By the time she dragged herself from the bed and then emerged from the bedroom, she was proud of herself for being mostly clothed...although she hadn't put on her boots or done much of anything with her hair yet.
And there was John, long dressed and mostly done with making breakfast. He was wearing his shoulder holster, which meant that he planned to take at least one of his handguns - in addition to the pair of rifles he was taking for them.
Rachel watched him, frowning to herself as she laid out cutlery and poured beverages. Usually, he joked around and chatted with her, but today he was quiet, even solemn. He seemed almost disappointed that she had come out, and she remembered his comment, the one he had made about keeping her in bed, too exhausted to resist his charms.
Or something like that
.
When Rachel attempted to engage him in conversation, he only nodded or gave brief answers. He was putting an awful lot of concentration into scrambling eggs and rewarming leftovers. John could prepare this repast blindfolded, yet he was focusing on every detail.
As though he was serving an empress with a reputation for beheading those who displeased her
, she thought. She clenched her jaw.
How irritating
. Recently, John had been....odd. He had been spending a lot of time off Island, and he had been much more withdrawn at home. One minute he was obsessed with her, and the next he was off in his head, almost as though she didn't exist. Other than the fact that he was cooking for her, so she couldn't even get properly mad about it.
That... was kind of exactly the point.
As far as romances and relationships went - post-apocalyptic or otherwise - John was a catch. He was a walking dream, pretty much perfect - even before factoring in his Island and its wealth of treasures. And therein was one of Rachel's concerns: she didn't trust anything that seemed too good to be true.
John wasn't the first man she had been involved with since things had fallen apart; he was, however, the first that she had developed deep, genuine feelings for - feelings that went so much further than conveniences like having a partner to watch your back or warm your bed. Rachel wasn't sure how she would handle the loss of a lover that she actually....well, loved. Losing partners of convenience had been haunting enough.
And lately, she had been reliving the most traumatic of those losses in her nightmares.
It had started with Jasper. Tall, pale, and almost painfully shy, he had been part of a young adult work-study scholarship program at Beth's boarding school - and part of the final wave of evacuations of teachers and staff. Jasper had ended up in Beth's car group by chance, as had Lyla, a junior teacher. Both had stayed with Beth after the others passengers left to find their families, and stayed as Beth and Rachel reunited. They had joined up with a few other friends as they began their journey from Reagan City. Jasper had provided the eight of them with wild game, as well as finding large quantities of edible mushrooms. Beth had urged Rachel to befriend him; Beth was good at reading and managing people, and she was confident that they would want him to be loyal if anything happened. As a confident, attractive woman a few years his senior, it had been easy for Rachel to chat him up. And she was much more interested in her...assignment once she saw him emerge from bathing in a hot spring, his previously hidden lean, muscular build on full display. They had carried on for several months, and Rachel had grown fond of him. Beth joked, not unkindly, that he had become either her pet or a worshipper. Early one morning, he had gone out to hunt - and never returned. They had searched for Jasper for days and never found a trace.
Her next intimate interaction had started when they had encountered a caravan of families, accompanied by a hired security team. Beth had sidled up to the caravan's leader - his portly figure
and
his wife notwithstanding; Rachel flirted with Henry, the second in command of security. Beth encouraged her to go for a leader, as she had done, pointing out Samson, the handsome, brawny head of security. But Samson's cold, calculating manner and lifeless eyes made Rachel's blood run cold. Henry, on the other hand, had warm, honey brown eyes, dark wavy hair, and a beautiful Hindi accent. A few weeks after Rachel had begun sharing Henry's tent, several members of the caravan went on a supply run, including Samson and Henry. Henry returned on a makeshift stretcher, unconscious, surrounded by the grim faces of the men who carried him. His dark skin was pale, his hair caked with blood from a cut on his scalp; a puncture wound on his midsection had been bandaged and wrapped, but he was hemorrhaging internally. Their medic did her best to treat his injuries, but was honest with Rachel when she asked about his chances. "He'll survive if he's very lucky," she replied in a murmur, out of Henry's hearing. "Keep the dressing clean, keep him hydrated. Broth, soup. I'll be back to check on him." Emma and Beth visited Rachel, bringing food and supplies while she attempted to nurse him back to health, taking over so she would sleep for longer than a few minutes at a time. Concerned, they whispered to her of the rumors in the caravan: that Samson had been jealous over "Henry's girl"; that Samson had not only allowed Henry to get injured, but had also contributed to the situation; that Samson had been waiting for an opportunity. Once Henry mercifully succumbed to his wounds, Samson started making pointed comments to Rachel - and Emma - almost immediately. Beth, Rachel and what was left of their inner circle separated from the caravan at the next waypoint. It had taken Rachel months to move past Henry's brutal death. Despite his vocation, Henry had been kind, and gentle, and she would always wonder if she had a hand in his death - however unwitting.
By the time that Beth had engineered a meeting with Andre, Rachel's emotions and outlook had dulled considerably. Andre was a Council Member of a farming colony that had been founded Before. He was of approximately average height, with grey streaks at his temples, a carefully maintained goatee, and a pleasant, sociable manner. He had managed to hold on to the entirety of his large parcel of land through the turmoil, making him an obvious first-draft choice in Beth's book. Rachel met Andre at what was called a 'Bonfire Social', and managed to secure a spot in his household staff as a cook. The older man had a reputation for being shrewd, but he was not above being manipulated by an honest, emotional plea from a pretty young woman. Within days, Rachel had proven her value in the kitchen, and managed to secure household jobs for Emma and Beth, as well a room for them to share. Things between Rachel and Andre had moved very slowly; Andre had pursued her while she politely demurred. She was quite aware of the almost incessant parade of lovely young women that traipsed in and out of Andre's quarters, and she had zero interest in jeopardizing the positions that she and her friends held in his house and staff. If she allowed anything to grow between them, it would have to be a serious, long-term arrangement. Once Andre grew intent about his inquiry - he had either eliminated his casual relationships or become so discreet that it didn't matter - Rachel began to take his overtures more seriously, though her hesitancy to consummate things continued for some time. She had been sharing his quarters for the better part of a year when tragedy struck once again. A virulent disease struck the area, wiping out everyone in the council over the age of thirty-five and leaving chaos in its wake across the colony. Andre had been among the first to fall, giving Rachel a front row seat to the physiological effects of the disease as well as the desperate political and social maneuvering that came when such a large vacuum opened up so swiftly.
Recently, her nightmares had changed. Her panic over her burgeoning feelings for John had thrust him into a starring role in her semi-regular night time horror show. Now it was John tumbling head first down a rocky hillside, or slipping beneath churning rapids, or vomiting blood while she knelt beside him, helpless to do anything other than mop his brow and make soothing noises.
Rachel stared at him from beneath lowered lids, checking him over. Other than his sullenness, he seemed healthy and normal. She let out a quiet sigh, relieved - and then realized that he was lost in thought.
Maybe John thought she had been acting strangely as well.
"Enjoy." John set the food on the table.
"That really looks great, John, thank you," Rachel said to him, ladling food onto her plate. She smiled.
He finally looked up at her and made eye contact, doing a double take. "I like your hair like that. You should- It would be nice if you wore loose more. If you wanted to, I mean," John corrected himself.
Rachel blinked. "Thanks," she replied. John was usually a paragon of confidence and self assurance.
What the
fuck
was going on with him
?
