Rosita Espinosa (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
handleyourshit) wrote2032-07-23 01:51 pm
handleyourshit) wrote2032-07-23 01:51 pm
"He's been here over a year. All the contracts he had before this one, he said he was in love with the other person." And there's no two ways about it: Jacob and Rosita are not in love.
"It's this weird mix of... Let's Keep Each Other Out Of Jail, but also you can sleep over if you want."
"He's different than he was a year ago." Older, more mature. He has had time to have a family, and so far no one else Jesus has met here has had that. "Maybe you're going to be the right person at the right time for him."
Not permanently, probably. But maybe it will end up being about more than just avoiding jail time.
Not permanently, probably. But maybe it will end up being about more than just avoiding jail time.
She studies him openly, letting him see her narrowed eyes.
"Schemer," she snorts, but she shakes her head. "I just want neither of us to be miserable and I'll call it a win. We'll start there and see where it goes."
"Schemer," she snorts, but she shakes her head. "I just want neither of us to be miserable and I'll call it a win. We'll start there and see where it goes."
He spreads his arms at the accusation, flashes her his totally innocent bright blue eyes.
"I'm feeling pretty good now." Knowing she has a contract, knowing he has a mission. Not thinking about V right now. "I need to go check in with a couple other people. Jacob and I head out at first light."
"I'm feeling pretty good now." Knowing she has a contract, knowing he has a mission. Not thinking about V right now. "I need to go check in with a couple other people. Jacob and I head out at first light."
Jesus hangs out as long as he can away from everyone else but when he sees Rosita he moves to her, sits across from her.
"Is this okay? Or do you want me to go with someone else?"
"Is this okay? Or do you want me to go with someone else?"
Rosita looks calm, especially in a room full of people who are on edge and in various stages of frustration, outrage, and a handful of other trauma responses. And she is calm, of course, because that's been her role more often than not.
But she is pissed, and when she spots Jesus she's every bit as quick to move to a table with him, swinging the chair around backwards so she can jump up from it easily, have something to drape an arm over nonchalantly, and hang onto all at once.
"I have no idea what this is," she warns him, eying the supplies at the table. "Promise we'll touch base afterwards regardless, and I'm good."
But she is pissed, and when she spots Jesus she's every bit as quick to move to a table with him, swinging the chair around backwards so she can jump up from it easily, have something to drape an arm over nonchalantly, and hang onto all at once.
"I have no idea what this is," she warns him, eying the supplies at the table. "Promise we'll touch base afterwards regardless, and I'm good."
"We will." He glances around them. "This is just talk therapy in a group setting. I had to do it a lot before." When he'd been an orphan and then an unruly kid, then a felonious teenager.
"Knowing this place, it'll probably revolve around sex." Which is fine. He and Rosita talk about their partners sometimes already, anyway, even if they don't always share names.
"Knowing this place, it'll probably revolve around sex." Which is fine. He and Rosita talk about their partners sometimes already, anyway, even if they don't always share names.
Edited 2022-10-31 01:40 (UTC)
"Knowing this place, they spiked anything they could," she mutters, casting a baleful look at some of the refreshments set out against one wall. This isn't just Rosita's healthy paranoia - everything she's been to that involves the program has some kind of catch, somewhere.
She picks up one of the bottles of aromatherapy oil, spots one of the minders moving from table to table to fire up the steamer between them and looks back at Jesus.
"I'm following your lead," she says, firmly. If he's done this before, she's good to let him show her how to get out of here fastest and closest to intact.
She picks up one of the bottles of aromatherapy oil, spots one of the minders moving from table to table to fire up the steamer between them and looks back at Jesus.
"I'm following your lead," she says, firmly. If he's done this before, she's good to let him show her how to get out of here fastest and closest to intact.
"Don't fight it," is his advice, although he says it for the benefit of everyone listening. Of course he and Rosita will fight. They always do.
The therapist offers a helpful suggestion: "What do you feel when you think about the Pit?"
He draws a breath and looks at Rosita, eyebrows raised slightly. "I feel glad I went and investigated."
The therapist offers a helpful suggestion: "What do you feel when you think about the Pit?"
He draws a breath and looks at Rosita, eyebrows raised slightly. "I feel glad I went and investigated."
The day Rosita isn't fighting, she firmly believes, is because she's dead. Which is part of what pisses her off so much about how things went in the Pit -
"I always meant to fight, just not when all it was doing was beating myself up on a concrete wall. All those people that lectured me about not letting them win and not being a coward can kiss my entire ass."
She says it calmly, something she would have told anyone for free, and did tell a couple people at the time.
She tempers it staring straight back at Jesus with: "I'm glad you did too."
"I always meant to fight, just not when all it was doing was beating myself up on a concrete wall. All those people that lectured me about not letting them win and not being a coward can kiss my entire ass."
She says it calmly, something she would have told anyone for free, and did tell a couple people at the time.
She tempers it staring straight back at Jesus with: "I'm glad you did too."
"You did the right thing. You survived. You waited for the right moment." She doesn't need his approval, but she has it anyway. He trusts her in a crisis more than he trusts almost anyone, save himself.
Maybe even more than himself nowadays.
"I wish I hadn't died," he says, the words out before he can even process that he's thinking them. "And every time I think about it I'm more glad that you're alive."
Maybe even more than himself nowadays.
"I wish I hadn't died," he says, the words out before he can even process that he's thinking them. "And every time I think about it I'm more glad that you're alive."
Her guard is up, high enough that she knows from experience anyone can say anything to her and it won't hurt - not in the moment anyway - and she has a good chance of deciding if she lashes out or not.
Her guard is up, and she doesn't need his approval but she can add it to her armor, and that's how she doesn't even flinch when he adds the next bit.
"I'm not. I want you to go home with me. I want you there when I walk in those gates. I would do anything to make that happen."
Her guard is up, and she doesn't need his approval but she can add it to her armor, and that's how she doesn't even flinch when he adds the next bit.
"I'm not. I want you to go home with me. I want you there when I walk in those gates. I would do anything to make that happen."
"I would, too." He would give everything he has to be able to go back again. But he can't. And they both know he can't.
"I wish we'd had the chance to be closer back home. Like we are here. But I'm glad we have each other now."
"I wish we'd had the chance to be closer back home. Like we are here. But I'm glad we have each other now."
"Your people need you. Mine need me." They have places back home, communities, people.
Places they will never be a 'them' again if she leaves here, and she's shocked that her breath catches in her chest and throat when she tries to say something else even though she swallows it back immediately.
Places they will never be a 'them' again if she leaves here, and she's shocked that her breath catches in her chest and throat when she tries to say something else even though she swallows it back immediately.
He winces to hear that breath, to feel that same ache in his own chest.
"It's okay," he says, because it has to be. She has so much ahead of her.
"It's okay," he says, because it has to be. She has so much ahead of her.
"I am - so sorry," she manages to get past that lump in her throat, because she has to say something, has to get them past this, somehow. She already said they were, but of course, they both know how things lodge under the ribs and stick indefinitely. She swipes quickly at her eyes to make sure they're dry, even though they're not.
"No one has ever had to pull me back behind the walls. I've never left anyone behind like that." She has always been stronger than that, until the moment she wasn't.
"No one has ever had to pull me back behind the walls. I've never left anyone behind like that." She has always been stronger than that, until the moment she wasn't.
"Rosita, it was not your fault. I chose to go." Because he'd hated life behind the walls. Because he'd wanted to help Eugene, too, yes. He'd wanted to solve the mystery of that strange walker herd. But mostly it had been his own dissatisfaction with his life that led him out there so fast. "I don't blame you for getting hurt. No one does."
"I do," she says immediately, firmly.
"And I'll live with it. I'll handle it. But I won't ever forget that I cost all of us a good, good man."
"And I'll live with it. I'll handle it. But I won't ever forget that I cost all of us a good, good man."
"You didn't. You were hurt, Rosita. I'd never been seriously hurt before then, either." He wasn't careless. No more than usual. It only takes one bad day, and they all know it.
He swallows hard, his voice softer. "You're my family, and I'm glad we get to be together here. We never would have had this otherwise."
He swallows hard, his voice softer. "You're my family, and I'm glad we get to be together here. We never would have had this otherwise."
"We will always have this. No one can ever take it."
Rosita never talks this way; well. That's not true. She did once before, and she flinches now to think of it, combined with that undertone of sincerity in Jesus's voice. Forgiving her, loving her like he doesn't know better, like Hilltop doesn't need him more than Alexandria needs her.
She knows it won't bring any of them back. She knows that. She opens her mouth to say that, and closes it again without saying anything.
Steadies herself with a deep breath and feels her heart jackhammering like she's just run for two days straight ahead of a herd again and makes herself say it anyway, calm, certain, and small: "It should have been me."
Rosita never talks this way; well. That's not true. She did once before, and she flinches now to think of it, combined with that undertone of sincerity in Jesus's voice. Forgiving her, loving her like he doesn't know better, like Hilltop doesn't need him more than Alexandria needs her.
She knows it won't bring any of them back. She knows that. She opens her mouth to say that, and closes it again without saying anything.
Steadies herself with a deep breath and feels her heart jackhammering like she's just run for two days straight ahead of a herd again and makes herself say it anyway, calm, certain, and small: "It should have been me."
He shakes his head; that's not true. It's just that the way she says it, it isn't a new idea for her. It's one she's held close a while.
"Why would you say that?"
"Why would you say that?"
"Hilltop needs its leader. They chose you, they voted for you, they wanted you."
She's seen enough by now to know that doesn't sit right with him; she spoke to Tara. She can put puzzle pieces together.
"And the people in our world need someone like you to build the next one. Someone that actually believes they can be better. Not me. Not the girl who's always someone else's plus one."
She's seen enough by now to know that doesn't sit right with him; she spoke to Tara. She can put puzzle pieces together.
"And the people in our world need someone like you to build the next one. Someone that actually believes they can be better. Not me. Not the girl who's always someone else's plus one."
"They voted for Maggie. They only chose me because I knew her plans," he says, has believed this from day one. Tara is the better leader: more organized, more involved.
But that's not where his focus lands. "Rosita, without you we never would have won the war. Without the things you know how to do--you, not whoever you're with--the Saviors would have won. You're going to keep our people safe so the next generation can grow."
But that's not where his focus lands. "Rosita, without you we never would have won the war. Without the things you know how to do--you, not whoever you're with--the Saviors would have won. You're going to keep our people safe so the next generation can grow."
We need you. She remembers Gabriel trying his best to get through to her in his church all those years ago; she can see it sometimes still when he looks at her. And she knows she can do things others can't, she's seen it; others have made similar comments and on a day to day basis she gets on with it because what else can she do? Bitching about it won't change anything. Crying over it won't bring anyone back, won't allow her to get a better second chance than this one with Jesus.
She doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want anyone outside of the fucking church to know; but whatever there is in her that would normally shrug it off, redirect them, or simply refuse to comment on it any further is just gone along with the crisp, artificial smell of fresh linen from the diffuser.
"I'd better make it count somehow, right?" is what she says anyway. If she's the one left standing, she'd better make sure she's worth something.
She doesn't want to talk about this, doesn't want anyone outside of the fucking church to know; but whatever there is in her that would normally shrug it off, redirect them, or simply refuse to comment on it any further is just gone along with the crisp, artificial smell of fresh linen from the diffuser.
"I'd better make it count somehow, right?" is what she says anyway. If she's the one left standing, she'd better make sure she's worth something.
"You already do." He gives her a small smile, wanting to soothe her hurt and knowing it goes deeper than he can reach. So he asks, because whatever they've given him has loosened up questions he might not otherwise ask in a setting like this. "Do you doubt that?"
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