Chapter Text
Fiona woke with a jerk as the Caravan rumbled over a bump. The temperature had dropped considerably as they’d passed seemingly overnight through the desert and into the middle of this never-ending swirling blizzard.
The lights in the Caravan were dimmed, the flashes of sky outside the window murky dark with the night time cloud cover. Occasionally, the moon flickered into view between the storm clouds and revealed weak light against the grey-pale flurries of thick snow.
Fiona reached up to rub at her eyes and realized with surprise that she was under some kind of… blanket?
She sat up and studied the fabric in her lap – an unfamiliar grey fabric, expensive-feeling under her fingers. She rubbed it between her pointer finger and thumb, tentatively testing the quality, before it hit her what exactly it was.
Fiona turned and looked around the dimly lit living space. The robots were nowhere in sight – they didn’t feel cold, or need to sleep, so they spent most of their time up above in the crow’s nest when it was time for the humans to power down so they could continue to chat. Athena was snoozing across from Fiona, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, her chin dropped forward onto her chest, her arms crossed as though even in sleep, she was irritated at where she found herself.
Vaughn was unconscious on the other sectional, his venom-stiffened body rigid against the fabric. His eyes were staring blankly and Fiona was pretty sure he was sleeping, even if he didn’t look it.
Or he’d died in the middle of the night. One of the two.
Eh, he was probably fine.
Fiona looked up to the cockpit and spotted her sister, awake and leaning against the console. She had her arms folded across her chest and a disbelieving smirk on her face and Fiona felt a swift twist somewhere in her chest. Sasha looked relaxed, despite their situation. She looked almost amused, really amused, like when her eyes crinkled and she couldn’t bite back her grin no matter how hard she tried. Fiona spent most of her life trying to coax that grin out of her baby sister as often as she could. It wasn’t much of a life they had, but damn it, she was trying.
Rhys was driving, and if Fiona listened she could just hear the soft murmur of his tenor over the rumble of the engine and the whistle of the winter wind. He was telling Sasha a story, and as Fiona watched he lifted a hand up off the wheel and waved it, trying to emphasize a point, and Sasha smothered a giggle.
Fiona looked down at the fabric in her lap again, suddenly feeling like she was intruding on something private. Then she looked up again, unable to stop herself. Rhys had turned to pout at Sasha, taking his eyes off the road and the moonlight threw his profile into sharp relief.
He wasn’t wearing his vest and Fiona’s fingers curled into the fabric.
She pressed her lips together, irritated. Why had he done that? It was a vest. It was a pretty pathetic blanket just based on sheer fabric size alone. Just because it was high quality fabric and warm and soft…
But Rhys didn’t even like her. And she didn’t like him. He was everything that she hated about the corporations that made her planet such a hellish place to live. And he was such a pompous asshole. At least Vaughn was tolerable. Rhys was arrogant, cocky, sarcastic…
Fiona un-clenched her fist from the fabric of the vest and smoothed out the wrinkles.
Up front, Sasha’s voice cut through the lower rumble of the engines. “Alright, shoo, I think it’s time we switched.”
“I’m fine,” Rhys protested and Fiona quickly jerked back down onto the sofa, yanking the vest up to her chin.
She stared at the ceiling, wondering what the hell she was actually doing. Who cared if they knew she was awake?
“I don’t think so. Can’t trust corporate scum, after all. Who knows if you’re telling the truth?”
“Oh yeah,” Rhys grumbled. “Because my plan is to drive the entire Caravan off a cliff in a snowstorm, killing us all instantly.”
“See?” There was some shuffling and Fiona knew Sasha had won. “Go get some sleep.”
“Fine. Don’t drive us off a cliff. I don’t want to be over there thinking I gave you ideas.”
Fiona very carefully didn’t move as Rhys’ footsteps came closer, further away from the noise of the engines. They paused somewhere a few feet back from her head and Fiona heard Rhys sigh softly.
“You better be ok, buddy,” he mumbled, too low Fiona was sure for Sasha to hear. For anyone to hear, if she hadn’t been awake.
Vaughn, of course, didn’t answer and Rhys sighed again. His footsteps came a bit closer and Fiona snapped her eyes shut, forcing herself not to tense.
There was a rustle of fabric and then Rhys grunted softly, settling himself down somewhere near where Vaughn was propped up. She opened her eyes, just a bit, and shifted as carefully as she could so she could see.
He’d settled down on the floor against Vaughn’s couch, lying on his back with his flesh and blood arm pillowing his head, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. From this angle, Fiona could see the uneven hem on the hole in his shirt he’d made for his prosthetic and wondered if he needed to cut the sleeves off all his shirts. She wondered if he’d been in some kind of accident or if Hyperion had decided to upgrade their employee and removed his arm for him.
She wondered if he’d tell her if she asked.
Fiona reminded herself sharply that she couldn’t trust him. Rhys or Vaughn, for that matter. They had their own agenda. Which was fine, because so did she. A few weeks of driving and card games didn’t change that. Sasha was the only thing that mattered. Sasha, and getting their chance to catch a ride off this crummy planet for good.
Fiona huffed and snuggled down further into Rhys’ vest, pretending the weird ache in her chest was due to the cold pressing down on the Caravan from the storm.
Across from her, Athena’s eyes were open and Fiona met them, freezing in place. Athena looked between Fiona to Rhys and then back again, her expression carefully neutral.
Fiona scowled and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t need judgment from a hired mercenary that Felix had hired to follow them around and probably kill them.
The vest was pretty damn warm, though, she had to admit.
She might not give it back. Well, not right away, anyway.
+++
The Purple Skag wasn’t quite as busy as usual, but the regulars were all there. Fiona lounged back in the booth she typically occupied when she dropped in on Sasha and August, scanning the room. There was that drunk guy who always seemed to be passed out on the stickiest table in the corner. The sad guy who came in just to order a drink and then stare into it moodily without saying a word.
The jukebox in the corner continued to play a soft, albeit sort of scratchy, rendition of some song that Fiona was pretty sure she’d caught Vaughn humming the previous week. She raised her glass to her lips.
After all that, with the Vault and the battle and Gortys, the Purple Skag still stood strong.
Sasha was wiping down the counter, bobbing her head to the beat of the song, and as Fiona watched, she whisked the empty glass away from one of the moody guys up at the bar and refilled it, dropping it back off in front of him as she made a second pass down the bar with the rag.
She seemed to be happy. Fiona was glad – she’d watched them closely, the first couple of months after they’d gotten back together, but August had been nothing but adamant about their second chance, and it was clear now to Fiona how much he loved her sister in his own, slightly awkward and prickly way.
She wondered if Sasha ever noticed how August looked at her when her back was turned.
Fiona took another gulp of her drink, wincing at the bitter taste, and resisted the urge to check the time. She’d said nine, sure, but who knew what kind of nonsense was going on at the Atlas building. Plus, she’d been early.
She glanced at the bar again and saw that Sasha was leaning with her elbows on the bar, grinning at her. “Chill out, Fi, he’ll be here.”
“I wasn’t checking the time,” Fiona protested, reaching up and adjusting her hat down, only to grow irritated and shove it back again, scratching at her hairline under the brim.
“Sure you weren’t,” Sasha said airily, bending beneath the bar. She emerged a few seconds later with a bottle and another glass, stepping around the bar and dropping into the seat opposite her sister. She topped off Fiona’s glass and then filled her own. Sasha put the bottle down on the table and raised her glass. “To men being idiots,” she said and Fiona clinked it with a wry smile.
The sisters drank.
Sasha put her glass down with a grin. “What’re you guys doing tonight anyway?”
Fiona shrugged one shoulder. “Just following a lead I saw on a bounty board. Something about some old Hyperion stuff, so I figured who better to ask?”
The grin didn’t fade from Sasha’s face – if anything, it grew wider. “And it had nothing to do with seeing Rhys again.”
Fiona huffed. “What? That’s ridiculous.”
Sasha rolled her eyes, reaching out and patting Fiona’s hand.
“Quit it.”
“Hey!”
The girls looked up in unison to find Rhys himself standing at the edge of the table. There was mud splattered all up his pant legs and he looked wiped out.
“Hey,” Sasha said, surprised. “You look like shit. Did you get mugged?”
“Oh, gee, thanks ever so much, Sasha.” Rhys dropped onto the bench beside Fiona and she studied the side of his face. “No, I did not get mugged. I can deal just fine with muggers, thank you very much.”
“Uh huh. Sure you can.”
“Something wrong at Atlas?” Fiona asked and he shrugged one shoulder.
“Yeah. No. Kind of? I won’t bore you guys with the details. It’s not the kind of issue that can be shot.” He eyed the bottle in Sasha’s hand and she shoved it across the table at him. He took it and she stood up to grab him a glass. He turned the bottle over in his hand to read the label.
“Are you sure? I can totally shoot someone for you.”
That brought a smile to his face and he glanced sideways at her. “And I do appreciate that, you trigger happy weirdo.” There was nothing but affection in his voice and Fiona looked away abruptly, taking a drink to hide her own grin.
Sasha returned, plunking a clean glass onto the table in front of Rhys, and he poured himself a drink. “Thanks,” he said to her, taking a sip and wincing. “Yikes. What is this, isopropanol?”
Sasha shrugged. “The patrons like it,” she said with a grin and Rhys rolled his eyes.
“August distills this like, out back in a bucket, doesn’t he?”
“How dare you just announce trade secrets to the bar like that.”
Rhys snickered and took another sip of his drink, the same mildly disgusted expression flashing across his face as he put the glass back down. “Ugh. Anyway, sorry I’m late.”
Sasha put her head in her hands, a wicked grin growing on her face. “Oh, it’s fine. Fiona was just worried you were standing her up.”
“I was not,” Fiona said instantly, scowling at Sasha, who grinned even wider at the defensive tone in her sister’s voice.
“She kept checking the time,” Sasha said in a sing-song, “to see if it had stopped.”
“You are the worst. I’m disowning you.”
“I--” Rhys began, interrupting their bickering, and then stopped when both girls turned to look at them. “Uh, sorry. I hope you weren’t waiting on me.”
Thrown by what appeared to be a sincere apology, Fiona blinked. “No, I… no. I figured you got held up at work.”
Rhys made a face. “Trust me, not by choice,” he grumbled, lifting the glass to his lips again. He paused before taking a sip, staring off into space, clearly thinking about whatever spreadsheet or budget meeting had dared to hold him up at the office.
Fiona reached up, tugging at the brim of her hat again. It was new – a “congratulations on filling your first contract without dying, I guess” present from Athena, and Fiona was absolutely loving it, except for the horrible tendency it had to rub against her hairline. She probably just had to break it in – the fabric was stiff with newness – but for the moment, it itched like crazy.
Up at the bar, one of the drunks slammed his hand suddenly on the tabletop, then slammed it twice more. “”s my cup empty?” he demanded, slurring his words, and Sasha rolled her eyes.
“Excuse me,” she said with a little mock bow, then headed for the bar. “Yeah, yeah, simmer down, I hear you.”
Fiona watched Sasha grab the drunk’s glass away from him, effortlessly peeling his fingers off the glassware and turning away to fill it up, absentmindedly scratching under the brim of her new hat again. Suddenly, the hat started rising up off her head.
“Hey!” she protested as Rhys plucked her hat away from her, an amused expression on his face.
“New hat?” he asked, flipping it upside down so he could peer inside. “Or did you get some sort of lice infestation?” Fiona tried to snatch the hat back but he leaned away, using his height to lift it up and out of her reach with a grin.
“Rhys,” Fiona complained. “Give it back. Yes, it’s a new hat. It was a gift from Athena. It’s nice, but...”
“You’ve been messing with it all night,” Rhys finished for her. He flipped the hat upside down again and put it on his own head, tracing his fingers along the brim in an over-dramatic gesture. “How do I look?”
“Like an idiot,” Fiona said automatically. It was a lie – he looked perfectly fine in her hat, but the thing was it was her hat and…
Well. It was her hat.
“Aw, you’re mean, Fiona,” Rhys sighed, reaching up to scratch at his forehead. “Although, you’re right about this hat, the brim is itchy as hell.”
She hadn’t meant to be mean. She’d meant it as… well, as a joke. Teasing. Embarrassment flickered in her chest, and she bit the inside of her cheek.
Rhys reached up to take her hat off, but Fiona reached up and caught his wrist before she could fully think the action through. “Sorry,” she said quickly, releasing his wrist and grabbing her glass, taking a long gulp.
Rhys studied her for a moment before slowly lowering his arm, the hat sitting crookedly on his head. “You have hat hair,” he informed her, reaching over and ruffling her hair gently. Fiona scowled at him and batted at his hand, which he playfully slapped back at her.
“So what did you need, anyway? I’m assuming you didn’t ask me to meet you for the pleasure of my company,” Rhys said. He picked up his glass, appeared to think better of it, and gingerly put it back down on the knife-scarred tabletop.
“How do you know?” Fiona asked, reaching for her Echo. “Maybe I just--”
With a jolt, she realized that she’d been about to tell Rhys, to his face, that she’d missed him and she snapped her mouth shut so quickly she nearly bit her tongue. Rhys raised an eyebrow at her, clearly confused, but Fiona ignored him, plunking the battered Echo she’d found on the table.
“I found this,” she said, a little too loudly. “It’s some old Hyperion research logs, I think. I couldn’t make much sense of it, and figured who better to ask than a soulless corporate robot like you?”
“That’s Mister Soulless Corporate Robot to you,” Rhys said, mercifully letting the conversation change course, and scooted a bit closer to her so he could press play on the recording. He listened intently for a few seconds, bending his head close so he could hear over the noise of the bar. Fiona leaned in too, trying to listen even though she’d already heard it and knew that the babble of dry technical data was completely incomprehensible to her.
“Fiona, where the hell did you find this?” Rhys began, turning to look at her. But in his intent listening, he hadn’t noticed her lean in closer to listen too, and he misjudged their distance. Their heads collided with a thunk and they recoiled back from each other, Rhys’ hand flying to his forehead.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, a sheepish expression crossing his face. “You ok?”
“Yeah,” Fiona said, rubbing her forehead. “Sorry.”
Rhys leaned in and for a wild, terrifying moment, Fiona thought he was actually going to--
But no, he reached for her instead, his fingers bumping hers aside and touching the place where they’d collided. “No bruise,” he announced. “I think you’ll live.” He smiled at her from under the brim of her hat, eyes creasing at the corners.
Something across the room broke, then, the sound of shattering glass effectively shattering the moment, and Rhys and Fiona jerked apart, Rhys’ fingers leaving her face to reach up and scratch at his head where the brim of Fiona’s hat rubbed against the skin. August was bent half over, picking up shards of broken glass from the bar floor, as Sasha scowled at him.
“Damn it, babe,” Sasha sighed, loud enough for Fiona to hear her. August shot her a dirty look and Fiona realized that she hadn’t even noticed August come back into the bar. Had she and Rhys really been that wrapped up in each other?
Fiona met Sasha’s eyes, and Sasha half-shrugged apologetically. Sorry, she mouthed and Fiona couldn’t find it in her to protest at the implications. But it wasn’t like she and Rhys had even been doing anything. They were working. What was it Rhys had said? It wasn’t like she’d asked him there for his company?
Would he have even come by just to see her?
Probably not.
But then, he’d leaned in to check her forehead and she’d thought for a wild and exhilarating moment that he was about to try to kiss her.
Had… had she wanted him to?
She was confused, on edge now, hyper-aware of Rhys scratching at the brim of her stupid hat.
“Will you just take that stupid thing off?” Fiona snapped, her embarrassment morphing into frustration, and Rhys’ fingers stilled. He plucked the hat off his head and put it down on the table, reaching up and raking his fingers through his hair.
“Sorry,” he said shortly. He reached for the Echo, dragging it towards him across the table. “Here, let me take this with me. I’ll send you what I find over EchoNet tomorrow.”
“Fine.” Fiona grabbed her drink and tipped it back, draining the rest in one deep swallow. The alcohol burned going down and she barely resisted coughing as she put the glass back down with a thump. She frowned at the glass, trying to ignore the pang in her stomach. She was out of excuses – there wasn’t a good way to stop him from leaving short of asking him to stay.
Rhys dug a few bills out of his pocket and dropped them on the table, standing up. “Take care of yourself, Fiona,” he said quietly. She looked up at him, surprised again by the sincerity in his voice, but before she could say anything he turning away.
“Outta here, Sash,” Rhys said, waving at her.
Sasha raised a hand. “Don’t steal too many souls at work tomorrow!” she called and Rhys laughed.
“Don’t shoot too many of your clientele,” he shot back, and Sasha flipped him off merrily. Rhys nodded at August, who nodded back, pushing himself up off the floor with a grunt where he’d been gathering up the bigger chunks of broken glass.
Fiona watched him go until he’d left the bar, gingerly stepping around a passed out drunk on the doorstep. Then she sighed and dropped her face into her hands with a groan.
“You two are the biggest idiots I’ve ever met, you know that?” August asked. There was a light thwacking sound and August made an offended noise. “What, you want me to lie to her?” he asked and Fiona heard Sasha hiss something under her breath.
She lifted her head and grabbed Rhys’ half-finished drink. Someone might as well drink it after all. She raised the glass to her lips and paused, eyeing the hat on the table.
Suddenly, Fiona sort of wanted to burn it.
+++
They were all covered in mud and grime, sure, but Fiona’d been the one to get completely drenched in muck. Which was just her luck. The others had escaped practically unscathed and here she was, covered in wet smelly… whatever it was.
She winced, feeling ooze seep down the back of her shirt and settle in the small of her back.
“You stink, Fi,” Sasha said, wrinkling her nose and stepping another step away. Fiona scowled at her.
The little house they’d found themselves in had clearly been abandoned for ages – ramshackle and listing to one side, it was covered in dust and the breeze leaked in through broken windows. But it was contained, it was dry, and it would do for the night.
Vaughn was in the next room of the tiny house, one of only two on the ground floor, examining the sagging sofa with trepidation. “How many mites and ticks do you guys think are living in this? Ten? Fifty? A billion?”
“Quit whining, Vaughn,” Rhys said with a groan. He planted his hands in the small of his back and leaned backwards, cracking his spine. “At least we’re out of the weather.”
“True. I’m assuming it’s too much to hope for that the water still works in this place?” Vaughn reached up to adjust his glasses, peering past Rhys and Sasha into the dark kitchen. Sasha walked to the sink and turned the knob. The pipes gave a gurgling heaving attempt at dispelling water before giving up with a sickly sounding squelch.
“Well, I guess that answers that,” Rhys mumbled. He headed for the couch, flopping down into it with another groan. “My feet are killing me. We’re using a Catch-a-Ride tomorrow. I’ll pay as long as anyone who isn’t Sasha drives.”
“Ass,” Sasha said. She eyed the sagging staircase. “I’m gonna check out the upstairs.”
“Be careful,” Rhys and Fiona chorused. Fiona shot Rhys a look and he raised an eyebrow at her.
“What? The stairs look rickety!”
Sasha rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine, guys. Vaughn, come check this out with me. You know. To protect me from the dangerous stairs.”
“How is me going with you going to protect--”
“Vaughn!”
“Alright, geez, fine, I’m coming.”
Vaughn brushed past Fiona as he headed for the stairs. He paused in place, sniffing the air, then turned slowly to look at her.
“Not a word,” she snapped, reaching up and plucking her hat off her head. It was wet and heavy, the brim sagging sadly under the weight of the muck. She gave it a little shake and Vaughn stepped swiftly away, dodging the droplets. He headed up the stairs after Sasha. After a moment, the boards creaked over their heads.
Rhys examined the ceiling. “At least they’re not falling through the floor.” He turned his gaze to Fiona. “Are you alright?”
“Physically? Sure. Will I ever get over this stink? Probably not.” Fiona looked down at herself, wrinkling her nose. “I would kill a man for a shower. I wouldn’t even feel that bad about it.”
Rhys frowned a little and pushed up off the couch. He crossed the little living room, but halted before he got too close.
“Yeesh. They weren’t kidding, Fiona, you really do stink.”
Fiona scowled at him. “Thanks, Rhys, just what every girl wants to hear.”
“Well, I mean, can you smell yourself? I can’t be pointing out anything you didn’t already know.”
“Quite well! Thank you! Now kindly shut up!” Fiona tried to scrub some of the muck off her face with her equally muddy sleeve. It was starting to dry and was cracking off her skin in little flakes. “Ugh.”
Rhys sighed and began to unbutton his jacket. Fiona paused in the middle of scratching some of the dried mud off her neck. “Rhys? What are you doing?”
Rhys arched an eyebrow at her, continuing to unbutton his jacket. It was black, crisp and tailored, and was emblazoned on the sleeves with the Atlas logo in a subtle gray stitching. “Take your jacket off.”
“Excuse me?” Fiona snapped, unable to stop the rush of color pooling in her cheeks. “If you think--”
“Oh, come on. Do you see a bottle of wine anywhere? I can smell you from across the room.” Rhys slid the jacket off his shoulders. Underneath he was wearing a plain white undershirt, thin from years of wear. The sleeve was cut off at the shoulder to accommodate his robotic prosthetic. Fiona’s eyes went first to the scar where metal met flesh, then to Rhys’ neck, where his tattoos looked crisper somehow against the soft white cotton shirt, dipping down beneath his collar.
He held his jacket out to her. “Here. This is at least cleaner than yours. We can try and knock some of the mud off of yours when it dries.”
Fiona stared at the jacket for a second, then two. Then two more. “Um.”
“Come on.” He shook the jacket a little bit. “You can’t want to stay in that.”
Fiona looked up, past the jacket, and was surprised to see the beginnings of a ruddy red creeping up his neck. She raised an eyebrow. “A bottle of wine?”
Rhys scowled at her. “I’m trying to do something nice here.”
“Is that your whole seduction technique?” She reached up and popped the first button of her own jacket, just below her chest, and it felt like the scrape of metal against cloth was deafening. Rhys took a second to answer, his eyes fixed somewhere over her left shoulder.
“Doing nice things?”
“Bottles of wine.”
Fiona popped another button, then another. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. It’s just Rhys.
The last button popped free and she shrugged the jacket off her shoulders, wincing as the muck that hadn’t crusted onto it squelched unpleasantly. She peeled it off the rest of the way and turned away from Rhys, giving it a quick shake in the direction of the kitchen. Mud splattered onto the floor and after a quick glance around the room, she hung it to dry on the stair banister.
When she turned back around, Rhys was studying the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world. She smirked, just a little. “You can look, Rhys, that’s all that’s coming off. You’re not that lucky.”
Rhys’ gaze dropped to her again and the smile he gave her was a bit sheepish. He held out his jacket without a word and this time she took it. It was heavier than she’d expected, the fabric soft beneath her fingers.
“Just so you know,” he said, “I try a little harder than just a bottle of wine.”
“So two bottles of wine.” Fiona slipped the jacket on, sticking her arms through the sleeves. It was still warm from Rhys’ body and the fabric smelled like that cologne he insisted on wearing. The sleeves fell past her wrists and she spent a few seconds trying to push them up before giving up and just letting them hang long. Rhys was so much taller than her that his jacket was almost ridiculously large, but Fiona had to admit that it was cleaner and warmer than her other one.
She looked up at Rhys, who was staring at her with a strange expression on his face. “What are you staring at?”
Rhys cleared his throat. “You’ve got, uh, mud. Here.” He pointed to his own face and Fiona reached up to scrub at her cheek with the sleeve of Rhys’ jacket.
“Good?”
“No, here, let me...” he trailed off, stepping in closer and before either of them could react, his hand was cupping her cheek, thumb brushing at the dirt caked onto her skin.
Fiona froze. Her heart stuttered against her rib cage, her breath catching in her throat. For an achingly long moment that either lasted a second or an hour, Fiona wasn’t quite sure which, they stood there, suspended in the moment.
Then Rhys was stepping away, suddenly, his hand jerking back from her skin as though she’d burned him.
“Think I got it!” he squeaked, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. The blush had crawled its way further up his neck now, settling in his cheeks, where it glowed hot. “Is, uh, is that better?”
“Huh?” Fiona said. Her brain was slowly heaving itself back to life, the beginnings of a realization settling into place that she was pretty sure she should have figured out ages ago, but had been too stubborn to consider.
“The jacket.”
“Oh! Uh, yeah. It’s better. Thanks.”
“Good! Good. Uh. Yeah. No problem.”
They stood in awkward silence for a second, the few feet separating them feeling like miles. Fiona tugged the jacket closer around her, burrowing inside it. It really was much warmer. And drier.
“Hey, Fiona?”
She glanced up at Rhys.
He flashed her a grin. “Did you know you have mud in your hair?”
That startled a laugh out of her and suddenly the awkward tension in the room was gone. “You’re an ass,” Fiona said, but even she could tell the words didn’t have any heat behind them.
“Oi!”
Fiona and Rhys turned in unison towards the stairs. Vaughn was peering down at them, hanging on the rickety banister apparently completely unconcerned about the possibility of it cracking in half. “Guess what Sasha--” He paused, looking from Rhys to Fiona and then back again. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “You know what? I’m not even gonna ask.”
Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. “What did Sasha do?”
Vaughn grinned. “She found bedrooms! We’re sleeping on actual mattresses tonight, my friends.”
Fiona perked up at the thought. They’d been roughing it for a little under a week. It would be nice to actually lie down on a bed.
“Oh, this is the best day ever. Thank you, creepy mystery abandoned swamp house!” Rhys declared, putting a hand on the nearest wall and immediately jerking it away. “Oh, god, that’s slimy.” He wiped his hand on his pants, wrinkling his nose. Fiona grinned at him.
“Dibs on the least disgusting mattress!” she said and darted past Vaughn to race up the stairs.
“Hey! That’s no fair! You’re the most disgusting out of all of us! Hey!”