AN: Here we go, another chapter.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Andrea walked out the part of the prison where she was almost always assured to find Carol keeping herself busy with one thing or another. This morning was no different than any other. Michonne had left the cell this morning, when it was still dark, and Andrea hadn't seen another person until Carol had come in to insist that she let her change bandages and give her a couple of over the counter pain relievers to replace the stronger ones she was insisting that she didn't need.
Carol saw her coming, and she finished carrying the buckets she was moving to the location she had in mind and left them there before she turned, wiping her hands on her pants, and walked toward Andrea.
"I'm glad to see you out," Carol said.
"I'm not going to stay curled up in my bed," Andrea said. "If that's what you thought might happen."
Carol frowned slightly and Andrea quickly apologized.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean that. I didn't mean it the way that I said it."
She realized that her frustration with everything was, as frustration was wont to do, working its way out at the only person she had right now with whom she felt she had any connection at all. Whether it was paranoia or reality, she felt like pretty much everyone else within the prison practically scattered like rats running for corners when they heard her walking anywhere in the prison.
And, for the most part, if forced to come into contact with her, they didn't exactly speak.
"I know you didn't," Carol said. "It doesn't matter. It's going to take more than that to hurt my feelings. And—to be honest? I'm not exactly thrilled with the hunting expedition."
Andrea hummed in response. She didn't imagine anyone was going to be thrilled with the idea that Daryl and Michonne had gone skipping off today—chasing after the Governor.
"Sit?" Carol asked, gesturing toward one of the picnic tables. "I was just about to rest for a minute."
Andrea didn't imagine that Carol was actually planning in resting, but she had already guessed that if that's what Carol thought it would take to get her to sit, Carol would sit too. So, rather than fight with someone having an equally bad day, Andrea walked toward the picnic table and sat on the bench.
"That dress fits well," Carol said. "It looks comfortable."
She sat down next to Andrea and Andrea fingered the soft material of the long, flowing dress she was wearing. Carol had brought it with her to the cell, determined to get Andrea into it so that her pants, and her underwear by extension, wouldn't rub over the top of the bandaged burn. Carol suspected, and Andrea was in no position to argue with anything more than a childlike refusal to do what Carol asked, from which she saved them both, that the rubbing was going to make it harder for the burn to heal and wearing the dress might give it a fighting chance.
"It's comfortable," Andrea agreed. "Even if—it's a little impractical."
"Not for what you're doing today," Carol said. "Your job today is keeping me company—Hershel's orders."
Andrea shook her head.
"I don't even care to argue," she said.
Carol frowned at her again, this time more sincerely than before.
"You asked," Carol said. "So—I'll tell you. Daryl? I've been—I don't know what do you call it? Is it dating? Is that how it works these days?"
Andrea looked at her and shook her head.
"You're asking the wrong person," Andrea said.
"Dating," Carol said. "For a while. Seeing each other? I don't know. Whatever it is…we've been doing it for a while, but it was only last night that I guess—meaning to or not—we sort of came out with it to the whole group. I think everyone knew already, though. Nobody's really said anything. But—I know they heard it."
Andrea hummed and then laughed to herself.
"Yeah," she said. "We heard it too."
Carol smiled at that, looking out over the prison yard.
"How did it—or when did it—start?" Andrea asked.
Carol looked at her a moment and then she shrugged.
"The best answer to that would be a question," Carol said. "Which start? What's actually the start?"
Andrea didn't know how to answer that, but she understood—although in her own way—the difficulty there could be in answering the question that she, herself, had asked.
Carol sighed and then hummed, obviously thinking about the question with more focus this time.
"It was—just after we got on the road," Carol said. "Just after—the farm."
Andrea felt her chest tighten at the mention of it, but she did her best not to let her face give it away that even thinking about that night was difficult for her at times. She nodded her head gently to push Carol along.
For a moment? Sitting there just chatting? It was nice. It was a welcomed escape from the reality around them.
"We stopped—it was a barn, I think? A barn or a—well, they're not necessarily barns but like—storage sheds? But big storage sheds?" Carol said.
Andrea nodded. She wasn't entirely sure which of the structures Carol might be referring to, but there were a number of similar type structures all over the countryside around here—she and Michonne had spent more than one night in one of them as well.
"So we all stopped and I was just—I guess feeling sorry for myself," Carol said. "We all do that, from time to time."
"Some of us more than others?" Andrea offered.
Carol shook her head slightly in response, but she didn't verbalize that she didn't like Andrea's comment.
"We stopped and I put my bedroll over to the side, out of the way," Carol said. "Daryl comes over and he puts his right next to mine, practically touching. He gives me some kind of speech—at least a Daryl style speech—about how he doesn't want to be up under all of them. I didn't tell him to leave. I liked it. I guess. And then—well—morning rolled around and…"
She made a gesture, wiggling somewhat where she sat and Andrea laughed to herself, figuring out pretty quickly what she was referring to. She smiled and nodded at Carol.
"Yeah?" Andrea pressed.
Carol smiled in response.
"So Daryl was embarrassed by it, but I told him—you know—don't worry about it," Carol said. "It wasn't a big deal. It was just—normal."
"So you helped him out?" Andrea asked.
"Nooo," Carol said, drawing out the word and shaking her head. "No. Not then. But—every night after that? He'd stand and wait, off to the side, like he was looking at one thing or another, wherever we stopped, and then he'd put his bed down. Right next to mine. And in the mornings? I'd wake up with him hugging me, a little closer and a little more relaxed, always in the same way. Always with the same…normal…thing going on."
Andrea growled to herself.
"Now you're driving me crazy," Andrea teased. "How long did it take you?"
Carol cocked an eyebrow at her and got something of a mischievous smile across her lips.
"Maybe some of us aren't as quick at things as others?" Carol asked.
Andrea felt struck for a moment, but she let it go, understanding that Carol was teasing and appreciating, even if the comment stung, that there was someone there who was willing to have a light conversation with her—a conversation, no less, in which she shared with her something she probably hadn't bothered to share with anyone else as of yet.
"I'm sorry," Andrea said. "Go ahead?"
"So—we found the prison," Carol said. "And we took it. And then—Daryl was on watch and I—made a joke. Teased him. And he sort of…misspoke? And I made a joke out of that. And then?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"All of a sudden it wasn't a joke anymore and the rest was history," Carol said with a shrug. "He's been nervous about everyone finding out, but I think he realized last night that it wasn't really going to matter. You know? We're not in high school anymore—and we're all adults and—in this world? You enjoy what you can, while you can. It's a short life. Even shorter now."
Andrea smiled to herself.
"That's sweet," Andrea said. "And—you both deserve to be happy. You really do. I'm really—thrilled for both of you."
Carol thanked her and nodded her head, looking back out over the prison yard like she was reliving, in her mind, the story that she'd just told Andrea.
"I know," Andrea said, "that everyone—hates me for what I did with the Governor. I—hate me more than I think anyone else even could. But—I did it because…"
She stopped and shook her head at herself.
"It doesn't matter why I did it," she said. "I never meant for things to go this way. None of it. I wanted everyone to have a chance. I wanted—to believe that the Governor was a good man. I wanted the people of Woodbury to have their town. I wanted everyone here to be happy. I wanted—I just wanted everyone to have a chance. I messed everything up."
Carol hummed.
"To start," she said. "I don't think anyone really hates you. I think—if anything—that you were closer to being right when you said you hate yourself. And that's something that you have to work out with yourself. Really? You didn't do anything wrong."
"I slept with the Governor," Andrea said.
"And I married Ed," Carol said. "We all make poor relationship decisions. Sometimes it's easy to believe that someone is a good person. Or, at least, to want them to be a good person badly enough that you don't see the bad things about them. That doesn't make you a terrible person, Andrea. It makes you—human. He turned out—crazy. So did Ed, in his own way."
Andrea stared at her, working at swallowing the lump in her throat that appeared at the simple feeling that someone was there, hearing what she had to say, and was being sympathetic. Someone was—if not validating her feelings—at least proving she really heard them, and she wasn't trying to blame her for what had happened, or for anything she'd done for that matter.
"You're distancing yourself from him already," Carol said.
Andrea raised an eyebrow at her and Carol smiled softly in response.
"You're calling him The Governor," Carol said. "When you came before? You called him by name. Eventually? It won't matter to you what you call him—because he won't matter to you. He'll be really dead to you. But right now? You're distancing yourself from him. I did the same thing with Ed—called him my husband, not really keeping his name there—not until he couldn't hurt me anymore."
"What—The Governor—did to me," Andrea said. "Was one time. I can't—even imagine—what you went through with Ed."
Carol shrugged and shook her head.
"And it doesn't matter anymore," Carol said. "Just like this—once you're healed up from it and…things move on? Time moves on? It won't matter anymore either."
Andrea nodded her head in halfhearted agreement.
"I hope you're right," Andrea said. "I don't—like that they went after him, but I think that Michonne needs this. She needs him dead. And—maybe that'll help things not matter as much anymore."
"It might help," Carol said. "At least—between the two of you."
Andrea repeated the nod of halfhearted agreement.
Carol smiled at her, just barely letting the corners of her lips turn up to indicate the gesture.
"Fair's fair," she said. "I told you mine. Now—tell me yours. What's the story with you and Michonne?"
Andrea stared at her. If the question that she'd asked Carol was complicated, she felt like Carol, without even knowing it, had surely trumped it.