A/N

Sorry for the delay on chapters and sorry this chapter is so short! I'm still trying to figure out the direction of this story. Also, I'm deciding whether or not to turn this series into a comic.

IV

Thompson didn't talk to me when we drove back to the site. He held the back of his head, wincing in pain on occasion but didn't make a sound. His eyes were narrowed, looking around as if debating in his mind. He groaned, shaking his head. Whatever he was thinking didn't end well apparently, as he leaned back in the chair. We arrived back to the site with guards waiting for us.

"Sir, are you okay?" one of the guards perked, noting the blood seeping between Thompson's fingers.

"What do you think?" snarled Thompson, storming pass.

I mouthed sorry to the guard as I skipped up to join Thompson. Our wet snickers squeaked against the tile floor, leaving a muddy trail behind us. Thompson threw open the main doors, catching the attention of everyone inside. The scientist rushed over to us, stuttering and gasping while trying to form sentences. Thompson pushed him aside.

"Get me a phone. I'm calling in to have your security improved," Thompson grumbled, finding the nearest phone. "These guys aren't just random thugs. They're after something and won't take this little mess as anything more than a minor setback."

"Was it the insurgence?" gasped the man.

"Doesn't matter right now."

Thompson tapped several buttons for the phone, pressing it to his ear and waited. The scientist gave him a worrying look before turning to me with a raise of his noise. I could feel his distaste for me. I didn't like me right now either. Why couldn't I have fired? Thompson needed me in that moment. There was a gun to his head. Why couldn't I do anything?

"Perhaps my guards should've assisted you," scoffed the scientist. "They are far better protection than some uncultured class…"

Thompson slammed the phone down. He spun around, grabbing the scientist by the collar. The blood that lingered on his fingers leaked onto the white robes of the scientist. I could see the fire in his eyes as he bared teeth. It was like watching a predator pin its prey, leaving both frozen in a moment of pure adrenaline and tension. I could hear Thompson breathe, shoulder's heaving as he released each breath. Eventually, he shut his eyes, rolled his head back a little and released the man. Stepping away, Thompson returned to the phone, redialed and again put the phone to his ear. No one spoke again.

"Hello?" Thompson hummed as the other line. "Yes, 9898…Outpost 54…I'll hold."

Silence.

"Hello. 9898 review for Outpost 54 on SCP-1983: further security required. Several attempted break-ins. Possible Insurgency activity."

Silence.

"Understood…Field agents will resume to next assignment."

Thompson hung up, turning around to us. The scientist flinched as Thompson approached. Walking passed the frightened scientist, Thompson stopped in front of me. He looked like a void, empty and emotionless as he looked at me. He sighed, rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"Nothing more we can really do here," he yawned.

"Thompson," I whispered. "Your head…"

"Hmm?" he patted his head a little. Despite the initial wincing, he smiled at me. "It stopped bleeding so I'm sure it'll be fine."

"That…that's not how it works," I groaned.

"W-w-w-what about the insurgency?" the scientist whimpered.

"They'll send you reinforcements tomorrow. Until then, put guards at that point in fence," Thompson instructed, refusing to turn around and simply talking over his shoulder. "We've got other assignments to check on."

"At least put a bandage on!" I argued.

He waved me off, walking away. His saunter was back, confidently walking down the hall like everything that just happened didn't. When something like this happens, it typically means he's about to have a sadistic moment, assuming what just happened with the scientist wasn't that episode. I sheepishly looked at the scientist before leaving. For a head wound, Thompson moved surprisingly fast and was already waiting for me in the car.

The rain was still heavy, leaving us both soaked as we sat in the car. He drove, hands wringing the wheel frequently as he sighed deeply. I watched him as he stared deeply out the windshield, watching the water splatter against the glass and the wipers swat them away. He bit his lip and snarled.

"I don't get you," he hissed.

"What?"

"I don't get you!" he shouted, glancing at me. "Back at the site, you survived the plague doctor, you stood up against the 173, survived the breach, even went back in for a stupid fucking book! You drove a truck through a wall! After all that, you can't shoot a fucking gun to help a guy out?!" he shouted, leaning over the wheel.

"I…I'm sorry."

"All you had to do…was shoot the guy."

"I…I'm sorry."

"Stop. Saying. That."

"I don't know what you want me to say," I whispered. "I couldn't shoot."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

"I don't know."

He let out a deep sigh, the kind that was a borderline growl. He leaned back, twisting his neck. I looked out the window, watching the soggy scenery go by. He had a point. After all I'd been through, you'd think I would've been able to fire a simple gun, especially to save someone. This partnership wasn't what either of us were expecting, I think, then again, my life after joining the Foundation wasn't actually planned.