#also my name is Hershel :) not sure where you got Theo from :)))

[professor-hershel-gayton]

do your taxes or it’s french+the trench SO PAY UP, THEO.

I don’t know what the French have to do with this but thanks for the reminder!

[anothertastelesstetrahedron]

Descole headcanons maybe 👀

Did someone say Descole? 👀 I’m just gonna put the whole thing under the read more cut, since this ended up being a very long post - and I mean looooooong - like almost 3000 words long. Major spoilers for most of the games - mainly the Descole Trilogy (looking at you AL), but there’s also one UF one.

Des has terrible handwriting. I just think it would be funny if that's the one thing he cannot change about himself while impersonating someone else. He can manage faking signatures, but free writing as someone else? He has to try very, very hard to get that (nearly) right. Tbh for most of his roles that’s also hardly a problem, so he doesn’t bother.

He dehydrated/had a heat stroke at least once while in full costume. There must be a reason why Raymond tries so hard to make sure the AL gang takes water bottles, sunscreen and so on with them. Des has no self-preservation instinct (unless having Raymond around counts as Des taking care of himself?) He also probably almost died in Monte d’Or due to the heat.

Des beat up those guys who hurt Layton in UF. Listen, no one is allowed to hurt his bro except for him.

The first thing Des did after AL was visit Umid - after getting the much needed medical treatment. Because I absolutely love their interactions he promised to do so. It would be funny for him to show up in full costume as well.

Des eventually got used to Kietz (because the cat is now living with Raymond and Des. You cannot change my mind about that) At first he hated Kietz. Des is basically the old cat in the Bostonius that now has to get used to the new one lol

I know it was just the writers having no idea about Des’ backstory in LS but I still can’t stop thinking about how Hershel felt that Descole (in full costume) was familiar. So what if young Hershel Bronev actually liked to dress up in a costume similar to the Descole one? And that had left an impression on young Theo...

I also still cannot get over the fact that Des knows how to make Layton the perfect tea. Well, he had Raymond make it, but still. How does he know what kind Layton likes? Theory one: Layton’s taste hasn't changed from when they were kids. Theory two: He stalked observed Layton’s tea-drinking activities. Maybe he even posed as a waiter sometimes to find Layton’s favourite tea.

Des had kept track of how Layton was doing for a long time. He also was very close to introducing himself a couple of times. Obviously he never did. One reason why he decided against it was certainly to keep Layton away from everything. Des had given him the chance to live a peaceful life, so he obviously didn’t want to risk that. But that’s not all to it. Though Des hated himself for even feeling that, he was a bit jealous. It’s not that he regretted his decision from back then, but he still couldn’t help feeling that way. Plus, Hersh was a reminder of his past life. So while Des had his family that was another reason why he didn't approach - though in the beginning, he had actually thought even more about talking to Layton. However, Des had really tried to let go of his revenge and thus also his past - so Layton couldn't be a part of Sycamore's life. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he also couldn't help but think about their father whenever he looked at Hersh. He knows that’s not fair, but it’s what it is. The same way he thinks about Bronev whenever he sees his own eyes in the mirror. After his family’s death and after he became Descole he stopped approaching Hersh altogether and kept his distance. Not only because, again, he wanted to keep Layton out of all of this - even more so than before, because Des had already lost his family again, so losing Hersh was not an option (I write even though Des tried to kill Hersh himself hjasdjd)-, but also because he was afraid of how disappointed Layton would be were he to find out about all the things Descole had done. Des feared that he’d hate him.

Relating to one point in the previous point, Des absolutely hates mirrors. His reflection is bearable while being dressed as Descole, but he still avoids them like the plague. Even more so as AL Desmond. He also absolutely hates it when someone compliments his eyes - the thing he hates the most about his appearance.

Relating to that, I know Des’ glasses are just for show, but what if they are optical glasses nevertheless? Like, he cannot stand seeing clearly (especially since he ran into Bronev a couple of times and he absolutely doesn’t want to see that guy’s face). Maybe it’s also to help him distance himself even further from the others - especially Layton(?).

Des only possesses one photo of his family. It had been in his wallet when they died. I am just gonna assume Targent blew up his house, leaving Des with almost nothing. As much as he wishes to have the photo with him at all times, it's far too dangerous to do so while being Descole. Maybe Raymond keeps it safe? Or Des just keeps it in Desmond’s office? Maybe that was one of the things he actually liked while being Desmond again, at least he actually could carry the photo around this time.

Des lies a lot (obviously) - also to himself. (This is also me just trying to make his writing make more sense, since it often seemed to me he was written by 4+ people who didn't tell each other what they’ve written). I am thinking of that one bonus scene in MM where Des acts all empathetic towards Randall. “Just the thought of those poor parents, desperately looking for their own child.” That line does sound a lot like something Des himself knows too well… And then, one moment later, after Randall has left, Des just admits to himself that he’s just using Randall. (srsly writers??) I’m not saying that’s not right, because he’s certainly using him - no point in sugar-coating that - but he’s also very much trying to distance himself from Randall and his issues and reminding himself to focus on his goals and to not get distracted. Because Des does care. And I also think that he could have achieved his goal without Randall, but when he had learnt that Layton lost his best friend, Des tried everything in his power to get him back.

What is Des’ “true self”?

That is the one question I’m thinking about the most. It’s probably gonna get a bit complicated now… Let’s see if I can make my own words make sense (I really tried haha). For clarity's sake I’m gonna use three different names now: First, we have Des - the name I’m gonna use for the “true(est)” version of him - whoever that really is. Then we have Desmond - the AL Desmond Des “played” during AL. And, finally, there is Descole which is of course the Descole “role”.

Des has some serious identity issues - because of course he does. Descole started as a role (Des is even literally wearing a non-practical costume) that served a specific purpose. Des initially “created” Descole to have an outlet for all his rage and despair - and to get back at Targent without revealing himself. And I imagine some characteristics of Descole are things Des added, because he wanted Descole to appear a certain way different from how Des presented himself outside the costume. No one was to find who was behind the mask after all, so Descole had to act differently. Descole’s arrogance comes to mind, like that one just strikes me as not (fully) being Des himself. Des pretty much hates himself and blames himself for a lot of things. But Descole is also much more than a simple role. He’s very much a part of Des himself - it’s Des' own anger and his own feelings Descole is based on after all. Over the years, the lines between Des and Descole got more blurry. And now Des pretty much cannot tell the difference anymore between the things that make him him and the things he had just put into the Descole persona. So while Descole was initially based on parts of Des himself, over time Des truly lost himself in Descole who had become its own thing as well. Think method acting gone completely wrong - or right?

In a similar yet also opposite way, (AL) Desmond is also a role Des played during the game. Des said that he had just assumed Desmond’s identity again to get close to Layton and use him (which I don’t believe is 100% true, because I am convinced that a part of Des wanted to be saved. And also longed to see his brother again - and wanted Layton to like him), but it does make me think that Des mostly runs around as Descole. Obviously Des had kept the Desmond persona alive enough for Desmond to be regarded as a world-famous archeologist. But then again, it clearly doesn’t matter in the PL-universe if people don’t do their jobs.

I still do not know how much of Desmond is the “true” Desmond. Even if Des based Desmond on how he used to be with his family, there’s still the question how close Des actually comes to that. Memories can be deceiving and I doubt Des remembers exactly how he used to be. So maybe Desmond’s speaking style, his mannerism could be an act instead of that being Des’ true (past) self. Or which I like better, it’s a confusing mix between “lie” and “truth”. Some things are exaggerated (people tend to romanticize the past, so even with his family Des(mond) might not have been as nice as he presents himself to be as AL Desmond). Some aspects are more or less really Des(mond) and some other things are just stuff Des added to the Desmond role - consciously or not.

Let’s take this thought even further. When Des tried to leave his revenge behind and concentrate on his family, was that Des(mond) really his true(est) self? Or did Des play a role during that time as well (at least partly)? Des cannot let go. That has been shown throughout the games. So while he had tried to put Targent behind him, he might not have been able to do that completely. Thus he buried some things deep inside him and concentrated on “playing” Desmond Sycamore. Who might be the person he wished to be(?).

Long story short, I think that maybe AL Desmond is an idealised version of the Desmond Des used to be. Des acted like how he used to be while his family was still alive - or as much as possible, since he absolutely cannot let go of the pain completely. So his AL Desmond appearance could also be how he had looked like back then. I honestly do not even know if AL Desmond is the “true face” under the mask. Or if Desmond is also kind of like a “costume”. His appearance could be inaccurate as to how present Des really looks like. Descole’s character model also makes no sense. Like the hair that is sometimes visible doesn’t really look like Desmond’s most of the time after all. So is Descole wearing another wig? Is Desmond? I kind of like the idea that Des met Layton with his true appearance, so I’m on the fence here. Maybe he’s not wearing a wig, but extensions?I very much like the idea of Des appearing with his true face though… So I am kind of reluctant to have Desmond look too different from Des. Plus, Layton could have noticed if Desmond was in fact wearing a wig and that might have made Layton suspicious. But maybe Des dyed his hair a bit, and/or is wearing extensions? Maybe he actually already has grey hair, who knows. I certainly don’t.

However, I also believe that Desmond is far less of a role than Des probably thinks/admits. Over the course of the game, he might have lost himself in the Desmond role in a similar way to how he has lost himself in Descole.

Des' time as AL Desmond changed him for sure. And he does act differently as Descole after he changed into the costume than in the previous games. (I’m gonna make a whole separate post about how the German version uses different forms of politeness - and Des does speak rather … strange/different after his revelation than in other games… Again, I know that that’s just the writers being the writers, but where is the fun in that?)

Present day Des has probably no idea who his true self is anymore… Him “playing” Desmond further complicated things. Which parts did he make up, which parts are truly him? I don’t think there’s an easy answer to that… But that also makes Des so fascinating to me. I also really wonder what name he prefers after AL…

As much as I like the idea that Des himself came up with the plan to approach Layton as Desmond, I also very much like the idea that it had been Raymond instead who had suggested it. Raymond probably has to listen to a lot of Des’ angry rants. And after hearing another one about Layton seeing through one of Des’ disguises, Raymond came up with the idea to just go as himself next time. Partly also because Raymond knows Des better than anyone else and he knows how much Des longs to see his brother again - even if Des himself doesn’t admit that.

Des has acquired quite a lot of scars over the years… He does fall down a lot, so it’s bound to happen. He was probably wearing a fair bit of makeup in AL to hide some of them - in addition to his visible lack of sleep. Speaking of, I don’t think Des slept all that much during AL. He probably has nightmares that wake him up screaming. No way he could (or would want to) explain that to the others. Maybe that’s what he has been doing while he was not with the gang. He was taking a much needed nap… Or ...

… or he goes into the one room in the Bostonius that’s completely sound-proof (because that surely exists) and just screams (and cries) for a bit. In full Descole costume. He cannot bear being Desmond and being around the others at all times. He needs to have an outlet for his emotions.

Des really tried to retain his (emotional) distance from everyone in AL. I noticed that in the beginning he hardly ever said anything while I was clicking everything (and I hope believe that I’ve really clicked everything for potential Des dialogue). But he says more over time. It also takes a long time for him to talk about his family. So maybe that’s him slowly warming up to the others. Des was also probably still figuring out how to be Desmond (again). In a way, I think Desmond was one of his easiest yet also his most challenging role he ever had to “play”. No one is more familiar to him and yet also a total stranger. Plus, he had to be extra careful not to reveal too much. Can’t have been easy (which is why he needed to go scream for a bit sometimes).

He feels immensely guilty about caring for Aurora. He was especially reluctant to get closer to her, but he also just couldn't help caring for her. Because she reminded him of his daughter. He just feels very conflicted as he got more and more attached to her, not only because he knew he would eventually betray her, but he felt like in caring for Aurora he was betraying his daughter in a way… This guilt could apply to Flora as well when he eventually meets her.

One day after AL he found the Popoño he had bought for Aurora. He keeps it close ever since.

His revenge is achieved after AL, so there should be no reason for Descole to continue existing. But I don’t think Des will be able to let go of Descole right away. The AL ending shows that anyway. I feel him putting the mask back on in his last scene makes sense for him. He still cannot bring himself to leave Descole behind and he also very much still cannot bear to see his father’s eyes whenever he looks in a mirror. It would have been too sudden for him to just put all the pain behind him. Des’ revenge was basically also the one thing that defined his whole life. And Descole has been a part of his life for a long time as well - the pain and anger that led to Des creating Descole have been inside Des long before his family got killed. I can’t imagine it easy to just let go of all of that. Des is truly lost at the end of AL. He has lost his purpose, the one thing that made him go on. And he needs to figure out who he is himself. Even more so after his whole posing as Desmond again. I like to think that Des will be able to let go of Descole eventually, but that will be a slow process and not something that’s gonna happen overnight. Instead he’ll probably put on the costume fewer and fewer times until, eventually, Descole just disappears. Maybe he’ll stop when he runs out of costumes lol. No matter what, it’s gonna be a long road for Des to be able to heal… (And he should totally go get back to Layton and apologise to Layton and to a loooooot of other people and then they both go to therapy)

[dontdietwd]

Day 68

Maggie had prepared a couch for me to sleep in another room, complete with sheets and a pillow with pillowcase and all, and they smelled like fabric softener. That night, though, I was not able to sleep as easily as I had been the past few days; even though I was exhausted my body was still too alert from everything that had happened that day. The room was silent, real quiet, as was the whole house after Carl’s surgery and the news about Otis’ death.

Carl was saved. Hershel, bless the man, had saved him using the equipment Shane had brought back. Damn, that must have been a hard fight for Shane, you could see in his face how shocked he was, simply by the way his breathing had yet to return to normal when I last saw him that night, and I don’t think he had blinked in hours.

The story was weird, though… Otis told Shane to leave without him, that he’d stall the walkers? Well, I guess everybody knows the best way to stall walkers is to, you know, get eaten by them. Did Otis really sacrifice himself so Shane could bring back the equipment? Sounded weird. He was feeling guilty for shooting Carl, but was he that guilty that he’d just, I don’t know, get himself eaten?

It gave me a chill to think about that I was thinking might mean. Fuck, I hoped I was wrong…

At some point I fell asleep, but it felt like only ten minutes or so had passed when I woke up to the bright room. All was still quiet and I took a moment to understand where I was, but when I did, I felt panic surging though me. Why was everything so silent, where was everyone, is Carl ok, where are the others, is Daryl here yet?

I left the room as I tied by dreads up making a knot with two of them. In the kitchen, Maggie was pouring a cup of coffee in front of Patricia, who looked miserable, big shadows under her eyes showing she wasn’t able to sleep at all that night. I had no idea what to say. I hadn’t spoken to her yet, yesterday she had cried and cried and nothing anybody could say would make anything better. They all had cried. Maggie and Beth, her younger sister, cried because Otis had been running the farm since Maggie was a toddler, Hershel had cried because Otis had been like a son to him, but their pain was dwarfed by Patricia’s. It was clear how much of a good man Otis had been and how loved he was.

Beth looked up to see me there, standing by the kitchen door without saying a word. She nodded, trying a smile as a good morning and nodded towards a chair. I was feeling terribly awkward, like I shouldn’t be there, it wasn’t my place. They were a family; it should be their moment.

But Maggie rested a hand on my shoulder as I sat, “How’d you sleep?”

“Not much, but well,” I told her. “Thank you.”

She nodded and poured me coffee too. There was silence then as she sat and started buttering a toast to place in front of Patricia, who had yet to touch her coffee.

“Patricia…” I started, but I had no idea how I’d finish that sentence. “I know I and any of the others are the last people you want to talk to now…” and she raised her eyes to me, the pain there feeling like a kick on my chest. “But I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… None of what happened to Carl was his fault, and Carl is fine… Otis should be here and fine too.”

I understood then what I was feeling: guilty. This was my group, my people, and it was our very presence that got her husband killed. If I hadn’t let Carl come with us – I could have called Lori back and said no, it’s dangerous, it’s best if he stays with the larger group, but I just accepted. If I hadn’t been weak and felt sick yesterday I would have been able to go with Shane, and I would never be left behind because I’d fight and I’d come back in one piece, I would never tell Shane to leave me behind, and Otis would be safe at the farm. I could have –

But Patricia stopped my thoughts right then, reaching a hand over the table to touch mine, “Sam, listen to me. None of this was your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault. It’s a tragedy. A good man like Otis losing his life? A tragedy. The same thing the world is made of now. Not your fault.”

I was tearing up with her now. Damn, these were good people. They did not deserve this, any of this… By my side Beth was also crying, drying her cheeks. I squeezed Patricia’s hand, thankful for her words.

Hershel came in a little while later, and then Glenn and Theo too. They offered us breakfast and I felt like we shouldn’t accept, like we were already too much trouble there. Both men accepted, tough, starved, and Maggie would not allow me to not accept at least a buttered toast. Which I was thankful for, because it was amazing. I even ate another one with honey, the heavens.

After eating, Hershel asked us all to help them organize a burial for Otis. There was no body, so it would have to be just a memorial. He stayed with Carl, Rick and Lori inside while we went outside to gather a few stones. We all heard the motor sounds coming down the road and, looking afar, I saw Daryl on his bike open the small caravan, the second car and the RV following.

It was a good sight. My people. Daryl.

The stones were all in the hand cart already, so I motioned Glenn, Theo and Shane to go back with me to the house, and the others followed. Theo went inside to tell Rick they had arrived and I waited for them outside.

They parked by Otis’ truck. I went to stand close to where Daryl was hopping off the bike. He was as dirty as usual, like the last shower he’d taken at the CDC had been months ago, and he didn’t smile, a worried look on his face as he looked me over, his eyes stopping on my eyebrow.

“Hey,” he greeted me, “What happened there?”

I raised my hand to the bandage, “Just a twig as I was running.”

“What the hell happened yesterday?”

He asked but everyone else wanted to hear it too. Dale, Carol, Andrea, they all stood close to the bike to hear me tell it all. I summarized it all since we split up at the church, until Otis’s fate and the surgery. They all looked around nervously at the Greene’s, who were all standing there close to the porch stairs when I told one of them had died as he tried to save Carl. When I finished, Rick and Lori were already out.

“And how is he now?” Dale asked, looking from me to Rick who was behind me.

“He’ll pull through. Thanks to Hershel and his people,” and he looked around to find Shane standing a bit away from the group, “and Shane. We’d have lost Carl of not for him.”

There were hugs and thank gods after that, everyone relieved the boy was alright. As they did so, I turned to face the family who’d help us so much since yesterday and introduced each one of them.

“You’re all welcome to stay as Carl recovers and you look for the lost girl,” Hershel said firmly, and I could see he was not comfortable at all with all of us there. “You can set camp there under the trees,” he pointed to the right of the house, a bit ahead. “Rick, Lori, you’re welcome to stay in with Carl as he recovers,” and at their nods, he looked again around at everyone gathered around, “but before you set camp, we have a funeral to attend to.”

 * * *

 We all stood awkwardly a little behind, but still close enough to form a half circle around the pile of stones that was Otis’ grave. Hershel was praying as each one of them placed a stone on it, and Patricia was crying quietly as she listened to the words. As I stood between Daryl and Glenn, not knowing what to do with my hands, I heard Hershel call Otis their most precious asset, and my heart clenched a little in guilt.

We got that man killed.

“Shane?” we all looked at him as Hershel called his name, and his flinch was visible. “Will you speak for Otis?”

He denied promptly, but Patricia insisted, because he had been with Otis until the last moment. He’d shared his last minutes of life. At her teary words, he couldn’t say no anymore. So he started talking, narrating the last moments, how he was limping and hurt and Otis said he had to go, thrusted him the bags and ordered him to go ahead, to run, that he would take the rear and cover him. When he looked back, Otis was gone, it’s what Shane said.

Ok, but, what? If Shane was the one hurt, limping, why did Otis was the one to be left behind? Why didn’t they both run, why didn’t Otis help Shane run, did he really have to stay behind and try alone to detain the walkers even with no more rounds to shoot? I mean… What?

Slowly people left the area, Patricia remaining behind to be alone for a moment at the grave. I walked away with Daryl in the direction of where we’d set camp.

“We gotta start looking for Sophia,” he said. “Nearly mid-morning already, can’t waste time.”

“Okay. I’ll separate the group in two, some can stay here and set the camp. I’ll see if Mr. Greene can help with the area, maybe he knows better places where we can look for her,” we approached the trees and I saw Shane sitting on the RV steps and Rick talking to Lori at a shade. Mr. Greene was there, speaking to Dale nearby. “Mr. Greene?” I called out and he looked over as Daryl and I approached him by a car. “We’re ready to restart our search for Sophia. I was wondering if you can give us some information about the area?”

He was real helpful, saying how far away the creek elongated, how many acres of woodland surrounded the farm, and Daryl asked him questions about the terrain. They were talking for a few minutes, Rick, Shane and Andrea also approaching, apparently ready to help with the search, when Maggie brought a map.

“That’ll help a lot, Maggie, thank you,” I told her. “We can set specific areas and set groups for each, make sure we cover it all. It will be easier from now on.”

“We’ll do it right now, then,” Rick said, eyeing the map. “We can set the groups later on,” and he pointed at the farm on the map, his finger sliding to an area right at south of it, “but today we can start –”

“Not you,” Mr. Greene stopped him. “Not today. You gave three units of blood. You wouldn’t be hiking five minutes in this heat without passing out,” and he looked at Shane, “and your ankle? Push it now, you’ll be laid out for a month. No good to anybody.”

“It’s fine, just us for today then,” I said nodding at Daryl’s direction. “The others stay to set up camp.”

“You sure you can handle it?”, Maggie asked me. “Felt sick yesterday.”

“Yesterday I didn’t eat, I ran over two miles and there was all the scare… I’m fine today, ate well, we got water. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Daryl said as he took the map and started folding it. “We’ll go back to the creek, work our way from there.”

“Shane, you can take a car and circle back to the road,” I told him. “See if there are any signs of Sophia there.”

“Sure thing,” he agreed promptly.

“Alright,” Rick said and Mr. Greene was right, he did look pale and weak. “Tomorrow then, we’ll start doing this right.”

“That means we can’t have our people out there with just knives,” Shane said stopping people from leaving the conversation. “They need the gun training we’ve stopped since the quarry.”

“Shane, we’ve been through this,” I said, mentally rolling my eyes. Again, really? “Gun trainin’, alright, but guns will always be our last resource. The noise and all, I’d prefer is we did a knife training.”

“I’d prefer you not carrying guns on my property,” Mr. Greene said before Shane could retort. “We’ve managed this far without turning this into an armed camp.”

“All due respect, you get a crowd of those things wandering in here –”

“Not our decision, Shane,” I cut him off, I knew where he was going. He immediately breathed hard, licking his teeth with his lips closed. “It’s Mr. Greene’s property, we’re guests here. Hell, we ain’t even guests, we all but barged in and he was kind enough to let us stay for a while,” and I looked from Shane’s angry expression to the others around. Daryl nodded at me when I looked at him, and Rick did too. “Daryl and I will put our guns away when we come back, we’ll need them out there,’ and as I finished I nodded at the direction of Rick’s gun.

He understood, being the first one to take it off and place it on the hood of the car. Shane was clearly pissed and not bothering to hide it as he did the same.

“I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody’s got to,” Shane said, “What happens if we find her and she’s bit?”

“You know damn well what we gotta go,” Daryl said, his voice grave.

“We all know,” I agreed.

“And what do we hell her mother?” Maggie asked, a bit of a shock in her face.

“The truth,” was all Andrea said for the whole conversation.

I saw it, there was a look between Maggie and her father. He shook his head at her, telling her something. But well, not my business. My business was finding Sophia, in any state she might be now, having people safe and leave as soon as Carl could travel.

“Shane, will you set up security?” I said to him, letting it pass.

“I’ll gather and secure all weapons,” he said after a nod, now in control of his anger. “Make sure no one’s carrying ‘till we’re at a practice range off site. But Mr. Greene, I do request one rifleman on lookout. Dale’s got experience.”

Mr. Greene looked at me for a moment. Shane’s request made a lot of sense, a lookout was crucial in such an open area like this.

“People would feel safer,” Rick also agreed. “Less inclined to carry a gun.”

He thought for a moment, looked at us and nodded, solemnly.

“Thank you, Mr. Greene,” I told him and looked at Daryl by my side. With a nod, we both walked away as I mumbled only to him, “Damn, sometimes I want so fuckin’ much to just bitch slap this guy!”

He laughed quickly in surprise at my comment and stopped me by the trees, “You sure you fine to go tracking today?”

“I’m sure.”

“You feel anything, you tell me and we come right back, alright?”

I smiled. This time, I don’t know why, I didn’t get bothered by his worry. I was sweet. I said nothing, just smiled up at him and he frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“You,” I said simply.

“Me what?”

“All worried ‘bout me.”

He made a pfff sound that made me smile more, and looked down, “Just don’ wanna have to carry your ass all the way back to the farm, is all.”

I laughed and would retort but Maggie approached, “Hey, sorry,” she said for interrupting. “I got a pharmacy run in town, we’re low on meds. Rick suggested Glenn should go with me. That ok?”

“Uh…” I thought, considering the implications. “Is it safe?”

“Pretty much, yes. I’ve done this before alone,”

“And Mr. Greene?”

“Told him already, it’s fine.”

“Well, I don’t see why not, if he’s up to it.”

She nodded with a little smile and moved to speak to Glenn and I looked back at Daryl, “We gotta take water and something to eat during the day.”

“I’ll get somethin’ from the bag,” and he moved away to the RV, where our bags were still piled under the table. Oh, speaking of water.

“Rick?” I called him out and he looked at me as he passed the area to where we’d set the tents. “We need to bring all those water gallons from the road, you up to it?”

He nodded across the area, ‘I’ll just check up on Carl and I’ll head to the road with Shane, then.”

“We got water, more than enough,” Maggie said from near me where she was talking to Glenn. “Got five wells in our land, house draws directly from number one,” and she pointed somewhere near the house. Well number two is right over there,” she pointed again, “we use it for the cattle but it’s just as pure. Take all you need. There’s a cart and containers in the generator shed behind the house.”

This girl was an angel. Rick didn’t have to go to the road and could stay with Carl, which was better for everyone. With Daryl leaving with me, Glenn going to the pharmacy with Maggie, Theo with his arm stitched up and Dale on guard, there were no other people to go get the gallons.

People dispersed and I started checking on my weapons, how much ammo I had, the knife on my hip, choosing one god axe from the shed Maggie had mentioned, and then I had to go inside the farm house to use the bathroom before we left. Daryl was impatiently waiting for me, saying we were wasting time and light and to just fucking go already. So we did, and on the way out of the farm, we found part of the group standing around one of the wells Maggie had pointed out. Strangely, Glenn was sitting on the side of it, legs in, with a rope around his waist.

“What’s going on?” I asked and Daryl huffed by my side, knowing it would be something else to stall us.

“There’s a walker down the well,” Dale told me as if this was enough information.

I looked at Glenn, “And you look like you’re ready to go down there, why?” and I leaned a bit to look down there. Yep, there was a walker. The ugliest, most disgusting walker I had seen so far. I made a face and a weird sound, I assume.

“We gotta take it out of there,” Shane said, same old tone. “Thought of shooting it but the brains will come out and probably infect the water.”

I looked down again, “Probably infected already. And, hold on, your plan for getting the walker out of there is sending Glenn down?”

“Yeah,” Andrea said, her pose similar to Shane’s. “He’ll tie it and we’ll pull him out, no big deal.”

I laughed. I really did laugh, “No big deal? Ok then. But just – just a quick question: have you all lost your fuckin’ minds?!”

“Now hold on,” Shane started taking that famous step towards me he as he had done many times before and, again, Daryl took a step closer. “We need clean water, only way to –”

“Only way?!” I stopped him and turned to the others, “Maggie, didn’t you say there are five wells in the property?”, she nodded and I looked at the others and at Shane again. “That makes four good ones! This one’s probably infected already, gotta seal it and not use anymore,” I looked at Maggie, “for the safety of your cattle.”

“How we you possibly know if it is infected?” Lori asked, arms crossed.

“How can we know it’s not? You taking any chances? I’m ain’t drinking it. Would you give Carl this water?”

I didn’t wait for her to answer because it was obvious. Nobody said anything else but I could see Shane’s annoyance and I knew maybe I was being too harsh, but whatever. They wanted to send Glenn down there, I mean, what the fuck? How were these people gonna survive? So I went to Glenn, grabbed him from behind under his armpits and all but dragged him out of the well entrance.

“Please, Glenn,” I said as I let go and he got to his feet. “Please, stop agreeing to anything people tell you to do. Do you realize what you were about to do?”

“Yeah…” he said lamely. “You right, I know you’re right.”

“And look,” I looked at the others, “I don’t give a shit if you think I’m being an ass about this, I just want us all to be alive. You don’t have to like it or me or whatever, just don’t send people down wells with walkers inside!”

I turned to go, but heard Theo say “But what do we do with –”

He stopped though, because as he spoke Daryl aimed down the well and shot an arrow down, stopping the walker’s groans instantly. Then he turned away from them and joined me on the way out of the farm.

I was quiet for a while as we walked, Daryl leading the way just a step in front of me. I was so pissed I felt like screaming. Didn’t people have anything better to do? Set up camp, volunteer to go look for Sophia, help the Greenes with house chores, carry buckets of water from the other wells? I mean, I don’t know, anything but lowering a person down a well with a walker! Glenn could have died down there, didn’t they see it?

“Stop,” I heard Daryl’s voice cut my thoughts as he walked without looking at me.

“What?”

“You thinkin’ so hard it’s like you’re screamin.” I tried speaking but I ended up just groaning in anger and Daryl turned to me, stopping. “You done dealt with it, let it go. And Glenn’s a big boy, coulda’ve said no. Ya can’t control everything they do, you’ll go insane.”

“I know, you’re right…” and I started walking again, Daryl this time staying by my side. “I just wish they’d have some brains, you know... Common sense? It’s so obvious that they shouldn’t be doing that, I can’t understand – and I’m doing it again. Sorry, I’ll – you’re right, I’ll stop.”

“Good, ‘cause I gotta be tracking and you’re distracting me.”

Just then we abruptly left the woods, arriving at a large area with a big two story house right there. We stopped in silence to watch, and finally all the thoughts left my mind. It was completely silent, no signs of life or death. I removed my axe from a hoop on my belt as Daryl slid the crossbow from his shoulder, took an arrow from its holster and armed it. He walked in front of me, being the only one with a shooting weapon – I did have my two guns but wasn’t about to use them for just anything. We circled the house once, as silently as possible and stopped by the front door. He looked back at me quickly with a nod and then kicked it. It busted open with a loud noise and we still remained there, my axe in hand and up, waiting for any groan to come from a startled walker, but none came.

He entered the house then and I followed, staying in the hallway as he entered each room there, silently. I had to admire it. He was tall and strong, but moved quietly and real light on his feet. And as he held the heavy crossbow up, his arms were tense and damn, those arms.

We looked up a stair case but didn’t go up just yet. He entered the decrepit kitchen and the room beyond that as I stood by the door, eyeing the hall and the back door.

“Clear,” he told me in a low voice.

I turned to enter the kitchen as he was taking something from the trash and I approached. It was a can of sardine, still fresh. Somebody had been there recently, we both agreed with a look. This was a god sign. Daryl then looked beyond me and nudged me to get out of the way. Turning, I saw he was looking at a pantry door, so I stood behind. With his bow aimed, he opened the door carefully. It was empty save from some cans on the shelves.

He stood there observing it and I approached, crouching down to look at the pillow and blanket that had been left there. Touching it, I looked up at him.

“Could’ve been her.”

“Coulda been anybody, ain’t no way to tell”, he corrected me but paused. “But yeah, coulda been her.”

I got up and we left the kitchen, Daryl taking position in front of me again as we ascended the stairs. It creaked loudly midway up and we both froze for a moment, waiting for anything to happen, but there was no sound so we kept on up. The upper floor was also clear. It was a big house, I counted at least six bedrooms up there, many bathrooms, and it was not in such a bad shape as the ground floor. It was a good house. Before going down we looted a little, trying to find anything useful. I did find a pair of boots that were my size, but they were too worn out so I didn’t mind to take them. There were folded sheets and pillow cases in a wardrobe, which I put inside my still empty backpack. I kept looking and Daryl went downstairs again and after a moment I heard him shout Sophia’s name, just in case. I ended up taking a few hair ties, one half used toothpaste and a pack of pads for the other girls from the bathrooms, and a few abandoned pieces of clothing from the bedrooms.

When I went downstairs, I found him a bit away from the house, looking at a few wild flowers. They were quite pretty. I approached quietly and he explained why he was looking at them. He told me a story about a Cherokee tribe and the mothers with missing children, and how these flowers, the Cherokee Roses, were a sign of hope for them, as they bloomed from where the mother’s tears fell. I wondered how he knew such a beautiful story, but it didn’t matter because in the end, he surprised me even more as he said, “Reminded me of Carol.”

 * * *

 When we got back, Daryl and I went separate ways. I saw him entering the RV as I gave Theo my backpack, he said he’d sort the things and I was glad to see he looked so much better than the night before. Glenn was also back and he was smiling goofily. Weird, no run can go so well you’ll smile like that. I crossed the grassy area and went to the house. In Carl’s room, I saw he was awake and talking softly to Rick as if very sleepy, but he had some color back and I felt a little weight being lifted from my heart.

He was really going to be okay, one of our two children was fine and that at least was something.

Rick followed me out, “Sam, can we speak for a moment?”

“Uh, sure…” I moved to sit on the porch steps and he sat by my side. “Everything okay?”

“It is,” he nodded emphatically. “Carl is fine, talking, he’ll fully recover. The group is fine as well, finally in a safe place…” he was gonna keep talking but I spoke over him.

“In what looks like a safe place.”

“Look around, Sam,” he clearly disagreed and I looked to where his eyes were pointing. The group was by the trees, tents armed, Shane starting a fire, and I understood what he meant, it looked good. “This is a good place, somewhere we can settle and make things work.”

“What are you talking about, Rick?”

He breathed before saying, “I asked Hershel to let us stay. Indefinitely.”

“You did.”

Oh, hold on, wait a minute, when the hell did he decide to do that?

“I did. He said no at first, but I insisted.”

“Why, Rick?

“Why?” he looked at me. “Because this is a good place!”

“He said no, and you insisted,” I affirmed to make him move on, because I had so much to say about this that I preferred to wait.

“I did. He said that if we all follow his rules, he’ll think about it.”

“His no weapons rule?”

“Yes, but he did make it sound like there will be more rules. I told him we can do that.”

“We have to know all the rules before agreeing to them, Rick.”

“I say anything will be worth it if he lets us stay!”

“I say you need to think this through and that we shoulda talked about this before asking him!”

“And why is that, Sam?” he challenged. “You don’t think we could stay and make it good here?”

“Rick, just…” I tried to control my temper. “Think about it, okay, bear with me. When Carl was shot, we found the farm. Otis just pointed in the general direction and I ran. I was weak from hunger and heat, pregnant, didn’t know where it was, ran real fast for over two miles, had a cut and blood all over my eye. And yet, all I had to do was jump over the fence and come right to the porch. If I did it, anyone can do it. Dead or alive. Anybody can just climb over a fence and get to us, bite and kill us, or rob everything we have,” I paused and I saw his eyes wander away from me, thinking. “It ain’t safe. It’s good, but it ain’t safe, and safety must be our priority.”

“We’ll have lookouts,” he said, still insisting.

“One person on top of the RV with a rifle will not work as lookout for the entire property. It’s acres large, lots of fenced area that nobody will be looking at for most part of the time. I’m being realistic here, Rick. It is a good place, of course it is, there’s cattle, room to plant stuff, grow food, space for everyone, yeah, I can see that. But none of this will do any good is we can get invaded at any second.”

Rick looked away, to the group again, tried saying something, then huffed and lowered his head to his hands.

“I know you’re anxious to find a god place for your wife and son, I understand that. But that’s exactly why we all need to think things through before doing anything. Before asking Mr. Greene to let us just live here forever.”

“What is your plan, then?” he looked again at me and I could see he had understood my point because he was not so confrontational anymore.

“Not a plan yet, just ideas. Many ideas. What we need, Rick… Is walls.”

He paused, his head low and looking at me sideways, and he said, “Walls.” It wasn’t a question.

“Walls. A gate and walls. Some place we can close and secure and live inside,” I looked away, around the area. “Was talking to Daryl about it. Something like any abandoned condo, a hotel, a gated community, even a school would do, as long as any of those places have walls around it. With space for everyone, green area where we can plant stuff, because one day all the canned food will be gone. That’s what I mean, Rick.”

He looked baffled. I’m sure he hadn’t thought that far in the future.

“And if Hershel says yes? We’ll just say thanks but no thanks and leave anyway?”

I said nothing for a while, thinking about it.

“If he says yes, we’ll stay. But we gotta plan and put some action into it as fast as possible. Find a way to fortify, set up an area, pro’ly not the entire farm, that we can build around. It’ll definitely make it not look as beautiful as it does now, but we’ll build walls. With, I don’t know… Tree trunks or bricks if we can find enough. Mr. Greene will have to agree to that as well.”

“And if we do stay… We’ll have to be under his rules… Indefinitely.”

I raised my eyebrows, a tight smile, my head tilting a little, “Do you see it now?”

He nodded, thoughtfully, and after a moment got up, a hand patting my knee briefly, “Thanks for the talk.”

Well, I was glad someone in the group was capable of fucking listening.

 * * *

 It was already dark when I noticed I hadn’t fixed my stuff yet, no tent, bags, folding bed, nothing. I didn’t assume for a moment I’d be crashing on Mr. Greene’s couch again. I was moving to the RV to get the tent when I saw an orange form from among a few trees, a bit away from the other tents. My own tent being the only bright orange one, it got my attention. Moving there, I reached an area still under the trees, but at least 90 feet away from everybody else’s, and sure enough, there was my tent ready and set right by Daryl’s pale blue one. I looked inside to see my foldable bed set and the sleeping bag on it, my personal bag on the floor and a box turned over to make up a little side table with an oil lamp on it. Where did this oil lamp come from?

Coming out of the tent, I saw Daryl approaching with fire wood in his arms. He saw me then and let the wood fall to the ground.

“So this farm’s got magical properties or something that people’s tents get set on their own?”

“Yeah, also known as Dixon doin’ it for ya ‘cause you can’t set it up yourself,” and he crouched down to organize the wood he’d dropped.

“Hey, I could learn and do it myself!” and he made his pff sound again. “Why here away from the others?” I finally asked.

“Did you see me campin’ close to the others at the quarry?”

“No… But that was before,” and I sat down on the tarp he’s set under my tent, the end of it making a small area right in front of it. “Now you know’em better, it’s been a while.”

“Ain’t like I got friends with nobody,” he stopped, resting an arm over his bent knee. “You wanna move your over there, be my guest, I’m stayin’.”

“Nah… Been socializing too much for my likes. Can use some peace.”

He looked at me but said nothing, turning quickly to start a fire with his lighter and we were silent for a while. I kept looking at him and he didn’t seem to notice, and I caught myself once again admiring his form. Damn those arms. I didn’t know what was happening.

Alright, fine! I did know. I was very much, really, very much attracted to him. How could I not be, he was gorgeous! It’d be better if he was a bit cleaner, sure, but you can’t have it all during the apocalypse. And damn, did he have to cut off the sleeves of every damn shirt he owned? He was doing it on purpose, I bet.

Sure it was physical. I’d been alone for nearly three months; the last person I’d been with was a one-night stand that knocked me up. Before the world ended I was never alone for too long. Relationships, no, but having fun with guys I found attractive? Hell yeah. I’ve no shame in saying that, I was a free woman, owed nothing to no one, sexually active and damn, now I was thinking about sex. And I missed it. I missed it a lot.

But was it just attraction? Or was it simply Daryl? The way he and I had gotten close, how well we worked together, how I knew I could count on him for whatever I needed? He had my back, I could dare to call him a partner. He was a rough man, rude plenty of times, but was gentle in the way he cared about me. And it was not just that, it was how much I admired him. Smart without being arrogant, talented and built for this new world, and he cared about the people around him even though he’d never say so. The way he was worried about Sophia and cared so much about finding her, about her mother. He was a good man, Daryl was, and I was sure it was all that, plus the obvious attraction, that got me having all those feelings for him.

Maybe I was ready to admit to myself that I had feelings for Daryl.

He’d been staring at me for many seconds when I caught myself. I laughed a little, ore like a giggle, so fucking awkwardly, and looked away, reaching to untie my boots just to have something other than him to look at.

“What was that?” he asked and I noticed there was already a small fire going on next to him.

“What? Nothing!” I answered too quickly.

“Was you thinkin’ ‘bout the well and Glenn again?” he turned to poke at the fire to make it warmer.

It was my turn to pfff, “Last person I was thinkin’ about was Glenn.”

He looked at me, the arm resting on his knee as he crouched all tensed up and damn, I looked away quickly again, pulling the first boot off. “Was ‘bout a person then.”

Did he sound… Bothered? Maybe the thought I was thinking about any other person, not him, and it bothered him… Well, wasn’t that interesting?

“No, I was just –” Think faster, Sam! “I was thinkin’ about the things I miss,” meh, nearly a good one. “From before.”

I removed the other boot and wiggled my toes inside my socks.

“And what is that?”

He decided the fire was good enough for now and kind of dragged himself over to the tarp without getting up, dropping by my side but not too close. Ok, now I had to think about the things I missed.

I missed sex.

“Well…” I removed one sock. “My routine was just… It sucked. Was wake up before the sun, two buses to go work at the diner, have lunch, another bus to the other diner in the afternoon, another bus to school at night, study all those crap what I’d have no use to but I needed because I wanted to finish high school, and then two buses to go back home late at night… Getting often harassed when I got there… Only to start it all over again the next day.”

He hummed, “Miss that?”

I laughed, “No fuckin’ way! In his area, the end of the world was not so bad. I was thinking ‘bout the weekends,” I said as I massaged my own foot, leg bent to rest it on top of my other thigh. “I still had work at least one of the diners in the mornings, so I’d wake up early and take all the buses just the same, but after I left… There was this group of people, it was something kinda unofficial, we’d just meet at a park, you know Wells Park?” he nodded. “And we’d stay there or go somewhere else so we’d practice parkour. We’d be at it for hours… One of the guys was a gym teacher at a local school, so he helped us all with the stretches and other stuff to stay in shape. It was…” I paused thinking of it for a moment. “Lifted all the weight I carried with me all week from my shoulders.”

He nodded and was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, looking at the fire. Around us, night had fallen and the rest of the group was gathered in camping chairs around their own fire and crickets and cicadas were singing loudly. It was peaceful.

“You can still do that,” he said quietly after a moment and I removed the sock from my other foot. “Do this… Thing you did. Plenty space.”

“I could. But one important thing to parkour is that ya can’t be afraid. Careful, yeah, but not afraid. Fear will hold you back in moments you just can’t hold back.”

“You afraid?” he looked at me.

I nodded slowly and in silence for a moment before answering, “I guess… Yeah. There’s a child in here now. It’s all different.”

He gave the that slow nod again, his teeth biting on his lower lip and he eyed me massaging my foot, “Suppose it is.”

Extending a hand to point at my foot, Daryl gestured me to let him take it. I was utterly confused, but he just insisted wordlessly. Baffled, I turned on my place to face him as he did the same, sitting with his right leg bent over the tarp and the other extended out, and we sat facing each other. I rested my left bare foot on his crossed leg and he placed his hands on it, warm and strong, and started doing the same massage I’d been doing.

Damn, I was so fucked. No returning after the point the guy you like massages your foot. Done. Done and over with.

I said nothing, just groaned, because his massage was so much better than my own, and he pressed his thumbs strongly on the arch. At my long, low groan he looked up from my foot to me and that little, enticing sideways smile came up again.

Fuck, the man was killing me.

“Will ya cut the crap now and tell me what you was really thinkin’ about?”

I opened my eyes to look at him. When had I closed my eyes?

“What?”

“You don’ wanna share, you don’ gotta,” and he looked at my foot again as he started pressing on my toes and I’m sure my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I leaned back, resting my weight on my arms behind me. “But you wasn’t thinking ‘bout no parkour.”

Baffled. Fucking baffled.

I smiled with my eyebrows frowned in disbelief, “How can you possibly know that?”

“You don’ think I know ya?”

I stuttered a bit, making a pfff among the meaningless sounds and was finally able to formulate “To the point you know what I was thinking?!”

“I don’ know what you was thinkin’, just what you wasn’t.”

He motioned me to place the other foot there as well and put one hand on each, his thumbs pressing and sliding against both soles. I didn’t groan this time: I moaned. I fucking moaned and let myself fall back, lying on the tarp, an arm pillowing my head. He paused for a moment, just holding my foot and I looked at him. He seemed a bit confused.

“Don’t stop…” I asked and it was clear how sexual the whole things sounded. He moved his hands again, still looking at me. “Okay,” I conceded. I couldn’t believe I was gonna tell him that. “As much as I do miss parkour, you’re right, it ain’t what I was thinkin’ of…” I looked up at the sky visible among the tree leaves above us. “When I quit the drugs and drinking I did it on my own. There were no clinics, no treatments… No people around supporting me. It was all me… So I pro’ly didn’t do it right. Didn’t… Not in the healthiest way, I’m sure. But it worked, went through withdrawals and all, and after they passed I… Managed. But what I did was, I kinda… Substituted one urge for another,” his hands were now on top of my feet, massaging the area it met my leg. “And this other urge is what I miss. These days way much more than drinking. It’s what I was thinking about.”

Please don’t ask me what it is. Please don’t ask me what it is.

“What is it?”

Damn.

I looked back at him and stared for a moment, saying nothing, our eyes locked and his hands still moving on my skin.

Oh, how I wanted to jump him.

“What is your addiction, Daryl?” I asked instead.

The side smile was back as he slowly shook his head, “Liked weed a lot. Kinda miss it. What’s yours?”

Fuck it, I was just gonna say it. Let it in the open, just… Tell him. The way he was pressing on my feet and looking down at me, there was no way he’d be bothered by me telling him that. He’d like it, wouldn’t he? He’d like knowing what I was thinking before as I stared at him was sex.

But there was movement somewhere behind our tents and it startled us. I sat up, booking back, my feet withdrawing from his hands. Daryl straightened his back and a hand rested on the knife on his belt. After a moment we recognized Lori sneaking away from the camp, going alone to the meadow and disappearing from sight.

Moment was gone.

I looked back at him and he seemed to be coming out of a hypnosis or something, a bit confused. We locked eyes and looked away quickly. I’m sure he knew what I’d been talking about, or it wouldn’t be this awkward now the moment had passed.

“I’d better go to sleep,” he said as he pushed himself up. “Got lookout in a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, sure,” I tried to sound nonchalant as he approached the entrance of his tent. “G’night.”

“Night,” he replied quickly and zipped himself inside.

That night I covered my mouth with a hand to muffle any sound as I tried to mimic the feeling.  Nearly worked, but it wasn’t nearly as good as the real thing, not even close to what I thought it’d be with Daryl. But at least it got me to sleep.