No, that can't be.

Who: Diata and Everett
Where: Diata's house
When: Late evening

What a day, Everett mused as he trudged along the sidewalk, hopefully towards his last stop before going home and drinking himself to sleep. He'd covered the police station, secured the weapons, dropped most of them at home, and was in the middle of a final check on the streets. Ev had eventually discarded the table leg he'd started with, and now felt just a little better with a police baton slung through his belt. It wasn't much comfort in light of his encounter with Eris, but every bit helped with a mood like this. He should've felt better for helping restore power to the town, but it didn't feel like it was helping much. Just get it done, he told himself, moving up on the address the directory had listed as Diata's and knocking firmly on the door.

Most of the day had seen Diata in something like a very controlled panic. The power was off, most of the people were gone. She'd gone and checked her shop, locked things up tight, and prayed that no one would break in the big glass windows. Though she wasn't sure what they could possibly want to loot from the place, people were strange creatures when it came to tense situations. She'd walked into the grocery store and taken bags to dump canned goods into, as many as she thought she might need for a week or so, not wanting to fully loot everything. And then it had been some scared wandering before she'd gone back home and surrounded herself with candles as her mind spun over what could've possibly happened and how she could deal with it. She had her pills -- of which she'd already taken more than normal -- but God only knew how long those would last.

She hadn't even tried the power again by the time dark came. She was wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the couch when the knock came. Startled, Diata got her feet under her and limped her way to the door. She hesitated on opening it, and when she did, it was just a crack at first, then more fully when she saw who it was. "Everett," she said with some relief.

"You okay?" he asked immediately, wary about what might have happened, if the tense and strained look on Diata's face was any hint. Then he realized; she'd volunteered here. She'd believed this was something sane, that there was an end. Poor girl must be scared senseless, he thought as his brow lined with concern. "I meant to check in on you earlier, but it's been a busy day."

"Apparently," Diata said with a shaky sort of laugh. She shuffled backward a bit to let him into her still-candlelit living room. "I am ... physically fine, just very disconcerted and worried." She had no qualms about admitting to that. "Yourself?" She looked him over as he stepped inside, noting the police baton on his belt. That was not a good sign, she was not fond of those, however necessary they might be on occasion.

"Getting by," Ev rumbled, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "Can't say I was entirely surprised by the turn of events today, though." He nodded to the furnishings of Diata's living room, pacing in a bit farther. "Don't stand on my account... have you run into anyone else yet? Anyone fill you in on what's happening here?" If not, Ev was ready to be the bearer of bad news, though he hated having to take on the role. Still, Diata had been kind and welcoming before, and Ev didn't want her facing another day unaware of the situation they were in.

His brusque and businesslike manner was something of a slight comfort; at least someone seemed to carry some authority. Which wasn't entirely surprising out of him. She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her afghan wrap tighter around her shoulders. "No ... no one has told me anything. I've caught glimpses of people, but haven't spoken to anyone," she told him, staying standing where she was. If he was going to pace, she was going to stand. She did lean slightly back against the wall, however.

Ev nodded, shoulders heaving with a sigh as he fought against the wave of dread and frustration he'd had ever since waking up. "We're in trouble. All of us," he said plainly, looking her way. "The... experiments. The things a lot of us went through before we came here. They're not over. You and the other 'volunteers'? I think you're a part of them now." He didn't want to launch into it all, into the deaths and traps and psychological torment, but taking his time wouldn't make it any less severe. "I think the next day or two should help us all get back to some stability, but you need to believe me. Things are probably going to get bad."

Diata looked at him steadily as he spoke, and felt disbelief well up in her almost immediately. No, no that ... the people who'd processed her in had been sincere, they'd wanted to help these people. There was no chance that they were ... in league, for God's sake. A slow frown started, and she shook her head a bit, re-wrapping her shawl again. "That can't possibly be," she said, calm but firm. "I met those in charge of this project, they intended nothing but good, I don't ... no, something must've happened, and they'll be back." That was the only thing that made any sense.

"Diata," Ev rumbled with a shake of his head, "If they come back, we'll be sorry they did." His expression darkened as he thought of Holly, of finding Emma in a bloody mess in the woods, of Greg and Nic and everyone else who had suffered because they'd signed up for this. "Whoever you met was hired to convince you that this was safe. I don't need to meet them to say that, alright? Most of us survived months at the hands of these sadists, but none of us is going to think it'll just end."

He paced into the living room, forcing himself to sit on the sofa so he could divert his gaze for a moment. "Think about the scale of what they did overnight. Shutting off the power is simple, flipping a switch. But pulling out all their people? Boarding all those houses up without any of us hearing or noticing? It's something you plan. It takes resources, manpower, coordination. I saw them do much stranger things in the same time before. Whatever happens now, it's not the intentions you were sold on."

The magnitude of it. The very idea that they had been duped, all of them, and now were alone in the middle of godforsaken nowhere with no contact to the outside world and no planes and no help and no resources and winter was coming ... A fine tremor had started in Diata's frame, and she pushed off of the wall to limp stiffly into the kitchen as quickly as she could. It wasn't a wall between them, but it was some distance at least. Only there was nothing much to do in the kitchen, so she just stood at the sink with her head bowed a bit, twisting a rag between her hands and focusing on breathing. She couldn't deny the logic in what he said, couldn't deny it at all.

He gave her a moment before following after, leaning in the doorway and watching the anxiety work up her back and down her arms, finally expressing itself with the nervous twisting of Diata's hands. "I'm sorry," Everett said quietly from where he stood. "I know this has to be one of the worst moments you've ever had. I know, I had it too. And if I promised anything, I'd be lying. But I'm going to do everything I can to keep people safe, to try and get us all out of here... and to find the people who did this." Hopefully before the body count starts again, Ev thought, though he didn't think it was likely.

Unable to speak for a moment, Diata reached out to turn the faucet on for a moment, putting the rag under the warm water. She turned it off and put it to her face to blot before wringing it out and putting it back where it had been. Practical things, she had to focus on the practical, so as not to lose her mind. It had always worked that way. She turned around to look at him, expression very serious. "I am an amputee," she stated, leaning back against the counter. "I was in a car accident as a teenager, I have lost my leg and there is severe damage to my spine. I take strong painkillers to even be able to get out of bed, I can not be without those." It wasn't that she expected him to solve that problem for her, she just wanted to make him aware of it. Because if this lasted any length of time, it would be a problem. "I have roughly a month's supply, they did not want to send me with any more, they're controlled. I will do anything I can to help, but I am limited, you understand."

Amputee? That explained the limp, though Everett couldn't help blinking at the information. Painkillers. Pills. Judge not, Dupree... he told himself. "I'm not expecting any person here, myself included, to be able to handle everything that might happen," he explained. "If you decide you want to help, no matter what approach people choose, good on you. Whatever the plan is, I'm sure we'll need the help. As for your medication... start rationing. Stretch it as long and far as you can." Unbidden, memories of Rain leapt to mind. Her choice to sober up, the faith she'd given him, and the nearly lethal dose the scientists had given her. "Odds are there'll be more in time, but don't count on it as a certainty. If I'm right, if the project is still going, they'll have to restock our food supplies eventually." Or maybe they'd make the lot of them resort to cannibalism. "Don't be afraid to ask me for help, if you need it with anything. Okay?"

Start rationing, he said. When she relied on it. Already she foresaw herself perhaps having to resort to a chair to take some pressure off of her back, and she hated the image. Hated it. She never wanted to be in a chair again, for as long as she could help it. She'd go back to the arm-braces first. And that said nothing at all about the rest of the entire situation. She nodded stiffly, feeling a lump in her throat that she also hated. It was just ... slightly overwhelming. "Thank you very much for filling me in," she said, and swallowed against it's unsteadiness. Good Lord, why hadn't she left herself any dishes to do or something? Something small she could handle and take care of her with her own hands.

Everett felt guilty for even suggesting she ration her medication, standing there knowing she most likely had a better option she simply didn't know about. Who was he to decide she shouldn't rely on them? He'd seen plenty of amputees in his youth, and all through his career a season didn't pass without finding at least one dead from street drugs meant to curb their pain. The crisis had dropped him back into dangerous ground, feeling like he could grab the reins and bark orders, or at least lay down his worldview for others. "There's someone who might be able to help," he said at last. "Friend of mine from the first time, acquaintance really. Dave Peterson, he's a doctor here in town. Now, if the hospital supplies are like everywhere else, then they're intact. Maybe even the pharmacy. If you like, I can get in touch with him for you or at least point you his way."

She took a second to clear her throat out, and nodded again. "I appreciate the offer. If I feel as though I need it, I will likely take you up on it," she said. She wasn't about to go begging help from people -- especially white doctors -- until there was absolutely no other choice left. She would just have to ration, just have to ... make her supply last as long as she could, as he'd said at first. Still, her hands were shaking. It was too much to conceptualize, that they were out there alone. Or at least as good as alone. She'd become a guinea pig under entirely false pretenses, and she was not good with that. Not good at all. She reached up quickly to run her thumb under her eyes, gaze focused through the middle of his chest. She could survive this. She could, she'd survived so much already. She'd just survived it with family, and here there was none.

Diata hadn't said as much, but Everett had the feeling that he'd overstayed his welcome already, despite only arriving ten minutes ago. And what else would he say, if he stuck around? Maybe tell her about all the horrible things he'd seen? Maybe the ones he'd done? Or how unlikely the odds of escape were? None of it would be welcome, but he wouldn't mind confessing if he could only believe that she'd be able to look at him afterwards. "I wager someone's going to try and organize a meeting once the journal network is running again, if and when they do you should go. We never accomplished much with the old meetings, but with any luck it'll be a little more productive here. If nothing else, we all need to meet each other so we know who to turn to."

She was in fact caught between desperately wanting him to leave, and desperately wanting him to stay. She did not want to be alone at the moment, but she did at the same time. But she had no coffee to offer him, no tea, nothing fucking worked and she didn't know how to be hospitable when none of that was there and she was shaking and felt like she was approaching a breakdown. Becoming a weeping terrified mess in front of this man wasn't something she was eager to do, not in the least. "If one of them is suggested, I will be in attendance," she said. "Would you ... can I offer you a drink? I don't have anything hot, but ..." She did have something. She pushed off of the counter and started toward one of the other cabinets. Her knee, however, was under the impression that wasn't the best of ideas, and gave out on her. Diata caught herself on the counter before she could fall far, but it had still decidedly been a falter.

A southern gentleman in Russia was still a southern gentleman. And while Ev wasn't gentle with much in his life, he definitely had deep-rooted views on women in need. Diata's collapse hardly registered before he was moving over and crouching, supporting her weight as he draped her arm behind his neck. "Stand at your own pace," he said with a shred of pity showing, "I'll help keep it level. And I'd love a drink," he added, deciding the acceptance could only help her accept his own aid in kind. "But first let's get a seat, hm?"

She almost resisted, out of pure instinct, but down on her existing knee was a difficult position to get up from, so Diata ended up taking his help. She used the leverage to get her feet under her again, and was soon enough sitting solidly in a kitchen chair. She ran her hands over her hair and let an unsteady breath out. "My apologies," she told him. "I don't ... it's quite a lot to deal with. There is some scotch in the cabinet above the stove, you are welcome to help yourself."

"Just a taste," Everett said, as much for himself as an answer for Diata. He gave her a light pat on the shoulder once she was situated, moving to the stove and popping open the cabinets above it. "And no apologies, Diata," he went on as he grabbed the bottle, "This is more than any sane person could handle at first exposure. I remember back in the group house when they first started twisting us around. Some people blamed each other, others tried being almost apologetic." Unscrewing the cap, Ev frowned for want of a glass and ended up grabbing one from next to the sink.

"Hell, even I couldn't get my head around it at first, you know?" he asked rhetorically, pouring a splash of scotch. "I mean, I had a stint in homicide on the police force before I made captain. I knew people did bad things, horrible things. But it was never so organized, structured, funded... and there was always a reason when a body turned up. Here? We never knew the 'why' of it all. We just knew that there were more horrible things happening, coming from a front that seemed so legit. Want a drink?" he asked belatedly.

Though it was kind of risky to drink on top of the pills, Diata didn't hesitate. "Please," she said from where she was sitting. "More than a taste." She needed something to settle her nerves a bit, and the scotch-burn would be more than welcome as an anchor against ... everything. She didn't know what to think, how to really react, what she should be doing. "It's just all so surreal, I ... I just expect the power to come back on and someone to come around to explain what happened and ... do something about it." Nevermind that that was almost exactly what had happened. "Someone of ... their's, I mean," she corrected, looking over at him.

Ev nodded, both at her request and her stunned words. Pouring her a glass and filling his own a touch more than he'd first planned, he moved to join her at the table, setting the bottle between them and sitting across from Diata. "That's pretty close to what we'd thought too. And at first, they gave us an illusion that was close to it." He took a drink, brow knotting darkly as he remembered how it started. "First time? It was a break-in, they'd told us. People connected to a member in the house who tracked her down. And with the details we'd each given and all the research they had to have dug up before we arrived, it was a good cover. Hell, I wonder if we would've done better without the lies or not." He took a heavier drink, staring at the bottle and considering another pour already. "Eventually their stories lost weight, and I think that might come in handy helping you and the other volunteers. If we can predict what's coming, we can survive it."

Diata took the glass as soon as it touched the table and took a sip from it. She winced slightly -- hard liquor was something she always cut with juice or soda -- but took another one immediately after, listening to him talk. Part of her didn't even want to know, didn't want to think anymore about what they might've gone through. Funny how compassion kind of flew out the window when the fear that you were in it as well reared it's head. She took another drink. "How bad did it get?" she asked very quietly after a moment of silence, dark eyes moving to his lined face again.

He wanted to lie, to redirect his answers to try and hide some part of the horror he'd witnessed. The look on Diata's face was enough to make him want that, her collapse adding to the urge. But, one murder aside, Everett hated lying. And in this situation? Well, lying could leave people vulnerable. "Bad," he answered in a low, throaty growl, finishing his drink and pouring another without meeting Diata's eyes. "When I left, or tried leaving, we had four bodies. Two suicides, one murder, one 'accidental death'. And now I question the three that weren't murders. Plus there were traps, tests, and mind games every day. Cameras everywhere, little tidbits to square us off against each other, the list keeps going but I don't want to tell you more," he finished flatly.

Four. Four people dead who thought they were safe. And from the vague bits that she understood, that hadn't even been the worst experiment. As far as a body count went. Which really just made her feel sick to her stomach. She downed the rest of the drink and picked up the bottle once he was done with it to pour herself another. "Don't tell me any more," she whispered, able to agree with that statement without protest at the moment. She drank some more, looking pale and stricken under her natural color, eyes off in some middle distance as she attempted to process their situation.

Sitting there and watching Diata, Ev immediately regretted telling her the truth. Sure, she needed to know if she wanted to survive. But on top of everything else she'd dealt with, it was just unfair of him. "Hey," he said at last, leaning to angle himself in her stare, "We're going to get through this, okay? We are. I don't care how many experiments these sadists have, or how long this has been happening. I don't have room for that, and I don't have room to be afraid of it. I've survived worse than this, and I think you have too. You remember that, and remember we're in this together. As much as I can, I'm going to keep you safe."

She focused on him and listened, and had the most insane urge to ask him to stay the night with her. As if there were bogeymen just waiting outside the doors in the dark for the big strong man to leave. She was momentarily disgusted with herself before that got lost in everything else itself. Eventually she nodded slowly. In this together, he was going to work to keep her safe, she'd survived worse than this. Which was perhaps true, but at least she knew the faces of her past demons. This was completely different. She took another sip of scotch, not sure what to say. "It will be as it is, as with everything else," she murmured, almost to herself. "Thank you, though, I ... am in your debt."

With a slow shake of his head, Ev pushed the bottle closer to Diata's side of the table and gave her a small smile. It was genuine enough, but it was the sort you could only share in the wake of surviving a waking nightmare. Survivor's smile. "Keep me from drinking that bottle dry and we'll call it square between us," he told her, swirling the remnants of his drink slowly. "I get too carried away and I'll wake up on the floor out here. That's all you owe me, from where I'm sitting. Fair deal?" he asked.

Giving a faint, tired smile, Diata sloshed a bit more of the amber liquid in her glass, and then screwed the cap on the bottle. She honestly didn't need any more, herself. "More than fair," she said. After another sip, she stood up -- steadily this time -- and moved to put the bottle away, to help them both resist the temptation. She would need her head on her shoulders now, as much as possible. She hesitated, and then turned back to him, lips pressed briefly together. "You are welcome to stay, if you'd like," she ended up saying, and tried not to sound hopeful as she did so. "I believe I would sleep better with the company and I will repay you with breakfast in the morning, at the least."

In any other circumstances, an offer like that would make Everett's cheeks burn just by being spoken. But here it was made out of security and survival, and was surprisingly welcome. Everett didn't want to go back to his house, so close to Eris' own and to a mess of thoughts that were, at least for now, diverted from the forefront of his mind. "I think that'd be alright," he eventually answered, "I can post up in your living room easy enough." He probably wouldn't sleep much; he usually didn't if he was sober. "I'll just need a blanket and I'll be set."

Looking slightly relieved that he'd accepted, Diata limped out of the kitchen with her scotch glass, headed for the linen closet. She brought out a blanket and a fresh pillow, putting both on the couch. "There are books," she said, gesturing to the shelf and the various piles around it. In case he couldn't sleep. She wasn't sure how she was going to, despite being utterly exhausted at the moment. She finished off the drink and started moving to take it back to the kitchen. "Help yourself to anything, Everett, and I honestly ... very much appreciate it."

While she'd been getting the blanket, Everett had moved back to the doorway of the kitchen. He wasn't thinking either of them would get much sleep, but was hoping Diata would pull more than him, if only by dint of his presence in the house. Moving to the couch, he pulled his baton free and let it lean against the sofa as he sat. "It's alright, Diata. I hope you manage some shuteye, but if you get spooked in the night, feel free to wake me. I'll be right here," he said with a nod, sitting back on the sofa. "We'll talk more tomorrow, hopefully there'll be a plan forming."

She nodded and smiled faintly at him. "Thank you Everett," she said. On grateful impulse, she leaned down, hand resting lightly on his chest as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Giving him a soft pat, she straightened up and turned to head for the bedroom of the small house. It was a toss-up to whether she would fall asleep immediately or would lay awake looking at the ceiling and trying to get her head around things. She supposed she would find out.

He wished he could've been pleased with the small gesture. He appreciated it, sure, but the light kiss on his cheek was a strange catalyst to his thoughts. He'd lost one woman to the experiments, he'd murdered another. Everett didn't want to even imagine adding Diata to any list of that sort. But he smiled all the same as she patted his chest and headed away. His dark thoughts were all his own, they couldn't leak into this. Diata trusted him, and if he was going to keep his word to her he'd have to shove aside his own turmoil. With a task like that piled onto the one they all had to face? Everett predicted a lot of nights like this in the future.