A/N: One of Michonne's lines - A bad man, someone truly evil? They're light as a feather. They don't feel a thing. - is directly taken from the episode "This Sorrowful Life" when she's speaking to Merle before he sees the Governor.
December 11, 2010
~*~ GR ~*~
Glenn stretches out in the recliner, ignoring the show Maggie and Beth have playing in favor of watching the sisters interact. Despite the slight age gap and differing mothers, they're far closer than he ever was to his sisters. Well, his original sisters. The adopted ones are sometimes a little too interested in the details of his life, not that he's really complaining.
He thinks a lot of the problem growing up was being the only boy. He sees glimpses of it with the Dixons, since Daryl and Jazz bookend all the girls, their relationships differ. Hanging out with Jazz when time and schedules allow, he wishes he wasn't the only boy. Maybe having a brother might have changed the family dynamic enough that he wasn't carrying all the pressure he did.
Maggie glances over and sees him watching and smiles, that slow, happy look of hers that makes him thrilled that of all the men her age in Homestead, she chose him. She turns back to Beth after the blonde makes a quip about the show's dialogue.
He thinks of Gia, of the fact that she's Beth's age, and the rage that keeps coming in waves today makes a reappearance.
When the first round cleared and he could see more than the monster he just killed, he looked to his team, expecting concern at best and wary looks at worst, because he knows he lost it. But the two women's expressions were only sympathetic, as if they're imagining being in his place. Tim's expression was the neutral one he often slid into when his combat skills are required.
It reminds him he never checked in on his teammate after they got back and he feels a little ashamed. It's easy to let it slide sometimes, because of Tim's Army Ranger background. He lowers the footrest and gets to his feet.
Both sisters look at him right away and he smiles. "Gonna go check in on Tim a bit."
"He might be with Honey," Maggie suggests.
"Maybe, but just in case."
It's not far, once he's bundled up. Technically, he can see the bottom of Tim's window from his own second floor porch, since the man's in the lower level of the building across. But knowing there's the glow of a light under the edge of the curtain doesn't tell him anything about his neglected teammate. He may be older and more experienced, but he's Glenn's responsibility as much as Maggie and Tara and to a lesser extent, all of Jacqui's team.
He's glad the adapted porch Merle's team built allows walking right up to Tim's door, instead of having to cross in front of Dale's or Danny's. He knows Danny isn't home, because he saw the youngest Marine follow Andrea out of the community center after the movie. Dale's probably sleeping since he carries first watch duties.
When he knocks, it takes a minute for Tim to respond, and there's no mistaking he's been drinking. He does motion Glenn inside, out of the cold. Glenn's glad he doesn't have to unsee anything with Honey involved, but at the same time, her not being here means the man's alone.
"You really don't have to check up on me," he says, but there's a pleased note in his voice that tells Glenn, yes, he really does.
"It's a rough night to be alone. Would you really have spent a night on your own after a day like today back in the service?" Glenn's never sure how much is Hollywood and how much is real about the brotherhood principle of the military, but from what he's seen of Scout and her Marines, he suspects it's more truth than fiction. Here for that type of role, Tim's got Rachel, he supposes, from their former marshal service together, and then him, Maggie, and Tara.
The older man shakes his head and offers Glenn a drink. Glenn shakes his head, and surprisingly, Tim caps the bottle and sticks it back in mini-fridge before retrieving a water bottle. He also catches Glenn's surprise and shrugs. "Gotta work tomorrow. I may tow the line close with the liquor, but it doesn't own me yet."
The stark honesty reminds him a bit of Merle's willingness to talk about sobriety and that he's seen Tim with both Merle and Hershel regularly. So, Glenn just nods and glances at the TV. "Cartoons?"
"Very little content of the blood and gore type in watching the damned Smurfs."
Tim's room is one of the smallest type, just a full-size bed, a bedside table and the mini-fridge actually serving as the TV stand for the small flat-screen DVD player combo TV. He doesn't even have the microwave on top of the mini-fridge that he knows Dale has in his quarters. Maybe after years of military service, he's like Scout, content with community meals.
The older man takes a seat on the bed, pushing back to the corner where the bed's against the wall and sipping the water. "If you're worried about what we saw today, Glenn, I've seen as bad before, overseas. I should worry about you, not the other way around."
Glenn sits on the end of the bed, gaze on the animated blue creatures for a few minutes before he responds. "I thought I was supposed to feel bad."
"You probably will, eventually. Life's a life, even if it's subhuman. Can't call those men animals, because I actually still feel something when I hunt, and I don't with them. But you're not to that place, and you probably never will be. Wouldn't train you to it even if you asked me to."
"You trained a lot of the women."
"As sharpshooters, Glenn. There's a difference. That's shooting to defend, like we did with the herd or like we did today to save those women."
"And as a sniper?" Glenn thinks of Tim's assessment of Honey's skill levels to Scout. The look they exchanged then makes a little more sense. Both looked sad, behind the pride.
"A sniper has to be able to make a preemptive strike. Target might not be openly guilty yet. You follow the orders and you don't question the target's guilt or innocence because if you do, you'll lose your mind."
"And you think Honey can do that?"
Tim shrugs. "Won't know for sure until she's tested, and I hope like hell she never is, but yeah, I think she's as capable of it as I am, or Scout, or Shane." He actually smiles. "You're a good man, Glenn. You don't have that switch. Making you take an unknown shot would kill something vital in you, just like it would Maggie. Tara, I dunno. She might be able to go there, in the right environment, just like Rachel can. Law enforcement training does give you a lighter version of what the military does."
"So, you think I'll eventually feel guilty?"
"Probably when you least expect it. Gonna hit you and maybe you'll grieve or be angry or even throw up. It's all normal. What you had to do today, that takes something from you that never comes back."
Glenn thinks of the condition Jazz was in for the trip here from Atlanta and thinks he understands. Jazz had less preparation that he might one day have to cross the line than Glenn had before today.
"I actually thought you might have company tonight," he admits.
"That's not quite the type of thing we have going. She needed to rebound. I preferred my friend to get that without any strings. She stays the night sometimes, yeah. But a day like today? She's going for comfort, not sex."
There's a knock at the door that startles Glenn enough he nearly falls off his perch on the corner of the bed. Tim motions for him to open the door, and Glenn's a little surprised to find Christopher on the other side. The nurse looks like utter hell, and the bag he's carrying makes Glenn realize he's missed a different sort of entanglement. The sudden feeling of being a third wheel in the room is pretty overwhelming and he's glad he didn't shed his coat.
"I'll see you at breakfast," he says, letting Christopher get further into the room.
Tim calls out a good night, and as Glenn shuts the door behind him, he does wonder if that's another of the no strings parts of Tim's life.
The thought makes him more than a little sad for his teammate.
~*~ RG ~*~
The weirdest part about today is that in all the gun battle, he's pretty sure he didn't log a single kill himself and he's disappointed, not relieved. He isn't as smooth and practiced with the headshots like Shane yet, although even that skill failed his best friend today with that window shot. That's going to eat at Shane, he knows, because if he'd killed the man with the first or second shot, he wouldn't have gotten off a round into that poor woman.
Normally, he might have pulled the man aside for a few hours. Had a few beers together maybe. But he isn't going to try, because the vibe coming off Shane every time he looks at Scout is one of a man holding his shit together only long enough to get his wife out of the public eye. If they had fewer responsibilities, he thinks Shane would have spirited her off the second she cleared medical and they might see them by tomorrow.
Rick understands the impulse. He thinks he might be the same way, if his wife was shot and survived it.
"You look lost in thought."
He must have been, because Rosita's voice so close makes him about jump out of his skin. She must have come up the stairs on Eugene's side for him not to notice her. It's too damned cold to be outside, but he got sidetracked on the way home by just the sheer idea that they're free to wander their property. The events at Terminus are a sure sign that not everywhere is as safe and he's doubly glad he ignored his initial wariness of Merle to follow the Dixons here with his family.
"Was, just a bit. Worried about Shane and reminding myself he's got a wife to help with that process now." He gives her a rueful smile. "Hard to break years of habit though."
She looks like she understands. "Considering I was coming by to make sure Eugene's doing okay, I can understand. He's got company though."
"Honey?"
"Yeah. Curtain over the sink's open. Looks like they're watching TV."
"I doubt they'll object if you join them."
"Nah. The part of me that Eugene got interested in science keeps seeing them as a social experiment. I kinda want to see where it goes."
"Like a couple?" He mulls that over. Honey does seem to have a preference for men in Eugene's age range, if Tim and T-Dog are an example. Probably one of the Grady cops too, but he's not sure which apartment she was returning from the night Rick crossed paths with her. With the exception of Amanda Shepherd and Gil Licari, who gave up any pretense of not being a couple and moved into open quarters a few buildings down, the rest of the Grady cops all still live in the building across the lane from Rick's.
"Maybe. Right now, I'm guessing neither of them have considered that, or we'd know about it. But she's talked him into shooting a gun, and I thought that would take a damn miracle, to be honest. And I haven't caught him looking down my shirt in days, so there's that improvement too."
"You don't sound particularly upset about him peeping."
Rosita smothers a laugh with a gloved hand. "That's another story entirely. But no, Eugene admiring the 'girls' isn't a bother. He's firmly in the look but not touch camp, which is better than a lot of other men obsessed with my boobs have been." Then her smile turns a little wicked. "You're a cute one with it. Stealing little peeks like a teenager trying not to get caught."
Rick's too damned old to blush like a teenage boy, but there it is. The bad part is that he's never really been as obsessed with that part of the anatomy as most men he knew were. His preference is more for other curves, and thank god she's not mentioning catching him at that.
She giggles. "I didn't mean it wasn't welcome, deputy."
He isn't sure how to reply to it, because he's still got a timer in his head that says she's on the rebound from Abraham. Her stepping close is a surprise enough that he's being kissed before he can react, and she's determined enough that she lingers until he responds. It's not the best first kiss, both of them chilled from the night air, but the promise in it is enticing.
"Here we are both worrying about others tonight," she says when she finally lets go of his coat collar. "Maybe it's time to be selfish and worry about ourselves."
"Don't really want to be a rebound guy," he mumbles.
"Maybe you should make it worth remembering then."
He figures he has a choice between a lonely apartment and probably his mind replaying today's events in technicolor, or he can toss his reservations about whether or not she's ready. He knows Shane would tell him to stop being so conservative for once in his life, if he asked his best friend. He does know he likes this woman a lot. He even rode in and out of the hell that was Terminus today beside her, when Merle's team divided up and she and Morgan stepped into Shane's Humvee.
Taking her hand, taking the chance he told Shane to take back at the quarry that worked out so well for the other man, Rick leads her inside.
~*~ TC ~*~
"Hey. Gotcha some tea." Tara hands off the steaming cup of peppermint tea to Cricket where she's at the nurse's desk in the infirmary, adding notes to her charts with the speed of a doctor with years of experience instead of a med student learning by plunging into the deep end.
Her partner's smile is tired, but she turns her face up, seeking a kiss, and Tara obliges. She knows part of Chrissy pulling tonight's duty shift despite her exhaustion is that everyone figures that the women who can't sleep will respond far better to another woman watching over them. Tara's just sent Michonne away from the guard duty she took up and refused to abandon all evening. The dreadlocked woman studied Tara for a moment before agreeing to leave only if Tara was staying. With Christian safely at Lilly's for the night, she's not going anywhere.
Today's horrors are going to linger for everyone a good long while.
"You ought to take a nap. I can watch over them a while and wake you if you're needed. Hershel's here too."
The veterinarian is asleep by his patient, covered in a sturdy quilt and making the uncomfortable hospital chair look easy to sleep in. She supposes as a vet, he has a lot of experience grabbing sleep in odd places while he can.
It's a sign of just how tired Chrissy is that she doesn't argue, only gulps the still-too-hot tea and stands. She wobbles toward the tiny alcove meant for staff spending the night and disappears. Tara considers taking her seat, but a glance around the ward shows a couple of women awake, so she wanders over to see if they need anything.
The first woman declines and returns her headphones to her ears. Tara wonders briefly what sort of music you select for a night like this. Helping rape victims is part of the training she had to become an officer. She knew as a female officer, she might be called on more than her male counterparts as a safe guardian. None of it came close to preparing her for the scale of the rapes today.
The other woman is reading, or attempting to, but closes the book when Tara stops at the foot of her bed. "Is there more tea?"
It's a matter of minutes to return with more of the peppermint tea. "Sorry. We only have the one type in the staff area because Cricket's the only one who drinks tea on the staff."
"Your girlfriend?"
Tara smiles. "Yeah. Partner, girlfriend, we aren't real picky. Her family refers to me as an in-law already, so there's that too."
"She's one of the Dixons, right?"
"Daughter number two, yeah."
"Her sister rescued me today. Or finished the rescue, perhaps." The woman's smile twists in a dark way and Tara supposes this is the one who managed to knife her attacker. "I remember seeing you there too, after. Helping your lady with the medical."
Tara nods. Once the place was clear, her whole team ended up extra hands to the medical staff, Glenn and Tim with Christopher helping the men, Tara and Maggie helping Chrissy. Caleb had left on the helicopter.
"No one's told us much yet other than we're safe and to rest."
"I don't know where it'll go yet, but I figure they'll offer for everyone to stay here." She wishes she thought to talk to Merle or Carol before coming back here tonight.
"Is it true that the last of your people out burned the place down? We thought we heard an explosion."
"They did. We'd rather find a new place for everyone than there." Tara knows that the only remnants of Terminus now are whatever bits of the bandits were left after the explosive charges were set off.
"It's been advertised too much," the woman says. She manages something near a smile despite her face being half-swollen. Tara nods. "Is everyone armed here normally, or is that because of what happened to us?"
Tara shrugs. "A little of both. Everyone's armed to an extent. Knives for certain. But I saw a few that got a little lackluster with carrying a gun inside the gates have their holsters back out today."
"Would you be willing to teach me? I got lucky with that knife today. Movies didn't lie about the throat being a soft target, at least."
"I can. But we have classes here, that you can join. Everyone takes the basic self-defense classes, like what police departments and martial arts studios would offer especially for women back before. But anyone who wants to learn here is welcome. My sister-in-law is a shooting instructor, so's a brother-in-law." It's just easier, with the Dixons, to use the same in-law references. Lilly tells Tara that one day she should do something to make it reality. After a decade of knowing she was gay and knowing it meant little or no opportunity to marry, it just became something she didn't think about that much.
"The Marine from today and her husband?"
"Shane's an instructor, yeah. And Scout could teach, I suppose, but one of her other younger sisters is the one with the training to do it. Archery as well. We have classes on all of it, including martial arts. I'll mention something tomorrow, but honestly, it's just a matter of showing up to a class on most things. There's a schedule posted at the community center. Beginning to shoot... I can ask Honey to come by tomorrow, if you're not discharged."
"Please. I suspect there are a lot of women in here who would be interested in talking to her."
The woman fumbles with her book a bit, and Tara figures it's not enough to hold her attention. She remembers how Honey distracted Eugene that night they all spent on the ward. "Want to play a card game? I'm here all night."
"It sounds better than failing to read the same paragraph six times."
Tara retrieves the pack of Uno cards from the bedside table with a grin. "All the tables have card games, just in case." Then realizing she doesn't know the woman's name and hasn't introduced herself, she offers a hand. "I'm Tara."
"Dixie."
~*~ AF ~*~
Abraham's smoking outside, leaning on the front railing, when he sees Michonne coming down the stairs on the apartment building opposite, her sleeping son bundled onto her shoulder. He stubs out the cigar and crosses over to offer a hand. He knows she's capable, but damned if he won't offer to help a mother out.
Surprisingly, she accepts, glancing up to him as they walk down the lane between his building and hers. "I'm guessing there's a lot of us who won't be sleeping tonight."
He sighs, feeling the warmth of the toddler against him. It compounds the ache of his loss, the one made worse by today. He knows he could have asked not to go and everyone on his team would understand. Or asked for a duty other than helping move bodies after. But it seemed like part of his atonement to face what happens when good people aren't there to stand in the way of bad.
"I don't sleep much anyway."
She just makes a noise of agreement as they reach her door, but steps aside to let him take Andre in. "Bottom bunk's his. He thinks he's big enough for the top, but it's a battle he's lost so far."
Laying the boy down is fairly easy, since he's wrapped in a thick blanket rather than wearing a coat, but he steps back to let her finish settling her son to bed.
"You're pretty good at not waking him up," she remarks.
"Yeah. Had a lot of experience." His voice cracks on that admission. He's sure the council, at least, is aware of what he's shared with Hershel, but he hasn't personally told anyone other than the older man.
Michonne pauses, looking up for a moment, before giving him a jerky nod and returning to her task. She pulls the dividing curtain back to shield the bunkbed from the living room and then flips on a lamp instead of just night light that lit their way. "I thought he was dead for months," she says after a moment of just studying him as if he is a new mystery for her to unravel.
"How'd that happen?" He would have thought the former lawyer would have been here from the start, or at least with the Dixons she seemed attached to.
"Didn't listen to Merle to come here when things started going bad. Ended up in a refugee camp at Atlanta. It was chaos, not enough food or water, so I went out for supplies and left him with his father and his friend. Camp fell when I was gone. I found his father and his idiot friend turned, no sign of Andre, so I just assumed he was gone. I wandered for months in a state of self-destruction."
"How did he end up here?" A goddamned miracle, a boy that size surviving a camp falling without his parents.
"One of the girls here helped save him. She and her mother got him out. Her mother got bitten in the process. Isabelle kept them both alive long enough to stumble across a caravan led by a Marine."
"That's the type of tale that proves guardian angels got to exist," he mutters.
"If they do, there were not enough of them, were there?" Her expression is kind.
He shakes his head, not sure how to speak the words.
"What were their names?"
Those should be known, be spoken again, right? "AJ and Becca. My boy wasn't a lot older than yours. Couldn't save them or my wife." He's less ready to go over why they were outside his protection. Today's ripped that wound wide open, leaving him raw and ready to scream. Seeing the fear many of the women had of even their saviors reminded him of how Ellen and the kids flinched away from him after he rid the world of the men who dared hurt his wife. He didn't kill a single bandit today, just bad luck that his bullets weren't any of the final ones.
It adds to the morass of ugly in his gut though.
"Sit a while. Tell me about them."
He doesn't want to refuse the order, even though part of him wonders at why she's bothering with counseling a half-drunk asshole with her son sleeping three feet away. So, he sits, and he accepts the cup of hot chocolate she passes him, not saying a word when it's doctored enough to probably finish the drunk he started.
As she listens to him stumble through parts of the story he didn't even tell Hershel, he expects to see her turn wary. She's seen the result of his temper after all. But her gaze is steady and understanding. He realizes that there was a glimmer of confession earlier, about her wandering. He wonders if she sought death in careless battle the way he has, after Eugene stopped him from directly taking his life.
"Losing your way is only something to be ashamed of if you refuse to come back from it," she says when he runs out of words at last. "I think there will always be people who need people like us."
He isn't sure the elegant woman in front of him comes remotely close to being in the same category as him, but he accepts the theory of her words anyway. They are both protectors, in their own ways.
"How do you ever let him out of your sight?" he asks, staring at the curtain between the rooms.
"With great difficulty every time. But I trust that he has those who would protect him as ferociously as I would, and that everything I do to make the world safer is a better future for him." She smiles grimly. "The law is no longer a leash on the monsters in the world, Abraham. So, we must be the hands of justice. Not everyone can handle blood on their hands, so those of us who can? We bear the weight, even if it feels like it might crush us some days. A bad man, someone truly evil? They're light as a feather. They don't feel a thing. You remember that when you get to feeling like Atlas holding up the world."
"And if I lose my way again?"
"You make sure you have people to bring you back, instead of pushing them away from you like you've been doing."
"Meaning Rosita? She deserves more than I got to give."
"Meaning Rosita and Eugene both. You don't have to be screwing the woman to be her friend. And there's not a soul in this place that won't tell you Eugene needs a guiding hand from someone that finds him interesting instead of offensive. Make some new friends. Let people reach out."
"I think I've burned my bridges with Rosita. And I broke Eugene's face."
"Uh huh. Maybe if that bridge involves her bedroom. But months on the road, keeping each other alive? I've seen the way she looks toward you. She's still your friend. Beg forgiveness for whatever asshole shit you spewed to end things and she'll be your guide to staying out of the darkness. Him too. Man watches you as much as she does. I think losing you scares them both."
"Maybe you're right." She's not the first to tell him to suck it up and apologize either, although her glare's far fiercer than Honey Dixon when she's made a habit of sitting across from him at a meal every other day or so just to stare at him a while and leave with a "grow a pair, jerk" as she leaves. Although that might be in reference to the fact he's never managed to say anything to her yet, he suspects she could care less about her own apology from him.
"I know I'm right. Made a damned good living at reading people. Listen to the advice that would cost you three hundred an hour once upon a time, and here you are getting it for free."
"Could ask why you're bothering."
She actually laughs. "You aren't the first stubborn ass white man I've had to give life advice to, Abraham. Just don't adopt me like Merle did."
She gets up and refills both their mugs. "Since neither of us is going to sleep tonight, how about you regale me with the weirdest thing you ever did in the military? Heard some interesting tales from Scout over the years. Surely an Army boy can top a Marine on that."
He takes up the blatant challenge and somewhere between the tale of the damned camel that ate the keys and the time the idiot lieutenant got caught with the not-quite-female hooker in the red-light district, he realizes the heaviness of the day has fled.
Maybe there's something in her words about friends holding back the darkness, after all.
~*~ SW ~*~
Shane's chasing a climax with a desperation he's never felt before with Scout. He's sweat soaked and so's she, and she's got him gripped against her as if he's her lifeline.
He managed to keep a lid on the terror in the back of his mind all day. It was easier once she got out of that uniform, where he wasn't seeing the evidence of the gun shot in the fabric. He's too experienced with wounds not to know that without her body armor, they don't have the technology or the expertise anymore to repair a wound where the impact was.
Showering in the other facilities because theirs isn't working meant he didn't see until they got home tonight. The massive bruise covers a good portion of her ribs on the right side of her chest, from the fist sized inflamed red mark of the actual .45 bullet impact to the blooming colors around it that he can't cover up even with his large hand.
If they were a shade more careless today.
If they hadn't used the body armor they rarely break out.
If the man had aimed higher instead of center mass.
If one of his captives hadn't brained him with a goddamned candlestick like some scene out of Clue.
So many fucking 'ifs' that meant his wife being shot today might have ended differently.
He's sobbing against her throat. He needs to get his weight off her. It's got to hurt like hell. But he can't make himself move. Not yet.
Not when he has her sheltered beneath him.
His world could have ended today, but it didn't.
She just tangles her fingers in his curls, stroking through his hair, and lets his emotions run their course.
semi-edited scene for M rating vs E at Ao3
~*~ EP ~*~
Honey's sound asleep against him, two episodes in. There's still at least two hours before they have to report to watch, and he's triple checked that his watch alarm is set.
He can't get the blankets out from under them, but he does manage to get his coat off the hook by the bed, glad for the odd impulse that he listened to in selecting a long coat from stores. He gets it draped over her as a blanket and tugs the pillows in place so if he does doze off, he'll stay upright, her pillow and not her bed mate.
She trusts him in a way he doesn't think anyone ever has. Abraham and Rosita trusted him, true enough, because they thought he had knowledge that made him valuable. Honey just assumes the best of him and that he'll live up to the expectation.
He wants to.
He thinks about what happened at Terminus. He thinks about Honey or Rosita looking like the women who came off the helicopter. For the first time, he understands the fury that men like Abraham embrace. Maybe he isn't capable of berserker strength like Abraham. But if the alternative is dying while his friends are tortured, how is that even an option anymore?
He's fantasized about being a hero before.
After the dead started walking, he just fantasized about being a survivor.
But what's the point of surviving if you don't have anyone with you who gives a damn that you're still alive and kicking?
He doesn't think he'll ever be the hero either of the women important to him already are. They'll charge into danger without a second thought, slaying the monsters to make the world safer for people like him. Honey's sister was shot today and she got up and finished the rescue she started because she was equipped to survive.
He can at least do his best to make sure they're safer when they do battle. He can see that they have a better chance of defeating any evil they face. He's got a genius level IQ and a safe place to use it.
He chances waking Honey by a gentle touch against her hair.
She can be James Bond. He'll just make sure she's got the best damned Q the world has ever seen.
