AN: Here we are, another piece to this one.
I'm going to be focusing on this one for a bit. We have somewhere in the neighborhood of four-ish more chapters (give or take, depending on how the writing goes) left in this one, and I'm going to try to stay here until I can get it done (hopefully sooner rather than later).
I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
"All that really matters is that there's nothing lost that can't be replaced, nobody hurt that can't be healed…and look at this precious little angel! She's more beautiful with every passing day, Papa!"
Jo Greene addressed Hershel and the concerns being voiced by those who were talking to him at the same time, but it was clear that her main interest was in the baby she held in her arms. Jo was every bit the proud grandma to Adelaide Dixon. It didn't matter that the sleepy little newborn was, biologically, of absolutely no relation to the woman.
Andrea seemed to be welcoming the little break from tending to her newborn. She was talking to Carol, Madison, and Sadie while she sipped sweet tea and ate from the plate that she'd made herself in the kitchen and brought outside—seconds or thirds, really, to the early dinner they'd all enjoyed. She was clearly happy to have a moment of being "just Andrea," but not so much that she was too far removed from her baby girl. Daryl noticed that she kept glancing back in the direction of where Jo sat, rocking the baby lovingly on the porch with Hershel looking over her shoulder from his own chair.
Adelaide was a pretty little girl, though Daryl thought she'd taken a few days to really start to look like much of anything. He didn't say that, of course, to neither his brother nor Andrea. Each time he'd seen her, since she'd been born, he'd talked about how beautiful she was and he'd seconded every opinion given about who she looked like most in this feature or that one. If he were being honest, though, he'd have to admit that she mostly looked like Andrea—something Merle seemed rather fond of, actually—and that was probably best for the little girl, despite the fact that Andrea tried to convince everyone, perhaps with a hint of insecurity thanks to Merle's teasing, that Adelaide looked a great deal like her daddy.
Sophia was entirely smitten with her brand-new baby cousin, and Andrea was very good with tending to Sophia's feelings. She let her hold the baby often, always sitting down and always with someone close-by to help her, and she constantly talked about what a big help Sophia would be as a babysitter, especially once they were settled into their home and could live as neighbors. Daryl had no doubt that Sophia would actually be a very good babysitter, and Andrea would probably end up valuing the little girl's help more than she even realized at the moment.
The "incident" at the Greene farm, as they were calling what had happened, had seen a small barn burned entirely, another damaged to the point that they'd decided it was really best to tear down the remaining structure and start again from scratch, and a decent piece of ground scorched where fire had spread toward the house. The would-be assassins, as everyone had assumed they were, had also meant to burn everything down. Another fire had been started near the house, but it had clearly never really taken hold, and those who had shown up to start trouble had found some trouble of their own that had kept them from getting the fire going strongly enough to damage the farmhouse.
The authorities, of course, had been called—there was a report of arson and, for the time being, the authorities were looking in the direction of the bikers that had been pulled from the ditches.
Merle had reported the numerous bike accidents on the highway as the result of "boys being boys" and bikes getting away from them when he'd talked to EMS workers. However, Hershel Greene had pointed his finger at the non-Saviors and non-Judges as having been directly involved with the fire. When the police had come asking questions, Merle said that the accidents caused were because of some reckless behavior on the bikes—something that would sting a little, but not be nearly as serious as the truth when it blew back on those who had been injured. He said that he could not confirm or deny what had happened with the arson, which was technically true, and the authorities hadn't bothered to really look at neither the Judges nor the Saviors with more than the interest required to take statements. Both clubs, after all, had a very well-known presence in Liberty. Neither had ever made a name for themselves in burning anything down, and it was very well-known that the Greenes were positively acquainted with both of the clubs.
In the past two weeks since the incident, everyone had kept busy. They visited those who were in the hospital until they got out—the worst of them having stayed in for a few days for a break and a wicked case of road rash that was extensive enough that they kept him for observation against possible infection. They kept their normal endeavors covered, and they spent free time out at the Greene farm helping to clean up and make repairs where necessary.
The rest of the time, they kept careful and constant vigilance. Everyone felt like they were constantly looking over their shoulders. Merle worried about the safety of his little family, since Andrea had already been attacked once. Daryl worried about Carol and Sophia because he knew that anyone who would come after Andrea might very well come after his family. Negan worried constantly about Madison, afraid that something might make him relive the kind of traumatic loss that nobody wants to experience once, and certainly not twice.
They all kept a watch over Hershel and Jo. As the glue that held their "family" together in more ways than one, everyone was sobered by the realization that something far worse could have happened to the two of them—and Teeter, by extension—if things had gone just a little differently and luck hadn't been on their side.
Jo and Hershel, however, remained fairly upbeat about everything. As Jo had said, nothing lost couldn't be replaced by something better, as they'd both agreed about rebuilding and repairs. Nobody injured couldn't be healed—and Jo was keeping those injured in casseroles and cookies until they'd have to diet when they were fully whole again—and the whole thing had brought the clubs and the family, by extension, closer together as they rallied around the idea of "all for one and one for all" that was going to, hopefully, keep them all alive and well.
Small family gatherings like this, in fact, had become the norm rather than the exception—every Sunday, Jo said, her home would be open to anyone who wanted to come—and Daryl felt like most of them hoped that the practice would extend far beyond however long it was that the general feeling of unease lasted. There was something to be said about getting together with everyone who wanted to be there for no reason other than to share potato salad, hot dogs, and a few little anecdotes about what had happened during the week.
In the two weeks since the incident, there hadn't been another. There hadn't been any hint, either, that there would be another. The fact of the matter, though, was that such a thing wasn't entirely unusual. In the past, when hits had been traded for one grudge or another, they'd often been spaced out. People gave breathing room because guards dropped more and more as time passed without cause for alarm.
Daryl was starting to feel nervous that enough time had passed that something would be brewing soon enough. He said as much to Merle and Negan when he'd followed them some distance from the house to smoke cigarettes and have a look at the new barn that was being worked on for Hershel. Members of the club were doing a lot of the work under Hershel's guidance, and Merle liked to go out and inspect their progress and workmanship, even though is own construction and carpentry experience was truly limited.
"It's been two weeks," Daryl said, taking a drag off his cigarette. "What bothers me more than anything is that we ain't the slightest bit closer to knowin' who the hell is after our asses than we were two weeks ago. We can't spend the rest of our damned lives lookin' over our shoulders, and I ain't prepared to just leave it up to hope, or fate, or some shit that my family don't get torn apart by some asshole."
"All the hell we do know is that they're after the Judges," Negan said. "So far—there's been no direct hit on a Savior. Not on those that are remaining part of the Union chapter, and not on those moving to Liberty with me. Whoever the hell has shit against any of us, they've got it primarily against the Judges—the Saviors will just get it by proxy."
"And if I didn't believe, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you ain't got shit to do with this," Daryl offered, "that would make you suspect número uno in my book."
Negan laughed and shook his head.
"It isn't me, Brother," he said sincerely. "My asshole's drawn up tighter'n a virgin's pussy in a mother-fucking room full of escaped lifers."
Merle snorted, and Daryl allowed himself to laugh at the image that came to mind, too. Negan chuckled, enjoying his own way with words.
"Being completely fucking honest, though, I'm about to get an ulcer from this shit," Negan said. "You may not suspect me, but not all the Judges feel that I'm as innocent as you think I am. Some of them think Maddie is in on this shit, too. They think she's taking information back to someone—telling them who to hit and how to hurt them, or whatever."
"A fuckin' mole," Daryl offered.
Negan nodded.
"I know a man'll defend his pussy 'til death if it's good enough—and believe you, me, I've got no complaints about the quality of snatch I've got on tap right now—but I can tell you this isn't just a pussy-whipped opinion. Maddie hasn't had shit to do with this. She hasn't had contact with anyone outside the family and clubs. Hell—she's been with someone else nearly every waking minute since this happened, and half the time that was with Carol. I've checked her phone, just to be sure. She doesn't even show a single fucking sign of being guilty—and you would think she'd be at least a little nervous if she was trying to pull this shit off right up under my nose and right up under me, if you catch my drift."
"Relax, Brother," Merle said. "It ain't Mads that's doin' this shit. It ain't you that's doin' it, neither. I know that, and so does anybody with half a brain."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Trouble is, there's more'n a handful of assholes around here that probably ain't even workin' with that much brain power, Merle, and that was before a couple of 'em hit their damn heads on the highway out there. And we still don't know who the hell it is, so it isn't like we can redirect their asses toward something that would at least be fuckin' useful to pursue."
"I know who it is," Merle said. Daryl narrowed his eyes at his brother. "I do," Merle insisted. "I know who the hell it is—only problem is, I don't know why, and I don't have proof that I can lay on the table. If I did, we'd've had Court already, and I'd've brought this shit up. It would be handled and done, if I had the fucking proof I need."
"So—you're sayin' you've got a hunch," Daryl clarified.
"We've all got hunches," Negan said. "Doesn't do anyone any good until we've got something a little more concrete than that, Merle."
"That's why the hell I ain't said shit to nobody," Merle said. "Gotta figure out exactly how we catch 'em."
"Are you talkin' about some kinda Lucy and Ethel bullshit?" Daryl asked. "Because the last damn thing we need to do is go doin' some stupid-ass shit that lands somebody in hotter water than they can stand."
Merle laughed quietly.
"Not exactly," Merle said. "But the fact of the matter is, Daryl, that they're bidin' their damned time. They gonna hit us again, and eventually they're gonna get a damned bullseye. My only fuckin' hope, tell you truth, is that we can figure out a damned way to cut 'em off at the pass and keep 'em from doin' somethin' we don't come back from so easy."
"How we gonna do that?" Daryl asked.
"I got some ideas," Merle said. "All depends on how serious everyone is about stoppin' this shit."
"We're all fucking ears," Negan said.
"That's fine," Merle said. "Ears we need…just keep mouths shut, because other people got ears, too. You hear me?"
"Loud and clear," Daryl offered, lighting another cigarette and following his brother as they circled around to the back of the partially-built structure that would one day be a barn—casually putting more distance between themselves and whatever ears might be listening, but still appearing to simply be scrutinizing the workmanship of those who were dedicating their time and energy to the building process.
Daryl was all ears. He'd do almost anything to stop whoever the hell was threatening all of them—almost.