Without Guilt

Chapter III: Caffeine

"How many of them again?" Phil asked, scratching his beard with the rubber end of his pencil.

Layla sighed heavily. "7, I told you that three times already. Pay attention." She scolded, heaving a crate of jars up onto a shelf.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm just awful tired. Couldn't sleep last night, had fucking rats crawling all over my shoes." He sighed too, scribbling down the number on the inventory board.

"Thought you were gonna trade for an actual place." She remarked, scrawling 'JARS' onto the box with marker.

"Yeah, was gonna. But some other bastard bought me out. Susan up and left too when I told her. That bitch." He spat. "Ain't like she was willing to chip in."

"No way," Layla turned to stare at him in disbelief. "She just up and left?"

Phil shrugged. "Fucking gold digger."

A sharp knock at the storage room door interrupted their conversation. "Hey, Cap." Carlo peered in, a cardboard box of tools tucked under his arm. "T's here to see ya."

Layla and Phil exchanged glances.

"Did he tell you what he wants?" Layla asked, receiving a shake of the head in response.

"That fucker 's like a cat with nine lives." Phil scoffed. "I'll take over if you want to see him." He offered.

"I don't trust you not to mess up." She replied. "Carlo, leave those in here and come take over inventory. Phil's sleeping with his eyes open." She told the man at the door, indicating the remainder of the boxes that still needed counting.

"On it, Cap." Carlo moved in to take over, stopping her before she passed him, with a wrench. "Just in case."

Layla looked at him before rolling her eyes. "I'm not scared of Otis Meyer." She scoffed, brushing her head scarf over her shoulder before dusting off her clothes. She had good enough morals that most people liked and respected her around the camp. She marched out of the supply storage, crossing the warehouse where the rest of her group were sorting or trading supplies with other Hunters.

"He's out there." Another woman indicated the stairs heading out into the scrapyard.

"Thanks, Glynda." She zipped up her jacket in preparation for the chilly weather as she pushed the fire exit door open.

She found him on the landing overlooking the yard, his back turned to her.

"T." She called out to get his attention, holding her hands up to stop any possible protest. "I already agreed everything with Kumi, I'm not going to renegotiate the deal. We covered your rotation; you'll have to talk to Pier's group if you want theirs. Doubtful they'll give it though."

He turned to watch her as she took the short steps to reach him, cradling a mug of coffee between gloved hands. "I'm not here to renegotiate anything." He said when she was finished her preamble.

"That coffee?" She asked, eyeing the steaming mug.

"Arabica." He confirmed.

"I'll trade you for a pot." She offered.

"Thought you didn't want to renegotiate." He quipped.

She grinned at him. "Touché." She'd slide her hands into her pockets to keep them warm, shivering lightly. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Kumi." Otis replied shortly, turning to lean on the railing again as she moved to stand beside him.

She could tell from up close that he hadn't slept the previous night. She didn't know when he came back from scouting though. He'd been gone a little longer than the others, not a particularly unusual thing in itself since the Infected sometimes split the group and forced them to find another way around. On the occasion it was lurking military patrols or Fireflies that needed to be misdirected to avoid leading them back to camp.

"What's he done?" She inquired with a lurking suspicion. She'd known Otis for more than a decade. They'd met in Washington before the military had picked them up on their way north and hounded them up in the Pittsburgh QZ. They'd worked as smugglers, never quite content with FEDRA's regime but keeping their heads down enough to avoid the wrong kind of attention.

Admittedly, neither of them thought they'd survive the riots but here they were. Hunters.

"That's what I need you to tell me." Otis held his cup out to her, tucking his chin into his scarf. "Why did he ask you to take the rotation?" Dorothy had told him it was because Dominique was sick, but he didn't see why that meant that the rest of the group couldn't go out. Kumi, William, and Fen were plenty capable of supply runs even if they couldn't meet the quota for the week. It was better to come up short than not go at all.

"I don't know why you're asking me that. I thought you two were thick as thieves." Layla replied, taking the cup from him eagerly to warm her hands. She'd missed the smell of coffee.

"Don't patronise me, Layla." He exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air.

Her gaze rose to him, taking in the bruising along his defined cheekbone and the seared slit through his brow. She remembered the shrapnel that caused it, she had a much larger scar from it along her back. "T," She lay a hand on his arm. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you look like hell." She remarked, his pale eyes meeting her dark ones. "Kumi said that Dom was sick and that they got no word from you, so he asked us to cover the run. Our last run wasn't great, so I didn't hesitate to take it. You know?"

"That's it?" He asked.

She gave a nod, trying to think if there was anything else to add. "You don't think she got… you know." She gestured vaguely to imply a biting motion.

He clicked his tongue, looking back over the scrap yard. "Fuck no, she ain't been out the walls since our last run."

Layla shrugged a shoulder, sipping the warm coffee before sighing contently. She gave a light nod to agree. She couldn't imagine Dominique doing anything dangerous like sneaking outside and getting herself bit. "Well, maybe it's something else. Figured Simmons might know more about that."

"Fuck." Otis sighed.

"What's going on, T?" She pushed, briefly glancing towards the door to make sure no one else was lurking nearby. "You know you can tell me."

Otis took a few moments before looking to her. "Kumi took Dominique and left."

"Outside?" She frowned.

"No, they're still here. I just don't know where."

"Well, that's easy. Someone must have seen them; you could just ask around the laundry station. Arthur knows where everyone is around there, and Dom usually has a shift 'round there at noon." She pointed out.

"I can't wait till then." Otis admitted. He knew the shift rotations, but something told him that neither Dominique nor Kumi would be showing up. They'd likely get someone else to cover for them again – and with the amount of gears and supplies they'd taken from his group; they could stay wherever they were for another two weeks at least.

"What's this about?" Layla asked, getting a bit frustrated. "He took something of yours, didn't he?"

"Yeah." Otis clapped her on the shoulder. "Thanks, keep this between us."

"Sure thing." She did not want to be Kumi right now. Thieves had a blatant punishment which was an irony considering what the Hunters did to survive, but if Otis ever wanted to see his gear again, he'd have to find Kumi quietly to avoid it becoming a public lynching. "Hey, T!" She called him just as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

He paused to look up at her.

"Try the plaza. Phil's just been bought out by someone with a lotta dough." She told him.

Otis gave her a nod. "Come by for your next coffee sometime."

"My pleasure." She smiled, watching him cross the yard and into the neighbouring alley.

Please R&R!