Chapter Text
Carol storms into her house, ignoring Manousos and his half English, half Spanish questions. They can talk about the elephant on the room (meaning: the atom bomb) later, she decides. Instead, she grabs a bottle of whiskey and fresh clothes, navigating her way through the apartment in record time and locks herself inside the bathroom.
She takes a swing from the bottle and doesn’t stop swallowing until her throat constricts, fighting against the spicy liquid. She wipes her mouth with her hand and strips down naked, pointedly ignoring the marks Zosia– no, the hivemind– had left all over her body.
She mechanically washes any trace of her– them– for fuck’s sake, off her body and spends the rest of she shower staring into nothingness while the scalding hot water is burning her body. She only stops when the bathroom is foggy and the air is moist and her skin is so hot it feels like it will peel right off once she steps out of the shower.
She then makes a beeline to her bedroom, forcing herself to at least give her house guest a shout. “I’m going to dormir,” she yells in the vague direction of the living room. “We can start saving el mundo tomorrow.”
She doesn’t wait for a reply before she kicks her bedroom door closed, the bottle of whiskey clenched tightly in her fist.
She wants to sleep, or pass out, or stop existing altogether. She tries her best to not think about the dumpster fire that is her life now but after having spent the last weeks ignoring just that, it all comes crashing down.
The urge to crawl outside of her skin and leave her body and this utterly embarrassing humiliation behind is getting stronger and stronger by the second. She desperately wishes there was a way to erase the last two and a half months from her mind.
She wishes that fucking firework had hit her straight in the face and blown her head off.
Of course the only time she chose to let herself enjoy something good, it was based on an absolute delusion. And worst of all, she had been aware of it but it was all too easy to ignore with Zosia by her side.
Now, alone for the first time in weeks, she wonders how she had ever believed any of it.
She sits up and blindly reaches out, searching for the sleeping pills she knows are still stored somewhere in Helen’s nightstand. Not because Helen needed them for herself, but because she didn't want Carol to have them within reach.
She waits for the stabbing pain in her chest that usually follows any thought of Helen, the mental picture of her lifeless face that usually pops up when she thinks about her wife. But all she feels is emptiness. Which isn’t even a real feeling, a nagging voice inside her head reminds her, it rather is the absence of feelings. Whatever.
She shrugs to herself and pops two pills, washes them down with more alcohol and rolls onto her back, waiting for sleep to come.
She wakes up to sunlight and footsteps. For a second she expects Zosia to come into the room, wearing nothing but a silk robe and an easy smile.
Then reality hits her.
Her head is pounding. Her throat is dry. She vaguely remembers throwing up sometime at night and she cannot piece together whether it was a dream or if it really happened. Honestly, she’s not sure she wants to find out.
The next two days pass in a blur of whiskey, sleeping pills and vivid dreams. She vaguely remembers Manousos entering the room and serving her a dry toast and some fruit but at this rate she’s not sure what’s real anymore.
When she finally manages to drag herself out of bed on day four post Zosia, Manousos is in the living room, reading through books and mumbling to himself.
He absentmindedly gestures to the table and her eyes follow his hand, finding a glass of water, painkillers and a roughly cut-up orange. Her face heats up and she mumbles a small gracias, swallows the pill and quickly throws back the glass of water before forcing her legs to carry her into the office.
He must think she’s the biggest idiot on the planet. But she’s also the only person who could help him with the whole saving the world scheme.
So she fishes out her phone, opens the translator app and starts writing.
Four and a half hours later her head is pounding and she has written five pages. Her wrist hurts and her handwriting has gotten worse with every page, but there it is:
The events of the last seventy-something days; her actions explained as clearly as she could stomach and the entirety of her findings regarding the hive all laid out.
It almost felt like a confession, writing this sorry little essay about her choices and mistakes.
She hopes the translation didn’t butcher the content too badly. She has worked hard on not depending on the validation of men, but in this instance she needs Manousos to understand her. She needs someone to tell her that it’s not her who’s crazy, but the world is.
So she grabs the pages and carries them to the living room, carefully placing them before the man who is still manically penciling down god knows what.
Watching him read the first page feels worse than waiting for feedback on any of her drafts ever felt. There’s no changing the story here, no way to make herself more likeable or her actions less pathetic. No room for improvement, just the godawful truth.
Manousos doesn’t have a reaction. He reads carefully with a straight face and a steadiness that feels almost eerie to Carol. When she cannot deal with his neutral expression anymore, she excuses herself and heads into the bathroom for a long overdue shower.
When she’s done she finds the pages placed facedown on the table. Manousos looks at her with an unreadable expression.
“Thank you,” he says. “I am happy you are back.” Then, he gestures to the open books, scattered sketches and empty pens he surely raided from her office. “Let’s save the world,” he concludes with a stern nod.
“Let’s save el mundo,” Carol agrees with a sigh.
It turns out that saving the world is hard when you have no knowledge of the scientific reasons that fucked it up in the first place. She feels like a first grader thrown into an university physics class, working her ass off to understand how radio waves and electromagnetic fields could possibly be used to un-hive someone, as she started to call it. Manousos had come up with the general idea and it took them several tries for Carol to understand what he meant, but now it seems like a sensible first step. More effective than drugging some hive person, she figures. Well, you live and you learn.
The biggest progress they both make is with learning their respective languages. But they are gravitating mor and more towards English. Mostly because both Carol’s books and the books Manousos has gotten from random households in Albuquerque are written in English, but also because Carol can only be bothered to learn one thing at the time and right now that’s physics.
Aside from doing nothing but research and drinking, she is now living with the constant fear of being turned into one of those brainwashed people. She had Zosia explain to her in detail how to detonate the bomb, had even asked her to write down instructions but she’s not sure she would actually do it. She’s well aware Zosia, no, the hive people, whatever– she’s well aware they probably know Carol would at least think twice before detonating an atom bomb.
Manousos, however, is unpredictable since he has barely been in contact with them and she figures the hive cannot completely rule out the possibility that he would wipe out a huge chunk of the earth.
Perhaps they haven't figured out the cure yet. Who knows how far they have gotten with the work on her frozen eggs. Plus Manousos seems to be unsure what they did to him during his stay at the hospital.
Either way, it still feels like they are living on borrowed time. Food now gets delivered by drone since they can’t take an atom bomb to Sprouts. After every delivery Carol calls them and makes sure there is no cure hidden in their food. It’s a different voice, one she doesn't recognize. She’s glad it’s not Zosia. Or so she tells herself.
“Carol,” Manousos says one day and she immediately knows something is about the shift. He has finally dropped her last name, but Carol has never sounded so important coming out of his mouth before.
“I think I understand.”
It takes them a good two hours and Manousos manically drawing sketches and charts on the already overflowing whiteboard, but eventually they are on the same page.
They need a place that cannot be reached by radio waves. And a person to un-hive.
“Someone you know well,” Manousos explains. “Familia, amigas?” he suggests.
Carol sighs. Helen was the one with friends and Carol the grumpy anti-social wife who begged to stay home most of the time. Helen managed to force Carol into accompanying her to awkward double dates sometimes but she cannot say she bonded with any of the people she met.
Besides Helen, Carol’s most constant relationship had probably been with her agent and that was strictly professional. Sure, there were neighbours but she can’t even list two personal facts about any of them. Hell, she doesn't even remember the first names of half of these people.
“Not really,” she admits. “Not a people person,” she states the obvious with a self depreciating laugh.
“I never would have guessed,” Manousos replies.
It takes Carol a few seconds to realize he’s making a joke.
She bursts out laughing and Manousos chuckles as well. She hasn’t smiled in days. Warmth floods through her chest.
He tilts his head, visibly thinking about other options.
“What about… her?” he asks.
Carol’s smile freezes in an instant. “Who?” she asks defensively, knowing full well who he means.
“La chica,” Manousos says. “You know her well?”
“She’s them,” she spits out.
And yet.
She knows where Zosia grew up and that her favorite food was mango ice cream. She knows Zosia, the individual, used to like soft rock and candles that smell like linen. She knows she preferred red wine to white. She knows she liked the beach. She knows she finds taking a bath more relaxing than taking a shower.
She knows all of this because she asked, deluding herself that they might be able to build something close to a normal human relationship. She made herself believe that knowing the real Zosia might make the relationship more real as well.
“It might work,” she admits reluctantly.
But she’s not sure about any of it; whether she knows Zosia well enough to un-hive her and whether it is smart of try it on Zosia of all people.
“Will it hurt her?” she asks. Kill her is what she means. She thinks about the seizures Zosia had, two out of three because of her. About how fragile she looked last time, shaking and vibrating, in this very room.
Manousos doesn't reply for a long time. “No sé,” he finally admits.
“What about you? Family, friends, lovers?” she asks but she already knows the answer. There is a reason why the hive didn’t know anything about him.
He curtly shakes his head and doesn’t elaborate.
“Okay,” Carol admits defeat. “Let’s say we’ll try it with Zosia. And hopefully don’t kill her. How do we get her to a place without radio waves?”
“Un búnker?” Manousos suggests. He gets up and starts looking through the books and papers on the table before pulling out a local map. But Carol doesn’t need it.
“There’s an air force base close by,” it dawns on her. “I don’t think they are using it since they have abandoned the whole city.”
Manousos points at the map, locating the spot within a few seconds. Carol nods.
“That’s the main one. Probably too big and too secure. But there should be more,” she says. “Smaller ones.”
There’s a pause.
“This one stores nuclear weapons though.”
Manousos grins and circles the spot on his map. It’s the best safety guarantee they could have asked for.
“But do you think we can get in there ?” Carol wonders, clearly not convinced.
“They are saving resources, yes?” Manousos asks.
Carol nods.
“Then there won’t be the usual security. Mechanical doors, maybe.”
They stare at the paper for a few seconds. A plan is forming in their heads, taking on a real shape.
“But we cannot just kidnap her out of the blue,” Carol suddenly realizes.
“You know them,” Manousos points out. “What will work?”
Carol thinks about Zosia, how she– how they behaved after leaving Carol alone for over a month. How desperate she was, how quickly Zosia caught on to her need for closeness and intimacy.
And now she’s holed up in her house with only a stranger, a random man, for company. Surely that seems lonely as well. It is lonely, she has to admit to herself, but the plotting and scheming keeps her pretty busy.
“I could tell them I miss her,” she speaks slowly, the words tasting like something forbidden. “That I want to meet on common ground. Alone, just me and her.”
“Is it safe?” Manousos asks.
“They can’t lie so I guess I’ll just ask them,” Carol shrugs. “In case there is any sign of her trying to turn me into one of them, I will scream and cry and she will freeze.”
“Es arriesgado,” he replies. “Dangerous,” he adds at Carol’s confused look.
“For whom?” Carol laughs bitterly. She can still picture Zosia shaking uncontrollably, unable to move or speak.
“Will they try to stop you if you take her away?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” Carol takes a second to think. “They cannot hurt us. They actually put themselves in danger to save me once.”
Manousos doesn’t seem to believe her. “They do?”
Carol nods. Flashes of hot fire and glass everywhere make their way to the front of her mind; Zosia on the floor, her back ripped open and Carol desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
“Zosia once saved me from una granada,” Carol tells him and mimics an explosion. Boom. “Long story," she adds.
Manousos nods.
“So, we choose her?” he asks.
“I guess.”
Silence.
Carol gets up and pours herself a drink.
“If it works, if she turns into a real person again,” Carol stammers, “will she hate me?”
She is embarassed by how pathetic the words sound coming out of her mouth. “She will probably hate me,” she concludes.
“Maybe,” Manousos says quietly. “But it will be real.”
Carol takes a sip from her glass and nods. “Okay,” she says.
They sit in silence for a few minutes before she gets up and dials a familiar number.
“Hello, Carol.”
“I want to see her. Somewhere outside, not here. Alone,” she hurries to say.
“Zosia misses you too, Carol. However–”
“Please,” Carol begs. She’s surprised at how desperate she sounds, how her voice breaks at the end.
“Tomorrow. Just for a quick hike. I need to go outside, I need–,” she swallows soundly. “I need to be with someone.”
“Okay, Carol.”
Relief floods through her.
“Don’t hang up yet,” she quickly says. “Can you promise me that you won’t turn me into one of you tomorrow? And that it will be just us two.”
“Certainly, Carol. Will Manousos accompany you?”
“He doesn't know,” she whispers.
“Okay,” the voice easily agrees. There’s a quick pause before they go on. “Unfortunately we do have to ask this, but do you plan on using the atomic bomb you had us deliver?”
Carol can’t hold back a dry laugh.
“No. And I’ll make sure he won’t nuke you either,” Carol promises. “Don’t worry.”
“Thank you, Carol. We look forward to seeing you,” the cheerful voice tells her before she hangs up.
“Tomorrow,” she nods to Manousos.
“Let’s prepare.”
The plan goes as follows: Manousos will pack all of the necessary things for staying in the bunker into his truck, making it seem like he is preparing to leave because he and Carol cannot work out their differences.
Meanwhile Carol will spend a few hours with Zosia, feeding her lies about how Manousos and her could not work together or agree on anything.
At 4pm sharp they will both drive in the direction of the airforce bunker. This will be tricky because the hive will most likely notice both of them are moving towards each other. Time is of the essence here. Carol figures she and Manousos have a slight advantage because they abandoned the city, perhaps even the county, but with Zosia coming back they might also be close by.
Manousos will arrive at the bunker early and take care of opening it.
Shortly before going inside, Carol will have to provoke a seizure for Zosia and then try to get the real Zosia out once they are inside the bunker.
It’s a fickle plan with many possibilities for fuck ups but it’s all they have.
Carol goes to sleep feeling anxious. For once she doesn't pop a sleeping pill or chugs down half a bottle of whiskey.
She tosses and turns and tries to not think about Zosia’s disarming smile. About how her hair felt in her hands. Her warm hand around her waist–
She dreams of floating on water. It’s deep blue and it swallows Carol, but it feels comforting. She lets go, merges into the blue liquid. Suddenly she is embraced by Zosia, a warm feeling spreading through her body.
“We’re so happy you’re back,” she says. The brunette’s hands are everywhere caressing and touching her softly.
Carol wakes up with a sharp intake of breath. She gulps down the glass of water on her nightstand and rubs the sleep from her eyes.
Keep it together, she thinks to herself.
Keep it together, continues to thinks to herself as she takes special care to pick out clothes for the day.
Keep it together, she tells herself when she is carefully applying makeup for the first time in weeks.
Keep it together, she repeats like a mantra when her hands are shakily holding onto the steering wheel, on her way to meet Zosia.
Zosia is wearing a blue dress. She looks stunningly beautiful and her easy smile is way too inviting. They awkwardly greet each other from afar before they meet in the middle, falling into each other’s arms.
The familiar smell that’s hitting Carol’s nose is all encompassing, taking over her senses. She lets herself indulge, tightening the grip and breathing in. Zosia’s hand rests on the nape of her neck, gently stroking back and forth.
It feels so intimate she has to blink back tears. She had ignored how touch starved she was, holed up with only Manousos for company. And now it hits her like a truck and she keeps telling herself to fucking keep it together.
When they step away from each other, Zosia is taking her in, eyes travelling from her eyes to her lips. There’s barely any distance and Zosia slowly leans in.
“Don’t–” Carol’s voice breaks. “Sorry,” she adds and avoids the other woman’s eyes.
“It’s okay, Carol,” Zosia says with that calm voice of hers.
“Thanks,” Carol sniffs. “It’s good to see you though,” she adds, awkwardly gesturing to Zosia.
“We missed you,” Zosia says before correcting herself. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Carol replies and tries to ignore the feelings of both yearning and betrayal fighting for the number one spot inside her heart.
“Shall we go on a hike?” she suggests. Zosia smiles and nods, easily agreeing with the idea.
“You look pale,” Zosia notices. “Based on the sun index today we advise to freshen up on your sunscreen every two hours.”
“Thanks,” Carol chuckles. “I haven’t been outside much.”
They start walking in silence, the only sound coming from their shoes hitting the path.
There are some awkward glances, Zosia always smiling way too eagerly at Carol. She does her best to smile back but feels her face twisting into an unsure grimace.
She decides that sticking closely to the truth will be the least suspicious.
“I’m not sure I can forgive you for what happened,” she starts. “I still feel betrayed.”
She swallows and purposely avoids Zosia’s eyes, staring at her shoes instead.
“But I am lonely. And desperate. And pathetic. And even though I know it’s wrong, I still miss you.”
She feels a warm hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.
“Carol,” Zosia coos in understanding. “It’s not wrong to want this. To want us. To want me.”
Carol takes a deep breath. She shakes her head and continues walking, speeding up her pace.
“I don’t know. I need to clear my head. But I missed you and I wanted to see you.”
Zosia easily falls into step with her. Carol finally manages to look up again, daring to take in the tall woman next to her.
“I’m here for you, Carol,” Zosia assures her with a light smile.
Something is off, their conversations more stiff than before. She waits for Zosia to start flirting with her again, to come up with witty jokes and grand gestures but nothing of that kind follows. Perhaps the hive is as weary of her as she is of them. The threat of nuking the entire earth might do that to a relationship, Carol figures.
“How is Manousos?” Zosia suddenly asks. Carol glances at her watch. He must be done with packing now, which means they should head back soon.
“Honestly, not great,” she sighs. “I thought we had things in common but I don’t think that’s true,” she muses, trying to keep things as vague as possible.
“Would he harm you?” Zosia asks carefully. “Or us?”
“I’m not sure” Carol shrugs. “I don’t think so but what do I know.” She gives herself some time to pause and then adds, “Why are you asking?”
“We think he’s heading here,” Zosia informs her. “In our direction.”
“Then maybe we should leave,” Carol suggests. “Stick together until he’s gone.”
“Would that make you feel better?”
“It will keep you safe,” Carol shrugs. “So yes.”
Zosia looks at her with an easy smile. “Okay, Carol.”
“This is not a trap, is it?” Carol feels herself asking. Which is stupid because she is the one leading Zosia into one. But if she wasn’t, she would be paranoid, so that’s what she’s going with.
“No, it’s not a trap,” Zosia sighs. “Do you have any idea what Manousos could possibly want?”
Carol shakes her head no. “Maybe he is just leaving,” she offers.
“His life is his own,” Zosia agrees.
“For now.” The bitterness in Carol’s voice is hard to ignore.
“We–,” Zosia starts, but Carol interrupts her.
“No, I’m–,” but the word sorry won’t come out. She awkwardly clears her throat. “Let’s not discuss this now,” she mumbles. “We’ve been having a nice time so far.”
Zosia nods and keeps smiling.
“I’ll drive us around for a bit,” Carol decides.
Zosia follows her to the car and Carol sneaks a look at the watch on her wrist. Right on time.
She opens the door for Zosia, who gracefully gets into the car and puts her hands into her lap, happily waiting for Carol to take the driver’s seat.
As Carol slides into the car, she realizes that so far Zosia had always been the one to drive them around.
“Hope you’re okay with me driving,” Carol mumbles.
“Of course,” Zosia nods.
Carol wonders how long it will take for Zosia to realize they are going into the same direction as Manousos. The hive is probably tracking him the same way they did when he first arrived to Albuquerque.
“I really think he’s just leaving,” Carol states again.
“Did you have a fight?” Zosia asks calmly.
“Not really,” Carol replies, trying to sound as calm as possible.
She didn’t really think this through, the whole lying to Zosia thing, she realizes. The hive is made up of all the experts in the world, surely this includes some nerds who know exactly how to interpret body language. And she’s never even been good at lying to normal people.
“I was nervous about seeing you again,” she hears herself blurt out. “I still am,” she follows up with a self deprecating laugh.
Well, at least that one isn’t a lie.
“We’re happy to see you, Carol,” Zosia immediately assures her. “I missed you.”
She tries to not flinch at the change of pronouns. Is she doing it by accident or on purpose? Does it even matter?
“We’re getting closer to Manousos,” Zosia informs her. “He’s stopped somewhere around here.”
“Oh,” Carol says, unsure what else to reply.
Right now he should be holding up a giant umbrella and hopefully opening up the fucking bunker.
A quick look at her surroundings tells her they are nearly there as well.
She throws Zosia a worried glance and her heartbeat quickens. She still has a serene facial expression, unaware of what’s about to happen.
A wave of guilt hits Carol.
How can Zosia still trust her? Or rather, how can the hive still trust her with Zosia? She has almost blown her to pieces and then drugged her against her will. And yet, here she is, happily sitting in a car with Carol and trusting her to keep her safe.
And who is she to betray that trust? To do the exact thing she has judged Zosia so harshly for, to change her against her will?
Only that joining a global hivemind has never been the individual Zosia’s will.
And now the hive is trying to turn Carol into one of them, so it really is just a question of who attacks first.
So she pushes the guilt and uncertainty aside and focuses on the task at hand.
She turns the steering wheel to the right, driving onto the path leading to the bunker.
“Carol?” Zosia asks, confusion evident in her voice.
“I’m sorry,” she says and finds that she means it. She sees Manousos in the distance and can only hope he managed to open it by now.
“Whatever you’re doing,” Zosia warns, voice still steady. “Help is on the way.”
Carol pushes down on the gas pedal, going as fast as she can without losing control of the car.
Once they reach Manousos, Carol turns to Zosia and opens her mouth to scream. Instead, a sob escapes her lips.
“You say you love me but you still want to change me,” is the first thing she manages to say. And that opens up the floodgates.
She half screams, half cries, countless feelings she had bottled up coming out. The betrayal, the disappointment , the embarrassment, the heartache; all of it is breaking free.
She registers Zosia going into seizure mode, but the tears keep rolling down her face.
She vaguely registers the car door opening and Manousos calling her name.
Only when her knees hit the pavement and the dry air creeps into her lungs, she manages to close her mouth and stop screaming.
Manousos is already carrying a still shaking Zosia to the bunker.
There are so many sounds; her car still running, helicopters nearing in the distance, Manousos screaming something in Spanish.
Wait, fucking helicopters?
“Vamos,” Manousos screams. “We need to go inside!”
She scrambles to her feet, making a run for it. She wonders what the hive is doing, sending out helicopters. It’s not like they can hurt them.
Wait, can they hurt each other? Would they hurt Zosia? She’s never asked.
She rushes to the entrance of the bunker. Manousos is carrying an unconscious Zosia over his shoulder, already climbing down the ladder leading to the inside.
“What do I do?” Carol screams as she follows him. “How do I lock it?”
“I will do it,” Manousos replies, voice eerily calm. “Get down here first.”
It feels like hours until her feet hit the ground. Manousos points at Zosia. “You take care of her,” he tells her before climbing up again.
Carol rushes to Zosia’s side. She’s still shaking, looking more and more pale by the second.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Carol groans, running her fingers through her hair. How did she ever think this was a good idea? And now she’s probably killing Zosia. Again. Fuck.
“You need to talk to her,” Manousos screams from somewhere above her.
He’s hastily dropping down various contents, seemingly still unloading his car and muttering something in Spanish.
“Zosia,” she pleads and turns to look at the woman in front of her. She lifts a shaky hand, caressing her cheek as softly as possible.
“I know you’re in there,” she whispers. “The real you. The Zosia who grew up in Gdánsk. You lived near the harbor as a little girl,” she explains, the words spilling from her lips in a rush. “You didn’t have much money. You loved to watch the ships arrive and leave. An old man sometimes sneaked you some mango ice cream.”
She feels a small smile building on her lips. “It’s your favorite now. You also like red wine.”
A wave of affection for the unconscious woman hits her. This is not a human cog in the machine of a global hivemind. She sees a person, someone with individuality and unique experiences. Someone she has yet to meet.
“You love the beach, you love feeling the sand under your feet and the salt in the air. You like how the sun reflects on the water. You know, when everything starts to sparkle.”
She shakes her head, blinking tears away.
“You prefer baths to showers, ideally with a candle that smells like linen. You are your own person who can make her own choices, Zosia.”
Zosia’s eyelids flutter. Carol’s heart stops.
“Please,” her voice breaks. “Come back, Zosia,” she pleads.
Multiple things happen at once.
The door to the bunker closes just as Zosia’s eyes fly open. Manousos comes climbing down the stairs and shouts something. Then, there’s a scream.
Carol whips her head around, frantically searching for Zosia.
Who is… gone?
Her eyes flicker around the room, trying to get used to the darkness.
“Zosia?” she tries her best to not to sound panicked. She’s not particularly successful at that attempt.
No answer.
“Manousos?”
“Carol?”
“Can you turn on a fucking light?”
It’s so damn dark she can’t even think. Which doesn't make any sense but why should anything make sense when Zosia is not in reach anymore and she doesn’t know if it worked or if she’s still joined.
Manousos manages to turn on a flashlight, frantically moving the ray of light around the room.
“Zosia?” Carol asks with a shaky voice.
She hears a sob.
Manousos manages to follow the sound, illuminating the corner of the room with a flashlight.
The person kneeling there looks like Zosia but also doesn't. Gone is the serene smile, the happy expression and the calm in her eyes.
Instead, she looks scared out of her mind.
Carol steps forward on shaky legs, doing her best to appear calm and approachable. Which she has never been in her life before but hey, there’s a first for everything, right?
Wrong.
Zosia recoils, visibly confused and scared.
“I’m Manousos Oviedo,” a calm voice speaks up behind her. “This is Carol Sturka.”
They are met with a confused stare.
“Are you still part of them?”
A blank stare.
Then, the woman on the floor opens her mouth. The voice is familiar and yet strange, an accent accompanying the words.
“Leave me alone.”
Carol and Manousos exchange a confused look but step back simultaneously, giving Zosia space.
“Did you bring the–,” Carol starts whispering to Manousos, who immediately nods and crouches down, looking through one of the bags he brought.
After some time, he finds what he has been looking for. It has melted a bit, but it still seems in an okay enough condition. Carol grabs the container with shaky hands, taking the spoon Manousos is offering and extends her hand in Zosia’s direction.
“Mango ice cream,” Carol explains hesitantly. “Your favorite.”
Zosia looks at her like she’s crazy.
And then she laughs. It’s not a charming or joyful laugh, but a sound she has never heard come out of the woman’s mouth before. It’s dark and bitter.
“Odpieprz się,” she hisses and Carol doesn’t need to understand Polish to know it doesn't mean thank you.
For a beat they just stare at each other and then Carol resigns and turns around.
“Can you keep an eye on her?” she asks Manousos and doesn't wait for a reply. She stalks off, desperately trying to ignore the guilt and hurt that threatens to take over.
Logically, she had known that the real Zosia would be different than the one she had gotten to know. But seeing it happen right in front of her own eyes is something different entirely.
She moves through the room and into the next one. It turns out the bunker is fucking massive. It seems like they only have easy access to the first few rooms, the other ones are mechanically locked in a system they have not started dismantling yet.
While Carol looks around and takes mental inventory of the place, she hears a muted conversation from the next room. She tries to not feel jealous. She fails.
She hears Zosia cry.
A lot.
Carol does her best to ignore the sounds and focuses on scouting the bunker instead.
There is a kitchen and a well stocked pantry, a bathroom with working water (only cold water though) and they even managed to turn on the power generators and therefore have access to some limited light. It sucks and yet it could be worse.
Manousos had thought of everything; clothes, books and paper for research, medicine; he even took the fucking vitamin D she had stored in her bathroom.
So she sets up camp and hopes that Zosia will stop crying soon so they can talk.
She doesn’t.
She barely eats, barely talks, barely moves. Whenever Carol comes close to her, Zosia’s condition gets worse.
So Carol has been burying herself in the books, trying to avoid Zosia as best as she can.
At one point the emotional breakdowns turn into tiredness. Zosia sleeps through days two and three, seemingly exhausted by whatever is going on in her brain now that it is tied to just one individual again.
Manousos has tried to ask her some questions but without any success. He’s been calm and patient, but no luck.
On day four he comes into the conference room that Carol has taken over and claimed as their office. She moves to make space for Manousos, but the sound of footsteps behind him make her freeze in her movements.
Zosia appears behind him. She looks exhausted and tired and nothing like the radiant and charming woman she had gotten to know.
“We can talk now,” Zosia says curtly.
Carol scrambles to stand up and then awkwardly sits down again when she realizes there’s no reason to be standing.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Like shit.” Zosia’s accent is thick and her voice deeper than she remembers.
“I’m sorry–,” Carol starts, not sure where to start. There’s probably a million things she needs to apologize for. And a million more she hasn’t even thought about yet.
“You have a funny way of showing it,” Zosia interrupts her with a scowl.
“I– What?”
“You do this to me,” Zosia gestures at herself. “And then you stop caring?”
Carol’s eyes dart to Manousos who has politely taken a step back, observing the scene.
“I thought you wanted me to leave you alone,” Carol sputters.
“Yes,” Zosia nods.
“Then what–”
Zosia groans and turns to Manousos. “Let’s get this over with.”
“What exactly?” Carol asks, dumbfounded.
“You want to ask me questions, yes?” Zosia says. “Like I’m some science experiment.”
“We want to help you,” Manousos replies and guides Zosia to sit down at the table.
“You suck at it then.”
Carol awkwardly clears her throat and faces Zosia.
Zosia stares at her with a blank face.
“So you’re not… them anymore?” Carol starts.
“Obviously not.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I feel many things.”
“O-kay,” Carol says, uncertainty evident in her voice.
“I was happy and at peace and now I am locked away in darkness,” Zosia spits out. “How would you feel?”
Carol swallows glances at Manousos for help. He sits up straight and nods.
“How does it work? Do you still have the memories?”
“Some, but not many. It’s hard to tell what’s mine and what isn’t,” she replies and throws a glance at Carol.
“Do you miss it?” Carol cannot help but asking.
“I’m imprisoned in an underground bunker,” Zosia replies with a glare. "Anybody would miss being outside." She sighs.
“I am slowly getting used to being… fully myself and just that. But I also feel empty.”
“You don’t have to be,” Carol says. “Imprisoned, I mean. You should take a few days to get settled, but if you want to go back, you can.”
Manousos looks at her like she’s crazy. Zosia lets out a dark chuckle.
“Now you are giving me a choice?”
Carol looks down on her hands.
“I’m not gonna force you to do anything.”
“You almost killed us– me,” Zosia furiously corrects herself. “Twice.”
“That was–”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Carol surrenders.
“So you remember everything from… before.”
Zosia nods and looks at her as if she’s daring Carol to dive deeper into what exactly she remembers.
“Does it feel like an out of body experience or does it feel like you yourself did it or–”
“There are no individual experiences or choices. Everything that happened we agreed on.”
“So did you all take a vote before everything you did or–”
Zosia lets out a frustrated groan.
“That’s now how it works. There’s no votes. We just know. It’s a collective consensus without any discussion.”
“Do you miss it?” Manousos wonders.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you remember now?” he presses on.
“Bits and pieces. My own life but also the experiences and knowledge I– this body– used.”
She sighs and looks up, squinting her eyes as if trying to remember a distant memory.
“I know how to fly a plane and operate an excavator. I know how to play cricket and I can speak at least three languages.”
“Do you know if they already came up with something to make us join them?” Carol butts in, afraid of what (or who) else Zosia’s vast knowledge might include.
“It’s blurry,” Zosia replies. Carol doesn't know if she can believe her, now that Zosia could technically lie straight to their faces if she wanted to.
“Do you remember how to reverse it?”
“You seem to have figured it out,” Zosia shrugs.
“On a small scale. We can’t lock everyone in a bunker.”
“Do you believe this,” Zosia gestures to their surroundings, “is better than the alternative? Better than world peace?”
“It’s world delusion,” Carol snaps. “None of you had a choice. There is no individuality anymore, no room for unique experiences.”
“Would you still hate it as much if there was no danger of them turning you?”
The question lands like a punch to her gut.
“I’ve always said it’s wrong,” Carol mumbles.
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
“After I was left alone for forty days,” Carol snaps back. “After I thought there was no other option, that I would be all alone forever. After you made me believe that–”
She stops herself.
Zosia raises an eyebrow. “We never lied to you. I never lied to you.”
“And I didn't either,” Carol says. “But you chose to leave out the truth so you could turn me into something you know I don’t want to be.”
“So what did you do to me then?”
There’s a moment where they just stare at each other, pain mirrored on both of their faces. When Carol opens her mouth to reply, Manousos shakes his head.
“This doesn’t help,” he states. His tone and body language give the impression of separating two toddlers who got into a fight. “You need to rest,” he nods to Zosia and then to Carol. “And we need to figure out what’s next.”
“Bullshit,” says Zosia. “I won’t just sit around.”
“Do you want to help us?” Carol asks in disbelief.
“I want to leave this bunker,” Zosia corrects.
Carol takes that as a yes.
The following days are still tense. Zosia has a good understanding of the scientific aspects of the task at hand but keeps bringing up moral standpoints in favor of the hivemind Manousos would rather ignore.
Everytime Carol tries to strike up a conversation with her, she gets shot down.
It feels like walking on eggshells and Carol wishes Zosia would just scream at her so she knows what’s going on in the woman’s mind.
But no such luck. Instead she is doomed to surface level smalltalk about radio waves and electromagnetic fields and some blank facial expressions.
There are some microaggressions that Carol finds more amusing than anything else. Zosia always gives her the plate she knows she will like the least, the ones containing the most beans or spinach. Whenever she makes tea, she chooses the flavour Carol dislikes the most.
To be hated is to be known, Carol thinks to herself with a chuckle.
“What are you laughing about?” Zosia asks, accent sharp as ever.
“I know what you’re doing,” Carol shrugs. “Always giving me the shittiest food and the tea I hate,”
“Well,” Zosia drawls. “I have to do something with all the knowledge I have about Carol fucking Sturka.”
Her name sounds different now, coming from the real Zosia’s tongue. Harder and sharper. Carol has to admit it has a nice ring to it.
“So what, you know everything about me?” Carol challenges.
“I know what nearly every single person in your life thought of you; every detail they noticed, I know too. I’ve learned about you through the eyes of your parents, your teachers, your fans, your ex-girlfriends, your wife.”
Carol flinches.
“Don’t–”
“Don’t bring Helen into this?” Zosia chuckles darkly. “You didn’t mind when I fucked you.”
A punch in the face would’ve hurt less. She feels dizzy, lungs burning all of a sudden. Shame rises in her chest.
So she does what she’s best at. She runs.
It’s not like she has any logical arguments against what Zosia said. Deep down she had known that sleeping with Zosia felt familiar in a way she tried her best to ignore. But hearing it out loud, having it confirmed by Zosia? She feels like a traitor. Not only because she let it happen, but because she enjoyed it.
She’s moving aimlessly, moving from one room to the next until she finds herself in the pantry.
She closes the door and sits in the dark. Her heart is hammering against her chest as she tries to catch even breaths.
A sob escapes her lips and she realises she doesn’t know how to deal with any of this. Usually she would already have a drink in her hand, but the only alcohol Manousos brought is the medical kind. Though that would probably also do the job, she figures.
She sits in silence except for a few sobs and whimpers here and there. She lets the endless amounts of shame and guilt wash over her until there is nothing left but emptiness. Then she sits and waits, hollow and unmoving.
She’s not sure how much time she spent in this tiny room, but eventually she gets her body moving again. Just as she is planning how to make the most nonchalant return to the others, she hears a sound from the outside.
She barely has time to wipe her eyes with her sleeve before Manousos yanks open the door.
“Carol.” He seems rather unimpressed by her current situation. “Dinner,” he informs her.
“Not hungry,” Carol mutters.
Manousos kneels down and puts his flashlight on the ground so the light illuminates the ceiling.
“Do you want to talk?”
She cannot control her face quickly enough to cover her surprise at the suggestion. They usually don’t do the talking thing unless it’s about electromagnetic fields and radiowaves.
But it seems that being locked up in a bunker together might blur some boundaries after all.
“I miss her,” Carol whispers. “Helen. Mi esposa.”
Manousos nods. There’s an awkward silence and Carol makes a mental note to never try the opening-up-about-her-feelings thing again.
“And her?” Manousos asks. “Zosia, before–,” he explains with slight distaste evident in his voice. “Do you miss that too?”
Carol chuckles. She cannot believe she’s that transparent.
“I guess,” she half-admits. “Fucking embarrassing, right?”
Manousos moves his head in a way that doesn't really indicate agreement or disagreement.
“I think she misses them too,” he says softly. “And I think she does not like that either.”
Carol nods. She cannot even begin to comprehend how Zosia must be feeling right now. She doesn't understand how being part of a hivemind feels, much less what being severed from it does to a person. If Zosia and her ever get to have a normal conversation, she’d like to ask her.
Manousos gives her a pat on the shoulder and walks off. Eventually she eats some disgusting canned food she finds on one of the shelves and tiptoes back to where they set up their sleeping bags.
Her dreams are strange as ever. There’s Helen and her editor, picking apart a draft she wrote. They rip it to metaphorical shreds with their words, but look at her with a serene and happy smile. “We do this because we love you, Carol,” they say in unison and flash their teeth.
She wakes to a familiar smell. There’s a light somewhere in the opposite corner of the room and she squints her eyes, disoriented and confused. She can make out a silhouette hovering above her. Her body goes alert and she scrambles to sit up when a sudden sharp pain hits her throat.
“What the fuck,” Carol screams, hand reaching to cover the pain. Something metallic falls to the ground.
“Shit,” she hears a familiar voice, followed by steps running across the room.
“Zosia?”
“Stay still,” the woman commands, running back towards her with a flashlight in hand. “Manousos,” she shouts and is met with a sleepy groan. “I need the first aid kid. And alcohol.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Carol rasps, throat still burning.
“Lay down,” Zosia repeats impatiently and suddenly she’s back at Carol’s side. Her hand is being pushed aside and Zosia replaces it with some kind of fabric she presses against her skin.
“Did you fucking cut me?” Carol finally pieces together.
“You weren't supposed to move.”
“So you could kill me in my sleep?” Carol is feeling light-headed.
“No, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Here,” Manousos kneels down next to them and swiftly opens the first aid kit.
“Wait, am I going to die?”
“Just a scratch,” Zosia informs her but when they pour the alcohol, it stings like a motherfucker. Manousos and Zosia work in tandem and for once, Carol is too stunned to speak. There’s an endless series of what the fuck’s playing in and endless loop in her head.
When they’re all done, Manousos wordlessly leaves the room.
“What the fuck,” Carol says very eloquently.
“You weren't supposed to move,” Zosia repeats defensively.
“But I did,” Carol establishes. “So what were you doing?”
“I didn't want to hurt you,” Zosia begrudgingly admits.
“Look, I know you hate me and I can’t blame you,” Carol slowly sits up and moves away, creating some distance between Zosia and her. “But slitting my throat might be a bit extreme.”
“That’s not what I was doing,” Zosia groans.
“Then what–,” Carol starts but she’s interrupted.
“I don’t know what to think of you,” Zosia bursts out. “I can’t tell what I think and what they think– thought. I feel like I’m crazy.”
Her voice trembles and she visibly has to calm herself down before she continues talking.
“Before, we would have done anything to keep you safe and happy. Hurting you would have gone against our very nature,” she explains. “I needed to prove to myself that I’m not them anymore. I needed to see how it would feel to do something like this. How I would feel about you.”
Carol tries her best to process the information. Her brain comes up empty. “So you did want to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t have done anything,” Zosia insists. “I just needed to find out how the possibility would make me feel.”
Carol runs her hand through her hair. “And, how do you feel?”
“Confused.”
Carol waits for Zosia to elaborate but there’s only silence. She lifts her eyes to meet Zosia’s gaze, who is staring at her in an unreadable expression.
“I don’t know how I feel about you,” Zosia confesses. “Everything that happened, I was part of. But it wasn't just me. It was bigger than just me. And now there is so much I know about you. But I don’t know what I think of you, now that I’m not them anymore. Now that I don’t want to make you happy anmore. I don't know if I like you or hate you because I don't know which feelings are just mine.”
Zosia exhales and Carol nods slowly. “That makes sense,” she replies because really, what else is there to say?
They sit in silence for a few minutes.
“I don’t think I want to kill you,” Zosia mumbles eventually.
“Well,” Carol shrugs and twists her face into a tentative smile. “That’s a start?”
Zosia rolls her eyes.
“The Zosia before all that,” Carol meets Zosia’s eyes. “Would she have wanted to join?”
Zosia is silent for a few seconds. Carol can see her fingers rubbing at her wrist, circling her pulse point. “Probably not,” Zosia admits.
“And do you still feel like you’re her?” Carol asks.
“I have never not been her.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I feel the same but also vastly different,” Zosia tries to explain. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”
“Okay,” Carol nods. “Fair enough.”
She awkwardly clears her throat. “For what it’s worth, you can always ask me things,” she offers. “To find out whether you hate me or not.”
Zosia mumbles something under her breath. Before Carol can say anything else, Manousos comes back with a thermos flask full of tea. The cut on her throat hurts as she swallows.
She finds she likes the sensation.
Turns out Zosia almost killing her was the missing component to lead them to a tentative peace.
It’s still weird. Probably one of the weirdest situations she has ever been in.
Carol tries her best to suppress any memories of what she and Zosia did before. She lowers her eyes when she walks by and Zosia happens to be changing her clothes or doing her hair. She makes an effort to not stare at Zosia’s lips for too long when she’s talking. She tries to not think about the violent jump from constantly having mindblowing sex with a woman who basically looks like a supermodel straight (ha) from her dreams to having awkward small talk and not meeting her eyes.
She channels all of her self hatred and horniness into working on their un-hiving project and eventually Manousos figures out how to build a radio jammer. They agree it will probably cut global contact for any hive person in reach but it will most likely not turn them. When Zosia asks how exactly the whole un-hiving thing worked on her, Carol’s face heats up as she stutters about mango ice cream and Zosia’s childhood in Gdańsk.
“Did you have any contact with other people?” Zosia wants to know. “So we could try it again.”
Carol is embarrassed to say no. She had only cared about Zosia, even though every other person was Zosia as well. Or Zosia was every other person? Whatever. They hadn’t looked like Zosia, which is still embarrassing to admit.
Zosia looks at her with an expression that’s somehow exasperated, angry and slightly amused all at once.
“What about the other immune people?” Manousos suggests.
“We kind of started off on the wrong foot,” Carol begrudgingly admits.
“They hate her,” Zosia chimes in. That she seems to remember.
Carol glares at her. “I thought you guys didn’t hate.”
“We didn’t but the other immune people did and so can I.” And then she fucking smirks at Carol. The banter feels too familiar and yet entirely new; more real now that Zosia is her own person.
“So, no chance with the others?” Manousos presses.
“Some of them still have their family. Their family members act like they used to, one of them is still with her son and husband,” Carol explains. “Maybe there’s a chance.”
“How can we reach them?” Manousos asks.
“Technically the hive could–,”
“No.”
“We could just tell her how to fix it, if she wants to do it, she can do it herself,” Carol suggests.
Manousos shakes his head. “Then the hive finds out how we did it.”
“If they did, do you think they would work on a counter measure?” Carol asks, directing her question to Zosia.
“I don’t know if they can,” the brunette answers. “It’s not like they can change how our bodies work.”
“Can’t they?” Carol mumbles, thinking about the whole world collectively sipping human juice.
Zosia grimaces, evidently thinking of the same. “Not when it comes to the laws of nature and physics, no one can change these.”
“Good to know that these are off limits but ethics are thrown out the window,” Carol chuckles bitterly.
“Like you’re one to talk,” Zosia hisses.
“Okay,” Manousos jumps in, raising his hands slowly. “Maybe we can find a way to contact that person you’ve mentioned, Carol. What's her name?”
“Laxmi,” Carol replies, eyes not leaving Zosia’s. “I think she’s from India.”
Manousos nods. “We’ll find a way,” he says mostly to himself.
Carol sighs and stands up. “Great,” she says in a faux cheerful tone. “But maybe we can find out how to leave this fucking underground prison first.”
“So,” Carol asks Zosia a few days later when Manousos is looking for parts to build a machine that blocks radio signals. It’s a long shot but still their smartest idea so far. “What were you doing before all this?”
Zosia raises an eyebrow. “Now you care?”
Low blow, but fair enough. “Yes,” Carol says, refusing to take the bait. “I do.”
“I was in Morocco,” Zosia answered.
“What were you doing there?”
“Traveling,” Zosia shrugs. “I wanted to travel and I started there.”
“Alone?” Carol asks before she can stop herself.
“Yes.”
“Oh, okay. That’s–”
“My partner died,” Zosia interrupts her. “I saved up some money and then I left.”
“I’m sorry,” Carol says and finds that she means it. No matter what happened in the last months, the loss of Helen still cuts deep. There’s other things to focus on when the world and everything she had known before is collapsing, but the pain is always there, simmering beneath the surface.
“A part of me is glad Helen died,” she hears herself confess. “I don’t think I would’ve done well with her being brainwashed and all… different.”
Zosia shrugs. “She could’ve acted like before.”
“Maybe,” Carol half-agrees. “I’m glad she stayed herself for all of her life, though.”
“I’m glad, too,” Zosia muses. “Otherwise I would’ve lost her twice.”
Carol has no time to process the information about a her in Zosia’s past life as she keeps on talking.
“You know, we were all one and it was beautiful but there was no unique love. I forgot how it feels to love someone deeply, to be truly affected by losing them. That’s how you felt with Helen, didn’t you?”
Carol nods, blinking back tears. “I still remember holding her. I don’t think I’ll ever forget. But I’m glad I didn’t have to lose her to a global hivemind. To have her there with me
physically but not on a human level.”
“And instead of Helen, you got me,” Zosia points out, her face unreadable.
“I always wondered how that worked. Was it like an internal gender-bent Raban lookalike contest?”
Zosia shakes her head. “We just… knew.”
“I guess you did.” Carol sighs, shifting uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry,” she says eventually. “All of this,” gesturing between her and Zosia, “must be really fucking weird for you right now.”
Zosia shrugs. “Yes but also no. I was part of it.”
“Yeah, you and like seven billion other people.”
“Do you miss her?” Zosia suddenly asks. “Who I was before? When I was still them.”
Carol exhales. Her first impulse is to run but she figures she owes it to Zosia to have this conversation.
“I miss how I felt. I liked what you made me believe, what I made myself believe. Even though a part of me knew it wasn’t sustainable,” she explains. “But what I missed most, what I was trying to achieve, was human connection. And you feel more human now.”
Zosia nods.
Carol forces herself to keep talking. “I’m sorry, though. For what we did, for what I did. I know it’s weird now and I don’t even really know how you feel about it but I can imagine it’s not great and I–”
“Carol,” Zosia interrupts her. She tentatively moves forward and covers Carol’s trembling hand with her own.
“I’m still not sure how I feel about it. But back then, we were happy making you happy. It wasn’t like I was forced to do anything.”
“That's what you think you feel,” Carol shakes her head and pushes Zosia’s hand away. “Because you were brainwashed. But if it had been only you–”
“But it wasn’t. I can only tell you how it felt to me then and how it feels to me now,” Zosia raises her voice. “All of this is confusing enough without you telling me what I should feel.”
“Well, the basic human response would be disgust.”
“Why do you want me to hate you so badly?” Zosia hisses.
“Why don’t you?” Carol shoots back.
“You act like you want to understand me, but you can’t even bring yourself to consider any position that doesn’t align with your views and expectations.”
Zosia moves to sit up, visibly upset.
“Wait,” Carol’s hand flies to grab Zosia’s wrist.
Zosia rips free from the grip and Carol drops her hand like it’s been burned.
“Please,” Carol pleads. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Zosia makes no move to sit back down, but at least she’s not moving away either.
“All of this is fucked up and it would be easier to grasp if there were clear lines,” Carol swallows back, her throat contracting painfully. “I would understand if you hated me. But I don’t think you do and it’s confusing but I also realize that it must be so much harder on you than it is on me so I’m sorry that I’m making it even more difficult for you.”
“Wow,” Zosia snaps. “A rare apology from Carol Sturka.”
“I mean it,” Carol says stubbornly. “But you don’t have to accept it.”
“Guess those three sessions of couple’s therapy in 2022 really paid off, huh?”
The blow lands as intended and Carol flinches. “It’s kind of unfair you know every fucking thing about me," she mumbles.
“It certainly doesn’t make talking to you any easier” Zosia huffs. She moves from one leg to the other, towering over Carol.
“The joy of human connection,” Carol deadpans.
There’s a pause and then, against all odds, Zosia chuckles. Warmth spreads through Carol’s chest.
Sometimes she feels like Zosia is watching her like a scientist is watching a lab rat.
It reminds her of the Zosia from before, back when she (they) anticipated Carol’s wants and needs.
Now it feels like Zosia is figuring out what Carol wants and then she does the complete opposite. She’s stubborn in a way that’s endearing because there’s not much she can do to truly piss off Carol while they are living in a fucking bunker. Getting the bar of soap that smells like citrus or being handed the one pen that barely works count as mild annoyances at most.
They haven’t seen sunlight in about two weeks and Carol thinks she might slowly be going insane. They are close to finishing the machine that is supposed to block out radio waves but they are not sure if it’s safe to go outside. If the hive has managed to find a way to make them join them, they don’t want to leave the bunker without any backup plan. And they are not sure what would happen to Zosia.
They go over the issue at hand a few times, drawing up possible ideas and going through different scenarios but they always come up empty.
“We have to risk it,” Manousos decides one day.
“So what?” Carol asks, her patience thin already. “You wanna run outside and hope they haven’t figured out how to turn us yet?”
“It’s our only chance.”
“It’s suicide.”
Manousos shrugs. “I’ll go and you stay here,” he says with conviction, like it's the only option. “I’ll talk to the other immune people. Maybe we can un-hive more of them.”
“And if you don’t come back?”
“Then you stay inside,” Manousos replies dryly.
Carol shakes her head and throws her hands in the air. “This is estúpido.”
Manousos shrugs, clearly unimpressed, and leaves; probably to start packing for his little suicide mission.
“You worry about him.” Zosia had been silent up until now, not participating in the discourse.
“Well I don’t want him to join the global hivemind he very clearly does not want to be a part of.”
“So why don’t you go?”
“Because I also do not want to join said global hivemind,” Carol replies curtly.
“So you’ll let him leave?”
“It’s his choice. His life is his own, right?” she spits, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. She moves to get up. “If he wants to do this, he can.”
She doesn't dare say out loud that she’s worried he might never make it back. That she feels like a coward for not joining him. That she would rather stay here with Zosia than go out and try to save the world.
Manousos leaves a few hours later, backpack strapped to his back and machete in hand. The selfmade radio jammer is clipped onto his backpack. He says he will be back within a day and if he doesn't return, it’s probably not safe outside. Carol tries to not think about that possibility.
Carol and Manousos part with an awkward wave while Zosia is locked away as far as possible from the entrance. They still don’t know if she would re-join the hive once a radio signal reaches her.
Manousos makes it out safely, that much Carol is able to tell her later.
And so they wait.
They sit on their makeshift beds, nothing else to do now that Manousos is executing the only plan they were able to come up with.
“God I can’t do this,” Carol groans. She feels uneasy, the air in the bunker seems even more stuff than usual and she’s suddenly sweating.
She moves to sit up, awkwardly takes off her hoodie and tries to fix her messy hair after.
She turns to find Zosia’s gaze glued to her arms. Her eyes shift, slowly moving up towards her throat, which still has a faint red line on it and lands on her lips.
Zosia groans.
“I hate that we– they were right,” she says, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Right about what?” Carol asks.
“To choose me. For you.”
Carol’s heart jumps.
“The choice was based on looks, but also on physical reaction. Potential attraction,” Zosia explains, absentmindedly rubbing her pulse point with her other hand. “I’ve been trying to figure out if that still applies.”
“And?” Carol croaks and awkwardly clears her throat. “Um, does it? Still apply, I mean.”
Zosia rolls her eyes. “I’m quite sure I’m not attracted to your charming character, so it has to be physical.” And because that’s not enough, she goes on. “But that’s only fair, since the only reason you wanted to fuck me is because I look like a real life version of your dream lesbian pirate character.”
Well, it’s not like Carol can deny that.
“So?” she asks. “Where does this leave us?”
“I want to try something,” Zosia decides, looking determined all of a sudden.
She scoots closer to Carol, leaning in so they are only inches apart.
Carol’s breath hitches, the familiar smell of something that is uniquely Zosia flooding her senses. She feels her pulse quickening and her cheeks heating up.
“Okay?” she manages to press out and she hates how it almost sounds like a whimper.
“We are going to have sex,” Zosia says it like it’s a matter of fact. And just like that, Carol’s brain is short-circuiting.
“I’m gonna be in control,” the other woman goes on. “All the time.”
Carol nods, dumbfounded. A strong hand pushes her down until she lands on her back.
“Are you sure?” she finally manages to ask.
“Yes,” Zosia says, crawling on top of her. “Now shut up.”
“Okay.” Carol does as she’s told. Who is she to question the choices of a beautiful woman on top of her?
Zosia’s hand is sneaking underneath her tank top and Carol gasps at the skin on skin contact.
“Take this off,” Zosia orders and leans back to give Carol space.
She awkwardly pulls the tanktop over her head, leaving her in a plain white bra.
Zosia doesn’t waste a single second and immediately surges forward to cup her breasts through the fabric. Carol barely manages to hold back a moan. Her hands make their way to Zosia’s hips, holding onto the woman on top of her.
“You don’t get to touch me,” Zosia hisses.
Carol nods and tries her best to keep her hands on the ground. In the meantime, Zosia tugs at the straps of her bra.
“Should I–,” Carol barely has time to start asking before Zosia yanks her up and reaches around her back to unclasp her bra.
She’s immediately pushed down again and Zosia lowers her head. Her nails scratch on Carol’s stomach, probably leaving red marks below her ribcage.
Warm lips close around Carol’s nipple and she let’s out a sound that’s downright pathetic. Her natural reaction is to arch her back but Zosia keeps her pinned in place.
Zosia shifts and suddenly there’s pressure against her crotch and Carol thinks she might die. She grinds against Zosia’s knee without thinking, an automatic impulse.
Zosia lifts her head, looking her straight in the eye.
“Desperate.” The way she says it sounds way too casual compared to Carol’s ragged breaths.
Carol feels herself growing wetter by the second, still pathetically pressing herself against Zosia’s knee.
Suddenly, the pressure is gone and Zosia rolls to the side. Carol whines at the loss of contact and warmth but Zosia is busy tracing her fingertips downwards, from Carol’s breasts to her waistband.
“Take it off,” she says, no hesitation in her voice. “All of it.”
Carol scrambles to comply, awkwardly unlacing her shoes before taking them off, followed by her socks, pants and boxershorts.
When she looks back up, Zosia is only wearing her underwear.
Carol opens her mouth but any coherent words have left her brain. All she can do is stare hungrily at the woman in front of her, chest heaving and waiting.
“Lay down,” Zosia finally says and Carol doesn’t waste a second, immediately lowering herself onto her back again.
Zosia climbs on top of her, her clothed center radiating warmth against Carol’s stomach. A hand drops to her core and Zosia starts gently massaging her own clit through the fabric of her panties.
Carol’s hips buckle involuntarily and she cannot help the needy whine she lets out at the sight; Zosia towering above her, touching herself and Carol getting to witness it.
It kills her to keep her hands to herself. She wants nothing more than to replace Zosia’s hands with her own. But she sticks to Zosia’s rules and balls her hands into fists, forcing herself to keep them there.
Zosia lets out a moan, using two fingers to stimulate her clit. Carol can see a wet spot forming on the outside of the fabric and winces, too needy and turned on to feel embarrassed.
“Please,” she whimpers.
“Are you feeling left out?” Zosia asks mockingly. The sweet smile she puts on reminds Carol so much of the Zosia from before.
That Zosia would have let Carol fuck her immediately. The real Zosia moves up, even closer to Carol’s face and doesn't stop touching herself.
Her hips start moving, slightly touching Carol’s breasts whenever she grinds against her fingers particularly hard.
Carol cannot help the moan that escapes her. She feels utterly embarrassed by how desperate she sounds.
“Please,” she outright begs again.
Zosia’s movements are quicker now, less precise. Her breathing has changed too and every now and then, a stifled moan escapes her lips.
“Again,” Zosia commands, breathless.
“Please,” Carol sobs.
Zosia moans as her hips buckle and Carol can feel her legs shaking next to her. She arches her back, giving Carol a perfect view of her breasts with stiff nipples poking against the fabric of her bra as she comes.
Zosia slows the movements of her fingers as she comes down from her orgasm. She dips her fingers below her waistband and inside her panties and presents the glistening digets to Carol.
“Open.”
Carol immediately opens her mouth.
She wraps her tongue around long, slender fingers and lets out a sinful moan at the taste of the other woman. Zosia presses on her tongue, making Carol gag slightly before she’s able to adjust the pressure and continues to swirl her tongue around Zosia’s fingers.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Zosia explains, voice still breathless, while letting Carol gag on her fingers.
“You’re gonna stick out your tongue and that’s all you get to do.”
Carol feels herself dripping at the thought. She’s so wet she is probably making a mess on her sleeping bag. Not that she cares about that right now.
She nods, unable to verbally reply with Zosia’s fingers still in her mouth.
“Good,” Zosia coos and Carol’s eyes flutter at the tiniest bit of praise.
Suddenly, her mouth is empty. She barely has any time to process the loss of Zosia’s fingers when her clothed center is already lowered to her face.
Obediently, Carol sticks out her flattened tongue and waits.
When Zosia’s core makes contact with Carol’s tongue, they both moan. The smell and taste of Zosia apparently has Carol conditioned to feel a hundred times more turned on than she already was before.
The fabric is absolutely soaked already, allowing for delicious friction as Zosia starts grinding against Carol’s tongue.
Carol moves her head the tiniest bit, allowing for a better angle and Zosia whimpers. Her hands fly to Carol’s head and grip her hair, keeping her in place.
Carol presses her legs together, embarrassingly close to coming without even having been touched.
The way Zosia is using her as nothing more than a toy to get off is making her dizzy. Or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, her mouth and face buried in Zosia.
Zosia’s breathy moans sound more and more intense, at least from what Carol is able to hear with her head being smothered by Zosia’s legs.
She thinks Zosia might be mumbling something under her breath but she cannot make it out. She wishes she could hear every sound coming from her mouth.
Zosia continues to use her tongue, pleasuring herself at her own pace. She holds onto Carol by her hair and makes her head move along to the rhythm of her grinding.
Carol’s jaw hurts like hell and she feels like she’s about to pass out but there’s no way in hell she’s gonna move away even the slightest bit. She keeps her tongue flat and lets Zosia use it for her own pleasure.
When Zosia comes, she comes hard. Carol feels it; her legs locking even harder onto her head, her grip in Carol's hair tightening. She lets Zosia ride out her orgasm against her tongue until she lifts herself from Carol’s face with shaky legs.
Carol licks up the wetness smeared on her lips as best as she can. Zosia rolls to the side, catching her breath. Carol tracks Zosia’s movement, hungrily taking in every detail there is about the woman.
Zosia props herself up on her arm, facing Carol.
For a second, they just stare at each other. Carol half expects for Zosia to make up her mind, shoot her a disgusted glance and walk away. She wouldn’t blame her.
Instead, she feels a hand sneaking between her legs. Zosia's fingers make their way to her center, drawing feather light patterns on Carol’s inner thighs.
Carol whines and lifts her hips in a desperate attempt to get Zosia’s fingers closer to where she needs them most.
“I haven’t even touched you yet,” Zosia comments as she feels just how wet Carol is. “Pathetic.”
Carol whimpers, a high pitched sound she would be too ashamed to let out under different circumstances.
Then, slowly, Zosia’s hand is moving again. She cups Carol, who in turn grinds against her hand with a needy moan.
“Please,” she begs, again.
A smug smile forms on Zosia’s face as she begins to trace circles on Carol’s clit. The pressure is not nearly enough to make her come, but still Carol trembles at the contact.
“You’re so desperate,” Zosia tells her, voice deep and rough.
Carol nods, unable to reply with words and buckles her hips again. But Zosia immediately lifts her hand and only returns to the light touches once Carol has given up on chasing her fingers.
“Please,” she whimpers. It’s the only word she can get out, her mind consisting of a series of pleas and nothing else; anything to get Zosia to touch her.
Zosia teases her some more, relishing every plea she gets out of Carol until she slowly moves two fingers to Carol’s entrance.
Carol squeezes her eyes shut, a series of please’s and oh god’s tumbling out of her mouth.
Zosia applies the slightest pressure, moving the tiniest bit inside of Carol and stays there.
“You’re pathetic,” she says but her voice is deep and rough and when Carol opens her eyes, Zosia’s pupils are dilated.
Carol moans, again and tries to move her center against Zosia’s fingers but she’s pinned down.
Zosia moves closer to Carol’s face and for a second Carol thinks she might kiss her. But then she understands and opens her mouth obediently, letting Zosia spit into it. The trail of saliva connects them for a moment before Carol swallows it with a whimper.
“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?” Zosia asks and Carol nods mindlessly, her core clenching around nothing.
“Please,” she begs again and again until finally, Zosia pushes two fingers in without any resistance.
It’s nothing near enough after being teased for so long but Carol doesn't dare ask for more. She happily takes what she’s given, greedily clenching around long, slender fingers.
Every time Zosia pushes in again, the moans that come out of her mouth get louder. She loses all control over her voice and body until the only sensation she can focus on are Zosia’s fingers pumping in and out of her.
When Zosia adds a third finger, Carol screams. Zosia is rough, fucking her hard and reaching her g-spot with every trust.
Carol’s body feels like it’s on fire but there’s something missing and Carol knows that Zosia knows it.
“Please,” she manages to push out between broken moans.
Zosia doesn’t listen and keeps on fucking her harder, making Carol’s toes curl. She tries to sneak her own hand to her clit but Zosia immediately slows her movements so Carol apologises and keeps her hand to herself.
Just when Carol thinks she cannot take it anymore, Zosia presses her thumb on her clit and Carol feels herself coming around Zosia’s fingers immediately. The orgasm takes over her completely, her legs close and lock Zosia’s hand inside of her as her core contracts against her fingers. Zosia’s movements are softer but still intense enough for Carol to ride out her orgasm, her body moving on autopilot and chasing the leftover pleasure.
She releases Zosia’s hand as her legs drop to the side, unable to move.
She manages to open her eyes to see Zosia licking Carol’s wetness off of her fingers and Carol whimpers at the sight. Zosia smirks.
For a few minutes they lay next to each other, only their heavy breaths breaking through the silence.
“So,” Carol eventually breathes out. She lifts a hand to brush aside some pieces of hair that are falling into her face, the texture sticky with sweat.
She wills her lungs to start breathing at a normal pace again.
“Was that helpful?”
Zosia looks at her like she’s utterly stupid.
“No,” she replies bluntly. Raises an eyebrow. “Let’s do it again sometime.”
She gets up and leaves Carol still laying on the ground, mouth agape.
She cannot make herself get up for quite some time. Her legs feel like jelly and she cannot even start comprehending what just happened.
After she finally manages to get up, clean herself up and get dressed, she finds Zosia in their makeshift kitchen, brewing coffee.
“Want some?” she asks and Carol nods.
The hot liquid calms her throat which admittedly feels a bit raspy after that much of whimpering and moaning. Pathetic, she hears Zosia’s voice in her head and needs to take a deep breath.
“Good?” Zosia asks and Carol’s head shoots up, feeling caught until she realizes Zosia means the coffee. She gives her an awkward thumbs up.
“Have you lost your ability to form a coherent sentence?” Zosia mocks.
Carol just smiles sweetly and nods again.
Zosia rolls her eyes but the tiniest smile is tugging at her lips.