She looked out of the scratched and scuffed window at the messy and unkempt streets, contemplating the past months for a while. Eventually she felt another vibration under her elbow through the background rumble of knurled tires and uninsulated sheet metal. She glanced over and realized Sam had knocked on the unoccupied gunner's seat / standing position between them to get her attention, and was drawing her attention to pushing a particular preset on her radio. Rebecca nodded and flipped over to their own channel and pushed the cantilevered headphones on her helmet closed over her ears.

It was a little silly using wireless radios to talk just a few feet away, but it let them hear each other clearly and talk quietly, still audible over the little boom microphones along their cheeks. (Rebecca had given up on the SpecOps-style throat contact mic after growing frustrated with the tangle of extra wiring and occasional rash it gave her after extended use.)

"Hi, Rosie."

"Hey you." Sam subconsciously pulled the mic boom closer, which actually just added more rustling to the background noise, but was close enough Rebecca could read her lips a little. "You doing okay? Do I need to try to find a penny in my pockets? All this gear certainly has enough spots to hide one."

Rebecca chuckled at the obvious use of humor as a probing technique. "If we ever get another dog and it's a girl, I'm so naming her that." She saw the dimple in Sam's cheek appear with her grin. "I'm okay. Kinda... running simulations in my head, past and hypotheticals."

"Sun Tzu didn't have anything for storming your own apartment, huh?"

"Not specifically, no. There's probably some parallels to be drawn about knowing your home territory and stuff." Sam smiled at her, obviously waiting for something more material to go with the banter. Rebecca pondered for a moment that she was the one with a Psych almost-degree, but maybe Sam went into engineering because she already had all that stuff down? Anyway, she obliged her. "I'm... probably just the right amount of nervous. Stressed enough to stay on edge, but not enough to lose my shit. I don't want to fuck up today and need to get rescued... or, really, to have to figure out rescuing anyone else either! That might be even worse."

Sam leaned over so their gloved hands could connect, and squeezed reassuringly. The movement caught Rhonda's attention, but she returned to her own radio conversation with only the smallest of grins, and Rebecca stuck her tongue out at her playfully before looking back as Sam replied.

"That sounds like a reasonable set of goals. You'll do okay. You can't expect yourself to be perfect, you're not a seasoned pro like Ronnie or someone with years of training."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Uh, you know, that doesn't exactly help the performance anxiety right?"

Sam closed her eyes for a second or two and released Rebecca's hand long enough to hold hers up in a conceding gesture. "Okay, okay. Fair point. But... if you're having trouble believing in yourself, just trust me when I do, and Ronnie when she does, and Chrissie and Patrick and all your other friends."

Rebecca liked the way the logic of that flowed as she processed it, and long-blinked her acceptance of the point, tightening her grip on Sam's hand for a moment when they reconnected. Neither of them let go as the convoy rolled along, which Rebecca was glad for as they passed more signs of the devastation that'd come before. The streets weren't too blocked up around town, and both the local civilians and rebuilding military presence had been working to clear obstructions... but the freeway was still clogged with abandoned vehicles from DC's reportedly abysmal rout of an evacuation. She'd heard stories, but when they threaded past a long-abandoned police barricade and onto an overpass, she caught her first glimpse of the reality inadequately described to her.

It wasn't complete gridlock, but it was still a hellish mess — clumps of pileups or simply abandoned cars. A jackknifed semi on the southbound side looked to have entirely blocked that direction, and scars in the center divide showed where people had gone around... until someone must have gotten stuck. Tiremarks hinted at people cutting over into the opposite direction, and maybe there'd even been official attempts at that, if the crashes she saw with overturned police vehicles were anything to go by. It looked like the cars she could see into were empty, at least, but they couldn't all... she didn't want to think about that, and felt a little green around the gills as she looked away.

As she glanced up, she saw Ronnie leaning her head to look at her in the side rear view mirror from where she sat in front of her. Rebecca tried to smile wanly through her dismay, and whether she was successful or not, Ronnie gave her a knowing nod that was oddly reassuring before returning to "head on a swivel" mode as they drove.

Rebecca wondered if it had been similar for young Corporal Rhonda Ellis decades before, driving through the streets of Iraq in a vehicle very similar to this one, looking at burned out cars or shelled buildings from inside a small bubble of all-too-fragile-feeling "normal".

"Normal." The new normal was that "normal" felt foreign. It's what they were trying to build back to... like Ronnie was telling her the night before. God knows they'd made progress, and she couldn't dispute the fact she'd contributed, competently at times... but even with Ronnie's reassurances, and Sam's very solid logic, anxiety lingered in the pit of her stomach as they rumbled (and rattled) down one- and two-lane roads skirting the core of the city.

By the time they rolled up to the gates at the county airport turned local headquarters, she was leaning her helmet against the thick window beside her and breathing shallowly. Sam had noticed and was rubbing the back of her hand comfortingly as Rebecca distantly listened to Ronnie exit the vehicle and advance to be recognized by whoever was in charge of the main gate sentries. She tried to suck it up and sat upright again as Ronnie returned and they pulled into the compound, and was eager to get her door open and gingerly pull herself upright when most of the convoy dismounted and either dealt with official business or stretched their legs.

She was trying to breathe in slow smooth breaths when Sam made it around to her side of the Humvee and rested a supportive arm under the bottom edge of her body armor. "Hey," Sam said softly, "you look like a light breeze could blow you over."

Rebecca groaned quietly, trying not to draw too much attention as she winced and rested an ineffective hand over the armor and pouches covering her abdomen. "Ugh. I'm glad you're a girl, or I'd be really worried right now."

Sam huffed in mild amusement, but persisted. "I'm glad you're still able to joke, but I actually am worried."

"I think it's just nerves, and the gas fumes from before we left... maybe the bumpy ride too. I'll be okay, please, I don't want to bring things to a stop."

Sam frowned, torn between wanting to support Rebecca getting to look for scraps of her old life and her usual stern protectiveness, but was relieved of the decision by a third party.

Douglas Epstein caught sight of the two women as he carried a large (quietly clanking) pack that was probably full of tools towards the tall cargo truck behind them, and detoured a few yards out of his way. Rebecca tried to pull herself together, but he'd already noticed Sam noticing she was out of sorts. "Good morning Miss Clinton, Miss Conroy." (At least he wasn't calling them "ma'am" just that moment, as he directed his attention towards Rebecca.) "Is everything okay? You don't look so good."

She groaned again and waved a hand at him weakly. "Come on, stop being so polite all the time. It's okay, you can just say I look like shit, I've been around enough military people lately, I can handle it."

"Okay, you kinda look like shit. What's wrong?"

"It's just my stomach. Maybe if the local motor pool techs kept the engines or suspensions on these beasts running smoother..." Rebecca was still trying to be funny, but doing it through half-clenched teeth, and Sam shook her head at her disapprovingly.

Epstein played along good-naturedly. "Hey, I do the best I can with what garbage I'm given. Do you have a first aid kit?"

Both women looked at him with slight confusion, and Sam rested a hand on the compact trauma kit on her hip.

"No, not your IFAK... like, a regular kit, bandaids and ibuprofen and stuff for bumps and bruises."

Rebecca nodded towards the rear of the Humvee and immediately regretted the motion. "In our field packs in the back, yeah."

Epstein looked at Sam. "Rubbing alcohol. Dig a prep wipe out, make sure it's alcohol and not one of those benzyl-something-or-other-chloride kind, and make her smell it for a few minutes. Trust me. If you can't find one, let me know and I'll see if I can borrow a bottle from the corpsman to wave under her nose.

Not wanting to get towed around in her state, Rebecca slumped back to rest on the edge of her seat again while Sam and Epstein nodded to each other and Sam stepped around to the "trunk" to rustle and bang around in the cargo under the lid. She recoiled at the harsh odor when Sam returned and raised a small disposable wound cleaning pad to her face, but frowned and tentatively leaned closer again, breathing in what she could bring herself to. She half expected it to make her vomit on the spot, and tried to plan how she'd avoid Sam with the line of fire, but it didn't really seem to have an instant effect one way or the other.

She closed her eyes and lost track of time, focusing on the sensation of Sam's hand on her cheek, running her fingertips along the chin straps of Rebecca's helmet, and controlling her breathing. But, sure enough, in what couldn't have been less than five, but no more than fifteen minutes later, she realized she didn't feel nearly as bad as before. She lifted her head to look at Sam, who patted the side of her face affectionately.

"That's the right color for your cheeks again. Green isn't a good look, but I'll spare you any jokes about kissing a frog."

Rebecca took a long, deep (normal-smelling, as Sam lowered her other hand) breath. "Thanks. I'll take what mercies I can get."

"Yup." Sam looked up and around for Epstein. "I don't know where he got off to, but we're definitely filing that one away for later — maybe even for Allie. Who'da thunk..."

"Yeah, I don't know what's more entertaining... the mechanic grunt with the first aid trick, or the possible implication he gets carsick..."

Sam shrugged, and then caught sight of Epstein. "Oh, there he is." He was striding past, returning from the truck, grumbling authoritatively at a couple of single-stripes in different uniform colors — one an odd checkered pattern, like an approximation of camouflage in a retro emulator game or something. But, a few minutes later, he came by again, this time solo, carrying his own gear and rifle.

"Lance," Rebecca weakly called out to him, "Thank you, really."

He glanced over and sized her up, seeing she was on the mend, and replied with a congenial salute. "Glad you're feeling better. We need our guardian angel while we work today!"

Rebecca blushed and failed to come up with a reply before he'd passed again, heading for one of the other vehicles, parked in an angled row and firing up their engines.

Oh, no thank you, Rebecca'd had enough of that for the morning, and pulled herself back inside, tugging the door closed behind her as Sam grinned affectionately and helped from the outside. She climbed back in on her side a minute later, rubbing her arms to warm up again in the enclosed cabin. "Feeling better?"

"A bit... I think it's trending upwards, too. I think as long as we don't start moving again for a little, I'll be okay."

"Good. I love you, dear."

Rebecca smiled appreciatively. "I love you too, Rosie. Thanks for taking care of me."

Sam patted her hand reassuringly. "It works both ways. We're a good team."

Rebecca nodded and smiled, closing her eyes and resting her head against the doorframe (in the absence of a headrest on the low seat back) while Sam idly used the open alcohol wipe to touch up the clear surfaces on her gunsight. Rebecca was feeling better, but it was an ongoing gradual process, so she just let it run for a bit while she tried to take it easy for a while. She opened her eyes again and sat up when Sam rousted her with another pat on her hand.

"Hey, something's up."