Rory didn't go far on her own anymore. Not after having her son, after giving birth to someone she clearly needed to stay alive for. Rory didn't have even a slight desire to up and die, but knowing that and having someone to live for were two different things. A.J. needed her alive, even if he was still too young to realize she was gone if she did happen to die.
Point being, she wasn't used to this part. Not like she used to be. And for that, Rory was grateful to have O'Brien there, sweeping his flashlight around the kitchen-living room combo space of her apartment.
She could've done it, but she preferred the man with the gun to do so.
Rory really needed to take Brandon Stone up on his offer of shooting lessons.
Waiting for the man to tell her the place was clear was tense, far worse than if she'd been checking the space herself. Rory found herself looking nervously down the narrow hallway, taking in eerie shadows cast from the dying sunlight. Nothing moved, nothing lurched towards her or wailed a hungry dinner bell as she waited for O'Brien, though. That was nice.
Didn't help ease her impatient nerves, of course, but she appreciated how she wasn't getting attacked here.
"Clear?" she asked quietly. The only weapon she had on her was a hunting knife clipped at her belt, and Rory's hand slid to it without a thought. Rory honestly didn't expect anything in the apartment, but there were never any guarantees.
Just wishful thinking, especially when they were losing light and running out of options if this proved to be a bust.