Dead love in my hands (Troy Otto story/ Fear the walking dead/ ftwd)

Sworn friends

I left my parents' house when it was already very late. We've been talking to them and the Clarks all day. Now Alisha has gone to some Bible reading evening. To be honest, there was more wine than reading...

Troy didn't look for me all day, as he was busy with the militia, so I took my time. Most of the people on the ranch were already asleep, it was pretty dark around, so we had to walk slowly. As always, there were guards at the gate.

When I approached, I saw Aron and Troy near our house. They were standing right under the lamp and talking about something. It made me tense up. Thinking that another conflict was brewing, I hurried to them, but fragments of their dialogue surprised me:

"Yes, you did a great job! Where did you learn to shoot?"  I heard Otto's voice.

"Well, when the world was still normal, I loved going to the shooting gallery!" Aron was smiling. His face was bruised, but he looked happy. For a second I thought they were both drunk.

After another second, I realized that it was true.

They noticed me almost immediately:

"Hi, baby..." Aron began, but quickly corrected himself, "Hi, Dell," he waved his hand at me.

Troy's face, which had been radiating friendliness a moment ago, changed abruptly and became stern. He raised an eyebrow and, looking accusingly at Aron, said:

"You should get used to it as soon as possible," he then shifted his gaze to me, "How are you, my sunshine?" Yes, he was definitely drunk.

"Everything is fine, but let's talk better about your successes, guys? Are you not trying to kill each other anymore? I thought you were having a nice conversation about the shooting?

"Yes, Troy took me into the militia!" Aron blurted out.

"What did Troy do?" I was shocked.

"What's wrong, Della? He's a great shooter!" Troy looked unperturbed.

Then I grabbed his forearm and dragged him into the house.

"Let's go talk, Troy! And to you, Aron, good night!"

My resurrected legal husband nodded in satisfaction. He seemed to like that I was annoyed.

When we entered the room, Troy immediately collapsed on the bed.

"Well, how do you explain it?"

"Explain what?" He frowned uncomprehendingly.

"You got drunk with Aron and even took him to the militia?!"

"Well," Otto began lazily, "first of all, I didn't get drunk. We had a glass of whiskey with him. And secondly, yes, I took him, and so what?!"

"I just don't understand what's wrong with you! You don't usually drink! And now I see you drunk for the second time in the last week!"

"So it upset you so much?! Or is it that we no longer quarrel with Aron?!"  He raised his voice.

"Speaking of which. Does it seem normal to you to beat a person in the morning and take him to your team in the evening?"

"I don't see this as a big deviation from the norm," he shrugged.

"It could be dangerous, Troy! What if he sets you up or something worse... I don't think that's a good idea."

"And what should I do with it?! Should I leave him here when I go on a sortie with the squad myself? So that he walks next to you and, for example, repairs the fence?! No way. Let him be under my supervision!"