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M E G A N
Two pairs of people sit on opposite sides of the metal building, which is illuminated by the small fire.
Aaron and Eric lie cozied up next to the warmth of the small flame. Whereas Carl and I sit on the cold concrete floor, leaning against the wall.
Night has fallen since our subtle reunion. Neither the boy nor I have had an opportunity to discuss anything that happened this past week. Not anything from the night at the car, to now. The boy's whereabouts—how he ended up in the same place as me—remain a mystery for the time being.
I was finally able to introduce myself to Aaron, who graciously greeted me with open arms, literally. The man thanked me for saving Eric's life. The dramatics about what he would've done had his boyfriend died being something I'm glad he—for now—won't have to experience.
Carl then asked the two men the usual three questions, leading to a short discussion before we left the couple alone to bask in their short glory. The two of us have been sitting in awkward, thick silence for the past few minutes.
"New weapon choice?" The familiar sound of his voice rings out. A sound I'd convinced myself I'd never get to hear again.
"What?"
"You starting a tool collection that I don't know about?" He says, his hand motioning to the obvious dark-blue handle sticking out of my holster, where its flathead blade clearly doesn't fit.
"Oh, no." I say, a shy smile playing on my face as a result of my pride in my new weapon, as well as the awkwardness of our minimal words.
"The thin surface area lets it slip right out." I say, taking my weapon out of my holster and studying it before motioning as if I were to pull it out of a walker's head. The both of us dance around what happened, resulting in the small-talk being so, painfully awkward.
"Cool."
Our side of the empty warehouse falls silent yet again. The boy lets out a stifled sniffle. My eyes look around the room for something to start a conversation before they land on Carl's gun, one of the only weapons he's had since we left the prison. The nosy part of me wonders if ever he had to use it.
"So," I start, catching his attention. He slightly tilts his head toward me, not fully meeting my gaze. "How many walkers have you killed?"
"What?"
"How many walkers have you killed?" I say, this time a bit slower, carefully enunciating my playful words.
"However many were in my way." Carl remarks, in his joking manner.
"How many people have you killed?" My voice sounds out. It's only as the words roll off the tip of my tongue that I realize killing people isn't something for the two of us to be joking about.
"Two." He answers, the smiles fading from both of our faces.
Not knowing what else to say, I continue with the last of the three questions. "Why?"
"One was an accident." Carl starts, a breathy sigh to follow. "The other was a precaution. That boy in the woods." His dreadful voice almost putting him in pain as he says the words. "Not that I don't regret both."
This whole time I'd thought that the boy from the war was the only one he'd killed. Another living body down—under the boy's responsibility—was something I hadn't expected. My mind ponders the possibility of this second death happening before or after we met. Maybe even in the past few days while we were separated.
"How many walkers have you killed?" Carl's sarcastic tone redirects the conversation toward me after the tense moment of silence.
"The number has definitely gone up today. I killed every one I came across." I say, trying to break the barrier of talking about what happened to us while we were apart.
"People?"
"None, yet."
"Why?"
"Eventually, I'll have to." I start, accepting that this world will force me to kill or be killed. "I would've killed that man—back at the car." I say, nearly tripping over my own words as I reiterate who I'm talking about.
"I would've, too." The boy says. His serious voice rings out, a new depth from his vocal chords I almost didn't notice. "You could've done it, you know. If he didn't show up. You could've saved us."
"That's what I'd like to think."
"That's what would've happened." Carl's head moves forward as he lowers his stern voice closer to my face.
The boy doesn't allow either one of us to consider the other possibility. It didn't happen so it isn't a problem. A close call is just that—a close call.
"Yeah." I breathe out, the lack of opacity in my voice allows for the raspiness to make itself known.
Nothing but the sounds of our slow breaths are present in the air surrounding us. Silence creeps its way in between every breath and—in turn—fizzles out when our chests fall with the release of another shy breath.
My eyes search around for any excuse to ignore the thoughts of that man's hot breath. His sticky sweat. The feeling of his long hair tickling my forehead. The look on Carl's face as the man whispered in his ear. My arms being squeezed so tightly to my ribs that I can still feel the pressure from the ridges of the bone protruding from my thin, starved chest. I don't know what would've been worse, Carl having to see that happen to me, or seeing that happen to him. Would those men even have killed us after? Or would we have to live with wh—
Aaron and Eric quietly chuckle amongst themselves next to the fire. I'm happy they can at least enjoy the warmth from its flames. All I feel sitting over here is the pulsating coldness from the floor. My eyes flick to the boy, seeing him lost in thought, presumably about the same things I was.
"What do we think about them?" My voice hangs low so the two men don't hear. Carl blinks a few times before looking over to me.
"I actually like them." He reluctantly huffs out. "If everything they say is true—which so far, it has been—this could be everything." He says, a persuasive tone in his voice as if he's trying to convince me of their reliability.
"At first, I wasn't so sure," I say, pausing. "But they've been nothing but good to the both of us." I offer a forced smile, raising the corners of my lips for a moment.
"Has time alo—" He says nervously, his pubescent voice cracking before he pauses, closing his eyes. We both chuckle. "Has it been good to you? Time alone?" The laughter in our atmosphere quickly dies down as the boy brings up what I'd planned on avoiding.
"To be honest," I mutter. "No, not at all." I start. I start and I can't stop. My body flushes with relief as it pushes out the foremost thoughts lingering in my brain. "Not knowing was hard. Not knowing if you hated me, if I was going to see you again, if you were even alive."
"Why would I be the one hating you?" He nudges my arm with his elbow. "You're the one who stormed off." He scoffed, chuckling. "Fuck you, Carl." He mocks a high-pitched girly tone. I involuntarily laugh a little at his antics. "You seemed to be the angry one."
"I'm sorry I said that." The smile drops from my face as I say something that's been heavy on my mind since that night. "I didn't mean it, I was just—"
"Scared." The boy says at the same time as me. His deeper voice drowning out my own for the passing moment. "I was too. I was really scared." He says. I lift my eyes to meet his as he finally gives in and looks me in the face.
"If those guys would've—if—" His voice trails off, breaking the unspoken limits from a few moments ago when I'd mentioned the men. "I don't know what I would've done. It would've been all my fault." His statement immediately makes my eyebrows furrow.
"Carl—" I interject the boy's continuous words. "It wouldn't have been your fault." I say, making sure to look deep into the boy's guilty eyes. "You couldn't have known that we'd run into people like them. It's their fault, not yours. And if you thought that I blamed you for that, you're completely wrong." I stop speaking when I notice an overly-passionate, defensive tone in my sorrowful voice.
"I blame myself for that." His closed lips then twitch, stretching side-to-side for a nervous moment. "You were right. It was all my fault." He shakes his head, tearing his shameful eyes away from mine. "I shouldn't have made you leave the prison with me. I shouldn't have even left."
"Do you really regret it?" I ask the repenting boy, my eyebrows knitted together in concern.
His eyes stay searching mine for a few lingering moments. Before he sucks in a breath, preparing his words. "No."
"Me neither." I admit, although he didn't ask. He wasn't going to ask.
It's not until answering my own question that I realize how much I actually valued our time out there. In this moment, no—I don't regret leaving the prison. Maybe I did when I was starving. During the bad parts? Sure, obviously. Especially when we realized the prison was no longer there, I initially had several regrets.
Maybe now I don't regret leaving because Carl is once again by my side, like the past week hadn't even happened. And if I had never left the prison, I would've regretted staying there even more. I would've missed out on everything the boy and I have been through together.
What I was really trying to ask was if he regretted our time together.
Because I sure didn't.
"The only thing I regret is letting you down." His voice breaking through the tense air between us.
"You didn't let me down, Carl." I remark, sending the boy an involuntary smile. "You found me, didn't you?" I ask him, placing my hand on his knee, gently shaking his bent leg back and forth a few times before returning my hand to my lap.
"I guess I did." He says with a shy smile, finally letting himself accept his own apologies.
"I found you too." I say through my wide open mouth as a smile showcases my teeth, which almost never get to see the light of day. "On foot." I huff.
"Speaking of that," Carl says. "Aaron said he'd teach me how to drive. That is, you know, if I go back to their community. If we decide to go with them." He says, once again nudging my upper arm with his elbow.
"I think we should." I say, my small smile never disappears from my face as the conversation grows remotely serious.
"I'm leaving this one up to you, Megan." Carl shakes his head and teases. "I'm trying to see where trusting you will get me." The boy mocks my words, being stubborn about what I said that night.
"Carl," I sigh, no longer laughing as nothing but guilt runs cold through my veins. Those words leaving his mouth remind me of how horribly I acted toward him. "Can we just pretend that night never happened? You know, start fresh? I feel terr—"
"Consider it forgotten." He says, taken aback by my overly-apologetic tone.
"Okay." I hum, managing the sad, small smile that plays across my lips. A foreign feeling instills itself in the pit of my stomach—a feeling of new relief.
"Do you really think we should go?" He asks. His blue eyes study my expression, not missing a single detail. "If this is something we want, we shouldn't pass it up. This could be good for us."
"I think we should." I nod, swallowing a lump in my throat. "I want something good for us, too." My words saying things that race through my mind.
Our eye contact lingers, the serious nature of our conversation is nothing like our usual banter. Not sure how to feel about it, my eyes study the boy's face as his mind absorbs my words.
Someone clearing their throat catches our attention. Both of our heads snap towards the noise.
Aaron stands in the middle of the warehouse, looking to us.
"In the morning, Eric and I are going to head back." I go to speak, but his voice stops me. "You don't have to give us an answer now. Sleep on it and we can talk about it when we wake up."
"Okay," I say. "Thank you." My head nods with the words.
Aaron sends me another gracious nod, before walking back over and sitting down next to Eric. Both of the men lie back down on their pillow and curl up against each other. The warmth of that much affection being something I've never seen or known.
I sigh, turning my head back to Carl.
"Maybe we should get some sleep." I mutter, my emotional disturbance now evident as my mind replays the scene of the happy couple.
The sight of new people is enough for one day. Two sheltered survivors happily laughing as if they're among a normal campfire is definitely too much. Jealousy, resentment, sadness—no label covers the complexities I feel about the sight. No label but loneliness.
I sigh, gently slapping my hand to my thigh before aiming to head over to the sleeping bag Eric gave me.
"Megan?" Carl says before I can lift myself up. I turn toward him, leaning back against the wall for another moment.
"What is it?" I ask, looking at the shadow of his nose bounce around on top of his pale freckles from the orange light of the crackling fire.
He puts his hand on my thigh. His palm and fingers spread across the back of my hand, which separates his skin from the surface of my pant leg. Only for a moment, my confusion leads me to search his face, thinking he's trying to subtly tell me something important out of earshot from the the happy couple.
"I missed you out there." A sad smile plays on his face for a moment, before the gravity of his words takes over. He then gently squeezes my hand, the warmth radiating off of his rough skin.
"I missed you too."
☆
The motionless world spins around me.
Children laugh and dogs bark, although the nostalgic sounds are drowned out by the buzzing static coming from my brain. The shock from encountering this untouched community runs through my body as I sit perched on these front steps, fiddling with one of my empty holsters.
Several minutes continue to pass while Carl is on the other side of the door, being interviewed by the leader of Alexandria. Deanna. The few seconds I met her—in passing—weren't quite enough to determine how nervous I should be. Instead, my body decided for me and nearly sent myself into full panic mode.
I'm thankful that the boy volunteered to go first. He fearlessly marched inside the house, not letting me in on his simple thought process.
After the long car ride here, Aaron and Eric have since gone home to shower, and now the men sit behind me, gingerly swinging on the porch swing. Both of them wear new sets of clean clothing. The gentle scent of soap floats into the air, overstimulating yet another one of my senses.
From the second the metal gates slammed shut, I've been made aware that I'm very out of place—at least upon my arrival.
Every person strolling by sees my battered appearance. Most offer me a smile and others even send a friendly nod. It's like they know how this place will affect me as a newcomer, and they're just waiting for me to find out.
The gentle creaking of the screen from the front door cuts through my racing thoughts. Soon after, the flimsy screen smacks back into the door frame.
"Your turn." Carl's voice sounds out from behind me. He places one of his feet onto the first step, while the other is still on the porch, lowering himself a little.
My eyes trace up the boy's boot to his face. He stands with a hand on the railing as he waits for my response. I stand to my feet, pushing my hands against the wooden porch. My heavy boots walk up two of the steps, before I'm at the top. I look over to the boy.
"It isn't so bad." He offers me a smile. His slight tone of pity is enough to let me know that he's never understood what I'm feeling. The boy has never felt this secluded, like this much of an outsider.
As for myself, I can't help but hope that this won't be a repitition of my integration into his old group, his family. Still having never been fully accepted by every member of the prison group, the doom of meeting the civilized people of Alexandria hangs my self-esteem out to dry.
I nod to the boy and swallow the growing lump in my throat. My body moves before I can overthink and my hand swings open the screen door. I place my foot into the house. The cleanliness of the floor being the first thing I notice. Should I take my shoes off?
"Hello." The woman's voice sounds out. My eyes switch from the clean floor to her. "I'm Deanna Monroe."
"Megan."
"Would you mind if I filmed our talk?" The lady asks. Why would she need to film our conversation? It's a luxury that she even has the resources to film anything. "If it makes you feel any better, the boy let me film ours."
"I guess not." I mutter.
"Please, have a seat." The woman motions to an empty chair.
My feet hesitantly move from the front door towards the fluffed cushion of the lone chair. I then sit across from the tripod she is currently fiddling with. Deanna moves out of the way to reveal a cam-corder. Red, blinking light and all. The small fragment of electricity perplexes me.
"So, Megan." She starts, sitting adjacent to the tripod, leaving me as the only subject being filmed. "How long have you been out there?"
"A couple of months." My words remain minimal.
"How did you and the boy find each other? Did you know each other before or—"
"If you asked Carl these questions then you already know the answer. Why do you have to ask me?" My voice breaks out. The woman smiles, a humorless chuckle leaving from between her pink-stained lips.
"We're all about transparency here, love." The friendly woman says.
Everything in my body says that she's mocking me. The clean woman sits across from me as the blood from my clothes ruins the fabric of her pristine piece of furniture. There's no telling who will see that video or what they will think of the untamed animal sitting in front of the lense.
"A little over a month." I give in, letting her access the detailed information she wants. "It's kind of hard to keep track of time out there." My reasoning may open up her mind to the realities of living outside of such pampered walls. "And no, we didn't know each other, before."
"How'd you two cross paths?" She asks, matter-of-factly.
Cross paths? Cross paths?
There's nothing as simple as crossing paths anymore. Carl and I never crossed paths. We never just so happened to stumble into each other—into everything we've been through together. It didn't just all coincidentally happen.
Is that what she'd call how I found Eric? Crossing paths? I tracked a man as if my life depended on it and ended up having to save him from a herd of the dead who came back to kill.
Saving lives is so much more than crossing paths.
"We were both part of a group." I start, sucking in an angered breath. "At a prison. It was a sturdy setup."
"You said was." The woman slightly picks up one of her hands, raising a curious finger. "What happened to it?"
"What always happens." I start, the confused woman having no idea what I'm referencing. Her ignorance of the outside world is something I'm jealous she has the privilege of. "People. People happened."
"Is that how you two ended up by yourselves? With no adults?" The woman pries.
I hardly manage to stop my body from letting out a sarcastic laugh. The woman clearly sees two unsupervised teens as more of a problem than two people facing a whole world of those things.
"Yeah," I start. One way or another, Carl and I did end up alone and the prison did fall. The lie rolling off of my tongue doesn't sting as isn't a big one. "It is." The woman takes a second to adjust to my words.
Her eyes linger on me as she studies my demeanor. She knows I'm lying. I bet Carl already told her the truth.
"How did you end up here?" I ask, trying to distract from my obvious secrecy.
"The military stopped me on a backroad." She starts. "They sent everyone here, to the new up-and-coming community. They were supposed to come back later. They never did." She says in a monotone, disappointed voice. "But there were supplies here and we made the best of it."
"There were already walls?" I ask the woman. I may have been in the prison for months before it all started, but that wasn't nearly enough time for people to randomly decide to build walls around entire, civilized neighborhoods.
"No, love." Deanna chuckles, noticing my apparent cluelessness. I guess one way or another, we both have a lot to learn. "There was a shopping mall nearby that was under construction. My husband, Redge, was a professor of architecture. He designed our walls." She says, finalizing her response, before her voice suddenly cuts in again. "Post-outbreak." The woman smiles.
The embarrassment I feel about my obliviousness is soon overshadowed by a slight comfort from the woman's laugh. Every feeling of mockery I got from her quickly subsides when I realized she's laughing with me, not at me.
"You've haven't left these walls this entire time?" I question, my curiosity getting the better of my guard the woman was able to bring down. She shakes in response.
"No." Deanna says, leaning forward placing her elbows onto her bony knees. "That's why we need people who've lived out there. Like I told the boy, you're the first people we've even considered bringing in, in a very long time." Her eyes burn into me, as she speaks to me with nothing but intention. "You both have Aaron and Eric to thank for that. If they didn't say we could trust you, you wouldn't be here."
"If we didn't trust them, we wouldn't be here." I retort, playing her own words.
The woman gives off a defeated smile. "No, I guess you wouldn't."
☆
Post-interview, my partner—or so they keep referring to Carl as—and I sit across the dining table from Aaron and Eric.
Intricately spaced-out place settings lie in front of us. The smell of hot spaghetti hits my nostrils as whisps of steam rise from its surface, twirling out of the bowl in front of me.
The men thought it best to treat us to a warm meal right after our conversations with Deanna. My interaction with the woman, unexpectedly, left me somewhat satisfied about our choice to come to this community.
Both Carl and I sit straight up, stiff as a board, across from the two men enjoying their noodles. Neither of us dare to take the first bite as our growing hunger taunts us.
A culture-shock stuns us in this moment.
An available meal, metal utensils, two neatly dressed people who have the capacity to dine over the surface of a wooden table. The hot food is freshly cooked as opposed to being charred over burning pieces of paper in a metal bowl.
"You know," Eric begins, cutting us into their conversation. The man's eyes shoot across the table, meeting my own. "When your back feels better, I'd be happy to be your first patient." He says, his eyes glimmering with friendliness as he looks at me.
Carl's eyebrows immediately furrow at the man across from him. So do mine.
"I think that a few gashes and a sprained ankle would make for some good entry-level practice. Don't you?" He starts again.
Aaron then grunts, nudging the man once with his elbow. Carl and I look to him. He stares Eric down with eyes of gentle warning.
"I thought it was done." Eric admits, catching whatever subtle message Aaron was trying to send him. The embarrassed man twirls his fork around in the steaming spaghetti. "Deanna didn't ask you already?"
"Ask us what?" Carl asks him, a concerned look on the boy's face.
"Well," Aaron cuts in, before his boyfriend can dig himself any deeper. I watch the conversation before me as if it were a movie. The suspense making it feel as though I was spectating from my very seat. "Deanna gives everyone assignments, here. Roles they play to develop the community."
"I thought she asked you guys after the interviews." Eric sheepishly admits.
"Wh—what are our roles?" The first words come out of my mouth since I've been awkwardly seated here.
"For Megan," Aaron starts. "With Eric's help, Deanna gathered that you know your way around an injury." The man pauses, twirling his fork in his noodles, shrugging his shoulders. "After you're fully recovered, she would like for you to work under Pete Anderson in the infirmary."
"And for Carl," Aaron clears his throat. "She said she didn't quite know yet." My eyebrows pull together under the tight skin of my forehead. "Don't worry, it normally takes a few days before Deanna figures it out. You'll get your assignment in due time." The man nods at Carl, his comforting smile putting only a small amount of my growing nerves at ease.
"What about what we came here for?" Carl asks the men. "How long before she decides to help us find our people?" He says. The both of us decided on the car ride here that it'd be best to wait before mentioning the group, as to avoid too many questions.
"Well, that's up to Aaron and I." Eric starts. "As soon as you guys get situated here, just tell us who we're looking for, and we'll be good-to-go."
My eyes switch from the men, to the boy at my side. His pale side profile perks a slight bit at the hopeful thought of these men trying to find his family. The history of our people that we've kept concealed until now, finally make its way to the surface.
Carl then looks over to me, his head tilting downward as he looks me in the eyes. The question he's asking rings painfully evident although his lips never have to open.
Before entering these walls, Carl and I never even muttered a detail of anything leading to our people. The only thing that Deanna knows about is the prison. At least from what I told her.
I return his questioning look, beaming from the bright whites of his blue eyes. His dark pink lips slightly pull apart as his eyebrows raise. I nod, giving him the go-ahead.
"Alright, where do we start?" Carl asks me before looking over to the men and sighing out a loose smile. He leans back in his chair before grabbing his untouched fork and swirling it into the noodles in front of him, taking his first bite.
And so it ensues. The boy and I describe—in full detail—the likely perseverance of every member of the group back at the prison. We partner the formerly-taboo names with the familiar descriptions. Characteristics that easily could've changed within the time we've been separated. It was worth a shot.
At one point, Carl even mimicked some of their accents, telling the men a few things each person might say to give the two men a hard time.
Beginning with Daryl's textured attitude, as well as a clear warning of the men he might still be with. Carrying on with Sasha and Tyreese, maybe even Karen, as the gentle man wouldn't dare leave behind his sister and his girlfriend. And Bob, the wild-card we didn't get to see much of before we left.
We even mention Lizzie, Mika, and Patrick. The distinct children, if still alive, would be easy to identify.
Then comes the stories of the fighters. Michonne, Carl warns the men, saying that wherever she is, clean-cut, decapitated walkers may be nearby. Glenn and Maggie, who would never wander far from a one-legged, wise Hershel and his beautiful, blonde daughter Beth. Carol, the resilient woman with the head of short, grey hair, who usually keeps track of the blubbering bundle of joy that is Judith Grimes.
And lastly, the boy hesitantly circles the drain before letting these men in on their biggest challenge of all, Rick Grimes.
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A/N
I'm really digging these chapters!! and if you're someone who's reading along THANK YOU??? LIKE it's crazy to me that people spend their time reading words that I, myself came up with??
also, the chapters are getting a lot easier to edit so the rest shouldn't take more than two days!!
i love this Alexandria arc bc I've never seen anything like it in a CG fic, and that's all I read so idk if anyone else has really done it ????
☆vote if you have wattpad☆