Even though she was firm in her decision, Laura still felt conflicted as she watched Rebecca's group of friends inventory their gear on the dining table. Their generosity was impressive as they discussed what to leave behind for Walt; a hanging water filter and pair of lanterns had already been set aside on the kitchen island, along with some emergency rations. Even Sam participated, picking up some kind of solar panel contraption and moving it to the kitchen island. A passing moment of eye contact brought Laura a mix of shame and... unexpected pride in Sam's maturity and Rebecca's selection of her as a partner.

They keep referring to themselves as girlfriends, but come on. Sticking by each other through life-and-death situations, living together. They're clearly past 'just dating'.

She was worried about leaving Walt on his own, and he was family... but setting all other discussion points aside, getting down to the simplest of levels, helloooo, this was her child here. Walt seemed unsurprised and supportive, which she was thoroughly grateful for. But, she didn't even get to use the line she had stored up about how he himself had called Rebecca "not that much of a grownup"!

Eh. Fun as it is to throw a good line in someone's face, especially their own words, she'd take how things turned out. She didn't want her (hopefully temporary) last memory of her brother to be winning a fight with him, even if that had been a satisfying pastime decades ago. Every time he'd driven an hour to watch Rebecca for a day, or help move a dead appliance to the curb, she still dearly appreciated those. Not to mention taking her in for a year-plus in his retirement home turned apocalypse hideout.

Well, at least there'd still be a source of family drama at future holiday dinners. A degree of normalcy to hope for, she supposed.

She spent the remaining time before everyone turned in for the night in "her" room with Rebecca, occasionally joined by Sam between reading or lounging with Sue in the other bedroom. The other kids were hanging out in the front as Walt and Chrissie strummed away experimentally, providing a pleasant enough soundtrack, enough to keep her from getting all broody, or thinking too much about the huge leap of moving — whoops.

As she poked through her drawers, Laura sighed at Rebecca, who was sitting at the foot of the bed. "You know, I just realized. I'm not looking forward to living out of boxes and garbage bags again for a while."

That prompted a laugh. "Welcome to my life every time I moved, from home to student housing to home again, and then apartment to apartment. There's some empty one-bedrooms right next door to our place. We'll get you squared away pretty fast — assuming you can put up with us next door."

Laura smirked and was about to retort about it probably working the other way around but Sam, hands draped over Rebecca's shoulder and standing behind her, replied first. "Yeah, Mrs. C., between us helping and Allie inevitably rolling out the welcome mat like some kind of domestic goddess, you'll be okay. I think there's still a few flat-pack dressers and bookshelves from Target in storage."

"Oh, I didn't think of that." Laura switched humor targets. "I know the two of you have been through hell out there, but I didn't realize you'd actually assembled furniture together. That's a real relationship tester — or wrecker."

Both girls chuckled, and there was a meaningful look between them before Rebecca replied. "It's all about finding the balance. You need enough wine to laugh at mishaps, but not so much you can't work a screwdriver."

**

Sam was surprised by how much the promise of being home again eased all the sharp edges she was feeling. Rebecca had suggested that Laura spend the following day with Walt while they packed for her, which also brought the relief of keeping him out of their hair for much of their remaining time there.

The two of them had swapped their usual sides in bed, in case Sam couldn't sleep again. She expressed concerns about trapping Rebecca against the wall, but those were brushed aside with assurances that she was feeling pretty good. They also briefly contemplated a theory that Sam's restlessness might have disturbed Rebecca's sleep, contributing to the rough night.

That's never been a problem at home though. But I could say that a lot lately. Yay, home.

The two of them cozied up relatively well even with the different positions, murmuring quietly while they waited for sleep. They mostly mused about arrangements they'd need to help Laura settle in.

Eventually, Sam toyed with one of the buttons at the neckline of Rebecca's pullover. "You know... I've been being good and playing nice — mostly — with your uncle. But, I still have half a rebellious mind to come over there and make a little noise. Just as a final going-away middle finger. Make sure he knows we were leaving our cooties all over the place." She chuckled, unsure if she was imagining that Rebecca's next two breaths were faster than usual. "But don't worry, I won't embarrass you and Laura that way. Still, it's a fun diabolical thought."

Rebecca ran her fingertips along Sam's upper arm. "I appreciate your restraint."

"Oh sugar, phrasing." She laughed lightly. "But, yeah, don't worry. At this point my real focus is on eleven hours of sleep in our own bed."

"Now you're talking. Though if Mom is staying with us, we should expect her to have the whole place cleaned by the time we wake up."

"Will she be all judgy when we finally stagger out into the living room?"

"Not the first couple times it happens. I usually got one free day to pass out and wake up to a laundry basket outside of my door when I came home, no questions asked or comments made."

"Aww, that's sweet. And fair, I guess." Sam sighed. "You have a good mom."

"She worked hard at it... I think she put a lot of pressure on herself to make up for Dad's absence."

Sam nuzzled Rebecca's shoulder, trying to be comforting. "Oh, I'm sure. I'm learning that so many things about you run in the family, Miss Lives-Her-Life-for-Others."

"Nature or nurture, I guess there was ample time for her to rub off on me."

"And now you get more." Sam sat up enough to tap Rebecca on the nose and imperiously add, "That's not a guilt trip so don't start moping."

While resettling, she felt the arm around her tighten and closed her eyes with a content hum. She focused on listening to Rebecca breathe and enjoyed the sensation of the fingertips gliding through her hair for the remaining time she was conscious.

**

Sure, going through her mother's things and packing them in a the handful of available plastic storage totes, or trying to bag them as tidily as possible was weird for Rebecca. But it damned well beat what she was used to — trying not to think of who owned the belongings she at best had to walk past, or at worst, picked through like a shameful vulture. In fact, it almost felt like a healing salve for all those accumulated memories, most of which blurred together, while some stood out and occasionally gave her a skin-crawling tap on the shoulder to remind her she'd never successfully be rid of them.

Sue's antics proved a welcome distraction, even if they were theoretically counterproductive. Naturally, he needed to get into every empty (and in some cases only half-empty) bag, box, bin, tote, bucket, steamer trunk, or magical bag of infinite holding that was left unattended for a microsecond. In fact, the activity around the house had proven interesting enough he mostly spurned the outside world for the day — occasional trips outside, likely to relieve himself, not withstanding.

Well, that's going to be fun to figure out, without anyone making kitty litter anymore, in a multi-floor condo building. Sand, maybe? Sod on the porch? How wrong would it be to just throw it out the window like we did with that carpet at the end of freshman year?

She poked the side of a duffel bag until Sue finally got the hell out and stacked the latest few sweaters from her mother's dresser inside. She doubted it would take any more than a couple of hours to get everything packed and staged in the living room, and expected they'd be done long before Laura and Walter returned from their hike and picnic.

Sam and Epstein were out front tinkering, hoping they could figure out a way to have two concealed wires to cross, or even a cannibalized switch, concealed somewhere around the exterior of the armored SUV's to lock and unlock the doors in the absence of a key or fob. Assurances of local safety and quiet aside, they weren't about to leave anything outside in unlocked cars overnight. It would be a nice timesaver for departure if they could stage their low-value belongings in the secured vehicles today, otherwise they were in for an early and long morning before they even started driving.

Rebecca moved on to another drawer, wondering how much faster the trip home would be. They knew a route already, and just had to get from point B back to point A. No worries about toodling around the countryside looking for alternate paths, or chasing hints where someone might have relocated to. She was definitely going to lean on the gas a bit when conditions allowed. Sam wouldn't complain, but she wondered if the imaginary brake pedal her mother was known to habitually reach for "existed" in the back seat too?

**

As Rebecca predicted, they were done by noon. With the exception of two changes of clothes and her toiletries, all of Laura's worldly belongings were stacked along the living room wall, contents labeled with duct tape and Sharpies. Patrick stomped away at the pedal on the washing machine, running a second load of bedding while the first was already hung to dry.

Chrissie and Rebecca were lounging on the couch, catching their breaths from their turns on the foot pedal and hanging the results, when Sam jogged up the steps. Through the door window, Rebecca saw her clutching her hand and hastened to meet her. An inch-long gash on her left hand, between the joints of her thumb and index finger, was slowly weeping blood across her knuckles. Chrissie gasped and retrieved a medkit while Rebecca guided Sam to the sink and carefully rinsed it with leftover water that had been boiled for breakfast.

"What happened, Rosie?"

Sam grumbled through mostly-clenched teeth. "Eh... I should have been wearing gloves reaching around inside the bodywork, but the hole was too small. Fucking bare sheet metal edges."

Rebecca pursed her lips disapprovingly as she cleaned her own hands with the same tepid water. "Now I know how you feel sometimes." She nudged Sam to lean against the counter and tenderly dressed the wound for her. Something that could have been categorized as "rub some dirt on it" two years ago had to be taken seriously these days, with disinfectants and antibiotics in short supply. "Did you try using the snake camera?"

Sam groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose after letting Rebecca plop her down on the couch. "Damn, that would have been a good idea." She grudgingly accepted the copy of Ivanhoe Rebecca pressed into her hands. "Thank you, sugar. I'll try not to bleed on it."

Rebecca grinned and kissed her on the forehead. "Chrissie, I don't often get to turn the tables on her like this. Could you do me a solid and make sure she takes it easy?"

"Sure." Chrissie looked up from the guitar she was fiddling with. "I gotcha, babe."

Sam glared over her shoulder at Rebecca, but didn't hide her smile quickly enough as she turned back towards the book and Christine. Rebecca muted a laugh and dug through their gear to find the snake camera and her arm tablet, then went out to check on their one-and-a-half handed Marine.