Chapter Two

Or

Surprise! You Have a Newborn in the Middle of the Apocalypse- FUCKIN' THANKS MA

I had Carl read through my first chapter. He says half of what I've written will probably be censored because of my profanity. Rick's also kind of pissed, cause I let his son read it. Basically, it went down like this:

"The hell is this, Puck?" Rick demands from me as he approaches, holding up the pretty floral journal I've... borrowed from Beth (she has like ten of the things). I was outside, tending to the small garden Rick, Carl and I had cultivated when we first got to the prison. Peter is with me, intent on capturing a rather large snail he'd caught sight of a few minutes before (which he later ate) while gurgling and babbling to himself.

"Uh, well, it looks like one of Bethy-babe's journals, Rick," I tell him, hoping to buy myself time to think of a acceptable excuse. Because I'm not an idiot, I know why he's upset. He's directly in front of me now, and I smile innocently, my dirty hands clasped behind my back while I bat my big green eyes at him. Rick has always been a sucker for them. He opens the journal and shows me a page full of my messy handwriting.

"Why's it got your writin' in it? Why's it clearly got your vast arsenal of cussin' in it? Why did you give it to Carl to proofread?"

I give a dramatic shiver, and giggle. "Oh Rick, you know it makes me all tingly when you talk like that-"

"Puck."

"Oh my God, the dead are walking and eating the living, but God forbid your son read something that's got the word fuck in it a few times. Should this really be a concern? Compared to those guys-" I point to the fence to our left where Walkers have crowded around, "What's a few shit's and damn's tossed around?"

"You're corruptin' my son, Puck," he claims, but he's amused, I can tell. He has a frown, but of course he has to at least act like he's serious when he's scolding me, and it's twitching as he tries to stop from smiling. His eyes are a bright blue, dancing with the most positive emotion I've ever seen from him in a while.

I laugh sweetly, "Oh, hon, you think that's bad? I haven't even started getting to the nitty-gritty bits, darlin'," I drawl, cocking my hip and leaning on the shovel I had been using a minute prior to this conversation, "I am a very dirty, wicked girl, Rick Grimes. Don't worry though, I'll let only you read those chapters."

And oh.

My.

God.

Watching our almighty leader blush and stammer like a little school boy talking to his crush for the first time is the greatest thing I have ever witnessed to this day. I've done it to Daryl a bunch of times (and it still hasn't gotten old), and I have tried and tried again to get Rick to do it for weeks without luck- until now. Shoot me if I ever stop taking advantage of it.

Eventually Rick just sighed and shook his head, a brilliant smile finally overtaking his face as he used the journal still in his hands to point at me, and he said, "You best watch it, woman. You better not mess around with me," and he began to walk away, ignoring my smartass reply of-

"Yeah? What are you going to do, Rick? Arrest me? Kinky, I like it!"

And I'm just now realizing that Carl is going to read this and know that I flirted pretty heavily with his father, and that's going to be a really weird conversation when he corners me about. Then again, I flirt with practically everyone. So, long story short, if parts of what I write are censored, rest assured it ain't for the cursing.

But I digress. This is a record of our history, of what we went through, not a romcom (though hell, it may turn out that way, I still have no idea). Last I left you, Corporal Maze had just mercy-killed my mom, though I hadn't really processed that until later, and then we'd finally made it somewhere safe...

It took me about three days to snap out of the blurred haze I fell under after making it outside of the hospital. We lost everyone but the soldier who found us originally and the female nurse who helped deliver Peter; I won't regale you with the tale of how- I can barely remember it myself. There was a lot of screaming. A lot of blood. A lot of squelching, ripping noises.

I'd blocked out the rest.

The soldier told us that we were the last to evacuate when we settled into a military medevac helicopter, and said that we were on our way to Fort Benning. I didn't argue, didn't say anything at all, just stared down at little Peter resting in my arms. He'd fallen quiet, staring back at me too, and I marveled at his lovely dark blue eyes. And then I realized that one of the first sights he had ever seen was someone being ripped apart and eaten, and my heart fell to my stomach.

Fort Benning was chaos when we arrived. Civilians were frantically running around everywhere, looking for their families and getting underfoot of the soldiers trying to do their damn job. I stood in the middle of it all, watching and, for all intents and purposes, lost. The soldier had been ordered to be somewhere else, while the nurse left to make herself useful in the medical area- whatever it was called and wherever it was located. The shouting was making Peter cry again, and my attention instantly focused on him without me even thinking it through. I cooed and talked to him, bouncing and rocking him at the same time, feeling oddly calm and put together considering what we had just been through and what was yet to come.

But I was very much the opposite of put together, I realized on the third day. I was just disconnected. For the first time in 72 hours I diverted my attention from Peter to observe my surroundings, and then I thought, yes, that's right as I remembered that we were put into a large house with other single mothers. Peter and I shared a room with one other woman and her six month old daughter. Our room was bare; two twin beds set up on either side, and one of those plastic portable cribs were at the end of each bed. The sheets were white for all of it, save for the blanket Peter had been swaddled in back at the hospital which was a light blue and dotted with little darker blue and white whales. The walls were a cheery yellow, and the floor a sturdy light colored hardwood.

I hated it. I felt like the room was mocking me, with its nursery-esque appearance.

Peter and I were alone in there. He was awake, squirming and smiling without any real reason, so I took him, that stupid blue whale blanket, a diaper bag I'd been given by one of the moms, and a bottle I had made earlier since his feeding time was coming up soon, and went downstairs. The moment I opened the door, I was met by the sound of crying babies and weeping mothers, and I knew what I was going to see as soon as I made it to the living room: women huddled together and crying over lost spouses, some trying to get it together for the sake of the child they were now left with, while others ignored theirs completely, choosing to wallow in self-pity until their heart suffocated.

I hit the final stair on the staircase, trying to keep my gaze straight ahead on the front door and not acknowledge the mourning party going on in the room to my left- but I couldn't help it. I was so close to the door and my head just turned on its own accord and I saw everything I imagined playing out right in front of me. It was worse than I imagined. There were girls younger than me in there, women as old as mom was, and the older ones were trying to console the younger. I could pick out my new roommate trying to stop a child who wasn't even hers from crying, while her own daughter was still tucked in her arms.

It was depressing, it was heart-wrenching. It made me want to yak up whatever I had eaten that day which I don't think was anything at all, and I just panicked, surging towards to the door and yanking it open then slamming it behind me as soon as we were out.

You get three deep breaths, dad always said. Three breaths, then you move your ass, Lyla Puck. So three gulping near-hysteric breaths later, my heart was slowing and the bottle in my hand was stilling from its shaking. I loosened my grip on it, fearing I might crack the flimsy plastic it was made of.

"Are you all right, ma'am?"

Startled, I snapped my head forward, making eye contact with a man dressed in army camo and combat boots standing uneasily in the middle of the street just outside the house with some kind of service rifle. I couldn't identify what kind, mostly due to the fact that I wasn't close enough to see it, but also because I didn't know enough about guns to be able to anyway. My mouth opened to form words as I glanced behind me to make sure he was actually addressing me.

"Yeah," I answered, when I registered that I was the only one on the porch. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks."

He nodded and turned his head away to look down the street that was empty save for a few soldier milling about. Patrolling, most likely. The house Peter and I were assigned to was still part of the walled base, but far enough out to be distanced from where the main action was. I didn't like it, it made me feel vulnerable to be that far away from the people who were supposed to protect us. Even if they did put patrols on the street.

"You finally snap out of it?" He grunted.

I reeled back. "Excuse you?" I asked sarcastically and narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm not sure I follow, sir."

"Whatever the hell kind of funk you've been in. It's about time you started paying attention to what's going on. To what's happening with that baby instead of just caring for it like you're on autopilot."

I let out a shocked laugh that sounded very far from amused, while I vaguely recognized the voice. "Who the hell do you think you are? How would you even fucking know, jackass? You-" I stopped mid-sentence as I finally placed the voice, growing angrier than I had ever felt before. "You're the one who left my Ma," I accused.

He sighed heavily and began to approach Peter and I, and I could see the muscles working in his well-defined jaw as he clenched and unclenched it. He walked up the two steps it took to make it up on the porch, and didn't stop until he was within arm's reach. I took a step back, glaring up at him and itching to sock him in that pretty mouth of his.

"I'm sorry," he said, chin high, "I know it don't account for much, ma'am, but I am." I sneered. He was damn right about that one. "The base hospital is just half a block down," he suddenly informed me, nodding down at Peter, "If you want him to get checked out. There wasn't a lot of time... Before."

I'd been staring at his forehead, deigning him unworthy for eye contact until I slipped up and my gaze traveled down. The last thing I expected was to be looking into stern (like his expression) but kind and concerned blue eyes. I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut, and Ma always told me to trust my gut.

The mouth can lie, but the eyes can't hide the truth. Your instincts are strong, baby girl, and they ain't gonna mislead you. If you look into someone's eyes and don't like what they say, don't trust them.

When I looked into this soldier's eyes, a man I didn't even know the name of, I didn't have to search very hard to find what I wanted. I knew I was standing in front of someone who was sorry that it had come to making that kind of choice, for what he had to do, and if there was another option, he would have taken it. But he wasn't sorry that he did it in order to get us out safely. And while I understood, only part of me was okay with it.

He was still gazing down at me, and it took me a good half a minute to come to a decision. "Hospital, you said?"

He uttered a quiet "Yes, ma'am," which I cut him off halfway through to notify him that my name was Puck and he'd better damn well drop the ma'am. He nodded once and offered to escort me and Peter to the hospital, seeming like his earlier rudeness had run out. At first I declined, but he told me that I would have to go with someone else anyway if not him; civilians were not allowed to roam without a military chaperone for now. I had no choice but to be convinced.

It was about a fifteen minute walk there, spent mostly in silence except for the few times I tugged him back by the edge of his arm sleeve and told him to slow down because he was walking too fast. He didn't apologize for that, but then again, I didn't really expect him to. I had already gotten the impression that he wasn't much of a talker.

One thing I happened noticed was the lack of constant gunfire. I would hear a couple of shots every minute or so, but it was nothing compared to what I'd been hearing for days. I was afraid of what that meant. Every time I flinched, I could feel his eyes travel towards me, but he wouldn't say a word. I didn't know how to feel about that one.

There was also a distinct absence of people in the hospital, I noted once we arrived through the automatic sliding glass doors. We were greeted by a haggard, but smiling nurse at the front desk and she asked us what we were here for. I explained to her that Peter had been born literal seconds before we were forced to evacuate and he didn't have a chance to go through a full check-up. She understood, directed us to an empty room, and let us know that she would send in the pediatrician.

There was an awkward moment where the soldier just stood inside the room with Peter and I, before he said, "I can wait outside," and moved towards the door. He seemed to be uncomfortable.

Good.

"Nah," I drawled easily, not looking at him as I settled into a chair and set the diaper bag on the floor beside me, "You can stay," and I wasn't exactly giving him a choice to decline. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him pause, his hand halfway to the knob before it clenched into a fist and he let his arm fall back to his side. He drifted off to the side of the exam table where he could stand ramrod straight without getting in the immediate way of the doctor. I plainly observed him position his hands behind his back and fix his feet so they were shoulder-width apart, securing his stare to the white wall across from him. I almost laughed, until Peter began to cry, starting as a whine before growing into a wail, and I coaxed him into taking the nipple of the bottle I had still been holding. The milk was warm by then undoubtedly, but he probably liked that better anyway.

"There ya go, Peter," I cooed softly, smiling widely while he gulped it down, "Bottoms up, kiddo." I could sense the soldier's eyes on me once again, and when I glanced up at him, I saw them slide back to the wall. I decided to make conversation, starting with something I'd been meaning to ask for the last twenty minutes. "Are you going to tell me your name anytime soon, or am I going to have to guess it?"

He cleared his throat. "Corporal Thomas Maze, ma'a-" at my hard glance, he quickly corrected himself, ending the banned word with a strangled and slow, "Puck," like it physically pained him to call me by such a familiar name. The thought made me grin, and he eyed me with wariness.

"All right, Corporal Maze," I said on a sigh, "Would you mind explaining what you meant earlier?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, Miss Puck."

I bit the inside of my cheek, telling myself to let the title slide. I was getting the notion that his comment of 'you snap out of it yet' and everything following it had been something entirely impulsive. He probably didn't even know he'd said it until after it was already out of his mouth.

"I mean," I stressed, not buying his attempt at denial, "How did you know about my... Period of shock? This is the first time since Monday that I've even seen a glimpse of you."

"Cause you haven't been looking," he said, frowning at himself when he said it.

My eyebrows raised high. "Well, true I haven't been looking specifically for you-"

"I meant at anything." There was a long pause where I considered his words and waited for him to continue. He clenched his teeth together, and I could see as plain as day an internal battle wage as he struggled to formulate either an explanation or an apology for speaking so freely. Resolve finally cleared his eyes and he looked directly at me. "You take care of that kid, I'll give you that, but you haven't been doing it with that primary intent. You come out to sit on the porch everyday at the same time with him in your arms. I walk by on patrol at the same time and I see you. You never remove your sight from him, barely move except to give him a bottle. You've been in some kind of a daze, operating solely on-"

"Autopilot."

He nodded. "That's a dangerous thing, Miss Puck. You haven't been aware of your surroundings for three days, and it might have gotten you and your boy killed if the walls fell."

"He's not my son."

"He is now."

Another quiet moment where all that was heard in the room was Peter's determined suckling. Then, Corporal Maze inhaled deeply, and went on to drive the point home.

"When was the last time you showered? The last time you ate? Do you even know what you're wearing at the moment, Miss Puck, without looking down to check?"

I winced with each question he threw at me like they hurt me, even if he said them gently, and tightly squeezed my eyes shut.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't-

"I don't know," I wheezed out in a breath. "God, I don't know. I don't know how to do this, I never expected to be taking care of a newborn on my own in the middle of some kind of fucking apocalypse, I don't know!"

"We don't expect a lot of things, Miss Puck," the Corporal said softly, "But we still have to deal with them when they happen."

I laughed thickly, swallowing tears back and sniffling as I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. "That's for damn sure." He spared a little upturn of his lips, and then he was back to staring at the wall, and I found myself wishing he would talk more. That had been the first real conversation I'd had in days, and I craved it. As soon as I had the thought, however, the doctor finally made her appearance. After I introduced myself and Peter, his examination was quickly done, and he was declared 'fit for duty', as the Doc said. I was also told that if I was going to have him circumcised, now was the time to do so.

"I can do it today, if you'd like, Ms. Montgomery. My schedule is very free at the moment."

I asked what the benefit of it was, how long the procedure would take, risks involved, and how long it would take little Peter to recover. Ultimately, I decided to go for it and she gave me paperwork to fill out while she prepped a room.

About two hours later I was able to leave with a doped up Peter- which sounds worse than it is: he still had the effects of a local anesthetic going through his system and he was kind of out of it. Otherwise, he was fine, which surprised me but I wasn't going to question it. So long as he didn't seem to be in pain.

The journey back to the house we were assigned to was exceptionally less awkward, as it appeared the air had been cleared between Corporal Maze and I. The sky was much darker now, and it was probably about six in the evening. For the first time in a while, I noticed I was starving and exhausted, and I think Maze picked up on it, because he smoothly slipped the diaper bag from my shoulder and hung it on his own without a word. I didn't say anything about it either. I may have still been a little sore over what he'd done a few days ago, but my shoulder was even more so; that diaper bag weighed a fucking ton.

We'd just turned the corner, still closer to the hospital than what was now home, when I heard a dog's deep, echoing boof come from behind, and I jerked to a stop. It took Maze a second to notice, and he turned with a furrowed brow, only to come face to face with my bright grin.

"Was that a dog?" I asked in a delighted whisper, "Please tell me that if I look behind me I'm going to find a dog."

Maze was confused, but all kinds of amused at the same time as he answered, "Yeah, you're going to find a dog."

It took everything in me not to squeal and not to cry with joy, because after everything Peter and I had been through, this felt like the greatest moment I'd ever experienced. Second to Peter's birth, of course.

"Okay, okay" I said, blowing out a breath of hot air to calm and prepare myself as the dog barked a few more times. "Do you think I can I pet it? I don't want to turn around and see it and get my hopes up, and then not be able to pet it. Because that would just- it would kill me, Corporal Maze."

He looked somewhere above my head and then back at me. "I'm sure you can pet it," he said with ease and he barely even got the first letter of the third word out before I was spinning around to greet the dog that had blessed me with a greeting of its own, and oh my God. I was graced with the glorious sight of what could only have been a fully grown black Great Dane lying on the front porch of the house we just passed.

I was off and running. Or power walking, Peter was sleeping and I didn't want to wake him by jostling him. In any case, I was excited and I wasn't going to waste another second when I could be socializing with what could very well be the last dog I would ever see.

"Oh my God, hi," I told the Dane when I got close to the steps of the porch, "May I pet you?" and I held out my hand for him to sniff, which didn't seem necessary because his tail was wagging a hundred miles an hour and he was panting happily, but I didn't want to take chances. He stood with a grumble, stretching his neck closer to my hand and nudged my palm with his nose forcefully, practically demanding to be pet. "Oh shit on a stick, you are precious," I squeaked as I scratched beneath his chin. I could hear Corporal Maze try (and fail) to stifle a laugh from behind me.

"Who ya got roped inta givin'ya scratches this time, Sarge?" A tiny, elderly woman stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a friendly smile on her lips. She was quite the sight standing over the monstrosity of a dog.

"Sorry, miss," I apologized, smiling back at her, "I get really excited over dogs. I'm Puck. Puck Montgomery."

"Wouldn' happen to be the lil' granddaughter of ol' Miles Montgomery, would ya?" she asked me, stepping outside.

I cocked my head, wondering how she knew of Papa. "I would, yes."

She nodded in recognition, a faraway, dreamy look overcoming her features. "Ah, Miles," she said fondly, then raised her eyebrows suggestively, "Now there was a man for ya," I pursed my lips together in an effort not to to say anything, but I couldn't stop myself from thinking it: Oh my God. Oh my God, please don't, don't go where I think you're going. "Knew how to make a girl really-"

"Grams!"

I have wanted to cry in so many different ways in the past few hours, and now I could list pure, unadulterated relief as one of those ways.

Now beside me, I caught Maze's whisper of "Oh thank the Lord," before our savior showed his face, and then it was me filled with all the dirty thoughts of what a particular man could make a girl do, and I wanted to yell at myself; I just got guardianship of a newborn. The world was ending. My family as I knew it was dead. Now was not the time for boys. But the absolute fucking cutie standing in front of me with the curly brown hair, sweet brown eyes, and a wonderful, wide, dimpled smile was making that conviction really hard to stick.

"Hey," he said, smile never once faltering and my knees grew weak, "Name's Pete."

It was official. I was fucked.

(Hopefully literally.)

Damn it all, Puck.

A/N: And thus we end on a much lighter note than last time.

So I took the advice of one reviewer, and decided to keep the little bits from the 'present' at the beginning going. Of course not every chapter might have them, like the next one might not, but I'll throw them in occasionally. It's like a little author's note from Puck and they're fun.

Speaking of Puck, I'm really glad everyone seems to like her. I love her myself, I think she's great.

Um I think I had more to say, but I can't remember right now because it's 1:30 AM, and I'm really damn tired. Don't forget to tell me what you think, and I'll post the next chapter soon!

Oh right, I think one of the things I was going to tell you guys was that I'd try to update frequently.