"M'sorry."

You flinch as Sam's sudden statement pulls you out of your awake-but-not-quite-fully-awake state. "What?"

"I'm sorry." When she repeats it, it comes out less timid than it originally did.

You're still slightly groggy and not sure what she's done wrong. You've just woken up, and you aren't sure what she would have done in the middle of the night that would warrant an apology. "Yeah, I understood that, but what are you sorry about?"

She turns to look at you, blinks a few times, and then looks away again. You're rather confused, but you figure it best to allow her more time before you ask again.

Eventually, she croaks out one word before going silent again. "I-"

You're starting to get a little worried. What you're worried about, you have no idea, but you feel like there is something to be worried about, with how Sam's acting. Still, you give her some more time to answer.

"Ididn'tcompletelybelieveyou." She's still not quite looking at you.

Of course. Now that she's (presumably) calmed down about her original panic, she's once again worried that she's fucked things up. You sigh. "That's alright." Her eyes suddenly snap to yours and she looks as confused as you felt moments ago. "I scared you, and I apologize for everything I did to cause that. You're allowed to worry. Especially with how I just dumped all of that on you after hiding it."

She responds with only a deep breath and a nod, and it doesn't look like what you said made any difference. There's still guilt in her eyes.

"Sam, how long have you been awake?" She doesn't immediately respond, and you add, "Thinking about this?"

"Lil' bit."

God, and she thinks she's the one who fucked up? "Sam, I'm serious. It's fine. It's fine to doubt me sometimes. Especially about something so big. I understand why you would. I get it." The guilty look doesn't leave her face and she doesn't respond, which is when it clicks and you actually do get it. "And it's fine if you still don't."

The fact that you figured it out causes her to look even guiltier, and she exhales heavily before she mumbles again. "Just a little bit." She pauses, and her face changes to an expression that's begging you for forgiveness. "The smallest bit. The tiniest."

"Sam…" You don't know what else to say. So instead of trying to find words, you roll onto your back and you motion at your shoulder with your chin. She takes the invitation, and is snuggled against you in record time. You run your hand through her hair as you tell her, "That's okay." She nods again. "It really is. It's okay."

After some ceiling-staring and (far more comfortable) silence, you decide to take a chance. "Hey, you want to go buy a sofa today?"

"…'Kay."

Her agreement doesn't do much to motivate her to move, however. You're in no rush (you never seem to be, lately), so you let Sam decide when it's time to get up. It's the least you can do. A few minutes pass before she murmurs against your shoulder. "I love you."

Phantom hand pokes you in the chest. It's really been punishing you for everything that's happened in the last day. The arm you have wrapped around her tugs her closer to you. "I love you just the same." A nod.

You hate this, but you can't blame her. You can only blame yourself.

"I'm sorry, Sam."

One more time, she nods.

By the time that you're finishing up cooking breakfast, Sam's emerging from the shower. She comes out acting much closer to her regular self than when she went in. If she's actually feeling better, you don't know, but it's nice to see. You don't want to say anything to ruin it, but a little voice in the back of your head is telling you to worry about if she's simply slapped the persona over how she's actually feeling. But you really don't want to bring everything back up, so you decide to just pay close attention for any cracks for the rest of the day. Week. For however long you've messed her up for.

And so, keeping up with 'normality' (you feel that you're starting to lose the meaning of that concept) you hand off a plate to her. "The bacon oinked when I took it out of the pan. Enjoy."

She grins at you. It's worth risking E. coli for that.

"So, it's a weekday and still relatively early." You watch, forlornly, as Sam buckles into the drivers seat. "Are you okay to try a few biggish stores before we resort to Larry'ses?"

"Yes." You bark it out too stiffly, and too quickly.

She raises an eyebrow at you.

"…Probably," You add.

You don't know if you're imagining that she seems more hesitant about this than she has previously, but either way, she looks concerned. Which is fair enough, you suppose; simply disregarding yesterday doesn't make any of your previous attempts to leave the house seem any better.

"I have to try. You know that."

"Yeah," She starts the car. "Yeah, you're right. We're sticking to furniture sections only though." You don't know why you wouldn't, but you can see the corner of her lips twitch up and you wait for the punchline. "You've improvised too much lately. I mean, I can't even trust you to be alone with a flower planter or a fish tank."

You shove her shoulder lightly.

"Can't even bring home marshmallows."

"Hold on. Those were not only inconsequential, but they ended up helping in the end. Kind of."

She shrugs, starts driving, and almost immediately rolls through a stop sign. That makes you smile, for once. Everything is going to go back to how it was, you convince yourself. Obviously, you'd rather rewind back past Yamatai, but just back to yesterday morning is good enough for you right now.

After parking, Sam steps out of the car and stares up at the storefront. "This place has more accents in its name than it has letters."

The sign is large, and there is indeed a lot of dots and dashes all over it. "Very astute of you to notice." You pull your hood up.

"I thought we were going to buy a couch, not build one."

You scoff and point at the keys in her hand. "I don't recall being the one who turned into the parking lot. Besides, you said I was getting pretty good at improvising. I can probably put some pieces of wood together." A glare is thrown in your direction. "Stores with foreign names don't automatically default to selling only bits and pieces with vague instructions, you know. And I'm pretty sure that the building part only applies to shelves and tables and things that don't involve learning upholstery."

"You're probably right." She turns to smirk at you. "All I know is that people have told me this place has a good cafeteria."

At least she's answered your question of why she picked this place. You were wondering, as the complaining started the moment she got out of the car. "We just had breakfast, Sam."

She magically produces a tupperware container from under the driver's seat, and waves it in the air. "Or do you want to come back later, when it's lunchtime-busy?"

Because she's right, you have no retort, and you're the one grabbing her hand and tugging her along for a change. It doesn't last long though, and she bumps into you when, once again, you do your signature parking lot stare after an abrupt stop. Odd how it takes a minute for it to kick in.

But, god, when it kicks in? You swear you can hear footsteps of people walking around inside the store. Can see everything that moves in your peripheral vision, and past it. It might be nice, to be so aware of your surroundings, if that awareness didn't also come with a load of anxiety and bit of fear. You refrain from reaching for an imaginary weapon, at least.

"Lara." Your name isn't a question this time. She probably expected this. You'd turn to look at her if you weren't so busy watching a family unload themselves from a van (you don't know why you perceive this as a potential threat). "Lara."

You absently acknowledge her with a "Mhm." A stroller comes out of the back of the van, but you keep watching just in case they've got something else stored back there. It's completely irrational, but. You have to.

You feel her pull on your arm, which tears your attention away from the van pretty quickly, and around to her. To see what she's trying to alert you to. But when you make eye contact, she looks down at your linked hands and back up to you. Oh. While you were busy not reaching for a weapon, you were busy crushing her hand instead. "Shit." You let go instantly; you suddenly don't trust yourself to keep a relaxed grip. "Uh…" Your eyes wander from hers and start floating around the parking lot again. "Sorry."

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" You hum an agreement again, and her face pops up to obscure your vision. "Yeah, that was a dumb question, wasn't it?" You're trying to focus on her, but across the street, a car that has something wrapped in a tarp tied to its roof parks in front of a convenience store. You think Sam might still be talking to you, but what's under that tarp?

"Why is it worse?" You ask while trying to tear your attention from the car. You do successfully focus back to Sam, for a moment, before the loud slamming of a car door catches you and you look to that. "Why am I worse?" Your fingers are twitching and itching, and you're rolling back and forth on the balls of your feet. Is Sam saying something? Her voice is familiar and safe, and easy to filter out (not that you should be doing so) while you're overwhelmed with so much noise.

You jump slightly when you feel hands on your shoulders, but you recognize them as Sam's hands before you do anything that you could categorize as 'stupid'. She directs you a few steps back the way you came, and you find yourself standing in front of a car door. You step back in. At least you're shielded, in the car.

The door opposite you closes, but you keep your gaze out your window. "I don't know if you should have done that."

"What?"

You force yourself to drop your guard enough to turn and actually focus on Sam for more than two seconds. In a pathetic attempt to keep the world out of your sight, you stretch the fabric of your hood forward, hoping it'll stay and block your view slightly more. "Grabbed my shoulders like that? I could have… I didn't know it was you, at first."

Your eyes start to wander, and she reaches out to mimic the way you stretched your hood, only she doesn't let go to allow the fabric to recede. "Please look at me. Go ahead and multitask listening to all the shit that I can't hear, but please, Lara, look at me." You do. You do, and you focus so hard on the task that you zone out for… a few seconds? A minute, maybe. But when you zone back in, you notice that you can breathe slightly deeper. "Hey. You're back?"

The casual way she asks it results in a sheepish nod.

"Alright. Can I let go of this hood without losing you again?"

After a quick glance over her shoulder, you cover her hands with your own and gently pull them away from the fabric that is now likely permanently stretched into a weird shape. "I'm s-"

"Don't."

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and bite, in an attempt to stop any further apologies from spilling out.

Instead of immediately following up, she watches you watch her. Eventually, she reaches back out to your hood, and you're ready to stop her from pushing it back, but she only gives it a tug to straighten it. A frown flashes across her face. "I think I may have turned this slightly asymmetrical."

Automatically, you say, "Fashion statement."

"We can joke a bit again. Good." She chuckles. "Even if it was a bit robotic." Then her expression turns serious, and she asks you a question that you don't understand at first. "So, would you rather I let somebody, I don't know who, but somebody else be the one 'grabbing your shoulders'?"

You just blink at her.

"Lara, what are you so afraid you're going to do?"

You blink a few more times before replying. "Hurt you?"

"Right." She motions out the window. "You aren't afraid that you might hurt any of those people?"

The family with the van has finally gotten themselves situated, small child strapped into the stroller. You try to picture one of them approaching you. The outcome that your imagination gives you unsettles you. "That isn't a fair question."

She shrugs and looks back out the window. "Maybe." Her view follows yours and you both watch the stroller roll into the store. "But it's a realistic one."

This line of questioning is making you uncomfortable, and you slouch in your seat. "I don't want to hurt them, either."

"Well, that's good." She leans her seat back and tilts her head to maintain eye contact. "I thought we established something while we were in your shitty tent?"

You did. The whole Sam-blanket thing. "This isn't fair."

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

"Not this this. Everything."

"You mentioned that too." You sigh and glance out the window one more time before reclining your seat as well. "Hey, I'm not saying that it isn't. We established that as well." You don't respond, and Sam waits a minute before asking, "You know we're going to have good and bad days, right? It's not like it's something that doesn't already happen, it just usually happens inside."

"Sure." Your voice is flat. "Have I had a good outside day yet?"

"You were pretty enthusiastic about those potatoes. And, uh…" She hesitates. "Yesterday was pretty good until I went s-"

"Do not turn that around on yourself." It leaves your mouth almost as a demand, but for once, an accidentally harsh tone doesn't bother you. Still, it doesn't stop you from following up with a much gentler, "Please."

She chooses to switch the subject slightly. "Lara, I don't know if I should point this out, but what you just did wasn't much different than last time we tried this couch shopping thing. Y'know? I think maybe you're just more aware and harsher on yourself about it, now that you've been out a few more times. I'm gonna tell you again; you're capable of controlling yourself. I know you don't believe that yet, but I hope you figure it out soon."

Maybe she's right. You went hyperaware and defensive, but that's what you've done every other time you've been out. Could actually be that you are just quicker to berate yourself about it, especially after the incident with the planter.

"Do you wanna go home?"

You do, but it's like you told her: you have to do this. You don't want to spend the rest of your life trapped inside your home. So, you tap the tupperware that's sitting in her lap. "Thought you wanted to try some, uh…"

"Yeah," She laughs, "I don't know what kinda food is waiting for me in there either. All I know is that it's apparently good." The container is shoved into your hands. "But more importantly, are you good?"

You contemplate the roof of the car for a moment, and then sit up abruptly enough for your seat to dramatically snap back into its normal position. "Let's do this."

Sam smiles and swiftly yanks the top of your hood down, momentarily obscuring your vision again. "Let's."

You're pleased to find yourself in the living room section immediately after passing through the entrance. On the other hand, when you look around, you notice that retracing your steps seems as if it might be taboo in this place. The giant, gaudy arrow on the floor is your first clue. "Uh, Sam? How do we get out of here?"

"Through a door, I would assume."

"No, I mean," You walk over to a floor plan pasted on the wall and tap on a red 'You Are Here' marker. "I don't think we can come back the way we just entered."

She follows you and you watch her trace the map with her eyes. She frowns. "Oh my god. They've trapped us in here. What kind of marketing bullshit is th-"

"How can I help you ladies today?!"

Both of you jump at the sudden interruption of a disturbingly cheerful voice. You clench your hands into fists at your side, willing them to stay there. When you turn around, you find that a man in a crisp, bright red polo shirt has materialized behind you somehow.

"Please tell me we haven't walked into the home of another cult," Sam whispers to you.

"Excuse me?" You ask red polo man, ignoring Sam.

He flashes a broad smile and asks, "What can I do to help your shopping experience here today be the best that it can be?!"

"What-"

"You could leave us alone," Sam offers. You glare at her.

Finished with your glare, you force a smile and look back to red polo man. "We'll find you if we need anything, thank you." He nods, shoves a flyer into your hands, and backs away, broad smile never faltering. You look down at the pages of coupons that you're now holding, and Sam is back to staring at the floor plan, wide-eyed. "Sam? What the hell have you gotten us into?"

"Uh. Well. I… I heard there was good food here."

"Yes."

"Nobody told me that we'd be walking into some carnival house experience from hell."

"Really."

"Do you really think I would have come here willingly if I had know that it'd be like this?" The last word comes out as a hiss, and she glances around you, searching for something. "Okay, I was going to try to point out the guy that just cornered us, but everybody here looks identical." You look around at the sea of red polos. "Maybe they're clones, or something. But whatever. If you are going to hurt somebody, can you please choose that dude?"

You roll your eyes and look around one more time. There seem to be very few customers, at least. And the red shirts make the employees all highly visible (though they must be trained in stealth skills). The floor plan is also rather open, other than the arrow forcing you to shop in one direction only. It could worse, you suppose.

You pass the papers onto Sam and start following the arrow, stopping to sit on the first sofa you see.

"Okay, despite the fact that it's weird as fuck in here, most of these couches have been pretty comfortable, don't you think? And they aren't hideous either."

You evaluate the sofa that Sam is currently poking at. It is pretty decent. But… "Have you seen how we're meant to buy anything in here, Sam? I don't… I mean, yeah, I'd be okay with any of these, but how do we actually purchase one?"

"I think there's some sort of warehouse you have to wander through? Oh god, I don't think I want to go there." She sticks her head up to look around over the back of the sofa, surveying the vicinity.

Dropping down to sit beside her, you gently turn her face so you're looking at her head-on. For safety purposes, you decide to whisper. "But if we do actually try to buy something, wouldn't we have to talk to one of them?"

After the initial red polo encounter, Sam has been successfully warding any other red polos off with an impressive scowl. You could flee and let her deal with the purchase, but that doesn't seem fair.

"Fuck. You're right." She finds her phone and snaps a picture of the obnoxious tag attached to the sofa. "They've gotta have a website." A red polo sees the phone, and starts approaching. "Oh no."

"Hi there! It looks like you might be interested in taking home a Brooka today!"

Sam's scowl morphs into bewilderment. "What the fu-"

You quickly interrupt Sam, although it's probably already clear what she was about to ask. You ask the same thing, attempting to be slightly more polite. "A Brooka?" Perhaps your short inquiry was more polite, but the exasperated tone in which you asked it may have nullified the politeness.

Patting the arm of the sofa, the red polo exclaims again, "A Brooka!" A fine choice of seating, if you ask me!"

Your eyes flick over to the tag in Sam's hand and learn that the sofa you're sitting on is labelled Brooka. Ah. The confrontation with this red polo'd woman is starting to increase the intensity of the jittery, nervous feeling that you've been trying to ignore. "Right. We're actually, uh…"

"It's for a friend!" Sam suddenly spits out. "I just wanted to make sure we wouldn't forget the measurements. So we can check if it'll fit. In our friend's house. Before we buy it."

"Oh! A gift! How sweet. But don't be afraid to forget the measurements, we have information on all of our products listed on the internet!" You feel like this should be the end of the conversation, but the red polo is still standing in front of the Brooka, blocking an exit route.

After a few seconds of being on the receiving end of an unsettling grin, you give into the nerves and start twitching. Apparently one person can make you as uncomfortable as a large crowd can. Sam is silent beside you, so you attempt to send the red polo away. "Thanks?"

"Certainly!" A sigh of relief escapes you. You think that your affirmation has done the job. "I'm glad I could enhance your shopping experience!"

Red polo trots away and Sam grabs your shoulder. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

You have no objections. Just as you stand up to head back to the floor arrow, you notice that you've started to scratch at your side. You really don't want to have a repeat and stain the Brooka, so you keep both hands busy by cracking your knuckles. Sam watches you do so, and you watch her glance down to your stomach. Your jaw clenches and you silently curse the red polo for pushing your anxiety over the edge.

Then a hand tugs at your elbow, and you take the cue to follow Sam back over to the arrow.

As the two of you pass an invisible line that transforms everything around you into bookshelves and desks, you're starting to become aware of the growing amount of people around you, and everything is starting to get louder, and you want to get out of this place.

"Sam?" Without stopping, she looks over at you. "I'm sort of starting to… I think we should hurry a bit."

"Yeah, I'm not going to object." She brushes shoulders with somebody who seems to be transfixed with an excessive computer desk, and you hear her inhale sharply. "It's uh, I'm starting to get overwhelmed too. And I take it back. Don't hurt that guy. It'll only slow us down."

When the desks begin to disappear, you start weaving through large storage units that quickly turn into ovens and granite counters. Sam leads you past some tables that you have to admit would be nice replacements for the sad table residing in your own dining area, but you have no intention of stopping to look, especially when you see all the cutlery sets (that are probably dulled, but still). A diagonal crossing that is likely frowned upon dashes you past beds and blankets, and Sam trips slightly on a bathroom mat as you make your way around more toilets than you've ever seen in your life. When you hit an area that surrounds you with closets and dressers, you spy a sign indicating a cafeteria hanging from the ceiling. Your arm flails up at it, and you hear Sam mutter, "thank god". You start stepping over teeny chairs and pass by a bin of brightly coloured stuffed objects and after passing six bunk beds, you're relieved to find that you've emerged into the cafeteria.

Sam stops abruptly, and you bump into her. She's staring up at the menu.

"Seriously?"

"I don't know." She shrugs. "I don't think we're ever coming back here, and we didn't go through all that to leave without at least trying something from this hellhole."

You're torn. If Sam insists on standing in line, you're going to have to spend more time in here, surrounded by people. You've already absently reached for an imaginary pistol, just in case. Sam was too busy dodging red polos to notice. You could leave her and wait in the car, but the 'leave her' part of the plan makes you anxious. But surely you can beeline to the car fast enough to avoid any incidents.

Loud laughter from a grouping of people at a table to your left causes you to clench your fists at your side again, and your mind is made up. "Give me the keys."

"Huh?"

You wave at the giant menu above you. "Go ahead and get your food. I need to get away from this." Unintentionally making your point, your gaze starts to drift away from her. "Passenger seat, I swear. Just, keys. Please."

The second you've got the keys in your hand you start dodging your way through the crowd. Sam probably asked if you wanted anything, but you don't quite care at the moment. Outside, you do your somewhat casual half-jog until you find the car.

Locked inside, you slouch in your seat. After closing your eyes, you try to start blocking everything out, as much as you can manage. The attempt goes alright, and you start to breathe normally again. Okay, so. Confrontation, even just mild confrontation, is enough to set you off as well. Brilliant.

You do your best to not think about that, for now at least, and spend about ten minutes doing nothing but breathing. A sudden thump causes you to jump in your seat and your pulse spikes for the few seconds it takes to remember that you locked the doors when you launched yourself inside the car. Looking up, you see Sam waving at you through the window.

A container filled with meatballs is dropped in your lap as she sits down. You stare at them in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me."

Sam turns and shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. "I might have been in a panicked state and therefore I might have panicked a bit over the variety of choices. And I might have ended up ordered the same thing the dude in front of me ordered."

You keep staring at the container, convinced that something else will appear in it. Unsurprisingly, nothing does. "Meatballs."

Her hands fly up. "I don't know! Okay? I don't know. It just happened." The car starts and reverses at an alarming speed. "Let's just get the fuck out of here."

Sam's fork clatters down onto her plate. "These were so not worth all of that."

"I feel that they may have stayed in a frozen state for a little too long before they ended up here." You weren't going to say anything, but she brought it up first. Still, Sam looks far more dejected than the situation warrants. "Maybe you just picked the wrong meal?"

"I don't think I even picked a meal. Is a plate of meatballs considered a meal?"

There's one meatball remaining in front of you, and you jab at it with your fork. "Maybe if they were proper meatballs."

"I guess. Whatever." Her fork is back in her hand and she stabs the meatball in front of you. "So, should we go order that Brooka or?"

"If you want to."

"What I want is to never shop for furniture ever again." You raise an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe just never shop for a couch again."

As Sam searches for the correct page to order a Brooka from, something occurs to you. "Are you sure we should order this? What if their delivery people are those same clones?"

A frown appears on her face and she stops for a moment to think. Then she continues on and clicks the 'add to cart' button. "I don't care anymore. I'd go buy that corduroy disaster right now, if I had the energy. I think we just need to get this done with."

You silently agree, and watch her enter all the info needed to get the delivery set up. Around the time she opts to pay extra for one day delivery, you ask the question that's been rolling around in your head for awhile. "Would you say that was a good outside day?"

"Was a weird outside day."

"Serious answer, please."

She pushes her chair away from the computer desk and leans back. "I don't know. Would you say that it was?"

You don't know either. Which is why you're asking. "Do I judge myself fairly enough to decide that?"

"Good point. But I don't know what to judge it against, y'know? It doesn't seem right to compare to anything before Yamatai. Not yet. But," She shrugs. "I didn't have to haul you out of a closet, and I didn't have to usher you into a washroom and then drive you back home in brooding silence. So, yes? You freaked out a little in the parking lot-"

"But I've done that every other time I've been out," You fill in.

"Pretty much. Today lands closer to good than it does to bad. That sound fair?"

You nod.

Because of the terrifying shopping experience that Sam accidentally put you through, it's only mid afternoon, and you're home far earlier than either of you had anticipated. After clicking around on the internet some more, Sam decided that the rest of the day should be devoted to giving The Sofa a proper sitting salute. So now you're both draped over it. A blanket gets pushed to the side and you catch a glimpse of a bit of blood. It gets you thinking.

"How do we get this out of here?"

"What do you mean? Don't we just swap it with whoever shows up tomorrow?"

You stand up and pull the blanket entirely away from the stain it covers. "It has blood on it."

"That is true." Sam gets up as well, and is standing beside you, taking in the same view. "We could just stick it outside with a 'free' sign on it."

The ridiculous suggestion makes you laugh. "And that's better than giving it to a few delivery people, how?"

"Dunno. Was just giving you another option." She reaches down and flips a cushion, which doesn't quite fit properly when turned upside down. "If we do that, it's not so bad."

"That is a little better, I guess." To her, it's just an accident. To you, it's so much more. You can't tell her why it bothers you for others to see it without telling her everything, though. You'll just push your discomfort away, as much as you can. "Good enough," You tell her as you sit back down.

She stays standing. "Uh, do you…" She looks over to her camera setup that's been pushed out of the way. "Today's been fairly good, right? We're doing good. And this couch has been through a lot of our bullshit already. Do you want to give it one more viewing of badly filmed whatever is next on that camera?"

Clearly she's using The Sofa as a (pretty flimsy) reason to work through some more stuff. "I don't think The Sofa much cares, Sam." You're actually not completely put off by her suggestion, but you want to let her know you're aware of her terrible reasoning.

"Yes, fine. But I just feel that we might be up to it, y'know? Able to handle it?"

'We' obviously means 'you'. You can't figure out if it bothers you that she's tiptoeing around in that manner, so you just agree.

It takes Sam much less time than usual to set everything up, as she didn't tear all the cables out like she did the first time. A few connections, and she's sitting beside you, remote in hand. "You're sure?" She asks a final time.

You reach over and hit the play button yourself. You don't know what you're going to see, but you feel much more comfortable about this than you felt the last two times. Maybe you're making progress.

The recording starts up, and there's immediate loud growling. Shaky camera footage once again identifies nothing, but the noises aren't human, and it's obvious to you what's happening.

Through the growling, camera-you yells, "Get the hell off me!" The growling continues, and struggled grunts from camera-you join them.

You look at Sam, choosing to offer information for a change. "He wasn't a very nice doggie."

"Ah."

The struggling continues, and eventually the growling turns into a sharp whine. This time, Sam looks at you.

"I wasn't very nice back."

"No flower planters available?"

You roll your eyes and go back to listening to the wolf yelp and whine until the clip ends.

When it does, the screen switches to a file list. "Shit. Forgot to set them to all auto play." Sam messes with the remote. "That one wasn't too bad at all, though, huh?"

You scan the screen, trying to count how many videos you're going to end up having to sit through. Halfway down the list though, one of the filenames has a weird format. A quick look at the date tells you that it should actually be one of the first of the videos on this card. "Hey, Sam. These aren't in order."

"Huh?" She squints her eyes and reads through the list. "Oh. Stupid camera. It was starting to do this thing where it would occasionally change the way it generated filenames. So thanks for ruining this one. I wanted to upgrade anyway."

You have a feeling that she actually wanted to upgrade just to upgrade. The filename thing probably was an easy fix. Really doesn't matter at this point, though. "But look at the one that's messed up." You nod towards the screen. "We should've seen it already."

She squints at the screen again. "Mm. You're right. It's almost the earliest dated. Should we skip to it?"

"Might as well. The, uh, the way I change… I don't really want to have a reminder of that right in the middle of whatever those others are."

"Alright." She highlights the file, but as usual, lingers before starting it. "You're ready?"

You think for a second. "You know, I'm not sure what this one will even be." You try to recall whatever this one event that occurred before you met up with Whitman could be, but you can't pinpoint anything. "We'll find out, I suppose."

Sam hesitates for a second, giving you a chance to change your mind. But you say nothing, and she taps play.

There's the tail end of a loud thunk and the view is spinning, although you do catch one foot passing by. It settles eventually and on the very edge of the screen you think you can see a fire flickering. "Huh." You don't recognize this, which you find very odd.

A faint mumble comes from the speakers, and it sounds familiar, but you can't place it.

"Oh, fuck." Your head snaps towards Sam. She seems to recognize this, and she takes a deep breath. Within a second, eyes flick from the screen, to you, to the screen, down to the remote, and finally back to you. It almost looks as though she's panicking, and you don't know why. She considers the remote for another half of a second, and then swears again before focusing back on the screen.

You don't get it. Not until you hear the mumble again, and recognize it as the mumbling that Sam sometimes makes while she's sleeping.

"Wha? Lara? What's- woah!" It's Sam's voice. Camera-Sam. "What are you? Let go!" Her voice had started off sleepy, but it's starting to become louder and more coherent. "The fuck? Get away from me!" There's a grunt, but it's not Sam.

"Don't try and fight your destiny, girl."

The grunt. The foot. That voice. They're all Mathias'.

This is… You look at Sam, but her eyes are glued to the screen, and the only movement you can see is her shallow breathing. "Sam?"

"He kicked the fucking camera."

"Sam?" She shakes her head, so you turn back to the TV.

There's another grunt. "I said, don't fight this." Camera-Mathias sounds very calm.

"Stop grabbing at me and I'll stop kicking you. Fucking- get away from me!" Camera-Sam, however, does not sound calm at all. "What the hell is this? Lara? Where are y- Fuck! Let go of-" A thump cuts her off.

"Get up, and come with me."

"What? No. No! Lara!" You hear scrambling, and you assume that the thump was Sam falling, and the scrambling is her trying to get back up. "I'm not fucking going anywhere with you, you creep. I said, don't-" Camera-Mathias 'oofs', and Sam's voice continues to raise. "Fuck off!"

"Don't make me angry, girl." Footsteps shuffle around.

Neither of them speak for a moment, but feet come into view. One pair of them are walking steadily, the other pair are pulling back. Resisting. Starting to slip. "Get. Your fucking hands. Off me!" The resisting feet suddenly stumble back, and camera-Sam yelps when she hits the ground. Camera-Mathias sighs, rather loudly, and you watch Sam's hands and feet scramble as she pushes herself backwards. Her hands disappear as she's jerked up, and you assume that camera-Mathias has yanked her up to stand again, based on the way she cries out.

"Stop resisting."

"How about you stop whatever the fummph!" The feet pass by the camera again, and the ones that were fighting before are being pulled back far more efficiently now. You can still hear camera-Sam making noise (and you can tell, you know that she's yelling out your name again, yelling out for you), but everything is muffled. He must have gotten a hand over her mouth. The struggling, and the muffled shouting start going quieter and quieter until the pair of them are too far away for the camera to pick up.

Beside you, Sam is now hunched over, holding her head in her hands. You keep watching the recording. Not much else happens for half a minute.

Then you hear loud snore, a bit of a cough, and the view starts to shake around as camera-you rearranges herself. The camera eventually drops back onto the ground after camera-you settles, and you watch the new, empty view for another minute before it automatically switches off.

You feel sick.

Sam finally looks back over at you, but she doesn't look upset about what she just saw. Her brow is furrowed, in worry it seems, as her eyes search your face for any reaction.

There's nothing to see, though, because you're blank. You feel sick, and you feel blank.

And you might actually, truly hate yourself.

"I slept though that."

"Stop. Lara, please don't-"

"I fucking slept through all of that?"

A long stretch of silence ensues before Sam hesitantly answers your dumb question.

"…Yeah. You did."

and when she wakes, in her fragile state, well she calls my name, hoping that i keep her safe

i promised you shopping and i promised you something lighter after last chapter, right?

Speaking of last chapter, it's been a while. Sorry. There's a myriad of reason that's kept me from updating this, but hopefully we'll be good from here on.

And speaking of here on, I think we've got about 2-4 chapters left. This got far larger than I had intended, and when I look at my original ending, it's almost completely opposite what I have already partially written. Oh well.

So, there's a book by a dude called Grady Hendrix. It's called Horrorstör. Check it out. I swiped the Brooka and the floor plan of the store that is definitely not Ikea from it. And wow, I cannot remember the last time I've used double punctuation, but if anybody deserves to use it, it's overenthusiastic salespeople.

I was initially going to mention the giant error I made (and then cursed myself for), but I think I covered it not too bad. So instead I'm going to see if anybody can figure out what I'm talking about, and if they want to take a guess. :)

Was this too light for you? Do you prefer when I try to crush Sam & Lara? Watch for chapter 4 of Raidin' in the Rain. It should fulfill any angsty needs. Although next chapter will probably suffice as well, but you could probably guess that. Or the next Redux chapter. Fuck, I've got too many things started.

Next chapter! [doesn't have a title yet what a surprise] that's a lie i retract that, next chapter might be a little long and it has a title and it's The End