Start: Dec-13-2024
Finish: Feb-05-2025
Word Count: 29,481


a/n: The Prison, baby!

Anyway... Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Summary: /"Is singing your answer to everything?"

"Everything? No. But it's a really great starting point." Marshall mused. "Singing, dancing, hugging, cuddles. PB & J... It's all about the intent. Whatever Rick and you are or aren't, he loves you, Lori. You and his kids. That's what truly matters. You'll see it when he returns to bestow a feast upon you."/

Chapter Includes/Spoilers/WARNINGS: canon-typical violence, blood & gore, angst, piranha action, family drama, The Prison.

...The walking DEAD...


Piranha

Chapter 12: The Place

Beth idly practised with her rebar-staff at the head of the road as she kept lookout for any piranha and the return of the hunting band, singing under her breath to drown out the buzz of grasshoppers and crickets. She still didn't have kick-ass gloves like Maggie, just the pair of work gloves she'd found way back at the garage; thankfully not on one of the dead bodies, but in one of the employee lockers.

A crafts hobbyist in her former life, it had been a fun challenge to scrounge up the supplies for a DIY holster for it. She'd repurposed a piece of capped plastic tubing to hold the 'butt' of the staff that was tied off her thigh-holster. Repurposed a soft faux leather gun holster no one had claimed with an opening in the bottom (like Rick's Python holster) to act as a mid-way stabilizer on the back of her belt. Finishing it off with the simple, thin-strapped belt from that same holster as a (back-of-the-)shoulder harness with a loop of space.

While she was pretty proud of her creation, it left her to fumble in finding each loop. If she managed the shoulder-loop, she didn't need the mid-way stabilizer, but the mid-way stabilizer was a must if she didn't use the shoulder-loop. The 'butt' holder was an always-must, obviously. The staff holsters secured it to her body, but left wiggle room for her to crouch and such with the loose holds, but she was still getting used to just how unwieldy a thing the same length of her body could be. It really was a good piranha-weapon as Marshall had surmised from the times she'd been in the thick-of-it, but with a 1/3 of it sticking up over her head while in the harness, she had to take it out if she wanted to get into a vehicle, and there were a few (several) instances while indoors where things had descended into the likes of a 3 Stooges sketch with a wood beam or ladder.

The teenager paused mid-swing in killing an imaginary piranha and squinted down the road. She rose a gloved hand to block out the bright overhead sun and four approaching figures emerged. The tallest whistled the two-tone return signal.

"They're back!" She called back over her shoulder to the others. When she turned back, Marshall was skipping down the road like a schoolgirl. Beth rolled her eyes, only her brother. He had them all worried with that infection and fever, but a couple weeks later and the only indication anything even happened was the new scars both he and Athena now bore. She opened her mouth in greeting, her brother far ahead of the others, but let out a yip instead as Marshall ducked around her staff and hugged her around the waist, picking her up and spinning them around.

"Sunny!" Marshall crowed.

All Beth could do was hold on and endure her brother's excitement, an automatic giggle leaving her at the familiar action. Rick and Daryl dodged around her swinging rebar-staff and the rest of The Group had formed a loose crowd out front of the Hyundai at her call.

"I take it hunting went well?" She said wryly when Marshall finally set her down.

He cupped her face shortly, smooching her cheek. "You have no idea." His green-eyes were bright and excited. A glance at Rick showed the same in his blue-eyes. Even Daryl looked quietly pleased.

Sophia had gotten a bowl and filled it with fresh water for Athena. Marshall absently tossed his kill bag to Daryl and swung the 12-soon-to-be-13-year-old into his arms like she was a toddler instead. "Papa!" She squealed with laughter, squirming futilely over his shoulder as he pinched her side.

T-Dog and Carol watched Daryl dump his and Marshall's game in the cooler from the back of the truck.

T-Dog whistled. "Damn! Nice haul!" He clapped the hunter on the shoulder. "That'll last us a few nights, at least."

"We're gonna be plucking all night." Carol said with a put-upon sigh but a light in her eyes.

"Ain't that what kids are for?" Daryl slammed the lid, making her smirk.

"Now all we gotta do is find a place for the night and we can fry these babies up—Duck à la in my belly." T-Dog declared and Carol glimpsed a knowing look on Daryl's face before he turned away.

Mercifully, Marshall halted his tickle-attack shortly, but Sophia was more than fine with staying hung over his shoulder to keep an eye back up the road.

"Where's your shirt?" Beth realized, drawing attention.

"In my pocket."

"Why?"

"It was wet."

Maggie made a face and this time it was her turn to say: "Why?"

"Had a little swim."

"Why?" Beth stressed the question; she knew in his giddy-mood Marshall was answering her questions, but in vague way just to mess with them.

"Had to get my ducks, you know? I wasn't gonna send Athena into the pond."

She squinted at him. "But only your shirt got wet...?" Beth turned a bit of a stink-eye on Rick and Daryl returning from the truck, but mostly Rick: "You let him go swimming... naked?"

"Didn't let 'im do shit." Daryl said. "Did that on his own."

"He wasn't naked." Rick felt the need to awkwardly point out despite the fact that he hadn't been present for the event himself, either.

"You mean th' skimpy lady lingerie?" Daryl muttered. "Might as well have been."

"Daryl~" Marshall merely gave him a wink. "As much as I'm sure we can go deeper into this hot bod of a temple," He grabbed Rick's shoulder, shaking him. "Tell 'em already, Rick, c'mon!"

"Tell us what?" Carl looked to his dad along with everyone else, with intrigue.

Rick cleared his throat and straightened under their scrutiny. "Came across a place while we were out. The potential is... better than anything we've come across. It's big, contained, as far was we could see the fence all around it was intact." Everyone's faces were lighting-up as he continued to speak, but he knew there was going to be some floundering and hesitation when he told them exactly what this place was. "It's got access to a water source and the woods are close at hand. It's isolated from the main road." He took a breath, hands sturdy on his narrow hips. "Now, the walker occupation is higher than we're used to, but with everyone chipping in, doing their part, I'm confident we can make this place ours before nightfall." He finished confidently.

"What is this place, exactly?" Hershel wondered.

"A penitentiary center."

There were disbelieving gaping all around.

"A prison?!" Lori repeated, incredulous. "You want to clear out a prison? Won't that have hundreds, if not thousands of walkers?"

"Look," Rick held up his hand. "I-I know it sounds impossible with just the 15 of us, but I have faith in us. Marshall, Daryl, and I have already been spit-balling a plan of attack and once we get a closer look we'll know for sure, but I am confident in us and that this is The Place. Trust me. When you all see it, you'll see what I see. We can be safe there."

The Group could see the earnesty in his gaze as he met each of theirs in turn, instead of the desperation and fear that had clung to him all winter. They shared silent glances amongst themselves; if Rick's words held true, than this wouldn't just be a place to catch their breath for the night, this would be Home—the fabled place they'd been searching for since they lost The Greene Farm.

Everyone loaded up. It took nearly 2 hours to find the road that lead to the prison. The big warning signs and security booth with a metal crossbar that stretched across the mouth of the road told them they were definitely on the right path.

The booth was abandoned. While Rick, Daryl, Glenn and T worked to strong-armed the crossbar into the upright position, Marshall poked through the booth. He was pleased to find a first aid kit, dead walkies and various batteries, flare guns, there was a junk food stash that he discretely packed away (Butterfly's birthday was coming next week, it would be a pleasant treat). There was a key ring that he doubted would contain any to do with the main prison but he grabbed it anyway, and glanced over the contents of a shelf of protocol binders. When they got the crossbar up, they drove passed and lowered it again. They drove two miles down the dirt road, parked, gathered their supplies, walked the last half-mile through the wooded area as a group, killing walkers here and there.

They lingered in the tree line, observing the last half-mile to the prison fences, a couple pairs of binoculars being passed around. Nothing in particular had changed in the few hours since the prison was spotted.

"You weren't kidding." Glenn muttered. "About the fence or the walkers." He passed the binoculars to Maggie. "How are we supposed to get in there, though? I doubt we'll just be able to walk through the front gate."

"The dog run looks clear." Maggie observed. "Maybe we can cut an opening in the fence?"

"I found a set of keys in the security booth." Marshall offered up. "We can cut through the fence easily enough with the bolt cutters, but then there'll always be a weak spot in the perimeter. There probably isn't a key to the golden gate to the kingdom, but I'd say it's worth the gamble."

Rick's fingers curled around the keys thoughtfully. "Alright, here's the plan. Lori, Hershel, Carol, Sophia, Carl; you all stay in the center, the rest of us will form a perimeter. We'll move for the front gate at a jog—Can you handle that?" He looked to his wife.

Lori nodded, arm supporting her belly. "I'll be fine."

"If the keys don't work, we'll cut through the fence by the gate. Who has the bolt cutters?"

"I do." T-Dog strapped them on the outside of his bag for easier access.

"That'll be your job, then, T."

"We can close it using this?" Glenn offered up a bundle of thin, red insulated wire.

"Beth should do that." Marshall said.

Said teen looked to him. "Why me?"

"Your small deft hands, your weaving experience, and you've done similar before without trouble."

"You mean, not getting my fingers bitten off?" Beth said sarcastically.

"Exactly."

Glenn offered her the bundle of wires with an awkward smile after Maggie nudged him. With a role of her eyes, Beth shoved her hand through the center of it.

"Okay." Rick looked over everyone. "T and Beth up front with me, then. Marshall and Maggie, left-side and back. Glenn and Daryl; right-side and back. No guns unless they have a silencer, we don't want to draw more walkers to us out here than we already will be. Do not break rank and if you're in trouble, call it out. Watch each other's backs. Let's go."

They formed a loose rendition of Rick's play in the trees before forming into a more cohesive unit once they were out in the open on the move. They found their pace, and with no overt noises, they were left unencumbered for about 2-minutes before their large group started to draw attention from the prison perimeter.

"Here we go." Daryl muttered and they all readied their mix of makeshift melee weapons. T-Dog's crowbar, Beth's rebar-staff, Glenn's lawn edger, Maggie's plated gloves and hatchet, Daryl's hunting knife, and Rick and Marshall's kukri blades. Both archers decided against using their bows and risk losing their ammo outside when they ultimately faced a more daunting number of piranha inside the fences. Marshall had also put Athena in the center circle with an order of silent.

It was slow to start with, as these things typically were. They were almost keyed up with impatience before the first piranha got close enough, but the moments of pause it took to kill them, halted The Group's steady progress to the gate and allowed the piranhas to seemingly close the distance in leaps and bounds. They were a halfway to the gate, Glenn and Daryl each occupied with their own walkers, when a third decided to take the opportunity for the opening the two left to the middle group.

"Shit! Kid, get that!" Daryl called.

Whereas Daryl had expected Carl to be the one to pop off a shot (the kid was the one going in and clearing houses with them at Rick's hip after all), instead, Sophia was the one that darted out before Carl could waste a bullet.

"Sophia?!" Carol cried out in surprise and distress.

Daryl glimpsed the girl from the corner of his eye—Sophia took the piranha down at the knee with a well placed kick, joints snapping, it practically folded like a piece a paper. She followed through with a double-fisted swing with her fire poker to the temple, putting it down within 20 seconds and was back into center-circle.

"Damn, girl." Daryl muttered, quietly impressed as he and Glenn closed the gap again. That was definitely a far cry from the girl that was chased out into the woods by two walkers.

"Sophia..." Carol grabbed her shoulder, relief—and a new light in her eyes never having seen that side of Sophia before; the one that Marshall had cultivated during the winter. She'd seen bits and pieces of it over the past 2-months, like her gutting game or Marshall running her through gun and knife maintenance, but whereas Carl pleaded with his parents to be in 'the action', Sophia was fine with sitting out of it so to see her so efficiently take down a walker... was both frightening and relieving.

Marshall felt... Regret that she even had to do this. Pride for how brave and mature she was. And mirth, because she was one of the cutest damned things he'd ever seen—and he'd witnessed many damn cute things in his life. You see, Sophia had managed to get Marshmallow into Chips strapped to her chest, and Daryl had given her his poncho to cover the cat in a protective pocket of safety and darkness (a state in which he learned to be quiet and still in), with her strawberry-blond locks pinned back with her butterfly hairclips, in a oversized patterned poncho, her fire poker to bear with a determined look on her innocent, freckled face. He had the cutest, fiercest little spirit-warrior-daughter!

"Everyone good?!" Rick called out.

"Good!" Sophia called back.

"We're nearly to the gate. Keep going!" When they did reach it, Rick quickly, but no so frantically that he fumbled them, sifted through each key against the gate's lock. T-Dog and Beth took a ready position aside of the gate, while the rest of the fighters stood as barrier against the rest of the walkers. "Damn it! T! Cut it open, now!" Rick issued the contingency, joining back into the fray, stabbing a walker harshly through the eye socket.

Beth held the fence steady as T-Dog cut a 4-foot high line into the chain link. "Got it!"

Beth ducked through first, dropping her staff to the ground instead of wasting precious seconds trying to harness it, and held open her side of the fence while T held in open from the outside. "Come on! Come on! Let's go!"

Lori, Hershel, Carol, Carl and Sophia, Athena were quickly ushered through. Daryl. Rick grabbed the fence from T-Dog and send him in, while Marshall covered. Beth waited anxiously with the spool of wire after Glenn had taken over the inside fence flap, waiting for Rick and Marshall to get their asses inside.

"Marshall, come on!" Rick shouted, even as the Ranger swung his machete at another piranha that had closed the distance while he was occupied. Marshall pulled free and skittered back through the fence opening before another could accost him.

Rick thrust his knife under the chin of the final walker that was too close for comfort, letting it fall across the foot of the opening as he ducked through. All inside the dog run, the sides were pulled closed and Beth started to weave the wire through the separated links. Maggie grabbed her sister's staff, thrusting in through a diamond link and into another walker before it crashed into the fence and impeded the teen's progress. But Marshall was correct and Beth quickly braided the fence back together in fairly short amount of time, anchoring the remaining wire.

They watched with bated breath as the next piranha crashed into the fence, letting it out with a collective relieved heave when the weaving held. Still, Maggie killed it so as not to leave it to pick at the weakness in their defences and handed Beth back her rebar-staff.

"Look at this." Rick said, drawing their attention from outside, to inward. "What did I tell you?" The walkers' attention was starting to draw towards them from their previous aimlessness in the field. Still, with hands on his hips and a lightened look of joy on his face, he continued as The Group gathered around. "It's perfect. If we can shut that gate," Rick pointed toward the recreation yard up the hill, "Prevent anymore walkers from filling the field, we can pick off these... we'll have the field in time for dinner."

"So, how are we supposed to shut the gate?" Hershel asked.

"Someone will have to run for it." Glenn voiced the obvious conclusion.

Maggie frowned at him, knowing that was as good as him offering himself up. "No way." She grasped his arm. "It's a suicide run."

"We play this right, it's not." Rick stated confidently. "Here's what we do: Daryl and Marshall go to the far guard tower. Carol, too; you've become a pretty good shot. Take your time, we don't have a lot of ammo to waste. Hershel, you, Carl, and T-Dog take this tower at the gate; use the rifles we have. The rest of you, draw as many as you can to the fence over there, pop them through the fence."

"Who's running the gate, then?" T-Dog wondered.

"I'm the fastest." Glenn insisted with a head shake.

'The' was debatable. "We'll have to test that little theory later." Marshall mused. Certainly one of the fastest in the Group; the 3 Greene children, after all, all carried an active and athletic life before even all this. And Rick was an active cop.

"No. I'll go." Rick stated definitively.

Marshall scoffed. "Mr These-boots-weren't-made-for-jumping? You're gonna book your skinny-ass up that incline?" Granted, the man had managed to overtake him in The Boar's Nest parking lot.

Rick stared back, unaffected. "Yes."

"Rick-" Lori started, shaking her head in worry.

"It's not up for debate."

"Fine. But you wanna know what is up for debate?" Marshall said. "How we go about taking care of the piranha between you and that gate. I think opening fire is a bad idea. While yes, it might make this go faster, it is a waste of bullets that you just admitted that we can't afford to waste, and that sound will carry—we don't know the piranha situation at the front of the prison, not to mention any piranha hanging about within 3-miles will be drawn to here."

Those were good points, Rick guessed he was a little over eager to get in there. "Then, what do you suggest?"

"Daryl and I cover you from up-high with our bows from this guard tower." Marshall nodded at the tower next to them at the front gate. "We'll take Sophia and her slingshot, too." At their dubious looks at that tidbit, he elaborated, "While, yes, it takes a lucky shot to actually kill a piranha, she has good aim and can temporarily fell them if you get too overwhelmed out there."

Rick looked to the wide-eyed, but confident and determined girl in contemplation before nodding his agreement. "Go on."

"The others drawing piranha down here to kill through the fence is a good idea, but a few of our best shooters should post down the run, that way, with a better line of sight to the rec. yard gate. Help keep that contained, thin out the pack so you can actually secure the gate."

"I thought you didn't want to use guns?" Carol questioned.

Marshall raised a brow at either of his sisters, who were the ones that typically kept account of The Group's armoury. "How many silencers do we have?"

"Four, right?" Maggie said after a moment. "Rick, Carl-"

"I have one." Lori spoke-up, taking the gun out from the holster under her flannel shirt, offering it to the Ranger.

"And the fourth one's basically communal." Maggie concluded. "I have that one right now."

"Best shots," Rick said. "So, Carl," The boy nodded with pride. "Carol." Said woman looked at him in surprise. "Like I said, you've become a good shot over the winter," Marshall gave her the gun. "Just don't rush it, pick your targets."

"Alright." Carol agreed; Sophia smiled up at her mom.

"That leaves Maggie or Beth." Marshall said.

After an silent exchange, Beth said, "I'll stick to the fence down here."

Maggie nodded her agreement.

"And you're keeping yours." Marshall said before Rick could try and offer it up. "You're gonna want it if things get a sticky in there."

"Anything else?" Rick asked.

"Three things, actually." Marshall declared. "Athena will go with the shooters. If you need to help draw attention, command her to speak." Maggie nodded. "Marshmallow will stay down here with the fence poppers." Sophia opened her mouth to protest, arms hugging around the cat and Chips. "You can't bring him up to the tower, Butterfly, he'll get in your way. He's a yowler if you put him in the path of piranha so he'll help draw them to the fence." Sophia sighed in defeat but nodded.

"I'll take him, Sophia." Beth offered.

"Alright." Turned away from the field, the teen helped her with Daryl's poncho and extracting Marshmallow from Chips. The cat meowed, cuddled in Beth's arms. Sophia gave him a kiss before she dug out her slingshot and made sure she had her ammo for it; having not really had a reason to use it the past couple months, she was fully loaded.

"You said 3 things." Glenn reminded Marshall.

"Indeed." He pointed, "Lori."

"Yes...?" The woman looked to the Ranger.

"You're the gate-keeper here for Rick. And Marshmallow when he needs to quiet down." Marshall passed her Daryl's poncho. "Just cuddle him under there; he'll calm right down with the baby."

"Alright." Lori slipped the poncho on overhead.

"And... break!" Marshall clapped and did jazz hands.

Everyone dumped their bags in a pile and gathered their various items. The archers went up into the tower. The shooters jogged down the far side. The poppers moved further from the gate, Beth keeping the cat blind for the moment. Rick grabbed a pair of linked karabiners to secure the gate and took out a machete. He posted at the gate with his wife, hidden from view by an overturned prisoner bus across the dirt road. After a short whistle in signal from each group for ready:

Beth put down Marshmallow, his leash clipped to her belt. The poppers started with banging on the fence to draw the walkers; the cat started spitting and hissing, but it quickly turned into harsh yowling and snarling once they reached the fence. Daryl and Marshall had already started releasing, aiming for the piranha closest to the path as Lori released Rick into the pen.

Rick didn't screw around, darting around the bus and immediately running down the path. With the distracting noise from the fence, he was left unhindered for the first quarter.

With a bearing loaded and ready in the slingshot pouch, Sophia was knelt on the guard platform between Marshall and Daryl for a sturdier base and for a better frame to be able to track Rick with her shorter height where the top of the railing would have been a hindrance. Eyes on Rick, papa had told her.

What started off as a sprint, had quickly slowed as the walkers started converging on Rick and blocking his path. For every one he was forced to stall and kill, the archers' felled two; he absently noted more neon-pink than he did striped grey-and-green and feathers. He yanked his machete free of a skull, jerking instinctively back when a walker stumbled passed him too close for comfort before tripping to the ground. Marshall wasn't kidding around when he said Sophia knew how to shoot that thing. Rick jumped over the stunned walker and continued on his exhausting journey to the gate.

Nearly there!

As the walkers in the rec. yard started to boot-up for the cacophony of noise around the field (Maggie wondered if they shouldn't have just used the guns with the screeching Marshmallow alone was doing), Maggie commanded Athena to bark in an attempt to draw them more toward the fence than the meal that was running toward them. She, Carl, and Carol finally started to take slow but effective shots in turn so as to not tag the same walker and waste bullets.

When Rick got within 10-feet of the rec. gate, too close to risk continuing to shoot, Maggie called them off and commanded Athena silent. Daryl had run out of bolts, Sophia's slingshot couldn't reach that distance, leaving Rick on his own. Needing both hands, he sheathed his machete and grasped the middle of the gate. A pink-fletched arrow flew so close passed his ear he could feel the air displacement, hitting the walker reaching for him. Rick only paused long enough to kick the dead walker back into the rec. yard, sending it into the others like a set of bowling pins before it could fall and block the trundle path. The gate slammed home and he quickly snapped on the karabiners into place, securing the gate. While he felt elation at the success, there was no time to relish in it as those walkers may be contained, there were still walkers in pursuit of his tender flesh behind him.

Silenced Glock in his right hand this time when he turned, Rick took two quick shots at the closest walkers and darted for the interior guard tower aside the rec. gate. Thankfully, it was unlocked. He slammed it shut behind him, cast into darkness, leaving the walkers to ineffectually bang on the door and the three best-shots to clear the trouble for him. He barrelled into a walker enclosed inside. They crashed onto the steel steps with a shout.

Unable to see where its face was, Rick's first instinct was to rear back but while he may have landed on the top in this equation, the walker wasn't very keen to let him go. Trapped in the walker's grasp and wary of firing blind shots in the dark with a high possibility of a ricochet coming back on him, he used the butt of his Glock as a club. Instead of the soft crunch of flesh and bone, or the clang of the metal stair, there was a dull thunk. Swinging again and again, he was met with the same results. He was hitting something, it just wasn't flesh and bone.

Almost dumbly, he stopped struggling. A moment later Rick flinched back as he was head-butted, but was still not met with a bite despite being able to hear the click of teeth that never failed to make him tense. Confounded, he used the gun as a feeler (lest he finally get his fingers bitten off in the dark), less bluntly, tapping around. He was met with a smooth surface that sounded... plastic? Was this a helmet?! It would explain why he was wasn't walker chow yet. A guard, maybe-?

The door hinges screeched as it was yanked open behind him. "Rick?!"

Rick didn't waste a moment in the sunlight that was cast in to jam the silenced muzzle under the walker's strapped chin of what, indeed, looked to be prison guard decked out in riot gear, and pulled the trigger. The gloves would also explain why his bare arms and neck hadn't been shredded to ribbons by dirty nails. He extracted himself finally from the walker's embrace with a grimace, fingers closing around the ring he'd pulled off its belt and met Marshall outside.

"You good?" Marshall checked him over; inspecting his arms for scratches, brushing the sweaty curls from his neck to look for any nips. "Got a little worried when you didn't pop-up topside."

"Did you rush all the way out here?" Rick questioned him, glancing back down the field. It was almost deathly silent with Marshmallow no longer yowling, he could see some of The Group still lingering at the fence inside the run, while others were in pairs in the field, finishing off the stragglers. They had it, they'd done it!

"Maybe I should have left you be—you looked pretty cozy in there." Marshall returned.

Rick scoffed. "I was blind in there, it was pure luck that it was a guard with a helmet visor and gloves and not another prisoner." Marshall could only squeeze his nape comfortingly in silent response. "Hey, Mars?" Rick grasped his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"We did it!" Rick grinned and pulled him into a hearty embrace.

Marshall laughed with jubilation returning with a bear hug, Rick's feet briefly leaving the ground. "We did. You did." He corrected, pulling back with a headshake. "You and those fucking cowboy boots, baby—dashing all the way!"

Rick smirked. "Told you."

"Thought I saw a hop in there." Marshall teased. "Glad you didn't roll an ankle, Mr These-boots-aren't-made-for-jumping."

Rick rolled his eyes and gave him a playful shove, "Don't jinx it. C'mon." They started to head down back toward the overturned bus. "That was a good shot, by the way." He nodded back towards the rec. gate. "It was a close call."

"It was my last arrow." Marshall told him. "But don't worry, I would never dare mark-up your pretty face."

Rick deadpanned. "You know that's not what I meant."

"It's true nonetheless." Marshall booped him.

"Dad!" Carl raced to meet his dad, a huge grin lighting up his smudged freckled face, the others not far behind. "You closed the gate, we did it!"

"We did." Rick squeezed his shoulder. "That was some good shooting you did." Carl beamed with pride. "You, too, Sophia." He nodded at the girl.

Sophia gave him a shy nod, leaning into Marshall's side. "Papa told me to think of you like a zebra and we had to protect you from the hungry lions."

There were snorts.

Rick gave Marshall a look, who returned an unaffected arched brow. "It's a compliment. Zebras are badass, alright, not just pretty to look at." He sent a wink Rick's way. "In fact-"

"No one wants to hear your boring fact about zebras." Beth intoned.

"Well, that's just ignorant and your loss."

"Look at this place!" Carol said, voice giddy. "We haven't had this much space since the farm."

"What's the first order of business?" Hershel asked.

"Duck?" T-Dog piped up, hopeful and eager.

Rick chuckled. "Soon. First, we gotta grab the cars and clear out these bodies while it's still daylight. So, who's going to run back with Daryl?"

Beth's arm instantly shot up.

Maggie scoffed. "You just want to get out of dragging bodies."

"Look at these chicken arms!" Beth flexed her bared biceps.

"It's called the buddy-system for a reason." Marshall deadpanned.

Beth insisted, "These will be far more useful holding onto a steering wheel."

"By your logic, Sophia and Carl should go, too." Maggie said.

Both 12-year-olds' blue-eyes snapped up to their respective fathers; Carl's eager and Sophia's worried.

"No. You'll barely be able to reach the pedals." Rick shook his head at his son in amusement.

"I'm almost as tall as Beth!" Carl protested.

Marshall snorted. "Beth can barely reach the pedals."

Beth gave her brother a heated glare. "Shut up, I can to!"

Marshall tugged a lock of strawberry-blond hair, "You have to learn to drive first, Butterfly, don't worry. I won't risk you putting The Banana Mopeel in a ditch."

"Is that worry for your daughter or your car?" Carol raised a brow.

"I can worry about two things at once." He joked.

"I was thinking the kids could gather some firewood." Rick voiced. "We'll do a fire tonight; we'll want it sleeping outside for the night."

"Outside the fence?" Lori question, already shaking her head.

"Athena will go with them." Marshall added incentive and Athena woofed.

"I don't know..." Carol said worriedly.

"I can do it, mom." Sophia assured. "You saw me kill that piranha."

"I did."

"Papa taught me. The trees aren't that far away and if too many piranha start showing up, we can run back."

Carol stroked her daughter's face. "Alright." She finally allowed.

Lori, herself was pursed lipped as her son stared back at her stoically with his father's eyes. "Okay." She turned her gaze to her husband, "I'll handle the gate, someone will need to with everyone going in and out and with the walkers outside."

Rick nodded. "Beth, Carol, and Hershel will go with Daryl, then, for the cars."

"Fine." Daryl said. "Let me finish collecting my bolts and then we'll go, I'm still missing a few."

"Here, catch." Rick told Daryl, tossing the hunter the keys he'd grabbed from the guard. "Try those on the front gate."

10 minutes later, they were gathered in the holding area at the front gate. Lori was at the gate, waiting for Daryl's nod. Beth took out the piranha that was fixated through the gate on Lori with her rebar-staff and that was when the hunter gave the nod. The pregnant woman opened the gate just enough to fit single file; Daryl and Beth first, taking out the interested walkers. Carl, Sophia, and Athena slipped out after while they were distracted and veered to the right. Hershel and Carol last into Beth and Daryl's slipstream down the road towards the vehicles.

"Hey, y'all better bring those ducks back in one piece!" T-Dog called after them as Lori shoved the gate shut again.

"You're really into the ducks, man." Glenn observed.

"I'm hungry." He shrugged. "And we've never had duck before, I'm curious."

"What if you don't like it?"

"Like I said: I'm hungry—I won't care."

"I think you will- Like it, I mean. My mom always made duck for Thanksgiving... I'm looking forward to it. I mean, the way Daryl did that owl... imagine what he can do with a duck?"

"I know. Who the hell knew owl could taste good?"

"Daryl Dixon knows."

While Lori kept a tense eye on the kids' progress, with Marshmallow's leash clipped to the fence in the shade of the guard tower and out of sight of any living piranha outside to set him off, the remaining 5 started on the laborious task of dragging the scattered bodies in the field to the front gate holding. There were at least 50, so it was certainly looking to be a workout. Once there was a handful of bodies, they started to carry them outside, piling them off-side of the road and on the far side away from the creek on the west side. That was accomplished as a trio for efficiency and safety; two to carry the body, one as a guard for walkers. The remaining two continued to drag bodies to the gate.

The firewood trio returned before the car unit, laden with branches and stones for the fire, unmolested by walkers. The two 12-year-olds then took over as walker-guards for the body-disposal.

The rumble of Daryl's motorcycle foreshadowed the unit's return, and they pulled off to side of the gate for the moment. The clearing process went loads faster with all hands on deck; they could have finished even faster if they'd been able to back the truck into the yard and fill the bed, but with the over-turned bus blocking the inside gate, they were forced to funnel through single-bodied. But, between water-breaks and switching out, as the sun was reaching the horizon in pinks and oranges—the field was clear and officially theirs!

After playing Tetris with the vehicles into the front security holding, the gate was locked, the fire built... and the duck-plucking commenced.

"Wait!" Beth shouted, halting Daryl after he casually tossed the first fistful of feathers away—to the absolute delight of Marshmallow, who was rolling around and batting at the down.

"What now, princess?" The hunter plucked another bunch.

"I want to keep the feathers!" Beth kicked an empty bucket towards him.

"What for?"

"A pillow or somethin'. I dunno, maybe I'll fix-up your angel wings with some real feathers—just put it in the bucket, Daryl!"

"Touch my vest an' I'll cut the sleeves off your Army jacket." Daryl rolled his eyes, but tossed the feathers into the bucket—as well as one could throw feathers.

The others complied with the request and got free entertainment out of the whole thing, as the teen now had to take on the undertaking that was Marshmallow. The cat, now done with the fistful of down in the grass, became fixated with the filling bucket and every time Beth took her eye off it for a second to pluck her own duck—the feline kept trying to dive bomb into it.

"That creek on the West side," T-Dog nodded to it as they continued to pluck, Daryl already onto butchering his duck; his mouth watered even though the thing wasn't even on the fire yet and he needed a distraction. "Think we'd be able to dig a canal under the fence, get fresh water on tap? Otherwise, we'll have to trek out there every other day."

"A pump would be much better," Marshall commented. "With the right equipment, we could MacGyver a manual pump up."

Sophia perked up. "Like you did with the fire hydrant?"

Marshall smiled. "Yeah, though this will take a little more brain-power. But the canal's a good starting point, T-Dog, especially for a crop field."

"The soil's certainly good for it," Hershel agreed. "If we start cultivating the field tomorrow, planting the day after... we can start harvesting as soon as 50 days. I've been collecting seeds when I've come across them; soybean, tomato, cucumber..."

Marshall beamed across at his daddy. "I've got seeds, too! Strawberry, carrot, lettuce... to think," He cooed giddily, "By the end of July we're gonna be eating salad! We're gonna grow the shit out of this field! What?" He asked a moment later as he was being stared at. "Oh, don't play coy—I cannot be the only one that's excited about salad here." He went back to butchering duck, tossing bits and bobs for Athena, the rest going to Daryl to dress and fry-up.

"You know the date?" Glenn asked him.

"Yes...? It's on my watch; how do you think I knew it was April Fool's? It's, uh, May 23rd now." He nudged his spirit-daughter, "It's Butterfly's B-Day next week—perfect timing as always." He told her. "So, yeah, by the end of July. We already have an assortment of gardening tools, we just need to clean them of any piranha-gunk first. Who's ready to wake-up at the crack of dawn for some good old back-breaking hard labour?" Marshall asked excitedly.

"Only you would be excited by that." Maggie muttered.

"Should we start calling you Warden Marshall?" Beth quipped dryly. "You gonna crack the whip if we don't get up at your unreasonable schedule?"

"I'll put a frog in your sleeping bag." He smirked. "Don't worry, I'll get you into piranha-hauling shape in no time, baby sis."

"You better not actually put a frog in my sleeping bag." Beth muttered mutinously; Marshall just gave her an enigmatic smile.

With all the ducks finally plucked (3 butchered for dinner and the rest stowed back into the cooler, that was then buried in the cool earth to help slow the spoiling), Beth was able to tuck the bucket of feathers away from feline temptation and into the safety of the front guard tower. That didn't stop Marshmallow from following after her though, meowing, and scratching against the metal door.

"C'mon, feather-brain," She picked him up and closed the gate, heading back to the group. "Marshall's got some tasty gizzard for you."

Carol had started serving up fried duck, and took pity on the salivating T-Dog by giving him one of the first portions.

"Mm, just like mom used to make." Glenn sucked his fingers clean with satisfaction. "Thanks, mom." He joked, looking at Daryl.

The hunter just grunted, pulling the pan off the grill rack over the fire and rested it on the cooler stones that ringed the pit. He rose and grabbed his crossbow. "I'll be on lookout at th' bus."

"Look what you did, Glenn. You scared him off." Beth joked. "Haven't you learned anything from all of Marshall's faux pas? Compliments make him skittish."

No, Marshall makes Daryl skittish, Maggie mused.

Carol finished serving up the last duck. "I'll take Daryl his, see if I can't coax him back—that mean's behave yourself, Glenn." She mocked scolded him. Before she left, "This one's for your dad when he decides to come around," She gave Carl a second bowl, who nodded confirmation. They didn't even have to watch her walk away with vigilance, safe in their little yard.

"That's his third time around the fence," Hershel observed, gaze following the distant form of the former Sherriff's Deputy who was circling the inside perimeter of the fence, apathetic about the walkers that trailed after him with each division of fencing. "If there was some fault for him to find, he would have found it by now."

"He's just mapping his new territory. He'll ease up when we settle in more, get this place up and running, aren't camping out in the yard any more." Marshall stroked the silky fur at the base of Athena's ear gently, gaze trained on the two figures stood close atop the overturned bus instead—was that a bark a gruff laughter? "He'll drift back to the pack eventually, he always does."

"Surprised you're not out there right beside him." Maggie poked fun at her twin.

Marshall answered distractedly, "We decided to switch off who gets to be anal so y'all don't mutiny." Beth snorted, drawing his attention. "What?" She just shook her head, exchanging an amused glance with her sister. "I'll end up doing it later." Marshall squinted at the teen with suspicion when she bit her lip, but Hershel spoke up again, changing the topic:

"Bethy, won't you sing Paddy Reilly?" Beth's lips pursed and she turned her head away from her father. Hershel added softly. "It's been so long since I've heard you sing..."

"Come on, not Paddy Reilly, daddy." Maggie pleaded; Annette loved Paddy Reilly, and none of the family had been able to bear putting the record on since she had died. Glenn squeezed her knee comfortingly.

"What about 'Parting Glass'?" Hershel tried. "It would be nice to hear you again."

Beth shut it down instantly.

"Why not?" Glenn wondered gently. "I'd love to hear you sing, too."

"Why not ask Marshall FM over there?" She tried to shuffle it off to Marshall.

Marshall's eyebrow flickered. His big brother senses were tingling that Beth was perhaps so adamant about not singing because it was daddy that had asked her. He was just going to have to be a bit petty back. "Well, you all know I'm more than happy to put on a free show if Beth isn't up for it." He declared, rising to feet. "Oh, I know the perfect song, in fact!"

Maggie knew exactly that her twin was up to and knew the next thing to leave his mouth was going to be the most annoying, obnoxious thing. She was proven right an instant later:

dog goes "woof"
cat goes "meow"
bird goes "tweet"
and mouse goes "squeak"

cow goes "moo"
a frog goes "croak"
and the elephant goes "toot"
duck say "quack"
and fish go "blub"
and the seal goes "ow-ow-ow"

but there's a sound
that no one knows
what does the fox say-

"No!" Beth shouted at him.

"No?" Marshall stopped, brow scrunched, playing oblivious. "Uh, that's not how it goes, Sunny. The fox says-"

"Shut up! Just stop!" Beth ordered, threatening finger risen, her blue glare ice. "I'll sing, alright?! Just shut-up. You know I hate... that song..." She trailed off with realization and Marshall didn't even try to hide his utter satisfaction that she'd fallen right into his trap. "Jerk. I'll get you back for that." She muttered.

"You should sing one of your songs." Marshall suggested pleasantly like retribution hadn't just been declared and the stare trained on him wasn't acidic.

"Your songs?" Glenn echoed, head tilted curiously at the teen.

Maggie nodded, smiling across at her little sister. "Beth's a talented musician and singer; she plays the guitar and piano, and she's already written a bunch of original songs. C'mon, Beth," She encouraged the teen, "You're so good."

"Fine." Beth scowled at the pointed toe of her cowboy boot for a moment, her knee drawn to her chest as she thought about it. The group around the fire watched her in anticipation as she straightened her back and took a deep breath:

I'm only human, I need a God
to show me what we want when we fought
from morning to dusk, our tears causing rust on all of our weapons
and he's just a man, but deep in his eyes
I see all this love without the lies
from now til forever, we'd be so much better without the weapons

Marshall smiled softly at the sound of his baby sister's voice. She didn't need the guitar or piano notes to accompany her voice, as proven, when, like moths to a flame, the lost sheep started to wonder back to the flock. He mussed her hair gently when he passed her to head toward the returning pair, she swatted at him but her voice didn't falter as she continued to sing:

empty my gun, dull my knife
build a house, make a life
we lie in bed and let the record play
I hope that he and I will always be this way

"Spirit-baby-mama!" Marshall called softly, his intention clear as he B-lined to Carol. The woman stopped walking so there was some distance with the group for some privacy, but Daryl continued walk on after a glance at her. "Knew not even you could stay away, Daryl. It's like the draw of honey."

"She's better than you." Was the shot.

Marshall smiled. "I know."

Daryl didn't respond, coming to stand at the edge of the fire, arms crossed under his reclaimed poncho that Marshall had to restrain himself from cooing how cute it was, lest the hunter throw it onto the fire in reaction.

"What can I help you with?" Carol wondered as the younger man closed in on her.

Marshall wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulders, pulling her against her side. He whispered, eager, "What's your secret? Will you teach me your ways, oh, wise-one?"

Carol glanced up at him in amused confusion. "Secret?"

He nodded, green-eyes imploring, "Yeah. How do you do it?"

"Do what?" She rolled her eyes.

"How do you make Daryl laugh like that?" He wondered, hushed, nodding back toward the bus in example. Her exasperation softened a bit at his genuine, if lost and naive tone. "How do you get him to laugh like he actually enjoys it and it wasn't garnered within an inch of his life. How do you make him laugh and then not look at you like you'd tripped over his crossbow instead?"

"That's easy." He looked at her with anticipation like she was about to give him the cheat code to crack the mystery of the elusive Daryl Dixon. "I'm safe."

His expression collapsed into bewilderment. "Safe?" He repeated.

Carol nodded. "I'm non-threatening."

"You're non-thr-? You're safe and non-threatening..." He stepped back, brain doing loops and going nowhere. "You're saying I'm threat- I'm threatening?! Me?" He protested. "I'm the friendliest fuck around! I'm-"

"Oh, pumpkin..." She shook her head at his obliviousness to her sentiment, his blindness to the writing on the wall hidden behind hastily put up wallpaper:

oh, I'm only human, but I've found a match
he doesn't hurt, he doesn't scratch
I'm just some girl, but I've found a soul
he doesn't push, he doesn't pull
he's just a man, but he's like a saviour that I don't deserve after my bad behaviour
He says he's wasted with no money left
but all that I see is perfect

empty my gun, dull my knife
build a house, make a life
we lie in bed and let the record play
I hope that he and I will always be this way

Carol patted him on the cheek with pity.

"Ah," Marshall groaned, catching the look on her face. "Don't do that to me, Carol. Don't give me that look, with the knowing in your eyes and then not tell me."

Carol shrugged and started to head back to the warmth of the fire. "You're a grown man, I'm not your mother, I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."

"Just for the record," He called after her before she could get too far, "I'm fairly certain that you're the scariest person around here." She just laughed at him:

I am done with jealousy, done with the fighting
done with words that feel just like biting
I have found a new man with a heart he wants to share
it just goes to show that life isn't always unfair
I have pumped new blood into this heart for him to take
we're gonna move to California to a house on a lake
and some day we will kiss in front of family and friends
only cake and champagne and no need for weapons

empty my gun, dull my knife
build a house, make a life
we lie in bed and let the record play
I hope that he and I will always be this way

With his attention drawn back to the group, Marshall noticed that Rick had joined the group while he was distracted being an oblivious fool or whatever. See? Marshall wasn't an utter fool. As if able to feel his stare, Daryl looked over and squinted at him suspiciously—always suspiciously. Marshall heaved a sigh and turned his gaze away first like he had something to be guilty about even when he didn't. He wished he didn't care what the hunter felt toward him like he didn't care what Andrea thought about him, but then, he also didn't care for Andrea:

all these clear-headed thoughts were once home to doubt
think I finally know what life is about
and it seems smooth sailing where the waters were rough
how the world looks different when you find yourself in love, in love

in love, in love
in love

There was a beat of quiet as Beth's voice faded out and then scattered applause and low whistles.

"Damn, girl." T-Dog whistled. "You weren't kidding when you said you were on the Choir."

Beth raised a brow. "You didn't believe me?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes a brag needs proof, is all."

"Wow." Glenn agreed. "You really should sing more, Beth, that was great!"

"Thanks."

"I don't think I've heard that one before." Maggie said.

"Yeah, it's... new." Was all Beth said.

"Better all turn in." Rick spoke up, handing the remains of his dinner silently to Lori. "I'll take watch over there." He nodded. "We got a big day tomorrow."

"What do you mean?" Glenn questioned. "I thought we were just digging-up the ground for the garden tomorrow?"

Beth snorted before Rick could reply. "Just? Marshall wasn't joking about it being backbreaking, especially since we don't exactly have the equipment to plough properly. You're gonna want the extra beauty hours when Marshall uses you like a workhorse from the crack of dawn until sunset; this isn't going to be a city rooftop garden. 'Just' is enough when it comes farming, trust me. Sorry, Rick, you were saying?"

Rick pursed his lips for a moment, gaze drifting over the teen's shoulder to Marshall. "I was just going to say how proud I am off you all for what we did today. I said we could pull it off and we did. This was a great win for us—but it isn't over yet. We need to push in a little more, clear the recreation yard, get ourselves a cellblock. A roof over our heads.

"All I've seen inside the fence so far are guards and prisoners, looks to me like the prison fell pretty early. Like with the military killing the patients in hospitals... prisons would have been a prime target for preventative measures, that means all the supplies could be intact. They'll have an infirmary, a commissary with dry and canned goods that could hold us up until the garden's ready to harvest."

"Armoury?" Daryl noted.

"That would be outside the prison itself, but not too far away." Rick noted after a moment of thought, trying to go over general prison layout mentally. "The warden's office would have all that information. Weapons, food, medicine. This place is a gold mine just waiting for us, not just shelter—all we have to do is get inside."

"And you have a plan for this?" Hershel said. "The field was one thing, but the courtyard is a entirely different animal, Rick."

"The field exactly tells me we'll be able to do this." Rick countered. "There's no reason to doubt why a similar method won't work here. We'll discuss it in more detail in the morning." He declared, raising to his feet. "For now, get some rest," Rick repeated before departing the camp circle.

"I'll be just a minute," Lori murmured to her son when he straightened from his sleeping bag. "I need to speak with your father."

When Marshall saw Lori's determination to run down her husband, he went to tuck his spirit-daughter in first instead of following after the man himself just yet.

"Psst!" Lori pre-emptively called ahead softly, knowing she wouldn't be able to catch up to his faster stride without needlessly pushing herself. She hadn't really participated physically today, but just being on her feet for any stretch of the word... "Rick." Rick stopped walking, but he paused a moment longer with his back to her before he turned to face her. She could feel the tension radiating from him, her own bearing cautious, but that was just the new norm between them. She was the one to approach him so she knew that she was the one that needed to speak first.

"It's been like a death march since the farm. We all deserve a break, don't we? You especially. You've been pushing yourself so hard, Rick. It's okay to slow down. Like you said—we're safe right now. Can't we just enjoy this for a few days?" Lori said carefully. "Like Beth said, digging up the garden will be enough already."

The look cast down at her belly was pointed. "The baby will be here soon."

"Hershel said I still have at least 3 weeks left-"

"You don't know that. Carl had to come a little early—and that was in an ideal situation, Lori. We've been walking on the knife's edge the entirety of your pregnancy. We've been lucky, that's all. We're in the final mile here. No more screwing around, no more taking it easy. We can all have a great big picnic when we get this place up and running.

"You were right." Lori couldn't help the surprise that opened on her expression though she was confused about what. "You were right when you said that this baby is mine, no matter what. It's mine. So, as its father, I'm going to do what I have to do to make sure it's safe and it's fed. Tomorrow, I'm going to make sure it's born with a roof over its head, even if that roof is the ceiling of a prison cell.

"What more is there? What more do you want from me, Lori?"

"Things. It's just- If something happens-"

"Stop."

She didn't. "There are things that we've been avoiding, things that need to be discussed if something goes wrong. If I-"

"Enough."

"Like you said, we're in the final mile, Rick. If I don't cross the finish line with you-"

"I said: enough!" Rick hissed harshly.

Lori finally stopped, her mouth pursed tight, unshed tears in her hazel-eyes.

"You're worried about the baby... that's something you need to talk about with Hershel and Marshall. I already know my place in this child's life, and you... and I..." He shook his head.

"You and I?" Lori uttered with bated breath. Was she finally going to get an answer to the anvil that had been descending upon her the entire winter?

"That- I think... it's been pretty clear." His jaw tightened, looking away. "That Shane was right." Every muscle in her spine instantly knotted at he-who-shall-not-be-named, mind and heart racing. "That you had one foot inching out of our marriage before all this happened—before I was shot, even." His gaze went back to her, waiting. "I've been so angry; at Shane, you, myself. The world. All that... hate, is just so exhausting, so heavy, so... suffocating to carry around that I can barely breath. That I can't sleep, that I can't stand still. I still love you and that's why the hate hurts so much. I don't want it anymore, I just can't do it anymore. Can't keep hating things that have already been done, that can't be changed. I don't want that for us, for our kids." Her lips parted but no words seemed to be able to escape. "So, I'll be here, alone, doing stuff. And things." He turned and finished his trek to the farthest reaches of the field away from the camp.

Lori stayed rooted to the spot, staring after him. She tried to take deep, even breaths to prevent herself from bursting into sobs, tears pooling in her eyes, but they came out jerky and shuddery. There it was, the anvil; a 13-year marriage, a 14-year relationship shattered under the fall. She wasn't surprised but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Where Shane made her want to scream, Rick made her want to curl-up; she didn't know exactly what it said about each of her relationships, but it was probably a lot. Her husband- Ex-husband-? Rick was right, the thing that mattered now was the relationship with their ran soothing circles over her belly, forcing herself back together again. She sniffed, swallowed the hiccup, dabbed at her wet eyes with the cuff of her flannel and returned to the others. Most were settled in, curled up in their sleeping bags around the warm glow of the fire, barring Carl, who was sat up waiting for her.

"Mom?"

"I'm alright, baby." She smoothed a hand over his hair after he helped her to the ground. "Time for bed, busy day tomorrow."

"I don't need to be tucked in." He mumbled.

"Indulge me. The baby will be coming soon and it'll be like there's a celebrity around." She waited for him to take off his boots and set aside his hat before zipping him in the bag.

"It'll be okay, right? With the baby?"

She looked at him for a moment, with his father's same imploring blue-eyes. "It'll be okay." Lori pressed her lips to his forehead. "It'll be okay."

...

Marshall finally made his way to Rick hours later. He hadn't seemed to have moved from his position by the far side of the rec. yard fence. In fact, he had been so statuesque the piranha first attracted to his presence by the fence had since gone dormant and only started to stir again because of Marshall's approach.

Marshall slung an arm around the other's neck. "You been here a while," He murmured. "Wanna talk about what had you thinkin' you could win a staring contest with a piranha?"

"No."

"What about this plan of yours for pushing in tomorrow?"

"What about it?"

"Well... Don't you think it can wait a day while we plough out the garden?" Marshall wondered carefully. "You did it, you found The Place, you're allowed to take a breath, you can-"

"It's bad enough my wi-" He tripped-up for a second; not wife, not anymore, he'd made that clearance, hadn't he? "Lori has to give birth at a prison, I'm not having her do it in the damn yard."

"I agree that it's best she give birth inside because no matter how strong she is or how hard she tries, childbirth isn't a particularly silent affair. But, Rick, she's not having the baby tomorrow or even this week-"

"Anything could happen." Rick repeated the phrase.

"Yes." Marshall agreed after a pause. "Alright," He sighed. "So, in the morning, after breakfast, daddy will plot out the best place to plough and we'll go in, hand-to-hand. The usual players." Rick didn't respond so Marshall assumed he agreed with the plan. "You know," Marshall took out his KBAR with his free hand, flipping the blade with ease for a moment. "'Get some rest' also applies to you." He stabbed the piranha that was practically grating his face off on the grid of the fence trying to bite through it. When he pulled the knife free and the dead piranha dropped, another just shifted into its place.

"Is that why you're working late?" Rick commented wryly.

Marshall smirked at him and stabbed another piranha, pulling the man closer with the arm still looped around his neck. "When this is done, when you've marked all the corners of your new territory... I'm forcing you into a PA Day." Rick merely scoffed. "Oh, I'm serious, Ricky D," Marshall felt the bodily grimace at the name, "I'm gonna ban you from work with my authority as your Partner and make you Play-All-Day."

"Call me 'Ricky D' again and this partnership is off." Rick said.

"'Ricky D' sounds like a pretty fun guy, though." He teased.

"'Ricky D' sounds like a douche bag."

Marshall snorted, stabbing another piranha. "Don't put yourself down like that." He felt the side-eye. "Alright, alright. We can put 'Ricky D' in the grave and just stick to Good Ol' Rick Delling Grimes." This time Rick actually looked over at him to give the man the full force of his look. "It's a Scandinavian name, means 'scintillating'."

"Why do you even know that?"

He shrugged. "To prepare for this very event."

"How creative do you think my parents were, anyway?"

"Fine..." Marshall rolled his eyes. "Rick David Grimes?" Rick was silent. Marshall paused mid-stab to look at the man. "If that's actually your middle-name- If that... generic throwaway guess is your actual middle name—I'm gonna lose my shit and then apologize for calling your name 'generic'."

"It... is..." Rick told him.

Marshall squinted suspiciously at him, "...Liar."

" You didn't let me finish... Not. It is not my middle name."

"Cheeky bastard." Marshall finished the arc of his knife not looking away from Rick and was met with the satisfying wet-crunch. "We need to play poker." He yanked it free. "I'm serious. But for now, it's bedtime. Let's go." Marshall used the arm around Rick's neck to steer the man away from the fence. "I'll tuck you in if it makes you feel better; a lullaby, a kiss on the brow. I'll even send Athena over to lay on you, like a weighted blanket—that's where Sophia learned it."

Rick chuckled softly with a shake of the head, following willingly, easily falling into the same leisurely stride as his Partner. "No need for the coercion tactics, I'll go to bed like a good-boy."

"'Coercion tactics'?" Marshall repeated, offended. "I think you mean 'comfort tactics'." He patted Rick's chest, "Comfort tactics, Rick."

[tWD]

"Cock-a-doodle-doo." Marshall popped up at dawn promptly like a demented Jack-in-the-Box. "Up and at 'em, campers, we've got ourselves a day jam-packed full of blood, sweat, and tears!"

"That sounds horrible!" Maggie groaned, forcing herself to sit up instead of hiding under her 'pillow'—as if there was even any sun to hide from, ha!

"What's the saying, Butterfly?"

"Um..." Sophia rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and the drool from her chin with the heel of her hand. "No guts, no glory?"

"Valid, but no. Whose blood, sweat and tears?"

"Oh." Sophia straightened and declared: "The blood of piranha, the sweat of our hard work, and the tears of a job well done!"

"That's the one!" Marshall snatched up Marshmallow, who was attacking the girl's laces as she tried to put on her shoes. The cat meowed as he was cradled like a baby, and swatted at Marshall's hand when he rubbed his exposed belly. "Gonna check every box like a swarm of busy buzzing bees!"

"Why did we have to run out of coffee now of all times?" His twin groused.

"I have a motivational speech just for this moment to kick you addicts into gear." Marshall informed; not affected by the whack of an irritated ginger tail after setting Marshmallow on his shoulder.

"Is it gonna make us want to kill you?"

"You'll have to hear it to find out."

"Just say it already so you can shut up already!" Daryl growled.

Marshall forwent from any grandeur and just cleared his throat. "On the other side of that rec. yard, laying inside that prison waiting for you all in the kitchen stockroom—untouched, packaged and sealed... coffee!"

"That's a damn good speech, man." T-Dog nodded.

"Well, you convinced me." Carol chuckled. "I'll take that courtyard myself if the rest of you won't."

"You're all ridiculous." Marshall chuckled at the placebo of just the possibility of caffeine having an affect. "If I had a Coffee Crisp and tossed it onto the ground, would y'all brawl to the death?"

Beth's head snapped in his direction with a piercing look and actually hissed: "If you've been squirreling away chocolate-"

"Easy, now." Marshall held up his palms. "I pinkie-promised-infinity that you'd get first crack at any chocolate I find, didn't I, Sunny?" Beth settled at that but there was still a bit of a stink in her eye his way for even joking about chocolate.

"Alright, you two," Carol called. "Save all that energy for the blood, sweat, and tears. Now, come get breakfast."

"You sounded exactly like Auntie just now." Beth murmured.

"The way you two poke at each other just to poke at each other, I bet it's a tone you heard from her often." Carol remark.

"She knew how to crack a tea towel like a whip." Marshall laughed. "Shawny was never very good a jumping out of the way of those, yet he never stopped with the sticky-fingers right before dinnertime."

"He was a football player, he probably got his ass tanned in the locker room all the time and didn't even notice her warning shots." Maggie said, grabbing her and Glenn's share of breakfast, finally out of the sleeping bag.

In conversation over breakfast, they hashed out a more detailed plan for taking the recreation yard and shortly after it was time to get the show-on-the-road. Marshall wondered on the smoke damage they could see on some of the buildings, but they couldn't know the damage until they got inside.

Hershel stayed in the field with Carl and Sophia to plot out the garden on the flatter plains. Lori was posed ready at the gate; one hand ready to unclip the karabiner holding the gate closed against the walker onslaught, her other ready to pull the gate open and let the others through into the yard. Carol and Beth took up positions further along the fence, in an attempt to draw the walkers at the gate away and kill them; 5 were drawn away and 3 remained fixed on the pregnant women and the unit of 6 behind her.

"Same rules apply." Rick murmured, machete in ready in hand. "Stay in formation, don't break rank. You get into trouble, call out." He nodded at Lori to open the gate.

Rick, Marshall, and T-Dog pushed through, taking out a piranha each before they could even stumble across the open line. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn quickly closed in behind and Lori quickly closed and secured the gate. With Beth and Carol done at the fence, they lingered for a moment at the gate with the pregnant woman, watching the group of 6; each getting a spike of adrenaline as T-Dog almost immediately broke rank to grab at riot shield on the ground, breathing a sigh of relief when Maggie ducked in as back-up and they returned back to the fold unharmed.

Carol squeezed the teen's shoulder and traded a wary look with Lori before she went to field to help. Beth stayed at the gate, rebar-staff held firmly in her gloved hand as an 'in case of emergency' backup; with Athena sat at her side with keen amber-eyes fixed on her handler beyond the fence.

They made slow, but easy progress into the yard despite there being about half the amount of walkers that had been in the field; they were spaced enough for the moment in the more open area that they were hard-pressed to be ambushed with every angle covered. It was passed the bleachers and basketball court when they reached the main prison buildings, with their caged entrances and jutting security points, that they bottlenecked.

It was too tight to manoeuvre if they stayed grouped up, so they automatically shifted into a loose kill line. Rick gave a cursory looked into the darkened doorway of the guard tower; and machete ready, edged out from they under the shadow of the overhead walkway that connected the two security points on either side. Straight ahead was a dead-end, an overflowing dumpster, refuse cluttered like in the rest of the rec. yard, a pair of large, hatched, rusted steel doors; a mere glimpse of the blind spot to the right and he immediately backtracked, shoving Marshall back with him with an arm barred across his chest.

Rick kept them pressed back against the entrance of the tower, out of sight. "There's a courtyard full of walkers just around the corner!" He hissed. "We need-!" He cut off when two walkers, in full riot gear just like the one he'd fallen onto in the guard tower the other day, stepped out from behind the dumpster. Two more appeared from just behind the corner of the tower.

Daryl stepped out from the back of the line, aimed at the closest guard and fired his crossbow. They watched, bated as the bolt head penetrated the clear polycarbonate face shield, but didn't go completely through, leaving the walker unaffected and the hunter down a bolt.

"The hell-!" T-Dog exclaimed, exchanging nervous looks with Glenn and Maggie.

"Daryl! Marshall! Help me with the gate!" Rick slashed low with his machete, slashing one of the guard's knee joints, felling it, but not killing it.

"Don't worry about the guards!" Marshall shouted back, merely shoulder-checking one before moving after Rick; Daryl on his heels after stabbing a walker in a blouse.

"Don't worry-?!" Maggie started to protest, only to squawk in surprise and stumble back when a giant of a guard lumbered silently out of the dark interior of the guard tower, and nearly bowled her over. She reactively punched its grotesque, melted face plastered to the inside of its gasmask; her reinforced gloves didn't even leave a scratch or a crack.

"They can't bite or scratch you!" Marshall shouted back, jumping over the prisoner Rick had just killed to stab at the next in-coming through the gate. "Their faces are shielded, their hands are gloved—so, push them away and focus on killing the piranha that actually can." Daryl grabbed a fistful of jumper, thrust his hunting knife and yanked the walker out of the way, grabbing the gate. "Put the damn shield to use, T!"

T-Dog did, in fact, put the damn shield to use. He rammed into the walker that towered over even Marshall, the tallest of their Group; it slammed into the wall by the door and fell to the ground, temporarily freeing Maggie up.

Marshall killed another piranha and Rick put a boot to the gut of one, kicking it back into the small courtyard so Daryl could finally slam the gate closed. Rick quickly clipped on the connected karabiners, securing it against the 30 or so bodies. Fire damage to the back building might explain why there was so many prisoners outside.

Now, they needed to take care of the guards that were like irritatingly persistent mosquitoes.

Rick was more than ready to simply just spend five bullets from his silenced Glock, before Maggie gave a crow of triumph when she planted her hand on the face shield and shoved the guard's head up to thrust her KBAR knife up under its exposed chin. Quickly following her example, Glenn and T-Dog tag-teamed a guard using the same template; Glenn shoved the face shield up and T jammed his crowbar up. Daryl ducked behind the other mobile guard and jammed his knife into the back of its brainstem.

Rick saw Marshall head for guard he'd taken down earlier at the knee, so Rick turned his attention to the tall gas masked guard. He used a similar method, dodged its long reach, slashed at its knee. It dropped and he planted a boot on its chest, keeping it pinned to the ground as he bent over it. He grasped the filter of the mask, and pulled it up and off. A grimace twisted his features at the resistance met; rotten skin stretched and pulled from muscle, threads snapping free, leaving behind a glistening face of muscle tissue. An ear plopped to the cement, a mask of skin met him. He blindly threw away the still occupied gas mask in disgust and thrust his machete into its exposed, fibrous face.

Marshall glanced down as something hit his foot, his reaction was visceral. "Eugh!" There was a loud clatter as he kicked the mask away like it was the most monstrous soccer ball.

Rick looked over in surprise at the retching behind him, and he wasn't the only one. Marshall shuddered, pointing behind him at the gently rocking mask without looking back. "Who the fuck threw a face at me?"

Rick cringed, straightening. "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was throwing."

"It was gross, Rick." Marshall told him. He flapped a dismissive hand at the faceless piranha, "That just like staring at a picture in a text book. That," He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, still refusing to look at it a second time, "Someone's cleaning that up and it ain't gonna be me."

"So, that's like, what... the second thing in the world that turns your stomach?" Maggie mocked him.

"I would dare you to go look at face-flesh-mask and see how you do, but I'm a good brother, so I won't."

"Damn it." Daryl cursed; he'd managed to get his bolt free of the face shield, but only because one of the blades from the hunting tip broke off. The shaft was fine otherwise, but the balance would be off and it'd never shoot straight. What a fucking waste, and it hadn't even killed the damn walker!

"To be fair, that'd turn anyone's stomach." T-Dog said. "So, it basically invalidates the point. Except for Rick, apparently."

"Seeing as he's the one that threw it, he can pick it up." Marshall gave said man a pointed look.

Rick tilted his head in concession, "You won't have to look at it again, promise." He sighed when Marshall still looked perturbed, "I said I was sorry."

"Doesn't change the fact that I still looked at it." Marshall muttered, but he'd already moved on, thoughts shifting back to the small courtyard he'd been assessing before he'd gotten distracted by the face.

There was fire damage done to the section of building that let out into the small courtyard that was probably for more high-risk prisoners, that might be why there was actually so many turned prisoners out in the yard and field. The obvious fire damage had Marshall recalling his own prison find a few months back, when they were still just a Unit. If he thought about it: The train tracks and that Allie bordered Greenville (they could have crossed it without realizing). The damage to the front of the prison... that would explain the civilian piranha he'd seen-

"What's the first thing that turns his stomach?" Glenn asked his girlfriend curiously.

Maggie smirked. "Dishes."

Daryl scoffed. "What?"

Marshall scowled at his twin. "I'm not afraid of washing dishes."

"Nope—just the food-floaties in the water."

"You know w-"

She continued to tease him, "The way he reacts, you'd think Jaws was in there or something. Isn't he just precious?"

"I can yank the Grudge's hair clog out of the shower drain without flinching-"

"Doesn't change the fact that you'd trade all my chores just so you didn't have to do the dishes. You know," She told them, "He's actually puked over it a few times when we were kids-"

"Really?" T-Dog questioned. "Did you barf in the sink?"

Marshall's jaw clenched. "Don't think I don't know that you orchestrated those so I would switch with you. I know you used to give Shawn half your allowance so he'd sneak shit into the sink water."

"April Fools?" Maggie said innocently.

"Exploitation." He corrected.

T-Dog murmured lowly to Glenn, "You're girlfriend might be evil, man."

"Christ." Daryl rolled his eyes. "Can we focus up here?"

"Yes, thank you, Daryl." Marshall immediately agreed.

Daryl ignored him. "If you didn't realize," He pointed to the female walker, "That's a civilian."

"How?" Glenn asked. "All the fences are secure. We're the ones that breached them."

"That courtyard," Marshall gestured back. "The building's damaged—that's why there are so many piranha in the yard. Before we found The Group, I actually came across a prison, too. I dismissed it because the front fence was run through, walls were collapsed and it was flooded with prisoner and civilian piranha. All this fire damage... I actually think this might be the same prison."

"So, you're saying the interior could be overrun from walkers outside the prison." Glenn said. "If there's wall down," He shook his head, "What are we supposed to do? We can't rebuild this whole place!"

"So, all this was for nothing, then?" T-Dog concluded.

"No, no." Rick denied with a headshake. "Even if Marshall's right... we don't need to rebuild anything, we don't need the whole prison." He walked from the bottleneck, back toward the open rec. yard. "Prisons are sectioned and secured in Blocks. We can have a dozen locked gates between us and that breach, we just need to..." He looked around, the rest following. "Find a cellblock away from the damaged area. There!" He declared, pointed to the large block letters painted into the brick wall by a caged doorway. "C BLOCK."

Marshall regarded the building. "Windows look intact and I don't see scorching like the building across. Open sesame," He tried the gate at the caged steps; the hinges squeaked. "After you." Rick and Daryl readied at the small landing outside the steel door; machete and crossbow poised at the ready as the others waited at the bottom and Marshall played the 'door-kicker. "Let's see if the luck continues." He grabbed the handle and pulled. Rusted from disuse, weather-wear, and lack of maintenance had it jammed for a hot second before jolted, the runner squealing and clunking.

Nothing met them but dim interior. Rick stepped inside and to the barred secondary security door; when he tested it, it opened. He nodded back to Daryl, who signalled the rest to proceed inside.

Marshall took out his flashlight, dust particles danced in the bright beam. The air was a bit stale and musty. It was quiet and there was no immediate sight of piranha, dead or otherwise, or even human corpses in the small rec. room. Refuse on the floor, there was a couple of tables bolted to the floor, a holding fenced cage to one side with a bench, a guard post opposite. The barred door to the immediate right lead into the cell block proper but was locked. Maggie and Glenn checked the two barred doors at the back of the room on opposite sides that appeared to lead further into the prison; also locked. They could vaguely see a figure through the grungy windows of the security post and Marshall passed off his flashlight to Rick.

Rick took the metal step almost completely silently two at the time. Paused at the top, shinning the light through the window revealed little; there didn't appear to be any movement, but he was still wary when he pulled open the door. Sometimes walkers could be sleepers, they played possum. It was a guard, slumped back in the chair in the small hexagonal office, there was old blood spatter on the window behind. Rick kicked his foot and poked him in the chest with the machete just to be sure. He relaxed a little and shined the light around the interior for a better look—Bingo! Right there on his belt, a nice big set of keys! Rick nudged his hand out of the way with the machete and unclipped the ring. While he was there, he also grabbed the gun that had fallen to the floor by the legs of the chair.

He flashed the set of keys triumphantly to the others on the way down the stairs. Marshall beamed at him when he handed back the flashlight as he passed to the cellblock door that Daryl was waiting by.

"Looks quiet." Daryl whispered.

Rick nodded and with a careful hold on the keys so they didn't jingle, inserted the right key into the lock. There was a soft clank and the hinges creaked when he pushed the door open. 10 cells lined the bottom left, 10 mirrored on the second floor. There were no roaming walkers in the block, but they were still cautious. Bottom cells were empty, a couple had prisoners shot dead. Marshall checked the gate on the other side of the room (locked), while Daryl and Rick climbed the stairs to the upper cells. Most of the cells were closed and empty, the last two, however- Daryl almost fell back off the catwalk railing jerking back from the sudden arms reaching through the cell door. Rick quickly stabbed it in the head with his kukri knife; looked like the prisoner was left in there to starve. The walker in the corner cell tried the same trick, a shiv sticking from its chest, but Daryl was ready with his hunting knife this time; only different was, when this walker dropped to the floor, it revealed the cellmate.

Daryl scoffed with a headshake. Looked like he tried to hang himself from the top bunk with a knotted sheet after he killed his celly with the shiv, only for his cell mate to come back as a walker and make a meal of him before he could get the job done.

"Everything good up there?" Marshall called.

"Yeah." Rick said over the railing. "Got a couple more bodies up here."

"Okay. I'll drag a couple out with me, I'm gonna go start digging up the field. I'll send Beth to thin out the piranha in the courtyard so the fence won't collapse." Marshall disappeared into a cell but his voice still rang clear. "When y'all are done in here, I expect to see every pretty ass in here out in the field with a digging implement."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I ain't dragging these bodies down the stairs," Daryl told Rick. "Let's just throw 'em over the railing."

"Okay. Get clear down there," Rick called the warning. "We're gonna roll the bodies over the railing." He unlocked the cells and they worked together to heft the body over the railing.

There was a there was a wet thump-crack and verbal cringing behind him and Marshall looked back out the cell door. "Really?" He deadpanned at the sudden sprawled body. He watched T-Dog grab it by the ankles and start to drag, "Aw, c'mon, T-Dog—you're getting nasty piranha juices all over the floor! We live here now, that's gotta get cleaned up."

T-Dog paused and looked down at the nasty brown smear on the cement flood. "Shit, my bad. Guess I'm used to dumping 'em and then leaving the next day."

"Drag it by the arms or shoulders so you're not leaving a trail." Marshall turned back to his own body slumped back by the sink with its brains blown out, after a brief examination of the exit wound and seeing it dried out, he decided to go with a fireman's carry. He manipulated the corpse over his shoulders, grunting quietly as he rose from his crouch with the extra weight. "I'm coming out, don't drop a body on my head!" He called out.

"You're clear." Rick called back.

Marshall edged sideways through the narrow cell door, giving a minute shift of the body to distribute the weight better across his shoulders in momentum. He saw Maggie and Glenn carrying a body out of a cell further down. T-Dog had made it to the exit door, but seemed to be having a bit of a struggle with an caught errant limb.

"Come on, you son of a bitch." T-Dog cursed, yanking the collar of the prisoner's uniform, there was a tear and he stumbled back into the doorjamb. "Damn it!"

Marshall climbed the steps and kicked the piranha's foot free where it'd caught in the bars. "Grab an arm and haul it over your shoulder like a sac of laundry."

"Unlike you, I'm not wearing leather I can wipe down later." T-Dog grabbed its forearms, feeling his fingers find purchase between the bones with a grimace and continued to drag the walker out.

Daryl leaned over the railing and waited for Glenn and Maggie to pass before giving a nod to Rick. Together, they hauled the celly over the rail; after cutting it down from the bunk, they'd wrapped the half-eaten body in the remaining bunk's sheets because Marshall had a point—this was their Home now.

"This was a good call." Daryl told Rick as they threw the next body over. "If I'd found it on my own, never woulda considered it a place for us to take."

"If this is the same prison that Marshall saw with that collapsed building in the courtyard," Rick shook his head. "It's a good thing we didn't go with my plan and open fire. We would have been finished before we even started."

"You couldn'ta known that. 'Sides, you got us through winter—not 'im." He grunted as he pulled the last body out to the railing.

"I think that had more to do with your relentless hunting than my... dictatorship." Rick pointed out. He paused and regarded the hunter.

"What?" He questioned gruffly.

Rick wanted to ask him about Marshall, but decided against it a moment later; in the end it would just put Daryl into a mood instead of giving him answers. "Nothin'." He grabbed the walker's feet and they tipped the body over the rail to join the small pile on the ground floor.

Marshall passed T-Dog in the yard after side-stepping down the stairs, the man merely huffed at him as Maggie and Glenn manoeuvred their's down the caged stairs. The 3 ladies at the gate straightened at his approach; Lori opened the gate as he paused to dump the body on his shoulders aside. Athena went to Marshall as soon as the gap was big enough for her to fit through.

"Everything went okay?" Lori questioned.

"Everything went great." Marshall corrected, stretching his shoulders. He scratched Athena's head. "We got ourselves a secure cellblock. It's in dire need of a thorough spring-cleaning, but we got ourselves a place to lay our heads with a roof overhead tonight if we choose."

"That is great." Beth said as T-Dog finally reached them. "It wasn't any trouble? Things looked a bit tense back there for a hot minute."

T-Dog snorted, dropping his body with relief and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I'd say, we all thought Marshall here was going to puke for a second."

"What is he talking about?" Beth asked.

"Don't worry about it." Marshall shook his head. "You can go in and check it out, Lori. I'm gonna go started digging up the field and send the kids your way with our belongings." Lori nodded; glancing to the arriving couple. "Not you," He told Beth. "I have a job for you."

Beth's expression scrunched. "Is it dragging bodies?"

Maggie scoffed. "It should be. You're not as weak as you're trying to present yourself to be." Beth stuck her tongue out.

"There's a small courtyard in the back corner down there," Marshall grabbed his sister's shoulder and pointed. "The building is damaged and it's filled up with piranha-"

"I thought you said it was secure?" Lori interrupted.

"The field, the yard, and the cellblock are secure." Marshall assured. "Technically, the courtyard is, too. There was damaged done to the structure on the side, we think there might be walls down at the front of the prison as we've seen some civilian piranha, not just prisoners in the yard, but the cellblock is on the opposite side and the gates leading deeper into the prison are locked-up tight." Lori frowned and nodded, but stayed silent.

"What did you want me to do?" Beth asked.

"I just need you to go down there, kill them through the fence, thin out the herd so they don't overwhelm the fence and collapse the gate. More will wonder in again over time, no doubt, but until we can find the time and supplies to get in there and patch-up the hole, we'll just periodically go back there and thin 'em out again."

She nodded. "Alright."

"C'mon, we'll give you the grand tour, Lori." Glenn smiled.

As the others headed back to the cellblock, Daryl and Rick were coming out with a body each, and Beth headed toward the back courtyard with Athena trotting to catch up after Marshall sent her after the teen.

"We'll clear out the bodies later," Rick said after he and Daryl dropped the bodies by the gate as well. "It's not gonna change anything if they're still here for a few day."

"Gotta find a way to move that bus from the gate so we can get the truck up here," Daryl said before walking away. "Bad enough we had to clear the field by hand 'cause of it."

"He's got a point." Rick agreed.

"Yes—but the garden is still the priority. How many more bodies?" Marshall fished in his pocket.

"3 bodies, so one trip."

Marshall carefully peeled the wrapper of his gum stick and rolled it into his mouth with teeth and tongue. "I told Lori I'd send the kids up, get them to wipe down some of the cleaner cells or something, move us in a bit. Gum?" Rick just silently held up his dirty hands. Marshall rolled his eyes and carefully peeled back the wrapper on one end like he had his own. He joked, "Say 'ah'." Rick did not say 'ah'. "Would it help if I made train-sounds?"

Rick snorted. "No, don't even think about doing that."

"Well, if you don't want me to feed it to you, then just pinch the wrapper."

Rick carefully took the wrapped end, bit the free end of the stick with his teeth and pulled the rest of it from the wrapper, titled his head back and with a flick of his tongue, the gum was officially his. "What?" He asked when he found Marshall staring.

"Do you also blow bubbles with that tongue?"

"Maybe." Rick smirked coyly before he turned and strutted away.

Marshall couldn't help but watch him walk away for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. "Through fire." He mumbled before he shook his head and headed down the hill to the field. He stripped from his jacket and dropped it at the fire pit when he passed by.

Hershel had chosen a plot at the bottom of the hill by the corner of the run fence, by the looks of it: 30 x 20 feet with room for them to expand if need be. He'd set the kids to cutting down the overgrown grass with their knives and collecting the clippings in a bucket for later use as mulch. The gardening tools turned piranha weapons had been collected from the truck and cleaned up, waiting to be used. Marshmallow rolled around in the grass and Carol had already started digging up a cleared corner of the plot.

Sophia and Carl both perked up like meerkats as they spotted his approach.

"Did you do it?" Carl wondered. "Did you clear a way into the prison?"

"Yes. The rec. yard is clear and we've got ourselves a cellblock. You can both check it out," They looked excited, "After you finish mowing the lawn." They deflated, but after a shared look they quickly turned back to cutting. "Hey," Marshall said in a warning tone that had them both freezing, "You cut yourself 'cause you're rushing and careless, I'm gonna put you in timeout."

"You can't do that." Carl scoffed.

"Yeah? Don't cut yourself and you won't see what kind of authority I have over you, Carlton Grimes."

Carl flushed. "How do you know that?!"

Marshall just gave him a magnanimous look as Carl squinted suspiciously at him, before turning away and heading for Carol and Hershel.

"Papa knows everything!" Sophia whispered to her friend.

To Carol's amusement, Marshall flashed her a wide-eyed look when he reached her. "Talk about lucky guess." He muttered quietly so the kids wouldn't overhear. "I just risked my entire authoritative reputation with that kid on his first name."

"What were your other guesses?" She wondered, leaning on the shovel handle.

"I don't know—Carlisle?" She made a face. "Carlos?" Less of a face but still a face. "Tried and true 'Charles'? Hell, his first name coulda just been 'Carl'."

"You're right—you did get lucky."

"Is this how parents get their kicks?" Marshall joked. "Banking it all on such a frivolous thing just to keep face?"

Carol winked. "Now you're getting it."

"So," Marshall squatted, picking up a chunk of dug-up grass bed, shaking off the loose dirt. "What're you thinking, daddy? Tilling the grass bed in, or raking it out?"

"It'll be more work, but I think it's best to rake as much of the roots out and then till the dirt." Hershel said.

Marshall nodded his agreement after a moment, dropping the clump and rising. After a stretch, he selected his own tool, the lawn edger, similar to the shovel but with a flat spade instead of a curved one. He used it just as it was named, framing the plot; pushing the blade into the ground with his boot heel, cranking it forward and back to loosen the roots and soil. He had to say, the crunch of the roots separating was always a satisfying sound.

Hershel was on his knees at Carol's dug-out corner with a small hand rake, combing out as much dirt as from the clumps of grass before he tossed them away. Marshall continued to stomp the edger into the ground as he watched the rest of the muscle finally make it out of the cellblock.

"Everything alright, buddy?" Rick stopped by his son with a raised brow, tipping the brim of the brown deputy's hat to catch his eye after the boy paused in his task. "Your mom was expecting you inside already."

"Marshall said we could go in after we cut the grass."

"Better finish up, then." Rick nodded, straightening. "Careful not to cut yourself."

"Marshall already said that."

"It's good advice."

"We gotta dig up this whole thing?" Glenn questioned, better able to see the size with Marshall's boarder.

"You say that like this is actually big," Maggie responded. "This is just a drop of dirt in the wheel barrow compared to the crop field we had back at the farm. We can get, what... 10 rows out of this?" Her gaze went between her brother and father.

"12 at the least." Marshall said, pressing his heel onto the back of the blade.

"And we have plenty of room down here to expand when the time comes," Hershel added. "We'll just have to find more seeds."

"For now, we need to dig up the grass bed, clean out the roots from the dirt. With the lot of us, we should have this thing dug up in no time. So, pick your weapon of choice and put your backs into it. We've got a taste of piranha blood, now it's time give some sweat."

Hershel went back to raking as the others picked their tools; another shovel, 2 axes, a hoe, and a mattock. Not exactly the ideal gardening tools for the job, but they would get it done. The rotary cultivator was left untouched in the grass—it held no function to kill walkers, but Hershel had grabbed it for the possibility of a moment like this... when they finally found a place to settle. Stay. It had nearly been 8 months, but they were here. The Place, as Rick had called it.

With their knife blades sharp and the blades of grass long, Sophia and Carl made quick work of chopping the grass off to the root, and the roots were quickly getting dug up by the adults, dripping sweat darkening the overturned dirt.

"Papa, we're done cutting the grass!" Sophia announced, popping up and stepping out of the plot with Carl and the bucket filled with grass clippings. "Can we go look at the cellblock now?"

Marshall paused in his pogoing on the edger, sweat beaded on his face and soaking his shirt. He tugged the material away from his abdomen. "I dunno... show me your hands." Carl rolled his eyes but they did, palms dirty and grass-strained but unbloodied. "Good job, you two. Yes, you can inside- Hey, hold it!" He said, stopping them in their tracks when they looked to bolt before he was even finished talking. "Drink water before you go in, bring some in for your mama, and take some of the packs in with you." They fidgeted but stayed. "It's C Block, right behind the basketball court, written on the wall. Okay?" They nodded and twitched, just like Athena did when she was excited but he commanded her to 'hold'. Marshall squinted at them for an extra second before he waved his hand, "Well? What are you waiting for? Go on!" Both Marshall and Rick watched their children scramble for it, only turning back to the work at hand when they saw the pair, laden with bags, disappear through the right door. "So... Carl's full name is 'Carlton'?" He remarked to the other man.

Rick raised a brow over at him in surprise. "How'd you know? We've just called him 'Carl' since he was a baby—he doesn't seem to like the full name and he doesn't tell it to anybody."

"I'm that good, baby."

"Oh, yeah? Then why haven't you guessed my middle-name, yet?" He poked fun at him in challenge.

"It's supposed to be a fun little game between friends, isn't it? Is it not entertaining?" Rick silently conceded that, nudging the sweating curls off his forehead. "Think of what fun we could of really had if daddy hadn't middle-named me when we first met. Then we could have seen who'd guess right first."

"I think I would have gotten if pretty quickly." Rick stated with confidence.

"Oh, yeah?"

Rick shrugged. "There aren't that many names that start with 'E' compared to 'D' —if you're not being crazy about it."

"Well, Smart Guy, I guess we'll never know quite how clever you really could have been." Marshall quipped haughtily.

Rick blew a bubble at him. "I guess not."

Marshall heard Athena woof and turned to look up the hill to find her trotting towards them, Beth at a more sedated pace following behind through the open rec. yard gate. Her rebar-staff dragged behind her, his Army jacket tied around her waist leaving her bare-armed in a purple, sleeveless sweatshirt (having taken a page from Daryl's book a cut the sleeves off).

"Daddy, you can go take a break inside, get off your knees—Sunny can take over for a bit." Marshall called.

"Alright." Hershel agreed after a moment. "I'll take some more things inside, check on Lori and the kids." He grunted as he rose with a hand from Maggie, dusting off his trousers.

Marshall stepped out of the dirt, dropping the lawn edger and headed toward the fire pit, tugging at his shirt and wiping the sweat from his brow, leaving a streak of dirt behind. God, he needed out of this shirt yesterday! Beth barely glanced Hershel's way when they passed each other, and Hershel sighed sadly to himself. Marshall grabbed a water bottle and poured some out for Athena and when Beth reached him, handed her the bottle.

"You alright? You look a little green." Marshall stated softly.

Beth took a swig of water and swished it around her mouth before she spat it out in the grass. "I tripped over a gasmask... that had a face in it. I puked on it... it was 10x more disgusting after that." She drank some water as Marshall grimaced.

"Sorry, I guess I should have warned you after all."

"Is that what T-Dog was talking about before? About you almost puking?"

Marshall nodded. "Yeah... Rick ripped it off a guard and didn't look where he was throwing it. Let's just say it set my own gag-reflex was... tickled. You good to sit in the dirt and rake out grass roots?" He glanced distractedly over her shoulder to Hershel's distant figure.

"Yeah, alright." She watched him with a raised brow as he stripped from his t-shirt and then frowned. "Jeez, Marshall, did you scrub your stomach down with sandpaper or something?"

He grunted as he glanced down at his abdomen, his burn scars splotchy and bright red. "I couldn't stand the combination of both sweat and friction anymore."

"Why didn't you just take your shirt off earlier then?" She asked like it was obvious. She flicked some water onto his belly, but instead of looking irate there was a flash of relief in his eyes.

"I don't think anyone but me would be appreciative-"

"And by that you mean daddy, of course." Beth scowled. "Nobody but him would care if you'd taken off your shirt earlier, Marshall. You shouldn't measure your own comfort under his—if it makes him so uncomfortable, he can fucking look away!"

He merely shrugged and continued with humour, "I doubt anyone else would be comfortable if I stripped down to my briefs and my boots."

Beth's eyebrow went up. "That mean your thighs are acting up? If your stomach looks like that..."

"My daily moisturizing routine went to shit at the end of the world, what can I say?"

"And you want to add sun to that equation?" Beth wondered dubiously.

"A couple hours in the sun before lunch isn't going to hurt me. Besides, my tan has been neglected for far too long."

She pointed out, "You'll burn before you brown."

"My skin is nobody's problem but mine if that happens."

"Until you start whining about it." She deadpanned.

He rolled his eyes. "Finish your water and get crawling in the dirt like the rest of us, you grub." He patted Athena and headed back toward the plot.

Beth gave him a brief bird, but took a last drink of water, and left the Army jacket and staff behind, grabbing some more bottles.

"What happened to your stomach?!" Glenn exclaimed, then started to stutter as he realize exactly how that sounded, "Sorry! T-that's not what I m-"

Marshall chuckled, grabbing the lawn edger. "I know what you meant. It's fine. It's just a fact of scars—friction bad."

"R-right."

"What is it?" Rick asked when he caught Marshall looking at him, gaze briefly flickering over his exposed torso, forcing himself not to linger on the gunshot scar on his collarbone.

"Speaking of scars...?" Marshall prompted.

"Oh. Uh," Rick paused, lowering the axe in his left hand and reaching across and back with his right subconsciously, touching the more prominent scarring that lay beneath his soiled button-up behind his armpit and below his shoulder blade. "Fine. It's more tightness than the friction." They went back to digging.

Maggie straightened as she spotted her sister. "So, how was not dragging bodies?" She handed to teen the hand rake and got a bottle of water in return, sharing it with Glenn and T-Dog after taking a drink.

Beth rolled her eyes, tossing the other bottle Daryl's way (who grunted his thanks) and dropped to her knees at the edge of the plot. "You say that like I didn't help yesterday, or that I'm not gonna be helping clear the rec. yard. Get off my back."

"Oh, Rick is in for a sure surprise when he finally decides to clean-up his mess~" Marshall sing-songed.

Rick squinted over at him, "What are you talking about?"

"There was a face on the ground that nobody warned me about," Beth spoke-up, shaking soil from a clump of grass.

"What did you do?" Maggie asked her sister in amusement.

"What do you think I did? I hurled my breakfast onto it!"

"Ugh!" Glenn and T-Dog groaned.

Maggie sniggered.

Carol looked confused, and even Daryl's lip curled.

Rick cringed, lips tight.

"You know the saying: why wait to do what can be done now?" Marshall said. "If you did, you wouldn't now have to deal with this... degraded version."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

Both Marshall and Beth looked at him like it was a dumb question: "Kill it with fire!"

Maggie outright laughed at that; Rick was certainly not amused with the new development.

As the blazing Georgian sun shifted directly overhead, Marshall hadn't been the only one to strip from his shirt. "Gotta say, T—lookin' good!" Marshall called over to him with a smirk, "I get why that pit-piranha was so distracted."

T chuckled good-naturedly, "Thanks, man. This is the fittest I've been in a decade—who knew that hauling around dead bodies was a better workout than going to an actual gym." Carol went to go get the others and start lunch. T-Dog took that as he cue to collapse onto his back in the grass, sweat glistening on his bare chest. "I'm not exactly into the trade-off—I miss me some junk food."

"Aw, come on!" Glenn groaned, head bowed as he paused to take his baseball cap off and wipe back the sweaty hair plastered to his forehead. "I cannot have another discussion of which foods we miss most with you again, T."

"Carbs! I need carbs, man!" T-Dog leaned up on an elbow to look imploringly at Marshall center plot, stabbing away at the ground, "You're not hiding away potatoes in one of those Mary Poppins' pockets of yours, are you?"

"Oh, I wish!" Marshall threw his head back and fantasized, "I would have been cultivating it in a little pot and had guard shifts on it like it was the cure to this whole mess." He sighed, "Unfortunately, the best chance we'd have to be able to grow potatoes, is in the unlikely chance that we'll ever come across any crop that managed to survive through the winter. It's a nice dream though."

"Damn." T flopped back down with a more subdued air.

"If y'all are playin' at fantasy, this mean we're done here?" Daryl questioned, blinking the sweat and sun out of his eyes. He spotted the others coming out of the cellblock.

Everyone paused and looked to Marshall. "Yeah, yeah." The man decided after he looked around at the chopped up field around him. "You guys can knock off." He lowered onto his haunches and shook out a clump of grass. "All that needs done now is clearing out the grass roots, tilling out the dirt, then we can form up the rows for planting, do said planting—and then Bob is our uncle, we got food in two months!" He knew it would be quick work with all of them digging up the ground, and Beth had made pretty good progress in clearing out the soil. Working together again, Marshall was sure they would get to planting before the sun set instead of having to do it in the morning. "Great work, Team!"

They were more than relieved to drop their tools and take a number from T, dropping into the grass, getting off their feet and resting their sore backs and shoulders. Daryl kindled and lit the fire as they passed around more water and the rest of The Group joined them around the fire. The youngest and eldest Greene siblings stayed in the plot, Beth continuing to use the rake and Marshall getting dirt caked under his nails as he combed through using his hands, until Carol rang the lunch bell.

Beth merely dusted off her knees, but Marshall's rising from the dirt was a bit more of a production—like a reanimated mummy, sweaty skinned and streaked with dirt, the groans that left his parched throat was raspy with audible bone cracks and ligament crunching that drew sympathetic grimaces.

"Jesus, man." T-Dog tossed a water bottle his way after Marshall finally joined the rest of them. "Take your own advice—drink some water."

Marshall caught it with a crunch of plastic. "Thanks, don't mind if I do." He took a gulp, resisting the urge to dump the rest over himself to clear away the sweat, dirt, itch and heat.

"Papa, you're all dirty." Sophia remarked with a frown. She hesitated to hand over his plate.

"What a keen eye, daughter o' mine." He chuckled.

She narrowed her eyes. "How are you going to eat?"

"That's what utensils are for, Butterfly." There was no point in wasting water to wash-up when he was just going back into the dirt after eating.

"I guess." She mumbled, and gave him his portion.

"Thank you." He decided to eat standing, not keen to be all crunched up on the hard ground after that just being his previous position. "So, what do you think of your new sleeping arrangements?" He asked his spirit daughter as they all ate and decided to take Beth's advice and ignore the weight of Hershel's stare; all of them were dirty and sweaty, T-Dog was also still shirtless and Hershel didn't even spare him a second glance.

"It reminds me of this place that me and mom would go and stay at sometimes when I was little," Sophia stated, and an invisible tension went through Carol; she had hoped that her daughter was too young to remember the Women's Shelter. "I like it. Can me and Carl share a cell?" The girl looked between her mom and papa, and Carl perked to attention, going between his own parents.

"I don't see why you two couldn't," Marshall shrugged and Rick seemed in agreement on that, "But I'd say final decision goes to your mamas."

Blue puppy-eyes immediately trained on said subjects of authority. Lori and Carol locked gazes and they had a silent conversation under the anticipatory stares of their children.

"If that's what you want, you can." Lori finally said; both 12-year-olds cheered and high-fived.

"Ah, living the best-friend-life." Marshall smiled.

"But are you sure you two wouldn't just rather have your own cells, your own space?" Carol asked.

"Suddenly sleeping alone seems weird and kinda scary." Sophia admitted and Carl shrugged in agreement, not wanting to outright agree that he was nervous about it, too.

"I haven't been inside myself yet," Beth said, "And though I think it'll be weird not to have someone breathing down the back of my neck all night, I can't wait to not sleep on the floor. Do you think the mattresses will be comfortable?"

"Better than the rocky ground for sure." Maggie nodded.

T-Dog added, "Or those cots from the garage."

Marshall was not as enthusiastic. "By looks alone, I'll probably just manage to fit on those bunks laying flat—without my boots on. Not exactly prime real estate for cuddles. It must be nice," He told them, "Y'all being so short." The indignant huffs and hot glares he got for the teasing remark made him giggle.

"You're an anomaly," Maggie said. "Everyone in our family is 5'11" or under!"

"I ate all my vegetables so I grew big and tall." He gave his spirit-daughter a little nudge, "That's why Sophia is gonna be taller than Carl when they grow-up."

"Hey!" Carl protested. "I eat my vegetables!"

Lori made a sound. "Maybe now, before all this... I'm dubious about that." Carl flushed at that as some of the others chuckled.

"Tall, just like her papa." Sophia beamed at Marshall.

"Dad's tall, too!" Carl pointed out.

Rick shrugged a shoulder. "5'11" ish?"

Marshall scoffed. "5'11" in those boots, I'll give you."

Rick flashed him a playful put upon look, "When is this boot-abuse going to end?"

"When you get a proper pair of boots." Marshall returned.

Lori bit her cheek in a moment of hesitation, but then decided to just go for it: "I don't think I'd recognize him if he didn't have those damn boots."

Rick's eyes squinted at her briefly in good humour, and Lori felt a drop in the tension she'd been carrying since last night's confrontation. Somehow, that 5 second interaction just now was the most affable interaction they'd had all through winter. Like the burden hurting them both for so long had finally shed. She fiddled with the rings on her finger that she'd never taken off as her hands rested on her round belly. It made her sad to realize that their marriage really was over, but glad to for the positive interaction as small as it was.

Marshall's plate was the first of the pile and after stretching his shoulder and hand, went back to degrassing the garden plot. His sisters trickled over soon after, and when he spotted Sophia and Carl finished, called them over to give a hand as well. He sent Sophia back to hand off Marshmallow to Lori, though, when he saw the cat in tow. Marshall wanted the feline nowhere near the garden bed; he didn't want the cat thinking that he could use the garden as a bathroom or that he could spray the plants when they finally started to come in.

Which all just reminded Marshall: "We're gonna have to make-up a litter box for the cellblock." Sophia nodded. "And if you want to take him off the leash inside, I think it'll be safer to board-up the bottom of the gates that lead out of the cellblock and into the prison. We don't want him getting curious and slip through the bars when no one's looking, get lost and then snatched up by some piranha." That was answered with a wide-eyed frantic nod of agreement from the strawberry-blond; Patches had been killed like that. "Now that we live here, that also means I'm going to have to start picking up Athena's poop again." Marshall complained and Athena woofed like she was laughing at him, making his dirt-pals laugh.

It was a couple hours later, with dirt staining their knees and crusted under their nails, a mound of grass roots on the side that they finally had a clear dirt plot. Now, to give the soil a till and create the rows to plant with the hoe. Marshall bent and picked up the rotary cultivator. He massaged the nape of his neck to try and ease the sharp pain and throbbing in his head, just to leave behind streaks of dirt in the sweat; he was definitely feeling the sun now. He looked over at Hershel when the handle was taken from his hand, though.

"Drink some water, sit in the shade for a bit before you give yourself heatstroke, son." Hershel told him. "I can till the soil."

"Alright. Sounds good, daddy. Thank you." So, Marshall went to the shade cast by the bus and laid on the ground. Athena found him, laying with him but not on him; he was too hot and dirty for that. Rubbing his forearm as clean as he could on a cleaner patch of his pants, he closed his eyes and laid his arm over them to block out the sun.

They needed to finish the garden, and he knew that Rick would want to push into the prison further. They had to move the bus, clear out all the piranha bodies. Clean-up the cellblock properly. Check that courtyard for any new bodies, determine the flow of piranha from that breached wing. They still needed to decide about the creek, whether they were going to go with a canal or a pump; either way they needed to go refill on water for themselves and the thirsty garden. He and Daryl would also need to go hunting again.

There was a lot to do but a break was nice-

Marshall roused as a cool, wet sensation spread across his belly. His arm dropped above his head from over his face and blinked up at the face obscuring the overhead sun. "Hey."

"I brought you water." Beth swung the bottle over his head.

"Thanks," He cleared his throat and sat up with a grunt, grabbing the bottle. He paused at a wet sensation at his groin and looked down to find the puddle of water she'd poured on his stomach had ran down into his lap. "Now I looked like I pissed myself." She shrugged at him but there was a quirk of amusement to her mouth. He took a drink of water, swishing it around his dry mouth before swallowing the warm liquid. "Daddy done tilling, then?"

"You could say that." She answered, stepping away. Marshall frowned at her vague answer, climbing to his feet and groaned as he stretched the kinks out from laying on the hard ground for so long. "C'mon, dinner's on!" She called back.

"Dinner?" He followed after, Athena following. "We just had... lunch." Only to realize that it wasn't the shadow of the bus he'd been cast in, but the fact that the sun was setting on the western horizon. He must've fallen asleep. "Why didn't anyone-" He stopped short as the garden plot came into view—fully rowed.

"Are you feeling any better?" Hershel approached.

"Daddy," Marshall shook his head in confusion as the man reach up to touch his face. "Why didn't you wake me up? You shouldn't be-"

"I may be old, Marshall Elijah," Hershel told him sternly, "But that does not mean I am incapable. I was doing more hard labour on the farm than this not that long ago."

"You're right. I'm sorry, that's not what I meant." Marshall said. "I just meant-"

Hershel sighed. "You were severely fevered not even a week ago. You're still recovering, gaining your strength. You can't push yourself like this, this soon. Working yourself into an exhausted state helps no one." He gave Marshall a bowl and rag, "Now, finish that water, clean-up, dress, and then come eat."

Marshall stared after his retreating back. Athena whined and he bent, scratching her head. He sighed. "Clean-up and dress before dinner, right. Some things will never change, huh?"

The I.E.D. had been his first real, big injury since he'd signed-up and Hershel hadn't been there like those other times in his childhood. There were no chest compressions for Hershel to do, no artery to pinch off. There was nothing that Hershel could do but dread that phone call, that knock on the door, as helpless as the rest of the family. And every time he saw the scars that Marshall had no shame in displaying, he was reminded of it- Or, at least, those were what Marshall projected his (own) father's feeling on the subject to be, because Hershel refused to speak about any of it.

So, Marshall just did as told and filled the bowl with some water, soaked the rag in it and scrubbed the his face and neck clean, rinsed the cloth and wrung the dirty excess out on the ground. Washed his shoulders, arms (minding the lingering scabs on the bite wound) and hands, then used the last of the water in the bowl for his pits, and torso, running the material gently over his burn scars. He drank his share from the bottle, then gave the rest to his queen. He could smell the duck before he even reached the campfire; it was the last of the duck and squirrel that he and Daryl had hunted, meaning, if they didn't go and find the prison cafeteria tomorrow, they would need to go hunting. Before he could throw himself onto the hard ground, however, he faltered when he caught Hershel's raised and pointed look.

"Aw, come on, daddy." Marshall groaned. "My pack's inside. Can't I just-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Beth snarled lowly.

"Beth, it's fi-" But she was glaring across at Hershel; everyone else stiff and silent, they'd come to recognize that tone from the teenager.

"No, it's not fine, Marshall!" Beth shook her head, angry and fed-up. "You keep letting him bully you into thinking that you're a bad dad and brother and that you should be ashamed of your scars and cover them up—even when he knows how material can be particularly abrasive against your burn scars, especially when you're active, and that was even back when you could use lotions and Vaseline. Just today you said you hadn't been able to do that for months. The only times I've seen you without a shirt on is when you change or do laundry." She glared at her father, "You know that, and still-! And to add to that, if this is about propriety? Now?! That's worse than the barn. Nobody else cares that he's not wearing a shirt—speak-up if I'm wrong?" She demanded, looking at everyone in turn. No one did. "See?!" Beth threw up her hands. "Even now, you don't change, not even when you're proven wrong. Those scars that you seem so uncomfortable with... that's just proof that Marshall always comes home. And if you can't appreciate that about you own son—then just look the other way like you refuse to see everything else."

Crickets.

The crackling fire.

Dead silence.

People picked uncomfortably at their food.

Hershel had no response for his daughter.

"Sunny..." Marshall sighed quietly, rubbing his forehead. He knew he'd made it a habit to just accept what his father said with passivity. Just do it, keep the peace, put his father's words in a drive to do better, be better. Marshall could count the number of times he'd lost his shit on the man, most of them coming to the fore in the past year. Unlike Marshall, Beth did get into bull-headed argument with Hershel Before, but Now they all just to focus on Marshall as the subject of contention—which was the thing Marshall had explicitly told her didn't want. "I thought we talked about this?"

"He started it." Beth muttered petulantly.

"Beth."

"I'm not going to apologize. You had to come up with an excuse to send him away so you could take your shirt off, for God's sake!" She exclaimed. "Was I the only one that saw the look he was giving you at lunch, yet he didn't even glance twice at T-Dog—who also had his shirt off."

"I did." Marshall stated. "And I ignored it."

"Well, I can't anymore because it isn't even actually about propriety, he just can't even look at his own son! Y-"

"Bethany-Annette." Her mouth clicked shut, she gulped. He hadn't even lowered his fingers from his forehead so she couldn't see his face, she only had his voice to go from. "I am very aware of how our father looks at me—now, take your dinner and go for a walk. Cool off." Beth stared at him for a moment, mouth taut with anger but she got to her feet, bowl in hand and stormed away without further word. It was back to the uncomfortable silence. Marshall finally lowered his hand and chuckled, "Talk about dinner and a show, huh?" Carol silently gave him his serving. "Thanks. Don't mind me." He crouched down with his food, in a way that his knees blocked out the view of his scarred torso. "Did I miss anything exciting during my nap? The garden's finished..."

"It is." It was Hershel that answered him. "We can plant the seeds tomorrow, but a trip will need to be made to the creek for more water."

Marshall nodded, "I was so sure we were going to be able to get the planting done today." Some of the others exchanged looks at how suddenly civil the two Greene men were; for Maggie it was practically protocol. What was the point of lingering? It happened, it was done, moving on. "But the tears will come soon—when y'all spot that first little green sprout pushed through the dirt... trust me, all the dirt and sweat will have been well worth it." He set aside his empty plate and it was immediately replaced with Chips. He raised a curious brow at his daughter.

"Can you hold onto Chips for me, papa?" Sophia blinked innocently at him.

His eyebrow lowered and he smiled softly, having no qualms about hugging the killer whale to his chest even if it hadn't been a subtle offer of comfort from his spirit daughter. "No problem, Butterfly; I'll have him back to you for bedtime." The fact that she even had to think about doing it, let alone actually do it, honestly made him sadder than the fact that Hershel couldn't stomach his scars. "I'm still waiting for Samurai-sama to get me that zebra stuffie. So, what else?" Marshall asked The Group. "Come on, give me some stories!"

"T had the idea to salvage the guards' riot gear." Glenn piped up.

T-Dog nodded. "The shield gave me the idea. It wasn't pleasant stripping it all off, but we got quite a few pieces. We boiled 'em to clean 'em up—that's where most of the water went—and we laid it all out on the bleachers to dry. We'll see of any of it is actually wearable tomorrow."

Daryl shook his head. "Ain't water hot enough, shoulda used all that firewood to burn it instead. Those gloves and helmets had soup porin' outta 'em!"

"We've all been smeared in walker gunk, how is this different than washing ourselves afterwards?" T-Dog asked.

"They've been simmerin' in it for months."

T-Dog laughed. "You say that like we're able to bathe every week. Hell, more than a couple times a month ourselves."

Daryl scoffed. "I ain't wearin' any of it."

"That's your choice, man. Me? I got my sights set on one of them vests."

Glenn nodded his agreement, indicating Maggie. "Us, too."

"I would recommend the arm bracers and leg guards, as well." Marshall said. "I mean, how often do you use your forearm to pin or shove a piranha? To kick them away? How man times has said limb been grabbed and you find yourself in a sudden game of tug-of-war to the death?"

"You got a good point." T-Dog nodded.

"Found ourselves a small assortment of weapons as well." Rick said. "Some sidearms, batons, tasers. Smoke and flash bangs. Hell, even a beanbag gun."

"Oooh." Marshall wondered with glee, "Did you shoot it at each other?"

"No." Maggie snorted. "But Glenn and T sure looked like they wanted to."

"Trust me," Marshall chuckled. "Had you actually shot each other, you would have regretted it immediately. Those things are no joke. You think a paintball on bare skin is bad?" He wagged his finger. "These beanbags can leave blood-bruises, crack your ribs, knock your teeth out, give you a concussion—not gonna be very rowdy after any of that, are you?" He smirked, and T-Dog and Glenn shared wide-eyed stares.

"Carl's the one that came up with the solution to moving the bus from the gate." Rick said with pride.

"Oh?" Marshall looked over to Carl, who had his chest puffed out under his father's eye.

"Bumper cars." Carl said. "It's how we cleared cars out of the road at the time; by using ours to push the broken ones into the ditch."

"That is smart!" Marshall agreed. "And we were the dummies that muscled them around." He shook his head. "Well, then, we know who's gonna take over this whole gig when your old man retires, don't we, Little Grimes?" Carl smirked, ducking his head and hiding his face in the shadow of his Deputy's hat. "God, maybe I should bow out of shit more often if this is what y'all get up to when I'm not around." It was said with humour but he was really fucking wondering.

"Funny." Maggie said.

"I try."

"Also not happening."

Marshall shrugged; he hadn't actually been trying to get out of anything.

"Tomorrow," Rick spoke-up, drawing their attention to him with his leader-voice on. "We're going to go further into the prison—we need to find that commissary. With no breakfast tomorrow, we need that food. The infirmary will come after that." The others nodded their agreement.

"I would like to join you." Hershel announced; that garnered attention of the others, and Marshall's suspicion. "The reason Marshall napped in the first place is because he pushed himself too hard today; he's still not back to full strength after his infection."

And... now that attention fixed on Marshall. Great, they were all looking at him like he was the problem child again. Marshall internally groaned, twisting one of Chips' straps around his hand.

"Marshall?" Rick's blue gaze was penetrating. That had been a worry he was harbouring, Marshall pushing himself too fast, too far so soon after getting back onto his feet. It'd barely been more than a week since his fever had officially broke. Ultimately, however, he wanted his Partner's own opinion about it.

"For the record—I am fine." Marshall did not display his annoyance and frustration. "You leave anyone laying in the shade long enough, they're gonna fall asleep. How is that something that needs to be pointed out? You said you were gonna get me when you were done tilling, daddy—you didn't. You want to venture into the dark maze of jump-scares and horrors, you do that. Personally, the garage was enough for me. I'll plant the garden, go out and do some hunting." Maybe he'd use that as an excuse to go and get a look-see at the front of the prison. "No matter what food we find in the prison, it's always better to go fresh when we can."

"Hunting?" Hershel said. "The point is for you to take it easy, son."

"No." Marshall disagreed evenly. "That was something that you just decided." Like you're trying to prove some point. "We're not arguing this, daddy. You got what you wanted." Whatever that actually is.

What murmured conversation there was between select parties as they all finished eating, was sparse and halting. Marshall stared into the low fire, silent, just trying to breathe through his frustration and confusion. Let the tickle of Athena's tail flicking against his bare flank take his focus and not to bury his face in Chips and scream, similar to the woods back home. Trying to find a solution with Beth; he didn't think locking her and Hershel in a cell was a viable option to solve this animosity she had ever growing for their daddy.

When Rick finally called it and they started packing-up and putting out the fire, Marshall remarked: "Best to steer clear of Sunny, right, daddy?"

"Yes, I've come to that same conclusion." Hershel left with the others to head inside.

Well, Rick had stood, but hadn't left with the others, looking down at Marshall, who also hadn't moved. "Marshall?" He looked like a lost boy the way he was hugging the stuffie.

"I have to talk to Sunny."

"Come on, you can do that inside."

"You mean the cavernous echo chamber?"

"Yeah, sound does carry in there, doesn't it?" Rick mused. He regarded the man more seriously, "It sounded like you've already had this conversation with her." He took Marshall's silence as confirmation and nodded. Rick read between the notes of his silence, "This is not the confidence of a man that knows what he's going to say. Maybe," He paused, hands on his hips, "Maybe this is just something that you have to let them sort out on their own."

Marshall finally looked up at him. "How am I supposed to do that when I'm in the middle of it? When the arguments started because of me?"

Rick shook his head and sighed. "You have been a prime subject of contention between them... but I don't think it's 100% about you. What I do suspect—it'll just keep on the cycle of rinse-and-repeat with you always stepping in and trying to 'mediate' the situation. You're allowing the issues to essentially be brushed under the rug, invalidating what Beth is saying and giving Hershel allowance." His voice softened, "Beth is 16-years-old, she loves her big brother, you're her hero, Mars—she's defending you. I've seen you stand up to your father for others, but I've never really seen you stand up to him for yourself."

Marshall ducked his head, rubbing the back of his head, fingers grazing the new scar. "I've learned... to not waste my breath on petty little things."

"Sometimes, it's the little things that weigh the heaviest."

"What a shitty end to a good day," Marshall muttered.

"Our kids—and everyone else—will get to close their eyes and go to sleep, for the first time in months, and know they're safe. I say that's a great end to the day."

"Thanks to you."

"To all of us." Rick corrected. "Now, come on, it's bed time. If it makes you feel better," He took on a teasing tone, offering a hand, "I'll tuck you in myself. Sing you a lullaby. Give your brow little goodnight-kiss."

Marshall clasped his hand and rose to his full height, expression grave, Chips tucked under his arm. "Don't you dare threaten me with comfort tactics if your aren't willing to follow through or I shant call you Rick 'Deliverer' Grimes."

Rick crossed his arms impishly. "If you don't go to bed, you'll never find out."

Marshall eyed the man playfully before clicking his tongue. "Clever, Grimes. Very clever. One might even consider you... 'devious', Grimes." He passed the other man and gave a short whistle, calling out into the dark for his sister, "Bedtime, Beth. Inside, let's go!"

Beth didn't utter a word as she caught up to the two men and dog, they automatically slowed in the rec. yard and let the teen pass them into the entrance of C Block. Marshall put a hand on Rich's arm, stopping the other man before he could go up the caged steps. Rick looked at him in silent concern.

"Tomorrow," Marshall murmured. "Could you keep an eye on daddy in there? Not enough to distract you from other things, just... I don't know what he's thinking with this suddenly, you know what I mean?"

"I do." Rick nodded, hushed volume matching. "I will."

Marshall heaved a sigh. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Partners, remember?" Rick squeezed his shoulder.

"I do."

Rick was the last man in, pulling the roll door closed, then the barred door and so, with a creak and a clang, The Group was enclosed inside Cellblock C. Ensconced into safety absolute for the first time in nearly a year inside what some might consider a giant tomb. Marshall glimpsed the assortment of prison weaponry laid out over the table as they passed through the rec. room to the main block.

"Smells better already." Marshall commented, looking around.

Outwardly, nothing had particularly changed about the state of the cellblock; refuse still littered the corners, there was a layer of dust and grime that coated everything. The concrete was still stained brown with old and newly dried piranha blood—and yet. With soft flickering glow of the lantern sat on a step and The Group puttering around to sort themselves out for the night: T-Dog, Hershel, and Daryl clanging around on the second level; the two Mama Bears fussing around their cubs' cell; Maggie and Glenn in and out of the cell at the far end (as if that were subtle)—it was already starting to feel like home. After he planted the seeds tomorrow, like the planting of the flag, it would be official.

Home.

Marshall grinned. "When this floor gets all swept proper—I'm breaking out the tootsie rolls au natural. I'm gonna find me a pair of flip-flops and you're not gonna be able to stuff me back into my steel trap of a pair of boots for at least a week, and I have blisters between my toes and weird tan lines. That is a venture that we should all get in on."

Rick just looked silently amused by the declaration, unlike his son. "You're weird." Carl informed with a scrunched face.

Marshall put his hand over Rocky in mock offence. "So critical, Little Grimes. Sometimes it's the little things that help you enjoy life all the more."

"Kid's got a point, though." T-Dog called over the railing, looking down on them, "Weird goal to have, man."

"You have no idea—you gotta start off small, work your way up—this is just the beginning."

"Oh, y'all really have no idea," Maggie declared drily, leaning against the rail of the front stairs. "You think you know after 'road tripping' with him for the past few months... but you haven't lived with him on a permanent position stationarily. Perpetual barefootedness is the mere tip of the iceberg that is Marshall Elijah Greene."

"Going barefoot is as much for pleasure as it is for practicalities." Marshall defended. "I was in the Army for 7-years, alright? I've got some horror stories. Foot and toenail fungal infections are prevalent in the military; sweaty, unwashed feet trapped in confining footwear for long periods. Sound familiar to anyone? We're a damn breeding ground. Why do you think I'm so pushy about changing socks and bad footwear?" He cast a bit of side-eye to Rick at that and his damn cowboy boots; they might be sexy, but damn, Marshall was trying to prevent a second epidemic here, he also did not miss Beth's new footwear choice. "It's highly contagious and nigh incurable without medicinal intervention—one of us gets it, I'm telling y'all right now: it'll be in short order before we all get it." He looked around at then, and held his hands up in a think-about-it gesture. If they thought that cold sore outbreak they had was inconvenient, they had no clue.

"Just the last thought I want to have when I lay my head down to rest." T-Dog muttered.

"Just sayin'." He smiled down at his spirit-daughter clad in her apocalypse sleepwear with a teasing, inquiring look.

"I already changed my socks and brushed me teeth, papa." Sophia responded, deadly serious. "Are you going to tuck me in?"

"Of course, Butterfly. Your bed's all made-up then?"

Sophia nodded, but it was Carol who elaborated: "We stripped and wiped down the mattresses in the cleaner cells," Meaning cells that hadn't had walkers in them. "There wasn't anything to salvage in the way of sheets and pillows, so it's sleeping bags on top like usual."

"Until we come across the laundry room," Lori added, one hand resting on her belly, the other the door of the kids' cell—which was on the ground floor. She'd claimed one on the second level, because she knew Rick would also be on the ground floor and to give them some space for the first time since Rick had found them again at the quarry. The stairs were something she would contend with at a later date. "I'd think that might be a place that'd be practically untouched; just give them a fresh wash to get out the dust and must and we're set."

"Good idea." Marshall agreed, and glanced up at the dragging sound to find Daryl dragging out a vinyl covered mattress from a cell. "We could also, and hear me out for the Old Time's Sake, take a page out of Daryl's book and drag out all the mattresses out and have our usual puppy-pile one final time!"

"No. Ain't happenin'." Daryl voice rasped, followed by a clang and thump, and puff of dust as he dropped his chosen mattress out on the metal stair walkway. "I ain't sleepin' with any o' you again and I ain't sleeping in a cage, either. The perch is mine."

"So many dreams, butchered."

"Good." Daryl retorted, flopping onto his bed with a grunt. "I hear any of that shit and it's a bolt."

"Mm, promises, promises, all around." His attention went back to his precious, patient daughter. "Thank you for Chips, you can take him back now," He offered the stuffie back, "Have part-1 of your tuck-in with your mama while I track down my pack and a shirt, and I'll swoop-in with the papa-finale, alright?"

"Okay, papa." Sophia hugged Chips.

Marshall snickered at the spectacle of Carl clambering his way onto the top bunk. "He get's that athleticism from you."

Rick cast him an unimpressed, if mildly humoured look. "Say 'goodnight, sleep tight' to those comfort tactics." And he left Marshal there gaping after him to say goodnight to his own son.

"Damn. That's cold." Marshall muttered. He cast a glance around for that flighty pack of his, but before he even needed to voice the question to the ether again, it answered him.

"You're stuff's in here with mine."

Marshall followed the disembodied voice of his soft-spoken little sister to the dark cell on the right side of the kids'; he hadn't heard a peep from her since he'd used her given name. His tall form took-up the narrow doorway like a shadowed spectre. Her sunshine-blond head was bowed, her hands fiddling with the shirt in her grasp; her insurance plan. Her lack of eye contact was always a good indicator of the given prevalent emotion; Beth never failed to look you in the eye when she was pissed. Guilt or shame, on the other hand. Marshall didn't want her to feel any of those, however, he just wanted her to... understand.

"Is that your way of saying you want to be cellmates?"

"If no, then to at least force you to talk to me." She admitted.

"And why would I need to be tricked into speaking with you, Sunny?" Marshall wondered.

Beth chewed on her lip, twisting and stretching the shirt in her hands. "Because I did what you asked- what you pleaded for me not do—use you to argue with daddy."

"Mm. I did ask you that." He nodded.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. He was being ridiculous-!" She cut herself off, ducking her head back down again after raising it in righteous anger. "I'm sorry," She repeated. "My feelings about it don't matter. What should have mattered was your feelings on the subject, and as you pointed out, you chose to ignore it. I should have respected that, I should have respected your wishes, Marshall."

"The thing is-" Marshall started.

"Here," She interrupted, thrusting the shirt hostage at him in a delay tactic.

He took it but didn't call her on it and got side-tracked that it was indeed his shirt. "Thanks." He turned the tangled material right-side-out from all her fidgeting. "Ugh, a long sleeve? Is that the only shirt I have in there?"

Beth shrugged. "It was on top, and clean. I can dig you out another-"

"No, no." Marshall said, remembering what he had stashed at the bottom of his bag. "This is fine." She raised a brow but didn't pursue her garnered curiosity, too anxious about the current matter at hand. He slipped it on. "Look, Sunny," He sighed. "I'm not here to argue or scold you, okay? Rick pointed out that you were sticking up for me with daddy, which I do appreciate because you know I don't do that for myself often with him, but you don't have to. You know that if I reach my limitation, I'll voice it, even with daddy. Everyone has a right to their opinion; that means you, that means daddy, that means me. And on the opinion of me, I would think I would get the last say of what does or does not happen to my person. If you want to be angry at daddy, be angry at daddy, Beth. Stop using me as an excuse to prove some point to him—that I do not appreciate. Your feelings are your own, so is the discretion in which you voice them. I told you awhile ago that I would stay out of it, but if you need to talk to your big brother, both of my ears are at your disposal, alright? Always." He promised. She nodded, sniffing quietly. "Good. You take the top bunk; Athena won't be able to jump up there." He remarked before turning.

It took a second to register his last words. She perked up, "Does that mean we're cellmates?"

"If you can manage to spider-monkey your way onto the top bunk." Was his parting remark and she couldn't even be annoyed at the implication of her short height. Beth was just relieved that he forgave her, was still in her corner even after she used him like a weapon against their father, and agreed to be her roommate. While she was excited not to have to sleep communally any longer, going from that to sudden isolation would not be a lullaby that put her to sleep quickly at night.

Marshall poked into the dark cell next-door and murmured, "Did you already fall asleep, Butterfly? If you did, I might just have to tickle you awake so I can get in my tuck-in." He wouldn't be surprised, it had been a pretty physically taxing day for all of them, and unlike him they didn't get a nap in.

"No, papa, I'm still awake." Sophia whispered, but he could hear the grogginess. "Please don't tickle me."

"Are you sure?" Marshall teased, squatting next to her bunk side. His fingers danced at the cool zipper of her sleeping bag. "I've got it on good authority of you taking some hard naps after you've gotten a good-tickling!" The zipper teeth chattered; Marshmallow's paw reached out from the depths of the sleeping bag like a guard.

"Papa!" She mumbled in protest.

He sighed. "Alright, alright." He rezipped the top of the bag, the cat-shaped lump in the bag settled back down. "No tickling—tonight, at least." His large hand found her head in the dark and he gently stroked her bangs from her forehead. "Tomorrow, we'll sort out that stuff for Marshmallow and you can let him off the leash inside."

"M'Kay." Came her sleepy reply. "Love you, papa."

"Love you." He whispered, thumb stroking her brow as he hummed Josephine's Lullaby. He could hear her relaxed, even breath as she fell into sleep; Carl's, too, from the top bunk as the two of them pretty much fell asleep together like a couple of babes. Adorable. He lingered a little longer, he could've stayed there all night but forced himself to pull away. He stepped out into the quiet block, everyone settled in, if not asleep, in their chosen cell with exception. Marshall crossed his arms at the sight of Rick sat on the bottom step by the lantern, elbows on his knees, forehead resting in his fisted hands. Marshall's approach was silent, and he gently nudged a cowboy boot with his steel-toed one. "Thought the point of us all in here was that there wasn't a need for watch?"

"Not on watch. Just... not used to not having watch. So, I'm not-not on watch." Rick responded, not rising his head. "Just, sitting here."

"Well, your 'sitting here' is giving Big Boy up there a nightlight I'm sure he's already outgrown-"

"Shut up." Daryl said.

"See? So, why don't you go 'sit' in that cell there." He nodded to the empty cell left of the kids'. "In fact, you could go for broke with it and sit horizontally on the bed." Rick snorted quietly. "In the dark. Without your boots."

"Will you two just fuck-off already?"

"Damn, you 'sitting here' is really setting him off, Rick." Marshall remarked innocently. "Strike three and he might actually go through on his bolt-threat."

Rick smirked of amusement was obscured by his hands. "Alright, alright." He sighed, masking his humour and dropped his hands. "Going." He turned off the lantern and stood.

Marshall turned and watched him go into the cell like a stern figure through the dim moonlight filtering through the high, barred, grungy windows. Rick took off his weapons belt and laid it on the empty top bunk before he sat heavily on the bottom bunk. "Don't forget the boots, Richard."

"Yes, mother." Rick deadpanned, but yanked off his cowboy boots nonetheless.

"That's right, my boy." Marshall somehow managed to croon with a straight-face. "Listen to the wisdom of Mother Marshall."

Rick shook his head. "Go to bed, Marshall. You're clearly delirious."

Marshall smirked and departed. "Goodnight, Rick. Sleep tight. There probably aren't bedbugs, but just in case, don't let them bite."

Beth had managed to get her short-self settled onto the top bunk in her brother's absence. Marshall unclipped his belt and thigh holster and hung it off the metal bed post before he sat, mirroring Rick. He unlaced his boots and kicked them off, laying back with a groan. Athena immediately joined him; the soles of his socked feet pressed against the bed rail. He'd only been humming quietly for a few moments before-

"Marshall?" Beth whispered.

"Yes, Sunny?"

She rolled around for a minute, pressing her back to the wall and away from the edge of the bed. "Is this real? Like here, now. Us, like this?"

"As real as you and me."

"Are you sure?" She questioned. "Because there are reanimated dead people outside."

"... True. Still." He stroked Athena's head laid on his chest. "Everything will be the same as when you go to sleep and wake up again. You'll see."

"I guess I'll just have to trust you, Big Brother."

Marshall resumed humming to fill the unfamiliar silence.

[tWD]

Marshall did not expect to start his morning with waking to the vision of a voluminous, red-headed, lingerie-clad woman beckoning him with a sultry smirk and arch to her back through the dust-swirling sunbeam. He stared up at the magazine page taped to the underside of the top bunk. "Hm." He sat up with a grunt, throwing his legs over the low side. Athena jumped off with a whine. He pulled his boots on, lacing up tight, before redoing the left one when the knife holster dug uncomfortably into his anklebone. He stood and stared at his sister with a small smile; she hadn't even stirred, curled up in her unzipped sleeping bag, back pressed against the cement wall. He carefully lifted his weapons belt from the corner post and stepped out of the cell, deciding to leave her asleep. He easily clipped everything back into place.

"Let's grab your feline counterpart and take this potty-party outside, hm?" He mumbled to his partner. Sophia and Carl were as knocked out as the teenager. Carl was sprawled on his back, his face completely obscured by his dad Sheriff's Deputy hat; while Sophia was basically cocooned in her sleeping bag, nothing by strawberry-blond tangles and a hand clenching onto Marshmallow's leash peeking out the top. The aforementioned cat outside of the bag and bathing himself. Marshmallow mewed at him, stepping carelessly over Sophia to reach him. She grunted, shifting minutely before stilling. Marshall gently stroked her curled finger, trying to coax the leash from her grip.

Her head tilted back, blurry gaze squinting out from the edge of the sleeping bag. "Papa...?"

"Shhh. I'm just taking Marshmallow. Go back to sleep." He hushed her.

"M'kay." She sighed, eyes fluttering closed again. Her fingers relaxed.

Leash in hand, Marshall scooped up the cat, backed from the cell and stopped short as he pressed against another body.

"You wake them?" The question was murmured in his ear.

"Nah. Might as well let them sleep-in a bit—it's not like there's breakfast waiting for them."

Rick sighed. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

"C'mon, the nature of the morning calls." Marshall didn't put Marshmallow down until they cleared the rec. yard and got into the field.

"You got a designated piss-spot in mind?" Rick mused.

"Short of going outside the fence," Marshall nodded his chin a section clear of piranha. "Figured inside the run over in the far corner, shoot through the fence."

With the animals left in the field, and a couple of following piranha dispatched so they were free of an audience, the two men stood a appropriate distance apart to go about their streaming business.

"How did the horizontal sitting go?" Marshall questioned conversationally as one did with a piss-buddy.

"It was almost too quiet—almost." Rick cast him an indicative look.

Marshall smirked. "Anytime. The vocal cords are warmed, ready and willing 24/7. I do also take requests."

"Duly noted."

When they zipped-up and made it back up to the rec. yard most everyone was out on the basketball court, going through the pieces of cleaned riot gear they'd left to dry overnight. Sophia had donned Carl's hat for safe keeping as the boy tried on a riot helmet with a clean, if streaked face shield.

"Hey," Rick unbuckled it and took off the helmet. "You're not gonna be needing that."

Carl frowned. "I wanna go with you. I've cleared houses with you—you know I'm good enough."

"It's not about that. Enough of us are going in already, I need you in there—with these." Rick held out his ring of prison keys.

Carl's lips parted. "What?"

"I need you watching the gate, Carl. Things get hairy, we come in hot, I need you ready. Something happens, I need you to look after your mother, Sophia, everyone else. Last man standing, you understand. Can I trust you?"

Carl straightened, jaw squaring in determination; he nodded. Rick nodded, squeezing his shoulder. Holding the keys tightly so that he might not accidentally dropped them, Carl rejoined Sophia bearing a confident, determined smirk as she gave him back his hat.

"Before we get started," Marshall held up a pack of gum. "Anyone want in on this kick of 1-gram of sugar?" The blister pack was empty by the time it circled back around to him and he absently tucked it back into his pocket.

"Alright." Rick said. "Everybody got a flashlight? We're gonna need them, it'll be dark in those corridors." He got double-checks and nods. "Daryl has his keys, but- T?"

"Got the bolt cutters just in case." T-Dog nodded absently, distracted trying to find the best fitting arm guards; what Marshall had said the other night resonated with him, and having already sliced his arm open accidentally and nearly killing himself... well, he wasn't gonna look like a jackass a second time.

"I also grabbed this out of the Banana Mopeel," Glenn spoke-up, holding up a can of spray paint as Maggie adjusted the side-straps to his vest. "Figured we could use it to mark our way so we don't get lost in there and if we gotta split we'll be able to get clear easier and faster."

"Good thinkin', doll."

"Thanks." Glenn mumbled, turning to help his girlfriend with her own vest.

Maggie rolled her eyes at her twin. "Are you whole speech yesterday, if we don't find any food or coffee in there..."

"Don't worry, plenty of worms turned up in the garden," Marshall smiled. "They're Daryl Dixon approved, what more could you need?"

"You're impossible to deal with in the morning without coffee." Maggie pointed out.

"Because I'm naturally perky and you need to be artificially perked?" He inquired in amusement.

"I'll perk you right now." She muttered, making him giggle.

"Marshall, I left my seed packets on the table inside." Hershel interfered before his two eldest could descend into further squabble.

Beth squinted in the bright morning sun, chewing her piece of gum by rote as her mind continued to boot-up into wakefulness (one would think being allowed to sleep-in would make you more rested but it just made her want to crawl back into bed), her suspicion mounting as she watched her father playing around with the last kevlar vest's side-straps. She straightened abruptly, alarm bells blaring in her brain, a flood of adrenaline waking her up more thoroughly than any espresso shot ever could—because instead of passing the vest over to Marshall or Rick, Hershel slipped it over his head.

"What do you think you're doing?" Beth's voice cut through. Hershel paused to glance over at his daughter before he finished securing the straps around his torso. The only reason that he could possibly need the vest was if he-

"I'm going inside with the others, Bethy."

That sentence did not compute. That was no how things worked, this was not the expected pattern that they stuck to. Daddy did not go out with the piranha killing team, daddy stayed back where it was safe. Something welled in her chest—Fear, she realized. Terror. Sarcastic laughter bubbled out before abruptly cutting off. "That's hilarious. No, you're not."

"Yes, I am, Beth-Anne. I'll be going inside and Marshall will stay behind to the plant the garden."

"And you didn't think was something that I should be aware of?" Beth stared incredulously. Anger- fury burned through the fear. Mama, Shawny, Uncle O, Auntie... all gone, all ripped away from them and he still-

"It was discussed last night." Hershel said. "You would have been a part of the conversation had you not picked a fight and thrown a tantrum."

"Tantrum?!" She hissed, before she burst: "How's this for a tantrum? You are so fucking unbelievable! You don't even have a clue!" Her eyes burned with furious tears. "You want to go in there and get yourself killed? Fine, be my guest—third time's the charm, after all!" Beth didn't let Hershel get a word in before she stormed away. Away from them, away from the prison and down into the field, managing to choke back the sob that was strangling her until she ducked behind the cover of the bus at the front gate.

"Athena, follow." Marshall murmured.

She'd hid it pretty well with the anger, but he still saw. The tremble in her jaw hidden with how tightly clenched it was, the falter in her voice hidden behind risen volume. Marshall saw the fear masked by the anger, so much like Maggie in that regard. Marshall saw how she hid behind the bravado of anger because she was scared shitless—the true crux of that fear, no matter how she used Marshall as a crutch, being daddy dying too.

Beth had sworn to herself that she wasn't going to shut herself down with fear and grief like she had at the farm after the barn (Annette, Shawn, Eric); had sworn that she couldn't just give-up on Hershel even if he had seemed to give-up on them and the world—despite being unable to forgive him, she still loved him, so she used her anger and brother to simultaneously punish and continue communication. She jolted at the wet nose pressed to her ear and looked over into imploring amber eyes. She didn't hesitate to throw her arms around the Belgian Malinois. Anger combated fear; it blinded her the same but shaking in anger felt better than shivering in fear by a long shot. Hot instead of clammy. Yet, here she was, crying anyways.

Hershel looked between his two remaining children. "Is that what you two think this is as well?"

Maggie sucked in a breath, puffing out her cheeks. She didn't know what she was supposed to say. She understood where Beth was coming from all too familiarly. Hell, she'd worried herself sick when he'd gone missing and then scorned him to hell when Rick and Glenn brought him back. When she found out about his last stand- Maggie couldn't say the thought didn't cross her mind. Mouth tight, her green-eyes met her twin's.

Hershel took her silence as agreement with her sister and turned his attention to his son. "Marshall?"

"How were you expecting her to react? She's scared-"

"I know what she is." Hershel stated. "I was asking about you."

Marshall stopped and stared. A short, sarcastic laugh escaped that he could do nothing to stop. Did he wake-up in the Twilight Zone all of a sudden? "Since when do you give a care about my opinion?" Was the blunt but honest rejoinder.

"Marshall?"

Hershel was saved from trying to either come up with an actual answer to that or one of his more typical responses of just ignoring the question all together, and everyone else was spared from more uncomfortable Greene Family Drama.

Marshall turned his attention toward the caged stairs when Carol had called from. "Yes, Carol?"

"Could you come inside for a minute before you get busy with the garden?"

"Of course." The undertone in her request was clear—it wasn't to talk with her.

Rick's gaze was instantly intent on the woman. "Everything alright?" The intensity in his own tone clear.

"Yeah, everything's fine." Carol turned back into the cellblock.

When Marshall glanced at his best-friend, it was to find Rick's eyes already boring into him, a tightness in his jaw and around his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Don't worry, whatever it is, I'll take care of her. You just focus on what you have to do right now to get back to worrying about her." Rick nodded, some of the tension leaving him. Marshall squeezed Maggie's hand when he passed her, "See ya later, Mags." Carol was at the table in the rec. room carefully looking over one of the small canisters. "It's a smoke grenade," He said. "I would suggest not pulling the pin unless you want to smoke us out of here for the day."

Carol gave him a wry look. "You mean this pin?" She joked making him chuckled.

"That's the one."

"Don't worry, pumpkin, I was just looking." Carol set it back down, dusting her hands. "Hard to mistake it for a explosive grenade when you've actually seen the real thing."

"Oh? Do tell?"

"Found it in Rick's pocket when he first came to camp and I washed his clothes. With everything so hectic about going to find Daryl's brother, I never got the chance to give it back and I kind of forgot I had it..."

"You found a grenade and just forgot you were toting it around in your purse like it was a pack of tic-tac's...?" Marshall reiterated. Carol shrugged. "You're such a bad-ass, Carol!" She rolled her eyes in good humour. "Do you still have it?"

Carol shook her head. "Rick used it to blow out the window at the C.D.C."

"Hold on," Marshall held up a hand. "You're telling me that Rick blew something up—and then wagged his finger at me for wanting to explode a herd?"

"Those aren't the same things." Carol pointed out. "How about the next time we're trapped somewhere, you can blow-up something?" She offered the concession that they both knew had no authority to grant but Marshall latched onto it like an eager child anyway, eyes bright.

"Deal—and you gotta tell Rick so when he get's back."

"Sure. I'll do that. Now, go. Lori's waiting." Carol waved him away.

"Right." He gave a mental headshake, refocusing on the task he was called in here for in the first place. He grabbed his kit before taking the stairs two at a time, not because it was an emergency (if it was something bad Carol would have said NOW) but he had dawdled and for Lori to actually ask for him, it was something. "Knock-knock." He announced his presence more formally despite his purposefully heavy treads coming down the walk.

Lori was sat on the edge of the bottom bunk, hands sat beside either of her thighs, fingers white-knuckling the bottom frame. Her gaze was fixed down, barely able to make out the edge of her knees clad in large men's track pants over the extension of her belly. She didn't beat around the bush of her concern: "It's the baby. I think I lost it."

Marshall didn't outwardly react to the declaration, nor did he see the point in panicking over what could just be stressed anxiety. "We can figure that out right now," He knelt on a knee in front of her, setting his kit beside him. "But why would you say that?" He opened his kit as he listened to her; they'd cleared out the animal clinic/shelter of every viable piece of medical equipment and any unspoiled medicine. That meant that they were better equipped than before, but were also bogged down with things that were not applicable to humans—thankfully, a lot of medication was transferable like antibiotics, pain relief, sedatives in altered doses.

"I haven't felt it move all morning. Nothing. And no braxton-hicks, either. At first, I just thought it was exhaustion and malnutrition, but..." She shook her head, lips tight. "All I can think about is if we're all infected, then so is the baby."

"I agree." Marshall said easily.

"So, what if it's stillborn?" The anxious woman pressed. "What if it's dead inside me right now? What if it rips me apart?"

He had self-control so he didn't roll his eyes. He understood it, he got easily how that train of thought formed and derailed. "I know it's impossible not to worry and wonder such morbid things, but you cannot allow that what-if fear to rule over your rational thought. We're going to check for a heartbeat and put all of that to rest right now." He took out the stethoscope that he'd also scored from the clinic. "But I can promise you, even though the baby has developed fingernails by this stage it will not be able to tear you open, alright?"

She nodded after a moment, and he refrained from adding that if the baby was turned, she in all likelihood wouldn't even realize it. Recalling Rick's story about his encounter with that pregnant piranha, it was a completely different situation. From Rick's description, it seemed like the woman's distended belly had been a target of outside piranha bites and tearing, and through the slow decomposition had the turned-baby found a weak spot through the membrane. Yeah, best not to point out the horrific distinction to the already anxious woman in a story that she didn't know.

"Can you lift up your shirt? Is it okay if I feel around a bit?" Lori silently nodded, lifting her shirt to rest at the top of her belly. He gently palpitated, searching for a firmer area where the baby's back would be. "You're anaemic, that's a given. With the unsteady supply of vitamins and prenatals, not to mention the involuntary meal-skips, and missing a few of the important targets in the nutrition chart like fruit and dairy…"

"So, I'm just being hormonal, is that it?"

Marshall's gaze flicked up to her for a second. "That's not what I said. I talked to Rick-"

"You did?"

"Yeah." Marshall nodded, attention focusing to the higher right of her outtie bellybutton. "I understand the worry; 2-3 weeks sounds both very far away and all too close at hand. I get the need that you feel you have to scramble and get everything ready-"

"He didn't tell you." Lori realized. Marshall paused and offered her a questioning look. If he didn't tell Marshall his best-friend, when even Lori had shared the conversation with Carol... Did that mean Rick regretted it? Changed his mind? She silently shook her head and after a beat, Marshall continued speaking:

"Things are different now. We're not on the run anymore, we don't constantly have to look over our shoulders. You can put your feet up, take a breath, sleep without one-eye open." Marshall poised the stethoscopes ear pieces by his ears but didn't put them in just yet. "This will be cold-" It was the only warning he gave her before pressing the disk-shape resonator against her warm skin.

Lori jolted and sent him a glare. "What was that?"

"Sorry." His expression was contrite. "Besides being annoyed, did you feel anything?" Lori paused before shaking her head, expression tight. "Alright, for real this time." He warmed up the disk, put the ear pieces in properly and held it against his estimated area.

Lori tensed further and further as each second passed, unable to see a single crack in his expression to give any clue as to what he might or might not be hearing as he tried to find the right position. When his movements held still for more that 5-seconds, she finally demanded: "What is it?!"

"Other than the gurgles of a hungry tummy..." He smiled, "A baby's very much alive heartbeat!"

"Really?" Tears instantly brimmed her eyes, shaking hand going to her belly, "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." He promised, taking out the ear pieces, he offered her the stethoscope, "Listen for yourself, Mama Grimes."

Lori took it with trembling hands, ducking her head a bit as she put it her ears and Marshall continued to hold the resonator in place. It took her a moment to calm down to hear passed her own breathing and panicked heart. And it was like she was thrown back into the past to one of Carl's ultrasound appointments. The grainy screen, the rapid whooshing heartbeat. "It's alive?" A sob choked her.

"It's alive." Marshall confirmed. "And will be kicking around soon enough when the others finally get back with food. Perhaps crack open a can of fruit, set your taste buds alit, get your blood sugar up and them kicking up a riot."

She gave a watery chuckle. "Yeah." Sniffed and tried to blink the tears away.

"Keep the stethoscope," Marshall told her when she tried to give it back. "Have a listen whenever you need. You just have to approximate where the baby's back is by it being a little firmer, then it's just a little searching with the scope."

"Thank you, Marshall."

He waved it away. "I've been planning to make-up a bit of a medical bag with a bit of a C-section crash kit to carry with you just in case. In the meantime, you really do need to let yourself rest, Lori, take this time to regain your strength before you encounter this next hurdle. That means staying off your feet, not unduly pushing yourself—like going up and down those stairs. I know things between you and Rick are still at a bit of odds right now," He tread carefully, "And perhaps you want to give him space-"

"He really didn't tell you."

"They way you keep saying that and sounding so surprised about it," Marshall remarked wryly. "I'm pretty sure that Rick did not tell me whatever it is."

Lori took a deep breath, brushing her shirt back down over her belly, holding tightly onto the stethoscope like a lifeline. "We're separated. I suppose that would be the best way to describe it—it's pretty hard to find a divorce lawyer these days."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you?"

"Yes." Marshall said with sincerity.

She observed him for a long moment. "I actually believe you."

Marshall frowned, confused. "Why wouldn't you...?"

"I know you love with my husband." She stated, not in accusation, just blunt observation.

Marshall blinked at her, completely blanked out; thoughts and feeling flat-lined. "Rick is my First-Best-Friend."

"Oh, sweetie, I wasn't accusing you of anything." Lori said softly. "God, what a hypocritical bitch I would be." She gave a self-deprecating chuckle, shaking her head. "No, I just... I know you care about him and that's why I need a favour from you. A horrible favour. I- I tried to talk to Rick about it but he outright refused to listen, said I should talk to you or Hershel, so that's what I'm doing..."

"I'm listening." Marshall swore. "Whatever it is, I've probably done worse."

Lori played with the stethoscope in the hands for a moment before she took a deep breath and looked up at Marshall, who watching her with such serious, earnest patience. "If during the birth... whether you have to cut me open or not... if something happens- If I die or the baby dies. Or both of us-" She stopped and shook her head and tried to say it more coherently. "If we die, Marshall, Rick and Carl, they-they can be the ones, you understand? If there's even a chance of-of either of us turning, you need to put us down." Tears filled her eyes, she choked passed the lump in her throat. "You have to do it, Marshall. Promise me. They can't be the ones. After everything I've put them through, I cannot do that, too. It would destroy them. Please! You have to do it."

Marshall's lips were pursed tight; that was a horrible favour, but one he completely understood, stood behind. He did not want Beth, Sophia, Maggie or Rick to be the ones that had to put him down. "I do understand." He spoke quietly, but without waver, green-gaze looking solidly back. "I will do everything in my ability to make sure that it doesn't get to that, but- But if it does, I won't let them do it, I promise. No matter what happens, they will not be the ones." And he offered up his pinkie in vow: "I pinkie-promise: Damn me to Hell, never to see my loved ones again in The Spirit In The Sky that if the worst of the worst happens to you or the Littlest Grimes, Rick or Carl will not be the ones to stop you from turning. Infinity." He grasped her hand linked to his in extra comfort and reassurance. "It'll be okay. I'll make up that bag and it'll be an extra security blanket for you to have with you." She nodded, wiping at her pale, gaunt cheeks with the cuff of her flannel. "Now, my other advice stands. Resting, relaxing. Carl will be hanging around downstairs; Rick gave him the keys for the door to wait for their return. I'll be outside with Sophia and Sunny in the garden. Carol will probably be in and out if you need anything, so that means you have no excuse to not try and stimulate the little one with a bit of song."

Lori shook her head. "I have a horrible singing voice."

"All the more chance to stir them up, then." He teased her, feeling triumphant at even the weak chuckle it elicited.

"Is singing your answer to everything?"

"Everything? No. But it's a really great starting point." Marshall mused. "Singing, dancing, hugging, cuddles. PB & J... It's all about the intent. Whatever Rick and you are or aren't, he loves you, Lori. You and his kids. That's what truly matters. You'll see it when he returns to bestow a feast upon you."

[...tbc...]


...The walking DEAD...

Ylvis - The Fox
Emily Kinney - Weapons

.

Y'all it took me way too long to realize how The Group could have moved the bus out of the way of the front gate at the prison. Seriously, way too long to assume that they presumably played a little bit of bumper-cars like they had done on the highway when trying to clear away the cars. It's the magic of off-screen television.