Sam's Night (VI)

For a long time, the four of them sat in a tangle on the Master Suite couch, the noise of the city and the strange hotel floors smothered by shared silence. Andy had one Laura tucked under each arm—she had insisted on this, both bodies folded to either side of him like puzzle pieces. Sam sat to his right, Liesa bundled into her lap, the Belgian’s hair damp from her shower and her head pillowed on Sam’s shoulder. Liesa’s arm was around Sam’s waist, but her hand was slipped into Andy’s, and now and then she would give it a little squeeze, just to check that he was still there.

Nobody rushed to fill the quiet. Not Sam, who usually had to puncture every moment; not Liesa, whose voice always came easy; not even Laura, doubled and impossibly patient, one set of hands in Andy’s lap, the other trailing over the hem of his sleeve.

It was Liesa who broke first, voice a little slow and drowsy. “So,” she said, “did Sam tell you already?”

Sam lifted her chin, mock-offended. “About what? You’re going to have to narrow it down. There are, like, seventeen subplots at play.”

Liesa poked her in the side, then shifted so she was looking up at Andy, eyes blue and almost backlit. “About the baby,” she said. “I know her, so I know she could not keep it secret. Not even a little.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like I was bursting to announce it on the Jumbotron.”

“You kind of were,” Andy said. He felt Liesa’s fingers lace tighter through his, then slacken. “But I’m happy you did. I couldn’t be happier for you. For both of you.”

That set off a chain reaction. Laura, whose heads had been leaned together in a mirror image of sleep, lifted both at once. “Wait,” she said, both voices overlapping. “What did I miss?”

Sam, who apparently had been waiting for this, said, “You missed that Liesa is knocked up. Very.”

Laura sat up on both sides, staring at Liesa, then at Andy, then at Sam. The expression on her faces went from blank, to delighted, to a complicated tangle that didn’t resolve for a few seconds. “How,” she said, both voices in perfect stereo. “I mean, that’s your baby? Yours and Sam’s?”

Sam made a complicated gesture with both hands, then shrugged. “Magic via fanmail. Also, Liesa can’t resist getting pregnant if there’s an audience, so—” She stopped when Liesa flicked her forehead.

“Thank you,” Liesa said, dryly. But she was smiling, and her face was full of something Andy only ever saw on her in the hour before sleep—pure, soft joy. “It is Sam’s,” she said. “We used a gift from fanmail.”

Laura, now absolutely lit up, said, “That’s amazing.” Both her faces beamed at once, but then the right-hand one cocked its head. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” Liesa admitted. “Mostly I am happy. And tired. But also—” She put her free hand flat against her stomach, which, for now, showed nothing. “Mostly, I just cannot wait.”

Sam squeezed Liesa around the ribs. “You have to wait,” she said. “At least eight more months. That’s how they get you.”

Liesa snorted. “You say that like you will not be awake for every minute of it.” She turned her gaze to Andy, her eyes slightly unfocused with exhaustion. “Is it weird? That I am having a baby with someone else? I mean, all the children will be cousins, or siblings, or… I don’t know what.”

Andy smiled, soft. “I think this one will just be lucky to have you two as parents.”

Laura, who had gone quiet for a moment, watched the play of Liesa’s hand on her belly. There was a glimmer in both her sets of eyes that Andy couldn’t quite parse. Liesa noticed, of course. “Do you want children, Laura?” Liesa asked, gentle now.

Both of Laura’s bodies went very still. The silence was louder than before.

“I don’t know,” Laura said. Both voices were steady, but flat. “I used to think about it, when I was little. And then I stopped.” She turned her hands over in her lap, looking at them. “I was scared I’d be like her. My mother. Or worse—” She stopped. Both of her mouths pressed shut at the same time.

Andy didn’t say anything. He knew which ‘or worse’ she meant.

“But then,” Laura said, and her voice shifted, something loosening in it, “I started thinking about you. How you are.” She looked at him sideways, a little embarrassed. “You’re not either of them. You’re not anything like either of them.” She paused. “I’ve been thinking about it. Actually thinking about it. Not just—not just as a fear.”

Andy went very still. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I’m telling you now,” both of her said, and she smiled at him, just briefly. “Besides, I know now that my Mom was nothing like I believed her to be.”

Sam, who had been quiet for approximately as long as she was capable of, said, “Okay, but logistically—” She gestured vaguely at both of Laura. “Both of you, at the same time? That’s twins automatically. That’s twins twice.”

“I asked Arabella how it would work,” Laura said, turning slightly pink. “Just before the last challenge, after I had time to think about the transformation.”

The room went quiet.

“And?” Sam said.

Laura just shook her head, a small smile on both faces. “She answered.”

Sam stared at her. “That’s not—you can’t just—” She turned to Andy, then back to Laura, then threw her hands up. “That’s so annoying. That’s genuinely so annoying.”

Liesa laughed, sudden and bright, and hid her face in Sam’s shoulder.

Andy wanted to reach out and pull all three of them in at once, but the math was impossible. He settled for keeping his arms around both of Laura, and extending his left hand until it tangled with Sam’s on the back of the couch.

The conversation drifted. Sam, seeing the mood soften, said, “You know what I realized? When the baby shows up, there’s going to be this whole generation of weird half-siblings, and you’re the father of some, but not this one, who has two biological mothers, and the family tree is going to look like a circuit board designed by a stoned art major.”

Andy snorted. He tried to diagram it in the air, but gave up after three branches. “Maybe we just use first names. Let the kids sort it out.”

Laura said, in stereo, “That’s what I said,” and then grinned. The effect was eerie and perfect.

Liesa was already drifting off, her head tucked into the hollow of Sam’s collarbone. Sam stroked her hair absently, then looked at Andy. “Think we can wrap it for tonight?”

He nodded. “We probably should.”

Sam, gentle for once, slipped an arm under Liesa’s legs and scooped her up like she weighed nothing. The Belgian blinked awake long enough to say “Night,” then went limp again.

Laura got up first, one body at each side of Andy. She offered a hand to him, and he let her pull him up, both arms.

Sam and Liesa shuffled toward the Consort’s bedroom. Andy and both Lauras headed for the Master’s.

At the door, Sam turned and looked back at Andy. “You know,” she said, “the weirdest thing isn’t that this is happening. It’s that it feels normal, now.”

He smiled, honest and tired. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.” He paused. “Good night, Sam. Love you.”

Sam smiled. “Love you. Very platonically. Good night, Andy.” Her smile softened. “We’ll get this sorted out. I promise.”

Then he watched her vanish down the hallway, carrying her whole future in her arms, and Andy walked the short distance to his own room, flanked by two versions of the same impossible girl.

The door closed behind them, sealing out everything else. For a second, Andy just stood there, unsure what to do with the silence. Then Laura sat on the edge of the bed, and looked at him with the same invitation in both sets of eyes.

It felt unfamiliar, how quiet the room was with just the three of them. The Master’s bedroom was big, bigger than anything Andy had ever lived in growing up, but the hush of it made it seem even larger. Both of Laura’s bodies sat side by side on the edge of the bed, knees almost touching, each with her hands folded on her lap. It was only when Andy looked from one to the other that he saw Laura was trembling, just a little. Not from fear—more like anticipation at rest, the way a plucked string hums long after you let go.

Andy crossed the floor and crouched in front of them. “You okay?” he said, to both at once.

For a moment, neither Laura answered. Both faces turned down to watch her hands, picking at the hems of her shirts in identical little motions. The pause grew, not uncomfortable but stretching, until she answered, both voices overlapping but not quite in harmony. “I am,” she said. Then she added, “I think so. It’s weird, being just us, after so much—” she gestured with her hand, meaning the day, the Archive.

Andy set his hands on his knees, steadying himself as he looked up at both of her. “You can tell me anything,” he said, softly.

Laura looked at him—both of her—then smiled, both faces at the same time. “It’s not a bad weird,” she said. “Just… not real yet.”

Andy nodded, waiting. He could see the thought brewing, the way it always did before she said something important.

“It’s just,” Laura began, then cut off, the right-hand one letting out a sharp little breath, “today was a lot. I don’t know what to do with it.”

Andy reached out, just far enough that his hands hovered over the left hand of one body, and the right hand of the other. “Tell me?”

Laura bit both lower lips at once. “Today,” she said, “everyone came. All of them, one after the other.” Her voices went thin on the last word, but she pushed through. “They sat with me and Claire and read and tried to find answers. For me. For us.”

Andy didn’t interrupt.

“It was like—” She shook both heads, as if that could dislodge the emotion. “I didn’t think they’d do that. Not for me. Not all at once. Not if it cost them something.” She looked down at his hands, then up at his face. “I am so bad at this.”

“At what?” Andy said.

“Needing people,” she said. “Letting them help.”

He shrugged. “I think you’re doing great.”

Both of Laura grinned, this time less ****.

Andy let himself enjoy it for a second, then said, “Tell me about the Archive?” He wanted her to start where the day really began.

“The Archive is…” she began, then stopped, trying again. “It’s too big. I mean, I’ve been there before, but when you actually use it… You can’t see the edges. The more you look, the more you find. Claire built a world in there. It feels like a real place, but stranger than any place I ever lived.” She looked down at the floor, then shifted both sets of eyes on him. “Everyone showed up. Even people I thought didn’t like me, or who I… who I let myself think were against me.” She let the words settle, both voices soft and low.

Andy waited. When she didn’t continue, he said, “Why do you think they came?”

This time both Lauras looked at him, straight on, eyes so blue it felt like a trick of the room’s lighting. “Because they care about you,” one said. “But also… because they wanted to. They said it.” She made a tiny motion with both hands, uncertain. “I don’t get it. I don’t know how to be that person. The one people help, instead of…” She didn’t finish, but both of her smiled, wry.

“Maybe you don’t have to be,” Andy said. “Maybe you just… let them.”

Laura considered this. Andy moved forward, closed the space between them, and set a hand on the knee of each body, palms flat, gentle.

Laura startled, just a little, and then both bodies leaned into the touch, like a flower moving to face the sun.

“I kept thinking,” Laura said, “that it was a trick. Or that it wouldn’t last. That they’d decide I wasn’t worth the time, or that someone better would need them more. But…” She shrugged, helpless in the face of something she couldn’t disprove. “They stayed. All of them. Even Norah.”

He saw the water glass in her hand tremble, just once, and then the steadiness came back.

Andy said, “You’re loved, Laura. I keep telling you, and you keep not believing it. Emi and I told you last night. You are loved. And not just by me.”

This time, both of her made a face—a mix of disbelief, surprise, and the barest curl of amusement.

“Don’t push your luck,” both said at once, and the smile was real now, on both sides.

They were quiet for a moment. He kept his hands on her knees, thumbs moving in small, slow arcs. The only sound was the faint hum of the building, and somewhere in the distance, a seagull crying forlorn into the night. Andy realized, for the first time since he’d entered the Suite, that he felt something like peace. He wondered if Laura did, too.

After a while, he said, “I can do the two-of-me trick again. If you want.” He tried to say it light, like an offer of a parlor trick, but there was an edge to it—some old worry that maybe this was the only way to measure up.

Both of Laura went very still, the way she did when a question hit somewhere deeper than she’d expected. Andy watched her process it. A flicker of uncertainty crossed both faces, then was gone.

She said, “Last time, it was…” Both of her looked at him, gauging his reaction. “It was amazing. Really. But tonight…” She trailed off, then reached out with both bodies—one hand from each, palms open.

He gave her both hands. She laced her fingers through his, one set of hands per body, the grip almost identical but not quite.

“Tonight I want all of you,” she said. “Just you. No split.” Her left-hand body squeezed his fingers, the right one let go and drifted up to his cheek, tracing the stubble with the backs of two knuckles. “I want to know you’re not going anywhere.”

He swallowed, because there was nothing in the world he wanted more than that.

He said, “I’m not. I promise.” He looked from one face to the other. “It’s you and me. That’s how it started, even before Emi.”

For a second, both of Laura looked on the verge of saying something else, but neither did. Instead, she pulled him forward, using both sets of hands, until he was half-kneeling, half-fallen, between the two of her on the bed. The left-side Laura touched his hair, slow and careful, while the right-side one traced the edge of his jaw, thumb moving in slow circles.

He turned, gently, and pressed his lips to the right-side Laura’s forehead. She closed her eyes, both bodies breathing in unison. Then he leaned to the left and did the same to the other. He drew back, but not far. “Are you sure?” he said, voice low, because if there was ever a time to be sure, it was now.

Both of Laura opened her eyes, locked onto his. “Yes,” she said, together. Then, in the tiniest of whispers, “Don’t let go.”

He leaned in again, letting his hands find the small of her backs, and this time he kissed both of Laura—first the left, then the right, then back again, until there was no air between them at all.

They stayed like that, a little tangle of hands and breath and soft, overlapping sound, until the rest of the world faded to a dim outline, barely worth remembering.

Laura moved first. One of her bodies slid off the bed and pressed forward until she was nearly in Andy’s lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. The other body stayed perched on the mattress, just behind him, arms draped around his shoulders like a shawl. Both sets of eyes were on him, but from slightly different angles—the effect was dizzying, as if he were being surveilled by a mirrored pair of emotions at once.

The Laura astride him put her hands on his chest, just above his heart, and leaned in. Her hair fell around his face, a dark curtain that brushed both his cheeks. He heard her breath at the same time as he felt it, on either side of his head.

Andy wasn’t sure if he should act first or wait for a cue. Laura solved that by moving both bodies at once: the one on his lap pressed her hips down, grinding slow and exploratory, while the other reached around and cupped the back of his neck, fingertips spreading to just beneath his ears.

He let out a low sound, not quite a groan. He wanted to touch both of her, but couldn’t do it at once—his hands went to the thighs of the Laura on his lap, fingers splaying, thumbs drawing slow lines up toward her hips.

The effect was immediate and uncanny. The Laura beside him shivered, the motion running up her flank and into her shoulder, even though he hadn’t touched that body at all.

Both Lauras smiled at the same time, but with different flavors: the one above him, predatory and full of knowledge; the one beside, tender, almost shy.

“Did you feel that?” Andy said, though he knew she had.

Both voices came at once, low and perfectly overlaid. “I feel everything.” Then, she added, “Whatever you do to one of me, I feel it on both.”

The Laura in his lap took one of his hands in hers and pulled it to her breast, flattening his palm to her shirt. At the same moment, the other Laura drew his opposite hand down to her own thigh, guiding him to the inside.

Andy squeezed, and both Lauras made a sound, identical in intent.

He took a breath and let himself focus, trying to be in two places at once. With his left hand, he cupped the breast of the Laura in his lap, thumb stroking the line of her bra through her shirt. With his right, he traced the skin of the other Laura’s thigh, inching his fingers beneath the hem of her shorts until he could feel the warm, shivering muscle beneath. Both bodies pressed in closer, and Andy had the surreal sensation that, no matter where he touched, he was always getting it right.

The Laura astride him leaned in, kissing his neck just below the jaw. The other mirrored the motion, pressing lips to his collarbone. Andy let his head fall back, overwhelmed.

He said, “This is impossible,” and both of Laura’s bodies laughed, a sound so rich it filled the room.

The Laura beside him shifted, half-reclining against the pillows so she could keep her hands on him while the other rode his lap, her body angled into his side. The one on his lap ground down harder, and Andy realized she wasn’t wearing anything beneath the shorts. He could feel her, hot and slick through the thin fabric, and he was half-certain the sensation was being fed back into the other Laura, who was now pulling at his shirt, urging it up and off.

He let her strip the shirt away, and as soon as it was gone, she ran her two sets of hands down his chest in perfect unison. The touch was electric, the two pairs of hands—equally soft—meeting at the midline and then diverging, each exploring the geometry of his ribs, his belly, his hips. The sensation was doubled, but not just doubled: it was as if each contact point magnified the others, turning every nerve ending into a tuning fork.

The Laura on his lap reached down and undid his pants, her fingers practiced but not rushed. She freed him, then pressed herself down so the heat of her, still caught behind the thin fabric of her shorts, could be felt against him. Andy moaned, and the Laura at his side, hearing the sound, reached down and wrapped her hand around his wrist, squeezing until he looked over at her.

She kissed him, a real kiss—lips parted, tongue gentle but insistent. As soon as she did, the Laura in his lap kissed him too, on the mouth, and Andy lost track of who was doing what. The world became lips, and hands, and the soft shuddering sound that echoed in stereo every time he touched her.

He wanted to do more—he wanted to do everything. With one hand, he traced a slow line up the ribcage of the Laura at his side, memorizing the delicate contours of her skin; with the other, he pulled the Laura in his lap tighter, fingers digging into her waist.

She rocked against him, grinding slow at first, then harder. The motion drove him into a fever, and he realized that with each thrust, both Lauras were feeling it at once. The Laura beside him gasped, hips bucking in time with the one on top.

Laura broke away from the kiss long enough to whisper, “I feel it in both places. When you do that.”

Andy thrust up, experimentally, and both bodies shivered, a perfect, resonant quake.

“Holy shit,” he said, breathless. He had seen the transformation work before, but this time, he was hyper-aware of everything.

“Yeah,” both Lauras replied, and it was so intimate he thought he might lose it right then.

The Laura on his lap rose up enough to shimmy off her shorts, then used both hands to guide him into her. The sensation was instant, mind-melting; Andy gripped her hips, steadying himself, and the Laura beside him moaned, loud and unguarded.

“Andy,” she said, both voices merging on the name.

He tried to focus, to divide his attention. With one hand, he found the breast of the Laura beside him, and with the other, he pulled the riding Laura down hard, deepening the connection. The feedback loop was nearly unbearable—he could feel every motion, every squeeze, every sound, mirrored in two directions and feeding back into itself.

The Laura at his side leaned in, wrapped her arm around his neck, and pressed her mouth to his shoulder. Her hand found his, and she guided it between her legs, showing him exactly where and how she wanted to be touched. Andy obliged, fingers stroking in a slow, practiced rhythm, and both Lauras started to lose their precision, the movements becoming less orchestrated and more ****.

He could feel her, tight and hot around him, and every time he worked his hand on the second Laura, both bodies clenched, the sensation multiplying. The air was thick with the sound of them, gasping and moaning in stereo, sometimes overlapping, sometimes perfectly in sync.

“Andy,” both said again, this time not a word but a need.

He moved faster, driving up into the Laura above him while his hand worked between the legs of the one at his side. The world narrowed to this: the twin press of her, the soft skin and the impossible warmth, the wetness slicking his fingers and the pulse of her tightening around him. The rhythm built, then faltered, then built again, as if the two Lauras were trying to match each other but couldn’t quite agree who would finish first.

In the end, it was the Laura beside him who came first, body arching off the mattress, hand white-knuckled on his wrist. The one on top followed instantly, her whole frame shuddering, then going taut and still as she drew out the moment for as long as possible. The sound they made was a single note, harmonized and elongated, and Andy rode it as far as he could, then let go, letting the release break across all three of them at once.

He wasn’t sure how long the wave lasted. When it was over, the Laura in his lap slumped forward, folding over him, cheek pressed to his shoulder. The other curled around his side, arms wrapping him up, face buried against his neck.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Andy just breathed, his heart racing, mind blank except for the aftershocks of sensation.

Eventually, both of Laura spoke, voices breathless but soft:

“That was…” She didn’t finish.

He ran a hand through the hair of the Laura at his side, and the other through the hair of the one on his chest. “Yeah,” he managed. “Me too.”

They stayed there, a tangle of bodies and breath, until the room cooled and the sweat on their skin began to dry.

Only then did Andy realize that, whatever was coming, whatever price the world would ask, this moment was his to keep. It was real, impossible and real, and for now, that was all he needed.

After a while, something changed. The weight of both Lauras, heavy on his chest and flanking his side, started to shift—not all at once, but in a slow, contiguous way, like clouds knitting together into one denser shadow.

Andy wasn’t sure at first, but then he realized: the two bodies were becoming one. There was a pressure in the room, a tightening of the air, and then Laura’s presence collapsed inwards, the two distinct selves resolving into a single form curled against him, her arms tight around his torso.

She breathed once, deep and shaky, then exhaled all the way to the bottom of her lungs. For the first time all night, Andy could feel where she began and ended, no echo, no overlap. The effect was almost as dizzying as the two-of-her had been. He set a hand to her back, the bones and muscle unmistakable now, the singular shape of her exactly what he remembered from the short time before the Have a Spare transformation.

He didn’t speak. He just let his fingers stroke the line of her spine, and waited.

Laura rolled up onto an elbow, her hair falling around her face in a wild, tangled mess. There was a flush in her cheeks, more color than he’d ever seen, and her eyes were blue and dilated and bright.

She said, “It’s different, now. Being one.” She didn’t explain.

He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. He just traced the side of her face, memorizing it all over again. The silence filled up, warm and absolute.

After a minute, Laura pushed him gently onto his back and moved to straddle him, knees on either side, skin to skin the whole way down. She took his face in both hands and looked at him for a long moment, as if she were searching for a memory in his features.

He let her look. He wanted her to see whatever she needed.

She bent down and kissed him, slow and careful, lips soft and then firmer. She ran her hands down his chest, over his ribs, and settled her palms flat against his shoulders. Then, without hurry, she guided him inside her, the sensation a perfect, smooth glide. It was so different from before—no echo, no feedback, just the full, undivided weight of her on top of him.

Andy wrapped his arms around her waist and let himself be held, the length of her pressed down over him. They rocked together, slow at first, then slower, almost to stillness. She didn’t look away, not once.

“Does it feel different?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Laura nodded, once. “It’s all in one place now,” she said. “Nothing split. It’s like I’m being compressed, but in a good way. Like I can feel every molecule of you, every piece, with nowhere for it to run away to.” Her voice had a wonder in it, like she was surprised by her own words.

He cupped her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “Do you like it?”

She smiled, a tiny thing. “I like being doubled, now. But tonight, I wanted this. Tonight, I wanted to remember what it felt like. Just one of me.”

Andy pulled her down, holding her tight enough to make their breaths lock. “You’re enough,” he said, and meant it.

She didn’t answer. She just pressed her forehead to his, and for a long time they didn’t move at all. There was nothing left to chase; the world had shrunk to the span of her, and the only thing Andy could hear was the sound of Laura breathing, steady and alive, into the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

They finished together, quietly. The moment was less a wave than a deep, rolling swell that left them fused at the point of contact, neither willing to let go.

After, Laura just lay there, her cheek against his chest, her hair fanned out over both of them. Andy set his hand over her heart and felt it beating, steady and strong, just the one, and for a long, perfect while, he let himself believe that was enough.

They lay tangled together for a long while after, Laura still merged, her single body draped across Andy’s side, head pillowed just beneath his shoulder. The sheets were cool and the room was full of the muted city, but inside the little orbit of their limbs, it was perfectly warm.

Andy waited. He knew the answer was coming, to the question he’d asked—Why one, tonight?—but he knew better than to push.

Eventually, Laura stirred. Her hand wandered over his stomach, lazy and aimless, fingers tracing little circles as if mapping the quiet between them.

She said, “I’m scared, Andy.” She didn’t look at him, just whispered it into his chest, a secret for only the skin and bone to keep. “Not of the debt, exactly. Not the Law, or Ereshkigal. I mean, I am. I am scared of that. But that’s not what keeps me up.”

He held her tighter, willing her to continue.

“I’m scared,” she said, “that when the day comes, I’ll have to leave you again. That even if we find the answer, I’ll mess it up. Or that someone will insist on taking my place, or—” She caught herself, pressed her face tighter into his side. “I hate that this is what I am. I hate that I hurt people, even when I don’t mean to.”

He waited, just stroking her hair, letting her talk in circles until she found her way through.

“I wanted tonight to be just us. The way it was. Before any of this.” She moved so her cheek pressed flat to his chest, ear right over his heart. “Do you remember the river, the last time?”

Andy did. He'd never forget it as long as he lived: the frozen creek and the rotting planks, the carving of their initials still in the wood after sixteen years, the guitar he'd stashed behind the embankment. The song he'd finally played her. And then Inanna, stepping onto the bridge in blue and gold, the river going to glass beneath them, the gold rings blooming out of the light around their fingers as if they'd always been there. He still had his. So did both of her.

“Of course I remember,” he said, smiling. “I was there too, you know.”

Laura huffed a small laugh against his chest, then went quiet again. “When she married us,” she said, “it was just the two of us. One of me, one of you, standing on that stupid little bridge where we grew up.” Her hand found his, thumb finding the band of gold. “Before the island, before the doubling, before any of the rest of it. For a minute it was just Andy and Laura again, the way it was when we were kids.” She let out a shaky breath. "That's what I wanted to remember tonight. What it felt like to be one of me, married to you, with nothing else in the way.”

He understood, then. She wasn’t afraid of the Law, or of Ereshkigal, or even of dying. She was afraid of losing this—the feeling, right here, of belonging to the world with someone, in one body, one place, nothing split or duplicated or stolen by fate.

So he said, “We’ll make it stick this time. We’ll outlast everything.”

Laura made a noise—disbelieving, but also hopeful—and squeezed him tighter. They stayed like that, her heartbeat syncing to his, until the city noise faded out, and only their breathing filled the room.

After a while, Andy said, “I don’t know how to keep you, when the world keeps trying to take you away. That’s my fear.”

She shifted, rolled up just enough to rest her chin on his chest. “You don’t have to keep me. Just stay. That’s all I want.”

He looked into her eyes. “Then I will.”

She smiled, soft and shy, the way she never did for anyone else. “I want something else, too. A long, boring life with you. Dishes and laundry and car repairs. Not just magic and doom and eternal debts. I want that more than anything.”

He brushed the hair from her face, memorizing the lines of her smile. “Me too,” he said. “God, me too.”

They lay a while longer, until Andy felt her breath slow, her body heavier, the beginnings of real sleep settling in.

Then Laura said, “I want tomorrow to be my day. My turn for a date. If you want.”

He laughed, a real, bright thing, and kissed her forehead. “Tomorrow it is. I’m yours. All day.”

She snuggled closer, her arm across his belly. “No more saving the good days for later,” she said, already half asleep. “I want them now.”

Andy watched her sleep, feeling the slow, steady beat of her heart against his hand. For once, the dark was nothing to be afraid of. He let himself drift, anchored by the warmth of her, the weight of a single, irreplaceable person in his arms.

And this time, when he dreamed, it was just of her, and no one else.