On the second day with Randall in the barn, Shane can be heard yelling from the old windmill. It has not been a pleasant experience. There is a stranger among them and it feels too often like Shane might just be another one. The tension is drowning them.
After much of the fuss subsides, Rick finally meets her to talk about what had happened in the woods. They are away from prying eyes; the porch is quiet, the house near empty as the others try to go on with their day as if there isn't a young man chained tied up in the barn or the threat of the dead constantly lurking. Routines are the only sanity some of these people have left. Ever since the barn, nothing has quite felt right again.
Rick looks troubled and grows wearier each day. It has only been a few weeks since they had first met but she can see the toll this world was taking on him. His hair is already spotting a few silver strands and his beard was filling in just as colored. He is thinner, the stress of his son and Shane, and now a baby was a heavyweight. He sits back on the porch swing with her and rubs the sleep roughly from his eyes. Natasha wonders if the days have grown too long for him as well.
"Again, Natasha, thanks for everything with Sophia," Rick holds her stare. "I know you're still new among us but I'm glad you're here. You've done a lot for this group, more than some would."
Natasha thinks of Rick as a strange thing. As of late, he is in a strange in between place of morals and what must be old world beliefs. Natasha knows Shane is wrong in his belief that Rick wasn't made for this world. Rick is a changeling. She sees it in the way he moves and talks. He has way with people no one else does, not even Shane, and there is something in his eyes that is all too familiar. Rick will be forged in this world as was she so long ago.
She smiles in kind, the very one that makes Carl fluster, and breaks his gaze. Sometimes it feels as if Rick sees too much of her somehow, the way he does with everyone else. It unsettles her.
"I like to pull my own weight. Whether that by looking for Sophia, going on a run, or even washing clothes."
Rick chuckles and smiles warmly. "Yeah, I imagine Lori appreciates that last one, even if it isn't something you're particularly used to."
There's a pause in the conversation, a lapse that is filled with questions as they look at one another and over the farm. The morning air is charged with something that only continues to build and loom over them. Soon, there will be no escape from it.
"You said you worked for the government. You've got to know more than we do."
Natasha knew this was something coming her way. Many of the others had already asked in their own ways but never received the answer they wanted. It is frustrating not knowing. Natasha does not appreciate the uncertainty or the confusion that it brings.
"Strange things had been happening long before this mess, Rick," she wonders what he would if she knew as much as she did. "No one had the chance to find out before the outbreak was immeasurable."
His voice cracks. "'Strange things'?"
She shifts her injured leg, stretching her toes. By tomorrow, she supposes she should be able to walk around normally. Natasha looks back to him, to his confused frown and furrowed brows, and smiles emptily at him. "Things that no longer matter."
He swallows hard, frustration and disappointment flash across his face in rapid succession. Rick shakes his head and looks out towards the woods.
"The men you came across. What happened with them?"
Natasha looks out across the lawn at the RV. It's been a quiet morning. "They were tracking Sophia and gathering bodies for whatever reasons. By the way they talked they had a group."
Rick furrows his brow, his brows pinched in confusion. "You think they'll come this way?"
"They were pretty far from here when I ran across them. I doubt they'll come looking this way unless given a reason. They were clean and well kept, they had some place of their own."
He looks at her, his eyes hard. "What did you do?"
Natasha studies him for a moment, wondering how he and the rest of the group would react to her true nature. Something for another day. "I took care of them before they could get Sophia. That's what matters."
Rick looks like he wants to say more but he is growing to trust her and is beginning to take her word for what it is worth. It is a hard world and this Rick, in this moment, is still learning to grow with it. Rick nods his head slowly before standing. It is going to be a long week.
Natasha makes it a point to avoid the RV but then again, so does everyone else. From what Jenner has told her, Sophia is much worse, it won't be long now.
The air is much cooler mid-day than it has been since they arrived. The summer heat wavering and winter is soon to follow. Carl has begun to follow her like a shadow. She smiles to herself as she catches him peaking over at her from behind his chosen tree. He tucks his head bashfully but approaches her and Jenner, who is currently checking her wound diligently, and sits next to the two of them in the lawn chair next to her.
Jenner finishes wrapping the new gauze over the nearly healed wound, shaking his head in disbelief as the speed of healing. Carl peaks over at her leg, his nose and lip scrunched up in morbid fascination.
"Does it hurt?" He asks, settling back into his chair.
She can hear Lori pinning the clothes from behind them, her rhythm faltering as she realizes Carl is here with her. Lori has not quite yet climbed over her wall of anger and frustration at being held back the night Rick and Glenn went off for Hershel. Natasha had been quick to catch on and let it slip to Shane what she was up to. The blow up was inevitable. It had only been when Shane brought up the baby that she backed down, suddenly overcome with guilt and hesitation. Lori had realized that it was, in fact Natasha who kept her from leaving the farm.
Natasha shakes her head gently, careful to meet his eyes. She could tell the boy was growing restless being treated as a child, he wanted to do more than his parents and others were willing to give. Lori wanted to shelter him and Rick wanted to please his wife, it left Carl with no room to move. He had long begun to leave the proverbial nest.
"Not any more than yours does."
Carl grins. "Guess we're a lot alike now, huh? Does this make me as tough as a spy?"
Natasha winks and nods her head ever so slightly. "What a spy you would be."
Lori packs up the borrowed cleaning supplies and extra line behind them and begins to walk back to the farmhouse. Once she reaches the front door, Carl seems to collapse in on himself, shoulders hunched and head low. His smile gone.
"I heard Shane tell mom that Sophia only has a few hours left before…" he chokes on the words. "They already dug her a spot."
Natasha has long since grown used to the reality of dead. It had been a part of her life as long as she can remember. She can remember fearing it, of what it took from you as a person but it hadn't taken long before she was taught to ignore that fear and use it as a tool. These are not things she can tell this boy. None of those things had comforted her and they are not things she wants to tell him. Natasha watches him pick at the skin around his nails before finally making up her mind. She pulls him in close wrapping her arms around him despite the awkwardness and pain the movement brings to her leg. Carl tucks his clammy forehead into the juncture of her neck and shoulder and lets out hard, shaky breaths.
They bury Sophia just before dark. Carol whimpers as she gives her daughter to Shane to be lowered down. Natasha leans against the makeshift crutch next to Jenner and Carl. Carl holds onto her hand even as Lori hugs him tight to her side. Carl insists on helping Natasha back to the house his arm wrapped around her like he has seen the others do when the distance was long. Natasha smiles to herself as he tries his best to support her weight.
It is a long walk back. The summer nights are no longer as stuffy as the days. The air has grown cooler in the past two weeks. A light breeze runs up Natasha's back and ruffles her hair.
She can't see Daryl off in distance, only the small kindling flames of his fire where he has separated himself from the others. Daryl holds his pain in, lets it fester inside of him until he's gone rotten with it. Natasha hikes up to his small patch of land. She's purposeful in her loud footsteps and is sure to step on every fallen twig. Daryl roughly pulls himself out of his tent, voice rough and mid-yell until he takes proper notice of her.
Natasha smiles coyly at him as he looks her up and down, his mouth still in his habitual sneer and his eyes slanted.
"What?"
She shrugs, leaning against the trunk of the large oak tree. "Not privy to visitors?"
Daryl scoffs as he throws a few more dry pieces of wood into the dying flame. "I've got enough from this group and nothing much good."
Most days, before all this, Natasha had felt she was surrounded by bleeding emotions. In some form or another, they seemed to ooze out of the people she was surrounded by. Clint was never one for being stoic, his heart lied over his sleeve. Stark gave off arrogance and confidence only to hide a persona few got to see. She herself had only seen him let go when he was ready to drink himself to death as his own life support began to kill him. Natasha is used to the constant whirl of emotions; this group is no different.
"Are you afraid?" She asks. His back goes straight, his muscles tense.
"The only thing I got to be afraid of is one of those fucking brain-dead freaks getting too close and that ain't likely."
Men like Daryl are hard and frustrating but Natasha has been trained into patience. She knows he isn't likely to share nothing but anger and dissatisfaction with her but that is to tell where his head is.
"Your place in the group hasn't changed." The air is tense and Daryl doesn't look at her but the branch in his hand snaps. "You're the one who's trying to change it."
"I'm not Shane!" He turns rapidly, staring her down, teeth bared. "I don't need you tryin' to shrink my damn head."
Natasha stares blankly at him. Daryl throws down the broken branch, kicking up the dirt.
"You could use this group."
On the fourth day, she and Shane head out back into town. They go further in this time, where the houses sit hauntingly and empty. Winter is on the verge of arriving and the group is in dire need of proper gear and materials. Shane has grown more unraveled since Randal arrived and the news of Lori's baby broke. Natasha has begun to watch him more wearily, she knows that a bad end is coming but she can't tell what kind and who will be on the end. She thinks, given the chance, he will kill Rick.
They pull into the driveway of a prominent house on the block; what once must've been a beautiful garden is now wild and over grown with weeds. The white trim has yellowed and peeled in the harsh Atlanta heat. Shane pushes in the door with relative ease. There is a fine layer of dust coating everything in the living room. There is no blood on the walls, nothing in disarray to match the outside of the house. Natasha feels unsettled.
Shane heads into the kitchen. She hears him rummaging through the cabinets and he lets out a low shout of victory.
"Hope you like canned beans and corn, Red."
Natasha heads upstairs, the stairs make no noise and there is no sound from the hall. The thumps the walls with her fist but only silence greets her. The first room is rather dark and messy. Natasha begins to pull clothes from the drawers. Most everything here is too long for Carl but she can see that most his pants legs have started slowly inching up. The closets are much more useful. There are plenty of thick, winter clothes. Natasha fingers over the jackets carefully, looking for one that resembles Carl's now bloody and ruined one.
Further down the hall is the master bedroom. It is well kept, preserved in time. There is a family portrait on the wall; Natasha looks away. She almost feels as if she is intruding now as she goes through the woman's things. Most of the clothes are much too nice to be of practical use but she grabs the men's flannels for Lori. Natasha pauses over a small, framed photo of a redheaded woman wearing large, white pearls. She grips it tightly in her hand, the metal frame denting in her grip. She swallows hard and quickly puts it back face down on the vanity. Sudden memories were not unheard of but she had long grown used to keeping them suppressed since the Red Room.
Not for the first time, Natasha feels unsettled since arriving in this world.
Shane is in the doorway, his duffle bag limp in his hand heavy with canned foods. He cocks his head at her, slow and calculating in a way she can tell would make most uncomfortable. He sets the bag down.
"You all right there, Red?"
Natasha doesn't step back as he moves closer, doesn't flinch when fingers brush her cheek as he pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She stares him down as he lets out a breath. The smell of whiskey curdles the air and Natasha almost wants to laugh. Men like Shane are hard learners.
The light dips lower through the window, the shadow cast over them in perfect, fake movie lighting. Natasha lets Shane hold her as he cries over the woman he thought loved him.
They drive back in silence, undisturbed.
Later, Carl gushes over his new jacket and Lori looks less agitated when their eyes meet. That night they all sit huddled around the campfire, sharing stories of what lives they had led before and Natasha whispers foreign words into Carl's ear and he repeats them back, fumbling them on his tongue.
The fifth day comes and goes. Carl speaks to her in broken, fumbling Russian. Shane's eyes linger on the shed, on Lori, on Rick, all in same the unstable way. He looks ragged. He looks at Natasha like he wants to ask for more.
Jenner is out of his shell more often than not. The far-off look in his eyes has gone and has yet to resurface. He helps tend to the farm animals. His hands only shake when they are empty. When Natasha watches she can't help but wonder if he was meant to live. Had she changed something when she pulled him from his own death?
She teaches the women how to use blades properly. Their movements go from choppy to smooth and graceful. Natasha smiles, proud, when Maggie actually manages to throw a blade into the practice dummies head. It is a pleasant day until it isn't.
When the evening sun settles in Shane's unsteadiness takes a turn for the worst. The rest of the group has gone indoors for dinner. Hershel has become more partial to them since Rick and Glenn brought him back from town. Shane is still the odd man out, however. The familiar scent of whiskey lingers on the man's breath. It is sharp and bitter to her senses, it oozes from his pores and hair.
Shane grabs her roughly and pulls her out from view of the house. She tenses against his grip but this is a role she been in before. Nothing Shane can do frightens her. Natasha glares up at him but he only leans closer, his breath warm and clammy against her cheek. He whispers like a conspirator into her ear.
"Red, we gotta kill the kid." He looks over her shoulder, too the dim light the kitchen windows let out across the yard. "Rick made a mistake."
She looks at him for a long time. It is has been a long while since someone has made her feel out of step. Natasha has wanted to help Shane, had believed he wasn't too far gone but the grip he has on her wrist is bruising and the bloodlust in his eyes has yet to leave his eyes.
"No."
Shane's left eye twitches and his teeth grind against each other, his jaw flexing in agitation.
"Red- "
"It isn't your decision, it's Rick's." She gauges his reaction. "But you don't want it to be, do you? You want Rick to be gone. You want things to be like before he ever came back along."
His left fist slams against the tree behind her head. She can hear his knuckles pop unsettlingly. Shane looks like he's gone rabid.
"You are walking on a very thin thread, Shane. I suggest you stop looking at Rick the way you do. People are starting to notice. You're falling apart."
Shane pulls her arm as she walks away. Natasha is quick to twist his behind his back. She leans down, clutching tighter at his wrist, and speaks softly into his ear.
"I consider us friends, Shane but I'm in the business of killing, and you are a danger."
She leaves him in the grass and walks back to the house where Rick sits on the swing. He stares at her strangely and looks back to the campsite.
"You can only turn a blind eye so long, before reality bites back, Rick."
The sixth day, Shane and Rick argue as they carry Randal out of the shed, the hood over his head and loud blaring music screaming in his ears. He's finally healed enough to leave. The limp in his leg will stay with him for the rest of his life but he has a chance still.
Shane still thinks Rick should have never brought him back to the farm and Natasha agrees. Rick, who is still too soft-hearted, made a mistake. By bringing the boy here he put the whole farm at risk. Carl watches from behind her, still too close for his mother's liking but he has grown more willful and Natasha knows that is on her.
They watch the SUV drive off until there is nothing more than dirt left in the air.
"Natasha, are they going to kill him?" Carl looks up at her, eyes wide and filled with morbid curiosity.
"Not this time."
Sorry, this chapter took forever, guys! I've been a bit busy with college the last few weeks. This chapter also began to annoy me after a while as it ran away from me and not in the best of ways. I hope you like it, there will be more to come soon. What did y'all think? Anything else more you want to see that I should put into the new few chapters? Also, sorry if it seems I'm skimming over people at the moment, but everyone will come into play as Natasha warms up to everyone.