[ He should have left by now, he'd planned on it from the start. She'd stuck her neck out for him — her blade, more like — kept him two inches from death when that walker snuck up on him. But that should've been it — she saved his life, thanks for all that, have a nice life, kumbaya. Thing is, he'd found some people he could trust a bit back — no small thing at the end of the world. They did everything right, had each other's backs, they were gonna fucking make it, and then.
What happened is what's been happening from the start of this whole shitshow: one small thing, and it's over. One mistake on patrol. It was already bad by the time he knew anything was happening at all, and then it was just him. Just him for a long time. Long enough, it started to feel like he might be the only one left with the dead these days, everyone else gone.
He'd stumbled on a town a few months ago, holed up in what used to be the library. Once he'd fortified it, it was easy enough moving back and forth from there to the edges, where some of the stores hadn't been completely gutted yet. He can't say he had much of a plan beyond just surviving there as long as he could, until the veritable well ran dry, and he'd be on to the next place, and the next. He was careful, always so careful, and he was gonna keep going as long as he could. It snuck up on him, is the thing. He'd cleared the place, front to back; absolutely cleared it. Knew every corner, every exit. But that fucker got the jump on him. Almost.
He'd barely managed to swear under his breath before the sharp edge of her katana caught some kinda light from the full moon, and he saw that flash of glistening metal slice that thing's head clean off. There should have been fear, probably. That close to oblivion — if there was a time to be afraid, it would've been then, but she sliced its head off and he could only make room for being impressed and grateful. They could've moved on from each other right then. He had no need for company, she had her own people. But she came back through town a few more times, one of those with a kid, and he figured — maybe he'd keep an eye on her. Because you think you got a corner covered, and then you don't. He sure as fuck knows from experience. So he watches, observes, sticks close when they're around. Maybe he doesn't need so many cans of creamed corn. Maybe the kid wants that shitty chocolate bar under the shelf of the drugstore. It starts with an exchange of goods, little nods, and then one thing leads to another and he's leaving town now, leaving with her.
That was months ago, and he's some kind of settled. The kind of settled, though, that never really is. Can't be. Settled means being able to count on something, anything. Only thing to count on in this world is the sun keeps rising.
It isn't his place, this isn't home, but these are his people, long as he's here, long as they're here. And he doesn't make a habit of throwing his opinions around much when he isn't asked, when the stakes are low. But something's off when Michonne's old friend comes wandering through. Off enough that he makes it his business to say something when they're coming back from checking the perimeter that night. ]
[ By the time Amos runs into Michonne with Judith in tow, their life, what little life they had managed to build, was fading into a memory. First Carl, then Rick, then she found out she was pregnant and Alexandria fell for good on the same day. There was no going back, which is maybe her fault for not keeping it together to step up and be the leader in Rick's absence, but she couldn't. She can't. It's enough to keep it together for Judith. She has no idea if anyone ever went back.
She'd tried to keep distance at first from anyone; Judith can stay quiet and hidden, and for a while after first meeting Amos, it was only Michonne's belly getting a little rounder each time they saw one another, though she never said anything about it. But then she'd come out with Judith, the day after their makeshift home was rained out. Trusted that after saving his life, after what few interactions they've had, it's okay to reveal the only good, tangible thing Michonne has for now. It's fine; everything else may be a wreck, but she trusts her gut, and she trusts Amos. So, they work around one another, trading, and sometimes not even doing that. For the hell of it, there's candy for Judith, so sometimes there's beef jerky for him, that he didn't have to do anything to get.
Eventually, Michonne gets too big to comfortably want to traipse back and forth often, so her and Judith stay close to Amos, never saying it, but after a while knowing the three of them are a unit, now. By the time Jacqueline shows up with a small herd of kids in tow, they've turned one of the stores into a space for all of them.
An old friend at the end of the world feels like a miracle, especially a friend she used to know like the back of her hand. It's a relief, this close to the baby being born, a relief to have an attentive female friend (no offense to Amos) and to share with someone who knows her. She's in a better mood than she's been in for weeks, even though to look at both her and Amos, no one would be the wiser.
She's just putting her katana in its sheath when he speaks up; they've left Judith with Jacqueline and the other kids, and the sound of her baby's small giggle through the door makes her smile even as Amos asks. But her attention goes back to him, shrugging a shoulder. ]
Roommates in college. Pledged Delta Sig Theta together, rushed, all that bullshit that I used to think would matter. Both thought we were gonna defend the defenseless. Sounds young. Naive.
[ The kids seem to trust Jacqueline, but they would, of course. You lose everything you have in the world, you wind up with a group you think you can count on and they get wiped out, well, you rally around the last anchor you've got. She's kept them alive, one way or another, and they made it this far. That counts for a hell of a lot. But there's something in there, something that he hasn't worked out yet, something in her voice, the way she carries herself, the way she looks at the kids sometimes, like she's molded them, shaped them, like they're not kids, actually, but just things — property — she doesn't wanna lose. The way a good pair of shoes is like gold in this world.
It's a look, a dull edge in her voice that worries him more than a sharp word ever would. But these are just thoughts, feelings, a coiling of instinct that might be old and dusty now, and completely wrong.
Objectively, he understands the concept of old loyalties. Michonne knew her, it makes her think she still does. And — maybe she does.
So she asks if he's good, he turns the thought over, he keeps sight of Judith.
[ Stepping back, she appraises him for a few seconds, then shakes her head. ]
Getting to know you too well. What is it?
[ She doesn't quite see what he does; the end changed everyone, of course the woman is different from the last time Michonne saw her in Atlanta, back when things were still whole. But Amos reminds her of herself, which means she'll at least hear what he has to say. ]
[ He has no need or care for sparing anyone's feelings on this. He can be straight with Michonne, he knows that. She might not accept his perspective, but she won't suddenly recoil from hurt feelings because he criticized her friend. He's not one to feel like he can't or shouldn't express his opinions, either, he's just measured about the when and the how. Some things don't need to be said until they...well, need to be said.
A quick glance over her shoulder first, though, just to clock where everyone is relative to where they're standing. He keeps an eye on that building up ahead a moment longer before locking eyes with Michonne, pitching his voice lower. ]
Something's not right. The way she talks to them — they're not afraid of her, though. They'll follow her anywhere.
[ She doesn't threaten them, he doubts she's ever laid a hand on them, and there are just some things he knows from his own past, but — they're loyal to her because they want to be, because she's drilled it into them, they trust her in some warped way that they couldn't escape, they want to do anything she asks of them. What she asks of them, exactly, he doesn't know, but it's nothing good. ]
[ She considers his words, thinking back to some of the ways she's seen Jacqueline interact with the kids. But then Michonne shakes her head and looks ahead at the building, then back at Amos. ]
She's got kids from thirteen to three. She talks to them all the same, like they're all old enough to understand.
[ That's her interpretation of it, at least. ]
Because they have to. Because if they don't, and something happens to her? Then what?
[ There's a pause before she adds on another thought. With a hand over her large belly, Michonne has multiple reasons for what she says next. ]
Think I'm asking her to stay a while.
[ It isn't that she doesn't think Amos could help her have the baby when the time comes, but she'd rather (and she assumes he'd rather) have Jacqueline to help, if she'll stay. ]
[ Trust comes in different ways; for some, it's earned in a moment of gratitude, especially in a world like this. You save someone, you stick your neck out for them, they'll be with you to the ends of the earth, or what's left of it. For others, it comes from watching, from knowing, seeing that someone is worth following.
For kids this young, with nothing left, they'll gravitate to anyone above them who can move through this world with confidence, who won't take any shit, who will keep them safe. They would have no reason to doubt someone like that, no reason to question anything that could be amiss.
If anything's amiss.
Amos trusts few, but his instincts are solid. They have to be. But here's the difference between him and others: he doesn't give a shit about Michonne agreeing or disagreeing with him. He has no ego about this. He's wrong or he's right, and if he's right and things go south, they'll handle it together. She trusts her friend because they're friends, and he gets it on some level. She can't see what he sees, and in return, he can't see what she does. They don't match up on this, but it won't change the outcome, which is that his loyalty is to Judith, Michonne, and that baby of hers yet to come.
The only thing this really changes is that he'll watch them closer, more carefully.
His eyes flicker to her belly, back to her face. Sure, okay, he gets that, too. Maybe he's not the one she wants around when that kid comes. He'll sure as hell be the first to say he doesn't know anything about bringing babies into the world.
Dryly, though: ]
Just make sure she doesn't take my beef jerky and we don't have a problem.
[ He will share with the kids and no one else.
And he can more than convey that to Jacqueline himself, but it's — a truce of sorts. It's, I'll follow your lead. ]
[ There are some people that say things like that, that give assurance that X will happen if Y happens, but then they don't follow through. Maybe they lied to begin with, or maybe they were wrestling with something down deep they didn't even know, and they couldn't make it happen when it mattered, when they were in the shit and there was nothing left but a promise made in a different time.
Amos isn't like that, though. His word is his word. People don't always like his word, don't always know how to take it, but he stays true. And he can count on one hand now the people around him who give it back, whose word is solid. ]
Things go south, she's gone. You said it, I believe it, and that's all I need.
[ Michonne nods and that's it. She's never lied to him before, never kept anything from him. It took her a while, but she opened up, eventually. Judith very obviously couldn't have been hers, but he never asked, he let her tell him, and it went a long way.
They're done and Michonne reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. ]
Judith said it was your turn to tell her a story tonight, I'm gonna find Jackie and talk to her before turning in. See you in the morning.
[ She isn't going far, just to the back of the store into a stock room where Jackie's set up. The kids are all there, sitting quietly and staring up at her when she walks in. Michonne smiles at first, but when they don't smile back, it becomes unnerving and she frowns at them, questioning aloud. ]
Where's Jackie?
[ They don't respond, but as she looks at their faces, one pair of eyes looks to the right. Just as Michonne turns to see Jackie, she's hit hard right between the eyes and everything goes black. For a few seconds she struggles to hold onto lucidity, hearing Jackie prop the backdoor open, instructing the oldest to lead the youngest out. As her hands are being tied, she loses consciousness completely, the pain in her head overwhelming.
The next time she wakes, it's because of searing pain in her lower back competing with her head. She's strapped to a table; to her left, medical instruments that don't look like anything she'd want cutting into her. Her movement causes Jackie to appear, staring down at her.
I heard you and Amos. You wanted to keep my kids? You don't deserve the one you have, you sure as hell don't deserve another.
It becomes clear in that moment what Jackie's going to do, and Michonne begins to struggle, trying to get loose, only to agitate whatever wound on her back is fresh. It's agony and she screams behind a gag before going still, sweating.
Don't worry, we'll go back for Judith and I'll raise her right.
Jackie walks out of the small room, and Michonne tries to scream after her. At the very least, she knows Amos won't let Jackie get anywhere close to Judith, so she can focus on herself and getting free. But she can't figure out a way to do it, the pain she's in almost causes her to black out again, and her hands and feet are still strapped down.
She refuses to die this way, and all she can do is try to bargain.
Outside of the old warehouse Jackie has taken Michonne and the kids to, the oldest children act as guards with guns, instructed to shoot to kill. The younger kids have knives waiting and hiding inside, while Jackie prepares to forcefully take Michonne's baby in the deepest interior room. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
— michonne.
What happened is what's been happening from the start of this whole shitshow: one small thing, and it's over. One mistake on patrol. It was already bad by the time he knew anything was happening at all, and then it was just him. Just him for a long time. Long enough, it started to feel like he might be the only one left with the dead these days, everyone else gone.
He'd stumbled on a town a few months ago, holed up in what used to be the library. Once he'd fortified it, it was easy enough moving back and forth from there to the edges, where some of the stores hadn't been completely gutted yet. He can't say he had much of a plan beyond just surviving there as long as he could, until the veritable well ran dry, and he'd be on to the next place, and the next. He was careful, always so careful, and he was gonna keep going as long as he could. It snuck up on him, is the thing. He'd cleared the place, front to back; absolutely cleared it. Knew every corner, every exit. But that fucker got the jump on him. Almost.
He'd barely managed to swear under his breath before the sharp edge of her katana caught some kinda light from the full moon, and he saw that flash of glistening metal slice that thing's head clean off. There should have been fear, probably. That close to oblivion — if there was a time to be afraid, it would've been then, but she sliced its head off and he could only make room for being impressed and grateful. They could've moved on from each other right then. He had no need for company, she had her own people. But she came back through town a few more times, one of those with a kid, and he figured — maybe he'd keep an eye on her. Because you think you got a corner covered, and then you don't. He sure as fuck knows from experience. So he watches, observes, sticks close when they're around. Maybe he doesn't need so many cans of creamed corn. Maybe the kid wants that shitty chocolate bar under the shelf of the drugstore. It starts with an exchange of goods, little nods, and then one thing leads to another and he's leaving town now, leaving with her.
That was months ago, and he's some kind of settled. The kind of settled, though, that never really is. Can't be. Settled means being able to count on something, anything. Only thing to count on in this world is the sun keeps rising.
It isn't his place, this isn't home, but these are his people, long as he's here, long as they're here. And he doesn't make a habit of throwing his opinions around much when he isn't asked, when the stakes are low. But something's off when Michonne's old friend comes wandering through. Off enough that he makes it his business to say something when they're coming back from checking the perimeter that night. ]
How long since you saw her last?
no subject
She'd tried to keep distance at first from anyone; Judith can stay quiet and hidden, and for a while after first meeting Amos, it was only Michonne's belly getting a little rounder each time they saw one another, though she never said anything about it. But then she'd come out with Judith, the day after their makeshift home was rained out. Trusted that after saving his life, after what few interactions they've had, it's okay to reveal the only good, tangible thing Michonne has for now. It's fine; everything else may be a wreck, but she trusts her gut, and she trusts Amos. So, they work around one another, trading, and sometimes not even doing that. For the hell of it, there's candy for Judith, so sometimes there's beef jerky for him, that he didn't have to do anything to get.
Eventually, Michonne gets too big to comfortably want to traipse back and forth often, so her and Judith stay close to Amos, never saying it, but after a while knowing the three of them are a unit, now. By the time Jacqueline shows up with a small herd of kids in tow, they've turned one of the stores into a space for all of them.
An old friend at the end of the world feels like a miracle, especially a friend she used to know like the back of her hand. It's a relief, this close to the baby being born, a relief to have an attentive female friend (no offense to Amos) and to share with someone who knows her. She's in a better mood than she's been in for weeks, even though to look at both her and Amos, no one would be the wiser.
She's just putting her katana in its sheath when he speaks up; they've left Judith with Jacqueline and the other kids, and the sound of her baby's small giggle through the door makes her smile even as Amos asks. But her attention goes back to him, shrugging a shoulder. ]
Roommates in college. Pledged Delta Sig Theta together, rushed, all that bullshit that I used to think would matter. Both thought we were gonna defend the defenseless. Sounds young. Naive.
[ Her head tilts, looking at him. ]
You good?
no subject
It's a look, a dull edge in her voice that worries him more than a sharp word ever would. But these are just thoughts, feelings, a coiling of instinct that might be old and dusty now, and completely wrong.
Objectively, he understands the concept of old loyalties. Michonne knew her, it makes her think she still does. And — maybe she does.
So she asks if he's good, he turns the thought over, he keeps sight of Judith.
He'll watch her. He'll wait.
He gives a little nod, just one. ]
If you're good.
no subject
Getting to know you too well. What is it?
[ She doesn't quite see what he does; the end changed everyone, of course the woman is different from the last time Michonne saw her in Atlanta, back when things were still whole. But Amos reminds her of herself, which means she'll at least hear what he has to say. ]
no subject
A quick glance over her shoulder first, though, just to clock where everyone is relative to where they're standing. He keeps an eye on that building up ahead a moment longer before locking eyes with Michonne, pitching his voice lower. ]
Something's not right. The way she talks to them — they're not afraid of her, though. They'll follow her anywhere.
[ She doesn't threaten them, he doubts she's ever laid a hand on them, and there are just some things he knows from his own past, but — they're loyal to her because they want to be, because she's drilled it into them, they trust her in some warped way that they couldn't escape, they want to do anything she asks of them. What she asks of them, exactly, he doesn't know, but it's nothing good. ]
no subject
She's got kids from thirteen to three. She talks to them all the same, like they're all old enough to understand.
[ That's her interpretation of it, at least. ]
Because they have to. Because if they don't, and something happens to her? Then what?
[ There's a pause before she adds on another thought. With a hand over her large belly, Michonne has multiple reasons for what she says next. ]
Think I'm asking her to stay a while.
[ It isn't that she doesn't think Amos could help her have the baby when the time comes, but she'd rather (and she assumes he'd rather) have Jacqueline to help, if she'll stay. ]
no subject
For kids this young, with nothing left, they'll gravitate to anyone above them who can move through this world with confidence, who won't take any shit, who will keep them safe. They would have no reason to doubt someone like that, no reason to question anything that could be amiss.
If anything's amiss.
Amos trusts few, but his instincts are solid. They have to be. But here's the difference between him and others: he doesn't give a shit about Michonne agreeing or disagreeing with him. He has no ego about this. He's wrong or he's right, and if he's right and things go south, they'll handle it together. She trusts her friend because they're friends, and he gets it on some level. She can't see what he sees, and in return, he can't see what she does. They don't match up on this, but it won't change the outcome, which is that his loyalty is to Judith, Michonne, and that baby of hers yet to come.
The only thing this really changes is that he'll watch them closer, more carefully.
His eyes flicker to her belly, back to her face. Sure, okay, he gets that, too. Maybe he's not the one she wants around when that kid comes. He'll sure as hell be the first to say he doesn't know anything about bringing babies into the world.
Dryly, though: ]
Just make sure she doesn't take my beef jerky and we don't have a problem.
[ He will share with the kids and no one else.
And he can more than convey that to Jacqueline himself, but it's — a truce of sorts. It's, I'll follow your lead. ]
no subject
Don't worry, she won't touch anything that's yours.
[ Then, a bit more seriously, because she isn't completely gone on the idea, just because she's managed to get back a piece of her old life. ]
If she does something out of line, she goes. Try to get the kids to stay, at least the young ones. We could handle that.
no subject
Amos isn't like that, though. His word is his word. People don't always like his word, don't always know how to take it, but he stays true. And he can count on one hand now the people around him who give it back, whose word is solid. ]
Things go south, she's gone. You said it, I believe it, and that's all I need.
no subject
They're done and Michonne reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. ]
Judith said it was your turn to tell her a story tonight, I'm gonna find Jackie and talk to her before turning in. See you in the morning.
[ She isn't going far, just to the back of the store into a stock room where Jackie's set up. The kids are all there, sitting quietly and staring up at her when she walks in. Michonne smiles at first, but when they don't smile back, it becomes unnerving and she frowns at them, questioning aloud. ]
Where's Jackie?
[ They don't respond, but as she looks at their faces, one pair of eyes looks to the right. Just as Michonne turns to see Jackie, she's hit hard right between the eyes and everything goes black. For a few seconds she struggles to hold onto lucidity, hearing Jackie prop the backdoor open, instructing the oldest to lead the youngest out. As her hands are being tied, she loses consciousness completely, the pain in her head overwhelming.
The next time she wakes, it's because of searing pain in her lower back competing with her head. She's strapped to a table; to her left, medical instruments that don't look like anything she'd want cutting into her. Her movement causes Jackie to appear, staring down at her.
I heard you and Amos. You wanted to keep my kids? You don't deserve the one you have, you sure as hell don't deserve another.
It becomes clear in that moment what Jackie's going to do, and Michonne begins to struggle, trying to get loose, only to agitate whatever wound on her back is fresh. It's agony and she screams behind a gag before going still, sweating.
Don't worry, we'll go back for Judith and I'll raise her right.
Jackie walks out of the small room, and Michonne tries to scream after her. At the very least, she knows Amos won't let Jackie get anywhere close to Judith, so she can focus on herself and getting free. But she can't figure out a way to do it, the pain she's in almost causes her to black out again, and her hands and feet are still strapped down.
She refuses to die this way, and all she can do is try to bargain.
Outside of the old warehouse Jackie has taken Michonne and the kids to, the oldest children act as guards with guns, instructed to shoot to kill. The younger kids have knives waiting and hiding inside, while Jackie prepares to forcefully take Michonne's baby in the deepest interior room. ]