#cod oc bailey

Simon found he enjoyed the time he got to spend with Bailey. She was incredibly smart, and he loved listening to her ramble about her latest learning experience, even if sometimes the subject matter went over his head. To him, it was fascinating, watching the gears turn in her head as her eyes shined with passion as she spoke. And when she got really excited, she would lean into her words, her hands gesturing with emphasis. There was so much innocence in her, so much gentleness and kindness, her heart so badly wounded yet not broken.

But there were still bad days.

Days where Simon's heart would break every time he saw her. Days where he would see ghosts of scrawny Riley boys, begging for scraps just to survive. There were days where she was so jumpy, her wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. She had so much left to learn, and her trust had been so badly damaged. There were days where Simon learned to broadcast his movements and intentions, and in Bailey's eyes were visions of his brother clinging to his side and looking at him for guidance. Looking to Simon for comfort, for some sign that it was gonna be okay. Days where Simon couldn't ignore the way all her clothes seemed to swallow her, how bony she still was and how small she seemed. So tiny against a scary world.

He had days where he couldn't look at her without feeling like he was looking in some funhouse mirror of his past.

Those days scared him the most.

This day, Simon felt off. He was extra antsy, despite how at ease Bailey seemed. She was in good spirits, happily watching the latest science documentary that sparked her interest. But for some reason, Simon couldn't sit still, couldn't shake the feeling there was some unseen threat.

And maybe he hated the way his heart sank when her pant leg lifted to revealed a nasty bruise.

"Oh, bug, what 'appened 'ere?" He asked, gently touching her knee so he can get a good look at the purple black bruise along her shin. Bailey looked down at it, shrugging her shoulders and lightly tracing a finger around the edges.

'Tripped the other day and slammed my shin against something. It looks awful, but I just bruise easy these days. Ya know, the anemia?" She responded calmly. Simon huffs and wraps his hand around her fingers as she tries to poke at the dark bruise. Worry creased his brow, and Bailey leaned against him as she noticed his concern.

"It looks worse than it feels, honest." She said, and Simon let out a soft breath, an echo of a voice no longer his own ringing in his ears at her words.

'I promise it doesn't 'urt that bad, Mum." His mother looked over at him, worry evident on her face and her eyes shone with unshed tears. She took a deep breath before setting down the wet rag she had been using to dab at his bleeding, swollen lip. Biting back tears, his mother wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding his head close against her chest so he can listen to the strong beat of her heart.

Simon just frowned at her words, and settled on covering the bruise and trying to focus his attention back on the documentary. Bailey shifted, scooting closer to him and resting her head against his shoulder. Simon looked down at her, his heart hammering in his chest as his anxiety swelled.

She looked so tired and there was nothing he could do for her.

He felt so helpless.

"I'm fine, Simon, I promise." His mother lied, waving him off and trying to get him to go back to bed.

"You're crying in the bathroom again." He had simply stated, standing in the doorway looking almost lost. His mother sighed, sniffled and wiped her nose before she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were puffy and red, dark circles clinging to the edges. She was so tired, yet she still smiled at him. It was warm and comforting, yet barely masked her exhaustion.

There was nothing he could do.

"You know you remind me of someone." Simon mumbled, and Bailey looked up at him, pouting slightly with confusion.

"You remind me of my mum." Bailey's eyes lit up, and she sat up a bit to cock her head at Simon.

"Really?" She asked eagerly, and Simon couldn't help the soft smile that formed.

"Yeah. You seem really happy about that."

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's your mom. She made and raised you, so to be told I remind you of her is a big deal. It means a lot." Bailey replied honestly, her dark eyes earnest and burning into him. Simon let out a small laugh, looking away as he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

"What exactly about me reminds you of her? I'm just curious." Bailey whispered, quietly sinking back into the couch as Simon thought.

"I wish I were half as strong as you, Simon." His mother whispered into his poorly trimmed hair. Simon pressed his face further into her chest, tears burning his eyes. He loved her, so much, and in his young mind, he couldn't think of any reason why his mum wouldn't believe she's twice as strong as him.

"Your strength. You and Mum have got to be the strongest people I've ever known." Simon answered, feeling almost short of breath as his throat constricted. He looked over at Bailey, only to be met with a frown. He could see the gears turning in her head, overworking the words. Tears formed in her eyes, and she sniffled a bit.

"But I'm really not." She whispered, and something snapped in Simon as he turned to face her. He put his hands on her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes as he tried to fight back the emotions bubbling up in his chest.

"I am going to tell you something I never got to tell Mum. Something I really wish I had told her, okay?" Bailey nodded earnestly, fingers nervously working the edge of the blanket.

"You are strong because you are here. You had every reason and every right to give up. To let the world take you. But you didn't let it. You kept fighting each day to make it to the next. You keep working hard to make progress even when it's incredibly difficult and you feel like all odds are against you. You are here, and your heart is still good. Still full of love despite every horror you've been put through. That is what makes you stronger than anyone else. That is why you are strong." His voice broke, giving way to the emotions he fought so hard to hold back. Bailey sniffled, quickly burying her face against his chest and wrapping her arms around him. He squeezed her tightly, resting his head against hers as he tried to even his breathing.

"Promise me you'll tell me when it does hurt?" The echo of his mother's voice rang through his, and Bailey nodded against him.

And when he closed his eyes tightly, just sitting and holding her, Simon swore he could feel his mum's arms wrapping around him once again.

If cats could cry the way humans did, with rivers of tears and runny noses, Bailey would be sobbing.

But cats can't cry like that, and she didn't dare make a noise as something flew overhead. It was a bird, this much she knew, but a threat nonetheless. She was still rather small in her cat form, and large birds of prey still posed a threat.

The bird circled once again before landing on the ground next to the truck she had taken residence under. She tried her best to hide against the large tire and hope no one would notice her and would continue on. But the bird, a raven, seemed intent on searching every little nook and cranny for something. Bailey wanted to relax, wanted to believe that the raven posed no threat to her as they were typically scavengers, but something just felt off.

It was a rather large raven, in her defense, and it seemed very determined to find what it was looking for. Almost too intelligent to be just a normal raven, but rather a Shifter. The thought didn't ease Bailey's anxieties about getting discovered, as the Raven could easily be a ploy, a way to trick her into thinking she was being saved only to throw her right back into hell.

Bailey can't tell if it's a miracle or a curse that her little heart didn't stop the second the raven laid eyes on her and excitedly hopped up and down.

This about confirmed her suspicions that the feathered stranger was in fact a Shifter, but it certainly didn't make her believe they were here to save her. She hissed and swatted at the bird's beak as it hopped closer, making soft calls to her. She managed to hit its beak, and the Raven jumped back in surprise, hitting its head against the bottom of the truck. It shook itself out and quickly hopped up onto the fence in her view. It settled there, quiet and looking down at her with a tilted head. A light on the outside of the building next to them casted an eerie glow around the Raven, and all she could do was sit and stare at it in hopes it would get bored and fly away.

And then it began to call. Every few seconds it would let out a series of calls, beckoning for another of its flock to come near. Bailey wanted nothing to do with the flock, or with this Raven, but she was frozen, stuck in place with fear gluing her feet to the concrete.

Then the footsteps. Quiet to a normal person's ear, yet loud enough for her sensitive cat ears to pick up. Big, heavy boots tramping through the grass nearby as the person approached.

The Raven seemed to recognize the person, as it called a final time while bobbing its head up and down. As the boots hit concrete, just behind the truck she hid under, Bailey watched in horror as the Raven hopped down from its perch and landed next to the truck. It motioned at her with a thrust of its head, yet keeping its distance. It was almost funny to her, the way this large bird respected her space after being barely scratched by tiny kitten claws.

"Got something, Johnny?" A gruff voice, barely above a whisper yet so loud all the same, called out to the Raven. The Raven hopped up and down a couple of times before beckoning back towards Bailey's hiding spot, one which was honestly poorly thought out on her part.

The light from the building quickly disappeared as the man got on his knees and peered under the truck. Brown eyes shrouded in darkness widened slightly upon seeing her, yet she backed slightly at seeing the intimidating figure. A skull, presumably a mask, covered most of the man's face, and what it didn't was swarmed with dark cloth.

"Easy, not gonna 'urt yah." The man muttered as he adjusted his position to reach under the truck and pull her out. He was British, as best she could tell, and sounded nothing like the people that did this. But she didn't care. She didn't want anyone near her, she didn't trust anyone, and simply wanted to go to sleep and wake up to see this had all been a terrible nightmare. So she hissed and growled and swatted as his gloved hand came near, and he simply pulled it back with a quiet huff. She thought it was exasperated, frustrated that she refused his "helping hand", but it turned out to be a laugh as his eyes crinkled, head shaking ever so slightly.

"Wanna come out yourself, then?" He asked, but she didn't answer. Didn't nod her head or give any indication that she even understood him. She curled in on herself, the heart wrenching desire of just wanting to go home burning under her skin. She wanted to shift only so she could cry, but she couldn't. Not here, not now.

"We're gonna get you out of this, yeah? I know it's hard, and it's scary, but you just gotta trust us for a bit." The masked man said, once again reaching his hand out, the palm up. Bailey took a deep breath before slowly unfurling herself and crawling towards his open hand. She let out a nervous cry as she was hoisted into the air before being gently tucked against the man's chest. She was sitting on the top of his vest, safely nestled away.

And she only just realized how cold she was, and just how warm the stranger was. She let out a soft sigh as she tucked herself into the little spot, and the man's other hand came up to gently hold her in place. Warm, and safe.

The Raven landed on his shoulder, cawing quietly. The man nudged him with his head, helmet knocking against the bird.

Snow is rare in this area. Not impossible, just rare. Yet the freezing winds and dropping temperatures create the perfect storm for at least ice to form, and soon the pelting rain had formed into something sharp and stinging. Cold seeps into every room of the small home, and the heating system can only do so much to combat the wintry attack.

Bailey never liked storms. When she was little, and a clap of thunder would wake her, she'd immediately run downstairs to her parents' bedroom. She would quietly rouse her mother and whisper in a teary voice that she was scared and couldn't sleep. Her mother would sleepily make her a little bed of her own out of spare covers and pillows on the floor next to their bed, and her mother would fall back asleep with her hand dangling off the side for Bailey to hold. Bailey would still struggle to fall back asleep, but just being in the presence of her parents made the intensity of the storms outside a little more bearable.

And for a while, this made storms easier. She would be less panicked as she ran to her parents, and storms stopped seeming so scary.

But now storms have gone back to being cartoonish villains, seeking destruction and scaring her into a spiral.

Storms now remind her of a time when she was alone, cold and afraid, huddled in the corner of an abandoned garage with a door that didn't quite close all the way. If she closes her eyes tight enough, she can still hear the rattling of the door, the clacking together of her teeth as she sat and shivered. Waited for the storm to pass, yet it seemed it would never go.

Thunder shakes the house, and Bailey curls in on herself tighter, hugging her knees to her chest. She takes a steadying breath, trying to remember that she is safe. That she is home and not alone.

At least not technically.

But Price, Dad, isn't home.

Her breathing becomes more shallow, faster as panic settles in.

And Papa is with him.

They aren't home, with her.

A small whine escapes as she hugs herself tighter, biting back tears as another flash of lightning hits the wall opposite of her window.

With the following roll of thunder, she is on her feet, racing for her bedroom door. She tries to calm herself before opening it and venturing out into the hall.

Soap is there, lounging on the couch, with a fuzzy, navy blanket draped across his lap. The soft glow of the TV fills the dark room with color, and hushed voices drift out around them. Soap's eyes flick to Bailey as she shyly steps into the room, lingering in the doorway.

"Cannae sleep?" He asks, and she shakes her head no, words catching in her throat. Her arms wrap around herself subconsciously as panic settles in again.

"Here, come join me under the blanket. We can suffer together." He jokes, lifting a corner of the blanket in invitation.

Yet she hesitates, her throat constricting as she remains frozen in place. Of course he can tell she's freaking out, she's been so needy since The Incident.

But with another clap of thunder, she quickly makes her way over to the couch and curls against Soap's side. Thick, warm arms wrap around her, the blanket soft and comforting.

"Shaking like a leaf, wee lamb. 'S'alright, we're safe and warm under here." Soap mutters, holding her close to his chest. She sniffles, hiding against him as she fights back the feeling she's being needy, being a burden. Because she's not, she's wrapped in safety and trust, comforted from her fears like it's as easy as breathing. Because here, she is not cold, she is not alone.