mister macdonald

"Those kinds of people aren't ever anyone's friends, you know, the kind that can torture innocent people on a whim." Sabrina didn't care that Paul wasn't with them anymore; he had still worked with them, and it wasn't something that you just got over. "Glad to see you can see a good deal. So I can't attack you there?" She smiled at him. She walked across the stress, keeping an eye on him. "Tequila."

Paul looked away at her words, he wasn't immune to the shame that his past associations brought him. "I know that and for what it's worth, I am sorry for what happened to you and the part I played in it. There was a lot going on back then that we turned a blind eye to. I figure since you're out, you at least knew it fell. And my old boss? Dead." Paul huffed a laugh then. "It would be deeply frowned upon," he explained.

Sabrina wanted to just run over and rip out Paul's throat, but she didn't want to act right away. Paul was on her list, but she also needed some information. "I'm here to show you and your friends why you don't mess with someone like me. I can focus on more than one thing at a time." She crossed her arms, keeping distance between them. "If I were going to kill you I would have already done it. Now, why don't you buy me a drink and give me a rundown of this town?"

"If it helps, they aren't my friends anymore. They never really were to begin with, to be honest." After all, Paul did have to fake his own death to get away from the original Institute (1.0, as it was now known). Not that it changed anything that had happened. Paul had still been on the team that had locked her up. "Well, that's a comfort. Sounds like a fair trade to me. First things first, neutral ground around here is called 'Franks' Bar'." Paul gestured across the road, moving carefully and never taking his eye off her. "What's your poison?"

"Oh no, not a dozen quiet nights." Sylvie frowned at the thought. "That would be so boring. I'd want a little bit of music at least. Some jazz, maybe? I'm not that picky." That was a blatant lie. "Nothing too chaotic though. I am tired of all that."

"Alright, one jazz night on Sundays," Paul offered, fighting off a smile at her little frown. He would take a thousand quiet nights after living in Havensdale. "Maybe I'm just romanticising retirement, I don't know. No chaos, though. You've got my word on that. Do you like apple pie?"

Sabrina had a good memory, especially of people who had wronged her over the centuries. Every single person who had done her wrong was in her head. Their names and a memory are attached to them. When she saw Paul again, the memory that came right to her head was of him chaining her to the floor in her cell. She smiled, almost wanting to laugh after hearing him. "Shit is not a good enough word for how screwed you are, Paul."

This was not good. Paul weighed up his situation right now and decided to try and play it diplomatic. He turned to face her, quickly surveying his surroundings. If Sabrina had been on the outside, she wouldn't know or care about the curfew. She also wouldn't know that she was more or less indestructible under the dome. The odds were not piling up in his favour. "Oh, I have no doubt about that. Maybe you want to hold your horses a minute here, though. Come on, tell me... you're here for - what? - revenge? I can't be that high on your list. Who are you really after?"

Sabrina hadn't been in town long; she had managed to sneak in recently and had taken up in one of the many abandoned homes. She had mostly kept to herself, not wanting to make a wrong move, especially in a town that was clearly on the edge. She had heard some things around town, understanding that things had been chaotic ever since the Dome had come up. She wasn't one to get involved, she wouldn't even be in Havensdale if it wasn't for Piper.

Despite all the things that Paul had seen in his life - in this town - he still had to do a double take when he saw her. Sabrina DeLisle. Vampire. Hostile number... well, that much he had forgotten at least. He hadn't forgotten the mission, though. The team he was a part of when they captured Sabrina DeLisle and Piper Renderos for the Institute. Back in the day, Paul knew in his heart of hearts that they were up to no good. He only came out of hiding, joined them again, because he believed that Analese Huang could make it different this time. That didn't erase the past, though. Under his breath, he couldn't help saying, "Oh, shit."

"Rhonda's it is," she agreed. Sylvie took the offered arm. Despite that, though, she couldn't help but take the lead, walking through the town with her head tossed back. "It's such a lovely night, don't you think? Rather quiet. Not that I mind the quiet, of course."

Paul followed her lead, vigilant of their surroundings, with every step taken in the direction of Rhonda's. A smile tugged at his lips at her question. "A quiet night is more than alright with me. This town could use a dozen or so more, I think."

"Someday, you and I are going to sit down, and you are going to tell me all about your oh-so-mysterious past," she told him. Still, his comment on compartmentalizing, it was a useful, helpful reminder. Alison followed Paul along, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, listening hard for...well something. And then, she heard it. A soft groan. Definitely human. She was sure of it. "Wait." She had to fight to keep her voice low, not wanting to draw any attention to them. "Did you hear that? I think there's someone..."

"You can hold me to that," he promised. Paul kept her close, more on guard than ever, as they made their way through the carnage. There had to be survivors–he repeated it in his head like a mantra. When Alison stopped, he felt his heart still. She'd been right about the sound, it had come from someone. There'd be more someones–not nearly enough, though, there never was–throughout the night. They'd have bloody hands and raw throats by the time it was over, but it had been worth it. To save someone. To know that not all had been lost. The night had been exhausting in a way that Paul hadn't felt in a long time. He was weary down to his bones, but he had to make sure she was okay. When the dust had finally settled, Paul had looked around to her and nodded almost imperceptibly. He reached out for Alison's hand, turning to face her before slowly pressing his forehead against hers.

"Sorry Paul. It was instinct talking." Not that it was much of an excuse. She knew that. At least the instinct that had taken over was yapping about grading and not flinching or assuming someone was going to attack her or anything like that. "You, of course, are exempt from school talk." At his question, she made a quick face. "I assume that coffee doesn't count as food in this case?"

"That's alright, no need to apologise to me." If anyone could understand how she was feeling, the weight that she was carrying on her shoulders now, it was him. Paul wished he could turn this around, make everyone feel safe again, but it wasn't that easy. He smiled a little at her words before shaking his head. "Thank you. And no, not even a little bit. Coffee has never been and will never be a suitable answer. Come on, Ali, let's go get some real food."

Her head was, genuinely, killing her. Alison had a long list of things she needed to figure out (what she was going to make for dinner, where that blue sock of hers had vanished to, how she was supposed to teach when there was no longer a school) and she felt like she had no time to do so. At the feeling of a hand on her shoulder, she automatically started the spiel she had prepared for her students. "I'm sorry, but your grades are going to be delayed-"

"It's just me, Alison," Paul countered before she could deep dive into the pre-approved speech. Obviously, a lot was up in the air right now. The logistics of rebuilding, who was going to take charge of it, how they could move forward once they did... It was a lot for anyone. He checked in on her anyway, but after prom night, it'd been more and more frequent. "Have you eaten yet?"

At least she and Paul were on the scene. They probably were the best qualified people to go through what was left of the school, to find anyone left. After all, in their years of teaching, they truly had found every square inch of the school (including that weird janitor's closet that people just loved to go to when they skipped class). "Yeah. That's such a smart plan. How are you able to, you know, stay so calm and collected? It's incredible."

Paul almost laughed at her question. It was no secret that he wasn't exactly the quiet, unassuming, teacher that he'd played the part of for so long. His past had come to call on Founder's Festival and hadn't left since. Never in a million years did he think he'd be back on The Institute's side. "My mysterious past," he replied, a non-answer, but it could do for now. "This isn't my first time compartmentalising for the sake of the mission. Just think about it like taking one step at a time. When we get over that finish line, we can feel it then. But not now."

Right. Sleep. While Sylvie did stick to human hours, to the most part, it was not something at the forefront of her mind most of the time. And that is how silly little misunderstandings like this occur. "A compromise then. Decaffeinated for you, an espresso for me? How does that sound? Hmmm. I'd say anywhere that isn't Frank's, to be honest."

"A compromise I can get on board with. Another inspired choice," Paul joked. He had nothing against Franks', of course. It was one of the few good places left standing. Safe. Well, safe enough. "How about Rhonda's?" he asked, holding out his arm for her to take.

Sylvie sighed. It was a shame. But Paul MacDonald had not steered her wrong before, so she might as well listen. "I do like a good cup of coffee," she acknowledged. "You may have convinced me. But never decaf. I can't believe you would even suggest such a thing. I thought you had taste."

If Paul lived to fight another day, it was a good day. If he managed to save someone the trip to Cal's, even better. Paul couldn't help laughing as Sylvie chastisted him. "I have taste for a good night's sleep, thank you very much. Not everyone's top priority, I know. What's your recomendation for the best cup of non-decaf coffee?"

Just keep moving. That was probably the best solution. Alison was pretty sure that if she stopped, allowed her mind to take over, she would never be able to start again, and that wouldn't help anyone, including herself. She quickly wiped her face and forced herself to focus on Paul, on what he was saying. "You're right. There have to be...People made it out." But the question was where. "Start with the gym, maybe?"

"People made it out," he repeated back to her. He had to hear it to. Paul and Alison knew this school like the back of their hands, they could do this. If there were survivors, they would find them. "Good thinking. That must have been the room they used, it makes the most sense. We start with the gym, work our way out and sweep the field and bleachers. Or whatever's left." Paul reached out then to give her hand a gentle squeeze. "I know you can take care of yourself but I've got you."

There were tears on her face. Alison hadn't even been aware that she'd been crying or when she'd started. As Paul ran up to her, all she wanted to do was grab onto him, to have something to cling to, and have him, she wasn't sure what, tell her that it was going to be okay? Either that or hold onto him and just cry. She wasn't sure which she would do. But before she could decide, he was speaking to her. "I...I'm here." She just managed to keep her voice from shaking. "Survivors? You think...people made it out?"

Paul didn't miss the tears on her face and he had to stop himself from reaching out. If he held her now, he wouldn't let go. There was still work to be done and he couldn't fall apart. Not yet. That didn't mean he didn't want to comfort her though. Of course he did. "Good, that's good. Try and stay focused, okay? I've got you." Paul nodded, strong and sure. "I do. There's always survivors." With that, he held his hand out to her. "Let's go get our kids."

She glanced up, her mouth moving into a pout. "Really? You think it is a definite? That certainly does change things, doesn't it?"

"I do," Paul said definitively. He'd leave out the part on how he knew and the fights he'd gotten into undercover at Cal's. "I think there's a million other things more worth your time. You could be having a nice coffee for one, out in the daylight, where you can hear yourself think. Decaf if you're safe."

The prom had gone well, which was all she wanted, god knows the kids deserved it, and she had waved the final few couples home, packed up, prepared for a relaxing weekend of her own. She'd been one block away from the school when the explosion happened, had instantly whirled around and returned, running as fast as she could. Now, Alison stood in front of the ruins of the high school, unable to believe her eyes, sickened by the magic she felt.

Paul had a tendency to expect the worst but this hadn't been on his radar. How had he missed this. The only way to survive was to keep moving forward. You stopped, you died. You stopped in the wrong place at the wrong time, let yourself feel it, you were dead. He switched directions so he could run to her side, trying not to stop. To take it in. They didn't have time. "Alison, are you with me? We have to check for survivors."