There was a strange feeling in the air as they sat in the watch tower. He couldn't put it into words, but he'd felt it once or twice before in his life. Hours later the clouds changed, and his suspicions were confirmed; a storm was coming.
Carol seemed to read his mind as he nudged her with his shoulder.
"Hurricane?" she murmured, not taking her eyes off the sky.
"Something like that, at least," he replied.
He got to his feet, and pulled her up as she extended her hand to him. She hung onto him for a moment before letting go. She'd been doing that more and more lately, and he didn't know what to make of it.
"We need to get inside," he said, "Get shit ready."
He could tell she was worried as they headed back to the prison, stewing silently in her own thoughts. He didn't fault her for that. Hurricanes rarely hit Georgia, and without having a weather forecast there was no real way to know what to expect. He figured they should prepare for the worst, just in case.
Ultimately the group decided to take shelter in the tombs. It was unlikely that the storm would be bad enough to necessitate that, but they weren't too sure about the tall windows across from their cells, and no one really wanted to chance getting a face full of glass shards.
He was helping Carol move mattresses down there when the first bands of the storm began to hit.
"Better hurry," she said, though he knew she wasn't happy about spending time in the tombs. He wasn't sure if she'd even been down there since his timely rescue weeks before, and he knew even if she hadn't had such a traumatic experience there, her claustrophobia would probably bring her discomfort at the very least.
With that in mind he snuck back to his cell after everyone was settled in to grab something he'd been hiding away for quite a while. He paused to watch the rain lashing against the window, amazed by the force of it. The sound of debris banging into the building was clear as day. He was suddenly glad they'd been excessively cautious.
They hadn't discussed it, but somehow he and Carol had ended up sharing one of the solitary cells. He supposed they all could have slept together in the halls, but he figured Carol might want some privacy if she partook in the surprise he was bringing her. She looked up as he shut the door behind him, and smiled as he held the bottle of Jack Daniels out to her.
"Oh god, yes," she said, and he laughed because he hadn't even been sure she'd be interested in it.
She opened it up and took a swig, only grimacing a little. He sat down beside her, glad he'd thought of this. She didn't relax often, and he figured with the stressful circumstances she could probably use it.
"I wish we had something to chase it with," she said, ¾ of the bottle in. Her words weren't slurring yet, but he heard the potential there.
"Usually by this point people stop worrying about chasers."
She laughed, and leaned against him.
"I'm just at the point where I stop worrying about impressing you."
He shook his head, and handed the bottle back to her.
"You don't need to impress me," he said, and he didn't even flinch when she laid her hand against his bicep and sighed.
They were about halfway through the bottle when she suddenly climbed into his lap, straddling him without warning.
"Hello?" he said, feeling panicked. She was definitely well on her way to being drunk, and the look in her eyes made him nervous. He didn't know where to put his hands, and he was immediately concerned with the reaction his body was having already.
"You know, when I was younger... much younger, I somehow ended up at this hurricane party in Florida. Friend of a friend of a friend, you know how that goes."
"What the fuck's a hurricane party?" he asked, putting his hands on her thighs in defeat.
"This, basically. I mean, with more people I guess. But basically, since you're stuck waiting on a storm inside somewhere, you might as well be stuck with a bunch of people and liquor, right?"
He shrugged. Apparently she was a chatty drunk.
"Well I think so, anyway," she continued, "I mean I was never that into partying, even before the whole fucking... tsunami, trainwreck disaster of my marriage, but if you're going to be stuck somewhere indefinitely, might as well make the best 'f it. It was fun. I got laid."
He was choking, suddenly, and pushed her back a little.
"I didn't need to know that," he said, but she was apparently undeterred.
"Best sex of my life, really," she said, staring at a space above his head, "And I hardly knew the guy. Friend of a friend of a friend."
"Yeah, you said that," he replied, wishing the bottle of liquor wasn't sitting just out of his reach.
"No, I said the party was held by a friend of a friend of a friend. This was a different guy. Makes me feel kind of slutty, though. That I didn't really know him. Sort of one of those out of character, out of body experiences. Very out of body. Out of my mind. Wouldn't mind having something like that again."
She smiled at him.
"Yeah. You said it was good," he said, trying to ignore the fact that her cleavage was practically in his face. What the hell was she trying to do?
"Yeah. Great, really."
"Why?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.
"What?"
Shit. He hadn't meant to ask that.
"Um. Why... why was it so good?"
He didn't actually want to know. He didn't want to think of some other guy fucking her. And he certainly didn't want to think about it while she was sitting on his lap.
"I could show you" she said, flashing him a grin.
He hesitated for a moment, but finally shook his head. He could smell the whiskey on her breath, and that was enough of a reminder.
"You're drunk," he said.
"So?" she asked, and leaned forward to kiss him. He turned his head.
"We ain't gonna do this when you're drunk."
He saw the hurt flash across her face, and he felt bad immediately. She slid off his lap, and flippantly told him it was "his loss".
She curled up at his side anyway, and buried her face in his shoulder. He reached over and took her hand in his.
"You can, um... if you're sober, and you want that... yeah, that's... we can do that."
She laughed, and reached for the bottle again.
"I'm gonna hold you to that."
By the time they were down to a quarter of the bottle, she was passed out with her head in his lap, drooling onto his thigh. He was more worried about whatever the hell was on his pants this week getting on her face than her slobber getting all over his leg.
He gently rolled her to her side, and slipped down the mattress until he was laying beside her. She rolled over against him almost immediately, and he was buzzed enough that he was completely comfortable with the way her hand rested on his chest, and her legs tangled with his own. He fell asleep to the sound of her breathing quietly against his cheek.