Journey to You

Chapter Seven

The Stubborn Man

Sorry for the long wait. Even though I have chapters prepared for this story I hit a really bad writer's block with all my other stories and I kind of just put all of this off until I got over that hurdle. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around and waited!

"And in our travels,

we found our roads.

You held it like a mirror

Showing me the life I chose."

-Dear Fellow Traveller by Sea Wolf

The fever lost its grip on Calla, allowing her to breathe, to think, and with the newfound freedom it allowed her to worry. It prickled at the back of her mind, keeping her on guard, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. She missed the layer of grime on her skin, her only assurance that the sick would ignore her, but the female doctor of the community had helped her wash up when she had been so out of it that simply eating by herself hadn't been an option. Calla understood it hadn't been helping her health, but she felt too clean, knowing she would have to fight her way out if the sick suddenly appeared and took down the town

Paranoia had its talons dug deep into her mind.

"You look like an entirely new woman," the doctor had complimented, a smile on her face, as she helped Calla back into the bed at the makeshift medical space. "Such a gorgeous face shouldn't be hidden by all that dirt and blood."

Calla felt entirely the opposite as the sudden rush of new fear overtook her racing thoughts. That had been a deterrent toward people as well.

She shouldn't have felt so uneasy being surrounded by people. They had been nothing but nice, showing how much they wished to help one another, and Calla hadn't been the first to be brought in. She wished she could tell that to her frantic mind. Her heartbeat hadn't settled since her first night truly awake. Her pulse kept pounding away in her veins. A mantra had started up inside her head.

'Got to get out. Woods safe. Got to get out."

Calla hadn't caught a single glance of Philip; the doctor had let slip they called him Governor here and wasn't that a strange name for a man. She wasn't sure how she felt about this new piece of information. It was a title, not a nickname you gave to someone. Was he simply not called by Philip here? What did that say about those who lived here? What did it say about him?

Martinez hadn't been in to see her since that first day after she had arrived. The doctor had told her he brought them clean clothes, for her, and Maverick, and their portion of food for the week. Calla had been assured that soon an apartment would be set up for her, and her son.

No one seemed to catch onto her inner turmoil as Calla fought with the demons inside her head as she tried reaffirming to herself that this place was safe and that nothing bad would happen because of the choice she had made. They hadn't seen her struggle. The way her fingers would bounce with anxiety as she was forced to stay in that bed for several days after she had felt she had recovered. Her thoughts were private, and she wouldn't allow these strangers to see this side of her, as she quietly filed away any new knowledge that was sent her way.

Would they stay?

Or would Calla disappear the first chance she got?

She struggled with the decision as she watched Maverick play with toys, a smile on his face, as one of the ladies working at the clinic smiled, and cooed over how cute he was, constantly doting on him with some new treat, or object.

Calla felt the softness of the blanket as she ran her fingers over it. It was clean. It smelled of soap and sunshine.

They had been by themselves out there, in the wild, for so long, that Calla wasn't certain what instincts were right, and what had been built out of necessity.

Survival and living were two separate things.

What part was fear conjured by that feral, desperate, portion of her that had kept her alive in that isolation, of day, after day, of living among the dead, and what part was instinct from who she was before? The Calla that had been human, and not other.

What she had been doing was surviving. Just making it to the next day without getting attacked by the sick, or starving. Woodbury offered more than that. It offered sanctuary, and safety.

Would Calla really allow her paranoia to keep Maverick from something that could be exactly what they needed?

She didn't have an answer for that.

Instead, one morning, she found herself waking up, being directed to change into a set of clothes that were now hers and to ready Maverick. Not understanding what was going on, Calla did as directed, carefully keeping watch, as she searched for anything that would cause her to grab Maverick and run, but the shoe never dropped, nothing ever felt off. Her racing pulse never calmed, but Calla had learned to live with the fluttering of her heart, as it threatened to beat out of her chest. One day it would be pushed into exhaustion, Calla knew this, knew that it wasn't safe to constantly live in a panicked state such as this. It didn't calm when a familiar face stepped into the makeshift room, pulling back the curtain, as he smiled in a greeting.

"It's good to see you in better health," Philip acknowledged them. She would never call him by that title of his. That had been decided the moment the doctor had let it slip. "I thought you two had moved on. It looks like it's a good thing you haven't. That fever, when you arrived, was rising to deadly levels."

"Thank you for taking us in." Calla decided to be nicer, for now, as no one had given her bat back, and it was yet another thing that left her feeling exposed. Her fingers spasmed searching for the familiar wood that rarely ever left her grip.

He blinked, gazing at her in curiosity, having expected a different answer, or no words at all, not this politeness.

"But I'd like to leave as soon as possible. It's not needed to be given an apartment."

There it was. A smile, brighter than the courteous one from before, took over his facial expression, as he chuckled. He truly looked amused. He found her fascinating. She couldn't be pinned down, nothing Calla ever did was expected, and he liked how he was forced to stay on his toes, waiting for what she would do next before he could play on.

A frown tugged at Calla's lips as she listened to him. She wasn't sure how to feel about this man standing in front of her. He had been nothing but polite, and kind to them, but Calla was weary of trusting him.

"That's what I was expecting," he said, noticing the way she had stiffened. "For a second I thought you were going to just accept my help."

"Since you understand-."

He held up his hand, cutting her off, as a serious, stern, expression wiped the smile that had been covering his face. He reached up to rub his chin as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Before you finish that sentence darling, I'm gonna have to cut in and tell you that you're not going anywhere for at least a few weeks. The doc explained to me what your condition is. If I let you run off back out there you wouldn't make it very long before you'd wind back up seeking us out or getting overrun by the biters. I didn't use precious resources on you just so you could run off and waste our efforts."

Calla felt her hackles rise. The sudden urge to bite back, to lash out with her words, and flee with Maverick heightened, rising up in a tidal wave of fury before it was batted away before she could even begin.

"I can see it in your eyes. You're thinking about fighting me over this, but I can't, in good faith, allow you to step foot outside those gates until you're back to full health. Especially, now that I see you really do have a son. You're weak, Calla." He spoke bluntly, not slowing down so that she could take it all in, as he rushed on, damning her with every word. "You're malnourished, barely holding on when you walked up to my gates. Your body can't keep up like this much longer before it's going to collapse out from underneath you and quit working. That fever, the sickness that hit you, it was just a warning. You need help, somewhere safe to stay and recuperate. Quit being stubborn and take this helping hand. You'll get that boy, and yourself, killed if you keep this up."

He had lowered his voice, down to a whisper, as the last sentence left his lips. He hadn't wanted the boy to hear him. Calla couldn't help the way her legs shook, they had started growing weak, the longer she stood there. It spoke of how true his words were.

Tears built in her eyes. They frustrated her, but Calla knew, she knew how what he said was the truth, could fill it in her body, the way it refused to keep going, and how it rebelled against her. Even now, there was a slight tremor in her hands, as the doc hadn't allowed her to eat full solids, or too much at one time.

Calla had been in a state of dying, her body giving up, as the weeks of eating too little, and walking too much, caught up to her. The only reason Maverick wasn't in a similar state was that she had allowed herself to get this bad.

Angrily, knowing he had won, and that she wouldn't go anywhere until she was better, Calla rubbed harshly at her face, willing the tears to disappear, until they were alone. She didn't want to show this man in front of her any more weakness. He couldn't see her like that. There would be nothing for him to exploit if there ever was a time that he proved himself to be that type of person.

"Where will we be staying?" Her voice was quiet, not defeated, but tired.

That sternness in his gaze softened, and a flicker of that smile from before, the charming side of him, and not the leader, peeked through. Calla found this side of him frustrating, and annoying, but she didn't quite like the bossy leader side of him either. She wasn't certain where this man fell on her list, somewhere between stranger, and do not trust, she suspected. Martinez was past being a stranger, but he hadn't quite made it to an acquaintance, or trustworthy. Simply, he was someone she could reluctantly agree would have her back if they were placed in a situation that called for it, but that didn't mean she would lower her guard around him.

She'd always be watching for the moment when her life meant less than their own.

That's what went through her mind as she listened to Philip telling her about the apartment, how it would give her, and Maverick their own room, not that Calla would feel safe enough to separate them, but she didn't tell this man that.

They stopped in front of a door, the building a little run down, but in far better shape than some of the places she had seen over the last year.

He handed her a key, motioning for her to unlock it, and open the door, and so, Calla did.

The place was small, opening immediately into a living room, with a small kitchen off to the side. Beyond was a hallway that Calla suspected would lead them to the bedroom, and bathroom.

It was furnished, probably with whatever the previous occupants had in it before the sick began to walk, but Calla hardly cared. They weren't here anymore. Probably hadn't been for quite some time, and it would work for them until they left.

She turned toward Philip, who had followed them into the apartment, glancing around, as he politely let them take it all in without talking.

Philip wasn't her friend.

She didn't treat him like one as bone-deep tiredness washed over her, and all Calla wanted was to be left alone. Where she could give in to the temptation of crying without the searching face of someone she didn't trust. The urge to bury herself in a blanket, surrounded by warmth, and comfort, that hadn't been afforded to her in so long, was strong.

"I'd like to be left alone now."

He didn't look offended, only giving her an expectant nod of his head, as if he knew she would do this. With how their past interactions had gone Calla didn't doubt it. Polite was something she had long since stopped being.

You didn't survive by being polite.

"I'll let you settle in. Get some rest. I'll send Martinez over tomorrow to check in with the two of you." His eyes drifted down toward Maverick, waving slightly at him, making the shy child give a small one back.

"That won't be needed."

"Gotta make sure you didn't kill over in the middle of the night." He dipped his head at her, that infuriating smile back on his face before he was turning to leave, and the door shut, leaving the mother/son duo alone.

· ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── ·

True to his word, the next day, after Calla had a good cry, allowing herself to properly mourn, in the safety that the apartment gave to her, Martinez knocked, bright, and early on her door.

She was already up, rising with the sun, after a particularly harsh night of sleeping, nightmares, and untrust, keeping her from completely settling into the action. Maverick had laid at her side, hardly showing the same issues his mother was, as he slept peacefully next to her, used to the sudden jolting awake that Calla had fallen into, and learning to ignore it. Calla had left him on the bed, searching the new apartment, learning the layout, and what had been afforded to them.

All of it seemingly free, and just thrust upon them, caused Calla more unease. Nothing had been asked in return, but Calla knew that once she was strong enough, she'd be finding a way to earn her keep.

Martinez had thought it funny, how willing, and eager she was to be given a task. He didn't understand her thought process. How she would constantly be wondering what would be asked of her if she didn't find a way to pay it back. He had tried to ease her mind, telling her that all newbies were given this experience and that eventually they were given some job within the community, whatever fit them best, and helped make them stronger. If Phillip had thought having Martinez visit would put her at ease, he had been wrong.

Working up her strength, and sticking to the doctor's meal plan, Calla could feel some of it come back a week into their stay at Woodbury. It still wasn't where it needed to be. She found herself tiring easily, but she fought against her instinct to rush her progress, of trying to find a way to fast track, knowing it would get her nowhere. Only taking it slow, to go at the rate her body needed her to, would get Calla back to where she felt comfortable, and allow them to leave if she chose that option.

It was part way through the next week before Phillip graced her with his presence again. She had started to believe he had forgotten about her, allowing Martinez to take over watching over her, and Calla had grown happy, and comfortable with that line of thought. Except, as she opened the door of her apartment, she found herself to be wrong, when that irritatingly charming smile greeted her on the other side.

For half a second, she considered closing it again in his face.

His smile widened as he caught her line of thought, pushing forward, as he greeted her, effectively cutting off what she had been on the verge of doing.

"Good morning, Calla," he greeted. "Maverick, have you and your momma eaten?" Calla frowned as he directed the question at the boy. Before she could speak up Maverick was shaking his head. That only widened the man's smile.

"We haven't gotten that far." The frown tugged at her lips as she spoke. She began to fidget, her finger rolling her wedding band around her finger, as she watched the man in front of her turn, motioning for them to follow.

"I've assigned you a job to do while you're here. We can talk about it while we get breakfast." Calla opened her mouth, to rebut him, to tell him no, but Maverick was already jumping to his feet, excited at the prospect of getting to leave these walls, as they hadn't left since the day they were placed inside. Not because they had been told they couldn't, but because Calla's distrust, and anxiety, kept her from wanting to mingle with those outside.

"Mama, we get to leave? We go eat?"

Fear clutched at her throat, refusing to allow words to escape, keeping her from denying what Phillip had said, as Maverick took it as a yes. He darted forward, trying, and failing to put his shoes on. Calla was worrying her lip, the taste of copper tinting her tongue, as she bit down harder. She bent down, giving in, far too tired to properly fight, as she helped slip his tiny feet into his tiny shoes. Philip waited patiently at the door, watching the small family, until Calla turned, rising, Maverick in her arms, and silently asking where they were going.

She was surprised, but not entirely, as he led them down the hallway of the building, up a flight of stairs, to a door she had never seen before, except for the fact that it looked just like her own. It had quickly become clear that this was where Philip lived, he had brought them to his apartment, which was in the same building as her own, to eat breakfast.

"I don't think we can accept it," she had said, firmly putting her foot down, as she lingered in his opened door. She didn't bother to glance around in curiosity, not wishing to get to know this man, nor his personal space.

"'Course you can," Phillip shrugged, moving to the side, where his kitchen was. "I'm offering to make both of you breakfast while we talk about your job."

"I won't really be here long enough for a job."

Hadn't it just been a week ago that she had been adamant about earning her keep, telling Martinez just how she felt, and expected from her time here? It was simply the fact that Philip himself was giving her one, in such an intimate, personal, setting that was throwing her off, and forcing her rougher exterior to come out.

She still hadn't made a move to enter the apartment, even as he began to mix up powdered eggs, and was no longer really listening to her.

"You'll be here long enough to figure out if you really want to leave, and in the meantime, you need something to keep you busy and earn your place, that's not too strenuous. I remember what the doctor said."

He kept his back turned toward them, a silent declaration of trust, telling her that he didn't find her dangerous, look at me, I'm giving you the opportunity to harm me, but I know you won't. It caused something to bristle inside of her, poking at the human part of Calla, as she bit harder against her lip, knowing it had begun to split under the force, but finding the anxious action hard to stop. She took a step forward, feeling awkward, and uncomfortable, wondering what the old Calla would do if it had been her placed in this situation.

She would have never been rude.

Old Calla would have smiled, offering to help, as she asked about the job, wondering what she could do to help, to become a part of the community, instead of living on the edge. Old Calla, and new Calla, were two very different people. Sometimes, she hardly recognized herself. These circumstances would have come about differently, and she doubted she would have been alone inside this man's apartment, with only Maverick to keep the two of them company. Daryl would have been here as well. He would have made sure he could trust this man before allowing his wife to be around him in such a way.

Daryl wasn't here.

It was just Calla.

She needed to make these decisions for herself, and continuing to place a wall between her and Philip would not help decide whether or not he could be trusted. It made it harder. Caused her to fight against everything as she couldn't be sure about anything.

Taking another step, Calla allowed the door to swing shut behind her as she walked toward the small dining table, big enough to hold a small family, but not big enough for a party with guests. She took everything in as she strode forward, placing Maverick calmly in a chair, knowing she would make sure Philip had no choice but to sit next to her, and as far as she could make him from her son. Instinct told her to be careful, to protect her son. Calla was a weapon, she had turned herself into one, and even now, in a weakened state, she would make sure to protect the one she loved.

Shifting, still standing, not feeling comfortable sitting down while Philip was still standing, preparing their food, Calla struggled with what to say or do. It had been far too long since her last opportunity to make small talk, of having talked to anyone that wasn't trying to harm her in some way, and she felt out of her depth. Completely tossed out to sea, far away from the comfort of land, and peace of mind.

"This job?" she asked, turning to watch him, carefully, as he finished with the eggs. No, with the omelets. "What is it?"

"As I said," Philip continued, his face set in a stern line of concentration, as he flipped the egg, plum full of canned meat, and wild mushrooms. Her mouth watered at the sight. If she closed her eyes, it almost felt as if she had been placed into the past, about to have breakfast, food that she remembered, and missed, where stomachs were always full, and the sound of a rumbling stomach was only caused by forgetfulness. His voice pulled her from her fantasy, as he smiled blindly in accomplishment, as he readied their plates. Whatever peace Calla had managed to find in that single moment broke and the frown he was used to seeing still covered her face. "It's not hard. Doesn't require a whole lot of work from you, but I'm in need of an assistant, and you'll do perfectly."

That frown tugged harsher at her, as Calla wondered what in the hell, he would need an assistant for, and why he wouldn't choose from someone he already knew, and trusted.

Philip walked over toward her moving to place the plates of food in front of them, only hesitating as she moved his, away from her son, and on the opposite side of herself. The smile didn't fade from his face at the subtle change, the clearly unspoken words of distrust, as he easily slid into the seat next to her instead.

"Why would you give me a job like that?" She spoke her thoughts, not bothering to hide how she felt, or that she viewed it as stupid. "Shouldn't that go to someone whom you trust? Not a complete stranger who's only ever been rude to you." She was questioning his logic and sanity. Maybe she wasn't the only one who had a few screws loose in their head.

"The job isn't that important," he said with a chuckle, not offended at all by her words, and only feeling amusement. He lifted his fork to his lips, took a bite, and pointedly reminded her to eat as well. Maverick hadn't even hesitated. He had dived into the food as soon as it had been placed in front of him. He was already messy, and his plate was littered with decimated brutality that the egg went through from his clumsy attempts at eating with the fork. "I made the position because I could use the help keeping track of the goings on in the community. It's a lot for one man to remember, and I'll admit, I find it hard to remember to write certain things down, forget about them, and struggle to bring them back to my attention later. Being a leader has become more than I expected, and I find that the minor things slip away from my thoughts."

"So, what? I would write things down for you. Remind you of upcoming events? Do you even have events?"

"You'd be an ear for the people to speak to. I can't be around for every little thing, and some people have demands, and expectations, that aren't the highest priority. With you around, having someone to speak to, and then being written down would make sure that I'd be able to find the time to hear it all. To deal with it all. You'd be keeping me organized and functioning as a better leader. I could use someone like that, and I have a feeling you wouldn't half-ass it, nor would you let me push it to the side. I need someone who isn't afraid of speaking their mind to me. Someone who's not afraid of being rude."

That smile grew wider as he spoke.

Calla frowned, her brows furrowing, as she tilted her head to the side, trying to take it all in. She decided that she understood what it was he wanted her to do, latching onto her worries, and what he had said.

"People are afraid of speaking up against you?"

Did he rule with fear?

It hadn't seemed like it when the doctor gushed about it. Even the others who worked in the clinic, making sure it ran smoothly and was kept clean, hadn't had a bad word to say about their leader.

"They feel indebted to me. Only a few feel comfortable enough calling me out on things, but they work outside the walls, and I can't pull them from their jobs. You've shown you're not afraid of putting me in my place."

"Would you force them to leave if they did?"

"Of course not."

He eyed her, purposefully lifting up his fork, making a show of him eating the bite, reminding her that she hadn't touched a single portion of her breakfast. Carefully, she stabbed at the egg, eating a small bite, allowing it to settle in her stomach before taking another, knowing it was important to take it slow, even though her stomach had turned ravenous as soon as it touched her tongue.

"Then it's just because they respect you."

"I'd like to believe that."

"Why do you think they'd talk to me? A stranger?"

"If I assigned the role to you, no one is going to question it, and soon they'll grow comfortable with you. Everyone settles in eventually. No one bats an eyelash at the newcomers. Their already curious about you, and if I show that I have trust in you, then they will too."

"Why do you trust me? I haven't shown you anything that should make you feel that way."

"I don't know about that Calla," he chuckled. "You're honest, even to the point of aggression, sure, but I know where I stand with you. I can tell you're not the dangerous type. Why, you could have attacked and killed me a dozen times over, I bet, but you didn't."

"That doesn't mean you should trust me." She took another bite, beginning to feel full, and having only finished half of the portion he had given her. "That makes me question how smart you really are."

"I think under that brash personality, and scary, mean-looking frown you use to keep people at a distance, there's a woman who's broken, and looking for help." Calla felt the defensiveness, the need to snap back, to tell him that he was wrong, spring up, only barely held back by pure stubbornness, and the desire not to make his words true. She knew they were. "I'm rarely wrong about people, I've got a good eye, and gut instinct about people's intents, and you come across as someone who's only trying to survive. Why, I bet, once you grow comfortable, you'll reveal that you're actually quite lovely, and less prickly than you make yourself out to be."

"I wouldn't hold my breath on that."

Calla never wanted Philip to see her like that. It was dangerous. She wasn't here to make friends with him. She'd take the job, to make sure he knew she would pay back everything that was given to her, but there would be no opening up, and showing a softer side of herself. That Calla had been drug through the mud, rubbed raw, and formed into this much darker, callous version of herself.

She was determined to make him see her like this, to stop looking at her with expectations, that only grew higher as they began to work with one another. Calla planned to have kept her distance from him, only allowing him as close as he needed to be in their work together, but Philip, she would find, would constantly push against those restrictions.