I do not own, nor do I profit from anything having to do with "The Walking Dead, be it TV show, or comics. I am writing this for personal reasons only.
In the Nick of Time - Chapter 9
Ok, I confess. I struggled a long time with these two chapters. The last thing I want is for this to end up being about boy meets girl, they hate each other, then they love each other, and blah blah blah. My intent to begin with was to pair these two, but I so do not want it to be typical and predictable. And as the story is writing itself, I am thinking in other directions, unexpected ones. So, I will do my best to keep the surprised coming, K?
Gaelynn
She finally felt in enough control to look up at the man who stood before her, working on the fire. She raised her head slowly just as he was turning around to face her. Suddenly, for some God awful reason, she felt completely sort of insecure, weak and girly all at the same time. This was definitely a new feeling for her, and she knew it was best to keep this all to herself until she could explore it completely, so when in doubt, glare. And since he had actually pissed her off, glare she did.
She had suffered many years of abuse and trauma which taught her to glare and snarl with the best of them. She would rather appear mean and bitchy than weak and girly so she amped up the power of her usual style of glaring a few watts.
Without changing the hard set of her jaw, the small furrow between her eyes, or the obvious sneer on her lips, she studied him.
He was nothing like what she was expecting. When he first spoke to her back at Russell's campsite, his voice had been so soothing and calm. She recalled how quickly she felt her hammering heart begin to slow while listening to his voice. But this man did not match that soothing voice; he looked hard, and strong, as if he had been carved out of a redwood that had stood alone for ages
His chiseled face was strong, rugged and if she allowed herself to admit it, he was sort of handsome. Not GQ handsome, not even Sports Illustrated handsome, he was different.
She had grown up in a dead city, living in the system, where you kept your head down, and eyes to yourself. You rarely bothered to learn each other's name, let alone what they had been through, or if they had dreams or feelings. It was a kill or be killed world where she had lost more battles than she had room for the scars.
Tristan had been the one and only person she had ever loved, but like little brother love, or a favorite puppy love. She had never ever felt anything close to any attraction or interest in a male, and at times wondered if she too were gay, like Tristan. It would certainly make her life easier, never having to allow a man to touch her, kiss her, or even talk to her if she could avoid it. A girlfriend was much less likely to beat the shit out of her as well.
But here this person, a nameless hick, a backwoods country man who had to be at least 50! The one thing that hit her like a gentle punch to the gut was his eyes. They were a color of blue that no flower would ever dare to attempt, no sky would be able to imitate. It was a shade of blue that had no name. They were piercing, intense and glared right back at her.
She had become pretty well versed at spotting another tortured soul when she saw one, and there was something in his eyes that screamed in pain, or fought demons that threatened to break his will. By the look of it, he'd had years to perfect his own defenses. She wanted to look away as soon as their eyes meet, but she didn't dare. That would show weakness, and she was not weak. So she continued to glare right back at him.
She was not as sure about his age as she first thought, only that he seemed a lot older than she was, now that she was creeping up on her 18th birthday. He probably was not 50, most likely closer to 40? She was never a good judge when it came to age, mostly because she so rarely really looked at anyone. She avoided eye contact at all cost back in the world before this one had been taken over. Better to avoid contact of any kind, and when you couldn't, glare!
She sat there, glaring and trying to study him without his knowing she was doing so. While his back had still been turned she had noticed his clothes were tattered and a little dirty. He wore a large
Bowie knife on his belt, and it looked like a smaller version poked out of the top of his boot. He wasn't very tall, just a half a head or so taller than she was. He definitely stayed in good shape; his arms were muscular and toned. There was something about them that almost made her want to reach over and touch his on his bicep, right where the muscle rounded and then curved down a little before it rounded back up to his shoulder. She had no idea why she felt this urge to touch the skin covering his biceps, nor could she figure out why they were so intriguing. The thought was so stupid and pointless. Why the fuck would she ever willingly touch a man? Normally she found them all gross, and scary to one degree or another. Yet…as he moved around while working on the fire, they alternated between bunching up and rippling in the glow of that fire….she found it mesmerizing.
Now they were face to face, glare to glare, until he finally looked away and she felt immediate relief. She was so afraid she would be the first to back down, but, hells no, she won this round.
She took a quick look around at the meager campsite. There was the fire ring, a small one man tent, and pretty much, nothing else. He seemed to be a simple man, with the need for few creature comforts. Then she saw it, and sucked in her breath, as she tended to do when she was suddenly excited. Leaning up against the tent was a crossbow! She had wanted one ever since she and Tristan had watched the Disney animated version of Robin Hood. She loved that handsome little fox that ran around with a bow and quiver full of arrows. She so wanted to be like him.
As she began to grow drowsy by the fire, he turned slightly back in her direction and without looking at her he asked "You like rabbit?"
