The group moved around the living room, picking up bottles, straightening the scattered survival gear, and trying to make Morgan's space a little less chaotic. Jean, hands full of empty cans, noticed a small wall lined with framed photos. They were worn and slightly dusty, showing images of Morgan in her military days. In some, she was in full gear with her squadron, their faces serious, their eyes carrying a look of hard-earned experience. Others showed her in a desert landscape, rifle in hand, her expression unyielding.
Jean stared at the pictures, fascinated. He hadn't seen many people with military backgrounds up close, especially not someone like Morgan. Even in her photos, she looked like someone you didn't mess with.
They cleaned in silence for a while longer before Morgan's rough voice called from the kitchen. "Food's up. If you're hungry, get it while it's hot."
They filed into the kitchen, where a large pot of box spaghetti sat steaming on the table, a handful of mismatched bowls and utensils laid out beside it. There wasn't much, but to them, it looked like a feast. They didn't wait for a second invitation, each of them filling a bowl and sitting down around the table, barely getting settled before they dug in.
Jean could barely remember the last time he'd had a proper meal, and from the way the others were eating, it was clear they felt the same. They wolfed down the spaghetti in silence, the only sound in the room the clinking of forks and the occasional satisfied grunt as they ate their fill.
As they ate, Jean's gaze drifted back to the living room, to the pictures on the wall. Curiosity got the better of him, and he looked over at Morgan, who was seated at the head of the table, a bottle of beer in her hand.
"So… you were in the military?" he asked, nodding toward the pictures.
Morgan paused, her face hardening slightly as she looked at him. "Not anymore," she said shortly, taking a long swig from her beer.
Jean nodded, sensing the tension in her tone, but he couldn't help himself. "I mean, that's… pretty impressive. I always thought about joining up myself, you know? Thought maybe I could—"
"Eat your damn food," she cut him off, her voice low and firm. She didn't look at him, instead focusing on her bottle as she raised it to her lips, chugging it down in a few swift gulps before setting it on the table with a thud. "You're not cut out for it."
The table fell silent, everyone glancing at Jean, then at Morgan. Jean swallowed, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment but keeping his mouth shut. There was a finality in her tone that made it clear the topic wasn't up for discussion.
Chloe, sensing the tension, muttered under her breath, "Awkward…"
Morgan shot her a glare, making Chloe go quiet immediately. With a heavy sigh, Morgan leaned back, reaching for another beer and cracking it open. "The world doesn't need heroes, kid. Just survivors. So eat, don't talk."
Jean nodded, focusing on his bowl, feeling the weight of her words settle over him. The room stayed quiet after that, each of them finishing their meal in silence as Morgan drained her bottle, her eyes distant, like she was miles away from the table.
***
The house had settled into a quiet lull. The boys had been given sleeping bags and old, slightly musty pillows, while the girls were set up with a couple of spare mattresses Morgan had stashed in a back room. Everyone had taken their places for the night, worn out and grateful for a roof over their heads, however temporary.
Jean lay awake for a while, staring at the ceiling. His mind kept returning to Morgan—the stern, no-nonsense woman who had saved them and offered them refuge, even if she didn't seem particularly thrilled about it. Eventually, he decided he couldn't sleep and slipped out of the boys' room, heading to the bathroom.
As he made his way down the dim hallway, he noticed a faint orange glow coming from the living room. Quietly, he approached, peeking around the corner, and saw Morgan sitting on the couch, one arm draped across the back, a cigarette between her fingers. She looked lost in thought, her face partially hidden by shadows.
He hesitated but finally spoke up. "Can't sleep either?"
Morgan didn't seem startled. She just glanced over at him briefly, then took a long drag on her cigarette, the ember flaring before she exhaled a plume of smoke. "Guess not," she said flatly, her voice low.
Jean stepped forward, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… wanted to say thanks. For what you did back there. You didn't have to, you know, but… you did. So, yeah… thanks."
Morgan didn't respond right away. She looked down at her cigarette, twisting it between her fingers, her eyes distant. Finally, she shrugged. "Don't make a big deal out of it," she said, her voice almost dismissive. She took another drag, letting the silence linger before she continued. "I was out. Saw you lot. And… it happened."
Jean frowned slightly, sensing that there was more she wasn't saying. "You just happened to be in the area?"
She paused, her gaze flickering over to him, sharp and assessing. She took a long pull on her cigarette, holding it in for a moment before exhaling slowly, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling. "Yeah. Grocery run," she said, her tone as unreadable as her expression. "Saw you were in a mess. Decided to step in."
Jean tried to read her face, but her expression gave away nothing. He didn't buy her answer, not completely, but something about the way she said it told him pressing further wasn't going to get him anywhere. He nodded, glancing at the ashtray on the table beside her, overflowing with cigarette butts.
"Well… still," he said quietly, "you didn't have to. And that… that means something."
Morgan gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, flicking her ash into the tray. "Look," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, "don't go making me into something I'm not. Just helped out. Simple as that."
Jean looked down, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and curiosity. "Alright," he said, deciding to respect her boundary. "Goodnight, then."
Morgan gave a half-nod, not looking at him, her eyes trained somewhere far away. "Goodnight, kid. Get some sleep."
Jean turned and walked back down the hall, casting one last glance over his shoulder. Morgan was still on the couch, her face unreadable, the faint glow of her cigarette the only movement in the dark room as she drifted back into her own thoughts.
Q: Do you want to become a solider?