6.15
Reliving several hard days in fast-forward was reminding Rebecca of how tired she was — despite being unconscious for an extended period and consigned to the hospital bed for much longer than she liked. The infirmary didn't really make for a good night's rest, and divine as practically floating in their bed had felt last night, it was only scratching the surface of her sleep deficit.
As she stretched out along the couch on her stomach, she propped her head on a pillow so she could look at Ronnie. Maybe it was something about laying down again, but she remembered waking up in the pitch black hours after an unpleasant dream. Only snatches of it registered when she woke, and now they'd all faded away — but she did recall how good it felt to realize where she was.
"Hey, B, do you want a break?"
"Huh?" Rebecca blinked and refocused on Ronnie. "Nah. I'm okay. Long few days, but the sooner I brain dump this, the more detail I'll remember and then I can think about it less." She dangled her hand over the couch edge to run her fingers through Rufus' fur, finding the tactile input soothing. "And I wasn't spacing out, I was just thinking how good it is to be home."
"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt once. After that, you have to deal with Sam and your mother."
"Wow. Thanks."
"Mandatory reporters are a thing in your would-be field, aren't they? Think of the position you're putting me in."
Rebecca glared at Ronnie for as long as she could hold it. But, she eventually cracked and buried a grin in the pillow, shaking her head. When she looked up again, she smiled. "I missed you. Anyway. As I was saying..."
Ronnie was intrigued by the mysterious territorial faction along that one stretch of county road, marking the boundaries of their claim on her tablet as Rebecca mentioned the ones she could recall. The time at Walt's got glossed over since it was pretty relaxed, but she remembered to call out the neighborhood's surprising possession of a machine gun in that foxhole. She hadn't gotten a good enough look at it to answer Ronnie's attempts to determine what age and specific model it was, but a note about it went in the tablet too.
When Rebecca described the other ambush, Ronnie's jaw clenched repeatedly, and her stony glower was only disrupted by puzzled intrigue at the mention of the mysterious 'Rivenoak''s fire support.
"Well, at least they helped out instead of leaving you to swing. From what you said about the sound, and the hit in the windshield when they tried to fire through the car at one of the hostiles, it was probably a fifty-cal rifle."
"Good thing Felicia and I aren't insecure. Size, how you use it, all that."
"Heh." Ronnie looked off at nothing in particular for a moment, then back at Rebecca. "There's an awful lot of hardware floating around out there. So much for gun control."
Rebecca chuckled and nodded towards the arsenal stacked in her dining room with a bit of a smirk.
"Oh shut up, kiddo. You know that's different."
"Do we though? Maybe there's a rash of private military shitheads getting their asses kicked by uppity locals."
Ronnie chuckled, and downed the rest of her tea while eyeing the pile of tactical gear. "You said you and Sam each held off several attackers solo on your respective sides. Those big magazines effectively turn your Tavor into a support weapon, just shy of an LMG, especially since it fires faster than a 249. Her vicious fire rate and quick reloading is probably what let her halt the advance on that side until they grabbed your mom. Speaking of which, you okay on that? Pretty scary shit."
Rebecca thought about it before answering. "I'm not happy about it, but I think so. Yeah, it's scary, but kinda... par for the course. Maybe getting scared witless about losing Sam a few times prepared me for it. Not that it's a feeling I want to be used to, thankyouverymuch. Though, I did work out some anger issues on a bunch of them once I got free." She sighed. "Until I passed out, that is. Ronnie... I'm pretty spooked by that part." She must have been making the same big sad eyes that everyone saw so much of the prior year, because Ronnie's voice changed to the quiet, patient tone that usually answered them.
"Like it might happen again, or what?"
She shifted uncomfortably on top of the pillow. "If I've got a brain bleed, initially, but I think I'm out of the danger period now. Hopefully. Memory loss. Forgetting precious people. Becoming a burden."
"Well fuck that last one, we all carry each other. I get why the others are scary. You seem lucid, but... we'll keep an eye on you and do whatever we can, whatever we need to."
Rebecca nodded. "Thanks. I feel like I'm saying that a lot lately."
"Beats apologizing all the time. It probably won't get you in as much trouble with Sam."
"Hah." Rebecca knew Ronnie was trying to cheer her up, and certainly didn't mind. "Yeah, fair. And see, now I want to thank you again for making me laugh. I really do get stuck in ruts, don't I?"
Ronnie very pointedly didn't answer, fighting a smile and lifting a few fingers in the air in a gesture synonymous with a shrug.
"Hrmph."
**
As things moved to more casual topics of conversation, Rebecca mentioned Allie's dinner invitation, and fumbled around briefly trying to figure out if she could extend it to Ronnie as well. As usual, both of those women were a step ahead of her and had already talked; Ronnie couldn't make it the whole time, but would at least make an appearance.
After they'd been talking for a little over an hour, Ronnie took her mug to the sink and rinsed it, setting it in the plastic tub they used to accrue dirty dishes until there was enough to warrant the use of precious dish soap. Rebecca rose and leaned on the breakfast bar, looking across at her.
"I know I'm still on the mend, so I can't help bring things upstairs for my mom or put furniture together, but I feel like I can handle lookout duty on the roof soon. It's only two floors up, and just a bunch of staring off into the distance once I'm there. Do you think you can slot me into some day shifts on the next duty roster? I don't want to sit around like a potato, I'll go nuts and need to be at least semi-contributive."
Ronnie quirked an eyebrow as she considered the request. "We'll see how you're doing in a few days. I need to send a report about everything we just covered, if you're lucky maybe Fairbanks or the Councilwoman will have questions and that'll give you something to do."
Rebecca cringed. "Oh god. Speaking of Amira, I totally borrowed her car and then brought it back fucked up. She's going to have me for breakfast, isn't she?"
"Maybe we can give her the second one since it's in better shape. A few cosmetic holes will add some authenticity and make it look tough."
"Ehhh, maybe." Rebecca didn't feel too convinced.
"She knew you might run into trouble, that's why she had you take them, kiddo. Imagine if she heard you getting all worked up. She'd probably tell you to 'shut the fuck up and get over yourself', given the vocabulary I've been hearing about her wielding."
"Stop worrying about me being mad at you, or I'll get mad at you?"
Ronnie came around the kitchen peninsula as she talked, and scooped up her rifle. "I never expected to get out-cussed by a civilian, nonetheless a politician, but she clearly has zero fucks to give for all the things wasting her time and getting in the way of her quiet retirement."
"Maybe that's not the best expression, given the number of F-bombs she litters conversation with."
Ronnie chuckled. "Maybe you're right, smartass. C'mere." Ronnie reached to embrace her, and Rebecca enjoyed the familiar strength of her hugs. "I'm glad you all made it back safely. Let me know if Sam needs anything, okay?"
Rebecca patted the back of Ronnie's shoulder, drawing a brief mental parallel to 'tapping out' during sparring practice. The crushing safe-feeling bear hug was nice, but so was breathing. "I will, and I'll pass that on too. Maybe there'll be stuff she feels better coming to you about, that I'm too close to."
"Huh." Ronnie looked her over with an impressed face. "You've grown, kid. It's tough to realize you're not the right person to do a thing for someone, especially when you'd do anything for them."
Rebecca shrugged. "Yeah well. Let me know when you spot any grey hairs, I'm sure there's one or two after last week."
Ronnie chuckled and made her exit, leaving Rebecca alone with Rufus and a locked-up cat, trying to figure out what to do with herself.
She started with the dishes, since that took time and involved little full body movement. Of course, they hadn't been home for long, so that didn't last. Glancing at her armor, she realized it had been out in the rain, and started detaching all of the removable pieces like the shoulder cauldrons, ammo pouches, and load-carrying webbing to rinse what she could in clean water and then leave them out to air-dry. Repeating the process with Sam's made her think of upcoming laundry — she'd probably still get scolded for working the manual agitator herself. But, she retrieved a plastic shopping bag from under the sink and started hanging the fixed-length clotheslines from the matching hooks on opposite walls of the apartment. Hopefully Sue wouldn't try to get up there.
She'd just finished and was debating a final push on Allie's blanket, or trying to pick something to read, when the sound of the front door opening made her jump and fumble the gym bag she'd started to pick up. Cursing her idiotic nerves, she tried to push away her brief alarm by the time Sam made it into the living room.
"Hi Rosie!"
"Hey, you." Sam smiled back as she beelined for the balcony's sliding door. Rebecca realized why as she recovered from a second, milder surprise over noticing Sam had shed her sweatshirt despite the cool morning. A light sheen of perspiration shone on her cheeks and forehead, and the back of her black tank top was damp.
Sam stepped back into the dining room, enthusiastically chugging water from one of the metal sport bottles they routinely left outside as an ad-hoc substitute for refrigerator. She lowered it a few seconds later with a relieved gasp. "Hey sugar, sorry. Needed a drink." Sam held up a second bottle and waggled it. "One for your mom too."
A grin passed across Rebecca's face as she stepped closer. "Wow. Good day at the fair?"
"Yeah. At least a good start on getting her settled. She's putting together a little cafe table, and we got her some of those cheapo plastic drawer chests just for now." She paused for another swig, and Rebecca took the second bottle and held it against the small of Sam's back, prompting a sputtered gasp. "Oh god. Thank you and I hate you a little. Thanks for keeping it below the fabric line."
Rebecca smiled sheepishly. "Well, y'know. I'm not trying to be mean."
"I know, silly. Your mom picked out a sealed twin mattress too. She was going to settle for an airbed, but I reminded her that was a bad idea with Mister Pointytoes around." She wiggled her fingers and made a popping sound with her mouth, then patted Rufus when he came over, possibly thinking she was calling him.
"Do you see where I get the martyr complex from now?"
"Oh, totally." Sam smirked and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. "Definitely runs in the family."
Rebecca smiled and nuzzled Sam while she was close with a happy sigh. "Thanks for doing this for her, and for me."
"You're welcome. And, good job not apologizing."
"I very specifically didn't! But... there's nothing else that I might have to, is there? You're okay so far with her staying with us?"
Sam tilted her head and looked into Rebecca's eyes appraisingly. "It's only been a night, sugar. I won't lie, I'm also helping so we can have our place back to just us again. But that's different from getting rid of her, if that's what you're thinking."
"No, no. Just... trying to be sensitive."
"Mmm." Sam kissed her again, and Rebecca caught herself trying to follow Sam's lips as they moved away. "You always are, don't worry."
Rebecca tried to breathe away the small ripple of arousal she felt, but it was mildly counterproductive, so she gently pushed Sam away. Maybe it was like when Jaime was all ravishable just after a run, but before he got too stinky. Fricking pheromones. "Jesus, Sam. Don't tease me like that, when we're by ourselves and I'm supposed to keep my heart rate down."
Sam's expression was coy, but understanding. "Aww. Sorry. Rain check, I promise."
Rebecca opted to change the subject before the blush that was threatening to emerge could take hold. "Nice. So, you were saying... bed, interim dressers, a little table?"
"Yeah. And two carpets and one of those curved wooden frame Ikea chairs like Ronnie has. We're just sticking her name on the heavy things for now, Epstein has an idea about putting the winch from that street queen truck you disemboweled last year on the roof. I'd much rather bring them down two flights of stairs than up four and a half."
"Same. That really is a good start for only the first day home. I shouldn't be surprised with you and Mom uniting forces, though."
"Chrissie might have helped a bit too."
Rebecca chuckled. "Fair enough. If it's the three of you, I'm amazed her apartment isn't nicer than ours already."
"Well, we're taking it easy. Just got home and all. By the way, I mentioned to her that I kinda want to dress up for dinner with the Len-lies tonight."
"You do know they have a last name, right?" Rebecca shook her head at Sam's obsession with imaginative nicknames, not that she really had any ground to criticize from.
"Yeah, but it feels to weird to call them 'the Youngs' when they're older than us." Sam arched her back in a stretch, which Rebecca made a mental note about.
"You're such a dork. But okay, that sounds fun."
"Yeah, but so what I was getting at, she's worried about having something to wear."
Rebecca perched halfway onto one of the bar stools. "Huh. And she's right between our sizes, I think, and Allie's a little taller."
"Yeah, and your mom will probably think it's weird to borrow a nice outfit from the party host."
"Hmm. Maybe Tania up on Five?"
"That's a good idea. I think she's also a little taller than your mom, but closer in build. And taking a slow walk up to see her will give you something to do." Sam glanced pointedly at the clotheslines and full dish rack.
"I try to be a little proactive about chores and get mocked for it? What kind of mixed signal is that?"
"The completely non-confusing message that you're supposed to be resting, you goof."
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