AN: Apparently I need to go out and buy a Skylander's Giant for one of my obsessed kids, and as I've been struggling with this, I thought I would post it and hope it makes me feel better I will reply to reviews when I get home, because let's face it, you guys make me smile and give me more confidence in this fic than anything else.
Part Ten
"Keep your eyes in your fuckin' head, you whore." The imprint of Ed's palm stings her cheek, and yet it's nothing as his fist just glances off her right eye. He's drunk, and mad, and Carol wonders why she's still afraid when it's such a common thing for him to take out his frustrations on her. She's not really, not for herself anyway. It's fear for Sophia and what he might choose to do to her once he gets sick of how used to his abuse Carol's body is.
His hand fists the front of her shirt and he yanks her to her feet before landing a punch into the softness of her stomach and she's back on her knees, gasping for breath and trying desperately to hold back the tears. It's an act of defiance that she wishes she could kick her own ass for, because she's learned so thoroughly by now that Ed only ever stops once he sees her tears. Breaking her is what the end goal has always been, and every time the water flows, he knows he's won and she'll go to bed whimpering like a shattered baby. It makes him feel big, bad, but Carol knows he's those things without shedding a single drop. Now that they are surrounded by all these…people…she refuses to allow herself to be so pathetic. She refuses to let anyone else see how much he hurts her, and how weak she is to allow it.
She's barely conscious when he suddenly stops, every move jarring her into searing, splintering pain. There's a loud groan and it sounds so much like Ed that Carol tries harder to see what is happening, but all she makes out through blurred vision is the bulk of a man bending over who she assumes is Ed as he kicks her husband in the balls. Then her tears flow and she's trying to hold in a giggle. At least he's not going to try and do anything else to her tonight.
She startles when someone picks her up, carrying her slowly, gently, back to her tent. Whoever it is tucks her in, puts a cold, wet cloth against her eye and pats her good cheek softly.
His knee cracks as he stands up away from her and she hears the flap of the tent swishing against the fabric as he holds it open.
"You want me to put a bullet between that sack of shit's eyes, you just say the word, darlin'. 'An keep that little girl away from 'im. He's lookin' at her like no daddy should."
The news passed through her with a shudder of revulsion, forcing her to open her eyes and acknowledge the truth.
"I know," she gasps out, hating herself even more because she'd thought she was dealing with it, keeping Sophia away from him, taking his fists and his dick and anything else he wants to throw at her to keep him away from her baby. "I don't know what to do."
He drops the flap and crouches beside her, giving her a perfect view of cargo pants and heavy, worn boots. She tries to look up, tries to calm the thumping in her head that shades his voice a little too much for her to work out who it is.
"Protect her till I get back from Atlanta. When I get back, the fucker'll be nothin' more than history."
His thumb rubs against her bottom lip and she sucks in a gasp, not sure how she feels about someone touching her, even though that thumb leaves a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach.
"I will," she says against his thumb, raising her hand with muscles that seem to be consumed with agony. Her fingers settle softly around his wrist and encounter a leather band. She frowns, the message so unclear and her lids falling heavily across her eyes before she can force anything to make any sense. It doesn't really matter. She's not going to push away the first person who has done anything to protect her in twenty years. "Thank you."
"Merle."
Carol wakes up fast, the memory from the quarry camp so sharp and fresh in her head that she winces and flinches in panic. It takes a minute or two to realise that Ed is dead, and that her mystery saviour that night had been Merle. She feels stupid for not realising it at the time, though to be fair she had suffered a beating at the hands of her husband and her brain was used to shutting down to protect herself. Ed's death had been final so soon after Merle's promise that she'd not even had the time to think back then on why whoever had saved her hadn't delivered, but obviously now she knows it's because he never came back. No, he wasn't brought back, left on that roof because he'd behaved so contradictory to the way he'd treated her that night. Her stomach is tied up in knots now just thinking about it, and feeling ashamed that she'd allowed that man to take care of her and she'd not once cared about his welfare once he'd gone. And now, again, her last memory is of Merle cradling her in his arms as he carried her to safety.
At least, she assumes she's somewhere safe.
There is a quiet rustling at her side and even though her whole body aches, Carol turns toward it, breaking through her lack of energy to smile at Michonne as her friend sits in a chair nodding off and listing to the side against the bed. Something touches her foot, then, and when she looks up, Merle is looking at her with his finger across his lips, warning her to be quiet. She smiles at him, too, because she just can't help it. She reaches out her hand to him, surprised when he takes it. Lifting it to her lips, she bestows a quick kiss to his knuckles, lacing their fingers together as her lids grow heavy once again. She mouths 'thank you' to him, hoping he understands she means it for what he'd done for her before as well as for now, and before anyone can say or do anything else, she's asleep again.
It's the anger that wakes her the next time, and the bone jarring chill in the air. Carol sucks in a deep breath, wincing at how it is a squeezing pain in her chest before she lets it go. As soon as her breath dissipates in the air, the voices stop and she can feel their eyes on her, digging under her skin to see what secrets she's hiding and she's immediately on edge. She doesn't know who holds the anger, but it's there, humming under the air and infiltrating her head. She's sensitive to anger, having lived with it daily for the last twenty years of her life, and this one that circles around her makes her just as jumpy as Ed always did.
Her first sight of him is a shock. No matter that she's in a bright room, fully functional, sunshine belting in the windows and splashing across her figure as she lounges around in her bed, she's not expected to see other people. Only Merle, and now that she can't see him, knows without even looking that he's not even in the room, she falls hard into panic.
There is something about him that makes her skin crawl. He approaches her bed casually, over confident and right away she knows he's the leader of this place. The one she should be grateful to for bringing her back—if she's back. There is an IV in her vein, giving her fluids and antibiotics, she assumes, because despite the pain and the way she just feels god awful, she knows that there is something working hard inside to heal her.
"It's good to see you're back with us," he says, holding his hand out and if there is one thing Carol knows it's that she doesn't want to touch him. There is an undercurrent of something very dark here, despite his easy-going grin, his rugged good looks, his apparent friendliness. Carol smiles carefully, barely able to lift her hand up to shake his, thinking back to when she woke before and it was Merle who she'd held on to, and even through all the rumours and judgements her former group had expounded about him, she still felt a whole lot more comfortable with her hand clasped in his than she does this new man. "How are you feelin'?"
She sees concern in his eyes, but the expression of it falls on her like an engorged storm cloud. The sensation that she's suffocating is suddenly overwhelming and she coughs, snatching her hand back from him so she can cover her mouth as her body vibrates with the aftershocks.
"Like someone body slammed me while I was knockin' on Heaven's door."
He chuckles and Carol notices straight away that his interest in her perks up his earlier dutiful behaviour. An icy prick of foreboding trickles its way up her spine and Carol shudders.
"You're a Dylan fan?" He sits on her bed, his hip brushing against hers as his hand settles a little too high up on her thigh.
"My mother," she admits huskily, feeling sick that she's given him some kind of opening she doesn't understand and that her voice makes her sound almost sexy despite her throat being raw from constant coughing. "She played it almost every minute of my life when I lived at home." She emphasises her condition with another burst of hacking coughs, taking a bit of pleasure as he seems to jump off the bed away from her.
"Carol is more of a pop fan, though, aren't you?" Michonne pushes her way between them and Carol sinks back into the bed's softness, relieved. Her friend grasps her hand and squeezes tight.
"Absolutely," Carol says, thinking fast. "Michael Jackson, Billy Idol. Nearly gave my mom a heart attack."
She actually prefers it when his eyes narrow and he takes a step back, reassessing her and finding her not quite what he'd first assumed. Michonne is almost crushing her hand, her dark eyes unwavering as she stares at this man. He in turn watches them both carefully and it turns into an uneasy silence that Carol senses might never be broken until Andrea steps up, putting a comforting arm around Carol's shoulders.
"Carol, this is the Governor. He is the leader of this town."
Carol starts to sit, surprised so much she pushes against every muscle that screams at her that she just doesn't have enough energy in her system to do what she wants to do.
"Town?"
"Forgive me for being so rude," he says, stepping forward into her space again and the slick, oiliness of his manner oozes over her, settling across her skin, in her belly until she tips over into something dirty, something wild and she feels queasy. "You're in Woodbury."
"And people call you the Governor?" She arches a brow, slightly bemused that he can't see how his arrogance is a turn off.
"They do," he admits, that charming, little boy smile attempting to whittle its way under her skin, but she's far from fooled.
"And you're all right with that?" There's an implicit suggestion of disdain in her voice, and only after she's said the words does she wish she could suck them back inside, suddenly fearful that showing this man any sense of distrust would never work in her favour, that there might be repurcussions that could get them hurt.
He simply shrugged, choosing to ignore the challenge. "It makes things simpler."
"I can see how it would," Carol agrees, if only to him, because if there is one thing she does get its that this man is anything but simple. Anything but straight-forward.
Merle has taken them from the frying pan and dumped them straight into the fire, she feels the truth of it as it squirms around in her gut, icy fingers pinching her insides viciously. Why has he done that to them? To her?
The Governor nods his acknowledgement and dismissal and Carol knows enough, even though her strength is lagging, to not push it further. To not challenge this man, especially while she is so weak. She may have taken down two violent men intent on doing her friends harm, but she's sure with this man she will need every bit of her wits about her.
"Anyway, you gave your friends quite a scare," he informs her, almost chastising her like she's been sick and dying on purpose just to make her friends feel guilty.
"Wasn't my intention," she concedes around another fit of chest-aching coughs, but now she's tired and her brain hurts from trying to stay ahead of this meeting, and her fingers are numb from Michonne's violent grasp. It's so cold and she shivers involuntarily.
"I'll leave you to get some rest. When you're feeling better we can talk about getting you up and about." He shoots that insincere smile her way and turns to take his leave but before he reaches the door, Michonne has stomped forward, her face screwed up with anger.
"We want our weapons."
Oh no. She hadn't realised they'd had their weapons removed, and Carol feels naked and vulnerable in a heartbeat. She understands the fierce expression on Michonne's face, can't understand why Andrea is standing off to the side being diplomatic and friendly, placating Michonne and gently laughing with the Governor that everything is fine. Carol's stomach roils, her skin sweats, and she remembers those men and how much they'd planned to hurt them.
And can't quite banish the image in her head that this man, a man who hides behind a title and doesn't share his real name, is planning to do them the same.