Piranha

by ThomE.Gemcity-06

AU/canon-divergences Maggie has a twin brother named Marshall. /"If this were a movie, this would be the part where we tell you to keep this to yourself or I'll push you off the edge of the hayloft and let the piranha keep your silence. I know from experience that it's hard to hear you scream from back at the farmhouse."/WARNINGS:violence/blood&gore/SophiaLives/eventual slash/

2. Chapter 2: Rounds

Chapter Summary: /"Glenn told them." Maggie gulped with dread. "He told them and they're down at the barn."/

---

...The walking DEAD...

Piranha

---

Chapter 2: Rounds

Marshall rubbed his eye with a fist, tired, where he was leaned back against the large metal sink. Having thought it not best to start something with a crowd of piranha shuffling around under their feet, stirring them up, Marshall suggested talking somewhere a little more private—hence the change of scenery to the butcher shed.

Only, there wasn't really much discussion going on.

Glenn and Maggie were on either side of the shed, the lantern placed on the table separating the pair, the soft, flickering glow letting the shadows linger in the corners. The man was still, arms crossed uncomfortably as he watched his possible girlfriend pace the other side of the shed, moving with her own anxiety.

Marshall's lips unconsciously frowned in mild distaste as his twin chewed on her nails. He could never understand peoples' urge to do so. Didn't they realize how much dirt and bacteria got under nails whether it was visible or not, and then to stick that in your mouth? And it was a thousand times worse during the apocalypse—all that decayed piranha blood? The gesture reminded him of Daryl chewing his own thumb anxiously. He resisted the urge to scold her for the disgusting habit, now wasn't the time for something so petty.

"Why don't we all just sleep on it, huh?" Marshall finally broke the heavy silence, tired gaze flickering between the two. He wanted to collapse face-first into his pillow. "It's a lot to process, the shock... confusion... it's late. We'll all just sleep on it, and in the morning it'll all be like a dream and everything can go back to the way it was."

"Forget about it?" Glenn demanded. "Dream? This is a living nightmare! How do you just expect me to crawl into my flimsy tent and sleep like a baby when there's a barn full of walkers just down the hill?!"

"Don't call them that!" Maggie snapped, spinning on him, her hands clenched at her side.

"What else would you call them?"

"Mom." Maggie's voice cracked. "Shawn, our little brother. Mr and Mrs Darby from church. Kate, my best-friend. Donna, Sam, Lee. Mr and Mrs Fischer, Lacey, Duncan. Eric Shannon was the first boy I ever kissed. They're my family, my friends, my neighbours! That's what I call them!"

There was silence after that, nothing but broken breathing as Maggie tried to fight back the tears and Glenn could do nothing for a moment but look at her heart broken.

"Maggie," he uttered. He was across to the woman in just a few strides, reaching for her, nothing but compassion in his expression and tone. "I'm so sorry. I've never thought about it like that, I've never had to." His palms rubbed her bare upper arms in comfort. "But you have to know... those people—they're gone. Those... people in the barn, they're not sick, not anymore, at least. Being sick and dying is what did that to them. They're dead, Maggie." He whispered sorrowfully. "And keeping them in there? Like that? That's just disrespectful to them, their memory—and you. And they're dangerous! The only respectful thing left to do id make sure that they can't hurt anyone else. I mean, I know that when I die... I don't want to hurt the people I love. I don't want my corpse stumbling around like some mindless cannibal monster."

Maggie choked back a sob. "You can't tell anyone."

Glenn sighed quietly as he stared at her. "Okay." He pressed a kiss to her forehead before sending a look towards Marshall then left quietly.

Neither twin spoke as Maggie breathed deeply, sniffing and wiping at her face, composing herself. Of course, Marshall was the one that broke it:

"I like your boyfriend, sis. I completely approve."

"Shut up."

"Not to be an asshole, or anything, but... if you don't get your shit together and stop being a scaredy-cat... I'm gonna steal your boyfriend and feel zero remorse."

"Marshall! Be serious! What are we gonna do?"

"You tell me." Marshall responded. "You've known him longer. You've slept with him. What kind of man is he? How long will he keep his mouth shut? 'Cause I don't know if you realized or not... but he didn't exactly make any promises, Maggie."

"Oh, what?" She snarled, "Because I've had his dick, I know his heart-of-hearts?

Marshall stared at his sister, a bit agape, before he started to giggle. "Usually a way to a guy's heart is through his dick or his stomach." It turned to laughter. "And you've done both! Oh, my God!" He doubled over, holding his stomach. "You're my sister and it shouldn't be this funny—but it is!"

Filled with frustration and humiliation, Maggie gave her brother a shove. Marshall toppled to the floor, his laugh track interrupted with a grunt. "God, why are you always so useless when we need you the most?!" in the following silence, Maggie covered her mouth, horrified by what she just said, what she just implied.

Marshall rolled onto his back, trying to catch his breath back, his giggle phase short lived. Now, he just felt like exhausted crap that didn't want to get up from the floor. He stretched his forearm out in front of him, tracing the inked petals on his skin. Maybe she did hold some resentment towards him about Uncle Otis after all.

"Marshall, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Marshall waved her away, arm dropping to his chest. "Maybe you're right. And maybe Glenn telling the others about the barn will make daddy finally see the truth."

Maggie sank to the floor across from him, her back to the freezer. "You really think that?" she whispered.

Marshall gave a haphazard shrug. "I haven't sleep in 2 days and counting, my realistic battery is dead. I don't know... Daddy's the most stubborn man I've ever met. Wilful ignorance is bliss—until the wave comes crashing down."

"Marshall, how much trouble are we going to be in? If Glenn tells his group... what do you think they'll do?" Maggie finally questioned after a minute of silence.

"With this dramatic-ass group?" Marshall scoffed. "Anything, really. I mean, let's have a little rundown so far..."

Maggie started off, "Rick running up to the house, wild-eyed, with a bloody, unconscious Carl."

Marshall followed, "Sophia getting lost in the woods for 2 days and nearly getting killed by three piranha." And they went back and forth with practically every member of the group, and really, it was probably only a matter of time before the rest followed suit.

"The only reason T-Dog's not dead of blood poisoning is because of Daryl's brother's clap medication."

"Daryl getting thrown off Nelly down a ravine and getting stabbed by his own bolt."

"Glenn volunteering to be walker bait at the well."

"Andrea shooting Daryl in the head."

"Shane coming back, alone, in the nick of time to save Carl."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Jesus Christ, these people are living by the seat of their pants!" Marshall groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"God, you're right. If Glenn opens his mouth, it's going to lead to nothing but disaster."

"Then you need to use your womanly wiles to get him to keep his mouth shut." Marshall mused.

"And you need to go to bed." Maggie informed him sharply.

Marshall grunted, forcing his body to sit up. "Athena and I still need to do a perimeter check."

"Missing one night isn't gonna kill anyone." Maggie said. She climbed to her feet and offered her hand to her twin.

Marshall scoffed. "With 11 people living it up in our front yard? It's just a matter of time." He clapped his hand in hers.

"Yup. A matter of time. Just not right now." She grunted at his weight. "Besides, you're liable to get killed out there with how exhausted you are, than the other way around."

"That's what Athena's there for—my knight in furry armour."

Maggie grabbed the lantern from the table and watched her brother stumble down the step outside. As she locked up the surgery, she wondered if this was what Marshall would be like drunk. She'd never seen him drunk before, he didn't drink alcohol, he rarely, if ever, even drank coffee like every adult and teenager did. Hershel didn't keep a lick of drinking alcohol in the house, having been sober 25 years. Maggie, on the other hand, had taken advantage of living away from home during her college years.

"Will you tuck me in, sis?" Marshall asked.

Maggie sighed, but was amused. "If it'll finally make you go to bed—I might even kiss your forehead if you're good." She looped her arm with his, leading him back towards the farm house. Maggie blew out the lantern before they reached the house and set it on the porch rail.

Athena was waiting right where Marshall had told her to stay, even though it had been a good hour. "Sorry, girl." He sunk into a squat, fingertips briefly pressing to the floorboards to keep his balance. "No patrol tonight." He unclipped her vest and ruffled her fur. "Go pee-pee then it's bedtime." Marshall leaned back and held the side door open a crack for her. The canine brushed against his side as she passed, her tail smacking him in the face, and she slipped out through the crack.

Marshall sputtered at the dog hair in his mouth and Maggie chuckled quietly. "That was the canine equivalent of a hair-whip—it's rude to keep a lady waiting, Marshall."

Marshall rose to his feet with a quiet grunt. "Better to make her wait here than have her follow us to the barn."

"You're the one that followed me—I had it handled." Maggie retorted.

"I know." Marshall agreed, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "But how is a brother supposed to react when his sister rushes passed him into the night, with an expression like the one that was in your eyes?" He toed off his shoes back on the rack and headed down the hall toward the staircase.

Maggie was quiet as she followed behind him up the stairs, chewing the inside of her check as she stared at her twin's back. She really couldn't ask for a better brother, even if he was a pecking mother hen. Marshall made a detour to the bathroom and Maggie continued on to her brother's bedroom, she promised to tuck him in and she was going to keep it.

She paused in his doorway for a moment, flicking on the light and looking around his bedroom. It was a bit cluttered, but none of it was junk, it was mostly practical things, like the hooks and racks and stands for various guns, knives, his compound bow. All his tools and medical kits. Of the few personal items there was the stand overflowing with CDs, Rocky's service flag, one of the last pictures they'd taken together before Josephine died, another family photo with Annette and Shawn, with Maggie's hair with pink and blue streaks from her rebellious phase. Maggie was sure that there was every drawing that Beth had ever given him in her 16 years. All the twine, beaded and stitched bracelets that their little sister loved to make, many of which adorned Maggie's own wrist. She knew the top drawer in his bureau was filled with various brands of chewing gum. Marshall always said gum was a invaluable temporary stand-in in case of emergency, ranging from a hunger placebo to help control anxiety with a fixation point.

Maggie remembered over the 7 years that Marshall was enlisted, the remaining 3 Greene siblings would sometimes sneak in his room and sleep in his bed when they particularly missed their brother something fierce—Beth was the one that spent the most nights in here.

She pulled back the plaid patterned covers as Marshall returned from the bathroom, teeth freshly brushed and bladder empty, another yawn cracking his jaw and making his eyes water slightly. He stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it onto the top of his hamper, his jeans following suit after he made sure the pockets were empty out of habit.

Maggie bit on the inside of her cheek, unable to help her gaze being drawn to her brother's scars. Jagged shrapnel scars and a patchwork of shiny burn scars. They were mostly concentrate on his lower abdomen, disappearing beneath his waistband to his thighs and groin (not that she'd seen the visual of the latter, Hershel and Patricia had helped him with changing out his bandages when he'd finally been released from the hospital to recover at home), he also had some scattered on his forearms where he'd managed to lift them to protect his face, the rest of it was the lack of body armour on anything but his chest. Not to say that his back was a blank canvas. She remembered when they got that call. It wasn't the first of its kind and it wasn't the last, and she sobbed each and every time he got himself laid up in a hospital bed, but it was by far the most visually injured her twin had been. He'd been in the hospital for almost a month, then on medical leave and rehab at home for three more.

Marshall slipped on a pair of grey lounge shorts, snapping Maggie from her thoughts. When he turned and found her staring, he gave her a soft, tired, genuine smile, which she mirrored instantly, but it was the manic brightness in his green eyes that had her internally groan. When he got over tired like this, it was like trying to put a hyperactive kid to sleep. She could only helplessly cringe when he suddenly dive-bombed onto his bed, his dog tag lifting off his chest to somehow end up laid between his shoulder blades. The thunderous sound the bed frame made at the abrupt mass that was 180+ pound was like to put everyone on the farm up in-arms.

Maggie was surprised the old bed frame didn't collapse under him—and then right through the floor—as it was, Hershel's shout carried from downstairs: "What in tarnation is going on up there?"

"Sorry, daddy!" Maggie called back. "Marshall just fell, we're okay!" she quickly went over and closed the bedroom door.

"Ooh, that was a close one!" Marshall giggled, his face turned out from the pillow.

"I don't know why I expected anything else from you when you're like this!" Maggie complained, going back over to the bed. She tugged the plaid covers over his naked shoulders. "Now go to sleep."

"You said you'd kiss me on the forehead goodnight." Marshall quiet protest stopped her in her tracks.

"I said if you were good," she crossed her arms and looked down at him with mock disappointment, "But what you just did was not the actions of a good boy."

Marshall averted his green gaze, a frown pulling at his lips. "Will you at least stay until I fall asleep?" he asked his twin in a small voice.

Maggie instantly dropped the facade. She'd only been teasing and playing with him, but with his vulnerable, small tone, she realized he was too tired to catch that little fact. "Yeah. Yeah. I can stay until you fall asleep." She dropped to her knees beside the head of the bed, her forearm leaned against the edge of the mattress, her other resting on the pillow above his head as her fingers gently played with his short locks at his crown. She watched his eyelids flutter closed only to spring back open a moment later.

"Need me to turn out the light?" she whispered.

"No. Then I can't see you."

"You're not supposed to see me, you're supposed to be sleeping."

He gave a breathy giggle. "Let me do one until I do the other."

She rolled her eyes but didn't say anything, engaging with him was just playing into his hand. She started to hum. It wasn't his lullaby, but it was comforting nonetheless, and she had a beautiful voice, just like all the Greene children. They'd all been in the Church Choir from their child to teen years.

"Gotta 'member to leave the door open a crack for 'Thena." Marshall mumbled, shifting and turning onto his back. He pushed the blanket down from his face, and his head pushed back into her hand so she'd keep playing with his hair. "An' say night t' Rocky."

"Of course," she uttered, and indulged her twin. She laid the hand not petting his hair flat on the left side of his chest, over the large black and grey, realistic rendering of Marshall's first canine partner in the Army, Rocky. The German Shepherd was poised regally, chest out, head up. The detail work was beautiful, life-like and looked like Rocky's fur had texture. There were a few coloured highlights, like Rocky's soulful doe eyes and the little pink spot on his otherwise black nose that made him stand out from his classic breed looks. But it was a memorial tattoo with roman numeral dates in the background: Rocky's birth, the duration of the pairs partnership, and Rocky's death. Marshall's larger hand laid warmly over hers. She could feel his steady heartbeat under her palm. "Night, Rocky. Sleep tight." She didn't try and remove her hand, not that her brother was forcing her in place, it was a comforting warmth, and took up wordless humming again.

Maggie watched his eyelids slowly shutter closed, flicker, then finally settle shut. She internally sighed, but didn't dare move away, instead, she ended up settling in a little more—shifting to sit more comfortably on her knees on the hardwood floor, and laid her head on her bicep, her hair trying mingle with her twin's.

She just needed a moment and this was the first chance she'd had the opportunity, it just felt like ever since she'd spied Rick running through the paddock toward the farmhouse that morning, everything had just been GO. Having been isolated on the farm for almost 2 month with just the 6 of them...she forgot how exhausting people were, how much work and drama dealing with romance was. She'd dated before, had her high school sweetheart, had some flings while away at college as she broke out of her farm girl shell, even dated some of them for a few months before her desire for the relationship would peter out and they broke it off. There was never anyone that she would take home to meet her family.

Glenn, Glenn was different. The situation was different. The apocalypse was supposed to be a fuck and then die kind of situation, not some cliché end of the world romance movie. Glenn had already met her family. And after sleeping together, it wasn't like she could be lost in the crowd of 2000 strangers on campus—there wasn't even a crowd of 20 people here! So, she had no other choice than to get to know him and like him and be scared and want to shove him away and pull him close and scream and bang her head on the wall! And maybe it could actually be something—if Hershel let them stay—if Glenn hadn't found the barn...

that damn barn...

Her step-mom and step-brother were locked up in there like some kind of beasts, they were in limbo. Were they living? Were they dead? Were they just sick like Hershel said? She wanted to burn it down, for it to just disappear. "Why does everything have to be so fucked up? Why does my heart choose now, of all times, to try and fall in love?" Maggie didn't realize she'd spoke out loud in sheer frustration, until she heard Marshall mutter.

"Human Nature." He didn't open his eyes but she could see the faint movement. "'I am a coward when it comes to matters of the heart. That is my fatal flaw.'" He licked his lips and swallowed. "'But that's the way we're made: we don't reason where we feel. We just feel.'" He finally cracked open his green eyes at her continued silence to find her face perched inches away from his. "The fear, the dread... it's rational, Mags. We watched both our mamas die—watched daddy lose both his wives. Auntie lost Otis. The three principal relationships we watched growing up, they all came to an abrupt, horror able death. Add in the apocalypse—and it makes one a little reluctant to form a romantic attachment. A heart can only be broken so many times before it just shatters."

"Is this supposed to be some sort of pep talk?" Maggie wondered incredulously. "Because you're failing."

Marshall huffed, his minty breath brushing across her face. "There's nothing rational about love. The heart wants what the heart wants—and it's lookin' like your heart wants the cute Korean boy."

"What do you even know about love?" Maggie asked. "I've never even seen you in a relationship before."

"Well, it's a little difficult to be anything other than straight in the military," he replied blandly and she grimaced. "I mean, there were secret trysts will fellow soldiers—it was 7 years and war is stressful and sex is fun. And it's always been slim picking on the home front—the apocalypse hasn't exactly helped on that."

"It's not like a group of very attractive people ended up on our doorstep." Maggie commented. "I know of a least two that pass your weird little qualifier to gain a second glance."

"They do have gorgeous blue eyes," Marshall agreed. "Too bad one's married and the other doesn't like to be touched—or me, for that matter. Doesn't mean we can't be friends, though."

"Uh-huh. And what exactly were you and Mr Married up to in the kitchen at dinner for so long, huh?"

Maggie watched the unconscious smirk play across his lip. "Nothin'. Jus' wanted my opinion on Benning an' a glass of milk."

"Uh-huh." Her fingers traced the edge of his mouth. "Your lips are telling me something else, Marsh."

Marshall giggled. "Shut up an' snuggle me."

Maggie scoffed. "In this little kid's bed? Why would I trade my double for your single?"

"What d'you think th' snuggle's for?" he quipped. "We're both sad. I don't wanna be alone, I don't think you do, either. So, turn off the lights and get into bed. Don't forget to-"

"Leave the door open a crack for Athena." Maggie finished with a fond eye roll. She sighed, but slid her hand free from under his and got up with a quiet groan, her knees sore. "Fine. Give me five." And she slipped out the door.

So, Marshall waited, slowly blinking blurrily at his ceiling as he waited for his twin's return, fingertip absently stroking the tattooed fur of his former companion. He didn't know if Maggie actually returned within 5 minutes, just that she returned at all. Freshly brushed teeth and now wearing her pyjamas, a tank top and sleep shorts. She closed the door most of the way and flicked off the lights. She easily made her way across the room to his bed, the moonlight through his open curtain and window easily lighting the way.

"All I'm gonna say is that you better not wake me up at the crack of dawn, or I'll make your day as miserable as I'll be." Maggie warned quietly, pulling the covers back. "Now shove over." There was a bit of shifting as the two grown adults made to fit in the small bed, but really, it was an old hat for the Greene twins. When all was settled, Maggie was fitted against her brother's side, using that sweet spot in that crook between shoulder and chest as a pillow, Marshall only had one pillow anyway.

Marshall started his hum, Maggie could hear it, fell it in the little vibrations in his chest. She knocked off even before Marshall did. When Athena finally made it up, she sniffed at the guest in her typical spot sprawled over Marshall, but settled easily enough with little disturbance across their tangled legs at the foot of the bed.

...

Despite have not slept for 48+ hours, Marshall still woke as he usually did, with daybreak shinning through his open window and onto the head of his bed. He sighed, rubbing the lingering sleep from his eyes with his free hand (his other arm trapped by his twin), before running it down his face, wiping away the bit of drool at the corner of his mouth and the little sheen of sweat (it was hot business with three bodies [one heavily furred] stuffed under the covers in Georgian heat). He turned his head on his pillow away from the window to see exactly how his sister had his arm trapped and figure out how to extract himself without waking her; Maggie wasn't exactly a light sleeper, nor was she a heavy one so he would need some sort of extraction plan other than yanking his arm free because he did not want to suffer her grumpy wrath for what was going to be an already stressful day for them.

Maggie had turned in her sleep, settling on her stomach. She was using his bicep as a pillow instead of his chest, her face toward him. One of her hands cushioned under cheek, the other thrown across his torso, the rest of his arm trapped beneath her shoulder and armpit. He lifted his head slightly to find amber eyes already staring at him. "Athena, off." He muttered, jerking his chin. She did, nail clicking on the hardwood. After nosing at his free hand for a pet, she wormed her way out the crack in his bedroom door. Thankfully, that had been the only thing pinning his legs down.

Humming soothingly, he stroked down Maggie's arm across his torso, gently grasping her wrist, he shifted carefully onto his side, laying it down comfortably in the space created between their bodies. His brushed his fingers gently through her hair, brushing the stray locks sticking to her face to cup the base of her skull. She grumbled incoherently, smacking her lips. He somehow managed to shift her back off his arm, onto her side, her body unconsciously shifting with him, and settled back onto his pillow without rousing her. He watched her as she settled with a big sigh and pressed her face into the pillow to block out the rising sun, hair falling back over her face.

He slowly rolled back over the side of the bed, softly landing on his left palm and toes before straightening, unaffected. Marshall closed his curtain, cutting off a good portion of the rising sun's harsh glare. Thinking about what tasks he needed to accomplish today.

Morning perimeter check to make up for last night, he would be finished and back before anyone else beside Hershel awoke. Shovelling shit in the paddock, mucking out the horse stalls, might as well fill up on milk while he was out their and shell some of it out to their guests. He pulled on a plain grey t-shirt and a pair of brown coveralls, thick socks over his bare feet. He was quiet as he snapped his handgun in its holster to his thigh, the knife that typically went to the small of his back on his belt clipped to the little strap at his hip. He grabbed a fresh pack of gum, a clean rag stuffed in his pocket, his bow and quiver, and his boots before he let Athena out before him and closed his door behind him, leaving Maggie to her slumber. He filled a canteen of water, tied his boots, put Athena in her vest, secured his quiver to the back and left through the back door.

Maggie had been right... nothing was amiss, nobody died, it was just a nice morning walk, really. He chuckled at Athena darting ahead and then back again like an energetic puppy, he even found a nice stick to throw for her. If there was any sense or scent of a piranha nearby, Marshall knew Athena would be on alert immediately, so unless that happened, he was wary. It was good to have moments like these while they could, and it wouldn't go amiss for her to be active like this before the blazing Georgian sun was completely risen and overhead in the clear sky.

As they completed their circuit, Marshall took a cursory glance at the camp hidden in the copse of trees; it had been dark and quiet when he first left, but it looked like a few of the strangers were starting to rouse. Athena darted in front of him through the house. Marshall followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to hang up his bow and quiver at the rack on the wall in the hall, before continuing on.

"Morning, daddy." Marshall greeted his father as he passed. Hershel sat at the head of the dinning room table with his morning coffee, reading one of his many medical texts that filled the shelves in his office. The dinning room got the best lighting, especially during the day, unlike the breakfast nook that only took in light from the kitchen and adjacent dinning room.

"Morning, son."

He refreshed Athena's water dish, which she lapped at thirstily, and gave her, her morning kibble. The left shoulder strap came loose when he bent over, and he absently fiddled with the clip as he left the mudroom. He paused at the bottom of the stairs and watched Beth descend, one arm stretched overhead in a stretch, while she covered the yawn with the other in soft yellow, fitted t-shirt and a pair of white jean shorts. Her sunshine blonde hair brushed but currently loose around her shoulders, her left wrist decorated with various bracelets and hair bands.

"Good morning, Sunny."

"Mornin', Marshall." She paused four steps from the bottom, her arms stretched out in front of her in silent request.

With a low chuckle, he reached forward and easily lifted his baby sister overhead by the waist. He turned and smoothly set her back on her bare feet on the hardwood floor. She giggled happily, smooched him on the cheek and he watched her skip away to the kitchen after pausing to hug Hershel around the neck from behind and giving him his own kiss. He turned in the opposite direction to find Patricia standing there, having watched the siblings with a small smile.

"Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as always." Patricia remarked. "Farm boy through and through."

"What can I say, I'm an awake person." He flashed her a grin. Hand landing briefly on her shoulder, he pecked her cheek as he passed her by. "Morning, Auntie." He paused in the hall at one of the guest-bedroom doors and rapped his knuckle lightly against the wood. "Daryl?" The door creaked open inch in response. He pushed it open with his fingertips. "Dar-" but all that was revealed to him was the an empty room with sunlight streaming in through the open window, the bed made-up with clean sheets and not a thing out of place to indicate it had even been occupied by the injured hunter.

Marshall blew out an unhappy breath before he turned on his heel and headed back to the kitchen, passing an empty dinning room table. "Where'd daddy go?" he questioned the two women in the kitchen prepping breakfast; Patricia whisking the pancake batter and Beth cutting up fruit. He managed to snatch a big juicy strawberry before she could stab him with her paring knife.

"Went to feed and water the horses." Patricia greased up the heated griddle on the stove. She started to ladle up the batter. "How d'ya want it?" she asked, despite already knowing the answer.

"Blueberry!" the siblings chorused, chuckling.

"Makes me miss bananas, though." Marshall commented. "Too bad they're extinct now."

"Don't remind me," Beth muttered. "Chocolate's on that extinction list, too—and that's way more depressing than bananas."

"What a teenage girl thing to say. Chocolate." Marshall smirked at her.

"What a weird thing for a grown man to miss. Bananas." Beth mocked her brother back.

"Banana bread." Marshall challenged her. "And all the sub-categories: muffin, cookie, cake. Pie! Banana pudding-"

Beth abandoned her task of cutting up fruit, palms flat against the island tabletop as she rose from the stool. "Chocolate cake! Chocolate cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies! Brownies. We also have chocolate pudding! And," she pointed at him, "Chocolate milk! Ha! Chocolate improves on your plain, old, regular milk!"

"Alright, no dramatic pointing in my kitchen!" Patricia playfully scolded them with the flipper. "If you back away from each other's throats for a minute... than you can have banana splitz and chocolate covered bananas."

"Oh, I do love a banana split." Marshall agreed.

"And the best part of a chocolate covered banana is biting through the thin chocolate shell," Beth swallowed. "Chocolate really just makes everything better." She sunk back onto the stool, taking up the knife again.

"Chocolate-covered strawberries," Marshall mumbled, sinking his teeth into another strawberry. "Totally under-rated."

Beth smiled. "See! You're gettin' it."

"Alright, eat up." Patricia set two short stacks in front of them, and the siblings ate there in the kitchen, flapjacks drenched in maple syrup and decorated with cut fruit, with a side order of a tall glass of milk.

"Hey, Sunshine?" Marshall asked.

"Mm-hm?" the teenager made an inquisitive sound instead of talking with her mouthful.

"Mind helping me make Daryl a little care-basket after breakfast? Seems he made a break for it while I was out."

"Sure!" she licked the syrup from her lips. "What kind of stuff do you wanna put in it?"

"Stuff to keep him occupied but keep his stubborn butt immobile."

"Hm, a challenge." Beth tapped the tines of her fork against her lips thoughtfully. "Daryl doesn't seem like an idle type of guy."

"Nope." Marshall agreed, finishing off his milk. "So, somethin' he can fiddle at with his hands." He licked his plate free of any excess syrup before he put it in the sink. "You gonna finish that?" he pointed to her milk glass that was almost full. Beth rolled her eyes and pushed the glass an inch in his direction. He smiled and finished off her milk, too. "Thanks for breakfast."

He grabbed an extra basket from the mudroom that nobody was going to miss and took the stairs two at a time. He silently opened his bedroom door, eyes automatically going to his bed. Maggie was still sleeping peacefully, though she had kicked the blanket astray for the climbing heat, and was now curled slightly in on herself with her hand tucked up under her chin. He went around his bedroom quietly, shifting through several drawers and equipment, cherry-picking a few things to go into the basket before leaving as silent as he came, his twin none the wiser. When he went into his brother's bedroom, he wasn't as careful, and startled the slumbering 17 year old that was currently occupying the room that he crashed to the floor with a shout.

"What's happening?!" Jimmy flailed in the tangle of sheets.

"Breakfast is ready. Better get to it, kid." Marshall remarked, going through Shawn's dresser, and then ignored the blonde teen. Jimmy quickly haphazardly made the bed, threw on a shirt, hopped into his jeans and escaped. Marshall paused and stared at the framed picture that sat at the top of the dresser: Shawn was around fifteen, all scrawny and pimple-faced, decked out in winter gear, with a bright orange toque, kneeling behind this gorgeous buck he'd shot, crossbow propped on his knee, Otis standing proudly behind him. Marshall looked up at the same set of antlers mounted on the wall as a trophy display of the hunt, his fingers stroking across the slightly pitted bone. He sighed and went back to his task. Shawn wouldn't miss anything he took.

He left his brother's room and Beth nearly crashed into him stepping out of hers. "Hey. Do you think Daryl knows how to crochet?"

"If he does, I don't think he'd tell me."

Beth pouted a little. "Do you think he'd want to learn? I have a book on it."

"I'm gonna hazard that with a 'no', because I don't want him to punch me."

"Don't be a wimp. I'm putting it in there anyways." Beth informed him, putting the items in her hands in the basket. "What about soap carvin'?"

"Waste of soap these days."

"Wood carvin'?"

"If that's what he really wanted, it'd be easy enough for him to just grab a chunk of wood, Sunny."

Beth threw up her hands in frustration. "What do you want from me then?!"

"Whatever you come up with is fine, I'm sure." He promised her. "It's the end of the world but it's not the end of the world—y'know what I mean?"

She sent him an unimpressed look before something else caught her eye. "Wait. You think he'll be upset because I put crochet in here, but you stuck this stupid thing in here?!" Beth picked out the multi-coloured cube from the basket, rattling it in irritation.

Marshall snickered. "Just 'cause you can't figure it out." She glared. He shrugged. "Why not? Daryl can fiddle with it until he solves it or he chucks the thing in utter frustration."

She dropped it back into the basket with a curl of her upper lip. "Don't come whinin' to me when he does punch you—you'll deserve it."

"You know, you and Maggie act just the sweetest in the public eye, but in reality, you're sadistic little demons."

Beth giggled. "No one ever believes you when you say that."

"You'll slip up one of these days," he joked. "Probably with that cleaver you look so eager to wield. Now help grab some things from the kitchen." He started down the hall, but paused and turned to the side to let her pass, "On second thought—walk in front of me."

"You're mean!" she crowed but was laughing. "I won't push you down the stairs." But she went in front of him anyways, typing her blonde locks into a high pony as she went. "I might spit in your milk though." She deadpanned.

A bark of surprised laughter left Marshall. "I love you so much, sis." They passed Jimmy scarfing down his plate of pancakes at the breakfast table. Patricia was tidying up, a tray piled with the remaining pancakes on the counter. "That being said—you mess with my milk and I won't let you get first pick of anything chocolate I find."

Beth spun and gaped at him. "You go infinity and I'll go infinity."

"Spit shake on it?" he smirked.

"Don't be gross!"

"Don't be a baby!"

"No spitting in the house!" Patricia scolded.

"Pinkie swear." They locked pinkies. "I pinkie promise to not mess with Marshall's milk."

"I pinkie promise that Beth gets first dibs on any chocolate I find."

"Infinity!" they chorused.

"And seal it with a kiss." Beth said.

The 25 year complied with his little sister's wishes. They both leaned in and kissed the pad of each opposing thumb, before releasing. Beth beamed happily, she totally won big on that because she was never gonna spit in Marshall's milk anyway!

"It's things like this that make me not have to wonder what it would be like to be a teenage girl." Marshall remarked.

"And because you're basically already half-way there," Beth sassed under her breath.

"Way to hit below the belt, sis, figuratively and literally." Marshall looked her up and down, more impressed than he was insulted. "Watch out for Beth-Anne, huh, or you'll get burned!"

Patricia shook her head exasperation. "The two of you!"

They laughed in response.

...

Marshall backed out through the front door, laden laundry basket in hand. He turned free, his foot kicking out behind him to catch the screen door before it could slam close into the frame, before letting it fall shut those few inches. Basket propped on his hip as he made his way down the path toward the little encampment, his other hand fiddling in his pocket as he popped out a piece of gum from the blister pack.

"Hey!" he called to the first person he saw, tossing the white square into his mouth. It happened to be the trigger-happy blond, who he still wasn't very impressed with, but made sure his expression was neutral instead of the sneer.

She looked over her shoulder before she came to a stop. She turned and came a couple paces closer, glancing him up and down. "Hey. Marshall, right? I'm Andrea. You need something?"

"Yeah." He chewed him gum. "I'm lookin' for Daryl."

"Oh. Yeah, he's in his tent." Andrea turned, eyes shielded briefly as she searched. She pointed. "It's the white double with the dark green rain cover."

He spotted it. "Thanks." He didn't stick around for chit-chat, and he didn't look back over his shoulder even as he felt the weight of her gaze. Not in a million years, not even at the end of the world. Marshall stood at the entrance of the tent. "Knock-knock."

"What." Was the gruff response.

"Can I come in?"

"What for?"

Marshall rolled his eyes and ducked through the open tent flap. "I'm gonna take that as you bein' curious." He sat on the little camping stool with a sigh, the basket set on the ground between them at his feet.

"I ain't."

Marshall eyed the man lounging on the narrow camp bed, wearing a faded blue, sleeveless shirt, left unbuttoned to leave a tantalizing strip of his slightly haired chest. He looked clean, not a grain of dirt on him. His hair looked fluffy—it was pretty adorable. "Good, you took advantage of the shower."

Daryl brow furrowed. "Whadd'ya want?"

Marshall flashed him a smirk. "You'd already disappeared when I went to check on you this morning."

"Yeah. Your old man woke me up bright an' early, threw me in th' shower, changed my bandages and sent me on my merry way." He flicked his wrist, the crossbow bolt in him hand following its trail like a magic wand.

"Yeah, daddy's more efficient than a Drill Sergeant like that. Why wait to do what can be done now?"

"You still call 'im 'daddy'." Daryl snorted. "How old ya s'pose to be again?"

"Despite our difference of opinion on many things... yeah, he's still my daddy. Always will be. I love him."

Daryl shifted a little uncomfortably under his stare. "Why ya here?" he rasped, gaze shifting to the bolt in his hands.

"Beth helped me put this together to give to you," Marshall patted the basket. "Call it a care basket. Bed rest for at least 2 days. You can walk around a bit but stay within a stone's throw of the house or your camp. Light duty for a week, no heavy lifting, no strenuous activity—which means no hunting or getting shot. After that, give or take a few days depending... I'll take the stitches out." Daryl's top lip was curled. "And I'll get off your case, big boy." The hunter just grunted. "This, this is to help ensure those 2 days at the least." Marshall started with the perishable items they'd added last at the top: "Peaches, trail mix. Pickled eggs, peach juice, water with protein powder." He picked up each item as he listed it. "For idle entertainment we have: a half-finished puzzle book. Oh, a Rubex Cube—that'll keep you busy for sure. Some crochet stuff—that was Sunny's doing! A few shirts—I figured I owed you after cutting your others off. One of them even has long sleeves. And the Holy Grail! A MP3 Player with a fully-charged battery! Note," Marshall held up a stern finger, "This is just a lend—rest assured, if nothing else, I will be back for this." Marshall sat back, laying the electronic music player back onto the cushion of clothing. "I figured you for a Jazz guy, so I think you'll be quite satisfied with it."

The flabbergasted look on the hunter's face, the curl of disgust on his upper lip... had peels of laughter leaving Marshall without any attempt to stifle them.

"What are you brayin' at, jackass?"

"The expression on your face," Marshall told him. "Don't worry, there's no Jazz. Sorry not sorry. And if you like Jazz, then we just can't be friend's anymore, Daryl."

Daryl scowled. "We're not friends. Who said we're friends?"

"I did." Marshall wasn't bothered by the denial. "You climbed me like a jungle gym back there, and landed crotch first onto my face at one point."

"Shut up!" Daryl growled.

"I cut the clothes off your body and gave you sponge bath."

"I said shut up!" Daryl snarled, face flushed from anger or embarrassment, he threw his arm out with a twinge in his side—the bolt he'd been fiddling with slipping from his fingers.

The flinch was more reflexive at something flying at his face that it was the sting that flared to life at the top of his cheekbone by his left eye. Daryl froze and stared. Marshall reached up, curled knuckled dragging across his cheek. He stared at the blood smeared on his finger before absently rubbing it away with his thumb as he glanced behind him. Bright green, orange, and yellow fletching stuck out obnoxiously from where the bolt had pierced into the tent vinyl.

He pulled it free.

Daryl's blue gaze flicked shortly to the white-knuckled grip the former soldier had on the bolt resting on his knee before they flushed back with colour just as fast, and his eyes instantly flicked back, not to the man's eyes, but the bloody blemish under his eye. Marshall shifted on the stool and Daryl instinctively tensed—ready for the yelling, the violence, the retribution—but Marshall merely laid his last bolt on top of the basket between them.

"Message received," Marshall remarked. "Don't tease the bear or you might lose an eye."

"That wasn-" Daryl couldn't help the tiny flinch at the sudden pop of the gum bubble.

"Relax. It's a scratch. Although... You clean that thing since it's been in that squirrel and those piranha and then your own body? 'Cause if I croak from an infected paper cut, Imma haunt your ass—which truly won't be such a hassle on my part seein' as it's-"

"Shut it." Daryl interrupted, though it was a little lacklustre.

Marshall chuckled and flashed him a smirk. "There's a surprise at the bottom of that goodie-box, but watch out, they're sharp. You can thank my lil' brother—they were his." He rose to his feet fluidly, slightly hunched over at the low roof. His left overall strap came loose and fell of his shoulder. "Don't forget to take those antibiotics. See you 'round, hunter, I gotta go shovel some shit." Marshall ducked out of the tent before the hunter could say anything, whether he'd been so inclined or not.

He popped back into the house, going into the half-bath downstairs without interception. He cleaned the bit of blood from his face with soapy, warm water. Daryl never said if he'd cleaned that bolt, but Marshall wasn't going to take the chance anyway. The inch long score stung like a bitch when he pressed the cotton of peroxide against it, his eye watered up at the chemical.

He made sure his canteen was filled, grabbed his Army baseball cap from the rack by the door with the beak slightly frayed at the edges, slid some shades up his nose and went out the side door after stripping off his hikers. He pulled on his pair of rubber boots, one pair of many, various sizes that lined the wall outside the steps and then he was finally well on his way to the cow paddock.

The wheelbarrow and shovel were waiting for him just outside the gate. His stride slowed marginally as he subconscious registered that something was different. He blindly latched the gate back up as his narrowed green gaze drifted over the field trying to pinpoint exactly was bothering him.

"What the fuck?" he uttered in realization, abandoning the wheelbarrow for a moment as he stalked to where the water pump was supposed to be—yet wasn't. He kicked at the churned up dirt with his toe with a frown before his eyes landed on the new wooden slates covering the ground well face. He squatted by the well, head tilted curiously, before he shifted the cover.

"Uagh!" his body reflexively heaved at the foul smell that instantly wafted into his face when he moved the barrier. He instantly covered it back up, but the smell still lingered. He got to his feet, stepping away but still stared at the well. "Shit!" he cursed with the realization when he remembered what Maggie had said the other night: "Glenn volunteering to be walker bait at the well." There was a rotten piranha down the well, a dead one going by the silence. Honestly, these people.

He went back to the wheelbarrow, and stripped off his shirt, hanging it on the fence post, fixing the loose shoulder strap and pulling on some work gloves before he got to work. He didn't mind the chore: he was used to the physical labour, his senses were used to the smell, between Georgia and his tours of duty placement he was accustomed to the overbearing heat.

are you gonna take me home tonight?
aah, down beside the red fire light
are you gonna let it all hang out?
fat bottomed girls
you make the rocking world go 'round

Besides, alone and with no other witness but the cattle, he entertained himself with songs that he'd never particularly sing around his family:

hey!
I was just a skinny lad
never knew no good from bad
but I knew life before I left my nursery
left alone with big fat Fanny
she was such a naughty nanny
heap big woman, you made a bad boy out of me
hey! hey!

I've been singing with my band
across the wire, across the land
I seen every blue eyed floozy on the way, hey
but their beauty and their style
went kind of smooth after a while
take me to them fat bottomed ladies every time

He danced and twirled and skipped around the scattered cattle, shovelling shit and singing into the of the shovel as the wheelbarrow filled:

c'mon
oh, won't you take me home tonight
oh, down beside your red fire light
oh, and give it all you got
fat bottomed girls
you make the rocking world go 'round
fat bottomed girls
you make the rocking world go 'round

His left shoulder strap had long since come loose and he twirled it:

hey, listen here
I got mortgages on homes
I got stiffness in my bones
ain't no beauty queens in this locality, I tell you
oh, but I still get my pleasure
still got my greatest treasure
heap big woman, you done make a big man out of me

Marshall's dog tags clinked freely as he moved, the cows lowing at him like a cheering crowd:

now get this
are (i know) you gonna take me home tonight (please)
oh, down beside that red fire light
are you gonna let it all hang out?
fat bottomed girls
you make the rocking world go 'round
fat bottomed girls
you make the rocking world go 'round

He might have done some hip-stuff, the shovel blade pinned into the earth. Who gave a shit? Just him, the cattle, and the Georgian sun:

get on your bikes and ride
oh yeah, oh yeah, them fat bottomed girls
fat bottomed girls
yeah, yeah, yeah
alright, ride 'em cowboy
fat bottomed girls
yes, yes

Marshall spun around at the voice that joined his, stumbling a little. Chest panting slightly, skin coated in sweat and a bit of grime, shades sliding down the bridge of his nose. And there sitting on the top crossbeam of the fence by the gate was his twin sister, finally up from bed. Marshall speared the shovel into the pile of manure that filled the wheelbarrow. Her nose barely even wrinkled at the smell as he wheeled it over towards her.

"Look who finally decided to pick herself up outta bed today," Marshall greeted, setting the wheelbarrow down, pulling off his gloves and grabbing his canteen.

"Yeah, well, I had to come for the show, didn't I?" Maggie responded as he gulped water thirstily. "It was free, right?"

Marshall gave her the finger, but he was smirking. "The entertainment I provide is priceless." He noticed that she wasn't exactly 100% into the joking as he first thought as he poured the remaining water from his canteen onto the rag from his pocket and mopped at his face and neck. "What's up, Mags?" he asked more seriously.

Maggie bit her lip for a moment, her knuckles white where they gripped the wooden beam beside her thighs. "Daddy's pissed—Dale approached him about the barn. Glenn told."

Marshall released a hissing sigh from between his clenched teeth. "Okay. Alright. He must've only told Dale, otherwise we'd have mayhem and they'd be scrambling around like a bunch o' chickens without their heads." He sighed again and leaned against the fence next to her. "You okay?"

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice coming out sounding small. "Why did I think he would keep his mouth shut? Why did I think a basket of fresh peaches and a bag of jerky would make him not talk?" Maggie ground the heels of her hands into her teary eyes. "I've know him for three days—what the hell is wrong with me?!" she snarled in frustration.

"Oh, sis." He cooed, stroking her hair soothingly. "Nobody ever said that the heart was logical—don't matter if it's three years or three days. He betrayed your trust, what you're feeling is perfectly reasonable. Hurt and angry. Have you talked to him?"

Maggie dropped her hands to her lap, inhaling sharply through her nose. She shook her head. "I'm too angry right now. He's goin' on a run soon though, Lori gave him a list. I might be pissed, but I'm not enough of a bitch to let him go into town by himself—just enough of one to be passive aggressive."

Marshall pinched her cheek. "Look at you, bein' an adult."

She smacked his hand. "Shut up. You smell like shit."

"'Bitch' was an apt adjective." Maggie jammed an elbow painfully into his ribs in response. The man grimaced, rubbing his side. "Bitch."

"I'm just emanating you, Marsh." She retorted. "You reap what you sow—bitch." She hopped down from the fence as they stood there, staring at each other.

"Be safe on your run," Marshall told her. "Remember your bat and don't forget your-"

"Knife." She rolled her eyes fondly at her brother. "I know, I know. Just to get you off my back, I know. It's so cute how protective of a dragon you are—especially when it's not focused on me. Why don't you go hover over Daryl again?"

"I hovered over him just fine earlier," Marshall said. "I have a large wingspan."

"Well, I'm fine out here in the sun." She quipped, out the gate and headed toward the stables.

...

Hat and sunglasses set aside on the ground, the top of his overalls hanging from his hips, the cold water beat against the back of his head and down his shoulders as his outstretched arm flexed the pump's handle behind the surgery. Nothing but a wall of water around his head, spattering onto the small cement pad beneath him, soaking his knees and running into the waist of his overalls. He released the pump and just sat there on his knees, bowed under the faucet as the water became tendrils dripping from his face.

"Marshall?" Beth came lightly jogging over to him. "I've been lookin' for you. Lunch is about done, you gonna come in?"

"Yeah. I'm done with the paddock." He said.

"Alright." She stared at the arch of his back. "Also, Jimmy was about and he heard talk about shootin' practice. Said there was an open invitation for us. What d'ya think?"

"I think it would be a good idea." Marshall said after a moment of thought. "You, Auntie, an' Jimmy should go along."

"Not Maggie?" Beth questioned.

"Nah. Maggie's got a bit on her plate right now, 'sides, she's on a run into town with Glenn right now. When they plan on leavin'?"

"After lunch, I think."

"Alright. Go on an' tell Rick. I'll be a minute."

"Okay."

He heard steps retreating back toward the farmhouse and finally sat up from under the pump. He gave his head a shake, stray water flinging from his hair. He slicked his hair back from where it was plastered to his forehead, he needed a trim. He'd do it after his next shower if their was time. Marshall tipped his head back to the sky for a moment, eyelids closed.

Hershel wasn't going to be happy with him when he found out Marshall gave permission for three members of their family to go off with the strangers on the property, but there was a reason that Beth came to him with it. Hershel was in charge of the farm, but ultimately Marshall was the protection. He released a loud sigh and finally stood up. He grabbed his things from aside on the ground and headed toward the house. His sunglasses went on and his hat and t-shirt stuffed partially into a pocket, the loose shoulder straps smacking against the back of his thighs as he walked.

"Marshall!" Beth called him over before he could go into the house, her arm waving overhead to draw his eye.

Marshall altered his course toward where his baby sister stood at Carol's Cherokee with Rick, Shane, and Jimmy hovering awkwardly at her shoulder. "Hey, what's up?" he stopped at her side, nodding at the two other men.

"He won't let us come until he talks to daddy." Beth explained.

Marshall looked over to Rick. Rick was staring, whether it was the canvas of scars, the canvas of ink or the sculpture of body he didn't bother to cover in company, one or all of the above, Marshall couldn't know, before the man gave his head a little shake and refocused his blue-eyes on the man's face.

"I had a talk with your father the other day before you even returned with Daryl and Sophia—he made it very clear where the line is. Anything to do with his people goes through him first. I've learned my lesson after your boy here lied about knowin' guns to come searching for Sophia." He nodded at the teen.

"Is that right?" Marshall remarked slowly.

Jimmy stiffened on Beth's other side, caught out, and avoided eye contact with either Greene.

"Did he now." Beth wasn't very impressed herself with her boyfriend and made sure he knew it. "And what exactly were you thinkin' with a lie like that?"

"Well, as you can now see, Jimmy here is your average, stupid, hormonal, bored teenage boy and you should clearly take his word for it with a grain of salt." Marshall said pointedly. "Don't let Beth's taste go as a mark against her, Jimmy's her first boyfriend—first boyfriend's are always idiots."

"You talkin' from experience?" Beth mouthed, in company no less.

"You ever see me bring home any idiot boyfriends?"

"No."

"Then as far as you're concerned, I'm as pure as the Virgin Mary."

"Uh-huh." Beth snorted. "No. That just makes you the idiot boyfriend."

Marshall stared down at her, his brows rising up from behind his sunglasses. "You talk to Mags before she left? This another reap-what-you-sow lesson?"

"No. But don't talk smack about my idiot boyfriend."

"Guess we know who own the balls in that relationship," Shane muttered to Rick.

Marshall turned his attention back to Rick. "Daddy's in a mood right now, so it's up to you if you want to bother him with this and piss him off more than he already is with your group's presence. Beth and Patricia know how to shoot. They know their gun-safety, made sure of that even before and after, well, if you think I'm just gonna leave my sisters and Auntie clueless and helpless when the world went to shit, then we certainly have a different definition of 'common sense'. Daddy doesn't like guns but he isn't ignorant enough to stand in my way on that."

"And I'm just supposed to trust your word on that?" Rick questioned.

Marshall wasn't even offended, he just shrugged. "Like I said—that's up to you, Rick. Either way, I have a little practice range I made up that your group can make use of. Beth can show you the way, if she's goin', I've taken her up there with me before. I'll mark it on the map, anyway, just in case." He closed the short distance between them, pulled the map toward him on the hood of the car and plucked the dull pencil that was tucked into Rick's shirt pocket. "It's a bit away, more than a few miles, still on the property, but isolated so the racket won't bother us none here so don't worry. I usually get there by horse, but there is a road you can drive that'll get you most of the way. The rest, you'll have to hoof it." He marked the range on the property map, then traced the road to take with lead from the marked star of the farmhouse. "Been awhile since I've been out there, so I'm not sure about the piranha population around there."

"That's alright, we can take care of that." Shane nodded.

Rick's finger traced his marking on the map. "Appreciate it, Marshall."

"Nothin' to it, Deputy." Marshall slipped the pencil back into the man's pocket, giving it a pat before he turned his attention to his sister. "Here." He took his sunglasses off and slipped them on her face. "If you're gonna be baking in the sun, you need protection. You're a pale as Rick, must be some sort of miracle you never burn to a crisp." He took his cap from his pocket and parked it on her blond head, adjusting the tether on the back to fit, tucking all her tresses securely underneath. "I guess sun don't burn Sun. No loose locks in the wild." He reminded in a murmur as he finished fussing about her, booping her little nose.

"What happened to your face?" Beth blurted, actually getting first clear look at him without the sunglasses. She grabbed his shoulders to stop him from moving away, up on her toes, head tilted down to peer over the top of the sunglasses to get a better look. "You didn't have that this morning." Her brows furrowed.

He rolled her eyes at her. "Calm down, it's just a scratch. It's all disinfected, too. Just an accident."

"Accident...?" she mumbled. Then she gasped, cursing as she drew her conclusion. "Holy shit, Marshall! Did Daryl actually punch you in the face?!"

"Daryl punched you?" Rick questioned in surprise. His eyes narrowed, "I'll have a word with him."

"Alright, alright. Would the two of you relax for a minute?" He turned to the side, one hand at the nape of his sister's neck, the other flat against Rick's narrow chest. "Daryl did not punch me, let's just be clear on that, alright? Beth, that was just joking earlier, and Rick, you need to have more faith in your man."

Shane scoffed lightly. "You're talkin' about Daryl right? That Dixon anger comes at a drop of a hat. He ain't afraid to get up in your face with it, too. Wouldn't surprise me if you said the wrong thing and he threw a punch. At least he's better than that brother of his."

Rick frowned at that. "Daryl's a good man, Shane. He doesn't owe us anything, especially after what happened with his brother. He didn't have to stick around, but he did. Every time he goes out into the woods and comes back with squirrel, rabbit, deer, hell, even possum—he's saving us."

Shane huffed and ran a hand over his shaved head. "Guess you're right about that—nobody else can hunt for shit. Possum. Man, I miss me some shitty fast-food burgers."

Rick chuckled, running his fingers through his sweaty curls. "I actually miss that tar the station called coffee—and it only took the apocalypse."

"Don't even mention coffee to me, man." He shook his head. He looked over the map before he folded it up, sliding it over to his friend. He patted the Cherokee hood before turning and headed toward the RV, "I'll sort the guns."

Rick sighed and tucked the map into his back pocket. He glanced over when he heard Marshall chuckle. "What?"

Marshall interlocked his fingers behind him head, still smirking. "You one of them people that can't function in the mornin' without his three cups of caffeine injection?"

"Maybe." Rick eyed him. "You're not?"

Beth snorted. "Marshall doesn't drink coffee," she grabbed Jimmy's hand and started to pull him away. "He's a big, fat weirdo like that!"

"Don't call me fat!" Marshall shouted after her. Rick chuckled and Marshall pouted. "I'm not! My body is my temple, alright? Granted, it's been bombed a few times, but it's still standin'."

The former deputy could only assume the man meant that literally. Rick's blue gaze looked him up and down—a bit slower than was strictly the social norm. "It is." He agreed. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the car. "And it apparently doesn't grant entry to coffee."

"Coffee's never really been my cup of tea... unlike tea." Marshall joked. "The last thing I needed was to get the jitters or be in caffeine withdrawal while dealing with mines and IEDs. Besides, I'm a natural born farm boy—I wake up at the crack of dawn bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as Auntie likes to say. Though... frozen cappuccino's are pretty good. Oh! Coffee ice cream and coffee cake are yummy, too."

Rick shook his head in mild amusement. "The lone man at the end of the world not suffering from caffeine withdrawal—hat's off to you, sir."

Marshall gave a half-bow playfully. "I will kill you for a glass of milk, though." He informed the man seriously after he straightened.

"That right?"

"Damn straight." Marshall smirked as he started to back away, "And not even your gorgeous blue-eyes could save you."

"Considered me warned."

Marshall turned and headed toward the house, but a few seconds later he heard approaching footsteps and when he looked, Rick strolled up beside him. "There somethin' else?"

"I've been thinkin' on it," Rick rubbed his nape. "It'd be a good idea for your sister and the others to come along to shootin' practice."

"I knew you weren't just getting by on your looks, Rick."

"I'll-"

"Don't worry, I'll save you the righteous wrath of Hershel Greene. It was my decision, I have to tell daddy anyways." Marshall said, but even still Rick walked beside him. The Greene son said nothing, simply watched him from the corner of his eye.

"What really happened to your face?" Rick eventually asked.

"That's between Daryl and I. And don't go botherin' the man about it, either. He's got a concussion, and if he tears those stitches, I'm gonna be pissed. He needs to rest, leave 'im be."

"Alright, alright. Yes, sir." Rick briefly held up his hands. "I won't go knockin' and talkin'. Actually... I was wantin' to ask a favour." He dropped his hands, demeanour more serious.

"Oh?" Marshall looked at him curiously.

"Uh." Rick paused and swallowed. "I was wondering if you could check in on Carl?"

"What?" Marshall stopped short. "Why?" If something was wrong he knew he would have heard about it, everyone would have. He scoffed and narrowed his eyes on the man, "What? You suddenly don't trust my daddy now?"

"No, no." Rick denied. "Hershel saved my son—we owe him everything for that. It was an honest to God miracle. I'm not trying to undermine him, I think it would just be a comfort to Lori an' I. And I-I know it's selfish to ask even after everything you and your family have done for mine and the rest of the group. It's greedy-"

"Rick," Marshall interrupted, hand on his shoulder. "Shut up. It's your kid, it's the apocalypse, it's not selfish or greedy—you're fightin' for your kid. That's just damn good parentin' as far as I'm concerned." He gave the man a pat before dropping his hand.

"Thank you." Was all Rick would think to say.

Marshall shrugged. "Just the truth." When they reached the porch steps, Rick already to clomp up in his ridiculous cowboy boot, Marshall paused at the bottom to kick off his shit waders before hopping up the steps after the man in socks. Rick held the door open for him to pass. "I'll be in, in a few, I gotta talk to daddy and grab a few things first." Rick nodded and they went their separate ways. Rick to Carl's room and Marshall toward the kitchen where he heard clatter. "Hey, Auntie."

Patricia looked up from the chopping board with a small smile. "Just in time." She paused in her chopping to throw together a sandwich for him, using slices from the homemade bread loaf, lettuce and tomato from the garden with shredded venison, and carrot sticks. She pushed the plate toward him with a tall glass of fresh squeezed peach juice.

"Thank you. Where's daddy?" Marshall wondered, picking up the sandwich. He took five minutes to eat and chat.

"His study." The woman went back to chopping.

Marshall nodded. "Rick's taking most of his group out for shootin' practice, Beth an' Jimmy are going... I thought you should go too."

Patricia's chopping slowed. "You do?"

"You already know how to shoot and I know you don't particularly like it, but it's been a while since you last had any target practice. I think you should go, but the decision is yours ultimately. Think about it? The group's leaving in about two hours."

"Alright. I'll think on it." Patricia said quietly.

Marshall nodded and pecked her cheek before he left. "It also wouldn't go amiss to see exactly what Rick's group is capable of." He muttered to himself, thinking about Glenn and Dale knowing about the barn, Andrea shooting Daryl in the head, and Shane's eager grip on that pickaxe and shifty demeanour.

Marshall paused briefly in front of Hershel's ajar office door, hearing the faint notes of classical music, the rasp of paper, and creak from the old chair as the old man shifted. He rapped his knuckle lightly on the outside of the doorjamb. "Daddy?"

"Come in."

Marshall pushed the door open and stepped into his father's office. Like he expected, Hershel was sat at his escritoire, writing in his journal, the space filled with papers, books, and writing instruments, the only free space the blotter mat. His old record player playing quietly from the side table. There were a few filing cabinets holding patient and important family records, a large book shelf sorted into veterinarian tomes and human medicine texts, and in the corner by the window was an old comfy reading chair.

Hershel didn't say anything, kept jotting notes in his journal and Marshall knew better than to try and interrupt him.

When the old man finally set his pen down and turned his attention to his son, a frown marked his face as he took in Marshall's half-dressed appearance. "Have you been walking around half-naked in company?"

"I was shovelling the paddock, I didn't see the point of sweating and stinking up a perfectly clean shirt." Marshall found it ironic how Hershel could say that like Marshall was disrespecting their guests while being shirtless, but it was obvious Hershel's dislike of their company. Marshall just sighed and slipped on the shirt he'd tucked into his pocket, hooking his overall's shoulder straps. "You know about the talk of gun training for Rick's group?"

"There was mention of something about that the other day. Why? Rick knows they're not to carry on the farm—he's lucky I'm continuing to allow them that rifle watch after what happened the other day." Hershel remarked.

Marshall's jaw tightened momentarily as he was reminded of that shit show. "You don't have to worry, daddy, I marked on the map for Rick my range out there."

"Good. Is that all?"

"No. I wanted you to know that Beth and Jimmy are going with the group." Hershel did not look happy about that at all, not that Marshall expected him to. "Auntie's considering it, but I hope she goes in the end."

Hershel rose to his feet. "I specifically told Rick where the line was drawn—anything to do with our family was to go through me first."

"Daddy-" Marshall stopped him from charging out of his office to track Rick down. "I'm the one that gave them permission to go."

Hershel gave him a sharp look. "You what? And what gave you the impression you had the authority to do that?"

Marshall's anger snapped out for an instant like a striking viper. "I'm not going to let them die like Annette and Shawn and Otis!" The pain in his father's eyes was heartbreaking, but Marshall wasn't going to let it detour him. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. "You can hate it all you want, and I know you do. So, hate it, fine, but you have to live with it. You're going to live with it—and they get to just plain live! I know it doesn't guarantee anything, nothing is guaranteed in this world, Now or Before, but it gives them a chance, daddy. That's all any of us really get."

There was silence between, nothing but the skip of the needle at the end of the record. Blue against green. "I guess there's nothing else for it," Hershel finally said quietly. "Everybody deserves a chance." He turned his attention to the record player, lifting the needle and setting it back to the beginning of the spinning record. "Are you going with them?"

"No, I still have chores to do."

"Alright. Is that all?"

Marshall sighed quietly, biting the bullet. "Rick asked me to check on Carl." He watched the shift in the old man's shoulders. "He's not trying to insult you, daddy. He's just being a father worried about his boy."

Hershel sighed deeply. "I didn't think he was. I understand his reasoning. I'm sure the boy's mother would have been delighted to have you done the surgery had you been here, but I was their only option."

"Daddy, you saved that boy's life and it wasn't just by some miracle—you're an excellent surgeon. I shouldn't have to tell you that. You know that." Marshall absently scratched at the scar on the underside of his jaw. If Hershel hadn't clamped the blood vessel himself, Marshall never would have made it to the city hospital, let alone out of the house and into the truck. He sighed and dropped his hand. "You got any notes? Anything I should be aware of?"

Hershel turned to his desk and picked up a folder. "Old habits."

Marshall took it with a large smile. "You're fantastic, daddy! You made him a chart." He opened the folder and examined Hershel's small but neat handwriting. "Amazing." It really had been a close call, but Hershel had managed to pull a rabbit out of the hat in dire straits. Six bullet fragments, a seizure, internal bleeding. Hershel Greene truly had missed his calling. He handed the file back. "While I was at it, I figured I would I give him a few things to keep him entertained since he's on bed rest—the kid must be bored out of his mind." He remarked, turning to leave.

"Son?" Marshall paused and turned back. Hershel stare was intense. "I presume your sister told you about Dale coming to me about discovering the barn?"

"She did." Was all Marshall said.

"It changes nothing." Hershel finally said after a minute of silence. "As soon as the boy is up on his feet and able to travel, they're gone. You brought back their missing girl and now there's nothing left for them here. I already have to worry about your sister and that Asian boy-"

"Beth said his name was Glenn."

"Do I need to worry about you, as well?"

"Daddy," Marshall quirked an incredulous eyebrow. "Are you trying to give me a talk?"

"Do I need to?"

"I was part of a institution that was only tolerable of your average American heterosexual for 7 years—and yes, that was my decision—but I was sick and tired of hiding that part of myself so I retired. And I know you don't fully understand, but I'm going to be who I want and like who I like and not have a care what anyone else has to say about it. But you don't have to worry, daddy, any feelings that I may or may not have in regards to this group have nothing to do with my opinion of letting them remain on the farm. In the end, it's your decision."

"Good." Hershel nodded and sat back at his desk chair. "One last thing before you go... I found Nelly in her stall this morning when I went to feed and water the horses."

Marshall smiled in disbelief and relief. "She actually found her way back home?" Hershel nodded. "And she's okay? Not bit or scratched?"

"Dehydrated and exhausted." Hershel turned back to his journal and Marshall knew he was dismissed.

"Smart girl!" Marshalled cheered to himself as he left his dad's office and took the stairs two at a time. He'd make sure the mare got an apple if there were any left.

He went back into Shawn's room again, the closet this time. He pulled out one of the many file boxes that occupied the bottom of the closest and took off the lid. Marshall did a cursory search of the glossy paged contents, just to make sure he hadn't actually grabbed Shawny's porn stash by mistake. He grunted a bit as he picked it up, a little surprised by the weight. No wonder Shawn was so damn buff.

He balanced it on his shoulder as he went down the stairs and knocked lightly on the spare room door. Lori was the one to open the door a couple of beats later.

"Hey, Marshall. Thanks for doing this." She murmured, stepping out of the way.

"No problem. What's up, The Grimes Family?" Marshall stepped in, exchanging nods with Rick and setting the box on the hardwood chair, before he looked to the bed's small occupant. "And you must be the apple of your daddy's eye."

Blue-eyes stared back at him, set in a pale, freckled face. "You must be Marshall. You're weird—Sophia said you'd be."

"Carl!" Lori scolded, but Marshall chuckled.

"That's alright, Sophia did call me that." he dismissed. He turned his focus back on the boy, "Good, you got to talk to each other. Sophia was worried when she found out you got hurt."

"You saved her." Carl said.

"Nah. I just stepped in at the last moment. Sophia's the one that survived herself—like you."

Carl shook his head. "I was shot. I didn't do anything."

"You survived. Whether you were conscious of it or not, you fought. Just like your daddy here, I heard." Marshall thought the blush was cute as Carl looked to his father, whose eyes were shinning with their own pride. "Pale as you're daddy, too." He remarked.

"You keep saying that." Rick sighed.

"'Cause you are." Marshall challenged, tossing over his shoulder. "It makes me want to give you B12, D, and iron tablets."

Lori tried to hide her smirked. "They've both always been like that."

"And they never burn?"

"Nope." Lori shook her head. "But then Rick was always wearing that hat." She nodded at the brown brimmed, golden tasselled hat taking up the nightstand. "It's Carl's now."

Marshall whistled. "That'd do it." He sent a smirk Rick's way, "Now you're gonna have to rely solely on the protective coating of sweat." He teased.

Rick pursed his lips as he stared at the former Army Ranger, hands on his hips. "You tryna say something?"

"Yeah. Do own a t-shirt? I can give you some if you don't." Marshall eyed the man. "You should also drink more water. And if you're afraid of burning, I can give you some sunscreen."

Rick eyed him back, clad in socked feet, thick overalls, and t-shirt—and he wasn't even as close to as sweaty as Rick. "I see you put your t-shirt back on."

"Yup." The corner of his mouth twisted. "Daddy scolded me for walkin' around shirtless in y'all's good company, makin' people uncomfortable." He turned his attention back to the boy in the bed and missed Rick's frown. He sighed heavily. "Carl, I know you're probably sick an' tired of getting prodded at, and I know my daddy was already in here to check on you and get your blood-pressure—but I swear... you soldier through this, sate your parents' worry and you get what's inside the box." He drummed his fingers on the lid, drawing it to attention.

Carl perked up a bit. "What's in the box?"

Marshall smirked. "I dunno. It's a surprise. So, what d'you say, kiddo?"

Carl eyed the box with serious squint. "Hm. This isn't like some trick where it's like... homework in there or something, right?"

"Hm." Marshall drummed his fingers thoughtfully. "Dunno—I guess your gonna have to risk it. You must be so bored in here..."

"Alright, I'll do it!" he blurted. "Is it something fun?" he couldn't help but ask.

"I guess we'll see soon." Marshall mused. "Give me a sec." He popped into the en suite to wash his hands. "Alright, let me look at this war wound."

Lori grimaced. "Can you not call it that?" she muttered, looking away as Rick helped his son with his shirt.

Carl grimaced a little as Marshall pulled the large bandage aside, the medical tape pulling at his skin, but it wasn't too bad. Hershel had only used enough to keep it in place. Marshall gave a low whistle, impressed, both with Hershel's work and Carl's endurance. Marshall always believed that children were more resilient than grown-ass adults. It was a cluster of shrapnel wounds from the shattered bullet, they were small, but the edges were a bit ragged from Hershel digging around for the fragments with forceps, so instead of stitched most of them were closed with steri-strips. The surgical incision to get at the deeper fragments was only 4 inches long and stitched.

"I don't think 'fighter' and 'survivor' are the right descriptors for you, trouper." Marshall remarked.

"What do you mean?" Carl wondered.

"Boss and badass suit you better." Marshall winked. Carl's face lit up and Rick suppressed his grin while Lori was not particularly happy with the swearing in front of her child but bit back the comment at her son's expression. "How's the pain?" Marshall carefully palpitated the tender flesh.

Carl's face scrunched, but he didn't try to jerk away or cry out. "Better than before, I think. I don't really remember. It's all blurry."

"Good. You don't want to remember that stuff, trust me." Marshall told him. "You're still swollen and inflamed, which is understandable with the trauma and internal bleeding." He replaced the bandage. "How's your appetite?"

"Good."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, sir."

"No 'sir' necessary." Marshall chuckled. "Now, this is a serious one, no embarrassment needed..." Carl gave an adorable, serious nod. "Have you had a poop since you properly woke up?"

Carl stared at him wide-eye, face flushing. "What?"

"It's a common side-effect of abdominal surgery to be constipated afterward, and it wouldn't surprise me with all this swelling." He placed a large hand on the boy's stomach and gently messaged. "So I need to know if you've pooped. You've been up to pee, right?" Carl nodded. "Is there pain?"

He shook his head. "Just from movin'." He mumbled.

"And pooping?" Carl gave his head a short shake.

"Is that something we need to worry about?" Lori questioned worriedly.

"Not right now," he assured the parents. "Alright, what about gas?"

"Maybe a little, I think." Carl admitted.

"That hurt? You push?" A nod. "Alright, I don't want you to put strain on your abdominal muscles, okay? You could pop a stitch, internal or otherwise, and most of your shrapnel wounds are being held together with tape, okay?" Carl looked pretty freaked out. "It's okay." Marshall promised, continuing to massage his stomach. "You gotta fart, need to push a little, that's fine, just don't force it, and when you do, I want you to put a little pressure on your gut—it'll help support and make sure you don't pop anything that doesn't need poppin'. Same when you gotta poop. Got all that?" Carl nodded. Marshall glanced to Rick and Lori, "I'm not too worried about it, it's what, coming up 3 days since you punched your last number 2 ticket?" Rick snorted at that and Carl giggled at his dad's reaction. "Yeah, I'm not gonna be concerned for a couple more days. If it hasn't happened by then, I'll give you some laxatives. Until then, probably have more high fibre foods. Hmm." Marshall thought. "Prunes would be most effective, but we're kinda out of luck there. Oatmeal for breakfast, more fruits from the garden, blueberries are good like that. Apples, I have to sort that out." He mumbled to himself. "Hot tea. It won't have an immediate affect, but it will help in the longer run. The last thing you want is an impacted bowel these days."

The corner of Carl's mouth subconsciously ticked down when Marshall finally stopped massaging his stomach, it had actually been soothing like rubbing his belly when he had a tummy ache. Which always worked better when it was one of his parents doing it.

"Bed rest for a couple more days, until that swelling goes down more and you get a bowel movement. All the walking around you need to be doing is to that bathroom and back. That means—No bending down. No picking up anything heavier than a cup. No jumping on the bed. No rough-housing with Sophia." Carl giggled. "Now... what could possibly be in this mystery box to keep you from doing any of that?" Marshall wondered in a teasing tone. Carl nodded eagerly as Rick helped his son sit up, propping up the pillows behind him as Marshall picked up the box. The man carefully placed it on the bed next to the boy without jostling anything. "All yours!"

Carl eagerly pulled off the lid, handing it off to his dad before he stared and gaped at the contents.

"What is it, baby?" Lori wondered from the foot of the bed.

Carl was still in a state of shock, blue-eyes wide. "It's-" he couldn't even. Shaky fingers trembled to touch. He looked to Marshall. "Is this real?"

Marshall chuckled. "Oh, yeah. My brother was always into these things. Most kids spend their allowance on candy, Shawn always spent his on comics."

"Are you sure it's okay?" Carl questioned.

"Yup. Shawny can't read them anymore and I know he won't mind them in the hands of someone who is clearly a big a fan as he was."

"You're brother's so cool!" Carl picked up the top comic with reverence. "Do you think Sophia will wanna read them too?"

"I don't see why not, buddy." Rick ruffled his short hair.

"I have some manga she might like." Marshall offered.

"Wait." Carl's eyes snapped up from the comic in his hands to the man. "Aren't they those Japanese graphic novels? You read Japanese?"

Marshall snorted. "I'm flattered that you think I'm that awesome and smart. No, they're English translations. Let's see... You two are twelve, right?" Carl nodded. "Ah, jeez. What was I readin' at that age? Puberty hittin'," Marshall cringed and Rick had to bite back the laugh at the man's expression, "Well, that's a hit of the nostalgia stick."

"And exactly how long is this nostalgia stick of yours?" Rick mused.

"13 feet." Marshall quipped. "You?"

Rich shook his head. "No, I'm not playing that game. You're being a drama queen. 13 years? It's like you're barely out of high school."

"First, I'm double Carl's age—plus one—not to be petty about it. Second, I bet you're not even a decade older than me. Don't try an' lie," Marshall pointed at him, "Don't make me ask your wife. I have two sisters, I can hit below the belt if I have to—you show 'em one ounce of weakness and they eat you alive."

"And what happens if I tell your sisters you said that?"

"I'll take you down with me, Rick." Marshall said immediately, 100% serious.

"Are you two done being weird?" Carl questioned.

"For the moment," Marshall relented giving Rick a wink before addressing the boy. "If for whatever reason Sophia isn't into the hero comics, tell her I can scrounge up some age-appropriate manga. Alright, trouper?"

Carl nodded. "Thanks, Marshall."

Marshall smiled. "No trouble. An' you finish that box, I'll bring you down another." Carl's eyes nearly bulged at that, there already had to be more than a 100 in the box he already had. "See you around." Lori gave him an appreciative nod as he passed, but Rick was the one that followed him out.

"Marshall?" Rick closed the spare bedroom door, quickly catching up to the other man down the hall.

"Hang on." Marshall said, spotting his sister and her boyfriend finishing their lunch. "Sunny, fill up some water bottles when you're finished, make sure there's enough for everyone going, alright?" the blond teen gave him a thumbs-up from the table in agreement, her mouth full. Marshall looked to Rick, "Who all is goin'?"

Rick blew out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Near everyone. Carl's still on bed-rest so Lori's stayin' with him. Dale's stayin' behind, Daryl, too. And Glenn's still out on that run with Maggie."

Marshall nodded his agreement to all that. "Carol and Sophia, too?"

"They're comin'," Rick nodded. "Carol told me she wants them to learn so something like what happened on the highway won't happen again." Rick gave him a bit of side-eye like he was expecting to get some talk-back from Marshall, but Marshall whole-heartedly agreed with Carol's desire to learn to protect her family.

"Beth and Jimmy are for sure going, and Auntie-"

Patricia stepped from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "I'd like to come, too."

"You're more than welcome," Rick dipped his head.

"Good. It's a full house." Marshall said. "You should take Maggie's car, it'll do just fine on the roads. Beth, you drive, you need the practice."

Beth perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just don't crash it or scratch it or Maggie will be after you."

Beth waved her hand dismissively. "If I do end up wrecking it, she can just choose another—there's a bunch around to pick from."

"Bethany-Annette!" Patricia scolded, swatting at the teen with the dishtowel.

"What? It's true!"

Patricia gave Marshall a look.

"Hey!" Marshall held his hands up innocently. "I'm not the one with an arrest record in the family. Okay? This is not my influence. My thing was hitchin' into the city and gettin' underage tattoos—she'd be hard-pressed to do that nowadays. 'Sides, she kinda has a point." He muttered that last part under his breath.

By her uttered "Marshall Elijah," the older woman heard him.

"If you want to argue the ethics of it, Rick was a cop, I'm sure he has a few opinions on the matter." Rick looked startled to suddenly be thrown under the bus. "I'll go an' grab some guns an' ammo for you to take." And headed for the stairs.

"Ah! This feels like a family affair and I don't think it's fair of me to interfere. Excuse me!" Rick quickly, but politely excused himself and fled after the former Ranger. "Marshall!"

Marshall's chuckle reached him from the top of the stairs. "C'mon. We gotta have a shovel-talk."

"What?" Rick questioned in confusion but follow the man anyway.

Marshall went to his closet, but Rick got a bit distracted as he took in the man's room. He never wondered what the man's room would look like, but taking it in, it just made sense. The walls, every available space, like they were the wallpaper itself, hand drawn from his baby sister, he could spot the blond girl's name in some form or another all over the room—ranging from the illegible of a crayon in a chubby tiny hand to the curly, bubbly stroke of a teenage girl, their contents going from the nonsensical of toddlers, to the artistic talent of a budding artist. There was no mistaking Marshall's adoration for his sister, Rick didn't think the man had thrown a single one out. Even he didn't keep everything Carl had drawn, not that the boy was in that stage anymore; now it was comics, comics, videogames. There was a nook of frames photos, and Rick finally got to put a face to the giver of those green eyes. What looked like a small memorial; the framed service flag, a tattered, blood-stained collar, and a picture of Marshall in his full gear knelt next to a large German Shepherd, all kitted up. There was a huge grin on the man's face as the dog stretched up to lick his chin. It was the same dog that was tattooed on Marshall's chest; Rocky. His medical bags sat at the foot at his twin bed, his hunting weapons hung in safe but easily assessable positions.

Marshall was knelt on the floor in front of his closet, having drug out the footlocker. He flicked down the latch and opened the top. It wasn't like he was armed to the teeth, but he did own more than a few 'farmer guns'. These were the ones registered in his name from Before, the ones squirreled away in his treasure chests were found guns. There were horizontal racks fitted into the locker so the guns weren't just haphazardly thrown into the bottom, but secure. It was mostly his hand guns and boxes of ammo (he had more bullets stowed in the cellar with all their extra supplies, and where they kept their fruit preserves; the entrance of which was in the crawl space under the staircase). His service rifle was disassembled and stowed in its case under his bed, and he used his hunting rifle the most nowadays so it was racked on the wall within easy reach.

"You can take the rifle and I got a couple of handguns."

"Sounds good." Rick gently fingered the many homemade wristbands that deocrated the elengated neck of what looked like a hand carved wood giraffe on the man's desk.

Marshall double-checked the safety, made sure the slide was clear, and the magazines were full despite already knowing that it was all good, after all, he was the only one to touch them, but it was habit. "You need extra ammo?"

"We have an assortment, but if you can spare some that would be much appreciated and wouldn't go amiss."

"Shotgun shells would be useless and a waste of ammo. I got your standard 9mm and .308 for the rifle." He grabbed out a few boxes of ammo and closed the lid, setting everything on top out of the way for a moment. He reached into the depths of his closet while he was already there and pulled out his own file box. Now he was going to have to be more thorough with his search of this as opposed to Shawn's box.

"What's that?" Rick questioned as Marshall popped the lid off.

"The manga I mentioned to Carl for Sophia." Marshall responded as he started a quick sort through with two groups. "I'll be back in second." He told the other man when he was finished, going down the hall and popping into Beth's room. He grabbed the old backpack that hung on the hook at the back of her bedroom door. It was one of those hippie, old-school brown leather packs with the cinch opening.

When he returned, he found Rick looking through one of the books curiously, not yet noticing his return. And Marshall knew exactly which pile the former deputy had taken from the minute Rick tense up a bit, blues eyes widening. Marshall grinned as he watched Rick stare for a minute, before, instead of quickly putting it back and playing dumb... he turned the page.

"Like what you see?" Marshall practically purred.

Rick swore, startled. As he spun around to face that man, he reflexively hid the X-rated book behind his back like a teenager caught red-handed. "What?" he questioned.

"No need to be shy," Marshall approached, stopping toe-to-boot with the man, green-eyes practically dancing as Rick flushed a little with embarrassment. He reached around behind the man and pulled it free from his hand. "You even finger-marked the page!" he noted slyly. He held it open with his pinkie and index finger. "Mm. They're rather graphic, aren't they?"

"I didn't realize what it was," Rick muttered.

Marshall giggled. "I watched you turn the page, Rick."

"Morbid curiosity!" he defended.

"I didn't realize homosexuality was so gruesome."

"W- That's no what I meant!"

"Relax." Marshall hushed him. "I know. I was just playing. Like I said, no need to be embarrassed, Rick. I also have some hetero ones. They're pretty explicit, too, but it was all that boy-love that wound up teen-me just a bit more." He closed it with a snap, making Rick flinch a little and blink rapidly. He pressed the book against the man's chest for him to absently take as he finally took a step back, breaking the bubble. "You can borrow them, too, if you want." He stepped around and filled the leather pack with the ammo and two handguns.

"I don't think that's necessary." Rick replied, handing the book back.

Marshall shrugged and stowed it, along with the others in the explicit pile, into his footlocker. A trip to the cellar was in order for some more bullets. And put the age-appropriate manga back into the file box for Sophia if she so wanted. He shoved his footlocker back into his closet and rose, bag in hand. "Now, about that shovel talk." Rick's shoulders straightened at the serious tone. "I'm trusting you with my family, Rick. There's nothing more precious to me. I'd do anything for them and that means if something happens to them... I'll do everything to you." Marshall tone was low and even, and there was no was no misunderstanding to what the former Ranger was saying—everything except nothing.

"I'll look after them like they're my own blood, Marshall." Rick promised, looking him in the eye.

The stare and silence wasn't broken until Marshall finally offered Rick the gun bag. "Even Jimmy." He added with wry humour. "You should keep an extra eye on him. He doesn't know how to shoot, so have fun with him."

"Is he gonna be trouble?" Rick wondered.

Marshall snorted. "That boy is eager to please and easy to intimidate, so there shouldn't be a problem. But don't forget he's still a-"

"Stupid teenage boy?" Rick finished, amused.

"Exactly. You're learning. And you'll find out yourself soon enough." Marshall pointed out but Rick smiled at that. "Adorable!" He booped Rick on the nose. "Remember this naive moment when Carl's no longer on bed rest and back on his feet and you turn your back for a moment—and he's poking a dead piranha with a stick."

"Ugh," Rick groaned, briefly closing his eyes like he was pained. "Did you have to paint such a morbid picture?"

"Not me." Marshall plead innocence. "It's the morbid curiosity of young boys." Rick's expression took on one of dread. "Now add 'apocalypse' to that... and you've got fun-times ahead of you. It'll keep you on your toes, at least." He patted the man on the shoulder before he left the father to process, "See you when you get back—don't forget the rifle."

On his way back to his shit-waders, he checked one last time in with the three perspective shooters.

"Where's Rick?" Patricia asked. "He ran after you fast enough."

"He's gonna need a minute," Marshall answered wryly.

Beth narrowed her blue-eyes. "What did you do to him?" she mock accused. "He's married, you know."

Marshall sputtered a little, taken aback by her implication. "What do you take me for?"

"Desperate." Beth immediately chirped, amusement in her eyes. They'd been joking about bringing home boyfriends just an hour ago, and here Marshall was with a man up in his room. She expected some pithy quip back that would have Patricia swatting at him with the tea towel in scolding even as the woman bit back her own amusement, but instead Beth was faced with a frown.

Marshall could tell that Beth was just joking around by the look on her face, but he wasn't laughing. He didn't care for the implication, to either Rick or himself. He knew he wasn't the best role model when it came to romance. He'd never been in a committed relationship with someone and brought them home to meet his daddy and sisters, which Marshall personally believed was the ultimate stepping stone that lead to marriage (Maggie held the same belief. Meet-daddy meant life-partner). He didn't even have a high school sweetheart like his twin. And while it was an obvious joke that he was Virgin Mary, that didn't mean he went around having sex with everyone he met with blue-eyes. He lost his virginity to friends that he trusted, and any trysts he had with his fellow service men and women, it was all mutual and respectable of both parties. They were people who he knew and trusted and were available, not some stranger from a bar who may or may not be in any kind of relationship that he fucked in an alley. They knew what they were getting by being with him, and him the same.

And Marshall knew he flirted. He flirted and teased and poked. It was harmless. It was mutual. And if it wasn't reciprocated, than it was platonic. Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon were prime examples of this. Marshall had attraction for both men, both physically (obviously) and otherwise.

Daryl was gruff and quick to revert to anger, but Marshall had also seen that protective, loyal part of him in the woods with Sophia and Carol, and to his group—he was a provider. Marshall's feelings were made quite plainly to the gruff man (several inferences to Dixon's fine ass), and Daryl had quite clearly said stop, nearly taking Marshall's eye with it. And while disappointed that the attraction wasn't reciprocated, Marshall still wanted to be the hunter's friend.

Rick was the clear Type A Alpha Leader, a bit of a perfectionist and control freak, but Marshall had also gotten to experience the worried father and on the opposite side of the scale, that playful side and humour. Rick played ball—Marshall threw it to him and Rick hit it right back with a homerun. It was all friendly ribbing. They were opposite sides of the field, a clear line not to be crossed.

And if Rick was the kind of bastard that attempted to cross that line, which Marshall was already batting 100 that he wasn't even with just how little time he'd known the man, Marshall respected the sanctity of marriage, despite not being married himself, nor ever having been in a committed, monogamous relationship. He was raised by three beautiful examples of it—even if each of them had ended in tragedy. His respect to the former Sheriff's Deputy would go up in stinking flames as fast as a dumpster fire—and Marshall wouldn't even piss on him to put the fire out after that.

Marshall wasn't quite sure why he was so offended and affected by it. He knew it was a joke. Why, just this morning Beth had made several jokes at his expense: she had all-out called him a wimp to his face because he didn't want to get punched by Daryl, and inferred that he was basically a woman already because he only had one testicle. Those should have offended him, the strike landing solidly against the perceived male ego, but he'd brushed them off easily, laughing with her because he could appreciate a good joke when he heard one.

He wasn't laughing now.

Marshall Greene always believed that actions spoke louder than words. Someone could promise him the moon all they wanted, dress it up in all those pretty words—it all meant shit until that person put word to action and Marshall had his hands on the moon. He let Beth get away with saying stuff, in fact encouraging it (that if daddy caught her saying such filth, he'd wash both their mouths out with soap and kick him out of the house and into the doghouse) because ultimately, it was her actions that painted her character on the canvas of life. So he was thrown for a bit of a loop here.

"Maybe Auntie and daddy are right," maybe Marshall just wasn't a good role model in general. He glanced over his shoulder as he heard Rick clomping down the stairs in those cowboy boots, backpack strap over one shoulder, the hunting rifle strap over the other. He slowed to a pause at the heavy atmosphere with the group. "You spend too much time with me." Marshall turned and left.

"Wha-?!" Beth jumped to her feet, eyes wide. "Marshall?!"

The blond teen tried to run off after her big brother, but surprisingly it was the former deputy that stopped her. "I don't know what just happened, what you said, and I haven't known Marshall that long... but I don't think chasing after him is the best idea right now."

Beth tore her gaze was the closed front door to the man beside her, guilt lining her face. "I was only teasing," she mumbled in a small voice.

Rick gave her a sympathetic grimace in comfort, squeezing her shoulder. "I don't think he found it very funny." It didn't make her feel any better, it just made her feel worse, because she basically called Rick an adulterer, too. "You can talk to him after we get back, give you both time to cool off."

"Come on, Beth." Jimmy wrapped a comforting arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. He grabbed the tote filled with the full water bottles for everyone. "You know he's right."

...

After shoving his feet into his waders at the bottom of the porch steps, Marshall immediately made for the stables, his loosed shoulder strap gently tapping against his chest with his stride. He ignored all the activity from the temporary camp as the group got ready to depart to his shooting range, unable to keep away the frown that tugged on his lips.

He gave a sharp whistle on his way, drawing a few turned heads, but what he was truly after was made known a moment later when he heard a distant answering bark. Marshall's head swivelled toward the sound and it was a moment after that, that his gaze locked onto the low figure bounding toward him in a stretched stride.

Not even his frown could hold out against the automatic smile as Athena came to a halt at his feet, sitting on her haunches, her tongue lolling as she panted lightly.

"Look who decided to finally show herself." He bent forward, scratching his fingers into the thick fur at her cheeks and neck. "Look at you, you're a mess." He chuckled, using his fingers as a makeshift comb to pull out some tangled burrs. "Just because you know you're getting pampered later, doesn't mean you have to be a mess beforehand. Butterfly's gonna have her work cut out for her." Athena thumped her tail, kicking up a little dust cloud. "Right." He gave her one last affectionate pat before straightening and continuing toward the stables again. Athena followed, trotting alongside him.

The Greene's owned 7 horses in a stable that held 10 stalls, the three extra stalls were typically used as storage for equipment. A dusky nose poked over the stall gate at his entrance, large nostrils flaring. Marshall smiled, stepping forward as the horse nickered in greeting.

"Hey, Boo-Boo." Marshal cooed, palms stroking down Boomer's muscled neck, forehead dipping forward to rest against the large nose. He hummed as they just breathed each other's air for a peaceful moment. Athena gave a friendly woof and Boomer snorted in his face in response. Marshall leaned back with a 'blech!'. "Alright! I'm sorry! No need to be jealous. I know it's been a few days, my bad." He reached down into the nearby basket and held out the large carrot in offering. If a horse could haughtily crunch on a carrot, Boomer certainly pulled it off. "C'mon, it's playtime." He undid the gate latch and led the stallion from the stable and out into the nearby corral with a guiding hand on his neck.

He did similar to each of the remaining 4 horses. Peaches who was Annette's, Thor with Otis, Hopscotch who favoured Beth and was the only other dappled horse. Greeted them, gave them a treat, then guided them out to the corral. Bam Bam and Loki when Maggie and Glenn finally returned from their run. He saved Nervous Nelly for last. She hadn't even poked her head out curiously as he was handing out the little treats, so he mucked out the other stalls and put down fresh hay. Even checked in on the last stall, which was home to their barn cat, Patches. While the other two extra stalls were for storage of horse gear, tools, a feed, this last stall was the feline's territory. There was a makeshift cat tree house against the back wall made of various beams, shelves, tunnels and cubby holes, a pet bed that was actually meant a large dog, and various toes scattered around.

She was a 5-year-old calico and she'd given birth to three kittens about 3 weeks ago, an atypically small litter, but they all healthy and good sized, and the birthing had been natural with no complications. One male and two female, each easily distinguishable by their different coloured coats. The male was calico like his mother, white main coat with orange patches. While one female was a soot coloured with white socks, and the other was light grey and white patterned.

Patches meowed in greeting as he stepped over the gate (that was really just a three foot high board over the entrance of the stall. Patches could easily jump it, but it kept the kittens contained so they couldn't wander and get trampled by the horses who had open gaps at the bottom of their stall doors). Marshall squatted and petted her, making her instantly start purring. Her three little hellions started mewing up a ruckus at his appearance, trying to climb up him with their tiny little claws. He didn't feel a thing with his thick overalls. After a few moments, Marshall carefully plucked off the cuties and went about putting down fresh water, refilling Patches' kibble dish, and put down a plate of wet food before stepping back out and to Nelly.

He waited patiently in front of her stall gate, naked forearms resting across the top and hummed quietly, waiting for her to come to him. Their last encounter wasn't exactly calm, and with the anxiety ridden night she'd spent in the woods, he didn't want to crowd her and set her off. The apple in-hand was just a nice enticement. The last in the bucket, and though a little bruised, still just as sweet and crunchy. Marshall was sure that was what won her over more than his person actually did. But she was calm as he fed her sections of apple from the his palm as he continued to hum and stroke her head and neck.

After Nelly finished the apple, Marshall finally opened the stall gate. Nelly didn't deign to step out and he wasn't going to force her. Instead, he stepped in. She shifted and neighed, but that was it, and let him pet her. He knew Hershel had already done it, checked her over, gave her the full brush routine; her coat was shiny and her mane and tail weren't tangled and matted as it would have been after the bolt through the woods. He still had the need to do it himself, to help assuage the guilt he felt for having chosen to leave her behind for Daryl, even if she still made it home alive. Nelly didn't seem to mind the attention, though. She even let him braid her mane and tail. Though, one of the sparse sugar cubes didn't go amiss.

Marshall didn't look the gift horse in the mouth when Nelly stepped out of the safety of her quiet stall after him. His steps were slow but casual as he continue to hum and head out into the sun and corral with her following him close behind, he could feel her hot breath huffing the back on his neck and head as she lipped at his short hair, but he didn't shoo her away least he scare her off back into the stables. It would do her good to be around her friends after her scare. Nelly lingered around him in the corral, but it wasn't long before the neighs and nickers of the others drew her away. Athena was also having a grand time racing around the other horses.

He watched with a small smile and went to the fence, climbing onto the top beam as he whistled. The grey mane whipped in the air as Boomer trotted toward him at the call; Marshall needed to braid up Boomer too. Just like he didn't like Beth going out with her hair down and loose. Boomer came up alongside the fence and Marshall patted his muscled neck, hand stroking down to trace along the strong contours of his back. The man stood, balanced on the top fence beam and threw his leg over to sit astride the animal bareback.

Boomer nickered, shifting, shaking his head, his long mane of hair whipping Marshall in the face. Marshall let him settle before he clicked his tongue, getting his stead to start walking. Marshall had trained Boomer from colt hood with verbal and none-verbal commands, saddled-up and bareback both. Two tongue-clicks was the command to start walking, three was a trot, four a canter, five was a gallop—gradual, like stick shift in a car. Hyah! was immediate speed, Woah! was slowdown/stop. The physical/silent commands were slandered when Boomer was saddled. Bareback like this, the gestures were slightly different... moulded to the contours of this powerful animal, his body was the command centre, the controller and Boomer the receiver. Every tension felt, every deliberate tap translated into movement.

It was symbiotic, rider and horse, master and beast. Like this... there wasn't room for anything but this. Nothing of the outside world passing by in streaks of blended colour. Nothing but the feeling of Boomer's muscles, bunching then releasing as they cantered around the corral. There wasn't a new monster in the world vying to become top predator. Just... freedom.

But like everything, it must come to an end. Marshall slowed Boomer down, easing the horse's pace and let him walk a circuit to cool down after Athena barked, alerting him to incoming. It look the male a moment of searching before he spotted the two riders cutting across the field toward the stables. He frowned as he took in the brisk pace that Maggie was leading the charge in on Bam Bam, Glenn falling behind with Loki with his inexperience riding.

Boomer came to a standstill and Marshall slid off, waders thumping on the ground and kicking up a small cloud of dust. He patted Boomer and easily hopped the fence instead of going out of his way to the gate. By the time he'd made it down to the stables, Maggie had already pulled Bam Bam to halt and jumped off with zero hesitation, tossing the reins over the hitching post.

Glenn pulled on his reins a little too hard causing Loki to neigh, kicking up a bit. The man yelped, startled. "Sorry! Sorry!" he cried, jostled as Loki's hooves slammed back onto firm ground. Maggie rolled her eyes and grabbed a paper bag out of the saddlebag, and stalked away. "Maggie!" he shouted after her. "Just wait!" Glenn scrambled off Loki, who snorted, head shaking and tail flicking in agitation. He stumbled, nearly falling on his ass before straightening, intent to chase after the woman—only to falter as he found Marshall standing there watching him, green eyes intense, lips pursed in a frown.

"Was she hurt?" Marshall questioned. The reddish-brown stain covering the front of Maggie's white top had been obvious, even from a distance.

"N-no. No." Glenn promised him. "We just had a run in with a walker-" he tried to explain, but Marshall just nodded and waved his hand, cutting him off.

"She's scared, in shock. And with Maggie... that usually translates into anger and lashing out. You better go after her." Marshall said, looking over toward her determined, angry figure headed straight for the group's camp. "She's on the warpath—and something tells me that's gonna get really awkward for you, Glenn."

Glenn followed his gaze, realized exactly where Maggie was headed, and bolted after her. He was fast, Marshall mused. He wondered what kind of athletics the man was into. Shawn had joined the football team when he'd buffed up in high school. Marshall and Maggie had done both track and baseball. And Beth had even done softball during the summers, as well as equestrian riding camp with Hopscotch, doing polo and show jumping.

Marshall took hold of Loki's abandoned reins, stroking his neck and humming as the horse snorted sharply and chewed on his hair. If his hair was long enough to be nibbled on then Marshall knew it really needed a cut. "Alright, alright." He gently pushed the horse's head away.

He got them fresh water and they were more than content to drink, and nicker and snort at each as he went about removing their tack, brush them after their adventure, give them the last of the treats from the bucket and then lead them out to the corral with the others. He returned to the stables once more and finished mucking out Nelly's stall. He went into one of the storage stalls where they kept all the horse tack, sat on the rickety wooden stool and proceeded to wipe down and oil the leather saddles.

Most would find it mind-numbing, the repetition, the lack of any stimuli... while it allowed Marshall's mind to drift, it brought him the same familiar comfort as disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling any of his firearms did, or inspecting and adjusting his compound bow and arrows, or brushing the horses. So, it took a moment for the excitable kitten mews to breakthrough the barrier to his conscious. He settled Nelly's saddle back down onto the table, tossed the greased rag aside and rose from that damn terrible stool with a quiet groan. He took a moment to stretch out the aching stiffness from his stretched period of hunched posture; it wasn't like the kittens were in distress, he definitely would have heard Mama Patches if that were the case, but something certainly had them all riled.

He crossed the lane quietly and stood watch at the familiar squatted figure in the center of the stall, back to the gate. Beth was cuddling Patches, who was lapping up the attention, purring strong and unashamed. All three kittens were scrambling and falling over themselves around the teens ankles, wanting milk, wanting attention themselves, wanting their mama back and they weren't quiet about it either. And Beth finally and only relented as they overwhelmed her with the assistance of their tiny, little needle claws. One kitten found its way up her unguarded back courtesy of her polo shirt, the other her unprotected legs, and the last squirmed its way under the space beneath her butt and ground and clawed its way up like a demon via the inside of her thighs (which luckily were far more protected with her knee-length white jean shorts. She squealed a little in surprise at the last one and sacrificed the mama to her assault team of babies, and rose up to safety.

"Back already?" Marshall's voice startled her a bit, not having heard his approach, careful not to trip over the cats. "I take it everyone made it back in one piece?"

"Hale and whole. Though Shane and Andrea went off on their own for the 'advanced class'," she did air quotes with a face. "Like that isn't a euphemism. And it's already sunset. Auntie headed straight for the kitchen as soon as we got back."

"And you?"

"I said I'd get you. I... wanted to talk." She fiddled with her fingers, ducking her head. She was no longer wearing Marshall's hat or sunglasses so he could still easily see her face. "To apologize." She rose her head, chin up, looking him in the eye. "I'm so sorry, Marshall. It took me a minute to figure out why exactly you were so upset," Beth admitted, ashamed. "I apologized to Rick, too." Marshall's brow rose. "He didn't even get why I was saying sorry in the first place until explained it, just that he knew you were upset by something I said. He wasn't even as angry at me as someone else would have been, said he was impressed that I apologized to him. He even gave me gave me advice and reassurance about us. I get why you like him so much."

"Beth." He replied shortly.

"I'm serious. And not trying to imply something, I swear!" she told him quickly. "He's good, Marsh. Like daddy."

"Alright. Alright!" Marshall held up a hand to stop her. "I don't need you comparin' Rick an' daddy, okay? I don't need those wires to cross in my brain."

"I'm sorry. It was a dumb, insensitive joke. I know who you are, big brother. I may never have met anyone you've liked romantically, but I know how you feel about marriage. I shouldn't have joked about it."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "Nobody's perfect, not even you, Sunshine. Though you do come close." He mused aloud. "I mean, it's a rare breed that apologizes to the face of the person who said shit about them behind their backs."

Beth shifted on her feet and chewed on her bottom lip, resisting the urged bulldoze her brother over in a hug prematurely and presumptuously. "Does that mean you forgive me? I hate it when you're angry with me."

"You're my little sister, Beth—you're also my best-friend. The line is so blurred between the two and between the two of us. Everyone in this family knows how I spoil you, how I can't stay mad at you for long, if at all. I honestly can't think of anything that you'd do that could ever make me hate you, Sunny." And he opened his arms, braced and ready as he felt the impact of her full weight despite such short distance.

She hugged him like she did when he came home on leave from tour, like it'd been months instead of mere hours. He hummed, his cheek against her crown as he rocked them gently for a minute. "Come on," he murmured. "Help me bring in the horses before it gets too dark."

"Okay." Beth released him and took the simple leather lead he handed her to help her escort the horses (besides her Hopscotch) from the corral and back into their designated stable. And with Marshall doubling up, it was no time at all before the siblings were headed back to the house, Athena trotting ahead of them.

Marshall threw his arm around his little sister's shoulders and she was more than happy to snuggle against his side as they walked. "What, no dinner party tonight?" he wondered, able to spot the lit fire pit amongst the circle of tents even from their distance.

Beth snorted quietly. "You mean after the gun lessons? I don't think daddy's feelin' particularly welcoming right now."

"Point." Marshall agreed. Athena hopped up the porch steps with a quiet woof and sat aside of the door, waiting to be let in. Beth was first up the steps to do just that as Marshall pulled off his shit-waders to be set aside and followed after. "Mind feeding the beast for me?" He asked his sister. "There's a can of wet food already open in the 'fridge—just mix it with some dry kibble and freshen the water dish."

"Sure."

He playfully honked her nose between his knuckles in appreciation before he headed upstairs with her scowling and swatting after him. Marshall glanced at Maggie's closed bedroom door as he past, he could hear the faint twinkle of musical notes through the wooden door. He knew that melody anywhere...

It was what their mom sang as she held them in the rocking chair on the porch as the sun set when they were babies—

It was what he babbled back at his mom before he was even able to form words—

It was the last composition of sound that Josephine Greene made on her deathbed—

It was that same music box that Maggie had brought the hospital when Marshall was recovering from the trauma and grief of Rocky—

—It was what Marshall had been humming for the past 25 years of his life.

Whatever happened on that run with Glenn must have really shook her if she was breaking out that music box. But Marshall didn't linger at her door or knock. He grabbed a change of clothes from his room and had a quick shower, washing away the stink and work of the day off, dressed in a t-shirt and lounge shorts, his feet finally free of those confining, hot and sweaty socks. After that was when he finally knocked on his twin's door.

"Mags?" he called. He couldn't hear the music box anymore and he didn't get an answer to either come-in or go-away. She could have gone downstairs while he was in the shower, but twinstincts were saying otherwise. Without another word of warning, he grasped the knob and opened the door—to reveal that Maggie was indeed still in her room.

Showered and changed from her previous clothes into the comfort of pajama capris and an oversized t-shirt, that judging by the football logo on it, was an old one from Shawn's high school years, which honestly wasn't that long ago. She was curled up on her bed, hugging onto the patchwork giraffe body pillow that Patricia and Annette had both contributed in the creation of when she was 11.

"You know that's never worked with me." Marshall remarked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"What do you want?" she mumbled, the lower half of her face buried in the pillow's head, the rest of her face peaking out form the between the giraffe's stubby ossicones.

"You think I wouldn't check on you after your little lover's spat?" he picked up the white top that was hanging off her bed's metal footboard post, inspecting the brown blood stain that marred the front. "Should I pat Glenn on the back or start digging a hole?"

"If a hole needs diggin' I can dig it myself." She said.

Marshall sighed and folded the shirt over the stain before tossing it back over the bar. He sat heavily at the foot of the bed in the space created by her curled legs. "It was a close one, huh?"

"I don't need a lecture," she snipped.

"Not a lecture. Just wanted to check in, make sure you were alright myself."

"It was so stupid!" she burst out in frustration barely a second later and Marshall held back the smirk. "I don't even understand how the walker got in. It wasn't there the other day when we went—and it was in the back behind the pharmacy counter."

"You should be glad it didn't pop up there before—might have caught you with your pants down!" he gave a grunt-laugh when she kicked him.

"I was caught completely by surprise, Marsh." She muttered, frown hidden in the pillow but he could see it in the furrow of her brows. "I just assumed the place was empty, I was too angry to pay proper attention. I didn't even hear it. It reached through the shelves and grabbed my wrist." She hugged the giraffe tighter. "It was stronger than I expected..." She had the ring of finger-shaped bruises on her wrist in evidence. "All logic flew out of my head and it was all panic and fear. The fact that I had a knife right there, within reach, didn't even register. All I could do was scream for Glenn."

Marshall put a comforting hand on her knee. "You never really had any upfront contact with piranha before—that's what I'm here for. It was bound to happen eventually. I'm just glad it was one, there was a barrier between you, and Glenn was there. That was the whole point of you going with him, wasn't it?"

She scoffed in derision. "If the roles were reversed, then he would be dead."

"Maybe." Marshall provided without sympathy, and Maggie was so startled by it that she sat upright and gaped at her twin. Marshall couldn't help but be slightly amused by her reaction and let out a short chuckle. He shrugged, "Did you want me to lie? This is the apocalypse, Maggie, lying and sugar-coating will just get you dead quicker... I love you, so it's a fine line between me protecting you and your own survival." He breathed deeply, closing his eyes briefly before looking at her again. "What happened when Rick came running up here with Carl in his arms?" Marshall wondered softly. "Were you scared?"

"Witless." She whispered in her response even though she was confused by his line of questioning.

He nodded. "You freeze?" She silently shook her head. "Despite the fear, you were calm, collected, your hands steady. You were always good in a crises like that. We react different when something happens to ourselves versus someone else. The saying 'fear is just a state of mind' is so fucking cliché—but it's also true. Fear is a condition and conditions can be, well, conditioned. What do you think 'training' is? It's exposure and control."

"You said you weren't here for a lecture," she tried to joke.

"Spur of the moment." He said, "It do anything for you?"

"Maybe—but don't let that go to your head."

"My point is... ready or not... this is the apocalypse, you're gonna have enough opportunities to prove just what a kick-ass rebel you really are, sis. As much as I wish that didn't need to happen..." he frowned.

Maggie nudged his thigh with her bare toes. "You can't protect us from everything, Mar. We're gonna have to stand up on our own feet eventually, no matter how scary that will be for all of us."

"Practical is different from practice—as I'm sure you can now easily attest to." He countered.

"Right." She bit the inside of her cheek for a moment. "But better we're exposed now while it's 'calm' than get ambushed later unprepared. Practice, exposure. That's what that gun training's been for, teaching Beth how to dress a kill..."

Marshall hummed for a minute, his head hung. He wanted his sisters to be prepared, to have the skills needed to survive in the world as it was now—without him—but didn't want them to actually have to use them even if he knew that was an impossible dream. "Right. One day you won't even need me around." It wasn't an observation made of self-pity, just of fact.

"Maybe. Doesn't mean we don't want you either way."

"I love you, too." He gave her a soft smile. "So, how do you feel?" She hadn't actually answered.

"Still processing," she admitted. "But I think it was a reality check I needed. Can we not mention this to daddy? I-"

"Don't worry. I get it." He nodded in acceptance. "Dinner'll be ready whenever you are." Marshall added. He stood and left her room, clicking the door shut quietly behind him again. His advance down the hall toward the stairs was interrupted when the bathroom door opened and Beth stepped out, dressed in her pajama set of sleep shorts and a sleeveless top with little bows, her blond hair wet and tangled.

"Hey, supper should be done any minute now." Beth told him. "And Athena's all fed."

"Alright. I was just headed down." She nodded and held out the hairbrush toward him in prompt. He chuckled, but took it without complaint. Beth turned her back to him and he started to brush his little sister's hair, starting with the tangles at the bottom of her long locks. "I know someone who likes to be brushed just as much." At least he knew he'd always have a least one job when it came to his sisters—too bad life just couldn't be as simple as this.

...

It wasn't long after dinner that there was a shy knock on the door. Athena's thumping tail on the hardwood floor was all the answer Marshall needed as to who it was standing on the other side. He opened the door to reveal Sophia, her strawberry blond locks pinned back with his sister's hairclips. Her demeanour shy and nervous but there was a sparkle of excitement in her blue-eyes as she peered up at him through her lashes, fingers fidgeting with one another.

"Sorry, to bother you so late." Carol spoke up quietly from where she stood behind her daughter, hand on her shoulder.

"Not that late and no bother at all." Marshall said with a smile. "And I have an idea of exactly why you're here and it has nothing to do with me. Go on, then." He nodded his chin at Sophia and Athena gave a woof, crossing the doorjamb to the 12 year old on the porch. Sophia was more than happy to drop to her knees and start petting the dog. "We'll do this out here," he told them. "I think I'll join you. I already picked out some burrs from Athena's fur earlier, so there's like to be more I didn't find." He gave Sophia the wire brush and brandished a pick comb for himself. "Things are about to get a little hairy out here."

[tWD]

Marshall was in the bathroom trimming his hair when he had time the next morning after breakfast and before his chores, making it look like he'd just stepped out of the base's barbershop when he spotted Maggie's reflection in the mirror over his shoulder in the open doorway. She looked as pale and as frantic as she had when she'd bolted passed him toward the barn.

"Mags-" he started, lowering his straight razor and turning toward her.

"Glenn told them." She gulped with dread. "He told them and they're down at the barn."

[tbc...]

...The walking DEAD...

---

Queen - Fat Bottomed Girls

Quotes Used:

'I am a coward when it comes to matters of the heart. That is my fatal flaw.' -Haruki Murakami 1Q84 (1Q84, #1-3)

'But that's the way we're made: we don't reason, where we feel; we just feel.' -Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court