Disclaimer: I don't own the WD, but I do own both these characters! xD
Notes: Thanks to all the readers and reviewers! You guys are awesome! Can't believe this has got almost 200 reviews. That blows my mind!
Chapter Fifty-Nine
(Fin's POV)
Luke plops down next to me, leans back against the couch front legs stretched out on the ply board floor next to mine.
"Hey."
"Hey." I glance up from my book.
"So… they have a baby."
"Yeah."
Luke stares at me. "You know?"
"Yes."
He nods. "Do they?"
We both stare at our boots. "No." I lean my head back against the cushion. "They have no idea."
We don't speak, there's a lump in my throat. "Eric, Joe…" I already know the answer from the look on his face…his silence.
"Dead."
I lift my head, stare down at my hands my book loose and forgotten on my lap. Just as well. I've read the same paragraph for an hour now—couldn't tell you anything about it.
"You're Mom..."
"She's gone. They're all gone." I can't bring myself to say the word. Dead. I wipe at my eyes. We stare at the floor.
I try not to see the church in my head, smell the iron tang that haunts my nightmares.
I exhale in a rush; feels like I haven't been able to do that in years.
Luke shifts at my side. "Finny; that scar…" Luke's fingers slide down my shoulder, voice quiet. I swallow.
"When did it happen?"
"Atlanta, long time ago…I was trying to save someone…just got in the way."
We stare at each other while the silence stretches on around us in the darkness.
"Me too."
All the air rushes out of my lungs; I suspected but… "Luke….You….your…." I don't even know what to call it. He nods.
"I was trying to save Eric, we'd been okay for weeks…all of us…and then." He shakes his head. "They were everywhere…and…I thought about killing myself after…I just…I couldn't do it Fin…I…" He stares down at his lap, presses his fingers over his eyes.
I swipe my hand at my running nose, my wet cheeks. We should be screaming in agony; but there's no sound.
We're barely whispering. I've never spoken of this before; it feels dangerous, makes my heart race, my palms sweat. I wipe them on my pant legs repeatedly, slowly while Luke says nothing, stares at the wall somewhere far, far away from where we sit now.
It is dangerous, admitting whatever we are…I know it all too well.
"I kept waiting to die; I knew it was only a matter of time…but it just never happened."
"And Chris?"
"Yeah, Chris too."
"Are there others? What is it?" Now that we're talking about it, it's difficult to stop.
Luke shrugs, staring at the wall still.
"A few; it's rare—except for the infants. Somehow…they think it's antibodies during the pregnancy; exposure in utero is what they keep talking about, guess you might know something about that."
It was my theory.
"Somehow, the babies; at least all the ones I've seen survive; they're immune. They're experimenting with it now."
I cringe, bile rising up. Luke's eyes are tight, the crease between his brows deepening, his lips pursed.
I am even more positive that I don't want to know from his guarded expression.
I shake my head try to push that thought away. "And us?"
Luke sighs. "They don't know."
I pull my legs up, book sliding off my lap to the floor pages fluttering. I press my face against one knee. My voice shakes. "You're not staying."
He shakes his head. "We're trying to get the equipment they need. People like Chris and me; people like us…they used to send out the military; what's left of it. But most of them never made it back. They needed them to protect the walls, the tunnels."
"Where are you?"
"Used to be called Winchester, some people still call it that…the Government; what was left of it after The Turn…the military, government services; it's all there, enough to function at least. They barricaded the whole damn valley hundreds of miles of it…between the walls and the mountains and the tunnels under the mountain to get in…it's safe, you should come with us."
I stare at him. "What about everyone else Luke?"
His silence is telling. "They only let certain people in; limited resources and all that."
"Right."
"Doctors, scientists…"
"The rich?" I glare at him.
Luke scowls, a bad taste in his mouth, the same one filling mine.
"Yeah. There's a lot of that too. But they take in the immune; no questions asked."
Of course they do. Bet they throw a damn party every time one of us rolls up to the gate. So they can use us; like they're using Luke and Chris. I wonder how many of them are being experimented on; the ones that show up; that aren't useful for other things…
I turn away, shake my head. "Fuck that. These are good people."
Good people deserve to be saved more than bank accounts and donors.
Money. Power.
Luke opens his mouth, closes it when we both hear footsteps on the ladder. I pick up my book swipe at my cheeks quickly, stretching my legs back out in front of us.
Daryl turns, sees us both and stops. His face flickering with a wash of several different emotions I don't try to name. Looking at him hurts. I stare down at the book in my lap; try that paragraph again while he walks closer.
Luke says nothing. Neither does Daryl.
The silence presses against my ears thick as water, presses cripplingly against my skin.
Luke gets to his feet, I don't look up. Part of me is waiting; holding my breath. Tension knotted between my shoulder blades waiting for them to finally come to blows.
I can feel Daryl's stare on the top of my head.
"Hey, wanna spar?" Luke kicks the sole of my boot with his toe.
"Hell Yes." I climb to my feet in serious need of a distraction. I can't be sparring with Luke and not focus—not without getting a split lip.
"Downstairs?"
"Yeah," we move together headed toward the ladder.
I can practically feel Daryl's eyes on the back of my neck as we leave. Do my best to ignore it so I don't flush. I'm not giving him that satisfaction. Not after the other day. He doesn't get to dictate what I do.
Especially not with Luke.
"All the way down?" Luke is ahead of me.
"Yeah, let's go out the gate between the rows, more room there." We tend to travel a bit when we spar, all the different holds and throws and movements from the combined martial arts we learned over the years is hard to keep still. We used to brawl all over the yard in a single match.
Luke nods keeps climbing down. I take the lead when we reach the darkened 'basement' level as Carl calls it, it kind of stuck with everyone else. I unlatch the gate leading to the rest of the warehouse, Luke follows on my heels but leaves it open behind us; no real reason to shut it.
He pulls something out of his jacket pocket as we walk to a larger space between the main rows; sets it up on the boxes of lamps piled on our right. I laugh recognizing the shape, hit with sudden nostalgia.
"How in the world did you manage to keep that thing all this time?"
He pulls his jacket off tossing it over the boxes next to the IPod and it's set of tiny speakers as the music starts. He's grinning when he spins to face me, it's infectious.
"You know I can't live without music."
The song is instantly familiar, the beat makes me want to tap my toes, do something ridiculous like dance.
"Shall we?" Luke holds his hand out like we might do just that, my grin widens as I take his hand.
I almost laugh when he uses the grip to yank me closer jerking me against his chest twisting to wrap his arm around my neck. I twist myself dropping and rolling almost taking his legs out with a sweep of my own. He keeps hold of my hand though trying to yank me back up. Throw my balance off, so I step into the motion bring my elbow up to brush his jaw when he ducks away at the last second both of us still grinning, breathing faster now.
I finally get my hand loose and we circle each other occasionally diving at one another, pulling our blows back at the last moment so our fists and elbows and kicks strike hard enough to sting, maybe bruise but not enough to really injure one another.
After a few minutes my muscles start to burn, my pulse is hammering in my ears, adrenaline races along my veins flushing my cheeks bright pink.
We square off for 4 songs by then both so out of breath that when I try to flip to grab Luke's waist in a scissor kick we both tumble down laughing hysterically—wheezing and coughing.
My limbs are all shaking, sweat drips down my temples my shirt clings to the small of my back, but the cold concrete feels fantastic under my bare shoulder blades—my own sleeved tee long discarded next to Luke's abandoned jacket. I pull my legs up knees bent kicking Luke in the ribs just hard enough that he lets out a huffing grunt, his arm twitching out to smack me in the shoulder just right.
The blow makes my whole right arm go numb. Bastard.
I grin shaking and flexing my fingers in the air over head, my strength is slow coming back; but I've got almost full mobility again now.
"Feel better?" He hasn't quite caught his breath yet either.
"Much."
"Can't believe how out of shape I am."
"You?" He just kicked my ass.
"Not much art behind killing the reanimated."
We both stare up at the steel rafters overhead.
"Especially when they just stand there and let you kill them?"
Luke turns his head stares at me for a long minute. I stare back still breathing too hard; but the stabbing hitch under my ribs has faded at least.
"Yeah..." He stares up at the ceiling again. "Yeah," His tone is hard to place. I keep my head turned towards him but I'm looking past him now, over his head.
The rock in my stomach swells again. Squeezes my lungs.
Daryl is standing near the railing staring down at us, arms crossed over his chest. I can't make out his facial features from this distance but I can suddenly feel the weight of his stare boring into me. I swallow. I know he can't hear us, but my heart still races.
I twist away, sit up clearing my throat. The song changes behind us.
"Come on, let's do Katas."
He grumbles but gets up obediently. I keep my eyes locked straight ahead for the next three songs as we slide through each motion, change to holds and releases then disarming techniques again—when I slip up Luke flips me flat out I catch a glance of the railing over his shoulder briefly before he pulls me back to my feet telling me to pay better attention.
Daryl is gone.
The rock in my stomach becomes a boulder, pressing against all my insides weighing me down.
It should be easier to concentrate without his glare boring into the back of my neck.
I should be faster, less hindered without his presence distracting me, pulling my focus…
But tell that to my split lip.
:: Walking Dead ::