A/N - Thanks to my lovely reviewers!
She was out in the field again - she was volunteering more and more now, and he was beginning to wonder if it wasn't an excuse to stay away from him. It always put him on edge - would this mission be the one she wouldn't return from? He did not know. He only knew that it would be soon, this year, maybe a few weeks beyond that, but no more. The thought of it made him nauseous and he began to pace to focus his thoughts elsewhere.
He was on his seventh circuit of the room when a knock sounded at his door.
"Who is it?" he growled out.
"John, it's me." He both sighed in relief at hearing her voice and stiffened, pulling the tazer out and holding it inconspicuously at his side as he opened the door.
One look at the girl and he knew it was Allison. She sagged against the doorframe, one arm curled protectively to her chest. Her shirt was missing many of the main components that made it be known as a shirt, and John realized that her pose was both due to injury and to protect her modesty. There was pain, heavy and tangible, in her eyes and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her through the door before slamming it shut and locking it.
"What happened?" he asked, dragging her through to where they slept and easing her down to sit on the bed. She let him pull her arm out from the protection of her body and, peering past the dirt and ash, he realized that she was covered in nasty burns.
"They were burning the piles of bodies. There was a child. Screaming," she answered slowly. A slight trembling began in her muscles.
His jaw clenched.
"I couldn't stand by and do nothing. I had to try to get her out."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"Where is she?"
"She died before we could get her here. But she knew. She knew someone cared whether she lived or died. She knew that there was more left in the world than machines and slaves. She saw me coming for her and there was such hope in her eyes as I scrambled over those dead bodies, reaching for her."
He swept the strands of hair back from her face, fingertips stroking along her jaw. "You did a good thing. A stupid thing, a dangerous thing, but a good one."
"She was trapped," the girl continued as if he had not spoken. "The flames got to her just before I did…she went up like a fucking matchstick and I knew better than to keep reaching. God, I knew better but I thought I could put her out…Even though I knew she was covered in some sort of accelerant I thought I could still save her."
John remained silent as he pulled the remains of her shirt off and began to clean and bandage the wounds as best as he could.
She took a shuddering breath. "I grabbed her out of there and smacked at the flames - they were crawling up my arm by then. I lost my balance and we rolled down that mound of corpses. Unfortunately the rolling didn't put us out. Stop, drop and roll…" she chuckled mirthlessly. "I guess it doesn't really work when you're rolling down something that's on fire too. One of the guys on my team managed to get us put out once we landed in the rubble."
She went quiet then, not even flinching when he probed the worst of the burns and wrapped gauze around them.
"What happened then?" he questioned gently.
"She was still breathing, still conscious, still so scared, John. She reminded me of the way I felt on Judgment Day…they told me she was dying but I couldn't leave her there. I couldn't!"
Her eyes pleaded with him to understand as John finished patching her up. He pulled out one of his only spare shirts and slipped it over her head, watching as her eyes clenched shut when he guided her arm through the hole and into the sleeve.
"I carried her back even though I felt like my arm was going to fall off," she continued weakly. "I could see the entrance to the camp when she stopped breathing. I left her there. It wouldn't be right to make someone have to carry her back out when she was already dead. I left her there, in a pile so like the one I had just saved her from."
She pulled away from him then, curling up on her uninjured side and pressing her forehead to the concrete wall.
"Ally…" he began softly, utterly unsure of what to do with the distraught woman.
"What's the point of all this, John? What's the point? We're not making any progress I can see. We lose more and more people all the time. Why keep trying? Why keep fighting?"
"We'll win one day. We just have to keep pushing toward it."
"We all die one day, too," she replied calmly, sitting up and staring at him.
"If you want to give up go ahead, go on out to the surface. Feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your face. Feel the metal snap your cowardly neck. Go on," he growled.
"John…John I didn't mean it like that."
"How did you mean it then?"
"Is it too much to ask for a little reassurance? To know that I'm not risking my neck day in and day out in vain?" she asked brokenly.
He did not reply but reached out and took her hand in both of his, squeezing gently.
"I'm sorry. I know it's not in vain it's just sometimes…" she trailed off, sighing heavily.
"Sometimes it's too much. You've seen enough death and felt enough pain for a dozen lifetimes and you feel like you'll break if you see one more horrible thing. You can't see what you're fighting for anymore."
She nodded, squeezing his hand. "But I can, if I take a moment to look. I'm fighting for you."