I love all of the reviews so far and I'm ecstatic that everyone likes this so far! I'm trying to piece together as many scenes (and not scenes) as I can, so expect multiple chapters from the same episode and some chapters from no episode at all! I'm looking forward to more reviews!
-ANDREA-
One time when she was in Law School, Andrea had a boyfriend who loved doing things for her. She'd never liked doing the laundry and he'd surprise her and do it all before she woke up. She was never very promiscuous, so he didn't do it for the sex. In fact, since losing her virginity to her High School crush, she'd never let another man touch her body in quite the same way again. He did it to be nice to her, and she loved him for that. But when she brought him home one vacation to meet her father, Dad took one look at him and took her aside.
"Remember how I taught you to always keep the fish you catch?" He had asked, his eyes sparkling. Andrea had nodded, thinking she knew where this was going. "Well, this is one fish you're going to want to let go."
Dumbfounded, Andrea had asked him why but, ever cryptic, he'd given her nothing else. It turned out that Dad had seen right through the man's ruse. Her so-called boyfriend was just getting close to her so he could sex up her roommate, whose laundry he was also doing. She dumped him, told him to never come back to the apartment again, and subsequently lost her roommate as well. She heard later that they'd married and their fairytale ending had come upon them. She was just happy she'd taken her father's advice. It would have been harder to give him up later.
Andrea remembered that tidbit of past as she cast her line into the water again. She and her sister were drifting in the middle of the quarry's lake, fishing. Since Daryl had gone out with the men and since they'd already eaten most of the squirrels, the group was so big, Andrea had decided to go out with her sister and fish. Anything was better than what happened earlier with Ed. Besides, it was peaceful out here. The bright blue of the water matched the incredible blue of her sister's eyes, which were shaded by an umbrella, protected from the sun.
Nevertheless, Andrea's mind was on other things, like what she would have done if Ed hit Amy instead, and why the hell Amy was using the wrong knots.
Apparently, she kept looking at Amy, though she couldn't recall staring at her younger sister, because Amy asked, annoyed, "What?"
Andrea looked away as she tugged on the line absentmindedly, "Nothing."
"It's not nothing. It's always something." Amy retorted, and Andrea glanced back at her.
Instead of voicing what was going on in her mind, Andrea asked, "Didn't Dad teach you to tie nail knots?"
Amy didn't look at her, "Why would he do that? He's only ever used a fisherman's knot." Andrea saw her confusion as she glanced up, "One knot."
"No, he didn't." Andrea said, incredulous, "No, he tied at least three."
"Clinch knots? No, way."
"Fine, I'm making it up." Andrea threw a hand into the air; the other hand was secured firmly on her pole. Exasperated, she looked away. Why did something so peaceful end up a fight? Was that how it was with everyone? Shane, Lori, Lori's husband. Carol and Ed. Now she and Amy. There was silence and the back of her back burned, though she was thankful for her cowboy hat, which she'd found off a dead body a while back.
She felt the silence weigh down on her as if pinning her down, choking her. Finally, she had to break it, "Did Dad teach you mostly dry lures?"
"Yeah. You?"
Huh. Andrea wondered why her father had taught the two girls different lures. She wondered if it had something to do with their age difference. With their personalities. "Wet."
It was Amy's turn to look incredulous; "You're kidding. But he was always so adamant. I mean, you know Dad on the fishing thing."
"Gee, you think?" She asked sarcastically back at her younger sister. But when she continued, her voice was serious. "I only spent my entire childhood with my ass in a boat. But in my day it was all about getting the hook seated. We were fishing for the dinner table."
"Not us. We always threw them back. Always." Amy answered.
"I guess he changed things up." Andrea said aloud what she'd thought only minutes prior. Only now she knew for sure what her father had done.
"But that'd be like changing his religion or something," Amy mused.
"People change," Andrea continued her sister's thoughts with a shrug, "It's not his fault we were born twelve years apart."
"No," Amy declared. "No, because the minute you went off to college it was my ass in that boat and he taught me dry lures from day one." She paused, in thought. "This was not behavior developed over time."
Andrea looked away, wondering if this was really what she'd thought all along. What had she thought? No, she knew what she'd thought. Dad had been special. Their father had allowed them both to grow up. They sat in quiet for a while, and Andrea, not for the first time, marveled at the wonder of the quarry. At the wonder of their father's wisdom. She tried not to admit to herself that she was afraid of knowing what had happened to him. Instead, she focused on the cool blue water beneath the boat and the long tendril of a line connected to her fishing pole, a slim chance for food.
"You think he did it for us?" She finally asked, voicing her thoughts in an almost-whisper.
Amy's voice cracked as she got it, too. "Because he knew we were so different."
'And we are different.' Andrea thought as she watched Amy's face contort into sadness first and then a mix of relief and happiness second.
Amy continued, "He knew that you needed to catch the fish and I needed to throw them back." She was trying not to cry, and her voice was thick.
Andrea looked away lest she start crying, too. She could feel her eyes begin to burn and she inhaled to make sure her own throat wouldn't clog up. "All right," she said, "remember his rule: no crying in the boat." She looked everywhere but Amy. Couldn't look at Amy at this moment. "It scares the fish."
"Mom and Dad—I mean… maybe Florida wasn't hit so bad." Amy pleaded, "Maybe it's better there. Do you think?"
Andrea wasn't looking at her younger sister, but she could feel Amy's need for something reassuring. She wanted for Florida to have been spared from this crap, too. But she couldn't bring herself to answer Amy, not the truth and not even a lie, as she looked at her sister, her life, with a sad look plastered on her face. Amy looked away, swallowing. Andrea opened her mouth to say something but no words would come out.
Amy's line clicked and Andrea took this moment to change the subject, move on to happier things. "I think you have a bite." Aiming to bring a little happiness back to Amy's sad face, she continued with, "Even with the wrong knots."
It took a while for the joke to work its magic, and they both sniffled and wiped tears away from their eyes before Amy laughed halfway, "Oh God. So much for the 'no crying' rule."
Head resting in her hand, Andrea smiled at her sister before turning to look once more into the sapphire water. "I think that was more for Dad than the fish."
They both turned to look at each other and both smiled, though it was a sad sort of smile etched onto both of their faces. They continued to fish for a good while, perhaps even a few hours, with each catching a fair number a fish no matter the knots used.
"I think we've got enough fish now." Andrea mused finally, noting the number of fish lining their little cooler. Amy was silent, as she had been for the good part of the time, but Andrea sent her a comforting smile. It was hard not to act like a mother to her sister because they were twelve years apart and she'd already been a teenager when Amy had just hit her child years. It was no surprise that she had been made to watch over her baby sister. Perhaps it was no surprise now that they were trapped together. Andrea wouldn't have it any other way.
It took them a while to row into shore and string their fish onto the lines; in the end, Andrea couldn't tell who exactly had caught more, but it had never been a challenge in the first place. Their silence was a comfortable one as they pushed their way up the slope, but halfway up, Amy began talking. It wasn't about Dad or Mom, but it didn't have to be. She was talking again, and Andrea found herself falling into the same old rhythm again. By the time they reached the camp, they were laughing again and both carried the gathered fish triumphantly.
"Hey, baby, would you look at that." Morales said, perhaps in awe, then he began to laugh. "Hey, check it out." Lori started clapping, her eyes wide, and even Carol and Jacqui looked up from what they were working on. "Ladies, because of you, my children will eat tonight. Thank you."
'We already had squirrel,' Andrea thought, but aloud she would take no credit: "Thank Dale. It's his canoe and gear."
It was Carl who stated the obvious behind her back, but she was busy high-fiving an ecstatic Jacqui. As Carl and his mother launched into their own conversation, Andrea realized that what they needed really was fish because fish had more meat than gangly squirrels, sorry Daryl.
"Where did you two learn to do that?" Lori asked incredulously, leaning away from the string of fish Morales held toward her.
Andrea turned but it was Amy who answered with a knowing smile, "Our dad."
"Can you teach me how to do that?" Carl asked and Amy answered something about nail knots.
Andrea noted Dale's arrival and though he looked preoccupied and he was obviously flustered. Nevertheless, she was determined to lighten his mood; "Hey, Dale. When's the last time you oiled those line reels? They are a disgrace." Said in jest.
"I, uh," Dale murmured, slinging the rifle onto his back. "I don't want to alarm anyone, but we may have a bit of a problem."
Andrea's stomach twisted and the smile was wiped off of her face as she followed where Dale pointed. Jim was shoveling near the rise; he was just visible over the flora that grew all over the hill. They all set off for the man, eventually settling single-file for the most part up to where Jim shoveled. Andrea and Amy strode side by side, but as they all gathered around the man, they settled into an estranged semi-circle. In the shade, Andrea took off her hat.
"Hey, Jim." Shane asked, once again acting the leader in the absence of Rick. But Andrea had seen him with Rick, and she wondered if what he was doing now was just for the time or if he still thought of himself as the leader. "Jim, why don't you hold up, all right? Just give me a second here, please."
"What do you want?" He seemed obviously out of breath as he settled his shovel into the ground and looked square at Shane.
"We're all just a little concerned, man. That's all." Shane answered honestly.
Morales added in that Dale said he'd been out for hours. Jim looked at him like he'd gone mad. Then, "So?"
"So why are you digging?" Shane pressed. "Are you heading to China, Jim?" A small laugh.
"What does it matter? I'm not hurting anyone?" Jim countered. Andrea scrunched up her nose; sure, it wasn't hurting them, but it hurt himself. She wondered if his hands were bleeding, if his muscles ached. He began to shovel again, not showing a hint of weakness.
It was Dale who spoke her thoughts, "Yeah, except maybe yourself. It's 100 degrees today. You can't keep this up."
"Sure I can. Watch me."
Andrea felt disgusted and she shifted her feet, but it was Lori who stepped forward. "Jim, they're not gonna say it so I will. You're scaring people. You're scaring my son and Carol's daughter."
'Well, they hadn't known anything until you guys brought them up here,' Andrea countered in her mind, 'what about the adults who think this is disgusting?'
"They got nothing to be scared of." Jim answered, sweat streaming down his face and he huffed as he said, "I mean, what the hell, people. I'm out here by myself. Why don't you all just go and leave me the hell alone?"
Andrea couldn't have been more disgusted with Jim and with Lori and Carol. They didn't need the whole group here, at least not the kids. But then again, Jim didn't need to be digging… were those graves? Shane stepped forward and Andrea craned her head so she could see what was happening as the dark-haired former cop moved forward. He tried to reason with the man who just kept shoveling. As if his life depended on it. As Shane progressed on him, though, Jim suddenly whipped the shovel up and attacked Shane with it. Shane tackled him to the ground and tried to reason with him while he put on handcuffs.
Jim began telling the story of his wife and kids. How they died. How the only reason why he got away was because they were focused on his family. Andrea's stomach twisted again and she felt for the man all while she glanced at Amy who stared straight ahead. She wouldn't let that happen to her sister. But Jim didn't attack anymore because he was finished. Exhausted. Anyone could see that. He let Shane pick him up, and everyone fell back into a line as they headed back to camp.
-DARYL-
Well damn. Chinaman had known exactly what he was talking about. The little map he had drawn on the floor of the building was good. Perhaps not accurate, of course, but it got the point across. He had been a pack of sticky tape, blue label. Aw, how'd China know his favorite color? Who the fuck was he kidding; this idea was the craziest thing he'd ever seen. But, considering what he knew about China and those walkers, this was the best damned plan he knew of right about now. Course, Glenn thought he should be the martyr and go snatch the bag himself, leaving Daryl to fend for himself. Well, hell, Daryl had thought he could go off and look for Merle in all that time it would take him to get back. Despite himself, Daryl had been impressed.
"Hey, kid, what'd you do before all this?" He had asked, trying not to show how impressed he'd been.
"Delivered pizzas. Why?"
No fucking way. Rick had nodded and looked at him, and he'd nodded too. Then he'd followed closely behind the young man, stopping behind a dumpster (that smelled so much like them walkers it should have covered their scent) so he could arm his crossbow.
"You got some guts for a Chinaman." He had commented on Glenn's supposed want for martyrdom.
"I'm Korean."
"Whatever." Daryl still had thought he would call the Asian a Chinaman. Suited him. The Chinaman sped out of the alleyway as Daryl had yanked a crossbow bolt out of its holder and snapped it into place. He'd ducked behind the dumpster; no use in him getting bit (or seen) while watching Glenn's escape route.
Hadn't been hard for him to hear the sound of footsteps reverberating through the alleyway. Footsteps. Human, alive, too quick to be a walker. He'd flattened his back against the dumpster, bringing his crossbow to his chest in hopes that he wouldn't be seen before he could strike first. Dixons always struck first. When he stood and aimed his gun at the kid's chest, the fucking Mexican yelled out when he attacked. He'd yelled something in Spanish that Daryl couldn't care less what it meant, and Daryl asked for his brother. Mexican didn't know him. Of course Mexican wouldn't answer. Prayed for his life, Daryl thought.
Of course, nothing ever happened just right. After a series of events, which ended in a scuffle in which Daryl had gotten the shit kicked out of him by two other Mexicans who came out of fucking nowhere, a bolt up one of Mexican's butts, and Chinaman being stolen, Daryl could only remember Glenn screaming his name as he was taken away. What the everloving fuck. First he'd lost his damn brother, now he'd lost the pizza delivery guy.
Now, they stood in a ragged triangle formation outside the hell-hole that punk homie Mexican had led them to. He'd told them easily enough. He'd had no choice but to tell them. After Daryl showed him his brother's hand and made up some half-assed bullshit story about how he'd killed the man whose hand this belonged to, the boy opened right up. Like a can of sardines or some other fishy can; he smelled bad after he opened up, too. Might've peed himself.
He aimed his crossbow at the main man, another Mexican who looked like he owned the place. But Daryl wasn't one for formalities and he didn't care a cent about what these dudes were talking about. Rick was the leader here, not him. He held the crossbow, he wasn't paid to look pretty.
"You got my brother in there?" He asked, pushing a step forward, readying the bow just in case.
"Sorry, we're fresh out of white boys." Mexican Bossman answered back, "But I've got Asian. You interested?"
Rick tried the tradeoff tactic. Daryl just wanted to shoot him in the face. Both of them. All of them. But they were back to the guns and Daryl thought about sticking an arrow up the other guy's ass. Again. Then Rick showed where T-Dog was, and he could see Bossman's face change. Couldn't help but grin at that. But then there was Glenn, hood over his head, high above them on the top of the building. Again with the hardships.
Wasn't hard to think about what needed to happen next for Daryl. After they'd 'retreated,' he spoke out first. "Them guns are worth more than gold. Gold won't protect your family or put food on the table." Rick just fidgeted with the guns, and Daryl pressed harder. "You willing to give that up for that kid?"
T-Dog added his own thoughts, Mexican boy asked something, and Daryl snapped at him, slapping him across the ear and wondering aloud if he wanted all his teeth. He and his gang of mofo homies was what got him in this in the first place. He'd better keep the fuck quiet. T-Dog skipped right back into the conversation, and Daryl sidestepped him with his own reasoning. Asked if Glenn was worth the guns, his life. But it was Rick who answered.
"What life I have I owe to him." Rick's voice was matter of fact. He continued and, like it or not, Daryl saw the reasoning. But he still questioned. Was handing the guns over the best bet? Rick disagreed. And Daryl saw it. How could he have been so stupid? Then Rick told them to get back to camp. Did he have no brains at all? T-Dog was on the same page as Daryl. For once, Daryl thought he might get to like the Black Man. Deciding not to draw on this love-fest any longer, Daryl looked Rick straight in the eyes, nodded, and gathered what he needed, getting ready for a beat down.
He'd get the Chinaman back even if he had to blow every single thing to smithereens.