Reviews:

BabySlothXYaoi- I never felt like the show gave an impression of how different Carl was to the other teenagers... felt like Carl became 'normal' too fast. Glad that came across here, I'm looking forward to getting to more of that culture shock (perfect phrase) and difference. Took ageeeees to pick Rhys' job! All I knew was that I didn't want him to be a runner... cooking with Carol feels like a fun yet scary job. Poor Aaron. Thank you so much! I loved writing it!

"Look up."

"This is ridiculous."

"Just look up and quit fussin'."

"It's fine how it is!"

"Rhys. The mullet needs to go."

"It's not a mullet!"

"It will be if I don't cut it!"

I give up arguing, sitting still and letting Maggie attack my scalp with a pair of scissors. Tara lured me into 99 with the promise of something "really cool!" Only for her to slam the door behind me, leaving me locked inside with Maggie and the scissors she borrowed from Jesse.

"It might not look perfect... but you wouldn't let Jesse do it, so it's your own fault."

I sigh at the kitchen counter, hair falling all around me. "I'm not letting a stranger near me with something sharp."

"Fair enough," Maggie turns my head roughly with both hands. "Now stop talking and let me cut."

After fifteen long and painful minutes, Maggie finally says, "Done!"

She passes me a hand mirror over my shoulder to see the damage. It's been a long time since I've looked at myself, really looked at myself anyway. My hair is back to how it was at the prison. Above my ears, all curls and waves of dark brown, although it seems darker than it used to be. I bring a hand up to the scars on my face. The first one Madeleine gave me still across my lip. Another scar sits on my forehead, just below my hairline, the one given to me by the crazy man, the crazy man that somehow got me where I am without ever knowing it. I see two pairs of green eyes staring at me in the mirror, mine and Maggie's, her's staring at me and grinning over my shoulder.

"Happy?" She asks. I realise she's just as nervous about the hair as I am.

"I guess," I look over my shoulder, putting the mirror on the kitchen counter. "What are you doing today?"

Maggie sighs, putting the scissors down beside the mirror, "Helpin' Deanna with some things... no idea what."

"You'll be a good leader," I spin around on the kitchen stool to face her.

"Woah, no one said anything about that."

"I know," I smile, "But you will. Why else do you think Deanna wants you working with her?"

"What do you mean?" Maggie cocks an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Deanna's good at politics, but that wouldn't have stopped The Governor. Wouldn't have stopped anyone we've had to fight along the way. I think Deanna sees that."

"I don't think that's why she's got me working with her," Maggie leans against the counter beside me.

"Maybe not, but that's what'll happen. Carl said it last night- these people are weak. That's why they need us, why she needs you."

Maggie goes quiet for a minute before, "We've all got jobs to do... go get to yours."

"Yes, Ma'am."

I find myself on the porch of 101, hand resting on the custard doorknob. I hesitate, knowing that everyone is gone. Rosita's working with Ron's dad in the infirmary, the surgeon we've heard so much about. Sasha was gone when I woke up. Carl left when I went next door, taking his sister round the block for some fresh air, leaving only one person inside 101 besides myself.

Carol.

I step into the building, the smell of fish overwhelming from the kitchen. Carol looks up from the oven when I enter the room, ducking back down behind the island after a short nod.

I feel stupid, not sure what to do with myself. Not wanting to talk to Carol makes this whole job really difficult.

"Pass me that measuring jug," Carol points at the plastic jug on the counter beside me after she re-emerges. I do, and Carol takes it silently, pouring canned milk into it.

I realise what she's doing, and I'm not opposed to it. Keep the conversation to a minimum so we can both pretend this isn't awful.

"Crap," Carol is looking under cloths and trays.

"What?" I utter bluntly.

"I forgot to grab butter from the pantry."

I get up before she asks, heading for the door as quickly as possible without running.

On the way to the pantry, I think about how conversations are a lot like haircuts, hair in general. The longer they get, the more they get in the way. Cutting it short is uncomfortable but is a better idea in the long run. I think about how Carol and I probably have a lot of 'awkward haircuts' in our future.

My thoughts are interrupted by someone saying the phrase, "Sweet ass biscuits."

I stare up from the pavement to find Glenn, Tara, and Noah, having one of those 'awkward haircuts' outside the panty steps with Nicholas- the guy on gate duty when we arrived -and someone I don't know. It seems to get more awkward as the stranger starts handing out guns. I realise they're getting ready to go on a supply run.

I nod hi and try to walk past, but the man I don't know stops me. His hair's cut short and is black in its colour. He looks to be in his late twenties, with piercing eyes and arched eyebrows. He looks familiar, but I don't care to work out why.

"You're Rhys, right?" His smile is smug and punchable.

I nod, trying to walk around him, but he stops me again.

"Heard my Mom almost put you on the runner team with us."

I discern this must one of Dianna's sons, realising that he does look quite a bit like Mikey. My hand moves my belt loop with instinct guiding it, only to find shock. I look down, realising I forgot Tyreese's hammer. I'm suddenly feeling vulnerable.

He looks me up and down, "Probably a good thing you stuck to cooking and playing games with my little bro."

I still don't engage. Desperate not to take the bait, I try to walk around him again. He stops me for the third time with an outstretched hand.

"I'm Aiden."

I look to Glenn, who just gives me a look as if to say, "Just let it go, man."

I realise as much as I don't like Carol, I have to regard how she can handle being treated like she's weak.

I bite my tongue, flip the switch, and smile, finally looking up to Aiden, taking his hand and shaking, "Good to meet you, sorry I couldn't join your crew."

"Maybe when you're older," Aiden finally steps aside, letting me into the pantry.

"How much butter did you say?"

"Erm, I'm not sure... enough for tuna casserole."

Olivia manages the pantry, armoury too. All of it tucked away on the first floor of her house. She seems nice enough, short and round, with an oblivious smile to match her talk about cellphones and her old tea shop. She wears a tidy scarf and thin-rimmed glasses.

I wait by the open doors of the armoury while Olivia wanders down a hallway to find butter. I find myself shifting into the room of guns, looking around their well-stocked armoury. They have so many. Rifles and snipers, handguns and knives, all just lying here, leaving me genuinely impressed by their arsenal. I see a few familiar ones... a silver Colt Python next to a gleaming Colt 1911. Rick and Glenn's guns, looking ignored as they lie on a wooden bench. I don't see my Beretta anywhere. An open closet has an unlocked footlocker inside it, heaps of handguns tossed inside carelessly. I realise how far my knowledge of guns has come since before the dead rose, recognising all of them by name.

"Here you go!" Olivia returns, half a bar of butter in hand as she peeks into the armoury at me, seemingly unconcerned that I'm in here.

I take the butter and thank her before leaving.

"Good timing," Carol tells me as I walk back into the strong-smelling kitchen. She takes the butter before melting a small amount into a pan.

I suppose Olivia gave me too much.

I sit on a stool at the marble counter, breadcrumbs dusting the surface. I notice the baby monitor that Jesse had given us is propped up beside me, Judith, sound asleep on the other end and Carl nowhere in sight.

"Ready to cook?" Carol asks me with a suddenly sickeningly sweet voice.

I nod but don't leave my seat.

"Sweetie, you can't cook from-"

"Don't," I snap at her.

Carol tilts her head in confusion, "Don't what?"

The temptation to scream at her is overwhelming me.

Don't call me sweetie like you did at the prison...

Don't act like I don't know who you really are...

Don't pretend you didn't burn Karen alive...

I land on saying, "Don't do your whole 'den mother' bullshit with me," feeling like steam is billowing from my ears.

Carol stares back, letting her perfect posture drop a little, something dead behind her glassy eyes. Her smile fades into a resting smirk.

"Guess I forget I'm doing it sometimes," Carol says, turning back to the oven.

I ignore her and fiddle with an escaped noodle on the counter, glancing at the baby monitor every other second.

"Carl went out," Carol tells me, noticing my glances to the small screen.

"You were right," is what I respond with.

Carol throws a small pout at me, unsure of what I mean as she keeps cooking.

I elaborate, "You said in the barn that being soft will kill us. You were right."

Carol just puts the casserole in the oven without speaking, but I know she's listening.

"I didn't bring his hammer," I say to Carol's turned back, "I didn't put it on this morning. I forgot. Carl said these people are weak, said he's scared it'll happen to us. I didn't think we could be weak or soft after what we've done, what we've become... but I forgot the hammer. I let my guard down already."

Carol looks curious when she finally turns to look at me. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I can't tell Carl."

"Why?"

"Because," I sigh, rubbing my face in frustration. "Because Carl wants this place to work, he wants to try."

Do you want to try?"

"For him? Yeah."

"What about for you?"

I shrug, recognising that we're talking normally. So I stop. Hating it... her... myself.

"Did you see the armoury while you were there?"

I nod a yes to Carol's question.

"What did you see?"

"Our guns are there... just lying around. They don't seem to know the first thing about guns. They've got loads, but," I shrug, "there's a footlocker, packed with nine-millimetre autos, Rugers, Kel-Techs... just stuffed in there. I don't think they even use them. Olivia saw me looking... didn't even cross her mind that I could have taken one... everyone thinks I'm a kid here."

"That's a good thing," Carol points out, not saying any more on the subject, throwing me a damp cloth and telling me to wipe the counter down.

The casserole is done, and Carol takes it to the Millers down the street. I wait in the house, keeping a close eye on Judith's monitor until she finally wakes up, so now I'm sitting on the couch with Judith on my knee as she plays with Gwendolyn, whose blue fur is much softer after a trip in the washer.

I'm fiddling with an hourglass I find on the coffee table, starting to worry more and more about Carl's whereabouts, not seeing a reason that he would have left the house.

I ask Judith where she thinks her brother is, but she just finds the words funny and points at me with a babbled response.

Then, just to add to my worries, I hear distant shouting.

I get up. Judith hears it too and starts to cry, sensing my distress. I rub circles on the back of her head as I move to the window, peering out to see nothing, my ears guessing that the shouts are coming from the main gate. I pick up Ty's hammer, which is still lying on the floor where I slept last night.

Everything has gone quiet, too quiet for it to be a good thing.

I decide to move Judith to her room upstairs when she stops crying, putting her in her cot and closing the door. I sit at the top of the stairs, hammer on my lap as I wait for something to happen.

The custard door creaks open.

Carl walks in.

"Dude!" I shout at him.

"What?" Carl asks, a dark expression on his face as he avoids looking at me.

"I heard all the shouting..." I tell him, jogging down the stairs, hopping down the last few to face him.

"Glenn got in a fight with Aiden and Nicholas when they got back from their dry run," Carl tells me but says it like he's holding something back, his eyes fixed on the floor. He walks into the cleaned kitchen, checking on Judith through the baby monitor.

I follow him through, asking, "He took them both?" Not shocked at the idea of it.

"Nah," Carl grabs a fresh apple from a wooden fruit bowl filled with exclusively apples, courtesy of the nearby orchard. "Daryl got involved. So did Dad and Michonne."

I imagine it didn't go as badly as it could have.

"Deanna stood up for our people," Carl speaks through chunks of apple in his mouth.

I take the apple off him, telling him, "That's good," before taking a bite from the same spot he did. The bite mark looks a little like a love heart, slightly wonky, though.

"Woah," Carl's looking at me now, staring in fact.

"What?" I ask him, worried as I pass the apple back.

"No," he shakes his head, "nothing... it's just... your hair..."

I turn red, trying to put my hood up, only to realise I still haven't gotten my jacket back from the laundry.

"No, it's good," Carl says, stuttering.

"good?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, not good... like, neat."

"neat?" I shriek. Hiding in my hands now.

"No, but better than that. It's cute."

I shove his shoulder with a snort. "Thanks, dork."

Carl's hugging me, it's sudden and he holds on tight, making me laugh from the shock.

"I was only kidding," I chuckle into his shoulder. "What's this for?"

"Jus' missed you," Carl tells me, rubbing my back with both hands.

I pull away, looking at him curiously, "Where'd you go today?"

"Oh," Carl walks into the living room and jumps onto the sofa face first. "Nowhere," his voice sounds muffled, buried in the cushions.

I decide to climb on top of him, sitting myself down on his lower back with my legs on either side of him. This makes him laugh, still muffled by the cushions.

"Where were you?" I ask again, taking off his hat and tossing it aside, keeping myself occupied by playing with his hair, which he is also not keen on cutting.

Carl turns his head so he can breathe, "Just wanted a walk around the neighbourhood, see the sights, y'know?"

I'm not sure I believe him, but I give up asking, leaning down and kissing his sky facing cheek instead.

Everyone is stuffed into the living room of 101 again tonight, none of us caring much about the lack of space we've given ourselves. Even Sasha is back, not giving me a straight answer when I ask where she was today. I feel like no one wants to tell me where they've been, and I start to regret agreeing to play the cook, Carl's only job to babysit Judith.

Maybe they've found a secret clubhouse and just haven't told me yet?

I'm sitting at the dining table, watching Carl lose at poker against Noah, Michonne watching too over my shoulder, leaning against the back of my chair. Eugene is sitting at the far end of the table, reading my copy of war and peace when he's banned from poker for 'beating Carl too much.'

Everyone is either chattering quietly or keeping to their own inclinations. But everyone's attention is brought to one thing when Rick enters the room from upstairs, sporting a brand new windbreaker to accompany his haircut and clean shave. A fool might even think him to be friendly when he gives us all a light smile.

We're all staring at him, mouths ajar. We'd all been told that he and Michonne have been made head of security at Alexandria, but the uniform still baffles us. Rick also seems unsettled by it as he tugs on the neat tie around his neck.

Rick steps out of sight onto the porch where Daryl is hiding. Carol gets up from the sofa and follows after.

"How was working with Carol, anyway?" Carl asks me, frowning at his playing cards.

"Eck," I respond, "it was like an awkward haircut."

A/N

I'm super tired today... but I also wanted to get a chapter out on schedule, so, sorry if anything felt off, didn't proofread as thoroughly as I usually do!

Thoughts and Feedback are always welcome!

:)