Samson's crouched down with Jim at his back. Josh lay between them and he knows from checking already that there's no pulse. No beating heart in the man's chest and most of his blood is staining the parking lot. Jim suggests they move him, but Samson's eyes are peeled towards the surrounding area. He doesn't know how long ago it happened, tries to remember if he heard a shot or not and it surprises him that the answer is no because the world seems way too quiet these days. Too silent and something like a gunshot is louder than it should be. But the wound is unmistakable. He's seen enough of them to know.
He almost turns to tell Jim that they need to sweep the area first, when a flash of movement catches his eyes. It doesn't matter that he can't make out the form. He overlooks the face, overlooks the positioning, overlooks a lot of the details because there's one stark detail that stands out boldly. The flash of metal, of the gun that's peeking out from behind another car in the parking lot. The word is sharp out of his lips as his training kicks in. "Gun," he shouts and then he's turning, shoving Jim behind Josh's truck and this time he does hear the gunshot. He hears it loud and clear and hears the clank of metal as it thuds into the bumper where Jim had been standing just a moment before.
Samson crouches low, his back pressed against the tire of the truck and he waits for another gunshot to sound, but it never does. Smart. They're conserving ammo. He glances to the side to eye Jim. "You good?" he asks, even though he knows the bullet went into the truck and not his partner. The situation was tense, but familiar and there wasn't anyone else he'd want to be at his back or at his side right now. Eli was close, but in a gun fight, in a fire fight like this, he knew Jim had his back and he had his.
It was harder today to be confident than it was yesterday. Robyn had been distressingly aware of that all morning. Most of the day she'd spent up on the roof, watching the clouds, in solitude because she needed to get her shit together. Needed to process her thoughts without someone bothering her. Eli didn't love her. Couldn't love her and she'd spent a good portion of the thought process trying to figure out if it was something she did or something with him. She'd settled on him, but it felt like a lie. It felt like she just needed to be better, needed to be a woman he could love and she was going to do that by being the things she'd been trying to be for a while now. Confident, real, able to stand on her own two feet.
It was the last thought that got her up off her ass and heading inside to get her things. She was going to be useful to this group, in any way she could possibly be. She had her things, her small items that no one knew they needed until they needed it. But she wanted to be more. She wanted to be someone who helped, could be relied on, could take care of themselves. The hammer Eli had told her to take was by her things, along with two new items that had mysteriously shown up and she left those to the side because she didn't know who kept putting stuff with her stuff, like she needed help gathering anything. But still, the candy had been nice. The booze nicer. She hadn't broken into it yet, but she figured one of these days she would.
Grabbing the hammer, she emptied her backpack and slung both over her shoulders. She'd be able to carry food back in her pack and probably be able to grab a few more bags while they were at the A&P Eli had told her to go to. She tried not to give too much thought to the fact that she was taking his advice at all.
With everything in tow, she searched the aisles until she found who she was looking for. Jim sat by himself, looking something over, and she walked straight up to him, everything ready, her chin held a bit higher than necessary because she was going to be confident and in control and there was nothing Eli or anyone could say or do that would make her be otherwise. "You're coming with me on a food run," she told Jim. "The A&P down the street. It's already been scouted and shouldn't take long. Put your walking boots on."
Bobby stood near the sink and mirror back by the door to the loading dock. He'd made this his area and he couldn't say why. Maybe just because it was out of the way of everyone and the last time he'd been back here, there'd been a woman outside in the loading dock that had needed his help. He wanted to make sure the chain was still in place, wanted to make sure there were no more people out there who needed to be let in or needed help with a zombie that was blocking their way to safety. Or maybe he just wanted to be back here to be alone, because he'd been a moody asshole lately and all the conversations he'd had with people had felt like he was faking it. All the smiles and grins he gave people felt like lies, though he knew how to fake it well. Maybe he was just reading too much into it, because in the moment where he smiled at people, he wasn't thinking they were fake. It was only afterwards he thought that. Only afterwards he realized just how not okay he was with everything. But how the hell was he supposed to fix that?
People recovered from shit like that, right? Depression or PTSD or whatever it was he was going through that made his thoughts go down dark paths sometimes. Whatever it was that made him look at the deep rends on his hand and think they were payments, atonements for what he'd had to do to the person who could heal them with a single touch. Those were never thoughts he would have had before all this. He'd been a sarcastic fuck all his life, but it was never fueled by an agonizing sadness or a weight pulling him down on a daily basis. How did people get pass this? Medication? Time? He didn't know. They didn't exactly have the best options in a post-apocalyptic world. So maybe he'd just have to man up.
Except today he had a gash on his temple and new slice across his palm that kept him from being able to close his hand into a fist. And he'd be a lot less okay with both of those things if that whole situation had ended differently. If he and Angel had walked away angry at each other. But he thought they'd come to a sort of understanding. A mutual agreement that they both had issues and maybe they'd work on that. Maybe they wouldn't get up in each other's business and wouldn't snap at the drop of a hat. At least that's what he'd walked away with. But that still didn't change the fact he had a lump on his head with a gash in the middle and he'd rendered his hand basically useless because the stronger the power he wanted to use, the more blood he had to spill. He stood in front of the sink, in front of the mirror and tried to fight the urge to just hold his hand out to Rachel so she could fix it. Because he was alone in that mirror. She wasn't at his side and there was something guttural and wrong with that.
The period between Jim’s incident at the hospital and present day, seemed to be something of a blur now; hours interlaced, all schooling events undistinguished, all friendly gatherings forgotten. Rachel’s mind seemed to have been far from anything other than Jim.
--
The past few days had been spent cooking, painting, sketching; anything to distract her from diving into that sense of guilt once more, which appeared to put her in a down mood any time she revisited there. She had scarcely uttered a word to her parents since the episode, still slightly peeved at their disconcerting performance back at the hospital.
However, despite the guilt and embarrassment felt, she had contemplated on numerous occasions whether or not visiting Jim again would be a good idea. Sure, they had known each other for a short period of time, but she felt responsible to make it up to him.
Visiting Jim alone would be the wiser option, without her parents’ permission; considering the most likely answer to her asking permission would be a big fat no. Going alone would be the better way to go. She could apologise, and maybe even give him a present or something. Food always cheered people up. It could be her way of saying; ‘I'm sorry my parents are so rude and aggravating – but I hope you Get Well Soon.’
Her friend would cover for her; perhaps say she was staying at her place for a project or something…
--
With her face speckled with flicks of flour, her hair tied back in a long, messy bun, her hands were busy rolling the dough on the kitchen counter, in an attempt to make the, now, third batch of cookies. Numerous hours had been spent attempting to cook something up, to bake cookies and other bits and pieces as something of a gift for Jim.
The smell of burning food caught her attention, pulling her out of her thoughts and alerting her to the dark smoke billowing out of the gaps of the oven door. “Oh…-- no!” she exclaimed worriedly, hurrying over and, without thinking, grasping the burning handle of the oven. Yanking the door open, she gasped slightly, her palm burnt from the hot metal handle. Clutching her hand in her opposite hand, she coughed slightly, the smoke flying into her face and making her eyes water.
Grabbing the oven mitts, she grabbed either side of the tray with burnt cookies, pulling it out of the oven hastily and shutting the door with her hip. Tipping the blackened cookies into the bin, with a disappointed pout on her face, she gently dropped the tray into the kitchen sink, frustration evident.
She exhaled a weary sigh.
Her third batch, ruined. Just like the last two. She really ought to pay more attention to the timer. Her thoughts seemingly preoccupied her from the goings-on around her. Green orbs flickering over to the raw dough on the counter, she rubbed her up-turned nose against the back of her palm, moving over to the sink.
Running cool water over the burn, on her reddened palm, under the faucet, she reached over with her non-injured hand to grab a towel off the rack. Turning the tap off and drying her burnt hand, she returned to the kitchen counter, standing in front of the semi-rolled out dough.
She figured Jim wouldn't need hundreds of the sweets. Perhaps she had become carried away earlier -- as she did often, when somewhat enthused. Ah well.
Fourth times the charm?
--
The following few hours involved baking, creating, and decorating. She went as far as to place a ribbon around the Tupperware container, with the chocolate chip cookies neatly stacked inside. Sure, it was a little girly, some would say over the top, but hopefully Jim wouldn't mind.
At that thought, the corners of her mouth tugged down, her brow creased in slight worry.
What if Jim didn’t like cookies? -- Who didn’t like cookies though?!
What if he didn’t like what she had put on the sandwiches? What if he was allergic to the food she had made?
What if he didn’t like the colour blue?
Her eyes darted down to the blue ribbon, skilfully wrapped around the container. She then tucked her finger beneath it and slipped it off, figuring it was a bit much. She didn’t need him getting the wrong idea.
She frowned; mad at herself for thinking so negatively. What did it matter if Jim didn’t like the presentation? Or what was inside? It was the thought that counts… right? Surely he’d just appreciate what she had done for him.
Rachel bit down on her lip, eyeing the plentiful amount of food in front of her. It was too much. Way, way too much. It'd be enough to last him a few weeks or more. With a sigh, she downsized the Tupperware container, to one of sensible size. Placing a reasonable amount of cookies inside, she shut the lid over the top, sliding the container to sit beside the rest
--
After cleaning herself up, hair reasonable, clothes reasonable, face… semi-reasonable – she hoped she’d cleared every ounce of flour off -- she moved back down stairs, grabbed the containers and placed them in her larger handbag.
The hired taxi had arrived in little under ten minutes, transporting her to Rosemont’s Hospital. Having minimal experience on public transport, she preferred to be safe rather than sorry this time round; not planning on getting herself lost again, whether by bus or by foot.
Upon arrival, she hopped out of the car after paying the exact amount for the trip there. With her handbag hung over her shoulder; she hurried up the steps and into the reception area.
The wait lasted a whole half hour, which seemed to take forever. The place was bland, despite being fairly prestigious. With beige walls, white seating and the odd pot plant here and there, there was nothing to really look at, aside from the few coffee stained garden and home magazines sprawled on the side table. It was like she was reliving her last visit. How she survived the time between Jim's car accident and then sneaking into his hospital room was beyond her.
When she was given the ‘OK’ to go in and see him, she just about leapt out of her seat. Regaining her composure, she strolled down to his room, gently tapping on his door.
Turning the door handle carefully, she poked her head in.
Hannah was pouting. She was vaguely aware of it, but honestly, didn't care that's what she was doing. She'd been engaged in her pouting since last night. Since Samson told Eli that he had to make sure Hannah didn't follow him today. She didn't really understand what was going on, but she got the picture that Eli was going to be doing something dangerous and that meant he should have Team Lion-o to back him up. But he'd told her no. Outright told her no and this morning he'd gone on without her. She was mad. At everyone. At the world. But she couldn't do anything about it, so she resorted to pouting. Resorted to sitting in her fort, playing with the toy car in silence because there was nothing else she could do. Not when Eli specifically said to not follow. She hated that.
Even when he came back in, came rushing through the door to find Samson, she didn't come out from beneath the kitchen table. She watched from her place as they boarded up the door, built a barricade in front of it, then left. The kitchen was quiet and empty after that and Hannah heard Samson barking out orders, but she didn't know what was going on. She didn't understand, so she just drew the shadows in close, into the fort, because this was her safe haven. She was alone and it was quiet, save for the hum. Hollow was still gone, but the shadows were upset about something and she couldn't tell. They buzzed today with unease and she couldn't figure out what it was.
The first bang against the door startled her. She sucked in a breath, setting the car down quietly and peeking out from the curtains that shielded her beneath the table. The kitchen door was boarded shut, light barely wafting in between the open spaces. The window next to it was boarded as well. Something banged against the door again and Hannah's eyes narrowed at it. Whatever was on the other side of that door wasn't something that was allowed to come in. Her hand strayed to the knife at her side, the Knife of Omens and she felt safer with it there. Safer with the shadows drawing from the room and darkening the space beneath the table so she could hide in them easily.
The noise came again, this time followed by another quickly. Shadows passed by the slight cracks in the boards and moans followed after. There was more than one. There were a lot, as the noise grew, the moans multiplied, the bangs against the door became violent and numerous. Hannah licked her lips and suddenly wanted Eli. She couldn't hear what was going on outside of the kitchen, everything had gone deathly silent in the house and she wondered if they'd left without her. Her breath quickened and the grip tightened around the hilt of her knife. She was frozen in place, beneath the table, scared to run out and see if everyone was still there or if she was alone in this.
Eugene wrinkled his nose as he stepped out of the car. Mount Pleasant always smelt of gasoline and smoke and other unappealing things. However, there were some rather influential people in part of town. They were as unpleasant as the district, but they would get him votes, and he would put up with this scum if it meant getting reelected.
He saw his man, in an alleyway nearby, and began walking in that direction, locking his car and putting the keys in his pocket as he went. His man gestured to the pizza place across the street, and Eugene gave a brief nod, moving towards it and entering. He bought a coke and sat down, waiting for the meeting to begin.
Samson knows one thing for certain as he steps out of the hotel, shotgun in hand and knife strapped to his leg - he's going this one alone. There's no way in hell he's putting anyone in danger like that, knowing that whoever goes with him will be hurt. At least he's bought himself this time for Lydia to think he's following her request. When he comes back alone, he'll deal with her threat then. He'll convince her that it was a necessary risk, to keep everyone safe. That's his one goal in life. Keep them safe, keep them alive. He'd hoped he'd be able to keep them happy, but that was secondary to the other two.
He's storming down the road and he knows he's agitated, because his gait is swift and boots angered and he'll quiet down once he's away. He's just torn right now, just anxious because there's a threat out there to the people he cares about. Jim would have gotten hurt and to top everything off, the thing he doesn't want to give too much thought to, was that if he'd taken Eli - which had been his first idea - his little brother would have died. The thought almost makes him pause and turn around to go check on Eli. He didn't even say goodbye just now. He didn't even tell his brother where he was going and today would have been the day Eli died and the thought has his stomach roiling, panic coursing through him for a moment because that's his brother. That's his little brother who he's supposed to keep safe and today he would have died. He realizes with an absolute certainty that he wouldn't be able to do this without him. He wouldn't be what the group needs if anything were to happen to his little brother.
Putting the thoughts aside is hard, but he manages. He has something to focus on right now and there's a map in his back pocket still, but he doesn't want to pull it out in the rain. He just trudges forward and he knows this part of Jersey. He has an idea where he wants to go, so he starts heading off in that direction. He doesn't think about the fact that he's alone and he doesn't think about the fact that there's a known danger waiting for him. He's not supposed to face it alone, but he's going to. Because this is his job. To keep everyone safe.
"Of course... there's always... The Thing." Loki smirked as he sat down beside Moriarty. The troublemaker couldn't help having a little fun... This would pass the weary time spent doing nothing... plotting may have been fun but they'd been plotting enough, a short break could do them well... and surely this would relieve some of the stress of it all.
He ran his fingers through his already slightly disheveled hair as he spoke, "If you're up to it of course... There's not much else to do..." He glanced up at Jim waiting for a response.
