"We'll be fine, Miles," Charlie promised. She grabbed the quiver of arrows, shoved the bow in Jason's hand and nudged him towards the door. It was simpler to give him orders, but since they were trying to undo his training, she'd sworn off reinforcing his position as the dog of the house just for her own convenience. She was, however, willing to keep him away from Miles as much as possible. The men had never gotten along well. While they'd been rebels Jason had reluctantly admitted that Miles was the leader and he was the soldier, but they'd never become friends, never built any trust. Now that Jason's sole focus was her safety, he'd deemed Miles a threat. The men bristled worse than ever in each other's presence and this time Jason's desire for approval didn't moderate his dislike. He stiffened when Miles came within five feet of him or Charlie and his jaw clenched hard when Miles was within arm's reach. He hadn't acted out yet, hadn't attacked, but the tension in the house felt one dropped plate away from a bloody battle.

With the door closed behind them, Charlie exhaled and smiled, her shoulders relaxing as a cooling fall breeze blew across the porch. "Ready for target practice?" she asked Jason. She thought she saw him nod in reply. He still didn't speak, but he'd seemed a little less locked in with each passing day. When it was just the two of them, when he let go of his guard dog behaviors, he sometimes seemed like his old self, quiet and still but present. She'd looked up while scrubbing carrots yesterday and found him leaning against the wall, watching her and smiling. The lean, so different from the rigid rest position he'd learned from the Patriots, had made her as happy as the smile. He was on his way back. She could feel it.

They made their way down to the barn, Jason following slightly behind her as they dodged holes on the rutted, hard packed dirt trail. At the barn door they turned right, following a path of crushed grass around to the side of the building toward the orchard.

"Think you can still hit the broad side of a barn?" she teased.

The target she'd roughed in on the wall with white chalk was a series of concentric circles. A foot wide band reached six feet tall at its peak, the alternating bare and drawn areas growing narrower as the circles shrank until it was only four inches across at the bull's eye.

"Pick a spot and hit the target," she said gesturing to the overgrown ground behind them. Fifty yards away a fence marked the edge of the orchard. He walked towards it and she followed. Halfway between the target and the fence, he stopped and turned in a circle, stamping down the tall, dry grass and surveying the area. She tried not to think of a dog making a bed.

Jason paid extra attention to the orchard, facing it instead of the barn. He'd spent so long staring Charlie began to wonder if he'd spotted something to shoot for dinner. Long minutes later he turned back to the barn, nocked an arrow, and fired. He missed the bullseye but landed in the second circle. He grabbed the next arrow and fired again, too low this time. His fourth arrow landed in the bullseye.

They both relaxed as he fired shot after shot, the older, more ingrained muscle memory pushing out the Patriot's recent training. He held his back muscles tight as he fired, his feet in the stance that had become second nature over the years, and exhaled on the release, letting the tension out of his body as the string and arrow flew forward.

Charlie settled on the fence, her weight putting a slight sag in aging rails. She remembered a time like this on the way to Chicago shortly after she'd met him. He'd been showing off, trying to impress her with rapid, accurate fire. Her crossbow had been easy to shoot but hard to reload. She couldn't say when she had given it up for the gun at her back and the knife on her thigh, but it had been months since she'd spent this much time with arrows. This felt simpler, better, until Jason ran out of arrows. He turned to face her and waited.

It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for orders. "Keep practicing. Collect your arrows and fire another round or two. Let me know when you want a break." He nodded in response and went to retrieve his shots from the barn wall, refilling the quiver and picking a new spot for practice, this time further back and slightly to the left of the target. He finished that round and then a third, ending in a position ten yards from Charlie. He squinted his eyes and swallowed hard before giving in and letting his body take up the waiting stance the Patriots had taught him.

"How do you feel?" she called. He still didn't speak, she hadn't really expected him to, but he brought his arms forward and rubbed his forearm in response. She wondered if he'd hurt himself. He wasn't wearing a bracer under his shirt to protect his forearm from the snap of the string. She felt a twinge of remorse before reminding herself that she wasn't actually a pet owner. He'd known they were going shooting this morning and had dressed himself. Relearning self-preservation was important, especially if he was going to keep living with Miles. God help them all if he wasn't a lot better by the time Bass and Connor got back.

"Ready for as snack?" she asked. He cocked his head at her as if asking a question and she gestured to the trees behind her. "Apples of course."

His face was emotionless as he assumed his shooting stance, nocked an arrow, and drew back the string. He was facing her, seemingly aiming towards her, but his eyes weren't focused on her. He showed no recognition of her presence, no acknowledgement of the damage an arrow would do to her if he shared one with her at top speed.

"No!" she cried as she dove off the fence rail. "Alto, Jason. Alto." She felt a twinge of regret as she fell back on the Patriot commands but better to undo some of his recovery and live to see another day than to die with the best of intentions and leave no one to care for the big, dumb robot. If he killed her, Miles would kill him or die trying. Maybe they'd both die, Jason strangling the last breaths out of Miles before bleeding out himself. If Jason lived and Miles died, would Jason wander the earth like a zombie without much interest in brains, killing for the sake of killing? How long would Miles make it without her? He'd been OK before, but alone with Connor and Bass things seemed likely to go awry quickly.

As she hit the ground, the breath was knocked from her lungs and she realized it hadn't been her own life but theirs that had flashed before her in what might be her final moments. It wasn't bad enough that those two would be the death of her, they'd take what should have been her final moments before death too. She heard the twang of the string and the woosh of the arrow as it flew followed by the thud of it hitting something solid.

She looked up to see him nocking another. His expression was unreadable, but it wasn't blank. Whatever he was doing, he was aware of it. He fired again and this time she watched the arrow fly. It hit an apple, knocking the fruit loose from the tree. Jason was smiling as he ran towards it, vaulting the fence to retrieve the fresh picked snacks.

She felt the tears well up in her eyes and choke her throat as he came back towards her. He'd shot apples for her just before they'd reached Chicago. It had been late in the season then. They'd been hungry after a full day of walking and sick of the dried foods they'd packed. The orchard beside the road had been plucked clean of low hanging fruit by other travellers and the aging branches had looked too weak to support her weight if she'd tried climbing the tree. Aaron, Maggie and Charlie had kicked a few of the fallen apples on the ground, flipping them over in an attempt to find one that was more fruit than rot. Jason had watched briefly before shooting fresh apples from the higher branches. She'd been reluctantly impressed with his skills and if Aaron hadn't been there trying to make some pre-blackout joke about "on a stick" the moment might have turned romantic. Instead they'd eyerolled together and shared a few glances as she'd gnawed the fruit off the arrow before returning it. It had been a moment for her, special and set apart from all the other miles they'd covered and meals they'd shared. She didn't know it had stuck in his memory too.

Now he held a skewered apple out to her, his smile slowly fading into the flat expression that had dominated his days since they'd rescued him. Her Jason may be already fading, but he'd broken through for a few minutes. He was getting better.