MV: Aftermath

Andy stepped up next to Veronica, and handed her the pistol. She tucked it into the back of her belt, keeping it out Steve's sight. 

"I should have just killed him," Andy said quietly. He was feeling the presence of his maker, rapidly retreating. 

Steve shook his head. "Against a wight like that one? You wouldn't stand a chance."

Andy set his shoulders, feeling suddenly stubborn. "I wasn't planning on fighting fair."

"He's handled himself surprisingly well," said Veronica, and Steve nodded reluctantly at that.

"All right. This house is compromised, we can't stay here." Steve sounded frustrated, but Andy would have bet that some of that was just exhaustion; his hair was too short to really show it, but he looked like he'd been woken up shortly after falling asleep. "Go park your car somewhere else, and get back here. I'm going to call Rodney and throw some supplies in the van." He turned to look at Andy. "Come with me if you want to live."

Andy frowned. "I'm already dead, though."

Steve looked frustrated. "It's-- never mind. Just stay with me." 

"Sure," said Andy, and followed Steve into the house as Veronica went to relocate her car. Steve was already on his phone. "Rodney? Yeah, we've got contact. We're heading north to the safe house.  Ground team didn't get there fast enough." He paused, listening. "Yeah, well, we didn't get a lot of advance notice on this. Next time we'll station them on site. Right, see you soon." He closed the call and tucked the phone into his back pocket. "Fucking sucker," he growled, then turned back to Andy. "Did you escape, or did Veronica let you out?"

"...I escaped," Andy admitted. "I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't sensed my maker, but you told me that wights had claws, so... I made claws."

Steve shook his head. "It's a damned good thing you're trying to work with us, Kid. Technically, we're supposed to put a bullet in anybody who can't control themselves well enough to stay put."

"I mean, I did immediately go to the nurses' station and have one of them call you," Andy pointed out. 

"Yeah, that's what I mean." Steve had opened a closet, and was pulling out a pile of duffel bags. "Control lets us use our best judgement, because sometimes rules just aren't sufficient for a specific situation. So we get some discretion, and you don't get executed for taking perfectly sensible precautions while undead."

Andy thought that over for a long moment, and then said, "Thank you. For trusting me, even though I'm a problem."

Steve stopped pulling duffel bags out of the closet, and turned to face him. "Were you listening?" he asked. "You aren't a problem. You are doing the best you can. Those three murderous fuckers out there, though? They're a fucking problem. And I mean to keep you away from them. Right now, we need to get you some fucking clothing. After that... how many of these bags can you carry?"