Survival - a Hat Films fanfiction

5 - London-bound

After that, somehow, it becomes easier to tell Ross everything. You tell him more about your ambition which you were never able to fulfill, about your family who you never got to speak to before the Rising, about all your frustrations with life you hadn't even told your closest friends about. Perhaps the reason it's so easy to open up is because nothing matters anymore - not when you could die in the next hour, not when there's no one Ross could tell your secret to.

And Ross is a good listener. He doesn't interrupt; just stands there beside you and takes it all in. You find yourself half-wishing you met Ross before everything happened - it would've been nice to have someone to talk to like this, someone who wouldn't judge you and would be content to just listen.

After you've finished, he says, "So why don't you think of this as a new start?"

You stop short. "What do you mean? We're in a zombie apocalypse, Ross. I wouldn't call it the best time to start building my own enterprise."

He laughs gently. "I mean, if you survive, you can start over, right?"

You bite your lip before your next words. "That's a big if, Ross."

He exhales. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" You look away from him. "Be honest, Ross. Where do you see us in a year's time?"

He stiffens, seeming uncomfortable for the first time. "I..." He licks his lips. "I can't say."

You raise an eyebrow, meeting his eyes. "You can tell me, you know. Not as if I'll tell the other two."

He looks back at you guiltily, pale blue eyes full of regret, and you realize he doesn't need to say a word.

______________________________

You stare up at the ceiling, tracing patterns, arms tucked behind your head. 

 The other three have taken up the bedrooms upstairs, leaving you with the remaining spot on the sofa on the ground floor. Not that you're complaining - it's much more comfortable than the thin, hard mattresses and makeshift sleeping bags you've been sleeping in for the past weeks, and it's somewhat reassuring to know you're not the only one in the building.

Even if they're upstairs and you're downstairs, nearest to the door. Even if one of the men may or may not want to kill you.

You sigh, and shift beneath the covers, careful not to rub against the bandage on your arm. Ross and Trott had helped clean out the wound and retie it after dinner, and checked your leg over as well. Trott had estimated that you'd be able to walk on it comfortably again after two days, which is a relief.

You really don't deserve Trott and Ross. Despite everything, they'd took you in, helped you heal up, given you their own supplies. Trott tells you it's only the 'human thing to do', and perhaps you would've done the same if you were in their position - but you can't help but feel indebted.

Now Smith.

You shut your eyes. You understand where he's coming from - you've barged into their lives, delayed them from carrying on, and had barely been able to do anything to contribute to the workload because of your leg and arm. But it hurts when you see him staring at you suspiciously out of the corner of his eye when he thinks you can't see, when you hear him and Trott speaking in hushed tones upstairs and you just know they're talking about you, the way he rigidly refuses to communicate with you in any way. In fact, he hasn't spoken to you since he apologized on the day you got here.

So do you stay, or do you go?

You bite your lip. You want, more than anything, to not be a burden. You don't want to be holding the others back, constantly forcing them to wait up for you, and you'd hate to be the extra person who makes it awkward for everyone else. You feel like Ross, Smith and Trott have known each other for much longer than you'd thought - it can't be easy, having to suddenly adjust to accommodate another new person. And of course, it'll be difficult fighting alongside someone who doesn't trust you.