Dennis could've said anything. Rory was too stubborn, she couldn't be surprised by him, not by her brother. Because Dennis was the kind of guy who was always reliable. He didn't want to make waves, ever. And that had always bothered Rory, the fact that he was afraid to make a splash. She always wondered what he might be like if he stopped listening to others and started listening to himself. But she always figured he didn't like shocking people, and making his own path would've shocked everyone.
Except Dennis was making a very good attempt at shocking the hell out of his sister right then. He could've said anything, but he decided upon the one thing that would rip right through her.
Her brother hadn't called her that since she was a child. Rory never even knew why he decided to give her the nickname. She was still little back then, and it would be years before she discovered just how scrappy she really was. But Dennis had called her Scrappy, and it had been affectionate, and Rory hadn't heard it in twenty years. She was startled, and it stabbed deep into her chest and burned, a festering wound that seemed determined to convince her that that nickname meant her brother would die.
Rory shook her head, swallowing hard. Her throat felt tight with emotion, and she didn't know how to name all those feelings fighting for a shot to tear her down. She just knew that Dennis was right there, and she couldn't move. Not yet. "You're...you're in quarantine. You were attacked," she told him, because the hard facts were easier than the desperate questions or the pathetic invasions of personal space. No, Dennis would need her to be strong. Rory had to keep it together for him.