Chapter Text
The hum of the Gateway faded behind her as the battered station wagon rolled into the garage. Its engine gave one last stutter before falling silent, the metal still ticking from the heat. The red glow of the portal dimmed, sealing the path back to the Mid Zone.
Inside, the garage was quiet — familiar in its solitude.
Then came the voice.
"Welcome back, Driver," Francis said over the intercom, his voice warm with relief. "Another smooth run, I see. In one piece again, huh?"
The Driver looked up at the ceiling-mounted camera and gave a thumbs-up, dust-covered glove catching the soft overhead light. There was a pause — then a chuckle from the speaker.
"You're still all gestures, huh? No mic, no transmitter. I guess it's just me doing the talking again." His voice softened, affection threaded into the words. "Still, I'm glad you're back safe. Tobias would've loved to see how far you've come."
The Driver's eyes dropped. That name still stung — Tobias. She whispered, barely audible in the quiet:
"Yeah. I wish he was still here too."
She knew he couldn't hear her, but it didn't matter. Some words still needed saying.
Francis didn't speak for a few seconds. When he did, the lightness in his voice had dimmed. "He'd be proud of you. Of what you're doing. I just... I wish I could share it with him. Really share it."
The Driver watched the flickering light on the console — the one that blinked when he spoke. She imagined him alone, sitting in some cold monitoring station in the Mid Zone, talking to no one but her silence.
"Well," he cleared his throat. "You did great out there. Really. But do me a favor, okay? Take a break. You've been running yourself into the ground. You need to rest. Take care of yourself."
The Driver could hear it in his voice — that edge of worry he always tried to hide. Not just professional concern, but something heavier. Something personal.
Maybe... maybe he was scared. Scared she'd disappear too. Like Tobias did.
"I'll scan the samples you brought in," Francis said, his voice drifting back to the detached tone of work. "Go rest, Driver. Seriously. That's an order."
The radio clicked off.
The garage fell into silence.
She stood there for a moment, one hand still resting on the wheel. Her chest ached — not from the run, not from exhaustion — but from the sadness she'd heard in Francis's voice. That quiet, heavy sorrow that never really left him.
She was tired of hearing it.
Tired of the silence between them.
Tired of being nothing more than a pair of hands and a camera feed to someone who was trying so hard not to fall apart.
She wanted to talk to him. Not over the radio. Not with hand gestures. In person. She wanted to tell him he wasn't alone. That she was still here. That Tobias hadn't died for nothing.
She still felt the guilt — sharp and cold, buried under weeks of quiet survival. Tobias had given his life for hers, and she'd never even spoken to him. Not once.
But she had listened. To all of them. Every word. And now, she needed Francis to know that.
Even if he didn't want to see her.
Even if he didn't think he needed anyone.
Even if she was just as broken as he was.
She grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and took one last look around the garage.
Then she climbed back into the car, turned the key, and set a course for the Mid Zone.
She was going to find Francis.
The road to the Mid Zone was as rough as they had warned her.
Tobias and Francis used to tell her — over and over — "Don't try to reach us. It's too dangerous." But they weren't both here anymore.
Now, it was only Francis.
And that thought made her heart ache in ways she couldn't explain.
The anomalies were everywhere — flickering lights, tremors in the air, strange echoes that chased her vehicle like whispers. But she didn't care. She had to see him. She needed to speak to him — really speak — for the first time.
As she neared the old lab, her nerves began to twist inside her. The road, the journey, the anomalies — they had been hard, yes. But this... this was harder.
She tried to rehearse a greeting in her head.
"Hi."
No. Too small.
"Francis, it's me."
Stupid. He knows it's you.
"I'm sorry about Tobias."
Too soon. Too much.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
How do you talk to someone you've never spoken to — but care about more than most people you have?
Did that even make sense?
Maybe not. But it didn't matter.
She just didn't want him to feel alone anymore.
She knew that loneliness too well.
She pulled up to the lab and stared at the metal door for ten full minutes. Her knuckles ached from gripping the wheel. Finally, with a sharp inhale, she climbed out of the car and approached.
There was no doorbell. Of course not.
It was a research lab, not a home. Hidden in the Mid Zone, where no one else lived, no one else visited. Who would put a doorbell out here?
Meanwhile, inside:
Francis sat at his workstation, eyes unfocused as they drifted over half-finished scan results. He wasn't reading them — not really. His gaze kept wandering to the old workbench in the corner.
Tobias's workbench.
Still untouched.
He swallowed the rising ache in his throat. He tried so hard to sound composed when he spoke to the Driver — kind, supportive, steady. But the truth was... it was getting harder. Since Tobias was gone, the silence in this lab had become unbearable. Not just quiet — hollow.
He felt like a ghost moving through the day. Grief clung to him like static, invisible but always there.
Still, he pushed through. For the Driver.
He didn't even know the sound of her voice. God, how he wished he could talk to her — really talk. Say what he'd kept buried all this time.
He remembered the night Tobias died.
Francis hadn't spoken for hours afterward. Couldn't. But he had watched through the Garage's cameras. He saw her — the Driver — fall to her knees, trembling, shoulders shaking with sobs he couldn't hear.
She blamed herself. He knew she did.
But she was wrong.
Tobias had always been the kind to throw himself into the fire to save someone else. That was who he was. He saw the Driver as one of them — family. She was one of them.
Francis had never told her that.
He wished he had Tobias's courage.
Just as his gaze dropped back to the scans, something caught his eye — a blinking sensor light on the panel.
The door.
He frowned and stood up slowly, activating the front camera with a single press.
Then he froze.
There, in the grayscale display, was a woman. Dust on her clothes, shoulders tense — and unmistakably her.
The Driver.
She was at his door.
Francis's heart skipped. He blinked. Once. Twice. Was it real?
He didn't think. He just ran.
Down the corridor, around the crates, nearly slipping on loose papers. Is she really here? His thoughts raced faster than his legs. Is she hurt? Is she okay? How did she survive the trip? Why is she here?
But above all —
She's here.
He reached the door, breathless, hand shaking as he unlocked it.
The door slid open.
She stepped back slightly, startled — but only for a second.
Francis stared. She looked so real standing there. Not behind a monitor. Not through a distant camera feed. Right there.
Alive.
She opened her mouth to speak — maybe — but she never got the chance.
Francis surged forward and pulled her into a hug. His arms wrapped around her before his brain had caught up. He didn't even think — it was instinct. The relief was overwhelming.
The Driver stiffened in surprise, then quickly relaxed, returning the embrace.
No words. No explanations.
Not yet.
Just two people holding each other after too much silence, too much loss.
And finally —
not alone.
They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, not speaking. Just holding on.
The hug lasted longer than either of them expected — and neither wanted to be the first to let go. But eventually, the Driver found her voice.
Still pressed against him, she asked softly, almost like she didn't believe it herself,
"Francis? Is... is it really you?"
The question pulled Francis out of his trance. He suddenly realized what he was doing, and with a startled gasp, he jumped back.
"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, flustered. "I didn't mean to... I mean, this is—this is the first time we've met and I—hugged you and that's... I didn't mean to—"
Then he froze again.
His eyes widened.
"You spoke," he whispered. "You—your voice. You can talk?"
The Driver let out a small, nervous laugh. "Yeah. I can talk."
Francis looked almost dazed with wonder — equal parts overwhelmed and overjoyed. The Driver chuckled again, finding some comfort in his reaction. He was just as nervous as she was, and somehow that made it easier.
They smiled at each other, shy but sincere.
Then Francis cleared his throat and asked, "Why are you here? I mean — is everything okay?"
The Driver looked down, gathering her thoughts. "I... I just wanted to see you. I didn't want to keep being silent anymore. I wanted to talk. If you'd let me."
Francis blinked, trying to process it all. She had come all this way. She'd taken the risk — for him.
"Of course," he said, voice gentle. "Come in. Please. You must be exhausted."
He stepped aside and motioned her in. The Driver gave him a grateful nod and followed, stepping inside the lab she had only ever imagined. It felt strange to be here — so close to him — after all this time watching and listening from a distance.
As they walked through the hallway, Francis tried to sound casual. "You really shouldn't have made that trip. It's dangerous out there."
"I know," she replied. "But I had to."
Inside, Francis guided her toward a seat and set about heating water. "Tea?"
She smiled. "Tea sounds perfect."
He handed her a mug and sat across from her. The air between them was quieter now — but no longer uncomfortable. Still, Francis couldn't help the worry in his voice.
"I'm glad you're here, but... why now? What made you decide to come?"
The Driver stared into her tea for a long moment. "Because I couldn't take it anymore. The silence. The distance. I've been alone all this time, Francis. And I know you have too."
Francis's chest tightened.
"I just... I needed to talk to you," she continued. "And I wanted to make sure you were okay. I would have come sooner, but... I didn't think you'd want to see me."
He blinked in surprise. "Why would you think that?"
The Driver hesitated, struggling to meet his eyes.
"Because..." Her voice wavered. "Because Tobias is gone. And it's my fault."
Francis went still.
"I'm the reason he's not here," she whispered. "He died saving me. And I never even got to thank him. I never spoke to him. I just—" She looked away. "I'm so sorry, Francis. I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't think I deserve it."
Francis looked at her carefully, weighing his words. He glanced across the room, where Tobias's old workbench still stood untouched. Then back to her.
"You're wrong," he said softly. "It's not your fault."
The Driver shook her head, tears already beginning to pool in her eyes.
"I mean it," Francis said, firmer now. "Tobias chose to do what he did. That's who he was. He would've done it again in a heartbeat — for you, for anyone. He did it because of you. He did it for you."
She didn't answer. Her eyes still cast downward, her expression full of guilt.
Francis reached out, hesitating only for a moment before gently taking her hand.
"I saw you that night," he said. "After it happened. You fell to your knees in the garage. You were shaking. Crying. For someone you never even met. And I knew, in that moment, that you cared. That you understood."
His voice cracked slightly, but he held steady.
"You cried for him. And I needed that. I needed to know I wasn't the only one."
The Driver looked up at him now, and the sorrow in her eyes finally broke loose. She let out a ragged breath and clung to him — hands gripping his shirt, forehead against his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'd do anything to bring him back for you."
Francis pulled her close, holding her tightly. His own tears fell freely now, no longer hidden behind professionalism or quiet strength.
Because her guilt mirrored his.
Her silence had been his silence.
And now, at last, they were holding each other through the grief.
Neither spoke again for a long time.
They just stayed there — letting the pain pass through them, not alone anymore.
They held each other for a long time — not speaking, not thinking. Just feeling.
Just trying to remember what it meant to not be alone.
Eventually, their breathing evened out, and the tension in their bodies began to ease. Francis gave a quiet sigh and slowly stepped back, smiling weakly at the Driver.
"I'll get you another tea," he said gently, voice still raw but lighter.
The Driver nodded, her arms falling to her sides. She watched him go, then turned to look around the lab again, taking in the space that had been his world for so long.
That's when she saw it.
A small workbench tucked into the corner — cleaner than the others. Carefully preserved. On it sat a photo in a cracked but polished frame. Two men stood shoulder to shoulder, smiling at the camera. One of them she recognized immediately — Francis, younger, eyes brighter.
The other had to be Tobias.
Her chest tightened.
Francis returned quietly, two steaming mugs in hand. He paused when he saw where she was standing.
He didn't say anything at first. Just stepped beside her and looked down at the photo, letting the silence speak for them both.
"That's him," he said softly after a moment. "Tobias."
The Driver sniffled and nodded, wiping at her eyes.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" she asked, her voice thick. "To cry over someone I never even met?"
Francis let out a quiet chuckle — kind, not mocking. "Maybe a little. But I think it says a lot about how much you cared. Even just over a radio."
She looked at him — eyes glassy but smiling.
"I did care," she said. "For all of you. I listened to every story, every joke, every argument. You helped me survive out there. You helped me live. I just..." She hesitated. "I wish I could've given something back."
Francis shook his head, a small, warm smile on his face.
"You being here," he said, "alive... that's enough for me."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything unsaid between them hung in the air — not heavy, but whole. The Driver smiled gently, touched.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For understanding."
He smiled back. Then, without thinking, he spoke.
"You should stay."
The words had left his mouth before his brain could stop them.
The Driver blinked. "Stay?"
Francis immediately looked flustered, nearly spilling his tea. "I just meant — I mean — if you wanted to. I know the trip here was risky and, well, you still don't have a transmitter, and—what if you wanted to come back again? It's dangerous. And I just... I don't like the idea of you being out there. Alone. Again. I wouldn't want to be alone either. And if you left, I—"
"Francis."
He looked at her.
She was smiling.
"I'd love to stay."
His mouth opened slightly in surprise.
"If... you want me to," she added, a little shy now.
Francis let out a breathless laugh and smiled wider than he had in a long, long time.
"Yes," he said. "I want you to."
And just like that — it was decided.
The Driver would stay.
They weren't alone anymore.
The first few days were awkward.
Not in a bad way — just uncertain.
Neither of them had lived with anyone in a long time. The Driver had been alone in the garage for months, her only company the hum of machines and the distant voice on the radio. Francis had buried himself in scans, logs, and memory — the silence in his lab as thick as fog.
Now, suddenly, the silence had company.
They stumbled through a kind of quiet domestic dance — unspoken rules forming slowly. At first, it was little things: who made the tea in the morning, where the spare tools were kept, which scanner still glitched when you turned it on too fast. The Driver didn't talk much at first — not out of shyness, but out of habit. Silence had been her way of life.
But Francis talked.
Not in constant streams, but in gentle rhythms — about Tobias, about the early days of the Zone, about old data anomalies he still didn't understand. He'd glance at her sometimes, mid-story, like asking for permission to keep going. She always nodded.
And then, she started talking more too.
At first, about the runs she used to take — the terrifying ones, the weird ones, the oddly peaceful ones. The quiet beauty of storms that shimmered instead of rumbled. The time her car was nearly lifted by an anomaly and thrown into a ravine, only saved by a last-second surge of luck. Francis listened, fascinated.
They spent time together in the workshop. The Driver was better with tools than computers — her hands instinctively knowing how to repair or reinforce even the weirdest modifications. Francis was the opposite: scanner arrays, signal processors, environmental monitors — his world was made of data.
Together, they were a strange but effective team.
She'd pull apart a broken scanner and rebuild it stronger. He'd recalibrate the output and fine-tune the readings. There was laughter — real laughter — when a scanner misfired and coated Francis in blue tracking dye, and he just stood there blinking like a confused ghost.
"You look like the Zone threw up on you," the Driver teased.
"I am the Zone," he replied dramatically, arms out like some half-dead prophet.
They talked until late. About Tobias. About loneliness. About guilt.
Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it:
They weren't alone anymore and they got attached to one another.
One morning, Francis woke up and found her already at the workshop bench, disassembling a faulty antenna array. She glanced up, offered a tired smile, and passed him a mug of tea.
It felt easy. Natural.
He was so greatfull for her company.
And in moments like those — in half-finished sentences, shared tools, quiet smiles — something else started to grow between them. Not just comfort, not just survival... but something warmer.
Neither of them tried to define it. Not yet.
But it was there. In the way he made sure her tea was the way she liked it. In the way she waited for him before starting the scanner calibrations. In the way they looked at each other — not just as colleagues or companions, but as people slowly stitching themselves back together.
One small gesture at a time.
One shared morning at a time.
And with every passing day, they both held a little less grief...
And a little more hope.
A few weeks later
The sun was dipping low as the Driver maneuvered her car through the cracked streets of the mid zone. She had been scavenging for hours, dodging anomalies and picking through wreckage with practiced ease. The radio buzzed quietly at her side, Francis's voice steady and calm, keeping her company, guiding her, a lifeline she clung to even now.
"Almost clear of the lab, Driver. You should come back, it's getting dark," Francis said over the radio.
"Got it, Francis. I'm heading out now," she replied as she packed the last few things out of an old ARDA tower.
She stepped carefully over the old metal railing — then suddenly, the rust gave way with a sharp crack.
The railing snapped, and she plummeted down, crashing hard onto a pile of twisted metal and broken crates below.
Franics could hear the crash over the radio, his heart naerly stopped.
"Driver! Driver!" Francis's voice rose in panic, crackling urgently through the static. "Are you—are you okay? Talk to me!"
For what felt like endless seconds, there was only silence.
Then, faint: "I'm... okay."
Francis's scanner immediately beeped. He watched her vitals flicker on the screen — uneven, weakening.
She groaned, attempting to push herself up. A searing pain exploded in her side, and she faltered, nearly collapsing again.
A rusty pipe had pierced through her right side, blood darkening her shirt.
Francis's voice trembled over the radio. "I'm getting bad readings from your vitals. Don't move! I'm coming. Hold on."
"No, Francis — I can make it. I'm almost at the car," she said, gritting her teeth.
The radio chatter was tense, desperate. Francis tried to keep calm, giving her instructions to breathe slowly, to keep consciousness, to not faint.
Each agonizing mile she drove back was a battle. Her vision blurred, her grip tightened on the steering wheel as waves of pain crashed over her. Several times, the car swerved dangerously, nearly colliding with debris, but she fought through it all.
Francis, waiting anxiously in the garage, caught the first flicker of headlights.
He sprinted toward the entrance, nearly tripping on the uneven floor, heart pounding.
The car rolled in, and Francis's breath caught.
There she was — the pipe still embedded in her side, blood staining her shirt.
Her eyes met his, trying to reassure him with a faint smile, but Francis's face drained of color.
"No," he whispered, voice cracking. "Not again. Not you, too."
He rushed to her side, carefully opening the door and easing her out, supporting her trembling frame. Every second was agony; she was fragile, slipping between consciousness.
Inside the workshop, he helped her onto the cot. Her breathing was shallow, beads of sweat clinging to her forehead. She completly colapsed.
"No- no- no-no. Don't do this. Please stay awake. Stay with me!" he pleaded.
Francis's hands shook but moved with purpose. He tore open her shirt carefully, exposing the wound.
The pipe had sliced a deep, jagged path through muscle and flesh. Blood seeped steadily, pooling beneath her.
He swallowed hard and cleaned the wound as best he could with sterilized cloths.
His mind raced — he needed to get the pipe out without causing more damage, every second counted.
He gritted his teeth and steadied his hands. With a deep breath, he grasped the pipe firmly and pulled — sharp pain echoed through her. She was fainted, mercifully spared the agony of awareness.
Immediately, Francis grabbed a red-hot metal rod from the oven in the corner — a crude cauterizing tool. With practiced hands, he pressed it against the wound, searing the torn flesh closed.
The smell of burning flesh filled the room, but Francis didn't flinch.
Tears pricked his eyes — not just from the acrid smoke, but from the overwhelming fear and desperation he felt for her.
He held her hand tightly, whispering, "Stay with me. Please, stay with me. You can't leave me too, Please!"
Hours passed — the night stretching endlessly as he tended to her.
He monitored her vitals, talked to her softly, unwilling to let silence settle between them.
At times, she stirred, her eyelids fluttering, and he squeezed her hand, grounding her to life.
Francis refused to give up. He had lost Tobias — he could not lose her too.
She was still breathing.
Still alive.
Francis exhaled a shaky breath, relief flooding through him.
The road ahead was uncertain, but for now — she was stable.
And he would fight for her, as Tobias once fought for them all.