Credit to cover art goes to andytweed on Tumblr.

'If trouble comes when you least expect it
then maybe the thing to do is always expect it.'
The Road, Cormac McCarthy.

SIX YEARS SINCE THE BRIDGE
October 2020

Moonlight crawled across the carpet through the ajar balcony door, a slow fall breeze billowed the curtains, and Oliver lay awake in his bed, silently debating with himself over whether he should give up his first lie-in for weeks. He could just picture it — him, lazing about around Barrington House, with nobody asking him to be anywhere and no plans to go anywhere either, with all the horses taken care of, and his only goal to read his day away until he went to bed again. He'd just have to close his eyes and sleep until long after the sun had risen.

Only, he couldn't do that.

"Fanculo..."

In a big frustrated rush, he put on his prosthetic arm, got dressed, then tiptoed downstairs and out of the house. He even broke into a jog across the courtyard, but by the time he got to the armoury trailer he was hobbling against the pain in his lousy ankle; although it had broken a long time ago during an attack on Alexandria, without proper surgery, it had never quite healed right — much like many other things since those times. Regardless, Oliver ignored the familiar pang and grabbed his weapons and supplies, and minutes later he was at the stables, saddling up his trusted, moody, ashen-red gelding, Roan, and riding him to the front gate.

Quan —an ex-Savior, Oliver's age, who ran the distillery with his elderly mentor, Papa Bear— was on guard at the wall. The moon haloed his afro. He gripped his spear in hand. By the lamp light, Oliver could just make out Quan's eyebrow, cocking, as he peered down at him.

"Fourth time this week," Quan said. "You gonna tell me where you're going this time?"

"Another scout," Oliver lied.

"At midnight?"

Oliver shrugged. "Jesus' orders."

Quan tutted disbelievingly, but said, "Sure, man..." anyway, and climbed down from his post to pull open the front gates for him. For good measure, they slapped hands as Oliver rode out.

Once he was past the vegetable gardens, Oliver squeezed Roan on into a lope and travelled out along the driveway. He knew Quan didn't need to know about what he was doing, in the same way that Jesus didn't, or anyone else at Hilltop. This was Oliver business, ever since he ran into a group of rogue ex-Saviors a few days before; some of the last that were left. They'd threatened to skin him alive if he didn't bring an electrical saw to a particular meeting place a week later. Oliver imagined they wanted to break Negan out of Alexandria, re-appoint their original leader, and bring down the new... new... world order, once and for all.

He was not bringing the electrical saw.

He was bringing them gasoline and a lighter instead.

After learning where they were camped in the last few nights spent tracking them, Oliver only needed now to sneak in and set fire to them all while they slept. It was all planned out. Easy. Only as he got close he saw the black smoke rising through the treetops, and when he got to their campsite, everyone there was dead and charred to ash. Aware that Roan was carrying two gasoline filled canisters on either side of his saddle, Oliver dismounted and led him away from the burning rubble.

As they got to the treeline, someone called out from the darkness.

"Oliver?"

Roan startled badly. Oliver almost got dragged through the mud, but he was strong enough to yank him steady and twist around.

Carol stood across from them. Her long silver hair glowed against the flame light. She walked forward to show herself better, armed to the teeth, with a box of matches gripped in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Same thing as you," Oliver answered, beginning to cough against the smoke in his chest. His eyes were starting to sting. Roan squealed and threw his head around, so Carol cooed to him and took the reins from Oliver so that he could wipe his face and take his inhaler.

"Come on," she said to him, "we should get out of here."

"Got a horse?"

"A carriage. A little ways away."

Oliver mounted up and held out his hand for her. She let him pull her up behind him and then directed him through the trees, away from the fire, to a small clearing a few miles away. She shushed them as they got close to a small camp-ground, where two carriage horses were tethered to a tree. A small tent was propped by the edge of a river. A perimeter fence was tied up in a large square around the camp-ground that Carol opened up to allow Oliver and Roan through. Daryl's motorbike was propped against a neglected old truck, and inside that, Oliver saw the pale end of Henry's nose, asleep and hidden in blankets.

Carol put her matches in a rucksack.

She must've noticed the question on Oliver's face because she whispered to him, "They ambushed us yesterday evening. Let us go, eventually, but..."

"You did what you had to do," Oliver said.

"And what you were going to do, apparently," she said, untying the gas cannisters from Roan's saddle. She set them on the floor by the truck and then stood there, watching Oliver, with this crestfallen expression on her face like a doe returning to her fawn, only to find that instead of laying in the grass in wait of her, it had gone out searching for the wolves. Oliver knew what she was thinking, that the fire and the smoke was still following them after all these years... but at least now she seemed to have somewhat accepted it.

"It's good to see you," Oliver said.

Carol let herself smile, slowly, then she opened her arms and Oliver gave himself to them in full. Just when he was about to ask what she was doing here, with company, especially, Daryl himself and a German Shepard-looking dog came strolling through the clearing. The dog growled at Oliver, but stopped when Daryl grumbled, "Quiet, Dog," at it.

Oliver let it sniff him. He saw, when Daryl turned his back, that his old waistcoat was wearing out; one of its stitched angel wings had torn off.

"Since when have you got a dog?" he asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Since 'bout a year now."

It'd been longer than that since Oliver last saw Daryl, and even that was only a glimpse across a deserted cul-de-sac. It'd been long enough, too, that Oliver was surprised when Daryl stepped forward and hugged him. He smelled like he hadn't showered in weeks, and looked it, too, to even better fit his legend as the local weathered vagabond. Oliver squeezed him tightly, then let go.

"What are you all doing here?" he asked finally.

"On our way to Hilltop, actually," Carol said. "Daryl, too, if you can believe it."

Oliver couldn't, so he asked, "Why?"

Carol glanced at Henry, still sound asleep in the truck bed. "He wants to become a blacksmith..."

"Good luck with that," Oliver said. "Earl's a hard-ass."

Carol tutted.

"I'm serious," Oliver said. "It took his own son dying for him to finally take on Marco as his apprentice."

"Oliver..."

He gave her an apologetic look and shrugged. "Having said that, though, he is always complaining about being overworked, so I'm sure Henry will have something to do."

Carol seemed over the moon and worried sick all at once. Oliver wondered if she'd felt this worried when she'd brought Oliver to Hilltop the first time, too, if it was any different for her now than it was then. He hoped she hadn't been this worried about him.

"You should head back," she told him, "before they notice you're gone."

"Why you out here anyways?" Daryl asked.

Carol tapped his arm. "I'll explain later."

She looked at Oliver in that exasperated doe way again.

"Go on home," she said. "Rest. We'll see you in the morning."

After re-stabling Roan, Oliver returned to his room as if he hadn't left at all. Sitting on his bed, he had this deflated feeling in his chest. He wished it had been him who'd wiped out the last of Negan's followers. Losing the chance was like diving off a jumping board and coming face first with concrete.

He felt better when Scab, in all her grotty matted glory, hopped up onto his lap and purred. She was a great cat. One of those unpredictable ones that only wanted attention on her own very specific terms. She seemed in a good mood now, though, so Oliver laid back and pulled her to his chest, and she kneaded at him while he petted her.

He must've fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, the night-sky had changed to a dim, orange sunrise, its colour bleeding into his room. There was music playing from the phonograph player out on the landing. Some song about a bad relationship. Soon the song was turned off and he could hear Jesus and Tara speaking together. He didn't listen to what about. Instead, he reached up to his chest to lift Scab off but was met with a loud hiss as the cat leaped off of him and scurried outside through the balcony door, hackles up.

Good mood run out, Oliver guessed.

He forced himself out of bed to get changed from his sooty clothes and into some pyjama shorts and a tattered but clean Deep Purple T-shirt, ready to get back to his lie-in.

Scab hissed at him from the door.

"Yeah, love you, too... dumb cat."

Just as he curled up in bed again, someone knocked on the door. Oliver groaned into his pillow for them to come in. Tara stepped into the bedroom with a filled binder in her arms. Through the open door on the landing behind her, Oliver could see the coffee table stacked with paperwork.

"Jesus' still won't take Maggie's old office?" he asked, begrudgingly sitting up in bed.

Tara rolled her eyes. "No. I told him she wouldn't mind, especially seeing as she hasn't said when she's coming back from Georgie's. I think that's why, though — he doesn't want to overstep."

Oliver huffed, thinking Jesus was as loyal as the connotations of his nickname.

"So," he said, yawning and scratching an itch beneath his knotted ponytail, "what's up?"

"Oh. Right. Uh..." Tara raised her knee and propped the binder open on it. Inside, she spent a second looking for the right slip of paper. "Here. Uh, Kal's horse keeps throwing him."

Oliver frowned as he read. "Dolcie? Hm. Not like her."

"That's what Kal said and he's the one with the sprained ankle. He wants you to meet him at the stables when you're ready. So much for a day off, huh?"

Oliver shrugged. "Oh. I almost forgot — Carol, Henry, and Daryl are arriving today."

"What? Where'd you hear that?"

Oliver shrugged again, and began searching for his jeans. Despite avoiding her face, he knew she was cocking an eyebrow at him, but just like Quan, Tara was aware of Oliver's tricks, and she trusted him even more, so, as Oliver had hoped, she just thumped him in the arm and said, "Get to work, de Luca."

Oliver meet Kal at the stables, whose brief went as: "She's fine until she realises we're going to work, then it's like she turns into a wild animal or something."

Sure enough, any attempt to get the horse out of her stable meant a fight. Oliver was almost kicked twice before he managed to finally convince her, with an apple, to let him put on her halter. Then it was a case of finding out what was bothering her. Dolcie behaved well while being led around the pen and saddled up, but the moment Oliver sat on her back she reared up, high, like she was trying to fly, and Oliver had to leap off as not to break his leg again. After trying different strategies and acquiring another limp, he finally set her loose in the round pen for a break while he thought of what to do.

He and Kal watched her from the fence.

"She's just lazy in her old age," Kal complained.

Oliver hummed doubtfully. "Horses aren't like people. They don't know how to disobey. Misbehaviour is always a reaction to something wrong."

Kal looked at him like he wasn't sure if he was joking.

Then an idea smacked Oliver in the forehead. He brought Dolcie over, and much to her displeasure, stuck three fingers inside her mouth. He told Kal to hold her still, then spent a moment thumbing along her long rough teeth and smooth warm gums. When he poked the toothless gap on one side of her mouth, where the bit would typically go, the mare squealed and stomped her hooves suddenly, and Oliver jumped back, pulling his fingers away, and shook off the drool and bits of hay from his hand.

"Thanks, girl," he said. "Thanks, too, Kal."

"Wait... why did you just do that?" Kal said.

"Back in a sec." Oliver disappeared into the shed to find a pair of reins. Upon return, he explained, "It's not the work she doesn't like..." He fastened each end of the reins onto the sides of Dolcie's halter. "...it's the bit," he added, raising his finger horizontally in front of his mouth.

Kal just stared as Oliver mounted up and rode around the pen.

Dolcie didn't flinch. She was perfectly behaved.

"How?" Kal stuttered.

"She's got a sensitive mouth," Oliver said, petting along Dolcie's long, dusty, snow, white neck. "All this time, she's just been in pain."

"Oh... poor thing."

Oliver dismounted and gave Kal back his horse, telling him, "She's getting old. It happens. Just stick with the halter bridle from now on and you'll be fine."

"Appreciate it." Kal looked thrilled. He rubbed Dolcie's head. "Guess it's not time for your retirement yet, huh, girl?"

"She's still got some fire in her."

"You're telling me."

"I'll give her a check-up in a few weeks," Oliver said. "She might need to have some teeth pulled if the soreness doesn't get any better."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to it."

Oliver gave him an agreeing nod. They both turned when a commotion was heard near the gate. People were running across the courtyard to see what was happening. Someone among them yelled, "Go get Dr. Cholle!"

"You got her?" Oliver asked Kal, glancing at his ankle.

"Yeah," Kal said, grabbing Dolcie's reins. "Go on."

Oliver made his way over, aware that his own ankle was aching badly. Enid ran across the courtyard and almost knocked right into him in her rush. He followed her towards the gate where Jesus and Aaron were carrying a very weak and filthy Rosita inside the walls—

Oliver stopped—

He hadn't seen Rosita or Aaron in years—

When he snapped out of his own head, he followed them towards the infirmary trailer. Inside, Jesus was sorting the IV equipment and Enid and Aaron were easing Rosita onto the hospital bed. Because Oliver was spotted, he was ordered to collected towels from the cupboard by Aaron, who put them under Rosita's head.

Oliver was speechless.

"Where'd you find her?" Enid asked Jesus.

"A couple miles out," he said, "collapsed in the road. She told us she was with Eugene, but they got separated."

"You and Aaron were together?" Oliver asked him. Aaron and Jesus gave each other uneasy looks, then nodded. Oliver frowned, confused.

Rosita was barely conscious. Enid tended to her head wound and told Jesus what to do with the IV. Aaron was trying to get Rosita's attention but she was muttering things—

"There were whispers and I was afraid..."

"She needs rest," Enid insisted. "I'm giving her a sedative."

And soon Rosita was still and steady and sleeping.

It was a tense reunion with Aaron — "Oliver, you know I wanted to get back in contact, we all did. But after what happened, you know how Michonne..." "Look, Aaron, I know. It's fine..." "I know it's not..." — and Oliver was already anticipating as tense a reunion with Rosita whenever she woke up, too. It was a relief when Carol, Daryl, and Henry finally rolled in. Oliver was saddling two horses for Tara and Aaron, who were heading out to search for Eugene. Oliver wasn't joining them because of his lousy leg, which was hurting too much to ride on yet.

Dog bounded in through the gates first, barking madly. Enid's Border Collie, Bean, rushed over to see who the new dog was. The interaction began with raised hackles and growling but quickly dissolved into nose licks and Bean rolling over onto his back, and in moments they were sprinting at top speed through the trailers together, and off along the orchard.

As Oliver headed over to everyone, Daryl threw an arm over his shoulder in greeting. Carol got down from the carriage and Oliver hugged her, too. Henry got down a moment later, almost as tall as Oliver now at eighteen. Oliver grabbed him in a half-hug-half-wrestle, which Henry was way too strong for nowadays. Oliver stopped when he was handed the reins of Tara's horse, Lunar, so that she could have her turn in greeting everyone.

Jesus hugged them all next. "Heard you were coming."

Carol gave Oliver a small knowing glance, before smiling at Jesus.

"Henry's taken a stubborn interest in blacksmithing," she said.

Jesus beamed at her. "We might be able to help with that."

Carol and Oliver unharnessed the carriage horses and took them to some empty stalls. As they got the horses settled Oliver asked their names. Carol, grinning ear to ear, said, "This one's Fido, and that one there is... actually, he doesn't have a name as far as I know."

Oliver pouted, his hand on the horse's rump, before christening him, "Flax."

"Flax?"

"Short for Flaxen, like his coat."

"Oliver, you can't name every horse after their coat colour."

"At least it's more creative than 'Dog'."

Carol laughed and gave Flax a firm few pats before exiting the stall. She watched the busy courtyard for a few seconds. Her face fell when she spotted Aaron leave Barrington House to greet Daryl.

"What's he doing here?"

"Not just him," Oliver said gravely, "Rosita, too, and Eugene. Rosita was found this morning all banged up. Enid's looking after her in the infirmary, but Eugene... he's still out there. They're headed out to find him now."

Carol squinted in confusion.

"I should... err... bring Aaron his horse," Oliver said.

She waited for Oliver to get the piebald mare out before asking him in a slightly distracted voice, "So, uh... what's this one's name? Patches? Oreo? Perhaps something a little more creative... like Yin-and-Yang?"

"Gemma," Oliver said. "I didn't name her."

Carol seemed to appreciate something to laugh about.

As they walked over to the others, she noticed his limp and frowned.

"Don't worry," Oliver told her. "I'm just getting old."

She tutted. "Oh, please, you're barely twenty-four."

Oliver smirked and raised his eyebrows at her. Carol tutted again. As they got to the others, Aaron, Tara, and Jesus were telling Daryl and Henry what happened to Rosita and Eugene.

"We could use a good tracker," Jesus added to Daryl, who glanced at Carol.

"Go," she said.

Oliver sensed that a deal had been made between them both but couldn't tell what it was.

"Then I'm going, too," Henry chimed in.

"No," Carol said calmly.

"Mom, but—"

"No, come on. Let's get you settled."

"I'll help," Oliver offered her. "Just give me a second to see these guys off."

Carol nodded and left for the house with Henry. Oliver waited around with the horses while Jesus tried to convince Tara to exchange places with him, which eventually she agreed to on grounds that he would move his things down to Maggie's office when he returned — "It's great listening to Georgie's records every morning but it's getting way too cluttered upstairs... deal?"

"Deal," Jesus said.

Daryl started his bike, calling Dog to come, and as he led the way out of Hilltop, Jesus and Aaron galloped along behind them.

'Freeze this frame.
Now call down your dark and your cold and be damned.'
The Road, Cormac McCarthy.

Notes

Jk call up your light and your warm and be blessed.

Been a while. Thanks for reading. I appreciate it infinitely.

Disclaimers and fyi's (no need to read lol):

In case you didn't know, Quan and Papa Bear are both canonical characters in the show, but super minor. There's a reason I'm mentioning them, too, but more on that later.

Both quotes from the start and end were from 'The Road' by Cormac McCarthy. My favourite book. And while I was writing this (October to December 2018) I was studying McCarthy for a module at uni. Had to give a presentation which I almost flunked, write an essay which got me a 69%, and write a creative piece based on his work which I got an 80% on. Feel like that sums me up well: Shit at speaking, ok at typing depending on if it's fact or fiction; perhaps ghost writing is my calling? Commissions open lol

Horse lingo for those who don't know = a 'bit' is the metal part of the bridle that sits in the naturally toothless gap of a horse's mouth.

Most of the horses in this were named after my current/previous pets.

Realised recently that I named Scab subconsciously after Scabbers, Ron's rat in Harry Potter.

The song about a bad relationship was 'April Skies' by Jesus and Mary Chain (same one as in the episode).

The horse, Dolcie, wasn't supposed to be a metaphor for Carol but she sort of ended up having weird parallels: fire, kinda old, underestimated, and capable of causing bodily harm. I'm ok with it tho.

And God, it's so weird that for the first time in my life Oliver is actually older than me. In real time though he's actually meant to be a month younger than me exactly.

Thanks for reading,
have a nice day.