"Making sure I wasn’t doing the tango with a walking corpse in a dark office? You lost one of your common sense points for that question." This guy was supposed to be a cop? Either he was really terrible at his job, or he was sicker than he looked. She didn't hold much hope that he'd be able to defend her back if it became necessary.
Hearing O'Brien recount his many wounds made her look upon him with a bit more cognizance. Five wounds, one of them from a gun, and he was still standing. That kind of strength was admirable. It also gave her an explanation for the paranoia, as she watched him cautiously examine the empty office. "Stupid idea, going out into the zombie-ridden streets when you're hopped up on pain meds," she mused, watching him as he sifted through the boxes and containers. "Stupid — but impressive."
"You were loud," she insisted, and left it at that.
Had Leah known that her preference for calling him Quarantine Guy pleased O'Brien, she might have reconsidered the choice of names. Calling him by his real name was too personal, even if it was his last name. Any more familiarity than Quarantine Guy was unwelcome. "It's catchier than That-Guy-In-Quarantine-Who-Posts-Stupid-Pictures-And-Makes-Pointless-Forum-Posts," she said, shoving aside another box after checking its contents.
Leah nodded confirmation of her last name, shrugging when O'Brien said he preferred calling her Miss Machete. That was fine with her. The less familiarity the better. She fully expected never to have to see this man again.
The bottle bounced off his shoulder and rolled a little ways away, pills rattling noisily inside. Part of her was worried the zombies would be drawn to the sound, but the other part? The other part wanted to laugh, especially when she saw the look on O'Brien's face. Leah's mouth twisted in an attempt to hide a smile.
While he straightened up to read the bottle's label in the light, Leah finished combing the shelves for useful items. Painkillers, hygienic items, gauze. These, she bent to stuff in her bag, though her eyes didn't leave O'Brien for too long. She'd helped him find what he needed, but that didn't mean he wasn't still a danger to her. Helping someone always came with risks.
"You're welcome," she said tonelessly. Their deal had been that once he found the antibiotics he needed, he would leave her to her looting. Now get out. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but they couldn't get past her lips. There was that nagging voice again, what was left of her conscience telling her that she couldn't let someone who was injured wander the zombie-ridden streets on his own, even if he did have a gun.
Holding the straps of her machetes out of the way of her legs, Leah hopped down from the desk, eyes narrowing at O'Brien's raised hands, obviously meant to catch her if her balance failed. Apart from a bit of muffled noise, the landing was smooth, and she made quick work of gathering up her flashlight and slinging her pack across her shoulders.
His unasked offer for assistance sealed her response. "You got what you came for, now leave," Leah said quietly, jerking her chin toward the door.