Indigo woke when the bedroom door opened. She sat up and watched Fun Ghoul carry a box into the room. He set it down on the card table.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. Her arms were still shaky, and her brain still felt fuzzy from heat exhaustion.

"Like shit."

"I figured. I brought you a few things." He tossed the metal water bottle back over. It had been refilled with fresh water with only the slightest bleach scent. She took it gratefully and watched him cautiously as he approached.

"We got ahold of some real food," he explained, handing over a plate. "We have jerky. And this green thing. They said it's edible. No one has died yet, but it tastes like shit. We have bread too. None of this has any flavor, but you needed something more solid than boiled plants or dog food." She picked up the jerky. It wasn't uncommon these days. But it was rarely something good like beef or lamb. Nine times out of ten, it was mutated roadkill or lizard.

"What kind of jerky is this?"

"Regular kind. I don't know. I didn't make it."

"Where did you get it?"

"Poison got it."

"The only cows I know of are up north or in Bat City. You don't seem the type to go deer hunting. So that leaves buzzards, coyotes, and lizards. Unless it's roadkill." He shrugged.

"We got it from Tommy Chow Mein. But it's not beef, and it was cheap, so don't get your hopes up." She set it back down.

"It's lizard, isn't it?"

"If I say yes will you refuse it?" She took a deep breath.

Midnight had connections, too, but he had something valuable to offer in trades. Medical supplies and knowledge. Late night sutures and the miracle of penicillin. They'd give him whatever they had. No matter the cost. Chow Mein kept his best stock just for them. They'd had beef, lamb, deer, and fresh, clean water for as long as she remembered. They'd keep what they could use and trade off the rest for more supplies. It kept the system going. Kept the medicine cabinets stocked and their bellies full. She'd been lucky, she knew, to never know what a lizard tasted like.

"I've never been hungry enough to eat a lizard," she admitted, slightly ashamed of this obvious luxury.

"Then you're lucky. I do know what it feels like to be that hungry. Roadkill, lizards, turtles. We learn not to be picky when we have no other choice. Sorry it's not your particular brand of fancy, Princess." She would have hit him if she had the energy.

"I'm not picky. And I'm not fancy. Don't call me Princess."

"Just privileged, right?" She glared, and he sent it right back. "We can't afford to be picky out here. We survive. And this is the desert, for fuck's sake. She doesn't provide. You eat it, or you starve. You've lived this life long enough to know that."

"I'd rather eat dog food." She was only joking. Partially. But he reached into the box and procured a can of it anyway. Then he tossed it over.

"Not too fancy then." She lifted it. It was easier to come by. BLI cared about the lives of dogs. Or at least, they thought it was fitting to treat the survivors outside of the city like animals. The only food they regularly had access to was made for dogs.

"I definitely know what this tastes like," she admitted. He handed over a can opener. He clearly did too.

"It's amazing that you're still alive."

"I'm not picky. I've eaten plenty of things I wish I hadn't. But that doesn't mean I'll eat a lizard when given the opportunity to eat something better."

"You know we don't have to help you, right?" She got the can opened after a brief struggle with weakened arms. She leveled a stare at him, and he handed over a fork.

"Then don't," she challenged.

"You're lucky. I think Poison actually likes you."

"Or he thinks he's doing the dying world a favor by being nice to a breeder."

"Or it's that pleasant personality of yours."

"And my classic good looks, right?" He laughed.

It came easier than she expected from him. He knew as well as she did that her "good looks" were anything but classic. Her naturally brown hair had been dyed a vibrant blue that faded more and more every day. She had a piercing in her nose and spent most of her time scowling. She dressed like they did. Clothing that had been handmade or stitched from whatever she could get her hands on. Clothing and hair colors were chosen. Unique to the individual. She'd chosen her colors and stuck with them. That way, no one could ever say she wasn't Indigo.

She remembered the first time she ever had to eat dog food. When they were still trying to survive after the Analog Wars. Midnight had begged her to eat it. Begged her not to leave him like the rest of them did. He'd had a wife once. Two daughters and a son. And then it was just the two of them. So she'd choked it down, crying all the while, as she tried not to throw it back up.

It became easier after the second. The third. The fortieth.

"Do you always watch people eat?" she asked, noticing that Fun Ghoul was still studying her. She was uncomfortable, but it was hard to say what his intention was. Was she just a breeder to him? A meal? A temporary? A potential ally? A potential enemy?

"I do it to figure out how hungry they are," he explained. Not the least bit ashamed.

"I said I'm fine. Stop watching me. It's weird." She scooted around, turning her back on him. It was another potentially dangerous move. Or stupid. Or—in this case—it merely meant she didn't find him threatening. Depending on the person, this could be interpreted as an insult or a gesture of kindness.

"I brought you some magazines. They're a little outdated, but they're better than nothing. We don't have a lot of entertainment out here. I brought you some clothes too. Chow Mein really cleaned us out. I guess you won't need them for a while anyway." She turned around, watching him from over her shoulder. Her messy blue hair had tangled in her sleep. It was in her face, making her look wild and vicious. Like a feral creature plucked from the desert. All matted blue hair and sunburns.

"Why won't I need them?" she asked.

"Because you can't even walk yet. Unless you want to wear them to bed. I won't stop you. I just assumed."

"I've slept in worse." He tossed them onto the bed.

"I brought you a few books too. Thought you might like something better than this Shiny crap."

"Thanks." He looked as if he didn't expect her to thank him. He hesitated before moving on, gently tucking his black hair behind his ear.

"When you're done, I can help you get to the bathroom, and then I'll help you redress your feet." She paused in her chewing and looked up at him.

"I can do it by myself."

"I wasn't going to sit in the bathroom with you. Just help you get there." Now she was the one studying him, all the colors on his arms and his vest. All the things that singled him out as a traitor to BLI. He was on the outside. Not stuck in the electricity flowing through Battery City. He didn't want anyone to ever forget it. He wore it like armor.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked.

"I like to help people. Consider me a fucking saint."

"What do you want in return?"

His eyes flicked to her. He was obviously offended for a moment. But it wasn't unwarranted. Everything in the desert had a price—a trade. People had skills and knowledge, and nothing was free. Not even help. She had something to be kept under lock and key. She had a right to ask, and he had no right to be offended. So he brushed it off.

"I don't want anything from you," he promised. "How are we any better than them if we leave each other to die out here? We're not enemies. We're fighting for the same side. So the more of us there are, the better our chances."

"Some believe that death is a better place. That when the Phoenix Witch takes your soul, she takes you someplace better." He shrugged.

"Maybe so. But everyone deserves a chance to live their life how they see fit. Even the poor suckers in Bat City."

She nodded and resumed chewing. She still didn't trust him. Words meant nothing, and honor was as hard to come by as a good meal. But she'd give him the benefit of the doubt. Until he showed her who he really was. They all did eventually.

He flipped through his books while he waited for her to finish. And as soon as she did, he reached for the plate and the empty can to dispose of it.

"Give me your hands," he instructed, holding his out. They were tattooed. Marked with meaning. Like a snake with stripes. Either a warning that it could kill you or a mask to trick you into believing it would. She set her hands in his, reluctantly trusting. He helped her stand, and she winced when she was stable. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You can lean on me." He wrapped an arm around her and helped her hobble toward the door. His hand was tight on her waist, comfortable on the hollow notch of her jutting hipbone. She wasn't the only one who hungered for things that had become rare. And sometimes it was nice—just to be touched.

The walk to the dingy bathroom at the end of the hall felt like it took a lifetime. It wasn't a long distance, but her steps were so slow and painful that she couldn't move very fast. Her legs burned, and the scabs cracked open. She hissed every few feet. He was patient, and he didn't rush her. She wondered if he liked the heat of her as much as she liked the heat of him.

They made it to the bathroom, and he reached in to flip the light on. It was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It made a distinctly electric buzz when it came on. As if its source couldn't be trusted and it anticipated going out. She wondered where they got the power from. They either siphoned it from a nearby station or used solar panels. But they were difficult to disguise from the air, and BLI always had eyes in the sky.

"You're on your own from here," he said, letting his hand slide off her hip, knuckles brushing against her lower back for a moment before she was a single person again.

"Thanks. I think I can manage." He smiled. A polite smile. It lacked any real humor, but he clearly recognized the joke and validated it.

"I'll wait out here for you." She nodded once and shut the door, glancing at him one more time before it shut him out. He was watching, dark hair tucked behind his ears, hazel eyes calculating. He was curious of her.

She took her time. It had been some time since she'd been in a real bathroom with running water. The water was chaotic, though. Not quite coming out in the trusted spray she conjured from her memories of the time before. It sputtered and was brown for a moment before it began to run clear. As if it needed a moment to push the rust from the spout.

"Is it safe to drink?" she asked through the door.

"No," Ghoul replied from the hall. "But it won't poison you if you use it on your skin."

"Would it kill me to drink?"

"You'd want to die. But no. Drink at your own risk. I won't clean up the mess."

"Gross."

She rubbed the water on her face, carefully avoiding her eyes and mouth, just in case. She felt better. For the moment. She got her tangles combed through, and the sweat cleaned off of her skin. She felt more human that way. Less like a product of the desert.

When she was done, she opened the door to find him leaning against the cracked wall. His arms were crossed over his chest. He stared up at the ceiling as if he found this boring. The house, building, whatever it was, was quiet.

"So, where did you sleep?" she asked as he wrapped his arm around her again.

"I didn't."

"What time is it?" He shrugged.

"Seven, maybe?"

"At night?"

"Sure looked that way to me."

"Where are you going to sleep tonight?"

"We have a couch."

"You have a couch, running water, electricity, and your own bedroom. And you had the nerve to call me fancy." He shot her a look. This time he didn't smile, but he clearly thought this was humorous.

"Jealous, Princess?" He shrugged. "We want the Girl to know what it's like to grow up in a real home. We got lucky when we found this place. It's not perfect. But she was born during the wars. So she has no memory of what it's supposed to be like anyway."

"Are you her father?"

"No."

"One of them?"

"No."

"Then how…?"

"We'll tell you when we feel like it. Don't ask questions."

"I have a right to ask questions. I'm a woman in a strange house with four men and a little girl. We look out for each other. My kind, I mean. I have to make sure she's okay." He helped her back into the room, and she sat down on the bed.

"Makes sense," he said. "I appreciate you looking out for her. But she's safe. All of us would gladly die before letting anything happen to her. You're safe too. For the most part. Get up toward the wall."

"Only for the most part?" He smiled.

"I'd never do anything you didn't ask me to do, Princess. But if you did ask…." She nodded.

"Got it."

She did as he said and moved to lean her back against the wall. She held her arms over her chest and watched him. He sat down and began to remove the bandages from her feet.

"I can do it myself, you know? No one trained with Midnight more than me," she told him. He looked up and smiled.

"Let me help you, Princess."

"You don't get to spend much time with women, do you?"

"Trust me. I could if I wanted to. But, it's not exactly something we go looking for."

"So this isn't a weird kink thing, is it?" He laughed.

"No. I just uh—I like helping people. Keeps my mind off of things. Makes me feel like I'm actually accomplishing something.

Gives me a purpose. Even if it's only temporary." She nodded.

That was something she understood. The desire for a purpose. It was part of the reason she was so eager to get to Bat City. She clung to that goal like she needed it to breathe. Because if she stopped, even for a moment, she might come apart. Sometimes, all it took was something as simple as a kind gesture to make a person feel that way.

His hands were gentle, and he was focused. He didn't look like a weirdo to her. Or at least he didn't make any of the facial expressions she expected from a weirdo. He seemed to know what he was doing. This was a pain he was familiar with. But she still sat with her arms over her chest, wondering what kind of person he really was. She didn't spend much time with men either, which was mostly by choice. True companionship was hard to come by, and most didn't want it anymore either. But even temporary companionship could be dangerous. It made people do stupid things. She'd seen it firsthand. She'd seen people self-destruct when they lost the person they'd mistakenly fallen in love with.

But it wasn't entirely unwanted. Sometimes it was necessary to take it while she could. Since it was difficult to know when the chance would present itself again or if the person would be worth the effort. And she wasn't giving up on her goal. Even though she knew it was unlikely she'd survive. So love was out of the question. But other things were—not.

He noticed her silence and looked up, dark eyebrows raised in a question he didn't ask. She cleared her throat.

"They're not—stinky, are they?" she asked. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile again.

"Compared to Kobra? No."

"Just making sure." He nodded and reached for a jar he'd already set aside.

"I have more aloe. It should help with the healing. If—that's okay with you." He looked at her again with a question.

She could do it herself, and he knew that. She wondered what it would mean if she let him. It was a show of vulnerability. If she let herself be vulnerable, was she sending him a message? Was his desire to help a message too? The weird, strange mating dance of humans post-apocalypse?

"I think that would be—okay," she decided. He nodded, holding back a smile again.

"You should drink more water. Don't worry about overdoing it. We have a trusted source."

"You don't get it from Chow Mein?"

"The water? No. Not always. Sometimes we do when we can't get to our source. We don't technically need Chow Mein, but we don't want anyone getting any ideas and finding said source."

"Smart. Midnight did the same. I didn't even know who his source was."

He went back to work, massaging the aloe into her damaged skin. She was reminded again how nice it was just to be touched. And for a moment, she actually considered telling him all about the other parts of her that ached. Her calves and her shoulders. Maybe her thighs too. She didn't get touched there often. But his hands were healing. Not desperate. Not expectant. His goal really was just to heal.

"I think you should go without the bandages for the night," he said, setting her foot back down.

"Okay."

"You look tired."

"It um—it was nice. I don't think anyone's ever—touched me like that before." He nodded. And she thought he probably understood what she meant. Of course, she'd been touched before. By men and women both. But it was always temporary. Always to the point. Always fleeting. Never healing.

He stood up and set all the items back into the box. But he carried the jar back to her and held it out. She stared up at him, still unsure of what this all meant. Did he do this for everyone? His team too? Or just women?

"You should probably use it on your sunburns too. They heal faster that way. At the very least, it takes some of the heat out."

"You're not going to do it for me?" she bravely asked. He smiled. A real one this time. But not the humorous kind either. It was dangerous. The snake didn't just have warning stripes. It had fangs too.

"Not unless you want me to," he said.

"That's more tempting than you know." He leaned down, and for a moment, she thought he was planning on kissing her. Like this actually was just for show. A strange ritual. All for the goal of having her. But instead, he just set the jar down next to her arm.

"Maybe another time," he suggested. Then he stood and left her alone. She was stuck there, overthinking the word "maybe" and what precisely the suggestion of "another time" might entail.