Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This scenario is based vaguely off the end of 6x08 where we last see Denise and Alpha-wolf walking out of the door of the house and into the street. – Part three of my "WOLVES NOT FAR," series. Sequel to "Salt of the earth (type of dangerous)" & "Sow thy seeds (and learn thy lessons)."
Warnings: Spoilers for 6x08, kidnapping/hostage situation, Alpha-wolf is not a good person, Denise is a puff pastry of goodness. I think you guys know how this type of stuff works out, animal death, canon appropriate violence.
Have Patience (and embrace the horizon bleeding your future)
Chapter Two
"How did you become Alpha?" she asked the next morning. Wearing one of Aphid's old coats zippered up to the collar as she washed her clothes - the same ones she'd left Alexandria in - in a kettle over the fire. It only came down to mid-thigh, flirting with the pale lily of her skin, blue-veined and delicately beautiful – in an abstract way - every time she moved. Promising the chance of a better look whenever she leaned down, tugging at the edges self-consciously.
He didn't let himself linger.
Refusing to look after that long first glance.
He had work to do.
"I was initiated," he returned with a grunt, inspecting the individual parts of one of the guns he'd taken from her friends before they'd escaped. Teaching himself how to clean each one and put them back together as she watched with the kind of interest only extreme boredom could inspire.
Personally he was less than impressed.
He didn't like guns.
Something about them made his shoulders tense.
Forcing off-kilter colors to shudder and twist inside his head.
He didn't understand it. But he had accepted it. Facing his discomfort a dozen times over when he'd carried the old Alpha's gun with him when he and Beta went hunting. He enjoyed the symbolism more when the bullets ran out. Intrigued in spite of himself when people stilled and sweated with fear at the sight of it. Laughing silently to himself when he considered how misguided that fear truly was. They'd always been more afraid of where the gun was pointing than the person behind it. And of course, every time it had proven to be a rather damning mistake. Even with those that should have known better.
"How were you initiated?" she pressed, shifting from one foot to another. Creamy calves bare from the knee down as the shredded hem of the trench flared and teased around pale skin.
He tore his eyes away reluctantly when her naked toes curled into the mossy green. Thinking about ancient gods and the itch he still felt in his fingers for the scythe he'd sunk into the wall during his fight with Morgan. It had been his favorite. Someday he would reclaim it. When she was ready to reap and kill at his side, perhaps.
"How does any animal rise to power over another?" he answered, watching her. Seeing the moment for what it could be – another lesson to be taught – rather than what it felt like. Like sharp knives threatening to spear inside a locked cage. Like things that made him want to pace, restless. "I killed him."
She swallowed hard but didn't look away. Throat the same pretty-pale as the rest of her as the dip fluttered – delicately vulnerable. Demanding an audience, just like any work of art playing out on stage. Making him remember why people used the word beautiful for imperfect, temporary things.
That night he dreamt of sirens. Hearing their canned, synthetic wail as a pale, blood-slick hand fell lax against the small of his chest. Feeling more than hearing the ghost of its owner's last words hazing across his aching skin before static of dead space swallowed them whole.
It wasn't the first time.
He jolted awake with his knife buried to the hilt in the soft, earthy soil of the den's ceiling. Heart racing as he panted himself awake. Tasting the grit of dirt between his teeth and the jagged echo of broken bones as he flinched into himself. Body on point for a threat that wasn't there as he blinked away the blur of flashing lights and the sensation of soft, sweet smelling hair crushing between his fingers.
There was no one here.
It was just a dream.
He was safe.
They were safe.
His head fell back into the blankets with a plushy thud. Turning slightly to take in her sleeping form and the fettered moonlight glowing at the entrance of the den before he forced his breathing to slow. Bringing himself back under control as the night terror faded, just like it always did.
It only ever happened in his sleep.
The previous Alpha told him there'd been an accident.
That he'd survived.
That he alone had been strong.
Worthy.
He'd taken comfort in that. Letting it define him. But sometimes, like now, half-drowned in darkness and flashes of things that had come before. Piecemeal and translucent-thin - like pulverized bits of leaves dissolving back into the earth - he couldn't help but worry aimlessly at the scraps.
It was the only time he allowed himself the indulgence.
If he'd been less distracted he might have noticed the skip in her breathing and the gleam of her glasses reflecting the moonlight on the other side of the den. Watching him negotiate with his demons as a new expression – assessing and keen – took up residence. Lasting long after sleep rolled back to claim him.
Luckily for them both, he didn't.
Authors Note #2: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Big thank you to gunslingerdixon for the dialogue. – There will be one more chapter, to this part of the series so stay tuned.