Start: Sept-24-2024
Finish: Dec-11-2024
Word Count: 42,505
a/n: Here is Part 2 of our Road Trip Adventures to finding The Prison... And by God, The Group will find The Prison at the end of this chapter—even if I have to kill off some characters to do it! That's all I really have to say on the matter. Oh, Happy Holidays! (I don't know, it just makes me happy to get something posted under the wire and to give you all the little present for Christmas)
Anyway... Hope you enjoy! It's a Big One.
Chapter Summary: /"It's not a Lake House by any means, but I think it'll do just fine." Rick smiled. His own blue-eyes bright and excited as he turned his gaze to their new sanctuary despite the enclosed yard clustered with walkers. Marshall had called him a 'Dreamer', but sometimes dreams do come true./
Chapter Includes/Spoilers/WARNINGS: canon-typical violence, blood & gore, injury, illness, flatulence, angst, piranha action, puberty, family angst, past suicidal thoughts, PTSD,
...The walking DEAD...
Piranha
Chapter 11: ...And Things (Part 2 of 2)
Birds slowly started to tweet their Good-Morning songs as the dawn started to brighten more colourfully with the sun's rise, the chill of March's night fading away...
Athena sat sentry on the roof of the Pinto, amber-eyes as keen as a Queen's watching over her lowly and devote subjects. Under her protection, Marshall used the opportunity to comb his way through the interior of the Banana Mopeel in search of an illusive stink that he knew lingered before they finally left for Hazzard County, and they were stuck in their cars and on the road for the foreseeable future.
He knew it wasn't his nose and mind playing tricks on him. They all stunk to 3-degrees or another, yes; water could not be spared for such a frivolous activity such as bathing in this climate, especially not their clean bottled water. Marshall used the term 'frivolous' because any cleanliness achieved, especially on the road, would simply be forfeit within 24-hours whether through simple daily labour or be it piranha encounter. Beside that, the amount of H2O that would need to be had to even make a worthwhile dent in the layers of grime and stink would equal the much sought after and fabled lake. While he missed the weekly bathing back at their winter oasis, there was an advantage to not being a particular kind of clean while on the move—it wasn't exactly a living kind-of-stink that he'd gotten a whiff of in his times in the car.
Marshall didn't bother with any form of propriety in his endeavour; sans his maroon duster and his weapons belt with any hindering obstructions to his worming around in the interior of the light yellow Pinto (laid on the hood within easy reach should he have any surprise visitors announced by his guard), he acted the bloodhound himself, nose pressed into the fabric seats. If that were the source of the smell... he may not be Alfred, but he was sure there was a cleaner inside the house that would solve all his problems even if he couldn't be spared the water.
He paused as he found one of Sophia's butterfly-barrettes in the backseat and it made him go all soft inside; that was some sort of mile stone, wasn't it, finding his kid's lost shit in a car crevasse? It also had him remembering all the drama that happened hours earlier making him snigger to himself:
It had been absolute chaos for a solid minute after Sophia's short scream that had awakened the rest of the Group.
The front door had burst open via Daryl and his trusty sidekick The Crossbow. The backdoor shortly followed with Beth. Dim light flooded the room thanks to Hershel's quick thinking to reveal everyone bed-wrinkled, tangled in sheets with various readied weapons to beat back that hoard that had seemingly breached into their safe haven.
Marshall had used the moment of their blind panic to swiftly pull the blanket back over the girl before anyone could notice the true reason just yet, giving his spirit-daughter what privacy he could where there was little for a big moment in her life.
"Sophia? Baby?" Carol had lurched up from sleep and instantly reached for her daughter, the only other one with any form of coherence. She was unfortunately, intimately familiar with the sound of her daughter's screams.
"Mom..." Sophia mumbled, clutching tightly to the blanket and her papa.
"At ease!" This time Marshall did have to raise his voice in order to cut through the panic. "Everybody calm down! We are not under attack!"
The Group slowly quietened and calmed, but the confusion was still present.
"Marshall, what's going on?" Rick questioned. "We heard a scream."
"Everything is fine." Marshall repeated, volume returning level, voice calm. "No one is hurt, just a little startled is all. Relax. Take a breath, try to get some more rest." He picked up Sophia wrapped in the blanket into arms, "Carol, come with me, please?"
Carol didn't even give the others a backward look as she dogged the heels of the man carrying her daughter down the back hall and into the bathroom.
"Marshall, what's going on?" Carol questioned quietly as she closed the door gently; the man still had his flashlight otherwise the windowless room would have been pitch black.
Marshall lowered the distressed girl to her feet, caressing her head. "It hasn't been stomach cramps... it's been menstrual cramps."
"Oh. Oh." Carol uttered with realization. "My baby." She cupped and stroked the girl's face, feeling her own relief. This was normal and natural; a unknown illness was terrifying. "I know this seems frightening right now, but it's all completely normal."
Marshall squeezed the girl's shoulder comfortingly and handed his flashlight to Carol so they wouldn't be left in darkness. "I'll be back with the necessities."
"Marshall?" His name was called quietly from the back after he closed the door.
"Beth, good." Marshall went to the backdoor where his sister lingered for her watch. He grasped her upper arm, leaning close for some form of privacy before she could ask him the obvious question. "Do you have any extra pads I can borrow?"
"What?" Beth stared at him in utter bewilderment.
"Sophia just got her period, Beth. She needs pads, do you have any?"
"Oh! Oh. Yeah. Yeah, uh, give me a sec." Beth darted past him down the hall.
Marshall closed and locked the backdoor as a precaution before going on his own little scavenger hunt for supplies. He wasn't all the surprised to find the others in the front room lingering in their wakefulness even after he told them everything was fine; if he was on the opposite end of the equation, he would want to find out what all the 'secrecy' was about.
"Beth?" Maggie questioned as her sister knelt by their shared mattress and started digging in her bag. She watched Marshall disappear into the kitchen without even entertaining everyone's questioning stares. Beth gave no answer either, but Maggie realized instantly when she saw the individually yellow packaged squares in her hand. "Ah!"
"You know what's going on?" Glenn mumbled in his girlfriend's ear as they watched the teen meet Marshall in the kitchen entrance, handing off her treasure to his already gathered items.
"It's fine." Maggie shook her head. "Don't worry about it—just girl-stuff."
"Girl-stuff?" Glenn muttered to himself. "Girl-stu-Oh! Oh..." He had 3 older sisters, after all.
Maggie was amused as she watched him go from confusion to realization to flustered embarrassment; it was pretty adorable. She supposed she was just so accustomed to her twin's non-reactions to things that it took her aback when she watched other men react so squirrelly about the same things.
Beth went back to her watch and Marshall grabbed Sophia's book bag before heading back to the bathroom with his supplies from the kitchen; a medium-sized bowl, a cloth and some water (this was certainly an event where they could spare some water for something other than consumption). He tapped gently on the bathroom door and Carol let him in.
Sophia was still standing, huddled in the blanket looking quietly miserable; he didn't blame her one bit. He knew woman had it harder than men with stuff like this but he also knew that women were tougher than men; he saw that time and again on active duty. If women could handle it in the middle of a war zone then they could handle it in the apocalypse. Even still, he remembered his conversation with Michonne about the subject at the rest stop and was just glad that this happened to the girl now instead of on horseback or even just on the road.
"Papa?"
"You'll feel better once you get all cleaned up and settled again." He assured the girl. He set the bag on the floor and the bowl at the sink; a bar of soap had been left behind and there was still some tissue paper on the toilet roll in the holder. To Carol, "It's best to just toss the pants and underwear."
Carol nodded her agreement; they couldn't spare the water and she knew the stains had already set. Beside even that, she did not want to fathom the risk of her daughter wearing clothes that had once been saturated in blood, even washed, around walkers that were attracted to such things.
Marshall pressed a kiss to the girl's forehead before he left mother and daughter to it. When he returned to the living room, everyone was more settled (Beth and Daryl back to their watch posts), the lantern remained glowing. It was clear that everyone knew what was going on when he wasn't bombarded with questions as he sat back on the sofa with a sigh, Athena instantly pressing against him. Beth must have said something while he was in the kitchen gathering supplies under his daddy's silent eye.
Well, everyone seemed to know except for her fellow 12-year-old.
"Marshall?" Carl questioned.
"Yeah, buddy?"
"Is Sophia okay?"
"Course she is. She's just... growing-up, is all."
Carl's face scrunched in confusion. "What does that mean?"
"Well... that's for your mama and daddy to tell you." Marshall chuckled.
Rick and Lori exchanged a companionable look of coming dread as Carl looked between them in eager question.
"Uh, not tonight, Carl. It's late." Lori said.
"But-" Carl protested.
"Carl." Rick warned.
The boy huffed in response and flopped dramatically back down onto the mattress to the amusement of the knowing adults.
"I'll take watch after Daryl." Marshall informed Rick, who only nodded after a short stare.
"It's late, Carl." Lori repeated. "This isn't some excuse to stay up late."
"I just wanna make sure that Sophia's okay."
Lori sighed. "Lay back down, at least."
Carl took that as ascent for his mission—but ended up nodding off under the soothing stroke of his mother's hand before Sophia made her return half-an-hour later. Sophia's posture was all tucked into herself, dressed in a clean pair of pants, staring at the floor.
"You ready for bed again?" Marshall murmured, offering her Chips who had gotten left behind in all the excitement of a speedy exit.
She hugged the killer whale tightly, silently nodding. She climbed back onto the couch after Athena jumped off to lay at Marshall's feet. Sophia pillowed her head on his thigh this time as he stayed seated and Carol tucked the blanket around her again. The lantern was turned off after Carol settled back onto her space on the mattress closest to them.
Marshall rubbed Sophia's belly again. Fingers gently stroking her furrowed brow as he gazed down at her in the darkness, feeling some of the tension and stress leaving her. "I just got ya and you're already turning into a young woman." He mused softly, more to himself than anything else.
She responded anyway, her voice mumbled, "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry about growing up," He chuckled, managing to gently boop her on the nose without poking her eye out. "And don't worry, I'll tuck you in and sing to you, for as long as you want, Butterfly." He promised. Her cheeks stretched with her smile as he hummed-
Marshall paused, sat on his heels, his left arm stretched under the driver's seat in continued search of the elusive smell. It reminded him of fishing around in the depths of a filled sink for the obscured silverware at the bottom and the possibility of- Marshall instinctively gagged as he did indeed come across something that was definitely organic instead of man-made.
He resisted the instinct to yank his hand out. Resisted the urge to run inside the house, shake a grumpy Maggie to wakefulness before she was completely ready and demand she come out and do it for him like they were kids and he had to do the dishes. She usually took pity on him, but not before pointing and doubling over in laughter at him and trading all of her chores for his one. It was incredulous to her that he could deal with shit and piss and guts without a blink, that he could shove his arm shoulder-deep into a constipated cow but doing the dishes could make him retch like it was a maggot-riddled corpse to a normal person.
Taking a deep breath, after a minute of blind inspection, he carefully closed his fingers around the foreign objects and pulled his arm free, sitting back. He had been expecting, perhaps, a dead mouse that had taken refuge during the winter, instead what he got was... he poked them delicately about with the tip of his pinkie finger; an assortment of phalange.
Flesh still clung to the small sections of bone, the green-grey-black skin tone. There was a torn fingernail still clinging to a cuticle. He didn't know, couldn't even guess how long these had been secreted under the seat, yet the skin wasn't threatening to flake off, there was still moisture in the flesh, like a skin formed over the surface of a hot pudding.
"Son?"
Marshall sniffed sharply in surprise, having not noticed or heard his father's approach in his examination. He really could have crowed at the find, as gross as it was, because he knew it hadn't been just simple BO that had been plaguing the car interior, but instead he simply tossed the severed piranha fingers into the bushes—with a gesture for Athena to 'stay' as her amber gaze followed the arc of tossed treasure.
"Yes, daddy?" He ducked briefly back into the car. There was a small bottle of hand sanitizer in the center arm rest that he managed to coax a dollop out of.
"I wanted to speak with you."
"Of course." He closed the driver's door with his elbow, rubbing the sanitizer into his hands. Marshall automatically straightened under his father's steady stare. "Everything alright, daddy?"
"That little girl inside..."
Oh, shit. Marshall realized that the talk with his daddy that he had been anticipating and dreading was finally here; The Parenthood Talk. He could only be encouraged by Rick's acknowledgement as a father himself; and though his talk with Daryl in the garage had gone a bit skewed, even the hunter had to acknowledge that Marshall was a better parental-figure than a 'piece of shit with arms and legs'. And Now, his own father was the final point in the triangle.
Marshall took a steadying breath and didn't waver from his father's piercing blue-gaze. Open, willing, and more than ready to take in all of his daddy's advice and wisdom borne from the undertaking of raising 4 children. The wise words, the concern and criticism, the passing of the torch. He was never going to be the one to get Grandaddy Elijah's pocket watch, that acknowledgement, that torch, but he was going to get this-
Marshall was left staring at the empty space where his father had been, slowly blinking. Clips and phrases rising and falling through his conscious, rising and falling:
"It's clear to see that, that girl worships you. I don't know all that went on between you during the winter, but I do know you...
"...You need to honestly think about the impact this decision has on not only that girl, but yourself before you let this go too far—for both your sakes-"
Wisdom, criticism, concern. Marshall had gotten it all, just as he'd wished. Hershel never pulled his punches, not with his eldest son. It was all valid, most things he'd thought himself, even.
"I hope you know what you're doing with that girl."
Of course, I don't know what I'm doing! The defiant shout had risen up inside his chest, vulnerable and pleading, but it died just as silent as it had been born, unheard, unvoiced.
"I am telling you all this because I love you, son."
He'd taken it all with a detached acceptance. His breathing was even, his heart calm, there was no ringing in his ears. He was not having a panic attack, yet he barely felt it when Athena nudged his cheek with a wet nose and whined. His face felt... numb.
"Don't listen to him."
Marshall looked down as his short little sister in the space in front of him. She looked so upset and angry. He reached up and brushed the back of his finger-knuckles over her cheek. "What's wrong?"
"Wh-?" Beth gaped at him for a moment, before her jaw squared angrily, her blue-eyes narrowed. "What's wrong?! Everything he just said to you is what's wrong!"
"Beth-"
"No!" Beth cut him off. "Don't you dare try and defend him, Marshall. He said you ran away and abandoned us when you joined the Army." He did feel like that sometimes, especially when he missed big milestones in his siblings' lives. "He said you were a bad influence on me and Maggie." If anything, Maggie was 'bad influence' between them growing up, Marshall usually just tagged along to make sure she made it back home alive; but he knew he had more of an influence on the blond teenager before him, particularly in regards to her vocabulary. "That you never committed yourself to a relationship outside this family, so how could you take responsibility for a little girl? That just because you care for her doesn't mean you understand what it means to take care of her. That you're selfish for letting her grow attached and love you when you're just gonna get yourself killed!" She choked on her tears. He felt shamed twice over to hear his daddy's words repeated by his baby sister. Things he'd thought to himself, when things got quiet and the ghosts came. Twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern after all. "Everything he said is bullshit!" She jabbed him in the chest to make sure he was listening to her, having seen the withdrawing look in his eyes.
"Everything he said is actually very valid." Marshall reasoned.
Teeth clenched, she breathed deeply. "Fine. His reasoning for saying those things is bullshit—Better?" She asked sarcastically but Marshall nodded seriously.
"Yes, because-"
"'Everyone has a right to their opinion'." Beth scoffed, "Fuck that. Fuck him. He doesn't have a leg to stand on."
"Sunny-"
She ignored him. "He doesn't get to stand up on a pedestal like he hasn't made the most selfish and worst decisions for this family since this whole thing started. He put mama and Shawny—and everyone else—in the barn almost getting you killed. He left us to go get drunk and die without a word or letter to any of us. He would have rather died at the house than survive for us and with us, his own children. He is the one that is selfish and abandons us, and yet he acts like just because Rick pulled his ass out of the fire of his own creation—twice—and that he was still here while you weren't, that it absolved him of all of that." She was left breathing heavily at the end of her rant.
"Is that what's caused this..." Marshall asked gently, "Rift between the two of you?"
"No, actually." She rose her chin, looking him in the eye. "He did that himself when he tried to convince me and Maggie, and the rest of The Group that you were dead and that we should all give up hope on you finding us."
Marshall's lips parted but no words or sound escaped them. She stared up at him, waiting for some kind reaction; his expression and tone had been pretty dull thus far. "I don't-" His voice croaked. He paused, swallowed, licked his lips before he tried again. Pain and guilt warred in his heart and his head. "Please don't hate him on my account, Beth. Please.
"I can't be the reason- I couldn't take it." She watched his chin tremble and it broke her heart because she knew what it signalled. "Whatever the relationship between daddy and I, that should not influence your relationship with him." She hugged him, holding him tight, unsure what to think or feel. "I love you, Sunny, so much, and I'm not trying to tell you how to feel... I just don't..."
"Want me to hate him on your account?" She finished. "How am I supposed to not be angry when I love you just as much? When I know it hurts you?"
"It does hurt to realize that that is how daddy sees me. That I'll just always be a foolish boy playing games. I did have some of those thoughts... like if Sophia's life would be better off if I stayed as just someone instead of becoming someone important. It made me think about Rocky, you know? Was the pain of his death worth knowing him, having him, loving him? Selfishly or not, I wanted to be someone important to her."
"You are." Beth murmured.
"And daddy..."
"Marshall." She groaned.
"Just let me say this and I won't interfere, alright?" He pushed her back a step to be able to see her face. "It's your relationship so I'll let it be."
"Fine."
"I'm not defending him; what his feelings are, well, only he can truly know. I'm not asking you to forgive him; I still have my own misgivings with him about disappearing to get drunk and his last-stand on the porch. Being our daddy doesn't give him an automatic out. I'm not asking you to forgive him, Sunny, I just... I want you to really think about if it's really worth it- Don't." He stopped her when she went to protest. "If something happens—I don't want you to live with this regret, of your last thoughts of him being anger and hate."
Her lips were thin. "Something will eventually happen..."
"Yes."
"We will all die eventually." Beth said. "Life is short and precious now, Marshall. That doesn't give him an automatic out. That shouldn't mean his actions should be forgiven just-because. If anything, that makes his decisions worse."
"Okay." He cradled her face in his large hands, taking a deep breath. "Okay."
"Any man can make a baby," She whispered, "But it takes a good-man to be a father. You're a good man, Marshall. You're a good father. You love her and take care of her, and that's exactly what Sophia needs and deserves—what you both deserve."
Marshall gave her a soft and small but genuine smile. "I appreciate that, Sunny."
"Papa?" Said girl questioned from the porch steps.
Marshall gazed at his sister for a moment longer before releasing her and turned his attention. "Yeah, Butterfly?" He kissed Athena's muzzle when the Belgian Malinois huffed at him in question.
"Breakfast is getting cold. Beth was supposed to tell you, but you haven't come in."
"Oh?" Marshall raised a brow at his sister.
Beth shrugged. "I got rightfully distracted. Sorry, Sophia, but you can have him now. I'll take over watch out here." She told him.
"Alright." He said softly. "Athena will keep you company, huh?"
"Sure." She reached up and scratched said dog, who woofed.
Marshall went back around the Banana Mopeel and up the porch steps, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders and pulling her close against his side. "How are you feeling this morning, Butterfly?"
"Better."
"Yeah?" They started inside.
"Beth shared her hot chocolate with me." Sophia told him shyly.
"Mm. Chocolate in the morning, that'd make anyone feel better. And your mama approved this, did she?" He teased.
"Uh-huh. She said 'just this once' 'cause it's a special occasion."
"It is." He agreed. "Plus, Beth doesn't share her chocolate with just anyone..."
"Oh."
"Just special people she really likes." He booped her on the nose as she smiled. "So, what's the-most-important-meal-of-the-day today?" He inquired upon entering the kitchen.
"Oatmeal with raisins and cinnamon." Carol told him. "A tablespoon of peanut butter optional with your slice of bread."
"Yes." Marshall said.
The woman raised a brow. "Yes?"
"Yes, to all of it. Please?" He gave her a boyish smile. "Thank you!" He perched on one of the dinning chairs with his breakfast serving.
"As we only have a couple days left of clean water, and that's rationing it for only the necessities," Rick addressed the others coming in form the back hall. "We need to start packing up the essentials so we can be on the road by mid-day tomorrow at the latest. I know it's been quiet since we got here, but without a available water source nearby, it's not survivable."
"Where will we go?" Glenn asked.
"Hazzard County, of course." Marshall tore his bread in half giving one piece to his spirit-daughter with a wink.
"You're still on that place?" Daryl said.
"Yup." He licked the peanut butter off his thumb. "And if we find somewhere better on the way, well, then... cheers." Marshall took a large bite of his bread. "We should also go hunting one last time." He voiced once his mouth was clear. "Who know what it'll be like on the road, we may not get the chance until we settle somewhere again."
"Separately?" Maggie stared at her twin intensely.
Marshall squinted at her for a second before answering simply, "Yes."
"Just asking." She said innocently.
"Uh-huh. Sure." He turned his attention to Rick, "We're taking the barbecue, right? I'll strap it to the roof of the Pinto if I have to."
...
Daryl was sitting on the back patio doing simple maintenance on his crossbow before he set out hunting. A keen hunter, he was sensitive to his surroundings, that was how he knew he wasn't alone. She was quiet, he'd give her that, but like her siblings, her stare was fucking loud and heavy.
"Stop staring and spit out what you have t' spit out. I ain't got all day." He wiped away any lingering oil residue on his fingers off with a handkerchief.
Maggie finally stepped out of the shadow of the back doorway and strode around the table to address the man face-to-face. "I want to talk about my brother." Her arms crossed.
"Fuckin'-!" Daryl tsked in annoyance. When he stood, the chair legs grated against the cement of the patio. "I've been clear that I don't wanna be 'is fuckin' friend since the beginning, lady. That ain't been a secret; to 'im or anyone else."
"Wow." Maggie murmured with revelation. Without any sort of prompting whatsoever, he instantly went to Marshall & Friendship. Beth was right about the Dixon; he did not know how to compute with Marshall's... genuine kindness, the offer of kinship.
Daryl glared. He didn't know what that was about, but it was that same damned look her brother got when he thought he figured some big secret out about Daryl. He did not appreciate the attention so he said what he said next to distract her: "I ain't the one keepin' secrets. You want to figure out his secret, why don't ask 'im yourself?"
Maggie's shoulders instinctively stiffened. "What secret?" Her mind went back to the kitchen the other day, the look in her twin's eye when he held her face and just looked at her. "Daryl." She pressed him when he didn't answer.
Daryl stared at her for a moment with narrowed, dark-blue-eyes, wondering what he was supposed to say now. He rolled his eyes, turning away with a scoff and picked up his crossbow from the table. This was the apocalypse not some fairytale land. "Ask 'im yourself. I don't wanna be in the middle of your fucking family drama. I didn't sign up for this shit—I ain't his damn friend!" He marched out the side gate without a backward glance, leaving the young woman to do naught but stare after him; his silence on the matter spoke volumes, though.
Maybe he should have just told her about Marshall's shoulder. Maggie would then run down her brother before he left for his own hunting trip, chew him out for it—all the while Daryl would already be gone, and by the time he returned all the Greene Family Drama would be over and done with. He wondered how the green-eyed man would have looked at him then.
[tWD]
watch out for piranhas
there's always piranhas
watch out for piranhas
ready or not
like it or not
here they come again
"Well, I haven't missed the sight of these ugly SOBs." Marshall remarked simply as they drove down the road in procession, having been on the road for days; Daryl at lead up front, weaving through the interested piranha scattered about like it was a professional obstacle course. The Banana Mopeel brought up the rear.
"Ugh." Beth grimaced as a piranha stumbled into the passenger side of the Pinto as they passed, smearing brown ick across the closed window before falling onto the road. She watched it stumble to its feet in the side mirror, the image quickly shrinking from view as it turned to stumble after them again. "Is it weird that I almost forget how horrible they are?"
"Wish I could." T-Dog said from the backseat. "Shame we had to leave that house days back, though. Damn."
"We'll find another place." Beth said with conviction. "We always do."
"Don't blind me, Sunshine, I'm driving." Marshall joked at her optimism.
"I could be Debbie Downer if you prefer?"
"Hm... Nah. 'Debbie' doesn't suit you; Debbie Downer feels like a brunette to me." He side-eyed her trapper hat clad head like he could see her bright sunshine hair as it once was. "You as a brunette would be so weird, I'd be doing a double take every time I saw you and get myself eaten—It'd be like if T-Dog suddenly grew hair."
"Hey, I can grow hair, man. It wasn't like I was born bald."
Beth giggled at his affronted tone.
"Really?" Marshall squinted at him through the rear-view mirror.
"Yeah." T-Dog insisted.
Marshall shrugged. "Can't picture it, sorry. It's a compliment; not many people can pull off 'bald'."
"You are not one of those people." He pointed out, settling back in his seat.
"Nope." He agreed. "Semi-bald is as far as I go. Anyway, we'll find a new place soon—before it gets too dark."
'Some place' this time turned out to be an auto-shop garage, made known to them via a weathered billboard posted at the side of the road. The red truck in front of them was kind enough to turn on the right indicator, showing the coming divergence.
Everyone sat at attention in the Pinto, Athena claiming the center rest between the two front seats as her perch as Marshall slowly trailed The Banana Mopeel down the turn-off. Through a skewed chain linked gate on wheels...
"Think we can close that?" T-Dog wondered, looking out the back to try and get a better look at it—the fact that it was open in the first place perhaps may speak for itself.
"We'll see in a minute." Marshall said. "It would be nice to have something between us and our biggest fans for when they initially catch up."
...And onto rutted dirt and gravel lot with formerly uninterested piranha. Vehicles were quickly parked, doors thrown open before the piranha could group-up. Daryl already unloading his crossbow into the closest as he quickly took down the stand of his bike, unwilling to have a repeat of what happened at the house where he was left scrambling to recock.
"You in on this, baby sis?" Marshall asked.
"Yes." Beth said immediately, swinging the door open.
"Here." The handle of his kukri machete was thrust at her before she could completely get out.
"Wha-?"
"Take it!" His tone had her taking it immediately and she came out of the Pinto with an upward stab.
Honestly, in Marshall's ideal opinion, everyone should at least have one knife, one machete, some kind of blunt mid-range weapon, a gun, and to top off the ultimate fantasy—a bow. "Athena, stay." He commanded, shutting the door. Athena barked unhappily from her entrapment. One of these days she was going to jump out after him despite the continued command in these situations, but that certainly wasn't today.
Marshall took a quick survey of the lot as he pulled his KBAR and stuck close to his little sister. He knew she was capable, she proved that at the farm, but just like Maggie taking care of that trio of piranha before they set out in search for Michonne and Andrea, you could never go wrong with a little back-up.
Daryl and Rick automatically gravitated towards each other, covering the other's back; Rick giving the hunter the respite he needed to quickly recock, a well-oiled partnership born through their winter together. The same went for the love-birds; Glenn and Maggie had an awareness of each other that was more than just romantic, but as scavenger partners. T-Dog tackled a walker onto the low hood of the Pinto and with a shout, Beth buried the machete halfway through its face with a two-handed overhead swing.
"Damn, sis!" Marshall whistled; it reminded him a bit of her butchering bunnies in the surgery back at the farm. "A little something-something to get the blood pumping before bed, huh?"
Athena started to rabidly bark.
"Marshall!" Beth's eyes widened at the piranha creeping up behind her brother. "Behind!" She struggled to get the machete from its wedge.
"Shit!" Marshall managed to jump out from the dead's tackle. It slammed into the side of the car and he quickly pinned it there, thrusting his knife into the base of the skull. It thumped limply to the ground when he pulled back.
Beth slumped with relief.
"Here." T-Dog managed to get the machete free, the walker body sliding off the hood.
"Thank you."
"Hate the quiet ones." Marshall squeezed his sister's shoulder in assurance and thanks as he walked around the Pinto to the driver's side. Athena was already taking up the seat when he opened the door. "Yes, I'm okay, thank you, partner." He let her out of the car and grabbed the keys to open the trunk. "Help me with the gate."
Beth and T-Dog jogged over to the open gate. T-Dog looked back down the darkening road to see the dark lumbering figures. "Damn, you were right about them following us." He told the man when he and Athena caught up.
"Like I said—big fans." By the condition of the gate, it looked like someone might have already rammed it. The hinges squealed and ground, the security latch was snapped off. The gate rattled almost thunderously in the lot, the noise and activity spurring the piranha to a bit more lively. "Sunny, use this to secure it." Marshall handed his sister the two small chains and padlocks fished from the trunk, the two whole uncut ones he'd taken from their former abode. "Try to weave it through the chain link that's coming off the frame."
As the teen focused on her task, she resisted the urge to rush as the piranha got closer and closer with each rattle of the chain. She forced herself to take calm even breathes, even as their rasps became audible, her small hands steady as she weaved the chains around the bars and links.
Marshall and T-Dog stood along the gate in anticipation, a big gap of space between them so the piranha wouldn't bunch-up in a single spot, and to draw away from Beth's work. As the first piranha hit the gate, jolting it, and then the next and next, she nearly lost the 2nd chain on the other side. T-Dog easily thrust the straight end of his crowbar through the gaps in the links, while Marshall had to resort to the using his KBAR (the shape and width of kukri machete was too much to fit through the diamond-shape holes), and Athena went about trying to distract any that were drawn to the teen before she was finished her task.
When Beth finally secured the second chain with the padlock on the lower part of the gate, she leapt up and stabbed the one that Athena was distracting with her KBAR. Glenn had run over to assist them with a broken pipe snatched from the ground as Daryl, Rick, and Maggie had checked around the lot of abandoned cars for any surprises. Soon, there was nothing but the sounds of human breathing as the gate was cleared of the undead, leaving a scattered pile of bodies to hinder entry.
"Everything alright?" Rick questioned when they all met up back at the cars, gaze sweeping over each of them in assurance.
Marshall's green-eyes mirrored his over his not-friend, Partner, and twin. "Yeah, just the followers we picked-up from the road. Secured the gate with chains and barring anything extraordinary, I'm confident it'll be fine through the night. We'll have to move all the dead piranha come morning, but they do work as a bit of good camouflage as is."
"We'll set up a watch at the gate for the night anyways." Rick nodded. "The outside lot looks clear and secure; we just need to clear out the main garage and that small administration office offside."
Beth stayed watch outside with the cars and was ready for any late-arrivals at the gate, while the others split into two groups; Maggie and Glenn to clear the office, with Marshall & Athena, Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog to clear the garage.
Maggie and Glenn had an easy enough time getting into the offices; the entrance was a wooden door with a large window taking over the upper half. Having done the sweep with Rick and Daryl, she was unsurprised by the walker that was slumped over through the shattered window—it had a large shard of glass piercing through its ribcage anchoring it place, the point of it protruding slightly out of its back. With the 'open' sign that would have been hung from the inside of the window tangled around its face and obscuring its bite, it had been the easiest walker she'd ever killed. Taller than her boyfriend by a mile, with a cringe, Maggie reached over the dead walker and careful of any shards glinting in the flashlight beam still wedged in the frame, turned the deadbolt.
It took a little more effort for the others to enter the garage than a swinging walker door via letting T-Dog strong-arm the metal, sealed, side-entrance walk-in door with his crowbar.
Marshall took Athena's low growl after sniffing about their entry point for a moment for what it was. "Weapons ready, lads, there be piranha inside."
T-Dog finally managed to force the door open; metal creaked as the man grunted with effort, a coating of sweat beading on his face from exertion. The door popped open and Daryl immediately pulled the trigger, killing the walker to greet them before it could bite off T's face.
"Thanks, man."
Rick held up a silent hand, stalling Daryl before he could proceed inside the dark interior, his knife instantly met the next walker before it could come through the doorway fully. "Let the first wave come to us."
Three more came through the door, stumbling over their dead fellows. Rick took it through the soft pallet as it turned to him. T-Dog felled its buddy by an overhead swing with the curved end of the crowbar, the longhaired walker crumpled and still on the ground. The last piranha didn't even make it close to the end of the gauntlet for Marshall to even have any participation, taken by a bolt through the eye. Daryl reloaded with a fresh bolt before his others were retrieved and handed off by T-Dog.
By unanimous decision they broke into 2 and 2, going left and right inside the garage. It was silent and dark. Daryl found himself backing-up the soldier and canine; a not entirely unfamiliar setup, though instead of game they were hunting walkers. Marshall bent briefly to put-down a piranha with its legs trapped under a heavy, tipped over tool cart. Daryl tried not to dwell on the fact that Marshall had his machete readied in his left hand, while his small little flashlight occupied his right.
The initial sweep of the flashlight didn't show much of the interior; it looked like someone had transformed the garage into a survival space. Strung-up tarps and sheets dissected the garage into a maze of self-made corridors and little rooms for privacy.
Marshall wanted to cringe every time even just a simply brush against the tarp that hedged in the paths erupted the silence like a stubborn crinkly bag chips opened in a silent library; but they needed to clear each nook and cranny. Like the rip of Velcro, Marshall was usually the one left to pull open the makeshift doors while Daryl levered his crossbow; he could hear much the same on the other side of the garage floor.
Any bodies found got the machete just-in-case, no matter how still or how many seeming already present head-wounds they already had.
Despite Athena's presence, Marshall didn't let her take lead in the clearing unlike with the obvious hunting and tracking. Clearing this maze-like place of piranha was different than clearing a building or street of explosives; he was too aware and wary of a piranha popping out of a shadow or corner his flashlight beam didn't catch to snatch her before he could react to stop it. No, it was best that he was between her and the piranha in this scenario; he could better grapple with it were it to take him down and Daryl was there to take the shot were it to appear.
Her tail was still and down, her nose constantly in the air, gaze never still, her pointed ears flickered at every sound, near and distant. He would catch a gleam of teeth sometimes as they came across a body. It was looking like an entire encampment of survivors had fallen here. They knew there were ghouls about, lurking, not drawn by the crash of the pried door; it was simply a question of Where?
A tarp rustled. They halted, still and quiet. They knew not where it came, just that they had not been the cause of it. When Athena's tail went up, however, like a flag from the corner of his eye, Marshall knew as he followed the point of her nose, her head low, ears back. Marshall signalled Daryl to their target with the beam of the flashlight. He'd just ordered Athena back when he was tackled, tarp and all.
He grunted under the weight of the piranha, his flashlight lost in the landing, not that it mattered when he was buried beneath the tarp and the struggling weight, all sharp contours of bone felt through the thin layer even if the clicking teeth weren't.
Athena yelped in surprise as her tail was snatched and yanked. She twisted with a snarl, fangs sinking into offending flesh snuck under another hung tarp.
Marshall heard it and instantly all his attention switched; he managed to kick-off the piranha (in the distant back of his mind, he knew the hunter would finish it), and rolled to his belly, quickly lunging across the floor, his left arm raised. He cut off the grabbing limb at the elbow, the unbridled weight behind the sharp kukri blade easily going through dead bone and biting into the cement beneath. It fell limp to the floor as Athena swung away, clumps of fur stuck between its fingers. Marshall jerked up on his right elbow and stabbed through the flimsy canvas. He didn't know where it was hidden behind the tarp, but he would find it and destroy the fucking thing that thought to touch his soul mate and Queen! Drawing sharply down, he created a flimsy opening between them. The piranha, unhindered by its missing arm, didn't waste a moment-
Both his hands were white-knuckled over the handle, on his knees hunched over his kill, his breath was heavy and controlled like a furious bull. With machete blade buried in its skull, the piranha still and silent—but it wasn't enough! He wrenched it with a vicious snarl. There was a snap! and when he finally pulled back, it was to a skull cracked open like a cracked egg, its grey matter scrambled and leaking out. He dropped the machete and turned to draw more important things into his hands.
Daryl had a bolt through the walker's head a moment after Marshall had flung it, it falling free of the tangled tarp. The wicked snarl behind him had him instinctively whipping around, his unloaded crossbow up. The crack! made him flinch. Everything was still and silent but for the other man's forceful breathing, the tension in his hunched shoulders that put the hunter on high-alert—like when Marshall had found out about Otis and Daryl didn't know if he was going to start swinging or have a meltdown—and then Athena whined. The machete forgotten, the walker forgotten, the fury, it all just sloughed off into concern as he reached out for Athena.
If this was his reaction to his dog getting grabbed... Daryl couldn't help but wonder the true scope of what happened with Sophia and that walker ambush coming into town. Sophia had shared some of what happened, mostly due to Carl's demanding and excited questions when Marshall, T-Dog, and Glenn had gone in search of Michonne and Andrea. How they had been excited to find their first sign of The Group all winter. The unexpected encounter with the herd. How Marshall managed to get her out of it, only to go down into the center of it himself. How she hurt her leg trying to get away. How Marshall had snatch her up out of danger. Carol had paled and gasped and flushed when Sophia pulled up her pant leg. Daryl had caught a glimpse of it on her skinny little chicken leg; it looked pretty intimidating from a distance. He didn't want to think about it from Carol's perspective even if it was all healed up; didn't want to think about how bad it had actually been before Marshall had gotten his hands on it. Daryl knew Marshall had stitched it up all nice and neat—just like the holes on his side, the damn prettiest scars on his body, the one hidden in his hair. Then, finally, their found refuge while she healed and Marshall taking care of her—there had been a special kind of light in her eyes he'd never seen before when she was talking about that in particular.
Daryl knew he was witness to that same here; The Wild Beast that had slain what hurt which he loved, and now it was just the Fussy Papa Bear. Checking her from nose to tail and back again, muttering words that were too quiet for Daryl to catch. He had a hazy recollection of the man maybe fussing over him like that and quickly shook it away.
"She okay?" Daryl's voice came out low and rough.
"Yeah. Yeah." Marshall's voice cracked when he answered. "Thank God." He cupped her head and nuzzled her, leaving a spattering of smooches on her furry face. Hugging her tightly and desperately.
"Good." Daryl turned abruptly and snatched his bolt, quickly reloading.
Marshall gave himself one more moment to collect themselves, breathing deep breathes as he gazed into her amber-eyes mere inches from his. That had been too fucking close! "Yes." It took his a insurmountable effort to pull himself from her and stand instead of snatching her up into his arms and stuffing her back into the safety of The Banana Mopeel. "Let's finish this." He grabbed his dropped machete, found his lost flashlight.
Each stepped crinkled over the pulled tarps and it was barely 20 steps through the torn down section before Marshall stopped, Athena pressed against his calf, ears back.
"What?" Daryl's voice was barely audible, flashing his light around behind them.
"Am I insane or do I hear whispering?"
"Insane." Was Daryl's instant consensus. He figured the man was still dealing with the adrenaline, but kept still and his ears peeled anyway.
"'Insane' is just another word for 'really good', so I'll take the compliment, Hunter. Anyway," Marshall pointed out, "Athena agrees with me." Athena woofed, her ears flickering, tail tucked close. "And that's all I need to know."
Daryl didn't bother responding because he also agreed with that. He did roll his eyes though, when the other man decided to close his eyes, tilting his head this way and that. Watched as Marshall slid his boots across the tarp to mute the crinkle as he moved in the pattern of a drunk snake. He glimpsed a corner of a board on the cement floor peeking out from under a tarp, but before he could give a warning, the back of Marshall's heel caught the edge of it. Daryl reacted instinctively, jolting forward and grabbing Marshall's right forearm to yank him towards him before his other foot could come down hard behind him to catch his balance, and risk busting through the thin plywood.
Marshall caught his breath as he blinked at the hunter, surprised. "Thank you."
"Shut up." Daryl yanked his hand away like he'd been burned.
Marshall couldn't help the flare of utter and helpless frustration. "Why is it such a challenge for you to just accept my appreciation? I didn't see it-"
"Might 'ave seen it if you weren't walkin' around with your damn eyes closed!"
"You could have warned me." He said plainly.
"I caught you." Daryl challenged.
"If the concept is so offensive to you, don't bother next time." His voice was low and void. "Let me fall."
Daryl glared, lips tight. He turned from the other man, releasing his own hiss of frustration. He kicked at the tarp, moving it off the long board. "It's an oil pit. Ain't you ever been in a garage before?"
Before Marshall could decide how petty to be and fire back his own snide remark—Athena growled. There was rustling movement, steps and suddenly one of the sheet walls was thrown aside. Marshall and Daryl reacted instantly and instinctively, barely holding back as:
"Whoa! Whoa!" T-Dog cried, hands up, baring flashlight and gore-slicked crowbar.
"It's just us." Rick said in a tight voice. "We heard a lot of commotion coming from your side, you guys alright?" He looked between them, brow furrowed as he saw the spatter on Marshall's face and his unusually ruffled appearance.
"Hold that thought." Marshall interrupted, realizing that Athena's growl hadn't been for them. He sheathed his kukri machete and crouched, shoving the board—instantly the full vibrancy of piranha groaning filled the silence. Rick bent and pulled the board the rest of the way off on his side.
"The hell is that?!" T-Dog exclaimed, staring in shock at the two walkers within the pit.
"That," Marshall said succinctly. "Is validation." Daryl deigned not to respond to the pointed remark.
"That doesn't really answer the question." T-Dog said.
"Looks like they were bit." Rick finally concluded after an examination with his flashlight. "There's a soiled bandage still clinging to the man's arm. The sleeping bags, empty food packages and water bottles-"
"The shit bucket in the corner." Daryl added.
Rick nodded. "Probably used it as a quarantine or something, before they figured out what the bite did or maybe they just couldn't bring themselves to kill people they knew and hoped for a miracle—like we did."
"Judging by the size of this garage, there's at least two more inspection pits." Daryl said.
"You think they got walkers in them, too?" Rick asked.
Daryl could only shrug. "Won't know til we check."
"Well, damn." T shook his head. "You gonna shoot 'em?" T-Dog prompted the hunter.
Daryl scoffed. "You gonna climb in there and get 'em back for me?"
"No, thanks."
"Thought so."
"We just gonna cover it back up and leave 'em down there, then?"
"No." Rick said. "We'll just need something with some length to reach them. I'm not comfortable just leaving them down there with a thin piece of plywood as cover."
"Yeah." Daryl snorted, tone mocking, "Someone might fall in."
Rick caught the pointed look from the corner of the hunter's eye and cocked a brow at Marshall, who was still crouched at the edge staring into the pit with Athena pressed against his side. "Mars, did you almost fall in?"
"Not this time," Marshall rose, stepping away. "Perhaps next time." He wandered away, flashlight shinning this way and that, Athena sticking to his heels as he searched.
Rick looked from his back after a moment before looking to the Dixon. "Daryl, did something happen?"
Daryl knew Rick wasn't asking about the pit-drama. "A walker grabbed Athena."
T-Dog hissed in sympathy. "She looks alright." Daryl merely nodded. "Bet he didn't react well to that." Daryl scoffed in agreement.
Rick had a frown of concern on his lips. "He wouldn't. Not after what happened to his first partner Rocky."
"What happened to Rocky?" T-Dog couldn't help but utter the morbid curiosity.
"He got blown up by an I.E.D." Maggie's voice unexpectedly answered, stepping through an opening in the tarp, a frown on her face and Glenn beside her. "Marshall almost died with him. Why are we talking about Rocky?" Her heavy question went unanswered as Marshall returned with a large, stiff-bristled broom that was used to sweep the cement floor.
"This should do it." He snapped the head off over his knee with a resounding crack, splintering the end and riling up the piranha. "Hey, sis."
"What is that?!" Glenn pointed in flabbergasted realization.
"A make-shift quarantine pit, we're guessing." Rick answered.
"Uh, r-right." Glenn didn't know how else to respond to that.
Athena barked at Marshall, nipping his hair when he laid on his belly without prompting to lean over the side. Marshall paused to look at her. "Such a worrywart. It's okay—but if it makes you feel better, you can hold my legs."
T-Dog wasn't the only one with a dumbfounded look on his face as Athena actually went and laid across the Ranger's legs.
The first piranha was fast and easy, it clawing at the wall beneath Marshall trying to reach him. The other, though, was being a bit stubborn, wanting nothing to do with Marshall no matter the ruckus and movement he made. Marshall looked up to see what had the piranha so distracted. "T-Dog, my guy, stop looking so delicious over there."
"Well, I'm not exactly going to apologize for it." T-Dog said, but he did step back several paces from the edge and out of view from the piranha.
"C'mon, fishy-fishy." Marshall called, hitting the wall with the handle; finally drawing its attention. "Yes, yummy farm boy over here." He managed to jab through the flailing arms and into its upturned face with a grunt, but lost the broom handle in the pit along with it when its arm whacked it from his hands as he pulled out and it fell. Aw, could have used that with the other inspection pits if they were occupied or at the gate if any more piranha decided to show up. "Athena, off." Marshall climbed to his feet with a quiet grunt.
Rick and T-Dog dragged the board back over the now silent pit, and with eyes squinted in amusement Daryl dropped a found orange traffic cone on top. He tsked in annoyance when Marshall praised it with a: "Smart."
"You okay, Marshall?" Maggie voiced, eyeing her brother's ruffled and speckled appearance, her gaze drifting down to Athena pressed against his leg; something had to prompt the other's to bring up Rocky after all.
"Fine." He said simply.
Neither deputy nor twin missed the hunter's cheek twitch that the response elicited.
"Right." She chose not to press at the moment, amongst other things. "The reception is cleared. Just a few shut-in in a back office and one popped out of the bathroom to say 'hello' to Glenn."
"Yeah, a few piranha seemed to think they were auditioning for a haunted corn maze." Marshall said.
"Dead bodies and walkers for us." Rick agreed. "Looked like there was a pretty big group camped out in here, the way this place was set up."
"What do you think happened?" Glenn wondered.
"Hard to say." Rick scratched the back of his head. "Maybe one of them died and turned and no body noticed. Would have been mass panic. The unturned dead were shot in the head, same with the already turned dead. The walkers were either bitten or filled with bullet holes."
T-Dog shook his head though with his own speculation on the matter. "Didn't y'all notice the front gate was busted through?"
Maggie added her agreement, "And they might have the garage locked-up, but the office wasn't very secure."
"What's it matter?" Daryl finally pointed out. "I'll check the other pits." He left before anyone could find the answer.
"He has a point," Marshall said. "It doesn't really matter—just that it's secure for the night. This place is a mess. Dragging all the bodies out is gonna be a chore... should take down all these tarps, make it less like a fucking scary movie in here."
"Maybe we should just bring the cars in." Glenn said. "If we can get one of the doors open... there's room enough."
Rick was silent in a moment of contemplation, looking around. "No," He finally decided. "There's cots all around here, so there should be a space for everyone to bed down. And all of our supplies will be safe under the eye of whoever's on watch."
"There's a shitty couch in the back office." Maggie offered. "Looks like a pullout."
Rick frowned though. "I'm not comfortable with someone alone so far away, so unless someone wants to drag it in here-"
"I'll get that thing in here by the stuffing and springs if I have to. I was not made to fit in a cot, man." T-Dog announced, stalking off without another word.
"Uh, I guess I should help him so he doesn't hurt himself?" Glenn chased after his friend.
"Such a doll." Marshall murmured.
Maggie gave him a plain look. "Keep my boyfriend out of your depraved machinations."
"Depraved?" He wondered. "I called him sweet, how is that depraved?"
Maggie eyes flickered to Rick, "Get your own boyfriend." She flicked his ear.
He flinched. "So possessive."
"And you're so jealous." She countered, before departing with another flick.
Marshall rubbed his assaulted earlobe. "You've become so violent since you fell in love!" He called after her in amusement, snorting at the sudden bird flying indoors before she disappeared completely into the darkness. "What do I have to be jealous about with a silly little boyfriend when I got a furry-soul-mate, spirit-daughter, and Apocalypse-Husband?" He muttered to himself. Marshall side-eyed the silent man beside him, his blue-gaze staring off after Maggie with a kind of sad longing. "What, you also think Glenn is a sweet little sugarplum?"
Rick made a startled and amused sound. "He's not quite my type." He shook his head, focus turning to the younger man. "No, just watching you with your siblings makes me wonder what it might have been like if I were as close to my brother."
Marshall gaped at the man, completely taken aback with this new piece of information. "I didn't know you have a brother! How don't I know you have a brother?"
One shoulder lifted in a shrug helplessly. "We were just never close growing up, despite him only being a year younger. He wanted out of Small Town Georgia so bad... he left right after high school graduation abroad. I haven't seen him in-person since his visit when Carl was born. I mean, we talked over the phone on birthdays and holidays, but that's it, really." He frowned. "I don't know if Lori even bothered to call him when I was shot, and then the epidemic... I've just been not trying to go crazy thinking about it."
Marshall squeezed his shoulder in comfort. "All I can think to say, is that if he's anything like his big brother, he's kicking this apocalypse in the ass. Hm?"
Rick gave a subdued smile, but nodded. "Yeah."
"Okay." Marshall nodded and turned away. "I'm gonna start dragging out bodies."
"Wait." Rick stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Daryl told us what happened with Athena." Rick watched his jaw tighten; he was facing ahead but his gaze was down and on the animal at his feet.
"She's fine and I'm fine. And everything will stay fine as long nothing fucking happens to her." Marshall stated simply.
"Marshall..."
Marshall finally met his eyes. "What?"
"Athena's alright." He murmured. "Nothing's going to-"
"Don't." Marshall stopped him. "Don't make a promise that you can't keep, that will make me resent you when it doesn't."
"I'm sorry, you're right. But right here, right now, she is."
"Right." Marshall grunted. "There's a beast in all of us that comes out when the people we love are in danger and it takes no prisoners. Yours reached through the bars with Shane." His green-eyes were dark and fathomless and Rick couldn't bear to look away. "I couldn't do anything for Rocky, but I'll be damned if I'm not gonna burn the world to the ground for her—and I don't care how irrational that is, Rick." He shook his head. "If somehow, God is so cruel to let what happened to Rocky happen to her..." He inhaled deeply through his nose. His chin trembled. "I was done, Rick, done." He croaked the shameful confession, leaving Rick to do naught but stare in growing horror with the dawning realization. "I was not in a good place; stuck alone and silent for most hours of the day, swerving between terrible physical pain and drugged numbness that did nothing to curb the anguish in my heart or my last sights of Rocky..." Rick's fingers were numb as they dug into the leather of his shoulder. "Even when I was stable enough to be flown back to the states to stay in the military hospital, and my family would drive hours to be able to visit me on the weekends... even when Maggie brought our mama's music box, or Beth had a new bracelet for me, or when Shawn would read another comic to me, or when Annette would sneak in her homemade jam. Daddy sitting with me and reading the Bible. And when Otis made me another rabbit's foot to replace the one that got charred, and Patricia took care of me when I was released from the hospital, kissing all my boo-boos better...
"They loved me and they cared about me, and they were so grateful I was alive—and all I wanted was Rocky! All I felt for their affection was numb indifference; I would smile and laugh and joke and healed physically, I guess, but all I longed for was my partner that could never return to me but I could go to him. And it was horrible and terrible and selfish just like me because I couldn't let the thought go. Just a few loose-ends to tie. Rocky's memorial, his flag, his medal, and then- and then. I was walking passed the kennels and she was there... I love my family as sure as the sun rises and as sure as the sun sets, but she was the one that awakened my desire again."
Athena roughly rubbed her head against his bruised thigh. "It's funny in a sick sort of way, you know? Daddy resents the fact that I found Athena and re-upped—when that's the thing that saved me!" He inhaled sharply, catching his breath. "I don't want that anymore. Not for a long time, not Now. I was in a bad space but it got better and I got out. I came home."
His voice came strong with unwavering conviction, "Maggie, Beth, Sophia, Athena... you. As long as any of you are alive, as long as I'm wanted, as long as I'm needed—even when I'm nothing more than a malfunctioning toy soldier—I don't want to be anywhere else. And now I'm having a breakdown because Athena's tail got pulled and my family would hate me if they knew and-" Marshall made a strained, bitter sound in the back of his throat as he continued to garner no reaction or response from the other man barring the ever present grip on his shoulder. When he spoke next, his voice was low and soft, "I admire you, Rick. Your spirit strong, your will unwavering, your faith unfathomable. You woke-up from your coma to hell... and you got to work. You went after those you love, you didn't falter, and here you are."
Rick's jaw worked for a moment before his Adam's apple bobbed along the column of his stubbled throat as he swallowed. His voice was hoarse, clogged with so much heavy emotion. "You think that when I woke-up, alone, confused, and terrified at the world around me where I thought that I was the only living person left, that I didn't think-? That I didn't..." His lips trembled and he swallowed again. His voice hushed, "That I didn't rage and scream and cry until I could do nothing but lay there and watch the shadows grow? That I didn't press the barrel of a gun so hard to my temple that it left bruises? But I didn't, couldn't, not because of faith or will, but because I was afraid of the ultimate truth and-and because a boy knocked me out with a shovel, and a stranger showed me kindness when I was so lost and reminded me that I needed to be strong, if not for myself, then for my son. Just like Athena for you. And I realized that no matter what, I had to know the truth about my family, if they were out there or gone—I know now and I'm not going to give them up for anything. Just like you." Grip still tight on his shoulder, his hand with the flashlight hanging limp, he gave Marshall a shake like it could reinforce the truth. "And we're both here, aren't we? We're both still here. Your family wouldn't hate you if they knew. They'd be angry and upset because they love you and don't want you gone—but they wouldn't hate you, Marshall."
Marshall shook his head. "Sunny hates daddy-"
"No." Rick said evenly. "Beth is rightfully upset with him for going off and getting drunk; holding ground when he should have given it up. The... 'hate' comes from him-" He stopped himself.
"You can say it." Marshall's lips twisted with irony. "I already know—he gave up on me. When I didn't deign to show-up on the highway; he expected nothing of me, no glorious return. It's been like that for a long time. I am the creature playing at the son, the brother, the soldier, the father. I stopped being real to him a long time ago..." He sighed. "I'm sorry for dumping that on you." Rick could only shake his head silently. "I just... you knew. You saw. We'd barely known each other and you knew, just like that," He snapped his fingers. "What Athena and I were—like no one else ever had." His palm laid on the left-side of his chest, "Rocky was my first love, and I know Athena will be my last because my soul won't be able to take any more." Before Rick could try and find the words to respond, Marshall stepped back and back, slipping out from under his Partner's hold. "I'm going to start on those bodies."
Rick's gaze followed him, lingered even after he and Athena disappeared through the hanging tarps. He had not been expecting that turn in conversation at all. He felt shaky, not only after Marshall's confession, but remembering and admitting his own. There was a rustle and Rick's attention was turned in the opposite direction. There Daryl stood; Rick wondered how much the hunter may have heard or if he'd just arrived, but the stiff expression on his face was difficult to read as always. Rick just sighed and gave his head a little shake.
"Were there more walkers in the other inspection pits?" He asked.
"Nah." Came the simple response.
"Alright. Good. One less thing to worry about. Help me get one of the garage doors open? I'll feel better with another exit available."
...
"Athena and I will sleep in the Pinto." Marshall informed simply when it came time to claim sleeping spots and turn in for the night. He wasn't really expecting any protests and he got none. Looks, on the other hand.
It's safe there, he thought. She was safe in it back at the farm and earlier now in the parking lot. It was childish and naïve, yet he clung to it anyway because he needed to.
He took off her vest and brushed her, treating her tender tail with care. He stripped to his bare chest; he needed the intimate contact. He squished into the backseat, his knees drawn up and held her with an arm as she laid on his chest. Her head rested over Rocky, her lost brother, her pointed ear gently flickering against his chin as it was tickled by his breath and his humming filled the quiet. He could feel every heartbeat and every breath. His other arm was folded behind his head, head titled back to stare up into the star-speckled sky beyond the cracked window, sending out a prayer for Michonne as his fingers twisted and pulled at the annoying hair around his ears that he'd let grow out over the winter.
His sleep, when his eyes managed to drift closed, was restless and filled with terror:
Rocky's bark half a second before the explosion; blood, guts, bone, and fur raining down upon him, the German Shepherd's head landing in his lap, brown doe-eyes open and lifeless, jaw slack with pink tongue lolling over white teeth in the facsimile of a doggy-smile.
Athena's yelp as she was yanked under the tarp by the grip on her tail, dull claws scraping against the cement before she vanished with a rustle to be devoured alive, blood pooling across the floor, her military vest doing nothing to protect her from the assault.
Rick, pale, curly hair unruly and beard over-grown, dark circles under his eyes, sunken cheeks glistening with tears, on his knees in naught but a soiled hospital gown in the middle of an abandoned street with shuffling piranha—the large muzzle of his shiny silver Colt Python pressed to his temple as he drew back the heavy hammer, crying to the Heavens for his son, finger curling over the trigger.
He was forced to endure the sounds and viscera of Rocky and Athena, but managed to wake before dream-Rick finished pulling the trigger.
[tWD]
The search and seizure of the garage was well under way:
Much needed gasoline was crowed over by T-Dog, who was typically relegated to siphoning from abandoned car gas tanks with a hose. Gallon water bottles for the water cooler in the break room were found stashed away, so the need to find a natural water source immediately was lessened. While the found food was not as exciting as the array at the other house or in abundance, food was food was food. The array of bodies that were dragged outside were properly searched in the sunlight and they came away with an assortment of guns, bullets, knives and other useful pocket items like lighters or matches—Daryl pocketed a pack of cigarettes.
The supply closet in the administrative building bore cleaning products that Marshall took advantage of for a little bit of vehicle maintenance...
"What are you doing?" Glenn spoke-up behind him.
"What does it look it like I'm doing?" Marshall wondered, not turning around from where he was squatted at the front fender, his maroon duster thrown across the front seat.
"Um, cleaning?"
"Well, if you already knew the answer, why did you ask?" He teased, rubbing at a stubborn spot of crusted piranha, giving it an extra spritz.
"Okay. But why?"
"Well, you see... to drive to the best of my abilities... I need to be able to see the road ahead of me and behind me and aside of me. I cannot do that when everything is smeared opaque with piranha goo."
"Yeah." Glenn nodded. "I see your point."
"Good." Marshall cooed. "That means you can be a doll and grab a bottle and rag to start on the truck. Idle hands mean idle thoughts, and idle thoughts are the devil's chew toys."
"Yeah." Glenn's gaze turned from Marshall's back to Athena laying in the shade cast by the car next to an empty water bowl nearby. Yeah, sometimes busy was better. "Sure."
"Good. Best leave Daryl's bike to Daryl, he'll be more likely to put a bolt in your ass than he is to thank you for it."
"It's Merle's bike." Glenn explained.
"That's a good reason." Marshall nodded. "Don't forget the headlights and tail lights."
...
"Sunny?" Marshall called perkily into the dim garage, hands behind his back to badly conceal his found treasure. The sun had risen and the garage door was pulled open to allow growing sunlight to invade the otherwise dark space.
"Yes?" Beth rose from where she'd been bent over and in the process of folding a tarp in good condition to its smallest possible form.
"Got you a little something-something."
Now the teen was the one to perk up, realizing that her brother's arms were behind his back. She raised up on her toes, trying to get a look at the thing that bobbed behind his head as Athena sniffed around the tarp, but the way the lighting was made it difficult. She flinched back when he whipped it out from behind, twirling it dangerously between one hand and the next before stilling it and holding it out for her.
"A stick?"
"A piece of rebar." He corrected. "I found it when I went to piss around the corner outside."
Beth's face scrunched and she took a step back. "Did you find it with said piss-stream?"
Marshall rolled his eyes. "No, I did not pee on it—cross my heart." He swore. "Stop being a baby and take it."
She did, but not without the complaint of: "It's dirty."
"It was on the ground, of course it's dirty."
She gripped it with both hands. It was heftier than a broomstick, of course, being reinforced steel. Longer too, as tall as her when she stood one end on the ground. "I don't know how I'm supposed to use this." She confessed, looking over to him.
"You'll learn." He assured. "If Andrea of all people can become competent with a long scythe, you can kick-ass with a metal staff. You need a mid-range weapon, Beth, but if the length really does trouble you, I'm sure we can find a torch to cut it and give you a couple of batons instead. I always had the image of you wielding a giant cleaver-sword like in an anime, Cleaver-Girl, but this will have to do for now." He chucked her under the chin. "Gotta find you some gloves, though, otherwise it be rough on you tiny, little hands and your tender, little palms."
Beth glowered at the mention of 'tiny' and 'little', but perked up at something else, "Punch-your-face-off gloves like Maggie has?"
He chuckled fondly. "Don't sound so eager about it—but, maybe. If we're lucky. For now, any gloves with do."
Beth pouted, but nodded. She tried to whirl the bar as he had, near immediately fumbled it. It hit the floor with a resounding clang that echoed throughout the garage. Athena barked, ducking behind her handler's legs. "My bad!" She called out into the garage as a whole in assurance, picking it up again.
"Easy. It's piranha you want to brain." Marshall pointed out. "Jab and whack. If you want to twirl it about, do it outside—away from any innocent bystanders and the cars."
"Right. Maybe I can find some grip-tape around here to create better holds until I find some gloves. You were right about it being rough on my hands."
"Aw," He cooed teasingly. "Do you want me to kiss your tiny, tender, dainty, little palms better?"
She brandished with rebar at him with threat in her blue-eyes. "Retreat before I change my mind about your car."
He held his hands up and backed away. "Maybe it's a good I didn't come upon a cleaver-sword instead."
...
Marshall stood in the doorway of the single-serve unisex bathroom just watching for a moment. He'd been in the supply closet again when he'd heard banging around and hushed chatter so he and Athena came to investigate.
"And what trouble are you two getting up to in here?" Marshall spoke-up when he saw Carl pulling his knife to do something dangerous. Both 12-year-olds yelped in surprise, startled. Carl, thankfully, managed to not gut Sophia with his knife when they both spun around. "Or, should I say 'three'?" Marshall swooped in for Marshmallow, who was minding his own business cleaning himself on the closed toilet lid, garnering a meow.
Carl quickly put away his knife. "We thought we would grab all the toilet paper and stuff from the bathroom. We were trying to get the paper towel dispenser opened but it needs a weird key. Whacking it open was doing nothing so I was going to try and use my knife to pry it open..."
"And surely cut your fingers off with it." Marshall pointed out wryly. He put the cat to settle on his shoulders. Sophia and Carl took a step back to let him look at it. He pressed the pad of his finger against the keyhole to better get the impression. "Hm, looks like an allen key should do the trick. This one, too." He added after looking at the neighbouring dispenser.
"What's in that one?" Carl questioned as Marshall fished out his pocket-knife and selected his tool. "It's got a coin slot. I've never seen that in the bathroom before."
Marshall giggled in amusement as he saw his spirit-daughter go a bit red. He pushed in the key and turned, the front panel popping open. He moved to the second dispenser.
"What?" Carl demanded. "What is it?" He turned to his best-friend. "Sophia?" A few colourful packages tumbled to the worn and dirty tiled floor when Marshall opened it. "What is it?" He picked up a plain packaged tube, examining it. "It looks like a candy bar." He scowled when Marshall sniggered and Sophia fidgeted, going redder. "What?!"
"They're typically only found in female restrooms, that's why you've probably never seen one." Marshall explained. "They're pads and tampons for the Ladies of The Group."
Carl stared, blinked. "Oh." His eyes widened as he realized what Marshall was talking about, his freckled face flushing in embarrassment to match the girl's next to him.
Days ago during the drive, Carl had pestered and pestered his parents about what they refused to divulge the night previously. Thus, sat next to Sophia, their parents decided to give them 'The Talk'. Carl hid under his wide-brimmed hat and Sophia had attempted to hide behind Marshmallow, but when that didn't work, Chips took up the job. It was embarrassing, confusing, and really gross. The two best-friend's couldn't seem to look at each other as they scrambled to gather the displayed items from the dispenser into the clean trash bag they had procured.
"You sweet, sweet cherubs," Marshall cooed to their further mortification, rubbing Marshmallow under the chin. "This is just the beginning. You both have a long confusing road ahead of you."
"Papa!" Sophia uttered in humiliation.
The two kids bolted from the teasing adult as soon as possible, colliding in the doorway. They briefly got stuck, met eyes, immediately looked away and scrambled free, Marshall's laughter followed them down the hall.
"Your dad is so embarrassing!" Carl exclaimed.
Marshall didn't get to hear Sophia's mumbled reply before they got too far away. He sighed, smiling. "I needed that." He informed his two animal companions; Athena bow-wowed and Marshmallow rubbed against the side of his head. "Looks like they missed one." He snatched the stray pad from the floor.
He stopped when he turned to leave as he caught sight of his reflection in the smudged mirror. His tone looked a bit grey in the weak lighting let through the small, high set window in the wall. Though there wasn't prominent bags under his eyes to show it, he knew himself so he could see the tiredness in his eyes. All this from just the previous night? It was his fears while hunting coming to fruition. He would admit that long old wounds had been ripped open anew, and the thought, the possibility that he may have never met Rick... was a scary, painful, and lonely one.
If Rick had killed himself in King's County, The Group never would have made it to The Greene Farm because Shane would have been the Leader and they would have headed for Fort Benning instead of the C.D.C.. Granted, Carl never would have been shot, and Otis, Patricia, and Jimmy would still be alive, but he could not fathom Maggie never falling head-over-heels, bruised and battered for Glenn; or not being papa to his sweet, sweet spirit-daughter; or having his best-friends Rick and Michonne; and the torture that was knowing Daryl Dixon. He shook the thought-line away. They were here, where they were, as they were. That couldn't be changed. That's what mattered.
Marshall shifted Marshmallow from his shoulder to the edge of the grungy sink and pulled out his straight razor. Two-minutes later, buzzing like he had a shot of caffeine instead simply shaven; the stubble that had covered his face and throat like mould was stripped to the smooth skin beneath. He already looked leaps and bounds more refreshed and less homeless; Rick and Daryl could pull off the sexy stubble look but Marshall always thought it didn't suit him even if he could stand to keep it.
Better, but... he folded his ear out of the way and started to shave the irritating grown hair. Marshmallow batted tufts of hair as they floated down to the bed of the sink. He brushed the hair from the shoulders of his shirt. Almost. His arm curled over behind his head, straight razor poised; the natural swirl at the crown of his head was being difficult and if he didn't correct the line he knew he wouldn't be able to stop picking at it otherwise.
Blade just so, one little stroke and- his fingers spasmed! The corner of the straight razor gouged into his scalp and hooked before he managed to pull away. Athena whined at the scent of blood. He hissed, quickly tilting his head over the hair-filled sink so the running blood dripped harmlessly there instead of staining the back of his shirt collar. He folded away his straight razor and grabbed the colourful package sat on the side of the sink. He pulled it open and pressed cotton padding facedown on the cut, leaving the wrapper on the adhesive side.
Marshmallow leaned up on his hunched shoulder to get a closer look, and Marshall nudged the him away when the cat tried to lick the tendril of blood that ran behind his ear and dripped from the side of his jaw. "When I'm dead, go nuts; but until then..." He wiped the blood from his jaw and licked the residue from his fingers himself.
Marshall groaned to himself in self-pity, pouting at himself in the mirror's reflection before he picked Marshmallow up in his free arm, keeping pressure with the other and left the bathroom in search of his father (whom he'd barely spoken in the days since they left that haunted house). Even if he treated it himself, where the wound lay, he would still need assistance of someone holding a second mirror so he could see the site like Michonne had for his shoulder. In the end, it was simpler, on the level of treatment at least, to just have Hershel staple his scalp back together; on the infinitely more complicated level, it was time to face the music of his own making.
He came across Lori first, sat in the rolling chair behind reception, sorting through an assortment of items pulled from the drawers as she kept an eye on the two kids (who were thoroughly distracted) going through the painstaking task of feeding found coins into the dusty candy machines and turning the dial one at a time. Better than smashing the holding and getting a mouthful of glass than candy.
"Hey, Lori. You seen my daddy?"
She looked up. "Yeah. Last I seen, he was in the garage." Lori looked at his odd stance with his hand held behind his head. "Everything alright?" She asked quietly so the kids wouldn't overhear.
"Yeah. Can you take Marshmallow?" When she nodded, he handed off the white-and-ginger cat, who only briefly dug his claws in to cling to the man's shoulder before releasing. "Thank you." When he turned and left, she saw something bright under his hand.
He left the offices and stepped into the garage through the hallway, pausing with Athena to search around for his father. The space had certainly opened up thanks to Beth's steadfast dismantling of the hung tarps and sheets. The bright orange cones where easy to spot sat on the wood-covered inspection pits, a warning to watch your step. Maggie and Carol were going through the collected belongings of the previous inhabitants. Ah, there was daddy; sorting through a tool trolley with Glenn nearby at a workbench.
Marshall took a deep breath and approached. Maybe Daryl was right. This wouldn't feel so daunting, he wouldn't feel so guilty about it or shamed if it wasn't a dirty secret.
"Daddy?" Glenn glanced over before turning back to his task when he realized he wasn't included in the call. "Can you come and help me, please?"
"With what?" Hershel faced his son.
"I need your doctor-hands." Marshall said, causing both other men to straighten-up at attention.
"You're hurt?!" That was Glenn.
"What happened?" Hershel demanded, taking a step forward.
"I'm fine. It's just in a awkward spot that would be easier if you tended to it instead."
Hershel looked at the arm that Marshall had yet to put down from his head. He frowned, approaching, reaching for the limb. "You hit your head?"
"No." Marshall turned before Hershel could try and examine him there. "Can you come out into the sunlight? My kit's in the car."
Still frowning, Hershel nodded, eyes not leaving the hand pressed to the back of Marshall's head as his son lead them outside. "What are you using to staunch the bleeding?" He asked when he finally caught a clearer sight of the thing under Marshall's hand.
Marshall cleared his throat. "It's a menstrual pad. My kit's in my bag in the backseat." He spotted Daryl at the gate as Hershel grabbed his kit; of course, the hunter would be nearby to witness the soon to unfold drama of Family Greene. He couldn't help but wonder if a part of Daryl will feel vindicated; like the petty, beady look he'd caught a time or many in Andrea's over the winter, like he deserved what Shane gave him.
Hershel opened the small but stocked first aid kit (that could have substantially eased the trauma of Sophia's leg tending had it not lain useless a block away, guarded by feeding piranha) on the trunk of the Pinto. "I wasn't expecting it to be this stocked." Hershel remarked. He spared a sanitary wipe to clean the grease and grunge that lined the creases of his withered but steady hands.
"Barring my shoulder, there wasn't any grievous injuries that needed treatment."
"What of Sophia's leg?"
"We were trapped on a roof, the kit was lost a block away surrounded by piranha. I had to improvise."
"Alright, turn around. Let me see it." Hershel had a gauze pad at the ready.
Marshall turned and steeled his expression when he saw the determined approach of his sisters through the garage door from the dimness of the garage.
"What happened?" Maggie demanded. "Glenn said that you were hurt enough that you needed daddy."
Of course, he did; but Marshall couldn't be too upset about it. The younger man only cared, after all, and it was better to get this out of the way, all at once, once and for all. Like a band-aid, ironically. Honestly, all things considered what Shane's shot could have done, this really was rather mild. Mild and annoying—for himself. Judging by Daryl's furious reaction, though, he didn't think the others would think the same either. "Calm down, it's not a big deal."
Maggie scoffed. "Honestly, we can never be to sure with you." She went to stand beside daddy to see for herself how worried and annoyed she should be. "Is that a pad?!"
"Yeah." He said simply. Beth raised her brows at him slightly amused, she'd decided to linger at his front than join her sister and father at his back. He wasn't sure if it was because she didn't want to see the gore (despite her instance when he'd been shot), or because she didn't want to be hanging off daddy (things had been frostier since Hershel's parenthood-talk), or if it was something else. He shrugged, "It's sanitary and all I had on-hand."
"Alright," Hershel said before they could get sidetracked. "Let's see it, son."
Beth's brow furrowed as she watched Marshall take a seemingly fortifying breath. He pulled the pad away in a downward direction, remember the way the razor had curved in his spasming fingers. He immediately felt the mild pressure of the gauze as he set the pad beside the kit on the trunk, keeping his head still. Beth tried not to be too concerned with the amount of blood on the face of the pad; she knew head wounds, even small ones, bled a lot. Maggie's reaction didn't help with reinforcing those reasonable thoughts, however.
"What did you do?!" Maggie exclaimed.
"I was shaving-"
"Shaving? You practically scalped yourself!"
"Okay." Marshall rolled his eyes. "That is just an excessive exaggeration."
"Enough." Hershel's tone brokered no further argument between the twins. "What happened?" He repeated, not to be brushed off this time. "You're too careful after you cut your throat."
Marshall was starting to wish that his baby sister had deigned to watch the proceedings from behind instead of her focused observation of his front, so she wouldn't be able to read the guilt in his eyes. He had dug himself into this hole when he just didn't tell his father and sisters when his shoulder was brought-up that second day back with The Group. Now he was going to face the consequences: "I was shaving—and my hand spasmed."
There was an answering silence. Green and blue stayed together and he slowly watched the tension grow in the teen's slim shoulders. "Your right-hand spasmed?"
"Yes." He couldn't read the tight expression on her face, how angry she was, just watched her nostrils flare as she inhaled deeply. He flinched when an alcohol pad was pressed to the wound without warning.
"So, you lied about your shoulder being okay."
"I suppose I did." He admitted.
"'Suppose'?" Maggie muttered darkly through gritted teeth. "You're un-fucking-believable-!"
"Magnolia." Hershel warned; her mouth shut with a harsh click of teeth. "This needs to be closed to heal properly and efficiently." He addressed his son. "The shape of the cut created a skin-flap."
"There's a staple-gun in the kit." Marshall informed his father.
"Hold still." Hershel murmured a moment later. Marshall held still, keeping his expression quiet under his sister's scrutiny; there was pressure, a distinct click and sharp pain as the first staple was placed. "Why would you lie?"
Marshall stared over Beth's head. "It's honestly not that big of a deal." Click. "And I knew I'd just get another lecture about things that can't be changed or fixed." Click. "Even if we were still at the farm, things would still be as they are. You already know that this was a possibility, daddy, when I told you my fingers were going numb before you took the bullet out." Click. "It is not a debilitating handicap. I am still functional and useful to The Group." Click. "You didn't realized because I have it under control."
"We didn't know because you were hiding it." Hershel corrected. There was a final click. The fresh blood was blotted away, the staples cleaned, and a square bandage was sealed over top the tender wound.
"You call this being 'under control'?" Maggie added.
"I can't help but sneeze sometimes." Marshall turned to his twin, resisting the urge to reach up and map out the bandage with his fingers. "Thumb-war?" He held out his right hand out, steady as ever. "Bet I can still beat you even if my hand cramps up." He let her smack his hand down.
"Don't be such an ass. You cut yourself giving yourself a haircut, Marshall. What if you'd been shaving your face? Your neck? What about walkers-"
"This isn't new, Maggie." Marshall said. "I've been dealing with this all throughout winter, okay? God gave us two hands for a reason."
Hershel closed the repacked kit. "You've been compensating with your left-hand."
"Yeah." He shrugged. "It hasn't been particularly difficult—I've been drilling with my left-hand long before this in case my right ever got blown-off."
"Don't fucking joke about that." Maggie hissed.
"I wasn't joking." It was easy to find himself back on even keel in the face of his twin's anger.
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"Not in the least."
Maggie snarled lowly under her breath, his blasé tone infuriating.
"How bad is the... nerve damage, really?" Hershel questioned quietly, stopping whatever else his twin was about to snap at him.
Marshall internally cringed at the term 'nerve damage'; that seemed to be a trigger for Daryl to flip-his-lid and he could see it in his sisters' faces, too. "It's mostly just tremors in my fingers when in a sustained, awkward position, or painful cramps in my hand when it's tired or strained. Using my bow is an inevitable trigger, when my shoulder gets strained and tried from drawing, and the hold of my fingers. All of which I can mitigate with breaks to rest, stretching and massage—it's not as daunting as 'nerve damage' makes it sound."
"Daddy?" Maggie questioned, though her eyes stayed trained on her twin, trusting his opinion more than Marshall's right now.
Hershel sighed. Marshall stood placidly under his father's examination; the carotid artery in his neck, brachial artery in his arm, the radial artery in his wrist. Pinched the tips of his fingers white to watch how fast the blood flood back into each limb, Hershel expression as inscrutable as ever in these situations. "Any pain in the neck and shoulder?"
"Nothing that leaves me writhing around on the ground."
"Meaning: Yes." Maggie muttered.
"I believe you were right about a compressed nerve behind your clavicle from your descriptions." Hershel reported. "It's minor; removing the bullet and restoring proper blow flow saw to that, thankfully. You've not been experiencing muscle weakness?"
Marshall shook his head. "In the beginning, but that's only because I was healing, trying to keep use of my shoulder and arm as minimal as possible. I was only able to hold off until the wound was able to stay closed under strenuous activity. I couldn't wait for the hairline-fractures to heal-up completely; I was the only one who knew how to hunt. You know I can't shoot my bow straight with my left side, so I bore the pain and was as careful with it as possible; and my left hand took control of everything else otherwise."
"Mm." Hershel was obviously not very impressed with his recklessness, but they all knew they no longer had the choice of luxury when it came healing in their new climate of on-your-toes survival. There was nothing to do for it now, disappointed or not. "All you can do now is keep up the physical therapy." He waited for his son's agreeing nod before heading back into the garage.
Marshall's waiting gaze went to his twin. "Maggie?" He was ready for it.
Maggie stared back, her bare fingers curled tightly around her biceps; she thought about the reinforced gloves stuffed into either of her jacket pockets left on a cot in the garage. Her lips tightened and she shook her head, walking passed her twin without a word. He swallowed, unable to watch his twin walk away so he turned instead to his watching little sister.
"If our roles were reversed and it was me or Maggie in your position..." Beth didn't even need to finish the hypothetical.
"Touché." Marshall conceded immediately. He sighed, leaning back against the trunk on The Banana Mopeel. "Let's have it, then, baby sis. I got all the expected disappointment from daddy's sighs alone. Maggie's too angry to even yell at me about it anymore. It's your turn."
"I am upset." She informed him, and watched his face tighten. "I'm upset that even after all this time, you're still hurt. I'm angry at that bitch for not shooting him, and that bastard for shooting you—and honestly, if we ever do run into Andrea again, I don't know how I'm going to react. I don't have much practise punching people in the face, but I'll give it a go anyways."
"Who else have you punched in the face?!" Marshall wondered, incredulous.
She waved the question away dismissively. "It's frustrating, but I'm not exactly surprised you didn't tell us." Especially concerning daddy, she thought. "You've always been so... mercurial when it comes to your injuries. You joke openly and flippantly about only having one testicle, where other men would be reticent. But the seemingly most innocuous, like the mirrored scars on your left forearm, or the old bullet scar on your back, you don't talk about. You preferred to go around the farm shirtless because I know the shirt's material would always rub your burns raw and painful. You are not ashamed of your scars, but you always cover-up under daddy's eye. I don't think you said anything about your shoulder because you didn't want to worry Maggie and me, and because in your mind you already solved the problem with the cramps so there's no point for all the drama." Beth paused and regarded him for a moment before she continued, "However, more than even daddy's judgement, or Maggie's anger, or my worry," Marshall steeled himself for her ultimate judgement, "You're trying to protect Rick, aren't you?"
"Witch," He told her, which was the same as admitting 'yes'. "Get out of my head."
Beth couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction. You're as bad as Maggie was with Glenn, she thought to herself, looking at him. You've fallen so hard and you don't even realize it yet. "Honestly, not that hard to suss out when you look at the bigger picture. We've actually talked a few times about it over the winter."
"I'm glad he had someone to talk to."
"He feels guilt and shame that he hadn't been able to kill his ex-best-friend. Jimmy might still be alive and you certainly never would have been shot. It's something he'll always carry with him." Beth took a step forward and reached for his right hand, smoothing her palm over his larger and more calloused one. "And now, you're not just shot and healed up—you're shot and still suffering lingering side effects. It's not going to go away, is it?" She asked quietly.
"Maybe if my clavicle snaps, it'll free something up." He said wryly.
She gave him a sharp look, fingers tightening around his hand. "That's not funny, Marshall."
His fingers curled around hers in turn. "It really is fine, Sunny. Yes, it can be frustrating—like when my hand spasms tying my boots, or my hand cramps when I'm skinning game—but, you know, I practically live in my boots and I haven't cut off a finger-"
"Yet." She pointed out.
"Hey, we've all sliced our hand a time or two when we learned how to skin a kill." He countered. "I've seen you take 10 minutes trying pass a thread through the eye of a needle. And you knock down the Jenga tower all the time with shaking fingers." She sputtered indignantly at the comparisons. "But, suddenly, now, unless my hand is constantly steady it's gonna be a whole big fucking thing?"
"I can see your point." Beth sighed. "But it's always distressing when you're hurt, Marshall."
His free arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest in an embrace. "I'm okay, Sunny." He decided it was better not to tell her that he practically was in some form of ache all the time; getting blown-up, shot, cut open, breaking bones and cracking his head, be it in his childhood and his soldiering, had consequences. The grunts and groans when he rose from a stagnant position was not him being dramatic.
The teen said nothing, merely held him back.
...
By the time dinnertime rolled around and The Group was called inside for the night, it was obvious that word had spread, even if it wasn't voiced. Maggie still hadn't said a word to him, Lori couldn't seem to meet his eyes, and with a dog in his lap and spirit-daughter nestled against his shoulder, he could feel the weight of Rick's silent yet drowning stare.
Marshall had taken watch at the gate; Athena his silent, constant companion. He heard the gentle scrape of cowboy boots on the ground as Rick came to relieve him, yet as the man came to stand beside him, Marshall didn't step away.
"Please, stop."
Rick's brow crinkled and he looked over at the other man. "'Stop', what?"
Marshall took a deep breath and faced him fully. "Half the reason I didn't say anything is that look you've been giving me all day." Rick's mouth tightened. "That guilty one. Like it's your fault. Like you're the one that shot me, just like before, except-" Marshall swallowed. "Except now, I'm what... damaged goods? Every time you look at me, all you see is a shaky hand?"
"No." Rick denied with a head shake.
"Mm." Marshall gave a non-committal grunt.
"Marshall-"
Marshall shook his head. "All of you are flipping about the occasional hand cramps and finger spasms... do you realize how it could be a 1000x worse? Do you need me to go into the terrible list to drill it into your head and your heart that cramps are a damn blessing?!" Rick didn't answer. "Do I?"
"I know it could be worse." Rick whispered it, like if he said it too loud, it would take hold and become reality, "You could be dead."
"One millimetre different, half a degree different... perhaps my blood flow would be compromised and my functionality would be cut in half. My first rib could have separated from my clavicle and my lung collapsed. Or instead of minor pain, I could be suffering a chronic debilitating pain. I'd rather my arm just be entirely paralyzed compared to that, honestly. I'd never be able to shoot my bow again, or give someone a proper hug, but at least I'd still have the mental capacity to function-"
Rick pressed the palm of his left hand over Marshall's mouth, finally silencing him. His skin was wan in the moonlight. Marshall waited him out with tolerant green-eyes. "Please, just stop."
Marshall reached up with his right hand and gently pulled Rick's hand from his mouth. Their palms slid together as he interlocked their fingers. "Your hand is trembling." He pointed out gently.
"Not funny."
"I'm not laughing." Marshall promised.
Rick gazed at him for a moment before asking quietly, "What was the other half of the reason you didn't say anything?"
"Just a bunch of little things, I guess." He sighed. "The one I'm getting flack for the most, is that it's not big of a deal, ironically. Maggie did not appreciate it when I compared the muscle spasms to sneezes." Rick's lips twisted sardonically. "Not to sound childish, but I didn't want to get another disappointed look from daddy. Where I should know better and do better." Rick squeezed his hand in sympathy. "It hasn't changed at all since I was a kid. Who knew that wearing a pair of mismatched socks to Church would garner the same Look as abandoning your family?" Marshall wondered bitterly. "And now my shoulder? That's because I'm irresponsible, and I was fooling around, and-" He stopped and huffed and fell silent.
"You are far from irresponsible. I'm pretty sure you think five-steps ahead of everything."
"Just call it what it is—anal." Marshall said wryly. "And not the fun-kind either." Rick snorted and Marshall's lips quirked into a brief smirk.
"Nothing wrong with either of those things. Hell, I know I can be pretty anal, too." Rick admitted. He knew he'd been a bit of a nightmare during winter, but he'd just been trying to keep everyone alive and it together; it was definitely better with the other man back.
"How was it?" Marshall asked.
Rick stared at him with blank bewilderment. "A-anal-?"
Marshall chortled. "No! My It-could-be-infinitely-worse speech!"
"Oh." Rick disentangled their fingers in embarrassment, hands going to his hips.
"Don't be embarrassed!" Marshall booped him on the nose. "We can dish on anal. Granted, it's been a few years—my last partner was a woman-"
"Michonne?" The name was ripped from Rick's throat without his consent. Marshall paused and cocked his head, looking at the man with unfathomable green-eyes and Rick fought the inexplicable urge to squirm under their regard.
"Rick-"
"You don't have to answer that!" Rick spoke over him. "That was utterly disrespectful and none of my business." He brushed the entire topic to the side, "It was a horrible speech."
Marshall's eyebrow went up briefly before settling and he easily veered back onto the initial topic. "But it got the point across, right?"
"Yes—Not that it exactly makes me feel better about the whole thing."
"The man who did it is dead." Marshall reminded softly.
"You were still shot because I couldn't-"
"Kill your best-friend." Marshall finished for him pointedly. 'You did in the end', He refrained from pointing out because he knew Rick would counter it with: 'Not until it was already too late. He was already dying, I just put him out of his misery'. Instead, Marshall shot back with, "Here's to hoping you don't lose your shit because I won't be able to kill you."
Rick swallowed, licked his lips and said, "Ditto."
Marshall couldn't help the gooey smile that possessed his lips. He managed to quell the excited bouncing, but a little wiggle may squeezed through the cracks. "Cool, cool, cool."
"Are you really that surprised by it?"
Marshall tried to shrug nonchalantly. "Not to be needy about it, but it's nice to hear it confirmed from the source, is all." Especially since he built it up so much in his head and with Daryl's reactions to his extension of friendship, he was suitably afraid to voice the concept to Rick with the possibility that he didn't want it, despite his twin's assurances and nothing from the man himself to indicate anything other than best-friend-dom. "If you haven't realized, these are my first overtures into friendship that isn't blood-related to me. I know I can be a lot when I get invested in someone—you pretty much have to kill me to get rid of me, even when the feeling isn't reciprocated—so, you know, I wasn't going to poke you about it."
"What tipped the scales in my favour?" Rick wondered in soft curiosity.
"Your reaction to Daryl getting shot."
"Really?" Rick was surprised. "That early?"
Marshall shrugged. "What can I say, First Impressions. I heard about you and Daryl from Sophia. Seeing Daryl's reaction when he first saw Sophia, that just solidified it for me with him. And your reaction to Daryl getting hurt set in it stone for you."
"And Andrea?" Marshall's quietly furious expression was answer enough. "Even after spending winter surviving together?"
"I don't wish her dead even if she wishes it for me." Marshall responded with a neutral expression and tone. "That's all I can really say on the matter."
The lines of stress on Rick's face deepened. He remembered Andrea's lack of respect and blatant hostility towards Marshall at the farm. He believed it had started with Marshall's first reaction to her out on the field when she tried to approach. He knew Andrea had apologized to Daryl after the man had made it back to his tent, but he knew just as well as the hunter that it had been half-assed; Andrea didn't believe she'd done anything wrong in taking that shot and that was infuriating. What happened at the barn certainly hadn't tempered the animosity... but to the point of death?
"Yes." Marshall said simply to the unvoiced but visible question in Rick's eyes. "Blatant and implied comments on how she should have let Michonne kill me when she had the chance, or how she wished they left me behind when I succumbed to my wound... you know, that typical ilk."
"Marshall-"
"Don't freak out about it. You or she can't do anything about it right now." He dismissed. "It hardly matters."
"Hardly matt-?!" Rick was starting to understand why Maggie grew so frustrated with her twin when he reacted so unaffected about things that should truly garner some reaction.
"It's the fact that she said that shit in front of my daughter that infuriates me." Marshall muttered in his own annoyance on the matter. He huffed, shaking his head. "Anyway, it's about my bedtime, so stop trying to rile me up, it's hardly conducive to good-sleep."
"You do look tired." Rick agreed.
"Pretty sure there's a prevalent tiredness to all of us."
"No." He shook his head, studying him. "This is more than that. Did you not get any sleep last night?"
"How could I?" He confessed quietly, turning his head to look down at Athena. "One of my worst nightmares was almost realized. All I could think about was Rocky exploding before me into nothing but viscera and bone; Athena getting yanked under that tarp and torn apart before I could get to her." His fingers curled into fists as they trembled. His voice croaked, "And you... blowing your brains out with that damn Colt Python!"
Rick grimaced with guilt and pain. "I'm sorry." It was whispered. "That wasn't what I wa- I didn't mean-" He stopped as he felt Marshall's calloused, warm hand clasp the side of his neck.
"I'm glad you never got the chance."
Rick grasped his forearm. "You, either."
They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment.
"Well, I think this is a great place to say goodnight." Marshall announced, dropping his hand.
"Right." Rick gave a choked laugh, clearing his throat. He carded his hand through his hair. "Are you going to sleep inside this time?"
"Yeah. No need to stress out my sisters any more, and I need to cuddle with someone that can actually cuddle me back." Athena huffed. "No offence," He told her, "It's just nice not to be the big spoon sometimes and you can't with your doggy-arms." She woofed in offence. "I'm sorry, it's just fact." He looked up to find Rick's bearing softened with amusement. "'Night, Rick. Good watch."
"Goodnight, you two." Marshall looked pleased at the address and Rick watched them walk back across the lot to the garage. "Sleep tight."
[tWD]
The next week of travel on the road passed moderately. They were making a steady, if slow progress to their ultimate goal of Hazzard County. What slowed them considerably was blocked roads, and having to stop to find a suitable place to spend the night before the sun set into darkness was a repetitive and tiring task. What was truly driving Marshall insane, however, was Maggie—and the complete lack communication and contact:
I need another story
something to get off my chest
my life gets kinda boring
needs something that I can confess
til all my sleeves are stained red
from all the trust I've said
come by it honestly I swear
thought you saw me wink, no
I've been on the brink, so
They had the typical childish fights siblings had when they were kids. 'That's mine.' 'No, it's mine!' / 'But he got more than me!' / 'Why does she get that but I don't?' Or when she ignored him and everyone else during her Rebellious Phase. She'd yelled at him and cried when he'd joined the Army at 18 and left home—when he pointed out that she was leaving for college, she kneed him, back when he had both the Family Jewels—however, unlike daddy, she'd accepted it as something that he wanted to pursue.
This was none of those:
tell me what you want to hear
something that will light those ears
I'm sick of all the insincere
so I'm gonna give my secrets away
this time
don't need another perfect lie
don't care if critics ever jump in line
I'm gonna give all my secrets away
The thing was, Marshall always grew calmer in Maggie's anger—but in her quiet he grew anxious. Though he didn't necessarily enjoy the lack of verbal communication, he could handle it—it was the lack of eye contact that affected him more. When she was angry, he knew every thought, every feeling that trailed along in its wake. This, on the other hand, left her a closed book to him.
Being twins, being sibling, being best-friends, she knew all his soft and vulnerable spots:
My God, amazing how we got this far
it's like we're chasing all those stars
who's driving shiny big black cars
and every day I see the news
all the problems we could solve
and when a situation rises
just write it into an album
send it straight to gold
but I don't really like my flow, no
Marshall Greene was a touchy-feely kind of man, or as Beth had pointed out—Affection-whore. He craved physical contact, he found the ultimate comfort via physical contact and was more than happy to give his own share (as if the hugging, cuddling, smooches, caresses, boops and pokes weren't indicative enough of that); it was his true love-language.
One of the worst and most punishing things you can do to someone like that was cut it off. Maggie wasn't talking to him like Beth wasn't talking to Hershel; fine. But the fact that his twin was keeping a physical distance between them; literally, like when it was time for bed and she would always make sure there was another body between them.
It made his chest hurt:
tell me what you want to hear
something that will light those ears
I'm sick of all the insincere
so I'm gonna give my secrets away
this time
don't need another perfect lie
don't care if critics ever jump in line
I'm gonna give all my secrets away
Any other time, he may have been able to handle his twin's cold shoulder better, but right on the tail of a too-close-call with Athena, it dug too deep and too hard. It was torture that no amount of backbreaking labour or even spirit-daughter rearing could alleviate:
ooh
got no reason, got no shame
got no family I can blame
just don't let me disappear
I'ma tell you everything
Enough was enough. She'd had the past week to sulk in her anger and her contempt, but that was all the allowance he was going to give her. She was going to talk to him, they were going to move on passed it, and things were going to carry on how they had before this stupid dirty little secret of his came out—even if he had to poke and poke and poke the angry grizzly bear until she tore his head off. Looking at the date on his watch... what better a day to egg his sister into breaking her distance than April Fool's?:
so tell me what you want to hear
something that will light those ears
I'm sick of all the insincere
so I'm gonna give my secrets away
this time
don't need another perfect lie
don't care if critics ever jump in line
I'm gonna give all my secrets away
all my secrets away
all my secrets away
He waited until they settled into their next abode for the night, everything was calm, dinner was cooking—and his dear distant twin had nowhere else to be.
"Hear-ye! Hear-ye!" He called the attention of The Group. "I have a Health Advisory Announcement." Marshall waited until he had everyone's attention and then proceeded to say dramatically, but seriously: "Nobody try and kiss me—I have a cold sore." There was a beat before eye rolls and groans sounded.
"You're such a drama queen!" Beth booed him. "We thought you were going to say something serious, Marshall."
Marshall placed a palm on his chest in offence. "I'll have you know that this is a very serious matter, Sunny."
"Right."
Daryl scoffed. "Ain't nobody wanna kiss you—even before you got the mouth-herpes."
"I don't believe you, Dixon." Marshall dismissed his opinion primly. "I'm very kissable and my breath is always minty-fresh. Back to the initial issue at hand... we share utensils and bottles, and everything else, really, so I shan't be all that surprised if we have a little outbreak."
"'Shan't'." Maggie mocked under her breath to Glenn. "That would make you Patient Zero, then." She said to her brother.
It was the first address she had for him all day and Marshall fought the smile of triumph at a plan coming together. "Laugh it up, Twinster." She narrowed his eyes at his casual mocking tone. "You drank from the same bottle as me earlier," He paused for dramatic effect, "And then I saw you have a hearty make out sess with your cute, little BF there."
While Glenn came to terms with being 'The cute, little BF', Maggie whipped the useless remote control from next to her at him. "And you didn't say anything before?"
He twirled the caught remote in his palm, shrugging casually. "You deigned not to speak to me, so I just did the same."
"Asshole!" She muttered.
"The perils of Love." He made kissy-noises at her.
Maggie stood and glared. "I know where you sleep, idiot."
When Glenn tried to reach out and calm her down, Beth stopped him with a subtle hand on his shoulder and head shake (not that Maggie would have took notice with her glare lazer focused on Marshall) as she slowly started to piece together what was happening.
Marshall rolled his eyes at the old threat and pushed a little more. "You're my twin," His solemn tone gave her pause, but she grit her teeth at the smirk that followed: "I donkey-lipped the rim just for you."
"Argh!" Maggie lunged at her brother. Like the remote, he saw her coming, and same as then, instead of easily dodging, he caught her. Arm around her waist, he made sure he was on the bottom to take the brunt as they crashed to the floor. Lori quickly pulled Carl back and Athena jumped out of the way as Carol kept Sophia safely in the kitchen with her and Hershel.
"What's going on in here? I heard crashing..." Rick came in from his watch out front, only to stop at the sight of the wrestling twins across the abandoned living room floor. "Should I be worried?" He questioned the unaffected sunshine-blond.
"Nope." Beth said.
Rick looked at her for a moment before he nodded in acceptance. With a last glance at the pair as Marshall ended the struggle on top, he went back outside to his post.
Maggie continued to struggle against him, even as Marshall continued to pin her, her face flushed red in exertion and anger, her chest heaving. "Enough." He told her, hands pinned alongside her head as he straddled her waist. "You're going to stop being so childish and mean and you're going to talk to me."
"Childish? Mean?" She scoffed at him. "Grow-up."
"Don't try and play innocent. You know exactly what you're doing, you know exactly how you're punishing me... what you're doing to hurt me." Her lips thinned and she refused to meet his eyes despite there only being two-feet between them. "You know what the isolation did to me, how the lack of physical comfort affected me those first few critical weeks in the hospital before you all were allowed to visit me. You know how scared I was after what nearly happened to Athena." She swallowed at the break in his voice. "And yet you did it anyway, for something so- so-"
"So, what?" She whispered. "So small, so meaningless? My feelings about the situation matter so little in the face of yours?" Finally, she met his gaze. "That just because you're so over the fucking nerve damage in your shoulder, then we should be too?"
"No." He uttered, his hold on her forearms loosening.
"It doesn't matter how many times you've been hurt, or almost died, or did die—it doesn't make it any easier, Marshall! It's still one of the scariest things you've put us through- that you keep putting us through! That you choose to keep doing."
"That's not fair." Marshall countered. "You make it sound like I chose to get hurt. I'm sorry it scares you, but if you think it doesn't scare me, too, then you're wrong."
"That doesn't make me feel better." She pointed out. "That makes it worse."
"I'm still here, aren't I?" He countered softly. "I get hurt, it happens sometimes and yes, by normal standards, I know I probably break the mould, but it's mostly just freak accidents. I don't choose to get hurt," He repeated. "But when it does, don't you think that I've handled it with the utmost dignity and grace considering all that physical and mental trauma, hm?"
"Nothing about you is normal, graceful or otherwise." She uttered, but there was a soft fondness in her tone. "You're a freak-of-nature."
"A freak-of-nature prone to defying death." He gave her a hopeful look, "Does this mean you're talking to me again?"
"That is what we've been doing." She deadpanned and he beamed. "Now get off me."
Marshall paused in mock thought. "Mm, let me think about it."
"Don't push me, Marshall."
"But we have a week to make up for." He pouted. "Say 'please'."
Her jaw worked. "You have until I count to 3."
"If I let you go, do I get twin-cuddles later?"
"One."
"You know, I just realized it's a little suss that the guy you're dating doesn't even know your real name." He was just teasing but Maggie Greene was not playing around on the subject when she forewent the rest of the count and instead brought her knee up sharply between his legs. "Nngh."
She pushed him aside before he could decide to be an ass and collapse onto her; he went like a fallen Jenga Tower. She climbed to her feet, haughtily straightening her clothes and hair as he was left curled on the floor, groaning. Served him right.
His voice was strained, "Was that necessary?" He had the audacity to question her.
"You brought it on yourself."
He grunted. He wasn't exactly surprised about it. Still, "It was a cheap shot."
"There are no cheap-shots, just easy-openings."
Daryl snorted. "'There are no cheap-shots, just easy-openings.' I like that."
Maggie smirked and stuck her tongue out at her twin in triumph.
Marshall pouted. "You wouldn't be singing the same tune if I punched you in the boob."
"You have!" Maggie accused indignantly.
Marshall sputtered. "That was one time and it was an accident. We were 14, you didn't have boobs before that!"
"Shut-up!"
"Just stating facts." He muttered.
"Do I need to fact check you with my foot?" She threatened.
"No." Marshall groaned. "Just one more thing."
"Ugh. What?" Maggie crossed her arms and raised a severe eyebrow in sharp warning. "Be careful with your next words."
Marshall took a deep breath. "April Fool's—I don't actually have a cold sore. That was just a ploy for you to engage me."
She rolled her eyes. "You're so stupid sometimes."
"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Marshmallow came over and pawed curiously at the chain that hung out from the collar of his shirt as he leaned up on an elbow in his defence.
"Still stupid." She muttered, sitting back in her spot beside Glenn with a huff.
Lori cleared her throat uncomfortably, drawing everyone's attention. "I guess the jokes on all of us—because I actually do have a cold sore. Sorry."
[tWD]
The road leading into Hazzard County was dirt and barren. While a wary if hopeful sight after what had been a near constant fight of piranha between them and their destination, it was the decline in food quality that had left Marshall disheartened, distressed—and fucking gassy beyond belief.
They had long since run out of bread and hadn't come across any more flour as of yet to replenish it, and they used the powered milk sparingly for breakfast where ultimately everyone barring Marshall, Sophia, and Carl had their one serving of treasured caffeine. Marshall and Daryl had hunted whenever possible, and though it was fruitful with Spring nearly officially on, it was still a time consuming task, and not feasible when they found shelter in town neighbourhoods.
God must have been looking down on them in some kind of special way, however, because the first house they found in Hazzard County (which they coincidently stayed because the sun had been so low in the skyline), while it could be called a cabin more than an actual house, had a cellar. A cellar that housed jars of preserved and pickled goods, but more prominently, a pallet of canned beans.
Hooray.
Their time in Hazzard was spent with two, two-paired parties going out to scout (with Marshall and Daryl also hunting), to get a feel for the area, kill any wandering walkers, and shifting camp again and again as they came across each subsequent better housing, trying to find the best fit. It was pretty quiet rural area of farms and cabins and wildlife, and once they stopped hopping around they'd Goldilocks themselves into the perfect bed. All the while—breakfast-beans, lunch-beans, dinner-beans.
It was all fine in the beginning, especially with all the fresh meat that he and Daryl were bringing in, but very fast, it got very old. Other than not being a big fan of the taste or texture for beans like kidney, black-eye, red, or the like; aside from the gas... it was the intestinal discomfort and the stomach cramps and the lack of appetite for said beans, and the nausea and his bowels and- It didn't matter. Survival was not for the picky, and all that. It was food, he couldn't be precious about it. They were all going through the same thing, eating the same food, and while the enthusiasm of finding a pallet of canned goods had waned, no one complained, not even the kids or the pregnant lady. So, he kept mum.
Beans had just never been such a big problem for him before, was all. You know, back when every bite of food he took every day wasn't beans. He just didn't take more than one bowl on Chilli Night and avoided the bean salad at church picnics, or the baked beans at the mess line-up. Alas, if it only made him gassy... Still, he stayed his tongue (I mean, what else was he supposed to do? Say: "Hey, everybody. I know the end of the world is on, and our dead loved ones reanimate to try and eat our faces... but I really think it's all these beans that are gonna be the thing the does me in. My stomach is contracted tighter than my asshole right now, and I'm so bloated and gassy but I'm kind of afraid to fart because there's a real possibility I might shit myself. So, if anyone's been squirreling away Tums or Pepto, please, take pity on my tortured insides!" No, thanks.) and ate as much as he could force his cramping stomach to take—and then would proceed to hand off casually the remains of his portions to Sophia, Carl, or Lori (who was getting bigger and bigger everyday as May closed in on them). The other adults managed to subsist on their weak doses of watered-down coffee in the morning, and Marshall lived off the placebo of his chewing gum; each piece having long since lost any hint of flavour and left to turn into a hard piece of rubber that he reluctantly spat out, an ache in his jaw.
Tonight, he did the same. Managed three spoonfuls before he gave the rest to Carl (who, after the first couple of times, just shrugged and took the extra food), except when he got up to leave-
"Where are you going?" His curious, observant little sister inquired with a frown.
"Outside."
"You just got back."
"And now I'm going back out again."
"What's so important that you can't take a little break?" Sometimes he just needed to out by himself into the woods, hug a tree and moan and whimper in misery and pain without outside judgement, alright?! He was only human, his insides were just as squishy and vulnerable as everyone else's. "I've barely seen you since we got to Hazzard. Even Deputy Micromanager over there has his feet up right now."
Instead of taking offence to the nickname, Rick kind of had to agree. "Not that I'm copping to the nickname, but she does have a bit of a point, Marshall."
"Could y'all relax?" He held up his hands. "I'm just getting some air, alright?"
"Just getting some a-" An involuntary grimace crossed Marshall's face. "Oh." Beth caught it and a devilish look took possession of her face. "I get it."
"Do you, now?" He deadpanned.
"Yeah." She nodded. "It's the beans, isn't it?"
Oh, Marshall thought, Maybe she does-
"You keep going outside to fart!"
Well, she wasn't exactly wrong, Marshall mused.
Her declaration garnered some snickers.
Maggie laughed. "I can't believe I forgot how bad you are with beans!"
"Bad?" Carl asked innocently.
Maggie grinned at the boy. "Avoid-him-for-days after one small serving on Chilli Night kind of Bad."
"Clear-a-room Bad." Beth added on. "His farts are like a foghorn or a-a chainsaw." She pointed to her brother and exclaimed, "Your farts are the definition of Let It Rip!"
"Excuse me for being considerate towards the rest of The Group."
"Uh-huh." Beth nodded, clearly not believing him. "No need to be embarrassed, Marshall."
"I'm not."
"Good." She smirked.
"I think it's only fair to point out that yours are the definition of Silent But Deadly." Marshall countered.
Beth shrugged unaffected. "Girls fart, too, you know. I'm not ashamed."
Daryl snorted. "Figures someone as 'angelic' as you would actually have farts that smell like sulphur—your brother did say you were a demon with a halo. Would've thought they'd smell like Church."
Beth's blue-eyes brightened eagerly at the hunter joining in on the titillating conversation. "That is what a Church smells like! All those bodies packed into an enclosed space; elderly and children... the incense don't work that well. Being in the choir since I was a cute, little cherub I have learned the skill of 'tooting quiet as a church mouse'."
Amusement twitched the corner of the hunter's mouth, as Hershel looked a bit scandalized and Maggie was trying to stifle her snickers with Carl and Sophia.
"Yeah, a dead church mouse." Daryl muttered. "If you think the walkers mask your farts any better than those incense—you're wrong."
Beth gave him the middle finger with a smile. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
Daryl scoffed. "You're just a street rat disguised as a princess."
"Takes one to know one."
Marshall tried to used the distraction to continue his leave; the back and forth was cute and all, but he had other more pressing business to attend and-
"Hey, we're not done here!" Beth halted him with a threatening point.
Marshall sighed. "You solved the mystery, what more do you want from me?"
"Did you honestly think that none of us noticed that you keep passing off most of your portion of beans?" Maggie posed.
Marshall sucked his teeth. "You caught me. I've been 'feeding the plants' as it was. Maybe I'd rather eat Athena's wet food than beans." He informed them 100% seriously, no exaggeration on his part. "In fact, I would rather eat wet dog food if given the choice."
Sophia frowned. "When I asked you if you didn't like them, you said it was fine. You lied?"
"No, no." Marshall shook his head. "I hadn't eaten in 3 days, I would have eaten anything, really. And I did." He grimaced, "I ate Beans & Franks."
"We're all eating the same thing here." Hershel rebuked him. "You'll sorely be grateful for the beans when we run out and are half-starving."
"Yes, daddy." He decided it was best to just agree, because he was grateful they had been found; it was the reason he hadn't said anything even though they were the reason he was, in fact, already half-starving.
"Oh! Oh!" Beth bounced excitedly in her seat. "The song! Remember?":
beans, beans, the magical fruit
the more you eat, the more you toot
the more you toot, the better you feel
so let's have beans for every meal
"I'm leaving." Marshall stated plainly, Beth's voice, and Carl's joining followed him out:
beans, beans, they're good for your heart
the more you eat, the more you fart
the more you fart, the more you eat
the more you sit on the toilet seat!
beans, beans, the magical fruit
the more you eat, the more you toot
the more you toot, the better you feel
so lift your leg, and let them squeal!
Marshall braced himself against a tree that was out of sight of the window Daryl had been posted at, forehead pillowed against his forearm while Athena sniffed around before going potty. He hummed to himself, trying to relax; his left hand attempting (and failing) to rub soothing circles on his abdomen to somehow ease his cramping insides. Just a little release to relieve the pressure and maybe-
"Marshall?"
Marshall instantly clamped up and straightened, arms dropping down to his sides as he turned to his unheard visitor. "Daddy, what're you-? Is something wrong?"
Hershel observed his son silently for a second before he said, "I believe you should be the one to tell me that."
"I don't-" Marshall started to deny.
"Your dad's right." Rick appeared at Hershel's shoulder.
"Jeez, Rick."
"What? I was worried. You practically ran out of there—for you, at least. Beth and Maggie were right; you've barely been around and you've barely been eating. You've been going through nearly a full pack of gum a day like a nicotine addict. This is more than just gas or you wouldn't be so... defensive about it."
"What are you—my wife?"
"Husband, remember?" Rick corrected him, simple and straight. "Partner. Best-friend, right?" Marshall swallowed, caught the look in his daddy's eye he couldn't understand as the old man silently looked between the two. "You can't keep going off on your own. What if something happens?"
"I'm not alone—Athena's with me." It was a simple correction of fact, but of course, Hershel took it as childish backtalk.
"Marshall Elijah."
"Alright. I get it." He muttered. "There I was saying how I'm not a liability a week ago and here I am, being a liability."
That instantly put the two other men on edge. "Your shoulder?" Rick asked.
Marshall made a face. "What? No."
"What is it, then? Talk to us, son." Hershel said.
Marshall groaned, more in annoyance than in pain. "Gas and bloating are a given... it's the painful stomach cramps, nausea, and intestinal stuff that's putting the pee in my—sadly metaphorical—Cheerio's."
Hershel's mouth was set in a line. "And how long has this been going on? How long were you planning to hide it?"
Ah, there it was, of course—the disappointment. Marshall hadn't even had time to miss it in the past 10 minutes since the last time he'd received it. "I'd say it really kicked in on Day 3 of Beans All Day. And, uh, probably until we finally ran out of damned beans and it went away by itself—or until I keeled over from dysentery."
"I hope you mean that as an exaggeration." Hershel said; Marshall could only shrug. Hershel sighed heavily.
"Don't bother, daddy, I already know what you're going to say: I should know better."
"You do know better." Hershel agreed. "What if it was one of your soldiers, that was ill and hid it?" Marshall's shoulders stiffened and his jaw locked. "How do you expect to raise a child when you can't even take care of yourself?"
"Alright, let's just get back to-" Rick attempted to step in.
"What am I supposed to do?!" Marshall demanded, the viper striking. "Stop eating? It's the only food we have right now. I am up and I am mobile and effective part of this group, I don't know what more I can give you?" He gave a bitter, incredulous, little laugh, "Inside, you called me 'ungrateful'. I don't know what I did to even give you that impression. I'm pretty sure I am half-starving and it literally ails me to eat it, but I do it anyway and I haven't uttered one complaint while doing it—and when I literally cannot anymore, I give what remains to someone else who is more than happy for it. I am not curled up on the floor as I wish to be, so what more can I give you, daddy?" Marshall tried to calm his breathing in the following silence, arm unconsciously curling around his midsection.
"Is it really that bad?" Hershel questioned instead of giving his son the answer he so desperately desired. "You're pale and clammy. Have you at least been drinking plenty of water?"
"Yes." Marshall answered to all of the above, regaining his typical controlled countenance. The other thing going for Hazzard other than beans and good hunting, was the natural water resources.
"I don't understand why, though?" Rick admitted. "We're all eating the same, drinking from the same source and no one else is sick. And you've eaten beans before, right, and this wasn't a problem?"
"Back when it wasn't beans every meal, every day. So, yes, it was just simple gas and bloating." Marshall said. "It was only like two servings at month when I was back home, avoided it like the plague overseas if I could help it." The last thing he needed was to give away their position with one of his foghorn-farts.
"What about things like green beans? I would have thought that would be weekly occurrence on the dinner table."
"You would be correct, but typically there was more than one option of veggies. And my siblings used to keep the dish on the opposite side of the table so I wouldn't even attempt them—as Beth pointed out-"
"They make you clear-out-a-room?" Rick finished with some humour.
"Good ol' siblings."
"So, what, then?" Rick rubbed his forehead, looking to Hershel. "Is it just took much beans at once, if his body was already predisposed to gas and bloating?"
"Partially." Hershel agreed. "It also seems like a lectin intolerance. The phytohemagglutinin protein, to be exact. Typically cooking and stewing render it to acceptable levels... "
"Like an allergy?" Rick asked in anxious clarification.
"No." But Hershel narrowed his eyes at his son. "You're not hiding hives or an itchy throat, are you?"
"No." Marshall said; if that were the case, it would have been a known fact long Before Now.
"Hm. No, not an allergy." Hershel reconfirmed. "His body just has trouble processing the protein, like lactose intolerance, thus stomach cramps and intestinal discomfort."
"See? It's fine. I'm fine."
"It's not fine if you're barely eating because of it." Hershel said sternly, and the fact that Marshall's rejoinder was silence was all the proof that the old veterinarian needed. "What little beans you have been eating, stops now." He decided, leaving no room for argument from his tone. "You're just causing yourself more harm than not by eating them."
"You'll hear no argument from me." Marshall told him.
"Good." Hershel addressed Rick, "I'll talk with the others, see if they're having any trouble other than simple gas as well. We can distribute Marshall's portion amongst the others like he's already been doing anyways; I'll make sure Carol knows."
Rick nodded. "Alright."
Hershel turned his stern blue-gaze onto his son. "You will speak-up if your symptoms worsen despite having stopped eating the beans, am I clear, Marshall Elijah?"
"Yes, daddy." Hershel turned back to the house after he got confirmation. Marshall stroked Athena's muzzle when she nuzzled his hand. "We find any wet food—you're sharing." She woofed and he took it for agreement. "My Benevolent Queen."
"Marshall..."
"Oh, God." He didn't look up from the Belgian Malinois, fingers dancing on her blue-pigmented brow in lieu of bending over to hug her like a sick little boy. "I already got it from daddy, I can't take the patented Rick 'Disappointed' Grimes Look. That's not your middle name, is it?"
"No."
"Bet you thought I forgot about that little challenge?"
"It's been a few weeks. I just figured you have more important things on your mind."
"Is is important." Marshall denied. "It's a part of you."
"Marshall-"
"Daddy gave me the name of his own alcoholic daddy, so I guess I'm just living up to his expected disappointment-"
"Mars!" Rick's hand came down on his shoulder and finally, his downcast eyes snapped up to meet blue. "'Elijah', isn't that the name of a Hebrew prophet from the Bible?"
Marshall gave a weak smile. "I suppose you're right—but no pressure with the 'prophet' inference."
"I don't know," Rick shrugged casually. "Coming to Hazzard was a good call, Marshall. The woods, the creek... we just have to find a house better suited for a family our size. I think it's time for a little break, and with the snares we have set up, you don't have to worry so much at the moment about hunting."
"You're gonna put me on the bench, coach?" Marshall questioned.
"The fact that you didn't bend down, even a foot, to give Athena a proper pet..."
He bit his lip, caught out. "Caught that, huh?"
"Yep."
"You were wasted as a small town cop, Rick 'Diligent' Grimes." Marshall remarked.
Rick chuckled. "You realize you keep giving adjectives instead of actual names, right?"
"Is that you trying to throw me off the fact that your middle name may, actually, in fact be 'Danger'?"
"Don't be ridiculous." He laughed.
Marshall observed the amused man suspiciously, though. "Tell me it's not 'Danger', Rick." Rick silently shook his head, smirking. "Fine, be like that." Marshall pouted, keeping his breathing even to stave off his own laughter that he knew would be such sweet suffering. "So, it's only fair..." Rick raised his brow in open inquiry, "What are your gas levels?"
Amusement curled his lips as he tried not to look so smug as he admitted, "Beans have never really been a problem for me."
"You just can't help yourself, can you?"
"With what?"
"Being pretty much perfect."
Rick's eyebrows went up. "I am far from perfect, Marshall."
"Give a poor boy a bone, then." He snorted, then grimaced at the look the other man shot him. "Throw me a bone," he corrected his wording. "Not whatever fun but indecent thing that just popped into your head."
"Funny but fair." But Rick did toss him a friendly bone, "Beans, not so much. Broccoli, on the other hand..."
"I see where you're going with this," Marshall nodded. "But just to be safe, you should elaborate on your little anecdote a smidge more."
Rick gave him a dry look but continued in good humour: "Let's just say you didn't want to get trapped in a patrol car with me the next morning."
Marshall giggled. "Poor Shane." He cooed.
Instead of falling into solemnity on the mention of his former partner and dead ex-best-friend, though, he held onto a reminiscent humour. "It's the least he deserved after forcing me to sit in a hot box with him after he ordered extra onion rings for lunch practically every other day."
"Well, you don't have to worry about an encounters with broccoli now; though I would have gladly suffered your toxicity for some green florets. Alas, there are plenty of legumes." Marshall lamented. "This is where we bid adieu." He placed a hand on Rick's shoulder a little dramatically. Rick raised a brow at him. "Athena and I are just going to do a final patrol out here before heading back inside to, uh, face the music."
"Don't you mean fart?" Rick teased.
"We may be apocalypse-married, Richard, but I just do not think I am yet ready to let one rip in your presence—particularly in my current physical predicament." Rick fought valiantly against the grin and to give a solemn nod in response. "If I accidentally shat myself before you as a result-"
"Mars!" Rick couldn't contain the laugh at the absurdity of his words with such a formal tone.
"I could not bear the thought of you having that memory of me." Marshall's other hand found Rick's free shoulder, giving him a little shake to pay attention. "And while I may not be able to bring myself to kill you, Richard, a heavy grade concussion with resulting memory loss is very much on the books." Marshall squeezed his shoulders, "Yes?"
"Yes, I get it. I'll leave you alone—but not alone." He looked to Athena.
"Ah, the Queen." Marshall nodded. "Yes, she is privy to many a terrible secret that shall not be spoken to anyone, not even myself." He added wryly, "It also helps that there's a bit of a language barrier between our species."
"Just..." Rick pursed his lips for a moment, his voice a little high in his strained amusement. "Fart safely, okay?"
"Aye-aye." Marshall gave him a solemn salute. With one last look, Rick turned and headed back to the house. Marshall released a slow breath as he watched him go. "Can you walk a little faster there, Rick 'Dawdle' Grimes?" A short laugh and raised hand later, Rick bound up the steps and disappeared into the house. Marshall backed a bit deeper into the trees for more privacy and distance. "Sorry about this, girl." He muttered and she whined as he released the whoopee cushion that sat ready and eager in the chamber since he'd been interrupted.
...
When he got back inside, while his spirit-daughter gently hugged him around the waist, his sisters regarded him very unimpressed. Hershel certainly had not wasted a moment. He couldn't exactly blame them for it, though, and felt thoroughly chastised under their combined stares—Carol's mom-stare definitely upped the disappointment level.
"Mystery solved?" He said lightly as he twirled a lock of Sophia's loose strawberry-blond hair around his finger.
Finding that creek had left them with enough water to bathe for the first time in weeks and Carol had finally taken out Michonne's cornrows from the girl's hair, giving it a good brushing; it was still a bit wavy even after several washes. It was the cleanest most of The Group had been since the farm. It was the cleanest he'd seen Daryl since he gave the hunter a sponge bath. He'd almost forgotten how pale Rick was under all the grime. And with Beth's rat's nest finally washed and brushed out, she was rightly back to being Sunshine and though she was no longer wearing his trapper hat, she had still stashed it away in her pack.
"A little more than 'farting in the woods', I'd say." Maggie remarked wryly and Marshall steadfast did not glance over to make eye contact with Rick.
"To think," Beth added. "You could have been poisoned to death by beans of all things—And nobody ever believes me when I tell them how delicate you really are."
"Kick me while I'm down." He muttered.
"Only metaphorically," She joked. "I'm not that much of demon to literally kick you right now."
A bark of laughter left him without permission and he grimaced. "Don't make me laugh. Go away." He scolded her, pointing away.
Beth followed it. "I'm not standing in the corner because you're afraid you might shit yourself if you laugh." She deadpanned. Rick's cough was a bit barky.
"I'm sleeping next to you tonight." Marshall informed her.
"I'd rather you didn't. What if you let one slip while you're asleep?"
"Too bad. You said I shouldn't be embarrassed," He spread his arms. "This is me embracing the let-it-rip. We're all a great big family and we'll suffer together!" Groans sounded around the house.
"I'm takin' watch outside." Maggie spoke-up immediately.
...
Within 3 days, the same amount of days it had taken for the harsher symptoms to take, he was as fit as a fiddle. Without beans to contend with, even if they were sustenance, the stomach cramps were the first thing to fade and his appetite was the first thing to return. The others dolled out his share of beans between them and in return, he got more of the other preserves that they found alongside in the cellar.
"What is this?" Carl shook one of said such unopened glass jar in his hands, stirring up the contents inside with a scrunched face.
Marshall took the preserves from him. The jars had a date of sealing written on a piece of masking tape, but most seemed to lack a label of contents otherwise. But his expression brightened. "Sauerkraut!"
"No!" Beth's shout of denial came from across the room.
"Yes!" Marshall countered in delight.
"What's that?" Carl questioned, wary gaze going between the two siblings.
"It's cabbage. Delicious cabbage, Little Grimes." He smiled even though the boy didn't seem very impressed.
"Marshall, please, no! It make you even more gassy than beans." Beth protested.
"Be that as it may, it doesn't make me want to double over in pain." Marshall stated equably in the face of her pout. "Dinner is going to be great with this little addition." He smiled.
[tWD]
The lot was a chaotic assembly of jostling, grabbing, squelching, snarling and clicking teeth. It felt like being concussed in the middle of a rave, all too easily separated from his companions, all Marshall could do was hack and slash and stab, not enough room or time to use his compound bow with piranha pressing in on all sides. And then a horrible sound that chilled him to the bone, that broke through it all, all too similar to that hoard on the streets of Allie, like a pane of glass in a soundproof booth being shattered and the outside world was let in beyond the moaning in his headphones—a yelping, barking cry of pain.
"ATHENA!" He screamed, panic taking control of his movements as he frantically slashed and shoved and stumbled to his four-legged partner. "No! Athena!" He knew what it meant. He refused- He wouldn't- He couldn't- Of all the things that could bring them—him and her—to this point in time... a fucking skunk!:
Marshall stretched languidly, but with directed purpose before he even got up from the floor upon waking; rising in stages as his muscles warmed and joints popped, a mixture of pleased and relieved sounds leaving his throat without shame, kinks and stiffness leaving his towering form.
"Hey, old man." Rick called, teasing, raising his cup. "Want some coffee with that displaced hip?"
Marshall scoffed imperiously, arms stretch overhead, back arching into the final stretch. "And undo all the work I just did? I think not."
"More for me, then." He took an overly pleased drink of his weak coffee.
"When we settle more permanently," Marshall decided, strapping everything into its proper place, "We need to set-up a workout regime for everyone."
"Nooo!" Beth groaned from her little nest on the floor.
"Oh, yes." Marshall countered. "I know you've been slacking since the farm, that's why you tire so easily swinging around your staff."
"I hate you."
"You'll thank me later."
"I refuse."
"That's adorable. You'll fall back into your old softball workout routine easily enough; cardio and upper-body strength."
"Torture somebody else."
"Torture? Pshaw! I miss Michonne," Marshall sighed, "She knew the pleasures of a good exercise; a tireless machine and sinfully flexible with that sword. What about you, Butterfly?"
Sophia rose her head groggily, Marshmallow's tail twitching across her throat where he lay curled up into her loose hair at the back of her head. "There's no stairs for me to run up and down, papa."
Marshall squatted, brushing strands of strawberry-blond hair from her awakening blue-eyes. "Oh, you truly are mine, spirit-daughter. We still have that jump rope; you and Carl can double-up while we're gone. It's good cardio."
"Daaad!?" Carl complained from next to his best-friend.
"Don't look at me—These boots aren't made for jumping." Rick purposefully misinterpreted his son's whine.
"But they were made to walk all over me." Marshall winked at the man. Rick hid his amusement behind his coffee.
"Ugh!" Beth pulled the blanket over her head.
An hour later, when everyone was up and functioning after their perfunctory breakfast coffee; Marshall, Rick, Daryl, T-Dog and Glenn prepped the Hyundai and Pinto. Their plan for the day was to head into town and see what-was-what and scout out more farmsteads they passed for possible settlement.
"I hope Maggie'll be okay." Glenn said, looking back to the house. "Maybe I should-"
"Get in the car, lover-boy." Marshall shuffled the shorter man toward the Hyundai. "It's just a migraine, nothing she can't handle and nothing that doesn't happen around this time of the month. She'll be fine, best not to pester her—trust me." He glanced back after closing the door on Glenn and caught his twin's loaded look; he dipped his chin, he'd watch Glenn's back out there since she couldn't. He dropped into the driver's seat of the Banana Mopeel and paused momentarily in buckling his seatbelt at the extra passenger he glimpsed in the backseat. "You snuck in when my back was turned." He accused with a frown.
"That was my fault." T-Dog admitted. "Sorry, man, I just assumed she'd be comin' with us."
Plaintive amber-eyes looked a him, unwavering. She pawed at the front armrest with a whine. Marshall heaved a sigh, muttering something a cross between a curse and a groan before he admitted defeat. "No, no, it's fine. I've just been a little wary of throwing her back into the deep-end for my own sake." He turned over the engine and pulled out behind the Hyundai as Athena's tail thumped against the seat.
"Damn, talk about puppy-dog eyes." T-Dog remarked. "I've heard the saying, but I never seen it in action by the literal source before. She's got you by the balls, I'd say."
Marshall snorted wryly. "Just the one."
Their first stop on the highway into town was brought to you by a large boar drinking a pint of beer that directed them to a roadside bar called The Boar's Nest. They parked at the mouth, out of immediate sight but in position of a quick escape if need be. There were a few cars left long abandoned, a few wandering piranha whose attention was drawn at their arrival—easily killed between Daryl's crossbow and Marshall's compound bow that no one else needed to lift a finger.
"Looks pretty quiet." Rick commented, looking around as Daryl and Marshall collected their spent bolts and arrows.
Glenn wiped the grime that clouded a car's window to peer inside. He jumped jack with a startled yelp at the walker that lunged against the other side of the window. He hoped it didn't actually manage to accidentally open the door in its futile attempts to claw through the window to get out at him. Any thought of simply leaving it alone, though, vanished when a second walker crowded alongside the other at the window in the cramped space, the car's hydraulics squeaking as the car jostled from their activity. Worse, was the loud staccato rhythm as the horn was repeatedly bumped in their mindless struggle.
"You had to say something." Marshall said wryly.
Rick gave him a contrite look and pulled out the kukri knife, the action far smoother than it was a few weeks ago. He'd done as Marshall had suggested, pulling the curved blade from the sheath in idle moments, typically when he was on watch. The blade rarely got caught on exit now; returning it to its sheath, on the other hand, he still had some trouble with. Unused to having a weapon positioned out of sight at the small of his back, along with needing to hold the hard sheath with his other hand, fingers careful in their guidance of the blade through the thin slit so as not to cut slice his fingers or stab his own ass.
"Shut 'em up, Glenn!" Daryl growled as new walkers started to appear from behind the bar and through the busted door of the bar.
"R-right!"
"Is it unlocked?" T-Dog backed him up as the others worked around them at the appearing walkers, Athena darting around cars and legs but ultimately sticking close to her handler.
With a breath, Glenn darted in, pipe ready in his dominant hand and yanked on the handle, jumping back. The door remained sealed. "It's locked. How-?!"
T-Dog swung his crowbar like a bat. The window spider-webbed and cracked. He hooked the curved into an opening, and yanked the rest of the pane out to shatter on the ground like spilt marbles. One lunged out the shattered window, thumping and rolling onto the ground; Glenn caved its skull in before it could get back onto its feet. When he looked up, he found the other dead and hanging halfway out the window.
"Let's go," T-Dog said. "It ain't over yet."
With the additional help, the dozen or so piranha were easily taken care of. They gathered around the busted door; Glenn and Daryl on one side, Rick and T-Dog the other, with Marshall stood at the end of the aisle with his machete and Athena. There was a sub par barrier made of wooden tables and chairs knocked down from the door; a piranha was caught up under it, a couple lingered inside the Boar's Nest of their own seeming will, with a big fella trapped behind the closed bar.
"Doesn't look like there's much here." Glenn said, rolling a billiard's ball on the red velvet to clack dully against another.
Daryl vaulted over the bar to retrieve his bolt from the dead walker. When he straightened back up, there was a satisfied smirk as he placed a glass bottle upon the bar. "I beg to differ."
"Man!" T-Dog approached, a bright look in his eyes. "There's actually alcohol left in this place?"
Daryl wiped out some shot glasses with the inside of his sleeveless shirt, lining them up. "What d'ya say, fellas?"
"Uh-uh-uh." Marshall's chidding stopped everyone in their tracks. "And, what, exactly do you think you're doing with those?"
"Just a little shot of appreciation for the road." T-Dog said.
Marshall shook his head. "You're not drinking that, only to waste it pissing it out. Any found alcohol is to be saved, not drunken, and used for medical purposes only. Now, hand it over."
"As much as I could throw back two fingers of whisky right now," Rick said. "Marshall's right. Besides, no drinking on the job."
"Don't you ever get sick of being a goody two-shoes?" Daryl scowled, but slid the bottle down the bar to the Ranger.
"The only way alcohol is going to save you at the end of the world, is when I dump it over your bleeding wounds." Marshall wrapped up the bottle and stowed it into his empty pack. "No exceptions—not even for you, Hunter."
"Tch."
"Alright, let's check the rest of the place out and then move on." Rick suggested.
They were about to split up, off to what looked like the manager's office and the kitchen on the opposite side, when there was a clatter. Everyone's attention turned toward the kitchen.
"Walker?" Glenn queried in a hushed tone as they cautiously approached the closed door, weapons ready.
"Walker or dinner." Daryl pondered. "Either way, it's dead."
Glenn made a face. "You don't think an animal actually managed to survive in here, do you?"
Daryl gave a one-shouldered shrug, his crossbow poised. "We'll see in a minute."
Marshall took his flank with a searching look at Athena. She was on general guard but her reaction was undecided; he didn't blame her, it was hard to distinguish beyond the normal piranha stink in closed spaces like this. Her twitching ears, though, pointed it to being more than simple gravity at work.
Daryl toed open the swing door cautiously as there was more noises from within, Marshall a step behind. No piranha lurking to surprise them—just a very recognizable black furred and white-striped mammal that was to be avoided at all costs in both Before and Now. The two men froze for an instant, recognizing the ultimate protective defence wielder.
"Wha-?" Glenn started in question behind them in the hallway.
The animal hissed.
"Skunk."
Athena barked.
The animal growled, back arched.
"Fuck!"
Daryl and Marshall reeled backward out the door as a ruffled tail was raised, stumbling over canine in their haste. It was a swing door and the swish was ominous as hell as it swung inward, revealing said weasel right down the back barrel. Thank God the door managed to swish back again just in time to catch the stream sprayed right at them. Didn't stop the immediate, gag-inducing perfume.
"Out! Out!"
Their was a cacophony of exclaims, groans, even some retching as the 6 rushed for the exit, to fresh air and freedom. Daryl yanked the broken door closed in an attempt to keep it contained to the Boar's Nest, but the smell was pungent, invasive and pervading, like a dense wall of rolling fog. Despite not having direct contact, the scent still lingered on their clothes like walking passed a fragrance booth in the mall. Athena sneezed helplessly, whining and pawing at her sensitive nose in discontent and discomfort.
"Ugh! Oh, man, I thought I'd be used to stink after the walkers and Marshall on beans, but nothing beats out skunk!" T-Dog declared.
Marshall could only be pleased to know that the gas from expelled from his rectum smelt better than this. "I appreciate that, T. Truly."
"No problem, man." T-Dog patted him on the back. "That little sister of yours, on the other hand."
Marshall let out a guffaw, but Rick's own mirth died quickly when he freed his knife from the walker that had appeared out front while they had been inside, to more and more showing themselves through the trees. "Walkers!" Rick shouted the warning. "Get back to the cars!"
The honking from earlier must have diverted their attention to here, they were just more distant than the small pack behind the bar. Nothing else needed to be discussed and they rushed back through the lot, but they accidentally got separated when they had to diverge around the abandoned vehicles, then were further distanced when forced to engage with the closing piranha.
Marshall managed to shoot a couple arrows (taking out some piranha that got a little too close for comfort to the others), but soon resorted to his machete and knife at the close quarters. It was a lot of stabbing, swinging, yanking, shoving; literally two steps forward, one step back as the more he slowed to kill, the more piranha arrived and so on.
Athena sneezed, struck helplessly by an attack she could do nothing but ride out, left defenceless amongst the reaching hands and intent teeth. He turned back for his partner immediately. He wish he had Samurai-sama's sword right now for all he liked his kukri blades; he'd be able to take out swaths of piranha with its long, wickedly sharp blade.
A yelping, barking cry of pain. The high pitch of it easily cutting through the low, cacophonous drone of the surrounding piranha, his own harsh breathing. Terror surged through him putting further desperation and heedlessness into his already anxious actions.
"ATHENA!"
"Marshall?!" His name was shouted but Marshall's only focus was getting to her.
Athena was barking and snarling and yapping in fear and pain, but he knew that as long as he heard her, there was still hope. His shoulder was tired, pain shooting through his neck. He pulled out his Berretta, shooting into the cluster he found; each shot finding its mark, his trigger finger nearly too quick for the next bullet to load readily into the chamber. And there she was on the ground, fur and vest stained with blood—but it wasn't over yet. He quickly loaded a new magazine, gun shoved into the holster as he bent over her and was grabbed. He let out a curse as he fell under the weight of the piranha, his pack saved him from a deadly bite, but the struggle was over quickly as it fell off of him dead with a bolt sticking from its head.
"Marshall!" Rick grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, but Marshall pulled free and quickly scooped the injured dog into his arms.
"C'mon!" Daryl slashed a walker with his hunting knife. Rick killed another, allowing the hunter a few precious seconds to reload his crossbow.
With Belgian Malinois held protectively in his arms and to his chest, Marshall barrelled through the piranha before they could form up again like a linebacker Shawn would be proud off, but what was in his arms was far more precious than any football. Rick managed to overtake him, opening the back of the Hyundai for him readily, while Daryl dived for The Banana Mopeel.
"Go, T!" Rick slammed the door and T-Dog speed from the remaining walkers before they could converge and surround the vehicle, Glenn and Daryl hot on his tail in the yellow Pinto. Athena's whimpering filled the interior. "Marshall?"
"Get this thing off me." Marshall snarled. "Give me the whisky!"
Rick quickly grabbed the whisky from the pack, then helped the man struggle from the strapes, bow and quiver in the tight confines of the backseat.
With one eye on the road, T-Dog reached back with a hand and yanked it up out of the way into the front passenger seat; his gaze kept involuntarily drifting to the scene reflected in the rear-view mirror. "Is she-? I mean-"
"Fuck!" The curse tore from Marshall's throat in the form of a sob before he buckled down, steady but numb fingers undoing clips and pulling Velcro. He tossed the bloodied vest back over the seat into the trunk space and got Athena laid on the seat with him knelt on the floor space, and Rick pressed back against the door to give them as much space as possible.
Athena whined as he carefully, finally, took stock of her condition, his left hand gently over his amber-eyes, his thumb soothingly stroking her temple; both for comfort and to prevent her from moving around. He kept up a steady slew of soft and soothing murmurs to make sure she knew he was there and that she was safe. "It's okay. It's okay. You're gonna be okay."
Her left pointed ear was bitten off, leaving a ragged inch or so of cartilage around the ear canal. There was a partial bite on back of her neck, the shallow bite probably a result of the vest collar and the thicker ruff on her neck. The same could not be said for the bite of her left flank and back of her thigh; the fur there short and thinner, the vest tapered to allow for better flexibility and movement.
FOUR fucking bite wounds!
If it had been anyone else, anyone human, he wouldn't have even bothered trying to get them to the car, just put a bullet of mercy into their brain—but she wasn't a human and that was her saving grace. There was only one thing he needed to worry about here: Infection.
Rick squeezed his shoulder and handed him the open bottle of whisky. "Hold her torso down, watch out for her leg." Athena flinched under the unfamiliar hands. Marshall took a deep breath. "I'm sorry." Athena yelped, barking, trying to escape their hold as he splashed her mangled ear, and the partial bite through the matted fur on her neck.
T-Dog jumped in the driver's seat.
Marshall hummed, giving her a moment, and himself, too. He nodded at Rick and the man slowly let go. Marshall's hand finally released her head, revealing amber-eyes dark with pain. "I know, I know, but it's gotta happen, girl." His left hand stroked down her side and he turned to the last two wounds. He wasn't very worried about the bite on her flank, her hind leg, however... that was a hearty bite of muscle and tendon.
He was liberal with the whisky.
Understandably, the dog did not appreciate it. She tried to get away, but when that proved impossible as he held her down at the torso, she rose her head and her jaw clamped around his forearm. Her large, sharp fangs easily pierced through the leather as they were wont to do; made to pierce and tear unlike human teeth—and sunk an inch into his soft flesh.
He flinched, but did not yell at her or try to pull away, he knew better. He held no anger or resentment or fear. No matter how much she trusted him, she was still an animal, an animal in pain and Marshall was the one causing it. Marshall just continued to coo and soothed her until she released her powerful jaw, laying back on the blood and whisky soaked seat, pained and exhausted, panting heavily.
"Marshall-" Rick started, wide-eyed.
"It's okay." Marshall apathetically spared the last splash of whisky from the bottle for his arm to ease the man's worry before turning his attention back to the more important thing.
"At least let me wrap it." Rick pressed, pulling a bandana from his pocket. "You can't help her if you can't use your arm." That added tidbit had Marshall extending his arm. It was tied over the sleeve of his duster, but it would have to do for now; Rick knew Marshall's only priority right now was Athena.
Lips tight, there was really nothing else Rick could do at the moment in their current environment. Only watch, instinctively wary, as Marshall went back to trying to soothe and comfort the pained animal as much he could without drugs. Rick knew Athena hadn't meant the bite maliciously, she was just trying to stop the thing that was causing her even more pain than she was already in (even if it was for her benefit), even if that thing was her soul mate; knew that if he tried to get the man to ease away from those same jaws that clamped onto Shane's throat, Marshall just might bite him in turn.
They pulled up shortly to the house. "We're back." Rick told him.
Marshall was the first out of the Hyundai, Athena still yelped in pain no matter how gently he took her into his arms. His pace was fast (Rick on his heels while the other 3 men kept out of their way) but not an all-out sprint; nothing vital was hit, nonetheless she was still bleeding, and with infection hanging ominously over their heads. The jostling would just cause her more undue pain and gave them no reward other than reaching the house a few seconds quicker.
The front door was just opening as he got onto the porch and he barked: "Out of the way!" and hoped they got with the program in the 2 seconds it took him to reach it, because he was not stopping and he was not in the mood for chit-chat or the song and dance of 'I'll go this way and you go that way. No, that way!'.
Always the clever one, Beth did heed his words and his tone, and immediately jumped out of his way, wide-eyed and frightened at the brief sight of the furred form whimpering in his arms as he rushed passed.
"Papa? Athena?!" Sophia cried out at the sight of them.
"Clear the table!" Marshall said.
Carol rushed to do just that and Lori quickly pulled Carl and Sophia out of the way.
"What happened?" Hershel demanded.
"Walkers." Rick explained shortly. "She was bit several times."
Marshall laid her on the cleared kitchen table.
"Marshall-" Maggie rushed forward, getting a flashback of Rick running up the field with Carl in his arms.
"I need hot water, tepid water, vinegar, soap, any clean strips for bandages. My kit. And an open flame." Marshall quickly listed. His sisters and Carol quickly rushed around to fill his list. Hershel handed him his kit and he opened it, quickly finding the desired vial of morphine and a clean syringe.
"Are you sure you want to-" Hershel started but silenced at his son's scathing look.
"This is the only form of relief she going to get out of this whole thing—I'm not going to needlessly torture her through the worst of the pain." He informed lowly. Taking the filled syringe, he pinched a roll of skin and injected the large dose of pain-reliever. He gently massaged the area, humming soothingly, fingers stroking her muzzle as her eyes grew heavy. "Just go to sleep, there's a Good Girl. I'll take care of you. It'll be over when you wake up." After checking her amber-eyes, he knew she was out, her sounds of pain finally quietened.
"Is she going to die?" Sophia whimpered, hugging Marshmallow tightly.
"Is she gonna turn?" Came Carl's own frightful question.
"No." Marshall told the pair firmly before Lori could try and stumble over a response. "She's not going to die." He promised Sophia. "And piranha bites don't affect animals the way it does people. She won't turn, we just have to keep an eye out in case of infection."
"You should take them outside, Lori." Carol murmured to the pregnant mother. "They don't need to see this." Lori nodded in agreement and guided to two scared 12-year-olds outside.
Marshall scrubbed his hands clean and took out his straight razor. He cleaned the blade with vinegar that Beth had poured into a bowl and bent over Athena, carefully and delicately shaving away the fur around the bites, revealing the true gory detail of the wounds.
"How big of a flame?" Rick questioned him. "A candle, or-?"
"It needs to be big enough and hot enough to cauterize. A butter knife will work fine, just make sure it's clean. I'm going to have to trim down her ear to be safe and it'll be easiest to stop the bleeding by cauterizing the capillaries."
"Where do you want me?" Hershel asked, drying his cleaned hands.
Marshall's lips pursed into a firm line. The irrational, emotional part of him wanted to snarl at his father not to touch her, but the logical part knew that as much as Hershel Greene may not have liked the Belgian Malinois and what he perceived her to represent in his son's life, Marshall knew that he would never harm the animal intentionally and two sets of experienced hands were better than one. It was best to get it all done before the morphine wore off and Athena woke-up, because he would not be able to give her a second dose. "You can start cleaning her bite wounds while I do her ear."
Marshall nodded to his twin when she laid a strip of cloth over Athena's eyes for protection, and then began. Everyone barring the two veterinarians cringed and had to look away from the sight, sound, and smell as Marshall used the heated blade of the butter knife on the bloodied ear cartilage. He straightened from her cropped ear, watching Maggie gently clean up the area, massaging his hand for a moment before immediately turning to the worst of the bites on her hind leg. Cleaning the wounds out with what little they had was still a time consuming and important task; without proper antibiotics on hand, it was especially important to be thorough. The worry Marshall had for any muscle weakness in Athena's leg would just have to fester in the back of his mind; it would be at least a month until he was able to get a proper assessment and her active again.
What stitching could be done for the ragged wounds, was done with fishing line. Marshall paused, the line going slack, fingers poised through the rungs on the forceps as he felt his hand start to cramp and shake. He could feel every eye in the room glued to it.
"Marshall-" Hershel spoke-up.
"No." Was Marshall's answer in no uncertain terms. He was stone-faced. "Keep stitching." He resumed the same once his right-hand heeded his commands. When the sutures were finished, each site got a vinegar soak before it was padded and wrapped in strips of cloth.
Marshall slumped forward in the kitchen chair, exhausted as Hershel left the room. It was finally over. His right hand rested on her ever rising ribcage. All that was left to do was wait and hope and pray. He kept the cloth over her eyes, hoping to keep her asleep and in darkness for as long as possible.
"Mars." Rick's hand squeezed his shoulder and Marshall barely spared him a glance.
"What?"
"Your arm." He reminded, gentle but firm. "It time."
"What are you talking about?" Beth asked.
Marshall gave an annoyed grunt but gave his arm over to the man. "Fine, but I'm not moving."
"You don't have to." Rick started on the knotted bandana. "Maggie, can you get your father?"
Maggie looked over from where she was dumping the dirty water down the sink. "What's going on?"
"Marshall's hurt." Beth said.
"What?! Daddy!" Maggie shouted and then her focus zeroed in on her brother and Rick fussing about his left arm. "What's wrong with your arm?"
"Gather around and y'all can see." Marshall retorted sarcastically. He grimaced as Rick helped his shed his maroon leather duster to hang off the back of the chair, still seated on the tail.
"What the fuck is that?!" Maggie demanded, horrified. "Is that a-? Is that-" She choked.
"No. Okay?" Marshall promised, annoyed sarcasm relented in the face of his sisters' terror. "It's not a piranha bite." He did admit it looked pretty bad, though. The leather sleeve had afforded him some protection, and knew, had Athena gone full attack-mode like she'd been trained instead of instinctively... it would look worse than a bit ragged. He had no doubt the bruising under all that dried blood would be quite the sight; many a bone had been fractured under both Athena and Rocky's jaws.
"What's going on?" Hershel returned, concerned at the looks on his daughters' faces.
"Marshall's hurt." Beth said.
Gently taking his wrist and upper arm and examining his forearm, Hershel demanded, "What did this?"
"Athena bit him." Rick explained.
"What?" Hershel wasn't the only Greene that looked confounded by that simple statement.
"What do you mean?" Maggie asked, looking between Rick and Marshall.
"Athena would never bite you." Beth shook her head.
"Of course, she would." Marshall said, unconcerned. "She's an animal, she was in pain and I was causing her more pain. She wanted to not be in pain, so she attacked the thing doing the pain."
"Why did you not say something sooner?" Hershel demanded.
"I had more important things to worry about."
Hershel did not appreciate that answer. "You know how dangerous animal bites are, and yet you've left it untreated for hours!"
"I dumped some whisky on it and Rick wrapped it." Marshall dismissed. "When you're done reprimanding me, you can finish the process by stitching me up. And careful with mama's flower." He added before his attention fixed back onto Athena, his right hand resting reassuringly on her side again, feeling her continued breath, her heat, her life beneath his palm:
you are my sunshine
my only sunshine
you make me happy
when skies are grey
you'll never know, dear
how much I love you
please don't take
my sunshine away
Hershel did more than simply stitch him up, though. Maggie and Beth refreshed everything that was used for Athena. After washing all the blood away with warm soapy water, with Marshall's elbow laid over the corner of the table to give Hershel access to either side of his forearm, his daddy set about cleaning each tooth puncture and tear as thoroughly as the pair had done to the dog's own bites. In a sense, his and Athena's bites were the same—the bacteria from Athena's piranha-bites and the bacteria in Athena's own saliva in his left the high potential for infection and sepsis.
A towel already soiled with Athena's own runoff was laid over Hershel's lap to catch Marshall's drip as the wounds bled anew under his debridement treatment. Wasn't exactly pleasant, like rubbing a wound with sand paper, but necessary.
"What is it?" Maggie questioned, arms crossed tightly as she hovered over Hershel's shoulder watching him while also being careful not to get in his light's way, when he paused in said work and contemplated.
"Show me his jacket sleeve."
Confused but compliant, Rick picked up Marshall left jacket sleeve. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"Is it whole?"
"Yeah, it's full of holes." Beth said sarcastically at the sight of the bloodied material.
"I meant, is there pieces of material missing, Beth-Anne." Hershel corrected and Rick slipped his hand into the sleeve in examination. "This is the deepest puncture, made by her upper-canine, no doubt."
"It's just a hole." Rick said, the tip of his pinkie finger peeking through it. "Meaning...?"
"You think it's in the wound?" Maggie concluded.
"It's likely." Hershel sighed. "Ought to check and be on the safe-side, otherwise infection will be a guarantee."
Maggie swallowed. "Marshall-":
the other night, dear
as I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you
in my arms
when I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
so I hung my head and cried
"Yeah, yeah." Marshall straightened. "Not a big deal. Clean off the forceps and tweezers, Sunny. And get a flashlight for better light." As Beth did that and Maggie got a flashlight, Hershel threw in a couple fish line stitches into the other shallower ones and Marshall got his first clear look. His expression tightened. He was right about the bruising and all, but he didn't really care about the bite itself, but the fact of the position of that canine puncture—it gouged into one of the magnolia petals of his mama's memorial tattoo. Maggie, her lullaby, and this tattoo were the few things left to him of his mother, but even still, he could not be upset with Athena. Marshall was her handler, partner, caretaker, any uncare unto her was his responsibility and this, her here, lying unconscious, in pain, wounded that was his folly. He was sharing her pain, her fate. "No, give me the forceps." He held out his right hand to his sister before she could hand them to daddy.
Beth stared at his hand; it was steady but she was still reluctant. "Marshall, just let daddy-"
"Beth." His stern tone had the teen handing them over.
Hershel decided it was just a waste of time trying to get him to change his mind. He got lost for a moment staring at his first-wife's name on his son's skin before he was drawn back to the present with Marshall retracting his own wound, his breathing too deep and steady for him to be anything but hurting.
It took a hot minute of digging around before plucking out that tiny, but very troublesome piece of faux leather. Marshall's left hand fingers twitched but he fought of the urge to curl his fist and flex his arm against the pain. Hershel found the debris just it time for the forceps to clatter onto the table and his hand to cramp up painfully.
"I'm fine." Marshall sniffed sharply and turned his attention back to where it belonged:
you are my sunshine
my only sunshine
you make me happy
when skies are grey
you'll never know, dear
how much I love you
please don't take
my sunshine away
Hershel wordlessly finished his stitching and a vinegar soak later, Marshall's arm was padded and wrapped in a strip of clean linen. Marshall hummed, gently petting and stroking. People moved quietly and subdued around the house, but his attention was only pulled from Athena by the short body that cuddle against his right side.
"Papa?"
"Yeah. Hey." He looked to her, left hand resting on Athena's foreleg, and his right cupped his spirit-daughter's head. "I'm sorry if I was short with you earlier, Butterfly." He apologized softly.
She shook her head. "It's okay, you weren't." Sophia promised. "You were just worried about Athena." Her blue-eyes shifted to the unconscious dog with worry. "She's going to be okay now, right, papa?"
He swallowed, fingers scrunching in her strawberry-blond locks gently. "She's a Beast, you know? A killer-whale like you. Her bite's bigger so something like this is child's play. C'mon, help me keep her company." He wrapped his arm around her waist and settled her onto his lap, her hand joining his as he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.
...
Marshall struggled briefly in the tangled sheet before he managed to throw it off, panting like he'd just been fighting off a constricting anaconda instead. Athena whined next to him in the dim room from her pile of blankets next to him, disturbed from her already pain-filled, restless slumber by his struggle. Not that his own rest had been any better.
He rolled with a grunt, reaching over. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He stroked her muzzle and between her brows, careful of her cropped ear. She'd come off the delights of the morphine hours ago and he ached to give her more relief, it was tearing his heart apart to hear the sounds of her constant pain. He managed to get her to drink and eat some, before she collapsed down in exhaustion and pain. He'd settled them in a back bedroom so they didn't disturbed the others and vice versa, but between the periodic vinegar-soaks and rectal thermometer checks, neither was having a very good time of it.
But, God, it was fucking stifling in here. He stumbled to his feet and over to the window, struggling for a minute as the frame stuck before he got it up with a bit of a clatter. He stuck his head out the screenless opening. Eyes closed, he breathed the fresh air deeply.
"The hell you doin'?" A gruff voice demanded.
Marshall's eyes snapped open and it took him a moment to locate the hunter in the deep grey dusk; the glowing cherry bobbing about his lips was helpful. He didn't remember seeing Daryl since they first got back, but then his attention had been completely fixed on Athena.
"Thought you were a walker." Daryl lowered his crossbow.
"Not quiet yet." Daryl observed the man, eyes lingering on the makeshift bandage on his forearm. "Athena," Marshall answered the unvoiced question. "She didn't much appreciate me dumping whisky on her open, bleeding wounds."
"'Course she didn't." Smoke streamed from the corner of his lips. Daryl turned to go back to his watch-post. "You look like a warm piece of shit."
Marshall laid a his hand gently over the bandage. "I'm hot." It was a statement and a realization. Fuck, he was hot. Daryl rolled his eyes. "I mean that literally."
Daryl turned back at more noise and found Marshall climbing out the ground floor window, in his bare feet. "The hell are you-?"
But Marshall's gaze was fixed on his mouth. "Can I have that?"
"What-" It took Daryl a moment to understand the other man's approach before he scoffed. "Fuck-off. I found them fair and square. I was nowhere near the pregnant lady, kids, or the dog when I lit-up—until you started fuckin' around, so go back to your room if you're bothered!"
"Daryl." Marshall said shortly. "Give me the cigarette."
Daryl stared. "You know what—whatever. Here, you prissy asshole." He took a final puff before plucking it from his curled lip. "It's almost done anyway." He held out the half-smoked cigarette. "Fucking waste." There was a fine-tremor in the fingers that brushed against his. "If you think I'm giving you the rest of the pack-"
"You can keep the pack."
Daryl could only blink and stare in stunned silence as, instead of putting out the cigarette righteously—Marshall brought the cigarette to his own lips instead. The cherry glowed a little more intensely as he inhaled, and where Daryl might have expected him to break out in a coughing fit of the inexperienced smoker, he took it as smooth as a breath of fresh air. Like when Marshall drew and released his compound bow, Daryl couldn't help but watch as he tilted his head back slightly in bliss as that first buzz of nicotine hit his bloodstream, let the smoke sit in his lungs for a moment. His eyes hooded, the pinch between his brows eased, the corners of his lips softened. His exhale started as a stream of smoke billowing from his nostrils like a raging bull, but after withdrawing the cigarette, his lips parted and the rest of the smoke left him mouth in a soft sigh.
Oh, it had been years! The tremor in his fingers ceased. He flicked ash off the tip. He swallowed, licking his lips. "These things kill you, y'know." Marshall mused when the cloud finally cleared, staring at the thing that sat so innocently between his fingers, his shoulders eased with lack of tension.
"Lotta things around here that'll kill me a whole of a lot quicker." Daryl mocked, drawn back to reality: "What would your old man think of you now if he saw you?"
"Another thing for him to be disappointed about." Daryl felt his anger rise. This asshole didn't know how much of a lucky son of a bitch he was to have a father like Hershel Greene to a father like Will Dixon. "My mama died of lung cancer." Marshall murmured, gaze turning to the hunter, his words stopping the older man short. "Nearly took 2-years. Some would call that blessedly fast, other's torturously slow."
"Your mom was a smoker?" Daryl asked in surprise, thinking about his own mom and her own penchant to fall asleep with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle in the other.
"No." The corner of his mouth quirked briefly at the irony. "Her daddy was, though, and her uncles, and all their buddies... those thick, nasty cigars." He shook his head, foot subtly shifting on the ground to widen his stance at the light-headedness.
"And here you are." Daryl pointed out.
"Mm." Marshall took a smaller drag this time. "Shared my first cigarette with Maggie, back when she was being a rebel and shoplifting, didn't like it much—overseas was a different story.
"My first tour back with Athena after Rocky... I wasn't as naive this time around, you know? Over there, you gotta do what you got to do, you know, to do what you gotta do." An amused quark took the corner of his mouth at the convoluted statement. "An unexpected sneeze—boom. A stray brush of a finger—boom. A drop of sweat and you're red mist. So, no alcohol to make me waver, no coffee to make me jittery, no drugs make to me hazy—but gum, heh- gum kept my mouth wet, let me worry without fidgeting. It was after, that was the problem. And then one of the guys in my unit offered me a cigarette—don't rat me out, alright?
"I started to rely on them heavily after disarmament, to come down; and then any time in between. So much so, that I started to feel sick and get horrible headaches, and felt shaky when I didn't have one."
"It's called nicotine withdrawal, genius."
Marshall laughed. "I know, I know. It kind of became counterintuitive because it wasn't exactly safe to be smoking a cigarette while trying to disarm I. , y'know? It wasn't good for me or Athena, or the soldiers that relied on me." He made to drop the cigarette onto the ground despite knowing he could get another puff or two out of it, but stopped short when he remembered he was barefoot. "Had to rely on Nicotine Gum for a bit while in action, but I managed to kick it before my next leave, hadn't touched another cigarette—until now. Guess me and daddy really are alike." It was more muttered to himself, but he shook his head, that was not a can of worms he wanted to open in his current vulnerable state of mind (if ever).
He was about to stub it out on the house side paneling, but the hunter stopped him. "Just hand it here." Marshall watched Daryl take a final drag from the shared smoke before stomping it out under his shoe. "Christ." He turned to go back to his post out back, but the other man's next words stalled him.
"Thank you." Marshall said and Daryl shoulders tensed. "I know it infuriates you when I say that, but, you caught Athena when I was the one that tripped. If you and Rick hadn't-"
"She's fine." Daryl growled shortly, back still turned, cutting him off. "You don't need to turn every little thing into somethin'. Bites won't turn 'er like us. She's gonna be just fine."
"Yeah." Marshall agreed softly, I'm gonna make sure of it. "Bye, Daryl."
Daryl glanced back before he turned the corner to see the Greene tuck-and-roll back through the window. He waited for the crashing, but there was none, just the window pane being yanked shut again. Daryl shook his head, that had been the last thing he'd expected to encounter when he went to investigate the noise.
He adjusted his crossbow strap over his shoulder and absently pulled out the pack of smokes from his breast pocket, fishing another out. He tapped the filter, but stopped to stare before he could bring it to his lips. The last thing he wanted to do was think about Marshall-fucking-Greene, yet, as he stared at the slightly squished cigarette, all he could see was the way it looked between Marshall's lips. His hand clenched in irritation, crushing the paper packet in his fist and destroying the few remaining cigarettes within. With a silent snarl, he threw it onto the ground. What a fucking waste! His annoyance with the man grew.
Marshall didn't try to go back to sleep, instead, taking out his flashlight, he unwound the bandage from his arm. The wound sites were red around the stitches and the heat was definitely not natural. Much to Athena's annoyance and discomfort, he gave another temperature check and to his immense relief, it was within normal canine range. He checked over her wounds again just for further piece of mind, a vinegar-soak for them both (not that he expected any result for his own treatment), before he sat hunched over his map with his flashlight until sunrise.
He was already dressed (though he didn't know where his jacket had gotten off to), with a fresh pair of socks, his boots tied-up, and bag packed before Hershel even had the chance to knock on the bedroom door for a check-in. The few early risers were up; Hershel, Rick, Carol (boiling water for everyone's morning coffee), Daryl and Maggie who'd been on watch.
"Morning." Marshall murmured the greeting to the woman, setting his pack down.
"Marshall, morning." Carol said, looking up from the row of mismatched cups. "How are you feeling?"
"Daryl said I look like a 'warm piece of shit', I think that's pretty accurate."
"He still has a way with words, I see." She deadpanned. "You sure you don't want some coffee? Might help perk you up a bit."
"Nah, it would just be a waste." Marshall found the jug of vinegar.
"If you're sure. I cleaned and patched up your jacket."
"Thanks, Carol." He pulled her into a hug.
"Oh."
"You didn't have to do that."
"It's fine. I didn't mind." Carol frowned at how warm he felt, but he already pulled away before she could comment.
"I'm looking for a clean jar to put some diluted vinegar in." Marshall told her. "Can you spare something?"
"Sure." She found him a jar while he slipped on his maroon duster, and watched as he wrapped it in a spar shirt and stowed it into his pack.
"Thanks."
"Are you going somewhere?"
"Yeah. In a bit of a rush, sorry. No time to waste."
"Y-" Before she could say anything further, he grabbed his pack and was out the door. "Rick?" She called worriedly, abandoning the coffee.
Maggie jumped, startled from boredly rolling a stick under her boot as she waited for Glenn to come out bearing her share of the coffee, but it wasn't her boyfriend, it was her brother. "Marshall?"
"Hey." He didn't stop and B-lined for the Pinto, putting his pack in the front seat.
"What are you doing?" She glanced back as Rick, Hershel, and Carol came out of the house, too, watching him. "What's going on?" Maggie asked them.
"Marshall, what are you doing?" Rick questioned, eyeing him in worry. "Carol said you told her you were going somewhere."
"I did." Marshall shut the car door. "I am- We are." He corrected.
"We-?"
"You should be resting," Hershel said. "Not running around."
"Sitting around's not gonna solve anything." Marshall made to pass to get back into the house but Rick halted him with hands on his shoulders.
"Marshall, just stop for a second. Talk to us. What's going on?"
"We need antibiotics."
"Athena?" Maggie asked in worry.
"No. She's fine for now, but I'm not going to risk waiting."
"Okay, then." Rick nodded. "I was planning on getting a group together and trying for town again today. Medical supplies are always at the top of the grocery list, so-"
"No, no." Marshall shook his head. "A small place like this won't even have its own Health Clinic, let alone a Veterinary Clinic."
"Athena's fine, as you say, but what about you?" Hershel's hand was touching his face before he could think to duck away. "Marshall Elijah!"
"What?" Maggie asked.
"He's feverish." Carol concluded. "I could feel it when he hugged me."
"What the hell?" Maggie questioned. "Were you not gonna say anything and hope none of noticed until it was too late?"
"What's going on?" Beth questioned, stepping outside—along with the rest of The Group, having been awaked a little earlier than usual with the mild commotion.
"Your brother has a fever." Hershel took Marshall's arm, who didn't fight him. He could feel the warmth even before he shed the sleeve and took off the bandage.
"What?" Beth jumped off the porch and wedged herself between Rick and Maggie's shoulders, her glare at her brother overlaid with concern. The three stared silently at the exposed wound; it actually looked worse out in the sunlight despite it being stitched and not bleeding. The bruising was nearly black.
Hershel examined either side of his arm; the wounds red and swollen. "The wound's infected." His tone was dire.
"Yep." Marshall agreed, unreactive to the sight. "So..." He extracted his arm and rewrapped the bandage, pushing it back into his jacket sleeve. "Now that we're all on the same page-"
"Why didn't you say something earlier?"
"To avoid this conversation." His sarcastic mutter garnered reproving looks all around. He sighed. "I came to the realization a couple hours ago, and waking everybody up in a tizzy about it would have solved nothing. I have a plan, so if you just let me-"
Maggie crossed her arms. "What plan, exactly?"
He breathed deeply to curb his irritation. "I'm gonna take Athena, and I'm gonna go. And if I'm not back in couple weeks-"
"Not happening." Rick's immediate and firm denial was eclipsed by Beth's own: "Has the fever already addled your brain beyond common comprehension?!" And Maggie's: "God, and you actually thought we'd accept that?"
Marshall's audible groan of frustration was cut-off when Sophia barrelled into him with a frightened cry. "You can't go, if you do, you'll die!"
"Sophia..." His right arm wrapped around her. "If I stay, I'll die." He corrected her gently. She shook her head roughly in denial against his abdomen, trying and failing in suppressing her rising sobs. "I need medicine, Butterfly, medicine that isn't here."
"But we tried to find medicine for Andrea and we couldn't." Sophia said, pulling back just enough to look up at him with teary blue-eyes. She sniffed, "Do you think she-?"
"That woman's too angry to die." He thumbed away the tears on her freckled cheek.
Her chin trembled. "You're not angry."
"I'm too weird to die." He told her. "I'm so weird, I sweat the weirdness out of my pores. It's like sunscreen, it repels all that death bullshit."
Her lips trembled, overwhelmed, unsure if she wanted to giggle or cry more, so she buried her face against him again, squeezing tightly. "You can't go off alone—I'm coming with you." She informed him stubbornly
"She's right." Rick agreed. "You can't go alone."
"Rick-" Marshall tried.
"No, Marshall." There was a finality in the former Deputy's tone. "You're not going alone."
"They're right, Marshall." Beth said. "You can't take care of Athena and yourself, and fight who knows how many piranha."
"So, what, a few of us pack up and go with 'em?" Daryl spoke-up, eyes narrowed. In hindsight, some of the encounter from last night made more sense.
"I'm not sure how I feel about splitting up." Rick admitted with a frown.
"You want us all to pack up and go? Leave?" Lori asked in surprise and doubt, hands on her extended stomach. "Rick, we finally found a place that's quiet and has ready access to water and hunting grounds..."
"She's right, Rick." Marshall agreed. "You-"
"No." Rick denied both of them. "We stick together, no matter what." And after a moment of exchanging looks, the rest of The Group agreed.
"So, where would we even go?" Maggie voiced the next critical problem. "The city?"
"No. No, way." Glenn denied. "We barely made it out the last time we were there. You think it's gotten better since then? No way!"
"Well, we can't just wander around with our asses hanging out. We've got to at least have some destination in mind."
"Ahem. While y'all are arguing in circles and my infection is festering..." Marshall cleared his throat pointedly and waiting for them to settle down like rowdy school children and pay attention. "If you hadn't jumped down my throat earlier and let me finished speaking, you would have heard my plan."
Daryl rolled his eyes. "Well, don't leave of us in suspense, hot stuff."
"Don't get defensive, I told you I was hot—literally." Daryl scowled at him. "Alright, alright." Marshall held up his hands placating before he pulled out his map from his back pocket.
And they said that he was dramatic.
[tWD]
"What did I tell you, little boy? I said you'd run yourself into the ground."
Auntie. Marshall's lips parted but all that left his throat was a harsh croak.
"Marshall?"
He felt the touch on his chin, the fingers in his short hair. "Mm."
"Mars?"
Marshall opened his gritty eyes. It took him a moment to focus on the blue-eyes peering down at him from above in the dimness. Not the ones he was dreaming of, but beautiful nonetheless.
"Hey. Here." Rick cupped the back of his head, rising it slightly from his lap so he wouldn't choke and tilted a bottle of lukewarm water against his lips.
"Athena?" Was the first thing out of his mouth when the bottle was taken away.
"She's okay. She's good." Rick assured. "She's got her own little spot right next to us. You're both on an antibiotic drip, and Hershel's been giving her shots of mild painkillers to keep her comfortable."
Marshall turned his head and he could make out the dog bed amid the grungy tiled floor with the familiar shape of his soul mate. "Good, she deserves it."
"You're the one we were all worried about."
Marshall turned his attention back to the man as fingers played in his greasy hair. "And you've been playing my nursemaid?"
"We've been taking shifts. Me, Maggie, Beth. And Sophia. You were... fussy, to put it politely and only settled down when someone was cuddling you, or singing to you. In Sophia's case, she'd just lay on you and you'd quiet right down." An amused smile took him.
"That's sound about right." He admitted. "If you sang to me, Rick Grimes, and I missed it, I'm gonna be infinitely sad." Marshall announced. Rick just gave him an enigmatic squinch of the eyes. He clicked his tongue, and his expression went soft and sad, "Auntie always coddled me when I was sick. I think I was dreaming about her..."
"You've called out for her a few times. Michonne, too." Marshall didn't see the shadow in Rick's look at the mention of his second-best-friend.
"I don't really remember." He rubbed his face and grimaced at the rough rasp of stubble that covered his face. Gross. "Where exactly are we, because this sure isn't a house?"
"You were pretty bad by the time we finally managed to find it." Rick said. "It's some rescue shelter. Pretty intact when we found it. Secure. You were down for days." That would explain the sharp pain in Marshall's bladder, and how generally shitty he felt, how stiff his shoulder. "How do you feel? Want me to get Hershel?"
"No, no." Marshall shook his head where it was pillowed in the man's lap. "Not just now, but you can help me with a few other things..."
"And, what exactly, is on this list of demands of yours?" Rick asked.
"Nothing too nefarious. Top of the list is having to piss like a racehorse... and I might need a little help with that. I mean, I can hold my dick, but you'll probably have to hold me."
Rick snorted. "I guess that wouldn't be the oddest thing I've done in apocalypse."
"Appreciate it, Partner." Marshall sighed, kicked off the blanket he was smothered under, and rolled off Rick's lap with a grunt to his hands and knees. He paused there to get his bearings. Stretching his stiffened shoulder.
"Careful of the I.V." Rick warned.
"Who stripped me?" He wondered, nonplussed. He was shirtless, and in what looked like a pair of long john leggings from the bottom of his pack from winter. "Was it fun?"
Rick snorted. "You did."
"That's okay, too, I guess."
"C'mon." Rick shook his head in amusement, getting to his own feet and taking Marshall's right elbow, pulling him up to his feet. Rick steadied him with hands on his shoulders. "Hang on, you're gonna want your boots." He ducked away, but was back a moment later setting Marshall's boots at his feet.
"Where exactly are you taking me for this piss?" Marshall wondered, keeping hold of Rick as he slipped each bare foot into his unlaced boots.
With an arm around Marshall's waist, and his other hand holding onto the diminishing bag of antibiotics, Rick led him out of the examine room and down the hall. "There's a run and kennels out back. Won't have to worry about any walkers getting the jump on us—unless you want to use the washroom?"
Marshall's nose scrunched; it was always a hit or a miss with apocalypse-bathrooms. "I could use the fresh air. Where is everyone?" His voice was hushed in the empty hallway.
"Spread out in the break room and offices. T should be on watch in reception." Marshall silently nodded. "Just here." Rick led him toward a set of double, chicken-wired windowed doors. "Wait." Rick stopped him before he could push through.
"What?"
"Just..." Rick looked away, jaw tense. "I need you to trust me when I say: close your eyes and keep them closed when we go out there."
Marshall blinked at him in blatant confusion at the odd entreaty. What was so terrible out there that Rick didn't want him to see? It took a second with his sluggish brain, but—Oh. This was an animal shelter at the end of the world and when the dead reanimate and crave your flesh, no one was gonna stick around to take care of sick and abandoned animals. Best-case, the workers released the animals. Worse-case, they starved in their cages. Perhaps, humanely, someone killed them mercifully. Marshall swallowed, his mouth a grim line when Rick looked back to him.
"Mars." He pleaded.
Marshall closed his eyes and murmured, "I do trust you, Rick."
Rick watched the man for a moment before he used his elbow on the push bar, and guided the blind man out through the door. Marshall automatically tensed at the smell of decay, the buzz of flies, and the sound of walkers rattling the chain link fence close by but he kept his eyes closed. Rick didn't lead him very far before stopping him, a steady hand on the back of the shoulder.
"Here. I promise I'm not watching."
"That's very courteous of you." And Marshall was not joking when he said he had to go like a racehorse. "Thank you." He murmured when the door clicked shut behind them and they were back inside, opening his eyes. Rick merely nodded and lead them back into the exam room. Marshall kicked off his boots, the tile floor cool on his feet.
Rick's hovering hand was a safety net as Marshall knelt in front of Athena. She looked at him with drowsy, happy, ambers-eyes. He pet her, smooching between her brow. Her woof was a huff of hot air in his face but he didn't care; his own was probably worse. Her tail swept across the edge of an actual dog bed not just a shitty pile of blankets (being in an animal shelter explained the luxury better), keeping still for him as he checked on her IV port, and took a peek at her wounds.
She was healing beautifully!
"My badass, tough as nails, queen bitch." He cooed, peppering her with more kisses. "Ugh." Her tongue rasped against his chin and he sat back onto his own pallet of blankets with a scrunched face. "Don't remind me."
Rick chuckled, hanging up the antibiotics bag now that the man was immobile. "What's next on your list of demands?"
"Shaving." Marshall told him promptly.
"Now?" Rick asked in surprise. "Can't it wait until morning?"
"No. If you don't have my straight razor, then just give me your kukri knife—I've used it before."
"Alright, easy. There's no need to go that far, I'll get your straight razor." Rick went to his pack in the corner with the rest of his belongings.
Marshall scratched at his face in annoyance. "I feel gross and disgusting with this shit growing out of my face." His lip was curled in distaste like he'd just stepped barefoot on a slug.
Rick handed him the closed razor. "It makes you look more rugged and less boyish. Give me a sec and I'll track down some light and a mirror."
"No need." Marshall opened the blade promptly got to it.
Rick watched him, there was no hesitation on his easy, fluid strokes. Rick's brow rose as he caught the little shiver, the soft, pleased sound. Maybe he should look away, but couldn't seem to as Marshall seemed to gain unperturbed, simple pleasure from the act. It also made Rick realize that he'd never seen the other man shave before and wondered if maybe this was why. Rick was positive, though, that if ever Marshall did grow beard, it meant that he'd given up, that he was broken.
Marshall sighed in satisfaction as he felt nothing but smooth skin under his fingertips. "There, that's more like it. No more hobo-Marshall."
Rick raised a brow. "You sayin' I look like a hobo?"
"Well, if I was, you'd certainly be the prettiest hobo I ever did see, Grimes." Marshall winked.
Rick smiled. "Any more requests?"
"Rick," His tone was solemn. "I'm a very simple man here. I'm very easy to please: A piss, a shave, and finally, a cuddle. That's all you gotta give me and I am wrapped around your little finger."
...
"Who is groping my ass?" Marshall mumbled the absurd question, waking, but remaining sprawled, face pressed into the rising and falling chest beneath him.
There was giggling nearby.
Rick groaned, cracking a blue-eye open and lifted his head. He glimpsed Beth and Sophia sniggering in the doorway and- he stared. Watched Marshall's plump left buttock jiggle beneath the tight stretch of his leggings as the white-and-ginger feline vigorously kneaded it. His head dropped back, still trying to process it. "The cat." He finally answered, his voice rough from sleep.
"Why?"
"Maybe he thinks you have a nice butt?" A weird thing to wake-up to, but one of the best sleeps he'd had in a long time.
Marshall grunted. "Well, I'm not gonna contest it."
"If you're done with your weird butt-talk?" Beth spoke-up from the doorway with a fond roll of the eyes. "I came to relieve you of Babysitting Marshall, Rick, and tell you breakfast is ready—little as it is." But she now had plans to hold daddy off from his check-in; she'd never seen her big brother so relaxed as to sprawl in sleep and Rick didn't look to be protesting it (he also deserved the much-needed, proper rest). "Everyone will be glad to see you awake and coherent, Marshall. I'll hold off on telling everyone, though, let you two sleep in." She smirked.
"Coherent?" Marshall mumbled. "Are we sure? There's a cat kneading my ass like its bread dough."
"Trust me—it's very real and kinda hilarious."
"I guess, I just have to believe you, baby sis."
"Are you feeling better, papa?" Sophia paused to stroke Athena's head gently before she approached the two men, scooping up the purring Marshmallow into her arms.
"So much better, Butterfly." Marshall smiled. "Rick said you helped take care of me, just like last time."
"Yeah. You seem to like it when I sang and laid with you." She agreed shyly.
"Oh, you know the way to my heart is through cuddles and song, daughter o' mine. In fact, you should come cuddle me right now, make me feel even better." He lifted his arm to her in invitation.
There was a moment of hesitation where Rick came into the equation, but she wasn't frightened of the man, he'd ran into the woods after her, after all, and Sophia could never, for as long as she lived, turn away an invitation to cuddle with her papa. She put Marshmallow down, managed to kick off her shoes, and crawled into Marshall's open arm. He pressed a kiss to her crown.
"What about me?" Beth questioned imperiously, arms crossed.
"You know cuddles are always an open invitation here, Sunny."
Rick thought it should be weird, this mixed cuddle pile. It reminded him bittersweetly of the early days, when Carl was younger and he and Lori were happily married, and they'd cuddle on the couch as a family with a Pixar movie playing on the VCR. But these were some of the people he trusted most in the world now and they were all a part of this big, new family of theirs.
[tWD]
"So, how does it feel to wait out in the cars with the rest of us mere mortals while everyone else clears the house?" Carol asked her co-parent with humour from the passenger seat of The Banana Mopeel, watching Marshall blow bubbles in the driver's seat.
"Right now, I don't mind it." Marshall said; she gave him a dubious look. "What? I'm not a control freak, I can sit out of the action for a few more days." They were, of course, back on the road again, in search of their Forever Home. "And I'm more than happy to have Athena sit out of it, too." Athena bow-wowed from the backseat. "Tough." His stitches were starting to itch and he knew it was time for them to come out; maybe he'd do the both of them tonight. "What about you, Sophia? Miss it? You wanna be in there with your partner-in-crime?"
"I don't miss the piranha-part," Sophia admitted, voice soft. "But I miss being with you all the time."
"Oh, Butterfly." He twisted around in the seat, guilt flooding his expression. "I didn't mean to-"
Sophia quickly shook her head; she hadn't meant to make him feel bad when she said that. "You're not, papa. I know things couldn't stay like it was when we were just a Unit, I know you don't just love me. I got to have a you all winter. I never had to share you before. I guess I just forget, sometimes."
He reached back and chucked her under the chin. "I do love you, and I miss it too, sometimes, with you hanging off my belt. But my wingspan is large. Love has no bounds, no limit, but you'll always be my daughter and nothing will change that. Yes?" She nodded. "Good."
A few piranha corpses were dragged out from the house. Rick stepped into the open double doorway and gave the 'all clear' signal. He stood sentry as their 'nightly' supplies were grabbed from the vehicles and he kept tally of each member of The Group as they passed over the threshold into their temporary abode.
"Phew." Lori huffed, supporting hand under her belly.
"You alright?" Rick questioned as she seemed winded just getting up the porch steps.
"Yeah, yeah." Lori nodded, but before she could continue and get out of his space, she was startled into stilling as his hand laid gently on her stomach.
"You sure?"
Tentatively, like he was a skittish animal, she laid her hand over his, kept her voice soft. "I am. We are."
He nodded mutely and pulled his hand out from under hers, his expression unreadable as he turned his attention outside again, and she moved further into the house, out of the way of blocking the doorway.
Rick lingered there still, watching the two lollygaggers; Athena sniffing around to do her doggy-business before staying shut-in for the night, and Marshall fishing around in a bush. "Find something interesting?" He wondered.
Marshall straightened with a smile, showing off the dirty tennis ball in his hand. "Saw a dog house 'round the back; maybe it's our lucky day~" He dusted off the ball and clicked his tongue, "Here, girl." Athena quickly trotted to him, a mild stuttered in her step from her still healing injuries. "Sit. Good." Her tail thumped heavily, perked right up as her amber gaze darted between her handler and the tantalizing ball in his hand. "Easy, now. Don't overdo it. If you tear your stitches now, I'm gonna be upset. Eyes on me. Good. Now, stay. Good girl." He cooed. "Incoming!" Marshall called—and gently lobbed the ball through the open doorway. Athena was as taut as a bowstring, she quivered in excitement yet didn't move an inch until: "Release." With a woof, the Belgian Malinois jumped up the steps passed Rick and after the slowly rolling ball down the cleared hallway, dull nails clicking and scrambling on the wood floor.
"Whoa! Easy now!" T-Dog managed to hop out of the way of the skidding dog.
"Home, sweet home—for the night, at least." Rick said, finally securing the doors behind the last man in.
Marshall made a show of looking around, arms crossed, finger on his chin in judgement. "Not bad for a rental in this housing market. Just the 3 piranha? Got it on the cheap, I'd say."
"Is that the going rate these days?" Rick raised an amused brow.
"In this area? Looks like it."
"Marshall? Marshall!" A voice called out for him with excited urgency.
"That's me." Marshall left Rick to find the man's son in the kitchen. The 12-year-old nearly collided with him in the doorway as he rushed to find the Ranger, who'd apparently taken too long to find him. "Easy." Marshall steadied him by the shoulders. "Where's the fire, Little Grimes?"
"Look! Look what I found." Carl thrust two dusty cans at him.
Marshall craned his head back to read the label properly and immediately lit-up like a Christmas tree, green-eyes bright, a smile of complete boyish delight on his face. "Carl Grimes!" He absolutely gushed. "Nose like a bloodhound for hidden treasure."
Carl laughed, reflecting the man's happiness. "It's good, right?"
"Yes! Where's the can opener? We gotta crack one of these open immediately, no question for it."
"It should be in one of the bags in the living room." Carl darted passed him, practically doing a knee-slid on the floor to the bag as Marshall skipped after him.
The occupants that had claimed spots around the living room were subdued, the bean supply had finally run dry and road-tripping it in the apocalypse had long lost its charm. Their focus turned from Daryl plucking a half-starved owl that had made its home upstairs, and to the energetic duo. Lucky day, indeed, Marshall giggled, for Carl's discovery was a true treat. Carl dug around for the can opener and Marshall found a small bowl, plate and a spoon.
"Did you two find something?" Rick questioned, drawn to the excitement after double-checking the security of the exits, peeping out windows in paranoia and assurance that they'd given that last pack of walkers the run around.
"A veritable feast, I'd say." Marshall squirmed in anticipation, gaze fixed as the boy cranked the opener; Rick raised an amused eyebrow, curious. As soon as Carl lifted the top off, Athena yipped, her head snapping around, tennis ball dropping from her mouth and rolling away. Marshall's bright eyes met her. "Oh, yes, Beast." He cooed.
"Yo, what is that?" T-Dog asked.
"It looks gross." Carl picked up the can and tentatively smelled it, expecting it to be gross, but- "It smells just like stew!" He looked to the man next to him in wonder.
Marshall smirked, taking the can from the boy and digging in with the spoon. "I've been telling you guys, better than beans, better than spam. Loads healthier, too." He scooped out a quarter of the can into the bowl.
T-Dog's lip curled. "That ain't like any stew I've every seen."
Daryl snorted as Marshall slid the bowl across the floor to the drooling dog. "That's 'cause it dog food."
Others groaned in disappointment. Lori held a hand over her nose at the prevailing smell in the stuffy house; as soon as it was confirmed to be wet dog food, hunger turned to nausea. Athena only eagerly tucked into the presented food after a signal from her handler.
"Lucky day~" Marshall crowed.
Rick was utterly blank as he watched Marshall, who, with eagerness and zero hesitation, ate his own spoonful. There were various groans and gags around the room.
"You actually-?!" T-Dog shuddered, looking away. "Thought you were joking, man!"
"Nope! I'm as serious as that infection I had." Marshall smacked his lips. "Mm, steak and veg!"
"That's our brother." Beth deadpanned.
"Ugh! At least you get to call him half-brother." Maggie said.
"Healthier for the animal," Hershel spoke, "You cannot stay sustained on it, son, you'll end up malnourished in the long run and end up with scurvy for the lack of Vitamin C."
"I'm not looking to eat it in the long run, daddy." He stole another spoonful, uncaring of the others' reactions. They were in the apocalypse, and this was what gave them the ick? "Athena promised she'd share if any wet food was found—this is just that promise being fulfilled. Plus, I'm hungry and I'd be remiss to be ungrateful." He pointed out coolly. His father, apparently, didn't have a counter to the call-back.
"Even I wouldn't eat that." Daryl said.
"I've seen you eat worms, Daryl!" Glenn pointed out.
"And that should tell you somethin'." Daryl went back to his plucking, careful not to break the shafts of the longer flight feathers in hope of more fletching to either replace the ones breaking down on his homemade arrows or any future new ones he'd make. He'd lost some of the bolts Marshall had gifted him back at the farm; a hazard when things got too hairy to retrieve the spent bolts.
"Want to try some, Little Grimes?" Marshall joked as Carl continued to eye him, wide-eyed and curious.
"No!" Rick snapped furiously before his son could decided and as Marshall plated another spoonful on the small saucer. "You're not feeding my son dog food. We are not eating dog food. We aren't animals!"
"I could argue that, but whatever you want, Deputy Daddy, it's your call." Marshall backed off immediately, calmly, even though some of the others flinched and jumped at the unexpected anger in their typically controlled co-leader. "Sophia." Marshall held out the saucer with the spoonful towards her.
"You can't actually be serious?" Carol questioned the man she'd agreed to let co-parent her daughter.
Maggie's face was twisted with disgust. "Oh, he's completely serious."
Sophia sat frozen, staring at it in wide-eyed confusion as Marshmallow meowed, stretching out from her lap to sniff at it. Did her papa expect her to eat it?!
"She is not eating that." Carol agreed firmly with Rick on that.
Marshall guffawed. "For Marshmallow!"
"R-right!" Sophia stuttered, flushing in embarrassment as she took the plate.
"If he's too picky for it, The Beast will happily take it." But, it needn't have been a worry, as after a few tentative sniffs, a cautious lick, the feline quickly gobbled it up. Marshall found the can lid cover at the bottom of the bag and let Athena lick the spoon clean instead of doing it himself. He'd already pushed the envelope today in snapping Rick's composure.
"Would you rather, huh?" Beth wondered aloud after a few minutes of stifled silence. "Worms or wet dog food?"
"Dog food, obviously." Glenn answered after a minute.
"Why obviously?"
"I mean, think about it?" He shuddered, "Worms wiggling and curling up and squirming around it your mouth while you're trying to squish it with your teeth. What if it squirms to the back of your throat and makes you throw-up?"
"Gross." She had to ask. She stretched out her leg and nudged the hunter with her shoe, "You into that kinda thing, Daryl?"
Daryl shook his head. "Why don't y'all just stick to the owl?"
...
"I brought a peace offering," Marshall held out the small bowl to the other man filled with minimal shredded scraps of fried owl, who held watch from the back mudroom as evening fell. Rick silently eyed the bowl. "Don't worry," Marshall joked, "Athena licked it extra clean for you—dogs' mouths are cleaner than toilet bowls, you know?"
"A lot of things are cleaner than toilet bowls."
When the man still didn't take the offered bowl, Marshall set it on the widow ledge. "So, is this The Thing?" Marshall wondered softly, his gaze dropped.
"The Thing?"
He took a deep breath. "The Thing that made you lose respect for me." Rick exhaled sharply in surprise and was at a loss for words. When the silence continued to stretch, Marshall took it as confirmation. He would admit, it hurt that it was something so- so stupid that had broken the camel's back. It hadn't been the barn of piranha, or slitting Randal's throat from ear-to-ear, abandoning Michonne and Andrea, or becoming a hindrance to The Group with his shoulder and his head, and the beans and the fever—but this. What else could he do but accept it? He nodded, breathing deeply. His jaw flexed. "I see." He remarked, voice even and void. "You should eat." Marshall said, ready to leave.
"I'm not hungry." Rick's voice stopped him.
"The bowl is clean—from soap and water."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Did you eat?"
Marshall huffed. "If you were paying attention back there, you'd realize I'd shared a full-course meal with 'the animals'."
Rick stared at the back of his head, the new hooked scar that lay at the back of his crown that hadn't even had a chance to lose all its scabs before he got the wound on his arm. "Are you ashamed?"
Marshall spun around and gave him a sharp look. "What do I have to be ashamed about?" He demanded.
"This is the first time you've looked me in the eye since you asked that question." Rick pointed out.
"I am not ashamed." Marshall sucked his teeth. "I just know it would hurt to see it reflected in your eyes."
"And is it?" Rick uttered softly. Marshall didn't answer, but he also didn't look away. "There's no shame in survival and there is no room to be ungrateful, like you said. I am ashamed—not of you, but for how I reacted. I'm sorry. I was just so... vicious-"
"React however you want," Marshall dismissed. "Carl's your son."
"No." Rick carded his fingers through his hair. "I just- watching you eat dog food... offering it around—even in a joke..." He shook his head. "Something just snapped." His blue-eyes were searching and desperate, "Are we already that bad off? That desperate? That far gone that we have to rely on pet food?"
Marshall softened. "I think wet food is pretty reasonable in comparison, personally."
"Reasonable to what?"
"Rats." Rick's expression tightened. "Therefore, my actions are not a reflection on the state of The Group, they're just a reflection of myself. While I stand by my reasoning: I was hungry and I'd rather than beans—I'll abstain from eating any more dog food, even with as funny as everyone's reactions were, that's taking food from Athena and Marshmallow's mouths. I won't do that. Besides, daddy did, of course, have a point with eventual malnourishment and scurvy. Pet food was not meant for human consumption and sustainability." Marshall offered the bowl with its meagre contents again, "Owl? Daryl added some spices to give it more flavour."
Rick heaved a tired sigh but took the bowl with a nod. He picked at the scraps for a moment before eating slowly; Marshall was right about the flavour. The portion was miniscule, but it was something and that was something. Marshall stared out the mosquito screen, absently fiddling with his tags through his shirt.
Rick watched him a for a moment. "Something on your mind?"
"Just thinking that your measure for rock bottom being pet food is... cute, is all."
"Cute?" Rock scoffed. "In comparison to what? Rats?"
Marshall gave his head a shake, looking over to the other man. "It wasn't an insult. Don't think about it too hard."
Rick's hand closed over Marshall's playing with his tags. "Tell me. What is it that I'm not seeing here? How are we supposed to lead this group through survival and toward living if I'm missing part of the picture?"
"Remember when we were in the kitchen sharing strawberries and I called you a Dreamer?" Rick furrowed his brows at the call-back that felt like a million years ago, but nodded. "Like you said, together. So, you be the carrot and I'll be the stick, okay?"
Rick shook his head. "That's not how it works."
"It works how ever we want it to work. There are no rules, so we make them."
"Then, I don't want it to work like that." Rick said. "Partners. Hand-in-hand through this, that's what you pinkie promised." Marshall's lips tightened. "Are you reneging your vow?"
"It was arm-in-arm actually." Marshall whispered.
"Hand-in-hand, arm-in-arm... your beside me either way."
"Can't you just trust me when I say: I don't want to blow your clouds away?"
Rick thought back to the dog run and kennels. "Is it equivalent?"
"You telling me not to look didn't stop me from picturing it."
"But...?"
"I suppose it was a case of Reality vs. Imagination."
"And this?"
"Imagination vs. Possible Reality...?"
"How do you know that I'm not already imagining this possible reality?" Rick challenged.
Marshall regarded him for an intense, searching moment. "You're not."
Rick sighed. He felt like he was losing his mind with this run-around he was being given. "You say Hershel and Beth are the most stubborn people you know—you clearly need to look in the mirror."
Mirth flashed in his green-eyes. "It's a genetic trait, what can I say?"
"You can tell me." He said softly.
"We're all just animals, y'know?" Marshall looked down at Rick's hand still holding his own against his chest, his own fingers grasping his tags in turn. "Life is just one big food chain. Extinction is inevitable, survival is adaptation. Survival instincts override humanity. We're all just animals. We're all just rats in the end." And that was all he said on the matter.
[tWD]
A brief honk from the Hyundai had everyone pulling their vehicles to a stop in the middle of the road; it was quiet and empty of piranha and any signs of other people. Rick set Carol, Beth, Sophia and Carl on lookout, while everyone else gathered around the marked map laid out on the Hyundai hood, with Lori staying seated in the passenger seat with the window down to hear the plan.
"With all signs pointing to that herd coming this way," Rick indicated on the map. "We're cut off. Hazzard County isn't a option anymore."
"Hazzard was the most hospitable place we've come across in terms of supply and demand. It's a shame." Marshall shook his head.
"A 150 head, thereabouts," Daryl said. "It'd just be a waste of time tryna circle 'round it."
"We don't have to circle it." Marshall reminded them, "All you gotta do is stand back, look pretty and watch me work-"
"You are not blowing them up." Rick said in exasperation.
"It was just a suggestion."
"An unreasonable one."
"I think it's pretty reasonable." He muttered stubbornly. "Just hear me out."
"What would you even use?" Glenn wondered curiously.
Eyes brightening, Marshall opened his mouth-
"No." Rick repeated firmly, sending Glenn his own look for encouraging the idea. "It's not happening."
"You do realize what happens after you blow them up, right?" Maggie raised a brow. "Other than the noise obviously drawing more walkers for miles around, kind defeating the whole purpose. Wherever you do, do it will become uninhabitable, what with the, you know—walker blood and guts and body parts covering and coating everything like cherry sauce." She deadpanned.
"Ah." Glenn grimaced. "Yeah. Maybe not such a good idea."
Marshall tsked, recognizing defeat. "Dammit, Maggie."
"That's what you get." She said smugly. "Come up with better plans next time. I'm surprised you even want to go back to Hazzard after what happened to Athena... or did you just want to blow something up?"
"One has nothing to do with the other. Piranha will always be wherever we go. If we leave every place that isn't perfect, then we'll never find a place at all." Marshall sighed, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. "Fine, I'll give-up on not blowing them up—for now, but I'm letting y'all know this," He held up his finger, "If I don't get to explode something all proper-like before I die, this whole end-of-the-world thing was an entire waste."
Daryl rolled his eyes. "Can we focus-up, people?"
"So, what are we doing, then?" T-Dog asked. "Where are we going?"
Rick stared at the map. "Only thing to do is double back at 27 and slingshot towards Greenville."
"Greenville sounds nice." Marshall mused with humour. "There's something about it..."
T-Dog shook his head though. "We picked through that during winter already."
"If the herd got held-up by the river," Hershel suggested, "We might be able to make a straight shot through here?"
"No," Rick shook his head. "At Newnan, we'll push West. Haven't been through there yet." He glanced at Marshall in question.
Marshall's Unit had been set-up and unmoving during the winter, but from the stories, Rick's Group had been pretty active so he knew it was better to heed the knowledge. "Sounds like a plan, Leader Man."
There was murmured agreement and confirmation of the plan all around.
"Alright. Is it cool if we fill-up on water at the creek before we head out?" T-Dog questioned. "Won't take long—we can boil it later when we set down for the night."
Rick nodded. "Knock yourselves out."
T-Dog patted the hood of the car. "C'mon, y'all." Maggie and Glenn followed. Daryl went to his bike for his crossbow.
"She can't take much more of this moving around." Hershel observed quietly.
Rick's gaze instinctively lifted from the map to find Lori through the windshield; she had a soft but subdued smile as Marshmallow was attempting to nest in the loose hair around her shoulders.
Rick's eyes and mouth tightened. "It's not like I want it to be like this."
Hershel laid a hand on his shoulder. "None of us do, son, but here we are. She's got a few more weeks until she's due, but you have got to realize, that that baby is coming whether you're ready for it or not. So, unless your plan is to have your child on the run," He parted with these wise words of wisdom: "We need to get our asses into gear."
Marshall's gaze quickly found the back of his baby sister's head, but she gave no indication that she'd heard. Woo-ee! If Beth heard daddy swear, even something as subdued as 'ass', she would become a fucking menace.
"He's right. You're right." Rick carded his fingers through his sweaty curls. "We can't keep being picky." He sighed and started to fold up the wrinkled and creased map. "We find a place that's got a water source nearby and good hunting ground—we're digging in."
"Don't let the daddy-in-law scare you." Marshall said. "No matter what happens... we got those medical supplies from the animal shelter. If she needs a C-section, we got it covered."
"What about after?" Rick countered. "When the baby's here and crying 24/7, and walkers are constantly snapping at out necks-"
"Then you got a whole group of people here who will put themselves between her and that baby and piranha if needs be." Marshall shut his freak-out down. "You are Richard 'Daddy' Grimes, alright? You're a father, you'll see what needs doing and you'll get it done. Simple as that. The Power of Love, I have found," He glanced over where their kids stood side-by-side on perimeter watch, "Is not a mere figure of speech—it's a force of nature. And nature always wins." Marshall clapped him lightly on his stubbled cheeks. "Steady on, Grimes." He backed up, spinning on his heel to grab his hunting gear from The Banana Mopeel, knowing Daryl had the same idea while they others were on water duty.
"Hey." Rick turned to look at Daryl. "While the others are washin' their panties, let's go hunt. That owl already ran its course yesterday."
"Yeah, alright." Rick nodded. He picked up the hunting rifle he'd leant against the bumper. Double-checked the chamber and made sure he had extra ammo in his belt pouch. "Mars?" Rick called. "You coming?"
Daryl tsked, but said nothing else.
"Me?" Marshall shut the car door and approached, already geared up; bow, quiver, and kill bag. "But I was gonna wash my panties in the creek." He mock pouted.
Daryl scoffed and started walking away, crossbow slung over his shoulders. "You ladies gonna give each other a trim, too?"
The two men exchanged amused looks and followed after the ornery hunter. "Clean underwear is important for good hygiene, so is keeping it trim." Marshall pointed out. "Where's the insult here?" He whistled for Athena.
"Is she healed enough to go hunting?" Rick asked as the dog caught up; Marshall had removed their stitches but still kept her wounds loosely wrapped for protection against outside elements.
"It won't be a long hunt, and she needs to stretch her legs or she'll stiffen up."
"Be back in a bit," Rick laid a brief hand on Carl's shoulder as the two passed after the hunter. "Watch out for your mother." The boy nodded.
"Papa?" Sophia watched him go.
"Just going for a little hunt, find something for breakfast." He pecked her forehead, walking backwards. "Won't be too long."
"But, it's passed breakfast." She pointed out.
Marshall smiled. "Breakfast is the first meal of the day, haven't had that yet."
"What's the rule?" Rick called back over his shoulder.
"Stick together," Carl said.
And Sophia finished, "Watch each other's backs."
"Too cute~" Marshall giggled, spinning around and catching up to his Partner.
Daryl had found a train track crossing up ahead and they followed the tracks into the woods. Daryl in the lead, Rick in the middle, and Marshall and Athena taking up the rear. The hunter already had a couple squirrel decorating his back. Marshall kept a keen ear out for anything rustling in the bushes, a close eye on Athena's countenance (any falter and he was heading back), and to Rick's bow-legged gait and those damn cowboy boots in-between. It was certainly not a combination he'd expected to be a party to before; he'd only hunted with Daryl that once. He was interested to see how good of a hunter Rick actually was, but alas. "We'll split off here." Marshall called out quietly after around 20 minutes of trekking.
Rick stopped and turned to him. "You want to split-up?"
"Yep. Daryl and I already made that arrangement, remember? Twice the hunting parties, twice the chance for eating."
"If you don't miss th' shot." Daryl pointed out.
"Daryl." Rick sent him a sharp look.
The hunter merely shrugged. "It's true."
"Okay, then." Was Marshall's only reaction. He stepped off the tracks. "Watch Daryl's six, stick to the tracks. I'll go miss my shots this way with Athena."
Rick frowned. "Are you sure? You're both still injured. What if you run into walkers?"
"This isn't our first rodeo, Rick." Marshall reminded. "And technically, I'll perpetually be injured." Rick, apparently, did not find that observation amusing. "We're fine. We'll meet up back at the cars in a couple hours, hm?" He glanced at Daryl, "Do a tally, huh?" Marshall didn't wait around for further argument. "Good hunting and adieu. Come, girl."
Rick stared after them, but Marshall didn't look back. "Let's go." Daryl ordered gruffly.
Not long after slipping off, Marshall's ears picked up a very enticing sound. A glance at Athena and her twitching pointed ear confirmed that it wasn't just a wish born from hunger. A silent woof left her and he grinned. "Hush, baby, don't make a sound." He made sure his steps were extra light and gave her the signal for optimal stealth-mode. He glanced up overhead at the flap of wings. "I spy with my keen little hawk-eyes," He cooed quietly. "Something a fowl doth fly overhead."
He could smell the water, hear the buzz of insects, the quacks. He silently gestured Athena down and hidden behind foliage, observed the idyllic scene. It reminded him of their pond back on the farm with its marshy shores crowded with reeds and cattails, though he supposed that was all ponds. Still, fucking ducks! A whole flock was lighted-down on the pond surface.
This would be better if he had more hands on deck to take shots, but, seeing as he was by his lonesome here, he needed to act accordingly. He'd get about two, maybe three arrows off if he was lucky, before the ducks realized they were in danger and took to scattered flight. So, in order to make this find truly worth it for 15 hungry mouths, he was just going to have to risk the noise.
Go big or go home empty handed, as they say.
He stretched his shoulder and kneaded the tendons in his hand, warming up. He was not going to fuck around with this. He silently rose upright, made sure the tail of his coat wasn't blocking his holster, the position of his quiver was optimal, and readied his compound bow. With his first arrow nocked, he searched for the perfect target to start off with... There, on the fringes of the raft. Pick off the ones from the outside. He drew and released. Its neighbour quacked, wings flapping, disturbed but not taking off just yet and alerting the rest. He took it out before it could realize that its partner was dead. His third arrow was for the mass, the reaction was immediate, the alarm went up, the flap of wings was deafening—he was already firing into the flock with his Berretta without reserve. The numerous splashes upon the pond surface was one of the most satisfying things Marshall had witnessed in a long time as the rest of the flock disappeared in the distance and silence descended.
There was no doubt that if there were any piranha within a 2 mile radius of the pond, they were headed here and he needed to work fast lest he get caught with his pants down and lose his treasures. Athena followed him out of the bushes to the shore, sharp gaze going to the surrounding tree line, listening for any excessive rustling.
"Eh, no! Heel." Marshall ordered, halting Athena before she got more than a paw wet. "Back, Athena. Guard, orange." He was not going to risk her catching something with her wounds not even scarred over yet.
He took off his quiver and set his bow aside from the shore at the base of a tree. His leather duster followed. His T-shirt. Seeing the feathered corpses floating out further due to the disturbed current of the water from the departing flock, he decided to strip to his underwear (even the bandage from his arm, no sense in soiling that). If there were piranha hiding in the water, perhaps stuck like they did in the swamp silt back at the farm, his cargo pants weren't gonna be much protection anyway—he also had too much shit in his pockets to bother with emptying them. He was trying to fast track this retrieval after all, so in nothing but his zebra briefs, his holster thrown across his shoulder, knife strapped to his thigh and kill bag, he entered the water.
He tossed the first two bow kills back onto shore with Athena, the water barely knee-deep, the mud soft and cold between his toes. He pushed himself fully into the water to gather the others. He did his best not to disturb the water and push them further away, with frequent looks cast around for any surprise visitors, and stuffed them into his filling kill bag. He got distracted by a duck that was still clinging to life, blood spreading in the water in thin wisps of dissipating red. He treaded water, wings whacking at him frantically as he broke its neck and ended its suffering. He swam to the final floating body a little further out, too far from shore to hear the disturbance in the trees—but he did hear Athena's warning bark.
Marshall whipped around in a splash of water and immediately started swimming back toward shore. His loaded kill bag clipped to the belt around his shoulder dragged behind him like a buoy. He took his Berretta from its holster, ready to fire upon the shore from the water if need be but needn't have worried so as Athena, though alert, was not growling at the incoming presence. It became clear why when the two familiar figures emerged from the tree line ready for trouble. Marshall paused his clipped paddle with a huff of relief, holstering his gun and continued back to shore at a more sedate pace.
Rick and Daryl had come running when they heard the multitude of gunshots. The only person it could have come from was Marshall and the only reason Marshall ever fired his gun was if there was trouble. They had long left behind the spot where Marshall and Athena had split off, so there was nothing for Daryl to track but go in the general direction where the shots—that had since gone silent—had come from. The scattered walkers they encountered heading in that same direction were the indication that they continued to head in the right direction. It was Athena's bark that told them they'd reached their destination.
Daryl saw the bright pink fletching sticking from two ducks on the grassy shore, but no sign of walkers or Marshall, just Athena. But Rick recognized the dog's behaviour as she paced the marked line of the shore by the ducks, had seen it upon Marshall's order—she was guarding. So, where was-
"Athena, white!"
The two men's attention snapped out into the pond and Athena settled at the command. Their own tension eased at laying sights on the third man, but they still exchanged a confused look.
"The hell you doin'?" Daryl demanded as Marshall finally reached them, pausing at the shore on his knees and submerged to his waist. He wiped the dripping hair from his forehead. Daryl's expression twisted a moment later, "You naked?!" He demanded.
Marshall smirked and without warning, straightened in the shallow water. Daryl whipped around so fast, it was a surprise the momentum didn't just carry him back around again. Marshall chuckled as he stepped from the water and onto shore. "Ah." He snapped the band of his underwear. "Looks like I got to wash my panties after all. Even I'm not insane enough to go in there completely naked—what if there was a snapping turtle?"
Daryl did not turn back around, scowl trained on the tree line; but Rick's never left him and he was not in a laughing mood. "What are you doing?" Rick questioned. "We heard gunshots and we find you swimming in the pond!"
"Hunting." Marshall walked passed them, dripping and crouched in front of his stuff at the tree. Daryl grabbed up the two duck on shore and started to cut out the arrows. "The reason we're out here." Marshall set aside his wet and full kill bag and took out his Berretta; using his shirt, he quickly dismantled the firearm, dried it and reassembled it.
"And the gunshots? We killed walkers following those same as we were." Rick stared at the gunshot scar on his back, way too close to his spine for comfort. Every time Rick turned around it seemed like there was just another and another scar to add to the list on the man.
"The risk was worth the reward." He straightened with his T-shirt in hand, using it as a towel to dry of.
"Two ducks?" Daryl tied said ducks into the company of his squirrels.
"There are at least 9 in the bag." Marshall nodded at it. "I was thinking... my daughter is going to eat today and tomorrow. And so are my sisters, and your kids, and you. And everyone else. So, yes, getting caught with my pants off was well worth the risk."
Rick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We thought something terrible had happened."
"Good things can happen, too." Marshall brushed off the dirt clinging to his leg and foot, put it through a pant leg, followed by his sock and boot, then repeated with his other leg, finally pulling his cargo pants over his damp underwear, zipping and buckling up—Daryl finally glanced in his direction.
"You're right. Come on." Rick tilted his head. "We found something, too."
"Oh?" Marshall queried curiously. He slipped on his duster over bare shoulders (his wet shirt stuffed into a pocket), belted on his quiver and bow, and slung the kill bag over his shoulder to drip harmlessly down the back of his coat. Marshall followed after the duo, anticipation of this Interesting Thing mounting as he was taken back to the train tracks through a trail of walker bodies. "Did you find an abandoned train? Because we can totally make that work. You know-"
Rick grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. "Just look." And with a fingers on his chin, directed Marshall to look through a break in the foliage. He smirked when the man's expression went slack, before his green-eyes got wider and brighter as each piece clicked into place for what it was he was actually seeing down below.
"It's not a Lake House by any means, but I think it'll do just fine." Rick smiled. His own blue-eyes bright and excited as he turned his gaze to their new sanctuary despite the enclosed yard clustered with walkers. Marshall had called him a 'Dreamer', but sometimes dreams do come true.
[...tbc...]
MAGGIE: *KNEE 'EASY-OPENING' *
MARSHALL: *K.O.*
GLENN: I guess we found your kryptonite.
T-DOG: I'm pretty sure a knee-to-the-nuts is any man's kryptonite.
...The walking DEAD...
Tripping Daisies - Piranha
One Republic - Secrets
Beans Bean The Magical/Musical Fruit
You Are My Sunshine
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Seeing as the last chapter had a decided lack of piranha-action and The Group is now on the road, I wanted to make up for it... Sigh, now I remember how it's difficult to write walker-killing without it seeming so repetitive and boring. Definitely more entertaining to watch it.
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Just an aside: I honestly admit that I don't think I write Hershel very well? His relationship with Marshall is a very complex labyrinth of emotions. In Hershel's view, Marshall leaving to join the Army equates leaving/abandoning the family; that he basically forfeited his 'rights' as eldest son. Plus, the constant worry and grief about the danger Marshall puts himself in and through, Hershel's just resigned and will be unsurprised by his son's eventual and inevitable death—and that by Marshall forming that precious bond with Sophia, he's only giving her eventual pain. I think Hershel is a very direct man, when he's not, you know, hiding walkers in the barn—this is the paper-shield I stand behind for how he may be OOC.
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The dog-food scene from season 3 of the show was actually what inspired this entire thing/story with Marshall . i.e. Marshall eating wet dog food, and it only took 11 chapters and around 300,000 words to get there LMFAO.
Whoo! This chapter ended up being so, so much more longer than anticipated (thank God I decided to split this into 2-parts, huh? With the length of this chapter, maybe I should have broken it into 3-parts LOL). Was this chapter filled with useless filler-shit? Perhaps, perhaps not. You're gonna have to stick with it to truly find out, I guess. ;) I am excited to finally get to the Prison Arc because we all know what's going to happen... or do we? *Dun-dun-dun!*
Everybody have a pleasant holiday season and I'll see you all in the New Year 2025 with the next chapter in a couple-ish months!
