Don't Whistle Past the Graveyard

Ch. Twenty

"Am I the only one who remembers what happened last night?" Shane snapped, standing back up again. He winced when his weight was put back on his injury.

I felt myself pale at the reminder. In the light of day, I was embarrassed, frustrated and just plain mad that I had broken up like that the other night. "That doesn't mean I need you to treat me with kid gloves, Shane! What gives you the right to—"

"What gives me the right is that I care," Shane cut me off. "What gives me the right is that I'm responsible for you and my brother. What gives me the right is that I couldn't risk you falling asleep or falling to pieces by yourself on watch. I made a call and if you don't like it, then that's just too damn bad."

I stood staring, choked by everything I wanted to shout at him. The first thing that managed to come up was, "You know, I'm not sure I like you very much right now."

Shane looked away, then back at me, a humorless smile curling his lips. "Well that's your prerogative. I didn't wake you up because, despite everything that's happened, you were actually able to sleep. You're not always gonna be that lucky, and I wasn't tired."

"Don't lie to me," I hissed. "You've had even less sleep than me."

"I'm not lying. I couldn't sleep," Shane started.

"Why?"

"Because I was too busy worrying about you dammit!" Shane sighed, forcing his voice back down. He looked like he hadn't meant to admit that. "I was just worried, Raleigh. Especially after last night. This isn't because I think you can't handle it or whatever it is that has you so offended. It's just that I was worried."

I stood there for a moment, trying to hold on to my indignation, but it was difficult when he was watching me with that steady gaze of his. In the morning light, his eyes were just a little bit more blue than grey.

Softly, he said, "We don't always know when we'll be able to get a decent night's sleep. I didn't think you would sleep at all. Or that if you did, it would be fitful at best and hardly any better than no sleep."

He held his hand out to me, but I didn't take it. "I wanted you to sleep because I need you and Kyle at your best. I'm counting on you. I've got to trust that you'll be able to take care of yourself, and part of that is knowing your limits."

Shane sighed again and rubbed at his eyes. "You never would have broken down like that if you weren't strung out, Raleigh. You're not that kind of person. Shit just doesn't phase you that easy."

The last part of my anger drained away at Shane's words, and it was my turn to sigh. I frowned and asked, "Promise you won't do it again?"

Shane shook his head. "No."

"What?" My anger was back.

Hilariously his hand was still out as he repeated, "No."

"Why?" I folded my arms again. Maybe he'd get the message and drop the stupid hand.

"Because you're gonna have more bad days," he said simply, looking grim. My arms dropped and I stared at him in shock. Had he really just said that?

Shane continued, "More bad things are going to happen. You're going to have to kill more zombies. Maybe you'll have to kill people." He shrugged. "Don't get me wrong. We're all gonna have bad days. And I'd bet my last dime to say that when I have a bad day, you're not gonna wake me up for watch either."

I was quiet then. Damn him. How did he always end up being right?

If our positions had been switched, I wouldn't have woken him up either.

"Now, would you come over here? My arm is getting tired." Shane waved his hand and I finally took it. He pulled me to the bed and I sat next to him, sighing when his arm went around my waist.

"You're a jerk," I muttered.

Shane laughed and he said, "Yeah. I know."

I rested my head on his shoulder, then stood up when I remembered something. "Hey, lay down."

Shane looked up at me with a grin. "Aren't you at least going to buy me a drink first?"

I smacked my hand at his chest and said, "Not for that. I want to look at your ankle."

Shane lay down and put his arms behind his head. I pursed my lips as I unlaced his boot. Now that was just unfair. His t-shirt was pulled tight across his chest, and I frowned as I realized what a waste last night had been.

He caught me looking and raising an eyebrow, said, "You sure you don't want to look at anything else, Doc?"

I rolled my eyes at him before pulling his sock off and starting to unwrap his foot. I whistled when I finally got to skin, and Shane sat up.

"Huh. Well, that's pretty," Shane said, frowning at his ankle which was purple with shades of green and yellow around the edges.

"Well," I mused. "The swelling doesn't seem too bad at least. I want you to take some of that ibuprofen I found though."

Shane nodded then lay back down with a soft groan. I stood looking at him for a moment, then went over and shut the door. He looked at me when I kicked off my boots.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

His eyes widened when I shimmied out of my jeans. Climbing onto the bed, I tugged at his belt and said, "Making last night up to you."

Shane laughed in this throaty way that drove me crazy. "You ain't gonna catch me arguing, Doc."

I'm not going to go into detail about what happened after that. Not that kind of girl so, sorry, not sorry.

Instead, I'll take a moment to go back to something Shane had said earlier. It became another rule.

Rule #8: There are going to be more bad days.

Fatalistic, I know. But not wrong.

You might as well wrap your head around that now.

And I know what you're thinking by the way: Obviously the whole thing with the little girl wasn't that upsetting if she can get over it so easily and fool around with her boyfriend.

But that wasn't it. Not really.

It was still sad. And believe it or not, I'm still carrying that one with me.

It's the only one I really remember. Eventually, all the other zombies just started blurring together. I've killed so many, I couldn't even begin to guess at how many by now.

No. It was just something I'd thought about when I was falling asleep that night.

I was alive. Shane was alive.

He was the here and now, and that little girl was the past.

Here's another rule for you. I think it ties in rather nicely with #8.

Rule #9: You must be able to move on.

Unless you're Gibbs, in which case, Rule #9 is: Always have a knife.

Just kidding. Although, definitely always have a knife.

No, my point with this rule is that you can't let the past eat you up. Literally or figuratively.

Move forward, or risk getting left behind, one way or the other.

It's just that simple.