Sam had worked her way through the necklace one bead at a time like a rosary, twirling each between her fingertips and moving onto the next. Rebecca wondered if she'd start to learn any imperfections by feel over the days to come — and if the string might wear out if that became a long term habit like reaching for Jaime's medallion had for her.

The position they were in eventually grew uncomfortable for Rebecca, so she wordlessly but gently disengaged, scooted to lean against the headboard, and coaxed Sam towards her again. Now Sam's head was resting on her chest, and she periodically ran her fingertips over Sam's forehead, or through her hair. That was usually in response to a sigh, or searching nuzzle of Sam's face into her shirt. The whole while, Rebecca was "listening" carefully to her body, monitoring for that prickly heat in her abdomen that meant her nerves were winding up. Fortunately, it never came and she eventually tried to set that worry aside.

Sam's body language gradually grew more comfortable as she relaxed against Rebecca too  — maybe it was a reciprocal biofeedback thing. She eventually stopped toying with the necklace and just tangled it around the fingers of one hand resting on Rebecca's stomach. They spent several silent minutes like that, until footsteps resounded from the front of the house.

Sam lifted her face towards Rebecca and kissed her. "Thanks," she whispered afterwards.

"Of course. If I appended that with 'dummy', would it get a laugh?"

Sam chuckled. "Going all-in on the role reversal thing, aren't you?"

"Just check any wiring I do. Did you wanna talk about anything?"

Sam kept her voice low as they heard Christine and Patrick's echo from the other side of the house. "Nah. The mention of smells just made me think about the perfume and pearls. Yet another reason I'm glad we're headed home. Such a nice word, really."

"Home? Yeah. It's where your dog and your three thousand dollar mattress is."

That got a more enthusiastic response as Sam sat up. "Hah. Right."

"So, random question. Think you can get enough juice to run the freight elevator's emergency power? Cuz I'm not looking forward to pushing another bed all the way upstairs, even if she'd be okay on a twin or full."

"God, Remy." Sam looked appalled. "We can't stick her on a twin. Sue will take up a third of it!"

Rebecca made it to her feet and rested a hand on the doorknob. "Okay, fair point. You good?"

"Yeah." Sam waved her hand over her face dramatically, and as she did, her somewhat glum countenance was replaced by a slight, casually cheerful smile.

"Okay, that's a little creepy. I'm glad you weren't hiding stuff a bit ago."

"Eh. I figure I've at least partially beaten the intrinsic guilt complex out of you, so I don't need to as much."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow as she turned the knob and opened the door. "That's... good, I think? I guess? Maybe?"

As as Rebecca and Sam emerged from the short hallway, Patrick was filling a pair of mugs from the sink, and took one over to Christine at the dining table. He smiled amicably and Chrissie waved.

"Hey girls," she said. "Reb, I saw your mom talking to Walt outside."

Rebecca cringed. "Eh, Chrissie, maybe stick with the latter half for nicknames, huh? Too many Civil War battlefields around here."

"Ack, right. Sorry."

"Anyway, yeah. She's telling him she's decided to come back with us."

"Really? That's great!" Christine clapped her hands excitedly.

Patrick's smile grew. "Nice! That explains why Epstein seemed to be making himself scarce, poking at our rides instead." Rebecca noticed him glance at Sam, and she must have too.

"I'm okay guys," Sam said as she moved to hang off of Rebecca's elbow. "Laura's cool, and I'm happy for her. And you, sugar."

Christine seemed to have a moment's doubt, but caught Rebecca's warning glance. "Well, I guess we'll be packing the cars a little tighter. Unless she's bringing hers?"

Rebecca shrugged as she put a hand on the one Sam had around her arm. "Hadn't come up yet, but I'm going to try to talk her out of it. I know Volvos are supposed to be safe, but I don't think it's literally bulletproof... or that they've run it for a while."

"Well, we'll figure it out. We could always go full apocalypse caravan style and tie a bunch of stuff to the top."

Sam perked up a little. "Okay, but if Epstein starts installing spikes and flamethrowers, dibs."

Rebecca was unsurprised that's what seemingly reignited Sam's energy — choice of the word "reignited" intended. Next she'd be trying to add spinning blades to the front and a remote control mechanism. She shook her head, grinning at the thought, and kissed Sam above her ear. "Never change, Rosie."

"Not plannin' on it, sugar." Sam's impudence, at least, looked genuine.

After a little more banter, the couples migrated to their own rooms to start reorganizing everything they'd unpacked. Rebecca coordinated with Chrissie to get another load of the last day-and-change's laundry going, grateful she agreed to have Patrick provide the leg power this time around so Rebecca could focus on keeping Sam occupied. She was puzzled when Sam returned everything to the bookshelf so far ahead of departure, but figured she could safely speak for her mother and encouraged Sam to start paging through Ivanhoe, since that was certainly coming with them.

Sue wandered back to the house well before sunset, and kept Sam's cautiously still, blanket-covered feet warm on the couch while Rebecca helped her mother prep dinner. It sounded like the plan Laura had drafted with Walter involved spending the following day packing, and then leaving the subsequent morning. Christine relayed that home during their radio checkin and reported back that Epstein had begun checking everything under the sun on their vehicles again. Patrick and Walt spent a good hour or more in the backyard, generally exchanging knowledge and discussing if there was anything worth transplanting a sample of for cultivation purposes.

Dinner was a bizarre affair. It even started with the food, a salad of barely blanched greens Rebecca didn't recognize with another few "overwintered" carrots, a basic dressing Laura made of some of the stockpiled oil and vinegar with herbs from the garden, and fish grilled in Walt's hibachi on the porch — apparently a trap catch from nets he'd set at first light.

When Rebecca inquired about what the "almost-spinach-but-not" leaves were, Laura smirked and made her try multiple guesses. Eventually, she decided she'd had enough fun at Rebecca's expense — especially after being accusatorially reminded of how she'd have plenty of opportunity to make up for lost time.

"It's kudzu, sweetheart."

Rebecca couldn't help spitting out the leaf she'd just lifted to her mouth. "Kudzu? Like the demon vine taking over the south that grows a foot every day?"

"That's a little overstated, usually." She turned to Walt. "But brother dear, your niece raises an important point. If you do migrate anywhere else, make damned sure you kill the plant growing in that third barrel, or your neighbors will revile your name forever."

"Mom..."

She looked back at Rebecca. "Right, sorry. It's a cousin of arrowroot. Many parts of it are actually edible."

Rebecca lifted an eyebrow at Patrick, while he eyed a leaf on his fork speculatively. "I mean, if we're desperate, and keep a really careful eye on it..."

Sam poked at her bowl. "I've seen books where voracious plants get used as bioweapons and would prefer that remain fiction."

Laura smirked at all of them. "Would it boost your comfort to know the flowers can be made to make decent jams or wine?"

Rebecca tentatively picked up the rejected leaf again. "So can berries, or grapes, and there's enough vineyards around we could hit."

Sam proceeded to ask Laura if Rebecca had been a picky eater as a child — and while she hadn't been unreasonably so, there were, of course, stories to be had about things other than zucchini. Sam contentedly engaged in conversation with her mother, but Rebecca was surprised when she let the thread drop abruptly after Walt chimed in with a tale of the first time they'd tried to get her to eat a soft boiled egg. She also noticed an overlong glance at Sam from Laura, but averted her own eyes before her mother caught on.

Once that drew her attention, Rebecca observed that Sam almost never spoke directly to Walt — certainly not of her own initiation.

Declined non-instant coffee, too. In Statistics (ugh), three data points in a line are a trend. Or, as Ronnie put it, 'once is random, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action'.

Rebecca spent the dinner cleanup contemplating how to approach Sam about it. She didn't think there was a connection between this oddity and her silent grieving thing with the pearls after their showers. But, even unconnected, she was sensitive to the fact they were piled on top of each other.

She settled on a straightforward approach, inviting her onto the porch with a blanket slung over her shoulder and two mugs of herbal tea in her hands. When they were both leaning against the rail, well away from the door with tea in hand, she draped the blanket across their backs and scooted close enough for their elbows to touch. A few sips in, Sam spoke.

"So... which of my current potential sources of unhappiness are you figuring out how to check on?"

Rebecca chuckled. "Even when I'm trying to support you, you make it easier for me."

"Who's good to you?"

"Okay, but don't ask that in a tone you'd use on Rufus, huh?" Sam chuckled while Rebecca paused for some tea and a noseful of pleasantly fragrant steam. "As for your original question, I dunno. I guess, are you okay in general, and, what was up at dinner?"

"Hmm? Other than it being surreal to eat demon-vine salad?"

"Other than that. Is there something up with my uncle?"

"Whoops." Sam looked out at nothing in particular. "I guess I wasn't smokescreening as well as I thought. Do you think the others noticed?"

"M.. my mom did, but I don't think the rest of the Scooby gang caught on to anything. What happened? Was he getting creepy on you or something? Because I've never noticed anything that hinted he might be like that, but I will totally go take the fireplace poker to his knees right now if I need to."

"Heh. My hero. Also, it's okay to call her 'Mom' when you're talking to me about her. Considerate of you to think of that, though I'm not surprised, given who we're talking about." Sam gave her a little grinning side-eye over the mug brim, then continued. "He wasn't being that kind of skeevy. It's just—" Sam sighed and seemed to weigh something in her head.

"What's wrong?" Rebecca temporarily swapped the mug to her other hand so she could tuck her hair on the side facing Sam behind her ear. "He's my uncle, but you're my gal, I've got your back."

Sam glanced over with an appreciative half-smile, then looked out at the darkening blue sky, where stars were beginning to wink at them like glitter stuck on velvet after a stage show. "He appears to suffer from a case of latent homophobia and doesn't approve of us."

"Yikes. How did you find out?"

"Last night — wow, that really was just twenty-something hours ago, wasn't it? Feels like more. He and your mom were arguing about it, and I unwittingly overheard while prowling my way through the kitchen."

"Oh jeez. What'd she say?"

"Not to give her Grandma and Grandpa Sutton's B.S.? And that I'm awesome. Well, 'exemplary', specifically, which I accidentally repeated while you had my brain turned three-quarters off this morning."

"Ah. I mean, yay for that part? But yeah, nana Miri was pretty dang Catholic, and grandpa Mark, well. I guess he was just old. I'm sorry, Rosie."

"Meh, it's not your fault. Any more than it was mine my dad was being a shit."

"Okay, fair." Rebecca clinked their enameled metal mugs together like she was sealing the bargain. "To not blaming ourselves for our family's shit, and not letting it creep into our relationship." She could see Sam's cheek rise in the light coming from inside.

"Nozdrovia. Or, kanpai, take your pick."

Rebecca grinned back at her as they both drank. "Well, this is neither a Moscow Mule nor saké, so I guess both. Do you think Mom — see, I listened — do you think she caught on you heard?"

"Oh yeah, totally. She was classy about it though. Worried you heard."

"Sounds like her." Rebecca sighed. "Damn. Now I gotta figure out how to deal with him."

"That's part of why I wasn't bringing it up. Kinda figured it was easy enough to just leave it behind when we left."

"Yeah, well. Since we all kinda have a hand in how what's left of this world runs now, I almost feel like there's more of a responsibility to set him strai— uh, maybe that's not the best choice of words."

"I getcha. You don't need to reach for the fire poker on my account, for what it's worth. And, I won't be mad if you still talk to him. He's your uncle and all, and I know he helped your mom out, both lately and while you were a kid."

"Yeah, and I don't want to stress her out either, especially leaving. I felt kinda bad putting her in a position where she had to choose him or me."

"Hey!" Sam's voice was the same low volume, but the tone was sharpened to a stern chastising lash. "Cut that shit out. She's fucking grateful to be in that position because it means she got you back." The edge to her voice alleviated. "Aren't you supposed to be therapy-ing me right now anyway, not the other way around?"

"Right. So tell me, how does your girlfriend apologizing too much make you feel?"

Sam chuckled, initiating a quietly jovial toast herself. "Like everything's normal."

"Hah. Touché."

Sam switched hands with her mug, maybe to keep the other side warm. "Y'know, your backwards bumpkin uncle aside, and as much as I want to get home... I'm gonna miss this a bit. The summer camp-y feel, snuggling with you in the woods, playing with a bow for the first time. Skipping rocks across the pond our feet are in, someone playing the guitar and singing in the evening. It was nice."

"Yeah. I guess every vacation, you reach a point where you're ready to head home, huh? But I guess maybe we hit that days ago."

Sam groaned into her mug, and when she lowered it simply replied with, "No comment."