When Rebecca wasn't slowly doing laundry, or dishes, or sweeping the apartment, or cooking a very slow simmering meal, she spent much of the subsequent days fending off Ghandi's nuclear-based 'peace' offers and putting Montezuma's head on a pike. She always preferred the 'I won't start anything but I'll damned well finish it' approach to Civ, which, now that she'd been in real-life combat situations, made a lot of sense.

At least her laptop's limited runtime meant Sam didn't have to tear her away from the keyboard as she pleaded to get in 'just one more turn', as was the old-world stereotype. Rebecca snuggled up behind her as they settled in for the night, running her knuckles along Sam's upper arm beneath the blankets. She thought about how her own limbs had been feeling restless, cooped up and inactive for so long.

The single-rep resisted stretches with the rubber exercise bands and the handful of yoga movements she could remember helped a bit. She also supposed being stuck at home while she was still a little jumpy was probably a good idea. Still, she was greatly relieved when finally allowed to help with small tasks 'next' door like running the paint roller across the ceiling before the furniture got moved into her mother's developing bedroom.

Sam though, she'd come back sweaty and exhausted despite the modest temperatures of the day. The hair she'd done up for their nice dinner was limp and flat, she had new scrapes on her hands, and she flopped onto one of the breakfast bar stools with a weary sigh. Rebecca prepped her a warm bath and comparatively hearty meal, absorbing tales of some kind of weaponry upgrade on their big armored truck, Sam's optimistic assessment of the new power storage, and the fault in one solar array she had to fix tomorrow. Something about a panel not working right and dragging the rest of them down too.

She consciously arranged for Sue to spend plenty of time in Sam's lap that evening, and even asked Patrick and Chrissie to take Rufus for his last bathroom trip outside. Now that everyone was sequestered for the night, their pup baby in with them and Sue out front with Laura, Rebecca finally had a quiet private moment with her.

She edged closer, enough to feel the warmth from Sam's back, and kept her voice low and soft — little more than a whisper. "You doing alright?"

Sam shifted in the cozy darkness, lit only by the faint glow of perimeter and security lighting outside. Lifting her face from the pillow, she replied over her shoulder. "Yeah, just tired. Got a lot done today, and there's more tomorrow." Her tone was conversational, not curt or her familiar 'shhh trying to sleep' rebuff. In fact, she half-rolled towards Rebecca like she was waiting to see what came next.

"'Just tired'... but that's intentional, isn't it? You're throwing yourself into everything you can find."

Sam sighed with what Rebecca recognized as self-dismay. "Yeah. You know me. Get myself tired enough to conk out so I don't get bogged down in things."

"I do." Rebecca moved back a couple of inches to encourage Sam to finish rolling onto her back so they could see the outlines of each other's faces. "Gotta stay busy now that you're not worrying about me enough to keep you occupied, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam reached up with her far hand and caressed Rebecca's hair. "Just until I can process things over time."

"Just promise me you'll try to take breaks if you need them. Especially so you don't get hurt. Things are stable here, we'll be alright if you finish something tomorrow instead of today."

Sam craned her neck up to kiss Rebecca repeatedly, letting the last linger before falling back. "But every day I let things slide is another day between us and ice cream."

"You make a compelling argument, but even that isn't worth you hurt or unhappy."

Sam made a quiet grumbling sound. "Since when did you become the protective one, huh?" She rolled back over onto her side, pulling Rebecca's arm along and wrapping herself in it like a blanket.

Rebecca tucked her free hand under her pillow and inched closer so she was practically talking into Sam's hair. "Between you and Ronnie, I learned from the best."

"Hmmm." Sam clutched Rebecca's hand to her chest and fell silent. Rebecca could tell she was awake from her breathing, but it was slow, even, and seemingly content.

**

Sam submerged in the comfort around her like it was an emotional bath. The knit cotton and chenille blankets under the poofy duvet, the warmth of Rebecca so close by. That soft embrace she wanted to dive into and lose her hurt in, but had to abstain from until she knew doing so wouldn't cause Rebecca some kind of neurovascular harm.

She consciously set aside that longing too, along with the rapid flurry of 'what does she know' arguments and the 'of course she does, look at the hell she's been through' counterpoints she'd thrown at them. She'd managed, through force of will, to conclude the self-doubts of her recent actions were natural and healthy to have but ultimately unfounded. With the decision there was nothing that she needed forgiveness for, all that was left was to outlast the lingering cumulative hurt until it faded. She knew that would happen, it would just take time.

The background worrying about Mike would stay, but she'd already been carrying that. She was still a little worried about Rebecca. Even with steady signs of improvement, she'd forgotten where she put things down just enough to make Sam wonder if it was fatigue and settling back in at home or not.

The 'not' option could fuck right off. Sam pulled Rebecca's hand closer like a kid might a teddy bear. That image made her think of lil' Jack's smile, which warmed her heart further.

But thinking of Jack brought her father to mind. She was disproportionately thankful Rebecca left him a method of contact in case he ever removed his head from his ass and wanted to reconcile. That way, it was all on him. She didn't have to live with the extra ache of 'oh, but now we'll never have the chance to fix things' rooted in happy earlier memories. He'd have a lot of groveling to do, but she wanted to believe she'd at least consider an outreached olive branch before setting it on fire and hitting him with it.

She knew dwelling on that was no good for falling asleep, so forced herself to focus on the mental image of Jack's exuberant grin over a checkerboard and the light sensation of Rebecca's breathing across the side of her neck until drifting off.

**

By the end of the week, Ronnie had cleared Rebecca for 'standing around on a roof' duty. The shaded crunching gravel under her feet, familiar views, and Felicia's comfortable rubber grip under her hand formed another ensemble of reminders she was home. She felt a slight breeze and could see it ruffling along the camouflage netting, imagining her own respiration falling in rhythm with it or somehow adding to the motion in some microscopic 'butterfly effect' way.

Now that there was a professional security presence on site, the area she had to survey had been reduced to only the near-half of the compass their own rooftop blocked from view from the other. Still, good practice dictated nobody be on watch alone for any multitude of reasons. Usually she'd hope for Sam's company, but her gorgeous genius was in high demand scaling up their power infrastructure downstairs. Even her mom was getting into the swing of things, touring the storage spaces that were being prepared for the aspirational aid distribution center. Chrissie was obviously in on that too, Miss Logistics and Supply.

Fortunately, Patrick had just recently finished transplanting seedlings into a new greenhouse he and Leonard hastily built using the plastic bottle stack design from Walt's. That left him available to join her that following day, so she wasn't having to put the mental effort into manufactured interactions with someone less familiar. He even did her the mercy of coming up with conversation.

Rebecca was content to let him carry on about how the new greenhouse wasn't as airtight as the more traditional structures Leonard had led the effort to build over the prior year, but that might actually be good for crops vulnerable to fungus infections if they were kept too wet. And, the final product was even light enough they could lift it clear of established crops and plunk it down a few yards away to start another wave of new growth.

She nodded along with his enthusiasm about staggered plantings and multiple smaller harvests as a better long-term food supply. But, she was still pretty distracted by his earlier nattering about how dried and unshelled peanuts could be stored for a full year. A winter protein source that wasn't venison, fished from a questionably polluted-or-not urban river, or from a foil pouch bathed in a week's worth of salt excited her, but she wondered how Nate would react when his mother switched from the processed stuff to homemade peanut butter.

Looking for Ronnie's dark hair or Sam's splash of red, she peeked over the side a few times and caught an occasional glimpse of them in the courtyard, sometimes with Rufus at their side. Other times, he was off making friends with a golden retriever that had just come over with a transferred garrison member. Sam had met the new dog a few times, but reported he was even more of a dope than Rufus. Their 'little' meathead was still the local favorite, but it was nice to see he had a buddy.

Their radios eventually crackled, announcing an incoming friendly convoy. Rebecca wasn't too surprised that she hadn't heard about it, especially once she pieced together enough implications from overheard traffic and realized it was a big haul of supplies from somewhere. A target that juicy, Ronnie would have kept it need-to-know, even amongst the residents and garrison.

When they caught sight of it turning onto the street aligned with the main gate, she watched contemplatively for a moment. A burly four-axled military version of a semi truck hauled a 'regular' white box trailer behind it, preceded by two Humvees and probably flanked by at least one more. She wondered how the massive rig was going to clear the gate until she heard the familiar sound of the boom forklift's engine and saw it trundle forward to start lifting the concrete road dividers and earth-filled fortification cubes aside.

God, it's nice being back where the gang and I don't have to solve all the problems ourselves. They can be someone else's to deal with.

She diligently looked through her rifle scope to make sure the convoy wasn't being pursued, then slowly walked back towards the opposite end of the building.

Patrick hesitated, then turned and followed her. "Don't you wanna watch to see what's in the truck? You're not curious?"

"Oh, I totally am." Rebecca smirked to herself where he couldn't see from behind. "But everyone else will be too. If some jerkface is going to use it as a diversion and ruin our day, they'll be doing it in the opposite direction." She dropped her expression back to a careful neutral as he caught up to her.

"Yeah, okay. Good point. Kind of a more fucked up version, but I guess it's like when I figured out always having my camera pointed at the groom when I went to weddings, because everyone else was looking back for the bride's entrance and missed the expression when he first saw her. Back when that was a thing, anyway."

Rebecca glanced at him appraisingly. Maybe she'd underestimated his cleverness — not that Chrissie would put up with an idiot. "Okay, that's pretty cute. Don't worry, if you two ever tie the knot, I've got you covered."

"Thanks." He grinned, but nodded towards her rifle. "That seems to be a habit of yours."

She lifted one eyebrow, tempted to protest, but his comment gave her pause. It made her strongly suspect that Ronnie had put her on the rooftop on this shift intentionally.

Okay, but goddammit. I guess not having to solve all the problems also opens the door to Ronnie putting one over on me again. And I'd practically volunteered for it! No wonder she says I make her life easier.

She braced her left elbow against her chest and used that hand to support the midpoint of her rifle's center of gravity. The pose gave her a stable hold to pan her gaze across rooftops and paths of approach.

Shit. He's right. It's pretty much what I do... Wait. Did Ronnie pick up on that almost a fucking year ago when she hand-picked my assignments even then? Even though I was a complete wreck? God, I'm slow.

Her sigh made the scope bob, but she compensated for the movement and resumed her apparently very predictable vigil.