Wounds and Wings, Part 1

VP and BP Standings
Erin - 63 VP - 2300 BP - 1 Achiev
Claire - 52 VP - 6200 BP - 2 Achievs
Marissa - 52 VP - 2800 BP - 1 Achiev
Liesa - 48 VP - 1400 BP - 2 Achievs
Emi - 36 VP - 4750 BP - 1 Achiev
Norah - 28 VP - 2550 BP - 1 Achiev
Dawn - 26 VP - 3000 BP - 1 Achiev
Sam - 20 VP - 3050 BP - 1 Achiev
Chloe - 4 VP - 3475 BP

Liesa’s hands trembled so badly she barely could press the button to call the elevator. She couldn’t even blame last night’s whiskey: she’d hydrated like a champion, then ate two Belgian waffles and a pile of fruit for breakfast, so she felt as clear-headed as anyone could at seven-thirty in the morning. No, the shaking was something else: the nervous, electric anticipation that came from knowing exactly what you wanted, and exactly how little control you had over whether it would want you back.

She left Andy’s suite quietly, the doors hissed open on the main floor, and she took a moment to breathe. The breakfast crowd had not yet arrived: the buffet stood pristine, not a crumb or napkin out of place, all the fruit pyramids still symmetrical and untouched. Liesa scanned the room—nobody with blue hair, no sign of Sam at the barista station or the terrace.

She had almost convinced herself to give up and come back later when she spotted her: Sam, alone at the farthest table from the windows, hunched over a mug with her face buried in a croissant. There was a second cup, untouched, across from her. Liesa wanted to believe that was for her, but didn’t dare hope.

She walked over, aware of how strange her legs felt, half numb, half sparking with every step. She reached the table and cleared her throat. “Hey,” she said, surprised by how casual she sounded.

Sam looked up, blinking once, then twice, the way she did when her brain needed to switch from meme mode to real life. The sight of Liesa seemed to catch her off-guard—she straightened, dropped the croissant on the plate, hastily wiped her hands on her jeans, and managed a smile.

“Hey yourself,” Sam said. “You’re up early. Or did you just never sleep?”

“I slept. Eventually,” Liesa replied, sliding into the empty seat. “Is very hard to sleep when your brain is making so much… how do you say, overthinking?”

Sam snorted. “That’s the only kind of thinking I do, so, yeah. Want coffee?” She pushed the extra mug forward, and Liesa took it, grateful for the tiny gesture of hospitality.

They sat in silence for a minute, the kind that could be mistaken for awkward, but Liesa found it oddly comforting. The background noise was all clatter and soft jazz, with the hiss of espresso from the distant kitchen. Liesa wrapped both hands around her cup, trying to steady herself.

She had rehearsed the words all night, on and off: I like you. I think I might love you, maybe. It is strange but also good. She couldn’t tell if it sounded ridiculous, or too much, or just enough, so she kept her eyes on the swirling steam and her lips pressed tight.

Sam said, “So, uh, last night—” at the exact moment Liesa said, “I wanted to talk to you about—”

They both stopped, then laughed, the tension popping like a bubble. “You first,” Sam said, waving a hand.

Liesa drew a breath. "I… okay." Her accent thickened with nerves. "Since the first day, when you made that joke about Belgian waffles, I have felt this..." She touched her sternum. "But I was afraid because of Andy. Because what I feel for him is—" She made a gesture with both hands, like holding something precious. "But with you, is new, but growing so fast." Her eyes found Sam's, then darted away. "When we are all together, I feel complete. When I am with only Andy, I think of you. When I am with only you, I still feel him here." She pressed her palm against her heart. "Is possible to have both feelings? Or am I being greedy?"

Sam’s eyes went wide, then soft, then wide again, as if she’d just been told a long-standing secret about herself. She made a noise that was almost a laugh, but stopped it with her hand. “You’re not crazy,” she said. “I thought… I mean, I figured you and Andy were, you know, endgame. I just assumed I was the funny sidekick. The token queer who keeps things light.”

Liesa shook her head, hair coming loose from its braid. “You are not just funny, Sam. You are the best person here. You make everything better. Even when you are making bad jokes.” She tried a smile, but it trembled.

Sam looked down, her own smile going lopsided. “So, you like me-like me?”

“I like you very much. Like, very much.” Liesa ducked her head, suddenly shy. “But I also like Andy. I do not want to hurt anyone. Or make anyone feel left out.”

Sam was quiet, her face still and unreadable, but her eyes shimmered, almost wet. She took a long, slow breath.

“Can I be honest?” Sam said.

Liesa nodded, bracing herself.

“I’ve liked you since day one, too,” Sam said. “But I thought there was no way you’d ever look at me that way. Like, you’re so—” She waved at Liesa’s whole body, as if words failed. “You’re Liesa. You’re stunning and smart and you actually know how to do things in the real world. I just… run a coffee shop and play Pathfinder. I’m not in your league.”

Liesa’s heart leapt in her chest. “Is this a joke?”

Sam shook her head. “Not even a little. I think about you all the time, and then I get mad at myself for thinking about you, because I think it’s not allowed, or it’s just the weird poly vibe of the show, or whatever.” She stared into her mug, searching for answers. “I didn’t know Andy was cool with it. I just assumed he’d want you for himself.” She paused, frowning. “No, I mean… thinking back, the big idiot even tried to tell me he was cool with it. I was just… too scared, maybe?”

Liesa hesitated, remembering the conversation in Andy’s kitchen, the warmth of his hand on hers. “He said he wants us both to be happy. He does not want me to choose. He said you and him are family, and nothing can break that.”

Sam’s face broke open with a smile so raw and sudden it made Liesa laugh. “God, he’s such a dork. I should have known.” She reached out, covering Liesa’s hand with her own. “You really want to…?”

Liesa nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Sam squeezed her fingers, then said, “You don’t have to choose, you know. If you love both of us, that just means there’s more to go around.” She grinned, suddenly playful. “Also, you should know I’m the jealous type, but only about board games and rare coffees.” She leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss against Liesa’s temple.

Liesa laughed, relief rushing through her. She wanted to shout, to dance, to do something physical and immediate, but all she could do was hold Sam’s hand and beam like an idiot.

“Okay,” Sam said, after a moment. “This is good. This is really good. What do you want to do today?”

Liesa blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I do not know. I had not thought that far.”

“Let’s just hang out,” Sam said. “No pressure, no weirdness. We can hike the trails, or go to the beach, or just sit here and talk all day. I want to get to know you. The real you. Not just the girl from Belgium with all the secrets.”

Liesa’s cheeks warmed, and she nodded, overwhelmed. “I want to know you, too.”

They lingered at the table, the sun climbing higher, making the blue in Sam’s hair shine. Liesa watched her, the shape of her hands, the way her smile always started on the left and then spread right, the tiny scar on her knuckle from some old accident. She wanted to ask about it, but decided to wait until the hike—let the question come naturally, not ****.

After a while, Sam said, “I know this is probably the happiest I’ve ever been in a breakfast nook, but…” She hesitated, her smile faltering at the edges. “Is it weird if I say I’m scared?”

Liesa’s own joy dipped, just a fraction. “Of what?”

Sam looked out the window, at the sweep of blue sky and distant, green-dappled cliffs. “Tomorrow’s challenge. I know it’s always elimination, and I know we’re supposed to act like it’s a game, but…” She looked back at Liesa, her eyes suddenly ****. “What if one of us gets eliminated before we even get to have, you know, a day together?”

Liesa squeezed her hand. “Then we make this the best day,” she said, steady. “And if we survive, we make more days.”

Sam laughed, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. “God, you’re perfect.” She leaned in and kissed Liesa full on the lips, tender and hopeful.

IVA: Kissed another Contestant! +1 VP
First! x2

Liesa shook her head, but inside she was pure sunshine.

They stood together, the warmth of Sam’s hand still burning on her skin. The dining hall glowed gold and soft, but just outside the doors, Liesa could feel the shadow of tomorrow lurking, waiting to see if joy was allowed to last.

For now, she decided, it was. She and Sam were together, and nothing—not even the game—was going to take this day away.

Marissa had spent the better part of the morning standing in front of the mirror, reciting her thoughts like the opening statement at a professional conference, then immediately discarding the entire speech as overthought and overwrought. She had tried on three different blouses, all variations on “intelligent but approachable,” and finally settled on the pale blue one because it made her look marginally less like someone about to deliver a deposition. Her transformations—the inevitable cleavage she had to leave open, and the permanently erect nipples—paradoxically helped in dispelling the notion of something formal. She even debated redoing her hair (up or down, bun or braid, severe or soft) but in the end, her hands were shaking too much, so she left it in the practical ponytail.

She needed air. That was the only logical explanation for why she was here, pacing like a defendant on parole, in the half-shade of the Inner Gardens. The bench she’d claimed was cold marble, slick with morning dew, and backed by a wall of ivy that reminded her of the reading quad at Princeton, where she’d first realized she liked being smarter than everyone else in the room.

Today, though, she didn’t feel smarter than anyone.

She paced another lap around the little fountain, counting her steps. Three laps and she’d be ready. Maybe.

The sound of footsteps made her heart stutter, and she turned to see Andy striding down the crushed-gravel path, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly as if bracing for a strong wind. He wore a faded blue t-shirt and khakis, which was somehow more intimidating than if he’d shown up in a suit. It meant he was comfortable here.

She wasn’t.

“Hey,” he said, with a warm smile. She could almost see the affection in his eyes. “You wanted to talk?”

Marissa nodded, suddenly tongue-tied. She gestured to the bench, and he sat, waiting. She paced once more, then joined him, careful not to let their knees touch. The silence grew, thick as honey.

After a long minute, she said, “Do you ever feel like you’re only pretending to be a real person? Like, you’re running a script that someone else wrote, and you’re just hoping the audience buys it?”

Andy chuckled, but the sound was gentle. “Pretty much every day of my life.”

She exhaled, then realized she’d been holding her breath. “I thought so.” She tried to smooth the hem of her blouse, realized her hands were shaking, and laced them together instead. “I spent my entire career learning how to be the expert, the authority. But lately, it feels like I’m just… play-acting. Like I’m not really here. Like I’m doing therapy on myself, but none of it sticks.”

Andy looked at her then, and Marissa felt the urge to look away, to hide behind a clipboard or a sheaf of notes. But there was nothing to hide behind here. She was just a woman on a bench, talking to the only person who had ever managed to undo her.

She swallowed. “I’m supposed to be the one with the answers. But lately, I don’t even know what the questions are.” She hesitated, then added, “I thought if I kept things professional, if I didn’t let anyone in, I could keep myself safe. Then we had our date, a few days back, and it got me to thinking. It turns out, I’m just… lonely. And I don’t want to be lonely anymore.”

The last words came out softer than she intended, but they hung in the air between them, undeniable.

Andy took her hands, warm and steady. “You always told me nobody changes overnight,” he said, voice low and even. “It’s a journey. You don’t have to figure it all out in one day.”

Marissa’s eyes filled, vision blurring. She blinked the tears away, but a few escaped, tracing cold lines down her cheeks. “I’m scared,” she said. “I’m scared I’m not enough. For you, for anyone.”

Andy leaned closer, his grip tightening. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. Even when you were putting up walls, even when you were terrified, you were still the wisest person I know.” He kissed her, then, not with heat or hunger, but with a kind of determined tenderness that left her breathless. When he pulled away, she let her forehead rest against his, the marble chill at her back now replaced by the warmth of his body.

“You’ve helped me for years, Marissa,” Andy said. “Now it’s my turn to help you. If you’ll let me.”

She managed a laugh, salty and shaky. “You sound like a motivational speaker,” she teased.

He grinned. “Guess I picked up a few things from you after all.”

They sat there for a while, the garden noises—distant birdsong, the trickle of the fountain, the rustle of wind through the leaves—filling the gaps in their conversation. The sunlight was filtered by the canopy, dappling their faces in moving patterns. For the first time in weeks, Marissa felt the urge to just stay, to let herself exist in this tiny slice of time without worrying about what came next.

She studied Andy’s face, searching for the man she’d once diagnosed as terminally avoidant, emotionally unavailable, and probably incapable of basic self-care. What she found instead was something she hadn’t expected: a steadiness, a new core of confidence that had never been there before.

“You’ve changed,” she said, not quite a question.

He shrugged, but the motion was softer now, less defensive. “Maybe I had to.”

She touched his face, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “You’re growing into a leader, Andy.”

He snorted. “That’s a scary thought.”

She shook her head. “Not scary. Necessary. All the women here—whether they admit it or not—they look to you. You’re the only one who’s ever given more than you took.”

Andy went quiet, considering. The sunlight made his eyes look greener, and Marissa found herself memorizing the pattern of gold and blue in his irises, as if she’d never see them again.

She smiled, this time with no effort. “You always hated being in charge. But you’re good at it.”

He laughed, genuinely now. “Only when I have good people to lead.”

She kissed him again, letting herself lean into the embrace, letting go of the old rules and boundaries she’d clung to for so long.

For the rest of the morning, they sat together, sharing quiet, letting the warmth seep into their bones. Marissa wondered if this was what it felt like to be a real person—not the expert, not the authority, but just herself.

It was enough.

The only place Andy ever felt truly anonymous on the island was at the resort pool. Maybe it was because the Mildred iterations never hovered here, or maybe it was the scale—the way the water cut a blue ribbon across the whole terrace, flanked by stone and potted palm. He could sit for hours at one of the lounge chairs, hidden behind cheap sunglasses and a copy of some battered paperback, pretending he was a regular guy on vacation and not the emotional lightning rod at the center of the universe.

He had just settled into a chapter of his book when a splash at the deep end made him glance up. Emi and Dawn had the pool to themselves, and they moved through the water like a pair of synchronized dolphins, all smooth arcs and soundless dives. For a while, Andy just watched: the sun painting Dawn’s olive skin in gold, Emi’s black hair fanning out like seaweed every time she surfaced. They seemed completely content in their own bubble, but after a few laps, Dawn spotted Andy and grinned, motioning him over with a broad, dramatic wave.

He set the book aside and padded to the edge, feigning ****. “You two look busy,” he called.

Emi, perched on the tiled lip like a mermaid, cocked her head. “Join us, Andy. The water’s perfect.”

Dawn nodded, competitive fire in her eyes. “Bet you can’t beat us in a race.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Pretty sure that’s not a fair fight.”

Dawn shot a look at Emi, then shrugged. “Winner gets first pick at lunch.”

Andy laughed, then sat on the edge, feet in the water. “Loser buys dessert?”

“Deal,” Dawn said, and launched herself backward with a kick, leaving a silver trail.

They raced, first a lap, then just a sprint to the end and back. Andy pushed off the wall and felt something unfamiliar surge through his muscles. His body cut through the water with an efficiency that startled him. Dawn was ahead at first, her powerful strokes churning up white foam, but halfway down the lane, Andy found himself drawing level with her. Their eyes met underwater for a fraction of a second, hers widening in surprise. By the turn, he'd pulled ahead. Emi trailed them both, moving with balletic grace that made losing look like an art form.

When they touched the wall, Dawn was panting, staring at him with bewildered respect. "What was that?" she gasped, clutching the pool edge. "Since when can you swim like that?" She grinned. “Have you been hiding your athleticism, Andy?”

Emi floated onto her back, letting the sun warm her face. "It's not just swimming," she said, voice dreamy. "He's different all over."

Andy wiped water from his eyes, as confused as Dawn was. "I don't know what happened. My body just... responded." He flexed his fingers, studying them like they belonged to someone else.

They sprawled together on the sun-heated deck, still dripping. For a while, nobody spoke. There was only the sound of the breeze and the far-off cry of some bird, maybe a gull. Andy could feel his heart already settled into a calm rhythm, recovery time impossibly short.

Dawn broke the silence, rolling onto her side to face him. "You know, you're different lately."

He blinked. “How do you mean?”

She considered. “You’re… here, I guess. Present. You used to look like you wanted to run away from everything. Now you don’t.”

Emi added, eyes still closed, “You look lighter. Like you left something heavy behind.”

Andy didn’t know what to say. Maybe they were right, or maybe the women around him were just better at seeing things than he was.

He stretched out his arms, letting the sunlight dry his skin. “Maybe I just realized there’s nowhere better to run to.”

They laughed, but gently, not at his expense.

After a minute, Emi propped herself up on her elbows. “Do you ever think about the end of this? About what comes next?”

Andy looked at her, surprised by the question. “Sometimes. But mostly I try to focus on the day-to-day. That’s enough for me.”

Dawn, serious now, said, “I think about it all the time. I don’t want it to end, but I know it has to. I just… I hope, when it does, it’s not the last time we’re all together. I hope we get to stay friends. Or more.”

Emi nodded, her gaze steady. “I want that, too. Even if I don’t always say it out loud.”

Andy felt something move in his chest, a slow, rising warmth that wasn’t just the sun. “Can I say something kind of cheesy?”

Dawn grinned. “We live for cheese, Andy.”

He sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I was so sure, when I got here, that I was going to mess everything up. That I’d hurt people, or just repeat the same mistakes over and over.” He paused, looking at each of them in turn. “But I think this place… I think it’s changing me. Or maybe you all did.” He paused. “Arabella told me, during the last challenge, that while there are no Transformations for the Master, there is an… alchemy of changes. I thought, when she described the Gifts, that that’s what she was referring to. But now I think those are only a small portion of it. I think…” He looked around. “This place is a pressure cooker. Hosts toss the Master and Contestants in, and see what comes out. Like tossing ingredients in a pot. And I think Arabella is just very good at picking the right ingredients.”

Emi smiled, gentle as ever. “That’s a good thing, right?”

He nodded. “It’s the best thing.”

Dawn leaned back, arms supporting her. “Do you ever wish… you could go back and do it over? Make different choices?”

Andy shook his head, surprising even himself. “No. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. With you.”

They were silent for a moment, the words settling like a blanket.

Emi said, “Do you love us, Andy?” It was not an accusation, nor a demand, just a simple question.

He swallowed, the truth suddenly easy. “I do,” he said. “All of you. In different ways, maybe, but… yeah. I love you.”

Dawn reached over, took his hand. “We love you, too,” she said. “Even when you’re a goof.”

Emi giggled, then interlaced her fingers with Andy’s other hand. “Especially then.”

He looked down at their hands—tanned and pale and slender and strong, all linked together—and felt a wild, dizzying rush of gratitude.

“I promise I’m done being sad,” Andy said. “No more running. I’m going to protect you. Both of you. All of you. I want as many happy endings as this place will let us have.”

Dawn squeezed his hand, her smile so bright he had to look away. “We’ll hold you to that.”

Emi said, “It’s okay if you love each of us differently, Andy. That’s how love works.”

Dawn nodded. “We all love you differently, too. But we love you, nonetheless.”

Andy tried to think of something to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just held their hands, letting the moment stretch, infinite and unbreakable.

Finally, he managed, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

They laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was true.