Summary:
Facetime, but... without the face, or the time.
A/N: Lack of chapters is not my fault twd ain't throwin me no bones this year also gonna reply to comments in PMs now to lower word count but I'll still answer questions in notes occasionally
"Are you there? Hey, you there? Come on, it's me." Oliver had received nothing but static from his portable CB radio for fifteen minutes now. He checked his wristwatch, then checked it again. He sat back in Dick and held his breath.
"Maybe she's still helping the others?" Barbra said from the table across the room, wrestling Judith over where her porridge was supposed to go: Judith's mouth, or Barbra's hair.
Oliver checked his watch again. He didn't say so (he was still holding his breath), but Enid and Maggie should've gotten back to Hilltop hours ago. Anxious, he tapped his radio. He'd been gifted it by Ezekiel, along with Dick. "Lani wishes for you to keep in contact. Use it wisely, young warrior." So he did. Unfortunately, the Kingdom was out of range. But the Hilltop wasn't, and after a few days of talking to Enid, Oliver began recognising other voices. Saviors. Nothing from the Sanctuary (it and Kingdom were almost next-door neighbours) but the range was catching closer outposts. With this secret advantage, Oliver'd been able to confirm that Dwight, who was still slipping Daryl information, had been telling the truth all along. It was crucial, finding this, and just about the only thing making Oliver feel useful enough not to go insane.
"Try to distract yourself," Barbra said in his silence, "and breathe, for Christ's sake." He did. Barbra gave him a disapproving look, then handed him an orange, beady-eyed, little kitten (Judy had taken to calling it Birds). "Here," she insisted.
Oliver resigned himself to uselessness and set Birds on his lap. At five weeks old, Scab's kittens had become a lot more adventurous and independent. Only three had lived this far; Tara said it had to have been some kind of syndrome or fever that killed the other five.
Another dusty-coloured kitten came along (Judy called him Full Clip, after a particularly long day in the armoury last week). Oliver had to pry Full Clip off Dick's left wheel in his attempt to join his sibling.
Finally, Barbra unstuck porridge and honey from her hair and released Judith from the highchair, all while Oliver wheeled himself towards the front door. It was difficult with one hand; he had to push one wheel at a time, doing his best to avoid bumping anything with his leg, as well as keeping the radio station on his lap and trying to stop Full Clip and Birds from climbing his shoulders. In the end, Barbra took pity and pushed him out onto the porch herself.
"Thanks," he said, trying to mean it, trying to put the kittens down—they seemed to be experts at taking advantage of his debilities, clinging to all the places he couldn't reach. He wished he could use his prosthetic, but that wasn't happening until his arm healed.
"Do you need anything else?" Barbra asked.
"No," Oliver said, "no, I'm fine."
She hovered. Everybody hovered, even the kittens. Oliver waited for her to go back inside, then waited some more for his face to cool down, poking Birds to distract her from eating his hair. Finally, Oliver started switching through channels for any noise. There shouldn't have been much by now, with how busy the Saviors would be defending the Sanctuary. Thankfully, the world within twenty-five miles was empty with static. There was a faint whisper somewhere between channel eighty and eighty-seven (probably someone in a closer outpost—the guys Alexandria had to keep on the defence for while the others were gone, just in case) but Oliver couldn't decipher anything, so he switched to forty-nine and retried for Enid.
"Hey..." They couldn't use names: one of the many rules they followed to have Rick's blessing to use them, as well as never sharing any information. "Are you there? Are you there? Are you—"
Static startled him.
"Here, here. I'm here! Sorry, my range sucks."
"It's okay. Did—" Suddenly, Dick jolted. Oliver realised it was only Rosita, sitting in the porch rocking chair behind him. She kicked him again.
"Wheel your butt over here," she said, "wanna listen." Rosita wasn't a hoverer. Oliver appreciated this. Strategically, he used his toe to push Dick closer to her. She took both kittens. Oliver returned focus to the radio.
"So, did you eat today?" This was code for: Any updates? If Enid listed things that tasted nice, progress involving the war was going well. If she listed anything gross, it was bad.
"Not yet. Baking apple pie," she said. "Now we're just waiting to see how it turns out."
Oliver sighed, nodding to let Rosita know it was good news.
"Cool. And, how are you?" This wasn't code for anything. It was just his question.
"I'm okay," Enid said, "little tired." Her voice was soft despite the way the radio cracked it up a little; it made Oliver miss her like crazy.
"You're working hard," he said, "you know, baking... and everything."
"Yeah..." The static came back for a second as she let go of the PTT button. There was so much to say, but nothing safe enough to say aloud. It was depressing as hell, really. Still, somehow Enid could always think of something: "Was given a sternum guard today. Also got called dude like a million times."
"Cool."
"It was," she said, "even though I wasn't offered any of that other stuff you talked about."
Oliver snickered. "You obviously didn't say 'gnarly' or 'stellar' enough."
"Guess not."
Oliver heard Enid laugh and felt the healing in his leg and arm speed up. He only realised he was gnawing on the radio cable with his teeth when Rosita snorted at him.
"What's she talking about?" she asked.
"Oh," Oliver made sure his finger was off the PTT button for this, "I guess she's talking about Jerry, and that she wanted some weed from him."
"He deals to kids?"
"Sometimes, I guess," Oliver confessed.
Rosita tutted through her teeth. "Tonto."
Oliver held his face still, keeping to himself that 'tonto' in Italian meant something a little different to how she meant it in Spanish. Still, he must not have been convincing because Rosita's eyes narrowed, but she let it go because Oliver had his finger on the PTT button again.
He wanted to ask Enid how Maggie was, if Bean was helping look after the place, if Roan was behaving okay and exercising enough. He wanted to know if Enid spoke to Carol today, or if anybody else had been there like Morayo or Joey or Lani or Esme (Leviathan was probably too young, like Carl), but he couldn't ask, not without risking any eavesdropping Saviors catching on, not this close to the end, so the topic would have to wait.
The silence over the radio went on for a little too long.
"Uh. What're you up to?" Enid asked.
"I dunno," Oliver answered, "might go get chocolate." He looked at his leg. The cast stretched all the way from his foot up to his thigh; to accommodate for this, he could only wear one shoe, oversized jeans or sport-shorts, and as well as never being able to properly bend his leg, there was always this itch that was just a little too far to scratch. He sighed. "Second thought, I'll probably just keep sitting around."
"Enthralling."
"Yep." Oliver winced in an attempt to find something else to say. "Err. What about you?"
"About to go on watch. I should probably get to it..."
"Yeah." Oliver hated how short their talks had to be.
"Later," Enid said.
"Later."
Oliver and Rosita sat for a few minutes in static, watching Scab appear through the window. She hopped up onto the arm of Rosita's chair, and one by one, carried Full Clip and Birds back inside by the scruff.
Later, Carl arrived back from watch. Barbra was preparing casserole. Carl took over while she went for watch duties. The smell reminded Oliver of Carol and he found himself on the opposite side of the island, chin rested on the countertop, watching Carl put the casserole in the oven and set the timer. Carl noticed this. He took something foil out of his pocket and slid it across to him.
"Chocolate?" Oliver asked.
"Last one," Carl said.
Grunting thanks, Oliver grabbed it and dug in, sharing a piece. Some minutes passed before Carl spoke to him again.
"What is it?" he asked, starting on washing dishes.
"Mm?" Oliver mumbled.
Carl pointed across the island at him. "You're looking at me."
"Yeah. I do that."
Carl turned away to continue washing at the sink, shaking his head.
"I was thinking," Oliver admitted.
"'Bout what?"
"You," Oliver said. Carl stopped what he was doing for a second, his back still turned away. Oliver frowned, both arms on the island counter. "I was thinking that I'm gonna heal real fast."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. And I'm gonna get strong again. Strong enough to do normal stuff, like skateboard and pee standing up and get dressed by myself. You know? Wear pants, and my prosthetic, and have sex."
Carl looked at him.
"We do other stuff," he said.
Oliver grumbled to himself, then smiled — a dish cloth hit his face.
"Head out of the clouds, dirt-brain," Carl said. "You might be disabled, but you can still help me dry dishes."
Oliver let Carl wheel him over to the sink, and just as they were finishing the dishes, a familiar radio noise pipped and screeched from upstairs:—"Hey. Hey... Come in. Come in." Quickly, and without hesitation, Oliver flung himself from Dick and began crawling across the kitchen, dragging himself by his foot and hand—the kittens found this hilarious, and did all they could to climb on his back like he was a horse, except the white kitten (this one didn't have a name yet), who sat off to the side watching curiously. Finally, Oliver was at the staircase and butt-scooting up backwards, grunting and keeping his cast off the ground.
Carl simply watched all this happen, cheese grater in hand and Scab circling under his feet, until Oliver was sitting at the top of the stairs, out of breath.
"You look..." Carl snorted while he tried to find the right word. "...awesome, when you do that. Totally awesome."
"Whatever." Oliver disappeared down the hallway. "Come in. Someone, please, come in." "Why'd you put it in your room anyway?! God, it's up on the dresser!"
"Hang on, I'll get it!" Carl went up, dodging kittens. He grabbed the radio and paced his room with it. "Hey. It's me."
"Hey. I have news."
"Gimmie!" Oliver, lying on his belly, grabbed at Carl's pant leg, causing him to trip.
"Just a sec," Carl grunted, struggling away. "Hey, wait your turn, man!"
"Guys! This is serious..." Enid was yelling now.
"Sorry, that wasn't me. This is me," is what Oliver tried to say, but Carl snatched the radio again.
"Fine. Other me here. Hi," he said.
"Hi?"
"Dude!"
"Ignore him," Carl said. "He's just cranky because there's no chocolate left." Oliver's stomach squirmed at the thought, but he gave up, and the two boys huddled together on the rug next to the bed. "So, what's going on?"
There was a pause of static.
"I don't know how to start without saying too much."
"Well, is it over yet?" Carl asked.
"I don't think so..."
The two boys glanced at each other, then let her keep talking.
"Look, this probably won't make much sense but I'm gonna try to explain anyway: A bad egg came back in one of your baskets. The good egg is gone. And... And one of our good eggs came back with a whole bunch of bad eggs. Like, rotten, decomposed, inedible bad eggs..."
"Erm, Oliver?" Carl asked.
Oliver took the receiver, but realised he didn't know what to say.
"Please tell me you understood some of that."
Carl shook his head. Oliver grimaced and shrugged at him. "Err..."
"Never mind. You'll find out soon."
"Well, are you safe?" Oliver asked.
"That's kind of subjective right now. But I can take care of myself."
"Is anybody dead?"
There was a lot of quiet after that.
"Yeah..." she said.
"We should stop talking about it," Oliver said, watching a very stoic-looking Carl, "it's not safe yet."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Stay safe."
"You too. Later."
Oliver switched the radio off and pushed it aside, staring blankly at the white kitten curled up against his thigh. Carl, sitting across from him, raised his hand and pushed it between the kitten's ears. She shut her eyes and purred.
"It's gonna be okay," Carl said.
Oliver didn't say anything.
"Could've been worse," Carl added, "eggs are Enid's specialty."
"I think it was just the best analogy she could come up with."
"Yeah well, you were always the pessimist."
Oliver huffed out a laugh. "Not always."
Carl smiled.
"I think she means some of Hilltop are back already," Oliver moved on, "which means the King and his regiment are getting the big gun from the chemical plant, or they already have, or, you know, they haven't..."
"Dad and Daryl will help, once they get done at the Sanctuary. They know the plan."
"I should be there," Oliver hissed. "I should—"
"Shut up."
Oliver did, with a bitter scowl on his face. He gathered his thoughts enough to take a deep breath in and say, "
"Nope," Carl said.
"What?"
"Let that breath out. Don't say what you are about to say. And forget you ever thought about it."
"You don't even know what I want to say!"
"You want me to drive you out to Hilltop."
Oliver had to shut his mouth.
"Alright, you do know." He ran his hand through his hair and went into a small fit of Italian curses, then calmed down and said, "You're breaking my balls here, man."
Carl gave him a look; one he got very rarely these days, like the looks he got a lot back around the time he returned from the Kingdom. Oliver knew Carl was worried, and stressed, and overwhelmed, so he pushed the idea away and apologised. Carl simply got up and left the room. Oliver thought he'd really done something wrong, but Carl came back quickly with his sketchpad in hand, plucking a pencil from behind his ear. Had it been there the whole time?
Oliver watched in silence while Carl drew what looked like a small, abstract owl. It took him a few minutes, and when it was finished Carl tossed the pad across to Oliver. It was beautiful—most of Carl's drawings were these days, not so full of gore or horror or death; in truth, Oliver liked those too, but at least this was a sign that Carl was content.
"It looks like that owl in Clash of the Titans," Oliver pointed out.
Carl frowned.
"You know," Oliver said, "the cute, little, mechanical owl? Bubo?"
Carl's face remained flat and indifferent. Oliver had to not laugh, amazed by how they possibly got on so well when they had such different senses of humour.
Carl told him, "I was kinda thinking more between Jessie's tattoo—" Oh... duh. "—and also the sculpture she made, you know, with Ron and Sam? The one that broke."
Oliver nodded. Carl took the pad back and made some adjustments to the drawing; deepening the eyes, ruffling the feathers, sharpening the talons. He began flipping back through older drawings, then returned to his owl again. He watched it, like he was waiting for something to happen. He scratched his chin.
"Kinda wanna re-make it," he said, like it was a confession.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
They didn't really talk much more about it. Carl went on drawing and Oliver watched him, remembering back to the day they were down in the tombs together, when Carl had told him that sometimes it wasn't nice to remember things, that sometimes it wasn't healthy. It was funny how time changed you like that.
Finally, Carl looked up.
"Wanna take a walk?"
Oliver nodded, and then he was being helped outside, into Dick, with Judith on his lap, and pushed slowly along the sidewalk. The three of them went to the lake and skipped stones until the sun was beginning to set, and it was starting to get cold. They were about to head home when they heard engines from outside the gate.
Carl wheeled Oliver and Judith to the sidewalk with Michonne, then helped pull the gate open. Sheeted cars filed into Alexandria. Tara and Scott exited the last, and gave Michonne three letters.
'We took the outpost bit by bit. We thought we'd one. We were gathered up in the open when they ambushed us. It was over in seconds. Ezekiel, Jerry and me. We are the only ones who made it back.
—Carol.'
'We beat them. But things got complicated. Jesus took prisoners, brought them back home. We're holding them outside our gates for now until we decide what to do. Until I decide.
—Maggie.'
'The plan is working. We're doing this. We're winning...The rest of the plan is still a go. We're moving on to the next step. I'm headed there now...We meet at the Sanctuary in two days to end this. To win it all. It's not like we haven't fought before. We fought every step of the way to this place. To this moment. The path has lead us here to who we are, to each other, to now. And we are so close. This can be our last fight.
—Rick.'
Notes:
Thanks to temptedtorun on twitter for your drawing of Oliver a few months ago. I only just saw it recently because I only recently got an account. But yeah, thanks so much. It's awesome. Bwt my account is notmuchmore2say
Dunno how anybody's gonna receive this one. Not much is happening in Alexandria rn so I needed a way to include them.
(Edit: Half a day later. I wrote 'both hands on the counter' and Oliver mentally slapped me for it so I changed it to 'arms' sorryfam)
Happy reading.