On the 15 September 2013, the first chapter of this project was posted on this site.

Happy 6 years everyone.

(Also, congrats and bless you, Pewds and Marzia, on your marriage, and Pewds again for reaching 101 mill subs!)

24.

"I don't want to fight you over this," Pewdie pleads. "I just want you to think. Just think about this, okay? No commitments. No nothing. I won't do anything or decide on anything until you have some time to think. That's all I'm asking you."

Cry, after staring at him for a long time, does what Pewdie half-expects him to do. He steps back, turns, and then leaves through the door without another word.

The air in the room still crackles with the highly charged energy left from their dispute. Now that Cry has departed, Pewdie sits back down on the bottom bunk, shoulders and back stiff at first before he finally allows himself to relax. He sighs deeply, feeling his rigid body tremble from the effort, and at once a hot prickling sensation spreads across his eyes. He inhales a shaky breath.

It had been difficult maintaining his composure throughout that event. In the beginning, he and Cry had been doing so well: finally clearing up some of the baggage between them. It was about time that Pewdie received the opportunity to properly apologise for hurting Cry in that awful argument of theirs many days ago. It was even better though that Cry, himself, had identified his own misdirection and then admitted aloud that he had been in the wrong. For one glorious moment, Pewdie was almost proud to hear that Cry finally got it. That Pewdie didn't have to explain why he did what he did. Because Cry had figured it out. Cry understood him. Cry accepted it and, supposedly, moved on.

Even though Pewdie had anticipated the explosive outrage that was Cry's reaction to the real issue of their conversation, he was still unable to stop himself from feeling a little bit optimistic after their reconciliatory talk prior to that. He thought that he could rely on Cry to be more mature about this, to hold himself back a little. To be better after their talk. He hoped that their exchanged apologies had reformed something between them, made them grow from their mistakes.

Alas, Pewdie had hoped too much. Even though he expectedit to happen, the disappointment that hit him after Cry ended up reiterating the same old plan of theirs still disheartened him greatly. Cry, the poor stubborn idiot. Trying to talk some sense into the man sometimes felt like trying to yell at a brick wall. No matter how many times Pewdie tried to steer them back on track, Cry remained frustratingly obstinate and unmoving about the matter. Countless times had Pewdie been tempted to snap at him, to call him a fucking hypocrite, but still he continued to fiercely hold onto his patience until it got to the point where he decided he had had enough and surrender to easy resignation. If he kept this going, his patience might eventually run out, he might end up screaming or crying or saying something cruel again. It was wise to end this before it got worse; that was why he let this go now.

Sitting on the bed, Pewdie realises just how drained he feels, having to mentally hold onto his patience and rein back his own frustration at the same time. The important thing to acknowledge right now was that he tried. He had said his piece and had pleaded with Cry to consider the idea of staying. After this, it is very likely that Cry will spend some time pretending that Pewdie had never said anything to him. It is important then that Pewdie be careful not to bring the subject up for a while. He will give Cry his space and can only hope that eventually, once Cry cools down and clears his head, he will end up thinking about the idea. Perhaps he might even consider it.

It is no use thinking about Cry at the moment when he gets like this so Pewdie decides to shift his attention onto a different matter in the meantime. Speed had asked him a favour and Pewdie had promised to fulfil it. He will find Delta tomorrow and try to get to the bottom of things. It is good to do something productive while he waits for Cry to catch up to him.

Getting up, Pewdie goes to shut off the lights before preparing the bottom bunk for sleep. As he settles into the mattress, his vision seeing nothing but darkness, the image of Cry's outrage the moment he mentioned the idea of staying begins to replay in his mind over and over again. Disappointment and exasperation stings him in the chest at the recollection. Pewdie rolls over to his side and closes his eyes. Forces himself to shut his mind down and drift off to sleep. He will deal with things tomorrow.

His nightmare creeps up on him like a playful cat waiting to pounce from the dark. He is sinking into the wet mud by the familiar crushing pressure on his throat. His arms thrash wildly and desperately, his hands grasping something not-quite solid and he pulls. Images flash before his eyes: Bluey crashing into a ditch, a zombie priest lunging at him from a communion table and then himself, standing alone on a bridge, feeling a deep sense of loss in his heart as he stares at a river raging below him.

He is awoken by a hand shaking his shoulder and he bolts upright to Cry's voice in the darkness: "It's okay. It's okay. Just another nightmare. You're okay."

"Sorry, s-sorry," Pewdie gasps, embarrassed to be caught again in the throes of another bad dream. He rubs his face, feeling the cold sweat on his skin. His heart is pounding hard and fast in his chest. He presses a hand onto it, trying to will it to slow down. "Did I - Did I wake you?"

"No. Just came back from outside," Cry answers quietly and Pewdie can only see the man's dark silhouette as he shifts, making himself more comfortable on the bed. "You should try to go back to sleep. I'll be here."

Pewdie is too tired to ask or protest. He is grateful though to be shaken out of the dream and be assured by someone who will stay vigilant for him. He lies back down on the pillow and lays an arm over his eyes. The lingering images of his dream come back to him, sharp and vivid, and he draws in a shaky breath, feels warm tears dampening the skin of his arm.

A warm hand touches his wrist. Cry. "Sleep," he says again. "I'll be here."

Pewdie, anchored by Cry's hold, slowly goes back to sleep.

He does not expect Cry to still be here come morning. Yet here he is, sprawled uncomfortably right next to Pewdie in the bottom bunk in that same half-sitting, half-lying position. His eyes are fluttering open and shut, glasses askew on his nose, and his head is nodding off.

Pewdie finds himself watching him for a minute, remembering their disastrous talk last night, and tries to understand what might have gone through Cry's head that made him so vehemently against such a simple thought as staying put. Perhaps one of these days, the both of them could find the right moment to sit down and properly talk, perhaps have another heart-to-heart, just so they can sort things out between them and get back to being in-sync again. He sincerely hopes so.

Eventually, Pewdie reaches out and gently nudges Cry awake. The other man groans as he tries to move his stiff neck before sitting up slowly, straightening his back and blinking bleary, red-rimmed eyes down at him. He looks exhausted.

"Can you move over a bit?" Pewdie coaxes quietly. "I'd like to get out."

Cry complies with the request without speaking, sleepily shuffling off the bed and letting Pewdie pass. He crawls back in afterwards but remains sitting up and Pewdie bends down to carefully pull the man's glasses off his nose. At once, Cry's eyes crack open, squinting at him.

"Morning," Pewdie greets awkwardly. He wonders if Cry might lash out for speaking to him so soon after that incident. "Thank you. For waking me up again," he offers hesitantly.

"Hmp," comes Cry's grunt and nod of acknowledgement.

"Did you… um–" Pewdie glances at the door and then back. "Where did you go last night? And when did you come back?"

It takes a while for Cry to murmur out a reply. "At the Tower with Vegas… we talked for a bit, told me about a plan… was real late I think, don't remember but came back… woke you up and then had to watch you for a bit-" His words are interrupted by an unexpected yawn and Pewdie decides to take pity on the other man's present situation. Cry needed ample time to sleep off what he is sure had been a night-long vigilant session.

"You go to sleep, Cry," Pewdie says gently. "We'll… ah, talk later."

Cry doesn't answer to this. He lies down on the bed and turns on his side, his back to Pewdie. Whether this was done intentionally or not, it is difficult to guess. Pewdie stops himself from reaching out to touch Cry's shoulder and instead turns around and takes his leave.

After a quick shower in cold water that fully wakes him up, Pewdie tries to think of the likely places he can catch Delta on his own. There is always a chance that the other man might be with Vegas. Cry had mentioned that Vegas tended to hang around the Watch Tower these days. Pewdie decides to put off going to said Tower until later if that is the case. He doesn't like the idea of confronting the both of them together if he only needed to see one of the pair. He has a feeling that Vegas will not like it if he tries to question Delta about his suspicious activities.

He tries out other, more obvious places.

The mini-kitchen is oddly void of people today, most importantly Delta, whom Pewdie is used to seeing there. Nobody is sitting in the lounge area too. He then tries the games room and finds Barbetta and Speed knee-deep in another darts challenge with Tesla keeping score. The trio are so busy with their game that they barely notice Pewdie peeking his head through the door. He quietly leaves without a greeting.

After trying out every other place he knows (and after awkwardly excusing himself from a room where the Anorak raises his eyebrows enquiringly at him as he fiddles with something electronic in his hands), Pewdie tries Delta's room and finds it empty, the floor clean and the pillows and sheets made up neatly on the bed. After that, he reluctantly goes next door, stepping into Vegas's room and finding the place in darkness. Vegas herself is sleeping in bed, appearing as a misshapen lump buried under pillows and an assortment of colourful blankets. A collection of used tissues is scattered all over the floor along with empty food packets and cans strewn all over a hastily rolled-up sleeping bag. It looks as if Vegas's room had been hit by a tornado.

Pewdie clears his throat in attention. If there is anyone who might know where Delta is, then it is probably Vegas. He gives the door he is still holding onto a couple of soft knocks. "Um, Vegas? Sorry. Vegas? It's Pewdie. Do you happen to know where I can find–"

He never manages to finish his question because that's when a pillow hits him square in the face with such force that Pewdie staggers back against the door in shock.

"Shut. Up." There is an arm sticking out of the pile of blankets. Vegas's voice is muffled in the sheets but there is no mistaking the steely grouchiness in her tone. "And get the fuck out."

Pewdie wastes no more time backing out of the room. So much for that.

There is only one other place Delta can be. Perhaps the man had taken over Vegas's shift in the Watch Tower after the other woman had finished hers. He makes his way to the outside compound and peers up at the tall structure looming some distance away. The sun had risen high enough that a shaft of orange sunlight drapes over the top floor of the tower, leaving the lower floors swathed in shadow. He can see a figure up there, bustling about.

Pewdie makes his way over to the building but accidentally takes a wrong turn instead, finding himself outside a small shabby hut, its dirty door stained with a dried blood-stained handprint. The plaque on the door tells him this is Storage Room B. Not what he is looking for. He turns back, tracing his steps, and is relieved when he eventually reaches the Tower and starts climbing the spiralling staircase.

He doesn't find Delta up there though. It is Doc. The man is busy tidying up a blanket fort that had been erected in a corner of the small landing. Propped on top of the concrete railing next to a battered child's telescope is a chipped mug full of something hot. Pewdie can see the steam billowing out swirly patterns of misty white in the golden sunlight.

Doc stops what he is doing and straightens, looking surprised at Pewdie's appearance. "Oh."

"Um. Hi," Pewdie greets awkwardly and wonders if he can pull off a hasty retreat.

Doc returns his greeting with a gentle smile. "Please. Do join me if you like."

Pewdie does not want to join at first and is trying to find a good enough excuse to leave when Doc picks up his steaming mug and holds it out to him. "Hot chocolate?"

Pewdie blinks. "Where did you even find that?"

"The kitchen." Doc adjusts his grip on the mug so that he can hold it with both hands. "I managed to find a sachet of it. Yes, it's the instant stuff but it's been quite a while since any of us has drunk anything sweet."

Pewdie steps further into the landing and gingerly takes the mug. The taste of hot, thick, creamy chocolate explodes on his tongue. He cannot help it. He hums and sighs appreciatively before sipping another mouthful. As he savours the taste, feeling a pleasant warmth spread down his throat and into his chest, he looks up and sees the view of the town sprawled beneath them. Shabby buildings and quiet, litter-strewn streets shimmer under the sun. The shambling undead totter up and down tarmac or concrete like confused, disorganised ants, oblivious as they are to his gaze. He catches quick glimpses of human-shaped figures, heavily clothed, backs burdened with sacks and bags, darting in and out of sight of hiding places. Are those other survivors out on a supply run? The air is still pleasantly cool and he can feel and hear the wind in his ears, ruffling through his hair. When Pewdie turns, surveying the rest of the vicinity, he suddenly spots the radio tower, so much closer it is now to their reach, as it stands tall and gleaming against the orange-blue sky in contrasting colours of red and white.

As he watches and breathes, the mug of hot chocolate warm in his hands, this quiet moment sharply reminds Pewdie that he is alive.

"So what brings you up here, if I may ask?" Doc's voice brings him out of his calm and serene state of mind and Pewdie glances over at the man. He is sitting, perched on the concrete railings, long legs hanging off the ground and his face an open expression of polite curiosity.

"Ah you know, I thought Delta might be up here," Pewdie answers easily as he leans back against concrete. "Turns out he isn't. I've been looking all over for him but. Well."

"I'm sure he'll turn up eventually," Doc reassures. "It's not uncommon for Delta to disappear from the safe house once in a while."

"Do you know where he goes?" Pewdie enquires. "What doeshe even do out there?"

"He does quite a bit of exploring, surveying, scouting. It explains why he is so very good at picking the safest routes to reach anywhere."

"Is that the only thing he does?"

Doc shrugs. "Perhaps you should ask him yourself."

"Right." Despite this, Pewdie finds himself admiring this beneficial trait of Delta's. On top of cooking for the whole group, being their navigator when going out on supply runs or ops and all while keeping everyone entertained, that man had contributed greatly to the wellbeing of the Fire House. Of course, there was also Vegas too, quite the action woman who was up for anything that was thrown her way. Pewdie is sure that if this safe house was ever attacked, Vegas would be one of those people who would stand her ground and defend it with all her might.

Speaking of those two…

"So, Delta and Vegas?" Pewdie begins, deciding to chat more about the two people he is tasked to investigate further into. "I know they weren't here at the beginning of the Fire House, right?" He'd heard the story before - the pair had only joined about seven or so weeks ago and had only known each other for a short while too. Now, he wonders how they could have left quite an impact on the infrastructure of the safe house even when they were only recent additions to the group.

"Yes, that is correct," Doc confirms with a nod. "They were a breath of fresh air when they first arrived and settled in with us. They've proven themselves to be quite invaluable to us."

"Do you always let just anybody in?" This has always been a thing that nagged at the back of Pewdie's mind ever since he set foot in this place.

Doc's lips quirk up into an amused smile "Funny you should mention that. It seems like we do."

"But isn't that kind of dangerous?" Because one can never confirm if the people you let in are ally or foe.

"Technically yes. But we've been fortunate so far."

Pewdie blinks at this bizarre response. "But it couldn't have been that simple," he points out and Doc lets out a chuckle.

"From what we've heard from your adventures, you've been unbelievably fortunate too, yes?" the other man counters. "Surviving several life-threatening incidents. Most recently when the both of you returned from the op, narrowly escaping death in different circumstances. Not the same, I take it?"

There is no arguing with that. Pewdie concedes with a shrug. "Alright, fair enough. But tell me more about how you all met Delta and Vegas."

Doc hums contemplatively, settling more comfortably on his concrete perch. "It was quite peculiar actually. They appeared one day right outside our gate, requesting to speak to us. They asked if they could join us."

"Just like that?" Indeed, this was strange, as if the pair already knew that the Fire House had friendly inhabitants who would not shoot on site despite the painted warning sign on the building. "And you weren't suspicious even for a little bit about their reasons for wanting to join?"

"At the time, we were quite hesitant to let them in. But eventually, after much discussion, letting them into the Fire House becameinevitable. They were desperate after all," Doc clarifies. "When they came, Vegas had been supporting Delta, whom had injured his leg. They offered us a compromise: their knowledge in exchange for a safe space for Delta's recovery."

"But they ended up staying permanently. And getting pretty involved with you all."

"…In a way, yes."

Those two were admirably bold and daring and very lucky to do something like that. If Delta and Vegas had tried the same approach on another group of survivors, they might not have been so lucky, might not have received a similar kind of welcoming response. Other groups might have turned them away just on the basis of suspicion and general hostility towards strangers.

"You must be finding Delta's tendency to disappear quite worrisome, is that it?" Doc suddenly asks. He must have figured out why Pewdie kept pressing on the topic of the pair. "You did say you were looking for Delta earlier on and weren't able to find him here."

Pewdie feels his cheeks heating up. "Oh, I'm not - It's not me actually," he quickly corrects. "It's Speed, really. He's been wondering about Delta acting a little strange. And-" He shuts his mouth after that, realising that perhaps he should not reveal to anyone about Speed's concerns just yet, at least not until Speed gives his consent.

But the damage had already been done because Doc gives him a puzzled look. "A little strange, you say?"

"I mean, it's none of my business but Delta might be taking things." Somehow, Doc's expression of puzzlement compels Pewdie to go and blurt out the truth, even though he is aware that this is supposed to be a secret. "He might be stealing, you see," he babbles. "He might be up to something. Maybe… maybe he's going to leave. Speed's concerned about that but he doesn't want to bring this up to everyone else yet. If Delta's going to leave, he should've hinted about it instead of keeping it from us, right?"

Doc is nodding slightly, following his words. "Hm. I see. And?"

"It's, you know, none of my business. Actually, none of our business. This is all Speed. You should probably ask Speed about this. I shouldn't've - I don't have anything to do with this except to offer my help." Pewdie snaps his mouth shut again to wonder why he had said all this so freely and so easily, as if the filter over his mouth had been removed without his knowing so.

"If anyone plans to leave," Doc says, appraising Pewdie closely. His eyes are bright and curious, like he is waiting eagerly to hear the subsequent response. "Will you stop them, Pewdie?"

"Obviously not." Pewdie shakes his head and something at the back of his mind is nagging at him and he isn't quite sure what. "It's not my job to tell anyone, even Delta, what to do. No, it's just that we want him to be okay. To talk to us about it or maybe talk to Speed about it. Like I said, Speed is the one who's concerned about Delta. And Vegas as well. Although I never really found out what the problem with her is."

"Well, everyone has their secrets," Doc says reasonably. "Delta and Vegas too perhaps. Sometimes, people cannot stay because they can't or have never planned on staying. It could be due to a lot of things: complications, future plans, perhaps even out of necessity."

Complications? Necessity? Doc's words make it sound as if the man knew something more about the matter, something more about Delta and Vegas that the others did not. Pewdie is considering whether he should bring this up aloud when Doc lets out another contemplative hum.

"Speed must like you very much," the man points out in a matter-of-factly tone. "To have him ask favours from you. It's intriguing."

Pewdie wrinkles his nose at this observation. Intriguing? "Uh, okay. Why do you say that?"

"You said yes to him. Do you know how uncommon it is for Speed to be this close to someone, especially after a little over a week of knowing them?"

"I guess we get along very well." Pewdie shrugs his reply although it is true that he feels quite a close rapport with the nurse of the group. "But I'm only doing what I can to help. I owe you all that much."

"That's very kind of you." Doc smiles. "And I'm very sure Speed will miss you terribly when you leave us."

The utterance is unexpected enough to startle a nervous laugh out of Pewdie. He carefully places the mug back on the concrete.

"Yeah, about that," he begins sheepishly as he runs his fingers through the cropped hair at the back of his head. "The thing is, we're still figuring things out. So, we're not sure whether we're going to leave or stay here. At least, not yet anyway. It all depends on Cry, you see. We're trying to come to a mutual decision. Or at least, I'm trying to get Cry to think about staying. But he's not been taking the idea well. He wants to leave and won't think otherwise. I noticed he's been kind of on edge lately, kind of worried, like he's itching to do something or to go somewhere. He freaked out when I tried to tell him about staying, like really freaked out, and it's - it makes me damn frustrated. Like, I thought we'd be better after talking about what happened before but - oh."

Oh. He had said too much again. Far too much. This is a private matter between himself and Cry and he doesn't understand why he is sharing this, how easy it is to share all this with someone else, with Doc. Come to think of it, it had happened earlier on as well when he'd accidentally exposed Speed's suspicions about Delta without meaning to. He doesn't understand it. Is it really Pewdie who is carelessly doing this? Or is it - could it maybe be…?

Pewdie casts his gaze on Doc and regards him warily. "Are - Are you...?" His words make Doc's eyebrows rise in curiosity. From where he sits, the man looks like a gentle, wise owl, perched comfortably on the concrete railing, giving off a vibe of someone who would never hurt a fly or harbour any kind of ulterior motivation. No. No, it couldn't be. Just what on earth had Pewdie been thinking for a second?

Pewdie shakes his head, dismissing his wariness, and flashes a sheepish smile at the man who had done nothing but lend a kind, listening ear. "Never mind." Embarrassed, he snatches the mug back into his hands and takes another sip of the hot chocolate, savouring the burn it leaves on his tongue. "What were you saying again?"

"Only that I'm sorry to hear about Cry's disagreement." Doc easily picks up where they left off with the offer of a sympathetic remark. "I hope you both come to a reconciliation soon."

"Oh yeah. Um, thanks," Pewdie mumbles through his burnt tongue and shifts uncomfortably against the concrete railing. "You know what? You mind if we talk about something else?"

"By all means, if that is what you wish." Doc waves a hand in invitation. "What would you like to talk about?"

Pewdie ends up asking questions about Doc's previous life, where he grew up, what he studied and what his interests are.

"I was born in England, in a small town in the south, but spent most of my adult years here in America, always studying," Doc enlightens him and it starts to make sense now why his pronunciation of words seems all over the place. "I've always been quite fascinated with some areas of sociology and psychology. Specifically, in human behaviour and the human mind."

"Why is that?" Pewdie prompts, cradling the hot chocolate in his hands and taking occasional sips when there is a pause in their dialogue.

"Well, I've mentioned this to Cry before but-" Doc pauses a little to think of his next words and a cool breeze picks up, ruffling the hair on top of his head and leaving it rumpled. "Perhaps it is the extent of what people are capable of doing which is something I personally find intriguing. Especially when they are driven to extremes due to the crises they find themselves in."

"Okay…" Pewdie frowns a little at the explanation as he still doesn't quite understand. "Like…?"

Doc offers him another smile, one that looks almost apologetic. "All sorts of things. But perhaps, if you want some closer examples: when driven into a tight spot, the individual is forced to do things they never thought they would do in the same circumstances. Sometimes they change themselves or do unexpected things, and it's fascinatingly unpredictable. Such as your firm resolve to protect Cry, Cry's acute sense of single-minded focus, when Cry's former companion jumped off a ledge in front of him, Vegas getting-"

"Wait what? Who jumped off?" Pewdie has to grip the mug tighter to stop himself from accidentally dropping it.

"A young man named Thomas. Cry had been travelling with him and some others before he met you." Doc falls silent for a moment, realisation dawning in his eyes. "Oh. I believe Cry hasn't told you about this yet?"

No, he hasn't. But despite this disclosure, Pewdie decides to sweep this issue aside for now. To whom Cry tells secrets to is not his business, even though he feels the pang of jealousy at the thought that those secrets had been shared with someone else and not him. He fixes Doc a look. "You said this Thomas guy jumped. In front of Cry?" Cry saw him jump and kill himself. Oh god.

"Unfortunately yes. He could not cope with the reality he found himself in. You can imagine the horror Cry must have felt to witness that."

Pewdie feels a tightness forming in his throat when he does try to imagine it. "And you think Cry changed because of that?"

"I believe that was only one incident. I did mention he travelled with some others. Something happened to them too but I feel it is not my place to tell you."

Pewdie is tempted to coax Doc into telling him anyway but decides against it in the end. If he wants to know anything about Cry, then he should hear it straight from the man's mouth. He feels that he is starting to understand Cry a little better now, that there is a reason Cry keeps things like this to himself; they were powerful and disturbing enough to change him and make him who he is now. Talking about them only dredged up those painful memories. Either way, Pewdie might have to accept the possibility that Cry may never tell him anything and that this should be okay. This should be okay, right?

Except that why would Cry end up sharing that experience with Doc, a complete stranger, and not himself? Pewdie takes a moment to study the man before him again and once more he is aware of the ease and easy calmness that Doc brings into the atmosphere between them. The way his silvery voice, with that odd accent of his, can somehow soothe the anxious and the worried. Perhaps it was for the best then.

"Huh. That kind of makes sense," he finally concludes aloud and then proceeds to elaborate his words when Doc quirks an eyebrow at him. "Why Cry told you about what happened to him, I mean. Maybe it was a good thing he told you. You'd actually be a good psychologist. Or therapist. I mean, you're probably the bestwhen it comes to talking with people."

"Is that so?" Doc chuckles, a twinkle in his eye.

"Well. Let's put it this way," Pewdie tries to explain. "I think you just have this aura, you see. A really calm and reassuring aura. Which is an absolute plus if anyone's stuck in a zombie apocalypse and tensions are running high and people get frustrated and stressed out and confused. You could probably talk them down. Or you could get them to tell you things, things they don't tell anyone else, help them unload some of their issues. You've got the voice for it and everything."

"That's very kind of you to say." Doc lets out a huff of laughter at that and somehow, this automatically changes the air around them from something serious to something a bit more light-hearted. "I had no idea!"

"Oh, you do too!" Pewdie snorts playfully. "Why else would everyone come up and talk to you and ask you for advice?"

"Well, if you put it that way…"

They both fall silent when they hear footsteps making their way up the staircase of the tower. Soon enough, a brown head of hair emerges into view and Tesla's face peers up at them from over the top step. "There you are," she says.

"Hullo Tesla," Doc greets and steps down from his perch while Pewdie remains silent beside him and puts his mug down. "Is it your turn for the Watch Tower?"

"You should come downstairs," she says instead, ignoring the question and sweeps her gaze from Doc to Pewdie. "Delta needs us in the kitchen. He just returned."

Pewdie finds himself exchanging stares with Doc. "Huh," he utters. At least he found Delta at last. No wonder he wasn't able to find him - he'd been out all this time.

"Is there any particular reason why we are needed?" Doc asks.

Tesla merely shrugs. "Just come and see."

When the three of them step into the cramped kitchen area, they find a truly astonishing sight. Spread across the kitchen counter is an incredible assortment of fruits and vegetables, all beautifully fresh-looking and colourful: tomatoes and lettuce, cucumbers and bell peppers, spinach and strawberries and chillies and some herbs which Pewdie does not know the names of. At the head of this counter is Delta, grinning toothily as he gesticulates animatedly about his latest find to his captivated audience consisting of Speed, Barbetta and the Anorak. There are varied expressions of surprise and disbelief on their faces as they listen to the man's enthusiastic chattering. Vegas, Pewdie now notices, is nowhere to be found but he guesses she must still be in bed, not wanting to be disturbed. Now, he, Doc and Tesla join the circle of people around the counter, eager to hear more about where these treasures had come from.

"… and it turns out they've been hiding a greenhouse all this time near their hydropower plant! It's a little outside their main camp and not part of the area. Can't believe we missed it when we snuck in there a few nights ago!" Delta is saying, his face beaming and bright.

"But how can there be a greenhouse that we missed?" Barbetta interrupts him.

"I know, right? How could we miss it?" Delta exclaims his agreement. "I'd say it was the heavy rain. Couldn't see much in the dark with it and there was no time to look around when there were gunshots and yelling going on. Plus, we were only targeting specific storerooms just like we all agreed."

"Strange that you decided to go back to Silva's camp," remarks the Anorak in a dubious tone, tilting his head back thoughtfully and making his freaky eyes glint under the light. "Forget something there, did you?"

"Hey, I was in the neighbourhood," Delta insists a little too loudly.

"Is that so?" the Anorak hums and in response, Delta merely snatches up a strawberry from the pile on the counter and tosses it at the Anorak who easily catches it. He then smiles.

"You know me, man, wanderer that I am," Delta says breezily. "And I got stickier fingers than a kid hoarding candy during Halloween. I found the place by coincidence and saw their door was open. I'm serious. Maybe they were changing guards or something or, I dunno, transporting food out. Point is, I slipped inside and was lucky enough to escape with a bag of these babies!" His arms sweep in an arc above the fruits and vegetables. "Ran all the way back here to tell you."

"Wait. Let me get this straight: you mean to tell me you went back there?" Speed - whom Pewdie noticed earlier had the most prominent expression of surprise and disbelief out of the lot of them - looks like he has finally caught up with this story and, as a result, is looking horrified by it. "You went back there all by yourself? With no backup? Without even telling us about it before you left? You could've been attacked or ambushed or gotten hurt or trappedor surrounded and we wouldn't have known a thing! Oh D! D, why the hell would you do that, dude?"

"Don't you start," Delta rebukes, rolling his eyes at their resident nurse. "Back off, alright? I'm back now, safe and sound, still awesome and super ready to do some cooking. Yes, you heard me. Cooking. I risk life and limb out there just to feed you children and all you do is whine at me. You just focus on something else for a change. That's not too hard for you, is it, Speedy my dude?" Pewdie recoils a little at the sharpness he hears in that voice. He has never heard Delta sound so aggressive like that.

And apparently, neither does Speed from the way he immediately retreats, his face flushed and expression closed off. Whether the others had noticed this same change, Pewdie isn't able to find out in time because that is when Tesla pipes up from where she is sandwiched between the much taller forms of Doc and himself: "This is going to be a big meal, is it?"

"A-ha! Well, of course." Delta, sounding back to his old cheery self again, begins picking up several vegetables and piling it into the cradle of his arm. "It might take a while though. Got a lot of cutting and preparing to do." He casts a look around, as if calculating how much time and effort it will take for the task.

"We will help," Barbetta suddenly announces. Everyone turns to look at her, surprised. Pewdie realises he has never once seen Barbetta help with the cooking before.

Delta, on the other hand, looks flabbergasted. So much so that his hold on the fresh goods in his arm loosens a little and a strawberry tumbles onto the counter. "Wait. Did you just say that you'll help me?"

"Yeah! Yeah, of course we'll help!" Speed seems to have forgotten the earlier admonishment and is looking jovial and merry once more. "Who else is going to make sure you're not going to add anymore red bean paste into your cooking, eh?"

"I don't want to see any cucumbers in mine," the Anorak warns Delta who is in the process of gathering said cucumbers. Then something in the man's expression changes. "No. On second thought, I'mcooking my own portion. Give those strawberries to me, will you?"

As everyone else stirs to life and begins chattering away, some already reaching for the ingredients on the counter while others give suggestions on what to cook to Delta, Doc glances over at him with a wide smile. "Shall we, Pewdie?"

For the next two hours or so, the kitchen transforms itself into a bustling, lively and noisy place. The Anorak and Barbetta are keeping an eye on the bubbling pots and sizzling pans on the stovetops. Doc is grinding pickled ginger and garlic with a pestle and mortar off to one side while Tesla is scraping the contents out of several cans into bowls by another. By the sink is Speed, elbows deep in soap suds as he washes used dishes and cutlery with a tattered sponge. Pewdie remains by the counter, chopping the last of the fresh produce into slices and cubes. Delta, the supervisor of them all, hops in between each person or task, checking up on the progress or interfering when he needs too.

Despite what happened earlier, he looks the happiest that Pewdie has ever seen him during this whole stay here: the man's whole face seems to be glowing, his mouth stretched widely into a grin and his eyes, bright and shining. Or maybe Pewdie is imagining things because he swears that Delta's eyes are not just shining, but are glistening and wet. At a glance, the wetness appears to be tears of joy but closer inspection reveals flashes of something else, something mournful.

"You finished with those yet?" Delta bounces up beside him and peers down at his work. His workstation is littered with small piles of chopped and diced things and Pewdie's hand is becoming sore from gripping the knife for too long. Delta looks satisfied by his efforts because he begins sweeping a portion of chopped things into his cupped palm. He then glances at Pewdie. "Hey, could you slice me a couple of those green chillies please? I'll wait."

As Pewdie begins his task, it occurs to him that this might be a good opportunity for a quick chat.

"So," he begins casually, lining up his chillies on the chopping board. "What was that about earlier? With Speed?"

Instead of answering, Delta looks around the kitchen, his gaze searching. "Oh, where's Cry?"

"He's asleep. If he doesn't wake up anytime, I'll set aside some of our food for him," Pewdie answers. "Vegas is still in bed, right?"

Delta nods. "Yeah, she's catching up on some sleep too. And even if I did invite her to join us, she'll just complain about not being able to stand the smell. I'll fix something up for her later."

Pewdie decides to ask again as he carefully slices the chillies into neat rows: "As I was saying earlier on - you were kind of lashing out at Speed there. Being really snappy with him. Everything okay?"

"Was I?" Delta looks thoughtful but Pewdie is convinced he knows what he saw and heard. He keeps his silence and his gaze expectant until Delta finally gives in with, "I just got annoyed with him all of a sudden, you know? Worrying about me, trying to guilt-trip me and then saying that the stuff I do is wrong. Like, dude's not my keeper. Bet you he probably does the same to you."

Pewdie shakes his head. "He doesn't."

"Maybe not yet, he doesn't," Delta corrects with a mutter. "You almost finished with that?"

"Almost." Pewdie quickly returns to his task. "So this meal, a big meal like this - it's got to be something big, right? Is it your birthday? Someone else's birthday? A celebration or something?"

Delta snorts, looking amused. "No. It's nobody's birthday. Unless it's your birthday, but it isn't right? You said you were born in October and this is-" the man scrunches up his nose in thought. "Wow, I have no idea what month it is right now. But anyway, this isn't anything. I just felt like cooking you all a meal."

"Don't you mean cooking us all a meal?" Pewdie doesn't miss that little detail in the wording, not to mention the way he said it, as if Delta is separate from the party. Already he is beginning to feel the seeds of suspicion plant itself in his gut. "I mean, you are a part of this meal right…?" He purposely lets his words trail off.

"O-kay... Now, you're being weird. What are you talking about?" Delta says, letting out an awkward, sheepish laugh, his eyes averting to the side. A second later, he turns back, smiling wide and sincere. "Of course I'm part of this meal! We're all cooking it so we're all going to eat it. Y'know - big 'ol family dinner. Now, hurry up with the rest of those chillies, will you? I've got to drop them into the pot before everything overcooks." Just as Pewdie finishes up the last of his chopping, Delta gathers up the rest of the chillies into his palm and scurries away almost too eagerly, heading for the stove. Pewdie watches him go and tries not to frown at his back.

From what he can gather from this, it's clear that Delta is acting strange today. From the dubious way in which he found all this fresh food, to snappishly answering questions to the others, to his evasive demeanour during their brief exchange. Before he can make any kind of speculation, Pewdie needed some time alone to think more on this.

Sometime later, after neatly arranging the rest of his chopped ingredients to one side and then carrying his knife and chopping board to the sink, Pewdie greets Speed who has just finished wiping the last of his clean dishes off the dish rack.

"Ahh, but of course there's more," the man murmurs resignedly and watches Pewdie load the empty sink with new things to wash. "Right. Can you grab that pan over there? Yeah, the one Barbetta just finished using. Thanks. Oh, put these dried things away, would you, Pewds? Need some space on the dish rack."

Pewdie does exactly those and before he can leave the sink area, he feels Speed's hand wrap around his elbow. "Just a second, bro. A quick word. Kind of a big thing." Pewdie turns his attention to him, briefly alarmed by the topic, and his mind buzzes, eventually supplying him with a quick suggestion.

"I haven't talked to Delta properly yet, sorry," he blurts out to Speed and falters when the man just shakes his head at him. Speed has not yet let go of his elbow.

"It's not about that. It's about something else," Speed begins. "I wanted to ask you about your sleeping."

Pewdie blinks. "Okay… what about it?"

"You're still not sleeping well, aren't you?"

Pewdie hesitates for a second before he decides to tell him the truth. "If you want me to be honest about it, then no. I almost have nightmares every night." It is so strange to hear those words come out of his mouth.

Speed inhales deeply, like he is gathering up the courage to say his next words. "I know it's been hard for you these past few days. Recovery takes time and you did say you wanted to handle it yourself. But what you're doing is just not the right way, dude."

Pewdie blinks for a second time, confused. "What?"

"There is no shame in coming up and talking to me about it," Speed continues on. "And it's not childish to talk about what you dream about and what you're struggling through. Whatever it is you need, I'll try to help you in some way. It's for your own safety, Pewds."

"What exactly are you talking about?" Pewdie is starting to find Speed's hand on his elbow quite uncomfortable. He tries to furtively shake it off but the man's grip on him is firm, like he is making sure Pewdie isn't going to run away. "Speed, I'm really confused here."

"The sleeping pills, Pewds," Speed says quietly, almost soothingly, as if he doesn't want to scare Pewdie. This only makes Pewdie even more perplexed than before.

"What sleeping pills?"

"We have a supply of them, remember? You helped me update the inventory and all." Speed is looking at him sympathetically, like he understands why Pewdie did it - except Pewdie does not know whatit is he had done. "A good portion of them aren't there anymore, Pewds. I checked and then double checked again and they're not there. When I gave you those pills the other day, I made sure that was a suitable enough dosage. But I can't have you keep your own supply and let you take them freely like that. I mean, I'm not sure if you are still taking them or not but in any case, you should've still told me. You don't help yourself to them and then not tell me about it."

"I-" Pewdie feels a sudden urge to laugh because this sounds so much like when Cry accused him of something he did not do and Pewdie is missing something important here. He reaches down and gently pries Speed's hand off his elbow. "What sleeping pills? I need you to tell me what the hell I did."

Speed presses his lips together, looking reluctant. He had never been one for confrontations after all. "You're still having trouble sleeping so... you went and took the sleeping pills, right?"

Pewdie feels his mouth drop open in surprise at the unexpected accusation. "No!"

The quickness of his response only causes Speed to press his lips even more firmly until it looks like he is wincing. "Like I said, Pewds. There's no shame in admitting you need some more help and that if you wanted some sleeping aids, you could just come up and talk to me about it. You really didn't need to take them from the infirmary."

"Look, dude, bro, whatever. I don't know where you got this idea from but I didn't take anything from the infirmary. Especially any sleeping pills."

Despite the wince on Speed's face fading a little bit, the doubt still remains in his eyes. "You left the fireman's jacket there, Pewds."

Something unexpectedly cold sinks into his stomach. "What?"

"The fireman's jacket. You were the last person to wear it. And you were the only one who probably needs the pills for what you've been going through every night. I mean, come on, dude. It's okay to admit this. I won't judge. I won't even be mad about it. I just prefer it if people tell me about things and not hide them from me."

"I don't have the jacket with me," Pewdie tries to explain, feeling his heartbeat quickening. "I took it off and left it outside our room. It was gone the next day. I don't know how it turned up in the infirmary but I'm telling you, I didn't take any sleeping pills."

"Pewds-" Speed's voice is gentle.

"I swearto you I didn't take any sleeping pills. I swear."

Speed doesn't answer to this insistence. Instead, his silence is one of resignation, one that Pewdie recognises with a start is similar to how he decides to concede defeat when he knows he isn't getting anywhere with Cry during one of their more heated arguments. Speed is doing the same thing with him now. The man doesn't believe his words but will bring this subject up again at a later time when the moment is right.

"Everything okay?" Delta suddenly steps in between them. Pewdie and Speed nod mutely, somehow in a silent mutual agreement not to let the intruder of their party know what they had been talking about. Delta reaches over and wraps an arm around Pewdie's shoulders - making Pewdie reflexively stiffen at the contact that is so close to his bare neck - and ushers him away from Speed without so much as a glance at the man's direction. Pewdie is steered back to the counter where one of their completed dishes, cooling in a pan, sits.

"I've got a special job for you," announces Delta triumphantly. "I need you to taste-test this immediately. I think it's lacking something."

Pewdie can still feel Speed's stare on them both and he fights off the urge to look back at him. "Making me the guinea pig again, are you?"

Delta stands back, giving him a mock-stern look. "What do you mean 'make you a guinea pig'? You are the guinea pig. Now pick up that spoon and get to it!"

Another hour passes by and finally, everything is done. The pots and pans full of hot food are set down, spread across the counter in a buffet-style. Delta had placed a pile of plates to one side which had all but gone by the time everyone had grabbed a plate for themselves. The whole room is filled with the appetising aroma of their grand dinner, mixed together with an air of tired satisfaction yielded from their combined effort to achieve this. All around him, Pewdie sees everyone's tired but eager faces hungrily eyeing the food, hears the rumbling of empty stomachs. After Delta deposits some serving spoons next to the pots and pans, he finally looks up.

"Bon appétit!"

What happens after that is a mad scramble around the counter to grab portions of food and put them onto individual plates. A brief cold glare is exchanged between the Anorak and Barbetta after they forcefully bump shoulders and almost spilled food from their plates. Tesla wriggles in between people's elbows and scoops up her portions using her own spoon instead of the serving spoons. Meanwhile, Pewdie is trying very hard to find some space between the bodies to reach for anything he can put onto his empty plate. Once everyone has collected their portions, they gather and sit around the coffee table in the lounge - some on the couch, others on the floor - and immediately dig in.

The meal is something divine. There is something which is beyond description when it comes to consuming food from genuine, fresh ingredients, much less one that had been crafted from scratch by their own hands. Already Pewdie is lost in his own home cooked meal, in the subtle and strong tastes exploding in his mouth, in the freshness and vigour of the flavours. Already something in him has invigorated, something forgotten now recalled, and he feels more like a human being now compared to the creature he had been outside, surviving only on scraps. When he finishes his plate, it is like emerging from a lake and he becomes conscious of his surroundings again, of sitting cross-legged on the floor with the rest of the group who are buried in their own meals and are barely lifting their heads to notice each other. When he gets up and returns to the kitchen counter to help himself to seconds, he suddenly remembers that Cry hasn't eaten yet. He will make sure to set aside some food for him when he has the chance.

Eventually, once everyone is a little more satiated after finishing up their first meal portions and are starting on the next one, bits of conversation begin to strike up around the coffee table.

"I would've never thought I would end up agreeing to cucumbers. This is definitely the end of the world."

"I believe the last time I had eaten a meal this large, it was back in primary school. It was Christmas and Nan's birthday at the same time. What a night that was!"

"I bet you I can eat more portions than you."

"An eating challenge? Interesting. You're on."

"Wow, dude. This is so good! Have you ever eaten anything so good in your life? Also, are you going to eat that?"

"Nothing this close or this delicious. And yes, I am going to eat that. Keep that thing away from my plate, bro."

As the chattering continues, Pewdie cannot help but notice that Delta doesn't pitch in to the conversation as much. The man seems content just sitting back, munching on his food and watching the rest of them talking. Again, he looks happy, very pleased that everyone is enjoying the food, but the longer Pewdie keeps his gaze on him, the more he is convinced he is seeing something more in that expression.

When he decides to speak up, his voice abruptly halts the others' conversations. "Hey Delta? Thanks for this. We really appreciate you for looking after us."

And like a pebble dropping into a pond, the ripples begin. Everyone else begins to chip in their own words of gratitude.

"Yeah, you're the best, D."

"We're so lucky to have you."

"A job well done."

"This has been an amazing meal, thank you."

Delta's face twists at the wave of praises directed at him. His eyes visibly water and he ducks his head, quickly scrubbing the wetness away. "Oh, stop it, you guys! This is nothing. I don't deserve this, come on."

"You crying, man?" Pewdie cannot help but tease, reaching out to nudge the man in question. "Because we're awesome to you?"

"I'm not crying. And you're all damn horrible people." Delta rubs his eyes again and smiles a wobbly smile. "You gonna continue eating or what? There's plenty for everyone and it's not like we're going to eat something like this any time sooner. So chop chop!"

"What's the rush?" the Anorak says, his words garbled from his chewing. He ignores the slap he receives from Speed for talking with his mouth full. "Not saving any of this for the others?"

"Of course I'm saving it for the others. Look, I'm going over there now." Delta sets down his plate with a clatter, gets up and heads for the kitchen and the conversations around the group resume. Pewdie decides to put his own plate down and follow after.

He finds Delta by the sink, running his hands under the tap, his back to everyone. Pewdie is taken aback when he sees the other man's shoulders shaking.

"Hey," he calls out softly and Delta stiffens at the sound of his voice, then bends over the sink and splashes water all over his face. After a few seconds, he finally turns around, water dripping off his forehead, nose and chin, and lips stretched into a wide smile. His eyes, however, are blotchy and swollen.

"Hey Pewdie. What's up?" Delta wipes his nose and wet face, sniffing a little. His voice is a forced easy-going and casual. "Food's not up to your standard? Then that's on you, man, because you were the one who had to make sure everything tasted perfect."

"No, nothing like that." Pewdie waves away the words. He gives the man a sympathetic smile. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." Delta's voice wavers a little and Pewdie can tell he is trying very hard to keep himself together. After a moment, he adds quietly, "Kinda not used to people thanking me like that."

"You know, despite what you said earlier, you really do deserve it," Pewdie accentuates. "You and Vegas both. I heard about how you two came here and how you changed things. Made things better." He thinks back to his and Doc's chat in the Watch Tower and adds, "Everyone appreciates you, you know? Some people even… care about you a lot to nag about your safety whenever you go sneaking out."

Delta's face scrunches up as Pewdie continues to speak, his eyes glistening and wet again. He seems at a loss for words so Pewdie rambles on.

"You and Vegas found me and Cry at the right time. We really needed a break from all the hell that was going on outside. I don't think we ever really thanked you for that." He then reaches out and places his hand on Delta's shoulder, feeling it sag under his touch. "We all owe you, man. So if you need any help from us or want to get something off your chest, whatever it is, whatever it may be, you can count on us. You can count on me."

He pauses and waits. Part of why Pewdie had left the others to go after Delta had been this - to deliver some words of reassurance so that Delta might feel a need to trust him and begin to consider sharing his secrets with him. The other reason was also so he can remind Delta to set aside a good sizeable portion of food for Cry when the latter finally wakes up.

"Pewdie," Delta finally says after almost a minute of silence between them. He is frowning, avoiding Pewdie's eyes as he swallows a couple of times. "I… Look, I meant what I said. The other day about you and Cry, about rootin' for you guys and wanting you two to make it out alive. That hasn't changed. It's still true, all of it. You're both… an inspiration." Something warm blooms in Pewdie's chest at the words and he cannot help but smile.

Delta continues speaking, albeit in a forlorn tone. "You might not know it but me and Vegas, we've done bad things. Stupid things. We all screw up. We might screw up again in the future. Make other people real mad. But… don't think of us too badly, okay?"

"'Course," Pewdie nods, still expectant for something more from the man. "We owe you that much at least. I say you've done more good things for us than all bad things combined. Probably."

"Yeah, probably." Delta lets out a scoff of laughter and then reaches up to take Pewdie's hand off his shoulder and squeeze it in his own. "You all are good people, you know that, right? Yeah, of course you know that." He then tugs the hand towards the food cooling on the counter. "Right. You're helping me set aside the food, yes?"

As Pewdie assists in spooning food onto fresh plates to leave for the other two who are sleeping in their rooms, he cannot help but reflect on what he attempted on Delta just now. He feels sympathetic for Delta's emotional reaction towards the wave of gratitude and appreciation conveyed by the others. The man had always been a little bit emotional, at least much more than Vegas, when it comes to the expression of genuine things like this. He wonders what Delta meant by his little speech there - Don't think too badly of us, okay? - but this still isn't enough to piece things together. Although he might not have successfully extracted anything significant from Delta or got the man to fully confess, Pewdie still feels that he is getting there.

When they return to the lounge area, some of the others have already sat back, their plates scraped clean and their bodies sagging and heavy.

"I'm ashamed to say I cannot attempt another plate," the Anorak mutters as he snuggles deeper into the couch, his multi-coloured eyes half-shut and lips curled into a grimace. Pewdie has never seen the man look so loosened up and relaxed like this before, his long arms and legs limp like noodles. "I don't think I can even move."

"Me too, dude." Speed is patting his stomach, pausing to let out a small belch. "I'm so, so full. I think I'm going to burst."

Beside Pewdie, Delta huffs exasperatedly and crosses his arms. "You're just saying that because you don't want to wash up afterwards!"

"Dish-washing is tiring, D," moans Speed. "Can't we just leave everything in the sink and wash them tomorrow?"

"Well, what else can you do if you're not able to clean up after yourselves? Just lie around like a bunch of lazy lizards?"

Speed is opening his mouth to answer him when Tesla's quiet voice cuts in with a suggestion: "How about a game?"

"What kind of game?" Doc asks.

Tesla shrugs. "Card games, board games, darts. Anything you want."

"I like this idea," Barbetta agrees because of course she does.

Speed beams at the show of enthusiasm. "Then it's settled. D, Pewds. If you don't mind?"

"Why us?"

"Because… we can't move? And you're already up and about so might as well."

With a grumble from Delta and a bewildered frown from Pewdie, they fetch all the playable things they can carry from the games room and return to find all the empty plates on the coffee table gone, having been piled into the sink. The conversation they walk in on consists of various suggestions on what to play.

"I say cards," Speed is just saying. "Something simple. Like War. Or Go Fish."

"What about Spoons?" the Anorak says, picking up a dirty spoon they must have failed to see under the table. "We have spoons to play alongside the cards."

"I once learned to play Continental Rummy some years ago," offers Doc. "Have any of you played too?"

"I am fine with anything." Barbetta extends her hand to receive the deck of cards Pewdie has been carrying.

"We should play poker." Tesla's own suggestion causes everyone to turn and stare at her in surprise. "Nothing like luck and taking risks."

"But we don't have any chips," Delta points out.

"We do have crackers."

For the next hour, Pewdie finds himself caught in the funniest and silliest game of poker in his entire life. Not only did everyone have to remind each other not to eat the cheese crackers they were using as poker chips, it turns out that no one is playing this game seriously, not even Barbetta who turns out to be the one caught absent-mindedly chewing on her own crackers the most. Throughout the many games, it is often that Barbetta and Tesla end up being the last two left to bet their crackers and when it got to this point, the group would split themselves into two and begin to root for one or the other. Sometimes a little skirmish might occur and someone ends up accusing someone else of cheating or helping the other person win and then crackers and other things start flying in the air. This is usually the time when Doc has to step in, stop everything and restart the game again before all of them run out of things they can use to bet.

There is so much loud and hearty laughter around the coffee table, so many joyous and happy faces, that Pewdie is startled to realise just how so at-home he feels right now, how easy it is to imagine himself in a place among this group of oddballs of different personalities. Recognising this, a wave of warmth washes over him and he feels that strong sense of community and family and belonging that he never thought he'd feel again. He is thankful to be here, to stumble across two strangers who led them to this safe haven, to be fed and sheltered, and to be given an opportunity to connect with these like-minded souls. He hopes that one day - maybe one day, Cry might join and experience this shared feeling too when he is ready.

"'Betta, it's your turn," Pewdie calls out to the woman. She is staring down at her cards, her eyes unfocused. The sound of her name rouses her from her trance.

"I fold," she announces and just like that, the whole table goes dead silent.

Speed peeks over her shoulder to look at her cards and then turns to her, incredulous. "Are you sure?" he asks and looks over the miscellaneous things piled up in the centre of the coffee table: what remains of their broken crackers, Barbetta's scissors, Tesla's dirty iPod, a chocolate bar from Delta's pocket, Doc's chipped mug from earlier, Speed's stethoscope, a hiking compass attached to a lanyard belonging to the Anorak, and Cry's Be Back Soon note that Pewdie had kept with him since the incident in the church.

Barbetta sets her cards down, face up - and they are really good cards - and stands up. "I am going to bed," she tells everyone and Pewdie sees that her normally emotionless face does look quite lethargic. "I can't play when I'm in this state. Thank you for the meal and the challenge. Goodnight, all."

"Night," chorused Pewdie and the others and they watch Barbetta leave the room before turning back to their game.

"I guess this means Tesla wins the pot?"

"Not necessarily," Doc hums and nudges his head to his side where Tesla is slumped against him, eyes shut and head drooping on his shoulder, her cards lying close to her chest.

"She's asleep too!" Speed exclaims softly. "Poor kid must be in a food coma."

"That just eliminates further competition," Pewdie points out, leaning over to pluck Tesla's cards from her limp hands and adds that along with Barbetta's cards into the deck. He begins shuffling. "I don't know about you but I want to win back all that stuff on the table."

"Give me some cards," the Anorak demands, pushing two of his remaining crackers to the centre of the table. "I'm not leaving until I get my things back."

"Anybody else in?" Pewdie offers as he continues his shuffling but he is aware that his hands feel clumsy. In fact, his head and whole body feel heavy too, his stomach very full, and his own eyes are starting to droop. At some point in his shuffling, his hands slip and cards fly in the air, like confetti from a popped balloon.

"Pewds!" Speed laughs.

"Sorry. Am not as good as I thought I was with these things." Pewdie starts gathering the cards again and is assisted by Delta who tells him that he will shuffle and deal the cards to everyone instead.

They then continue to play, the mood a lot more subdued now. Speed's suggestion of Tesla suffering from a food coma begins to affect everyone else around the table. The Anorak has started yawning and rubbing his eyes every couple of minutes and Doc has already folded his cards by his second turn, too drowsy to continue, and chose to settle back against the couch with the already sleeping Tesla next to him. Speed's great head is nodding, his eyes blinking hard to stay awake and Pewdie feels himself drifting, both in mind and body, and has to wrestle himself back into consciousness every time he notices this.

"You sleeping on me, man?" Pewdie shakes his groggy head and looks at Delta seated beside him, watching him nodding off with a soft smile on his face.

"No, not sleeping." Pewdie stifles a yawn and grapples for a cracker from his pile to add to the collection on the coffee table. "That's my turn done. Who's next?"

As the Anorak contemplates long and hard on his next move, blinking down at his cards with heavy eyelids, the lack of activity lulls Pewdie once more into that state of drifting. His vision blurs and darkens as his eyelids flutter open and slide shut. He yawns again, the corners of his eyes damp. He is warm and comfortable and contented.

The last thing he feels before he is gently pulled under is a hand - Delta's - sliding over his and squeezing.

Cry wakes up to a heavenly scent of cooked food. It is enough to make his mouth water and his stomach protest that he kicks off the bed sheets and rolls off the bunk, hands hurriedly reaching to pull his boots on.

How long had he been asleep? Getting up, he wanders over to the boarded-up windows to peer through the cracks between the wooden panels. It seems to be late afternoon or early evening outside. Pewdie must be in the kitchen with everyone else and judging by the smell seeping under the door, they must have cooked up a grand and very special meal indeed.

As Cry turns from the windows, his foot bumps into something thin and solid, sending it toppling onto the floor. Pewdie's crowbar. He bends down to retrieve it and places it back against the wall, next to his shovel. His fingers brush against the worn handle for a moment before he decides to bring the weapon with him. The weight of it is familiar against his back as he shoulders it on and he feels more like himself again, ready to move at a moment's notice. He doesn't belong here and neither should Pewdie, and Cry wants to prove it, wants to give the man just the reason why it is they shouldn't stay.

As he steps outside into the hallway, the smell from the kitchen intensifies and Cry cannot help but stand where he is, breathing in the aroma floating in the air. It smells of something savoury and spicy and fragrant. Once more, his stomach rumbles loudly in hunger.

He sets off towards the kitchen, his shovel bumping against his back with every step he takes.

It is oddly quiet in the Fire House and the air feels heavy and somnolent, as if everyone had not yet recovered from the op they'd taken part in a few days ago and are still sleeping in. Cry had expected some noise or voices from any of the rooms he passed or even perhaps some activity from the room he is heading towards, but there is nothing. Just silence. A sleepy, stagnant stillness.

Just as he is passing another set of bathrooms down the hallway, one of the doors suddenly swings open and someone steps out.

"Oh!" Cry manages to stop himself from colliding into the oncoming body. His breath hitches when he realises it is Vegas standing there in front of him. "Hi," he greets, sounding awfully breathless and immediately feels the heat creep up his skin, from his neck to his ears to the sides of his face.

"Cry!" exclaims a startled Vegas. She looks frazzled and flustered, caught off guard by his presence here. "It's you. What are - what are you doing here?" She shuffles and shifts on her feet, looking up at him and then behind him, as if expecting to see someone else there. "Where's Pewdie?"

Cry shrugs. "I dunno. I guess he's with the others. I only just woke up. Are you the same - I, I mean, did you just wake up too?"

"Maybe." Vegas shuffles on her feet again, avoiding his eyes, and her expression pinches, eyebrows furrowing into a frown.

"So," Cry exhales, ignoring the warmth radiating off his cheeks. "Are you, uh, on Watch Tower duty again tonight?" He wonders if he can make her laugh again, or smile or blush. Perhaps not. He doesn't want to look like a fool in front of her. Already it is hard not to notice the colour in her cheeks, or the way some strands of hair are sticking out of place on her head, or how dark her eyes are. "Um, thanks again. You know, for last night. With the… the talk you gave me. It was a good talk."

"Oh, right. That. Yeah. Don't mention it." Vegas's answer is offhanded, distracted. She is still frowning, looking away from him, and Cry begins to feel uneasy at how choppy and awkward their interaction is today. Did he do something to annoy her? He tries to study her face again through quick glances and finds flashes of emotion across her face - frustration, some panic, some annoyance. Maybe he had caught her at a bad time.

"Look, Vegas," Cry begins apologetically. "About last night-"

"Why aren't you at dinner?" Vegas blurts out, cutting into his words.

Cry blinks, confused. "Dinner?"

"Yeah. Delta made everyone dinner. You were all supposed to be there to eat it. You… ah, don't look like you've eaten anything yet."

"I haven't," Cry confirms. "Have you eaten yet? If you haven't, do you wanna come-"

"Why did you wake up late?" Vegas cuts in again and this time, the irritation is clear in her tone.

"Look, I slept late last night so I crashed all day and I only just woke up just now," Cry cannot help but snap back, bewildered as he is by Vegas's bad-tempered tone and demeanour towards him. Why is Vegas so upset with him for not being at dinner with the others? Why does she look so surprised to see him here when they ran into each other? And why does she seem so tense and nervous and-

There is a large backpack hidden behind her legs. She had been shifting in her stance, trying to conceal it as the two of them talked. Her red and black ice axe is tied to the bag. She has her gun in her holster, strapped to her belt. She has her jacket and boots on.

Cry settles his gaze on her, catches the wince forming on her face. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No." The answer comes too quickly and the guilt and panic in her expression betrays her lie. Cry studies her again, at her state of dress, at the ice axe and the gun, at the backpack looking full and bursting with items, and then his thoughts are suddenly in motion, gathering information and putting pieces of it together - Delta's hoarding, Vegas mentioning a plan, dinner and this unnatural silence… could it be?

"Vegas," Cry whispers, feeling a cold wave of dread wash over him. "What have you and Delta done?"

Vegas takes a step closer to him. Her expression, which had been pained and guilt-ridden before, smoothens out into something emotionless. "Just so you know," she says quietly, her dark eyes boring into his. "This isn't personal."

Then she draws her arm back and punches him hard on the jaw.

Cry feels his neck snap back, sees a flash of red and white, then pain bursting across his face, in the inside of his skull, his teeth rattling, vision swaying, and the floor rushing up to meet him.

The last thing he feels before he is violently pulled under are hands - Vegas's - grabbing his and dragging him further into darkness.

After one and a half years, a new chapter is finally complete.

The thing that finally drove me to get back into it was when Pewds and Marzia got married last month and, after being an emotional mess while looking at their wedding photos, that was when I realised how much time had passed and that this story needed an update ASAP. Because Pewds had progressed with his life which meant that I needed to progress as well - hence, I pushed myself to write, knowing how awful every word sounded, and then coming back and realising they weren't so bad and then making my way forward from there.

Six years is an incredibly long time to be committed to writing a single piece of fanfiction like this. What started as a silly, self-indulgent project born out of ideas brainstormed by myself and my fellow writer turned into something I can never imagine could happen. I'm grateful to you all who have been and are still with me on this journey and I hope to keep the flame for writing this going.

Thank you suikalopolis for being my enabler, my (sometimes) beta reader, for introducing me to Pewds and Cry on YT in the first place, for bouncing around ideas and offering suggestions, for pushing me to write this big dumb self-indulgent fic of ours. Thank you, Pewdie and Cry, for being the sole inspiration for everything to do with this project. Thank you to other amazing fanfic authors, whose works I've read and found inspiration in for my own writing. Thank you to the fanartists who have drawn such amazing artwork for this. And of course, thank you dear Readers for reading, for supporting, for sharing, and for loving this work as I do. Just thank you.

As always, feedback is absolutely appreciated.