Reviews:

RHatch89- Glad to hear it! Carol and Rhys have always been fun to bounce off each other because of how much baggage they've got between them that they refuse to talk about. Thanks for the review! Really helps me to know what people are enjoying, so I can focus more or less on certain aspects.

Carol and I part ways once we get back inside the community walls, she offers to take the guns back to the armoury, saying she'll make up some story.

There's a strange moment between the two of us. Like how sometimes you almost apologise to someone on instinct, even when you're mad at them. Someone you love so much that you have to fight your impulse to say sorry just to show them how angry you are. But with Carol, it's the opposite. I'm so used to locking her out, keeping her cold and distant, that it takes everything I have to fight my impulse to ignore her as she leaves, but I do fight it, and I nod her way, saying goodbye.

When I get to my house, I push up onto my tiptoes, poking my head through 99's living room window, checking that Carl's still babysitting Judith in the living room. I see him playing with her in the same spot I left them in.

I hastily sneak next door, entering 101 through the front and doing my best not to drip sewer water up the stairs as I creep into the bathroom. I shower, panicking just a bit when I get out, realising I don't have any clean dressings for my ear. I press my good ear to the bathroom door for a long time, and when I determine that no one's home, I sprint across the landing in my towel, shutting myself in Carl's room, borrowing some clean clothes and searching for a way to cover my ear.

After taking my time to get ready, I stroll into 99 like everything is normal, shoes at the door, coat on the hanger, smiling at Carl, who smiles back. His smile tells me he has no idea that I ever left.

Carl's smile falters for a second, which sends my heart into my throat, only just managing to keep it together until he says-

"Are you wearing my hat?"

I'm almost knocked over by the wave of relief that washes over me.

"Oh," I flick the hem of the stetson, "this thing? Needed to borrow something to cover my ear. You never wear this inside the walls... so I figured, y'know?"

"What about your bandage?" Carl raises an eyebrow. "And... are you wearing my t-shirt? Wait, are those my pants too?"

I stare at him, making a mental note that, in future, it might be a good idea to come up with an excuse before walking in.

"I was with Mikey," I make up on the fly, "he was giving me paint, and... I spilt it on myself."

In my head, I facepalm.

"Why was he giving you-?"

"For you," I say a little too quickly. "Mikey thought you might like them," I glance away briefly as I struggle, rubbing the back on my neck. "Yeah, 'cause you mentioned that you were jealous about how colourful Ron's house was that one time."

"Cool," Carl nods, looking at the floor by the front door. "You took my shoes too?"

"Couldn't find mine," I tell him, not mentioning that in reality, I threw them over the wall because they smelt so bad from the sewers. I felt bad about it, seeing as they were a pair of Glenn's, but glad they weren't my trainers.

I slowly creep to the sofa when Carl seems to run out of questions, sitting next to him, Judith reaching up at me from the floor, laughing at me for some reason when I pick her up and sit her down on my lap.

Rick stops by the house a few hours after my stealthy return. I jump out of my seat when he comes through the door, expecting him to know everything and scream at me for sneaking out.

But he doesn't know anything. And all I get are strange looks from the father and son.

"Ron wants me to show him how to handle a gun," Rick tells us, looking somewhat put off by the idea.

Carl and I both give the same confused look, Carl vocalising it.

"Ron wants help from you?" he asks his father, who's still standing in the doorway looking unthrilled by it.

Rick nods, knowing full well that Ron's not his biggest fan after he shot his dad. "That's what he said," Rick shrugs, fiddling with the strap on his watch. "Tara's on her way to keep an eye on Judith. Be at the armoury in ten minutes. Bring your guns and grab Mikey." With that, he walks out.

When Tara shows up, I take the time to cover my ear with a fresh bandage, leaving Carl's hat on the coffee table before we make our way to meet Rick. Mikey looks pumped at the idea of holding a real gun when Carl and I show up at his door, and Deanna tells us it's fine with her if Rick thinks it's a good idea.

Rick and Ron are waiting for us outside the armoury, the former holding two handguns in his grip. Rick takes the four of us off the main street, past the lake and through the gazebo where Gabriel is busy pinning up posters advertising a prayer circle he's hosting by the solar panels over the week. Rick tears two of the sheets down as we walk by, scrunching them up before casting them aside.

"Dad..." Carl groans.

Rick doesn't say anything, ignoring him and walking on. Gabriel shakes his head at Carl and me, sticking up new posters in their place and smiling as if Rick didn't just punch his faith in the gut.

"Sorry," Carl mutters.

"Hiya, Gabriel," Mikey smiles awkwardly.

I decide that I don't feel sorry for the priest, doing the same as Ron and remaining quiet as we keep walking.

Rick assembles us at a wooden bench set up in the long grass a few feet from the east wall.

"Handguns will be a little better for your first go," Rick tell Ron and Mikey, holding up a Glock and showing them the working parts. "Slide release. Thumb safety," Rick points.

We're all standing around the bench, watching Rick as he shows off the guns laid out, showcasing the basics to Mikey and Ron. Since we're practising right by the wall, the dead can be heard rattling against it, making everything else hard to hear through my bandage. I point my good ear at Rick.

"That stuff's easy. Right, Dad?" Carl says with a strange hint of arrogance in his voice. He gives me a squinty look when he notices me notice. I get the feeling he's telepathically telling me to drop it.

Rick doesn't seem to notice anything, agreeing with his son, ejecting the magazine and showing its lack of bullets. "Empty magazine..." he pulls back the slide. "Empty chamber. See it?"

Mikey and Ron both tilt their heads, looking at the weapon with this enthusiastic daze, nodding along, Mikey slightly more so than Ron.

Rick puts the pistol he's been using to demonstrate into Ron's hands, picking up the other from the bench to give to Mikey. Carl and I take out our own weapons, mine from my SoB, Carl's from his thigh holster.

Rick draws his colt python, the metal gleaming as the sun catches the surface. He unloads it onto the bench, the bullets bouncing up and rolling across the flat surface. I stop one between my fingers when it almost escapes into the grass below.

"Someone's in front of you," Rick holds his hand cannon down by his side, pointing towards the wall with his other hand, painting the scenario for them. "They have a gun."

"You're gonna be scared," Carl tells them both. Mikey and Ron turn to face him. Mikey looks excited, and Ron appears irritated. Carl notices it. "You will be," he affirms his statement to him. I nudge his arm when Ron keeps glaring.

"You're body's gonna tense... you won't have time to think," Rick adds. "You're just gonna want to pull the trigger when you get it in front of you."

Since Rick and Carl seem to be teaching the lesson just fine, I play with the bullets Rick expelled from his revolvers polished cylinder, lining them all up, placing them so they're all standing at attention like tiny explosive soldiers.

Rick whips his revolver up at the imaginary person standing before him, pulling the trigger before his arm is fully raised, being purposefully clumsy. The gun clicks and the hammer slams down. "But you'll miss," Rick tells them, "and you'll be dead."

"You've got to be strong enough to wait for your moment," Carl tells the boys, getting the same looks as before. "Right, Rhys?"

I roll my eyes at Carl's attempt to involve me. Then I think about how I wasn't strong enough to wait, how I put five sloppy rounds into that Wolf. My throat tightens, so I just nod a few times at Carl.

"Can we have a go?" Mikey asks, practically jumping with the pistol cradled in his hands.

"Yeah," Ron nods, "pretty sure we've got it."

Rick rolls his head with a sigh, cracking his neck before nodding.

Ron goes first, raising the gun to the same imaginary person that Rick imaginary shot with his imaginary bullets.

"Hey," Rick grabs Ron's index finger, dragging it away from the trigger. "You're finger doesn't touch the trigger until you're ready to shoot."

With his shoulders tensed and his weapon aimed too high, Ron pulls the trigger.

Rick doesn't correct him on anything else, and I wonder why he's letting him off easy.

Mikey goes next, learning from Ron's mistake and keeping his finger off the trigger, but Rick corrects his posture.

Both of them are overall adequate. Far better than I was. But to be fair, I learned under more stressful circumstances, with actual bullets and much bigger guns.

"Keep them with you," Rick points to Ron and Mikey, both as they look at their weapons. "Get a feel of what it's like to carry one around."

Mikey nods, stuffing the gun in the back of his jeans.

Ron keeps his gun out, staring at Rick. "Can I shoot it?"

Rick just stares back at him, and I get this feeling there's a lecture coming.

"Maybe- like -down at the walkers?" Ron points his gun at the wall, making me flinch when it crosses my path.

Rick bites his bottom lip, looking around, glaring at everything but Ron in an attempt to be nice. "No," he finally tells him softly. "With things how they are, the walls are strong, but we're lucky the walkers are spread out. We don't wanna pull them all to one spot."

"Well, what about- like -target practice in the centre of town?" Ron keeps pushing it. "'Cause then the sound will spread out in each direction... or we could maybe use like silencers or something like that."

I'm fairly sure Carl doesn't mean to roll his eyes.

"Come on, Ron," Mikey nudges Ron's arm lightly. "Take the hint."

Ron looks between all of us. Rick, again, tries his best not to look annoyed.

Ron finally gets said hint, shrugging at his own idea. "We should, erm... -we probably don't want to waste bullets right now, huh?"

Rick holsters his own weapon, glad that Ron gave up, just not showing it on his face.

"Just wanted to learn more..." Ron grumbles.

"You will," Carl chimes in, again sounding strange. But I realise why now, after his fight with Ron, he's posturing.

Rick points at Carl to step up, and he does, taking aim at the imaginary person, who I suspect is having a terrible imaginary day. Carl's weapon clicks, and Rick has nothing to correct him on.

I knock over one of the tiny explosive soldiers on the bench, watch as it rolls around in circles, none of its friends helping it up.

"Rhys?" Rick wakes me from my head, saying my name like he's said it a few times already.

"Uh-huh?"

Rick just stares at me until I shuffle around the table. I drop my magazine onto the table with a clatter and pull back my gun's slide, letting the chambered bullet fly out and dance around on the table before rolling to a stop beside Rick's lined up rounds. I aim where everyone else has, taking my breath. My gun clicks.

"Good," Rick nods slowly. "Again."

I draw again, confused why I have to go twice.

My gun clicks.

"Again."

Click.

"One more time."

I don't draw, frustrated.

"Why?" I turn to face Rick, my annoyance clear in both my tone and just about everything else.

Carl's looking at the ground awkwardly, not wanting to get between us.

"Just one more..." Rick says again sternly.

"No," I fold my arms.

"Rhys..." Rick growls.

"What's the point?" I yell at him, shrugging my most hostile shrug his way. "If you don't tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Dad..." Carl finally speaks, realising we won't stop. "Let it go."

Rick grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index, furrowing his brow. "You're not doing anything wrong, Rhys... but all your shots are either centre mass or below."

"And?" I protest.

He speaks to me plainly. "When you have time to aim, go for the head... kill them with the shot. Just like you would a walker."

"I know how to kill walkers!"

"You haven't done it since your ear," Rick tells me. "This practice is good."

My hand springs up to cover my ear subconsciously, and I bite my tongue when I almost bust mine and Carol's breakout just so I can throw it in Rick's face that I have indeed killed a walker since losing it.

"Dad," Carl glares his father down.

"C'mon," Rick raises his arm towards the imaginary target again, ignoring Carl.

My cheeks are flushed and I feel like crying, but I clear my throat and nod. I think about rolling my eyes, flirting with the idea, but fighting against the urge. Instead, I let all my frustration out in a long-winded sigh before, again, I raise my gun up and up until it's eye level, my breath hitching with my finger, stuck grazing the trigger.

'Just like a walker.'

'Aim for the head.'

'Kill them.'

'Like you did to the others.'

My gun clicks.

Rick pats my shoulder, nodding and letting me lower my gun.

I'm exhausted after today. Sneaking outside the walls, sneaking back in, gun practice. All too much for one day.

But the day's not quite done.

"Hey Rhys," Ron taps my shoulder with two rhythmic fingers as we're all getting ready to leave Rick's makeshift gun range. "You got a sec?" he asks.

I look to Carl beside me, who is trying very hard to distance himself from the conversation. "Yeah," I nod, letting Mikey and Carl leave without me, Rick already walking back towards the armoury.

Ron hops up onto the wooden bench, scratching his nose and dancing around what he wants to say. "Look, I know I've kinda been an asshole... maybe a little bit, anyway."

I nod slowly, not sure where he's taking this.

"I just-" he hesitates. "It's hard... my mom, she won't even acknowledge that he's gone..."

My face goes soft when he brings up his dad.

"He hit her," Ron sniffles, trying to clear his throat and make his voice normal, only for it to crack and get worse. "He hit me too... but he was still my dad... he wasn't always like that. He used to go to anger management and shit like that before the normal world exploded. Mom won't even talk to me about him. Like he was never anything but bad. I don't know how to mourn him, Rhys... There's not even a grave. Morgan and Rick just dumped his body in the woods, miles away from here."

"I think I know how it feels," I tell him, not sure if it's the same. "I never got to say goodbye to my dad... my mom... not really."

"Me and Carl," Ron looks at me with steely and cold eyes, "we're not good... I hate him... I hate that he took Enid from me... I know you don't think he did, but I know what I know, man."

I just stare at the shoes on my feet, not wanting to engage in anything other than listening.

"I just want you to know that I don't hate you," Ron tells me. "I don't blame you... I actually think you're the last real friend I've got in here besides Mikey." Then Ron's looking down, mumbling. "I guess it's only you that I can count, though. Mikey hates me because my dad killed his dad. Just like Carl's killed mine."

"We can fix this..." I tell him. "Once the dead are gone, we can all start moving past what happened."

"We could be dead before then," Ron says. "Me and Mikey... we haven't touched a gun before today."

"You'll be okay," I tell him. "You both will."

Ron doesn't nod. He doesn't blink. He stares at me with this disconnected haze, like he's not really in there. A mist swirling in his eyes.

Then he stands up.

"See you around, Rhys."

Mikey is inside 99 when I get home, Carl too, sitting on the sofa, chatting with Tara, a stack of cards in her hands.

"I'll beat you..." Tara tells Mikey, the topic of what she's beating him in, unknown to me.

"You won't," he answers confidently.

"Let's play then... see who wins, c'mon tough guy."

"Maybe later."

Tara shakes her head at him. "Maybe now, asshole. Don't make me hurt you. I will."

I move to perch beside Carl in the dimly lit sitting room. "What's going on?" I ask, watching as Tara tries to shuffle the cards, only to drop them all on the floor.

"Apparently, Mikey knows how to play poker," Carl tells me.

"My Mom was going to do it professionally if she didn't get re-elected," Mikey says, all proud of his gifted family.

"Your Momma..." Tara taunts him as she fishes under the sofa for some of the cards she dropped, "she ain't here to save you. Put your money where your mouth is and play me... I'll bet-" Tara looks around, grabbing three chocolate bars from the coffee table. "-three big cats!"

"Hey," Carl snatches them up. "They're from my birthday!"

"I got them for you!" Tara argues. "Call it an investment."

"No way..." I join in, grabbing one from Carl and unwrapping it, scoffing the chocolate down. "I know how that'll end."

"Rhys!" Carl laughs.

"What?" I mumble over big cat crumbs, "I'm hungry."

"Look," Mikey snatches the cards from Tara's grip after she finally gets them all back together, "I'll play you, just not tonight. I promise we'll play in the future."

He starts springing the cards from one hand to the other in an impressive flourish of colourful suits.

A little put of by the show of skill, Tara slumps back onto the sofa, nodding along as Mikey continues to shuffle. "Cool," she shrugs, "that's cool. I'll hold you to that, though!"

The four of us just hang out for the rest of the day, the golden evening glare sending Mikey back home and Tara to see Denise.

I'm about ready to fall asleep, my day catching up with me, but Carl grabs my arm, yanking me to stand up, dragging me towards the CD player.

"Augh," I grunt, not sure what's happening. "What are you doing?"

"Waking you up," he laughs, fumbling with his birthday mix and stuffing the disc into the player, pressing numbers on the box.

"I'm super tired," I groan, trying to pull out of his grip.

It's true. Today feels like it's hit me over the head repeatedly. I've lied to everyone, crawled through sewers, wrestled walkers, parleyed with an enemy, murdered imaginary targets.

Today won't stop.

But neither will Carl.

"That's why I'm waking you up, dumbass," Carl presses his lips to my cheek before turning back and twisting a dial on the CD player, rhythm and blues blaring from the speakers. "Now shut up and dance!"

Be my love

Be my heart

Be my own

So we never, ever part

Be my all in all

My everything

Be the one wild boy who can make me sing

Be my love, my heart

In the ol' time, but...

Darling, be mine

Be a kiss, ooh

Night and day

Be a smile that

will always stay

Be a devil with the lord in your eyes

Set my heart on fire, ooh, it's paradise

Be a smile, a kiss

In the ol' time, but darling...

Be mine...

Carl is pulling me back and forth, shaking the world from my shoulders as we move in the evening glow. He laughs at me as I swing, spinning me around, pulling me in, twirling the two of us in a tornado of giggles and boundless colour. He kisses me, and I kiss him back, but it all happens in a way that's more laughter than actual kissing, clumsy and so perfectly imperfect. I hold him tight as the song finishes, the golden twilight turning the living room into an intensity of preternatural colours. We just hold on in the stillness left by the music, swaying lazily in each other's arms, and I let the one wild boy take me away from here.

A/N

The song was Be Mine by Etta James. And honestly, had the song playing in the background while writing the end, and the scene just wrote itself. Beautiful song.

I've realised the longer I take to post these, the more I feel like they're not done.

Next Time: Rosita continues Mikey's training to defend himself from the outside world that's pressing against the walls. Ron is forced to confront lingering scars. Rhys talks about Karen for the first time in a long time, coming to a bitter realisation.