Disclaimer: AMC owns the story and characters of The Walking Dead, I just like to play with them.

Author's note: As always, an enormous thank you to my forever amazing friend Lara, who is the best beta ever. I'm really excited about this chapter, please if you have something to say, reply or like, positive feedback is always appreciated.


Before

Lucille used to like Savannah.

It was a good place for a summer vacation, even if the weather was horribly humid and hot enough to kill a man. She had lived in the city for a while when she was young and had fond memories of it. Those memories, however, could not quell the void of sadness inside of her.

Lucille was exhausted of saying she was fine.

She was tired of faking how she really felt.

Losing another baby had been harder than before. Lucille remembered the pain and suffering of losing her daughter. The endless nights crying…the lack of sense her life had until one day it was gone…

This time it just happened.

There was no pain, her body had simply failed her this time. It happened right before dinner one Wednesday. Lucille was sitting at the kitchen bar, waiting for the ping of the oven when her back cramped a little. She thought it might have been just a bit of a cramp, her back had felt tight since yesterday anyway.

She felt the wetness before she saw the blood.

"Do you want ice-cream, sweet-pea?" Negan's earnest hazel eyes were on her as he asked her, the question was distraction enough to forget the gruesome image that had Lucille petrified.

"Yes, why not? Get me some chocolate, stud." Lucille smiled, keeping her voice jovial.

"Sure thing, darlin'." Negan's lips were warm and soft on hers and this made Lucille smile for real.

A sudden burst of applause drew the brunette's attention, her chocolate eyes turned to the little event happening to her left. People wearing elegant clothes in different shades of white and cream made this little crowd.

A wedding.

It was a good hour for a wedding, right at sunset, making the weather good enough for a party. There weren't a lot of people at the beach, it was private after all, so, more intimate.

A little girl dressed in a satin dress wandered away from the celebration. Lucille noticed the dark brown curls tied in a high pony-tail and a flower crown on her head. The girl walked determinedly with a sour expression on her young face, she couldn't be older than eight or nine years old.

"Can I sit with you miss?" the girl asked, her voice was soft but firm, and confident.

Lucille looked up into her big, grey eyes, framed by long, dark lashes and unruly eyebrows.

A pretty little girl.

"Won't your mama be worried?" Lucille questioned, looking the girl in the eye. The young girl didn't avoid her gaze, her grey eyes were unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time, they had this…thing about them, which made Lucille feel special to be in her mere presence, even when if the girl was intruding.

"No, it's her wedding day."

Lucille offered the girl the spot Negan had vacated on the beach towel.

"Well, all the more reason, your parents will be worried." Not that anyone seemed to notice the girl was absent.

"It'll be fine, miss. She doesn't like when people look at my soulmarks." The girl confessed as she sat. "She says people don't understand them."

Lucille's eyes looked avidly for said soulmarks as the tiny thing huffed in her sleeveless-ankle length dress. The girl was hiding her left arm. The brunette envisioned her plan of action then.

"My husband has soulmarks too."

The comment made the girl look at Lucille, her eyes widened in surprise.

"Really?" she questioned.

"Yeah, they appear in his right arm once in a while." Lucille smiled, remembering the petitions for puppies, double dessert, to stay up a little bit longer after bed time, the mentions school teachers and popular cartoons, sometimes complicated cooking terminology and lately of some Mr. Jones. "His soulmate is really interesting."

The girl frowned, her pretty mouth set in a pensive gesture.

"Your husband has a soulmate…but you are married?"

"Anyone can have a soulmate, doll. We don't get to pick who we get, but we can choose who we love." Lucille had come to that conclusion long ago.

The little girl directed a wide grin to Lucille.

"My Granny Eli told me something like that too." She announced with a proud smile. "She and Grandpa Gary say we always have a choice."

Lucille felt the blood drain from her face and her stomach drop. She knew those names.

Could it be?

She knew it wasn't impossible, but…

"Mr. Jones is looking funny at us. Goodbye, miss. Nice to meet you." The girl stood up and simply left.

Lucille followed her with her eyes, trying to drink up every little detail, memorizing her features, the way she moved and sounded.

"Bye." She said faintly. The girl turned back, still smiling and waved at her.

The name Lucille could never forget, that stayed always in the back of her head came back with a force as she saw the girl reunite with her family.

Had she just met Victoria Miller?


Savannah, Georgia

The breeze hit Tory's skin, making her feel a bit cool under the unforgiving sun.

Mrs. Jones had invited her to pick peaches and apples from the orchard that was behind the Jones' Farmhouse. Tory didn't exactly dislike Mrs. Jones –Call me Betty, dear.-, but she wished the woman would shut up. Not that she could say it now that they were family.

Tory had endured some of the longest days of her life while her mom planned the destination wedding. Feeling the heat of the sun on her back, the young girl thought of her mother's dress selection for Tory as ring bearer. Satin was a big mistake. Every other girl was wearing cotton!

Well, no matter now.

Her mom and Mr. Jones were in some beach in Mexico, having the time of their lives. Tory had been offered a spot at said honeymoon but she preferred to stay 'home'. Georgia wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the heat. The fruit smelled sweet and felt ripe at the touch, ready to eat or to make jelly, maybe for some pie.

Mrs. Jones wasn't a good cook, but she was possessive of her kitchen and Tory was getting desperate after a week of bland food and corn bread. She would kill for some spaghetti.

After gathering a few baskets of fruit, Mrs. Jones entered the house saying something about washing her hands. Tory used these moments of solitude to sigh and make her way to the water pump she'd seen earlier, hoping the water to be not too warm.

The water poured fast into a bucket, smelling fresh and looking clean. Tory didn't think twice before showering herself with the contents of the bucket.

A squeal left her lips when the freezing water touched her overheated skin.

"Well, would you look at that?"

Even with the damp strands of hair clouding her vision, Tory could see a boy standing in the middle of the garden, a smirk gracing his lips as the sun hit his sandy brown hair. The accent meant a local, that he was there might mean he was family she hadn't met just yet. He also looked older than her.

"Hi." Tory whispered, teeth chattering from the cold.

"You look like a drenched kitten." He commented. The smirk had become a smile as Tory took her hair out of her face.

"I'm more of a dog person." Sure snarking at him wasn't going to endear her to anyone. "Who are you?"

"Easy, kitty." Sandy-hair dismissed. "I'm trying to be friendly."

Tory raised one of her eyebrows, her expression completely unamused.

"You called me wet cat in a nice way." She deadpanned.

The boy's blue colored eyes widened and his jaw fell in surprise, the nonchalant expression gone from his face as he laughed.

He had a nice laugh that made Tory blush. It sounded cute.

"Boy, are you right!" he wheezed. " You saying it like that sounds a lot dirtier."

Tory turned to pump more water in the bucket just to occupy herself with something. Once the bucket was full, the girl washed herself, slowly this time, enjoying the cold water.

"Say, darlin', what's your name?" Sandy-hair asked. He had gotten closer and Tory admired the easiness of his tone and demeanor.

"I asked first." It wasn't a lie or a bad answer. "And I live here so you can get lost if you are not answering, darlin'." Oh, Tory hated how atrocious her accent sounded.

The boy smile, genuinely this time.

"Henry Oats." He said, extending his hand, as if to shake Tory's, who wanted to laugh at his name.

"Well, Mr. Oats." She enunciated haughtily. "My name is Victoria Miller, and it's not a pleasure."

Henry laughed again, his body hunching over itself as he clutched his belly.

"Yeah, a California-girl would say that."

Before Tory had a chance to beat the kid up with the bucket, Mrs. Jones exited the house and excitedly called for Henry. Henry smiled down at her and took his hand back.

"See you around, Mill." he said, shortening her last name and giving her that infuriating smirk again.

"It's Miller, you porridge!" Tory shouted, seething in totally justified rage.

That night, Tory dreamed of sandy-haired boys, devilish smirks and cold water.