XXV.
"Baby—" his voice called her softly as Amanda felt his callous palm across her cheek, "Baby—wake up—"
She gulped—breathing out—her mouth so dry, and still copper and metallic, but slowly opened her eyes. Even though the fever was still with her until the back of her eyes, it felt a bit better, and Amanda wasn't sure it was because of the pills she'd taken or because how she'd passed the night.
Between in his arms… laying over his lap as he softly played with her hair, luring her to sleep. Everything—the same very thing she felt ashamed of letting Negan do… but Rick—Rick was different.
He was her husband. It's my duty to protect you… I'm your husband. We have to be there for each other through the good and bad…
The old-fashioned words had broken something else in her too—but it was truly the man she'd loved, the family man she couldn't have helped herself but fallen in love. She'd had to then, had to tell him it'd been him, had to let him take care of her. She'd wanted it. She was so tired of questioning herself—her feelings—over analysising, she'd just wanted to live in the moment, forget her shame, forget her pain—had wanted him to take care of her—playing with her hair, caressing her cheek, his compassion and comfort melting her as she'd slowly fallen asleep, truly feeling like a baby.
His baby.
Sprawled out over him, she lifted her head and looked him. His face was so pale, and his eyes so red—moist and stern, his jaw squared despite the soft voice he'd used to wake her up. Amanda understood he hadn't slept last night, not a second. She knew Rick—as much as she knew herself now. He—he was still blaming himself—thinking off ways to make them pay for hurting her.
She—she had to pull herself back together. Every second she acted like a broken doll was making it harder for Rick—making him feel more as if he'd failed her, like in his nightmares. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let Rick feel like that. Never. She knew how it'd been hard for him after Lori—they'd never talked about it much—because Lori was still a sore point with her—she couldn't help herself—whenever her name mentioned, Amanda felt her old fears, but she still knew Rick. After her death, Rick had said he'd turned into a mess—even had given up his gun for a while, to show Carl another world was still possible. It hadn't worked at the end, of course, it hadn't—but the inclinations were still there.
No. She wasn't going to let that happen. She wasn't going to let that bastard do this to them. She held his hand at her cheek and smiled at him faintly. "Mornin'—" she muttered, blinking against the newly raised sunlight, as if it was a normal morning, as if they hadn't passed a night in a small, filthy cabin, as if she hadn't had an ass covered with angry lashes.
"They came back—" he told her back with the same soft but firm voice, "We need to leave."
She nodded, started untangling herself from his arms, feeling a void inside her while doing it. She pushed the thought away, and stood up, bracing her hand on the wooden siding of the cabin, and let out a breath. Everything still hurt, still burned, but she—she had to suck it up.
They still had a lot of to do—a war to win. She-they needed to go back home, return their own lives. This—this wasn't their life. She wanted her life back, go back and play with Judith, snark with Carl, make them cookies… That was her life, not this, she saw it so clearly.
She heaved out another sigh…and her stomach started again—and she closed her eyes—morning sickness—even now—she was hit by morning sickness. She'd vomited last night—couldn't have helped herself—but it hit her worse—mixed with fever, and she rushed out of the room toward the cabin, stumbling at her feet, and threw herself out before she hurled up.
Rick found her beside the cabin outside where she was bent down emptying her stomach. After she finished, he handed her a bottle of water, and gave it to her. "You 'kay?"
She let out a bitter snort, couldn't help herself, "Yeah…I'm so okay, Rick—have never been more okay all in my life—" God, she was so tired—so tired—so tired of everything.
Rick gave her a look, and but instead of getting annoyed with her like he usually did, his eyes still held that understanding expression—compassion, and she gulped—shaking her head, feeling like a bitch—"I'm so—sorry. I'm just—tired."
He came to her, and held her cheek again, "I know…"
Her eyes half closing, she leaned toward at his palm, a low whimper dropping off of her, close to a purr…and she really wanted to be in his arms again… Mentally, she shook her head as Rick took a step closer to close their distance and leaned over her for a kiss… She pulled back. They—they needed to stop this…this lovey-dovey things and started fighting. Get up and fight, her mind was telling her, and she couldn't do it as long as Rick gave her these looks, held her like this—caring—soft but firm—her husband taking care of her… She felt getting herself…wet…couldn't help it—a tug throbbing inside with need—and she imagined herself being under him—squirming, trashing…begging…
God! She was pathetic!
She rested herself at the cabin outside siding as Rick gave her a searching look, his eyes squinted, as he stared at her carefully. She gulped. "We—we should—" She shook her head, gulping through a lump her dry throat, trying to sort of her thoughts, "You heard what Frankie said last night. She said it was Simon who did it—killed their men."
Every male above the age of ten. The redhead's words had made Amanda shiver last night—understanding that she'd been right all along about this Simon. He—he was worse than Negan. Negan had been sadistic, enjoying bringing others to submission, wasn't caring to infect pain onto others while doing it so, either, but Simon…no. Simon didn't have such kinds of…hobbies.
If you didn't kneel to him, if you caused him problems—then you were no good to him. You either obeyed or died, and perhaps Negan's brutality had been even a part of Simon too—talking to him in a language the other bastard would've only understood, making known that Negan could've gotten very—brutal as well.
And as sick as it was—it'd worked—barely—Simon always testing the waters, but it'd worked. Until she'd gone and killed Negan out of blue.
God, she was an idiot!
She shook her head, "I shouldn't have done it—shouldn't have killed him," she muttered.
Rick's eyes lost his softness, "What do you mean?"
"Simon—Simon is worse than Negan, Rick, and I opened up the way to him—" she answered, and paused, letting a big breath out, "Back at Grady, the only reason why we put up with Dawn this long was because of Gorman," she tried to explain, "Gorman wasn't wanting to take our responsibility, granted, but we didn't want him to take our responsibility as well. He was cracking up, and I was afraid the stress of leading would've gotten him worse. When Beth managed to kill him with Joan—it…changed things. Negan is dead now, and it's changing things too. But we don't know how, but I know it isn't gonna be better for us. Simon is worse." She shook her head again, "I acted on impulse, without thinking. Shouldn't have done it."
His eyes grew even sterner, "You mean you should've let him do this to you!" he rasped out.
Her eyes snapped at him, widened—she—she hadn't meant that! And…and she'd let him—hadn't she—she had let the bastard do it to her… "No!" She inhaled out, "No… Of course not. I—I just might've made things worse for us," she confessed, "I'm afraid."
He walked to her closer, "Amanda—" he told her then, placing his hand over his cheek again, "Him—or this Simon-or them—all Saviors… I don't care. I'm gonna kill each of them—I'm gonna make them regret. One way or another."
She gave him a look, "Rick—there're three hundred and fifty-more people there… Not all of them can't be bad…There other people too—workers, clerks…" she told him in return, remembering the eyes that turned away in shame and fear seeing her walking in the corridor, because they couldn't see her like that, "I mean—we—we couldn't have made it out if Frankie and other hadn't helped us."
But Rick shook her head, "Frankie and others did something. Acted. You—you survived Grady, acted—tried to do something, too, didn't give up or accepted it," Rick said back, his voice getting firmer too, "They—they just let a tyrant rule over them. They either do something about it, or they're our enemy, too." His eyes stared at her, "They can't play on my compassion, Amanda. I won't let them. Not after what he did to you, not after what they let him to do…" He let out a sharp breath, and shook his head, too, "There will be no mercy."
After the words, Amanda stared at him back, wondering what she'd really started.
# # #
The others brought clean clothes with them, Amanda took them—her eyes grateful, but a shade covered them a second later. Rick hated to see it—hated her seeing like this—looking at her trousers to seize if she could get in them. She almost never wore skinny jeans—her trousers were always simple combat trousers—old uniform or the black pants, but as she gazed at the new loose fit trousers, Rick understood her reluctance.
She—she couldn't get into them.
He sharply exhaled again, seeing her like this—even warily looking at trousers made the beast inside roar again—recalling how he'd passed the last night as she slept in his arms… They had hurt her. Not only they'd taken her from him, they'd hurt, watched her—done thing. And she'd asked him to show mercy…
No. There was no mercy left in him. It all had died last night when he'd seen Amanda like that.
He was going to burn the fucking place to the ground. Kill them all in the most horrible ways. First Simon, then others. Then they would have peace.
He turned to the redhead woman. He wondered how much she knew, what he would use from them. They got even more intel now, much more than Dwight and Cherry as Frankie and others had been close to Negan and Amanda had mentioned Negan had liked to boast, liked talking. Frankie seemed like a smart woman—had eyes glinting with intelligence Rick could see it from the first glance. If he was correct in his assumption, and if Amanda was correct in her assumptions, then the woman might have learned quite a lot about Saviors during her long stay with them.
They needed to talk but it was going to wait. Later. It was a bridge for later to cross. First, they needed to deal with Oceanside. He turned to the other woman with brown hair, the one Amanda had called as Tanya, "You said last day it's against the rule to take strangers in and kill anyone who learned about their whereabouts."
The brown-haired woman nodded. "The secrecy is our sacred rule—what has kept us safe. Natania—"
"Is she the leader?" Amanda asked, walking toward them after she'd placed the clothes on the ground.
Tanya nodded, "She's. She was our leader's wife. When Simon had killed him with others, Natania took care of us."
"Will she accept to talk with us?" Rick asked.
Frankie narrowed at her eyes walking to them either. "Well, I thought we were going to find them. She might—might not like it, but she will listen it."
"And what if she won't let us leave then? Or decide to kill us?" Amanda asked back.
They got guns… That'd been his answer to Tanya the last night when the woman had told about the rule—and Rick's priorities hadn't changed since then, only grew firmer. They needed guns. But they also needed arms to hold them just like Abraham had said.
Rick shook his head then, "We have to try—" he said, "But we won't walk into a trap. We'll meet in a neutral zone—" He turned aside, pointing at Frankie and her other woman, "You'll take one of the cars and will go talk with Natania and others, and ask them to meet us outside. We'll wait for you."
Frankie gave him a look, "At where?"
Rick shrugged. "We'll pick up a place in the woods. So, you can all come back."
"So, you will know where to find us closer," she shot back.
"I already know you're twenty miles at south," Rick snapped, raising his voice, "And I know it because you told me."
Amanda's eyes turned to him, her lips had a turn down he was familiar with, "Look—are we going to do this or not?"
Despite the turn of her mouth, she walked closer to him, "He's right, Frankie. You told us about them." And the woman had done. Their eyes meeting, they exchanged a look, "I know you hated him as much as I did, Frankie."
Curtly, the woman nodded, "I hate Simon even more," she told the back, "I'll talk with Natania. But I'm not making any promises."
In acceptance, Rick gave her a nod back.
As they prepared to leave, he found Abraham together with Daryl and Beth. Amanda beside him, they walked toward them. "How was back home?" Rick asked the ex-soldier.
"Nothing happened yet—" the ginger head answered, "But told them to be careful, don't act like idiots. Michonne wanted to stay back, too."
Rick nodded. It was better. Alexandria might have needed Michonne, and Rick—well, Rick didn't want her to be near Amanda now—not when Amanda was like this. He didn't want to make her more worried—ashamed of her injuries, especially if they took refugee in a secret hidden bay. No. Rick wanted her to relax and forgot about her ordeal, he hadn't wanted her to think about what she'd talked to him this morning!
No… He only wanted to keep her safe; protected, cherished, well-cared. Then they would return back home. Where they belonged.
He already missed Carl and Judith, knowing that he'd left them alone. Knowing that maybe today that son of bitch would come looking for Amanda and Beth and—and would hurt his children-? For punishment…? Both Daryl and Rick were away—the bastard wouldn't think of it as a coincidence. But they were fighting back—not yet, Simon hadn't known what they were up to, even though he didn't think it as a coincidence there was no proof that Alexandria had been involved directly. Hell, no one even had seen them in Sanctuary. There was no proof that Rick or Daryl or Rick was involved, as well.
But could he count on the other maniac bastard to be that reasonable? Negan had a way to draw around himself the worst kind of the people—rotting each other in the meanwhile even further.
He needed to get back to Alexandria, after he settled Amanda safely Oceanside. He needed to see it with his own eyes.
As they started loading the vehicles, Amanda found him again. She was still wearing her dress, just like he'd correctly thought—couldn't even put on her trousers back, her legs only covered with sheer stockings. He hated it but it was still better than alternative. She'd changed into boots from her broken heeled shoes, so she'd at least have warmer feet. Over her dress there was now a thick leather jacket trimmed with fur inside, her hand holding his own black jacket.
"They brought me another jack too—" she said, holding in her hand rising on her tiptoes to reach him she started putting it on him, "Here—" She held the zipper and pushed it up too until his collar, lifting her head looking at him, "Warmer."
His wife was taking care of him too. He smiled at her, touching at her cheek again.
She leaned against his touch automatically. Her face-eyes were cleaner now. She'd cleaned the residue of her make up after she'd waken up—color was coming back to her skin too—she looked much better now, as if a night passed with him had made miracles on her, seeing her like this—like how she was supposed to be—it uncurled the knot inside his stomach a bit—he felt the tension over his shoulders lessening.
Smiling shyly at him, she stepped back then, and they walked to the cars as Rick took her hand again. He was never going to leave her hand again. Never let her slip off from him.
# # #
They'd been waiting in the woods for a half an hour.
Both Frankie and Tanya had gone, leaving Nicole, Amber and Mark behind with them, and Amanda was trying to silence the little voice in her head telling her they—they might have been double-crossed.
Though, she couldn't find any reason for it. Frankie must have her own grudge for Negan and Simon, her own reasons to want them gone. Otherwise, she should've never told them about her former community. Rick had been right. Though, they'd been tensed, and there was Tanya's own words too—not knowing if they would've been expected even them.
Maybe—maybe this Natalia would just kill the long absent women and be done with it, not wanting to risk it. Rick had a point not wanting to go to there. He'd wanted to wait until the dawn, hadn't done any ambush, hadn't done any attack, but he was still playing safe.
Amanda—Amanda didn't know—she was—she was just getting tired—more and more each day as Rick grew even more…ruthless.
There will be no mercy… his words echoed in her mind… Rick had never been a man of…very merciful, he could get quite harsh and callous, merciless, to any threat who hurt his family, and she could only image what he'd felt seeing her like this—but…she didn't know. Not all people who lived there could be bad. She—she had used to live at Grady—a place as equally fucked up… Three hundred and more people. They couldn't kill all of them…
All in frankness, she still wanted to go back home, and forget ever learning about Saviors. She really wanted her life back. She wanted to take care of her babies, take care of her husband—even putting his jacket had made her feel so good… a warmness spreading over her, in her, and she knew it wasn't the fever… No, her core had been throbbing as he'd looked at that way outside the cabin… and as images filled in her, it only got worse… Rick fucking her senseless, fucking her mercilessly, then lay her across his lap, spent and worn out, and lure her into her sleep playing with her hair softly just he'd done like last night.
She wanted it—she wanted it so much even now, perhaps waiting for an ambush she was getting wet—even when her ass was still burning with pain—she was dreaming him fucking her, she couldn't help it…her juices started leaking through her G-String over her naked inner thighs.
She shivered.
God, she was really pathetic. A sinister snicker laughed in her mind… I told you, doll, you need men like us to fuck your brains out—you can't function otherwise… A man to fuck you good, then lay you over his knees…caress your hair… No one caressed your hair before, eh?
She shivered again, hearing the words. No—no. It was only her own imagination…talking to her… Which didn't sound right, either.
Tears came to her eyes… She was losing her mind… She was.
Perhaps it was really hormones… they were doing weird stuff on her. Her hand touched at her stomach again, feeling her bulge. She—she had to keep it together. Her babies needed her. She—she shouldn't be like this. She had to be strong.
She turned around and looked at the others. Sasha and Abraham were standing away from them, resting against a tree, talking to each other in whispers. Beth and Daryl were seated behind them, close to each other, Daryl's arm protectively around her shoulder. The former wives and the former guars were sitting down as well, their heads bowed, in waiting—like questioning how they had ended up here.
Amanda wondered if they were regretting it—if they—they thought they should've stayed back where they knew it was safe. Not everyone was a fighter. Amanda had accepted that a long time ago. But everyone wanted to live. In Sanctuary there were people like Negan and Simon, and there were still people like Amber and Mark.
Amanda turned to Rick then, "What if they won't come back?" she finally asked looking at the tree line, "What we will do?"
"I want those guns," he only said, adjusting the string of his rifle, "And I'm gonna get them—" A little pause, "One way or another."
Amanda barely held a sigh inside.
Before she could say anything back though, she heard the footsteps over the forage—the sound of branches breaking and dry leaves crunching. Daryl was at his feet before anyone else, his crossbow already in his hand, alert. Rick had raised his own rifle too in response, in waiting.
A second later, out of the tree line Frankie and Tanya had emerged. They were walking slowly with careful steps, and behind them there was another woman—an old woman walking with them.
Amanda felt relief run through her body.
Rick lowering his rifle again and took a step forward to indicate he was the leader—and waited them to arrive in front of him.
When they arrived, Frankie made the introduction, as Amanda stepped next to Rick as well, others circling them at the same. "Natania, this is Rick Grimes," Frankie said placidly.
The old woman should be around in her early sixties, with clear big blue eyes, as hard as Rick's, and even a harder expression. "Frankie said you're asking for our help."
Rick nodded, "Aye."
"And what do you offer in return, Rick Grimes."
"Revenge."
"You fought with Saviors and lost."
"We fought—" Rick countered.
"And lost—" the old woman repeated.
"And we'll try again," Rick only said back.
"Until they're all dead or you—?"
A shiver passed through her again, and Amanda wanted to yell, NO! No. They—this—everything—they—this wasn't their life. Felt wrong. They—had to return to their own life…
But Rick nodded, and confirmed, "Until they're all dead or us."
"Very well, then—" the old woman nodded back, then lifting her head, "Girls—" she shouted, "Take them."
Suddenly women—perhaps more than thirty in all ages ushered out of the woods from every direction—their clothes camouflaged in the trees just like the wild Amazon warriors they were.
I thought we could get to Oceanside with this chapter, but I'm feeling so down and tired today to make a detailed plan for those parts.
But the good thing is that we're getting to Rick's "no mercy" stand point with dealing with the rest of the Saviors as in Season 8 before Carl's death as Amanda gets more worried for him and more like...you know, um, "treat me like a queen, fuck me like a whore" Sorry for the language. Didn't know how to put it better. Eh.
