Hershel was at home, watching the news on his battered old newsvid set. With the Feina leaving Earth on their large ships, only their crews and a very few passengers left who hadn't been killed in the massive worldwide attack on all of their bases, the news had become fun to watch for him. He was still rejoicing that the attack he had helped synchronize and carry out had yielded such a spectacular result. Out of the major bases hit, all but three had already been completely abandoned. The remaining three compounds were in the last stages of being picked clean of any salvageable material – and whatever the Feina found among the rubble, they instantly loaded onto small transports that they had cobbled together from the remains of their assassinated small atmospheric ships to whisk away into the cargo holds of the generation ships being prepared for takeoff.
Earth was going to be free again.
And with the Feina fleet in its current state, they would not be hijacking any other planets any time soon, so they hadn't just succeeded in moving the problem elsewhere – they had solved it for at least several hundreds of years into the future, saving countless planets from the same fate.
Mankind, on the other hand, was busy picking up the pieces. As the occupation had lasted for more than thirty years, not even token remnants of a human-controlled government were in place anywhere. They did have the police forces that Merle had been a part of, but as these people had cooperated with their oppressors they were generally deemed untrustworthy. So far, there hadn't been any attacks on former human policemen, but Hershel was afraid that it was merely a question of time before retaliation would set in. Too many people had suffered during the reign of the Feina to just let the support of the human police officers slide without any kind of reaction, and the suffering had been too great for the reaction to be anything other than violent.
He knew, from his last visit to Daryl two days ago, that he was very afraid for his brother and couldn't wait to get home so Merle wouldn't be alone any longer - though what Daryl planned on doing to defend Merle in case of an attack was anybody's guess. Weapons were still not allowed anywhere, and Daryl wasn't yet in any fighting condition.
TE had come out of hiding, revealing itself as the worldwide organization that had instigated the coup that had freed Earth of Feina rule, and had already been approached locally in many countries to make use of its existing structures to help set up a government. Hershel himself had been approached by Dale Horvath to lead and support that effort in New Atlanta - and maybe even at higher levels.
Watching the first steps toward taking control of their own fate again was fascinating, and Hershel found himself hoping for something that would not only establish that but also avoid the constant fruitless bickering among countries that he had witnessed in his youth - one centralized government for Earth as a whole. With no existing governmental or even administrative structures in place, he believed that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take that route, and he hoped that not only TE but mankind as a whole would recognize it for what it was.
No more injustice.
No more spectacular failures at resource distribution.
World Peace.
During his lifetime, and with him actively contributing to it, if he was lucky. He couldn't wait.
.-.
When it was Hershel instead of Maggie opening the door, Glenn blushed a bright crimson and actually started to turn as if to get away - until rational thought set in once more and he realized that the sooner he got this over with, the less he would have to fret over everything. This was coming sooner or later anyway - better have this conversation now.
Stepping into the apartment and past his future father in law, he mumbled a greeting, and Hershel nodded back at him with a smile. He seemed relaxed enough, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad, Glenn hoped. After waiting for Hershel to close the door, surprised to see him actually locking it, he followed him first into the kitchen, where he prepared synthcaf for the two of them, and then into the living room. By the time they both sat down at the dining table, he was close to biting his nails. Hershel hadn't spoken yet beyond welcoming him in.
„So", the older man began, leaning back in his chair, „you've found my guilty pleasure, and you've learned that I knew about yours. How do you feel about that?"
Glenn felt his heart nearly jumping out of his chest. Hershel had KNOWN? „I … um … really had no idea, I mean …" He floundered. What exactly had been so shocking about that revelation? Hershel's benevolent smile puzzled him. „You have two daughters … lovely daughters … „ He blushed. „And … you're old … „ Now he wished for the ground to open up and swallow him. Why was he saying these things? „No! That's not … I meant … you have no reason any more to rock the boat, so why would you become … a terrorist?" Glenn could feel his face burning. He might as well get up, leave now, and never turn back.
„But don't you see, son, that my two daughters are my reason to rock the boat?" Hershel asked gently. „I want them to have a future without fear, and it seems like decades of hard work have just paid off." He smiled at Glenn's open-mouthed stare. „Are you really surpsied by that?" he asked. „I have been a member of TE for more than twenty years. Dale Horvath is a close friend of mine. I have worked with Daryl for fifteen years, and ten with Rick. I really appreciate all you young people making a stand for our freedom."
It seemed, Glenn thought, that he was the only one who hadn't known anything. „You … you know Rick and Daryl?" he all but croaked. He was surprised to see Hershel's face lose the luminous joy that had filled it, and turn pensive and sad instead.
„Rick and Daryl were my main team when Rick left Daryl alone while he was getting the crap beaten out of him during a mission three years ago", Hershel said softly. Glenn would no longer need to work with Rick, and it would come up sooner or later anyway, now that they all knew each other and were allowed to meet and swap histories. „Daryl was facing arrest, and he …"
Shocked, Glenn watched a tear roll down Hershel's cheek as he tried to continue. He remembered Daryl's behavior the night of the mission, and his briefing that had said he'd been an agent, but no longer went out himself. Suddenly, he wasn't entirely certain any longer that he wanted to hear what was coming.
„Daryl and the Feina he had run into were fighting on a roof", Hershel managed to continue. „And when the Feina had him down, with a gun pointing at him, and called for reinforcements to take him in …" Glenn's stomach fell. His hands had turned ice cold. How could Rick have left that man alone? And - would he have done it again, to him?
„Daryl jumped." Hershel's voice was a mere whisper. He was crying now. In his mind's eye, he saw again the blue sky framing the Feina's head as Daryl had looked up at him, and then forced his aching body into action one last time just as Hershel had linked up with him. He had been there for his fear and pain as he had made it to his feet and run to the edge of the roof to fling himself down - and for Daryl's mad joy at the frustration of the Feina who had only emerged from the building in time to see him getting taken away to safety after his jump.
Now Hershel looked into Glenn's eyes and held them as he went on. „I have to admit that I was happy when you resigned. He would have done the same to you, son. He did it again to Daryl during the mission. The safety of his family is more important to him than anything else, and that is okay, but it makes him unfit as a guide and we should have seen that. He pulled out again during the mission as Daryl was getting captured and tortured by the Feina." Placing his hands flat on the table, he drew a shuddering breath, then let it out, relief in his eyes. „I can't tell you how happy I am that it's over."
„Rick is an asshole." Glenn was proud that his voice wasn't shaking as he said it.
.-.
Pain.
Darkness and pain.
A hand touching her left leg, doing something to it, relieving the pressure on it, and then the pain set in full force, clawing into her bandaged ankle which had turned out to be broken by the huge concrete slab falling down on her, covered her so she'd had to crawl out into the open, pull herself out from under it with her good right arm.
Pain ripping into her left knee, also bandaged, and she felt the cool air on her naked leg above and below the bandages, and she felt a hand touching the naked skin of her leg which was resting on some sort of padded support, the stitches in her ankle and knee burning and pulling on the skin, and she wanted to flinch away from the touch, her chest constricting, making her ribs hurt, but the pain exploded out of her just from her muscles contracting as she tried to move her leg. She couldn't escape the pain, or the hand touching her, and her breathing turned into short, panicked, panting gasps that hurt her ribs even more, and the urge to pull her injured leg away from that touch was overwhelming but there was nothing she could do about it, the pain was too bad, she was unable to move, to get away, to escape, and there wasn't enough air in the room for her to breathe, and her eyes flew open –
.-.
- to the white, featureless ceiling and walls of her hospital room. Panting, gasping, her hands gripping the covers and sheets of her bed as if for dear life. She stared down at her legs and saw nothing amiss with them. Under her covers, she was wearing hospital pajamas with a small, gray-blue pattern on them, and her left leg was neither naked nor bandaged, nor was she in pain except from the bruises where she had been slammed into the column by the explosion, and where debris falling from the ceiling had hit her, or cut her skin. No broken bones, held together by steel nails and plates. No torn ligaments, replaced by artificial ones. No surgical incisions protected by sterile bandages.
But the pain had felt so real. Like her own.
The fear had felt so close, choking her.
Daryl.
Opening her link, carefully, not yet reaching out, not wanting to trigger him further, she felt his anguish, his fear, his pain, his panic, even without touching his mind. He was not quite awake yet, only just waking up or regaining consciousness. His eyes were still closed because he was unable to look at the person standing next to him right now, touching him, touching his bare skin, with him unable to get away from that touch, when getting touched had only ever translated into pain and fear and helplessness to him.
Carefully she reached out for him, slowly, gently, the way she would have attempted to catch a butterfly, aware that if she touched it too roughly or moved too fast, she would end up hurting it, or it would try to hurl itself against the protective cage of her fingers in its attempt to flee - and hurt itself in the process. In all the time they had worked together he had hidden this so well from her, and she was shocked at how fragile he was not just in body but in soul. Had she ever wanted that, with his essence so defenseless before her now, she could have utterly destroyed him in a heartbeat with no more than a touch.
But what she desperately wanted was not to destroy, but to heal, and support, and guide him back to life.
Sensing his apprehension at her approach, she touched him, like the wing of a butterfly brushing past him.
Through their meld, she sensed the person standing next to his bed changing his dressings - but her touch had calmed him down to the point where he could not only ignore the hands touching him but fall asleep again, soothed by her presence in his mind.
.-.
Daryl stubbornly refused to see her even after they had linked up – or anyone else, for that matter, with the exception of Merle and, on rare occasions, Hershel. Two days after his last operation he started his physical therapy program to exercise and strengthen his healing arm and leg. When the PT specialist who was going to work with him every day first came into his room he could feel his chest constricting and his heart beating faster with her still ten feet away from his bed. The mere thought that she was going to turn back his covers to have a look at his leg and go so far as to touch it to remove the brace he was wearing so she could assess his ankle and knee made him lose his breath.
A feathery touch in the back of his mind, easing his fear. No words, just reassurance. Acceptance. Support.
She approached him with a bright smile on her beautiful face which made him feel like even more of an oaf. Her smooth, perfect skin, its color reminding him of chocolate, a treat he'd only ever seen advertised but had never tasted, had him drowning in shame over the raised and discolored marks slashed and burned into his own body. "Hello, my name is Michonne – you're Daryl?" Holding out her slim hand, she threw her long hair back over her shoulder and patiently waited until he raised his own right hand for a brief, anxious handshake which left him surprised at the strength in her delicate fingers.
She did indeed proceed to turn back his covers to have a look at his leg, but she noticed while doing it that he was holding his breath the entire time and first stepped back after removing the brace, trying to give him the space he clearly needed. "It's okay", she said softly, watching his rigid face as he tried to calm down. His eyes were closed as he was unable to meet her eyes right now, concentrating on fighting the urge to pull away from her. With the pressure of the brace gone, his stitches started itching and he felt a tingling on the inside of his knee where his torn ligaments had been replaced. As always when he was aware that anyone was closely looking at his body, he was unable to handle his crippling self-consciousness.
God, how he wished for Merle to be here to make some asshole comment on her body or the fact that she was going to actually touch him.
"If it's okay with you", she began carefully, giving him a moment to adjust and truly start to concentrate on her voice instead of focusing on his panic, "I'd like you to lift your leg now and try to bend the knee and move your foot so I can see what you are able to do with them, all at your own pace – but only to the point where it starts to hurt, not beyond that. Can you do that for me?"
Inhaling sharply, bracing himself so he would be able to answer her and not just pant in tortured silence.
"You can do this", she whispered, her voice barely audible in his head, her touch on his mind light enough to be mistaken for a breath of air. She'd make an excellent guide. "I know you can do this. You've been so strong through all of this – lifting your leg to move it, and looking at her while you're doing it, will be so easy for you, compared to all that you've been through."
Her confidence floored him. There wasn't one hint of doubt – and by now he could sense her, so he would have known. She was absolutely convinced that he had this.
Consciously slowing down his breathing, he inhaled as deeply as he could against the pain of his cracked ribs and then opened his eyes to look up at his therapist who was returning his look with seemingly infinite patience. Her stance and her eyes told him that she had seen lots of heartache, that she knew exactly what it looked like, and that she was going to wait for him until the end of time without forcing him into something that he just couldn't do.
She was here to help, not hurt.
To help him heal, instead of further traumatize him.
Holding on to Carol's voice in the back of his head, he nodded and then raised his leg, clenching his teeth, his good hand clawing at his bedding.
He could still sense Carol in the back of his mind - her unlimited trust and support. Her -
She had his back. He could do this.