Piranha - Chapter 8 - ThomE_Gemcity_06 (2024)

Chapter Text

...The walking DEAD...

Piranha

Chapter 8: Tag

Their first few weeks of survival on the road had been simple, and the foursome fell into an easy routine. They travelled from Bright & Early till Sunset, cleared out a place to spend the night, looted for food, bullets, and others on an as-needed basis due to their limited cargo capacity. Picking and choosing became a fine art, The Needs v. The Wants.

Their different modes of transportation exacerbated the distance between the two groups. Rick's Group were travelling via vehicles, vehicles that went vroom until the fuel ran empty. Horses were living creatures, they needed rest, food, hydration. Breaks. Even if they cut Thing One and Thing Two loose (beside losing the supplies they carried) and altered their pace between trot and canter so as not to immediately exhaust Boomer and Hopscotch, any distance that was made up wouldn't be worth it in the end. The recovery time needed would just make the whole venture forfeit.

Though it was harder to keep the two dappled horses in top shape for everyday travel, i.e. fed, watered, rested (and with the need to accommodate a safe space at night for the horses as well), Marshall believed the benefits far outweighed the disadvantages of a far slower pace. So, despite Andrea's grumblings, they stuck to horses over cars. He welcomed her to find a car and go off by herself, but the blond woman never took him up on his offer.

The Tags would pop-up on the sides of houses and cars, and even just the blacktop at crossroads, so Marshall always knew that they were on the right track, otherwise there was no way to tell if any if the looting was from Rick's part of the group or just other survivors. That was a question Marshall was a bit wary of finding the answer to... what if they came across other survivors that weren't their own Group?

He felt like Samurai-sama might have been a 1-in-a-million find.

While under different circ*mstance, the sight of Michonne decked out in a dark-hooded cloak, strapped with a wicked katana, with two piranha pets in her control would instantly label her upon sight Dangerous Do Not Approach—she had shown her goodwill consistently. From being the Main Muscle of their unit for the first two weeks to allow Marshall's gunshot wound to heal fully (with the continued tear of the wound's lips, on the surface, the scaring was 'uglier' than it should have been—internally was an entirely different can of worms), to putting up with the squabbles between him and Andrea. Upon their first meeting, Michonne could have easily taken them all out and taken all their sh*t, but in that first week alone, it had been Michonne's supplies that had sustained them. Under even just marginally different circ*mstances, Marshall could very well simply exist as a severed head chomping on empty air—he didn't let it drive him to insanity that it was Andrea's interference that let him to continue to draw breath.

In the end, it really would just be a coin toss between any one encounter, wouldn't it? Someone could see their horses and their supplies and think it was worth the confrontation instead of a friendly conversation. A group bigger than theirs, a surprise ambush... the possibilities were endless, and while it did well to be cautious, he didn't see the point having a conniption over something that would be pretty much impossible for him to truly anticipate.

Subsequently, the following lack of neon green Goddess Athena Tags only drew the eldest Greene sibling to one conclusion—they were in the wrong county. There had been no time to rectify that however, for by then winter was on them and when the cold no longer softened under the sun, Marshall finally made the executive decision:

It was time to hole-up for the winter.

As much as he wished he could push forward, catch up, find the group. Take the weight and worry from his shoulders, have Sophia in her mama's arm, have his sisters under each of his... it wouldn't matter if it killed them first. Winter in Georgia while amid a walking-dead apocalypse was an entirely different beast to contend with than early fall on the farm. The saying 'when Hell freezes over' was never a truer statement, Hell on Earth had frozen over. And with it, the consequences.

They had not, if fact, been able to find a safe place to leave the cats before what Marshall feared came into fruition in one way or another. The smoky kitten died from exposure from the first cold snap of the season. Patches had snuck off at one of their campsites and got snatched up by a piranha. The light grey kitten just became so anxious and stressed and refused to eat, until eventually, one morning, she just didn't wake up in the morning, her body stiff with rigor mortis and cold. That left Marshmallow as the sole survivor, who was old enough to survive without his mama, but not old enough to survive out in the wild by himself. He spent most of their travel zipped up in either Sophia's or his pilfered winter coats.

Finding a shelter that ticked off the top key points to their survival through winter was a bit of a chore. Foremost, they needed a nearby water source, a fireplace or woodstove, a fence and room for the horses... a tall order in an apocalyptic world.

They ended up in a cul-de-sac. A two story house. It had a car port not a garage. There was a fireplace in the front room. Three bedrooms upstairs. The dinning room at the back of the house let out into the moderately sized backyard, an uneven stone patio and overgrown grass, the remnants of an old swing set. The fence in the backyard needed repair work. It bordered either neighbours yard, but the back end was a short stretch of woods the other side of which lead to another stretch of more houses. A consistent water source was another, more difficult matter. They weren't exactly surrounded by 'wilderness', so there were no natural sources like a stream they could go to when needed, there was, however, a hydrant sitting right there at the corner of the driveway...

"You can't be serious!" Andrea scoffed when he told them the idea.

"Hella serious." Marshall disagreed easily. "We're not on the road anymore, we can't just happen across a stream. We need water—and it's sitting right there at the end of the driveway, waiting. With a bit of MacGyvering, we can hook up a manual pump and we'll be set for winter! Enough for us, those horses, laundry... weekly baths. All we gotta do is go into town, find the local fire station, and they should have everything we need."

"Oh, is that all?" She mocked, but regular bathing did sound enticing. "And what if they don't have what we need?"

"Well, then, I suppose we're just going to have to rely on the plan you're just keeping to yourself, City Girl. Jesus." The woman harangued on all of his ideas, yet he noticed that she rarely countered with one of her own. "Samurai-sama, thoughts?"

Michonne looked contemplative. "I know sh*t-all about pumps, but what I do know is that we need water—if you can actually pull this off I say it's worth a shot."

"Like I said," He smirked, tugging down the earflaps on his hat before settling the red goggles over his eyes, "MacGyver."

Michonne just gave him a look. "How do you want to do this?"

"Bright & Early." He said immediately.

"She meant who's going with you, who's staying here." Andrea said.

"All of us." Marshall corrected. "We leave the horses, Things One and Two here at the house. Get us a car, we'll need one coming back. We can also scout around, look for more supplies so we don't have to risk another trip, whether we find what we need for the hydrant or not."

They managed to procure a red mini man halfway through the trek into town. There was a (thankfully empty) infant car seat strapped in the backseat that Marshall just set in the back trunk instead of tossing it outside (he did not miss the haunted shadows in Michonne's eyes when she caught sight of it), even though it was no use to them here and now.

Every time they hit up a store or a house, Marshall had subconsciously kept a lookout for prenatal and baby supplies. It wasn't that he didn't think the others weren't doing to same, they had the actual pregnant woman's belly to stare them in the eye and light a fire under their asses, nor could he actually carry much with their limited baggage space, but if he saw a gem he nabbed it. Prenatal vitamins, formula, the obvious but the very much necessary items. He had an ever growing baby stash stowed in a pillow case at the bottom of his pack that he was going to have slim down when they went onto the road again. He had glass baby bottles wrapped in a rainbow baby blanket so they didn't break, more longer lasting than plastic. Several cans of powder formula that he would switch out for the dates. Even a bottle of baby powder, baby lotion, baby wash, rash cream. It didn't seem like much, but it was a goldmine to a newborn baby. He had to punch down the urge to grab things that he knew he wouldn't be able to keep anyway. Like the cute little onesies and toys. They were going to have to do cloth nappies. It was just more practical in this New day and age, if they had the water supply. Once you got over the fact that they were dead peoples' things, dead babies' things—the world was just now a big good will shopping center. That was how they got all their winter gear, which had been easier than Marshall had first feared. All they had to do was go through the back of the closets, good winter boots that fit on the other hand, had been a bit more of a challenge.

When Michonne had found his little stash at the bottom of his pack (back when it was actually little) like it was a secret, her look was enough for him to simply state that Rick's wife was pregnant and the subject wasn't brought up again.

Marshall parked discretely down the block and the foursome just watched the area in a moment of silence, their breaths puffing up clouds in the van interior. Other than the random piranha wandering the streets... The fire station itself was a classic two story red brick building sat on a large lot. There was an abandoned fire truck out in front drive, but going by all the open compartment doors, it was likely already looted and less likely to hold the equipment needed for the hydrant pump. He sighed in silent suffering at the sight of a pickup truck crashed into the garage door, leaving the interior of the station garage open to the elements and the piranha. As much as he didn't expect the building to be closed up but unlocked for them to simply walk in, grab what they needed and leave discretely without any piranha interference—it was still irritating that, that was not exactly how they found it.

"Fire trucks carry their own emergency water supply," Andrea remarked, lightly tapping the back window. The blade of her scythe carefully laid in her lap while the longer handle was angled to rest in the opposite foot well. She sighed. "Too bad we can't just take the whole damn truck with us."

"Why not?" Sophia wondered from beside her, sat on her knees to get a better view over the adults. She'd visited a fire station once of a school field trip when she was in Grade 3, she didn't really remember much other than it being intimidating. Seeing all the piranha wandering around, knowing there were probably more inside because of that broken garage door made it seem all the more daunting.

"Its too big and too loud." Marshall told her, leather gloved fingers tapping absently on the steering wheel. "If it would start up at all. The piranhas' attention would be on us immediately and we'd just end up leading them back to the house."

"If we can find the bottles big enough for it, getting water from that thing can be Plan B." Michonne rasped from the front passenger seat, her sheathed katana resting more comfortably between her legs. "Let's figure out how we're gonna get in there."

"Could be better to try for the back way?" Andrea suggested.

"No." Marshall shook his head. "All the equipment I'm we're gonna need to find will be stored on the apparatus floor. A.K.A. on the other side of that door."

"The backdoor could also be locked and the only way to open it would be noisy. We'd be more easily trapped and overwhelmed if we're not quick enough to get it open." Michonne added.

"Alright." Andrea looked around once more. "The walkers look pretty spread out on the street. Even though they outnumber us, if we do it quick and quiet--"

"And don't let them group-up on us--"

"We can pull this off." Andrea nodded in agreement.

"But what about the door?" Sophia asked. "The piranha will be able to get through it."

"If we can't find something inside to block it," Marshall spoke, "Then Andrea or Michonne will have to play sentry. I'm the only one that has any idea what the hell we're looking for."

"I'll guard the door." Michonne decided after glancing over her shoulder to the other woman and the large weapon in her lap. "You won't be able to swing that thing around in there effectively. With that truck there, the gap is smaller—better suited for my sword."

Andrea nodded. "I guess I can look around for other supplies."

"What about me?" Sophia's head popped over the back of Marshall's seat.

"Like always." He looked to her, reaching back to chuck her on the chin. "Stick to me like glue. Watch my back." She nodded. "Alright. Mission H2O is a Go. Everybody out the left side." Marshall slowly opened the driver's door, closing it gently again. He slowly pulled open the van's side door, kukri machete out and ready as he kept an eye on their surroundings.

Sophia hopped out first, followed next by the scythe, then Andrea and last Michonne who climbed back from the front seat. The all stilled for a beat as the slide cause a bit more of a ruckus upon closure, but other than a piranha that sneakily rounded on them from a nearby mouth of an alley—which Marshall yanked to the ground and Sophia quickly stabbed it through its eye with her trusty KBAR.

"Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee." He murmured with pride.

"We're clear." Michonne announced.

Andrea led as the tip of their unit with her long-range weapon. Managing to take out several by surprise and keep the distance before the other walkers started to take notice of the disruption in their monotony. Marshall moved in to cover her blind spot, Sophia right at his hip, taking the knees out (just like he'd been teaching her) of the few piranha that managed to get close while he was occupied and Andrea was freeing her blade from skulls and bring them to the level of her KBAR. Michonne covered their backside as piranha started coming at them from all sides while they crossed the street diagonally toward the fire station lot.

They made it to the abandoned fire truck at the edge of the lot as the piranha further down the street intersection were being drawn in by all the excitement. Their positions shifted, Andrea falling to the rear as Marshall took the lead, Sophia and Michonne behind him.

As he edged through the opening next to the wrecked truck, Marshall quickly dodged back at the rotted hand suddenly swiping at his face. He could feel the clear distinction of the radius and ulna under its sleeve as he grabbed its arm to hold the flailing limb still as he cross-stabbed the piranha in the side of the head. It stilled, slumping in eternal rest in its first death place against the seatbelt that had kept it prisoner for who knows how long. He tucked its arm back into the cab out of the way through the broken window. He officially stepped into the garage, killing two more piranha before signally Sophia. Andrea followed with Michonne stepping back into the entrance as guard.

"You good?" Marshall asked, gaze trained on the interior for any more surprise piranha.

"Yeah." Was the succinct reply from the gate.

"You good to go on your own?" He asked Andrea next. "It's a kill-as-you-go situation." The side-eye he got was a clear indication she did not appreciate his concern, which she just interpreted as doubt. "Alright, alright. Got it."

"I'll search the back." Andrea nodded her head at the side door that left the garage and into the fire house portion of the building.

"Call out if you need help." Michonne told them as she thrust her sword into the face of a piranha, letting its body drop across the entrance—the start a makeshift barrier.

Andrea put her scythe in the harness at her back and instead pulled out her knife from her belt, there was no way she'd be able to swing it in these tight hallways. "You, too." She paused to grab up the large wrench from the floor before she cautiously pushed through the door.

"Ditto. Don't forget to keep an eye under the truck." Marshall reminded and he got a grunt in acknowledgement. "Come on, Sophia. We'll try the equipment locker first."

"Okay." She followed two steps behind and to his right, resisting the automatic response to reach out with her free hand and grasp his belt under the tail of his maroon leather duster. (She remembered when he'd found it, he seemed so excited when he put it on, entered into the room with flourish, did a dramatic pose and declared: "Call me Star-Lord!" Only to get three blank stares in return. He'd pouted: "Carl would've gotten it.")

A piranha slammed into the glass of what looked like the dispatch office. Sophia let out a sharp gasp and Marshall felt the tug as she grabbed the back of his coat. His lip curled as the glass smeared with brown as it slathered against it. "Don't worry, it can't get out. But..." The banging was a racket. Marshall stepped forward, the piranha eagerly mirroring his position on the other side of the glass wall. He grasped the knob, cautiously turning it, muscles holding fast as he cracked the door. Bitten fingers and a slimy tongue slipped through and the blade of machete easily plunged through the soft palate of its mouth into its brain. The door closed as it crumpled against it. "There, now you really don't have to worry about it." He patted her knit hat and went back to the equipment room door. He tried the knob but the door was locked-up tight, with a number pad above the knob. He put his machete away. "Help me look around to try and find a crowbar or something similar to use as a wedge to get the door open."

"Marshall, I think I see one under that fallen locker." Sophia called softly a couple minutes later.

"Good-eye, butterfly." He grabbed it and pulled, but it was wedged. "Damn, alright. I'll lift and you pull it out, okay?" She nodded. He went to the head of the locker, found a space for his fingers, and grunted as he lifted with his knees and not his back. He felt the twinge in his shoulder while the crowbar knocked around as Sophia struggle for a moment to get it free.

When she did, she nearly fell back onto her butt. "Got it!" Marshall laid the locker back down and rubbed at his shoulder as he straightened. "Are you okay?" She asked with concern.

"I'm alright." The flesh wound might have finally healed over, but he was still dealing with hairline fractures in his clavicle. Though it had been a few weeks since the initial injury, it typically took 6 to 8 weeks for a hairline to heal—and that was with proper rest and no undue strain on the injury—he did not have that luxury in the apocalypse. Once the bullet wound healed enough to stop tearing open, he was back in action. Unfortunately, that meant he was in for a longer healing time, but needs must and he needed both his arms. The pain was annoying but tolerable, though it was safe to say that his shoulder did not appreciate it when he finally took up his compound bow again. They couldn't rely nor solely survive the winter on canned goods. Once everything got settled with their winter abode he'd be able to give it a proper healing rest.

"Butterfly," Marshall murmured, loud enough for the girl to hear, but not so loud that it echoed around the firehouse garage. "We need to have a little talk about what you're gonna do if we ever get separated."

"W--" She turned to him, startled, the pompom at the crown of her own winter hat bouncing. Her grip tightened on the crowbar. "Why would we get separated?"

"Not that we 'would' but that we 'could'. Nothing is certain anymore." He knelt in front of her, hands comfortingly on her shoulders. "I'm not saying this to make you anxious or scared, but I need you to be prepared. I need you to be ready, okay, so that no matter what happens, you'll be able to make it back to your mama. So, here’s a simple mantra I'm going to give you that will help you remember and focus on the task ahead of you. Are you ready?" She slowly nodded. "Alright. Here it is: Rock—Paper—Scissors."

She looked utterly sceptical. "Rock-paper-scissors?"

"I know." He couldn't help but chuckle lightly at her expression. "Just a silly little game. You know how to play?" She nodded again, her cheeks and the tip of her nose red from the cold. "Good. It's like a word association game to help you remember. Rock—Paper—Scissors." He held out a gloved curled fist: "Retreat and Refuge—give yourself a breather." He straightened his fingers: "Plan—that one is pretty self-explanatory." He created a V-shape with his index and middle fingers: "Survive—will that plan get you killed, or will it help you survive? Rock—Paper—Scissors... Shoot!"

"All easy concepts, right? But, when we're scared, it doesn't seem so easy anymore." He had her repeated it back to him a few times until she didn't stutter over it. "Good." He smiled at her. "It doesn't mean that anything is going to happen, but if it does, you'll be more prepared." He stood back up, more than happy to get his knees off the cold, hard cement. He took the crowbar. "Samurai-sama?" He called.

"Yeah?"

"I gotta break this door open so I'm gonna be making a racket." He warned her. "How's it looking out there?"

Michonne looked to the bodies that were starting to pile up and then out into lot where she could still see piranha approaching. "Nothing I can't handle." She used the pause to drag the dead piranha to block under the tail of the truck bed so they couldn’t surprise her that way while she was distracted with the ones coming directly at her.

"Watch out, butterfly." It took Marshall nearly ten minutes on that stubborn lock before finally, with one last heave, the door popped open. "Thank you!" He kept hold of the crowbar in his left hand while the right handled the flashlight, giving it a rest. He wasn't expecting any piranha, having heard nothing on the other side reacting to his racket, but he still stayed alert as he stepped into the dim interior. "Jackpot!" He cooed as he looked at all the tools still filling the shelves.

Sophia trailed after him as he did a more thorough walk-through. As far as he could make out, everything they could need was here but one seemingly elusive object, but first, they needed-- "Ah, now we can get this shopping trip started. You man the light," He handed over the flashlight. "And this cart," He pulled the cart from the corner. "And I'll do all the heavy lifting."

After packing all of the needed gear onto the cart, plus some extra things that might come in handy later, he helped the girl guide the heavier cart out through the door, before leaving her to push it across the apparatus floor herself. He clocked the items by door first that wasn't previously there before he saw Andrea with Michonne.

"Looks like you made out pretty good." He announced their return. There was a filled garbage bag and a couple of filled 5L water jugs, the kind you used in a water cooler.

"'Bout time you got here—was worried we were gonna have to go looking for you." Andrea snarked, stepping back inside over the barrier of dead piranha blocking the foot of the garage door.

"Aw, you were actually worried about me? The world really is over."

She rolled her eyes. "I was talking about Sophia."

"And the sh*t-show continues," He joked. He started to shift everything on the cart to make room for the water bottles. They were gonna have to dash back to the van and it was just practical to make complete use of the cart. "Found everything but the hydrant wrench. Might wanna check the truck on the way out just in case, but its not the end of the... world. Never mind." He declared as he spotted the large gunk-covered wrench the blond woman set aside as she started to drag and kick the dead piranha out of the way while Michonne covered them from outside on the lot.

"Problem solved, then." Andrea picked up the wrench. "I'm gonna hold onto it for now—it makes a pretty great blunt weapon, the weight lends to a pretty punch."

"As long as you don't drop it." The cart loaded, he gave Sophia his kukri machete to use instead of her KBAR as he took control of the heavy cart. If it was a leisurely stroll, he would have let her push the cart like they were grocery shopping, but this was going to be like an obstacle course to the van down the block instead. "Let's kick this popsicle stand. Michonne?"

"It's pretty clear so we should go while the getting's good."

...

The one advantage to being holed up in one place for the winter? A consistent schedule for training. Marshall was persistent and pushed, and neither woman could come up with a valid reason not to learn the survivable skills he was offering up on a silver platter. Weapons training: guns and knives. While there wasn't much actual target practice due to limited bullets and frostbite advisories, he made sure the three of them knew the range of guns they were in possession of inside and out like any soldier may.

Once Marshall's shoulder healed enough, he was finally able to take up his compound bow again, unfortunately most animals hibernated in the winter, and there was a general lack of wildlife in the suburbs. So, when they finally settled into the house, he would take Boomer out and brave the cold and the piranha for the day to find a good piece of woods to hunt in.

Marshall considered the piranha 'cold-blooded' because they produced no temperature of their own, they had no circulation. So, the thick sludge that was loosely considered their blood and lubed their joints ran 'smoother' with the ambient warmth of the Georgia summer sun. But, in the sub-temperatures of winter didn't put them into hibernation like other reptiles, it 'thickened' that lube, freezing their joints. So, while they were still active in the winter, still a threat, they were just a slower threat. When it finally snowed, leaving a white blanket across the ground, the piranha became like f*cking bear traps! Marshall had tripped over more than his fair share of fallen piranha that had become trapped or just hadn't bothered to get back up again, to be chilled and buried in the snow, only to rise into action at the sudden stimuli of a boot to the face.

He could go from dusk until dawn and not catch a thing, but when he did manage to bring back kills from his hunting excursions, each took turns skinning and gutting the animals. He taught them the construction of simple snares. Michonne had nearly died in the woods because she didn't know how to hunt or trap, so she had been forced to rely on scavenged non-perishable food or the lucky kill when she was fast enough. A sword wasn't exactly conductive to hunting fast-moving, wily prey. They were useful skill to have Before, Now they were simply invaluable.

No one was exempt, not even Sophia. Especially Sophia. She was proven a quick and attentive study, showing her worth for skipping a grade in school. But there also wasn't exactly much for her to do but study when she was done with her own share of chores. She would fumble with the pieces of the gun but her movements grew steadier. She would cringe and gag as she skinned game, she stopped gagging but still cringed, either way, her cuts became cleaner as she grew more confident handling a knife. But Sophia was shorter than the rest of them, meaning that almost all the piranha she was going to encounter would also be bigger and stronger than her, so other than teach her methods to bring people bigger than her down to size, she needed a weapon with more reach than a KBAR and more silent then a handgun, and less tricky and more efficient than a slingshot.

As much as a baseball bat would always be the first to come to mind, no matter how ineffectual it was at actually cracking skulls... humans were easier to take down that way, whether killing them or rendering them unconscious. Piranha were an all together different monster. They wouldn’t die from a brain haemorrhage or fall into a coma with brain swelling, they didn't go down with a single swing. You had to smash through the shell of the skull to get at the gooey inside, that equalled multiple swings, extra energy, strength, and time that wasn't had. Not like Sunny’s years of softball practice. So, no, a blunted object like a bat wouldn't do for a slight 12-year-old like his Butterfly. The fire poker, on the other hand… It had the length, made from a durable material but still had a good weight to it, and the end of it was multifaceted. The perfect whack-a-mole hammer.

...

Marshall glanced absently over through the open dining room door from his task at hand as the floorboards creaked faintly under the passing weight. All he caught sight of was the script of 'JUICY' flashing by. He grinned and gave a short wolf whistle, and then waited. A moment later a figure appeared in the doorway, silent like a phantom, brow raised, fingers loosely wrapped around the hilt of the katana at her hip:

"Wanna try that again?"

"What, I can't show my appreciation for the written word?" He said innocently. "For a generic piece of clothing, it's a rather apt depiction, don't you think?"

Her intimidating expression broke with an involuntary snort. "Smartass."

He chuckled. "And I don't even have to wear a sign for people to know."

"You're ridiculous." She rolled her eyes. "They're clean, comfortable—and most importantly, they're warm. And you're one to talk about ridiculous clothing," She nodded to the ugly knit Christmas sweater that was hung up out of the way.

"Hey, don't dump on my sweater—'Tis the Season!"

"Am I going to wake up tomorrow to find out that you've gone into the attic and dug out the Christmas decorations?"

"If you look at this way, this will be the first and probably the last Christmas of the apocalypse. Next year, we'll all probably be too rung out and jaded to give a sh*t about... things like this. We're stuck here for the foreseeable future, at least until it's warm enough that we won't get frostbite after spending more than a couple hours outside, so why the hell not do something with it that we won't get a chance to again?" Marshall reasoned. "But just so we're clear... it was totally your idea when Andrea inevitably starts yelling at me for 'fooling around'."

"Oh, poor baby." She mocked him. "Stop riling her up and maybe she won't bite your head off."

Marshall scoffed. "My breathing sets her off. She needs to learn some self-control because I plan on doing that for a while longer."

Michonne groaned in exasperation. "You two should just screw already, maybe it will cut through all this tension!"

Marshall made a disgusted face. "I'd rather play around with sh*t. Oh, look, I already am!" He waved a clump of manure at her with a yellow rubber gloved clad hand.

Michonne's nose wrinkled. "Of course, you'd rather play around with horse manure like you were making mud patties than have sex with a beautiful woman."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just sleep with her then? Then I won't have to keep hearing about how I should sleep with her."

As long as Boomer and Hopscotch kept pooping, their winter days and winter nights would be warmed. Horse manure was a natural lasting fuel, it was odourless, burned longer and put off more heat, though it was a little more complicated than just throwing chunks into the fireplace. You had to make a slurry with it first, for better structure and better burning, you could add straw or twigs into you before you moulded it and let it dry. He packed the last of it, setting the manure brick on the plastic sheet on the floor to dry with the others. It would be at least be a week before he had to sit down and do the task all over again.

He pulled off the gloves before rising to his feet, stretching his arms overhead with a groan. He paused by the window to check up on the horses in the backyard before grabbing the sweater Michonne held out to him, and slipping it on overhead.

The dining room had been turned into a makeshift stall for the two dappled horses, it was one of the larger ground floor rooms in the house, and also had a pair of double doors they could easily fit through that lead into the backyard. The dining table had been turned on its side placed against the doors as a secondary barrier that could be slid over as needed. While the horses would have been able to survive the cold, the piranha or even people were an altogether different concern, so Boomer and Hopscotch spent the night in the house and were tethered out in the backyard with Thing One and Thing Two as sentries for a a good chunk of the day to graze on the grass.

Michonne sucked in a sudden, startled gasp as there was a unexpected, if light, weight pouncing onto her back, claws easily clinging to the material of her clothing but not piercing through to skin. "Jesus!" She took a second to calm her racing heart as she felt the familiar, gently tugs on her dreadlocks.

Marshall chuckled as turned her around and started removing the white-and-ginger fur ball one claw at a time. "That's what you get for letting him play with your hair when he was a little kitten. He doesn't know any better now." He snuggled the cat to his chest, Marshmallow purring loudly as he was scratched under the harness.

"Sorry!" Sophia called out, face a bit flushed from jumping down the stairs and racing down the hall. "He ran when I wasn't looking."

"It's fine as long as it's in the house," Marshall reached out and brushed a loose lock of hair from her face. "Outside he needs to be on the leash."

Sophia made a face, glancing into the dining room behind him and the bricks of horse manure laid out to dry. "Did you wash your hands?"

"No, I was wearing gloves." He said with a straight face, but laughed as she ducked away when he reached out again. "Ah, come on! I've touched you after touching worse things than manure through gloves."

"Like what?!"

"You don't want to know, kid." Michonne informed her gravely, playing along to Marshall.

"Seriously, you need to tell me." Sophia insisted. "What's worse than poopy-hands?!"

Both Marshall and Michonne snorted.

"Oh, so many things, Butterfly, trust me. So many things."

The girl snatched Marshmallow from his arms and started backing away down the hall. "You don't get to pet Marshmallow until you tell me!" She laid down the ultimatum.

"What? That's extortion!" Marshall gaped at her in surprise. "How is that fair?!"

"Life's not fair."

He floundered for a moment at the declaration. "W-well... What if he comes to me?" Marshall protested. "I'm just supposed to not pet him?"

"No!" She pointed a scolding finger at him as she rounded the corner. "Bad, Marshall!"

There was silence for a beat but as soon as green-eyes met brown, both adults burst into giggles.

"That girl is extraordinary!" He beamed with pride.

"Okay, dad." Michonne teased her friend. All amusem*nt was wipe clean from the man's demeanour, his expression turning pensive as he suddenly turned his back on her and closed the dinning room doors. "What is it?" She questioned quietly.

Marshall was silent with indecision, whether or not to voice doubts that had been circling his thoughts for weeks, but if there was one thing that he learned about Michonne in their time together, it was that the woman didn't put up with bullsh*t. If you asked for the truth, she was going to give it to you. And he needed a voice in his head that wasn't Andrea's or his daddy's.

"When we finally catch up to the others, do you think...?" He stopped, took a fortifying breath and looked at her. "How upset do you think Carol will be?"

"What do you mean?" Her brows furrowed in genuine confusion. "Why would she be upset? She'll have her daughter back—alive—she'll be so grateful to you, Marshall."

"And then after?" Marshall challenged. "When she realizes that she barely recognizes her own daughter?"

"Changing is just a part of growing up, more so now than ever before." Michonne reminded him softly, but no less truthfully. "Maybe, like it always does, natural evolutionary order reasserts itself. Until then... if we have to carve out our own little corner of the world, so be it. We adapt, we survive, we live. And what's there for her mother not to be proud of? Sophia doesn't swear. She doesn't sneak off and get into trouble. She's helpful, smart, a survivor. If I remember right, you called her a 'warrior'. You've been that girl's biggest cheerleader, why the sudden 180?"

"Because, damn it all, Andrea was right. I'm making decisions that should be Carol's to make. I feel like... I'm stealing that woman's daughter. I'm a stranger. I'm not Sophia's father."

"She wishes you were."

Marshall frowned at her. "I'm being serious, Michonne."

"So, am I." She rebuked. "You want to know what I remember?" She challenged him. He stayed silent. "The first day we met... when Andrea said you weren't Sophia's father," Marshall's shoulders tensed, "You didn't see that girl's face, but I did. She was heartbroken, Marshall.

"You may not have been there for the first 12-years of that girl's life, but you're here now—and this period in her life feels a little more important, don't you think? You are here when she needs you most. Look, I don't know that little girl's life-story, but from what I gathered, her original sperm donor was a sick, piece of sh*t excuse for a man. I've seen you with her. You make sure she's fed first, she's always your first priority, whether that's her safety or simply just her comfort. You do her hair and sing her to sleep. She idolizes the ground you walk on, she listens to your every word like it's gospel."

"That's just basic care and the attachment's from the trauma-bond." He corrected her. "That's all. I'm a meat-shield between her and the piranha, of course she's gonna listen to me—the other alternative is Andrea, so, there's no contest. As soon as we get back to the others, I'm going down the totem pole to the simple authority of another adult in the group."

Michonne sighed, growing frustrated with his continued denial. "What happened to 'when you know, you know'?" She supposed it couldn't be helped, parenthood was not something to take lightly, it was more than just being a big brother or an uncle. "You knew we were going to become friends—and here we are. You'll see I'm right." She let it go in the end, though. "But, seriously—wash your hands."

Marshall scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I was wearing gloves, they smell like sweat and rubber, alright? They're not smeared in sh*t!" He waved them around at her pointedly. "See?"

She was not impressed. "Lick you hand, then."

"Well, that's just unsanitary on a general level." He pointed out.

"But, it also proves the point, doesn't it?"

"Well, if I lick my hand to prove my point," He countered, "What are the chances of us making-out later when the others are asleep?"

"The same as before."

"So... likely?" He joked.

She deadpanned, "Non-existent."

Marshall pouted. "I'm not sure I entirely believe you."

"Why would I lie?" She turned away, going down the hall toward the front of the house. It helped mask her own amusem*nt.

"Why would you walk away first?" He countered, playfully flirty, as he followed after her. "Because you want me to watch you walk away, and I am more happy to oblige!"

Michonne snorted. "That... that is not the worst I've ever heard. When's the last time you got any?"

"Hm." He thought about it. "I don't know... year and a half, maybe? Before I left the Army and came home, so... maybe closer to two. Why? Do you have an itch that needs to be scratched?" He teased.

"I was thinking maybe you did." She stopped at the staircase and turned to him, brow raised. "Can I have your picture so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas?"

Marshall stopped, blinked, and regarded her seriously. "This is why you're my second best-friend. You partake, you join the fun, you shoot back."

"Oh, your second best-friend, huh?" She crossed her arms and raised a brow, hip popping with attitude.

"Don't get territorial, Samurai-sama. It's nothing personal, Rick just planted his flag in that hill first."

"Ah, the Legendary Rick Grimes!" This was not the first nor, she knew, would it be the last that she heard of Rick. She was really interested to put a face to all of Marshall's admiration. Despite not having known the man for even two weeks before they were separated, he seemed to inspire an honest trust and respect in Marshall. Marshall trusted Rick with his sisters, after all, but Michonne got the feeling that there was more than that. It was just the way that Marshall's green-eyes got... bubbly sometimes when he mentioned the other man. She was almost positive that Marshall was crushing on Grimes, but not in a fervent, school-girl way and she had to refrain herself from commenting on it every time. "Just so you know, you're not my #1 best-friend either." She mocked.

"Oh, really?" He said, totally not believing her. "Why don't I believe that?"

"Denial." She brushed off her shoulder.

"If it isn't me, then who?" He insisted.

"Why should I tell you?"

He countered, "What do you have to hide?"

"Aw," Her lips puckered. "It's nothing personal, Greene. They just got the gold before you."

"Fine. I can accept being your second best-friend, it's only fair. But if you say your #1 best-friend is Andrea... then I know you're really just trying to hurt me."

"It's Andrea." She deadpanned.

"Lalalalala!" He denied, fingers stuck in his ears. "Michonne the Meanie! Michonne the Meanie!" He ran away from her dramatically as she laughed. Marshall found Sophia in the front room, hanging damp laundry from the makeshift clothesline in front of the fireplace. "Hey, butterfly. C'mon, got a surprise for you..." He held out his hand to her.

Sophia finished pinning a pair of wool socks to the line as she eyed his outstretched hand. "Did you wash your hands?"

"No." He stated plainly, dropping his hand. "But if that's gonna be the thing that stops you, I'll just go have all the fun by myself." He slowly turned away.

"Fun?" Sophia perked up, just like Carl.

Marshall shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. But you'd have to come with me to find out and risk my... poopy-hands!" He mocked her, doing jazz-hands before stowing them in his pockets.

"Marshall." Sophia groaned quietly in frustration, chewing on her lip as she finished hanging the laundry, watching him from the corner of her eye as he painstakingly slowly inched out of the room. "Wait! I'm coming!" She jumped to her feet, racing after him. He just laughed as he took the stairs two at a time. She was panting by the time she made it to the top landing and watched him pull the cord that lead to the attic entrance, a ladder descending from the ceiling. "What's fun up there?"

"Don't know. You're gonna have to go up there and find out."

Sophia stood at the bottom of the ladder, neck craned back to gaze into the gaping maw of the attic. Despite it only being midday and the rays of winter sun shinning through the gapes in the slates that boarded the window lighting the rest of the house, the attic remained dark. "It's dark." She pointed out. "I'm supposed to go first?"

"There's nothing to be afraid of, butterfly. I scared away any ghosts up there when we first cleared the house." He handed her the small flashlight. "I'll be right here to catch you if you fall."

"I wasn't worried about falling until you said something..." She mumbled to him.

"Either way, I'll be here to catch you."

"Okay." She finally agreed. It was mumbled but was without doubt. She clicked on the flashlight before she carefully ascended the ladder into the dark confines of the attic. The light beam proceeded her into the attic, head rising after slowing and cautiously as she looked around; very reminiscent of Patches' way back when at the rest stop. When the girl finally cleared the ladder, Marshall followed after.

It was just like he'd told Rick... kids were adaptable. Growing up in the apocalypse was probably easier for them than it was for the Old Dogs. But it was the little things that mattered, like a cat named Marshmallow, a wicked slingshot, or Christmas in a stranger's house. Just because Sophia was a kid that was going to have to grow up too soon, didn't mean she still couldn't just be a kid. They wouldn't have the luxury to celebrate a holiday like this soon, after all.

...

In conclusion, it was a very fruitful 3 months in winter isolation. But at the end of February, in was time to move forward, make it to the neighbouring county and find the rest of their group.

[tWD]

Marshall had spent nights awake throughout winter, staring out the window a thousand-yards out, wondering what happened to that herd of piranha Rick's original group had encountered on the highway. Andrea's remark echoing in his head: "That herd that passed through, they might have absorbed the walkers that lingered on the highway as they went." Because they sure as sh*t hadn't been in their winter county.

He just wished he hadn't found out where they were this way: With Boomer and Hopscotch's pained screaming as broken fingernails and black teeth tore into their flesh. As Sophia tried to muffle her hysterical and pained sobs in his shoulder while he worked to carry her, climb the ladder, and kick off the grabbing hands that attempted to yank them down to their deaths--

It was early March.

Still donned in winter gear, they saddled up the horses and Thing One and Two, and broke camp from their winter abode. They were forced to leave many supplies and luxuries behind but they were far better off now than they had been when they first abandoned the farm. The horses were happy to be able to stretch their legs properly out of the confined backyard, even if still in the presence of the piranha shackled to their asses. Andrea resented being put back up in the saddle. Marshmallow was bundled up safe and warm in the inside of Sophia's coat. Marshall was grateful for new hunting grounds.

Michonne was kind of disappointed to be leaving the cul-de-sac behind, they had really built a place there for the past three months but she knew, unlike herself, the others had people out there waiting for them. She had, very briefly, contemplated staying behind, staking her claim to the house but she realized she would just be living with the haunting ghosts of happy memories made with the company of the living nightmares she'd chained to herself. Plus, Marshall would not be able to handle Andrea by himself.

It was about 3 days on the road to the next county.

Marshall eyes grazed over it, unseeing. His gaze drawn by the flash of bright colour in the otherwise drab landscape before moving on—until his brain actually caught up with what his tired eyes were seeing. He yanked back on the reins with a wordless exclaim, harder than intended as his body surge with adrenaline. Boomer neighed, head thrown back as he reared. Sophia gave a surprised cry and hugged tightly to Marshall's arms, as the two women looked frantically for a threat that didn't exist.

"Sorry, sorry." Marshall uttered to the horse and the girl.

"Marshall, what the hell?" Andrea demanded.

He ignored her, wheeling Boomer back around to get another look at the billboard they passed at the county line. He pushed Thing Two out of the way with his foot when the piranha threatened to trip them up with its chain.

"Marshall--?!" Sophia started, but then stopped and gaped at the neon green Goddess of Athena Tag on the dirty face of what looked like the advertisem*nt for a mall. "Oh!"

"Almost there, Butterfly." He murmured, pressing a smooch aside of the pompom at the crown of her head. "I knew we were close!" He crowed, extending his arms up overhead in victory. "Practically a stone's throw away!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, we haven't actually found them yet." Andrea pointed out.

"Shut up, Andrea." Marshall said, unwilling to let her pessimistic attitude crush his blooming joy and anticipation. "Go piss in someone else's Cheerio’s!"

Michonne couldn't help the small smile at the twin beams of excitement on the man and girl. "Come on, then. What are we waiting for?" She clicked her tongue and heels, steering Hopscotch back toward the county line. "Now Entering Allie."

They were so close! This was the first sign of the rest of the group they'd seen all winter. Marshall knew they were in the wrong county, but finally, they were on the right track. His mind raced with thoughts as he hummed happily, hugging Sophia and Marshmallow back against his chest.

He really wouldn't have minded setting up more permanently in that cul-de-sac. There had been enough of a degree of separation from downtown that they hadn't had much of a piranha problem at the house, though that could also be partial to the fact that it'd been winter. When they found the others, if Rick wasn't already set up in a viable place, he'd bring it up as a possible alternative. Of course, 11 adults, 3 kids, 1 newborn and 4 animals wouldn't fit in that single house, but that was what neighbours were for. They would be able to drink from the hydrant's water main with the pump that was installed, and though they would have to go out of their way a bit for better hunting grounds, Marshall could see it--

The herd had come from nowhere. It had been literal silence waiting around the corner, it was the worst surprise party ever! There had to be 100 at the least. None of them were prepared for an encounter of this magnitude.

Boomer and Hopscotch reared up, neighing frantically, front hooves kicking as the piranha herd suddenly surged forward hungrily. Somehow, all riders managed to stay astride as Marshall and Michonne pulled the reins, turning the horses around as they landed back on all fours. Back legs struck out deadly, and they might have actually escape too—if it hadn't been for the two living-dead mules chained to their asses.

Boomer and Hopscotch ploughed into Thing One and Two. Thing One and Two easily got stomped underfoot, and for a second their was the belief that they would get out of reach and gallop off down the street—until the horses legs got tangled up in 12 feet of chain each. They went down hard, their riders thrown, crashing and rolling onto the dirty street.

It was a frantic scramble back to their feet, ignoring new aches and abrasions, weapons pulled before they were overwhelmed. Michonne slashed frantically with her katana, lobbing skull-tops off as she scrambled backward. Andrea aimed her scythe at a lowered level, if she had to pause to pull the blade free from their skulls she would never make it out alive so she aimed for necks instead. Chomping heads on the ground that she could kick away like a soccer ball was easier to deal with than a linebacker tackling her.

When Marshall realized that they were going down, he took those few precious seconds and grabbed Sophia—and threw her off and away from the crash zone. He managed to at least get his feet out of the stirrups, and not get caught and crushed under Boomer's struggling weight. He slammed to the road, the breath knocked from his chest as his head cracked against the ground. His trapper hat, though thick and lined with fur, designed to keep out even the most punishing winter colds, was no helmet. He knew he didn't blackout because if he did, he would already be eaten by the piranha.

As much as his body wanted to just lay down, as his ears rung and were overwhelmed by the cacophony of the deads' cries of hunger, if he didn't want to die here, he needed to push through that boundary. Still on the ground, he pulled his Berretta and fired at the piranha that towered over him. He managed to roll out of the way of their falling bodies and scramble to his feet. He spotted Michonne and Andrea from the corner of his eye, but his green gaze kept darting, searching and coming up empty.

Sophia yelped as one second she was clinging to Boomer's mane to stay on and the next thing she knew she was being tossed away. She managed to instinctively curl into a ball and roll with the impact like Marshall had told her if she were ever thrown from a horse, coming to an abrupt stop against the curb of the sidewalk. It didn't make it hurt any less, but the bruises and the abrasions were far better than broken bones.

She didn't even have to turn to see the hoard, but as she tried to search for Marshall, all she could see was the feeding frenzy like a demented doggie-pile on Boomer. "No!" She bit her lip to hold back the sob that wanted to break free, so as to not somehow draw the attention of the piranha over the horses weakening screams—Marshall was not trapped in there, too! Her attempts didn't matter though because Marshmallow was yowling and struggling frantically, trapped inside of her coat.

Heads at the fringes of the feeding party started co*cking and turning in her direction. The instinct to hold her breath and become still in the hopes of going unnoticed, as low as that method was of actually working, was completely abolished by the frightened feline. As several piranha started to break away and close the short distance to her, her flee instinct kicked in. Rock—retreat and refurge. One arm wrapped around the bottom of her coat to keep the cat contained as she tried to both scramble away and get her feet back under her. She hoped the sound of the gunshots would keep their attention, but her jumping into motion and Marshmallow's cries locked their target sights set on her. She let out a cry as her scraped knee twinge, giving out beneath her. She kept trying to scramble forward though, despite the stabs of pain she felt in her knees, kept trying to put distance between her and them despite how futile it seemed—and then her foot was caught.

"SOPHIA!!?" Marshall screamed, his throat sore and his voice hoarse. He didn't think he'd ever screamed so loud before but the groans, rasps, and the soppy crunching of eating swallowed it up like a black-hole. Would he be able to even hear her if she screamed back? He was goddamn frantic.

This was worse than the farm. At least there, he'd already had Sophia in his sights, easily taken into his arms—here, he didn't know where the f*ck she was and he was growing more and more scared and frantic at each millisecond that ticked by that she wasn't. He thought that he was saving her when he threw her away, but maybe he should have pulled her tight instead.

Andrea and Michonne had managed to work their way closer to him, giving him a bit of breathing room to change the clip in his Berretta and continue to scream himself horse for his kid. He wasn't leaving here until he found her! He could see their lips moving, but whatever they were trying to say to him was just white noise—until a refreshing wave broke free:

"PAPA!!"

It was a screech born of pure terror.

...

Boots pounded frantically against asphalt as the group of four tried to outrun the mass of living-dead following them en masse. With the amount they managed to kill, the ones that still lingered to feast on the now dead horses, didn't seem to make much of a dent into the hoard of piranha as more just seemed to pop out of every crook, crevice, and shadow as they tried to escape back down the block.

The sound of them was like a haunting groan of the afterlife, but as he ran blindly forward, all Marshall Greene could hear was Sophia's hysterical wailing and her broken sobs as she kept calling him papa. His lungs seized as they screamed for oxygen but was blocked by the heartbroken sob lodged in his own throat.

All he'd been able to glimpse was the blood that soaked the back of Sophia's leg, before he managed to wrestle her free and finally back into his own arms as Andrea and Michonne descended on the piranha mobbing the girl like a pair of hyena. There had been no time to stop and to check, to make sure it wasn't a--

All they could do was flee. This time, being covered in their gunk didn't do a thing. Andrea had been trying to plough ahead, find their salvation. Michonne had hung back, trying to cover Marshall and Sophia, looking like a Mistress of Death. Her eyes just as wild as his.

"This way!" The blond woman veered from running down the middle of the street into an alley. The other end was practically cleared, but more than that—was the fire escape that climbed the side of the apartment building. "Here!" Andrea screamed, swinging her scythe upward and hooking the tip of the blade into the grated metal step that hovered above her head, but when she pulled... nothing happened. No Staircase to Heaven descended from above. "Argh! C'mon!" She brought her entire weight to bear on the grips, and used the few moments of complete suspension to plant her boots into the closest walker's chest. She sent it flailing backward, knocking over into the few walkers behind it, giving her a sweet little window from the relentless pursuits just in time for the metal staircase above her head to give a judder, a jolt, then a wailing screech as the spring mechanisms finally gave in to the pull of her weight.

She managed to twist out of the way as the staircase came slamming down onto the pavement with a clang. She leapt onto the bottom steps to keep it from springing upward again before the others could reach it, planting a temporary flag of defence as she cleaved the heads off the walkers she'd bowled over seconds ago. She didn't move until Michonne slammed her foot on the bottom step before rushing ahead on the fire escape.

Some of the apartment windows were boarded up, the rest were either simply shut or broken and already occupied with walkers trying to join in the chaotic fun. Andrea didn't have room to swing around her scythe in this metal jungle gym so when a walker manage to climb out onto the fire escape landing from one of the broken windows, guts spilling from its belly torn open on the jagged shards of windowpane, she used the blunt edge of the curved blade like a battering ram. The railing only hindered the walker's backward momentum for a second before it was falling over into the teeming crowd below, quickly becoming another of the mass.

Breathless, she continued upward. It was clear they would just end up trapped and dead if they tried to escape into one of the apartments, who's only occupants seemed to be walkers, leaving the roof as their only safe haven. Thankfully, walkers didn't seem to be able to climb ladders or fences, that was what would be the saving grace in this moment of time.

Michonne somehow ended up in front of them on the fire escape, but when she tried to get back to the rear position Marshall just yelled at her to keep going. It was too late to go back, to even hesitate in their forward motion would mean falling into an inescapable feeding frenzy. The fire escape shudder and jerked as its weight limit and capacity was quickly exceeded as piranha clamoured after them up the stair before the spring mechanism could snap it back up into the safety position.

The piranha were literally right on Marshall's ass, breathing down his neck, close enough that one piranha had managed to grab Sophia's boot bouncing at his back as she clung to him like a baby monkey while he swung around the landing to the next stair.

Sophia shrieked in his ear, both from fear and pain as Marshall tried to twist them free before they were swarmed. Michonne quickly leaned over the edge of the railing and stabbed her katana down into the piranha's cranium. Sophia had lost her boot, but they had escaped alive. The dead piranha managed to delay the followers behind it for a brief few seconds where they had to scramble over the road block, but it was enough to gain back that miniscule distance once more. Marshall stretched his stride to the limit, eating up 3 steps for each pace until he was force to revert back to 2 when his toe caught and it was nearly their second downfall in as many seconds.

Andrea rolled over the lip of the roof and to her feet. She barely had time to glimpse the ruined tent before 2 walkers were lunging at her. The scream escaped her before she could stop it, but trying to be quiet didn't even matter anymore. The walkers were there, the walkers were on them, it didn't matter how much noise the living made, they just needed to get away. She crashed to the roof on her back under the combined weight, the handle of her scythe a painful bar across her spine, but the blade seemingly sprung up from behind her head and impaled the top most walker. It didn't kill it, the tip on the blade just seemed to hook in its eye socket, leaving it pinioned and preventing it from coming forward to bite her in conjunction with the other.

She couldn't even gag as it eyeball dribbled from its socket and onto her cheek like congealed puss as it continued to mindlessly push against the scythe to bite her, but because of the growing width of the blade, just wedged itself further. Despite now not having to deal with the immediate threats of two chompers, the weight of both still pinned her, leaving her to struggle with the free walker pinned against her chest.

She strained to keep her forearm as a crossbar against the snapping walker's throat. She was struggling, exhausted from the fight just to make it to the damned roof, but she was going to fight to her dying breath. She reached her other arm over, fingers grasping the dirty strands of hair at the back of the top walker's head—if she could apply enough force, she might be able to finish sending the blade's way into its brain, killing it. Then, if she could get that weight off of her... she'd be able to roll the other walker off, reach the knife trapped between them, and finish it off.

She grunted, teeth gritted as she strained to pull the top walker towards her. Her focus wavered from the other walker and just as the top walker finally jolted forward to its final death on the scythe, her other arm buckled. As the walker was about to bite her face off, the blond woman was blinded by the sudden spray of walker blood as the black woman lobbed the top of its head off.

Andrea flinched, a whimper escaping her tightly pursed lips as the skull cap smack her in the face before it clattered to the roof next to her, followed by the slow plop and weight as the severed top of the walker's brain separated from the whole and fell onto her exposed throat. The woman waited a beat, for the weight of the walkers to be relieved, but there was no proceeding assistance as Michonne rushed back to the ladder.

The last leg of the fire escape was a simple 10 foot ladder bolted to the side of the brick wall leading up to the roof. There was no safety cage around it to prevent falling, and falling in their case would mean death. There was no other choice but to go up. Dust had been raining down as the vibration and excessive weight on the fire escape loosened the anchor points. "Hold on!" He told the girl in his arms. He wasn't sure if she even registered what he said, but he would find out in a second.

Three possible fates awaited them:

The fire escape beneath them finally collapsed and he and Sophia would fall to their deaths amid cascading metal and into the writhing hoard of piranha beneath them.

The few moments of ascent at the bottom of the ladder allowed the piranha to descend before he could get high enough out of reach and they got pulled down into the hungry maws.

Or, he somehow managed to get at least 7 feet up the ladder and out of grabbing-reach, thus making it to the roof and proceeding into the unknown—was his butterfly bit?

He didn't make it high enough before the small and final landing of the fire escape brimmed to capacity with piranha. All surging and lunging forward for the delectable meal that was Marshall Greene, so eager they shoved each other aside before any one could get that award winning bite. His leg was snagged and held hostage.

Sophia whimpered, clinging to him harder, trying to somehow make herself smaller against his chest. She bent her knee, tucking her injured leg and sock-clad foot high against his ribs in a bid for better protection. Her leg, which had been steadily bleeding, staining the back tail of his duster, which then became a prime targets area. The leather jacket that was acting as a pretty good bite-guard actually. The only reason his leg wasn't a damn stump already with the amount of mouths gnawing on him.

"Marshall, hang on!" Michonne yelled from above him.

It wasn't like there was anything else he could really do as he continued his unsuccessful attempts to free his leg, and fought against the pull that threatened to tear him off the ladder. He flinched in surprise, almost loosing his grip on the ladder rung as something large and heavy suddenly fell from above. The fire escape juddered dramatically at the sudden force, the dead piranha body hanging precariously over the railing before it was knocked over the edge by the other piranha. It fell ineffectually into the teeming mass below, but as the other piranha continued to press and knock against the rail, it suddenly gave way, effectively creating a leak in the bucket. Now, as they pushed and shoved and lunged over each other, there was no barrier to keep them contained on the landing. Piranha continuously fell down five stories, but the platform never became less crowded. It was some sick, endless cycle. Piranha would fall off the open edge, land unharmed, cushioned by the crowd of their peers, climb back onto their feet, a little more broken but still inhumanly functional, and climb back up the fire escape again. Rinse and repeat. He was still a mouse with its leg caught in the trap, though.

"Watch out!" Was all the warning he got—at least he got one this time. Good thing, too, because the next thrown dead piranha nearly landed on him! It flattened (but did not kill) the piranhas grabbing him, but with the rotted fingers tangled in his boot's laces, the sudden, forceful jerk nearly did yank him off the ladder. Before the knocked piranha could get their bearings or before others could jump forward and take their place, Marshall kicked off the final remaining hand keeping him prisoner and scrambled up out of reach on the ladder.

Michonne was there to meet him at the top of the ladder, but when she reached for the girl--

"No!" Sophia screamed, somehow clinging to him even tighter.

"It's okay." He croaked to both Samurai-sama and Butterfly. Michonne just silently helped him over onto the roof instead. "It'll be okay." He dropped to him knees, hugging the girl. "No mattered what," He vowed and they all flinched as there was a prominent, ominous groan from below and then the great big cacophony of metal collapsing to the ground below. The apartment building shook with it. "It'll be okay." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I need to look at your leg, Butterfly."

"No, no, no, no!" The girl cried, clinging tighter to his neck, refusing to let go and face the truth.

"Yes." He murmured, nodding to Michonne as he reached up to pry her trembling arms away.

"No, papa! No!" Sophia screamed, struggling when Michonne wrapped her arms around her from behind, helping in the effort to separate her from Marshall.

Marshall had to force himself to continue to keep pushing her away instead of pulling her close.

Sophia changed tactics and tried to squirrel herself away in Michonne's lap, curling up in the foetal position as she sobbed hysterically. Marshmallow meowed from within his confines. Marshall gently but firmly grasped her socked foot and extended her leg out towards him. He took out his pocket knife and carefully, wary of the girl suddenly jerking her leg away, cut up the bloody pant leg but it looked like the strawberry-blond had given up the struggle and simply continued to cry.

Marshall prayed to God that this little girl's fate was not to be bitten so close to being back with her mama, that this was just some cruel trick as he peeled back the tattered material clinging to the wound. It couldn't be a bite wound, it just couldn't—but if it was-- he would take care of it. Somehow. Taking her leg might kill her faster than the bite itself with all their supplies so close a block away and yet so far, but even then it was no guarantee. But if it didn't... Marshall was more than willing to carry the 12-year-old around on his back like a monkey for the rest of the apocalypse if that's what it took.

The man stared at the bleeding wound, the torn flesh, the visible fat... and the sob that had been choking him finally released in a hoarse croak of absolute relief. "Oh, thank God! Thank God! It's not a bite, it's not a f*cking bite!"

"You hear that, Sophia?" Michonne hugged her, rubbing her arm, trying to rouse her from her hopeless state. "You're not bit."

"I'm-I'm n-not?" Sophia sniffed, her breath hiccupping as she rose her dirty, freckled, tear-stained face.

"No." He grinned, stripping off his duster. "No bites here. Something from the street must of gouged you good, though." A plaintive, muffled meow emitted from the girl's torso. "You gotta let Marshmallow out of there, butterfly."

"B-but," She protested, arms tightening around her middle. "He's not on his le-leash."

"We're up high, safe on this roof from those piranha, hon." Michonne assured her. "There's nowhere for him to get into trouble or squirrel-away to."

"You did good keeping him safe." Marshall praised. "But it's probably hard for him to breathe in there, right. Maybe even a bit scary and confined after everything that happened."

"Mn." Despite their reasoning she was still reluctant to let him go, but under Marshall's green gaze she reached for her zipper. "Okay." She barely got it passed her collarbones before the white-and-ginger kitten was squirming out of the small gap, and springing from her chest to the roof gravel. He was tense and wary as he looked around for danger.

Marshall zipped her jacket back up to her chin and laid his own coat over her. "There, that'll help keep you warm while I fix-up your leg."

"Is it gonna h-hurt?"

"Yes." He said bluntly but softly. "It needs stitches, butterfly. And there's nothing I can give you for the pain, I'm sorry."

Sophia whimpered. "I-it's okay, M-Marshall."

He sighed sadly internally but didn't give an outward reaction to him being referred to as 'Marshall' again instead of 'papa'. She'd just been scared and hysterical earlier, that was all, not thinking about her words clearly. He avoided eye contact with Michonne, as he pulled off his turtleneck overhead. It had some piranha on it, but the thin long-sleeved shirt beneath that was clean (all things considered) and he used that to wrap around Sophia's calf as a temporary bandage to help staunch the flow, using the sleeves to bind it. He slipped his turtleneck and trapper hat back on, the last thing he needed was to catch a cold.

"Marshall," Michonne pointed out softly, "All our supplies are on the ground."

"I know. I've worked with less. Luckily, I have a single suture kit on me—but that's it." Thank God for his habit of stashing various smaller items in his pockets rather than the packs. Unfortunately, Marshall's true worry was infection. It may not have been a piranha bite or a scratch, but who the hell know exactly what gouged into Sophia's calf—only that it would be apocalypse-dirty and he couldn't just give her a tetanus shot. "I'll be back in a second." He jumped up just as abruptly as he spoke.

"Wait! Don't leave! Where are you going?" Sophia cried out after him.

"I'm not going far." He promised. "I'll be back in a minute." Marshall tore through the tent ruins in search. Already he didn't have an over abundance of confidence in finding something of use—the sleeping bags and clothing were musky and soiled, the cans of food were empty. There was no first-aid kit nor anything resembling medical supplies. Whoever these people were, they'd been poorly prepared to camp-out up here. He was about to accept defeat when he heard the clink of glass. He scrambled around the debris.

"Score!" He exclaimed as he found a bottle of Jack. It wasn't full but it was an absolute blessing, he'd never been so happy to see alcohol in his life. He crawled out of the tent to find Andrea approaching. She looked about as energetic and delighted about their situation as any of them, covered in far more piranha than any of them. It was crusted in her hair, and smeared on her face. He spotted a chunk of some kind of flesh caught in the zipper of her jacket at her throat.

"Hey. What can I do to help?" Andrea asked.

"We need to get off this roof. See if you can jimmy open that door."

"Marshall, you may not have noticed it when you were running up the fire escape, but the apartment building is overrun with walkers. People were camping up here for a reason."

Marshall sighed. "I don't want to argue, Andrea. I can only see three options here. One, we stay stuck up on this roof to freeze and starve. Two, we get that door open and work our way through the building, hole-up in an apartment 'til the ground clears more. Or, Three—we start jumping buildings."

"Jumping buildings?!" She exclaimed.

"The gap's only about 10 feet." He reasoned. "I need to fix Sophia's leg—so, pick one. Just know, Option One isn't really isn't an actual option here."

"Fine." She agreed. "What?" She questioned when he didn't move away.

"I need bandages." He eyed her soiled coat. "Your shirts—if they're clean, I need them. No bullsh*t."

She just shook her because he was right, normally, she'd call him a pervert, but not this time. She set her scythe down (the mid-grip was broken off but she suspected that was the reason the blade had popped up from behind her head when she fell on it and saved her life, so she couldn't be too upset about it) and carefully dragged down her sticky zipper. She pulled back the jacket lapels, "It's clean. No idea how." She said, shrugging the jacket off. When she reached for her sweater hem to pull it off overhead--

"Wait, stop." She froze. "Your hair's all dirty, you'll just end up soiling the material. I need to cut it off." She pursed her lips but nodded. He pulled out his pocket knife—the same he'd used to cut away Daryl's tank when he was injured, the same he used to scrape away the irritating stubble on his face that kept insisting on growing. She held her arms out, holding back her remarks as he cut up each side seam, then the top of the shoulders-to-neckline, letting the clothing fall away into two separate pieces. He repeated the same process from her sweater, to the t-shirt and long sleeve under it, leaving nothing but her undershirt. Goose pimples broke across her skin at the chilly air, and she quickly put on her jacket again, zipping it to her chin despite how gross and stinky it was. "Thank you." Was all he said before turning away back to Sophia and Michonne.

"See? Back before you could even miss me." Marshall told the girl. He squeezed her socked foot. "I found something to help disinfect the laceration, but it's gonna hurt, butterfly. Your mama ever dab your scraped knees with peroxide?" She silently nodded. "It'll be a bit like that, but a bit bigger. Just hold onto Samurai-sama, okay? It'll be better if you don't try and look at it. If you need to scream... you can, I've seen grown man cry from less. The piranha can't get us up here."

Sophia chin trembled as her eyes brimmed with fresh tears already. She squirmed in Michonne’s lap, turning to hug the woman around her waist and bury her face in her stomach. A sob heaved in her chest before Marshall had even done anything as Michonne stroked her hair motherly before pulling Marshall's coat overhead, casting her in a safe bubble of darkness and the man's scent.

Michonne gave the younger man a reassuring nod, he gave a grim but determined one back. He used some of the alcohol to clean his hands up, before he took off the shirt he'd tied around her leg. He took her small socked foot, thumb stroking her boney ankle briefly in reassurance and comfort before he tucked her foot between his knees to keep her leg still. Marshall had treated injured civilian children before in the field—it never got easier to push passed and continue his work through their cries of pain, whether it was stranger's child or now with a kid he knew and cared about. Sophia shouted when he poured the Jack onto her wound, she flailed, trying to get her leg free but he held fast.

He did not want to recall how may times he put his daddy (though all unintentional) in a similar situation. How far worse it was. How many times—even if it was just seconds—that he died in his daddy's arms.

Andrea ended up borrowing Sophia's fire poker to pry open the door. The only other viable options were her scythe (which, with his blade-shape and wooden handle, would snap too easily), Michonne’s sword (Andrea didn't even bother to ask), leaving the fire poker. It still took her time and frustration and effort, but she managed it. The shaft was slightly warped by the end of it, but nothing too drastic and she learned it killed walkers just as well as it did before as a few fell out of the now open roof-access. She quickly shoved the corpses out of the way and slammed the door shut, using the poker as a temporary wedge to keep it closed before any more walkers could make an appearance up the stairwell until they were ready to leave.

Marshall gave the girl a moment to recover as the wound drained. He carefully wiped at the laceration with a spare sleeve from the clean pile. His suture kit, thankfully, was an official one from his first-aid kit and he was so glad he hadn't wasted it on his bullet wound all those months back. Besides a winter cold that took them out for a couple weeks while they been holed-up, and some minor injures, there had been no major incidents that had required stitches or even the first-aid kit.

The top-knot suture, he expected the shriek, it still made him cringe in guilt and sympathy. She was openly sobbing now, the coat doing very little to muffle her sounds of pain. Michonne had her own face turned away, unable to handle watching him. He could tell that, despite telling her it was okay to scream, that Sophia was still trying to stifle her sounds. He hummed; in comfort, reassurance, distraction—and he continued to pierce her flesh with the needle. God. After this, he needed to never hear these sounds from her lips again.

...

They made it off the roof and to the top floor of the apartment building. Marshall lingered in the back carrying Sophia in his arms as Michonne and Andrea took out any piranha in the corridor. The door was off the hinges of the first apartment, so after a quick search for any piranha, they moved on.

The second apartment, the door was locked and they could hear at least two piranha behind it. Marshall handed off Sophia and after two kicks managed to bust the door. The door smashed one piranha in the face, before blocking it, while the other was only knocked in the shoulder with the edge. Marshall thrust his machete into its face. He grabbed the door handle and smashed it back into the 2nd piranha again, make it stumble back out from behind the door to take it out with a downward swing. He drug the bodies out into the hall and wedged a dinning chair under knob to secure it.

With Sophia sat on the loveseat in the living room with Marshmallow, the small, two bedroom apartment was quickly cleared of any further piranha. The windows were boarded up or already barred and there was a bureau that could be pushed in front of the door for better of security.

"Stay with Sophia, Marshall." Michonne took charge. "Andrea and I will clear this top floor, make sure the stairwell is secure, and look around for supplies."

"Alright." Marshall sighed but nodded. "Besides the obvious things—empty out medicine cabinets, see if you can find some clothes? And anything clean than can be stripped into bandages for Sophia's leg. Cat-stuff. Candles, vinegar. Any alcohol. A sewing kit or tackle box--"

"So, anything that isn't nailed down, basically." Andrea remarked.

"Basically. We're staying here until the stitches come out of Sophia's leg, might as well make the most of it." He was not willing to risk something happening and her wound reopening like his shoulder had done several times. He didn't care if it delayed them further from finding the others. "By then, hopefully, all the piranha activity outside with have died down. They'll have naturally wondered off or be drawn off by some other ruckus. We might even be able to get our supplies back—they're just sitting there in the street."

"We can worry about that later. Right now, let's just get this done." Michonne said. "We'll be back in a bit." Andrea left her scythe behind, once more borrowing Sophia's fire poker.

Marshall propped the dinning chair back under the doorknob after they left just as a precaution. "Looks like it's just the three of us."

He turned to the girl on the couch, her posture subdued as she watched Marshmallow sniffing around curiously at the length of his leash that the 12-year-still held. It had taken Michonne a hot minute to get the cat back onto the leash again and Sophia was reluctant to let him off it again. As safe as this place was for the moment, she could still hear the hoard outside, like the muted rumble of a garbage truck at the curb Friday mornings.

"How's your leg feel?"

She shrugged a shoulder, not looking him as she mumbled an apt: "Hurts."

In fact, she hadn’t said or reacted much since he finished her leg. She was exhausted emotionally and physically. She had the fright of her short life and would always bear the scar to prove it. Thirsty, hungry, missing her mama (so close yet so far). He was still concerned though. There was the apocalypse then there was the apocalypse, you know?

Marshall sighed. "I know." He grabbed the small cushion from the floor and straightened the coffee table in front of her. He cupped her ankle and gently raised it to lay on the cushion. "I know it hurts, but you're being so strong and brave. Just hold on a little longer and I'm sure we'll have everything we'll need to make you feel better. Some pain meds, food, clean pants, a pair of shoes..." He grabbed the skewed throw from the back of the couch and carefully spread it over her. "Get you fed and all tucked-up in a bed with Marshmallow for some proper rest." He laid his hand softly on her bowed head. "It'll be okay. When we get your stitches out, we'll be heading straight for your mama. I know I've been saying that and all I’ve shown for my words is months of-- well, nothing, but, butterfly, I swear to you: I'll get you back to your mama—if it's the last thing I do on this Earth." When she still gave no reaction to him, he dropped his hand and stepped back. "I'll just be down the hall looking through the rooms, okay?"

Sophia glanced up through her lashes, her lips glued shut, but when she saw his back... she couldn't stand the thought of him leaving—even if it was just to the other room. She'd called him 'papa'. She was embarrassed and scared. Afraid to face his reaction. Like he'd told Andrea after the farm—he wasn't her father.

"I'm sorry." She uttered.

Marshall froze mid-step at the quiet admission like it was a brick to the back of his head. His heart broke at how scared she sounded, how defeated. He turned back to her. "What do you have to be sorry for?" His confusion was genuine because he couldn't fathom what she thought she had to--

"I-- I called you... papa." She croaked around the frog in her throat. "I didn't m-mean to!" She lied. "I-- p-please don't be mad!" New tears tracked down her freckled cheeks as she was unable to meet his eyes.

He felt that pain in his chest like a knife. He swallowed the lump in his throat and went to her immediately as she cried quietly, hugging herself. He knelt in front of her. "Hey, hey." He hushed, reaching fingers under her chin to lift her face, he gently swiped the tears away. "I'm not mad, butterfly." He promised. "I could never be mad about something like that. It's okay if you didn't mean it. You were hurt and scared... and it just slipped out. I could never be mad. But if-- if--" He stopped and licked his dry lips. She sniffled and glanced up at him through her clumped lashes.

If he continued, if he said this aloud to her, he could not take it back again. It would be in the ether. For her, for God and for himself to know and remember.

He thought back to the conversation he had with Rick on the farm when the other man told him about Lori's pregnancy and their brief talk if Marshall ever thought about having kids. He'd never really thought about having kids with purpose Before, he was only 25 (at the time) after all, there was still time. His daddy just proved that: Hershel had Marshall and Maggie when he was 39-years-old, and Beth when he was 48. And Now, he never really thought on it again, starting a kid from scratch or otherwise until Michonne—every little pointed remark or throwaway comment the last three months.

Yet, here she was, staring right at him, bated. And he knew what he wanted.

"But, if it wasn't-- if you calling that—calling me that," He inhaled deeply. "Papa." It came out hushed, shy and reverent. Sophia gulped. "If that wasn't an accident. If that's something you actually felt. Wanted. I want you to know, I feel it, too. Okay? So don't be sorry."

She gaped at him, in a state of fluster and shock. She was so overwhelmed. Her face crumpled and she broke out into sobs.

He felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest and crushed underfoot. He clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling with his own suppressed sobs. He didn't know if it was better to try and comfort her or leave her be. Damn Andrea for being right.

"I'm sorry." He whispered with regret.

He almost didn't react in time when she suddenly flung herself at him, uncaring of her injured leg. Her arms thrown around his neck as she sobbed into his throat

"What--? Butterfly--?" He mumbled in confusion.

For weeks she'd watched jealously from afar under Ed's cruel gaze and the shield of her mom's fragile arm at the quarry, as Carl got doted on by not one but two dads. His real dad came back from the dead just for him. Sophia knew her own dad wished she'd never been born; she'd heard it when he'd been yelling at her mom downstairs one night, drunk. And then Ed was dead and she met Marshall, and he treated her like the way Shane had doted on Carl before he turned scary, turned on Rick. Then, during the winter, he was just like Rick-to-Carl to her and her mind just naturally bridged those gaps with the obvious association. Papa. The name just seemed to encapsulate all the things that Marshall made her feel. Safe, protected, cared for—warm. She'd just felt so scared and alone trying to crawl away from those piranha, and she wanted Marshall, wanted that warm he enveloped her in. She wanted her papa.

Still hanging onto his neck, she leaned back just enough to look him in the eye. "Y-you m-mean it?" She sniffed, her breathing shuddering. "You-- you w-want me?

"Oh, Sophia." He uttered brokenly. "Who wouldn't want you?"

"My dad."

"Clearly he was stupid, then." Sophia couldn't help but giggle. "You obviously get your smarts from your mama." He pulled the hat from her head and pressed trembling lips to her forehead as tears leaked from his eyes. "I'd be proud to have you as my kid—to call you my daughter."

Her arms tightened around his neck. "You're a great papa already."

A thrill went through him when she called him 'papa'. Is this what it felt like when babies called their parents for the first time? "And you're already fantastic, so all the work is already done for me." He teased.

Of course, this was actually far more complicated than her calling him 'papa'. It wasn't just the two of them, after all. Sophia probably hadn't even considered that—her mama's reaction. Carol's opinion on the subject mattered. He couldn't just call himself Sophia's papa and then the matter was settled. The strawberry-blond already had a living, breathing, caring parent to look after her, he couldn't just insert himself into that dynamic and expect things to be copasetic. Carol had the final word about how involved Marshall could be with her daughter, her word was law.

Marshall was now more worried about when they found the Group again. He held Sophia tighter. Would Carol resent him for taking this long to find them, for inserting himself in her daughter's life? He'd told Michonne he felt like he was stealing her daughter and that had never been more true then than now.

...

A double-double-single knock rapped against the door, a simple password-knock they'd come up, not that Marshall thought it could be anyone else as he removed the dinning chair from under the doorknob to let the women in. He didn't think any strangers would be kind enough to knock. He helped the two women shuffle the gathered supplies into the apartment before once more securing the door, this time with the bureau. There were two stacked baskets of what looked like clothes, another basket of bigger ticket items, a couple duffels and a small backpack.

"Where's Sophia?" Michonne asked when she didn't spot the girl on the couch.

"Got her set up in the master bedroom. Found some leftover prescriptions in the bathroom, a sleeve of crackers and a can of iced tea for her to have. And some oversized pyjama pants. She'll be okay for a few hours before I check over her leg again with whatever goodies y'all managed to find—looks like you made out pretty well in that regard."

"It's a pretty decent haul for just the one floor." Andrea agreed. "A little bit of everything, so you should be happy."

"Food and water?"

"Not the greatest." The blond woman admitted. "Enough to last all of us a couple days so there's no need to worry. We can just work our way down the floors when we need to replenish. In the meantime, we'll be safe on this floor. There were walkers roaming in the stairwell, but we barricaded the door better so they shouldn't be a problem unless we cause a ruckus."

"Thank you." Marshall looked at them gratefully. "You guys did good. Today... was f*cking terrifying, and I know we're all exhausted. I don't think any of us would have made it out of there alive without each other."

Michonne dug around in one of the clothing baskets before turning back to the younger man. "Here." She handed over a stuffed orca with button eyes.

Marshall hugged it to his chest. "Aw," He cooed. "We haven't even gone on our first date yet and you already got me a present!"

Michonne rolled her eyes in amusem*nt. "It's for Sophia. It's a stuffie to cuddle, but it's also got a hollow pocket in it to stash stuff and a strap you can pull out to carry it. Thought she might like it."

"Now I'm kinda jealous. If you find any zebras, I call dibs."

"Zebra?" Andrea questioned.

"Yeah. I like the whooping-sounds they make. Their exotic pattern. Boomer and Hopscotch were beautiful with their dappled coats." He remarked absently. He sighed sadly but gave Michonne a small smile. "Thanks, Michonne. She had a dollie that her friend Elise gave her but it got left back at the farm. I'll make sure she knows Samurai-sama found it for her." Marshall didn't want to think about the other little girl who it used to belong to, who obviously cared for it with the condition it was in, but, nowadays, everything had a history, everything used to belong to somebody else, everything was a hand-me-down.

"Since we're giving each other little gifts," He smirked, tucking the stuffie under his arm and grabbing a bottle from the small group gathered on the counter. "I found vitamins! Read 'em and weep, ladies—palms out."

Andrea snorted. "You can't be serious?"

"It's like Michonne always says: Get it while the getting's good."

"One little vitamin isn't gonna change sh*t." She scoffed.

"Who said it was just one?" He held his hand out in presentation of the other gathered bottles. "Gotta love the elderly and their assortment of over-the-counter ailments. I got vitamins, I got fish oil, I got iron tablets, and more! We're all taking them until they run out." He started popping lids and created two separate piles of pills on the countertop for them. Andrea humphed and he glanced at her askance.

"This is the damn apocalypse, City Girl, this is some of the best damn medicine you're gonna find nowadays. We haven’t exactly been living a lavish healthy lifestyle this winter, so unless you were drinking OJ all winter and didn't share...?" He remarked pointedly. "No? Then, in layman terms—eat your damn vegetables." He would kill for a can of sardines. Anything but f*cking beans. Aren't Twinkies supposed to be the food that survived the apocalypse? Why was there so many canned beans? It seemed to be the only thing left in anybody's cupboards anymore! "We either live by each other or we die by each other. We don't get to be picky, we get to be grateful." He snapped the lid onto the last bottle with finality before disappearing into the bedroom down the hall with Sophia.

Andrea's mouth was puckered as she glowered after the man. Michonne shook her head in exasperation at the other woman. "What?" The blond grumbled.

"One day, your gonna be on fire... and your gonna let yourself burn on the single fact that it'll be Marshall offering to put it out."

Andrea snorted derisively. "I think I'll just stop-drop-and-roll myself."

"You realize this is just him looking out for us, taking care of us, right?" Michonne grabbed a bottle of water from the basket and swept one of the piles into her palm. "Haven't you noticed how he's the one that always eats last? How he takes the worst watch shift?" She tossed back the pills with zero qualms and washed them down with a few swigs of water before leaving the bottle on the counter for Andrea. "The literal sh*ttiest jobs."

"He chooses to do those things himself, I've never asked him for anything."

"Yet, he taught you how to use a gun, and gut a kill, and set traps, and defend yourself--"

"Well, aren't you his biggest advocate? Alright, already. I get it." Andrea mocked, "He's just the bestest most fantastic guy out there, Ooh~ Still a controlling prick."

Michonne heaved a sigh as she laid her sword on the coffee table and sat heavily onto the couch, pulling the throw over her legs. Marshmallow, after sniffing around the supplies, jumped up onto the couch and sprawled in her lap. "Just take your medicine, girl."

"Yes, mother." Andrea shoved the pills into her mouth.

...

The 12-year-old roused gently to humming. "Papa?" She mumbled groggily.

"I'm here." Marshall murmured softly from beside her on the bed, brushing the hair from her face.

"I thought it was a dream." She rubbed her eyes.

"Nope. This is all reality. This whole apocalypse thing is looking up and up, huh?" Sophia gave a dopey smile and nodded. "Samurai-sama got you a little present."

"She did?" Her curiosity roused her further.

"Yeah. Honestly, I was a little jealous when she said she got it for you and not me."

"What is it?" Marshall pulled the stuffie from behind his hip. Her blue-eyes brightened at the sight of it. "It's for me?"

"Uh-huh. All yours, butterfly."

She only reached for it after his confirmation. "It's so soft!" She cooed. "And it's got cute button eyes." She cuddled it to her chest, stroking the soft material.

"Think of a name while I check on your leg, okay? We some of the real stuff this time.":

I'll be a killer whale
when I grow up, I'll be a vulture
I'll be an animal, a carnivore
I'll be a monster
clenching my jagged jaws
over the capture
I'll be a killer whale, when I grow up

Marshall wrapped her leg back up in bandages they managed to find in one of the other apartments. The laceration, despite the less then ideal conditions, was looking good. No signs of infection yet, which was what he was most worried about, but he'd keep a close eye on it for the next two days to make sure it stayed that way:

I'll be a tidal wave when I grow up
crashing on harbours
I'll be a temperamental element
a raging water
I'll be a perfect storm swallowing over
I'll be a killer whale
when I grow up, I'll be a monster

"So, have you decided on a name for it yet?" Marshall settled back at the head of the bed.

"Chips!" Sophia decided, holding the killer whale aloft overhead.

"Ah, like Marshmallow, huh?" He teased. "Yeah, I miss chips, too. I could totally go for a bag of Funyuns right now."

"No," she giggled. "Like Chips Ahoy!"

"Even better." He nodded. "What's your favourite?"

"Rainbow Chocolate Chip, of course!"

"Rainbows do make everything more delightful."

"What's your favourite flavour?" She asked shyly, cuddling Chips to her chest again.

"Cinnamon Donut—it's a guilty pleasure.":

I'll be a hurricane when I grow up
an ugly thunder
I'll be a forest fire about to flood
over an empire
I'll be an avalanche chewing its rapture
I'll be a killer whale
when I grow up I'll be a MONSTER

"Hey, butterfly?" He murmured after a while.

"Yes, papa?" She snuggled closer to his side, reminiscent of when he had a fever, but this time, it was all her.

He played with the strands of her strawberry-blond hair, wondering if he should bring up her mama. He didn't want to break the content moment between them, the first since the ambush down the block, but if he didn't, the next blink-of-an-eye he knew, he would be facing Carol and he didn't want Sophia to be caught unawares, no matter the outcome. "I like it when you call me that."

She beamed shyly. "It makes me happy." Sophia confessed. "It's my favourite word."

"You're so special, Sophia." His chest warmed. He booped her on the nose. "I'm so happy Athena found you."

"Me, too."

"You're mama is gonna be so happy to have you in her arms again." The girl didn't respond. "You okay?"

Sophia was silent a moment longer, fiddling with the zipper on Chips' back. "Do you-- Do you think she's gonna be mad? Mom. Do you think she'll be upset that I want you be my papa?"

"I don't know." Marshall admitted, tightening his arm around her. "Your mama loves you so dearly, sweetheart. I think she'll just want you to be happy and safe."

"I'm happy and safe with you!" She pointed out.

"It makes me happy that you feel that." He smiled softly at her.

He hoped that Sophia's injured and scarred leg didn't instantly disqualify him in Carol's eyes. He was convinced he messed up in that decision, pushing her away. He remember the fear when he couldn't find her through the piranha hoard, but it was nothing compared to her scream. He took a deep breath to calm himself down from breaking down in tears, burying his face in the crown of her head. He hadn't had the opportunity to just vent the emotions yet, didn't want to do it in front of the girl and scare her. He knew how terrifying it had been to her, he'd felt the same way in the barn when Eric, Maggie's ex, had nearly gotten him. Sophia was thrust into his shoes and he into Beth's. It was as equally as terrifying. The guilt and fear he continued to feel was suffocating, and he'd need to find a moment alone to properly process and experience it before it overwhelmed him in a bad situation.

"We'll just have to show her that we're soul-daughter and soul-papa."

"Like you're soul mate's with Athena?"

"Yeah. We transcend the norm of a parent-child relationship."

"What's 'transcend' mean?" She craned her neck back to look at him.

"We may not be connected by blood, but our spirits are forever bound with a connection not even God could shatter." He wanted this, desired this connection that was different from his baby sis, and he would fight for it.:

I'll be a killer whale

[tWD]

Andrea's face was turning a splotchy red as she struggled to contain her coughing fit as they hunkered in the tree line, waiting for a loose pack of piranha to pass by as they followed a plastic bag tumbling along the train tracks in the breeze. Marshall watched her from the corner of his eye as she pressed the handkerchief harder against her nose and mouth to try and snuff it out—but it was growing beyond ridiculous when the plastic bag caught on some debris on the tracks and halted the piranhas.

"Just f*cking cough already!" He growled, yanking the woman's arm away. She inhaled sharply, immediately hacking as the cold air seized her lungs. The piranhas' attention was immediately drawn their way. "Sophia, stay with her. Watch the back." The 12-year-old nodded, a bandana tied around her face like a mask. He wasn't taking any chances of her getting sick, too. "Michonne, let's go." The woman nodded, simply stepping from the bushes, her katana already drawn. Marshall rose, nocking an arrow into his compound bow, taking one down before he even stepped from the tree line.

They had managed to scavenge most of their supplies back from the horse massacre when they finally left the apartment building, after Marshall had removed the stitches from Sophia's leg and deemed it healed enough for her to travel—but by then, Andrea had already started coughing.

Andrea had insisted pushing forward on finding the rest of their group, Marshall agreed because if they could find their people, then the blond would be able to get the proper rest and care—only her health declined rapidly, with simple coughing fits ending with her throwing-up whatever food she'd managed. A constant fever, chills, exhaustion. The woman was battling with a severe case of influenza. In normal circ*mstances, with heating and fluids and nutrition and rest, it would have easily been knocked-out and would never had gotten this bad. But, there was no rest for the survivors of the apocalypse or heating or a ready access to water and healthy foods.

Michonne circled to the left, giving him room so she wasn't caught in the crossfire, as well as drawing half the crowd to her. Marshall shot again. He nocked an arrow, drew back-- and his fingers spasmed, releasing his arrow askew. He watched as it sailed harmlessly passed the remaining piranha and disappear into the trees on the opposite way. "sh*t." He muttered. He had limited arrows, hopefully it didn't get too far so he could go and retrieve it. He hooked his compound bow to his flank and pulled out his kukri machete with his left hand, swinging down into the skull of the closest piranha. With his right hand acting up, it was easier to just follow through with his left. He stabbed the blade into the remaining piranha. When he looked over toward Michonne, the women was already wiping the blood from her katana.

She approached him as he pulled out his arrows and wiped them down. "You good?"

He grunted, securing his arrows in the quiver at his hip and glancing back to the tree line where they could still hear Andrea hacking, and the shadows that lingered behind them. Thing One and Thing Two had been lost causes; One had been ended under Hopscotch's panicked hooves, while Two remained 'living' its lower-half had been crushed and pinned under Boomer's corpse. Michonne had simply cut their heads off, gathered up their chains and collars, and hooked them up with a couple of still walking piranha that were lingering around. "We can't keep going like this."

"What else are we supposed to do?" Michonne countered quietly as they walked back to the others. "We can't just leave her, she needs medicine." Marshall was silent. Michonne sent him a sharp look, reading into his silence, but they'd already reached the tree line before she could confront him.

Marshall patted Sophia's head in silent reassurance. Michonne had done her hair into cornrows while they'd been waiting for the girl's leg to heal up. "I'll be back in a couple minutes." Marshall announced as Andrea slumped exhausted against a tree, shivering. "I lost an arrow through the trees."

He turned back around before anyone could say anything, cutting across the train tracks and scattered piranha bodies into the opposite tree line.

He looked down and to the side for a partner that wasn't there. Athena would have already dashed into the woods and come back with his missing arrow in-mouth. God, he missed her, but still believed it was best that she was with Beth and the others. They'd be together soon, either way. Thankfully, these arrows had hot pink fletching, so they were easier to find, even more so than his previous red and green. So, after several minutes of searching, his gaze was caught by the arrow sticking from the mulch of leaves.

He pulled it out, gave it a wipe and placed it back in the quiver. He went to turn and head back, but something made him pause, wait, listen. There was an ambient noise and an absence of natural nature chatter. His fingers curled around the handle of his machete as he slowly moved further into the woods.

Before he even got a visual through the thicket, he could hear them, the piranha. A lot of them. The hair at the nape of his neck couldn't help but stand on end at the eerie chorus, reverberating continuously off of each other. He instinctively got quieter and smaller as he cautiously moved aside some branches, wary to even rustle the leaves and draw attention.

Beyond the trees was a ditch and paved road and beyond that paved road... fences and it only took him a moment to recognize the towers for what they were. This was a prison. The front security gates were down, a whole damn wall was down. A prison overrun with both prisoners and civilian piranha alike—civilian piranha that were likely drawn in by whatever had caused such damage to that wall that it collapsed, the prison alarms set off until the electrical grid shutdown and the backup generators ran out.

He'd never really sat down and thought about what would happen to a prison in the event of the apocalypse. A complete lockdown, probably. At least in the beginning. But, as the government and military fell under the sheer overwhelming number of sick and living-dead, when last resorts—like bombing Atlanta—came into play, security and prison personnel alike would simply abandon ship for their own families and safety, leaving only the dedicated few. Whether to keep the prisoners secure within or simply execute them. The prisoners would certainly riot, violence would ensue—death. Once the few turned, in such a contained environment, it would shortly be overtaken by piranha.

It was such a shame. If the prison hadn't been breached, it might have been an excellent safe haven for the group. The layers of fencing, the gates. The walls. Plenty of yard to farm. With keys, they could have all the security, space and freedom inside. Bunks to sleep in, a shower room, rec room, kitchen. Fortify the fences, some piranha camouflage... it could be their very own bunker.

What a f*cking waste.

He backed away as silent as he came and made his way back to the others. Keeping an even more wary eye out for any piranha. Thank God Andrea's coughing hadn't carried that far through the trees—they needed to get the hell away from this place! They could not risk drawing the attention of that number of piranha.

"What took so long?" Michonne questioned when he arrived back. "Thought I was gonna have to come find you."

He didn't respond and instead looked to the pallid blond on the ground. "You good to go?" Marshall questioned Andrea without preamble. "We can't risk you hacking up a lung here—there's a sh*t load of piranha on the other side of those trees."

"Yeah, 'm good." Marshall shouldered a pack, while Michonne offered her hand to the sick Andrea. "I can do it." Andrea protested even though she didn't fight the other woman's helping hand.

"Let's move. We need a place to pause and reassess." He muttered.

Sophia reeled Marshmallow back in on his leash and secured the cat inside Chips' pocket with his head poking out comfortably like a baby bjorn. Chips was strapped to her chest while a small schoolbag was on her back. Once on her feet, Andrea used her scythe like a walking stick, carrying no supplies but herself. Michonne handled the piranha chains (who carried more of their supplies) and kept a strict eye on the other woman as they travelled.

...

Marshall kicked the dead piranha, shoving it the rest of the way out the door and let the momentum do the rest as it rolled down the shallow cement ramp. He reached up and yanked down the rolling door with a loud clang of rattling sheet metal, closing off the small loading dock from the sunlight and outside world.

The Deer Cooler was a local processor where hunters brought their game to be butchered into various cuts. Thankfully, it was relatively clean exempting the typical wear-and-tear of the apocalypse. Sophia instinctively avoided the huge hooks hanging from the ceiling on runners that led to the freezer, her arms wrapped around Chips and thus Marshmallow, prevent the cat from coming out.

"You want to separate?!" Michonne repeated, incredulous as she stared at the younger man, needing him to repeat, to clarify, make her understand.

"I know it's not ideal," He said. "But Andrea is only getting sicker and sicker. Being out on the road is just killing her faster—and it's slowing us down."

Michonne looked angry, but before she could retort-- "I'm right here," Andrea rasped. "Stop talking about me as if I'm not. But, Mich, he's right--"

"Your brain must've finally shrivelled-up from that fever if you're verbally agreeing with me." Marshall remarked wryly, having expected more argument.

"Shut up, asshole." She looked to Michonne, "I'm not getting better. I am slowing you guys down. You should go—but leave me here."

"Jesus." Marshall rolled his eyes at her dramatics. "If I was going to leave you behind—I never would have put up with you all winter. Or put on this dog-and-pony show."

Andrea ignored him, her attention solely on her friend. "I'm just expending the supplies. Besides, everyone I love is already gone. Amy, my parents... Dale. I'm tired. Maybe it's just my time--"

"Bullsh*t!" The woman hissed, unable to put up with listening to any more. Michonne knelt by her, grabbed her by her slumped shoulders, a stern, unmovable expression on her face. "I can't say that all of us haven't had those thoughts more than once, that I haven't had those same thoughts myself. Hell, I think about it, about the precious people I've lost when I close my eyes at night and when I open them again in the morning. But we're still here, aren't we? Together. We found each other against the odds of the apocalypse. Together we survive, alone we perish. Do you really want to be alone? I don't. I can't do it again." She squeezed Andrea's shoulders as the woman looked at her with glossy eyes. "It's just a literal moment of weakness, is the flu really going to be the thing that takes down Badass Andrea Harrison? Maybe it'll take a sh*tty miracle, but we've pulled those out of our asses before, haven't we?" She joked. "Alright?" Michonne insisted of the woman.

Andrea was silent for a moment. "Alright." She agreed softly.

Michonne nodded, a relieved smile ticking the corner of her mouth. She looked over her shoulder to the man. "I'll stay with her."

"That's the plan, then." Marshall nodded, shifting through the contents of their bags and shifting things around. A majority of their supplies would stay here, of course. "Keep her warm, try to get her fever down. Try to keep her drinking water, no matter how much she throws it up. Small sips--"

"Still right here." Andrea growled—and fell into a coughing fit. She slumped back, breathless with a groan. There had been a gag in there, but there was nothing for her to expel anyways.

"Mm-hm." Michonne patted her arm and gave her some water. "Small sips." She rose to her feet and faced Marshall.

"Two days." Marshall told her, rising and shouldering his pack. "Three tops. We'll either find the rest of the group or we'll find the medicine. Either way, we're coming back."

"Alright. Do you want to take them?" She jerked her head at the two chained piranha stationed at the doorway leading from the loading bay and into the front of the shop. "If we're sticking around here, they'll be more useful to you."

Marshall declined, "They'll just slow us down, we'll move faster without them."

"Then are you sure Sophia shouldn't stick back with us?" Michonne questioned. "Her leg is still healing--"

"I'm coming with you!" Sophia protested, overhearing. "Right? Right?!"

"Right." Marshall said simply, a calming hand laid on her head. She melted into his side. "What's the rule?"

"Mmm... Stick to you like glue, no matter how much you stink?"

Michonne snorted and Marshall patted the girl's head. "That's right." He turned back to the woman, "You'll be busy taking care of Andrea. And this way, when we find the Group, I can just plop Butterfly into her mama's lap and then come back and grab the two of you."

"It's your decision." Michonne sighed. She touched Sophia's shoulder and pulled the girl into a hug, "I know you're smarter than him, hon, so you be there to stop you papa from doing anything dumb, huh?" Sophia nodded shyly. "That goes double for you, Marshmallow." She scratched the cat's head. "This isn't goodbye." Michonne embraced Marshall fiercely.

"Nope." They pulled back. "Just smell ya later, Samurai-sama, City Girl."

"Maybe now I'll be able to finally get some peace and rest without your constant buzzing like a damn mosquito in my ear." Andrea croaked.

"And if I wanted someone to nag at me constantly, I wouldn't pick you." He countered good-naturedly. Sophia waved at Andrea as Marshall took her hand and guided her passed the two chained piranha to the front of the shop, going out the front instead of creating a ruckus leaving out the rolling door at the dock. "C'mon, butterfly. Let's beat some pavement." The road out front was empty of piranha, barring the ones they killed to claim The Deer Cooler.

He didn't bother steering them down the road the way they came, the one drug store that way gave them nothing but a few single-serve packets of aspirin—what hadn't been looted was either destroyed, contaminated or expired. People were idiots—everything had a use down the line eventually. They cut once more through the woods, neighbourhoods were the best bet for both of their goals. With that herd they'd encountered in-town, the residential area was the best bet—proven by the large neon green tag sprayed on the front of a garage door.

"See?" They beamed at each other. Marshall already had his kukri machete out and he checked to make sure Sophia was ready with her poker and Marshmallow was secure. "We're gonna have go house-by-house. You ready?"

Sophia nodded, she was nervous but determined, a wary excited anticipation in her blue-eyes. She mirrored his pointed deep breath before he took the lead into the first house, her two-steps back at his flank.

As they worked their way through the block, a good portion of the piranha they found were already dead. Upon examination, it was a good mixture of brain-destruction ranging from blunt force (like from a softball bat or a crowbar), to sharp force (the familiar damage of his kukri knife), and penetrative force (like from a gun or a bolt). All sure signs that pointed toward their Group as if the Goddess of Athena Tags weren't already enough.

Marshall shoved the sofa in front of the door with a grunt, securing the house they were spending the night in.

"We'll do some hunting tomorrow," Marshall decided as he got the girl settled down with an open can of peas and carrots. He chuckled at her expression as she slurped up a spoonful. "You can practice your aim with that slingshot of yours."

She gulped in surprised, coughing. "Okay." She agreed tentatively.

"Here." He switched cans with her when she was halfway through. Cold tomato soup. They taken but just a day of rations from the supplies—he and Sophia would be able to more readily find supplies to restock with them on the move, than Michonne with a sick-Andrea. Turns out, easier said than done. Just this block, every house they went to, was already cleaned out of anything edible or useful—on the opposite end of that, however, was the amount of Goddess Tags they'd come across.

"They must have spent the winter here." Marshall hypothesized.

Sophia frowned, giving a spoonful of tomato soup for Marshmallow to lap at. "Then where are they?"

"Well, if they cleared out all the supplies, they would have moved to greener pastures. We'll just have to comb through the area. I found this phonebook. It has a list of private businesses and a more detailed map of the township. Meaning, the address of doctors who have a residential office, and the likely best places to find meds for Andrea." He left the cans in the dirty kitchen sink. "Get some rest," He pressed a kiss to her forehead, tucking her in. "We leave bright and early tomorrow. I have a good-feeling." He murmured.

...

Bright and early breakfast had consisted of water and staling campfire bread made from nothing but water and flour they'd found; it held no nutritional value, but it was filling. A piece of gum each distracted from any growing hunger as the cleared more houses, found some missed over-the-counter medication, bandages and hygiene products, before finding a wooded area to try at some hunting.

Marshall released Marshmallow from Chips, cuddling the cat briefly before settling the feline safely on his shoulders. Sophia moved the button-eyed orca from her chest to her flank, made sure the fire poker was secure at the strap on her waist—and pulled out the slingshot from her schoolbag side pocket.

"Remember how to walk?" Sophia nodded. "Then off we go."

Sophia naturally moved quiet and soft, the conditioning of an abusive father. It was a useful skill in general for hunting and simply to survive in this day and age of apocalypse—it was also why he had a preference for her to have a hold of something on his person when things got active. It was the only reason he hadn't lost her in the hoard at the farm. It was the reason he did lose Rick and Carl.

The woods were relatively quiet, but for Marshall's near-silent humming and the peaceable sounds of nature. That was a good sign. Silence meant a predator, and these days predators were walking piranha.

There was skittering and chittering--

Sophia clammed right up, her breath automatically seizing in her chest. Marshmallow was poised on his shoulder, tail still, slitted gaze fixed as his own hunter-instincts hummed to life. A quiet chatter filled his ear. The cat's leash was attached to his belt as a precaution, the last thing they needed was Marshmallow bolting off and getting stuck in a tree. But the cat stayed, claws hooked into leather.

"Breathe." Marshall uttered softly. The girl exhaled quietly, if a little jerkily. "Remember to breathe. Be steady. Take a moment to find your target. Don't hesitate, be confident, and fire when ready. Don't worry about missing. I'm here if you do," He had his compound bow out, pink-fletched arrow nocked and ready to draw. "There'll always be another squirrel."

She nodded, continued to breath deliberately until it smoothed out naturally as she went about prepping the slingshot. She had a ball bearing, the same size as a small marble from her pocket. With the handle secure in her left hand, the brace against her wrist for better leverage, she loaded the bearing into the sling-pouch. Gripping the little tab at the back of the pouch, she rose the slingshot, getting a bead on the squirrel twitching on a branch three trees away, oblivious to the peril close-at-hand before she drew the pouch back. Her aim wavered with the draw, her fingers sweating despite the cooler March temperatures, but she readjusted, breathed, steadied—released.

Sophia missed the squirrel by a margin, causing it to give a startled cry and bolt. Marshall drew and released—his arrow pierced instantaneously with another leaving the squirrel pinned to the trunk by 2 shafts. Both spirit-father-and-daughter froze.

"Papa?" Sophia uttered in fearful confusion.

Marshall stared because he would recognize that striped grey-and-green custom fletching anywhere—Shanwy. That could only mean one thing. His sharp green-eyes scanned around, pulling the girl behind him—at least he hoped it was one thing—but spotted no other. Still, better to be cautious on the off-chance. He may recognize those bolts, but Daryl wouldn't recognized those arrows.

"Stay behind me." He ordered.

She gulped and nodded. One of her hands grabbed the strap on his pack, the other tightened the grip on the fire poker as she followed quietly in his steps as he circled left around the pinioned squirrel. His bow was away and he had a cautious grip on his Berretta—if this wasn't Daryl, if it was some stranger, Marshall wasn't gonna play around with a bow and arrows.

They circled the squirrel, and circled again, with no sign of the seasoned hunter. Marshall wanted to laugh as he realized that they were probably circling each other without seeing each other and when the squirrel came back into view, he decided to stop and post and wait, Sophia hidden between him and the tree.

There was a faint rustle of undergrowth and the first thing that Marshall Greene made eye contact with was the business end of a loaded crossbow, and he didn't think he would have it any other way. What tension on his shoulders disappeared, fingers automatically releasing the butt of his Berretta in his thigh-holster.

"Fancy meeting you here, hunter~"

Daryl stilled, stared. His crossbow dropped a margin, squinting at the other man. He scoffed with recognition. "That squirrel is mine."

Marshall grinned. "Whatever your want, big boy."

Daryl sighed, lowering his crossbow further. That little huff expressioned all his repressed exasperation.

"D-Daryl?" A little voice peep up from behind Marshall.

Daryl spied the big blue-eyes in a freckled face. Any annoyance he already held for the other man vanished into absolute relief. "Girl. Your mama's been worried sick about ya."

"It's really you!" Sophia burst into tears and bolted to the man, throwing herself at him without reserve.

Daryl managed to get his crossbow out of the way and stumbled back a step, stunned for a moment at the weight of the girl bowling into him. He instinctively tensed as arms wrapped around his waist, the uncomfortableness of a kid crying into his stomach but even then he had no urge to shove her off.

Marshall blinked back the tears that threatened to prick his eyes, as the weight on his chest finally started to lift. 4 months. It had taken nearly 4 months, but he'd finally found them. He seriously contemplated throwing himself at the hunter same as Sophia, but he knew that wouldn't land as well as when she did it and he didn't want to ruin the moment between them, so he held himself back.

Daryl glanced to the other man from behind his hair for some kind of assistance as he patted her head awkwardly and clumsily with his hand, but the other man just watched with a smile so big that the hunter hoped it hurt.

Marshall cleared his throat, drawing the hunter's squinted blue-stare as scratched Marshmallow's scruff. "Are the others close by? I kinda made a promise to Sophia to get her back to her mama."

Daryl nodded. "'Bout a mile back, holed up in a house waitin' for me to bring back dinner." His eyes drifted to the squirrel behind Marshall's head.

Marshall snorted but turned, yanking out both bolt and arrow from the carcass, catching it by the tail as it fell. Marshmallow meowed, butting his cheek with his head pointedly. "Well, I'd hate to disappoint either of you." He approached the hunter and the girl, handing over the squirrel and the bolt while he let the cat lick away the blood on his fingers.

Daryl shouldered his crossbow after clipping the bolt into the hold, and tucked the squirrel in the bundle already accumulated on his belt.

"C'mon, Butterfly." Marshall cooed, hands on her small shoulders, gently easing her back, inch-by-inch. "As much as I'm sure Daryl appreciates the love, your gonna have a load of people to hug up on soon."

"O-okay." She sniffled, reluctantly unclenching her fingers that were all twisted up in the material of his sleeveless shirt, stepping back.

He brushed the tears from her freckled cheeks, and gave her the water bottle. She took a few swallows before offering it to Daryl with wide, questioning eyes, but the hunter just declined. She capped it and reached around to stuff it back into Marshall's pack side pocket.

"Alrighty, then. Lead the way, hunter."

Daryl grunted, crossbow coming to the fore once again as he started to lead them back to the rest of the Group. Sophia followed at his flank, and Marshall in the rear at her shadow, keeping at eye out for piranha.

Sophia's stare was so fixed on Daryl—just as the last time they'd been in a similar situation back at the farm—afraid the hunter was just an illusion that would disappear if she blinked too much or looked away. But instead of just 3 days, it was 4 months, so Marshall wasn't all that surprised when she tripped, her boot getting caught on a hidden roots.

She let out a yelp, bracing her arms to catch herself as Daryl spun around, but Marshall lunged forward, grabbing her by her backpack and halting her fall. He felt her fire poker whack him in the side, and the prick of an equally as startled Marshmallow's claws at the base of his neck with a wince but said nothing as he straightened the girl.

"Sorry." She mumbled in embarrassment, but Marshall understood the distraction.

"Aw, come on, sweetheart." He hauled the distracted 12-year-old into his arms with a grunt. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, with her head laid on his shoulder facing out so she could contently watch the hunter. And he started walking again.

"And what if we come across some walkers?" Daryl questioned him.

"Well, you're here to protect us, aren't you?" Marshall responded confidently and without a doubt.

Daryl blink-flinched at him, becoming annoyed at the old feeling in his chest. "Whatever." He finally scowled. "I'll look out for her but ya can take care of your own ass."

"Okay." Marshall agreed softly. They walked in silence for a bit, Marshall quietly humming as Marshmallow sprawled comfortably across the top of Sophia's schoolbag.

Daryl side-eyed him. "Why th' hell do ya have a cat hangin‘ off ya like a damn monkey?"

Marshall couldn‘t stop the laughter that bubbled up.

"What's so damn funny?"

"Nothing. Nothing." Marshall shook his head, choking the laughter back before it tipped over the edge into sobbing. "Just... happy, that's all."

...

The small house's occupants were quiet and peaceful, the window at the front cracked to allow airflow. For the first time in a long while, taking advantage of the breathing room they'd managed to create between them and the walkers that were 'waking-up' from their winter slump.

They all occupied their own little bubbles—separate but still together. The same as it had been for months. They didn't separate, despite the perfectly existent 2nd floors of any given house that they stayed (however briefly) in. They solely occupied the downstairs only, dragged any presentable mattresses from the upstairs bedrooms for them to sleep on—as a group.

Always as a group.

Hershel occupied the small table in the kitchen. Lori (with her 5 month pregnancy bump the centerpiece to their group) was resting on one of said mattresses, her son laid on his belly beside her, his focus on a torn up comic book. Carol was never far from the other woman.

Beth sat on a musty cushion on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of her, and leaned back, bracketed in the warmth of her big sister’s knees who sat behind her on the couch. Maggie combed her finger’s through Beth’s unevenly cut, now grease-dulled blond hair as she braided the locks into a fishtail, a pink sparkly hair tie with Hello Kitty charms on it around her wrist waiting to be used. Athena took up the given space between the teen's legs with her head pillowed on her thigh as Beth absently worried out the snags in the Belgian Malinois' fur with her nails. Regardless of the attention, the vested dog’s tail lay still.

Although Glenn was keeping watch out the back, and T-Dog out front down the drive, Rick still circled the first floor, pausing at each window. He wouldn't stop, not until Daryl returned. Athena had long stopped raising her head every time he passed.

Any peace was broken as Athena's head suddenly snapped up form Beth's thigh, ears straight up. She jumped to her feet with a bark and everyone was instantly alert and wary.

"Walkers?" Rick demanded immediately, voice low and rough as he searched through the kitchen window along side of the house—perhaps that's why Glenn or T-Dog hadn't given the signal. His fingers tightened on his Colt Python, while his left curled around the handle of Marshall's kukri knife as he continued to search and come up empty.

"No..." Beth responded slowly, sitting forward, her hair falling loose from her sister's fingers as she quickly got to her feet. Her attention was solely on the dog.

Everyone was tense, waiting on a hair-trigger for the teen to finish her thought, to know whether they all needed to spring into action or relax again. The tension continued to build as they all watched the dog, but there was a different kind of tension building in the teen’s chest as the canine’s behaviour registered:

The way her tail was up high and energetic, something that had been lacking for a while. How her tongue lulled from her mouth as she barked. The rapid click of her dull nails on the dirty floor as she ran to the front window, paws up on the sill, her nose stuffed through the open crack. She woofed again, going to the door, pacing in front of it, before scratching when no one seemed inclined to open it.

Athena wasn't guarded or aggressive—this was pure-puppy energy.

Beth gulped, curling her fingers into a fist to stop the shaking. "She only acts that way when... when..."

“When, what, Beth?” Rick pushed through his teeth.

The teen almost flinched when she felt the hand grip her shoulder and looked up into her sister’s green-eyes, bright with the same anxiety, fear, and hope as her own.

Maggie was the one that answered. “Athena only acts this way when Marshall comes home.”

The room stopped breathing. Athena barked again, butt up and wagging. Every eye snapped from the Greene Sisters and to the front door as the doorknob turned--

[...tbc...]

Omake:

Marshall: You didn't miss me too much, did you, hunter?
Daryl: How was Mars?

...The walking DEAD...