in the beginning

[watchyoulive]

It's a simple conversation at the hospital. She comes to tell him that she's leaving; it's not that he owes her a goodbye or that she wanted him to make her stay. Honestly, it's that she wants to see him alive after everything that happened. Too much blood; it still stained her shirt, but she'd never wear those clothes again anyhow.

They were wadded up in the trashcan at the boardinghouse, the rest of her clothes neatly in her suitcase. She's not sure where she's going to go now - there were some rooms for rent Atlanta. The world seemed to be getting smaller and smaller since the automobiles were getting more popular, but she figured that Georgia should be far enough. No one would know her - not the deputy, not the Bonderants, and especially not anyone from Chicago.

So she saw him. Still alive, still too pale but she wasn't particularly picky. What she hadn't expected-- well. Honestly Maggie didn't expect much when it came to Forrest - not that she didn't hold him in high regard, but it was more that she never actually knew what he would say when he actually opened his mouth.

That she should stay at the station - that he wanted to keep her safe-- it made her hesitate.

And then for some reason, she said yes.

Her steps from the hospital were sure even though she had a hundred questions if she had one, and her brows furrowed as she hesitated, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, her hands cupped to block the wind, her suitcase by her T-strap heels.

When she looked up from lighting her cigarette, she nearly screamed.

Gone were the green trees and breeze. Gone was everything she'd known, and now she stood in a hallway that was completely unfamiliar, with electric lights along the ceiling. She'd not seen waste like that since she'd left Chicago, and she bent to pick up her bag, frozen like a deer because she was so overwhelmed.

"Hey, get out of the way!" She stepped back from the young woman who was carrying a basket full of clothes, but she couldn't not stare, given that she was barely wearing any clothing. Still, Maggie did what she could; she stopped her. She got information. She got her envelope, her apartment-- she'd appeared right in front of the door. Fumbling with her key, she squinted as she tried to get the unfamiliar key in the keyhole, her mind awhirl. She hadn't realised that while she'd appeared in front of her apartment, the one across the hall? It was rented out some three weeks ago by one James Forrest Bondarant.

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[controlthefear]

The goddamn telephone wouldn't stop its ringing. Wrong numbers, solicitation, various minor annoyances. After the fourth call, Forrest Bondurant had started dolling out death threats. In the end, that made him feel marginally better, even though he'd judged the new, modern world and found it wanting. People were scarce, a good number of the apartments in his building standing empty, which was more than fine by him. But they were all a bunch of busybodies, and he was sure he'd never get used to living in such tight quarters with a bunch of damn strangers.

He spent his whole life on Bondurant land, surrounded by kin, and he'd planned on dying that way. The change had been more than a little inconvenient.

Sack of garbage in hand, Forrest shuffled out of his apartment, muttering unintelligibly under his breath. When he saw her, all done up in red, well. Who could've blamed him for thinking she was nothing but an apparition?

But she was as solid as he was, her keys jangling. He could hear the rustle of her velvet dress.

"Maggie? Aw, hell. Maggie?" He took a step into the hallway, leaving his door wide open. There wasn't a damn thing worth stealing in there, anyhow. "Whatchu doin' there?"

[watchyoulive]

She dropped her keys.

You can't blame her for being jumpy; the bruises were still dark under the long, tight sleeves of her dress, dusting her shoulders and in other places. She hadn't forgotten it yet, and when you add in the thing she didn't understand... Honestly, it was overwhelming.

She'd manage.

It was Forrest's voice, though - and not weak and rough the way it'd been only two hours before, for her. "Forrest?" Clearly confused, she stared at him, her eyes flicking from his face to his throat and the dark line across it told her enough.

Sort of.

"How did you heal so fast?" It's a non-sequitor, and she left her suitcase by her door as well as her keys, and takes the two steps across the hall to look closer even though she's still planning not to touch it or him, for that matter.

There's a hundred questions, but the first one - the most important, it's just how was he not in a hospital bed the way she'd left him.

[controlthefear]

She came at him and he stood his ground, despite never feeling steady on his feet with her around.

"Well, I, uh," he muttered, garbled, touching at the still angry line, that jagged smile, cutting across his throat. "It ain't been quick, Maggie."

He kept saying her damn name. He couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Hm," he huffed, his weight shifting. "I've been here going on three weeks now."

He'd taken the stitches out himself, squinting into his bathroom mirror and snipping at them with a pair of nail scissors.

[watchyoulive]

"Three weeks." Staring at him, her face twists for a moment into something pained and unpleasant that he's not seen before. It's not planned, and it surprises her enough that the only thing she can do is look away for a moment. Somehow the fact that he's been able to get away from the past week rubs her wrong, like when you pet a cat backwards. It's an odd feeling, and not one that she particularly cares for.

"Well, then." Swallowing hard, she looks back at her things, then to him again. "It's good and lucky that we're neighbors then, isn't it." It's not the flurry of words that come to her mind, it's just that it's good to be living next door to him. Across the hall.

[controlthefear]

"Hm." He frowned, helpless as he watched something raw and unnameable wrench across her face. At the Station, she'd settled in quietly, and after not but a day or two, they'd settled into a quiet routine of their own. In the three weeks since he'd left her there, he'd done little else but worry about her well-being. He'd damn near paced a trench in his living-room floor.

Now, in her red dress, with her suitcase, she seemed a world away from him. He wanted, desperately, to comfort her, but he didn't have the first idea how, or even what he would've been comforting her for.

"Lucky, hm. Yep," he croaked, hands in the pockets of his loose-fitting cardigan. He'd dropped his trash bag by the door, and hadn't even noticed.

[watchyoulive]

She'd gotten herself pulled back together well enough to manage, and she found herself nodding when he'd agreed at their luck. "So you've been here three weeks? Is it what they say?" She didn't expect him to volunteer the information, but she knew if she asked, he'd likely have an opinion.

"Everything seems so strange." That summed it up - both the place, the cars, the people-- all of it seemed absolutely foreign to her. Even just the key and the way it fit into the lock was a mystery, and she never thought she'd be confused by something so simple.

[controlthefear]

"Ah, yeah," he nodded, shuffling another step closer to her. He'd heard talk of folks being drawn to one another, foolish notions of romance that he'd never put much stock in, but he always found himself gravitating toward her. At the station, he seemed to always know where she was, even when they weren't in the same room. Her presence tugged at his mind, always there in the periphery. It was a distraction he ought to have put an end to, but more and more, he'd come to realize that he could no longer navigate his life comfortably without her in it.

"I don't mean to scare you, Maggie, but this place? It don't get any clearer. Strange is where we're gonna be livin' for some time. We best get used to it."

[watchyoulive]

When Forrest steps closer, she doesn't step back. Forrest is the one man she doesn't see herself ever wanting to back away from, and it was a surprise to find that after what she'd left in Chicago. Honestly, she'd written off anything of the sort, looking instead for somewhere she could do good work and keep her head down to stay out of the public.

Forrest was different than most people, and definitely wasn't part of the 'public'.

"Well then," she said after a long moment of staring up at him, "I suppose that means that I'll need to find a job." She's always been practical, almost to a fault. It'd served her well what to her was two nights ago - getting him to the hospital, getting herself home, but now it was near to the only thing she had to fall back on.

[controlthefear]

"Makes two of us," Forrest grumbled. He was a man who despised being idle, but he'd yet to find his footing, in a world where he felt so damn out of place.

More than anything, he wanted to be back at the station. The rest of it, he could've done without. But having her behind his counter, pouring the coffee, was what he'd missed the most, over the last weeks.

"I should." He frowned, his gaze dropping away from her face. He turned and picked up his fallen trashbag. "Just gonna." He gestured down the hall, toward the stairwell. The cans were on the first floor. "You go on, get inside, now."

[watchyoulive]

When Forrest abruptly turns away, she's surprisingly not offended. Honestly, if she hadn't known him for as long as she had, it would seem insulting but she thought she likely understood him well enough by now. The conversation's done, and he's got things to do.

"If you need anything, all you have to do is knock." She knows he likely won't - he's not ever been the sort of person who troubles others for their time when it's not for dire reasons, or to start a conversation. Still, the invitation's there because she honestly does want him to take it.

Licking he lips, she continues. "And Forrest... I"m glad you're here." The words are soft but said with conviction because it'd been so close to him not making it through. She'd honestly thought that she'd watch him die, what with blood seeping from his throat once she'd gotten him to her car. She understood it now - he was too stubborn to die, and honestly she was thankful. That add to it that here's actually here?

He would have been the one regret she'd have about moving to Atlanta. It's a gift, and one she's not planning to squander.

She stoops to pick up her keys, and while it's still a struggle with the new way they apparently make locks, she finally gets the door open. Picking up her suitcase to let herself inside, she hesitates, even though he's already started down the hall. "Good night, Forrest."

[watchyoulive]

Finding a job only took two days - it seemed that determination and showing up was just as effective as it'd been at the Station. It was difficult in ways that she didn't expect, but Maggie still showed up every day and did her job.

Food safety regulations, microwaves, blenders, modern coffee makers - she was new to all of them. She didn't talk to anyone about the difficulties, and when she'd burned herself on the alarmingly hot carafe she'd just chalked it up to a learning experience.

There was a lot of learning to be had.

She'd brought Forrest dinner, that first day she'd worked. Since then, he'd become a regular at the diner. It became normal, somehow - he'd come in, but she'd also pick up dinner for both of them and they'd eat it when she'd get back to her place, knocking on his door once she got herself settled.

She'd expected today to be the same, moving to pour him a cup of coffee; it was about ten minutes to sundown, and it was the end of a shift. "Do you want anything else, Forrest?"

[controlthefear]

Forrest's own job, driving around the morning deliveries for a downtown bakery, was quiet and solitary, requiring little in the way of socializing. Despite the Bondurants' place as local bootlegging legends, he was a man of modest, quiet ambitions, and it suited him just fine.

It also left his evenings free, and he spent every single one of those darkening a corner booth at diner where Maggie worked. He sipped his coffee and ate their meatloaf, which wasn't terrible, but wasn't particularly good, either. He talked to no one, simply leafed through the local newspapers and kept to himself.

The only person he ever had more than a passing grumble for was Maggie.

"Hm. How's the pie today?" He wondered, almost to himself.

[watchyoulive]

"It's good, although there's only one slice of the apple left." She's already moving to go get it, him not even having to ask. She's got some cleanup to do after that, and she was thinking about sitting in the booth with him while she wrapped silverware-- there wasn't hardly anyone else in the restaurant, and she knew her manager wouldn't mind.

Setting down the plate, Maggie wipes her hands on her apron; her hair's pulled back from her face, and even though she's wearing clothes that are a bit more modern than either of them are particularly used to, she's still got on a long sleeved blouse, but she's wearing slim-fitting black trousers instead of a skirt. It came on the advice of one of her coworkers, since the skirt she'd interviewed in didn't seem to lend itself to climbing up on ladders to get stock.

It's only been a week and a half, but somehow she feels like they're both already irrevocably changed by where they are now. neighbors, yes, but this place... It was a chance that she wasn't going to give up, even though she knew he must fiercely miss both his brothers and his land. Coming back with the silverware tray and napkins, she sits down across from him and starts to roll them into neat little bundles, her legs crossed at the knee. Lord, how she'd give her left arm for a smoke, but that was one of the hard things-- No smoking indoors, here.

"Deliveries go well this morning?" She doesn't look up from her work as she keeps rolling-- but it's clear she's interested.

[controlthefear]

When she returned, he murmured his thanks, his mouth tightening at one corner, in something almost resembling a smile.

She sat down across from him and his spine stiffened, though he found himself unexpectedly comforted by her presence. He kept his eyes on his newspaper, but his attention was drawn by the rustle of her blouse, the tap of her lacquered nails on the flatware, and the soft, feminine smell of her perfume.

"Hm. Well as they could," he muttered, having more words for her than he would've for anybody else. There wasn't much to tell, of course. He drove the truck, he unloaded stock, he passed along papers to be signed.

[watchyoulive]

"That's good. I'd been thinking it could have been complicated by the snow." Her fingers were practiced at rolling silverware after a week of doing it, the repetitive task of stacking them - knife-fork-spoon - and then wrapping the silverware tightly before wrapping it in a paper band was calming. She didn't have to think about it, and could look up at him. He wasn't watching her-- not much, anyhow, although she knew he was paying attention to her.

She wondered sometimes if he'd make a move; he didn't seem the type, but she also honestly wished he would, and she's thought about going further than she already has, since she's given him a key to her apartment. Ostensibly it's in case of emergency, but she told him that he could come over whenever he liked, although he'd not used it so far.

Licking her lips, Maggie's brows furrow for a moment before she looks up - maybe she was going to ask him a question, maybe she was going to ask him over for dinner instead of knocking on his door. Maybe she'd ask him if she really needed to go home afterward, but all of those maybes went right out the window in that second.

Six-forty-eight PM. That was the time when Maggie Beauford sat across from Forrest Bondurant, when everyone else in Darrow was living their own lives, up to their own business. It was when the sun went down.

It was when the siren started, the low wail starting so quiet that Maggie wasn't sure that she'd heard anything until it kept growing-- not a siren on a car coming closer, but an all-encompassing howl of warning. "What in the world..." She pushed herself up from her chair, her eyes flicking to Forrest just before she twists to look out the windows, and it looks like it's snowing even though the skies were clear just ten minutes ago. "What's going on?" The bell rings in the back-- the manager's left without a word, running home to his family and leaving the two of them alone.

[controlthefear]

He polished off his dinner. He'd never feel right about leaving good food uneaten on his plate. Waste not, want not. Jack's world was one of excess, but Forrest would live like a poor man, until the day he died.

And while the food was adequate, and the pie was suitably sweet, he hardly noticed. Maggie was, as she'd been for a good long while now, the soul keeper of his attention. Which was why he noticed her reaction, first. The tension in her shoulders, the faint line between her brows.

And then he heard it. His own body tensed, bristling like a threatened animal. Slowly, he sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed as the manager cut out on them, like a goddamn coward.

"Hm," Forrest grunted, rising to his feet. He shook his head slowly, holding out a hand to motion for Maggie to stay put. He edged toward the window, his hand sliding into the pocket of his cardigan.

Outside, it was gray. Visibility was for shit.

"That boss of yours didn't mention this, hm?"

[watchyoulive]

She's still standing by the table they'd been at - it'd been pure reaction that when Forrest had held up a hand she'd stopped where she was. No thought went into it, although she's certain that she'd have done the same.

It's only when he moved to the window that she took a step, then another - still back, still staying out of the way and behind him, but she's thinking about the gun that the manager keeps under the cash register. "No. He didn't mention anything like this," she says first, and then she moves - still back from the windows, but it's to get the gun and her day's pay from the till, because damned if she's going to leave it here when she's got no idea what's going on.

The ash is falling thick and heavy, and--

"Oh, God," she breathes the words, barely audible as she moves closer to the windows. "Do you hear it?" That's louder, to Forrest instead of to herself. Someone outside is screaming; she can hear it in her bones. She thinks it's a man, but she can just hear him screaming, and her brows furrow as she presses her fingers to her mouth to stop herself from making a sound.

She's heard a man scream like that, once or twice in her life, and she wishes she could forget it.