Chapter 7: Drawback
"Marshall!"
Everything's all wrong. It feels like he's stuck in a dream and it's trying to smother him. All he can see is blood caked on dark asphalt and mangled limbs under the tatters of clothes – right there, right in front of him. It was his fault. The man had called to him for help, but he didn't do anything. He left him alone. He was no threat to them, he could've been useful, but he did absolutely nothing for him. And now he's torn to bits. His knuckles go white as he digs his fingers into his cheeks.
It's too much – he clenches his eyes shut. It could've been him. He could've been the one left alone on the side of a road to rot, even after calling for help… even after begging. It could've been him. He feels the tears welling in his eyes but he feels frozen in place, fear churning in his stomach. Part of surviving is choosing when not to help someone, yeah, but he'd never stuck around to see the results. The one time he does, and he has to see with his own eyes what happened to the people he refused to help.
"Marshall!"
Someone's calling out to him. The voice sounds like a whisper barely reaching his ears. There's something prodding at him – something real and he jerks roughly but the feeling won't go away. He wants to push away, but he's too tired to try. His bones feel like they're made of steel. Someone's shaking him then, and he finally manages to pry open his eyes. He doesn't want to look, doesn't want to acknowledge what he did, but the pressure on his shoulder wasn't easing up.
"Marshall! Hey," Fingers snap in front of him. He blinks, whining through his hand when a few tears roll down his cheeks, "Snap out of it."
Marshall's stares blankly at the figure in front of him. He can't make out who it is, but then something wells up in his chest and his breath hitches in his throat. It's Rick. Marshall's eyes widen in recognition. Oh God. Rick's halfway out of his seat and in his face. Marshall lets out a shaky breath as his hand goes slack and falls down to his lap.
"What the hell just happened?" Rick's hand is gripping him tight on his shoulder. Even if Marshall tried to wriggle away, he won't manage it. Rick's got a look on his face that's hard to read, but he swears he seems a little bit of worry in there. If he could manage it, he'd probably crack a grin.
Marshall let his head roll back against the headrest before rubbing his forearm roughly over his eyes. "That… that could've been me." His voice comes out hoarse like it's on the verge of cracking, "That could've been me months ago on my own. Or that could've been me yesterday outside the prison if you hadn't let me in." He laughs bitterly while trying to avoid Rick's eyes, "I'm alright. Sorry for the scare."
It's nearly silent in the car and Marshall feels his bravado cracking the longer he waits for Rick to just let it go. He can hear himself every time he takes shaky breaths. Thankfully, Rick doesn't press him and just… nods. No yelling or anything. He just nods. "Okay." Marshall hears the other man ease back into his seat, and he couldn't have been more grateful. He needed time to process… this. "Let's go."
Marshall huddles in on himself as the car finally sets back into motion. Rick's got his hand over his mouth like he's thinking about something and Marshall can just catch glimpses of Michonne glancing back at him through the rearview mirror. The world outside seems so calm if you ignored the rotting pieces of flesh walking around with a never-ending hunger. Mother Nature had one hell of a way of making him feel even worse about himself. The world's gone to shit and nature just moves on but Marshall? Sometimes he just gets stuck. He sighs softly as he rubs at the scar on his forearm out of instinct. He should've brought his jacket.
. : | * | : .
The sun's starting to hang a little low by the time they reach the prison. There's maybe another two hours or three left of daylight. The one thing that gives him a little bit of comfort is knowing that at least at the prison, nothing would be getting inside. Nothing could claw at him. He'd probably been a little bit too quiet considering halfway through the trip back Rick had kept sneaking in some looks. Probably wanted to make sure he wasn't acting up again. Truth be told, he's not so sure if that worries him or makes him feel a bit more at ease. He bites at his lower lip, trying to ignore the nagging thought reminding him of Rick's threat.
Marshall spots Carol running toward the inner gate to open it up for them. Managing to actually take a good look at the courtyard, he realizes what a damn shame it was that the Governor went and fucked it up by stirring up shit. It would've been nice to be able to lie down on some grass without worrying about any biters sneaking up on him. Carol gives him a small smile when the car pulls in and he steps out. He tries to return it, but it doesn't come out half as genuine as he'd hoped. The last thing he wants right now is someone hovering over him.
Carol purses her lips but doesn't say anything. Instead, she approaches Rick as he rounds the car to open the trunk, "How'd it go?"
Rick's got a grin on his face that Marshall never thought he'd see on the man. "Look for yourself." With a click, the trunk pops open and Carol catches a glance of all the bags overflowing with guns and ammo. The look on her face would've been priceless if Marshall wasn't fighting the urge to just run.
"You found all this in the armory?"
Rick's hoisting a bag, still grinning slightly, "Armory was bone dry. There was a... friend of mine still in town. This isn't even half of what he had."
Carol's checking to see if there's anyone still in the car, "You didn't ask him to join us?"
"He's not coming."
Marshall doesn't want to listen anymore, not after seeing the way the smile leaves Rick's face. He doesn't want the attention to switch to him. He doesn't want to be reminded of Rick's threats. With a grunt, he shoulders his bow and grabs the crossbow from the backseat of the SUV before turning to go inside the prison. At least there he can be alone and try and sort out how he feels, because, truth be told, he's not really sure himself.
The heavy metal door creak open as he slides through and he whines quietly when he put a bit too much weight on his ankle. He almost forgot about that. Someone tries calling him over, and the most he manages to do is nod at them before climbing up the catwalks. He can't help but sigh when he makes it to the entrance of his cell. The irony of finding it to feel almost like a home's a bit too strong not to, especially when it used to be a cage for a prison. It's unlocked, but still.
Marshall limps over to the lower bunk before dropping the crossbow onto it and easing his bow off. He sets it to rest against the wall before he notices the folded clothing on the foot of his bed. He blinks for a second before remembering what Carol had told him in the morning. She'd actually gone ahead and washed his clothes for him. It's such a small act of selflessness. He's the new guy, she doesn't owe him anything. If anything, he owes all of them his life, but she'd gone ahead and done that. It only makes him feel worse.
He grimaces as he feels his hands starting to shake. He doesn't need this. He snatches his jacket from the dusty corner of the cell before putting it on. It's like putting on a second skin, a safety net, and he feels a little better just from having it on. He grunts before plopping down on the stiff mattress roughly, prompting it to whine loudly. He takes a few seconds to just breathe and his hands still mostly. He can hear the faint sound of chatter in the lower cellblock, but it's otherwise quiet. Quiet enough to finally allow him a moment to just collect himself. Pressing his face into his hands, he just sits there.
He doesn't realize just how long he'd stayed like that until he feels someone standing in the entryway. "Knock, knock."
Marshall groans before pulling away from his hands. The sudden change in light makes him squint at the small figure. It was Beth, beaming just like he'd almost come to expect from her. He sits up and tries to give her a smile. "Beth. What's up?"
She' trying to be all smiles, but Marshall can tell what she's up to before she even asks. "Are you okay?" The look on his face must've been pretty lethal because she's quick to apologize. "Sorry. I heard what Rick said."
He sighs before rubbing his temple. "So Rick sent you?"
"No." is all Beth says, and after looking at her, he believed it. "Can I come in?"
Marshall waves a hand, "Yeah, sure."
Beth walks in with her hands wrung behind her back before settling down beside him. This is a conversation he's dreading to have, but… maybe this is something he needs. He honestly can't remember when was the last time he sat down with someone to talk about what was going through his head. He figures Beth probably got that much already. "So," she claps her hands on her thighs before turning to look at him, "What happened?"
Marshall watches her, trying to find something to give him a reason to leave, but the only thing found was concern and it made him feel weak. His stomach's doing flips all over again. "I – " The words don't want to come out. He shifts uncomfortably for a few seconds before trying again. "I panicked."
"Why?"
His eyes wander over the cell door. Impulse tells him to make a run for it, but he can't do that to Beth. "There was a man on the road. He called to us for help, and we just left him there to die. Found his body later, all torn and mangled up. We didn't help him, but we took his stuff. I froze up." He clenches his hands into fists before glancing at her, feeling utterly wrong. "That could've been me."
Beth doesn't say anything right away and it makes his nerves go on edge. She gives him a sad smile before tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear, "Daddy said something once. He said that if you don't have hope, what's the point of living." Marshall's about to groan but Beth holds a hand up, "I know what it's like to get stuck. A few months ago, I tried to kill myself. I didn't know what I had to live for, and I was starting to get afraid that it's easier just to be afraid. But that's the thing," Beth's beaming then and takes one of his hands into hers. The gesture startles him but she keeps going, "You have to find the reason for yourself. For me, it's here. We can live here. We can live here for the rest of our lives."
The way she spoke… Marshall actually believes her. Something's welling up in his chest with the way Beth's smiling at him. Shit, he's so screwed. He'd already felt it trickling into him slowly. He wasn't sure before, but Beth just answered his question. It's hope. Two years of little to no hope, and now it felt so foreign to him that it had made him want to run away, but maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing.
"Huh," he mumbles, cocking his head slightly, "Yeah… Maybe you're right." He gives her a lopsided grin, "We just have to get rid of this Governor, but uh… Yeah. This place can be a home. Just needs a little paint."
Beth giggles a bit before hopping up onto her feet. She's giving him a cheeky smile as she heads toward the catwalk with a bounce in her step, "Yeah. I'm glad you're feeling better." She gives him a little nod before rounding the corner and stepping out of his sights. He could hear her going down the steps and joining the others.
"Huh."
Marshall blinks and glances down at his hands… they weren't shaking anymore. He actually feels good and the feeling's so strange he can't help but wiggle his fingers. He's gotten so used to dealing with everything alone that to suddenly have someone share their hope with him… As cheesy as it sounds, it felt contagious. He pulled one hand into a fist. They weren't safe yet, though. They had to deal with the Governor, and then this place could be a home… Home. He huffs a little laugh as the word crossed his mind before combing over his cell. It was only a cage if he treated it like that. Nah… this was his room. His.
He scratches at the back of his neck, not really sure what to do with himself now. It's true, he feels better. A lot better actually, but his body's still as strung up as his bow. He squints at the barred windows in the main block. From what little he manages to see of the sky (he doesn't envy whatever inmates lived here before), there's maybe an hour left of daylight if he got lucky. Now would be as good a time as any to go out for a smoke break. Maybe then he'd actually manage to get a good night's rest.
Marshall eases up onto his feet before bending over to pick up his rucksack. He sifts through it quickly to pull out the beat up carton and lighter and pocketing them into his pockets. He tosses the sack onto his bed before making his way out onto the catwalks. He leans against the railing and glances down. Beth and Maggie were huddled around Hershel. The two girls were smiling from ear to ear, talking about something he couldn't quite hear. The others weren't below, but the heard a lot noise coming from outside the cell block.
He tries making as little noise as he can, but any kind of noise was going to draw attention. His steps ring as he makes his way down the stairs. The Greene's are all looking at him, but there's something in their eyes that irks him. He can't pin it down and fights off the pout he feels coming as he nods at them before he limps past… or at least he tries to before Hershel's calling out to him. "You want me to take a look at that, son?"
Marshall freezes where he stands. His foot feels fine. It hurts a little bit when he puts too much weight on it, but it's nothing a few days of rest can't handle. "I'm alright." He can't help but smile at the face Hershel makes. He's probably thinking what a stubborn ass he's being. "Thanks, though."
Maggie's trying to hide a grin as Hershel speaks up. "Mhm. Holler if it gets any worse."
"Will do, sir."
Maggie makes a comment about how formal that was, but he's already walking on by. Outside the block he finds the others gathered around a table. The surface is covered in guns and ammo (did they grab that many?). Rick and the rest of the crew are taking stock. Smart. A few eyes turn to him, but most of them don't stick. Rick's the one to notice him last and he's got a surprised look on his face when he does, "Marshall. Didn't expect to see you down here."
Marshall rolls his shoulder uncomfortably, trying to ignore Michonne staring at him from the corner, "Yeah. I'm heading out for a smoke if that's alright."
Rick stops with a glock half assembled in his hands to watch him. His eyes are roaming over his features before he looks away, sliding the pieces of the pistol into place. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."
"Thanks."
He nods at Rick before making his way past the others. It's only a few seconds before he's scraping the metal door open and the wave of heat from the sun hits him, and it's so damn refreshing he can't help but speed up a bit until he's standing in the center of the inner courtyard. He doesn't care about the stray walkers trying to reach him through the fence. They can't reach him. He's safe. With a content sigh, he drops down to the ground and just splays out on his back, wriggling a bit to pull out the carton and lighter.
The little box flips open with a flick of his thumb and he tugs at a cigarette until he's got it tucked between his lips. He slides it into one of the pockets of his jacket before lighting the cigarette. He shut his eyes as a he took a drag and let the bliss consume him before the loud creak of the door caught his attention. Marshall groans internally when he hears footsteps closing in on him from behind. He huffs out a trail of smoke before pocketing the lighter. It was probably Rick coming to check up on him. The man gets credit for his dedication, he has to admit.
"Rick, can we please leave the threats for later? I'm not – "
He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before Daryl cuts him off. "'m not Rick."
"Shit." Marshall smacks himself on the forehead before opening his eyes to spot the hunter slouching nearby. "Sorry." He drags his spare hand down his cheek, "Did he send you to keep an eye on me?"
Daryl shrugs and fidgets with the strap of his crossbow. That was answer enough. "Ain't nothin' serious."
"Right." Marshall takes another drag before squinting up at Daryl's approaching figure. When he stops by him but doesn't say anything, Marshall squirms a little before looking past him and up at the clouds.
Daryl's giving him an odd look with a signature scowl on his face. Marshall hasn't been here long, but the hunter's got it almost every time he sees him. "The hell you doin' anyways?"
Marshall smirks, "What, I can't go for a smoke?"
"Jackass." Daryl scoffs, "Why are ya on the ground?"
Marshall takes a drag before answering, "I like watching the sky. Calms me down."
"Didn't take you for a tree hugger." Daryl comments over his shoulder as he paces over to the fence.
Marshall snorts, "I don't think a hippie would be smoking. At least not a cigarette," He adds with a short laugh before crinkling his nose. He glanced over at Daryl standing over by the fence goading the walkers before sitting up and pulling out the box from his pocket and flicking the lid open, "Want one?"
Daryl looks at him and back at the fence before pulling out his knife and jabbing the two noisy walkers through the skull and wiping it clean on the ragged trousers of one them. He turns to him and strides over with a bit of a saunter Marshall hadn't noticed before. Daryl hesitated for a second before grabbing a smoke and tucking it between his lips and mumbling, "Got a light?"
"Yeah."
Marshall thumbs through his pocket for the lighter and brings it up just in time to spot Daryl leaning down, cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Marshall hadn't taken the time to actually look, but with the evening sun hanging overhead, Daryl actually looks… handsome. The man has rough features, yeah, but… there's a charm to him. Locks of hairs just barely avoid poking into blue eyes… Blue eyes that are looking at him expectantly. Shit. He's staring. Marshall quickly flicks the flame alive and lights Daryl's cigarette before hastily tucking the lighter away again.
"Thanks" Daryl mutters before standing upright again.
Marshall rubs at his arm nervously while Daryl steps around him and stops at his side. He hears the other man exhale slowly and chances another glance up at him. Shit. He might look worn the fuck out, but he' easy on the eyes. He catches Daryl glancing at him from the side just in time to lay back down and pretend he hadn't just been staring at him again. Stupid. Marshall glances up at the orange-tinged sky. Sometimes he wishes he could just hide up there in the clouds. It's the one part of Earth that still seems untouched. The world's still spinning even though civilization went right into the gutter. They're on their own. Marshall closes his eyes and just lets the nicotine do its job.
Daryl stirs beside him and Marshall's guessing he's sitting down from the sound of it, "Lil warm for a jacket."
"It's almost winter." He lies. He doesn't know why he does, but he regrets it the second he hears Daryl hum. It's the kind of hum someone makes when they know they're being bullshitted. Marshall sighs in between drags before clearing his throat, "A few months back, I got bit."
"What?" Marshall doesn't have to look to know that Daryl's starting right at him, tense.
"Yeah." Marshall opens his eyes then and lifts his left arm up before tugging his sleeve down a bit. "Right here." He points at his wrist where a large scar burn marred his skin. The bite mark's almost hidden under the burn. The edge of his leather sleeve is half chewed off. "If I hadn't been wearing this, the son of a bitch would've bit off a chunk."
"You let a walker sneak up on ya?" Daryl's staring at the scar. It makes him uncomfortable.
Marshall huffs before tugging the sleeve back up to cover the scar, "Kinda hard to when you're tied up." Daryl's eyes shoot to his face and Marshall catches a flash of recognition run through them.
"Shit, 'm sorry, didn't mean ta – " Daryl's fumbling over his words.
"Easy, now." Marshall's got a smirk on his lips, half enjoying the sight of Daryl trying to apologize. "It's all right. " Marshall takes another drag of his cigarette and resigns himself to watching to clouds. The two of them sit outside smoking in amiable silence until someone comes calling for them. It's when he's standing up and sneaking a glance at the setting sun that he realizes something...
Things are starting to look up.
