NOT DEAD YET | C. GRIMES

FIFTY

Half an hour later, she was carrying a covered tray of food two houses over, stepping down into the cell. Behind the dark metal bars was Eugene, already awake and reading like he always was.

"Morning Eugene." She said as she unlocked the cell, noticing him setting a quantum mechanics book down. "I made you pancakes today. We're out of fresh fruit, though, so I hope you like canned peaches."

"Thank you, Luna." Eugene nodded as she set the tray down on his small table. She stood back, leaning against the doorway.

"Are you ready to come out yet?" She asked, already knowing his answer.

"Negative." Eugene shook his head.

"Okay." Luna sighed, stepping out and shutting the metal door once again. "Eugene, those of us that were there...we all had to do whatever we could to stay alive in the Sanctuary, too. Everyone understands why you did what you did."

"I know that." He nodded. She sighed again, nodding dejectedly as she clicked the lock on the cell door.

"Have a good day Eugene, I'll see you at dinner time." She said, clicking her ring of keys to one of her belt loops.

"You too, Luna." She nodded again, stepping outside and sighing deeply. Stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets, she hurried up the stairs and made her way over to Tara's. She knew that Tara was still over at Oceanside so she let herself into the infirmary, flicking on the light before beginning to move around the room. Eventually she found a few thermometers tucked in the back of a drawer, so she grabbed one and stuck it in her mouth. She was really only doing this for Carl's peace of mind, and since she hated lying to him she figured if she just did what she said she would, it would make things easier. Deep down, she knew it wouldn't.

Eventually, she'd have to face facts. But not today. The thermometer read 97.6, so she washed it off in the sink and left it on the counter, flicking off the light as she left the small building. She sighed, looking around at the people all working around her. There were a few teams working on building new houses, in the small field where Carl had almost died. She shook the memory from her forebrain, instead setting a course for home. When she got there, she walked around to the back of the brownstones, where a small stick poked only a few inches out of the ground.

She sunk to her knees in front of it, thumbing the red fabric that was tied around it, fully aware that just a few feet below her was the weapon that Negan had almost killed Carl with. She sucked in a breath, shutting her eyes in a feeble attempt to stop the tears that had begun to flow. Seven months. It had been seven months since that day, and she'd counted each one. At first, it was hard. Everyone around her celebrating and rejoicing. She wanted so desperately to join them, but she couldn't. Every time she tried, she remembered another thing about him. The smile he used to get while showing her his favorite music, the smell of his old car, their favorite movies they used to watch together, the old video games they used to play together. It was too much.

It was still too much, if she was being honest with herself. She'd been the one to kill him, she'd been the one to tell Rick to burn the body, but she felt so mentally distant from that day that it was hard to remember that she had been the one. She'd learned to compartmentalize after a few months, mostly so everyone around her would stop worrying so much and would focus on rebuilding the world with the other communities. She knew that Carl knew that she wasn't okay, but they never talked about it. And she was fine with that. She didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want to talk about him, ever again.

Intrusive thoughts had become a very average affair for her since she'd compartmentalized. Some told her that she deserved to be in the ground next to the bat, others told her that if she hadn't done what she had, all of her family would be dead now and that it would've been her fault. Mostly, though, they only succeeded in making her feel guilty. Guilty about the future that she'd possibly robbed herself of with her father. Only once had she heard someone bring up the idea of having saved Negan and kept him prisoner, as punishment for everything he did. She knew Rosita wasn't trying to come down on her for what she did, but Luna was well aware how most people thought that he didn't suffer nearly enough.

On hand, she agreed. A few minutes of pain from a single gunshot wound didn't make up for everything he'd done to everyone he'd done it to. But on the other hand, Luna didn't think she could stomach ever letting him live. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. But then that little intrusive thought would poke in, telling her that if she hadn't killed him, maybe she could've rehabilitated him. Maybe she could've gotten her father back. Maybe. It was all maybes. Maybes and what if's of the past that she couldn't change, of the past that she'd caused.

She let out a shaky breath as she opened her eyes again, her hand slowly moving to rest over her stomach almost instinctively. If she was right, and deep down she knew she was, her child would at least have grandparents in Rick and Michonne. And they'd have everyone else as family too, just like she did. But there was something in her, some longing, that wished her father could've met them. That maybe that would've changed him. Swallowing hard, she wiped her face and pushed herself to her knees, eyes not leaving the red scarf. She had to remind herself that the past was the past, and that it didn't matter what she wondered now.

"Seven months." She reminded herself.

—————

"Really?" Carl raised his eyebrows. "Totally normal?"

"Yeah." Luna nodded, keeping her eyes focused on the food she was cooking. "Totally. Must've just been some fluke thing."

"Yeah, I guess." He nodded, coming to lean on the counter next to the stove. "You know, Dr. Carson should be here in a few days-he's in Oceanside right now I think. Maybe you should talk to him."

"Okay." She glanced over at him, seeing the same worry on his face as he'd had that morning. "What is it?"

"Nothin'." He shook his head. "I'm gonna go shower while you finish up dinner. I feel disgusting after today." She couldn't help but chuckle, feeling his lips press against the side of her head.

"That's what happens when you're out working in the sun all day." She remarked, glancing up at him as he left the room. She shook her head lightly, focusing her attention fully back on dinner. Soon enough it was done, and she stepped back outside with Eugene's dinner tray. When she came down towards the cell, she was surprised to see Rosita sitting on the stairs. "Hey." Rosita looked up, looking a little surprised.

"Oh, hey." She nodded as Luna walked past her down the stairs. "That for him?"

"Yeah, just like always." Luna nodded. "You okay?"

"I..." Rosita trailed off, biting her lip. "Yeah. I'm good." Rosita stood up, dusting off the back of her pants. "Have a good night, Luna."

"You too." Luna called after as Rosita jogged up the stairs. Moving inside, she found Eugene reading once again. She exchanged his breakfast tray for his dinner tray, said goodnight, and returned home. Carl was still showering, so she quickly washed the dishes before serving up dinner, just as Carl came downstairs. They sat across from each other at the table, quietly eating their spaghetti. Until finally, Carl broke the silence.

"We need to talk about something." He said, setting his fork down.

"What's up?" She asked, eyebrows furrowing as she looked up at him. He raised his eyebrows, looking at her expectantly. "What?"

"Lu..." He sighed, running a hand through his long hair. His gaze was aimed at the table for a second, before finally looking up to meet her eyes. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"