Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is a 'fix-it-what-Carol-was-up-to' fic meant to fit in after 4x04 to whenever Carol comes back to grace our screens. This is written in response to an anon prompt in my askbox on tumblr. Honestly, I just couldn't resist.
Warnings: Contains spoilers for all four seasons of the Walking Dead, strong language, probably very much AU, angst and more.
In Transit
Chapter Fourteen
"Yo! How's my favourite team doin' today? You're late for your check in by the way. …Again."
The woman didn't take her eyes off the barrel of the Mossberg. And she didn't waver, letting the radio crackle and spit, muffling the sound of distant swears that filtered through the connection before it cut off.
"Fornell, you getting this? Lola? Chicka? Com'on people! Let's hear those sweet, dulcet tones, eh?" the voice urged, sing-song near the end before the click of the talk button indicated the man was waiting for a response. The blonde shifted, movements drawing up a puff of dust as her glare faltered, attention split between her and the radio.
"Answer it," she demanded, keeping her gun level with the woman's temple as she leaned down, cautious, unclipping the Glock from her belt, kicking it out of the woman's reach. She did the same with the machete tucked into the holster between her shoulder blades, tossing it behind her as the radio hissed, restless with static. The woman, or Lola, to her credit, just stared. A sneer was painted clear across her pretty face as she wiped at a bit of blood streaming down from a cut – red and angry on her right cheek.
But the woman reached down all the same, her expression a prism of conflicting emotions as she unclipped the radio and hit the talk button.
"…Hey Nigel, its Lola."
Privately she marveled on it. Ed had always used volume and his fists to get what he wanted, and not necessarily in that order either. Which one was the real power? The ability to beat someone into submission? Or the ability to command it? She hadn't realized it was so complicated – a grey area she'd always assumed was more black and white.
"Well god damn! It's about time, woman! Where the hell have you been all my life!?" the voice admonished, sounding genuinely relieved as a murmur of conversation rose, peaking when the talk button clicked.
"You know how it is. We got tied up. Had to lay low, avoiding the herds," the woman lied, her green eyes glaring daggers, refusing to look away. She wondered if it was supposed to be intimidating. Two years ago it would have been unnerving. Cause for concern, something to avoid – to run from. But now? She barely batted an eye. She'd dealt with crueler people, and faced far more vicious stares. In fact, if evil had a pedigree this woman would be a mongrel.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted crimson. The Governor on the other hand…
A thought rose up, shaky and visceral. She sucked in a shuddering breath. She hadn't let herself dwell on it. On the way she'd heard the bullet coming – staggering back just a second too late. Or the way she'd felt the whip of his hair sting across her cheek – dirty blond and already sticky with blood spatter when she'd reached out, instinctively trying to catch him. Axel had been laughing, they'd been laughing. Neither of them had seen it coming. He'd been sweet – in a rough sort of way, flawed, but genuine.
He'd reminded her of Daryl.
Vaguely she knew she should be ashamed, afraid of the thoughts that were rising up – heady and angry in the back of her mind. But when she forced herself to look down, meeting the woman's stare with an expression that made the blonde quail, she couldn't bring herself to care one way or another.
"Yeah, well, you'd better get gone. We were expecting you guys hours ago," the voice, Nigel, pointed out. "Put Fornell on eh, the boss wants an update."
The glare in the woman's eyes turned into a question. But she just shook her head, finger tightening on the trigger, ready to make good on her threat.
"He's-he's taking a piss. We're leaving the outskirts of Macon now anyway, got a good haul considering the circumstances. We'll be back around-"
"Sundown," she hissed, kicking the woman's boot for emphasis, trying to hide the ragged swallow as Lola's expression turned downright mutinous. The moment was tense. For a long second she thought it was all over, that the woman was just going to blurt it all out, then-
"We'll be back by sundown," Lola gritted, spitting out each word like it was something poisonous, hand tightening around the wound on her thigh until red burbled up, escaping between her fingers.
"Sundown?" the voice repeated, incredulous, "That's too close to curfew, com'on doll-face, you know the rules."
"It's unavoidable this time," Lola returned, annoyed now. Her vicious expression was wavering, ruined by the sheen of sweat that was slowly dripping down from her temples as the trickle of blood down her thigh turned into a sluggish stream.
The voice on the other end snorted. "You're gonna have to explain it to the Bossman when you get back. I don't fancy telling him you guys are late because you stopped to get a freaking facial and your nails done," Nigel sassed, speaking over what sounded a lot like a slamming door and the muffled sound of Spanish being spoken in the background.
"Oh, I intend too," Lola assured, tone promising violence as she clenched her teeth, forcing her eyes back towards her, having to crane her neck as she loomed above the prone woman.
"Fine, whatever, it's your funeral chicka. Bring me back some chew, huh?" the man sighed, tone signalling the conversation was nearing a close, "…Get your fine ass back here in one piece, ya' hear?"
"You got it, Nigel," the woman replied, eyes never once leaving her face. "See you soon."
She held out her hand, fingers dirty, curled into vicious points as the woman slapped the radio into her palm with a growl. Teeth bared – a wounded animal.
"You're fucked, you know that, right?" the woman bit out, watching, eyes fever bright, as she dropped the radio and slammed the butt of Fornell's rifle down across it until the casing cracked, stomping the innards flat – leg screaming bloody murder as every blow jarred her injured thigh.
The pain was grounding.
"We'll never stop hunting you," the woman hissed, free hand curling in the dirt as she dragged herself forward, seeming to forget who was holding the gun as thick line of red trailed behind her. "You, everyone you love. Hell, anyone you've even so much as fuckin' sneezed on, I'll-"
"I don't have anyone," she replied, cold enough to bite. Only this time the truth was freeing – terrible, but freeing. "Not anymore." She'd keep them safe. Even out here. They deserved that much.
"Doesn't matter; we'll make you pay," the woman spat, almost crazed now as a sheath of thick strawberry blonde fell over her eyes, hiding her expression.
"I know," she said; tone heavy as she raised her gun, meeting the blonde's angry green eyes as realization swept across them. They reminded her of Rick's eyes – watery and distant – before she pushed the thought away.
The safety clicked off.
The woman's eyes widened.
The shot echoed.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be more to come, stay tuned.