A/N: Hello, all! So this chapter is considerably shorter than the last two, and considerably lighter, because I always try to provide a little break after Alpha chapters. The chapter song is "Ways to Go" by Grouplove, it truly fits this part like a glove. Also, there is a little reveal about Mason in this that I want to talk about at the end. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, it truly means the world to me. Hope you enjoy!
12. Ways to Go
"So this fool—this beautiful, absolute and utter fool—just insists he can carry it all. Popcorn, extra large drink. My Milk Duds…"
"Eric, sweetheart. Nobody likes Milk Duds." Aaron smiled warmly over Denise's head while she inspected his splint.
"Actually somebody does, and this somebody was questioning whether their dignity would survive taking you anywhere in public," Eric replied. "Anyway, so he's carrying all this, and when the drink inevitably starts tipping, he does this weird little move."
Beth smiled as Eric reenacted said move. Abraham laughed briefly before wincing, and she shot him a stern look. "Thought I told you to keep still."
"Eh, who needs to heal?" he replied, but did as she said anyway.
"Like he's gonna grab it with a second pair of hands or something," Eric continued. "Which then leads to him losing his balance, which then leads to him tumbling down the entire flight of stairs and fracturing his wrist."
"I was trying to impress you," Aaron said.
"Well, let me tell you, you unambiguously did not."
Mason cackled. She sat cross-legged on the hospital cot Carol had vacated a few days ago, finally recovered from her anemia.
"Hey," Aaron protested. "I'm sitting here in a splint, and you're going to laugh about the other time I broke something?"
"Okay, you're right, I'm sorry," Mason said, still giggling. "But, dude, at least you embarrassed yourself in front of someone who loves you. I can tell you a story—well, actually I could probably tell you a bunch of stories. But this one time in particular still makes me want to light myself on fire."
Beth glanced up, wondering if it was something she'd heard before.
"Ooh, this sounds like a good one," Eric said.
"Yeah, I mean it depends what side of the story you're on, but…" Mason cleared her throat, like she was about to give a very serious speech. "So there was this really pretty cashier, and it's been scientifically proven that I'm a dumbass around really pretty cashiers. I went to this store a lot, so we kind of knew each other, and I tried to flirt but, like, I suck at that so I don't think it ever really landed.
"Anyway, the point is that one day I went to pay for my shit, and when she looked up she said, 'Oh, hey, I missed you!' And inwardly I was like, 'Oh, that's a little unexpected, we don't know each other that well,' but, like, she had beautiful eyes and I'm an awkward, one-brain-cell-having motherfucker. So I said, 'Aw, I missed you, too'."
"Oh no," Abraham said with a grin.
"Oh, yep. She gives me the most mortifying 'what the fuck' look, and I turn around to see her boyfriend standing behind me. He actually, like, waved at me and said, 'Hey, I'm her boyfriend'."
"Oh no!" Abraham crowed.
"Yeah, but that's…not the end of the story. Unfortunately."
Eric looked horrified. "Oh, god, there's more?"
Mason rubbed the back of her neck. "Well…so I'm trying to get out of there as quick as possible, you know. And as I'm going to leave, my bag catches on the little bag stand and tears, and my jar of pickles shatters on the floor. And at this point I can't even fucking see straight, I'm so embarrassed, but I'm like, 'oh shit, I'll clean that up', you know. And…as I'm going off to find some towels or, I don't know, some dignity or something…I slip. In the pickle juice. And…yeah. Perfect storm."
The laughter nearly drowned her out at that point, although Beth tried her best to control her own so she could keep Abraham from tearing his stitches.
"You poor thing," Eric said.
"It's all good, I almost always bring that shit on myself anyway."
Everyone else chuckled at this, but Beth gave Mason a searching look. Mason held her gaze a moment before looking away.
A few more stories were shared before Denise dismissed Beth to get some sleep. Mason left with her, tipping an imaginary hat to the others in awkward farewell.
"Well," Beth said as they stepped out into the humid night. "I always knew you were a dork, but I didn't know just how much."
Mason sighed. "I shouldn't have told that story."
"Probably not."
"Well, if I didn't tell it, the Misfits were bound to, so…"
"Did you ever see that cashier again?"
"Uh, no… Pretty much stopped shopping there after the incident."
Beth giggled. "Aw, that's so sad."
"You don't sound sad."
"I am." She worked to make her expression one of deepest sympathy.
"No, you're not, you little shit."
"Little?"
"What?"
"I'm taller than you, Mason."
"Fucking—everyone is taller than me, shut up."
They didn't go inside when they made it to Beth's house, though she was pretty tired. Aside from training, tonight in the infirmary was the first time she and Mason had actually hung out in the past week, and she wanted it to last. So she sat on one of the steps and motioned for Mason to join her.
"I'll stay up with you until your watch shift."
Mason hesitated. "Oh, you don't have to. You should get some sleep."
"It's okay. It's almost time anyway."
Mason sat, drumming her fingers on her knees. "So I keep meaning to ask, did you ever want to be some kind of medic before? I remember you said you wanted to be a singer, but I know that's not, um, a practical option these days."
"Well, I've always wanted to help people. My dad was a vet, I don't think I told you that."
"You did, actually. That's how you said you were able to pet a fox. He had to sedate it after it was hit by that car, and you got to pet it while it was out."
Beth smiled, flushing a little that Mason remembered so much. "Right. So I was plannin' on workin' at his clinic for a while after high school. But I was thinkin', if the whole singin' thing didn't work out, I kinda wanted to be a social worker or somethin' like that."
She shrugged, feeling a pinch of loss at all she'd dreamed of before. Becoming such a successful singer-songwriter that she'd have all the time and money in the world to help people. And, of course, own a plot of land big enough to house several dozen dogs.
"Anyway, things aren't exactly the same anymore, so… I don't know, lettin' Denise teach me just seemed like the closest option. I want to help people, just…without hurtin' others, if I can."
Slowly, something dimmed in Mason's expression. Beth blinked. What had she said?
"So, um…can I ask when you got the tattoos? I really like 'em. I mean, the ones I can see. But you obviously didn't have 'em before, so…"
It was a clumsy subject change, but Mason smiled.
"Dray's a tattoo artist. We were lucky enough to stumble on a parlor sort of nearby, but we haven't had a chance to go back. We're out of ink here. But yeah, I had them done over the winter."
"Cool! I really like tattoos, but I don't know if I could ever get one."
"I bet you could." Mason nudged her gently. "What would you get?"
"Um… Well, probably a bird of some kind. Is that cliché?"
"Who cares, if it's something you like."
"Also some lyrics come to mind."
"Ooh, like what—"
The front door opened, making them jump. Beth glanced up to see Maggie striding toward them.
"Oh, hey," she said. "What are you doin' up?"
"Switched shifts with Tyreese. So I've got watch with you until dawn," she said coolly, addressing Mason without looking at her.
Oh, no.
Mason hopped up. "Um. Okay, sure. Guess I'll head out, Beth. 'Night."
"See ya, Mason," she replied, and shot Maggie a warning glance when Mason wasn't looking.
Maggie just raised an eyebrow, clearly not giving two shits.
Reluctantly Beth watched them go, half-tempted to follow and play referee. But after a moment, she went inside, wishing Maggie hadn't interrupted. Wishing she could understand the shadow moving behind Mason's eyes, those moments when she drew back without moving an inch.
~m~
"So. Beth tells me you're pregnant with your second kid. That's cool."
Maggie stayed silent and Mason's unease grew. It had been quiet for a good half hour, which meant there were still four and a half to go, and good god, if this was how they were going to be spent…
Well, if Maggie didn't want to talk, that was fine. In fact, it would've been ideal—no pathetic attempts at small talk on her end—if Mason couldn't also sense the hostility radiating from her.
Just ignore it. Get through the next few hours. You're fine.
"Seems like it's pretty quiet out there," Maggie finally said. "So you and I are gonna talk."
Anxiety twisted Mason's stomach like a rag. "Okay."
"Beth told me. About meetin' you in Georgia, and how you saved her. Thank you for that."
"Oh. That's—"
"She also told me how she risked her life to heal your wound. How you kissed her. And how you left her."
Shame washed over her. "I know. I—"
"This isn't a two-sided conversation. My sister came out to you. She trusted you, and you fuckin' left her in the woods. Now she didn't want me to talkin' to you about this, but I want it clear between you and me. Beth says y'all are just friends right now, but I'm not an idiot. She clearly still has feelin's for you."
Mason flinched.
"I'm not gonna pretend to know what your intentions are—"
"I don't have any intentions."
"Shut up. I don't know what your intentions are, but whatever happens, whether you're friends with my sister or more or less, you are goin' to treat her right. If you don't, I'll string you upside down from a tree and let the walkers have at your lyin' throat. Got it?"
She swallowed. "Yes."
Maggie turned back to the dark scenery before them, and Mason pitied any unwelcome visitors that passed by.
The rest of the shift crawled by in tense silence, with nothing to distract Mason from her thoughts. She tried to focus them on practical things, like how to juggle scavenging with training and whether or not she could trade a few solitary patrol shifts for supply runs. Despite spending a majority of time in the training yard with Beth, Eugene and whatever audience decided to stop by, she was doing a good job of staying separate from the community. She'd had enough practice at this point, she supposed it was second nature. Didn't change the fact that solitude could be tedious at times.
Today, however, Mason had actually asked Beth if they could hang out. Point blank, right after combat training. Partially because she felt guilty, holding Beth—and Eugene, for that matter—at arm's length. As if they had done something wrong. And partially because she really did miss spending time with Beth.
Impatiently she shook her head. You're supposed to be thinking of practical things.
Right. Training schedule. Tomorrow would just be her and Eugene because Beth had infirmary shifts with Denise, and he needed to focus on his agility and endurance. Strength training wasn't going to be a problem for him with the way he was built; he would put on muscle in a snap.
Of course, it didn't feel like a snap, the proximity with him. Not just the physical shit, but she constantly had to remind herself not to just start…talking to him. At least about anything other than the most superficial.
But tomorrow it would be just her, just him, and she'd be lying if that didn't make her heart jump notches she'd rather it not be jumping…
Practical things, you dumb bitch.
Right. Right.
She spent the rest of the watch shift making mental lists of all the things she'd have to be looking for out on supply runs. Produce was the priority for next month, but she knew the Saviors would be demanding clothes in preparation for fall and winter.
Stress tightened her muscles. How the fuck were they going to keep Alexandria from Negan? And how the double fuck had they stayed under his radar for so long anyway? Ideas tangled her mind into knots. None of them that would work in the long term, except of course…
Eliminating the Saviors permanently was the only real solution. But…
Originally when she'd met the Alexandrians, she'd hoped for allies, and not just that but people willing to fight. There was no doubt Alexandria were fighters, but now, after living among them… Asking that of them felt like a betrayal.
And picturing Beth…Eugene…fighting the Saviors?
She flinched. No. No. She knew damn well what happened to people who went up against Negan. Her mind railed against it, but the memories crept in anyway. She heard again that dark, throaty chuckle, the whistling, saw the blood trailing thick ribbons from a baseball bat…
The thought of having that anywhere near Eugene or Beth made her shake.
You can't keep it from them.
She clenched her jaw. Fuck if she couldn't. But it wasn't confidence behind the words, just desperation.
Her own failings as Champion, with her own people, piled one on top of the other, until she was certain her brain would burst and they'd come spilling out. All shame, all guilt, laid bare for everyone to see…
Stop it. You won't solve anything feeling sorry for yourself.
Right. Practical things.
By the end of the shift, she was more frustrated than anything, her mind going round in circles. Maggie climbed off the platform to report to Sasha and Tyreese, who were to take over for them. Mason slipped away quickly, before any of them could speak to her.
She hesitated before heading to Beth's house. It was probably better if she got a few hours' rest; she always lost out on sleep switching to a nocturnal schedule. But her nerves were too wired. Maybe a run would level them out.
She retrieved her iPod, careful not to wake Beth. It promised to be a sweltering day; she breathed deeply as she jogged down the porch steps, relishing the humidity.
"Mason."
She looked up, surprised to see Rick and Eugene heading toward her. Eugene held a handgun, magazine out, so she figured they were discussing ammunition.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Didn't you just get off watch shift?" Rick asked.
"Yeah. I was gonna head out for a quick run. If that's okay." She added this last as an afterthought, wondering if she was being rude not asking permission.
"You should get some sleep." The note of concern threw her more than it would have if it had been an order.
"O—oh, I will. I just need to stretch my legs a bit first."
Eugene frowned. "Will you be rested enough for training today or will you require a later start time?"
"I'll be fine, don't worry. Hey, do you wanna come with me?" The words were out before she could really think them through. She blushed. "I mean, you don't have to. If you're busy or whatever, I just thought it could count toward our warm-up run…"
"Actually, ma'am, that sounds nice. Rick and I were just determining cartridge count. Now that we have time and some bullets under our belt, we can allow a little more methodical makery and start replenishing all firearms instead of a few select pieces."
Rick waved them away, more good-natured than annoyed. "Go on. I'll ask Olivia to make up a full list so it's ready for you next time you head to the forge."
He bid them both farewell, reminding Mason to get some sleep. When he was gone, Eugene smiled.
"If you would just allow me five minutes to change into apparel more appropriate for calisthenics, and then we can be on our way."
She snorted, her tension already dissolving. "Calisthenics. This isn't some…1980's…leg warmer…happy bounce time operation I'm running here."
A startled giggle cracked his usual composure. "1980's Leg Warmer Happy Bounce Time Operation? Well, cards on the table, ma'am, that sounds like a fun time to me."
"Shut up."
~m~
"Oh my god, you goofball. Move your arms."
Mason slowed her jog so she could reach out and adjust Eugene's arms. He blushed, although he wasn't sure she could even tell as, given the fact he felt about an inch from death, his face was likely already red.
"You run like Tina Belcher," she teased and he pulled to a full stop.
"I…you…that's…" He paused to catch his breath enough to speak in full sentences. "Maybe my running in that manner streamlines my movements."
"I promise you, it doesn't." She inspected him a moment before reaching for the mini backpack she carried. "Here, let's take a water break."
Thank the maker.
He drank deeply while Mason leaned against a nearby tree and pulled her hair into a side ponytail. He reached behind the curtain of his hair to rub the sweat from his neck.
"You wouldn't happen to have another one of those hair ties?"
She blinked and held up her wrist to show him a row of three hair ties.
"I got you covered, bruh."
He took one gratefully.
"So may I ask you a question?" he asked.
Instantly she looked wary. "Yeah…"
"What made you choose the hair? Also please let it here be known that I truly do love it, and I hope you will inform me if it is untoward of me to ask. It is just that, as someone who has chosen quite a specific hairstyle myself, I often find the reasoning behind others intriguing."
"Oh." She smiled, relaxing. "Well, I'm Native American. Half, on my mom's side. And I had some really ballsy ancestors. Back in the day, the warriors in my tribe would shave their hair in interesting ways to make their scalps more valuable to scalpers, to help draw the attention away from the women and children back home. Pretty fucking badass, right?"
Struck by the explanation, he merely nodded.
"I mean, this style is pretty cool, because it spans different cultures with different backstories, including mine. Loads of different people get this done, which I'm honestly all for, but… Well, my mom didn't really talk too much about our tribe, like specifics or anything. Her family went through some shit, because they were Native and…um, yeah."
She shook her head, obviously dismissing some other story.
"But anyway, I'm paying homage to the spirit of what it represented. I'm, you know, the first line of defense for my people. Does that make sense or is that silly?"
"It is absolutely not silly, but it is fitting, ma'am."
She ducked her head. "Well, thanks. Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
Her eyes twinkled. "Why the hair? And don't get me wrong, I love it, but as someone who's chosen a specific hairstyle, I find the reasoning behind others intriguing."
Eugene bit his lip to keep from grinning. "It is not as noble a reasoning as yours. There actually is Native blood in my lineage—"
"Really? Sweet." Mason held her hand out for a high five.
"Yes, ma'am, but it is more like a quarter at most. In any case, it certainly had no bearing on my tresses, as I have been informed on many occasions that my current style is exclusive to rednecks."
Mason failed to hold back a laugh. "That's why it's so long in the back. To hide all that red."
"Yes, you figured it out." He glared playfully. "But back to addressing your question. It is simply because I like it, and because I wanted… Well, by all accounts, I wanted…to be seen." This last was harder to get out, though he wasn't sure why. He wasn't even sure it made sense, but Mason nodded thoughtfully.
"I see you," she said, and the way she said it made him feel less embarrassed by the admission.
"I see you, too." He spoke gently at first, but then his eyes narrowed. "I see that you are about to make me run again, aren't you?"
She grinned. "You shouldn't have said it would be nice to come with me."
"I should have said I had business to attend to elsewhere. With my feet up and a coffee in my hand."
"Hey, you're the one that wanted me to train you. I bet one of these days you're going to wake up and be like, 'You know what? I fucking love running. I am a jogging slut.'"
"Pardon my outright doubt, Miss Mason. We're not all blessed with athleticism."
"C'mon, Eugene, you're not bad, you're just not in the habit. Let me rub off on you." She blinked. "Wait, no—"
He spared her by snorting. "Okay, you're blessed with athleticism, and incontestably zero composure. By all accounts, I feel a lot better. Now let's get this over with."
So they finished their run. Eugene suspected Mason kept it short for his benefit, though she did promise they'd be running again before their actual training session.
He glared darkly. "If you are trying to kill me, I'd rather you just get it over with."
"That's not my execution style."
As they walked through the Safe Zone gate, the lightness in her expression faded, became neutral, careful. This became out-and-out unease as Carol approached them, although Eugene was fairly certain Mason was not aware of all the legitimate reasons to be afraid of Carol.
"Hey. Nice run?" She smirked at Eugene, fully aware that running made him want to lie facedown in the dirt and die.
He sniffed. "Exceptional, Ms. Peletier."
"Uh huh." She held a Tupperware container out to Mason. "These are for you. I baked them fresh this morning."
"Really?" She peeked inside at the cookies. "That's sweet. But I couldn't…I mean, you should—"
"They're for you," Carol said firmly. "For all your help. I have some made up for your friends, too, don't worry."
"Well. Thank you."
Carol nodded and left, presumably to find the current squad of Misfits.
"Um." Mason held the container to her chest. "That was really nice."
Eugene's heart hurt a little, seeing her so bewildered by a simple gift. He nodded and touched her arm. "You should get some sleep."
"Right. Yeah." She shook her head and elbowed him. "Thanks for coming with me even though you had a terrible time."
"I didn't have a terrible time, Mason. Just a…physically ambitious time."
"Ah, well, same difference, right? I'm gonna pass out for a few hours. Be ready to kick ass when I get up. And hey, remember to drink your water, okay?"
"Yes, Miss Champion."
~m~
Eugene sat on one of the shaded benches fringing the training yard, coiling and uncoiling Mason's hair tie to keep his thoughts centered.
More Alexandrians than usual utilized the yard these days, honing their skills. It was part of why there was always an audience whenever Mason was instructing, to gain insight into the way she fought so that any new techniques might be absorbed. Which was precisely his objective now.
Mason herself still slept, but Morgan was instructing Tyreese in aikido, and Michonne was practicing with her sword a little ways off. Eugene observed each of them in turn, trying to notice little things, storing away movements and stances that might better his own form.
It startled him when Beth sat beside him with a cheery, "Hey, Eugene."
"Miss Greene," he greeted her.
"Denise let me off for lunch, so I thought I'd have it with you. PB and J?"
He took the sandwich she offered, wary of the strain recent events had put on their friendship. But all she said as she bit into her own sandwich was, "You look like you're concentratin' real hard. Tryin' to move the Earth with your mind?"
Relieved, he said, "Why move what is currently turning on its own? I am merely trying to accumulate what data I can vis-à-vis battle tactics and the different ways to approach conflict."
"Anythin' good?"
"Well…while I respect the philosophy behind aikido, and Morgan and Ty for pursuing it, I do not think it is particularly practical given the perilous climate of everything. However, the concept of redirection I think could be rendered perfect curveball material, allowing for appropriate adjustments. A knife up one's sleeve, as it were. So I am trying to study and cipher out what aspects might marry well with both my current and future fighting style."
"Uh huh…"
"A bit like how Iroh devised new firebending moves by studying the waterbenders in Avatar lore."
"Oh. Cool. And what about Michonne?"
"I have established that she could kick my ass."
Beth laughed. "Well, no duh. She could kick God's ass."
She split a peach with him while they talked, and though he was pleased, he also felt a twinge of sadness. They hadn't hung out like this in a while. He hadn't realized how much he missed it until now.
But after a while, her cheery expression faded to one he couldn't read.
"So I was hopin' we could talk."
He sighed. "Yes, that is probably a good idea."
She glanced at him, and her eyes were penetrating. "Can we start it out by bein' honest, and not bullshit each other?"
"No bullshit, I give my word."
"Then I think, as your friend, I should tell you that I still have feelin's for Mason. And whenever…if ever she's ready for a relationship, I am goin' to try for it."
It didn't surprise him in the least, but his heart still sank.
"Okay. I thank you for your frankness. But in the spirit of that, as your friend, it's only fair that I confess to maintaining my feelings for her as well. And that I…I desire the same as you, if she would ever have me."
Beth was quiet a moment before nodding. "Good. I mean, I'm glad we got that out in the open, not good about the…actual situation."
"I'll admit, it is not the most comfortable standpoint to have arrived at," he agreed.
Miraculously, they both laughed.
"Look, I know this technically makes us…rivals, I guess?"
Eugene squinted. "By definition…"
"But you're still one of my best friends," Beth went on. "And I want that to be true by the end of this, no matter how it plays out."
"It will, Beth," he promised. "However, speaking with candor, nothing more, I am of the unfortunate belief that things are still going to be awkward for a while."
"Oh, definitely."
They sat in companionable silence for a while, until Beth patted his hand and stood up.
"I've gotta get back to the infirmary. Don't let Mason kick your ass too hard, alright?"
"I absolutely cannot promise that."
Smiling, she tossed him the last of the peach and left.
So…things weren't resolved. Nowhere near that. But he was glad that they'd talked, nerve-wracking as it was. Of course, it likely wasn't necessary, in the end. It felt assumptive and indulgent to think he could pose any kind of true competition against Beth.
But when he spotted Mason walking over a while later, grinning a hello at him, he couldn't help thinking that it never hurt to dream.
A/N: So when I wrote the OG series, I was big on never describing Mason too much. There's nothing necessarily wrong with painting out what exactly an OC looks like, but as a main character, I wanted readers to picture her how they wanted to picture her. I still stand by that, with one major exception: that she is Native American. I won't get too personal here, but I am Mohawk myself, and certain things kept me from really claiming that part of myself in my writing. I remember being asked, all the way back in Heathens, if I had any face claims for Mason, and it was so frustrating trying to find someone who looked like the person in my head that I honestly just...picked an actress and called it a day. But I want representation, so I'm providing it myself. All this being said, I am still not going to get into many specifics of what Mason looks like, in the spirit of leaving it open to the reader's imagination. But yeah. She's Native, baby. Also I find it hard to believe that no one else in the group has Native blood, so...within reason, I'm fleshing out my headcanons.
Anyway, I know this chapter was mainly Roast Mason TimeTM lol There will still be some fluffiness in the next chapter, but also some heaviness, and then after that, it's time for that intense chapter I mentioned! As always, thank you so much for reading, it means so much to me. Until next time! xoxo