The Permanent Efficacy of Grace
13.
By the time they finally leave, Rook is practically vibrating out of her skin. She's quiet about it, but Jacob notices that she's just a ball of nerves when he comes to collect her, she can tell by the way he catches her eye, an unspoken you got this? She pulls a face and shakes her head, dismissing the question as unimportant, and it seems to suffice—he gestures towards the door with his head, and she gets up and follows him out.
She's dressed in her own clothes for the first time in what feels like forever, nothing fancy, just red-and-black flannel over a white tank, jeans (obviously but unfortunately without the holsters she favors) tucked into the tops of sturdy black boots. She supposes it's good enough for an audience with the Father. She's mostly just happy to be out of old Peggy clothes and back in things that fit her and don't look like sackcloth.
She doesn't realize until they reach the courtyard and Jacob is opening the passenger door of a Peggy truck for her that they're missing the usual entourage, and she slows, looking uncertainly around. "Somethin' wrong?" Jacob asks before she can get sucked into paranoia.
"We're going alone?"
Jacob grunts and indicates that she should get in the truck. In for a penny, in for a pound she thinks with a sigh, and climbs in. He closes the door, goes around to the driver's side, and only once he's got the engine started and rumbling does he actually answer. "Bad time to draw attention."
She guesses he's right enough. Those Peggy convoys always stood out, always made an irresistible target to her and Sharky and Hurk or whoever else happened to be passing by, lined up in a neat little row. She realizes she's smirking reflexively at the specific memory of blasting one of his helicopter patrols out of the air, and she glances over at him to see that he has noticed and is frowning, not even directly at her, but certainly in an unmistakable I'm not mad I'm just disappointed way. In the end, all she says is "Good call," and he just lets out another nonverbal little grunt and puts the truck in drive. The gates open for them, and Rook turns to watch them close securely shut behind them once they're through. The finality of it makes her stomach lurch a little.
The ride down to the river is almost completely silent. She's trying desperately not to think about the impending summit, and Jacob is… well, she's not sure what he's thinking. She can tell there's a distance between them that wasn't there before, but she's not bothered by it, because she knows exactly what the source of it is: neither of them has a firm idea of what's about to happen, and neither of them knows how to approach it. It could be worse: Jacob could be making all sorts of arrogant assumptions about her future and the way this meeting will go, and she thinks if that had been the case, she'd have probably had to knock him out and disappear, just bail on the plan altogether. It would have felt like too much of a betrayal, even though she knows she's not the one who holds his loyalty. At least with the uncertainty and the stilted silence that comes with it, though, she can pretend, and she's going to need that to get through this.
She's half expecting Jess Black and a horde of Whitetails to descend on them en route, ready to take their revenge in blood, but they make it to the river without incident, where a Peggy patrol is waiting with a little speedboat. Even as he interrogates the patrol about the morning and whether they saw anything strange or of note, Jacob reaches out to help her into the boat, and the little display of chivalry would trip her out more if it wasn't so absent-minded, like he's not even noticing he's doing it. One of the guards stares, though, and as his eyes track up from Jacob's hand as she takes it to her face, she gives him the meanest mind your fucking business look she can muster. It works—at least, he averts his eyes quickly, and then Jacob, firing off some last minute orders, steps onto the boat as well, and they're on the way to Joseph's island.
She leans on the edge of the boat, letting the frosty mist and cold air brace her, until Jacob notices and tells her to knock it off and sit down. She wonders if he knows that she'd been idly toying with the impulse to just fall overboard and neatly avoid the whole upcoming day. Probably. She listens to him anyway, taking a seat in one of the more secure little swivel chairs behind where he stands at the wheel, propping one leg up on the other. She watches the pines flow past across the water and wonders if Dutch is watching, or Eli.
If they are, they don't interfere. They dock at Joseph's island at quarter to ten. A small host of Chosen are waiting for them, and as Jacob cuts the engine and stoops to tie the boat up, they start down the short hill towards the docks. They're all armed to the teeth, which Rook takes as the cause of the faint profanity Jacob rumbles out before he glances up at her and says, low, "You stay with me."
"Well," she says mildly, "I wasn't planning on leaving you to wander off with them."
She supposes it doesn't look good, when it comes down to it: the once formidable force of destructive nature, the Junior Deputy, trailing quietly and obediently in Jacob Seed's wake, the sound of her footsteps drowned by the heavy fall of his as he leads her off the dock. She just doesn't care—or rather, she's saving her concerns for something less ego-driven, less superficial. Who cares if some Peggies see her looking docile? Most of the county already thinks she's joined Eden's Gate, and if what she's been told is true, half the cult already witnessed Jacob hauling her half-dead carcass up to the infirmary before she could bleed out. She isn't going to look much more pathetic now than she did then.
This isn't about you, she reminds herself, stopping when Jacob stops, which she realizes is because the leader of the group has raised a hand, a signal to halt. "Brother Jacob," the guy says in greeting. He sounds a little nervous, and Jacob's chilly response leaves no doubt as to why.
"Is there a reason you're blocking the path, solider?"
The guy's knuckles are a little pale on his gun, but he doesn't back down. "Orders, sir. We're supposed to search her before you're allowed to continue on."
There's a strained silence. A peek at Jacob's face reveals that he's looking at the man like he's something he scraped off his shoe, but to the Chosen's credit, he doesn't back down. Abruptly, Jacob snaps, "I'll do it, then," and turns, lifting Rook's arms up at the shoulder and nudging her ankles apart with his boot. She rolls her eyes—he knows she's not carrying anything—but it seems like it'll be a waste of time and breath to object, so she tolerates it.
He's already checked her arms and patted down her sides and waist before either of them takes note of the Chosen's murmurs of objection, and really only then because the guy finally forces himself to speak up with actual words: "Brother Jacob!"
Jacob has crouched to one knee to check her boots after a perfunctory pass over the edges of her thighs—she's wearing skinny jeans sans her usual holster rig, she obviously isn't carrying anything in or over her pants—and pauses, glaring up at the man, an expression that Rook mirrors, both of them annoyed by the delays. "What?"
"I think—" the man begins, visibly falters, visibly rallies, and begins again: "I think we need to be the ones to do that, sir."
Rook tenses. She's fine with Jacob putting his hands on her, but if anyone else tries, she might have to start a fight. Before she can do much more than glare a little more intensely at the Peggy leader, Jacob's hand closes around her ankle. The warm pressure of his grip is more reassuring than it has any right to be, and despite herself, she feels that tension bleed out of her.
She glances down. Jacob's looking up at the guy, eyes narrowed with an unkind sort of amusement that doesn't bode well. "Why don't you take your little radio there," he says in a measured tone that Rook instantly recognizes as a trap, "and ask Joseph if he thinks I'm gonna let a weapon slip past me, hmm? Go ahead. Ask him if he thinks I'll let any harm come to him."
The guy knows he's fucked up, it's written all over his face, but he sticks to his guns. Still eyeing them warily, like he's reluctant to let them leave his sight, he steps away and keys on his radio, one hand still on his gun like he thinks he might have to use it.
As he mutters into the radio, Rook glances down at Jacob, her hands still idly in the air. "Find anything cool down there?"
His eyes, distinctly unkind, are fixed on the cultist unfortunate enough to have drawn his ire, but they cut to her when she speaks, and she sees something very like amusement fire up in them a half-second before he glances away again, over at the armed Peggy group keeping a careful eye on them, and mutters, "Stop."
The look of wide-eyed, surprised innocence she shoots his way is almost entirely genuine. "Stop what?"
He resumes the pat-down, finishing in seconds given that she's not carrying anything by way of a lethal weapon (unless her fists count), then rises to his feet and, eyeing the Peggies again, says, "You're always trying to cut the tension. Stop it." When she gives him nothing but a silent, vaguely baffled stare, he folds his arms defensively over his chest, shifts a little nearer towards her so his words reach her alone, and says, "Sometimes things should be tense."
She thinks this over, then says, "You know, tension can lead to heart problems later in life."
A noise escapes him—something halfway between a chest cough and a snort, though his mouth stays heroically in a fixed line as he stares down their welcoming committee. Rook's not quite as committed to stoicism as he is, though, and flashes a quick grin before digging her elbow in his ribs, an elbow he reflexively swats down. "Quit it," he says, and although he sounds sour enough, she can see the looks on the Peggies' faces, the near-shock that the cult's nemesis is fucking with—or worse, flirting with—their great soldier, and isn't suffering a broken hand as a result.
Fortunately for them, they don't have enough time to figure out whether this represents a betrayal on his part or hers. The leader steps back into the ring, looking somehow both chastened and defiant all at once. He says, "Brother Joseph says that if you're willing to vouch for her, she can come through."
"Well don't that beat all," Jacob says, acerbic enough to make the Peggy blanch. Rook has forgotten how withering he can be when he's forced to talk to someone he dislikes. Jacob stretches a hand out, the universal after you gesture, and the Peggy hastily points to a little bank of trucks nearby.
"You can go in one of those," he says.
"Much obliged," Jacob growls, looking daggers at the man even as he places his hand on Rook's back, applies a little pressure, not pushing so much as indicating. She heads towards the trucks, glad enough to leave this weird atmosphere behind, though she doesn't miss the glances exchanged between the cultists. Those glances don't appear to be entirely despairing. She thinks it's probably a bad look for the Resistance that she hasn't spoken a word to anyone but Jacob; has, to all appearances, let Jacob shepherd her through this entire encounter.
Again, she reminds herself, this isn't about you. There's work to be done.
Jacob opens the truck door for her, closes it behind her, and treks around the front to get in the driver's seat without so much as a glance towards the Peggies now that they've served their purpose. When he shuts the door behind them, a blanket of quiet falls over them, the ambient sounds of the woods and water and distant Peggy settlement cutting out instantly. Jacob doesn't start the truck right away—she watches sideways as he sits for a second, head bowed slightly, and his chest lifts with one deep, controlled breath. She can relate.
He glances over at her then, and she means to offer him an encouraging smile, but her face seems frozen in place. His brow furrows. "You all right?"
"Yeah," she answers rapidly, and then, insanely, "Why wouldn't I be?"
His frown deepens. "You look—" He cuts himself off, but she guesses either her expression is as weird as it feels or the cold bloodlessness she thinks she feels in her face is visible, too. Maybe both. After another second, he says, "Are you ready to do this?"
If it was coming from anyone else, she'd think they were offering her an out, and honestly, even from Jacob, even though she knows it's a challenge—are you ready to be strong?—it's tempting to read that kindness into the question. That's all it is, though: temptation. She knows better than to seriously consider the question, because the answer is that it doesn't matter if she's ready. Time has run out.
She figures if she can't trust her face, then she definitely can't trust her mouth, so she seals her lips and just offers him a thumbs-up. He doesn't look particularly convinced, but he leans forward anyway, cranks the ignition and puts the vehicle in gear. "All right, then," he mutters, and floors it, spraying gravel and mud out behind them.
The drive from the edge of Joseph's compound to its center is a short one even with the labyrinthine twists and turns of the road, and with Jacob driving to beat the devil it's even shorter. They're there in minutes flat, but it's not quick enough—as they pull into the compound gates, she sees two other Peggy trucks parked there, and one looks empty, but standing near the other is John Seed, dressed to the nines in his stupid plane coat and shining blue sunglasses and obviously watching and waiting for them. Jacob parks in the spot furthest from him—not that it'll matter, but Rook appreciates the thought.
Jacob's apparently done checking in on her, and she's grateful for it (she's stood up to testing thus far, but she has no idea when she might crack, turn tail, and run)—he kills the engine and hops out immediately once they're parked. Rook takes a second in the quiet truck to take a few breaths. By the end of today, she tells herself. By the end of today, you won't have to wonder anymore.
When Jacob opens the door, she jumps out without hesitation, moving quickly past him and towards the church. Of course, of course, John has already moved to stand in the center of the open gates, the one spot she's guaranteed to pass through to get to Joseph, and though she'd be perfectly happy dodging around him and continuing as though she hasn't even noticed him, she knows she'll have to deal with him sooner or later, so when he steps deliberately into her path, she stops and looks up at him with a faint sneer of disgust.
The shine of those reflective blue sunglasses meets her gaze, and John, sounding remarkably pleased with himself considering he did nothing to facilitate this meeting, croons "Deputy! What a joy to see you here! …again."
She hears the gravel crunch under Jacob's boots as he catches up to them, and though he doesn't touch her, she can feel him warm at her back, just a fraction of an inch away. "John," he rumbles in greeting. She thinks she might be imagining the warning she hears in his tone.
"Jacob," John says, though those sunglasses are still pointed in her direction. "About time you muzzled this little troublemaker. I thought I was going to have to do all the work myself." Rook hears Jacob huff behind her and wonders if John is trying to get punched by one of them, but the thought vanishes as he steps a half-foot closer to her and, bending his head close—she leans back, but with Jacob right there there's nowhere to really go—he murmurs, "You look ill, Deputy. You aren't coming down with something, are you?"
That must've been what Jacob was going to comment on in the truck before changing his mind. Coming from John, it very much reads as a taunt, and she doesn't have the energy to rise to it and fire back at him like she usually would. Flatly, she says, "Infections and stabbings really take it out of a girl. Is Joseph at the church?"
The corner of John's mouth tugs up in a little half-smirk that looks all too triumphant, before his expression clears into innocence and he says, "Isn't he always?" He stands back, gestures with one hand towards the path, the other hand tucked neatly behind his back. "I'll escort you."
She doesn't respond to that. She thinks she feels Jacob's fingertips whisper for a split second between her shoulder blades, but figures it's probably just the comfort of her imagination, and she pushes on. Behind her, almost immediately, she hears a faint thunk and John in an undertone, sounding half-amused, half-genuinely annoyed: "Careful!" She's pretty sure Jacob just shoulder-checked him, but she can't afford to lose focus now.
Jacob falls into step beside her just a couple seconds later, just a few inches to her right—and of course, seconds after that, John takes up his post directly to her left, but she ignores them both. She's busy taking measure of the compound. Jacob had mentioned that this was where the children stayed, as well as the members of the cult tasked with their care or otherwise unable to fight, but she doesn't see any of those now. Instead, the place seems staffed entirely with mean-looking Peggies with big guns. It's not so much that it seems threatening—she only sees four or five total on her trip to the church—but it's obvious that Joseph isn't taking a peaceful outcome for granted, and he's not risking the children. It's a smart precaution to take, but it makes her wonder what that Voice of his has told him about her, about today.
Faith awaits them at the church, once again in her modest, flower-laced white dress, once again barefoot despite the considerable chill in the air and the flurries this morning, flurries which have melted away as the day has thawed slightly. Consummate professional that she is, she doesn't act like she notices the cold. "You came!" she cries, running down the stairs to meet Rook in the muddy courtyard, her brothers both reflexively relaxing their guard and moving aside to allow her access as she throws her arms around Rook. "I'm so glad," she murmurs into her ear.
Rook naturally locks up the second Faith approaches, but finds herself relaxing into her embrace almost instantly, and a second later she realizes why: she can smell that floral-vanilla Bliss scent, knows that Faith keeps a few blossoms on her person along with the artificial flowers stitched along the dress. It definitely plays a part in helping Faith keep up that warm and sweet persona, though now that Rook has seen her out of costume, as sweet-spoken as ever but a little meaner, a little more poisonous, Faith-the-Character strikes her as funny, in a sick way. She feels a tiny smile creep over her face, and Faith leans back and sees it. She narrows her eyes, just a fraction, but enough that Rook feels like she's read her mind, and Rook drops her gaze to Faith's bare feet. It pleases some mean little part of her to see them streaked with the courtyard's gray-black mud.
Faith is taking her hand. "Oh, you're freezing," she coos, and although Rook hadn't really been paying attention to the cold, Faith must be right, because her hand enveloping Rook's is extremely warm despite Faith's own state of attire. "Come inside," she says, turning around to tuck herself against Rook's side, winding their arms tight together and ushering her forward, effectively cutting her brothers out of the procession. "The Father is waiting."
She really is a professional, Rook thinks with grim admiration, but she doesn't resist—Faith is only taking her where she wants to go. Faith escorts her up the stairs, pushes open the creaking double doors, and pulls her in.
It's dark in the church, but after the overcast dim of the day, it doesn't take Rook's eyes long to adjust. She hears John and Jacob coming in just behind them, and the daylight vanishes as the doors swing shut again. Joseph is at the front of the church, but not standing and facing them, as is his custom—he's down, on the floor instead of the stage, kneeling at the end of the aisle, with his back to them all.
Rook feels the nerves twisting in her guts and a sudden faintness in her knees and head. Her mouth is dry, and tastes faintly metallic. Despite spending the last hour making her way here, now that she's actually here, it feels much too soon—it is much too soon, seems too ignominious an end to months of struggle and fighting. There should be more fanfare. It shouldn't just be this: her, the Junior Deputy, and the four Seed siblings, alone in the dark of their church.
Joseph stirs slightly, then slowly rises to his feet, although he doesn't turn. His voice is quiet, but it carries easily to the back of the church where she stands. "Long have I prayed for this. Long have we all… prayed, and wept, and hoped. But we are well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties… for when we are weak, then we are strong.1 And finally our trial has ended. He has brought you to us."
Rook feels a faint, old urge to say something dismissive and biting, but it dies before it can even remotely manifest. What would be the point? Instead, she takes a step forward, noticing when the rest of the Seeds stay put at the door instead of following, and then, when nobody stops her, she takes another step and says, "I'm here to negotiate." Her voice is softer than she'd like, projects less than Joseph's, and she has to fight to keep from clearing her throat immediately and drawing attention to that weakness.
At that, Joseph does turn, albeit slowly. As his profile comes into view, she thinks she spots a smile, but if it was there, it's gone by the time he's fully facing her. He's fully dressed, thank God, more so than she's ever seen him, in fact, in a vest-shirt-pants attire similar to what he'd been wearing in the first video she'd ever seen of him, the one where he'd put out that young man's eyes. It's a chilling reminder of what she'd told Jacob last night—that Joseph, in some ways, is less predictable and therefore more dangerous than any of his siblings. It's a reminder to tread carefully.
He says something, but he's quieter now, almost mumbling, like he's talking to himself, or God, and she has to strain to hear. "How will you handle the day of reckoning?" he's saying, sounding measured, meditative. "Will you run away from the disaster you caused?"2
She follows her gut and waits it out in silence. Joseph stares at her for a few moments through his omnipresent yellow shades, then lifts a hand and flicks two fingers at her, summoning her forward.
She approaches, the church floorboards creaking rude and loud beneath her boots, but she stops at the final brace of pews, reluctant to get much closer. She's a few feet back from where Joseph stands at the base of the raised platform from which he typically preaches, perfectly close enough to talk but leaving her enough room to breathe, and perhaps bolt if she feels the need. It doesn't escape her notice—and she doesn't think it has escaped his—that this now replicates the night they met.
Not exactly, though. Burke and Whitehorse aren't leading her into the mess this time. Joseph's siblings aren't lurking just over his shoulders to menace and smolder smugly at her. Right now, it's just him and her.
"Will you sit?" he asks, his voice smooth and courteous, and without waiting for her to decide if she wants to give up her standing advantage, he goes first, taking a seat at the top of the platform behind him. It's a shockingly casual move for Joseph Seed, and it disarms her more than she'd like. Slowly, she steps to her right and sits gingerly in the pew there, which, like the church's floorboards, creaks disproportionately loudly beneath her weight.
She hears a very faint whisper from the back of the church, then a soft but unmistakable thud. Joseph's eyes behind their yellow lenses cut sharply to the back of the church, and silence falls with unnatural quickness. Rook doesn't bother to look with him; she can guess what she'll see: Faith standing pointedly aside from her brothers, distancing herself, Jacob with that blank look he thinks makes him seem like he hasn't been doing anything wrong, and John, sour and probably holding his freshly punched arm but unwilling—for now—to turn tattletale. It seems more likely than any other scenario, anyway.
Joseph, perhaps not entirely satisfied with his siblings but content enough to leave it be for now, returns his attention to her in the new silence. "Please," he says, gesturing with a hand out, palm up, inviting her to speak. "What are your terms?"
The question makes her feel even more drained, and she can feel her shoulders inching down in a slump before she takes a breath and rallies, because looking defeated already isn't exactly going to help her here. She's aware on a certain level that by making her go first, he's putting her at a disadvantage—to maximize bargaining power, she should make him tell her what he wants and go from there.
But she already knows what he wants. And he, she's sure, knows what she wants.
And this is all theater. She's tired of it.
"I'm willing," she begins, pacing her words very carefully—she doesn't want to stumble, misspeak, or otherwise have to repeat herself—"to lay down arms and to join the Project at Eden's Gate."
There's a little exhale at the back of the church. She doesn't know who it came from. Joseph continues to stare at her, his eyes glittering green behind his lenses, and she can't read much of his expression, except that he is looking at her in a way uncomfortably reminiscent of the non-Peaches mountain lions she's had the occasional misfortune to encounter in the east of the region.
"In exchange," she continues when it's clear he isn't going to say anything, "I'm asking for the Project to also put down arms and leave the Resistance alone. It doesn't have to be a happy truce, but I do want a truce."
She expects an argument to follow, but Joseph just raises an eyebrow. He does sound a mite too cheerful, though, when he asks, "Anything else?"
She looks warily at him, but… if not now, then never. "Release the prisoners you've taken. If they want to stay, fine; if not, they need to go home."
Something freaky happens in the second following that. Joseph smiles.
Then he laughs.
It's not a particularly nasty laugh, really, not cartoonishly villainous or defiantly loud, just a quiet, lingering sort of chuckle, but it still makes Rook's heart sink. She knows it was a long shot, she had to know that—but she hadn't quite expected Joseph to laugh at her.
She of course wants to bolt to her feet and flee the church, pick right back up where she left off in her destroy-the-cult campaign, but the interim weeks since now and when she was last in good standing with the Resistance have tempered her expectations, and she knows that careening through the woods and smashing up everything she encounters is no longer a viable plan. She clasps her hands together in her lap, digging the fingernails of one hard into the knuckles of the other, and waits it out.
"Forgive me," Joseph says, regaining control, though he has to reach beneath his glasses to dab under his eyes for a moment; "I know I shouldn't be—but truly, your hubris—it's truly shocking."
Hubris. Rook stares at him, and he stares back, letting that word lie dead in between them. At length, fully self-controlled now and back to his gentle tones, he says, "The idea that you alone are worth the souls of dozens—no, hundreds—of sinners? That… what, did you think we'd be so grateful to have you come into our family that we would give up on so many others? Just give them to the fire?"
Rook can feel the numbness in her body, her face, and she's glad for it, glad that she can just stare Joseph in the eye and tell him without too much inflection, "I've routed your people over the last few months. I've taken back two dozen outposts and destroyed many more shrines, silos, beacons, and supply caches than I can count, often single-handedly. I reclaimed Fall's End, Hope County Jail, the Marina, the FANG Center, the Lumber Mill—"
"—and then you vanished," Joseph says, his voice somehow carrying over hers to cut her off without getting louder. "Stories abound, Deputy. That you're dying of an injury. That you're already dead. That you've taken up fraternizing with my brother—that one is particularly damning, given the company you otherwise keep."
Rook holds his gaze and doesn't blink. She feels like if she blinks, this whole thing will fall apart. Her voice comes out hushed again: "What does the good book say about rumor-mongering, Father?"
He raises his eyebrows and shrugs, just a fraction, as he shifts on the steps. "It isn't rumor-mongering if it's true. Just honesty. Hard truths. And here's perhaps a harder truth for you: since you dropped out of sight, our people have taken back more than half of the sites from which you… temporarily… drove them away. Those who resist us are faltering, floundering, lost without a true leader, while we grow stronger and more faithful every day. We have won this fight. We were always going to win this fight."
He seems very satisfied with that pronouncement. Rook leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and she continues to hold his gaze. "Regardless of… any changes in my circumstances, I'm still skilled. I'm still strong. I can still fight," she says, intent, still not blinking. "Allies or no allies. I can still destroy so much of your shit before this fight is over, whether you win or…"
Joseph gently touches the edge of his jaw, stroking it thoughtfully with his fingertips. "Well," he says at last. "That's what this negotiation is really about, isn't it? Minimizing loss. Our victory… oh, it is inevitable. But loss of life… more loss of life, and more destruction of the infrastructure we'll need once the Collapse concludes, it is to be avoided, if at all possible. And you're right," he adds magnanimously, reaching a hand out to indicate her. "You are quite the destructive force. It's in everyone's best interest if we can come to an agreement today."
She nods slowly, turning this over in her mind. "But you won't give me what I want."
"You want hundreds of souls exchanged for your one," he says again, and shakes his head a little. "Avarice. Not even you are as worthy as all that."
Rook takes a breath. Plan A had always been a long shot, something she had to ask for rather than something she really expected to get. Her real hopes hinge on Plan B, and now that she's reminded Joseph of the threat she can be if she doesn't come into his fold, it's time to roll those dice. "All right," she says, pauses a beat to review her thoughts, then says again, "all right. My colleagues, then."
Joseph blinks, raises his eyebrows, but she somehow doubts he's as surprised as he looks.
"Whitehorse," she continues. "Hudson, Pratt. And Burke." Burke is an afterthought less because she thinks he's a bit of a condescending prick—he is, but who cares, really—and more because she really only knew him for one night before this shit went down. "This wasn't ever their fight, just like it isn't really mine. Let them go. Drive them to the county line and let them leave. Just them. If you do that, I'll never raise a hand against the c—Project again."
Joseph is grimacing a bit, though like his earlier surprise, it reads as a little bit put-on to Rook. He's playing up his reaction, but she has no idea if it's because he already knows he's going to say no or he already knows he's going to say yes, and she's somewhat surprised to find that her hands are trembling in the meantime. She clasps them together again, digs her nails in again. "Mm," Joseph says, sounding disapproving. "That's four souls for just your one. The math still isn't quite right, is it?"
Fortunately, her voice isn't shaking. "I do more damage than four souls' worth. Tell me that releasing them isn't worth having me on your side. Really, Joseph. Look me in the eyes. Tell me that."
He rises abruptly to his feet, startling her into sitting bolt upright, and as he paces across the short span of floor dividing them, she starts to stand, but terminates the motion when he glides down to one knee on the floor in front of her. He takes her hands, one in each of his—she only notices at the touch of his skin that the knuckles of one hand are bleeding, her own nails having cut too deep, but he doesn't even seem to notice—and he looks into her eyes.
As before, in the Bliss, at her Baptism, in Jacob's cage, Joseph this close seems to edge everything else out of her vision. It's just him and his intent gaze, that unwavering eye contact, and as always when she's in this predicament, it uncomfortably reminds her of why Joseph has found success as a cult leader. It's already in the way he talks, but it's particularly insidious in the way he stares: it makes her feel like she's the only person in the world that matters to him. She thinks he must believe that, too, at least a little bit, at least when he's this focused on a person.
"Do you remember," he says, so quietly that she knows his siblings won't be able to hear him, "what you said to me the first night we met?"
She remembers every second of that night. Sometimes she feels like she's lived it dozens of times. She sucks in a shallow breath, and just barely manages to shake her head, but he lets her lie, doesn't call her out on it.
"It was… after you put the handcuffs on me," he said, taking one long, slow blink as he settles into the hypnotic, melodic cadence he favors for moments like this, but the reprieve is short, and after a second his eyes are back on hers. "With your sheriff and your marshal ready to lead us out of here, entirely unwitting. You put your hand on my shoulder to guide me. Not too tightly—and it was the same with the handcuffs. Not too tightly. And you said…"
He pauses for a second longer than Rook can bear. By the time this day is over, she reminds herself, trying to believe it, and she whispers, "I said: don't worry. We'll sort this all out in the morning."
His eyes slide close again. He nods; looks beatific. "Don't worry," he repeats, opening his eyes once more. "And you kept saying it, all along that ill-fated trek to the helicopter. Over and over—I don't even know if you knew you were saying it still. Don't worry. Don't worry. Don't worry. Of course, I wasn't afraid," he added, squeezing her hands lightly, like a kindly grandparent. "I knew what was to come. Your concerns were unnecessary. Still, it struck me. Don't worry. A strange kindness from someone whose job was to believe the worst of me. I knew before we even climbed into that helicopter that you were special. That you were meant to join us in our garden."
Her hands are loose in his. His stare is heavy on her until he blinks, slowly, one more time, and then the weight of it is back. Slowly, measuring the words carefully, he says, "If we free your colleagues, will you promise to come to us in peace? Will you promise to atone, and to join your brothers and sisters who love you here in Eden's Gate?"
After that, for once, Joseph stops talking. He just watches her, and in the absence of his voice, the silence is suffocating, oppressive. Rook is only aware that she's crying, just a little bit, when a tear slips free of one eye and streaks down her face, and she parts her lips and drags in one breath, then two—they sound almost gasping in the dead quiet of the room.
"I will." It's a struggle to get it out, and it's no more than a whisper, but it's enough for Joseph. He closes his eyes again briefly, grateful, triumphant, then opens them to looks past her, towards the back of the church, and she can see the question in his face, so she turns to witness his brothers' and sister's response for herself.
Jacob, predictably, is the first. He nods curtly, no-nonsense. She can't read anything in his stern expression. Faith, too, acquiesces with a dainty shrug that Rook thinks looks a little too studied, a little too careless.
John looks annoyed, glancing first at his brother, then his sister. He doesn't bother to hide his sigh before he, too, nods.
It's enough for Joseph. "Very well," he says softly, and rises to his feet, drawing Rook up with him. "You have walked the path, you've been baptized, but you must still confess, and you must still atone. John will hear you now."
The cold dread that has settled in her stomach at the realization that this is all happening, right now, for real, is quickly augmented by panic. "Wait—" she begins, and behind her, she hears Jacob, in unison with her, "Wait—"
"Prolonging the sacraments is inevitably more painful, in the end," Joseph interrupts her, implacably calm, as she looks over her shoulder to see John, shooting a smirk at Jacob even as he begins to stroll towards the front of the church. "And you have already delayed them enough. It's time you demonstrated your commitment to our family."
Jacob takes a step forward, but Faith cuts quickly in front of him. He looks down at her, anger exasperation flicking across his face, and for a second Rook thinks he's going to pick her bodily up and move her out of his way, but Joseph's voice cuts through the room. "Jacob. You're too close to this. Stay outside. Faith, stay with him."
"Joe—" Jacob starts, in a tone of voice that Rook has heard before, one that she knows usually means someone's in deep fucking trouble.
"I'll stay here," Joseph says, unflappable, brooking no argument. "I will make sure she passes through her atonement—but you can't be here."
In some deep, distant part of herself, Rook is gratified that John seems put off by the news of Joseph's supervision, but it's a faint sensation, drowned out by the flood of dread. Jacob locks eyes with her.
"Brother," Joseph says sharply.
He twitches but doesn't move, even as Faith starts trying to gently push him back towards the entrance. Rook is vaguely aware that John has arrived at the front of the church, that Joseph's hands are tightening on hers, but she just stares at Jacob, and for perhaps the first time since she entered this church, she feels a stir of calm.
For perhaps the first time ever, she thinks Jacob might actually be thinking about defying Joseph for her sake.
Which, of course, she can't let him do, not after all that's transpired, not on the edge of this deal. So, despite the rush of fear and adrenaline, despite wanting him to intervene, she bests herself, tilts her head slightly towards the church door, and mouths, "Go."
He lets Faith's next push knock him a step backwards, then another, then he breaks eye contact, turns around, and stomps quickly out of the church, leaving the door swinging violently behind him. Faith, moving in perfect silence, follows him out.
Only then does Rook turn her attention to his considerably more frightening brothers, now standing right in front of her, John with that same worryingly eager smile he'd worn the one time he had her captured in his bunker. "Deputy," he all but sings as Joseph releases her hands and takes a step back, abandoning her to his ministrations. "Shall we begin?"
A/N - After Rook enters the church, Joseph is quoting from 2 Corinthians 12:10 and Isaiah 10:3, respectively.