A/N: Hello, all. So today's chapter song is "Perfect" by Robert DeLong, because this chapter is sad and the song is sort of a bop and I love that contrast. Please forgive my Spanish at a certain point in this chapter, I'm not a native speaker, but I tried hard to make sure it was accurate. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, I really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

15. Perfect

Through the thick, painful thudding in her ears, Mason registered a voice. Someone asking what happened. Someone asking if she was okay.

She nodded but she didn't think that was the right answer. Dimly, she realized she was no longer crouched on the ground. When had she stood up?

And when had it all become so loud? Her breathing, the blood in her veins, the reality of everything around her. It was so loud, it was so loud, it was so—

"Eugene, you're bleedin'."

"We all are, Miss Greene."

Bleeding. Bleeding…

Was she bleeding?

Was it her blood?

Slowly, Mason lifted her hands to look at them. Shiny with red, and some of it was hers. Some of it leaked from the cut on her right arm, and from other wounds. But it wasn't all hers.

"The hell is everyone?"

"Infirmary."

She'd been here before.

The sunlight was too bright, the edges of her vision hazy with white. But she could feel rain needling down, earth biting her knees, turning from hard-packed to mud. Blood like the weight of a second body, all the heavier for the lives she couldn't save…

She tried to breathe, and it felt like being buried.

She tried to breathe, and it felt like drowning.

Fuck. Not here. Not now.

But her body wouldn't listen. A cold sweat radiated down her neck and shoulders. A serrated ringing swallowed up the thumping of her pulse.

She heaved for air and felt nothing in her lungs but pressure. She staggered and realized her whole frame was shaking.

"Mason?"

"What's wrong with her?"

Through the blur of glaring light, she registered Daryl's confused scowl, Beth's wide eyes, the grim set of Eugene's mouth.

"She's having a panic attack. Mason."

She reached out and Eugene grabbed her arms; he didn't restrain her, merely steadied her.

"Mason, listen to the sound of my voice. I am right here and you are right here with me. Can you hear me?"

His voice was muffled, but it was secure. She clung to it.

"Are you sure…" Beth, uncertain and scared. "What if somethin' happened to her lungs or—or…"

Eugene kept his eyes on Mason. "There is nothing wrong with her lungs."

"H…how can you be sure it's a panic attack?"

"I used to suffer from them, when I was younger," he said quietly. "Mason, I know it seems damn near insurmountable right now, but I need you to breathe with me. Okay? Hold onto me and focus on my breathing."

Hold on. Breathe. Okay. Okay.

Simple directives, not so simple in execution. But she trusted Eugene. He wouldn't let her suffocate. He wouldn't let her fall out of orbit, no matter the pull of that void, the screaming silence of her own mind…

Her fingers, wrapped around Eugene's arms, slid in something warm and red. She sucked in a breath.

"You're hurt." The words came out without conscious decision to speak. It didn't sound like her voice at all.

"I'll be alright, Miss Reynolds."

But the left side of his face was red and blistering, swelling around the eye. His left arm slashed, his stomach, his leg. He was covered in blood, too, he was covered in blood and she hadn't been able to protect him, she hadn't been able to protect any of them…

Her chin trembled. "I'm so sorry."

She turned, reaching out with one hand but never letting go of Eugene. She reached for Beth, she reached for Daryl. They hadn't taken it quite as bad, but they weren't unscathed, either. Every cut and bruise on them, she felt in her own body.

It should've been her, it should've just been her.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She wasn't sure they could make out what she was saying at that point. She was breathing again, but only brokenly, only in tears.

Beth wrapped a hand around her waist, pressed her head to Mason's temple. She hummed something Mason didn't recognize into her ear.

Daryl gripped her hand firmly and murmured, "We're here. We're alright. You gon' be alright, too."

Eugene leaned in from the other side, and his breath was warm on her neck as he whispered for her to breathe hold on let it out come back.

She sobbed in the circle of their embrace, and at a certain point she didn't think she was the only one crying anymore.

But together, they held each other through it.

~m~

Instead of ignoring the tug of the stitches, Eugene focused on it. Exposure therapy. It worked before with spiders, swimming, walkers. It was the best way he knew to get over a fear of something, no matter how much it royally sucked ass.

Rosita numbed his arm before she began, which made it easier to tell himself he was merely watching a tutorial. Denise had shown him the basics of suturing, but only on oranges. Before now, he hadn't been ready to really observe the procedure on a person, because of…

(don't think about it don't think)

Well, he hadn't been ready. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready now, but he supposed he had to be regardless.

The rhythm was simple. Under and across and up and pull. Under, across, up, pull. Occasionally his stomach would get a little queasy on him, and he'd have to breathe until the cold sweat ebbed. He had to undergo this reset process more than a few times, because any distraction upset the balance, and this impromptu suture tutorial wasn't the only thing demanding his attention.

On the table next to him, Mason sat quietly while Beth sewed up her arm. Eyelids drooping with exhaustion, she looked ready to pass out at the drop of a dime. They had her hooked up to a saline drip, but even so she was ashen with blood loss and shock. Every once in a while she would sway, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and steady her.

Each time, Beth would throw him a look, that very same concern reflected in her eyes. But what could they do to help? There was only so much that stitches and saline would fix.

After a while, Rosita murmured, "Tu y tu pequeña novia son unos malditos idiotas por cierto."

Eugene glared flatly. Aaron, inspecting Eric's ankle nearby, snorted. In the corner of his eye, he waited for Mason's reaction, but either she didn't speak Spanish or she wasn't present enough to listen in.

"Ella no es mi novia," he muttered back.

"Pero eres idiotas."

"No creo que eso sea relevante."

Rosita's laugh cut off as someone's monitor flatlined. The whole room tensed. Mason jolted and looked up for the first time, fully awake now. Her face twisted in a silent plea.

Denise rushed to the patient's bed—Francine's. "Beth, crash cart!"

Beth jumped into action at once, face like stone as she wheeled the cart over.

But though they did everything they could, the flatline continued its drone until Denise had to call it. Eugene swallowed hard.

One more dead. He wasn't sure what the tally was, partially because the bodies outside still needed to be counted, and the houses inspected to make sure no one was bleeding to death in secret. Or that an unwelcome visitor hadn't stowed away inside.

Daryl was out searching with Sasha and Abraham now. The latter had only won the argument with Denise because she had other, more immediate concerns. Mason had pleaded for them to wait until she could join them, but no one listened.

"You already held that unfortunate umbrella over us when the shit was really falling," Abraham said. "Least we can do is start in on the shoveling."

Watching Mason now, the way she closed her eyes as Beth returned to finish the stitching, it was difficult to tell whether she would have been better off going with Daryl or not. There was just as much death in here as out there.

"How's that eye feeling?"

Eugene blinked. Rosita resumed her work with total absorption, and he suspected she was trying to distract herself.

"It smarts," he said. "But I would say that is high and above the alternative. Thank you, Miss Espinosa."

When his arm was stitched and wrapped in gauze, Rosita gave him the go-ahead to leave.

"But you need to rest." She glared firmly. "And you need to clean yourself up or you'll get an infection. Idiota."

"Aún no es relevante."

He didn't leave immediately but stood next to Mason, frowning as he took in all the wounds marking her up.

Finally, Beth nodded. "Alright, you're all done."

Mason opened her eyes robotically, unhooked the IV from her arm and hopped off the table. She wobbled a bit when she landed.

"Whoa." Beth steadied her with an arm around her waist. "You have to take it easy. Lie down for a while. You need to get your strength back."

"I'll take that under advisement," Mason said and strode for the door.

Beth and Eugene shared another glance. "Let me know if you require assistance," he said and followed Mason.

The glare of the sun assaulted him. It seemed much brighter now than it had before. More invasive.

"Go rest, Eugene," Mason growled without looking back.

"I intend to, Miss Champion, but later. At the present I believe I have a few more hours of efficiency in me."

Actually, he felt like death, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

She sighed, apparently too tired to argue.

As they roamed the community, the true devastation of the attack sunk in. Bodies littered the ground, some of them family, some of them foe. The stench of blood and shit and smoke choked him. He tried to tell himself that was the only reason for the tears in his eyes.

They met up with Daryl, Abraham and Sasha coming out of Maggie's house.

Mason froze. "A—are they okay?"

"We are." Maggie followed them, holding Gracie in her arms. "Thanks to you."

Mason's neck went tight, and he wondered if she was trying not to shake her head "no". All she said was, "I'm glad you're both okay."

"We're headin' to the infirmary now," Maggie said. "Carl can watch Gracie while I help search the houses."

"No need. I'm here, I'll help."

"Mason, you just—"

"I'm here. I'll help. Besides, they might need an extra set of hands there."

When they could not dissuade her, or Eugene for that matter, they sent the two of them to check the houses they hadn't gotten to on the north side. There was less destruction there, but they did come across two bodies by the wall. At least, he thought there were two bodies. It was hard to tell, scattered in pieces as they were.

When Mason saw them, her already ragged expression tore a little more at the edges.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know if there was anything he could say. But he tried anyway.

"You saved my life," he said. "Again."

She turned partway, but her eyes stayed on the bodies. "I didn't save your life. You saved mine."

"Well…" He let out a weak laugh. "Is that not exactly what we've been doing for each other since we met? In any case, were it not for your instruction, there is no doubt I would not have made it out of that fight with my life intact."

Her chin trembled. He touched her hand, careful of the wound on her arm, and she finally looked at him.

"I thank you," he said. "I mean that truly and emphatically."

She nodded, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "We need to check these last two houses. We'll come back for…for the bodies later."

There was no one in the first house, though one of the windows was smashed and there was a drawerful of silverware scattered on the kitchen floor.

"Someone came in here for a weapon," Mason murmured. She put a hand to her clammy forehead.

"Miss Reynolds, do you need—"

"I'm fine. Just give me a sec."

He watched as she righted a salt shaker, poured some into a cup and filled the cup with water. Then, without a breath of hesitation, she drank the whole thing.

He pulled a face. "What, may I ask, was the reasoning for that?"

"Trick I learned in the desert. To keep my body functioning."

They roamed up the stairs, side by side so they could cover both turns at the top. Their arms brushed, sending a light sting up his stitches.

"We've got matching scars now," he whispered as they cleared the top landing.

She frowned. "Huh?"

He held his left arm out to her right. "I must admit, I have always been under the impression it would be neat to share a matching tattoo with a close friend. If, you know, I did not possess a dizzying fear of needles. I am afraid of a lot of shit."

Mason blinked at their arms, silent the whole time. Then she said, "Me, too."

"You, too, what?"

"I'm afraid of a lot of shit."

There was a body in the second house, severed crudely in half. An old man named Bill, who had only ever been giving and kind. And now he was...

Eugene's fists clenched.

They needed to finish this. No more waiting for the axe to fall. They'd lost too many people already. But when could they? They were almost healed before today's attack, and now…

Exhaustion washed over him. How was it he was still alive when so many good people were dead? How was it they could sacrifice so much and still come up short?

"I…" He cleared his throat. "I think I'll get to burying them now. These were the last two houses and they're clear, so…so next step is to gather the bodies. There is a pine grove along the east wall where we bury our dead. I will begin taking them there at this time."

He was aware he was rambling, something he did when his brain wanted to disconnect from his body. Distantly he realized his fingers were twitching.

"I'll help you," Mason said.

"No. No. You held off a pack of ruthless, reiving invaders almost entirely by yourself not two hours ago. Beth's assessment was accurate, you need rest."

"I won't be able to until this is done. Eugene." She touched his arm. "I come back, you come back. Okay? It's alright if you need to cry, or freak out, or whatever. But please come back."

It took him a moment. Everything hounding him since the Wolves first attacked, since the start of all this, since before all this, seemed to have forged some new alliance to meet their shared goal of driving him to a mental breakdown.

But he couldn't…couldn't get into all of that right now. Couldn't look all those skeletons in the eye when there was shit that needed to get done.

"It's okay," he said. "I'm okay. It has just been…a very long day."

Mason coughed a laugh and led the way downstairs. "Understatement of the fucking year."

~m~

"It's venom."

Beth looked up from checking Tyreese's stats. He was stable—thankfully they'd had the right supplies to treat his punctured lung. It wasn't the worst it could've been, Denise said, but he would still be bedbound for weeks, and likely the chest tube would have to stay in for at least another day.

Denise hovered over Noah, who, once the initial tide of injured were stable, collapsed in a chair. He had his good leg propped up for Denise to examine. An arrow nicked him on his race to the infirmary, he said. Hadn't thought much of it at first with the urgency of everything going on, but when the pain continued, when it doubled, enough to make his muscles twitch, he knew something was up.

"Venom?" Noah replied. There was a sickly sheen on his face. "Like a snake?"

Denise nodded. "It ticks all the boxes. Swelling, blistering, nausea, sweating, shakes."

"And Eric's the same way, he was hit with one of those arrows, too," Beth said.

Carl's eyes widened where he sat by the windows with Judith and Gracie. "What—poison arrows?"

"Looks like," Denise said. "Now, I don't have antivenin, but snake bites—or venom, whichever, whatever—can be treated without it. We'll just have to monitor our patients more closely—"

"There are snakes in our walls now," Gabriel spoke up from his bed. His knife wound just barely missed the femoral artery, and they'd been able to sew him up quickly. "The walkers that the Wolves let in…they're full of snakes."

Beth stared in shock, but Enid, who was cleaning blood off Olivia's face, nodded. "I saw it," she said. "When Mason and Eugene were out there, I saw them take down a walker. I saw the snakes spill out."

In the chaos, the details of the attack had gone by the wayside. But the scale of how fucked they might've been was beginning to dawn on her.

"What if we could round up some of these snakes?" Gabriel suggested. "You could get antivenom from them, couldn't you?"

"I have no way of knowing what venom from what snake was on those arrows," Denise replied. "It would just be a guessing game and I can't take that risk. Besides, I don't have any of the equipment necessary to make antivenin, or the time to do it. We're just going to have to wait this out."

"We need to round up those snakes regardless," Beth said. "We can't have everyone walkin' around in a snake pit. Especially not the kids."

"I can start lookin'," Maggie said.

"Get Daryl to help you. He knows how to catch snakes."

"Yeah. Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"

She wondered if Maggie had more to say about her fighting the Wolves. After the initial relief at discovering the other was alright, she jumped immediately to scolding. Beth held her tongue through most of it, too focused on treating the last of her patients anyway.

She followed Maggie to a hallway away from the others. Maggie looked her up and down.

"Is there somethin' else botherin' you? Besides the obvious?"

Beth ducked her head. It wouldn't fool Maggie if she lied; she would probably leave her alone about it, but did Beth really want to be left alone?

"After we chased off the Wolves, Mason had a panic attack," she said. "And I—I just froze. I couldn't think of how to help, I just stood there."

Maggie's brow furrowed. "Beth, it's alright. You—"

"It's not alright. I need to be able to handle this. I already know what to do for panic attacks, I remember everythin' Denise taught me, but in that moment I couldn't even function. I panicked. I can't do that."

Seeing Mason in that state sent her straight back to the day Shane busted open her daddy's barn. The horror of realizing there was nothing they could do for their family and friends, that her daddy had been wrong, so utterly wrong. How helpless he'd seemed in the wake of that.

And if he was helpless, what did that make her? Her daddy was strong and calm, a soothing harbor to anchor to. Seeing him so broken had broken something inside her, too, left her rudderless in an ocean she'd been careless to think she knew.

Mason always felt like that. A safe harbor. Even back on the bus, when everything was going wrong, she remained steady, weathering. She knew it was selfish to lean on that, to wish for that, after everything Mason went through today. But the fearful part of her, the one that never quite left that bed on that farm, wished anyway.

"I wasn't expectin' to see her like that," she murmured. "She's always so strong."

"And she's not that anymore?" Maggie's voice was soft but challenging.

"No, no! Of course she is, that's not what I meant. It's just… I don't know. I guess maybe I've been holdin' her up as this pillar when I should just be holdin' her up as a person."

"You know, there's nothin' wrong with admirin' her. I mean for more than just her ass."

Beth rolled her eyes but let it slide. "I thought you didn't like her…"

Maggie smiled a little. "I don't particularly, but I'm also a little biased. She's not a bad person. She might grow on me…if she doesn't keep pissin' me off."

Well, that was something, at least.

"Look, I just want you to know you can still talk to me. Even about Mason."

"I know," she said, though in truth she kept a lot of that to herself these days.

"And regardless of what I think of you jumpin' in that fight today, I'm proud of you. Dad would be proud, too."

Her tears pricked unexpectedly. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, she wished he was there. The world had tried to break him and he wouldn't let it. She wished for that strength.

(the thing is, you're not the greater good. you're not strong enough.)

She rubbed her wrist. "I've gotta get back to my patients. Be careful out there. I don't need to be stitchin' you up, too."

Maggie tweaked her side. "Don't tell me what to do, brat."

~m~

All she wanted to do was collapse. Her muscles trembled and burned as she bent to hoist the bodies over her shoulders. Her head spun the glaring daylight into a soup of unwelcome rawness.

Sasha kept watch by the gate, wielding a Wolf's bow. Mason had given her the walkie talkie, unable to bear its silence any longer. They'd sent Abraham to keep watch at the infirmary; Eugene was only able to convince him to go by reminding him that if he tore his stitches, he'd have to wait that much longer to kick some Wolf ass. And Maggie claimed Daryl not long after they took their first bodies to the graveyard to look for snakes.

God, how had she forgotten about the snakes? Probably her brain was trying to repress that particular horror. In any case, she found she couldn't look away from the bodies long enough to think of much else.

So for a while it was just her and Eugene, trucking away at it. They gathered the bodies first. Twelve in all. Twelve lives lost under her watch.

Fourteen, she corrected silently. You lost Francine and Tobin, too.

They didn't bother moving the Wolves yet, merely impaled their brains to make sure they wouldn't reanimate and surprise anyone.

"We burn the plunderers," Eugene informed her. "Out at the quarry, so as not to draw more unwelcome attention."

Once all the Alexandrians were gathered, they started digging their graves. It was grueling work after the fuck-all day they'd had. They paused many times, leaning heavily on their shovels and eyeing each other with the same expression: how the fuck longer could they stay standing?

But Mason didn't allow herself to think of anything else. Not about the crowd in the infirmary. Not about the snakes. Not about the fact that they still hadn't heard anything from Rick or the Misfits or anyone outside the walls. There was nothing but the sear of protesting muscles, of budding blisters, the salt of sweat and the few tears that slipped through her defenses, the warm smell of broken soil.

"Hey, guys."

She flinched, nearly dropping her shovel, and looked up from the pit to see Carl standing over them.

"Want some help?"

She shook her head, scattering beads of sweat. It was a bad idea; the world spun. "We got this. You should stay in the infirmary."

"Everything's quiet back there. You guys can't do this all by yourselves."

Mason hesitated. Now that she'd halted her momentum, all she felt she had strength left for was curling up in the earth and passing the fuck out. Another set of hands would make this shit job go faster.

Weakly, she nodded. Carl grabbed another shovel and set to work.

"How…how is everyone?" Eugene asked hesitantly.

"They're hanging in there. Denise is looking after Noah now, too."

"What happened to Noah?"

"He was nicked by a poison arrow."

Mason blinked. "Poison?"

"Denise and Beth are pretty sure it's snake venom."

When he said it like that, something clicked.

Snake venom. Snakes.

I knew you'd be a strong one the minute I saw you.

That's why he let me give you copperhead.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped and slumped against the dirt. No, it couldn't be, it couldn't, they were hundreds of miles from Arkansas…

"Mason?"

"Hey, are you okay?"

She shook her head. She was so drained it was hard to feel her lips. She couldn't hold on to any one thought coherently anymore. "Nothing," she said, crawling clumsily out of the grave. "It's nothing, and I'm okay, I'm just very fucking tired and I'm very fucking sick of my brain doing that thing, you know, where it thinks…"

"Maybe you should—"

"They're back!"

Mason froze, every other thought skittering from her mind. At the other end of the compound, Sasha shoved the gate open, and through the dull ringing in her ears, Mason registered the sound of approaching cars.

And instead of relief, her belly flooded with fear.

What if they'd suffered just as much on their end? What if some of them were hurt, what if they were…?

No, no, they were fine, they had to be, they had to be. She didn't think she could take anything else.

Once the cars were inside, everyone scrambled out, too anxious to park properly. Mason's heart thundered as she took inventory. There was Glenn, Tara, Rosita, Morgan…

Charlie. Dray. Ashlee. Lily and Dave behind them.

They were alright. They were alright. She let out a shuddering breath. It didn't even look as though anyone was severely hurt.

But the fear did not dissipate. It wasn't until she spotted Rick that she realized the fear had simply changed form.

He'd left her in charge. He'd left her behind to defend this place and she'd fucked up so royally they'd lost fourteen people.

He'd left her behind, and now he was coming home to graves.

"Dad!" Carl shouted, dropping the shovel and racing toward him. Rick hurried to catch him, holding him firmly in his arms a moment before letting go. From here, she could see Carl launch into an explanation for the destruction around them but she couldn't make out the words. She cringed and turned away.

"Eugene," she whispered. Panic built in her lungs. What could she say, what could she possibly say?

"It's okay. It's okay, Mason." He gripped her hand. "I'm right here."

And the way he looked at her, she realized she was lending him strength just as much as he was lending it to her.

Somehow, this steadied her. The fear did not lessen, but it didn't suffocate her, either. She watched Eugene a moment, focusing on the feel of his hand, the blisters and dirt, to get her breathing under control. Then she glanced back at Rick.

He was making his way over now. Carl had finished whatever he was telling him. The instinct to flee sang in her veins, but with the last of her strength, she planted her feet. Eugene's hand in hers made it better, but her body still shook.

She wondered what Rick would do. Scream? Tell her to get the fuck out? Would she even be allowed back after this? It was hard to swallow around the lump in her throat.

She just wanted the axe to fall. She wanted it to cleave her in two and call it a day.

"Rick," she rasped when he was in earshot. "It was a ploy. After you left, they attacked and we…we didn't have time to fight back. It was a ploy and I didn't see it until it was too late."

She drifted forward, pulling her hand from Eugene's. It was just her, just her fault.

Rick was close enough now that she could see the tears in his eyes, but he didn't stop.

Her own vision shimmered. "I should've seen. I should've seen, but by the time I realized, they were already over the walls and there were so many of them, and…and…I'm sorry. It's not enough but…I'm so sorry, Rick, I tried—"

Without a word, he closed that last little distance and wrapped her in his arms.

It was fierce but gentle. It took her a moment to realize he wasn't about to kill her, and another to hug him back. When she did, he held her tighter.

That broke her.

It was astounding, how many tears there still were. She thought she'd cried them all out earlier. But against the firm comfort of Rick's chest, a fresh wave overcame her, and her knees almost buckled with the weight of them.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed.

He cradled her head against his chest. "I know," he murmured. "It's alright. You're alright now."

His cheek rested briefly against the crown of her head, and she felt the warmth of his tears soak her hair.

Suddenly it wasn't just this day she mourned, but a hundred others. Not fourteen people, but far more than that, far more than she'd been willing to keep count of.

Her mother. Gina, Nick, Naomi. Her Misfits' families, and by extension, her own. Everyone in the war. Her peoples' freedom. Her freedom, her happiness, herself.

She wanted it all back. She wanted herself back.

She was so desperately afraid that wasn't possible anymore.

When the tears calmed enough to speak again, she leaned back and said, "Sorry. I didn't mean…to do that." She knew she would be mortified later, when everything didn't feel like swimming through cement.

"You don't have anything to apologize for." He stepped back to look her over. "Carl said you held them off. You and Eugene."

"Yeah. Beth and Daryl, too." Her voice quivered, and she focused on something that would make it stronger. "Eugene was amazing, they all were. I couldn't have done it without him, and we couldn't have done it without them."

Rick nodded and strode past her. Eugene waited nervously, but Rick merely pulled him into his embrace.

"Thank you," he said. "Both of you. Thank you."

Eugene stared at her over Rick's shoulder, eyes wide with surprise. "It…it… No problem, I assure you."

Slowly, the others made their way over. The Misfits enveloped Mason in a group hug, fretting over her wounds, babbling about a mile a minute about the attack. She tried to keep up as best she could, but her consciousness was fraying at the seams. She'd have to go over the details again, when she was more with it.

"Girl, you better lay your ass down before you smash that pretty face on the concrete," Lily said. She had one hand pressed to the small of Mason's back, propping her up.

"Yeah…I'm gonna," Mason mumbled. "Give me a sec."

They drifted with her as she made her way back to the grave she'd been digging. But Carol was already there, shovel in hand.

"We've got this, Mason." Her tone was firm, but there was no blame in it, no anger. "You need to rest."

"Yeah, dude," Tara said. "We're here now. You've done enough."

Mason hovered uncertainly. Rosita and Morgan moved past her with more shovels, pitching in their own assurances. None of this was what she expected. She kept waiting for the outrage, the accusation. The Misfits stuck by her side, like they expected it, too. But there was nothing but the Alexandrians' joint sorrow, and the quiet unity of people who had suffered together before.

This was a community. This was a family. The same way the Kingdom had been before Negan.

"Hey." Daryl appeared at her side, his expression unexpectedly gentle. "C'mon."

She blinked. "C'mon where?"

"Somewhere you can sleep. Y'look like shit run over twice."

"More than that, I bet." She glanced at her Misfits. "Will you guys be okay without me?"

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mom."

"We're gonna stay here for a bit. Pitch in where we can and keep watch," Dray said. "We already got in contact with Ezekiel. We'll head back once things are a little more stable."

Numbly she nodded and followed Daryl away from the graveyard. Eugene waited for them, and held his hand out to her. She took it without thinking, too dead to worry about how easy it was becoming.

"Did you catch any snakes?" The words slurred together a bit.

"A few," Daryl said. "Still more hidin' about, but I'll flush 'em out tomorrow. Easier earlier in the day. Least we'll have dinner for the next few nights."

"Mm. Rabies."

"Actually, Miss Reynolds, snakes are unable to catch or carry the rabies virus, seeing as they are not mammals," Eugene said. "Birds and cold-blooded animals are immune to it. Which is actually quite interesting and indicative of their link to reptiles, gators and crocodiles in particular."

"And this has been 'Who the Hell Asked?' with Motor-mouth Porter," Daryl muttered.

"I'm sorry, Mason, but did you happen to hear that? It sounded like someone being a salty bitch."

Mason snorted, too tired to really laugh.

They led her up to Beth's room and helped her down into her nest on the floor, but when they turned to leave, she reached for them.

"Wait. I…" She hesitated, flushing with embarrassment. "Will you guys please stay? I don't…I don't think I'll be able to sleep alone."

Under normal circumstances, she never would have asked. But sitting on that floor, stripped raw, it didn't matter how wasted she felt, she knew her brain would fight sleep to the bloody finish. And even when she managed to wrestle herself into unconsciousness, it would not be restful. The nightmares would follow, reinvigorated by the day's events.

She half-expected them to refuse, but instead they gathered a few extra sheets and pillows from the closet and joined her on the floor.

Daryl stretched out beside her, arms crossed behind his head. Eugene curled up on her other side, returning his hand to hers.

"Thank you," she whispered.

And her thoughts didn't fight her so fiercely, knowing they were there.

~m~

The sun was setting by the time Beth left the infirmary. Since everyone was stable and had been for hours, Denise dismissed her.

"Okay, but wake me if anythin' changes," she said.

It made her feel less guilty that Maggie was there now, with Enid and Aaron in case things took a turn. Rosita and Glenn were off preparing a late dinner to keep everyone's stamina up, but Beth didn't think she had the energy to stay up for it.

She almost turned on the light when she reached her room, but caught herself just in time. The glow from the hallway illuminated the silhouettes on the floor—Mason, nestled in her usual spot, and Daryl and Eugene cuddled up with her. It was the same way she and her Misfits slept piled together, limbs tangled, arms locked around each other, and the sight put a strange feeling in her heart.

"Why do you guys sleep like that anyway?" Beth had asked her one day after training.

"Partly out of habit," Mason had replied, grinning while she tied an unruly shoelace. "We were broke as fuck, so we all decided to pile into a one-bedroom apartment to save money. Broke our lease, but no one ever ratted on us. Probably because I sold weed to a good portion of the building, but that's neither here nor there…

"We're also very touchy-feely, even if Charlie tries to act like she isn't. But I mean, bottom line is, we, you know, love each other." She shrugged. "That's just how we express it."

Warmth swelled in her chest, temporarily stifling the day's sorrow. She tiptoed over, knelt carefully at the edge of the nest and tentatively tried to wriggle in among them.

None of them woke, but they made room for her anyway, mumbling incoherently while they shifted and held out their arms. Smiling, she curled up between Daryl and Mason. Leg over Mason's leg. Hand on Eugene's hand. Daryl's arm reaching over, like he hoped to hold them all at once.

She loved them. She loved them so much.

~m~

Alpha didn't hesitate. The first Wolf she saw, she grabbed by the throat and drove her knife through their stomach. The other Wolves jumped out of the way as her victim collapsed, trying in vain to catch their intestines as they spilled out.

"What. The fuck. Was that?" she seethed. Spit flew through her clenched teeth.

"She…she tried to fight us," Joseph, a skinny, dark-haired Wolf, said. He bent himself low when she wheeled on him, but continued. "You said you wanted her alive."

"I also fucking said I wanted the rest of them dead!"

All that planning, all that preparation…all because she'd gambled on staying in the background. But she hadn't trusted anyone else to capture Mason, and she hadn't been willing to reveal herself until she absolutely had to.

"We know. We're sorry. We weren't expecting the others to hold their own so well."

She huffed a vicious laugh. "No. I'm sorry. Are you telling me you couldn't handle four of those sheep shits? All of you, with your arrows and your dead. All of you. And you couldn't manage four of them?"

"It…it wasn't…" Joseph sighed, and his expression hardened. "They needed to be shown. They needed to be taught. That place isn't for them. This world isn't for them. That's what you always say, isn't it?"

Alpha's eyes narrowed. The others remained silent, but she could practically hear the doubt, the fear that resembled excitement. No one had openly challenged her in over a year. Slowly, she circled him, rubbing her blood-slick fingers together.

"You asked us not to kill her, but you never said she couldn't suffer. You asked us to kill the others, but you never said they couldn't suffer. Once they started killing our own, we had no choice. They had to learn that it didn't matter whether they stood as one or not. They're weak. They have no place here."

"So you tried to enlighten them." She nodded thoughtfully. "You were just playing with your food."

"Of course," he said flatly. "I was only doing exactly what we do with everyone else. If you wanted it different, you should have intervened."

Uncertainty rippled through the pack. It was exactly like that day in Arkansas when she challenged Caan, when she first got a taste for blood.

"Of course. That makes perfect sense." She paused, sliding a thumb up and down the blade of her knife. "Except…they didn't learn. You didn't kill them. And I'm just wondering what that makes you, if they're weak and still managed to drive you off."

Joseph stared her down. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth.

When he lunged, she ducked low, jabbing the knife at his chest. He knocked her arm away and snatched a fistful of her hair.

He let go almost immediately, yelping as if she'd burnt him. Blood scattered from the fresh punctures peppering his hand. She grinned and flashed toward him again, and after a few precise blows, knocked him to the ground. Before he could recover, she ran her blade through his left palm, then ground the heel of her shoe into his right, effectively pinning him to the forest floor.

He struggled as she perched over him, but she ignored this. Instead she twirled a finger through one of her red curls and said, "You weren't there. In Arkansas, I mean. So you don't know about the Reeling Fields. But I got this idea from them."

She held the strand of hair out for him to see. Woven in near the root, a jagged shard of bone gleamed, one of a dozen. She had a whole jar of them back in her apartment, harvested from the dead over the months.

"So what to do with you now…"

She pretended to ponder it a moment, taking in her surroundings from her peripherals. No one else seemed willing to follow in Joseph's footsteps. She sniffed in satisfaction.

"Beta," she called lazily. "Bring me something heavy. I don't care what, just something that can crush a femur."

Silence greeted her. She paused, glancing over her shoulder. The pack shuffled uneasily.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Where is my Beta?" she growled.

The pack murmured amongst themselves but no one responded to her directly. She clenched her teeth.

"Where is Owen?"

"We—we saw him fall behind the infirmary," Jenna said, shaking so badly her curls bounced. "They shot him."

Alpha blinked. "So he's dead?"

"I…"

"Is. He dead."

Jenna swallowed. Then she shook her head.

Without a word, Alpha freed Joseph's right hand to kick him in the ribs. While he lay groaning, she pulled her knife from his left and stabbed him through the throat.

She wheeled as he choked on his blood and strode toward Jenna, who flinched but had the balls to stay standing. Alpha stroked the tip of the blade against Jenna's throat.

"He's not dead?" she purred.

"I mean, he might be at this point, they might've found him, but—but last I saw, he was dragging himself away…"

For a second, she fought the urge to drive her blade through Jenna's neck. But she'd already lost too many today. She couldn't afford to succumb to indiscriminate whims. Especially now, with Owen behind enemy lines.

And maybe he was dead, maybe they'd found him and killed him, maybe he'd bled out.

But if he hadn't, and they found him…

He knew so much. More than most of the Wolves, certainly more than these fuckers. If they got him to talk…

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckityfuck.

"Well," she said, sheathing her knife. "What a productive fucking day."

A/N: So that first sentence from Alpha's POV, I had to stop myself from writing "Alpha didn't hesitate, bitch" because my brain is basically a trash bin for Vines and memes and not much else. In case any of y'all don't speak Spanish, that conversation between Eugene and Rosita basically goes:

"You and your little girlfriend are fucking idiots by the way."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"But you are idiots."

"I don't think that's relevant."

Let me know if there's a better way you'd like me to translate, or if you even want me to, or whatever's best. I just really love the idea that Eugene and Rosita are gossip buddies, and they switch to Spanish to keep the others who don't speak it from figuring out what they're saying. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! This chapter was going to be longer, but once again, I had to split it up. It's just dawning on me how much more stuff I have to write because I'm not following canon, which I'm okay with, but I hope it doesn't feel like it's dragging or anything. But yeah, thanks for reading and until next time, much love xoxo.