“Is that…?”
“Tuck, yeah,” Deshawn said, following his gaze as he started setting bread slices on plates. “He’s like that a lot.”
“’Kay.”
Deshawn sighed. “I know you’re freaking out.”
“No I’m not.”
Deshawn put exactly three slices of ham on the bottom of each sandwich. “You are.”
And Rooster snapped. “Yeah, okay. I am.” He turned away from the sleeping man – fucking Friar Tuck – and stormed over to the island. Braced both hands against its edge and realized he was shaking. “Yeah,” he said, biting off the word now. “I’m freaking the fuck out. The Deshawn I used to know would be too.”
Deshawn wiped his hands on his pants legs and lifted a deceptively calm look. “Oh, that’s how you wanna play this?”
“I’m not playing, asshole. This is – this is – it’s fucking insane!” he spluttered. And oh shit, black spots were crowding his vision. He gripped the counter hard and tried to take deep breaths. Fuck this. Fuck all of this.
Deshawn’s tone softened, became soothing. “I know, man. Hey, I know, okay? It’s insane, yeah. It took me a long time to believe any of it. Just give it a minute to sink in.”
But that wasn’t what went down his throat like a jagged lump of metal. The thing that was slowly making his brain implode.
“You’re supposed to be the normal one,” he admitted, and the last thread of control snapped. “Jesus, D, you’re the stable guy. With the wife, and the kid, and – and fucking table manners.”
Deshawn cocked a deceptively mild eyebrow.
“You know what I mean! You’re the guy with his shit together; not the guy who goes and gets a crazy, probably illegal job with a buncha fucking werewolves they made a Disney movie about!”
“Oh, I get it. I’m just your support system. The boring sidekick. Got it.”
“No, that’s not what I–”
“I should stay home, and get fat, and leave all the scary shit to you, right?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Deshawn sent him an unimpressed look. “You’re not my wife, or my mom, so do me a favor and stop acting like it.”
Rooster sighed, deflating. He was still too shocked and exhausted to carry anger for very long. “That’s not what I meant,” he repeated, pathetic this time.
Deshawn added a little mustard and laid the top slices of bread on the sandwiches. Slid one across to Rooster. “Eat that.”
Rooster picked it up and took a dutiful bite.
“As long as we’ve been friends,” Deshawn said, “I thought you knew me better than this.” He sighed. “Me joining the Corps, that wasn’t just putting in my time. It didn’t traumatize me, the things we did over there; I’m not broken. I don’t have any regrets – except that you got hurt.”
Rooster set the sandwich down, stomach too tight to eat.
“I thought – I think everybody thinks – that when you get out, you can take a deep breath again. That you can go back to your life. That you have nightmares, yeah, but that it gets better over time. You start to feel human again.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. It…” Rooster could see his friend struggling to say it just right. “I was so goddamn bored. I was climbing out of my skin.”
He breathed a laugh. “I know that makes me sound shitty, but it’s the truth. I was home with my family, I was trying to set up my own business, and all I could think was that I was wasting my – I dunno – my talents. Not everybody has the stomach to do what we do,” he said, seriously, looking at Rooster. “It just seems like a waste not to spend my time protecting the people who need it. Doing something positive. Any kid on summer break can cut grass; but I can put a bullet in a man, and not even lose any sleep.”
Rooster went still; he’d been standing still, but he realized, when a moment of perfect calm stole over him, that he’d been twitching. Yeah, he thought, I get that. A bone-deep understanding passed between them. Maybe they were sick, but it didn’t matter: there was no changing it.
“I have a family,” Deshawn said, “and I love them more than anything. But I’m a Marine, too, and that’s not something I can switch off. I’m not more normal than you, brother. I’m just not.”
Slowly, Rooster nodded.
“Now. You gonna tell me again what I’m like? Or can we actually get some shit done?”
40
The Ingraham Institute
Dr. Talbot came to see her. She’d been waiting for that; dreading it. And in some ways, the dread was the worst part of it, so Red knew a moment’s relief when the door to her room opened and the smiling, bespectacled doctor walked in with a file tucked under one arm.
Just a few hours ago – though she didn’t know for sure because she couldn’t see the sun and there wasn’t a clock in her cell of a room – a motherly, kind-faced nurse had come to help her sit upright and get her back against the wall. The cuffs had stayed on, but a longer chain had been stretched between the two, so she could lower her arms from her chest; hold a spoon to eat the soup offered to her; rest her fists now against her thighs as she sat, cross-legged, on the bed and watched Dr. Talbot shut the door and move to take the chair across from her.
Her heartbeat pounded, but she felt disconnected from it; like its impression was muffled by the cuffs, too, just like her power.
Dr. Talbot sat, settled his white lab coat around himself, put the file in his lap, and beamed at her. “It’s wonderful to see you again, ah–” He not-so-subtly peeked into the file. “Ruby, now, is it?”
She didn’t respond.
“There’s a lot to catch up on,” he continued, unperturbed. “Both for you, and for us. But suffice to say we’re all extremely glad to have you back in the fold.”
The fold. Like she’d been a part of something. Like she hadn’t been laid flat on a steel table and had a grown man’s fingers push a speculum in her and announce her ready for breeding.
“I understand that your powers have matured significantly in the last five years…” He trailed off, waiting, one hand lifting in a little go on gesture. He wanted her to tell him about that.
She swallowed hard, and said, “Where’s Rooster?”
It was gratifying to see that, even for just a second, she’d knocked Dr. Talbot off his course. “Oh. Um.” He recovered, but that momentary waver had been enough to give her hope; to let her see: this man, who’d been a part of her birth, and her raising, and her treatment as a fatted calf, was uncertain. Maybe he was even a little afraid of her.
Rooster thought she was sweet. A guileless child. Even under the fire. But Talbot knew better.
“That’s your friend, hmm? Yes, well, I’m afraid that–”
“No,” she said, firm, and the doctor’s mouth fell open. “I made a deal with that guy. Jake.” The fucking liar. “He said he’d leave Rooster alone if I went with him. And I did. So where’s Rooster?”
Dr. Talbot blinked at her a moment, dumbfounded. Then his expression shifted into annoyance…laced with that sharp uncertainty that gave her hope. “I assume he’s wherever Major Treadwell left him. But.” His brows gathered. “Something to think about, young lady: that friend of yours killed a lot of men in the past five years. He’s very lucky to be alive; he ought to be on death row.”
“Is he safe?” she pressed.
Dr. Talbot blanked his face with obvious effort. Shrugged. “I don’t know. Major Treadwell’s orders were to shoot to kill if necessary.”
They stared at one another.