Thinking about Stat going back to her house after Jacqueline Box. thinking about how empty it feels. How open those windowed walls are. How vulnerable a position it is. She thought it would be a safehouse but she's never felt like she's dancing on the edge of a cliff quite like this before.
Deb's half-asleep when she hears the quiet, hesitant knock on the door. She almost doesn't; if it weren't for Pam sitting up, Deb would've assumed it was just one of the dogs.
"What do you- Stat?" Deb asks as she processes the sight in front of her.
"Can i sleep in your garage?" Stat asks, her voice rough. "Or your backyard, I guess. I mean, I survived prison beds, I'm sure I can-"
"Yeah, yeah, just come inside already," Deb says. "You're gonna let the bugs in."
"Yeah, ok," Stat says, following Deb towards the plush, chewed leather couch in the living room, where she settles with a sigh.
"Deb?" Pam asks from the doorway. "Everything all right?"
"It's all good," Deb says, "Although if you wanna throw on some hot chocolate, that might not be the worst idea."
"It's fine," Stat says, pulling her hoodie tighter to herself as she shivers in the warm apartment. "I don't-"
"Now I know you're not about to tell me you don't need pam's hot chocolate," Deb says. "That stuff could practically be its own food group."
"But-"
"And you're not sleeping in the garage when we have a perfectly good couch right here." Pam comes in at that, carrying a slightly-chipped mug with a pitbull painted on it that says "Mom's Favorite Kid" in big block letters. She stops for a second, then smiles as she hands Stat the mug.
"Thanks," Stat says as she takes it and takes a sip. She can't help the sheer bliss that comes over her, and Deb smiles smugly.
"Let me know if you want some marshmallows for it," Pam says. "I think we still have a few from last barbecue."
They sit together comfortably for a bit, Stat sipping from the mug as Deb and Pam talk quietly and two of the dogs investigate the new person in their house to report back to the others.
They sit like that for a while, making small talk as Stat sips from her mug and soaks in the warmth and the life of this house and tries not to feel too guilty about it. She wishes she could've introduced them all to Jacqueline, wishes they would've understood it, but there's no use crying over spilled milk and Stat's never been big on crying in the first place. They wrap her in blankets and tell her she's welcome to stay as long as she needs and she doesn't think about the long years in an 8 foot cube where when the nights got bad all she had for company was the mold on the ceiling and the rats in the walls. She just focuses on the sounds of dogs shuffling nearby, of Pam and Deb getting ready for bed, the hum of life that she missed so much in her empty glass house, even if she'd never admit it.
"If you wanna talk about it," Pam says to her as they're all going their separate ways for the night, "I'm always here."
"Nah," Stat replies, burying her face in a pile of pillows. "I think I'm good."
