Everything was bucolically tranquil leading into the evening — Rebecca found herself with plenty of reasons to smile as the day wound to a close. Charles, the elderly gentleman with dark skin and graying hair who'd blessed them with breakfast, approached while she was checking in with Christine in the barn. He assured them dinner was "taken care of", that he wanted to make sure they knew before they dipped into their supplies again. Rebecca wasn't sure what he had planned, but her appetite welcomed the news.

Then, there was the sight of Dylan holding Landry's elbow as she helped him into a seat at the surviving house's dining table forty minutes later. Rebecca managed to limit her commentary to an amused, jovial small smirk at him as he groaned with relief at being off his feet. She looked away before she saw his reaction, but was pretty sure she heard him chuckle — perhaps even bashfully?

Charles' surprise for them ended up being an oblong ceramic pot of beans, some kind of leafy green — maybe chard? — and slices of pork lain across the top. Rebecca was a little worried that the sudden influx of comparably rich food would make her nerve-riddled stomach even worse, but her body also seemed to crave a hearty refueling while she healed. She settled for consciously forcing a slow pace to make sure she didn't overindulge just to risk losing it all again soon after. Sam's proximity didn't set her off during the meal at all, and Rebecca even managed to reach over and hold her hand a few times when one of them was waiting for a plate refill or the like.

Eventually, conversation turned to discussing their future plans. Chrissie was proposing getting an idea of what they wanted to do so they could send word with their next scheduled check-in — they were due for one more status report that evening — so Ronnie could send a reply at the following midday's.

Rebecca quickly glanced around to make sure Dylan wasn't nearby — true to her word with Sam, she didn't want to embarrass Landry unduly. "Guys, I'm a little worried about you traveling while injured... but this seems like a pretty nice spot to rest up for a few more days, and either catch a ride back with us afterwards, or whenever the folks from home first send a group up."

Landry tried to brush her concerns off first. "Oh come on, we're not about to leave a job half finished just because we got knocked around a little bit."

Epstein backed him up. "Yeah. Gunny'll do a lot worse to me if anything happens to the four of you."

Rebecca shook her head. Their zealous nobility wasn't really surprising. "Specialist Landry, please take a deep breath. No, really, go ahead, I'll wait."

He managed to lift one hand and point at her accusingly. "That's cheating, sister. Trying to cause me pain to make a point. I'd manage if the shit hit the fan."

"It's possible I spent too much time around Ronnie. She'd probably make you, I dunno. Do sit-ups or something to prove your combat readiness instead. I don't want to have you bouncing around in the back of a car when you can still barely get into a chair without a friendly helping hand." Okay, maybe a little gentle teasing was acceptable, to let him know she wasn't just trying to be mean. "I appreciate you wanting to make sure you do your part, but as far as I'm concerned, you already went above and beyond, brother."

He leaned back with a disgruntled sigh, but didn't look entirely convinced.

Patrick tried to help her out. "Hey, the folks around here could use someone with experience to guide them, right? They went from being prisoners to having to having to run this place on their own overnight. And, it might help with some relationship building, give them a more positive impression before they make a decision about moving to town or not, right?"

Rebecca inclined her head towards Pat, both in gratitude and to generally acknowledge his point. "See, he's onto something there. You wouldn't just be sitting on your ass, you'd be... you know. Sitting on your ass helpfully."

"Oh Christ, don't describe it like that. You're gonna make me sound like I'm Air Force."

"If I stop, and make it sound cooler, will you argue less?"

Epstein interrupted before Landry could answer. "Probably."

She gave him an amused look across the table before turning back to Landry. "There's this long standing tradition of, like, military advisors or something, right? That's some seriously spec-ops level shit right there. Think of how cool you'll be, the guy telling all these folks how to work together if they want to survive. Also, don't make me tell Gunny Ellis."

Rebecca could tell from his face she'd won, but was distracted by Christine off to her right.

"That's not fair, Rebecca. Really not."

Rebecca knew she was referring to hiding the nature of her own injuries from Ronnie — and felt particularly bad given that Chrissie'd continued to honor her wishes by not going into details in front of Landry and Epstein. They didn't know about her insistence.

"You're right, not cool. I'm sorry." Rebecca made sure to make eye contact with Christine so she knew the apology was for her too. It got a little nod of assent, which made Rebecca feel slightly less crappy about it. Then, looking directly at Landry... "For what it's worth man, I know you'd do what needed to be done if things were bad. Like I said, you already did. But being on the road will detract from your healing, and you really can help here. You can even relay radio signals for us farther out."

He looked a little less disgruntled with that acknowledgement. "Yeah, okay, solid copy. I guess I'll just put my feet up and make nice with the locals."

Rebecca winked at him. "Hard life."

Epstein cut in. "Okay, but, even though I like the guy, I'm not staying too. I can reconfigure one of the Humvee radios so he can use it, if Miss Conroy—"

There was a familiar sound Rebecca recognized as Sam kicking someone under the table, having been on the receiving end frequently.

"Ow. If Sam literally lends me a hand. But even if you've still got the two vehicles, you'll need both to bring anyone back with you, knock wood. I'm damned well going with you in case either breaks down, especially now that they've taken fire. That's the whole dang reason Gunny E sent me out here."

She looked him over for a minute. He did seem to be pretty comfortable in his chair, and this was after an afternoon of hands-on supervision of a fricking house demolition. "You probably have a valid point, but I want another look at your wound tomorrow when the dressing gets changed." Epstein started to open his mouth again, but she cut him off. "I won't yield on that, Lance."

"I was going to say I was good with it."

Rebecca held up a conceding hand. "Okay, I'm sorry. I figured you were gonna argue."

Epstein looked at Sam pointedly. "I'd probably get kicked again. I'm already down one limb."

"Heh. It's handy, having an enforcer." Rebecca gave Sam a coy half-grin at her side.

**

Not long after, Rebecca proposed the less injured among them clean up out of consideration for their hosts. Washing dishes under a hand-operated pump brought back memories of camping with Jaime, or even her parents in her youth. Bittersweet, but still generally positive thoughts overall. It was nice to connect them to the memories she was making with her friends in the current day. They certainly wouldn't ever suffer from a lack of interesting stories to retell down the line.

Patrick volunteered to take most of the clean load back to the house's kitchen, and Sam said she'd go along since she needed to hit the bathroom. She carried the now-clean pot full of silverware under her arm and lugged one of the plastic jerry cans of water up the hill with her.

On the way back to the barn, Rebecca remarked to Christine how appreciative she was of the farm's functional septic system, even if they had to fill the toilet tanks themselves — a sentiment Chrissie was sure many of the residents shared, possibly even before they were liberated. The evening was starting to get chilly, so Rebecca carried a plastic lawn chair inside as they went, then arranged Sam's sleeping bag over it inside-out near the fireplace. She thought it would be a nice surprise for her thermally challenged sweetheart.

She was just a few minutes into asking Dylan how receptive people were to the idea of moving so far when Pat stuck his head past the door and called her name. Simultaneously, she heard Sam snap angrily at someone to "leave her the hell alone."

Rebecca quickly patted three different pockets in a habitual inventory check and hastened to the door, looking for Sam in the gloom. She spotted her before Patrick pointed her out and jogged towards her.

Sam was squared off with someone Rebecca vaguely recognized as one of the locals but hadn't met personally, just reiterating her warning.

"Back off, mister!"

The man wasn't. "No, I want to know what the hell your problem is, where you think you get off treating my daughter like that. She's just a kid and you can get all up in her face, but you want me out of yours?"

Rebecca could see the side of Sam's face as she clearly inhaled and was about to let loose a snarled reply, but got to her side first, gently putting a hand in front of Sam and inserting herself between her and the angry father. This must be about the kid from the other night, that Sam said she had a run-in with. She probably ought to attempt to de-escalate.

"Sir, please, take it down a notch. It's been a stressful few days for everyone. We're sorry about the traumatic situation your daughter was in, and how interactions went with her today."

Whoever this guy was, he refocused his attention on Rebecca now that she was protectively in front of Sam. "Oh look, you must be the girlfriend that Stephanie mentioned."

Rebecca really didn't like the emphasis he put on "girlfriend", and her eyes narrowed. "That would be me. I already apologized, and you're creating a scene, sir."

She was right, she could hear movement and murmuring from the barn, and saw motion by the house and in its windows.

"I don't know what kind of sorry shape our armed forces are in if they're running around with people like you in their ranks—"

"What kind of people is that, sir? Are you afraid we'd corrupt your precious Stephanie after we're done saving her life?"

"I—"

He was cut off again, but not by Rebecca. She heard a distant crash of furniture from the house and yelling voices just before Stephanie's dad finally shut up at the muffled report of a gun. The flash was in the upstairs windows. Great, like those were memories she wanted to deal with.

Everyone had flinched at the gunshot, and she and Sam immediately hunkered close to the fence, the only nearby cover. While Rebecca dug her pistol out, she glanced at Sam. "Get your gear on and bring mine up with help, okay? Goggles too."

"What about you?"

"People up there need help and I'm already armed. I'll be careful - get your armor on though!"

Sam pressed her lips together, obviously hating the situation, but knowing arguing would just delay things. "Okay. Love you."

"You too." Rebecca brought the pistol up in front of her at a low ready, switching the laser on for emphasis as she locked eyes with the stunned belligerent man as he looked back from the house at the sounds of her movement. "Out of the way, dumbfuck."

He stumbled aside (towards the middle of the road — good, he could provide some cover for Sam) as she barged past. Several yards past him, she ducked through the fence rails to the opposite side for better partial cover and crouch-ran to corner of the fence, slipping through the rails again on the side facing the house.

Landry was there, waving and pulling panicked people down the stairs and ushering them towards cover as he held his side, grimacing. He saw her with a weapon and nodded. "They had the prisoners under guard upstairs. I think one of them took advantage of that dipshit's spectacle and jumped the guard. They're probably out the back already, but be careful!"

She nodded and slipped up the edge of the staircase to the side of the front door, aiming her pistol in carefully and staying behind the solid wood doorframe. Through the parlor, she could see the back door was hanging open like he predicted. She cautiously leaned just enough to aim up the stairwell and could see someone on the floor at the top. Crap.

She tucked back in to the wall, then pivoted to look in the dining room window on her other side. Just like a moment before, she kept far enough back from the wall she could lean ever so slightly, exposing a minimal profile as she got her gun and one eye a view past the window frame. She "wedged" the room just like she'd been taught, scanning a narrow section, then edging further and scanning, edging further and scanning. The dining room and what she could see of the kitchen was clear, so she reversed back to the door again and aimed up the stairs as she advanced.

The body in front of her stirred — that was both fortunate and inconvenient, as now she had multiple priorities. As she neared the top, she was angered to realize it was Charles. There was a small streak of blood on the doorframe to the right, it looked like someone had shoved him against it and he toppled to where he lay.

He was groaning, but lucid and recognized her. "They're all gone, but one of ours is down, on that side." Charles gestured weakly towards the door on the right.

At least that was familiar territory for her. As she approached the door, she felt distinctly vulnerable for a moment — the absence of the armor's reassuring pressure on her chest and shoulders was keenly noticeable. She felt the annoyingly familiar prickle of heat in her abdomen from earlier brushes with her lovely new anxiety attacks and halted her advance long enough to settle into a focused breathing rhythm, which seemed to keep it in check. After another moment to make sure she was squared away, she started carefully around the corner and forward again.

Her advance was entirely uneventful, a welcome change from the last time she moved through this room. Another man she barely recognized was on the ground in a pool of blood, and after she checked the rest of the room as a precaution, she knelt to check for a pulse and swore when she didn't find one. She crossed the front room like she should have last time, including sweeping her aim across the door to a smaller inner room that Mags must have been holed up in, the door of which was concealed from her original view by a large cabinet or armoire.

The rest of the floor was clear, so she moved back to Charles, mindful to not expose herself through the windows on the back side of the house, and knelt next to him again while she got her radio out.

"Top floor clear, one friendly KIA, one minor injury at top of stairs."

Sam answered her almost immediately, breathing hard. "Copy. Almost to the front again, with your stuff."

Rebecca held her position until she saw Sam and Patrick reach the front door, then met Sam partway up the stairs while Patrick kept his gun aimed towards the back door. She saw Epstein arrive, one-handing Sam's Vector, and Chrissie with her usual shotgun as they posted up to watch the kitchen and flanks to either side of the porch.

Sam let the Tavor dangle from the sling on her chest and held Rebecca's armor out for her to slip into. While she was cinching it tight, Sam unclipped Rebecca's helmet from where it hung on her waist and held it out questioningly. Rebecca glanced at it and gave her a brief nod, and Sam carefully settled it onto her head and started buckling the chin strap while Rebecca finished getting her armor in order.

The night vision goggles were already attached, and Rebecca gave her head an experimental little shake to get used to the extra weight while Sam unslung Felicia from her back and presented her to Rebecca. As Rebecca connected her own weapon sling and checked the chamber for a round — already in battery, with safety on... attagirl — Sam looked her over quickly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, thanks."

They both looked to the bottom of the stairs at the sound of movement and saw Patrick and Epstein lower their raised weapons they'd been pointing at the back door a moment before. Rebecca took a few steps down the stairs with her own at a low ready until she saw Dylan coming around the bottom of the bannister.

Dylan held up Landry's hat. "Where's Jack? Has anyone seen Jack?"