SSSD - Follow Margot

Margot is who they came out here to find.

Alison pushes after her, and Signe fumbles with the radio given to her by the Americans, but the howling wind makes it pointless. It might be the most frightening thing that Alison has done since coming here. One could assume that Margot knows where she’s going, but Alison’s not naïve enough to truly believe it. Trusting the instincts of a woman that they don’t know at all, especially when everything seems so strange, feels like taking a big gamble. On the other hand, Alison doesn’t want to just let her walk off into the storm alone.

It's not easy to keep Margot in view; she’s not especially large, but she must be strong to wade through the snow like this. She’s a hazy outline, guiding them. Signe has to help Alison several times. She’s getting cold even in full cold weather gear, and the slog through the snow saps her energy. It’s hard not to think about The Shining.

The Outpost comes into view, and Alison’s relief gives her the strength to make it inside. There, she finds snow and water on the floor. Signe comes through the door behind her, and together they manage to slam it shut. A parka lies discarded in the inner doorway. Alison awkwardly clomps over in her snow boots and leans into the hall to see a figure still clad in multiple layers heading briskly down the corridor. She’s carrying something.

Lost, Alison joins Signe in shedding her outer layers and hanging them up. She does the same with the fallen parka. Signe doesn’t look happy, and Alison doesn’t need her dulled instincts to know why. Signe doesn’t like how the Americans are behaving, and she was probably just as frightened of a Jack Nicholson fate a few minutes ago. She’s shaken, and Signe’s probably not used to that.

Down to normal clothes, they go out into the long hallway. The Outpost is dead silent beyond the slight buzz of the lights overhead.

Alison jumps as a figure emerges from medical.

“Renee,” she says, relieved.

“Did you find her?”

Alison points at the wet footprints. “She’s here.”

“Where was she?”

“I don’t know. We found her out by that shack. We never made it to the weather rig. She led us back here.”

“What was she doing there?” Renee looks baffled.

“Ask her! After you make us coffee,” Alison says, ruffled. “I’m like Mr. Freeze over here.”

“Right. Right. Gosh. OK,” Renee says, a little flustered. Alison can relate; one of the problems here is that with the science team gone, the Americans don’t have a leader, exactly. These four are here together, all adults, but nobody’s in charge. Renee obviously feels a sense of responsibility and has a desire to hold things together, but she has no authority. On top of all that, now she’s the one caring for the guests.

But Alison wants something hot to drink more than she wants to be polite. Renee starts that brewing and leaves Alison and Signe in the dining room with a box of donuts that must’ve been frozen at some point. Alison isn’t picky.

Signe uses the sat phone to relay their status to Outpost 69. Alison can’t understand what Signe is saying, but the conversation is so short that Signe can’t possibly be giving much in the way of detail. That’s her professionalism at work; she’s not going to speak ill of these Americans without knowing the full story, but they need Outpost 69 to know that they’re safe and delayed by the weather. Until this clears, there’s no way they can go back.

They relocate to the rec room, and it’s half an hour before they even glimpse another person. Alison is reading, and Signe is paging through a magazine; Outpost 51 has lots of old reading material, but it’s all in English. Signe’s English is good, but not good enough that she can read for pleasure. She’s looking at pictures.

They realize at the same time that Liz is in the doorway. She’s not wearing makeup, but it’s easy enough for Alison to imagine. The brunette is almost suspiciously pretty, even standing there with a sort of flat, neutral expression.

“Hi,” Alison says.

Liz nods. “You need anything?” she asks.

Alison and Signe exchange a look. “We’re good.”

Liz moves away.

Not long after that, another woman passes by. By process of elimination, this must be Bell. Her skin is a shade or two lighter than Renee’s and her hair is pulled back tightly. She wears black and pauses only briefly to glance into the rec room. She gives a little nod of acknowledgment and moves on without a word.

Signe closes her magazine and gets to her feet, taking four steps to Alison’s sofa, where she sits beside her. Alison perks up; this is interesting. Of course, Signe’s close to six feet tall and probably a hundred and eighty pounds. The old sofa sinks a little, almost forcing Alison to lean into her.

“Hi,” Alison says, pleased by this development.

Signe sweetens the deal by leaning close and lowering her voice. Unfortunately, she’s not being romantic.

“Is this normal for Americans?” she asks quietly.

Alison, with difficulty, resists the urge to be snarky. She considers for a moment, then gives a serious answer.

“If they are under a lot of stress.” Everything here points to these women being busy or troubled with something and not interested in two visitors who aren’t hurting anything.

Signe nods. It looks like that take lines up with her thinking.

“I am not comfortable with this,” Signe says slowly, her eyes on the doorway. It’s clumsy communication because of the language barrier, but Alison is tracking. Something’s not right here; nobody would miss that.

She nods to indicate that she understands.

Signe looks particularly uncomfortable, and Alison quickly realizes why.

“I believe,” the tall woman begins, “That we should share a room tonight.”

Right. She doesn’t want Alison to think that she’s coming onto her. A part of Signe must sense that Alison would be delighted if Signe made a move, but this big Norwegian is too polite and decent to be cocky. And, under the circumstances, she probably isn’t very horny.

But Alison doesn’t want to spend all night worrying and speculating. She’d rather spend it doing something nice.

Matching Signe’s slow, deliberate, quiet energy, she leans closer and turns her face upward, looking into Signe’s eyes. Signe obligingly leans down so Alison can speak softly into her ear.

“That’s fine.” Alison places her rather small, ordinary hand on Signe’s big, rough, warm one. “If,” she goes on, with some emphasis on that word, “…you keep me warm.”

She watches Signe’s reaction. A moment of hesitation as she internally translates the words. Another moment for her to consider their meaning and conclude that she’s not misunderstanding. It’s a hell of a process. Language and cultural barriers are… something.

Signe holds Alison’s gaze. It’s her way of asking several things: “Are you serious?” And “With all this going on, this is what you’re thinking about?”

Alison replies by gently squeezing Signe’s hand. She has her. Signe has pride and professionalism, but she’s human. She craves contact, she has stress to deal with, and it doesn’t hurt that Alison is a supple young foreign co-ed, which even a cool, stoic Norwegian must find at least a little interesting. The only question is, who should Alison be tonight?

A confident, experienced CCL girl who takes the lead?

Or a blushing seductress who melts in her partner’s arms?