.
.
.
He ran to the sound of struggling; the sounds becoming clearer the closer he got. There was a grunt, like a muted roar that over powered the growling of the walker, then a sickening crunch of something hard connecting with something else - a body part, the skull, no doubt. Then shorter sounds of effort preceded each smashing sound, there was a curse and then the same sounds again, and then he was there. He could see through the trees he found the woman fighting off walkers - singlehandedly it seemed - she was on her own with five walker corpses, heads well smashed, brains spilled out, around her. He arrived a little too late, but seeing as she was fine on her own he made a move to bail, sneak away without making himself known... But the stranger caught his attention.
His feet brought him closer rather than away as he watched this capable wanderer huff and bask in a moment of peace after she flipped her wild blonde locks away from her face.
She was covered in a thin layer of sweat, dirt, and grime. And she was wearing a goddamn dress - though it was it torn up to a place close to her knees, it was still a goddamn dress; no one was wearing dresses these days - no one. Her frame was slight, but it looked like she hadn't struggled in a search for food for quite some time; given how scarce food was becoming she looked almost healthy.
He didn't recognize her, this unknown - she was obviously competent, obviously dangerous, and couldn't be trusted. He needed to go before she saw him. But no matter how much his brain tried to convince his body to move, it didn't, because though he didn't know her, she was in possession of things he did recognize. Something in the back of his mind nudged at him to keep staring at her like some apocalyptic-Peeping-Tom-creeper, and as he did it was like pieces of a puzzle fitting together.
He didn't know her, but he knew those boots, though they looked far more aged than before he knew them - they were always half laced - on or off - always stationed by her feet when she slept and packed a hell of a kick with that steel toe. Blonde hair, he was always on the look out for blonde, and she had the right kind of blonde - though there was dirt, grass, maybe a few twigs, and a bit of gore caked in it. It was longer; he remembered her emerging from the barn with her locks freshly chopped, much shorter than the long tresses she originally sported.
When she swung up her gun to aim at him - he barely flinched when seeing it wasn't loaded - he saw her eyes struggled to zero in on him, but then he saw the color. Green. The green he forgot, but on more than one occasion that color visited him in his dreams - he could never recall it in his waking hours. And he felt so ridiculous for forgetting that brilliant color, how could he forget it. But then she seemed to come into focus (he came into focus to her) and a laughed bubbled out of her throat.
It was something manic and disbelieving, almost, but it was enough for him recognize her voice even before her laughter faded off into airy little coughs and she said with a lopsided grin, "Sorry I'm late."
He noticed the glint of silver beneath dirt and blood on her finger, and it was with that last small feature it all came together and would've - and should've - jabbed him in the gut knocking the air from his lungs.
It was her. It was Lacey. Lacey Black. The woman who maintained the extraordinary ability to make him feel things. Like right now he was sure his heart was going to pound out of his chest with a flood of different emotions. Disbelief, happiness, fear, pride, hesitation, joy, but above all - relief.
He felt like an asshole for thinking it was impossible, but she was standing in front of him, just ten or so paces away, alive, and breathless - after her laughter, which was no doubt her emotions getting the better of her, and due to fighting off five walkers all on her own. Yes, this was definitely her, even if there was a minuscule glint of panic in her eyes that he couldn't recall seeing before, this was her, beyond question.
Lacey brought a hand up to her hair and ran her fingers through before she clenched a fist full, "Aw, fuck, if this is another cruel hallucination I'm going to be super pissed off," she winced.
Then the shock that had frozen his legs and the disbelief that stilled his mind at the sight of her finally released their hold on him. He moved toward her as the distress in her eyes grew stronger, she questioned her sanity, but he knew this wasn't a trick of his own mind - this was far too good, he didn't have the imaginative capacity to create a falsity like this.
She flinched when the crossbow thunked to the ground a foot away from her, but she didn't dare take her eyes away from him; she gradually looked upward as he drew closer, keeping her eyes on his face. She tried not to cry, but she could feel the sting of tears under her eyelids - this was sadistic if this was all part of her mind, just a delusion. She kept her eyes open, wide, fearful that if she blinked he would disappear. Even if it wasn't real she didn't want to be taunted - it wouldn't be encouragement, it would be taunting, reaching out for something she couldn't find, something she might never find.
Lacey stood perfectly still when his hands rose up and hesitantly landed on her waist, and she blinked, her eyes falling to the small amount of space between their feet. She stared at the dirt, and his hands didn't rest on her waist for long, they were trailing upward, carefully up her slides, dragging over the dirty cloth of the dress. Fingers brushed over her collarbones and she squeezed her eyes shut, because now it's touched her, and she can feel the warmth in those hands, the slight tremor in fingertips, and if it isn't real she wants it to go away right now, before she loses her sense completely.
A tear slipped from her left eye, then her right, leaving almost clean streaks in their wake through the dirt and grime thinly coated on her cheeks. The touch doesn't leave, the boots opposite hers weren't gone when she opened her eyes. She felt his thumbs running up her throat, and they pause where her pulse is for a moment before they continue beneath her jaw, and her head is carefully tilted back up. And she's made to meet his gaze.
Her laugh came out watery, breathy - a wary sob - and a few more tears spilled from her eyes. A hand flew up to his wrist, circled around it while her thumb started to brush back and forth across the top of his hand. Real, so real.
Daryl's brow drew in with confusion, she still looked so scared, and her grip on his was taut, like she was tethering him in place, as if he was about to run off or disappear-
"Tell me it's really you," she finally spoke again and her voice trembled, as did her hold on his wrist, "Please," she whimpered.
She didn't think he was real. Though he was almost shaking with relief he felt something plummet heavily into his gut - she didn't think he was real.
"It's me," he nodded, words thick in his throat, "It's really me." Alleviation bloomed across her face and she let her hold on him release, letting out an airy laugh as she finally dropped the rifle hanging loose in her grip and brought her arms up around his shoulders. He circled his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, tried to get her impossibly closer; Never again, his thoughts stated firmly as he buried his nose into her hair (regardless of the yuck that coated it) and tried not to dig his fingers too hard into her sides.
.
"Woah, where you goin' so fast, bub?" Sam snipped when Merle crossed her path. He halted and sighed as he turned on his heel toward the teen. "Where's Daryl? Wow, wait, where are you?" she stepped closer to him and he stepped away, confusion written on his face as he watched at her peer at him with bewilderment of her own, "Are you alright? You look like you're having an emotion."
"What?" he croaked and swiped at his face, as if some kind of treacherous wetness might've left his eye without his consent, or whatever it was that Sam was so focused on his face could be easily swatted away, "What the hell're you talkin' about?"
But then she reached a hand over to him and patted his arm, a sympathetic pout on her mouth, "You wanna talk about it, big guy?"
"Holy shit," he grunted, and moved to shove her hand away though she already recoiled, but she didn't have that playful look on her face like she normally did - she was actually serious - he rolled his eyes at her, "I don't know how he stands you."
"Could say the same about you," she hit back, and almost smirked, but she kept it in, "Talk," she demanded - as gently as possible.
"Ain't talkin' to you about anythin', girly."
"If not me then who?" Sam gestured all around them with her arms spread wide, "Clearly you're not so great with communicating with your brother, so..." she flopped her arms down, then jerked her shoulders up in a sharp shrug and clicked her tongue against her teeth, "Looks like I'm all you've got."
Merle stared at her through narrowed eyes. Who the hell was this little chick anyway? Sharp witted with a lethal aim, the teenaged therapist of the apocalypse. She possessed eyes that betrayed any and all emotion she harbored within, and a head of dark hair that was far too long given that they dealt with grabby predators on the daily. He had half a mind to get a hand at the base of that stupid braid and slice it off... partly so he wouldn't have to worry about it getting yanked on by a walker and devouring the little shit... but mostly because all that hair was annoying - just like her.
"Speak and be heard, my son!" she called out like she was emulating some kind of preacher. Merle's eyes widened, and in just the short time he's been acquainted with this obnoxious, but essential little side kick of a kid he knew that she would not relent until appeased - even if that meant attracting the attention of any near by walkers with her extravagance. "Seriously though," she said after grinning up at the birds that had taken flight at the sound of her voice booming through the overhead tree branches, "You'll feel better if you talk. And I'm not just saying that to say that. I mean, honestly, it's like an actual load off your back, or shoulders, or where ever you're carrying those hefty feelings. It was just a couple of days ago when-,"
Merle cut her off with a grunting sound and a waving hand, because this was how she operated, he was sure. She would just talk and talk and talk until it was so overwhelming that a headache sprouted and he'd do anything to get her to just shut up, even if meant talking... about his... feelings... Whatever.
She was grinning smally, encouragingly, like it was his burdensome emotions that exploded from him and caused him to shout out at her to hush rather than just wanting to silence her motor mouth.
But then it was that stupid kind, sweet, open face - or at least that's what he blamed it on (her stupid little face) - that caused something to stir in him, and he was searching for the right words, sifting through the ones that piled and jumbled in his head, before he spoke. A series of sighs of varying levels of aggravation preceded any words. But then finally, after the inner turmoil settled for a moment, he managed, flickering his gaze away from contact with Sam's wide, caring brown stare.
"I guess I was tryin' to do right by him, I mean, I..." he admitted slowly, and ended with an exhausted puff. He started again, "I didn't know it at the time, but... takin' care of her, it sorta felt like - like I was makin' up for lost time, makin' up for my mistakes... or somethin'."
Sam was nodding, her expression didn't change as he stumbled through his confession, and she wasn't judging him (for once). He shrugged and glanced toward the endless greenery, "But I always fuck up. Like I did back there. And I'll do it again and again."
"You can still do that," Sam said, and she shook her head when Merle snapped his eyes back to her and cocked a brow up, "You can make up for your mistakes. You can find his wife, you can apologize - to both of them, to everyone." He scoffed just as she continued, "I know you're not the apologizing type and the word 'sorry' isn't in your vocabulary, but you'll find your own way."
Just as Merle opened his mouth to respond - undoubtedly in a manner that would be classified as one of his 'fuck ups' - a gun shot pierced loudly through the animated forest atmosphere and just a beat later was followed by another, effectively shrouding the forest into startled silence.
"Holy shit," and "Shit," were murmured by Sam and Merle before they shot each other a short glance and broke into a sprint toward the sound.
"Daryl!"
.
"What is your hair doing?" Lacey's hands had wandered up from his shoulders and carded through dark locks. There was a chuckle in her throat as she wondered, fingers still deep within his hair as she leaned away enough to look up and observe what she was feeling.
Daryl's entire being stuttered for a moment, and he focused on the upward curl at the corners of her mouth and the inquisitive, but amused, pinch between her brows. "What - 's'wrong with it?" he brought up a hand to tentatively touch at his hair where Lacey wasn't - which didn't really give him all that much room to even finger a single strand.
Her fingers were occupied with the fringe sweeping across his forehead. Her smirk grew wider and though there were still tears in her eyes, watery, none slipped down her cheeks, "Nothing. It's just so long," she laughed.
But then her face became sober, and a scared expression took over again. She snatched her hands back like she was burned, "This is still real, right? You're still real? You're still here? We're both here, together, real?"
He nodded, trying not to show his confusion as to why she was having such a hard time believing reality. Michonne had mentioned some things - something about a schedule - but she didn't give much. He had a feeling that Michonne had told Sam more. Maybe she knew what this was all about.
Lacey was nodding along with him, eyes locked on his, a hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, and tangled two of her fingers with his before she slowly began, "Then where's everyone else, where-,"
Daryl's name was screamed, and from the sounds of it, the source wasn't too far away - which was proven correct when a short brunette thundered through the plantlife and into the small encirclement of trees where the couple stood. Her knees locked when her eyes landed on them, red faced, breathing heavily, she almost collapsed face first into the ground, but she caught herself, staggering, as her empty hand flew up to her mouth, half-way stifling her gasp.
"- god..." is all they heard when Sam's voice squeaked and that bright grin reappeared on Lacey's face. She took a side step away from Daryl, her fingers still clung to his but eventually fell away when Lacey extended her hand out to Sam.
The teen rushed the frazzled blonde like she'd rushed the prison gates over two weeks ago, rocketing into her and nearly sending them both to the ground when they connected. A sob escaped Sam when her face smashed into Lacey's shoulder, and all Lacey could manage was laughter as she matched the force in Sam's embrace.
"I knew - I fucking knew you couldn't be dead!" Sam wailed, her speech partially muffled, "He didn't believe it, but I knew."
"Who didn't -," Lacey's query was cut short when a final figure emerged from the greenery and onto the little reunion in the middle of the forest.
"Well, holy shit..." Merle murmured, there was that ever-present, arrogant amusement in his tone, but genuine shock nearly overpowered it.
Lacey stiffened in Sam's arms, and her smile faltered. She carefully peeled Sam's arms away and nudged her in Daryl's direction while she grumbled, "Pause for a second," eyes focused on the elder Dixon. She stomped toward him as he stepped toward them - his feet halting when she rushed him, "I've got a bone to pick with you," she practically hissed, and that's when Merle started to back up.
"Drugs? Really? You were drugging me?! Sharing cigarettes was one thing, we could've got high as shit together if you persuaded me well enough - but no! You were letting them drug me! I trusted you, you son of a bitch!" Lacey's hands planted against his chest and shoved weakly - Merle didn't stumble at all from the aggression.
"Now hang on-," he offered, but she was fuming, eyes narrowed, hot and glaring, fists clenching - her attempts at shoving were soft, barely anything, but those knuckles were still very much deliverers of blinding pain.
"No!" she shouted, "No! I knew there was nothing wrong with me! Maybe I was a little messed up at the beginning, but - it was you! It was that place! That man made me into this!" her fists were shaking by her sides but they didn't do anything more than that (fortunately for Merle). "Sleeping pills are a hell of a drug for an intolerant wimp like me - but I guess that meant it worked in his favor. God!" she sighed and drew her hands up to her face, "If anything you made it worse..."
Merle was stunned into silence. How could she - How did she know - There was no way -
Her eyes peeked up at him, "You should've just let me go," she muttered quietly, "You should've packed me up and helped me leave - we could've gone together..." she shook her head, in complete disappointment, and that's probably what hurt the worst, "But you let them do this to me, you let them, you fucking-,"
Something snapped and he finally bursted, "I was helpin' you!"
In the background Sam and Daryl surged over to the two when Merle took a step toward her and she didn't cower or stagger back, but meet him, toe to toe, jaw clenched and a fiery look in her eyes.
"Oh yeah?!" she shot back with a sarcastic nod, "Helping? Were you letting others help themselves too? What else were you letting them do to me, huh?" she turned her head to the side, and gave a dramatic glance around like she was checking their surroundings before spilling a secret - she spoke in a stage whisper, "What was happening while your back was turned? Hm?"
Merle's features melted into something disturbed, confused. And Lacey clucked her tongue in a noise of disapproval, "Never thought of that, did you? No... Because the Governor, being the kind, honest, good man he is, couldn't possibly allow shady deals like that to happen-," she broke off into a fake scandalized gasp, "Could he?"
"Nothin' was..." the disbelieving words fell from his mouth, but then it seemed to click. Why Keenan knew about her nightly doses. And who knew how many others knew about it, that information that the Governor was letting slip - "Oh..." he growled, "That piece of shit... I'll kill 'em. I'll kill 'em!" he shouted, the thousand yard stare gone from his eyes, replaced with fire, "I'll kill 'em all! And when they come back I'll kill 'em again!"
Lacey was observing him the entire time. The man she'd trusted for the past eight or nine months, shared digs with, shared stories with, someone she would definitely say she loved and considered family (brother-in-law - almost daily reminders). It seemed that he really was only looking out for her safety when he agreed to medicinal assistance; he had no idea of the probable vulgar business that was occurring behind closed doors. He was betrayed too; he had no idea.
"Sure, sure," she waved it off, finally backing off, she took a few steps away from him where he was still grumbling hateful shit under his breath. "Judging by your actual astounding display of anger I'd say you really weren't in the know concerning the possible debauched contract over my unconscious body."
Merle's gaze flew up to her, wide and pleading ('Well, that's new'), "Girly, you gotta believe me. All I was ever tryin' to do was keep ya safe-,"
She raised up a hand to silence him, "I know," she said, "I appreciate the effort, but... less than honest forces took your good deed and turned it on itself..." she shrugged, but then fixed him with another pointed look, "By the way, thanks for the obvious vote of confidence, dick."
A small smirk picked up the corner of her mouth, and Merle seemed to deflate in slight relief.
"Oh, my god!" Sam bellowed suddenly and went for Lacey's arm, gingerly taking it into her hands and peeking under the wrapping that looked more like a fashion accessory that matched her dress more than anything. But underneath she saw the severity of what was very much not a fashion statement, "Mich wasn't kidding. You really sliced your arm."
"It's fine," Lacey shrugged, "But, hey, wait, woah, what about Mich and knowing about this beforehand?"
"She found a way to us - it's this big, involved story. I'll tell you later."
"Okay," Lacey said slowly, "So where is she now? And for that matter where the hell is everyone else?" she paled before the last two words left her lips. "Oh, god..." her gaze shot to Daryl, "The girls," she voiced, but the words squeaked into non-existence, and it looked like she just mouthed the words, "Don't tell me... Don't…" she begged.
"They're fine," Daryl assured her quickly.
"Maybe," Merle added.
"Damn it, Merle!" Sam slapped at his arm.
"Yeah, damn it, Merle!" Lacey nodded firmly in agreement - after a few beats she wondered, "Why 'Damn it, Merle'?"
"It was yesterday. Er, the day before yesterday." Merle explained, "The morning after you left. And the Governor sent me after your samurai girlfriend, and uhh..." he trailed off because she'd already sort of forgiven him about drugging her, he didn't want to bring up other shit for her to get pissed at him for... So Sam spouted out the facts when he neglected to.
"He captured Maggie and Glenn and took them back to Woodbury, beat the hell out of Glenn and scared Maggie shitless. We went to go get them. And to get back our own, some of Woodbury's people got in the way. Lots of gunfire. Merle thinks the Governor's gonna attack the prison."
"He's right," Lacey affirmed, and the solidity in her tone - strict and sure - brought a new wave of fear onto Sam and Daryl. "Prison?" Lacey murmured, "That's where everyone's holed up? A prison?"
"It's better than it sounds, actually," Sam grinned wryly.
"No, of course," the blonde nodded with a short laugh, "I mean, I'll take it, but... Just sorta... Funny, I guess. Irony at its best," she sighed, shaking her head.
"So, if he's on his way to the rest, why are you out here?" she asked when no one else spoke up.
"Lookin' for you," Daryl said, and she smiled warmly his way. There was a giddy flutter in her chest when he shifted his glance away (reverting to his shy ways again, she assumed). But when he didn't meet her eyes again, that flutter morphed into an uncomfortable pinch and dropped into her gut. She didn't have time to consider and try to understand what that was about, what that meant. Then Sam added, "And we found you," beaming.
Lacey looked away from Daryl, turning to look onto Sam, and she couldn't help but grin back, "Yeah," she nodded, "You did."
There was a heavy, pregnant pause. The only sound was the natural sounds of the wildlife surrounding them. Lacey's gaze wandered back and was firm on Daryl, trying to decipher that look, deconstruct that guard that was up around him, but he wouldn't meet her eyes, wouldn't tear his eyes from the ground unless it was to check around for the source of crunching leaves or snapping twigs. Sam was doing the same thing, though far less cut off and stoic; Lacey could almost feel the vibes of excitement combined with terror floating off the girl. The blonde puffed out a sigh and scrunched her brow together, forcing her attention away from Daryl, then narrowed her eyes into a glare when she caught Merle staring at her legs. The thin leggings were more holes than anything, the slinky patterned fabric was thrashed and was clinging onto her by just the weakest of threads... In fact, they weren't much of any use now, just like the dress had been far too long and useless at its normal length, those leggings were worn out and ready for retirement - she'd rip them off if she could. Instead she glanced around for a knife to snag off someone, and that's when her eyes caught sight of the dagger dangling from Sam's belt loop, from that same red cloth ripped from Daryl's kerchief.
Sam followed Lacey's sight and her eyes widened, glancing between the knife and its proper owner two or three times as she scrambled to detach it from herself.
"I kept it safe for you. Andrea said something about this being some Black Family antique."
Lacey nodded along, mumbling, "Something like that," and took it when Sam finally pulled it free and offered it to her. Lacey took the ancient thing from its sheath and bent over to slice carefully away at the seams of the useless material barely holding its shit together encasing her legs.
"And the sword Maggie gave me?" she wondered and the cloth fell away, and that was exceptionally better.
"At the prison, safe. I tried using it, but I'm not so great with it. Mich tried to teach me, but I'm better with..." Sam raised her bow up for a moment and shrugged. Lacey grinned smally, remembering the same tale told from Michonne. She left the legging rags on the ground and picked up her discarded rifle and the hindering magazine (that was nearly the goddamn death of her) that now slid easily into place now that she wasn't threatened (of course) on her way toward the duffel.
"Well, I hate to go into the old song and dance, but time, as usual, is of the essence. They don't know what's headed toward them. We need to get back there, we've got to warn them, we've got to get prepared for it. If the prison has any kind of protection, defenses, he'll get past them, but if there are any set up, what ever they are, they might soften the initial blow. But they are in no way safe, not now that he knows where they are," Lacey said, slinging the duffel's strap over her shoulder, then the rifle's. "The Governor's a ruthless asshole, Merle knows that first hand, we've got to get to them before he does. We've got to help. And I..." she paused, shaking her head as her eyes turned toward the ground, searching for something she'd never get the answer to - Why...and how... did it come to this?
She looked up and was met with the small amount of innocence still intact in Sam's eyes - she didn't want to destroy that last piece of humanity, that thing that still kept her a little girl and not a soldier of the apocalypse. She breathed out a sigh, "I know it won't make us any better than him, but when he gets there, and we go out and meet him, it's shoot to kill, just like walkers; you get the shot, you take it - you can't hesitate. Kill or be killed."
Though she meant to address each of them, she knew it was Sam who she was solely speaking to, and some part within herself needed that vocalized encouragement, that understanding of the threat at hand; months ago she realized it wasn't just walkers who were the monsters to fear, people were still the same. Good and evil were still present in this world, still butting heads no matter what the common menace was.
Sam gave a short nod, inhaling a long breath. Her posture straightened, and Lacey saw that innocence flicker and nearly fade - if it weren't for the small trace of fear, it would've blinked out completely. At least there was still that.
"Then let's go," Merle beckoned for Daryl to take the lead, and the younger hunter's actions almost mimicked Sam's moments ago. He stood straighter before inclining his head and surveying their settings and making a move in the right direction.
He chose a course that angled more west than anything and led the way. Sam compliantly followed, pausing for less than a moment to crack a jubilant grin Lacey's way. Merle gestured for Lacey to go ahead, and she was about illustrate a point that his gentlemanly efforts were moot when he was just a perverted old man trying to get a glance at her goodies, but as she took her first step to follow the pack her knees wobbled, almost giving out completely and sending her to the ground if that 'perverse old man' wasn't there to spring forward and catch her.
"Y'alright, girly?"
She felt herself flush in embarrassment and irritation. After that semi-impressive speech that reeked of almost-leadership, she was acting out the part of the damsel again. Her head swam, vision swirling slightly, but she just shook it off, "I'm fine," she managed to grumble out and gained control over her legs again.
Lacey noted the concerned glances not too far ahead. She met Daryl's eyes, saw the worry there, the fear, but just as soon as she identified it it disappeared, and his stare was hard before he turned back to the trail in front of him and started walking.
"I'm fine," she assured the elder Dixon who had his hand on her shoulder, she gave him a small smirk and went forward, catching up to the still perturbed teen waiting for her.
"You're sure you're good?" she asked.
"Yeah," Lacey answered easily with a matching easy smile, "Yeah, I'm alright."
She blinked hard at the dizziness invading her eyes, the darkness sneaking in at the corners - not now, not after all this, finding them, going back home, back to the rest of the family. She was supposed to be better now... or at least that's what she had hoped would happen when she found them again. Like an insta-cure, at the sight of them, the sound of their voices, the feel of their touch her ailments would vanish...but it wasn't like that.
And the reunion wasn't quite what she had anticipated either. But that was something to tend to later.
.
Glenn was gone; drove off on his own when his conversation with Maggie didn't go so well. Maggie was in the cell block, taking care of the young ones. Rick was aimlessly stomping about the forestry outside the prison gates. Michonne had free reign in the grassy field between the inner gates and the dog run, and the rest were spread out among the black-top outside Cell Block C.
Jo puffed out a sigh, dropping his hand from shading over his brow when he peered past the fence to see Hershel talking to Rick through the chain links.
Things were crazy, and shitty, and batty, and they were only getting bat-shit crazier with each passing minute. In lieu of the absence of the men (and women) who possessed leadership qualities, the role was ultimately thrust upon Jo's shoulders. And the weight of it made him stagger; at least with Glenn they shared the load, but Glenn was fueled by a rage Jo hoped to never feel and allow to consume him.
He heard the cell block door groan open, and turned to see who it was. Beth and Carl were seated on the bleachers, and Carol and Axel were chatting not too far away from him. He smirked at the sight of Axel getting chummy with Carol, it was kind of adorable in a... weird way. But with his eyes scanning back toward the block he finally saw who was coming out. His heart fluttered in his chest, as lame as it was it something it didn't cease to do every time he saw her.
Amy.
He wasn't completely alone in this temporary leader task. He still had her. And in the back of his mind he recalled a quote about great men always having a woman behind them - and though he wasn't all that great, there was a far greater woman behind him.
Strong, pretty, blonde - she was amazing, and for some odd reason she loved him. Jo didn't question it though, he wasn't the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. Amy would've been unattainable in the world before, out of Jo's league. But in this world, they were given the chance they wouldn't have had then (like Daryl and Lacey, though he didn't try to compare his and Amy's relationship to his sister's and Daryl's too much, that was just... no. Lacey and Daryl were opposite sides of the spectrum completely - that's how Jo saw it - and he and Amy were... well... he would've been happy enough just to be in the friendzone if it meant he could in her company and she would enjoy his presence).
They had their ups and downs, hard times, rough patches in their relationship just like anyone else had. Awfully enough, this time - at the end of the world - was the the best time to iron out the wrinkles in romantic companionship stuff. And luckily, Jo and Amy complemented each other. There were fights, raised voices, sharp opinions, silent treatments, but they worked it out; cleared the air as quickly as they could, because it didn't do anyone any good to harbor a distracting pissed off mood during these times. And there was always the factor of: What if...?
The only thing (they believed) that made their relationship different (and made it work) compared to the rest was the what-if factor. Jo always made a point to never say anything bad or hurtful to her, just in case it might be the last thing he'd ever say to her, or the last thing she'd hear from him. The same went for Amy. They always made the extra effort to do or say something sweet, something loving, no matter how annoying or repetitive it became, they kept on - just in case.
He met her half way, just near the bleachers, and accepted the pistol she handed to him. He eyed the rifle hanging from her shoulder and rose a brow.
"Hey," she finally greeted.
And the corner of his mouth turned up, "Hey,"
"I'm gonna see how Michonne's doing, sending Rocket up, too, so keep the gate open, okay?" she said all while walking toward the gate, and Jo nodded, staying put to nod at Carl for the ring of keys and catching them before following. "I'm headed to the front gate's tower to keep an eye out for Glenn - Rick, too, and any unfriendlies," she explained while Jo unlocked the gate and pulled it open enough for her to pass.
"'kay. Be careful." And that was another thing, he didn't question her strength or abililties, and that earned him tons more points with her. Respect (and food) was the key to a lady's heart. She smiled sweetly at him and leaned up to drop a kiss to his cheek.
She brought up a hand to caress his cheek, "Always," she replied and started down the trail. He watched her go, his eyes lingering along her form - he was a man after all - and continued to watch until she reached Michonne and Rocket stationed by the overturned bus. They chatted shortly, then Rocket's ears perked and she stood up and started trotting toward the prison. The hound walked through the gate opening and parked herself beside Jo's feet. He grinned down at the dog and looked up to see Amy heading toward the guard tower, and Michonne still standing by the bus. He finally tore his gaze away when he saw his girlfriend disappear behind the tower door.
He didn't bother with pulling the gate closed, not when they had two gates down that small stretch of dirt road, they were fine - on that side of the prison at least. The gates in front of C Block were intact, it was the side that was letting in a flood of the undead that was their real problem.
Jo let out another small sigh at that - so many problems, so indeterminate time. He walked back toward the bleachers, to Beth and Carl. Rocket stayed firmly by the gate - strange, she loved to be a shadow, she was probably just confused as to why Michonne hadn't followed her, and why she wasn't coming still. He left it at that and kept walking, almost banging his shin against the rusted metal because of his thought crowded mind.
He crumbled elegantly onto the worst idea of faux-stadium seating ever, and tried not to wince when the hard edges and angles dug into any and all the fleshy bits of his body. Jo groaned tiredly, turning his face skyward, "I don't know about you kids," - internally he laughed at the title, 'kids', they were no longer that, that was for damn sure, but it was just the natural way to address them - better than 'youngens' - - "but I could sure go for some mind-numbing television right now," he sighed with a distressed pout and was rewarded with chuckling from his younger counterparts.
A question about favorite shows or movies was about to be raised, but it was halted by the sound of Rocket letting out a short vicious bark that cut off into a yelp. Then before Jo's eyes were opened to see what had happened to the former police hound, there was the distinct sound of a bullet penetrating a body, followed by the gasped cry from who he could only assume was Carol. And he was right when his vision cleared and focused on the slow motion havoc about to assault their would've-been less than moderately pleasant day. Axel was on the ground, half way on top of Carol, lifeless, blood trickling slowly from his head. Rocket, the brave girl, was limping away from the fence, dragging herself along the ground and leaving red in her wake.
Jo blinked and everything sped up to normal speed, maybe went a little faster before it leveled out, because he was up on his feet and pulling his pistol out, pointing to aim and searching for a target all in what felt like half a second.
"Take cover! Go! Go!" he shouted, his eyes still seeking out the source, though he knew exactly who was behind it.
There was gun fire coming from all directions it seemed, but he went straight for Rocket. He hefted her up into his arms, breathing out apologies when she whined. He kept looking, and kept moving, feeling the bullets striking the ground near his feet. He needed to find cover, and fast. There were discarded file cabinets and other office equipment piled by the bleachers, it wasn't too far, he could make it, he and Rocket would be safe.
But Carol.
He made it behind the cabinets and set Rocket down carefully, flinching at the clouds of dirt puffing up from the ground just a foot away from him. He peeked around a corner, pistol drawn and saw a figure on a guard tower. His stomach filled with lead, thoughts of Amy hitting him then. He fired twice and hid. Fired two more, and tried to peek around to see the guard tower where Amy was, but he couldn't see. He leaned a little more and -
"Fuck!" he cursed. Hand automatically flying to where the pain flared hottest and the blood began to pour.
.
Conversation didn't fill the air much as they focused on breathing and footing. Though by Daryl's knowledge they were getting close. Lacey's heart was pounding with rivaling anticipation, excitement, and dread; there was a separate, smaller stabbing of fear because of the swimming in her head that had yet to pass, the darkness wasn't crowding her vision anymore... or had she grown accustomed to it and couldn't tell the difference...? 'Shit,' her thoughts groaned.
She didn't need another almost-spill for someone to pick her up from, she didn't need to black out at a time like this (blacking out was something that didn't need to happen at all, ever, regardless of sanity or lack of energy). But especially now wouldn't be the best of times, not when Sam had looked at her like she was her hero again but was now wary of her, careful of her like she was an infant, and Daryl was being strange, hardly looking her way, and Merle had switched on and off between creepy and protective. Not only that, they had the Governor targeting the rest of their loved ones at the prison. So she didn't need all the concern and attention on her when the shit was about to hit the fan. No. No, that could wait until after; actually, if it were up to Lacey she hoped that all the concern wouldn't be directed at her at all. That was a short lived dream though, since she was stolen by Woodbury and kept there for the past eight months (and was also drugged into submission and who knows what else), of course she knew she was going to receive special treatment, and she was going to hate it.
In a way, Daryl's disdainful nature was welcomed, but this was Daryl; Daryl was different from the group as a whole. Daryl slapped a ring on her finger and said he loved her (not exactly in that order), it was a different relationship. She would tell him to stop worrying, but she knew he would worry anyway, because that's what was expected. He'd seemed so happy to see her, so relieved, and now it seemed like -
Her reverie was slammed to a halt - thankfully, because she was feeling an unpleasant pinching and pressure at her temples from all those unwanted over-thoughts.
It was the sound of gunfire, there was no doubt about it. Echoing and constant in the distance.
"Do you hear that?" Lacey whispered - just in case this was another delusion that was exclusive to her.
But the others were shocked still as well, listening. Sam nodded, her face going pale as the reports continued. They ratcheted up their pace, running toward the sounds.
The only thing that kept Lacey going even when her lungs felt shrunken into non-existence and her throat burned like a desert on fire was the constant mantra of, 'My babies, my brother, my family, that asshole is trying to kill them.' She wasn't going to let that happen as long as she was alive. She'd fight that son of a bitch - and any who were in league with him - until her last breath.
.
There was a pause, and if the silence wasn't unsettling before... Jo winced with every burst of pain, trying not to panic so the blood wouldn't pump faster, but in this setting he wondered how the fuck he hadn't bled out in the last 30 seconds. He glanced down to Rocket, she was still breathing, he couldn't locate her wound just yet, but her fur was matted with blood - what sick bastard shot a dog?! What sick bastard shot at living people when the dead were the roaming the Earth?! "Fucking Christ!" he breathed and kept pressure on his arm. If he knew his anatomy - which he hardly did - he'd survive from this sort of wound. If Carl could survive from a buck shot to the gut, he sure as hell could survive from this... But holy shit it burned like hell fire, Jesus fucking ow!
The cell block door groaning open pierced the quiet air and Maggie's voice was heard. She called for her sister, passing off a heavy rifle to her, before moving quickly toward the cabinets Jo and Rocket were behind while shooting at the man in the tower.
She gave cover fire and told Carol to move. When Carol was safely concealed with Carl and Beth and taking up the rifle in Beth's hands Maggie looked to Jo.
"Shit, Jo!" she hissed at the sight of the blood, and her eyes widened further when she noticed the state Rocket was in.
"It's fine. I'm good," he assured her, gritting his teeth as he brandished his pistol and took careful aim at the man who looked like he was preoccupied with fire coming from his left. Level from where he was. The pain didn't matter anymore, the Woodbury man was shooting at Amy. He took a more precise aim, but then he was out. He checked his pockets out of habit, he'd keep a clip or two in his pockets - just in case - and luckily all his forethought efforts proved useful. He released the spent magazine and fit in the new one, just as another cease fire filled the air with a terrifying quiet.
Maggie and Jo peeked cautiously around their barrier, but they weren't shot at.
In the distance they could hear a vehicle rumbling down the road. Half hoping and half not hoping it was Glenn driving right into this shit fest. Their brows drew together in confusion, it wasn't Glenn. It was a delivery van ripping down the road at high speeds. It didn't slow as the drew closer to the gates, it probably went faster before it came in contact with the fences, plowing down the first, then the second, and skidding to a long halt off the dirt path among the grass. And it just sat there. Rumbling, ominous - what the fuck was this?
But then the back door - a piece of fencing - fell down, and for a moment or two that seemed to be it - but of course that wasn't it. Walkers flooded out. Stumbling, snarling and hungry.
What. The. Fuck?!
There were dozens of them it seemed, a never ending stream of walkers coming out of this van. And then the driver abandoned the vehicle, covered head to toe in riot gear, he pulled out a pistol and started firing, and that's when all gun fire commenced.
"What the fuck is this guy?!" Jo wailed over the reports. The Governor was more than a few kinds of messed up - what the hell!?
.
"Shit!" Lacey quietly cried as they broke through the tree line and bore witness to the shit storm that was flooding the prison. They heard the gun fire from more than a mile out, undoubtedly any walkers within that radius would be drawn to it too, as was proven by the number of deadies ambling from all directions toward the prison.
They could now see the fire and return fire. A figure in a guard tower flailed as it was pierced with a bullet or three before it fell into a heap of limbs to the floor, head and an arm spilling over the edge. There were more figures just outside the main prison building, four tall ones and a short one, all armed, making their way toward the gate, toward the yard where a walker-bomb just exploded spewing out more than a dozen walkers.
Lacey swept her eyes around the perimeter and felt herself stiffen when she saw the Governor firing a rain of bullets into the air before climbing into his truck along with three others.
She took in a breath before taking aim, limbs still taut, and just about screamed, "Shoot that -"
.
"- motherfucker!" Jo crowed as he pulled open the gate and those with guns stepped out to take care of the walkers coming their way, "Shoot him and all of this fucking shit will be resolved!" Jo shouted, pointing with his gun toward where the Governor was driving off, kicking up a cloud of dirt as he went, passing up Glenn - showing up just in time.
.
"Fuck!" Lacey grunted, when the truck containing the Woodbury men and their leader was completely gone from sight. She wasted five bullets on trying to hit that truck, and it seemed that it was only she that had her focus on that bastard. The other three, armed with arrows, bolts, and piece of piping, couldn't do much anyway in the likes of that amount of distance shooting.
They moved forward, noting a struggling Rick pinned against the fence by a couple of walkers. Daryl sent a bolt through the skull of the walker just inches from Rick's face. Sam sprinted forward, picking off the nearby walkers with quick draws, and Merle merciless beat the few he targeted. The teen was fretting over the former Sheriff; he looked like he was in horrible shape, having literally just held off walkers with his own strength. She was right to fret.
Lacey's gaze drifted past the four pressed against the fence, sighing at the sight of all the walkers still very much alive within the field while the others retreated to safety behind the gate. "You can never count on anyone, you gotta do everything yourself, don't we?" she murmured to herself under her breath and cinched the strap of the duffel tighter across her chest. Despite the unhealthy amount of running she'd performed to get to the prison she didn't feel at all exhausted as she broke into a sprint around the perimeter fence toward the entrance that had been plowed down.
She brought the rifle's strap over her head, checking walker's in the face with the butt of her gun as she passed them. Ripping around the corner and through the plowed down security point, she vaguely heard a startled cry of her name from above as she continued on into the bulk of the mess.
There were walkers behind her, following her in, attracted to the noise, so she slowed and turned around, walking backwards as she plucked off some of them enough to create a pile up, something to trip up the other ones. She turned back and went for the walkers that were sprung from their little gift box. Four shots came from the rifle before it was out. She tossed the spent gun to the ground and took up the revolver from the duffel. The undead weren't nearly as interested in her as they were of the large grouping of living morsels behind the main yard gate, but there were some that noted her presence and made an effort to go at her.
The first one got a gut full of boot, slammed down with a heavy, skull rattling thud, and with her boot still firmly pressed down she aimed and pulled the trigger. The living dead creature was lifeless with a bullet hole off center in its forehead, and she pulled back the hammer quickly, popping off five more rounds until she was empty. There were two more making their way to the gate, others were still filing in, clearly her walker-speedbump was ill effective. The closer she got, along with her being the only source of noise now, gained the walkers attention. She dropped the revolver and pulled out her knife - though she missed and loved the feel of that blade in her hand, she desired the weight and grip of her sword much more.
She shoved the blade through its eyesocket with a grunt, yanking it back out and momentarily shaking off the blood and eyeball stuck to it before ramming up with an upward force under the final one's jaw and ripping it away before all its dead weight relied on her for standing support.
'Not too bad for a girl who's about to pass out,' her mind applauded. And she breathed out a brief chuckle, swaying from foot to foot. Her eyes were plagued with dizziness, spinning the world far too fast, and then covering it with darkness before she could get a proper look at the astounded faces on the other side of the fence just a stone's throw away from her.
There was a sensation of relief - or maybe that was her body shutting down - that made her limbs go numb, and she could feel herself crumbling to the ground. Thankfully she didn't see anything after that, or feel the impact. Her mind was occupied with a single thought before everything went black and blank: 'Mama's home.'
.
.
.
Note: Annnd we're back! And after reading over this for a third time I'm realizing Lacey's displaying some Peeta Mellark-like characteristics - real or not real? Whoopsie. Does that make Daryl Katniss? Hah! No, shh. This is a different version of the end of the world-fucked up business, different tyrannts.
Anyway, uhh, are hoorahs in order?
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.
Thanks - to XM for beta'ing and dealing with my bullshit even though she should be solely focusing on school work. And also thanks to all that have favorited and followed during the hiatus.
Chapter inspired by -
Tumbleweed by Puscifer.
Home
He's so far away
Come on home
Home
A voice from within
You're not alone
Home
You're so far away
Come on home
Crazy by The Asteriods Galaxy Tour.
It's gonna get crazy
It's gonna get mad
It's gonna get hazy
Ooh, so sad
We're more than closer to the end of our days
And I believe this last one really encompasses Lacey's feelings and just her as a whole since reuniting with her people and no longer being/feeling lost, falling back into her kind of-leadership role, and it'll pretty much be her sort of anthem throughout the rest of the story - Fury Oh Fury by Nico Vega.
I was going to put the lyrics here too, but I'd end up putting the entire song and I don't want to do that so... basically symbolism (symbology!) 'In the cold, I die, In the spring, I sprout' and YOU DONE FUCKED UP! FEEL HER FURY!
{Wow, it is either too early or too late for this madness, and I'm not sure which it is.
Welcome back! This is the mid-season premiere!}