rewritten: January-May 2025

"What are we doing here?" Maeve voiced, trailing behind Jordan, whose stride was much wider than hers. She had to jog a bit to even keep up with him. Her sneakers made soft thuds against the tiles. Every store they passed made her uneasy, her mind racing with the fear of infected leaping out at them any moment. Sure, Riley and Ellie had snuck in a few times, but Maeve never had the courage to take that risk. The thought of defying her commander – and the very real possibility of death – loomed heavily in her mind.

"Wow, you're just as restless as Ellie," Riley teased, smirking.

Ellie's expression darkened. "Har, har. Screw you."

"Well, you can't exactly blame me," Maeve shot a look at Riley. "You two vanished, and now you're back as Fireflies, leading us through the QZ's most restricted building. Doesn't scream happy feelings."

"Walked right into that." Riley said with a wince.

"Yep."

Maeve could see the tension resonating from both Riley and Jordan. They seemed ready to dig a hole and hide in it.

While Riley's words held some truth, Maeve was determined to argue. She wasn't being impatient...well, not too much; her unease stemmed from being in the mall. It did nothing to calm her nerves, especially since they acted as if everything was perfectly fine. It frustrated her.

And she had a feeling Ellie felt the same way.

The chances of encountering an infected person in the mall was low. They could be safe now, but there was just an equal chance of infected actually being in the mall too. There could be infected nearby, there could not. The weights are balanced.

"Hey now," Jordan flashed a crooked smile at Ellie. "We're all here together, and that's what really counts."

"Whatever," she replied, brushing him off.

Speaking a few words in Spanish, Jordan moved closer, draping an arm around her shoulders before she could escape. He pulled her in against him. "It's a lovely day, well if you ignore the storm, so please don't be an aguafiestas."

Maeve winced as Ellie jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow. He'd been wearing a smug expression, but that quickly vanished as he doubled over, gripping in his belly in shock and pain.

"Ellie!"

"What I can't understand is how you can just accept this!" Ellie stepped back from Jordan, who was still hunched over.

"You weren't the only one who was hurt, Ellie." Maeve shot her a pointed look.

After what felt like a while, Riley finally spoke up, her voice breaking the heavy silence. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing back and forth between them.

Jordan audibly winced as he straightened up, rubbing his tender abdomen. "It's okay, Amor, I'm alright," he said, trying to regain his composure. "I think you might've turned my outie into an innie, nina."

Maeve let out a snort and patted his shoulder. He chuckled weakly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, likely thinking she was his safest bet since Ellie clearly had some animosity toward him—at least for the moment.

Clearing his throat, he added, "We should probably go our separate ways."

"Why's that?" Maeve raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Not scared of Ellie, are you?"

He switched to Spanish, pretending he didn't understand English. Maeve rolled her eyes before turning her attention to Riley, who nodded in agreement.

Jordan cleared his throat, saying again, "We should part ways."

The girl with the fluffy hair shot them a playful grin. "Oooooo~"

Instantly, Maeve's face flushed crimson as she ducked her head to conceal her embarrassment. That little exchange was anything but innocent. She playfully swatted at her boyfriend, who merely chuckled, unfazed. Despite the teasing, she was certain Jordan's mind didn't revolve around stuff like that – they never talked about it and maybe she was grateful about that. Besides, she liked their relationship as it was. Though, he always had lewd humor, but it never bothered her.

She suspected he enjoyed pushing her buttons, but oddly enough, she was relieved to have that.

"Hey," he said, raising his hands up. "We'll go our way, and you can go yours."

"Really?"

"Really."

Maeve narrowed her eyes at the unfolding scene, a sense of unease bubbling inside her. "You're being suspicious. I don't like it."

"Don't worry," Riley shot her a playful wink as she moved closer to Ellie. "We'll catch up with you in a bit, okay?"

Maeve shifted her gaze between the two of them, furrowing her brows in confusion. A part of her was tempted to ask what was going on, but another part of her warned her that ignorance was bliss. Sometimes, knowing too much could be more troubling than remaining in the dark.

"Uh, okay?" Even as she spoke, uncertainty gnawed at her. In truth, she felt anxious and a little frightened. Jordan chuckled softly beside her, taking her hand.

"We'll see you soon."

She watched as Riley and her sister slipped away into the dim corridor. A knot formed in her stomach, a sense of foreboding that wouldn't let go. She could feel it—something was about to happen. Maybe not immediately, but her instincts were rarely wrong, and this feeling felt ominous. She hated these dark feelings. Trying to shake off the dread, she looked up at Jordan, who was already guiding her toward the escalators.

As they navigated the precarious path ahead, she shot him a challenging look. "So, while you're leading me into who knows what, care to share what you've been up to?"

He let out a light laugh, glancing back at her with a hint of amusement, yet he remained tight-lipped. It was clear his thoughts were elsewhere, and he had no intention of divulging anything. "It's not pretty."

"Well, pretty's overrated — and we've seen a lot of ugly, and we're only sixteen," Maeve quipped as they reached the bottom of the escalator.

He chuckled again. "Fair point."

"So, are you going to tell me or what?"

A grimace flitted across his features. "I...I'd rather not. It's not something I'm proud of."

Maeve understood that. The secrets, that is. Life under FEDRA wasn't all sunshine and flowers either. While she never participated in the activities she witnessed many soldiers engaged in, she pictured Jordan enduring some of initiation—a Firefly oath, perhaps. It must've been tough for him. For a brief moment, the two found themselves silent. Maeve certainly felt uncertain about how to express the chaoticness swirling about in her mind. She wasn't sure what she would say to him or if he had anything to say to her.

"So–"

"What—"

They both spoke at the same time, their voices overlapping. Quickly, they paused, allowing the other to talk first.

"You can go first," she offered.

"Have—" he paused to clear his throat. "Um. Has anything new happened?"

"New?"

"I...um...I mean...have you met anyone...new and interesting?"

"Interesting?" Maeve echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Hold up, are you asking if I've moved on?"

"No...?" He shifted nervously, his feet shuffling. "What does it seem like?"

"Well, it doesn't seem like you're asking if I have new friends."

"Well, have you?" He asked with an impatient tone.

She sighed dramatically and wrapped her arm around his. "It's always been you."

His demeanor softened, the tension easing from his face. "I'm sorry, okay? I guess I'm...I've been anxious. I know some of the guys crushed on you."

"Are you talking about Ian and Dylan? Come on, Jordan, my standards are low, but they're not that low."

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to stir things up with my anxiety...it's just that I was told I wouldn't be seeing any of my old friends again, and it made me panic," he confessed, looking a bit embarrassed.

She tightened her grip on his arm, trying to offer him some solace. "That's definitely an understatement."

They approached a small food court. It was spacious with small tables and artificial trees and benches that had gathered dust over time. A saddle lay draped over one of the benches that was near a large green tent, it was big enough to accommodate equipment and a few people.

"What's this all about?"

"It clearly belonged to someone," Maeve replied, clicking her tongue as she scrutinized the saddle. Releasing Jordan, she stepped closer, fingers gliding over the leather insignia, instantly recognizing the craftsmanship of FEDRA. Some parts of the bridle had deteriorated into fragile strings that would probably break if used again.

"This has to belong to Winston," Jordan remarked, already inside the tent, rummaging through its containments.

"And the saddle must be Princess'," She trailed behind him, glancing around the cramped quarters.

The space held a messy desk, a cot, a coat rack, and a worn-out cooler. It was simple, functional, and thick with dust. She could already feel her sinuses beginning to react to the dust swirling in the air.

"Seems like this place has been abandoned," Jordan said, nudging an old pair of boots at the foot of the cot.

"I imagine no one's been here since Winston died."

Jordan spun around so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash, his face a mask of genuine shock at the news. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were as wide as saucers, filled with simmering grief. "Winston died? When did that happen?"

"Not long after you left," Maeve replied, moving past Jordan to the cluttered desk in the far left corner. Old papers were strewn across its surface. "I think it was a heart attack."

"Damn," he said quietly. "What a way to go — I mean, not many people die of natural causes these days, you know?"

Maeve nodded. In her experience, no one she knew had passed away peacefully. It was usually bullets or getting infected. That was just the harsh reality they faced.

A photograph of Winston caught her attention, tucked away beneath a sheet labeled with FEDRA's name. She snatched it from its hiding place. In the picture, Winston was younger, his face smooth with little to no wrinkles in sight. His hair was darker, a dark beard lined his jaw. He held a rifle confidently, with another man standing behind him, though the glare on the photo obscured his features.

"Hey, check it, it's Winston," she waved the picture. "He used to be handsome."

"And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"Aren't I handsome?"

"You have your angles."

Jordan scoffed, feigning offense. "Wow. Okay. Is there anything else you want to drop on me?"

"I'm not the one jealous of a decade-old photo," Maeve said with a smirk. "Don't worry, I love you just the same, handsome or not."

Jordan let out a disgruntled noise but chose not to respond. A brief silence enveloped them, interrupted only by the gentle sounds of rummaging through the deserted tent. Suddenly, a whistle broke the stillness, followed by a stream of playful words. His voice had an usual quality. Maeve turned back to look at him; he had straightened up from his previous position hunched over the cooler, a bottle in his grasp.

"Check out what Winston's got~" He swirled the bottle, the amber liquid swirling inside.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Oh, for sure," Jordan said, turning to face her as he twisted the cap. "Winston's been hoarding again."

"Probably because he knew you'd swipe his stuff like an evil leprechaun."

Jordan's face twisted. "Excuse me?"

"You know, those little red-haired creatures that wear green and stash gold in pots? They were a big deal and were celebrated on St. Patrick's Day."

"What the hell is St. Patrick's Day?" Jordan's already twisted expression twisted more with confusion.

"It was a holiday," Maeve clarified, inching closer to take the bottle from him. She observed the worn label. "Before the outbreak, people would wear green, have parades, that sort of thing."

"Sounds awesome."

Maeve nodded, turning the bottle in her hands. "It probably was," she said, taking a whiff from the nozzle and quickly recoiled. "Guess Winston liked the strong stuff."

"Like whiskey?"

"Maybe," she shrugged and lifted the bottle to her lips for a sip...only to regret it. "Ugh! She spat the liquid out. "Oh, hell! That's so gross!"

Jordan burst into laughter, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "You're just a lightweight! Lemme get a sip."

She gladly handed him the bottle. Her mouth felt scorched, tingling a little. She had no idea what kind of alcohol it was, but it certainly wasn't whiskey. If she had to guess, it probably was vodka. Yuck.

She stared in disbelief as Jordan took a hearty swig, bravely swallowing. His confident demeanor faded quickly, replaced by a brief look of disgust, yet unlike her, he managed to keep the bitter drink down, finishing what he'd taken. His brow knitted together, and his copper skin flushed a deep red.

"Not so cocky now, huh?" Maeve teased.

"Ah," he smacked his lips loudly. "Not the tastiest, but it'll get the job done, yessir!"

"I swear, if you start acting all loopy, I'm leaving you here and heading back home."

"With that comment about my looks, I should be drowning myself in this," Jordan said with a mischievous grin, capping the bottle. "But I love you, so I'll stay sober."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a drama king."