Friendly reminder that the cover art for this was done by the deliciously talented Merle's Right Hand. You can find a link to her art blog on my profile page. Check her stuff out, it's so worth it.
Chapter Seventeen: Maman Brigitte
**Old Missy**
When they pulled into the convent grounds through the gate, she was the first one out, moving to the back to help Michonne with Mr. Mamet as the man lay still in the back of the truck.
She stepped out of the way as Father O'Rourke and that young man from Woodbury swooped in to help the man, wiping at her sweat and soot covered brow, smearing the abomination blood into the mix.
It had taken her about ten minutes of riding in the truck before she had calmed down enough at least dry all traces of the tears she had shed from her eyes, thankfully the rest of the ride was long enough that the red puffiness had disappeared. She didn't want anyone else to see how shaken she was from the ordeal.
Watching as Mr. Mamet was carefully moved from the truck, she felt a new wave of regret and tears wash over her, but held it back, firmly setting her chin, refusing to allow anyone to see her cry anymore.
A tall redwood of a man moved to stand beside her, blocking the sun from her eyes as she glanced over at him.
He stood facing her, eyes quietly questioning.
She shook her head slightly, not at all concerned about him being up and about, still thinking of Woodbury.
Pulling the pack off her back, she handed it off to him, barely registering that he didn't have a full grip on it and releasing.
He caught it before it could hit the ground, distracted by the pack, he didn't see her colliding with him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
Recalling where she was and how many eyes were on her for strength, she tried pushing away, but he had already dropped the pack onto the soft grass and was holding her against him with his good arm, handing stroking her hair gently.
"I'm fine, Lafayette," she whispered roughly against his chest, pushing against it to free herself.
He released her cautiously, eyes narrowed with concern.
Quietly she pulled away from him, heading for the dorms quickly, not looking back once.
She had to get somewhere where she could collapse and cry, not for her, but for the people of Woodbury, for the creatures they had become, for whatever tragedy had befallen them to turn them into such things.
"Grace," Glenn greeted as she entered the dorms, she hurried on, moving towards her office, deciding she'd worry about being rude after she had a chance to fall apart.
Inside her office, she hurried to tuck herself into the dark corner by her fireplace, collapsing onto the floor and yanking off her shoes she cast them across the room, drawing her knees to her chest.
She was very much aware after a few minutes of a tall, swamp giant slipping his long form into the very tiny space she left between the hearth and herself in the corner and he sat there beside her for the longest time in silence.
"Say something," she murmured into her tear slicked knees after a moment.
Dragging his knees to his chest as well, the Cajun soldier frowned at the bookcase opposite them for the longest time, before clearing his throat and opening his mouth. He floundered for a moment, before quirking a brow. "I never knew my Papere very well, he died when I was still pretty young, but I do have one fond memory of him. One day I had heard this thump at our window and I hurried outside and found this tiny little bird had flown into it and as I watched it flopped around on the ground some, then twitched and died. And I picked it up and ran inside my grandfather's garage thinking my Papere could fix it, he seemed to fix everything, but he took it from me and set it on the hood of his '63 Chevy and eased down onto the old wooden chair in his garage and said 'come here, petit boug'. I was crying so hard he had to scoop me up and I remember sitting on his lap, he wasn't as tall as me, kind of a smaller man, but he wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head and said 'Fate, there are some things in the world you can't stop or change, no matter how hard you try, some things are out of our hands'. And then he wiped my tears away with his rough hands and kissed me again on the forehead and said 'just let it go, petit boug, does you no good worrying about things that you can't stop'." He shrugged. "I suppose it's not that comforting, but words alone don't bring comfort, half the reason I got over that tiny, little bird was just being held by my grandfather, he was the strongest man I knew. Only man really in my youth, but he was good role model, I think. I can't offer you better words, no words, really, but I can hold you if you need it. I find sometimes that's the best way to feel safer and more certain in a world where we can't control much."
Grace cleared her throat lightly. "You just want to hold me," she stated with a slightly playful tone.
He beamed at her. "Well, yeah, but…I think you could use it right now and I'm at least good at holding people."
"I'll be the judge of that," she whispered, pushing his knees down so she could crawl into his lap, blushing a little at the intimacy. Maybe it was the fact that because of his arm, he couldn't do up the button up shirt they had given him to wear, so he left it open and she felt a little wicked about touching his bare chest while sitting on his lap.
He easily wrapped his good arm around her waist, dragging her against him without care about the intimacy, pressing kisses to her face with light, quick pecks.
Grace lay heavily against him, worn out from her day, from her tears.
"Need to talk about it?" He whispered.
She shook her head. "Not now."
If she had ever wondered why she decided to enter into a relationship with the soldier, her doubts were quelled when he – thankfully – kept silent for the duration of their stay in her office, his arm offering her more comfort than she had ever found from anything.
Not even God had given her comfort the way he did and she knew then it was why she had abandoned her vows so easily. Not because she was a heretic or a doubter, but because the soldier had been made for her. He understood her better than anyone ever had and she was sure it was God who sent him to her gate.
Maybe God really was in the little things.
Touching a hand to his chest, she pushed away from him a little, enough to peer into his eyes.
"How'd you get loose?"
There was a moment of utter stillness, where the soldier beneath her did nothing but blink, before he flashed a broad, charming grin.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Carol**
All in all she thought she handled things pretty good.
During the tense drive back, Grace quietly shook and sobbed pressed against the passenger door, head turned in the hopes they wouldn't notice.
But she had.
The truth was that Carol was numb to it. She'd seen worse.
When they arrived back at the convent, the first thing she noticed was Daryl and the Lieutenant out of bed, wandering from the church, heading towards the truck.
Stepping out behind Grace, Carol eyed Milton as they removed him from the back of the truck. He wasn't good, but he was still alive, she supposed that was at least something.
The fact they all made it back was some kind of miracle given the amount of walkers they had stumbled into.
She still wasn't sure how it all happened, but she figured it was one of those things that just happened and nothing short of forcing the Woodbury residents under their protection could have stopped it.
Still, the amount of child walkers they had seen, she had burned inside the hatch, was unsettling. It didn't feel right in her gut, but…well she'd seen a child walker and it was worse when it was a familiar face.
Daryl stood before her, his face grim as he took in the sight she must have presented to him.
Inhaling deeply, she quietly gripped his hand and moved off, heading for their shed to get into some decent clothes and not the hacked at habit.
It was only then that she worried that maybe she had hacked it too short in the back. Survival mode had given her no shame, but back home where she was safe, she was suddenly worried her underwear could have been flashing every time she took a step or something.
Taking a glance towards Grace and finding her safe and comfortable with the Lieutenant, Carol kept going, tugging at the shortened hem of her habit worriedly.
Pushing into their shed, she began a mad search for better clothes, knowing full well Daryl was behind her, quiet and calm.
"You alright?" He asked tentatively.
Kneeling before her bag of clothing, she stopped digging through it long enough nod. "Yeah," she said softly.
She could hear his boots on the floor, passing by her, before he squatted down at her side.
"God help me," she whispered. "But I'm glad they're dead." Turning to face him, she struggled to read his face, to gauge his reaction to her admission of suffering no guilt over the annihilation of Woodbury.
He gazed back at her with his hawk-like blue eyes.
"Does that make me a horrible person?" She asked.
"No."
Carol continued searching for clothes, her hands shaking.
"We wouldn't have been able to feed them properly come winter," she went on, explaining herself. "They would have eventually found out about what we did to their men and I think it would have been more of a difficulty for us. But we had to try, didn't we?"
Large, rough hands slipped around hers and Daryl was gently tugging her away from her pack, she didn't even realize she was aimlessly digging through her things until he did that and she saw everything was removed from the bag and she was just moving things around on the floor.
"Hey," he rasped, pulling her against him, "it'll be okay."
She buried her face into the space between his jaw and his collarbone, breathing in the scent of him, wrapping herself in the security of his arms.
"I don't want to grow cold," she confessed softly in a voice that trembled with real fear. "What if I stop caring?" She asked. "What if I become Rick?"
Daryl winced, an expression she had learned meant he was getting uncomfortable with the information he was processing. "Rick isn't cold…he's…he'll be fine."
"What if he's not? He used to be a nice man, Daryl…but lately he's been—"
"Rick's fine," Daryl insisted. "He just needs rest and to maybe step back for a bit. I can't blame him, he lost Lori and he's trying to take care of everyone. We'll take some of his burden and he'll just fine. You won't grow cold, Carol. I don't think you're built like that."
Carol sighed against his flesh. "I'm just tired," she said.
"I know," he replied. "But don't worry, you'll be alright. I won't let you go cold."
The thing Carol loved best about Daryl was when he said something, when he said everything would be fine, she believed him. There was a small part of her that believed he could do anything if he really wanted to.
And that was only one of the things she loved best about him. She needed that assurance, that confidence.
"I love you," she whispered.
Beneath her she felt every muscle in Daryl's body tense and she pulled back from him far enough to study his face and the mask of sheer terror he wore.
..-~-..
..-~-..
**Daryl**
The Cajun was hiding among the camouflage netting in the bell tower when Daryl scurried up and he lazily opened one eye to investigate the threat level of the newcomer, before closing it again.
Eyeing the soldier quietly, before flopping back down among the guns to continue cleaning and repairing them, Daryl glared at his work.
"What are you doing up here?" Daryl snarled.
"Well, it's the safest place for now."
"Grace find out about your wandering hands?"
The Lieutenant chuckled. "Yeah…she's very, very mad. I'm honestly afraid for my life right now. Why are you up here?"
"None of your business, dumb ass," Daryl growled.
After a moment, the Cajun struggled to sit up, eyeing him with a calm, even gaze. "What'd you do, cabri?"
Stabbing the brush inside the barrel, Daryl took his anger out on the gun. "Nothing."
"Naw, you did something. Did you piss your woman off too?"
"No."
Now the Cajun's sharp eyes were narrowing in thought. "You get all cold and detached like you do?"
Daryl shook his head.
"What happened, Daryl?"
Glancing around quickly, Daryl scowled at the setting sun peeking through the trees, before shrugging. "She said she loved me."
"And you didn't say it back?"
"She…startled me with it." Daryl whispered, head down, ears turning red.
"Yeah, they like to do that." The Cajun sighed, scooting a little closer on his ass, dragging his netting nest with him to continue lounging while doling out advice.
"I screwed the pooch, huh?"
Tilting his head, the Lieutenant looked like he was about to argue, but settled for nodding slightly. "You didn't just screw the pooch, cabri, you fucked that dog in the ass without lube."
"Fuck," tossing the brush across the bell tower promenade, Daryl shoved the parts of the gun off his lap and kicked the wall beside him with the side of his foot. It hurt, but it also helped with his urge to punch something and pull his stitches out again.
"Alright, ease up on the ordnance, let's figure this out. You love her, yeah?"
Daryl scowled. "Yeah."
"But you were shocked she admitted that she loved you too, yeah?"
He nodded.
"Alright, so…what you need is a grand romantic gesture."
"I don't think so."
"Sure, yeah. Like I'll be pulling out some Captain Von Trapp moves, because I didn't really watch a lot of romance movies but that one has a nun, so…you'd need Deliverance or something, because of the redneck thing."
"Hey, how'd you like a barrel brush shoved up your ass?" Daryl snarled.
"Pretty sure Ned Beatty would have wanted that treatment after the loving he got."
Daryl eyed the man for the longest time, before frowning. "This conversation got weird, man."
"I blame it on pain. I'm in a lot of it."
After a minute of silence, Daryl asked, "so what do I do?"
The Lieutenant inhaled deeply. "Well, Carol's a sweet woman. I don't think she'd be as mad at you as you'd think. But I do believe if you love her, she has every right to know that. Time is short these days, I think you have to just let her know. Besides," he added, "she had a rough day, what she probably wants more than anything right now is to lie in your arms and get some good sleep in…or you could be in bed with her and not sleep. It's really your choice. Go with the mood."
"Maybe you should listen to your own advice, Fay." Daryl stated, pushing to his feet.
The Cajun carefully got up as well, nodding. "Yeah, maybe I will. She might tear my head from my shoulders, but…she eases the pain."
Oddly enough, Daryl understood completely what the man was saying. Carol did seem to make things better. He wasn't sure if it was the scent or the feel of her, or even the sound of her breathing as she slept at his side, but he did understand what Fay meant.
The Voodoo Dialect
Maman Brigitte - Maman Brigitte (Grann Brigitte, Manman, Manman Brigit, Manman Brijit) is a death loa, the wife of Baron Samedi. She drinks rum infused with hot peppers and is symbolized by a black rooster. It's often insinuated that she can control her husband better than anyone, because he is more afraid of her than anything. Like Baron and the Ghede, she often uses obscenities in her speech. She protects gravestones in cemeteries if they are properly marked with a cross. She has also been known to be associated with fire.
The Cajun Dialect
Petit boug – Tiny bug (it's a Cajun term of endearment often given to boys).
Just going to address the reviews that need it from now on, I get so many lovely people reviewing and you're all special and beautiful, but to save wading, right?
Jodie Kay - I know, I have a huge crush on Andrew Lincoln too. I feel where you're coming from and maybe Mary Elizabeth doesn't have a crush, but is just nervous because he can be kind of intense...I would be. ^_^
shelly2 - Aw, your ego stroking is giving me a bloated head. ^_^ Thank you! I do try to keep them in character, though sometimes I know they step out once in a while for my own amusement...
Brazen Hussy - I'm thinking maybe...Merle does deserve to be rewarded for playing nicely with others.
SilverWolf84 - I don't know if you're aware, but I posted something on tumblr about how Lt. Cat-Toad made my week. So thanks for that. It was delightful!
alien-cats - I agree with everything you said. I also think Carl is just becoming a rebellious teenager, only it's in a much more dangerous world. So instead of throwing fits over not having the latest sneakers and iPhones, he's bitching about other things.
HaloHunter89 - No babies...yet. ^_^ Thanks for the review!
ldyjaydin - Hey! Look at you all caught up! Nice to hear from you again! ^_^