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Heart monitor beeps mixed with the chit chat of the TV, with the careful thud of the window closing—almost unheard—with the quiet bustle of workers outside the door. A bed sat in the center of the room, surrounded by monitors and IVs and flowers just starting to brown.
Sam groaned to herself, throat dry, as the show's chattering was cut off. “I was watching that.”
A scoff. “Sure you were. Still need a story to get to sleep?”
She opened her eyes immediately, blinking against sleep's sand, trying to find the voice and its owner. “John.” She didn't sound upset, but she didn't sound happy either. Her voice was calm, but the sort of calm that came when someone was figuring out how best to yell at you.
“Samantha.”
They stared, each twin studying the other's face. Sam's was pale, thin, with wrinkles and laugh lines and age spots that seemed to trail all down to her wrists as well. John looked no different. He was clean shaven, unlike the last time she'd seen him, and he was tired. But his face was the same. Hers was not.
“You look like shit,” They both said at nearly the same time, and glared. Then, Sam smiled, and she had always led by example.
John huffed, and picked up the pair of glasses that rested by her bedside. “It's good to see you,” he said as she put them on; waiting as if in hope for her to be able to say the same.
"Good to see you too." John relaxed, the smallest bit, as she said that. He'd been standing at attention, eyes up, not meeting hers. Scared. “…What have you been doing?” Underwhelming, after so much time.
Where have you been? What are you doing? Who are you now? Are you safe? Do you have people, your people? How long are you going to stay? How long do you want to?
“Wandering, mostly.” The tension he'd dropped crept back in as his eyes flitted to the cameras outside the door, ones she knew were dead. He would have made sure of it. “Went to Europe for a while. Travelling's been easier, what with all the alien shit keeping people busy. You heard about all that? Of course you have, what am I saying. It's insanity, all of it. Thought we were rid of it back on Mars.”
Her skin felt cold, as he finally reached out to touch her hand. She flipped it over, shaking, to grip onto his.
John was silent, holding his breath, as he traced over her fingers, the veins that seemed to push against skin, the freckles and scars and calluses. “…How's the family been?”
“They're alright.”
“How have you been?”
“I'm alright.”
He squeezed her palm so, so gently. A silent push.
Sam closed her eyes, and held onto the feeling of his hand as she breathed in. “It's been hard. Since Evy died.” And she laughed, for the first time that evening, some part of her that was still mourning a warmth.
“What was she like?”
“Perfect. I never thought anyone could be, but she was.” A pause “I'm sorry she never got to meet you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
There was a lot they were sorry for, both of them, and a lot less of a chance that they could ever forgive each other. But that could be ignored, just for a moment. Just for the one short moment that they were next to each other again.
“You’re not staying,” she said, looking at a wilted flower slowly leaning toward the edge of its shelf. It wasn’t a question.
“No, I’m not.”
“This’ll be the last time, then.” She didn’t expect an answer. They knew it was true. There would be no time to come back, not if he left now. “When are you leaving?”
He looked to the clock, then to her. “Dinner.”
Sam smiled. “Good enough for me.”
John gave his best effort at a smile back. He wasn’t one to cry, hadn’t been since running off to join the Marines, so he didn’t. But he did rest his hand atop hers, the one still holding onto his other, cradled almost like an open flame. Afraid to be the one to put it out.
“I love you, Sam.”
“I love you too, John.”