AN: Oh my Lord, are ya'll still with me? It's been over a month since I updated this and I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. I have to dedicate this chapter to ImOrca and Definitelywalkerbait for tirelessly 'encouraging' me to complete this, but also to all those newbie readers who have found this fic and favourited, followed and reviewed. Your enthusiasm keeps it going, and keeps me going! Thank you all. Please take the time to review if you enjoy the chapter. Your comments help embellish the story, forcing me to think even harder about these characters and that is so incredibly instrumental to this fic, I can't even tell you!
Now, read on…
Part Twelve
She's tired of staring out a window at the evidence that life just keeps on walking by out on the street, tired of seeing people without a care in their world as they potter in gardens and gossip on the sidewalk. Carol hears laughter and she flinches, leans further out of her bed to see if she knows any of the faces, even though she knows it's silly. If any of their friends had made it to this place, she knows they'd have been by to see her by now. It doesn't stop her from hoping, though. Or wanting just a sliver of what this dreamlike, fantasy town seems to be offering to its people. Normality—a space where they can forget about walkers and running daily for their lives. Her body still aches and Carol knows if there is one thing she's not up to yet, it's running. The lure of this place reaches out to her, seduces her to the calm, hopeful chance it has given its people, but somehow she knows there is something deeper here, something darker, a menacing secret buried beneath the surface of this happy settlement.
This isn't the place for them, even if she can see that Andrea wants it, too—wants it maybe a little too much. They can see their friend being seduced by the man, by the promises he throws out there like glitter on the wind, and every time he graces them with his company, Andrea's smile grows a little wider. Carol can understand it, but she hopes that she and Michonne are enough to convince Andrea that they must leave, as soon as Carol is up to travelling. There is an undercurrent in this town and neither Michonne nor Carol want to be caught up in it, swept under and drowned in the undertow. They'd prefer to take their chances outside the walls. They want Andrea to start using her head, to remember how they'd each built themselves up over the winter to be different women—women not dependent on men for survival. Women who can hold their own and see the world as it really is without running screaming into the first herd around an unexplored corner.
After four days of being the perfect patient, Carol has had enough. She feels fine, enough to get up out of bed, at least, though she might not be ready to do laps around the town. She hasn't seen Merle since he rejected her offer to leave with them, and she hates that it hurts. She's not quite sure she understands why it does, but thinks it might have something to do with wanting to surround herself with all the people she originally faced this hellish new world with, with wanting a link back to Daryl and their group, with guilt at never having cared when he'd gone missing even though his brother almost died trying to find her little girl. She's still weak enough to hate herself for being a horrible person, though Michonne sharply contradicts her every chance she can. Still, there seems to be a hole that gapes open a little more every day that he keeps his distance. On this fourth day—the day she decides she's leaving her sick bed and going out to feel the sun on her face—she makes another decision. She's not going to let his refusal to join them hurt her. She's not going to ignore it, either. That visceral response she has toward the Governor that keeps her alert and careful, she doesn't feel that with Merle and so beneath it all, she suspects he's a better man than any of them had ever suspected. Better, maybe, than even he suspects. He saved her life, brought her to a doctor—carried her for miles through the woods. He saved her and in that she knows he cares—in some way he's always cared, kept watch over her—and so she owes it to him to try and help save him as well.
Michonne quietly pushes the door open and Carol smiles her relief. Her friend looks a little lost without her katana and she knows that it isn't going to be easy to reclaim their weapons and so they've decided, in the meantime, to make a solid strategy on how to get out of there, and where they might go afterwards. Michonne hasn't discussed any of her plans while Carol has been stuck in this bed, both of them wary of how many ears the walls might have, though she's known for a long while that Michonne wants to head to the coast. Carol isn't so sure that is their best option. Sure, the idea of escaping by boat is an intriguing one, finding an island and becoming Gilligan without the urgent hope of being saved. But then, they have no idea if walkers can cross deep waters, or how many plagues of them can wander in and make the journey for those that follow all the easier. And once they have their own backs to the water, there is no guarantee they'll have the means to go over it, let alone the skill to actually find an island—and if they do, what is the likelihood of it being deserted, or even habitable. No, Carol can see the dream as it manifests in her mind's eye, but the fear of leaving the country she knows and even the woods she is now intimately familiar with is a much stronger motivator to keep travelling, hoping that maybe one day—one day soon—they'll find the rest of her group and be reunited with friends.
If Merle comes with them, maybe he can even be reunited with his brother.
Merle knows they are planning to leave, and he knows that his brother is out there somewhere. A frown settles across her forehead as Carol wonders what it is that is holding him back—why he won't even consider leaving this place. Merle is a smart man—sure, he doesn't offer up many examples for her to easily reach that conclusion, but she's read it in his eyes. They are sharp, compassionate even though he tries to hide it, and she knows he sees a whole lot more than he would ever admit to. She sees demons in his eyes, too, and she figures one of those might be the responsible party for pushing against his chest and making him stay with his feet securely behind this town's walls.
With little fanfare, Michonne helps Carol out of the room where she's been quarantined for the past four days, helps her out of the building and slowly they descend the stairs into the street. She feels the heat from bright sunlight strike her face and she breathes deeply, squinting hard against the unexpected glare, her nose wrinkling at the ever-present hint of decay in the air even though the flourish of nature works hard to push it back.
"You feeling okay?" Michonne doesn't talk a lot, Carol has become used to that over the past months, but when she does her voice rolls through Carol's body like the soft burr of rumbling comfort. It makes her feel safe and protected, even though she is strong enough to recognise her own role in their overall defence all winter long and the months that stretch backward from the moment they ran from the farm, becoming hopelessly lost and separated from their group. She mourns the loss of Lori and Rick, Daryl, Glenn and the others every single day, but the joy she feels in knowing Michonne, in capturing this force of nature into the web of her life, fills Carol with so much warmth and love she sometimes thinks she will burst. Sophia isn't here anymore, and nothing can replace a daughter, but a friend, a real friend that digs down deep and fosters the connection, that is something, she now knows, that comes real close.
"I'm fine," Carol reassures her, her eyes slowly broadening their focus to look beyond their own two feet to watch the people—so many people—wandering about the street doing God only knew what with their day. With their life. For a moment she wonders if they really should stay, try and meld in with these people, try to carve out a life here in safety and ignore the danger they can feel from the leader. Be part of a community. Some of these people try to smile at her, their eyes twitching nervously toward Michonne before scurrying off with renewed enthusiasm for whatever it is they had been doing before Carol walked down those steps.
Michonne nods her acknowledgement, her hand holding Carol's elbow as they move along the sidewalk, Michonne leading them to wherever she and Andrea have been sleeping and passing their time.
"These people are wary of us," Michonne hisses under her breath and Carol takes another quick look at their new surroundings.
"They don't know us," she says sadly, knowing that they never will because as lovely as she's sure they most likely are, this place gives her the heebie-jeebies and she can't wait to be out of there and back on the road. Or a deer path. Wherever they end up heading.
"There is something wrong with this place. I can feel it." Michonne keeps walking, keeps holding her elbow like she's incapable of walking on her own, and for all Carol knows, it could be true. Her knees do feel wobbly, for certain, and her heartbeat is a little faster than normal, and her breath still comes with a side order of painful aftershocks, but she's getting there, and she appreciates the support.
"Me too," she wheezes out, her energy almost spent by the time they reach the building where their room awaits.
"Andrea is waiting upstairs," Michonne reveals and while Carol feels infinitely relieved that Andrea is there for her, not off ingratiating herself amongst this little community, she can't hold back the guttural groan at the thought of having to climb up these stairs. "Maybe you'd like me to go find Merle to help you up them?"
Carol jolts to a dead stop, turns and raises her brow. Michonne smirks at her own dry humour but at Carol's pointed look she bursts into an uncharacteristic laugh and Carol realises she'll put up with all sorts of teasing innuendos—as unwarranted as they are—to see her friend smile.
"Well, he does seem to be a bit of a hero," Carol deadpans but then she places her foot on the first step, takes a deep, aching breath, and starts the ascent. Michonne is right there with her, and before she's halfway, Andrea has thrown the door open and is standing back with a big, welcoming smile on her face.
"About time you dragged your ass out of that bed." Her expression is one of light, of a burden unloaded and Carol almost falters on the stairs as her brain tries to figure out what it means. Michonne's fingers dig into the flesh around her elbow and Carol clamps her lips together tightly, refusing to utter any kind of reaction to the pain. She knows Michonne has been concerned that when they leave, Andrea would decide to stay. Carol is concerned about this too, moreso now that she's seen Andrea in this new environment, and she knows that before she's barely settled in their temporary home and the door has closed behind her, the topic was going to be launched into before Andrea even had a chance to hide.
"Hope there's another one in there with my name on it," Carol huffs, her breath laboured now the closer she is to the top. She stops, takes in a few rasping breaths and tries to ignore the build up of sweat prickling along the pores of her face and dripping down her back. Suddenly she really does wish that Merle had been there to help her up because she's not so sure she can get any farther on her own steam. Her friends seem to realise this, Andrea rushing forward and between her and Michonne, Carol finds herself lifted and shuffled into the apartment, the door kicked shut and her ass settled firmly into the most comfortable chair she's ever sat on. The moan that blows from her throat is a surprise, and after a shocked moment, they all laugh in relief at finally being back together. Safe.
"How much longer do you think you need to get back enough strength to travel?" Michonne is squatting on the floor in front of her and out of the corner of her eye she can see Andrea's happy expression tilt sideways, her arms crossing as she slumps against the wall.
"God, Michonne. She barely made it up the stairs." Andrea's eyes are so blue as the spark of hostility gathers power behind her fear. "Did you ever think that maybe she doesn't even want to leave? There's food here, a warm bed, protection at the wall. Men. We can stay here, try to make a life."
Carol's eyes drop closed and she's trying hard not to cry, to not give into the fragility of her illness, and the weakness that is wheedling its way into her heart. They can't leave without Andrea—it wouldn't be right. It isn't who they are—the kinds of friends who leave each other behind.
"We don't need this place," hissed Michonne, the woman abruptly standing so she could be eye level with the blonde. There was a sneer to her lips, her own impatience more than evident and Carol realised these two had discussed this scenario while she'd be gone, and it looked like it had been an ugly one.
"Andrea, I know this place seems like Heaven after what we've been through, but no matter what the Governor says, we aren't safe here," Carol appeals, her eyes clear though heavy with fatigue.
"We aren't safe out there." Andrea turns abruptly but by the dip of her head Carol knows she's upset, knows better than anyone how tempting it is to forebear one danger in order to escape another.
"You're right," Carol agrees, knowing it and hating it with everything she is. She's never lied to either of these women and there's no point sugar-coating it now, but the longer she's in this town the more the apprehension crawls across her skin. "We aren't safe out there, but at least we know our enemy. There's something about this place, about that man…I just…" She struggles to find the words, fearful of alienating her friend, terrified of losing her forever if she doesn't see that Carol is trying to help save them, just like she's done all these long months. Just like she did, dragging herself out of that bed to stop those men from raping and killing them.
Her eyes shoot to Michonne's, finally getting it. Finally understanding Andrea's need to feel safe and guarded. She takes a deep breath, gearing up to face something she'd mostly blocked out while she'd been convalescing away from them, and felt so disappointed in herself that she hadn't been there when Andrea most needed her.
"Oh, honey." There's tears in her eyes but when Andrea turns around there is a river flowing down her face, her body finally giving in to the shuddering sobs that she should have released a week ago.
"I can't go back out there. Those men…they were animals. They wanted to destroy us." Andrea's voice is rough, emotion rubbing it raw. Carol flinches, knows what it's like to fear rape, knows what it's like to be assaulted repeatedly by a man who vowed to love and cherish. She thinks being treated so brutally by a stranger must be a hundred times worse.
"There are some here just as bad." In contrast, there is no give in Michonne's bald statement, her tone harsh and not terribly forgiving. At first Carol thinks she has no sympathy, no empathy, her lips set in a hard line, but when Carol searches her eyes, she knows she's wrong and Michonne feels clearly the pain that Andrea does. They've all been brutalised—some before this war and some after—but the experience has left them all less than steady. Strong yet weak at the same time.
Andrea blinks, tears seeking the seam of her mouth as she gasps. "What did you say?"
"While you've been talking and playing nice to all these…people…I've watched. Some of the women hate these men. Some of them are afraid." Michonne stands tall, convincing and Carol feels her heart start to pound with a terror she can't explain.
"Merle?"
The sternness melts from Michonne's face as she turns to her, dropping to a crouch and takes one of Carol's hands and rubs it soothingly between hers. "No. Well, there's one that stares at him and it looks like she hates him, but I see such longing as well. He ignores her as much as I can tell."
His mysterious persona intensifies and Carol can't quite understand how she feels. She's doused in cold shock that there's someone after him—moreso that he's not seizing the day. It's not what she remembers from Daryl's tales of his pussy-obsessed older brother, the crudeness making her cheeks burn. She needs him to come with them, but she needs to know him more, as well. Needs to know she can trust her instincts, trust him, before she can fight to make him see the benefits in leaving this place—leaving the Governor's protection. Does he only care about surviving? Is that why he stays? She's never seen loyalty like Daryl's toward his brother. From the beginning she'd have claimed it was mutual, but with Merle so determined to stay, now she isn't sure. Suddenly she doesn't feel sure of anything at all.
"What if I do come with you?" Andrea sounds so close to breaking and Carol hates that they are trying to pressure her like this.
"We will always have your back." Michonne's answers bleeds with sincerity, her word strong and convincing.
"There's no guarantee that what happened won't happen again," Carol confesses sickly, but as much as she hates manipulating anyone, she won't be able to live with herself if Andrea stays here and something happens to her. "Don't let that man seduce you into staying. Please, Andrea. Just think about it."
Her lips crack open, like she's about to say something, but then she shakes her head and with it the words are tossed away to a place Carol will never hear. Andrea weakly nods, defeated, then she stares at the floor and leaves the room, shutting a door and herself off from them for now.
Michonne stands still, contemplating her disappeared form, her body no longer held quite as stolid as before. As graceful as a gazelle, she sinks to the floor and drapes her arms over her knees, her back straight against the wall. Carol imagines leaping across tall buildings with a single jump, catching bullets between her fingers and flying through the air to save everyone she loves as soon as she sees how Michonne's eyes burn with fiery intensity and fear. She can't do it, though. As urgent as her recovery is, as much as she wants to take her things, regain her weapons and leave this place far behind them, she can't whip out a miracle. She isn't a superhero. She's just an ordinary woman with a middle-aged body that will heal in its own time and fail her if pushed.
"How long?"
Carol's stomach sinks, knows her answer is the only one she can give and knows that Michonne understands as well as her that it isn't fast enough.
"Too long."