outside world. Back then, she’d relished the alone time. Back then, a lot of things had been different.

Something occurred to her two weeks after Zosia left. 

She decided not to share her idea with Manousos. At least, not yet. Not until it proved fruitful. Whenever she had called for food and other things, the Others hadn’t had Zosia answer the phone. Probably for the best.

She dialed 0.

“Hello, Carol. How can we help you?”

“I want to talk to Zosia.”

“Of course. Give us a second to retrieve her.”

The hold music was the same music that played when Carol called her health insurance. Click.

“Hi, Carol.”

Carol’s mouth went dry. Zosia, saying her name. Carol, Carol, Carol. “Uh—hey. How’s it going?”

“I’m well, how are you?”

Carol walked across her living room before settling into the same armchair Zosia had sat on many times. They’d fucked on it, too. No, she wasn’t going to think about that. “I’m good, yeah. Listen, I thought I’d call and just…” Just what? She should just ask. “What can you tell me about electromagnetism?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I suppose I would ask why you’re asking, but I have a feeling I already know.”

“Yeah, probably. Is that something you can’t answer?”

“I… can. What specifically do you want to know?”

Carol went through the notes she’d prepared for this. She had pages and pages of questions about the things she’d read. She mostly asked Zosia for clarity, to act as her own personal Reddit and explain it in the simplest terms ever. There were only a few sore spots where Carol hit a wall with her, and those walls were insider information as well.

She wrote everything down. 

At the end of that first (yes, the first—no comment) conversation, Carol looked up and realized they’d been talking for hours. “So,” she said casually, “where are you right now?”

“Currently, I’m in London.”

“Jesus,” Carol said, looking at the clock. “Sorry, it’s so late, I should—”

“Carol, it’s okay.”

Carol stopped talking. Took a deep breath. “Okay.”

The line buzzed as the two of them sat in silence. It reminded Carol of when Zosia first came back, after they’d stood out on the driveway for a whole five minutes with Carol’s face buried in Zosia’s shoulder. She didn’t know what to say. She desperately wanted to say something.

“Carol,” Zosia said quietly. “Did you need anything else?”

For the first time in a week, Carol knew exactly what she needed. “I need you to tell me what you’re doing.”

“I was sleeping.”

“In what? Just your clothes?”

A smile in Zosia’s voice. “That’s why you called?” It was at that moment that she regretted helping teach Zosia the art of cheekiness.

“Just answer the question. Are you in one of those cuddle piles or whatever?”

“I was,” Zosia said. “But now I’m in a room by myself.”

“Talk to me, then.”

“I’m currently talking to you.”

Carol inched her hand into her pants. “You know what I mean.”

A long pause. Carol ghosted her fingertips over her clit and sighed, heavy into the phone so she knew Zosia could hear. “What would you like me to say?”

Annoying. “Just any combination of things we’ve said to each other in a different order. Really, it doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Are you touching yourself?” It was maybe the third or fourth thing she’d expected to come out of Zosia’s mouth, but confirmed more of what she already knew: the Others had learned much from their time with Carol. About everything, but mostly about her. 

“Yeah,” Carol said, rubbing lazily at her clit. “Would you if I asked you to?”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

There was no sound on the other line before Zosia said, “Okay.”

Carol had tried phone sex with Helen once. It was during a book tour, her second, when Helen had gotten too sick to continue and had flown home early while Carol finished out the two last cities. Once Helen was feeling better, Carol had called her from a hotel in Berlin and had started something she was woefully ill-prepared to finish. This time, though, it felt… easier? Maybe. Weirder, definitely.

Sexier? Jury still out on that one.

“Carol?”

“Yeah.”

“What would you do? If you were here?” What a fucking hypothetical. It would probably kill the mood if she said she’d commit murder (she wouldn’t, promise), but it made her think about being broken in a way she didn’t want to think about right now. So she went for what’s easiest. 

“I’d press you face down,” Carol said. Her own fingers pressed at her entrance, teasing, with the steady pressure of the base of her palm on her clit. “I’d fuck you into the sheets.”

“With your hands?”

“With whatever you want.” But Carol remembered, as soon as she said it, that Zosia wouldn’t be able to make that choice. At least, not in any serious way. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Zosia hissed. So she was following directions. “You feel good, Carol. So good.”

Carol hadn’t gotten this worked up since her clit up and died, so this was pretty much heaven. The metaphorical heaven, not the one her hamster was in. She listened to Zosia’s heavy breathing, while Zosia listened to hers.

“Are you close, Zosia?”

“Ye—es.”

“Good girl,” Carol said. “Me too. You want to come for me, baby?”

Zosia let out a soft gasp. Carol could see her in her mind’s eye, flushed and fucked and shuddering. Carol came a few moments later, rubbing frantically at herself, and the two of them sat there, breathing heavily over the phone.

“Wow,” Zosia said, probably entirely for Carol’s benefit.

Because Carol was allergic to not ruining a moment, she asked, “So have you figured it out yet?”

“What?”

Carol smiled. There was something she’d noticed, with Zosia. When she got fucked out, when she got overworked, when she got tired, or all of the above, she did something akin to short-circuiting. A detail she’d shared with Manousos with no explanation. He hadn’t asked for details. But the idea that she’d gotten off so hard that she didn’t comprehend Carol’s question was a really solid ego stroke.

Man, hard times out here.

“My eggs,” Carol reminded her, a hint of acid on her tongue. “You figure out how to make ‘em into poison or whatever?”

“Carol—”

“Have you?”

Zosia was silent. “No,” she said finally. “We haven’t.”

“Great. Call you tomorrow?”

Carol hung up.

.

Plan Kidnap Zosia relied on a lot of unknown variables.

First of all, they had to get Zosia within kidnap-able distance. And they picked Zosia mostly because it made the most sense for Carol to request Zosia (and not for absolutely any other reason at all), but also because Carol felt a little bit like she owed it to the woman. If they were going to save anyone first, it should be her.

But she was getting ahead of herself. 

Second, they had to confirm (double, triple, quadruple confirm) that the Others hadn’t figured out how to use Carol’s eggs. After two weeks of daily phone calls, Zosia confirmed to Carol that they still hadn’t perfected it. Taking them at their word was the only thing they could do. Carol hoped they hadn’t learned how to lie (or omit) in their time here on Earth. Manousos helped her cover her bases to make sure she asked every question that could be asked.

Third, they needed to get Zosia in a car that had both of them in it, which was a bit of a no-no currently because the Others were icing Manousos out. That part of the plan was the biggest hole, and the two of them spent two whole days trying to figure it out.

“I go somewhere,” Manousos said, arms crossed as he stared at the whiteboard, “and you bring her to me?”

“They would know I was going to you.”

“Mm.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Pero… What will they do? If they know?”

It was a good point. Not like they’d hurt them, especially if they had Zosia hog-tied in the backseat. Kidding, they weren’t going to do that (maybe).

All of a sudden, it came to her. She snapped at him, somewhat of an inside joke they now had, and smiled. “I know what we can do.”

.

Confirm the Others had not made Carol’s egg juice/gas/whatever — ✅

On the latest phone call, Zosia had narrated sitting on Carol’s face and Carol had thought about suffocating while Zosia rode her lips. Afterward, Carol asked in-depth questions about the process re: pluripotent stem cells. It sounded as though they were close, but Carol detected a hint of frustration in Zosia’s voice, somewhat out of character. But it made Carol’s heart soar. Yeah, fuckers. My hypothetical would-be children aren’t making it easy for you. 

.

Get Zosia to Albuquerque — ✅

Carol told Zosia they needed to talk, face to face. They had offered to pick her up from the airport and bring her to a neutral location, but Carol had said the conversation wasn’t going to last that long. They warned her that they had eyes on the culdesac and that if Manousos were to be involved, this would not only be a short conversation, it would be a non-existent conversation.

.

Put Manousos in the trunk (again) — ✅

Carol’s palms were sweaty as she drove, Zosia in the passenger seat. To say it was weird to see her again after spending three weeks straight with her and then three weeks without her (but still having daily phone sex, oops) would be an understatement. Zosia looked as beautiful as ever, exactly as Carol pictured her when the phone was to her ear and her hand in her pants.

She hoped this would work. She hoped the real Zosia wouldn’t hate her.

But the second one didn’t matter, not really. At least Zosia would be saved. It didn’t matter how she felt about Carol, unless she killed her or something. But Carol thought she could fight Zosia off, if it came down to it.

Maybe.

Their destination was an old military hangar. “There’s something I want to show you,” Carol said. “Something I’ve been working on.”

Zosia smiled, but it was distant. Hesitant.

It was the truth, actually. Carol had been working on something, but Manousos had been working harder. Carol’s job involved human smuggling and providing drinks and snacks. Everyday for the last week, Manousos had slept in Carol’s guest bedroom. They woke up, had breakfast, gathered their things and went into Carol’s garage. With the door down, Manousos climbed into the Rolls’ trunk and gave Carol a salute. She shut the trunk.

She drove to the hangar. She’d made sure every camera in the place was disabled the week before, when they were scouting locations. Manousos climbed out of the trunk and got to work, providing Carol with a shopping list. She spent most of the mornings gathering more things he needed, sometimes asking the Others, and then spent the afternoons sitting on the floor nearby reading while Manousos worked.

The hope was, in taking Zosia there, that the Others would assume Carol was the only one involved in this. Considering they hadn’t objected to Zosia getting into a car with Manousos in the trunk, Carol figured their incredibly stupid ruse was holding up.

“So what do they have you doing all day?” Carol squinted against the setting sun.

“Resource allocation,” Zosia said. She shrugged and smiled. “It’s mostly banal, but… necessary.” She eyed Carol curiously, as though she wanted to ask something, but kept her mouth shut. Carol wasn’t going to touch that can of worms with a ten foot stick.

“What about the others like me? They figure out how to help you guys pick apples?”

Zosia pressed her lips together and looked out the window. “Not yet.”

“Makes sense,” Carol said. 

Zosia pointed forward. “You’ve been… making something?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time. A really—cool, um, something.” After a beat, she added, “I think you’re going to really like it, actually. Think of it as a… apology.” Carol gave Zosia her biggest, most apologetic expression she could manage, but it probably looked like she was trying to take a shit. Carol could count the times she’d said sorry in her lifetime on two hands.

“That’s sweet, Carol.” Zosia folded her hands in her lap. “Our… conversations—have they been a help?”

“Sure,” Carol said, too quickly. “Yeah, yep. Super good.”

“We like them, too.”

Carol looked at Zosia, then the road, then back at Zosia. What the fuck did that mean? They liked having phone sex with her? “What do you mean by that?”

“Hm? Oh, we like it because it makes you feel good.”

Nevermind. Carol’s brain was working too hard. She was too sleep deprived, the last few days had been overtime. She and Manousos had slept for a few hours at the hangar instead of going through the trouble of going home. They’d curled up on the floor of one of the offices and Carol tried not to think about a stadium cuddle pile.

Manousos snored. Which made her realize none of the Others had. Whatever that meant.

When they got to the hangar, Carol skirted around the side of the building and drove in through the large doors, which were open but only halfway to avoid prying eyes. Which Carol sheepishly explained, “I didn’t want you—you guys to see what I was doing. Sorry for the secrecy. I just really wanted it to be a surprise, y’know?”

They climbed out of the car when Carol parked, and Zosia gazed at the hunk of metal in the middle of the floor. (Carol had personally taken it upon herself to learn how to get the stupid planes out of the hangar, mostly because Manousos refused to drive one. It had been thrilling—fun, Zosia had said once.)

Zosia gave Carol a puzzled smile. “May we ask what it is?”

Carol swallowed the lump in her throat. Behind Zosia, Manousos climbed out of the trunk, scarily silent (Carol filed that one for later), and walked careful steps toward the two of them. “Well,” Carol said, drawing the word out. “It’s like, uh… When I was in high school, which you probably have a ton of memories of—me in high school, I mean—I had these, like, walkie talkies?”

It was a load of bullshit. Bullshit that Zosia listened to intently. Wondrously. She took in every word Carol said with perfectly crafted interest. That type of curiosity that couldn’t be faked. Carol remembered sitting on the stairs with Zosia, seeing the way her face lit up as Carol talked about her plans for the next Wycaro. Zosia was hearing something she’d never heard before and had been astounded. Now, even just hearing something she knew innately, from many, many different points of view, Zosia still paid attention. Stared at Carol as she talked like she was in love.

Carol had fallen for it once. She wouldn’t again.

But Manousos had reached them. He clapped a hand over Zosia’s mouth and wrapped his arm around her neck. Carol tried not to think about the muffled yelp that escaped her as she fumbled at her own pockets for the zip ties. 

It was kind of sad, when she thought about it. She zip tied Zosia’s hands easily, because Zosia, despite her struggling, wasn’t trying to hurt either of them. Eventually, she stopped moving and Manousos let go of her.

“Carol,” Zosia said. Voice neutral. Carol could never in a million years guess what the fuck Zosia was thinking.

“Sorry,” Carol said. No longer a two-handed amount. “But you’re going to thank us. I think.” Carol met Manousos’s eyes. “Hopefully.”

.

Manousos had built a radio jammer. It was kind of insane that it was that easy, but there were a lot of factors. He’d explained it to her, but the main takeaway she understood is that it would be necessary to put Zosia in a passive state. Yell at her, hurt her, whatever. Manousos had offered, but Carol figured she should be the one to do it.

“People are coming,” Zosia told her as Manousos clicked the machine on. 

Carol shrugged. “What are they gonna do, hug me to death?”

“Carol.” Pleading. Carol felt sick. “Carol, please.”

It was the same goddamn tone she used when they were knuckle deep in each other. Over Zosia’s shoulder, Manousos turned and gave Carol a nod. So Carol turned to Zosia, leaned in close to her face, and said, “Fuck you for what you did. Fuck you for taking over the entire world and fuck you most of all for killing Helen.”

It took a second, but then Zosia’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she slumped. Carol caught her on the way down and lowered her gently.

Manousos pressed a few buttons. “Now,” he said.

Carol leaned in. “Zosia. Zosia, hey. Come back. You’re not part of them. I know you’re in there, come back.” She continued on like that for half a minute, as Zosia’s body twitched. But then she fell still, eyes closed, and she didn’t wake like Zosia had before each time. She looked like she was sleeping.

Pressing fingers to her pulse, Carol felt the faint thump of a heartbeat. She leaned down and a breath puffed against her cheek when she hovered over Zosia’s mouth.

“She’s not dead,” Carol said. Manousos took a few cautious steps over and stood there. Scrutinizing her.

“Back up,” he said after a minute. “Do not want to… crowd her.”

.

Five minutes later, Zosia woke up.

And whoever this Zosia was, it wasn’t the one Carol had spent seventy days with. They had taken the zip ties off. Zosia pushed herself up and sat cross-legged, a hand to her head like she probably had the worst headache known to man. Considering she was the first ever person to be cured of the parasite gripping the almost-entirity of human beings on Earth, a migraine was probably going to be the least of her problems.

Once she lowered her hand and looked around, her eyes landed on Carol, who tried not to react in a way that was indicative of having any emotion whatsoever.

“You are…” Zosia said slowly, shaking her head like it was fuzzy, “the most miserable person I have ever met.”

Yeah, that tracked.