Chapter Text
The hum of worn circuitry filled the room, punctuated by the occasional cough from an old fan trying its best to push warm air through the chill of the Mid-Zone. Tobias sat hunched over his workbench, his hands moving instinctively across a partially dismantled anomaly detector. Wires tangled like veins. Loose screws rattled in a dish. None of it mattered.
He wasn't fixing anything. Not really. He was distracting himself.
The lab—no, their lab—felt hollow now. There was a chair next to his, empty. Still pulled close like Francis had just stepped out for a cup of coffee.
But Francis wasn't coming back.
Tobias didn't let himself look at the chair often, but tonight, his eyes slipped. He stared at it too long. His breath hitched. There was a storm raging just outside, it remembered him of the night he lost Francis.
He could still hear the soft sound of Francis's laugh echoing in this space, still feel the warmth of his hand brushing against his shoulder when he leaned over to correct Tobias's "creative" wiring. He remembered how they'd argue—debate, Francis would correct—but always end up tangled in each other's arms, sharing warmth in a Zone that wanted them dead.
But that warmth was gone now. Francis was gone.
He let his forehead drop onto his wrist, eyes shut tight.
And then... he thought of her.
The Driver.
He never learned her full name. She never spoke a word—not because she was rude, but because she couldn't. Mute from birth, she once had written on a pice of paper and held it infront of the garage camra. And yet she had listened. To everything. Francis. Tobias. Their stories, their jokes, even the bickering. She had driven through chaos, lightning storms, and collapsing realities just on their voices alone.
And she had cried.
He saw her. On the day Francis rerouted the power and died, Tobias had glanced at the Garage monitor. She didn't know he could see her, but she had crumpled to her knees beside the car. Shoulders shaking. Face buried in her hands. She wept like she had lost someone close—someone she had never even met in person.
Francis's death had shattered something in her too.
Tobias had hesitated that night. His grief was like a fog wrapped around his chest, choking every thought. But he'd found the strength to turn on the radio, voice hoarse, and say, "It wasn't your fault. He chose it. He wanted you to live."
He didn't know if she believed him. But he'd meant it.
He wished he could have held her. Told her, face to face, that it was okay to mourn. That they had lost the same person.
But Tobias had no car. And walking across the Mid-Zone alone was suicide.
He sighed, turning back to his machine. Maybe if he kept busy, he could outrun the memories.
He soldered something. Didn't matter what.
Then—blink. A small red light on the wall was blinking.
He paused. "What the hell?" he whispred to himself.
That light had never come on before.
He frowned, leaned closer. It was the external perimeter lamp. Tied to the motion detector at the front entrance of the lab. But the Zone was empty. He was alone. That light shouldn't be on.
His first thought: It's broken.
Still... he hesitated. Curiosity gnawed at the edges of his grief.
He tapped the monitor feed to the front cam.
And his breath stopped.
Sitting on the metal railing, drenched head to toe in cold rain, was the Driver. "No, no way. Is that really ..." he said, voice trembeling.
She looked small. Fragile. Her soaked jacket clung to her like a second skin. She sat motionless, arms wrapped around herself, her silent face turned toward the door as if she were waiting for something. Or someone.
Tobias blinked once. Twice.
She didn't disappear.
She was real.
He shoved the stool back so hard it screeched. Nearly tripped over a toolbox as he sprinted to the entrance. His heart pounded. A strange, tangled mess of shock and hope and fear all crashing into each other.
He paused with his hand on the door controls. Took a breath. His fingers trembled.
Then—hissssssss— the door unlocked and slowly opened.
The Driver flinched.
She hadn't knocked. Hadn't expected it to open. Her head turned fast, startled.
Their eyes met.
The moment was quiet. Rain still fell around her in sheets, pinging off the railing and ground. Her hair clung to her face. She looked exhausted. Cold. Grief still hung under her eyes like a bruise.
Tobias didn't speak.
He just stared.
And she stared back.
Tobias didn't move. Couldn't.
He stared at the woman in front of him — soaked to the bone, shoulders curled inward, yet still holding herself upright with the strength of someone who had driven through hell more than once.
Was she really here?
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Are you... really here? Or ... am I just dreaming?"
She didn't speak. Couldn't. But she gave him a small, trembling smile. It was barely there — like it cost her something to make — but it was real.
Then she stood. Quiet. Careful. It looked like she didn't even notice that she was completly drenched.
She took the last step forward and lifted one hand — gentle, uncertain — and placed it on his shoulder.
A touch that said everything.
I'm real.
Tobias's breath caught in his throat looking at her. He reached up slowly, almost like she might vanish if he moved too fast, and laid his hand over hers.
"You're really here..." he murmured, smiling faintly.
And then—he snapped out of it.
Her hand was ice cold.
"Shit—" he muttered, eyes widening. "You're freezing. Why are you sitting out in that rain for—come inside. Come on—now."
He gently took her hand and pulled her inside the lab. She followed without protest, head low, water dripping from her coat and hair onto the floor.
He shut the door behind them, sealing out the storm, then quickly shuffled around the room.
"You need—towels, hold on," he said, rifling through a nearby crate. "And a dry jacket— or maby a hoodie. Do you want tea? Coffee? Hot soup? I've got some in the kitchen—"
He turned, hands full, only to stop mid-sentence when he saw her watching him. She was quiet, calm, still soaked to the skin — and yet her expression wasn't panicked or uncomfortable.
She just raised her hand again, gently resting it on his arm.
Tobias stilled.
His shoulders lowered, finally catching up to the moment.
"Right... Sorry," he exhaled. "I'm just—I didn't know the sensor was even working. I didn't think to check. If I'd known, I would've let you in ... Did you knock? I didn't hear anything—, God you waited for the door to open in the pouring rain didn't you?"
She shook her head, and with slow, practiced motion, reached for the small satchel on her side. From it, she pulled — an old pen — and a notebook.
Water smudged the first few pages, but she flipped to a fresh one and began to write, her pen scribbling in short, looping motions. SHe was trembeling slightly from the cold.
She turned it toward him:
"Don't worry about me. I didn't knock. I wasn't sure if I should."
Tobias read it once, then again. His brows furrowed.
"You didn't knock? Wait—how long were you out there?"
She hesitated.
Her pen moved slower this time.
"Something between three or four hours."
Tobias reeled.
"Three or four hours? Outside? In this?" he gestured toward the heavy rain still lashing the windowpanes. "Why didn't you—"
But then he paused. His eyes went back to the note. Back to the words she'd written just before.
"You weren't sure... if you should?"
She didn't respond right away. Her fingers curled around the pen tighter. She looked down, not at him. Her mouth trembled slightly, though no sound came. Then she wrote again:
"I wasn't sure you wanted to see me."
That broke something in him.
Tobias stared at her.
She was soaked, hair sticking to her cheeks, her lips pale from the cold. Her eyes were red and swollen, not just from the rain but from crying — for hours, probably. She didn't even try to meet his gaze.
She wasn't just cold. She wasn't just tired.
She was ashamed. Guilty.
He followed her gaze — just for a moment — to the empty chair beside his workbench.
Francis's chair.
Then back to her. His heart was breaking seeing her like this.
Without thinking, Tobias crossed the space between them and pulled her into a hug.
She stiffened — surprised — but didn't pull away.
His arms wrapped tight around her as her soaked coat pressed against him. He didn't care. He didn't flinch.
"It wasn't your fault," he whispered, voice cracking. "Don't you dare carry that. Francis made his choice. He chose to save you."
He felt her chest hitch silently.
"He would've done it again, without even blinking. That's just who he was. He loved helping people. And I would have too if I had the chance."
Her shoulders started shaking again. She still didn't make a sound, but her breathing changed — soft, silent sobs, her fingers trembling against his back.
Slowly, uncertainly, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around him.
Not tight, not all at once. But they settled there — as if, after weeks, she was finally letting herself be held.
Tobias pressed her closer, "Francis and I, we both wanted to help you. We both agreed to help you the best we can. And we did. Don't carry this guilt with you. It's not your fault."
He held her tighter.
She needed it.
And so did he.
They stayed wrapped in each other for a long time.
Tobias hadn't realized just how tightly he was holding her until the cold of her soaked clothes finally seeped through his own. He gently loosened his grip, stepping back, hands still resting lightly on her arms.
"You need to get out of those wet clothes," he said softly. "You'll catch a cold."
He walked over to a storage cupboard and rummaged through a pile of spare clothes, eventually pulling out an old dark green hoodie and a pair of faded sweats — way oversized, but clean and warm.
"Here," he said, offering them to her. "I'm not arguing. You need to change."
The driver tilted her head, smiling faintly at his tone — warm, but firm. She knew better than to resist. It would be pointless anyway. She took the clothes with a nod of thanks and began peeling off her rain-heavy jacket.
Tobias turned to the counter to start heating water for tea, but caught a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye — her shirt, now soaked through, clung to her body. White, near translucent. His eyes widened slightly before he realized he was staring.
"Oh—uh—bathroom's just around the corner," he blurted, turning away fast, cheeks flushing. "If you... you know. Need it."
She smiled again, shy but amused, and nodded before disappearing down the hallway.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Tobias exhaled sharply and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
He turned back to the lab. His gaze, instinctively, drifted to the empty chair.
Francis's chair.
He could almost hear the teasing now. He chuckled softly under his breath, the sound short and aching.
"I miss you Francis," he muttered.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
She returned, dressed in his clothes, still drying her hair with a towel. She looked smaller in the hoodie, sleeves too long, but warm now. Softer. More at ease.
She sat across from him. Tobias handed her the steaming mug of tea, and she took it gratefully, warming her hands.
"So..." he said gently. "Why'd you come all this way? Is everything alright?"
It wasn't accusatory. Just genuine curiosity.
She looked down at her notepad for a long moment, chewing the end of her pen. Then slowly, carefully, she began to write.
She turned it toward him.
"I was tired of being alone. After Francis died... and Oppy left... it was just so quiet.
You still talked to me over the radio, but I wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay."
Tobias read it in silence, heart tightening in his chest. He set the mug down, nodding faintly.
"I get that," he said. "I've been alone too. After Francis... it's just me in here. And the silence..."
He swallowed.
"It's a lot."
He looked at her, guilt flickering in his eyes.
"I'm sorry I didn't come for you sooner. Or... or talk more over the radio. I should've been better."
She shook her head quickly, scribbling again with firm, fast strokes.
"You are the best! You and Francis always made sure I was okay.
You kept me grounded. I can't thank you enough for that."
Tobias blinked, surprised. Then a quiet laugh escaped him — soft, genuine. He smiled at her, touched by her words. She really meant it.
He watched her sip the tea slowly, her eyes closing for a second like she was soaking in the warmth. For so long, she had been alone. Just like him. Wandering. Surviving. Carrying guilt that wasn't hers.
And now... now she was here.
Tobias hesitated.
Then he cleared his throat.
"Listen... I don't know how long you were planning to stay, but... would you consider... I mean—would you want to stay? Here. With me."
He looked down at his hands, nervous.
"So we're not alone anymore."
Her eyes widened slightly. Her chest tightened — not in fear, but something far softer. Hope. She fumbled for her pen and quickly wrote:
"If you're sure you want me here... I'd love that."
Tobias smiled, more fully this time.
"I absolutely want you here."
Her smile answered him.
But then, something in her face shifted — uncertainty flickered in her eyes. She picked up her notepad again.
" But I can't make the silence louder. Are you not bothered that I can't talk to you? Like a normal person?"
The smile fell from Tobias's face, replaced with something deeper — disbelief.
"What?" he said, voice full of quiet hurt. " you are normal. More than normal. You're special.
You don't need to talk to be heard. I hear you just fine."
He paused, then chuckled softly.
"Besides, I'm good at talking. I can talk enough for both of us."
That made her laugh — a breathless, silent chuckle that shook her shoulders and lit up her eyes. He watched her, he missed this. Missed to make someone smile.
He reached across the table and placed his hand gently over hers.
"We're in this together," he said. "We'll get through it. The both of us.
And with you here... it actually feels like home again."
She looked down, writing slowly.
"Thank you, Tobias."
He smiled, holding her hand just a little tighter.
Two hours passed like the Zone itself had slowed down to listen.
Tobias and the Driver sat across from each other, sipping tea, surrounded by quiet clinks of mugs, scattered tools, and the low hum of the old lab's walls. They had written and spoken—well, he had spoken—about Francis, about the Zone's strangeness, about the anomalies, about bizarre weather patterns and old ARDA tech gone haywire. Somewhere along the way, they'd laughed. Really laughed.
Tobias had made a joke about magnetic deer. The Driver had slapped her palm to her face, shaking her head, a smile tugging at her lips.
And for the first time in a long while, Tobias didn't feel like a man made of fractured glass.
They weren't alone anymore.
But as the night stretched on, he noticed her head start to dip. Slow at first. Then again. Her grip on the mug softened.
Tobias smiled softly.
"I think it's time for bed," he said gently.
She nodded sleepily in agreement.
Tobias stood—then stopped.
He froze, halfway upright, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the rain.
The Driver tilted her head, confused by his sudden stillness.
Tobias slowly turned toward her, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
"So... there's, uh... just one bed here. I forgot."
She blinked.
"It used to be... our bed. Mine and Francis's."
The room seemed quieter suddenly, the name still heavy in the air.
He quickly waved a hand, trying to smooth it over.
"It's fine—you can have it. I'll take the couch. It's not great, but—"
The Driver immediately shook her head, frowning, and started writing.
"It's your bed. I didn't even tell you I was coming. I'll take the couch."
Tobias frowned right back.
"That couch is terrible. Trust me. You'll wake up with half your spine relocated."
She scribbled again.
"Exactly. And you need your spine more than me. You're taller."
He huffed a quiet laugh.
"I'll be fine."
And then, without thinking, he blurted:
"We could share the bed?"
Silence.
The Driver stared at him.
His eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. He immediately facepalmed.
"Wait—no! I mean—yes, but not like that—I didn't mean—we'd just sleep! It's big enough, there is plenty of space and you're small and—I'm making this worse, aren't I?"
He couldn't stop himself. His mouth kept digging.
"I just thought—well—so you'd be comfortable, not because I—"
She reached out and grabbed his hand, gentle but steady.
He stopped talking.
She looked up at him, eyes warm. And nodded.
It was her way of saying, It's okay. I trust you. We can share.
Tobias stared at her, then down at her hand around his. Slowly, he smiled.
"You uh ... you sure?."
She nodded again. That was all he nedded. He smiled at her and began to walk, she followed close behind.
The bedroom was dim and quiet. Tobias led her inside, heart pounding in his chest so loudly he was sure she'd hear it. His fingers itched nervously as he crossed the room, pulling his hoodie over his head and tossing it aside. He was down to a tank shirt and sweatpants — casual, but the act of undressing around someone again sent a rush of nerves through him.
She was still in the hoodie and sweats he'd given her earlier. She didn't change. She didn't want to. It was warm.
Tobias glanced at her just as she sat down on the bed — instinctively, she had chosen the side Francis used to sleep on.
His heart fluttered.
He took a quiet breath and climbed into the bed on his own side.
There was space between them. Not much, but enough.
Still, it felt strange.
Not wrong. Just strange to have someone here again.
He looked at her and gave a small, gentle smile.
"Goodnight. I'm glad... I'm glad you're staying."
She didn't have her notepad with her anymore. Instead, she reached out and placed her hand softly over his. A quiet touch that said I'm staying. Thank you. Goodnight.
Tobias squeezed her hand back, then reached over to flick the light switch.
Darkness wrapped around them.
Within minutes, she was still. Her breath slowed. Sleep had taken her.
But Tobias remained awake, lying on his side, eyes open.
He watched her in the soft moonlight that spilled in through the broken blinds. Her face was calm, peaceful. Her expression unguarded, like she'd finally let go of something heavy.
He hadn't shared a bed with anyone since Francis.
Weeks. Maybe more.
He turned his head slightly. She was lying exactly where Francis used to. His love. His home.
But Francis wasn't coming back.
Tobias felt the tears sting quietly behind his eyes.
He swallowed hard.
She stirred in her sleep, just slightly. A lock of hair slipped across her cheek.
Without thinking, Tobias reached out and brushed it back. His fingers lingered, soft over her temple, then her cheek.
He should've pulled away.
He meant to.
But she moved again — and in her sleep, her hand reached out, found his, and held it. Fingers intertwined gently and brought to rest just beside her face.
Tobias froze.
His breath caught.
She didn't wake. Just... held him.
He didn't move. He didn't want to.
He liked the way her hand felt in his.
His heart still beat for Francis.
It always would.
But this warmth... this connection... this quiet...
What was this feeling blooming in his chest?
He wasn't sure.
But it was there.
And it scared him.
Because it felt good.