dog_eat_dog | IC Inbox

He shifts forward, either to hold her back down or to just show her he's there. This is better than the eerie stillness, and much better than the cordyceps-infected mess, but it's still difficult to see her struggling to breathe.

"It's alright," he says, in his low, rumbling voice. "You're alright, Tess, it's me. Arthur."

"Arthur," Tess breathes, and she puts up a token resistance to being held down, but she cranes her neck to look at him, fully alert. Too alert and oversensitive, it feels like, but she'll take it over anything else. "Did Ellie––?"

He lets go of her, carefully, hands held up. But he doesn't move too far away.

"She's alright. She's alive."

If she wasn't trying to figure out being alive and normal again, she might breathe a sigh of relief, but she settles on just feeling it.

"It got three people after her," she says. "Did someone get them?"

She moves to sit up properly and abruptly reaches to grab his wrist to steady herself. She's not sure what part of this is having her body back and what part is death toll, but it all sucks.

"Misty got two," he rumbles - and then focuses on steadying her, first of all, and guides her down.

"Lie back down, woman, that's the death toll. Here - "

He gives her a glass of water, then tells her: "I got the last one."

She takes the glass, leaning back on an elbow at least, but she can't shake the thought that she still needs to go out there and check for herself, even if they say it's handled. If cordyceps spreads––

"It's over?"

Since when has anyone kept this under control?

"Who did you get?"

"It's over. When Steve got you, we was takin' care of the people you got. I got June. Misty got William and that new guy. Takeshi-somethin'."

"And you're sure they didn't get anyone else?"

She has no idea how many days it's been. At least a few, if there was time for them to turn, but if they got caught sooner, before turning –– who knows?

"Yeah. I'm sure. Misty rallied a couple people, and we been makin' the rounds. We - I - "

He takes a breath. "How much you remember, Tess?"

She’ll just have to trust him on that. It’s behind her control to do anything about it anyway. Tess just grimaces.

“Pretty much everything,” she replies.

He swallows thickly and looks down at her hands. "That's what William said would happen. You remember me? At the end?"

The moment his eyes drop, she steels herself.

"I'm not going to hold it against you," she tells him. "I would've asked someone else to do it, but you did the right thing."

"Couldn't put it on someone else. I knew it's what you woulda done if it was me in that situation."

It's true. She would, and it is regretfully one of the only unfailing kindnesses she can imagine in herself. She would never be someone too cowardly to end it, for herself or someone else, no matter what they were to her.

Once someone's bit, they're already dead.

She leans into him, bumping her forehead against his shoulder. Tired but clear-headed.

"Yeah," she says. "It's what you gotta do."

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, then puts his hand on her head, cradling her to him. He doesn't love anyone on this boat the way he loves her - he'd do anything for her.

"We gotta get you outta here, Tess. This - I reckon it's the worst thing the Barge has done to us."

Tess pauses at that, letting her weight sag against him. A part of her figures it is the worst, another part wonders if it really is all that different from home. She thinks about that last morning in the QZ, before all this, how she'd glanced at a bunch of arrested citizens lined up in the streets and just kept walking when the guns had come out. How she'd complained to Joel about the smell of the smuggling tunnels ten minutes later, more concerned about garbage disposal than the ritual execution of the infected.

Us catches her.

"I want out of here," she says, finally. "But I'm fine. Twenty years, what's one more outbreak for me, right? But you haven't done this before."

An unavoidable thought: she has to get him out of here.

He rubs a hand over his own eyes, still holding onto her. When he speaks, the bone-deep exhaustion he feels isn't even close to being masked.

"You ain't ever turned like this. Everyone else is runnin' around looking like animals, and you get this? Reliving the worst parts of your life?"

"I hate animals anyway," she replies.

She's sure it'll hit harder later, when she's had time to process, but right now it feels impossible to dig into –– no one's survived this before. No one's ever come back, no one has hoped for it for a long time. It's uncharted territory.

She closes her eyes, murmurs:

"Surviving's hard. You have to do it again and again, and it doesn't get easier... but you get used to it."

"I know, Tess. And you survive with the best of 'em. But I wish the Barge wouldn't force you to survive this shit here, either."

He rests his chin on top of her head, his own eyes closed. God, he's so fucking relieved she doesn't hate him for what he had to do. For what he chose to do.

She winds a hand around his wrist, holding tight and squeezing. He's so new to this, and she's coming off a year's vacation from worrying about this specific kind of survival, and she's just glad he wasn't too sentimental to let her suffer.

It annoys her that she's too tired to pluck up the energy to be indignant about it.

"It's a shit deal," she agrees. "Fuck this place. Maybe it's supposed to mean something."

"Like what?" He makes a face, but he leans in close enough that she can hold onto him comfortably.

"I reckon I'm pretty good at metaphors, but I couldn't figure out a good one for this."

"I don't know," she replies, exhausted, but she does know at least one thing, one thing she's spent time trapped in her own head to fixate on: "But smack me if I ever say I didn't have a choice in killing someone."

"You didn't really have a choice when you was like that," he points out, chagrined. "But if you say it you're gonna sound like a fool and an asshole, so I'll stand by."

"No, but it sure felt like shit," she replies, and she lets herself close her eyes for a moment. "Glad I can count on you, anyway."

"Always," he agrees, softly. "You know it."

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dog_eat_dog - 2021-10-01 20:11 (UTC) - Expand