A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Hehe, sorry I've been gone for so long. It's been crazy at my house. And there's a whole bunch of crazy shit going on in school... I just haven't had a lot of time to write, and I'm super sorry. I hope that this quite long and fluffy chapter makes up for being MIA.
Carl and Rick move the old, lumpy couch from the door. I hear it screeching against the floor, an ugly sound, but I continue smiling.
They're alive. Carl and Rick. I thought they were dead. It crushed my heart to even think of such a thing. But, of course, I think I've learned to never underestimate the Grimes boys. They live, just like mom and I. They survive.
The pasty white door opens, revealing a disbelieving Carl. I can see Rick on the couch, wheezing slightly. He is bruised and bloody, as if he were in a fight. He probably was.
I look at Carl, into his sky blue eyes that were alight with emotion. First, there was disbelief. Now, there was relief.
He doesn't say anything, and neither do I. I study his face in the quiet. His dark hair, which for once isn't covered by a sheriffs hat, is dirty and matted. His features are alight with the relief that is in his eyes. I can see dirt and dust on his oversized plaid shirt. It covers his face as well. There are stains of dark blood on his clothes as well. The dirtiness of him makes me want to ask a million questions.
"Are you okay? What happened to you? What have I missed?"
The three of us at the door stay quiet. Instead of talking, we stare at each other in relief. The only sounds are of the forest and Ricks' wheezes.
Carl breaks the silence. "You."
I give a weak smile. "You."
He flings an arm over my shoulder; the other goes over moms. He hugs us both tightly. He unknowingly put his hand on my gunshot wound, and I lightly hitch my breath in pain.
"What?" He yanks his hand off of me not a moment later, concerned. I use my hand to move the sleeve of my shirt to the side, revealing the gauze wrapping. It looks like I almost bled through it.
"What happened?" He asks, looking up at my face.
"Shot." I explain. "At the prison."
His gaze hardens, and I take a step closer to him. I rest my hand on his cheek. "Hey. I'm okay. Alright?"
He holds my hand tightly, and I smile warmly at him. I take the opportunity to try and wipe away a smear of blood that rests on his strong cheek bone.
"He's dead anyway." Mom adds in.
Carl nods. "Good."
I gently pull my hand from him, only slightly successful in my task of cleaning the blood, and walk inside the dark house. I look at Rick, who is resting on the couch.
He looks like a mess. He has many cuts across his face and arms. One eye is black and swollen. The other, a bloodshot red. His face is covered with dried blood that instantly makes him less human. It makes him take the form of a weak, feral animal. It unnerves me a bit, though I know the man beneath such a mess. There is a scarlet blotch on his left thigh leads me to believe he was shot as well. There are many other wounds on his body. He looks like he was used as a punching bag. He probably was.
I sit next to him and give him a hug. I don't want to hurt him, so it is gentle and soft.
"Hey, sheriff." I say quietly to him.
"Hey, short straw." He replies, a smile on his lips. I smile back, grateful that he is alive.
I turn to the others. "Did either of you see anyone else get out of the prison?"
My question was met with silence.
Oh.
I look around and take a look at the men's supplies. There isn't any baby stuff.
"Where's Judith?" I ask. Mom and I look at them. They both lower their heads and look at the floor.
Oh. Oh no.
"I'm so sorry." I whisper, wiping a tear that escaped my eye. I watched over Judith like she was my sister. She wasn't even a year old! The pain hits my chest, churning and burning me inside. I feel a mix of anger, and pain. So much pain.
"Do you two have any supplies?" Rick changes the subject, making the weight in the room less heavy. I'm grateful for the change of subject.
Mom shakes her head and grabs the hilt of her katana, which is still slung over her shoulder. "Just us."
I nod and grab the Glock from my hip." I have a few bullets left. Got my knife, too." I release the clip and count the bullets. Six left.
"We've got some food. We got a few weapons too." Carl says, running a hand through his hair. "We should eat."
I nod, a silent agreement. I stand up from the couch and roll my neck around. It gets the stiffness out and I sigh a little in relief. No one really moves from their spots. They don't want to.
I start the train, moving into the kitchen. Carl soon follows after, and grabs a cardboard box of old, dry, stale cereal.
Mom went into the master bedroom and began looking for new clothes that will fit her. The ones she has on now are filthy; stained with walker blood, dirt, and sweat. She suggested I do the same, but I declined the offer. She needs it more than I do.
While Carl sets up breakfast, I find a small bowl in the rusty drying rack that sits to the side of the sink. I ask him for some water, which he grabs from his duffel bag. I go to the bathroom down the hall, scanning around for a washcloth. I find it in a drawer.
After grabbing the supplies, I make my way back to Rick, who is still sitting on the couch. I don't blame him. From what I can see, he took a rough beating.
I pour some warm water into the bowl, and take the washcloth, dipping it into the swirling liquid. I then start dabbing Ricks forehead, a small attempt to clean off the dry blood and dirt from his face.
I believe the water is being a coolant as well, since I hear him sigh in relief beneath my washcloth. I smile a little.
"Thank you." He whispers, closing his eyes as I continue my work. It isn't a great cleaner, but at least it takes away most of the blood. It makes him look more human.
"Don't need to thank me." I say, dipping the washcloth back into the water. As I do, the water becomes a light pink as his blood mixes into it. I squeeze out the excess water from the cloth and begin to dab his cheek this time. I wince a bit at the movement, since I'm using my right arm. "It had to be done sooner or later."
"I could've done it myself, though." He continues, rubbing his wrist absently. His brow furrows as he doesn't feel his hand meet his watch. "You didn't let me. So thank you."
"You're welcome." I answer, wiping off another smudge of blood from a piece of his beard. That is where most of the blood is, so that is where I focus most.
"I think, soon, we should leave here. Keep going." Rick tries to break the silence.
"Where would we go?" I ask, wiping a bit of sweat off his brow.
"Anywhere but here. I'd like to go somewhere where I know it's safe, y'know?"
"Mom and I were both out there. It's secure for the most part. And I'm sure Carl's checked around outside."
"Things change in an instant." He reminds me. I roll my eyes.
"I remember, sheriff. Trust me on that." I set the dirty bowl and cloth on the coffee table, and slump on the arm of the couch. "I remember everything we've done. I always have my gun on me. I know how to shoot it. My knives are my friends. I have muscle memory help me with a bow. Just because it was quiet at the prison doesn't mean I forgot anything. Carl didn't forget either. We just kept quiet about it, y'know? If we ever brought it up, you'd shut us done. But we CAN help. We're not useless. We know what it takes to stay alive. We've all got blood on our hands, Rick. All of us."
He stares at me; the stare that shows that he understands, but he doesn't want to. I can tell that my words are partly comfort to him, and partly worrisome. He doesn't know what to think about us. I hope that he comes to the decision that Carl and I aren't just dead weight. We can help.
Rick tries to stand up from the couch, and I immediately stand in front of him. I push his shoulders down lightly, and he lands on the lumpy cushions with a 'thump'.
"Oh, no." I say, shaking my head at him. "You're not going anywhere. Sit. Rest. We've got this."
He stares at me again, quizzically, but nods. I sigh.
"I'll grab you your food." I leave the room and walk over to Carl, who is filling up a bowl with stale cereal. I attempt to grab a bowl from the cupboard above me, but cannot reach it do to my small stature. Carl sees my problem, chuckles, and grabs a bowl for me.
"Thank you." I say, taking the bowl from his hands.
"Anytime, Angel." He smiles at me, and dips his head down to plant a kiss on my lips. I smile into the kiss. Though it's only been about two days since I've last seen him, I realize how much I've missed him. I'm really glad that mom and I found these two. They are vey important to us. Important to me. What if I didn't find Carl? What if it was just mom and me against the world again? I don't think I can live like that again. As much as I love her, I couldn't go back to that life. What would happen to us without these two at our side? What would I do without him?
I relax more into his kiss and set the bowl on the counter, to the side. My arms wrap around his neck and my fingers roam through his dark, sweaty locks. His wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. The familiarity of the kiss soothes me, and I sigh lightly.
"I missed you." He whispers, breaking the kiss only for a second.
"I can tell." I laugh lightly, before he traps my lips with his again.
I break off the kiss after another moment, and grab the empty bowl, much to Carl's dismay. I give him a small wink, and fill the bowl up with a bit of cereal. I grab a water bottle and spoon and give the small meal to Rick, which he thanks me for. I nod, say it is nothing, and head back to the kitchen. I set up my own meal and sit at the table, to Carl's right. Mom then enters the room, wearing a plain white button down shirt. Carl laughs a little as he sees moms outfit. I smile into my food instead. I've seen her wear crazier, so this style is nothing different to me.
"Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable and attractive shirt?" Mom smirks at him as she pulls up the sleeves on her arms.
"No, no, no." Carl chuckles. "It looks... Great." But he doesn't stop the laughter that escapes his lips.
"Please." I roll my eyes playfully. "If you think this is bad, you should've seen her 'bout a year ago. She used to wear this hideous pink and white polka dot shirt."
"PINK?" Carl repeats the word, laughing more. I nod.
"Excuse me, Liz, but I thought I looked fabulous in pink." Mom adds, smiling.
"Oh, yes. It really brought out the color of your eyes." I take a bite of my cereal, playing along.
"Mhm, and don't you forget it." She winks at me as she takes a seat. I take a sip of my water as she fills up her bowl a bit with the dry meal.
"Wish we had some soy milk." She thinks aloud, setting the plastic bag on the table again.
"Seriously?" Carl asks, and wrinkles his nose for emphasis.
"Yes, seriously." Mom says, a light tone in her voice. I can tell that she is more comforted by the conversation than she was with the silence. "Have you ever tried it?"
"My best friend, in third grade," Carl begins, going into story-teller mode, "he was allergic to dairy."
"Uh-huh." Mom encourages, setting her spoon back into her and continues to listen to the story. I watch Carl smile as he tells his story. It is a welcome sight; the smile on his lips and the childish gleam in his eye, the way he sat relaxed in the chair. There is a similar affect to mom as she sits in the creaky wooden chair next to him. I enjoy seeing the small light in her eyes grow brighter with each passing sentence.
"And, every day he would bring this soy stuff to lunch. I tried it."
"And?" Mom presses.
"I threw up!" He laughs.
"Oh, yeah, right." Mom chuckles. I laugh.
"All right, all right, I ALMOST threw up!" He corrects himself. "But, I was like," he makes the motion of throwing up, "blegh."
I laugh lightly at the scene, and he continues his story with a glint in his eye. "It was so gross. I mean, literally, I would rather have powdered milk than to have to drink that stuff again. Hell, I would rather have Judith's formula!-"
He stops, the happy glint in his eye gone and instead replaced by sadness. The bright blue I had been happy to see completely vanishes. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest as I see the sorrow overtake his features.
He stands up abruptly from the table, muttering, "I'm gonna go finish my book. Gotta couple chapters left."
Mom and I stare at each other, the feeling of joy having left the room. Instead, the sound of laughter was replaced with the 'thuds' of boots hitting stairs, and then silence. Silence made us uneasy.
The rest of our meals are finished in the silence. The quietness of the house makes my stomach churn. One of the few things I miss about the prison is the noise. There was always noise in the blocks. People talking, laughing. Kids running around playing tag. Hershel's soft voice reading from the Bible. Now, it is four people in a house, the quiet deafening in our ears.
As soon as I finish my cereal, I say, "I'm gonna-"
"Go," Mom nods and grabs my bowl, "Make sure he's alright."
I nod back to her and climb up the creaky old stairs. I walk through the hall and find the bedroom of a teenager. The walls are painted a dark blue, and posters of comic books and old movies cover most of it. There is a large television set to one side of the room, many stacks of games on each side of it. I look at the bed, the sheets and bedspread matching the color of the wall. On the bed is Carl, his eyes glued to me and a comic book in his hands, which are resting on his lap.
"Sneaking into my bedroom?" He asks, a smirk playing on his lips. The smirk on his face, though shows that he is more relaxed than he was downstairs, I can tell is just a cover. The glaze over his eyes are what shows me that he is still upset. I don't blame him. I'm still upset myself.
"Oh, yes." I drawl, hopping into the bed and sitting by him. The mattress is softer, comfier than the couch downstairs. "Anything wrong with that?"
"Not at all." He replies, picking up the book and darting his eyes along the pages. I sit there, in silence, with him. The silence is a bit heavy, and it doesn't soothe my nerves.
"Hey." I whisper. His eyes dart towards me, but he turns back to the book.
"Hey." I say, a little louder this time. Still, his eyes remain on the book, but I see a smirk playing on his lips.
I roll my eyes. Typical. To gain his attention, I move closer to him and move my lips centimeters from his ear. I stay silent, smirking as I see his cheeks redden, but he doesn't move. I kiss his cheek, to see if I can get a reaction out of him. I don't. The bastard.
"HEY!" I nearly scream into his ear. He jumps, the book thrown across the bed, and he shifts to the other side of the bed in a panic.
"What the hell?!" He screeches.
I smile sweetly. "I was trying to get your attention. Did it work?"
He picks up the comic book and throws it at me. I laugh, taking the book and putting it on the bedside counter to my back. "I'll take that as a yes."
He rolls his eyes and crisply speaks, "Yes. You do."
"Then my plan worked. Yay!" I feign a cheer as he gets back on the bed.
"Why'd you need my attention?" He asks.
"I just wanted to make sure you're okay." I say, the playfulness out of my voice.
"Yeah." Carl's voice almost mimics my demeanor. "I'm okay."
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him to my side of the bed. I ignore the slight pain in my shoulder, and instead focus on the heat that Carls body produces. One of his arms move around my shoulders, the other around my middle. I rest my head in the crook of his neck. I breathe in the scent of him and close my eyes.
"Because, you know, I'm here for you, if you need me." I continue, my words slightly muffled against his neck. "If you aren't okay, it's fine. I get it."
"I know." He says, and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Thank you. But, really, I'm okay."
I don't say anything back. Instead, I focus on the sound of his breathing. It is comforting to me, the sound of the thumping in his chest and the even breathing. The steady rhythm keeps constant.
I take a leg and wrap it around one of his.
"There, now you're trapped." I smile, my eyes still closed.
"Not a problem." The smirk is evident, even in his voice. I don't have to open my eyes to see it.
"Good, 'cause I'm not moving." I snuggle into his neck more, sighing contentedly.
"Neither am I."
"Kids!" My mothers voice calls through the hall. I groan, not wanting to get up and away from Carl.
The door opens and there stands my mom, her hand on the door handle and a neutral look on her face. "C'mon, we're going on a run."
I raise an eyebrow at her as I remove my leg and arms from the cowboy beside me. "Is Rick coming with us?"
She shakes her head. "No. Just the three of us. He stays."
I nod, and get up from the bed. Carl does the same on the other side. He makes it out of the room before I do, the sheriff hat resting proudly from his head and his gun in the holster strapped to his thigh. He passes mom, who is still at the door, with hardly a glance.
I walk after him, but get stopped at the door by mom.
"He okay?" She asks quietly, a look of concern on her face.
I give a small, yet noticeable nod. "He says so. I'm not sure if I believe that."
"Neither do I."
"How long do you think you'll be?" Rick asks as we walk out the front door of our camp.
The three of us going on the run had grabbed handheld weapons before moving out the door. We have hardly any ammo left. I have six bullets in my Glock. Carl has about ten in his Python. Mom has a gun with her, but no matter how much ammo she has in it, she won't use it. She always sticks to her katana. I don't blame her. It is a strong weapon that has taken out many problems, living or dead, in the past. It won't stop working now.
"Fill up a couple bags, shouldn't be too long." Mom answers, turning to Rick on the porch. In Carls' hand is an old bag. It looks to be like the type that someone would use to pack for a trip to the beach. I'm almost sure that there is probably sand stuck to the inside of it. My right hand contains an old plastic bag, the type that someone would get at the supermarket. Mom, on the other hand, carries an empty backpack on one shoulder, and a duffel bag on the other.
"It's 8:15 now." Rick says, holding an old woman's wristwatch in his hand. I guess that it has replaced his old one.
"We'll be back by noon." Mom replies, giving him a nod.
"All right, you follow her lead." Rick turns to Carl, and grabs his Python from his own holster. He hands it to Carl. "You understand?"
Carl takes it silently and tucks it into the back of his jeans. As he tucks it in, I can't help but notice the skin that shows as his shirt pulls lightly up. I bite my lip and instead turn my attention to the street before my cheeks turn red. It is deserted, a broken wasteland. Trash litters the ground and it is quiet. Too quiet for my liking.
"Hey, everything okay?" Rick asks Carl.
Carl nods silently. When he does break the silence, he says, "Yeah, I'm just... Hungry."
I can tell that it's not the truth. He just spouted out an excuse that came from the top of his head. I do not point it out, though. I leave the situation alone.
Rick turns to me. "The same thing goes for you, short straw. Listen to Michonne. Stay safe."
I smile at the mans words, and how he watches out for me. Even if he doesn't go with us, he still has my back.
I nod. "Of course. Remember what I said? I didn't lie. We've got this."
He nods back to me, an agreement. I'm glad that he finally made us his mind and trusts me. About damn time.
Before we leave, I take a step forward and plant a kiss on his cheek, the scruffiness of his beard tickling me. I give him a warm smile and walk over to mom, surveying the pavement again before I deem it safe.
"I'll see you in a couple hours." Rick bids his son goodbye, and the three of us depart from the blank porch. Honestly, it reminds me of a blank slate. Stark white. The only way anyone could tell that something was wrong is by the dust that hangs off of the light fixtures on the side.
As we start our trek, I look into the middle of the street and see the 112 ounce can of choclate pudding rolling around. I lightly kick it as we walk, and I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
"Ugh," I groan under my breath. "Pudding."
"What's wrong with pudding?" Carl asks, his tone light yet challenging.
"Nothing." I say. "In small amounts. That can was 112 ounces. Could you imagine?"
"Actually, I can." He replies, his face contoring into one of disgust. "I'm the one who ate it."
I make a sound. "Ew, gross!"
"Hey, I was bored." He shrugs his shoulders with a laugh.
"Carl Grimes! That was 112 ounces of chocolate pudding! How could you stomach so much chocolate?"
"I didn't. Almost puked afterwords." He scratches the back of his neck.
"Serves you right." I lightly punch his arm. The idiot. I mutter under my breath, "112 ounces of pudding."
We continue the walk down the street, keeping our eyes peeled for anything that moves. We take a right as we reach the end of the street and make our way to a house. The small, pastel yellow house is only one floor, so our group decides to split up and each take a few rooms of the house. I barely find anything in the bedroom and bathroom that I was told to go look through. Just a new, forest green shirt that is a bit too short at my stomach and shows my bellybutton, but it fits well enough that I decide to take it. It is better than wearing the old, walker-blood stained shirt. I have a little trouble taking off the old shirt, because of my busted shoulder, but I make do and manage to put the other one on after.
When that task is complete, I check the bathroom and find nothing of use. I check the drawer and see a roll of hair ties.
Okay, so maybe I do find something useful.
I take one and tie up my messy hair in a ponytail, and it keeps the hair out of my face. My eyes scan over the dirt mirror in front of the sink, so I take a look at myself.
I look so different. And I don't mean the new shirt. My face and hair are covered in dirt and blood. My eyes, normally a bright hazel, are glossed over. I wear a guarded expression. I look darker than normal. It makes me feel as though I'm not quite myself anymore. I probably aren't.
No, that is a lie. I know I'm not.
I shake my head, as if to get my thoughts away from the mirror. I grab a few hair ties and pull them on my wrist. Silly, yes, but helpful.
I shoulder my empty bag, disappointed, and head out the front door. I rest on the porch railing, my eyes continuously darting over the lawn and the street. There is nothing out there. Nothing. It makes me uneasy. The only sound I hear is from inside the house and the light ruffling of leaves, made by the light breeze.
Mom walks out the door, her backpack significantly heavier than when I last saw it. At least someone had a good haul.
"Anything?" She asks me, closing the door slightly behind her.
I shake my head. "Nothing. I see you've got luck."
"Yeah." She nods, and takes the backpack from her shoulder. She unzips the pack and shows me the contents. I see saltine crackers, an unopened can of crazy cheese, and two cans of chicken noodle soup.
"Food." I say, a smile on my lips. Not a lot of food, but enough that we'll all get a small meal when we make it back to the house.
"Food." Mom repeats, and zips up the pack. Together, we wait for Carl on the porch.
When he walks out the door, I see that one of his bags are filled just a bit with supplies. Instead of showing mom or I what he got, he walks past us and down the steps of the porch.
"Find anything good?" Mom breaks the silence as we follow him. "Candy bars?" He doesn't reply. He keeps to his trek through the lawn of the house he exited.
"Comic books?" Mom presses lightly. Again, he doesn't respond. He just looks in front of him, his eyes darting around the brush.
"Crazy cheese?" Mom tries one last time, with a smile.
"Huh?" Carl finally says something back, his eyebrow raised at the words.
"Bam!" Mom digs out through her bag, holding a can of "cheddar" cheese. "Crazy chesse! Found it still sealed and everything. Now, I'll be nice and let you have the first pull."
"No thanks." Carl declines.
Excuse me?
No crazy cheese?! What?
Mom slows down her steps, falling behind him a bit. "You sure?"
"... I'm fine." He replies as he adjusts the bag on his back.
Now, all three of us here understand that he is not fine. It is a total lie. Mom picks up on it.
She stops walking behind him. "You don't seem fine."
He stops, turning to look at her. He sighs. "I'm just tired. Okay?" He takes large strides over to the left. I sigh at the scene. Mom runs towards him, uncapping the crazy cheese and spurting the orange goop into her mouth. She catches up to Carl and makes a funny face while eating the cheese. He gives her a look before he continues his walk up the steps of another cookie cutter house.
Mom frowns, upset that she didn't manage to make him smile. I catch up to her, resting a hand gently on her shoulder before I shake my head and quietly whisper, "Don't."
She nods slightly, wiping the leftover cheese from her lips. She puts the cheese back into the duffel bag, and she and I walk in step to the porch, behind Carl.
"I'm sorry." She says and walks past us. "I'm not very good at making boys your age laugh." She walks to the door, wiping the window a bit before roughly knocking on the door to draw out walkers. I stand next to Carl as she does her job.
"I was laughing." Carl says, and grabs my hand as we stand together. Mom gives him a sarcastic, "oh, really?" look before he continues. "Inside."
Mom knocks on the door again. "Toddlers find me funny."
I raise an eyebrow at her. She is treading on dangerous waters. This is as close as anyone has gotten to knowing about her past, besides me. "Two, three-year olds." She knocks on the door again, this time a bit harsher than before.
"What do you mean, toddlers?" Carl asks. I squeeze his hand, gaining his attention. I stare at him; a strong, unwavering gaze that attempts to tell him silently, "Careful."
Mom turns to us, a look of reverie on her features. "I had a three year old son... And he happened to find me extremely funny." She turns to the door, her hand on her katana. Carl turns to me and mouths, "What?" at me. I shrug my shoulders, and drop his hand so I can grab my knife from my sheath.
Mom opens the door, and we make a small train into the house. The living room is still in pristine condition. The only thing that looks out of place is the the dust that covers the glass windows and the cabinet that holds all the good china. Mom and I discard our bags on the plush red velvet couch that rests in the middle. Carl drops his bags to the floor near the door and closes it shut. He takes out the Python that Rick gave him and keeps it in his left hand. Just in case.
"We need food, batteries, water. In that order." Mom lists, opening and closing cabinets that are a bright pink.
"Why didn't you ever tell me you had another kid?" Carl presses, his voice tight.
Mom shakes her shoulders. I see in her face that she is a bit uncomfortable in the situation. She's never told anybody anything about her past. Nobody but me. And here she is, opening up to someone else. It both confuses me and makes me a bit happy. She needs someone else that she can trust, another person she can confide in. I just hope that she is ready for such a new task.
"What was his name?" Carl demands. She drops to the floor to grab a tv remote. She sets it back on the coffee table as he asks, "Did you have any others?"
Mom takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes and them turning to the side a bit. Carl continues to ask questions. "Were you MARRIED?"
She walks away from him, breathing heavily. She pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly upset by the nonstop questions.
"Okay." She breathes deeply and holds up her index finger. She attempts to give him a smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace. "I'll answer one questions at a time, one room at a time, and only after we've cleared it."
Carl studies her for a moment, but nods. His eyes scan over the room, looking for anything that could be of use. Finding none, he sighs. Mom leaves, and moves into the hall to inspect a little painting on the wall. It is of two rabbits in the forest, a white one and an orange one, lying down in grass with a carrot in between them.
"Want to go check the rooms upstairs?" Mom asks me. I take it as an opportunity to leave. I know how Carl acts in such games. He will not give up until he's "won" it, and mom would answer the questions. Just on her terms, and when she feels comfortable doing so. I take the opportunity to leave, for I don't want to see my mother have to answer such personal questions. I believe that saying them to one person would be enough for her.
I nod, and give her a kiss on the cheek before I bound up the stairs. I internally laugh humorlessly. Just a few days ago I couldn't run up the stairs. I could hardly breathe, let alone run. Being cooped up in that cell block with other infected had annoyed me to no end, but now...
Maybe being in that cell block wasn't so bad. Now, I'm scouring a mater bedroom, hoping to find even just a water bottle to sustain my dying thirst. It was as if the universe was throwing up its middle finger and saying, "fuck you." It is torture, this cycle that we all go through. Things were finally looking hopeful again. We had the prison. We had the medicine. Now, we have nothing.
I shake these thoughts from my head and make my way to the master bedrooms door. My hand is grasping the hilt of my knife protectively, keeping it at head level in case of an attack. When I open the pastel blue door, it creaks and screeches through the quiet. I wince at the sound, but keep my guard raised, if need be.
The master bedroom is a mess. The blue sheets are stained with a dark red. Blood. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. My eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that can be of use to the four of us. I find a water bottle on a bedside table, and take it. It is half full, so not much. But it's something.
I walk to the bathroom that is connected to the bedroom and look through. Nothing, really. I see an old tooth brush on the side of a porcelain sink. I sigh. I miss brushing my teeth.
Since the two rooms are cleared, I make my way through the hall. I find an old bedroom, one for a girl. The walls are painted a pale yellow, and there is makeup scattered along a table to the left of the bed. The sheets of it are a pink.
I look around the room, my knife still raised. When I deem it safe, the sharp weapon returns to its sheath on my thigh. I look around the room, almost finding nothing. Again.
I check the dresser drawers, and find a half-eaten bag of Doritos.
Yes!
Finally, something, at least. The girl must've kept it here for a midnight snack. Smart.
I take the bag and smile. At least it is something.
"Alyssa?" Carl calls, and I hear his heavy footsteps pound the creaky stairs.
"Over here." I reply, and set the bag with the water. A measly find, but a find nonetheless.
He makes his way over to the room and opens the door. "Ah, there you are."
I open more drawers, and look for any more food or water. Even a pair of double A batteries would be nice.
"Find anything?" He asks me, and I point to my water and Doritos. I frown a bit, embarrassed in my small rewards.
Carl nods, and flashes his eyes toward me. "Did you... Know all that stuff?"
I nod silently, and yank a desk drawer open. Nothing. Just office supplies. Pencils, pen, paper, erasers.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I sigh and turn towards him, my back resting against the wall. He cocks his head to one side, awaiting an answer. "It wasn't my story to tell. Y'know. Stuff like that is what mom wants no one to know about. It took me 'bout a year to get her to trust me with such personal details. She feels that if others know, she's seen as weak."
"She isn't."
I shake my head, agreeing with him. "No, she isn't. But, it's how mom works. No one but you and I know that about her."
"And we've gotta keep it that way, right?" Carl's blue eyes bore into my hazel ones.
"Yeah." I nod, but do not break eye contact.
He and I stand there a moment, staring at each other in silence.
"We're leaving." Carl says to me. "Michonne wanted me to grab you."
I give him an, "mhmm," of acknowledgement. He takes a few strides toward me, until we are only a few inches apart. His eyes never stray from my own.
"Huh, I just realized-" Carl starts, lost in his thoughts. He takes the hat off his head. "You get to wear it now."
I stare at him for a moment, shocked. "What?"
"You got shot." He explains and sets it atop my head. "People who get shot get to wear the hat. My dad, me. Now you."
I put my hands on the rim of the hat, the feeling of it foreign on my head.
I look up, my eyesight almost completely covered, and smile. It doesn't quite fit me right, but I keep it atop my head and look at Carl.
"How do I look?" I ask, adjusting it so I could see him a bit better.
He smirks at me, his hands snaking around my waist. "Great."
"Hm, I better." I joked with him, and my arms move around his neck. The feeling of butterflies in my stomach grows as his mouth moves to mine, trapping my lips in a familiar kiss.
It starts off slow and sweet; the normal type of kisses we have had in the past. But, the speed of it changes, along with the passion.
Carl's arms hold me tightly, and my back is firmly pressed against the wall. His hands are on my waist, and they touch the bit of skin that isn't covered by my shirt. His lips never leave my own in the kiss, except for when his tongue glides along my bottom lip. I part my lips, and we both deepen the kiss with the action. My arms tighten around his neck and I pull him closer. He doesn't fight against my efforts, and I smile into the kiss. I moan lightly as he bites my bottom lip. The kiss is like a dance to us, and we are completely entranced in each other.
When we finally break apart, I say breathlessly, "I thought we were supposed to go meet up with mom?"
I grin as Carl pants out, "Yeah. We were supposed to."
I stand up from the wall, breathing a bit heavily. Once I regain my breath, I grab his hand. "C'mon. If we don't go down there she's gonna think we're up to something." I take the Doritos and the half full water bottle in my other hand before we leave the room.
His grin is wide as we both run down the stairs. I adjust the hat on my head when we make it to the bottom.
We meet mom in the living room. She is a bit nervous as we walk into the room. I remember the conversation that she and Carl had a few moments earlier, and search her face. I can tell that she is a bit upset, but it seems as though an invisible weight has been lifted off her shoulders.
She looks at the both of us and smirks. "Maybe I should have grabbed her instead. You two took long enough."
Carl and I both blush scarlet as we grab the bags that we had brought in. I toss my measly find into my bag, and the three of us set off.
We just turn the corner of the street where we had been staying at before we see Rick barreling toward us. In his hands is a large rifle, which is no doubt already loaded and ready to shoot. The happy demeanor between the three of us is lost when we see the unstable man walking- no, running, in our direction.
Rick seems to be better, because of his ability to actually run, but the look on his face shows that it is nothing to be glad about. Something bad happened at our camp, and we were not returning to see what has become of it.
"Run!" Rick hisses at us, his pace quickening as he passes us. "Go go go!"
Mom, Carl and I do not take even a second to comply. We turn our heels and run the opposite way of where we were going to earlier. The bags that are on our shoulders rustle with the items inside it and continuously make noise. I inwardly groan at the sound. It is so loud.
We can't leave this guy alone for two seconds, I think.
Our little group continues running. We do not stop, not even once. When Rick finally deems it safe, we slow down to a quick walk instead of a run. We are all panting and sweaty, but that is not a big issue. Whatever happened while we were gone, I don't know. But I do know that the run was necessary. If it wasn't, Rick wouldn't have made us.
We make it to a set of train tracks. We keep to them, walking through the little gaps. The tracks are long and arduous, but we keep by them. Carl and I walk a bit more in front of mom and Rick. Which makes sense, I guess. Rick is worn out from all the running, and mom wants to stick by him.
Carls' hand reaches for my own as we walk. I take it and lace his calloused fingers with my smaller, softer ones. My eyes look from the hands to his eyes, which are significantly brighter than they were this morning. I give him a small, reassuring smile.
The rest of the walk through the tracks is long and boring. Well, it WAS boring. That is, until we find the banner.
As we walk through the tracks, we see an abandoned train car that is almost completely covered with rust. On its side hung a banner, which contrasts against the brown rust with a bright white. On the banner is:
GO TO TERMINUS. SANCTUARY FOR ALL. THOSE WHO ARRIVE, SURVIVE.
Underneath the banner is a little map, with many marked-out trails that all lead to the same place, Terminus. There is a star written where the trails lead, a large circle around it to bold the area.
The four of us walk to it. Rick reads the words, his eyes squinting at the words. Mom looks at the words, then to Rick.
"What do you think?" Mom tentatively asks him. Carl and I look at Rick, who still has his eyes glued to the map. His eyes shift from the map to his son.
"Let's go." Rick whispers, as if unsure if that is what he wants to say. His eyes trail to me, quizzical and calculating. They then turn to mom, and his voice raises, and he speaks clearly and authoritative.
"Let's go."
A/N: Yay, the much awaited chapter is finally here! I hope it makes up for not updating in so long. I really am sorry for that, guys. There isn't really much more for me to write for season 4. The rest of the season is spent chopped in between the mini groups, so I don't have much wiggle room to work with. I guess there's like a chapter or two left for this. But, don't worry, I already have a LOT of season 5 mapped out! And hopefully I don't make you all wait too long for it this time!