Rainy Days

Chapter Twenty: Apple Pieeeeee

[jordans house–sunday evening, 2002]

"OKAY, NOW spit it out," said Diego. Jordan leaned over the trash can and spat the paper towel out, red from the blood.

"What the hell happened at Walmart?" Luther said angrily; he'd been asking for half hour, but Klaus and Allison had shooed the question away every time; they where more focused on Jordan and Five, who looked like they got ran over by a semi-truck.

"We got attacked, Luther." Five looked up from the table, holding a wet washcloth to his cheek; the aqua color was slowly being turned a deep red. "We got fucking attacked, obviously."

Luther clenched his fists and asked, "By who? Who fucking attacked you?"

Jordan sighed, wincing as he touched his bleeding lip. "We don't–"

"It was the Commission," Five stopped Jordan. "They've got someone new working the apocalypse case, but this one is more dangerous."

"How do you know?" Allison asked, stepping forwards

"She giggled a shit ton. She also played music over the speaker." Five explained, pulling away the towel and dropping it. His wound looked worse.

"She's a lot more childish than Hazel and Cha-Cha. Which means she'll be more erratic and crazy."

"How do we know it's a she?" Klaus spoke up. Allison nodded.

"Uh, I've heard her before," Five flushed, not looking anyone in the eye. "I know I have. I just don't remember."

"Well, work on remembering! We need to know who we're dealing with!" Luther shouted.

"Luther!" Allison said.

"Hey, back down Space-Boy," Diego stepped closer, chest already puffing out. "You're not a fucking ape anymore."

Jordan wondered what that meant; as he went to chew his lip in thought, he ended up swallowing more blood. The iron taste of it made the rush of adrenaline fall back. He'd felt fucking amazing at Walmart, but he knew e needed to relax.

"What about we all go the sleep?" Klaus suggested.

"It's only four thirty." Diego replied, incredulous. Klaus shrugged.

"I'll start making food," Jordan said, tenderly touching the back of his head; it was pounding like no ones business.

"I can do it," Allison offered. Jordan shook his head; he needed something mindless to do. Cooking would work.

"I'd rather do it."

Allison looked unsure, but nodded. She grabbed Luther by the wrist and dragged him away, his protests—mostly relating to interrogating Five—drifted to them until a door shut somewhere upstairs.

Diego was staring at a picture on the fridge; a blurry Polaroid of Ron on Christmas last year, smiling as he held up a Nirvana tee. His long brown locks where tied back.

"What's up?" Jordan asked, eyeing Diego; the boy jumped and looked guilty.

"Nothing." He said, and then stood abruptly. "I'll be outside." He declared, and slunk out the back door.

Soon enough, Klaus disappeared, claiming a need for a nap; he gave Jordan one last glance and left. Ben was the last one to stay, looking between the two beat-up boys.

He opened his mouth, shook his head, and left.

"What's with him?" Jordan asked as he started pulling down a cookbook. Five shrugged and moved to sit, holding an ice pack on his cheek now.