Trigger Kids

Chapter 11

Welcome, and I hope you enjoy! Oh, and bear with our main protagonist; she gets a little angsty.

Maya xx

I wake to the smell of pancake batter. A thin sheet of condensation and ice cover the window from outside. Beneath it is the plush chair, unoccupied but for a black blazer belonging to Rookie. Gingerly I crawl out of bed, testing the cold floor boards with my toes before jumping onto the brown rug.

I reach for the blanket on the end of the bed, wrapping it around myself tightly and wiping strands of hair out of my face.

Pulling on the handle, the bedroom door gives a shriek of it's hinges, alerting Rookie to my presence. I see him peek his head around the wall dividing the kitchen from the living room.

"Oh, you're up," he says. "Get in here, I made pancakes."

The grumble of my stomach subdues confusion and I quietly move through the living room. Rookie is hunched over the gas stove top. He's in his standard black pants (this time no gun), grey socks and a white wife-beater. It's hard not to notice the shape of his muscular arms as he whips up the batter in a bowl.

I glance away at some hand embroidery beside the kitchen clock.

Each day is a new day. Awake with optimism.

"So," my voice comes out unusually husky. "Where did you sleep last night?"

"On the couch," he says, his tone implying sleeping is overrated for on the watch FBI agents anyway.

"Sore back?"

Rookie smirks at me over his shoulder.

"Sorry," I say. "I'm awful at small talk."

"It's alright. Go look in the cupboard I think Calder might have left us some maple syrup."

"He went grocery shopping?"

Rookie laughs; a reverberating, low register.

"No, when the guys flew us out here they'd given us some supplies to last..."

I paused at the cupboards. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing," Rookie shakes his head. "I just meant to last us for the time being."

Swallowing down my fears of being cooped up in a safe house for the next few months, I reach for the maple syrup. Then I gather two plates, and a couple of butter knives from the mostly bare kitchen drawers.

I sit myself up on the opposite counter, watching Rookie with his back to me as he pours the batter into the pan. It sizzles and pops, making me lick my dry lips.

"How was your sleep anyway?"

"Oh, wonderful. I dreamt I was being pursued by terrorists who wanted nothing more than to slash my throat and a feed my traitorous limbs to their men for lunch."

"Vivid," Rookie comments on the verge of humor.

"Yeah, I thought it held an uncanny resemblance to my current reality though, what do you think?"

Rookie hands me off two, fluffy, golden pancakes on one of the plates. "I think you're overreacting."

"Don't tell me you weren't scared back at the hotel," I scowl.

"I wasn't."

I scoff and roll my eyes. "Blatant lie."

"You just have to be right, don't you?" Rookie smirks, going back to the stove top.