November 13, 2010
~*~ SW ~*~
Shane laughs as Scout snags Rick as he walks by their table. His brother startles but lets himself be pulled to a seat next to Scout.
"Shane? Your wife has me by the belt buckle."
"Could be by the balls, so count yourself lucky and do whatever it is she's caught you for." He smirks at Rick, who looks between him and the firm grip Scout has on his buckle.
"Meet your new neighbors," Scout finally says. "Abraham and Rosita are streetside and Eugene's next door."
When he offers a hand across the table, she finally turns him loose with a pat to his stomach. After he told Scout of his worries about Rick's loneliness, it's like she sent out a Dixon alert. The males are less obvious with their shoulder bumps and such, but Rick still looks a little panicky encountering the suddenly no-personal-space Dixon sisters.
"Rick and I were partners in the sheriff's department before." Translation for Abraham: there's a cop in your building.
Rosita is sitting between the two men and she looks curious. "So how long have the two of you been married?"
"Do we give the cutesy answer of how many days or be nice and say almost two months?" Scout asks.
He laughs. "I know damn well you'd hafta go count up the days."
Rick rolls his eyes. "They got married near the end of September."
"So, you knew each other before?"
"No. Met in a survivor camp outside Atlanta. She proceeded to tell me I was serving up a buffet with people living in tents."
"I did not!"
"Baby, you called my people burritos."
Scout looks to Rick, who grins and nods that she did, indeed, refer to the quarry campers as burritos.
"What these idiots are demonstrating is that first impressions can be overcome," Cricket says as she comes to a stop behind Rick. She reaches out and fluffs his curls. "Can give you a haircut tomorrow if you like."
Rick nods and she takes the seat beside him. Around them, about two-thirds of the tables are being folded up while people dash outside to bring in various more comfortable seats for the movie.
"I'm going to turn you loose, sergeant," Scout says. "I've seen enough today to understand you aren't going to be staging a repeat of yesterday's incident."
"No, ma'am, I have no such intentions."
Scout smiles, but is called away by Glenn to review a change for tomorrow's run before she can say more. She sheds her flannel and drops it in his lap on the way.
He knows from the looks on their faces that they've seen the burn scars with that tank top she's wearing.
"Napalm?" Abraham asks.
"IED in Afghanistan last year."
He can see the wheels turn and remembers some of the issues he's heard from Jamie and Scout both about female NCOs. Jamie put it best with, "Men are trusted to be competent until they prove otherwise. Women, the opposite." He wonders which side of the line the Army sergeant falls on. He's old for his rank and Scout young for hers, and with his obvious alpha nature, it could brew problems.
Abraham is assessing her the same way Tim did, and the former sniper ended up one of her most loyal, so Shane's hoping it'll go the same way.
The man makes a power play against Scout, though, and they'll never find his body. Shane's 100% sure Carol will help him with that.
Cricket breaks the silence with a question. "Your trip started in Houston, right?"
Abraham looks away from Scout on the other side of the room to her sister. "Eugene and I, yes. We met up with Rosita and her people in Dallas."
"Did they bomb the cities there?"
Abraham shakes his head. "Can't say why they didn't."
She seems about to ask something else when she's called away and it clicks for Shane. It's harmless enough information. "Her birth mother lives in Corpus Christi."
Eugene frowns. "I am not sure I want to tell her there was footage of a refugee camp going under there. Hopefully, her mother didn't follow instructions to go there."
Shane agrees, glad Scout was away for the discussion.
"Are these movie nights common?" Rosita asks.
"Twice a week after supper, Saturday and Wednesday. Usually kid friendly. Fridays tend to be more of a music and dance night. Carol's big on offering social opportunities. But if it's not your thing, there's enough DVDs available to carry back to your own place."
He turns to yell at Brady, who's getting the projection equipment set up. "What's tonight's movie?" He's bad about keeping up since he and Scout don't always stay.
"Up."
"Oooh, Squirrel!" Honey cries out as she plops down beside him in Scout's empty seat. Rick looks relieved, considering last movie night she perched on his knee and swore she was watching the movie from there. She actually did make it ten minutes in before she grinned and wandered off.
"You are a fan of Dug?" Eugene asks.
Shane mutters, "More like she is Dug," which earns him an elbow to the gut followed by a grin and a couple of phrases in Chamorro that cause him to raise an eyebrow.
She sighs. "You would learn the profanity first."
Eugene and Rosita both look curious, but Rosita speaks. "You were teaching Eugene last night. What language is that?"
"Chamorro. My birth mother was from Guam. Carol's my stepmom. Unofficially, but we all figure if Daddy's ever stupid enough to let her go free, we're keeping custody of her anyway."
"Your father's a former Marine, isn't he?" Abraham asks.
"Yeah. How'd you guess?"
"Guam is a good clue. Figured if he was Navy, your sister probably would be a sailor, not a Marine."
"You have a lot of military here?" Abraham asks Shane.
"A bit. Scout and her two Marines were still active duty, although she was still on medical. We snagged up a group of stray Guardsmen a while back. Got several former military of all branches, and more cops than a place this size will ever need."
"How did so many officers survive? We didn't see that happen in Texas," Rosita notes.
"The bulk of them were overseeing a hospital evacuation when everything went down and the city was bombed, so they closed the place up with their remaining people and held fast until we came across them and got them out of the hot zone. Eight Atlanta cops, although two have more or less retired as far as they can and don't do the supply runs like the others. The lieutenant of the Guard group was already discharged when he reported in to help and wasn't interested in keeping his rank around. He's one of the school teachers here. Other former cops are me, Rick, Tara, and Bryce, both of which were part of the group that brought you in. Quinton, Daryl, Elias, and Ryan were all game wardens." Even if Georgia deemed its men 'conservation rangers', Shane knows most states call them game wardens to distinguish law enforcement from the educational guides in the state parks. "Rachel and Tim were U.S. marshals. Think he might be your only other Army here. Former Ranger."
"We met him yesterday. His little blinds on top of the trailers are intriguing," Eugene says. "Who came up with a design that's so well camouflaged?"
"He worked that out with me," Honey says. Shane knows she enjoys the startled looks. "He came up with the design and I made the modifications."
"Honey's hell on wheels with a welding torch," Shane adds. "Or anything that needs to be built. Or shot." Honey giggles. "Eugene, we've got a few firearms instructors around once you're clear to train. Honey can probably get you started even one handed." The man would probably find Honey easier to begin learning from, unless he's the type that thinks an instructor needs to look like Shane or Tim.
She nods. "I'll get Jazz to demonstrate anything that needs full use of both hands."
"You are a firearms instructor?" Eugene asks. Shane knows he sees what most do - the bubbly teenager - which probably supersedes the fact that he was led around the property by her while fully armed today.
"I was an apprentice shooting instructor, before, for firearms. Certified for archery."
"Currently training with a damned Ranger sniper," Shane adds.
Scout's back and taps her sister on the shoulder. "If you want to skip the movie, Edwards says he's willing to redo your arm tonight. Glenn scored a bunch of that thermoplastic stuff like you had for your arm last time, and he's worked with it before."
"Awesome. This thing weighs a ton." Honey tugs at the sling she's got the end of her cast in. "And showering's a bitch." She glances at the grumpy doctor waiting and bids them goodbye.
Abraham watches her go for a minute. "She is awfully cheerful, considering."
"I've seen her singing Disney songs while covered in walker muck. There's not much that shakes her." In fact, the only time he's seen Honey lose her equilibrium were over Merle on that rooftop and then her rejected crush.
"Is she really training with the sniper?"
"He's trained a few of the women. Says their patience and technique is better," Shane answers. It's part of why they feel safe letting Glenn run such a small two-team group. Sasha, Maggie, and Jacqui are outright terrifying with a rifle and pretty good with their handguns too. While they still prefer the air rifles or bows to keep noise down, no team goes out without the big firepower available either, not after the non-walker encounters they've had.
"The Soviets used female snipers in World War Two. They were the only country who allowed women in combat at that level, and of more than two thousand snipers in the field, only five hundred survived." Eugene's listing of facts doesn't surprise Shane. "The most prominent had over 300 kills and was termed Lady Death."
The movie starts at last, and in the usual odd juxtaposition of their world, they go from talking about snipers to a Disney cartoon.
~*~ TC ~*~
Tara watches as Cricket finishes making notes at the desk, used to her partner's nightly ritual to prepare for the next day by now. She got to where she was before the apocalypse by such habits, getting her bachelor's degree in three years and surviving a year of medical school. It makes her heart ache a little to know she probably never would have met Chris in the world before, despite living less than three hours apart for more than a decade. She tidies up the desk and pauses as she puts away the baby book they worked on earlier in the top drawer.
The former rookie cop knows what's in that drawer - letters from Chris's mother, not just the three years of correspondence between them, but sealed envelopes for each member of the family Lilliana Dixon walked away from. "You ever going to give any of those away, Chrissy?" she asks softly. They're a constant source of contemplation for her lover.
"None of them are ready for those yet."
"You don't know what they say." She knows there's no way in hell Chris peeked, something Tara never would have been able to resist.
"I don't have to know that to know they aren't ready. Honey, maybe, but giving her one means they all know they exist. Daryl's just now starting to live again. I can't mess that up, not for her. I may have made my own peace with her, but I don't owe her anything that would hurt my family." She sighs and closes the drawer and goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Tara looks to the baby monitor, glad that cost is no object when supply runners can just empty out a store. The video monitor shows their little son asleep, legs scrunched under him and diapered butt in the air like always. He's unlikely to wake until the godawful early time of five a.m., but since she usually rises then for her morning run and PT, it gives her a little one-on-one time with Christian. She never considered herself the motherly type, and she certainly doesn't have that ache Chris seems to have to actually give birth to her own child, but somewhere on that trip back with the sickly baby she saved, she fell in love with the boy before Chris ever saw him.
Chris flips off the desk lamp on her way by, but not before she catches Tara's interested gaze. It's not that the other woman is even wearing anything tantalizing, just a Spiderman T-shirt that does little to cover the red boy shorts that hug her lean curves. Tara's not exactly short, and at 5'8" is often taller than most women she's around, but Chris is an inch shy of six foot and so much of that height is in her well-toned legs. The dim nightlight they installed to make getting to Christian easier highlights her as she comes to bed.
"I know that look."
"The one that says that shirt would look so much better on the floor than on you?"
"Yeah." Her voice is husky and Tara knows that's where the shirt's going before it even happens. Chris's easy confidence in her own sexuality is what drew her to the med student in the first place. After Sam, who fiddled around with their relationship out of curiosity and never quite committed to even saying she was bisexual, it makes her feel safe. If this between them ever fails, it won't be because Chris suddenly changes her mind about liking women.
She gets her own night shirt off just in time for Chris to kiss her, one hand going to cup one of her small breasts and grinning as Chris arches against the touch. Despite sharing a sleeping bag on the road, they never actually had sex until their first night here, in their apartment, and she is still as amazed by her lover's lean, athletic form as she was then. She's in good shape herself, even better from months of running and PT here, but Chris's build is from years of athletic training, and she doesn't really have the curves Tara has.
The dim nightlight doesn't provide enough light for color, but she's memorized the blue of Chris's eyes enough to know what the pale rims around her pupils are as she kisses her way down Tara's body. When her thighs are shifted and Chris is putting teeth and tongue and lips to the single-minded task of driving Tara insane, she tangles her fingers in dark hair and cries out, "don't stop, Chrissy, god don't." By the time Chris slides two fingers inside her and hooks them just right, Tara's a writhing mess as she climaxes, riding her lover's hand in aftershocks even as Chris trails back up her body to kiss her hungrily, rocking herself against Tara.
As soon as she's able to form a coherent thought again, she urges Chris up to straddle her shoulders, and the sight of her small breasts bouncing as she rocks through Tara's attentions to orgasm are enough to make Tara want her all over again. The stitches in her eyebrow pull a bit, but it's so damn worth it.
But they've both got an early morning and Chris has a work shift that is going to involve physicals for the newcomers, so Tara puts it aside in favor of lingering kisses as they pull night shirts and panties back on. It doesn't take Chris long to fall asleep, long acclimatized to early rising and thus early bedtimes.
She lays there listening to her lover's quiet breathing and smiles to herself. Chris is her first lover, since Sam never committed beyond heavy petting, but she's not Chris's. Once she would have thought herself to be jealous of the women Chris dallied with during her clubbing days her first two years of college or to the woman Chris lived with for the last year of undergrad before transferring away to her own round of graduate school. But right now, with the glorious post-orgasm warmth carrying her off to sleep as well, she's not going to complain of the source her lover's expertise.
~*~ SP ~*~
Sophia treads carefully down the carpeted stairs from the laundry room into the basement bunk room. She'll be grounded until she's twenty if she's caught down here at night, but she has to talk to Jazz now. She can make out the boys in their bunks, only four bunks occupied, with four bunks empty, now that Carl's been living in the new cabin with his mom and Uncle Daryl and Abby. Thankfully, Jazz has a lower bunk, and it's not in the cluster by the game room with the other three boys, because he and Carl were in the set of bunks closest to the stairs.
He's sound asleep, flat on his stomach with one arm draped over the side to the floor. The bunk isn't really meant for someone his size, and she keeps forgetting to ask why he hasn't moved back upstairs to his own room with the full-size bottom bunk. She reaches out to brush fingers carefully over his shoulder and his eyes open sleepily.
"Sophia?" he sounds confused and drops his palm firmly to the floor to push up and look at her. "Why're you down here?"
"I needed to tell you something." She wants to sit on the bed, but she knows he'll pitch a fit about that, so she sits cross-legged on the floor beside his bunk. He frowns a little, but drops back to his chest on the bed, keeping his head tilted toward her.
"Couldn't wait til morning? Was out with Hershel til midnight."
"Did Pepper have her baby then?" Everyone's been wondering when the little female donkey from the rabbit farm would have her foal. Sophia's still impressed the poor thing has been pregnant for an entire year.
"Yeah. A girl. Hershel let me catch it because she was standing up." He's more alert now, the excitement of telling about the birth bringing him awake.
"Wow. I'm sorry I didn't stay." Well, mostly. After she did watch some of the ewes give birth in the last lambing, she thinks it's better he's the apprentice and not her. And she's maybe never having kids.
He smiles sleepily and takes her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles as he yawns. "What did you need?"
Oh, yeah. "I was going to get something to drink, because Isabelle had a nightmare and woke us all up." He nods. Nightmares aren't uncommon for any of them, but for kids like Isabelle and Patrick, who were without any adult help for a period of time, they're worse. "Got to the stairs and saw Mama heading back toward her room from the kitchen. She's got a ring on, Jazz. You know. An engagement ring, I think. It's the right finger for it."
"Huh. Was wondering if Dad would ever get around to it."
Sophia giggles. "She might have proposed to him, you know."
"Yeah, probably." He laughs softly, then yawns again. "Really coulda waited til daylight though."
She huffs and swats his shoulder. "Alright. I'll go back before I get caught. Ain't like the other boys would tell I was down here, you know."
"Don't matter that they won't tell, Soph." He lets her hand go, but only to lever himself up a bit again and lean over to place a sleepy kiss on the corner of her mouth. "G'night."
She makes it to the stares before she covers the spot with a happy smile. They've kissed before, once a closed-mouth kiss she initiated while he panicked, and another he tried and asked if she minded that he thought it kind of weird. But for all that he thinks the innocent full-on-the-lips kisses are odd, he missed her cheek when she turned one day and something about the little kiss just at the edge of her lips always makes him smile.
She tiptoes down the hallway to the kitchen and then wishes she forgot about the need for a drink and used the garage stairs, because she steps into the kitchen to see Hershel standing there. The older man's gaze goes toward the hallway she has no excuse to be in and he clears his throat. So, she stumbles through an explanation, hoping he'll at least wait until morning to tell her parents.
In the end, he just sighs and makes her get her drink, then follows her up the stairs and watches from his own doorway to make sure she returns to her room.
Yeah, she's in trouble, but that doesn't override the excitement of why she went in the first place.
"You're too noisy," Beth complains from the top bunk. Isabelle's in the trundle bed, and Sophia's just glad she has the bottom bunk to herself after Honey got her own place. Isabelle kicks in her sleep. "Where'd you go?"
"Down to get a drink, but I saw something awesome."
The blonde rolls over the edge of the bed too look down at her. Sophia's glad she stopped being jealous of the girl, who is at least willing to giggle about boys with her despite the age difference. "What's that?"
"Mama's got an engagement ring on." No point in telling Beth she also got in trouble. That'll be news enough tomorrow.
"Seriously? That is awesome. Think they'll do another big wedding?"
"Doubt it. Mama wouldn't want all that fuss."
"Yeah, probably right." Beth rolls back into bed and then giggles a little. "Think it would be safe to make them breakfast and sneak it in tomorrow?"
"Maybe. But we'll be real sure to knock first."
They both giggle sleepily at that, and Sophia falls asleep smiling.
~*~ TG ~*~
Tim feels the movement on the bed and rolls to look at the clock. It's just after one a.m. and he knows what woke him even before he sees Honey tying up her boots. The new cast doesn't slow her down as much, the lightweight material as much a splint as a cast.
"You do know you're welcome to stay the night." She never has in the three other times she's come home with him in the past couple of weeks. He's under no illusion that this is anything other than scratching a mutual itch while she works through whatever heartbreak she's nursing, but telling her she should stay the night is the respectful thing to do.
"Lydia will worry if I don't." She leans over and kisses him, which almost leads to enough interest for her to stay a while longer, but she looks at the clock regretfully. "You got a breakfast shift in the morning."
Tomorrow's one of Carol's mandated off days for his team, not allowing teams to run more than four days a week unless it's urgent and always with one set of teams left at Homestead, but it isn't an off day because each team also fills in once a week to give other folks time off. Glenn and Tim are breakfast relief tomorrow, which he really doesn't mind, because it means that Tara and Maggie drew the laundry shift this week. But he's got year of shitty sleep schedules under his belt from the Army and then the Marshal Service, so running on the hour he's already slept plus a few more is nothing really.
He's actually a little surprised she fell asleep for the hour she did. He might not be her Mr. Right or really anyone's Mr. Right, but he doesn't give a shit about the eleven year age difference. She's done the equivalent of serving a tour out in the hellhole world, getting from Florida to the Homestead. Sex is always better than drinking to ease the nightmares he brought back from the desert, and he's fond of her damned determination to remain kind despite the shit the world keeps throwing at her. It doesn't hurt that he thinks she'll be an utterly terrifying sniper, if she ever has to use the skill on something more than walkers.
"Don't care, if you want to stay."
She shakes her head and gives him another kiss and heads for the door. His place is one of the tiny triplex units, no bath, no kitchen, just barely enough room for a full-size bed and nightstand, so it's not far for her to go. "Hey, Honey?"
She turns, door partly open. She's shadowed because the moon's still moving back to full, and on the porches, they don't get a lot of light from the street lighting without their outside light on.
"Not sure this is going to really help you forget him."
"Is that bothering you?"
"No. Just wanted to remind you so I'm not taking advantage of the situation."
She laughs, the sound barely audible. "I know you aren't that type of guy." She steps out onto the porch and turns back. He wishes he could see her face. "I'll stay tonight, maybe." And then she's gone, and he reaches out to pull on a pair of shorts to pad out to the porch despite the November cold, not really wanting her to walk even the short distance across to her building unobserved. She's armed, and damned capable as he knows as one of her trainers, but it's just habit by now.
She makes it a stroll too, as he walks down to the corner by Danny's place to make sure he can see. He doesn't think she's aware he always makes sure she gets at least back to her own porch okay. When he sees Augustus pop up out of the shadows where he was probably sleeping in front of Michonne's door in the unit below Honey's, he relaxes. She pauses at the top of her stairs, and he thinks maybe she's spotted him, but she's looking toward the next building before waving. He guesses the newbie in that place must still be up, either out on the porch or seen through the window, but since Honey doesn't pause to talk and heads inside, he waits to hear the click of her door in the quiet night air and then goes back inside where it's warm.
He flicks the TV on, setting it to play some stupid cartoon DVD on repeat now that he doesn't have the warmth and sounds of another person in his space to keep the darker times at bay. He sheds his shorts and after a moment of hesitation, reaches for the pillow that Honey slept on and tucks it to his chest. Her perfume adds to the reminders of where he is, and he falls back asleep surprisingly fast.
~*~ JD ~*~
Jazz is almost back asleep when Jimmy's voice comes out of the darkness. "You're kind of a dumbass, Dixon."
He rolls to his back so he can see where the older boy is leaning out of his bunk to look at him. He likes Jimmy, most days, but unlike Patrick, who might be older in years, but younger in personality, or Al, who's only thirteen, Jimmy's a bit of an asshole at times when it comes to girls and sex. Either the conversation with Sophia or Jimmy's words have woken the other two, because Al blinks sleepily from the bottom bunk under Jimmy's and Patrick just pulls the pillow over his head in the other top bunk.
"And you're a jackass, Lawrence. Just because you're sleeping with Ashley, doesn't mean everyone's only out for that." He knows what the dumbass comment is about, because Jimmy's used it before when he realized Jazz was interested in a younger girl. He's ignored the boy's musings about sex with the college aged girl, knowing from multiple sports locker rooms that some guys just have to fucking brag. And at least he's not talking about the fact that he slept with Beth and her daddy still doesn't know. Jazz had to get threatening to get him to shut up about that. He doesn't want to hear that about his friend, and he knows Patrick, at least, of the other boys was grateful. Beth's his friend, too.
"I just don't understand it. You could get laid multiple times if you just winked at half the older girls here."
"All you ever do is think with your dick." That comes from Al, who's sitting up and looking a little angry. Jazz wonders if Jimmy remembers the things Al saw at Grady. He doesn't think the older teenager remembers how it was when Al first came to stay, when all the horror show of the hospital came out in a rushed confession one night to Jazz and Carl, before Patrick came.
"You're too young to understand," Jimmy tells him.
"Ever think that maybe we all are?" Patrick says from under his pillow. "Jazz is barely fifteen. Were you getting laid at fifteen?"
"He was probably obsessed with it even then," Al says, getting up to drag his bedding over to the bunk across from Jazz instead of the one under Jimmy's. "It's probably contagious too. Gonna sleep over here." He rolls into the bunk and follows Patrick's example by stuffing the pillow over his head.
Jazz knows he could have moved back to his own room when his uncle completed the cabin and moved his little family out, but he normally likes the dorm style atmosphere of sharing with the other boys. He's always been the odd one out in his family, too young to remember Daryl sharing a room with him while he was still at home and that wouldn't have been the same anyway with a fifteen year gap between them. And Patrick and Al both still have nightmares they don't like to bother the adults with.
"Seriously, man, that new girl Edith thinks you're the prettiest guy she's ever seen. She'd be all over you, and she's got boobs to die for."
Jazz isn't blind, and Edith is the type of beautiful that has all the boys and some of the younger men gawking. And he isn't immune to wondering what sex would be like that doesn't involve his own left hand. But he likes Sophia too much to find out. Maybe it means three or four years until she's old enough he won't feel like the world's biggest pervert. Kissing's awkward enough that he's glad she listened when he told her it was weird, her wanting to French kiss like the others do. His dad didn't have to have the boundary talk with him for him to know he wasn't about to push any limits. If she thinks he's a little slow with the whole puberty thing, whatever.
Patrick fists the pillow harder over his head and Jazz is angry now, not just for himself, or the disrespect to Sophia just being disregarded as important to him because she's so young, but for the fact that Jimmy's a dipshit who won't shut up in front of the obviously distressed other boys. So, he gets to his feet and goes to the older boy's bunk and grabs him by the T-shirt. It shuts him up, just like it did when he had to have a chat with him about sharing personal details about Beth. When he's sure he's got Jimmy's attention, he leans in and hisses low enough he hopes Patrick, especially, can't hear him.
"Did you forget why the men that caught Patrick's group were killed, dumbass?"
When Jimmy's blue eyes widen, he knows that yes, the other teenager did forget about the Claimers and what those men threatened to do to Chloe and the two teenage boys in their group. He mouths an apology and Jazz lets him go.
"Go talk to the twins or Troy or whoever you need to when you want to brag about Ashley or who's screwing who, Jimmy. Cos if you start this again with me, I'm gonna kick your ass." Jimmy nods and Jazz is almost back to his bed when another thought occurs. "And then I'm going to tell Patricia you need to sleep somewhere else and why." That makes the older boy look more worried than the threat of physical harm, and he rolls to face the wall.
Jazz retrieves his bedding off the floor and settles back down to try to sleep. Tomorrow's an off day for chores for him, but he knows Daryl's going to check out another of those deer farms to see what survived and he really wants to go along. He's about half asleep when he hears Patrick's quiet thank you and realizes that his words to Jimmy got heard anyway.
He wonders if anyone other than the boys in this room and Carl have ever talked to Patrick about the Claimers. He knows Al's talked to Carol and Patricia both, backing out of the room when he's come across the intense conversations to let the younger boy have the privacy and mothering of the two women.
Tired out of his mind, he reminds himself to ask his dad in the morning. After he verifies Sophia's right about that engagement ring, of course.
~*~ EP ~*~
Eugene watches the girl who got hurt defending him yesterday and served as tour guide today as she comes to the top of her stairs, which he can see from the little windows that face out toward what they all call their 'porches' here. She spots him as she makes the turn toward her door and doesn't seem disturbed by the fact that he's there. He returns her wave and smile and doesn't move away from the window until she gone inside. The big dog with her didn't follow, but instead plops down to stretch out in a massive heap of spotted fur in front of her door.
He is actually surprised to understand she's not as young as he first guessed, but he's a skilled enough liar himself to understand the scene they put on for his group yesterday. It worked, because while he's spent the last couple of weeks frantically sabotaging their journey where he safely can, they stumbled upon a safe haven like he envisioned Washington might be. Maybe it's not a government enclave, or even a huge one yet, but he's smart enough to realize the potential.
Scout made no attempt to hide the military stockpile she's collected on their tour, and the longer he followed the two Dixon daughters around, the more he realized that the younger one is being trained to be just as skilled as her sister. They both remind him of Rosita in that potential for violent defense lurking under the surface, which makes sense, considering the Hispanic woman's ex-military. Homestead's as secure as any human settlement can be outside of a governmental bunker these days, and to be honest, he wouldn't want to live underground anyway.
He finishes shutting the slate colored curtains, the whole reason he was actually at the window. He's aware of his own inclinations toward voyeurism, which certainly got fed well and heavily with travelling with Abraham and Rosita. But there was no way he could have known Honey would be coming home back then. He wonders what that means about the slim man she left the community center with, the sniper who unnerves even brash Abraham. It was that exit that prompted Scout to mention her sister's age, because she caught Rosita's concern at the teenager wandering off with a hand crammed in the older man's back pocket. Maybe he's like most good-looking guys and doesn't realize he's lucky that a woman actually wants him to touch her.
He pushes away the thought to focus instead on his own little pocket of privacy. He'll miss the thrill of getting flashes of Rosita's bare skin as Abraham fucks her enthusiastically, but for the first time in months he has his own space and he won't have to scramble out of the comfortable bed to run from cannibalistic monsters before morning. He moves around the small space, opening and closing cabinet doors to see the things issued from stores neatly put away. He's not sure how much he'll cook in the tiny kitchen, but he likes having the option. The bathroom's a miracle itself, and he's almost tempted to take another shower after being assured water's plentiful and that the storage containers are well insulated and don't carry sound to the neighbors unless you just really bang on a wall.
That's actually what woke him. It's barely audible, and he probably only really 'hears' because he's so familiar with their noises, but he shares a wall with Abraham and Rosita, who apparently needed a midnight christening of their new bed. The thumps of the bed against the outer wall, if theirs is set up like his, were almost indistinct, but the thump against his wall, probably the couple rolling in their bed, was pretty clear. It's a little reassuring, that that part of his life isn't entirely gone.
He looks to the small table that holds a stack of books he selected from stores. Carol smiled kindly and told him they were building a formal library of sorts, but in order to do that, they keep ending up with copies, and those are fair game for personal ownership. He makes a note on the little notepad he was given about the library. It's something he might help with.
It's too quiet to sleep, and despite the painkillers he was issued and did take, his face aches. He's used to the sounds of a city around him, or later, at least the sounds of other people in his space. So, he reaches for a book and remembers Honey dropping it into his stack with a quip that it's a loaner and proof she wasn't messing with him last night. He has to laugh a little when he sees it's a textbook on Chamorro and carries it to the bed to read.
~*~ AF ~*~
Abraham opens the door just enough to let smoke trail outside. He prefers cigars to cigarettes, but one of the areas they aren't as accommodating on here is vices that might impact health. Smoking isn't forbidden, but they don't stock anything for free issue like the furnishings, clothes, and basic items for the kitchen fridge and cabinets. If he wants actual cigars, he'll either have to join a supply team or make a bargain with someone to bring some back. One of the Guardsmen had pity on him and gave him a couple packs of Marlboros, so he's set for a little while. Alcohol is better available, but he's on probation here even if no one puts it that way. He'll keep a clear head for now.
But since two rounds of fucking Rosita didn't exhaust him enough to sleep, he's left with the pack of cigarettes and brooding on the tiny loveseat near the cracked door.
He's always had a temper, but yesterday was the first time he ever hurt someone who didn't ask for it first. Even the lighter cast on that girl's arm and her absolution of him doesn't erase the fact that he slung her hard enough she broke her goddamned arm when it hit one of the support struts of the cafeteria seating. The other woman, the one with the baby, looks like she lost a fight with Muhammad Ali. He understands Rosita jumping in. She cares for Eugene despite finding out he's a goddamn fraud. But he remembers enough through the haze of rage and grief to know the other two didn't hesitate to intervene either.
A large part of him wishes that lady marshal shot him like she threatened.
He hadn't struggled at all when the girl's father and brother-in-law put him into that wall and read him the riot act. All things considered, he got off light, although he knows the big deputy nailed him with something hard, probably not police gear, in the kidneys, and he's surprised all Merle landed was a single warning blow. Even after a day spent with the woman in charge of his fate here, he still doesn't quite understand the Dixon dynamic. There's a story there, to their reason for giving him a second chance.
He finishes the cigarette and watches Rosita instead. She's naked under the blankets, probably cold with him having the door open, so he nudges it shut. She's given him as much reason to keep going as Eugene's false mission did, but now that they're somewhere reasonably safe, he wonders if he should be truthful with her. She's told him she loves him. He knows he harbors no such feelings for her at all, and he doesn't see that changing. Fucking her is one thing. Moving on from Ellen? That's not going to happen anytime soon.
A better man would break it off. He's seen enough of the atmosphere here tonight to know casual sex happens, even if there are also dedicated couples like the Marine and her husband or Merle and Carol. It's not like he'll go celibate if he ends things.
He signs and returns to the bed, and when she rouses sleepily and kisses him, he decides he'll work on being a better man tomorrow and slides back between her willing thighs.