Chapter Text
“What’re you thinking?” she asked.
“Well, Peaches. I’m thinking that I stayed on this mudball a day too long.”
- Nemesis Games
*
“You all right, Peaches?”
“Fine … just getting tired is all," she admitted.
“Hang on, little tomato - we’re almost there." He tried to sound encouraging.
They'd been climbing in a darkness that seemed endless, hand over hand. As they climbed, Amos had stared at her ankles, thin from atrophy, the skin pale and dusty. He noticed when they started to tremble. If her swollen left hand bothered her, she didn’t say so… but then Peaches never spoke much at the best of times – and this was far from the best of times. To be honest, he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Peaches at the best of times …everything always seemed to be kind of going shit when they were around one another.
He remained vigilant, ready to reach out and catch her if she slipped or faltered … but she was far stronger than she looked, or at least real determined because she kept climbing and climbing while Rona, Morris and Konecheck complained bitterly around her.
It had been her quick thinking that had got them out of the Pit in the first place – reminding Rona that Amos was a civilian.
His lips twitched as he recalled her referring to him as a precious flower. Beneath all that grim Mao dignity and seriousness, his girl had a sense of humour.
She'd also been the one to come up with the idea of climbing up the elevator shaft. According to his reckoning, she'd already saved him twice that day...
*
As they started to crawl out of the elevator shaft, the heavy black rain was cascading around them. The temperature plummeted sharply and Clarissa was shaking, her whole body shuddering violently. She was, after all painfully thin – so slight that sometimes it looked as though a strong gust of wind could easily pluck her from the ground sweep her away.
“You can do it, Peaches," Amos told her unnecessarily.
“I know. I know I can," she replied, fierce determination in her voice. He couldn't help but admire her pluck. He knew where she'd come from – she'd been born a privileged and pampered rich girl … but like him, she was a fighter – as damaged as him, too in so many ways.
Clarissa boosted herself up, and then it was Amos’ turn to pull himself out from the elevator shaft into a world that looked as if it had been destroyed by an angry God raging from the heavens … Buildings, fences, trees all gone … in their place just dark clouds, fierce winds and the stench of something truly horrible.
"Fuck," Amos muttered, staring around him, completely and utterly bewildered by the landscape before him.
*
A brief time later when his head spun from the savage blow to the side of his head, Amos gasped for breath as Konecheck lifted him above his head, preparing to throw him back down the elevator shaft. Amos thought of Lydia as his eyes rested on Clarissa, slumped limply at the grey-haired prisoner’s feet but seemingly still alive.
A gunshot made Konecheck stumble, tipping backwards as Amos landed on the ground heavily, the breath knocked from his lungs. Looking up, he saw that Clarissa was lying over Morris’ body, her two hands around the dead man’s fist, taking aim again, her face fierce and deadly.
Clarissa Mao the cold blooded murderer had saved his life. Three times in one day. That had to be a record, even for a member of the crew of the Roci…
As Rona seized Konecheck's ankle, Amos managed to stagger to his feet, landing a straight kick in Konecheck’s crotch and sending the man straight to hell where he belonged.
*
Clarissa rolled onto her back, her arms spread to the filthy rain, her head resting on the dead guard's body momentarily as if he was a pillow. Her eyes were closed, but Amos could see her rib cage moving beneath her drenched hospital gown, a gown that was becoming more than a little transparent in the wet. He was going to have to find something else for her to wear.
Amos watch as Clarissa's mouth widened into a smile and she reached up, running damp hands through her long, thick black hair. When she laughed, it sounded a lot like pleasure.
“Wind,” she said. “Oh my God, I never thought I’d feel wind again. I never thought I’d be outside. It’s so beautiful.”
Amos glanced around the ruins and shrugged. “That’s got a lot to do with context, I guess," he remarked dryly. He guessed that for Peaches who thought she'd be breathing recycled air and living underground for the rest of her life, even this devastation as beautiful.
Peaches came up with the suggestion that they hightail it to Luna, telling him where they could find a yacht for their escape.
"You know you sure are earning your keep today, Peaches," he remarked as he handed her his jacket and watched her shrug into it.
"Well … I gotta make sure you're not sorry you came back to see me …" she replied diffidently, pulling her tangled hair back from her wet face, her eyes looking huge in her pale face.
"I'd never be sorry about that," he promised her with a crooked smile and they got started on their long trek.
*
“How’re we holding together, Peaches?” he asked her, glancing over at her.
Clarissa nodded. Her prison hospital gown was mud-streaked from shoulder to hem, and her hair hung long and lank about her narrow shoulders. She was just too fucking skinny and pale. It made her look like a ghost.
“I’m fine,” she lied. It was total bullshit. They both knew it, but what was he going to do about it? It was stupid of him to have asked in the first place. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure why he had … He'd never been one for pleasantries and platitudes before. He usually left that kind of stuff to Naomi and Holden … But well … well this was Peaches and she was different.
They were on foot in the rain, a rain that was mixed with grit and soot. The air stank. They scavenged for food and found shelter where they could at night to sleep.
Thin as she was, Peaches had to be feeling the cold pretty badly. When they hunkered down by the side of the road to rest, she would huddle down beside him, shivering uncontrollably even though she still voiced no word of complaint. She really wasn’t looking that good. He wondered in passing what he’d do if she died. Figure something else out, probably. It would be a shame if she died, though. A real shame. He put his arm about her shoulder and pulled her against him in an attempt to give her some of his body's warmth.
"Here – you eat these," he told her, offering her the rest of the stale crackers they'd foraged from an abandoned house.
"No … you already gave me more than you should have," she refused.
"If you collapse, I have to carry you or leave you behind. Eat it," he ordered her and she broke the crackers in half and shoved her share in her mouth while pushing the rest towards him.
"Anyone ever tell you that you're a stubborn one?" he asked her.
"Yeah, lots of people have," she told him.
At night, she curled against him as they tried to snatch a few hours sleep. He debated if he should apologise for smelling a bit ripe – it had after all been a few days since he'd been able to have a proper shower despite the constant drenching from the dirt rain.
"I don't smell anything," she mumbled as she pressed her face against his chest and fell asleep. She slept remarkably soundly and it was slightly disconcerting that she clearly felt at ease enough to sleep when he was watching over them. He on the other hand was hyper-vigilant, unable to completely rest … anticipating threats from all around them.
*
After their confrontation with the paranoid survivalist, Amos watched as Peaches went still, her prison hospital gown flapping around her in the breeze, blood spattered down the length of her body, the assault rifle held in one hand. By the time Amos got to her, her eyes had rolled back in her head and she was vomiting violently. He put his shirt over her and waited until the fit passed. It wasn’t more than about five minutes and he waited patiently, trying not to think about how white and fragile she felt in his arms … how her breath seemed ragged and laboured.
She shuddered once, went still, and then the blankness left her dark eyes.
“Hey,” she said. “Did we win?” she asked him, almost childishly, looking around in confusion.
“First round,” Amos said, nodding to her. "You've saved us again, Peaches …"
"I guess I'm getting good at it…"
“It like that every time?” His tone was not pitying, just very matter-of-fact.
“Yup,” she said. “It’s really not a great design.”
“Useful when it’s useful, though," he remarked.
“Is that. Are you okay?” she asked him, genuine concern in her eyes. It was an odd feeling to have her being worried about him when she'd been the one collapsed on the ground puking her guts out ...
“Little chilly,” Amos said. “Won’t kill me. You stay here for a bit, okay? I’m gonna go see what we’re looking at inside.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said, trying to sit up. He put a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t have to push to keep her down, she was limp and almost entirely without strength.
“I’ll go first. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t booby-trapped.”
“Okay,” she breathed. “I’ll just wait here, then.”
“Good plan.”
*
The next morning, they set off from the little compound at dawn. They were both wearing professional-grade thermal suits, his was a little snug while Clarissa had to roll up the cuffs on hers. The bunker under the house had survival gear, weapons, ammunition and high-calorie rations.
Even better was what they'd found in the garage - half-dozen unused but well-maintained bicycles, complete with saddlebags. They set out and stopped for lunch at noon. Peaches seemed about a thousand times better too. She was smiling, and there was colour in her pale cheeks. They sat on an old bench beside the road, looking east. The view was much - mud and a scattering of debris. He'd never thought that he'd be here to witness the end of the world.
Peaches took a bite of her ration bar and sipped the water from her self-purifying canteen. “Is it bothering you?” she asked him.
“What?”
“What we did," she said carefully.
“Not sure what that was, Peaches.”
She looked at him, her eyes narrowed like she was trying to decide if he was joking. “We invaded a man’s home, killed him, and took his stuff. If we hadn’t come through, he might have made it. Lived until the sun came back. Survived.”
“He was gonna shoot me for no reason except that I had something he wanted," Amos rationalised even as part of him realised that he was probably supposed to be feeling something along the lines of what was clearly going through Peaches' head…
“He wouldn’t have done it if we hadn’t gone there. And we lied to him about wanting to trade.”
“Seems like you have a point to make, Peaches," Amos told her warily. Not defensive or angry, just expectant.
“If he hadn’t been ready to pull the trigger, would you have let it go? Or would we still be here, with these guns and this food?”
“Oh, we were taking his shit. I’m just pointing out both sides of the argument had the same plan.”
“Then we’re not exactly the good guys, are we?” she pointed out softly.
Amos scowled a little. It wasn’t a question that had even crossed his mind until she said it. It bothered him that it didn’t bother him more. He scratched his chest and tried to imagine Holden doing what they’d done. Or Naomi. Or Lydia.
“Yeah,” he conceded, scowl deepening. “I should really get back to the ship soon.”
She exhaled and then lowered her eyes. "I'm not judging you, Amos … I helped. I did it, too … just another sin to add to the multitude I have already …"
"Na, you're right, Peaches," he told her. "I didn't think … just went on instinct … just wanted us to survive… whatever the cost."
"And there's always a cost," she agreed and leaned against his shoulder as if to comfort him. He put his arm around her narrow shoulders and thought through what they'd just done.
Now that she'd pointed out the wrongness, if he'd had his time again – would he do the same thing?
Probably.
*
In Baltimore, when it looked as though they were at a stalemate with Erich, Amos wondered whether it was the end of the line for the both of them, that maybe he'd gambled for the last time. He tried to think about what Naomi would have said in the same circumstances but he kept coming up blank.
As he pondered, Peaches stepped toward Erich, her arms out to him like she was going to give him a hug.
“I know,” she said, her voice choked with some emotion Amos didn’t place.
“You know? What the fuck do you know?” Erich demanded wildly, voice horrified.
“What it’s like to lose everything. How hard it is, because you keep thinking it can’t really be gone. That there’s a way to get it back. Or maybe if you just act like you still have it, you won’t notice it’s gone.”
Erich’s face froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking —”
“There was this woman I knew when I went in. She killed her children. Five of them, all dead. She knew it, but she talked about them all like they were still alive. Like when she got up tomorrow, they’d be there. I thought she was a lunatic, and I guess I let that show, because she stopped me one day at the cafeteria and said, ‘I know they’re dead. But I know I’m dead too. You’re the only bitch here thinks she’s still alive.’ And as soon as she said that, I knew exactly what she meant.”
To Amos’ astonishment, Erich began weeping and then blubbering like a child, snot and tears flying everywhere. The thug went into Peaches’ embrace, wrapping his good arm around her and crying into her shoulder like a child. She stroked his hair and murmured something to him that could have been "I know, I know …"
Clearly something sweet and very touching had just happened, even if wasn’t at all clear to Amos what the fuck it was. He shifted from one foot to the other and waited. Erich’s heaving sobs grew more violent before he finally started to calm down. It must have been at least fifteen minutes before he finally pulled himself out of Peaches’ embrace, limped to his desk, and found some tissues to blow his nose.
“I grew up here,” he said, his voice shaking. “Everything I’ve ever done – every meal I ever ate, every toilet I ever pissed in, every girl I ever rolled around with? It’s all been inside the 695.” For a second, it looked like he was going to cry again. “I’ve seen things come and go. I’ve seen shit times turn into normal and turn back to shit, and keep telling myself this is like that. It’s just the churn. But it’s not, is it?”
“No,” Peaches said. “It isn’t. This is something new.”
“That’s my city out there. It’s a mean, shitty place, and it’ll break anyone who pretends different. But… but it’s gone, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” Peaches said. “But starting over’s not always bad, you know. Even the way I did it had some light in it. And what you’ve got is better than what I had.”
Erich bowed his head and sighed heavily. Peaches took his good hand in both of hers and the two of them were silent for a long moment.
Amos cleared his throat. “So. That means you’re in, right?”
As they waited while Erich made preparations, Peaches looked over at Amos, realising that he was staring at her quite fixedly. "What?" she asked curiously, raising a hand to her face self-consciously as if she had a smudge.
"You keep saving our bacon, Peaches … "
"It's often hard to know what to say in situations like that," she told him gravely.
"I sure as hell don't know what to say."
"Well I'm glad I'm useful for something," she told him with a smile.
*
After yet another brutal encounter, Amos glanced at Peaches, his knuckles were bleeding.
“See, that’s what civilization is,” he said. “Bunch of stories. That’s all.”
“So what if it is?” Peaches said. “We’re really good at telling stories. Everything just turned to shit, and we’re already finding ways to put it back together. Stokes and the other servants were ready to fight us or get killed, but then I knew his name and he remembered me, and now there’s a story where he wants to help us."
He could tell Peaches was trying to counter his life philosophy, set him straight. It seemed supremely ironic coming from her, but it was clear to him that despite her murderous past, she had a conscience.
She was also motivated, determined to fix the Zhang Guo even though Stokes was so pessimistic about their prospects.
“When we go, are we taking them with us?” Peaches asked him deliberately, pointedly.
“Yup,” Amos said.
She looked at him questioningly. “Because they’re tribe?”
“Shit no. My tribe is the crew on the Roci, maybe you two, and a dead woman. I don’t actually give a shit if every damned one of ’em dies.” There was a faint flicker in her dark eyes at being included within Amos' tribe.
“So why take them?” her dark eyes attentive.
Amos rubbed the raw spots on his knuckles and shrugged. “Seems like the sort of thing Holden’d do,” he told her, although when he saw the way she smiled at him, he realised he'd found himself another lighthouse to keep him crashing into the rocks …
Peaches came down the stairs behind him the footsteps soft and almost silent. “Here’s the thing. Pretty sure we’re going to be able to start the final run-through in maybe forty-five minutes. Anyone who’s here when we’re done, they can bum a lift so long as there’s room. Anybody not here should be far enough away they don’t get burned down to their component atoms when we take off. Between those, I don’t actually give a shit what any of you people do.”
Stokes chuckled. “Very good, Mr. Burton. Thank you.” Amos watched him scamper away.
“Mr. Burton, is it?” Peaches asked lightly.
“Apparently,” Amos said, then pointed after Stokes. “Did he think I was joking about something? ’Cause I was just telling him how the sun comes up in the east.”
Peaches shrugged. “In his mind, we’re the good guys. Everything we say, he interprets that way. If you say you don’t care if he lives or dies, it must be your dry gallows humour.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“That’s a really stupid way to go through life.”
“It’s how most people do.”
“Then most people are really stupid.”
“And yet we made it to the stars,” Peaches pointed out with a small smile.
Amos stretched. “You know, Peaches, it’s nice how we got all this help and stuff, but I kind of liked it better when it was only you and me.” He wasn't quite sure why he sent back to her, strange thing was -he meant it.
She smiled but didn't look particularly flattered. “You say the sweetest things. I’m going to track down some coffee or tea. Or amphetamines. You need anything?”
“Nope. I’m solid.” He watched her walk away. She was still far too thin for his liking, but since he’d stepped into the room in the Pit at Bethlehem, she’d taken on a kind of confidence. He wondered, if she had to go back, whether she still wanted him to kill her. Probably something worth asking about. He stifled a yawn and tapped his hand terminal.
He watched as Clarissa assisted with start up of the Zhang Guo. She worked without any sign of complaint or unhappiness, always quiet, efficient and focused. Good work ethic. Naomi would like having her onboard the Roci … assuming Holden let Peaches stay, that is.
*
After takeoff they approached Luna. As she stared at the black disk that was Luna, Peaches pressed both of her hands to her lips, her dark eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Didn’t think you’d see this again, did you Peaches?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Everything’s beautiful, and I didn’t think anything ever would be again.”
They were all silent for a moment, and then Erich switched the view, pulling it slowly down. Below them, Earth was a smudge of pale colour, fading before their eyes. Peaches reached out and gripped Amos' hand in hers and he stared down, slightly perplexed before turning his gaze back to the sight of a dying Earth.
*
"Relax Peaches," Amos told her when he saw her pacing nervously on the deck. "Easy for you to say," she replied tersely. "You do know what they'll do to me when I arrive on Luna, don't you?"
"Let's just say I know people and those people are pretty good people," he replied obliquely.
"I have no idea what you're trying to tell me," she told him, looking more than a little bewildered.
"Do you trust me Peaches?" he asked her evenly.
She frowned. "I owe my life to you … So yeah… I do trust you, but - "
"You'll be fine," he assured her firmly and she believed him.
*
When Amos told her that that he was going to smuggle her on board the Roci inside a storage crate, she hadn't tried to reason with him. Instead she had stared down at the slightly battered blue crate and touched it with wondering fingertips.
“I won’t go back there," she had told him before and he'd nodded, reassuring her despite her skittishness.
Amos had opened the lid, taken her by the hand and helped her inside. She had fit inside easily, curled up in the darkness, waiting apprehensively.
She listened as a mech lifted the crate into the air and lowered it. "Go easy with that, precious cargo inside you know," she heard Amos call out.
She'd forced herself to breathe normally in the small confines of the crate, closing her eyes against the darkness. Amos had checked with her first that she wasn't claustrophobic. Nonetheless, when Amos popped open the latches on the crate, Clarissa stood up grateful to finally be out of the container. She saw Alex standing at Amos' side. She smiled at him tentatively. In contrast, the Martian pilot looked positively panicked, his face blanching visibly.
“Hey,” she said.
Alex took a long, shuddering breath. “Ah. Hey?”
“See?” Amos said, clapping her on shoulder. “Told you it wouldn’t be a problem.”
"Yeah," she replied slowly, warily.
She watched as Amos and Alex spoke in hushed tones, obviously debating something. Amos showed her into his quarters and told her to wait for him.
*
"I was thinking about maybe taking on an apprentice. You know, help flesh out the crew. Get some skill redundancy," Amos suggested easily.
“That’s a good idea,” Holden said. “Did you have someone in mind?”
*
"So what did he say?" Peaches asked tentatively when Amos returned.
"He was totally cool with it. Mostly." Amos told her airily.
"He said no didn't he?" she questioned.
"He just needs a little bit of time to get used to the idea, it will be totally fine, don't even think about it," Amos told her, omitting the vein that throbbed in Holden's throat and temple as he refrained with great effort from from shouting.
“Clarissa Mao? On the Roci? No absolutely not!" Holden had said emphatically. "Where is she now?" he had demanded, a slightly panicked tone in his voice.
"Waiting for me in my quarters," Amos had replied laconically, looking very calm and relaxed despite the fact that both Alex and Holden were looking very grim.
Holden tried not to swear again. "Amos, you do remember don't you that she's responsible for a lot of dead people.She blew up the Seung Un. Took out a quarter of the crew. And that one body they found? The one she was carrying around in a toolbox? Do you remember that?”
"Yup. I remember," Amos answered amiably.
“That guy was a friend of hers. She wasn’t just killing faceless enemies. She was right down, look-them-in-the-eyes killing people that she knew. That she liked. How do you go from that to ‘I know, let’s ship out with her’?”
"People can change, cap. Thought you knew that," Amos countered in a very matter-of-fact tone.
"You think they can become completely different people?" Holden had demanded testily, not noticing the expression on Naomi's face.
"Yes," Amos had replied easily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I don't think anyone can change that much, Amos …"
"If not for her I'd be dead several times over," Amos had told them seriously.
"If you hadn't taken it into your head to go and visit a homicidal mass murderer during your leave, she wouldn't have had to save you," Holden had pointed out testily.
Amos met his gaze steadily. A different man might have looked offended, angry at Holden's words. This was Amos, though and he shrugged, quickly telling them about all the ways Clarissa had saved his life since the rocks had fallen. "On top of that, she's hard-working. Doesn't complain. A quick thinker. She's smart - and a good person apart from the bad things that she's done," Amos had explained.
"Are you trying to ask me to distinguish between a person and the things they've done?" Holden had demanded incredulously. "Amos - we are the things we've done," Holden had said harshly and Naomi's face had gone very, very still.
Amos had appeared entirely unfazed by Holden's reaction. "Just asking you to give her a chance to prove herself to you. She's already proven herself to me … besides," he had shrugged casually. "If she steps out of line - I'll shoot her myself," he had told the crew blandly.
"Amos - " Holden started to speak but stopped as Naomi had reached out her hand and laid it on Holden's arm gently.
Holden had sighed heavily. "Look I will think about it."
"That's all I'm asking," Amos had said with a broad smile. "I know you'll do the right thing, you always do," he had said to Holden with an almost serene sense of conviction that Holden would have found kind of flattering in different circumstances.
"It's good to be back."
A reluctant smile had curved Holden's mouth. "Good to have you back," he had replied and resisted the urge to embrace the big man.
"The captain's a good man, he'll do the right thing," Amos reassured Peaches as he showed her around his quarters. "You can stay here tonight - I'll bunk elsewhere until the captain tells us which quarters you can have."
"Letting me stay on-board is the right thing to do?" Peaches asked him questioningly. "It's the right thing for me - but is it the right thing for anyone else?"
"Holden agreed with me that it would be a good idea for me to take on an apprentice."
His unquenchable calmness and resolute belief that Holden would let her stay reassured her despite herself. She nodded. "You and me - we're a team, Peaches," Amos told her earnestly. "Now suit up - we've got some repairs to do," he told her and walked out of the room, expecting her to follow.
Smiling ruefully. Amos was back home again and despite everything - Clarissa had the strangest feeling that she was home, too ...