December 31, 2010

~*~ CG ~*~

Carl doesn't mind being ushered away as being too young for the remainder of the party in the community center, mostly because he's trying not to hyperventilate over the fact that Audrey is holding his hand as they head toward the Dixon basement and a party more PG than he guesses the community center will celebrate. There's chatter around them, mostly a debate over which movie series to watch.

"I hope they go with Night at the Museum," Audrey says. "Or the comic book movies, not the Star Wars ones."

"Which comic book movies?" He's starting to understand that what he - and every other boy he knew back at school - thought about girls not liking comics was very wrong. Besides the fact that he has access to the massive collection of comics that Cricket's collected over the years, Sophia's a Justice League fan, at least. And now Audrey, too?

"Spiderman, hopefully, although I doubt we'll stay up long enough to watch all three. That's my favorite. Or X-Men would be cool too." She catches his astonished look and she smiles, but it's a little sad. "My little brother really loved X-Men. He watched them over and over til I thought he might wear out the DVDs."

Oh. He remembers the days where he thought his dad was dead and how it just ached. Audrey lost both her parents and her little brother. Abby's only been his sister for a few months and he would go crazy missing her. He squeezes her hand. "We can watch them sometime, even if they don't tonight."

It chases some of the sadness out of her expression and that gives him a bigger thrill than just holding her hand. Is this why his dad and Shane and Daryl all grin like idiots when they make ladies smile?

~*~ CD ~*~

Cricket makes her way down the narrow hallway that makes up the ten small rooms in Building A of the nursing home. Each of the three buildings brought onto the property is divided up this way, allowing each of their elderly residents to have a small private room, just large enough for hospital bed, a dresser that doubles as a nightstand, and a bookshelf by the door. Extra clothing is hung on hooks and each room has its own wall-mounted television with a DVD player on the bookshelf below. Each door is modified with a slide latch up near the top that can be opened from inside or outside the room, but no walker can manipulate.

The elderly die too often unexpectedly in their sleep to leave anything to chance. None of these people want to be the one who eats their friends or caretakers.

She taps at the first door frame on the right.

Guillermo's door is open, but the former janitor is lost in thought, not really watching the television he has playing. She notes that he has the captions on, as usual, and wonders if he misses watching television with sound. She's never met a person who wasn't fully fledged medical personnel that is so fully devoted to their charges. His room is nearly identical to the other nine, except he has a twin-sized bed instead. At least he's made his room comfortable and personalized.

He startles and looks up, meeting her gaze with the solemn nature she's come to expect from him. "You need me to go get Carlos, don't you?"

She nods, feeling a wealth of sadness building up in her. They've been blessed beyond belief so far, in keeping even their most fragile patients alive, but that luck's run out. She doesn't think Homestead will enter the new year with the same number of residents they have right now, and this particular lady is one of the few with a relative in residence.

G stands. "How long do you think? Do you need me to call Caleb over too?"

She shakes her head. "There's no need for a crowd. Just Carlos, his girlfriend if he wants her here. Lucia's still coherent for now, and she would like to see Zoe too, I think."

"She needs to see he's got someone to anchor him, with his abuela gone." G slides his jacket on and steps out into the hall. "You will be okay alone until I return?"

"Everyone else is sleeping. Lucia doesn't want an audience."

The former janitor sighs softly and heads through the common areas to go summon Carlos in person. This isn't an errand for the radios.

Cricket makes her way back to the fourth room on the left, listening to the labored breathing of her patient. While Caleb is the doctor is on-duty tonight, she just can't bring herself to not make this final journey with the woman. The room looks nothing like a nursing home, decorated lovingly by the woman's great-grandson, who has used his unexpected rise to a prominent place in the community to lavish comforts on the woman who raised him.

Lucia was a beauty in her day, and it still shows in the woman's bone structure. She blinks weakly at Cricket, breathing supplemented by the oxygen cannula, but she refused any more significant care. At eighty-six, it isn't any one thing wrong with her body that's winding her down, although her heart is the central issue now. She's been losing weight since Thanksgiving, her skin going papery thin and translucent, and for the past ten days, she's been dependent on oxygen. Cricket gives thanks they raided so many damned clinics and hospitals now. They can't turn the tide for her patient, but they can damn well make her comfortable.

In the world before, maybe a cardiologist could come up with a plan, implant a pacemaker. But now, it's just waiting on Lucia's body to wind itself down, her own requests limiting any intervention.

She's ready to let go.

"Would you like me to pray with you, Lucia?" she asks. Faith is something she laid by the wayside years ago, when she realized her church's doctrine would accept her sexual orientation, but only if she committed to living a life alone. But there's no diocese or cardinals or Pope to dictate anymore, so she's free to make her own choices now.

She gets a weak nod, so she reaches for the rosary in the pretty crystal bowl on the nightstand and carefully moves Lucia's fingers over the beads as she says the words for a woman lacking the strength to do them herself.

~*~ Gareth ~*~

Gareth didn't actually expect any of his people to want to attend the party, but with surprising resilience, or maybe a sense of safety here that allows them to grasp at normalcy, most actually do. It means that many join in the drinks and people watching, playing card and dice games around the margins of the room, rather than actually dance, but they're here and watching. It gives him hope that they'll all recover.

His mother surprises the hell out of him by dancing to some slow-paced song with one of the older men from the group that's women have quietly sat alongside the ladies of his own, listening to fears and confessions that even being there, he doesn't have the absolute understanding another survivor does.

He thinks that maybe it shouldn't surprise him quite so much that his people are losing the haunted air they came here with. Homestead isn't just sheltering them and offering safety. They're offering steps beyond hiding behind a wall. He's seen Cynthia smile at the ache of pulled muscles versus injured ones, growing stronger with each day and each lesson. The instructors are careful of her pregnancy, but no one's dared to tell her she can't learn. His own body feels like a giant bruise most days, because unlike the care taken with the women, the lessons for the men are just this side of brutal. As the two Marines like to growl out, if a teenager can survive Parris Island and come out a Marine, they can damn well learn the same skills.

She's taken to the gun range with a level of skill that is breathtaking - and terrifying.

Staying here was the right thing to do. The hard pace of a boot camp run as much by their own recognizance as actual drill instructors weighs on him, but he's going to stay just one step ahead. His people will never be an easy target for predators again.

~*~ Guillermo "G" ~*~

Lucia de la Cruz may have requested no wake while she spends her last hours on earth, but it happens anyway. Maybe it's an instinct among the elderly, that one of their own is loosening her grasp on the world, but within fifteen minutes of him fetching Carlos and his girlfriend, there's a small crowd in the common area of Building A. Some are praying, still holding on to a faith that has less place in this world than the old, but he'll never voice such a thought out loud.

Even the Vatos are here, foregoing the celebration of being alive at the end of a long, dark year to sit among the old folks they protected in Atlanta. The juxtaposition of the tattooed gang members among the elders will always be a novelty for him. So many of these good people were without a single visitor before the world ended, but once it did, family members who once thought they were not good enough to be welcomed found a maturity that others lacked.

He's proud of these young men, because even Miguel can no longer be considered a boy. Kids who once were more familiar with a damned gun in their hands or a needle in their veins are comforting those who are seeing one of their own leave them behind.

The young doctor is leaning against the wall outside Lucia's room. It seems the elderly aren't the only ones seeking comfort of an old-world religion. The beads he can glimpse in her fingers remind him of his mother's. When she lost her battle with cancer after five hard-fought years, it fell to him to clear out her little studio apartment. Even though he rejected her faith, he still has every one of her rosaries in a box in his room. It's one of the few things he retrieved from her apartment. Sometimes he opens the box and looks at the various colors and he can almost hear the echo of her prayers.

He's glad she didn't live to see this new world, but he thinks she would be proud of his place in it.

When he steps into view, the young woman slides the rosary into a pocket with a weary smile. "She asked me to keep it. Says that Carlos might never have her faith, but maybe his children would one day."

G can understand the optimism Lucia has. Back in Atlanta, the thought of a new generation seemed like a foreign entity. Now they're in a place where babies are being born, marriages made, and instead of dying from a lack of medicine or knowledge, he's losing one of his people peacefully.

He stands beside Cricket in the hallway, each listening as Carlos reads to his abuela, voice soft and gentle, and Lucia's breathing gets slower and slower with each passing moment.

At seven minutes to midnight, Lucia takes one last, deep breath... and then she's gone.

It's the young doctor who ensures that the beautiful old soul's body will not rise to endanger those she loved, and he's grateful that this first time, the first loss, someone else is here to take that burden for him.

~*~ Katherine ~*~

She's spent fifty-four years on this planet, and the past year has certainly been one of the most terrifying. If it were a movie, she would have scoffed at the outlandish plot. But if it were a movie, she supposes tonight is how such a script would end. Everyone's suffering behind them. New lives being built from the ashes of the old. A celebration of dancing, of life, of love, of joy.

Her age protected her more than most in Grady. The evil among them that masqueraded as officers of the law wasn't much interested in a woman on the wrong side of forty. It left her to be the one who comforted them, her own status as a mother giving her words weight that Natha, despite being older, just didn't carry. She would almost say she came out of that hellhole with a dozen or so children, not just the two she birthed.

It means she's tried to set the example. If she's comfortable around the men of Homestead, the women are going to believe they're safe. If she prods and watches and makes sure the remaining cops do their part - and is allowed her oversight of them by those same cops - it makes them believe even more. It would be easy to hate the six men and two women, to tar them with the same brush as the ones that Shane Walsh put down like the monsters they were.

But more than the younger ones, she understands the part that fear played even among those meant to protect. Hell, most of the cops are damned babies, young enough to be Katherine's own children. They had no more understanding of how to fight what happened in Grady than the civilians did. Cops weren't supposed to be monsters, after all. The ones who did protest died and life only got worse for everyone.

Her ladies have trained alongside those cops now. Many can even surpass them in skill, especially with blades. They've more incentive to learn unconventional fighting skills and less police academy training about avoiding brute force to overcome. There's a respect - and a lingering shame that they didn't give the same lessons - there now that Katherine would have thought impossible a few months ago.

When the youngest of the cops, the one that made his way onto Scout's own team by Katherine's recommendation, holds out a hand to Michaela, who suffered so badly at Gorman's hands, she isn't surprised that Michaela accepts Casey's offer to dance with a welcoming smile. The women are no longer thinking of the former cops as them versus us. It's the utmost example of how she knows without a doubt that her people are going to be okay.

There are no monsters allowed in Homestead.

~*~ EF ~*~

"You know, just hanging around and watching her ain't gonna do a damned thing for your cause," Abraham says behind him, causing Eugene to nearly jump out of his skin.

He can't quite muster the effort to glare at the man, because his words are true. He's considered leaving the community center, like he normally does on nights where music and dancing are the entertainment. He has not the inclination nor the skill for participating.

Her hair is actually loose tonight for the most part, with some locks gathered up into a braid to keep it off her face, and the braided part has something woven in that shimmers like the braid rings she's worn before, but more of a metallic cable. Like most of the women who stayed for the dancing, she's taking advantage of the warmer weather to wear dressier clothing instead of winter layers. He finds the shimmer of the red satin tunic dress she's wearing fascinating in a way that probably means he shouldn't be in public.

"Is it the age difference messing with your head?" Abraham looks thoughtful. "Heard someone mention you were a science teacher, before. Could see where that might be an obstacle, her barely out of high school, but shit, you ain't that old yourself, far as I can tell."

"She is the same age as the students I taught last." Eugene sighs and looks away from Honey to Abraham. "I turned thirty the day before I met you."

The big redhead scoffs. "Well, if that's all you are, you gotta get over it, man. Pretty damn sure that ex-cop she's dancing with right now is a couple of years older than you. And I've been in the field with her. Don't think you can equate who she is now with any high school kid, any more than you'd see a nineteen-year-old returning from a tour in the Middle East as a kid."

He doesn't answer, unable to find the words to express the state of inaction he finds himself trapped in. With Rosita, the crush had a snowball's chance in hell of ever developing into anything beyond her being amused to at his voyeurism. With Honey, he honestly isn't sure, because he's found no viable link in determining her type or preferences.

"Told ya, Eugene. Grow a pair and tell the gal. If she says no, we'll bitch about women and get drunk off our asses. And if she says yes, well, wouldn't that be a hell of a way to ring in the new year?"

The song ends and Honey weaves her way toward them after snagging a bottle of water off the counter. She's even managed to drink half the thing by the time she reaches them and plops it on the table in front of Eugene before perching alongside it. It makes her leg brush against his arm and his fingers flex with the urge to touch. She reaches out to fluff his hair, as is her habit, and he fixes it, as is his.

"Almost midnight, Eugene. None of the pretty ladies catching your eye?" She tilts her head, pursing her lips. "Or men, if that's your inclination."

Abraham, sat opposite and catty-corner to him, is smirking at him, the asshole. There's something sly in the man's expression and Eugene has just long enough to think 'oh shit' before Abraham speaks.

"Oh, there's a lady that's caught his eye, but he thinks she'll turn him down."

"Honestly, Eugene, any lady here would be lucky to have you." Her expression is earnest and open. He thinks she genuinely believes that.

"My past history does not indicate any modicum of success in romantic endeavors."

She scoffs. "And I've told you there's a lotta folks needing sense smacked into them in your past."

Abraham is making a 'go ahead' gesture, followed by a rude one when Eugene shakes his head.

"Almost midnight! Kisses bring good luck!" someone yells. Another person starts a countdown from thirty, which causes many of those present to laugh. Eugene can see shuffling, couples pairing off, even if just temporary for the tradition. He studies his hands instead of continuing to watch.

That's why it catches him completely by surprise when his face is cupped between two warm hands as the count reaches zero. He barely has time to register what she's about to do before Honey's kissing him, gentle contact that gives him a strong longing for more. He realizes like most contact, she's giving him the chance to pull away and set personal space boundaries.

He can't help himself. He kisses her back, urging something beyond the chaste little kisses she's placing along his lips. She melts into the kiss as easily as if they've done this a hundred times before, and he's never been kissed with this sort of raw enthusiasm. When they absolutely have to have air, she nips at his bottom lip before pulling away.

"I continue to learn that the women in your past were utter morons," she says.

He glances to Abraham, but the redhead has his hands full - literally - with one of the older women. That kiss is about a layer of clothes shy of being inappropriate for public. Honey follows his gaze and grins before giving a low wolf whistle. "Gonna put on a show, Sergeant?" she calls out.

It startles the couple into separating. The woman smiles sheepishly and Abraham's wolfish smirk implies he wouldn't be opposed to it, as Eugene well knows.

"As gorgeous as that would be to watch, not everyone wants to be a voyeur. Diane, I'd say carry him off and curl his hair, but..." Honey grins at Abraham's curly red locks. "Maybe see if you can uncurl it?"

The woman, now identified as Diane, so he knows she's a supply runner, grins and slides out of Abraham's lap to draw the man after her. "That sounds like a very interesting experiment to make."

The sergeant makes to follow, but pauses to whisper something in Honey's ear, before being led away.

Eugene is certainly worried now, because Honey is eyeing him speculatively. "What did he say?"

"C'mon. I'll tell you in a minute." She's on her feet, snagging her water bottle in one hand and his hand with the other. Although he can feel a raw, aching ball of uneasiness settling in his gut, he allows himself to be towed along. She's leading the way to his apartment and just squeezes his hand when she catches his uneasy looks.

As soon as the door is closed, she's pushing him gently against it. He can't mistake her intent now, because instead of the only point of contact being their lips, her entire body is pressed against his as she kisses him. He fumbles his arms around her waist, moving higher to her back as he encounters the fact that despite the festive clothing, she's still very much armed with a belly band holster around her waist. The fingers of one of her hands are in his hair, buried in his mullet as if it's the most natural thing for her to do. The other hand is at the small of his back. He doesn't think it could feel more intimate if she slid her hand down the back of his pants.

When she finally lets him up for air, she doesn't move away. He can feel every inch of her against him, and it's an exquisite torture because he's still unsure why this is happening. "What did Abraham say?"

"Said you were too shy to ask for what you wanted."

"He might be on the correct side of the issue with that determination."

"And since he also suggested something very... crude... as a solution, I thought I'd test his theory out again."

Abraham's lack of filter and casual profanity probably didn't make things easier. "What was his theory?"

"That you would very much like me to 'fuck that big brain right outta your head'."

He groans and stutters, unable to formulate a reply. She doesn't seem offended, and if she's testing Abraham's theory, it explains the fact that he's pinned to his own door by a woman he's been yearning for.

"Well, Eugene? Is that what you want? This is far as I go if you don't tell me what you want."

Dear God in Heaven, it sounds like she's considering the idea. He can't understand why. Despite the fact that he is slowly getting into shape, he's still a pudgy man at least fifty pounds overweight with few attributes to endear him to someone like her. But if she's offering, even for just one night, is it worth the risk to their friendship? She doesn't seem to let the fact that she's shared the sniper's bed deter her from an open friendship. If he hadn't seen her leave with the man in an obvious pursuit of a sexual encounter, he would never even guess they were more than very good friends.

"I would like that very much," he manages at last. Even once would be better than never finding out what she'll feel like skin-to-skin against him.

Her smile turns to an impish grin and she steps back. He smothers a brief moment of panic when he realizes she's not leaving, just sliding her hands under the tunic dress to release her holster. It goes in its usual place on the counter as she steps further away, bumping into his bed and using it to balance as she unzips her boots and kicks them aside.

He's still standing frozen against the door when she toys with the hem of her tunic. "Gonna help a girl out or do you just want a show?" she asks.

edited scene

If he has to bury his face in her shoulder to keep from a declaration even he is socially adept enough to know is too soon for her to hear from him, at least she isn't any wiser, for now.