storywalks | she's a work in progress

[He hears a voice. He's already partway out when he hears it and, tentatively, he meanders back. He keeps his steps silent, which is definitely not the fair thing to do, but he wants to hear. He wants to know...

He thinks he's missed some context when he's close to make out what's actually being said. He can't really follow it. It blends into cursing and he wonders if she's at all okay.

Then it appears. The note. He approaches slow, still wanting to maintain the silence. Then he kneels and takes up the note. Notes, rather.]

I startled you. I noticed.
I could've helped you fight.
But no, nothing messed up here.
It's not my place. I just found it.
Didn't look at the magnets.

[Maybe, if or when she moves along, he'll go back around to peek at them. Now it's time for lying. Sort of.]

I have a trick.
It keeps the dead away but it scares the animals too.
Those are from a show, right? I don't remember well. Sorry. :(

[He pauses then, hesitating. It's not wise. But... steeling himself, he slips the notes under the door anyway.]

[Oof. She really should've stuck to the bed. Her back cracks as she gets up and stretches her arms up. After food, she'd flop down on one of those to appreciate it properly. For now? She thinks she saw some graham crackers that need demolishing in one of those -- HOLY FUCK

Her hands slap over her mouth a second too late to stifle the surprised yelp that was startled out of her by the paper's appearance. The rational, well-rested half of her brain informs her that undead do not slide mail under doors and if it was another survivor, they would be opening the door. It's only her mysterious new friend that would do this. The half of her brain that is a meek little girl thrown into the real world just before that real world went to absolute shit and has faced more death than she ever would have thought despite that gloomy goth phase she had that lasted all through middle and high school -- that half? That half is frozen stiff and wondering how effective a pen would be for homicide. Self-defense-flavored homicide, naturally.

But she does creep back over eventually and crouch next to the note, deciding to read it just in case it says "OPEN THE DOOR AND YOU DIE" or something helpful like that.]

Oh...

[Deep breath in so she can heave an even deeper sigh. It doesn't make the guilt lessen any.]

Uh, Teo? You still there, or...?

[His still heart seizes despite all reason. He heard the yelp but it's the call of his name that freezes him most. He can't speak. He shouldn't speak. He swallows hard, warring with himself, considering simply making a break for it down the hall as if the dead were after him. Or maybe he can stand here and nothing will happen, the door will stay shut, they can keep up with letters and distance and safety and nothing will change.

He draws a wheezing breath which sounds exactly like the dead. Ragged, raspy, and faint, he speaks.]

... I'm... here...

[He doesn't even know if she'll hear it. He doesn't if he wants her to hear it.

The running idea is looking better and better. Or maybe he can hold the door shut... no. No. He'll run for it. He readies himself. Three... two...]

[A shiver runs down her spine. Oh fuck, oh fuck, undead slide mail under doors. No, that's dumb, that's Teo's handwriting. So it's just -- it's just whispering time now. Okay. That makes sense! There could be zombies around anywhere and also it's nighttime. Her voice immediately takes on a similar hush...except for the whole wheezing rasp thing he's got going on. Also she's much more indignant.]

Dude, you freaked me out! What the fuck! You could just knock!

[...It's his hideout, he could do more than just knock if he really wanted.]

You would've... opened the door... or been startled... put on guard...

[His voice raises a little bit in volume, but not by much. For every pause is another raspy breath.]

Sorry... about scaring you...

[He's probably not helping that now, he thinks.]

Is it... okay in there...? I can... look for better...

[You know, that's fair. Either way she would have been startled, and she wouldn't put it past herself to open the door on reflex, no matter how long it's been. She really wants to be offended, though. This is rude as hell, bucko. What really stops her pursuit of that conversation is the realization that he hasn't just left it to her for her own comfort, but that...he doesn't want to come in. He doesn't even want her to open the door.

Ryder rests her palms against it and leans to put her eye to the peephole, not that it reveals much. He's still all bundled up.]

...It's perfect. You don't -- you... You're obviously sick. [He sounds like he needs a lung transplant, maybe, but like hell that's happening. Is he going to die? The thought makes her heart ache unexpectedly, and it only hurts more to know that it's more out of her own loneliness than the value of someone else's life. If he died, who would help her? Who would leave her notes and draw her pictures?] You should be resting. You've done more than enough.

[To think, she almost wasted it.]

There's still water here. Even if you don't want to come in, let me bring you some. Okay?

[Perfect. He's happy to hear that. But then comes the concern and that's not quite so welcome.]

No.

[He says it so quickly, it makes him cough. It's a half-minute of helpless wheezing, not helping his case.]

I'm okay... I'm okay... I have... an old injury...

[It was true. But then, she was right too. All the same, her concern is unwarranted.]

Keep the water... I don't need it...

[Her huff has more of a growl to it this time with her being so unused to stifling more embarrassing reactions around others -- you needed others around for that -- and she drops her forehead to join her hands against the door. Guy was as stupidly stubborn as her, only he was actually good. Dropping all this on her and insisting he take none of it. Keeping her safe. Keeping her company. He says he's not sick and he'd asked for means of initiating communication, but still she wonders if...]

You're not going to kill yourself, right...? [Ugh, there goes her composure. What if -- what if he really did leave that kind of note for her to find? What if she couldn't expect anything more after that?] Come on, don't leave me alone now that I've gotten used to having you.

[He stills. Out of everything, that's not a reaction he ever imagined. Or ever could have. His breath shudders with the shock of it. And then comes another noise. It's hard to tell what it is. He suspects it will sound vaguely horrifying with his rasp. But he laughs. The irony is too much.]

No... no...

[He moves, settling himself down against the wall. He's still close enough to hear her and let her hear him (which may or may not be a comfort), but now he's committed to staying.]

I wanna live... [The honesty of that one statement washes over him.] I wanna live... I'm not gonna... do that kind of...thing... I'm okay...

[Horrifying, maybe, but mostly because she's convinced he's dying right then and there, and her hand goes for the doorknob before it dawns on her. Is he...laughing at her? Jerk! She's worried because some stupid article or class or something warned her about people giving away all their possessions, and he's laughing!! Unbelievable. He deserves to have this door opened on him. If she thinks like that, she can redirect all those dumb feelings trying to make her cry.]

Good. I'd have to kick your ass otherwise.

[She wishes her tone was stronger, but Ryder supposes anything is strong in comparison to his. The sound of him moving to the floor gets her to exhale and lower herself as well.]

You're...pretty amazing. [ANYWAY] Uh, does talking hurt? We can write. I don't mind. I'm...better that way.

[He laughs again, that same breathy rasp as before, though lighter this time. For all he knows, she could try that and win. But to hear spoken is amusing anyway.

This is... care. Someone's caring. It feels alien, but not unwelcome. He hears something that sounds like a compliment, and he hums a question in turn. He probably misheard...]

It doesn't hurt... any more than... what's usual.... [That doesn't sound promising, he realizes.] If you're better... then we can... keep writing...

... I like hearing... you speak though...

[Well, now she just wants to crawl away and die.]

Um.

[That's something you'd hear in a shippy fanfic, not real life. But then, zombies weren't supposed to be a real life thing, either. Ryder pushes herself back up onto her feet.]

Hold on. I'm gonna grab something to eat. [And a cup of toilet tank water. It's only a little bit to stall -- she wasn't starving thanks to the odd bedtime she'd picked and the fact that Teo had kept her from running out of anything, but the fact of the matter is that the cupboards were half-stocked!! She can stand to indulge a little in some nervous eating.

Okay. She's back and pressing her ear to the door to listen first.] So -- the X-files. That's the show. Your choices are a hot FBI agent that believes in aliens and no one takes seriously, or a hot FBI agent that's a doctor and explains the weird shit that happens with science. I don't know how to describe David Duchovny in a way that makes him sound not like just any other white dude, but Gillian Anderson is a short redhead that was the lesbian awakening for a lot of young girls in the 90s.

[It's only after hearing that little "um" that it occurs to him to be slightly embarrassed. He doesn't go red because he cant' and it wouldn't be visible anyway under the gaiter and welding goggles, but the embarrassment is definitely real and pleasant.

He'd meant to say it was nice hearing living people speak in general. But... he wouldn't deny that listening to her talk specifically was nice too.

She's gone and back and then launching into an explanation of an old tv-show. He grins behind the gaiter.]

Counter question... Am I... saying who I'm... more like... who I'm friends with... or who I... would date?

[In the hypothetical world where any of that's an option.]

I like... an open mind... but a smart friend... would be handy... do you think... either is into... latino men?

[The single note of laughter is muffled, which he'd see was because she has her glass raised to her lips if he wasn't insisting on staying outside. It's a pretty good counter question.]

Why not all three? A nicer version of Fuck Marry Kill.

[Plus it's more conversation and more opportunities to learn about her spooky godfather. She probably should know more about him, since he gave her a house, and all.]

You know, I don't remember if they ever dated people in the show... They were one of those pairs that were basically married, but never got together? Until suddenly they had a baby. Or the baby was actually an alien's, or...? Man. Can't even find out, anymore.

Then... an adopted alien baby... Hmm... I don't know if... I'm ready for... fatherhood... maybe I can... be their one-night stand... some years before...

[Certainly, none of this is ridiculous.]

The way I see it... with stories... since we can't... check for sure... I just make up... whatever I don't know... fill in the blanks...

[Much like he does with his own memories. For every missing piece, he imagines a dozen possibilities.]

Your turn...

[Look, the fact she was having a conversation with a real, live person (cough) and it was working needs to be cushioned by the weird topic choice. It feels like something she'd be able to discuss with people online and nowhere else. Keeping the door between really was the better choice. She could pretend. She didn't have to clam up, too stressed to figure out how she was expected to react. It also means that she can safely match the shamelessness.

...Okay, she'll keep commentary on any dadness and how she feels about that to a minimum. It is basically their first meeting. A little shame.]

The first and only time they had a threesome... They'll look back on your time together with fondness, I'm sure. I mean, from what you've shown me, you're a very generous individual.

[Now if she learns that he's so selfish a lover that he won't go down on anyone, this friendship is OVER.]

You already gave the perfect answer. I guess... [Hm, it's a tough one even though she's been given the different options of what picking one or the other means.] Uh, you might've already heard me say I wanted to be Scully... That was probably because of her looks, fuck, I just unlocked the reason behind why I dyed my hair red all the time, didn't I? I hate using my head, though, so I guess I ended up Mulder. Dreaming up stories.

Two Mulders, huh...

[The emphasis on generous makes him cough, sputter, and laugh again. Tragically, he has to claim a full title of selfishness for himself. He won't be going down on anyone anytime soon. Or doing anything ever.]

What an honor...

[He listens for her answer. The muttering feeds into his smile. Wannabe red-head huh? No lack of hair dye in the apocalypse but a woeful lack of working showers. Maybe with a good rainfall...]

Two Mulders... Two people... believing in monsters... and end times... guess that makes us... the smart ones... after all...

[Reasons to weep for humanity, maybe.]

Though maybe... end times... isn't entirely right... you're still here...

[Friendship. Over. And they could either wait for a rainfall or find a river and dunk this trashgirl's head in. If she dies, she dies. If she dyes, she dyes.

Ryder can't help her own chuckle, though she does it into the back of her hand to quiet it before taking a bite of graham cracker. Fuck, that's good. If she died now, it would suck to be Teo and all, but at least she would have had this as her last meal. Needs some whipped cream. Good luck with that, Ry.

Oh. Speaking of them being the smart ones. Right, he's being something like sentimental? Maybe? Not quite, but her brain's focused on other things enough that she doesn't feel compelled to dig out a mental thesaurus. Instead, murmurs the lame opener she'd gotten stuck in her head at the beginning of all this.]

'It was the beginning of the end... In the end there would be no heroes that had their hard work pay off. They wouldn't save the day. But there was a lot between the end and the beginning we were in. Plenty of room for people to try the title out.'

...It's thanks to you that I'll be around even longer. I might still be stuck back where you found me, contemplating eating my own arm, otherwise.

[If she dyes she dyes... At least he can say with certainty that the brightness of color doesn't make too much difference to the dead. Usually.

He listens to stifled laughter. He hears normal living sounds. If she died, he'd be left without. It wouldn't be the first time, but he'll treasure this time or miss it all the more acutely.

A story spills from here. The beginning of one, that is, starting fittingly at the end. Trying on the title of hero, he can imagine it as some dazzling thing that he throws over his shoulders only to find that he's torn the fabric.]

I don't think... I'm much of a hero... not really... But I'm glad... you didn't... chew your arm... not a pleasant experience...

[His hand moves to his own arm. It's not visible, but even through the layers of fabric, he can feel it. The lack.]

What's your plan...?

[He's looking real damn heroic from that peephole, Ryder decides to keep to herself. God, food and real water. That promised bed. Maybe he's not a hero, but he's her hero right now. She won't push it. She's already been embarrassed enough today. It's also why she's deciding to not pursue the arm thing, because that makes it sound like he ate his arm or got chomped by a zombie, and neither of those things could be true? Obviously.

Her plan? Heh. He thinks she has a plan...? If she tries to come up with one, she'd have to say...]

Try to do my best, I guess.

[She thinks nothing of his comment, and he's glad. He'd wanted it to read as a joke, but he couldn't joke about it. The ache is too present in his mind when so little else is.

Her answer in turn gets a breath of a laugh.]

That's probably... the best sort of plan...

[It was the one thing you could count on.]

Tell me if... you plan to stay... or travel soon...

[Her head turns to the side like she can actually look at him that way and she frowns.]

...Sure. But aren't you going to be hanging around?

[He'd followed her along this far, so she'd just assumed that he'd always be near, despite the evidence to the contrary just that day. Surely he'd see it if she decided to pack up. That's not even touching on the whole 'only willing to get close when there's a door in the way' thing.]

I figure I'll stay here a few days at least. Might not even go out at all tomorrow and just enjoy the bed instead.

... Yes... I think so...

[Unless something terrible happens. Or she finds other survivors to group up with and he winds up unneeded or in too much danger.

He laughs again, softly, at that suggestion.]

Sounds nice... maybe I'll... try that somewhere...

[It's been a while since he's slept.]

[Theres a pause, but it doesn't last long. Her voice is still soft and a little unsure when she breaks her silence. It doesn't matter that it had been on her mind all day and again when she woke up in the night.]

You -- could stay. You could have hurt me whenever you wanted, but you didn't. I'm not worried about it.

[She's a little worried, but that has nothing to do with him, really. It's just something that got drilled into her during that time growing up where her mom felt she had to play catch-up on certain lessons.]

And you said you aren't sick, so...

[She should be worried. She should be. He can happily say he's not the kind of monster that some people could be, but a monster he remains.

He didn't say he wasn't sick. He said he was okay, that he was getting by. That he would continue to get by.

How contagious is he? Is he willing to test the limits of that? Of his control?]

You don't want... privacy...?

[He knows that's rich coming from him, given that he's been following her around, but still.]

... I don't remember... being... this close...

[He could say "in a long time", but the trouble is that he doesn't remember at all.]

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