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“Janine! Janine!”
Simon reaches out, grabbing her wrist before she can disappear through the farmhouse and away from him. “Jenny!”
She finally turns to face him, her expression as blank and cold as he's ever seen it. “Mr Lauchlan,” she says in clipped tones, like she'd been with him when he'd first made it to Abel. And that's it. No 'Si' or even 'Simon. Mr Lauchlan. It stings. “Did you require something?”
She gives his hand on her arm a pointed look and he releases her like he's been burned.
“The hell is this, Jenny? You can't just- just stop me being a runner. You need me! You need us!”
“I believe that you were present for the Major's announcement.”
“Well, yeah, but-”
“All of you are grounded until further notice,” she continues sharply, as though he'd never spoken. “No leaving Abel. No outside communication. No radio. No Rofflenet. Nothing. Be glad that you haven't been hauled over to New Canton. I hear that they have a few dungeons still in use as cells and no patience for traitors.”
“You can't seriously-”
“I can and do, Mr Lauchlan,” she says, meeting his gaze squarely and she's serious about this. Really deadly serious and the steel in her eyes makes his stomach twist uncomfortably and it's not entirely fear. “Until we determine who our spy is, all of you are.”
Simon swallows past the lump swiftly forming in his throat. “Jenny. You can't really believe that I would sell Abel out. It's my home! I risk my life every day to keep it running.”
“And what about Runner Eight? Or five? If I allow everyone the benefit of the doubt just because they tell me that their intentions are noble, then we will still be allowing a spy to go free. I cannot risk that.” She's silent for a long moment which stretches out painfully between them. “And it is Ms. De Luca from now on.”
“What?” He can't quite hide the hurt in his voice and he's not sure how it got there but he wishes that he could see an answering flicker in her, but her poker face has always been better than his. He reaches out, fingers moving to cup her cheek, a familiar gesture that normally has her smiling and turning into it, but she takes a step back, arms folded across her chest as she regards him.
“It isn't personal,” she says bluntly, but there's no softening of her lips, no sign of regret. “This incident has brought home to me how lax I have been, indulging in dalliances when I should have been focusing on the security of Abel.”
“Not personal,” he says, bitterness welling thick in his voice, like bile in his mouth. “God, you've got a way with words Janine.” Because he hadn't called her Ms de Luca before they'd hooked up. He isn't starting now.
“Simon-”
“I thought it was Mr Lauchlan now,” he says sourly, something hurt and angry twisting in his chest. “Christ, Jenny! Is this how it is now? How it's gonna be? Paranoia and suspicion at every turn.”
“It might have escaped your notice,” she spits, “but someone in this base is reporting to Van Ark. He's hardly someone who has our best interests at heart!”
“So what? You come up with some convoluted plan to weed one of us out? That stuff doesn't work in real life!”
“I am quite aware of how these things work. You don't know a thing about me.”
He smiles, a vicious edge to it, the defensive cruelty that he hates in himself flooding to the fore. “Oh, that's a lie and you know it. I know exactly where to lick to get you to moan and come right hard.”
Her cheeks flush, just faintly, but he marks it down in his head as a point scored and loathes himself for it. “This is neither the time nor the place for this.”
“When is it gonna be the time and place? When you've started a damn witch hunt? You don't think maybe that's part of Van Ark's plan? Destroy Abel's morale by what... a public execution of someone well liked? Yeah, that'll go down well. You think it won't destroy Sam if he has to watch Five killed by firing squad?” He leans forward, jaw set, eyes hard, because he can play this game as well as she can. “You think this isn't personal?”
He thinks he sees a flicker there, something hurt that's quickly hidden and the steel is back. “There are bigger things at stake here. The fate of the human race. So forgive me if I find sentimental attachment to whoever turns out to be a traitor to be a useless waste of time and emotion.”
And like that, the seething anger is gone and he just feels tired and old. And stupid. He pulls back, running a hand through his hair, a frustrated gesture. “So this is it then?” The lump in his throat is bigger now and won't go no matter how much he tries to swallow it down. “I might be a traitor, so even if I'm not, that's it. Over. Meant nothing.”
“It was... pleasant, while it lasted,” Janine says and he kind of wants to scream, maybe punch the wall. Maybe kiss her senseless and lose himself with her and God above, he'd never meant to get so attached.
“But as you said when we began,” Janine continues, “it was just a physical thing. We both have needs after all.”
The breath leaves him like he's been punched, and he's been in enough fights to know what that's like, like someone stomping on his chest, squeezing his oesophagus. “It meant nothing. All these months, and it meant nothing. Right. Of course.” And it should be the other way 'round. It should be him saying that, brushing it off with a laugh and a smile and a 'well this was fun', and he can't. “Well... no! No. It means something, Jenny. It means something and... and you're willing to maybe condemn me to death and watch as they execute me. It is personal!”
There's a brush of her fingers against his hand, just for a second, short enough that he thinks he's imagined it. “No, Simon. If it comes to that, I'll be the one holding the gun.”
He can't react to that, too stunned to move as she slips away, the door to the farmhouse closed firmly behind her, and it might as well be the gate to the township for all he feels right now.