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As soon as he hobbled out of the room, Sasha started picking up the bags she'd dropped in her panic. These were carefully set on the floor of the closet. She'd tend to them later. For now, the bed needed cleaning.

In truth, the carnage wasn't too terrible. Stripping off the blanket revealed that the sheets were untouched - which meant that the mattress probably was, too. Regardless, Sasha started at the foot of the bed, folding all of the bedding up in the fitted sheet. After settling the linens outside her door, Sasha pulled a new set from the closet.

This would have to do for now.

Remaking the bed helped soothe Sasha's frayed nerves. The boiling black rage in her stomach was ever-present, a constant reminder that she was truly livid despite the cool exterior she presented for Jerry. While he was gone, it was ... it was okay to be angry. Sasha paused in her jerky actions, inhaling. Exhaling.

The putrid, sour anger slowly unfurled - a sick, black blossom fed by one little thing. Hate.

Hate for Rep. He'd taken her flute. All of Jerry's excuses had been to cover up for Rep, but why? So as to not upset her? Sasha's mouth formed a flat line as she worked to fix the bed. Not only did he have her flute, but Sasha was certain that he was responsible for Jerry's fractured sanity - a sanity that had already been unstable at best. They'd worked hard to piece it back together; she knew that Jerry had his issues. They all did, each and every one of them on the island. They wouldn't be here otherwise. Despite it, they'd found some sort of happiness. She'd found some sort of happiness.

Rep. An annoying little rat, and one that Sasha wanted to crush beneath her heel.

The doctor had been correct; dealing with a pest ineffectively would only lead to larger issues.

Gritting her teeth, Sasha snapped the sheet over the bed after turning the mattress over. Once finished, she moved to the window.

Things were going to have to change - more than they already had.

Upon Jerry's reentry to the room, Sasha turned from the window, sagging slightly in relief. He was clean, thank God, and Sasha instantly moved to take his hand so that she might draw him to the bed. She seated him on the edge of the bed, grasping his towel before roughly rubbing it along his scalp. Drying his hair gave her a few more moments to let the anger writhe and pulse before she had to compartmentalize it.

Keep calm. Jerry didn't need to see her like this. He'd obviously been through enough already. She wanted to hunt down Rep, bring him to heel, make him pay for what he'd done to Jerry, to her. The only time she'd ever done anything horrid to him had been more of a stupid, childish prank - to get back at him for tripping her. Rep was ruthless, and it obviously didn't matter to him who he took down in the process.

Clenching her jaw, Sasha hung the towel on the back of the chair before reaching for Jerry's comb. She forced his chin up with a crooked finger, settling in to gently run the tines of the comb through his hair. Her smile was cold and forced, but Sasha tried to inject warmth into her expression. The silence stretched as she fussed with his hair. Once she was finished, Sasha set the comb aside and pressed Jerry back onto the bed.

"There," she crooned softly, seating herself on the edge of the bed after situating Jerry. Sasha leaned down to press a kiss against his forehead, humming softly in hopes that it would help him relax.

"Now," her voice trembled before she made an attempt to steel her tone. It was mostly ineffective. "Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning, when Rep took my flute."

Her head was throbbing. This was her fault - if she'd dealt with Rep in a more straightforward way, the whole issue would have been put to rest. She couldn't blame Jerry for trying to protect her. After all, she'd had probably done the same thing for him. Nobody enjoyed watching the suffering of someone they deeply cared for.

"It's.. it's fine, it's fine. I'll get my flute back." She fussed carefully with his shaggy hair, drawing her fingertips down the web-like ridges of scar tissue that formed the curve of his cheek and neck. Sasha cleared her throat softly, hesitating a moment before she pressed forward. Her voice was cool, still emotionless - a hint of upset remained, made obvious by the tremor in her words.

"And.. after I left? What happened? What happened to you."

The anxiety in her chest unfurled, contorting and thrashing against the all-consuming fury that spread like a thick sludge. Soon enough the anxiety suffocated on the viscous fury that pulsed through Sasha's veins; tuck it away. There was no room for such an emotion. Focus on Jerry.

The anger burned in her throat.

"Tell me."

Sasha tugged him towards her, awkwardly wrapping her arms around him as best she could.

"It's not your fault, Jerry."

She pressed her lips against his temple, urging him on.

"Tell me."

Her voice was a whisper against his skin, soothingly encouraging.

Sasha held his hand with one of hers, the fingers of her empty hand twining in the untrimmed depths of his brown hair. In the beginning it sounded like most any other mission. Sasha stilled when he made mention of the elderly woman they'd come across.

Everything seemed to morph into a sort of slow-motion as Jerry went on to describe the way that Rep turned on his comrades, the way that he'd fired the trap guns. Disgusting.

Untrustworthy.

If there was one thing important on the island - in Sasha's eyes, at least - it was trust. Knowing that your peers had your back when things got sticky, when things got bad... it was a sacred thing, that trust.

"I'm here now," Sasha whispered softly. It was hard, so hard, to not rise to her feet and scream. Dealing with her own grief, her own self-exploration during her two days leave... that in and of itself was almost overwhelming, honestly. And now, with a broken Jerry in her arms, she forced herself to set aside herself for the moment so that she could focus on him.

"I'm here, and I'm not going to leave you again - not like I did. I'm sorry, Jerry."

Of course he saw his grandmother. Of course he did. Who had even invited him along on a mission? Whose great idea had it been to take Jerry along - with Rep, of all people? It was rage inducing - if they couldn't have looked after him, they'd had no business inviting him in the first place.

None.

And then he started talking about her hair. If the situation wasn't so heinously horrible, Sasha would have burst into ridiculous laughter at the words that Jerry spoke.

"Thank you," Sasha whispered softly, urging him to fall back onto the bed so that he could rest. "Lay down, now, okay? I'm not going anywhere." She wasn't delusional - Sasha knew the likelihood that he'd fall asleep with her there was low, but... well, she wanted to try.

"You didn't lose it, Jerry. Bringing it back to the bunkers - and really, just.. hiding it in plain sight? It was a chance that I was willing to take to have it nearby."

It was a crutch. That flute was a weakness, one that Sasha wasn't sure she was willing to let go just yet. It was her own fault, really. Sasha's voice was a soothing whisper laced with iron. She wasn't going to let him blame himself for any of this.

"I'm glad you stayed here, Jerry. If you'd gotten yourself into trouble ... I don't know what I would have done."

Sasha curled up against Jerry's side and rested her head on his shoulder. Her fingers idly traced across his collarbone.

"I'll.. I'll take care of it, Jerry. It's not your problem."