OUTLIVE.
❝The dead were never the enemy.
It was the living. ❞
THE WALKING DEAD.
DARYL DIXON.
BOOK TWO of the LANCASTER SAGA.
[ SEASONS 4 - 6 ]
*****
*I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I simply write to write. Astrid, any addi...
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[ xlii. home ]
august 3rd, 2012
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A NEAR-SUFFOCATING SILENCE hung in the night air. That was, until Michonne erupted into motion. She flung herself at Astrid, tears already streaming down her face, and clung desperately to her dearest friend. Astrid immediately reciprocated the embrace, burying her face deep in Michonne's shoulder.
Soon another gentle touch interrupted the reunited women. Astrid turned to Carol Peletier, a wide smile adorning the latter's face. Their own hug was quicker, and as Carol pulled back and scanned Astrid's face, she questioned, "How?"
Astrid's mouth opened and shut, more than once. She longed to provide an answer, but the influx of familiar faces around her rendered her speechless. Thankfully, her hunter stepped in. "The shot didn't kill her like we thought," He explained. "She woke up alone in the trunk we left her in, and Morgan found her. They've been together since."
"How did you find them?" Michonne demanded next, her arm still looped through Astrid's.
Daryl chuckled and scratched at the back of his neck. "It was more like they found us."
Astrid grinned. Before she could speak again, however, she heard a throat clearing behind her. A startling coursed through her veins. She remembered she was amidst a murder scene, amidst mourning strangers. The blaring weight of the countless eyes still fixed on the Lancaster woman made her suddenly acutely aware of her surroundings. Michonne and Carol stepped back, allowing her attention to be directed back toward a familiar figure: Rick Grimes, still frozen in place, his stare still locked onto her.
Rick's expression now mirrored the disbelief he had once worn when Daryl had found Astrid on death's doorstep in the prison's tombs. All over again, it seemed as though he questioned the very fabric of reality, as if Astrid were another painful ghost conjured by his mind.
Advancing cautiously, Astrid reached out and clasped Rick's forearms. His furrowed brow and open mouth betrayed his struggle to find words. Fear crept into her—did Rick truly perceive her return to the living as a torment to his fragile heart? After all, he had professed his love, only for her to seemingly fall days later, right before his very eyes.
"Rick," Astrid called. She leaned in until their foreheads almost touched. "It's me."
Her breath mingled with Rick's as he swallowed, the scent of sweat and blood on his skin. The night's chill cut through her, yet the warmth emanating from him enveloped Astrid entirely. Despite the many intruding eyes fixated on their exchange, in that suspended moment, the world condensed solely to Rick and herself.
Astrid stared deeply into Rick's blue eyes that replicated those of his son's. Yet from the corner of her vision, a brief scan of her surroundings revealed neither Carl nor Bailey in the area. Besides Carol, Michonne, and Rick, there only stood Abraham and Eugene, distant figures whom she hardly knew enough to anticipate a warm welcome. Their acceptance was still wary, their eyes still a silent judgment. No matter, in another reality, roles reversed, she might not have extended the same grace to them, either.
