October 6, 2010
Shane sits heavily at the kitchen table, feeling much older than his thirty-plus years. Michonne slides a steaming mug in front of him, and he catches the mixed scents of chocolate and alcohol. He hesitates, because he hasn't touched alcohol since the CDC.
"Tonight calls for more than just a warm drink," Michonne urges. He sees her own mug clasped in her slim hands like it is a lifeline.
He can barely believe today's events and he lives through the worst of them. For Michonne, who coaxed terrified children into trusting her when for some reason they wanted to cling to him despite his blood soaked clothing, it had to be a hell of a shock, too.
Sipping the warm drink, he coughs at the intensity. "Drop of chocolate to the rum?"
She smiles, just a glimmer of one, and nods. "Not as good as when I've got actual chocolate, but close enough with the powder. I know you've been abstaining, but tonight, you need something to warm your bones."
Shane shivers at that, but it makes him realize he's been at that edge all evening. Shivering as if he's cold, all from the shock that set in once the adrenaline crash hit and the children were safe. He cups the mug and drinks deeply.
"There's more if you want it. The rum I added after, so what's in the pot is what I gave all the children."
He appreciates the explanation that he can have more without the alcohol boost. "It's amazing they can sleep at all."
"Well, Duane was sheltered from the worst of it, and I think Sophia stayed focused enough on what we taught her to soften the trauma level. It's the other three I worried about until they just dropped from exhaustion."
"No telling how long it's been since they last felt safe to sleep. Where are they?"
"In Sophia's room. The two little ones are in my bunk and Patrick in Sophia's. I'll take Merle's bed for the night and he can take the couch."
Shane doesn't even have to ask where Sophia is. He knows she'll have that camp cot out and in his room. "We are going to need more beds again."
Merle and Morgan are out overnight at least half the week, but they are getting crowded. They've gotten by so far by Michonne and Andre sharing the full sized bottom bunk in Sophia's room.
"Merle can retrieve that camper from your neighbor's place and park it here. Save us from his snoring, and since he knows how to fill propane tanks, he can keep it heated when he's here to use it."
"The house next door might be more comfortable." With the fencing installed between Shane's place and the neighbor on the other side, they technically have three secure houses, with plans for Gloria's property next.
"Perhaps once he finds his brother. I doubt he would want to be that isolated otherwise, or to heat a building that size."
Her reasoning makes sense to Shane, and Merle definitely isn't the creature comforts type. "Good to have options."
She concentrates on her mug for long enough to finish it and refill both mugs from the pot on the stove. "You do know you just adopted three more children, right?"
"Why would they choose me?" Michonne, with her established and confident motherhood, seems a more likely option. Sure, Sophia loves him, but they were on their own long before Michonne or Morgan came along.
"Because Sophia chose you. Because she told them you would come and save them, and you did." Michonne reaches out and takes one of his hands, squeezing it gently. "They may not have seen what you did, Shane, but they know you killed their boogeymen."
The fact that he killed five men today, two of them up close and personal without his gun, hasn't really set in yet. He hosed down outside, removing sticky drying blood. He notes randomly that he needs to burn the clothes he left down there, because there will be no salvaging them by now.
It's Sophia he worries for, after 'Uncle Lou'. She showered and let him stitch the cut on the side of her face from being pistol whipped. They were a bit in their own world as Michonne cared for the two younger children. Patrick got himself clean and into a set of Shane's sweats that swallow him but seem comforting to him anyway.
The kids have been fed so little for weeks that getting warm chicken noodle soup in them was a task. None of them wanted to talk, and neither Shane nor Michonne is ready to force the issue.
The proximity alarm Morgan installed chirrups. Michonne and Shane both rise and look out the windows. A familiar SUV rolls through the gates.
"I'll go give them an update to keep it soft and sedate coming in. Why don't you go check on the children?"
Shane nods and heads down the hall. Duane's deeply asleep, secure in the safety of his surroundings. Sophia's asleep on her cot in his room, Lucius curled against her belly like a living stuffed animal. In the former home gym, Shane verifies the two smaller kids are asleep.
But Patrick is awake. He blinks blearily at Shane, relaxing as he identifies him. The teen reaches for his cracked glasses and fumbles them on.
"It's just Duane's father and another of our people coming home after what happened today." Merle and Morgan weren't due back for another day, but even with Patrick confirming none of the men escaped, they're rattled.
Patrick still looks wary.
"Do you want to come meet them both?" Knowledge may help, Shane thinks.
The boy sits up, inching down to the ladder and easing quietly to the floor. He follows Shane down the hall, keeping Shane's bulk between him and the newcomers.
Patrick eyes them carefully when he's introduced, keeping Shane partially between him and the other men. Shane is starting to suspect Michonne is right about the expansion of the number of children he's personally responsible for.
Morgan smiles reassuringly, even as he heads down the hall. Shane understands the need to see Duane is safe with his own two eyes.
"Have a little cocoa," Michonne offers, passing Patrick a mug. Shane wonders if she spiked that one, too, but if she did, the boy deserves it tonight, he thinks.
Patrick takes a drink, but backs up to the counter. Merle shows far more attentiveness to the teen's fear than Shane expects. The big redneck goes into the living room, settling on the couch.
"Do you know how old the other children are?" Michonne asks.
"Molly is eight and Luke is five." Patrick sips at the cocoa, avoiding looking around. "I'm fourteen, I think. It's October, right?"
"Yeah. The sixth," Shane tells him.
"Then I'm fourteen, as of seven days ago."
Michonne takes Merle a bowl of leftovers and leaves another bowl on the table for Morgan. Patrick doesn't flinch away from her movements, but Shane stays put near the pantry to keep him reassured he isn't leaving the room. He catches the little flicks of the boy's eyes toward him, making sure he's still nearby.
"How long were you with them?" he asks, hoping Patrick is settled enough to answer. Michonne settles on the couch next to Merle, but she's paying close attention.
"Couple of weeks. Lou and the kids were there longer. Don't think they were so bad at first, but from what Harley muttered sometimes, Joe changed after his wife died. Harley didn't think some of the men would have been allowed to join up with Joe's wife around. Harley was okay. Usually the one who fed us."
Shane has no regrets over killing any of the men who at the least allowed children to be caged and collared and chained like dogs. He can tell from the damaged skin at Patrick's throat that the teen will probably carry permanent scars despite Sophia's nursing care.
"One of the kids told Sophia they were going to be sold to some man to the south."
Shane hears a sound he might call a subvocal growl from Merle's direction.
"I'm not sure how true it was. Was Dan who brought him up after he joined up last week. Dan gave me the creeps. Got beat down a couple of times when he was learning the rules of claiming."
Patrick shudders, seeming involuntarily.
"Claiming?"
"Anytime they saw something or someone they wanted, they yelled claimed. Then no one else could touch on pain of beating, sometimes until they died."
"Someone? Like children?"
"Yeah. Lou claimed Molly and Luke when their dad died. But he got bored with providing for them. The first man who claimed me when they cornered me in a treehouse in some neighborhood died for being considered greedy. Harley stepped up then. He was nicer. Safer."
Shane feels ice on his spine as the teen explains matter-of-factly about being considered property. It worries him about how much of Patrick's easy acceptance of being here is from that.
"That's why Fee was left alone. Harley claimed him, too."
The rage that flickers in Shane's very damn soul reignites as he thinks of Sophia being treated as a possession. But the reaction might terrify the boy, so he controls it with every ounce of self-control he's regained since the farm.
"What happened to your parents?"
"Dad died of the 'flu', back before the government admitted what the virus was. Mom made it to some time in early August, I think. My watch broke, and it was easy to lose time after that. I got by with scrounging food from abandoned houses and sleeping in high up places."
It sounds like Patrick was on his own even longer than Sophia. Shane wonders how many other kids ended up on their own, especially considering the capacity of parents to sacrifice for their children.
Patrick finishes his cocoa and washes the mug. "They're safe here, right?" Shane almost misses it, and the boy speaks again. "Molly and Luke, they're safe?"
It's heartbreaking that he asks for the two younger kids, not himself.
"Yes, Patrick. They're as safe as we can make them here. You are too."
"I hope so." The kid yawns. "What time do I need to be up? There's chores, right?"
"I'll wake you for breakfast. If you want to help Fee and Duane with the animals next door or the plants, you can. But there's no required chores until you're healthier."
Shane saw the boy shirtless, and he's gone without regular meals longer than he was with the Claimers. He's afraid to even start self-defense lessons with Patrick just yet.
As the boy heads back to bed, Shane reminds himself to see if they can figure out how to replace his glasses, too.
"I wish you had the time to make the bastards suffer," Merle says, once Patrick's out of hearing range.
Shane goes to sit in his recliner, too damned tense for anything else. He wishes he felt like he could leave the house, but even his usual perimeter run seems impossible tonight. His hands shake.
"Shane?" It's Michonne, leaning forward enough she snags his hand again. "Today was not your fault. We've all let those two wander further than we should out and about."
Intellectually, he knows that. None of them want to smother the kids and make them as rebellious of adult oversight as Carl became. But today, he left them outside for ten minutes and Sophia got snatched.
"How did you track them down?" Merle asks, setting aside his empty bowl.
"Sophia shot one of them before another one knocked her out. He bled all the way back to their camp."
The terror rears its ugly head. Hiding in the shrubbery, Duane didn't know who was shot. The extra five minutes to hide the boy in the storm shelter just escalated it. He would have sworn, before today, that nothing would frighten him more than Rick being shot right in front of him.
"Damned good thinking on her behalf."
Shane agrees. She had no way of knowing they would leave a trail, but the gunshot alerted him even as Duane buzzed him on the radio. She followed all her training today.
"She already freed the kids and was killing their captors when I got there. Said anyone who put kids in cages deserved to die."
"You gotta be shitting me."
Shane's laugh contains no humor at all. "Remember that belt buckle knife you gave her as a joke?"
Merle looks impressed. "Damn thing worked?"
"They missed it, so she dislocated her thumb, cut herself free, sent the kids to safety, and killed the man she already wounded. Just glad I got there to finish off the last one."
The four men before are a blur. Two met his gun. One met his knife and is the reason he was blood soaked because the bastard bled like a pig when Shane slit his throat.
The fourth man was the only one who got the drop on him, but Shane's never fought fair, not once the chips are down. The man with the long gray hair is probably a walker, because Shane didn't pause to finish him off after breaking his neck just like Randall.
The fifth and last one is the only man to show guilt or fear. He never even tried to draw his weapon. Something in the man's eyes reminded him of himself, that night in the field. Unlike his own suicidal moment, that man won't limp away or rise to roam in search of flesh. Shane put a bullet right between his eyes.
But it means that Sophia killed a man tonight and suddenly, being on the opposite side of the house is too goddamn much space. He mumbles a goodnight and stumbles down the hall, passing Morgan on the way. The older man lets him go.
Sophia is still curled against the big cat, mind dulled to sleep by pain medication. He sits on the floor beside her cot, one hand smoothing her blonde hair. For perhaps the first time ever, Lucius allows him close enough to touch.
Shane nearly lost her today, if luck hadn't aligned precisely in their favor. He wants to hide her away and protect her forever, but he knows he can't. Her staunch independence is part of who she is, and he can't stifle it. She's the warrior princess she's dreamed to be.
If she died today, there's nothing that would have kept him from finishing what he started in that moonlit field.
Instead, he sits on a hardwood floor, listening to her breathe, and thanks whatever higher power exists that today wasn't the end of both of them.