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This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

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"I have never judged you." He can even say that honestly. "I won't start with that. I'm...nervous about it, too. I'd rather have it at Broken Hollow than here."

"I don't really want to know where the line starts," she chuckles, both joking and not.

"But I'm good with that. We can work around that. And the harvest party here is... good."

She'll still have to decide if she invites Carver or not. She probably will, though.

"When do you want to extend the olive branch? I've been holding off doing anything until you're ready, but the house is set up for it whenever." It's built for entertaining.

"That's Carver's call," she answers fairly readily.

"I'm good whenever, too. Things are... going better than I expected."

He decides he's done with his painting and swirls the brush in the water. "Really? Better how?"

She tilts her head, looking at the finished piece.

"Just in general." She's not used to peace, and especially not after bullshit like the Creator pulled.

But also - "Did I tell you about the train," she sighs, knowing she didn't.

There's something in her tone that worries him about this story, but that makes him glad, too, that she's telling him.

"What about the train?"

"So he didn't either." Jesus wouldn't be able to hide it. That's not how he works.

She presses her lips together for a moment, arms folded.

"I... had a bad moment. On the train. In the middle of rush hour."

"Rush hour is hard." Hard for Jesus, too. He watches her, worried, sympathetic. "What happened?"

"Crowds are always hard," she agrees.

"The train is hard for me too. Not always, just when I'm already wound up." Like in the middle of a crowd.

"And then there was this... guy. Selling something. I didn't even see what it was, but I could smell it. I could smell it, and then he shoved it in my face and I thought -"

She clears her throat. "It was just all too much, together. I went for my knife."

"Did you kill him?" Jesus has killed since he's been here. There's no judgment for this either, just a deeper worry. You kill the wrong person--and in public--and it comes back on you hard.

"I would have." She absolutely would have.

"But Carver was with me. He stopped me from getting my knife clear, and he got me out of there."

He nods slightly. Good. But there's still more to the story.

"He's good in a crisis." It's a hunch. He's never been in a crisis with Carver. But they've talked about PTSD, and in Realignment it was Carver who helped get Jesus through it without cracking. "What happened next?"

"He is," she agrees quietly, rubbing her arm.

"He got us to a room, got me talked around. I felt like I could just crawl right out of my skin, but it was better once there was a locked door between us and everything else."

The comedown hits hard.

"We just talked a bit. I made myself try to talk a bit."

She tried to talk about it. That's unusual for survivors, maybe for Rosita in particular, and he looks at her with a distinct warmth in his smile. "I'm proud of you. How did it go?"

"I still don't like the train." Can confirm.

"And I still don't like crowds." Also can confirm.

"And I didn't try to eat red meat for a week. But he stayed. He said he wanted to be there. And he said - he said he knew he'd fucked up, but he wanted to stay with me."

"He cares a lot about you." He won't spook her by using a certain four letter word, but he's seen the two of them. He's spoken to them about each other, he's seen them together.

"Did you let him stay?"

"I know that," she agrees, because she does. And she cares a lot about him.

But sometimes, that's not enough - this time, though, she nods and sighs.

"I did. I wanted him to, and he did. Told me it was just a bad moment and it would pass."

And it did. She's here, she got through it.

"Do you have moments like that? Where you start to feel that fear?"

"All the time. Usually, I can talk myself out of them. That one -"

She'd told Carver she was afraid that she was getting worse while he and Jesus were getting better. It feels distant now, not so stiflingly powerful as it had then, but she's thought it before in other ways, too.

"We ran into a group of people. They kept us in a train car in the open sun for days, and every now and then they'd come and get someone out, and you could smell meat cooking all the time. They weren't hunting, and those people never came back, but you could smell meat cooking. That's what did it."

He's heard of places like that. He's run across cannibals--not often. But it happens. Not on a scale she's describing, but it doesn't surprise him.

He's Jesus Rovia, though. Even unsurprised it bothers him. He's never become so jaded that he doesn't wince over hearing things like this.

"We need help, Ro."

It took her the better part of an hour to say to Carver what she'd just said to Jesus in four sentences; it had felt like an uphill battle all the way, like holding onto a cliff's edge and feeling her fingers slipping bit by bit every time she gave up a detail.

But now it's what it has been the rest of the time: something that happened, something that's over. She shakes her head as if to clear it, and frowns at him.

"What?"

"We're never going to learn to manage the panic without some kind of guidance. And I had that, a little, with Jean. She's gone. So now I've got...books. I've got the things I learned as a kid. And I don't know if it's enough sometimes." He struggles too, is what he's saying.

He's struggling more than he's let on to her or to anyone else.

"Yeah?"

If she still sounds skeptical, it's because she is. She has no idea how they're supposed to come to terms with bullshit like this, and anyone who's asking her to can get fucked.

Except it's Jesus asking her to. "There a chapter on the cannibalistic, undead end of society as we know it in your books?"

"The brain is sophisticated except where it isn't. Trauma is trauma to the brain. It's worth a shot." He gives her a tiny shrug; he's uncertain. He's afraid. But he's trying. "Some of the things that helped me seem to help Carver. He liked it, anyway."