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Desperate times called for people being shoved into cramped rooms and forced to sleep feet away from guys they barely knew or didn’t like. And Dylan knew damn well he was the guy that people didn’t like.
He’d pushed his cot over into the most isolated corner of the room, but even that wasn’t far enough for most people’s comfort. People around him slept, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t soundly. Except for Zoe. She’d moved her cot in between Dylan and everyone else, curled up on it with her back to him, and fallen asleep immediately. He couldn’t tell if she was actually that bold or if she was trying to make a point.
Don’t bother. They’re never going to trust me. Why should they?
He didn’t voice the thought aloud to her. Instead, he hugged his pillow close to his chest and stared at Zoe’s back, watching the rise and fall of her side as she slept, completely unafraid.
Zoe de Vera, the agent who makes no damn sense.
He couldn’t keep staring forever. Dylan didn’t sleep so much as he did slip in and out of consciousness. He could tell time had passed from subtle changes to the room. Lighting shifts. People leaving when they decided they weren’t that tired after all. Zoe moving in her sleep. All normal, until it wasn’t.
Dylan’s mind went from half-asleep to awake and hyper-aware when he registered the change in Zoe’s body language. She’d curled up tightly, and the slow and steady movement of deep breathing was replaced by violent trembling. Dylan looked around the room. Nothing seemed wrong and no one else had reacted. Was she trying to cry in private? Was she having a nightmare?
Should I do something?
He was the worst possible person in the room to try helping her and he knew it, but he was also the only person. And what was he supposed to do? Abandon the person who’d been so illogically kind to him? He’d done a lot of messed-up shit in his life, but ignoring her and going back to sleep somehow felt like it’d be in the top ten of Dylan Faden Fuckups.
I’ll just go over and check. If she wanted him to leave, he’d go. Easy.
Dylan moved slowly, both to avoid startling Zoe and to avoid waking anyone else up. As he crept closer, he thought he heard muffled whimpering. “Zoe?” Dylan said quietly. As he circled around her cot, Dylan saw Zoe’s distressed expression. Her eyes twitched under tightly closed eyelids. Still asleep, so it must’ve been a nightmare. “Agent de Vera?” Dylan tried again as he crouched in front of her. “Hey…it’s Dylan…”
Zoe shuddered awake. Her eyes glinted with tears as they met Dylan’s; they were still distant, half in the dream, whatever it had been about. “It’s Dylan,” he repeated. He rested a hand on the edge of her cot to steady himself. “Sorry. You, uhm, you looked…”
Zoe’s hand suddenly darted out to grasp his. Dylan froze, stared down at their hands. He almost pulled his hand away—he hadn’t planned on touching her at all—but she’d reached out, looking for comfort. It was weird, foreign, but he’d be a bastard if he pulled away.
“…you’re okay,” Dylan carefully, properly took her hand, trying to mimic the way Jesse would hold his back when they were kids. “You’re safe.” Her hand gripped his so tightly her knuckles went pale. Her face was inches away from his. He could practically count the whisps of hair falling into her face. “It was just a dream.”
Zoe nodded slowly. A few of the tears escaped her eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s fine. I was already awake,” Dylan replied. “Besides, I think this makes us even for me almost throwing up on you.”
Zoe laughed a bit frantically. “Yeah, that was pretty gross.” She sat up and wiped a few tears away. “Ah, shit.”
She was still holding his hand, still shaking. The room felt too small and dark, and he wasn’t even the one who’d had a nightmare. I have to get her out of here. “Do you.” Dylan cleared his throat. “Uhm. Do you want to get some air?”
Dylan watched as Zoe’s face went from confusion—they weren’t supposed to wander outside without official cause—to realization—Dylan must’ve found a way to go out without being caught—to, shockingly, acceptance. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. Air sounds good.”
It was too late to back out now, but that didn’t stop Dylan from regretting making the offer. You’re admitting to sneaking out and revealing one of your hiding places to this girl. She’s FBC. She’s your handler. Is this worth it?
Zoe had to let go of his hand to gather up all of her stuff, but…she had held his hand unprompted, trusted him enough to seek comfort from him. Shown him her back. Made sure he didn’t get puke in his hair.
Hadn’t called him P6 once he’d asked her to stop, and he hadn’t even asked nicely.
I’m never going to know what her deal is unless I show her my back, too.
The thought made him queasy. He led her out of the room and to his secret hideout anyway.
They had to navigate through the Watchtower’s incomplete construction on the upper floors and take the outer support structures to avoid cameras, but Zoe didn’t complain. Her strongest reaction was when they finally reached one of the semi-finished upper floors and she saw his full setup. “How did you smuggle all of this up here?”
Dylan shrugged. It wasn’t even that much—a blanket, hand broom to clear away the concrete dust, basket of snacks (mostly candy from smashed vending machines), a box of sidewalk chalk—but it was definitely nice than anything the FBC would’ve given him. “Trade secret,” he said. I’m not turning my back that much.
Zoe accepted the answer with a shrug and sat down. Dylan sat down near her. He’d positioned the nest so that he could smell the fresh air coming through a nearby broken window without getting too much of a chill. He’d feel more relaxed if by the sensation he didn’t have company.
“Do you…want to talk about it?” His hesitation wasn’t due to lack of interest. Dylan would listen if she wanted to talk; his knee-jerk assumption was just that she wouldn’t.
He needed to retrain that assumption. This was Zoe he was talking about. Of course she’d be fine with talking about it with him.
“It was…my mom. I dreamed the Hiss got my mom. Which is…” Zoe started tearing up again, even as she laughed. “…so stupid, because she’s on the other side of the country, but…I don’t know. I always worry whenever it’s something big like this.” Zoe wiped the fresh tears away. “Ah, fuck, I miss when the scariest thing I had to worry about was serial killers.”
Dylan probably should’ve said something comforting, but the last sentence threw him off. “That’s a really specific thing to be worried about.”
“In my defense, I was big into true crime when I was a teenager. I wanted to work for the FBI, catch the bad guys, you know? But the FBC recruited me first, and…” She sighed and gestured out the window. “Now this is my circus.”
Yeah, that was a bit of a leg up from serial killers. “My dad always told me I shouldn’t worry about what I want to do when I grow up,” he said quietly. “Don’t pin your hopes on one thing, because someone else will probably make the decision for you, anyway. He wanted to be a musician, but he ended up working in a junkyard.” Almost immediately, he regretted opening his mouth. “Sorry. That was a bummer.”
“No, you’re fine. Honestly, your dad has a point.” Zoe pulled her knees up to her chest. “What kind of music did he like?”
The question sent a spike of anxiety through him. Dylan suddenly remembered Casper sitting across the table from him, asking question after question after question about Dylan’s family, pretending the answers Dylan had given out of obligation made them friends. Worst part was, half the time, he barely remembered things right. Just whatever version best forced them into proximity.
She’s not doing that. She likes music. It’s a normal question.
“Uhm…I don’t know what you’d call the genre, but like, Old Gods of Asgard? He loved that band. And there was this song he used to play…” For us. “…for me. Not by Old Gods. I don’t remember the band, but it went like…”
I can’t believe I’m doing this. He swallowed past another wave of nausea and started humming the song as best as he could remember. The lyrics didn’t come to him until he hit the chorus.
“Tomorrow will take us away, far from home, no one will ever know our names…” That was as far as he got before the embarrassment became too much. “I don’t remember what it was called, either,” he mumbled, desperately hoping he wasn’t blushing too hard.
If he was, Zoe didn’t seem to notice. She looked more focused on the tune and the words. She fumbled at her pockets before producing her phone and tapping away at the screen. “Hang on, I can probably find it…” After some more tapping and a pause to read something, she set the phone down and pressed a play button on the screen. “Is this it?”
Dylan knew it was the song from the opening chords. Hearing them brought him back to a summer night in Ordinary, sitting on their small front porch while Dad played the guitar, the weight of Jesse leaning against him, solid and reassuring.
In a world far away we may meet again, but now hear my song about the dawn of the night, let’s sing the bard’s song.
“That’s it. That’s…shit.” Dylan laughed in sheer shock. “I haven’t heard this in years.”
Tomorrow will take it away, the fear of today, it will be gone…
When he looked up, Zoe was smiling, too. “Your dad has good taste,” she said.
It was strange to think of his dad as an individual that way. When Dylan was a kid, he’d just been Dad, a man who wasn’t around much but was usually kind when he was, who shared music with Jesse and never seemed to care that Dylan was quiet and shy for a boy his age. As an adult, he was a ghost of a memory. The grief Dylan might’ve felt at losing him had been eaten up by the pain of everything else. Just one of many things he’d never gotten the chance to process.
What would he think of me now?
Dylan didn’t have an answer to that, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it too hard. But there was one thing he was comfortable considering.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I guess he did.”
Dylan’s use of past tense must’ve finally hit Zoe, if the way her expression fell slightly was any indication. She didn’t pry; she did move closer, but not by much. If they’d been in a group, someone could’ve sat between them with plenty of space.
It was still closer than anyone else would’ve willingly sat next to him.
The song came to a close, leaving a warm silence in its wake. “Thanks,” Dylan said. “For finding that. It means a lot,” Genuine curiosity and a desire to reciprocate made the next words come out easily: “What kind of music does your mom like?”
Zoe’s smile brightened back up. “Man, she could talk your ear off about Enya,” she said. “I mean, she likes other things, but Enya was one of those transformative musical experiences from her 20s, you know?”
He didn’t know the specific experience, but he did know the artist, for once. “My mom liked Enya.”
“Seriously?!”
“Yeah. She was big into Stevie Nicks, too.”
“Oh, man, my mom would’ve loved your mom. Have you heard of Aurora?” Dylan shook his head. “Hang on. She’s someone more modern my mom is into.”
His mom definitely would’ve liked Zoe’s mom, because Aurora had the kind of dreamy sound Dylan remembered being all over the house when he was a kid. Zoe was only able to play a few of her songs before they agreed they should head back before someone noticed. It wasn’t enough. Dylan wished they could have stayed up there all night, trading songs, not thinking about the shitshow that waited for them below. The way Zoe seemed to fade and shrink the further down the Watchtower they went told him she felt the same way.
“I should probably get some more sleep,” she said hesitantly as they re-entered the more populated part of the tower.
“Yeah.” Dylan was pretty sure she hadn’t been sleeping any better than he had, especially not if the nightmares were a recurring thing. How many times had her mind fed her the image of her mom twisted into something unrecognizable? Possibly as many times as Dylan had seen Jesse…
Dylan shook the thought away. His heart couldn’t take it right now, not when it was already aching for Jesse, for his parents, and for the woman right in front of him.
“Hey, Zoe? Your mom’s going to be okay. I’m…we’re not letting this spread any further. Right?”
Zoe took a second to absorb his words, then, slowly, smiled. It was smaller than any she’d worn before, but somehow just as bright. “Yeah. You’re right. Thank you,” she said.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to him so genuinely.
Those two words were enough to override his other reservations. Dylan moved his cot out of the corner and closer to Zoe’s—not too close, but within arm’s reach. They faced each other this time, unspeaking, as Zoe’s eyes drifted shut. Dylan waited until she was fast asleep before he closed his own eyes, running the songs she’d shown him through his mind so he could remember them.
Go row the boat to safer grounds, but don’t you know we’re stronger now…
Dylan didn’t remember what, exactly, he dreamed about when he did fall asleep. Just that he was pretty sure his family had been there. Mom. Dad.
Jesse.
Zoe’s mom was going to be okay. They’d find Jesse. He had to believe that.
It was a little easier to be optimistic when he opened his eyes and saw Zoe sitting on the edge of her cot, drinking from one cup while she held another one in her free hand. “Oh, good, you’re alive,” she said as she held the second mug out to him. “It’s black tea. Only non-coffee thing we have that’s caffeinated.”
She remembered I don’t like coffee.
Dylan sat up and took the mug from her. Their fingers brushed, and it didn’t feel so foreign this time. “Thanks,” he said.
If he could show his back without being stabbed, maybe anything was possible.