Just Keep Walking

One hundred and eight

It took four days for Mary to be able to go home, and when she woke up in her own bed, Rick was laid beside her.
"Daddy. Daddy, wake up." She hissed, nudging him with her toe.
"I'm up." Rick sighed, groaning slightly.
"It's my birthday tomorrow."
"No it's not," Rick laughed softly, "it's the day after the day after tomorrow, ages away, remember?"
"Can we have a cake? A little teeny tiny one?"
"I'll see what we can do." Rick smiled, sitting up. Mary slowly got out of bed, and Rick helped her put her sling onto her arm, helping her bullet wound recover.
"Daddy." Mary whined, as they walked downstairs.
"Yes, smelly?"
"Can we have pancakes?"
"You can have whatever you want." Rick smiled softly, happy to see that she had an appetite.
"Where's Carl?"
"Here." The boy answered from the kitchen, Mary quickly seeing Carl helping Judith eat some breakfast. Mary sat beside them, and Rick made some breakfast.
"Hey, run upstairs and get mommy, okay?" Rick said gently to Mary, and she nodded, getting up and slowly walking up the stairs, careful with her wound.
"Mom? Daddy made breakfast. It's time to get up." Mary whispered, pressing her forehead against Michonne's. Her eyes flickered open, and Michonne's face slowly turned into a smile, the woman's tired eyes filled with love.
"Hey, babe." Michonne smiled sleepily.
"Breakfast." Mary repeated.
"I'm coming." Michonne laughed softly. She got out of the bed, wearing a pair of shorts underneath one of Rick's massive shirts, her hair messy, her whole face tired, filled with love and protectiveness over her daughter; she hadn't slept properly since Mary had been shot.
"Come 'ere. I need my morning Mary snuggle." Michonne said softly, gently lifting Mary up, holding her into her chest yet making sure she barely touched her shoulder.
"I love you, mommy." Mary breathed, her forehead pressed against Michonne's.
"I love you too, my angel." Michonne smiled back.
"Breakfast!" Rick shouted up the stairs, and Michonne ruffled Mary's hair.
"Come on. Even though it probably tastes horrible, we have to pretend." Michonne teased, and Mary giggled then nodded. Michonne relished the sound; when Mary was sick, she worried she'd never hear that sound again.
"How much is it hurting?" Michonne asked gently as they walked down the stairs, and Mary sighed.
"A lot."
"Yeah. You can have some more medicine after you've eaten, okay?"
"Okay."
"What shall we do today? Daddy is gonna go look for more guns, so it's just us girls. What do you wanna do?"
"Can we do some painting?" Mary asked with a sigh, annoyed that she couldn't do anything more physical, that she couldn't play games or do sport.
"That sounds like a good plan," Rick smiled as they walked into the kitchen, "you can paint me a nice picture. Yeah?"
"Yeah." Mary nodded. Michonne put her down into her seat, and Rick slid some cut up pancakes in front of her. Mary stabbed at them with her fork, using only her good arm, and slowly ate some.
"Done." She announced when she'd eaten a few bites.
"No, missy, have some more please." Rick sighed.
"Done."
"No," Rick insisted, "you've not even eaten half. Come on now. Eat up."
"No." Mary whined.
"Mary."
"She doesn't want to." Carl snapped to Rick, and Rick sighed.
"Whatever. Fine." Rick sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Are you mad?"
"No. Go play."
"You're mad." Mary whimpered, her face creasing up in a mixture of anger and upset.
"For Gods sake, I'm not mad!" Rick snapped suddenly, his constant fatigue and worry over his daughter making him irritable.
He never snapped at Mary.
The child's face crumpled, then she began to blink rapidly, holding back tears, and her face changed. It became the same closed away mask that she used to put on when Rick first found her, and Rick sighed shakily, knowing he'd messed up. He knew that she was suddenly scared of him.
"I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm just really tired." Rick apologises almost automatically.
"It's fine." Mary whispered, beginning to eat again. Carl went to put an arm around her, but Mary flinched away, both of them unsure if it was because she was scared or because she was in pain.

She barely spoke for the rest of the day.

That evening, after a day of silence and Mary crying in pain from her healing wound, Mary went to see Aaron and Eric, Michonne trying to do anything to get her to talk.
"Hey, sweetie!" Aaron grinned, as Mary walked through the door, holding Michonne's hand. Mary simply waved at him, and Aaron nodded to Michonne.
"You gonna stay here and hang out with me and Eric for a bit?" Aaron asked, and she nodded, letting go of Michonne's hand and taking Aaron's.
"I'll drop her off after dinner." Aaron nodded to Michonne.
"Yeah. Okay, baby girl, I'll see you soon, yeah?" Michonne whispered to Mary, bending down and cupping the child's face in her hands. Mary nodded, and Michonne kissed her forehead. "Okay. Bye bye."
"Bye." Mary breathed, and Michonne stroked the top of her head, then left.
"Alright, kiddo, is pasta okay? Spaghetti?" Aaron asked, and Mary nodded, holding her bunny up to her face. "C'mon then, you can help me."
They began to cook in silence, Aaron making the occasional comment, trying to get Mary to talk.
"Did Carl go out with daddy?" Aaron asked, and Mary shook her head. "How come? Carl said he wanted to go."
"He's mad at daddy. Because daddy was mean."
"Oh. What did daddy do?" Aaron asked gently, but Mary stayed silent. "What were they looking for?"
"Guns today. Gas tomorrow."
"And then we're gonna end all of this the day after that." Aaron smiled, and Mary nodded.
"They day after that it's my birthday." Mary whispered, and Aaron grinned.
"Yeah, it is." Aaron nodded with a smile, thinking about the doll house Carl had left hidden in his spare room, ready for her birthday. Mary gave him a tiny smile, then her face dropped, and she was silent for the rest of the evening.

That night, Mary slept in Rick and Michonne's bed, not in the middle, or on Rick's side, but clinging onto Michonne. She woke up every half an hour, screaming out in pain from her shoulder, until Michonne decided to simply sit on the porch, holding her upright on the rocking chair, pressed into her chest.
"Hey." Rick whispered, walking outside.
"Hey." Michonne smiled tiredly.
"She sleepin' better like that?"
"Yeah. Less pressure on the muscle." Michonne explained, and Rick nodded.
"I messed up," the man mumbled, his voice wavering, "I really messed up with her, 'Chonne. I don't shout at her. Never. She hates it. She doesn't trust people. And she can't even trust me, not now, because I broke our trust. It's me and her. I'm the one person that doesn't shout. The one person that has that unconditional thing with her, that thing where I have never snapped at her. Ever. Ever. Even when she was younger... She was always so good, but on the odd occasional thing, Lori was bad cop. I don't shout at her."
"Hey," Michonne soothed, "she bounces back. She always does. She'll be fine."
"But..."
"She'll be fine." Michonne insisted firmly, Mary stirring in her arms.
"I'm so scared. So scared that I'll mess her up. Or that... If I died in this war with Negan... Judith wouldn't be effected. She probably wouldn't even remember me. Carl's old enough. It'd be hard, it'd hurt, but he'd... He's strong enough to be okay. But it would kill Mary. It would kill her. And what if... What if I die tomorrow? When we go to the Sanctuary. What if I die while she's like this with me?"
Then Mary was up and holding up her good arm, just wanting to be with her father as she sobbed in pain.