AN: Here you are my dears! Sorry it's been so long between chapters, but I got busy at work and distracted by the start S4, which prompted another one shot fic that insisted on being written and then forced me to add a second chapter to it! Stories can be so demanding & "Scooch" was quite pesky.
When last we left our heroes they had just defeated Blake and were fleeing Senoia, some still in jeopardy, some having lost their lives in the battle. This rather long chapter starts with one of the lost ending up in a familiar place...
37. Atonement
"Caesar Jesus Martinez, son of Maria Consuela and Fernando Juan Martinez of Nogales, Mexico, last known permanent residence, Macon, Georgia. Preceded in death by his wife Adrianna, son Pedro Juan and daughter Felina Maria," intoned an ironic sounding British accented male voice.
Martinez looked around him, unsure of what was happening. The last thing he remembered was the flash of Blake's sword as he swung it towards Grimes; knowing that if it connected, another good man's death would be on him-he'd led them there to face off with evil-it was his responsibility.
"Are we sure about this?" a calm female voice asked, "I'm still not clear about-"
"The scales tipped with his last choice," the Brit said reasonably. "Granted, the good just barely outweighing the-"
"Who the hell are you people? Where am I?" Martinez barked, interrupting. He was alone and surrounded by a heavy white mist. He turned in a circle, looking for the speakers. A well dressed dark haired blue eyed man and a young woman in a white dress came out of the fog bank and walked towards him.
"Just think about it, Caesar." The woman said gently. "What's the last thing you recall?"
"That's hardly fair, Paschar. It was pretty damn horrific for him-getting ginsued like that." The other man winced.
"Azrael, I'm warning you!" the woman hissed, refusing to look at him, but sounding like a cat with its hackles up.
"Ginsued?" Martinez said, looking down at his torso and then running his hands up and down his sides...his hands...he held them both up to his face in wonder and then looked over at the woman.
"Now he's getting it." Azrael said with satisfaction.
"I was...I'm..." he looked over at the man, "Who are you people?" he asked again.
"Not exactly..." Azrael said and he let his black silver tipped wings unfurl out and above his back.
"Show off." Paschar said with disgust, but unleashed hers as well, blindingly white and golden.
"Holy shit." Martinez gaped at the feathery appendages.
"I suppose it would be, wouldn't it?" Azrael mused thoughtfully. "If we did have bodily functions, even our sh-"
"Enough!" Paschar rounded on him. "We have tasks to accomplish here." She came up to Martinez and touched him briefly on the forehead with her glowing right hand.
"We're not your guides here, Caesar. You'll meet up with docents if you will. They don't lead you or push you or tell you what to do, but we may be able to advise you from time to time." Azrael told him.
"Where is here?" Martinez asked.
"Where, when, how, why-all of these you choose from the moments that made up your life." Paschar said.
"Moments?" Martinez asked.
"Choices." Paschar replied. "Points of decision."
"When what you did set you on your path leading to your end."Azrael added."Regrets."
"I can change them?"
"You already have. That's not the point. You're here to understand why you made the decisions you did and to see what the consequences were." Paschar told him. "And then use that understanding to help others."
"I don't ..." Martinez began, but then the fog slowly cleared and he saw that he was standing on the side of a road, the air brisk with a fall chill. Several vehicles including a Jeep, a big green military truck and a light color pick-up were parked haphazardly in front of him.
Martinez knew where he was.
"Is this hell?" he whispered in dread.
"Close as you can get; smell that sulfur?" the tall African American man leaning against the tail gate of the pickup said laconically.
"Shump?" Martinez leaned forward so he could make out the man's features.
"We shoulda shot him." Shumpert said sadly and then the scene shifted...
The dark haired man jogged across the field until he came into sight of the red painted and silver grain bins of an abandoned feed mill and store. He slowed to draw up his crossbow, taking out a walker feeding on a recent kill near an old brown car that sat with its driver's side door open like the maw of some metal behemoth, the smell of whiskey and blood wafting from its interior. The man continued on his way, slightly crouched, wary as he moved through the rows of bins and into the central courtyard area between the buildings.
"It's Dixon-the brother-the younger one..." Martinez said quietly, the one whose woman...
"Daryl," said a female voice he recognized. He turned and saw Andrea leaning against the side of one of the grain bins. She was wearing dark jeans and her feet were bare; her leather jacket with the collar of lamb's wool, the animal of sacrifice, was stained with fresh blood.
"Right." Martinez nodded, lowering his gaze from her. "Sup' Andrea?" She rolled her eyes at him at the familiarity.
"Did you know? What he did to Milton and me?" she said, her voice weary, drained of all emotion. Caesar shifted his feet uncomfortably. He hadn't known for sure, but he suspected. Before they'd left for the prison he could've gone down to the room he knew Blake had prepared for the Amazon, could've checked Mamet's lab to see if the milquetoast was there, but he hadn't.
"He tried to kill him you know...Milton turned the knife Phillip gave him to kill me around and tried to kill the beast with it, braver than you ever were, but he wasn't strong enough...crazy enough..."
"He's dead...Blake..." Martinez said, seeing it clearly even though it had happened after his own demise. Shit-what was this? He could see everything.
"I know." Andrea said.
"They avenged you; your friends." Martinez said, in his mind's eye seeing Daryl fire the bolt that ended the malignant existence of the Governor.
"He needs you." Andrea said, nodding at Daryl.
"I know." Martinez sighed, looking at the brother of the man he used to call friend; Daryl, here reliving the worst day of his life, finding Merle turned.
"Don't fuck this up, Caesar." Andrea said emphatically, showing emotion for the first time. "I loved them both-Carol and Daryl-they were my family."
"Then why don't you-"
"Not my task." Andrea interrupted. "You have the knowledge he needs." She pushed her sweat drenched hair back off of her forehead with a bloody hand and started to back away.
"She survived." Martinez said suddenly. "The Amazon-Michonne-shit-she got them all out too before the building blew!" he said, amazed. He looked over at Andrea, who sighed and smiled. "You loved her." He said quietly, looking abashed.
"Just help Daryl." Andrea said stoically and disappeared around the side of the bin on which she'd been leaning.
Martinez started slowly forward, rounding the side of the building where they'd left Merle to turn. Daryl lay sprawled on the ground nearby, his bloody knife still in his hand, weeping.
"Sorry man." Martinez said, pitching his voice low, but loud enough to carry. Daryl sprung up onto a crouch, his knife at the ready.
"Come back to gloat, asshole?" He yelled, furious, blood in his eye. Caesar wondered if it would hurt when-and then heard the solid thunk as Daryl's thrown knife punched through his heart. He looked down at the knife, sighed and grabbed the handle with both hands to pull it out, offering it back to his attacker.
"What the fuck..." Daryl croaked.
"Already dead, pendejo," Martinez said with a shrug, motioning Daryl forward with a flick of his hand. "C'mon, we got places to be." The buildings were starting to blur, the bodies vanishing all around them.
"Merle!" Daryl cried out as his brother's body faded.
"You came back and got him; he's buried at the prison." Martinez assured him. "Take this." He again proffered the buck knife. "You can use it to try to off me again later if you like." He grinned slyly. Daryl frowned in confusion, but stepped forward to retrieve the blade. As soon as his hand touched it the landscape around them finished shifting.
"What the..." Daryl staggered, dizzy and Martinez put a hand on the other man's shoulder to steady him. They looked around them and saw an expanse of sky blue water hemmed in by steep cliffs of grey stone.
"Do you know where you are?" Caesar asked and Daryl blinked against the bright sunlight glittering on the water but nodded yes. From behind them came the sound of women in conversation, laughing, having what fun there was to have as they washed the camp laundry. Both men turned and Daryl started towards them, calling out Carol's name, but stopped when none of the women seemed to notice him. He looked over at the Hispanic man.
"This is the fuckin' Christmas Carol or somthin'?" he said astutely.
"Something like that."
"You the ghost of Christmas past?" Daryl asked.
"Ghost of Carol past..." Martinez said, nodding at the woman herself.
"Guess that makes me Scrooge." Daryl said dryly.
"You've gone down the wrong path...I'm here to show you the way back."
"So I can't talk to her—warn her—help her now?" Daryl asked.
Martinez shook his head in negation.
"You're here to witness, not interfere. You were on your way to Atlanta to rescue your brother when this happened."
Andrea picked up a dark shirt, soaked it in the quarry waters, laid it over her thigh and scrubbed it with a brush.
"I do miss my Maytag." Carol said.
"I miss my Benz, my sat nav..." Andrea said.
"I miss my coffee maker with that gold drip filter and built in grinder, honey." Jacqui stood behind them, looking wistful.
"Computer...texting..." Amy lamented.
"I miss my vibrator." Andrea said with a touch of raunchy slyness.
"Ohhhh!" Jacqui said knowingly.
"Oh gawd!" Amy chimed in, sounding embarrassed at her older sister's remark. A few seconds later, after looking back at her husband, chain smoking and leaning indolently on the tailgate of the Cherokee, Carol dipped her head and said distinctly, into the fading laughter,
"Me too."
The women erupted into such mirth at her quiet declaration that tears were running down their faces.
Daryl snorted-that was a tiny glimmer of the Carol he knew-ready to take the piss out of anyone or anything she thought deserved it. He looked at this earlier version of her, dressed in drab tans, hair so short he could see the shape of her skull, her figure more full, rounded from her more sedentary life before the Turn. She looked guardedly happy, as if she was unused to the camaraderie of other women.
"What's so funny?" came a deep insolent voice breaking over the laughter. Ed Peletier sauntered over; drawn by the idea his wife might be having a good time without him, perhaps suspecting, rightly, he'd been the source of their amusement.
"Just swappin' war stories, Ed." Andrea said easily, but the man prowled closer, looking suspiciously at the women who had grown silent at his approach.
"Problem, Ed?" Andrea asked, looking back over her shoulder at him.
"Nothin' that concerns you." Ed said, flicking the ash off of his cigarette, "You oughta focus on yer work. This ain't no comedy club." Amy gave Andrea a warning glance. Tired of the hole the man was staring in her back, Andrea stood and turned to confront Carol's husband.
"Ed, tell you what, you don't like how your laundry is done you are welcome to pitch in and do it yourself, here!" and she tossed it at him. He slapped it right back at her, hard, hitting her in the face with it. Andrea squealed in outrage.
"Ain't my job, Missy." Ed said insolently, taking a drag on his cig.
"Andrea, don't." Amy cautioned, standing beside her sister.
"What is your job, Ed? Sitting in your ass smoking cigarettes?" Andrea pushed, ignoring Amy's plea, getting in Ed's face.
"Sure as hell ain't listenin' to some uppity smart mouth bitch, tell you what. C'mon! Les' go!" he ordered Carol, who stood and turned to go with him.
"I don't think she needs to go anywhere with you, Ed." Andrea protested.
The look on Carol's face was devastating, so hopeless it made Daryl sick to his stomach to watch. He knew that look; had worn that look most of his childhood.
"And I say it's none a yer business. Come on now, you heard me." Carol stood and moved towards Ed.
"Carol?" Andrea stopped her.
"Andrea please, it doesn't matter," Carol said in a whisper soft mousey voice.
"Hey! Don't think I won't knock you on yer ass just cos yer some college educated cooze. Ah'right?" Ed blustered menacingly at Andrea, who had interposed herself between Ed and his wife.
"Now you come on now, or you gonna regret it later." Ed said, pointing at Carol, his temper building.
"So she can show up with fresh bruises later, Ed?" Jacqui said with disgust."Yeah, we've seen them." Ed just laughed at the woman's accusations.
"Stay out of it!" he said to the African American woman, "Now come on!" he yelled at Carol, who stood behind both Andrea and Jacqui now, somewhat reluctantly accepting their protection. "You know what? This ain't none a y'all's business." He puffed up bigger, nostrils flaring, "Y'all don't keep proddin' the bull! OK? Now I am done talkin'! C'mon!" he reached through the women and grabbed Carol's arm, but Andrea protested, taking Carol's arm as well and they fought for control.
"No—Carol you don't have to!" Jacqui said.
"No Carol, don't..." Amy cried, while Ed continued to drag a terrified looking Carol forward while the women tried to stop him by hanging onto Carol, hitting Ed with the wet laundry and their hands.
"You don't tell me what, I tell you what!" Ed bellowed at Carol and then slapped her full across the face, hard.
"You asshole!" Andrea screamed furiously, and it became a full out melee, the women pulling Carol away from Ed and pushing her behind them as they continued to fight him off and he insisted that Carol come with him.
Daryl hands clenched in impotent rage as he watched the unfolding scene play out to its conclusion, Shane appearing and dragging Ed away to give him a horrific beating; the only thing good to come out of the encounter. He looked on in dismay as Carol went to her abuser's side, weeping and calling his name.
"Listen closely now." Martinez said as the light faded to almost pitch black.
They were alone, together, in the storm cellar, he and Carol. Daryl vividly remembered this moment.
Daryl couldn't believe she was letting him do this—wanting his touch at her most intimate places, leaving herself vulnerable to him like this. He wouldn't betray that trust—he would do his best to make her happy, even if that meant some humiliation at his lack of skill...
"Never... I never... done this neither—you need to tell me what..." he admitted quietly, haltingly.
"Just touch me-like you've been doing..." she told him, and he followed her lead, gently loving her, changing them both forever.
"She couldn't have found any man more different than her first husband, could she?" Martinez said quietly. Daryl's head came up, angry that the other man was intruding on the intimate moment, but they were no longer in the cellar. Instead they were in a hallway alcove he didn't recognize.
"So why don't you trust her, Daryl?" Caesar asked, sounding mildly curious.
"What?" Daryl asked, feeling a bit dizzy from the quick changes of locale.
"She told you that nothing happened in Senoia; I just wonder why you don't believe her. What did she do that made you suspect she was lying to you?"
"Didn't do anything—saw her bruises...know what kind of shit went down here." He said stubbornly, but his eyes were shifty, he refused to meet the other man's gaze.
The scene shifted, to the prison, shortly after the group had returned from Senoia.
Dr. Stevens had insisted on doing thorough exams on all of the people returning from the mission. Maggie had been in the room when Dr. S had examined Carol's injuries after Daryl had made sure she was first in line to be seen. Telling Carol she'd be right back, Stevens had taken Maggie aside and they'd left the room to stand in the corridor.
"I need you to go to the lock box in my office and get the packets labeled Plan B-One Step..."
"The morning after pill?" Maggie said, shocked. She recognized the name from her and Glenn's pharmacy run for Lori back at the farm.
"I'm afraid we may have several women who were assaulted...it's only fair we give them that option since we have it. Any pregnancy is a risk in this new world, but to have to bear your rapist's child would be a nightmare." Maggie nodded in agreement and taking the keys, headed for the Dr.'s office.
Unseen by them, Daryl had been hovering around the corner, waiting for Carol. Overhearing the quiet conversation between the women, his hands went numb and he fell back against the wall, his balance on his crutches shot to hell. Carol had told him nothing like that had happened to her-why would she need-was she still trying to protect him from knowing how badly he'd failed her?
When Maggie returned, Daryl was gone.
"So you believe she asked for that medication?" Martinez asked as their surroundings faded and returned to the hotel hallway. Daryl stared straight ahead, stone faced.
"She lied to me... instead of tellin' me what'd really happened; she ended it... when she took that pill Stevens gave her." Daryl said quietly, with great pain in his voice, "Coulda...coulda been mine much as any of them ones who'd..." he choked up, unable to say the words.
"Anyone who'd raped her at Blake's compound." Martinez finished for him, nodding in understanding. It wasn't just guilt Dixon felt, it was anger, betrayal.
"And if she's telling the truth? That nothing happened? Then it's worse isn't it? Because then it's just your child she didn't want." Martinez said, finally understanding what it was to be a devil's advocate.
Daryl looked stunned. He'd never thought that...he knew she wouldn't do that...she'd told him she wished she could give him a child...had he been wrong? Maybe the pills were for some other reason? For some other woman? He'd gone off without waiting for an explanation, without ever asking her what had happened, assuming the worst. Hell, that was the Dixon way, wasn't it? Always assume the worst so you won't be surprised when the universe kicks you in the teeth.
"Then show me what happened with Doc Stevens." Daryl ordered, waiting for the scene to shift, for the players to appear.
Martinez looked Daryl up and down consideringly and then he shrugged and shook his head from side to side, frowning.
"No."
"What?—fuckin' show me!" Daryl yelled.
"You familiar with the concept of faith, ese?" Martinez asked. "Faith requires no proof."
Daryl looked dumbstruck. He had to have faith in her...it couldn't be that simple, could it? He loved her, believed in her, would trust her with his life...why was this one question so hard? Why had it kept them apart for the last month and a half? He leaned his shoulders against the wall behind him, his breath coming in gasps.
He trusted her more than anyone else he'd ever known; he should believe that what she told him was the truth. He felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him.
Martinez nodded approvingly at him, but Daryl's guilt still weighed heavily.
"It was still my fault..." he looked over at his former adversary, "my fault she was taken."
"No. It wasn't. There was nothing else you could've done and still all gotten out of there alive."
The scene on the road played out, once, twice, three times, each slightly different. The first went down as it had that day, Blake's minions driving away with Carol and Daryl losing his mind; in the second he chased after the vehicle with his crossbow and the snipers killed Miguel and Gus, leaving Daryl alone, devastated; the third time he broke away and made it to Carol and the big tattooed man slit her throat and let her bleed out as Daryl howled in agony, the bald man's minions holding Daryl down, forcing him to watch her reanimate.
"Stop...please, for the love of god..." Daryl moaned, doubling over in grief, tasting vomit in the back of his throat, the room spinning around him.
"Take it easy." Martinez said quietly.
"How..." Daryl said, putting his hand to his head, "How can you know that?" He staggered slightly and again Martinez reached out to steady him.
"Omniscience of the grateful dead." Martinez said, smiling slightly. "Something we get for working here."
"Where the fuck is here?"
"What's the last thing you remember?" Martinez asked him.
Daryl shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
"Don' know..."
"You're sick, Daryl." Caesar told him, "You have pneumonia and are in a coma in the prison infirmary."
"Sick?" Daryl felt heavy; he was having a hard time staying upright. He slowly slid to the floor.
"Needed time to work this all out here." Martinez told him, kneeling beside him.
"Where th' fuck's here?" Daryl repeated with slightly different emphasis, slurring his words, his eyes drifting shut.
Martinez looked up, at a spot high above Daryl's head.
"What do I tell him?" he asked the two winged beings floating there.
"Tell him something good; something that will tether him to his world...help him make the right choices." Paschar advised.
"Sentimental clap trap." The angel of death snorted from beside her. Paschar rounded on him; glowing so brightly that Martinez had to shield his eyes. Her voice was stentorian, too powerful for human ears.
"You've taken enough of them from that place this time, Azrael! I'm sick of them all losing the ones they care about to the Horsemen." And she thundered up at the sky above them, "That goes for you too! You hear me Bob? This one universe, this one time, these two-this good man and the good woman he loves get to be happy!"
Paschar's glow faded and she resumed her guise of a lovely young winged woman. Azrael had vanished. She nodded benignly at Martinez.
"Go ahead Caesar." She instructed him. Martinez put his hand on Daryl's shoulder, leaning close to his ear and whispered,
"No guilt, Daryl. She's safe, you're safe. Your son is safe."
At that Daryl's form faded and then vanished, leaving Martinez alone with the angel.
"You've done well, Caesar." She congratulated him, touching his shoulder. Martinez blinked at the flash of light and when he opened his eyes again they were on the shore of a mangrove swamp.
The walker who had been a man named Jim sat in his boat at the dock. When he saw the angel appear with yet another passenger he sighed and picked up his oars. Paschar led Martinez forward.
"Hello Jim." She said pleasantly.
"Miz P." he nodded, glancing up at the man next to her and then looking quickly back down, shy with the beautiful angelic being.
"Jim, this is Caesar. He's here to row you to the western shore." She said gently. Jim's head snapped up in confusion and Caesar raised an eyebrow at her.
"I...I uh...I don't understand..." Jim said haltingly, too stunned to be afraid of looking her in the eye. "I can be with them...be with my family?"
"Your atonement is complete, Jim." Paschar nodded and smiled at him, "Caesar's is just beginning." She looked sternly at Martinez and he took a deep breath and nodded, understanding, watching the look of pure joy break over the now former ferryman's face.
I hope this chapter does justice to my conflicted feelings about Martinez. I always felt like he was originally good man who'd fallen in with the wrong leader and once he had committed, felt honor bound to remain loyal. He did some terrible things, but when he decided to shield Carol and then gave his life for Rick, that earned him a chance at redemption here in Purgatory.
In the chronology of this story, the next chapter actually takes place, before, during and after Daryl's time in Limbo, but trying to inter-cut the two proved too unwieldy and long, so I separated them (another reason it took me so long to get this one posted, LOL!).
Thank you to all favorites and followers! Let me know what you think in reviews, please.