A/N: Hey y'all, I thought about doing another Thanksgiving-themed chap like I did last year, but had zero ideas, so oh well.
Happy Thanksgiving if you're in the States, and thanks for reading!
After her fight with Alex, Theresa had broken down sobbing in the third fourth floor rec room by herself. Cynthia found her and ushered her back to her room where they spent most of the night together. She enjoyed her time with Cynthia, much to her surprise. They tried on different clothes, fiddled with their hair, and eventually talked about her situation with Alex. Yet she was unwilling to share a bed with Cynthia and left her room in the middle of the night to return to her own.
Alex lay in the dark snuggled underneath the bed covers, mumbling gibberish in his sleep. She almost reached over to touch him as she took a place by his side, but recalled his lies and turned her back. The next morning, she slipped out of the room while he was still asleep, and had Albert escort her to the first floor to oil the machinery. Albert then had to get to his own chores, leaving Theresa with nothing but the sound of running machines.
Steps echoing from the metal stairs made her set down the oil bottle and slide her hand into her pocket to grip the tissue-wrapped razor blade. When Alex appeared from around the corner, she released her hold.
While she was unable to bring herself to talk to him the previous day, their time apart granted her a cool head. She wanted to hear what he had to say.
"You came back last night," Alex said. "I woke up after you got in bed."
She crossed her arms. "I didn't want to sleep by Cynthia. That and she was on the left side of the bed. Because of your non-negotiable need to be on the right, I can't sleep now unless I'm on the left. So…"
He smiled a bit and edged forward. "I missed you yesterday."
"I know. I missed you too."
"I told Gabby to knock it off. Went straight to her office and told her point-blank. Hadn't had her try anything since then."
She breathed a sigh of relief and shut her eyes for a moment. "Thank you. That and telling me was all I asked."
He broke the distance between them and gazed at her with puppy-dog eyes.
No, not the puppy look… Mary told her he perfected it at only a year old.
"Tess, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. When I said I'd marry you, I agreed to love every one of you. The happy Theresa, the sad one, the angry one, the insecure one, the scared one… and I do. I'll never treat any one of 'em different again. I promise."
Such sappy words usually had her blushing or giving a playful groan, but tears rolled down her cheeks. She rushed forward and they shared a tight embrace.
He kissed the side of her head. "I rehearsed that, you know."
She giggled. "I could tell."
"Still true though, okay? I swear on every ounce of weed I ever smoked or ate in brownie form."
She giggled again as a wild idea crossed her mind. One she didn't think Alex would agree to, but figured she would try anyway. "Is Gabriella up on the surface?"
He pulled away and brushed the side-swept bangs from her forehead. "Last I heard. Why?"
"We could jump straight from this to our mind-blowing make-up sex in her room. Unless she keeps it locked."
He laughed. "Are you serious?"
She dropped her arms to wrap around his waist. "Mm-hm."
"You feel safe enough to do that?"
Lack of privacy, protection, and chronic hunger had made occasions of intimacy few and far between. And though using Gabby's room was risky, the thought of doing it there turned her on enough to negate her apprehension.
"I don't care if it's safe or not," she replied. "Not now."
"Oh, well, it does kinda need to be safe. You—"
"I saw a pack of morning afters in the infirmary. Come on, let's pay the bitch's room a visit."
Theresa fiddled with the tie in her hair as she and Martin stood watch a ways outside the complex's back fence. Walkers had the tendency to crop up as Spring began and the Sipseans preferred to have people keep an eye out for them. Though Theresa thought them spoiled since they considered a gaggle of four undead "a lot."
The indeed mind-blowing sex she and Alex had in Gabby's room played in her head on a loop. More than anything, she awaited her shift's end so they could go back to their own room and do it again. However, the dry warm air and fresh scent were welcomed after the hardness of the bunker.
Theresa had tuned Martin out at what she pegged a thousand words ago. Times like those she regretted becoming peaceable with him as he seemed to think she cared for his chattering.
"…think Gareth's idea's right," Martin finished. "Don't you?"
She furrowed her brow. "Huh?"
He sighed. "The ten-to-twenty-year theory?"
She brought her hand up and rubbed her eye. "Oh, right. Yeah, it makes sense. But their brains haven't decayed yet. Even the ones that are just walking skeletons."
"Nah, it's gotta happen." He pulled off his baseball cap and began scratching away at his head. "This goddamned lemon shampoo they give you is givin' my scalp a rash."
"I actually think they call that 'dandruff'."
Martin continued to scratch. "No, it's not, it's different. There's no flaky anything, it just itches."
When he placed the cap back on his head, she recognized the Atlanta Braves logo on it. As baseball had been the only sport she remotely cared for before the turn, she wondered if he chose it from Sipsey's wardrobe on purpose or just wanted one to replace the tattered Detroit Tigers one he'd had since Terminus. Her lips parted to ask, but then pressed back together—rue the day she would ask Martin a sports question out of genuine interest.
He then raised his index finger to his lips and pointed ahead of him. Expecting a walker, Theresa drew the pistol in her belt and Martin his. Cynthia instead emerged from the woods, blood staining her hands and her face wet with tears.
"You know I almost blew your head off," Martin said with a sigh, then lowered his gun. "What are you doin' out—"
"The hell happened to you?" Theresa asked, looking her up and down.
Cynthia glanced down at her bloody hands. "I—I don't… I was…. Skylar…"
"Red, you're gonna have to form words here," Martin said.
Theresa re-sheathed her weapon, hurried to Cynthia's side and placed her hand on her shoulder. "What about Skylar?"
"He's dead," she whined.
"Why were you with him in the woods?"
"Brandon spotted some deer yesterday, so he sent us out to see if we could catch some. And then he…"
Theresa's muscles tensed. "Did he hurt you?"
"No! No, that's just it. He didn't." Her face crumpled and she held her hand over her mouth.
"Do not tell me you killed him," Martin groaned.
She threw her hands up. "Just… come on." She whirled around and began hustling back from where she came.
Theresa and Martin trailed behind her as she pushed through yard after yard of brush and tree limbs to reveal a small clearing. Cynthia marched over to a body on its back and stared down at it. Upon closer inspection, Theresa saw it was indeed Skylar—a very dead one. His chest had been punctured and blood drained out from his the wound onto the ground below him. A hunter's knife lay beside him, the clear murder weapon.
"What the fuck happened?" Theresa demanded, peering at his half-lidded eyes and parted lips.
Cynthia began sobbing. "I… he—I don't what… we were out here and he said…"
"Be nice if you got that sentence out this year," Martin griped.
Theresa clenched her fist. "Just tell us what happened."
She wiped her eyes and turned to Theresa. "He said… he said… he was talkin' about the party tomorrow and said… 'ready for a good time?'"
Oh.
"Oh, Cynthia…"
"What?" Martin asked.
"The Occupiers, Martin. They used to say that."
Certain phrases and words triggered memories for many female Terminants, including Theresa. When she and Alex engaged in dirty talk, specific things were off-limits. Once he had spoken something that the leader of the thugs said to her and she pushed Alex off her without thinking, nearly sending him over the bed's edge.
"I don't know what happened," Cynthia continued. "He said that and I was alone—with him. I didn't know him, and he said that, and I grabbed my knife, and I…"
Martin sheathed his gun and slogged over to the foot of Skylar's body. "Can I please ask what the hell the big deal is? He's dead, so what? We've done a lot worse. So have you."
Theresa resented his tactlessness, but also wondered why she was so torn up.
Cynthia glowered at him. "The 'big deal' is I didn't need to! He wasn't threatenin' me, or gonna hurt me, and I wasn't hungry. There's no reason for his death, it meant nothin'! It was for nothin'."
"Hey? Hey?" Theresa urged, moving past Martin and to her side. "Look at me." Cynthia crossed her arms and oriented to her. "I know this is hard, but we need to cover this up."
"She's right," Martin agreed. "You just killed one of their own. Accidental or not, they won't care. If they don't kill us, they'll definitely toss us out."
"How?" Theresa asked. "How are we going to cover this up?" She rubbed her temple.
He shrugged. "Let's make steaks." Cynthia let out a whimper. "You say he disappeared, and we come back with some of that venison you were after. Then he wouldn't have gone to waste. Right, Cynth'?"
"Yeah, I… guess," Cynthia replied.
"Are you crazy?" Theresa contended. "One of theirs magically vanishes, then we come back with already sliced meat?"
"You think they'd assume we brought back Skylar for dinner?" He crossed his arms.
"Probably not their first conclusion, but it's way too suspicious."
Martin stared down at Skylar's body and dropped his arms. "Yeah, I guess you're…"
She raised her eyebrows. "Right?"
He hummed an agreement, then asked, "How long's he been dead?" He slid over, leaned down, and took the knife beside the body.
"Ten minutes, maybe," Cynthia answered.
"You should've gotten his head already. I've seen 'em turn in less than ten." He edged forward and drove the blade through Skylar's forehead.
"A walker attack would be out best bet," Theresa said. "But where are we going to find one? And convince them when he clearly wasn't munched on. I mean, he's already too dead for one to be interested."
Martin straightened his back and flicked blood and brain matter from the knife. "We'll have to get him messy."
"With no dead walker around they'll never believe that."
He made a displeased sound and ran a wrist across his forehead. "I'll go look for a biter. I oughta be able to find one since I'm a magnet for trouble and shit."
Theresa watched Martin hurry off into the woodlands before putting her arm around Cynthia. "Hey, it's going to be okay," she assured her. "We'll get this taken care of, alright?" Cynthia pursed her lips and nodded. "You were there for me last night, now I'm going to do the same."
"Did y'all make up?" she asked.
Boy, did we ever.
Theresa smiled. "Yeah, we made up."
"Oh, thank god."
In a streak of luck, Martin was able to find a walker and lead it back to Skylar. The skeletal thing was, as expected, uninterested in Skylar's corpse, instead opting for the three live bodies around it. Martin killed the undead and laid it beside the body, then assisted Theresa in using the knife to imitate walker bites to Skylar's abdomen.
Cynthia gave the Sipseans at the gate a tearful story hearing a commotion when she left Skylar to take a bathroom break. In her fable, she heard yelling, ran back, and found the walker on top of Skylar ripping into his chest.
The dead man was taken to the fourth floor morgue and laid out on a steel table where Naz looked him over. Theresa, Martin, and Cynthia joined them, all the while repeating their story.
The door burst open and in rushed a small blonde woman Theresa didn't recall the name of. "Skylar!" she bellowed, rushing to Naz's side. "How did this happen!? How did this happen!?"
A misty-eyed Cynthia stepped forward. "I went to go behind a tree and I don't… he didn't—"
"He's not an idiot! He wouldn't have gotten bit so easily!"
Naz placed her hand on the girl's shoulder and the blonde clocked her in the nose, sending her stumbling backward. Cynthia was backing away as the woman started for her, and Theresa rushed in front of her friend in defense.
"Move!" the distraught woman barked as she shoved Theresa aside, slamming her into the side of the steel table.
"Ow!" Theresa exclaimed as sharp pain radiated across her lower back. "Bitch!" she muttered.
"Hey!" Martin yelled, darting over and blocking the blonde's path. "You wanna go, hun? Come on, then."
She looked up the near foot of height difference between them before her face crumpled and she spun around into Naz's arms behind her. Naz held a hand over her struck nose as the girl bawled against her neck.
Theresa gripped her back and steadied her posture, knowing she would awake with a bruise the next day.
Cynthia hugged herself. "I'm sorry… I—I tried to get there in time. Really, I did."
The door swung open again and in walked Albert, Gabby, and Laura. Albert scurried to Cynthia and wrapped her up in a hug.
Theresa's cheeks went hot as Gabby pranced across the room, but quirked a smile at what she and Alex did on the leader's bed.
"Oh… Skylar…" Gabby said, she and Laura approaching the man's body on the table. "God, you think you're immune, that stragglers are easy, but…" She looked up to Cynthia and Albert, then around to Theresa and Martin. "She came right to you?" The two nodded. "Cynthia?" She looked back. "Didn't you have the walkies? Why not radio back to Frank on the outside first?"
"That's a good question," the grieving woman asked, turning her head.
"Hey!" Albert protested, separating from Cynthia.
"Skylar forgot 'em," Cynthia replied.
"Figures," Laura commented. "He was forgetful like that." Sadness touched her hard features.
"Where's Gareth?" Theresa asked.
"On his way," Gabby replied.
"Can I go then?" Martin asked. "I already told you everything, and I've needed to take a leak for about twenty minutes."
Theresa wondered if he intended to intercept Gareth and tell him the truth of the matter. If not, she would. That and she grew tired of standing around pretending to be interested in the death of someone she didn't care about.
"Yeah," Theresa spoke up. "I have to go too. I mean, we can come back if you or Gareth need us to."
The blonde still clinging to Naz gave both Theresa and Martin a dirty glare.
"You two go everywhere together, huh?" Gabby said, narrowing her eyes.
Theresa knew what she was insinuating and pressure grew in her chest. The knife from Martin's belt was in reach, she could plummet it into Gabby's head if she were quick enough. Or jam it into her throat so she would gag and drown in her own blood. Next, she could shove Skylar in the back and lay Gabby on the steel table. Martin's knife was sharp enough to strip the meat from her bones.
"Pretty people taste better."
Gabby was pretty, and Theresa had no doubt she would taste delicious. If only it were Terminus. If only they were the top dogs in the pack. Yet they had to conform, keep secrets, and worry what the higher ups would do if they learned too much.
Theresa wished they could make Sipsey theirs. Dreamed of Gareth shoving Gabby out and taking the helm—where he belonged.
"You don't think this'll look suspicious?" Albert asked as he shut the door behind him, joining the rest of the hunters in Gareth's room.
"Oh, it would," Gareth replied from the edge of his bed. "But no one's out there. I have ears like a bat, I'd hear them if they were."
"Still feel like we're bein' watched," Alex said. "I always feel like we're bein' watched here."
"We're not," Gareth assured him.
"We ain't gonna tell Kaylee, right?" Martin asked.
Gareth scoffed. "Of course not. She's one of them. Hasn't been one of us in a long time. Now, Cynthia, I'm sure people will ask you again about it. What's your story?"
Cynthia gulped. "I with Skylar and I had to pee, so I went a ways away and right after I was done—"
"See, now that's kind of convenient. You just pulled up your panties when you heard him yell."
She scowled. "What, you want me to say I hopped up mid-piss?"
Martin cracked up and raised his fist over his mouth.
Gareth broke a tiny smile and rose to his feet. "Did you say you heard him yell after you were done, or just that you heard him yell?"
"Heard him yell."
Theresa scratched the back of her neck. "She didn't say she had to go to the bathroom when we got back, so why don't we make it she heard him after?"
"You're right," he agreed. "Okay, let's go over it again, Cynthia, Theresa, Martin, go."
The three went over their story repeatedly until they got the tale down. And Gareth reminded them to avoid telling it in the same words so it wouldn't sound rehearsed.
Finally, he dismissed them and they went their separate ways. Theresa glided back to her room to find a change of clothes for the evening. As she removed her black tank top to change into a loose burgundy t-shirt, Alex slunk through the door and moved behind her.
"Hey," she began, placing her hands through the shirt, "I feel like I have to—" He cut her off by placing his hands on her backside. She grinned.
He slid his hands up to her forming bruise. "This hurt yet?"
"A little."
He kissed her neck and ran his hands across her bare stomach, then up to her breasts which he rubbed through the bra. "I hope we got the whole ordeal in the box. Mainly I'm just glad you're okay, but I'd like to knock around the chick that shoved you. I still wanna show you how happy I am you're okay though. I wanna…" He leaned in, his lips by her ear, and whispered in explicit detail how he wanted to go down on her.
Heat rushed to her core and she squeezed her eyes shut. "I need to go see Cynthia. Albert's been put on kitchen duty and I don't want her to be alone."
He pulled back a little. "Oh."
"It's just for two hours." She turned around and pulled the shirt over her head. "Then you can show me all you want."
He smiled. "Okay, you… have fun?"
"I actually did have a little fun last night. She was there for me when you and I were at odds and I want her to have the same thing."
"Pity friendship." Martin's accusation crossed her mind. But this time she asked herself if she truly wanted to help Cynthia, and concluded she did. Though her distress at killing Skylar was irrational, she cared that Cynthia cared. The same way she cared when Alex did.
"Yeah, you go," Alex said, taking a hold of her hands. "I'll be here I think."
She leaned up and pecked a kiss on his lips. "Try those pens and pencils Naz gave you on that blank notepad. I miss seeing your stuff."
"I might."
"Okay." She let go of his hands, turned and exited through the door.
Outside, she found Cynthia's door closed and knocked a few times.
Cynthia answered already wearing her frilly pink nightgown. "Hi."
"I thought we could do those manicures tonight since I wasn't up to last night?"
"Theresa, I… you don't gotta do this."
"Yes," she argued, stepping past her, "I do."
Cynthia turned to face her. "No, I mean, Martin's right, Skylar was just another one to add to the body count. Nothin' new."
Theresa sighed and planted herself on the bed. "I won't lie and say I disagree because yeah, Skylar was just another body. I don't care he's dead, but I care that you had a flashback and that killing him upset you."
"And paintin' our nails is gonna help me?"
"Doing girly crap always helps."
"But your problem's fixed, you made up with Alex. My problem's not over. He's still dead and they could find out I killed him."
"It is over. We took care of it. And now…" She hopped up and pushed the door shut. "We're going to use these people's nail polish stockpile and paint our nails and get away with what you did."
"Why? Why do we get to come in their house, drag our muddy shoes on the rug and blame the dog?"
"Because we can."