Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This is a 'soul bond' or 'soul mate' style story. To my knowledge no one has taken a crack at this particular trope in the fandom, so this is more an experiment than anything. In this particular version, I am using a 'tattoo' or 'mark' to show how a soul bond presents itself. *This is dedicated to bsparrow who told me this would be a good idea. This is entirely her fault even though, technically, it was my idea in the first place, but since she got all proddy I feel like I have the right to blame this one on her. Ha!

Warnings: *Contains: soul bond/true mates/soul mate trope, illusions to domestic violence, spoilers for the first three seasons, adult language, adult content, AU after the fall of Atlanta, angst, UST and more.

Tied

Chapter One

They'd barely made it out of Atlanta when the military started dropping napalm in the streets. Someone had fucked up. They'd lost it – lost containment. It'd only been a matter of time if you asked him. The refugee camps had been too crowded, people crammed in like fuckin' sardines from the downtown core to the suburbs. Someone had gotten bit. And by the time the government knew the shit had hit the fan, it was already too late.

Merle hadn't taken his foot off the gas pedal until they were a good five miles from the outskirts. They were close enough to feel the heat of it when they pulled over to the side of the road, letting a convoy of jarheads streak past, breathing hard at the near miss.

Merle didn't say anything when the screaming started - a rolling nightmare chorus that rose up despite the distance – a swan song as Atlanta burned. But the cigarette his brother flicked away, only half smoked, seemed indication enough as he rolled up the window and drove off, hiding the city from view as the rising flames bathed the night in red.

They drove for hours before they saw it, a hole-in-one flicker of flame through the trees on the very top of a mining quarry just outside the city limits. He'd cocked his head, unsure of what to make of the sudden burst of nervous energy that'd started thrumming deep in his chest. Survivors from Atlanta? They looked at each other and just shrugged, it seemed like as good a spot as any – at least for the night.

He rubbed at the center of his chest idly, only half paying attention as Merle followed the curve of the road, watching as the spit of flame grew brighter through the trees. Someone was up there alright.

As it turned out, the fates didn't even have the decency to wait until he'd gotten out of the god damned truck. Because by the time he'd hefted his crossbow, headlights illuminating a dinky little camp, all frightened eyes and hedging uncertainty, he was already too far gone.

"What the fuckin' shit?" he wheezed, clawing at his chest as a bright searing pain thrummed across his skin. He stumbled, fading off to the side and firmly into the shadows as someone said something, asking Merle god knows what. He didn't care. He couldn't hear it.

He leaned against the truck hitch. He braced his hands on his knees, bow slipping from his fingers as his skin buzzed – suddenly feeling three sizes too tight as a curl of heat escaped from the center of his chest. He didn't understand, what-

There was a roaring in his ears, deafening and bright as Merle laughed, cracking out something about stayin' the night as the sensation suddenly changed. He shivered, oversensitive as something stupidly similar to pleasure, of all things, rippled through him. It was light and bubbly, happy in a way he didn't have it in him to recognize. It was familiar, yet not.

He shook his head, dizzy, fighting the urge to either puke or laugh himself sick - caught up in a conflicting shit storm of a thousand different emotions as Merle called out, footsteps crunching through the gravel, starting around the side of the truck.

"Yo, little brother! Come on out and meet our hosts, don't be shy now," Merle gestured, voice drippin' with sarcasm and false bravado as his hand, beefy and heavy, slapped across his back, pulling him towards the fire as a couple dozen people gathered close – curious.

He flinched, chest throbbing, fighting the urge to whirl around and just run as twin sensations of pain and pleasure hummed through him. Music to the soul.

That was when he saw her.

And honestly? The world just fucking stuttered.

An ember burned high and insistent in his breast, etching a mark he knew he'd find later, deep in his skin as they met eyes. They were oblivious to everything as a group of men, an old man in a bucket hat and a dude sporting a Mossberg and a suspicious look, tried to press Merle for information.

Had they seen anything? Heard anything about another safe zone? Had the government gotten things back under control?

Her blue eyes were wide, almost sloe-eyed in the low light. He couldn't help but stare. She was perfect, thin, but with just enough curve to her you wouldn't lose her when she stood sideways. She was a mess of shorn hair and freckle-flecked skin - scared, but strong.

The tug on his rib cage was firm – persistent - grating. It took everything he had not to stumble over to her. Knowing instinctively that the moment he got close, the moment he had her in his arms, everything would stop. Everything would make sense again. Everything would be different - better. But he didn't. He couldn't.

She knew it too.

He could see it. Feel it. Taste it on the fuckin' air.

Because she was staring at him from the other side of the fire, blue eyes shining with unshed tears as she clutched at the little sprite of a thing she held in front of her. A little girl that had her eyes – her chin and nose – her everything. Her expression was confusion, anguish and hope all at once and he already knew he hated everything about it.

He didn't even fucking know her.

Her husband just glared, bored and oblivious in a camp chair beside them. Sporting an ugly look like it was bound to go out of style as tall woman – Lori, he thought – came up beside her, a questioning hand resting on her shoulder as the moment broke and he came back to himself in a rush.

His cheeks heated – mortified and angry as the gravity of his situation settled across his aching shoulders like twin iron weights.

Wasn't this just fuckin' peachy?

He managed to get a look at it in the old man's RV a few hours later. The light from his lighter was thin and flickering but it was enough to illuminate the small mark now etched into the center of his chest, just above his heart.

He wasn't sure what to think when he recognized it.

It was the thin outline of a Cherokee rose.

He winced when he reached up, thumbing one of the pedals, all grey-toned shading and glistening dew drops, sensitive flesh screaming as he bit off a startled curse. The mark caught the light easily, twisting and flexing every time he breathed. He shook his head, letting his hand fall away, shoving the lighter back into his pocket as his reflection spluttered, wisping back into darkness as the shadows welcomed him back.

He could feel it.

He could feel the weight of it.

Of her.

He sat down on the toilet seat with a grunt, running his hands through his hair as the sounds of the others winding down for the night drifted lazily through the vents. He'd really stepped in it this time. That was for god damned sure.

He had fucking soul mate.

Worse, she was god damned married.

And really, he wondered if he even had the right to be surprised. Since when had anything in his life ever come easy?

A/N #2: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – Depending on interest, I will probably continue this. Like I said, this was a bit of an experiment.