"We're less than a month out from having property, from having a place to start over, but you've been building it already for months." Which isn't unexpected. It's what Jesus does, what he's always done, it's who he is.
But: "And sometimes you run things past me, and sometimes you run behind me - and you send me people, and send me at people." Which doesn't make for any specific pattern, unless you've seen it before.
"I was there when Maggie took Hilltop. Remember?" She saw Jesus just behind and at her friend's side.
Rosita stands for his scrutiny, her eyes ticking back up when he speaks.
She already knew, she's known for a while now even if she's been keeping too busy to think on it too much. But she's always avoided being the leader for a reason; she and Jesus fill many of the same roles, for many of the same reasons, and they've never been leadership material.
"That it's not very fair," she offers, reaching up to rub at one of her eyes. She's tired most of the time now, stress and being on edge eating at her in a way the physical work of walking and walking and walking and walking never did.
Alexandria has a reputation for being home to fighters, but they're more than that; their standards are higher than that, and she helped establish those. Hunting parties, scouting parties, patrols, councils, structure, resources.
She feels caught out here again, feels like she's starting from scratch and she doesn't know what's expected of her.
"If it was, two out of three of us wouldn't feel blindsided by something we felt we should have known, two out of three of us wouldn't be sitting here talking about what we don't know about the third, and you and I wouldn't be talking about trust. Just to name a few things."
She will absolutely take that apology, which is enough to get her to reach and down a mouthful of it. She shakes her head.
"We need to have a better start to this conversation. We need to actually have a conversation," she decides through the face she pulls as the alcohol burns its bitter way down her throat.
"We do," he nods, and he hasn't had trouble with these sort of conversations before. It's not going to change now.
"I felt like you were saying you don't trust me," he says, deciding it's the core of his issue so it's as good a place to start as any. "I try to befriend people but I'd never do anything to endanger the group."
"I do trust you," she says, clearly, emphatically. "I trust that you would never knowingly do something that would harm the group. My concern is that we're all still finding our feet here, and the threats are different."
"They are. And if I wasn't sure, absolutely positive, that Drake was safe, I would never have contracted with him. It felt like a double standard because you were willing to risk us by going to a vampire because you trust that Carver vetted him thoroughly." He exhales. "You say you were taking all the risk on yourself, but you couldn't have known it would stop with you. What if he turned you? What if he controlled you?"
"I didn't know when you found out though. And I was here when you first contracted - you didn't want to. You were worried about something, but there was a deadline and the zoo. It wasn't exactly purely a long, thought out, carefully decided process."
There's room to doubt, is what she means.
"If he did something to me, you'd do what we always do when someone isn't themselves anymore. Heart instead of brain is the only difference."
And that's fair. Rosita's own trust in Carver is not without its reservations.
"So you're operating on a double standard too: Carver's been healed by Grayson multiple times. And he's let him do something to him, long before we got here. Carver is also more willing to break himself apart for an advantage than I am, and he's not completely sane." She cares about the man, but some truths hold.
"But he was right there. I asked him multiple times before we went anywhere. I didn't just decide on a whim, and if it works we have a huge advantage. If we want it."
She watches him, the quiet taper where words fail him or he changes his mind about what he was going to say. About what needs to be said.
She already loved him. She lets herself feel it, lets it bleed into her expression, something tender and visceral and achingly loyal.
"We're badasses, J. We're the best our communities have to offer. But we're both used to being the front line, and making snap decisions for ourselves because people are depending on us." And that was necessary. That was what it took to survive back home: the willingness to trust a group of strangers without anyone's permission, or to pick their way alone amongst walkers to get to a building that might have nothing or might have everything they need for the next month.
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But yes.
"We need you, Rosita." And softer, "I need you."
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She flattens her palms on the bartop, pulls her hands back to tuck under her elbows.
"I need you too, Jesus. Whole. Healthy."
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"You think I don't see what you've been doing, J? That I don't know?"
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"What do you mean?"
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But: "And sometimes you run things past me, and sometimes you run behind me - and you send me people, and send me at people." Which doesn't make for any specific pattern, unless you've seen it before.
"I was there when Maggie took Hilltop. Remember?" She saw Jesus just behind and at her friend's side.
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She already knew, she's known for a while now even if she's been keeping too busy to think on it too much. But she's always avoided being the leader for a reason; she and Jesus fill many of the same roles, for many of the same reasons, and they've never been leadership material.
She doesn't answer.
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"I can't keep us all safe like this."
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Alexandria has a reputation for being home to fighters, but they're more than that; their standards are higher than that, and she helped establish those. Hunting parties, scouting parties, patrols, councils, structure, resources.
She feels caught out here again, feels like she's starting from scratch and she doesn't know what's expected of her.
"If it was, two out of three of us wouldn't feel blindsided by something we felt we should have known, two out of three of us wouldn't be sitting here talking about what we don't know about the third, and you and I wouldn't be talking about trust. Just to name a few things."
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"My mistake isn't your fault, Rosita." He tops off her drink as apology.
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"We need to have a better start to this conversation. We need to actually have a conversation," she decides through the face she pulls as the alcohol burns its bitter way down her throat.
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"I felt like you were saying you don't trust me," he says, deciding it's the core of his issue so it's as good a place to start as any. "I try to befriend people but I'd never do anything to endanger the group."
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Okay.
"I do trust you," she says, clearly, emphatically. "I trust that you would never knowingly do something that would harm the group. My concern is that we're all still finding our feet here, and the threats are different."
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There's room to doubt, is what she means.
"If he did something to me, you'd do what we always do when someone isn't themselves anymore. Heart instead of brain is the only difference."
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"But you'd also come back, here. And then I'd be pissed at you."
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But there's another sticking point if this is the track Jesus is going to take: "Do you trust Carver?"
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"So you're operating on a double standard too: Carver's been healed by Grayson multiple times. And he's let him do something to him, long before we got here. Carver is also more willing to break himself apart for an advantage than I am, and he's not completely sane." She cares about the man, but some truths hold.
"But he was right there. I asked him multiple times before we went anywhere. I didn't just decide on a whim, and if it works we have a huge advantage. If we want it."
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But she's probably had this talk before. "It matters. So we all three need to be careful."
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She already loved him. She lets herself feel it, lets it bleed into her expression, something tender and visceral and achingly loyal.
"We're badasses, J. We're the best our communities have to offer. But we're both used to being the front line, and making snap decisions for ourselves because people are depending on us." And that was necessary. That was what it took to survive back home: the willingness to trust a group of strangers without anyone's permission, or to pick their way alone amongst walkers to get to a building that might have nothing or might have everything they need for the next month.
"We all need to reassess."
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"What do you think that looks like? We check in with each other more?"
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