Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

Warnings: See original chapter for all warnings and related information.

Authors Note #1: *Rated for adult language, adult situations, kidnapping, violence, allusions to rape, misogyny, chauvinistic attitudes, use of restraints, major injury, allusions to torture, and some serious whump.

Sanctuary for All

Chapter 10

His hackles went up; the muscles in his back tensing and releasing as Manning leaned in. He stiffened on instinct as the man's fetid breath ghosted across his clammy skin. Teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep his face blank as the agent towered over him. His thick fingers drumming across the surface of the table as intense, bloodshot green fastened on his face.

The silence stretched, tense and seemingly limitless as the dry rasp of fabric meeting fabric grated in the close space. Marking the way the men behind him shifted and paced. Their gate uneasy and forced as he refused to react, spine arching as the air stirred in their wake.

His fingers brushed across the surface of his filthy jeans, running along his thighs as he tried to smooth the blood hardened fabric. The calloused pads catching on the rips and snags before he clenched them into tight fists; muscles jumping underneath the skin as he fought to keep still.

Because he suddenly had the insane urge to throw the man's words back in his face and refuse to answer on sheer principal alone. Too sit and watch as the man's composure crumbled, dissolving just like it had before until all the ugly little truths came tumbling out. – And all else considered, it took more effort than he would have thought to temper it.

"Let's start with something simple, shall we?" Manning began, rubbing his hands together as his eyes flickered down the length of him. "Where were you when this all went down?" the man asked, "And no, I don't mean the news reports or the rumors, I mean the first time... The moment where it all became real," Manning demanded.

"Why do you care?" he countered, taking a measured swig of water as his legs began to tremble, exhausted from the effort of sitting up straight for so long as he struggled to keep his face perfectly blank.

"Call it intellectual curiosity." Manning replied easily.

He raised a brow, but finished his water before replying. "Home, a couple hundred miles or so from here, give or take," he grunted, flicking a cracker crumb across the table as he gathered his thoughts and continued.

"I'd heard the reports, been following them on the news for weeks. But hadn't put much stock in them until what happened in New York," he replied, hesitating slightly over the name as images of burning buildings and detonated bridges reeled through his memory like microfilm on high speed.

He swallowed hard as flashes of the news broadcasts flickered across his minds eye. Remembering how he'd sat, frozen on the edge of his worn leather couch, watching the cameras jolt. Nearly choking on his mouthful of Johnny Walker Blue as the camera's focus blurred, panning out automatically as the camera man lost his balance. Moving with the crush of people until it tilted, whirling crazily over a crowded city street just in time to catch the grand finale. With blood and dirt splattering across the lens as the smartly dressed reporter that had been trying to make herself heard above the fray suddenly disappeared underneath a milling sea of torn fabric and gaping mouths.

But worst of all, he remembered how her high pitched screams had continued on long after she'd disappeared. Rising and falling until they were eventually drowned out by a deafening chorus of eager groans and the distant sound of bombs falling.

That was the day it had all become real, the day the virus had gained a human face. He would remember her face until the day he died, that much he was sure of. She had been a woman with dirty blond highlights, chubby dimples, and a freckled nose.

She'd had a ring on her ring finger, blue eyes, and a Mexican name, a woman whom he'd never met, nor likely would have ever cared too. But he knew she'd never completely leave his thoughts.

Because it was due to her that he'd set down that bottle of booze and gunned his truck all the way into town. Maxing out the only credit card he had on food, guns, and ammo. Stocking his cellar and shoring up the farm before he'd finally pulled his head out of his ass and called Merle. Not stopping until he'd found him over a hundred miles away, practically sweating out a bottle of eighty proof at ten in the morning in some backwater bar in the middle of fucking no where. He'd dragged him home himself and kept him there till he sobered up, bullying Merle into staying close as the TV started broadcasting the beginning of the end.

And just in time too, because it was only a week after the last broadcast out of New York that they had their first death. When old man Longston had staggered into a packed meeting at town hall, holding a bloody dish cloth against the jagged stumps where his fingers used to be, screaming about his son and god's final judgement before collapsing against the podium in a dead faint. He'd died in the clinic four hours later and had come back in the middle of Doctor Goldfern's autopsy. Taking a chunk right out of the poor bastard's neck before the doctor that had delivered both him and Merle on the day of their births could even so much as call for help.

Naturally, everything had pretty much devolved from there on in. One becomes two; two becomes three, and so on. A town of two thousand completely overrun in less than five days.

Manning made a surprisingly sympathetic noise and gestured for him to continue. Clicking his fingers pointedly until one of men that had been lounging near the main door hurried forward with another folding chair. Face wreathed with an encouraging smile as Manning nudged another bottle of water towards him.

Suspicion flooded through him like a wave of dry heat as the man took a seat, sitting directly across from him as he shared a look with one of the men standing behind him.

"But I'll bet you know all about that…" he challenged, eying the agent down from across the table as the man's badge flashed in the low light. They'd all heard rumors about New York. About what the government had done, but none of them had ever been proven, at least not before the televisions had gone down.

But Manning was saved from having to reply when the high pitched man piped up from the sidelines. "Why? What happened in New York?"

"What? Didn't you hear Kaminski? The army blew it up!" Green shirt replied with a grin. "…Boom…" he finished nastily, flinging his hands above his head for emphasis as he rounded the chair and came into view.

"What? Like Atlanta?" A different man asked, a slight freckled little thing with honey brown highlights as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, "I had family staying in Manhattan," he explained when Manning gave him a hard look.

"Not fucking likely," Green shirt snorted. "New York was a cluster fuck, a mistake. The people in charge got jumpy. They panicked," he replied.

"They blew their load early, evacuated all the higher ups. The officials, government, military, rich folk, then blew up all the bridges and tunnels leading out of Manhattan behind them. They left the poor fuckers to fend for themselves long before the city had really fallen," Green shirt continued.

"The bombs that came afterwards were just for show, the government cleaning up their mess, again. There probably wasn't a soul left alive in that god forsaken place when the order finally came. Course no one's talkin' about it. It was all hushed up you see. Conveniently forgotten when the rest of the country started swirling down the shitter." Green shirt finished gleefully, nudging the man standing beside him like he'd just rattled off the punch line of some off-color joke.

"That's quite enough conjecture, thank you gentlemen," Manning butted in, voice unaccustomedly hard as his fist came down on the table with a muted thud. "I'd prefer if we stayed on topic for now on, if you don't mind."

"What do you know about New York, Manning?" He bit out. Not content to let this one go as he jumped on the first question that came to mind. He'd watched the man's face through the entire exchange, and he'd seen more than he needed to become suspicious. The man was hiding something and he planned to know what.

"Very little…" Manning gritted his annoyance clear as a buzz of conversation rose up behind him. "The city was better equipped than most. It was one of the first cities to receive federal and military assistance. Our department lost contact with them as we traveled down from Boston. By the time we'd arrived in Atlanta it was all over. They'd obviously gotten overrun and someone had made the call," Manning replied, fingers clenching around his badge spasmodically as he stared him down from across the table.

Hell, did this douche think he was born yesterday or what?

"You're lying." He hissed quietly. "This lot might be impressed by your side stepping and fancy words. But like you said before, I'm different." He replied, gesturing at the others with a careless flick of his hand as he threw the man's words back in his face.

"I think you might be forgetting who is in charge here, Mr. Dixon… I don't take kindly to-" Manning began, meticulously clean looking hands curling into tight fists when he cut him off.

"Power and control are all relative terms hoss. But then again you should know that, considering what you used to do for a living," he interrupted, struggling to maintain the upper hand, speaking right over him as Manning tried to get a word in edge wise.

"Look man, you've played your hand. You ganked me for your little bait and switch and now you're waiting for my group to make the next move," he said, fighting the urge to rise up from the chair and face the man properly as he forced himself to still.

"Now I don't know the details of your little scheme. I don't know what you really want, or even what you think you are going to gain out of this. And you know what? I don't give a shit," he challenged, tone level but promising violence as the high pitched man and green shirt took a few steps backwards as he suddenly straightened. Leaning forward as he met Manning's gaze and held it.

"Keep playing your mind games if you want to. Hell, maybe you even get off on it. I don't know, and I certainly don't care. But don't pretend to think that I'm stupid enough not to see right through you. If you have something to ask me, then come out and say it! I'm done gettin' jerked around!" he growled.

At first, he was sure that Manning was going to clock him. But he didn't. Part of him almost wished he would. - For him violence…action had always come easy, easier than words ever had. So even if he was hopelessly out numbered, half starved and probably a bit too far into the red than even he was strictly comfortable with, part of him yearned for the simplicity of it.

Christ, he'd be lying if he hadn't dreamt about slamming the slick prick up against the wall. Holding him up with nothing but his forearm and all the strength he could muster. His hand curled around the asshole's windpipe as he watched the light in those manic, green eyes slowly go out.

…He would be doing the world a favor, that much he knew for certain…

But Manning was too smart for that. Besides, the man was keeping his distance, at least for the most part. The fed didn't trust him anymore than he trusted Manning. So as a result he couldn't do a god damned thing. Forced to simply watch and wait as a whole range of emotions filtered across the man's smooth features.

"Very well Mr. Dixon. We'll do it your way." Manning said softly. Voice tightly reined, cut off and brittle, like the man himself was five seconds away from snapping.

"I want to know how many people you have in your group; their ages and genders. I also want to know how many weapons your group has. Ammo, cars, gas, what kind of livestock the old man keeps, and whatever else you feel I should know about." Manning hissed, tone aggressive and demanding as he leaned in, palms flat on the table as all the air seemed to leave the room in a single, all encompassing rush.

He blinked. Heart pounding in his chest as days of tension finally boiled down to one simple little sentence, the real reason he was here. Because they didn't want him, hell, they probably didn't even want whatever they'd demanded for ransom either. No, they wanted it all, the farm, their food, guns, supplies, and worse? The women…

Anger bubbled white hot and close to the surface as thoughts of Andrea, Carol, Lori, Patricia, and especially the young Green sisters flashed through his mind. He should have fucking known. Hell, six women in a post apocalyptic world? Might as well be ringing the fucking dinner bell as far as some men would be concerned.

"You've been to the farm, you tell me." He finally retorted, unsticking his jaw and steadying himself as the group of men ringed out behind him shifted restlessly.

"You deaf or just stupid boy?" Green shirt suddenly snapped, hoot heels clicking across the dirty ceramic as he came around from behind his chair, "he asked you a question, and you best answer it!" he hissed, bitch slapping him hard across the face with the flat of his palm before he could even formulate a response. The vicious crack of skin meeting skin echoing in the eves as he neck cracked in time.

Pussy.

He spat out a mouthful of blood and saliva before he shook himself. Calves pulling uselessly at his restraints as green shirt paced in front of him like a caged animal at the zoo. Gate forced and agitated as Manning gestured for two of the men standing behind him to remove the table. Leaving him without a shield as his eyes flicked from green shirt to Manning, trying to anticipate their next move.

"You've got yourself a nice little set up over there; women, cars, supplies, a sizable group with weapons. Anything else we should know about, trailer trash? You're lookin' a bit too healthy and well fed for my tastes boy... What else have you got over there? What are you hiding?" Green shirt questioned, tall frame bent double in order to look him in the eye as he spat out questions like spent shotgun shells.

"Yeah, it's only polite that you share," Kaminski cackled, voice still high pitched and grating as he laughed nervously. Tittering in the background as the group of men inched closer.

"A man's got needs after all..." another one added, all false deference and cracking accents as a thick pair of hands dug into the back of his chair, bare knuckles brushing across the small of his back like an unvoiced threat.

And just like that, just like in the CDC's in who knows how many countries, something dark and half shadowed set the air on fire, napalming everything until he was left with only the words themselves. Unable to do anything else but refuse to accept the hand fate at just dealt as the man's words echoed inside his head. - Resounding tinnly, like that strange, high pitched whine that sounds out just before your hearing mutes, thrumming out like a swan song as yet another frequency goes silent.

His teeth ground together as Manning's teeth flashed, glinting wolfishly in the high afternoon sun as the man's lips pulled back in a nasty, fleeting little smile. Heart beat thudding in his ears as he saw the confirmation of everything he'd tried to tell himself he hadn't suspected from the very beginning in that one, terrible glance.

No…

A/N: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Stay tuned for more!

"Bad things do happen in the world, like war, natural disasters, and disease. But out of those situations always arise stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things." - Daryn Kagan