Three Months Later

Ellie sits atop Barthas just outside the gate of the old farmhouse. She still doesn't like going inside by herself. She looks down on her and Dina's nameless valley, dusted with a light snow. Been a few days since the last storm, and it probably won't stay like that too long. It's freezing, but it's nothing she's not accustomed to and she's got her gear on.

Barthas, for his part, cares little for the cold. She'd ended up trading some of her better finds in the last few months–several books, a high-quality lantern, a good multi-tool, and a silver necklace–on some thick barding for him to keep him warm in the cold weather, since he'll be out in it often.

She sees them already, making their way across the valley. They'd be exposed, if there was anything out here for them to be afraid of. Ellie chose this valley for a couple reasons, but the ones she told Lyle were its remoteness and security. Means a longer haul for her, but nothing she can't handle.

The excuses to the stablemasters and Maedlyn are a little harder.

She'd never suggested Lyle and Wyatt take up residence–that would be too eager. She just lets them use the house as they see fit. Maybe they'll start to get comfortable on their own. They seem comfortable enough while they're here, kicking their feet up on the sofas and using the wood stove–even though that's only a couple days at a time.

She knows it will be Lyle that comes, because those are the only terms she'd make with them. She would not deal with any of the others, she made that clear. Which means it will be Lyle and Wyatt, as Wyatt never seems to leave his side.

And those are just the two making their way across the valley floor toward her. She can tell, even at this distance.

A few minutes later, they're coming up the last slope, bundled in coats considerably less weathered than they'd had a few months ago.

"Pike bite ya?" she calls out to them, on account of them looking glum. It's one of their little jokes.

Lyle gives her a fake smile like 'ha, ha.'

They're in sore spirits, it seems to Ellie, causing a pang of worry. "Run into any trouble?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," says Wyatt.

"Stash got cracked," says Lyle.

"Really?" she asks.

"Yes," he says, pulling up on his scarred old mare. "And it's a damn enigma, too, cause that pack was tight as anything." Meaning he'd hid it well. "Whatevers, you never know, these days. You'd be surprised how many folks are slinking about out in the cuts. Can we get inside where it's warm, or something? You start a fire?"

"I was waiting for you," says Ellie

"That'd be the point of starting it before we get here, Ellie," says Lyle, moving his mare through the gate.

Ellie doesn't mind him much. He's awful sour when things haven't gone his way. Plus long road makes anyone grumpy.

They tie up their horses outside the house and head in. Ellie grabs a few logs for the fire from under the porch.

The windows are intact, as she and Dina left them, and the house holds heat well enough, but it will be hours till the warmth spreads properly from the stove.

Wyatt lays back on the couch with a sigh, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, boots and all. Lyle relaxes into the old armchair, more quietly expressing his satisfaction.

"You guys don't wanna eat?" Ellie asks.

"Later," says Wyatt, eyes closed.

He'd like it if she left, he knows, but that's not part of the deal. She never said that part out loud, but they both know why she's doing this, and that's this right here. She'll have a couple of hours, generally, before she'll be expected to take their stock and head back to Jackson. She'll draw it in, retrieve the trade from the drop inside Jackson, deep within the chaos that used to be a hedge maze behind the Curlin house. She'll bring it back here in a day or two, depending on circumstances, and she'll get another couple hours at most before they're off again.

So it is.

"How's the route been?" Lyle has the decency to ask.

He means patrol generally. "Fine," she replies. "We had a couple clickers on Black Rook last week, that was exciting. James and Eddie found tracks of some kind of group that moved through the south of the valley. They never came our way though and had gone probably three days when we found the tracks."

"Hunt 'em down?"

"No. Waste of time."

"Mm," is all he says.

They just sit there for a while, Lyle and Wyatt with their eyes closed, Ellie with a private little smile. The fire cracks in the old iron stove. They can feel just a bit of the heat already. In another hour, the whole room will be warm and they can shed some of their layers.

Ellie plays with her gloves. Her left one had been cut special by Clem. Two short fingers, neat as can be, like that's what a glove is supposed to look like. A symbol of Jackson life, to Ellie. There's pain in her smile, but smile she does.

"How about around town?" Lyle asks.

Ellie looks up to see that he's looking at her now, just rocking slightly in his chair. She knows just what he's getting at. Has word gotten out. About contraband. And just where it might be coming from.

"Nothing yet," says Ellie, her chest a drawn string.

Only a matter of time, after all.

"Good," is all he says.

It's been three months now, over two since she made the first drop. She was sweating bullets for two weeks straight, expecting the explosion any day. But Russel and John Luxley must be decent at what they do, as there has been no rustle about contraband within the Jackson walls. She'd have heard it, maybe before anyone else, from Maria's own lips. A dubious fact that Ellie has yet to relay to her brother and father.

She thinks of what else she might ask them. She's tried asking about the rest of their band, because their movements determine Lyle's movements, ultimately, but she never gets anything but vague answers. She's put together that they're running the countryside like they always have, only the new Jackson trade point cut some considerable distance of their usual route. Lyle and Wyatt break off from them for this leg, and return to them shortly thereafter with the goods from Jackson in tow.

Ellie sniffs, looking down, thinking of that first drop.

There had been three crates, nothing too heavy. Lyle had been very clear with her. Do not open the black tote. It was the smallest of the three, and light, like it was full of wool. But it was not wool, of that Ellie could be certain.

Ellie had listened to him, not out of loyalty, but because she didn't want to know. When she'd retrieved the first drop and brought it back to the tunnel on the way out, you could be damn sure she'd inspected every box, just to see, what they'd want, what made all this worth it.

And in them, she found clothes, and food.

She'd just about broken right there on that dark basement floor. It was such a pitiful sight. After all this time, decades of survival in this twisted world, their golden prize, the thing they would seek after, trading away their gold and forbidden commodities, was another day's subsistence.

She knew then that she was doing only what she had to do. She had to give Lyle a chance. For a better way. And if it took him months to see sense, so be it. And if she had to put herself in danger, just a little, so be it.

"How about you, Ellie," says Wyatt, peeking with one eye, arms folded over his chest, looking cozy as anything. "Get yourself anything nice?"

He's talking about her share. She has accumulated a significant amount of piecemeal jewelry, since it's small and easier to hide. It's currently gathering dust in a bundle very, very carefully hidden behind a panel in her wall. She has no interest in jeopardizing their transactional history by going around town hawking gold left and right. Once or twice, she might get away with it. Lucky score, yada yada. But not to this degree.

"Got Barthas some nice barding. Didn't you see?"

"Your camel out there? Yeah, I saw."

"Don't let him hear you call him that. He doesn't like you as it is."

"Oh, he speaks English, I forgot."

"First time I met him he tried to kick me in the nuts."

"What nuts?"

"The ones you got. Fair warning."

He scoffs.

Wyatt's still an ass, but she does make him laugh now and again. They've moved from cool enmity to grudging acceptance, which suits her fine. Since he doesn't seem to be going anywhere from her life anytime soon.

The words keep swirling through her head. It's getting distracting.

Have you thought about my offer? Have you thought about my offer?

Lyle has some kind of bead on her, and is good at sniffing her out. He's got shrewd eyes on her right now. "Save it, Ellie."

"I didn't say anything!" she protests.

"You didn't have to."

She snorts. She looks around. Well, if she's not careful, these two are likely to fall asleep. But she's got an idea that she knows generally works in her favor.

"How about some cards, then?" she asks.

"Not now, Ellie," Wyatt says, annoyed.

Lyle perks up. "I'll play," he says.

Wyatt makes an exasperated sound. Ellie grabs the deck off the table and starts shuffling. Lyle's a fiend for cards, wager or none. Probably would have spent his whole time in Jackson playing, if it weren't for the… other distractions, Jackson had on offer for him.

"Let's see those," says Lyle.

She had started to hand them over.

"Need to recall the marks."

She pulls them back with a smirk, continuing to shuffle. "Gonna have to try harder than that."

Lyle chuckles. "Well? Got anything?"

"How much bacon you got?"

"We don't got any fucking bacon," says Wyatt in aggravation.

"Well, I do," says Ellie, "imagine that."

Lyle and Wyatt look at each other.

"Now," says Wyatt, quickly changing his tune, "proper family would be happy to share that."

Ellie cocks her head, as if in consideration. "Proper, maybe."

Lyle fights off a smirk, and Ellie deals with a grin of her own.

Abby climbs the steps to the Mayfield house, her boots making heavy thuds on the hollow wood. In her padded jacket and two layer pants, she looks more formidable than usual and she knows it. She can't imagine she'll need any intimidation factor here, but Jess sounded pretty serious on the walkie.

Rhonda Mayfield opens the door before she knocks. She's got mostly gray blonde hair, and the weathered face of a mother who's spent too much time worrying. "Come in, Abby," she says, her somber voice setting Abby ill at ease.

Abby just nods, and enters the living room to find her husband sitting in one chair, leaning on his knees and looking down, Jess standing with a hand on her hip, and in front of her Waylin Mayfield, bent over in his own chair, someone like his father, but looking substantially more shameful.

Abby frowns. This is not the scene she is used to being confronted with. "Howard," she acknowledges the dad as she walks over to Jess.

She's going to ask Jess what's going on, but she nods toward the kitchen. So Abby follows her there.

She looks over her shoulder. Secrecy now? "Jess, what's this about?" Abby asks.

Jess is worried. Abby can tell she's relieved she's there. Upon Abby's arrival at Jackson, she'd been treated with suspicion most places she went. One, for being a newcomer, as anyone else. Two, for the fact she had Joel's blood on her hands. Most in town knew of him, even if they weren't friendly. Since then, though, her virtues as a reliable servant and competent handler, even when things get hot, had turned her into someone to be relied upon, during difficult situations.

Which this is starting to look like one of.

Jess sighs quietly, then holds up a bag.

An instant is all it takes for Abby's stomach to tighten up. She grabs the bag and looks at it, but the situation is immediately pretty clear. She asks questions anyway, though, cause that's what Abby does.

"Dr. Manchester?" she asks Jess.

Jess shakes her head.

"They were probably stolen from him and repackaged into this bag."

"No, Abby," says Jess, sighing again. "See, I called him, right? He doesn't have this–what do you call it–this press. These are not his drugs."

"So someone brought them when they came to town. This is probably the last of their stash."

"I don't think so, Abby."

"Why not?" Abby asks with a hint of aggravation.

"Because when Rhonda called me after finding these, and I saw them, I called Wesley, too. And he told me that they found a similar bag last week at–well, he told me not to say where they found them yet, but it was a house across town, and the press and the packaging were the same."

Abby's brow twitches. "Okay."

"Meaning these are new. Someone's bringing them in and distributing. That's what Wesley said."

Abby's left cheek tightens. She looks down at the bag again. There are probably twenty pills left, hard to say how many were in there to begin with.

"What's he saying?" Abby asks.

"Little," says Jess.

Abby looks evenly at Jess, keeping what she's feeling off her face.

Jess is right to be worried, cause if she is correct, they're talking about the crimes that end up with someone on a rope, in Jackson.

Abby turns and walks back into the living room. She stands above Waylin for a second, but he won't look at her, so she sits on the couch near him. "Afternoon, Waylin."

"Abby," he mumbles.

"Can you look at me?"

With some hesitation, he does look up. And now Abby sees that he's not just discomfited, he's unwell. His skin is paler than the last time she saw him. He's got bags under his eyes, and his eyes themselves don't look right. He could be high right now.

She needs him to know she's on his side, though. "Look, Waylin, we're not gonna drag you through the mud here. But I do need you to answer some questions."

He offers a noncommittal nod.

Abby's never been in these shoes, but she's seen people ask these questions, both at Catalina and in Seattle. And in both times and places, few things raised more alarms than the sudden presence of drugs on site. Isaac had turned a blind eye, depending on who was taking them. But Grayson had been ruthless. Being in positions of trust, sensitive information would be entrusted to Abby. She's just never been the investigator herself before.

She starts easy. "How long you had these?" She holds up the bag.

He stares at them for a few seconds. "Couple weeks."

"Okay. Did you have more before this bag?"

His face pinches and he looks pained. Eventually, he nods, though. He hadn't admitted that yet.

"When did you start scoring these? Last month?"

"Couple," he mumbles.

"Couple months?" Abby's gut twists again, because that's not good news. She doesn't bother asking where he got them yet, because she knows that's the least likely answer to get and could kill the whole conversation.

"You sell any?" she ventures.

He shakes his head firmly.

"Okay, okay. I appreciate your honesty so far." She rubs her lip. "Can we expect to find more of these, around town?"

He shakes his head.

"Really?" asks Abby. "Cause I heard they found some similar stock last week."

He frowns in worried chagrin, but he doesn't say anything.

"Okay, okay," she says again. "I probably should have started by saying you're not the one who'll get in trouble for this, Waylin."

"They hanged Corsten," he says, raspy.

"Corsten was a dealer and had some bad marks aside from that," says Abby. "That was entirely different."

He doesn't look convinced.

Rhonda stands by her husband, her posture tight, hand over her mouth, brow as wrinkled as any Abby's seen. Her husband's posture hasn't changed, but he watches them.

She'll get better answers out of him in private.

"Look, Waylin," says Abby, standing up. "We're done here, but I need you to come down to the governance house. We'll have more questions. You'll be back home by tonight. Sound good?"

Looks like it doesn't sound good at all. Looks like she asked him to follow her to the gallows.

"Have consequences been expressed to you about protecting this information?"

The gears turn but he looks up at her, confused. "What?"

"Did someone threaten you if you talk?"

"Oh," he says, searching around with his eyes. "No. No, nothing like that."

"Then you'll have no problem accompanying me."

"I can't… I can't tell you where I got 'em."

"I understand that, Waylin, but I'm not asking. You need to come with us."

He glowers. But when Abby thinks he's gonna need more encouragement, he stands up.

She and Jess lead him out on trudging feet. Not one of his best days. Jess looks at her with thankful eyes. She didn't know how to handle the situation and honestly, she shouldn't have to.

Rhonda stops her on the way out, thanking her quietly, out of earshot of her son. She expresses that they just want him safe. And well. Abby says that's what they're here to do. Rhonda thanks her again.

Jess glances down at her chest. Abby realizes what she was looking at, and brushes her thumb over the silver badge. The reason she was called here, after all. She's a peacekeeper, now. Only, this is the first time she's had to deal with something like this.

And she finds herself missing the stolen wheelbarrows.

Abby sits in her backyard in one of their wooden patio chairs. She and Lev have a smaller plot, but there's still a couple gnarled ash trees and a nice plum in the corner. The branches are bare, but in the spring they'll be things of beauty. The flowers Lev plants in the spring are gone by now, but some wildflowers still poke up through the snow-dusted yellow grass.

She holds a cup of tea, cupped closely in her palms, for the warmth. It still steams slightly, but mostly because of the cold. She takes a sip.

She hears Ellie arrive, the front door closing. She has a short exchange with Lev, who's in the kitchen. Lev laughs. Ellie says something else, then opens the sliding glass door. It rattles across the frame.

"Oh, no," says Lev, "she was clear she wanted to talk to you in private."

"I see," says Ellie, shutting the door behind her. She moseys around to the other patio chair, usually occupied by Lev, and sits down, holding a steaming mug of tea of her own, now. "Sup, Abs?"

Abby looks over at her. Though Abby doesn't always like it, Ellie is pretty good at getting a smile out of her, but right now her mind is heavy with thought and she only turns her lip weakly at her greeting. "Ellie."

Immediately Ellie's smile fades. She looks down and stirs her tea. She takes a sip, even though it must still be piping hot. "Something the matter?"

Abby shrugs.

"You wanted to talk to me in private, right?" Ellie looks over her shoulder. "Won't Lev listen anyway?"

"He's not like you and–" she stops herself.

Ellie raises her brows. "'... and me?'"

Abby twists her lips. "He's not like you. He won't eavesdrop."

"Okay, okay…" says Ellie, looking out over their backyard. The sun's getting low, and it will be dark within the hour. "You're making me a bit nervous, Abs."

"Well…" says Abby, twisting her boot on the concrete. "I had a little encounter today I figured you should know about."

Ellie's expression softens. She's listening.

"They found drugs on Waylin Mayfield. Quite a bit."

Ellie's face stiffens up.

"We're pretty sure they're from out of town."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I just got back from governance. We talked to him for over an hour. We couldn't get him to say who sold to him."

"You think there's more around."

"There's definitely more around," says Abby, rubbing her lip again.

"How do you know?"

"Cause he had a lot, and they found more exactly like it last week. On Jet Donaldson." She eyes Ellie. "Do I need to express that this is all between you and me?"

"I know, Abby," says Ellie, with a rare, serious expression on her face.

"I'm only telling you this so you can be aware, just cause… generally, I think you should know."

"I know."

"And I kind of want someone to talk to about it, too."

"Alright. What's on your mind?"

Abby weighs her head back and forth. She winces. "Only time I seen someone die since I been in Jackson was Corsten Hughes."

Ellie's face tightens. She'd been there, too.

Executions are not common in Jackson. More people die outside of town than in. They have been known to occur, though, over the years. Serious crimes, rape, murder. They may be rewarded with exile. Which ain't far from death. But if the person is deemed to be a persistent threat, or if they did enough harm. They simply get strung up.

Jackson's peaceful, most times, and it's only happened once in the two years Abby has been here. Corsten Hughes. He'd made some kind of score or contact outside town, never was clear, but he was bringing in all manner of pills for a while. He wasn't as clever as he thought he was, though, and he got found out early in the distribution process. A couple kids got sick, though, taking his drugs, and Corsten was deemed a persistent threat, since he could theoretically continue to deal from outside Jackson. Plus folks get soot-black mad when you endanger their kids.

She and Ellie had watched him hang together. It had been a fair crowd, but only a tiny fraction of the town, maybe thirty people, including the proctors of the ritual. Most didn't have taste for it. She and Ellie hadn't wanted to be there, either, but it felt right in a way that neither one of them had to put into words to the other. Corsten was scared. He did not die well. It had been a grim lesson.

"Well, when that day comes, it won't be you that strung him up," says Ellie, looking far away.

Abby looks at her. She hadn't really thought about that. She hadn't been a peacekeeper last time this happened. Just a witness. She shakes her head. "That's not what I'm worried about, Ellie."

Ellie looks at her, her usually expressive face a mask. "What are you worried about?"

"Finding the fucking guy," says Abby. "Corsten was careless, last time. This might not be so easy. But we have, have to find him, because otherwise the drugs will just keep coming, and sooner or later…"

"Someone will die." Ellie's eyes are darks pools in the fading light.

"Someone will," says Abby.

"Are you asking for my help?" Ellie asks.

Abby looks at her. That hadn't been her intent. Though Ellie would probably be useful, given her skillsets. And it means something to Abby, that she would offer.

She shakes her head resolutely. "No."

Ellie didn't take the badge. Abby did.

"Well, if you're looking at a risky encounter, or something delicate," says Ellie, taking another sip, "you know you can call me."

"I know."

They sit there for a while, while the light fades, sipping their tea. Abby might say more about the questioning of Waylin, her thoughts on possible leads. But it doesn't seem necessary. Maybe she's said all she needs to say for now. And she's one to appreciate quiet company. So she lets the cold night come on.

She's starting to think of inviting Ellie back inside when Ellie just starts talking again.

"You know, I never really knew my family," she says.

Abby looks over, surprised.

"My mom died giving birth to me, and my dad was never around."

"Yeah…" says Abby. "Yeah, you told me."

"There was Joel. But that wasn't until I was 14, after most of my life went by. Before that, I had Marlene… I liked her, but I rarely saw her. I made friends, then they left or died. Everyone seemed to go away, eventually."

Abby frowns in discomfort. She's not good at… this. But she's learned, when Ellie gets like this, to just listen.

"And even when I did meet people I liked. I wasn't exactly… I wasn't exactly eager to get close to them. Considering what happened to the other people I was close to.

"So after everything that happened, all that stuff I survived somehow, to make it back here, to Jackson, it really only left me with a few. A few people that you might call, like, my family."

Abby nods. It might be strange to some, but it's not a strange notion to her.

"You and Lev are among them," says Ellie.

"I know."

"Do you?" Ellie asks her.

Uncomfortable, Abby grimaces. She nods at Ellie. "I know, Ellie."

Ellie has a strange look on her face. Distracted, distraught. Like she needs reassuring. She starts nodding. She turns back to the dark.

Where is this coming from? Abby wonders. Is she worried about Abby, like she might be in danger?

"I guess I just want you to know that I'm aware of how precious this all is," says Ellie, as if in answer. "It's not lost on me. Not by a long shot."

"Okay, Ellie," Abby says. "Okay."

Maria draws the needle through the stitching board once more, the black thread drawing out a few feet, then threads it back through the next gap. She's halfway up the shadowed side of Jackson Peak. She's working automatically, her mind far away. She sits at her kitchen table, paying no mind to the view of the very same mountain out her kitchen window. It's grown dark anyhow, and all you can see tonight are the spare stars in the cold night over the Jackson city lights.

She hears the knock at her door, and it's a relief, since she's only been waiting for the dang girl to show up. She sets down her stitching with little hesitation, rising and answering the door.

Ellie's looking good these days. She's outfitted well, she must have ridden today. She's still got her wide-brimmed hat on, though she'd be better suited by a woolen cap, given the changing weather. She always seemed to abide the cold well.

"Maria," she says, almost businesslike.

"C'mon in, Ellie," she says.

Maria walks back to her seat and sits down. She picks up her stitching automatically, then puts it back down.

"No tea?" Ellie asks.

"Help yourself," says Maria.

Ellie looks around Maria's dark kitchen and living room, but doesn't move to prepare anything. "No whiskey?"

Maria snorts. "To that, you can drink your own whiskey." She looks up. Is Ellie fearing for Maria's drinking? "Why?"

"Just dark in here. Are you brooding?"

Maria shakes her head with chagrin. "Brooding. No, I'm not. I'm thinking. I think better in the dark."

"Sunny thoughts, I'm sure," says Ellie.

"Always," says Maria, with a sout twist of her lip.

"I spoke to Abby earlier," says Ellie.

Maria looks up sharply. "Yes, you did, didn't you." She thinks a second longer. "That's why you called me."

Ellie looks at her for a moment, perhaps thinking if she should deny it, then she shrugs. "Yeah."

Maria's starting to crave that whiskey. "Well, girl, what am I gonna tell you?"

"That it's a false alarm."

Maria snorts. "Oh, would that set you at ease? Well, it's not. Cooper's the one who got to thinking we have ourselves a… 'systemic' problem, and after doing some thinking of my own I'm inclined to agree."

"Why's that?" Ellie asks. "Something seem like last time?"

Maria frowns, looking at Ellie. "Well." She chews on her lip. "Yes, it is. The beginning stages. Only no one's got hurt. Yet."

"I'm not trying to be ominous or anything."

"I know, Ellie."

"Well, you must have leads, right?"

Maria cocks an eyebrow. A shooting star moves through the sky. "Suspicions, really. Donald Mayweather. Cuss Perkins. Annette DuLong. They've got certain histories and might be amenable to… playing part in the scheme."

"You gonna question them?"

Maria shakes her head sharply. "We don't just call people in on suspicion. I'm having–" She turns, giving Ellie a pointed look.

"Top secret, I know, Maria," says Ellie, her hands up. "I know."

"Well," says Maria, settling back down in her chair. "I'm having them looked after, asked after. That kind of thing. The investigation will be headed by a trusted few."

"Can I ask who?"

"Worried I'm gonna say your name?" asks Maria.

Ellie gets a sober look then, one that sits unusual on her cheekbones. "I'm not asking for it. But I'm good for it, if that's what you want."

"No, I don't want," says Maria. "It'll be Cooper, Madeline, Howard and Dinas. Primarily. Alls of 'em but Howard were present for the last one, when we found out Corsten. They'll get to the bottom of it." Maria makes a sucking sound through her teeth. "Jackson's too tight. Not a smart place to run that kind of operation. If you didn't know that from the clean streets and our system of employment, you would know it from the walls, guards, and procedures. It's not smart. Whoever's doing this should know better. Especially after Corsten."

"They probably weren't here for Corsten," says Ellie.

"Very few were there for Corsten," Maria adds morosely. "Few except you, and me."

"And Abby."

"Well. Word got around anyway, didn't it?" Maria leans forward on her knee, rubbing her lips with her thumb. "I'll get to the bottom of it and we'll shut it down, just like last time."

"How long you think it will take?" Ellie asks.

Maria scowls, shaking her head. "Impossible to say. Depends on who's behind it. However, I would anticipate, with my team… two to four weeks."

Ellie nods solemnly. Perhaps she understands that it will end ugly, one way or the other, and that's not long to wait.

Maria ponders. "This ain't FEDRA." She shakes her head. "We're not out to let an undercurrent of drugs running through our streets keep the unrest down."

"Keep it down?" asks Ellie, confused. "Doesn't it make it worse?"

Maria gives her a funny look around her shoulder. "Well, you have a point, but conventional wis–conventional cynicism, actually, says the presence of booze and drugs helps soothe an angry populace."

"Jackson's never been an angry populace."

"Yeah, well, she keeps growing, too. And why is it that this is happening again? After years of no trouble?"

Ellie frowns. She doesn't like to think about that. "We're not kicking the booze anytime soon, are we?"

Maria just chuckles at that. She gives Ellie a shrewd look. "Not if I have anything to say about it, no."

"Isn't that all she wrote, then?"

Maria glowers. "No, for the last time, Ellie. I know I run a tight ship down at governance, but it's only until someone else gets elected."

"Like that'll ever happen."

"It'll happen, Ellie. You can rest assured. We'll have hard times, and hard times means leadership gets unpopular. Someone comes along, a little clever, a little eloquent, a little handsome, they'll take the reins, you'll see."

"Now if I have anything to say about it."

"Well, that's easy, then," says Maria with a little smile. "Run yourself."

Ellie screws up her face uncomfortably. She seems to bite back some retorts. Then she sighs. "In twenty years, maybe."

Maria's eyes soften, and once again she finds herself feeling like a mother with Ellie. "Mm," she says.

A little rainfall is starting. No proper storm, Maria can actually see a few stars near the horizon, but it patters the window. It's dark in there. If here eyes hadn't adjusted, she wouldn't be able to see Ellie. But she can. Sitting there, playing with her fingers, watching the rain hit the pane. It's nice enough. She'd just set there for a lot longer, but she speaks up in case Ellie gets the idea to hit the road.

"You know what I love about you, Ellie?" Maria asks.

Ellie hesitates, just slightly. "What?"

Maria turns and looks at her over her shoulder. "Just you."

Ellie gives her a half-hearted look of disapproval, and goes back to picking at her nails.

"You know what else I love about you?" Maria asks.

Ellie exhales. "What?"

"The fact you think Jackson will be here in twenty years."

That brings Ellie to a full stop, her brow firming up. Her eyes glisten, and she looks away, thinking. She goes on thinking for some time. Then she stands up. "It will be."

Maria frowns. "Why's that?"

"Cause I'll do whatever I got to to make that happen." Ellie leans down and kisses Maria on the crown of her head, sending a wave of warmth through her chest.

She helps herself to the door, without any further goodbyes.

Maria rests her head on her palm. Whiskey still sounds good, but now she's tired and sleep will do just as well.

It's an awful long promise Ellie just made. Still. She might be the one to do it.