If we still had film or that damn Polaroid camera, I thought, from my perch in the tree above the beach, watching as our group trained below me. I was watching, my quiver on my back, bow hung over my shoulder, and pad to scribble notes on in my hand. This was my new reality. With Lydia's mother throwing down a gauntlet that warned us just what the Whisperers were truly capable of, the loss, the cruelty, we trained regularly now. And with training came new duties. With new duties came new bullshit. One such thing was my current predicament.
Not only had I learned to climb a fucking tree better than a spider monkey with more shit packed on me than I cared to think about, but I was being given more responsibilities. There were, pardon the fucking pun, whispers about giving me one of our communities to lead, but I put my foot, leg, entire fucking being down on that one. I didn't care what my last name was, I was NOT going to suddenly be the fucking leader. Nope. Not gonna happen. No matter how much often Negan brought it up with a twinkle in his fucking eye. Weirdos, every single one of them.
Where was I? Right, sitting alone in a tree, watching my baby sister attack a fucking undead beast while our mom proudly waited to see if she needed backup. What do you do on an average day? I jotted notes, where I saw weaknesses. What I thought could use some improvement, how I thought we could close ranks better. My gaze didn't linger on anyone too long, not Judith, not Mom, not Daryl. This was training, there wasn't time to worry or fret. I had to treat it like a battle, and in battle every second counts. Kissing a boo boo or hugs and loving can come after the danger is neutralized, first things first.
Once the last of the dead was truly dead, I lowered myself to the ground, raking my eyes down the list, reading through my notes to make sure they made sense. Daryl and Mom join me, each one hovering over one of my shoulders, to read over what I noted.
"I noticed that that flank seemed weak-" Mom pointed out, and I heard Daryl give a small grunt of agreement. "If we move-" and on and on.
"Tara woulda been proud of what we've done here," Daryl said, drawing me out of a daydream I didn't realize I'd fallen into. I blinked away from the mesmerizing sound of the waves crashing and noticed that the two of them were watching me and not the sea. I had to fight against the urge to roll my eyes OR jump in the fucking ocean.
"She told me-" I sighed, I knew exactly what Tara had told her, them. What I'd told HER. Fuck. "You're right, Jessi, you KNOW that." Sure, but it doesn't mean I WANT it. "Ezekiel needs a break. It's time."
"No it's not." I pushed away from the two of them. My FAMILY for fuck's sake. "I'm going to go find Rick Grimes' OTHER offspring. Do me a favor and don't divvy up the other communities until I get back? I'd hate for Judith to end up with Oceanside and RJ to get, shit, what's left?" With that parting shot, I finally rolled my eyes, my shoulders, and my neck and left in search of the two members of my family that didn't ruin my day for shits and giggles.
Unless of course, I was staring down at the mask that was looking up at me with a mocking stare, my baby brother happens to fish out a fucking Whisperer mask during playtime on the fucking beach. Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the fucking saints. Seriously?!
As though regular training sessions as friendly communal communities wasn't enough? Now we're talking lockdowns and people are elevating issues faster than we did after 9/11. Yes, I recall the olden days when things like terror attacks were big news rather than you know, people eating and killing one another was what happened on any day that ended in 'y'. I was arguing with Mom, knowing that Judith wanted to argue beside me, but this time I actually had a leg to stand on, and Daryl shocked everyone by siding WITH me.
"She's right." He muttered, eyes locking on Mom's. "Jessi's the only one that stands up for her," Lydia, he meant, since I was the only other person beside him that was openly supportive of him as an unbiased backer. Mom's voice was as the leader, and she stayed out of the votes in Council, the others were openly disdainful and THIS? This fucking mask was going to fuck things up for that poor girl in ways that I didn't even want to think about. "She's got to go back, soon."
Judith wanted to come with me, but I shot that down. Her and RJ, they had to wait and come back with Mom and Daryl. Safer with larger numbers, with stronger soldiers, with more eyes and more weapons, I knew she wanted to argue. Luckily she didn't.
I'm nearly within the site of the wall of Alexandria when the explosion rings out. And trust me when I say that the worst place you could ever fucking want to be during an explosion like that is on a fucking HORSE. I was pretty sure that I had bruises in spots that even Negan wouldn't find.
By the time it's all said and done, I'm in pain, I'm exhausted, and it seems never ending. And I'm right on all counts. I'm back home, but I haven't a clue what's going on, because it's mass chaos. Just constant motion, no sleep and go go go.
Lydia is beside me, promising me that she hasn't given up, but also that her mother isn't behind what's going on. Which I try to focus on, but then Negan is near me and he's asking me if something hurts and then there's nothing BUT pain. FUCK. Pain and bright burning light.
"Did you fall?" Why is his voice so fucking echoy? He's right in front of me, but his voice is so far away? I'm trying to make sense of it, of any of it, but then the dizziness hits. "Jessica Grimes, don't you fucking dare shut your goddamn eyes you hear me?" My eyes snap open. "That's right, sweetheart, look right at me." And then Daryl is beside him and his lips are moving but I don't have a clue what he's saying. "She's got a goose egg, see?" Negan's hand is covered in blood, where the fuck did he get all that blood? "Yeah, she's not going to be our little soldier today." And then nothing.
When I wake up completely and truly, I'm in my bed in my little house, with Negan holding me cradled to his chest. My first thought, not going to lie, was that I'd died. That I had finally died and was completely and totally dead and gone and we were both in heaven. That's the only way that he was in my house, without being cuffed, holding me like he wasn't a lifelong prisoner of my father and family.
"How are you feeling, Jessi?" His voice was rough and deep, from sleep, worry, and from being Negan. I sighed at the very sound of it, and from the way it vibrated through me.
"My head hurts," understatement of the decade. My head felt like I'd been using it as a battering ram on the world's heaviest door or wall. "What did I miss?"
Negan's sign felt heavier than my head. "A lot, but then again, not much." He snuggled further into me and I let myself return the favor. "That fucking mask has everyone acting like they all have needles up their assholes. Lydia's taking the brunt of it, of fucking course. Between that and some satellite that has Dr. Smartypants up in arms, the constant undead fucks showing up from the fucking noise, and you, Jessi Grimes, practically crawling up covered in blood and looking for all the fucking world like death-" he groaned, clutching me to him and rolling me onto my back so he could hover over me and drink me in. Making sure that I was really alright, in one piece, and he took time to check every single inch of me. And he wasn't just using his hands.
I was arching up into his very talented mouth, pleading with him to stop or to give me more, or possibly for him to just fucking smother me when I heard it. A tiny little sort of noise. And maybe, possibly, just MAYBE if I hadn't heard the noise in a past life I wouldn't have heard it this particular time, but I had and I did. "Daryl?" It came out louder than I meant it to, and it had an effect that NONE of us expected- or alright ALL of us did.
"NOT my name, Jessi," Negan's voice was muffled, and oddly amused, and he seemed intent to keep his mouth thoroughly occupied. His tongue flicked me THERE and I gasped, right when Daryl's head cleared the doorway. Fuck.
"Damn it," Daryl growled, even though Negan was UNDER the blanket and ALL of my pertinent bits were modestly covered and to be fair Daryl was PRIVY to ALL those bits. "Why'd ya go and holler for me?"
"Wasn't actually a 'holler'," Negan offered, still sounding mumbled, still NOT helping. "And it's your own damn fault, you made a noise."
"She made one first," Daryl accused, and I felt like I had to be hallucinating. Clearly I was experiencing traumatic brain injury, right? I'd wake up and NONE of this would be real. RIGHT?!
