Meliorism

Five

"I didn't know," she murmured, cheeks flaring up. He'd been alone; she'd assumed he was alone. Maybe he was, or maybe the wife didn't exist and he was sick with a fever. Was he? Her eyes scanned him, trying to pick up any notes of sickness while he paced around the room, put off by the snow and his lack of shoes. Had his forehead been warm? Yes, she answered herself. It had been warm. His face had been flushed the whole time, sweat beading across his brows. He was stuck, here, with her. Not with his wife.

He noticed her staring, watching his moves like a predator. "I'm not making her up," he growled, still pacing near the couch. A chill had spread through his body when he realized how long it'd been, how far off course he was. Pulse throbbing in his head, he paused. "She's real."

Andrew watched her pause, still looking him up and down. Deep breath in, she told him, "I believe you." He continued on with his pacing, rubbing trails into the woods with his speed. She gave him some time before repeating her words, trying to convince him that he wasn't crazy. But, how long had this wife been missing? How long has he been searching for her?

"I know what you're thinking," he said, stopping to stare right at her. "I'm not crazy, and I'm leaving."

"Now?"

A pause. "Yes." Her forehead crinkled, the raised scar scrunching up even more so. It hadn't hit her eye, whatever had caused it. No murkiness in those bright green that bore into him to suggest blindness. "I'll be fine," he told her, even though he started to feel the fatigue in his legs. They shook, warning him he'd pushed too far too soon.

"You're sick. Tired, and hungry on top of being sick doesn't make for traveling. You almost died out there, and now you want to go back out there?"

"I have to." He'd endure any kind of condition to save her. If that meant being sick and trudging through snow, he'd do it. Andrew would walk on coals for her. She was all he had. Has, he corrected himself.

The woman sighed through her nose, rubbing her forehead out of frustration. Stubborn. The man was stubborn and tiring. Just watching him pace wore her patience thin. Tamara hadn't been around people in awhile, not decent ones at least. While she secretly enjoyed this kind of interaction, she hadn't realized how exhausting it could be to cater to other's needs. His were multiplying by the minute, it seemed.

"I won't stop you, I'm not your mother. You should wait till the fever breaks, but that's your decision."

He sat in one of the kitchen chairs, giving in to the exhaustion of his legs. He was dizzy, whether from the fever or pacing too much he didn't know. Andrew was no stranger to exhaustion, it was an old friend he was happy enough to ignore.

"A week," he murmured to himself. He let his head roll back, eyes closed as he tried to slow down the world. "I think it's been a week." Andrew wasn't entirely sure, the missing time from when he was knocked out a game changer.

His wife was taken recent, Tamara got that much. A small thought in the back of her head sparked, but she snuffed it out, not wanting to think of it. Add another two days for the time he'd been in her home, and a third for tomorrow.

Leaning against the top of the couch, she rested her head on her hand. "What happened?" She knew she'd regret asking, but she'd learned to be nice. Taught to be considerate. And, this man, he looked like he could use some considerate. The pain was visible on his face.

Andrew's voice was shaky when he answered her. "We were sleeping. I should've been on watch, but I was so tired. They came out of nowhere." An answer that sounded all too familiar to Tamara.

"If a runner dragged her off, you're not going-"

"It wasn't runners. It was people. Insane, but people," he told her, interrupting her mid-sentence. "I tried to fight them off. The five of them were just...too much."