SSSD - Meanwhile...

It’s complicated.

Ro misses Alison. She also kind of doesn’t.

The Norwegians are just normal people, and while they have the same emotions as everyone else, their intonation and the way that they speak don’t convey a lot of emotional range—at least not to the American ear. They always sound calm, a little distant, and occasionally curious. That lack of emphasis makes them seem unspeakably cool to Ro.

And before Alison started doing her CCL thing and seducing them at a blistering pace, that was all Ro saw.

Now she sees them whispering and occasionally blushing. Not a lot; just enough to remind her that Alison has made such a splash. It turns out that being outgoing and having big boobs goes just as far as Antarctica as it does everywhere else. Who could’ve known? It’s still annoying. Have these Norwegians seriously never seen a smile and some breasts before?

Ro isn’t really that bitter, although Alison getting to go off alone with Signe isn’t helping. The self-pity isn’t that bad, she’s just wallowing in it. Morosely, she shuffles back to the lab, stirring her coffee. There’s not much to do without Signe around. She’s asked the others to give her some work, but they’ve been spotty about doing that. They seem to kind of forget that she’s there. That’s what bothers her the most. They never forget about Alison. They’ve only been here a couple of days and it’s already as though Alison is well on her way to making herself the queen of this place. It’s crazy.

“Ro?”

It’s Niv.

“Yes?” Ro hops up and hurries over.

“The weather may allow them to return soon,” Niv says, speaking slowly in her strained English. Ro understands. It’s thoughtful of Niv to let her know; not everyone has forgotten about her.

“That’s great news,” Ro says. Bitterness aside, it goes without saying that the weather forcing Signe and Alison to spend the night at Outpost 51 is not ideal. Golda seems particularly worried. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Before Niv can answer, Linda appears and touches her shoulder. All the Norwegians quietly and obliviously lord how great they are over Ro. They aren’t lording anything, of course. It’s all Ro’s insecurity. But Signe is Signe, Julie is so pretty, Golda is the fantasy of every 13-year-old boy, Niv is so effortlessly approachable, Marit seems like a badass, Birgitte’s weirdness is intriguing, and Linda just seems like the kind of cool, gay woman that Ro wants to be one day. Her haircut is mostly to blame for that.

<Look at this,> she says to Niv in Norwegian.

<Yeah?> Niv takes the glossy printout from the other woman and frowns at it. <What is the problem?>

<Here. Look here.> Niv points at something that Ro can’t see; the picture isn’t being offered to her.

<What is that?> Niv looks puzzled.

<I don’t know.> A pause. <Something in the ice.>

Niv frowns and squints. A second passes. She blinks a few times. <How did we miss this?>

<I have to go.>

<Wait until the weather clears.>

<I know. The wind is changing.>

<What?>

<The wind. It is counter to the forecast.>

<Or we just received the message incorrectly.>

<What’s wrong?>

<Signe doesn’t know,> Niv says, visibly troubled. She seems to realize that Ro is still standing there. “Ro. Find Marit. Tell her that the vehicles must be ready when the weather is clear. Can you do this?”

“Sure,” Ro replies automatically.

“Thank you.” She walks away with Linda, speaking rapidly in Norwegian. Ro grabs her coffee and takes a gulp, then sets it down and heads out to find Marit. No one is ever alone in the rec room; sometimes the Norwegians will hang out there after dinner, but it’s usually empty. Nobody’s in the kitchen.

Ro pauses in the long hallway and sighs. Antarctica is a lonely place. Doubly without the only other American around. Triply as the one in the closet. There’s a little slump in Ro’s shoulders as she heads for the living quarters, where she finds Marit’s room open and empty, but Birgitte’s closed and there’s music playing in there.

Ro knocks firmly enough to be heard.

<Yeah?> Birgitte calls, not trying very hard to speak over the music, which is some kind of metal with a female vocalist. It sounds like opera.

<Is Marit there?> Ro asks clumsily.

There’s a pause. Did they hear her clearly?

<Open the damn door,> Marit says irritably. So she’s in there.

Ro opens the door, immediately coughing. They haven’t quite hotboxed the little room, but they’re smoking. Old-school; Ro spots a tray and wrapping papers. But she’s less interested in weed than in the situation on the tiny bed. Marit and Birgitte are there together. Birgitte wears her normal clothes, although it might be the first time that Ro’s seen her without her apron. She’s curled up with a book in one hand and a tidy joint in the other.

Marit, meanwhile, is splayed out carelessly in her jeans and black tank, except her jeans and a stringy black thong are bunched up around her right ankle, exposing her pale, tattooed legs and everything else. She holds an egg-shaped vibrator in her hand. She’s got a day or two of stubble down there but is otherwise smooth, but wet and swollen. It’s obvious that she was just using that vibe. Her free hand rests on her belly.

The two Norwegians stare at Ro. Marit absently lifts her hand from her belly, and Birgitte passes her the joint. She takes a puff and Ro remembers why she’s there.

“Um,” she says. “Um. Trying to think of the words. Um…”

“English is OK,” Birgitte says without looking up from her book. Then she frowns and looks up, then at Marit. She swats Marit’s shoulder and gives her a look.

Marit rolls her eyes and half-assedly closes her legs.

“Sorry,” she says, not very convincingly.

“No, I mean, not your fault.” Ro coughs again. “Niv told me to tell you that, um, we need the vehicles ready to go when the weather clears.”

Marit says something in Norwegian too quickly for Ro to catch.

“It is done,” Birgitte says.

“Oh. Great.” Blushing, Ro swallows. Marit is watching her with amusement. After a moment, Marit reaches out, offering the joint.

Should Ro accept the invitation?

Or excuse herself?