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The trouble with getting old was that, eventually, you begin to forget.
Sam’s world is a lot smaller now, and he likes it that way. It’s been decades since the averted Extinction Event, and few people remember his face, let alone where to find him. Less strangers stop by to ask him questions, and the visits from people that he considers friends grow steadily further and further apart. Here in his mountain home, the sun rises dutifully in the early morning, as it always does, bringing with it a day without responsibilities to anyone other than him, and his own.
Instead, Sam spends his time walking the woods, tending to his greenhouse, and maintaining the small amount of peace he’s managed to carve for himself in these wilds. By the time the sun sinks beyond the peaks, Sam can dust off his hands on his trousers, and wander inside, content with another day well spent.
Sam’s time is his own, and there are no more deliveries to be made.
Sam is 74, but a lifetime of Porting has him walking decades older. A stiff, uneven stride, wearing the soles of his boots down at an irregular rate. He goes through left shoes quicker than the right, and leaves scuffed footprints on one side when the winter’s snow covers the yard. He supposes he should start relying on a walking stick, but his stubbornness isn’t ready to cave on the concept just yet. As long as he can still get around, he’ll be fine. He’ll just walk a little slower, that’s all. One step at a time, Sam.
This morning, Sam woke to the sound of birdsong just outside his window. It’s an alarm he’s become warmly acquainted with, rather than the incessant, electronic beeping that roused him from a nap in the field. He comes to in stages, his hearing first, before the rest of his senses filter through. He’s aware that he’s comfortable, buried in thick blankets, with his cheek cushioned on a well-stuffed pillow. One of the first things Sam bought with his retirement fund was a decent bed, enough to soften years of putting his body through too much cargo, and too little rest.
Those days were long gone, and Sam was finding it increasingly more difficult to recall them individually, the places he had been on his travels, and the many, many messages sent his way. Some stuck out more than others, well-wishes from old acquaintances, or special occasions spent without the looming fear of the end-times. Life was still far from easy, but it had gotten a hell of a lot better since he had left Bridges far behind.
Of course, he remembered the most poignant events, and the faces and names of his friends, few but reliable. He could also remember the times when he had hurt, or had died, but the haunting sting from reminiscing had lessened over the years. Sam had never placed much value in the power of time, and its capacity to heal, but he could no longer doubt the strength of the oldest, and most inevitable of all forces. It was as though a soft focus had been placed over his memories, but Sam didn’t find himself minding too much. What was most important was the here and now, and spending the time he had left how he wanted to, rather than out of duty or purpose.
Which is why, rather than leaping out of bed and meeting the day with haste, Sam was selfishly absorbed with watching the only other occupant of his house.
Higgs, whose face was cast in bronze by the morning sun, was stretched in a languid sprawl of limbs. He was taking up far more than half of the bed, but he had filled Sam’s heart further still. His eyes were closed, and as he slumbered, his chest rose and fell like the tide, metronomic and peaceful. His long eyelashes, only framed by kohl on the days he could be bothered, fanned out over his cheeks, which had lost none of their sharpness, even as age had softened his midsection and faded the once angry scarring across his forehead. Higgs slept more now than ever, deeply too, and it wasn’t lost on Sam how much more rested they both were, after that great calamity had passed them by.
If you asked Sam to think back to the day they met, Sam could recall it with crystalline precision. Unlike the monotonous days spent on the road, or hiking up hill after hill, Sam remembered perfectly how the air had become heavy with chiralium, weighing down his lungs like lead and how his skin crawled from a mixture of the Timefall chill and mortal fear. Higgs had seemed so omnipotent back then, thundering in and out of his life without warning, and demanding his attention whenever it had strayed too far. However, if you asked Sam to recall how and when exactly the other man had gone from that wild thing, to sauntering straight into his affections and never leaving, Sam couldn’t begin to say. Somewhere along the way, between here and there, Higgs had found a way to take up permanent residency in Sam’s life, a stray, turned friend, turned partner.
Higgs also had his own share of grey at his temples these days, and had given up on dying his hair years ago, when Sam had complimented the silvery strands on a whim over breakfast. He had lines on his face too, they both did, and those clever fingers, the nails painted with chipped black polish, were stiff and uncoordinated first thing on a morning. Higgs’ eyes though, as blue and clear as the ocean, remained sharp and wicked at the corners. A man could lose himself in a colour like that, and Sam had done so frequently, willingly, picking out the flecks of green, and memorising the emotions that stirred beneath those earnest tides. Sam was older than Higgs by more than a few years. His partner, his husband, liked to remind him of the fact, but the truth of the matter was that they were both no longer young. That didn’t stop Sam from believing that Higgs became more pretty with every passing morning, even if the other man didn’t believe the compliments himself.
Content to let the other man sleep, Sam finally dragged himself out of bed, his bare feet brushing the polished wood of their bedroom floor. He padded on autopilot to the kitchen to get started on their coffees, muscle memory guiding him through the process as he stared at the calendar on the wall. It was already August, and Lou would be visiting at the end of the month, taking a break from her job in Mountain Knot. Where had July gone? June? Sam wasn’t sure, but then again, he didn’t worry too much about it. He didn’t have anywhere else to be but right here, and he’d leave the supply runs to the younger Porters that followed in the footsteps of The Man Who Delivers.
Minutes later, stood out on their porch, Sam sipped his coffee, the bitter caffeine barely registering on his tongue. He was focused on the treeline, as a doe and her fawn picked through the tall grass. It never got tiresome, revelling in the world beyond the Extinction Event. Timefall occurred far less frequently than Sam could ever recall, and the world had begun to heal. Sam suspected Higgs knew more about it than he did, but he hadn’t asked. It had been over a decade since Higgs had even breathed about Amelie, or how she had manipulated him. It didn’t matter, not anymore.
Sam’s peace was ultimately suspended by a warm pressure at his back, and Higgs’ mouth pressing sleepy kisses against his worn shoulders. Contrary to his more verbal hours, Higgs was neither a morning person, nor much of a talker before breakfast. He said more with what he didn’t say, and Sam had become fluent in the easy affection, so much so that he no longer actively avoided Higgs’ hands-on approach to love. Of course, whenever the shadows of discomfort reared its head, Higgs was quick to back off, sometimes before Sam had even realised he was drawing in on himself. They had learned to coexist in a comfortable mutualism, and Sam wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Looks like another good day.” Sam commented, before offering Higgs some of his coffee. They both knew well enough that Higgs had his own mug waiting inside, on the kitchen counter. However, Higgs had often told him that coffee tasted better when it belonged to someone else, when it belonged to him. His husband took a silent mouthful, before passing the mug back, and nuzzling once more between his shoulder blades. “Think I’m gonna water the greenhouse, then wander down to the stream, find us some mushrooms for lunch. You wanna come get some air?”
“Maybe.” Higgs’ voice tickled the back of Sam’s hair, which was longer and less brown these days, and when he leaned more of his body weight against Sam’s broad back, Sam felt his free hand tighten on the porch railing. He didn’t quite trust his knees to support a whole human being anymore. “Yeah, okay.”
Sam set down his coffee on the railing, and covered one of Higgs’ hands with his own, across his midsection. He rubbed circles into Higgs’ knuckles, and felt the other man sigh against his shoulder. They watched the doe and her fawn graze for a moment longer, before they disappeared into the green, leaving them alone to bask in the summer sun that glinted through the trees. “You doin’ okay?” Sam got a low hum in response, which was to be expected, but he didn’t mind. Higgs was honest with him about his moods, nowadays, and the minute he stopped being okay, Sam would be the first to know.
They stood like that in silence for another few minutes, sharing Sam’s coffee, and listening to the birds. It was a picture of tranquility, and Sam took in every second, counting them against the slow, languid beat of Higgs’ heart against his back. They had shared many mornings like this over the years, quiet, reflective, the world at their doorstep, and no one around but each other. Soon, they would head back inside, and start breakfast, before getting washed and dressed for the day ahead. However, for now, both were content to stretch this moment out for as long as possible.
The trouble with getting old was that, eventually, you begin to forget. The little things fade away, and the faces of friends and foes alike become muddied and distant. Bad days, and good days, become blended together, and even the worst of hurts become a bygone memory.
However, Sam was sure as long as he lived, he would never forget how much he loved Higgs, and this life they now shared.