AN: Prompt-Remorse
Disclaimer: I do not own TWD nor the characters, I just use and abuse them.
"Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed."
-"The Rose," Bette Midler
She held the leaf, turning it over, inspecting its brilliant orange hue, observing how fragile and brittle it was, just a smidge too much pressure and it would crumble in her hands. She snorted derisively as she thought about how she felt like that leaf. Everything in this world, just sucking the life right out of her, the vitality, the lifeblood, draining away and leaving her feeling hollow.
Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears unwelcome and unbidden, before slowly trailing down her face, quietly dripping onto her collarbone, weaving trails in the dust and dirt sticking to her skin.
She had failed. All she had wanted was for them to be prepared. To be able to survive. She wanted to do better than she had for her own daughter. To atone for her sins. But she was still being punished. Punished by some cruel fate to relive the same nightmare repeatedly. Like those video games Carl talked about from before the turn. "Respawning" he called it. Dying and being reborn only to face the same scenario over and over again. Is that what this was? Was she doomed to repeatedly lose those who mattered most to her? Of course she was. This was the end of the world after all.
She swiped at her face with the back of her hand, but only succeeded in smearing more dirt on her cheeks, muddied with her tears. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the grief weighing her down. Sinking down from the log she had been perched on, she turned and buried her face in her arms, crushing the leaf in her grasp, letting the sobs silently wrack her body. The compounded sorrow from the past weeks had built up until it could not be contained.
Surrounded by her "family" though she was, she had never felt so alone. No one there had lost their child to this world, not permanently. Rick had thought Judith gone, but she and Ty had returned her to his arms, safe and sound.
No one else knew the incredible agony that came from having a child ripped from one's arms so cruelly, turned into a monster by this despicable existence. No one there had to make the decisions she had to make to ensure their survival. To ensure Judith's survival. No one had to put down their own child.
The tears continued to flow, unabated by time, drenching her sleeves. Her face was hot and wet, and her blood pounded in her head, like throbbing liquid lead. Despite how much fluid spilled down her face, the pressure increased.
They all had to make decisions though. Life and death decisions. Not a one of them was free from the weight of that burden. Not a one of them didn't have blood on their hands. She had tried to ensure the children would have a chance. She had tried to protect her family. She had done what she thought was best, to give their community its best chance.
And yet, here she was, alone. Maybe it was better that way. She might be better off. They said no one could survive without people, but maybe that was better than losing those people. There wasn't a single member of her family of whom she was prepared to suffer the loss, to know they would not be coming back. The pain of that would be a razor sharp slice to her heart. So intensely sharp and cutting, that she wouldn't even know the full extent of the damage until the wound bled out, staining crimson everything it touched.
She couldn't take any more suffering. Her body and soul were stretched to capacity, trying to maintain control of her sanity, to not let herself sink into a despondent swirl of madness. There was no pea patch for her to go to get a break from her misery. No place of safety, where she could dwell on it. She would have to move forward, to get on with her life. Maybe it would have to be by herself. Maybe that was the only way to make certain that, though her heart was tattered and torn, it would stay intact.
Her sobs became further and further apart, her chest hiccupping and sighing between each whimper. The wave had crested and was receding, leaving the damage and destruction in its wake. Her eyes still closed, she tried to center herself, letting the sensations around her bring her back to a semblance of reality and control.
The rough bark beneath her hands, scratching at her palms and fingers, flecks of wood wedging under her fingernails. The soggy earth below her, seeping moisture into the cloth of her pants. Her nose was so snotty from crying that she couldn't smell the damp of the leaves and mud but she could feel them beneath her.
She lifted her head, squinting her eyes, trying to take in the surroundings, bleak though they may be. A shadow to her left dimmed her sight and she looked up in surprise, not having heard her approach. Using the sleeve of her shirt, she tried to dry her face off and clean the traces of dirt left by her hands.
Michonne sat down next to her, back against the log, and looked at Carol.
"You know, on all those trips to look for the governor, Daryl and I talked about a lot of stuff. There wasn't much else to do with it just being the two of us. But it was never anything too personal. Then, one run we came across this run down shack. We holed up there for the night and when clearing it we found there was a still in the back. We each had a few sips and Daryl starts in about this girl, named Sophia."
She glanced over at Carol to see her widened eyes, brimming with tears again. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she continued.
"Talked about how she was lost and he looked for her and didn't find her in time. How he had failed her mom. Failed Carol. It was you, and your baby girl that weighed on...weighed on his mind." She paused when her voice wavered and put her hand over Carol's hand.
"I had a boy."
Carol stiffened with a gasp and she tightened her hand in Michonne's.
"He was three when...when I lost him. The pain," she faltered for a moment, "the pain was so intense I didn't know how I could live with it. I took off alone. Alone except for the walkers I used to protect myself. I wandered around with no purpose, no plan, nothing. Just like one of those walkers. I didn't want to be around anyone. Andrea brought me out of that. She saved me."
At this Carol sniffled again and wiped her nose on her sleeve, squeezing Michonne's hand even more with her other hand.
"She saved me too," she managed to coax out of her constricted throat, swollen and aching from trying to hold back even more tears.
"When I lost her, the mission is what kept me going, gave me a purpose. And I had you all at the prison to come back to, to make me feel like I wasn't completely alone. But when the prison was destroyed and Hershel was killed right in front of me, I wanted to go back to that lonely existence. To keep myself apart, so I wouldn't have to lose anyone again."
"What changed your mind?" Carol was aching for Michonne's pain. So similar to her own. She did know the loss of a child. How did she go on after so much?
"There I was, walking around surrounded by walkers and I realized, I was no better than them. What's the point of staying alive then? What is the point of anything that we do now, if we don't keep living? What is the point of doing what is necessary to survive? And it hit me. The pain. That pain. It's what lets you know you're alive. You feel! You're not one of those things walking around, unfeeling. That's why I went back for Carl and Rick. Because, even feeling pain is better than feeling nothing. And sometimes. Sometimes, there will be other feelings that make it worthwhile."
At that she glanced over to where Daryl had walked up to them. But Carol leaned over, wrapped her arms around Michonne, and squeezed, taking the woman by surprise. After a second, Michonne returned the hug.
"Thank you," Carol whispered forcefully.
Carol had had no idea about Michonne's past, that she had a child and suffered that loss. Michonne had been at the prison so infrequently while searching for the Governor that she hadn't really had a chance to get to know her. That she would come to her and try to offer some kind of comfort, touched at some part of Carol that she hadn't explored since Lori died. That part that could understand exactly what another mother was experiencing or feeling. That part that could give empathy in a way no one else could. That part of her felt soothed and comforted. Being able to share that pain made it easier to bear. It lessened the burden.
She released Michonne and Michonne rose to her feet.
"I think someone else wants to talk to you," she smiled as she turned and made her way back to the group.
Carol looked up at Daryl. He offered her his hand to help her up off of the ground, a gesture that spoke to her of times past. She took it, as much for the help as for the wordless expression of comfort and friendship that it suggested.
They sat down on the log next to one another, shoulders touching, listening to the sounds around them: the low murmur of the group in the background, the skittering of squirrels in the trees, and the flapping wings of an occasional bird taking flight.
Daryl put his hand on her knee, gently clutching it as he cleared his throat.
Carol beat him to it, though, asking, "How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough," came the gravelly response. "Listen, I'm sorry I wasn't there when Rick took you out and left you. Id'a never let that happen." His voice was rough as he tried to reign in his emotions.
"You were doing what needed to be done. Because of you, Glenn and Sasha are still with us. I don't fault you." She placed her hand overtop of his.
"You don't have to, I fault myself," he took a deep breath. "But I learned something. Andrea said you can't make it without people. She was right. But I don't need people. I need you," his voice shook as he made his declaration.
"I don't like the man I am without you. You make me better. You once said you wanted a man of honor. But I'm not him. Not without you. If you're not staying, neither am I. I think you should. This group needs you. But, no you? No me."
Her brain was having trouble wrapping itself around his words. More words than he had spoken at one time since the farm. That he had exposed his feelings enough to say that, to make that effort when she knew exactly what it cost for him to do so, meant more to her than the actual words.
She tightened her grip on his hand and leaned into him, placing her head on his shoulder. She felt him relax a little, then a surprise as she felt the weight of his cheek rest against her head.
The tightness inside, all the pain, the anxiety, the leaden feeling of doom, eased and she felt a warm bloom of something she couldn't describe expand in her, pushing aside the darkness. To say it was a glow was ridiculous. Nothing was sunshine and rainbows anymore. It was more of an ember, catching fire, lighting from within and burning away all the dread, cauterizing the bleeding heart, healing the wound.
She lifted his hand in hers, kissing the bruised and bloody knuckles and rubbing her thumb against his, she said, "I'm not going anywhere."