The Permanent Efficacy of Grace
18.
Rook changes her mind about going to Joseph's about forty times that afternoon, battling the sickening waves of anxiety she gets every time she thinks about facing the whole family under the same roof again (which is approximately once a minute).
It doesn't help that Jacob, despite clearly having her back (he offers to cancel the whole thing and she turns him down, because she knows it's going to happen eventually) is still the same asshole he's always been, at heart, and that asshole part of him thinks that this is, on some level, funny, and that sense of humor is manifesting in ways that make her want to kill him. When she's fretting about what to wear, and muttering to herself about how it shouldn't fucking matter anyway, he interrupts to suggest, in the driest tone imaginable, that she should wear a dress. "I know you think you're helping," she tells him flatly, "but you're not."
Later, once she's accepted that her wardrobe is so limited that she doesn't really have a choice anyway—she ends up in the usual boots, jeans, and flannel—she wonders aloud if they need to bring something to offer, and Jacob looks at her like he thinks she's hit her head. "Jesus, Rook," he says, "I'm not taking you to meet my parents. It's just dinner with people you know already."
"I know that," she snaps, the edge to her tone definitely mitigated by the fact that she's flapping her hands helplessly. "This whole thing is just freaking me out. It's weird, right? I don't have a game plan for this."
Jacob steps up close to her, grabs both her hands and pushes them palms together so she can't put someone's eye out, and catches her gaze. "You don't need a game plan. You just need to be you. Even Joseph won't be expecting you to have a different personality just because you're with us now."
"If I was just going to be me, I'd bring moonshine and get hammered before the main course."
"Be a little less you than that," he amends. "But they wanted you, Rook. I reckon it's time for them to see what that really means."
She narrows her eyes. "You're being really nice to me."
"What, you want me to be mean?"
"No, it's… nice," she says suspiciously. "But it's weird. Normally I'd expect you to tell me to quit being stupid about this and tough it out, not give me a pep talk."
A scowl crosses his face at the words pep talk, but it's gone almost as soon as it shows up, and he glances down at their joined hands, rubbing a rough, idle thumb over the back of one of hers before saying, "Things have changed. No use pretending everything's just how it used to be."
Well, he's got a point there.
Still, even with his reassurance, she hatches a half-dozen halfhearted plots to bail out of this plan before they actually get to Joseph's, and he seems to catch onto it, because by the time they're on the boat headed to Joseph's island, he's sticking close to her, ready to catch her if she suddenly tries to launch herself overboard. The day has actually warmed considerably, a last gasp before winter really takes hold, and even though the sun has set by the time they travel to Joseph's, it's still nice outside, temperate enough that the mist from the boat feels pleasant instead of frigid. Jacob has allowed a Chosen to drive them this time, another standing guard, presumably so he can just stay in the back with her. Having him close by is more comforting than she would have expected it to be.
The island is still overflowing with Peggy security, but this time, they don't stop her as she and Jacob step off the boat. They take a truck along the winding path towards the church, and Rook is surprised when at one point, instead of following the turn, Jacob continues onto a narrow dirt path she'd never really noticed before—she's only been to this island twice before tonight, flying in via helicopter the first time, and last time, she'd been too preoccupied to take note.
Her interest is piqued, and it distracts her as they complete the drive, Jacob slowing down to maneuver along the rather twisty, tree-lined road. She figures they're fully in the thick of the woods that fill the island before they finally emerge into a little clearing, in which sits a little white house.
It looks like it's made of the same material as Joseph's church, though it's smaller and it has windows. The chimney smokes and the windows glow orange in the twilight, and through the biggest one, Rook sees Faith in profile, laughing at somebody out of sight. She's startled to find that the place actually looks homey, after John's ugly rich-person "ranch" house, Jacob living out of his cold, barren office, and Faith presumably sleeping in a hammock strung up in the woods somewhere. She'd have thought Joseph would be Spartan with his comforts, especially after what she knew about him from reading his book.
"Ah, hell," Jacob grumbles as he puts the truck in park behind two other Peggy vehicles. "Should've known they'd get here first. Present a united front."
"United front against… what?"
He shrugs. "I'm sure they'll be angling to get you to do something. Recruitment, most likely. They'll figure the Resistance is more likely to listen to one of their own than us, at this point." At her silence, he turns to look at her, and shakes his head disapprovingly. "Don't act like that comes as a big shock, Rook. You knew you weren't gonna be able to sit and twiddle your thumbs. Joseph wanted you with us for more reasons than just evangelical generosity."
That phrase gets a choked little laugh out of her, and if it sounds slightly bitter, she doesn't think he blames her for it. He gets out and shuts the door, and in the ten seconds it takes him to come around the front of the truck, she considers scooting over and starting the engine—she's gotten really handy when it comes to stealing vehicles over the last couple of months, can hotwire with the best of them, according to Sharky—and just hauling ass out of here. It's the last of her wild schemes to get out of this situation, and as with all the ones before it, she fails to act on it. When Jacob opens the door and holds out his hand to her, she looks at him and thinks, I told him I was staying. The thought steadies her, and she accepts his hand without further hesitation, hopping out of the truck.
The night air is cool and bracing, and he keeps his hold on her as they crunch through the fallen leaves and gravel of the driveway towards the rickety little front porch, which surprises her a little bit—he's not really the hand-holding-in-public type—but then, this is his family, and all of them are some level of weird about her. Given how things went last time they were all together, she thinks it's not much of a surprise that he's acting a little territorial. She glances over at him as they go, noting the steely set to his mouth, the way his eyes seem to flash as they catch the light from the house. He's dressed for the chill, in that weighty gray jacket she's seen more and more since the temperature began to drop, zipped up the front, and a gray knit cap jammed over his head and pulled down over the tips of his ears. Above the jacket's collar, on the side of his neck, she sees a hint of mottled purple, a bite mark just starting to bloom. She hadn't realized she'd left it, though with his fair skin, it doesn't really come as a surprise. She doesn't say anything to him about it. It won't kill his family to see a hint of a hickey, and he's not the only one feeling a touch territorial.
He doesn't bother to knock, letting himself in through the unlocked door, and he doesn't announce himself, either. Rook has time to see a tiny foyer with some shoes scattered about and one fraying jacket hanging up, and a dark room beyond that might be some sort of living area, before he's leading her to the left through a narrow, wood-framed hallway that then deposits them into a large, well-lit room: they emerge in a dining area, which features the large window Rook had seen earlier, and which combines with the kitchen, a large countertop bisecting the room and marking where the dining room ends and the kitchen begins.
Faith, who is sitting at the dining table, jumps to her feet when Jacob and Rook arrive. She's not in the long winter dress she was wearing last time Rook saw her, but nor is she in her usual dress, wearing a simple white cotton garment under a soft-looking sweater, though she's still barefooted. "There you are!" she exclaims with delight that sounds perfectly genuine, and she nudges Jacob out of the way (Rook, to her mild dismay, feels his hand slip away from hers as he steps aside) and throws her arms around Rook.
Okay, I guess we're hugging now, Rook thinks, but figuring she might as well make the most of the situation she finds herself in (and also thinking that it's better to be hugging Faith than fighting her, or going to touch her and having her explode into a green cloud which then produces a fucking bear), she just hugs her back—loosely, but it pleases Faith, going by the way she beams when she pulls back. "We've been waiting for so long."
Rook feels her forehead crease into a frown. "Are we that late?" she asks, looking at Jacob for an answer.
He's got that look on his face he gets when she suspects he wants to roll his eyes, and Faith catches her hand to draw her attention back and very seriously says, "I didn't mean tonight."
"Oh," is all Rook manages to say before Joseph calls out a welcome from the kitchen, and Faith spins her around to walk her over. Rook glances over her shoulder at Jacob, trying to ask for help through her expression alone, and she reads the disapproving way his forehead knits as a you're-fine-on-your-own sort of response. He trails close behind them, though, so she figures he's not abandoning her entirely, though she still fires off a quick little scowl at him before she and Faith reach the kitchen and she decides she'd better reserve her defenses for her enemies among the family.
Speaking of which—Joseph and John are both in the kitchen, but although Joseph is at the countertop working on something, John's in the furthest corner away from him, skulking there. Although the dread of him Rook had felt just after their time in the church has faded some after meeting him to release the sheriff and deputies, after some long blocks of sleep helping to numb her feelings about the whole thing, she still isn't keen to interact with him, so she ignores him.
It's fairly simple to do, since Joseph is looking at her and talking to her already: "Welcome, Deputy," he says, sounding just as warm and sincere as Faith (on some level, she's sure they actually mean it—it's part of what appeals about them and always has, but she doesn't for a second think that they aren't calculating the benefits of offering that warmth every second). "We're truly glad you were able to join us tonight."
Rook nods, not knowing exactly what to say that. When the silence that follows his greeting stretches out unbroken, she has an abrupt realization about how this night is going to play out. She could certainly be cold, stony, and uncommunicative, treating these people like the enemies they are, but if she does that, she's going to have to suffer the excruciating awkwardness of this absurd dinner, and she's not quite sure she has the strength to do that. Bullets and knives are child's play compared to clunky and uncomfortable social events as far as Rook is concerned. She realizes that if the Seeds aren't inclined to chatter amongst themselves without her—and none of them, even Faith, and certainly not John, seem to be so inclined at the moment—then she's just going to have to power through this evening like she has every awkward social situation in her life.
Pretend you're old friends. Pretend you've known them all your life, she thinks, clenching her teeth for just a second. It's just one night.
Then, switching on, she leans forward onto the counter and, trying to sound easygoing and relaxed (and mostly succeeding, she thinks, despite everything), she asks, "You cook?"
Joseph is carving several beige hunks of chicken into strips, and there's a large bowl full of chopped seasonal vegetables to the side, lettuce drying off in a colander in the sink. He's wearing a shirt, thankfully, and a vest, even, and away from his flock, he's discarded the yellow shades. When he looks up and meets her eyes, it's a little jarring to see them without that filter turning them green—with their color, the way they turn down at the edges, they look exactly like John's eyes. They look exactly like Jacob's.
He gives her a little half smile before returning to his work. "Who else?" he asks.
"I assumed you'd have outsourced the work to your flock," she says, and to her credit, there's no sarcasm in her voice when she adds, "I just figured your time is better spent, you know, leading and teaching instead of making meals."
"Feeding others is always a valuable use of anyone's time," Joseph says gravely. Rook nods absently, eyeing the chicken. The surface is perfectly smooth and devoid of color. She can't even see salt. Good God. "Although I admit," Joseph adds, "my followers see me fed most of the time."
"Yeah, cause you get caught up in the church and forget otherwise," Jacob rumbles from just behind Rook—she'd been so busy trying to figure out the food situation that she hadn't heard him come up, although as soon as he speaks, he puts a warm palm on the small of her back, and she relaxes despite herself. He's used that same disapproving tone on her before, and on the same topic, too. No wonder it always sounded like it came naturally to him—she can imagine chasing Joseph around to try and get him to get his head in the real world long enough to shove some food in him gets pretty frustrating.
Joseph smiles slightly, not raising any objection to the point. "I do get caught up," he says. "But I miss preparing simple fare, from time to time." He sets the knife down and goes to the sink, washing his hands, then drying them. Then he turns around and says, "Deputy, would you come here for a moment?"
Rook freezes up, her anxiety about this whole situation returning in a wash (it doesn't help that Joseph just radiates benevolent authority figure, valid or not, and she's always been suspicious of those. She'll take a hundred Jacobs barking out orders over Joseph's polite step-right-this-way method of pushing people where he wants them; at least with Jacob's approach, she knows exactly what he's after and how he feels about it). Jacob presses a little bit into her back, a move she reads as equal parts reassurance and encouragement to obey, and although she shoots him a look of misgiving, she makes herself move around the long countertop, into the kitchen area proper. Jacob moves with her, which at first is a pleasant surprise, until he peels off, passing Joseph on the way to the sink, clearly not intending to stick that closely to her. Still, he isn't far away, and she tries to look at that as the silver lining to this whole nightmare.
Joseph is holding a hand out to her, and as she hesitates, he turns his head and reaches out for John with the other hand. Oh, no, she thinks despairingly, but, morbidly curious, she steps forward and takes Joseph's offered hand. After a moment, still looking sullen, although he seems to be making an effort to hide it, John does the same.
Joseph squeezes her hand emphatically, and she assumes he's doing the same to John. Looking from her to John then back again, Joseph solemnly says, "Usually, an Atonement ends with restoration, love, and community. Deputy, yours did not, and I apologize for that. But I want any hard feelings to be laid down right now." He squeezes their hands again, staring intently, directly into Rook's eyes. "We are all a part of the same family. We must be unified and at peace. Accept one another. Allow this wound to mend."
Rook thinks that given that she's the literally injured party, this is a bit of a big ask, and it's on the tip of her tongue to tell Joseph that she'll forgive John as soon as they're even, as soon as she gets to do to him what he did to her, but looking into Joseph's calm, relentless stare, she realizes it's no use. She's certain he'll have ways to rationalize it, and she and Jacob are here to make peace, to keep trouble from cropping back up. You can say it without meaning it, she thinks.
To that end, she nods, hopefully managing to look appropriately somber and contrite, though she's still not clear on what the fuck she did that needs to be forgiven. She catches sight of John, and he looks surprised, though the expression is gone by the time Joseph turns his head to look at him, and he just nods along with her.
"Very well," Joseph says, sounding quietly pleased. Then, before Rook can realize what he's doing and pull back, he pulls their hands together to join them, placing one of his hands on top and one on the bottom to hold them together, and bows his head over them. In for a penny, Rook thinks resignedly, deciding to play along and leave her hand in John's.
His hand is hot and dry, but she's glad to note that it doesn't set her skin crawling like it did the last time he touched her. He bows his head as Joseph begins to speak, though Rook doesn't bother. "Father," Joseph murmurs. "Forgive us our petty resentments and relieve us of our small grudges. Bring us clarity, and with it the understanding that everything that happens—painful or blissful, cruel or kind—it happens according to your purpose."
Rook is watching John's face, and sees right away when he lifts his head slightly, opens his eyes to shoot her a mistrustful little look. She seizes the opportunity to mouth a silent little "fuck you" in his direction. He glares, but ducks his head again immediately when Joseph's hands tighten a little bit on theirs. (Rook doesn't think he saw, but, message delivered, she bows her head now too.)
"We are thankful that you have united us together as a family at last," Jacob says, "and we ask for your continuing grace as we prepare in these final days. Amen."
"Amen," Rook repeats, reclaiming her hand as fast as she can.
"Amen," John says, and visibly tucks away his suspicion and bad mood, pasting on an impersonal, entirely fake little smile. It spooks Rook a little bit, actually—she's glad she never had to deal with him in the courtroom, in a professional capacity (although a personal relationship with John certainly has its caveats as well), and she escapes quickly now that her task is apparently over, returning to the other side of the countertops and rejoining Jacob, who has also made a tactical retreat. As she approaches, he points to the glass of water he'd apparently gotten for her, and, glad to have something to do with her hands, she picks it up, settling in beside him. Joseph pauses to speak to John in quiet tones she can't make out—hopefully he's clocked how not-into-it John has been this whole time, though before she can try and read facial expressions and body language, Faith has surfaced from nowhere in order to talk to them.
Well, to talk to Jacob, at any rate. "So. Jeremy Mulligan narrowly escaped the bear the other day," she says, and although her tone is as sweet as ever, she hits certain words in a particularly arch way—Jeremy Mulligan, bear—that tells Rook she's not intending to be nice.
Jacob rests an elbow on the countertop, leans into it so he can peer past Rook—interposed between them—to look at his sister. "That so," he says, sounding profoundly uninterested. "What are you all doing to deal with that thing nowadays, anyway?"
"Mostly, we try to avoid the cave where it lives," Faith says pointedly. "But that's a lot harder to do when it keeps expanding its territory."
"Throw some angels at the thing," Jacob says indifferently.
Faith's eyes are like daggers, though miraculously, her tone stays sweet. "If we had the angels to spare, that might be a solution."
"You know what you should do?" Jacob says, apparently oblivious to Faith's chilliness. "Post a bounty. Hell, I bet even Resistance hunters would bite. Their supplies can't be in good shape after all this time. Offer some food, some fuel—that'll take care of your problem real fast. Easy."
"That's an interesting suggestion," Faith replies, looking at Jacob like she wants him dead on the spot, and Rook, glancing from one of them to the other, marvels at how flawlessly he's executing the torture-your-little-siblings-into-screaming-fury-without-breaking-a-sweat oldest sibling maneuver, even with someone who's not his blood sibling, even though they're both fully grown adults. "I have a better one."
Jacob shakes his head. "Can't help you, honey. I'm too busy up north."
"Ah. Yes. Well, we all know how busy you've been," Faith allows, but something in her voice makes both Jacob and Rook turn their heads sharply to look at her. The venom has gone out of her expression; now she looks a little self-satisfied, but mostly innocent.
"That supposed to mean something?" Jacob asks, a little wary edge creeping into his voice.
Sounding like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, Faith says, "Well, I just figured—if you've managed to find the time to… court… our sworn enemy, then surely you can take just a few hours out of your day to help with operations in the Henbane."
"…not your sworn enemy anymore," Rook interjects after a sip of her water.
They both ignore her. Jacob narrows his eyes at Faith. "Don't make this about that," he warns her. "You're in charge of the river, not me. I look after the mountains, and I've been able to manage my time well enough to do that just fine without havin' to ask for help."
"Oh, really?" asks Faith innocently. "Then why did I have to drop everything to rush up there at nightfall a couple of weeks ago to babysit for you?"
"…not a baby," Rook says, lifting her glass again.
"I didn't ask you to do that," Jacob growls, practically curling around Rook as he leans closer, more menacingly towards Faith.
"Hmm… no," Faith says with a sympathetic little frown. "But you didn't send me away, did you? In fact, you looked relieved to see me." She waits for a minute, giving Jacob time to argue, but he just closes his mouth, forehead furrowing into a scowl, then Faith leans in as well—Rook is bookended by Seeds now, and lowers her shoulders, trying to get a little smaller in hopes that it'll feel less like she's caught between them—and says, in a theatrical stage whisper, "You owe me."
Jacob, after staring at her for a long moment, speaks through clearly tightly-clenched teeth. "I will see what I can do."
"That's all I'm asking," Faith says brightly, straightening up and giving Rook her space again.
Rook breathes a little more easily until she catches Jacob shooting her a dirty look, and she shakes her head vehemently. "Don't look at me," she says. "I didn't even help this time. Not my fault your siblings keep using me to blackmail you."
Faith, looking pleased with herself, wanders away from them. Jacob leans onto his elbows on the counter next to Rook again, muttering something under his breath that she doesn't fully catch, but she gets the gist—something about trussing her up and dropping her off a cliff's edge to solve this little problem. "I mean, do what you gotta do," she says. "Getting rid of me isn't going to get rid of the root of all this."
He turns his body slightly towards her—she's standing up straight, so he's peering up at her, looking guarded. "How's that?"
She tries to look as serious as she can, but feels the corner of her mouth twitch up, betraying her. "I don't think anyone in the world could blackmail you without your say-so. I definitely don't think you care too much about Joseph hearing whispers about our—how did Faith put it? Courtship." She pauses, screwing up her face, profoundly uncomfortable with that specific word, and takes a few seconds to shake it off. "Ugh."
"And?" he prompts her.
She glances around. Faith has dipped out of the room for the time being, and a few countertops away, Joseph and John are arguing in low tones about something, but given that John is gesturing demonstrably with the salt shaker, she doesn't think it's about anything too dramatic or important. Still, she tilts her head towards Jacob conspiratorially, and she wonders if he notices that he leans his in, too, meeting her in the middle.
"I think you like to fix your siblings' problems. When you can. Especially if you have a good excuse to do it," she says quietly. "You've probably been planning to handle this bear issue as soon as you got a free minute, and you let her think she's twisting your arm about it because… I don't know, because it's funny?"
Jacob narrows his eyes, frowning. She doesn't look away, although she feels a twinge of nerves, wondering if maybe he's going to get annoyed that she's trying to read him, trying to divine his secrets. Lord knows he's historically played things pretty close to the chest, unwilling to share the way he feels about things with himself, let alone with her. Still, she stays steady, remembering what he said earlier—things have changed—and choosing to believe him.
After a few seconds, he points a long index finger at her face and says, "Keep your mouth shut about it."
As he straightens upright, she draws a little x over her heart, then zips her lips. Jacob, looking less than impressed—one of his default expressions that she's learning means he finds what she's doing endearing, which annoys him—says, "I'm gonna take a leak."
"Congrats," she says, getting a grunt in response as he walks away. She's smiling as she turns back around, a little smile that stays put even as she tries to get it under control.
Joseph is at the sink, washing his hands again, and John, behind his back, is liberally sprinkling salt over the food. She catches herself before she laughs out loud, strangling it into just a little hnnch noise high up in her nose—Joseph doesn't appear to hear, but John does, glancing up at her. He gives her what she thinks is meant to be a wink, only he uses both eyes, and halfway through he seems to remember that they're in a feud, because it doesn't quite complete. Likewise, Rook catches herself, catches her smile directed towards him, and that's enough to kill it, the unmoored feeling she always gets when she finds herself of the same mind as John Seed. It throws her off every time, the confirmation that if they didn't hate one another, they could probably be friends, real, genuine friends.
John ducks his head and focuses on spiriting the salt away before Joseph turns around, and Rook finds a distraction easily when Faith's arm slides through the crook of hers, and Faith gently turns her around to walk her towards the dining room table. A month ago, Rook in her right mind would have physically and violently resisted going with Faith anywhere (their excursions together alone before this had mostly been in the Bliss, where Rook was always too high to remember that she mistrusted Faith), but Joseph's house is as close to No Man's Land as they've got, and besides, she's curious. The last time she was alone with Faith, she was in a hospital bed and helpless. She wonders how Faith will be now, now that Rook can wallop her if she feels like she needs to.
"Can I just say," Faith begins like she's telling secrets, not whispering but clearly not intending to be overheard, "I'm thrilled to have another girl in the family? I love my brothers… and I love the Father, but it can get a little… macho around here sometimes."
The thing is, Rook has no idea if Faith is jerking her chain. One the one hand, while Rook likes and can befriend her fellow woman just fine, she's certainly not the platonic ideal of the crunchy feminine spirit that Faith purposely puts out. On the other hand, any port in a storm—if Jacob's day-to-day is any indication, the Heralds spend more time ordering cult members about than socializing. She guesses Faith could be lonely, though she doesn't trust that that's entirely true.
She just decides to try and give the least committal response she can. "I'm not… exactly part of the family."
They've reached the dining table. Faith slips into the chair nearest the window, and Rook joins her, taking a seat at her elbow, at the foot of the table. Faith, as she shifts to get comfortable, makes a dubious sort of "Hmm-mm" sound in response to that, which Rook takes to mean we'll see. Before she can figure out what that means, Faith goes on, still in those low tones. "And may I also say: I see what you're doing, and I applaud it."
She actually applauds, a soft little golf clap, barely audible. Rook's eyebrows are practically in her hairline. Faith has always been the biggest enigma in the Seed family—the men are fairly straightforward and simple to figure out once one has read the Book of Joseph—but now she's just talking in complete riddles. "What I'm…" Rook leans forward, dropping her voice low, because instinct tells her this could be something utterly mortifying and she doesn't want anyone else hearing. "What I'm doing?"
Faith's eyes go wide and guileless. "Keeping your options open," she clarifies. When Rook just stares at her, she says, "You know? Playing all the sides." At Rook's further confusion, she huffs a little, somewhat amused, somewhat impatient. "Well, Deputy, the word's out that you had a little scuffle with some Resistance this morning."
"So?" asks Rook, impatient in turn. Jess wasn't exactly going to run around singing her praises after that, so the playing both sides line of talk has her utterly mystified.
"Sooooo," Faith says, drawing the word out, long, deliberate, "my sources tell me that you promised you're looking for a way to fix it." She looks at Rook for a long moment, and then smiles, showing all of her pretty white teeth. She actually laughs a little as she asks, "How are you planning to fix it?"
Oh, my god. Rook manages to keep her groan silent and internal through nothing less than heroic effort. The last thing she needs is Faith Seed thinking that Rook is waiting around to kill the whole family in their sleep, and she says so: "I'm not creeping around with some assassin's dagger waiting for the opportunity to stick it in your backs, or anything."
Faith's eyes go wide. She's exaggerating her surprise, Rook thinks, clued in by the fact that she looks particularly doll-like. "I didn't say anything about a dagger."
Rook hunches over, leaning closer still to Faith—and it doesn't escape her notice that Faith has leaned back some, that her body language is declaring her in charge and in control of this encounter, but Rook doesn't really give a shit. "I'm guessing you love your family."
"Of course,"
"Yeah, well, my family and I don't talk. I found myself fighting for my life elbow-to-elbow with a bunch of people in the Resistance. I was sleeping on their couches, finding heirlooms for them, helping them with pregnancy cravings. I got very close to a bunch of them very fast, and that love—it doesn't go away just because I switched sides." She sighs, noting that she hasn't clocked a single change in Faith's open, attentive expression, and leans back in her chair again, shoulders slumping. "Would be easier if I could."
"I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me, Deputy."
"I'm trying to tell you that I'm not a threat to you and yours. That doesn't mean I'm just abandoning my friends. If you hear about me making ill-advised promises to them, that's just… me trying to fix everything. It's a personal problem."
Faith gives her that smile-that's-not-really-a-smile, lips pressed together and mouth turned up, but her eyes are just understanding. "As I said. Playing all the sides."
After staring at her for a moment, Rook smiles back, but hers is genuine. "I guess so. Yeah."
Faith nods. "Then I guess we understand each other."
Rook actually feels like she understands Faith less than she ever has, but playing along is the name of the game tonight, so she just shrugs willingly. "Sure. I guess."
She's distracted then by a burst of laughter from the kitchen. She turns to see that Jacob has come back and has rejoined his brothers there, and the three of them are cackling together over something she missed—Joseph, looking like he's trying to hide the laughter by pressing his lips together but failing, John almost sly, with his head down but his teeth flashing in a grin, Jacob with a hand on his belly, tilting his head back, not hiding it, which tells her he almost certainly said something extremely mean about somebody. It's odd to see him so off-guard—he's so switched on to commander mode at base that he always seems to be trying to suffocate any amusement before it can escape him, even alone with her—and she doesn't realize she's grinning about it until she turns back and Faith narrows her eyes at her.
Rook tries to wipe the affectionate look off her face, but it's definitely too late. Faith's got a little pucker between her eyebrows, dismay or confusion, and slowly, she says, "You really do like him."
Rook shrugs. "I joined a cult for him."
Faith's little frown deepens at the word cult, but she ignores it in favor of asking, "How?"
Unlike with John when he asked a similar question, Rook doesn't get snide undertones from the question. Faith, she thinks, isn't making fun of Jacob so much as recognizing that their relationship makes no sense. Rook shrugs again. "He brainwashed me."
For the first time since she's known her, Faith looks ever-so-slightly annoyed. She says, "That's not why."
Rook lets a breath whoosh out between her clenched teeth, glancing over at the window as she thinks it through. It's dark outside, and she can't see the dark of the trees and the river beyond, just sees her own reflection, the reflection of the honey-colored back of Faith's head. Finally, she says, "First it was just pure and simple, ill-advised attraction to a man who scared me. Now, on top of—" she waves a hand in idle frustration—"all of that—it's trust. He's been stepping up for me for a while now. I… don't know exactly how, but however it happened, he ended up in my corner, and… I feel like you know that when someone like Jacob's in your corner, you can't help but love him, right? One way or another."
Faith, albeit reluctantly, looks increasingly convinced as Rook speaks, but before she can say anything, the men are arriving, carrying dishes of food with them. Jacob, kicking out the chair beside Rook before he sets some trays down on the table, glances between the two of them and asks, "What are you two up to?"
"Not passing the Bechdel test, for sure," she says, giving him a brief little smile. He narrows his eyes and shakes his head at her like he always does when she's going on about something he's never even heard of, and then Joseph and John are joining them and the family sits to eat.
Once they're seated—Rook at the foot of the table, with Faith on her right and Jacob on her left, John next to Jacob, and Joseph beside John, at the head of the table—Joseph looks deliberately around at all of them, meeting each of their eyes in turn before reaching out his hands. The family joins hands around the table, Faith leaning to reach Joseph, Jacob actually participating this time (remembering his reluctance last time this played out, Rook gives his hand a little squeeze, which gets her a little glare from him), and they bow their heads.
"Our gracious father," Joseph murmurs, somehow clear as a bell despite speaking only just above a whisper. "We thank you for this bounty and for our time together. Bless us in our efforts for you, and make us open and willing to serve." Faith squeezes Rook's hand, making her frown, because she doesn't love the timing of it or the potential implications there. "Amen," Joseph concludes.
"Amen," his siblings repeat.
Almost immediately once utensils are picked up, John and Faith start in on an in-depth discussion about fuel rationing between the valley and the river. Rook, who could barely force herself to care about the minutiae of cult function when it was her job to steal their resources for the Resistance (although technically, in almost every case, it wasn't so much stealing as it was taking back) quickly feels herself sliding into a near-complete daze, tuning them out completely.
She pays attention instead to the food. Some kind of salad, mixed vegetables, maybe roasted or boiled chicken. If nothing else, it's a learning experience, you'll get to confirm once and for all who the worst cook is in the Seed family, she tries to convince herself, and it's enough to get her to try some small bites. (Faith, she has decided, is exempted from the bad-cook competition, if only because she never seems to be around when anything involving a kitchen is happening. Rook can't help but admire her a little for that.)
It's… not horrible, though she can tell John's little stunt with the salt was utterly necessary, since it's the only thing resembling seasoning she can identify on the plate (unless lemon juice as salad dressing counts). Everything's perfectly edible, but she gets the sense that Joseph is and always has been a man who eats for sustenance, not flavor. She's also annoyed that Nick Rye isn't really speaking to her right now, because she wants to tell him that she's ninety-nine percent sure she's identified the culprit of the terrible mac and cheese he told her about at the 8-Bit Pizza Bar that one time.
Still, because it's edible, and because she's hungry again, she picks at it and actually has eaten a fair amount from her plate by the time the air shifts. She becomes aware that the conversation has fallen into a lull, and Joseph has pushed his plate aside and is now staring at her. She's pretty sure he just started with the staring (she hasn't been under a rock, just bored), but still, she puts down her fork right away and asks, "What?"
"I would like to discuss something," he says, resting his elbows lightly on the table, lacing his hands together in front of him. "The real reason I asked you here tonight."
Oh, shit. Here we go. Rook also pushes her plate to the side, and mirrors Joseph's stance, not looking at Jacob, because she gets a sense that whatever happens now, this is going to be her fight. Her hunch is supported by the fact that Joseph's siblings have all gone quiet, asking no questions, just watching and waiting, although she feels Jacob's boot nudge sideways against her foot then stay there, a gesture of reassurance, if not support.
"All right, then," Rook says, also matching his quiet tone. John is staring at her, catching her attention for a moment, and her side wound, cleaned and re-bandaged, seems to twinge when she meets his eyes. His expression gives her nothing, though, and she refocuses quickly on Joseph. "Why am I here tonight?"
Joseph's eyes slide sideways, to Jacob, and they rest there for a few seconds before they return to her. With perfect calm, he says, "With respect for the unusual circumstances you found yourself in recently, I have not intervened in your… situation. But the time has come, and I can't turn a blind eye to it anymore. You and Jacob have effectively been living together for the better part of a month."
Near-silence follows this declaration. The only noise, a clock ticking somewhere in the room, seems freakishly loud to Rook as she stares, mute, at Joseph. Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, that had not been it.
Jacob clears his throat, and sounds distinctly uncomfortable when he says, "Joe—"
Joseph holds up two fingers towards him, a command for silence, and his eyes don't leave Rook's. Jacob obliges him. Rook doesn't say anything, either, simply because her brain is blaring that white television static again and she can't get her bearings enough to even begin.
After giving her a chance to respond, Joseph resumes. "We have always discouraged fornication at Eden's Gate, and now that you are officially a member of our family in the project, the arrangement is unacceptable."
Rook very pointedly doesn't look at any of the Seeds besides Joseph now, particularly not John, because she can't think of a single look he could have on his face that wouldn't make her burst out laughing. She keeps her eyes tight on Joseph and, in an effort to keep herself from breaking into hysterical giggles at the utter, utter ridiculousness of this situation, this lecture (?) her boyfriend's younger brother is giving her, her voice is low and almost dead-sounding when she says, "You, uh… you want me to move out."
Jacob's foot presses tighter against hers, and she presses back. No way in hell, she's thinking, and she imagines he's thinking the same thing.
Joseph stares at her. She gets the rather uncomfortable idea that he knows what she's thinking. At length, he says, "No. Not at all. I want you to get married."
At that, she does laugh, just a half-strangled little chortle that escapes her before she can pin it down. Finally, she looks at Jacob. His face doesn't tell her much—it's that calculated non-expression he wears when he doesn't want anyone to know what he's thinking—but he's gripping his fork tight enough that the blood has left his knuckles.
She returns her gaze to Joseph and asks the only thing that comes to mind. "Are you serious?"
"I wouldn't joke about something like this," Joseph says gravely. "And it only makes sense. You're already a part of our family at Eden's Gate, but…" He pauses and glances around the table at his siblings. "I think you know as well as the four of us do: you belong to this family. You always have. The sooner we can legitimize your… connection, the better and less confusing it will be for everyone."
It's unfortunate that all her mind seems capable of doing right now is finding the funny side of this situation. The latest thing she's landed on is that there's no possible way John and Faith want to be here right now, although she still doesn't dare to look at them. On second thought, Faith, with her little I dunno hum earlier in response to Rook's "I'm not a part of this family" probably at least had an inkling what was coming, but Rook bets John would rather be anywhere else, up to and including acting as a replacement for the posterboard cutout Mary May has of him and uses as target practice.
"Jacob," she says, deciding it's high time he gets in the game—at the sound of his name, his eyes dart over to her like he's been shot—"do you want to get married?"
His eyes narrow into a glare. He does not appreciate being put on the spot. That glare is replaced, too quickly for comfort, by a self-satisfied look that immediately gives her a sense of foreboding, and he says, "I already offered once. Remember?"
Traitor, she thinks at him as fiercely as she can.
He just inclines his head towards her a little. Your move.
"It isn't a punishment," Joseph says softly before either one of them can speak again. "On the contrary. My married days were my happiest. Jacob, I know you care deeply for her. And you," he says, staring at Rook with his unsettling, unblinking eyes; "I know you only joined us for love of him."
Rook flinches at that. The wound on her side seems to ache even more. Joseph, misreading her reaction, says, "Don't be ashamed. The means are not important. What's important is that you are with us now. And I want you here to stay."
I don't think there's any question of that anymore, she thinks sourly. Joseph apparently reads her lack of response as evidence that he should continue to convince her, and he says, "Marriage is a gift from God. Offered to us so we don't have to face this world alone. Designed," he adds pointedly, "to keep you from sin."
At that, Rook does look at him, and since he's poking around in hers and Jacob's business and seems to want to know, she doesn't bother to hide the doubtless-lascivious smirk that crosses her face as she recollects the sinning she and Jacob did in the cabin that morning, then again on his desk this afternoon, when he was trying to calm her down. (It had worked, temporarily.)
Going by the little frown that crosses Joseph's face, he gets the message, loud and clear, and then Jacob kicks her under the table—not hard, just a quick, quiet, jarring little knock-it-off thump, but she kicks him back, slightly more audibly.
Joseph, clearly deciding to assert control over this situation before it goes fully off the rails, raises his voice just a touch. "But perhaps I'm talking too much," he says, for what Rook is willing to bet is the first time in his life. "Allow me to just ask, then: are you amenable?"
She squints thoughtfully at him, and is surprised to find that she doesn't really have a whole bunch of arguments against the idea. Certainly, she's annoyed that he's pushing it on them, and if this weren't the bizarrely twisted situation they find themselves in, she'd have a thing or two to say to anyone telling her she needs to marry a man she's only been officially dating for one day, but being isolated from the real world in Hope County for several months appears to have scrambled her brains, because she can't see the downside. She's living with Jacob anyway, and this way no one can tell her to move out. She doubts an Eden's Gate marriage will be legal and binding, so it's really more of a gesture, a ceremonial thing, than anything else. And, most importantly of all, she thinks she can leverage it for a favor from Joseph.
No time like the present. "Sure," she says with a shrug. "I'm amenable. But I want to talk about something else, since we're here. Something I'd like to do."
Joseph stares at her, something like suspicion flickering in his gaze. "Go on."
"I want radio access, and I want to be able to talk to my friends free and clear." Joseph's eyelashes tremble. She's surprised him. "I want to tell them that I sent people out to get help and come back over a day ago and I haven't heard zip. I want to warn them that they need to get prepared—whether that means joining up with you all, or just shoring up their own shelters, I don't particularly care. I just want to get the word out while there's still time."
She hears John suck in a little breath. She'd almost forgotten he was here. Joseph stares at her for what feels like a little eternity, unblinking. "We have been warning them… for months," he says finally, quietly vehement. "They have had endless chances."
"Then let's give them more," Rook pushes back. "They've always seen you as the enemy. I wasn't their enemy. Even if I am now—they're still a hundred percent more likely to at least hear me out." Joseph looks unconvinced, so she switches tacks. "Don't their souls matter? Isn't it worth trying everything to save them?"
"If I forbade you from doing this," Joseph says, "would you obey me?"
She shakes her head. "I'd find a way. This is too important."
After fixing her with another long stare, Joseph smiles—just a touch, barely there, but Rook is hit with a powerful wave of relief at the sight of it. "God always did hate a liar," he murmurs. "Who am I to deny a soul? Save whoever you can. None of us will stand in your way."
Faith hums a little in assent, the first sound she's made the whole time—she's been sitting perfectly still beside Rook, but now, when Rook looks over at her, she smiles. In her eyes, Rook can see the gears turning, something calculating in them. Rook thinks she's gained some understanding from this conversation.
Unfortunate, but hard to avoid. Joseph is calling her attention back to him, reaching out with an index finger to point at her. "But you and Jacob will wed. Tomorrow."
"Fuck, no," she says reflexively. Joseph frowns. She hears the distinct sound of John stifling a laugh. "I mean," she says, rushing to smooth it over, "that's… nowhere near enough time to get ready. I need a week, at least."
Joseph is shaking his head already. "We'll be lucky if we get the single day. Time grows short."
If that's the case, then I definitely can't waste any of it on some farce of a wedding, she thinks. "Tomorrow is too soon," she argues. "I don't want to feel like I'm rushing into it."
"Today, tomorrow—does it matter?" Joseph asks, all magnanimity. "You'll be spending your lives together regardless."
Yeesh. "Two days," she bargains. "Just to get our ducks in a row."
He looks long and hard at her, and then, finally, he agrees, "Two days. But by nightfall the day after tomorrow, we will see it done."
"Fine," she says, and falls back into her chair, feeling inexplicably drained, like she's just gone nine rounds in the ring with him. Two days, she thinks. I can make it work. I have to.
