Ms Q - I agree. It's a sticky mess of a situation. Basically you're damned if you do and damned if you don't.
Supfan - I know. I wasn't expecting fireworks, but goddamned. Maggie and Glenn get lovely moments (which actually makes me sick as I'm tired of the pairing already) and we get a hand hold...I dunno. Maybe I was just disappointed all around with the finale.
itsi3 - I agree. It's nice to see things from an outside perspective once in a while, isn't it?
Merle's Right Hand - Hehe, I know, right?
Brooklyn'sRoisinDubh - Aw, well thank you. I appreciate hearing that my OC's aren't a pain in the ass. I'm glad you get where I'm coming from with the whole situation. And yes, the Cajun culture is beautiful isn't it? Thanks a million for the review! New reviewers are always welcome and a pleasant treat for me. ^_^
Brazen Hussy - *two drums and a cymbal fall to the floor*
HGRHfan35 - I usually don't like to spread hate for characters, since I know some people hate on Carol hardcore, but seriously I can't effing stand Andrea. She's got to be the worst character in the history of the show (including Shane and Lori). And yes, if the sweet bread turns out PM me that recipe! I love trading good recipes with people! ^_^
peonies01 - Carol has become his voice of reason, hasn't she? I'm sure it's what Daryl needs more than anything, since he's so hot headed.
Lilone1776 - Hehe, I agree. Fuck off Andrea, go and try your hand at peace...
MollyMayhem84 - I agree. Daryl would knife anyone who tried to hug him (Rick is the exception since they're already hardcore bros).
LL - You know it's nice to hear someone appreciate my decision not to have Daryl and Carol humping everywhere. I think they're both old enough that hardcore sex on any flat surface available wouldn't be their top priority. I enjoy a deeper, more meaningful relationship for them. So thanks for that. I really need to hear reviews like that from time to time. ^_^
AFishNamedSushi - It is a hard situation, isn't it? On the one hand the Gov definitely needs to die, but just leaving the others without an 'army' would be cruel. They would be open for anything to pick them off (and I'd imagine the others of Woodbury are about as handfed as Milton).
Surplus Imagination - Daryl is a hot head and I think I need to bring a bit more of that Daryl back as things get more and more stressful as the battle gets closer.
I wish I knew where this chapter came from...but whatever, here it is. Also, if you're interested in a good version of La Danse de Mardi Gras check out my tumblr page, the video has been posted there. I highly recommend it, it's good solid Cajun music.
Chapter Seventy-Three: Pie Bavarde
**Old Missy**
Running her fingers over the embossed letters of her bible, Grace idly pondered the path her life had led her.
Perhaps it was idle temptation that drove her from her former path, without novitiates there was no purpose to her convent, to her leadership, without a sign from God that He was there, that He was protecting them, watching over them, she had no end in sight for her path.
Or perhaps it was that this was what God had intended for her.
She supposed it was human arrogance to assume his plan.
In any matter her path had diverted, it had shifted from its course and she was now facing a very curious, very unsure end.
And she prayed. As much as she would have liked to admit she gave up entirely, she didn't. Every morning she knelt by her cot and prayed, she wanted God to understand that while she had abandoned her vows, she never once stopped praying for the safety of her flock, her flock of course expanding to include everyone within the convent walls.
Maybe it was that Catholic guilt she heard so much about that caused her to feel bad about her choices. Or maybe it was the fact that deep down she didn't regret many of them.
One of those choices she didn't regret being, namely, the Cajun who for the longest time had haunted her convent in silence, but had since become a driving force behind their progress and had very recently become somewhat of an intimate acquaintance of hers.
Not intimate in the sexual sense. Good Lord, she had enough to feel guilty about, she didn't need that kind of sin hanging over her head.
No, he had become intimate in the sense that he was the first man she had allowed to kiss her since she was a teenage girl. The only man she had ever shared a bed with, as innocent as it was, the only man she had allowed close to her heart.
As much as she knew she should feel guilt and regret over that choice most of all, she couldn't. Not with the way he looked at her, not with the kindness he had shown her.
There was an odd urge inside her to feel sinful, to feel dirty at the idea of a man looking at a woman in such a way, but the truth was she couldn't feel that way and she didn't.
Wiping away a stray tear from her cheek, Grace slowly pushed her bible away, putting it on the corner of her desk and sighed.
At her side Annie looked up from playing with Boo and eyed her quietly. "Are you okay, mommy?"
She beamed at the girl, there was a certain emotion that she felt when Annie called her 'mommy' now that she had never felt, but she was sure there was no word for it. It was a mixture of pride and joy and a touch of honour to have earned the title. Most women were automatically 'mommy' the instant they conceived a child, but Grace felt a little arrogant pride at the fact that she earned her title.
She supposed that was just one in a long line of mortal sins she'd be committing now that she was just a woman once more.
"I'm fine, honey. I think it's time for bed though."
Annie hopped up from the floor and scurried over to her side. "Can I stay up a little longer? I want to wait for the Lieutenant to come home."
"He is home, sweetie, he's just on watch right now."
"But he'll come back soon, right? He's been out there forever."
Grace touched a hand to Annie's shoulder and turned her around gently so that she could remove the ribbons that held her hair up.
"He should be in soon," she said raking out Annie's dark hair with her fingers first, before opening a drawer in her desk and pulling out a brush. "But you know that bedtime comes whether he's in or not."
"Yeah, but I can't sleep until he sings to me."
"You've done so before, honey, don't try and bluff me." Grace replied calmly, brushing Annie's hair until it shone. It was such a thick, beautiful dark waterfall of hair that the girl had. She had no doubt Annie would grow up to be a very beautiful young woman and she was grateful the convent was lacking in boys, there would be hell to pay if Lafayette ever found a boy after Annie.
"Would you sing to me?" Annie chirped.
Grace laughed blithely. "Oh, Annie Louise, you seem to be labouring under the severe misconception that I can sing as pretty as that soldier of yours."
"He says that you probably sing beautifully," Annie supplied innocently.
"Yes, and you'd believe him if he said the night sky was just God tucking us all in for bed and that the stars were just the light poking through the holes in the weave of the blanket."
"Could be, you don't know that it isn't," Annie argued.
Putting the brush away, Grace reached down and pulled Annie up into her lap and held the girl tightly. "You've been spending too much time with the Lieutenant," she whispered, half scolding, half amused, before pressing a quick kiss to Annie's cheek and sliding her off her lap again. "But it's still bedtime."
Annie wrinkled her nose. "Really? I promise I'll be quiet!"
"Nope, bedtime."
"Okay, but you have to sing to me and I'll go," Annie bartered.
Grace sighed lightly. "Alright, but you tell no one, okay?"
"Okay!"
..-~-..
..-~-..
"I'd like to buy you everything, a wooden bird with painted wings, a window full of colored rings in morning Morgantown. But the only thing I have to give, to make you smile, to win you with, are all the mornings still to live in morning Morgantown."
As Grace sang softly to Annie, she cradled the child close to her chest, protecting her from the cool night air, protecting her from anything that would come at them in the darkness.
As she sang to Annie, she felt the girl still, then go slack as sleep took her over, the tiny arm that was slung around Grace's middle loosening its hold of her, sliding back towards Annie slowly.
Closing her eyes, Grace prepared to drift off herself, opening them what felt like mere seconds later when she felt a presence hovering over her.
Panicked, her eyes snapped open as a mouth covered hers gently.
For a moment she tensed, prepared to strike, but it was soothed at the last minute by a pair of grey eyes peering down at her in the darkness of her room.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," she hissed to the Lieutenant as he pulled away from her.
Smiling impishly, he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to Annie's cheek, before straightening.
"How long have you been lingering?" She asked.
Standing by the bed, his hand wrapped around the strap of his rifle, he shrugged. "Long enough to hear a pretty little tribute to Joni Mitchell."
Grace felt her cheeks grow hot. "And I suppose you're going to tease me mercilessly."
He angled his head, unsure. "I wouldn't say that. If anything being around this place has taught me more mercy then I've ever known. Besides, I believe I said it was a 'pretty' little tribute."
"Well, the child wouldn't sleep without a song and it was the only one I could remember by heart that wasn't a Baptist hymn from my childhood." She studied the man in the darkness as he milled around the middle of the room. "Are you just going to haunt my room all night or are you coming to bed?"
He shrugged. "I figured I'd take over on the gate for a while, just wanted to stop in first."
Eyeing the way the Cajun fidgeted with the strap of his rifle, the way the fingers on his free hand drummed against his thigh, Grace sighed lightly. "Have you spoken with Daryl yet?"
He shook his head. "Naw, I figured I'd give him his space."
"Everything will be fine, Fate," she whispered. "Disagreements happen."
While she didn't know just what had happened between the two, she was sure something had. It was written in the way the man had held himself after returning from the planning session, how he was oddly quiet and fidgety. All she got out of him was that Daryl had said something which made him oddly uncomfortable, but there were no further details to be weaned from him.
"It," he paused, drumming his fingers again. "It doesn't bother you that I'm Cajun, does it, cher?"
"Why would it, honey?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. Suppose there's a stigma to being Cajun, a bit."
"What kind of stigma?"
"Seems the rest of the world looks down on us a bit," he admitted softly. "I guess to them we talk funny. Living on the bayou, we don't really have a successful economy, we ain't farmers or ranchers, got no real means to anything, except maybe shrimping down the bayou. I guess, maybe we're just seen as poorly educated, bare footed simpletons sitting on our front porches playing La Danse de Mardi Gras on our fiddles and accordions and eating gator stew."
"You talk fine to me and it's not the Cajun people's fault that they settled on swamplands. Louisiana seems to do just fine without farmers or ranchers."
"Used to be a time, I talked with a much thicker accent," he said. "It watered down some in the corps, overseas with the other boys."
"I wouldn't worry too much about being Cajun, sweetheart," Grace cooed. "I happen to think it's a beautiful culture and you're a fine man regardless. Now forget the gate for one night and come to bed."
Smiling sweetly at her from where he stood, the Lieutenant stilled his fidgeting hand and took a step back. "I'm going to marry you one day, girl." He said.
She grinned at him. "That's fine, honey, now come to bed. I'm not going to tell you again."
Moving across the room, Lafayette close their door, flipping the latch to lock it securely from outside threats, before heading back towards their bed, pulling his rifle off his shoulder and setting the safety lock.
Grace watched his bedtime routine quietly, enjoying how intimate it seemed as he placed his rifle close to the bed, tucking it tightly between the cot and the nightstand.
With his rifle off his shoulder, he settled his near constant pack companion on the floor beneath the window and began unbuttoning his flak jacket.
"I don't know how you can stand all those layers, honey," she said.
He smiled. "It may seem like lovely weather to you all here, but I actually find it a little chilly."
"You'll adjust one day."
Removing his flak jacket and his long sleeved camo shirt, the Lieutenant hung both on the decorative newel post corner of her chifferobe.
"You know you can actually hang those inside, sweetheart," Grace stated. "I wouldn't mind."
"I would," he began puckishly, "only I'm afraid to find something red and lacy inside."
Tsking at his tone, Grace glanced down to ensure Annie was still asleep. "I had that thing burned weeks ago," she said.
"You know what confuses me about that tiny little scrap of lace," the man went on. "The fact that you held on to it for so long…"
Grace blinked up at him as he glanced sideways at her with eyes that danced with mirth. She felt a flush work its way up her neck and touched her free hand to the base of her throat.
Grinning wickedly, the Cajun opened the door of her chifferobe and hung his clothing inside it.
The longer the silence, the more Grace felt she needed to explain her side of the story, but she was so embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
"I like red," she whispered softly, almost inaudibly.
He closed the door and turned to face her patiently. "Sorry? I missed that."
"I like red," she confessed. "And I thought the lace was actually quite pretty."
"Did you really burn it?" He inquired.
"Yes."
"Lying is a sin, isn't it?" Lafayette asked casually as he perched on the edge of the cot at her feet to remove his boots.
Grace frowned, before reaching under the mattress by her side and pulling out the little scrap of red lace with a nervous glance at the man.
He eyed the thing she was revealing, before turning teasing eyes on her. "You're a magpie," he stated.
She laughed softly and crammed the thing back under the mattress. "Well, don't get excited," she declared, "I'd never wear it. I just like looking at it."
"What else you have stashed under there?"
"That's it," she said firmly. "Don't go poking around under my mattress, it's ungentlemanly."
Laughing, the Cajun tilted his head. "Alright, if you say so, beb."
Nervously adjusting the sheet of the bed so that it covered the little crack between the mattress and the frame of the cot, Grace cleared her throat.
Lafayette blinked at her as he toed off a boot. "Oh holy hell," he finally declared, "you're weird."
"I'm not weird," she hissed. "I just…don't look under my mattress is all."
"I'm in love with a weird girl…" he mused.
"I am not weird."
"Oh, I'm definitely marrying you." He announced.
She paused in her protests, eyeing him with an odd look.
Straightening his boots so that they sat side by side neatly, the man crawled over her and Annie, settling in at their side. He pulled both of them close to him, protecting them with his body.
"You don't mind if I'm a little odd?" She whispered.
"Honeychild, I'm a forty-four year old Cajun sniper who was raised by a very strong and independent woman, nothing is odd to me." He muttered.
Grace blinked. "It's a spork," she confessed.
"What?" He opened his eyes.
"I have a spork under the mattress with the negligee."
"What the hell is a spork?"
Reaching under the form mattress of the cot, Grace pulled the utensil out from where it had been tucked into the puckered elastic hem of the bedsheet. "It's a half spoon, half fork."
Lafayette eyed the thing in the dark with a mild frown. "Why?"
"There must have been some mix up at the utensil warehouse, when they shipped our utensils here to the convent, we had a spork among the spoons…I don't know why I kept it. Maybe because I needed order in our eating utensil drawer…or maybe I just…maybe I'm just bored or something." She offered.
"No, I meant why the hell would someone even need one of those things?"
Grace shrugged.
Quirking a brow, the Cajun eyed the thing one last time before grinning. "Well, despite the odd human behaviour in creating a spoon-fork hybrid, I have never been more in love with someone…"
She flushed and tucked the thing back under the mattress. "I'm not crazy, I just…it wasn't stealing. I mean, I didn't intend to keep it or anything. They're our utensils after all."
"You're a magpie," he explained closing his eyes once more. "Go to bed, magpie."
Lying awake for a few more minutes, Grace felt herself finally calm down enough to close her eyes.
"Fate?"
"Yes, my little pie bavarde?" He replied.
"I'm very fond of you."
He beamed. "I love you too, magpie."
The Cajun Dialect
Pie bavarde - Magpie
La Danse de Mardi Gras - A traditional Cajun song