The wheels screeched and wavered underneath the vehicle, as their bodies swayed along with it. Her eyes: swollen, red and sore, tried their hardest to focus upon whatever lay ahead. No one talked - nothing would be heard excluding slight muffled coughs and a sniffle here and there.
She swallowed hard, trying to calm the dry sticky-ness that had scratched up her throat. Fiddling with the gun in her hands, she made up a list in her head of reasons why she should not have it: the episodes. irrationality. Her neck. Carl.
Carl was on there, not because of malice, or of distraction. But of a third thing, which she hadn't quite pinpointed yet.
"Repeat after me: My Name is Jane Peletier." Siddiq said, trying to ease her into talk. He'd fed her tea and and soup repeatedly for the last few days, and she still hadn't been able to say a word.
"M-my.." she croaked.
"That's it, take your time." he coaxed.
"My name, i-is." She swallowed, "Jane, Peletier."
It still hurt to talk, and you could definitely tell from an outsiders point-of-view, but the swelling and the redness had gone down since the day it happened. A few days ago, she was silent because she could not speak. Now, she was silent because she did not want to.
She could sit here and pretend that she never thought about him. That it wasn't what she was doing right now, in this moment and every other.
"He's exhausted, drugged out of his mind, and in pain. We don't know what caused him to act like that but we hope he'll calm down once the last of it is out of his system." Enid explained. Siddiq was training her to be a doctor.
So that's what it had turned to, once again? Another dreaded waiting game?
They'd advised her to stay away from him, and she'd been glad to have an excuse to. Months of taking how wonderful he thought she was for granted was over. Because now and only now - had he been able to see her for who she really was. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And she hated him for it.
So, she forced her way to the frontlines. Because she'd rather die than spend her life rotting away in that bedroom, stuck in an endless loop of torment, an endless cycle of grief.
What Enid had said turned out to be half true. Yes, he was drugged out of his mind, delusional - but it hadn't gone away, only lessened. And even then, not by much at all. She couldn't bear being in that trailer, with the reek of medicine following her around everywhere. The ignition of what used to be there, gone - even though he was still there, he wasn't - not really.
Oh, Carl. She thought. They really fucked us up, didn't they?
They cuffed him to the bed, after he'd attacked her. Attacked? Was that really the right word? He didn't know what he was doing. Atleast, selfishly - she hoped he didn't. She never truly knew why he loved her, and maybe hitting his head off the concrete last week and almost bleeding out had knocked some sense into him - he'd realised that she was just another mosaic of anger, grief, and dead people. Nothing to love there.
Still, if she was to die today, she'd be thinking of him, and only him. Not just the last time they spoke, but the last kiss they shared. The last night she spent sleeping next to him, the last time he had smiled at her (this particular recall caused a slight prick to her heart).
Looking around observingly, she noticed nobody was paying attention to her and so she shakily opened her breast pocket revealing a piece of paper folded into quarters. Michonne had thought it would be easier to read if it was out of the envelope - but the fact that all she had to do to see it was simply unfold it nauseated her greatly.
Despite this, she kept twirling it between her fingers, maybe trying to convince herself that it wasn't that big. It wasn't that drastic. But the feeling did not ease and when they hit a pothole, she clasped her hand to her mouth to prevent any unwanted bile to resurface.
She looked and felt terrible - layers of bags caked her under eyes and red scorched her eyelids. Her skin was a concerning shade of white, her bones frail and rickety. She was not physically unwell - but her mind pulsed through her body like her brain was her only existing organ. Almost dying at Carl's hands had taken a toll on her entire body, and it confirmed the one thing she'd been too afraid to admit: he was the only person in the world who could properly hurt her.
The wagon came to a screeching halt, causing Jane's head to ache and ring. She squeezed her eyes shut as the pain washed over, and when she opened them again, people were already filing out of the back doors.
"C'mon," Daryl gestured, not daring to touch her but getting closer than anybody else would. No one really knew what to do - she didn't cry, not around people, anyway. She'd said nothing, done nothing since it happened. Her main goal was to just disappear, but certain figures made that extremely difficult. On-top of everything, she'd handed out scowls to just about anyone that looked in her general direction.
Rick seemed optimistic Carl would get better, but he wasn't the one who was strangled. In truth, she wasn't really on good terms with anybody, currently - which made Carl not being there all the more noticeable.
Hundreds of yards of field surrounded them in every direction, with nothing else to be seen other than a peculiar looking tree. It was further up the hill, so the image wasn't so clear - but she swore some sort of coloured glass was hanging from it. She held the shotgun up to her chest, protecting herself from anyone who wanted to step too close. They advanced up the hill, under orders of Rick that she hadn't bothered listening to. I miss my Walkman.
The lot of them gathered up in a street-adjacent line, advancing up the hill behind Rick. He only looked back once, and to her own surprise, it was just to glance at her, and only her, before turning back to the sun again. He didn't smile, or frown. It was almost like he just wanted to make sure she was still actually there - that she still existed.
Out of nowhere, she started to sing under her breath, a skill she'd never fawned, and was not particularly good at - but no one could hear, so she continued on: reciting an old song that she didn't know she knew the words to. Her dad used to play it, on late night drives through the city. It wasn't an often thing, it happened maybe once or twice, but the song seemed to be sewn to her sleeve and she wasn't sure where it'd came from.
It actually helped, distracting a little from thinking about Carl. Irrational. That was what Rick called her, and she knew he was right.
can't you come back?
This line repeated over and over, and on her fifth rendition she realised the lyrics seemed to be theoretically sawing her in half, spilling her brains to the grass and coughing out her feelings where they were to mix with mud. She and the others had made it halfway up the hill, and she hadn't even noticed. Her breath thickened as the other side of the war appeared behind grass, less far than she'd imagined they'd be. That meant her death would come sooner than she'd thought. So, they kept climbing fatefully up the cascade of green, and with each step her breath got heavier and heavier.
6:53, that morning
The arrow reverberated against the string, as she let out a shaky breath. Pushing the tail feather up to her cheek, she let go - flying the arrow past four trees and driving it into the fifth. Birds fled from the spot, screaming rushed whistles that carried effortlessly through the tree tops. The squirrel she had been aiming for would be lucky today.
She huffed in defeat, lowering the bow from her grasp before staring directly at the wood, where the arrow was wedged miles higher than she could reach. The thick frost had made it ten times harder to hunt, and now on-top of that the animals had learned to skill-fully fear again.
"Nice shot." Came a soft, mocking voice from behind. Jane stayed facing the tree, trying to regulate her facial expression as she grimaced into the forest. I wanted to be alone.
"Why did you follow me?" Jane turned to confirm what she already knew she would see: the sight of Carol Peletier, stood directly in-front of her.
"You've been sneaking out, just wanted to know where you were going."
She did not reply, instead she just continued on, following the worn path beneath her own two feet. Carol picked up speed and veered towards her daughter, the two of them now walking shoulder to shoulder. They were silent for awhile, eyes lingering on fluttering wings and shaking leaves. Rick's old jacket hung loosely from her frame - the body that used to be thicker, musclier. Since the lineup, her weight had been discreetly decreasing and putting on the coat again had only really highlighted it now.
"Rick has big plans for today. You really sure you're up for it?" Carol wondered aloud.
"I'm behind him, whatever he does." Jane answered. She was trying her hardest not to think about anything to do with 'today'.
"You didn't answer my question."
She exhaled sharply, her breath visible in the fresh cold air. "I'm going to the lake. Discovered it yesterday. It's about a ten minute walk from here. You can come, if you want."
Carol smiled lightly. "Thanks for the offer."
"You were going to come anyway, might as-well invite you."
They made it there safe and sound, with one more walker kill to their count. The lake was a beautiful place, a world of reflective sun and still clear water. So pretty, she had to catch herself from saying something stupid like 'carl would love this' or 'I wish carl was here'. instead, she strung her bow over her shoulder and shuddered.
"It's pretty," carol spoke, into the white air.
Jane nodded in agreement, before advancing to the bay of the water. It sloshed and splashed as her boots sunk into the sandy mud, and she leant down to place her body on a small rock - pulling the folded paper from her pocket. Carol sat down beside her, staring at what now settled in her palms. It was crisp and white, and screamed devastation even from the outside. Carol stared a little more until she understood what it was, and why she was holding it.
"That's why you're here." she announced, and Jane's head turned down towards her feet.
"Michonne said I have to. She told me some bullshit about closure, but I know they want answers from him. Obviously, he's written some battle plan to Michonne and they're just waiting to hear what he had to say to me. But I can't..." she paused, "I can't bring myself to open it."
"May I?" carol asked, and Jane was taken aback by this request.
"Uhm..sure." she supposed it was easier, right? to have her mom read it for her, so that she did not have to? but that was the problem, it was too easy. What if Carl was to never get better? What if these words were the last she had of him? What would she do when she'd read them all?She kept silent as she read, her face showing a rainbow of emotion before folding it back up and handing it over to her daughter.
"I skimmed over it. A little war talk, but nothing he wouldn't of told Michonne already." She placed her arm around the girls shoulder. "I don't think she wants you to read it because they want to know what he said."
"You don't?" Carol shook her head.
"They know how strongly you feel about Carl. They want you ready to fight. They want your anger. I'll bet Maggie suggested it."
Jane whipped her head up towards her mother, then back down to her letter. Carol only smiled, before tapping her knee and standing up.
"I'm going to see what else I can hunt. There has to be decent game out here." She watched her mother go, with a certain feeling of weakness. How had that woman played their conversation so well? How was she always one step ahead?
Her eyes glued themselves to the white paper.
Should I? They have my anger, what else do they need?
Carefully and precisely, she folded the paper out, into it's truest form. She winced as she caught her finger on the corner, the small laceration immediately sprouting red. ironic. She wiped the injured finger on her jeans before actually taking a look at the words scrawled on the paper. Words that he wrote, thinking he was going to die for something good.
And with even the first word: just her name, in it's entirety - silent tears began to cascade from her eyes to the beginning of the lake below.
Jane.
I don't know where to start. I think if i wrote everything i ever wanted to say to you, you would have a novel to read. The first time i knew i loved you, we were only twelve (back at the farm). I tripped up, and you insisted i have a plaster even though it was only a graze. you probably remember. It was so easy to fall for you like that - I loved you then (and now) like it was breathing. anyway, you smiled at me that day the way no one ever had before. I mean, the first time i saw you, i knew i was a goner - but this was a whole different thing.
The day we lost sophia, i made a vow to never let anything hurt you like that again. i don't think you know the extreme of what i was like without you: I couldnt sleep. and when i did, i dreamt of you. there wasnt anything i could enjoy because you weren't there with me, and people seemed surprised that i had acted that way. i wasn't, though - i knew how hard it was going to be, when we realised you were alone out there. Some discarded it, they said we didn't know each other long enough for me to be so upset. I'll never forget the day you came back. It might've been the best day of my life. No, it was.
It seems unfair that after everything we went through, everything we're still going through, that it had to end this way. You didn't deserve any of this - nothing that happened to you was fair. I hate doing this to you, but you'll thank me in fifty years when everyone is old and wrinkly.
I am going to die. I don't want to, but I will, to protect our people. To protect you. Because that's what you and I do. We keep one another alive. When I die, I'll be thinking of you. I'll try not to, but I know my head won't let me forget your face, your smile, your eyes. I wish I could've said goodbye to you, but unfortunately all you'll have after I'm gone is this lousy letter.
So I hope you know how much I loved you. I hope that you can let go of me, though i could never let go of you.
I want to ask that you try and stop the fighting. The war can end in a ceasefire, if you pry. That's what I want. I want everyone to live on, without war on anything. That is why I have to die.
Take care of my Judy for me :) she has a letter, but don't let her open it until she's older. She won't understand it now. Make sure my dad and Michonne don't go too crazy.
There is so much more I wanted to say that I will never get to, I'm running out of time. Thank you for sharing your mattress with me, for wearing all of my clothes, for loving me. I wish you could know how much I loved you back.
Carl.
her eyes followed his name on the page and sobs she'd never heard before escaped past her parted lips. She raised a hand to her mouth, trying to hush the sounds but they didn't want to halt.
It was so cold out that she swore her fingers had stuck to the paper, and that her tears had dried frozen to her face. She couldn't feel them anymore, she couldn't feel anything. Swallowing hard, she folded up the paper, and grabbed the bow softly resting beside her. Getting up, her boots rose to the beginning of the bay and out of the inch of water. Everything seemed to blend into one brilliantly sickening white, as snow began to fall again.
"Where are you going?" Carol shouted from the foliage, almost trying to catch up.
"To kill Negan."
Now.
"Well, damn, Rick, look at that. Pegged again. Pegged so very hard. I ambushed your ambush with an even bigger ambush. How about you step out and face us?! Oh, I am everywhere, Rick. Some more bullhorns, more walkies. Pick a direction to run. See how you do. Make it fun for all of us. Guess what else I did. I brought you some of your old friends. You remember your old buddy Eugene?"
Negan holds him by the scruff of his collar as Eugene looks down ashamed, at his own two feet.
"Well, he is the person that made today possible. Same goes for Dwighty boy here. In case you were wondering, he didn't ream you on purpose. No, he is just a... a gutless nothin' that sucks at life, and now he gets to stand up here and watch you all die, and he's gonna live with that."
Jane felt almost bad - she hadn't even noticed Gabriel had been taken. He didn't look too great, and they were just close enough to see his right eye - red scarred and swollen. Negan stood upright beside him, smiling down at rick and his group with triumph. He had done it again: one up-ed them, it seemed.
"Gabriel, well...he's got to go, too. We are cleaning house today, Rick. And then... there's you.
It never had to be a fight."
They lined up their guns and reloaded their clips.
"You just had to accept how things are. So...here we go." Jane braced herself for it, death, but she didn't close her eyes. She deserved to see that bullet hit her, to feel it and scream because so many others had suffered the same fate under her own two hands. shoot me in the stomach, so I know how much it hurts.
"Congratulations, Rick. 3! 2! 1! Now!"
As expected, gunshots rang out from the other side of he field. Jane thought they'd soar towards her - take her out messily in a brawl of blood. Instead, she watched as they screamed and fell to the floor. Negan was crawling around clutching his injured hand that yielded a large raw hole through either side of his palm. Eugene stands awkwardly as half of them drop dead, the other half severely injured. Rick wastes no time in advancing as the others revel in astonishment, and neither does Gabriel as he springs up to clock Negan in the jaw. fuck yes, Eugene.
Without thinking, she starts to trudge up the hill towards the fight. Saviours come and go, trying to shoot back but she gets them everytime, and when her feet pick up to a run, she realises who is running beside her. Rosita Espinosa.
Rosita is here to help Eugene from being destroyed by saviours. She knows what Jane is running towards. The girls raise their guns, and when Rosita shoots, Jane does not. She veers toward Negan, who is trying to get away from Gabriel and his weak punches. Before she can do anything else, Dwight comes in and knocks into Negan too, sending his face towards the ground. Rick is yelling her name but she's tuning him out, flipping her gun around to point the barrel toward his face. He cowers beneath her, and though Carl's words are repeating in her head, she still drives the handle into his nose. A large crack sounds out, and everyone takes a step back from her, afraid.
She goes in for another hit, but is grabbed fully by her waist and yanked back into the person behind. Struggling and yelling, she tries to defy the grasp that is so truly Rick's: but however hard she suffered in his arms, he wouldn't let go.
"Jane, stop!" he yelled, before another pair of arms was holding her down, pinning her back to the floor. This was when rick finally let go, but Michonne kept Jane's wrists in a lock above her head. The birds sing in the sky, and all Jane can see are the leaves swaying - hanging faithfully from the branch that reached out before her eyes. She could hear Rick and Negan, loud and clear - trying to kill each other. Gasps, hits and deep, guttural breaths embraced her ears. craning her head up, she pushed against Michonne just enough so that she could see what was going on.
The bulk of the scramble seemed to have died down, and Negan stood tired and heaving, face to face with rick. He went to wipe sweat from his neck before declaring his ideals, grimacing as he did so.
"Just so you know, eenie meenie miney moe, that was bullshit. I made a choice. I just didn't want to kill a kid's dad in front of him. Turns out that would've been the best thing I could've done. Had I done it, that kid might've been fine. Hell, I tried to save him, and by the way she's acting," he pointed to Jane, "he must be dead. Which is a shame, really. He was a good kid." she struggled in Michonne's grasp, and when she couldn't get past her, she yelled out.
"You're beat. Your people are down!" the two men snapped their heads towards her, and she swore she could see Negan faintly smile.
"Those pigtails aint' fooling anyone, sweetheart." he replied.
"Don't talk to her." Rick snapped.
"look at you, your own people are pinning you down. Mine stayed with me." he told her, ignoring Rick's command.
"And look," she swallowed hard, suddenly remembering how much her throat hurt, "look where that got them." she gestured toward his people - dead. Most of them, anyway.
"Jane." Michonne scolded, but Negan ignored her like the words didn't sting.
"It's just you and me, Rick. Not her, not Maggie, not even Daryl. And you...you are torn open. I am bigger, I am badder, and I got a bat."
"We can have a future." Rick begged.
"I know I will."
"Just give me... give me 10 seconds so I can... I can tell you how." Rick continued.
"No."
"Just give me 10 seconds for Carl."
"I've given you as good a head-start as I could've, I gave Jane medicine for godsakes. You people take so much, then act like fucking babies about it." Michonne looked confused, Rick did too - and Maggie, well. She looked mad.
"Please," rick almost sobbed. "Please."
"10...9..." Negan huffed, swinging his bat behind his shoulder.
"Carl said it doesn't have to be...it doesn't have to be a fight anymore."
"He was wrong. 8..."
"No, no. He was right." rick corrected. Jane watched intently as this unfolded, wanting so badly to help Rick but she was physically and mentally stuck. How had she forgotten about that? The medicine? She hadn't told anyone because...well...why? She didn't think they had to know, because they'd never trust the medicine, and Carl would've died. But, she didn't even think. She just took it.
That was when she snapped back to the grass and the trees and the glass. Oh, how she wished she had died - like she planned. She lay there, praying the glass would fall, smash onto her, kill her in some gruesome scheme.
But something else had happened, something between her words, her zoning out and the glass.
Negan knelt down, looking up at Rick and clutching his neck.
"Carl didn't know a damn thing..." he managed to choke out, through coughs and splats of blood. He had done it.
"Save him." Rick said wearily, swinging his arm out and clutching his injured waist. He starts to walk away, and Jane doesn't know what to think anymore, or if she even should. Maggie's face twitches and distorts like she's never seen before, and ten of their people rush over to Negan, who is lying not far from Jane on the grass. She could smell his blood, a metallic scent, sickeningly sweet and strangely inviting. She liked it, the fact that he was laying down, unable to breathe because his neck was fucking severed. He was experiencing the pain that he put everybody else through, that he put her through. She wanted him to live, to feel that pain everyday of his waking life. He didn't deserve to die - that was too easy. He was to burn in cellars and to be begging for mercy every night. He was going to suffer. Michonne had risen off of her minutes ago, she was free, yet she couldn't move. Maggie screamed out in fury.
"No! No, he can't! No! No, he killed Glenn! We have to. We have to end it! Rick!"
Jane didn't want to listen. Maggie had to know that dying was too big a comfort to grant him. that dying would give him peace. She looked Negan in the eyes as a single tear fell from his cheek to the grass, and she prayed it would be the first of many. She tried as hard as she could to smile, to laugh at him as he gasped and struggled - and that she did. He just stared, no words left in his mouth but blood. Crimson and sour, she hoped it tasted as bad as it looked.
"We have to make it right!"
"We can't make it right, but this makes it over. It's over." he said, loud and clear.
"No! It's not over! It's not over until he's dead!" her voice started to wear as rick veered around to face Jane and Negan. "What happened, what we did...what we lost...there's gotta be something after. The ones who have 'em up, put your hands down. We're all gonna go home now. Negan's alive. But his way of doing things is over. And anyone who can't live with that will pay the price, I promise you that. And any person here who would live in peace and fairness... who would find common ground...this world is yours, by right. We are life." he took a deep breath, clearing his throat and looking out at the fields with teary eyes. sweat fell from his curls as his hand stayed sewn to his waist, and he continued to glare on past the grass. This was when Jane sat up, using her best efforts to do so. her knees weak, she eased herself to stand, and when she turned to see what rick was looking at, she was hit with the putrid smell of rot.
"That's death! And it's coming for us," he bellowed, pointing out over to the hundreds of undead clambering towards them. "Unless we stand together! So go home. Then the work begins. The new world begins. All this...All this is just what was. There's gotta be somethin' after."
"Hey mom? have you seen my walkman?" Jane asked lightly, tapping her feet down the stairs to alert anyone of her presence.
"No, hon. Retrace your steps, where have you been today?"
Jane hesitated. "The infirmary.." Carol made a disappointed face.
"Not again," she sighed, "I told you it's bad for you."
"I can't say I'm sorry." Jane replied, grabbing her coat from the peg and slinging it over her shoulders. It wasn't snowing anymore, but it was bitter.
"I know, I just...don't want you to get hurt, that's all."
He doesn't ever know she's there, it's always when he's asleep - and when he's not, she sits in the other room listening to music. Siddiq said that in a few days, he should be fully recovered, and she was dreading it. He'd go back to Alexandria, far away - and she'd stay here, because of her mom, because of ellie and the girls. But mainly because it would be too difficult to see his face everyday. To go back to that house.
Rick and Michonne spent time asking him questions about her, what he remembered. He told them she was dangerous, that she caused everything - which maybe wasn't directly true, but no lie either. Siddiq mentioned that because he saw her right before he was injured, he'd gotten mixed up and associated her with the attack, and with their argument the day before - he only remembered being mad. He didn't know why he was mad, and would never assume that it was because he loved her, or wanted to keep her safe. They tried to pry him off of the idea, but he didn't want to comply. He didn't believe that she could be good, and that was something she could fix: he might remember, if she sat down with him and explained it all.
But ultimately, she decided it would be best to leave him. So much bad had cursed him because of her, and he would be better off alone. She wouldn't be, but she could live with that, if he was okay somewhere out there. Somewhere where she would never see his face again.
"See you in a minute," Jane said, as she slipped out the door and into the biting cold.
Three days ago, they had destroyed Negan and the bubble around him. They kept him here, where they would eventually escort him to the cellar in Alexandria, once it was secure enough. Jane was happy with that, as long as he wasn't. Neither Maggie nor Daryl agreed with Rick, and Maggie seemed to be avoiding her - she knew exactly why, of course. Everyone was astonished that she would ever take medicine from Negan, that she would ever trust him like that. What they didn't understand was the fact that she really didn't trust him - she was forced to take it, and forced to live with the choice if it turned on her.
Making her way to the trailer, she stuck her hands in her pockets and kept her head down. Daryl waved and she simply waved back, moving on into a slight jog - she wanted to get in and out as quick as possible with Walkman in hand. Her hand caught the doorknob and her feet caught the steps, and she pushed the door open with ease. No one seemed to be occupying the hallway so she hung up her coat and continued through into the kitchen, after yelling out for Siddiq.
"Siddiq? have you seen my walkman-"
"Jane, didn't expect you." It was Rick. Standing directly behind Carl Grimes, who was seated at the circular table and eating dry cereal with a plastic spoon. When his eyes found her, he dropped the cutlery into the bowl and glared. Surprising herself, she glared right back. Rick's hand shot to his son's shoulders, as if to ground him - keeping his reflexes close in case Carl was to jump up and maul her.
"I, uhm, was just...I just wanted..." she trailed off, her eyes stuck on Carl's. She couldn't say she forgot how beautiful he was, because that was something about him that she would never recover from.
"Your Walkman?" Carl said, raising his eyebrows. This only made her stall more, as it was the first time she had heard his voice in days.
"Oh, yeah." she sighed, going to look for it as the air turned sour with tension. When she had scoured the kitchen with just her eyes and her ears still garnered silence, she moved on to the other room. After looking for around ten minutes, she was almost ready to give up, when the door let open. She jumped, eyes widening and stance readying, though she eased when she saw Rick's frame resting against the doorway. He advanced toward her, outstretching a hand that held tightly to what was clearly her Walkman.
"Carl found it. In his room."
"Thanks. I'll go now."
"No, wait," he turned his body in-front of hers, blocking her from the door. "Just talk to him."
She sighed. "No."
"Look, he's starting to remember things about Michonne and I. Because we talked to him."
"He already remembers half of that stuff. All he remembers of me is that I hurt him, and I did. He's better off forgetting." She turned past him, going past the door and out into the hall.
"Jane?" Rick called. "You did the right thing. Taking that medicine."
She smiled at him. "Thank you, Rick." and with that, she left out the front door - with no jacket, a Walkman and a horrific ball of dread in her stomach. The anger of which he looked at her then - maybe the last time he would ever look at her - just summarised her future, her past and her present. Her life with Carl was over, and she had just attended the funeral.
Dinner was dull, even though her hunt had been successful enough to feed twenty. When she went to wash up, she was met with Daryl, who strung a tea towel between his arms ready to dry the dishes she was prepared to wash.
"You really did that?" he asked, in he middle of drying a plate and putting it back in the cabinet.
"What?" She asked, though she already knew what he was talking about. She was surprised he hadn't eased into it at all, springing it on her on a random Tuesday evening.
"You know what i'm talkin' bout."
"Yes, I did it. And Don't try make me feel bad because I'm not sorry." she snapped.
"That's just it, you're never sorry, kid." that was one thing about Daryl: he wasn't afraid to hit back. She paused, not believing exactly what she was hearing. Putting on her best scowl, she turned to him.
"What if it was Rick dying? Or My mom? Would you take it?"
"Now, that's different-"
"How? how is it different? Hell, what if it was Glenn dying, and Maggie took that medicine. Everyone would understand. You, of all people, would understand."
"But it wasn't, because of Negan."
"You don't think I know that? You're forgetting that he was beside me that night. He was beside both of us. I'll never let go of it, I wanted him dead as much as you, but I had a chance to save Carl from Glenn's fate. And you bet I took it."
Storming out, she left the sink full and her hands wet.
She lay in her room listening to the old music that Carl and her had picked together. She listened through his favourite songs, even though she never particularly cared for them. With no tears left to cry, she left her head on the pillow and let the clouds darken, without moving a muscle. It came to a point where she felt she did not exist anymore, a feeling that the bed was pulling her in - engulfing her, trapping her, suffocating her. Yet she stayed, headphones clamped to her ears. She only fell into sleep when the clock hands had dried of battery and a draft of wind was whistling profanities outside.
Outside, the war of the dead raged on, and as she dreamt of nicer nights, Carl Grimes lay awake, unable to sleep. He held a slip of paper in his hands, that folded neatly into four perfect quarters. The page, crisp and white, had familiarity all over it. He had read it, front to back trying to figure it out, but there was no apt conclusion to his gatherings. He had found it in the pocket of the Jacket that belonged to the girl, the girl that did this to him. So why, in his very own handwriting, was he confessing his undying love for her?
Within minutes, he found himself grabbing the only coat on the rack (HER coat), slipping it on and carefully weaving past Siddiq's bedroom and slipping out the door. He knew the note off by heart, he'd read it that many times. It was his, he wrote it, and shockingly, he almost remembered writing it. No, he did.
His lips parted as his converse hit the icy ground. With no bandage on his eye, a thin wife beater covering his upper half and his newly washed jeans, he felt truly vulnerable. What if she was scared of his eye? This is stupid. Why would i care if she's scared of me? I should want that, after what she did.
What happened to get here? What happened to him?
What his head had made him believe clearly wasn't the case. But then, what actually was the case?
The double doors opened, and the inside of the manor filled with moonlight. This was going to be difficult, the dark would prove a challenge and on-top of that, he didn't even know where her room was.
Calling out for her wouldn't help either, besides, could he even remember her name? J, dad had said something along the lines of J. Jane. That was it. He tripped up over the mat in the entryway, and his hands fled to the banister to support himself. He took a deep breath as flashes started to sway back to him, things that were foggy or non-existent before. Her face, just her face: smiling, laughing, crying. Her hands touching his face, unwinding his bandage. Suddenly he felt so nauseous he might faint, or worse, throw up on the polished hardwood beneath him.
That was it - he needed to speak with her, he needed to learn. Oh god. I strangled her, I hurt her.
My girl. That's right, she was his, wasn't she? Not in a weird way, and maybe not even now but...she was. She had been, once.
Most of the rooms that the last stock of mattresses had been moved to were upstairs, he remembered because after Negan had stolen his mattress, they made a trip to hilltop to see if they had any to spare. The answer from Gregory was no, the real answer was yes, he'd just stashed them in the basement.
He made his way up, holding tight to the banister as if he might suddenly cascade down it at immeasurable speed. He did not, instead, he got up safely and had to stop and listen at the perch of the last step.
Music. Faint and muffled, but evident nonetheless. A Walkman. She had borrowed a Walkman.
The furthest door on the left.
He crept towards it, placing a gentle hand to the doorknob and pressing his forehead to the wood. His breath smoothed over it, and he could hear the music clearer now. He could identify no words or melody, but it was music, and that was for sure. All that separated them was the thin structure of the door, and he felt his heartbeat speed up at the thought of looking into her eyes.
Bringing his knuckles up to the wood, he knocked lightly, three times.
Movement. Surely she wasn't still awake?
He stepped back as it swung open, and she stood there in shock. There he was, Carl Grimes standing sleeplessly in-front of her. His eye bags dragged and his lips quivered slightly. He combed his hair back with one hand, looking up at her through the wispy strands of chestnut that stemmed from his head.
"Did you love me?" He asks, and it's so quiet she has to lean closer to hear him.
"Yes," she answers immediately, with no hesitation. They haven't been this close since before everything, and it made her crazy - she'd have to live without this feeling, and boy did she hate that.
"You look terrible." She states after a long silence.
"You don't look too hot yourself." He gestures to the cut on her cheek, and stops his eyes at the bruise on her neck. His eyes almost well with tears, but before they can spill over he blinks them away as quick as they came. But she knows, because she knows him, and even in the dark she can feel his face, his heart, his soul. I know you.
He stands there, looking iridescent in the shady blue light. Beautiful. Crushingly so. He looks just like her future, the one that was stolen and swapped for a nightmare.
With no warning, he leans terribly close, and presses their lips together like nothing had ever happened. It was the most satisfying click in the world: two lost pieces of the puzzle snap together and fit to the big picture. To his surprise, she enjoys the kiss, but breaks away - pushing him slightly by putting her hands on his chest and shoving.
"What are you trying to do?" She asks, sincerely confused. He shouldn't want anything to do with her, and it was okay that way. He would be okay that way.
"I love you."
The world falls silent as he admits what he had never even considered before. "I love you and I don't know why."
He raises his hand to her neck and presses the bruise lightly with his fingers. She winces back, and his eye swirls with sorrow. She watches as a single tear falls from it and notices that his lip starts to quiver.
Placing one of her hands on his cheek, she wipes the tear away as he looks down sadly.
"I'm sorry." He manages to muster, and immediately she shuts the door behind him and pulls him into an embrace. He starts to cry harder, and she tries to calm him in whatever way she can.
"Shhh," she lulls, "I could never blame you for that."
"I hurt you." He says, as if to confirm it to himself.
"It wasn't you. You didn't know. You didn't know."
He buries his nose in the crook of her neck, and she swore she felt tears falling from her own eyes. It seemed her brain had snapped into comfort mode, and she hadn't even registered the fact that Carl was here, in her bedroom: the real him.
"I'm right here." She told him. "I love you."
He lifted his head from her neck and nodded. Taking his hand, she directed them both to her bed, and opened up the duvet just enough for him to get in. She'd offered it up to him like instinct, because that was where they went, when things got too hard, or too sore. She expected him to bow out, to freak and run. But he simply followed her gesture and lay down, twisting his body toward her side of the bed. She got in after him, pulling the duvet up to their underarms as they just looked at one another.
Muscle memory, she thought.
"The letter. I found it. In the jacket you left." Oh. So this was not sporadical, this was provoked - by her and only her. God, am I stupid. It could've been different, but she had to ruin it, didn't she? She had to tie him to her again.
"We had had an argument, the last time I saw you. I went out on a mission, trying to help your dad take down an outpost. You didn't want me to go, because you were worried about me. Then it turned to yelling."
"Did we fight a lot?" He asked. She shook her head.
"No. We didn't. We never did." He settles at this comment, still staring into her eyes as purely as humanly possible.
"I was forced to stay at hilltop, so I was stuck there, essentially. Then word got out that the saviours were leaving to get to Alexandria, and they had explosives. I had this terrible feeling, and I had to get there. So i took a car and I went on my own. I managed to arrive just as the first bomb went off, and the smoke was so thick that you couldn't see through it. That was when I found you, but you were around fifty feet away, standing against the porch of a house that was going to blow. I yelled for you, and you looked at me for a second before everything went up in flames."
"Yes. I remember. I remember your face, and the heat."
He paused, trying to calculate something in his head. His eyebrows furrowed, and finally, he spoke.
"You were gone. You were gone for two years."
She nodded. Another silence followed as Carl revelled in new knowings.
"Your favourite colour is pink," she blurted, and before she could stop herself the words were just flowing. "You like to eat your cereal with no milk. You'd do anything to protect your baby sister. You wear your dad's hat at all times, and you love meadows and flowers. You suck at driving. Your favourite singer is Taylor swift. You like to fight with a pistol. You're almost always right."
"I suck at driving?" He asked quizzically.
"Yes, you really, really do."
"Damnit," he exclaimed, and she found herself smiling.
He shifted uncomfortably, and winced a little as he moved into a better position on the mattress. It was strange: she did not know what was and wasn't him. He seemed to remember general things, like big events or features. But he had no idea about half the shit they'd been through, no sense of self. Even if he was just peeking round the corner, he wasn't fully there, not beside her completely: but somewhere else entirely. Though, it never felt wrong to be this close to him, he didn't quite feel like a stranger.
"How bad does it hurt?" She asked, solemnly.
"Bad. But not as bad as before. It's settled, definitely."
"Can I see it?" She asked. A strange request, but he obliged nonetheless, nodding as he went to lift his shirt over his head. This action revealed the top half of his slightly scarred body, and a sizeably large bandage wrapped around his lower abdomen.
"I shouldn't have been outside, I shouldn't have come, but I had to. That letter...it's something."
"It's everything." She states, with a wavering voice.
"I was hard to love, I always have been. But you made it look so easy."
"Make," he corrects, and that is when it hits her. This was the Carl she knew. He was lying here, right beside her and she was so causal. So collected, yet she'd been on the verge of suicide just yesterday, because of the fact that a moment like this would never happen again. And yet, here it was.
The urge to kiss him made her whole body weak with nausea, a need so great that she wanted all of him, right here, right now. She leaned toward him with no warning, smashing their lips together with force as he pushed his face closer into the kiss. Her hands flew to his hair: blunt at the ends, running smoothly through her fingers. His hands gripped her waist tightly, pushing their hips together and making her want more.
Putting one knee over to the other side of his waist, she straddled him in midair, trying her hardest not to put any pressure on his injury. His hands trailed up her shirt, cold and firm as he roamed them around her skin. Their kisses became breathy and fast - improper, if you will - and Carl (quite daringly) tugged on the hem of her shirt for permission to lift it from over her head.
She placed her hand atop his, guiding it as he took off her white vest to reveal her bare skin. He looked up at her with an certain admiration, and as her head dipped to place hot, frantic kisses on his neck he started to whimper like a lost puppy.
Her left hand runs down his bare chest, and he shivers under her touch. She lowers her reach and trails her finger tips to the hilt of his abdomen, brushing over the rough skin and wool that covers his wound. Suddenly, she remembers it all, everything: the sewer, Negan's throat severed as he lay on the grass. Glenn and Abraham. She stops, slowly getting off of him and curling into the sheets for some sort of warmth.
"Hey, hey - you okay?" He lulls in a hushed, calming voice, placing his arms on her bare turned away shoulders.
She shifts her body to stare up at the ceiling before answering in a soft whisper.
"Just needed a moment," she is taken aback as a slight Virginian twinge seems to seep into her vocals, but Carl is not. He doesn't really know her voice yet, not like he used to.
She exhales before continuing. "This isn't how I wanted this to happen."
Carl places his nose inbetween her left shoulder and her chin, resting his jaw on her collarbone.
"I know. I'm sorry." He admits, and she furrows her eyebrows, bringing one hand to his hair to stroke it kindly.
"Don't ever be," they stare into one another's eyes and feel a sense of gentle care pulsate between them as she tells him this. "Not for me, anyway."
She leans in to press her lips to his forehead, and he shuts his eyes calmly, as if he was put to sleep by her careful touch. It's so different, being gentle with him. She'd never considered herself to be it, always rough, stubborn, aggressive maybe. But with Carl she was kind, she was changed. She found it astonishing that after everything, she was still able to love so greatly.
She reached over, grabbing the Walkman and earbuds from her bedside table, tugging on the wire and snaking one bud into Carl's right ear, the other in her left. Clicking on the button, she let the music play as they both tumbled into an actual, legitimate rest.
three weeks later
The music blared from inside as Rick and his son entered the building, looking clean and sharp. Neither were totally dressed to the nines, but they looked tidy to the new world's standard. The air stood still as they approached the searing light, creaking the door ajar to slip through the crack of brilliant yellow that spilled out onto the lawn.
Carl fixes the cuffs of his shirt, not knowing how to feel about the outfit as the last time he wore something even remotely similar was at his auntie Elsie's wedding in 2008. He felt very important that day, being the ring bearer for the first and last time.
"Maggie?" Rick calls into the colourful hall, but to no surprise, his voice doesn't raise high enough over the booming speakers. Speakers, music. That's exactly where Jane would be. He gives a quick wave of goodbye to his dad, before pushing through the crowd trying to catch a glimpse of her. He'd seen her only this morning, but he was missing her already, something he knew he had experienced before.
He was getting better with time: things were coming back, slowly but surely. Something that had struck him this morning was his memory of a dream he'd had, whilst asleep in his (almost) coma.
The red box in his hand reflects the Christmas lights strung up on every possible wall. He can spot the large plastic tree in the corner, garnered with cheap baubles and hand carved wooden ornaments that were tied with twine to the tassled branches. But no Jane.
His eyes scanned the crowd frantically, and he still couldn't see her. Shoving the worry aside, he convinced himself she was just a little late. Not unusual, on her part. He did spot someone he did know, though.
"Enid!" Carl yelled out, attracting her attention from across the room. She stepped over to him, smiling wide and embracing him in a hug when they were close enough to engage.
"You doing okay?" She says, when she lets go.
"Better. I remember more stuff everyday. Siddiq is a big help." He looks around at her decorations. "Great interior design."
"Thanks. Took me like two hours. Jane here yet?"
"I haven't seen her," he keeps talking as he turns to pull something from his pocket. Three small chocolate bars appear in his outstretched hand, and Enid gasps in delight.
"I haven't had chocolate in years! Where the hell did you get this?!"
"Found an old vending machine months ago. Had to go and get it from my room to bring it back here. The other two are for Maxine and Tonya."
"Thanks, Carl. They're gonna love it." Enid's eyes shift to something behind him, and he turns to see what all the commotion is about. He can just about see Jane's head, searching the crowd for him just as he had a few minutes ago.
"Could you do me a favour and give it to them real quick? I've got to...." He cocks his head in her vicinity, and Enid smiles.
"Go, go." She shoos him away with one hand before backing off into the sea of people. He turns to walk in Jane's direction, and is met with her standing directly behind him, looking beautiful.
"Wow," he says, every word possible suddenly stripped from his tongue. She's wearing a black dress with long sleeves, brown buttons down the middle, adorned with all sorts of different flowers. She looked beautiful, in a way she had never before - sure, she looked beautiful every day, but he'd never seen her cleaned up and in a dress. She might even be wearing some sort of makeup?
"Right back at you," she beams at him. It's the happiest she's felt in a long, long time. His eyes trail to her feet, and he smiles when he sees she's still wearing her hunting boots with her socks rolled high above her knees. He puts his hands to her cheeks, kissing her strongly and taking her by surprise. He breaks away, looking admirably down at her.
"Couldn't put it into words," he states, and she laughs, combing her wavy short hair behind her ears.
"Here. I got this for you." He hands her the red box, and her face lights up before she's even opened the thing.
She takes the lid off carefully, and as she reveals what it is, she almost starts to tear up. Folded neatly inside, is the flannel that he had given her at the prison, but it was clean, and all rips were sewn completely closed. She picks it up, and something clangs and falls to the floor. Carl immediately bends to pick it up, and gives it back to her. When she realises what it is, she comes close to tears again; her eyes trained on examining the beads and the wire. It was Sophia's friendship bracelet, one that she had made for herself, Carl, Lori and Jane. She'd completely forgotten about it, that it had ever existed. The beads, aligned in order, read her name in gentle lowercase. It was slightly tarnished, but she didn't care. She could never be picky about that.
"Where did you...how did you....?" She asks in utter disbelief.
"You almost left it. When the farm went up in flames. I saw it, picked it up, and forgot I'd done it. I found it around two months ago, when I was looking through my drawers before Negan was ready to raid everything. I wanted to grab the important stuff. And I knew you'd want it."
With no hesitation, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a heavy embrace, rocking him side to side as he buries his nose in her hair. He doesn't care that they are surrounded by people, he doesn't stop to straighten his shirt. Instead he just holds her, as they sway back and forth before letting each other go. She takes another heartbreaking glance at the bracelet, thinking of her sister and sliding it onto her wrist easily.
"Thank you, Carl. I'll never be able to repay you for this." He shakes his head.
"It's a gift, you're not repaying me."
"I got you something too. It's not as meaningful, but I just hope you like it." She turns to the army green satchel bag that hangs off her left shoulder, undoes the clasp and flips the cover open with minimum effort. She pulls out something big, blocky and orange.
"No way!" He exclaims, and takes it from her excitedly. It's a game boy, with the wires and controllers in almost perfect condition. "I love it, thank you!" She can tell his delight is genuine, and she smiles as he places a hand on the back of her head, pulling her cheek towards his lips. She scrunches her nose at the action, laughing with him. She pulls out something else from her bag, something smaller, and places it into his palm.
"This is technically from Henry, he's really good at making little things like this. Anyway, when you were hurt, I couldn't stop swirling this penny around. I thought maybe it would bring me some sort of luck, and I guess it did. So I want you to have it."
He looked down at the quarter, with a hole drilled in the top and string cord roped straight through it. He runs the portrait over his thumb, and admires it intensely. She waits for his lips to turn up into a grin, and when they do, she closes her bag and takes his arm in hers.
"I love it."
They continue to mingle, not really used to parties so they just talk to who they know, or maybe, who they like the best. Daryl catches Jane's gaze a few times, and every time he looks away sheepishly. Since their argument, they haven't really talked, and Jane was starting to worry they wouldn't again. Daryl was the closest thing to family that she had, excluding her mother of course. She couldn't just pretend he didn't mean anything to her, after everything they went through together.
Then again, she still believed she was right for what she did - but she wasn't mad at Daryl. Not anymore.
Halfway through the party, when Jane was dancing and laughing with her mother, she saw him slip out the door, and she just had to follow.
"So how does this work? I have to start calling you 'Dixon' now?" She asked, his back turned to her as he sat perched on the white porch stairs with a cigarette in hand.
He said nothing as she sat herself down beside him.
"Look, I'm sorry."
"Nun' you needa be sorry bout." He grunted, taking another drag of the cig. She watched intently as his eyes wandered to hilltop's wooden fortification.
"I'm sorry, kid. You had every right ta do what you did."
She nods, snatching the cigarette from his hands and placing it in her mouth. She inhales smoothly, depressing the smoke from her body as she parted her lips. "Oh, and merry Christmas." She adds.
"You're damn' good at that," he laughed a little. "That's a lil' worryin."
"Maybe I'm just a natural at everything." She smiles.
"Hah. Doubt it, kid. Need to work on skinnin' your game, I'll tell ya that much."
"Jane!" Yells a little voice, and suddenly she turns to see Judy on Rick's hip, waiting at the door for her. Judith had aged greatly in the past few weeks, and now she was perfectly able to say a few names (mom, Carl, dad, Jane, Maggie). She hands the unfinished cigarette to Daryl, patting him on the back before taking Judith from Rick and following the man back into the party.
Jane dances with the young girl in her arms, just swaying and spinning her to the beat. Carl watches from afar and his eyes tell so many stories. My girls, he thinks.
When the party starts to die and people start to slow, the music does too, and that is when Carl realises the two of them hadn't yet shared a dance. What better time to do it than now, when nobody was watching?
Jane stands in the kitchen, talking to a slightly boozy Ellie (which makes him wonder how much alcohol she had actually had) and also forces him to realise how much he'd consumed as-well. He takes her hand and leads her to the main room, where party streamers and Christmas decorations lay askew on the hardwood floors. No one is present except the two of them, and the music, the gentle beat swaying them before they even connect bodies.
He places two hands on her waist and she puts hers around his neck, smiling up at him and looking into his blue eye. The one thing that really made him stand out tonight was the fact that he wasn't wearing his bandage - if he was completely sober maybe he would have, but he didn't seem to care about anything else when she laid her eyes upon him, so really it didn't matter all that much to him as long as she was there.
"I had a dream," he starts, "when I was asleep. I've remembered it now."
"Hit me," she requests, brushing loose strands of his hair behind his ears.
"It was sorta a what if thing. Everything was normal, we weren't in any of this mess. We were going to school, and parties like this, and we had to pay for our lunches and study for tests. Anyway, you didn't know me. I had to convince you who I was, and you didn't believe me, and so I had to convince you to fall for me again, and you did. You were so different, and I was so different. It was strange, but at the time, it felt so real."
"In another universe, I guess," she mentions casually.
Sweet disposition starts to play.
"Huh. Do you think we're together in every universe, then?"
"I hope so," she admits, "I'm glad it was you, in the end. No matter what happens, it'll always be you. Don't forget."
"Who says it's the end?"
10,000 WORDS WHATTTTTT😭 last chapter for awhile guys, I love u if you made it this far. Onto act four!!!!