Chapter 11: Is It Bright Where You Are

 

Sammaël had never known Pride. Pride was one of those things for creatures who could suffer the consequences of hubris. Hubris happened to other people. As such, Sammaël had never known Pride. 

Sam knew, though. Sam understood Pride, because Sam was understanding being human at a rapid pace. And she was realizing what the problem was. Grabbing time by the scruff of its neck was harder, she thought. Existing between the ticks of a second, in the moment of death, between the electrons of a splitting atom, at the edge of overlap between Space, Time and Squeemp, she pondered, while time wasn’t so much rewinding as it was spooling up, before she could wind it back, like a clock. 

So. Taking distance from the Sammaël consciousness had not solved the problem. Quite to the contrary, the end of the current loop had been even more extreme than last time. On the other hand, it had come a day later. Time was winding tightly, she could see Space bending, but so much slower than she was used to. She was practically human, now. 

Was that the problem? Her being human when she wasn’t supposed to? Having notions of personhood, of identity, of gender? That felt… underwhelming. The idea that a being as powerful as her wasn’t allowed or supposed to do something? She had bent the very shape of the galaxy to her will and whim, it wasn’t going to stop her from being Sam. 

Or from holding Sierra’s hand, for that matter. But something was, apparently, going to kill her, over and over again. So. Back to the proverbial drawing board. She paced across time and space as the whole thing bounced back like a spring, to where she’d started. But not yet. She held things, including her own once-again-scrambled brain, in suspended animation for a brief moment. She needed to think, and that was going to be harder if she had a concussion and the ensuing migraine. 

Time didn’t like being stopped, she had learned eons ago. She could rewind it, within reason, but holding it like this grew exponentially harder very quickly. It didn’t matter. Brain the size of a planet, she could figure something out in the brief time she had, right?

Okay. More distance didn’t work. Would less distance work? Shove the entirety of her being into a single point, inside of her body? That was a strange idea. Would she be Sammaël again? She thought briefly of the shape on the dark side of the moon, waiting, and wondered for a brief, strange moment how much of a distance there was between her and that body. Was it thinking for itself? Was it thinking of her? Did it think of her as a separate entity? Was she a separate element from it, capable of thought, or merely a sentient limb? 

For a horrifying instance, she thought that maybe Sammaël was the one that had been killing her, but she quickly discarded the idea. Her deaths had started before she had ever put distance between her and it. It was just her old body, it didn’t mean her any harm one way or the other. 

Maybe she could head back into it and start over? Let Abraham Douglas die, and find a better candidate? That would solve some problems, wouldn’t it? But she could tell it also meant giving up memories of her time with Sierra, and she wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. She was… well, she was too proud to give up already, for one. The other option, making her own body, sounded like a lot of work. Human bodies were messy, and while she categorically did not like Abraham’s body, she also knew the exact way she hated it and, apparently, there were people who felt similarly too. She knew how to fix what was wrong. Starting over sounded exhausting and unpleasant. 

And then what? Bringing her entire old body into Abe’s? If he wasn’t dead already, he would’ve died again. No, there was no way. So maybe the problem was something she was missing. Or something she was doing. If only she could figure it out… 

But Time was beginning to protest. Space (and Squeemp) were beginning to curl on themselves at Time’s forced halting. She couldn’t keep it frozen forever. 

 

“I’m her fiancée.”

“Her?”

“Don’t test me today, lady.”

“He didn’t mention a fia—”

“She’s unconscious and recovering from a head-injury. She hasn’t spoken at all. Let me through or we’re going to have Words.” 

“...Very well.”

“Thank you.”

Sam opened her eyes. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling reminded her of the brief moment when she’d been kissed on the eyeball by a nuclear explosion. She looked at Sierra and smiled, and she suddenly didn’t care about the fluorescent lights anymore. Sierra smiled back, and their hands immediately found each other. There was a cough from the foot of the bed. Sam looked at the nurse. Looking down was immediately awful. The hair on her chin scratched her chest, reminding her of its presence. And without the distance between this body and her old one, the sensation was… not good.

“Sa—” She stopped, and closed her eyes. “Abraham Douglas. Engaged to Sierra Guthrie. I’m feeling fine. My insurance should be fine.” She squeezed an eye closed. “I could use a painkiller.” The nurse jotted down her answers and left. Sam lowered her head apologetically. “It didn’t work,” she said.

“It’s okay,” Sierra said. “Didn’t even feel anything that time, honestly. We’ll figure it out.” She put her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Especially if we keep trying. I believe in you, Sam. Now, come on,” she said, giving her a gentle nudge. “Let’s get you out of here. We need to get you a razor, and I don’t want whatever is going to happen next to happen in the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, looking up at Sierra. “And yes. And… I’m glad you remember.” Sierra got her to the bathroom to get dressed, and even managed to harangue the hospital staff to get her a razor. A few moments later and Sam’s face was, if not perfectly smooth, at least not the sensory hell it had been just a second earlier. She had also had a quick go at her chest while she was in there. It just felt better that way. 

“All done?” Sierra said while Sam put her shoes on. 

“I am,” Sam said. “And I've been thinking.”

“You know, I don’t think anyone has ever enjoyed what comes after the phrase ‘I’ve been thinking.’ It’s just one of those phrases, you know?” Sierra said, with her hands on her hips. She smirked when Sam raised an eyebrow. “Lay it on me.”

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“Well,” Sam said, “It obviously didn’t work. All of the events that led to the bomb going off were… well, unlikely. To say the least.” Sierra just chuckled. “So… I think the issue does seem to surround me.” They got up. 

“Might as well grab something to eat in the cafeteria?” Sierra said. “We don’t have to rush to get you a razor, and I don’t think here or five miles away is going to make much of a difference if a nuke can just fall on us, you know?” Sam nodded, and they made their way down. Might as well. 

Sitting down with a tray of food, Sam chewed on a ham and cheese sandwich and realized that, technically, this was the first time in her life eating anything. It certainly tasted like it. Sure, the bread was stale and the cheese was flirting aggressively with its expiration date, but it was still remarkably potent. “So, what do you want to try next?” Sierra asked. 

“I think… I think the problem is me,” Sam said. “I thought for a horrible moment it was you.” Sierra took a sip. 

“Me?”

“Well,” Sam continued, “you did die a couple of times. Including the first time.”

“Wait, you didn’t die the first time?” Sierra asked.

Sam shook her head. “No, I didn’t. You took a shower, slipped on your way out and hit your head.” She grimaced. “It wasn’t a fun experience.”

“I can imagine,” Sierra said. “Just so we’re clear, you can control time, right?”

“Only in a limited capacity,” Sam said. “Especially here and now. I’m limited to going back to where I started, and I can keep it in place there for a moment, but not long.” Sierra managed to look both deeply interested in whatever Sam had to say while simultaneously devouring a sandwich in as few bites as possible. She smiled sheepishly when Sam was done talking. 

“Sorry. Looks like dying makes me hungry?” She licked some mayonnaise off her fingers. “Anyway, is it, like, difficult?” 

Sam nodded. “It wouldn’t be if I was in my full form, but like this, even before distancing myself, it’s more… resistant. Like I don’t have as much grip. It’s like playing tug of war with a greased rope.” She blinked to herself. That was a weird analogy to have bouncing around Abe’s head. He’d clearly had some strange experiences. Sierra giggled. “Uh, so, yes, it isn’t easy.”

“But you did it for me?” Sierra said, cocking her head slightly while fiddling with the lid on a pudding cup. “Why?”

“W— I— Wh—” Sam said. Sierra took the lid off and nudged Sam’s nose with it. 

“You look like a fish, opening and closing your mouth like that,” she said. “Thank you for doing that, of course. I’m just… curious.”

“You made me feel… Well, quite bad, originally,” Sam said, and laughed slightly. “But you also believed me, in time, and then you… made me want to be better. And I wanted you to be there when I did.” She smiled again. 

“That’s… weirdly sweet. It’s strange, to know you met a different version of me. Was I… particularly rude to you at all?” She took a spoonful of chocolate pudding, looked at it, and then offered it to Sam, who looked at it with mild curiosity. “Come on. Take a bite.”

“Um,” Sam said.

“Just taste it. You’ll like it. Promise.”

Sam did as she was told, and the taste nearly blew the top of her head off. It was an explosion of flavor that she had not been prepared for. “That is so much,” she said, holding a hand in front of her mouth. “How do you… How are you supposed to…”

“It’s chocolate, babe,” Sierra said. “It just does that. Anyway, you were about to tell me what I was like!”

“You interrupted me!” Sam laughed just as Sierra brought the spoon up to her own face. Her hand shaking smeared the pudding across her chin, causing both of them to break out in more fits of giggling. The moment lingered. Good moments linger. This one did. They smiled at each other. No words. Like the night before. 

“I did,” Sierra said softly. Her voice was low and husky, in a way that also reminded Sam of the night before. When they’d come back inside and the world had stopped breathing. “I’m sorry,” she added, and ate some more pudding. 

“You, uh,” Sam said, “you made me apologize to your parents.”

The chocolate came out of Sierra’s nose that time.