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"Do you think maybe it's a punishment?"
Lindsay turns the shirt in their hands over so Fiona can see the front of it. "Hell yea, it is. Do you remember when this is what the cool kids wore?"
Fiona stares blankly at the Abercombie & Finch logo and says, "Sort of." The answer to her question had been a bit quick - harsh, almost, but she doesn't question it. Lindsay's just like that, sometimes, and who can blame them, really. "But how do you remember it? You're way out of the age range for that."
"Unfortunately for me, I still do have to come across middle and high school aged children in the wild and I do remember when they make horrifically bad choices," Lindsay says, putting the shirt back on the rack and going back to flipping through. By all means, they had enough clothes at home, but there was something attractive about being a regular customer at the local thrift stores.
Also, they needed to put together a few outfits to go undercover in for the next job, and Lindsay had told Fiona that they had a very specific vision that they would only be able to acquire at a secondhand store.
"But, no, not really. I think it's a bit much to say it's a gift, but I wouldn't deem it a punishment either. If it is, whoever's punishing us is doing a terrible job. I just think it's something that happens sometimes." They lift another shirt off the rack, some sort of deep red blouse, hold it against Fiona's front, then shrug and put it back. It would seem like they were still just discussing clothes if it wasn't for the geniune concern when they glanced back at her. "Did something happen? You never really ask questions like that."
"I know," Fiona says, almost snaps, but she's talking to Lindsay, so she doesn't. "No, look, okay, when Geoff found me, he just told me the things we knew for sure, about each other, from what's happened before, and I thought maybe the rest would fall into place, but it hasn't." She moves another shirt in front of the one Lindsay had been looking at on the rack, shaking her head no when the other looks up questioningly. "Okay, Lindsay, you can't make fun of me, alright?"
"I never would," Lindsay promises, which is a lie, but also in terms of things Fiona was geniunely worried about, a complete truth.
"The lady at the corner store I go to has cancer. She's been gone a few weeks and I asked the guy whose been taking her shifts if she quit or something, but no, she has a handful of weeks left. And I just keep thinking about how many weeks I would give her if I could. So maybe it is like a punishment, having to watch people better than you live far shorter lives," Fiona explains. She doesn't elaborate on why she has such an attachment to the woman who sells her sodas in the middle of the night, but she doesn't need to. Lindsay knows that even if she would never admit it, Fiona doesn't like people in passing, she likes people with her entire being, be it romantic or platonic.
"Maybe," Lindsay says, tone contemplative. "But we don't know what happens to them afterward. Maybe they're going somewhere that's better than here. And maybe that's the punishment: we never know what happens to the others and we never get to go where they go. But you could sort of think if it as a reward in the same way. Maybe there's something everyone else is doing wrong that they're getting punished for and we're getting rewarded by getting to stay here."
Someone a few aisles over coughs and Fiona thinks for a moment that this was a bad place to decide to have this conversation. Lindsay knows by now that even if someone overhears something and believes it, they'll never believe it with enough conviction to break the social norms and do something about it, whatever that may be.
Fiona hmms, thoughtful, then Lindsay picks up a turtleneck and she practically bounces. "Oh, that's perfect, fits with the whole sophisticated librarian type of look."