Notes: Thanks to all the readers and reviewers for this story! Much love to you all! 3

Chapter Nine

I'm up early the next morning, but Bryn is already awake in the kitchen when I make it downstairs. I sit in one of the straight-back wooden chairs watching him make coffee. He pulls down a second cup adding a small amount to it before dumping in two spoonfuls of the white powder that is known as sugar and adding cold cream from the fridge. He sets it in front of me silently with a red plate containing two slices of the bread I declined to eat yesterday and sits across from me sipping his own darker drink.

"Are we going back into the woods today?"

Bryn shakes his head, "No, no point. Figured I'd take you out and teach you to shoot, and handle a knife without killing yourself." He eyes me over the rim of his cup for a brief moment. "You should eat that."

I nod staring down at the plate. He is always feeding me. I have never eaten so much, or so often in my life. "I think you are trying to make me fat." I tell him poking at the slice suspiciously.

"I'm trying to make you strong, eat it 'cause your helping me load the back of the truck later today." I glance up at him, but his gaze is elsewhere. "If you're going to stay around you'll need to help out somewhere. Libby runs a booth for us at the local market on weekends selling items people need most often, clothes, shoes, baby things…you could help her out I'd feel more comfortably if there were two of you there since Ethan and I often need to do other things like load purchases or drive larger items for delivery."

"Is the market…not safe?"

He glances at me then, the corners of his mouth tipping down slightly, not quite a frown, considering, almost as if he's never thought about it before now. I find this surprising since both Bryn and Ethan seem very protective of Libby on a daily basis. I cannot imagine them sending her somewhere unsafe. But then an unexpected cannibal corpse and a massive thunderstorm nearly made the front yard into a death trap just a few nights ago. Nowhere is safe, I realize, not anymore. My gut twists almost in agreement.

"It's generally pretty dull." He finally says. "You get the occasional market scuffle, barter gone sour or a local with wandering eyes and overly-friendly hands but Libs is pretty well equipped to handle herself in that crowd."

I try to picture in my head what wandering eyes might look like, not quite certain what he means by that. "What makes hands too friendly?" Libby was the friendliest person I've ever met. How friendly did someone have to be for her to be upset by them? I stare at him and he huffs suddenly sending steam wafting from the rim of his cup his eyes darting away to the far corner of the kitchen at something unseen. I frown, waiting.

"I guess you wouldn't know what that means," he says quietly and he scowls suddenly making my stomach hurt. "Just…don't let anyone touch you except for me or Ethan and Libs." His eyes are dark and shadowed again, the line of his jaw tight like he's angry. I nod quickly, uncomfortable with his anger. Confused by the fact that it bothers me so. I have spent most of my life with Griss barking and snarling, glaring at me for one downfall or another. Bryn's tight expression and constantly sliding looks like he cannot bear to meet my eyes are so much worse.

I glance down at my plate, picking up one of the pieces and nibbling its edge. It smells faintly sweet and is slightly darker and chewy on the outside and soft and springy in the middle with firmer chunks of some nut that mashes easily between my back teeth and tastes earthy on my tongue.

"Good?" I glance up at him and realize he's talking about the bread. I nod glad he only gave me two pieces instead of an entire loaf to eat. I do not think I could do that without being sick. I am again hardly hungry this morning, too many odd dreams perhaps disturbing my sleep. Bryn nods adding as he stands, "I'll be right back." He sets his now empty mug in the sink and leaves the kitchen. I do not turn to watch him go but judging by the sound he heads towards his room. He is back mere moments later grabbing my cup and handing me the last piece of bread on my plate so he can add both to the pile in the sink.

I watch him leave them there and decide that I will wash them later. Libby has shown me how and it is only fair to wash things when we eat so much and I do not know how to cook.

"Finish that, come on," Bryn walks to the door and I follow, glad I already have on my shoes so I do not have to stop and slip them on while he is waiting on the porch. We step out and I pull the front door shut behind me before follow Bryn out into the yard both of us leaping off the porch. He's got a long barrel gun in one hand a box of something in his other. I stare at both as we make our way around the rear of the barn to a section of fencing ending in a large heavy limbed and pock scored tree.

Bryn sets the small box down and opens it loading a small handful of small silver pellets into the gun's top while I watch. He looks up sliding something back into place, then takes the last bite of bread from my hand shoving it into his own mouth instead of tossing it away like I expected him too.

He turns away from me facing the tree and mumbles, "Damn that's good, make sure you thank Libs so she'll make us more."

I stare at the back of his head for a moment and then realize he's talking about the bread and not the gun. "Libby made it?" He nods and squeezes the trigger on the riffle there's a small pop and his arms and shoulders tense just slightly. Recoil. Part of my brain supplies.

Bryn lowers the gun nodding his head glancing at me over his shoulder. "Alright, come here." He grabs my arm and pulls me to stand where he was a moment before, the gun still in his hands. He moves behind me pointing over my shoulder to the yellow pock-marked diamond hung on the trunk of the massive tree; a scarred upright 'X' or disproportionate lower case 't' marking its center. At its base is a silver metal basin spanning the width of the intended target.

On the fence behind the tree several more sheets of metal of varying shapes and sizes are nailed up at fluctuating heights. One of them is bright red and bares the word STOP. It seems rather bossy for an inanimate object, but then maybe it is tired of being shot at.

I tense, pinpricks of awareness rushing down my spine. Bryn's chest is suddenly flush against my back. I inhale sharply not expecting that. If he notices my reaction he does not comment, simply brings his arms around my sides to show me how to hold the gun. His voice standing like this is very close to my ear. The tone deep and rich, it would be almost soothing if I could concentrate on the words and not the twisting feeling in my stomach and my racing pulse.

The gun is awkward to balance in my grasp when he hands it to me, heavier on one end then the other. Bryn's arms touching my sides so he can steady my aim does not help my concentration which oddly keeps sliding away from where I am supposed to be aiming the gun and focusing intently instead on the way his chest presses against my back each time he draws a deep breath. The slight pressure of his upper arms against the outside of my own as he steadies my hands makes my skin tingle. He shows me how to squeeze the trigger, instructing me to exhale slowly as I close my hand and all I can think about is his hand covering mine and his breath against the side of my neck tickling my skin, making me feel flush and too warm. I squirm shifting my weight breath catching in the back of my throat, seizing half-way out of my lungs almost painfully when he presses one hand to my hip stilling me, a breath of "Hold still or you'll never hit the target," drifting over my ear.

I try, but it's increasingly difficult when all I can think about is him. The harder I try to focus the more my thoughts scatter and slip away. After a few minutes my whole body has broken out in a fine sheen of sweat, my heart is racing in my chest, and my aim is a complete mess.

"Even pellets are expensive you know," Bryn informs me which sounds like he's disappointed in my lack of progress but somehow comes out a touch amused. The stark contrast between tone and words confuses me all the more.

"I think I have got it." I announce. I have not. I have yet to hit the target once but I feel like my hands are starting to shake, and my palms are sweating enough to slip on the smooth metal and wooden stock of the gun. I wipe them quickly against my pant legs hoping he will not notice feeling oddly disappointed in myself and for some reason unbelievably restless.

Bryn steps away from me frowning slightly. "Charlie you haven't hit the target yet, it takes practice…"

"It is not that," I blurt feeling a bit desperate suddenly. "I can't do this."

"Yes you can, it just takes some work, it's a BB gun there isn't even any recoil…"

"It's not the gun!" I blurt out dropping my chin to my chest fighting the tight sensation in my chest. He doesn't have this problem, as far as I know; nobody else does. Perhaps there is something wrong with me…

"What is it?" He is still standing behind me but he moves to my side shifting slowly to see my face. I keep my gaze firmly locked to the ground, certain that will only make this worse. I am oddly grateful I cannot see his face right now, though why I'm not sure. I stare at the dirt, hands clenched barely trembling by my sides. My stomach feels like it is about to slide into my shoes.

"You…make me afraid," I admit to him finally in a small voice.

"I'm sorry," he immediately moves away from me and my stomach falls. "I didn't think about that, I shouldn't have touched you. God, I'm such a dick." He drops the gun to his side in one hand dragging his other fingers roughly through his hair. Guilt I don't understand is laced through his tone.

That must be the wrong word. "It is not that…" I rush to tell him, find myself reaching forward and wrapping my fingers around his wrist in tight grip. He goes very still with me touching him, not meeting my eyes. I feeling like I have done something terrible by making him move away, adding such discomfort and anger to his tone when the problem is clearly mine.

I unexpectedly miss him standing so close, even though his nearness moments before was so distracting it was all I could think about. Nothing about him or my reactions make any sense. Seconds ago all I could think about was how the heat of his skin made the nervous flutter tighten to frantic knots in the pit of my stomach. The rising desire to run away very fast making me shake; and then when it is gone I ache in ways I cannot explain and miss it. I liked it, and didn't at the same time. I've never felt so confused in my life.

I risk glancing up at him but my cheeks flush pink and I have to look away again. How do I explain something I do not even understand? "You make my hands shake…" I tell him quietly, willing him silently to understand, even when I do not. "And my stomach go all…" I trail off unsure how to word it. I wave a tentative spiraling hand between us. He's staring at me when I risk a glance at him again, and something in that expression sends my stomach summersaulting tenfold. My heart feels like it stumbles in my chest skipping a few notes.

"Is…" he pauses shifting his weight, swallowing hard his eyes sliding away from my face and then back again. "Is that a bad thing?" His voice is oddly tight again, and despite it being his question it sounds like he's not certain he is ready for the answer himself.

"I don't know." I admit feeling a little breathless with him looking at me like he is. "I have never felt it before, is it wrong?" I drag my teeth across my bottom lip waiting for his answer, hoping I have not given too much away about my lack of knowledge. I am never certain what I should and should not know had I actually escaped from the place Bryn thinks I am from.

He won't look at me suddenly, has turned his head away to rock on his feet for a few seconds. "It's…complicated." He says, which still tells me nothing and only tightens the knots further. "Take it," He holds the gun out to me suddenly not meeting my eyes.

"By myself?" I stare at him feeling unsure about so many things.

"If you need to use a gun chances are I'm not going to be around to stand behind you and help you out."

I frown. Of course he is right. I take the heavy stock from his hand raising it the way he has shown me and draw in a shaking breath. "Maybe you should not look at me." I tell him softly not meeting his eyes.

He's still staring at me, his expression odd. I can see him from the corner of my eye. "Why not?" His voice is still tight.

"When you look at me, it makes it worse," I admit.

One side of his mouth quirks up and he drops his chin a split second later tucking his hands into his front pockets to stare at his boots. "If I don't look how will I know if you've hit anything?" I can tell he is grinning from his voice and the swirling backflip my midsection gives the sensation tickles a little bit.

"I will tell you," and even if I do not I think I might lie. Anything to end this and the confusing swooping flutter that's constantly sliding through my gut, the sudden urge to run away from him rising up again.

I close one eye staring down the long metal line in front of me, the stock gripped tight in my sweating hands and squeeze the trigger. Without Bryn to brace my arms the soft pop jerks harder against me but not enough to be painful. Twenty yards away there's a soft ping and the yellow diamond shakes slightly.

Beside me Bryn clears his throat still staring at the sign instead of me. "Guess, I do make you nervous. Imagine that."

His tone makes my stomach do silly things.

Bryn doesn't touch me again. Almost goes out of his way to avoid it for the rest of the morning which has grown sticky and oppressive by the time he calls it quits. By afternoon it's too hot to stand outside in the sun baking away. It feels like the tops of my shoulders are roasting, and the part in my hair is a little hot line splitting my skull. The little cardboard box of metal balls is now only half full, my aim has improved significantly with the practice and without him touching me.

"We'll do this again later, use something heavier." Bryn informs me collecting the rifle and small box. Bullets are expensive, but the little metal balls are not as much. And are easily recollected to be recycled assuming I hit the target and they fall into the metal tray—then they can be melted down and re-made almost endlessly Bryn tells me. BB's are good for beginners practice, but they won't make much more than a dent on the Others. Too small to destroy enough of the brain, and barely enough momentum to penetrate even a rotted skull. I shudder at the rush of images briefly filling my head and nod away. I am not in the lab, they are not people, I remind myself—not anymore.

"Libby and Ethan are coming for dinner. We have work to do in the Barn." I nod following him back toward the house through the hot air filling the yard grateful for the conversation's turn. There's a storm of dust coming down the drive just as we reach the porch and Bryn alters course moving to greet them.

"What up Sister-Wife?!" Libby sing-songs all but bouncing out of Ethan's truck to loop her arm through mine. I don't have a chance to respond before she adds. "I heard you got knocked-up." She grins at me showing a little tongue and a lot of teeth.

"It was a dead cow." I tell her and she bursts out laughing almost falling over.

"Okay seriously, you're gonna have to explain that one to me." She replies still cackling and now dragging me toward the house. "Is that something kinky I've never heard of?"

"No it was a cow…and it was dead." I try to explain.

"Ah well, can't blame a girl for trying!" Libby tells me. I frown not certain she understands.

I hear Bryn greet Ethan behind me and his grumble of "Word travels fast."

"You know Burt's mouth…and considering everyone knows about Libs, well no one's bothered by it." Ethan replies shrugging and clasping Bryn's hand when I glance over my shoulder to watch them.

Libby drags me inside. Which I don't mind being sweaty and sticky and all around gross. The air inside is instantly cooler, away from the sweltering sun. It presses against my skin offering immediate relief to my hot cheeks and bare shoulders. I imagine after the possible-wild-dog incident Ethan has not let her hang out outside much either. They are apparently dangerous in packs, with little fear of humans alive or dead.

Though we found no tracks for them, only scuffs and imprints in the dirt of the forest Bryn thought was a Geek, he couldn't be sure. The tracks were apparently wrong, too fast he'd said; pointed and not aimless staggering. When we lost them less than half a mile from home Bryn had grumbled under his breath something about 'too close to home' and he'd suddenly been a lot more alert on the way back to the truck and more tense ever since.

"What did Ethan mean in the yard?" I ask Libby when we're upstairs and I'm pulling on a different set of clothing, my sweat damp ones clinging to my lower back making me shiver.

"What, about everyone knowing about me?" She shrugs. "It's more common than you'd think, the real rub is going to be in another year when I'm not popping out no babies." She makes a face. "Cause ew. But now you're all knocked-up I'm passing the torch!"

"Libby, I am not actually…knocked up" I assure her. "It really was a cow."

"Oh I know, don't worry everyone will just assume it didn't keep. Happens sometimes." She shrugs. I frown at her and she goes a little wide eyed. "No! Do not tell me I have to explain to you the birds and the bees!" She looks a little scandalized. "What do they teach in those houses!?"

"Of course I know about birds and bees," I lie feeling exceedingly uncomfortable suddenly. This is something I should know obviously, if my lie were true. I pick up one of her colorful magazines and flip through its pages.

"Sorry, sensitive subject I guess," Libby says.

I shrug.

Libby loops her arm through mine. "Let's talk about something else."

That I am only too happy to do.

"You realize how awesome this is right?" Libby is telling me later over the table.

I stare at her. I do not know. I also don't know what she's talking about, because it seems she's jumped topics, again.

"You don't have to leave, because you have the perfect excuse for being here! And now all I have to do is teach you to stop being a dead-pan weirdo and recognize how gorgeous you are and you can be amazing just like me!"

"Please don't make her talk like you." Ethan says a long-suffering look on his face. Libby grins wider.

"Oh come on! My Sistah is clueless!" Libby says, "I bet she doesn't even recognize when someone's hitting on her!"

I stare back at her feeling a small wiggle of annoyance. "I am smart enough to know if someone has hit me."

"You see?!" Libby says eyes wide.

"Libs, drop it." Bryn grumbles.

"Not hitting you—and if someone does that you tell me and I'll gouge their eyes out!" Libby informs me looking a little scary. "Hitting on you, completely different thing!" She goes all chipper again.

"How would I know if someone were 'hitting-on' me?" I ask because it is obvious she is not going to drop it, Libby never seems bothered by Bryn's tones.

"Pick-up lines!" Libby tells me. "You know or they could just get all brooding and grumpy and stare…" She trails off grinning at the top of Bryn's head for a moment.

"How do you pick up lines?" I ask.

"Did it hurt—" Libby starts, fork in one hand resting against her plate, her other elbow resting on the table hand bent back to her neck. She's grinning and I get the feeling I am missing something again because either she is 'hitting-on me' or she has jumped subjects again, though even for her that was rather abrupt. I'm pretty sure she's hitting me still; Especially when Bryn slides his eyes up from his own plate and fixes her with a severe look. I've seen Griss give that same expression to soldiers. Right before he screamed so loud he spit. Libby looks completely undeterred. "—When you feel from Heaven?" Libby finishes.

"I think I'll eat at home from now on," Ethan pipes up pushing a bite around on his plate with his fork not even bothering to look up at the rest of us. "The dialog in this house is like bad porn."

Bryn's fork drops with a clatter. I didn't know it was possible to glare at two people at once…in two different places. But he does it, and he does it well.

Chapter ten is coming up soon! Thanks everyone!