Waking up in a bed for the first in over twelve months is jarring, to say the least. I lie there, beneath the sheets, a pillow under my head as I think about the insane day I had just finished.

I peek over the edge of the bed to find Carl's bunk empty, his clothes from yesterday on the floor, and the clothes I'd stacked neatly on the crooked side table missing.

Just as I'm considering whether I'll get out of bed in the next hour or not, a knock comes from the metal bars of the cell. Something I hadn't thought about doing last night.

"Um. come in?"

The curtain moves aside to reveal Karen. A beaming smile on her face and a small dotted bag of toiletries in her hand.

"Well, good mornin'." Her hair is a mess, with black curls and dancing strands around her head.

"Morning," I mumble, pulling the pillow over my head, hoping to block the world out, just for a moment.

"So you gonna join me this morning?" Karen hums at me.

"For what?"

"Well, you need a job."

From a crack between my pillow and the bed, I see her leaning against the cell bars as she fiddles with a silver bracelet on her slim wrist.

She points her smile at me. "But first, you need to freshen up... and brush your teeth."

My head appears from beneath the pillow and mass of sheets.

"Brush my teeth?"


The shower room is empty besides a few late risers. Most people already having started their daily lives at the prison. Safe to act normal behind its fences.

Karen tells me that brushing my teeth for ten minutes might be overkill, and I tell her she's wrong. Very wrong.

I take another shower or two, only stopping when an older guy waiting for his shower barks at me for taking too long.

Like yesterday, a clean pile of clothes is waiting for me on a lone bench beside the cubical. I change into an off white shirt, having to roll the moth bitten sleeves up when they come down past my hands.

I find Karen waiting outside. Déjà vu hitting me hard.

"Bit big for me."

I point to my sleeves.

Her smile is sad when she tells me why.

"It belonged to Carls friend, Patrick. He was a bit bigger than you."

I give her a solemn nod, understanding the situation. Feeling slightly uncomfortable in them, but I've done worse. Besides, everything I wear now probably belonged to someone long dead.

"So," Karen changes the subject, going back to her default beam. "You need some breakfast, then a job. Any ideas?"

"Do you have pancakes?"

"I meant any idea's for what job you want..."

"Oh."

We laugh at this. Karen's smile eclipses me.

"I'm not sure. Wherever I'm needed, I suppose."

"Well, yes is the answer to your question," she tells me, laughing at my quizzical look.

"Mrs Branning from C block makes some mean pancakes."

My eyes light up.

"Come on."


After obliterating a plate of Mrs Branning's pancakes, I lean back in my seat at the cafeteria table, both ready to explode and eat it all over again. Emotions are high.

Tyreese had joined us, sitting beside Karen, embarrassing her with his singing of a romantic song. She put up with it, and I didn't mind being the third wheel for the morning. Plus I love Frank Sinatra, which is what Tyreese elected to sing.

"What's your job?" I ask Tyreeese after finishing my crusade to lick the last of the syrup from my plate.

"I do supply runs, although I'm not sure I like them any more than my last job."

"Last job?" I ask.

Karen answers me over a mouth full of soup.

"He used to work fences with me. Still need to find his replacement."

I see that opportunity Carl had mentioned last night.

"I'll do it," I offer. Desperate to pay back something of what these people had given me.

"You sure?" Karen asks, "It can be... draining." She looks at Tyreese, who avoids her gaze by looking overly interested in a stain on the ceiling.

"I'm sure," I nod firmly.

"Okay then, work starts in..." She checks her watch. "Five minutes ago."

"Shall we?" I gesture to the door.

"Yep. Need to grab you an apron on the way."


Clearing the fences is what I expected it to be. We spend the morning putting down the dead that have gathered around tower three. I can't figure out if I like the job or not. Either way, I understand why Tyreese found it draining.

By the time we finish, my arms are aching, and my back is sore, but I know I'm doing good... doing something.

Done with our shift, Karen and I start walking back to the cellblock, bodies aching.

"Noah!"

I'm caught off guard when Carl calls my name, walking towards us with a ball firmly kept under his arm.

"You up for a game?"

"Football?" I ask him, trying to ignore my aching body's screams for me to decline.

"Um, no." He holds up the ball. "Soccer."

I laugh at him, which seems to annoy him. I realise he isn't being sarcastic.

"Oh. Sorry, we call soccer football back home."

"Back home?"

This time, I know he isn't being sarcastic. So I take him up on the offer, leaving Karen to take my apron for me, as I start explaining the many differences between our countries as we walk towards the exercise yard.

We spend an hour kicking the ball back and forth between us, neither playing soccer nor football. Instead, just passing it back and forth while we chat about stuff.

"So you just drink tea?" Carl raises an eyebrow.

"Yep."

"Everyone in England drinks tea?"

"Yes."

"Just tea?"

"Yup."

"But, you can't just-," he pauses, "I don't believe you."

"It's the truth, man."

"I've seen you drink water since you got here."

"I have to."

"Why?"

"To blend in."

He snorts at my ridiculous claims. Not sure if he believes me, I pass him the ball.

"How long were you out there?" Carl passes it back to me.

"Since the start." I pass it again, feeling weird to be doing something normal.

"On your own?" He kicks it again harder than before.

"Nah, only the last few months. You?" I almost miss the ball, slipping on the tarmac as I sprint to catch it.

"We've been here a while. Moved around a lot too." Carl waits patiently for me to kick the ball back to him. A look of boredom plastered across his freckled face.

"Cool."

I put too much force behind my next kick, sending the ball flying past Carl and into the field beyond. We both watch after it, satisfied with the game's ending.

"I don't even like football," I admit.

"Me neither. I've got comics in my- our cell. Wanna read those?"

"Sure."


Carl introduces me to his entirely too big collection of comic books. Telling me all about the characters in them, something I'd never been into as a kid. But they seemed cool enough, I guess.

"So Ironman and Batman are basically the same people?" I ask him, bewildered.

"No!" His frustration makes me laugh, "How could you even think that? They are so different!"

"Both rich?" I ask.

Carl nods.

"Both have a secret cave under their homes?"

Carl nods again, laughing at my ignorance.

"And they're both super depressed?"

"Not always!"

"They sound pretty similar... All I'm saying."

The argument continues for far longer than it should, both of us on the floor laughing by the end of it.

I watch Carl as he gets up, putting a comic back onto the untidy pile of fiction. He sits on the edge of his cot, looking at me expectantly. I'm not sure what he wants. So I don't move. Neither does he. We just sit there, staring at each other as we say nothing. His eyes have a certain way about them, a deep blue washing through the cell as it drowns me. Everything seems to fall away in its tide.

"Hey, boys!"

Karen's at the door.

"Hey, Karen," we both say at the same time.

"Mind if I borrow Noah for a bit?"

Carl shakes his head, long hair whipping around his face before he picks up a comic from the disorderly pile on the floor and lies back on his bed. Disappearing into the world of someone called Deadpool.

I follow Karen as she leads me through the prison, people smiling and saying hello as she passes. Clearly loved by the group, she smiles back.

We finally reach the laundry room- a room I haven't yet visited. Like all the others, it's clean and homely- or at least as clean and homely as a prison can be.

She leads me to a large metal tub of soapy water, handing me my apron from earlier, still covered with deadhead blood.

"Need to wash up for the next person," she explains.

I nod, and we get to cleaning our workwear. The water is cold but welcoming. Cleaning off mud and blood from beneath my nails that I haven't yet gotten to.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Karen looks up at me with a grin, "You just did."

I roll my eyes at her. She nods, "Go ahead."

"Everyone's been pretty nice to me since I got here, I guess. Nicer than I would have expected anyway. But you're different."

"This is a question?" Karen raises an eyebrow as she scrubs her apron.

I get to the point. "Why are you so much friendlier towards me?"

Her smile falters a small bit as she focuses on a particularly stubborn stain. I wait for her answer quietly, not sure it will come.

When she finally answers, her voice is small and meek. Like she's scared that her words will bite her if she isn't careful.

"I used to be a teacher."

I keep waiting, quietly listening to her gentle and particular words.

"I used to teach a boy called Noah. Just like you... He was a smart kid, funny too. He always wore a baseball cap, never saw him without it. Like you and those disgusting shoes."

I laugh at her. Not a happy laugh, though. More like the kind of laugh that you use to fill an awkward silence. A strategic laugh.

Karen seems to appreciate it as she continues.

"When the world ended, I was teaching his Spanish class."

"You know Spanish?"

"Don't interrupt."

I apologise and keep scrubbing the apron, the cold water now murked by swirling gore.

"I was in the middle of the class when we got the evacuation order. All the kids were so happy to get out of class early. No one knew what was happening... what was coming. They all just thought they were going home early to do whatever kids do."

She let out a small laugh, wiping her eyes on her shoulder. I realise I'm not the only one that uses strategic laughter.

"Everyone was smiling and laughing because they couldn't wait to get home. All except one."

"Noah?" I ask.

"What did I say about interrupting?" Karen splashes water in my direction from a clean bucket beside her.

"Anyway," she continues as I wipe my face dry with the hem of my shirt, "Noah had a rough time before the world ended, maybe even worse than it was after. His Dad died in a traffic accident, and his mom was never the same... drinking herself into an early grave. It wasn't long before Noah would show up to class every day with fresh bruises on his face from the night before. Everyone knew it was his mom, but he would always deny it, said he just fell over for the fifth time that week. Then kids started to bully him at school for being bullied by his mom."

I'd stopped scrubbing. Instead, watching Karen as she calmly told her story.

"As I said, he was a survivor long before the world ended, stuck between two hells. Beaten at home for being his mom's excuse, beaten at school for being beaten by his mom. At least when the world ended, he only had to endure one nightmare."

"I'm sorry." I didn't know what else to say. What could I say?

"I just wish I could have done something. But Noah wouldn't admit what was happening. He just kept making jokes and trying to smiles through the bruises."

Her normally overwhelming smile has faded, leaving a look of guilt on her face as she keeps talking.

"Well, as I said, Noah wasn't smiling when the class got cut short, so I waited for everyone else to leave and offered him a deal. I told him if he let me buy him a triple chocolate fudge sundae with extra sprinkles and a milkshake, then I wouldn't ask him why he didn't want to go home early."

"Did he say yes?"

"Would you say no to that?"

"Right now? I would give a limb for just the sprinkles."

"Well, he said yes. It was a good compromise. I got to help, and he got to escape for a little bit. But as I'm sure you've already worked out, the escape lasted a lot longer than lunch... I'd taken him to a diner outside the city. I was driving him home when the gridlock hit, and we couldn't get anywhere near the city. So we waited... we saw the bombs... then it was just us."

"Then you found Woodbury?"

"No, we were on the road for about ten months before Woodbury. Noah was asthmatic, so we were constantly looking for Ventolin. One time it got real bad. Thought I was going to lose him. I stayed up all night breathing with him, just waiting for him to stop. But he was strong, and he got through it. Luckily we found some honey in an old mailbox the next day, kept him going."

"Honey?" I ask.

"Honey," Karen nods. "It helps with asthma."

The apron had been clean for a while now, but I keep scrubbing, Karen is fiddling with her bracelet.

"He gave me this as a thank you the next day," she holds out her wrist.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" I read from her bracelet as she twists it around her wrist.

"He said life was all about choice. You make your choices. They don't make you. Not every choice works out, but you have to own them, no matter what. Said he was glad I chose to take him for that ice cream."

"Pretty deep."

Karen's smile reappears.

"Well, he was a pretty deep kinda kid. Light-hearted most of the time, but occasionally he would say something profound."

"Where um, where is he now?"

Now it's gone again.

Karen made a loud gulp as if swallowing all her emotions, holding them down so she could speak without their input.

"When the Governor decided to go to war with the prison, he said everyone over the age of thirteen that was fit to fight needed to fight. I tried to convince them otherwise, told them he was fourteen and asthmatic but, Noah, like always, wouldn't admit he was in trouble. So the Governor put a gun in his hands. When we lost to the prison, the Governor lost it, gunned everyone down in the middle of the road. I only survived because he ran out of bullets shooting my friends. Shooting Noah."

"Karen-"

"Don't apologise. I made my choices. So did the Governor. So did Noah. Gotta live with it."

"My name's not Noah."

Karen stops playing with her bracelet, changing her focus to me as I brush the last of the water from my fringe.

"I mean it is-" I go on, realising that she's confused. "My first name is Noah, but no one called me that in the old world."

Karen still looked puzzled.

"So what did everyone call you?"

"My middle name- Rhys."

"Reece?"

"Rhys." I correct her pronunciation. "like Rease. Not Reez." I sound it out for her.

Karen tries again, nailing it the second time around. "Rhys."

I give her my toothiest grin. "Yep."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" She asks me.

"I mean, everyone keeps introducing me as Noah before I get the chance. But guess I still don't feel like I fit in yet as well. I hoped Noah would fit in better than Rhys. I still don't know how to feel normal here."

"You wanna know my trick?"

I nod a little too enthusiastically, making Karen laugh.

"Well," She goes on, "When I got to Woodbury, and in the moments when it got real difficult to fit in, I just pretended I was normal. I pretended, for long enough that it became me."

"Why would you pretend?"

She gives thought to this, "I did it for me, and for Noah. He needed us both to be normal, so I pretended."

She lets me sit on it.

"Anyway, I like it." She tells me after a moment of scrubbing. "It's nice to meet you, Rhys. I'm Karen."

She extends a dripping hand, which I take, shaking it with a non-strategic laugh.

"Nice to meet you, Karen."


AN-

Big thanks to notmuchmoretosay for helping me with the idea of the meaning of the bracelet! I was kinda stuck on that one. Go check their fics out!