DOOMSDAY || TREECH

Despite the fact Laurel's entire body is shaking like a leaf on a windy day nothing else escapes her. No tears, no screams, not even an uneven breath. It unsettles Treech more than anything he had seen in the Capitol.

Slowly, Laurel drops her hands to her lap. Still convulsing and gripping the sheer fabric of her pink nightdress. She's absolutely petrified and Treech doesn't know what to do.

When he had come to visit her, Treech had truly believed she would be perfectly well, or as close as someone could get after coming back from the dead. That she would welcome him into her arms, and take care of him just like she had done before. She would love on him so well that it would fix all of the little bits and pieces that had somehow been knocked out of place inside him.

"I..." the words dry up in Treech's throat, clogging his airway, "It can't be yours because you're not dead."

"What am I then?" Laurel's jaw is clenched shut so hard that Treech swears he can hear her teeth grinding together.

"Probably whatever I am." They're the same, not quite home yet no matter how badly they want to be. He reaches out a hand again, waiting for the girl to flinch away as though she ever would and smoothing it over the taunt muscle of her cheek.

Treech can feel the wiry gears beneath his fingertips relax and her skin softens in a way that he's so familiar with, "Why didn't you come before?"

"I don't know." Laurel's eyes shift to map out his face. They trace every dimple and scar, struggling to figure out which one are from before the Capitol or after.

Laurel can feel herself slipping into a comfortability that she had been craving since the moment she woke up. Though, even that thought broke her away from it again. Laurel is home, just like had been praying for the moment she was thrown into the back of the Capitols cattle train. Her sister is just downstairs and her parents will be back from work as the sun sets, but all she craves is the company of a boy she barely knows. Or maybe it's that she knows him too well, in a way that nobody else will compare to.

"I was with you, before." Treech a forehead tilts towards hers as though he's sharing a deep dark secret, "You were at my house."

"When I was dead?" The hair at the crown of his head brushes her own and Laurel lets her head lull from side to side, enjoying the feeling.

"When you were sleeping." He emphasises the difference, letting his hand fall from her cheek to her neck again, "My Ma was the one who noticed you were breathing."

The tenderness radiating from every point of contact between the two grows, slipping down Laurel's spine like warm honey. Maybe one day what Brooke did for her will feel like a gift, eventually.

"Hope I didn't make a bad first impression." Laurel almost smiles and her nose brushes Treech's, he can't help but laugh. It's quiet and hoarse, careful not to pop their fragile bubble.

"I think you'll get a second chance." Laurel does smile this time, small and uncomfortable with how chapped and raw her lips are.

The pain from the movement and the faint taste of blood snaps her face back into place. It's nauseatingly familiar and it makes her stomach churn. Laurel wants so badly to ask Treech about every little detail of what happened after she died. How long was he alone for? Where did he hide? Was she there with him? But she doesn't, too scared that it will shatter what little peace he had fought for. And once again it's a reminder that she shouldn't be here, that he shouldn't have to look after her too.

"I missed you." The boy repeats again, his breath fanning her face.

"I was only gone for a couple of days." Laurel lets herself smile again, the sweetness in his eyes quell the discomfort sitting at the back of her throat.

Instead of replying Treech lets his eyes fall shut, choosing just to enjoy the growing warmth replacing the cold that had been plaguing Laurel's body. He hopes that maybe it'll help convince her that she's real and alive and sitting right across from him. She has a future, and because of that so do they.

Something deep in his gut, but also all over his skin begs him to kiss her. To tug her right up against his chest and never let go but there's so much time for that later. So instead he presses the envelope of cash into her hands, silently but with the promise "This is ours, for the future."

***

When Treech exits the house, early enough to avoid running into Laurel's father but with a promise to return, Calla is flittering around the kitchen. Quietly, as though she's hoping to avoid the boy she pokes her head around the half-wall separating them.

"She spoke to me." Treech mumbles, though the statement drags a sorrow to the surface of Laurel's sister.

"Good." The statement almost sound bitter.

"Laurel will come around. She love you very much."

"Thank you." With that Treech takes his leave.

As he makes his way off the Chastains front porch Ridge is still sitting in his spot on their front lawn. Tugging fistfuls of the already sparse grass out in fistfuls.

"Don't do that." Treech scolds and Ridge's neck almost snaps with how quickly he looks up.

"Sorry." He mumbles meekly, "How is she?"

"Good." Treech offers his hand to the boy, pulling his hip from the ground, "She's good."

He doesn't let go once the boy's on his feet and they trudge back home together. Hand in hand, the same way they would when Treech's brothers were still too small to walk to school without him.