Survival Of The Fittest

((June Madison continues from Daylight))

It was past midnight again.

A whole lot of time had passed since the last time they saw people, at the plane. A long, cold night, punctuated by bits of sleep, another set of announcements, and now another longer, somehow colder night.

No scavenging bits found, unfortunately. Turned out both June and Medea were horrible at reading maps, meaning they had walked around probably every bit of the coast, every bit of the island that didn't have buildings, every bit of the island that they didn't actually need.

No K to be found, too. He hadn't come up on the announcements, thank God, but as to how he was doing, whether he was injured, whether he was trapped somewhere, was a mystery to them.

A whole lot of nothing. A whole lot of space for other things to creep into her mind.

She had come up with a thousand ways to stave off the nothingness. Small talk with Medea was always an option. Favorite food, favorite song, favorite movie, that sort of deal. When that petered out, silently appreciating every bit of nature, pretty and ugly, the rough gray-blue seas, the diminishing patches of snow-turned-slush, the bits of gravel skidded away by their shoes as they walked to and fro this place and that place on the island, looking for some indeterminate something.

Today had proven colder than yesterday. The air nipped at her ears, the puffs of smoke from her breath billowed thicker now, so they sought shelter early. Found it in a door blown open, leading underground to a network of tunnels, which would probably, finally lead to some buildings.

They had set up camp at a corner. Medea was currently snuggled up, one duffel bag as a pillow, another bag as something to hug, and a sheet of foil from the first-aid kit as her blanket. June was sat to Medea's side, snuggled against the very corner, eyes flicking left and right, from one branch of the tunnel to the other, looking for newcomers.

No more small talk for the time being. And nothing to appreciate in these cold, gray walls.

Nothing.

How long had Iris been staring into nothing before she got out?

She wasn't on the latest announcements. So, she was definitely alive. Her name wasn't left off by the terrorists by mistake, she was alive. Which was good. That was good. Not a murderer, June was not a murderer.

What had gone through Iris' mind while waiting in that cold, dark nothing? What, exactly, had crept into her mind then?

It made her blood boil imagining anyone doing that to her. She would kill anyone who did that to her. Which meant Iris would kill her. Iris probably hated her for it, and wanted to kill her for it. She wanted to kill herself for it.

Not an active sort of want. Just, she had done a horrible, irredeemable thing, and she didn't know how to make up for it, because how did you even make up for it? How did you make up for something like that?

Just, if she stopped existing now, and Medea no longer had to deal with her, if the world blinked into black now, then that would be fine, and it would be easy. It would be easier for everyone if she–

She was drifting into dark places again. She didn't like it.

She shook her head. Blinked into the dark a few times, eyes somewhat wet.

"Medea," she said in a quiet tone, "you awake?"

((Medea Parth continued from Daylight))

Another day was coming to a close and they managed to accomplish little if anything. Now they found themselves in some tunnel in the cold of the night. It made her really miss her bed, miss her home. She missed her cat. The poor baby. He must be so confused as to where she went.

Maybe one day she’ll return home. She hoped she would. She had to keep hope alive. Not just for her, but also June.

She owed June as much.

She was thankful to still have her friend with her, after everything that has happened in the days since they were kidnapped. June might not have known it, but Medea depended on her. Even if it was just being there, it helped Medea stay grounded and focused as June served to help remind Medea what she was still trying to accomplish.

Not that they accomplished much.

The clock was ticking and Medea felt pressure like no other. She never outright said it, but she was frustrated that June pulled her away from that plane. She wasn’t sure what she would have done, but she felt she could have pulled something useful from its electronics. But lingering on what could have been was not helping.

They still needed to move forward if they wanted to make it out of this.

K was still out there too. She hoped he was okay. She wanted to find him too, but where he could be she had no idea.

"Medea, you awake?"

Her thoughts interrupted by June’s voice, she swiveled her head in the direction of her friend.

“Yeah, I am.” She whispered. “What’s up, Junebug?”

June let a silence stretch on for a bit. She didn't have any words ready on hand. Just, she had the general sense of a question in mind, the general sense of not knowing something, and that Medea had that something as an answer. That was what had prompted her to call out to Medea.

It took around ten or fifteen seconds before she came up with some words.

"How do you make up for doing bad things?"

A couple seconds passed, and then a humorless kind of laugh.

"Have you done anything bad?" she asked ruefully.

Medea pondered the questions that were asked of her. She suspected that June was still struggling with guilt over what she had done on the first day. Not that she could blame her friend. If Medea were in her position, she’d probably be absolutely wracked with guilt over hurting someone.

She tried to think of something bad she had done, but anything she could think of was so minor most people wouldn’t say they were necessarily bad. They still made her feel bad in retrospect, but nothing compared to what June had done. It probably would be cold comfort for June if she explained that there was that time she petted a service dog without permission, or how she accidentally said something insensitive.

“Of course I have,” Medea said. “I don’t think anyone can go through life without doing something even just a little bad. It is laudable to try, but sometimes you do anyway even if not intentional.”

She paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling.

“As for making up for doing something bad… An apology is a good place to start.”

"Is it?"

June gulped, took in a deep breath.

"If I'd just said mean things at her, then maybe, yeah, but I... I don't know if she'll want to talk to me. I don't know if she'd even let me be near her, truth be told."

“She may not,” Medea admitted. “Asking for forgiveness is hard. Giving it, even harder. I'd like to believe that forgiveness can always be given to those who ask for it.”

She moved her hand, searching for June’s under the emergency blanket. Once she found it, she grabbed it and squeezed it reassuringly. Though difficult to see through the darkness, Medea smiled at her friend and hoped that in some way she was able to sense it.

“But asking for forgiveness is only a start.” Medea said. “We can always be sorry for what we've done, be sorry for the hurt we have caused others, but it's what we do afterwards that really matters.”

June sensed Medea's hand. There had been this sensation of a vise wrapped around her ribs, squeezing the air out of her, but it was lessening ever so slightly now.

Only slightly, however.

Medea's smile shone through the darkness too, and June reciprocated.

Her smile faded as she considered her next question. No matter what good things happened just a few seconds prior, June always had this underlying fear that she'd ruin it all with the next act, and the next act, and the next. She always tried to tread lightly, whenever she had the presence of mind to do so.

It took a few more seconds before she spoke again.

"So... what do we do afterwards? What do I do, I mean? Like, if someone did that to me, I don't think sorry would be enough."

Medea’s smile faded, thoughts swirling in her head as she considered her response. She didn’t wish to deceive June or raise her hopes with empty platitudes. She owed her friend as much honesty as she could afford to give. She knew June was struggling with guilt over actions, and as much as she wished she could give her a clear answer, the words failed her.

She sighed.

“We can only do what we are able,” Medea admitted. “I’m sorry I don’t have a clear answer, June, but the truth is there is no clear cut solution. Not with how things are. All we can do is move forward, hopefully making good decisions and try to make things right by those we’ve hurt.”

She paused, swallowing what spittle she had in her drying mouth.

“But if and when you do apologize, June, regardless if she accepts or not, I will be there for you. Whatever road you have to walk down afterward, no matter how difficult, I will be there for you.”

No you won't, June thought reflexively.

Reflexively, impulsively. There it was again, the inner voice that told her the next act would be the one that did her in, and the next, and the next. It had been a constant companion of hers for so long, and in the days following the incident with Iris, its voice was as loud as ever.

Medea had never cried as much as she had two days ago. June had helped her find her limit then. Medea had never given up on someone before. June would probably help her find her limit there soon. It was inevitable, she felt.

She was here now though, wasn't she? That was an improvement from a couple days ago, when she'd been sure Medea's shunning of her was imminent. Their friendship was two days past its expiration date.

June was tired of that voice of hers, the one always warning about the next act. For so long, she had dreamed of a day where she could finally feel sure of herself, a day where she wouldn't have to tread lightly. So, maybe she could fake it for a bit, oblige Medea. Believe that she would be there for her.

She squeezed Medea's hand, forced herself to smile at Medea.

"Thank you."

Another squeeze.

She wanted to believe. She wanted to be better.

As for Medea's answer to her question, there wasnt much June could do with it. Honestly, she had been hoping for something more concrete, like 'Present her with flowers as a peace offering' or 'Say these exact words in this exact order,' but life was never, ever that easy, wasn't it?

All she could do was try.

She turned away from Medea, looked down at the spot under the emergency blanket where their hands probably were.

"Sorry for dragging you away from that plane, by the way. I just... freaked out. Wanted to be safe."

She could still see all that blood in the pilot's seat when she closed her eyes, sometimes. In the time since though, it'd become increasingly clear that Adam, the pink haired boy they'd run from, had had nothing to do with the blood, since his name hadn't shown up on either announcement. That left the question of whose blood it was, but that was a question she wasn't sure she wanted answered, even if she could answer it.

"But, these tunnels probably connect to one building or another though. I'm sure we'll find those materials for that project of yours soon, yeah? Maybe tomorrow?"

Medea nodded her head, moving to cuddle into her friend.

“I’m sure we will. Let’s try to get some sleep, okay?” Medea said.

((Medea Parth continued in Vultures…))

"Yeah," she said, a small smile on her face.

Medea settled her head on the crook of June's neck. June leaned her head on top of Medea's.

The rest of the night passed by easier.

((June Madison continued in Vultures))