Maybe Rebecca just didn't know him well enough and her attempt at humor fell flat, or maybe they were in trouble — or maybe Lieutenant Fairbanks was just too embarrassed by the prior day's events to find something funny. At least he wasn't scowling or anything.

"The most critical thing is probably an apology—"

It better be from them, 'cause I'm not giving anyone an apology, Rebecca thought as quietly as she could manage so her face didn't give it away.

"— As the absurd summer camp bullshit antics of yesterday afternoon are in no way condoned nor accepted by the United States armed forces, or the local chain of command."

Still a little ambiguous. This was the first time she'd seen Fairbanks in person since she and Sam (and Ronnie) had come riding to their rescue outside of the old settlement. Did he have that wrinkle between his eyebrows so many months ago, or had that been a new development from stress? Still, based on her best guess of his body language, she decided to continue hoping for the best.

Sam seemed to be of a similar mind, though perhaps still a little bristly. "Thank you. That's nice to hear, especially given what I've heard about the track record of handling sexual assaults in the military and PMC's in Iraq and Afghanistan. Or lack thereof."

Fairbanks visibly winced. ""I suppose that only stings because of the truth behind it. Perhaps one of many mistakes from the old world we can leave behind."

Something else was on Rebecca's mind though. "What about the Lance Corporal? Is he okay? And what's going to happen to him and the other guys?"

Fairbanks nodded. "He may not be turning a wrench for a few weeks, but it can be a good teaching opportunity. He can spread some of his expertise around and learn to stop doing things himself. Sometimes there is such a thing as being too important. As far as consequences, an interview of witnesses cleared him of any concerns. The others are in the brig until we can determine the best course of action given the state of the world."

Despite his prior comments, that was still uncomfortably noncommittal. Rebecca sure hoped there was a court martial involved. Maybe a firing squad? Or was that too much... she was definitely still feeling some fear aggression not-very deep down. But she had to turn down the volume on those thoughts to hear the rest of Fairbanks' attempts at reassurance.

"I can assure you though, they will be held accountable. We're acutely aware this will harm civilian relations with the garrison and that a clear precedent must be set. As a start, Private Davis is here to ensure you remain unbothered for the remainder of your stay." Rebecca exchanged nods with Davis as the lieutenant continued. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go hope someone thought to preserve a copy of the Universal Code of Military Justice instead of using it as kindling or toilet paper. Again, I apologize, and Private, you have your orders."

The lieutenant nodded at Rebecca and Sam in a modicum of formality before turning to leave. Davis echoed Fairbanks' nod, particularly to Rebecca, with a quiet "Ma'am," before pivoting into a perfect parade rest, facing the tunnel entrance away from her.

Rebecca wondered if he was avoiding small talk because he was taking his post seriously, or embarrassed over the whole affair like Fairbanks seemed to be. She thanked him, then willed her her posture to ease as she turned more towards Sam and the far end of the tunnel space.

**

"I wonder if anyone we know knew them," Rebecca mused as she and Sam settled back into the cart some forty minutes later.

Sam had tapped her findings out in a short email using the empty mess tent's local wifi, then they'd unanimously decided their conviction to not let anyone (including themselves) think they'd been scared off had been satisfied, and it was time to get out of there. She pondered Rebecca's musing for a moment — Davis' demeanor towards them had been noticeably different from when they'd first arrived two days prior, but some of that could be chalked up to performing a much more serious duty.

The show of official support had been nice; at least it had let Rebecca half-relax enough that Sam could focus on her work, without being perpetually aware of Rebecca being perpetually aware of every little movement in their surroundings. Rebecca stood, moved, and even breathed differently when she was wound up, and it was distracting as hell for Sam... especially since she was doing it enough herself without the subtle but ever-present reminders.

"That's sorta their problem if they do... I'd hope that nobody we're close to would be around fuckheads like those." Sam didn't want to think about it much further than that, they still had an adjustable bed frame scavenged from the housing development to load up for Allie, their friends and family to collect, and a questionably secure town to drive across before she could be in their own bed.

At least Rebecca loosened up enough to look around at the scenery on the brief trip back to the residential neighborhood. Someone who didn't know her better might have thought it was continued hypervigilance, but Sam could tell otherwise. Rebecca leaned back in her seat, her hand relaxed around the grip of the Tavor to the point of simply resting on it to keep it from bouncing around — which the cart's minimalistic suspension made for plenty of. Her jaw was unclenched, her shoulders less hunched, and she let her eyes rest a little instead of flicking about constantly.

If she didn't know her so well, Sam would have thought Rebecca was actually content. But she knew better, not with the amount of trauma everybody those days was carrying around. And, putting a fresh scoop on top always sent the barely contained rest spilling over the sides in an unappetizing mess.

Great, now I'm daydreaming about ice cream in the apocalypse. Good job, brain.

Rebecca's ever-dulcet (at least to Sam's ears) voice brought her attention back. "To be honest... I was worried they'd be pissed I just packed up the medkit and left. Something something refusing medical treatment to the enemy Geneva Conventions something something."

"Oh sweetie, how exactly do you think that would have worked out for them?"

"I mean, yeah, fair point. Risks to their power supply aside, they probably know better than to try and pull that with you. They can't be that stupid."

Sam scoffed. "Never mind me. Ronnie would have rampaged over here and ripped someone a new asshole, chain of command be damned. There's a big difference between not passing out some bandaids to shitbags like that, and separating us from our comms, medical, and weapons in the apocalypse. Not only were they complete fuckheads for obvious reasons, even just that also really put us at a lot of risk." Sam knew she'd successfully derailed at least this hour's wave of self-doubt churning around in her girlfriend's pretty brain when Rebecca's eyes narrowed with conviction.

"Not just us either, we were responsible for the kids too. That pisses me off more! Turn around, I decided I do want to offer them some medical care after all, like a tourniquet for their neck."

"I was thinking more of a rapid trepanning myself."

The smirk that put on Rebecca's face made Sam feel a lot better.

**

It was nice to get back to the big truck's air conditioning, especially after the effort of loading the queen sized adjustable bed frame into the cargo bay in the back and lashing it down. The fancy gel lining of their armor just about balanced out the black paint job, and Rebecca was damned glad they'd parked under a large open-sided shed of some kind considering the truck shared the color scheme.

She pretended not to notice the repeated worried glances from her mother the entire day, almost putting in as much effort as when she pointedly didn't notice Sam tear up when Jack gave her the stuffed sea otter before they left. It had started out the journey up on the dashboard, above the spartan buttons and knobs, but migrated into Sam's laps and the crook of her elbow after a mile or so. She was clearly rather attached to it already, probably spurred by his tale of how it reminded him of his favorite stuffed animal "back before" and how she could have it because when he found it, there'd been two and his mom told him to take both.

Of course, the joke was on him, as she was the one who had the nightmares, not Sam... but it was still sweet. Obviously the bond Sam had formed with him months back at that farm compound — on the subject of nightmares — had solidified into something permanent. Rebecca thought it was cute... god knows Jake probably needed all the beneficial social connections he could get, recovering from everything he'd seen, and even just growing up those days...

That got Rebecca mulling Allie's decision to bring a kid into the world. She supposed it was sort of an ultimate 'fuck you' to how things were, to the asshole who'd started the plague, to all the ones after him who didn't have the decency to die off early and leave all the decent people behind. Like the fucker whose head she'd ricocheted off the pavement like a spiked volleyball. Having personally experienced a concussion, she happily wished the experience on him, plus the maybe-broken nose her knuckles hoped had made their suffering worthwhile.

Somehow, the smell of chlorine on Sam's skin had been comforting the night before, but when Rebecca caught a whiff of it from her own hair, it elicited a visceral shudder. She wondered if all of the supplies being consolidated at Broadway would mean she could kill off the last of the shampoo bottle she'd been stringing along for weeks. It bothered her enough that she let the truck trundle ahead on a straight stretch of road, using both hands to change the twirled knot that kept slipping loose to a proper ponytail, cinched tight by a tie proffered by Sam's helpfully extended wrist.

The drive back was conveniently, nigh suspiciously, uneventful. Rebecca almost wished some little bitch would try something; the idea of some cathartic grenadery carried a certain appeal all the way home. But, then she remembered everyone in the back seat. She supposed it was only a matter of time until she'd get an opportunity to release the pent-up aggression the way things seemed to go those days.

'Now that's a good look on you.' Damn, she wished she'd thought to use fuckface's own words back on him after Rufus had mauled his arm and she'd punched his ugly little nose in. She didn't mean to grimace as she flexed her hand back on the steering wheel, especially since she felt Sam's immediate attention. I'm so tired. That was supposed to be our almost-literal 'beach episode'. No slight to Jaime, but Rebecca thought back to that jackass that'd cheated on her (and two other girls at the same time) back in high school, and wondered if maybe she should've just figured out she liked girls early on like Sam did. I always was a little slow on the pick-up, I guess.

Not that the spin-the-bottle/coldhearted spurning/Camry-keying incident had been so great for Sam. Rebecca wondered if that chick ever felt bad years later. Assuming she was still breathing.

Well, mood I'm in, I might be okay with anyone who'd been cruel to Sam being an anonymous bodybag in a mass grave.