Chapter Text
Chapter 3
I don’t know how to describe how dinner went. Alicia should not be allowed to make those noises in my presence until- well. I don’t know. Certainly not the first night we’ve met, over dinner, before I have ascertained if she is straight or not.
“How long has it been since you had pizza?” I haven’t touched my drink, despite the fact that I was desperate to cool down. I was afraid I would choke on it.
“I don’t even know. Recently it’s just been canned this, canned that. This is marvelous!”
“I’m glad you think so.” I tried to smirk, but just then, my watch alarm went off.
‘What’s that mean?” Even with a mouth full of pizza, Alicia looked impossibly beautiful. It was like she could do no wrong.
“I have to go crank the generator.” I pause, looking at her carefully, before asking, “Are you gonna be okay in here or do you wanna come with?”
“Is it okay if I come?”
“Yeah, I just offered didn’t I?” I winked at her, “I’m more than happy to be escorted everywhere by a pretty lady such as yourself.”
“You’re so full of it.” She rolled her eyes at me, punching my arm lightly.
“Full of that pizza? Mmm, by golly, you’re right!”
“You know what I meant!”
“Is that a thing that I know? Anyhoo, it’ll be a good thing for you to learn to do this, just in case something happens to me. If I miss a day of cranking it, all of that food in the basement will go bad, and that would not be a good thing.” She looks like she wants to say something more, but instead, she grabs a slice of pizza to go, nodding to indicate that she’s ready. I’m reluctant to bring her back down in the basement, but more reluctant to leave her alone, so it’s back down the rabbit hole we go.
When I unlock the door, Alicia grabs my hand, and even though her fingers are greasy from the pizza, I smile because it’s real, because I’m not alone anymore, because she reaches for me when she is scared. I decide to talk, because talking is what I do best- talking to the walls, talking the bombs, talking to the walkers when they try to eat me, talking to my food, talking to the air…
“Whatcha wanna do after this, Princess?” I frown, distracted suddenly, “Princess doesn’t suit you too well, beautiful.” I stop to look her over.
“How about Commander?” She rolls her eyes at my suggestion, something she has begun to do quite frequently by now, “I assure you that ‘Alicia’ works just fine.”
I shake my head at her. What a silly goose. If I’m gonna call her commander, I’ll call her commander, assurances or no assurances.
“Commander it is. Heda for short.”
“How on earth is Heda short for Commander? That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Neither do you, Heda. Deal with it. I’m certainly learning to. Deal with you, that is.” There is a moment of silence in which we both stare at each other awkwardly, and my face flushes as I realize the idiocy that just came out of my mouth.
“Let me start again.”
“Please.”
“What activity would you like to participate in tonight, after we complete this task, Commander?”
“That sounded fucking suggestive. You making a move there?”
“I don’t know, am I?” Playing coy is good, right? Flirting-wise? I’m a mess.
“Crank the fucking lever, Elyza.”
“Is the increase in profanity an indicator of arousal?” Fuck. What did I just say? I almost stop what I’m doing and turn around in fear, apologizing for my stupid mouth, but then she’s talking again.
“You fucking wish, don’t you?” I must admit that I did wish, very much. I swallow hard.
“How’s a movie sound?” Movies are neutral, right? No harm, no foul?
“A movie sounds good.” Sigh of relief.
“What kind of movies do you like?” I want to know more about her, and this seems like a good way to start, until she gives me the vaguest answer of vague answers.
“Movies movies that are movies. What kind of movies do you have?”
“GAYMOVIES.” I blurted, because what was the point of being brazen and writing your own theme song if you weren’t open about your gayness?
“What? Slay movies? You don’t like movies? What else is there to do around here?”
The point of being brazen and writing a theme song was to have fun, not to make a fool out of yourself, so I don’t bother to correct her and instead remind her of my cool tower and blowing stuff up.
“I think we’ve caused enough explosions for one day, don’t you?” I open my mouth to correct this silly girl on her nonsense, to tell her about how my record for explosions a day in this apocalypse is actually 14, not simply 1, but she puts her finger to my lips before any words come out, “shush, you. Let’s play a quiet, calm game instead. Something we can do to get to know each other better, if we’re going to be roomies.”
Suddenly I have no protests. Roomies? Is she planning on staying?
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
That, my dear friends, is something you should never ask a stranger. They seem to take it as permission to run rampant and take over and do things their way however they want to and make your life miserable. This simple, innocently phrased question cost me my freedom and my dignity... take heed, friends! Learn from my mistakes! Do not be so foolish as I, for I was ensnared into the singlemost awkward game of Truth or Dare of my entire existence!!
“Truth or Dare?” I ask her, when it’s my turn, watching her absentmindedly pick at a thread from her sleeve.
“Truth.” Excellent, I think, I can now put my glorious plan into action!! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA- okie stop. Also, if you could stop talking to yourself and just get on with it already, that would be great. Thank myself very much.
“Why do you like this game?” I ask, making eye contact. She makes her adorable exasperated face again, sighing. I’ve been asking variations of this question since we began four rounds ago.
“I don’t think you understand how this game, works, Eliza. When I say truth, you’re supposed to ask me a question about myself.”
“Asking you about why you like something isn’t about yourself?”
“Well, yes, but-”
“Then I think I’m playing the game properly. Seems like you’re avoiding the question, in fact. DO YOU SURRENDER?”
“I like this game because usually it works well in getting to know someone.” She glares at me, “The purpose of the game is to learn about each other.”
“Are you implying we’re not learning about each other??” I gasped, feigning hurt.
“I’m learning all about how you’re a stubborn buttcheek!!”
“I’m sticking my tongue out at you internally.”
“Why not externally?” she asked, seeming to be annoyed.
“I don’t know if you are the kind of person who would grab it!”
“Ew, no!”
“See? We’re learning about each other just because I’m being my charming self! Let’s play something else. UNO? Checkers?”
“I’m tired, actually. Can we figure out sleeping arrangements?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” I’m suddenly serious. I hope that I haven’t annoyed her too badly. I stand up quickly, reaching down to help her up.
“This way, Commander.” She smiles reassuringly at me, and I am happy to report that she took my hand to help her up.
“You just helped me up so you could show off how strong you are.” She comments on our way to the stairs.
“Maybe.” I hide my blush by facing straight ahead.
“Maybe.” She echoes, still holding my hand, “Maybe you should be the Princess.”
“Yeah?”
“‘Cause you got a castle and everything.” I looked at her, noting the way her eyes had drifted shut, depending only on my hand to guide her. Because her eyes were closed, I also watched the sleepy drooping of her smile and the way her breathing had slowed in deep, relaxing breaths. It was when I quietly bumped into a table that I remembered I was supposed to be guiding her, not walking into things. Quickly, I maneuvered us both around the table to the stairwell.
“Stairs.” I said softly, not wanting to disrupt her sleepy trance, not wanting her to trip. Her eyes opened, still bright despite the exhaustion I now realized was evident in her entire frame. It was this brightness that should have warned me of what she was about to say.
“Carry me, princess.” There’s just the hint of a smirk at the corners of her lips, and it's then that I learnt one of my favorite things about her- sleepy Alicia is an uninhibited, playful Alicia.
“Come on, you can do it.” I tried to motivate her to climb the steps, but instead she giggled, giggled, and groped my upper arm, cooing my own words back at me; “Come on. You can do it, princess.”
So, of course, I carried her up the staircase, into the guest bedroom.
“Mmmm,” she hummed, arms around my neck and head pressed into my shoulder, “told you you could do it.”
“You sure did, sleepyhead.” I snorted softly, turning to leave her after I found her an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants to change into.
“Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu,” she called after me, flopping over on the bed and kicking her feet up, “i can’t reach my shoes, get them for me?” This time, instead of arguing, I went directly over and took off her stinky shoes, gently undoing the laces and pulling them off. Then I took off those socks for good measure, because I couldn’t even tell what color they were supposed to be anymore.
“Good? Because I don’t usually take off someone’s clothes till after the third date.” I teased, trying to bring my tough girl persona back and moving towards the door, towards the comfort of my own bed.
“Hm. Bummer. My arms are tired.” Her answer made me choke on air, and I kept my face turned away to hide my expression, continuing to leave, but her voice stopped me. Again.
“I don’t want to be alone. Please.” Her voice had lost it’s lightly childish tone, and I found myself drawn to her by a tugging in my bosom.
“Hey. You’re safe here. I promise.” I touched her hand, telling myself it was just reassuring her, but I felt my own heartbeat’s pace slow in response, as if I had been waiting for the peace that being near her, both physically and emotionally like this, as though we had always been here to support and smooth over each other’s fears.
“I know,” she whispers, “I know I’m safe. But I just… I can’t be alone right now. Please?” Her eyes are glistening in the light, and it’s all I can do to not break down and cry myself.
“Hey, I won’t ever leave you.” I won’t. Not if I can help it.
“Okay.” she draws in a shaky breath, and I see the realization in her eyes when she remembers she doesn’t necessarily want to get undressed in front of a complete stranger.
“I’m going to go stand in this corner, okay? We can talk about something so you don’t feel so alone.” I move to do so as soon as I see the relief in her eyes, a split second before she nods.
“So why wait until after the third date?” she asks me, and I imagine her taking her shirt off as she does, which kills me, and it takes me an embarrassing moment before I can reply.
“Hardly anyone is honest about anything on a first date. They could be a complete psycho and you would think they’re some super nice how-are-they-still-single, like teacher or something. Then the second date, when you’re more comfortable around each other, it gets harder to hide your crazy. The third date is usually the marker for when you can have a deep, emotional yet intellectual conversation with someone. For me that’s important.”
“Whoever knew that you were so deep?” Alicia quips.
“My mother. She had to feed me. She kept asking where it all went, and now you get to know.” the words were out before I could stop them. I inhaled sharply, and in the silence that followed, I could hear the soft rustling sounds of fabric on skin.
“Done.” she informed me, “Your turn.”
“My clothes are in my room, down the hall.” When I draw near to her on the way to the door, she reaches out to take hold of my hand again, squeezing it in what I interpreted as ‘thank you’.
“Where’s your mother now?” she asks, gently, afraid. I wish to comfort her, but I can’t. This time what she’s afraid of is real, and I can’t hide the pain in my voice when I say, “Gone.”
“Mine too. I got separated from her and the others.” I’m unsure what to say, torn between promising to find them and wanting her to forget that an outside world even exists. Thankfully, she changes the subject.
“How do you tell someone’s a psychopath on the second date?” she flops herself face down on my bed before I can say anything, and it’s darker in here and I don’t have the heart to tell her to move so I let her stay, pulling open a drawer in the dark and fumbling for clean pants.
“Well, uh, you see, they start doing psychopath things.” I say, trying not fall over when I step into the pants.
“Oh. Psychopath things. Like having bombs and giving them all names?”
“Nah, more like having the audacity to fall when a horde of zombies are chasing you.”
“I was tired!”
“Big D and his friends saved your life!”
“I thought it was you that did that.”
“Well it was him.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks, though. For saving me.”
“My pleasure, Heda. Do you want to go back to the guest room? There are two beds in there.”
“Too tired. Can we stay here?”
“Okay.”
That’s the last thing we said to each other that night, but somehow, she wasn’t tired enough to get up from the bed anyways, to move under the blankets and impatiently pull me into bed with her when I sheepishly sat in a chair next to the bed. Somehow, I was tired enough to let her. Somehow, it felt more like home than anything had for the past 5 years, 4 months, and 12 days.