Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. It belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC.

Warning: Rated M for language, violence, gore, and occasional smut.


"I can hear your whisper and distant mutter. I can smell your damp on the breeze and in the sky I see the halo of your violence. Storm I know you are coming."

― Robert Fanney


Rolling Clouds

SPOV

Looking up at the overcast sky, Shane made his way to his tent to retrieve his jacket and gather some of his spare ammo. He, Daryl, and T-Dog were heading out to do a perimeter check through the woods surrounding the property, just to be sure no walkers were hanging around the fringes of the Greene farm. It had been pretty quiet for the past few days, but they couldn't get too comfortable and let their guard down. It wouldn't do anyone any favors getting caught with their pants down.

He caught sight of Jenna leading the kids across the yard toward the peach trees, basket in hand, to do a last minute harvest of whatever fruit had been left behind. Thao rushed ahead, a bundle of boundless energy, and tripped over something—maybe his own feet—before landing on his hands and knees, catching himself just in time. Jenna set the basket down and hoisted him up by his shoulders, brushed the dirt and grass from his knees, and sent him on his way with a pat on the back. Carl and Sophia joined her as she moved to catch up to the wild child that rushed ahead of them again, heading into the orchard.

It might've been a normal image; a woman accompanying three kids into an orchard to harvest some Georgia peaches. Almost a picturesque scene. It would've been, if not for the gun tucked into Jenna's belt, standing as a reminder of exactly the kind of world they were living in.

Even in moments of joy, they couldn't forget their grim realities.

Like the prisoner they kept in the shed down by the stables. Forgetting about Randall was about as easy as forgetting a thorn embedded in your foot. And that's exactly what the little bastard was to Shane; a thorn in his foot, something he'd love to be rid of, and soon. Hershel had told Rick earlier that morning that Randall would be fit for travel in a few days' time, and rather than arguing and pushing for a quicker departure, Shane kept his mouth shut. He was well aware that he was already on thin ice with the old man, so he didn't want to push it.

True, he'd swallowed his pride and apologized to the old man for the whole barn incident—he wouldn't say that he thought he was in the wrong for doing what he did, but even he could admit that it was a pretty callous way to go about it—but he knew Hershel was far from forgiving him. Rick and Jenna had bargained for his pardon, but he knew perfectly well he'd received his last warning. From now on, he had to just fall in line and let Rick take the lead, without his interjections.

If it were up to him, he'd have dumped Randall off somewhere a while ago. He'd shot at their people, and even so, had been rescued by them and given medical treatment. In Shane's opinion, their conscious was more than clear, and the fucker didn't merit anymore goodwill from them. But this was Rick's show, and he made the calls. He didn't have to like the decisions Rick made. He didn't even have to agree with them, but he had to accept them.

With another quick glance in the direction of the orchard, he saw Jenna settling Thao on her shoulders so he could reach the peaches over their heads.

Thinking back to their conversation just a couple days before, he smirked.

Jenna had managed to slip away into the Greene home for a shower when she'd gotten Thao to settle down for a nap in their tent. The boy had woken up after a few minutes, however, and ventured out of the tent in search of something to do. Shane thought that his initial intentions might've been to take advantage of Jenna's absence and sneak off to the stables, but he'd caught sight of Shane sitting at the old picnic table, cleaning his Glock.

Single mom territory was something he'd never ventured into, so he really had no idea how to make things right with the little boy. As soon as he saw the kid headed in his direction, however, he knew he was in trouble—and Jenna wasn't there to remind her boy to be nice.

"Hi, bud," he'd said when Thao approached the table, coming to stand at the opposite side. "Somethin wake ya up?" he'd ventured, unsure of how to make small talk with a five-year-old.

"No. I just woke up," he'd answered, not a trace of a smile to be found on his young face.

He may not have been happy to see Shane, but he did seem interested in the dismembered firearm spread out in front of him, despite himself. Shane saw an angle, and decided to take advantage of it. Maybe they could gain some common ground.

"Wanna help me out here?" he asked, gesturing to the cleaning kit on the table.

The boy looked very tempted, but impressed Shane a little when he stuck to his guns and spoke his mind, as only a small child could. "Jenna's my mama now. You know that, right?" he said, a definite possessive edge to his young voice.

"Yeah, bud, I do," he'd assured him. "She loves ya with all her heart."

Thao's face had remained determinedly serious. "She said if you don't like me, she's gonna tell you to take a hike," he warned.

Shane didn't doubt that, and he'd just barely managed to keep a straight face. "I know she would, kiddo," he promised. "But why do you think I don't like ya? I think you're a pretty cool guy."

Thao had shrugged. "Maybe you're just saying that so she's not mad at you," he'd pointed out.

He had to commend the kid for thinking all of this through.

"Well, I can't make ya believe me, bud," Shane had admitted. "But maybe in time you'll see I ain't lyin. I promise, I ain't tryin to take your mama away from ya. You make her happy, an' I want her to be happy. Understand, bud?"

He hadn't spoken to a kid so young since Carl had been that age, and he feared he was a little rusty. But, Thao seemed to be considering his words carefully, and he hoped that was a good sign.

"You want her to be happy?" he'd asked, narrowing his dark eyes.

Were all kids this shrewd?

"Yeah, bud, I do," he'd said again. "Your mama means a lot to me. I think she'd like us to get along, kiddo, so what do ya say to helpin me out with that? Think we can get along? I'll try my very best if you do."

He'd mulled that over for a minute, and then crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "Fine. For my mama. Not for you."

Shane hadn't been able to hold back the smirk that time. "Alright. I can live with that."

Thao nodded, seeming satisfied, and then his eyes roamed over the dismantled gun between them again with deep curiosity. Shane thought that maybe he was stubborn enough to refrain from asking to help, despite how much he may've wanted to. Again, he had to give the kid some credit. He knew how to stick to his guns.

"Wanna help me out here, bud?" he'd offered again.

He'd shuffled his feet. "Mama let me give her the pieces when she cleaned her gun sometimes," he informed.

"Well, that's jus' what I was needin," Shane had told him. "Think ya can help me out?"

The boy had pursed his lips, shuffled his feet a little more, and then given in and nodded, climbing onto the bench seat across from Shane. As Thao settled into his seat, Shane had caught Rick smirking at him from across the campsite. The amused expression on his face told Shane that he'd heard most, if not all, of that conversation.

When Thao wasn't looking, Shane discreetly flipped his brother the bird, which only sent him laughing as he wandered away in the direction of the house. Asshole.

The next ten or so minutes had consisted of him saying the name of a certain piece of his Glock, and Thao handing him said piece. They worked like that until Jenna approached the table, wet hair still dripping onto her leather jacket. She smirked at the sight of them, but chose not to interrupt them. Instead, she left Thao with a kiss on the head and Shane with a parting wink—most likely not wanting to push the limits of Thao's tolerance—and headed off to join Lori and Carol to sort through laundry.

He didn't know what exactly to call their relationship, but he was glad that she didn't seem to deem it absolutely necessary that they define it specifically. When Carl had asked him if Jenna was his girlfriend, he'd said yes mostly because he didn't see another way to explain it to a kid. Girlfriend seemed too simple and casual a word. Lover would've sounded a little too intimate for the ears of an almost-eleven-year-old, but he supposed that would be the most accurate term.

Did he love her? Probably, but he didn't want to jump to that conclusion. Love wasn't a word he wanted to throw around so quickly, especially these days, when it was easy to leap to sloppy, rushed decisions. Whatever his relationship with Jenna was, he didn't want it to be sloppy. He'd done enough of that over the years.

Admittedly, he'd found himself gravitating toward her for a long time, maybe even way back during their brief stay at the CDC. If she'd shown any indication that she wanted him to, he would've hopped in bed with her then and there. He was a guy, she was attractive, and they were both unattached. What was stopping them, really? If things hadn't happened the way they did, he doubted whether they would've had a connection that was more than a physical attraction.

But, events had unfolded in a different way, and, as horrible as they were, they had brought about one good thing; a real connection between the two of them. She wasn't just an attractive women to him anymore, she was a friend. And that friendship had laid the foundation for more to come.

She hadn't let him withdraw into himself. She hadn't let him isolate himself. She'd stepped in and pulled him back to solid ground while he'd been slipping, and for that, he'd loved her from that moment on. It hadn't been a romantic thing, but a platonic sort of love. Not the same way he loved Rick like a brother, but not entirely dissimilar to it either. It had been an instantaneous alteration within him, from the moment she'd told him she was going to help him… How could he not have loved her for that?

But now, it wasn't just platonic, and while he may not have known precisely what it all meant, he'd be damned if he was going to hide from it or ignore it anymore. She was his, and he was hers, gladly. They'd figure out the specifics along the way, but for now, that was good enough for both of them.

As he zipped up his jacket, the fabric of his button down shirt shifted, and he caught sight of the tattoo on his chest. An image of his mother flashed across his mind, and his thoughts turned bittersweet.

Finally, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, he'd found a girl to bring home to mama, but he'd never get that chance.


RPOV

Rick glanced over at the shed to see Andrea leaning against it, standing guard. Shane was vigilant about keeping Randall under close watch at all times, and the rotating shifts of guards cycled like clockwork. Those who agreed that Randall was that much of a threat made up the watchmen—or women—which made up about half their group, maybe a little more. Rick didn't absolutely agree that those were necessary measures—there was no way the kid was getting out of his binds on his own—but he figured there was no harm in posting a guard. Whatever made the rest of them feel safe.

He'd done the right thing by bringing the kid back for treatment. He was just a scared kid running with a group of dangerous men—he'd had no choice but to shoot back at them in town. From Randall's perspective, he and his group had been the ones attacked, and they'd felt entitled to retaliation. True, Rick didn't trust him enough to let him stay with the group as anything other than a prisoner, but that didn't necessarily mean he deserved to be killed, just as a safety precaution.

Dave and Tony were different. They'd walked into that bar with every intent on getting what they wanted, no matter how, and they'd drawn their guns first. That was a true instance of kill-or-be-killed—the situation with Randall was not.

The dark gray skies above the fields reflected Rick's mood as he headed across the sweeping lawn toward the old barn. He wanted to check the structure out, see if it could be fortified against the elements and other threats. With any luck, it would be a suitable alternative to their current camp setup when the colder weather hit. It would be cramped, sure, but the walls would block the wind and rain, and it would be easy to defend if walkers rolled in. He'd thought about requesting to Hershel that they move into the house when winter came around, but with the way things had been going lately, he was hesitant to ask that of the old man. He didn't want to push more than he felt they already were.

Things had calmed down, again, but he knew the odds were that they'd spiral downward sooner or later. Ever since he'd joined the group, he'd been struggling to keep them as far from the edge as possible. Try as he might, they were always just one wrong move away from it. So far, that's all he'd been able to do for everyone; keep them just on the verge of the breaking point so that they weren't crossing over it—just dangerously close. He needed to do better.

It seemed the world was conspiring against him in that endeavor, though. The CDC had been a bust, and then some. Their would-be allies had been massacred in the city. A little girl had gone missing, his own son had been shot, they'd lost two men, Shane had started a riot down at the barn, which Miranda had stepped out of as a walker, they'd narrowly come out alive after a shootout, and now they had a prisoner to deal with… Rick would've liked to say the list ended there, but the words Lori had spoken to him just the night before made that impossible.

The lingering scent of decay was just barely noticeable, obscured by the nearly smothering aroma of dust and hay, upon pushing open the wide door of the barn. Rick looked around and studied the interior of the structure. Oddly, it looked much like he felt lately; weather-beaten and weary, but sturdy enough to serve its purpose.

He didn't want to believe what Lori said. But, then again, this world had a way of proving that the fact you didn't want something to be true was pointless, more often than not.

If Lori had told him a few months ago that she thought Shane was dangerous, he would've laughed and assumed she was joking. He wished he could laugh now. He wished he could chalk it up to pregnancy hormones. Hell, he wished he could convince himself to play dumb and ignore the other factors that told him she may have been right. But he couldn't, because Dale hadn't been the only one making observations lately.

Rick had known Shane almost his whole life—since they were about Carl's age—so he'd been quick to notice the changes in the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his brother. Since he'd arrived at the quarry, Shane had been different, but then again, the world had changed everyone in some way or another. They were all a little jaded, even the kids. It wasn't until he'd returned from the FEMA shelter, alone, that there had been any significant change in him. Coincidentally, that also fell on the same night they'd lost Russell and Otis—or, according to what Dale had told Lori, Shane had killed Otis, maybe even Russell too.

Rick had noticed an alteration in his lifelong friend the moment he'd climbed out of the truck that night. Whatever happened, Shane was not the same man he'd been when he left on that damn near suicide mission. The half-wild, shell-shocked, look in his eyes told Rick he'd been shaken to his core—and it would be a while before he recovered, if he recovered completely.

At the time, Rick's attention was zeroed in on his dying son, so he hadn't had the opportunity to reach out to his brother, and make sure he was alright. Lo and behold, Jenna had stepped up to the plate in his absence, much to his surprise. From the beginning, Jenna had been one to keep others at an arms' length, so she wouldn't have been the first to come to mind if he'd expected anyone to step in on Shane's behalf.

Nonetheless, he was grateful. Ever since that night, Shane had been slowly pulling away from everyone else, even Rick, but Jenna seemed to keep him grounded. Rick had seen it. Whenever he started to slip, she'd pull him back to his feet. Whenever his mood seemed to cloud over, she'd stay by his side until it cleared up again. In return, Shane knew how to make her laugh, and bring some light back into her world-weary eyes; something Rick had always thought she needed. He didn't know much about her, but he could only imagine what she'd endured to fight her way from the Pacific Northwest and over to the other side of the Mason-Dixon line.

Whatever the circumstances, Shane and Jenna seemed good for each other, as friends, confidants, and later, lovers. She was a cute young woman, though she wasn't exactly in accordance with Shane's go-to type—blonde and busty—but any woman that could sit and talk with Shane like an old friend had to be a good match. Shane didn't make a habit of conversing with women. Hell, as long as Rick had known him, Shane didn't get along with women outside of a bedroom setting.

He seemed more than capable of getting along with Jenna, though—he had from the beginning—and Jenna wasn't that easy to get along with, for Rick in particular. Rick wanted to like her, and he suspected she wanted to like him too, but they just made that too damn hard for each other. That wasn't to say they couldn't trust each other to have the other's back—they could, definitely—but their personalities just didn't blend well.

But, where their personalities clashed, hers and Shane's meshed. That had been Rick's reasoning when he'd asked Shane to stick close to her back in the city. Jenna had the experience for reliable insight, but Rick guessed that she'd be more willing to cooperate with Shane than him.

And cooperate they did—most of the time. Pretty soon, it was clear to Rick where they were headed, even though they both seemed hell-bent on dancing around the narrow gap between them. It was an obvious thing, when he saw them together. The connection was there, ready to be made, but they both seemed adept at working around it, or outright ignoring it.

That shootout at the bar had been a reminder that hit Rick as hard as a punch to the jaw; life is short. By the skin of their teeth all four of them had made it back to the farm in one piece, and Rick saw no reason to waste any minute they had left.

So he'd given his brother a nudge in the right direction—something he'd never needed before—in the hopes that it would keep them both from slipping. Jenna had proved that she could keep Shane grounded, and Rick was willing to bet just about anything that Shane could reciprocate. They were better as a pair than separate, and Rick had decided that they just needed to make themselves a solid unit.

And they had. Rick had seen a change in both of them, the very next morning, no less. They were happier, freer. On the flipside, things between them hadn't changed, so much as they'd fallen into place. The gap had been bridged, at long last.

For a few precious days of tranquility, while the farm had settled into some semblance of peace again, all seemed right between them. Shane had the look of a man who'd finally settled down, and was more than content with that. They were far from overtly physical with each other—around the others, at least—but they were very comfortable with each other. Around the fire at night, when most of the group gathered together, as was their custom—it gave them a sense of community—Jenna would be tucked under Shane's arm, leaning back into his chest, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And, of course, Thao would be nestled right in Jenna's lap, not about to let Shane have all of her attention. They were kind of a mismatched little unit, but they were a strong one.

At first, this sort of amused Rick. Shane had always vowed to never get involved with single mothers. But, he'd also made the same vow about northern women, and look where he was now. Rick had been happy for him, though.

He would've liked to remain blissfully happy for his brother, but Lori's relayed warning from Dale burned that possibility to ash.

Dale had a theory, and after hearing it from Lori, Rick couldn't deny that it made a good amount of sense. Something about Shane's explanation of the tragedy at the FEMA shelter had always seemed a little off to Rick, but it was something he'd just wanted to put behind them. For the good of the group, for the grief of Patricia and the Greene family, and for his own sanity. Now that Dale had spoken up, Rick couldn't ignore his own questions anymore.

Why would Otis have sacrificed himself to save Shane and Carl? Righting a wrong was one thing, being a good Samaritan was one thing…but good intentions could only stretch so far. Otis had been noble enough to stick his neck out to go and lead Shane and Russell to the death trap that was the FEMA shelter. That was indisputable.

But what sane individual would be altruistic enough to succumb to a violent death for people they didn't even know, whether it was to save a child's life or not? Not many. Rick couldn't even say that he would be that heroic, especially when he had a family to return to, just like Otis did.

Whether Lori and Dale were right or not, Rick knew there was more to the story than Shane had told him. Whatever happened out there that night, he hadn't been the same since. It was a subtle thing. The kind of thing a person probably wouldn't even notice, but to Rick, who'd known Shane his entire life, who'd grown up with him like a brother…it wasn't exactly easy to see, but it wasn't exactly easy to miss, either. He knew that man, at least as well as he knew himself, so he knew that whatever happened, it had taken something from him. What, Rick couldn't say. How much, he couldn't tell. But something had been taken from the man he considered a brother, and the absence seemed to affect him like an Achilles heel.

And after that night in town, after what went down in the bar, after Dale had voiced the very suspicion that had been whispering in the back of Rick's mind for weeks, the fact that Shane seemed to have taken to leaning on Jenna took on a whole new meaning. Something told Rick that they had more in common than an affinity for guns.

The way Jenna had shot down Tony and aimed her gun at the back of Randall's head—unblinking, determined, resigned—stuck with Rick long after that night's fiasco drew to a close. She didn't even flinch when she'd drawn on Tony, because she'd been prepared for it. Hell, when Rick thought about it later, he realized she'd probably been counting on him to draw first so she could make her move.

The efficiency, the resignation, the calm, calculating control…it all pointed to one clear conclusion; she'd done it before, and she was more than capable of doing it again.

True, she'd had her arm twisted, just as he had. True, she'd saved his life by pulling the trigger first. It was also clear that she hadn't wanted to do it, and she didn't want to do it again…but she would if she felt she had to. Her reaction to Randall made that very clear. She didn't want to kill the kid, but she was prepared to do it anyway.

Now, Rick was second guessing his decision to push Shane toward her. Maybe it wasn't the right thing for either of them to be involved with each other. Because something told Rick that it wasn't just sympathy or compassion that had compelled Jenna to reach out to Shane.

Something told him it was empathy.

He didn't want to believe that, but he wasn't sure he could ignore it anymore. If Shane had killed Otis or Russell, or both, then Jenna probably wasn't the one he should've been leaning on. Rick feared that rather than being better together, they might just end up bringing out the worst in each other. And if Shane was already dangerous, if Jenna was already dangerous, Rick shuddered to think what either of them could end up doing in the future.

Rick had never doubted his brother before, but it was a different world, and it changed the people still living in it. It had certainly changed him, but who was to stay it hadn't had a more profound effect on Shane? Whatever the case, he needed to ensure that Shane didn't put anyone in danger.

He stepped out of the barn again, and turned his eyes upward at the gray sky, watching the rolling of the thick clouds above. A storm was brewing.


Note:

Ehh...not sure I captured Rick's character very well, but it is what it is. Sorry if things are a bit too monotonous lately, but they're going to be taking a bit of a turn next chapter.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and of course, thanks to those who've reviewed!