December 25, 2010
~*~ TD ~*~
"Wake up, wake up, wake up!"
Getting bounced on by a very excited six-year-old is a new experience for T-Dog. He rolls enough to see Lilly's laughing - at him for sure - but has Meghan cuddled close to her now so the bouncing is halted.
"It's Christmas, Theo!" Meghan urges.
"It's six in the morning," Lilly adds. "Which is an entire hour later than last year."
He grins, and that's the signal for Meghan to escape her mother to flop onto his chest with the boneless flexibility of a young child. "It's Christmas and we gotta go find the baby and we gotta see the wedding and we gotta go see Abuelita!"
"And we gotta let grown-ups go to the bathroom before we pee the bed," Lilly adds, dryly.
"Eww." That springboards Meghan off the bed and she tumbles to the floor, somehow landing on her feet instead of her head.
"Merry Christmas," Lilly says, smiling as she kisses him before he can return the sentiment. She slides off the bed, obviously meaning her teasing words to her daughter, since she makes a beeline for the bathroom.
"Mama! Do I get to open a present before we go?"
T-Dog's honestly surprised she's asking. He's not sure he could have resisted at her age, but he also knows that things are a lot more low-key here. He slides out of bed and goes to look down the short little hall to see what she's up to as Lilly replies affirmatively.
The little blonde is studying the three presents with the intensity of a football coach deciding his playbook. She reaches out to finger the ribbon on one - real hair ribbon and not the curly plastic type - but stops and studies the next one. Lilly comes out of the bathroom and leans against him, yawning.
"She's trying to figure out which one is from you." The comment is too softly spoken to carry to Meghan on the floor.
He smiles at that, guessing he is a new enough addition to her life for Meghan to wonder what sort of thing he might gift her. She's actually got it figured out too, because she's picked up the package with the blue Christmas bells that Jacqui wrapped for him after laughing at his frustration. He wonders what clue there is, or if it's just a lucky guess.
She looks to them for permission and takes the package to the couch, small fingers searching for purchase in the flaps of paper. He tenses a little, because he's not entirely sure yet that she'll like it, but Lilly slides her arm around his waist and hugs him to her.
She studies the first of the two items in the package. That one he did know she'll like, because Meghan likes making up stories. When he saw the Mad Libs Junior books when they were clearing out a bookstore for Carol's library project, he made sure to put a couple copies back. She frowns at first, sounding out the words on the front, but when she opens the book, she's giggling. "We get to write the stories?"
"Yeah. And they're supposed to be funny. What's really fun is when you know the story, but the other person doesn't, so you get them to fill in the blanks and see how silly it turns out," he explains.
"We're not starting right now," Lilly cautions, seeing the twitchy fingers like Meghan can just feel a pencil in them. "There's another gift, too."
"Oooh, a zoo game!" The Mad Libs book is carefully set aside for her to inspect every inch of the box.
"I'm kind of glad she picked yours. Both will be fun to take over to the nursing home today."
He didn't really plan it with that in mind, but it does work out that way. He can picture the elderly folks that dote on Meghan being easy targets for her to play with.
"Now tell Theo thank you and get dressed. You can put them in your backpack to take with us."
It doesn't matter much to him that the extended length of the hug he's getting from Meghan is avoiding getting dressed and discarding the footie pajamas she loves so much, because it's also full of her whispering her plans for just how much they're going to play together.
It's been a lot of years since he had family on Christmas.
~*~ Jacqui ~*~
The sounds are different in the new apartment, and they don't even have the girls yet. She's good with kids, had to be, with raising her brothers. But it's been a long time since she lived with children. It's not dawn yet, and she can hear Jim's breathing change as some small movement of hers brings him to alertness. She doesn't think he'll ever lose that hair trigger ability to wake up.
"Good morning." His voice is sleep rough but there's no signs of tension as he looks up at her. There have been more good days than bad in the past two months. She no longer worries if he's going to slip out the gates one day and disappear to let walkers finish the job they started in attacking his family. They had nights where he begged for her to let him do that.
She slides her fingers through his chest hair with a smile. White men never interested her before, aside from admiring the occasional movie star, and the body hair difference is definitely a unique experience. But back at the quarry, they fell together more because their choices were few. T-Dog felt like one of her kid brothers, and the Harrison sisters either too young or too bitchy for Jim's shattered psyche back then.
"Glad it's a good one," she says at last. Loving him... continuing this bond that started as physical need... it was such a risk. But when he wakes up like this, content and almost smiling, she's glad she did.
"Gonna have more for good ones now."
She smiles. "Yeah. Girls are gonna be a new thing for both of us. Might have to pester Carol for tips there." She always figured she missed her window of being a mother. Time just got away from her until it wasn't an option anymore. And partnered with Jim? She knows there's no way adoption would have been easy for them. Biracial couples get shamed enough in the Deep South, but a woman as dark as she is with a white man? They'd catch hell from both sides. But here? The consideration is only whether or not Jim was ready to be a father again.
He catches her hand and kisses the palm gently. "You're gonna be good at it. If you can keep me going, little girls will be easy."
"Yeah, well, we'll see if you sing that same tune when they become teenagers." Because here, tucked in at Homestead, she can see that far ahead, especially for Jim and those two precious girls. That's what she's willing to risk, leading her team out there alongside Glenn, to keep bringing back everything they might need and killing off anything that might endanger their lives.
"I'll just practice the 'go ask your mother' routine then."
"Uh-huh. You just try that and see what happens."
"Well, sooner we get up and going, sooner we start finding out. You got breakfast duty this morning anyway, don't you?"
"I do. Might not remember how after all these months."
Jim scoffs as he sits up and stretches. It's another sign of his recovery, that he's putting on muscle again, after the bony thinness he reached in the worst months after they got here. She strokes her hand down his back and he looks over his shoulder at her and takes her hand to kiss the palm again.
"Love you." The words against her skin are an accomplishment for him. She knows from his worst nightmares he's afraid he'll lose her too. But now he's lost that battle, of not being as attached to her as she is to him, so he's vocal. Even leaving for the bathroom, he has to say the words.
"Love you, too." She follows after him through the apartment, putting on water for tea. She hears him start his morning routine, grumbling a bit because he's not used to the new bathroom yet. "I put the beard oil in the cabinet," she calls out.
He glances up at her from the mirror and gives her one of those rare, bright smiles and damned if it doesn't make her heart sing. Something so simple, just telling him where something he needs is before he manages to ask, and he smiles like she handed him keys to the moon.
~*~ Amy ~*~
Dale's declined the time off his morning watch shift, reminding Jamie, who offered so he would have time with Andrea and Amy this morning, that he has a family wedding to worry over. So, after collecting breakfast for Dale and Rafael (who is subbing so Amalia can have a day off), she and Andrea trail over to the watch building. Jamie doesn't make it this far with them, 'kidnapped' into some sort of whispered plotline of his younger siblings that involves the newest addition.
Dale thanks them for his breakfast, smiling a little at the carefully healthy selection she hands him. Neither of them have brought it up to Andrea yet, that Dale's getting more regular physicals because of his lab numbers. Andrea rarely deals well with problems she can't yell at.
As soon as Andrea's back from the flirty food delivery to the young ex-Vato, she slips the knitted scarf from her coat pocket and drapes it around Dale's neck with a grin.
"This is beautiful, Amy. Did you do it yourself?" He's petting the soft teal scarf, fingers finding the pattern quickly. His obvious pleasure makes the hours she spent on the practice scarf currently hidden in her drawer at home - which is as lumpy and disgruntled a piece of clothing as ever existed - worthwhile. Maybe she'll even knit another, someday. Even Andrea liked hers, evident by the fact that she has the emerald green fabric draped around her throat. For all that Andrea's lack of tact irritates her sometimes, her sister would never falsely compliment a gift.
"Patricia taught me. Jamie survived being in the same apartment with me and knitting needles, but he did gently suggest a new hobby." Several times.
This is the closest they'll come today without an audience she thinks, so she tugs her glove off and lets them see her left hand. He asked last night, after the bulk of their over-sugared and caffeinated charges finally crashed. Just a sweet, simple proposal and the pretty little ring with her birthstone as the prominent stone instead of a diamond. That emerald is the prettiest thing she thinks she's ever seen.
"Oh, my dear, I'm so happy for you." Dale's out of his seat, confident that his watch partner can have the screens for a minute, and he hugs her tightly. She holds him close, knowing this is as close as she'll ever come to telling her father her news.
Andrea's more reserved, but she knows her sister thinks she's rushing things. But she's known Jamie for months and feels like she's known him for years. Waiting, drawing things out artificially, she just doesn't see the point. She's not like Andrea, wanting to sample the wares among the young, single men. Andrea's happy doing that, some burden gone from her that's been there as long as Amy can remember, and the men sure seem to enjoy the attention.
"You're sure?" she asks, taking her hand once Dale's released her and touching the ring with far more gentleness than she believed her sister capable of anymore.
She's in love with the man sings off-key in their shower and brings her tea every morning in bed, convincing her to try new and exotic brews while they still have supplies. He shares her need to design and sketch and build, even if right now, his time is spent more in the field fetching and retrieving for those who actually get to build and what little extra time he has studying nursing to fill the need for their people. She loves his relationship with his adopted family and hearing stories about the brother and grandmother long lost to him. She tells them both this, and Dale tears up a little while Andrea gives her a hug.
If she doesn't tell them that all the good comes along with a man who gets nightmares when he gets too hot, who sometimes has to pace in the night, and has something behind his eyes that he only discusses with his adopted sister, that's her own business. They don't need those details. It's why he gives up on what he wants to do, so that things will become safe enough to where serving outside the walls of Homestead is a choice and not a necessity.
But that last, the part she doesn't tell? That's why she said yes.
~*~ Morales ~*~
Alvaro Morales wonders what would have happened if back in the Quarry, he stuck to his original plan to travel with his family to Alabama. After hearing the horror story of their trek there and back from the Roberts' brothers, he doesn't think his family would have fared well. One fighter, a woman they didn't yet know was pregnant, and two small children? It doesn't bear thinking about.
Instead, he's part of one of the lead teams that eradicates the ills of the world, in a way his military service promised but failed to deliver. His children are growing and learning, and if their days now include weapon and fighting training the old world would never considered, so be it. And his beautiful Miranda... every day their newest child grows sheltered beneath her heart, kept safe in a community where everyone would die to protect them just as his family would have if they reached them. She spends her days caring for children left with her because everyone knows she's devoted to the small ones, not because it's cheaper to hire a Mexican babysitter.
He wishes he knew of his mother and brothers' fates and what became of their families, and maybe one day, he'll travel and find out. But not now. Not when he can lie on the couch in Miranda's barely-there lap in the little cabin put together by himself and his team and see his daughter exclaim over books and paints while her brother plays with a kitten in the floor. Last year, Christmas morning was all about the electronic gadgets and angry tears of not wanting to have to spend part of their winter holidays from school on the road to visit family.
Under his ear, he hears the thump-thump-thump of his unborn son's heart and knows he made the right choice.
~*~ RG ~*~
Rosita's nervous as hell next to him at breakfast, damn near cutting off circulation in his fingers as she sees Carl coming their way. He's got Abby with him, a common enough sight these days, so he's not surprised when the girl joins them for breakfast. Her easy relationship with Carl makes him sad sometimes, since he thinks if he were less stubborn about seeing that specialist in Atlanta Lori wanted to see, maybe Carl would have had a sibling sooner.
As hard as it is that Carl spends all his night time hours with his mother and her new family, he equally loves hearing Carl's rambling chats about reading with Abby at night and admires his son's blatant attempts to drag him into the mix. Having supper at Lori and Daryl's place is a once a week norm now, every Monday night. In the old world? He can't imagine that would have worked the same way. Abby openly calls him Uncle Rick and trails around behind him asking questions the same way she does to Merle or any other Dixon.
Before he can start the conversation, his smart, savvy son pauses halfway through his too-sweet breakfast and studies them both. Rick realizes their posture is a giveaway that they're holding hands to a teenager being trained by three different cops and a Marine about observation.
"So, is Rosita coming to supper Monday night too then?"
Abby looks up, blond curls bobbing. She's a little confused as she glances between the adults and Carl, so he nudges her. "Dad's dating Rosita now."
"Oh. Like Mama and Daddy or like Gage and Beth?"
The question confuses Rick a little until he realizes she's asking about commitment levels.
"I dunno." But Carl's got a little bit of a smirk going and then Rick remembers exactly who his next-door neighbor is - and who visits that neighbor constantly. Honey Dixon falls into that grey area of being old enough to be an adult but young enough the teenagers still listen to her. There's no way she wouldn't have filled Carl in the second she suspected.
"As in Rosita and I are going to be sharing the same apartment."
Rosita's grip tightens to more than painful, and he wonders why she's so nervous. But she doesn't know his son. Carl's already got her filed away in his head the same way he has Daryl. Accepted.
He nudges Carl under the table and the teenager laughs before reaching across the table to offer a hand. "Hi, Rosita. I'm Carl. Welcome to the weirdest clan on earth. If you can convince him to shave, I think there's cookies in it for you."
She has to let go of him to take Carl's hand and laughs herself. "I kinda like the beard. Think it'll be okay if it stays around?"
Carl just laughs and diverts attention to the fact that Abby's using his distraction to steal bites of his food. Their mock-squabble gives Rick time to lean in and kiss Rosita sweetly.
"See, painless. Give it a few hours and he'll be trying to convince you to join the debate on how old is old enough for a motorcycle for him."
"I should say thirty, right?" She's smiling now, relaxing and splitting her attention between him and the debate over just why Carl's breakfast tastes better than Abby's when they have the exact same things on their plates.
"Depends. If you want his mother's good graces, 'never'. The cop in me agrees with her. His stepdad's on Carl's side of things, so if you want to throw in with them, 'fourteen' seems to be the set number, but Daryl's idea is a dirt bike for on-property, not revving through the streets."
Rosita laughs. "The honest answer? I been on bikes since I was younger than fourteen, and hell, they give you a permit in Texas at fifteen for the smaller ones. Might get hit by lightning if I side with you and his mama."
"Oh God. Another one. Now we're gonna be outnumbered, because I'm pretty sure Abby's gonna vote with Carl just to be ornery."
That earns him a kiss, and he's glad of the public affection, and the easy acceptance of his unique family she's already showing.
Abraham's loss is most certainly his gain.
~*~ AF ~*~
"It seems Rosita is doing the meet the family breakfast."
Abraham looks to where Michonne's angled her shoulder to let him see beyond her. The kiss Rosita shares with the bearded ex-deputy with his kid right there shows meeting the kid must be going well.
"Good for her." He's sincere with those words. Classic good guy of the white knight type like Rick Grimes? Maybe he can manage the forever Rosita wanted and Abraham no longer has the heart to give anyone.
"You know, I believe you're pretty sincere on that." The lawyer smiles at him and he wonders again why she persists in hanging around. Sometimes he thinks maybe it's an extra set of eyes making sure he stays on the straight and narrow. Other times, he thinks she honestly wants to be friends. Either way, she's underfoot enough since the first night they drank rum-laced hot chocolate that he does have to consider that his circle here is wider than his team, Rosita, and Eugene.
The fact that his team is entirely made of women is something he knows is on purpose. He saw that particular glint in Scout's eyes when she made the assignment. It's a double-edged sword - continue to prove his first day here was an anomaly and make sure all three of those ladies stay safe and whole. They're all competent women, well trained by Marine and cop methods, and one even an Army boot camp survivor like himself. But now all three of them can brawl like the biggest redneck in a Texas bar.
It's earned him a damned training class one evening a week now, surprisingly popular with the women who fell victim at Grady and now the new ones from Terminus.
He trains them just as hard as the women on his team, because maybe, just maybe, if he pushed Ellen a little harder, insisted on those martial arts classes the base offered for military wives... Maybe she still couldn't fight off three men at once, but she might have survived the dead themselves.
He's honest with the women too, especially the recent ones from Terminus. They know why he pushes so hard and demands so much.
It took Eugene's lie to give him something to live for in Houston.
Maybe this new effort won't save all those dying outside in the world. But it will make this little cluster of people safer, so he'll bare all the ugly details so that if anyone's ever foolish enough to take on these ladies again, they're going to have a mighty big shock and hopefully a knife in the throat like that one damned tigress did.
He'll give them the muscle memory to fight.
After that, Scout's promised him... she'll give them their claws.
Michonne takes a moment from redirecting Andre to eat his food and not wear it to toss a small drawstring bag next to his plate. "Merry Christmas."
He opens the small bag and empties the item inside into his palm. The weight of it is much more than the small bronze feather and necklace cord.
He meets her eyes and she shrugs. "So you always have a reminder."
Abraham slips the cord over his head, feeling the cool metal drop against his chest.
Neither of them comment about the raw emotion on his face.
~*~ EP ~*~
"Why are you over here by yourself?"
Eugene knows Honey dropped onto the seat next to him by the small jolt it gives his seat at the table. He blinks a little to recall her question, using his unused spoon to hold his place in the book.
"Rosita is eating with Rick and kids and you were with your family when I came in." Plus, he has the book Rosita gave him last night he's already reading.
She taps her fingers across his forearm and when he smiles, pulls him into a hug. "You know you're always welcome to sit with me even with family, right?"
He shrugs. "It's Christmas."
"Exactly." She takes his wrist and begins to fasten on a leather cuff. Once it's laced into place, she rotates his wrist to show the wrist watch hidden under a leather flap. "You said you missed a watch that ticks, and now it's protected if you're working with something."
He releases the protective leather. The watch face is designed to show as much of the mechanics as possible. "An automatic?"
"I thought you might like not needing a battery."
He draws his fingers along the soft leather and smiles. "Is this why you started going on runs again?"
"Well, I wasn't sure they would find the right watch. Luckily, there was logic in stocking up on timepieces that don't need batteries."
She's still holding his hand where she turned his wrist, so he squeezes gently. The contrast in their skin tones is almost as fascinating as the feel of her warm fingertips against his palm. He notes idly that she's painted her nails in Christmas colors, a feminine touch on hands roughed from work with weapons and tools. "Thank you. It is the most thought anyone has put into a gift for me in a long time."
"Keep telling you, lotta stupid people in your life before." She wriggles her fingers to tickle his palm and grins before releasing his hand. "I gotta go help with Sophia's rampage to make sure Anaya doesn't feel left out today. You gonna be busy this evening?"
"I only have plans to read at the moment." He taps the book Rosita gifted him.
"I'll pop by then, if you want, since I skipped out on our plans last night."
"That would be satisfactory as well."
"Alright. Don't get lost in the book all day."
She fluffs his hair on her way to rejoin her siblings. He fixes it automatically and looks back at the watch. He refastens the protective covering with care, but doesn't return to his book.
The table shifts again, but across from him this time and someone much larger than Honey. He looks up to see Abraham studying him, expression solemn.
"In the spirit of the holiday, I would like to apologize again for the violent way I reacted to your revelations."
Eugene isn't sure how to respond, so he manages a thank you.
"I should have provided you more skills instead of assuming you couldn't learn them. Letting a teenage girl outstrip me there. I understand you're fully qualified on rifle now."
"I have a most persuasive teacher." He isn't sure where Abraham is going with this and draws his fingers against the cuff's lacing. "But I am not nearly as skilled with the pistol as yet."
"I suspect you'll conquer that as well. Be willing to offer a few lessons myself. Not as pretty as the little gal, but you might learn something."
"If you are implying I am only learning because of Hannah's physical attributes, you're barking up the wrong tree, and insulting a lady who does not deserve the implication." He's actually offended, not for himself, but for Honey. It shows in his voice and the burly man reacts.
"Huh. Always wondered what it would take for a man like you to bite back. Bit of a white knight in every man with the right inspiration."
"She doesn't need a knight, Abraham. She is the knight. And despite my admitted proclivities, she's off limits."
"I suppose you are right about that. I suspect young Miss Dixon is eminently capable of kicking ass and taking names all on her own." Abraham leans back on his seat, studying him. "Is it her age or something else that makes her off limits when you used to make it a daily task to get a good look at Rosita's tits?"
Eugene tangles his fingers in the leather lacing, twisting the loose ends. "I do not wish for her to look at me the way Rosita does."
"Rosita likes you. Better than me these days."
"That is true. But she also pities me. Most women do. Hannah does not, and I very much desire to keep it that way." He used to justify it as a victimless crime. But losing Honey's friendship or worse, having her pity him with flashes of teasing flesh like Rosita, he finds intolerable.
If he presses down, he can feel the watch ticking. He focuses on that rather than the expression Abraham now wears.
"Ah, hell, Eugene. You're so gone on that girl you can't breathe, aren't you?"
He doesn't answer. It's not an admission he's ready to make.
Abraham sighs. "Gonna give you a piece of advice, Eugene. You don't nut up and see if she's interested right back, you're dumber than a sack of hammers."
He looks up finally, and the big redhead is actually looking sympathetic. "She is my friend."
"And she'll still be your friend if she doesn't return the sentiment. Just like Rosita is still your friend even though you've peeped her enough to have her better memorized than I do."
"You would tell her, if it were you?"
"I got a lotta regret in my checkered life, Eugene, but one thing I cannot regret is telling my late wife I was head over heels for her our senior year of high school."
"Okay." It's not a firm commitment, but Abraham lets that slide. Eugene meets his gaze carefully, and all he sees for once is the type of empathy he's always craved.
"Things go rough, come by and we'll get well and truly drunk and swear off women until the next pretty face."
That makes him laugh, just a little, and even as Abraham leaves the table, the hand that clamps down on his shoulder is comforting for once.
He studies his book, words on the page unintelligible. Maybe he'll find the courage somewhere.
Opening the watch flap again, he feels the cool glass of the watch face, of the gift she went out of her way to provide, and oh God, he wants.
