"Well, that was something," Troy said once the group made it back to the Bradford Hotel.

He flopped into one of the wingback chairs, his pants hiking up to expose the fact that he hadn't worn socks with his fancy new shoes.

Fiona wrinkled her nose at him and seated herself opposite of him, in her favorite chair. She lit a cigarette and gave the young man a longer, more probing look. Noticing her attention, he quirked a smile and ran a hand over his crotch. She rolled her eyes and looked away but not before he caught the hint of a smile in her eyes. She liked it.

Full of himself, Troy lit a cigarette as well. He hadn't liked the cloves at first but had acclimatized quickly.

"It shouldn't have been necessary," Michael grumped. Despite the performance he gave at the plant, he was bothered by the fact that there had been doubters in his midst. It didn't matter that even he hadn't believed he could save them. He wanted nothing less than total faith from his subjects. "What do I have to do to convince these idiots that I know what I'm doing?"

"You can't control a person's fear," Jeremiah put forth. "All you can do is assuage it when it surfaces."

"I can so control fear!" flared Michael. He didn't want to be told what he could or couldn't do. "You saw me out there! They all feared me!"

"You induced fear," corrected Jeremiah. "But you didn't control it. Control implies you could have—"

"I know what I meant!" Michael stormed and the pictures rattled on the walls threateningly.

Recognizing he'd overstepped, Jeremiah held up his hands in surrender and shut up.

Michael, satisfied that he'd made his point, turned his attention to other matters. "We're running low on supplies. Canned goods and medical things. Manufactured shit. We need to get a scavenging party together to see if there's anything out there worth bringing back."

"I'll go," Troy volunteered. "I've been wanting to know what things look like on the outside now."

Michael thought about it then nodded. "Fine. Just be more careful this time. We can't have you coming back shot every time I send you out."

"That happened once," Troy muttered.

"Let's keep it that way," Michael volleyed, imbedding an unnecessary threat in the words.

"I'll go as well," said Pieter. "And Meg, too. She needs a little exercise after being under house arrest so long."

Alec and Tisi exchanged worried glances behind him. They hadn't seen their sister in days. Not since Pieter had learned she assisted Desiree in setting Kyle and Zoe free. Sensing their concern, Pieter turned his head to address them.

"Now, children," he soothed. "Don't be jealous. I'm sure Meg will share her adventure with you when she returns."

His words didn't address their true concern but the underlying reassurance in his tone drove the looks of concern from the siblings' faces. They were still worried for their sister, but they knew Pieter well enough to believe him when he said she would return.

It was just a question, then, as to what condition she would return to them in.

…

A strange sound woke Tate.

He stirred under the thick comforter that covered Violet's bed. He tried to ignore the sound, but the low, incessant thrum wouldn't let him. He tried turning his head to block the sound with the pillow, but it only covered one ear. The sound still wormed its way into his other ear.

He shifted again but nothing he did made the noise go away. It was a deep bass sound, rising and falling in an arrhythmic manner that burrowed into his senses and angered him. He hadn't dealt with outside intrusive noises in so long, he couldn't remember the last time a passing car's loud stereo had bothered him. It was only when that long-standing peace was interrupted that he truly appreciated how quiet it had gotten at the end of times.

When the noise became too unbearable, he abandoned the bed entirely, going to the window to peek through the blinds. Parting them with his fingers sent in a knife of jaundiced sunlight. Squinting against the sudden brilliance, he looked down at the street below.

Leaves lined the gutters in thick clumps and the tree across the street had been toppled during the windstorm that had accompanied the flood. Apart from that, there was nothing remarkable outside. Whatever was making the noise wasn't near enough to see.

Warm hands slipped over his middle and up his bare chest, petting gently. He leaned back a little, enjoying the touch.

"What're you looking at?" Violet asked quietly. She tried to get a glimpse but shied away when the light hurt her eyes.

Tate shrugged a shoulder. "You hear that?"

She listened for a moment. "What?"

He frowned. "That…that low noise. It's like…like a car stereo with the bass too loud."

They were silent again, then she said: "Yeah. I do. It's real faint but I hear it." She rested her cheek on the round of his shoulder. "What is it?"

"I don't know," he said. Her long hair tickled his skin, a sensation he didn't mind. "I was just trying to see. I think it might be down in the square."

"Mm," she murmured. "Maybe. Do you want to go see?"

He thought about it. Then he thought about all the people who were likely to be in the marketplace. "Nah," he decided. His thoughts brushed over Michael and he felt an instant irritation he couldn't account for. Trying to pin down its source only made him more irritable, so he abandoned the attempt.

With no further explanation forthcoming, Violet nuzzled his shoulder. "Come back to bed?"

He considered doing just that, even though it was nearly noon. He glanced back at the large bed and the twisted lumps of blanket that provided its topography. One corner of his mouth twitched in a near smile.

"Nah," he demurred again. Then: "What is that?"

The noise had gotten louder, with an added layer of subwoofer that made him want to punch the wall. A low groan from the bed signaled he wasn't the only one annoyed.

"Turn that off," Pat grunted, mistaking the noise for something the teens were playing on the stereo.

"It's not us," Tate said. "It's something outside."

Patrick rolled over and tugged at the sheet that had somehow gotten twisted around his middle. "What is it?"

"D'know."

"It sounds like it might be down in the market square," Violet offered. She kissed Tate's cheek then slipped away to go fetch a cigarette and lighter from her desk.

"It's annoying," opined Pat. He sat all the way up and shoved a pillow between his back and the headboard.

Tate squinted down the street and then finally let the blinds snap shut. Momentarily blinded, he turned away from the window and stood there for a few seconds while his eyes adjusted. "Violet was thinking about going and seeing what it is."

She lit a cigarette for herself and wandered back over to the bed. She sat back down, not bothering to cover her bare body. The room's temperature was comfortable, and she wasn't self-conscious. Not anymore. The three of them had been through too much over the past few months for such a thing to bother her.

"You really should give those things up," advised Patrick.

Violet sent him a quirky smile that treaded on smug. "Not like it'll give me cancer."

"No," he allowed. "But it makes you smell and taste like an ashtray."

"I like the smoky flavor," Tate put in. He grabbed his t-shirt off the floor where he'd tossed it several hours earlier. "Reminds me of Oscar Meyer turkey."

"Gee. Thanks," Violet said, rolling her eyes. "Maybe I will quit."

Tate could tell her offense was just a show, so he didn't let it worry him. Shrugging the shirt on, he came over to claim a quick kiss from those smoky lips. The taste reminded him of his mother only fleetingly. "Mmm. Tobacco fresh."

She snorted a laugh. Tate grinned and went to hunt up his underwear and jeans. The hole in the left thigh had spread till the rest of the leg hung awkwardly when he lifted the pants. Getting them on without tearing them further was a feat but he managed, with some wiggling.

"If you're going down to the square, talk to Chad first," said Pat.

Tate rolled his eyes and shrugged into a striped shirt of his that was wadded up under the desk. "But he always wants me to bring shit back."

"Yeah," said Pat. "And you know he'll be pissed if you go down there without his shopping list."

Tate rolled his eyes again. "I'm not a fucking errand boy."

"Do what you want," Patrick snapped. Between the noise outside and the attitude in the room, his patience was thin ice. "Just don't complain when he bitches at you for the rest of the week about it."

"Whatever," Tate dismissed and left the room.

Pat made an incoherent sound of annoyance, prompting a sympathetic glance from Violet. She went over to the dresser and found herself some clothes. "I think I'll go with him," she said. Then, with another glance back over her shoulder, she added: "I'll ask Chad what he needs before we leave."

"Thank you," Pat said, with no small amount of relief. He knew he'd hear about it otherwise, whether he was involved in the outing or not.

"Need anything?"

"Me?" the jock blinked, then thought about it. "No. But…thanks."

She flicked a quick smile at him then finished getting dressed. She ran a hairbrush through her hair then went to find Chad.

…

Author's Note:

So. There was a lot more backstory to the last scene of this chapter, but that's all the characters involved would let me share for the time being. If you've been reading stuff for a while, you'll have been through this before. I've got several "stand alone" bits posted that were initially trimmed out of the main story, mostly due to the sensitive nature of the scenes.

I'm not sure if the rest of this particular scene will make it to publication, but I felt it was time to address the elephant in the room where it came to those three. Things are far from perfect with them and that scene is probably the last thing close to peace you'll see in this story for a while. Things are heating up as Michael tries to assert his authority over what's left of the world.