Sam watched Rebecca reach for one of the water bottles in their ride and chug at least a quarter of it. She was clearly nervous as hell — understandably, and familiarly, so. Obviously Sam wanted the next few minutes to go well for Rebecca, but... this still dredged up some very raw memories for her.

She tried to put on a brave face as Rebecca returned, smiling at her comfortingly. Rebecca took a deep breath and pressed her lips into a thin line, then took the first few steps towards the gate. As she followed, Sam thought the arched trellis over the top of it was quaintly cute, but a bit silly since there was nothing planted there to grow over it. On the other side, the way the steps they climbed had been "cut" into the path with buried hunks of wood added to the feeling of hiking through tranquil woods, even though they were mere feet from both their vehicle and destination.

From the top of the steps, she could see the cabin itself. She'd expected something more stereotypically log-ridden from the way Rebecca had kept referring to it, but this really just looked like a slightly old house in the middle of the woods. Steps led up to a porch that was about eight feet off the ground, overhung by the roof, and would probably make very pleasant sitting while watching the rain or a light snow. Firewood, a wheelbarrow, and miscellaneous hand tools were stored away beneath it.

The whole building was clad in the cedar shingle siding that Rebecca had described to the woman at the gate, except for the roof, which Sam thought was ironic. That was straightforward asphalt composite — a practical choice that would undoubtedly last longer. The roof peaked in a high single story, except for the rear left corner that seemed to have an upstairs bedroom above the rest. No conventional stone chimneys pierced it, but she saw several metal flues that were probably connected to stoves.

Two cars were parked near it, one old Bronco in a steel carport like she'd usually seen boats parked under in the suburbs, and a newer station wagon — probably early 2000's, around the same age as her mom's Camry (RIP) judging by the curvy styling — almost right in front of them at the top of the footpath.

Rebecca gasped and reached out her hand towards it, and Sam heard her whisper, "She was here." She saw Rebecca's hair shift as she lifted her gaze towards the house and looked around searchingly, then tentatively called out for her mother. No reply came, and Rebecca's second try was louder, more urgent sounding — almost like someone separated from their mother in a crowded store.

Glass shattered inside the house, and Rebecca looked back at her with wide, alarmed eyes. Sam was already moving her second hand to her SMG. "Go!"

Sam slapped the folded stock open and brought the gun up to eye level. The glass hadn't sounded quite like a window breaking, like someone might smash out a pane to shoot through, but she still swept her aim over each facing window as she advanced behind Rebecca. She was sure Rebecca was focused on the door, so she tried to keep an eye on everything else — unfortunately she simply had an inadequate quantity of ocular sensory organs for the job and frantically tried to watch for threats that Rebecca might miss in her haste.

They made it to the door safely, and Sam watched the window to the left since the door would block Rebecca's view of that side as she opened it. Though her gun stayed trained on the window, her eyes snapped back to the door when it moved and Rebecca gasped again. Sam knew her well enough to know it wasn't fearful surprise, and relaxed (at least tactically) when she heard Rebecca's voice break as she asked for a third time — "Mom?"

The woman who was opening the door at the same time as Rebecca was speechless for a moment, and Sam was able to get a brief look at her. She was an inch or two shorter than Rebecca, but still taller than Sam — probably right between their respective heights, in fact. She looked just shy of fifty; her hair was a shade lighter than Rebecca's streaky blend, with wisps of grey threading through it, and her eyes had the same crow's feet that Rebecca was just starting to show signs of developing. The lines of her cheekbones were very familiar too.

Rebecca's mother's voice was rough when she spoke too, but Sam still thought it sounded pleasant, kindly somehow. "Oh god... Rebecca... I can't believe it."

Mother and daughter blinked at each other for a few more seconds, and Sam gently reached for Rebecca's hand. "Here, sugar. Let me have your gun."

Rebecca responded slowly, in a daze, but gratitude flashed across her face as Sam's words registered. "Oh... right, thanks."

Sam took her pistol, checked the safety, and slid it into her pocket. There were clearly ninjas lurking nearby chopping onions, because her vision was getting blurry, and the two Clinton ladies were sniffling into each other's shoulder by the time Sam returned to looking at them. She felt an agonizingly bittersweet joy for Rebecca, and quietly stepped back to the edge of the porch to give them some space. After a minute or so, she turned back towards them when she heard Rebecca say her name.

"Mom, this is Sam. Sam... this is my mother, Laura."

**

Laura Clinton gazed out the window like she often did, on autopilot as she washed some of the plates and silverware she and Walt had used for breakfast and lunch. The year-plus since the outbreak had been hard, but they made a good team just like when they were kids — with less squabbling, to boot. Things got a little easier as the months passed by, both emotionally and logistically. The woods around the cabin were peaceful, and hunting and fishing was good when Walt's luck was aligned.

Not a day went by that she didn't think, wonder, and worry about her daughter. She incessantly tried to remind herself that Rebecca was intelligent, resourceful, and Jaime was so very devoted to her. Laura had been able to tell in the first ten minutes after meeting him, just watching the way he doted on her daughter. Maybe he truly understood the value of the second chance his life had become, even somehow looked at her like she embodied it. There were worse things than the boy your daughter was dating putting her on a high pedestal. She was just glad that Rebecca had overcome many of the stereotypical challenges that girls growing up without a father unfortunately faced. Being charmed be a reformed delinquent turning his life around was a hell of a lot better than running off with some meth dealer in high school.

The constantly burning, frantic, hair-pulling anxiety had taken a long time to dim. Many nights, Laura had cried herself to sleep next to her brother on the couch, even woken up find him passed out next to her, head slumped back on the cushions and feet up on the coffee table. Eventually, psychological acclimation kicked in, and it wasn't a continuously preoccupying obsession. Daily routine and focused attempts at distraction eventually diluted it to just occasional thoughts, a handful of times a day when she meandered back to wondering and hoping about her.

Times like now, when she remembered twelve-year-old Rebecca bitching up a storm when the dishwasher broke and the new motor didn't arrive when it was supposed to. So sad that she had to wash dishes by hand for a month. Laura wasn't at all surprised when every single apartment Rebecca showed her online listings for in the summer before sophomore year had one, but decided that discretion was the better part of amusement and didn't point it out.

Even memories like that became entertaining over time, as nostalgia kicked in. She'd love to have a screaming fight with her daughter, just to smile at Rebecca's back tiredly and lovingly when she stormed off at the end. They'd only had a few of those, but even they were precious moments to recollect.

Laura blinked as she turned back from the small island in the kitchen towards the sink, carrying a pair of stacked bowls to wash next. She thought she'd heard something that caught her attention, but couldn't quite figure out what it was. Maybe it was just her imagination.

"Mom?"

Goosebumps ran over Laura's arms and she gasped, struggling to believe her hearing, her memory from one mere second ago, that she'd just heard Rebecca's voice calling her outside. She didn't even realize her grip on the bowls had slipped in her shock until they crashed to the floor and shattered. "Oh, shit."

Habitual reactions to accidents still worked, apparently. But she shook herself from her brief stupor and circled around the far side of the island as quickly as she could, going around the Corningware shards that posed a threat to her bare feet. Not that she wouldn't run over them gladly if that was what it took to get back to her daughter.

She almost stumbled on the way to the front door and pulled it open just as it was pushed inwards by... oh dear lord. It was her.

Laura stuttered out Rebecca's name as her eyes took her in. Her face was more tan, with halfway-healed scrapes and a fading yellow bruise; her hair was longer and a little duller, but by god, it was her.

Rebecca stood frozen in front of her, barely squeaking out a confused "Mom?" herself, wearing... incredibly incongruous battle gear of some kind, a pistol clutched in the hand that wasn't still hanging in space where the doorknob had been.

Another young woman, a redhead, was behind Rebecca, aiming some kind of bizarre gun off to the side, clearly guarding, protecting Rebecca. Even though Laura was still indescribably confused, that was a very good first impression. The companion had small healing injuries on her face too, and made brief eye contact with Laura before lowering her weapon and stepping to Rebecca's side, tenderly taking the gun away from her. It was a small relief Rebecca seemed to have found a friend or two.

Then they were both recovered enough to crush each other in a mutual incoherently sobbing embrace. When they'd recovered enough breath to speak again, Laura heard Rebecca mumble into her shoulder. "I missed you so much, Mom."

Laura felt the knot in her throat tighten, but she was able to push words past it. "Me too. I've been so worried." She was almost afraid to say more, like she might dispel a dream.

Rebecca just quietly clung to her for a bit, before seemingly remembering her companion and lifting her head to introduce them. The redhead seemed reluctant to impose, but smiled tentatively at Laura, stepping close enough to extend her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Clinton. You have an amazing daughter."

That made Laura's thought process skip a beat again, and the only initially thing she could think to say was, "I do. Oh god, I still do, don't I." That didn't sound very courteous or profound, so she strained to muster a followup. "It looks like you helped her get here, and I can't tell you how much that means to me." The new girl smiled a little more confidently as she stepped back, and Laura couldn't help wondering what they'd been through on their journey here, or how long it had been, where they'd been before.

She looked up from Rebecca again, glancing around the open space in front of the house, and started to ask the question that had just come to her. "Where's—"

Something in the way Sam looked at her sharply made Laura stop mid-sentence, but Rebecca met her eyes, knowing she must have been asking about Jaime. Laura knew the answer before Rebecca shook her head just from the sadness that wafted by in her eyes. "Oh, sweetheart." One of Laura's hands had never left Rebecca while she greeted Sam, and she renewed her embrace around her daughter. "I'm so sorry."

Rebecca returned the hug tightly for a moment, and then lifted her head again. "Mom, I heard something break. What happened? Are you okay?"

Of course, that's why she'd been charging helter-skelter up the stairs. "I'm fine, dear. I don't usually hear the disembodied voice of my long-lost daughter while I'm doing the dishes, and I briefly forgot how my hands work."

Laura heard the side door open and Walt calling for her. "Oh god, he's not going to believe this." She turned and looked through the kitchen at an angle as she replied. "Over by the front door. It's Rebecca, she's actually here."

Her brother came into view, as much bemused as surprised. "Well holy fucking shit. I thought I heard cars." Sam must have heard this from the porch and decided to tease Rebecca, because Laura heard their brief exchange from behind her.

"Well. I guess we know where you got your vocabulary from. And here I blamed the Marines."

"Ha, ha."

She'd have to ask more about that later. Maybe that explained how Rebecca had stayed safe, and gotten all that fancy gear? It certainly didn't look like anything she'd ever seen on the news though. Her lips quirked as she answered Walter. "No kidding. And she's already making a mess. Watch your step in the kitchen."

He looked at Rebecca as Laura pushed the door open further, and glanced at the kitchen meaningfully. "Right. She did that, from the porch. Not my sister who tends to drop things when she gets surprised. I'll deal with it all the same, just like when I jumped out and shouted 'boo' when you were putting the groceries away decades ago. Good to see you, Becky."

Laura cringed, wondering if Rebecca still hated that diminutive, and turned back to the young ladies. "Now that my darling brother is here to clean up after my small heart attack... you know I have thousands of questions, but we should get you settled first."

Rebecca wiped some lingering happy tears from her eyes and smiled. "Sounds good. You can grill me thoroughly soon, I promise. Can we open the gate? We have a few more friends down below with our cars."

"Of course. Wait here, I'll get the key."

She left the door hanging open and went to dig the key out of the junk drawer in the kitchen. When she returned, she found Rebecca slumped on Sam's shoulder and heard her sigh in distinct relief. Sam patted her meaningfully, and Rebecca looked back up at Laura. Sam spoke first as they separated.

"Thanks, Mrs. Clinton. I can go let them in, you two have spent enough time apart."

"Lord knows that's the truth, dear. But please, call me Laura, you've more than earned it bringing my daughter back to me."