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M E G A N

People chatter and low music plays as I enter the welcoming party alongside the four Andersons. More anxiousness courses through my veins than I'd felt when approaching my own welcoming party.

This time, Pete accompanies us as to welcome all the new people he hasn't met before. Sam, of course, wanders off, his familiar stamp in-hand. I turn my palm upside down, looking at the faded, red ink I'd refused to wash off. The silly memory behind it being something I won't be ready to wash away until Carl is back, safe.

Jessie and Pete quickly leave Ron and I as they go mingle with all the new adults. The room being a filled with several faces that are completely new to the sheltered Alexandrians.

It seems like a given that I'd like to be here to celebrate the arrival of the new people. My people.

But after I made the decision yesterday to take Daryl to the side and ask for closure about why he was with those men, I'd gotten the horrifying answers that my people were dancing around giving me.

I felt like doing anything but celebrating during this moment.

From the man, I gathered that the group believes that Carl and I got separated from them during what happened at the prison.

The one that had fallen at the hands of the governor. Hershel being collateral damage of his ongoing dispute with Rick. He then told me how he lost Beth and wound up grouping with those men. After, he explained what happened with the cannibals from Terminus, where he'd met Rosita, Tara, Eugene and Abraham. After leaving the place to burn, the group then stayed in a church, shown to them by Father Gabriel, the creepy, awkward man dignified by the word of God. Also, the same holy place where Bob died. He then told me what happened to Beth at the hospital and how he'd come across her friend Noah. The boy had taken the group to his old community, where Tyreese was bitten. After his death, the group resided in a barn, where Aaron had found them.

And Carl has no idea about any of it. When he comes back, I'll have to be the one to break the several layers of sad news.

What happened in between when Carl and I left, and what went down with the governor, I'll never know. Daryl assumed that I was there to witness it all. But for now, I'm thankful that the group has no idea of what Carl and I did. It'd be up to the boy if he wanted to tell them.

It was Ron who'd convinced me to show my face at the party.

He said it was the polite thing to do, something normal people did, even when they didn't want to. Something about keeping up appearances. The boy knew I was down in the dumps, and he'd assumed that it was because I was just missing my friend.

But it was so much more. It was the first load of grief I'd experienced in the new world.

"Don't you clean up nice." A charming, southern voice cuts through my thoughts. Maggie's. I had no idea how cheery the woman could be, knowing everything she'd lost in the past few weeks. The warm woman briefly brings me in for a hug, a reunion of sorts as we hadn't yet gotten the chance to speak. Glenn reluctantly does the same.

"You do too." I said, looking her up and down. Her brown hair is slightly longer than it was when we left the prison, now brushing a bit passed her shoulders. "You guys look great." Glenn and Maggie stand, poised in front of me.

Although she makes an effort to stand tall, laugh, and keep up her illusion of happiness, I can not say the same for her husband. The telling man looks at me with his nervous, wide eyes.

"Hey, Megan?" Glenn starts. "Why don't you show me where Jessie's cookies are. I heard they're pretty good." He remarks. I nod, stepping to the side and allowing him to pass me.

"They're on the table to the l—" I begin to say. But once we're out of earshot from Maggie, Glenn grabs my arm and pulls me into a bedroom, gently closing the door.

"I know." He says.

"You know?"

"I know."

"You know what?" I ask, not understand what the man means as he stands in front of me with the nervous-sweats.

"I know that you and Carl left. Before the prison fell." He starts. The confused expression on my face drops, as I realize what he's trying to tell me. "Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone." He sassily remarks.

"Thank you." I start. "How did you know?"

"Beth told me." He says, folding his arms. "She went to find you two in the guard tower in the morning, after what happened that night. She found your bolt-cutters and the hole in the fence. She made me promise not to tell anyone."

The beautiful, blonde Beth, who—although gone—I'd continue to see in any act of kindness in those around me. She's the reason the group doesn't hate me. The girl had my back, not even knowing what I'd done. Not even knowing she'd never see me again.

"Why didn't you?" I asked him. "You're terrible at keeping secrets."

"We thought you guys had just gone out for the day. More of Carl's little rebellious phase. Beth made me cover for you two." He starts. "So after everything happened with the flu, with Patrick, we said that you and Carl were quarantined in your tower. We waited for you two to come back and you never did."

"What happened to Patrick?"

"He died, Megan. That night you left." Glenn sighs, dropping his crossed arms. "There was a flu that went around, killed people, turned them. We lost a lot that day."

I stay silent, now knowing what happened while we were gone. While we were outside of the danger, not having a care in the world, our people nearly lost everything. Until the night that they actually did.

"Look," Glenn sighs once again. "I didn't tell anyone because I thought you two had to be dead. There would've been no use to hold out hope. Then Daryl told us that he came across you and Carl, and I started to feel guilty again." He starts. "Now that you two are okay, Rick needs to know."

"Okay. I'll talk to Carl when he gets back." I start. The man nods, a guilty look on his face as he opens the bedroom door. "Wait, Glenn?"

"Yeah?" He stops, halfway through the door.

"Are you mad at us? For leaving?" My curiously hopeful voice sounds out, desperate for a comforting response from one of the few people I'd gotten the chance to bond with back at the prison.

"I'm just glad that you two are okay."

☆

"It's around here somewhere." Ron says, his hands rustling around the leaves of a thick shrub adjacent to the back wall of his house.

"What is?" I ask. The boy doesn't answer as he continues searching for something I'm not aware of.

Ron found me, teary-eyed in the bedroom, shortly after Glenn confronted me. The boy then led me out of the house, saying that we could finally ditch the party and have our own fun. Whatever that means.

Now, I stand behind him, holding back tears as he kneels on the ground, searching for whatever's in this bush.

"Got it." He says, groaning a bit as he pushes himself to his feet. The sound of liquid swishing around sounds out as he turns around to reveal a glass bottle, covered with specks of dirt.

I grab the neck of the bottle with my hand, turning it a little so I can view the label. "Rum?" I nervously ask the boy, an excited look on his face.

"Took it from my dad a few months back." He starts. "He won't miss it." He remarks. I think that the large beverage cart full of thoroughly sampled alcohol bottles displayed in his parents' kitchen begs to differ.

"You actually drink that?" I ask, shocked at the boy's rash behavior.

"No. Not yet." He sheepishly responds. "I was saving it—for a special occasion."

"Keep saving it, then. I want nothing to do with this." My stern voice says to the boy.

"C'mon, you've never even thought about trying it?" He asks, nudging my arm with his elbow. My eyes stay gaped at him, considering his plea for a second. "All you do is stare at a textbook—when you're not too busy treating tummy-aches. It's time for you to let loose." He teases.

My mind nearly spits out a backhanded comment at Ron's disregard for the importance of my job, before I get to thinking.

Really—ever since Carl left—I haven't been having much fun around here.

The boy takes my prolonged silence as a sign that I no longer object to this. He excitedly grabs my wrist and pulls me towards his empty house. With the eager slamming of the front door and the thudding of footsteps across the living room, we're finally in the Anderson's kitchen.

"Here," He motions, handing me the bottle. The boy quickly opens the cupboard and pulls out two glasses for us. "Pour it up." He jokes.

I hesitantly unscrew the cap and begin pouring the liquid into one of the glasses.

"Oh come on," Ron remarks, gently nudging the bottom of the bottle upwards, making more liquid roll out of it. I roll my eyes and move onto the next glass, pouring just as much as I was forced to pour in the first one.

"You bring these upstairs, and I'll go hide the bottle." He says, yanking the bottle from my hand and grabbing the cap from the counter before running for the door.

I grab the two glasses and look around, scanning my eyes through all of the kitchen windows. My feet jog across the kitchen and up the stair case, making a sharp turn towards Ron's room. The glasses gently clink as I place them on his wooden desk.

"Time to get this party started." Ron says as he briskly enters the room. He then grabs my wrists and lifts them gently up and down in the air, trying to make me dance along with him.

"You're way too excited for this." I laugh, gently taking my wrists out of his grip.

"No. You're just not excited enough." He says gingerly, as he swiftly dances around, picking up both of the glasses. Ron then hands me one of them, keeping the other for himself. "Cheers!"

I can't help but laugh at the boy, as well as the effort he's exerting while trying to better my gloomy mood.

The rim of my glass meets his, clinking as some of the alcohol splashes around, drops of it landing on the side of the glass.

Then, I follow his lead, raising the glass to my lips, tilting it back in hopes that this scheme of his will prove itself to be worth-while.

☆

It was not worth-while.

A dull heaviness behind my eyes causes me to wince at every soft flare of sunlight peaking through the windows in the Andersons' living room. A delightful scent of a sweet breakfast swarms the air around me as I try to maintain my stability on my way down the staircase.

"Good morning." Jessie's cheery voice echoes out. She doesn't turn her head as she continues to scrape at whatever's in the pan on the stove.

"Morning." I say, trying to keep the grogginess of my presence to a minimum. My feet walk in a straight line toward the front door, not planning to stop.

"Why don't you stay for some breakfast?" Her charming, motherly voice asks me. Normally I'd be ecstatic at the offer from the woman I'd grown to adore.

"I shouldn't," I start, "Pete's expecting me at the infirmary any minute now."

"It won't take long. It's already cooked." She remarks, walking over to the island and pulling back one of the stools. "Besides, I can handle Pete." A cheeky smile crosses her face.

"I guess it couldn't hurt if I was a little late." I admit, no longer being able to resist her offer. My feet drowsily drag themselves across the tile of the kitchen, before I lift myself onto the barstool.

Jessie swiftly places a glass plate and a fork on the bar in front of me. She then brings over a plate containing a stack of pancakes, using her spatula to scoop one off and plop it onto mine.

"Thank you." I say, grabbing my fork and beginning to use it on its side to cut the pancake.

"There's more where that came from." She remarks, lifting the pan off of the stove and using the spatula to pour some scrambled eggs next to the pancake. "Protein helps the hangover."

Protein was something I'd recently learned about. One of the four macromolecules that humans need to survive. It was enlightening that I was able to understand such a complex word. Most of the time, I have to assume about half of what adults are talking about.

However, this time, I hear Jessie loud and clear.

"What—" I pause after my stutter. "How'd you know?" I finally ask her.

"Ron's puking woke me up. I could hear it from upstairs." She chuckles. "I also found these." She turns around, reaching for something in the sink and bringing them into my vision.

The two glasses we'd used to pour the liquor in. Each still having a few drops circling around the bottom. The boy told me he'd wash the glasses and put them back where he took them from. I guess the sickness got to him before he could.

"I'm sorry." The guilt combined with my hangover make me feel sick to my stomach.

"I'm not mad." The endearing woman chuckles.

"You aren't?"

"No, I get it." She starts. "I was your age once too, you know."

"What was life like back then?" I ask her, hoping she doesn't think that I'm calling her old.

"A lot less painful." A hesitant smile briefly cracks over her pink lips. "That's why I think that you and Ron deserve a little fun once and a while. Plus, it's nice that he has someone other than Enid. She doesn't seem like too good an influence on him."

My mind quickly jumps to what he'd told me in the woods. About their relationship. Soon after, I try to think of something else, as if the woman standing across from me could possibly read my mind.

"I kind of feel bad for her." I start. "She's seen the ugliest part of this world, and she misses it. Being out there. I think Carl feels the same way. It's what happens to you after you've been out there for a while, when you've lost everything over and over again."

"I bet he won't feel that way when he gets back." She starts. "And he gets to see you, and his family." She trails off. "How's that been for you? Having them back?"

"Weird. Surreal." I subtly shake my head, looking into Jessie's green eyes. "I was never that close with most of them."

"Well, things are getting kind of crowded, having them here." She starts. "Pete and I talked about it and we were wondering if you wanted to move in here. With us." She offers.

The opportunity in front of me is a gesture that seems like it'd be a no-brainer to accept. "We'd like you to come live with us." She states, summarizing the twisty trail of words she just left behind, a tone of finality in her voice. "Only if you want to."

"Really?"

"Yeah." The woman nods. "The guest bedroom is all yours. I could even help you decorate it." She smiles. "But, no pressure." Jessie playfully raises her hands in defense.

An involuntary smile spreads across my face. "I'd love to, but—"I start. The hopeful look in her eyes slightly vanishes at the last word. "I'll have to talk to Carl about it, when he gets back. I don't want too much changing for him all at once."

"Just let us know what you decide." She musters a smile, folding in her bottom lip, disappointed at my answer. I nod and quietly hop off of the stool. "Hey, Megan?"

"Yeah?"

"What you and Ron did, last night—" She starts. "Let's keep it between us." The woman says, with no disagreement from me.

"Okay."

"And that includes not telling Pete."

☆

My feet retreat down the creaky steps of the infirmary after dealing with the several patients who came back from the run.

The new woman, Tara, out cold, treated for her superficial wounds. Eugene, another new member, was the most well-off with his injuries. Nicholas rejected to undergo a check-up, causing a bit of a scuffle with Pete. Glenn—although shaken up—has no serious damage. I can't say the same for those who didn't make it out alive. Noah and Aiden.

The day glooms a bit darker than when I'd entered the infirmary, two fresh losses dangling in the air of Alexandria. All that was once well, is now shaken and unstable among the scared people due to a run gone wrong.

I don't even want to think about what would happen if the other run went the same way. Glenn's group went out for only a few hours and there was an explosion and two horrifying deaths.

Two weeks is plenty of time for things to go even worse.

"Hey, Megan!" A high-pitched voice calls from behind me. I see the youngest Anderson son sitting on the infirmary steps after I'd unknowingly passed him up.

"What's up, Sam?" I ask, the boy runs over to me and gives me a hug around my waist. A bit of urgency in his movements. "Hey, what's wrong?" I grab his shoulders and bend down to meet his eye-level.

"Do you know the cookie lady?" He asks, his brown eyes peeking out from under his straight bangs.

"Carol?" I ask. He eagerly nods, stepping back from my grip. "Yeah, I know her."

"Can you ask Carol if she'd make me some cookies?" He starts. "Mom ran out of sugar, and she can't make any more." He says.

Mom.

His word choice sends shivers down my spine.

My mom is dead. Just like most others. Just like Carl's. Except it wasn't this world that took her. It was before. Long before. When grief wasn't as common—when death wasn't the better part of the odds. I'd known what it was like to grieve a mother. What I didn't know was if I was ready for the possibility of having to do it again.

"Why don't you ask Carol?" I ask the boy, suddenly annoyed, anxious to reject whatever he'd asked of me.

"She doesn't seem to like me very much." He mutters. "She seems really nice when she's with the other housewives. Maybe she'll be nice to you."

Housewife. I'd nearly forgotten the charade Carol was putting on for everyone outside of her group. The woman bribes her way into civilization by baking casserole and cookies, in order to mask how much of a cut-throat survivor she really is.

Daryl told me what she did to Karen and David. Then to Lizzie. How Rick made her leave the prison. A woman like her would not have been welcomed among this kind community of people, had they known what she's capable of.

"Did she say something to you?" I ask him, placing my hand on his shoulder, once again.

"I—" He stutters. "I tried to ask her for more cookies last night." The nervous boy's eyes dart around.

"What did she say? When you asked?" I ask once again, the boy nearly squirming under my adamant gaze.

"I—I can't tell you." He mutters, looking down to the ground. Nothing short of paranoia in his little demeanor.

"Okay, I'll talk to her the next time I see her." I start. My jaw clenching with anger.

Although it'd annoyed me to when Sam referred to Jessie as our mom, I couldn't help but want to protect him as if he were family. My family.

The resemblance of a little sibling. Of which, before the new way of the world, I'd also been forced to mourn. The odd, defenseless boy doesn't need anything to fear inside these walls. He hasn't yet learned how to navigate his way through this scary life. I don't think I quite have either.

"Please don't say I told you anything." The boy's light footsteps shuffle along the pavement as he attempts to follow me.

"If you won't tell me what she said, I won't know what to tell her." I turn around, carefully explaining to the boy, before turning back around and continuing to walk.

"But you have to promise not to say anything."

"I promise. As long as you promise me you'll stay away from her."

"Okay, I promise." The boy mutters. I turn to walk away, headed for my own house. The place I only go to when I need to shower and change my clothes. "Wait, Megan?"

"Yea Sam?"

"Can you walk home with me?" He asks.

Home. Yet another hint of context as to what the boy and his family really think of me. Although it may be a simple word, the boy has no idea what impact its casual use has on me.

"Let's go." I sigh. Turning around and heading the opposite way, soon making it past the boy. I don't wait up, showing him my urgency to get to my own house and take a shower.

His eager footsteps soon catch up with me, just as I turn the corner, headed for the familiar Anderson house. Cracks of gentle sunlight scatter through the trees as the sun sets over the grieving community.

The two of us soon approach his house. "Why don't you go on upstairs? I'll come by after I go shower, okay?" I say, walking in through the front door, which I usually wouldn't do without knocking, but since Sam is entering with me, it leaves me no choice.

"Okay." The boy says to me, a slight frown on his lips as I send him on his way.

Silence lingers throughout the house. The oddness of the quiet being that there are four noisy members of the family. Through the silence, I hear muted, muffled voices through the wall to the garage.

My feet find their way out the back door of the living room, turning the corner to the open garage. There I see Jessie having a conversation with Rick. The two have already met because she was the one to cut his hair when he'd first arrived a few days ago. His missing beard, however, was purely his work. The clean-shaven man wearing the constable get-up Deanna gave to him.

The two stop their hushed conversation when Jessie notices my presence. Both of their faces are dragged down by the gravity of whatever they were talking about. Normally, the woman would smile and greet me. This time she just avoids eye contact, acting like she'd been somewhat caught.

"Hey Megan." Rick says, shifting his weight onto his side.

"Hi Rick." I mutter. The intimidation I feel under this man's heavy blue eyes, similar to those of his sons, is the same I'd felt when I'd first met him at the prison. "I just wanted to let you know that Sam's upstairs." I say, looking directly at Jessie.

"Where's Pete?" She asks, and as she does I see the smoke of a cigarette bud tangling around in the air above the ashtray it sits in. I never thought she was the smoking type.

"Nicholas is giving him some trouble at the infirmary." I say, folding my arms. The tense glares from both of the adults in front of me make it evident that these two have other things on their minds. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll be back in twenty." I mutter. A crooked, forced smirk crossing my lips as I turn on my heels, leaving.

"I'll see you later!" Jessie calls out. Her urgent tone trying desperately to compensate for the awkwardness of just experienced.

"Later."

☆

After having several mental battles within the privacy of my shower, I decide it's best to let Ron know what I'd just witnessed. Although, I'm not too sure what it was. It was definitely something—a secret.

And I do not need Jessie affiliating with Rick in that way.

I make my way further into the Anderson's living room, turning to head up the staircase, towards Ron's room. Once on the second floor, muffled sniffles come from his room, through the other side of the door.

"Ron?" I ask, putting my ear against the door.

"Megan?" His scratchy voice echoes out.

"Yeah. It's me."

The door creaks as it opens, slowly revealing Ron. Heavy bags under his sad eyes let me know that something bad has happened.

"What's wrong?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowing as the sight of the distraught boy.

He says nothing but instead pulls me into a sudden hug. My hands notice his urgency and wrap around his back in this needed embrace. His chest suddenly rises and falls as he chokes out a muffled sob into my hair.

"Ron?" I ask. "What happened?" My hand rubs up and down his back that heaves up and down with his loud cries.

"My dad." His scratchy voice says into my hair, before he steps back from the embrace, our arms dropping from each other.

"What about your dad?"

Tears soak the boy's baggy under-eyes. His nose briefly scrunching as he sniffles. With a wince and a quiver of his lip, he grabs the end of his shirt and lifts it up, revealing the side of his torso.

A large, red splotch of skin takes up most of his abdomen, not leaving much of the surface untouched. Bits of purple already form, due to the intensity of the bruise.

I'd learned in the infirmary that a healing bruise will be yellow—maybe even green. A welp like that would be purple for quite some time, after several hours or so of the injury happening. The beginning stages of a bruise looking me in the face, as if it were a page out of my textbook.

"He did this to you?"

Ron nods, using his hand to swiftly wipe away a few tears that roll down his cheek. "He found the bottle. I guess I didn't hide it good enough last night." He musters a laugh, one at the blame of the situation on himself.

I stare at the large patch of red and purple skin. The severity of the swelling area looking as if it was from getting hit by a car. Maybe even a metal bat. A bruise like that, being larger than anything I'd seen as a result of any injury I'd witnessed in this world. The injuries that inevitably happen when you're outside the walls.

Instead, this boy's threat being behind the safety of the walls and an ironed sweater-vest as he treats sick people—injured people with his sadistic hands.

He drops his shirt back over the damaged skin and I pull my eyes toward his. His sorrowful expression pulls down on my heart with sad gravity. I step forward, pulling him in for another hug, this time being conscious of the sensitive spot on his torso.

The same spot I didn't bother to avoid brushing against when I attempted to train him with the gun, with what little shooting experience I have. The same spot I'd jab my hands into when the boy was bothering me.

"Ron?" I ask.

"Yeah?" His voice muffled by my hair.

"All this time you let me think you were just ticklish." I state, stepping back from the hug, my guilt riddling me expressionless. "Why didn't you tell me I was hurting you?"

A faint smile cross the boy's sad lips at my question. His wet cheeks slightly rise and he musters out a small laugh.

"To avoid the way you're looking at me right now."

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4758 words

A/N

i cut out a CHUNK of literally useless information that I DID NOT need when I first wrote this ??

sometimes I wonder what went through my head when I first wrote this??

also pete is exposed xoxo have fun rotting sweaty

also NEXT CHAPTER IS LITERALLY DIENSKDNWKSNEKSSISN

☆vote if pete is a dead man ☆