Chapter Text
Shades of red, orange, and purple dance across the sky as the sun starts to set over the horizon. Staring out the train window, Lana’s focus shifts from the sunset to the half obliterated trees flying by, as the train speeds north. Her vision starts to blur, looking past the trees, she focuses on the coastline, barely visible in the distance.
A smile ghosts over her lips, memories of her last beach day with her sister, Caitlin, flood her mind. Caitlin was 10 years older than Lana, and lived an hour away, but she always made time once a month to take her kid sister to the beach. They’d suntan on their towels, eat watermelon, and chat about everything a 12 year old Lana wanted to know of the world. The specific memory of Caitlin’s loud, joyful laugh, with a broad smile and eyes crinkling at the corners, is almost too much to bear.
Lana shakes off the memory with a glance to her left, gazing around the sun-drenched train car. Empty of people, but filled with crates of supplies, tables covered in maps, and a spattering of seating. The reality of her situation crashes back. Seventeen years have passed since that last happy day at the beach, the bombs had dropped just a week later. She remembers enough of the world as it was before to long for days gone by, yet the majority of her life has been spent in this post-apocalyptic reality. With a sigh, she turns back to the window to lose herself in speeding blur of green and brown trees.
So lost in thought, she barely registers the sound of the train car door opening, before she hears a voice, “How’s the plan coming along, Cap?”
Lana doesn’t move, reaching for a swig of water from her canteen, pausing before responding. “Going about as well as your sleep schedule.”
Rush barks out a laugh as he settles into the seat next to Lana. Tossing a glance his way, she passes him a pad of paper full of outlines, plans, and notes.
She’s been working with Rush’s crew for nearly six years, as his Captain of Security for the past two years. It had been a welcome promotion, one that pissed off a few people, but she was buoyed by his confidence in her abilities. After two years, he trusted her implicitly, but ever the leader, wants as much information as possible to strengthen his own plan.
Lana watches him as he reads, adding, “Without having been there, it’s hard to make a thorough security plan. Carmina’s been helpful, but a seventeen year old only knows so much about combat and cartography,” She turns to look back out the window, “and it ain’t much.” She nervously brings her hand to her face, tapping her pointer finger against the tip of her nose absentmindedly.
Rush settles his elbows on his knees, reading over her small handwriting on the page. “Do you really think Prosperity will have enough fighters for this kind of offensive?” His gaze turns back to Lana, slowly moving from her sharp eyes down to her nervous tick.
She stops the tapping long enough to look at him, “They better.”
With that, he shuts his eyes and lets his head drop. Lana’s eyes linger on his deep undereye bags, to his long angular nose, drifting down to his chapped lips, bitten until swollen, his nervous tick. Lana’s tongue wets her lips without thinking and her gaze drifts lower, past his jaw covered with varying lengths of facial hair, down to the giant eagle tattoo spanning the width of his neck, slowly moving as he breathes.
She watches his Adam's apple bob under his tattoo, as he sucks in a heavy breath and looks up at her, “I’m worried about this one, Lana.” The words scarcely louder than a whisper, his eyes hold the same plea of secrecy.
She leans her chest down, mirroring his posture, resting her chin on her shoulder and questions, “Why this one? You rebuilt half of California- why worry about a small town in Montana?”
Rush shakes his head and steels his jaw, “I don’t know, it’s just.. I just feel like something is off.”
Lana stills, “You never second guess yourself.”
“Not typically, no. And rarely ever enough to tell someone else.”
“Should we turn back? If you think we’re walking into a trap—“
Rush interrupts her, “No, not like a trap, just like… like we’re missing something. But it’s too late to turn back now.” He sighs and runs his hand through his short black hair, grabbing at the short length in frustration, “I just don’t want to let anyone down.”
Lana finally cracks a smile and lets out a small huff of laughter as she looks straight at him, “Tom, you couldn’t let people down if you tried. It’s not in your DNA.”
With that, his face softens, warmth reaching his eyes. He slowly reaches to Lana and lays his broad, calloused hand across her shoulder, “You flatter me. But.. thank you. I try to do right by our people, and the people we help. We’ll do right by these Montana folks.” He leans back in the chair, pulling his arm back and absently rubbing circles into his palm, looking out the window, “I hope.”
“I know.” she says, with a quiet resolve. She reaches over to give a reassuring squeeze to his knee as she stands, walking towards the door. She pauses at the threshold to the next train car, turning back to face Rush. “Have you eaten today?” She asks, brows furrowed.
“Uh, I think a little oatmeal this morning..” he says, shifting in the chair. Finally taking a moment to check in with his body, he feels his stomach rumble, “I guess.. I forgot to eat.”
Lana chuckles as she shakes her head, “I couldn’t forget to eat if I tried. But you can’t run this whole operation if you're running on empty, Tom. I’ll grab something for you. Stay here?”
He gives her a small nod as she disappears into the next train car. Rush settles back facing the window, hands heavy in his lap, the weight of the whole team on his shoulders. He knows that as the leader of this group, he is expected to solve problems and take care of everyone. They look to him for strength, and he delivers, no matter the stress it puts him through. He shuts his eyes and allows his head to tip back over the top of the chair. A wave of tiredness hits him and knocks him deep into sleep.
When he wakes, it’s dark in the train car, the only illumination from a small lantern in the corner. He sees a plate of food on the table next to him with a note, that same small, neat handwriting he knows so well, “God knows you need the sleep, I didn’t want to wake you. Eat up!”
The note isn’t signed but it doesn’t need to be. He knows.
He reaches for the plate and devours the food in a flash. Setting the empty plate aside, he slouches back down in the chair, letting sleep sweep him up again, feeling as relaxed as he has in ages.