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[tmuses]

"All this time, I was convinced you were dead."

Things had been difficult since her group had officially merged with those on the campus. It wasn't the former students who made it uncomfortable, however-- it was the people who had moved in only a year prior. Her people. Her real group. Even on the ranch, she'd had memories of them. They came slowly at first, and then all together in a confusing stream of consciousness. Snippets of her life would come and go, faces and names within situations that held no context. As far back as her memory went, she couldn't recall how she'd ended up with a bullet in her head. Unfortunately, it seemed like none of the others knew either. While she had distinct memories surrounding a few of them, Tansy didn't seem to be one that had left a lasting impact. She'd catch glimpses of her in the background, and conversations of non-importance. Most of her memories had only surfaced after seeing her again. What Sloane could recall, however, was the feeling of discomfort that hadn't seemed to go away. She couldn't remember the reason for the discomfort, but she knew well enough that Tansy was the cause. Sitting next to her at the bar left her feeling on edge, and the hair on her arms stood on end when the woman broke the silence. "It's so surreal to see you," she mentioned softly, "All this time, I was convinced you were dead." Sloane didn't tear her eyes from the countertop in front of her. Instead, she took a sip of her beer, desperately wishing it was cold instead of the frequent lukewarm temperature that persisted with all of their alcohol. She let out a heavy sigh, her free hand absent-mindedly reaching to touch the spot on the back of her head that served as a reminder of the gunshot that had nearly killed her. "Yeah," she finally responded, turning to face her, "Seems like everyone did...And, sure as hell seems like a lot of you are wishing that was still the case." She'd picked up rather quickly on that fact-- she only wished she knew why that was.

[tmuses]

"After what happened before, I can't let you out of my sight."

Penelope was disoriented when she finally came to. Her body ached in ways she hadn't thought possible, and the pain was so overwhelming she couldn't imagine how she'd stayed unconscious, to begin with. Her head was throbbing painfully, her ears ringing, and there was an all-consuming pain radiating through the left side of her ribcage. She pressed her palm to her forehead, immediately feeling the warmth and stickiness of what she could only assume was blood. Penelope winced, eyes still squeezed tightly shut as she tried to make sense of the pain she was in. The people from the prison had attacked, that much she knew for sure, but whether it had been a grenade or a bomb, she wasn't sure.

When she finally opened her eyes, everything was a blur, only made worse by the fact that her glasses had been knocked off during the explosion. The room was dark, and a thick coat of dust and dirt further obscured her vision. With a grimace, she rolled onto her side, only to cry out as a sharp pain shot through her side. It hurt to move, but it hurt just as bad to breathe. Attempting a shallow breath, she twisted her face in agony while blinking back tears. Though her medical knowledge of human biology was limited, it felt safe to assume at least one of her ribs had been broken, if not more. She hoped desperately that she hadn't punctured a lung in the process.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Squinting into the darkness, she fumbled for her glasses on the ground beneath her. She was careful not to breathe a sigh of relief when her fingers found cool glass. Clumsily, she slid the frames over her nose, furrowing her brows when she noticed a crack in one of the lenses. Still, she could see—albeit a little better.

As her vision adjusted, she scanned the room. The amount of rubble she was buried in indicated the attack had been no mere grenade. As she continued to look, her gaze settled on a familiar mess of black hair. "Warner," she shouted, pushing herself onto bruised and bloodied knees in an attempt to crawl over to him. Each subtle movement, every breath, was pure agony, but she had to be sure he wasn't dead. When she finally reached his body, she rolled him over onto his back, fingers quickly finding his pulse point. His heart was beating steadily, and relief flooded her veins. They all knew loss, but after the death of her Fiance, she couldn't lose him too. Warner had been a bright spot, guiding her out of the dark tunnel. Losing him would have completely undone her. Though logistically it wasn't wise to wake him, she couldn't deny the urge to shake him away. Hands firmly gripped his shoulders, shaking softly with the occasional mumble of his name. He startled awake after a moment, hand reaching out to grab her before realization settled into his features. "Penelope," he affirmed, coughing up some dust that had surely settled in his lungs. This time, it was impossible to resist the sigh of relief, regardless of the discomfort it caused.

"Are you okay?" she wheezed, finding talking just as challenging as breathing. He nodded, though his motions were fatigued. He tried to sit up, but she gently placed a hand on his chest and forced him to stay down. "Don't get up…Keep the blood flowing… to your brain. In case of concussion," she warned, barely able to get the words out. As observant as ever, Warner looked over her with worry, "Are you okay?" There was a pause, a quiet moment between them before she finally nodded. "Fine," she lied, attempting a smile that looked more like gritting her teeth than anything. "You're bleeding," he challenged, clearly doubting the truth behind her words. "So are you. I'm fine, really," she reassured him, slowly letting herself fall back to sit comfortably. Her knees ached from the bruises and the gravel embedded in them. Crawling over to him had only further shredded the delicate skin.

She took this time to look over his body more thoroughly, mentally noting each of his wounds. He'd managed to avoid any serious injuries, though as she'd mentioned, the possibility of concussion was very high. When her eyes made it to his face, his gaze was already on her, piercing and quizzical. Gingerly, she placed her hand over the top of his, "Really…I'm okay." Penelope gave his fingers a squeeze, which he very weakly returned. The corners of his lips turned downwards into a frown. "I just wor-" he began, only to be interrupted. "Wait, do you hear that?" she asked, closing her eyes to focus on the sound. It came again, another cough in the distance. He furrowed his brows, straining to hear the noise she brought attention to, but nothing came to him. "Someone's alive… down here," Penelope realized, eyes snapping open, "I have to go see if they're okay." With little thought for her own well-being, she pushed herself back up onto her knees, nearly vomiting from the pain that overwhelmed her senses. Warner was becoming restless beneath her, struggling to sit up. "You can't go; it's not safe," he hissed, features wild and panicked. It was unlike anything she'd seen before. He was always so composed, even when he was falling apart. "I can't just leave them," she protested, "If they need help--"

Warner's fist encircled her wrist, stunning her into silence. His grip was strong, and she knew it'd take significant strength to free herself from it. Brows furrowed, her eyes finally met his, and she felt she could drown in the depths of them. His eyes held so much sorrow, something she'd only ever seen in the mirror. "After what happened before, I can't let you out of my sight," he nearly croaked. His voice was hoarse, and she could see a buildup of tears on his lashes, though she wasn't sure if it was due to his raw emotion or the debris around them.

Her heart ached for him. Though they'd all known loss, few knew as well as Warner. They'd both suffered at the hands of Beckett and his minions. The one person that mattered most to them had been violently ripped from their lives, haunting them since. She knew then that she couldn't leave him. Penelope refused to be the one to retraumatize him, even if all of her instincts were screaming to go help the stranger. "Okay," she finally nodded, "I won't leave." A silent understanding enveloped the two of them, both instantly realizing just how much they'd come to mean to each other. They sat like that, her wrist still caught in his hand, unable to break their eye contact.

[tmuses]

Though she was sure he was doing his best to be sly about it, she caught his movements out of her peripherals. She almost felt guilty, watching him presumably sniff his shirt for some odor that wasn't really there. She could smell it on his breath, sure, but he didn't reek of it like she'd implied. Odds are, she wouldn't have even noticed if he hadn't tripped coming up her stairs. She rolled her eyes at the use of a pet name, a bold, yet expected choice. Try as she might to deny it, she did know he was right. Avi was determined--It was one of his most attractive qualities. Still, it didn't stop her from continuing to tease the man, "Obsessed might be a more fitting choice." The suggestion that she might have something more exciting to tend to was an uncomfortable reminder of all she'd missed out on growing up. She'd never been a socialite like Opie or Dita. Most nights, she was home working-- Whatever she could to earn her father's respect. It was a never-ending task that left her with little time to bar crawl and party. The unfortunate truth was that she'd never really had something 'better to do'. "Sorry," she shrugged with a frustrated raise of her brow, "I guess I'm not that exciting." He looked to her expectantly, as if his glass did not still contain water. When she made no nod of approval, she hoped he'd get the hint. "Yes, well I suppose I have impossibly high standards about most things--Or so i've been told," she sighed.

Avi tilted his head in some form of nonchalant agreement, for numerous reasons she was right, but he'd only said it that way to express his lack of intention without pinning anything on her. " Oh, but you'd never do that, you're not that type of girl, and that's just the ambiance of the bar I seemed to carry with me." He replied confidently, but once she'd turned to lock the door he brought his chin to his chest and attempted to see how bad the smell was. He thought himself perfectly enough intact when he'd excused himself to go to her. The trip maybe shook that belief a little, but he had been drinking impairment happens once it's in your bloodstream. He couldn't recall anyone dumping a drink on him, so perhaps he was further gone than he realized, all he could do was hope not embarrassingly so as he was already locked in her home. " Determined, Love, I think it's the word you're looking for." Avi called back as she'd left him in the room.

It wasn't long before she returned with a cup in hand, filled with water, likely for him and not herself considering what she thought of his condition. Her answer was quick, and defensive, as if the question had been an accusation- and perhaps she was not entirely wrong. Either way, he found the leap to defense amusing. "Yes, there is nothing wrong with it, it's just a bit late, and a Friday night. Just thought you might have something better to do. " He paused taking the glass from her hand, bringing it to his lips and taking a drink, lowering it, passing a look towards asking if she was satisfied. " I think if you cut them the right deal you could find someone, I don't know if they'd meet your standards. though." Abi thought about the kids he'd worked with on campus and not many were shining examples of cleanliness.

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His first instinct was to laugh at the irony of it, but a gut-wrenching feeling settled in his stomach when he realized just how close he'd been to her. If the transport bus hadn't crashed, he'd have been in the prison when she arrived. He nodded solemnly, "We hit one in the road, swerved to avoid another and--It was a mess. Like I said, barely made it out alive." Julian hated to recall the details of his first encounter with the living dead. He'd had many run-in's since, a perk of being a wanderer before they settled on the ranch. The first, however? None had terrified him like that. He was pulled from his sour memories at the mention of Ophelia and the rest of her family. Her mom had passed before the outbreak, a real tragedy, but she'd still had her sisters and father, last he knew. "Your sisters and your dad, are they..." he trailed off, hesitant to ask in case the answer wasn't good, "Did they make it too?" He hoped for her sake that the answer had been yes. Dita had always been close with her family. She was the only woman he knew who still went home for dinner every night. He admired it, really, never having had a real family of his own. The closest he'd come to it was Javi, and much like Perdita, he didn't dare let himself dream he'd survived. The fact that she'd asked after him made him happier than he cared to admit. He didn't deserve her worries, not after what he'd done, but it was comforting to know she'd thought of him too. "Wait," he paused, curiosity striking, "You said you asked some of my biker buddies? They were there too?"

The question seemed to cause some realization in him as his grip around her seemed to loosen, readying himself to pull away. Dita's fingers curled slightly trying to catch on to his coat, an absentminded attempt to keep him near, but she'd flattened her hands before they could. Instead letting the fabric pass under them as he created a small distance. He was happy to see she'd made it out alive, that was all, they'd cared for each other for a long time, but it didn't mean he wanted her clinging to him. At least, that's what she'd tell herself, too scared of what it would mean if he'd really felt everything that he appeared to. Especially now, with his hands cupping her face as he stared, she wished she could look away, but her eyes weren't as easily commanded as her hands. She wanted to look, to see the years she had missed, to see the man she had missed. For now, she could at least let herself admit it, if only as an excuse to herself for later.

Her face twisted as he released her face, unsure if it was at his answer or from the final tether between them being cut off. "On the highway to the prison? You were on your way when everything happened?" Her stomach dropped at the realization that if it'd happened just a day later he would have been there, that he was so close to being there. There were probably more important questions, like who was Gavin and what happened that he needed saved, but they could come later when her head was clear enough to get them out. She blinked a few times at the question, it had been an obvious follow up, and yet it surprised her. " Oh, we all were, the family, Opie had been there when everything happened to visit Wes and we couldn't leave anyone behind. When we got there it seemed Boone was running it and it was a lot safer inside there than anywhere else." She answered, a sudden guilt sitting in her throat that it hadn't been to see him, which made her feel foolish. He'd broken up with her, it'd have been crazy to go to the prison for him, even if looking for him there had been her first priority once they were settled. " I asked around to find you, even asked some of your biker guys if they'd broken you out of somewhere when they came, no one knew where you were."

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His candid reply had her fully smiling now, though she pulled her lower lip between her teeth to nibble on it. Once they'd gotten past the games they liked to play with each other, she'd grown to understand he was a rather forward man. He knew what he wanted, and he had the confidence to back it up. He rather unashamedly admitted to his interest, something that made her stomach turn with equal parts excitement and nerves. It was refreshing, to feel wanted for once. Not in the sick, skeevy way that men at the bar implied, but legitimate interest. "You? Take advantage of me? Hardly," she replied with a roll of her eyes as she ushered him in. "If anything, you're the one that needs to worry about being taken advantage of, you smell like booze." Once he was in the entryway she closed the door behind him, turning the deadbolt. "You know, you're starting to sound desperate, Avi," she teased, walking past him towards the kitchen to get him a glass of water. By the time she returned to him, cup half full, his eyes had begun wandering around the room. She quickly followed his gaze, looking for something out of place, before turning her attention back to him upon hearing his question. "It's perfectly normal to want your house clean," she replied defensively, "Besides, it's not like you can pay people to do it anymore." With that, she held the glass towards him, waiting expectantly for him to take it.

The apology was quickly shrugged off by him, He hadn't meant anything by pointing out the gun. They were in a world with zombies for one thing, but she also was the daughter of a man whose one of his best workers was Boone. A gun in the doorframe wasn't peculiar, he'd just been a bit amused by it. Though the way she settled onto the frame with a smile she was failing to hide made it all the more clear that Avi had very little to worry of that gun, or at the very least that he wouldn't have minded if she tried to use it on him. " Good, I was hoping you wouldn't have been asleep." He responded, eyes on her as he felt hers on him, waiting for them to return to meet his.

He didn't answer right away, and if he hadn't already had a smile on his face it would have appeared at the offer. " Yes, I would very much like to come in, but I must warn you I'm in no position to take advantage of you," Avi said his tone light, "I just wanted to see you." He added as he passed by her with the space she allowed and entered the home which was much more welcoming than the outdoors. It was just as tidy as the last time he'd been around, which shouldn't be surprising, if there was anything Bianca was it was in line. The apocalypse would not be the reason she let something out of place. " So, not sleeping, but cleaning?"

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Her words were quiet, muffled against his thick winter coat. As if entirely by instinct, his lips curled upwards at the sound of her voice. The gentle lilt to it, that subtle gravel that often caused a shiver to run up his spine--It felt familiar, like home. The soft words of reassurance had Julian exhaling a shaky breath if only to draw in more of her scent upon his next inhale. She swore she was real, and GOD, she felt real. For a moment, he thought to himself that even if she weren't, and this was some cruel trick played on his weary mind, he wouldn't have cared. He'd have given anything to have her back in his arms 5 years ago, and that longing hadn't dulled over time. Dita appeared to finally find her voice, and though he dreaded to do so, he knew he should let her go. He released her from his grasp, though his hands refused to meet his sides. Calloused palms found her face once more. Though she'd asked him a question, he couldn't deny himself another moment to take her presence in. She looked the same, older, more weathered, sure, but truly just as beautiful. He noticed little scars that hadn't been there before, a sign that he really wasn't conjuring her up. Finally, he pulled his hands away, though he longed to feel her touch once more. "I never made it there," he said plainly, "The bus--we crashed on the highway. I almost didn't make it out alive. If not for uh, Gavin." After a quick turn of the gears, he realized that in order for her to know that, it would've meant she had to have been there. "You-- You went to the prison?" He questioned, knowing it was too much to hope she'd gone looking for him.

It had felt like every action of his had been laced with a frantic urgency. He closed the distance between the two like it had hardly existed. He searched her face with such intensity it was as if he was looking for an answer he knew he'd only find written across it. It was in total contrast to herself who had felt a stiffness crawling back up her body the moment he came close enough. As if it knew that there was too much to say, too much to feel, that the only way she could exist here was as a statue. Dita had lost him before the apocalypse, in it she buried everything surrounding him without his body, and now with a new life breathed in it clawed its way out.

When Julian's hand met her face with a gentle touch instinct screamed for her to both pull away and lean into him to which her body did neither. Instead, she found herself just staring, like she was hoping that somehow everything could be understood without a word being uttered. That one unbroken look could tell each other everything that had happened in the missing years. So lost in her thoughts his voice almost didn't register when he finally spoke again. Dita attempted to nod, but his other hand closed around the free side of her face preventing it. " Yes." She weakly uttered, it was probably not very reassuring, but her standing there would have to be good enough supplemental proof of life.

Just as she had thought she was gaining herself back enough to string together a more substantial sentence, he'd found a way to stop her. Words of her beauty were the last thing she expected to hear from him, and before he even allowed her to process it she was wrapped tightly in his arms. " I'm real, I promise, I'm real." Dita reassured, slowly wrapping her arms back around him unsure if it was the right thing, but knowing deep down she craved to be as close to him as she could despite it all. "Julian, why weren't you at the prison?" She asked, finally able to say more than a few words. " I thought you were dead because you weren't there."

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The near-immediate smile that graced his features made her regret her aggressive greeting. He seemed happy to see her, something that admittedly brought her a little relief. They'd yet to talk after-- well, their 'hook up' if you could call it that. It'd be a lie to say he hadn't been on her mind since. His subtle nod toward her pistol had her sheepishly mumbling an apology before setting it down on the entryway table. She brought her hand to head, brushing her fingers softly through her curls as she gave him another once over. His response to her rather demanding question had her lips curling upwards into a smile, though she tried to stifle it. Bianca opened her door a bit wider, enough that she could rest her weight against the frame and cross her arms over her chest. His concern for her was sweet, and it only made it harder to suppress her smile. "No, I wasn't sleeping," she reassured him with a small shake of her head. Her eyes wandered over his frame again, before rising to make eye contact. "Do you want to come in?" She offered with a nod over her shoulder. In truth, she wasn't sure it was the best idea. The last time he'd been over things had devolved quite quickly, and she didn't want to give him the wrong idea. However, letting him stand outside in the dark and the cold also seemed like the wrong option.

As the door swung open a smile started across Avi's face only becoming slightly sheepish when he'd realized he might have startled her. "Yes, well, I suppose that would explain the warm welcome." He nodded down towards the gun in her hand. Dignified would be the last way Avi would describe his entrance. However, Zombielike also would have been lower on that list, though he did quite literally go bump in the night, so he couldn't blame her.

Avi stood what felt like somewhat awkwardly now as Bianca's eyes seemed to dart around the porch. He hadn't assessed for any damage, though now he was wondering if he should have. She was always particular, it was more endearing, but he hadn't been entirely been on the harsher side of it. "Oh! Yes, that last one I found rather tricky- didn't lift my foot as high as I should have." He answered, turning to glance back at them as he did so. " It wasn't terribly loud was it? I didn't wake you?"

[tmuses]

When her body froze in response to his call, he felt a surge of hope that she was real, that she was there. His feet hadn't stopped moving, even as he'd shouted for her. She'd begun to move towards him too, as if drawn like magnets, and it took little time for them to close the gap between them. His brows furrowed, and Julian tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as his eyes roamed her face. In all the years they'd been surviving he hadn't allowed himself to hope that those he loved had made it too. It was better to accept that they were dead than deal with the all-consuming unknown. Letting his bag drop to the ground once more he reached a trembling hand towards her face. His palm cupped her cheek, fingers softly caressing the skin as he allowed himself to feel her. If he was imagining her, she felt pretty damn real. "You're," he began, breath hitching in his throat, "You're alive?" While his tongue slid out to wet his lips he brought his other hand to her face, cupping the other cheek. He tilted her head back with a gentleness that implied he might break her if he weren't careful. "God... You're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you," he breathed out in disbelief before pulling her tight to his chest. Julian didn't want to let go of her, for fear that if he couldn't feel her, she might not really be there. "This can't be real...You can't be real" he whispered against her neck as he squeezed her even tighter.

There were a lot of cows. Dita had heard in the conversations of this new settling group that they'd come from a ranch, but she did not really believe all the commotion of this return would be cows- arguably too many cows. She sighed, squinting as she looked at the herded animals. It wasn't really anything for her to report to her sisters and now she was beginning to believe that they were right in their decision to not accompany her. Too many years in the prison must have made her jump too eagerly at the opportunity for something new, something entertaining. Campus had opened doors that weren't previously there, but they were weary, and well this new group had no reason to be.

While she debated herself on if she should go home so early after she left, a voice cut through calling her name freezing her in place once a recognition of it took place. "Julian," the name fell off her lips in a whisper, sparking a whole new debate within her about how it couldn't be. He wasn't at the prison. He was never at the prison. He had to have been dead, she was sure of it. The shock that froze her in place had been thawed enough by her confusion and curiosity that she began to turn towards where the call had come from. There he stood, a lot more solid than any ghost could. " Julian? How?" Dita questioned, stepping towards him.

[tmuses]

For as regimented as Bianca was, she found herself quite terrible at enforcing a bedtime routine. She'd always been a light sleeper, and that wasn't considering how difficult it was for her to actually fall asleep. She often felt she did her best work at night, and though that work was now far and few between, old habits remained. She flitted about the living room, tidying things she'd already given a once over when she heard a loud thud from outside her door. Her body immediately went into high alert, silently making her way over to the pistol she kept near the front door. Though things were relatively quiet, the lone zombie had been known to wander into the neighborhood, and it was often best to handle those situations as quickly as possible. Tiptoeing toward the door, she reached for the door handle with one hand, pistol aimed and ready to fire with the other. Just as she was about to throw it open, a knock came, causing her to exhale a sigh of relief. Last she knew, zombies couldn't knock. Lowering her gun to a resting position she twisted the handle and threw up the door, only to be greeted by what appeared to be a rather drunk Avi. "What the fuck," she sighed, "I thought you were a zombie?" After glancing over him, she looked around her porch in hopes to find the source of whatever loud noise she'd heard before finally asking, "Did you trip coming up the stairs?"

The breeze of dusk felt cooler against his face than it should have in the summer, an effect of the alcohol coursing through his veins. It was enough to cause more than a buzz, just a few drinks in the sake of comradery with his coworker Jasper, and whoever else he'd invited along. It wasn't boring certainly not enough so to justify wandering off, but he'd seen Perdita across the way and knew that likely meant that Bianca was home alone. He wasn't expectant of anything, but he hadn't seen her since they'd slept together and if there was a friendly face he'd prefer to be looking at it would be hers.

Having reached her porch, he climbed the few stairs walking towards the door. Avi's foot caught at the top of the last step causing him to stumble slightly, not graceful, and perhaps louder than he wanted for his approach, but he didn't fall. After steadying himself on the doorframe he knocked, waiting for her to open the door.

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As Julian tied Chief's reigns to the nearest fence post, he turned to look at Gavin, who seemed every bit as exhausted as he was. The journey had been long, made even longer with the cattle and crops they'd needed to take with. Julian was grateful, at the very least, that this would be the last trip they'd need to make. Picking his bag up from the concrete and throwing it over his shoulder he gave his horse a nice pat before walking around to Gavin. "Has Cliff given us any indication of where," he began, pausing when his eyes landed on a familiar figure. His companion tried to catch his attention when he didn't continue, but there was little possibility of Julian being drawn back into reality. Surely it wasn't her, the odds were so slim that it couldn't be. And yet, there she stood, no more than 10 feet away from him, as beautiful as the last time he'd seen her. He could still remember the day he'd been booked, and the betrayal she wore on her face. He saw her teary eyes and pouted lips each time he closed his eyes before bed. But this wasn't a memory, she was here in the flesh. Unless, of course, he'd somehow lost his mind after months of fighting dehydration. He put his hand on Gavin's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before walking past him. He'd closed no more than five feet before he called out her name, "Dita?"

[tmuses]

"I'll vouch for you, it's fine."

Regaining her sense of self had been a lot like coming up for air after being submerged underwater. She was disoriented, left stumbling for footing as she tried to make sense of all the time she'd lost. Relationships she'd once thought stable were nonexistent, and any respect she'd gained was now nonexistent. Her reputation was little more than the crazy girl who'd been harboring an army of the undead. It hadn't felt like it at the time. She'd thought she was saving them, that God had demanded it of her. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could still hear the voices of the undead, begging for her help. It wasn't real, of course; they were little more than the moans and groans of a body pushed well past its expiration date, but it hadn't been that easy to discern back then. Daphne could feel the unnerving gaze of those who couldn't help but stare and hear the whispers of unforgiving judgment. She couldn't blame them, really. It wasn't any worse than the things she thought to herself when she was alone with her thoughts. Xochitl would ensure her that it was nothing more than religious psychosis, that she couldn't be blamed for her actions at the time, but if she couldn't blame herself, who could she blame? The people who had been hurt and the families torn apart as a result of her endeavors couldn't be shrugged off. Someone needed to shoulder the blame, and it couldn't be anyone but her. The council was meeting soonto decide her fate in light of the discovery. Daphne, perched on the wooden bench outside the room, pulled her knees to her chest and brought a strand of hair to her mouth. Thoughtlessly, she began to chew on the strands, many of them split and broken from her constant fussing. It had been a habit her parents had tried to break her entire life, but one she couldn't avoid in times of stress. Seth, who sat next to her, took note of her nervousness, though she hardly noticed. "Don't worry," he spoke softly, breaking her from her trance, "I'll vouch for you, it's fine." Her lower lip quivered, hidden by the hair she was still chewing on. She couldn't decipher what the look on his face was. Forgiveness, perhaps? Maybe even pity. For all he'd been through, Seth possessed a kindness Daphne could only aspire to. Feeling tears begin to well up in her eyes, she buried her head between her knees, attempting to force composure. She couldn't stand it-- when he treated her with kindness. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve it at all. "Don't," she shook her head, the words coming out muffed from between her knees, "You shouldn't.... I don't.." Her words trailed off, as did her thoughts. That guilt that swirled around her like a constant storm felt so strong it could knock her off her feet. It ate at her, constantly, and Seth vouching for her would only make it worse.

[tmuses]

"I thought I would be something."

Saint was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes by the time he was on the highway speeding to Lexi's apartment. The panic in her voice had jolted him awake-- that visceral fear was one he'd heard before. It hadn't seemed like she was in immediate danger, but he didn't want to risk leaving her alone any longer than needed. When he saw the state of her home, he was glad he'd moved with as much urgency as he had. He closed the door behind him, glass crunching beneath his shoes as he tried to block the doorway with his body. Lexi's eyes were puffy, and her nose was red, an obvious sign she'd been crying, and he couldn't blame her. Saint stood there quietly, watching as Lexi picked over what little was left of her belongings. Though they hadn't taken much in the break-in, most of it was damaged beyond repair. On the surface, she appeared calm and collected, but sadness and fear permeated through her as she gingerly moved through the clutter. He wanted to push her to move faster, but he knew what it felt like to sift through the shattered remains of your life, at least metaphorically. "Lexi," he attempted softly, "I think you should pack the important shit, whatever you need and whatever you don't want to leave behind." He didn't know what the odds were of someone coming back, but he did know she'd be safer out of the apartment than she would be in it. Lexi nodded softly, using the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe her nose before pushing herself up to her feet. She moved throughout the space faster now, shoving things inside of a backpack while he looked through the peephole in her apartment door. Lexi reached out to grab a picture frame from the floor, pausing when she flipped it over and saw the photo inside of the frame. He could see her hands begin to tremble, brows knitting together as tears welled up in her eyes. Saint felt a pang of sadness for her, but he wasn't sure what to say or how to help. Lexi wandered over to the couch and sat down, her thumb gliding over the picture delicately. From over her shoulder, he could see it was a photo of her, younger, certainly, and presumably with her family. He could hear soft sniffles, and though he knew he should stay by the door, he couldn't help but walk over to comfort her. He knelt in front of her, careful not to put any of his weight on the glass and other debris. "Hey, Lexi, it's going to be okay," he offered softly, placing his hand over top of hers. Lexi licked her lips and pulled the lower one in between her teeth to chew on it. She nodded, taking his words to heart, though a few tears slipped past her lashes to roll down her cheeks. "It's just…I thought I would be something…be someone," she responded defeatedly. His heart broke for her, the same way it did for all the girls at the club. They were so hard on themselves, needlessly, and for what? "Don't say that. Just because it's not the life you thought you were going to have doesn't mean you haven't made something of yourself. Don't diminish yourself like that," he replied firmly, giving her hand a squeeze.

[tmuses]

"Wonderful! The more, the merrier."

The first rays of the morning sun began to stream through the club windows, signaling just how long they'd been sitting at the bar top. They'd long since closed the doors to customers, but none were all too eager to head home themselves. With Christmas in a few days, the club had stayed open far later than usual to accommodate the flood of customers feeling lonely. Saint, among a few of the others, had stayed after for drinks and a riveting discussion of how much their lives sucked. For many of the girls, the holidays served as a reminder of what they'd had to give up when they chose to pursue this lifestyle. Some still met with their parents for eggnog and presents, but many of them were returning to an empty home and no one to celebrate with. Unfortunately, his situation wasn't all that different.

Saint brought his glass of whiskey to his lips, swallowing the rest of it down in one easy gulp. He knew he needed to be heading out, but a part of him was dreading going back to his apartment. He hadn't spoken with Maria in a week and a half, and from what little conversation they did have, it was obvious he wouldn't be seeing her or their daughter over the holidays. His ex-wife had done her best to write him out of their lives, entirely despite his desperation to remain in it. Sometimes, he wondered if it had been worth it and if he'd make the same choices had he been given the option to do differently. The answer was unequivocally yes, but it didn't make the sting of losing his wife and daughter any easier. This was his first Christmas out of prison, and he hadn't even bothered to buy a Christmas tree for his apartment, let alone make plans.

He'd asked Maria if he could at least bring the presents he'd gotten by the house, but she'd told him no. He'd had to settle for sending it in the mail, and honestly, he half expected the packages to end up back on his doorstep. With a subtle sigh, he grabbed the bottle and refilled his glass. He was about to set the bottle back down on the counter when he realized he hadn't offered any to Babydoll. Kitty and Xiomara had left the moment they locked the doors, but Cherry, Babydoll, and a couple of the other girls had stayed after. Most of them had cleared out, but Babydoll was still there, slowly sipping away. She was uncharacteristically quiet tonight, and Saint couldn't discern if it was because of her or him.

It was pretty evident that Saint was having a rough time. He was always quiet, more of an observer than anything, but he was at least friendly. Throughout the week, he'd been agitated, quick to anger, and downright aggressive with the handsy customers. Babydoll hadn't been herself either, however. On stage, she acted the same as she always did, but when the lights went down, he could see that faux happiness faded, even if it was for just a moment.

He twisted ever so slightly to face her, offering the bottle though she quickly shook her head in response. He set it back down on the bar top and brought the now full glass to his lips to take another swig. He could hear Babydoll clearing her throat, now interested in getting his attention. He turned to face her once more, brows raised as he waited patiently for her to say something. "So," she offered with a nod, "do you have any plans for Christmas?" He almost laughed at how timely the question was, but the sobering mood of the room wouldn't allow it. "You a mind reader or something?" He mused playfully. That brought a smile to her lips, her energy already rising. "What?" She asked excitedly, "No, i'm not, I swear!" Where you thinking about Christmas?"

Saint finished off his glass again, this time pushing it towards the back of the counter so he wouldn't be tempted to pour another. "Yeah," he sighed with a nod, "I don't have plans--To answer your question." Her brows knit together, lips forming a pout, "None?" Her question brought an uncomfortable silence as he thought about how much he wanted to share with her. It wouldn't be fair to bring her down any more than he already was. His lips pulled together into a tight smile before finally replying, "No. Not this year." The tone of his voice was enough to prevent Babydoll from asking anything else. "Well," she started, clearly thinking over her words, "Kitty has a get together every year. It's a bunch of the girls from the club, and we open presents with Q, and it's super fun. You can come, if you want to? I doubt she'd mind." She gave him an eager nod and a smile as she awaited his answer. "Uh...sure, I'll think about it," he offered with a slight shrug. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed, bringing her hands together, "The more the merrier!"

[tmuses]

"I never realized how much I needed you until you weren't there."

The quiet that permeated the small room they were in was atypical. Drina had never been one for long bouts of silence, but she'd said very little since he'd been brought back to campus. He could see it in her face, how much of a struggle it was for her to see him in such a state. He'd never been the best understanding social cues, especially the nonverbal ones, but even he could see that it pained her to look at him. It was for that reason, and that reason alone, that he tried his best to avoid her gaze. Prior to his abduction, she'd looked to him almost as if he was a hero-- her hero. The feeling it had given him to know he'd helped even one person, or that someone like her could look at him like that had given him a better high than any drug could. Now when she looked at him, with those knit brows and watery eyes, all he could see was pity, and it devastated him.

Most of his wounds were recent, and many of them still throbbed painfully. He'd managed to avoid the ire of their captors for a while. Caleb had always had a knack for flying under the radar, after all. He hadn't really needed to stand out amongst the group he was in, but after what'd happened to Skye and Mori he knew they couldn't last in here. The younger woman had been inconsolable the entire time, but she'd only gotten worse after they'd struck her with that iron. It'd leave a scar, surely, but he knew the mental damage would haunt her longer than that ever would. Mori, on the other hand, had been getting paler by the day. She'd been shot in the leg, and with all they'd had to staunch the bleeding was a makeshift tourniquet that didn't seem to be working very well.

As much as it terrified him, he knew he was uniquely opportune to attempt an escape. He was as fast as he was sneaky, so when one of their 'kinder' jailors had opened the cell door to check on them, he'd shoved his way past and made a break for it. Years of sneaking around campus and outrunning zombies had given him a special skillset, but his capture had been inevitable. He'd made it far, but this was their home, and they knew the layout better than him. He'd thought they'd bring him back to the cell they'd been keeping the hostages in, but to his dismay they'd brought him to a private room. He'd never really known the true meaning of the word punishment before, but he was certain he'd never forget it now.

Drina's small hands gripped a wet washcloth, small droplets of water falling on her sweatpants as she made no move to bring it to his tender face. His right eye had swollen completely shut; He worried if it was bad enough to cause permanent damage to his vision. Right now she was attempting to tend to his lip, but the task was futile. It bled every time he moved his mouth. Eventually he'd told her as much, and the bite in which he spoke to her had sickened him. She didn't deserve it, and for that, he'd apologized.

When he heard her sniffling, he wanted to look her in the eyes, but he knew he couldn't stomach that look of grief she'd been giving him all night. Instead, he put his hand overtop of hers, the difference between the two jarring. His fingernails were dirty, his skin caked in blood. He wasn't even sure at this point who's blood it was. He could feel her shaking, so slightly he might not have noticed had he not tried to comfort her. "I never realized how much I needed you until you weren't there," she choked out. Little sniffles had turned into genuine tears, and he feared those would eventually become sobs.

Against his better judgment, he turned to face her, and the look she gave him nearly brought tears to his own eyes. Despite the pain and aches his body protested with, he reached out, wrapping both of his arms around her instinctively. She buried her head in his neck, and he responded by squeezing her tightly. She cried softly, against his shoulder. His other hand reached up to tenderly stroke her hair. His throat felt tight, that uncomfortable indicator that you were just about to cry. He scrunched his eyes up tightly, burying his nose against her head. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, voice wavering slightly, "I'm so sorry". 

[tmuses]

"Believe it or not, I do enjoy spending time with you."

Caleb had spent a great deal of his life alone--not necessarily lonely, just alone. He didn't mind it. The silence was like a warm blanket for him, comforting and calm. Being in large crowds made him uneasy. It was overwhelming, how loud a group of people, how absentminded they could become about those around them when in public spaces. Over time he'd learned to cope, a pair of headphones, something to fidget with if he got anxious, but regardless of his quiet comforts, he still preferred to be alone. Drina, he'd quickly realized, was quite the opposite. She was everything he'd avoided in college. She was loud, not obnoxious by any means, but he wasn't sure she could speak in a whisper to save her life. Sometimes he wondered if she was uncomfortable in the silence, if she spoke so much because she needed to fill the void it left behind. Her persistent chattering didn't bother him, so long as she remained the topic of conversation, but she so rarely wanted to speak about herself. For reasons unbeknownst to him, she seemed eager to know him. At first, it reminded him of when he was in middle school, and the kids would tease him. They'd show an interest, ask questions only to use his answers as ammunition later. Eventually, he realized Drina was asking because she genuinely wanted to know. Over time he learned to answer with less hesitance. He elaborated more often, allowed himself to talk about things with excitement, even if it seemed to be going over her head. He'd been explaining to her the differences between the various Robins for what seemed like a half hour, minimum. She nodded along, but he could tell from the look in her eyes that she'd gotten lost along the way somewhere. Sheepishly, he trailed off. Her brows furrowed in confusion at his sudden stopping point, and he offered her mumbled apologies in response. "Sorry, I know it's a lot...And sorry...If it's boring," he shrugged awkwardly. He pulled the sleeves of his sweater down further, so only the tips of his fingers were peeking out. It was one of his many quirks, a tell that he felt uncomfortable in the situation, though this was entirely of his own doing. "Don't be stupid," Drina scoffed out. The response caught him so off guard he nearly choked. Eyes wide and confusion plastered over his features he blurted out, "I'm sorry?" Drina rolled her eyes, something she often did, that he wasn't sure she knew she was doing. "I asked, didn't I? I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know," she responded nonchalantly, as if it should have been painfully obvious to him. Caleb cracked a smile, the corner of his lip tugging upwards ever so slightly. "You know, believe it or not, I do enjoy spending time with you," she added on, giving his shoulder a soft push. A small blush crept up onto his cheeks, and he had to turn away quickly in order to avoid her catching a glimpse of it. All of a sudden his hands were busy. They were occupied with something that hadn't mattered minutes ago, but he moved with an urgency that made it seem important. He was sure Drina could tell it was all an act, she was smart, smarter than she gave herself credit for. Still, he couldn't let her know just how rattled such a simple comment had made him. Rummaging around through his memories, he couldn't recall a single time someone had been so kind to him, he'd never really had a friend like Drina. Before he could truly reflect on how lucky, how GRATEFUL he was for it, she was interuppting him. "So you were saying, Jason...Todd? He was a robin, but the he died and became...?" She questioned, and from the tone of her voice he could tell she'd tilted her head to the side as she often did when she tried to remember something. "Red Hood," he filled in, biting his lip to stop the smile from growing even larger, "After Ra's al Ghul resurrected him."

[tmuses]

Angel sat as she often did, knees pulled tight to her chest and her chin resting upon them. Her eyes watched his fingers as they masterfully plucked at the strings of his guitar. It didn't sound like much without an amp, but the act of playing was soothing for the both of them. He'd been so excited when Lacey had found the electric guitar abandoned in someone's dorm, and Finn had hardly set it down since. Angel didn't mind, really. It was always such a joy to watch him play, always amazed at how skillfully he did so. She couldn't think of anything she was that good at. Her eyes trailed up from his hands to his face, a soft smile finding her lips. He looked so comfortable, at peace, even. It made her happy to see him happy. It was Finn who finally broke the silence. "When we first met, I didn't think you'd ever mean so much to me," he mused thoughtlessly. She tilted her head so that her cheek rested upon one of her knees now instead and softly asked, "Do you mean in high school? Or that day in the forest?" He looked up, their eyes meeting in the dim light of the room. "Both, I guess. Sometimes I forget we even knew each other back then," he replied with a laugh before returning to his strumming. It wasn't a concept she could relate to. She could still remember the first time she'd met him. Mrs. Finnegan had sat him next to her in her English class, freshman year. His hair hadn't been as long, and he'd been wearing this ratty band tee, one she couldn't even really read the logo of. She'd come to realize that was a common thread, amongst most of his shirts, but that didn't stop her from trying. She'd thought he was cute, funny even, when he'd interject in class with his stupid jokes. "I don't...but I had such a crush on you back then," she offered, her brows furrowing ever so slightly, "Back in high School." His fingers stumbled over the chord he was playing, awkwardly finding their place after a short second. He looked up at her, his expression one of complete and utter shock. "Its true," she continued before he could chime in with one of his witty comments. "You were just so... real. You didn't care what other people thought about you, and I always admired that. I was so caught up in what people thought about me, I never really let myself be... well, myself." She felt awkward, a blush rising to her cheeks as she watched Finn process her confession. She looked away, desperate to end the conversation before it could continue. "I'm sorry if that's weird, forget I said anything," Angel mumbled, wrapping her arms tighter around her shins.

[tmuses]

"I know I'm not perfect, but I didn't deserve to be treated the way you treated me."

Dustin's fingers twisted and pulled on the loose string that had started unraveling from his sleeve's hem. It was easier to focus on that than it was to look his father in the eyes. Father. It was hard to look at Bubba and think of him like that. He hadn't been around much growing up. In his child's mind, Bubba was nothing but a man who'd abandoned him and his mom. Though his mom had sworn that it was because he didn't want to, Dustin knew better now. It was hard to reconcile the truth with the lies his mom had force-fed him his entire life. Finding out that he'd wanted nothing more than to be there had been a hard pill to swallow, one that'd gotten stuck in his throat on the way down. His mother's selfishness had robbed them both, and he was still dealing with the aftermath of it. He could look at it logically and recognize that Bubba wanted to be a father to him, but that little boy who'd spent his nights crying about the dad he'd never have was still a part of him. When his mother died, he couldn't get away from Bubba fast enough. He was saving up for his own place before he'd even fully moved in with him and Brandi. With Nasrin's life on the line? He'd all but begged him to take him back. She hadn't been happy about it, but he knew well enough that they had been as good as dead without Bubba. They weren't speaking now, which left Dustin alone with a bunch of sick fucks and his father. It was awkward, and they could both feel the tension. It was strange how much harder it was to talk now that he and Nasrin were safe, but it was. He couldn't find the words to say, and when he tried, they got trapped in his throat. It was Bubba who cut the silence like a hot knife through butter. "I know I'm not perfect, but I didn't deserve to be treated the way you treated me," he said, voice clear and unwavering. Dustin's instinct was to deny it. He so desperately wanted to evade any responsibility for the pain that he'd caused Bubba. He'd say that he was a child, that he couldn't be blamed for anything, but the man had been a child, too. He could still remember his sixteenth birthday and the sickening realization that his father had been the same age when he was born. Dustin could admit he was a victim in all of this, but it was much harder to acknowledge that Bubba was, too. "I know," Dustin finally responded, "I know you didn't." He really meant it, too. It wasn't easy to say, and he wished he didn't have to, but he also knew nothing would ever get better if he couldn't admit to his own faults. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth. Ma...She put all these ideas in my head, and it was fucked, and how I treated you because of it was fucked...And I'm sorry," he sighed, still unable to look away from that damn string on his sleeve. The quiet that permeated between the two of them felt like suffocation. Dustin had never been good with words or apologies. His mother had made a habit of speaking for him, telling him what to say when she couldn't. The string he'd been tugging at finally came loose in his fingers, and Dustin tilted his palm to allow it to float down to the dirty floor of the building. He finally found the strength to look at his father and god; he wished he hadn't. The sadness in his eyes was one that had been building for well over a decade. It was so deeply ingrained in him, something that had changed him on a fundamental level. They both felt it, and it terrified him to think they might never heal from the pain his mother had inflicted on them. She'd managed to control him all his life, and even beyond the grave he couldn't escape her manipulation.