Rebecca laid a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder to wake her, and Sam smiled before opening her eyes, reaching up with her right hand.

"Mmm... hi sugar."

No, wait. Those fingers were too slender, the nails not chewn short enough. The thumb under Sam's meant there should have been that little raised vein along the back of Rebecca's left hand. Damn.

She rolled over and opened her bleary eyes, greeted by Christine's fabulously frizzy golden hair. It was gentler than a blast of sunrise waking her up, she supposed.

"Sorry, Sammie. Just me. But she's asking for you, if that helps any. Take your time getting your feet under you, I'll let her know you're coming."

"Thanks, Chrissie."

Sam rolled back onto her side and sighed, staring at the wall of the barn for a minute. She'd been doing that a lot. Most of the time she was awake and Rebecca wasn't, Sam spent leaning on the porch columns, or a fence rail, or laying on her back in this cot, staring at fields and ceilings like she was waiting for something to show up. She didn't really know what. Maybe Ronnie in their big armored truck, coming to fix everything — hopefully with Rufus in tow. She could use a good dog snorgle right now, and Rebecca probably could too. Maybe he'd fix everything.

Well, she'd better go check on her girl — hoping she could still call her that. Sam tossed her sleeping bag back with a sigh and sat upright, fumbling for her boots. They'd spent a full day and night recuperating and were probably just scratching the surface. Patrick and Christine took the SUV up to the top of the fire road and reported in, but Rebecca requested — demanded — they not mention specifics of her injuries to Ronnie, arguing that her concussion symptoms were improving. Their sleep schedules were completely screwed; inconvenient exhausted insomnia was the rule of thumb. They'd upgraded Landry to some of their Vicodin stash just so he could breathe comfortably enough to doze.

The recently freed farm residents treated them like heroes, but Sam was pretty sure she felt the least like that of everyone. The day before yesterday had taken her down such a deep dark hole, even before they'd entered that damnable house. She hadn't even had time to properly start grieving her mom, or processing her throw-down with her father, and then all this. Everything was fucking fine three days ago and suddenly she'd pretty much had her heart ripped out and stomped on, prompting her to take it out on everyone around her. Some very deserving, some so very much not.

The locals seemed to sense her mood this morning, parting their throngs to make a path for her as she exited the barn. Dylan was near the door and smiled... sympathetically? Apologetically? Sam tried to be polite and lift the corner of her mouth as she passed. Maybe it worked, but she'd made a token effort.

Some of them were knocking down the crucifixes as she passed — but if the mutterings she'd heard while staring into space were true, they might want to save a couple. There were debates brewing about whether it was better to kick the prisoners out into the world and hope they didn't do much more harm — particularly of concern to the liberated folks who wanted to leave, head back to wherever they came from — or keep them on the farm, allowing them to earn their keep. The crosses were barbaric, but it occurred to her they might need a punishment system of their own to keep the leftovers of Mags' gang in line unless someone was going to get into the incarceration business. Yet another thing Ronnie might have had an answer for that wasn't a firing squad.

Epstein was sitting at the top of the porch steps and extended his good hand to her as she climbed them — she gave it a passing cordial swat. He'd as good as saved her and Rebecca's lives. Maybe Chris and Pat would have taken care of matters too, but at the very least she appreciated being spared more of that crone's monologuing.

Rebecca. She'd upgraded to a couch downstairs when she could walk with assistance, away from reminders of the carnage on the upper floor. Her eye dilation had normalized and she seemed to be thinking straight again, but Sam couldn't bear to look at the ugly bruise changing colors on her chin. Her eyes... they didn't look at her with fear anymore which was a blessed reprieve. She was acting like she thought everything was, everything should be fine between them, but she was also acting like it wasn't.

**

Rebecca watched Sam bat at Epstein's extended hand of greeting and then pull the screen door open. She couldn't fully ignore the swirling doubts of her decisions that led to them all being in the shape they were in. Sure, they'd freed almost all of the imprisoned workers, but maybe if she'd planned a little more. Maybe if she hadn't panicked right at the end and rushed across that last room. She could have used her radio. Sam, friendly on your left. That's all she had to say and things would have gone completely differently.

Now, instead. Sam had probably set a new record for the worst day of her life. Everyone except Patrick and Chris was injured and those two were working themselves to exhaustion trying to attend to the rest. And here she was, suspecting a hairline fracture in her left arm, recovering from a concussion, trying to convince herself everything wasn't her own fault and Sam that these injuries weren't her fault. Probably doing about an equally successful job of each, dammit.

She tried to shove all those thoughts aside and smile encouragingly as Sam sat, but the movement pulled uncomfortably on her sore jaw and she struggled to keep her expression from turning into a wince. That wouldn't help Sam at all.

"Hi, Rosie. Thanks for coming."

"Of course. I missed you last night, not just because my toes were cold."

"Heh." Rebecca tried to smile as much as she could manage comfortably. It was good to see a little of Sam's humor still glimmering in there. "How's your head?"

Whoops. Not the best thing to say — Sam's expression turned downcast again. "Okay. Just a lingering ache, Chrissie wants to change the bandage later. I should really be asking you that, though."

Rebecca's half smile turned sad, she didn't want Sam beating herself up over... okay. Poor choice of words. Over beating her up. Maybe she could try to lift her spirits with a little humor too. "Codeine is my friend. It's not as strong as Vicodin, but it also doesn't give me the hangover I remember after my wisdom teeth, either." She pulled herself up with the back of the couch and pivoted to sit facing Sam, her feet on the ground like a functional person. "Sam... please. Don't be so hard on yourself. There's any number of things that could have gone differently night-before-last, including a lot of my own decisions. The important thing is we got as many of these people out as we could and Mags won't be causing them any more misery. That's what was most important — we both said it ourselves."

She was starting to get an understanding for what Sam went through trying to get her to ease up on herself — at a time when she kinda needed that again, no less. This was an uncomfortable lesson in being too reliant on each other.

Sam hesitantly reached for her hand now that it was closer, but didn't say anything yet, so Rebecca spoke again. "You know... I'm going to start demanding get-out-of-apologizing-too-much-free cards at this rate. You're turning into me." Sam still didn't reply, just looking down at the floor between them, or maybe their hands. Rebecca held on as long as she comfortably could, then squeezed her hand apologetically and leaned back into the couch. She didn't seem to be getting anywhere, so she figured she should change subjects.

"I was hoping we could think about what to do next. Like... do we call this off, patch everyone up and head home to rest, or do we keep going? Landry probably shouldn't move much for at least another few days anyway."

Sam sighed and finally looked up at Rebecca, then out the window. "I don't know. We're already something like halfway there, aren't we? Who knows what we'd go through getting out this far again."

Rebecca nodded, even though she realized a moment later that was silly if Sam wasn't looking her direction. "Yeah. But that's a 'sunk cost' fallacy creeping in. Sticking with something beyond when we maybe should just because of how much we've invested already."

Sam's eyes flicked back to Rebecca's, glancing over her face briefly, then down again, looking in Rebecca's general direction but not focusing on her. "Whatever you decide, whether you want to go home and try again later, or press on, I'm with you a hundred percent. I owe it to you."

Rebecca leaned forward, propping herself up with an elbow on her knee and studying the dark circles under Sam's eyes. "Rosie, you don't owe me anything, please."

A frown marred Sam's brow. "I damned well do, Remy. I really don't feel good about myself right now, I need to have that commitment to you."

It was Rebecca's turn to sigh. "Okay. I get that." She watched Sam's face for a few seconds. "Listen... the elephant in the room aside, do you want to talk? About your mom, your dad? I'm still here for you."

Sam reclined in her chair, running her hand over her face — wincing when she bumped her bandage — and then pushing her hair back. "Ugh. I guess that'd be the smart thing to do, huh?"

Rebecca didn't push, she just waited for Sam to take a moment. She ended up needing several, propping her head up with fingers against her temple, before she finally spoke again.

"What helped most, after your dad?"

Rebecca smiled sadly at Sam. She figured something like that was coming. "Honestly... a lot of the memories have faded since then, but I remember there being lots of ice cream." She laughed in chagrin. "Not that ice cream is an option right now, dammit." 

After a thoughtful pause, she went on. "I think the most effective thing was time. I just looked back one day and realized I was breathing easier. I don't remember it happening, didn't notice it, but it did. My mom's therapist told us grief was like a ton of bricks that got lighter one brick every day. She failed to mention they can come back, usually in groups or small herds and through a window because, y'know. Bricks. I guess the shit at my apartment with Monica's idiot boyfriend is an example, but over time you just try to get the good days to overpower the bad."

"How'd you get by in the meantime?"

"Eat, sleep, breathe, repeat." She stared out the window for a moment herself, then looked back at Sam with a weak chuckle. "God knows how mom did it while helping me through it too. I remember after Jaime better. Allie kept an eye on me, made sure those basics were met day one. Then Ronnie pushed me through the motions, built me a routine, fed me things to do. Then you and Rufus showed up."

Rebecca watched Sam just stew pensively for a moment. She opened her mouth to tease Sam about how this was the part when Sam would kick her toe if their positions were reversed, but bit the comment back before it escaped and she regretted it. Instead... "Hey. Come for a little walk with me?"

She also suppressed a comment about how Sam could make sure she didn't fall on her butt.

Sam looked up. "Okay."

Rebecca stood carefully, Sam hovering with a hand half-extended, ready to try to catch her if she faltered. Rebecca made it upright successfully and they started slowly towards the front door.

Epstein looked back over his shoulder when the screen hinges squeaked and stood up. The triangle bandage supporting his left arm caught her attention for a moment, and he glanced down at it too. "Don't worry, I'll be able to turn a wrench with that hand again just fine after this wing mends. You two getting some air?"

Rebecca made her way to the edge of the porch, the sounds of Sam moving behind her distracting her briefly. "Uh... yeah. I just wanted to show Sam something in the back of the car."

"Do you want me to go get it for you? I can move around just fine..."

"No, thanks. We could use the practice. If we're not back in half an hour call the Marines."

"Hah, okay." He held up his right hand. "Here, at least let me help you both down the stairs."

Rebecca smiled appreciatively, watching from the bottom when he turned around for the next trip. Sam's mood seemed lightened slightly by his gesture too. "Ever the gentleman, Lance Corporal."

"Gunny Ellis would demand nothing else, ma'ams."

The two women shared a precious real smile at that and resumed a slow stroll down the dirt road. Rebecca drifted towards the fence and hovered her hand over the rail as she walked just in case. After a minute or so, Sam spoke up.

"You said it was a heart attack with your dad, right?"

"Yeah. They said there were signs of heart disease that had been sneaking up on him."

"That sucks. We had a scare with my mom when I was eleven — cancer, but it worked out. It was actually Mike who saw it first, he told my mom a spot on her shoulder looked funny."

"Good on him." Rebecca didn't want to delve into more worries about family and send Sam into a deeper spiral, so she cast about her mind for a way to change the subject.

Sam spared her the need, fortunately. "It must have been tough in the years after, for both you and your mom, raising you on her own."

"For sure. She did her best, and her brother helped out when he could. He never had any kids, but was still a good source of support for her."

Sam looked at her sideways with a slight twinkle in her eye. "I guess she did alright."

"Heh. Flatterer." Rebecca smiled, but realized by mentioning her uncle, she'd looped right back to the topic of brothers again. Well, shit. Considering what they were going to the car for, Rebecca supposed it was inevitable.

Still, if she could postpone it... "Look at them out in the field again. They're working on the same crops as two days ago, but they're so much happier."

The liberated farmers' voices reached them — not strongly enough to pick out words, but the sounds of chatting, laughter.

"I guess you're right, we did do some good here."

Rebecca returned her gaze to Sam as she walked. "Yeah, we did." She brushed her hand against Sam's briefly, then returned her focus to not tripping over the uneven terrain. Her sense of balance was still... tentative.

They waved to Dylan on the way past the barn, but paused when they reached where the SUVs were parked. Rebecca looked back and forth between them. "Shit. Which one was ours?"

She was happy when Sam laughed before pointing to one of them. "The one with the busted tail light."

"Great. Well, at least nobody's gonna pull us over. Amira might kill us though."

"I'm sure Doug can fix it once his arm's better."

That time Rebecca laughed, and looked over at Sam with what she hoped was noticeable gratitude. A little taste of their usual chemistry felt really nice after the recent heavy bullshit. "Ah, maybe we can find him some duct tape and WD-40. Come on, help me open it."