Thank you all for the continued readership! Things are really getting tense in Alexandria; is the group going to be forced to make a decision earlier than they were expecting?
The last two chapters didn't get any reviews so far Please give me any feedback you can, even if it's critical! Your reactions and responses held me mold the direction of the story, and I really appreciate it.
Onwards and upwards!
"Rick, I really am not equipped to do this," Carol noted from her position above Star's wound. "Stitching over a chipped bone…I'm not sure how that works."
Star was leaning against Daryl's chest, taking deep breaths as Carol cleaned out her leg with stinging antiseptic. Upon hearing Carol's concerns, she hauled herself up to a sitting position.
"Here, I'll do it," she stated matter-of-factly, taking the needle and makeshift thread out of the older woman's hands before Carol had time to process what was happening.
"You serious?" Michonne gapped at the woman.
"I've done it before," Star mumbled, slightly annoyed at how much of a fuss everyone was making over her.
"You've stitched over a leg bone before?" Maggie asked dubiously. She flinched as Star began to re-arrange the jagged edges of her skin back together.
"Well, no, not technically a leg bone. It was a head wound," Star explained. "Carl, will you hand me those tweezers from the kit?"
Carl handed her the tool, watching her in fascination. She took a deep breath and leaned across her own body to bring the tweezers to the exposed bone.
"Oh God," Maggie said, turning away. Sure, she had seen her share of medical procedures at the farm, but those had been putting animals down with chemicals, and assisting with births or shallow scrapes. None of them had concerned observing a self-surgery.
Daryl grabbed Star's wrist, alarmed. "Ya want me t' do that?"
She paused and turned to give him an amused look. "Do you know how to extract bone fragments?"
"Ya just take it out, don't ya?"
"You can't touch the sides of the wound; there are still live nerve endings there. I can anticipate when I'm going to flinch or move better, so it makes more sense this way."
Daryl nodded and scooted back from her, so as not to jostle her. She took another deep breath and returned to the best position for the procedure. Her hands were shaking mildly from the remaining adrenaline in her system, as well as the added pressure of having every set of eyes in the room on her work. But she carefully, steadily lowered the tool through the deepest gash and plucked a tiny fragment of bone with the forceps. She slowly brought it back out and dropped the tweezers and remnant onto a towel at her side, letting out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Nice," Carol commended. Star smiled in response, but was still focused on her task. She took the needle and "thread" and, without hesitation, made the first pierce in her skin at the top of the wound, grimacing slightly.
"I volunteered in Syria for a year between my undergraduate and Master's programs," Star informed them. "With Doctors Without Borders. Mostly I was there to do PTSD counseling with refugees, but sometimes the medical doctors needed assistance when too many patients were brought in. So I learned a lot of basic wound care."
"Basic?" Rick muttered.
Star looked up at the constable. "In a war zone, open wounds and chipped bones are basic."
"Is that where you stitched up someone's head?" Carl asked, fascinated by her story.
"No," Star said simply, and finished the knot to keep the stitches in place. "There." She sat all the way up and lowered her foot to the ground, testing the strength of the thread. She looked up and around at the group. "Now, what the hell are we going to do about the mob outside?"
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Michonne went out and called back every member of the family. Daryl suggested getting Eric and Aaron, but Star objected, feeling that it was better to have a set plan of action before bringing their friends into the fray. By evening, the entire family was gathered back in the kitchen.
Daryl, Carol and Rick had tried to get Star to wear the leg brace, but she simply scoffed at them and hopped into the kitchen on her own, informing them that her leg was not fractured and not broken, so the brace would only serve to annoy her. Glenn stood when she bounced into the kitchen, offering his seat to her, but she waved him off and made her way to the counter, supporting most of her weight on her hands.
"We were hoping to have longer to consider our options, and gather more intel," Rick addressed the group. "But unfortunately, today's events have shown otherwise. Several more walkers made their way inside this afternoon."
Concerned looks were exchanged across the room. Glenn pulled Maggie closer to him, looking to her for confirmation. She sadly nodded.
"How is that possible?" Tara asked. "Aren't we patrolling the walls?"
"We are," Michonne responded. "But there are several weak spots along the joints, where they are pushing through. The walls are soundproof, so it's hard to hear them until it's too late."
"Increase the numbers on patrol," Abraham instructed. "Cover more ground at once. And it's time we get these townies involved. Give 'em weapons; put 'em on watch, too. The more the better."
"That's our other issue," Rick said, scrubbing his hand over his eyes. "The townspeople might be less capable of change than we thought."
More confused and alarmed looks were thrown across the room.
"Several walkers got in and chased a woman," Rick continued over murmurs of "What?" "Star, Daryl and myself went to take care of them. The townspeople came out to see the commotion and witnessed Star…well…"
"I was dismembering a biter," Star stepped in. "I've been practicing with a new weapon, and I wanted to work with a moving target. It was the last one left; Daryl and I quickly killed all the prior ones."
"Townsfolk didn't like it," Daryl added. "They attacked us."
A collective, stunned gasp went up, accented by Abraham's "What the fuck?"
"These people," Rick continued over the noise, "turned into a mob. They threw stones at Daryl and Star, and struck her in the leg. This has led us to believe that they will not be receptive to the idea of killing walkers themselves."
The family gathered sat in silence, absorbing this new piece of information.
"What does this mean, exactly?" Carol asked their leader.
"It means armin' these folks is out of th' question," Daryl said firmly. "They do that to us with rocks, I don't mean to find out wha' they'll do with a gun."
"Some people weren't there, though," Star interjected. "I didn't see Aaron or Eric there." She looked to Daryl for back-up.
"Jessie and her kids wasn't there, and Deanna, neither," Daryl added.
"Star, did you see exactly who threw the rock?" Glenn asked. Star nervously chewed on the inside of her cheek.
"Yes," she admitted. "But we aren't concerned about one person; it's the mob mentality we have to worry about."
"We could make an example of them," Carol suggested. "Who was it?"
Star grew tenser. "Look, I don't think fear mongering is the best solution to this. We should bring Deanna into this discussion."
"Deanna has clearly lost her control over her people," Rick argued.
Abraham banged his fist on the dining table, making Eugene and Rosa jump. "Dammit, people, focus! What are our options here, and let's pick one and be done with it!"
"We stay here and stay away from those people," Rick said decisively.
"For how long?" Maggie challenged. "We can't do that forever! Plus the walkers will still get in!"
"There's something there," Carol noted. "We could keep our distance and let the walkers pick them off."
"Seriously?!" Glenn jumped in. "That's what this has come to?!"
"We take this place by force, and keep anyone who will learn to fight and arm 'em, and turn the rest out," Abraham volunteered.
"They'll jus' lie and turn on us later," Daryl foresaw. He took a step closer to Star and looked at her balancing on her good leg. "I ain't givin' none of 'em guns."
Everyone went silent, thinking about the best course of action.
"Or," Carl said quietly from his post at the doorway, cradling his sister in his arms, "we could leave."
All heads turned to their young member. Star gave him a small smile and nodded. "Sadelia."
Carl nodded back. "Sadelia."
Rick shook his head. "No. Months on the road in the dead of winter, heading towards something we don't even know is safe? We were considering that option only with months of stocking up and planning. No."
Michonne was sitting on top of the counter, wiping her katana blade over the sink. "This place is a powder keg, Rick. If we are talking about options, we should consider them all."
"You wanted this place!" Rick shot at his deputy. "You all begged me to consider it, and now you want to leave again?! To go back on the road again?! We almost died out there! No. We have walls here, we have weapons, we have food. We just have to decide what to do with the others."
"Rick, "Star spoke up, her voice quieter than usual. "We're not murderers. We're killers, but not murderers."
"It's us or them," Rick insisted. He pointed at her fresh stitches. "You think that's all they will do to you?"
She met his gaze defiantly. "They can do whatever they want to me. They can scar up both my legs. But I'm not going to murder them."
Rick realized the strength of her absolution. He turned to Daryl instead. "Next time she steps outside, she's a target. They aren't going to let this go. Are you going to let them get her again?"
Daryl glanced over at her. She, and all the other people in this room, were his family. He hadn't been able to protect them before, and he owed Rick for still calling him brother. He wasn't going to fail again.
"No," he resolved.
"It's her or them. You can't protect both," Rick insisted. "Which one are you going to pick?"
"Her," Daryl responded immediately. Star's long arm shot out and pushed him behind her as she hobbled between the two men.
"Rick, don't you dare play that against him," she snapped. "This does not have to be an 'us versus them' issue. I did not stand by and let them paint you and yours as monsters, and I sure as hell am not going to let you do the same. There has to be a better solution to this!"
But Rick was lost to reason. He had seen the end of civilization too many times to ignore when it was approaching again. "Glenn, will you stand by while they do this to Maggie? If Michonne kills a walker in these walls, is she going to be stoned next? We can't go outside right now because we may be killed for protecting them!"
The front door suddenly slammed, cutting off Rick's speech. Every person suddenly had a weapon in their hands and was out of their seat, ready to spring into action. Daryl extended his arm as he turned to bring Star behind his body, but found only empty air. He briefly turned his head from the door to look for her, only to find empty space. He lowered his knife and approached the front door, pulling to open to find Star's receding figure making its way down the street.
He sprinted out of the house and down the sidewalk, constantly checking his surroundings. He finally caught up with her and wrapped his hand around her bicep.
"What are ya' doin'?" he whispered to her. She stopped and turned a steely gaze to him.
"I'm going to resolve this," she informed him. "We can't do any good by hiding and making them into monsters!"
"Star, they threw a damn rock at ya," Daryl insisted. "Ya really think ya can just go to Deanna's an' talk this out?"
She hesitated, swaying back and forth on her good leg as she held the other slightly off the ground. "I don't know, Daryl," she admitted. "But I can't deal in hypotheticals. I intend to find out for sure."
"Jessie came by yesterday," he told her. "T' see Rick. Told 'im that me an' ya should stay out of all this. We're causin' too much trouble."
"Why?" she challenged.
He looked around the dark town cautiously. "Come back inside, an' we can talk this out there. If ya still want t' go in the mornin', I won't stop ya'."
She relented, and followed him back into the family home. He closed the front door and secured it behind them, leading them back to the kitchen, where the rest of the group was occupied with small discussions. They all went silent when the two walked in. Star sat down, defeated, at an empty chair.
"I don't understand this. I was on perfectly good terms with all of these people, and I can't figure out what changed," she sighed. "I was their therapist and their runner, and suddenly I'm…some kind of…I don't know! What happened?"
"Again, who cares?!" Abraham insisted. "We section ourselves off, let the hoards take care of the weak ones, and figure out what to do with the ones left. That's my vote."
Michonne turned her attention to Rick. "Is this still a democracy?" she asked, a hint of iciness in her tone. He nodded after a moment.
"Then we vote. We have Abraham's option: option one. Option two: We give them a choice to join us or not, and train and arm the ones who join us. Option three: we take over by force."
"None of these choices let these people all live," Star added bitterly. "They may be naïve and scared, but they aren't all bad."
"And if we stay, the bad among them may kill us," Rick argued with her.
"That's enough, you two," Carol interjected. "All in favor of sectioning off, option one?"
Abraham raised his hand with certainty. Rosa and Eugene hesitantly followed their old leader's example.
"Option two, letting them choose to join us?"
Michonne, Tara, and Star's hands shot into the air. Star shot an exasperated look at Daryl, who crossed his arms over his chest.
"Option three, taking Alexandria by force?"
Rick, Carol and Sasha resolutely cast their votes in favor of the last option. Michonne turned her gaze to the kitchen entryway, where Daryl and Carl were leaning against the door frame.
"You two didn't vote," she noted.
"Because we forgot an option," Carl told her. "Leave for Sadelia." He boldly raised his hand, and Daryl lifted his arm in support.
Star still shook her head. "If we leave, we sentence this entire town to death."
"We aren't even close to being prepared for a winter on the road," Eugene supplied.
"Regardless, that had the smallest amount of votes, so it's cut," Michonne powered through. "Carl and Daryl, vote again."
"Give them a choice and train them," Carl immediately responded. Star let out a quiet breath; there was still hope for the young boy.
"Same," Daryl responded.
"Daryl?" Rick questioned incredulously.
"It worked at the prison," the hunter reasoned.
"That means taking this place by force is out," Michonne concluded.
"Then I vote for sectioning off," Carol returned. Rick nodded in agreement.
Sasha looked around in the crowded room. The final, deciding vote rested with her.
"I don't like the idea about giving weapons and training to folks who turn might turn against us," she prefaced. "But splitting the town and letting walkers clean house sounds like a great way to get another herd invading. So I vote we give them the choice."
The tense silence was shattered by Rick slamming his fist down on the counter top. "What?!"
All eyes jumped from Sasha to the leader's outburst.
"This will cost us lives!" Rick bellowed. "You've all gambled with the lives of your own!"
"Rick," Michonne warned.
"No! We have survived this long by taking what we need and looking out for our own. We owe them nothing! They give us nothing! You want to see what acting civil will get you in this world? I hope you're all ready to dig our graves!"
With that, Rick stormed from the house.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
The group gradually dispersed, their next course of action controversial but ultimately decided. Daryl helped Star up the stairs to the bedroom, where she dropped to the mattress on the floor wordlessly. He pulled off his boots and socks, and crouched down to sprawl next to her. They laid next to each other silently, mulling over the day's events and revelations.
"What're we gonna do?" Daryl quietly asked his companion. She rolled over onto her side so she was facing him, shrugging with one arm as she propped herself up on the other. She brought her hands to his hair and ran her fingers slowly across his scalp. He relaxed into her touch, and his eyes slid shut.
Almost inaudibly, she whispered into the dark night.
And I'm afraid, to sleep because of what haunts me
Such as living with the uncertainty
That'll never find the words to say
Which would completely explain, just how I'm breaking down
Someone come and, someone come and save my life
Maybe I'll sleep when I am dead but now it's like the night is taking sides
And all the worries that occupy the back of my mind
Could it be, this misery will suffice.
He heard the fear and the turmoil in her words, and wrapped a protective arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She wrapped her arms up and around his torso, eliminating as much space between them as the laws of physics would allow.
"Trade?" she whispered to him.
"Trade," he responded, taking comfort in the routine.
"Tell me something certain, and I'll tell you something that's for sure."
He didn't have to try too hard to find his contribution. "No one will ever hurt ya' again."
Her smile against his chest was all the comfort he needed, but she gave a second piece. "I'll never let you get another scar."
He stared down at her, her hair and skin glowing in the steams of moonlight that managed to get through the gaps in the curtains. He had never been certain of anything in his entire life, so he could only assume that the confidence and comfort surging through him when she was with him equated certainty. And it was that certainty that drove him to trust her unequivocally, absolutely, even if it was against every lesson he had ever learned in life.
"Different trade," he requested. She sat upright and crossed her legs underneath her, her arm still laying across his waist.
"Okay," she agreed.
"Tell me a memory about yer father. Adam," he corrected himself. He had noticed that she called her parents by their names.
She looked up at the ceiling, trying to select a memory. "Hmm…" she muttered as she intertwined their hands, absentmindedly tracing the veins under his skin. "When I was ten years old, I got in trouble at school for fighting with another student. She had been teasing me about my lunches. They were always mostly vegetables from our garden, and bread that Jade made by hand. I got tired of hearing it every day, and one afternoon, I snapped and kicked her under the table, really, really hard. Got sent to the principal's office and everything. Adam wasn't happy about it; my parents were big proponents of nonviolence. When I got home, Adam sat me down and had me practice a whole bunch of nonviolent ways to respond to the teasing. Negotiations, ignoring them, justifying my food with research, explaining the economic benefits…pretty much every tactic in the book. I went to lunch at school the next day with an arsenal of nonviolent responses, and I was so excited to try them out. Sure enough, the other girl started up her usual insults, and I tried every single one of Adam's ideas, to no avail. She just kept going! We hadn't taken into account that she had no good reason to bully me; we assumed there was a logical goal behind it, and that it could be conquered with information. I went home that day, and told Adam that he might want to try to think up nonviolent solutions specifically with emotionally-driven, ten-year-old girls in mind."
She laughed quietly at the memory. "He never did find any that worked. He told me that that's why the universe doesn't allow anyone to remain ten and irrational forever; the universe always had a reason for working the way it did, in his eyes."
She stopped tracing his hand to meet his eyes. "Your turn, Angel. Would you like to share a memory of your father?" she kept her tone light, but her eyes showed more concern. She knew his family was a bit of a tense topic, but he had selected their fathers as a subject. She assumed there was a reason behind that.
Instead of speaking, he held the hem of his shirt in both hands and hauled it up and over his head, leaving his torso bare. She subconsciously licked her lips.
"I'll take that as a subject change?" she joked, drawing a finger down the planes of his stomach. He caught her straying hand by the wrist and stilled her. She gave him a perplexed look, which turned into a dawn of realization when he turned around, his back facing her.
The dark slices jumped off his skin in the white moonlight, impossible to ignore now that they were staring her in the face. She felt a mix of blazing anger, immense sadness, and growing possessiveness wash through her as she took them in. Slowly, she raised the finger that had been on his stomach and lightly touched it across each line.
She could see his tenseness in the rigid stance he was holding, the breath he seemed to be holding captivate. She knew how much courage and faith he had to muster to show them to her, so she lowered her lips to each severe line and tenderly placed kisses along their paths.
He turned back around to face her, and took her smaller hand in his palm, eyes cast downwards.
"Only two other people've seen those," he quietly told her. "Jus' my brother. And my old man. He put 'em there."
She stared unwavering at his face.
"It was my own fault, I suppose," he continued. "Didn't do something right, or fast enough. He always had this belt near 'im, or on 'im. At first it was Merle who got it…an' then Merle left, an' it was jus' me to hit on. Most times, it didn't scar. But a few times…it did. But it always burned for day after."
Watching him tell her the story broke her heart, and enraged her, too.
"I hate him," she whispered. He looked up to meet her gaze. "I hate him, and I don't care that I don't know him, and I don't give a shit if he had a million other redeeming qualities, and I don't care that I was raised not to hate!" Fire was leaping from her eyes, and her hand was crushing his.
"I hate him," she repeated venomously, and his lips were suddenly crushing into hers, his hands buffering her fall as she collapsed backwards under his weight. Her mouth moved deeply and sweetly against his, engulfing him in passion.
They broke apart, with Daryl still hovering above her. She could tell that the marks and memories still disturbed him, so she scrambled for a positive spin on them.
"We match," she suddenly blurted out. He squinted at her in confusion, and she sat up and into him, forcing him to rock back into a seated position. She stuck out her injured leg, which he had been careful to avoid, and pointed to the stitches.
"The universe always has a reason for working out the way it does," she reiterated. "We both got scars trying to be a part of a family that we thought loved us. And our scars prove that it's not really love, that those people aren't our family."
He smiled at her and kissed her soundly, swirling his tongue across her lips.
We match.