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“What was your name?”
“You know my name.”
“I mean your full name. Legal, familial. Your
name.”
“I’m not telling you that.”
“...Fine, then. Not legal. First and last, at the very least.”
“Luz Montoya.”
“All right, Ms. Montoya. Could you please - “
“Mx.”
“Mx. Montoya. If you would, please tell me what you can about Rick Grimes.”
– – –
The laughter. That was the thing they remembered most of all, above the taunts and tears. The
laughter
of their siblings, their
tío,
their cousin and his preacher’s robes. Directly in Luz’s face whenever they asked for even the barest grain of respect. There was a damn good
reason
they wanted nothing to do with Gabriel; everything they’d learned of him since, about his clergy and the lives lost for his selfish cowardice - that all only served to prove Luz right more and more.
The barn was drafty, Judith’s cries piercing straight through Luz’s cranium and causing their head to throb. The dog they’d eaten only hours before didn’t sit right in Luz’s stomach one bit (and it had been disturbingly not so bad-tasting to boot). All they saw when they closed their eyes was everything they’d lost. The panic at the university, the car they’d stolen even as its owner writhed on the asphalt, surrounded by walkers - they’d tried, even after everything, they’d tried to go back for their family and by the time they made it home, everyone was already gone. Spread out across Georgia in different directions, suitcases hastily packed, their cousin holed up in his chapel. Juan, at least, had invited his congregation in. But not Luz. They’d battered on the doors of the church and Juan had peered from behind the curtains and hadn’t even shouted at Luz to go. He’d just retreated further indoors and stayed there until Luz finally gave up and left for good.
It had been a naively wishful idea anyway, that the Catholics would overlook Luz’s “sins” just because the world had ended.
Too much. Too much.
Something else,
thought Luz, desperate.
Anything else.
“You keep talking to them. That’s how you try and patch things up,” Luke’s quiet voice lilted from over the stable wall. It wasn’t Daryl he was talking to, Daryl was out on a food run…
“Whenever I talk to them, they push me away,” responded Gabriel. He sounded morose, pathetically so. “Perhaps there are some people that are just not meant to be friends.”
Yes! Thank you!
Luz thought vindictively.
Stick your nose in your fucking Bible and leave me the hell alone!
“Your current track record with this group isn’t exactly helping,” said Luke very dryly. “But I know Luz. If you prove you’re not the coward everybody thinks you are…at the very least, you’ll earn their respect.”
Luz tuned out then, pressing their hands into tight little balls around their ears.
Respect
and
religion
were two phrases that would never mesh together well,
could
never. Luke should have known better than anyone how Luz would feel about that; if he thought Luz was going to give Gabriel a chance, then he was
sorely
mistaken, and Luz was disappointed in him for it.
Across the straw-covered floor, they met eyes with Rosita - she quirked a singular, dark eyebrow in their direction. Rosita was still very new to the group, but she was the only other Mexican here and Luz had had a few small conversations here and there with her in harried Spanish, though they had mainly been jokes about Eugene that he couldn’t translate and colorful complaints about the walkers they ran into. They weren’t so close and it was hard to tell if Rosita was judging them with that eyebrow quirk, or if she was genuinely checking in on Luz’s well-being.
In response to her look, Luz just closed their eyes. They shook their head.
– – –
“I was hoping you could shed some light on Mr. Dixon for me.”
“...Didn’t you already have him in here?”
“I did. But as I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Pierce, our mutual friend is not exactly what you would call welcoming.”
“I was under the impression that
you
were welcoming
us.”
“That depends on you.”
“...What do you want to know about Daryl? More importantly, why are you asking
me?”
“I’m actually asking many of you. Though surely you know anyone can see that you and Mr. Dixon are…close.”
“I guess.”
“You’ve already mentioned your experience with plants. If your group were to stay, you would likely have a job in the gardens. I have ideas for Ms. Peletier, Maggie Rhee, almost everyone. Yet I can’t seem to put my finger on Daryl. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t know. He’s always been great at hunting. Tracking. That sort of thing. He’d probably prefer to work independently, or in a smaller group.”
“I see.”
“He’s a damn good shot. You could always post him to the watch duty cycle, out on the walls.”
“Our walls are secure, our community is tight-knit. We keep on our toes, but Mr. Dixon’s talents would serve better elsewhere.”
“If you let your guard down, it won’t stay secure. I’ve seen it with other places. Nowhere’s completely safe. You want it to be but these things - they just don’t last.”
“I believe that Alexandria can get to that point. The point where
we
are in here and
they
are out there and the world is at least a little more how it used to be.”
“Deanna…I really hope that you’re right about that.”
– – –
We are the walking dead. We are the walking dead. We ARE the walking dead.
They couldn’t be. Luke didn’t - he didn’t want to
believe
that they could be. But the more the walkers pushed and pushed against the barn doors as the storm raged on outside, Rick’s statement only proved truer. They were going to die, all of them, right here and now tonight. Judith was wailing on the floor and everyone else was throwing their backs against the horde and Luke was fairly certain that the only reason he was still standing at all was out of sheer willpower, nothing else.
He wouldn’t watch his friends get torn apart by biters. At least, not before they got to him first.
Luz was slipping in the mud; their ankle was still pretty fucked up and they’d fallen to their knees, large biceps flexing and teeth gritted tight as they pressed against the doors. Luke couldn’t see Iris through all the lightning and terror, but the exertive grunts coming somewhere from his left side sounded like hers to a T.
Next to him, Daryl strained. Part of Luke wanted to just reach out and touch him. If they were all screwed anyway, then it was now or never, wasn’t it? He should slide his palm parallel against Daryl’s, damn the sweat and the muck. He should kiss him again, a second time, a last time, and let the teeth rip and rend him every which way and that when he was done.
I love you,
Luke thought, as hard as he could, as if Daryl might hear it if it was thought hard enough.
I love you so goddamn much.
When the sun rose at last and the storm finally passed them by, they had lived and Luke’s head still rang with the words, echoing, reverberating.
Clear as a bell.
– – –
“Mr. Pierce. Can they be trusted?”
“I don’t get why you’re asking me this.”
“You know one of them. At least two, from before. Surely you could tell us something.”
“It’s been a long time, Deanna. You know how people change…Even the nicest people have had to become killers in order to adapt.”
“I haven’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And so I ask again: Can he, at least, be trusted?”
“I - think so. I hope so? I don’t know.”
“Well. In any case, I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me today.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Are you happy?”
“…I will be. Maybe. If you let them stay.”
“Hmm.”
— — —
Seeing Aaron and Eric together sent Daryl’s guts straight into nausea-mode. Merle woulda given them both shit. Called ‘em pansies, fags, whatever, maybe swung a punch or two at Eric for being the smaller one (and, hell, Aaron was decently built so he might actually win that fight); that or he’d just laugh his ass off at them a lot louder than necessary and sour the whole mood for everyone.
All Daryl could see though was something he wanted but could never have. The clasped palms, the caressing hands - the way Daryl tried not to stare as Aaron pressed his lips to Eric’s like a dying man flailing out blind to find a life preserver. They were clearly in love somehow despite it all, just like Glenn and Maggie, like Iris and Luz were. Hell, Daryl hadn’t been missing those charged glances Rick and Michonne had been casting each other, either, and everyone knew about Rosita and Abraham…
“Separate rooms,” Rick ordered, his voice terse. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“The only way you’re going to stop me from being with him right now is by shooting me,” Aaron responded, without a trace of humor in his tone. “I won’t move a muscle.”
He didn’t. “Lost cause,” Daryl muttered, and Rick shook his head but he gave in ‘cause it was the only thing there was to do.
Once they’d all left the two men alone with one another again, Daryl went to sit by himself, back against the wall. Beth’s laces were coming a little loose; he re-tightened them and did his best to ignore the crust of blood around one of the aglets that hadn’t flaked off yet. If he thought too hard about her, the wobbly sort of way he’d been tamping down his emotions would break completely all over again.
He didn’t hear Luke join him so much as he felt Luke’s presence at his side, the subtle change in the air as another person began to breathe in Daryl’s immediate oxygen. He thought again of the tears on Eric’s face when he and Aaron had been reunited, and another wave of nausea rushed throughout his body; he stiffened his shoulders, kept his eyes trained on the dusty wood floorboards below his feet. Luke was the last person he wanted to see right now, but there he was.
“You ok?”
Daryl shrugged wordlessly. It seemed that all he did these days was push Luke away…
“Ok.” He sounded disappointed, melancholy. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”
Daryl blinked - it wasn’t very often people gave him that choice. Unsure of how to respond, he shrugged a second time. “Whatever,” he said. “Don’t care.”
That was a lie, he realized. He wanted Luke to stay. Didn’t know if he wanted to be touched or talked to or what, but he knew he wanted Luke to stay.
“I’m…I’m gonna go check in on Luz and Iris then,” Luke murmured, and he left him.
For one brief moment, Daryl considered reaching out and snagging Luke right by the cuff of his denim jacket, pulling him back down next to him and showing him that he did care, he did. He was just such a goddamn idiot with all the stuff like that that counted for something real.
He didn’t reach out, though. Luke left and Daryl let him, and the laces around his shins were still stained with the aging blood of a dead, dead girl.
– – –
Luke Pierce - Gardens
Iris Gray - Medical (discuss training logistics with Pete)
Luz Montoya - Builders? (Have Pete look at ankle, proceed from there)
Carol Peletier - Food
Father Gabriel Stokes - Church
Daryl Dixon - ?
– – –
Luke felt light on his feet, like he was only moments from passing straight out and cracking his skull on the asphalt beneath his shoes. He almost felt like asking Iris to pinch him - there was no way any of this could be real.
“G…” The word was sticking in his throat like a glob of too much peanut butter. “It - You - Geo - “
He sobbed, violent and catching. Somewhere to his right, he heard Luz say, “Georgie?”
He was older, practically an adult in all the time that had passed. His hair had always been shaggy before, sprouting from the brim of his beanie like so many pieces of yellow straw, falling into his eyes and giving him a sort of shyer appearance. In the year or so since everything had gone to shit, though, he’d chopped it all off, buzzed his hair short, white-blonde and spiky and impossible to get in his way. He looked so much more mature. So independent. So
grown.
“You know these guys?” demanded the Aiden guy with the gun, clapping a cautious palm to Georgie’s shoulder.
Georgie shook him off. “I - Only two of them - That’s, that’s my
brother.
”
Luke pulled his machete from his belt. He watched as Aiden and Nicholas tensed, fingers straying to their triggers.
Luke let the knife clatter to the pavement below. In one swift movement, he plunged himself forward and threw himself into Georgie’s arms.
“
You’re so big,
” he wept against Georgie’s shoulder. He had at least a head on Luke now, his bony chin prodding into the top of Luke’s skull. “You’re fuckin’ alive. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…”
Georgie pulled back, studying Luke’s face with his careful blue eyes. “I - I can’t believe - Holy
shit.
Holy shit, and Luz - “
Quickly, Georgie opened his arm so Luz could join them. They hobbled over on their crutch, tears streaming down their face, and even they were shorter than Georgie was now, after the growth spurt that Luke had missed.
“What the hell,” said Luz. “What the
hell,
you guys.”
“Here, I have - “ Still blubbering, Luke reached into his pocket, shoved the disgusting beanie into Georgie’s hands. “I thought they got you, I thought the Terminus people fucking
ate you -
“
“I got away,” said Georgie, shaking his head. “I got away, I don’t know how, they got everyone else in my group but I ran away and I just kept running ‘til I found Alexandria.” He swallowed. “Where - Where the hell are your
glasses
at?”
Luke laughed then, only slightly hysterically. “They’re - They broke, but - “ He glanced back at Daryl for the first time in a few minutes. He was still so wary, grip clenched around the fresh possum he’d just taken down, but when Luke locked eyes with him, something in Daryl’s gaze seemed to soften.
“We have some extra pairs here, maybe one might fit,” said Georgie. He shook his head. “I can’t believe - I can’t believe that you’re really
here.
”
“We’d appreciate it then,” said Rick impatiently. “If we could speak to whoever’s in charge.”
Georgie took his old orange beanie in hand. Crumpling it slightly carelessly, he shoved it into the satchel that hung about a torso much stronger than it had been when Luke had seen it last.
“Deanna will want to talk to you,” said Georgie, and Luke didn’t miss the grim tone that took hold in his voice. “She’ll wanna talk to all of you.”
– – –
“Tell me, Ms. Gray, how many people have you lost?”
“I stopped counting a while back. Having a set number only makes it all the worse.”
“Have you had to kill anyone yourself?”
“You mean in self-defense?”
“Or otherwise.”
“I’ve done what I’ve had to do, when I’ve had to do it. Nothing more than that, nothing less.”
“That isn’t exactly an answer.”
“True. But I don’t exactly know you, do I?”
“The purpose of these one-on-one conversations is so we can get to know each other better.”
“No it isn’t. It’s so you can decide whether or not to let us all into your precious utopia.”
“You think Alexandria is a utopia?”
“Yeah. Like Thomas More meant it. It’s nothing, because utopia is impossible. Especially today.”
“And if you’re proven wrong?”
“Excuse me?”
“If you stay here, with us, and you’re proven wrong. You see that Alexandria is not nothing, it is everything.”
“That’s really what you think?”
“It’s what I know.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Wouldn’t you think?”
“I guess we will.”
– – –
“So you really took down a bunch of
cannibals?
”
Tara laughed, slightly surprised. “We’ve only been here a couple hours. You already know about the whole Terminus mess?”
Tatum shrugged, twisting one of her dark coiling curls loose around her finger. “George told me about it, sort of,” she said. “He escaped from there, before he found Enid and came here. But I heard what the others were saying, you all totally kicked their
asses.
”
Tara smiled. “I guess we kinda did do that,” she admitted, chuckling slightly. “You seem like a pretty cool kid. What’s your story, huh?”
Tatum froze up slightly, stomach plummeting. “Um…I’m with my sister, we’ve been here for a few months now…”
She didn’t elaborate further.
“Sorry,” said Tara apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to pry.”
“It’s ok.” Tatum shook herself out of the memories the best she could, like she usually did when shit got way too real. “We’re safe now, that’s what matters.”
And there it was - the look in Tara’s eyes like she pitied her, like she thought Tatum was some dumb, sheltered little girl. “Do you really believe that you’re safe?” she asked, very quietly. “I don’t mean to be a dick. It’s just that this whole place seems a little…too good to be true.”
“So you think so too.” Tatum cast a quick glance around, but no one else was within earshot of their end of the street. “George and Enid say that kind of stuff all the time. That we’re not really safe here.” She swallowed. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to be weak. I want to be
ready,
if something goes down. I can’t just - “ She steeled herself, taking a deep breath. “I can’t just stand by and be useless to everyone.”
Tara’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “You’re still a kid,” she said slowly, and she huffed. “But yeah. You’re definitely old enough to know how to defend yourself. And you
should,
if you want to keep on living. There’s some crazy things out there, but it’s not really the walkers you have to worry about. It’s the - “
“What the hell are you telling her?”
Sage appeared from out of nowhere, which was annoying because Tatum liked to think she was pretty good at keeping tabs on her surroundings. Protectively, Tatum’s sister stepped in front of her, planting her body firmly between Tatum and Tara. It would have looked a lot more intimidating if Tara didn’t have at least five inches on Sage’s height.
Tara blinked. “I wasn’t - She was just asking me a few questions about my group and I was answering her, that’s all.” Thrusting her hand forward, she smiled. “Are you Sage? I’m Tara, Tara Chambler. It’s nice to meet you.”
Sage ignored the hand completely. “Uh-huh. Listen, you don’t
know
my sister, ok? And you definitely don’t need to be filling her head with paranoia, she’s just a little girl.”
“I’m not!” Tatum cut in before anything else could be said. “Enid survived on her own, and we’re the same age! I have to know how to be able to
fight,
Sage - “
“No, you don’t!” Sage yelled. They’d gotten upset enough that angry tears were swimming in their dark brown eyes, threatening to spill over all down their full cheeks. “We are safe. I keep you
safe.
”
“Look,” said Tara gently. “I would be more than happy to help you guys out. One-on-one, or both of you at the same time. Whatever would work best, to teach you so you can be prepared when things go - “
“Things are fine,” Sage snapped. Their jaw clenched. “We don’t
need
your help.”
“Yes,
we do -
“
“Tatum!” Sage shot her the patented older sibling death glare. “Go find Ron and Enid or something. Just go."
Tatum fumed. She turned on her heel and stomped away, her fists held tightly at her sides.
When she was gone, Sage turned back to Tara. “Stay away from her,” she said, putting the steel back into her voice.
Tara glared right back. “Get your head out of the damn clouds,” she spat in return, and she left too.
Sage exhaustedly rubbed at their temples. They sighed very, very deeply.
– – –
“Do you have anything else you’d like to say?”
“Hm?”
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me. Or ask me. Or even propose as an idea to me before I let you leave?”
“What, are you expectin’ somethin’?”
“I don’t know. Should I be?”
“...You haven’t talked to Luke yet, right?”
“Luke…George Pierce’s brother, you mean.”
“Yeah.”
“No, I haven’t spoken with him. Is there something I should know about him?”
“Nah. Well - I don’t know. Knowin’ him, he prob’ly wouldn’t ask you on his own.”
“Ask me what?”
“‘S’a longshot, for sure. But you gotta doctor. You got pills, meds, shit like that?”
“I’d prefer if you kept your language clean around me, Mr. Dixon. But yes, we are suitably supplied. Pete is in charge of all of that and can look for specifics if you need them.”
“Like testosterone?”
“Testosterone?”
“Y’know. Hormones, that kinda thing. For, for trans people, you gotta know what I mean.”
“...I - I’m not quite sure.”
“‘Bout what? What I’m talkin’ about?”
“If we have any of it. I’m not so certain that we do.”
“But you ain’t certain you don’t, either?”
“No. I suppose not.”
“I’ll wanna talk to your doc, then. See if it’s somethin’ he’s got back there.”
“And if it isn’t?”
“...”
“If Pete doesn’t have anything of that sort to share with you? What will you do then?”
“...Then I’ll go out. And I’ll find some.”
“Oh no. We’d need you here. Not on a half-baked mission that would only benefit one person, if it were successful at all.”
“I’ll go out. And I’ll find some.”
“...You are an exceedingly stubborn individual, Mr. Dixon. I’m sure this isn’t the first time someone’s told you this.”
“Hm. Ain't the lowest thing I could be. I've heard a lot worse than that."
“Yes. I’m sure that you have…”