Disclaimer: I am not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be, the owner of The Walking Dead. No copyright intended.

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


"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."

― C.S. Lewis


At Death's Door

The early morning air had a bite to it, as it normally did lately, but the breeze wasn't as chilled as it had been for the past few days. With any luck, the temperature would pick up a little by the middle of the day, and Jenna wouldn't be trying to keep her fingers from getting chilled, as she was now. She stood leaning against one of the tall trees that provided shade for their campsite, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil just a few paces away, and watching Shane and Rick make last minute preparations for their drive.

Finally, after one whole week of meticulously keeping Thao's attention anywhere but on the shed, it was time to turn Randall loose. Hershel had deemed him fit for travel, but Randall hadn't been so willing. In fact, she'd heard him begging Rick to give him a chance and let him stay on the farm with them—before his mouth had been sealed with a strip of duct tape.

The fact that the little fucker was begging them to let him stay wasn't exactly reassuring to Jenna. If he was so eager to throw himself into a group of people who'd killed two of his men, then how bad could things have been with his own group?

Despite the fact that she was glad to be rid of him, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were being sloppy—and that really rankled inside her, too. She should've been grateful that she hadn't had to kill him after all, so why did she feel as though she was abandoning the essential process of tying up loose ends?

No, she didn't need to worry anymore. Shane had informed her of their plan. They'd drive Randall eighteen miles out—bound, gagged, blindfolded, and deafened—and then dump him somewhere. He wouldn't be able to navigate his way back with all of his senses impaired during the journey, and he was in no position to chase the car down, in any case. It was a solid plan, that, Jenna couldn't deny. She just needed to stop planning for the worst possible scenario, but it was a hard habit to break.

Moving her gaze from the silver kettle—in which the water had yet to start boiling—she instead focused on the hue of the slightly overcast sky. There was still the darkened tint of early dawn lingering, but there were a few partially hidden patches of blue behind the gloom. The possibility of warmer weather looked promising.

It was still very early—the others weren't even awake yet—and she normally would've been snagging as many extra minutes of sleep as her body would allow these days, but she'd wanted to see Shane off. She dreaded to think what could go wrong out there on the road…

Fuck. When had she gotten so swoony? Toughen up, she chided herself, the voice of her thoughts sounding strikingly similar to her father's.

The sound of a familiar stride had her turning her eyes over to her left, and she watched Shane approaching, running a hand through his bedhead hair. It was going to be a long day for he and Rick, that was for sure.

Without a word, as soon as he was within reach, he placed his large hand on her hip and pulled her forward. Her lips melded into his easily, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him as close as she could, while she still could.

"Mmm…you smell nice, darlin," he said, nuzzling his face into her neck.

She smirked and leaned back, his woodsy, masculine scent wafting in her nose. "You don't smell too bad yourself," she quipped. "But be careful," she mock-warned when his lips moved across the space just beneath her left ear, "keep this up and you might end up dragging me into the woods again."

"If I remember right, it was you draggin me into the woods," he pointed out, a cocky smirk playing about his lips when he leaned back to look her in the eye.

"Oh yeah…" she said, as though only just remembering that detail. She sobered a bit then, and reached up to move her fingers through the mess of curls on his head. "Just do me a favor and come back in one piece, okay?"

When he spoke again, his voice was a little softer than the usual rugged timbre. "Darlin, you don't gotta ask me twice," he assured her, and she let her hands come to a rest on his strong biceps while his arms wound around her. "Do me a favor, an' hold down the fort, keep yourself safe 'til I get back."

She shrugged and looked around the campsite. "I'll just be here carrying out my womanly duties, and I'll be sure to have a hot meal ready for you when you get back," she said wryly, and he chuckled under his breath. "You know, all that domestic housewife crap," she added with the dismissive wave of a hand.

He narrowed his eyes and smoothed a hand along her side and slowly down to her waist. "Might jus' skip the hot meal an' drag ya off to the woods anyway," he said, biting his lip in a half-assed attempt to conceal a smirk.

She couldn't help the snort of laughter. "Don't tempt me," she chided. "And anyway, all that depends on you getting back in one piece—so focus on that."

"Oh, don't worry, little darlin, I will," he promised slyly, pulling her a little more firmly against him.

He grinned down at her for a moment, and then looked over his shoulder in the direction of the Hyundai across the expansive yard, his expression turning serious again. Turning back toward her, he pressed his lips to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her more securely, hugging her to him.

"Ain't nothin gonna stop me from comin back to ya," he murmured in her ear. With that, he released her—a bit reluctantly, she thought—and kissed her once more on the lips. "Say 'bye to the lil' man for me," he requested, and then headed off toward the car, where Rick was waiting.

She leaned back against the trunk of the tree again, and watched the Hyundai move along the dirt and gravel driveway until it was out of sight. The kettle started to whistle, and she ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach while she got the coffee started.


All in all, it had been a pleasantly tiring morning. Free from being bound to one side of the property, Jenna had spent a good few hours letting Thao chase her all around the yard after the promised visit to the stables had been fulfilled. When he'd finally worn himself out, she got him settled in for a nap in their tent. Now, she sat beside him, reading from the stack of books Daryl had returned, enjoying the moment of carefree leisure—they were few and far between these days—now that the whole Randall situation was nothing more than weight off their shoulders. She was still a little anxious with Shane being out there on the road, but she knew he was more than tough enough to handle himself.

She blinked her eyes, weary from extensive reading, and set the book down on top of the stack off to the side with her things. Vaguely, she could recall being so small that she used to pile up the biggest books she could find in the house, her intent being to bring herself within grasping distance of the candy jar that her father had placed on top of the refrigerator, out of reach of little hands—otherwise, she and her siblings would completely spoil their appetites for lunch or dinner. There weren't many books large enough for the task in their house, but the phonebook was always the most helpful…

Jenna snapped her eyes open and sat up, ramrod straight, while her heart picked up the pace. A phonebook. For fuck's sake, how could she have been so stupid?

She cast a quick glance at Thao's slumbering figure, to be sure that he was still very deeply asleep, and then scrambled out of the tent and zipped it shut behind her hastily before rushing to the house, on a mission. Dusty asked her something that she didn't quite catch, but she didn't bother to turn back to see what she wanted. She had to see if the answers she'd been searching for had really been right in front of her this whole damn time.

In her haste, she forgot her manners—which she was sure had her Babushka wagging a finger down at her in disappointment—and all but shoved open the front door without knocking. She'd barely taken two steps in the house when the sound of a very heated argument floated down from the second floor, distracting her for a second.

Was Maggie yelling at Beth? Should she have been doing that, with Beth in the fragile state that she was in? But when Beth started yelling back, with as much fervency as her older sister, Jenna thought that maybe the girl was finally on the mend.

Either way, she had other, more urgent matters to worry about at the moment.

She looked around the entryway, unsure of where to start looking, for about five seconds before Patricia walked in, giving her a puzzled expression.

"Do you know if there's a phonebook in here, by any chance?" Jenna asked before Patricia could question her. The woman only looked even more dubious, though. "I'm not planning to make a call, I just need to look up an address," she clarified, as though that sounded less bizarre.

"Yeah, I'll get it for ya," she replied, though still looking a little puzzled. "Haven't had much occasion to use it, anyhow…"

Jenna followed her into the living room, where the old rotary phone sat on a side table, collecting dust. Patricia pulled the drawer open, and sure enough, produced a dusty yellow phonebook—larger than Jenna would've expected for such a rural area. She handed it over, and no sooner had Jenna opened it up on the couch, flipping quickly through pages, scouring the finely printed names in a rush of adrenaline and desperation. It had to be there. It had to. They'd lived in the same spot for decades…

Her heart almost stopped when her eyes landed on the name she'd been looking for, attached to two first names she recognized. Jonathon and Ava Kendrick. 1136 Lillington Rd.

Lillington…she recalled the rusty old sign that was posted on the side of the main road, the only visible marker of the back road leading to the Kendricks' semi-secluded half-acre property. "Lillington Road…it wasn't on the map…" she mumbled, thinking aloud while she stared down at the address with widened eyes. If the name Lillington had been anywhere on the map she'd spent so much time pouring over, she would've recognized it immediately.

"A lotta the back roads aren't on the maps," Patricia told her, her voice a little wary as she stood beside Jenna, trying to understand her strange demeanor. "It's about an hour's drive from here."

Jenna didn't know if she wanted to laugh, cry, or punch a hole in the wall. She'd been just an hour away all this time…

She kept herself composed enough to speak. "Would you be able to draw me a map?" she asked the older woman, for some reason finding it necessary to conceal the desperation in her tone. What did it really matter if she sounded desperate or not? She was desperate.

Patricia nodded and exited the living room to do as requested, and Jenna paced around the living room restlessly, making plans in her head. She needed to drive out there as soon as she had the map in her hands, but she couldn't go unprepared. Her Beretta and machete would be coming with her, of course. A bottle of water, just in case she got holed up somewhere along the way. She didn't have time to arrange a care package in case anyone at the house needed it when she got there—she just needed to get there. That was the priority.

While she paced, she finally noticed the sharp voices coming from not the second floor, but the first floor; Lori and Andrea were apparently in the middle of an argument in the kitchen.

Initially, Jenna tuned it out—just Lori making sarcastic comments about Andrea's contributions to the group, and Andrea defending her case—but when their voices turned more sharp, their words flying out with razor edges, Jenna couldn't tune them out.

"You're insane…" Lori muttered in response to Andrea's accusation, apparently unable to find a more suitable defense.

"No, you are," Andrea shot back, "the way you take it all for granted."

Time seemed to stand still while those words hung in the atmosphere, and Jenna felt as though she was waiting for an impending explosion. If she wasn't waiting for her map, she would've just left the house. This conversation was none of her business.

"My husband is out there for the hundredth time," Lori said, through clenched teeth, from the sound of it. "My son was shot. Don't you dare tell me that I take this for granted!"

"You don't get it, do you?" countered Andrea, rather more calmly. "Your husband came back from the dead. Your son too, and now you've got a baby on the way. The rest of us have piled up our losses; me, Carol, Dusty, Jenna, Beth—but you just keep on keepin on. Playing house, acting like the Queen Bee, laying down rules for everybody but yourself. You know what? Go ahead and tell that little girl that everything's gonna be okay, just like it is for you. She'll get a husband, a son, a baby…she just has to look on the bright side."

Jenna raised her brows as she slowed her pacing to a near halt. That was quite the impressive rant, she had to admit. Even she couldn't deny that Andrea made some valid points. But Beth…the poor girl wanted to commit suicide… Jenna's heart sank in light of that information. Would the girl ever find the will to live again?

Andrea came storming into the living room, presumably to put some much needed distance between herself and Lori, and halted in her tracks when she found Jenna standing by the couch, hands in the pockets of her jeans. There was no use in feigning ignorance—it was obvious that she'd heard at least the tail end of that conversation.

The blonde scowled when Jenna didn't say anything, some of her lingering vexation still needed to be vented one way or another, apparently.

"Got something to say? Is my level of contribution failing to meet your standards too?" she asked, a blazing spitfire.

Jenna shrugged. "Believe it or not, I happen to agree with you on this one."

That certainly pulled the woman up short, but if she was about to voice a response, she was interrupted by Patricia's return. The older blonde handed Jenna a map drawn in pen on the back of what looked like a now redundant phone bill.

"If you take this turn here it'll take a little longer gettin there, but it'll keep ya off the highway," Patricia informed, pointing at the map.

Jenna nodded quickly, committing that to memory. "Thank you, so much," she said, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder in gratitude. She probably would've thrown her arms around her and squeezed her in a tight hug, if she didn't think that would startle the kind woman who was still a bit of a stranger.

Patricia nodded, studying Jenna's face intently. "Your family up there?" she asked, nodding at the map Jenna clutched in her hand.

"Yeah," said Jenna, deciding not to take the time to explain the full situation.

Earnest understanding filled the older woman's eyes, and she nodded again. "Good luck," she said softly.

With another "thank you" Jenna was out the door and speeding to her tent, only to be intercepted by Dusty as soon as she reached the campsite. She all but barreled right into the taller woman, but moved to weave around her without pausing.

"Whoa, Jen—hold up," said Dusty, grabbing Jenna by the shoulders to halt her.

"What the hell's got you runnin outta the house like your ass is on fire?" Daryl questioned before Jenna could release herself from Dusty's hold, or even voice a response, standing up from where he'd been lounging in front of the fire pit, enjoying a small lunch.

Jenna stepped back, pulling herself from Dusty's grip on her shoulders, and tried not to explode on anyone. Her patience was running dangerously thin, as keyed up as she was.

She didn't have time to stand around explaining things to people—Danny was just an hour's drive away.

"I have to go check something out," she said, keeping herself contained. "I'll be back in a couple hours or so."

"Check what out?" Dusty asked, frowning with concern. "Jenna, if you're worried about Shane, don't be. You know he can take care of himself out there, he'll be back soon—"

Jenna shook her head impatiently. "No, I'm not going after Shane. There's just something I've gotta go check out—now."

She glanced around to see that Dale, T-Dog, and Carol had approached, with Carl and Sophia sitting in front of the Grimes's tent, pausing their game of cards to watch the spectacle Jenna was apparently making. She was aware that most of them were staring at her like she'd gone half crazy, but she didn't exactly care.

"Look," she said, reigning in her impatience, "there's someone I need to find, and I finally figured out where they're supposed to be. I can't just sit here, knowing where to look."

"They family?" Daryl asked, the first to speak.

Jenna nodded. "They might as well be. They're the reason I'm in Georgia in the first place, I've been looking for them…" She trailed off, running a hand through her hair in agitation. She looked up at them, seeing their dubious expressions. "I have to go," she said again, adamantly that time.

Her words were met with heavy silence for a prolonged moment, and she was just about to push by them and get her things ready when Carol spoke up.

"Take the Cherokee." She met the woman's pale blue eyes, stunned by the offer. "I'll look after your boy 'til you get back."

Jenna could only stare back at the woman for a moment, and then nodded slightly through a surge of gratitude. She'd find a way to repay Carol for this later—but first thing was first; she had to go and find Danny. That was the priority.

"Jenna, hold on a second," Dale reasoned, holding his hands up in a slow down gesture. "You've got no idea what you're rushing into. Just take a minute to think things through."

She shook her head again. "I've been thinking things through since I left Seattle," she said. "I've been thinking things through all this time. There's no time to think anymore, not when I'm finally this close."

"Then I'm goin with ya," said Dusty determinedly, stepping forward.

Daryl shook his head immediately. "Naw, I'll go with her," he said to Dusty, and then turned his blue eyes to Jenna. "Should only take two of us, right? An' we can't take too many with us, leave this place undefended," he added, addressing the rest of them.

Again, Jenna shook her head and put her own hands up in a halting gesture. "No. I need to do this on my own."

"Jen, that's crazy—" Dusty argued, riling up.

"Girl, you don't know what you're gonna find out there," T-Dog reminded her.

"Exactly," replied Jenna in agitation. "I don't know what I'm gonna find when I get there. I don't know if he's gonna be…alive when I find him. And if he's not, then that's something I need to deal with, on my own." She sighed and dragged her hand through her hair once more. "I don't expect anyone to understand, but that's how it's gonna be. I'm going, and I'm going alone."

The truth was, both Rick and Shane were gone, so there really was no one there who had the authority to keep her from leaving. She knew going alone was dangerous. The fact that it was possibly the most foolhardy decision she'd made was not lost in her.

But if the unthinkable was waiting for her at the Kendrick home, then she wanted to be able to mourn her best friend in solitude.

"Bring extra ammo," said Daryl, after another length of heavy silence. Everyone snapped their heads around to give him a bewildered expression, but he paid them no mind, keeping his gaze on Jenna. "If it was me, I'da been gone by now. Go. Stay sharp." Then his expression went from serious to amused. "An' ya might wanna get back before Shane does."

Despite herself, she smirked. "Shane losing his shit is the least of my worries right now," she said. "Thanks."

Daryl just gave her an understanding nod, and pulled Dusty back by the elbow gently before she could move in to physically restrain Jenna from heading out.

Before anyone else could say anything, and thus delay her any longer, Jenna rushed into her tent to throw things together. She pulled on her leather jacket, shoved two extra magazines in her pockets, grabbed her trusty Stiletto knife, and a bottle of water. Taking one last cursory glance around the tent, her eyes landed on Thao's sleeping form nestled in his sleeping bag, and sighed. She couldn't just leave without warning him first. Letting him wake up to find her gone would just be cruel.

She knelt down, slowing down for the first time that she'd entered the tent, and brushed her fingers through his sleek, inky hair.

"Thao…wake up, sweetheart."

His eyelashes fluttered slowly for a couple seconds, and then he took in a deep breath while he stretched, rousing to wakefulness. He turned over on his back and blinked up at her, frowning in confusion. She rarely woke him from his naps.

"What's wrong, mama?" he asked, his young voice a little groggy.

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Nothing, buddy," she murmured, smoothing his hair out of his eyes. "I'm gonna go somewhere for a little while. I'll be back before nighttime, I promise. So I don't want you to worry, okay?"

He looked far from pleased by the news, but he gave her a meek nod anyway. "Do you have to go?" he asked, his voice reluctant.

She nodded. "Yeah, sweetheart, I do. But I'll be back, okay? I promise."

He gave her another nod. "I know," he relented, but ventured a question. "Where're you going?"

"For a drive, to look for some stuff," she said. "I want you to try and go back to sleep, alright? Carol will come and check on you in a little while. Go to sleep, and dream good dreams."

She leaned down to kiss his cheek, and pulled the sleeping bag up over his shoulders again as he settled back into his habitual sleeping position—curled up on his right side. She hoped he slept for a few hours; the more time he spent sleeping, the less time he noticed she was gone.

When he'd closed his eyes and his breathing evened out again, she stood up quietly, grabbed her machete from the corner of the tent, and exited the small structure, zipping the flap closed behind her. Dusty grabbed her and wrapped her in a fierce hug before she could even take three steps away from the tent, and when she was finally released, Jenna squeezed her hand in reassurance before making a beeline for the Cherokee.

She whipped the car around and was speeding down the driveway as soon as the engine roared to life, her heart racing along with the vehicle.

For the first time in a long time, she found herself praying, to a God she wasn't even sure existed.


She drew closer to the house, leaden footsteps dragging, her machete feeling impossibly heavy where it hung limply at her side from her right hand. Her head felt as though she'd just stepped off of some sort of spinning ride at a theme park. Her vision was distorted, like she was looking through the fisheye lens of a peephole, bending the house impossibly out of shape.

She'd followed Patricia's map easily, and met virtually no obstacles along the way, save for one small pack of walkers stumbling down a side road, which she'd just had to swerve around. The Cherokee had moved by them too quickly for them to even make a grab for it, and the vehicle was far away seconds later. So far that they didn't even bother giving chase.

It had been a remarkably easy trip, and she'd driven so fast, she'd cut down the expected travel time by about twenty minutes.

But now, there she stood, staring up at the country style house, which looked exactly the way she remembered. Two years had brought very little change to the property, but for a mildly overgrown front lawn.

Slowly, so slowly, her feet dragged her up the steps of the front porch, moving of their own accord. All she could do was blink while her feet brought her forward.

She'd come all this way. She'd gone through so much, and she'd barely made it out alive to push forward in her journey more than once along the way… All of that grief, all of the pain, and the fear, and the hunger, and the aching, desperate hope…the blood she'd shed, the lives she'd taken, the horrors she'd seen…they'd all been leading up to this one moment. This was what she'd been holding out for. This was what had kept her going, even at some of her darkest moments, when she'd thought all was lost. She was finally here, at long last, and all she had to do was retrieve the spare key she knew old Jonny Kendrick kept under the heavy planter off to the side of the long porch.

But she stood frozen there, just a couple feet from the welcome mat, staring at the long-since dried handprint of blood smeared across the aged wood of the door.


Note:

I must give credit where it's due, and thank LunaraWolf for the idea of the phonebook. It seemed so obvious, after you mentioned it, but thank you for the suggestion!

As ever, thanks for the reviews, and thank you to those who've favorited and followed!