Told y'all I was tired of screwing around. I'm on a roll. As always, all mistakes are mine. And there are probably a few typos, and I shall fix them as I see them. But the muse is pestering the shit out of me.

Feed me! I needs mah feedback!

Fueling the trucks was going to take much longer than Claire was comfortable with. There were only two pumps at the fueling station, and they wasted precious time pushing an abandoned Humvee out of the way. The fuel truck had its own pump, but finding the underground well to pump out the gasoline wasted another fifteen minutes. Claire organized everyone so that a perimeter was established around the vehicles as they fueled while Alice and Carlos found the well and set the truck up.

"The Infected always take the most direct route. A straight line." Claire instructed K-mart, pointing in the direction of the PX, several miles away. "So if they're coming from the PX, they'll come from right there. But you should sweep constantly. There could be others." The teenager followed her finger with the binoculars, nodding confidently. This was the first time Claire had given her any responsibility, and she was eager to please.

"Right. And once I see them, don't worry about being quiet because they already know we're here." K-mart lowered the binoculars and adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the rifle slung over her shoulder. Claire had traded weapons with the girl, taking her shotgun back in exchange for the rifle and a quick lesson on its use. "I've got it."

"Good. I'll be back in a few minutes."

The PX had held the unfortunate non-survivors of Fort Lewis for six years. But once the Infected sensed the living, their primitive drive kicked in and nothing short of a bullet in the head or complete decapitation would stop their relentless push for flesh. They would push and push against the doors, crushing their fellows into a mash of decomposed fleshy pulp, but they'd keep pushing. The glass and metal would yield before the horde would. It was just a matter of time.

Hopefully by the time they broke free, they would already be fueled and loaded up. "How long?" Claire halted in front of the well where Carlos and Alice were kneeling, feeding the truck's hose deep underground.

"An hour. Maybe less." Carlos relinquished his hold on the hose. "You think the doors will hold?"

"At least until we're fueled. Probably." Alice straightened and dusted her hands on her knees.

"We need to talk."

Alice raised both eyebrows at Carlos who held his hands up in surrender, declining to involve himself. The former Umbrella operative was smart enough to know which battles to pick. This was not something he wanted to involve himself in. Sighing resignedly, she extended a hand in the direction of a small building, most likely an office for the fuel station.

Claire stalked towards the office, her mind was still tumbling with anger. She felt more than heard Alice behind her, heard the soft click of the door shutting behind them. It in fact, was an office. Sparsely furnished with only a desk and a few chairs, but well lit by the wide windows and afternoon daylight streaming through. It was dusty, however, and rubbed the tickle of a sneeze from her nose before turning to face the other woman.

"Don't ever. Ever. Touch me like that again," Claire kept her voice even but jabbed her finger at Alice for effect.

But Alice just nodded, her expression completely unresponsive. Which only served as fuel for Claire's anger.

"Good. Glad we had this talk."

"Is that all?" Alice reached for the door knob.

As much as Claire loved, no craved, Alice's smile, she could not stand the countenance of unflappable calm that she always wore. Even more so than that incorrigible smirk, the stoicism infuriated her. She expected some reaction, any reaction from the older woman, and when she didn't get one, it made her even angrier. Acting as if every word was an irritation to her, then throwing her into the Hummer like she was a doll, and now she had the nerve to not respond at all, to shrug off Claire's confrontation as if it were placating a child throwing a tantrum?

She wouldn't let Alice just walk away this time, as if Claire was the one being unreasonable. Her hand shot out and she grabbed Alice's wrist, yanking it away from the door.

Claire had seen Alice fight a dozen times, had seen her move. But being on the receiving end of her raw, feral power was quite a different experience. Like a spring coiled too tightly, she snapped forward in burst of motion, as if Claire's touch had been the trigger to release all of her pent up energy. Each motion bled into the other, as if it had been rehearsed. Alice pried Claire's hand from her wrist effortlessly, using the momentum of Claire trying to yank her hand backwards to spin her around, placing her between Alice and the door. In the same movement, she slammed her against the door, pinning her with her body.

It was as if a placid lake had blown into a howling Arctic nautical storm in a single breath, and Claire had not even felt the crack of her shoulders against the solid wooden door. She was pinned more by the savage ferocity flashing in Alice's eyes than the weight or strength of her body. Alice expelled a sharp breath, but didn't seem winded by the sudden burst of exertion.

"What—Alice, let go." Claire breathed and wriggled, trying to squirm free. But there was no escaping the older woman's grasp. She could feel the ridge of each fingerprint of Alice's fingers wrapped around each wrist pinning her to the door, the rapid thud of her heart against her chest matched Claire's own pulse. Her breath came in rapid pants that cooled on Claire's neck. "Alice—"

But she didn't respond. Like she had when she touched the door of the PX, she detached, something else seemed to take over, replaced by something feral. The only movement was her breath, as if she had frozen in place pressed against Claire, as if there was an inner turmoil warring for control.

Every moment Claire spent pinned against the door, she felt her own inner strength weaken. Despite herself, she struggled to free herself just to feel Alice tighten her grasp. "Alice," This time it was a plea and Claire squeezed her eyes shut to break eye contact, but that only made it worse. Her breath began to quicken, and sweat broke out on her shoulders and ran down her flanks, cooling. Now she was solely focused on feeling the hardened female strength against her, the scent of sweat and distinct Alice-ness. The heady realization that no matter how earnestly she struggled, that Alice was in utter, indisputable control.

"Stop, please, Alice," Claire opened her eyes and tried to reach the other woman, to break through the trance. "Alice, please…" The words sounded thin and unconvincing even to her, but Alice blinked once suddenly returned to herself, but made no other outward signs of moving. "Alice…"

In movement barely perceptible, the older woman began to lean forward, but Claire shook her head and squirmed but immediately halted as she felt the friction of fabric against her breasts.

"Alice—" She entreated again, her voice cracking. Why was she making this so hard? Her will was on the verge of crumbling. Claire wanted this, she needed it. She wanted to yield herself to Alice's lips, to her hands, to whatever she wanted. She needed whatever Alice would give her, no matter what it was. If Alice needed to throw her down, pin her to the wall, take her, Claire needed to surrender to her will. She needed her comfort, her love, even if it was rough, even if it left her sore. Because in the end, she knew that Alice would mend her, kiss away every hurt, every wound, every scar. But she could not let it happen. "Please… we can't. We can't do this."

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