Then Maggie stepped out of the elevator lobby, eyes wide. She was back in her normal clothes, a heavy cable-knit sweater over a long patchwork skirt, and her hair was braided into a semblance of control. She started toward us, her gaze never moving away from George's face.
"Shaun?" she said, when she was close enough to be heard without raising her voice. "What is this?"
"That's a complicated question," I said honestly. The airlock door slid open behind me, and footsteps marked Mahir and Becks falling into a flanking position, Mahir to my left, Becks to George's right.
"Hi, Maggie," said George.
Maggie stiffened. "She sounds like—"
"That's because she is," I said.
"Maybe," said Mahir.
"Probably not," said Becks.
"We should go upstairs," said Maggie, eyes still locked on George's face. "This sounds like the sort of thing that shouldn't be talked about in the lobby."
"That's probably a good idea," I agreed.
Maggie led us back to the elevator lobby, not looking to see whether we would follow. She knew we would. George freed her hand from the layers of terry cloth and reclaimed mine, sticking close to my side as we walked. I clung back just as fiercely. Becks and Mahir brought up the rear, and none of us said a damn thing, because there was nothing we could say. This was too big, and too impossible, and too important to crack open before we were secure.
"My room," said Maggie, once we'd reached the floor where the four of us—five of us, now—were staying. "It has the most space."
"Wait—more space than my room?" I asked. "How is that possible? You could call the room I'm staying in an apartment and not get busted for false advertising. I think there's someone living in the closet."
Maggie cracked a very small smile. "My father owns a share in the Agora. When I stay here, I get a specific room."
She could make jokes, but Maggie's analytical mind was racing on ahead. She had some guesses about what happened, because she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Georgia Mason died. That Shaun shot her when she turned. She saw the wreckage left in its wake. So whoever this was, she wasn't the original Georgia Mason. It's just a matter of who she was. And if this was some sort of cruel plot against them, Maggie didn't know if Shaun would survive it.
Maggie was only half tuned in to the conversation as it continued until they got settled in her suite. Then the full weight of her focus settled back in on them. She would like a goddamn explanation any time now, but could also use a moment to herself to think.
"Can I get anyone anything before we start going over exactly how we've managed to shatter the laws of nature today?"
George cleared her throat, looking a little embarrassed as she said, "I don't suppose you have any Coke on hand, do you?"
That was the best thing she could have said. Maggie blinked, looking briefly surprised. Then she smiled. "I do. Shaun? Same for you?"
"Coffee for me, actually," I said.
"Coffee? Really?" Maggie's surprise only lasted a few seconds.
It was as if Shaun thought he could leave behind Georgia's voice in his head now that she was right here in front of him, or seemed to be. But Maggie doubted it would be that easy. Even if this were real, it's not like there was a switch in his brain that could be flipped and magically erase the way he'd coped for the past year.
And one right answer didn't make this woman Georgia Mason, but at least it was a start.
"Coffee and Coke, got it. Becks? Mahir?"
"Nothing for me," said Becks.
"Tea, please," said Mahir. "I have the feeling this is about to become one of those days wherein there is no such thing as too much tea."
"You're not alone there," said Maggie. "Go ahead and sit down. I'll be right back." She vanished through a door near the entrance, presumably heading into the kitchen to get drinks.
And she took the reprieve gratefully, the time to think. The possibility that this woman was telling the truth. That she really was Georgia, or as close as they could get. The possibility that she wasn't, and what would need to be done. She knew Becks was already prepared for that. Becks was the same kind of ruthless as Maggie. She saw all the angles, and she knew what was necessary. Becks was braced for it, and bracing all the harder because she knew she needed to balance out how thoroughly Shaun had already accepted this Georgia back into their midst.
Maggie could be quiet and calm and reserve judgement. But she was also fully ready to back Becks up if that eventuality came.
Drinks in hand, she headed back toward the doorway into the living room, hearing the ongoing conversation filtering through.
"He's been helping the EIS. I think he was there because he does care, and something's been stopping him from getting to you."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Becks.
"She was about to politely offer to wait for me to come back before she explained," said Maggie, walking back into the room. She had a tray of drinks in her hands. It was embossed with the Agora logo, and looked like it was made of solid silver. Considering everything else around us, I would have been almost more surprised if it wasn't.
"Sorry, Maggie," said Becks, looking faintly abashed.
"It's okay." Maggie made her way around the room, starting with Mahir, who got a white ceramic mug and saucer. George got two cans of Coke, both cold enough to have drops of condensation on their sides. By the time Maggie reached me with my coffee, George already had the first of those cans open, and was taking a long, desperate drink.
Maggie leaned close as she handed me my coffee, cutting off my view of George. "If she isn't who she says she is, she can never leave this room," she murmured. "You understand that, don't you, Shaun?"
"Alright. Let's get out of here. Of course, if there's anyone who'd like to skip their all-expenses-paid ticket on the crazy train, you're welcome to stay here. At that point, your options are going back to the lab and trusting Dr. Abbey not to turn you into her private Frankenstein, or staying out here and praying that whatever comes to find you is in a killing mood, rather than an infecting one."
"Actually, Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster," said Maggie. "Common misconception."
"Way to ruin the moment, Maggie," I walked over to the bike, picking up my helmet. "Everyone cool?"
"I still say this is a very poorly conceived idea," said Kelly. "I mean, maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe the CDC will let you walk out alive. But I wouldn't place bets on it."
"Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll let us leave," I corrected, gently. "Becks here may be the one most likely to point a gun at someone's head just for kicks, but Maggie..."
"They'll never find the body," said Maggie. Her tone was blithely chipper, like she was talking about the latest fund-raiser for the Bulldog Rescue Association. That made it worse. "Not that anyone's going to be looking, since you're legally dead, but even if they looked for you, they'd never come close. All I'd need to do is call my father and tell him I finally had a problem he could fix. You could be the best Father's Day present I've ever given him. He's so hard to shop for."
Kelly's eyes widened, fear flickering in their depths. "Is she serious?"
"Almost certainly, but I wouldn't worry about it just yet," I said. "Come on, crew, let's find us a hotel."
Maggie knew, if she were being honest with herself, that there wasn't an ounce of malice or intent in Kelly. But Dave's loss was still excruciating, a cocktail of grief and rage and regret, and in lieu of a better target, making Kelly uncomfortable was the only outlet available to her.
Because Kelly didn't intend it. But she was naive, and she led trouble to their doorstep, and she very much did indirectly cause the death of the man Maggie was in love with.
So Maggie welcomed this woman into her home, when she turned up alongside Maggie's team looking for safe haven. But she wasn't happy about it, and she wasn't going to be pleasant. She was going to take small, petty revenge, and daydream about the day she'd get to put the people directly responsible in the ground.
"Screw you for being noble and good and earnest and staying in that damn building."
Maggie was looking forward to a nice, cozy evening at home with a couple friends, taking story requests on the internet, as promised. And then Mahir sent her a message. There was something she needed to hear, even though it wasn't getting shared publicly on the site.
Which was more than enough to worry her. Maggie shut herself in the office immediately, sitting down at her desk to press play.
"—transmitting? You fucking useless piece of crap, don’t you cut out on me n—
—fixed it. I hope that means I fixed it. If this is getting out, this is Dave Novakowski reporting live from the headquarters of the After the End Times. Well. This was Dave Novakowski reporting live. By the time this report finishes bouncing to our servers, and Mahir sees it and clears it by the boss, I’m going to be long d—
—shit, the sirens just stopped. That means they’re not letting evacuees out anymore. Too late, ha-ha, joke’s on me, couldn’t get out if I wanted to. I take my hands off the controls, the building goes into lockdown. I stay here, I can let people out—or I could, if there were any people left—but I can’t escape. Irony in action, ladies an—
—dalene? Even if this entry stays in-house, I know you’ll see it, some. God, Maggie, I’m sorry we screwed around so much. We should’ve just gone for it. That’s what people ought to do. They should just go for it. I loved you a lot. I loved my job a lot. I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones. I guess—
—can hear the bombs now; I can hear them coming, I can he—"
She grew steadily more horrified, a massive wave of guilt and grief and regret washing over her. They put off getting involved for her. Because Maggie was scared and Dave was kind; he gave her time to grieve for Buffy without ever pushing for more than she was ready to give. They loved each other, they both knew it, but they never got to say the words. She wasn't there to kiss him goodbye, holed up in her house four hours away. Fuck.
Maggie wasn't sure she'd ever forgive herself for this.
She stayed hidden away for a long time, crying, and then periodically turning on her webcam to see her own face until she didn't look like she'd been crying.
Then she went downstairs, and she calmly told the couple members of her department who were currently visiting, "I'm sorry, but something's come up, and I'll need you to head out a little sooner than planned. I'll be back in touch soon, though, and you know you'll be welcome back here once I've taken care of things."
She managed to say it with a smile, even though she was absolutely wrecked. Maggie held her shit together until they were out the door, then she went back up to her office. And she wrote up two blog entries. One, the more personal of the two, would sit in her drafts unposted, and she knew that. But she still needed to get it off her chest before she could think of anything else.
"Screw you, David Novakowski," she typed. "Screw you for being noble and good and earnest and staying in that damn building, and screw you for that last transmission, and screw you twice for taking so fucking long to say anything. You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.
I loved you too, you idiot.
I can't post this. I want to post this. I can't post this. But writing it down helps, a little, because writing it down is what we do. They're on their way here—they have to be, because if they're not... I won't think about it. The house feels so empty. God."
Then she gave herself a moment to take a few shuddering breaths, tears running down her face, before she made one more entry, this one public, and also written out; she didn't trust her face or voice right now.
"I'm sorry, my darlings, but I won't be able to make tonight's chat. I know, I promised, and I'm sorry, but Auntie Maggie has a headache right now and needs to have a nap. Normal transmissions will resume tomorrow. Be good. Be kind to each other. And if there's somebody you love, tell them. The world always needs more love."
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talesuntold) wrote2023-04-22 10:01 am
"If she isn't who she says she is, she can never leave this room."
"Shaun?" she said, when she was close enough to be heard without raising her voice. "What is this?"
"That's a complicated question," I said honestly. The airlock door slid open behind me, and footsteps marked Mahir and Becks falling into a flanking position, Mahir to my left, Becks to George's right.
"Hi, Maggie," said George.
Maggie stiffened. "She sounds like—"
"That's because she is," I said.
"Maybe," said Mahir.
"Probably not," said Becks.
"We should go upstairs," said Maggie, eyes still locked on George's face. "This sounds like the sort of thing that shouldn't be talked about in the lobby."
"That's probably a good idea," I agreed.
Maggie led us back to the elevator lobby, not looking to see whether we would follow. She knew we would. George freed her hand from the layers of terry cloth and reclaimed mine, sticking close to my side as we walked. I clung back just as fiercely. Becks and Mahir brought up the rear, and none of us said a damn thing, because there was nothing we could say. This was too big, and too impossible, and too important to crack open before we were secure.
"My room," said Maggie, once we'd reached the floor where the four of us—five of us, now—were staying. "It has the most space."
"Wait—more space than my room?" I asked. "How is that possible? You could call the room I'm staying in an apartment and not get busted for false advertising. I think there's someone living in the closet."
Maggie cracked a very small smile. "My father owns a share in the Agora. When I stay here, I get a specific room."
She could make jokes, but Maggie's analytical mind was racing on ahead. She had some guesses about what happened, because she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Georgia Mason died. That Shaun shot her when she turned. She saw the wreckage left in its wake. So whoever this was, she wasn't the original Georgia Mason. It's just a matter of who she was. And if this was some sort of cruel plot against them, Maggie didn't know if Shaun would survive it.
Maggie was only half tuned in to the conversation as it continued until they got settled in her suite. Then the full weight of her focus settled back in on them. She would like a goddamn explanation any time now, but could also use a moment to herself to think.
"Can I get anyone anything before we start going over exactly how we've managed to shatter the laws of nature today?"
George cleared her throat, looking a little embarrassed as she said, "I don't suppose you have any Coke on hand, do you?"
That was the best thing she could have said. Maggie blinked, looking briefly surprised. Then she smiled. "I do. Shaun? Same for you?"
"Coffee for me, actually," I said.
"Coffee? Really?" Maggie's surprise only lasted a few seconds.
It was as if Shaun thought he could leave behind Georgia's voice in his head now that she was right here in front of him, or seemed to be. But Maggie doubted it would be that easy. Even if this were real, it's not like there was a switch in his brain that could be flipped and magically erase the way he'd coped for the past year.
And one right answer didn't make this woman Georgia Mason, but at least it was a start.
"Coffee and Coke, got it. Becks? Mahir?"
"Nothing for me," said Becks.
"Tea, please," said Mahir. "I have the feeling this is about to become one of those days wherein there is no such thing as too much tea."
"You're not alone there," said Maggie. "Go ahead and sit down. I'll be right back." She vanished through a door near the entrance, presumably heading into the kitchen to get drinks.
And she took the reprieve gratefully, the time to think. The possibility that this woman was telling the truth. That she really was Georgia, or as close as they could get. The possibility that she wasn't, and what would need to be done. She knew Becks was already prepared for that. Becks was the same kind of ruthless as Maggie. She saw all the angles, and she knew what was necessary. Becks was braced for it, and bracing all the harder because she knew she needed to balance out how thoroughly Shaun had already accepted this Georgia back into their midst.
Maggie could be quiet and calm and reserve judgement. But she was also fully ready to back Becks up if that eventuality came.
Drinks in hand, she headed back toward the doorway into the living room, hearing the ongoing conversation filtering through.
"He's been helping the EIS. I think he was there because he does care, and something's been stopping him from getting to you."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Becks.
"She was about to politely offer to wait for me to come back before she explained," said Maggie, walking back into the room. She had a tray of drinks in her hands. It was embossed with the Agora logo, and looked like it was made of solid silver. Considering everything else around us, I would have been almost more surprised if it wasn't.
"Sorry, Maggie," said Becks, looking faintly abashed.
"It's okay." Maggie made her way around the room, starting with Mahir, who got a white ceramic mug and saucer. George got two cans of Coke, both cold enough to have drops of condensation on their sides. By the time Maggie reached me with my coffee, George already had the first of those cans open, and was taking a long, desperate drink.
Maggie leaned close as she handed me my coffee, cutting off my view of George. "If she isn't who she says she is, she can never leave this room," she murmured. "You understand that, don't you, Shaun?"
I nodded minutely. "I do."
"Good."
"They'll never find the body."
"Actually, Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster," said Maggie. "Common misconception."
"Way to ruin the moment, Maggie," I walked over to the bike, picking up my helmet. "Everyone cool?"
"I still say this is a very poorly conceived idea," said Kelly. "I mean, maybe you'll get lucky. Maybe the CDC will let you walk out alive. But I wouldn't place bets on it."
"Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll let us leave," I corrected, gently. "Becks here may be the one most likely to point a gun at someone's head just for kicks, but Maggie..."
"They'll never find the body," said Maggie. Her tone was blithely chipper, like she was talking about the latest fund-raiser for the Bulldog Rescue Association. That made it worse. "Not that anyone's going to be looking, since you're legally dead, but even if they looked for you, they'd never come close. All I'd need to do is call my father and tell him I finally had a problem he could fix. You could be the best Father's Day present I've ever given him. He's so hard to shop for."
Kelly's eyes widened, fear flickering in their depths. "Is she serious?"
"Almost certainly, but I wouldn't worry about it just yet," I said. "Come on, crew, let's find us a hotel."
Maggie knew, if she were being honest with herself, that there wasn't an ounce of malice or intent in Kelly. But Dave's loss was still excruciating, a cocktail of grief and rage and regret, and in lieu of a better target, making Kelly uncomfortable was the only outlet available to her.
Because Kelly didn't intend it. But she was naive, and she led trouble to their doorstep, and she very much did indirectly cause the death of the man Maggie was in love with.
So Maggie welcomed this woman into her home, when she turned up alongside Maggie's team looking for safe haven. But she wasn't happy about it, and she wasn't going to be pleasant. She was going to take small, petty revenge, and daydream about the day she'd get to put the people directly responsible in the ground.
"Screw you for being noble and good and earnest and staying in that damn building."
Which was more than enough to worry her. Maggie shut herself in the office immediately, sitting down at her desk to press play.
"—transmitting? You fucking useless piece of crap, don’t you cut out on me n—
—fixed it. I hope that means I fixed it. If this is getting out, this is Dave Novakowski reporting live from the headquarters of the After the End Times. Well. This was Dave Novakowski reporting live. By the time this report finishes bouncing to our servers, and Mahir sees it and clears it by the boss, I’m going to be long d—
—shit, the sirens just stopped. That means they’re not letting evacuees out anymore. Too late, ha-ha, joke’s on me, couldn’t get out if I wanted to. I take my hands off the controls, the building goes into lockdown. I stay here, I can let people out—or I could, if there were any people left—but I can’t escape. Irony in action, ladies an—
—dalene? Even if this entry stays in-house, I know you’ll see it, some. God, Maggie, I’m sorry we screwed around so much. We should’ve just gone for it. That’s what people ought to do. They should just go for it. I loved you a lot. I loved my job a lot. I guess that makes me one of the lucky ones. I guess—
—can hear the bombs now; I can hear them coming, I can he—"
She grew steadily more horrified, a massive wave of guilt and grief and regret washing over her. They put off getting involved for her. Because Maggie was scared and Dave was kind; he gave her time to grieve for Buffy without ever pushing for more than she was ready to give. They loved each other, they both knew it, but they never got to say the words. She wasn't there to kiss him goodbye, holed up in her house four hours away. Fuck.
Maggie wasn't sure she'd ever forgive herself for this.
She stayed hidden away for a long time, crying, and then periodically turning on her webcam to see her own face until she didn't look like she'd been crying.
Then she went downstairs, and she calmly told the couple members of her department who were currently visiting, "I'm sorry, but something's come up, and I'll need you to head out a little sooner than planned. I'll be back in touch soon, though, and you know you'll be welcome back here once I've taken care of things."
She managed to say it with a smile, even though she was absolutely wrecked. Maggie held her shit together until they were out the door, then she went back up to her office. And she wrote up two blog entries. One, the more personal of the two, would sit in her drafts unposted, and she knew that. But she still needed to get it off her chest before she could think of anything else.
"Screw you, David Novakowski," she typed. "Screw you for being noble and good and earnest and staying in that damn building, and screw you for that last transmission, and screw you twice for taking so fucking long to say anything. You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.
I loved you too, you idiot.
I can't post this. I want to post this. I can't post this. But writing it down helps, a little, because writing it down is what we do. They're on their way here—they have to be, because if they're not... I won't think about it. The house feels so empty. God."
Then she gave herself a moment to take a few shuddering breaths, tears running down her face, before she made one more entry, this one public, and also written out; she didn't trust her face or voice right now.
"I'm sorry, my darlings, but I won't be able to make tonight's chat. I know, I promised, and I'm sorry, but Auntie Maggie has a headache right now and needs to have a nap. Normal transmissions will resume tomorrow. Be good. Be kind to each other. And if there's somebody you love, tell them. The world always needs more love."