Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Carol storms into her house, ignoring Manousos and his half English, half Spanish questions. They can talk about the elephant on the room (meaning: the atom bomb) later, she decides. Instead, she grabs a bottle of whiskey and fresh clothes, navigating her way through the apartment in record time and locks herself inside the bathroom.

She takes a swing from the bottle and doesn’t stop swallowing until her throat constricts, fighting against the spicy liquid. She wipes her mouth with her hand and strips down naked, pointedly ignoring the marks Zosia– no, the hivemind– had left all over her body.

She mechanically washes any trace of her– them– for fuck’s sake, off her body and spends the rest of she shower staring into nothingness while the scalding hot water is burning her body. She only stops when the bathroom is foggy and the air is moist and her skin is so hot it feels like it will peel right off once she steps out of the shower.

She then makes a beeline to her bedroom, forcing herself to at least give her house guest a shout. “I’m going to dormir,” she yells in the vague direction of the living room. “We can start saving el mundo tomorrow.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply before she kicks her bedroom door closed, the bottle of whiskey clenched tightly in her fist.

She wants to sleep, or pass out, or stop existing altogether. She tries her best to not think about the dumpster fire that is her life now but after having spent the last weeks ignoring just that, it all comes crashing down.

The urge to crawl outside of her skin and leave her body and this utterly embarrassing humiliation behind is getting stronger and stronger by the second. She desperately wishes there was a way to erase the last two and a half months from her mind.

She wishes that fucking firework had hit her straight in the face and blown her head off.

Of course the only time she chose to let herself enjoy something good, it was based on an absolute delusion. And worst of all, she had been aware of it but it was all too easy to ignore with Zosia by her side.

Now, alone for the first time in weeks, she wonders how she had ever believed any of it.

She sits up and blindly reaches out, searching for the sleeping pills she knows are still stored somewhere in Helen’s nightstand. Not because Helen needed them for herself, but because she didn't want Carol to have them within reach.

She waits for the stabbing pain in her chest that usually follows any thought of Helen, the mental picture of her lifeless face that usually pops up when she thinks about her wife. But all she feels is emptiness. Which isn’t even a real feeling, a nagging voice inside her head reminds her, it rather is the absence of feelings. Whatever.

She shrugs to herself and pops two pills, washes them down with more alcohol and rolls onto her back, waiting for sleep to come.

She wakes up to sunlight and footsteps. For a second she expects Zosia to come into the room, wearing nothing but a silk robe and an easy smile.

Then reality hits her.

Her head is pounding. Her throat is dry. She vaguely remembers throwing up sometime at night and she cannot piece together whether it was a dream or if it really happened. Honestly, she’s not sure she wants to find out.

The next two days pass in a blur of whiskey, sleeping pills and vivid dreams. She vaguely remembers Manousos entering the room and serving her a dry toast and some fruit but at this rate she’s not sure what’s real anymore.

When she finally manages to drag herself out of bed on day four post Zosia, Manousos is in the living room, reading through books and mumbling to himself.

He absentmindedly gestures to the table and her eyes follow his hand, finding a glass of water, painkillers and a roughly cut-up orange. Her face heats up and she mumbles a small gracias, swallows the pill and quickly throws back the glass of water before forcing her legs to carry her into the office.

He must think she’s the biggest idiot on the planet. But she’s also the only person who could help him with the whole saving the world scheme.

So she fishes out her phone, opens the translator app and starts writing.

Four and a half hours later her head is pounding and she has written five pages. Her wrist hurts and her handwriting has gotten worse with every page, but there it is:

The events of the last seventy-something days; her actions explained as clearly as she could stomach and the entirety of her findings regarding the hive all laid out.

It almost felt like a confession, writing this sorry little essay about her choices and mistakes.

She hopes the translation didn’t butcher the content too badly. She has worked hard on not depending on the validation of men, but in this instance she needs Manousos to understand her. She needs someone to tell her that it’s not her who’s crazy, but the world is.

So she grabs the pages and carries them to the living room, carefully placing them before the man who is still manically penciling down god knows what.

Watching him read the first page feels worse than waiting for feedback on any of her drafts ever felt. There’s no changing the story here, no way to make herself more likeable or her actions less pathetic. No room for improvement, just the godawful truth.

Manousos doesn’t have a reaction. He reads carefully with a straight face and a steadiness that feels almost eerie to Carol. When she cannot deal with his neutral expression anymore, she excuses herself and heads into the bathroom for a long overdue shower.

When she’s done she finds the pages placed facedown on the table. Manousos looks at her with an unreadable expression.

“Thank you,” he says. “I am happy you are back.” Then, he gestures to the open books, scattered sketches and empty pens he surely raided from her office. “Let’s save the world,” he concludes with a stern nod.

“Let’s save el mundo,” Carol agrees with a sigh.

It turns out that saving the world is hard when you have no knowledge of the scientific reasons that fucked it up in the first place. She feels like a first grader thrown into an university physics class, working her ass off to understand how radio waves and electromagnetic fields could possibly be used to un-hive someone, as she started to call it. Manousos had come up with the general idea and it took them several tries for Carol to understand what he meant, but now it seems like a sensible first step. More effective than drugging some hive person, she figures. Well, you live and you learn.

The biggest progress they both make is with learning their respective languages. But they are gravitating mor and more towards English. Mostly because both Carol’s books and the books Manousos has gotten from random households in Albuquerque are written in English, but also because Carol can only be bothered to learn one thing at the time and right now that’s physics.

Aside from doing nothing but research and drinking, she is now living with the constant fear of being turned into one of those brainwashed people. She had Zosia explain to her in detail how to detonate the bomb, had even asked her to write down instructions but she’s not sure she would actually do it. She’s well aware Zosia, no, the hive people, whatever– she’s well aware they probably know Carol would at least think twice before detonating an atom bomb.

Manousos, however, is unpredictable since he has barely been in contact with them and she figures the hive cannot completely rule out the possibility that he would wipe out a huge chunk of the earth.

Perhaps they haven't figured out the cure yet. Who knows how far they have gotten with the work on her frozen eggs. Plus Manousos seems to be unsure what they did to him during his stay at the hospital.

Either way, it still feels like they are living on borrowed time. Food now gets delivered by drone since they can’t take an atom bomb to Sprouts. After every delivery Carol calls them and makes sure there is no cure hidden in their food. It’s a different voice, one she doesn't recognize. She’s glad it’s not Zosia. Or so she tells herself.

“Carol,” Manousos says one day and she immediately knows something is about the shift. He has finally dropped her last name, but Carol has never sounded so important coming out of his mouth before.

“I think I understand.”

It takes them a good two hours and Manousos manically drawing sketches and charts on the already overflowing whiteboard, but eventually they are on the same page.

They need a place that cannot be reached by radio waves. And a person to un-hive.

“Someone you know well,” Manousos explains. “Familia, amigas?” he suggests.

Carol sighs. Helen was the one with friends and Carol the grumpy anti-social wife who begged to stay home most of the time. Helen managed to force Carol into accompanying her to awkward double dates sometimes but she cannot say she bonded with any of the people she met.

Besides Helen, Carol’s most constant relationship had probably been with her agent and that was strictly professional. Sure, there were neighbours but she can’t even list two personal facts about any of them. Hell, she doesn't even remember the first names of half of these people.

“Not really,” she admits. “Not a people person,” she states the obvious with a self depreciating laugh.

“I never would have guessed,” Manousos replies.

It takes Carol a few seconds to realize he’s making a joke.

She bursts out laughing and Manousos chuckles as well. She hasn’t smiled in days. Warmth floods through her chest.

He tilts his head, visibly thinking about other options.

“What about… her?” he asks.

Carol’s smile freezes in an instant. “Who?” she asks defensively, knowing full well who he means.

“La chica,” Manousos says. “You know her well?”

“She’s them,” she spits out.

And yet.

She knows where Zosia grew up and that her favorite food was mango ice cream. She knows Zosia, the individual, used to like soft rock and candles that smell like linen. She knows she preferred red wine to white. She knows she liked the beach. She knows she finds taking a bath more relaxing than taking a shower.

She knows all of this because she asked, deluding herself that they might be able to build something close to a normal human relationship. She made herself believe that knowing the real Zosia might make the relationship more real as well.

“It might work,” she admits reluctantly.

But she’s not sure about any of it; whether she knows Zosia well enough to un-hive her and whether it is smart of try it on Zosia of all people.

“Will it hurt her?” she asks. Kill her is what she means. She thinks about the seizures Zosia had, two out of three because of her. About how fragile she looked last time, shaking and vibrating, in this very room.

Manousos doesn't reply for a long time. “No sé,” he finally admits.

“What about you? Family, friends, lovers?” she asks but she already knows the answer. There is a reason why the hive didn’t know anything about him.

He curtly shakes his head and doesn’t elaborate.

“Okay,” Carol admits defeat. “Let’s say we’ll try it with Zosia. And hopefully don’t kill her. How do we get her to a place without radio waves?”

“Un búnker?” Manousos suggests. He gets up and starts looking through the books and papers on the table before pulling out a local map. But Carol doesn’t need it.

“There’s an air force base close by,” it dawns on her. “I don’t think they are using it since they have abandoned the whole city.”

Manousos points at the map, locating the spot within a few seconds. Carol nods.

“That’s the main one. Probably too big and too secure. But there should be more,” she says. “Smaller ones.”

There’s a pause.

“This one stores nuclear weapons though.”

Manousos grins and circles the spot on his map. It’s the best safety guarantee they could have asked for.

“But do you think we can get in there ?” Carol wonders, clearly not convinced.

“They are saving resources, yes?” Manousos asks.

Carol nods.

“Then there won’t be the usual security. Mechanical doors, maybe.”

They stare at the paper for a few seconds. A plan is forming in their heads, taking on a real shape.

“But we cannot just kidnap her out of the blue,” Carol suddenly realizes.

“You know them,” Manousos points out. “What will work?”

Carol thinks about Zosia, how she– how they behaved after leaving Carol alone for over a month. How desperate she was, how quickly Zosia caught on to her need for closeness and intimacy.

And now she’s holed up in her house with only a stranger, a random man, for company. Surely that seems lonely as well. It is lonely, she has to admit to herself, but the plotting and scheming keeps her pretty busy.

“I could tell them I miss her,” she speaks slowly, the words tasting like something forbidden. “That I want to meet on common ground. Alone, just me and her.”

“Is it safe?” Manousos asks.

“They can’t lie so I guess I’ll just ask them,” Carol shrugs. “In case there is any sign of her trying to turn me into one of them, I will scream and cry and she will freeze.”

“Es arriesgado,” he replies. “Dangerous,” he adds at Carol’s confused look.

“For whom?” Carol laughs bitterly. She can still picture Zosia shaking uncontrollably, unable to move or speak.

“Will they try to stop you if you take her away?” he asks.

“I’m not sure,” Carol takes a second to think. “They cannot hurt us. They actually put themselves in danger to save me once.”

Manousos doesn’t seem to believe her. “They do?”

Carol nods. Flashes of hot fire and glass everywhere make their way to the front of her mind; Zosia on the floor, her back ripped open and Carol desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

“Zosia once saved me from una granada,” Carol tells him and mimics an explosion. Boom. “Long story," she adds.

Manousos nods.

“So, we choose her?” he asks.

“I guess.”

Silence.

Carol gets up and pours herself a drink.

“If it works, if she turns into a real person again,” Carol stammers, “will she hate me?”

She is embarassed by how pathetic the words sound coming out of her mouth. “She will probably hate me,” she concludes.

“Maybe,” Manousos says quietly. “But it will be real.”

Carol takes a sip from her glass and nods. “Okay,” she says.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before she gets up and dials a familiar number.

“Hello, Carol.”

“I want to see her. Somewhere outside, not here. Alone,” she hurries to say.

“Zosia misses you too, Carol. However–”

“Please,” Carol begs. She’s surprised at how desperate she sounds, how her voice breaks at the end.

“Tomorrow. Just for a quick hike. I need to go outside, I need–,” she swallows soundly. “I need to be with someone.”

“Okay, Carol.”

Relief floods through her.

“Don’t hang up yet,” she quickly says. “Can you promise me that you won’t turn me into one of you tomorrow? And that it will be just us two.”

“Certainly, Carol. Will Manousos accompany you?”

“He doesn't know,” she whispers.

“Okay,” the voice easily agrees. There’s a quick pause before they go on. “Unfortunately we do have to ask this, but do you plan on using the atomic bomb you had us deliver?”

Carol can’t hold back a dry laugh.

“No. And I’ll make sure he won’t nuke you either,” Carol promises. “Don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Carol. We look forward to seeing you,” the cheerful voice tells her before she hangs up.

“Tomorrow,” she nods to Manousos.

“Let’s prepare.”

The plan goes as follows: Manousos will pack all of the necessary things for staying in the bunker into his truck, making it seem like he is preparing to leave because he and Carol cannot work out their differences.

Meanwhile Carol will spend a few hours with Zosia, feeding her lies about how Manousos and her could not work together or agree on anything.

At 4pm sharp they will both drive in the direction of the airforce bunker. This will be tricky because the hive will most likely notice both of them are moving towards each other. Time is of the essence here. Carol figures she and Manousos have a slight advantage because they abandoned the city, perhaps even the county, but with Zosia coming back they might also be close by.

Manousos will arrive at the bunker early and take care of opening it.

Shortly before going inside, Carol will have to provoke a seizure for Zosia and then try to get the real Zosia out once they are inside the bunker.

It’s a fickle plan with many possibilities for fuck ups but it’s all they have.

Carol goes to sleep feeling anxious. For once she doesn't pop a sleeping pill or chugs down half a bottle of whiskey.

She tosses and turns and tries to not think about Zosia’s disarming smile. About how her hair felt in her hands. Her warm hand around her waist–

She dreams of floating on water. It’s deep blue and it swallows Carol, but it feels comforting. She lets go, merges into the blue liquid. Suddenly she is embraced by Zosia, a warm feeling spreading through her body.

“We’re so happy you’re back,” she says. The brunette’s hands are everywhere caressing and touching her softly.

Carol wakes up with a sharp intake of breath. She gulps down the glass of water on her nightstand and rubs the sleep from her eyes.

Keep it together, she thinks to herself.

Keep it together, continues to thinks to herself as she takes special care to pick out clothes for the day.

Keep it together, she tells herself when she is carefully applying makeup for the first time in weeks.

Keep it together, she repeats like a mantra when her hands are shakily holding onto the steering wheel, on her way to meet Zosia.

Zosia is wearing a blue dress. She looks stunningly beautiful and her easy smile is way too inviting. They awkwardly greet each other from afar before they meet in the middle, falling into each other’s arms.

The familiar smell that’s hitting Carol’s nose is all encompassing, taking over her senses. She lets herself indulge, tightening the grip and breathing in. Zosia’s hand rests on the nape of her neck, gently stroking back and forth.

It feels so intimate she has to blink back tears. She had ignored how touch starved she was, holed up with only Manousos for company. And now it hits her like a truck and she keeps telling herself to fucking keep it together.

When they step away from each other, Zosia is taking her in, eyes travelling from her eyes to her lips. There’s barely any distance and Zosia slowly leans in.

“Don’t–” Carol’s voice breaks. “Sorry,” she adds and avoids the other woman’s eyes.

“It’s okay, Carol,” Zosia says with that calm voice of hers.

“Thanks,” Carol sniffs. “It’s good to see you though,” she adds, awkwardly gesturing to Zosia.

“We missed you,” Zosia says before correcting herself. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Carol replies and tries to ignore the feelings of both yearning and betrayal fighting for the number one spot inside her heart.

“Shall we go on a hike?” she suggests. Zosia smiles and nods, easily agreeing with the idea.

“You look pale,” Zosia notices. “Based on the sun index today we advise to freshen up on your sunscreen every two hours.”

“Thanks,” Carol chuckles. “I haven’t been outside much.”

They start walking in silence, the only sound coming from their shoes hitting the path.

There are some awkward glances, Zosia always smiling way too eagerly at Carol. She does her best to smile back but feels her face twisting into an unsure grimace.

She decides that sticking closely to the truth will be the least suspicious.

“I’m not sure I can forgive you for what happened,” she starts. “I still feel betrayed.”

She swallows and purposely avoids Zosia’s eyes, staring at her shoes instead.

“But I am lonely. And desperate. And pathetic. And even though I know it’s wrong, I still miss you.”

She feels a warm hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

“Carol,” Zosia coos in understanding. “It’s not wrong to want this. To want us. To want me.”

Carol takes a deep breath. She shakes her head and continues walking, speeding up her pace.

“I don’t know. I need to clear my head. But I missed you and I wanted to see you.”

Zosia easily falls into step with her. Carol finally manages to look up again, daring to take in the tall woman next to her.

“I’m here for you, Carol,” Zosia assures her with a light smile.

Something is off, their conversations more stiff than before. She waits for Zosia to start flirting with her again, to come up with witty jokes and grand gestures but nothing of that kind follows. Perhaps the hive is as weary of her as she is of them. The threat of nuking the entire earth might do that to a relationship, Carol figures.

“How is Manousos?” Zosia suddenly asks. Carol glances at her watch. He must be done with packing now, which means they should head back soon.

“Honestly, not great,” she sighs. “I thought we had things in common but I don’t think that’s true,” she muses, trying to keep things as vague as possible.

“Would he harm you?” Zosia asks carefully. “Or us?”

“I’m not sure” Carol shrugs. “I don’t think so but what do I know.” She gives herself some time to pause and then adds, “Why are you asking?”

“We think he’s heading here,” Zosia informs her. “In our direction.”

“Then maybe we should leave,” Carol suggests. “Stick together until he’s gone.”

“Would that make you feel better?”

“It will keep you safe,” Carol shrugs. “So yes.”

Zosia looks at her with an easy smile. “Okay, Carol.”

“This is not a trap, is it?” Carol feels herself asking. Which is stupid because she is the one leading Zosia into one. But if she wasn’t, she would be paranoid, so that’s what she’s going with.

“No, it’s not a trap,” Zosia sighs. “Do you have any idea what Manousos could possibly want?”

Carol shakes her head no. “Maybe he is just leaving,” she offers.

“His life is his own,” Zosia agrees.

“For now.” The bitterness in Carol’s voice is hard to ignore.

“We–,” Zosia starts, but Carol interrupts her.

“No, I’m–,” but the word sorry won’t come out. She awkwardly clears her throat. “Let’s not discuss this now,” she mumbles. “We’ve been having a nice time so far.”

Zosia nods and keeps smiling.

“I’ll drive us around for a bit,” Carol decides.

Zosia follows her to the car and Carol sneaks a look at the watch on her wrist. Right on time.

She opens the door for Zosia, who gracefully gets into the car and puts her hands into her lap, happily waiting for Carol to take the driver’s seat.

As Carol slides into the car, she realizes that so far Zosia had always been the one to drive them around.

“Hope you’re okay with me driving,” Carol mumbles.

“Of course,” Zosia nods.

Carol wonders how long it will take for Zosia to realize they are going into the same direction as Manousos. The hive is probably tracking him the same way they did when he first arrived to Albuquerque.

“I really think he’s just leaving,” Carol states again.

“Did you have a fight?” Zosia asks calmly.

“Not really,” Carol replies, trying to sound as calm as possible.

She didn’t really think this through, the whole lying to Zosia thing, she realizes. The hive is made up of all the experts in the world, surely this includes some nerds who know exactly how to interpret body language. And she’s never even been good at lying to normal people.

“I was nervous about seeing you again,” she hears herself blurt out. “I still am,” she follows up with a self deprecating laugh.

Well, at least that one isn’t a lie.

“We’re happy to see you, Carol,” Zosia immediately assures her. “I missed you.”

She tries to not flinch at the change of pronouns. Is she doing it by accident or on purpose? Does it even matter?

“We’re getting closer to Manousos,” Zosia informs her. “He’s stopped somewhere around here.”

“Oh,” Carol says, unsure what else to reply.

Right now he should be holding up a giant umbrella and hopefully opening up the fucking bunker.

A quick look at her surroundings tells her they are nearly there as well.

She throws Zosia a worried glance and her heartbeat quickens. She still has a serene facial expression, unaware of what’s about to happen.

A wave of guilt hits Carol.

How can Zosia still trust her? Or rather, how can the hive still trust her with Zosia? She has almost blown her to pieces and then drugged her against her will. And yet, here she is, happily sitting in a car with Carol and trusting her to keep her safe.

And who is she to betray that trust? To do the exact thing she has judged Zosia so harshly for, to change her against her will?

Only that joining a global hivemind has never been the individual Zosia’s will.

And now the hive is trying to turn Carol into one of them, so it really is just a question of who attacks first.

So she pushes the guilt and uncertainty aside and focuses on the task at hand.

She turns the steering wheel to the right, driving onto the path leading to the bunker.

“Carol?” Zosia asks, confusion evident in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” she says and finds that she means it. She sees Manousos in the distance and can only hope he managed to open it by now.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Zosia warns, voice still steady. “Help is on the way.”

Carol pushes down on the gas pedal, going as fast as she can without losing control of the car.

Once they reach Manousos, Carol turns to Zosia and opens her mouth to scream. Instead, a sob escapes her lips.

“You say you love me but you still want to change me,” is the first thing she manages to say. And that opens up the floodgates.

She half screams, half cries, countless feelings she had bottled up coming out. The betrayal, the disappointment , the embarrassment, the heartache; all of it is breaking free.

She registers Zosia going into seizure mode, but the tears keep rolling down her face.

She vaguely registers the car door opening and Manousos calling her name.

Only when her knees hit the pavement and the dry air creeps into her lungs, she manages to close her mouth and stop screaming.

Manousos is already carrying a still shaking Zosia to the bunker.

There are so many sounds; her car still running, helicopters nearing in the distance, Manousos screaming something in Spanish.

Wait, fucking helicopters?

“Vamos,” Manousos screams. “We need to go inside!”

She scrambles to her feet, making a run for it. She wonders what the hive is doing, sending out helicopters. It’s not like they can hurt them.

Wait, can they hurt each other? Would they hurt Zosia? She’s never asked.

She rushes to the entrance of the bunker. Manousos is carrying an unconscious Zosia over his shoulder, already climbing down the ladder leading to the inside.

“What do I do?” Carol screams as she follows him. “How do I lock it?”

“I will do it,” Manousos replies, voice eerily calm. “Get down here first.”

It feels like hours until her feet hit the ground. Manousos points at Zosia. “You take care of her,” he tells her before climbing up again.

Carol rushes to Zosia’s side. She’s still shaking, looking more and more pale by the second.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Carol groans, running her fingers through her hair. How did she ever think this was a good idea? And now she’s probably killing Zosia. Again. Fuck.

“You need to talk to her,” Manousos screams from somewhere above her.

He’s hastily dropping down various contents, seemingly still unloading his car and muttering something in Spanish.

“Zosia,” she pleads and turns to look at the woman in front of her. She lifts a shaky hand, caressing her cheek as softly as possible.

“I know you’re in there,” she whispers. “The real you. The Zosia who grew up in Gdánsk. You lived near the harbor as a little girl,” she explains, the words spilling from her lips in a rush. “You didn’t have much money. You loved to watch the ships arrive and leave. An old man sometimes sneaked you some mango ice cream.”

She feels a small smile building on her lips. “It’s your favorite now. You also like red wine.”

A wave of affection for the unconscious woman hits her. This is not a human cog in the machine of a global hivemind. She sees a person, someone with individuality and unique experiences. Someone she has yet to meet.

“You love the beach, you love feeling the sand under your feet and the salt in the air. You like how the sun reflects on the water. You know, when everything starts to sparkle.”

She shakes her head, blinking tears away.

“You prefer baths to showers, ideally with a candle that smells like linen. You are your own person who can make her own choices, Zosia.”

Zosia’s eyelids flutter. Carol’s heart stops.

“Please,” her voice breaks. “Come back, Zosia,” she pleads.

Multiple things happen at once.

The door to the bunker closes just as Zosia’s eyes fly open. Manousos comes climbing down the stairs and shouts something. Then, there’s a scream.

Carol whips her head around, frantically searching for Zosia.

Who is… gone?

Her eyes flicker around the room, trying to get used to the darkness.

“Zosia?” she tries her best to not to sound panicked. She’s not particularly successful at that attempt.

No answer.

“Manousos?”

“Carol?”

“Can you turn on a fucking light?”

It’s so damn dark she can’t even think. Which doesn't make any sense but why should anything make sense when Zosia is not in reach anymore and she doesn’t know if it worked or if she’s still joined.

Manousos manages to turn on a flashlight, frantically moving the ray of light around the room.

“Zosia?” Carol asks with a shaky voice.

She hears a sob.

Manousos manages to follow the sound, illuminating the corner of the room with a flashlight.

The person kneeling there looks like Zosia but also doesn't. Gone is the serene smile, the happy expression and the calm in her eyes.

Instead, she looks scared out of her mind.

Carol steps forward on shaky legs, doing her best to appear calm and approachable. Which she has never been in her life before but hey, there’s a first for everything, right?

Wrong.

Zosia recoils, visibly confused and scared.

“I’m Manousos Oviedo,” a calm voice speaks up behind her. “This is Carol Sturka.”

They are met with a confused stare.

“Are you still part of them?”

A blank stare.

Then, the woman on the floor opens her mouth. The voice is familiar and yet strange, an accent accompanying the words.

“Leave me alone.”

Carol and Manousos exchange a confused look but step back simultaneously, giving Zosia space.

“Did you bring the–,” Carol starts whispering to Manousos, who immediately nods and crouches down, looking through one of the bags he brought.

After some time, he finds what he has been looking for. It has melted a bit, but it still seems in an okay enough condition. Carol grabs the container with shaky hands, taking the spoon Manousos is offering and extends her hand in Zosia’s direction.

“Mango ice cream,” Carol explains hesitantly. “Your favorite.”

Zosia looks at her like she’s crazy.

And then she laughs. It’s not a charming or joyful laugh, but a sound she has never heard come out of the woman’s mouth before. It’s dark and bitter.

“Odpieprz się,” she hisses and Carol doesn’t need to understand Polish to know it doesn't mean thank you.

For a beat they just stare at each other and then Carol resigns and turns around.

“Can you keep an eye on her?” she asks Manousos and doesn't wait for a reply. She stalks off, desperately trying to ignore the guilt and hurt that threatens to take over.

Logically, she had known that the real Zosia would be different than the one she had gotten to know. But seeing it happen right in front of her own eyes is something different entirely.

She moves through the room and into the next one. It turns out the bunker is fucking massive. It seems like they only have easy access to the first few rooms, the other ones are mechanically locked in a system they have not started dismantling yet.

While Carol looks around and takes mental inventory of the place, she hears a muted conversation from the next room. She tries to not feel jealous. She fails.

She hears Zosia cry.

A lot.

Carol does her best to ignore the sounds and focuses on scouting the bunker instead.

There is a kitchen and a well stocked pantry, a bathroom with working water (only cold water though) and they even managed to turn on the power generators and therefore have access to some limited light. It sucks and yet it could be worse.

Manousos had thought of everything; clothes, books and paper for research, medicine; he even took the fucking vitamin D she had stored in her bathroom.

So she sets up camp and hopes that Zosia will stop crying soon so they can talk.

She doesn’t.

She barely eats, barely talks, barely moves. Whenever Carol comes close to her, Zosia’s condition gets worse.

So Carol has been burying herself in the books, trying to avoid Zosia as best as she can.

At one point the emotional breakdowns turn into tiredness. Zosia sleeps through days two and three, seemingly exhausted by whatever is going on in her brain now that it is tied to just one individual again.

Manousos has tried to ask her some questions but without any success. He’s been calm and patient, but no luck.

On day four he comes into the conference room that Carol has taken over and claimed as their office. She moves to make space for Manousos, but the sound of footsteps behind him make her freeze in her movements.

Zosia appears behind him. She looks exhausted and tired and nothing like the radiant and charming woman she had gotten to know.

“We can talk now,” Zosia says curtly.

Carol scrambles to stand up and then awkwardly sits down again when she realizes there’s no reason to be standing.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Like shit.” Zosia’s accent is thick and her voice deeper than she remembers.

“I’m sorry–,” Carol starts, not sure where to start. There’s probably a million things she needs to apologize for. And a million more she hasn’t even thought about yet.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Zosia interrupts her with a scowl.

“I– What?”

“You do this to me,” Zosia gestures at herself. “And then you stop caring?”

Carol’s eyes dart to Manousos who has politely taken a step back, observing the scene.

“I thought you wanted me to leave you alone,” Carol sputters.

“Yes,” Zosia nods.

“Then what–”

Zosia groans and turns to Manousos. “Let’s get this over with.”

“What exactly?” Carol asks, dumbfounded.

“You want to ask me questions, yes?” Zosia says. “Like I’m some science experiment.”

“We want to help you,” Manousos replies and guides Zosia to sit down at the table.

“You suck at it then.”

Carol awkwardly clears her throat and faces Zosia.

Zosia stares at her with a blank face.

“So you’re not… them anymore?” Carol starts.

“Obviously not.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I feel many things.”

“O-kay,” Carol says, uncertainty evident in her voice.

“I was happy and at peace and now I am locked away in darkness,” Zosia spits out. “How would you feel?”

Carol swallows glances at Manousos for help. He sits up straight and nods.

“How does it work? Do you still have the memories?”

“Some, but not many. It’s hard to tell what’s mine and what isn’t,” she replies and throws a glance at Carol.

“Do you miss it?” Carol cannot help but asking.

“I’m imprisoned in an underground bunker,” Zosia replies with a glare. "Anybody would miss being outside." She sighs.

“I am slowly getting used to being… fully myself and just that. But I also feel empty.”

“You don’t have to be,” Carol says. “Imprisoned, I mean. You should take a few days to get settled, but if you want to go back, you can.”

Manousos looks at her like she’s crazy. Zosia lets out a dark chuckle.

“Now you are giving me a choice?”

Carol looks down on her hands.

“I’m not gonna force you to do anything.”

“You almost killed us– me,” Zosia furiously corrects herself. “Twice.”

“That was–”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Carol surrenders.

“So you remember everything from… before.”

Zosia nods and looks at her as if she’s daring Carol to dive deeper into what exactly she remembers.

“Does it feel like an out of body experience or does it feel like you yourself did it or–”

“There are no individual experiences or choices. Everything that happened we agreed on.”

“So did you all take a vote before everything you did or–”

Zosia lets out a frustrated groan.

“That’s now how it works. There’s no votes. We just know. It’s a collective consensus without any discussion.”

“Do you miss it?” Manousos wonders.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you remember now?” he presses on.

“Bits and pieces. My own life but also the experiences and knowledge I– this body– used.”

She sighs and looks up, squinting her eyes as if trying to remember a distant memory.

“I know how to fly a plane and operate an excavator. I know how to play cricket and I can speak at least three languages.”

“Do you know if they already came up with something to make us join them?” Carol butts in, afraid of what (or who) else Zosia’s vast knowledge might include.

“It’s blurry,” Zosia replies. Carol doesn't know if she can believe her, now that Zosia could technically lie straight to their faces if she wanted to.

“Do you remember how to reverse it?”

“You seem to have figured it out,” Zosia shrugs.

“On a small scale. We can’t lock everyone in a bunker.”

“Do you believe this,” Zosia gestures to their surroundings, “is better than the alternative? Better than world peace?”

“It’s world delusion,” Carol snaps. “None of you had a choice. There is no individuality anymore, no room for unique experiences.”

“Would you still hate it as much if there was no danger of them turning you?”

The question lands like a punch to her gut.

“I’ve always said it’s wrong,” Carol mumbles.

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

“After I was left alone for forty days,” Carol snaps back. “After I thought there was no other option, that I would be all alone forever. After you made me believe that–”

She stops herself.

Zosia raises an eyebrow. “We never lied to you. I never lied to you.”

“And I didn't either,” Carol says. “But you chose to leave out the truth so you could turn me into something you know I don’t want to be.”

“So what did you do to me then?”

There’s a moment where they just stare at each other, pain mirrored on both of their faces. When Carol opens her mouth to reply, Manousos shakes his head.

“This doesn’t help,” he states. His tone and body language give the impression of separating two toddlers who got into a fight. “You need to rest,” he nods to Zosia and then to Carol. “And we need to figure out what’s next.”

“Bullshit,” says Zosia. “I won’t just sit around.”

“Do you want to help us?” Carol asks in disbelief.

“I want to leave this bunker,” Zosia corrects.

Carol takes that as a yes.

The following days are still tense. Zosia has a good understanding of the scientific aspects of the task at hand but keeps bringing up moral standpoints in favor of the hivemind Manousos would rather ignore.

Everytime Carol tries to strike up a conversation with her, she gets shot down.

It feels like walking on eggshells and Carol wishes Zosia would just scream at her so she knows what’s going on in the woman’s mind.

But no such luck. Instead she is doomed to surface level smalltalk about radio waves and electromagnetic fields and some blank facial expressions.

There are some microaggressions that Carol finds more amusing than anything else. Zosia always gives her the plate she knows she will like the least, the ones containing the most beans or spinach. Whenever she makes tea, she chooses the flavour Carol dislikes the most.

To be hated is to be known, Carol thinks to herself with a chuckle.

“What are you laughing about?” Zosia asks, accent sharp as ever.

“I know what you’re doing,” Carol shrugs. “Always giving me the shittiest food and the tea I hate,”

“Well,” Zosia drawls. “I have to do something with all the knowledge I have about Carol fucking Sturka.”

Her name sounds different now, coming from the real Zosia’s tongue. Harder and sharper. Carol has to admit it has a nice ring to it.

“So what, you know everything about me?” Carol challenges.

“I know what nearly every single person in your life thought of you; every detail they noticed, I know too. I’ve learned about you through the eyes of your parents, your teachers, your fans, your ex-girlfriends, your wife.”

Carol flinches.

“Don’t–”

“Don’t bring Helen into this?” Zosia chuckles darkly. “You didn’t mind when I fucked you.”

A punch in the face would’ve hurt less. She feels dizzy, lungs burning all of a sudden. Shame rises in her chest.

So she does what she’s best at. She runs.

It’s not like she has any logical arguments against what Zosia said. Deep down she had known that sleeping with Zosia felt familiar in a way she tried her best to ignore. But hearing it out loud, having it confirmed by Zosia? She feels like a traitor. Not only because she let it happen, but because she enjoyed it.

She’s moving aimlessly, moving from one room to the next until she finds herself in the pantry.

She closes the door and sits in the dark. Her heart is hammering against her chest as she tries to catch even breaths.

A sob escapes her lips and she realises she doesn’t know how to deal with any of this. Usually she would already have a drink in her hand, but the only alcohol Manousos brought is the medical kind. Though that would probably also do the job, she figures.

She sits in silence except for a few sobs and whimpers here and there. She lets the endless amounts of shame and guilt wash over her until there is nothing left but emptiness. Then she sits and waits, hollow and unmoving.

She’s not sure how much time she spent in this tiny room, but eventually she gets her body moving again. Just as she is planning how to make the most nonchalant return to the others, she hears a sound from the outside.

She barely has time to wipe her eyes with her sleeve before Manousos yanks open the door.

“Carol.” He seems rather unimpressed by her current situation. “Dinner,” he informs her.

“Not hungry,” Carol mutters.

Manousos kneels down and puts his flashlight on the ground so the light illuminates the ceiling.

“Do you want to talk?”

She cannot control her face quickly enough to cover her surprise at the suggestion. They usually don’t do the talking thing unless it’s about electromagnetic fields and radiowaves.

But it seems that being locked up in a bunker together might blur some boundaries after all.

“I miss her,” Carol whispers. “Helen. Mi esposa.”

Manousos nods. There’s an awkward silence and Carol makes a mental note to never try the opening-up-about-her-feelings thing again.

“And her?” Manousos asks. “Zosia, before–,” he explains with slight distaste evident in his voice. “Do you miss that too?”

Carol chuckles. She cannot believe she’s that transparent.

“I guess,” she half-admits. “Fucking embarrassing, right?”

Manousos moves his head in a way that doesn't really indicate agreement or disagreement.

“I think she misses them too,” he says softly. “And I think she does not like that either.”

Carol nods. She cannot even begin to comprehend how Zosia must be feeling right now. She doesn't understand how being part of a hivemind feels, much less what being severed from it does to a person. If Zosia and her ever get to have a normal conversation, she’d like to ask her.

Manousos gives her a pat on the shoulder and walks off. Eventually she eats some disgusting canned food she finds on one of the shelves and tiptoes back to where they set up their sleeping bags.

Her dreams are strange as ever. There’s Helen and her editor, picking apart a draft she wrote. They rip it to metaphorical shreds with their words, but look at her with a serene and happy smile. “We do this because we love you, Carol,” they say in unison and flash their teeth.

She wakes to a familiar smell. There’s a light somewhere in the opposite corner of the room and she squints her eyes, disoriented and confused. She can make out a silhouette hovering above her. Her body goes alert and she scrambles to sit up when a sudden sharp pain hits her throat.

“What the fuck,” Carol screams, hand reaching to cover the pain. Something metallic falls to the ground.

“Shit,” she hears a familiar voice, followed by steps running across the room.

“Zosia?”

“Stay still,” the woman commands, running back towards her with a flashlight in hand. “Manousos,” she shouts and is met with a sleepy groan. “I need the first aid kid. And alcohol.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Carol rasps, throat still burning.

“Lay down,” Zosia repeats impatiently and suddenly she’s back at Carol’s side. Her hand is being pushed aside and Zosia replaces it with some kind of fabric she presses against her skin.

“Did you fucking cut me?” Carol finally pieces together.

“You weren't supposed to move.”

“So you could kill me in my sleep?” Carol is feeling light-headed.

“No, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Here,” Manousos kneels down next to them and swiftly opens the first aid kit.

“Wait, am I going to die?”

“Just a scratch,” Zosia informs her but when they pour the alcohol, it stings like a motherfucker. Manousos and Zosia work in tandem and for once, Carol is too stunned to speak. There’s an endless series of what the fuck’s playing in and endless loop in her head.

When they’re all done, Manousos wordlessly leaves the room.

“What the fuck,” Carol says very eloquently.

“You weren't supposed to move,” Zosia repeats defensively.

“But I did,” Carol establishes. “So what were you doing?”

“I didn't want to hurt you,” Zosia begrudgingly admits.

“Look, I know you hate me and I can’t blame you,” Carol slowly sits up and moves away, creating some distance between Zosia and her. “But slitting my throat might be a bit extreme.”

“That’s not what I was doing,” Zosia groans.

“Then what–,” Carol starts but she’s interrupted.

“I don’t know what to think of you,” Zosia bursts out. “I can’t tell what I think and what they think– thought. I feel like I’m crazy.”

Her voice trembles and she visibly has to calm herself down before she continues talking.

“Before, we would have done anything to keep you safe and happy. Hurting you would have gone against our very nature,” she explains. “I needed to prove to myself that I’m not them anymore. I needed to see how it would feel to do something like this. How I would feel about you.”

Carol tries her best to process the information. Her brain comes up empty. “So you did want to kill me?”

“I wouldn’t have done anything,” Zosia insists. “I just needed to find out how the possibility would make me feel.”

Carol runs her hand through her hair. “And, how do you feel?”

“Confused.”

Carol waits for Zosia to elaborate but there’s only silence. She lifts her eyes to meet Zosia’s gaze, who is staring at her in an unreadable expression.

“I don’t know how I feel about you,” Zosia confesses. “Everything that happened, I was part of. But it wasn't just me. It was bigger than just me. And now there is so much I know about you. But I don’t know what I think of you, now that I’m not them anymore. Now that I don’t want to make you happy anmore. I don't know if I like you or hate you because I don't know which feelings are just mine.”

Zosia exhales and Carol nods slowly. “That makes sense,” she replies because really, what else is there to say?

They sit in silence for a few minutes.

“I don’t think I want to kill you,” Zosia mumbles eventually.

“Well,” Carol shrugs and twists her face into a tentative smile. “That’s a start?”

Zosia rolls her eyes.

“The Zosia before all that,” Carol meets Zosia’s eyes. “Would she have wanted to join?”

Zosia is silent for a few seconds. Carol can see her fingers rubbing at her wrist, circling her pulse point. “Probably not,” Zosia admits.

“And do you still feel like you’re her?” Carol asks.

“I have never not been her.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I feel the same but also vastly different,” Zosia tries to explain. “I don’t think you’ll understand.”

“Okay,” Carol nods. “Fair enough.”

She awkwardly clears her throat. “For what it’s worth, you can always ask me things,” she offers. “To find out whether you hate me or not.”

Zosia mumbles something under her breath. Before Carol can say anything else, Manousos comes back with a thermos flask full of tea. The cut on her throat hurts as she swallows.

She finds she likes the sensation.

Turns out Zosia almost killing her was the missing component to lead them to a tentative peace.

It’s still weird. Probably one of the weirdest situations she has ever been in.

Carol tries her best to suppress any memories of what she and Zosia did before. She lowers her eyes when she walks by and Zosia happens to be changing her clothes or doing her hair. She makes an effort to not stare at Zosia’s lips for too long when she’s talking. She tries to not think about the violent jump from constantly having mindblowing sex with a woman who basically looks like a supermodel straight (ha) from her dreams to having awkward small talk and not meeting her eyes.

She channels all of her self hatred and horniness into working on their un-hiving project and eventually Manousos figures out how to build a radio jammer. They agree it will probably cut global contact for any hive person in reach but it will most likely not turn them. When Zosia asks how exactly the whole un-hiving thing worked on her, Carol’s face heats up as she stutters about mango ice cream and Zosia’s childhood in Gdańsk.

“Did you have any contact with other people?” Zosia wants to know. “So we could try it again.”

Carol is embarrassed to say no. She had only cared about Zosia, even though every other person was Zosia as well. Or Zosia was every other person? Whatever. They hadn’t looked like Zosia, which is still embarrassing to admit.

Zosia looks at her with an expression that’s somehow exasperated, angry and slightly amused all at once.

“What about the other immune people?” Manousos suggests.

“We kind of started off on the wrong foot,” Carol begrudgingly admits.

“They hate her,” Zosia chimes in. That she seems to remember.

Carol glares at her. “I thought you guys didn’t hate.”

“We didn’t but the other immune people did and so can I.” And then she fucking smirks at Carol. The banter feels too familiar and yet entirely new; more real now that Zosia is her own person.

“So, no chance with the others?” Manousos presses.

“Some of them still have their family. Their family members act like they used to, one of them is still with her son and husband,” Carol explains. “Maybe there’s a chance.”

“How can we reach them?” Manousos asks.

“Technically the hive could–,”

“No.”

“We could just tell her how to fix it, if she wants to do it, she can do it herself,” Carol suggests.

Manousos shakes his head. “Then the hive finds out how we did it.”

“If they did, do you think they would work on a counter measure?” Carol asks, directing her question to Zosia.

“I don’t know if they can,” the brunette answers. “It’s not like they can change how our bodies work.”

“Can’t they?” Carol mumbles, thinking about the whole world collectively sipping human juice.

Zosia grimaces, evidently thinking of the same. “Not when it comes to the laws of nature and physics, no one can change these.”

“Good to know that these are off limits but ethics are thrown out the window,” Carol chuckles bitterly.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Zosia hisses.

“Okay,” Manousos jumps in, raising his hands slowly. “Maybe we can find a way to contact that person you’ve mentioned, Carol. What's her name?”

“Laxmi,” Carol replies, eyes not leaving Zosia’s. “I think she’s from India.”

Manousos nods. “We’ll find a way,” he says mostly to himself.

Carol sighs and stands up. “Great,” she says in a faux cheerful tone. “But maybe we can find out how to leave this fucking underground prison first.”

“So,” Carol asks Zosia a few days later when Manousos is looking for parts to build a machine that blocks radio signals. It’s a long shot but still their smartest idea so far. “What were you doing before all this?”

Zosia raises an eyebrow. “Now you care?”

Low blow, but fair enough. “Yes,” Carol says, refusing to take the bait. “I do.”

“I was in Morocco,” Zosia answered.

“What were you doing there?”

“Traveling,” Zosia shrugs. “I wanted to travel and I started there.”

“Alone?” Carol asks before she can stop herself.

“Yes.”

“Oh, okay. That’s–”

“My partner died,” Zosia interrupts her. “I saved up some money and then I left.”

“I’m sorry,” Carol says and finds that she means it. No matter what happened in the last months, the loss of Helen still cuts deep. There’s other things to focus on when the world and everything she had known before is collapsing, but the pain is always there, simmering beneath the surface.

“A part of me is glad Helen died,” she hears herself confess. “I don’t think I would’ve done well with her being brainwashed and all… different.”

Zosia shrugs. “She could’ve acted like before.”

“Maybe,” Carol half-agrees. “I’m glad she stayed herself for all of her life, though.”

“I’m glad, too,” Zosia muses. “Otherwise I would’ve lost her twice.”

Carol has no time to process the information about a her in Zosia’s past life as she keeps on talking.

“You know, we were all one and it was beautiful but there was no unique love. I forgot how it feels to love someone deeply, to be truly affected by losing them. That’s how you felt with Helen, didn’t you?”

Carol nods, blinking back tears. “I still remember holding her. I don’t think I’ll ever forget. But I’m glad I didn’t have to lose her to a global hivemind. To have her there with me
physically but not on a human level.”

“And instead of Helen, you got me,” Zosia points out, her face unreadable.

“I always wondered how that worked. Was it like an internal gender-bent Raban lookalike contest?”

Zosia shakes her head. “We just… knew.”

“I guess you did.” Carol sighs, shifting uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually. “All of this,” gesturing between her and Zosia, “must be really fucking weird for you right now.”

Zosia shrugs. “Yes but also no. I was part of it.”

“Yeah, you and like seven billion other people.”

“Do you miss her?” Zosia suddenly asks. “Who I was before? When I was still them.”

Carol exhales. Her first impulse is to run but she figures she owes it to Zosia to have this conversation.

“I miss how I felt. I liked what you made me believe, what I made myself believe. Even though a part of me knew it wasn’t sustainable,” she explains. “But what I missed most, what I was trying to achieve, was human connection. And you feel more human now.”

Zosia nods.

Carol forces herself to keep talking. “I’m sorry, though. For what we did, for what I did. I know it’s weird now and I don’t even really know how you feel about it but I can imagine it’s not great and I–”

“Carol,” Zosia interrupts her. She tentatively moves forward and covers Carol’s trembling hand with her own.

“I’m still not sure how I feel about it. But back then, we were happy making you happy. It wasn’t like I was forced to do anything.”

“That's what you think you feel,” Carol shakes her head and pushes Zosia’s hand away. “Because you were brainwashed. But if it had been only you–”

“But it wasn’t. I can only tell you how it felt to me then and how it feels to me now,” Zosia raises her voice. “All of this is confusing enough without you telling me what I should feel.”

“Well, the basic human response would be disgust.”

“Why do you want me to hate you so badly?” Zosia hisses.

“Why don’t you?” Carol shoots back.

“You act like you want to understand me, but you can’t even bring yourself to consider any position that doesn’t align with your views and expectations.”

Zosia moves to sit up, visibly upset.

“Wait,” Carol’s hand flies to grab Zosia’s wrist.

Zosia rips free from the grip and Carol drops her hand like it’s been burned.

“Please,” Carol pleads. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Zosia makes no move to sit back down, but at least she’s not moving away either.

“All of this is fucked up and it would be easier to grasp if there were clear lines,” Carol swallows back, her throat contracting painfully. “I would understand if you hated me. But I don’t think you do and it’s confusing but I also realize that it must be so much harder on you than it is on me so I’m sorry that I’m making it even more difficult for you.”

“Wow,” Zosia snaps. “A rare apology from Carol Sturka.”

“I mean it,” Carol says stubbornly. “But you don’t have to accept it.”

“Guess those three sessions of couple’s therapy in 2022 really paid off, huh?”

The blow lands as intended and Carol flinches. “It’s kind of unfair you know every fucking thing about me," she mumbles.

“It certainly doesn’t make talking to you any easier” Zosia huffs. She moves from one leg to the other, towering over Carol.

“The joy of human connection,” Carol deadpans.

There’s a pause and then, against all odds, Zosia chuckles. Warmth spreads through Carol’s chest.

Sometimes she feels like Zosia is watching her like a scientist is watching a lab rat.

It reminds her of the Zosia from before, back when she (they) anticipated Carol’s wants and needs.

Now it feels like Zosia is figuring out what Carol wants and then she does the complete opposite. She’s stubborn in a way that’s endearing because there’s not much she can do to truly piss off Carol while they are living in a fucking bunker. Getting the bar of soap that smells like citrus or being handed the one pen that barely works count as mild annoyances at most.

They haven’t seen sunlight in about two weeks and Carol thinks she might slowly be going insane. They are close to finishing the machine that is supposed to block out radio waves but they are not sure if it’s safe to go outside. If the hive has managed to find a way to make them join them, they don’t want to leave the bunker without any backup plan. And they are not sure what would happen to Zosia.

They go over the issue at hand a few times, drawing up possible ideas and going through different scenarios but they always come up empty.

“We have to risk it,” Manousos decides one day.

“So what?” Carol asks, her patience thin already. “You wanna run outside and hope they haven’t figured out how to turn us yet?”

“It’s our only chance.”

“It’s suicide.”

Manousos shrugs. “I’ll go and you stay here,” he says with conviction, like it's the only option. “I’ll talk to the other immune people. Maybe we can un-hive more of them.”

“And if you don’t come back?”

“Then you stay inside,” Manousos replies dryly.

Carol shakes her head and throws her hands in the air. “This is estúpido.”

Manousos shrugs, clearly unimpressed, and leaves; probably to start packing for his little suicide mission.

“You worry about him.” Zosia had been silent up until now, not participating in the discourse.

“Well I don’t want him to join the global hivemind he very clearly does not want to be a part of.”

“So why don’t you go?”

“Because I also do not want to join said global hivemind,” Carol replies curtly.

“So you’ll let him leave?”

“It’s his choice. His life is his own, right?” she spits, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. She moves to get up. “If he wants to do this, he can.”

She doesn't dare say out loud that she’s worried he might never make it back. That she feels like a coward for not joining him. That she would rather stay here with Zosia than go out and try to save the world.

Manousos leaves a few hours later, backpack strapped to his back and machete in hand. The selfmade radio jammer is clipped onto his backpack. He says he will be back within a day and if he doesn't return, it’s probably not safe outside. Carol tries to not think about that possibility.

Carol and Manousos part with an awkward wave while Zosia is locked away as far as possible from the entrance. They still don’t know if she would re-join the hive once a radio signal reaches her.

Manousos makes it out safely, that much Carol is able to tell her later.

And so they wait.

They sit on their makeshift beds, nothing else to do now that Manousos is executing the only plan they were able to come up with.

“God I can’t do this,” Carol groans. She feels uneasy, the air in the bunker seems even more stuff than usual and she’s suddenly sweating.

She moves to sit up, awkwardly takes off her hoodie and tries to fix her messy hair after.

She turns to find Zosia’s gaze glued to her arms. Her eyes shift, slowly moving up towards her throat, which still has a faint red line on it and lands on her lips.

Zosia groans.

“I hate that we– they were right,” she says, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Right about what?” Carol asks.

“To choose me. For you.”

Carol’s heart jumps.

“The choice was based on looks, but also on physical reaction. Potential attraction,” Zosia explains, absentmindedly rubbing her pulse point with her other hand. “I’ve been trying to figure out if that still applies.”

“And?” Carol croaks and awkwardly clears her throat. “Um, does it? Still apply, I mean.”

Zosia rolls her eyes. “I’m quite sure I’m not attracted to your charming character, so it has to be physical.” And because that’s not enough, she goes on. “But that’s only fair, since the only reason you wanted to fuck me is because I look like a real life version of your dream lesbian pirate character.”

Well, it’s not like Carol can deny that.

“So?” she asks. “Where does this leave us?”

“I want to try something,” Zosia decides, looking determined all of a sudden.

She scoots closer to Carol, leaning in so they are only inches apart.

Carol’s breath hitches, the familiar smell of something that is uniquely Zosia flooding her senses. She feels her pulse quickening and her cheeks heating up.

“Okay?” she manages to press out and she hates how it almost sounds like a whimper.

“We are going to have sex,” Zosia says it like it’s a matter of fact. And just like that, Carol’s brain is short-circuiting.

“I’m gonna be in control,” the other woman goes on. “All the time.”

Carol nods, dumbfounded. A strong hand pushes her down until she lands on her back.

“Are you sure?” she finally manages to ask.

“Yes,” Zosia says, crawling on top of her. “Now shut up.”

“Okay.” Carol does as she’s told. Who is she to question the choices of a beautiful woman on top of her?

Zosia’s hand is sneaking underneath her tank top and Carol gasps at the skin on skin contact.

“Take this off,” Zosia orders and leans back to give Carol space.

She awkwardly pulls the tanktop over her head, leaving her in a plain white bra.

Zosia doesn’t waste a single second and immediately surges forward to cup her breasts through the fabric. Carol barely manages to hold back a moan. Her hands make their way to Zosia’s hips, holding onto the woman on top of her.

“You don’t get to touch me,” Zosia hisses.

Carol nods and tries her best to keep her hands on the ground. In the meantime, Zosia tugs at the straps of her bra.

“Should I–,” Carol barely has time to start asking before Zosia yanks her up and reaches around her back to unclasp her bra.

She’s immediately pushed down again and Zosia lowers her head. Her nails scratch on Carol’s stomach, probably leaving red marks below her ribcage.

Warm lips close around Carol’s nipple and she let’s out a sound that’s downright pathetic. Her natural reaction is to arch her back but Zosia keeps her pinned in place.

Zosia shifts and suddenly there’s pressure against her crotch and Carol thinks she might die. She grinds against Zosia’s knee without thinking, an automatic impulse.

Zosia lifts her head, looking her straight in the eye.

“Desperate.” The way she says it sounds way too casual compared to Carol’s ragged breaths.

Carol feels herself growing wetter by the second, still pathetically pressing herself against Zosia’s knee.

Suddenly, the pressure is gone and Zosia rolls to the side. Carol whines at the loss of contact and warmth but Zosia is busy tracing her fingertips downwards, from Carol’s breasts to her waistband.

“Take it off,” she says, no hesitation in her voice. “All of it.”

Carol scrambles to comply, awkwardly unlacing her shoes before taking them off, followed by her socks, pants and boxershorts.

When she looks back up, Zosia is only wearing her underwear.

Carol opens her mouth but any coherent words have left her brain. All she can do is stare hungrily at the woman in front of her, chest heaving and waiting.

“Lay down,” Zosia finally says and Carol doesn’t waste a second, immediately lowering herself onto her back again.

Zosia climbs on top of her, her clothed center radiating warmth against Carol’s stomach. A hand drops to her core and Zosia starts gently massaging her own clit through the fabric of her panties.

Carol’s hips buckle involuntarily and she cannot help the needy whine she lets out at the sight; Zosia towering above her, touching herself and Carol getting to witness it.

It kills her to keep her hands to herself. She wants nothing more than to replace Zosia’s hands with her own. But she sticks to Zosia’s rules and balls her hands into fists, forcing herself to keep them there.

Zosia lets out a moan, using two fingers to stimulate her clit. Carol can see a wet spot forming on the outside of the fabric and winces, too needy and turned on to feel embarrassed.

“Please,” she whimpers.

“Are you feeling left out?” Zosia asks mockingly. The sweet smile she puts on reminds Carol so much of the Zosia from before.

That Zosia would have let Carol fuck her immediately. The real Zosia moves up, even closer to Carol’s face and doesn't stop touching herself.

Her hips start moving, slightly touching Carol’s breasts whenever she grinds against her fingers particularly hard.

Carol cannot help the moan that escapes her. She feels utterly embarrassed by how desperate she sounds.

“Please,” she outright begs again.

Zosia’s movements are quicker now, less precise. Her breathing has changed too and every now and then, a stifled moan escapes her lips.

“Again,” Zosia commands, breathless.

“Please,” Carol sobs.

Zosia moans as her hips buckle and Carol can feel her legs shaking next to her. She arches her back, giving Carol a perfect view of her breasts with stiff nipples poking against the fabric of her bra as she comes.

Zosia slows the movements of her fingers as she comes down from her orgasm. She dips her fingers below her waistband and inside her panties and presents the glistening digets to Carol.

“Open.”

Carol immediately opens her mouth.

She wraps her tongue around long, slender fingers and lets out a sinful moan at the taste of the other woman. Zosia presses on her tongue, making Carol gag slightly before she’s able to adjust the pressure and continues to swirl her tongue around Zosia’s fingers.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Zosia explains, voice still breathless, while letting Carol gag on her fingers.

“You’re gonna stick out your tongue and that’s all you get to do.”

Carol feels herself dripping at the thought. She’s so wet she is probably making a mess on her sleeping bag. Not that she cares about that right now.

She nods, unable to verbally reply with Zosia’s fingers still in her mouth.

“Good,” Zosia coos and Carol’s eyes flutter at the tiniest bit of praise.

Suddenly, her mouth is empty. She barely has any time to process the loss of Zosia’s fingers when her clothed center is already lowered to her face.

Obediently, Carol sticks out her flattened tongue and waits.

When Zosia’s core makes contact with Carol’s tongue, they both moan. The smell and taste of Zosia apparently has Carol conditioned to feel a hundred times more turned on than she already was before.

The fabric is absolutely soaked already, allowing for delicious friction as Zosia starts grinding against Carol’s tongue.

Carol moves her head the tiniest bit, allowing for a better angle and Zosia whimpers. Her hands fly to Carol’s head and grip her hair, keeping her in place.

Carol presses her legs together, embarrassingly close to coming without even having been touched.

The way Zosia is using her as nothing more than a toy to get off is making her dizzy. Or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen, her mouth and face buried in Zosia.

Zosia’s breathy moans sound more and more intense, at least from what Carol is able to hear with her head being smothered by Zosia’s legs.

She thinks Zosia might be mumbling something under her breath but she cannot make it out. She wishes she could hear every sound coming from her mouth.

Zosia continues to use her tongue, pleasuring herself at her own pace. She holds onto Carol by her hair and makes her head move along to the rhythm of her grinding.

Carol’s jaw hurts like hell and she feels like she’s about to pass out but there’s no way in hell she’s gonna move away even the slightest bit. She keeps her tongue flat and lets Zosia use it for her own pleasure.

When Zosia comes, she comes hard. Carol feels it; her legs locking even harder onto her head, her grip in Carol's hair tightening. She lets Zosia ride out her orgasm against her tongue until she lifts herself from Carol’s face with shaky legs.

Carol licks up the wetness smeared on her lips as best as she can. Zosia rolls to the side, catching her breath. Carol tracks Zosia’s movement, hungrily taking in every detail there is about the woman.

Zosia props herself up on her arm, facing Carol.

For a second, they just stare at each other. Carol half expects for Zosia to make up her mind, shoot her a disgusted glance and walk away. She wouldn’t blame her.

Instead, she feels a hand sneaking between her legs. Zosia's fingers make their way to her center, drawing feather light patterns on Carol’s inner thighs.

Carol whines and lifts her hips in a desperate attempt to get Zosia’s fingers closer to where she needs them most.

“I haven’t even touched you yet,” Zosia comments as she feels just how wet Carol is. “Pathetic.”

Carol whimpers, a high pitched sound she would be too ashamed to let out under different circumstances.

Then, slowly, Zosia’s hand is moving again. She cups Carol, who in turn grinds against her hand with a needy moan.

“Please,” she begs, again.

A smug smile forms on Zosia’s face as she begins to trace circles on Carol’s clit. The pressure is not nearly enough to make her come, but still Carol trembles at the contact.

“You’re so desperate,” Zosia tells her, voice deep and rough.

Carol nods, unable to reply with words and buckles her hips again. But Zosia immediately lifts her hand and only returns to the light touches once Carol has given up on chasing her fingers.

“Please,” she whimpers. It’s the only word she can get out, her mind consisting of a series of pleas and nothing else; anything to get Zosia to touch her.

Zosia teases her some more, relishing every plea she gets out of Carol until she slowly moves two fingers to Carol’s entrance.

Carol squeezes her eyes shut, a series of please’s and oh god’s tumbling out of her mouth.

Zosia applies the slightest pressure, moving the tiniest bit inside of Carol and stays there.

“You’re pathetic,” she says but her voice is deep and rough and when Carol opens her eyes, Zosia’s pupils are dilated.

Carol moans, again and tries to move her center against Zosia’s fingers but she’s pinned down.

Zosia moves closer to Carol’s face and for a second Carol thinks she might kiss her. But then she understands and opens her mouth obediently, letting Zosia spit into it. The trail of saliva connects them for a moment before Carol swallows it with a whimper.

“You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?” Zosia asks and Carol nods mindlessly, her core clenching around nothing.

“Please,” she begs again and again until finally, Zosia pushes two fingers in without any resistance.

It’s nothing near enough after being teased for so long but Carol doesn't dare ask for more. She happily takes what she’s given, greedily clenching around long, slender fingers.

Every time Zosia pushes in again, the moans that come out of her mouth get louder. She loses all control over her voice and body until the only sensation she can focus on are Zosia’s fingers pumping in and out of her.

When Zosia adds a third finger, Carol screams. Zosia is rough, fucking her hard and reaching her g-spot with every trust.

Carol’s body feels like it’s on fire but there’s something missing and Carol knows that Zosia knows it.

“Please,” she manages to push out between broken moans.

Zosia doesn’t listen and keeps on fucking her harder, making Carol’s toes curl. She tries to sneak her own hand to her clit but Zosia immediately slows her movements so Carol apologises and keeps her hand to herself.

Just when Carol thinks she cannot take it anymore, Zosia presses her thumb on her clit and Carol feels herself coming around Zosia’s fingers immediately. The orgasm takes over her completely, her legs close and lock Zosia’s hand inside of her as her core contracts against her fingers. Zosia’s movements are softer but still intense enough for Carol to ride out her orgasm, her body moving on autopilot and chasing the leftover pleasure.

She releases Zosia’s hand as her legs drop to the side, unable to move.

She manages to open her eyes to see Zosia licking Carol’s wetness off of her fingers and Carol whimpers at the sight. Zosia smirks.

For a few minutes they lay next to each other, only their heavy breaths breaking through the silence.

“So,” Carol eventually breathes out. She lifts a hand to brush aside some pieces of hair that are falling into her face, the texture sticky with sweat.

She wills her lungs to start breathing at a normal pace again.

“Was that helpful?”

Zosia looks at her like she’s utterly stupid.

“No,” she replies bluntly. Raises an eyebrow. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

She gets up and leaves Carol still laying on the ground, mouth agape.

She cannot make herself get up for quite some time. Her legs feel like jelly and she cannot even start comprehending what just happened.

After she finally manages to get up, clean herself up and get dressed, she finds Zosia in their makeshift kitchen, brewing coffee.

“Want some?” she asks and Carol nods.

The hot liquid calms her throat which admittedly feels a bit raspy after that much of whimpering and moaning. Pathetic, she hears Zosia’s voice in her head and needs to take a deep breath.

“Good?” Zosia asks and Carol’s head shoots up, feeling caught until she realizes Zosia means the coffee. She gives her an awkward thumbs up.

“Have you lost your ability to form a coherent sentence?” Zosia mocks.

Carol just smiles sweetly and nods again.

Zosia rolls her eyes but the tiniest smile is tugging at her lips.

Chapter Text

Time passes slowly while they are waiting for Manousos. It seems to bother Carol more than her. To Zosia, time has been a foreign concept ever since she was ripped from the global human consciousness. 

The longer she has been disconnected from the hive, the more it all fades into oblivion. Whenever she tries to recreate an exact timeline of everything that has happened to her, it all blends together. She cannot connect the places, people, and time in a way that makes sense. 

It scared her at first, not knowing what she had been doing, where she did it, or for how long she was doing it. Being cut off from the hive was like waking up from a dream and telling yourself you’ll remember it, only to realize a few hours later all you can come up with is an intangible blur of vague memories and a feeling in your chest you cannot quite place.

She still yearns for the feeling of pure fulfillment, the unconditional peace and happiness she has never felt before and, most likely, will never feel again; at least not as an individual. For all the specific tasks and events she cannot piece together anymore, she has a very strong memory of the contentment that took over her entire being. She yearns to feel like that again, especially when her current reality includes being imprisoned in an underground bunker. 

Instead, she is left alone to deal with her feelings of anger, sadness, and frustration; emotions that had once ceased to exist in her body. 

And because the universe has a funny sense of humour, she has to come to terms with her conflicted feelings while locked in an underground cage with the only person on earth even more miserable than Zosia.

The mood has shifted in the last few hours and it feels like ages ago that Zosia was on top of Carol. In hindsight, fucking her was most likely a huge mistake but Zosia cannot quite bring herself to regret it yet. It had given her control and agency, something that used to be a foreign concept in the last few months; something she didn’t know she had been lacking until she had it back. Getting herself off by using Carol has quieted some of the frustration and resentment simmering in her chest.

Now Zosia is seated beside Carol, who is visibly on edge. 

With the vast amount of detailed knowledge Zosia has about the woman, which, unfortunately, is a huge fucking amount, her number one guess is that she’s spiraling and finding a way to paint their current situation in the worst light possible. God knows this woman cannot let herself be happy and simply appreciate a good fuck. If she didn’t know nearly everything there is to know about Carol, Zosia would take personal offense in it.

Carol moves abruptly. Earlier, they made up a game where they flick bottle caps and whoever gets closest to the empty can of ravioli on the floor wins a point.

It’s deeply boring and they quickly realised both of them are way too competitive for it to lighten either of their moods, but they still kept going to avoid coming up with something else to pass the time. 

Zosia had lost three times in a row earlier, which was already frustrating enough by itself, but then Carol started letting her win, which annoyed her even more. They wordlessly agreed to stop keeping score after that.

Now they’re playing in silence, with no real motivation behind the robotic movements of flicking the bottle caps anymore.

Eventually, they stop and just sit at the table, looking anywhere but at each other.

And because Carol always seems to have the inexplicable urge to make bad situations worse, she opens her mouth.

“If you could go out right now, what would you do?” she asks, breaking the silence.

What a stupid fucking question, considering going out is the one thing Zosia can most definitely not do. Unless she wants to re-join the global hivemind that got her into this situation in the first place. 

Zosia still hasn't fully figured out whether she wants that or not, but apparently, there is a risk of it not working the same way it did before, now that she has been un-joined. She thinks Carol and Manousos made it up to keep her from doing it. Sometimes she yearns to return to them. Sometimes she wishes she would die trying. But in the end, she always ends up staying inside the bunker.

“Find out how to turn it back,” Zosia finally replies to Carol’s question. She’s not sure whether she means the joining or her own unjoining. 

Carol decides for her. “And after?” she wants to know.

“I don’t know, Carol,” Zosia scoffs. “I only just became an individual again. I haven't curated my post saving the world moodboard yet.”

Carol chuckles. “Bummer.”

“What would you do?” Zosia throws the question back at the woman in front of her. 

She knows there is a fancy house waiting for her. It is beautiful, that much she remembers, but there is the whole dead wife being buried in the backyard situation.

Now that she is capable of relating to negative emotions again, she cannot stop herself from feeling sorry for Carol. She remembers digging through volcanic rocks until the hole was six feet deep; a stoic Carol standing next to her, not crying but still stricken with grief. 

It might be Zosia’s favorite thing about Carol, as sick and twisted as it sounds. She can relate to grief, to dealing with it in an unhealthy way. As much as she hates to admit it, she understands Carol, probably now more than she did when she was part of the hivemind.

It is a difficult dichotomy to handle; the understanding of Carol’s fucked up actions because she has been in a similar place and the confusion of having played a part in them. 

“Drink,” Carol replies after a few seconds of silence. “A lot.”

The alcoholism she finds pathetic. If you’re gonna destroy yourself, you should commit to it. Didn’t Carol do heroin back in uni? She decides to tackle this specific topic some other time and chooses another unpleasant one for now. 

“Aren’t you gonna write a sci-fi book about saving the world from an alien virus?”

Carol smiles tiredly. “I think my writing days might be behind me.”

“This is depressing,” Zosia points out. “You just turned your pirate love interest into a woman and now you want to stop?”

The fact that Carol was able to battle her internalized homophobia in the face of humanity ending is somewhat amusing to Zosia. She herself has her own shit to deal with; memories from years ago that still cut deep but had been irrelevant when she was part of the hivemind. 

Instead, she chooses to focus on the thing that brings her joy, which is Carol rewriting her love interest into a hot pirate woman after spending one single night with her. As sick and twisted as the whole entirety of the situation is, which Zosia still has not even come close to processing, this single fact does wonders for her ego. Though technically it wasn’t her, but a global hivemind. Just this once, Zosia is willing to ignore the semantics. 

Carol shrugs. She seems to be thinking about something else, eyes unfocused and glassy. 

“Why do you even want to save the world if you hate it so much?” Zosia blurts out.

Perhaps that should’ve been an inside thought.

Rationally, given all of the information her mind still has stored on Carol, she should know exactly why. She has this weird kind of intrinsic moral code she follows and yet she cannot give herself grace or let herself be happy. 

The constant moping and being depressed is getting on Zosia’s nerves. It is she who should be mad, who should be giving curt answers and half-truths, not Carol. After everything, Carol owes her more than that.

Carol doesn’t reply. Instead, she starts picking up the bottle caps, keeping her hands busy. When she has them all laid out in front of her, she sorts them by color.

Zosia is sure she must be feeling her expectant gaze, but Carol doesn’t look up. It makes her blood boil. Carol doesn’t get to act like the bigger person now, not when she failed to be that when Zosia, the individual, would have needed her to be.  

“What’s your problem?” Zosia groans. She almost feels giddy firing off the next sentence, knowing how it will affect Carol. “I thought having sex helps you release happy hormones or some shit like that.”

As expected, Carol’s cheeks turn red. Zosia can barely hide the satisfied smirk. At least she still has the upper hand here. 

“I’m not sure having sex one time evens out the lack of sunlight, being trapped in a dark space, general hopelessness,-” Carol starts listing, her voice taking on a defensive tone before she trails off.

Zosia’s smile falls.

She knows Carol is deflecting, but it stings nevertheless. Zosia isn’t even sure she wants Carol, and yet she has somehow ended up in an unspoken competition, not only with Carol’s dead wife but also with her mindlessly happy and totally agreeable shell of a body. And right now, it feels like she is losing against both competitors. 

She shrugs and gets up, leaving a confused Carol behind. 

It doesn’t matter. The only reason she is with Carol right now is because they don’t have any other choice. And yet, the thought of Carol missing the hivemind; Carol preferring her body controlled by millions of people instead of Zosia herself, makes her want to throw up. 

She remembers the unanimous choice to kiss Carol; to sleep with Carol. She was present for it, knows why it happened and how happy it had made them to make Carol feel good. But now that she has her own conflicted emotions back, now that every action requires an individual choice, she realizes how none of this would have happened if it had been her alone making these choices for her body. And yet she can understand why they collectively decided on them. 

A headache spreads through her skull and Zosia finds herself sitting on her sleeping back, picking apart the wool in one of Carol’s sweaters and unraveling the thread.

She is focused on the task at hand, fingers moving up and down, when she hears Carol enter the room. 

She sits down next to her, keeping a safe distance, and stares at the smooth movements of Zosia’s hand.

“Dzierganie palcami,” Zosia says without looking up. “It means knitting with your fingers. My grandma taught me. I used to do it all the time as a kid.”

“What did you knit?”

Zosia chuckles. “The ugliest scarves you can imagine.” She shakes her head and fondly stares at the fabric in her hands. Warmth floods through her chest at the memory. “I made everyone wear them, even though they are very loose and don’t keep you warm. I was so mad at everyone who wore a scarf that wasn’t one of mine. Half of my family got sick that winter.”

Zosia finally looks up and finds Carol looking at her intently, a small smile playing on her lips. 

“Are you still close with them?” she asks. “Your family?”

Zosia shrugs and hopes Carol takes the hint to stop digging. 

“Come on,” she probes. “You know everything about me. It’s only fair if you tell me something, too. Something real.”

“None of it is fair,” Zosia bites back. “I didn’t ask to know every single thing about you.”

“I know,” Carol says, and Zosia is surprised at how gentle she sounds. “And yet, you do.”

Zosia sighs. She focuses on the wool in her hands.

“My father left us when I was eleven. He and I were close before, closer than my mother and I. But apparently, he had someone else and when she got pregnant, he decided he wanted to have a new, better family. Or maybe it was because his new girlfriend was pretty well off and we didn’t have much. Anyways,” Zosia clears her throat. “My grandma also stopped talking to us and focused on her son’s new family. So it was just my mother and me. Which wasn’t that nice.”

“Fuck,” Carol says eloquently. “That sucks.”

“I loved him very much,” Zosia mumbles. “I hated my mother because I thought he only left me because he wanted to leave her. It took me some time to realize that she is to blame for a lot of things in my life, but not for this one.”

Carol nods solemnly. 

“Did you ever go to therapy?”

Zosia cannot help but laugh. 

“What?” Carol raises her hands defensively, a smirk playing on her lips. “The whole blame thing was very well said. Very self-reflective.”

“I know for a fact that you should not be talking about the pros and cons of therapy.”

Carol’s smile falters. “I–,” she stammers.

“I was teasing you,” Zosia admits. “Though you probably should have gone at some point. But now,” Zosia lets out a dry laugh. “Who gives a fuck?”

“Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t keep fucking things up,” Carol mumbles. “With you, specifically, I mean.”

Zosia rolls her eyes. The way Carol looks at her makes her stomach churn, like a kicked puppy who desperately wants to be petted but will bolt the second you reach out.

“You fucked things up long before I was able to judge you for it,” Zosia says.

“Geez,” Carol winces. “That makes it even worse.”

“Do you want me to lie?” 

“You never did that before,” Carol muses. “Don’t start now. I can take it,” she adds, her eyes locking in on Zosia’s. “The truth, I mean.”

“I’m sure you can take it,” Zosia replies in a low voice, deliberately letting the innuendo linger.

And Carol, as always, is so easy. Zosia notices exactly how her leg twitches and when she swallows, breaking off their eye contact in the process.

She makes a mental note for later.

“Then you owe me the same honesty,” she states, her voice taking on a serious tone. “I don’t care if it makes you uncomfortable or sad anymore.”

Carol nods. “That’s fair,” she agrees.

“Do you miss them?” Zosia finally asks the question that has been burning in the back of her mind. 

“The hive?” Carol asks, probably to stall a little. Zosia nods; she has no patience for stalling.

“We risked everything to remove you from them.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“That’s how they always answered questions,” Carol shoots back.

Zosia huffs. “I’m not them anymore.”

“Okay,” Carol concedes and takes a deep breath.

She looks Zosia in the eye, uncertainty simmering beneath the blue of her eyes.

“I liked how they made me feel. I told you that already. But it wasn’t real.”

“But do you miss it?” Zosia presses. “Escaping reality with them.”

“I guess.” Carol seems frustrated now. “But I also don’t. It was a delusion running on borrowed time.”

“A delusion you would have happily stayed in if they hadn’t threatened you,” Zosia states, not even phrasing it as a question. 

Carol shrugs, looking down and not meeting Zosia’s eyes. “I don’t regret it,” she mumbles. “Saving you from them.”

“I don’t feel saved,” Zosia spits. “I am trapped in this shithole, with someone who yearns for a version of me that doesn’t exist.”

“I don’t yearn,” Carol spits. “Not for them.”

“But you miss it,” Zosia pushes. “Your hot hivemind girlfriend who did anything without discussion or arguments. Someone pliant and available, ready to cater to your wishes.”

“Zosia,” Carol interrupts her in a shaky voice. “Stop,” she begs.

“Is the truth too hard to handle?” Zosia taunts. “You were begging for me to be honest earlier.”

“It’s not the truth,” Carol presses out. “It’s what you want to be true so you can keep hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Zosia raises her voice. Her hands shake from the frustration that’s simmering inside of her. “I wish I did, but I don’t. And now you want them when you look at me and I–”

Suddenly, Carol is on her feet.

“I can’t do this,” she rasps, voice shaky. 

Zosia rushes to stand up as well and reaches out, her hand finding Carol’s wrist.

“Don’t you dare run away from this,” she hisses but Carol shakes off her grip immediately and takes a few steps back, putting distance between them. 

“I’m not running,” Carol says, tumbling over her own words. “But this isn’t helping either of us.”

She says it with her full chest, self-righteousness bleeding through every word. It makes Zosia feel sick. Carol doesn’t have the moral superiority to behave like that, not when it’s Zosia she’s talking to. 

So Zosia moves before she can question what she is about to do. She strides to a corner in the room and bends down before rushing to the door and blocking the exit.

The handle of the knife feels cool against her skin. It reminds her of that night when she held it in her hand until it was warm; only then did she bring herself to kneel over Carol and press it against her throat.

Today, she is quicker.

Three steps forward and she is towering over Carol. She slowly lifts the knife.

“Don’t you dare leave right now,” Zosia hisses.

Carol stares at the knife in her hand and back to Zosia, eyes moving between the two as if she is struggling to piece them together. 

Then, Carol laughs.

Zosia looks down in bewilderment. She takes another step forward and brings the knife closer to Carol’s throat.

The laugh morphs into the faintest smirk. Carol’s eyes darken and Zosia notices that when she swallows, her throat nearly touches the blade.

There’s a moment of silence where they just stare into each other’s eyes. Carol’s pupils are dilated; her heavy breathing is the only sound filling the room.

Now it’s Zosia’s turn to laugh. What a freak.

“You’re seriously turned on by this?” Zosia mocks in a low whisper.

For a moment, it looks like Carol is searching for something in her eyes. She seems to find it; Zosia can see the exact moment she decides to speak her mind.

“This is why I don’t miss them,” Carol confesses in between shaky breaths. “Because they did everything I asked of them. But sometimes I don’t know how to ask for what I want.”

“You want me to threaten you with a knife?” Zosia asks in disbelief.

“If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it already,” Carol shrugs. 

Zosia hates that Carol has a point. 

“You don’t know me,” Zosia shoots back, but there isn’t any bite to it.

“I kinda do,” Carol says, still staring up at her with dark eyes. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”

And then, Carol Sturka manages to surprise her. 

“Unless I ask you to,” she adds, eyes dropping to Zosia’s lips. 

Zosia reaches out and grabs Carol’s hair, pulling her away from the knife. Carol hisses and her face is immediately painted in a slight flush.

Zosia drops her hand, fist still clenching the knife. She angles it slightly behind her back, making sure it’s far away from Carol before inching closer and tilting her head until their cheeks are touching. 

“Do you want me to hurt you, Carol?” She whispers in her ear.

“I want what you want,” Carol mumbles. She feels the other woman press her face into her shoulder, hot breath ghosting over the fabric of Zosia’s t-shirt. “I don’t want to make choices for both of us anymore.”

Zosia pulls back and gently cradles Carol’s face in her hand. “You’re gonna do whatever I want?”

Carol nods, a bit too eagerly, considering she just had a knife pressed against her throat mere seconds ago.

Well, Zosia thinks, this is going to be fun.

“Strip,” she orders, her voice stronger than she anticipated. 

Carol immediately complies; she lifts her hoodie over her head and exposes those delicious arms Zosia has trouble keeping her eyes off. She’s not wearing a bra and her nipples are sticking out against the fabric of the white tank top she’s wearing

“Leave it on,” Zosia commands, her eyes dragging over the way the fabric hugs Carol’s torso. “For now.”

Carol nods and looks at Zosia expectantly, waiting for further instructions.

“Pants off,” Zosia tells her. “Socks too, you freak.” 

Carol rolls her eyes but complies.

“Down.”

Carol falls to her knees before Zosia even closes her mouth. Her overt obedience shoots a wave of arousal straight to Zosia’s core.

She steps closer, meeting Carol’s expectant gaze with a devious smirk. 

She lifts her right hand, the one still holding the knife, and slowly brings it closer to Carol’s torso. Carol’s breath hitches when she brings the knife to her chest.

“Trust me,” Zosia says; not a question but rather a command.

The knife is sharp but no brand new blade, so Zosia avoids cutting into the thick seam of the tank top. Instead, she goes for the middle; the soft fabric tears easily and reveals Carol’s toned stomach and the underside of her chest.

She leans back and opens her fist, letting the knife drop on the floor before moving back towards Carol. She reaches out and grips the torn fabric, ripping it apart even more to reveal Carol’s chest.

She covers it with the palm of her hand and flicks a nipple. Carol all but throws herself into the touch, shaking and whimpering already.

Zosia chuckles and moves her way downwards, her nails leaving burning red lines behind. 

“Get this off,” Zosia says and gestures at the scrap of fabric that used to be Carol’s top.

Once again, she obeys immediately, shrugging the top off and throwing it somewhere in a corner.

She’s left in only her boxers now, flushed and turned on even though Zosia has barely touched her yet.

“Lie down,” Zosia tells her and Carol immediately complies. Her chest falls and rises quickly and Zosia can feel her heated gaze as she starts taking off her own clothes until she's naked except for the oversized t-shirt she has been wearing.

She moves forward, crawling on top of Carol who stares up at her with barely concealed desire. Her blue eyes are wide open and her pupils are getting more and more blown out by the second. 

Zosia takes Carol’s wrists, one in each hand, and moves them above her head until they are positioned next to each other. She grabs both of them, easily holding them down with one hand.

“Your thigh,” she tells Carol, a slight rasp to her voice. She wants to act as if none of this affects her, but the impact Carol has on her is getting harder to hide.

Carol’s immediate compliance sends more heat pooling in between her legs; she can feel herself growing wetter, spurred on by Carol’s gaze devouring her.

When she presses her core against Carol’s strong thighs, neither of them can hold back the moan that echoes through the room.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Carol breathes out, almost in awe.

“Shut up,” Zosia shoots back; her voice so breathless it lacks its usual bite.

When she starts moving her hips, she bites down hard on her lip to keep a moan from escaping her throat.

Carol adjusts to her rhythm immediately, slightly moving and flexing her thigh in unison with Zosia’s movements.

The pressure is delicious; Zosia immediately loses herself in it. She’s acutely aware of how wet she is, how she must be glazing Carol’s thighs by now. Her grip on Carol’s wrists strengthens and the woman beneath her moans at the display of control.

Whenever Zosia rocks forward, her thigh meets Carol’s cunt and she can feel the heat radiating from her core.

Carol seems to be trying her best to keep her reactions toned down but she’s failing miserably. Pathetic whimpers escape her throat every time Zosia moves.

Carol’s breath quickens and for a second, Zosia thinks she will come before Zosia herself does. Then she remembers that she’s the one in control here. So she stops her movements altogether and lifts up her hips.

“What–,” Carol stutters, brows furrowed.

“Don’t move,” Zosia says as she leans back and reaches for something on the ground.

There’s a disappointed huff coming from Carol but Zosia doesn't care. She finds what she’s looking for and grins as she feels the handle of the knife in her hand.

She positions herself back on top of Carol, who obediently props up her leg without Zosia even having to ask for it.

Carol’s eyes travel down Zosia’s body and Zosia gleefully waits until she realizes what she’s holding in her hand.

A sharp intake of breath indicates that Carol has spotted the knife, so Zosia brings it in between them.

“You just have to be good,” she says sweetly. Carol swallows soundly, her eyes moving back and forth between Zosia’s face and the knife in her hand.

Finally, she nods.

“Good girl,” Zosia coos and relishes the pathetic whine she gets in return.

She starts grinding against Carol’s thigh again, this time putting more pressure behind her movements. Once she has found her rhythm, she raises the knife close to Carol’s throat. Her other hand is planted firmly on the ground, ensuring stability.

“I’m going to use you and you’re not gonna make a sound,” Zosia tells her. 

Carol nods immediately, face flushed and eyes focused on Zosia.

“And don’t you dare come before me.”

She picks up the rhythm and finally lets out the moans that have been threatening to spill from her throat. The friction is delicious and Carol is doing a good job complementing her movements. 

To her credit, Carol is doing her best to keep her mouth shut, though a few low groans are humming in the air. It makes her grow even wetter; the insane amount of willpower it seems to take for Carol to keep her mouth shut.

It seems like Carol needs another outlet when she’s restricting the sounds she’d usually make. Instead, her body becomes more and more responsive. Every time Zosia’s thigh hits Carol’s core, she almost starts vibrating, which in turn sends a delicious friction right to Zosia’s cunt.

She’s getting closer and closer, but there’s something missing to get her over the edge.

She looks down at Carol, who is flushed and desperate, a knife pressed to her throat.

“You can let go,” she tells Carol, her voice raspy and breathless.

Carol immediately lets out a desperate whimper; almost a wail. It’s the sound combined with the visual of Carol looking up at her, eyes open and wide and so fucking willing, that pushes Zosia over the edge.

She rides out the high against Carol’s thigh. Her wetness drips down Carol’s skin and when Zosia finally slows her movements, she notices that Carol’s thighs are shaking.

She remembers the knife still clutched in her hand and lowers it before leaning over on shaky legs and putting it aside.

“You’re sick,” she tells Carol but there’s no real bite behind it.

Carol’s eyes darken at the insult, because of course they do. Then, she shrugs.

“Maybe,” she hums, her voice low and hungry. “Can I touch you?” 

Zosia shakes her head. “This was for me, not for you,” she says and it only feels like half a lie.

“What’s for me then?” Carol asks.

Zosia smirks. “Greedy,” she chastises, but her hands are already moving between Carol’s legs.

“Oh-,” she hears the other woman say. “Fuck, Zosia, I–”

“Shut up and open.”

Carol does as she’s told and opens her legs immediately. Her boxers are soaked, sticking to the inside of her thighs.

“You’re this wet just from me holding a knife to your throat and using you for fun?” Zosia asks conversationally. 

This is where she has the upper hand again, where she knows exactly what to do and say to turn Carol into a whimpering mess.

She peels off the boxers and is greeted by Carol’s glistening cunt. She’s always been wet when they had sex, but this is obscene. 

When she tells Carol as much, the other woman looks like she’s about to combust.

She focuses on Carol’s tits first, taking a nipple in her mouth and tugging softly. She repeats a similar motion with her fingers on the other one, Carol’s groans spurring her on. 

When the grinding of Carol’s hips into nothingness gets too intense, Zosia pushes them down and starts licking and biting her way downward.

“Fuck, Zosia,” Carol pants. “Please.”

She loves to hear Carol beg. She wants to make her do it again and again until her voice is hoarse.

She can smell Carol before she even tastes her; warmth radiating from her core.

She nuzzles her nose against her inner thigh, leaving a few well-placed bites and licks but avoids her core. Carol grows more and more desperate, grinding her hips into nothingness and mumbling nonsense.

She decides to give Carol what she’s begging for and drags her tongue through her folds. The reaction is immediate; Carol keens and her hips jump up. Zosia presses them down and makes sure to lock eyes with Carol. 

Then, she smirks. Without breaking eye contact, she presses her tongue down and sucks on the sensitive bundle of nerves in front of her.

Carol chokes on her moan and she swears tears are forming in the corners of her eyes.

She lets her tongue circle on her clit a few more times, changing the pattern and rhythm whenever Carol’s moans and grinding get too loud and intense.

The hivemind would have given Carol what she needs immediately. But Zosia likes to take her time; to withdraw pleasure from Carol just when it’s finally in reach. She wants to hear her beg, wants to make her cry. She craves the feeling of control, especially when it’s over Carol.

She flattens her tongue and allows Carol to grind against it for a moment. The response is immediate; low, breathy moans and shaking legs trapping her in her place.

For a moment, Zosia is reminded of the fact that they have tongued each other's cunts but haven’t even kissed yet, at least not as two individuals. 

Well, everyone moves at their own pace, she supposes.

She’s brought back to reality by Carol’s moans getting breathier and her legs more and more unsteady. A telltale sign for her orgasm, Zosia knows from firsthand experience.

So she stops her movements and inches away.

“No,” Carol immediately cries out. “Please, Zosia, please–,” she begs, words tumbling from her tongue with urgency. She grinds against nothingness and a desperate moan escapes her lips.

“You wanna come, baby?” Zosia asks, a smirk on her face. She’s enjoying this, seeing Carol falling apart for her.

Carol nods feverishly, pleading and begging with mumbled words she can’t quite make out.

Zosia slowly moves forward again, letting her nose press against Carol’s clit while she slowly begins fucking her with her tongue. 

She holds Carol down, controlling the pace and movement, forcing Carol to take what she offers her.

She knows the stimulation is nearly enough but not quite, just enough to keep her on the edge. She feels Carol growing wetter with every swipe of her tongue, coating her entire chin and dripping onto the sleeping bag underneath them. Zosia makes a mental note to switch them out later.

She loses track of time while she teases Carol, bringing her to the edge, only to slow her movements. The moans are getting louder and louder until they morph into whimpers and little cries.

Finally, Zosia stops for a second, earning herself a gasp from Carol, just to position two fingers at her cunt.

When she eases them in, there’s no resistance at all. They’re coated in wetness immediately and Carol mewls at the stretch, moving her hips in a desperate attempt for more.

“Another one?” Zosia teases, just to hear Carol say it.

Carol flushes and nods, whimpering and squirming instead of replying. When Zosia doesn’t move, she needs multiple tries to form the words Zosia is waiting for.

“Please,” she finally presses out, her voice deliciously strained and broken.

Zosia doesn't waste a second and presses in three fingers at once, an obscenely wet sound echoing through the room.

She begins fucking Carol with purpose, moving in and out at a punishing pace. If Carol’s moans and whimpers are anything to go by, it won’t take her long.

“Look at me,” Zosia orders. Carol’s eyes snap open, focusing on Zosia in an instant.

When she’s sure Carol is looking at her, she lowers her head. She lines up her fingers again and pushes into her at the same time as she takes Carol’s clit in her mouth and sucks.

Carol screams. The sudden orgasm takes her by surprise, wrecking through her body. Her legs shake and cramp up, holding Zosia’s head in place. She’s generous enough to flatten her tongue and let Carol ride out her high while wetness drips down her chin.

After some time, Carol’s movements slow down. 

Neither of them say a word and the silence is beginning to feel stiff when Zosia moves away slowly. She pulls out her fingers, which earn her a low whine, and takes them into her mouth. She swirls her tongue, cherishing Carol’s taste, while not breaking eye contact once.

Carol looks like she’s about to pass out.

Zosia smirks and rolls over, settling down next to Carol so they can see eye to eye. The silence stretches on, less uncomfortable now.

Once they have both caught their breaths and the air feels less loaded and tense, Carol speaks up.

“So,” Carol rasps. “Is this gonna be a thing now?” She gestures back and forth between Zosia and her.

“Fucking in inappropriate situations?” Zosia asks, a smirk playing on her lips. “Like in a bunker when the world is ending?” 

“We’re not gonna be in here forever,” Carol points out, and for a moment, Zosia wants to believe her. 

She wants to believe she can go outside and keep building a life for herself. But the mere idea of creating a life for herself from scratch again is overwhelming. She is not the same person she was before; being in the hive had fundamentally changed her. And yet, she doesn’t think she wants to go back to being part of them anymore.

Before all of this, back when she had decided to travel alone, she left a huge chunk of her life behind. Everything that had been familiar and safe was suddenly infected by grief. So she did the only thing that offered a way out; she ran. And even now, she does not want to go back. 

Next to her, Carol is rambling on and on, seemingly getting more and more insecure by the second because of Zosia’s lack of response. 

“I get it,” she is saying right now. She reaches for the sleeping bag and starts covering herself with the fabric. “Honestly, I’ve been wondering what you even want from me, after everything that happened. But I guess I’m your only choice down here, so…” she trails off, awkwardly placing her hands over the blanket. 

How Carol can go from being fucked with a knife to her throat and get to the conclusion that Zosia doesn’t want her is beyond her understanding.

“If I only wanted an orgasm, I would masturbate,” Zosia points out, exasperation laced in her voice.

“Oh,” Carol says, stupidly. “Okay.”

The awkward silence that follows is interrupted by a loud, metallic bang.

“Shit”, Carol says, voice still raspy. “That’s probably Manousos, right?”

He has good timing, that much Zosia can admit. Thank fuck he didn’t come here half an hour ago. 

“I need you to go into one of the backrooms and lock the door,” Carol tells her, her whole demeanour changing. 

Gone is the fucked-out and flushed look; now replaced by pure determination.

Zosia hates being told what to do, but unfortunately, in this case it is the only sensible course of action. So she rolls her eyes but moves to find fresh clothes and struts away, naked body on display. She doesn’t need to turn back to know Carol is staring at her.

She takes her time getting dressed and admires the few red lines and red spots on her skin; she doesn’t quite remember how Carol got them on her, but she can’t say she doesn’t find it hot. 

Time passes slowly. She’s at least five rooms away from the entrance, and she’s desperately trying to make out any sound that could hint at what’s happening.

She wonders how quickly Carol managed to get up and get dressed. It seems like a rather difficult task, considering the state Zosia left her in. She chuckles at the thought of Carol having to put on her soaked boxers again, only to scramble up a ladder and greet Manousos of all people.

Eventually, she hears hurried footsteps and Carol calling out her name. She opens the door and looks at the other woman expectantly. But she doesn’t seem to have any answers yet, so they both rush towards the conference room where Manousos is waiting for them. 

Manousos looks fine, a bit sweaty, but other than that he seems as happy and healthy as he can be.

“I went back to your casa,” he starts explaining and nods to Carol. “I talked to the other immune people. Laxmi wasn’t interested, but the hombre in Vegas, Koumba, wants to help.”

Carol raises an eyebrow. Zosia has to agree that she cannot imagine Koumba being interested in saving the world. She remembers he was quite taken with the hivemind and his new life.

“I don’t trust that guy,” Carol loudly declares.

“He’s our best chance,” Manousos argues.

“Why?” Zosia wants to know. Most of her memories of the immune are of Carol since she barely interacted with anyone else. She had also talked to the other immune people in Spain, but the whole time her responsibility had been Carol. “What’s your plan?”

“He asked around and there are two people. They used to be científicos,” Manousos explains. “He says he can bring them here and ask them things about their lives from before. Then we can turn them.”

“You told him?” Carol hisses. She seems to get more agitated by the minute and Zosia can’t quite follow.

“I had to explain so he would help,” Manousos reasons, his voice calm but demeanour tense. 

“That means the hive knows as well, they can now figure out a way to stop it or close the loophole or–”

“Carol,” Zosia says, stopping her rant midway.

“No,” she barks. “This is dangerous and you two don’t see it.”

She shakes her head. “Did you invite him here as well so they can lock us into this shithole before turning us?”

Manousos looks at her like she’s crazy.

“He’s coming to your casa, we agreed to meet there.”

“And then?”

“Then we can–”

“We can what, exactly? Abandon Zosia down here? Come back here with Koumba and two hive people so they can turn all of us?”

Zosia’s stomach churns. What if they do abandon her down here? At least she’d have a choice between living in this shithole and eventually dying down here or going out and being part of the hive again. 

If she ends up in the hive again, maybe Carol and Manousos would try to turn her back into herself once more. The thought of being dependent on either of them is freaking her out.

But they need to find a way out of here, a way back to how it used to be. And Manousos just offered them a shot at it.

“What if this is the only way?” Zosia asks.

“And take the risk that they turn all of us?” she spits in response.

“You’re paranoid,” Manousos intervenes. 

Carol chuckles. “That’s rich coming from you.” She shakes her head, gathering her thoughts. “Koumba didn’t want to change a thing before. Why has he changed his mind now?”

“You didn’t want to change anything either,” Manousos counters. “Before.”

A low blow, but they all know he is right. Carol pointedly avoids looking at Zosia.

“That was–”

She’s sure Carol wants to say different and she’s relieved when Carol doesn’t actually say the word out loud. Manousos is right though. Carol only wanted to turn her back when being with the hivemind version of Zosia included more cons than pros. 

“You know what?” Carol sighs. “Do whatever you fucking want.” She moves to get up, but Zosia speaks up before she makes it out of the room.

“I can’t,” Zosia says pointedly. “Do whatever I want,” she clarifies. She directs her gaze to Manousos. “I cannot get out of here, right?”

“Not yet,” Manousos confirms. “But if we get these people to make an antidote, maybe soon.”

Carol scoffs. “They don’t even want you near them,” she points out. 

“We figured it out,” Manousos replies.

Carol rolls her eyes and walks out without saying another word. Zosia and Manousos look at each other, determination on their faces. 

It is at this moment that Zosia realises she wants that antidote. Not because she hated being part of the hive, but because it is her only way out of the bunker and into experiencing the world by herself again. 

Back when she first woke up severed from the hive, feeling lost and alone, she would have done anything to turn back. But now that she had time to adjust, to accept the negative and awful feelings that sometimes take over, to truly experience individual thoughts and autonomy again, she’s not so sure anymore. 

If she gets the chance to escape this dark and depressing bunker, she wants to do it by herself. It’s not fair to lock her up here and then, when she finally gets out, to lose herself in a global consciousness again, no matter how blissful the chemicals in her brain might make it seem. 

She’s the one staying alive in this fucking bunker, so she should be the one to reap the eventual benefits. 

Carol stands her ground for an impressive amount of six hours before accepting that she cannot change their minds. Zosia is surprised; she has enough memories of Carol being stubborn and not caving just to make a point. Sometimes the end of humanity truly changes a person, Zosia muses.

Carol eventually agrees that their best chances are indeed the scientists Koumba wants to bring with him. She doesn’t trust him and she makes Manousos promise to listen to her and her judgment once they meet with him. 

Zosia thinks it will be a disaster, but she’s not invited to witness it, so her opinion doesn't seem to count.

Carol and Manousos are sure that she will turn back into part of the hive once she gets out of the bunker. She doesn’t quite believe it, but she also doesn’t want to tempt fate and try. So she has begrudgingly agreed to wait down here, locked away all by herself.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Carol promises, hands frantically moving around and grabbing just about anything that might be useful and stuffing it into her backpack. 

Zosia forces herself to take a deep breath. “What if you don’t?” she asks, her voice only trembling the tiniest bit.

Carol stops her movements to look up at her. “We will,” she promises. “We’re not gonna leave you down here.” She clears her throat. “I’m not gonna leave you,” she adds quietly. 

“I hate that I have to take your word for it,” Zosia sighs, crossing her elbows.

Carol throws her a tired smile. “No lies, remember?”

Zosia rolls her eyes, but feels the corners of her mouth go up as well.

Manousos joins them and they discuss a few details in their weird Spanglish slang, which both amuses and confuses Zosia.

They promise they’ll be back within twelve hours.

The farewell is awkward until Zosia sighs and tells them not to get themselves killed. Manousos manages a slight grin before turning around and making his way towards the exit. Carol is stalling, waiting until he is out of reach.

“You stay here and don’t go out, yeah?” she says softly. 

Zosia scoffs. “It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Yeah,” Carol agrees and runs her fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry about all of this,” she gestures to their surroundings. “We’re trying to figure it out.”

“I know,” Zosia sighs. “You’ll come back for me,” she says again, putting the words out in the open so they turn into something of substance; something she can hold on to.

“I’ll do my best,” Carol promises.

“God help us then,” Zosia replies with a small smile.

Carol chuckles.

Zosia takes a step closer, and another one, until she’s towering over Carol. She leans down and presses her face close to Carol’s. 

She can feel Carol’s reaction to their physical closeness; the shaky breaths, the warmth radiating from her. 

“You don’t get to fuck off and leave me here, okay?” Zosia says in a low voice. It sounds more like a threat than anything else. Good, she thinks. At least she knows Carol is inclined to follow her orders.

“Understood,” Carol presses out, her eyes a few shades darker than before.

“Good,” she says, this time out loud.

And then Zosia closes the gap between them and presses a lingering kiss against Carol’s cheek.

“For good luck.” 

Carol seems to be lost for words. Zosia takes a step back and bends down to hand Carol her backpack.

She awkwardly puts it on and follows Manousos. Zosia doesn’t wait to see her leave; instead, she quickly walks away to lock herself into one of the backrooms.

And then there she is, once again, alone and waiting. She is sick of this dark and depressing shithole and she is sick of sitting here all by herself, in absolute silence. 

It’s not like she had been talking with the other two all the time, but there had been a subconscious awareness of other people being around. Now, for the first time since before the joining, she is completely alone in both the physical and mental sense.

She tells herself it’s not a big deal. She had been traveling alone before all of this; back then, she had spent days without talking to anyone when she was in more rural areas. 

And yet she cannot stand the silence. She paces around the room, she tries to pick up the knitting again, she even starts playing the stupid bottle cap flicking game Carol and she had invented.

Nothing helps. The more she tries to escape her thoughts, the more they seem to pierce her brain and fill all the cracks in her mind she desperately wants to ignore.

Flashes of her childhood in Poland mix with more recent memories she blissfully didn’t need to access when she was a part of the hive. She still remembers the funeral, her friends crying, the pitiful looks she got when she tried to give a speech but choked on her own words. 

Eventually, she drifts to sleep. She dreams of losing her body; her consciousness drifts away while her body lies on the floor. She tries to get back down, to reach out towards herself, but a choir of voices stops her. 

When she wakes up, she has no idea how much time has passed.

She gets up and splashes cold water on her face and body, yearning for a steamy bathtub filled with hot, bubbly water.

She’s in the middle of deciding what to eat, comparing three cans of food, when she hears the faint sound of a knock from outside.

She makes her way towards the sound. They had agreed that Zosia would unlock the seal and then they’re supposed to give her five minutes to climb back down and lock herself in one of the backrooms in case the infected air or whatever it is comes inside. 

Zosia hates the idea of opening up the only safe place she currently has and then turning away without even knowing who will enter. But she still follows the plan, using all of her strength to unlock the sealed entrance and then quickly steps back down. 

She’s halfway out of the room when she hears someone trying to open the door and voices yelling in the background.

The latch of the door opens, closes, and opens again. There’s screaming followed by a loud bang. 

Zosia is rooted to the spot, unable to decide if she should step forward or run away and hide.

Then, many things happen way too quickly for her to comprehend.

The door bangs open. 

Manousos comes scrambling down the ladder, a convulsing figure thrown over his shoulder. A few seconds later Carol follows suit, but she only makes it halfway down before she starts shaking as well.

She hears Manousos scream something, but she cannot make out the words. Everything around her becomes static; her mind can only focus on one single fact: Something is very wrong.

Manousos somehow manages to pull Carol to the ground, then he races up the ladder again.

“Help her,” he shouts multiple times while climbing.

It takes Zosia way too long to realize he’s talking to her. She still stands rooted in place, completely overwhelmed by the strangeness of the situation she was thrown into.

She takes a deep breath. Suddenly, the static fades and it feels like the world starts moving again.

She finally moves, running towards a still convulsing Carol, her heart hammering against her chest.

“Kurwa,” she mumbles, eyes darting from Carol to Manousos, who is making his way down the ladder again, and back.

“Bring her back,” Manousos shouts, stopping his movements to gesture towards Carol.

She finally forces herself to look at the woman on the floor. She’s seizing, eyes rolled back and body vibrating.

“Okay,” Zosia mutters, mostly to herself. “Okay, fuck.”

She takes another deep breath and tries to mold her voice into something calm and gentle.

“Carol,” she whispers, voice shaky. “You need to listen to me.”

“You don’t want this to happen,” she starts explaining. “You don’t want to join them. You want individuality, you want choice.”

She moves closer and rests a hand on Carol’s chest. Her heart is beating at a concerningly quick pace and Zosia can feel the heat radiating through her clothes.

“You’re stubborn and brave and you’re gonna fight this,” she tells her. “You already had people telling you how to act and behave and it fucked you up, so believe me when I say you don’t want this again. You’re not like them.”

Her breath catches in her throat and her voice cracks.

“You’re a writer, you love creativity. You love to come up with new things and stupid jokes. You don’t wanna lose that.”

Nothing she says seems to help. Carol is still splayed in front of her, shaking and convulsing and Zosia feels so fucking helpless she wants to scream.

So she decides to be honest.

“You act like you don’t need anyone but that’s not true. You want to be loved. You want someone to see you and love you for the way you are. They can’t do that. They can’t love you uniquely. You have to know that.”

Carol’s movements slow down and Zosia is too scared to ask herself whether this is a good or a bad sign.

“Please, Carol,” she begs. “They can’t give you true happiness. It’s an illusion.”

Saying these words out loud is cathartic; they’re a confirmation of everything Zosia has realised these past few days but was too scared to face.

“Please come back,” she pleads, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Come back to me.”

Carol’s breathing has slowed. Her chest rises and falls at a near-normal pace. She doesn’t have a serene smile on her face, which should be a good sign, but she’s also not opening her eyes, which Zosia sees as a rather bad one.

It’s only now she realises there’s movement next to her, Manousos whispering to the man he had carried inside. 

“Manousos,” she wants to draw his attention, but instead his name comes out in a cry; a plea for comfort.

He gets up and kneels next to Zosia. “She made it?” he wants to know.

Zosia shrugs and when Manousos awkwardly pats her back, she cannot keep inside the sob that’s been threatening to break out ever since Carol started seizing any longer.

“She will make it,” he promises.

Zosia wants to believe him, but she’s also scared of lulling herself into a false sense of security.

“Who’s that?” Zosia croaks in a tired voice, nodding to the man in the corner. She’s desortiented and confused, and it’s only now she starts to piece together their current situation.

Before Manousos can reply, Zosia raises her voice. “And what the fuck happened?” 

Manousos opens his mouth. Before he can form a reply, a groan interrupts them both.

Carol’s eyes are twitching and her body has broken into a sweat. She looks like she’s waking up and falling right back asleep over and over again.

Zosia feels panic rising in her chest again. She moves closer, gently taking Carol’s head in her hands. She touches her forehead; the skin feels hot and wet against Zosia’s dry hands.

“Carol,” she tries to call out, but the name gets stuck in her throat. 

She smoothes back the damp hair and moves closer so she can rest the other woman’s head on her lap.

“Carol,” she tries again. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyes keep fluttering. Some more groans escape her lips, but there’s no indication she’s aware of Zosia’s presence.

“Fuck,” she says. “Carol, if you hear me don’t you dare do this,” she presses out, voice still rough and shaky. “You don’t get to drag me in here and then leave me alone. You don’t get to leave me, okay?”

She keeps running her hands through Carol’s hair, smoothing the strands out of her flushed face. 

“And you can’t die right now, okay?” she mutters, another tear escaping her eye. “I’m gonna kill you if you die.”

Carol’s mouth twitches. It turns slowly, morphing into a smile. Zosia’s heart stops. 

Fuck.

Carol opens her mouth. “If you say so,” she croaks out, barely managing to form the words.

Relief floods through Zosia’s chest. She bends down to hug Carol. The angle is awkward, so she ends up with her face pressed into Carol’s torso.

“Fuck,” Zosia sobs. “You’re you.” 

When she moves back up, Carol throws her a shaky smile. She looks like she’s trying to say something, but she cannot form the words.

“They need rest.” She jumps at Manousos’ voice next to her.

“Who’s they?” 

“Oliver. Un científico,” Manousos gestures to the man in the corner. “We turned him back,” he explains before adding, “I hope.”

They focus on getting Carol and the scientist guy settled and comfortable. They work in silence until everything the task at hand is done and Zosia cannot take it anymore.

“What the fuck happened out there?”

Manousos sighs and gestures for them to move to another room. Zosia glances at Carol, who seems to be sleeping or recovering or whatever the fuck you do after nearly losing your individuality to a global hivemind. 

She shakes her head. “We should stay here,” she says. “Make sure she’s– they’re okay.”

Manousos raises an eyebrow but agrees, so they sit down, leaning against the wall.

“We met with Koumba and dos científicos,” he starts explaining. “It was good, at first. But then he wanted to know how we turned them. We did not want to explain it to him,” he drifts off for a second. 

“Carol was right,” he says and shakes his head. “Koumba did not want to help. He wanted to stop us,” Manousos’ face twitches with disgust. “He likes the world like this now.”

“We managed to take un científico, Oliver, and run, but they followed us. We wanted to get in here but the other científico had this…,” Manousos tries to figure out the right word. “Un aerosol,” he finally says. “For Carol.”

Zosia nods. “And Koumba?”

“He was there,” Manousos replies. “He did not hurt us, but he also did not help.”

There’s a moment of silence. Zosia turns the new pieces of information over in her head, making sense of what happened.

“So we’re still stuck here,” she says; a statement, not a question.

“For now,” Manousos agrees. “He will help,” he nods towards the scientist.

Zosia is not as optimistic but she wisely chooses to keep that to herself.

“When do you think they’re gonna wake up?” she wants to know and Manousos shrugs.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he offers eventually.

Zosia doesn't know what to say in return.

She must have dozed off at some point because the next thing she knows is waking up in complete darkness to heavy, irregular breathing.

She reaches out, patting down the ground until her fingers touch the edge of Manousos’ flashlight.

She puts her palm over it and flicks it on, bathing the room in a faint warm light.

Her eyes meet Carol’s, who looks like she’s just seen a ghost. She’s shaking and her eyes are darting around the room.

“Carol,” she breathes out, a mixture of relief and concern. She stands up and moves closer to the other woman, taking slow and measured steps as if she were approaching a wounded animal.

“You’re good,” she reassures her. “You’re safe.”

Carol’s eyes focus on her. Then she rushes forward and pulls Zosia into a hug. They’re half sitting, half standing; the angle is awkward and uncomfortable, but Carol clutches to Zosia like she’s her lifeline.

A few seconds pass. Carol doesn’t seem to want to let go. Her hands are icy, but her body is still radiating heat. She smells of sweat and salt and something so very distinctively Carol Zosia is sure she would’ve lost it if she had turned into one of them.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Zosia suggests, whispering into Carol’s hair so she doesn't wake the others.

They make their way to the nearest bathroom in silence, Carol trailing behind her on shaky legs.

“I’ll bring you clean clothes,” Zosia informs Carol after she has settled in the bathroom.

When she gets back, Carol is standing in front of the sink in her boxers and bra. She’s manically rubbing soap all over her arm, repeating the same movement over and over again.

“I think that part is clean,” Zosia points out.

Carol jumps at the sound of her voice before clearing her throat. “Uh, yeah,” she awkwardly agrees. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?” Zosia asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Carol chuckles awkwardly. “Can I get cleaned up first?”

“Why not multitask?” She raises an eyebrow. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Zosia,” Carol sighs, sounding defeated. “Please.”

“All right,” Zosia lifts her hands in surrender. “I’m leaving.”

When Carol emerges dressed in clean clothes and a tired expression, Zosia pushes herself off the wall she was leaning against.

“Are you stalking me?” Carol mutters, but there’s no real bite behind it.

“Hard to avoid you down here,” Zosia shoots back.

Carol doesn’t reply. She looks exhausted and nothing like her usual grumpy but determined self.

“Let’s sit down,” Zosia suggests. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was right,” Carol points out as she lowers herself on a sleeping back. “Koumba did not want to help us.”

“So I’ve heard,” Zosia says. “Manousos told me.”

“We got one of the scientists and made a run for it, but they followed us,” Carol explains in a low voice. “We made it until here, that’s when Manousos knocked for you to open up. But I was scared they would get you too. I screamed at Manousos to not open the door. That’s when the other scientist opened this box right under my nose and then–,” she throws her hands in the air. “Whatever the fuck happened after happened.”

“You almost made it down the ladder,” Zosia explains. “Then you started shaking. Manousos carried you down, and I tried to wake you up, but–,” she clears her throat. “I wasn't sure it was working.”

“I think I went back and forth between them and me. I must have been the first person who had somewhat close to a choice,” Carol muses.

She lifts her head and looks Zosia in the eyes. “It felt so fucking good,” she confesses. 

The words take Zosia by surprise and linger in the air for an uncomfortably long time.

Eventually, Carol shakes her head as if trying to erase the memory from her mind. “I understand why you miss it,” she whispers.

“Then how did you get out of it?”

“You,” Carol says, like it’s the most obvious answer. “You talked to me and pulled me back, right? I didn't imagine that.”

“I tried,” Zosia nods. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff, so I wasn’t sure–”

Carol interrupts her. “You saved me,” she rasps. 

“You saved me first,” Zosia points out.

Carol’s mouth turns into the faintest smile. “So you don’t want to go back to them anymore?”

Zosia shakes her head. 

Carol looks back, face white and bags under her eyes. But for the first time since waking up, there’s a sense of relief on her face.

“I want to get out of here, though,” Zosia points out. 

“We will,” Carol promises.

Zosia desperately wants to believe her.