missingthekeep | Homeplot: Day 1

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Homeplot: Day 1

The first time they come for Sean, they don't speak. They barge into the room, jolting him awake with a start, and haul him to his feet before he's got the chance to do it himself. There are no pretenses here as the first blow glances off his cheek and sends him right back down to the floor. This isn't an interrogation, and they aren't trying to get anything out of him. They're just softening him up for later. Fighting back proves to be fruitless, there are two of them with a visibly armed third standing in the doorway, and all he can really do is know how to take a hit and try to make certain they don't do him any real damage.

It goes on so long that Sean wonders if they're just going to try to beat him to death and be done with it, but they do eventually back off, leaving him battered and spitting out blood in the dingy, white-tiled room as they leave. The solid oak door closes with a bang, and then he's alone in the dark to figure out what's happening to him, the only light in the room coming from a small, barred window in the door.

He preferred it when his major concern was the beating.

The man in the doorway had been a cop, Polish from the look of the uniform. The two working him over, though, had been wearing suits. KGB then, most likely. While he can work out a few alternate scenarios for that, he can't afford to waste his time dancing around the most obvious one, no matter how much it hurts.

"Home sweet home, boyo."

The last thing he remembers before turning up on the island is beating on a Russian girl who'd just been in a car accident in broad daylight, it only makes sense that he'd land himself in prison for it, and with the way he'd been tailed ever since Berlin, the KGB would have ensured he didn't waste his time in regular lockup. The table, chairs, and cheaply soundproofed walls mark his surroundings as an interrogation room, and he knows his captors will be back in fairly short order.

If there's one perk to having apparently left the island behind (for now or for good, he can't say), it's that he should have his powers back. Assuming his injuries have healed enough to not affect them too severely, he's not going to be staying locked up for much longer. Having that ace tucked in his back pocket goes a long way toward solving some of his more immediate problems, namely being not far from getting executed and tossed in an unmarked grave hundreds of miles past the Iron Curtain.

Fortunately, he's saved from having to shift his focus to the less pressing but no less important issue of leaving the island and everything that entails by the shadow that falls across the room a moment later. Apparently his new friends hadn't gone far. For a moment, he considers just nailing them through the door, but as much as he'd like to get to freedom as quickly as possible, and as much as he doesn't like waiting when he's still not positive if his scream will be up to the task after nearly three years and a still-healing throat, knowledge is power, and he needs all he can get. If they weren't going to try questioning him eventually, he'd already have a bullet in his head. Adopting a defensive stance, he takes up position in a far corner of the room and readies himself for round two.

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Indignation is, all things considered, probably not the best thing for Meredith to be feeling right now, but it beats fear. It is, in its way, useful. When she's imagined life after the island, she's always known it to be possible that going home and going somewhere new with Sean weren't really her only two options, that it could be much stranger or much worse. It's just been a lot easier to ignore that lately, not to consider that the island might just be a waystation before something else. Some kind of Eastern European prison wasn't really on the list of possibilities when she thought about it in the past, though.

They keep asking who she is and what she's doing here and she doesn't have the answers they want, doesn't have any answer other than her name, because she doesn't know where here is or how she got here. It's not what they want to hear, which she's pretty sure means a lot worse than getting pushed around and yelled at soon, and somehow that just pisses her off. Not that she can do a lot about, not that there's anything productive about getting angry, but again, it's better than being afraid, though she probably should be. Being American, being a doctor, being an innocent bystander don't mean much when she doesn't know what she was standing by, can't explain the hows and whys of her being here, has no identification. Looking around the cell, she can't see any way out whatsoever, and that anger, that fear creeping in against her will now, all it's good for is not thinking about the fact she isn't home.

Sean really doesn't want to go through this all over again, but just as the door swings open once more and he's about to change his mind about making his exit immediately, he realizes that only one of them is entering this time. If they think that taking a few lumps is going to put the fight out of him, they're sorely mistaken, but this does give him an added distraction. The other suit stays outside the door, talking brusquely with the guard (in Russian, thankfully, which he's far sharper with now than he was the last time he was here), who seems agitated about something beyond getting grilled by an agent of the KGB. They're quiet, but Sean's hearing is already more sensitive than it was last night, and the guard's voice keeps rising nervously, allowing him to catch snippets of the conversation, "we're working on it" and "no further complications" and "the American woman". It's that last one which keeps him from putting the lot of them through a wall just yet.

It could be anyone, he tells himself. It's likely got nothing to do with him. Hell, knowing his luck, it's probably Mystique come to make his life that much more difficult. But this isn't the first time since arriving on the island that he's unexpectedly woken up elsewhere, and while he knows better than to get his hopes up, he can't help but ask what if...

"What woman?" he barks, stopping the first agent in his tracks as he advances. The one casts a quick look over at his comrade before facing Sean again with a serious expression.

"Mr. Cassidy, you are not in position to be asking questions of us," he says in lightly accented English. "Do you know something about this?"

Sean doesn't reply, only glares, unwilling to reveal just how in the dark he is right now, and the man continues.

"Because if you do, it would save us and the woman in question a lot of trouble if you could tell us."

At this, the policja, already on edge, seems to snap and starts yelling at him in Polish. While Sean's knowledge of the language is rudimentary at best, he manages to catch one thing before the man gets himself a swift dismissal by the KGB agent: "Where did she come from?"

It's hardly a confirmation of anything, but it's enough for Sean, particularly when he's already itching to get out.

Before the agents have a chance to react further, he opens his mouth and screams.

Meredith's head snaps up in the direction of the sound, something staggeringly loud, bloodcurdling and impossible to place. "What is that?" she demands. "What's happening?" She wouldn't expect an answer even if it looked like anyone out there knew any better than she does, but she still wants one, shaking the bars and stepping quickly back in the next instant as one of the guards advances. It's not a sound she knows, one more unfamiliar thing in a sea of them, but more immediately concerning, if only because no one else seems to know what to make of it either. If she had a little more time, maybe she could use that to her advantage, but she's too distracted to figure out how.

Sean's scream tears itself from his throat like a living thing, and it's like he's taking a breath for the first time in years. The force of it knocks the agent off of his feet and throws him against the far wall a lot harder than Sean intends, taking one of the chairs along with it and smashing it to pieces. It also brings the other suit and the cop running back in, so Sean turns his voice on them as well, sending them right back out again and into the wall opposite. They're still moving (the first one isn't), but they're out of it, stunned and disoriented, unable to pose a threat as Sean steps out into the hallway beyond the interrogation room and liberates them of their guns. He doesn't want to have to use them, but he can already feel the toll this is taking on his throat, can only imagine the amount of attention he's drawn to himself, and he needs the insurance.

He's in a short hallway lined with glass office doors that stand in stark constant to the dark wood of the room he was in, ending in a stairwell that he heads for immediately. He's greeting almost immediately by the sound of pounding footsteps and barked commands to stop as three more uniformed officers come charging up the stairs to investigate the racket. Sean wastes precious seconds threatening them and trying to get them to back down, but without knowing what he can do, they have no real reason to be worried about the bloodied lunatic waving a gun at them and he winds up bringing out his scream again just in time to deflect a bullet. None of them get the chance to fire on him again and he exits onto a short row of rudimentary holding cells.

One of them is occupied.

The sensible thing to do, probably, would be to stay out of the way, hide in a corner, but Meredith stands against the door, straining to see what's happening. When she does, she pulls at the bars, almost bouncing from agitation, nervous energy. The state he's in doesn't matter so much as the fact he's here. It's jarring all the same, the sight of him like this, bloodied and armed, and the realization he must have been what she heard.

"Sean!" Questions, details, making sure he's alright, all of it can wait until they manage to get free of this place. "Sean, oh, thank god, get me out of here," she says, equal measures panic and relief threatening to overwhelm her now that there's some semblance of a solution, now that she has him again.

"Meredith," Sean calls, his voice gone hoarse from strenuous use, as he hurries to her side. There are a few seconds where his relief at seeing her swallows up everything else, but he forces it down in a hurry. He's got to play this doubly smart now that his isn't the only life on the line. He can't afford to let her down again.

"Get back," he orders, fiddling with the lock for a moment before he hits it with a tightly concentrated beam of sound, causing it to warp and unlatch itself. It's harder on his throat, but he's hesitant to take the battering ram approach with her so near. "Are ye alright?" he asks in a hurry as he swings the door open. "I swear ta God, if anyone's so much as laid a finger on ye..."

Meredith shakes her head, hurrying over to him almost before he's got the door open with a quick backward look at the damaged lock. "I'm okay," she says, hands on his arms and her wonder at what he can do pushed aside at the question. She isn't about to get him more riled up by fussing over how she's been treated. It was bad, it could have been worse, it's over; all that matters is he's here. "I'm fine. Just a little shaken." That's to be expected, though, she thinks, when she still doesn't know where she is or why. She glances over her shoulder to make sure no one else is coming after them, then back to him, gingerly touching his cheek. They've laid more than a finger on him, that much is clear, and she gets it now, the urge to lash out and hurt someone back, though he doesn't need her to defend him. "Was that all of them? What is this?"

"This would be home, or as near to't as I've got. An' there's liable ta be more cops waitin' in the station proper, prob'ly right through those doors, which means we've nae got a second to waste 'fore they come," Sean says in a rush, nodding toward the end of the hall. Their best bet will be to meet the officers head-on before they get the chance, and fast, because they already know something's up and won't be standing idly around waiting to charge. They could always go back upstairs and try to find an alternate way out, but the place is probably swarming with KGB and it would likely just take longer. Sean's always been more a fan of the direct route, anyway. "We need ta get out o' here, now. Stay behind me."

Meredith may be contrary and stubborn, but she's not stupid and she isn't about to risk him getting hurt and it being her fault, not again. Pulling away, she slips behind him, nodding. This looks like the only sure way out. Though she's not exactly eager to try their shaky luck, it's better than standing around, waiting to wind up back where they were minutes ago. "Lead the way," she says. What he's said about this being home suggest to her this is all just temporary, but she's not taking any chances. It's something to be discussed later, ignored now. "You're sure about this?"

"Nope," Sean replies, seeing no call to lie to her even as he makes for the doors. They just don't have a whole lot of options available to them right now. "So long as me voice holds up an' ye do as I say, we should be fine." It's a pity that these things so rarely seem to go as they should.

"So we're screwed," deadpans Meredith. Even knowing her own tendency toward disobedience, she's much more worried about him. This has to be wreaking havoc on his vocal cords, still healing from the last time he had to get her out of somewhere, and she doesn't want to see him go back to not speaking or have the damage be permanent this time. They're short on options, though, and she follows, quick and close as they bear down on the end of the hall. "Here goes nothing."

"That's the spirit," Sean mutters, gritting his teeth as he kicks the door in and fires a wild shot, too high to do anything other than let them all know he isn't messing around. It works for the most part, buying a few seconds as the policja take cover and ready their own weapons, but it does nothing about the two KGB agents by the door, likely just come inside to investigate, already armed and taking aim with AK-47s. Only one thing to be done about that.

He screams just as one of them opens fire, the bark of the weapon drowned out by his voice as the bullets are deflected harmlessly away and both men slam mercilessly back. One of them hits his head on the door behind him at a bad angle, but Sean doesn't have time to worry about whether he's alive or dead. He starts edging along the wall so that Meredith can have cover, heading for their crumpled bodies. The added complication of his attack keeps the cops down just long enough for Sean to trade in his pistol for one of the AK-47s, which allows him to keep them down with a spray of bullets strafing across the room.

"Meredith, grab the other one," he says before raising his voice to order the remaining officers to stay down, hoping that those who don't understand German will be able to catch his meaning easily enough anyway.

"What?" Meredith balks at the idea of carrying one of those things, but there's no time for hesitation, and with a grim look, she heads over to grab it. The urge to check the agent's pulse as she takes his gun is difficult to resist; getting them out of here, doing this kind of thing, might be Sean's job, but hers is to help the sick and the injured, not to take their weapons and leave them lying there. They would have done the same to them, she reminds herself. They just don't have the time. It doesn't help much, but she edges back toward the door anyway, glancing over at Sean for his lead, her hold on the AK-47 cautious and awkward. She's never carried a gun before, let alone one like this, and any appeal or interest that might have held in other, more peaceful circumstances is outweighed by this being a matter of practice, not theory. It's loaded and she doesn't know what she's doing, fingers far from the trigger.

"Okay," Sean says under his breath, keeping his gun trained on the room and shouting out a few more commands in German as he spares her a glance for a split second. "Now hold it properly as best ye can, as careful as ye can. I'm gonna need ye ta crack open the front doors to make sure there's no one left out there, an' jus' in case there are, they're gonna need a reason nae to shoot ye, so try ta look like ye ken what ye're doin'. That thing's 'bout as intuitive as it gets." If anything happens to her, he'll never forgive himself, but with his throat already feeling the strain, he doesn't dare use his powers again until they've got a straight shot out of there. Getting out of this building won't do them much good if they just end up stranded on the streets of Warsaw as a result.

"To you, maybe," Meredith says, sharp not because she's mad at him (this is how they get out of here, she trusts him on that), but because the idea of it makes her freeze up. She's prided herself on being calm and cool in a crisis, but this is beyond her and she can't shake the part of her that keeps insisting she shouldn't be here, she isn't supposed to be here. Whether she is or not, she's here anyway. She closes her eyes a moment only, looking over at him and adjusting her grip on the gun to mimic him, struggling not to look as nervous as she feels as she backs her way over to the doors. Taking a deep breath, she pushes a door slowly open, peering out. She doubts she looks like much of a threat to the men out there, but the fact their shouts aren't accompanied by gunfire is cause enough for a relief. "A couple more out here, three, I — what do I do?"

Sean curses quietly, eyes darting incessantly around the room. It's probably only a matter of time before somebody tries to play the hero, and he'd like to be long by then. "S'pose it'd be too much t'ask ye to hold this lot down," he says, mostly to himself. It would be far too great a risk for her, either way. "How were they armed?"

"I don't know," Meredith says, trying not to snap just because she's irritated with herself. She's supposed to be good with details; he's got enough to figure out without her being useless. If she thought she could manage this room on her own, she'd do it, but being unrealistic isn't going to help either. "Um, smaller guns, not like — more like what you had earlier, I think, and one with one of these." She can't keep her voice from going up, turning it into a question. "I'm not exactly well-versed in weapons here."

"That's fine," Sean says, even though it's really not and reassuring her is pretty low on his list of current priorities. "We need ta bring 'em in here. Open the door more an' then back right the hell off t' the side so they cannae see ye, I'll come with." He sends another round of fire across the room before she gets the chance, tearing up the walls and desks, shattering windows. Hopefully that will keep them at bay long enough for him to split his focus a bit more.

Instructions, orders, something to do — it's simpler now, uneasy though she still is, for Meredith to clear her mind and do as told. It's a matter of needing direction. Everything else has to stay outside. She throws open the doors, staring out for a second, too brief to see much of anything at all, before she darts to the side, looking around the room at the state it's in. Back to the wall, she draws in a deep breath and waits, listening to the rush of footsteps outside.

Sean moves back as well, keeping just in front and to the side of her as he waits. The KGB isn't stupid, and they won't just wander unprepared inside when Sean's practically given them an engraved invitation, so he has to be ready.

It happens quickly, all of it over in a matter of seconds. One moment, the coast looks clear. The next, the agent with the AK rounds the corner and it's only sheer dumb luck that finds him aiming first in the wrong direction as he looks for them. It's an advantage of a fraction of a second, but Sean uses it well, opening fire just as the man turns, knocking the rifle out of his hands and doing some pretty severe damage to his hands in the process. He almost wants to tell Meredith not to look, but there's no time as the other two come storming in and Sean does the only thing he can think of to take them down quickly without resorting to further burning out his voice: he brings them down at the knees.

There is a vast difference, it turns out, between treating a gunshot wound and seeing one inflicted. If Meredith can hold herself together long enough to get out of here without being sick from the stress, she'll count herself lucky. "Go," she says, "move," but it's not like she's really sure this is the time, just that she wants out now. It's all too close for anything even vaguely resembling comfort. She watches him closely, though, waiting for his lead, not wanting to do anything stupid.

Sean's not about to start taking orders from her in a situation like this, but after a moment to ensure that they're all down for the count, he gives a grunt of assent, beckoning for her to go out first once they're at the doors. He doesn't like the idea of sending her out ahead when he still doesn't have visual confirmation that the way is clear, but he'll be close and he's still not willing to move himself from between her and all the armed men that he already knows about.

Meredith hesitates, struck by the sense it's the same thing all over again, always him trying to protect her, although it's not like she can do the same. That's the worst part, maybe — not that he can do these things, not even that she isn't actually surprised by it, but that it's in some way connected to her, about her. She draws a deep breath and skirts around him, heading outside and away from the doors before she realizes they're still not alone. There are others headed toward them, but as they get closer, they don't strike her as being part of the prison — and one of them, at least, is familiar. She glances back. "Sean?"

"Meredith, stay with me," Sean orders as he stops in his tracks halfway down the steps leading away from the station, as if he thinks she has any intention of wandering off right now. He should have expected something like this, but it's still about the last thing he needs right now. There are four of them, all wearing matching black bodysuits underneath peasant clothes; a tall, dark-skinned woman; a solidly-built Eastern-European man; a regular blond mountain of a man; and, of course, Wolverine, though not the one Meredith knows. No, this one belongs here.

"Looks like somebody beat us to your rescue operation, Logan," the woman says coolly, clearly displeased with any manner of complication. The day has been full of them, as Sean recalls.

Somehow being in possession of a gun right now just makes Meredith feel more vulnerable, not less, and she heads toward him, though her shoulders go back and her chin lifts. There's no sense that Wolverine recognizes her, which is jarring but, she tells herself, to be expected — a different time, a different place, this isn't the guy she knows, though with the way the island plays, that wouldn't have been out of the question. "Who are they?" she asks, keeping her voice low. Still feeling like she might be sick, she's just going to have to stay focused and calm a little longer, at least until they get out of this. If she can fake it long enough, it might just stick.

Cassidy starts to reply, but Sabretooth cuts him off, halving the distance between them in one stride and bearing down on the woman. "'Fraid you ain't in any position to be asking questions, girlie," he snarls, a glance back toward Wolverine serving as the only sign that he's stopped addressing her. "When you said we were comin' to pick up your girlfriend, you didn't mention that he'd have one of his own."

Wolverine doesn't get the chance for a rebuttal, because they're suddenly interrupted by a few brave officers edging toward the door, gun barrels trained on the crowd below. Maverick spots them first and grabs a pair of concussion grenades from beneath his peasant rags, tossing them up the stairs, through the front doors, and sending the police scattering for cover as twin explosions rock the building.

"The alley!" Wolverine shouts over the din, beckoning toward a break between buildings across the street. "Get out of the open!"

"I'll ask questions if I want to," Meredith says, glowering, in spite of the certainty that's another bad idea. She wants to refuse, just because she doesn't take well to being told what to do or being talked to like that and she doesn't trust what's happening here. But they know Sean and, whether she likes it or not, Wolverine's making sense and she's not so stubborn that logic doesn't win out fast enough. Staying in the open is just a way to get hurt or killed, and with a quick glance at Sean, she follows quickly. "I have some right to know what I've been dragged into here."

Sean very nearly tells Meredith to shut up, since he's known Creed to kill over a lot less than that and the way he's smirking is really not inspiring a lot of confidence, but he doubts it would help matters either way. Hopefully being armed hasn't gone to her head. While they've got a bit of cover now, the station across the street looking perfectly normal once Silver Fox forces the doors shut and joins them in the alley, he can't help but feel that they've jumped out of the frying pan and straight into the fire.

"Nobody's being dragged into anything," says Maverick, his voice clipped and stern. "We came here to help liberate the good inspector, and now that's done. Letting additional stragglers in on the mission wasn't part of the plan. Who are you?" he asks, addressing the last part towards Meredith.

Wolverine seems to be trying to beckon Sean over for some kind of tête-à-tête, but he doesn't budge, unwilling to leave Meredith's side.

Meredith's getting tired of being asked that. All she really wants is to go home now, her and Sean both, and have all this be over, or, barring that, just to put down her weapon and hold onto him instead. Neither's happening now and she won't let herself hide behind him like she wants to. She can't hold her own here, but that doesn't mean she's going to turn meek either. "I'm Meredith," she says, though it's just her name, not a real answer. She looks over at Sean, hoping for some guidance as to what she's supposed to do in a situation that's far more his territory than hers, unsure if the truth might be a liability and unable to come up with a lie. "Doctor Meredith Grey. And I'm his girlfriend. I'm sorry to get in the way; it wasn't my plan either." That much, at least, she means completely. She'd really rather not interfere with whatever it is they're doing, but she doesn't seem to have much of a choice.

Sabretooth is leering at her again, loving all of this no matter how much it screws up their plans. "Could have gotten at least one of those on my own," he grins. "Can smell the Mick all over you."

Cassidy looks about ready to hit him for that, but seems to think better of it at the last second, glaring daggers as he grits out a reply. "She's wi' me, an' she's no threat t'you lot or yer precious mission. That's all ye need."

Wolverine's willing to accept that, and while the others remain skeptical, Sabretooth is the only one who'll push and he knows better than to do it just yet. "With the mad-on you've got for the Widow, we were figuring you'd be coming with, but babysitting a civilian isn't an option."

Meredith tenses, flushed with anger, but holds her ground. There's nothing she can do, no retort she can make, and she's not going anywhere without Sean, even if she thought she could manage this time and place on her own. "I don't need babysitting," she says, though it's entirely possible she does. She doesn't have the first clue what she's wandered into here or what that will mean, and she hasn't proven all that effective at keeping herself out of trouble, but she doesn't want help from them. Even so, she realizes, she probably needs it. "I'll keep out of the way."

Silver Fox scoffs audibly, and for a quick moment, Sean is kind of absurdly proud of Meredith, no matter how excruciatingly in over her head she is right now. He doesn't show it, though, finally addressing Wolverine properly, having already established him as the leader of this little operation. All he wants to do is get the hell out of here and work out the implications of this somewhere quiet, get a firmer grasp on the situation at hand, but the more he thinks about it, the less feasible it sounds.

"Look, normally I'd jus' be wantin' ta bugger off an' let ye all go on yer merry way, but in case ye havenae noticed, we're a mite stuck. If'n ye can get us out o' here, ye'll have me full cooperation."

Logan looks to be mulling it over for a second, before he gives a grunt and nods, much to the surprise of his teammates. "You can't be serious," Maverick starts, but Wolverine cuts him off.

"They'll be fine. Since I didn't get the chance here, this can be your payback for saving my skin back in Berlin, Irish. The job comes first, though, and the second either o' you -- any o' you, for that matter -- starts holding us back, they're getting cut loose, no questions asked."

Sean nods, glancing quickly at Meredith in the hopes that she'll do that same. "I'll take care o' her."

He's still grinning, but the amusement's gone out of Creed's voice when he speaks again, replaced with pure malice. "An' if you don't, I'm sure she bleeds real nice. It's win-win."

Meredith clenches her jaw, fighting back any other reaction, though she won't even look at him and doesn't have anything to say (telling him not to touch her sounds too much like a challenge, and she doubts this is a man accustomed to backing down from those. She's past her days of being suicidal, let alone actively so, and these aren't idle threats). Asking just what the mission is seems like something that falls under the category of holding them back — something to ask Sean if she can get him alone for half a minute, then, which she wants desperately. If this is their way out, then all she can do is follow along, nodding quickly.

Wolverine doesn't bother waiting for confirmation from anyone else. He's the field leader. At the end of the day, it's no one's decision but his own.

"Then hand off your weapons, and let's go," he says, growing impatient with Cassidy's obvious hesitation. "Nothing personal, we can just hide 'em better and you two are way too conspicuous as it is. We've got a truck parked a block away, and a-" He pauses, eyes suddenly locked across the street where another man in a suit is making his way toward the police station, unarmed but carrying a briefcase. Likely the interrogator, just in time for a missed appointment with Cassidy. Quick change of plan, then.

"Creed, grab him. And don't kill him. We'll need him if we want to find out where the Widow's going to be crossing the border. Let's get out of here."

Meredith hands her gun over readily, stepping back to Sean's side quick as she can. It's not like she knows how to use it, really, and any damage these people do to her, they don't need another gun for. There's no real reason to be relieved right now, but just having it off her hands helps a little. As much as she wants to reach for Sean's hand, she just crosses her arms instead, picking up speed to follow and staying close. "Do I get to know what's going on here?" she asks, question aimed at him, although she makes no attempt to conceal it. Ignorance is likely to lead to her doing something wrong, she knows that, but she's honestly not sure if this is the kind of thing she's allowed to know.

"We're goin' ta Russia," Sean says curtly, unable to shake the feeling that giving up anything other than silence is just going to come across as a show of weakness and unprofessionalism. What they need is half a minute to themselves, but it won't be easy to find. Ignoring the looks of warning he gets from the members of Team X, though, he relents a moment later, partly because he can't even begin to imagine what this must be like for her, and partly because he gets looks of warning about it in the first place. "I'll explain on the way."

Leaning in close as they get to the truck, a small, run-down old thing, he drops his voice to a whisper, knowing full well that it won't stop anyone from hearing if they really want to.

"We'll get through this."

Meredith nods, sucking in a sharp breath. If she lets herself stop and think about this, any of it, it's too much, but she believes that. She has to try to, anyway. They've made it through a hell of a lot, but nothing like this. She isn't cut out for this, doesn't doubt she's in danger, because whatever she said about staying out of the way, she's not sure she's fast enough or knows enough to do that, and if failing in that doesn't get her, something else might. So far out of her depth, trusting him is all she's got. "I know," she murmurs back, though she doesn't, not at all. She touches his hand briefly as she climbs into the truck, trying to hold onto the idea: they'll get through this. If he says that means going to Russia with this group, then that's what they have to do.

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Homeplot: Day 1

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