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She comes through the door in an anxious flurry. Or tries to; it jams again halfway and she almost twists her ankle. Her heart rate spikes further at the near miss with unaffordable disaster.
"Oh thank God you're back." His voice is tight and she hears the fear seeping through the cracks. It makes her skin crawl.
"Yeah. Well. Long shift. Long lines. How is she?"
"She's burning up. Did you get the meds?"
She hands him the paper bag while he hands over their daughter. She is clammy and whimpering quietly. Too quietly, for a two year old.
His voice is frustrated but held low: "What is this? This is just— Tylenol. She needs real flu meds, we said!"
"I know what we said. I was there. But this is all I could get. They wanted… too much. Saying there's supply chain issues again. But it'll still help."
"If it's even real Tylenol…"
"Deb smuggled it for me from Midtown. We trust Deb." Her voice is firm and full of conviction.
His face is tight and his reply is terse.
"Yes, we trust Deb."
He rips open the packaging and quickly readies a dose with hands that shake faintly with stress.
Their girl shoos it away first, weakly.
"It's okay, baby. It's a treat. Tastes like fruit. Promise! Special treat just for you.
She whines but opens her mouth just enough after some more coaxing. He pushes in the syringe, giving her a little taste.
"Good, right? Want some more?"
Her little nod is tiredly eager, the most animated they've seen her in the past few days. She takes the rest quickly, then whines for more.
"That's all for now, baby. More later, I promise."
He's so good with her. It breaks her heart that he can be so good and then so useless. So gentle, kind, big, strong, handsome, and self sacrificing. Except he always forgets when he sacrifices himself, he's sacrifing their little family, their little girl, for others. Such a hero. But then something else catches her eye.
"Wait, where's her other sock?" She'd spent hours on that sock. Hours she'd thought she had for herself, evenings she'd believed she'd earned, and then she'd finished it in quiet moments between all her other responsabilities.
"Uh. Shit. She definitely had it when we went out. It's gotta be here somewhere…"
"When you went out?" She hears the rising edge in her voice and tries to gentle it, for their daughter. But something ugly is trying to break free.
He sees her face and then he is hurriedly looking around the small apartment. He throws himself into it the search: The couch, under pillows, under the couch.
While he avoids her, their child squirms in her arms. She soothes her, walking a tiny circuit the living room, but she feels the screaming animal in her own chest trying to get out. Their daughter's head is against her shoulder, and her breathing is slow. She takes her into the tiny den they'd done their best to turn into a sanctuary.
He's already there, looking in the dinged up crib, under the mostly new mattress, in the closet full of new cheap clothes he'd found in a dumpster while she was pregnant.
Her glare shoos him out of the room, and then she readies her daughter for a nap. It takes time, with her favourite sock missing. Finally, she settles into a fitful sleep.
Back in the living room, he's sitting on couch, leaned over his knees, head in his hands. Defeated looking.
She can't be defeated. She waits for him to speak, because if she does, she will regret it.
"I took her to the foundry. To the office. I apologized, I swear. It… didn't work."
"You took her, so you wouldn't start a fight."
"Yeah, I guess." He raises his head to give her that little lop sided smile she fell in love with.
"You took her outside, when she's so sick, to use as a prop, to beg for your job, that you lost, like a naive idiot. Again." But what she actually says is, "I need to go back to work."
He startles. "What, why? You always said it's completely dead this time of day."
"I know what I said. And I said it was dead except for the real desperate guys."
His eyes widen and his mouth opens in shock before his expressions closes up, some type of anger bubbling up.
"We said, you would never have to do that. That you wouldn't end up like Sally. Those guys are crazy! You flirt even a little and they get obsessed and they follow you and… Sally."
Sometimes she can't believe he believes that watered down truth. But he really seems to. Maybe it's a self defence mechanisms to help him sleep at night. She envies it.
"I'll be careful. But we need money. Fast. The store fronts are sold out. It's all back alley. Most of it's poison. You know that. Vash and Pix are the only ones I think have the real deal, and they know it.
He bites his lip and looks away. His face is twisted bitterly when he looks back.
"How much did they ask?"
"139 ND for a full week's course."
The air is punched out of his lungs, and he lets his head fall back into his hands.
Last month they had spent 200 ND on groceries. 100 of that was his soy protein supplement. Which she had been fine with. Because things has been fine. Or fine enough. But losing another job and then the meds they'd already bought … all she could see in the tense coil of muscles in front of her was wasted cash.
She closes her eyes and tries to breathe. She had to focus. She could do this. She could do this and get the meds, and then she would straighten out her life.
"I had an idea."
Her heart plummets into her stomach. It feels like it's boiling in acid. Was he waking up to what she had to do? What he could do, if only—
"I was watching the shows. I think I could do it. We know the payouts are real. And fast. Same day even!"
This time she implodes. She doesn't let it show, her expression a perfect shell, while her inner self collapses into the black hole of practicality. Her daughter is sick but sleeping. But of all the idiotic bullshit he'd ever confidently spouted off, this took the fucking cake.
"People get hurt in those shows. Real bad. We talked about this."
"I figure I can use these guns while I still have them." He half heartedly flexes a bicep. She imagines she can tell it is already shrinking, since he'd cut his calories last week.
"That shit is rigged. Rigged hard. Yeah I know Jem made that 500 last year—let me finish—but that's just part of their marketing budget, I told you. The big pay outs are fake."
He's silent after her rebuke.
"And another thing! You don't get to pick what show. It's general tryouts. Jem said they said she could back out, sure, but like. Ben. Ben. You can't. You can't do this."
"It's not like I'd end up on the Running Man."
At least he's brave enough to bring up the obvious.
"You could. Look at you. I saw the ads everywhere today. Last day to try out?They'd eat you up. Like I used to."
She sees his jaw clench at that. She shakes her head tiredly.
"I need to go. I'll be back in three hours, four tops. Do not leave her alone."
She goes to the bathroom, and freshens herself up. When she comes out, he's in the kitchen, making up a meal for them.
"Here. Rice ball with the red soy."
The red soy is her preferred. He likes green. But red is the only kind he bought last weekend. There are two rice balls, the same size, but his looks much smaller in his hand then hers in her own. They eat quietly, standing with the counter between them.
Then she double checks her makeup in the mirror, and then she's at the door, and then she's getting her shoes back on sore feet. He's still in the kitchen, listless.
She opens the door, after two attempts, and looks back at him out of long habit. He looks up, offering a weak smile.
"Bye, babe. Love you."
She swallows, and returns the same smile.
"Love you too."
She doesn't kiss him goodbye. She never kisses him again.