Hey everyone, sorry that it's kinda late, I spent all day training my dog. You know. Sit, stay, lay down, rollover, play dead, attack. Stuff like that. Can I just say my dog is pretty damn smart? I gave him a bath and he freaked! He hates water. Oh, and I transplanted my tomatoes! Hope they do well. I don't know if you guys wanna hear about my life, but I told you anyway!
Thanks for follows, favorites, and reviews!
SilverAdvenger12: Thanks! And I know, I'm trying to build bonds and relationships between her and the group, even if it's kinda early in the story. Hope I do well! *rainbows and awesomeness*
Flowers: Thanks you so much! Seriously lovin' the feedback! Sorry about cliffhangers, I'm evil! Daryl won't be in this chapter, but the next one. I feel you, I love writing him! I can't wait to incorporate him! *laughter and love*
Disclaimer: I don't own the Walking Dead. But I do own my dog, and he's pretty gosh darn awesome.
I stared at her face as she sat next to me on the old, wood chair. Her features looked the exact same as I remembered them. Same pale white skin, a slight tan giving it a bronzed tint. Same blue eyes-large, observant, and resilient. Same frown lines from stressing and brooding too much.
Andrea.
Sun drifted in through the curtains on the window, making the whole situation seem cheery. The joyful brightness fought against the grim tension in the room, creating an undefined, unclear atmosphere. I waited for her to do something, say something. I wanted to break the uncomfortable silence we had been sitting it, but I didn't know what words to use. I didn't even feel as if it was my place to start the conversation. I tried not to examine her features. I struggled not to push past that recognizable face. I loathed how I immediately noticed that Amy was missing from her side. I hated how that underneath that familiar façade, a world of grief and pain rested.
"Where's Riley?" Andrea finally asked.
I sat up further, feeling much better and warmer now that blood could easily circulate throughout my system. A slight headache still threatened to thud in between my temples and my shoulder continued burning like there was fire crawling up my arm, but I was healing.
"She and momma were supposed to be cleaning out our house in Florida when everything happened. My guess? Probably still there, holed up somewhere." Andrea's mask let some remorse and pity slip through, but then her defenses were back up in a second as she stared at me blankly.
"Do you think she's still alive? Do you think both of them are?" she questioned. I paused, recalling the delusion I'd experienced in my unconscious state. Whether it was real or not didn't matter, my subconscious was telling me something, trying to get a message through.
"I know at least one of them is alive," I sighed. Andrea nodded sympathetically, but remained carefully distant, unsure of how to act around me.
"Amy?" I probed, though I didn't want to know the answer. The expression she wore said it all.
Andrea seemed angered by my question, staring at me pensively before tilting her head down. When she glanced back up, nothing but grief was displayed on her face. "Gone."
I gulped, trying to move past that fact, fighting the urge to ask how. "I've been traveling from Atlanta, trying to make my way to Florida. When I got shot, it kind of put a halt on things," I informed. I could relate to her, we both had sisters, but we both couldn't be with them at the moment.
Andrea stared at my shoulder. It felt better, not by much, but still, it felt better. Clean, white bandages were wrapped tightly around my injury and no blood was leaking out of the stitches onto the fresh dressings. As long as I didn't strain the sutures too much, it would mend nicely. Nothing but a scar, a memento of my vulnerability, would be left. Because Rick had donated his blood, I would survive. I had contentment in my heart that someone would do me such a favor, that good still resided in our selfish world, but I couldn't help but think that I owed him a debt I might not be able to pay.
"Who shot you?" I glanced down at my clothes. My old shirt had been cut away for the surgery and my upper body was now clothed only in a black sports bra. I kept the blanket up, making sure to cover up the bare parts of my body.
"Some guy hiding out in a tree. He snuck up on us. It was my fault, I should've been paying better attention," I sighed. After a moment, I smirked, remembering that I may have received a wounded shoulder, but he had gotten injured hand. "He's out there somewhere, a bullet hole in his hand."
Andrea smiled, snickering into her fingers. Faster than I thought was physically possible, the smile and the laughter died away, replaced by narrowed, suspicious eyes.
"You said us." I didn't react for a minute, just swallowed thickly, grasping for some sort of explanation. She leaned forward intimidatingly. "You said that he snuck up on us. Who else was with you?" she interrogated. I tensed up, eyeing her warily.
I could trust her. I would have to. I had no other choice.
"You can't tell anyone. If you do, if you really have to, tell someone who will respond calmly, someone who won't react badly to an outsider," I warned. This group, while kind to me, wouldn't be so accommodating to a strong, male foreigner. She studied me for a minute before complying with a grim nod. "It's my father, he-"
"Tom's traveling with you?" A slight smile softened her features, making me feel marginally more confident.
"Yeah," I exhaled in confirmation. "He went to get supplies after I got injured. Did the man who saved me, Daryl, tell you how he found me?"
"Yes, you were just some stubborn bitch tied up in a tree, dying from blood loss," Andrea detailed with a smirk. I glared at her as soon as the words finished leaving her mouth. She put her hands up innocently. "His words, not mine."
I chuckled, relaxing. "Anyway, dad was out scouting for supplies, something to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. Anything that would help, really. Daryl happened to get there before he got back." I stared at the window, not really seeing anything past the curtains. My father was still out there, wondering what had happened to me. Had I been taken against my will? Had I fallen out of the tree and managed to crawl away? Had someone killed me and taken away my supplies? Had a stiff gotten me?
"I want you to be honest with me, no lies, was he the only person with you? Were you with any others?" Andrea demanded. I peered into her eyes, attempting to get my sincerity across.
"He was the only one with me, I promise." She focused on me, studying my face, searching for any indication of deception. I stared her head on. Trust was a two way street. I could be lying to her or I could not, but it wouldn't matter if simply she turned around and used the information against me. She could just as easily attempt to find who I had been traveling with. She could try to eliminate the threat. Just as she was putting faith in me, I was putting faith in her. She nodded slowly, receiving my message loud and clear.
"Listen, Rebecca," Andrea started seriously. "I can talk to the others, turn them onto the idea of you staying here. We can protect you. I know some of us may seem a little overwhelming, but we all mean well. We won't hurt you," she stopped, inspecting my shoulder, "I won't let anyone hurt you."
"But my father, I have to find him, he's out there somewhere. I can't leave him alone," I stated resolutely.
"I'll tell Rick and only Rick, he's our leader, he'll be fair about this. He was the one to give you blood, you can trust him. We'll go out and search for your father, bring him back to you," she negotiated.
"And what if your people don't accept us? I'm no fool. Just because they saved my life doesn't mean they will receive my father and me with open arms. I'm an outsider, a threat," I argued vehemently while trying to keep my voice down and away from curious ears.
Andrea's blue eyes blazed powerfully as she shook her head. "I realize what it's like out there." She tilted her chin toward the window, indicating the zombie filled world we had all been forced into. "I understand how it changes people, but I also know you. I've known you since you were a baby! I can see it; you haven't changed, not really. You're stronger and you're tougher, but you're not a threat." She took a deep breath before continuing, her voice softer, "They trust me, they'll listen to me. They'll see that."
I rubbed my forehead with my good hand, the ache in my head returning forcefully. "Even if they do and I'm allowed to stay, I'll just end up leaving anyway. I need to find my family. They need me," I explained.
"You're no good to them with a messed up shoulder," she deadpanned. I scowled at her, covering up more of my body with the blanket as if it would protect me from her judgmental, authoritative gaze.
"And just what exactly is that supposed to mean?"
She sighed, her expression discarding some of its frustration. "All I'm saying is that it's hard enough surviving out there without a handicap. You need to stay here, at least until you're all healed up. Then, if you want to leave, I won't stop you."
I considered her proposition. I heard what she was saying with a sensible and receptive mind. I understood how rational her argument sounded compared to my strewn together words. I could barely stand without cringing in severe pain. Even when I would be able to move, I would be disabled and vulnerable, an asset to no one. I would be killed the second I stepped off this farm. This world had no room for the weak. It located and eradicated any imperfection. I'd never be able to reach my family. I wouldn't be able to help them, not if I was dead. Andrea was right, I wouldn't stand a chance.
I squinted at her audaciously. "I can leave as soon as I'm better?" I checked, considering with the idea of accepting her offer.
She raised her eyebrows, her attitude unyielding and firm as she surveyed me. "I'm not talking about limping around with a bunch of fake ass bravado. If you're going to be leaving, you better be one hundred percent, Hershel checked out, as healthy as the day you were born, healed, okay?"
I held out my left hand, having to stretch it across my body to where Andrea was sitting to my right. She shook it resolutely, but gently, cautious not to jostle my shoulder.
"Deal," I agreed.
I returned my arm to my side. "When you find my father, tell him I'm okay, don't let him do anything stupid. I think he'll believe you Andrea, but if he doesn't, just tell him this, he'll know it's me-he swore he would come back to me, and pinky promises cannot be broken." Andrea laughed affectionately, leaning back in her chair.
"Okay," she smiled. Her head turned toward me, cocking to side in thought. "I'm going to have to ask Daryl to help us. He's the only one, besides you, that knows where you were tied up at." I bit my lip in consideration.
"Is he trustworthy? I mean, if he finds my father with a gun in his hand, will he shoot first and ask questions later? Is he trigger happy?" I furrowed my eyebrows as I remembered the brawny man's weapon that had been aimed at me. I may have been experiencing one hell of a headache at the time and been dying from a bullet wound, but I didn't think I'd forget that anytime soon. "Or… crossbow happy?"
Andrea sniggered, then silenced herself as she checked behind her shoulder as if Daryl had heard her mocking blunder and would come storming in at any moment. She turned back to me with a shake of her head. "He's kind of intimating and all, and he could probably take down both you and me with his eyes closed, but from what I've seen, he's honorable. I mean he saved you, didn't he? That makes him okay in my book."
"Thanks, Andrea," I grinned, trusting her judgment, trying to convey how grateful I felt. I considered us on the same ground now, as if we understood one another again. It reminded me of the old days, back in Florida, whenever she would cover for me when I broke something or confirm one of my lies or save my ass whenever I got too deep into shit. She had my back when I really needed her. She was still my friend, even after a few years of distance. Even after a zombie apocalypse.
A rap on the door brought us out of our private conversation. I glanced toward the doorway.
Andrea nodded to me, signaling that our discussion had officially ended, and I smiled. "Come in!" I permitted. The door opened smoothly, and I waited for the only other two people I'd seen since waking up in this room last night-Hershel or Patricia. I instantly regretted my trusting words as a man with a shaved head, dark eyes, and muscular body stepped into room, turning the once pleasant atmosphere sour.
"Enough girl time, Andrea, you have to take your watch just like everybody else," Shane commanded mockingly, rocking back lazily onto the heels of his feet. His whole posture suggested that he was laidback and docile, but I could sense something off about it. The gun at his hip remained a little too close to his hand. His eyes, though trained on Andrea and steadily ignoring me, had done an apprehensive sweep of the room as soon as he had entered. He kept his back to the wall and his body pointed toward us, ready to fight or take cover at any moment. I may not know anything about him other than his name, but even I could tell he was unhinged, unsafe. A part of his mind didn't work in unison with the rest of him. Though he tried to appear calm and unsuspecting, something inside of him tainted the impression. He may have been a nice person at one point, but not anymore, not from what I could discern.
Andrea flicked her eyes toward me uncertainly before raising to her feet. Her whole mood changed. It shifted from carefree and friendly to obedient and tense. She took hesitant steps toward the door, her head held high in false valor. When she reached the doorway she pivoted to face me at the last moment. She appeared cautious in her actions. I knew then that maybe I wasn't the only one in need of help. Whether she knew it or not, I had come just in time to save Andrea from herself, just as she had come just in time to save me from myself. I would talk to her about this. She couldn't be questioning herself, questioning Rick, at least, not with Shane.
She eyed Shane, waiting for confirmation from him. He subtly shook his head, a scowl forming on his face.
The old Andrea I knew came out. She shrugged, a defiant glare on her face, and acknowledged me anyway. "Bye, Rebecca, I'll try and stop by soon," she informed, a rebellious ring in every word, daring Shane to stop her from doing what she wanted.
"Bye," I smiled. As soon as she exited, my features contorted into a frown. I tried to keep my face blank, but it didn't work. The emotions swirled inside me, a mix of resentment, bewilderment, and fury. No one, and I mean no one, did that to my friend. No one turned her from a strong willed feminist into a submissive bitch. Not Shane, not anyone.
I stared daggers at him, my muscles flexing and tensing, sending a jolt of pain up my shoulder. It didn't surprise me that as he strode out, he tossed me a threatening glower of his own.
As soon as the door shut, I settled back into bed.
I sensed malicious vibes coming off of Shane. Without knowing him, I understood that he was capable of horrible things. I knew he could take me out at any moment if he decided I was a threat. He could start a riot on this whole farm if he really wanted to. He could turn everyone, who wasn't already, against me. His whole presence screamed power and authority. He held some kind of social position in the group I'd encountered. I just didn't know how far his reign covered, who it covered. He could kill someone; kill me, if he really wanted to and his group might not hold it against him.
The question was, would he?
Hey everyone, so I know this totally doesn't explain Andrea's past with Rebecca, but it wasn't meant to. It will slowly come out over time. I want it that way so it shows their bond, the strength of it. I still haven't revealed Rick and Rebecca's talk, but I will. It's not that it's totally important to the plotline or anything, I just want to take my time building their relationship up. (Not romantic, that's for Daryl!)
Lemme know what you thought! Thanks for reading!