Chapter Text
November 24, 2011
~*~ Eugene ~*~
Eugene puts away the leftovers in the fridge as Honey sprawls on their couch with a content sigh. She rubs her belly as if it were enormous. “It’s going to take a ten-mile run to burn all today’s calories,” she announces.
He laughs, grabbing a bottle of the fizzy berry alcoholic drink the brewers have developed to mimic old world wine coolers for Honey and sets the kettle to boil for himself. Uncorking the bottle, he takes it to her, kneeling to raise her shirt and kiss her very flat stomach just below the belly button ring. “I strongly suspect you could eat like this every day and still boil through the calories like you were surviving on celery and air.”
She tips back the bottle before grinning at him. “Are you implying I’m hyperactive?”
“Implying sounds so mundane. Besides, have you ever known me to not be entirely enamoured of your ability to run circles around everyone we know?” It’s one of the things he enjoys about her personality the most, that she takes her athleticism so casually that she can manage to translate it into inspiring others to enjoy such feats as well.
He can’t imagine anyone from his old life surviving the immense surprise of seeing him now, where he runs three miles three times a week alongside a beautiful woman. The steady exercise and excellent nutrition helped him shed any excess weight, even if he’ll never conform to the idealized shape many of the men on the supply run teams sport. He’s better aware now, that natural metabolism fuels some of them the same way it does Honey, and therefore less envious. With his ever active mind driving him to distraction at times, he doesn’t think he could tolerate having his body drive him mercilessly as well.
Honey leans forward, pulling him in for a kiss that tastes of berries and the slightest tang of bitter alcohol. When she tangles her fingers in the long hair at the nape of his neck and tugs just a little, he allows the guidance and tips his head. The attention paid to his throat and collarbone narrows his own focus from the spiralling ideas always spinning in his head down to just the sensation of her touch on his skin.
It’s a unique sensation, one he never expected to find, that comes from combining her sheer physicality with his more cerebral nature. She quiets his mind so that he finds peace. He settles her body so that she can do the same.
The kettle whistles, interrupting her attentions, and she favors him with a lazy smile. “Make me a cup of tea, too?”
With a nod, he gets to his feet a little unsteadily and returns to the kitchen to rescue the kettle before it makes the entire neighborhood think the property sirens are going off out of sync. With anyone else, he would feel dismissed, but she’s never made him feel like her attentions will result in a teasing rejection once he’s flustered and interested enough.
Making the tea is a ritual of sorts that he developed after Honey gifted him a book for his birthday that was more of an essay about tea than a true work of fiction or nonfiction. And while it focuses on the importance of tea and its culture in Japan, it served as a reminder that his love draws half of her cultural background from the East and the Pacific, not simply the American South so many of their community share now. On his own, he’s collected other texts, even botany, seeking to expand upon that single book styled essay.
As he sorts through the containers to measure out what he thinks might interest them both tonight, after the heavy meals and rich desserts of the day, he makes a plan in the back of his mind to expand beyond the usual supplies pilfered from expensive and abandoned tea shops. Unless someone finds some viable plants, there will come a day where the exotic plants will no longer be available. His scientific mind thinks he can recreate many of them from natives, if he treats it like the scientific art it can be.
By the time he’s got two cups ready, Honey has finished her drink and set the bottle aside to be recycled back to the brewery. He passes her one of the cups and watches in anticipation as she scents the hot liquid before taking a sip. He’s seen her down alcohol, even rich wines, with as little attention as she would give a soda. But a cup of tea? That’s a different story.
The tea is definitely a success when she makes a joyful noise. “Cinnamon? Something citrus.”
Eugene smiles and sips at his own cup, allowing the spicy, sweet scent and taste to alight along his senses. “Orange rind, clove, cinnamon, and darjeeling black tea.”
She hums through a few more sips. “Need to try this when I didn’t predose myself with alcohol. I think this would really chase away chills as good as a hot toddy.”
Since she likes it, he makes a mental note to copy that recipe from the book where he found it into the journal he’s been keeping. Honey tends to prefer darjeeling based teas, and he wonders if the conditions that result in the tea’s unique taste can be recreated. It wouldn’t be within a greenhouse, so it’ll bear some thought. And finally finding some of the damned plants.
“I suspect it would also work well as a base for a hot toddy, if you wished to add a little of alcohol’s effects to the heat.”
Honey nods thoughtfully, finishing off her cup as it cools in the fairly chilly living room. They rarely keep their home at the higher warmth of other indoor locations. Neither of them really cares for the extra energy usage when they actually tend to be away and busy, whether together or separately as their duties require.
She takes his cup when he’s finished, balancing it with her own so that she can run her fingers along his pulse point in his throat. “Meet you upstairs?”
Eugene nods and makes his way to the pretty spiral staircase tucked in a nook that almost hides it from any visitors. At the top, he can look down into the kitchen, and he dawdles, watching as she takes care with washing the tea things and leaving them to air dry in the rack. He presses his fingers against the sting of a mark she left against his collarbone and smiles.
It’s not just about the physical attraction they share, but all the rest of their relationship that he never dared to allow himself to dream of. Focusing on sex - and his usual lack of it - made ignoring the rest of his loneliness for human companionship and affection so much easier.
Now?
He’s not even sure he’s capable of functioning without the woman he loves.
Luckily for him, Hannah Dixon’s devotion to him seems unlikely to ever waver, gifting him with the one person on the planet that can meet him devotion for devotion.
If he says a little thank you to a deity he would never admit to sometimes considering the existence of, that’s between him and God.
~*~ Carol ~*~
Carol knew long before she made the conscious decision to have another child that her husband was a good father. His kids, despite the occasional hiccup, are devoted to him, a sentiment he returns in such levels that he quite literally lost his mind when he thought them lost. Even in that drugged haze of grief, he still reached out to her lost, terrified little girl and gave Sophia a lifeline the girl needed more than anything.
His interactions with his grandson further reinforced the idea that seeing him with a baby would be one of the most adorable scenes on the planet. Merle certainly was devoted to her during her pregnancy, even though he expressed the worry that his age meant taking a risk that wasn’t the same when he first had kids.
But all that didn’t really, truly prepare her for the actual sight of Merle with their daughter. He doesn’t just rely on her for all the newborn care, aside from the one thing he cannot provide for Ava. When the baby cries, he’s alert faster than Carol is, talking to Ava in that conversational manner he holds with kids whether they’re nine days or months or years.
Tonight is another example. He’s got the little bathtub on the counter, with Ava’s tiny body carefully balanced with one big hand while he runs the little scrap of a wash cloth over her skin. The baby’s been clean for a good five minutes, but he’s still trickling the water over her because it soothes their daughter.
“I should probably tell you that you’re spoiling her for life, with all this undivided attention,” Carol says, laying a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Ava blinks in her direction when she speaks, but since she can’t focus on Carol so far away, she turns back to the parent she can see.
“Nothing wrong in teaching her to expect to be the center of someone’s attention.” Merle’s voice softens into a lower timbre as he sets aside the cloth to run a finger along Ava’s cheek. “Means she won’t settle for anything less than she deserves.”
Carol thinks of the older children, all paired in their very different ways to people they love, and smiles. She supposes he’s right. Neither of them were raised with the confidence to only accept what they deserved, or even to raise that standard to where it should be for a partner. Just thinking of how Sophia and Logan have bloomed among the rowdy Dixon clan tells her that Ava will never lack for confidence in herself and her family.
And God help the world if anyone like Lillianna or Ed ever encroached on Ava’s future. If Ava didn’t put an end to them herself, there would be a line across half of Georgia to stand in for her.
“Want me to take her?” she offers. Merle nods and hands her the soft towel, lifting the baby from the plastic tub into Carol’s waiting arms.
She can tell the second the baby recognizes her, because the reaction of hungry baby is instant. Laughing, she carries the naked and squirming child back into the bedroom. She fiddles a diaper in place even as Ava latches on, the strong pull still a novel sensation for Carol. She didn’t nurse Sophia, because Ed found it an off putting practice. Watching Ava’s body grow and change without the upheavals of finding a formula that doesn’t make her sick is a delight.
Merle reaches close to fasten the diaper tabs Carol left open in her move to shield herself from any accidents. “Seems like we barely got her, and already she’s grown so big,” he says.
“I’m just happy she did me the courtesy of waiting for the big growth spurts until after she was born.” It’s amazing, watching Cricket chart the baby’s growth from smaller side of average at birth to ninetieth percentile. It’s not a common growth pattern for breastfed babies, but as her physician trained daughter likes to note, for every average, there has to be outliers who boost the percentages.
Carol thinks it means that one day, she’s going to be the shortest person in the family, because this child will take after her siblings. She finds she doesn’t mind feeling like a tiny matriarch among the giants. It isn’t just Merle out of the Dixons who loves her so dearly, after all.
“Daryl spotted Sophia and Carl kissing out on the deck tonight,” she tells Merle. Ava growing so quickly reminds her that she isn’t the only Dixon daughter making milestones quickly. The clumsy adolescent kiss might not be her daughter’s first, but it’s probably the one that Carol will need to pay far more attention to.
Merle sighs. “Any way we can stop the kids from growing up and chasing romance?”
“I doubt it. And she’s had all the proper talks, from me and every single sister, based on her complaints. Cricket’s made her swear off sex for life, but I doubt that’ll stick.”
“No more than those STD films they used to show for health class worked for any other generation.” Merle smiles wryly. “Although at least that’s far less likely these days.”
It will take years to know for sure, but the communities who have tested extensively have noticed a decided lack of any lingering STDs. Carol agrees that the general idea that a lowered immune system response probably led to those with such chronic conditions being early victims of the virus, the same way that it burned through cancer patients and diabetics.
She leans in for a kiss, knowing Merle will maneuver around their daughter easily. Leaving one hand cupped against his stubbled jaw, she smiles at him. “They’ll all grow up and find their own families, but that’s a good thing. They won’t be alone.”
Like Merle was, by choice, for so many years before his brother meddled in his own unique way to convince them both to take a chance on each other. Daryl will never understand just how much she loves him for helping her see what was right in front of her.
“No, they will never be alone.”
Just like Carol will never be alone, even if Merle’s fears of his age and family history ever come true. With the blessings they seem to have now, she’s going to count on that not coming to pass.
“I love you, Mouse,” Merle says softly. His gaze is on Ava, not her, but it makes the words sink in even more.
“I love you, too.”
Surely a just God would never bring them all this joy to take it away too soon.
~*~ Shane ~*~
Shane tucks the comforter around Anaya more securely, making sure her sock monkeys are all settled safely in bed or on their shelves. The girl’s collection has grown, with quiet requests to Carol expanding the family beyond the initial toys to represent the immediate family. The latest one is Anaya’s own creation under Carol’s tutelage, the fluff of red hair on the diapered monkey signifying it can’t be anyone but Anaya’s infant aunt.
When he leaves the room, he leaves the door ajar and turns the dolphin nightlight on. The blue glow combined with the light of Anaya’s aquarium’s soft light makes the room look like a wonderland, and he takes a deep breath as he reminds himself that the family life he always envied his best friend is something he’s found for himself, too. One of his children may spend half her time with her other family, but that doesn't change the joy he has that the crooked path he took to bring Judith in his life was one of the best 'mistakes' he ever made. The years of revolving door girlfriends that never made the grade when he pictured them as a wife or mother are long gone.
That’s not something he ever really admitted in his womanizing days. It didn’t fit with the mental image people crafted of him, that he was seeking what seemed impossible to find.
As he steps into his bedroom, he knows why it was impossible to find. Fate, karma, whatever made sure he didn’t settle for anything less than the woman he did marry.
“She kick her comforter off in the floor again?” Scout asks, looking up from the book she has propped on one knee. She’s sprawled on the bed, her dark skin a contrast between the pale blue sheets and the white tank top she stole from his drawer. The fact that she hasn’t bothered with the comic book themed boxers she normally wears to bed reminds him to shut and latch the door.
“Of course. Along with three of the monkeys. The Anaya one was halfway across the room.”
“She would claim on a mission to explore the fish tank.”
“We’re probably going to need a second tank for her soon.” Anaya’s collection of rainbow shiners is courtesy of Daryl, who brought back a bucket of them for her birthday. The little fish aren’t as brightly colored as pet store tropicals, but they still fascinate their daughter. Finding out they will eat their own young was not as thrilling an experience.
“If we save the fry, we’re going to need an entire pond eventually,” Scout replies, amused. She slides a bookmark into her book, setting it aside.
He’s not surprised to see it’s a tactics book. The world will never be enough at peace to settle his wife’s mind. Scout’s thought processes have been honed for protection since she defended Daryl from her grandfather when she was younger than Anaya. He doubts there will ever be an off button for it for her, especially after years of military service.
“When that time comes, we’ll send her to Merle with her best pouty face, and the man will be out across the river, digging her an entire lake.”
Scout snorts, stretching languidly. “You’re probably right about that, but I suspect he won’t be the only one running earth moving equipment when that day comes.”
Shane tries for an innocent look as he strips down out of the day’s clothes. “It’ll be a project for being manly men, providing for the next generation.”
That leads to outright laughter. “Just keep in mind that she’ll be demanding to be taught to run the backhoe herself when that time comes.”
“As she should. Your sister has been setting quite the example. The day will come when y’all only keep us around for decoration.”
He crawls onto the bed, hovering above her for a lingering kiss. Her hands moving to explore his back is almost an automatic response, and he smiles down at her as she slides fingers along his spine.
“I suspect I’ll be keeping you around for more than decoration.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
She arches a dark brow, wiggling beneath him. His body understands that answer quite well, so he draws back to tug at her shirt, sliding it off and tossing it aside. It lays bare the scarred flesh that intimidated him the first time they lay entwined like this. Back in the confines of his tent, which seems a lifetime ago, he remembers the sense of awe that settled over him when she let him first lay a kiss against the sign that she survived a hell worse than the dead walking around them.
He remembers the Amazon of a Marine he first met, staring him down across a dusty quarry with everything about her screaming protectiveness of the man he had just had to restrain from killing Rick. Scout was the first person to give him breathing room in a world gone beyond mad, and along with it, hope that there was something more to him than standing in Rick’s shadow as he always had. She layered all his broken pieces in with her own, building a mosaic of togetherness he never thought he would find.
When Shane lays his lips against her skin this time, it’s more than enticement or lust.
It’s a devoted love for the sculptor who took one look at a broken man and saw the beauty in making him whole. He can never repay the gift she gave him, but he will certainly spend the rest of his life trying.
~*~ Finis ~*~
"As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them" - John F. Kennedy